John Moss

When I lived in Rome and worked for Brown Daltas, I became inseparable friends with John Moss, our resident landscape architect out of Shreveport, LA.  John was a colorful, Bohemian free spirit.  He was also a pathological liar.  But sometimes as in the letter and  accompanying piece, he would tell the truth quite forcefully.  He had no partner at the time and we spent countless hours at lunch, dinners, weekends, the beach, his house, my house.  We were best of friends.  

Eventually he would meet Gianni Sargione (Gianni also saved his life once more later in their relationship when John nearly choked on a piece of steak and gristle at a restaurant in Rome.) and they would ultimately live together and in fact are still together running a very successful gay night club called The Hanger in Rome.  I transcribe below an undated letter from John which I calculate was written some time in 1980 when I was living briefly in the South End in Boston.  We were soon to return to Rome and so this is why it is his only letter to me at the time explaining why he had been so silent.

Dear Candace,

At long last I take pen in able hand and write.  I hope when you are finished you’ll have a better understanding of why I have been so remiss/tardy et al about writing – to say nothing of my disdain at this form of concentration – Lordy – It’s either full outright confession – complete with umpteen volumes of writing or it’s a post card – and you remember how hard it is to post my post cards.  So here we go “honey child.”

Glad to know your set up and you are enjoying Boston.  Your new house sounds super and would love to know more, i.e. where the garbage disposal is in relation to – oh you know not just a house but a full life filling experience – make me faint.

Needless to say, after you left, after a time ______________ things got back to a new kind of normal.  Gone all the lunches of debauchery.  Substituted by lunches at home, toast with cheese – TV and reading – then sober and alert back for the afternoon.  Can’t say I like it  maybe some day I’ll lunch with friends but so far nothing that resembles before.  All rather “still” and non-eventful.  Yet not too bad at that.

Had the covers cleaned.  Nothing could be done so I’ll either dey them or replace with new covers later – for now they are fine – sofas themselves are fantastic.

I’m sure you knew Maryann has sprung loose with a little girl.  Oh well I’m sure she is beautiful.  I will go to see them Monday (you’ll read why later).

John Stuchell is boring as ever.  No upswing to him.  He did have a very serious eye operation.  Seems Pepe threw a brass nob at him – hit his eye and lost of string (lines) behind the retina came loose.  He was saved and survived only to bore us all with an operation  that has been exaggerated beyond recognition.  Poor dear.  He does need some new stories.  Pam is as ever – nuts crazy and trailing somewhere about 10 miles above us all.  Poor baby.  Felicity was fine this summer – we even had a party together for all her Rome friends – if that wasn’t a yawner – lots of pretty gay boys and lots of old, old, old bags of every description all telling her how much better this place is since she’s gone.  How before she had not taste, no style, no jazz.  A real non event of an evening.

My hair is very short, about 1/8” maximum (for the film) and very naturally blond.  You all do have more fun.  Haven’t bought a thing new.  I have been barely holding on to things.  It’s rough having being what I wish I were.  But life is good wonderful and feelings are marvelous – even the bad ones – I shall try to love everyone, even my fucking arch enemies.  Another color pen to tell a tale of – but it’s over – a month now since it happened.  Still draining.  Still a tube inside and a round hole, size 100 lira, the cut was about a foot long but, Candace, they closed it with metal clamps and even I can

Hardly see the line – beautiful – the hole – I don’t know what they’ll do.  Maybe I’d be a real Italian and insert a photo with plastic cover of “you”!  Next summer I only hope Armani can design a suit (bathing) or a sash that will cover it.

But I’m alive.  I didn’t smoke for 3 hospital weeks, but now I am back to the cigs.  Wish I hadn’t tho.  Still in bed and still not at work.  Missed the VIP.  But will plug in when it’s rejected, thrown on the floor and stomped by the Corps.  It was strange to be as close to death.  I wasn’t afraid.  I was so tired and I almost just gave in to my body.  But when I woke up during the operation I wanted to live and fight.  That’s good.  Life will have new meaning from now on and I will remember this time.

Got to go kid.  Baci to tutti.  Hugs to Tobias.  Stay in there and keep those letters pur

ring in to poor old me.  Love from all the smells, tastes and colors of Roma.  She’s still a grand old lady.  Love xoxox John

P.S. Gianni sends tons of love!

Brown pen portion:  (Opening with his philosophy of acting.  John had gotten a number of assignments as an extra but this was his first speaking role in a film.)

You are supposed to recreate as a moment – then it’s easy.  I just flowed with and jumped into it on all fours.  If I could avoid mirrors and not look at me with no hair, it helped.  When the first scene ended (three days and probably only five minutes of the film) I felt elated, happy and proud that I managed it all – all alone, without any friends there to soften blows and everything, everyone, every minute totally in Italian.  Not Bad!  Not bad at all.  Thursday back at work.  Feeling euphoric.  Me the STAR.  Office, friends, everyone all ears and all in fun.  That afternoon I began cramps in my stomach.  I thought nerves, the excitement.  There had been no toilet facilities and my appetite was zero so I thought I really needed a bowel movement and I’d be OK.  So Maalox began.  Yet cramps kept on and on.  Friday morning I felt OK but by noon I really had not gone and pains were so strong I could hardly walk.  But I did.  

Got a package of 12 enemas, pills for upset stomach and those things you think will get you over the hump.  Then, between me and me, I started passing blood – not much – but too much.  But this was my secret and my problem and surely was just me straining or trying too hard.  Friday night I spent the night at Gianni’s house.  He has a sleeping loft and I just through soon it would be all over.  (Besides what can happen to a Movie

Star, yet to be?)  Not hungry.  Pain, cramps, pain and still that blood thing – now both ends.  I managed to go to the loft in Gianni’s house and fall asleep.

Gianni left for work at 6:00 that morning (Saturday) and I spent the entire day doubled in pain, agony and not being able to come down the stairs to a phone.  Blood in pants and now orally.  Lord I’m in trouble and knew it.  Scared. Yet still feel I’d be OK.  Later at 3:00 Gianni returned home.  I was begging for a sleeping pill or a pain pill – anything.  It is September 6 – all Doctors are on holiday now and it is a Saturday afternoon.  (You must remember this is Italy – Rome and one just does not have a problem during August and the first half of September).  5:00PM and I cannot conceal anything more from Gianni.  He calls Dr’s.  No one.  And finally gets a medical student who came by at 5:45.  He looked at me, started to touch my stomach and I thought I would go through the ceiling.  Thirty minutes later, I was being wheeled into the emergency ward of Salvator Mundi International Hospital.

The Dr. (later) told me my stomach exploded like a bomb.  I was in shock and because of the peritonitis they were not able to get me “under.”  The Dr. said my heart was becoming erratic – blood pressure out of control.  I finally didn’t remember – what seemed a year later I woke up.  I had remembered how they hooked my hand into an elastic band and had during their confusion remembered to slip my fingers under this so that if need be I could get up and run out.  I was awake now.  All these people were over me and I get my hand free and start to fight for my life.  Hitting everyone within reach but they overpowered me with this thing on my face.  I’m hysterical, crying, please I can’t breathe – please don’t kill me – please please please.

I awoke in a room, my nose has a tube, my hands are full of needles – tubes and everywhere bottles yellow, clear, red hanging from above.  My peter had a tube that left the bed and fell of somewhere,  I started to move.  Just my head and I felt like was in two parts – sliced in half.  There was a sister and two nurses with dry cloths mopping me from head to toe and I was in such horrible pain all I was crying – not crying, bawling.

The operation had lasted three hours, the anathesiologist had spent four and a half hours with me.  During the operation if had I been given too much I would have died.  The peritonitis had taken control and I was dying.  The Dr. later told me had I been half an hour later – one half hour later – there was nothing they nor anyone could have done.  I spent the next two weeks with blood transfusions, intravenous feeding.  Antibiotics, being sent through every vein in my body – and when that wasn’t enough they would stick needles 8 times a day in my ass – needles so long it took two sisters to carry it.  But, despite it all I’ll live.  I remember after a period of ten days I got broth and tea.  

Everyone here has been wonderful.  I’ve had 67 visits from friends.  Real friends.  Even Spero Daltas came twice with beautiful plants.  The Cambridge office sent me a beautiful book on Gaudi.  Gianni of course came daily with flowers, mail and just to sit with me for hours.  John Thornley was extraordinary in his kindness, later Nancy Thornley would stick by me like a mother hen.  I’ve been told “I love you” “we love you” so many times.  Felicity Mason has been fantastic with her visits and phone calls.  Joe Turner a saint – so many people.  I am home now.  Just grabbed a cab and came home.  The Dr. will see me three times a week for the next three weeks.  Dr. Di Stefano, a fantastic Dr.  I’m so tired and so weak but I wanted to write it all down.  I’m told it is good therapy.

Note to editor: Got to get the above in order.  He is all over the place.