My life has seen it all, happiness, sadness, friendship, life, and death around me, self-descovery, international travel and much more.

I was born in San Francisco on the 14th day of the month of April, in the year 1968. That year, that day fell on Easter Sunday. My Mom, Roberta or 'Bobbie', whose ancestry was full-blooded Sicilian/Italian, migrated with her Parents, Frank and Francess Pironne, and her sister Angela or "Bunny" from what was then called, East Patterson, New Jersey, now known as Elmwood Park, all the way across the continent to Modesto, California, in the San Joaquin valley. Modesto was a rapidly, growing middle-class community, with vineyards back in the day. Modesto not only became the new homestead for the family, but was also the birthplace of it's most famous child, future filmmaker, George Lucas. The Lucas(s) were nearby neighbors of my mother's family. George and my mother became childhood friends, and in the semi-autobiographical movie, "American Graffitti" where early sixties, Modesto was the setting, My mother inspired the minor character, 'Bobbie' who drove a red bug, in which Richard Dreyfuss's character, who is about to leave for college, spots in another car, the woman of his dreams, played by Suzanne Somers. The character 'Bobbie' was a tough-talking girl, and quite the opposite of my mother. If you still, are confused by the similarity between the two 'Bobbie's, besides the name, it was the red VW bug. A final note, on 'American Graffitti', while the setting of the movie was early sixties Modesto, he shot the movie in Santa Rosa, in Marin County, because Modesto in the early 70s, had grown too big. My mother inherited her cooking, artistic, and steamtress skills for her mother, Francess, and from her father, Frank, she inherited her wit/intelligence, and pristine penmanship and especially her short-hand. My mom furthered her education at the university of Grenoble, in France, coming out with a fluent command of the French language, but after several years of limited opportunity to speak it, it became rusty.

My Father, Darrell, of Swedish and English ancesty, was born in Oakland, across the bay from San Francisco, and his father, Edward was born in Berkerley, His mother, Mildred or 'Millie', from Iowa, and her side of the family boasts, relations to an Anne Hathaway who was married to William Shakespeare. My father chose an early career in the medical profession, and a podiatrist (foot-doctor), he also was present at the construction of the Bay Area Rapid Transit, BART for short, where his job was, to compress and decompress the divers/miners, who worked on the sub-aquatic tunnel. Before BART was complete for business, George Lucas filmed his first major, motion picture, the bleak sci-fi, "THX-1138) on location, there. The name "THX-1138" refers to George's old license plate. My family name of , "Williams" was adopted by my father's father's side of the family, which originally was, Janssen. For some reason, I don't think my name would have been 'Jonathan', if my last name was 'Janssen'. Who knows, maybe it would have been, William Janssen.

I was nearly 4, when my folks and I, previously living in Concord, took a vacation to Europe, and ended up staying there for 15 years. We settled in Bavaria, Germany's southern-most province, in the year 1972. Germany had just come off, celebrating the 500th birthday of it's finest artist, Albrecht Durer, in the previous year. He was a master draftsman, painter, printmaker, and mathematician, born and died in Nurnberg. Born to a goldsmith, Albrecht's superb draftsmanship was a pre-requisite for that line of work. It was he, who ultimately became the first old master to inspire me, along with Rubens, whose enourmous "judgement day" themed, canvases made quite an impression on me, in my early years.

When we moved to Bavaria, the first place I, vaguely remember us staying at, was on Lake Starnberg, some 70 miles from Munich, at the Hotel Garni-Kafer, owned by a Danish family, the Andersons, who had a little girl, named Kastina, who used to torment me, prompting me to cry out, "No Kastina, no!!" My father would correct me, to say the German word, "Nein" as opposed to "No"

We moved to Munich, and I was enrolled into a German Kindergarten, run by a German couple, the Schodels, with an 'Umlaut'(2 periods) over the 'o'. It was at that time that I met an elderly couple with 4 grown children, who invited me to stay for many visits, during those formative years. The 'Pflaler's had become like a second family to me. The husband, Dr. Carl-Erich, whose first language was Swedish, and was born in London, in 1908, had a doctorate in engineering, and was retired from the Siemens Coorperation. Lea, his wife had been married before, her first husband fathered her first son, Kristoff. I visited them, throughotu the 15 years of my stay. They were both fairly accomplished linguists, the combined languages among them, were: German, English, Swedish, Norwegian, (I think) Danish, French, Polish, and later Russian as well. I even attemped to learn some Polish from Frau Pfaler.

There came the time when my German threatened to improve, while my English threatened to stagnate, so, whe I was 6 or 7, I was enrolled into the DODS (Department of defense School) on the American base in Munich for grades 1 through 3. From my second grade teacher, Ms. Lurkey, I was exposed to the Russian-born, expatriate Abstract-Expressionist Wassily Kandinsky, and by cooincidence, we bumped into her at the Kandinsky exhibition in Munich. From grades 4 - 6, I attended German school, but wasn't particularily happy, without many, really true friends in my corner. I do recall meeting and associating with a few children of american GIs, at the time, but it was largely, an unhappy time for myself.

I finished my education, skipping grade 7 all together, from grade 8 through 12 at the American Highschool in Neu Ulm, on the Bavarian side of the famous Danube (german: Donau) river. Ulm, on the Baden-Wurtenberg side, boasts the highest cathedral in Germany, and was also the birthplace of Albert Einstein. I think it was also the site of a Napoleonic campaign. It was also sad that in those years, beginning in the late seventies, that the marriage of my parents began to crumble. They had seperated in '79 or '80, and I can recall, that some time after that, I had questioned, whether I would ever marry, and have children, and I could never foresee myself as going down that path. It wasn't until much later, that I had realized, why I didn't see that as a possibility.

On June 12th, 1987, the day following my graduation from highschool, My Dad and I flew back to the US.

I had begun to dabble with painting, in my teen years, then abandoned it, throughout much of the 90s. In those lost years, I had taken up writing short stories, incomplete stage-plays, and poems/lyrics. Writing never came fully natural to me. It was never a good subject for me in school. I acted in a few community plays, overseas, when I had that acting-bug in me. I thought that I could have a future in that. In 1987, I joined the job-market for the first time, and flipped burgers for the next 15 years. It felt like 15 years too much, and originally I had meant to work there for maybe 6 months, just put a little cash in the bank, and pay for tuition, and books. I kept at it, because I wanted to prove to myself, that I could put aside, my restless attitude and stick to something. Naturally in those years, I was seeing how I was changing as a person, and discovering what I wanted to do, but that I was depriving myself of all those goals. In my late 20s, I decided to re-take up painting, and relized how seriously committed I had inheritantly, been to bettering myself. I had found, that the only way to learn to draw and paint, was only through myself, in my own way, but I had a lot of help, along the way. During that time I had come to the reality, that I was gay.

Today, I call myself a Bear. Apart from being a fierce, powerful, thick-pelted, intelligent, irritable, gruff, often deadly, mostly quadroped, occassionally biped species, a certain percentage of gay men, who do not fit into the pretty, twinkish, thin, effeminate, gender-bending mold of gay stereo-type, call themselves Bears. I discovered the nature of these men in 1999, but years before that, I had a thing for big men with laid-back attitudes, intelligence, maturity, and to satisfy my proverbial "sweet tooth" for eye candy, big, heavy, full, lumberjack beards, grazing upon their bare (or not so bare) chests. Alas, for all those years, I thought all of those attributes were heterosexual, and had wished that I could just magically, transform myself into the women of their dreams.

When I turned 31, and genetically capable of doing so, I so desperately, wanted to grow a beard. I had also recently, been introduced to the Internet. On a hot Southern California day, I called up the "Ask Jeeves" search-engine, and entered, "Are beards in fashion?", and in return I got something I never counted on, that would change my life for good.

The Web-site, now long since, defunct, was called "Beards, Beards, and More Beards", containing a virtual Valhalla, of gloriously, bearded faces. Hundreds of them, that I couldn't possibly absorb in one sitting. The sweet truth was revealed and so blew me away. Virtually all of these guys were openly gay, or Bisexual. I couldn't believe it. Had I died suddenly, and gone to holy, fucking heaven? Had I nodded off, and not noticed that I had. I clicked myself through the galleries, on 'Dorothy's red ruby slippers", to further behold what there wanted to be revealed, and happened upon a couple of guys, who stood out from the rest, if that was even possible. Above all others, they manifested as the"man of my dreams" The first, was named, "A J Schell aka. Bigpaw" with a link to his website, and email address. He was so handsome, so captivating, and had a nice face, and an equally nice beard. The second, was "Brad Lueckheide aka. Bradbear", a shaven head, and a big, brown beard with traces of red in it. He had a nice friendly smile, that exuded this both sweet'n'rugged blue-collar appeal, with also a link to his site and email address. It had dashed my hopes at first, when I was able to tell that they were enjoying their respective partners, but I still wanted to opt for friendship, and sent them each a quick email, of admiration. The replies were very prompt, and I was not dissappointed. It was later, that I had realized that both men, I had contacted had known each other in person, and were good friends, both lived in New York City, A J Schell, who introduced himself as 'Alex' to me, lived in Mid-Town, Manhattan, just a couple of blocks from, Times Square, and Broadway, and near the Holland Tunnel., and Brad lived off Christopher St. in Greenwich Village.

Around this same time I happened upon the TexasStache page, and met another community of bearded men, much more diverse, in sexual orientation. This page morphed itself into the name change "Beards.org" Through a succession of webmasters, whose hearts never quite remained in it's maintanance, and some selfish, depraved visitors of a troll-like nature, who will go unnamed, and who sought to deprive the rest of the crowd, of their own special oasis on the web, the site died a slow death. There were many remarkable beards on the page, though.

Far the last few years I've been part of the Beard Community Bulletin Board. Russ McClay has been a sort of benevolent monarch of the site, who has worked so hard to ensure harmony on the board, weeding those out, who seek the thrill of trouble, that would so shake things up, and offend the others.

This has been the best site, and forum, I have ever been a part of, and I do stress, "a part of", because I have never felt like an outsider, here. Friends of mine from this community have been so kind and accomodating to me, and I have, (dare I say it?) admirers.

In November of 1999, I honored my appointment, with the arts committee, at Grace Cathedral, headed by Jose-Manuel Pacheco. He was a Cuban-born Austrian, a descendant of French aristocracy and quite gay. Any hint of a hispanic accent, had turned Austrian. He lived half of the year in Austria, and half in San Francisco. He was friendly, polite, slight of build, and expressed an utter enthusiasm, in an early still life of mine, with a draped cloth, a basket of oranges, and a wine bottle. He dressed in stylish, cold-weather-wear, and wore a shawl draped around his neck. His partner enjoyed another still-life of mine, depicting a basket of cherries.

When I had my show in February, of the next year, I got to see my Paintings grace public walls for the first time. It was enough of a thrill to see past the venue's shortcomings. First of all, I had no concept of selling to the public. Much of it, I had to improvise, to act, how I felt was best. There was no write-up in the Paper, no formal public relations of sorts. The only indication of an art-show going on, was a placard, with an art-image of mine, and an arrow, pointing in the direction of the gallery. The gallery, being in a church setting, was open only 3 hours, on 4 Sundays. I had visitors, however few, many just dropped in long enough, to use the restroom. However at that time, the only depressing moment, at that time, was the sudden death of a dear friend, I had met several months ago, on the internet.

I met Carl, in a Bear's chatroom, after he opened a private dialogue with me. We got to talking, discussing my art, and such, and had a great time. It was after that the I had something to look forward to. Carl was a retired Musicology Professor, and was born in Vienna, Austria. Later in life, he joined the faculty of William and Mary University, in Williamsburg, Virginia. Second to that, he wrote reviews on Operas and Symphonies. Carl lived 6 months of the year in Virginia, and the other 6 months in Vienna. When I had met him, He was married, with adult children, and unceremoniously dumped by his English lover. I found him a thoughtful, generous sweetheart of a man, who helped pave the road to my first one-man-show in San Francisco. Come think of it, my birthplace to give me life renewed, 32 years later. It was all due to Carl, who never met me in person, yet had so much faith in me. He sent me pictures of himself, through email, where in few poses, he appeared not unlike Hemingway, in his final years. I lost his email address, and thus all contact with him, to my grief. Last I heard from him was, with the news that he was fighting prostate cancer. Before, during, and after the exhibition in San Francisco, I was planning a trip to Vienna, to stay with him, for a spell, but those plans had fallen through, at the last moment. I could almost feel Austria around me. I could almost hear the rich folk music, and smell the Apfel(German, for apple)Strudel.

One day I will take the incentive and by a roundtrip ticket to London and meet one of a few select but growing number of friends, I admire the most in this world. I met David online, and like many of my online friends, it all began with the ultimate icebreaker in my book, or close to it; The beard compliment. David sports one of the finest, most beautiful, long beards, I've have ever laid eyes on. Naturally, I have fantasized about stroking it, enjoying the softness of it, and admiring it as if it were the finest wool on the planet. Aside from all of that, it marks the closure of a considerable age gap of 22 years. David has offered me his kindness, wisdom, and has embraced me, as I have, him.

I love reading about and observing human relationships, but as a hopeless introvert, I have rather limited experience with them, myself. I read about the relationships, amongst the masters of the French school of Impressionist painting, with it's origins in the 1860s, however riddled with egotism, political differences, and things as similar and often petty nature until ultimately, these friendships began to unravel. The unraveling of a true friendship, is so sad to me. I suppose a cooling of passion, between two friends is better, than a finalizing fallout, but both seem traumatic to me, though maybe to me as a theoretical third person, observing.

What was evident, in recent days, was the outpour of affection and comradery, from a virtuous, online community, and circle of friends, at a time when I was going through a personal depression. I found myself in a self-destructive act of withdrawal, actually getting as far as saying my good-byes to them. Another example of the power of human relationships, dates back to the event's of the 11th of September, 2001. I had returned froma trip to New York, 5 days before that fateful day.

In Mid-June of 2002, I quit my job of 15 years, and immediately, threw my razors away. I began, to grow a beard. I wanted to see it surpass the 1-month mark, the longest I had gone unshaven, before, and it's grown untrimmed for several months. It's only hair, I realize, but it's my hair. It feels nice. It's not too warm to have one in the heart of Summer. I pamper it, pet it frequently, and marvel over all that it calls to itself. It's relaxing to feel that it's there. I will never shave again. Or so I thought...

I told myself many times, I wouldn't write about Randy, until after I met him in person. When our exchange of passion, had no longer become an abstract picture, that's when I could feel, that I could forego all the "tall tale' stuff, and write with realism, about our meeting. However so much has already happened, during these first few "Life" chapters, that I felt compelled to write about it. The first few images, I saw of him, were in the galleries of the Beard Community Bulletin Board. Here was this balding man in his early 40s, with a dark, gorgeous bush of a beard. For several moths following this discovery, I hoped he had an email address, that I could get a hold of. I finally got a hold of his aol address, and knowing that every aol address came with its complimentary IM Buddy, I, ever so brazenly decided to contact him through the Instant Messenger, and found him in my "Buddies" Window, not too long afterwards. Now I always approach a total stranger, especially a man with features to my liking, with utmost diplomacy. I, first had to be sure, that I was talking to the guy in the picture, then after my first question was answered, I complimented him on his beard. It became clear, that not only was Randy gay, but he was also a person, I could talk with on boring, rainy nights, staying up into the dawn hours. Intellectually we're on the same level, and share a common sense of humor, with one another. The conversations are never one-sided. Hence, we truly, truly, truly, connected, and became serious. He talks about food, and the preparation of it, and what he's fixing for dinner, that evening, to the very last detail. He kept me posted on the progress of his beard, which he knew got me off and pleading for more. 3 months, before I originally contacted him, he had to shave for a promotion interview, and was growing it back at an astounding rate.

We chatted almost daily, in the beginning. I was really falling in love with him, but I really feared what a long-distance relationship would do to the two of us. I never wanted to hurt him, by sharing these feelings with him, but I knew I'd be setting us up for more hurt, if I didn't share them. So I told him, that for myself, living in San Diego, and him living in Richmond, VA, that a long-distance partnership could not survive. He eased my troubled heart, afterwards, and we both, agree on a close friendship. The beauty of friendships, is that the best ones have vast, unexplored territory, where any type of interaction is possible.

Meanwhile, Randy's beard was growing and growing, and was getting more and more beautiful. It look even better, than the first time around. Alas, Randy was layed off, his position phased out, and replaced by cheaper foreign labor. For weeks, he looked for a job, and when he found one, he had to trim his beard back to a "respectable" length. I'm sure he mourned the trim, as much as I did, but these things happen. We exchanged birthday greetings on our common birthday, and for about a month, following, he was not online, and that period of time seemed painfully infinite. Little did I know, that he was going through a far worse hell.

An old friend of Randy's, asked for a favor, involving an unemployed male nurse. Hearing that Richmond had a shortage of such people in the medical profession, he asked, if Randy could offer him room and board, while he found a job. Being the sweet, generous guy, that Randy was, he said yes, and the young man moved in. This arrangement turned into a hell for Randy, as the guy did not go out job-searching. Instead, he'd sit around the house, watching TV, and making messes, for Randy to clean up. Randy had enough, and gave the guy an ultimatum, to either find a job, or get out. The guy, snapped, grabbed an iron candle-holder, and struck Randy, 27 times, and luckily, did not succeed in striking him in the head. Nevertheless, in the aftermath, Randy had 3 cracked ribs, a bruised lung, and kidney damage. When I heard this from Randy, I was so sick. If I had been there, I'd probably be facing manslaughter charges. I would not have let the guy get away, alive after this. Imagine me as a hardened outlaw. Randy has internal damage, some of which will never heal. I want to be with him, so much, and help him heal, so that he can tell his doctors off. Randy testified against this guy, the Thursday, following, him telling me. The guy denied everything, with a barrage of transparent lies, and did not, apparently succeed to convince the jury.

Well until I meet Randy, in the flesh. (that phrase has multiple various connotations) this chapter ends here, but is sure to go on for many more years.