A STORY ABOUT AIDS

DISCO!

One word that for many of us Boomers evokes so many wonderful memories and experiences. In San Francisco it was the embodiment and finalization of the Sexual Revolution, (Gay and Straight). Disco was sexual, perceptual, and experiential abandon. I experienced it but as somewhat of an visitor; a visitor in a strange and fun land. By the time Disco had hit San Francisco I had already been in a relationship many years and we were raising our adopted son. We were a breed apart, domestic Queers living in Piedmont across the Bay from San Francisco. But the beat and tempo of the times reached out to us. As a family we marched in the Gay Day Parades and did most of the Gay political correctness of the day. We were political activists. Rick and I had created family and loved it; our “family of choice” as we always told others and ourselves.
The pull of Disco was a strong one; it brought us close to friends and the very tempo of the times.

“Love to Love You Baby”

Disco is Born

My brother was an executive with a new company called Casablanca Records & Filmworks. We spoke on the phone one night and he was telling me of a cool black singer whose record Casablanca was having trouble getting the radio stations to play; her name was Donna Summer. Her record finally did get played and a whole new music world dawned. Another Disco phenomenon of Casablanca was the Village People. When my partner and I attended their concert in San Francisco it was almost a Gay religious experience. We felt like the whole world was about to “come out”. We were emotionally and mentally charged with a new sense of place and belonging. The dancing started.

San Francisco was getting full of young Gay men that heeded the 4th call to “Go west.” The first call was the 49’ers and pioneers, the second call was the 1950’s Beat generation, the third call was the Love Generation of the mid to late 1960’s, the fourth call was Gay Liberation as it existed and flowered in San Francisco in the 1970’s.

So San Francisco!

If there was a Diva of San Francisco Disco it was in the voice and spirit of Sylvester; a cross-dressing Black singer who sang like there was no stopping the music or dancing.

Liberated?

Gay liberation now meant political power for the first time. We saw Gay Supervisor Harvey Milk’s rise to political power as a symbol of empowerment. We felt affirmed in who we were; the vision set before us. We all loved Harvey Milk he was the LGBTQI Martin Luther King.

“More than a woman, more than a woman to me....”

Disco Nights

We would go out to a Disco called The Cabaret. It was on Broadway, right on San Francisco’s “straight” Miracle Street, the home and start of Carol Doda and topless dancing. It seemed all too perfect. Cabaret was a large place with bars, a Cabaret bar, and a huge dance floor on the top floor. After midnight it was full and teeming with all sorts of people. Music blared so loudly you could not even speak and be heard by the person standing next to you. We always met a group of friends. Cabaret was a magical place and Rick and I enjoyed going there from time to time on Saturday nights. When we reached the top floor the music was pounding against our chests, it was tribal and erotic. A great mirrored ball would cast its thousand points of light around the dance floor and booming on the sound system overhead was Barry White and the Love Unlimited Orchestra, “Can’t get enough of your love baby...” There was a charge of electric human energy all crowded together on the dance floor like extended family at a wedding reception. Beautiful and handsome men were everywhere.

One night a tall man was standing next to Rick and myself, he turned and asked me to dance, I said “sure.” I noticed he had a little button on his white silk Disco shirt that read, “So Many Men, So Little Time.”

“Shame, shame, shame, shame on you, if you can’t dance too!”

Our family was busy with school, work, politics, church, and traveling. I was associate director of the Howard Institute of Human Sciences. Our family was busy with the Catholic Worker. Life seemed easy and full of choices. Many months went by from that night in San Francisco when the man with the button asked me to dance. Rick was never to feel the same about San Francisco after the death of Harvey Milk, after awhile we both stayed away from the nightlife.

There was an air of anticipation and dread in San Francisco. We had no idea what we were to face.

Gary a good friend of ours came up from Los Angeles to visit one-week end and we decided to take him out to The City for a night of dancing. We went to The Cabaret. It was around midnight. There were not as many people as when we were last there. We went upstairs to the dance floor and it had only half as many people on it. Rick said something about “maybe something big’s going on elsewhere.” I nodded and made some comment about the different assortment of people. Even the music was not as loud. We had returned to a different place. I noticed that many people looked worn and seemingly “burnt out.” Rick brought my attention to one sickly looking person-doing coke near the bathroom and said, “I wonder how long that can last?” I had no answer.

The Dancing Stops

Epilogue

The first time I heard mention of the “Gay Plague” was by a friend who lived in San Francisco. He was saying that a number of people he knew were getting weird illnesses called by some, “Disco Fever.” A month or so later I heard about an illness called “Gay Cancer” because of a skin cancer people were getting. Many months and many deaths later it was finally called AIDS.

Our friends started dying. Gloom and tragedy hung heavy in San Francisco. The resources to help those with the illness were meager at best. People started losing their jobs, homes, and apartments. Families would not support their own gay sons near death. Fear set in. We were all scared. Some friends were scared to death and took their own lives in sad rituals of pain and sorrow.

Rick, I, and our son pulled fearfully into our own tightly knit existence. We were monogamous by choice so we felt safe. We were consumed by the horror of it all, becoming emotionally spent dealing with the people we knew who were getting sick and dying. The vision of Gay Liberation was fading fast.

One night I received a call, from my friend, Jim, who was dying from AIDS. As usual we talked for a long time. We started talking about music and I mentioned that I liked the New Wave music that was out. Jim was quiet for a moment and said, “the floor’s empty.” I had him repeat what he said. He did, “the floor’s empty.” “I don’t know what you mean Jim, what does that mean?” “I guess Disco is finally dead, no one is dancing anymore, the floor’s empty.” His words sent a chill into me. He had finally realized the dancing was over.

When I got off the phone I thought back to that tall handsome stranger that had asked me to dance at the Cabaret. I could see that man with his little pin on his white Disco shirt that read, “So Many Men, So Little Time.” And so it was to be.

This story is dedicated to those who have HIV and to our many thousands of Brothers that died of AIDS. You’re not forgotten.