Post about "Key West"

I don’t know if I’ve ever laughed harder, and I doubt in my lifetime I ever will again. When I die, I hope one of my last memories is the three of us, me, my partner, and our friend Patrick Paul riding the moving sidewalk out the front of Bally’s Las Vegas, barely able to stand, doubled up with laughter. A lot of that laughter was from Patrick’s rapidfire wit eviscerating the Vegas-show Donn Arden’s Jubilee.

Jubilee is still playing at Bally’s; a dinosaur of a show from the days where bare-breasted women bearing feather-laden headdresses was edgy, and a chorus line of men in tophats, tuxedos and tails was a big-time production. I guess if you’re trying to relive the Vegas “lido” period, you can overlook the toupee on the lead song-and-dance man that nearly flies off his head with every step-kick, the sappy patter that seems just a degree away from vaudeville, or the “art poses” of nude women that predated the stripper pole.

Patrick Paul was a bartender at a gay bar in Key West; he knew class and elegance when he saw it, and he didn’t see one bit of it on the Bally’s stage. The way he pointed it out, with an economy of stinging, well-chosen words, made Patrick unique. He could have written monologues for any of the late night shows.

Patrick Paul & friend

But Patrick lived life completely on his terms, choosing a profession that allowed him mood elevation 24/7, and a place to practice it that kept him warm and tan year round. When AIDS came to our community, he was on the leading edge, both in acquiring it, and in helping start a funding and support system that proved the Conchs of Key West took care of our own. So it wasn’t surprising that when he died on the morning of one the biggest annual fundraisers, one that he helped found and supported for over two decades, he received a 20 minute standing ovation.

We saw a lot of bad things in the 30 years we knew Patrick. We saw hundreds of people in our community die of a disease that most people wouldn’t speak of above a whisper. But we saw Patrick persevere with a wry humor that even in our desperation was always wickedly funny. Even when he was given grim chances for survival because the way he lived had worn away his heart, he took the long-odds bet and chose aggressive surgery. I don’t know what he’d say about it if we could have him back for just a one-liner, but I’m sure it would be funny as hell.