Volume Two of my “Memoirs” begins:
was 1985, and San Francisco was reeling under the epidemic of AIDS.
group, and group of friends, were shaken. It began touching people
we knew and loved and it appeared it could touch any one of us. We
didn’t know what to do. … Because we lived those days walking
through a nightmare. And it’s memories won’t die.
then the hospitals, the doctor’s offices, the hospices, the
sickrooms, the waiting. And then the families, the mothers, the
siblings. And with them came the anguish, the ignorance, the
problems. And the doctors, the social workers, the dying counselors.
The books on dying. The nuns. The small meetings among friends,
deciding what to do, deciding who would be sitting with whom, caring
for them and helping them die. ...
Dark and horrible memories. The decade sunk into a black abyss.
Down we went, into pain and suffering and loss and death. …”
* * *
On and on it goes, for
pages and pages, for chapters and years to come. There would be good times, of
course. We tried as best we could. Our group of friends was always
happy and up. We were comics, we did comedy. And as we applied
ourselves to, first, just surviving and then helping the cause; we
called upon our best instincts and worked hard. In the end we were
proud of what we did.
But I’ve thought a lot about it all
and have decided not to offer here my “complete volume two” as I did
with volume one. This is not the place or the time, I feel, to
relive those hard, recent years.
Instead, I have used
some selections from my memoirs in other parts of this site. You can
find many of our fine projects and art events in the TIME-LINE, for example, such as the floats we did for the AIDS Emergency Fund,
“Stonewall 20,” “Care-A-Thon” and others, my art shows in Mexico and
theater productions in Oaxaca. In “Recents Writings” too, you’ll
find selections about Mexico, the political situation, drag queens
of the Isthmus and, of course, the work we did for the Common Front Against AIDS
But the rest, for now, can
lie where they are, unpublished. …
* * *