My family thought I was interested in diving.
For you readers who may be too young, Farrah Fawcett was the arguably the most famous sex symbol of the 1970s. The poster of Farrah lounging in her red one piece graced the bedroom wall of every (straight) pubescent teenage boy of that era. With her nipple so quietly poking out, her famously feathered blond hair (many girls at my school had that same style), enormous white smile, one leg up and the other down, Farrah no doubt caused a lot bedroom doors to close tight for a few minutes every evening in those days.
I, on the other hand, had a poster of the perfectly toned, speedo clad male divers poised over the waterfall at Denver's famous Casa Bonita.
I had nothing against Farrah. I watched Charlies Angels, the TV show that made her famous. But I preferred Kate Jackson - the smarter angel. I have to admit, I was more into the cars they were driving.
To call Casa Bonita a restaurant is misleading. It's more of a theme park. To walk inside the old-world
Spanish colonial style tower topped villa on West Colfax is to enter another world. You find yourself in a "Mexican" village festooned with palm trees, caves, walking paths, and right in the middle, a huge waterfall plunging into a deep green pool. It's really quite amazing.
Locals look down their noses at Casa Bonita. It's true - the food isn't very good. There are approximately 1 million places in metro Denver where you can go for better Mexican food.
The exception is the sopapillas at the end of the meal. When you put the flag up at your table, a basket of hot, fresh, doughy, slightly sweetened pastries appears. You take one, tear it in half, pour honey inside, and let it melt in your mouth. When you want more, just raise the flag - it's all you can eat.
But you don't go to Casa Bonita for the food. You go to see the waterfall, Black Bart's cave, the roving mariachi singers, and of course, the divers.
When Casa Bonita opened in the mid 1970s, I was just becoming aware of my sexuality. While Ididn't self-identify as gay until 1980, I REALLY liked the divers at Casa Bonita years before. Back then, they were all male and because it was the 70s, they all wore skimpy speedos. During one of my family's occasional trips to Denver, after I observed their perfect forms fly gracefully into the emerald water, I made a beeline for the gift shop to purchase the poster, and my interest in diving commenced.
On a visit years later, I noted that young women had joined the ranks of divers. The grace and skill were the same, but something was missing - a little charge, a bit of fantasy. Plus, I realized the divers were all probably 16 years old. No thanks! At least I could put the flag up for more sopapillas.
