Photo by Anita Baglaneas, Rowes Wharf Sea Grille, Boston Aug 23
Mr. Iory blasted off from his home port in Boston’s famed Fenway neighborhood and boogied on down the road for a week of nonsense in Ptown. I timed my visit to coincide with that notorious celebratory conflagration called Carnival; this year’s theme was Gods and Godesses.
But every day of my precious week before all that La La transpired I trundled over to Herring Cove Beach and dove into the watery embrace of Aphrodite, paddled around and listened to the Mermaids sing. Another big adventure for me was peddling my bike on the trails through the green forests of the Province Lands. I huffed and puffed up some of the steeper climbs and if truth be known I had to walk the bike up heart break hill but you know what, at age 68, that’s ok. Once at the top, the view is sublime, looking out at the pitch pines and the dense oak groves parading over the undulating landscape stretching all the way to the surrounding shore with the ocean reaching out to the distant horizon. Because of plenty of rain this year – Thank you Goddess – the shad bushes were in full bloom and their perfumed scent mixed with the briny clean air that can only come from being sixty miles out to sea.
I stayed at the charming Shire Max Inn, the last affordable guest house in Ptown, thank you Dr. Bob and Denis, where I met or re-met a friendly bunch a boys – that’s sort of a stretch but hey, we are still young at heart – who wisely frequent that delightful hostelry. Since I was a boy in the fifties I have loved the carnival crowds of Ptown dancing on the razor edge of the ridiculous and the sublime. One example of which, this year, was a tattered and hastily constructed booth plopped down amidst the benches in front of Town Hall. This improvised venue sported a sign with a scrawl reading, “Bad Advice.” For a mere pittance, two motley creatures were dispensing just that, outrageous suggestions, to anyone brave enough to consult them. Depending on the whim of the moment they suggested, “Empty out your purse and hand over all your drugs.” or, “Dump the wife and run away with me to Las Vegas.” This advice may sound a bit lame but the first victim was a grandmother from Boise and the second an enormous lug who looked to be a truck driver from the Bronx, NYC.
Anyway, the big event of Carnival is the parade and this riveting subject is the body of my report and what a bunch ‘a bodies that was! There is only one way to proceed from here and that is to present you with the visual facts of the matter. But remember it was not La Trump who invented alternative facts, no, that distinction falls squarely on the broad shoulders of the Broads who ain’t, as in drag queens and all the fantasy figures of Gaydom who wanna put on a costume and become a different man, woman or child.
As a disclaimer – I did not gather the names or data of the subjects of any of my pictures, so I have filled in the blanks with my own suppositions as to their identity, occupation or species of the folks in question.
Captain Jack’s Wharf, August 17, the calm before all the hoopla of “Gods and Goddesses” Carnival 2017
All Photos by Iory Allison
Many old wharfs of Ptown used to extend out into the bay all along the long curve of the inward shore, now only a few of these still exist. Captain Jack’s Wharf, seen here against the jumble of “cottages” of the west end, was first constructed by Jackson Williams in 1897 and since then has survived both natural and human storms throughout its long history while providing joy, delight and shelter for a variety of owners and tenants
Arjyra Stedman’s 1986 article in the Cape Cod Compass tells us that Capt. Jack’s was developed by Manuel Williams, Jackson’s eldest son. Manuel used the pier to unload, smoke and pickle the various kinds of fish caught by his small fleet of fishing boats. His boats gathered their catch in the weirs or net traps that were strung on poles sunk into Province Town bay. Some of the shacks were also used by the related fishing businesses of: caulkers, blacksmiths, spar carpenters, riggers, painters, etc.
After the decline of weir trap fishing in the 1920’s and ‘30’s Capt. Jack’s slowly evolved into rental studios catering to artists and summer visitors. During this time it went through a checkered history harboring several nefarious enterprises such as Sally Nye’s bar “The Circus Room” also rumored to be a brothel.
In 1935 Dr. Hiebert bought Capt. Jack’s and after a scornful and censorious three years his wife Emily, dramatically transformed “Whoopee Wharf” with the no plumbing, no electricity, rooms into charming rental cabins maintaining and embellishing the haphazard jumble of its architecture.
One of the more famous writers to reside at Capt. Jack’s was Tennessee Williams who is said to have worked on “The Glass Menagerie” there in the early 1940’s. Tennessee’s lament is entirely appropriate to the place considering the play’s repeated reference to “gentleman callers” of mythic proportions who inevitable “got away” – not so different from the circumstance of cruising and dating in Ptown today.
The Fire float standing ready to convey the gym toned Gods and Goddesses of Carnival 2017 through the crowds of cheering revelers up to Mt. Absurdity where all will slosh down the sauce and breathe fire! Oh my god / dess!!
Pinning the monkeys to the bar, a place to recover from the Doom Temple next door
Don’cha just love a man with a beard? Watch out or he’ll catch you on his trident and serve you up to his entourage of Mer-people who know no bounds.
See I didn’t make it up, they actually had the balls to call this event “Gods and Goddesses” go figure, the results, which you are about to experience, are sizzling in the extreme.
A corner of Province Town Hall with the Pilgrim Monument in the background snagging wisps of morning fog before the heat of the day burns away the evening’s veils of modesty.
Here is the trooper of all time. This handsome darling was fully dressed, well sort of; his net body stocking revealed every nuance of his silver painted hunkiness. I snapped him setting up Café Bubala at ‘bout 10: am and after all was said and done, I returned to have some grub ‘bout 8:00 pm when he was still charming the crowds, slinging the hash and delivering unspilt cocktails! This boy deserves the waiters Oscar for superb service!!
Why is it that the only glamourous people left on the globe earth are Drag Queens? Thank you Goddess for sending us your Daughters of Grace!
Love these boys’ hairy pecks. Don’cha know sparks fly when these minions of Neptune rub together. Can you see that their net / scale shoulder make-up is actually iridescent, WOW. I especially love their scrolling and spiked crowns.
Here we have La Grande Medusa of the three Gorgon Sisters fame. Wait ‘till you see her sibilant siblings slithering down the byways. But watch out ‘cause this girl will make you stiff as a board but not bored stiff ‘cause after just one glance – when you are rock hard – she has her way with all wayward wanderers.
Sibling number two of the Gorgon Sisters, the lady Stheno. Don’t look directly at her or she’ll give you a perpetual hard-on. Of course, some of the Ptowner’s must have stared long ‘cause those boys are pole vaulting all over town!
The lady Euryale may look calm and serene but boy does she pack a powerful wallop! Hand on tummy, who has she devoured?
And here they are in all their glory, the three gorgon sisters, Medusa, Stheno and Euryale. Tongues wag when they go by. Behind them is the stone tower said to have been their first victim in Ptown, a pilgrim father whose proportions were mighty.
The Lady Euryale licks her lips in anticipation of chowing down on her flanking boy-toys while Wonder Boy / Woman foolishly pauses to pose for Popper-Ozzie, shirking his duties to arrest and quell the forces of evil.
Whatever the short comings of Wonder Boy / Woman it ain’t in the looks department, have you ever seen a cuter smile, not to mention the pumped, pecs, biceps and thighs, Ooo-la-la!
Mata-Hairy spies on the carnival carousers from his sequestered nook at Patio Café gathering beautifying secrets for Sephora on Rodeo Drive where he is the cosmetician to the stars.
A bunch a’ bruisers in leather straps and glitter, now there’s a combo!
Feathers, skulls, shells and pearls make these two beauties shine!
Darling! Too cute for words!
You go Mama! Knock’em dead and leave ‘em laughing.
Athena with her sphinx and attendant centurion – I‘m sure if the Roman legions had had sun glasses we would still all be speaking Latin.
I’ll have the Cab Sauv, please.
Snakes were a popular theme at Carnival this year. These guys are oiled up and ready to go.
These three beauties are the graces of Carnival, now, which one is the face that launched a thousand ships?
Mom and the kids rock and roll with the best of ‘em
I wish his hunkiness would look at me like this when I was without my camera. This is definitely his, “promise me the world look” and I for one would believe anything he told me. The answer is yes!
Boy does he look great in swirls and feathers!
Pumped Daddies spread their wings. Fly me to the Moon…
So this is what Tutankhamun looks like in the flesh, no wonder they gave him such a swell send off.
Now that’s great make-up! A little bit of glamour can cause a big bunch a joy!!
Here we see a few of the Trojan horse contingent, part of their hiding horse can be glimpsed in the background – all made from tongue depressors – those Gay boys and girls are so handy and clever!
And this is how it was in Olympus by the Sea; everybody’s in on the act.
What can I say except, Va-va-voom!!
Isn’t it amazing how leopard never goes out of fashion? But what’s with the raven perched on her head? With that hairy chest she looks to me like Bette Midler after whore moan therapy.
The guy in black sortta reminds me of Marty Feldman in Young Frankenstein (guess it’s the hood) but he is actually Kevin Devaney on his national tour (Instagram.com/kevindevaneypoet) and as his address reads he’s a poet. I found him on my early morning tour all set up in front of Town hall way before the crush. Kevin creates “custom written street poems” plunked out on his compact vintage Corona perched on a folding office that all ingeniously folds up and packs away in his van when he is of a mind to trundle on down the road.
Kevin writes “Custom Written Street Poems” right there in front of you or you can buy one of his “published” books. I bought a match book edition, four in a box, 2 x 1 ½” entitled, “A Collection of tiny poem books about sea creatures.”
A manatee poem book.
Can you imagine how odd it would be
to be the first to see a sea bound manatee?
if you saw one for the first time, what thought might cross your mind:
would you think them cruel or kind, this rare & wonderful nautical find,
Or would you nab your sailor pals and leaning hard against the bow
yell out: “MERMAID” clear and loud?
Kevin Devaney 10 -7- 15
It takes two jesters to mitigate Melania Trump’s scowl. It will take an army of outrage to can the husband.
My vote for perfection goes to the man in gold and feathers
It takes two to tango and I like to see’em at it!
This is what’cha call “looking askance.” The fellow on the left looks to me like the notorious Voodoo priest “Mmalcatdd” or “meet me after last call at the dick dock .” and although he is hard to resist, watch out ‘cause “Meet Me” had so many tricks up his sleeves the authorities now only allow him to wear feathers.
With withering hauteur the green faced Montezuma guards his gaggle of innocents from the prying eye of the camera.
Eyes right! Ready front, Sir! A salute to the beauty of youth
Leopard Lizzy has snagged two more handsome hunks on her relentless prowl ‘round the parade
Can you see beyond the pink glitter beard into his sparkling green eyes? But who is the creature in the background?
Love this crew of Kon Tiki warrior gods. When I was a boy in the fifties, I was fascinated by the beatnik street artists of Ptown carving wooden Tiki charms, stringing them on leather straps to hang around your neck and selling these mojos to mystified tourists, a sortta Thor Woldson Kon Tiki phenomenon.
Ah the salad days of youth, this boy will get no dressing down from me for his dressing up, au contraire I say hip hip hooray! But which god is he? Wish Bone, Green Goddess dressing, of course.
Anibus, jackal of the necropolis, guardian of the dead, weighs the hearts of deceased souls against the feather of Ma’at. If ancient Egyptians had iridescent cellophane they would have wrapped their mummies in the stuff!
Ta ta, ciao for now!
Miss Richfield gets the last word – why are we not surprised?