After 44 years, I'm still haunted by the “what ifs” and the “might-have-beens.” They re-emerge each time a news event or emotionally charged conversation hijacks my heartstrings.
My early memories of Gary are intertwined with the image of stainless-steel tubs of sizzling dry ice, chilling bottles of black cherry, cream soda, grape, orange, and sarsaparilla pop on a 90+ degree August day at a Sioux City, Iowa, park. The occasion is our large and lively family reunion. My uncle Clarence is combing his young son's curly dark hair. He pays my older brother 50¢ to keep track of Gary, who was a friendly and curious toddler, prone to wandering.
Many of my other first cousins were older than Gary and my siblings. His two stepbrothers were older, too, and when they left home, the house must have seemed too quiet. To entertain their gregarious and fun-loving son, my aunt and uncle would make the short drive from Sioux City to our farm so he could play with my sister, two brothers, and me.
Sometimes we climbed to the chicken house roof, where we sat and plucked mulberries from overhanging branches. Occasionally we waged corn cob wars from the rooftops of two small hog sheds. Other times, we'd explore the Loess Hills overlooking our farmstead. As the light faded on long summer days, we'd chase and capture fireflies, and then release them. Most of all, I remember the laughter. . . and the fun.
My family also visited Gary at his home in the city. As adolescents, we crowded into his small bedroom, closing the door so our parents wouldn't overhear our conversation. Gary attended a much larger high school than ours, had many friends, and always seemed to have a girlfriend. I recall listening to his new 45 rpm song, "Can't Get No Satisfaction" by the Rolling Stones. We strained to hear mysteriously garbled phrases conveying distinctly sexual undertones.
Flash forward a few years, and Gary, who was two years younger than me, enrolled at my college. It was a 10-minute commute from his home, so occasionally I'd visit with him in the halls of the Commons. He was wearing his curly, dark hair longer, like other guys during the 70s. He was a good-looking, lanky guy with a friendly smile.
Growing up and Apart
After graduation, I spent a couple of years at the University of Missouri getting my M.A. in journalism, and in 1975 I landed in Milwaukee at my first magazine job. Our parents kept our families in touch. I was surprised when Mom wrote that Gary had unexpectedly gotten married. Just as suddenly, though, it seemed, his marriage had fallen apart. Next, he dropped out of college, and moved to Omaha, where he enrolled in cosmetology school.
Before long, Mom wrote that Gary often brought a male friend when he visited his parents, who had moved to our grandparents' farm just outside of Sioux City. It wasn't a working farm, but Gary loved being in the country. His friend, also a hair stylist, shared his love of the outdoors. They were a couple.
Then, in May 1978, Mom shared the most shocking news: Gary was dead. He and his partner had decided that they never would be accepted by this world. They would be labeled homosexuals, and misfits, and subjected to ridicule. They made a pact to kill themselves. Gary succeeded, dying at the age of 26. His partner, rescued in critical condition, survived their attempt.
Gary never chose to be gay. All he wanted, like most of us, was to love, and be loved. His failed marriage is evidence of his struggle. I mourned for his parents, who had loved him, accepted him, but still lost him to the cruelty and bigotry in this world. At his request, Gary's ashes were scattered in the windbreak of our grandparents' home farm.
Mom wrote me, "Many things Clarence and Wilma will never know. They have Gary's black chow dog and Volkswagen. They had intended to keep the car, but the dog goes crazy every time he sees the car come in the driveway. Wilma says she can't stand it."
I felt the enormity of their loss during our visits over the years. Clarence died in 1995, and Aunt Wilma passed away in 2009.
Progress and Paralysis
Beginning on that day 44 years ago, the loss of my much-loved cousin transformed my straight perspective on the world, and recalibrated my reactions to the volatile events impacting the evolution of LGBTQ issues.
Gay Pride Parades and marches were a startling, but critical step. As LGBTQ Americans emerged from the shadows, it became harder to find a family untouched by this issue.
During the years of the AIDS epidemic, I often wondered if Gary had lived, how HIV/AIDS would have impacted his life. Would he have been one of the 700,000 Americans who died before effective treatments were available?
Then came a setback: the Defense of Marriage Act in 1996. However, by 2004, 42% of Americans supported same sex marriage.
In 2009, I was relieved when the Iowa Supreme Court ruled in favor of same sex marriage. But Gary never would feel this growing acceptance.
The murders of LBGTQ people at nightclubs in Orlando and more recently Colorado Springs are visible evidence of the persistent hate and stigma. Yet, for many years, one of our small-town bar/restaurants was owned and operated by an LGBTQ couple. It didn't seem to bother their straight customers.
This week, as President Biden signed the Respect for Marriage Act, 68% of Americans surveyed favor it. In this same week, my family celebrated the same-sex marriage of a member of our younger generation. It's the second same-sex union on Gary's side of the family. He never imagined this day would come.
Yet, despite this federal milestone, states still could refuse to issue a marriage license. Three members of Iowa's Congressional delegation have been censured by county Republican parties because of their vote in favor of the new law. And, with Iowa legislators aiming their sights on more gun legislation, I worry that members of our family--and many others-- could become targets of hate crimes.
So many questions linger. What would Gary have done with his life? We'll never know, but his choices would have expanded beyond being a hair stylist or a musical theatre performer. I'm glad that LGBTQ schoolmates of our daughters enjoy good careers, with protections from discrimination.
Other times I wonder about what Gary's partner did with his second chance at life. Has Gary's ex-wife managed to make peace with what happened?
I'm not an activist or a political pundit. But I'm a strong advocate of families. Families come in all sizes, shapes, colors, personalities, and yes, genders. Our family no longer has such large and lively reunions like the ones of my childhood. But I do know that Gary and his partner would be welcome. And no one will ever convince me that our family, indeed this world, wouldn't have been a richer, more diverse, and more fun place with Gary in it.
I’m delighted to be part of the Iowa Writers’ Collaborative.
Thank you for telling us about Gary; for sharing his story. I am so sorry to hear that life was simply too difficult and too frightening for him to want to live in this world. By telling Gary’s story you have honored your cousin’s life and his memory.
I’m just so sorry that Gary could not find happiness. I grieve with you.