The Tommy Page

 Old photos can be illuminating, and the black and white prints illustrated here are stunning, for they document a sometimes murky past.

 The past generations of my mother’s ancesteral lineage are illustrated here: (upper left) are: (left to right):  Great Grandmother Tucker, Great Great Grandmother Savage and Great Great Great Grandmother Foren. The boy in the foreground is our mother’s uncle,  Archie Tucker. The photo was taken in Portland, Oregon, at the address written on the back of the photo: 3238 Terry Street.

Take note of Ms. Foren. She is full-blooded American Indian - an exciting revelation to come from such a heritage!

The second photo (upper right side) depicts the same three generations of women. (Left to Right): Bill Savage, Great Grandmother Tucker, Great Great Grandmother Savage, Great Great Great Grandmother Foren. The boy seated cross-legged in the foreground is our Mother’s uncle, Archie Tucker.

It is so true -   A picture tells a thousand words…

 I recently saw a 1943 film entitled, “Song For Bernadette,” starring Jennifer Jones. It was a movie based on a true story about a poor young girl named Bernadette from the small town of Lourdes, France, who one day encountered the sight and sound of a mysterious “lady” who appearred and spoke insightful spiritual messages.

Strange and oddly magical, the “lady” appearred so that only young Bernadette could see her. Illuminated, glowing and sharing spiritual secrets, Bernadette was transfixed by this miraculous event.

Bernadette’s vision became  a huge sensation in 1856 across the land. She was made fun of, criticized, scrutinized and even ridiculed, and yet she remained truthful and dedicated to paying a ritualistic visit to see the lady each and every day for fifteen days in a row, as instructed. Whether religious leaders or other skeptics threatened young Bernadette, she stayed humbled as she remained loyal to the Lady and the messages shared…

When the town populace and noteworthy town officials doubted Bernadette’s special vision, those who followed her and those who scorned her, both, followed Bernadette as she continued on with her 15 day vigil. With hundreds of witnesses looking on, still only Bernadette could see and talk to the Lady…

Bernadette was given special instructions by the Lady - “…Drink of the spring and wash there…” Although there was no spring visible, Bernadette ran to a place in the dirt where she started to dig vigorously in search of water. Despite the fact there was no spring water in the hole in which she dug, Bernadette began rubbing her face with mud that came from the hole. The hundreds of skeptic onlookers laughed and scorned the young girl when they saw her dig and swipe the mud to her face. Still, Bernadette was unaffected by the ridicule she received by the multitudes…

Shortly after Bernadette had left the vicinity where the Lady had appearred, water began to flow forth from the very spot she had dug. Viewing this as a miraculous event, the townspeople built a stone wall about the spring where the waters were contained. Almost instantly, people who had contact with the waters were healed: a man who had been blinded in one eye developed complete vision; a woman who’s baby had developed paralysis was miraculously healed when she dunked the infant’s body into the spring water…

The town of Lourdes was beseiged with the sick and suffering, who, too, wanted miraculous healing from the spring waters. Still, when skeptic town and church officials began reacting from the onslaught of world wide acclaim, Bernadette was questioned with skepticism. Members of clergy were gealous that a simpleton like Bernadette was to become the point of interest, rather than themselves. Innocent of materialistic wealth and still humble, the young girl volunteered to become a lowly servant girl at the nunnery. In attempt to control the miraculous event and the spring waters, the town attempted to close the spring. To no avail when the King of France declared the spring waters be made available to all, the crowds continued pouring in, determined to find cures for ailments…In spite of all her suffering, Bernadette still proclaimed that ‘yes, she did see the lady…”

One of the messages delivered to Bernadette by the Lady had been, “…You will not be happy in this life, but happy in the next life…” After suffering as a servant girl in the nunnery and then being afflicted with terminal bone marrow cancer, young Bernadette became severely ill. Tragically, the young servant girl who had inspired so many died. “I cannot use the spring water,” she tells those who wish her to use the miraculous waters she had helped discover. At the very end of her life, as Bernadette laid in bed near death succumbing to cancer, she was paid one final visit by the Lady who escorted the poor girl into the gates of Heaven…

Although I am not a person who belongs to any organized religion, I was deeply inspired by this film and the young protagonist, Bernadette. Like Bernadette, I believe that magic, goodness and yes, miracles exist and do occur in every day life. We must simply take notice of those little events - the sparkle of sun light in a gorgeous body of water; the cry of a baby; the sound of music that moves us to tears; the simple kind deeds and words we people chose to share with others….

All of Life is a Miracle. We must simply be in tune to take note of the miracles that inhabit all of our lifes every single day!

     To understand why a person evolves, and in that process becomes a conservative, a liberal, or any other particular political mind set, it becomes a useful analysis to take a closer look into the past hisory of that individual. Like a social anthropologist, perhaps, it becomes enlightening to excavate the layers of past history, to unearth the truths which more often then not unveil the further revelations as to why we procalaim ourselves Republican, Democrat, Socialist, Civil Libertarian, Conservative, Liberal, Apolitical, Anarchist…

     In my case, I was born in the right place, the right time, at the precipice of liberalism. My first home was an apartment in the heart and soul of the progressive movement - Berkely, California; circa 1961. My mother, Joni, tells me that through the kitchen window she could hear and see college students protesting against the Viet Nam War. I was but a baby at the time, but perhaps the sights and sounds affected me even then. Perhaps these sensibilities seeped in, somehow, setting the mold for who I would become, who I would be - a proud liberal.

                                        - MY PARENTS -

My Father - 

     Both of my parents, Thom J. Skiens and Joni Ernest, originated from a small town in southern Oregon, Klamath Falls, a region known for its potatoe farms and lumber mills. Although both of my parents were from the same small town, they were from opposite ends of the little town social strata. While my father’s childhood and upbringing was relatively idyllic (despite of a few family tragedies to be explained later), my mother’s earliest family life included dysfunctional characteristics, such as alcoholism and poverty.

     At the age of 8, my father, Thom, lost his beautiful older sister, Elinore, who after a torturous struggle of bone cancer died at the age of 18 years old. By all accounts, he was a “well behaved boy,” bringing home straight A report cards and becoming a heralded Eagle Scout, an achievement which delivered him to the much celebrated Boy Scout Jamboree. His parents, (Cecile and Thom R. Skiens I) a railroad worker and a clerical worker, rewarded their only son by helping him purchase what he later described as the best car owned by any teenagers in the small town, circa mid 1950’s. With model behavior and a straight-laced lifestyle, Thom J. Skiens was well primed by the time he became a young man. He was popular, clean cut, wholesome and the only child. He went into college and then into the air force. He had gained  love and support from his stable working class parents. He had survived child hood living in the calm peaceful middle class suburbs. The pattern had been set for young Thom. He would undoubtedly live the good life, The American Dream.

     Tragedies had occurred in his life, though: While in a car filled with other popular teenagers from his high school, one of the teens playfully turned the key while it was still in the ignition. This deed, however unintentional, served to lock the steering wheel, which caused the vehicle to careen, then crash off the side of the winding wildnerness road. One of the passengers, a young teenage girl, was decapitated. Young Thom was thrown into a pile of ants where his back was broken. He was paralyzed for nearly a year. His mother, Cecile, later told the story - “…Every day on the radio, it would be reported about Tommy’s condition - ‘Tommy can move his toes, Tommy can move his toes…’” Despite an uncomfortable back brace he had to wear and severe pain, young Thom went on to join the air force.

     In 1957 while Thom was driving to Witchita, Kansas, where he was stationed in the air force, he encountered still another tragic car accident. While his father, Thomas R. Skiens I, was seated in the passenger seat and his mother in the back seat, a drunk driver swerved into their lane on the narrow highway, coming right at them. To avoid a certain head-on, my father quickly twisted the steering wheel to the right. The rapid turn was so abrupt, so hard, it flung the passenger side door open, whereupon Thom R. Skiens I, was violently thrown from the vehicle and into the field. With the car out of control, it tragically rolled over on top of the elder Skiens, killing him.

     It was only a few years later that my father met my mother, who in spite of her relatively different social class, was viewed as the perfect wife for a young man of such a promising future.

My Mother -

     My mother, Joni, was born in 1941 to a poverty stricken family. She was the third child of what was to become a family of six kids. Sadly, she later related to me, “My parents really didn’t want me. And when they did have me, they had wished I had been a boy they could have named Johnny.”

     Not only was young Joni’s life one of impoverishment, but her father, John Brown, developed severe alcoholism. “In looking back,” Joni related, “he was probably drinking as a means to medicate himself. He was a depressed man and they didn’t have medication for that kind of thing in those days. Drinking probably made him feel better…I was his favorite of the kids and I always felt sorry for him.”

     “My father worked for the mill,” Joni related. “That was terribly hard work. Some times he would intentionally slice off the very tip of one of his fingers knowing that he would receive payments from social security. ” Events like this, perhaps, indicated the economic and other realities of being employed in a harsh setting. A man would do anything to endure, including the defacing of their own fingers to somehow make it.

     “My father was good looking,” Joni recollected. “He would play the guitar and with a cigarette dangling out of his mouth he would strum the guitar while his one eye would squint from the smoke. He smelled like a combination of tobacco and saw dust. I learned to love that smell since it reminded me of him.”

   In spite of sad memories, Joni kept a sense of humor. She was especially close to her older brother, Jim, who in very blunt terms told her the facts of life, such as the non-existence of Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny.

     When Joni’s mother, Virginia, had tired of enduring her husband’s frailties, she left him. Despondent, alcoholic, depressed and without his family, John Brown killed himself in 1953 when Joni was about 12 years old. “My father was hopitalized in the same hospital depicted in the movie, One Flew Over The Cuckoo’s Nest. “

     The absence of a father, however imperfect the man had been, left a lasting impression on young Joni. Although this experience had left her devestated, feeling abandoned at such a young age, young Joni developed a fierce attitude as a means of survival in a 1950’s world filled with uncertainty and unpredictable terror, a world in which girls and women were expected to be pretty and well dressed ladies. This was well before the women’s equal rights movement of the later decades. As it has been described by noteworthy feminists, girls and women of this era  were considered “property,” or “chattle.” The only virtues deemed of particular value at this time was a woman’s genteel beauty, ability to cook, clean and maintain a household, giving birth to babies and staying home, nurturing the family and never ever complaining. Joni was trapped in this 1950’s world. 

     At such a young age, Joni had been forced to grow up before her time. She had already dealt with the serious issues of being poor, being scrutinized for that embarrassing status in a small town school system, (“Everyone knew our dad was the town drunk,” she said), alcoholism, mental illness (although undiagnosed in those days) and then the added social demands where a girl/woman was expected to be pretty, well-behaved, and always lady-like.

     In turth, Joni was defiant and rebellious like her father had been. Her older brother, Jim, had become her role model, a father figure, a hero. Jim was mishievous, rebellious, good looking and defiant in a time when people were either one of two things - good or bad. There were no grey tones in the 1950’s for real people, especially those who stayed living in small towns. Jim was, decidedly, a bad boy.

     When Joni’s mother married another man, Richard Ward, and had made it clear that she didn’t want her blossoming daughter to interfere with the smoothe running new relationship, Joni’s already rebellious nature intensified. “I would take a long leisurely hot bath when I got home,” she recollected. “I knew that he (Richard) would be returning from work and after a long hard day would want to use the bathroom. I would just take my time and enjoy the fact he had to wait for me…” While such a story might amuse some people and, maybe, infuriate others who believe a teenage girl should appreciate a hard-working stepfather, I find it insightful, humorous: In a world where fathers kill themselves and things happen out of control, the only thing a young girl in the 1950’s can control, can count on, is the comforts of a long hot bath to warm the soul.

     It isn’t a wonder that my mother didn’t place education as the priority of her life, for there were other issues to contend with, not to mention the developing of a healthy self esteem. “All my mom ever told me that I was pretty. She told me that I was dumb, so I had best be glad I was pretty,” Joni later said.

     Somehow, Joni managed to endure school until the eighth grade. “We would go in the front door of the high school and then just make our entrance in the back door. It was awful going to school and being made fun of by the rich kids.” Joni was infuriated, embarrassed, as she was scrutinized and judged by other students  in a small town high school. Without a father and a stable home life, school was not the safe haven for an insecure teenage girl. Rather than empathic teachers and supportive peers, Joni was viewed with judgement.

     Joni became infatuated with a young Elvis Presley look-alike, a boy named Bobby Barnes, who she married at the age of 15. “I thought I was totally in love and that I would be perfectly happy with him the rest of my life,” she later reminisced. “He was very dumb, but very good looking.” It is clear that Joni was looking for someone to love, to love her back, to help form the perfect stable family, to solve all her problems that had managed to make her feel unloved, alone, abandoned, deprived of all the healthy things in life other teenagers had taken for granted. When Bobby had notified Joni that he had met another girl, she was hurt, devestated. So, what did all girls in the 1950’s do to remedy a broken heart? To avoid feelings of inadaquacy? To achieve a proper place in a highly sexist environment where girls/women were expected to be fragile, delicate and lady-like? They went to beauty school. “At one point I had pink hair to match my pink dress. I had blue hair to match my blue dress. I thought I was very stylish…and I really was stylish now that I think of it,” she shared with laughter.

     It was while Joni attended beauty school that she met Thom Skiens. “I had never gone out with a blonde man before,” she recollected. “I was so impressed with how he had a good job, how smart he was, that I thought he was a good choice…”

     Thom and Joni were married in the late 1950’s and everything seemed as though it would be happily ever after… 

     Despite the fact Thom and Joni had come from entirely different backgrounds, they were somehow drawn to each other. Both had suffered tragedies; both had lost their fathers due to the impact of somebody’s alcohol abuse - and perhaps, it was because of this similar past experience that the two unlikely small town people met and fell in love.

     The couple married in Reno, Nevada, and after a brief time residing in Klamath Falls, they moved to the Bay Area, where Thom became employed as a calculator salesman for Monroe, Systems For Business. My mother bleached her hair to it’s ultimate platinum shade and now, dressed stylish, modern, she began to come into her own.

  (In the photo to the left, the Skiens couple had paid a visit to hometown, Klamath Falls, Oregon. My mother was pregnant with me and she had just been crying. “I didn’t want to go back to the bay area,” she told me as she described the photo. “Everyone had been so nice to me while I was in my pregnant state.”) 

And Then Came Along Yours Truly…(That’s me, you know…)

     June 25, 1961 - That’s when I came into the picture. “You were a beautiful blonde haired, blue eyed baby,” my mother told me years later. “When some of the other women were crying who had also just had babies, I thought they were crying because you were so much cuter than their babies. Of course, those women had post partum depression!”

     My earliest childhood memories are of a happy - intact - seemingly normal family life. When my parents discovered that another baby was due in late summer of 1962, (my brother, Tony), they moved to the suburban bay area community of San Pablo. We lived in a bright yellow house with white trim. Our mother stayed home like most mother’s of the era and our father spent long hours at work, where he excelled and quickly became the number one sales man where he was employed. 

     On December 23, 1963 my mother had a third baby, Tamara. With two married parents, 3 kids and a dog I named Smelley Nose, the family was complete, even to the point of being somewhat typical and all American.      

(TO BE CONTINUED…)

Some of the most profound and meaningful gifts originate from people and places out of the ordinary. Take for example, last Friday evening, July 13th. I had been to Faces Nightclub, dressed in one of my outlandish ensembles, when I was on my way back to my car. Just outside the club I was stopped by two hispanic men who were telling me how “hot” I looked. Who doesn’t like an occasional compliment? And then, seemingly out of nowhere, and amidst the crowd of people who had also been inside Facces,  just as I was about to continue on my way back to the car, a tiny black woman who stood at about 4′8” perhaps, approached me. I towered above her, especially in my high-heeled boots. Without a word, she handed me a flower - a camelia. Looking down toward her, I sensed this woman was probably homeless. I looked at the flower and said, “I can’t take it.” I told her. “I don’t have any money.” (I had lost ten dolllars earlier while dancing) The little old woman looked up toward me and with a sincerity that moved me, she said, “You don’t have to give me any money. You are an angel. This is for you.” I hugged the little apple annie and thanked her. I was moved by the little gift from this sweet little black woman who appearred out of nowwhere. I placed the blossom in a special place in the consul of my car, where I carried it carefully home, and then to my partner’s home in Forrest Hill where I took the picture above. The theme here: The greatest gifts come from unlikely people and places and sometimes cost nothing….

Happy Fourth of July!

The excitement of Independence Day fireworks can sometimes be illustrated - experienced - in other, less obvious ways. For example, people of all sizes, shapes, colors, dispositions, attitudes and varying personalities are each a fire work unto themsleves - each individual a different vibrancy, a different kind of brilliance. While some fire works are wildly illuminating, thrusting gignatic light into the summer night air, other fire works are decidedly more subtle - quiet little brilliant flickers of varied light darting across the heavens. Like outspoken silly people (myself, for example) who are flamboyant and off-beat, there are other fireworks who are relatively quiet, calm and reflective…                     

The setting for this year’s Fourth Of July barbeque celebration was The Romero House, hosted by Thom Skiens (Sr.). Many human “fireworks” lit up the place : (See photo to left) Mike Canepa (my partner), Mike Parlette, Susie Autrey (M. Parlette’s longtime companion), Tamara Skiens, Jeff (Tami’s boyfriend), Joni Ernest (My mother) and (not pictured) Thom Skiens Jr and Sr. all gathered for hamburgers and other tastey morsels as served by the groups patriarch, Mr. Skiens…

My adorable mother, Joni, invited her new friend, Verne. Dressed appropriately in red and blue, the third symbolic color, white, shone through brilliantly when the couple smiled and laughed with joy on this festive occasion…

…Watermelon - ripe, fresh, juicy, red - Mmmmmmm, delicious!

When all was said and done, everyone enjoyed this year’s Fourth Of July Celebration at The Romero House, thanks to Thom Skiens’ Sr.’s hospitality and warmth. ..Watermelons, anyone?

  We arrived to San Francisco early Friday evening June 29th, just in time to quickly check into the Crown Plaza Hotel where we would be staying for our visit. It was a gorgeous atmosphere in the city with only a slight breeze.

We quickly checked into our three star hotel on Sutter Street. Within a few moments, we were back in the car and heading for Berkley’s Greek Theater to see the “True Colors” concert.

With the sound of Deborah Harry’s voice echoing her 1980’s single “Rush Rush,” we arrived at the Greek Theater in the Berkely Hills near sunset. From our place in the so-called “lawn section” of the amphitheater, the view (see photo to left) was spendid.

Deborah Harry was a tiny spot on the stage, but we could hear my favorite super star ( a Cancer, like me, who would turn 62 years old on July 1st) as she sang old songs and new ones from her forthcoming album called “Necessary Evil,” to be released in early August of this year.

Thousands of people (many gay, many straight) in the audience looked on as it began to get dark. While our “lawn section” seats were priced at $40.00 each, other seats in the front sections went for as much as $500. It was all for a good cause, though : The Mathew Shepherd Foundation and The Human Rights Campaign received 10% of all ticket procedes used to help finance the fight against discrimination of gay, lesbian, bi-sexual and transgender people.

 Following Deborah, another of my heroes, Rosie O’Donnel,appearred on stage.  O’Donnel related her recent experiences leaving the popular daytime talk show, “The View” - something about having ‘high heels put in her back’ by the other members of the cast. O’Donnel went on to relate to the audience how men like millionaire Donald Trump (and other detractors) who didn’t like her didn’t have anything to say about her except the words “fat, gay, fat, gay, fat, gay, fat, gay, fat, gay…” O’Donnel made some comments about the anti-gay Republican Party and thousands laughed, of course.

  The famous 1980’s gay rock band, Erasure, performed all their hits, much to the delight of fans. People were dancing and singing along with the melodic music and familiar lyrics.

Cindy Lauper, the organizer of the “True Colors” concert events, was the last to perform. In her trademark outlandish flamboyant attire, she spoke to the audience words about tolerance for gay and lesbian people. She sang all her songs, including “Girls Just Wanna Have Fun” and the concert’s name sake, “True Colors.”

As my partner, Mike Canepa, and myself left the Berkely Greek Theater, I posed for a quick picture at the auditorium’s entrance.

The following late morning, Mike and I had breakfast at the corner cafe near our hotel, The Roxanne. I enjoyed one of the most delicious omelettes I had ever eaten before. Scrumcious!

One of the characteristics I most enjoy about San Francisco is the vast signs of multiculturalism that make their pressence everywhere in the city.

San Francisco by night is a glorious vision. Often times when I visit a city, I look up into the lights of a huge skyscraper, and as I pick one particular light amongst hundreds of lights, I  wonder to myself who lives in that place, what that person does for a living, what they are doing at that specific time and place…I wonder if that person is happy, sad, enduring life’s challenges or enjoying the grandeur in which they inhabit. And then before I form a mental image, I fall to sleep…

No photo essay about a trip to San Francisco would be complete without a picture perfect post card that depicts the hilly streets and the cable cars which locomote about on them. A wonderful mini-vacation, it was, in one of the most beautiful cities in the entire world….A real San Francisco treat…

  My favorite television program of all time is “I Love Lucy,” which starred the genius comedic actress, Lucille Ball.

Although every episode was a riot, there is one particular show that is my tip-top. It was the one where Lucy feels unloved, unappreciated and feeling as though nobody has remembered her birthday. Even after she makes several hints about her special day to her husband, Ricky, he seems to have forgotten.

Feeling dismal, depressed, at the end of her rope (sort of speak), Lucy finds herself in a park on a bench where she befriends a group of unlikely misfits, who like her, are forgotten, homeless waifs, unloved outcasts. Lucy finds herself empathizing, even fitting in with this alliance of odd balls who call themselves, “The Friends Of The Friendless.”

That evening while Ricky is performing at the Tropicana Night Club, Lucy and her entourage decide to make a statement. With a marching band comprised of the outcasts and misfits from the park, Lucy leads her newfound comrades into the Tropicana. Banging her drum loudly with unabandoned passion, Lucy and her entourage sing, “We’re the friends of the friendless, yes we are, yes we are…”

Lucy is determined, as she sings on accompanied by her co-alliance, “We’re the friends of the friendless , yes we are, yes we are!” With a stout stance and an expression of newfound purpose, Lucy stops in her tracks, her entourage forming a pact behind her. With a defiant, yet hurt tone, she begins a speech of indignation:

“I want to tell you all about something that happened to me,” Lucy begins relating to the audience as though she is at an AA meeting. “The lesson I learned tonight - the true meaning of friendship.”

Lucy extends her hands expressively pointing toward the down and out men and women who surround her as she continues her speech:”These people are my friends - The Friends Of The Friendless!” In spite of Lucy’s articulate proclamation, these “friends” look down-trodden, sad, blank, uninspired. 

Lucy’s voice is shakey, emotional, somewhat outraged as she continues on - “-And I was friendless! I was just a bit of floxum in the sea; a pitiful outcast - shunned by my fellow man. I was a mess,” she relates with an almost trembling defeated voice.

Lucy continues on: “The people I thought were my friends forsook me. Even my own husband proved he was just a husband and not a friend.” She gives Ricky a pitiful sad glance.

With voice elevating and now on a roll, Lucy goes on with her tyrade: “Today was my birthday - and do you think anybody remembered?!” Lucy begins pacing to and fro as she proclaims in a louder tone - “NO-BODY remembered! NOBODY did a thing about it, NOBODY even as much-”

In the midst of Lucy’s emotional diatribe, Ricky interrupts, telling Lucy that he has something for her. He has written a special birthday song for her. Ricky begins singing, “I love Lucy and she loves me; We’re as happy as two can be…” A surpirse birthday party complete with a huge cake has been planned. All Lucy’s friends (including Fred and Ethel) gather around bidding Lucy a happy birthday. It is the best celebration ever, beyond Lucy’s expectations.

This is one of television’s funniest, most romantic, heartwarming moments ever…