Page 614 - Gay San Francisco_Eyewitness Drummer
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594                                     Jack Fritscher, Ph.D.
            donkey tail of the “gay Algonquin Club.” It was this group that evolved
            into the first salon around Drummer.
               The legendary Castro Café was on the west side of Castro Street, two
            doors north of the corner of 18  and Castro, and next to the Star Phar-
            macy. The Castro Café was the 24-hour place to see and be seen between
            afternoons in the backroom of Ron Ernst’s Jaguar Bookstore and nights
            down on Folsom Street. Not until the Castro Café shuttered around 1975
            did the Norse Cove across from the Castro Theater rise as the diner of
            choice. For a detailed narrative of how the 1970s Castro neighborhood
            grew from the Castro Café to the brunch culture inside Mena’s Norse
            Cove, see Some Dance to Remember: A Memoir-Novel of San Francisco
            1970-1982, Reel 2, Scene 4.
               Don Levine and I (a Gemini) shared a mutual concern: we looked so
            much like each other — virtual twins — that when we were not together,
            people could rarely tell us apart. It became such a cliche that we both
            answered to the other’s name just to add to the confusion. His Jewish
            name was “Don Levine,” but we joked that his Irish-Catholic name was
            “Lon Devine.” In the Ambush bar, a trick once warned us both to be great
            sex or we’d ruin each other’s reputation.
               My “Astrologic” quip about “Any Pisces named David” referred to
            David Wycoff who was roommate and lover in a “two-year three-way
            affair” with David Sparrow and me during our ten-year marriage. David
            Sparrow and I photographed David Wycoff for this same Drummer 20,
            page 39. My reference to “a taxi driver - especially if he is strawberry-
            blond, mustachioed, and muscular” described David Wycoff who was all
            that. He was also hung a full nine uncut inches, and a San Francisco taxi
            driver who gave blow jobs with the meter running, and a sweet-tempered
            young man except for one occasion referenced in this column when he
            and David Sparrow had a two-way spat and David Sparrow kept finding
            nails in his motorcycle tires. (There was no proof it was David Wycoff
            and the incidents were quickly forgotten.)
               In 1980, David Wycoff found his own true love, Brian Dalgleish.
               Then, without any warning from the astrological stars, the Titanic
            70s party hit the iceberg of HIV.
               After five years together as the best of lovers, Brian Dalgleish died
            on April 29, 1985, and David Wycoff lived only thirty more days, dying
            under care for dementia in the San Francisco Veteran’s Hospital on May
            29, 1985.
               David Sparrow and I chartered a boat and on a way-too-brilliant
            spring afternoon spread David Wycoff’s ashes on the waters of Paradise
            Cove near Angel Island in San Francisco Bay.
               David Sparrow died seven years later on February 20, 1992.

          ©Jack Fritscher, Ph.D., All Rights Reserved—posted 05-05-2017
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