Editorial
The Good Old Days? Looking Back, Moving Ahead
by David Ortmann
written expressly for the STOP AIDS Project
originally appeared in the Bay Area Reporter, 10/8/98
"You just don't understand where I am coming from!"
We've all heard that one before, the suggestion that we somehow don't "get it." When I hear it, my politically correct feathers get a bit ruffled and my first instinct is to say, "Of course I understand. I'm a great listener!" But, when it comes right down to it, being a good listener has very little to do with really understanding another's experience or where they're coming from. In other words, I could polish my listening skills from now until Governor Wilson headlines at Finocchio's, and still miss the boat on really understanding an experience of which I am not directly a part.
As a young gay man, I find one of the eras I understand the least, and perhaps romanticize the most, is the 1970s. It was a time of celebration, of good music, of hot sex before latex, of believing you would grow old in the company of your friends and they would grow old right beside you. Man, it was the good old days!
Or was it? You see, I don't know. I wasn't there.
In the late 1970s and early 1980s, I was your average, closeted kid living in suburban New Jersey. To me, Sylvester was not the extraordinary drag-disco diva, but a cartoon cat that terrorized Tweety Bird. My days were filed with trying to survive a Chemistry class with a teacher who missed no opportunity to hurl homophobic slurs my way and avoiding bashings in the gym locker room. I spent my days trying to survive long enough to grow up. At the same time, unbeknownst to me, men like me were struggling to survive the beginnings of an epidemic about which there was a pathetic lack of information and incredible misunderstanding. AIDS was hitting our community and it seemed that the good old days had finally come to an end.
I want to know what life was like before the AIDS epidemic hit ground zero on Castro Street. I want to know how the music sounded, what the bars were like, what people talked about, and what issues they organized around. What were the good old days? What happened to them? How can I create my own good old days in a community that had been hard-hit by AIDS and is becoming increasingly unsure concerning the direction of HIV prevention and education? While I was not at The Stud listening to Donna Summer in 1979, I do have a strong desire to understand the history of my community in this city. More importantly, I have a stake in the future of that community.
But where can this cross-generational dialogue take place? Are there others out there with similar questions and curiosities? If so, where do we come together to talk and learn from one another? Maybe such a place does not exist.
Or does it?
The Stop AIDS Project, continuing its tradition of sponsoring provocative and innovative community forums, is sponsoring just such a forum at 2pm this Saturday, October 10th at the Metropolitan Community Church. It's called "The Good Old Days," and it's about the good old days: the myths as well as the realities. Panelists include San Francisco Supervisor Tom Ammiano, Daddy Alan Selby-founder of Mr. S. Leather-and other surprise guests.
The forum is also about us, the queer community of San Francisco, how we can create a future as a community around sex and HIV during this crucial time when discussions of prevention no longer seem fashionable, and when new HIV treatments are mistakenly seen as the cure for which we have all been waiting patiently.
As we approach the new millennium, there is a great deal happening in our community. Not least among these is the realization that some gay and bisexual men are continuing to engage in high-risk behaviors. In order to understand where we are going, it's crucial to understand where we've been and what happened there. As a young gay man, I celebrate this unique and long overdue opportunity to come together with young queers, old queers, city politicians, performers, organizers, activists, writers, and generally interesting humans as we discuss our past and strategize for our future together.
So, I hope to see you at the Metropolitan Community Church (150 Eureka Street at 18th) at 2pm this Saturday the 10th of October. I'll be the guy in the corner with the Walkman on his head, trying to imagine exactly what it must have been like to be listening to Donna Summer on a Saturday night at The Stud over two decades ago.