My first trip to New York City was a theatre tour I took through our university drama department my senior year, in the spring of 1972. It had been a dream going back to childhood, since the time of my first black and white 1940s movie that I watched on tv, to see the city for myself, and once I did I fell instantly head-over-heels in love. So much so that I cried inconsolably the first two hours on the bus back to school because I couldn’t bear to leave-especially to go back to life in awful Ohio. We saw something like seven plays in five days, and the whole experience totally blew me away. On that visit I don’t think I went further uptown than Lincoln Center, and didn’t make it much further downtown than Macy’s and Gimbel’s. We did blow through the Village in less than an hour early on Sunday morning but it was nearly empty because even street people aren’t up and moving that early. Once back in school, I decided I would move to the city before the end of the year and announced my plans to the family.

So my second trip was in September that same year. I continued working my summer job to build a nest egg before I left The Land of Cleves (aka Cleveland). This trip would be different, because I was traveling alone and I was meeting (for the first time) a guy with whom I shared a mutual friend. “Matty” was from the Youngstown area and had moved to NYC the year before. Our friend knew I needed to find a place after my move, at least for a few months, and she thought Matty might be interested in sharing his apartment as he was working two jobs and still finding it difficult to pay the bills. So it would be a unique experience for me, since I had never gone anywhere on my own and this visit would be to get a real feel for my future new home. Even though I hoped to see a few shows during my four night stay, my focus would be to get a taste of what social life and life in general was like in this exciting new world.

I was staying at the same hotel as on the theatre tour, the Piccadilly on 45th Street in the theatre district. It was cheap, clean, safe and already familiar to me so it made me comfortable knowing I could get my bearings and navigate the subway from there. I brought very few clothes with me, as I planned a shopping trip on the first day. I wanted to look like a New Yorker; I didn’t want people to see me as a hayseed from the Buckeye State!

Upon checking in, I called the phone number I had for Matty. It turned out the number was for his answering service. As an actor-wannabe, you needed to be able to get messages at any time, day or night (private answering machines were not yet common at this time) and he didn’t have a phone in his apartment. Can you imagine that a person could have an apartment in New York City and actually not have a telephone? Hard to imagine since now, forty years later, people seem to be born with cell phones attached to their right ears. I left him a message to call my hotel so we could make plans to meet and I was off to shop. Even though I didn’t know the area at all, I headed for the Village, since Matty lived and worked there, so I figured it would be the place to shop for a genuine New-York-hip-gay-guy look and my instincts were correct. I shopped for a pair of boots in a couple of neat small shoe stores on Sixth Avenue, and found several men’s stores were I got slacks (jeans were good, but when you dressed to go out at night, you still wore slacks) and…my prize purchase. It was a navy blue, double-breasted, very fitted, long trench coat with wide lapels. What a great look on five-foot-eleven, one-hundred-thirty-five-pound, twenty-nine-inch-waisted me. But I digress.

Once I got back to the hotel I found a message from Matty saying he couldn’t meet me that night, but that I should come to the bar where he would be working the following night (Saturday). So I was free on my first night ALONE in the big city. I went to the theatre, and afterward took a cab downtown to the Village and got out on Bleeker Street. I spent the better part of three hours meandering the winding small streets looking at shops, peering into small restaurant’s windows, and of course doing some first-class people watching. I was amazed at how many people still were out enjoying the night, when people in Ohio and everywhere else in the America that I knew, were most probably asleep in their beds, or at best passed out on their sofas in front of a tv set. In fact, it seemed the later it got, the busier the places became and the more crowded the small streets and alleys were. “What a friggin’ great place to be” I grinned to myself. Amazingly, a huge percentage of these people were gay couples: young, middle-aged, even some old, enjoying a romantic meal or drinking together, walking maybe arm-in-arm or hand-in-hand, but obviously together out in the open, publicly for all the world to see. You could never do that in Ohio. Even though I was alone, I was having a ball and loving this city more than I thought possible.

I cannot remember what I did the next morning. Probably breakfast in the Piccadilly Coffee Shop where they served “strictly fresh eggs imported from New Jersey”, which I thought was a real hoot to advertise. All I remember was getting ready to go out that night, putting on my semi-broken-in New York outfit, and heading down to Marie’s Crisis Cafe, a small bar near Sheridan Square, where Matty worked as a waiter from 11:00pm until closing. He told me it was a theatre bar, which I didn’t quite understand, but I would never have admitted my ignorance to him. I realized, once I got out of the cab, that I had walked past this area once or twice the night before, but hadn’t seen the bar.

As I walked to the door I heard a piano playing a song from CABARET and a chorus of male voices of various vocal ranges and qualities belting out the tune. I entered and asked the bartender to point me towards Matty. The minute I saw him I was relieved. He looked kind with friendly eyes and a nice smile and I doubted that he could be an ax murderer (my mother was concerned “well you NEVER know”). We compared notes about our mutual friend back in Ohio and laughed at her many antics. We clicked almost immediately. It was hard to talk a lot though, while he was working, so he introduced me to some of the regulars and I settled in at a table and took it all in. It was comfortable, non-threatening and a very fun group of all types of guys. Two of the boys joined me at my table. One was a tall guy who seemed just a bit too drunk but not slobbery. He was tall and handsome and maybe a little too touchy-feely but for the life of me I cannot remember even his first name. The other was a quiet guy, but not shy. His name was Richard (and I still remember his last name) and there was something about him that I found very attractive. He sat with me all night and was amazed that I wanted to come to the city and try pursuing an acting career . The hours flew by and I even helped close the place up. Matty asked if I wanted to get something to eat, “but is there anything still open after 4:00 am” I asked? They reminded me that this was New York City.

We all four of us walked around the block to David’s Pot Belly which never closed. Mr. Touchy-Feely had sobered-up a bit and Matty proved to be a real charmer with a great sense of humor. I hoped he would suggest sharing his apartment, because we hit it off really well, and I could tell he would be a very easy person to live with. Out of the dark of Marie’s and into the light of The Pot Belly, Richard looked even more attractive. He was not too tall, blondish, an early thirties All-American Boy type. I subtly made eyes at him every chance I got and he was getting my message, I could tell. I was having such a good time at my Village Baptism, I didn’t want to ruin the magic that had been happening all night, even though now it was after 6:00 am. Richard announced he had to be leaving to get home to the East Village (until that moment I didn’t know there was a West and East). I told him I would keep in touch with Matty and let him know before my move  as I wanted to get together again at Marie’s. He went to shake my hand, and I remember I boldly reached around and gave him a warm hug. I watched him walk out the door, knowing full-well I would be seeing him again. Matty had invited me to a Sunday matinée later that day at the theatre where he worked as assistant stage manager. He picked up the bill and I knew it was time for me to head back uptown to my hotel. Mr. Touchy-Feely said he would walk me to Sheridan Square where it would be easier to catch a cab at this hour.

Matty walked the other direction towards Seventh Avenue. Touchy-Feely draped his arm over my shoulder as we walked up the street and it felt good. It made me feel as though I was beginning to belong to Manhattan. The sun had just begun to light up the night sky. There were some delivery trucks unloading at an all-night deli and newspaper stand people were arranging the TIMES and other Sunday papers getting ready for morning readers. We got to the cigar store on the corner and he pointed out which direction was Uptown. He stuck out his hand to hail a cab coming our way. It stopped and I opened the cab door and announced “Piccadilly Hotel, 45th Street”. As I turned back towards him to say goodbye, in a millisecond he wrapped an arm around my waist, pushed me up against the cab and planted a huge, wet movie kiss that I swear lasted a minute and a half. It took me totally by surprise and I immediately thought “what is this cabbie gonna’ think”? That was the Ohio in me. This cabbie didn’t give a shit if another gay guy got kissed on Sheridan Square. It happened everyday-many times a day. God, what a great town.