by Mary Franklin
I am sitting in front of an empty lot today reflecting about what used to be. There was a house there. A home, where people loved, supported and learned about life; where people worked for a better way of life. Now it’s all gone, tom down but not forgotten. My heart is filled with love and my mind is filled with memories for those who experienced Nash House. Something wonderful happened that created a shift in the consciousness of a community. It actually created a sense of community, something that had not happened before.
Nash House was born out of love and need as most things are. We, the lesbian and gay community, were faced with a problem we had never had. It was a time of awakening and a time of grief. The era of AIDS was upon us. We had to pull together. No one else was there, our brothers were dying; no one knew how or why. There were no drugs. There was no hope and no government to lean on. People who were successful were suddenly penniless from this disease. Friends were supporting to the best of their ability. They were alone, sick and vulnerable. Something had to be done. They had become AIDS victims.
One evening, friends were together discussing the problems; they were also feeling quite helpless when the idea was born. They would create a house, a home, for those in need. Give them a safe place, one of dignity; a place they could call home. We, as a community, could support our own. So, out of love, we started.
I became involved by accident, although I believe there are no accidents. I had put my resume out to a local gay counseling center about four months prior. I had said that if they had a job I could run from my heart, to call me. The rest is history.
I took a job running “the house.” I never put down in any list, as I recall, that I wanted to learn construction, building codes, or to be Mom for some 16 men that would use “the house.” Obviously, it was on God’s list.
I remember not knowing anything and being wide-eyed with wonderment the first week. I had a concept of what to do with the project. However, walking into a construction site, I was full of confusion. All of the work was being done by volunteers. Queens being far more butch than I would have ever given them credit; Dykes that could swing a hammer with the best. It was a team all working together to build a dream. People who had never done this before together to build a house of love.
Then the designers would arrive with wallpaper and fabric. Artwork arrived, this was to be a showplace (after all, this was the gay community!) We were putting our best foot forward. I would leave work never knowing what I would find the next morning. There would be rooms of donations; parties were being held to supply every conceivable (and inconceivable) thing that would be needed. We had furniture donated. Some was wonderful, others were just entertaining. Bedding, medical supplies (soap, food). The list was endless, as endless as the love that supplied it. The volunteers continued. Bartenders came on breaks from their work to work in the yard or to paint. So did religious organizations and individuals ranging from drag queens to closeted businesspeople. Gay and straight planting flowers and hanging pictures. It was as if a giant floodgate had opened. What had really opened was their hearts. All of this, for a home for eight adults to live and to die with dignity.
What seemed to be an eternity though, was only three months. The house was about ready. There were still things to be done. We could wait no longer. Some of those people that we had in mind when we started the house were already gone or were so sick that they were in the hospital. The chaos and the swiftness of this thing called AIDS would not wait … neither could we.
On paper, this was going to work. I had researched other housing projects. I thought I knew what the deal was about, or as much as one can know without experiencing. We wanted to keep the location out of the public eye. Surprisingly, we accomplished this. The newspapers and television all agreed to keep it quiet and to respect our wishes. We wanted to protect “our guys” from harm and harassment. We were in the middle of the Bible-belt. We weren’t willing to have uninvited guests. We were not a hospice unit, although we did promise that no one had to go to the hospital to die. This was their home forever. They had the right to die at this house if they wanted to. We were a place of choices and of personal power; not of taking them away.
***
We had rules. The NUMBER ONE rule was no drugs and/or no alcohol. A close second rule was no smoking in the bedrooms. Each person had a responsibility within the home and common chores. I had a personal belief that if you were in a wheelchair, we could help you water the flower beds. Everyone would have a sense of ownership and pride in the home and would participate. It was not what we did for the guys; It was about what they could do for each other. It was to be a family. I knew with love and support that it could become a reality. A loving home together. I believed that even with the diversity in our community, the vision was a possibility. After all, I had seen it work to build the house. I now had to hold to that dream as a vision of reality and begin the work.
My office was in the building next door. I felt that to be a home, I didn’t need to office there. We also needed the space for beds. I didn’t need to be watching people every minute. I did, however, need to remain accessible in case … well, I wasn’t sure, but I knew that I needed to be close. I never could have imagined what changes were in store for me. I never imagined that love could be so deep and unconditional. That barriers could be so high or that rewards could be so plentiful. I had left nursing because I couldn’t handle it when good people died. Here I was, again, to learn the lesson. The difference was I was not alone this time. I was to learn the joy of life and to learn that no one ever really dies. They are a part of you forever … we all make our mark. I was to learn that because I said something, there was no guarantee that it was so. Even if every cell in my body said, “Yes’, I could still be wrong. It’s that old saying that you can’t please all the people all the time. Sometimes you can’t please any of them.
This is a story of a house, and the people who were part it. All are gone now. This is a story of how we touched each other’s lives and grew through love, anger and determination. Where “sames,” not differences created a family.
I was starting to accept the first people in the house even before it was finished. The urgency was greater than we had anticipated. The first resident was He was one of the people that we had in mind when we built the house. He was a meek and gentle soul. He was always smiling a whimsical smile; and had this twinkle in his eye that let you know he had a fun-loving side. John was a slight-built man and moved slowly (neither of these traits had anything to do with an AIDS diagnosis). John would ponder each issue and collaborate with each vision. He wanted to instill pride and ownership in the house. Pride was something John had plenty of. He wore tailored suits. He had traveled through most of the Orient. John was knowledgeable and gentle.
He volunteered at the AIDS clinic at Parkland Memorial Hospital four or five days a week. Even if he didn’t feel well, he was committed to help. John had developed the Volunteer Training Manual for people who worked at the clinic. He wanted them well-informed and able to assist the patients. The clinic was fairly new at the time. Every morning, he would take the bus to Parkland as if the clinic could not run without him. He’d work all day and return home tired, usually about four in the afternoon. He would stop by my office and let me know he was back and would take a nap and later, would be back in my office and tell me about the events of the day. He also would also report on any little thing that the construction crew had (or had not) done that day. I became dependent on him. I valued his opinions. John brought such a touch of class to the house. He loved good food, wonderful music and a good sense of culture. He just wanted to be safe and know that he could live there until the day he died. John taught me a lot about unconditional love.
Any serenity I had was to last only a few weeks. Peace and quiet became a thing of the past. I received a call from the VA Hospital to please consider one of their patients. So I went out to interview this man. There, laying in the bed, was this queen puffing on a cigarette, looking as though he was holding court. He introduced himself, “Hi. My name is Wric, that’s Rick with a W. Wric. Please don’t get that confused.” Confused, I thought? I smiled quietly. He had visions of grandeur, but Wric was harmless. He was dizzy, to say the least. Wric had nowhere to go. And on top of having AIDS, he had just had a tumor removed from his brain. Wric was in need of help. He was sharp enough to tell me that no one had come in to clean his bathroom. And quite clearly, I could tell that no one had cared for him or his room. Wric was isolated at the end of hall and restricted to his room, as not to endanger any of the other patients. He pleaded with me to let him move into the house. So, Wric, with a W, became the next resident.
Because of the surgery, Wric was forgetful and had major problems remembering things. I created him a manual to help with things like … How long to heat a cup of water in the microwave and other little things so he could function more independently.
Wric always wanted to be the life of the party. He loved old movies and would drive John crazy watching them all night. Wric and John were about as opposite as two people could be. John, refined and quiet; Wric, the Life Of The Party. What they had in common was their disease, their love of life, smiles, laughter and tears. Although Wric had a smile on his face most of the time, he was confused, erratic and forgetful. Wric just didn’t understand why his family wouldn’t take him home. He would talk of his great plans: However, there was always that underlying sadness of being alone. Wric was on a spiritual search for God, any God. He badgered me until I arranged rides for him to church, any church. For him, it was like an insurance plan … for what might happen. He somehow felt less alone.
I remember one day going out shopping to the store and food pantry. Wric decided he would come along and help. He was just chattering away about a new style he just had to have. I was laughing and we rounded the corner, to our surprise, there was a policeman flagging us over for doing 35 in a 30 mph zone. As we pulled away, Wric looked up and said, “I’m sorry. I’ll be quiet. It was my fault that you got a ticket.” I smiled and assured him that this was not my first traffic ticket. He did not have his foot on the accelerator. Wric shrugged his shoulders, smiled that little-boy smile and said, “Let’s shop.” So, off we went.
Things were almost completely finished at the house. We had a few last touches to do. The only major thing was the handicapped bathroom in the back of the house. That was going to take a while. We decided to go ahead and have an official opening of the house. Now that we were up and running, we arranged to have a house blessing and thank you party for all the volunteers and the leaders of the community. We even had a few City Council members scheduled to show up.
We cleaned for two days to get ready. We made veggie trays and hors d’oeuvres. We had tables and chairs set up behind my office for the reception after the House Blessing. That day was beautiful. The sun was out. Not a cloud in the sky. It was a perfect June day, with anticipation in the air. Wric, of course, was getting involved. After all, this was his party and his house! Actually, he was in the way more than helping. And I certainly was not going to tell him to stop. He was so filled with joy.
John volunteered less hours at the hospital that day, so he could come home and take a nap before the festivities began. John was so proud as people began to arrive.
First, there was a blessing for each room of the house. Then, we went outside to the back yard. We all joined hands in a large circle and prayed for the house and for the people it would serve. It was very powerful. There were about fifty of us. We were proud of this house of love and unity. In the energy of the moment, the sun was streaming through the trees and the tears were streaming down our faces.
John and Wric were the celebrities. Wric just ate it up. He loved the party. After about an hour, I noticed for the first time, that he was starting to fatigue. Wric had to go home. John followed his to keep an eye on him. I think the truth was, John was a terribly private person and was ready to get out of the hustle and attention. The Buddies checked on both of them as things wound down.
The newspaper was to cover the event and promised to take no pictures outside of the house and not to print the address. This promise, I didn’t expect. I had never worked with media of any kind. Not only did I have the phone calls from areas of Texas I didn’t know existed, I suddenly had media exposure. We were the hot news topic; and, in truth, I didn’t trust them. I was in total fear of answering questions incorrectly, of microphones and cameras. I had already seen what misquotes and ignorance produced.
***
Shortly before the next resident came in, I was told to do the spot for the 10 p.m. news and talk live with the reporter on location. So, at ten pm, I was standing in front of a camera in the parking lot of the counseling center, with an ear plug in my ear. I swear to this day I can’t remember the questions. However, my answers were, “Yes”, “No” and “Six.” When I saw the tape. I wanted to die. I was so frightened: I was rigid, no expression. All in all, I could have crawled under a rock. The truth was, the media could find you, there was no hiding anymore.
The Buddies were a group of volunteers that worked at the house. They’d take the residents shopping, cook meals, keep an eye on John and Wric. Most of all, the Buddies were friends. Without them, the house would not have run so smoothly. They also reported to me if problems arose. We had weekly meetings at the house to “problem-solve,” and sometimes for them to just complain.
I felt my role as Residence Manager shifting and became the House Mom. As hard as I tried, I started loving the guys.
I was doing interviews for some residents. Then a phone call from the Clinic at Parkland Memorial Hospital. Someone brought him to me. I walked into the room and saw a sick, lonely person. He seemed homeless and “where has he been sleeping?” Ranger looked a lot like a drowned puppy. Big sad eyes. He was tall, but he was slumped over in the chair. He hadn’t eaten well, for quite a while. Everything he owned, he had with him. Now I ask you, how could you refuse. We took Ranger into the house and he ate and ate, then he slept. That was the extent for a few days. When he started feeling better, he would come over to my office, every day. He was concerned about the guys and the project. He couldn’t pay but was willing to work. He was always worried about something. I would think of the character from the Al Capp comics that always had a cloud over his head. That was my Ranger. He was actually the healthiest person in the house. Wric was a mess and needed a watchful eye. John was getting weaker. Ranger was playing caretaker. Quite often, not of himself but of others. He always had good intentions. He could drive anyone crazy.
Ranger worked with me every day. Donations were still coming in and needed to be sorted and put away. He didn’t like housework. You couldn’t walk into his room, but he would help me on any project. He wanted to be useful. Ranger was an activist. I have always said there is nothing more dangerous than Ranger with a cause. People would call me and say, “Do you know what he did this time?” Or, “Do you know what he said to the newspaper?” I would assure them that I did not, then go find out the facts. I would just laugh.
The next to join the crew was Brian. He called me. He had seen me on the news talking about the house and called the center. He was in the hospital. He wanted to stay at the house when he was discharged. He explained that he had been living with his grandmother and things were not easy. I asked him what type of things. He said he lived in a small town in East Texas and the pharmacist’s wife found out that her husband was ordering AIDS medication. Well, this was a town with a fundamentalist background, and they were making it difficult for him and for his grandmother. He didn’t want to have her have problems; he loved her too much. He felt he had to leave. He moved into the room with John; they hit it off right away. Brian was a pock-marked kid from the country; he had an energy that was delightful. The world was his oyster. Other than AIDS, his life was full of exploring life and the big city. He would answer the door in a satin jacket with an ascot. He loved to be gracious. I had to do everything I could not to laugh at him. One morning, Brian came to my office to tell me that he had been out to dinner with John. He said the restaurant was so fancy, and he had steak and escargot. And he went on. Brian said the John spent a lot of money. “Do you know that I have never been to a restaurant where the main course cost more than $3.00?” Brian was aware and naive at the same time. He loved what he learned from John. And John loved spending time with Brian.
Brian came to me. He wanted a job. After all, John worked at Parkland, Ranger worked as my assistant. So, Brian wanted something to oversee. I also knew he wanted to get away from Wric. So he became in charge of clothing donations. He liked that, he got first pick and kept everything in order. He would chatter all day and do fashion shows when appropriate. He lasted about a month.
***
Razzle Dazzle Dallas, a major fund-raiser for AIDS organizations was coming up and we were running a carnival booth. Brian got excited about that. He agreed to come and help run the booth; he didn’t last long. However, he had a great time while he was there. I noticed he wanted to do things but couldn’t seem to keep up with the rest of the guys. He was getting weaker; he just couldn’t handle as much; his rest periods were coming more and more; he was losing weight; he had constant diarrhea. The simple truth was it was just taking a toll on him. John never told me, the guys at the house did. He sat and read his Bible and did lessons. He had sent for a mail order Ministry Course and that is what he did most of the time.
Most of the guys attended what was called a healing group. Really, what the group did was to allow a space for self-exploration and to deal with change. Its base was the Louise Hays philosophy. It also dealt with the latest techniques of wellness. Whether it was herbs or acupuncture, energy balancing, or anything else. The group was hungry for knowledge. At that time, there were no drugs; people had to deal with the disease that was affecting them the best they could with what was available. We looked for possibilities in some of the strangest places. Why not? This was one of the mandatory meetings that we asked the guys to attend. We also provided individual counseling and weekly bitch sessions which sometimes felt like daily sessions. I dared to believe that I could run this project with a Spirit, Mind and Body attitude. That, if all those were working, that things would work better. I believed that if crystals worked, great; if you went to church, great. The end result was some peace of mind while dealing with internal crisis.
Brian believed that I was part of the Devil. I had crystals all over my office. One day, I pointed out to him that he prayed to a wooden cross; it didn’t matter how you spoke to God, as long as you did. Brian fought the fundamentalist beliefs till the day he died. He was confused and frightened. If he believed his background, he was damned. If he didn’t, well, he just wasn’t sure. He would study his Bible and his lessons. It was as if there were two people; one was a ray of light and hope and the other sad and frightened.
Now there were four and the arguing of four adults living in the same house became apparent. They would wait for me to get to work to tell me who didn’t do what they were supposed to. The over-riding complaint was that Wric was being more forgetful; they would find him wandering around not knowing where he was. They were frightened to leave him alone. We would send him to the VA, and they would send him home. Finally, one day, Wric was running a fever, and I had a volunteer available. I told him to take Wric to the ER at the VA and wait until they took him and leave. I explained that Wric was getting too much to handle and that the VA was going to have to handle him. I was sick; my heart hurt when the VA called. I refused to take him back. The doctor blew up on the phone.
He said, “You people need to take care of your own,” meaning the gay community. I informed him we were already doing more than the government, and we couldn’t have Wric wandering out in the road and getting killed. The doctor again said the same thing. I told him that if Wric was black and had sickle cell anemia, the kind doctor wouldn’t be saying that. He stopped; there was no more to be said. Wric was to stay. John and I would visit him at the hospital. I didn’t feel bad. Wric would tell me of all the imaginary friends that had visited, how wonderful the house looked and how he was never alone. He didn’t even know that he was tied in bed. One day, when we left the room, John turned and asked, “Well, what do you thing?” I said I was thankful that Wric believed that he was in the house. I also believed that Wric’s mind was like a blender. Wric’s mom was in a nursing home and his dad lived far away. Wric’s dad had asked me to deal with the arrangements when Wric died and I agreed. It wasn’t going to be that much longer. Wric was finally in a coma and was at least leaving peacefully. He looked happier, somehow. When we received the news that he died, there was a sadness to know that we would never see his smile again.
I came up with the concept that we could tailor memorial services. I suggested that we have a party. Now Wric, on one of his adventures, had made about two or three gallons of spaghetti sauce. Se we decided to have a dinner and “let Wric cook”, so to speak. The volunteers and the guys agreed. We had a wonderful dinner. We laughed, had a few tears. We prayed and felt the warmth of our family. The love reflected the love that Wric had for each of us. We raised our glasses and toasted Wric and were thankful that his confusion was now gone. Wric changed all our lives. He was the first of many to leave the house. Reality was there also … this was the beginning.
I suddenly had all these applicants. It felt like a great wave was starting to crest. It was the end of August and I received a phone call from a woman saying her son was sick and had just been diagnosed. He was in California and she had no room for him, but wanted to have him close. Would I please help her? She didn’t know where else to turn. So, she came out and filled out the paperwork. I called and interviewed him on the phone. She was right, he was a baby, only nineteen years old. I figured, how much trouble can a sick nineteen year old be? Well, he would be here in a few weeks and I would get an answer. All I was sure of was that I felt her pain and could feel a lump in my throat. My daughter was about the same age and I sure prayed that she didn’t have to ever face death at nineteen.
A few days later, I was interviewing He arrived with his sister and brother-in-law. Every time I asked him a question, she answered. I finally asked him to take a walk with me. I really didn’t know if he could talk. He was angry, scared, lonely and, most important, loving. I felt he would work in the house. Tim wanted hope and a place to be okay. He had a wonderful smile, kind of shy, but clear about his needs. He was excited about the piano … he loved to play. Needless to say, he didn’t want to live with his family. They ruled his life; treated him like he was dying and, in general, treated him like a baby. Tim moved in the next day. We were back up to four again and, on the whole, they seemed to get along.
Tim had a wonderful balance of interests; music went from country to classical; his views on life were down home to metaphysical; he was on the road to Discovery. He got along with everyone. He also was the main snitch if things didn’t follow the rules. He was a lot happier and healthier than most of the guys. He loved to dance, and he also volunteered at the AIDS Clinic. He was one of the first in the house to start on that new drug, AZT. I remember him so sick, he was nauseous, just wanted to sleep, he was difficult to get along with. We all wondered, including Tim, if this drug was worth it! Even in bad days, he and John got on the bus and went to volunteer.
By the beginning of the next week, Ricky was moving in; he was covered with KS lesions, thin, and carried this rubber ring wherever he went. He was just the most radiant person I have ever met. His smile was bigger than he was; he had no where to go. He wanted to stay in Dallas, where his friends were, and his health services were; he was in a program of recovery. There was a sense of serenity about him I had never experienced. When he entered, the energy in the house shifted; his moods were serious, or light as a feather.
I remember moving a bar stool into the kitchen because Ricky had trouble standing to cook or wash dishes. He wanted to do his part, so he rose to the challenge. When the newspaper wanted to write an article, they called him “the Miracle Man.” He just kept going. He sorted out the arguments between the guys, and always found something funny to laugh at even if it felt black. He fell over sometimes and would just shrug his shoulders and go on.
Almost the same day, John K. moved in. He was bright and intelligent; he was also opinionated. He had been a nurse, and could no longer work. He brought with him good solid medical information which I needed as a resource. He had a vast knowledge of self help information. I connected with John the first day. He helped organize things, and as far as I was concerned, a gift. He was about living life to the fullest. He walked with a cane because of his neuropathy. Other than that, and a few bouts of pneumonia, he was healthy. He believed that natural healing and modern medicine could work together to maintain quality of life.
John K. was not always easy to get along with; there was always this undercurrent of anger and frustration, and as dynamic as those emotions were, so was the love. When one of the guys was sick, he was one of the people they could rely on. I remember one morning coming in and John K. reporting that John M. had been running a high fever. He had become disoriented and had fallen. So John K. and Ranger put him in a cold tub to get his fever down and sat with him all night. That was the first of many nights the guys took shifts sitting with John M.
John M. was getting weaker. He had made the choice of dying at home. He couldn’t work at the clinic anymore. It was just more energy than he had left. He was falling more each day, trying to maintain dignity and loosing the battle. The guys would try to help him eat and get around. He accepted their help easier. They were pulling together. Facing their own fears as John M. faced his.
***
As all of this was starting to happen, Tim arrived. The only bed available was in John’s room. Troy freaked out. He was a baby, tough. His pinked attire said he was cool. The fear in his eyes said quite another story. Troy had no idea, nor did he want to deal with death. He slept with his back away from John and put his earphones on as not to hear. He stayed out of the house as much as possible. He would walk endlessly up and down the street outside the house.
Tim was a caretaker, shouldn’t everyone be. The Buddies were staying eight-hour shifts. The guys couldn’t take the physical strain themselves. Most of them were on this experimental drug called AZT and were having a rough time adjusting to that. The every four hours of medication and the nausea, it was definitely a low time.
He was in a coma. It was just about waiting. So the hours crept by and we all grew closer. I had gone next door to do some paperwork. I remember Tim coming to the door. The look in his face, one of relief and pain. He choked back the tears and said “He’s gone.” I got up and we hugged each other, we walked next door in silence. We cleaned the room, opened the window and went in the other room to wait.
I don’t believe that a day passed that I didn’t hear “Hi Mom.” Whether I wanted to or not, I was connected to each of them. Hardly a day went by that I didn’t spend time with them at the house. Each one of them would come to my office daily. Quite often we talked about affairs of the heart.
The people that had helped build and open the house were still coming by. They now were doing yard work, baking cookies, just anything they could think of to support.
There was a new program going on in the building that I officed in. It came out of a fear that not only the guys from the house, but also others weren’t eating well. We started serving lunch. None of us were sure why, but PWAs were not hungry, so the weight loss was a big issue. Most of the people we knew had to make themselves eat. The lunch worked so well that a plea for cooks went out. Some very talented cooks showed up from some of Dallas’ finest restaurants. Dining became festive and an adventure.
I had one person who would show up twice a week. We called him The Baron mainly because he was. He had wonderful stories of dining with the Queen and other royalty. He would show up in silk suits, diamonds and his walking stick. What was different about him was he had Parkinson’s Disease and couldn’t walk a straight line if his life were on the line. He would serve lunch successfully; each day we all would hold our breath for fear that he would spill or drip something. Here he was, in many ways more disabled than anyone here. He would be working and smiling the whole time. The joy he got from accomplishment was, to say the lease, inspirational. He would arrive faithfully. Sometimes shaking so bad he couldn’t get a word out. He also wanted to be accepted and live with his disease. I would look up and he would say “The boys are sick. I will go clean the house.” And off he would go. The Baron was a grand person to be around. I remember arriving in the morning. He would bow and ask “How may I serve you today?”
My other bright spot was Bill. Bill lived on the streets. I’m not sure how he arrived there, but if it was Tuesday, Bill would come for some lunch and play the piano for a few house. Everyone would sing and have a good time. And, for a while, the world would go away. We didn’t have any worries. Bill got real attached to Tim. They would try to out do each other on the piano.
Bill wore the same clothes … winter and summer; a tattered overcoat and a western hat with a hat protector. He had a beard that was at least twelve inches long and he carried a shopping bag. When he would leave, I would fill the shopping bag with groceries, give him a hug and he would kiss me on both cheeks. And off Bill would go, happy as could be. I learned that each person can be a gift if we take the judgment away and let them shine in their own way.
As more people came in, I felt this growing fear in the trenches. Sometime, you felt that there was no way out; people you cared for died or were sick. I started putting up walls to protect myself. I had wanted this job so I could run it from my heart, and it was hurting and continued to do so. Yes, there were joys, there were bright spots to every day. We laughed a lot, after all, we had a house full of queens. Different sizes and shapes, they all had different backgrounds.
When they weren’t lining up at my office with a list of complaints on who didn’t do their chore, or if the TV was left on too late, it was about their latest person they were interested in. Most of them had a crush on a volunteer at one time or another, you know, the normal things in life. They knew that they could tell me anything. They were all brothers which, at time, was difficult. If I did have to reprimand anyone, they would all fight to keep them out of trouble. Often it was like dealing with a bunch of kids. I was becoming a Mom, a role that I was sure I would never have.
Ranger had moved out. Well, his stuff was still there, he just wasn’t. He had gotten a job and was trying to make it on his own. He still wasn’t feeling well. He desperately wanted to be a productive person and not rely on others. Everyone was complaining because they wanted his room. It was a single-person room and it had more privacy.
I guess I was dragging my heels because I knew he would be back. Ranger really wasn’t well enough to move furniture for a living; he wouldn’t listen, he had to do it his way. So, in about a month, there he was looking like that puppy again. Ranger was back. Now the guys were pretty angry and hostile to Ranger. Sometimes with good reason … he didn’t always do his chores. What did balance it out was his ability to take care of others and to be centered in chaos. He had been a fireman for years and had a lot of training. Ranger was really reliable. Between him and John K. (with his nursing knowledge) in the middle of the night, everyone could feel secure.
Well, it was the middle of September. I was going on vacation for a week. I was a wreck; I had created such an emergency list of people, the only number I didn’t have listed was God’s. I arranged for people to stop by and check on them. I left John K. and Ranger, unofficially, in charge. I ran away for a much needed break to California. Most of the people I was staying with were active in gay rights and in the AIDS issues. I was staying in LA with a friend, Rob Eichburg and in walked this woman named Sally Fisher. She was wonderful. Rob said she was going to be in Dallas doing a workshop dealing with AIDS and that I would get a lot out of it.
The workshop was to be held at the end of October. I felt like I could use a light at the end of the tunnel, so when I got back to Dallas, I was talking to the group which had enlarged by one in my absence. L:i was a slightly built Hispanic man who had started having a sex change and developed AIDS, so was left in limbo. Soft and feminine, still very much a man, he had bonded with Troy, Tim and Picky. They were quite a family.
Fortunately for me, I already had white hair; they certainly challenged my patience. In the middle of October, I started talking to the guys about the AIDS Mastery Workshop. John, Ranger and two of my volunteers were interested, so again I was ready to spend the weekend looking at what I thought living with AIDS was about. Little did any of us expect that it was about loving and living. The Mastery enabled me to continue working for a long time with AIDS. I became so close, on a heart level with John and Ranger; there were no words.
We learned about love, support and having our emotions. Saturday morning, when I arrived at the workshop (which was being held next door to the house) Kriss, Picky, Tony and Tim stopped me and reported that Ranger had a cat in his room; that he found the previous night. I blew up! That was a big NO in the house because of the bacteria that grew in the litter pans and he was putting everyone else at risk. Back then, we were afraid to have plants in the house for fear of what they might bring. I insisted that Ranger get rid of the cat before the end of the day. Workshop or not, I felt bad. However, it was him and the cat, or the cat; that was the choice.
One of the things I learned about was fear and we were afraid of everything. Personally, the people in the workshop were a reflection of me. I had dealt with so much of the past during the weekend, that when Monday came, I was shaky. Somebody dropped off two videos on my desk and said that I might enjoy them. I was feeling lonely after having so many people around me the previous three days. I decided to watch them. The first video was about Louise Hay’s Wednesday night Healing Circle. I popped it in and there, the first person I saw was the person who had supported me all weekend, saying he was going to beat this thing called AIDS. I was mesmerized and inspired at what I was seeing. I watched the video about six times that day. I called people and had them come see. The hope was reaching out and touching the guys in the house. We decided to have a weekly meeting during the day and see the other video together. It was broken down into segments that went into her book. That way, we could stretch it over the next six weeks. The first video, for me, became a type of affirmation during my moments of no hope. It was a once a week private moment.
John K. had been dating someone. I was amazed he was out at the country & western bar with a walker and met the person he was to spend the rest of his life with. They had dated about two months when John came to me and said he was moving out, that he was moving in with his lover and, although he would be stopping by to say “Hi”, he had a life to live. What an idea, people could leave for reasons other than sickness or death. His main concern was Brian. I think John would have left sooner had he realized he had to go on with his life. Although happy for John, I was also sad. He had helped me a lot with the goings on at the house. John’s main concern in a relationship was that he was diagnosed full-blown and his new lover was HIV negative. Of course safe sex was their choice. However, counseling was also in order. All of this felt risky and unreasonable. I guess living on the edge is easier when what you have is the edge. As I look back, everything that I was worried about was if he was setting himself up for a fall. John chose to live life with gusto. His determination was empowering and inspiring.
Troy had come out of his shell and became friends with Tim, Picky and Kriss. The four of them planned things together; went dancing or went out to the movies. They were always on a quest. Troy, because of his age, had to get false proof; he was too young to go out but had the need to dance and live life. I could always tell when he had something going on. He would walk up and down the street with a set of sweats on. He was always cold and had a jacket on most of the time.
Brian had started to withdraw, he was losing his sight. Tim would sit and read the Bible to him because he couldn’t do it any more. He was frightened and angry. He was running high fevers at night. Quite often, the guys would put him in a cool tub to bring the fevers down. Finally he was too sick; he was incontinent; too weak. The doctor admitted him to the hospital. Brian never came back. I would call him. I only went to see him once; somehow, I made excuses not to sit in a hospital and wait. I knew there were plenty of people there; volunteers, some of the guys and his family. I never saw Brian again. It was as if I shut down. I had to be there for everyone else. I had to protect myself.
November. The holidays. What was that to bring? A new reason for people to donate. Turkeys were arriving; I think we had 26. At one point everyone was inviting the guys to dinner and, of course, turkey was on the menu. On Thanksgiving day, everybody was somewhere and getting ready for what Christmas was going to be. We seemed like everybody’s favorite place. I finally had to ask for a Christmas list from everybody and their sizes. People were shipping gifts from all over the state. Homemade cookies and cakes were endless.
I think there was some organization, a different one, took everyone out to dinner two or three times a week until Christmas. The guys loved it. None of them were great at cooking. I could hear their laughter coming in the door. They didn’t understand why everyone was so interested in them. They felt awkward at time. At Christmas, we had no less than four trees, five wreaths and so many cookies and goodies. We were freezing them. There was a mixture of excitement and overwhelming. Everything had to be the best. No settling, after all, you should have the best if you don’t have long to live. I believed you should have the best to live. The Buddies were sad that John M., Brian and Wric weren’t with them anymore. To tell you the truth, I still had complaints about Ranger every day and I protected him. Sometimes I don’t know why.
Christmas day, Kriss had gone home to grandma, Tim to sis and mom, Troy to his mom, which left Picky and Ranger. As I can remember, they went somewhere for dinner, but were home early. They were all exhausted, they really weren’t full of vim and vigor. Although everybody had somewhere to go for Christmas, I had the sense of loneliness. It was as if all the gifts and festivities were wonderful. There still was an empty part. We had lost part of our family and for some, it was to be their last Christmas.
I had given them all Louise Hay tapes on meditation and promised them I would read their tarot cards. One morning, they ganged up on me to read their cards. I was nervous about doing that. I had never done cards for anyone who was supposed to die in a short time. Well, they were there for the game, so I went ahead and read their cards and prayed that the reading would be ok. They were some of the most bright, comforting readings I have ever done. Everyone was delighted, me too. We’re all in search for answers. I had a house of people who were living life to the fullest. They really were not about dying, they played hard. They were always up to something, laughing, planning. When they were well, they were boundless energy and trouble brewing.
New Year’s Eve morning, I promised after I went to church, I would come and make breakfast for everyone. This was a big deal, I didn’t getup and go to work until 8:00 am. I got there and started the bacon and sausage and slowly the smells got to everybody. They were all eating and loving it. I hadn’t seen them eat so much in a long time. The only one not there was Tony. He had not been feeling well and stayed in bed. His energy was diminishing. There was always that dark reminder at every turn that AIDS was in the world, and we went on. Kriss, Ricky, Tim and Ranger were eating their hearts out. John K. stopped by. He had moved out of the house sometime in late November. He had a new relationship and was happy. He was walking with a walker sometimes, but still independent. He was still bonded with the group and would stop by regularly.
I had interviewed Derrick before Christmas. He was to move in the house after New Year’s. He was the first straight (heterosexual) person who had applied for the house. He was shifty, red-neck, but kind and gentle. I thought he wouldn’t fit in. He just wanted somewhere to be accepted. He was getting sicker, his wife had left him, took the kids and that was it. He said he got AIDS from a tattoo that he received in prison. We all had our doubts, but decided to let him join the gang. I thought “quite brave to move into a house with that many queens.” I had a meeting with them all before he moved in and had them promise not to hit on him; treat him like a brother, not a loner. I was excited; we were going into the New Year having made the outreach to the straight community. We had passed the barrier.
It was February. We were getting ready to have Louise Hay come to town to do her workshop. There was excitement and anticipation in the air. Everyone was going except Derrick. Derrick thought it was just a bunch of mumbo jumbo and he was staying home. He was still pretty new to the house and wasn’t sure that he was comfortable with the philosophy.
We had our house meeting that Friday. I told them that this weekend, we were all doing the workshop. I was off, and not responsible for them. We all agreed. Saturday morning arrived and so did the troop. Ricky in the wheel chair with that big old smile. Ranger pushing the chair. And Kriss and Tim following close behind trying to help Troy. He was so weak, but there he came stumbling in, wrapped in a blanket dragging behind him. They found a spot and Troy laid down. He was so frail, he couldn’t breathe well. He was just bones and desire. He couldn’t eat much and was running a fever, but he was there. My family had arrived, brothers supporting each other and willing to learn.
The morning went smoothly and we broke for lunch. The guys all went to the restaurant for lunch. When we returned, we were confronted with a problem. The hotel requested, or shall I say demanded, that we not eat in their restaurant and that two hundred ten people were to use only one set of bathrooms. They had gone so far as to hire guards to deter us from wandering. Why? Because the group was ready to march on the office and cause a demonstration. What was really happening was that two hundred ten people, half of which were straight, were having, well, AIDS. We were experiencing prejudice and we all were outraged.
The room was in chaos; people were into fear, anger and pain. My lover looked at me and said, “You can make them listen, you can get this back on course.” So I stood up and reminded everyone that we came here out of a need to learn. One experience was another’s fear of the unknown. We could deal with the hotel later. There was nowhere else to have the workshop, have a massive picnic lunch the next day and comply with the restrictions that were placed there. During the day, I would look over and see my guys; Ricky was sitting there radiating more love than ever, Troy laying there on the floor, Tim and Ranger close by. And Kriss hiding in the back of the room, not sure what was going on. Everyone had fallen in love with this curious group. We knew that through the disease, that there was so much love and everyone wanted to take care of them.
Troy spoke of his frustration and said he wanted to die, he was tired. He said he wanted to die tomorrow. He didn’t want to take any more drugs that made him feel worse. There just wasn’t any reason to go on. I felt fear and blackness fall around me. I knew that he was serious; there was no drama in voice, just fact. There was little doubt to any of those there that Troy was serious. There was a rally of energy to support him in the middle. Everyone channeled energy, not to save him, but to allow him to be ok in the moment.
***
I didn’t sleep well that night. I had nightmares about the next day. Part of me wanted to stop him and part of me said he had the right. I don’t stand in his shoes. So, I got up early and headed for the house, praying for guidance all the way. When I arrived at work, Kriss met me and said that Troy had gone to the AIDS clinic. He wanted the doctors to help him. It was an endless morning … waiting. Troy’s mom was hysterical, didn’t know what to do. I was getting wild reports of Troy’s antics of the last evening. At one point, he decided that he had to talk to Joan Rivers and tried to call the studio and any other place to get her. He had been up all night writing. As we talked about the events, we also talked of our fears.
By the time that Troy got back to the house, I was sure that I could handle the situation. Troy and I sat on the couch and talked. He told me he had the number for Hemlock Society. He wanted to call. I told him that could wait, we needed to talk. I said he had the right to do whatever he wanted to do, but there were restrictions; one of them being that I would call the paramedics if I was on duty. I was instructing the Buddies to do the same. He was not to take anybody’s medication. Last, but not least, he needed to complete his relationships and make sure that he wasn’t leaving anything undone. He agreed to honor my requests. I knew he would, also. I kept one ear open that night for the phone.
The next morning, the usual report team was at my office door. They said that Troy had been up all night writing and talking to himself. In general, was acting quite insane. So, I went next door and said, “Well?” He looked up and said, “I made my decision; I’m just going to not take anymore medications to prevent anything except pain. I’m just not going to prevent the inevitable. I have to finish and publish my poems. I have to enjoy the time I have left. The Valentine’s Ball is coming up and I want to go in drag.” I took a big sigh of relief, and knew he was ok. The others didn’t understand. He was ok today, I knew his mother could handle this better.
That Valentine’s ball did happen. Kriss, Tim, Troy, Ranger and even Derrick all went. Kriss and Troy went in drag and arrived in a limousine. They worked for two weeks getting wigs and gowns. Troy even got his mom involved. I remember one of those days walking in the house. Ricky was laughing and pointing behind me. I turned around and there was Troy in a black sequined gown, hiding behind the door. He was afraid I was going to be angry. I started laughing and Troy started then, then everyone in the house came out. There wasn’t a dry eye left. The day after the ball, there was so much excitement. Everyone was sharing stories and a light feeling was in the house. I also knew there were no big goals left.
As the days past, reality was coming back. Troy and Picky were both getting weaker. We all knew it wouldn’t be long. Life at the house never hit a lull for too long. Being that we needed a little excitement/diversion, we ended up with a new person in the house. Douglas, well, was a handful. He was mildly retarded and a streetwise hustler. He came to us directly from a referral from the probation department. With his childish personality, he could charm the pant off most people. That was one of his problems. Although this was true, the morning house patrol would be at my office reporting the previous nights’ antics.
I found out that he was still acting out sexually. I was concerned that he was not doing it safely. I wasn’t sure he understood what AIDS was. So the staff took turns, first convincing him he had AIDS and then trying to explain what that meant. Then telling him how to use a condom. Then he complained they didn’t fit. We went to the store, and got another size. This ended up as “hands on” training, so to speak. None of us were sure we did any good. We sure did learn to approach it from every angle. All we could do is reinforce the use of condoms and ask him if he was still using them, or did he need any more.
While all the excitement was going on, Picky went into the hospital and two days later, Troy followed. I didn’t want to go. However, Ranger talked me into going to visit them. Picky had been asking for me. I remember walking in the room. The KS had just covered his body. His legs were the size of his waist, they were so swollen and painful. He wouldn’t let anybody but Ranger move him. So Ranger was there most of the time. He looked up and got a big smile on his face and said, “Hi mom.” I started to cry. As I choked back the tears, I leaned over and gave him a hug and a kiss. He told me his mom was flying down that evening. That was all that was keeping him there. He was getting ready to give up the fight. When I left him, I was going to see Troy. Ranger told me Troy would not see anybody, he just kept his back to the door and refused to talk. He was so angry. I looked in. It was the last time I saw either Ricky or Troy.
It was a very emotional time for everyone at the house. We were all consumed with the loss. There was a joint memorial service. The minister from Metropolitan Community Church had asked me to present the eulogies. So, I talked about Troy’s excitement of the previous month, and of me catching him in drag. We all laughed. I read the following poem that Troy had written for Ricky.
Ricky, my dear, you are so cute,
Thanks for removing the bug from the laundry chute.
You make me smile every day, at least twice.
You have given me so much advice.
So, as your love comes to me so strong,
I know that nothing can go wrong.
Your love, my love, together as one,
I look forward to all the fun.
Stop slipping, you silly old queen,
And let’s go out and make a scene.
A scene that no one shall ever forget.
Thank you, Lord, for the Ricky I met.
My soul inside extends,
My love for you never ends.
So, baby, fight, go, love, care and give.
You for sure will be the one to live!
Both Troy and Ricky lived on in our hearts. It was so much quieter. Kriss was working on his poetry. Tim threw himself into the piano and would get lost in music. Mark worked in the garden. Derrick was just lost, walking aimlessly. Douglas didn’t really understand. I believe he didn’t want to understand.
April is supposed to bring showers. The would have been easier to deal with.
We got a new resident. Rocky was a lovable little guy with a big smile. However, there was an underlying problem. I just couldn’t put my finger on it. As the days passed, I found out what it was. Rocky had a drinking problem. One of my house rules was NO DRINKING in the house and NO SMOKING in the bedrooms. Although no one could find the alcohol, they knew he was seeking it in. I went over to talk to him and found him in bed smoking and sipping on a Big Gulp. I could smell the alcohol. I warned him that he could not do what he was doing, or he would be out! He agreed to stop. I believed it was handled. The next Monday, I came in and everyone was at my office screaming! They had found him passed out in the flower bed one night and the following night, they found him wandering and falling all over the street in front of the house.
I was furious. I called him into my office and gave him two days to get out. He went back and started packing. Not five minutes passed when every one of the guys were back in my office telling me I couldn’t kick Rocky out. What I had forgotten was that they were a family. Brothers fight and they also stick together. So, I made an agreement with Rocky that he had to work with a counselor and to attend AA meetings if he was to stay in the house. This actually worked, for the most part.
***
Derrick would come over and talk to me. He was so private. So when he came over, I made time for him. Sometimes, he would miss his family. He would talk about his kids. When he got diagnosed with AIDS, his wife had left him taking his two children with her. He had no way of contacting or seeing them. He was left with this empty void. Talking seemed to help. It was on one of those afternoons when Derrick arrived and asked me if I had a little Bible. I told him that I had one at home. He certainly could use it. My curiosity was peaked. I knew he couldn’t read, so I asked him what he was going to do with it. He said, “Put it in my sock.” He decided that he could feel better if he could just have a Bible close and hold it when he was upset. He said, “You know, I’m just not as strong as I used to be. Look at these pants. The just hang all over me. I just thought a Bible couldn’t hurt.” Somehow, just having that Bible gave him peace to go on.
Derrick had become part of our family, against all odds. He and Kriss were room-mates. A redneck and a trans-sexual, best of friends. Caring and loving each other. Dealing with AIDS and the changed that happened. Kriss actually got Derrick to dress in bright colors and it was an improvement. Who could have ever guessed that was possible, in just five months?
There was talk of the PWA Coalition purchasing, or planning to purchase, an apartment complex redoing it and creating a place run by and for People Living with AIDS. One of the planners came to talk to me. Mike talked of their plans. I just couldn’t understand how it would fly. I hardly ever had a full house, usually there were one or two beds open. Mike kept saying to me, We could move your residents over and combine services.”
Well, the truth was I didn’t want to hear it. I didn’t want to support it. I was angry about the idea that he wanted my clients to fill his project. The concept was great. However, my heart and soul were interwoven with Nash House. Here sat this man referring to it like it was worthless and his idea was better. I wished him good luck, I wasn’t interested. I was sure that there were people out there that were interested, as this thing called AIDS got bigger. I had deep-seeded anger about the whole project. I kept it to myself.
It was not the last time I saw Mike. He was around the main office quite often. I was too blind to see the writing on the wall; to know that over the horizon, my world, the house and the support of the guy’s “family” was to be destroyed. I couldn’t even conceive that a part of me would die.
I remember one morning, receiving a call from my Executive Director. He needed to speak to me. When I arrived, I went directly to his office. He motioned for me to come in and have a seat. I felt the tension in his voice. I immediately felt my chest tighten. I felt cold all over. Jay said, “Mary, we are closing the house due to financial problems.” I sat there shocked. I could barely breath. I was in total disbelief. I was so angry, I was shaking. I said, “What do you mean ‘Close the house’? How can you suddenly have financial problems? Why wasn’t I told?” All the while, there was a cyclone in my brain. How could he take something away from me that meant more than my life? How can I tell the guys? How? How? How? I looked Jay in the eye and said that if this is the decision, I will have nothing to do with telling they guys. I love them. I’m not telling them. I left his office and walked down the street to my office. I was crying. I went in the group room and closed the door and cried.
I don’t know how much time passed. I heard a knock on the door and it was Jay and a Board member. Lou came in and sat down. She didn’t say a word. She motioned to Jay to leave. We spent the next hour or so talking. I was so hurt and angry. Why wasn’t I told? What was going to happen to the guys? I was unsure that they would be cared for. Lou explained that the agency was going to move them to Oak Cliff. To the project that the PWA Coalition (Mike) had planned. I was sick. I didn’t want to hear that they were throwing them into the new situation of unsureness and unrest. I assured Lou that I wanted no responsibility in telling this group of men. I wasn’t sure I could trust Jay. I felt deceived. I was told I would be kept on to work through the transition and possibly work with the PWA Coalition’s programs. Somehow, I went over to see the apartment building. I was even more sick after seeing this run down, semi-gutted building. That I was going to have to offer a slum to my people only sent me further into rage.
***
I was assured that the apartments would be renovated and all would be fine. All the guys were going to have their own apartment, no more sharing. We would still support them with food and counseling. Somewhere, I wanted to believe that and somewhere I didn’t believe it. After all, I had no choice. The owner of the property that Nash House was on was taking it back. We had two months.
Jay said he would tell the guys. I said not without me. I didn’t trust him to handle it any better than he had so far. I was so sick. I didn’t want the guys to know how upset I really was. So, after Jay told them, I started outlining the positiveness” of the PWA apartments. Some of them even bought it.
I couldn’t do anything for days. I was heartbroken, frightened for them, frightened for me. I sat at my desk; numb, depressed and despondent most of the time. I felt like a traitor, I sold them short. I guess my real anger was at my direct boss, we had started this project together. He had never came down and said anything. I watched their faces on a fairly basis. I saw their sadness and fear. They were angry about being uprooted. When you have lost everything, found security and have it ripped out from under you. There are lots of reasons for the anger.
We started packing up the house. The guys were taking their furniture and dividing up the dishes. The air was so heavy. Kriss and Derrick were moving into an apartment, together. Derrick wasn’t well and Kriss didn’t want to leave him. Everyone else had their own space. They were so resentful about the move and having to live in the middle of a construction site. I was so devastated, I could offer little. I was emotionally shut down. I was moving and doing the appropriate thing. One day, I sat down at my desk and found this poem from Kriss. With its broken English, it said:
“Moving Out.
To think of moving out, into another world. Somewhere out there, Life must go on. The hurt and pain that will cause everyone inside of us. I thought It wouldn’t turn out like this.
Living as a family has made my hold (sic) self, deal life better with ourself.
To know seven different personality, but
the coming of joy is along our way.
Mother Mary Franklin, who we all got used to being around us. To lean and cry when the world coming down on us.
Kriss
May 15, 1987”
***
I cried.
The time passed. I continued to shop for the guys. Between their anger and the other resident’s resentment
of them getting special things, it became more and more difficult to be there. I stopped going.
Kriss and Derrick were the first to leave. They pooled their money and moved back to their own apartment in Oak Lawn. Kriss stayed with Derrick until he died, then moved back to south Texas.
***
We sent Douglas back home to Arizona; to his mom’s. We collected enough to put him on a bus and send him on his way. I would have liked to warn someone that trouble was on its way.
Tim moved home with his sister. He just didn’t like being alone. He was getting sicker and family sounded good.
Rocky took his final trip to the hospital with a bourbon in hand. He never wanted to deal with what was going on.
Mark moved out and created a more peaceful life. He continued to work on his spirituality and to work his AA program. Over all, Mark finished his life happy.
I became involved in day-to-day operations in the AIDS project. The Names Project was coming to town. I was on the committee. I saw the making of a quilt panel as a way to release some of the feelings. A tangible way to give it away. The following was the letter that went with the panel.
Dear Quilt Committee,
Thank you for the opportunity to express the joy of being a Resident Director; Mom, to all of these men. Their loss and the loss of my program have finally been completed. lam working on the Quilt in Dallas; as it truly is the vehicle I have needed. Being in the “business of AIDS”, you don’t often have the chance to grieve. Jam frighten by so much emotion and I welcome it.
I have learned from and been touched by each of these men. And by my experiences on so many levels of being the Mom on the block. Their confident and their friend.
When love is deep, so is joy. So is loss.
Nash House
March, 1986-June, 1987
Born out of need
Created in love,
Lived in unity,
Died lonely.
John M was the first resident. He instilled pride in the house. Was like a father to most of the residents. John was conservative, but with a twinkle in his eye. He volunteered at the AIDS Clinic four or five days a week. John brought a touch of class to the house.
Wric W. was dizzy from the moment I met him. His actions always came from the heart. He always made you smile. Wric never got anything right, except his love for everyone.
Brian D. learned about escargot and meals that cost more the $3. 00 from John. Damned by his church and, because of his sexuality, his fight was weak. His radiance was strong and his love empowered all.
Ricky D. The sun never left his face. His smile was bigger than he was. His life was a twelve-step program. Ricky touched, supported and love deeply. Quite often, he was a silly, old queen without being old.
Troy was a child. Nineteen. Just starting life and afraid to die. He learned about drag, had ideals and principle, wrote poetry and loved Joan Rivers, Louise Hay and being outrageous. Troy was totally supported by his mom. He touched me in the way a confused child reaches out to find answers. He never accepted AIDS. Troy just wanted to be loved.
Rocky didn’t understand the world. He ran from it and tried to block it out. Rocky was loved and had a lot of trouble receiving love.
Derrick was a red-neck. He was straight. He wanted to be ok with his disease. So, he joined our family of six queens (that was true bravery). He loved and was loved. He was mothered. He got lots of support. He was a ray of light who always did what he thought was right.
Mark was angry and passionate about life. He was quick to anger and just as quick to love. He loved sunshine, flowers and plants, quiet time and to come to my office and give me a daily report of “who didn’t do what.”
1990. “I went to The Quilt today. You know, after three years, in the somberness of that room, I swore the last time, when I folded up the panel was in, that I would not open it up again. I thought I could let go or give Nash House away. I believed I wouldn’t have to have sadness or pain. Well, I guess it’s yours until it’s gone.”
When I walked in, I wasn’t sure if Nash House’s panel was even there. I started to walk around. Pictures and panels for people I knew were all around. You could feel the incredible love sewn into the fabric. I kept looking. I didn’t see it. I walked the area twice. I met a friend who said, “I forgot that Mike’s panel was next to Nash House.” So, I looked again, in fear that I couldn’t remember. Our panel from Nash House was hanging in the archway. I had not thought to look in the front.
At first, I looked at my feeble attempt. I thought of the love between John and Brian. How I had picked gold lame’ for Wric and black sequins for Troy. How Mark loved flowers and his crooked smile. How Rocky used to hide his liquor in the bushes, so I wouldn’t catch him. And, of course, I though of Picky. I had sewn a Desire chip into the panel. It is an AA symbol for “one day at a time.” I looked at the crooked house and the mask in the middle. I smiled, it was perfect. I was so happy to visit with all the guys again. For they are part of who I am today. I touched the panel and walked away. The clouds outside were dark, it looked like rain. The wind was soft, gentle and supportive as I walked to the car. I felt a tear on my cheek. “Thank You” was my only thought.