Fried & True by Fay Jacobs Read Free Book Online Page B

a day without laughter is a wasted day, I figure those damn con artists owe me 48 hours, some belly laughs and a night’s sleep.
    Caveat Emptor Computer Dumbbell—let the web surfer beware.

December 2003
    PUBLISHING R US
    Not only am I rewriting draft after draft on my incipient book, but I’m proofing, bribing people to write things on the book’s back cover, figuring out Library of Congress applications, ISBN numbers (a convoluted numbering system for the publishing biz), bar codes, cover photo bleeds, nose bleeds and more.
    I ran away to the beach to slow down and I’ve never been so busy in my life. Between my day job promoting downtown, writing for Letters from CAMP Rehoboth , promoting and selling Anyda’s new book, and this memoir business I don’t even have time to whine. Oh? Am I whining? Well that’s two more minutes of sleep that has to go.
    But progress is good. Last night I caught myself re-writing columns I re-wrote three days ago. I’m past improving them; now I’m just changing them. I’ve stifled myself. The writing is done. Now it’s all about getting it to the printer. And arranging for interviews of Anyda and Muriel, who, all of a sudden, have captured the imagination of feature writers from the Wilmington News Journal, Delaware Beach Life magazine, and our local newspapers.
    I was over at their house the other day, packing books when I heard Anyda ask Muriel if she remembered how a reporter pushed them out of the closet several years before. Muriel frowned and harrumphed, playfully, I hoped.
    I recall Anyda showing me the celebratory and flattering feature article, written in the early 1990s, but I hadn’t a clue how it all came about. However it happened, I got the feeling Muriel had been none too pleased about it. After all, hiding was an ingrained skill throughout their long lives.
    â€œWe weren’t ashamed of ourselves,” Anyda says, “but other people made you feel that you should be.”
    â€œMy goodness, you had to defend yourself if someone accused you,” says Muriel.
    Their words made me think of my own coming out journey and how tough it was to stand up against societal norms, how tough I was on myself and ultimately how difficult it was to feel good about myself again. I eventually did, but I came out in 1980. I cannot imagine the struggle for self-esteem for women raised in the early decades of the twentieth century.
    Through the years, Anyda and Muriel remained absolutely discreet while living in Rehoboth, but they began to see changes in town. “I remember, in about 1973, we went to the Boathouse in Dewey,” Anyda says. “It was a mom and pop operation and there were men and women there—with juke boxes and a snooker table.”
    Snooker. That would be English Billiards. I had a feeling the Boathouse had a plain old pool table, but Anyda loved talking about the snooker players. While the ladies ventured there only once or twice, the Boathouse was a huge success. In addition to the hundreds of gay people vacationing in Rehoboth who came to the Boathouse, the club also attracted gay-friendly straight people, including members of the Washington Redskins, FBI and CIA agents and U.S. Senators.
    Boathouse regulars remember turning off Route One parallel to the beach and following the stream of mostly boys, some girls, heading from all directions toward the water. In fact, it was so near the water that many nights customers grabbed push brooms to help sweep out bay water that had seeped onto the brick dance floor. Sadly, the bar burned to the ground on April 15, 1982 amid many rumors. Arson by homophobes? Competitors? Or just plain faulty wiring? It was never determined, but the bar is mourned to this day.
    â€œWe thought we were very daring to go to the Boathouse,” Anyda says, “although we did have some friends in town by that time.”
    â€œâ€˜Shushes’, she means,” added Muriel,