A couple of pages into Not so Good a Gay Man I wasn’t reading Frank Robinson’s autobiography. I was settled in an easy chair in Frank’s lovingly restored Victorian in the Castro. Frank was sprawled on the couch, a huge window behind him. It was a sunny afternoon in San Francisco.
The room was dominated by a huge TV monitor, rising from a sea of DVDs. Frank was a technophile. He was always an early adopter of high-tech devices, hence the giant screen. He’d been the first member of the local science fiction community to install a computer. Well, actually it was a dedicated word processor, one of the few that IBM ever built. It was a huge thing, straight out of a steampunk novel. But at the time it was a marvel. The rest of us were still clattering away at—at best—Selectrics.