time to get totally tubular, like so rad
LIAI S'5 N s
^deo bdr est. 1989
OPINION
Editor’s Note
by David Moore
Life’s journeys and the stories you find
316 Rensselaer Ave. Charlotte, NC 28203 704.376.1617
www.pinkhousenc.com
4 JULY I .2006«Q-NOTES
It’s funny how twists and turns on your
journey can take you to a certain place in life
and time. Had you turned left instead of turn
ing right, had you slept a few minutes later or
made an alternate decision regarding a par
ticular topic, would the outcome have been
different?
Four years ago my partner and I moved
back to Charlotte to take care of my terminally
ill father. A few months after our re-arrival, he
passed away and was buried in Forest Lawn
Cemetery West.
Visiting my dad’s plot in the subsequent
days, I stumbled across a headstone that listed
the names of two men — surrounded by a
meticulously tended garden.
In this part of town where I had grown up
— I still have vivid recollections of homopho
bia — I was amazed to see the names of two
men that were obviously a gay couple.
It was quite by accident that I made the
discovery. I just pulled up next to my father’s
gravesite one day and glanced to my left as I
got out of the car. That’s when my eyes landed
on the monument in question.
Intricately carved designs reflecting the
interests of the two men, I assumed, and the
words “mates for life” leapt out at me. The
stone statue of an eagle atop a podium oppo
site a reflecting bench — all of these ele
ments combined together — clearly paint
ed a picture of two individuals completely
devoted to one another.
In the middle of the headstone was a
metal crest that bore the name “Redcliffe.”
Perhaps that was a school — I thought.
As the years have passed, I have visited
Forest Lawn on a number of occasions. 1
have to admit the serenity of this cemetery
has always appealed to me. It’s quiet and —
pretty — and full of endless stories. In addi
tion to my father, there are a few other indi
viduals I knew that are buried there.
When I was five, there was an 86-year-old
woman named Sally Kennedy that lived in a
small house behind ours. She became good
friends with my family and often she’d watch
after me if my parents had other obligations.
Despite the vast age difference, we became
good friends, too. She would tell me stories
about experiences she had growing up in rural
North Carolina in the 1900s. She would play
old 78 records, like Dinah Shore’s “Buttons and
Bows,” on a hand crank victrola while she
danced a little jig around the kitchen floor.
East is east and west is west
And the wrong one I have chose
Let’s go where I’ll keep on wearin
Those frills and flowers and buttons and bows
Rings and things and buttons and bows
Sally is buried there, alongside her hus
band Gus who had passed away several years
earlier. So are Daisy and Violet Hilton, the con
joined twins that were once famous Vaudeville
stars (you can see them in the films “Freaks”
and “Chained For Life”).
The two were dumped in Charlotte by a
scheming PR man in the early ’60s during a
revival tour of Todd Browning’s “Freaks.”
With little more than the clothes on their
backs, they took up residence on Charlotte’s
west side and went to work
in the produce department of a grocery
store. I can still recall seeing them on visits
to Park ’n Shop with my dad when I was a
very little boy.
A few months ago I stopped by my father’s
plot again — at my mother’s request — to
see how the surrounding plants were being
tended.
It was on this visit I noticed the garden
plot that had caught my attention on so many
previous occasions was different. There was a
freshly dug rectangular hole. I read the names
on the tombstone again and realized that the
older of the two men had apparently passed
away.
After looking up his obituary online, I
came to learn more about their story. I didn’t
know them, but somehow, now it felt as
though 1 did. I could only imagine the grief
the surviving partner must have been experi
encing after such a loss.
I typed a few words of condolence in the
online guestbook, expressing my sorrow for
his loss and my appreciation for the artistic
tribute they had created as a monument to
their relationship.
A few weeks would pass before a man
named William sent me a message thanking
They met in the late ’70s, William
told me. They had spent 29 years
together as a couple. Buddy loved
trucks and trains and over the
years he had been a rig driver, a
CATS driver and even an engineer
for the Charlotte Trolley.
me for the comments I had left in his partner’s
online guestbook.
We exchanged a few emails and eventually
decided to have lunch — that’s when I would
learn even more about the life the two men
had shared together.
They met in the late ’70s, William told me.
They had spent 29 years together as a couple.
Buddy loved trucks and trains and over the
years he had been a rig driver, a CATS driver
and even an engineer for the Charlotte Trolley.
Redcliffe, as it turns out, was not a school,
but the name of the home they owned
together. It started out as a small cottage,
William explained, but after adding onto it
many times over the years, they felt it
deserved a name.
He showed me pictures of them in the
backyard at Redcliffe with two fat and happy
Chesapeake Bay retrievers. At times he would
imitate the way his partner spoke when
recalling a particularly amusing incident.
Through the dramatic change in voice it felt
as though 1 was actually listening to someone
else speak.
From our conversations I discovered that
William and Buddy had quite a life together.
Proof that same-sex relationships work and
are just as valid and deserving of recognition
as the opposite-sex versions. I’m glad 1 got to
know their story. I