mrduke
Not a hater
- Joined
- Feb 6, 2009
- Messages
- 588
- Reaction score
- 66
- Points
- 0
I have a story to tell about a former friend. His name, Robbie Watson. Robbie passed away in October 2007, a victim of AIDS, and the lifestyle he chose to live.
I met Robbie when he was part of the wait staff at Birraporetti's adjacent to the Alley Theatre here in Houston. A friend of mine and I took in a play and afterwards he suggested the restuarant because of this waiter he had befriended. My friend asked we be seated in his station and when Robbie came to take our order I immediately knew why we came. Robbie was a cute dark haired, brown eyed, tall lanky boy with an easy charm, quick wit, and an affable personality. That's why everyone liked Robbie. I know it's why I had a secret crush on him.
I don't have anything bad to say about him, though he gave plenty of people enough reasons to do so. In the end he was just scared of dying, I think. Either that or he just lived his entire life in a state of denial. I'm no physchiatrist or anything, and God knows I have my share of insecurities and physchosis, but I know enough to know when someone is fooling no one but themselves.
A favorite memory of Robbie was Pride week 2001. He flew into Houston and stayed with us at Chateaux. We rented a limo and went downtown to the parade. During the ride, he took off his shirt (he still had a great body then) and spread some kind of lotion all over his chest, it had glitter in it. Houston's Pride Parade is held at night and I remember he looked lik a human disco ball. And of course it was a big hit with that type of crowd.
You see, as it turn out, the only thing Robbie ever had to offer anyone were his classic good looks, and his body. It seemed like a good gig, but even the pretty over time can become average and even below average. As people grow and change, priorities change, and the things people look for in companioship change with along with those priorities. Robbie just couldn't keep up with all the change.
Robbie moved in with the aforementioned friend, and when things didn't work out, and Robbie moved out, I was called in to help out on the lease of the apartment in the same complex where I currently live. That was 1989. From there what happened with Robbie was taboo and not to be spoken of. I did find out later he got into real estate and was living in Chicago.
Probably the last memory of Robbie was just a few weeks ago (remember this was 2007). He relocated to Houston due to the generosity of the unmentioned friend I've referrred to. He came to Houston, broke, out of friends, his body ravaged by whatever HIV had metatisized into, his entire body covered in leisions. Together with the unamed friend we gathered at Cafe Adobe in lower Westheimer. A favorite restuarant of many years that now is just a place that holds so many of my hardest memories. I'm not even sure whey I still go there. But that's another story. At lunch Robbie was funny and quick, but emaciated and bitter. They wanted me to go partying with them, but because I know both of them well enough, I knew enough to just go home and I am glad I did. His caustic personality got him in trouble at a bar and they threw him out. The police were called and he was arrested. They found a bag of cocaine in his pocket. He was in jail 3 days before anyone knew where he was. He didn't call anyone because he knew no one would bail him out.
I'm not sure where he was when he died. I just know he died in the company of people he didn't care for, in a town he hated. He had run from these people and town as soon as he was able, and I am sure he never wanted to go back. It must have been very hard for him, but if I know Robbie, he made it hard on everyone else.
Robbie is one of two I know for sure, killed himself. They each did whatever they could to hasten death's beckon. That's what makes me the saddest. I don't know how many more of my acquaintances faced HIV and its related illnesses and chose to run and laugh at the angel of death. They just drifted away and closed the door and hid. And died.
A memorial service was held to celebrate the life of Robbie, at the Rothco Chapel, part of the Menil Estate here in Houston. Very tasteful and serene too. I had never before been there. I thiink I will think about it for mself someday. I liked the service,with longtiime friends of Robbie laying it out there for who and what he was, amusing, magnetic, difficult, funny, troubling and full of life. Nothing embilished, glossed over, just like hiim.
Finally a last conversation I had with Daddy. I caught him in a somber moment one day. "Whats wrong Dad?", I asked. His response, "it will be a long time before you know what it's like to outlive your firends". I seized the moment. "Daddy I have outlived so many of my friends before the age of 40, that when I go out it's not who you don't see, it's who you do see, and you celebrate those that made it through the epidemic that took so many of my brother's and sister's". Realiziing we had this in common, he had to agree, and that brought us closer than almost anything.
So you grow, and live, and love, and learn, and cry. And remember.
Duke
I met Robbie when he was part of the wait staff at Birraporetti's adjacent to the Alley Theatre here in Houston. A friend of mine and I took in a play and afterwards he suggested the restuarant because of this waiter he had befriended. My friend asked we be seated in his station and when Robbie came to take our order I immediately knew why we came. Robbie was a cute dark haired, brown eyed, tall lanky boy with an easy charm, quick wit, and an affable personality. That's why everyone liked Robbie. I know it's why I had a secret crush on him.
I don't have anything bad to say about him, though he gave plenty of people enough reasons to do so. In the end he was just scared of dying, I think. Either that or he just lived his entire life in a state of denial. I'm no physchiatrist or anything, and God knows I have my share of insecurities and physchosis, but I know enough to know when someone is fooling no one but themselves.
A favorite memory of Robbie was Pride week 2001. He flew into Houston and stayed with us at Chateaux. We rented a limo and went downtown to the parade. During the ride, he took off his shirt (he still had a great body then) and spread some kind of lotion all over his chest, it had glitter in it. Houston's Pride Parade is held at night and I remember he looked lik a human disco ball. And of course it was a big hit with that type of crowd.
You see, as it turn out, the only thing Robbie ever had to offer anyone were his classic good looks, and his body. It seemed like a good gig, but even the pretty over time can become average and even below average. As people grow and change, priorities change, and the things people look for in companioship change with along with those priorities. Robbie just couldn't keep up with all the change.
Robbie moved in with the aforementioned friend, and when things didn't work out, and Robbie moved out, I was called in to help out on the lease of the apartment in the same complex where I currently live. That was 1989. From there what happened with Robbie was taboo and not to be spoken of. I did find out later he got into real estate and was living in Chicago.
Probably the last memory of Robbie was just a few weeks ago (remember this was 2007). He relocated to Houston due to the generosity of the unmentioned friend I've referrred to. He came to Houston, broke, out of friends, his body ravaged by whatever HIV had metatisized into, his entire body covered in leisions. Together with the unamed friend we gathered at Cafe Adobe in lower Westheimer. A favorite restuarant of many years that now is just a place that holds so many of my hardest memories. I'm not even sure whey I still go there. But that's another story. At lunch Robbie was funny and quick, but emaciated and bitter. They wanted me to go partying with them, but because I know both of them well enough, I knew enough to just go home and I am glad I did. His caustic personality got him in trouble at a bar and they threw him out. The police were called and he was arrested. They found a bag of cocaine in his pocket. He was in jail 3 days before anyone knew where he was. He didn't call anyone because he knew no one would bail him out.
I'm not sure where he was when he died. I just know he died in the company of people he didn't care for, in a town he hated. He had run from these people and town as soon as he was able, and I am sure he never wanted to go back. It must have been very hard for him, but if I know Robbie, he made it hard on everyone else.
Robbie is one of two I know for sure, killed himself. They each did whatever they could to hasten death's beckon. That's what makes me the saddest. I don't know how many more of my acquaintances faced HIV and its related illnesses and chose to run and laugh at the angel of death. They just drifted away and closed the door and hid. And died.
A memorial service was held to celebrate the life of Robbie, at the Rothco Chapel, part of the Menil Estate here in Houston. Very tasteful and serene too. I had never before been there. I thiink I will think about it for mself someday. I liked the service,with longtiime friends of Robbie laying it out there for who and what he was, amusing, magnetic, difficult, funny, troubling and full of life. Nothing embilished, glossed over, just like hiim.
Finally a last conversation I had with Daddy. I caught him in a somber moment one day. "Whats wrong Dad?", I asked. His response, "it will be a long time before you know what it's like to outlive your firends". I seized the moment. "Daddy I have outlived so many of my friends before the age of 40, that when I go out it's not who you don't see, it's who you do see, and you celebrate those that made it through the epidemic that took so many of my brother's and sister's". Realiziing we had this in common, he had to agree, and that brought us closer than almost anything.
So you grow, and live, and love, and learn, and cry. And remember.
Duke
Last edited: