Category: Mustaches

…of a boy who called San Francisco home at the same time I did.  For all I know this is the boy, as the vintage of the photo—not to mention that 'stache—certainly seems on point.  For the longest time I only referred to him as "Mr. Mustache" (for obvious reasons).

The night before the gay parade in 1988 I spotted him wander into The Detour as I was walking up Market Street. The Detour wasn't really my cup of tea, but I followed him in and after he'd made a circuit around the bar, he turned around and left. I don't know if he was looking for someone specifically, or if no one piqued his interest.

Undeterred, I also left the bar and followed him further up Market to where he'd parked his car. As he was walking a couple guys passed him and yelled, "Hey Chuck!"

Chuck. I could finally attach a name to the boy.

I ran into him again later that summer at—of all places—The Whispering Bushes at the end of Golden Gate Park. We didn't hook up, but we started talking as we walked along the main path and ended up crossing the Great Highway to sit on the sea wall bordering Ocean Beach to watch the sun set. As I recall he was having boyfriend problems and just needed someone to talk to. I obliged.

After the sun slipped under the horizon he thanked me for listening, and said he needed to get home. We exchanged names but not phone numbers, and never did hook up—although afterward he always greeted me with a warm smile whenever our paths crossed.