Fame, Fortune and Fudging Myself

Contrary to popular myth, I’m neither gay nor a Hells Angel. But I sheepishly suspect that the first thing that crosses anyone’s mind when they first meet me is “Wow! Now there’s a Hells Angel, if ever I saw one.”

Truth be told, some of my metrosexual biker buddies actually do ride bicycles, and those longer in the tooth mount senior tricycles. But, indeedy I do have a few authentic Hells Angels in my circle of friends. 

Hanging loose with the rough and ready became a necessity eons ago when I worked on an article about the fallacies of Hells Angels. I lounged around biker bars for the same reason I graced gay bars, you know? Research, research, research.

Call me crazy but those are the two groups of men with whom I feel the most comfortable. The bikers admire my professed literary expertise and what sometimes passes for wit. 

Dissimilarly, the gays, most of whom are way wittier than I’ll ever be, admire my unmitigated virility. Sneer if you must, but standing near a drag queen, I’m a manly, manly man.

Actually, my association with Hells Angels and gays originated when I was a suburban boy who coveted the country lifestyle of my cousins. 

My favorite cousins were brothers Big Buck and Little Kim. Buck reigned supreme as the family protector. Never a bully, but a giant who safeguarded the rest of us kids, especially his weaker, wimpier but hilarious little brother Kim.

Both brothers have forever stayed friends with each other and myself.

As adults, Buck ultimately became a wild but law-abiding Hells Angel and would come roaring into one’s day on his Harley hog. Kim became a high-minded drag queen who quietly piloted a moped.

To each his own. I’d hate galavanting about on a hog or sharing the road with a semi while on a scooter. I prefer to think of myself as a rugged nature-lover, a blue-blooded birdwatcher. Call me a craven craver, but it’s a safe, even exciting sideline.

Buck and his buddies never objected to Little Kim’s missing machismo. What kind of peer group prestige could these deviants ever hope to claim from beating up a guy with delicate features? Hells Angels boldly go for the Goliaths. 

Though they make an odd couple, I suspect that the two brothers bonded over one common dream —they’ve always yearned to be rich and famous. 

A health nut who never missed a workout at the gym, Big Buck hero-worshiped successful musclemen. He dreamed of having own TV show as a rich fitness coach, à la Jack LaLanne and/or a rich and famous body builder like Arnold Schwarzenegger. 

As for Kim, he still proudly considers himself “Miss Showbiz,” and has for years yearned to be the next RuPaul.

As for moi, I love performing, but I’ve always been one of the few theater people on the planet who never craved fame or fortune. And I’ve achieved that inanity brilliantly well. I’m the king of obscurity, and I’ve all but taken a poverty vow.

My bigliest dream lies within a simple life, in the style of Thoreau. Ah, to live  a countryside lifestyle. I keep telling my country cousins that I’d love to live by Walden Pond. 

Buck begs to differ: “The hell ya beller. If you wanted such a country-boy life, you wouldn’t be so gaga about New York City.”

Kim agrees: “You must have bats in your belfry, cousin. You’re a city slicker.”

Okay, just for sport, this city slicker posed a question to the good ol’ boys: “What would you do if you won a windfall lottery?”

Big Buck piped up and said, “I’m way too old and fat to straddle a hog. I’d get a Ferrari. Big red one. I’ll never be Magnum P.I. famous, but I could still be Tom Selleck rich.”

Little Kim sighed. “I’m much too old and wobbly to wear high heel spikes nowadays, but I’d love to buy Imelda Marcos’s entire shoe collection.” I’d roll around in those 3,000 puppies like Uncle Scrooge rolled around in his money bin in those old comic books. Fame passed me by, but fabulous thrives forever.”

“Sorry boys, I’ve tried rejecting notoriety but I simply can’t fight fate,” I purred. “Blame my unmeant celebrity on all those websites I’ve created.” 

During our recent high school reunion, my former classmates voted me the one who’s become the Most Famous Person in our class.

Maybe they should have voted me King of Humble Bragging.

As for winning a lottery, I would never be extravagant. No burning desire for private jets or a fleet of yachts for me, thank you.  All I hunger for is absorbing nature’s beauty.

But what self-respecting nature boy of great wealth would settle for Walden’s Pond? 

Any penthouse with an incredible ocean view would suffice. 

— Steve Eskew 

After many years of tackling theater and book reviews, profiles and playwriting projects, Steve Eskew is hard at work on a nonfiction anthology, Tommy’s Mind. Steve swears his favorite pastime will always be humor writing, an affection that began while writing a humor column for The Gateway, a school newspaper at the University of Nebraska at Omaha. A retired businessman, Steve received a pair of master’s degrees in both dramatic arts and communication studies from that university after he turned 50. No Rhodes Scholar, to be sure, sometimes Steve thinks his academic writing was funnier than his humor pieces. Check out his humor blog, ESKEWPADES.