After a harrowing taxi ride to the Hudson river, we board the boat for a dinner cruise of New York bay. This little excursion is sponsored by the gay parents group, so we know most of the people on board, at least by sight. We float up and down the Hudson river, then around to the East river, then out by Ellis Island and the Statue of Liberty.

Wow! What an incredible experience. New York is beautiful by night. All the lights and great big buildings were pretty intriguing for us small town Midwesterners. After sunset the night was getting a bit chilly. It was quite overcast, and began to drizzle. It didn't matter. We were seeing New York from a totally different perspective. We were wandering around the deck with a friend named Andre, from southern California, when we neared the Statue.

****Ladies and gentlemen, we interrupt this mess for a sightseeing suggestion from Tour Guide Yip.*****

If you're ever in New York, a trip to the Statue of Liberty is a MUST. I had been there back in the 60's, when one could still climb to the top. I did. I was going to count the steps, but I've never been real good at focusing on a task. I quit at 28. Back then, when I was 15, I didn't fully grasp the meaning of Lady Liberty. I was more interested in looking at the other guys walking around Liberty Island.

This time, at night, there were lights all around her and she was amazing. It's hard not get all verklempt looking at her, knowing and appreciating what she stands for. It was hard for me, anyway.

A big shout out and thank you to the people of France.

*****We now return to our regularly scheduled mess.*****

So we float around Manhattan Island for a while. Somewhere near the southern tip, over on the East river side, was a large, huge really, glass building right by the river. It looked like some sort of greenhouse, but I have no idea what it really was. In the spirit of the events happening in New York at the time (zeitgeist, if you will, and I KNOW you will), someone had placed colored lights in the building forming a giant rainbow flag.

We OWNED Manhattan.

The next day a parade was planned. Actually two parades. The «unofficial» parade was organized primarily by AIDS activists. It would start at the Stonewall Inn, going north to Central Park.

The other parade, which was the only one originally planned, was to be a general celebration of gay pride, and the closing of the Gay Games. This is the parade Fred and I walked in. We met up with the gay parents contingent and walked for miles. There were drag queens in sparkly gowns and heels. There were leather boys in their harnesses. There were Dykes on Bikes, churches, taverns, PFLAG, and hundreds of groups representing the local, national and international gay community. There were women and men in all manner of dress and undress.

Mayor (at that time) Giuliani marched, as did all sorts of politicians and celebrities. One highlight (there were dozens!) was a mile-long, 30 foot wide rainbow flag. A MILE LONG rainbow flag. The flag reportedly weighed over 7,000 pounds. People had paid for the privilege of helping to carry the mile long flag, the money to be donated to AIDS service organizations. Pictures of the flag, and the march, would appear in newspapers all around the country the next day.

As thousands of marchers – and the flag – passed the United Nations building, we could hear in the distance ahead, «SHAME! SHAME! SHAME! SHAME!»

What the hell?

A few minutes later it was clear what the shouting was about. There, in all his vileness, was Fred Phelps. He and his pathetic klan, including the children, were holding their placards reading «God Hates Fags» and other non-sage little missives. As the marchers passed, everyone took up the chant. «SHAME! SHAME!» Punctuating each «SHAME» with arms outstretched, pointing to him.

He enjoyed it of course. He just stood there, leaning on his sign, with a maniacal grin. Apparently gay bashing takes its toll on a person. The old bastard looked as if he had died years ago, without benefit of embalming.

To their great credit, no drag queens stabbed him with their stiletto heels. No leather folks wrapped harnesses around his neck and squeezed. No Dyke on a Bike ran over the sick old fool. I know it was tempting, though. Yelling «SHAME!» at him and showing a middle finger now and then was as vicious as it got. Fuck him! We had better things to focus on. Besides, it's pretty easy for 654,000 of your closest friends to shout down the Anti-Christ and his minions. We were all too FABULOUS that day to be bothered by him. WE owned Manhattan – he was merely an annoying gnat easily swatted away and not given a second thought.

We marched to about 59th Street (?), took a hard left turn, and walked toward Central Park. We saw women leaning bare-chested out of apartment windows, waving. We saw men hanging from street signs and standing on top of parked cars watching the parade, mostly shirtless. If they had shirts on, the guys in the parade started yelling, «Take it off! Take it off!» They did! I've never seen so many handsome men and so many mouth-watering bodies.

We met up with the other parade at Columbus Circle, one entrance to Central Park. There were tens of thousands of people in Columbus Circle and surrounding streets. Over a loud speaker, some announcements were made, then, a moment of silence for AIDS patients and victims. The streets were totally FULL of people. Shoulder to shoulder, we were packed in. Thousands. Maybe hundreds of thousands. Everything was totally silent. Totally. Not a bird chirping, not a horn honking, nobody talking.

Total silence.

It was one of the most remarkable things I've ever witnessed. It was more than remarkable. It was, somehow, spiritual. Thousands of people in this huge city, yet total silence. I saw butch women with tears in their eyes. I saw big, burly leather guys with lower lips trembling.

And total silence.

Then the moment was over. People started hugging each other as we moved toward the park.

Stages were set up for entertainment and guest speakers. We walked all around the park, listening to speeches, hearing singers in the distance, watching the people and getting high on the community spirit. Occasionally we'd see somebody with a Gay Games medal around their neck.

«Congratulations!»

At any gay celebration, I like to make a point of thanking the police for being there, even though I know it's just part of their job. I like to think that MAYBE if they're the bigoted type, they might take something good away from the day, even if it's as simple as someone saying 'thank you' to them.

We were standing across the street from the Dakota apartments. There were two (very) cute cops on the park side of the street, talking and watching the crowd. They became my targets. (Hey, I'm a gay man. In spite of my heavy-duty uniform fantasy, there's no way I'm going to voluntarily approach a cop that isn't cute.)

«Excuse me, is that the Dakota?» I ask, knowing full well it was.

«Yeah.» said one of the coppers.

«Neat. Hey, I want to thank you guys for being here today. We all appreciate it.»

«No problem. Everybody's been pretty well behaved, and we're having fun too.»

«Well, thank you.»

I walk away, my uniform fantasy reaching a peak.

«Did you see those cops? DAMN!!» I said to Fred.

He was looking at them, «Oh yeah. The one with the black hair is hot! Did you ask to see his nightstick?»

«I should have. I hope they don't think me rude for not asking. Actually, I just gushed like a smitten schoolgirl.»

After several hours in the park, we made our way back to the relative straightness of White Plains and ultimately to the uber straightness of the Midwest.

I found out later that the city of New York had 6,200 police officers – the largest number ever for a single event – on duty that day, and that the parade was the largest gay-themed, citywide activity to date. NO arrests were made. It was a totally peaceful celebration. Gay humans at their best, just being themselves.

I know that New York City is historically liberal in regard to social issues, and that gay pride parades are usually not a big deal there, but…for that short time, we OWNED Manhattan.

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