A World Apart: Reflections on Being Gay in 1980

I just started reading "And the Band Played On: Politics, People and the AIDS Epidemic", the best-selling non-fiction book from 1987 that was written by Randy Shilts, a journalist from the San Francisco Chronicle.  The book chronicles the spread of HIV and AIDS and how the United States government was totally indifferent to it, as it was perceived to be solely a gay disease. I've only finished two chapters, which is a grand total of 25 pages, so right now the section I just finished reading took place in 1980 and the specter of AIDS had just begun to make its presence known.

In April 1980 I turned 18; six weeks later I graduated from high school.  I'll be honest and let you know up front that it was by the skin of my teeth that I lived to see my high school graduation; the year before, I had tried to kill myself.  You see, I had a deep, dark secret that pushed me to the edge, and I thought nobody could help me. If you haven't figured it out yet as to how these two paragraphs correlate, let me close the gap for you: I am gay, and growing up in a small town in Minnesota back in that time provided zero support for me. Leaving my home town did not appear to be an option- I was taught from a very young age that the big city was a breeding ground for all sorts of troubles, and the one or two trips to Minneapolis before graduation from high school only reinforced the image of the big city as smelly, dirty, noisy, congested and ugly, so I had no place to escape to.  But worse than that, I was taught that it was absolutely proper to abhor gays, because even God declared them an abomination, and there would never be acceptance of gay people anywhere.  So, even though I was a straight-A student who eventually graduated at the top of my class, when I was 17, I felt compelled to put an end to my suffering and blow my brains out and end it all.... but things obviously did not go according to plan.

So, in May 1980, I was looking very cautiously toward the future, which was as tenuous as a strand of a spider's web, the end of which seemed to sway in the slightest breeze.  I was still struggling with suicidal thoughts --these thoughts were the reason why I never learned how to drive a car until I was in my 30's-- I was too afraid of using the car to kill myself (and maybe others in the process.)  I had already decided to go to college-- and chose the University of Minnesota in Minneapolis simply because it was the cheapest four-year college for a Minnesota resident, and closest to home.  Don't ask me why I cared about home, because it was the one place I wanted to leave behind, and I really didn't care to ever see it again.  That is why I chose the study of Japanese as a major-- I wanted to get as far, far away from Minnesota and my dark, ugly past as I could.  (Africa was my second option-- I don't know why, but I've always been fascinated by the "Dark Continent" ever since I was a young boy in elementary school, and if I hadn't ended up studying Japanese, I swear I would've studied Swahili or some other language and ended up in Africa in some capacity.)

In the fall of 1980, my parents dropped me off at the University of Minnesota campus; unlike many other students there, I was serious about my studies, and already knew what I wanted.  My parents were poor, so I had no financial support from them.  And since I had been suicidal, I had not tried to apply for scholarships, thinking it would be just a waste of time.  With the assistance of Pell Grants, student loans, and by working as a janitor, I made it to college. It was funny how some parts of me changed overnight... for example, when I was in the dorm cafeteria, I ate many things I refused to even try when I was a young kid. Yet other parts of me took more time to change; I was still quite conservative (i.e., 'geeky') in dress and attitude about many things.  I still clung to the idea that my sexual orientation was something to be utterly ashamed of, and did not allow myself any growth while I was a college student.  In fact, there were two incidents that express just how closeted I was, and I'll discuss them in a minute.

To me, Minneapolis seemed to be a miniature gay mecca back in the 70's and 80's, much like a much smaller version of San Francisco, In the second chapter of his book "And the Band Played On" Randy Shilts describes a scene of the main characters appearing in San Francisco for the Gay Freedom Day Parade in 1980, and describes what it was like with gay men, clubs and bath houses back in the pre-AIDS days. While I did not 'partake' of any such proclivities while a student back in Minneapolis in the early 80's, I knew of a gay bar there-- The Gay 90's -- because it was situated on University Avenue in downtown Minneapolis and the bus line that took me to campus ran right next to the bar.  Remember, I didn't drive and the bus stop next to The Gay 90's was the one closest to the Greyhound bus station, so every time I went back home or back to school I had to pass in front of the gay bar. 

For the most part, though, I was oblivious to the presence of gay men while I was in college.  I can't even think of anyone I knew as gay besides me. For someone as book smart as I was, I was clueless when it came to real life. One time, as I was heading to the Greyhound station, I passed in front of The Gay 90's on the other side of the street, where two men were loitering on the sidewalk and just talking to each other.  As I passed by them, one of the men said, "Nice ass!" quite loudly. I picked up my pace and kept walking without even acknowledging the compliment.  I was more frightened that flattered, even though it was the very first time I had been approached by a gay man.  I sometimes wonder how my life would be different if I had been more receptive to the compliment. 

There was one other time I remember seeing known gay men-- it was a holiday weekend, and I had invited a couple of Japanese students to my hometown to share my mother's cooking with them. As we were heading back to the campus, we stood at the bus station next to The Gay 90's and watched as people  were coming to the bar. There was some big party going on inside-- we could hear the music and the street corner was crowded.  A gay couple-- one dressed in full leather, from his boots to his hat, and his full-figured partner dressed in high heels, chartreuse evening gown, wig and tiara, and sporting a full beard-- approached the bar and my Japanese friends started pointing at them and burst out in uncontrollable laughter. Embarrassed more by our intolerance than disgust, I suggested we walk down to the next bus stop a couple of blocks away, so we did.  That was the extent of my public gay life back in the early 1980's.

As AIDS began to ravage the gay community, and gay men were losing friends and lovers to this devastating disease, I was safely ensconced in a bubble of my own creation, in a way.  I was so deep in the closet that I knew nothing of what it really meant to be gay.  I did not meet any gay people (that I knew of), and never went into The Gay 90's like some of my classmates did. (I once took a Speech course in which we were assigned to investigate a sub-culture and give a report on what we found.  I don't remember what I did my report on, but a classmate did his report on a visit to The Gay 90's.)  You can more or less say that I was "just pretending" to be gay just as much as I was pretending to be straight.  In my mind, I was most definitely gay-- the only way I could imagine myself with a woman is if I forced myself to subjugate my desires and lie to everyone-- but I did not have sex with anyone, and didn't act on my desires at all. Instead, I focused on my work (I got a job in the Ames Library of South Asian Studies which allowed me to quit my janitor job) and on my studies and on developing my relationships with my Asian friends (a couple of whom I had a huge crush on) and it wasn't until I graduated from college and went to Japan five years later that I met and actually spoke to a gay man, but even then I was still not close to coming out.

As I continue to read "And the Band Played On", I will undoubtedly encounter sections of extreme sadness. I too, have lost friends-- not to AIDS, but to heart disease-- but I now know people who have HIV or AIDS, so the disease is closer to me now than it ever has been.  As I reflect on my experience (or lack thereof) back in the days before anyone knew of AIDS or how deadly it was, I feel a mixture of emotions-- in one way, I feel like I was protected, either by my naivete, ignorance, or self-imposed exile from the gay community, but in another way, I feel somewhat sad because I did not develop any long-time relationships with any gay people in my youth even though I was gay myself.  

After this brief reflection on my past, I am so glad that I see things with a totally different eye now--I have a lot of gay friends,  know a lot of gay couples, and I even know some men who have dressed in drag.  More than that, I am actually blessed to be married to a man I love dearly. Life has changed so much for me. No longer suicidal, I am happy where I am in my sexual orientation, and look forward to building my relationships with all people, gay or otherwise.  I am glad that I have matured enough to accept myself in all aspects, both good and bad, and no longer have to live a world apart like I did in the 1980's.