There may be a few of you out there who are disappointed that I didn’t continue with Chapter Two of why the world is going to stop spinning, but one of my queens died and I have to take a moment to recognize her.

The queens are women in your life who make a time or a position or a difficulty of some sort so much smoother, simply because they are. Sometimes, those are women whom I have had loving relationships with, but, oftentimes, they are women who have helped me along the way and never realized it.

The first two I mentioned are Janet and Kathy. Both of them women I adored and I think, to this day, adore me back. They are, however, women whose primary function was to leave me. To say, “No, this wouldn’t work,” and they were right on.

Then there was Beth, who taught me that it was fun to love. A gift that not everybody can understand.

The next would probably be Phyllis. Phyllis was my leading lady in Indiana and in Michigan. I’m sure you’ll understand if I say, if you were walking down the street, there would not be many people saying, “Whoa, look at the beauty.” But Phyllis, when I turned to her for my first embrace/kiss was a wonder. She later served me well with “A Streetcar Named Desire,” and, each time she was on stage, when you turned to her, she was absolutely beautiful.

The next one is a triumvirate. It was Michelle, Toni, and Bridgette. They all three did the thing that queens do. They suddenly changed what could have been a disaster into an absolutely wonderful experience, making my Don Miguel so much more noble than it would have been. I also have to mention that there was a couple who actually drove down to Indiana to see that last performance of “La Mancha.”

Then there was my Elenore of Aquitaine, playing opposite my King Richard and making him so much more gallant a gentleman.

There were of course plenty of men that contributed to those productions, but it was always the women who made the difference. Always the women who came through with new and exciting ways of seeing the production. There was, of course, a snotty-nosed little kid from Hillman who somehow got himself caught up in the tendrils of theater and never left. Along with BJ, Terry, and Jim Hoffmaster (who played Kermit on the hit HBO series “Shameless”).

There were many women in my life who never knew they were queens.

Because, you see, a queen is not self-announced.

A queen becomes a queen because a commoner recognizes her. Every year, when the Alpena club of Detroit came steaming into Alpena on the old D&M railroad, many in distinct need of repair, and that’s when it started. One of the things that I remember most, and this is often true of my memories, was the odors. Back then, when you walked into the warming shed at Mich-e-ke-was Park to change your skates — and I had racers that year — the odor from that place was so distinctive.

Woolen socks, woolen coats, wet woolens of all kinds and then racers and ballerinas getting ready to perform. Including the queen of all the racers, Mona Donnelly, whom I had a terrible crush on.

But the queen that year was Dolly Zeller. And I remember this so distinctly, when she was crowned, I’m not sure by who. I went up to her with my heart in my hand and, as a 15-year-old novice radio announcer, talked to her about being the ice empress queen. That was Dolly. She was crystalline, you didn’t just walk up to her and touch her. The queen had to give you permission, and she did for me and we talked quietly. I have known Dolly for years ever since, and she has always been that same ice empress that she was back then.

My two special angels are Dana, my daughter, and Sara, my granddaughter. They both see to it that I am well taken care of. In addition, there’s Elizabeth and Lori, who drive 90 miles each way simply to spend time with me. What a gift.

Keith Titus is an author and a former chairman of the Alpena County Democratic Party.