(The Background)

There are three parts to this paper. The first I refer to as “Background,” the second as “The Expeditions” and the third as “Man Date.” The first two are largely factual and historical. The final part is largely based on speculation and personal experience, for which I ask your indulgence in advance.

Part I – Background

Everett Graff was born in 1885 and raised in the small town of Clarinda, Iowa. His father was the proprietor of a successful department store in town and a state legislator. After attending public schools in Clarinda, Graff enrolled at Lake Forest College, in Lake Forest, Illinois, from which he graduated in 1906. Following college, Graff was employed in a sales position by Joseph T. Ryerson & Son, Inc., a steel service company and one of Chicago’s oldest business enterprises, having been founded by Joseph Ryerson at the corner of Clark and Water Streets in 1842. Graff spent his entire business career with Ryerson Steel, holding successive positions of increasing importance. He had been Vice President and Chief Operating Officer of the company for a number of years prior to its merger in 1935 with the much larger Inland Steel Company, a major steel manufacturer also headquartered in Chicago.

Following the merger, in which Ryerson became a wholly owned subsidiary of Inland Steel but preserved its operating identity, Graff became President and Chief Executive Officer of Ryerson and a member of the boards of directors of both the parent and subsidiary, all of which positions he held until his retirement in 1951 at age 65. Over the course of his 45-year career with Ryerson and Inland, Graff became a prominent, powerful, respected and wealthy member of the Chicago business community. Following his retirement, he became a civic leader as well, serving as a trustee and President of the Art Institute of Chicago from 1954 to 1958 and as a trustee and President of the Newberry Library from 1952 until his death at age 78 in 1964. As leader of the Newberry, Graff did much to expand the collections and improve the physical facilities of that venerable institution. It was also under Graff’s leadership that the Newberry declined an invitation to merge with the University of Chicago, preserving its status as an independent research library on Chicago’s Near North Side.

Everett Graff early on settled with his wife, Verde, whom he married in 1918, in the prosperous North Shore suburb of Winnetka, where they raised their three children. He and his wife enjoyed classical music and opera, assembled an outstanding art collection, especially art of the American West, and traveled widely. He was also an assiduous student of history, especially the history of the American West. These activities both fueled, and were fueled by, his great passion, which was collecting books, pamphlets, newspapers, manuscripts, broadsides and other materials dealing with the exploration, pacification, settlement and development of the trans-Mississippi West.

Over the course of more than forty years, Graff assembled a collection exceeding 10,000 items, which he bequeathed to the Newberry Library along with substantial funds for an endowment to maintain and enhance it. The Everett D. Graff Collection of Western Americana at the Newberry is generally regarded as one of the finest and most important such collections in the world, in terms of breadth, depth, rarity and condition. And unlike many collectors, Graff read and understood the historical context of a great many of the books and other materials which he collected. His children, whom I interviewed several years ago, speak somewhat ruefully about how, during the years they were growing up, nearly every evening following dinner their father would retire to his large library, where for several hours he read from his collection and corresponded with dealers, collectors, historians, and others. Speaking at the opening of an exhibition of choice items from the Graff Collection held at the James L. Clements Library at the University of Michigan in 1946, Wright Howes, the great American book dealer (about whom more later), had this to say about Everett Graff:

“Most western collectors have been satisfied with trying to cover some one phase of this fascinating subject – overland narratives, the fur trade, the cattle trade – or some one state, some one region . . . . The insatiable curiosity and interest of the collector we are discussing was content with nothing less than the uncompromising aspiration of covering the whole. He has tried to assemble every basic and significant printed source relating to every important event, every phase of human activity, in all the vast interior regions of the United States – throughout the entire sweep of its pioneer and earlier periods . . . .”

Much earlier, in 1911, the Newberry Library was the recipient of a gift of equal importance to the Graff Collection from Edward Everett Ayer, the great Chicago collector of all things created by, depicting or written by or about Native Americans. Ayer, who lived for many years in a mansion designed by John Wellborn Root at the northeast corner of State Parkway and Banks, generously gave to the Field Museum most of his collection of Indian artifacts and to the Newberry his superb collection of books, pamphlets and manuscripts on and many paintings, drawings and photographs of the American Indian. At some point fairly early in his collecting career, Graff, having formed an intention to bequeath his collection to the Newberry, sought to acquire works which would compliment, but not duplicate, those already in the Ayer Collection at that institution. This sensitive gesture on Graff’s part contributed to making the Newberry, through the combined collections of Ayer and Graff, without question one of the premier repositories of Western Americana in the world.

Wright Howes, the other protagonist in this story, was born in 1882, three years before Graff, in the Deep South city of Macon, Georgia, less than 20 years after the end of the Civil War. His roots in America on both sides of his family can be traced to the 17th century. Howes’ father was general manager of and a partner in a small concern which manufactured hosiery and yarn. His mother came from a long line of Southern plantation owners and military leaders, including at least one Confederate general. Raised in a middle class household, Howes attended public elementary and high schools in Macon. He then enrolled as a sophomore in Mercer University, also located in Macon, which was then a private men’s college controlled by the Southern Baptist Association. During that first college year, his father’s textile firm was acquired by the Bibb Manufacturing Company, which at the time was a major concern in Macon. At the end of the year, Howes moved with his family to New York City where his father was transferred by Bibb. Except for infrequent trips to visit relatives, Howes would not return to Georgia again for 70 years, when he retired to Augusta, living there until his death in 1978 at age 95. Upon his arrival in New York, Howes enrolled in the undergraduate college of Columbia University for a year and then, without graduating, entered Columbia Law School, from which he graduated with an L.L.B. degree in June 1905.

After practicing law for two years in Rogers, Arkansas, then a small town in the northwest part of the state whose claim to fame today is that it was the location of the first Wal‑Mart Store, Howes gave up that profession for good. He entered the book business in various capacities, first in Boston, then New York City and finally, in 1912, Chicago. With his wife, Zoe, whom he married in 1919, he established his own antiquarian book business in Chicago in 1924, in a shop on the ground floor of the same building in which they lived at 1142 South Michigan Avenue, across the street from the main passenger terminal of the Illinois Central Railroad. Thereafter, Howes continuously conducted this business for 45 years until his retirement in 1970. By the mid-1930s, he had emerged as one of the preeminent dealers in the country specializing in rare and collectible Americana.

Wright and Zoe Howes lived modestly in rented apartments all of their lives together. They never owned or knew how to drive a car. They were childless. Although cultivated and urbane, their lives centered nearly entirely on their book business, which from 1939 they ran from their home, first in an apartment on East Chicago Avenue, close to the Water Tower, and from 1951 in an apartment on the first floor of the Irving Apartments at 1018 North State Street. The Irving Apartments were owned by the Newberry Library and located only a block from the Library. Many Newberry staff members had apartments there. Wright spent considerable time in the 1950s working at the Newberry, so the location of the Irving Apartments was very convenient for him. Wright and Zoe closed their business in 1970, when the Newberry Library sold the Irving Apartments to a developer who razed the building to make way for the Newberry Plaza high rise development.

Wright Howes was by all accounts a handsome, gracious, kind and unassuming Southern gentleman, possessed of a wonderful dry wit, who was generous in sharing with all comers his prodigious knowledge of American history and of the books, pamphlets and more ephemeral written evidences of that history. Wright spent his days reading, preparing catalogues, and entertaining and corresponding with customers. Zoe, who was a skilled bookbinder, kept the records for the business, paid the bills, sent out invoices, and repaired damaged books and did other custom binding work for Wright’s customers.

Graff and Howes first met when the former, as something of a neophyte collector, began in the late 1920s to visit the Howes shop on South Michigan Avenue, located not far from the offices of Ryerson Steel in the 1100 block of South Rockwell, in search of books. Howes was a mentor to Graff in the early days of their relationship, and for many years Graff was one of Howes’ most important customers. Over time, they became close friends. The relationship was symbiotic. Graff rapidly came up the Americana learning curve, and in time he and Howes became equals in terms of their knowledge and love of American history and of collectible Americana. In later years, Wright and Zoe would take the train to Winnetka most Sundays to visit the Graffs at their home. Following lunch, Graff and Howes would repair to Graff’s library for an afternoon of conversation and examination of items from Graff’s collection, while Zoe and Mrs. Graff entertained the Graff children. As one of Graff’s children told me: “I don’t think there is any question that Wright Howes was Dad’s best friend. It didn’t have anything to do with business. It was a friendship. I remember at Dad’s [memorial] service, I wanted the Howes to sit up with us. I said they are part of our family.”

Howes is best remembered today as the compiler of USiana, a one volume annotated bibliography consisting of 11,620 individual entries of non-fiction works published between 1650 and 1950 which pertain to the history of that part of the American continent now referred to as the continental United States. USiana, which was first published under the auspices of the Newberry Library in 1954 and then in a definitive second edition in 1962 (and which has been reprinted a number of times since then), remains today, more than 40 years later, the most widely used reference tool by Americana dealers and collectors. Bill Reese of New Haven, Connecticut, the leading Americana dealer in the country, told me that USiana is “. . . the one bibliography that I actually keep on my desk. It’s the single most valuable book of its kind, and it’s still portable.”

As Howes has acknowledged in his inscription to Graff of a copy of the 1954 first edition of USiana, Graff was Howes’ “silent partner” in the creation of USiana. It was Graff who is reputed to have come up with the idea for such a compilation. It was Graff who recognized that Howes was uniquely qualified to undertake its preparation and who pushed through a fellowship for Howes from the Newberry in order to provide him office space, access to materials and a modest stipend during the three years’ of intense labor required to complete it. And it was Graff who even helped Wright and Zoe relocate to an apartment in the Newberry’s Irving Apartments so that his walk to the Library each day would be short. Finally, Graff saw to it that the Newberry published the final result. A former senior staff person at the Newberry who was in a position to know told me that USiana was the only one of the Newberry’s many publications that made money for the Library. Although I am sure Graff didn’t think in such terms, he was in a sense returning the favor for all that Howes had done for him throughout the latter’s career as a collector.

Part II – The “expeditions”

Beginning in the mid-to-late 1930s and apparently ending in 1950, Graff and Howes took a number of road trips throughout the Midwest, the South and the West – and one trip by plane to Mexico City. They traveled without their wives and, except for a trip on which Graff’s son accompanied them, by themselves. The shortest of these trips lasted five days, the longest 27 days, and they always covered a lot of territory. They used Graff’s car, and Graff did all the driving. Howes was the navigator, librarian and reader. These trips, which Graff frequently referred to as “expeditions,” were combined book hunting and historical sightseeing tours, carefully planned in advance by the participants. As tourists, they searched out obscure as well as famous trading posts, battlefields, military forts, cemeteries, monuments and natural landmarks. They made it a point to stop at and read every roadside historical marker which they encountered. As bibliophiles, they visited historical societies, private and public libraries, local historians and antiquarians, book shops, and book collectors, dealers and scouts along the way. These visits were sometimes to simply seek out and view “rarities” (as Graff called them) and sometimes to try, often successfully, to acquire them.

The two were known by most librarians, dealers and collectors, who were usually delighted to show their treasures to two such well-known bookmen. Howes often placed classified ads in newspapers along their route in advance of their visits, inquiring if anyone had early historical material for sale and leaving a local post office address for responses. When they visited these places, Howes would pick up the responses, and then he and Graff would pursue any which looked promising. They stayed at “auto camps,” “motor courts,” famous hotels, modest rooms and dude ranches as they traveled. They typically kept up a grueling pace, seldom resting and often traveling 500 or more miles in 16 hour days.

We know about some of these trips because Graff kept detailed “logs” (to use his word) of seven of them. There were at least three other trips as to which no such written record seems to exist. These trip reports, which range from nine to 70 typewritten pages in length, are preserved among the Graff papers at the Newberry Library. Each is a fascinating saga of persons of all walks of life encountered, historic sites found and thoroughly visited, and natural landmarks seen. But what makes them of absorbing interest to a collector of Americana or a lover of American history is that nearly all that is seen is put into a historic or bibliographic context, with Graff’s prodigious knowledge of the written record of the West put to the reader’s service.

The appeal of these reports is enhanced as well by Graff’s vivid, unadorned and engaging style of writing. Nor does he take himself or these forays too seriously; the reports are laced with self-deprecating asides and humorous anecdotes. For example, in the first paragraph of the first of these logs, reporting on a 10-day trip in 1940 through Illinois, Missouri, Nebraska and Iowa, Graff writes that:

“We left Chicago by automobile Thursday morning, September 26th, and went directly south through Bourbonnais, Kankakee, [and] Champaign, stopping for lunch at Mattoon. A good lunch at the “Dinner Bell” (thanks to Duncan Hines’ book on Where to Eat). Upon some talk with the proprietress and telling her I was from Winnetka, she told me that she knew the Everett Graffs in Winnetka.”

The pleasure which both parties derived from these trips is evident in nearly every page of the reports. But Graff leaves no doubt when he states at the end of his report of one seven-day jaunt in June 1942 through Illinois, Iowa and Nebraska:

“We drove directly to Chicago, where we arrived in time to have dinner at home – tired out from the hot weather and pretty strenuous traveling, but fairly well satisfied with the results. We both thoroughly enjoy these trips. I know of no other kind of vacation that gives me such a complete change. It is like stepping into another world. I hope we may be fortunate enough to take many more before oncoming age stiffens us up to the point that we can’t stand the pace. The days are long, the hotel accommodations most of the time crude, the food terrible – but every morning you face the day expecting new adventures and new scenes.”

At the end of the log of another such trip, Graff expresses the same feeling in these words:

“This completed our itinerary, so we started for home around noon . . . , and we arrived in Winnetka . . . about 7 o’clock after a very pleasant and interesting trip. The weather was beautiful every day, and all in all it was one of the most pleasant holidays I have ever had.”

The two of them seemed to travel well together, to carry on long conversations, and to get along famously, notwithstanding the hot weather (these trips usually occurred during the summer months), long days and bad roads. Graff’s son, Bob, who accompanied his father and Howes on a 27-day trip in 1950 to the Pacific Northwest in which they traveled by car roughly 7,000 miles, said that “I never once heard them argue – except about the Blackfeet.” As to the latter, Bob goes on to say “I don’t think they were really serious, they were having a lot of fun.” He is referring to an interesting discussion which Graff and Howes had one day while driving across Montana. Graff relates the story this way in his report:

“One of the hotly contested debates of this day related to the correct way to speak of the resident Indian tribe, whether as the Black-foot or Black-feet tribe. The Indian Chiefs around the hotel [at Glacier National Park] said ‘Black-foot.’ A visit to a little shop in St. Mary which sold Indian handiwork gave us the opportunity of discussing this problem with a well educated young Indian woman who also pronounced the same verdict of ‘Black-foot.’ Howes continued his powerful arguments in favor of ‘Black-feet.’”

Perhaps a proto-typical trip was that taken by Graff and Howes in the summer of 1947 up the old Oregon Trail and thence to the Bozeman Trail. This 21-day tour was made in Graff’s 1941 Cadillac. Graff sets the stage thusly:

“Having been collecting a lot of narratives of western travel for many years and reading a good many of them, I had a natural curiosity to see some of the celebrated landmarks of the old westward trail, . . . and I found my friend Wright Howes had a similar interest and curiosity. This led to our planning . . . a sort of combination vacation and historical journey and also, in a limited way a book hunt. . . . It was exceedingly fortunate that Howes could arrange his affairs so as to accompany me as his enthusiasm in such matters is equal to my own, and his ability to take things as they come and maintain his composure and good nature is vastly greater. As Wright is not very proficient in mechanical matters and does not drive a car, it was agreed I would do the driving and he would be responsible for all reservations, look after the library, reading from the various guidebooks while I drove, and making sure we missed none of the landmarks as we went along the Trail.”

On this trip the two of them traveled through six states. They stopped along the way at the sites of no less than 14 military forts, trading posts and pony express/overland stage stations (some of which were well off the beaten track and took them hours of searching to locate), seven important natural landmarks, four key Indian battlegrounds, several historic mining towns and cattle ranches, a number of cemeteries, and at least one national park. During the course of the same trip, they visited at least nine book dealers, eight collectors, three book scouts, one local antiquarian, three state historical societies, three public libraries and two museums. How, you ask, could they do all of this? One tale relayed by Graff is indicative. He and Howes had stopped for the night in Denver on their way home, after a very long day in the car, and after dinner they returned to their rooms at the Brown Palace Hotel. We pick up the account by Graff:

“About ten o’clock, just as I was about to turn off my light, the telephone rang. It was Fred Rosenstock, the bookseller, whom I had tried to reach earlier in the evening. He and his wife had been out to Central City all day but were now down at the store, . . . and Fred suggested I come down there. I couldn’t resist the suggestion, so I got up and dressed and went down to the store where I stayed until 2 A.M. Then Fred escorted me back to the hotel and I fetched a lot of Colorado pamphlets which I wanted to examine the following day in my room.”

To give you just one example of how Graff weaves historical and bibliographical references into his reports, the following excerpt is offered from his account of the two travelers’ visit to the famous Montana mining town of Virginia City:

“We reached Virginia City about lunch time. . . . Virginia City now has a population of a little over 200, but in the 1860’s Alder Gulch, which includes the country thereabout, had a population probably exceeding 60,000 and Virginia City was the Territorial Capital from 1865-75. . . . The history of Virginia City is typical of western mining towns of which it is perhaps the most famous due to the Vigilantes, which were first organized here, spread to other mining camps and remained active for several years. The famous account of the vigilantes was written by Thomas Josiah Dimsdale. It was first printed in the Montana Post of Virginia City and then as a pamphlet in 1866. Charles Dickens is reported to have said, ‘This is the most interesting book I ever read in my life,’ and I agree it is a fascinating one, particularly when read on the ground where the action took place. I bought a copy of the Noyes reprint here in Virginia City and nibbled at it at every opportunity. . . . The Dimsdale book is a veritable treasure store of facts on this Vigilante era and is a great western book. It is not a rare book. But I would venture to guess that as time goes on fine copies will bring increasingly higher prices in the auction rooms and that it will always remain one of the key books of a western library.”

I can tell you that the Dimsdale book is now very rare, and Graff was right on target regarding its market value.

The Graff reports are replete with humorous stories – of visits to eccentric collectors, car troubles, faulty directions, wrong turns, bizarre sights – the sorts of thing which might befall any travelers on the open road. The apparent grace, however, with which these particular travelers appear to have dealt with most of them is both reassuring and indicative of the bond between them.

Many of us have covered much the same ground as Graff and Howes. But after reading their reports, my appetite has been whetted for retracing their routes and using the Graff “logs” as guides, even over 50 years later. Should any of you wish to read these absorbing reports, copies are readily available in the Reference Room of the Newberry Library.

Part III – The “man date”

There is another aspect of these journeys that I find refreshing and today at least – all too rare: two good male friends spending quality time together and sharing their mutual interests. I’m sure Graff and Howes never realized that each of their road trips together constituted an extended “man date”! “Man date” you say, what on earth is that? According to one Jennifer Lee, a woman no less, writing in the Sunday New York Times a little over a year ago, “Simply defined a man date is two heterosexual men socializing without the crutch of business or sports.” Ms. Lee then takes credit for inventing the term, stating that it has appeared “nowhere in the literature of male bonding.” She claims that her article is based on interviews with 30 or 40 straight men, ranging in age from their 20’s to their 50’s, living in cities throughout the United States.

Ms. Lee then identifies what she describes as a series of “rules” which restrict and circumscribe such social occasions between men: “wine by the glass is fine; sharing a bottle is not. Meeting for dinner is o.k., brunch is not. A walk is fine – as long as one guy carries the ball.” Your speaker regards much of this as nonsense, or perhaps only relevant to insecure young men on both coasts. On the other hand I do believe it is undeniable that both the quantity and quality of social interaction between or among males has declined significantly during the 70 years since Graff and Howes began making their road trips. The only exception is a fairly narrow range of activities perceived as “masculine,” such as participating in various types of sporting or related activities – for example, hunting, fishing, skiing or climbing trips or tennis, golf, biking or jogging – or attending an endless variety of sporting events – baseball games, automobile races, soccer matches and on and on. We could also add poker games and even chess matches – an admittedly “intellectual activity” – to the list.

Ask yourself – how often do two or more heterosexual men get together these days to have a non-business dinner, visit a museum, attend a lecture, go to a concert or play, or take a sightseeing trip? Infrequently, I believe. By contrast, women – my wife among them – think nothing of traveling with one or more female companions for purely social purposes, or participating with other women in any of the other just-mentioned activities. Why is this so? Ms. Lee states that scholars have identified two fundamental changes which have occurred during the last century that have significantly contributed to this decline in heterosexual male bonding: (1) an increased public awareness of homosexuality, which has created a stigma around male intimacy; and (2) the women’s movement and the resulting encroachment on traditional male spheres, “causing men to become more defensive about notions of masculinity.” And, surely, although not mentioned by her, changing lifestyles and more challenging logistics have also been factors: such as more demanding work schedules, television and other home entertainment alternatives, urban sprawl and much greater participation by men in child rearing and other duties of the home.

Much of this reasoning, I must admit, is lost on me. I’m sure advancing age has something to do with it. As we get older, we tend to care much less about what others may think of us. We have made most of life’s important decisions and compromises, dealt with the consequences of our mistakes and feel secure in who we are and where we are going. In any event, in my case, after many years of traditional interaction with other men – the “masculine” types of activities previously referred to – things began to change perhaps 20 years ago as my interests in American history, antiquarian book collecting and architecture took hold. During those years, through various activities related to those interests, I made friends with a number of people, including many men, both in the Chicago area and across the country, who shared my interest in one or more of them. We crossed paths frequently at book fairs, on architectural study tours and at meetings and lectures sponsored by organizations to which we belonged. Of course, we socially interacted at these events – had meals together, visited museums, sought out buildings and similar endeavors. There is no doubt that such extracurricular activities significantly enhanced my enjoyment of these events – and I believe my companions’ as well.

More recently, I have been a participant in three quite different – but equally satisfying – experiences which coincidentally, to use Ms. Lee’s term, could be deemed to be “man dates” (although one of them would require extending her definition of that term).

In the first of these, three male friends who share my passion for antiquarian books and I have begun the practice of getting together about one evening each month. Two are pure collectors, one is an antiquarian dealer (and a collector on the side) and the fourth is a long-time collector who is morphing into a dealer. Two are married and two are single. We usually begin these evenings at one of our homes – looking at and talking about some part of the host’s collection – or at a bookshop where we browse and kibitz with the proprietor, followed by dinner together at a local restaurant. Our conversation, though focused on book matters and the book trade, ranges far and wide. These are exceedingly pleasant evenings. Not only do I learn a lot, but the camaraderie I feel never ceases to lift my spirits. And – please don’t tell Ms. Lee – we always share a bottle or two of wine at dinner.

The second of these experiences involves one of Joan’s and my closest friends. He is an openly gay man who lives in New York and who often travels with us on domestic and foreign architectural study tours. When I visit New York or he visits Chicago, we make it a point to get together for dinner and to do some architectural touring in his city or in mine. Last fall, he and I met in Los Angeles and spent four days together intensively looking at modern architecture in that city and in Palm Springs, partly on our own and partly as part of an organized tour. I was mildly apprehensive at the outset of this trip but it turned out to be wonderful. We talked about and saw and photographed many buildings, visited several museums and, yes, had dinner together each evening. We did not, alas, share a bottle of wine, since our friend is a teetotaler. We always parted company after dinner and started in touring again each morning. We hope to do other such trips in the future.

My final example is something right out of a New Yorker cartoon. Picture this: a group of men – the number varies from week to week depending on schedules and inclination, usually no less than four nor more than eight, gather for dinner and conversation one evening each week at a downtown social club. While for a number of years the original members of this group started their weekly ritual with several games of squash – the traditional “masculine” nexus – increasing age and various infirmities have combined to reduce the emphasis on this athletic precursor to the evening’s festivities. In fact, I believe several of the more recent recruits among the group, myself included, no longer or never did play the game. Nor is this group bound together by a shared interest in a particular avocation. Its members are highly disparate in terms of age, occupation and interests. Among them there are two lawyers, a publisher, a technology entrepreneur, two architects and a commercial building manager. Some are married, some not. The focus of these gatherings – aided by customized martinis and good food and wine – is simply what Kup used to refer to as the “lively art of conversation.” The talk, frequently punctuated by jokes, poetry and the occasional song, ranges widely over politics, current events, travel, literature, what people are reading, history, music, art and on and on. There is a lot of give and take, a lot of ribbing and the occasional bruised feelings. Some evenings seem to work better than others. But the warmth, the camaraderie and the pleasure in each other’s company which typify these gatherings is readily evident.

And please understand that notwithstanding these and other similar male bonding experiences, or whatever you choose to call them, my greatest pleasure, now that our three children are grown and gone, is spending quiet evenings at home with my wife and our dog.

So what is my point in making this long and rambling digression into pop sociology and personal experience? Simply to confirm my belief that Graff and Howes were on to something good in their “expeditions,” breaking most of Ms. Lee’s male bonding rules and living to tell about it. And to encourage men to broaden the range of social activities in which they engage with other men and the frequency with which such engagements occur. I would submit that the concern about being perceived as gay is not only intolerant and unfair to those who are of that sexual orientation, but largely irrelevant as well. If it is not to some, shame on them. It seems to me there should be no artificial limits, either self-imposed or imposed by others, on the range of social activities in which heterosexual males engage in together.

In fact, I would go further. Most middle class gay men are indistinguishable from their heterosexual male counterparts in all respects save one. We dress the same, speak the same and act the same. We encounter each other on a daily basis in both the business and social spheres. We share many of the same interests. Surely we should be free to pursue those interests together if we choose to do so notwithstanding that we are of different sexual persuasions. Who really cares, and if they do, what legitimate reasons are there for any disapproval of such friendships? Some people have told me that I just don’t understand and that I am being naive about this. Perhaps so, but I am happy to report, as one of my examples illustrate, that my experience so far has been to the contrary.

Thank you.