Brick Bricks—talk a lot, talk a little…

His brick was placed by his "family" 14 years after he put together a group house on Henlopen Avenue. The engraved brick is by the bandstand in Rehoboth, the town where it all started.

It was the summer of ‘93 when Roy Henry Carson took his new yellow Polo duvet to Bitsy on First Street to be monogrammed. His eight housemates, in what was then affectionately known as "the linoleum palace," were quite bemused by the affectation of such opulence in a group rent house.

It was a lovely little fixer upper with four colorful linoleum patterns in seven rooms. Notwithstanding the arsenal of glue guns, staple guns, and cheerful drapery they brought with them, the fact remained: the house-mates stood on goldenrod, burnt orange or avocado linoleum. No fashionable footwear could out-shine the scalloped lime green plastic upon which they stood.

Undaunted, Roy Henry Carson returned home the next weekend with his regal, monogrammed RHC bedspread. But HIV was on his mind and in his bloodstream. He didn’t dwell on it. That wasn’t Roy. He was responsible for the disparate crew of six people he assembled to share the house—and RHC wasn’t going to let a little HIV impede his life at the beach.

The six housemates did what housemates do: They ate. They drank. And boy, were they merry. They were pretty. Witty. And ever-so gay. When friends from the city would drive up, Roy would waltz through the palace. across the linoleum declaring, "Carriage a’comin, Carriage a’comin."

Roy. Jezebel. Interchangeable.

In 1993, he dressed all five housemates in various outrageous drag outfits and climbed the stairs to pull on his starched dress blues for his version of Gays in the Military. He asked. He told. He accessorized. And he died way before his time.

14 years later, Roy’s Palace pals are all domiciled in fabulous linoleum-free Wi-Fi enabled homes throughout the Pines. He is spoken of at dinner parties—often choking up the most contained men in the clan. Together, "the family" can take a 10-minute walk to the new Rehoboth Pavilion and view his memorial brick.

Roy brought some incredible men together—men whose friendships grew strong. Out of linoleum, no less.

From that humble origin, they have stayed together and expanded their circle and grown roots in Rehoboth Beach. Gay men who have bonded with lesbians in the community—and in the spirit of CAMP Rehoboth, made bonds with many straight (but not narrow) friends. It all began when Roy put that old house together.

That’s why we honored him with a brick. He’s a martyr because he lived through, and Larry Kramer would say died because of, the wanton neglect of the Reagan years. It’s more than a brick, really. It’s a place the friends he left behind love and can stop and reflect on linoleum, life, love and laughter. And you thought it was a just a red 6" by 3" rectangle. Silly you.

Look! Over there! A brick for The Strand. Anyone can honor a lost friend or a pet, or put their own names on bricks to show their love for Rehoboth—or honor an Auntie Mame. But memorialize the Strand? The Strand? Brilliant! In one small red rectangle, Dr. Tim Price memorialized hundreds of Roy Carsons—not to mention those fab-u-loss-i-tees who still walk among us. OK shuffle among us. But we’re still fabulous.

We think back. Chains of Love Party, 1992. Enter Tim Price, M.D. Could he possibly have known then, when he saw the lights and the hot men, that he’d settle down here, buy a home—and buy a brick? Not a brick home mind you—the home is fabulous cedar shake—but one brick with a simple inscription: The Strand.

If you listed the men who danced there the list would stretch to Dewey. But that’s not necessary for Tim. He’s perfectly fine strolling past that brick honoring one symbol of great times that changed his life.

He used to sit on a bench and watch the sun rise after a night of shaking his groove thing at the Strand. One night, he and his buddies Ben Stearn and David Cochran ran into Steve Elkins at the DJ booth at 4 a.m. Tim couldn’t help but thank Steve for providing such a great place for "us." Mix a few M.D.s with a good D.J. and presto, it’s a party. Is that Roy Henry Carson over there in that marine getup?

The Strand went the way of Studio 54 when Sussex County’s own Anita Bryant made it her cause celeb. A martyr-ed ending for a legendary Rehoboth club.

Today, Dr. Price awakens at sunrise after a good night’s sleep and reads the New York Times on that same bench. But there’s a brick over his left shoulder that whispers Gloria Gaynor tunes in his ear (OK, it screams Gloria Gaynor tunes). Along come his neighbors from the Pines —Howard, Patrick, Richard, Kevin, Liam —just stopping by to "visit" Roy on their way to Robin Hood for breakfast.

Life has changed for all of us. We no longer tread upon anything but imported Tuscan Tile. The Linoleum Palace recently sold for $1.5 million. But just like the Gaynor anthem "I Will Survive"—those bricks, and the martyrs in the mortar, will never be forgotten.

Got a quick brick story to share? Tell us about why you celebrate Rehoboth by letting everyone know you love it here or why you’ve etched somebody else’s name in stone. Send your brick stories to Brent at cajunonq@comcast.net for future columns. The bricks make a statement downtown, raise money for Rehoboth, and celebrate our stories, and our community. For info, contact Rehoboth Beach Main Street, 302-227-2772.