This blog is called "Year Three Morgantown." I started it last July, to chronicle our third year in Morgantown. Joe was offered a five-year contract starting last July 1, to continue as rabbi at Tree of Life Congregation on South High Street. I guess I was hoping for a two-year extension so we could go somewhere else. We both like the congregation here and agree that Joe is a good fit as rabbi.
I wonder why the movies I want to see rarely play here. I want a better grocery store, a decent bookstore or a newsstand. I want to be able to walk and bicycle all over town on sidewalks and wide streets. I would feel more welcome if many of the local politicians didn't make it clear they do not represent gay people.
I agreed to go with Joe where he got a job, and that was Morgantown. We have made friends here, and even found a social group where there are gay men of all ages. The people in the student LGBT groups are too young for us to hang with, even though the few we have met have been friendly to us.
This time last year, I was thinking about what I needed to be happy here. We lived in a townhouse near the football stadium and the two big hospitals. We were the oldest people on our block by at least thirty years. Our student neighbors were mostly unfriendly. Our car was egged one night in the driveway. There was noise from the stadium, from helicopters and ambulances every night. We lived there because we needed a place quickly when we first moved here, and most developments wouldn't rent to us because we have a cat.
I had some cash left from my mother's estate, and we were able to use that as a down payment on a small house in Suncrest. It's not fancy, but we will be comfortable there. In a month we've spoken to more neighbors than we did in three years at our former apartment. We sleep some nights with the windows open. Only the birds wake us.
We were at a party a few weeks ago at the home of friends and congregants by the cemetery at the end of High Street. It was a warm, clear night, and we were outside. We were the only same-gender couple there. We knew many of the people from temple, but we met others we didn't know. My friend Roann was with us, visiting from Ann Arbor. She asked people about Morgantown, and everyone said they had found a home and a community for themselves.
People ask me where we will go next. and I guess the answer now is "Probably nowhere." I have to live in the present. The present is that I live in Morgantown, West Virginia, with my husband and our dopey cat, in a house I like that we can afford. I travel, I teach rock and roll history to seniors, we eat out often at unpretentious restaurants, and we are included as a couple at many social events. Our city councilperson saw me outside this morning as she was walking her dog. She said "Welcome to the neighborhood. I heard you guys bought a house here." We are known and liked in Morgantown.
So, I guess I'm saying I'm happy, and happy to be here, and I'm not planning on going anywhere else.
Joe calls it "magical thinking," but I am grateful to God that things have worked out so well for me and for us.
Thursday, June 18, 2015
Thursday, June 11, 2015
Blair County, Pennsylvania
I'm way behind on my monthly visits to a county within three hundred miles of Morgantown. Last week, after we had been in our new house less than a week, I took off to spend twenty-four hours in Blair County, Pennsylvania. The county seat is Hollidaysburg; the largest city is Altoona.
According to the US Census, the county has been losing population since the 1980 census. I have two friends in Morgantown who are from Altoona; the parents of my younger friend still live in Blair County. Altoona was a steel mill town, and a center for the railroads, according to my friend Lee. It was prosperous, and his family did well in the steel business. That is mostly gone now. My friends speak highly of Altoona, but I sense they are nostalgic for a town that no longer exists.
Much of downtown has been redeveloped with a medical center, a chain drug store, state and local offices. The railroad still runs through the middle of town. There are warehouses and now a museum along the rail lines. Most of the commercial business is along Pleasant Valley Road, which parallels I-99, the main north-south road just east of the city. It's a typical commercial strip, undistinguished. There is a mall southwest of downtown. It has a Macy's, which we don't have in Morgantown, but the mall was less bustling than ours here in Morgantown. There is also a "town centre" development like the one in Morgantown. I skipped it.
Two active synagogues are in Altoona. The one downtown is listed on some sites as Conservative, but is apparently not affiliated.The other, across from a park in the wealthy part of town, is Reform.
Although Penn State is just 45 miles north of Altoona, there is a Penn State campus in Altoona.
Hollidaysburg is the county seat of Blair County. It's a well-preserved old town at the foot of a mountain, less gritty, but only seven miles south of Altoona. I had lunch there at a café a few blocks from the County Courthouse. Everyone there seemed to know each other. Lots of well-dressed women, tall men with silver hair and good suits. A man came in wearing a t-shirt that said "Tattoed Dad." He had tattoos on both arms. Two little half African-American boys were with him. One of the kids said "Daddy, why is everybody here White?" I was wondering that, too. The food was mediocre, the service was lousy. Maybe it was better if the waitperson knew your name.
I visited Canoe Creek State Park, east of Holllidaysburg. There's an artificial lake, mountains, camping. It was starting to rain, so I didn't stay long.
Altoona seems a smaller and more intimate Pittsburgh, which is one hundred miles to the west. Pittsburgh is gentrifying, Altoona is not.
I enjoyed being in Blair County. I found what I was looking for: synagogues, a mall, a University campus, historic sites, a beautiful park.
I'm hoping to catch up at some point, maybe later this summer. I would have to visit five counties by Labor Day.
According to the US Census, the county has been losing population since the 1980 census. I have two friends in Morgantown who are from Altoona; the parents of my younger friend still live in Blair County. Altoona was a steel mill town, and a center for the railroads, according to my friend Lee. It was prosperous, and his family did well in the steel business. That is mostly gone now. My friends speak highly of Altoona, but I sense they are nostalgic for a town that no longer exists.
Much of downtown has been redeveloped with a medical center, a chain drug store, state and local offices. The railroad still runs through the middle of town. There are warehouses and now a museum along the rail lines. Most of the commercial business is along Pleasant Valley Road, which parallels I-99, the main north-south road just east of the city. It's a typical commercial strip, undistinguished. There is a mall southwest of downtown. It has a Macy's, which we don't have in Morgantown, but the mall was less bustling than ours here in Morgantown. There is also a "town centre" development like the one in Morgantown. I skipped it.
Two active synagogues are in Altoona. The one downtown is listed on some sites as Conservative, but is apparently not affiliated.The other, across from a park in the wealthy part of town, is Reform.
Although Penn State is just 45 miles north of Altoona, there is a Penn State campus in Altoona.
Hollidaysburg is the county seat of Blair County. It's a well-preserved old town at the foot of a mountain, less gritty, but only seven miles south of Altoona. I had lunch there at a café a few blocks from the County Courthouse. Everyone there seemed to know each other. Lots of well-dressed women, tall men with silver hair and good suits. A man came in wearing a t-shirt that said "Tattoed Dad." He had tattoos on both arms. Two little half African-American boys were with him. One of the kids said "Daddy, why is everybody here White?" I was wondering that, too. The food was mediocre, the service was lousy. Maybe it was better if the waitperson knew your name.
I visited Canoe Creek State Park, east of Holllidaysburg. There's an artificial lake, mountains, camping. It was starting to rain, so I didn't stay long.
Altoona seems a smaller and more intimate Pittsburgh, which is one hundred miles to the west. Pittsburgh is gentrifying, Altoona is not.
I enjoyed being in Blair County. I found what I was looking for: synagogues, a mall, a University campus, historic sites, a beautiful park.
I'm hoping to catch up at some point, maybe later this summer. I would have to visit five counties by Labor Day.
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| Tom and Joe's Restaurant and Cathedral of the Blessed Sacrament, Downtown Altoona |
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| Broad Avenue Historic District, Altoona |
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| Baker Mansion, Altoona |
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| Temple Beth Israel |
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| Penn State, Altoona |
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| Hollidaysburg Historic District |
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| Canoe Creek State Park |
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| Blair County Courthouse, Hollidaysburg |
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| Agudath Achim Congregation, Altoona |
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| Mishler Theater, Altoona |
Thursday, June 4, 2015
Real Estate, Last Part
We are in our new house as of Monday, June 1. I got it into my head on May 22 to ask the maintenance man (actually the building contractor) at our old place if he could find us a painter. He came over to look at it that day, and said he could do it himself the next day. I ran out to the big box store and picked out colors for the two bedrooms and the kitchen. While we were looking at the room, a mover I had called called back, and we were set. Meanwhile, Joe and I checked out the discount flooring place recommended by a friend. They sent someone out to look at the basement and the carpets. He suggested we just clean the carpets. We went back to the store to figure out what we would do with the basement floor. We are going with carpeting. The locksmith also has a carpet cleaning business, so that got done before we moved in.The basement floor will be done next week.
We are still living with boxes and clutter, unable to locate things or maneuver around. There are no curtains or blinds on the master bedroom window. Still, it's a relief to be in. Joe has set up shop in the basement, which will be much more comfortable when it is carpeted and decorated. We put our living room couch in the additional room in the back of the house, and Joe likes to read there. The second bedroom is now my office. I like the color I picked out, and I feel I have a room of my own, which I didn't in the old place. We sleep better without the ambulances to and from the two hospitals and the helicopters to Ruby Memorial. We've spoken to six of our eleven neighbors, more than we spoke to in three years in the old house.
Tappuz was traumatized by the move. We took her to the new house on moving day at seven A.M., and locked her in the bathroom upstairs with her litter box and food. I looked in on her when we showed up with the movers around noon. She was curled up behind the toilet, petrified. She's better now. We have a glass storm door out front. She can stand there all day and look out, but when we decided to let her go out, she took one step, then turned and ran back in the house.
We still have things that need to be done to make this house completely work, but so far Joe, Tappuz and I are happy to be in our new home.
We are still living with boxes and clutter, unable to locate things or maneuver around. There are no curtains or blinds on the master bedroom window. Still, it's a relief to be in. Joe has set up shop in the basement, which will be much more comfortable when it is carpeted and decorated. We put our living room couch in the additional room in the back of the house, and Joe likes to read there. The second bedroom is now my office. I like the color I picked out, and I feel I have a room of my own, which I didn't in the old place. We sleep better without the ambulances to and from the two hospitals and the helicopters to Ruby Memorial. We've spoken to six of our eleven neighbors, more than we spoke to in three years in the old house.
Tappuz was traumatized by the move. We took her to the new house on moving day at seven A.M., and locked her in the bathroom upstairs with her litter box and food. I looked in on her when we showed up with the movers around noon. She was curled up behind the toilet, petrified. She's better now. We have a glass storm door out front. She can stand there all day and look out, but when we decided to let her go out, she took one step, then turned and ran back in the house.
We still have things that need to be done to make this house completely work, but so far Joe, Tappuz and I are happy to be in our new home.
Marriage, Republicans and the 2016 election
I have been thinking all week about the Republican candidates for United States President and how none of them think they can be seen as a supporter of marriage rights for same-gender couples. What I found in my research is that with a few exceptions, notably Mike Huckabee and Bobby Jindal, among possible major candidates, those running don't really want to alienate supporters of marriage equality. Their problem is that certain church denominations demand that candidates deny any possible compromise on marriage. The candidates all pander to the right when they feel they have to, like Rand Paul, who said at a recent prayer breakfast that there is a " moral crisis that allows people to think there would be some sort of other marriage."
Otherwise, like Rick Perry or Marco Rubio, they think states have the right to define marriage. Or like Scott Walker who said "I don't comment on everything out there," when asked. Ted Cruz, however, going against the "States Rights" argument, introduced a constitutional amendment to ban any recognition of same-gender marriages. I'm old enough to remember George Wallace using "States Rights" to protest Federal intervention in school desegregation or voting rights. Religious groups at the time used the Bible to support segregation.
More locally, Cindy Frich and Joe Statler, state delegates from Monongalia County, both voted for a resolution to support that amendment.
Part of me thinks that all the gay people in Texas, Louisiana, Arkansas and yes, West Virginia, should just pick up and leave. When Joe was looking for congregational jobs, I made the decisions about where to apply, and I vetoed Michigan and Nebraska because I saw them as anti-gay states. We only ended up in West Virginia because Morgantown is a college town, and the congregation here looked like a good fit. And now we've decided to stay here despite Cindy Frich and Joe Statler (and the two other Republican delegates from here). The house we just purchased is in the City of Morgantown, partly because the city council passed a resolution supporting same-gender marriage and a non-discrimination law.
One last thing I found in my research. Our real issues are economic. Rick Santorum's entry into the campaign did not focus on denying gay people rights. I'm sure he'll get to that, but meantime he wants to end "Obamacare," cut any regulations that he sees as "job killers" (i.e. environmental protection, minimum wage increases, anti-discrimination rules). He talked about what he will do for American workers. He meant what he will do for corporate leaders.
The Democrats have come out firmly, finally, for marriage equality. The more important issue is will they work for economic equality. Joe and I will be married no matter what the legality of it is. I will be more hurt if Social Security and Medicare are cut.
Joe and I will celebrate ten years together this coming December. We will be legally married seven years in November. People who think our marriage shouldn't be allowed are too late, by a lot. And they have no right to expect me to be even polite to them or their religious denomination.
Otherwise, like Rick Perry or Marco Rubio, they think states have the right to define marriage. Or like Scott Walker who said "I don't comment on everything out there," when asked. Ted Cruz, however, going against the "States Rights" argument, introduced a constitutional amendment to ban any recognition of same-gender marriages. I'm old enough to remember George Wallace using "States Rights" to protest Federal intervention in school desegregation or voting rights. Religious groups at the time used the Bible to support segregation.
More locally, Cindy Frich and Joe Statler, state delegates from Monongalia County, both voted for a resolution to support that amendment.
Part of me thinks that all the gay people in Texas, Louisiana, Arkansas and yes, West Virginia, should just pick up and leave. When Joe was looking for congregational jobs, I made the decisions about where to apply, and I vetoed Michigan and Nebraska because I saw them as anti-gay states. We only ended up in West Virginia because Morgantown is a college town, and the congregation here looked like a good fit. And now we've decided to stay here despite Cindy Frich and Joe Statler (and the two other Republican delegates from here). The house we just purchased is in the City of Morgantown, partly because the city council passed a resolution supporting same-gender marriage and a non-discrimination law.
One last thing I found in my research. Our real issues are economic. Rick Santorum's entry into the campaign did not focus on denying gay people rights. I'm sure he'll get to that, but meantime he wants to end "Obamacare," cut any regulations that he sees as "job killers" (i.e. environmental protection, minimum wage increases, anti-discrimination rules). He talked about what he will do for American workers. He meant what he will do for corporate leaders.
The Democrats have come out firmly, finally, for marriage equality. The more important issue is will they work for economic equality. Joe and I will be married no matter what the legality of it is. I will be more hurt if Social Security and Medicare are cut.
Joe and I will celebrate ten years together this coming December. We will be legally married seven years in November. People who think our marriage shouldn't be allowed are too late, by a lot. And they have no right to expect me to be even polite to them or their religious denomination.
Thursday, May 21, 2015
Real Estate, Part Something
After some drama, we closed on the house Tuesday May 12. We were promised the HUD-1 statement, which lays out exactly what your costs will be at closing, by Thursday or Friday, with closing scheduled for Monday afternoon. When we didn't have it by Friday noon, I called the agent and the mortgage broker. Neither of them picked up, nor did they return my call. I could feel my chest tightening. I couldn't read, couldn't nap. Joe was out. I thought the whole deal would fall through. Then I called Sarah, the young assistant mortgage person, and got her on the line. I told her we couldn't close Monday if we didn't have our HUD-1 by Friday afternoon. She said she would check on it.
Then everyone called me back. The lawyer writes up the HUD-1 and he had other closings, leaving him with no time to finish our report. We could get it at closing. "No," I said. "We were promised it for Thursday or Friday. We need twenty-four hours to make sure it is correct and get the cashier's check from the bank. "
They were all angry. The sellers live out of town and were planning to come in for the day Monday, they whined at me. The lawyer is supposed to be away Tuesday.
"Oh, well," I said. Their problem. We got the report Monday, declined our title insurance, and got the check from the bank. Our closing cost was 14.9% over the "good faith estimate." It can't be over 15% higher. The extra cost was because the appraiser charged an extra hundred dollars because the house is semi-detached and she had to walk an extra fifteen feet around the other house to find the meters.
It all went smoothly, ultimately. They shoved lots of documents under our noses to sign, and acted impatient when I wanted to know what they were. I don't get why we couldn't have had all these documents a month before to look over. Neither of us really know what we signed. They gave us back $1200 because there was a mistake. I told the mortgage lady, Sandra, that I was sorry for giving her so much grief, but that her industry has a horrible reputation, and no one can be trusted. She said she was trying to correct that.
In the last ten days, we have most of the last packing done, and the locksmith came and changed the locks. The tile people are coming Tuesday to look at the basement floor. The tile that was there was pulled up, leaving dry black glue on the floor. They will look at it and give us options. We want to paint the bedrooms, but can't find an available painter. We haven't looked for a mover. People ask if we'll get a U-Haul and have friends help. We are sixty-five and fifty-eight. That's not going to happen.
I thought we could take a few things, get sleeping bags and camp out on the floor until everything is done. I'm ready to be out of our current house. I see more and more the advantages of the new place: Entering on the main floor instead of a flight of steps below, a tree in front of the house instead of a dying bush, our closest major intersection (because we will be in Morgantown proper) having a four-way "walk" light, fewer students who don't speak to us living on the block and a lower density and more space. I want to be away from the two hospitals with the ambulances and helicopters all night, away from the Christian commune where they use power tools all day Saturday right behind our kitchen. We will still be too close to the football stadium, although far enough away that we won't be able to hear the fans, and will be able to get in and out of our street before and after the games.
Tappuz is freaked about all the boxes in the house. She knows something is up, but we don't have a way to explain it to her. She will miss her two second-floor balconies, but hopefully, she will take to our fenced back yard.
Limbo is not a fun place to live. I hope we are out soon. I'll update.
Then everyone called me back. The lawyer writes up the HUD-1 and he had other closings, leaving him with no time to finish our report. We could get it at closing. "No," I said. "We were promised it for Thursday or Friday. We need twenty-four hours to make sure it is correct and get the cashier's check from the bank. "
They were all angry. The sellers live out of town and were planning to come in for the day Monday, they whined at me. The lawyer is supposed to be away Tuesday.
"Oh, well," I said. Their problem. We got the report Monday, declined our title insurance, and got the check from the bank. Our closing cost was 14.9% over the "good faith estimate." It can't be over 15% higher. The extra cost was because the appraiser charged an extra hundred dollars because the house is semi-detached and she had to walk an extra fifteen feet around the other house to find the meters.
It all went smoothly, ultimately. They shoved lots of documents under our noses to sign, and acted impatient when I wanted to know what they were. I don't get why we couldn't have had all these documents a month before to look over. Neither of us really know what we signed. They gave us back $1200 because there was a mistake. I told the mortgage lady, Sandra, that I was sorry for giving her so much grief, but that her industry has a horrible reputation, and no one can be trusted. She said she was trying to correct that.
In the last ten days, we have most of the last packing done, and the locksmith came and changed the locks. The tile people are coming Tuesday to look at the basement floor. The tile that was there was pulled up, leaving dry black glue on the floor. They will look at it and give us options. We want to paint the bedrooms, but can't find an available painter. We haven't looked for a mover. People ask if we'll get a U-Haul and have friends help. We are sixty-five and fifty-eight. That's not going to happen.
I thought we could take a few things, get sleeping bags and camp out on the floor until everything is done. I'm ready to be out of our current house. I see more and more the advantages of the new place: Entering on the main floor instead of a flight of steps below, a tree in front of the house instead of a dying bush, our closest major intersection (because we will be in Morgantown proper) having a four-way "walk" light, fewer students who don't speak to us living on the block and a lower density and more space. I want to be away from the two hospitals with the ambulances and helicopters all night, away from the Christian commune where they use power tools all day Saturday right behind our kitchen. We will still be too close to the football stadium, although far enough away that we won't be able to hear the fans, and will be able to get in and out of our street before and after the games.
Tappuz is freaked about all the boxes in the house. She knows something is up, but we don't have a way to explain it to her. She will miss her two second-floor balconies, but hopefully, she will take to our fenced back yard.
Limbo is not a fun place to live. I hope we are out soon. I'll update.
Thursday, May 14, 2015
David Fyffe
What would you do if you were a sickly gay boy growing up in Chillicothe, in Southern Ohio in the 1960s? You might become a hairdresser in the big city- Columbus. And if that were not enough? You might move to Los Angeles and become a Jew. Unlikely? That's what my friend David Fyffe did.
When I first met him at Beth Chayim Chadashim, probably in 1986, when I first joined that temple for gay men and lesbians, David introduced himself. He told me I was handsome, and that he was HIV positive. He was blind. "Figures," I thought. Of course the one who can't see me thinks I'm handsome.
He eventually regained some limited vision through a new kind of operation. He walked up to me at the first service he attended after his operation and asked if I had seen the really hot guy in this month's Playgirl. I hadn't. "How did you know I was Barry?" I asked. " I just knew that's what you looked like, even before I could see you."
We couldn't be a couple. I had given up being gay a few years before , from pure terror about AIDS, and was just taking baby steps to come out again. And here was someone HIV positive talking to me. I visited his apartment on Formosa Avenue in West Hollywood, and it was even more chaotic than mine, with everything randomly strewn all over everything. Neither of us would be housekeepers.
In the early 1990s, when I didn't have a car, I would see David on the bus on Santa Monica Boulevard or Fairfax Avenue. We would get into long discussions about the nature of God, the reason for Good and Evil existing in the world, or sometimes just about friends, ex-lovers, and who had died recently. David was modest, but he did brag that he was the last survivor of two different AIDS support groups at temple. The threat of disease and death was hard, but the loss of so many friends in their twenties and thirties was devastating.
We both assuaged our consciences by volunteering to be parachaplains- rabbis without the title who would visit Jewish patients at smaller hospitals that couldn't afford to have a rabbi on staff. I visited Hollywood Community Hospital, just off Vine Street, for several years. They had a dedicated AIDS ward - mostly hospice care, until better meds came out and people stopped dying. David also volunteered at a hospital.
Arlan Wareham showed up at temple in the mid-90s. There's a long, interesting story about how Arlan came to BCC, and eventually decided to be a Jew. He was smart, handsome, funny. I thought we might be a couple, but something held me back. I just couldn't see us together. Then one day David came to me and told me he had a new boyfriend- Arlan. It all fell into place. Arlan and David. Of course!
They had a grand wedding at BCC- not in any way legal in the 1990s, but that didn't stop Rabbi Lisa Edwards from blessing their union, nor did it stop their many friends from celebrating. I remember mostly that they made their own chuppa or wedding canopy.
They settled in San Bernardino County, where Arlan came from, but drove in sixty miles to services every week. I should have apologized for laughing in their face when they told me in 2005 that they were moving to Israel. Arlan admitted that it seemed crazy. It wasn't.
I last saw Arlan and David face-to-face in 2007, when a group of us from BCC toured Israel and visited them at their home in Tzfat, a medieval town in Galilee, where most of the residents were Orthodox. David fit right in with his long unkempt beard, plain white shirt and navy pants. Even the tube for his insulin pump, if you didn't look too closely, could have been tzitzit, the ritual fringes worn by Orthodox men. Arlan and David showed us where a missile from Lebanon had damaged their house.
They decamped for Eilat on the Red Sea, warmer and more resort-like than Tzfat. Arlan kept up a presence on Facebook and a blog. I didn't hear much from David. He was on Facebook, but didn't post much after 2011. This year, Arlan's posts grew more dire. David's mind and body were shutting down. David Fyffe died this week in a hospital in Beer Sheva, Israel. He was fifty-nine.
I remarked to Arlan a few weeks ago how fortunate they were to live in Israel, where medical care is better than in the United States, and covered by the government. They were blessed in their lives. I do sometimes go off into magical realism, where I attribute good events to God. David did that, too, but he also made good decisions - leaving his family in Ohio, becoming a Jew, falling in with many friends at BCC, finding and keeping Arlan. Despite being HIV positive for thirty years and suffering from periods of crippling depression, he managed to keep going when others didn't.
David was a holy man, a deep thinker, a crazy wonderful friend. He is survived by his husband Arlan Wareham and members of his biological family in Ohio. People who attended BCC before 2005, and other still remaining AIDS activists from Los Angeles will also mourn his passing.
Arlan Wareham has a blog: http://www.arlansday.blogspot.co.il
When I first met him at Beth Chayim Chadashim, probably in 1986, when I first joined that temple for gay men and lesbians, David introduced himself. He told me I was handsome, and that he was HIV positive. He was blind. "Figures," I thought. Of course the one who can't see me thinks I'm handsome.
He eventually regained some limited vision through a new kind of operation. He walked up to me at the first service he attended after his operation and asked if I had seen the really hot guy in this month's Playgirl. I hadn't. "How did you know I was Barry?" I asked. " I just knew that's what you looked like, even before I could see you."
We couldn't be a couple. I had given up being gay a few years before , from pure terror about AIDS, and was just taking baby steps to come out again. And here was someone HIV positive talking to me. I visited his apartment on Formosa Avenue in West Hollywood, and it was even more chaotic than mine, with everything randomly strewn all over everything. Neither of us would be housekeepers.
In the early 1990s, when I didn't have a car, I would see David on the bus on Santa Monica Boulevard or Fairfax Avenue. We would get into long discussions about the nature of God, the reason for Good and Evil existing in the world, or sometimes just about friends, ex-lovers, and who had died recently. David was modest, but he did brag that he was the last survivor of two different AIDS support groups at temple. The threat of disease and death was hard, but the loss of so many friends in their twenties and thirties was devastating.
We both assuaged our consciences by volunteering to be parachaplains- rabbis without the title who would visit Jewish patients at smaller hospitals that couldn't afford to have a rabbi on staff. I visited Hollywood Community Hospital, just off Vine Street, for several years. They had a dedicated AIDS ward - mostly hospice care, until better meds came out and people stopped dying. David also volunteered at a hospital.
Arlan Wareham showed up at temple in the mid-90s. There's a long, interesting story about how Arlan came to BCC, and eventually decided to be a Jew. He was smart, handsome, funny. I thought we might be a couple, but something held me back. I just couldn't see us together. Then one day David came to me and told me he had a new boyfriend- Arlan. It all fell into place. Arlan and David. Of course!
They had a grand wedding at BCC- not in any way legal in the 1990s, but that didn't stop Rabbi Lisa Edwards from blessing their union, nor did it stop their many friends from celebrating. I remember mostly that they made their own chuppa or wedding canopy.
They settled in San Bernardino County, where Arlan came from, but drove in sixty miles to services every week. I should have apologized for laughing in their face when they told me in 2005 that they were moving to Israel. Arlan admitted that it seemed crazy. It wasn't.
I last saw Arlan and David face-to-face in 2007, when a group of us from BCC toured Israel and visited them at their home in Tzfat, a medieval town in Galilee, where most of the residents were Orthodox. David fit right in with his long unkempt beard, plain white shirt and navy pants. Even the tube for his insulin pump, if you didn't look too closely, could have been tzitzit, the ritual fringes worn by Orthodox men. Arlan and David showed us where a missile from Lebanon had damaged their house.
They decamped for Eilat on the Red Sea, warmer and more resort-like than Tzfat. Arlan kept up a presence on Facebook and a blog. I didn't hear much from David. He was on Facebook, but didn't post much after 2011. This year, Arlan's posts grew more dire. David's mind and body were shutting down. David Fyffe died this week in a hospital in Beer Sheva, Israel. He was fifty-nine.
I remarked to Arlan a few weeks ago how fortunate they were to live in Israel, where medical care is better than in the United States, and covered by the government. They were blessed in their lives. I do sometimes go off into magical realism, where I attribute good events to God. David did that, too, but he also made good decisions - leaving his family in Ohio, becoming a Jew, falling in with many friends at BCC, finding and keeping Arlan. Despite being HIV positive for thirty years and suffering from periods of crippling depression, he managed to keep going when others didn't.
David was a holy man, a deep thinker, a crazy wonderful friend. He is survived by his husband Arlan Wareham and members of his biological family in Ohio. People who attended BCC before 2005, and other still remaining AIDS activists from Los Angeles will also mourn his passing.
Arlan Wareham has a blog: http://www.arlansday.blogspot.co.il
Thursday, May 7, 2015
Lavender Graduation at WVU
I am on the LGBT Equity Commission of West Virginia University as a "community" member. Princeton University rates colleges on a number of values every year. One of them is "gay-friendly." We were already living here before WVU filled out the questionnaire for this rating for the first time, so no earlier than 2012. They failed. The equity commission came out of that. WVU is trying to be more inclusive.
There are LGBT student groups now for undergraduates, law school students, and people in medical school and health sciences. There may be an LGBT student center next year. This is the second year of Lavender Graduation, a special ceremony to honor LGBT graduates. I didn't go last year.
This year, it was scheduled for May 2, a Saturday, at 2:30. Joe agreed to go with me after morning services and a potluck lunch at temple. I got dressed up for services and added a purple plastic Mardi Gras-style necklace to my ensemble for the Lavender Graduation.
I wasn't expecting much from this. After all, we are liberated now, and there isn't a need for a separate ceremony, right?
Most of the grads were women. I figured it is harder for young men to be out than it is for women. I was a year and a half out of college before I could admit to anyone that I was gay. Most of the girls looked like the rest of their classmates: long, straight hair, short skirt, and sandals. They could have hid. Some of the men were more "open" looking.
University president E. Gordon Gee spoke. He stressed the importance to WVU, and to him personally, that WVU be gay-friendly. He described himself as a "devout Mormon" and how, growing up in a small town in Utah, he didn't know any non-Mormons until he went to college. He seemed surprised at himself- that he has come so far. Joe and I were invited to dinner with him last month as a couple,which should seem just natural, but still felt to me like a big step. I have great respect for President Gee.
The grads were shy. Everyone was offered a chance to speak briefly, but very few did. Of those that spoke, most of them thanked Daniel Brewster, a professor in, I think, Sociology, and an advisor to student government generally, but also a mentor to gay students. One young person, long hair and dress, spoke. "I know I can't pass," she said in a deep man's voice, then ran out in tears. A friend followed, comforted her and brought her back in.
The program listed hometowns for the students. Some were from nowhere towns in rural West Virginia. I realized how hard it must be for them to be gay or lesbian. One student listed Benghazi as his hometown, and one man, who wore a suit and came with a beautiful woman, listed Tehran as home. I spoke with him at the reception after the event. He is trying to figure out how to stay in the United States. Returning to Iran is not an option. The woman with him is a friend, also from Iran.
In line for the food at the reception, I spoke to a young man, Jewish from Baltimore County, a Pikesville High grad and an actor. I told him I had attempted an acting career in Los Angeles. He was with another young man, an actor also. They asked me for advice, as if I had anything intelligent to say. I suggested not going to Los Angeles cold. I don't think they liked that, but they both have actor-related plans after graduation elsewhere. I introduced them to my husband, the rabbi, and wished them luck and blessings. They already work hard and have talent. I've seen them both in WVU theater productions.
I greeted Professor Brewster as we were leaving, and I thanked him for being a mentor to so many students. He told me that one of the men had never come out to anyone before that day. I was almost crying with emotion as we headed back to the car.
It's easy to be jaded after years of being out, but I was reminded how life-changing it is for a young person to be openly gay. It can mean a total break from family, friends, religion, and even one's country of origin. I applaud these new grads, and wish them a life full of love and blessings.
There are LGBT student groups now for undergraduates, law school students, and people in medical school and health sciences. There may be an LGBT student center next year. This is the second year of Lavender Graduation, a special ceremony to honor LGBT graduates. I didn't go last year.
This year, it was scheduled for May 2, a Saturday, at 2:30. Joe agreed to go with me after morning services and a potluck lunch at temple. I got dressed up for services and added a purple plastic Mardi Gras-style necklace to my ensemble for the Lavender Graduation.
I wasn't expecting much from this. After all, we are liberated now, and there isn't a need for a separate ceremony, right?
Most of the grads were women. I figured it is harder for young men to be out than it is for women. I was a year and a half out of college before I could admit to anyone that I was gay. Most of the girls looked like the rest of their classmates: long, straight hair, short skirt, and sandals. They could have hid. Some of the men were more "open" looking.
University president E. Gordon Gee spoke. He stressed the importance to WVU, and to him personally, that WVU be gay-friendly. He described himself as a "devout Mormon" and how, growing up in a small town in Utah, he didn't know any non-Mormons until he went to college. He seemed surprised at himself- that he has come so far. Joe and I were invited to dinner with him last month as a couple,which should seem just natural, but still felt to me like a big step. I have great respect for President Gee.
The grads were shy. Everyone was offered a chance to speak briefly, but very few did. Of those that spoke, most of them thanked Daniel Brewster, a professor in, I think, Sociology, and an advisor to student government generally, but also a mentor to gay students. One young person, long hair and dress, spoke. "I know I can't pass," she said in a deep man's voice, then ran out in tears. A friend followed, comforted her and brought her back in.
The program listed hometowns for the students. Some were from nowhere towns in rural West Virginia. I realized how hard it must be for them to be gay or lesbian. One student listed Benghazi as his hometown, and one man, who wore a suit and came with a beautiful woman, listed Tehran as home. I spoke with him at the reception after the event. He is trying to figure out how to stay in the United States. Returning to Iran is not an option. The woman with him is a friend, also from Iran.
In line for the food at the reception, I spoke to a young man, Jewish from Baltimore County, a Pikesville High grad and an actor. I told him I had attempted an acting career in Los Angeles. He was with another young man, an actor also. They asked me for advice, as if I had anything intelligent to say. I suggested not going to Los Angeles cold. I don't think they liked that, but they both have actor-related plans after graduation elsewhere. I introduced them to my husband, the rabbi, and wished them luck and blessings. They already work hard and have talent. I've seen them both in WVU theater productions.
I greeted Professor Brewster as we were leaving, and I thanked him for being a mentor to so many students. He told me that one of the men had never come out to anyone before that day. I was almost crying with emotion as we headed back to the car.
It's easy to be jaded after years of being out, but I was reminded how life-changing it is for a young person to be openly gay. It can mean a total break from family, friends, religion, and even one's country of origin. I applaud these new grads, and wish them a life full of love and blessings.
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| WVU President Gee speaking at Lavender Graduation |
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