On the way home tonight, Tessa asked when was the last time we had an openly covert homosexual bandleader, you know, the kind of lead singer that was so gay that he almost wasn’t gay anymore. She thought it was Boy George, and I made an argument for the Smiths, but we both agreed that there is just no space in our culture for the don’t-ask-don’t-tell flamboyancy that saturated our youth.
I mean, let’s take two people – Charles Nelson Reilly and Paul Lynde:
All throughout my childhood, it never even occurred to me that they might be gay. And this was after 13 years of Lynde’s gossamer-thinly-veiled fairy jokes on “Hollywood Squares,” and Reilly? He was one Roman concubine away from exploding all over the set of “Match Game ’74.”
I miss those times, the