Russ and Nick were Kensington neighbors from way back. They moved from the very gay Castro District in San Francisco to the very ungay Kensington neighborhood in the Berkeley hills. We instantly became friends, and we were saddened about five years ago when Nick received a job offer from the Rockefeller Foundation to work in Manhattan. Here they are in their backyard with Marcel, Russ’s dog. At that time Russell was working for a social media platform in San Francisco, and Nick was with Charles Schwab. Marcel was retired.
By the time they moved Marcel had passed, but they had two other poodles and two cats. We drove them to the airport and bid a sad farewell.
Before the move. Marcel is still with them, but Sassy, Rex, and Bandit have been added to the mix.
Neither Jadyne nor I had known gays before, or perhaps I should say that if we did we didn’t know we did.
Gay story #1. Jadyne had been asked by her cousin’s daughter to make a tart for a surprise menu item for her cousin’s birthday dinner, and Jadyne had never made one. She didn’t even have a tart pan. Asking around the neighborhood she was disappointed not to find one that she could borrow, that is, until when she asked Russ , he responded, “What size?” Bingo. Not only that, but he made it for her, and it was the hit of the party. Some weeks later Nick asked me if I had a pressure washer. I answered, “What size?” as I had a low power electric one and a stronger gas powered one. Laughing, he said, “I love living in a straight neighborhood!”
Gay story #2. Nick had a business trip to San Antonio, and Russell was going to accompany him. “Be careful, I warned, Russ, “those mechanical bulls can throw you.” He replied, “They’re really not as difficult to ride as the real ones.” Silence. He showed me photographs taken of him riding bulls in the Central Valley in rodeos. We would only be guessing if we thought that Russ’s bull-riding and his relationship with his father were interconnected, but both Nick and Russ spoke about growing up gay, coming out, and issues they faced in their families. Nick’s parents were from near Cincinnati. His mother drove a school bus; his father worked on the railroad. His parents, though Midwest Baptists, embraced and accepted Nick for who he was. Nick finished college here, but his lack of a degree had nothing to do with his native intelligence.
Both are excellent cooks, and Nick was giving me cooking lessons when he received the job offer in Manhattan. Of course, had he stayed I would have been the proud chef of a one or two star Michelin restaurant. I can still make a mean piece of toast, but we miss their dinners.
Although their home wasn’t an architectural masterpiece, they had two that were. First, Russell made a gingerbread house to the specifications of a home that he admired. It was built to scale, looked delicious, but was inedible. Second, Nick and Russ raised chickens, and of course, their chicken house was designed by an architect. Here is Maleficent, one of the former residents, who sadly, was destroyed by playful Finnegan, their boundlessly energetic poodle.
In 2015, our first visit East we stayed in Manhattan, where they lived at the time. Nick took us to “Flaming Saddles,” a gay cowboy bar where the bartenders put down their blenders, climb on the bar, and dance for the patrons.
Nick and Russ live in Ocean Grove, New Jersey, a block or so from the Atlantic Ocean. It’s a tourist mecca. Russell is an excellent knitter and owns a knitting shop in Ocean Grove. Here he is at home.
We feted them yesterday, bringing former neighbors over for a quiche, fruit, scone, pie, bagel, and coffee mid-morning brunch. Both Nick and Russ were wearing sweaters that Russell had knitted during the pandemic, and this blog entry ends on these two photos of Russell yesterday. The fabric he’s wearing is UV sensitive, white in the shade and dark pink in the sun.
