Smiles, everybody, smiles

When Stephen and I sat eating breakfast this morning, I noticed a few Facebook posts from friends that led to thoughts of life churning in my thoughts. As we prepared to leave, we ran into two of my dearest longtime friends, Hank and Nancy Mascotte.

I have long known the friends we keep make the journey. Stephen and I treasure our friends. Yesterday, two of our dear friends faced the ultimate crossroads in life's journey. I "met" Beth Riches, Shane's cousin, on Facebook while I was stationed in Afghanistan in 2009. Not long after redeploying home, I met both Beth and her husband Ken. I liked them both from the word go. 

We met only occasionally, usually dining out, or when hanging out for special gatherings. In 2010, the two of them took me to see Devo in concert for my birthday. Holiday dinners, barhopping, concerts (John Mellencamp, for example--okay, Ken had to miss that one), Beth and Ken (with an assist from Matt and Shane) hosted several private concerts, inviting Stephen and me last year. At no time whenever we were together were there not laughter and good times.

Beth and Ken are the epitome of warm, caring, embracing friends. Nay--more like family. Ken was always friendly, quick to a joke, insightful comments, and a ready-knowing smile. If you ever see any of Beth and Ken's photos together, there is a constant: fun, joviality, smiles, BIG smiles (Mr. Roarke would be proud).

I cannot recall how many years distant it has been Ken when was diagnosed with a form of leukemia. After a long, tough battle Ken overcame it. Ken's strong personality would not easily accept defeat. These past six months, however, Ken's health presented him with new challenges.

Ken quietly passed away yesterday afternoon. Beth and Ken's two adult children were with him when he crossed over to what exists for us in the afterlife. I would like to think he is soaring in the stars.

Ken, you will be missed by your family and friends from all around this country.

Invisible in plain sight

Recently, I was asked to speak about being gay, specifically gay in the workplace. I do not exactly like the term ‘coming out.’ I believe living one’s life to truth, the truth of who we are. Is it always that simple? Hardly.

In my life, living out arrived in a wave of stages. In the time when I was a teen, living truth to my nature was not an easy thing. I knew I was different. I knew I was not like other boys my age, but I did not understand the implications. In the 1970s we did not talk about those things. Living one’s truth, at times, takes courage. At that point I was a scared young man with no one to share my fears.

The short of it is, I married and knew it was wrong, but I was too scared to do otherwise.

Jumping ahead, after seven years I could no longer deny my truth. After my divorce, I made a promise to myself where I would lead a life on honesty. In the workplace, I kept that vow.

Did I stand in the window and proclaim for all to see and hear, “I am gay! I’m here! I’m queer?” Nope. Not that either. I did not feel that need. I mean, do straight people proclaim their heterosexuality? That, by no means, means that I hid either. In my day-to-day conversations and interactions, I lived a life as me. I have often joked that I can be me, I cannot be you.

If a friend cared, they knew who I was. If I felt a need to share that aspect of my life I did so. When I worked at Fox Photo, that worked against me. In 1985 I was up for a promotion in my department and I was passed over. When I learned it was because of being gay, I made some waves. I was told I was not passed over for being gay, BUT was then told “I have to understand we do not live in San Francisco.” I was also told if I did not like it, I could also work elsewhere.

In 1985, companies could get away with that sort of thing. My boss was right, we did not live in San Francisco. I lived in Indiana where being gay in many eyes was not acceptable, and in a “right to work” state, companies can, all to often, do as they please.

Not long after that I left and decided to go to college to fulfill a lifelong dream to be a teacher. College afforded me to work in an enlightened environment where intelligence rules over ignorance. College is not necessarily the real world. There, I did live my truth. As a student, I, and four other men, formed Indiana University at South Bend’s first gay social group, OUT-IUSB. We were met with some resistance but in the end, we succeeded in launching the group. The group exists to this day (under a different name).

As I ventured out into the world I stepped up as an educator, and sadly I quickly realized I would need to compartmentalize my being. Being out as a brand-new teacher would not come easily. Knowing I would need to learn to be a good teacher first, that was not an issue for me. I was a temp my first year, filling a position for a teacher on medical leave.

The funny thing about being a single man at the age 32, and perhaps because of my gentle nature, some kids assumed I was gay, some never gave it a thought, or could have cared less. I did face down a couple homophobic students, and much to their disdain, my school protected me. One student, in particular, who was already walking on thin ice, ended up on academic probation because of her behaviors.

When the teacher returned, I continued as a sub.

A number of years later, I took a job at Notre Dame. You might think being out at a Catholic school would be dangerous. Amazingly, I found just the opposite. Living my life as who I am earned me respect from my peers and management.

It was at this time I decided to pursue another of my life’s childhood dreams. After President Bill Clinton signed the “Don’t Ask Don’t Tell” legislature I made moves to join the U.S. Navy Reserve. It was perhaps the best move I made in my life. Of course, this did mean I had to take a small step back and while I lived my life no differently, I did take a more conservative bent while serving, at least for my first five years as a Sailor.

I am not exactly sure how successful I was about this tack. When I joined a Navy public affairs unit in Chicago, I found a welcoming environment… to a degree… In my 21 years in the Navy, I came to know that no one with whom I worked could care less. Occasionally my colleagues would make a joke with a wink that let me know I was safe there.

Being gay in the military, I believe, the attitudes from most of the ranks was a non-issue. The one who did care, the ones who made it an issue were either unenlightened and insecure in their own skins, or those who had to answer to politicians who love using gays as a wedge issue.

When President Obama signed legislature making it legal to serve with no risk of expulsion, I continued life as usual. Did I throw open the doors? No, but I made no efforts to hide either.

I have been a lucky man. My jobs through the years were places where I felt I could make a difference, especially as a Sailor and a high school teacher. I have worked in jobs where I made friends who I cared for, and who cared for me.

My point of this essay is to say this: Whether you are gay, straight, trans and any of the alphabet identifiers, it is imperative to be true to your nature. Staying true to yourself, you will find allies who matter and if they are not your ally, they do not matter.

Since we spend so much of our lives working, being comfortable in one’s skin is the only way to be happy, sane, and productive.

Being who we are is not a choice, being out is. If living a lie means being miserable in our jobs, it is time to evaluate our priorities.

Life is just too short.

A friend remembered

For eight years, I was employed at the Notre Dame Law School Library and I can say our staff was a united, loving family. I worked in the Technical Services Department where we worked largely behind the scenes. Our law librarians and circulation desk staff were the visible face for our law students. One face, in particular, was librarian Ken Kinslow.

Ken was the epitome of professionalism. Friendly, cheerful always, quick to tell a story or joke, and I am 100% certain you cannot find a single person with a bad word to say about him. He was pure class.

Ken ofttimes worked alongside his wife Carmela who was the director of the Circulation Desk. The two fit together hand-in-glove, at work and in their private life.

I left Notre Dame in 2000 and I have done my best to stay in touch with my former coworkers.

Occasionally I saw Ken walking his beloved dog (usually when I was driving through campus). We actually crossed paths a few times when I was on one of my many walks on campus, and it was always nice running into him where we could catch up on our lives.

If Ken ever had a bad day, I’ve never seen it. I doubt no one has.

Ken passed away yesterday (Sunday, 12 November) after suffering a totally unexpected heart attack a week earlier. Please keep Carm and their son Ken, Jr., in your thoughts.

Ken was a wonderful, kind loving soul.

A national anthem, never forgetting

On this day in 2001, it started as any normal school day. That calm was not to last.  As we watched as the attack on America unfolded, I tried to answer my students’ questions. My class watched in horror as the second plane slammed into the south tower. We teachers tried to present a voice of calm. For all of us, it was a day fraught with concern, anger, confusion, and for some, fear. 

I knew soon we would be at war.

Each generation has one or more defining moments—some good, some bad—that we can identify where and what we were doing as events became apparent.

 
For my elders, it was the attack on Pearl Harbor, FDR’s death. My generation remembers the assassinations of President Kennedy, his brother Bobby, and Rev. Martin Luther King. We remember the first landing on the moon and Richard Nixon’s resignation.

 
My son’s generation can recall the downing of the Space Shuttle Challenger (and later the Columbia), and the Oklahoma City bombing. For our youth, it was the attack on NYC, the Pentagon, and the downing of Flight 93 over the skies of Pennsylvania.

 
Where were you?

As the years pass by, it is hard to believe we have a whole generation that was not even alive on this day in 2001, and I wonder what moments will define them.

We will always remember.

Meghan Buell, Rest in Peace

Gentle persons, it is my sad duty to let you know our friend, the former LGTBQ+ Center Executive Director, Director of TREES, recent author of her memoir The Road to Me: A Transgender Journey, and good friend to our community has passed away.

Meghan was last seen Sunday and found in her home this morning. Foul play is not believed to have played any part in her passing but at this time I do not have any details as to the cause of death. When we learn of funeral or memorial plans being made public, I will pass them along to you all.

On a personal note (Doug speaking), I have known and loved Meghans for many years. I have marveled at her sly wit, her intelligence, her love of ours, and her biological family, and her bravery. Meghan has been a shining beacon for the Michiana trans community. She had put herself out there in the public's eye on many, many occasions. She spoke to the local media and at various conferences and gatherings. 

If any of you attended any of the Pride events in past years, Meghan was there, always there. 

You may not have known this, but Meghan was a beloved substitute teacher in the South Bend Community School system. On those many occasions when she was before a classroom, young children asked her if she was a man dressed as a woman. She freely spoke of her life in terms that young children might understand. When the LaPorte community made a big stink about Meghan corrupting the lives of our young children, they admonished the SBCSC for hiring her. South Bend School Corp told them to mind their own business.

You may remember that Meghan stood her own (privately very shaken) when the proud boys tried to disrupt her children's reading event at the Tutt Library Branch. We learned then that ugliness has found its place in our community.

Earlier this summer, the men's group met at Meghan's TREES (Transgender Resource, Education & Enrichment Services), a beautiful center and haven for our trans community. If you had not been there, you have missed experiencing a great educational and inviting center for all that walked through the doors. The center reflects on Meghan in ways that go beyond her character alone.

Meghan, you will be sorely missed. Even in her passing, I am reminded of Hillary Clinton's slogan, "Nevertheless, she persisted." She certainly will in my memories of her.

If any of you have any fond recollections you would like to share of Meghan, please feel free to share them in the best way you can.

Happy 130th birthday, U.S. Navy Chiefs

The pinnacle for any U.S. Navy Petty Officer is to achieve the rank (E-7) of Navy Chief. During the last six years of my 21-year Navy career, I was "up for" Chief five times.

In a case of coulda, woulda, shoulda, and...

For whatever reason, I was not selected, which was mostly by fault of my own. While I think I would have been a good Chief had I the honor of being selected, I think in retrospect, I did not want it badly enough. For another reason, I had a concern that, after supremely letting down a Navy Chief--he who largely launched my career--on a very important assignment, I am not certain I deserved to be a Chief.

In part, I was somewhat disillusioned by the rank. I personally know three Chiefs who I felt did not represent the ideals, one of which nearly destroyed my career in my final year of service (he, in a fit of irony, sabotaged his career and the justice of it all does not escape me).

Rather than try to single out and name the many, many fantastic Chiefs whom I had the honor to serve, Iest I inadvertently leave someone out, I want to thank the Chiefs whose dedication and mentorship made my career a joy! I will say that two CPOs from NOSC Chicago, one who literally saved my life, and the other, my Navy career, epitomized service to those they lead. To them, and all the others, I am eternally grateful!

Again, as I said earlier in an earlier post, the Navy could not run without the dedication of our U.S. Navy Chiefs.

Happy Birthday to those fine men and women!

Are we ourselves?

 

I have spent a lot of time recently looking at videos that show our America in the early 20th century leading into the 1950s.

Flash forward to the here and now and I hear constant whining about how we have lost our way, and how our values have changed. I posit we have changed little if any at all. I look at these homes, these buildings, the manicured yards, the clean city streets, the parks, the storefronts, etc.

Sure, a lot of the landscapes have changed, a lot of businesses have come and gone, but when I look at the homes, I see a people who care about where they reside and about their communities.

The most obvious change, of course, is our technology. Look at the homes, the buildings, the streets. Do they look so different than what we see today? This video could have been as easily shot today aside from the automobiles.

People talk about how crime today is running rampant and I would invite you to study our history during Prohibition. People feared the uptick of violence from organized crime--then as we do now.

We may have evolved in our view of the world around us. In some ways, tolerance has evolved and become an air of acceptance and understanding. I do fear for the two steps forward we take, we inevitably take a step back as people's reactions to fearing change manifest themselves, all too often resulting in ugliness.

I believe, for the most part, man is unchanged and will probably remain so. Am I wrong? Are we a vastly different America?

Anyway, watch this video. I hope you enjoy it as much as I do. 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IXPYQU78sIc

In the name of love

 

Over the course of the past few days, I have been featuring vintage photos of male couples dating from the 1850s through the 1950s on my Facebook page. They are very romantic but more importantly, they illustrate how the power of love can override other concerns.

 

Many of the photos clearly show love in these men’s eyes. The holding of hands; a head resting on his boyfriend’s shoulder; a hug, an embrace, their bodies intertwined in the grass or in bed, fully clothed, mind you; the photo booth strips; and yes, even a loving kiss. Men in uniform, men in suits, working-class men, farmers, cowboys (yes!), in swimwear--or shockingly--in their underwear!

 

These photos are astounding! In a modern context, perhaps not. But historically, these photos come from a time when these men were of the “unspeakable.” Criminal. Deviants. Perverts.

 

And to dare to photograph themselves together strongly illustrated their commitment to one another. In their times, these photos could lead to their arrest, their deaths, or depending on where they lived, they risked being lobotomized. They risked being ostracized from their friends, their jobs, their families.

For these photos, for their love, they risked everything. It is, according to the authors of the book "Loving: A Photographic History of Men in Love," even more amazing so many of these photos still exist as in many cases the families of these men, when discovering the photos, were horrified and destroyed them. 

Photo-developing houses of the day would often refuse to develop these photos and to add to the insult, they might report the men to the police. And still, these men persisted in documenting their love for posterity for all, or none, to see.

All for love.