Six years ago, I pursued Alice McCormick’s last request. Alice made me promise “to write” the very night before she passed. She deliberately ensured my cousin, Margaret Johnston, would hear me make that promise while they were on the phone. Alice wanted there to be a witness.
It took four years to complete the 322-page task satisfactorily. And in my haste to avoid an arduous search for a literary agent, I self-published what I wrote. There’s a jungle out there, so it took another two years before a true book-signing launch is proving to be appropriate.
The book: If I Said That I Would Love You: A Performance Poet’s Journey
The author: Mason Loika
The date: Saturday, June 13, 2026
The time: 11:00 am until 6:00 pm, or sooner if all books are sold
The place: Barnes & Noble Bookstore, Grand Junction, Colorado
The price: $25.95 plus tax
The purpose: To reveal 60 years of public and private life following an unwanted encounter with a guidance-counselor pedophile at the American Boychoir School in Princeton, NJ.
I followed my mother’s life-affirming advice from the Nat King Cole song, “Pick yourself up, take a deep breath, dust yourself off, and start all over again.” But deep inside, I vowed to avenge myself of the ultimate violation, because you never forget your first time. Since it occurred in 1956 before non-disclosure agreements (NDAs) were thrust into the hands of victims, I could write vividly about the sordid encounter. Everyone needs to know how sexual abuse begins, especially because it continued there for so long.
One chapter and several months later, I wrote how my big-band-musician father takes me backstage to Miami’s Dade County Auditorium, where I am introduced to the legendary Louis Armstrong. Satchmo says, “I hear you have something to play for us,” whereupon I comply dutifully by performing the same 20-minute Mozart sonata I once played at Carnegie Hall. It all goes to show the cyclical universe offers goodness to offset the bad.
My personal life reveals an all-encompassing rebuttal to old-wives’ fears that same-sex attractions will follow. Indeed, the opposite appears true, as the book contains amusing – and sometimes touching – encounters with a wild assortment of women.
My evolution becomes a painstakingly recollection of recovery, although somewhat tainted by my skin’s susceptibility to accepting the South Florida sun. Mainly, though, advocating for women during my eventful baptism as a budding journalist inspired The Miami Herald to label me a “suffragist.”
A boyhood fascination with TV’s “American Bandstand” turned my head around when, at the ripe age of 67, I met an unapologetic lesbian who danced on that epic force of televised show-stopping, foot-stirring music. After I agreed to drive us and a complaining cat to Oregon and scatter her anticipated cardiac-troubled ashes upon the vast Pacific Ocean, she employed her irrefutable logic to title me as “a lesbian.” And why? “Because that’s whom lesbians have relationships with.” That’s reason enough to effectively convert my memoir into a love story.
Another purpose of my book is to support the rebirth of the American Boychoir, but only if women are in charge. And with my English-teacher mother in mind, I’m compelled to leave readers with a feel-good ending.
Now that the book’s appearance is professional, it has been retitled from the original How I Became a Lesbian (and other stories) so that readers can enjoy a low profile. The contents are journalistically sound and accurate, so finally, June 13th at Barnes and Noble will mark the culmination of a long, frustrating journey.
Fifteen solid reviews appear today on Amazon, and I cannot read them aloud without tears forming in my voice. Here’s just one:
A Raw and Poetic Life Journey
If I Said That I Would Love You is a heartfelt memoir that reads like poetry in motion. Mason Loika takes you through the highs and lows of his life: music, love, loss, and resilience all with honesty and rhythm. From the shadows of childhood trauma to the bright lights of Carnegie Hall and the counterculture era, his story is deeply human and unflinchingly real. It’s moving, reflective, and carries the beat of a true performance poet.
I cannot help but feel confident I have provided meaningful content for those who consume the whole story.
Women who experience many men’s untimely harshness admired the straightforwardness of Alice McCormick. And let’s not forget the young men who are still sorting out their own lives amid efforts to purge long-held emotions from a rancid encounter.
Statistics say that one out of three women have been intimately violated by a family member or authority figure. More than that, though, one out of four men suffered similarly. Coming out of the darkness not only supports women; it proves therapeutic to men, too.
At the age of 60, I left the tropical paradise formerly known as Miami (“the state flower had become concrete and the state bird was the extended middle finger”) to move to the halcyon world of Bucks County, Pennsylvania. Thriving as a freelance journalist, I soon became a respected music reporter for the weekly newspaper’s bucolic riverside communities.
Finally, the promise I made to Alice is fulfilled, and it looks good. Copies of If I Said That I Would Love You: A Performance Poet’s Journey are now available via selected independent bookstores, Barnes and Noble outlets, Amazon or e-books. The memoir is also recorded by me on Audible.
