And I will always love you!!!

I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

Dolly died yesterday. 

I read the news post just as I was getting up.  To say that I gasped was an understatement.  We’ve all known it was coming, but even forty years from now would have been too soon.  She is the best Christian that I have ever known.  Accepting of everyone.  Honoring her roots and yet using her riches for good.  

To quote Spiderman, “With great power, come great responsibility.”  

She spent her life making things easier for those around her.  She donated money in her very poor town in Tennessee.  She donated books to kids around the country.  And in the last four or five hours I’ve read countless posts about her generosity. 

I have loved her since her Porter Wagoner days.  My family watched his show when I was a munchkin and I can still remember his shiny costumes and her big wigs.  I don’t know that I was a fan back then, but by the late 70’s and early 80’s I was sold. 

I have had the lucky occasion to see her in concert twice.  Most recently in Bangor, Maine with Adam.  The show was amazing.  And to quote Adam, “I’m so glad that we saw her when we had the chance.”

But the first time was in 1989 in Atlanta at Chastain Park.  I had gone out on a date or two with a boy name Tony Giatras.  Two would be exaggerating probably.  I liked him a lot, but he came on way too strong and was a bit pushy.  That being said, after it was clear we weren’t going to work as a couple, we remained friends. 

He called me up one night, back when you left messages on answering machines and told me he had a surprise for me.  His surprise.  Tickets to see Dolly.  I was ecstatic, but also a little annoyed as he wasn’t taking no for an answer.  But fuck it, I was not going to turn down Dolly tickets to prove a point.  

A few weeks later, we went to the concert.  We sat in the back of the amphitheater.  We drank the bottle of wine we brought.  And we enjoyed it immensely.  So many costumes changes.  So much energy.  

I focus on this because about two months later, I moved back to Kentucky to attend grad school at the University of Kentucky.  Tony and I stayed in touch, talking often on the phone.  

This would have been the summer of 1989. It’s funny.  I remember, this concert plain as day.  I remember the year. I remember the summer.  But according to AI, there is no recorded concert by Dolly in 1989.  But I know that I’m not wrong.  

All of this is important to me, because three years later, on a random day, I called Tony’s number.  His roommate answered and I asked for Tony.  There was a pause, and in that pause, I knew what he was about to say.  

Tony was HIV+ and had been since I knew him.  Well, I didn’t know it when I first met him, but I learned it not long after.  In 1990, being HIV+ was a death sentence, but I held out hope.  He’d just started AZT and the few times I visited when I went to Atlanta he seemed fine. 

Fast forward to 1992.  I called Tony, and his roommate answered.  There was the pause I mentioned and I knew before he said a word.  He’d passed about a month before.  They had been unable to find my number, so they couldn’t let me know.  I missed his final moments, I missed his memorial service, I missed it all.  

He filled me in on his final days.  His family had relented and finally come to Atlanta to be with him.  He’d gone blind about 48 hours before he passed, but I was told he seemed to be at peace with what was happening.  

I was devastated.  

But.  

Because I didn’t have any sort of closure, I’ve spent the last 35 years just believing that like many people from my past, we just lost touch.  He’s still driving his beat up tiny pick-up truck listening to Skinny Puppy cassettes.  I continue to hope that he’ll call and let me know he is okay.  

Our moment in time, was brief.  Maybe 4 four months total, before I moved back to Kentucky.  When we met, I was living with my friend Shelley, with my stuff in storage, trying to figure out what came next.  

One of my favorite memories, is coming home to discover a vase of daisies in front of our door.  The note was an apology for coming on too strong.  Daisies are still one of my favorite flowers because of that note.  

This is not the first time I’ve written about Tony.  Years ago I wrote about him, and a friend of his found the post and contacted me.  I was so touched.  I miss him.  And will love him forever. He was a bright spot in a moment in time for me.  

And this is my Dolly story.   

But who would I be, If you had not been my friend?

I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

Today is World AIDS day.

I haven’t heard much about it this year. I’m sure there will be ceremonies. And speech giving. And there will be protests. And picketing. With signs.

But you have to wonder if it will change anything.

Even in a perfect world an AIDS vaccine is years away. A cure is even farther away.

And yet every day you hear less and less about HIV and AIDS. You hear about gay marriage. And Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell. But when was the last time you heard something in the mainstream news about AIDS related issues.

I have but it’s because I read a couple of blogs that cover news in the world of gayness.

In case you missed it, there is a recent study that covers the Efficacy of Pre-Exposure Prophylaxis. Seems if you are prescribed a specific drug currently used to treat HIV it lowers you chance of becoming HIV+. If you are consistent about taking the medication every day it is even more effective. How many of you saw this in the news this past week? I thought so.

AIDS has become something we just live with. People aren’t keeling over dead like they used to. It’s considered a chronic disease now far more than a terminal disease. And unfortunately, with the new attitude has come complacency. We still have people not practicing safe sex. We still have sex education that doesn’t allow the discussion of safe sex alternatives. And god forbid we actually discuss how to have safe “gay” sex. Then we are surprised when the number of infected people continues to rise.

As a 45-year old gay man I count myself VERY lucky. I have only had one close friend die from AIDS. Most men my age have known too many to count. I’ve known acquaintances who have died. But only one close friend.

His name was Tony Giatras. I met him in the spring of 1989. I had just put my stuff into storage and was living with my friend Shelley until I figured out what I was going to do with my life. We met in a parking lot of a gay bar in Atlanta. He was short. And cute. We hooked up that night and that should have been the end of it. But of course, then he asked for my number and what was I supposed to do? I gave it to him.

He called. We went out. I called. We went out. And then he took my prisoner. After about two weeks I told him that enough was enough. I didn’t want to be his boyfriend. That he was smothering me. And that he needed to back off. The next day he brought me a bouquet of daisies and a note apologizing. I still have the note. Even though we would never be boyfriends we became very good friends. We hung out together. We shared waiting tables stories. I worked at Bennigan’s. He worked at Steak and Ale, which was owned by the same company. Our friendship was sealed.

That summer I moved back to Kentucky to start grad school. He stayed in Atlanta. We continued to talk on a very regular basis. My best friend at the time Stacey also lived in Atlanta so I drove down to visit often. Tony and I always had lunch/dinner/drinks when I found my way there.

I don’t remember when I found out he was HIV+. I had called a couple of times and he’d been sick both times. The last time he’d just gotten out of the hospital with phenomena. I finally asked what was going on and he told me. It changed nothing about our friendship. We continued to talk. I continued to visit Atlanta. Whenever I was there I always made time to see him.

Tony’s birthday was three weeks after mine. He’d always call me on my birthday to say hello. And I always called him on his birthday to say hello. In April of 1992 I was in the middle of tech for a show and forgot to call. It was five or six days later and I said, “Oh fuck!” I picked up the phone, called and his roommate answered.

“Hey Jeff. (His roommate was Jeff) Can I talk to Tony?”

There was a long pause.

He didn’t have to say the words. I knew. He explained that Tony had died the previous week. It was very sudden. He went into the hospital and died three days later. He’d lost his sight about 24 hours before he died. But he didn’t suffer and he seemed peaceful at the very end.

I asked why no one had called.

His roommate explained that he couldn’t find my number. He’d looked and looked and had been unable to locate it. He apologized over and over. I asked if there was going to be a memorial service. He explained that Tony’s family had taken him back to Tennessee and hadn’t discussed any of it with his friends. They’d never been accepting of his being gay.

The thing that was most sad about his passing?

Tony had been a lost soul. He didn’t know what he wanted to do with his life. He had no goals. Wasn’t very motivated. He was a NOMAD. He drove a truck that didn’t work half of the time. He was a waiter. And then a this. And then a that. He didn’t stick with things very often.

In the few months right before he died, he’d finally gotten a real job. One that would have provided him with some stability and was most certainly leading him toward a career. He and his roommate had just gotten a new apartment. The week before he got sick he traded in that fucking truck and got a new car.

He’d finally gotten his life on track and it was stolen from him.

I think of him often. I miss him often. I don’t really think of him as dead. We hadn’t spoken for a little while before he died. In my mind he’s just one of those old friends you just lose touch with. He’s out there somewhere. And he’s got an awesome boyfriend. And an awesome job. And an awesome dog. And he’s as happy as he’d ever wanted to be. I just wish he’d call and tell me about it.

One last note. The Christmas before he died he sent me a Christmas card. It was a beautiful card with three trees and the word peace written on the front. When I called to thank him for the card he told me that he’d made it. He’d hand drawn the card with me in mind.

When I was home over the summer I found the card in a box with lots of other items from my past. It made me tear up then. It’s making me tear up now.

You will always be loved Tony.

Jeff today:
I wrote this post in 2010. It was World AIDS day and I was thinking of Tony.

I still think about him. 40 years later.

About five years after I wrote this, someone found my blog and said that he’d also dated Tony in the 80’s and said my description fit him to a T.

I still have the Christas card he sent me. I still have the card he gave me with the daisies. I think of Tony often. I’m misty-eyed writing this. He was a sweet soul, who was on his way to finding himself when his time was up.

I’m lucky. So, so many of my friends have lost so many people. For me, it was the benefit, of seeking out female friends instead of male friends. Even today, almost all of my friends are female. It also helped that I moved back to Kentucky after Atlanta and spent all my time in the theater department.

Something bad is happening.

I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

By the time I graduated high school in 1983, AIDS was no secret.

It wasn’t getting the national attention it should have, Reagan was still pretending it didn’t exist, and gay men were dying across the country.

In Central Kentucky, I felt isolated. I felt protected.

I won’t say I was as careful as I should have been.

I went off to college, also in central Kentucky, and it was very much the same. Still not as much attention as it should have been getting. Reagan might have mentioned. it by then, and by this time the number of deaths were staggering.

Still, I felt isolated, protected.

In September 1987, I moved to Atlanta.

Suddenly, I wasn’t in little “ole” Kentucky.

Suddenly, I knew gay people. Suddenly, I was out of the closet.

I was much more careful, but not as careful as I should have been.

By the time I left Atlanta, it was a full-blown national nightmare.

I moved back to Central Kentucky.

I was terrified. I’d met men who had been diagnosed with HIV and AIDS, it was very close to home.

And yet. It was 1989, and I had never been tested.

I’d seen the posters around town. In the bars. On the bulletin boards at school.

Finally. I said I’ll do it.

I drove to the health department on Newtown Road. Around to the back. In a satellite trailer, similar to the ones they use at high schools now.

I went in, took a number.

I was scared to death.

I waited about 16 hours. Actually, I don’t remember how long it actually was. It seemed like a decade.

I was taken back. I was asked some questions. I was told the test could be anonymous.

The nurse was very sweet. Caring. Gentle.

She drew the blood.

I was given a sheet of paper with a number on it. As it was anonymous, it would be how I’d be matched to my result when I came back.

In two weeks.

What the fucking fuck?

If the wait to draw blood was a decade, the two-week wait was a century. Everything was in slow motion those two weeks. Work. School. Rehearsal.

Two weeks later, I made the trek back out to the trailer.

I was taken into a room with a counselor. I was told they always have a counselor just in case it’s positive.

The envelope was opened.

A breath was taken.

I was told

It was.

Negative.

The emotion that rushed over me, was immense.

How could this be? I was only kind of careful. Surely it was wrong.

But it was not.

Fast forward 35 years and I’m tested at every physical. It’s part of my routine blood work for cholesterol and my A1C.

I’m still not sure how I remained negative.

I spent almost 12 years in New York City. I was always kind of careful.

I’m forever grateful.

So many people in my generation were not so lucky.

The care has come a long way, but there are still people worldwide, who are suffering and dying from this horrible disease.