Author: Michael Chappell

One of the delights of participating in the Los Angeles Antiques Show, now, sadly, of blessed memory, was the one- never- knew experience of the entertainment celebrities one might have even brief face time with. Particularly when the ladies guild of Cedars Sinai Hospital was the benefit charity, the gala preview was a welter of attendees of the great and good. A simple country lad me, I put my foot in it more than once, asking an unrecognized Harvey Weinstein, for instance, what he did for a living. His tongue in cheek response was ‘I own a small production company.’

An occasional attendee was the very petite presence of Nancy Reagan, who darkened the precincts of our stand in 2005 and 2006. Small and well dressed, and with a discreet security detail, she did on a couple of occasions ask questions of us about a couple of items, and then moved on. Both times, after the fact, Keith and I queried one another why it was we didn’t ask her the why of the tragically laggard response the White House had to the AIDS crisis. No question, with her own experience in the entertainment community, including, amongst others, her close and decades-long relationship with openly gay designer William Haines, her husband and she certainly had a level of familiarity with the gay community that, years before the death of Rock Hudson in 1985, they and particularly she certainly knew what was happening.

Time goes on, however, and I am ashamed to admit it, our own commercial imperative prevailed- we were, after all, at the Los Angeles Antiques Show in order to earn our daily crust- so beyond talking amongst ourselves, and one or two others, nothing of significance came of the Nancy sitings beyond being able to include these episodes as anecdotes.

However, early in 2008, Mrs. Reagan came tangentially- but significantly- into our ambit when we sold a William and Mary cabinet on stand to a Los Angeles celebrity, whose home our celebrity client had acquired from celeb cum media mogul Merv Griffin, by then deceased. We knew Merv was gay as pink ink, with an ex- wife and another female celeb- Eva Gabor- who for years ‘bearded’ for him, and also that he was on such close terms with the Reagans he was an honorary pall bearer at Ronald Reagan’s funeral.

It was a wonderful house, with a tennis and swimming pool pavilion that rivaled the size and elegance of a fine home. However, one of the striking things about the lovely landscaping was a large rose garden. Our celebrity client told us that it had been laid out and the roses selected for Merv by Nancy Reagan. Keith and I were particularly struck by this, bringing to the fore yet again a perplexity of why, with this level of intimacy and a level of intimacy she shared with so many other gay men, Nancy Reagan, and of course her husband, did so little and did so late even acknowledge the AIDS epidemic.

I suppose Nancy Reagan’s silence mirrored the traditional silence in Hollywood about gay men in the entertainment industry, which silence yet remains overarching. I suppose. But it was a silence that as ACT-UP has it, did then and does now equal death. Precisely how Mrs. Reagan was able to overlook this tragedy which she must have seen from a front row seat is impossible to know, and difficult to forgive.

It is now, however, a question for the ages.

A reprise of Michael’s blog entry about Honolulu from a couple of years ago. With Michael and Keith just back from a month there, new entries about the built environment in Honolulu will follow.

The risk run when one speaks of preservation is always of marking oneself out as exclusionary, or put another way, ‘I’ve got mine and can afford to keep it for my sole enjoyment.’ I’ll let you draw the ‘…and to hell with the rest of you’ implication. The other risk, of course, is to be considered an anachronist and consequently little regarded. As my father says from time to time, ‘If we all of us had foresight the way we have hindsight, we’d all be ahead by a damn sight.’ Descriptively put, and highly accurate. No, we can’t turn back the clock but in what matters is it not worthwhile to review and learn from what the fullness of time might have shown up as errors in judgment?

The building of the Ala Wai Canal in the 1920’s, indeed all the alteration of the natural environment in Hawaii and elsewhere that rocketed forward beginning in the early years of the last century were byproducts of what seemed the eternal watchword for all that was good in society- progress. In an effort to bring about what was thought the best for the most, what was existing, in both the natural and built environments, was thought if not actually bad, then at least suspect. The natural environment was exploited for what it was then considered- a malleable raw material that, with man’s active involvement, could always be improved. Although the confidence in man’s abilities reflects the tenor of those recent times, even at this near term vantage point we can agree that, to a large extent, that confidence was actually hubris.

What appeared as gradual improvement then became a juggernaut that, surprisingly, still proceeds apace.  Mindsets changed to those more reflective that seek to slow, eliminate, or even reverse earlier errors in environmental judgment even now seldom win out over the mindset so fervently embraced in the last century. I was surprised, for example, when watching a broadcast of the Kamehameha School’s Song Contest to hear one of the young participants explain his future goal to become the Donald Trump of Hawaii. How surprising it was to hear, given the level of immersion in traditional Hawaiian culture of all Kam School students- one would presume the predominant movement, to the exclusion of all others, would be to stop, if not reverse, the predations wrought by real estate developers. I would argue that the world can ill afford one Donald Trump. Astonishing that anyone in Hawaii would propose there might be room for two.

A few years ago, the Honolulu Museum of Art hosted an exhibition of the work of the late Honolulu architect Vladimir Ossipoff. I believe the excellent book and catalog prepared by curator Dean Sakamoto is still in print and it is worth a read. What one takes away from it is the effort Ossipoff made, certainly at the height of his career, to use contemporary materials and link them sympathetically with the natural environment to yield what might be termed built organicism. Something that, while manmade for man’s use and while fully functional, nevertheless articulates properly- by which I mean as an adjunct not as an intrusion- with its setting. One seldom sees high rise buildings that accomplish this- unless they’re mid rise Ossipoff designs.

The last several Januarys have brought with them a recurring query, wondering if our business spikes the result of interest in ‘Downton Abbey’. Oh that Julian Fellowes had written in some particular storyline about an interest in fine art and period furnishings amongst the gentry, besides that it is a redoubtably constant feature in the background and suitable for the human drama played out in front.

By this longwinded intro, what I mean to say is, no- so far there has yet to be any rush of business where perhaps the show now winding down in season 6 might be thought to have set a (renewed) fashion for period furnishings. This though is surprising, given the popularity of the series and it begs question why. Just before Christmas, The Economist published an article entitled ‘Out with the old’, describing the plight of the dealer in period decorative arts, with several opinions cited therein that all has been rejected in favor of the modern. It would seem, if this were roundly true, that this would detract from the popularity of ‘Downton Abbey’, now regarded as the most popular series of entertainments in the history of public broadcasting.

One wonders, with its emphasis on historical accuracy, the series might not too effectively evoke its time- while the narrative and characters are engaging, the setting seems remote and exotic. Perhaps this combination of elements renders the series as entirely escapist for most viewers, and not anything they could emulate, so they do not seek to even in its appearance. And most of the upstairs life looks expensive, as indeed it was. I would say that even the wealthiest dot.com billionaire would blanch at the prospect of reproducing the likes of Highclere Castle.

So for the next little while, all of us will have to enjoy the final season, and for years to come, reruns of past seasons, and consider ‘Downton…’ for what it was- an entertainment anomaly, and not a trendsetter. If ever comes a time, please let me know, though, if any of my gentle readers seek a Carlton House desk along the lines of one Lord Grantham uses- we would happily supply one to you.

Keith and I attended the memorial mass on Friday of one of our oldest and possibly best friends, Father Richard Bevenour. Sparsely attended, this according to family members who spoke by Dick’s own wish, his effect on innumerable lives, and certainly upon ours, was nevertheless enormous.

An Iowa native, he was on leave from the Diocese of Davenport, Iowa. By Dick’s telling, his leave taking was the result of a crisis of faith that, in his last meeting with his bishop, was impelling him to leave the priesthood. His bishop, though, told Dick not to leave, but take time away to sort his own self out, which then brought Dick to California, and Fresno eventually, and initially with work for Catholic Charities. It was a few years after this that I became acquainted with Dick when, through mutual friends, I attended a Dignity mass and potluck at the Newman Center at Fresno State. Sadly now moribund locally, Dignity is a national organization of gay Catholics, and Dick was very much involved. His partner Gordon Young was, as well- a convert to Catholicism the result of his relationship with Dick.

Unfortunately, Gordon was the forgotten man at Dick’s memorial mass, with not a mention of him, and not a hint of what Dick himself would doubtless describe as the most important relationship of his life. They had made a home together for nearly 25 years before Gordon died of lung cancer, now nearly 30 years ago. Where Dick was quiet and self effacing, Gordon was loud and boisterous. Gordon was a wire services editor at the Fresno Bee and a prolific, though not very focused writer, Dick nevertheless would heartily endorse Gordon as the intellectual torch bearer in their home. Not true- Dick was deeply introspective, and what he thought of his faith and his God was movingly discussed in well-considered exegeses published monthly in the Dignity newsletter. They were so erudite I thought they were essays cribbed from someone the likes of theologian Henri Nouwen, and the author’s name- Theordore Ursus- did nothing to enlighten me, until Keith McCullar pointed this out as a nom de plume- Dick had Latinized Gordon’s own pet name for him, ‘Teddy Bear.’ Their strong intellects, though, did find a mutual outlet when they opened Gordick’s Books that for its time, was the closest thing Fresno had to San Francisco’s City Lights. We were pleased to meet Armistead Maupin, Randy Shilts, and a number of others at booksignings at Gordick’s.

Years pass, and our departure from Fresno 20 years ago limited our contacts with Dick, and I am sorry that while he struggled with the Parkinson’s disease that killed him we were not able to carve time out from our own struggles with aging parents to be a better friend to him. Keith and I will though be forever grateful to Dick for his friendship, support, and example setting compassion that now, 35 years into our own relationship, we daily acknowledge. God bless him, as certainly God blessed us with Dick.

So said Sotheby’s CFO upon departing the end of last week, adding his name to the chorus of Sotheby’s employees, 5% of its workforce, cashiered out in the last few days to allow them to pursue ‘other opportunities.’ This year, the jollity of their traditional holiday greeting has been modified by an added intensifier, the gerund form of the slang term that begins with the letter ‘f’.

With all that, I do feel slightly wistful about the prospects of the venerable house. Over the years I had established some fine professional relationships with select members of their staff- none of whom, I might add, are employed there any longer.

Will Sotheby’s survive? It will be interesting to see what becomes of its beleaguered stock price following the last round of sales of the collection of its late chairman, Alfred Taubman. Supported by a guarantee of something just to the north of $500million, Sotheby’s current chairman Tad Smith now admits the hammer might just allow the house to break even on the guarantee. Hmmm… Perhaps he, too, may wish early in the new year to brace himself for the consideration of other opportunities.