DIARY OF A MADBEAR
1967, June 16, 7:29 AM EDT, Hotel Dieu Hospital, Kingston, Ontario, Canada- Born, at the modestly Cubby weight of 6 pounds, 10 ounces (at the moment the day and night shift changed, launching a pattern of falling between the cracks). That evening, the Monterey Pop Festival began in California, a state whose symbol, I need hardly tell you, is a Bear. Thus, a lifelong obsession with music and ursines began. (So it’s a stretch – the days of bearded comets and wolves that speak are past – one takes one’s portents where one can).
September 1967 to early 1971 – Lived in Germany, a country famous for bearded big men in leather pants (albeit armed with accordions – but that may be where my interest in torture play comes in…). Who knows what influence this may have had on a young psyche? (Danke schoen, Deutschland!)
1971 to 1975 – Back in Kingston. Played hockey – recognized as a potential biggie, as I was goalie. Have no memories of noticing the other boys in the shower (we were the Beavers – make of that what you will…), but I WAS a youngster, and I am suspicious of people who tell me they wanted to suck off their buddy Johnny when they were five. However, I developed an early appreciation of the importance of kneepads and helmets (the British among you may grasp the pun in the latter bit of equipment), and skill at holding and restraining other guys. J
I DO remember enjoying the fact that my best friend’s mother always drove too fast when she took us to Sunday School, thus forcing me to be squished up against him when she took corners at a breakneck pace. I recall not minding that in the slightest… J
Made a point of watching TV cowboy shows in the hopes someone would be tied up with his shirt open revealing hair tufts (not consciously, but I DO have a strong memory of finding that kind of scene interesting…and I wanted to be the Indian in childhood play, because they got to tie up the cowboys…). Managed to sustain head injuries in this time period. Those with smart remarks quivering on their lips will contemplate how much bigger and meaner I am than them.
1975 to 1978 – Lived in Nova Scotia. Saw Jungle Book – wanted to learn to accentuate the positive, preferably under the tutelage of Baloo (I was also a Cub at the time – surprise…). Saw A&W © Root Bear at a parade in New Brunswick – according to my Daddy (notes: (a) don’t bother and (b) EWWWWW!!), I nearly jumped out of my shorts with excitement when I heard that familiar tuba tune and asked him to pick me up so I could see the orange-garbed one. Also used to watch: Man From Atlantis (you wouldn’t think someone who lived underwater would have chest hair, as it could hardly be efficient, but he did, luckily); Bigfoot and Wildboy (Bear and Cub, anyone?); and Star Wars, for Chewbacca. Bought a comic book called The C.B. Bears, largely for the fact it featured such characters (well, that and it happened that one of the fellows loathed coleslaw, as did/do I). Lyle Waggoner on The Carol Burnett Show (it was the Seventies – open shirt, chest hair, etc.) and in his turn as Steve Trevor on Wonder Woman (no showing, but had my suspicions), and Lee Majors from Six Million Dollar Man (woof!) were also early crushes (if Leif Garrett had had any hair of his own under the murder-coat he was wearing in a pinup my sister had on her wall, he might have been too…thank heavens for genetics…). I think I found The Country Bears from Disney scary (too Westworld…we’re talking about the Animatronic characters here, not the movie…more on THAT later…), but the bumbling bear in their cartoons who was up against the fussy forest ranger was a favourite as well. I didn’t care for Yogi (in that pantheon, I preferred SnagglePuss), but did admire Boo Boo.
I remember wanting Blondie’s first album (two years before they became popular), largely because of Clem Burke (my mother assumed it was for Debbie Harry, and I think I was savvy enough not to correct her, though I also didn’t get it, because I think only my sister had a turntable in those days, and would not share). I was pleased last year to see a picture of Clem that proved he was superwoofy AND had a beard at the start of the band – clearly, I was sensing the inner Bear, even at a tender age.
1978 to 1979 – Lived in Kemptville, Ontario. Not one of my most pleasant childhood homes, sad to say, except for: Mark, the one friend I had there (he would have been 13, and was already getting a ‘stache, and, believe me, I noticed J ); and one of my teachers, to whom I have promised my first book, assuming I write one and find him, so mayhaps I should not name him, but, oh! the beard and the red hair on him (curly, everywhere (well, it’s a given in areas I wasn’t thinking THAT much of in those days)). I helped to edit the poetry ‘zine we put out, volunteered to clean erasers, etc. Of course, my opinion of him was marred by his having an affair with another teacher’s wife (ewww, a girl! ewww, someone else’s partner! Ewww, a CO-WORKER!), and he evidently left town at the end of the year in which I also fled. Nevertheless, easily probably one of the first crushes where I KNEW I was crushin’.
Started to watch Battle of the Planets, whose Jason actually had some chest hair (name another anime character who did…).
1979 to 1984 – Lived in Ottawa, Ontario. Became friends with Scott, who was another furry redhead (do you sense a pattern?) – last I saw him, the fire had gone out a bit in terms of shade, but he still had an impressive set of ‘burns. Met other young people in Grade 7 and 8 with whom I began to suspect I had certain things in common (ironically, we called ourselves ‘The Out Crowd’, and tended to have problems in the schoolyard, so stayed in at lunch and recess when we could – my followup sources, scant as they are, suggest more than a few of us are 'out’ in another sense…at least one of the boys had Bear potential, as I recall). Slept with Bill, a stocky, fuzzy blond (just slept with, sad to say) with an endearing, sparkly personality and a cute little ‘stache. As I recall, his bed had a big brown furry throw on it that it was a little fun to pretend was a Bear (it was not).
Used to eat at a restaurant that had a collage on the table which included Patti Smith (who I thought was a pretty, skinny boy with a potential ‘stache– I was slightly disappointed when I learned otherwise…). Some time towards the end of my stay in Ottawa, was hit on by someone while waiting for a bus (asking me if I had a girlfriend, where was I going, did I wait for a bus here often, etc. – Degrassi hitchhiking-homosexual-pick-up inquiries). I was oblivious, a state in which I remain – you’ve got to be blatant for me to notice. I was certainly aware he seemed more interested in me than most 20/30somethings were, but I had cultivated the friendship of older folks most of my life, so I just thought it odd anyone was clicking with me so quickly. Perhaps fortunately, nothing happened…though I had started reading books on homosexuality by the time I was 13 or so (in French), it was largely because I knew around people me were. Myself, I did not have a clear portrait of yet.
1984 to 2002 – In Kingston, Ontario again. Once again, at a school with a homosexual clique, of which I had no clue (later learned they had considered me and concluded I was asexual or straight…of course…having met a few of them later, I realized several were in the controversial Sociology class in which I did a talk on homosexuality (without outing myself – honestly…), and said nothing whatsoever in my defense when I was being, as it were, pounded – and, in response to any number of apologists, if you are not going to speak up when people are being irrational all around you, you may have forfeited the right for me to speak in your defense either…though I cannot be that cruel, much as the words of Cardinal Niemoller about nobody being left to speak for one come to mind as a possible defense…of course, considering one of the school jocks could be there, hear my talk, then ask me how I would react if some guy hit on me (my response then? ‘I’d be flattered’ - seemed the safest reply…), and then NOT beat me up or anything at the response, I was not exactly in that much intellectual or physical peril, but still…).
Dated a girl with a bit of a ‘stache in Grade 12. She was a nice person, but I think I was beginning to realize that the facially-follicled folk I was seeking out probably had cocks as well…
University, 1986-1991. Best friend in first and second year was a fag. Had no clue about him until he told me, though I certainly knew he was gay-positive (he is now with a big ol’ Bear of a guy in Arizona). Met someone during orientation week that I barely knew then or now. Shook hands, and knew he was a fag. Nothing to do with a limp shake – just this weird kind of electrical thing (he’s evidently a Cub these days, so perhaps that was it…). Came out myself on December 31, 1987 as a statement, though took me far too many years to put practice to theory…but I found a great teacher/student, so I shouldn’t complain too much, even if he finds some of my bear obsessions tiresome (I try not to point at every big bellied bearded boy and say ‘bear, bear, bear!’ anymore – I can’t say I always succeed…but, inexplicably, my sweet Arne loves me anyway – I think…he’s kind of an Otter, in a Great-Dane-oh-my-god-I-hope-he-doesn’t-get-any-taller mode…).
Now the interesting queer theory question. WHEN did I first hear about Bears? I THINK it was around the early 90s. I believe I ran across a reference to them while doing research for a play I was involved with. I pretty much KNOW that I had heard of the idea in 1994, because I wrote a poem called ‘The Beautiful Bear’, and I know that I was consciously punning – I can tell by the style. In those days, however, I was pretty much identifying as a ‘Punk’, though not in any kind of Exploited uniform-mohawk-nihilism way (politically, then and now, I would have identified as socialist…), and, also, my work environment meant that growing a beard and the like would be difficult (you COULD, but it had to be NEAT AT ALL TIMES, and, really, who grows a perfect beard with no intermediate ‘what’s that dirt smeared unevenly on your face’ stage?), so any in-depth exploration would have been tough (plus, I was recovering from university, financially and personally, and any amount of traveling out of town to seek out these Bear critters, even had I known where to look, would have been difficult…).
Of course, had I known of people like Gary Floyd (from Dicks, Sister Double Happiness and Black Kali Ma), Martin Sorrondeguy (Los Crudos) and perhaps even Bob Mould (Husker Du, Sugar), I would have known there were Bear Punks too…but I didn’t… L
Then, when I did hear about Bears, I heard some stuff about ‘Real Men’, not liking twinks, etc. Now, look, I do tend to be a little more robust than some of my nelly neighbours, and I do, for the most part, prefer a fella with some fur and fat, but I am not a ‘Real Man’, and I love my twink friends (sometimes – not, perhaps, when they go on about how I should dress better, but, hey, I offer them the same type of advice, and they react with pretty much the same disdain…’hey, babe, you won’t be getting my clothes off me in any sense of the phrase, anyway, so don’t stress,’ is the best reciprocal attitude, I think…). If I want to set off fag alerts, I will, if that’s how I feel on a given day.
Luckily, in recent years, I have met some fellow Bears who seem less, er, rigid than the stereotype (which is spread by the type of gay mags I should be suspicious of, anyway), thanks to nice folks like the Gen-X Bears. One in particular, who we shall call Ray (Furry redhead, again…), has been instrumental in helping me feel more at home in bear circles, and I thank him profusely with Timmybearhugs. Thanks, Ray – you’re a sweetheart. J
Oh, yes – Country Bears, the movie? Loved it. Great songs – wonderful big furry characters – and it enabled Queen Latifah to accept her inner Bear (even if Elton John says at the end that he never liked Bears – well, I never much liked 'Candle In The Wind’, and I liked what you did to it as a ‘tribute’ to Diana Spencer even LESS…so, nyahhh, Sir…), in addition to having a nice message about acceptance and finding one’s place in the world. A shame it didn’t do better…As to Bear In The Big Blue House? To quote Pip and Pop, his lavender (heh) otters (double heh): "WE LOVE FRUITS!"
And now to commit a crime for which the ghosts of Johnny Thunders, Jerry Nolan, Billy Murcia and Arthur Kane should be able to haunt me for all time, and David Johansen and Sylvain Sylvain (heck, even Rick Rivets, though he was never in any recorded version of the Dolls - ditto for Blackie Lawless - in fact, let open season be declared on my legal ass... :) ) should be able to sue…
"With this fur on my face, it’s so easy to see – I’m from Bearbylon." (New York Dolls, ‘Babylon’ (loosely indeed))
glossary
Bear –
Very approximately, a big furry gay man.Cub
– sometimes a smaller bear. Sometimes a younger bear. Sometimes just someone who says they’re one. Important to note: it is not necessarily ‘cub is to bear’ as ‘sub is to dom’ or ‘bottom is to top’. You could get in some very awkward situations if you make those assumptions…of course, you might WANT to get into those situations, but that’s your call… JOtter
– more or less, a thinner Bear.There are evidently some other distinctions, categories, etc., but I’m not trying to cover all the bases. I am but one big Bear…I can’t be everywhere at once * sob, sniffle, stick paw in honey jar *.
(Note: In response to the obvious question, I actually was a depraved, er, deprived child - I did not own a teddy bear until 1993, when someone I knew gave me one that reached up to about my waist...and, no, Dr. Freud does not have to be called in - but thank you for your dirty mind...)