Chapter 26: Ripples?

Sunday, October 14, 1984

The rally was similar to the other one for the most part. However, there were differences.

The obvious positive difference was Candice and Sherry in the crowd. Not only that, but Erwin and Sandy were with them, and Sherry’s parents joined not long after. I made a point to say hi to Erwin and Sandy and introduced myself to Sherry’s parents. Sandy played it down, but the way she said a few things told me that she still felt like she owed me a debt of gratitude nearly four years later.

There was nothing wrong with that, but I didn’t need it. As I’d said long ago, seeing Candice alive, healthy, and happy was all the reward I needed. Angie and I hadn’t done what we’d done for ourselves nor for Erwin or Sandy. We’d done it for Candice.

And, as I’d thought yesterday, the whole thing was endlessly complicated.

There was an obvious negative difference, too. A crowd of protesters had assembled across the street.

Some of them restrained themselves to signs like ‘No special rights for gays!’ I could respect that, even if I disagreed that anyone was getting ‘special rights.’ Straight people weren’t being fired for being straight. If they were, everyone on ‘our side’ would say that was a bad thing and shouldn’t happen either.

Others were less restrained. Some had Bible verses that put down gay people. Again, they had the right to their faith, but the government shouldn’t be run according to the dictates of one particular faith.

Then there were the ones who had abandoned all restraints and had signs such as ‘Faggots must die!’ (or the slightly more linguistically correct ‘Faggots will burn!’). Those worried me. I couldn’t help but see them both as an incitement to violence now and also as presaging a more polarized, more confrontational political climate in the future. Wishing death upon one’s political opponents is not healthy for a democracy.

A couple of times I thought I spotted a familiar face among the protesters, but I couldn’t quite tell who. It was just that sort of feeling. Maybe one of them was a Clarke? Or some kid I knew from somewhere? It wasn’t the new neighbors, I was sure, and Cammie’s parents weren’t there. I was pretty sure of that much, at least.

The rally itself went just fine. I spotted Annise Parker again, and we waved to each other, but that was it. When it was time to give our speeches, we mostly repeated what we said before, but with a bit more focus on ‘go get out the vote!’

I had a second interesting conversation, though, one that explained a lot of things I’d been wondering about while adding a bunch of new questions.

As we were mingling, a woman shook my hand. Her name tag said, ‘Christin Hartung, Councilwoman, District G’. The name sounded extremely familiar.

“Steve Marshall!” she said, smiling, and offering her hand. “I’d been hoping to get to meet you.”

“I’m glad you did, then,” I said, smiling back to her and shaking hands. “Your name is familiar, but I confess that I’m not sure where District G is.”

She chuckled.

“A lot of people would say that. You grew up in the Memorial Villages, right?”

“Hunters Creek, yes.”

“My district surrounds you to the south, east, and west.”

“Ah!” I said. That made a lot of sense.

She waved her arm.

“You made some of this possible, you know.”

I blinked.

“I did?”

She nodded.

“You, and Elizabeth Vinton, and Janet Collins. And, to a lesser extent, your sister and her girlfriend. They’re very effective speakers, by the way.”

“I’ll pass that along!”

“Thank you. Anyway ... it all goes back to that interview with Marvin Zindler. If not for Ms. Vinton and Ms. Collins, that never would have happened, of course. But, since it did happen, suddenly gay rights were on the evening news, and here was a well-spoken straight teenager saying things that were so sensible even the President of the United States picked up on them.”

“To be fair, one of his speechwriters picked up on the comments in the Chronicle.”

She chuckled.

“Sure, but it only got to the speechwriter because the Chronicle was interested. In turn, the Chronicle was interested mostly because of Marvin, I think. You got inside his defenses and shifted him to your side. That’s no small feat! People are scared of Marvin!”

“Particularly restaurateurs,” I said, chuckling.

“Anyone who deals with the public,” she said. “City Councilpersons included! He’s not that political, but still.”

I nodded, not saying anything.

“Anyway, it was really a revelation that, of all places, Memorial High School could have gay kids at a prom and the world didn’t end. That the notably conservative Spring Branch ISD school board wouldn’t freak out. That parents didn’t pull their kids from school, that churches didn’t show up and picket, none of that. We picked up two votes for the antidiscrimination ordinance because of that whole thing. Don’t quote me on this, but John Goodner never would’ve supported it without seeing the positive press coverage. He figures Reagan gives him cover.”

I nodded slowly, head spinning. I knew the name ‘John Goodner,’ and was pretty sure he was another Houston City Councilperson.

“Anyway, that’s why some of us are willing to keep our necks stuck out. This whole thing is concerning for those of us who voted for it, but I’m sticking to my guns on it, and so are the rest of them. Obviously, Kathy is here for the long haul, of course.”

That would be Kathy Whitmire, the current mayor of Houston. The fact that I was now part of a two-person ‘six degrees of separation’ link between Houston’s first and (potentially) second female mayor was slightly mind-blowing.

“Of course,” I said.

“Ironic, I suppose. You don’t live in Houston, Memorial’s not in Houston, yet you and your friends might be a major factor in the elections, even if very few people will ever credit you publicly. Heck, Goodner probably doesn’t know who you are. He just knows Marvin wound up saying gay people aren’t so bad, and then Reagan said it, too, and the world hasn’t ended.”

“You know who I am, though,” I said.

She chuckled, then said, “About twenty percent of Memorial students live in my district. Houston pays to have them covered so we don’t have to build our own school there. Residents strongly prefer it, and it keeps property values up. I have to keep up with Memorial.”

I nodded, smiling.

“Anyway, I thought you should know,” she continued. “It’s not like your name itself has any power, but ... you made a difference, Steve. A really big one.”

“Thank you, Ms. Hartung,” I said.

“Christin,” she said. “I’ll be keeping my eye on you. And your friends. You’re all at A&M, right?”

I nodded.

“Involved in the whole Gay Student Services thing?” she said, eyes twinkling.

“What would the odds be that we weren’t?” I said.

She grinned and said, “That’s what I thought.”

She offered her hand again, and I shook it.

“Please, keep in touch,” she said, still grinning. “You’re interesting.”

“The same,” I said. “We’re just ordinary college students...”

That got her chuckling.

“But maybe we won’t always be.”

“I’d bet you won’t!” she said.

Dad insisted that we have brunch at The Warwick, so of course we did. On the drive over, Angie said, “So. Future mayor last time, current city councilwoman this time? Is she going to be mayor, too?”

I chuckled.

“No, and I think she’s straight. She supported the ordinance, though,” I said.

“What’d you talk about?” Jas asked.

“Oddly ... us, sort of,” I said.

“How so?” Angie said.

“Her district abuts the Memorial Villages,” I said, “so she was aware of the whole prom thing. Both of them. Her claim is that, between charming Marvin Zindler and getting quoted by President Reagan, I convinced some people that the sky wouldn’t fall if people said nice things about gay people.”

Paige grinned at Angie, who was making a bit of a strange face.

“Seriously?” Angie said. “We ... did this?”

“Some of it?” I said. “Not all of it, definitely. The anti-discrimination ordinance happened in my first life. So did Straight Slate, and the recall vote. Admittedly, maybe the timing is different. It’s not like I remember when Dr. Ott gave that sermon, or which races Straight Slate was about, except that Louis Welch was definitely a candidate in one of them, and that’s gotta be next year. Except, I think that was the thing people called ‘Straight Slate II.’ I mean, they didn’t call it that, but a lot of other people did.”

“Still...” Jas said. “I think this is one of those times.”

“Huh?” Cammie said.

Jas smiled and said, “This is one of those times where Steve and Angie are going to say they’re ‘changing history,’ where — for us — this is history. I mean, the way history is supposed to go. For them, stuff is ‘different,’ but for us, stuff follows from other things which maybe are different, but they’re...”

She paused, bit her lower lip a bit, then continued, saying, “Well, take Lizzie. The whole student council race happens before anyone here except Steve and Angie know they’re from other universes. So does that first prom. Then I find out, just before the Reagan thing happens, so at least someone else knew then, but still. The rest of us don’t find out until later still. So, for us, Lizzie and Janet ‘just happened.’ Steve talking to Marvin Zindler, and the Chronicle, ‘just happens.’ It’s history. We can imagine it being different, but it feels ... off. Weird. It’s not what happened. We were all there.”

Cammie was nodding along before long.

“Okay, yes, it’s one of those times.”