History Schmistory

June 10, 2008

In spite of a thought or two that I would revisit the books, I never actually thought much about my tour before stepping across the threshold for my 3pm group on Saturday. I kind of took it for granted that after sixty years of relative immobility, things were pretty much the same at Beauport as they had been last year. And they were… pretty much. My rhythm wasn't as snappy, but I managed to make it enjoyable and speed through my allotted hour, give or take five minutes.

There is one detail I didn't have to learn… that is really kind of obvious when talking about Henry. A detail that I have written here a few times. But it is a 'new' requirement on our tours. We have to tell our visitors that Harry was gay.

Well, first of all, duh. Second of all, huh?

This is my fifth summer up there. The first year I was told well… we can't say we know for sure, so if anyone asks just say he never married. Okay. I told them to read the Beauport Chronicle and showed my friends inscriptions in the dusty books. Then last summer, we were told it was okay to say he was a homosexual, but only if someone asked the question. So I filled my tours with whatever I could to prompt the question. This summer, it is a mandatory explanation.

Ex post facto for me…but, hey, cool. It's about freakin time this antique worshipping organization shows some gay pride. But I've worked too long amongst fundraisers to know that so swift a resolution is usually prompted by $$$$. Whatever the cause, I suppose the end is the important thing, right?

The ladies are uncomfortable with it. The lunchtime discussion made me realize how much younger I am… or how Boston I am by comparison. I think they are all pretty open minded, but most come from a generation before the free love of the 60's, when bedroom habits were not freely discussed, whatever they were. Or maybe it's because it isn't as fun when it isn't a secret one can give away.

It is kind of funny, though, that they also decided to open some of the closets and take out the clothes. But they are displayed on faceless mannequins at the far end of the room, behind a rope. Close enough to know they exist, but distant enough to not see completely.