The late sixties and the seventies were a time of liberation, yes, but also of excess, as if the cork had been popped on a seemingly bottomless bottle of bubbly and we were all called to the party. Bathhouses, gay discos, pay-at-the-door orgies -- they all came out of whatever repressive closet they'd been hiding in and, especially in the gay Meccas of New York, San Francisco and Amsterdam (to start with), it was "be there or be square."
There must be a fair amount of starchy New England blood running through my California/Dutch veins, for though I had my fair share of dancing the night away and frolicking in the Vondel Park on a warm summer evening, the Scene never had much pull for me. I'm a morning person who, until recently, was always awake and up with the dawn. The only times it felt natural for me to be up and about at 3 a.m. was when Pamela and I had an out-of-town gig and performed out in the provinces, getting back to Amsterdam in the wee hours, hungry for Indonesian food at an all night restaurant. Sometimes I think that my early bird constitution may have saved my life.
But my friends were turning HIV positive at an alarming rate. My best friend Bob modeled the best response possible by becoming a Buddy. He volunteered to help, one-on-one, to provide both practical and spiritual support for those who'd contracted what remained through this decade a deadly auto-immune disease. I am humbled by the suffering he shared, we shared with those dear men, young and not-so-young, who got sick and sicker. And now, looking back, I am heartened by how the "Gay Community" moved beyond splitting into more and more narrow subcultures and stood up as one, demanding that our voices be heard. Sure, it was so scary that many tried in vain to put on blinders and party on. As always, educating ourselves and others was crucial.
The ACT UP movement was an incredibly important call to all of our better selves. And the day-to-day help that my heroes --- like Bob Newmark --- carried on with, year after year, as beloved sweethearts and friends were one after another taken from us, well, AIDS changed us all.
As a man of the theater, I was privileged in 1988, just returned to life in the States, to be part of the company of actors that mounted the moving drama entitled As Is by William M. Hoffman. Our wonderful director, Jay Manley, got it just right. He cast a company, with all but two of us playing multiple roles. We rehearsed intimately and made quilt panels for the AIDS Quilt. Keith played Rich who was about to break up with his lover, Saul (that would be me) when he starts getting AIDS symptoms. Not unlike Kushner's elegiac Angels in America (which arrived 8 years later and is a masterpiece), As Is played a balancing act between despair and hope. Rich and Saul decide to stay together, and the people around them either turn away or step up. I will never forget performing As Is to a full house at the Metropolitan Community Church in the Castro. The feeling of communion in that sanctuary, the emotional connection than ran through us all, gave me a peak experience. For me theater's power to bring us together in catharsis and, yes, even laughter is the power that has me forever wed to the stage.
The plague is not over. After nearly twenty years of hanging in there, using every medicine possible, my dearest Isaac succumbed to the disease only a few years ago. Isaac was my partner for seven years. When I need to feel blessed and beautiful, I put on one of the gorgeous pieces of apparel he designed and made for me. And I am dedicating all the good I may ever do to the many beautiful friends who have died, leaving us with their potential and charging us to carry on and to keep on loving one another. Namasté.