As If Death Summoned. Alan E. Rose

twice!” The group chuckled.

      “So, you’re interested in medicine?”

      “No, I’m interested in the hunky doctors.” Arthur stared at him as the others guffawed.

      Steve said, “A number of gay men are deaf, and we need to do a better job of reaching out to them. Lukas, I see on your application that you sign.”

      “Some. Enough for basic communication.”

      “How basic?”

      “Well, I know,” flurry of fingers, “Do you come here often?” and, flurry of fingers, “Take me home with you.’” Steve stared at him, much like Arthur had. “I also know the alphabet.”

      “Well, it’s a start,” said Steve.

      One hundred eighty degrees from Lukas was John, a retired Air Force colonel in his late fifties. Sitting ramrod straight in his chair, he introduced himself by declaring that he wasn’t gay. So why was he here? He wanted to volunteer, wanted to offer what he could, because he had a gay son living in Los Angeles. It was his way of supporting his son. He looked uncomfortable as he spoke. How would guys coming in to test feel with him? I listened politely as he responded to our questions, but had already scratched him off the list.

      Many of the candidates had lost friends or lovers to AIDS; all wanted to make a difference, to do something; perhaps they could keep others from becoming infected.

      At the end of the evening, after the candidates left, the three of us discussed them and what each might bring to the program. Arthur had reservations about Lukas. “I’m not sure he has the right professional attitude for this.”

      “I understand what you’re saying,” I said, “but it may help to have a social butterfly on the team.”

      “Social butterfly? He’s an entire swarm.”

      “And we may need some comic relief,” said Steve. Arthur reluctantly assented. In the months ahead, Lukas would be the glue holding our team together, the court jester willing to play the fool, bringing wit and humor to work that would have its grim moments.

      I had two concerns among that first evening’s candidates. Tyler was a sophomore at Portland State University, a sweet-faced kid, eager as a pup, and it couldn’t have been more obvious if he wore a sign around his neck: VIRGIN. “He’s only nineteen. I think he’s too young for this.”

      “Leo’s only twenty,” said Steve.

      “Steve, there’s no comparison. Leo was living on the streets when he was fifteen. Tyler comes from Lake Oswego, for god sake. And just look at him. He’s going to get hit on by every guy who comes in here.”

      Steve was philosophical. “The kid’s going to have to grow up sooner or later. And it’s better he learns to say no here than in the bars. Besides, if we want to draw young guys to test, we should have young guys on the team.” Arthur agreed.

      My second concern was John. “I’m not sure about our retired colonel. I wonder whether he can remain neutral and nonjudgmental.”

      Arthur shared my concern, but Steve said, “I’d like to give him a chance.”

      “Are you sure? I think guys won’t feel comfortable with him. And him with them. I advise against bringing him on.”

      “It’s your program and your team, but I’d ask you to give him a try. You’ll have ten weeks of training to see if he’s appropriate or not. And he may wash out anyway.”

      “Why do you want him?”

      “I think it would be good to have an older man on the team. And he kind of reminds me of my dad. I know how hard it would be for my father to do something like this. I’d like to think someone would give my dad a chance.”

      Arthur gave me a nod-shrug. It was against my better judgment, but like the rest of the prevention team, if Steve asked me to march into Hell with him, I’d only want to know what I should pack. “Okay. We’ll see how he does.”

      He flashed his boyish grin. “Thanks. I owe you one.”

      By the end of the week, we had interviewed all the candidates and selected nine to start the training— joined by Chad, Leo, and Lionel from the prevention staff, who Steve wanted to be involved— so we had our twelve. Now the work to shape them into a team would begin.

      Chapter Nine

      “We few, we happy few, we band of brothers”

      [Portland, Oregon, April 1994]

      In the first session of the training program, Steve welcomed the group with his usual cheerleader enthusiasm. “You will be making a real difference,” he told them. “You’ll be saving the lives of your brothers. We can stop this epidemic in Oregon because of volunteers like you.” I noticed the change in the room’s atmosphere as he spoke, people sitting up straighter, a certain swelling with pride. Steve always had this effect upon people. He ended by thanking them for being part of this effort that had never been tried before. “You are going to be pioneers!”

      We began with self-introductions. The colonel led off. “Hi, my name’s John. I’m not gay.” Hoo boy. Great start. My eyes slid over to Steve, who smiled and shrugged his shoulders as if to say, We’ve got ten weeks. It was very important to John that everyone know he was not queer. “But I have a gay son, and I’m here because of him.” The group welcomed him.

      Next to John was a handsome, dark-eyed fellow. “Hi. My name’s Marco.” (Lukas whispered to Chad, “Love to see his Polo.”) Marco shared that he was HIV-positive and in a monogamous relationship with his partner, Terry, who was negative.

      Lukas’s self-introduction was animated and entertaining. He began by sharing that he came from a small town “forty miles and fifty years north of Portland.” After he’d been speaking for eight minutes and only gotten to his coming out in first grade, I feared we were going to get his complete and unabridged life story. I interrupted him. “Excuse me, Lukas. We need to move on.”

      “But I’m not finished.”

      “I know. But in the interest of time, this is only a ten-week training.”

      After the others introduced themselves, I gave an overview to the program: Arthur would handle the technical information and procedural part; I would handle the counseling and team building. They were each provided a thick binder on HIV and AIDS and standard counseling procedures, and later would be divided into practice teams. I emphasized that everything shared here was confidential, as it would be in the counseling rooms, with the exceptions that we were required to report any instances of sex with minors or a person who by his words was threatening to harm himself or another.

      “It’s not our role to judge. We’re here to help.” I was speaking to John. ”And to do that we have to build trust with each person who comes in. That means being nonjudgmental of sexual behaviors that might be foreign to us.”

      “I can’t imagine any that’d be foreign to me,” said Lukas.

      Each session would be divided into one hour of technical training on HIV/AIDS, and one hour on basic counseling techniques and team building, during which they could ask other members of the group any personal question they wished. The one being asked could choose not to answer.

      In their second session, Marco asked the colonel, “How long were you in the military?”

      “Thirty-five years.”

      “Oh, I love men in uniforms, too!” burbled Lukas.

      The others laughed but John just bristled. I suspected he’d be doing a lot more bristling over these coming weeks. “I’m not gay,” he said, in case anyone had forgotten.

      Reggie, a young Black computer programmer, asked Lukas if that was his real name.

      “No.