Where do I start?
When I was a young boy, I was drawn to certain things like a moth to a flame. My big three passions were classical music, figure skating and growing flowers. As Rufus Wainwright would say, "Pretty things." I know that's about as stereotypically gay as one can get but there it was, long before I had any concept of human sexuality, much less my future homosexuality.
I came out in 1969 at the age of 19, shortly after Stonewall but severely nudged by the Vietnam War and a draft notice. I don't speak for the gay community. I can only speak from my own experience and perspective. At the time I began the process of coming out, I didn't know another soul who was openly gay. If there was any angst I felt during adolescence before coming out, it grew from that isolation. Stonewall was widely publicized and shocking to society. Queers fight back. How I loved it. Positively exhilarating. Stonewall gave me a calmness, a serenity, a huge sense of hopefulness and an inner power of conviction to say out loud, "F*ck you, I know I'm right. You're wrong," to whoever voiced opposition, obstacle or disgust. I had shed the shame.
Here's where I become a bit perplexed with modern times. It's popular these days to hear gay men express the idea that their sexual orientation is but a small portion of their being. Except for that one thing, they are quite like other men. That may well be true for some but it was never the case for me. I am quite different from heterosexual men and being attracted to men is only a small part of what makes me different. Of course, I fully endorse and have long fought for our quest for equal rights -- to marry, to serve openly in the military, to have every right -- but on the other hand, I have no desire to emulate heterosexual men. It isn't who I am.
Stonewall. Before and After. It was easy to feel when I came out (and so closely tied to Stonewall) that the world had shifted overnight. Everyone in the gay world before that date was as miserable and alone as I was and everything after that date was quite wonderful. Okay, things were less than perfect, especially legally, but we were already working on that and we believed we would get there eventually. The most important parts for me were finding a way to connect, a way to be happy and an end to the despondency that things would never get better.
Of course, I realized later I was wrong. The world had not shifted; I had shifted. Gay people, at least some of us, had always found a way to connect. It wasn't all miserable and dreary before Stonewall, simply unseen. That's what I learned from my elders. I laughed out loud at Kyril's review of the Chaz Bono documentary, "I hated it!" because that would have summed up my review of Brokeback Mountain. It just didn't ring true to me. Find love and give it up? Who are these people? I don't know them. Oh, gawd, here we go again, gay people as victims. This is where we may again differ in opinion. Gay people have been victimized, I won't ever deny it. The death of Tyler Clementi brought me to my knees, took me down, the overwhelming sadness and unnecessary loss of life and talent. So misery didn't end with Stonewall for everyone either.
But I don't want to be known only as a victim. I know my people. We're ingenious, resourceful and persevering. And if this steps on toes, so be it, we are abundantly talented and hugely creative. We have pluck! I want straight society to embrace us because we're wonderful and any society should be damn proud to have us and our contributions. If you think I'm making shit up, well, gawd knows we've had enough shit made up about us. So bring on the good shit because we have plenty!
That was supposed to be a short introduction, not a rant, but it does expose my mindset. As the story unfolds below the squiggle, you will see I wasn't the only young queerling drawn to classical music.
The Oberlin College LGBT community decided to document their history at the school and solicited the experiences of LGBT alumni. The accounts range from the 1920s to the present. Trying to preserve our history isn't unusual. There have been similar projects in many major cities. Oberlin, if you don't know, is in Ohio about 40 miles southwest of Cleveland. The remarkable and interesting aspect to me is that gay male students attending the school during the very same years had vastly different experiences and it hinged on the ability to connect to others. Some gay men had miserable existences while for others it was a glorious flowering. Sure, there are many stories of falling in love with fellow students and not being able to admit it. "I couldn't say it. I was unable," is a frequent theme. Many stories of I Thought I Was the Only One. This personal recollection in particular is so sad, read it later after you find a box of tissues. But finally we get to the story of the organ majors of Oberlin. It's a true story that fills my heart with joy. It's about Oberlin college in the early '50s through the '60s. Pre-Stonewall. American society's view of homosexuality was not kind. Homosexuality was a sexual perversion, a corrupting deviancy, a mental derangement and a crime. To admit publicly one was homosexual carried severe consequences. Remember too that the '50s were the age of Joe McCarthy routing out the pinkos and queers for the good of America. Well, not good for gay Americans, it was a particularly difficult era for us, but you must never underestimate our pluck and resourcefulness.
Oberlin College had a music conservatory during this period (and still does), quite well-known and prestigious. Students could major in music, on particular instruments and one could choose the organ as an instrument. The conservatory long had a reputation of being "full of queers" and that could have been a factor for some to enroll, but it seems by most accounts that many gay moths were drawn to the flame of organ music. Nearly all the organ majors were gay men, their presence could not be denied, by the school or to each other. It wasn't calculated at all, it simply was. Gay men following their passion for music arrived to discover that others were more like themselves than they could ever have dreamed. How wonderful is that? Starting in the early '50s, someone whose name is lost to history had the brilliant idea for the organ majors to take over the top floor (consisting of 10 or 12 rooms, some double, some triple) of a dormitory named Burton Hall. And so they did. If you have ever lived in a dorm at college you know this took considerable forethought and planning, applying for particular rooms a year in advance. Covert and subversive, it was a sacred trust, no one admitted to what was going on and would deny it if questioned. The administration was mute. It remains unclear whether the scheme was unknown or best unacknowledged. The organ majors of Oberlin did hold some esteem and clout. They were talented and it is said what they lacked in technical skills was far exceeded by the emotion they could find in a seemingly neutral piece of music. There is much evidence that some highly placed, closeted professors knew well what was going on and did what they could to deflect and gloss over rumblings from the administration or gossip.
There was no reason for other students to venture to the top floor. Of course there was redecorating, several mentions of draperies, fresh flowers and candy dishes. There was much visiting between rooms and carrying on. "It was a place we could take off our masks." They slept with doors open. There was an element of scouting new members beyond the music conservatory circle, approaching the suspected, talking in code (the primary code words were "musical" and "gay", lesbians were "vegetarians") and offering a chance at something better. To connect. Some might say "recruiting." An emissary was sent on a mission of mercy to students who were thought to be gay. "And he explained that he had come, indeed been sent, to help me ." Parties every weekend, by invitation only. Romances flourished. The plan perpetuated into the '60s, graduating seniors would give up their rooms only to those who had entered the circle. Hooray for them. They had found a way. These are the people I know and love.
So the moral of the story is shed the shame. Isolation = misery, connection = a chance for happiness. I feel we are at a place in our history and journey where some gay men would like to disassociate themselves from anything perceived as too gay. I see it in new acquaintances, sometimes I see it even here. It's long been a mystery to me. Why deny who we are? Or, at least, who some of us are. I hope someone can explain it. Are they ashamed of it? Please, no, I implore you, there shall be no return to shame. That would be a huge mistake.