by Jeff Horton

Dear Larry,

You were my one and only Valentine for 24 years, and now I’m thinking of all the memories we shared.

I remember when we met in 1983, while we were both working on Jackie Goldberg’s first school board campaign. I was a left-wing activist teacher at Crenshaw, and you worked in the pharmacy at Good Samaritan. We fell in love fast, and then began the hard part of making our love last.

Through all our years together we shared a passion for our community and for public life. When I ran for the school board in 1991, I always counted on your love and support. Those eight years on the board were exciting and stressful for both of us. Issues swirled around us, such as AIDS education, condoms in high school, the needs of gay students—and all the other education issues—budget, curriculum, school construction. We rode in the parade, we cringed at some of the media coverage, we discussed everything—profound and trivial. Through all of this, we stayed a strong, gay, biracial couple.

In 1984—with you leading the effort—we bought a little house on a hill in Echo Park. In 1998 we made it bigger. Then in 2005 it burned down, and you led our effort to rebuild it bigger and better than ever.

But a house is just a building, and you wanted a family to live in the house. At first it was just dogs and cats, but then you decided we should adopt a child. I soon agreed, and we launched into another life-changing project. In 1995 we adopted Dante. He was 5, we were in our 40s, and thus began the most challenging, but also most glorious, chapter of our lives. Then you wanted a little brother for Dante, and we adopted Lorenzo in 1999, at age 7.

Believing that property is the only real wealth, you bought houses in South Los Angeles, where you grew up, and realized your dream of creating a tangible legacy for our sons.

So there we were at the turn of the millennium: a gay, biracial family in the heart of Los Angeles.

I was driven from the school board in 1999 by an overly ambitious mayor, and we devoted ourselves to raising two wonderful sons. We did everything parents should do, and no one ever even tried to say no to us. Back-to-school nights, parent conferences, Little League games, family vacations, birthday parties, music, golf and tennis lessons—we did it all as a team. We shared each other’s families with our children—your dozens of cousins throughout South Los Angeles, my small Orange County family. We demanded from life everything it could give, and we never settled for less.

Sure, we argued. We were very different people with different backgrounds, different views of life and different ways of relating to people. But we shared a commitment to each other and to giving our children a strong, stable family life. We combined the best from each of us to raise our children and serve our community.

Meanwhile, you never gave up on realizing your own dreams. You got your bachelor’s degree in social work—a great example for our boys—and then you decided to run for our Neighborhood Council. There you always pushed hard for real, tangible benefits for the people and neighborhoods of Echo Park. You became a neighborhood legend for your annual Halloween shows in our garage. You kept pushing to get a business going, and you never gave up on your dreams or on us or our children.

And so we built an extraordinary life together, Larry Pickens. What a team we were! You were the idea man, always coming up with new projects; I was the planner. You expressed passion and enthusiasm that went from peaks to valleys in an instant; I maintained an even temperament and a steady course.

We met a lot of challenges—political ups and downs, the house fire and reconstruction, your diabetes and hypertension, episodes of unemployment and financial pressure, arguments, crises, triumphs. Together we loved each other, we loved our sons, we laughed, we cried, we ate, we yelled, we embraced. It should have gone on for many more years.

Now you’re gone, Larry. Suddenly, unexpectedly, tragically, you have left us. Many grieve your passing—our sons of course, our families, our many friends from all phases of our lives.

Everyone said, “Larry was always so alive—how could he be dead?” In a few tragic minutes, my life was ripped apart, our sons lost a father, many lost a dear friend or relation, and the community lost a passionate advocate.

We even disagreed on life after death. I don’t believe in it, while you always spoke of a transformation like that of a butterfly. Whatever the truth of that, people do live on in the effects they have on those around them.

You have touched many lives, my darling, most of all mine and our children’s, but also many others. You will live on in our memories and in the ways that we were influenced by you. I am committed to preserving your life and your legacy, whether it’s through our sons, the property, your many projects and ambitions, your sense of humor, your taste in food or all the other ways you lived your life.

We went though a lot. We had it all, and we did it our way. In your name, our sons and I will carry on and continue to build a great life.

But still, I’ll always miss you terribly, my darling Larry.