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I was a walker — an escort to society women
Aug. 28, 2014 Updated: Aug. 29, 2014 9:12 a.m.
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Tony Bravo is The San Francisco Chronicle's Arts and Culture writer. Bravo joined The Chronicle staff in 2015 as a reporter for the former Style section, where he covered New York Fashion Week for the Hearst newspapers and served as the section's editorial stylist, in addition to writing the relationship column "Connectivity." He primarily covers visual arts and the LGBTQ community as well as specializing in stories about the intersections between arts, culture and lifestyle. His column appears in print every Monday in Datebook. Bravo is also an adjunct instructor at the City College of San Francisco Fashion Department and is the fourth generation of his family born in San Francisco, where he lives with his husband.
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You’ve got to climb Mount Everest to reach “The Valley of the Walkers.”
OK, maybe not Mount Everest, but at the very least Nob Hill to get to the Gold Room at the Fairmont Hotel.
A walker is a gay man who escorts women to social occasions, whether it be a small cocktail reception or a major opening night. Sometimes these women are divorcees or widows; other times they are “society widows” — i.e., women whose husbands choose to abstain from the social circuit. There are two films centered on the world of walkers: “The Extra Man” starring Kevin Kline and Paul Dano, and “The Walker” with Woody Harrelson in the title role. Former first lady Nancy Reagan used to be famous for always having a walker, which should also indicate that it’s women of a certain age who require a walker’s arm.
For a short period of time, I was a member of this dwindling fraternity. My first job out of art school was planning special events at a small museum. Something about a 22-year-old gay man who enjoyed hearing stories about seeing Maria Callas sing in 1953, or what it was like taking tea with Roosevelt as a little girl (“Franklin, not Teddy; I’m not that old,” she joked) immediately endeared me to many of the ladies who attended the museum’s parties.
It didn’t hurt that my job required an extensive special-occasion wardrobe. Faster than you can say “Here’s to the ladies who lunch,” I was initiated. Among my bosses at the museum, my walker status was considered an attribute; it occasionally sold a ticket to a gala or maybe even a table or two.
The Valley of the Walkers was another world. For example, these ladies had spectacular closets where they’d occasionally invite you to pick out an evening wrap. Because these were frequently women of the prewar generation, many of them had extensive fur collections that included wildlife you were pretty sure went extinct with the Hapsburgs. As their guest, I got to explore worlds that were usually closed to me (political fundraisers, exclusive donor nights). A last-minute invitation to a private party once yielded a surprise encounter with a favorite Supreme Court justice, who, it turned out, had known my lady friend for years. On the nights memorable for bad behavior, my lips are sealed. My job was to keep smiling.
Most of the ladies I was keeping company with were delightful women of refinement and sophistication, some of whom became real friends. Others treated their walkers the way early 2000s reality-show heiresses treated small dogs: like accessories, the homo-bangle on their arm. I learned to avoid them.
Many of these women loved to try to get a reaction out of me by sharing secrets from their set while also trying to get me to share things about their friends. As I said, my job was to keep smiling.
Frequently, there were elaborate setups, like “This is one of my very dearest friends in all the world — he’s an absolute darling to come out with me tonight after we were seated together recently, I just adore him ...” People would occasionally try to figure out just what my generation-gapped relationship with these women was, and innocently ask if I was their son. (To which my own mother eventually responded, “That’s horrifying; I’m much younger than those women.”) One extremely unfortunate partygoer asked if a lady I was out with was my grandmother. In what I can only assume was a coincidence, said partygoer was never seen again.
There were some truly memorable “dates.” One night at the Ballet, the new lady who invited me to the program started shaking her head in dismay when she saw the name of a certain choreographer on the second act. “I still get shivers from when I worked with him in New York,” she sighed dramatically. It turned out that she had been an accomplished ballerina in another life; we skipped Act 2 and she spent the rest of the night telling me stories about New York Bohemia in the ’50s and what it was like to date Paul Newman (pretty good).
Then there are the more unusual remembrances. After accepting an invitation from a new acquaintance, I was warned that the woman was swathed in rumors of kleptomania and had been banned from every event committee in town because of her allegedly sticky fingers. Some ladies had multiple walkers, one for every occasion. One matron liked to subtly make her walkers compete with one another to see who got to take her to the most coveted events; come August, it was a black-tie battle royale I observed from the sidelines.
As I got older, I outgrew my place there. Among the final straws that led to my voluntary departure from the Valley of the Walkers was a frantic phone call from one septuagenarian at 6 a.m. on a Sunday saying she needed my help immediately. With visions of blood clots and broken hips in my head, I rushed over, upon which I was asked to pull a gown from the closet for a ball that wasn’t happening for a month. Madam, you see, could not reach it.
Gay men have always had an appreciation for women’s company that doesn’t end when they reach a certain age; if anything, we cherish these ladies more for the richness of their long lives. That's why the walker system has worked for so long.
However, it’s a dying world. Women of the postwar generations weren’t raised to never appear unescorted. Besides, any gay man they bring with them to events is probably their longtime best friend. The Valley of the Walkers is less inhabited every day.
But every now and then I see some freshly scrubbed art school grad on the arm of a silver-bouffanted doyenne, and I think to myself, “Keep climbing Mount Everest, kid. You may be the last one to peek inside the valley.”
Tony Bravo is a San Francisco freelance writer. E-mail: style@sfchronicle.com Twitter: @tonybravosf
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Viral video shows woman escorted out of East Bay Starbucks after racially charged altercation
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An unnamed woman visiting a Starbucks location in Walnut Creek was escorted out of the cafe by police officers after reportedly becoming irate as she heard other customers speaking in Korean to each other. A pair of viral videos showcasing a portion of the altercation has been circulating Facebook since it happened on Sunday.
An international college student from South Korea, self-identified on her Facebook page as Annie An, was at the suburban coffee house in a tutoring session with Sean Lee, as KRON reports, when Lee says he said something in Korean in the vein of, "We might need to brainstorm this way and write the essay that way."
Lee says that's when the woman, who they didn't know, began speaking to them.
As he recalls, "This lady just suddenly says, 'Don't you dare say that again.'"
An then began filming the subsequent conversation between the pair and the woman. By that time, two baristas at the store had walked over to ask the woman to leave. She refused, and used slurs to refer to Lee and An. The employees then called the police to intervene.
"You can sit and be quiet, fine," the woman said to the pair in the video An posted to Facebook. "But I don't want to hear your language."
UPDATE: We made the news! Hopefully, this leads to even more conversations and initiatives. Check out the link...
An's video quickly went viral, and has been viewed 317,000 times as of this writing. Lee's video went viral as well, and has recorded 650,000 views.
As Lee told KRON later, the incident "was actually my very first time interacting with someone like this, and that's why I was even more surprised ... I mean, I see videos like this online, you know, I see it on the news, but it's not something I would ever imagine happening to me or anyone I know."
In the text accompanying the video she first posted to Facebook, An wrote that the woman again complained about her language when police arrived to escort her out.
"Imagine this happening to your family and friends," Lee wrote in his post about the incident. "I've always cognized this issue, but my first, real-life encounter with racism has brought it to the forefront of my mind. I hope it does the same for you."
Alyssa Pereira is an SFGATE staff writer. Email her at apereira@sfchronicle.com or find her on Twitter at @alyspereira .
Alyssa Pereira is a culture editor and contributing beer writer for SFGATE. She previously worked for CBS San Francisco and SPIN Magazine and has contributed to Good Beer Hunting, Paper, Vice's i-D and Paste, among others. She is a Bay Area native and graduate of New York University and SFSU.
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