What was Gay Life like in the early 1980's?

On the July 4th weekend of 1981, everything started going bad and it went downhill fast. It was horrrrrrrrrrible.

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AND wasn't it a fairly common practice to attend funerals of those you didn't know if they were gay and died of AIDS?

No. What a ghoulishly phrased question. Why don't you write about 1975-1980 instead?

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There's a danger in taking one person's experience and generalizing it.

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"You phrased it like people went without caring about the dead or those still alive."

I don't know how you got that. What I got was the notion of mourning someone who'd died, not because you knew them and were obligated but because of the shared experience of loss at that time.

You might also want to check out the documentary "We Were Here," which features people talking about the AIDS era in San Francisco. They tell about what it was like living in that time.

http://wewereherefilm.com/

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There's a wonderful film with Swoozie Kurtz, B.D. Wong and Sir Ian McKellen (among many others) called AND THE BAND PLAYED ON. You should track it down.

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You need to search for some of the early Australian AIDS tv spots, those kind of sum up the fear that hetros had over this disease... I was just coming out when it was peaking in Australia.. I still mourn the lose of some of my best friends, one who I think of nearly every day...

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Okay. It was kind of like this:

Picture the most attractive man you know. Now picture the least attractive. Now picture 2 or 3 right in the middle.

Now picture the most talented man you know. Now the least talented. Now 2 or 3 in the middle.

Now picture the smartest man you know, now the dumbest, now 2 or three in the middle.

Do the same with the nicest, the sweetest, the biggest asshole, the guy you cruised who didn't even notice you, the guy you liked as a friend but who wanted to be your boyfriend, the guy you always saw in the neighborhood or at work but you've been too shy to speak to.

Keep on picturing these men until you can sort of picture every gay man you've known in your entire life.

Now picture your current boyfriend--or your last one--and picture his last boyfriend.

And now, picture your best friend, the one who's been there for you through everything, the one you would give your life for.

Now picture one third of all of those men gone. Suddenly. Like you're in some science-fiction movie where the aliens are kidnapping people right and left.

Now picture a second third of them sick--but I mean really sick--and not getting better, just getting worse. Picture them with ugly purple sores on their bodies and faces, sores for which there are no ointments or salves. Picture them with uncontrollable diarrhea, for which there is no Pepto or Kaopectate, making them lose 10, 20, 30 pounds. Picture them looking like living corpses.

Picture your best friend coughing and wheezing from a pneumonia that no antibiotic can fix, each cough sending spasms of pain through his bone-thin body.

Picture yourself, standing there, unable to do anything to help them. And that's your best friend there.

Now picture the president refusing to utter the name of the disease, the government doing nothing, the media reporting on it only when the story involves the death of a formerly closeted movie star.

Picture religious leaders saying it's God's punishment for being gay.

Picture your friend's mother believing that.

Picture your friend dying, believing that.

Picture yourself almost starting to believe that.

Picture knowing that it's a disease and not God's punishment, and that it would soon be a worldwide epidemic that would ravage parts of Africa and Asia, killing women and children.

Picture no one believing that, or worse, no one caring. Because they believe heterosexuals can't get AIDS. Picture realizing that they don't really count heterosexuals whose skin is black or brown or yellow. And picture realizing they don't really count homosexuals either--of any color.

Now picture yourself and that last third of the people you envisioned before, looking at each other and yourselves in the mirror, wondering "Am I next?" "Is he?" "Why did he have to die?" "If I'm not next, why was I spared?" and "Why does no one care?"

Picture feeling like that for about 15 years.

And picture figuring out how to find hope and love, despite all that and in the face of all that.

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Updated On: 3/12/12 at 11:33 AM

Just a couple things: There's a scene in Longtime Companion of people calling each other about the story in the New York Times announcing the new "Gay Cancer" that may be contagious. I've watched that movie with straight folks or people to young to remember that day and sometimes they'll say "Well, THAT'S unrealistic." It wasn't. I made and received calls that day- to talk about it, to check up if anyone was sick or knew anyone that was sick. My college roommate was one of the first to go. His mother made a point of telling people at the funeral that it WASN'T AIDS so they didn't have to worry.

And the thing I remember most was my address book. In those pre-cellphone days, you wrote everyone's number down in your book. And when you got a "That number has been disconnected" you knew. So you crossed them out. And pretty soon you had whole pages that were crossed out. And I went to filing numbers on index cards in a box so I could just pull their card out and throw it away so I wouldn't see all those crossed out names.

I still have my phone book.

But there were some names I could never cross out.

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PJ, that made me pissed and cry at the same time.

I honestly cannot imagine what it was like for those in the gay community - it was terrifying in the straight community coming of age with the background of AIDS. By the early mid 80's, those of us with gay friends knew it was bad, and the randomness of who got infected just seemed unbelievable. I lost a couple of friends, and went at my mom when she too said maybe "it was god's punishment". (She has evolved considerably since then). All I remember was being terribly afraid because no one was sure how it was spread at first - and that it seemed like the act of hugging anyone gay (let alone infected) was a sign of moral courage.

I count myself very lucky to have my best friend survive without getting infected, and further lucky to have friends who have survived for many years being HIV positive.

Some of my gay friends who survived have talked of survivors guilt, similar to that of Jews who survived the holocaust.

For those that survived and even thrived in the face of all of that, I shake my head in wonder and amazement.

Updated On: 3/12/12 at 12:29 PM

I liked reading this thread - for me, born ten years or more after these events, I didn't fully realize just how lucky I am. And I know for sure some of my friends just don't get it. I think I might force them to watch one of the documentaries mentioned with me.

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