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(Since Oct. 7, 1999)

Bob Andelman Articles Archive

I am man, hear me drum.

Picture if you will, a room full of grown men and women gathered on weathered chairs and sofas in two rows of a semi-circle, pounding tightly stretched skins to the beat of a rhythm only they can hear. It isn't an orgy of plastic surgery patients; it's a meeting of ""Men of the '90s' held recently in St. Petersburg.

The meeting starts with the beat of a big bass drum, but because these are mostly middle-aged white people, they must first be instructed to keep time with the man beating the bass. And drum they do. Some pound expensive, intricately decorated designer drums; others have primitive looking drums. One man works out a beat on a snare drum while another bleats out a tune on a flute. Most everyone brought an instrument; some have extras, to share.

BOOM - Boom - BOOM - Boom - TWEAT (Remember the guy with the flute) - Boom - BOOM ...

For 17 solid minutes, more than 30 men and 10 women who paid $10 each for the pleasure, pound, beat and tap in the musty clubhouse at Coquina Key Arms North. The only woman not drumming looks bewildered and waves off the man with the biggest drum in the room when he offers her a rattle.

If this were an Indian tribe and the leader of the group makes repeated reference to Hopis and Native Americans as the night wears on it would be the White Sheep.

A real man would have stood up and told them to cut the crap, he was getting a headache.

And one more thing: who invited the women? Like any of us is going to speak out with somebody's wife or girlfriend inches away. Sure. The unescorted women must think this is the '90s way to pick up men. And all this faux male hugging? Stick to shaking hands, will you? There's nothing like a good firm handshake to convey manliness.

When the pounding stops, Timothy J. Schreck, co-founder of the Morning Star Institute and the Tampa Bay Men's Council, stands before the group.

""Ho!'' he says.

""Ho!'' ""HO!'' ""Ho!'' ""HO!'' answers the council.

""If you don't know what to say, just say ''Ho!''' advises Schreck. If only Nancy Reagan could hear this.

Schreck introduces tonight's guest, Jeffrey Duvall. ""Jeffrey does 'found ritual work,''' according to Schreck, although what that means is probably as subject to interpretation as performance art. Duvall balding, bespectacled, clean shaven and wearing a blue vest is managing editor of the Colorado-based Men's Council Journal and a leader in the movement.

(The Men's Council Journal subtitled ""Stories of Male Experience'' publishes personal reminiscences, poetry and profiles of real men, also includes advertising for drum making workshops, men's journeys to spirituality, massage therapy and incest or sexual abuse renewal groups.)

""I really respect you all very much and your courage for being here,'' says Duvall. ""(Our) work has nothing to do with isolating ourselves from women or children or from our responsibility to the earth. It has to do with coming into the right relationships. ... That aspect of being a whole man means you have something to offer, whether it be a woman, your children or the earth.''

(Huh?)

The woman who wouldn't shake a rattle earlier interrupts. ""What did you mean by '... offer your women'?'' she asks, agitated.

""Offer ourselves. Our passion, our jealousies,'' says Duvall, defusing the moment.

Duvall tells a story about how, when he was 10 years old, he bonded with his grandfather while ice fishing on Lake Erie. The old man was one of few words, although Duvall does capture the reverence with which many men save for their grandparents. ""Watching Grandpa was like watching Buddha or some other holy man,'' he says. But the rest of the story takes a weird turn as Duvall describes a fight he had with his parents as a teen. ""There was violence,'' he says. ""There was bloodshed. I went crazy. I went into the street in my skivvies not knowing where I was going.'' He wound up on his grandparents' porch, met by his grandfather. ""He said, 'You had a rough night. From now on, you'll live here.'''

When the story is over, Duvall sits down, expectant.

Nothing. Then:

""HO!'' ""Ho!'' ""HO!'' ""Ho!''

Duvall grins.

""Does anyone know where 'Ho!' comes from?'' he asks. ""It comes from Native American people. I want to thank them for giving it to us. It means 'I hear you.'''

The topic changes abruptly to men's sensuality. It is one of the most arid and boring lectures on the subject ever heard in these parts, full of cosmic platitudes and the importance of getting in touch with one's self. It sounds a lot like a lecture from the woman who just wants to be friends. ""We're not talking about sex here, we're talking about sensuality,'' says Duvall. ""If we're not able to be sensually free, there's a piece of the pie missing and the soul is not being fed. ...

""Because the male genitalia is on the outside, there seems to be an image in many cultures that men are naturally disconnected from themselves. ... I remember, as a boy, saying my genitalia were my mind and I didn't have a mind.''

Genitalia? See, if all these women weren't present, he wouldn't have said genitalia.

When Duvall finishes his spiel, he asks the group to share their thoughts on men's sensuality. Two women raise their hands; no men do. The first woman explains how when she gets very upset, she must bring herself down. ""How do you do it?'' asks Duvall. ""I meditate,'' she says.

Thanks for sharing. Anyone else?

Another woman. She's a massage therapist who admits to having ""sensual relationships'' with many of her male clients. She tells them they shouldn't be embarrassed by their "sensual" responses to her touch. In closing, she urges everyone to go home and touch someone. She especially likes hugging trees.

""Thank you for not shaming the men who fall in love or in lust with you,'' says Duvall.

""HO!'' ""Ho!'' ""HO!'' ""Ho!''

The men are quite emphatic in their "Ho!"s on this point.

About this time, between stifling laughs and yawns, I am reminded of a scene in the recent film ""My Girl,'' which is set in the 1960s. A creative writing class led by Griffin Dunne sits cross-legged on the floor in a circle, holds hands and attempts to see each other's ""aura.'' As each student talks in platitudes about everything and nothing, it becomes the turn of the movie's pre-teenage star to speak. What do you feel? she's asked. ""I feel his hangnail,'' she answers.

The only man in the audience who speaks up in the first 90 minutes of the meeting actually makes sense. A rough looking guy in his late 40s, muscular, with tattoos on his forearms, he says that attending these functions has introduced him to the notion of men as compassionate beings. Instead of trying to out-sell and out-seduce his fellow man, he is learning to lean on men when the burdens of life get too great.

"Today, I can call a man on the phone I always thought women were the only ones who were compassionate," he says. ""Today I realize I can go to another man and say I'm in pain, this is what I need. I'm developing a trust of my fellow man.''

I am man, heal my pain.

But lose the drums.

©2000, All rights reserved. No portion may be reproduced without the express written permission of the author.

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