George Harris may have been short in stature, but he had a giant personality. And he never had a shortage of opinions on almost any subject.
Being around George came with the fringe benefit of his running commentary and pointed advice, delivered with biting humor and remarkable clarity. He never minced words. If you were among his close friends, you also earned his unstinting loyalty.
The last time I spoke with George before he died on Aug. 13, 2025, his health was failing. “I’m trying to get into Heaven,” he said, “but they won’t open the gates. Maybe I’m at the wrong gate” — ending, as always, with that signature laugh at his own joke.
Craig Spaulding and I met George and Jack Evans during the early days of Crossroads Market, and we were fortunate to count George and Jack among our friends. They had been together for nearly 20 years then, long before being a legally married gay couple was even possible.
Their relationship was forged through difficult times and sustained through the relentless grief of the AIDS epidemic. As a notary, George witnessed countless wills for young men whose lives were ending far too soon, often performing that duty at hospital bedsides for friends and employees from the real estate firm he and Jack built together.
Over the decades, George Harris and Jack Evans — known simply throughout Dallas as “Jack and George” — left their fingerprints on nearly every major LGBTQ+ organization in the city. In truth, they left more than fingerprints; they left footprints. Whether helping found an organization, serving on its board, raising money or quietly stepping in whenever someone needed help, they were there.
Through their real estate business, they sold homes to countless lesbians and gay men, advised businesses, mentored community leaders and spent seven decades investing in the people and institutions that shaped Dallas.
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Some of the many accomplishments of Jack and George
- George served in the U.S. Army and worked for the CIA before being discharged and incarcerated for his sexual orientation.
- The two co-founded Evans-Harris Real Estate, one of Dallas’ first all-gay firms.
- They co-founded the Stonewall Business Association (now the North Texas LGBTQ Chamber of Commerce).
- They were co-founders of The Dallas Way, a major archive dedicated to preserving LGBTQ history.
- They were the first same-sex couple legally married in Dallas County, with a photograph of their wedding kiss appearing on the front page of the New York Times.
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They became a brand. But more importantly, they never stopped giving back.
Even at 92, George remained active. He still drove himself to his favorite Mexican restaurant, where the staff reserved a parking space near the front door so he could conserve the oxygen taken from him by years of COPD. George credited his longevity to his longtime physician and friend, Dr. Cordell Adams.
“I’m grateful to Cordell for keeping me alive,” George joked, “but he won’t be in business much longer because he never charges me.”
After Jack died, George leaned heavily on his dear friend Lee Borchert, who often found himself playing the straight man in George’s never-ending comedy routine. George insisted he wanted no memorial service: “Why give Leona” — his affectionate nickname for Lee — “an excuse to spend money on more clothes she doesn’t need?”
While Jack possessed an easy, gentle manner, George preferred humor over confrontation. Rather than bluntly tell someone they didn’t know what they were talking about, he’d disarm them with a joke. If I spoke too long at an event, George would simply say, “Keep it shorter next time. I’m not getting any younger.”
One of George and Jack’s greatest contributions came after an arsonist destroyed the Dallas Gay Alliance storefront on Cedar Springs. As president of the DGA, I assumed our longtime meeting place — the former MCC Church at 2701 Regan Street — was financially out of reach. Our organization was overwhelmed by the AIDS crisis and barely able to sustain vital programs such as the Food Bank and the fledgling Nelson-Tebedo AIDS Clinic we had helped establish after the fire.
Purchasing property seemed impossible. George and Jack had other ideas: “What if we could find a way?” they asked.
I should have known better than to doubt them. They had already spoken with the Rev. Mike Piazza and the Cathedral of Hope about financing our mortgage. Before long, the deal was complete, creating a permanent home that became one of the foundational steps toward today’s Resource Center campus south of Love Field.
George’s activism sprang from personal injustice. Early in life, he was fired from his job and even jailed by the CIA simply because he was gay. Those experiences shaped his determination to fight for equality and dignity.
In many ways, Jack’s greatest responsibility became pouring oil on the troubled waters George occasionally stirred. Jack was everyone’s best friend almost immediately. George took longer to warm. But once you earned his trust, you had a friend for life.
Years ago, after friends called to tell me George had once again been hospitalized at Baylor, I flew to Dallas fearing the end was near. A few days later, as I prepared to leave, George unexpectedly became emotional. It was unlike him, so I sat on the edge of his hospital bed, and we talked through his tears.
“We’re all going to die someday,” I told him, “but you are not through yet.”
He admitted that facing his own mortality made him miss Jack even more, reminding him how difficult life had become without him.
It was fitting that George and Jack were among the first same-sex couples to marry when the law finally allowed it. Yet that ceremony simply affirmed what everyone who knew them already understood: Their marriage had existed for decades — in commitment, sacrifice and shared purpose.
George loved to say, “Jack makes it; I spend it.”
Like so many of George’s jokes, it contained just enough truth to get a laugh while concealing a deeper reality. They were one of the finest partnerships Dallas has ever known — in business, in philanthropy and in life. And they served as role models with purpose.
George Harris was Dallas LGBTQ+ royalty — an elder statesman whose influence reached generations of activists, business leaders and friends. His absence leaves an enormous void, because people like George come along only rarely.
They broke the mold after George.
George wanted no memorial service. Instead, he asked to be buried beside Jack in Olney, Texas. Life partners for nearly half a century, they are together once again — for eternity.
William Waybourn succeeded Bill Nelson as president of the Dallas Gay Alliance during the AIDS crisis. Under his leadership, the organization helped establish the AIDS Resource Center, the Nelson-Tebedo Clinic, a food bank, the AIDS Financial Assistance Fund, the Dallas Legal Hospice, and a community center, now known as the Resource Center. In 1980, Waybourn and his husband of 53 years, Craig Spaulding, co-founded Crossroads Market with Nelson and Tebedo. They now live outside Washington, D.C.