Frank McConnell

“Thank Heaven for Little Grills” (Clover Grill Menu, New Orleans)

Here’s another Frank story.  About 1992, we took a 10-day vacation to New Orleans. During that time, the AIDS epidemic was peaking. As we would walk through the French Quarter, which we never left, we’d see the Public Health posters everywhere. 

Following evenings of great jazz, we’d meander back to our boutique hotel, but not before a stop at the Clover Grill on the edge of the French Quarter. The Clover was a gay diner, both in customers and in jovial ambiance. We’d sit at the counter, listen to the tunes on the jukebox (90% Judy Garland), and made fast friends with our waiters, Marty and David. Especially Marty. I’d enjoy a hearty late night breakfast; meantime, Frank would walk across the street to the packed gay bar, and get himself a draft beer to go.  After an hour or so, we’d stroll to our hotel, giddy from the comradery we’d discovered at the little diner. I’d feel tipsy inside, it was all so perfect. 

One night, Marty decides to play a trick on Frank — one I and the other Clover patrons were in on.  As Frank strolls into the packed bar for his beer-to-go, Marty dashes across the street into the bar, gives Frank a good “goose” on the bottom,  undetected racing back as the rest  of us, witnesses all,  fall over in hysterics. Frank returns – bug-eyed — welcomed by our laughter and hearty pats on the back. 

Our last night there.  As we stand up, Frank spontaneously leans over the counter. He kisses Marty flat on the lips, holds the moment, and looking him straight in the eye says, “Take care, Man.”

That was my fella.  

Love, Celeste