Remembering Elizabeth Glaser

By Susie Zeegen

(Editor's Note: On July 14, 1992 the delegates at the National Democratic Convention in Madison Square Garden fell silent as Bob Hattoy, a gay man living with AIDS, and Elizabeth Glaser, the HIV-positive wife of TV star Paul Michael Glaser and mother who unwittingly transmitted the virus to her two children in birth, took the stage to describe how HIV/AIDS impacted their lives.

"I'm Elizabeth Glaser. Eleven years ago, while giving birth to my first child, I hemorrhaged and was transfused with seven pints of blood. Four years later, I found out that I had been infected with the AIDS virus and had unknowingly passed it to my daughter, Ariel, through my breast milk, and my son, Jake, in utero. Twenty years ago I wanted to be at the Democratic convention because it was a way to participate in our country," Glaser said. "Today, I am here because it's a matter of life and death. Exactly four years ago, my daughter died of AIDS. She did not survive the Reagan Administration. I am here because my son and I may not survive four more years of leaders who say they care--but do nothing. I am in a race with the clock. This is not about being a Republican or an Independent or a Democrat. It's about the future -- for each and every one of us."

Devastated by her daughter Ariel's death in 1988, Glaser and two friends-Susie Zeegen and Susan DeLaurentis - created a foundation to support pediatric HIV/AIDS research, the Elizabeth Glaser Pediatric AIDS Foundation (www.pedaids.org). Glaser died in 1994.)

"Today, as we mark this somber milestone, it is a time to reflect on how far we've come. There is cause for hope, but this is not a time to celebrate. We have not won the battle, and there is yet much work to be done."

- Susie Zeegen, Co-Founder, Elizabeth Glaser Pediatric AIDS Foundation

Ralf Hiller

By Gerardo (Jerry) Martinez

I'm 46 years old and a father of two. I take this time to make mention of a very special person- Ralf Hiller of Berlin W. Germany. I found out, from his brother, that Ralf died of AIDS in 1992 at the young age of 32. I was so impacted by his death that I needed counseling for several months since I went into a deep state of depression . I was so hurt and devastated that Ralf never had the courage or desire to tell me he was HIV positive or that he had AIDS. Although Ralf and I where only friends (no intimate contact ever occurred), and I considered him a true friend, after finding out that I could never call or write to him made me realize how much I loved him.

I take this time to honor Ralf's memory and to urge all who read this to let those around you know. Not only to protect the ones you love and make love with, but also to let them in the innermost aspect of your life. The loss of a loved one, in it's self is devastating. To lose someone and then find out you couldn't be there to support hat person in times of need, makes it 10, no, 100 times worse.

Please, share with those who love you and those you love, the fact that you may be or are HIV positive or have AIDS. You'd be surprised at the amount of love and support that remains in this world. Besides, letting the "cat" out of the bag can also make one realize who really cares about us. I know, some of those I thought would be supportive abandoned me while the ones I thought would abandon me are the most supportive in my life. YES, I too am HIV positive, Living with AIDS since 1993. Been there, done that... Remember, love the one your with and share, the life you save may be your own.

I am a Certified Court Interpreter, working as a freelance interpreter and within the jdicial system of the State of California as a court interpreter. I am an advocate and activist of the issues related to the HIV/AIDS and LGBT communities, recently received the Volunteer of the Year Award by a local HIV service organization. Since I work with several HIV organizations, it would be unfair not to mention them all.

Remembering Rock Hudson

By Dr. Michael Gottlieb

(Editor's Note: Dr. Michael Gottlieb was the author of the first report in the Center for Disease Control on June 5, 1981 about the mysterious new illness that would become known as AIDS. He helped the gay community learn about the disease and educated people like actress Elizabeth Taylor. Gottlieb was also actor Rock Hudson's doctor.)

Ultimately Rock was comfortable with the information becoming public and his comment was, "If it's going to help someone..." But by then the word was pretty much out. He had that episode in Paris.

[Did you send him to Paris?] Yes, I did for an experimental drug, one of the first anti-virals that ultimately proved not to be helpful to anybody, It was abandoned. So he collapsed in lobby of Ritz Hotel and a spokesman for the American hospital in Paris announced that he had AIDS. He was flown back here on a 747. They took all the seats out of first class cabin and bolted in a hospital bed. And the press, of course, was in attendance, demanding news. I asked him what he thought we should do. And he said, "If it will help people, tell them that I have AIDS. " So I had a news conference at UCLA where I said that and not much more - much to the dismay of the reporters. It was all a pretty overwhelming experience.

[How did you tell him?] He knew he had it. I told him when I think I first saw him in 1983 or 1984. We never discussed his-other than when he told me-we never discussed anything about being in the closet. We just didn't. And in terms of a public statement, all we said was that he had AIDS. We didn't say anything about his sexuality.

[How did he take getting the results?] First, there wasn't a formal HIV test. There wasn't one until 1985. He took the news calmly. I think he was aware that he was not feeling well and he knew something was wrong. He may have assumed that it was related to the epidemic because it had been going on since 1981. He was a very decent guy and he was calm and he just asked, "What's the next step? What do we do now?"

My recollection of meeting him for the first time was that he was so tall. He sat up on the exam table and I stood there facing him and I said, "You're really tall." And he said, sort of shyly, "Yeah." I knew, of course, who he was but was not huge movie fan. But I was impressed by what a tall, good looking man he was. This is before he became so ill and ended up on the cover of People.

David Inman (an appreciation)

By Tom O'Leary

Client Relations Specialist Project Angel Food

The inimitable David Inman passed away in 2004 at the age of 69 after living with HIV for many years. Before David left the earth that he so gently graced, he touched many hearts, mine included.

Within 24 hours of meeting David in 1997, he had gently twisted my arm and I found myself volunteering for Project Angel Food. David had assured me the only way to learn how to get around LA was to become a Project Angel Food volunteer driver. He suggested it was also a great way to meet a future husband, though sadly that did not happen.

David Inman was a long-term client of Project Angel Food, a treasured volunteer and briefly a staff member. He is remembered for his humor and for his tireless dedication to others in need, especially those with HIV.

When David was in the last stages of battling HIV he was awarded the Mart McChesney Earth Angel Award from Project Angel Food. This prestigious award is given to someone who has volunteered at least once a week for 12 years or more. David Inman had not only completed that task but he had also selflessly brought in possibly more new volunteers to Project Angel Food than anyone else in Project Angel Food's history.

David Inman was the soul of generosity. He showed up, rolled up his sleeves and did whatever needed to be done at Project Angel Food not because it would get him on the Channel 5 News at 11, not because his picture would be in the Calendar section of the LA Times, and not even because he would one day receive an award for his dedication. He volunteered because his heart couldn't possibly have been bigger. Being a client as well as a volunteer gave David the perspective of someone who knew the roller coaster ride HIV is for the men, women and children living with it.

I'm quite certain that David was not in heaven more than 3 minutes before he raised his hand and offered to do the heavy lifting. I miss him greatly.

Note: Gene Webster, David's partner of 40-plus years, accepted the Mart McChesney Earth Angel Award at the Project Angel Food 5th Annual Gathering of Angels in April 2004.

Remembing Paul Jasperson

By Gloria Allred

(Editor's Note: In July 1986 Paul Jasperson, a well-respected hair stylist, went to Jessica's Nail Salon in West Hollywood and made an appointment for a pedicure. However, after openly discussing his recent AIDS diagnosis with friends who happened by in front of the receptionist, the salon cancelled the appointment and refused to re-schedule, claiming they were not accepting any new male clients. The city of West Hollywood, which had just enacted an ordinance to protect people with HIV/AIDS from discrimination, filed a lawsuit against the salon for denying Jasperson service. The salon subsequently challenged the validity of the ordinance. Attorney Gloria Allred's firm filed a lawsuit against the salon in January 1987, seeking an injunction to prohibit the salon from discriminating against other PWAS. The case went to trial in February 1988, leading to a startling decision by Judge Lawrence Waddington denying the injunction, saying that the salon, and essentially any other business, could discriminate against PWAS because of a "reasonable risk of harm from the afflicted person," as Allred details in her book "Fight Back and Win." Jasperson vowed to keep fighting but died in May 1989 before an appeal could be heard. The salon's attorney sought to dismiss the case, but Allred feared that would discourage PWAS from disclosing their status and from filing discrimination suits and prompt opposing attorneys to stretch the case out until the PWA died. Allred stuck with the case until, in December 1989, the Court of Appeal reversed Waddington's decision - thus validating ordinances passed to protect PWAS from discrimination.)

Paul Jasperson was a pioneer and a courageous young man and a very sweet human being. It was and is-remains-major AIDS litigation. It was one of the first. He was a well-known and respected hairstylist and successful in West Hollywood and he was really shocked that this had happened to him. When we investigated it, we found that it really was discrimination. That was the reason they had cancelled his appointment.

At stake was the West Hollywood city ordinance, which prohibited businesses from discriminating on account of a person having AIDS or being HIV positive. And that was being challenged in our case as being unconstitutional. We thought it was important that the law be upheld, that businesses could not deny services to persons on account of the fact that that they disclosed that they had AIDS.

Also at stake was the issue of whether an injunction could be granted against a business after the person who was seeking it passed away. Ordinarily, the answer's no, but here it was important-as we argued to the court-if the case could be dismissed if the person with AIDS passed away, then there may never be any cases. Lawyers would not take the cases of AIDS discrimination and seek injunctions because the pace of the system is so slow-I think, as one of the justices said, it moves a "glacial pace"-that the defendants could delay and delay and delay until the person passes away. Then they will have won because the case will be dismissed. That means discrimination would run rampant. There would be no remedy because there would be no point in lawyers taking the cases. That is very important so the businesses know that, no matter how long they delay, and even if the plaintiff passes away, the plaintiff can still win.

Even without Paul, our case from beginning to end, took 16 years. The good news was we won. And we won a precedent that can be applied in other cases for the protection of other victims and we sent a loud and clear message to businesses.

I thought Paul was very courageous at the time because not only did he have full blow AIDS, but here he was fighting in a lawsuit. But he wanted to do that. He wanted that to be his legacy for others. Some days it was not that easy to get up and still fight-but he did, as long as he could. So his life has made a difference in lives of others and I'm just honored to have known him and to be to have represented him. I think it was the first AIDS discrimination case we did. We did many others after him and unfortunately, we are still doing some.

It takes pioneers like Paul to win rights. Some people say, Why me? I thought we had rights - why do I have to fight for them? I always say to them, it's because nobody's ever given us - women and minorities - our rights. We've always had to fight to win them. They say, Why me? I say, Why not you?

Remembering Michael Jeter

By Chad Allen

(Editor's Note: Actor Chad Allen appeared with Michael Jeter in a revival of the classic gay play Boys in the Band Aug. 18 and 19, 1997. Jeter was a Tony and Emmy-winning character actor who appeared in such films as The Green Mile, The Fisher King, and Patch Adams. On television he appeared on Sesame Street and won an Emmy for his role in the sitcom Evening Shade. He died in Los Angeles at the age of 50, leaving a partner, Sean Blue.)

Thinking of Michael Jeter now, my heart lights up with the joy that he was able to bring to so many. There simply have not existed many talents as perfect as Michael's. His humor stemmed from this extraordinarily creative soul that was never without a perfect one liner or a brilliant character. We worked together on several occasions, both in making television and raising money for the many causes he so readily associated himself. He was REAL. I loved him so much. Michael was not only a mentor and a teacher; he gave me encouragement in coming out and filled me with strength in battling addiction. He inspired my life then and his memory gives me strength today. I miss him.

Jimmy, The Most Recent

By Don Kilhefner, Ph. D.

A palpable soul-heaviness comes into the room as I sit down to write this remembrance. Like many of you, during the past 25 years there have been scores of friends who have died of AIDS and in whose deathwatch I have been involved-lovers and boyfriends, comrades in the gay liberation movement, patients, casual acquaintances, neighbors. The most recent died just a few weeks ago-his name was Jimmy.

His physician at the USC School of Medicine called and asked if I would take him under my wing. There were no more treatment options available to him. "He just has a few more months to live," I was told. It turned out to be nine months. When we first met I had difficulty connecting with him. He was very different than me-a gym bunny, White Party aficionado, friend of Tina, steroid junkie, extremely self-absorbed, 34-years-old. We meet weekly for an hour-and-a-half or so at my home in West Hollywood, drank green tea, and dialogued. Slowly I grew to like Jimmy very much, then to admire and respect him. I looked forward to his visits. Jimmy was highly responsible medically, kept all his appointments with his physician, and followed his instructions carefully. Four months before his death he had 2 T-cells and a viral load of 3 million. Sometimes it felt as if his physician and I were participating with Jimmy in some kind of grand Kabuki theater whose purpose and meaning we only dimly glimpsed from time to time. Jimmy often exclaimed, giggling-"Where am I? What language am I speaking?"-as the truthfulness in our conversations and our mutual caring for each other deepened.

I learned a lot from Jimmy about growing up poor and Latino and gay in southern Arizona near the border. It was different but similar to growing up poor and gringo and gay close to a border in Pennsylvania as I had. "If I had a dollar for every time they called me puto I wouldn't need the state to buy my medications!," he quipped one day. Then our eyes silently met and held each other for a moment. We both knew he was no longer taking any medication because he would either vomit it out or shit it out with his daily, unrelenting diarrhea. He was also having difficulty keeping food down and was getting dangerously thin. Then he accidentally discovered his last medication-an antibiotic designed for bees. It turned out that a friend of Jimmy's was in a doctor's office reading some magazines as he awaited his appointment. He was reading about bee keeping and that there was a certain fungus that bees got whereby they had to be fed a certain bee antibiotic to control its outbreak. He recognized that the name of the fungus was the same as the fungus causing Jimmy's constant diarrhea. He called Jimmy immediately. There was only one company that sold the bee antibiotic, it was located in Canada, and they told Jimmy it was not for human consumption. Jimmy ordered some for his "bees" and his physician mixed it up in the right proportions for human use. Eureka! It worked for several months, the diarrhea stopped, and Jimmy started to put on weight. Then it stopped working and we began talking about how the end was near.

Jimmy's life ended quickly. It brought back bitter memories of the 1980's and early 1990's-here today, gone tomorrow. He began to lose weight quickly, no longer had the stamina to climb by himself the two steps to my front door; and finally he could no longer drive his car to my home due to the lack of strength needed to turn the steering wheel. Our weekly visits shifted to his home in East Hollywood. On one visit I guided him to one chair on his patio rather than another. "You see her, don't you?" "See who?" "The woman sitting in the chair." "No, I didn't actually see her but I sensed her presence. That's why I didn't want you to sit in that chair. Why don't you introduce us?" "She comes every day now. She's here to help me cross over when I die. She makes me feel safe and taken care of.Her presence soothes me. My grandmother comes to visit me sometimes too, but she doesn't stay long." "I get a very good feeling about the woman. What's her name?" "Marcia."

On another visit he smelled to high heaven of body odor. "Have you been getting a bath? You stink," I thoughtlessly overreacted. "They're only sending over women attendants and I won't let them give me a bath. It's a Latino thing," he replied sheepishly." "Will you allow me to give you a bath? "Only if you promise not to look." "I promise." Jimmy was bathed, I didn't look, and from then on only male caregivers were sent to Jimmy's house.

At the end I had to go out of the city for a week but I stayed in contact with Jimmy by phone. Every day his voice seemed to sound weaker and weaker. When I next visited him in person it had been 10 days since I last saw him. I was told he was sleeping. And when I quietly went to his bedroom door to look in on him it was as if someone had punched me in the gut with all the force they had. In my absence Jimmy had become the concentration camp survivor. You probably know the look. Jimmy was literally just bone with skin laid over it. There no longer was any flesh anywhere on his body. I just stood there sobbing. I quietly left. I cried all day long-for Jimmy and all the others.

The next day-a Friday-I went to visit Jimmy again. He was awake and he told me he heard me crying the day before. With a grin on his face, he played with me: "Well, I see you have a heart that can be broken." I had once read him a Native American prayer that ended with the line "Great Spirit, give me a heart that can be broken." We used to have pointless debates on whether it was better to have a heart that could be broken or not be broken. Then he told me he thought the end was very near and he was ready to go. He took my hand and asked me if I would stay with him until the end. Of course I will.

Jimmy had four siblings but only his eldest brother in his mid-40's had come to be with him. He was a born-again Christian and as we did the deathwatch that Friday night sitting around the kitchen table talking I got to like him. I like born again anything. The second time around generally makes them better people. He told me in a moment of 1 a. m. candor that his other two brothers openly and contemptuously refer to Jimmy as "the faggot"-even in front of Jimmy-and he thought that was wrong. That's why he told them to stay home.

Jimmy took his last breath around 5:30 a. m. Saturday morning.

There are seven things, at a minimum, that I learned or relearned by knowing Jimmy:

1. Never judge a person by your first meeting.

2. Gay men are dying of AIDS more isolated and alone and largely abandoned now than at any other time in the past 25 years.

3. AIDS organizations that formerly provided critically needed service are now merely a shell of their former selves. Many AIDS services have been privatized. 4. If you have money you get the service.

5. Most born-again Christians are basically good people, particularly at 1 a.m.

6. After 25 years of these AIDS deathwatches it has not become one iota easier.

7. I have a heart that can be broken.

Don Kilhefner, Ph.D., a pioneer of the gay liberation movement, is also a founder of Los Angeles' Gay and Lesbian Center, the Van Ness Recovery House, Gay Men's Medicine Circle and various other seminal organizations in the community, including (with Harry Hay) the Radical Faeries. He is a Jungian psychologist and shamanic practitioner.