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Here I am with Frank Caven, mogul gay bar owner.
Fate would deal quite a hand on Independence Day 1983.
That’s when and where Frank and I met: July 4th. Old Plantation Bar and Disco on Kennedy Boulevard in Tampa.
I was a few months into my 20th year, practically homeless, destitute, no prospects, fresh off a couple of arrests for public drunkenness; I was so messed up and knew something was very wrong.
All I had was my wits, looks, charm and street smarts.
I’d soon learn that Frank Caven was a gay bar mogul with dozens of establishments in Texas and Florida.
Frank and I would prop each other up in Dallas and build a life together, he’d legally adopt me as an adult and we would proceed to a unique father-son relationship…with benefits.
Here I am at the White House with Vice President Bush
But let’s be clear: my adopted father Frank Caven was unabashedly proud of who he was, his choices in life, from lovers (how he got them and kept them) to politics (Republican) to wealth (cash equals life). Frank’s passion for Republican politics led him to being a major donor to the Republican National Committee in 1984.
We visited the White House multiple times. Frank and I shook hands with Ronald Reagan, Poppy George Bush and others administration officials. It was a heady experience for this schmo from Long Island to be hob-knobbing in these circles. All the more remarkable as a year earlier I was destitue in Florida.
Frank had a ball and stories to tell, heightened with Canadian Club and soda, chomping on his cigar with excitement when we returned to Dallas and spilled the White House tea while holding court at JR’s, one his most successful bars.
Here I am a few months after arriving in Dallas in 1983 at the Union Jack store on Cedar Springs, Dallas. I was destitute when I met Frank earlier that year. “Money looks good on you Michael,” a friend from Tampa would remark. When I was 18 and 19, I worked the East Side of Manhattan. I was a strutting little god making my way through notorious hustler bars, loving being wanted, needed, and adored. That was my self-worth.
Here I am with my staff at JR’s Bar & Grill, Washington, DC.
“How about DC?” Frank asked.
I agreed and made arrangements to take a year off between my junior and senior year at SMU to open and run JR’s Bar and Grill Washington DC.
We hugged, tears in our eyes before I headed east.
I arrived at a newly built but empty JR’s Bar & Grill, just finishing touches needed and ready to open, operate and roll. Caven Enterprises sent some managers to train me and support the grand opening. We opened, and a few days later Frank had a heart attack and stroke.
He was never the same and neither was our relationship.