by Mark Segal
We’ve had so many special moments and have been through a lifetime of memories, including deeply challenging situations. We even separated for what now looks like the blink of an eye. I was so saddened that I wrote a column about it, and then equally joyful when I wrote another retracting it.
For a time, Jason lived in Japan as an English teacher, and he also worked for a national network news show in Washington. But we always made a point to keep in constant communication, for which our year of e-mailing had prepared us well. When he was in Washington, we only saw each other on weekends. As I expected, he rose through the ranks of the show remarkably quickly, to the point where he was actually assisting the executive producer with running a nightly newscast. And yet as well as he did there, I was delighted when he was able to return home to Philly to work as a producer for another big media company.
We complemented each other in ways that enhanced both of our lives. We couldn’t have been happier. But our families were not so thrilled with this union. My first introduction to Jason’s family was to one of his two older sisters. We were all visiting New York and a dinner meeting was arranged. It was early in our relationship and I was still recovering from the end of my long-term relationship. It felt like his sister hated me at first sight. In retrospect, she should have. She probably didn’t expect an overweight older man who was from a culture totally different from theirs. I’m also sure that my appearance was not as neat as it could have been and my manners not impeccable. To make matters worse, when I get nervous I chat and chat, and often don’t let anyone get a word in. I chatted.
Her true impression, she later told me, was of a man telling her how he would try to change the little brother she loved and had helped to raise. In hindsight, she was correct and I simply was not ready for prime time. The guy who had done thousands of interviews had failed this one.
Jason’s parents were about as welcoming as his sister. By this I mean that I didn’t meet them until we had been together for seven years. But Jason holds that he is really at fault here, since he gave up on trying to introduce us early on. Somehow I was not worried about meeting them and as I expected, at that first meeting, seven years after Jason and I had been together, we hit it off immediately. Jason was the most nervous person in the room. The other three of us got along famously. And I was able to see the love between Jason and his parents, and instantly realized where he had gotten all the qualities that I cherish about him. I adore Jason’s parents and enjoy every visit with them.
As for my side of the family, my cousin, upon first meeting Jason, actually walked out of the restaurant and called me later to ask what I could possibly have in common with him. According to her, our age gap was too wide. My lifelong friend Barbara just didn’t get it, but guess who did? On Jason’s second trip to Philly I introduced him to Rita and Charlene. After we dropped Jason off at the train station, they just kept repeating, “He’s a keeper.”
Jason gets the credit for bringing me back. He has also taught me how to distance myself from negativity. It’s a political tactic, one that I never embraced before. No longer is my time spent defending myself against false allegations or those trying to use me to raise their personal profile. Like me, Jason is passionate, in particular with his writing. On many nights we are both at home writing or reading or, if too exhausted, sitting in front of the television. We treasure our quiet evenings at home. We’ve become an old and boring couple and we love our old and boring things.
* * *
One night during bedtime conversation I asked Jason, “Do you think I can raise nineteen or twenty million to build an affordable LGBT senior living facility?”
He looked me in the eye and said, “Of course.”
Those two words of support were all I needed to start on my next project, the biggest one yet. But it had to wait until after my stint as a concert producer.
Chapter 12
Elton John and a Bag Full of Diamonds
Like many things in my life, the Elton saga began by accident. In the fall of 2003, in the midst of Mayor John Street’s reelection bid, a story broke. The FBI had bugged Street’s office as part of a federal investigation of political corruption in Philadelphia. The mayor, who at one time was considered one of the most homophobic elected officials in the city, had done a complete turnaround in his first term and was trying hard to correct his past. Any decent man believes in human rights, after all. Street had come to embrace the LGBT community and I endorsed him for reelection. But his history still gave people pause and my endorsement was not very popular in my community.
There was one thing that most people never understood about John Street: he wasn’t about personal wealth. For him, politics was all about the power, specifically the power to bring on a progressive agenda. The FBI, as it turned out, taped our calls and many others. Not to leave any stone unturned, they also got the mayor’s e-mails. This was discovered when the Philadelphia Inquirer successfully sued the government for access to information and materials related to the investigation. Those correspondences appeared on the front page of the paper. Marcia Gelbart wrote a story about the mayor’s attempt to understand the LGBT community and published our e-mail dialogue. It showed a side of John Street that most people never saw, a caring man from a devout background who was trying to accept that his religion, or those who taught it, might have gotten some things wrong.
As a result of the investigation, the campaign for mayor between Street and Republican rival Sam Katz was now a dead heat. Some polls had Katz ahead, even with a five-to-one advantage in Democratic voter registration. As a Street supporter, I tried to change the odds. About an hour after the FBI story broke, I asked myself, Could a federal bugging of a mayor’s office be used as a positive rather than a negative? It sure could, if it was tied back to someone very unpopular in the city of Philadelphia, someone who nobody in their right mind would ever support. That would be the president of the United States, George W. Bush. So I ordered five thousand buttons that read: Bug Bush! Reelect Street.
I then turned my attention to the LGBT community, which, now a decisive political force in the city, was coveted by both parties and could make the difference in a tight election. Katz thought that given Street’s antigay reputation our votes were attainable. But Street knew he had an ace in his pocket—me. Katz was somewhat popular in the community, while Street was still hated for rallying against domestic partnership legislation despite his increased support and actions over the past three years. But I knew how to turn the tide. By putting the focus on Katz, I could deflect the negativity away from Street.
The Katz campaign had an advisor, Brian Tierney, future publisher of the Philadelphia Inquirer. Tierney was, as some would say, close to the Catholic archdiocese, and a fierce, even vicious opponent who led attacks on Street for one major pro-gay position he had taken. The mayor had promised to combat discrimination in Philadelphia by evicting the Boy Scouts from a very well-situated city-owned property for which they were paying an annual rent of one dollar. The Boy Scouts, you might remember, had taken a strong antigay position, barring adult gays from serving as scoutmasters and young gays from participating in their programs. It was clearly in violation of Philly’s nondiscrimination law, so the city began the legal process of bouncing them from their sweetheart deal. The question for the LGBT community became, simply, Can we really trust Katz to toss the Boy Scouts out? Katz, as I expected, wouldn’t answer. We editorialized in PGN that anyone who would not support our community in the fight against discrimination, or even attempt to speak up on our behalf, did not deserve our votes. Since Katz would not support the gay community in our battle against the Boy Scouts, I wrote, no major gay leader could possibly endorse his candidacy. And indeed that is what happened.
Upon his reelection I could have asked Mayor Street for almost anything. I had tarnished my own reputation in the community by working so hard for a candidate who many still viewed as a homophobe, and whom I myself had fought against during his early unenlig
htened days. But supporting him was the right thing to do. The mayor called to thank me for my help and I asked for an LGBT inaugural gala at the William Way LGBT Community Center. It would be on the Saturday before his official swearing-in ceremony. He agreed. I was pretty elated until I realized I’d have to organize this inaugural gala in less than seven weeks. It was my first opportunity to become a producer.
First thing first, I needed some kind of entertainment. For years, I’d wanted to recognize Philadelphia’s favorite hometown diva, Patti LaBelle. Patti was one of the first show-business personalities to support LGBT rights, including being one of the first to raise funds for HIV/AIDS, even before Elton John. She also was a supporter and friend of John Street. In short order, Patti agreed to be the star of the gala.
The next thing was food and drink. If I throw an event, there must be some good food. My ancestors would never forgive me if people went unfed. So we got ten of the leading restaurants in the city to agree to set up tables and bring their best samples: prime rib, oysters, shrimp, fois gras, champagne, and more. Liquor and soft drinks were donated by the LGBT clubs. At one hundred dollars a ticket, it would be the best party in town. Almost every item was donated, and almost every politician wanted a ticket.
On the big night, men arrived in black ties, women in beautiful gowns. It was standing-room only. The evening was going great. The community center ballroom was elegantly decorated and we made sure that every logistical detail not only made sense but would run smoothly. Or so we thought.
Patti wasn’t feeling well on the night of the ball. She wasn’t ready to acknowledge how serious her diabetes had become; only a few people knew of her illness. But that lady is a trouper, and she doesn’t disappoint. Sitting in her limo, I explained that the ballroom was on the second floor, and that there was no elevator. She was concerned at first, but then we came up with a strategy that would allow her to climb the stairs to her dressing room and to the ballroom gracefully. We pushed through the crowd to the foot of the stairs. People pressed in, wildly applauding. We took deep breaths and went up the first five steps. At the first landing, Patti turned around to pose for pictures and receive even more applause. We continued and the applause got even louder. Every two or three steps she would turn, wave, and be photographed. It took many turns and many photographs, but ultimately Patti got up the steps and the crowd was delighted. This solution offered her fans the opportunity to give her the proper worship that she deserved. When she got to her dressing room, she fell into a chair and said with a big grin, “Mark Segal, I should kill you before you kill me! Get out of here so I can get ready.”
The mayor took the stage. He thanked us profusely and told the crowd that he could not have won his reelection without the support of the LGBT community. This brought overwhelming applause from an audience who never thought they would hear that kind of appreciation from a purportedly homophobic man. Naturally, there were awards to thank the people who’d made the evening possible. I then had the pleasure of introducing my diva, Miss Patti LaBelle.
“Enough talk,” said Patti, shooing me off the stage, “we need some singing!” She sang a couple of her most well-known songs accompanied by my friend Dennis Cook on the piano. Then I reappeared onstage. “You know, Patti,” I said, “you don’t have any background singers with you tonight, do you? How about we form a new group, Patti LaBelle and the City Hall Bells?” We coaxed both Mayor Street and Governor Ed Rendell to the stage, draped them in blue feather boas that we’d stashed in the wings, and the City Hall Bells rang out. At the end of the night, Patti invited me back on the stage and asked what song I wanted to hear. I told her and she performed a heartfelt rendition of “Over the Rainbow.” I melted. I still shiver when I think of that moment.
The following morning the front page of the Philadelphia Inquirer carried a photo of the mayor and governor at the ball—looking good in their boas. On that night, January 3, 2004, we raised $110,000.
The Monday after, I received a call from Gary Yetter, a man I’d never heard of before. Gary helped run Lunch Around the World, an annual celebration of Elton John’s birthday that raised funds for the Elton John AIDS Foundation (EJAF). He wanted to meet with me about supporting their event in some way. I’d just come off weeks of intensive labor to organize the gala and was whipped, so I tried to politely brush him off by saying that the only thing I’d consider doing was a concert with Elton. To my surprise, the idea excited Gary. Like me, Gary is very focused when he believes in a project. He was relentless about EJAF and putting him off was impossible. A few weeks later he and a guy named Michael Anzalone, who would later become pivotal to this venture, joined me for dinner at Judy’s Restaurant in Queen Village. At the end of the evening I arrogantly repeated that I’d only be interested in doing an Elton John concert. I thought that would be the end of it. But a few days later Gary called again, asking for another dinner to further explore the idea of a concert. He said he had brought it up with EJAF headquarters in London and they didn’t say no.
Soon Gary, his beautiful wife Maureen, Jason, and I were jetting off to Vienna to Life Ball, Europe’s largest and most luxurious AIDS benefit. Thirty thousand revelers would contribute nearly a million euros to AIDS charities in the third world. Some four thousand VIP guests would pay 130 euros each for their tickets. And Sir Elton, seller of 200 million records, master of outrageous stagecraft and costuming, member of the Songwriters and Rock and Roll Halls of Fame, founder of the Elton John AIDS Foundation, and the most famous gay man on the planet, was to perform. Gary informed me that if we did a concert in Philadelphia, this would be an example of what the EJAF expected of us. The whirlwind tour was enhanced by the fact that Jason and I had just started dating five months before and everything felt dreamlike. After Vienna, we were to fly to London for meetings at EJAF’s offices to firm up the plans.
Everything concerning Life Ball in Vienna was lavish. Held on the grounds of Vienna city hall, the event is equal parts fashion show, casino, disco, banquet, costume party, and den of iniquity. Guests were dressed in outlandish and incredible costumes. The liquor and food flowed while celebrities and Eastern European porn stars strutted around or played up to the wealthy.
The day before the actual event, Robert Key, the executive director of EJAF, took Gary and me on a backstage tour. The dressing rooms for the fashion show were a swarming hive of people stitching garments, ironing dresses, models trying on outfits, rooms filled to capacity, racks and racks of haute couture clothes. We saw the stage area and the sound and light setups. We then went around the building to check out the different spaces. Each room had a corporate sponsor, and as we saw, each spent a lot of time and money to make their room the most extravagant at the event. One created a casino with people in animal costumes, while another presented a seventies pop culture room. It was a spectacle even before the main event. Finally, we visited the most important room, one of the main reasons we’d flown all the way to Vienna: Elton’s dressing room. Right off the bat, I saw that it had been decked out with new furniture, a new carpet, and, to my amazement, material stretched around the room to cover the walls. Behind the material was diffuse lighting. In another room was a full bar and lavish food for guests. I was already overwhelmed, thinking about having to replicate everything.
Later that day we toured Vienna. We saw the palaces, took in the baroque architecture and the spectacular gardens all around the city. We had been given a specific time to meet at the hotel to go shopping with Elton, but when we returned, we found out that Mr. John had gone on without us! According to rumor, he was expected at a certain time to get something to wear that night at a jewelry store. Soon, with a very good-looking security guard in tow, he came back with a paper bag with a quarter-million dollars’ worth of diamonds nestled inside. Not just your average, run-of-the-mill shopping trip, and certainly not one that could wait.
Next we all headed out to the cars. Four of us trailed the car behind Elton’s. Inside our car were two women, one a high-powe
red agent and the other a member of a female rock band. We were explicitly told that when we pulled in to the portico of Vienna’s magnificent palace-like neo-gothic city hall, we should get out before Elton did and assemble behind him en route to his dressing room.
As we rolled under the portico, the paparazzi pushed and elbowed to get in optimum position. Then the door opened of the first car in line. The scene exploded with flashes and even more pushing, shoving, and shouting. We had been prepared for this riotous scene by the expert security team, used to protecting the famous: keep your arms at your side, say nothing, nod, smile, and keep walking in tight formation behind our leader. Inside, it only got stranger and more elaborate. For a kid from South Philly, it was like suddenly finding myself in the middle of a Fellini movie. Models in appropriate regalia were posing and strutting in each of the themed rooms.
In Elton’s guest room there was a very interesting mix of people. Pop stars, former pop stars, major contributors, the upper echelon of EJAF, some Eastern European porn stars, and the handsome security men. We enjoyed the comforts of his suite as the fashion show continued below, outside our window. We paid close attention to the stage and crowd. Gary and I had already decided that if we were to do this, it would be at the Philadelphia Museum of Art, a much better place to set a stage and on a much grander scale than Vienna city hall. I knew that if our event were to happen, it would have to be spectacular.
After the fashion show we made our way outside, just as it began to pour. Unlike in the US, where we prefer not to be electrocuted, the show continued on full-speed ahead. There seemed to be no worries about the large LCD screens, wires, and cables running around the stage and runway. Politicians and people from various political organizations gave speeches, which went on for some time. It was all in German, so we had no idea what was being said. Finally, they brought Elton onstage. After a few words from the organizers (also in German), Elton spoke of how much this benefit meant to his foundation and to him personally. He did it in English while holding a live microphone in the pouring rain. He then—wisely, due to the hazard—lip-synched the song “Are You Ready for Love.” Soaking wet, Elton gave a bravura performance. He left the stage to a standing ovation and we all headed to the dining hall.