Live 2 Learn

Man on the Moon

2019-07-20T09:46:00.002-05:00

Photo by SHILWANT roy on Unsplash

July 20, 1969

I remember it well. I arrived at Mississippi State University the day before the landing and moon walk.

Earlier that year, in May my father had died leaving me parentless after my mother's death eighteen months earlier. In the Fall of 1968 I applied and was accepted into a program for high school students between the junior and senior years of high school. The program was called Special Program for Academically Talented Students (SPATS) and we participants were able to take college courses for credit to give us a head start when we enrolled after graduation. Because of Daddy's death I was allowed to attend starting in July violating a major SPATS requirement of attending both Summer terms. The advisor/counselor for the program called me and suggested that he "boil down" the orientation I would miss in early June. He told me to NEVER tell any of my professors or fellow students that I was a SPATS (you can probably guess the clever insults that acronym generated) because we would be harassed by students and some professors! We were younger than the Freshmen starting in the Summer but we lived in an air-conditioned upperclassman suite while they were living in huge unairconditioned Freshman boys dorms (which in Starkville, Mississippi in July and August is cruel and unusual punishment ). Some professors thought that it weakened the University by allowing people who had not even graduated high school to pass (actually often ace) their classes so some of them graded SPATS harder!

The night of the Moon Walk I was scheduled to attend the regular freshman orientation and my fellow SPATS warned me again to keep to myself and avoid even talking to others because they would ask what dorm I was in (which we were to keep secret) etc. etc. I was anxious because as an extravert I didn't naturally keep to myself.

The auditorium was about three-quarters filled and I took a seat near the rear. Several freshmen sat next to me but everyone looked as nervous and anxious as I did. Since Mississippi is made up primarily of small towns and Mississippi State is the choice of rural farming students they were as out of place as I was. On the stage was a small professor with shoulder-length hair and he basically said the following, "You are in college now. It's time to figure things out for yourself, to become an adult. All of you should have enough judgment to skip this session and be sitting in front of a television while the most important event in human history is unfolding. We have landed on the Moon people! If you have questions about where the library is or where restrooms are, ask some of your fellow students. I'm not going to miss the Moon walk telling you a bunch of things you should be old enough and smart enough to figure out for yourself." He either said, "sheesh," or "shit," as he walked off the stage.

Two of the freshmen sitting near me said that they were going to the Student Union to watch because it was too hot in the dorms and asked me if I wanted to go with them so I did. We had to stand for the next few hours until Neil Armstrong stepped on the surface of the Moon. We missed what he said because the crowd of students gathered there broke into applause. Then Walter Cronkite was saying that he didn't understand the first part of what he said, he only made out "...one giant leap for mankind."

About a third of the students left immediately so we were able to sit down. I was tired and wanted to go back to my room to finish unpacking but I was nervous about walking with the other freshmen and having to veer off to the upper class dorm so I stayed even after they left. Later as I walked through the campus groups of students were talking about what they had just seen. I passed one small group arguing because some of the students said that it was all staged, that what we were seeing was taking place in a television studio in the desert. I was too young and inexperienced to understand that part of being in college meant that there was always someone with a difference of opinion who wanted to debate and discuss.

The next several weeks are less clear in my memory as I experienced what college was all about and found that I loved being called "Mr. Gardner" by my adult professors. I remember vividly one of my English classes when we were asked to read a short story and write an essay about metaphors in the story. I wrote that I thought the rocking horse was a metaphor for masturbation and when we got our grades back the professor said that I was the only one to get the right interpretation and asked me to explain but I was so embarrassed I couldn't speak! My last clear memory of that Summer was when Hurricane Camille devastated the Mississippi Coast and actually brought thunder storms all the way to us in Starkville. In the Union that night some students were saying that our landing on the moon was responsible for screwing with the tides and causing the worst hurricane in history - I think some of those students were the same ones that said the whole Moon landing was staged!

I mostly remember that I felt different in the Fall when I started my senior year in high school - we had landed on the Moon, I had completed two college classes, I was on my own managing money and my life, the Mississippi Gulf Coast was wiped out, the Vietnam War seemed to be cranking up even more, the Courts had ruled that every school in Mississippi would be fully integrated no later than January 1971 - adult life was taking off like a Saturn rocket.

Photo by SpaceX on Unsplash

Pennsylvania Memory

2018-12-08T13:45:00.002-06:00

Fall of 1990, in the isolation wing of St. Luke’s Hospital in Bethlehem, Pennsylvania I am holding the hand of a twenty-four-year-old man, Joey, as he faced death in less than twenty-four hours. He had asked me to pray for him but my reluctance to pray aloud and my overwhelming emotions at the moment silenced me. I didn’t know Joey that well, and I was not an AIDS-Buddy for anyone let alone Joey whom I had met two months before that night.

I had attended several funerals or memorial services since moving to Allentown to work for Air Products and Chemicals. Some of the services were for people I had met briefly or knew through my volunteer work teaching a workshop called “Eroticizing Safer Sex for Gay Men.” I was at some funerals for men I had never met but attended because their family was not attending, or they had lost all their friends out of fear of contagion or association or through death. I was under constant pressure from friends who were Gay activists or from leaders of non-profits serving the Gay Community or those with AIDS to volunteer to be a “Buddy.” I was especially pressured by my boyfriend at the time who was vice-president of Fighting AIDS Continuously Together (FACT), had been a Buddy to three of the men whose funerals I attended, and would die from AIDS-related complications nine months after we split up. I gave money to FACT, was trained by the New York Gay Men’s Health Crisis group to deliver the safer sex workshop, but always resisted becoming a Buddy. I listened to stories from my boyfriend about AIDS Buddies being with their Person with AIDS (PWA) as the PWA died. I heard stories about PWAs losing control of bodily functions and Buddies having to change adult diapers. I did not feel strong enough to be in such a relationship, and I (with great guilt) avoided putting myself in a relationship with someone who was dying. Such was the disease then – a certain death sentence with no treatment, no cure, and no hope. Such was the embarrassing cowardice that I feared being infected by a PWA, even though I taught the workshop that showed how to lower the risk to “almost zero,” even if having sex with an infected person.

So how did I come to be in that hospital room with Joey as he was facing death? A friend of mine who attended the same church I did, Grace Episcopal, had started a non-profit to minister and pray with PWAs as well as be their Buddy. The founder had gone through FACT's Buddy Training and discovered that some of the Buddies did not believe in God and would refuse to pray with PWAs. Her organization offered a choice to PWAs who had spiritual beliefs and desired prayers. My friend pressured me every Sunday to be a part of her organization as a Buddy, but I refused her entreaties as well. She asked me one Sunday if I would “at least” be willing to speak at the graduation of her first “Spiritual AIDS Buddies” graduation and I agreed.

My graduation address used the Wizard of Oz characters as a metaphor for their upcoming challenges. I showed clips of each character and talked about their need as Buddies to use:

Their Brain (Scarecrow) to remember all the facts, data, and skills they had learned. They needed to figure out how to keep themselves safe from infection while they ministered to their PWA.

Their Heart (Tin Man) to react lovingly when the facts and skills required needed to be violated or were never covered.

Their Courage (Lion) to deal with health care professionals, families who had rejected their Gay son but who now wanted to control everything, boyfriends who had abandoned their partner when they heard the diagnosis and wanting back in, and to deal with many people who saw PWAs as lepers because they believed AIDS was airborne.

Their Leadership (Dorothy) to pull it all together and to keep a bright, optimistic outlook with their PWA as they “follow the yellow brick road” by keeping an eye always on the mission – to lovingly get everyone “home” safely.

I had chosen this movie for many reasons, the main reason being the symbolic connection to the Gay Community. In earlier times when homosexuals were arrested, or beaten, or killed for acknowledging their sexual orientation, a code “Friend of Dorothy.” helped us identify each other safely. I was very proud of my speech, and while I was delivering it, I saw Joey in the group enthusiastically reacting to every use of the metaphor I presented. He was the kind of audience member every speaker desires.

As the diplomas were handed out, I shook hands with each newly minted Buddy in the group and congratulated them. Many hugged me, and several kissed me on the cheek, but only Joey hugged me, quickly kissed me on the lips, and asked me to autograph his diploma with my name and “Friend of Dorothy.” He told me that he loved movies and loved what one could learn from movies. He handed me a slip of paper with his name and number and invited me to call for coffee or lunch so we could “dish movies.”

I didn’t call him. I could say I was too busy. I could say I was traveling too much. I could say it was because my friend, who started the non-profit, told me that he was one of the two participants who had AIDS and he had trained to be a Buddy to someone closer to death. I don’t remember why, but two months later my church friend called with the news that the “young man who loved and talked about your graduation speech constantly” was in the hospital. His doctor advised that he could not live more than a day or two and that he should put his final wishes together. She called his parents and was told that Joey "had died when he was nineteen and came out" to them and they did not want to know about or be involved with his funeral. She had shared that information with Joey and asked if there was anyone else she could call. He said, “Bill, the Friend of Dorothy who spoke at graduation.”

I stopped at a jewelry store on the way to the hospital and bought a small Tin Man collectible. I was going to buy the whole set of characters, but could only afford one. When I walked into the room, Joey was unrecognizable. He was skinny when we met, but had lost a lot of weight. I remembered that he had very pretty blue eyes which were now enshrined in dark circles and seemed to have sunk into his head. His once healthy thick blond hair hung wet and limp over his ears. His color was ghostly white except for dark brownish purple Kaposi Sarcoma lesions that dotted his face, neck, scalp, and hands. He smiled and reached out a white thin-skinned, boney, purple lesioned welcoming hand. I tried not to look shocked or to reveal my repulsion as I grasped his hand. He said, “I can’t stay awake or conscious long so before I drop off could you pray for me?”

Holding his hand I bowed my head but just in the middle of “Heavenly” my voice and my resolve to not cry broke and I choked unable to speak another word. Joey picked up, “Father, bless this smart man who blesses others with his gifts from you. Lord, forgive my family for not accepting me. Bless Linda for being my Buddy. Please Jesus, let me die without a lot of suffering unless you think I need to suffer more. And Father soften President Bush’s heart, enlighten his brain, and give him the courage to fund research so others don’t have to die like me. Welcome me to heaven Lord, I’m scared but I’m ready.”

At Joey’s funeral, there was no biological family present, but we, his family of choice attended. We had a full Episcopal service with the ten of us gathered. Joey’s cremation and all expenses were covered by a “closeted Gay Lehigh Valley businessman” who wished to remain anonymous.

When George H W Bush took office, there were 451 deaths per year attributed to AIDS, but in 1993 when he left office, 40,000 Americans were dying each year from AIDS. Despite massive efforts to convince 41 that he needed to lead, to fund CDC research into drugs to prevent and treat AIDS, he refused. In the debates with then-Governor Clinton when Bush was asked why he was not increasing spending for AIDS research his response was focused on an AIDS activist group ACT UP who he whined had ruined his vacation at Kennebunkport.

I admire much about GHW Bush, especially in comparison to the current sad excuse for a human (let alone a President -Trump) with whom we are suffering, but I cannot think of him without thinking about the countless young, at one time healthy men who died during his tenure because of his indifference. I cannot think of him without hearing Joey’s final prayer. Bush was asked once what he would do if one of his children or grandchildren was Gay and he said that he would tell them that he “loved them no matter what” and that he disagreed with their choice, because “homosexuality is wrong.” This is why I didn’t post anything about Bush’s legacy last week after his death unbelievably on World AIDS Day. His morning-to-night coverage and praise insured even less recognition for World AIDS Day than usual. The endless repetition of his "kind and gentle" approach and his many accomplishments, for the most part, ignored his abysmal record on AIDS.

https://www.theguardian.com/us-news/datablog/2018/dec/07/george-hw-bush-aids-crisis-graph-data#img-1

That Night I Had Dinner with John Irving

2018-06-29T14:33:00.003-05:00

One of my favorite perquisites of working for a large company resulted from serving on a Community Affairs Committee for AMD. AMD at that time had a solid reputation in all the communities in which we operated as a company that “gave back” to the community. We had a team of professionals who received and evaluated requests for money and in-kind donations as well as volunteers and that team made choices and recommended to a group of executives (including me) how AMD should respond. The professionals serving on this team were so good that we as a committee mostly just rubber stamped their recommendations. Another of our duties as committee members was to represent AMD in photo ops with the non-profits we supported so I have numerous photos of me handing a huge oversized check to some executive director or board chairperson. In the photo shown here Karin Dicks one of the professionals I was talking about and I flank Father Jaime Case, then the Executive Director of El Buen Samaritano before we presented a large check to El Buen.

This kind of activity was fun but even greater fun resulted from an event we sponsored at the LBJ Library called the Distinguished Speaker Series. Because of AMD’s sponsorship, we received several tickets to meet the speakers in the “Green Room” for drinks and canapes before the speaker was introduced to the crowd. Just before they were introduced we entered the auditorium and walked to our second or third-row seats in the center section to listen to the speaker(s) we had just met and with whom we had a short awkward conversation. During the series, I met Tucker Carlson the night he and Paul Begala appeared for a “debate or discussion” of political events of the day. I took the priest from the Episcopal church I attended to meet Karen Armstrong, a former Roman Catholic nun who wrote about fundamentalism and modernity. I was able to meet Richard Florida who at that time was fascinated with Austin and whose book had named Austin as the number one “Creative City” in the US. While fun and enlightening I have to say that my favorite “meet the speaker” ever took place at the Four Seasons Hotel in Austin because the author/speaker hated those “Green Room Meet and Greet Events.” That author was John Irving, one of my favorite American authors.

Irving rejected the idea of the meet and greet but was told that his contract required him to be available to meet with the large corporate and personal donors. He proposed instead of drinks and canapes to host a full dinner at his hotel for twenty people. AMD received four tickets which amazingly the most senior executives at AMD turned down. Two of the Community Affairs professionals, a PR professional and I took the tickets and were delighted to be able to attend the dinner with Irving as well as the Mayor’s wife, the editor of the Austin Chronicle, the CEO of our local NPR station, several very wealthy philanthropists, etc. I was seated between the Mayor’s wife and a prominent Austin attorney.

John Irving came in and met each of us and we were seated to enjoy our dinner and to ask any questions we deemed fit. As one would expect the questions initially were somewhat stilted, with lots of nervous laughter until our PR guy asked him if he had a son who several years before had worked as a ski-instructor in Aspen. Irving seemed a little surprised when he acknowledged that his son had done that and wondered how the questioner knew. Our PR guy confessed that he had worked with the younger Irving but had never believed that he was actually the author’s son. The laughter seemed to loosen everyone up or perhaps the wine was just starting to kick in.

I can’t remember who asked the next question, but it was about Irving’s use of words and his “art” of writing. Irving quickly moved to correct the questioner that writing is not an art but a craft. He then explained his “process” for writing to prove his point.

Monday through Friday John Irving rises early, exercises, eats breakfast with his family and then takes a cup of coffee out past the swimming pool to his writing cottage. On yellow legal pads using wooden pencils, he writes until lunch. The way he starts a book is by writing the last sentence of the book first. He explained that for months or in some cases years he has been thinking about the story and the characters, so he has it framed more-or-less completely before he writes a word. Writing that last sentence in the book gives him a target toward which he writes the last chapter of the book. Looking at the opening sentence of that final chapter he then writes the last sentence of the penultimate chapter several times until he is satisfied and then writes the chapter that would lead to that last sentence.

After a lunch break, he repeats the process until roughly five o’clock and then stops to rejoin the family for the evening. An assistant picks up the penciled legal pages and overnight types up everything Irving wrote the previous day. The document is triple spaced so he can use his pencils to rewrite and edit. He rewrites every sentence a minimum of three times even if he liked the original he forces himself to try to make three new versions each one better than the previous. Looking at the resulting sentences he picks the best and scratches through the rest. The next day he will take the results of all that writing and read through the newly typed pages from start to finish to do more traditional editing.

I was struck by the incredible discipline he must have to do this work five days a week. At the same time, it became clear to me why reading his books I often reread a paragraph or a sentence just because I’m stunned by the artistry of his writing or I guess technically I’m struck by the discipline with which he practices his craft. Of all the distinguished speakers I met through that series John Irving is the one I most remember.

The Fabian Fan Club

2017-09-03T12:35:00.001-05:00

I was in the fourth grade when I had my first identifiable sexual feelings. I didn't call them sexual feelings then. Actually, when I begged God's forgiveness that night (because I was certain that anything that felt good was bad) I remember describing it as "a tingling in the bottom of my stomach, like the time I broke into the elementary school - bad and wonderful at the same time." I wasn't a juvenile delinquent or anything just a kid who was easily influenced by my peers. Four of us broke into the elementary school and our vandalism was to write (in easily erasable chalk) "Zorro was here!" on several classroom chalk boards. Fear, tingling, sexual - whatever I was feeling I liked it.

It was 1962. My sister and her friends were giggling about a packet that had come in the mail from the Fabian Fan Club. They were getting ready for my Mother to drive them to the Fernwood Country Club to swim and sun - mostly sun bathe. They had previously been mixing small bottles of iodine in large bottles of baby oil, the preferred suntan lotion of the day. When I tried to see what they were laughing and acting so silly about they said that I was too young. I acted disinterested and watched where they hid the packet under a jewelry box and retrieved it after they left. The jewelry box was pink and when I first tried to pick it up the top opened and a little ballerina popped up and started spinning around as some music played from the box. I slammed the lid down fearful that I had broken the mirror inside but it was intact when I checked. I then picked it up from the base and retrieved the packet. Several pages of information were in the envelope and then I saw a glossy autographed photo.

Seeing the photo from that packet was a profound experience for me. Though I would interpret and reinterpret my feelings for years to come I can still remember that moment as if it happened five minutes ago! Even now as I write I can see that glossy black and white photo of Fabian and a female model. She was lying down propped up on her left elbow with Fabian crouched down behind her. She had on a two-piece bathing suit. Fabian had on dark trunks and no shirt. They were on a beach. A beach ball was beside Fabian. He had a brilliant smile and a twinkle in his eye. Fabian Anthony Forte was a singer and actor (not very good at either) in the late fifties and early sixties. He was what was known at that time as a heartthrob, dark hair, brilliant blue eyes, spectacularly beautiful skin, and the whitest teeth I had ever seen.

That was when I got the feeling. I would later understand that the two piece bathing suit was what I was too young to see but I could have cared less about it or the woman. The feeling in the pit of my stomach was for Fabian. I was smitten. It was my first crush.

Given my level of maturity at the time I interpreted the feelings as bad, wrong, sinful feelings. I knew that I was not supposed to look at the picture but I had. Strangely enough, since the feelings were the same as when I had broken into the elementary school on a dare, I associated the two as times when I broke a rule. The major difference I see now is that I had no desire to repeat the school break-in, but I had every intention to look at the photo as often as possible!

I never got to see the actual Fabian photo again. When I went to look for it, it was gone. It was so etched in my brain however that I could close my eyes and get the picture in my head anytime I wanted. Over the next few years, I would conjure that picture up and imagine it as a movie instead of a still. Eventually, it became a "real" scene into which I would place myself for excitement. Even then I would see the whole scene because I needed the woman in the picture. On some level, I knew that Fabian was the one that was arousing me but to get rid of the female would have been an admission for which I was unprepared. Looks make up for a lot and over the years that followed I sat through every awful movie that featured Fabian. I even bought his terrible records.

My first homosexual feelings at eight years of age. It would take me twenty-five years before I would be able to say "homosexual" talking about myself. Retrospectively, this Fabian photo was the first step in my journey toward awareness and acceptance of who I am.

What a twisted journey I traveled to get to self-acceptance. In 5th through 8th grades I was sexually active with other boys my age most of whom turned out to not be Gay. By the 8th grade the non-gay boys started switching to girls for their sexual pleasure and I was pretty convinced that I would eventually "grow out of it." I had girl friends (sorry y'all) and I really tried but kissing them was like kissing my arm. The only way I could even act like I was turned on was by fantasizing that I was with one of the many boys or Fabian.

The level of denial it took for me to avoid accepting that I am Gay, especially as I started to have sex with other Gay boys is something I still can't explain or understand even though I lived through it. Being raised Southern Baptist I decided I should be able to pray the Gay away. First I prayed to be attracted to girls. After about six months I switched and asked God to make me attracted to neither gender. After another period of time, maybe a year, I started to pray that I would get testicular cancer so I could be castrated and therefore understandably not sexually involved with anyone. In the Summer before my Sophomore year in high school after trying not "to lapse" and failing multiple times I prayed that my parents would never find out. Simple enough, let me protect my secret. The reason I remember the timing so well is that eighteen months after praying that my parents would never know they were both dead. My Mother died Christmas Eve morning of my Sophomore year at only forty-eight years of age. My Dad in May a year an a half later was fifty-three when he died. My thoughts sitting in Daddy's funeral were "be careful what you ask for," and "God answers prayers but sometimes not in the way you thought He would."

It took a therapist and an Episcopal priest to convince me that my prayers had not led to my parent's deaths and that my having been born Gay was an "act of God" and as such was a "gift" that I should embrace because anything less would be an insult to the gift giver. I know many people who believe in God will be offended by that sentiment and if you are that's between you and God. I finally figured out (with a lot of help) that others' opinions do not determine my acceptance of who I am.

In 2007, I was asked to tell my Fabian story for a documentary film called "When I Knew." Over a three day period in Austin the film's director brought hundreds of people together who talked in small groups and then told their story to a camera. It was incredible how many stories were similar to mine in that we knew at a age before we could put words to it that we were different. The director asked me if I had Googled to see if I could find that photo and I responded, "Why would I do that - it is as clear in my mind as any photo could be!" I did go home and Google but couldn't find that specific one. When the documentary came out I received my copy and was disappointed that I am on screen long enough to say, "When I was 10." The rest of the story landed on the cutting room floor.

My Log Cabin - Yes, I Was Spoiled

2017-08-19T14:49:00.001-05:00

I grew up in Magnolia, Mississippi and I wasn't aware as a child but I was spoiled. The third child, the baby, and the only boy. My father's father had been the only son in his family of 10 kids so the continuation of the Gardner name fell on his shoulders. My father had three brothers and two sisters but one of his brothers, Uncle Paul never had children, one of his brothers Uncle Preacher had three girls and his baby brother, Uncle Roy had two boys. We three boys now owned that burden of carrying on the name so we got special treatment and besides, we were growing up in the fifties when all males were enjoying a lot of male privileges. When I think back on my childhood a certain birthday present stands out as illustrative of my treatment in the family.

Eight years old I remember vividly riding in the middle of the front seat of our car. I was sitting on the lowered armrest between Mother and Daddy with my sisters Joy and Jinya Lea in the back seat. We were on a gravel road which means most likely headed to my grandparents' home in Liberty for Sunday dinner. Daddy was driving and Mother was hassling me about needing to decide what I wanted for my upcoming birthday. She had been asking for weeks and I hadn't come up with an answer. I wasn't trying to be difficult it was just that I had pretty much everything that I wanted. Mother was being particularly insistent that day and I began to feel panicky, I couldn't imagine that she would make good on her threat to not get me anything but I didn't want to push it too far.

I looked out the window and saw a kid climbing from under a card table. The card table was covered with a plastic tarp with logs drawn on it and a door with a sign above it reading "Davy Crockett's Log Cabin." Now I had been a Davy Crockett fan from way back. I had a coon skin hat for the Magnolia Centennial in 1957, and I wore that cap until it fell apart. The day of the Centennial parade, I actually fished the cap out of the toilet and wore it in the parade! In grade school, I had a lunch box with Crockett firing at a grizzly bear painted on one side and in the middle of a knife fight with an Apache painted on the other side. I was very proud of that lunch box - so proud that the only physical fight I ever got in was over it! So you get the picture that I loved Davy Crockett!

1956 - Mother, me (in coon-skin cap pulled from toilet a couple of hours before this photo), and my sister Joy.

2017 - I loved my lunch box so much I've kept it for 57 years so far!

I blurted out, "I'd like a log cabin for my birthday." My vision of this log cabin was the tarp over a table like the one I had seen on the road to Liberty but the next week construction started in the far back of our yard. Four men cleared a spot, built a pier and beam floor and started hauling logs cut down on our farm a few miles outside Magnolia. When it was finished it was quite a playhouse! Built out of real logs (caulked with concrete), a tin roof, electricity for a central light fixture and two wall plugs, two windows that opened with curtains, and a sign above the door that read,"Bill's Log Cabin." It was ten by ten and located about 15 feet beyond our wading pool.

We had so many adventures camping out in the Log Cabin, playing Cowboys and Indians, and starting clubs. Once when I had outgrown the playhouse stage we housed a calf from our farm that was rejected by her heifer mother in the cabin. We put hay on the floor and tried to save the calf with bottle feed but she did not survive. Later when we added a swimming pool the cabin became a changing room and storage shed for pool chemicals. After my folks died and we sold the property Auline Scott who worked for my family moved the cabin to her house. As far as I know, it's still storing stuff.

What a great childhood to be loved and spoiled but I honestly thought at the time that every other kid my age got the same treatment.

One Night in the Log Cabin (Parental Guidance Suggested)

2017-08-12T14:05:00.000-05:00

Summer after 4th grade, I was a Cub Scout and four of us were chosen to sit at the Pike Theatre in uniform all day on Saturday to collect money for the Will Rogers Institute. Right after the previews, a film about the Will Rogers Institute would play followed by the lights coming up and our walking around with buckets to collect donations. Aunt Alice Gwin managed the theater - she wasn't really my aunt but the aunt of my cousin so we all called her "Aunt Alice."

We decided to camp out in my log cabin that night. My log cabin was a birthday gift to which I devoted an entire Blog. Teddy, Dan, and Bob joined me in this adventure (their names have been changed for reasons that will become clear later).

The night started in a pretty standard fashion with everyone telling ghost stories. There were the standards - the hook, about a parking couple hearing a radio story in which an escaped murderer had a hook for a right hand. After hearing a noise they drive off and get home to find a hook and blood dangling from the rear door handle. The always frightful story of another parking couple but this time the boy gets out to investigate a noise and leaves his girlfriend crouched on the floor under a jacket. He tells her not to get up unless he uses the code tapped on the window. She hears a tapping, looks up and his destroyed body is hanging from a tree - the tapping produced by her class ring on his pinky hitting the window. These stories were made more terrifying by making them “true” told by someone who knew someone whose cousin knew a person that dated one of the parties involved. Or occasionally the story was localized, i.e. the murderer was the Chatawa monster! This was before the term “Urban Legend” was created and besides Magnolia or more specifically Chatawa (both legendary) could hardly qualify as “urban.”

The most terrifying story, however, was based on an actual event that all of us experienced. The event was a horrible train wreck in downtown Magnolia one year earlier. We were in the third-grade class when a “BOOM” shook the school building. Teddy had fallen out of his desk. A train had struck a gasoline delivery truck that was stalled on the tracks. The truck exploded and ignited grain storage elevators along the tracks. Several people were killed and the fire raged for hours. We all knew one or two people who were killed. As a matter-of-fact, "Uncle Bobby" who also was not my uncle but Aunt Alice's brother had been one of the victims. The story told that night was that whenever you hear a train whistle all you had to do was look at the darkest part of a dark room and you could see all the men who were killed just walking along and moaning. My log cabin was only three blocks from the tracks so every hour or so we could hear a train and a fight would break out between those attempting to turn out the lights so that they could see the recently deceased and those of us that were not believers in the supernatural but had no desire to test our disbelief with empirical observation.

For hours we ate junk food, talked about stuff that kids our age were talking about and waited anxiously for the next train so that the scramble could break out again. Many years later when I saw the movie, "Stand by Me" when the boys started talking around the campfire it reminded me of that night. At the first sound of the train, Bob would jump up and grab the light cord hanging down from the middle of the cabin, followed closely by either Dan or myself grabbing Bob and tackling him. We would continue long after the train sounds had receded into the night. Finally, someone would gasp, “stop, the train’s gone!” and we would settle back into the regular conversation.

Around four o’clock in the morning, Bob said, “Let’s turn out the light and beat off.” This was not an unexpected request from Bob. None of the rest of us would admit that we even did or thought of such a thing but Bob was constantly suggesting it as a group activity! We made fun of Bob for the suggestion and then a train whistle blew and we were back to our "fight" to control the light.

Frustrated on multiple levels, Bob went to sleep. That proved to be the biggest mistake made all evening. I'm not proud of what happened next but "boys will be boys." We put toothpaste on his cheek and tickled his face with a feather until he slapped the toothpaste and smeared it on his face. We tied his feet to the logs of the wall so that when we shouted, “Fire, fire! Bob, quick get out, get out!” while holding a flaming Sterno can near his face, he would jump up and fall down. Then of course for the final act, we put his hand in warm water so that he would wet his sleeping bag. Wetting the sleeping bag turned out to be our worst idea of the night because Bob had drunk a lot of soft drinks (Aunt Alice had told the counter clerk to give us one candy or small popcorn per movie and free drinks all day) and he peed enough to wet the whole floor of the log cabin getting all four sleeping bags wet. We were forced to sit outside and talk for the rest of the night. The sun rose and three of us had not slept a single minute.

Just after sunrise Auline (our cook, housekeeper, nanny) arrived and made pancakes for the weary campers. One by one my friends left, Bob still had a string hanging from his left ankle as he boarded his bike to ride home. I left the breakfast table and went to bed until mid-afternoon.

The crazy thing is that even now, more than fifty years later I still have a slight sense of panic when I am in a darkened room and hear a train – it only lasts until I remember Bob and how we tormented him that night. I feel ashamed and amused at the same time. Bob, wherever you are I'm sorry!

Beginner's Luck or Know How?

2017-08-12T10:02:00.001-05:00

Summer 1960, I was eight years old when my Father decided to take me to his fishing camp at Lake Mary, Mississippi. I guess he couldn’t get any of his friends to go with him that weekend because he ended up with Mr. Bill Lacy who was eighty and me in a boat fishing for white perch.

I vaguely remember spending the night in the exotic camp – well exotic to an 8-year-old – and how cool it was to be “roughing it.” The camp had been built on stilts to protect it from periodic floods but years before after the floods were controlled a “ground floor” was added. The camp had all the comforts of home – more-or-less.

The three of us must have made quite a sight on the Lake that Saturday morning. Mr. Bill was a little shaky and so Daddy had to bait his hook for him. I was squeamish about touching the live minnows we used for bait. Since my “weak stomach” was well known by then it only took a couple of loud gags to convince Daddy that he should bait my hooks also! The fish were biting like crazy! I remember lowering my freshly baited hook into the water and watching the red-and-white float disappear as it touched the water!

Sometimes a fish took the bait before the floater even got to the water. It was constant. Mr. Bill was fishing one side of the boat, I fished the other and both of us would swing the hook back to Daddy to bait. I would also swing back the hook with a fish on it so Daddy could remove the fish and either release it if too small or put it on the stringer if it was a keeper. Daddy never even got to put his hook in the water. Besides having to bait the hook and remove the catch he was trying to keep us in the terrific spot we were in by using a wooden paddle. I don’t know if they had invented those little trolling motors that people use now or if he just hadn’t bought one so he did that job too!

We caught an outrageous number of fish but unfortunately, a gar (that’s what Daddy called it – a rainbow colored carnivorous fish) attacked the string and ate a bunch of the fish before Daddy noticed and stopped the attack by hitting the gar with his paddle.

After a couple of hours, Mr. Bill and I were having a great time but Daddy was exhausted. He suggested that we go back to the camp, have lunch and then return to Magnolia. He convinced me to be enthusiastic about leaving by telling me that he would get my picture put in the local paper for the great catch!

We drove home and the photographer/editor from the Magnolia Gazette was waiting for us (slow news weekend I guess). I jumped out of the truck and sped into the house while the adults hung the fish string from the back of Daddy’s truck. I was in such a hurry because I wanted to have an appropriate (and stylish) outfit for the photo. I couldn’t be in the paper in my dirty jeans and t-shirt! I chose white deck pants (called Capri pants these days) with a bright red shirt – the shirt was one of my favorites – it had a v-neckline with red, white, and blue striped material in the v!

My favorite shirt for photos.

I finished the ensemble with a fishing cap that matched the blue in the v-neck material and white socks with navy blue tennis shoes – I thought that I looked impeccable! I wasn’t aware of any of the adults noticing my clothing change or making any comments but I look back now and wonder if someone watching the whole thing wasn’t at least speculating about my sexual orientation. I certainly was not aware that my behavior was suspect or anything out of the ordinary – just did what came naturally.

Newspaper coverage in my "fashionable" ensemble.

Mrs. Auline Scott

2015-01-26T16:33:00.000-06:00

In 2014, the woman who helped raise me, Mrs. Auline Scott died and was buried in Pike County, Mississippi. I was honored to be one of her pall bearers at the funeral and then even more highly honored when the local paper asked me to write a tribute for Black History Month because they had chosen her to be the person in the spotlight. A year later I still grieve her loss as do her children and frankly anyone who knew her. I posted a photo of us when I was about two years old and it got more likes than any other Facebook post I've done - not because of me but because of so many people affirming her power in their lives. I was asked to reproduce the article I wrote and it follows below the photos...

Black History Month – Auline Scott

Bill Gardner

Black History Month according to Wikipedia is, “an annual observance for remembrance of important people and events in the history of the African diaspora.”

Traditionally this newspaper and others have chosen politicians, doctors, civil rights leaders; people with formal leadership positions and responsibilities to spotlight and profile. This year, the Magnolia Gazette has chosen a leader, a person who (without a formal leadership position) had an over sized positive impact on South Pike County; Mrs. Auline Scott.

With my parents, Auline influenced my childhood and the person I have become in more ways than can be enumerated here. The focus here is on the impact she had on the larger context and how she exhibited very effective leadership.

Leadership is defined as, “a process of social influence, which maximizes the efforts of others, toward the achievement of a goal.” (Kevin Kruse writing in Forbes magazine, 4/9/2013)

“Social influence” means influence that is based on interactions and personal characteristics not influence based on authority or power.

Last month on January 30^th at the visitation after Auline’s death, several people told of her activities to increase the number of citizens voting. She knew when each of her nephews and nieces would be old enough to register to vote and would start to remind them months in advance to get registered as soon as they could. Auline offered to go with family and others to ensure they registered. Besides getting people to register and reminding them to vote, Auline volunteered to work at the polls for any and all elections.

Auline remembered in her lifetime when Black citizens were denied the vote, kept from voting in much of the South by what a study from Yale called “disenfranchisement techniques, including violence, fraud, poll taxes, literacy tests, restrictive and arbitrary registration practices and all-White primaries.” (From J. Morgan Kousser, The Shaping of Southern Politics; Suffrage Restriction and the Establishment of the One-Party South (Yale Press 1974) in Issacharoff, Karlan and Pildes, The Law of Democracy. 1998.)

In 1965, the Voting Rights Act addressed these issues. Auline was thirty years old that year and the value of voting never left her. She positively influenced this community by increasing the number of people participating in the democratic process.

The leadership definition cited above includes “the achievement of a goal.”

Auline’s primary goal came from her Savior Jesus Christ, “You must love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your soul, and with all your mind. This is the greatest and the first commandment. The second resembles it: You must love your neighbor as yourself.” (Matthew 22:37 – 40). She lived out that commandment, as well as a verse in the next chapter, “The greatest among you, will be your servant.” (Matthew 23:11)

At the visitation mentioned earlier as well as the funeral the following day, neighbor after neighbor stood to talk about Auline’s ministry of food to them. A person newly moved to Magnolia; found Auline the first person to greet her with a warm loaf of Banana Nut Bread as well as a warm welcome and an offer to be her friend. A woman who like Auline was raising eight children said that coming home from work one night she was almost in tears thinking about having to cook when she was so tired but in her kitchen was a box of food already prepared to feed her family from Auline Scott.

Her neighbors told stories of being hungry and knowing that Auline would serve them a plate of incredibly good food if they dropped by her house. Her family would squeeze them into the table and insist that they eat. Auline was an extraordinary cook and was known in the Black and White communities in Magnolia for her cornbread, her Coffee Cake, her Banana Nut Bread (which was more like cake) and my favorite her Peppermint Cake.

I know that there were times that Auline struggled to buy groceries for her large family but she would never consider not feeding others. “For I was hungry and you gave me food…” (Matthew 25:35) “…she from the little she had has put in all she had to live on.” (Luke 21:4)

Auline worked for my parents until they both passed away in the late sixties. After that, she worked at Beacham Memorial Hospital until her Alzheimer’s robbed her ability to provide nursing support. While she was working at the hospital, and cooking meals for neighbors, she was also providing a valuable service for the elderly people in Magnolia. Coming home from her shift she would take her stethoscope and Blood Pressure Cuff and “make rounds” to all the elderly to check on them, take their vitals, visit with them and provide care. Because she was never one to talk about what she did we don’t know but can guess that she probably emptied trash cans, cleaned a little if needed, prayed with and listened to these community members likely lengthening their lives and certainly bringing joy to them in their dotage.

“Question: Who are the ministers of the Church? Answer: The ministers of the Church are lay persons, bishops, priests, and deacons.” (From the Episcopal Book of Common Prayer, page 855)

Auline was a life-long member of New Star Missionary Baptist Church but several ministers of other churches who spoke at her visitation and at her funeral said they sometimes thought she was a member of their Church because she ministered wherever she went. Her youngest son Richard in his Eulogy joked about his Mother teaching them about “drugs” saying she, “drug us to New Zion and then she drug us to New Star and then she drug us wherever there was a revival!”

But Auline wasn’t content to just “attend” church, she ministered. Stories were shared of her walking in the door for a crowded service and immediately shifting into “usher mode.” One of the ministers said that when he saw Auline come into the church he knew that it would only be a matter of minutes before she asked him, “How can I help?” or “What do you need for me to do?” Auline was the embodiment of a servant leader, doing what needed to be done.

Auline Scott was born February 11, 1934, and died January 24, 2014. She is survived by her husband of over 60 years Otis Scott and eight children.

Auline’s leadership continues through her children, who have grown up with her model of participating in the democratic process, loving their neighbors, serving others, and walking in the Truth. Through her children, Auline continues to influence in Magnolia and in Florida, Ohio, North Carolina, and Hawaii.

“Train up a child in the way he should go, even when he is old he will not depart from it.” [Proverbs 22:6]

Her influence is also spread by her nieces and nephews, her brother and sister, her grandchildren and all the countless neighbors and needy who experienced her gentle presence, loving witness, and selfless ministry.

“Remember your leaders, those who spoke to you the word of God. Consider the outcome of their way of life, and imitate their faith.” Hebrews 13:7

XXX

Gardner is a graduate of South Pike High School and currently resides in Austin, Texas where he is a management consultant and leadership coach. He is co-authoring a book about his high school years at SPHS which coincide with the years when Magnolia went from two separate schools to one fully integrated school. The book: Same Time, Same Place; Different Worlds has a targeted publication date in late 2018.

We Got "Married" NOT "GAY Married"

2013-09-29T15:21:00.000-05:00

On September 24, 2013 in San Jose, California, a Deputy County Commissioner for Santa Clara County named Loune Philavane said, "By the authority vested in me by the State of California, I now pronounce you legally married spouses." We stood on the opposite side of a Plexiglas divider with a circular arrangement of holes at head level to allow us to hear MS Philavane when she spoke the vows we repeated. People were all over the place in the Courthouse at windows just like ours getting copies of their birth certificates, or copies of some family member's death certificates or like us, getting married. How did we get here and why such a pedestrian setting for what is typically reserved for much pomp and circumstance, and why were we alone with no friends or family to witness our nuptials?

We're Gay, that's why. We live in Texas. Texas citizens decided several years ago (80% to 20%) that our relationship has "no standing" and that the State and none of its institutions can recognize any relationship existing between us because we are of the same sex and not blood related. Practically, that means that if one of us is hospitalized, the other could be denied visitation rights because we are not family (President Obama has addressed this issue for hospitals with Federal funding and Mitt Romney said that if he were elected President he would reverse that executive order and let states decide (Texas already decided)). It also meant that when one of us dies the other would have to pay high inheritance tax on the total value of our estate (our marriage addressed that, after the Supreme Court addressed that specific issue earlier this year). For perspective, when Brittany Spears got drunk in Vegas a few years ago and married her good friend from high school she and her "husband" immediately had 1138 rights and privileges that were denied to Paul and I after we had been living together as a monogamous couple for 13 years.

This past Summer the Supreme Court decided that making a lawfully wedded spouse pay inheritance tax on an estate that the two lawfully wedded spouses had amassed over their 30 year life together was unconstitutional. In a state that has legalized marriage for Gay or Lesbian couples the Federal government has no right to treat the Gay or Lesbian couples differently - to do so is obviously discrimination.

They also ruled that California's Prop 8 which prohibited legal marriage in the State of California and which had been struck down by a lower court would not be enforced - in other words, Gay couples in California cannot be discriminated against because a majority of citizens thinks and votes for that discrimination. With all due respect to my conservative friends who think that the "will of the people who voted" is being usurped or that "voters' rights are being destroyed" I would ask, "In the 1960s if Civil rights for African Americans was put to a vote would they have been given rights in most states in the deep South?" I was living there then and I can say with 99% certainty they would not have been given equal rights. I would also ask for an example of ANY votes for people to obtain civil rights in our history.

So after all this Court activity the IRS decided that Gay or Lesbian couples who were legally married in a state that allows Gay and Lesbians to marry must be treated as a married couple for Federal tax purposes EVEN if they reside in a state that refuses to recognize their legal marriage. Paul and I had been waiting to get married until it would mean something legally - we did not see the benefit of a symbolic ceremony.

Actually on December 24, 2000 after I sang in the choir and Paul attended the Christmas "Midnight" mass, we sat on the hearth in front of our fireplace and exchanged rings, read the marriage vows to each other from the Episcopal Book of Common Prayer and toasted our commitment with Cristal Champagne so we considered ourselves as married as anyone who had said vows in front of an official with the same legal standing, none.

But all the Court activity made things different so in keeping with our drama-free relationship I came in one afternoon and Paul said, "Did you see where the IRS said that if we got married somewhere it's recognized we could file joint taxes?" I said, "Yep, saw that. I need to check with my accountant to see if it would be advantageous for us to file jointly." To which Paul said, "I checked, and it would be advantageous." So I said, "Sure, you wanna get married? Where will we go? When?" And then Paul channeled his travel planner persona and started looking at New York, San Francisco, etc. to see what their marriage requirements were and also pricing flights, hotels, rental cars, etc. Is wasn't until AFTER we were married when people asked us, "who asked whom?" that we thought how unromantic the conversation/proposal had been (more on "romantic" later). The night we returned to Austin as a married couple, Modern Family featured Cam and Mitchell going through the same decision for the same reason but with much more drama and comedy than our situation (thank God!). And as I write this I expect their wedding will be much more elaborate and dramatic (especially since news leaked that Cam is planning the whole thing).

So we picked San Jose for several reasons - San Francisco was booked, New York had a wait period, San Jose had "Express Service." So Monday afternoon the 23rd we departed Austin headed for San Jose via LAX. From the American Airlines Ambassadors Club I posted on Facebook...

Comments ranged from typical air travel comments to "Congratulations" and "Woo-hoo!" from a couple of people I had told about the trip but our plan was to simultaneously post a change to our Facebook statuses that we were married.

Tuesday morning we slept late (no dogs to wake us up) and had breakfast at our hotel before getting dressed and heading for the Courthouse. We had originally talked about dressing in shorts since it was going to be low key, mostly a tax transaction but ended up with nice slacks and dress shirts cause we figured we would ask the clerk to snap a photo of us with my iPhone camera.

Arriving at the Courthouse at 10:35 AM we found our way to the County Clerk's office and went to a small electronic device where we chose "My visit today regards...A Marriage"

to get our "service number" as in "Now serving number..."

Just past the electronic device we found computers and were instructed to fill out the information to apply for a marriage certificate online and to put our number in the questionnaire so our info would be associated appropriately when our number was called. Paul input our information...

and then we sat and watched a big electronic board where the numbers being called up to a window were matched up to a window number. There are about 50 windows and numbers were constantly being called. After a few minutes, our number was called and we set out in search of the window with the appropriate number where we found a tiny, smiling Asian clerk behind the aforementioned Plexiglas - MS Philavane!

We confirmed that neither of us was changing our last name or taking a hyphenated "Gardner-Warnke" or "Warnke-Gardner." Money changed hands, we raised our right hands and attested to the fact that the information Paul entered earlier was true and accurate, some papers were stapled, and then she asked us to change places at the window and to face each other, look into each other's eyes and repeat after her. As I text-ed to a friend later...

"It started out to be all practical but ended up being romantic and intense. Even in the very officious surroundings of the County Courthouse with people transacting routine activities at the windows surrounding us, when we looked into each other's eyes and repeated those vows it was very meaningful and emotional!"

We got our "Certificate of Marriage" and after a very careful examination found that the word "Gay" does not appear on it anywhere. We're married just like any other couple who loves each other and commits to stay together for the rest of their lives. In case you are wondering but afraid to ask - the certificate has a place for two people's names - beside each name the clerk checks groom or bride - no need to designate one of us as "wife." (I was asked this!)

After we were "pronounced" and given our certified copies we went in search for someone to take our photo to document our first moments as legally married spouses. We decided not to ask MS Philavane since a photo taken through the Plexiglas with the speaker holes would make us look like we got married on a prison visit.

Unlike a non-Gay couple who could ask pretty much anyone to take their picture and know that the photographer would be happy about the occasion and probably honored to take the photo and be a part of the celebration, we still have to be careful about approaching a stranger with a request like this. Gay and Lesbian people get killed occasionally just for being Gay or Lesbian - we weren't concerned about being killed but we would risk asking some hetero-sexist or homophobic person and getting my iPhone thrown at us or getting a sermon about our sins or some other downer to ruin the moment. Then there were a couple of people who looked approachable but when we drew close were talking to themselves and I didn't want to risk giving my phone to them either. So we ended up in the car taking a "selfie" - our first "selfie" ever AND our first photo as legally married spouses.

Mr. Paul A. Warnke & Mr. William P. Gardner

Legally Married Spouses

Joint Income Tax Filers

September 24, 2013

The President's Been Shot, Now Open Your Books to Page...

2013-07-20T13:40:00.000-05:00

Carroll Case (a renowned Mississippi artist & author) posted a request on Facebook for people's memories of the day President Kennedy was assassinated.

"I am working on a project and need your help. PLEASE send me an e-mail at carrollcaseart@gmail.com and tell me where you were when you heard about the assassination of President Kennedy. If you were not born before 1963, please relate what your parents told you about where they were. Thanks!"

Since this year is the 50th Anniversary of the assassination I thought he might be putting a book together with some people's stories and his illustrations. After sending my story he posted:

"OK so your wondering why I wanted your Kennedy memories.....let me just say this Mark your calendar for November 22 Friday 7pm at the store front theatre , State street, mcComb ms. For an event you will not soon forget. Lots more info to follow.....cc"

I can't imagine what he is up to but I am going to try to travel to McComb that evening to see!

Here's my entry...

I was in the sixth grade in Magnolia (Mississippi) Elementary School, Mrs. Richmond’s class. Before school started that year I had pleaded with my Mother to get me transferred to Mrs. Lampton’s class because she seemed like more fun; but for some strange reason my Mother didn’t find my desire for “fun” a compelling enough reason to buck the school’s assignment process. Even when I told Mother that Mrs. Lampton let her class listen to the radio every day for an hour instead of doing “boring ole school work” she was singularly unmoved. So I was sentenced to sweat out the toughest teacher in the elementary school.

That day probably would have blended in with all the rest but Mrs. Lampton appeared at the door to our room crying and motioning Mrs. Richmond to come to the hallway. She wasn’t sobbing or making a big scene but tears were flowing from her eyes and being quickly absorbed by a little embroidered handkerchief that matched ones all the other teachers carried in those days. She was clearly very upset. Word spread quickly from the kid closest to the door that Mrs. Lampton was really sobbing while talking to Mrs. Richmond and we all began to speculate what had happened. I had never even thought teachers had emotions like that – teachers were supposed to be in control of themselves and of us. If Mrs. Lampton could lose control, chaos could not be far behind.

After a short period Mrs. Richmond came back into the room with her usual stern, no-nonsense grimace and before she reached the front of the room kids started asking, “Mrs. Richmond, what’s wrong with Mrs. Lampton?” “Is Mrs. Lampton okay?” The questions seemed to annoy her but she didn’t correct anyone for shouting out and not raising their hand so we knew this was something way out of the ordinary. When she reached the front of the room she said, “the President’s been shot, now open your books to page…” There was an outcry in the room that included almost every emotion including joy, two kids clapped in approval but most of us were stunned into silence. Mrs. Richmond softened only a tiny bit and said, “They were listening to the radio” (we knew she didn’t approve of this frivolousness) “and they broke in with a news bulletin that President Kennedy had been shot in Texas. That’s all they know now and there isn’t anything that we can do, so let’s get back into our work for today…” and then as an after-thought she added, “they are going to keep listening and you can ask them all about it at the next recess.”

I have no idea what lessons we went back to, not clear if it was Math, Science or English but every break we grabbed kids from Mrs. Lampton’s class to get details. I remember bizarre bits of information from that day – “lone gunman,” “shooter was eating before he shot,” “the assassin had escaped,” “it was probably the Soviets,” “the President is dead,” “the new President is from Texas.”

Nothing Will Change as a Result of Newtown Murders

2012-12-17T09:43:00.000-06:00

First posted on 12/17/2012. Edited and expanded based on feedback from readers and friends and re-posted. Illusion III and Illusion IX suggested by readers. Use of HTML feedback also implemented.

As I've read through all the Facebook posts about Newtown, I have become more-and-more depressed about our capability as a country, as a people, to learn from what happened. I also do not believe that anything will happen to prevent the next tragedy. I am not a pessimist, actually I tend to be overly optimistic but we have a number of illusions that we hold to the point of being National Learning Disabilities. These illusions will prohibit true learning and true action from taking place. All of the Learning Disabilities result from illusions that we have embraced and hold so dearly that so far nothing – not facts, not data, not experience, not logic, not science, not religion; NOTHING has shaken our beliefs in these nine fallacious illusions. I will not talk down to anyone or “preach” in this blog. As a matter-of-fact, I’ll acknowledge that I struggle with some (maybe most) of the illusions and have made a lifelong attempt to think critically and test my assumptions especially when an emotional event drives me to one of the illusions.

America’s 9 Illusions (Learning Disabilities)

Illusion I - Complex problems have simple, single solutions.

I've battled weight issues all my life and all I want is a pill, a pill that I can take after eating whatever I want and never gain weight!

As a society we do this constantly. We want the solution to fit on a bumper sticker.

My friends are lining up on Facebook primarily in two camps:

1. If we have GUN CONTROL, we can avoid having another event like Newtown.

2. If we look at addressing MENTAL HEALTH issues as a country, we can avoid these massacres.

Fact is - as a society both of these, with multiple other “causal issues” will need to be addressed; but the solution is not, will not, can not be a single, simple action. The fancy term is “requisite variety” a complex societal problem requires a complex, multi-faceted, intelligent array of interdependent solutions monitored and adjusted over time.

Illusion II - Anyone who disagrees with me is completely wrong; my opinion is 100% correct.

We jump on one side or the other in an argument based on a lot of complex psychological and socio-emotional factors. We are products of our parents’ beliefs, our own experience, our highly selective bias in seeking facts and data, our friends’ beliefs, etc. Each of these factors acts as a filter to what we see and hear and how we interpret what we have chosen to see and hear. Given all that built-in noise it is extremely likely that our opinion is not perfect. Despite this, and despite all of us knowing this, we enter a debate or discussion with a strong belief that we are right and “they” are wrong.

Fact is – it is very unlikely that either side in an argument is 100% right or 100% wrong. Until we can admit to ourselves and to each other that “correct” will be a blend of what all sides believe, we cannot learn from each other and we are disabled from finding a correct solution.

Illusion III - Everything that happens proves/supports my agenda.

Closely related to how we selectively perceive events, and how we want a simple single solution, we also take any event that happens (like the Newtown murders) and twist it to prove that our opinion before the event has now been shown as truth. A small sampling of interpretations appear below:

Person or Group Interpreting - What they say caused the shooting

Morgan Freeman - Media coverage - murderers do it for the infamy
Various Gun Owners - Mental Illness
The Other 98% - Availability of Guns
ABC News Analysts - his Mother making guns available (to a mentally ill child)
Westboro Baptist Church - US Acceptance of Homosexuality
Mike Huccabee - Taking God out of schools, abortion, Gay Marriage
Pastor Sam Morris - Teaching evolution in public schools, Humanism
Representative Dennis Richardson - Teachers should have been armed
Facebook friend - God (because Huccabee & Morris say it was God's punishment)

For a more comprehensive list click here.

I could go on but these make the point. Each of these people or groups were discussing their agenda before the shootings so each one used the horrible event to "prove" what they believe and to try to get others on their bandwagon. Some of these have said that hurricanes were caused by the same things that caused the shootings - that's how this illusion plays out.

Fact is - Acts of nature just like social acts have complex, multi-faceted, interdependent causality that we may never understand but to write them off to whatever my personal or professional agenda is creates a giant block to ever learning causality or ever being able to take effective prohibitive action - a learning disability.

Illusion IV - Problem solving or solution finding is a Zero-Sum game.

Closely related to Illusion II, a zero-sum game means that if my solution is adopted completely without any changes, then I win – my solution is 100% correct, my “score” is 100%. If I give on any factor then I have to subtract from that total and the score is now 100% minus what I gave up or agreed to change. Also called win-lose, it is very US-American to see most of life in this way, primarily because we were founded on principles of individuality. Not that there is anything wrong with individuality but there are times when we must think as a collective and about what is the best for the whole not just me or my side in an argument. To see giving on any small concession as a loss, we disable ourselves from finding solutions that work for everyone. The whole “Fiscal Cliff” struggle is a great example of how two sides seem unable to give anything because the electorate will see the giver as a loser – there was a time in the US when a side that gave for the good of the whole would have been heralded as statesmen or possibly even heroes but that time seems to be in the past.

Fact is – Defining compromise or bi-partisanship as “I get to implement 100% of what I want or I am a loser,” kills any chance of meaningful, long-term solutions to problems.

Illusion V - The best solution is the one that involves the least personal change for me.

Try as we might to be “objective,” the reality for most of us is that we love solutions that sound like someone else will have to change themselves or their practices while we continue life as usual. It’s not 100% among my Facebook friends but there is a very strong correlation between gun owners saying that the problem will be fixed by looking at the mental health issues and my non-gun-owning friends saying that gun control is the answer. Two examples (that illustrate all four illusions):

[From a gun owner.] Read this. Now. THIS is the conversation we need to be having, not gun control, school security or anything else... Read it. And forward it to other (sic) to read. Please [Attachment was article from a mother whose child has mental illness.]

[From a non-gun owner.] The NRA is the enabler of murders. We should inventory every gun in this country, register each one and then hold every gun owner responsible for that gun and if another event happens then take every gun from every American and disband gun makers and the NRA. PERIOD!

Fact is – Every American must be willing to make personal changes if by our changing we can reduce the probability of mass murders happening in this country. We can all agree that we don’t want these events to continue happening.

Illusion VI - There are absolutes and we need to find the absolute solution to the problem.

My favorite course as an undergrad was Introduction to Philosophy where among other things our professor told us one day, “’There are no absolutes,’ except that statement.” We had a great time discussing the merits of a statement that claimed a truth but was made false by the rest of the statement – great undergrad mental exercise. It is however a reality in today’s complex, interdependent, global world. The “best solution” (by “best” I mean the one with the greatest probability of long term success in solving a problem) is one that is socially constructed and socially validated. The first five illusions assume that there is one best solution and also assume that one side has it and further the one side with the absolute solution happens to be ours.

Fact is – there is no single absolute solution. If a group of people can overcome all these blocks to learning and can agree to jointly own whatever solution is ultimately agreed on, then and only then can a solution solve a problem. Jointly owning means that if something goes badly in implementing a solution we do not point fingers of blame, (“see if we had done what I said from the start”) but instead all accept responsibility for LEARNING from what has happened and tweaking the solution because we understand that there are no absolute solutions, because there are no absolutes (except that phrase!).

Illusion VII - A solution has to stand up to all anecdotes or examples that anyone can cite.

You may see it if anyone posts a comment about my blog. A person will find one comment that I made with which he/she disagrees and will cite an anecdote or example that disputes that point and so dismisses the entire blog. For example, “Countries that have strict gun control also have mass-murder so gun control is not what we need…” or “You just dismiss God in Illusion VII, but the Bible says that we shouldn't listen to false prophets and you are one!”

Let me be completely clear, I do not think that I have the solution or solutions; I can’t honestly say that what I’m writing about will have any impact at all! I am an imperfect, fairly observant, educated, 60 year old man who earned my living helping organizations identify and overcome their learning disabilities (I didn't always call it that) and I’m saying that these are illusions or learning disabilities that I think are getting in the way. If you disagree with anything I write I welcome respectful dialog because I believe that if you and I work together we can find something closer to the truth than either of us can find alone.

Fact is – no solution can stand up to attacks that are based on the illusions in this blog – the best solution will stand up to and be improved by mutually-respectful, co-creative dialog and inquiry.

Illusion VIII - Someone else (or God) will come up with a solution to this problem.

After you read all the illusions I've listed so far you might be tempted to give up or to hope or pray for someone or something to solve it without your involvement. I understand – that’s how I started this blog with my depression over seeing how difficult or maybe impossible a solution will be. I really wish I wasn't writing this blog because I have a page and a half long “to-do” list I should be working on but I can’t fall into the trap of hoping someone else will enter the dialogue and represent my thoughts. This will take all of us – gun owners, mental health advocates, parents, teachers, the NRA, Congress, the President, Jews, Christians, Atheists, Muslims, Buddhists, native-born, immigrants, every American working to construct solutions without being blinded by our shared learning disabilities, our illusions.

Fact is – if God or someone else was going to solve this it would already be solved.

Illusion IX - Once we create a solution, we implement and we're done.

Peter Senge wrote in his book "The Fifth Discipline" that the seeds for tomorrow's problems are cast with today's solution. Our country has a history of implementing solutions to problems, often times with support by a majority and then we step away from the solution until it creates the next problem and then we implement a solution to that problem and leave until...and so on, and so on. We embraced prohibition of alcohol, dusted off our hands and walked away. Later we had a huge organized crime problem because prohibition created a black market and an underground economy. There were debates about solutions and we chose to end prohibition. Eliminating prohibition solved some of the problems and created others for which solutions were implemented. Just one example, I'm sure any reader has others.

Fact is - An effective solution to any problem will be one that involves constant dialog and learning throughout implementation. A solution, no matter how intelligently designed, socially constructed and validated will need "tweaks" along the way. Those tweaks will come from effectively avoiding ALL of the illusions/learning disabilities discussed in this BLOG.

Seems to me we all agree that we never want another mass shooting to happen in this country. Is it too much to ask that we recognize our illusions, overcome our learning disabilities and reach a national set of solutions to keep these shootings from becoming a part of our lives? I wish I was hopeful but given the direction we're been headed over the last 10 to 15 years in national discourse I have my doubts.

Goodbye My Friend

2012-08-23T16:35:00.001-05:00

My best friend Kit Glenn died yesterday. He died.

Kit was five years younger than I and he died. From lung cancer. Yes, he was a smoker for a large part of his life and now he's gone. I'm not sure why or even if that's important but when I tell someone that my best friend died and he was five years younger than I, people always say, "was he a smoker?" As if that makes my grief any less or as if I don't have to worry since I never smoked?

I know I'm being repetitive saying he died so many times, but since our mutual friend Susan called and said, "He's gone buddy," I find that I am unable to believe that he is no longer living and I also find it impossible to use past tense when people ask about him - "he 'is'" in every sentence I mutter - "he 'was'" just doesn't work. I know the stages of grief and I know I'm in denial but it's more than that. The impact that Kit has on my life hasn't stopped, it continues - he "is" because I 'am."

I still remember vividly the day I met Kit, actually I remember vividly the first time I heard his name. I was in my office at the University of Southern Mississippi in Long Beach, Mississippi and my administrative assistant buzzed me to ask if I was going to hold office hours that Thursday as scheduled. When I confirmed she said she was making an appointment for me with Kit Glenn. My response was, "Wow, I love that name, 'Kit Glenn' - he could be a movie star or an astronaut, or a rock star with that name. What a great name!"

That Thursday when Kit walked into my office for advice on his undergraduate program he represented several firsts for me:
1. He was my first student who was younger than I. USM Gulf Park's average student was 34 and I was only 26 but Kit was three years out of high school.

2. He was the first advisee I had seen who had accurately followed the directions of the 2+2 program through which a student could go to community college for two years, transfer to our campus for two years and get a degree in four years just like going to a four year institution. Before Kit, every student I advised said they were following the guidelines but I had to send them back to pick up one or two courses before they could start with USM - Kit was ready to enroll with no exception - a first.

3. He was also the most handsome and appealing man of any age I had ever seen. This "first" was that I was so smitten with him, my denial of my sexuality was no longer possible. (Pretty obvious that "denial" is not a mental state I have recently become acquainted with!) I had been sexually active with other guys since sixth grade and I can't even remember how I could do all the things I did and not KNOW that I was Gay but I didn't acknowledge it. I think that I locked sex in a separate compartment from relationship and thought that the only way I could actually be Gay was if I wanted to be married to another guy not just sexually attracted. By the end of Kit's appointment I was not only sexually attracted to him but I wanted to marry him too! Here ended my denial! You may think I'm exaggerating Kit's appeal but just recently when I visited Mississippi to see Kit and his wife Jane I had a conversation with Jane when Kit wasn't within hearing range. She said, "When I came home from my first date with Kit I told my sister, 'he's the one, I could marry him,' I knew immediately that I wanted to marry him. Can you believe that?" I said, "Completely understand cause after spending an hour with him when we first met I wanted to marry him but alas, he wasn't wired that way." I also told Jane that if I couldn't have him as a husband I was so glad that she is the one who got him. I meant that too! Jane is the perfect wife for Kit - they are the most compatible couple I know.

Jane and Kit at one of their wedding showers 1980

4. At the moment I also thought that he was my first Gay student - of course that turned out to not be true. We laughed about that first impression years later when we both admitted that we thought the other was Gay when we first met - of course he was right! I primarily thought he was Gay because he brought a friend to the meeting and the friend was pretty obviously Gay - I thought they might be boyfriends - more on that guy later.

5. I didn't know it until later but he would be the first student I taught who had to be removed from the grading curve in every class because he was so far ahead of the rest of the students. He wasn't a little ahead, he was far ahead in every class. If I had included Kit's papers when I arrayed from top to bottom on my table, his would have been in another room. I would grade all papers except Kit's, array then and assign grades. Then I would read Kit's and award an A++.

6. He was also the first student to become a good friend, eventually best friend and stay my friend after graduation - actually become an even better friend after he graduated.

Terry Minyard, Assistant Professor Gay (Thomas) Irby, Me, Kit

Wow, this blog will be longer than War and Peace if I describe all the significant events between Kit and I so I'll do highlights for the rest - the ways Kit lives on.

Kit's Sense of Humor.

On my way to teach class one night I passed the Bookstore and was hailed that I had a phone call. I answered and had this conversation:
Me: Hello?
Kit: What cha doing?
Me: Kit, tonight's midterm. I can't let you make it up without a doctor's excuse.
Kit: I think I can arrange that.
Me: Are you sick?
Kit: Sick? Naw I'm not really sick. Feeling pretty good actually.
Me: Why aren't you coming to take the test?
Kit: (calmly) Oh, I shot myself so they won't let me drive to class.
Me: That's not funny.
Kit: You're telling me! You don't hear me laughing do you?
Me: Where did you shoot yourself?
Kit: At Sambo's, you know on the beach right in front of...

He had great comic timing and knew how to wait for the moment to deliver the punchline. He really had shot himself in the finger and he lost the finger - the pointer finger on his left hand. That injury led to further "humorous" pranks on Kit's part. When the stitches were still working their way out he would wait until I was right in the best part of my class lecture and I would look at him and he would be pulling stitches out with his teeth which he knew would make me almost faint and definitely loose my place in the lecture! Even after it was healed he made great use of it. We used to attend a very early service at St John's Ocean Springs on Wednesday mornings. Kit and Jane would go out on Tuesday night and he would later drive to my apartment in Ocean Springs to spend the night so he could make the early service, have breakfast with the Cursillo gang and then drive home to change and go to work. After the service the small group that attended would adjourn to the Parish Hall, have a prayer circle and then eat breakfast that we regular attendees took turns cooking. Kit would be drinking coffee or something when we circled up for prayer and would come running over just before we started. He would always take my right hand in his left and take the left hand of the next person to complete the circle - even if someone was already holding my right hand he would ask if he could cut in. During the prayer as we went around the circle each person offered whatever prayer they had and our priest Father Mead would conclude by blessing the food. Just before my turn to pray, Kit would start twitching his knuckle knowing that it would make me want to snatch my hand away or scream or faint and of course made me incapable of saying anything in prayer but "pass." As soon as the prayer was over Kit would hug me and chuckle but completely deny he had done it on purpose.

Kit's Value of Friendship

One day I walked out of my office to get some files out of my car and my car was gone from the parking lot! I ran back to my assistant's desk and she had my files on her desk. She addressed my confusion by saying that Kit had brought the items in and said that he would have my car back before I knew it was missing! When I finished teaching that night my car was indeed in the parking lot but it was different - Kit has washed and waxed it and changed the oil! There was a note taped to my steering wheel explaining what he had done. I called the next day and told him that I needed to pay him which he refused. I'll go ahead and include a negative about Kit so he doesn't come across as perfect - he is stubborn! I told him that other students might think that he was making good grades because he did things like that and he offered to let them look at all of his tests and papers to prove his grades were deserved. We went round and round and the only payment he would take was for the oil and any parts he used. Until I left the Coast he took care of my car far better than I would have because he said, "that's what friends do." I never found out how he got a key to my car he wouldn't tell me!

When I moved to Austin, he came to my house that Wednesday and Thursday night after he left work to help me pack a U Haul for the move. Thursday night we towed my car behind the U Haul and I spent the night with Kit and Jane. Kit worked all day Friday and then drove us to Austin. We arrived just as the sun was rising on Saturday morning. This took place in late July/early August - the hottest and most humid time of the year in both Mississippi and Texas. After unloading on Saturday and spending that night with our friends from Mississippi, Bob & Charlotte, we left Sunday morning to drive all the way back to Gulfport in my little VW Diesel Rabbit. Kit drove every single mile and refused all offers of help from me. He said that he was driving because he liked driving and he could stay awake better with me talking - if I drove he would fall asleep and I would probably fall asleep and kill us both. He didn't know that I overheard him tell our friend Mike Dobrosky that he did all the driving because my driving terrified him.

When Kit is your friend, there is no limit to what he will do for you. I can't sing the Servant Song because the first time I heard it was at a Cursillo when Kit and I were on team together and he happened to glance at me when he sang those words "let me be as Christ for you." Since then I tear up and can't choke out the words - and that was while he was living - the whole song now will probably do me in.

Kit's Acceptance of Me (and) Others

I was a little shocked once when Kit and I talked about our first impressions of each other being Gay and I asked if the guy who was with him that day was Gay. Kit said that he was but Kit did not know it at that time. The guy was a fishing buddy of Kit's. When I asked if they were still friends Kit said no. He told me that one night when they were at the fishing camp, lying in bed talking about the next day's plan the guy told Kit that he was Gay and Kit said he got out of bed, collected his things, drove home and had not really talked to his former friend again. It didn't sound like Kit at all but I decided that I could never tell Kit that I was Gay - that I had kept it a secret from myself for 26 years and from everyone else for four or five more, I could keep it a secret forever to not risk losing my best friendship ever.

Fast forward five years and I had moved to Austin where I came out and had been actually dating men and living the Gay lifestyle (whatever that is). I had come out to my family and had vowed to never keep the secret again. I felt tremendously guilty about not being honest with my best friend but I feared that I would never hear from him again. I spent several days with Kit and Jane trying to find a place to work it into a conversation and I just couldn't do it. Kit was driving me to Hammond to meet my sister so I could spend Christmas with my family and I decided it is now or never. Before I could say anything
Kit said, "Bill what is going on? You have been preoccupied since you got here. Talk to me.
Me: I'm so nervous I feel like I going to throw up!
Kit: What? You are nervous about telling me something? Buddy we have talked about everything, we have no secrets. Wait a minute, have you been killing people, chopping them up and burying them under your floorboards? (Obviously this was around the time the John Wayne Gacy murders had come to light.)
Me: Well if I had been doing that I probably would be less nervous because I have no clue how you would react to that news but I know how you reacted to what I have to tell you when someone else told you.
Kit: That's different, he and I weren't as good of friends as you and I are. You were our best man, you didn't see him in the wedding did you?
Me: He wasn't in the wedding because you never spoke to him again after he told you. Kit: Okay that wasn't completely true I did walk out that night but I talked to him later and we started hanging out again but I told him I couldn't spend the night or anything cause I wasn't comfortable that he was attracted to me in that way.
Me: Oh, well....wait! How long have you known?
Kit: I already told you I knew when we met. I've been hurt that you didn't admit it to me like you really thought it would make a difference after all we've been through together?
Me: {Tearing up} God I love you!
Kit: Stop crying, you'll make me cry. (laughing) what did you expect me to do, put your butt out here on the highway?

Closure

When I saw Kit last just a few weeks ago I told him that I had a song that always makes me think of him. He said I know, "The Servants Song" but it makes me think of you too. I said no this one is one you haven't heard called "Everything Possible" by a Gay quartet. It's a song that a father is singing to his child as he is tucking the child in to sleep - he sings that everything is possible for the child that he can grow up to marry or not, to have children or not, to travel or be a homebody, to love whomever he chooses and the chorus includes, "the only measure of your words and your deeds will be the love you leave behind when you're done."

Kit has set the curve once again - the love he leaves behind is all over Facebook today and in private messages and texts to me as well as to his wife and other friends. The love he inspired by his words and deeds makes it necessary to end by saying he IS a great man, not WAS.

HE IS A GREAT MAN.

When Talking is Not the Best Idea

2010-09-14T09:46:00.000-05:00

People who know me even a little know that I talk A LOT! It's partially genetic - on the Gardner side - and it's also predicted by my MBTI scores - I'm an ENFP with emphasis on the EXTROVERT. So I hardly ever see talking as not appropriate well except in movies, plays and church but even then I can't really be quiet there unless I am thinking about what I will say when the movie ends, or church is over, or the play wraps. But yesterday I learned a new place where talking should be prohibited - in recovery after I have had general anesthesia.

I should have been forewarned cause my sister had a bad experience a couple of years ago. When she was in recovery and awake the hospital staff asked her to participate in a survey by answering questions. One of the questions was what she did as a hobby or for fun and she said, "clean commodes!" Now she is a world class cleaner - one of those rare people who can't walk through a room without straightening, picking up, dusting, etc. But just ask her when she's not under the effects of anesthesia and she will say that she hates cleaning toilets with a passion. She doesn't remember answering that way and is typically not sarcastic especially with someone in a position of "authority." It's inexplicable!

Yesterday when I was in recovery just moments after waking up, a nurse removed the oxygen tubes and my oxygen level dropped suddenly setting off an alarm. She asked me to take deep breaths which set off a coughing spell which kind of hurts when you have a brand new incision in your belly button! Anyway, she brought me crackers and juice to combat the nausea but every time I took a bite or a sip the damn alarm went off summoning one of the two nurses to come tell me to take deep breaths! After the third alarm she said, "You are a mouth breather so when you sip you stop breathing and your oxygen level drops." My response, "In the Gay Community calling someone a mouth breather is pretty insulting," I said this while (with no subtlety) glancing at the posted mission statement about treating patients which reads in part, "We provide excellent care with gentleness and kindness." Of course she started apologizing and said she was using it literally - that I was breathing through my mouth... We all know nice people who have a few drinks and become mean? I guess I'm mean on anesthesia!

Later my doctor dropped by and he said, "Everything went well, we of course went with the general anesthesia which I personally prefer when I undergo surgery. You'll be happy to know that you were very cooperative and didn't divulge any state secrets." With that I lifted up my blanket and said, "Well all I know is I had on blue scrub pants when I went into surgery and I woke up without them." I don't remember saying either of these things but my partner was embarrassed when both medical professionals looked at him after my comments like he was somehow responsible! :-)

My last instructions before leaving were that I should "...not drive for three days, not make any decisions of importance, not lift anything heavier than 15 pounds and not post to any social networking sites for 24 hours or as long as I was taking the pain medications." I'm still wondering if that last instruction is given to everyone or just those of us who get sarcastic from anesthesia?

Loving My Job

2009-04-28T20:44:00.002-05:00

There have been times that I have absolutely loved my job. I've loved it so much in the past that I felt guilty when anyone else talked negatively about their jobs. I have spoken to graduate classes at UT and A&M about Organization Development and what I did in my job and have had people approach me after and say, "I want a job just like yours." You might have noticed the past tense? Yeah, I don't love my job so much at the moment. I don't hate it and sometimes I feel guilty cause so many people don't have jobs - including a bunch of people I had to lay off during cuts over the last three years. Oh hell, maybe I just feel guilty no matter what...but that's a topic for a different day.

Today I had a bunch of tests run at Austin Heart Hospital. Routine for me cause I had a cardiac episode 13 years ago. A cardiac episode is like a heart attack but without damage to the heart (yes, I felt guilty then too!). But I don't want to talk about that in this blog. I want to talk about a medical professional today who loves her job.

I met her at 7:00 AM when she started my IV (I hate needles). She did it relatively painlessly and after the nuclear technician came in and put me on a treadmill just to get a setting for the scan she checked it to make sure that it was working by pumping in some saline solution before the nuclear guy returned to pump some kind of radioactive dye into me. I was sent off to drink a cup and a half of water as fast as possible and wait for them to call me back. As I was walking out for water patient number two was coming in for the same set-up. When he came out to get water I was called back to start stage 2 and patient number three was called back to get his IV. You get the picture - there were about five of us in the cycle and we were efficiently moved through the process. In the middle of the test there is a 90 minute break for us patients to get some breakfast and I guess let the dye spread some more before the last scan but the technicians don't break - they start the next group of IVs...and so it goes.

After spending 15 minutes under a machine taking 360 degree photos of slices of my heart, I got on a treadmill for a regular treadmill stress test but with the addition of more radioactive stuff pumped in and then a scan while my heart rate was at 80% of its maximum. Before the dye when I was just walking on the treadmill I asked the technician how many of these tests they do in a day...

Her: 11

Me: Every day?

Her: Yes, 5 days a week. 11 nuclear scans a day.

Me: Does it get boring?

Her: No - it gets confusing sometimes because I have to say the same things over and over so that the patients know what is coming. Sometimes I can't remember who I've told what.

Me: But never bored?

Her: No, I'm loving this job. I love starting IVs because each person is different - you might not think so but there are an infinite number of vein configurations, skin thickness, fat or muscle, rolling veins, etc. I find that really exciting and I start 11 of those a day so I strive to have 11 successes where the IV is not only comfortable but when I remove it there's no bruise or hematoma just a tiny red dot. I love that feeling of success.

Me: Well I tend to be a real baby about needles and you did a great job. So you're telling me that when you take it out I'm not going to have a big bruise.

Her: That's what I strive for so I'll be really happy if that's the way it goes.

Me: And you'll have a happy customer - IF you think of us as customers.

Her: Well, I really don't. I think of you guys as people who need me and need the skills that I have - more like a friend who trusts me than a customer who's paying me.

Me: Cool. (Okay I was getting a little winded at this point so one word responses were called for!)

Her: The other thing that I love is when one of you does better on the treadmill than I thought you would do. You know we need 9 full minutes of EKG to have the best results and a lot of people I see look like they won't be able to do that long. Especially when they reach their target heart rate quickly like in a minute or two and that means six or seven minutes at a maximum heart rate - difficult for anyone. I set a goal in my head for each person and if they do better than that I feel really successful and really happy for them. It makes me love the job because my friends who came to me because I have skills they need achieved better than either of us thought they could.

Me: (Breathlessly) How much longer?

Her: You are two beats away from target.

After she removed the IV (tiny, barely visible dot) I was pondering that I need my butt kicked. If she can find that much satisfaction in that role I should look for ways to get excited about mine. I have that slight guilty feeling again...I'm just saying...

I am a Dangerous Man!

2009-04-19T17:29:00.000-05:00

Anyone who knows me probably chuckled when they read that title cause if you know me you have to know that dangerous is something to which I could never lay claim! Seriously I am about the most non-violent, conflict avoiding, peace loving person you could ever meet. I'm a conformist at heart - I hate drawing attention to myself. I follow rules.

So how come I say that I'm a dangerous man? Because my relationship with my partner threatens to destroy the sanctity of no less an institution than marriage! If my partner and I would be allowed to marry (we've been together for nine years) the family as we know it as an institution would become a thing of the past! It's very interesting to have this kind of power. I know the power must be real because the voters in a lot of states (Texas included) voted to amend their constitutions so that I can never get married there. Actually I can't even go to a state where Gay marriage is allowed and get married and then come back to Texas and ask for my relationship to be recognized - if I did there would be no more families in Texas. They would all apparently just fall apart because of the recognition! Men would call their wives and say, "Bill & Paul got married so I'm leaving you and the kids - marriage as we knew it no longer has meaning!" Mothers and fathers would go their separate ways leaving thousands of homeless and parent less children wandering the streets. Being able to create that kind of chaos in a society qualifies me as dangerous!

I am more dangerous than Brittany Spears. She spit on traditional marriage when she got drunk, got a license, married a guy, and then divorced him all in less than 48 hours BUT marriage remained a viable institution after that happened and she's famous! Most married people have never even heard of us but if we could go to Vegas and get a license and get married THAT would do it - marriages would crumble... Dangerous. And don't even get me started on her second marriage, yet life as we know it and marriage as an institution goes on. She is not as dangerous as I!

I am more dangerous than the polygamists that split away from the Mormon church apparently. A year ago the State of Texas acting through Child Protective Services raided a camp of these folks and took a couple hundred children away from their parents because of reported child abuse. The kids are back with parents now because abuse wasn't discovered - they are POLYGAMISTS! Each man marries multiple women often times old men marry young girls but that doesn't seem to threaten marriage as an institution. How can that be allowed as some kind of religious exemption? Because they believe in God they're okay? Newsflash - some Gay people believe in God too. I can actually imagine a husband calling his wife and saying, "you know I'll stay with you but I want to marry and have sex with a couple of other women - nothing personal, you may like them!" But that is not as threatening as Gay couples marrying! I/we are very dangerous!

I am more dangerous than divorce. I read somewhere that more than half of all marriages end in divorce. Forgive me for being a simpleton but isn't that way more threatening to the institution of marriage and family than my relationship? Apparently not - no one has even suggested that we should pass a constitutional amendment to forbid divorce. Oh, wait...a lot of people against Gay marriage are divorced themselves - how the hell do they seek to pass laws to protect an institution that they themselves violated? Somehow their hypocrisy isn't dangerous but me, my relationship...DANGEROUS!

I am more dangerous than adultery. Remember adultery? It's called out in the Ten Commandments - the Ten Commandments!! Let me point out that no where in the Bible does it say, "Thou shalt not recognize Gay marriage." I don't want to get into a Biblical argument with anyone who reads this so if you are thinking about sending me a Bible lesson don't! If you do I'll marry my partner and then your marriage will fall apart - don't push me - I'm dangerous, you've probably said it yourself! Were you lying (there's a specific commandment about that too!). But I digress...many law makers - hell, the freakin' president of the US committed adultery while he was in the White House - the same president who signed the "Defense of Marriage Act" - remember DOMA? It was passed to allow states to ignore relationships sanctioned by other states if the relationship was not between one man and one woman. If you can't see the irony in that then forgive me while I laugh at your expense.

I am more dangerous that the Menendez Brothers. Remember them? They were living at home with their wealthy parents when they drove to a nearby town, bought shotguns and shells and killed their parents. Their parents were watching television and having a little ice cream when their sons walked in and started shooting them in the back! They emptied the guns, reloaded and emptied them again until their parents lay lifeless in pools of their own blood. When they were arrested the video shows them in court being arraigned and they are joking around and acting all cocky like they were picked up for speeding knew they would get off with a slap on the wrist! One of these two psychopaths while serving his life sentence in California has gotten married. He got married! I did not hear a single person suggest that sanctioning his marriage would in any way threaten the institution. I did hear a woman interviewed on the news the night he was married saying that he deserved the "comfort" of marriage, even though he and his wife would never spend a minute without bars separating them he "DESERVED the COMFORT" but even if I deserve the comfort of marriage I can't be married because it would destroy marriage as an institution. I am one dangerous S.O.B!

Because I am so dangerous and not allowed to marry I pay more taxes than I would if married. We spent several thousand dollars with lawyers to form a partnership and to get paperwork that in theory would allow us to be treated as if we are married in certain situations. I carry a card in my wallet that would allow a hospital to get a fax of my medical power of attorney in the event Paul is hospitalized and can be seen only by "family." My attorney tells me that an interested party (like my family of origin) could fight that power of attorney because the Texas constitutional amendment says that the "state may not recognize a relationship between two members of the same sex that are not related by blood." I guess that being able to visit Paul or make medical decisions for him if he is not able to would somehow threaten some body's marriage. Brittany Spears in that 48 hours she was married would have automatically had power of attorney and several hundred other rights that I have paid for but still may not possess. To give me these rights would destroy marriage?

So for my straight readers who would tell me that I should lighten up and accept a Civil Union or that I should "understand" that some people just don't believe that marriage should be redefined as anything other than between a man and a woman I would just like to say, "Don't fuck with me or I'll find a way to get married and then you won't have marriage as an institution." I am VERY DANGEROUS!

Mississippi Burning

2009-03-27T20:46:00.000-05:00

Mississippi Burning was a movie produced about a tumultuous summer in Mississippi when three Civil Rights workers were killed and buried under an earthen dam outside of Philadelphia in Neshoba County. Some of the events in the movie were fictionalized or based on things that happened in other counties like the one in which I grew up – Pike County.

That summer was bizarre and frightening for a ten year old kid like me. Lying in bed at night I could hear explosions that sounded like thunder but would turn out to be a “Colored Church” hit with a Coke bottle filled with gasoline, it’s “wick” made from a torn cloth inserted in the bottle neck ignited just before being thrown through a church window. A couple of nights Daddy asked me if I wanted to go see the fire and I would ride with him to sit and watch a church burn down to its foundation. Even though he was a product of his upbringing and held racist views himself he would shake his head and say, “This is not right – the Klan has gone too far.”

Mississippi was struggling, indeed had been struggling since the end of the Civil War with race relations. Many White people talked about “uppidity niggers” referring to a Black man or woman who wouldn’t step off the sidewalk into the street when a white person walked on it. "Uppidity" referred to any Black man or woman who didn’t avert their eyes and answer, “yes suh” or “no suh” or “yes um” or “no mam” whenever a White person decided to talk to them. It actually was considered “enlightened” for a White person to speak about Blacks as “Colored” especially when no Black people were present. Total racists would use “Nigger” or “Nigah” to other Whites as well as to Blacks!

Into the struggle in Mississippi came hundreds of college kids from Northern states to help voter registration and to try to address the open bigotry and racism in Mississippi. Numerous organizations had recruited students for Freedom Summer and they banded together under the name, "Congress of Federated Organizations" or "COFO' for short. Mississippians felt under siege from these “Yankees” or as they were often called, “outside agitators.” Many Mississippians were convinced that “good Colored people” didn’t want these outsiders around anymore than the Whites who were seeing their way of life challenged. In Pike County, Blacks considerably outnumbered Whites and White people knew that if all the Blacks registered to vote and voted that would be the end of White domination. The Klan had been used in the past to keep fear in the Black population so it rose again as an answer.

One day in 1962, four men walked into Gardner Brothers (my father and uncle’s business) I was sitting behind the cash register and they asked, “Where’s Maurice, we need to talk to him.” I told them that he was in the office and they should just go on back and knock on his door but they insisted that I get him so they could say “their piece” in the open. I got him to come out and told him who was there (Magnolia is a small town so everyone knew everyone – or actually, every White person knew every White person). He swore under his breath and walked out to the counter, reached under and pulled out a shotgun! The spokesman for the four (happened to be a postal employee) said, “Maurice there’s no need for that we’re just here to talk man to man.” My father said, “If you wanted to talk man to man you should have come alone and come to the office, but you’ve brought your redneck enforcers along with you – say what you need to say, I’m busy.”

“You got a nigger works here named John, John Nunnery?”
“Dan, you know John works here, he changed your flat tire last month.”
“Did you know that John sang at a COFO rally night before last out to Mount Zion Baptist Church?”
“No – is that why y’all burned it down?”
“We ain’t burned nothing. Those Yankee Jews that come down here to stir up our Niggers are burning places down and acting like White Mississippians done it – and the stupid Niggers can’t figure that out! We’re concerned bout people like John helping the Yankee Jew bastards cause trouble.”
“Get to the point – why are you here?”
“We want you to fire John, make an example of him so other ignorant niggers won’t support COFO.”

Leveling the gun so that the barrel pointed at Dan, my father said, “Boys I run this business - you run yours – you don’t tell me who to hire and fire and I won’t tell you where to burn your crosses. Now git your assess out of here, we’re done talking.”

As they turned to walk out, my father muttered, “assholes.” Then, “Bill go git John and tell him to come to my office.” John was just around the corner, he had heard the whole thing. I have no idea what my father said to John, maybe he warned him to be careful, maybe he threatened to fire him if he sang at another COFO rally – I’ll never know but John continued to work for Gardner Brothers.

Two nights after the encounter with the Klan guys I was watching television in my room when there was a loud whoosh sound and my yellow curtains seemed to come alive as they reflected a twelve foot flame in the shape of a cross right outside my bedroom window. I jumped off the bed just in time to see my father run past my room and out the front door wearing just his underwear! He said something but I couldn’t understand, my Mother was right behind him saying, “at least put your pants on!”

In the yard was a huge burlap covered cross that had been soaked in gas and oil and ignited. My father told me to get the hose as he grabbed the spike at the bottom and upended the flaming symbol so we could extinguish the fire. Once it was out my father walked across the street to a 24 hour service station and asked who did it. The two men who sat there every night facing our house claimed that they didn’t see a thing until the fire and they "might" have seen some people running away but they "couldn’t be for sure." They also said that they didn’t see any trucks or any other vehicle that could have delivered such an item. That might not sound too believable but you have to understand that these were the same two guys who several years earlier had seen two teen aged boys climbing into my sister’s bedroom window. The teenagers were wearing dark clothes yet the service station guys were able to not only call my father with the number but also the names! The night of the cross burning my sister was in college and that window was now my window but at least two men unloading a huge cross, soaking it in fuel and lighting it was not seen! That says more about the fear and divisiveness of the time than about anyone’s vision!

I really don't remember us even discussing the incident afterwards - I'm sure the adults had many conversations about it but no one thought that as a 10 year old I needed any further information. Those two or three summers seem like a movie to me but one that was more frightening than Mississippi Burning!

Coming Out NEVER Ends

2009-03-26T19:42:00.007-05:00

SHIT! Not that question! I really like Facebook but now it's making me have to come out all over again. I'm 57 friggin' years old and I'm out dammit. Everyone at work knows I'm Gay, everyone at church knows I'm Gay, everyone in my family knows I'm Gay - my partner would add everyone who has seen me knows I'm Gay (here I pause to squint menacingly at him...). BUT and this is a BIG BUT - 98% of the people with whom I graduated from high school don't know. I didn't know I was Gay when we were in high school - wait, not true - I was completely in denial about being Gay.

I first "fooled around" with another guy in 5th grade but thought it was a phase. 6th grade, 7th grade, 8th...by the time I graduated high school I could count nine boys with whom I had sex but still I thought I was straight. I had never kissed any of those guys cause that would mean that I was Queer and I wasn't! I had a steady girlfriend - so I was straight - "straight as an arrow" I described myself. When I finally kissed a guy and I liked it (reminds me of a song) I still didn't admit I was Gay for five more years - five years in which I *clears throat* kissed a lot of guys!

So when a high school friend sent an invitation to connect on Facebook last week I had a little moment of fear. Once I accepted the invitation I assumed she would see that my relationship status was "in a relationship" - oh hell, she could look at most any section of my Facebook page and figure out that I'm Gay. So WHAT - I am, I am Gay - there's no shame in that anymore. A week ticked by and I assumed that she was "playing blind to the evidence."

Tonight her status indicated that she had "another healthy grand baby of a specified length, and certain weight in pounds and ounces..."

I commented, "Congratulations!"

Later she commented "Thank you Bill....do u have any children, or grandchildren...or are u even married....we now have 10....its hard at Cristmas...LOL"

Suddenly I felt like I was 17 again and had to figure out a cute or "just like Bill" way to come out. On Monday just three days ago a new employee said that my "wife was a lucky woman because I love to cook." To which I wittily replied, "My partner hates when I refer to him as my wife...I'm Gay." I'm usually so quick with these but with a high school friend I labored over how to respond. Just saying, "No, not married, never have been, no children so obviously no grandchildren," would be answering the question, but not being true to myself - let alone to Paul. After working up a sweat and a case of writer's block I finally responded via email...

Thought I would take this conversation private.

I am Gay and in a relationship for the last nine years - we would be married if it was legal. :-) I of course have lots of nieces, nephews, and a couple of godchildren but no children.

I was in denial about my sexuality until I was in my 30s - I think I was convinced that if I just prayed hard enough or wished hard enough or found the right woman I wouldn't be Gay but that's not the way it works.

Here in Austin I am completely open at work, at church and with all my friends but every time I come out to someone from high school days I get very anxious.

Probably way more than you wanted to know - I guess I could have stopped at "no children or grandchildren" but these days that feels like not being truthful and I can't do that!

Congratulations again - I bet Christmas at your house is "lively!"

Bill

Just now, while I was writing this blog entry, anticipating a "Conservative Christian" response (I've looked at her page and her "orientation" in that regard is abundantly clear) her response came in...I know because it was delivered to my email and the little translucent notice appeared on my screen so I'll click over and post what she said...

Well....I am still just not sure about the Gay thing, butttt...I have a nephew that is gay, and he was married for alot of years, and have two beautiful children...but like u he thought he could just make it go away and he couldn't.....now he still issues with it...and is not very open with it....but I am of the opinion that you are who you are....and thats just the way it is.....You know we both came from small little towns, and yes I think it is hard to go back there and be open with it....but in the big towns like where u are it's just an every day thing....You know if I am not mistaken....isn't [name of one of my nine guys in high school] gay also....seems like I heard that along the way....but no big deal to me....You will always be my High School Friend and classmate....

Like I said when I started - I'm 57 friggin' years old, wouldn't you think that I'd not make such a big deal about being who I am at this advanced age?

In the name of the Father, and the son, and...

2009-03-14T15:55:00.001-05:00

(Names are changed)

A controversial photo appeared in 1989 called "Piss Christ" (click on the title of this post to be taken to http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Piss_Christ) It garnered a lot of attention primarily because an anti-National Endowment for the Arts group used it as exhibit one in its attempt to cut or eliminate tax-payer funding of the NEA. The photo was of a crucifix submerged in a beaker of urine - the artist's own urine. The argument was that tax payers who were offended by such displays should not have to have their tax dollars go to fund the work. The NEA really took a beating and was made to look like they were anti-Christian, anti-Christ (double meaning intended), and pro-atheist. The photo had a different impact on me - it reminded me of an event from my childhood that I had suppressed so well that I had never thought of it for almost 30 years. Here's the story as I remember it now.

I grew up in a small town where the largest facility owned and operated by one organization was the First Baptist Church. I lived across the street from the church and was there many times a week. This was facilitated by the closeness of the building, the lack of other things to do in my hometown, and the fact that my best friend was the minister's son.

In the late 50s the First Baptist congregation decided to build a new church that was bigger and more modern. The new facility would open coincidentally about the time that my best friend, let's call him Jay, and I were scheduled to be baptised.

Jay and I worked at the church during summer break from school. We were working one day cleaning the books in the church library when the pastor, Jay's father, we'll call him Brother Bennett told us to wash our hands and meet him at the back door of the Education Building. Brother Bennett took us to the "custard stand" for milk shakes and we were pretty fired up about that - we must have been about 10 or 11 years old. When we got back to the church parking lot, Brother Bennett asked us to stay in the car for a little conversation. I remember being very nervous, all three of us in the front seat with my legs sweating and sticking to the clear vinyl seat cover and my face cold from the after-factory air-conditioner blowing out tiny pieces of ice. The heat and humidity in Magnolia, Mississippi made all the air-conditioners do that.

Brother Bennett took a quarter out of his pocket and held it out to me saying, "Here Bill, I'm going to give you a quarter." I held my hand below where he was holding the quarter expecting him to drop it into my palm but he didn't. After an awkward pause he asked, "Bill, do you want this quarter or not?" After saying that I did want it he said, "well, why don't you have it?" I said, "cause you're not giving it to me?" Finally to end my torture he told me to take it from his hand so I did. He then went into that "preacher voice" to explain that this is how God's grace is - it's freely offered and being held out to you but you have to take it - Jesus wants you to take it. This of course led to a discussion about our readiness to reach out and take that gift that Jesus was holding out to us. At the end of the discussion both Jay and I had agreed to "come forward" that Sunday as the congregation sang the "invitation hymn" (Just as I Am) and "publicly acknowledge that we had accepted Christ as our personal Lord and Savior and desired to be baptised into the church." The congregation would then get to vote on accepting us or not! Some time after that we would be completely immersed (I thought of it as "dunked" in a big tank of water) just like Jesus had been immersed by John the Baptist.

I vaguely remember that there was a mild controversy about when we would be baptized because the new church building wasn't going to be ready for several months. Two other kids our age came forward about a month after we did and there was a push to have a service at a river (really like Jesus). Brother Bennett wanted to wait because he wanted his oldest son to be the first person baptized in the new baptistry in the new building. He won, we waited.

The evening of our baptism came and I was very nervous. We hung our "church clothes" in the dressing room so that we could change into these dry things after the dunking. I was a little scandalized that we would actually be going through the most important religious ritual of our lives in blue jeans and t-shirts but of course we had on long white robes so no one could see the jeans anyway.

We had "practiced" in the baptistry without water. I remember clearly that we were supposed to stand on the top step until Brother Bennett said our name and then slowly step down into the water. Jay and I would come into the water at the same time and we were to walk slowly to the front of the baptistry so that the church members could see our faces while Brother Bennett said a few words about each of us. We were, "under no circumstances," to put our hands on the glass panel that we were looking over - this was stressed many times. After Brother Bennett finished with his words I was to move out of the way to my right while he baptized Jay. After he was done with Jay and Jay had moved to our left out of view I was to step over facing Brother Bennett. He would ask me if I desired to be baptised (this would be a hell of a time to decide to back out but I guess it's necessary, kind of like that "if anyone can show cause why this couple should not be joined at this time..." in weddings) and I should of course say, "yes, I do." Then he would put one hand behind my neck, I would put a handkerchief over my nose and he would put his other hand on my arm to lower me slowly beneath the surface of the water. Once I was submerged he would say, "I baptize thee in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. AMEN." Then he would raise me up (yikes - the symbolism of that just hit me!). We were warned that our feet may float free while we were under water and that could cause one to panic but we should know that he had done several hundreds of these and he had never drowned a single person. (Preachers have such great senses of humor!) After I came up I was to walk to the left and Jay and I were to quietly and slowly exit on the steps opposite the ones on which we had entered. While we were exiting the two others - Robert and Carmen would be entering. We were to walk slowly (so as not to make sloshing noises during their part of the ceremony) to the dressing room to change into the "church clothes" so that we could go to a reception where there would be cake and punch and those buttery mints that are pastel colors...but I digress.

The four of us were shaking with fear as we walked from the dressing room to the top of the steps leading into the baptistry. Brother Bennett had chest-high black wading boots on under his robe - the ones he normally wore duck hunting which seemed a little unfair to me but he was the unquestionable authority figure of the church and we had come too far to turn back! The curtains were closed so that no one in the church could see him or us so he turned to us while the congregation was singing, "Shall We Gather at the River" and he whispered, "Jay, Bill, the water is a little cold so be careful not to gasp or make a loud noise when you first feel it. As a matter of fact, why don't y'all come on down to the first step so your feet get used to it. This is the next to last verse so we'll be starting real soon." Then he got very serious and said, "Do NOT put your hands on the glass when I bring you down front." The song ended and the curtain automatically opened - showtime!

The water was the coldest I had ever felt - there was no hot water in the mix at all. The janitor did not know how to use the new equipment and he had only opened one valve - the cold one. As we descended into the water my body became numb first and then started to tingle and burn. Adding the shiver of being cold to the shaking of nervousness made both of us leave waves in the surface of the baptismal water.

Of course, both of us put our hands on the glass panel and Brother Bennett actually reached over and slapped our hands! I felt my face turn red but frankly was thankful for the heat. I moved out of the way on cue as Jay was immersed. I glanced up to where the next two kids were standing and saw that Robert's socks were wet even though he had not stepped into the water. As I watched a puddle started to form around his feet and I realized that he was peeing in his pants and the urine was starting to flow down the slanted step toward the water in the baptistry! My eyes bugged out because I was not even being asked if I wanted to be baptised yet so by the time I was lowered into the water that water was going to have pee in it. Everything seemed now to be in slow motion - I glanced back and forth from Brother Bennett who seemed to be holding his son under the water for a long time to the pee which was inching slowly toward the water. When Jay moved out of the way I moved way too fast toward Brother Bennett. When he asked me about desiring to be baptized in his booming preacher voice I answered "yes" before he finished and I heard laughter ripple through the congregation. I immediately put the handkerchief over my nose before I was supposed to and was trying so hard to hurry Brother Bennett that my feet drifted off the floor as my head went under and of course I thrashed around and made lots of noise. Coming up I headed as quickly as possible to Jay and we went up the steps loudly and quickly to get out of the tainted water! I told Jay what had happened and we were in the dressing room giggling and laughing hysterically when Brother Bennett opened the door with a stern look on his face. We both got very quiet and he said, "Jay, Bill I'm disappointed that you two are back here acting like children when tonight you became members of God's church. I started to cry quietly and he said, "Never tell anyone what happened with Robert tonight - only God knows why that happened and we may never know but we will never mention it right?" We both nodded our heads and went down to the community room for cake, punch and mints and never mentioned it again. It was buried, out of reach of my memory until I saw the photo of "Piss Christ."

Art is supposed to evoke emotion and reaction. A playwright, director, founder of a theater told me once that if there were 50 people in his audience there were 50 different plays performed because his art was meant to evoke from each person their own reaction/emotion. I'm sure when Andres Serrano created Piss Christ he knew that it would evoke a world of reactions and emotions and it did! I'm guessing even he could not have imagined mine!

Gay People Are Weaker?

2009-03-02T19:29:00.006-06:00

Today I decided to go home for lunch - my third sinus infection in two months was making me feel like I needed some alone time.

After fixing a sandwich and sitting down at the table I clicked the television on to Court TV or maybe it's called TruTV now? Anyway, coverage was focused on the conclusion of a trial involving a man accused in the robbery and murder of a Gay man. It seems that three men had been arrested when they were selling the victim's car and the defendant on trial admitted that he was involved in selling the car but that he had not participated in the murder. He actually said when he found out they were going to kill the man to get the car he told them he didn't want any part of murder but would help sell the car. He must have gotten bad legal advice because admitting what he did made him as guilty as if he had pulled the trigger (or in this case, handled the knife) under Florida law. Or maybe he was just stupid because between his arrest and the time of trial he got several tattoos on his face including one of a knife made to look as if it entered his forehead just above the eyebrow, passed behind his eye and exited at his cheek - pretty stupid given that the victim was stabbed to death!

I was intrigued by all the references to the deceased being Gay because it seemed to have nothing to do with the charges. The defendant was NOT charged with a hate crime so why did the commentators insist on including "Gay" as a descriptor every time he was mentioned?

After a commercial break one of the alternate jurors was interviewed. He seemed like a reasonable guy. He didn't get to vote because he was an alternate but he agreed with the verdict (guilty of Murder in the Second Degree) because he didn't believe that the prosecutor was able to prove that he was present at the murder. He was a 54 year old White guy who said that he had "waited 54 years before getting called for jury duty and considered it a privilege and a responsibility..." So far, so good. He was asked about the tattoos, specifically, "did the tattoos make him seem more guilty or have any impact on your assessment of him?" He replied, "lots of young people today get tattoos in places that seem strange to people my age and the judge told us to ignore them, so no I don't think the tattoos had any impact at all." Still seems reasonable, right?

The next question was, "Originally the defendant was charged under a hate crime law but the prosecutor decided that the evidence was not solid enough so that charge was dropped. In your opinion, did the victim's sexual orientation have anything to do with his being chosen by the three defendants?" His answer was, "Well I don't think that they picked him because they hate Gay people but because he made a convenient victim. You know, Gay people are weaker and won't fight back like regular people."

I'm not sure what shocked me more - that ignorant answer OR the fact that the commentator moved on to the next question without batting an eye! If that kind of answer was given matching ANY other minority with their stereotype I really think that the interviewer would have made a comment about it. Am I wrong? We remain the only minority that it is okay and expected to bash with no repercussion. As we say in Texas, that just ain't right!

I Don't Feel Secure Traveling - Part 4

2008-05-02T18:22:00.006-05:00

In February, my company held a conference in San Francisco. I am responsible for designing and delivering the conference and the audience is the VP population of my employer. There are 130 VPs who come from all over the world so the conference is expensive and important - in other words, it's a risky part of my work responsibilities each year.

This year for a "give-away" for the participants of the conference we ordered beautiful crystal three-sided pyramids that could act as a paperweight - each side had a graphic from the conference to reinforce the key conference messages constantly for participants. The pyramids are about five inches tall and weigh four pounds each. The top of the pyramid and each corner of the base are very sharp points. When we got the mock-up several weeks before the conference we joked that in addition to reinforcing learning the pyramids could be used as a deadly weapon.

At the end of the three day conference most of the pyramids were left on the tables in the conference room. Several of the participants said that they did not check bags when flying and that they did not think that Homeland Security would allow the heavy, sharp pyramids on board planes - especially the international flights. We collected and shipped the left behind pyramids back to the office. Counting the pyramids we knew that some people actually took theirs and more were missing than could be accounted for by our California VPs who may have driven to the conference. So we wondered how Homeland Security treated the pyramids of those VPs who had them in the carry-on luggage.

Can you imagine my surprise when I found that Homeland Security allowed the pyramids on the flight in carry-on bags. Our VPs fly first or business class, so the sharp, heavy, deadly pyramids were allowed in the front of the planes. As a matter of fact, there were six of the pointed projectiles on the late afternoon flight to Austin from San Jose. One VP said that he asked the guard if it was okay and the guy actually said, "There are no restrictions against 'these' in our rules." Wait, more than three ounces of shampoo - NO WAY! but a four pound, sharp pointed, crystal pyramid is safe cause no one thought to spell that kind of thing out in the rules??? I know I'm repeating myself but this does not make me feel more secure traveling...

Poor Senator Craig

2007-09-03T08:54:00.000-05:00

Senator Larry Craig REPUBLICAN from Idaho resigned from the Senate after his fellow Republicans basically drummed him out, once it was revealed that he plead guilty to lesser charges attempting to make an arrest "go away" after he was caught soliciting gay sex from an undercover cop in a Minneapolis airport men's room. Whew! Long sentence. Not as long as the "sentence" former-Senator Craig will now serve - the rest of his life. http://www.nytimes.com/2007/09/02/washington/02cong.html?_r=1&adxnnl=1&oref=slogin&adxnnlx=1188833432-HihlfGKMg0zSlrXLeG3DbA

I was not familiar with Craig until all this happened. He was just another stereotypical Republican homophobe voting against adding sexual orientation to the Hate Crimes Act, voting for the so-called Protection of Marriage bill, sanctimoniously condemning Bill Clinton as a "nasty, naughty, boy" when the Monica story broke. He was actively anti-gay like many Republicans and like many persecutors throughout history he hid his secret "gay" life from the world. Ironically he was part of creating the very environment that led to his downfall.

As a gay man I was struck yesterday by my feeling sorry for him and not celebrating his downfall. I've never solicited sex in a toilet, I've never tried to hide my sexuality by marrying and fathering children and thank God I never felt the need to be an anti-gay Republican so that no one would ever suspect my secret. But I did spend a portion of time in my life - elementary through high school - when I told gay jokes and even made fun of effeminate guys in a mostly-successful attempt to hide my sexuality from others. My reasoning was something like "the other guys will never think I'm gay if I tell the most hateful jokes and also laugh the loudest at their gay jokes."

My freshman year in college, a male friend who was still in high school came to visit for a football game. I had a date with a girl (still covering) and of course there was drinking and partying but a chaste evening - no more that major kissing and making out. Back at my apartment my male friend came to my bed and made a pass. I was very turned on and horny so for a few seconds I thought about submitting - I could always say that I was drunk, that I did not know what was happening. But FEAR joined us in that bed and I became a total jerk to him. I whispered, "what the f*#! do you think you are doing?" I belittled and demeaned him, called him a "queer" demanding that he go back to the couch before I kicked his ass. Even worse, the next day after he left I told my apartment mate what had happened and we laughed at the guy and made fun of him in his absence.

Had I continued my self-loathing, homophobic ways I could have ended up like Senator Craig - living a "straight" life to be accepted and then resorting to sleazy, anonymous sex to take care of the natural urges associated with being gay. In that life one can NEVER let down his guard - can never have sex with someone where there are positive feelings or emotions. No sex with someone who might know him and let his secret out.

So seeing this man in his sixties, twenty-seven years a senator, probably forty plus years having sex in nasty men's toilets so no one will know while periodically having sex with his wife enough to have children, hating himself and all other gays - especially gays who have accepted themselves and live open lives I could not experience happiness or glee just sadness and sympathy.

His statement before the cameras where he said over and over, "I am not gay, I have never been gay, I love my wife..." made me feel sick for him because he probably believes those statements. Denial is so powerful I'm sure that he is parsing words and thinking in distorted logic, "okay, occasionally I do have sex with men in bathrooms but that doesn't make me gay! Look at my record, if I were gay would I have voted as I have? If I were gay would I be a father? If I were gay would I have stayed married to the same woman all these years? If I were gay would I be so actively involved in church?" Sorry Senator Craig but in a homophobic, hate-filled world that you have worked so hard to create the answer to all those questions is, "yes!"

I am praying for Senator Craig. I am praying for all gay men who hate themselves so much that they feel a need to do these kinds of dangerous and disgusting things. I'm praying that young gay people seeing the story did not think that they need to follow his lead and not enjoy the sexuality that God gave them. I hope those young gay men who haven't come out or accepted their sexuality yet will think to themselves, "I am not going to do that - look how miserable he has been!"

Yesterday on "Meet the Press" one of the political pundits commented how no one had spoken positively about Senator Craig. He said that with previous scandals someone would always express sympathy, say what a good senator the person had been, what a strong family man etc. etc. yet no one came forward with a single positive remark. Well doesn't that just confirm Senator Craig's fears - if he had been open about his sexual orientation he would never have been elected in the reddest of red states. No matter what his accomplishments, if he had chosen to live as an openly gay man he would never have gotten credit; or, every accomplishment would have been minimized because he was gay. He would not have been "Larry Craig" he would have been "Gay Larry Craig" or "Larry Craig, a Gay Idaho man" when he accomplished something. Well, let's face it, he probably would have been denied the situation to even make a contribution as an openly gay man.

Finally I am praying that Larry Craig will reflect on his life and what he has helped create and will see that others do not have to be as unhappy as he has been. God turned Paul from a persecutor to an advocate maybe God can use this experience to motivate Senator Craig to work to erase his current impact and save future gay brothers.

When Larry Craig dies, his obit will refer to him as the "senator who resigned after soliciting gay sex in a men's room" OR it could refer to him as a "Gay man who had an epiphany after his arrest and spent the rest of his life working for acceptance of gays and an end to irrational discrimination and hatred that caused his fall from honor." Senator Craig it's up to you.

Birthday Dinner Discussion

2007-06-06T20:18:00.000-05:00

I'll start this entry by saying that I don't know exactly where I am going with it - it hasn't been thought through like my other entries but by the time I finish I hope that I understand a reaction I had a couple of weeks ago and maybe both of us can learn from it?

It was my birthday and to celebrate my partner invited four of our friends to dinner at Sampaio - my favorite Brazilian restaurant in Austin. We all know each other, some better than others, so I was looking forward to a nice, relaxing, fun conversation. We are all gay, fairly liberal politically, literate, educated, well-read and skilled conversationalists - what could go wrong?

Religion. Maybe that's the biggest source of difference for us and in hindsight perhaps something we should have avoided. It started innocently enough; we were talking about relationships - the six of us constituted two single guys and two couples. One of the single guys, let's call him Jay, said that he made a pact with a single straight female friend of his that they would both be in a relationship before the end of the year. He is still single and had just attended her wedding earlier that afternoon. He is a gifted story teller (and published author) so he made the story very entertaining and funny.

I fancy myself somewhat of a story teller too so I told the true story of a similar pact made twenty years ago. I made the pact/commitment with a single straight female friend on New Year's Eve - before the end of 1987 we would each have a husband or at least a serious boyfriend. She got engaged that year to a guy she met at church - he was in the choir, Knights of Columbus, etc. etc. a good Catholic boy with one small problem - he was GAY - of course she did not see it and I still don't know if he knew when they first started dating - fortunately someone figured it out before the ceremony. I got into a relationship that year too - my boyfriend was GAY of course but turned out to have a small drug problem - make that big drug problem - so we ended the year single again but decided that we shouldn't make any more New Year's resolutions! But I digress...

When I told the story about her fiance, one of my friends (let's use Scott for his fake name) who is a recovering Catholic said, "Who ever heard of a GAY Knights of Columbus member?" Everyone but me and Terry (fake name) laughed. Terry didn't laugh because he was not only a member but had been the president, head knight or whatever of KoC in his church.

Terry calmly explained the purpose and reason for existence of Knights and all the good service things they did etc. etc. It was only a little awkward and I don't remember how we segued into some serious questioning of Terry about his Catholicism. Of the six of us three are still involved in church but none of us are in the denomination of our parents except Terry. He was pressed a little about his ability to attend a church that is so openly and blatantly hetero sexist and homophobic in our opinion. He did a good job of calmly answering questions until he said that because he is not in a relationship he has no problems fully participating in his parish church life BUT if he were to get into a sexual relationship he would stop taking communion because he would be breaking a "rule" of the church and as a member he was committed to following the rules.

Most of us were speechless - here is a highly educated (Ph.D.), gay man in the company of five other gay men saying that gay sex is an acceptable reason for being barred from the sacraments of church? That the church as a physical manifestation of God is right when it says that a person expressing his/her God-given sexuality is bad, wrong, unclean, etc. etc.? I've read about internalized self-hatred but I never saw it and frankly did not expect to see it in someone so smart and so educated.

I became very quiet because I did not want my birthday dinner to become some kind of huge fight about Catholicism, homophobia, self-hatred, etc. but I really wanted to free Terry of this oppressive way of thinking. While I was thinking of what to say the conversation moved on. There was a different "atmosphere" at the table, it felt like we had to be more careful and reflective instead of just talking freely like before. The evening ended soon enough and of course there have been multiple follow-up conversations among subgroups of the dinner always excluding Terry from the conversation.

So if you've read this far what do you think? We all care for Terry and we all think that he would be happier if he changed his way of thinking BUT is it really any of our business?

I Don't Feel Secure Traveling - Part 4

2007-05-28T10:00:00.000-05:00

Last week I had to travel to Mississippi for my Aunt Virginia's funeral. I haven't traveled in a while (2 months) because we are under travel restrictions at work but it hadn't been long enough for me to forget my friends at the TSA and their restrictions to make us safer. :-)

So I got to the airport with plenty of time to spare and things were going smoothly until I was third in line to walk through the magnetron and send my stuff through XRAY. The line stopped because the TSA person staffing the XRAY saw something suspicious in a bag and stopped the belt. It must have been serious because when he signaled that he needed assistance all three lines were stopped - not just the one I was in. TSA agents stepped in front of the magnetrons and turned their back to the people in line (I think this is kind of strange don't you - shouldn't they turn and face the people in line in case something is up?). If a terrorist was trying to pull something they could knock the TSA person over the head and run through because the agent isn't looking! Okay but enough about that - it gets worse...

Two minutes passed with no movement in any of the lines. People started to grumble. We're standing there in our socks or barefeet (and the guy behind me had stinky shoes) and we're not moving! After five minutes people are starting to shout at the TSA guys, "What's the problem?" "What's holding up the line up there?" I was close enough to overhear the TSA people talking - it seems that the procedure requires the shutdown until a manager/supervisor comes to check the bag at XRAY and they had asked for a manager to come but he hadn't come yet!!! Now I was pissed but I felt powerless - I was even nervous to answer people's questions behind me in the line cause they were becoming louder and angrier by the minute.

Two TSA guys came over and looked at the XRAY image and said a few words to the guy who had stopped the line but no movement. Seven minutes had passed since there was any movement and the lines now stretched out of sight behind us. I heard the TSA guy say, "What are we supposed to do? I'll get written up if I don't follow procedure but they aren't responding on the radio!"

"All clear!" No manager had come but TSA guy decided that we had waited long enough? Now I'm thinking - what the hell was in that bag and is the owner of the questionable bag on my flight? I watch the guy pick up his bag so I'll recognize him in the waiting area. I'm through the magnetron when my line stops again and the TSA guy, who let God knows what go unchecked because no manager showed up, now pulls my backpack off the conveyer belt and calls, "bag check" because as mentioned in an earlier post I have a breathing machine to treat my sleep apnea. He kept the line moving except for me. I waited a couple of minutes until someone showed up to unpack my backpack, swab the C-PAP and check for explosive residue.

What procedure requires stopping every line until a manager comes but allows some things to be pulled off inconveniencing no one but the bag's owner? If that conveyer-stopping bag was so much more frightening - why the hell did it get no check at all? Does anyone reading this blog question why TSA does NOT make me feel more secure traveling?

Diversity Lesson in My Yard

2007-05-19T16:26:00.000-05:00

After three hours in the sweltering Texas sun doing yard work or what I'm sure my friend Jeremy would call "gardening" which sounds so much more classy and elegant than the sweaty, dirty work I was doing…I had an epiphany – well maybe that's overstating it or me trying to make some hair brained thoughts I had sound more intellectual and classy and elegant.

But here's what I was thinking…

Diversity is a good thing. Maybe that's ironically a black & white, or an absolute statement but it has always been dogma for me – "always" meaning since I first joined a diversity team in 1991. We had a whitepaper that said that in every scientific discipline diversity is a positive factor – a good thing. Homogeneity loses to heterogeneity in the long run. So with that background in mind I'm in the "garden" pulling all these damn weeds and "volunteer" plants and I had a "moment" (I think a moment of "clarity," you my think it was a moment of "insanity," different views are what diversity is all about, right?).

Human beings do not naturally seek diversity. As thinking people we defy desires and "nature" and seek diversity because we intellectually "get it." If diversity is always good then why do I have such a strong need to pull plants out that are "different?" I'm extremely frustrated that Bermuda grass is springing up everywhere and I go after it like some kind of botanical crusader. Home Depot sells seed for Bermuda grass so it's not like it is in and of itself bad in the plant world but it's not what I wanted. It does add diversity to the yard but I already did that – planned diversity – just the right amount – I DON"T WANT MORE! If diversity is good why is my limit in plant diversity so rigid? I am an unreformed botanical bigot. Sure diversity is good but I have my limits. Crazy thing is that in the current Texas drought the Bermuda is out performing all my carefully selected plants – it appears to be able to thrive in the heat and the minimal water we've provided but it's just too much – I get to define "different" and when my limit is reached I kill (or attempt to kill is more accurate) any additional difference. Then a very weird thing happened – I started to stereotype the Bermuda with anthropomorphic characteristics – it is "sneaky" because the biggest patch was right behind a huge Blue Agave where I had to risk life and limb to get to it (them) – how dare it (they) put me out like that?? And a couple of times I had to admire the way Bermuda will break off rather than surrender its roots but you would never have known that if you had heard the words I heaped upon it!!

My rationalization or attempt to make myself feel better is that the Bermuda if allowed in my yard would initially be more diverse but Bermuda would kill off all the plants that I wanted and soon my yard would be a homogeneous, non-diverse Bermuda patch. So ultimately by denying this additional diversity I protect diversity.

Now if that doesn't sound like bigots everywhere I don't know what would! Hitler wanted to rid the world of Jews because they were different from his ideal. He fueled hatred by describing Jews as sneaky, cunning, and destructive to the future of Germany. The Klan wanted to keep African-Americans "in-line" because if they were allowed equality and justice they would just take over and destroy life as Southern whites knew it.

I don't want to go on and on – well actually I do but I have work to do and a play to see. My questions are – is diversity always a good thing or is there a limit? If there is a limit, who gets to decide how much is healthy? How can an educated mostly rational person who claims to value diversity abjectly refuse it beyond a certain limit? And can the heat cause hysteria and lead someone to get this introspective about grass??

Respectfully hoping for some differences of opinions!

I Don't Feel Secure Traveling - Part 3

2007-05-14T19:17:00.000-05:00

I have sleep apnea which means that for the last seven years I have slept with the assistance of a C-PAP (I can't even remember what the initials stand for other than "Continuous Pressure..."). The C-PAP maintains pressure in my throat via a mask I wear over my nose so that my air passage remains open all night. Without the C-PAP I wake up hundreds of times a night gasping for air because my air passage has closed and I am unable to get air.

When I first was diagnosed with Apnea the doctor told me that I should never check the C-PAP but to always pack in my carry-on when I traveled and that every security person in the world knew what the C-PAP was so it wouldn't be a problem. That of course was before the September 11 terrorists attacks. Actually even with all the restrictions on carry-on luggage after 9-11 the most I ever got was the question, "Do you have a C-PAP in your backpack?" and when I said "yes" I was told to "go ahead" - no problem. The only exception was the Frankfurt Germany airport. Every time I flew there they would pull my bag, send me to Security and I would have my bag searched and the C-PAP removed and swabbed for gunpowder residue.

That was until July 2006. I'm not sure what happened but since last July EVERY TIME I have checked in at an airport in the US, Canada, Germany, Singapore, etc. I have had the extra attention and the swab for gun powder. I've tried taking it out of my carry-on like I do with my computer but it still leads to a gunpowder swab. Two weeks ago I asked the TSA agent, "Could you explain why the C-PAP is suspicious for gun powder?" She said that she did not know but their instructions were to always swab C-PAPs!

When did people with breathing difficulties become a security risk? Does having sleep apnea make a person more likely to be sneaking gun powder on board a flight or more likely to be a terrorist? Actually without the C-PAP I tend to be really grumpy the next day but a terrorist?

Cargo loaded without inspection but people with apnea (generally older and over weight) singled out for more detailed inspection and gun powder checks?! I'm not feeling more secure!