What began as Saturday night parties at the mansion eventually had to change.

Our friend Ron Jenkins sold the mansion and moved to Florida. It was a sad time for our group, not simply because we were losing a place where we had spent so many Saturday nights, but because it felt as though an era was ending.

There were efforts to keep the tradition alive by moving the Saturday night parties from house to house. That didn’t last very long. As it turned out, you could sell the mansion, but you couldn’t sell the friendships that had been built inside it.

The connection had been made, and whether we realized it at the time or not, we were committed to one another. The mansion may have brought us together, but our story was far from finished.

From the Mansion to New Orleans

For me, some of the best Mansion-Men stories happened far beyond Houston.

First came our trips to New Orleans for Southern Decadence. Oh my goodness, was it wild in those days!

For the first several years, we stayed at the Bourbon Orleans Hotel, where they had two-story suites with access to the second-floor balcony on the St. Anne St side. From there, we looked directly toward two of the legendary gay bars of the French Quarter, the Bourbon Pub and Oz.

That balcony became our headquarters.

We spent entire days out there, with plenty of drinks, perhaps a few too many, laughing, people-watching and having more fun than I can adequately describe. We all but took over the balcony.

Keith and Greg were the planners. They couldn’t reserve the coveted room until January, but every year they made sure to do it so we would have at least one room opening onto that balcony.

We made that trip for several consecutive years, and one particular morning remains frozen in my memory.

I woke up and turned on the television. The news was filled with coverage of Princess Diana. When Bob came out of the bathroom, I said, “The news keeps talking about Princess Diana as if she is no longer with us.”

I had barely gotten the words out when they announced that she had died.

I was stunned. Like millions of people around the world, I couldn’t believe it. To this day, whenever I think about hearing the news of Diana’s death, I am immediately transported back to that hotel room in New Orleans.

Eventually, I suppose our group developed a reputation for having too much fun. The hotel stopped allowing us to book the room with balcony access.

And just like that, another tradition came to an end.

On to Cancun!

But if there is one thing our group has always been good at, it is finding another adventure.

Keith and Greg had been traveling to Cancun for several years without the rest of us. Then, in February 2005, we decided to go as a group.

What a trip!

The hotel staff already knew Keith and Greg, and because we were all on the all-inclusive plan, the food and drinks flowed all day, and then well into the night.

We planted ourselves at the beachside bar, watched the endless parade of people passing by, harassed the bar staff, lovingly, of course, and took turns going in and out of the wading pool on the far side of the bar.

During that trip, two of my closest friends, Gary and Tim, and I decided to make the long journey to Chichén Itzá. It was quite a bus ride, but it was worth every minute. We visited during one of the final periods when tourists were still allowed to climb the great pyramid.

We did it.

All these years later, we still talk about that day.

The Year Everything Seemed to Happen

Then there was 2005.

Every group of longtime friends has certain years that become markers in their collective history. For us, 2005 was one of those years when so much happened that it almost feels impossible that it all fit into twelve months.

After 24 years together, Keith and Greg decided to go their separate ways.

There was the infamous Pensacola trip, more on that in a moment.

Greg and I went on a cruise together.

I suddenly had hair again.

Greg met Dennis.

And I met Brett.

Those were only a few of the events that made 2005 unforgettable.

Pensacola: Yes, They Really Left Me

Several members of our group had been going to Pensacola for Memorial Day weekend for years. In 2005, they finally convinced me to join them.

There must have been 15 of us packed into one house.

Oh, and did I mention that Pensacola was still recovering from a hurricane? Only a limited number of houses were inhabitable, sidewalks were damaged, and sand seemed to be everywhere.

We arrived around lunchtime.

Naturally, the partying began immediately.

Eventually, we all decided to go to dinner at a restaurant that wasn’t terribly far from the house, but was far enough that nobody wanted to walk. We piled into several cars and headed out.

After dinner, a few of us needed to visit the little boys’ room before heading back. Being the gentleman that I am, I let all the younger ones go first.

When I finally came out of the restroom, I didn’t see anyone.

I walked into the parking lot.

Nobody.

At first, I assumed they were playing a joke on me. I checked the gift shop next door.

Nobody.

I went back into the restaurant.

Still nobody.

At that point, only one thought remained:

Did those SOBs actually leave me here?

Yes.

Yes, they did.

I waited several minutes, thinking surely someone would notice I wasn’t in one of the cars and come back for me.

NOPE!

So I walked back to the house.

And when I arrived, I discovered something even worse.

They still hadn’t realized I was missing.

Fortunately, I had a room to myself, so I went to bed. I should add that this wasn’t the only thing that happened during that trip that influenced my decision, but when I woke up the next morning, I began making arrangements to go home.

And I did.

Believe me when I say that I have never allowed them to forget the time they abandoned me at a restaurant in Pensacola.

And I never will.

Of course, the fact that we can laugh about it today probably says more about our friendship than the fact that they left me there in the first place.

The Adventures Changed, but the Friendship Didn’t

Pensacola was one ridiculous incident in a lifetime filled with magical moments.

For years, there were annual trips to Cancun, New Orleans for Halloween and Southern Decadence, and Pensacola for Memorial Day. Eventually, those traditions changed, too. Now, rather than returning to the same destinations year after year, we tend to choose someplace different.

This past year, it was Puerto Vallarta.

And, oh my goodness, did we have a good time.

There was only one small problem.

There were six of us on the trip, and at different times, every single one of us became violently ill.

And when I say violently ill, I mean bad.

About eight hours of absolute ugliness for each victim.

I’ll spare you the details.

Some Mansion-Men stories are better left partially untold.

More Than a Circle of Friends

The journey isn’t over. We will continue having adventures, and as long as we do, we’ll continue telling the stories.

But there are two things I want to leave you with.

The first is that while this is the story of our circle of friends, I don’t believe we are unique.

I look around our LGBTQ+ community and see other circles of friends who have built lives together in much the same way. They have traveled together, celebrated together, laughed together, argued with one another, mourned losses together and watched one another grow older.

For many LGBTQ+ people, friendship has always meant something more.

Our friends became part of the families we created for ourselves. They stood beside us through years when the outside world wasn’t always particularly welcoming. They celebrated our relationships, cared for us when we were sick, sat beside us when we lost people we loved and, perhaps most importantly, made us laugh when life gave us very little reason to.

We have been incredibly fortunate to have one another.

The second thing I want to leave you with comes from my brother. He isn’t gay, but over the years he has spent quite a bit of time with my friends whenever he visits. His observation about our group has stayed with me:

“I enjoy jumping into your world once in a while, because you have a wonderful, wonderful group of friends that maybe have the best outlook, and are literally the funniest people I know. The one-liners that they come up with just will non-stop make you laugh.”

I can’t think of a better description of the Mansion-Men.

The mansion itself is long gone from our lives. The Saturday night parties are memories. The trips have changed, relationships have changed, and all of us have changed.

But the laughter is still there.

So is the friendship.

And after all these years, perhaps that is what the Mansion-Men were really about all along.

The mansion was simply where the story began.