Leo Cusimano, Chase Overstreet, Arnold Wayne Jones, Chad Mantooth
My passion started at Dallas Voice 20 years ago, when I worked hard to get an appointment with the major restaurant chain, TGI Friday’s on Lemmon Avenue. After much negotiation and effort, I was finally able to get a sit-down with its (straight) manager. We meet in the back at a small table and I gave him my pitch.
After a short introduction, the manager leaned over and almost whispered, “Leo, I’m sorry, but I don’t want drag queens in my restaurant.” My initial reaction was What?! I, for one, didn’t even own a wig, heels or a makeup kit. (OK, I do add some blush for the occasional pimple, but still — I was shocked.) I explained that our demographic is well educated, our readers had professional jobs and lots of discretionary income, not to mention they were loyal. (And yes, some are drag queens as well.) He was very reluctant, but I eventually got him to sign up for four weeks of ads.
At the end of the contract, I went back in. The manager was excited to see me.
“Leo, you guys drink!” he shouted. Alcohol sales are important to a restaurant, and he was very impressed with the results. “Your community tips well,” he said, noting an increase in his business. But what really struck a chord was this: “More than anything Leo, you have changed my impression of the gay community.”
I had to step back and understand what I had just done. I made money for myself, and my company, and brought a restaurant to the attention of our readers. But more than anything, I helped someone change his impression of us.
This is what ignited my passion. I was able to work at a company and make a living, but also made a different for the LGBT community. That’s still my passion today.
— Leo Cusimano, publisher
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While working at Dallas Voice, I’ve heard numerous stories about what it was like to be gay in previous decades. I’ve known the history of those years and the battles people have fought for equality, but I didn’t put it in the context of how it affected me. I’ve always been grateful to the people who fought for the rights I have today as a gay man, but like many young people, I often forget the sacrifices that brought us to where we are today. Working at Dallas Voice, I’m reminded almost daily of the importance of working together as a community so that the generation after me will have even more rights.
— Chase Overstreet, classifieds director
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Before the great novelist John Irving released his book In One Person, his people contacted me to see if I would like to do a review and interview. Then one day, I picked up the telephone and John Irving was on the other end, calling me from his car. That was awesome.
A few weeks later, I published the interview — the same day he was in town for a chat through the Arts & Letters Live program at the DMA. As a writer, you always like to think that the subjects of your stories read them, and you often do hear back from them, but with someone of Irving’s stature, I didn’t hold my breath. Still, I held out some hope.
The morning of his talk, his people called me again and said, “John loved the interview and thinks you’re a fine writer; he’d like to invite you to have dinner with him tonight.” I expected it would be a big to-do with many such guests and Irving on a dais while we snacked from afar. But no: When I arrived at the restaurant, there was just me, my guest, John Irving sitting across from me, his wife, and a few folks from the DMA. No other media, no entourage, no distance. Just me and John Irving eating Italian food together for two hours and talking about gay rights and literature. Because he thought I was a good writer.
— Arnold Wayne Jones, Life+Style editor
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I moved to Dallas with my best friend Aaron three years ago. Then about two years ago, Aaron told me he was going to transition, That’s life-changing. Growing up in Kansas City, I had a narrow view of the transgender community, so when Aaron told me, I was concerned. I thought his dating life would become nonexistent. I was concerned he was setting himself up for a world of hurt, and that I couldn’t be there to protect her. But I couldn’t have been more wrong. I’ve done a complete 180 on the subject and learned trans people are just trying to live their lives.
— Chad Mantooth, associate advertising director
Anna Waugh, David Liddle , Jesse Arnold, David Taffet, Steve Ramos
Growing up in a conservative part of North Texas, I never thought I’d be able to come out to family and friends, let alone one day cover issues that affect my future.
When the U.S. Supreme Court struck down the federal Defense of Marriage Act in 2013, I’d hoped it would occur on June 26 for two reasons. It was the 10th anniversary of Lawrence v. Texas and it was my anniversary. Walking around the office that week, I kept calling out “Lucky 26” when we in editorial discussed what day the ruling would come down. And I was right, it came down on June 26.
That night at a rally on Cedar Springs, I snapped photos and took notes for stories on the ruling. In between shooting photos and listening to impassioned speeches, I’d glance over at my girlfriend and think that this was my future. Both she and a world in which our relationship will one day be equal everywhere in America.
And with federal marriage equality, came the end of civil unions and full recognition in many states in the months that followed. Now my girlfriend will never be my domestic partner, but, one day, she will be my wife.
— Anna Waugh, news editor
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When I got out of the Navy in 2003, I made a decision that when I went home, I was going to be out and open to my family. It was my chance to be honest about who I am, and they could take me or leave me. It was the best thing that had happened to me. There have been only two times in my life when I felt a weight had been lifted off me.
The first time was when I was baptized while in high school and the second was when I came out to my family. I felt all my problems had disappeared. The worry was gone, and I could focus on important things. I got to know myself better, and my relationship with my parents improved. If you’re not out to family and friends or at work, it will be difficult to experience happiness.
—David Liddle, advertising account manager
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When I moved back to Dallas with my partner several years ago, I faced the challenge of being hired at 50. We’d spent the previous 13 years in Hawaii, but wanted to return to Texas. After two years of looking for full-time employment, I saw an ad for an office manager in the Dallas Voice. But I didn’t get the job. It seemed like being 50 years old no one wanted to hire an old man. Then a month later, I got a call asking if I still wanted the job. I did.
Being here got me really interested in gay rights and equality for the first time in my life. It helped bring out the activism in me, which is a positive thing. I’m not only a gay activist, I’m an LGBT activist.
— Jesse Arnold, officer manager
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I had been freelancing for Dallas Voice for about 12 years and sometimes worked in the office helping with editing on Thursdays. One Thursday evening, everything was laid out. We were about to put the paper to bed and editor Dennis Vercher looked at me, realizing we had left something out. “Where are the obituaries?” he asked. “I don’t have any,” I said. We asked David Webb, a writer here, the same thing. He had none.
Medications to control HIV became available in 1996 and came into widespread use over the next couple of years. Deaths from AIDS had been noticeably slowing, but this week there were none. We began to cry. An issue of Dallas Voice without any obituaries!
— David Taffet, staff writer
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I was discharged from the Air Force in 1979 for going to a gay bar. In those days, all it took was for someone to put in a call alleging you were in a gay bar, and the military wheels to boot you out started spinning. We called them witch hunts. Officers from the Office of Special Investigations would round up dozens of men and women who had been turned in and the discharge proceedings would begin. There was nothing we could do or say in our defense. That discharge rocked my world. To be told you weren’t wanted because you’re gay was a sledgehammer to my self-esteem and psyche. It took years to recover, but it made me realize how hateful the country’s laws can be and that when you’re knocked to the ground you have to shake the dust off your britches and get after it again. Through that experience, I learned to plant myself more firmly so that it would take a mighty blow to knock me down, and I learned how important it is to get back up.
— Steve Ramos, senior editor
Kevin Thomas, Robert Moore, Linda Depriter, Terry Thompson, Michael Stephens
I’d often wondered if I should have “the talk” with my dad, but my mother once advised me against it. Then starting around 2001, a family friend encouraged me to tell my father I was gay, but I put it off. Finally in 2007, I flew to Washington, D.C. to tell him. I just wanted to get it off my chest. His reaction was, “As long as you’re happy, I’m happy.” After 42 years without revealing my sexuality to him, I thought I had everything to lose. But he gave me a big bear hug and told me he loved me no matter what.
— Kevin Thomas, graphic designer
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When Judge Jack Hampton gave a lesser sentence to a convicted murderer because he killed a gay man, things at Dallas Voice and in the LGBT community changed. The realization that people of authority, who had power over your lives, would say to a gay person their lives weren’t valuable because they’re homosexual — nothing could be more motivating than that. I remember the protests. Ann Richards, who was state Treasurer at the time, sent a statement. Even people in a conservative state like Texas weren’t going to tolerate that.
I saw the community get energized in a way he had never seen before. I saw straight people becoming allies for the first time. Readership increased and Dallas Voice reporting was being taken seriously beyond the LGBT community.
— Robert Moore, founder
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One of my drivers was going to see her aunt in the country and swerved to avoid what she thought was a rat in the road. She stopped when she saw it was a little six-or seven-week-old chihuahua. She called and asked me if I wanted him. I thought I’d take him and find a home but I fell in love. That was four years ago.
Joey became the office dog. He always shows up in a new outfit. He works the Dallas Voice booth at events in his Dallas Voice T-shirt. He helps deliver the paper every week and if I leave him home, everyone asks where he is.
— Linda Depriter, circulation director
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My Facebook post, May 2009: “Our 25th Anniversary issue comes out Friday!” In the five years since our last Anniversary Edition, I’ve seen the world’s opinion of our community improve, my personal life has taken a 180, and at work I find myself looking at The Big Picture, now that I am co-owner of Dallas Voice and responsible for lives and careers other than my own. I have a genuine hope that by our 35th, Texans of all persuasions will be able to marry, equality will have taken some pretty big strides, and Dallas Voice will continue evolving to remain a relevant and important voice of the LGBT community.
— Terry Thompson, president
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I began working at Texas Triangle in 2001, and I still remember the first cover I designed. When I saw a stack of the newspaper at Kroger, I just stood and stared at it for what felt like 10 minutes.
When Texas Triangle merged with Dallas Voice in 2004, Robert Moore called me “the best part of the deal.” I got to know, love and respect Senior Editor Dennis Vercher, so when Dennis died in September 2006, after battling AIDS for two decades, I asked to design the memorial ad.
The ad was a simple design featuring a large picture of Dennis. In the background was a picture of the typewriter Dennis used before Dallas Voice moved to computer that remained on his desk until his death. I knew I got the memorial right when I saw how it brought tears to the eyes of other staff members. Dennis’ typewriter and his 1979 Mapsco still sit on a writer’s desk.
— Michael Stephens, art director
This article appeared in the Dallas Voice print edition May 16, 2014.
