His Place: Doug Spencer-Cooper

Doug Cooper-Spencer

Tell us about This Place of Men. How did you come up with the idea for the book?

This Place of Men is the story of two men who were once in love as teens. Their relationship was torn apart by the father and minister of one of the young men and as a result, a tragic circumstance occurs. Twenty years later one of the men returns home to confront all the players that led up to this tragedy. The story follows what happens when he returns and the effect of his return. I came up with the idea from a question that I (and I know many other gay men) get whenever I speak before a non-gay audience: "When did you become gay?" I wanted to show that the nascence of one's homosexuality is just like a heterosexual person's.

How does This Place of Men fit into the constellation of black LGBT literature?

It adds to the exploration of black LGBT love, but it also opens up dialogue about God and homosexuality, personal responsibility and social responsibility. And it's a damn good story with a twist that I bet no one will pick up on.

Who do you read?

I like to read anyone who challenges the norm and me, especially in the areas of history (my passion is ancient Africa), anthropology and discussions of religion/philosophy. It can be in the form of fiction or non-fiction.

When you are not writing, what are you up to?

Listening to music, I love discovering new music forms; traveling, taking long walks, reading, exercising and just chilling with loved ones (I got some crazy family and friends!)

What are you working on right now?

Currently I'm working on a story about (now how can I say this without giving too much away?)... family. And of course there is a gay element there too. And I like the title I've chosen for the next book, it's entitled...well... I guess I'd better hold off on telling that too. I also have ideas and notes on a documentary I would love to do, as well as a feature film homage to an important period of the black gay community.

Talk about Cincinnati black LGBT community.

Cincinnati's black LGBT community... let's just say it's struggling to find it's legs. It's mostly about the social scene more than consciousness. It's a challenge for me. Fine brothas and sistuhs though.

Name ten favorite songs and why with one three words.

Wow. I have a lot. Here goes:

Anything by The Smiths. Sums it up.
"My Way" by Frank Sinatra. Sums me up.
"I Had A Talk With My Man Last Night" by Mitty Collier. Really heartfelt.
Everything from Common's "Electric Circus" CD. Insightful. Wow!
"Flower Duet" by Leo Delibe. Beautiful.
"Wild Wild Boys" by Ruth Brown. Raucous!
"His Eye Is On The Sparrow" (Mahalia's version). My mother's favorite.
"Milkshake" by Kelis. Y'know?
"Free" by Ultra Nate. Spirit.
"Simply Beautiful" by Al Green. Minimalism. Simply beautiful.
"Black Ivory Soul" by Angela Kidjo. Diaspora.
"Everything Must Change" (Nina Simone's version). Powerful.
Oops. That's twelve. Told you I had a lot.

Nine people the United States could do without.

Let's just say these are people I most disagree with, after all diversity is what we're supposed to be about, right?

Evangelist Pat Robertson
George Bush
Donny McClurkin
The guy on that extreme home makeover show, Tye... something (he just irks me)
The person who stole my identity and ran up a cable bill (you know who you are!)
Angie + Debbie Winans, who sang "Not Natural," the anti-gay gospel song
Any Reagonite
Carl Rove
The woman who was stalking the parks to find DL bruthas. Very misguided and it solves nothing in the long run.

Eight places you’d like to visit and why.

Kenya and all of east Africa (There's that ancient Africa/Asia connection going on.)
China (Exotic.)
Omaha Nebraska (Just curious about those plains towns.)
Montreal (I hear it's so laid back.)
Belize (Seen some of the bruthas there.)
Cuba (Kept the 'Afro' in Latin, while others try to diminish our part in that culture)
The ruins of Monomotapa (HISTORY AND MYSTERY)
The ruins of Angkor Vat (HISTORY AND MYSTERY)

Seven reasons why people should purchase This Place of Men

Great story & plot (pulls the reader in)
Daring (broaches the subject of God and homosexuality)
Black gay love (oh yeah, and sex)
Different types of characters (blue collar, as well as white collar, and a black gay policeman)
The ending. Check out the ending (I know something you don't know).
Challenging
The success of this book opens the way for others to come.

Describe six words that describe your lover Greg.

Loving. Very loving.
Smart
Funny (told you all my family and friends are crazy)
Adventurous
Picky when it comes to aesthetics
Best friend for the past seven and a half years

Five things to do in Cincinnati

Take in the site of the rolling hills
Take in the site of the river front parks
Check out the brothas
Take in the architecture (Lots of 19th century urban styles, brownstone, etc.)
Hang out at Simon Says on the weekends. The brothas take over.

Four reasons why being black and homo is the bomb-diggity.

Style, History, Music, Camaraderie

Name three writers you love.

Toni Morrison, Essex Hemphill and James Baldwin

Two ways to show love to strangers.

Smile and converse.

One hope for your book, This Place of Men.
That people will buy it and enjoy it and that it challenges thinking.

Excerpt from Chapter I

Sometimes he saw things when he drank. But that was only when he drank too much. He didn’t drink often, but sometimes he would become careless of his burden when he sat before a glass, and the one glass would become a full bottle until his head would fill and the visions would come.

They had been happening most of his adult life, the visions. They began to occur while he was in prison. They started as reflections he would have at night; then they transformed themselves into quick momentary sightings during the day until finally turning into resonant narratives that gripped him whenever he was inebriated. He wanted to tell people who looked at him when he was drunk that once, when he was younger, he had dreams. He had had dreams like every young man, but now he saw things, no dreams. And sometimes he even wondered if calling the images visions was appropriate, so he would have told them he simply saw things. That’s what he would have told them if he spoke to them, but he rarely spoke to anyone about his life.

Once he saw a man stumbling through an alley with his throat slit. It was one night while he was getting his dick sucked. At first he didn’t notice the man; he was watching the kid’s head going back and forth at his crotch. Probably some student from NYU whose parents didn’t know they had sent him all the way to New York to suck dicks.
It was the kid who saw the man first. He fell back against the wall and gasped, ‘Oh my God!’, his eyes wide with terror.

He turned to see what had startled him, and there he was. A man was stumbling, his hand to his throat. It was too dark to see the wound, but he saw the blood, like searching fingers down the front of the white shirt and he knew by the position of the man’s hand and by the hollow wheeze that rose through the closed hot alley what had happened.

The boy jumped up and ran from the alley, but he had stood for a second and assessed the matter. Then, realizing his own possible endangerment and the fact that the kid had run out without paying him, he too ran towards the street.

At least that’s what he thinks happened. He knew there was a man who stumbled through the alley, and he knew it had startled him and the boy, but he was never sure if the man’s throat had been cut. He never heard the sirens or saw the EMT racing to the alley as he stood a bit away, or the gathering of a crowd; in fact passersby moved across the entrance of the alley with no awareness of the assault. It was times like that when he would assume that what he saw had not really happened.

But all his visions were not so gruesome. Some of them would be pleasant. They would be of better times so long ago: sitting in his car, his arm around him, watching the tops of trees against the remaining light of day, neither one speaking; the soft lime glow of the radio dial against their faces. The low music, warming them in spite of the chill of a winter’s eve, and how they would talk of their love for each other. . . but at that point the silence would set in; it always set in, the dark, covering silence. And he would drink more to fill that silence, the darkness and the pain.

But today he wouldn’t drink much. In fact, he hadn’t drunk too much in the last few weeks in anticipation of his return. He knew he would need everything in tact for his return. So now he sat and looked out the window of the bar and assessed the changes of his hometown. It had been a long time since he left home, but now he was back. He had arrived in Cincinnati two days ago but hadn’t let anyone know he had returned except for his younger sister with whom he was staying. He chose to lay low because he knew he would have to account for the years away; and after all those years away people might want to know the reason for his return. The first deed wouldn’t be too difficult to explain. After all, everyone knew of the circumstances that drove him away. But it was the second question that would be hard to answer because he wasn’t sure why he returned.

He turned the glass that held his drink and watched as the amber liquid splashed against its sides. How many times over the years had he done that? How many times had he held the same thoughts that now crowded his head? He was tired of nursing drinks and memories. Things would be different now.

Raising the glass to his mouth he finished his drink with one swallow. Then rising from the bar, he turned and walked out onto the street. Yes. Things would be different now.

Saturday, December 03, 2005 @ 11:11 AM