National Gay Blue Jeans Day In The Sticks

"I judge, brother, and I stand ready to be judged."

"And I don't judge, but I stand ready to be judged, too."

I have to leave for my appointment with the Vice-president.  They follow me out in the hall.

Brother Joe says, "You know what you were saying about that Jesus would never say anything like the quotes we were showing you?  Well, the whole Bible is the word of God, and Jesus is God.  Jesus is the Word.  Do you believe that?"

"I don't know.  It's never been put to me before."

Ed says, "C'mon, we got to get to the Ozarks." The fat man nods.  We're just at a fork in the path and go off in different directions.

I yell after the three guys, "You all have a good weekend now, and come back and see me some time."

"I'll pray for you," yells Joe.

"And I'll pray for you, Joe." I wonder how Joe would react to the gay congregation at MCC praying that all the bigots will see the light.

Now I'm headed for the Vice-president's office.  I meet a notorious student senator in blue jeans and make my announcement, looking at his jeans.  He half smiles, half smirks and says, "Other people are wearing them too, you know." Another student senator who I have given a ride to school on occasion is standing there.  He fancies himself to be quite a politician.  He won't look at me but is snickering to two young women.

"Hi, Glen!" I say forcefully.  He still won't look, but I see the back of his neck rise and turn slightly toward me.  The two young women eye me suspiciously.

I duck into the Black Students' Association and proclaim National Gay Blue Jeans Day.  One of the black women says "Why you makin' such a fuss over it?" I start to leave and then decide not to.

"If anyone should understand oppression, you people should."

"We got more problems than you do."

"We'll never get anywhere if we fight about it."

"Who's fightin'?"

Just then a former student of mine grins over the top of the office partition. "How you doin', man?"

Hey, Clarence, what's happening?  You weai-in' blue jeans today?"

No, he laughs , I wearin' green jeans.  I watched Captain Kangaroo today.  But we don't know about Larry here."

Larry grins and comes out from around the partition to expose his blue-jeaned body.  Everybody laughs.

Now I enter the Vice-president's office.  He's very cordial, and asks me to be seated.

"I won't take much of your time.  I just want to explain the purpose of my activity." And I explain to him.

"Certainly," he says, with some warmth, "if on a university campus we can't come to some understanding of this kind of problem, then it's a sad situation."

"Well, if you talk to some of the students and faculty, you may find not such an understanding attitude."

"I'm sure that's true.  I think you're a very courageous person for speaking out this way."

"That's not the point of what I'm doing.  This is a very important rights issue.  I just wanted you to know the purpose of my activities, so if you hear negative comments about what I'm doing, that I'm sensationalistic, or publicity mongering, you can educate these people to the real purpose of the activity."

"I understand.  But that's what courage is.  Standing up for what you believe in in the face of adversity."

I get up and thank the Vice-president for his time.

I'm feeling very tired, but convinced that I have done what the situation required.  I return to my office and sit down in the chair outside my door, where Jenny, my department's secretary, is working.  She's an attractive young woman of twenty three.

She says, "You've had quite a day, haven't you? How did your talk with the vice-president go?"

Suddenly, I'm aware of how I have gone through all the levels of the unversity today, talked to all kinds of people at all stages of awareness.  I'm curious how Jenny, who I work with every day, and seldom talk with about personal concerns, sees my activity.  After reporting back to her the basic conversation with the vice-president, I ask, "What do you think of all this, Jenny?"

She sits back in her chair, looking older and more serious than usual.  "Well, you know I grew up on a farm.  I went to the Catholic church.  I'm basically from a very conservative background.  The first time I heard you mention being gay, I guess I was shocked.  But then as I thought about it, as I heard you talk about it, and as I typed some of your letters, I changed.  I thought, 'Things are changing all the time, so why not."'

I was touched by the simplicity and humanness with which she spoke.  "I'm glad you feel that way, Jenny, because we've had some fun times together, and I like you."

"Yes, we have, haven't we?" We continue to talk about new records we've been listening to.

I go into my office and sit down at the typewriter once again to begin setting down the very agitating events of the day.  As I am typing, John, the man who had seemed so negative to me about the whole thing came nervously into my office.  He closed the door.

"Jim, I hope I didn't say anything to offend you."

"Oh, I don't think so," I lied.

"I got to thinking about our conversation, and I said to myself, 'Well, I certainly hope I didn't offend that young man, because he's really got a lot of guts to be doing what he's doing.'  I would have been wearing blue jeans today too, if it weren't that too many people would be hurt."

I thought he was just being patronizing with that last comment.

"Because God knows, we need people like you to speak out on this matter.  I just have too much to loose by wearing blue jeans today."

Suddenly, I'm thinking, 'What is this man telling me? John Hatcher surely isn't confessing to being gay.' I'm very alert now and looking at John much more intently.  Are those sparkles in his eyes tears? My God!

"There are a few people across the campus who are going to start speaking out on this soon.  They just haven't got the courage yet.  Goddamn, you've got balls!  And I really hope I didn't offend you."

Now I start to search my memory for what the man actually did say.

"John, all I heard you say was that you weren't wearing blue jeans today, and that your friends wouldn't be wearing them."

"No I said that I'd look to see how many of my friends were wearing them."

Boy, had my biases clouded my memory and hearing that much?

Now John was on his feet and opening the door to the office.  "We're not all single, you know!  But there'd just be too many people hurt if I spoke up."

Those were tears in his eyes!  I'm left sitting in a state of semi-amazement.  I never dreamed that this man would have or admit this kind of background.  This has been some day.

Now Amanda makes her usual energetic entrance into the office.  Amanda is my closest friend at the University.  She teaches in my department and we have astonishingly similar intuitions about what's right and what's wrong around this place.  Jenny, Amanda and I frequently joke about things.  Today Jenny says, "Jim's had quite a day today.  Two guys were in his office trying to tell him that he's going to go to hell for being gay."

Amanda says, "Oh, how has your day been going?"

So I take her into my office and tell her what's been happening.  She's immediately facinated by my story about John Hatch, and starts trying to guess who he is.  I'm not in the mood to tell her, even though I know she won't spread it around.  But she is insistent.  I guess that kind of curiosity just goes with being a social scientist.

I'm reminded of the time three years ago when I was trying mightily to get the university administration to enunciate a supportive gay rights policy.  The then spokesman for the president's office had fought me tooth and nail for several months, using deception to railroad a policy devoid of reference to sexual orientation through university channels.  As I danced one night at a well known gay bar, who should I see cutting a grotesque figure on the disco floor but the president's man.  After the dance he came over to me with a cheerful "Hello, Jim." We talked.

"I'm doing as much for gay people as you are, but in my own way."

"Perhaps."

"I trust you'll be discrete about this matter."

"I'll be as helpful to you as you've been to me!"

The guy who was with him said, "He's the biggest one down here! He was refering to my adversary.

Of course, I had no intention of revealing his secret to anyone.  But Amanda had skillfully wrung this information from me.  This time I was not as yielding to her questioning.  I joked with her about the last confession that she had extracted and concluded, "Perhaps when things die down a bit, I'll tell you more."

I wish more people like Amanda were around here.  She's quite a contrast to some of my other colleagues, who nervously enter their offices whenever the two of us discuss gay politics within their earshot.  Or they change the conversation to "safer" topics such as food or family. (I'm not supposed to talk about my family, however.  Gay lovers apparently don't count.) Some of these men teach human rights courses, but they can't carry on an intelligent discussion about gay rights.  Kind of makes you think of Carter and his human rights program.  Once when I suggested a gay course addition to the curriculum, one of these colleagues ran out of the meeting, dripping perspiration, and saying, "There's some things that just shouldn't be discussed in public."

But back to the present. I had just one more planned activity.  It's time to visit the president.  I enter his immense office.  "It will be a few minutes, the secretary tells me.  It turns out to be 35 minutes.  About three years before I had held an office on this floor, sandwiched bbween the President and Vice-president's offices.  I used to enjoy my lunch on the spacious patio which overlooks the campus.  Now my office is in the basement of the most recently built classroom building with the crickets and spiders.  I'm thinking what a nice environment these people work in.  And of course, these are the "classiest" secretaries.  Quite a contrast.  The gay activist in the blue jeans from the damp basement and the president's secretaries with the $30 bouffant hairdos from the third floor.  We eye one another like Emory and the fat lady waiting for the traffic light in The Boys in the Band.

At last the president comes out of his office.  He's my age, and has my boyish charm.  Where did I go wrong, I think.  But I'm the model of comportment.  I confidently ensconce myself across a huge table from him.  We must be at least 10 feet apart.  I think of the table with the ten foot torpedo under it from the movie The Spy Who Loved Me.

I give the president my spiel about turn about is fair play.  The same one basically that I had given to the vice-president.  He listens with his head slightly cocked to one side, his blue eyes a bit clouded over.  This is probably the end of a long day for him.

Now I tell him, I want to share these letters with you.  I think they document how bad the situation is here.  This letter I wrote to the Board of Trustees, asking them basically if being a publically self-avowed homosexual was a consideration related to job performance.  And here is their response, via legal counsel." He reads the letters I have handed him, his nose just slightly elevated.

I continue , "I am especially distressed with these last two sentences.  First, they say that they cannot commit to a policy that self-avowed homosexuality is never related to any kind of job performance.  This is morally offensive to me.  Surely, the morally correct position is that self-avowed homosexuality per se is never related to job performance just as is self-avowed heterosexuality.  There must be some other reason for making judgements about the adequacy of job performance, such as incompetence or morally irresponsible behavior."

"And secondly, they say, in what to my mind is a condescending tone, 'Please note that this answer is limited to cases involving the avowal of homosexuality only; the considerations are quite different when homosexual acts become the issue.' What am I supposed to think, President Jones?  I assume that there is a moral code governing sexual acts; I can't for the life of me see what there is to choose between proper hetero- and homosexual behavior.  You don't sleep with your students, and you don't engage in explicitly sexual behavior in public places where people may be offended."

Now it was the president's turn.

"First, Jim,let me say that I will never consciously commit to a policy that emphasizes heterosexuality over homosexuality as a valid life-style, or vice versa.  I like the idea of judgements based on job performance alone.  I also realize that being straight, I may not be as sensitive to these matters of discrimination as you are, and that I may unconsciously do something that is viewed as being insensitive.

"Second, on the matter of the Board's action, I think that their action is more a reflection that there are four lawyers on the board than a reflection of any discriminatory attitudes on their part."

The president was referring in part to the Board's recent decision to strike any mention of any category such as sexual preference or race from their general anti-discrimination policy.  This action was in fact taken in light of a proposal by a student trustee that sexual orientation and marital status be included in the policy statement as protected categories.

I say, "I hadn't realized that, about the lawyers.  That's very informative."

"They might have just as well stated that letter differently, in a way that said the same thing, but because they were concerned with what was legally protected, they had to be very careful.  I guess you'd have to walk a mile in their shoes, and see these terribly complicated legal documents that they have to consider.  But then they'd have to walk in your shoes to know how it feels to be gay."

"But the point is that they didn't say these things in a reassuring way," I reply.

"That's true."

"I want to appeal to you, as President, that you do everything in your power to educate these Board members to the problems that the gay community faces."

"That is within my perview."

"And one more thing.  I recently talked with your newly appointed affirmative action officer, and I was very pleased with his attitude on this matter.  I hope you will support an affirmative action plan which includes in the educational portion references to the ways in which discrimination against gay people is occurring."

"I think that is an important input, and I urge you to put it in writing."

I didn't tell him that I had already put in in writing several times in the past four years, and as recently as last month.  I sense that my time is growing short.  One more whack!

"One last point.  I think the Board is showing by its excessive concern with legality that it is not at all progressive.  As you probably know, more progressive educational organizations such as NEA and AAUP have long since had a position against discrimination on the basis of sexual preference.  I hope you will encourage the Board towards a position of moral leadership in this matter.  This university system's attitudes appear to be quite unenlightened."

He looks like he is taking all this in.  Now he is smiling a goodbye-it's-time-to-go-I-have-another-appointment smile, so I thank him and walk, spine erect, from the office.

I am now in a state of considerable mental exhaustion.  I have become acutely aware of how difficult it is for one person alone to systematically defy an unspoken social convention: gay people just do not discuss their gay life or concerns with people in day to day interaction.  I'd gained a hell of a lot more accurate information about people's reaction to this issue and to me by carrying out this difficult task.

From time to time during the day, people had asked me, "What is the general reaction to what you are doing?" Each time I found myself summarizing somewhat in this fashion: "The faculty has been generally positive and supportive of me as a person, but noncommital on the issue.  The students are generally embarrassed or nervously amused and do not know how to deal with me. (The black students seem to be exceptions, being generally relaxed.)  The administration was civil and politely reassuring.  In no case did anyone indicate an appreciation of this as an important human rights issue, on a par with women's or minority rights.  What positive support I did receive was almost invariably admiration for my courage, not support for my cause."

I went home to my lover that night.  We don't agree at all on our responsibilities on this matter, but we have agreed to disagree.  He wanted to know how my day went, and I told him.  He gave me lots of support.  He hugged and held me (which I really needed after that impoverishing day), and he told me that what I did was good, that somebody needed to do it, but that it wouldn't be him.

He also blanched when I told him that a UPI reporter had called me for a story and got my name.  "That's as close to publicity as I want to get," he said firmly.  "I don't want reporters snooping around our home." I could tell that he was very upset.

As it turned out, it was hard on both of us.  He had also experienced upheaval and conflict at his job, possibly related to his sexual orientation, but more likely unrelated.  We had three fights that weekend.  The first fight was over what we would do Saturday.  I expressed uncertainty about moving my piano in yet and he exploded.  "You don't toy with us being together like that!" He was right about that one.  The second fight was about my wearing a "filmy, fey" kaftan with the windows open.  I suppose that one was a draw, since he wants privacy and I say "Fuck 'em if they don't like it they don't have to look." The word "fey" offended me, not as applied to me, but because it's a word of straight oppression.

The third fight was about the kaftan again, only this time I made the mistake of putting it on again in the evening.  A friend of ours was visiting, and had commented with interest on the kaftan, lying discarded after the afternoon hassle.  So I put it on to show Ken what it looked like.  That was an innocent mistake.  Tony was obviously disturbed.  In the course of the ensueing discussion, I realized that he was worried that I might have a hidden desire to wear feminine things.

We have had discussions before about effeminacy.  I always end up defending it as a valid life-style; he is uncomfortable with people whose attire and demeanour crosses gender stereotypical lines.  However, after three fights, I had the sense that this was no time for a political speech, especially since he had specifically requested that morning that we not always be discussing political things.  "I don't want my home turned into a political arena."

Anyway, I saw that there was a deeper issue under this one.  He had picked me in part because I was sexually attractive to him.  Since effeminate demeanour or clothing had a cold shower effect, I might be wise not to adopt it. And in my case, I have no deep stirrings or promptings in this direction, so I am not being untrue to myself if I avoid feminine clothing.  In my anger, I had thrown the goddamn thing away.  He perceived this behavior as vengeful, and we then hassled about whether I should throw it away or not.  "This rag isn't worth our relationship," I protested. Also, I don't want our home turned into a boxing arena anymore than you want it turned into a political one."

We're still very much in love and very committed to one another.  I've never felt so confident about anyone I've loved as I do about Tony.  In the home department we're probably very average gay guys, although very lucky ones to have found one another.  But there is one difference.  I'm a gay activist.  And I'm not exactly sure why.