Like a lot of folks my age I seem to receive the magazine of the American Association of Retired People. Now that I am “rewired” I occasionally open it. I don’t like the graphic design, which means a quick thumb through before tossing it in the recycling bin. The current issue cover features Lian Neesom with a terrible dye job. But buried inside is an article about what happened in 1972. That was the year I finished what we then called junior high school and began high school. What a useful resource for a postcard from the past.
Somewhere deep in my storage space must be some random items for those days. Here in the apartment is the year book (‘73) that covers that first semester of high school. My favorite photos are of the swimmers. The summer of 1972 was famous for the Munich Olympics. There was the tragedy of the Israeli athletes. I remember knit hoods, weapons, and Brutalist dorms. But I also remember Mark Spitz. As a young teenager I couldn’t make sense of the global crisis unfolding. But it was possible to feel my own emerging queerdom. Mark Spitz certainly helped that along. I thought the male swim team were among the most handsome people at our high school. Swimmers never looked like they were trying too hard, they had beautiful chests but a softness. Or so I imagined. I wore speedos for years.
Television contributed to my growing awareness of my preference for males, most notably Richard Thomas in The Waltons. I also had a crush on Sanford and Son’s Demond Wilson. Looking back, this show was a surprise (unbeknownst to me) because Redd Foxx was famous for being a very dirty comedian. Given how cautious Hollywood was about African Americans on television I wonder how he got the job.
The anti-war movement was strong in our hometown right next door to Berkeley. Many of my friends’ parents had posters in their windows that said “War is not Healthy for Children and Other Living Things” or “Another Home for Peace.” My parents weren’t big on political declarations on their homes or vehicles.
Somehow a schoolmate convinced me to campaign for George McGovern’s presidential run at our local market. What would I have even said? Stop the capitalists? Stop colonialism? I even talked my mother into putting a McGovern/Shriver bumper sticker on our Rambler and convinced my father to take us to a rally at Richmond High where we got to shake hands with Sargent Shriver. Touching Camelot. When Watergate happened I felt like saying, “We warned you.”
I paid more attention to films then than I do now. We were too young to get into “Last Tango in Paris,” which was the talk of the year. My pal Cherie, who always looked old enough to get away with anything, told us all about it. Star Maria Schneider was one of the most beautiful actresses of the era, largely because she wasn’t glamorous. Within a few years I could get into R rated movies and saw her in my favorite film, “The Passenger.” I have never seen another film with so much Gaudi architecture!
Bobby Fischer beat Boris Spassky at chess, but what interested me were the Eames Time/Life chairs they used. It was reported that they cost over $300 each! By then I already knew who the Eameses were and what their classic lounge chair symbolized. Everything I wanted to be but wasn’t!
