Kenn

When I look back, it amazes me that Kenn and I ever became friends. He spelled his name with a double “n” because he insisted it made him unique from all the other Kens of the world. Yes, he was definitely unique.

He was also born and raised in Maine close to all the places Stephen King talks about in his books about Derry.  The Canadian border was within walking distance.  I, on the other hand, was a native of Syracuse, New York, but my family roots run through Vermont. He was a die-hard Red Sox fan.  While I was from New York, I was more inclined to root for the Phillies because of Mike Schmidt and the other players who won the World Series in 1980.

We met in September 1979.  Kenn had just returned from temporary duty (known as a TDY) in Florida while I had just reported to my first duty station in the War Readiness Section of Base Supply at George Air Force Base in California.  The purpose of the War Readiness Section or War Readiness Spares Kits was to support the tactical mission of the F-105 and F-4 aircraft.  The kits were predetermined to support all systems on the fighters for 90 days.  We were part of a world-wide response and we had to be ready to go in about an hour's notice. Kenn had been in uniform for almost four years and was preparing to be discharged a month after he returned with the kits from Florida. 

He would later tell me that his TDY was a get-back for something he had done or said to a supervisor that was not appreciated.  That was Kenn, however.

Part of the duty included doing an inventory of the kits and accounting for all the inventory.  This took a couple of weeks, but in that time somehow, we became friends.  He and I lived in the barracks, so we saw each other after duty hours.

I found him condescending and sarcastic, but he was a cat lover, and the barracks had a mascot cat named BC short for Barracks Cat.  As I had to put up with his “better-than-thou” attitude, I still managed to find some things I actually liked about him, including his top-of-the-line stereo he got while he was in Korea.  I remember sitting in his barracks room listening to a live album by Bette Midler.  It seemed like the music tickled my ears in surround sound like I had never experienced before.    

What I didn’t know, because he kept quiet about his excessive drinking.  He confessed to me that he considered himself an alcoholic when he was living in the barracks. He would put on some music and kill off a bottle of Vodka.  

In November, he was discharged and moved up north to San Francisco.  He invited me up for Thanksgiving to celebrate his freedom from the service.  I said I would come.

He called me a few days later, “I just wanted to let you know that I am gay.  You can cancel if you are uncomfortable.”

“No, I’m still coming.” I told him.  I had been in a theater group a year before I enlisted where I learned I was the only straight member in the entire cast that included over thirty members of the cast and crew.  I had a choice to run out of there screaming or shrug and say, “Let’s get on with the show.” I chose the latter.  I would do it again.

We also both loved football.  He was a Patriot’s fan, and I was into the new quarterback from Notre Dame playing with the 49ers named Joe Montana.

I ended up reenlisting a couple of times, but I kept in touch with Kenn.  He took time out to visit me and I did the same.  He had graduated from California State San Francisco and moved up north to Sonoma County.  When I visited him, I was astounded by the Sequoia redwoods surrounding his cabin.  There was also a strong gay and lesbian community in the area.

When I met some of his friends, I saw that they were welcoming and friendly.  The Air Force had developed a “look don’t tell” policy under President Reagan, but the overall attitude among those in the ranks was “homosexuals” were not to be trusted, but what I was experiencing was the opposite.

While I was in the woods near the Russian River, Kenn took me to a gay bar.  I can’t recall one thing about being there that made me uncomfortable, that is until I got home and told someone about it.  I quickly discovered a “don’t look, don’t tell” applied at all times.  For the first time in nine years, I felt as if I was in danger of having disciplinary action taken against me.  

“Hey man, don’t be going to no gay bars.  Someone is liable to get the wrong idea aboucha.” My supervisors told me.

“Sure thing, sarge.” I agreed, but in my heart, I began to question the ridiculous policy.  Once again, I belonged to a repertoire theater group where I knew some of the members were gay, but I wasn’t going to say anything.  I would keep my mouth shut.

Meanwhile, I was pegged to go to Panama a year after Manuel Noriega had been removed from power in a direct military action few knew about.  There was some tension in Panama City close to where Howard Air Base was located, but on the other side of the Panama Canal.  

During my six months in-country, I rented a bicycle with my assistant and rode out to the military compound that used to be Noriega’s summer home.  There were two armed guards and a chain was put across the driveway.    

When I got home, my second marriage was over.  My wife had found someone else in my absence.  I knew my life had to change.  

I visited Kenn who told me, “Why don’t you get out of the Air Force and go to school on the Montgomery GI Bill like I did.”

“I don’t know.” I shrugged.

“Why not? What do you have to lose?” He nodded.

“I’ve got a dozen years in.” I shook my head.

“So? What will that mean to you in ten years?” He raised an eyebrow, “I’m thinking about getting my master's in political science.”

“Sounds like a plan.” I agreed.

“I’m going to stay here and commute.” He nodded, “The AIDs epidemic is getting really bad in the city.” 

Acquired Immune Deficiency or AIDs had ravaged the gay community and made people afraid to associate with anyone who was homosexual.  There were so many myths that spread quicker than the disease.  There was no cure at the time, but there were plenty of fear mongers who claimed that this was God’s punishment for sodomy.

Problem was, the God I had learned about in parochial school had not sent pestilence as punishment since the Old Testament. It was still horrible to hear the news speak of another famous person who had succumbed to AIDs through the Human Immunodeficiency Virus (HIV).  

Randy Slits, a journalist from the San Francisco Chronicle had written about the AIDs in The Band Played On. He had moved to nearby Guerneville and was now dying from the disease he had written about to awaken the country to this new epidemic.  Kenn was not above taking an active role in the community as he would deliver meals to those who were in the final stages of the illness.

When I left Rio Nido, I had contacted a man who owned a cabin in Canyon Two that he was trying to rent.  I met him at the cabin and noticed that I could just about reach the front doorknob at the same time I could the back doorknob.  It was a tiny place, but the deck ran completely around the cabin.  I wasn’t planning to spend much time indoors anyway.  The rent was reasonable, so I signed the least.

My next step was to notify personnel that I would not be reenlisting in December as scheduled.  This would take about ten minutes.  They were offering an early-out bonus around sixty thousand.  My second wife filed for divorce but wanted a share of the early out bonus.  She was willing to take me to court over it, but I decided not to fight it in court.  When I got my bonus, she would get half and that would be that.

In September 1991, I took terminal leave and moved into my new cabin.  Kenn came over and told me he would be starting post graduate classes in a week.  I pulled up near my house, but my Dodge Ram truck would not fit in the tiny driveway, so I made arrangements with Kenn to park in front of his cabin.  I hated to inconvenience him, but I had no choice.  

The next morning my truck would not start.  My filter was clogged from the moisture.  After an hour, I managed to get it started, because the sun was finally able to break through the three-hundred-foot redwoods.  There were several backfires, but I was able to drive into Santa Rosa to register for classes. 

When I finished registering for classes at Santa Rosa Junior College, I had trouble starting the truck again, so I decided to head for the Hyundai Dealership where I paid for a new car at twenty thousand with everything included.  So much for my early-out bonus. 

Kenn set me up with a date with one of the people he worked with down at Santa Rosa City Management.  She picked the place we would dine at, but after the date told me that we’d be better off as friends.  I was relieved because I was still pretty torn up after my divorce.  

As it turned out, she ended up taking me to different places in the county since this was (and still is) her home.  Sonoma ends in the west at Goat’s Rock near Jenner by the Ocean.  I put my foot in the water and an hour later I got the feeling back in my toes again.  We went to Bodega where Alfred Hitchcock filmed The Birds.  The old church was still there so some very vocal sea lions begging for fish at the docks.  

On the weekends, Kenn would take me on the road to practice driving my car with a standard transmission.  I had nearly killed him a few times, but after a couple weeks I was getting the hang of shifting gears.  The first day I drove to work at R-House which was about twenty-five miles away from my cabin, I prayed that I would not have to stop at a red light or stop sign.  I almost made it, but through a miracle, I was able to make it to work where I came to a very abrupt stop.  It is hard to believe that I was closing in on forty years of age and I was just learning how to drive a standard.

Kenn wanted to go to a winery in the coastal hills.  I was driving my standard when we went up a steep grade hill.  I did my best, but when we reached the top, I stalled the engine, and we began to roll down the hill.  At the end of the hill were the jagged rocks of the Pacific Ocean.  Rather than die in a fiery crash, steered the stalled car into a ditch.  

“Now what?” I was frustrated.

“We could walk, but it’s another ten miles uphill.” His sarcasm was always present.

Just then a BMW pulled up behind us.  Out of the car came five guys dressed in lederhosen.  To this day, I swear they each were saying, “Hip, hip hip” as they lifted the car out of the ditch and put us back on the road as if it was nothing. Then as quick as they came, they disappeared and drove ahead of us.  I was able to get us moving again even though we got to the winery a few minutes before closing.  Funny thing, driving back down the hill was a heck of a lot easier. 

In three months, I had adjusted to my new home.  My cabin was the epitome of cozy due to its tiny size, but my dog Jordan and two cats Whiskers and Bandit had adjusted to our new domicile quite well.  Jordan liked to hike the steep canyon our cabin was pushed up against, but there were pot fields up there with boobie traps.  One night, I heard her crying from a distance and when I followed my ears, I found her tied to a stake up there with a noose around her neck.  I never let her go up there again. 

I also found out my neighbor had been giving Jordan treats.  He liked me and wanted to lure me overusing Jordan who liked everybody.  One day I noticed he had cut down a redwood tree on his property, so he had a better view into my cabin.  I put up some curtains and closed them.

On our trip into Guerneville, my friend told me she needed to get a birthday present, so we stopped at a small local shop called, “Up the River.”  It was a shop for men’s gag gifts. I looked at this and that, but it was all obscene stuff.  Then as I walked to another section of the store, a bearded clerk dressed like a fairy used his duster to dust me off as my friend doubled over in laughter.

“Now you can say you’ve been dusted off by a fairy.” She howled.

After living on the Russian River for a year in between the redwoods, I was invited to a party to meet someone who was not an alcoholic or drug addict since everyone I worked with at R-House were in recovery just like the kids assigned to our residential treatment center.  I got my California Class A drivers’ license in Eureka, and I was in charge of driving a select number of kids to local AA/NA meetings.  I listened to stories I will never repeat.

I was not in recovery, but I had gained a pretty good grasp of what the twelve-step program was all about.  Because I was not in recovery, I was not trusted by the others. Some of the boys would ask me why I was a counselor at a place when I wasn’t an addict or alcoholic.  When I answered, they would look at me like they didn’t believe me.

So, frustrated that working at R-House was not going to produce any satisfying results, I went to the party to be with my friends.

And there she was.  She had the most beautiful blue eyes I had ever seen.  Despite the fact when I moved, I had told Kenn I did not want to get married again.  Twice was enough for me.  I was going to eat those words.  I could not take my eyes off her and that was thirty years ago, and I still have not taken my eyes off her.

“You know, I am the only one alive who has met your three wives.” Kenn told me soon after our wedding on December 15, 1995, in Chugiak, Alaska.  

Kenn completed his masters’ degree about the same time, and he went on to become a town manager in Florida near his sister.  

“I really regret not being available when you moved to the river.” He would say when he came to visit, “But I’m glad you found someone.” 

“You played a part in it.  You introduced me to your friend who then introduced me to Amy.  It all worked out.” 

Kenn and I were friends for over thirty years until he passed away from a heart attack in his home in Edna, Texas where he had been town manager until they decided at a city council meeting that he had to go.  Between his sexual orientation and his never-ending sarcasm, he had become disliked by the mayor.  They paid him a severance and one night his heart stopped beating.  I did not find out about this until six months after he passed.  Perhaps that was the hardest part of the whole thing, was not finding out right away.

A year before he passed, I was being shown the curb by the town of Gilbert, AZ.  In order to do a short sale on my two-story home, I had to get rid of four house cats, Sugar, Indy, Bela, and Honey.  Kenn said he’d meet us halfway.  He had just lost the cat he had for over fifteen years. So, we would meet him in a town in west Texas and he would take our cats.  

I remember watching him drive away with my cats, knowing there was no one I wanted more to have them. I knew he’d take care of them.  And he did from what I was told by his friend who told me he had passed.  He managed to find homes for each of them.

From time to time, I see something that reminds me of him.  We weren’t supposed to be friends.  I thought he was a jerk when he first opened his mouth, but as our lives blazed on, I realized that we should not discount anyone we encounter in our journey through life.  

“We may not see each other for a long period of time, “He was proud of saying, “But when we get together, we just pick right up where we left off.” 

Right, you are my friend, right you are.