Chapter 14: Politics, Shows, and Friends

Wednesday, August 22, 1984

Mel spent some time sequestered away with Angie later in the morning. They emerged all smiles. Angie gave me a hug and told me it was all good.

In the early afternoon, we decided we all wanted to get a look at the main campus library. We’d passed it a few times but hadn’t gone in.

The walk itself was pleasant enough. There were more students out and about today than there had been Monday, though still far fewer than I expected would be here next week.

The library itself was an interesting building — or, rather, pair of buildings. The new library (Sterling C. Evans) connected directly to the old library (Cushing). It wasn’t quite seamless, but there wasn’t really a sense of moving from one building to another. It was more like going from a new part of a building to an old part.

There were all of the things one would expect: reading rooms, study rooms, typewriters, a computer lab (the newfangled kind, with Macintoshes and printers), plenty of places to sit and work, archives, and so on. I suspected we would all spend a lot of time here.

It was fun contrasting this place with what was to be. There were signs of it now: one lonely terminal sitting across from the card catalog which promised a quick way of searching for a book (though not guaranteed to be fully accurate!), the Macintoshes not quite displacing the typewriters (but they would, within a few years), and so forth. The world was on the verge of a major transition and very few people really understood just how profound that transition was going to be.

Even playing by the rules we’d set, simply knowing that should leave us in great shape. With a foot already in the door at one of the companies that would play a big part in that transformation? The sky was the limit.

On the way out, Angie grabbed a couple of copies of The Batt (aka The Battalion — we’d already learned that no one used the full name!).

She took a quick look at the opinion page as we walked, then said, “Nothing about GSS here, or at least not on the opinion page!”

“That’s a relief!” Cammie said. “I want them to succeed, but it’s a lot of to-do over not that much, really. If anyone else wanted a club...”

“Except the necrophiliacs and bestiality people, lest we forget!” Paige said, making a face.

“Yeah. Except them. And ... oh, hell! I don’t even want to think about anything worse than that,” Cammie said.

“Ew!” Mel added.

“Anyway!” Cammie said. “It’s stupid that it’s a court case, but hopefully it’ll just die down and we can all move on.”

“Yeah!” Jas said.

We chatted about it a bit more. Our destination was the MSC. The cafeteria sounded good, and Angie and Mel both wanted stuff from the bookstore. That, and everyone had decided they needed a few more A&M t-shirts. There were off-campus places that were cheaper (and we would undoubtedly shop there, too), but a couple from here would be quick and easy.

While we were eating, Jas suddenly put down her fork and pointed.

“Hey!” she said, once she’d quickly choked down the bite she’d just taken. “Look at this!”

We looked. It was an ad for a performance series entitled ‘The Best of Broadway’. Perhaps it was the ‘best’ (and perhaps not). Still, it looked like we would have touring companies for ‘Seven Brides for Seven Brothers’, ‘Dracula’, ‘‘night, Mother’, ‘Brighton Beach Memoirs’, and ‘GiGi’.

“Where do I sign up?” Angie said.

Jas pointed at the bottom. The most expensive seats were sold out, but the middle and cheapest tiers were available, and at what felt like a reasonable price (about $47 or $54 for students — for all five shows).

The shows would be held in the large auditorium where, years ago, Janet had gotten her trophy in the last math tournament either of us had ever attended. That felt like ancient history by now. It would always be an important memory for me, though. It was the first step in a long chain that led to where I was now, sitting here with this group of friends.

Cammie and Mel tried to bow out, but their arms were eventually twisted (with the proviso that we would understand if they decided to opt out of one or more shows). That led to a more spirited discussion of whether we wanted to sit together and triple-date or sit nearby and have ‘couples nights.’

In the end, sitting together won out. Cammie and Mel, in particular, might have felt a trifle insecure about publicly dating, but would have felt pressure to ‘date’ if we’d opted for ‘couples nights.’ Sitting together there was strength in numbers.

There was a similar ad for ‘OPAS,’ aka ‘Opera and Performing Arts Society,’ which offered seven shows covering ballet, opera, orchestra, solo piano, and a choral group. Several of us were tempted by various shows, but no one felt like they wanted to purchase season tickets. We’d take what was available in single tickets for the shows we wanted, or we’d miss out and decide season tickets were required next year.

Neither ad mentioned the dates of the performances. For the Broadway series, the consensus was ‘who cares?’ We would figure out a way to attend, no matter when the shows were.

We shopped for a bit, then headed back home. We were mostly settled in by this point, but there was still some unpacking, arranging, rearranging, and so forth to be done.

When we got home, there was a message waiting on the answering machine. I hit play and we all listened to it.

“Hello? I’m calling for Mister Steve Marshall, Ms. Angie Marshall, or Ms. Paige Seiler. My name is Ellen Carruthers, and I’m with Houstonians For Equality. We’re having a rally to oppose Straight Slate on Sunday, September 9th, and we’d like to have you speak at the rally. You can call me back at 71...”

The message cut off then, but she’d left a second one with her number, and almost too much apologizing. We actually had it — the caller ID box we’d hooked up had caught it — but it was smart that she’d left it.

I looked at Angie, and she looked at me.

“I’m in,” she said.

“Yeah. Me, too,” I said.

We both looked at Paige, and she said, “Duh! Of course, I’m in!”

Cammie grinned, and said, “Hell! I have nothing to lose, really, and ... yeah. Count me in, too. I want to be in!”

Mel high-fived her, and then so did the rest of us.

I gave Ms. Carruthers a call back. The call, oddly, almost tripped me up at the start. She said, “Hello, Mister Marshall! Thanks for calling me back.”

I said, “Call me Steve, please. I...”

Then I realized that ‘I never got used to anyone calling me Mister’ — which was true — would be ridiculous coming from an eighteen-year-old.

Instead, I shifted to, “ ... still am only barely used to being an adult, so Mister seems silly. Steve is great.”

“Steve it is!” she said, and we were back to discussing things.

The rally would be at eleven in the morning at Cherryhurst Park, which was located not far from Westheimer and Montrose, the heart of Houston’s gay community. Even by this time, there were dozens of gay bars nearby. It wouldn’t hold a monster rally, but they probably wouldn’t get one, either. They had a reasonable shot at getting media coverage, though.

Paige summed it up by saying, “Back into the spotlight y’all go!”

“Better them than me!” Mel said.

I caught a gleam in Cammie’s eye that suggested that Mel might not be as safe as she thought she was.

I called Mom to let her know we’d gotten the call, and that we’d be staying at the house on Saturday night, September 8th. She said that they’d picked out beds for Angie’s room and would likely have them in place by then. If not, Angie could likely stay at Paige’s or Jasmine’s house, but all of us staying together would be nice.

Since Angie could stay in her old room, Cammie and Mel would likely stay at Jasmine’s house. In Mel’s opinion, it would be easier not to mention to her parents that they were in town.

I wasn’t sure that was the best idea. If Cammie or Mel turned up in the news coverage of the event, that might be a problem. Still, I suppose she could claim that we drove down early Sunday morning instead of on Saturday, and that it was a spur-of-the-moment thing.

Angie and Mel made a run to the grocery store around three. Jas had asked me to shift a few things in our room, and Paige was busy working on hers. Cammie, meanwhile, had an appointment with her therapist. They would be changing schedules after this week to one that would fit with her class schedule.

We’d filled in the calendar (prominently located near the front door) with everyone’s schedule, plus the football schedule and other major events.

While I was shifting a box, I heard a knock at the front door. I told Jas I’d get it, which seemed to work for her.

I opened the front door to find Peter Bradshaw, our neighbor, there.

“Howdy!” I said, offering my hand.

“Howdy,” he said, shaking it. “You catch on quick! That’ll serve you well around here!”

“They taught us well in Fish Camp,” I said.

He chuckled. Then his explanation got serious.

“I found that article about you,” he said. “Quite something!”

I just nodded, waiting him out.

“Look, it doesn’t offend me. I’m good with people being people. Heck, I’m generally in favor of the whole ‘Gay Student Services’ thing happening.”

“I’m glad,” I said.

“But you might have trouble with the guys three doors down,” he said, pointing to a two-story brick house with a big front porch.

“Oh?” I said.

“They’re pretty conservative Southern Baptist types. They invite everyone to their church, and I know they’re not okay with gay people.”

“They’re welcome to their opinions,” I said. “Just as we’re welcome to ours.”

He nodded.

“They’ve said things about other people. I mean ... well. Unmarried couples bother them, and we get some chiding about that, but with an actual lesbian couple to harass? It’ll be chaos.”

I figured I might as well spill the beans. It was no longer a secret, and Peter seemed like he could be more of a friend than not.

“Two lesbian couples.”

He blinked, then said, “Oh! Oh, my. Yeah ... they’ll go nuts.”

I wanted to reference a song — ‘Let’s Give ‘Em Something To Talk About’. Sadly, it had yet to be written.

Instead, I said, “We don’t back down easily, and we’ve had experience with pushback. As long as they just tell us we’re all going to hell, that’ll be fine. If they get to threats, then ... well. We’ll see what happens.”

“It won’t be threats. More annoying nuisance stuff.”

“Been there, done that. Look, I really appreciate you telling me. Forewarned is forearmed. I don’t think we’d have stayed under the radar for long, in any case.”

“GSS t-shirts in the future?” he said, chuckling.

“If they’ve got ‘em, we’ll buy them. Four potential members, two supporters.”

“It’s pretty cool — in a weird way — that the first two lesbian couples to just go to a prom were both in Houston,” he said.