Things I Learned from R. B.


Jonathots Daily Blog

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Episode 5

R. B. really liked girls.

They did not share his interest.

There were many reasons for this.

First and foremost, R. B. had an opinion on almost everything, which he spoke clearly and loudly, leaving little room for input or variation on his stance.

He also thought of himself as being macho, trotting through rehearsal camp without a shirt, which might have been effective had he not sported the motif of skin and bones.

He was very religious, making it clear that women were equals except when they were married. Then they needed to be submissive to their husbands.

And finally, he maintained the hygiene standards of a twenty-four-year-old single man whose mother apparently gave up on confronting him in his early teens.

This did not stop him from trying.

The female members of the cast often looked over at me haplessly, wishing I would stop R. B. from flirting. I did occasionally step in when it was obvious that his overtures border-lined on verbal rape. But R. B. never missed a beat.

Then one of the sponsors of our show caught wind that we had gay men as choreographers. Even though these “sodomites” had left, during the process of their departure, they had outed our producer as a “penis preferrer.”

The sponsor was outraged. He requested a meeting with me to find out what I planned on doing with this obvious sinfulness in the organization. I invited the cast to the meeting so they would be privy to all conversations, with nothing done behind their backs.

The premise was simple.

My sponsor, who was named Tim, was telling me about my producer, who, ironically, was also named Tim, accusing him of being “homo.”

Tim, the sponsor, assumed that once I understood the situation, I would kick my friend and producer to the curb, restoring righteousness to the surroundings. He also let me know that the other sponsors, who were not as religious as he was, also did not approve of the producer’s lifestyle.

When Sponsor Tim was finished talking about Producer Tim, I sat and stared at the cast. I was curious to see if anyone would speak up.

They sat quietly. It was an era when, even if you disagreed with the treatment of homosexuals in America, you had a tendency to keep your mouth shut so as not to uncork the wrath of the religious right. Also, the mental health professionals of the time considered same-sex relationships to be “aberrant behavior.”

R. B., who had never lacked a prejudice or two, spoke right up, saying, “I think that Tim has to go.”

Feeling some need for comic relief, I patted the sponsor on the back and said, “Tim, you don’t have to go.”

There was a much-needed laugh in the room. However, it was quickly swallowed by the monster of intolerance.

R. B. did not think I was funny.

“You know what I’m saying!” he said. “We can’t have a homosexual working for us and think that God’s going to bless!”

Bouncing off R. B.’s theory, I asked the cast, “Do you think Jesus would kick the homo to the curb?”

You could tell they wanted to say no, but remained mute—like we all do when yellow seems to be our favorite color.

Sponsor Tim pursued. “You know I admire you,” he said to me. “I know you’ll do the right thing.”

“Thank you for that,” I said. “Truthfully, Tim, I don’t know what the right thing is. But I know what the right thing is for me. I’m looking at something called loyalty. I don’t know how immoral it is to be a homosexual, but I do know how immoral it is to be disloyal to a friend. The only reason you’re sitting here tonight talking to me is because my friend, Tim the Homosexual, believed in this project, got investors, and even arranged for this beautiful facility wherein we sit. I consider that to be good fruit—and since I know that good fruit doesn’t come from a bad tree, I think I’m going to stand with my buddy and keep working with him out of loyalty, because I consider it to be true morality.”

Tim the Sponsor glared at me like I had just been belched on the beach by a huge whale. There was the inkling in the room to applaud, but it was quelled by provincialism.

R. B. stood up and left.

Amazingly, Sponsor Tim accepted my stance and said that because he loved me, he would honor my decision and not interfere. If you think about it, that was remarkable.

After the meeting, R. B. came into the room, where I was alone.

“I’m afraid I’m going to have to quit the play,” he said.

I didn’t say a word. After a long pause, he continued. “Sin is sin and wrong is wrong. Even if we think we’re defending for the right reason, evil still lurks to destroy us.”

As brave as I had been with Tim the Sponsor, I suddenly was worried that I was about to lose a cast member nine days out from the premiere. I buckled.

“Listen, R. B. Give me a break,” I said. “I’ll check into this. If there’s truth to it, we’ll cross it when we get to it. Okay?”

R. B. peered at me for a moment and then sprouted a smile. He stood to his feet, hugged me and sauntered out of the room.

All at once, I realized that he had never intended to quit. He just really enjoyed threatening.

Untotaled: Stepping 3 (February 9th, 1964) … February 22, 2014

Jonathots Daily Blog

(2158)

(Transcript)

“She loves you, yeah, yeah, yeah …”

God, I desperately needed that.

At twelve years of age, going through puberty, it would have been wonderful to have a “she” that loved me. Yeah.

But when the Beatles appeared on the Ed Sullivan Show February 9th, 1964,  my parents refused to let me watch. They didn’t know anything about the Beatles, they had just seen a picture, and from that had determined that the young gentlemen from Liverpool were freaks, queers, girls, Communists and immoral.

So instead, they sent me to church, where I got to listen to our preacher expound upon Peter and the lame man at the Gate Beautiful.

Lame.

I returned home, realizing that the Ed Sullivan Show was not over yet, hoping that I could still negotiate permission to watch the last part and hear the Beatles’ final selections. My father, even more irritated, refused. He turned the channel to Bonanza–an episode called The Cheating Game.

Yes, I felt cheated.

Even though I liked the Ponderosa, I did not want the Cartwrights on this night. I needed the Beatles.

Yet the next day, when I went to school, out of some sense of fierce loyalty, I explained to my friends, who were ablaze with excitement over the performance by Paul, John, Ringo and George, that these guys were freaks, queers, girls, Communists and immoral. (Honestly, I didn’t even know what most of the words meant.)

What happened next was chilling to my bone. Rather than arguing with me, my friends looked at me with a combination of horror and pity. They couldn’t even imagine how miserable I must be … Beatle-less.

So over the next few months I broke out of my shell, slipped over to my friend’s house and listened to the Beatles. This eventually led me to Herman’s Hermits, the Monkees, and even a little taste of the Animals and Jimi Hendrix. To that revolving play list I added the Oak Ridge Boys, Beethoven, Strauss and Sousa.

As the diversity of my musical taste increased, so did my openness and willingness to accept others and absorb new ideas.

Music saved my young soul from turning into a lame man, which certainly would not have been the gate to anything beautiful.

I never got to hear the Beatles on the Ed Sullivan Show. But on the long and winding road … they rocked my world.

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