BijouBlog

 

Now, this guy was one superstud, but also, from what I have read, multitalented. Born in Germany as Wolfgang Praegert in 1957, of an artist father, and the young Wolfgang apparently exhibited acrylic paintings at exhibitions in both France and Germany. He lived in Paris (to which all artists gravitate at some point), and then emigrated to New York City. He studied opera there briefly. (I am impressed. I wonder if he was a tenor, a baritone, or a bass.)

He then got into gay porn, making his first appearance in Chain Reactions after moving to Los Angeles. Now, why would he get into porn? He was one studly macho guy (uncut, hairy chest, but also the Marlon Brandoesque lips, woof!), of course, but maybe the art and the opera didn't quite work out as well for him.

He worked with Al Parker for Surge Studios, making appearances in Head Trips and Strange Places, Strange Things.

The circle jerk. Supposedly boys have done it (regardless of orientation) since time immemorial as a ritual of initiation. (I never experienced it, but I do remember pissing contests outside with this one kid I was later forbidden to play with. How did my mother find out?) 

This underground jack off culture was immortalized in the “Four in Hand” quartet, a playlet from the controversial Oh! Calcutta!, an evening of short humorous playlets about sex that opened off Broadway in 1969. The “four in hand” (also the title of a classic Nova porn film) is a knot sometimes used in men's neckties and ends up being a pun for a collective jerk off. It's interesting that the guys doing it in the playlet are all ostensibly straight (women's breasts appear on the screen at one point, because whatever the guys think of shows up via a “telepathic transmitter”). But the guy running the scene is clear that it's a competition to see who cums first. Men will always be at heart (and in their groins) boys.

When gay men began to enjoy the fruits of their sexual liberation, they began to organize formal and informal jack off clubs. Some even became “respectable” and took on the trappings of not for protfit social clubs, with newsletters, weekend retreats, fundraisers, and websites. I would also think they would have become more popular as safe sex became a life and death matter during the height of the AIDS epidemic. The New York Jacks, founded in 1980, are still around. Seems like they've made the transition to the Internet Age (there's a message board and a Twitter account). Though, of course, the point is live cock play … (But given gay gym culture, one can go to the locker room for a jack off and then report about it on craigstlist missed connections!) 
 

The New York Jacks are still bucking these trends, as they still seem to follow the practices of “patch” or leather clubs. There's a membership application one can download, for example (they seem to be up and running in person with vax cards), and an emphasis on both etiquette as well as alleviating anxieties about what to expect at such a function. I guess when all one needs to do is turn on a phone to enjoy a cybersex jack off these days, perhaps social anxiety is more of an issue. I mean, you don't want to be the one who gets the booby prize because he doesn't shoot.

When I was younger, not that much younger, but still, youthful, I remember being invited to the Chicago Jacks (defunct, as far as I know). No, I am not going to divulge what happened to me (and it didn't involve jerking off), but I did return regularly, not so much for the action (interestingly enough, this group, which met informally, allowed oral and anal sex; many groups do not). I enjoyed the company of some hot gay macho-looking guys and also what sometimes happened to me at my place after the meetings if I met a special someone. 

But the air of competition was there, everyone cheering on as the president of the group (God rest his soul) after much jiggling and wiggling finally emitted that gooey string of white stuff. Was it worth it? I feel exhausted remembering the scene. (And I remember that I had smoked a certain substance before attending; I usually did. Not necessarily an aphrodisiac.) 

I also remember they they used to hold meetings at a supposedly secret location. The night of their party, a police raid took place. So much for secrecy. Who told on them? 

I'm going to tell! I caught you! Is there still something of the shame and secrecy surrounding that sin of Onan going on here? Even if one doesn't subscribe to the conventional religious view that is sinful, it's still essentially a private, solo act. Perhaps that's the taboo here: what is private becomes a public competition. But in the midst of the public gaze, the eyes of the masturbator are closed. The private fantasy (maybe even that first image you discovered could make you hard) is still going on, but unlike in the Four in Hand playlet, the images are locked in the imagination and memory. The circle is unbroken. 

Source for some information here: Cornog, Martha. The Big Book of Masturbation. San Francisco: Down There Press, 2003. 

 

Now, many of us remember Schroeder's tempestuous relationship with Lucy, he being the object of her doomed, unrequited infatuation. 

Schroeder is so NOT interested. 

For example, on one occasion, Lucy remarks to Schroeder "Beethoven wasn't so great." Irritated, Schroeder asks Lucy to explain her comment. Lucy replies, "You've never seen his face on a bubblegum card, have you?" 

Face it, Lucy, you can't compete with Beethoven. 

I'm not really getting a gay vibe, but is Schroeder perhaps behaving like a little gay elitist snob? 

I think to understand Schroeder, you've got to understand Beethoven. 
 

His idol, Beethoven, was certainly no elitist: 

“His attitude to the princes and nobles who paid him was conveyed in a famous painting. The composer is shown in the course of a stroll with the poet Goethe, the Archduchess Rudolph and the Empress. While Goethe respectfully gave way to the royal pair, politely removing his hat, Beethoven completely ignored them and continued walking without even acknowledging the greetings of the imperial family.” 

And he was also a “confirmed bachelor.” 

Now, some critics have made out that Beethoven was some kind of repressed misognyistic homosexual who took out his frustrations on his adopted nephew Karl and Karl's mother, even though he displayed warm relationships with many women, such as Magdalena Willmann, Josephine Deym, Bettina Bretano. 

He also suffered through several youthful infatuations with women. One of these was a countess who came to him for piano lessons. It didn't work out. 
 

So, what does this have to do with Schroeder? Schroeder is mirroring Beethoven; Lucy wants to be his muse, but she isn't up to his standard. In Schroeder's case, no one is. Music is his lover, his god. Whether that's healthy or unhealthy in the long-term, who am I to judge? 

In fact, unrequited love seems to be a major theme in Peanuts: Charlie Brown for the the little red-headed girl, Peppermint Patty and Marcie for Charlie Brown, Marcie for Peppermint Patty, maybe (that's the gay relationship in Peanuts, I think), Sally for Linus, Linus for Miss Othmar. 
 

Only Schroeder seems immune to such earthly complexities. He gets to be horrified when he forgets Beethoven's birthday, but his sighs and tears are mostly sublimated in music. 

And it's not like he's always behaves like a total snot to Lucy. 

In reaction to her constant advances, Schroeder has been known to occasionally humor her, somewhat good-naturedly. He gave her a Valentine after confirming that he didn't have to love her to give her one, just "barely being able to tolerate her" was fine. 

Schroeder demonstrates the same fondly teasing tone toward Lucy in the December 14, 1975 Sunday strip, whispering a flirtatious comments to her while she pretends to be asleep on his piano. 

He addresses her as "pretty girl", and says "I think you're kind of cute! You really fascinate me!" He ends his string of flirtatious remarks with "I guess I love everything about you... Sweet baby!" Lucy cannot help but grin, to which Schroeder exclaims, "Ha! I knew you weren't asleep!" Lucy responds with "Rats!" 

So, is the eternally prepubescent Schroeder gay? The jury is still out on that one, but I think he's more “queer” than gay, using the definition of “queer” as nonconforming or eccentric. I also think he kind of fits in with the Oscar Wilde-like late nineteenth century aesthete, living for art, and art alone, or, closer to Beethoven, a Romantic artistic antihero loner type. 

I remember in the movie You're A Good Man, Charlie Brown there's a dreamily beautiful sequence of Schroeder playing Beethoven, and he seems to morph into his idol. 

Note the combination of churches from Beethoven's time period and psychedelic imagery like flowers and dancing flames. 

That's the essence of Schroeder. He dreams, but for him, the dream is real. And come to think of it how many of us are that in tune with our own “queer” dreams that won't allow themselves to be scaled down to a picture on Lucy's bubblegum card or an app on a smartphone?

Chuck Renslow, gay activist and a pioneering figure of the gay leather community, founded Mars magazine in May of 1963. Renslow definitely pushed the homoerotic envelope of his time with this cutting-edge vintage gay physique publication that was instrumental in both creating and disseminating the image of the gay leatherman. 

The magazine combines the classic smooth muscle jock physiques of the physique magazines with what became the iconic image of the gay leatherman: a super- or hypermasculine look emphasizing a well-developed physique, oftentimes facial hair, a generous endowment, and motorcycle gear: heavy boots and jacket. 

It featured art by Tom of Finland and Dom Orejudos aka the artist Etienne and Renslow’s partner, among others. Several of the models hailed from Renslow’s photography or “physique house,” Kris Studio. 

Renslow discovered many of his models, such as Ralph Kleiner and Paul Ferguson (one of the murderers of silent film legend Ramon Navarro) at bodybuilding circuit competitions such as Mr. Chicago. 
 

The editorial on page three and on pages 42-47 shows the still difficult issues with censorship, despite the MANual vs. O'Day decision in 1962. The text reports that Ralph Ginzburg, producer of the erotic magazines Eros and Liason (the text reads “artistically produced”) another covering term for these types of publications), was convicted on a charge of mailing obscene materials in 1963. The prosecutor was the late great Robert Kennedy; wow! 

The above tidbit shows how one is continually uncovering parts of history that change one's view of a famous personage around which certain myths develop. The Supreme Court upheld his conviction by a 5 to 4 decision. The text also gives detailed analysis of the different judges' reasonings for their decision. The argument's thrust here is the ruling's unconstitutionality, despite the nuances of the judge's interpretation of this First Amendment issue 

Guild Book Services, one of the few openly gay companies during this time period, offers their usual insert in this magazine. The review of the book Homosexual: Personal Case Histories of Homosexuals is most interesting, as it seems to offer, for the reviewer, a really wild gamut of deviations (including BDSM), distasteful but without an overtly moralistic commentary. Though the comments of the psychiatrists that accompany these stories probably endorse the gay equals sick hypothesis prevalent during this period, which one could definitely claim is supported by the unusual evidence here! 

This issue, focusing on a motorcycle theme, contains stunning homoerotic leather/fetish art by Luger, Orsen, and Tom of Finland. On pages 10-11, there is a classic Etienne,which he painted for a local bistro in Chicago (the legendary Gold Coast Bar?). 
 

 

The magazine ceased publication in 1966 or 1967.