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Stories of gay folks who stood up to their oppressors and kicked butt. Writer Tom Truss takes us back to his high school and fantasizes about his chance to fight back and fails, but later on in life, succeeds; Terri Gilbert tells how she exposed a Christian high-tech company that had a CEO with bad manners; Kevin Barker deflates the God Hates Fags protesters by beating them at their own game in Jenks, Oklahoma; and finally writer John Brennan tells of his high school depression and the "nothing left to lose" attitude that fueled his ferocity against the rednecks that tormented him.
“Bashing Back”
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From PRI, Public Radio International, it’s Outright Radio. I’m David Gilmore. Today on Outright Radio we present stories on a theme of “Bashing Back” – stories from queer folks who stood up and said, “That’s it! I’ve had enough” and delivered the punch. Now, I wouldn’t want to promote any form of violence, especially here on public radio, so I promise that in this show you will not hear stories of lesbians who threw bottles from their pickups at straight folks. I promise we will not be featuring gay men tap dancing on bullies’ heads. No, the stories we present today are about queers who took the upper hand, but in non-violent ways.
First up we have a story from writer Tom Truss who takes a gay assertiveness-training class and gives it a good twist…
TT Clip: Here it was, my golden opportunity, my ultimate fantasy coming true. Finally, I was going to be able to let out all my repressed anger. My goal, like in all my fantasies, was to win – with a crowd watching.
Then, Kevin Barker talks about his technique that outsmarted Fred Phelps and the “God Hates Fags” gang…
KB Clip: So the irony was, he was mad that we got this started and he ended up just funding the organization so more GSAs could sprout up and now Oklahoma has about seven GSAs since we started ours, so, he really helped us out!
Later on, Terry Gilbert tells us the story of a Christian high-tech company and what happened when the CEO finally went berserk…
TG Clip: Metaware’s concern was if I hired somebody, I might hire people with HIV, gay people, women, Democrats, Jews, Catholics, black people, Moslems... I mean the list went on. It was like [if] anybody who was not like us was hired, that would be absolutely awful.
DG: And you had this in writing?
TG: And we had this in writing.
And finally, writer John Brennan takes us back to a day in high school when he had nothing left to lose…
JB Clip: It was true, I had a clear shot and his hands were occupied. I followed his eyes down as he realized his vulnerability. There was nothing stopping me from taking him out.
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DG: All true stories and all on a theme of Bashing Back, today on Outright Radio. We hope you’ll join us for the next hour as we present these extraordinary stories from the heart of gay America.
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Before we launch right into today’s show, I first want to throw in a little disclaimer. When we were seeking stories on this theme of Bashing Back, we got almost no response from women. It’s an interesting little side note, isn’t it? And, maybe it’s a sweeping a generalization to say that women stand up to oppression in perhaps less overt ways than men. But at any rate, before you send in your hate mail, know that we tried very hard to find stories of lesbians who bashed back. And we do actually have one, but the rest are our stories from gay men.
NOW, about that term “bashing back.” Most gay folks at point in their lives have had someone say something unkind to them about their sexuality. Some of us have actually endured much worse. I myself had a bottle thrown at me once while a boyfriend and I were holding hands in public. It’s in those moments that my fantasies usually involve hurling the bottle back which causes their car to careen into a gas station and the whole thing blows up in a giant instant karmic balloon payment. But usually we gay folks have taken the high road by reacting in a more civilized, rational way. In this case, I grabbed the nearby lesbian cop on her beat patrol in San Francisco and had the guy ticketed.
But classic cases of queer folks who simply had enough and couldn’t get the satisfaction of handling things rationally have resulted in events like the Stonewall riots, for example, in New York the week that Judy Garland died in June 1969. Drag queens rioted when their bar, The Stonewall, was raided one too many times. Or take a look at Act Up and Queer Nation. Now, whether or not you agree with their tactics, these demonstrations of rage have been excellent generators of media attention that have ultimately kicked open the door of gay lib.
Writer Tom Truss was a member of Queer Nation in the late ‘80s in Washington DC. Now he’s a Quaker… Oh and let’s not forget drama queen. Our show of queers who bashed back begins with his story.
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Silent Revenge, by Tom Truss
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TT: I recently discovered that I am a ‘fantasizer,’ a big-time fantasizer, one with a capital “F.” I used to think that everybody had as many daydreams and fantasies as I did. But after checking in with my friends, I learned that I am way over the top with my daily dose of fantasy intake. I’d like to say that it’s because I have such an active imagination and am extremely creative, but, unfortunately it turns out that the reason I daydream with such a vengeance is, because, well... I have a vengeance. Almost all my fantasies are motivated by mal- intent. I am ashamed to admit it, but in all my daydreams I love to get back at people. I like to think that I am a little more spiritually evolved than one who might fall prey to vengeance, but, I tell ya', nothin’ makes my 45-minute commute faster than an earthquake fantasy that blasts all the drivers off the highway.
I’ve even fantasized about being banned from my favorite Quaker meeting because they learn that I partake in such non-pacifist activities.
At first, I was scared of all the violence I conjured up in my mind, but then I decided to just notice when these fantasies occurred. It turns out that it always happened when I felt weak, ignored, taken advantage of, or angry.
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I remember my first full-blown fantasy that had reruns. The year is 1977. Abba was big, so was my hair, And I was failing Driver’s Ed., French, and Biology The setting is a predominantly white, middle-class high school outside of Washington DC. It used to be known for its Merit Scholars, but at that time, my school’s reputation was being built on liberalism and drugs.
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Growing up, I was the kid who always got picked on. Except, for some reason, in fourth grade I experienced a brief hiatus, and for a while, was considered cool. In the late afternoons, I could be found on the street hanging out with David Toll and the wild boys. We were hip – blowing up cans with firecrackers, throwing rocks at cars, and dodging unwanted siblings. We bonded while burning ants under a magnifying glass and while throwing eggs at old lady Fitzle’s house on the corner. We were the cowboys patrolling the “back forty.” It felt great to be a member of the “in-club.” But then, mysteriously, at Jim Skilling’s poolside birthday party the tides turned. For some unknown reason, David Toll and the cool gang invaded the bathroom while I was changing. It was my first taste of Hell. Boys banging on the door, my scrawny little arms unable to keep it closed. Bursting through, they grabbed me, threw me in the pool, and then tore off my bathing suit. I guess they knew I was different. And so, from that day on, I wore a permanent brand… I had the scarlet “S” on my forehead. I was a sissy, a fag. I had been christened the homo mascot and forever more would be ridiculed.
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Actually, the status of pansy scapegoat had one more brief respite. This time, it occurred during ninth grade. It was when Diane Barns decided to teach me how to kiss. One day, after school, Diane and I rendezvoused in the back stairwell of Leland Junior High. She was a tough, black girl with a big Afro and full breasts; I was a short, pudgy, white boy with sagging breasts. For our lips to meet, I had to stand on the stair above her because she was so tall. Soon after our kissing session, the word spread that Diane and I were going out. I don’t think we were, but Diane liked the idea, and I liked the protection it offered. Diane went so far as to tell Dennis Lanihan, one of the more physical members of the “cool club,” that if he even touched me, she would beat him up. So, for a glorious spring, I was safe. During this stint as Diane’s boyfriend, I even made friends with a semi-cool girl, Cathy Owens. Cathy and I had Algebra together with Mrs. Kemp. And the cool boys... they always sat in the back, telling each other dirty stories and then, one at a time, they’d stand up to see who’d gotten an erection. The next year Cathy and I, plus everyone who I hated, graduated to high school, except for Diane, my girlfriend-slash-bodyguard. She moved away.
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My high school was huge – four different buildings strung together by breezeways that attempted to coral 1,300 crazed hormonal teenagers. It was easy to get lost and, at the same time, it resembled a highly scrutinizing lab experiment on rats, studying the effects of hierarchy on teachers, geeks, jocks, and deadheads. Basically, it was a pressure cooker masquerading as an institution of learning.
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Fortunately, I was able to take refuge in the choir room twice a day, in the mornings – chorus, and in the afternoons – madrigals. And by the end of my first semester, I was eating lunch there too. Finding sanctuary from the cafeteria was essential. Like bathrooms and the school bus, the cafeteria was a place I avoided.
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And of course one day, the inevitable occurred. Mr. Preston, the choir director, went out for lunch and the choir room was locked. Reluctantly, I returned to the cafeteria and sat by myself with my back to the wall at one of those long, cold, white tables that folds up in the middle. I was fourteen and felt that if I even looked at the wrong person it was an invitation for them to spit on me. So, I ate lunch poised in a mouse-cornered silence with my eyes locked on my beige Salisbury steak and sweaty green beans.
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And then, Cathy Owens sat down next to me. I couldn’t imagine her joining me. Since coming to high school, she’d become a pom-pom girl and was far cooler than I could ever be. Just seconds after she sat down, David Toll, from across the lunchroom yells, "Hey, Owens! Don’t sit with that faggot Truss!" We pretended that we didn’t hear him, knowing full well that we had. In fact, everyone in the lunchroom had heard him. I don’t remember if I provided her with an easy out, or if she constructed it, but within minutes, Cathy was gone, and I was left burning inside – burning because I was humiliated in front of my classmates, burning because he stole my friend from me, and burning so deep inside because I didn’t stand up for myself.
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So, in my first and favorite recurring fantasy, Cathy Owens sits next to me at lunch and, like in real life, David Toll yells from across the lunchroom, “Hey, Owens! Don’t sit with that faggot Truss!" Only this time, I stand up and scream back “Go to Hell you “bleep-bleep!” and then Cathy stands up and yells "Yeah, go to Hell you “bleep-bleep!” and then other people, one at a time, start to stand and yell, “Go to Hell!"
In a matter of moments, we reach critical mass, and soon, everyone in the cafeteria is on the top of their tables chanting, “Go to Hell! Go to Hell! Go to Hell!” And then, on cue, like a choir rising to sing the Hallelujah chorus, the entire lunchroom stops, and in stunning silence, we turn our backs on David, and sit. Then, one at a time, each person pivots on their seat and tells David just how much of a loser he really is. As this diatribe builds into a massive cacophony, I waltz off to the choir room chatting like Noel Coward arm-in-arm with Cathy Owens.
I could always count on this fantasy to boost my morale, until I heard that after high school, and before going off to Princeton, David Toll died in a motorcycle accident.
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After college, in the ‘80s, I grooved on many fantasies, but they began to wane once I joined Queer Nation in 1989. Queer Nation was a group of talented, angry, creative, homosexuals who were tired of being pushed around. We were an offshoot of Act Up. Our mission was to wipe out homophobia and heterosexism in all its forms. We littered Washington DC with kisses and pamphlets that “outed” famous closeted homosexuals. We had makeovers in Macy’s and sang queer Christmas carols outside the homes of homophobic politicians. We reenacted the crucifixion of a gay Christ on the grounds of the Shrine of the Immaculate Conception, the National Catholic Church. My favorite was when we stormed the Pentagon.
(background music begins)
Armed with broomsticks as a symbol of the witch-hunt that was being launched on queers in the military, we constructed a massive pentagon out of pink fabric on their front lawn. We screamed, “Fags Bash Back!" And I hung out with people whose winter coats were covered with stickers like “Every Tenth Boy Scout is a Queer.” These were my fantasies coming to life. I was surrounded by underdogs who were fighting back.
It was easy for me to be strong and to defend my right to love whomever I wanted. Unfortunately, it was a double-edged sword. As I cut through the heterosexism and homophobia of Washington DC during the Reagan years, I was actually hiding behind the anonymity that large crowds can provide. We were trained to do everything in the safety of numbers. So much so, that when I was crossing the street by myself and someone drove by screaming, “Faggot, cut your hair!” I, like my 14 year-old self in high school, did nothing. I just pretended that it hadn’t happened. But inside was that familiar feeling of burning. First off, it had been years since I had been made fun of, and secondly, and more importantly, I hadn’t changed my pattern of shutting down and freezing. I didn’t fight or take flight from this opponent – I just froze. After all those years of shouting for my rights with Queer Nation, when it got right down to it, I still couldn’t defend myself.
The next year, with a social group called “Twentysomethings,” I attended a sexual harassment workshop. It’s 1990 now and the facilitator, Kevin, taught us the phrase, “You know what? That’s harassment, and I don’t like it, and in fact nobody here likes to be harassed, so stop it.” He believed that when under attack it’s hard to know what to do, or what to say, so we memorized that phrase. We wrote it down. We sang it. We said it to the people on our right and the people on our left, and then, came my favorite part ... role-playing.
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I volunteered to be the jock, who sits down in a booth next to some people in a restaurant who turn out to be queers. My job was to tease them, and their job was to say “You know what? That’s harassment, and I don’t like it, and in fact nobody here likes to be harassed, so stop it.” This newly learned mantra was to be said with enough conviction that it would shut me up. I loved my part. Here it was, my golden opportunity, my ultimate fantasy coming true. Finally, I was going to be able to let out all my repressed anger. My goal, like in all my fantasies, was to win – with a crowd watching.
I was superb. I was rotten and mean. I happily spit out, “Goddam faggots! Get out o’here!” I was unrelenting with my barbs. In fact, I was so good, that my Twentysomethings cohorts, whose only task was to say, “You’re harassing me – stop it!” failed miserably, and one of them broke down crying. I, on the other hand, was delirious. I was as proud as a football player who’d just bench-pressed the entire cheerleading squad. I was wired. It was thrilling to get to be the bad guy who won. I got a taste of being David Tolle and all the guys who had teased me throughout my childhood. I was back on our block making fun of Ross Miller and setting off firecrackers. I was feeling powerful. But it was a quick and shallow high. This game, this role-playing that I had supposedly done well at had turned me into one of my oppressors. Even though I was the victor, it didn’t feel victorious.
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So, here I was, trained and ready to respond. I had graduated with honors, sort of, from the school of “Queers Bash Back” and I was eager to apply my newfound skill. Not until almost ten years later did it happen. I was in Montana, in a tiny town getting gas for my Chinook, a little RV that I had just inherited from my aunt in California. It’s 1997 – 20 years after David Tolle humiliated me in our high school cafeteria. I’m no longer a pudgy boy with bad hair, but a tall, strong, professional dancer who occasionally fantasizes. My latest recurring fantasy is that when I am teased, I turn into this Ninja ballet diva that kicks in my oppressor’s head – it’s a good one. Anyway, my friend Bart and I are on this road trip. We’re hitting all the national parks and collecting bumper stickers. My RV was covered with sayings like “Keep Your Laws Off My Body” and “Queer by Nature, Proud by Choice.”
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And as we start to pull out of this gas station in Montana, someone from across the lunchroom – OOPS! – the gas station yells, “Go home faggot!”
I say to Bart, “Stop the Chinook.” And in the middle of the intersection, I get out of my RV. Still holding onto my cup of organic lemonade mixed with seltzer water, I saunter back to the pumps where the guy who yelled, “Go home faggot!” is standing. He’s wearing cowboy boots, ripped jeans and a greasy t-shirt. I’m sporting clogs, tight, cut-off jeans, and a cream-colored tank top with a big banana on it. We were costumed well for our parts. He’s staring at me while pumping gas. His girlfriend, who’s attached to his arm, is looking away. The door to his pickup truck is open, and sitting inside, under the gun rack, is another guy. I remember my mind being completely blank. I had no idea what I was going to say, or do… and with my face just inches away from his I said, “You know what – I'm not interested in fighting, I just want you to know that I don't appreciate being harassed and you need to stop it.” As I turned on my clogs and walked back to the Chinook, I overheard his girlfriend hiss, “I told you not to.”
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That confrontation in Montana turned out to be one of my rites of passage. In that gas station, I joined a new club. It wasn’t the hip club or the in-crowd that I had longed for in my youth, but a club that had one member in it – me. Like I said, I didn’t know what I was going to do or what was going to happen, I just new that I had to do something. Looking back, I realized that I wasn’t aware of any danger, and that I wasn’t concerned for my immediate safety either. I suppose I was acting on behalf of my long-term safety. I didn’t want to be teased again. I didn’t want to be ridiculed again. I didn’t want to be left sitting alone burning inside with shame from not defending myself. It’s bad enough to be made fun of, but when you don’t stand up for yourself, it’s like you’re the one who’s making fun of yourself. So finally here, I stood with conviction and claimed my inalienable right to be who I am, free from persecution. One month after that event, I was given another bumper sticker for the back of my Chinook; it quotes Eleanor Roosevelt, “No one can insult you without your permission.”
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Without looking back at that gas station or that guy who tried to insult me, I returned to the Chinook. As I climbed inside my car, I started to shake uncontrollably. My whole body was trembling. It wasn’t from fear or excitement, but something else. And then, I remembered the Quakers – and how we got our name. Our meetings are held in silence, until someone is moved to speak. And it is said that if you truly speak the words of God, then you will quake.
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DG: Writer Tom Truss, whose mother once said “You know Tommy, you'll meet more men if you cut your hair.”
We’ll be back with more stories of queers Bashing Back when Outright Radio returns from PRI, Public Radio International.
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STATION BREAK / MUSIC
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DG: You’re listening to Outright Radio from PRI, Public Radio International. I’m David Gilmore. You can contact us at comments@outrightradio.org or call us toll-free at 866-OUT-RADIO, that’s 866 688-7234.
Now back to our theme of Bashing Back… I talked with a young man who is now a student in New Orleans, but who is originally from a small town in [Oklahoma] where he practiced a technique that has been used to combat the protests of bigots who come bearing signs of hatred at events like Matthew Sheppard’s funeral. Signs that read “God Hates Fags,” “AIDS Cures Fags” – you get the idea. In this case, they came to protest the high school graduation of Kevin Barker, who ended up beating them at their own game…
Kevin Barker’s Story:
DG: So you have a unique sort of way of combating homophobia. Tell me about your new technique.
KB: Well what the technique is, is to ask people to donate money, to pledge money to organizations or to causes for people who protest. It mainly was invented for one group of people, and that would be our favorite friends at GodHatesFags.com, the Fred Phelps group. And what they’re known for is just going around the nation and doing pickets…like, just every single day. I swear they have a different picket every single day for something stupid. But, they just go around and they make themselves look stupid with these signs and try to cause a lot of problems, but pretty much the longer they stay, the more money that’s made. We have people donate money for as long as they stay… maybe a dollar per minute and it goes to a good cause.
DG: Right. Now, Fred Phelps and – it’s the Westboro Baptist Church – they were the folks who protested at Matthew Sheppard’s funeral, correct?
KB: Yeah, those are the people. That’s where they got their fame. They’ve been around for a long time, but that’s where they got their fame.
DG: And so his sort of vitriolic message inspired you guys to start this thing where you raise money every time, for every minute that they speak?
KB: Well, it depends… it started out as an hour and then some people started saying, “Well how about I just do it per minute, maybe a nickel a minute or a quarter a minute’ which adds up if they’re there for 90 minutes or so.
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KB: They had read an article in The Tulsa World, which is our big newspaper in Oklahoma, and it was talking about the GSA that was started and how we were running into a lot of problems with the principal, and how he was causing us a lot of discrimination, a lot of bigotry from his end. So when we were battling that, it made the news that we were just fighting to have an equal club like the rest of the people. And when that was put on the front page of the main section of the paper, I’m assuming he got a hold of that somehow with relatives in Tulsa or the Oklahoma area, or something along those lines, and from what I think – I don’t know what he does – but he obviously has a different protest everyday. So I think he just has people all over that just send him little tidbits – “Where can we protest next?”
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DG: So this was your high school you started the gay student alliance, and – what town is this in?
KB: The high school is located in Jenks, Oklahoma. It’s a really small town. Oral Roberts University is right across the river. It’s right next to Tulsa.
DG: And so they found out about you, they came to speak at your high school – [rather,] they came to protest your high school graduation… and how did they protest?
KB: Well, the way they protest everyone – with their silly signs that say, “God Hates Fags”…
DG: And this is specifically directed at you?
KB: Yeah. They even had a picture of me on one of their signs with Matthew Sheppard and when they sent out the little press releases, they had a picture – because they got the picture from the paper that The Tulsa World published – and they had a picture with me and Matthew Sheppard in Hell with these cool little demons – it was pretty neat.
DG: And so where were they positioned at the ceremony?
KB: We had our graduation ceremony at [a Center at] the Oral Roberts University and so they were located right at a stop light right where you would turn in on a public easement corner right before you enter.
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KB: And then when it’s over, I get all these pledges – after I sent out the email, within a day, I have 40 emails in my box and it was just a perpetual, non-stop thing – it just kept going on for two weeks until he actually came. I was getting email [after] email – my mailbox was full! I had emails every day with people pledging, and pledging, and pledging. One guy from California pledged 100 dollars an hour and I ended up raising over $5,000, so I was shocked!
I never would have believed it… I was looking for $200, $500 and it ended going to $5,000, so it was definitely a shock, but I wasn’t surprised.
DG: So you’re sort of mobilizing the community and making a statement to them at the same time.
KB: Definitely, definitely… and using the money to start other GSA’s in Oklahoma where there were zero – where there were none before.
DG: So then they protested and then you sent them a thank-you letter for coming – I mean this was a tongue-in-cheek thank-you letter…
KB: Yeah definitely, it was very patronizing, saying ‘thanks a lot’ – very sarcastic – but I got the point across: ‘thanks for raising $5,000!’ And so what we did was we donated it to GLSEN, Gay Lesbian Straight Education Network – they’re the organization that actually helped us all get started, that helped the GSA get started with all the materials that we needed. So the irony was, he was mad that we got this started and he ended up just funding the organization so more GSAs could sprout up and now Oklahoma has about seven GSAs since we started ours. So, he really helped us out!
DG: Very interesting… and then you heard back from a relative of his?
KB: Yeah, I heard back from a lot of relatives of his actually. I’ve never really had an email signed specifically by him. I don’t know [if] he doesn’t write or what, but all his relatives have been pretty emphatic. The first email is from Rebecca A. Phelps-Davis, proud member of Westboro Baptist Church and proud soldier of the Lord. And it says, “Wahoo!… I guess you really tricked us this time, didn’t you? I don’t think so. All you showed is that money is your god. Don’t you think that raising money for the time we’re picketing changes the word of God one little bit! NO, dummy! God’s word is the same yesterday, today, and forever… and God’s word for it: God hates fags! What you do during your miserable Goddamning life makes absolutely no difference. You are a vessel of wrath and you will someday meet your maker, and, boy… would I love to be a fly on the wall when that happens! I can just see it – you’ll be standing there cowering under the power of the Lord Almighty, saying, “But Lord, I have cast out many demons in your name. For example, look what I did against Fred Phelps and his church. Please, oh please, oh please, oh please, don’t send me into Hell where the worm …” (laughter)
DG: (laughter) OK, I get the idea.
KB: (continues) “…the worm that eats on me never dies and the fire is never quenched and the only thing that will change is my ability to stand the pain that is inflicted upon me as it increases everyday for eternity… to which the Lord will say: ‘You idiot! Depart from me – I never knew you…hahahaha…’ It makes laugh hard just thinking about it. So you take your lusted-after money and do with it what you want while you still have the chance ‘little Mr. Really, Really Smart Faggy Body’”…(laughter)
DG: (laughter) Mr. Faggy Body?
KB: (continues) …Faggy Body – it’s like a kindergartener… (letter continues) “…But remember, your day is coming to be sure that you are too deaf, dumb and blind to even see it. You know why? Because the Lord has stopped up your ears, hardened your heart, and blinded your eyes to the Truth. Isn’t it great! Have a wonderful day. From Rebecca A. Phelps-Davis.”
DG: Wow! What was your feeling after you got that email?
KB: (Laughs & Laughs) That was about it, just laughed at it.
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DG: They’ve obviously taken you somewhat seriously because they’ve devoted a whole page to your technique and they’ve sort of done a mockery...
KB: I think if you go to the front page it says “How to Make Millions From Fags” or, “How Fags Can Make Millions From Our Protests.” So now they’re telling everyone about it and the way to cope with the fact that now people are going to be making money.
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DG: “Mr. Faggy Body” Kevin Barker now attends The University of New Orleans and is working on a triple major in psychology, biology and chemistry. Now, if you’d like to send a thank-you letter to “God Hates Fags” for helping fund the new gay student alliances of Oklahoma, be sure to visit their website: GodHatesFags.com. I’m sure they’d love to hear from you.
MUSIC [Why Worry When You Can Pray?]
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The House That Jesus Paid For (an interview with Terry Gilbert)
DG: Continuing on our theme of Bashing Back, I talked to a woman from Scotts Valley, California who now lives in a house she bought in part from a settlement against a Christian-based, high-tech company. The company, Metaware, had a vision for a steely, high-tech future but with an old-fashioned work ethic and a CEO with bad manners. Meet Terry Gilbert…
TG: Well I came to Santa Cruz in 1990 and things were not doing very well for me. I was reaching the point where I was pretty strapped for cash – I didn’t have enough for next month’s rent.
DG: At the time of her job interview with the engineering department, Terry was one of the only people in the country with the specific information technology skills that the software manufacturer needed.
TG: Their IT department was in chaos because they couldn’t keep anybody there. They were using a proprietary system, which I happened to be an expert in, and so it was a marriage made in heaven. When I met Bill Harrell, the VP of engineering, we hit it right off and at the end of the interview he was excited, I was excited and then he looked at me and he said, “There may be one problem here,” and he handed me his card and I looked at it and I looked at him and he said, “Turn it over.” And when I turned the card over, printed on the back was a statement that the bearer was a witness for Christ and was engaged in saving everyone that they met on behalf of this particular belief in Christianity that the owner of the company espoused.
DG: Bill had this on the back of his card?
TG: Everyone was required to have this on the back of [his or her] card.
DG: Everybody at the whole company...?
TG: Everybody at the company was required…
DG: But he wasn’t necessarily in synch with this belief?
TG: No, he was fairly embarrassed by this and was a constant advocate that his was not something that the company should do, that it was an embarrassment for their Jewish employees, or their Islamic employees, or anyone who might have other beliefs than this one particular fundamentalist Protestant belief that Frank adhered to.
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DG: The Frank she is referring to is the CEO and founder – the guy with the bad manners. You’ll hear more about him soon. But there’s something you should know before we get too far into this interview – Terry is now a woman, but she wasn’t born a woman. She’s a transgendered woman: male to female. Now as you can imagine, in a company with a “Leave It to Beaver” corporate culture, Terry being a tranny was likely to raise a few eyebrows, even with her mild-mannered, unassuming persona…
TG: I don’t like to surprise people. I’ve experienced the problems that you get into when you surprise people about fundamental issues of identity.
DG: (laughter) But did you reveal to him that you were queer, or…?
TG: No, it didn’t seem to matter. If somebody looks at me and asks, I have no problem in telling them. But I don’t think anybody needs information that they don’t want. I’m not a person who grabs people and says, “You’re in the presence of a QUEER, now do something!” (laughter)
DG: …(laughter) RUN!
TG: …(laughter) RUN! … or something… that’s never been my style. I think that we need to respect each other and just live that way.
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DG: Terry talked about the harrowing job interview where Frank, the CEO, sensed something was up with her. He proceeded to grill her, stating in no uncertain terms that Metaware was a Christian company first, and a high-tech company second.
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TG: The company needed my services more than they needed political or spiritual correctness, and I was brought in to re-establish some functionality and order in this rather complex internal computing environment that they had.
DG: So they put aside their beliefs in order to get your skills?
TG: Well, in order to survive as a company. They were really actually struggling. Nobody understood how things worked and they needed changes made and they needed fixes and… computer systems, you don’t just install them and they work forever. Somebody has to be the “good shepherd” if you will.
DG: (laughter…)
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TG: So I started working there…and as it turned out it was actually a wonderful job. It was like being handed a huge playpen. I went from desperate straights to having a good paying job in one of the most technically interesting environments… we had everything from IBM mainframes to every possible kind of computer. They were all there, they all had to be made to talk together, they all had to … we all had to get along (laughter).
DG: So to speak. And what was your title there?
TG: Well, I didn’t have a title. When I came to work, I was handed one of the Religious Right’s books on how women’s place was in the home and it was really against God’s plan for them to be in the workplace. And the company had policies against women holding senior executive positions. So I was functioning as the director of IT but all of my staff was assigned to report to the CFO so that they wouldn’t have a female boss…they worked for me but they reported to him.
DG: I asked Terry what it was like harboring this deep secret about her being transgendered.
TG: Well, again, I didn’t actually keep the secret. I had a lot of friends there. As I got to know them, you talk about yourself and the information gets out. So, I actually don’t think it was very long before everything was, if not public knowledge, common knowledge.
DG: And did Frank know?
TG: Frank had to know... what happened [was] that he got crazier and crazier. But of course since he didn’t come and talk to me – he kind of kept his distance – there was never any chance to deal with it. I made it clear that there was something he might want to know in case he was hearing it from other people, and that there was an opportunity to talk about it.
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DG: Well, not surprisingly, Frank started getting a little hot under the collar, sensing that his Christian company was being undermined by the same person that was holding the high-tech company together.
TG: Frank had started to make comments aside. He would walk by my office and he would say things, clearly within earshot, that were designed to make me uncomfortable. Most of these things didn’t really make any sense. It was like, “What? What was that? Why did you do that? Why did you say that?”
And then finally one day, he came into my office and he spent three hours just… I was sitting in my chair, and he was walking around my office. And since I had one of the only offices in the company on “Executive Row” along the front of the building, and since I didn’t have a title or anything else – it was always very strange that it was set up this way – but I had an office with sliding glass doors across the front, so everybody out in the lab could see that this process was going on. Frank was wandering around my room… well inside the room, he was going on and on and on about how it was so important to maintain the purity of things and to not borrow money and he was… it was not making any real sense, but he was just ranting and ranting, ranting, and I was mostly sitting there listening and trying to figure out what the hell was going on.
DG: It sounds like, I don’t know if you have ever seen
Dr. Strangelove…
TG: (laughter) Oh many times! I own the DVD…
DG: (laughter) …it’s my favorite film. It sounds like that moment when that guy is talking about bodily fluids and Peter Sellers is…
TG: Oh, absolutely! And I was having the same reaction as Peter Sellers. I was trying to figure out how do I interact in this situation when I can’t follow one sentence to the next, except that I’m just feeling really, really weird.
So I went in and I said, “I’m done.” And he tried to talk me out of it again, and I said, “No, I can’t be talked out of it this time, I’m definitely history.”
DG: You’re talking to Bill?
TG: I’m talking to Bill and Bill suggested that it wasn’t right and that I might want to check with this one particular attorney who handled discrimination cases in Santa Cruz – Jennifer Droback – and would I please just look her up and have a chat with her.
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TG: Bill just basically made me promise that I would go see Jennifer. And when I went to see Jennifer, it turns out she had a box with 1600 pages of memos, Board of Director’s minutes, email transcripts… there had been an enormous conversation, if you will, taking place in the company that involved enemy lists – people had been listed in two columns: people that might be allies of mine and people who could be trusted not to be allies of mine.
DG: So these 1600 pages of history or information was about you, specifically, or…
TG: Oh yeah…
DG: …not about other employees?
TG: No, just about… well it was about other employees as they related to me.
DG: And how did she get hold of this?
TG: Bill had been collecting it this entire time.
DG: Oh my goodness!
TG: Whenever the president was out of town on a sales call or anything and he would be the acting president, and he would have access to all the files, and he was busy making copies of all of this damning information.
DG: Were you shocked?
TG: Oh, I was absolutely stunned. They had been carrying on conversations with attorneys about how to… basically, very openly, ‘How do we discriminate against this person (me) without getting caught? How do we conduct a campaign that gets rid of her without being taken as the origin of it.’ And then on top of it there were a couple of truly amazing emails.
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TG: The most amazing of which was the one that captured the entire thing most succinctly. Frank said basically that Metaware’s concern was that if I were allowed to remain in a position of authority, eventually they’d have to give me the title and those things, at which point, if I hired somebody – I might hire – and the list contained the following – it may not be limited to it, but it contained at least the following: people with HIV, gay people, women, Democrats, Jews, Catholics, black people, Moslems… I mean the list went on – it was like, if anybody who was not like us was hired, that would be absolutely awful.
DG: And you had this in writing?
TG: And we had this in writing. We had this and many, many, many other things.
DG: So what did you do? What was the next step with the lawyer?
TG: Well, so the issue was [that] there clearly were grounds for a job action… and we started the process of filing the lawsuits.
DG (voiceover): Well, apparently a team of lawyers was sent out by Pat Robertson to take on the case. The case ended up costing Metaware over $200,000 in legal fees – paid for out of the employees’ profit-sharing plan. Terry was unwittingly pitted against the remaining employees of the company…
DG: So what was the trial like?
TG: Well, we never actually went to trial, we went to mediation, and since I had not actually wanted to do this in the first place, and this had been several years of extremely emotionally-devastating depositions, and actions, and having to write things, and remember things, and do stuff, we did actually settle for what I think is a very low sum.
DG: Can you tell me what the settlement was?
TG: The settlement was $360,000. What’s interesting is [that] normally in these cases there’s a gag order to prevent people from talking about it, but they wanted to be able to go out and talk on the Christian circuit to show that there was this gay agenda to take apart Christian companies – in fact, some of the documents that they had, had me as an agent of some massive gay conspiracy and I had been placed in this company in order to do this. The level of paranoia was really quite astounding.
DG: Terry, were you trying to infiltrate the company and destroy them from the inside out? (laughter)
TG: Well, I wish I had (laughter). It would have made a better book.
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DG: Terry went back into private computer consulting, raising venture capital to start a company of her own. Metaware was eventually bought by an English company, and in a twist of fate, Frank ended up working for one of the people he originally listed as a “friend and conspirator” of Terry. Terry continues to run her own Internet security company and you can read more about her at Outsorcery.com.
MUSIC [& Dr. Strangelove “precious fluids” dialogue clip]
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DG: Our last Bashing Back story comes from writer John Brennan…
JB: I went to high school in a small town founded by Methodists; that, not coincidentally, was the last dry town in California. Ten years after developing peace with the bottle, Pacific Grove still held unspoken prohibitions about being a man-loving, wig-combing sissy.
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JB: My memory of high school in the late ‘70s is a tangled mess because of the near-constant threat from bullies, their conniving accomplices, and my resulting emotional turmoil that was diagnosed as depression.
These bullies were probably just like your bullies in some ways. They were the big straight guys, you know, the ones that could grow beards in junior high – that kind of guy. My set of bullies called themselves “Rednecks.” You might even recognize the drag: jeans, t-shirts, boots, and cowboy hats. They drove trucks and chewed tobacco.
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So the stage is set: I’m a fairly “out” theatre boy with academic tendencies, crossing paths five days a week with the Rednecks. And, on this particular day, I was so depressed that I simply did not have that innate feeling that life was worth living.
MUSIC (Blondie’s Rip Her to Shreds)
It was lunch period. I was headed up the hill wearing red peg-legged pants and a t-shirt with a star the size of a fist where a pocket should be. My hair was long punk, and I had a shiny stud in my ear.
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As I approached the wing with my locker, I could see that the regular pack of Rednecks were between me and my locker down the corridor – twelve of them were hanging out…
My mind flashed on the detours I could take, but that day, I just didn’t care. I was so fed up and hollow from depression that a senseless death didn’t seem so bad. That may have given me the gumption to be fierce. I picked up my head from the shoulders, walked faster and charted a narrow path through them. I think I kind of caught them off guard.
While still inside their sphere, I heard the usual words meant to torment and to put me in my place: faggot, sissy, freak. There were also the sounds that weren’t really words, but were just as threatening, a sort of hostile murmur and rustling – “the bad vibe.” I’d had it! I spun around on my heels, dropping down as I turned, and said, in a voice so soft, I could barely hear it, “Fuck you!” I knew that my lips had snarled the shape that could only be what I said, even if no sound hit their ears. It wasn’t planned. It just happened.
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My brain snapped into action. In a beat, ‘plan one’ was in place… I continued to my locker, twirled out 19-21-15, grabbed my Spanish notebook, and headed for the nearby advanced Spanish lunch lab. The pack was coming after me. I was walking, not running. I knew I was in danger, but I was not panicked or fearful. Within a few moments, I was out of sight, in one of the safest places on campus. Nobody messed with my Spanish teacher, Ms. Leach.
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I made my way to my regular desk for Spanish 1, sat down, and opened up my book. I looked around the classroom. Ms. Leach was presiding from her desk. The room was dead quiet except for the “bad vibe” outside carrying up through the high transom windows. The other students knew who was out there and who they were after.
My plan had one small flaw I was barely settled, pretending to study my Spanish, when Ms. Leach said to me, “John, you know this lab is only for Spanish 3 and Spanish 4 students.” I said, “Yes, but I thought I could just come in and…” She interrupted and said, “I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave.” “OK,” I said. Nobody messed with Ms. Leach, not even someone who was about to be creamed.
I rose from my desk and by the time I’d taken the few short steps to the door, I had devised ‘plan two.’ I pushed the horizontal panic bar on the door, creating the distinctive click, but held off a split second before actually opening the door. Then I pushed the door with all my might, following it out and through the scattered boys.
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So. that was the end of ‘plan two.’ It had worked brilliantly, but now I was just out of their sphere once more, having walked right through them again, and headed to my locker. I knelt at my locker and had enough time to fumble 19-21-15, slip in my Spanish notebook and close the locker before a shadow fell around me. I turned around and stood up. At least my Spanish notebook was safe.
Jim Carminate grabbed me by the throat, lifted me, and slammed me into the locker. I was still fairly calm considering Jim was the biggest and meanest Redneck, and a senior. I remember wiggling my feet to confirm other clues: my feet were not touching the ground; Jim was literally holding me up by the neck. He was surrounded two-deep by other boys. Many of these faces were the same boys that had beaten me up in junior high.
“What did you say back there?” he asked. “Fuck You!” I said. (Although I didn’t really say it as much as I croaked it – you know, it takes a lot of pressure and grip to hold a teenager by the neck.)
“What?” he said, incredulous. “I said, ‘Fuck You!’” I was charting a course for victory. Then Jim said, “Are you a fag?” We were face-to-face – I looked him in the eyes and scratched out, “Who told you?”
With the same condescending tone, I croaked, “You know Jim…” I gestured with my eyes; “I could kick you in the balls right now!” It was true. I had a clear shot and his hands were occupied. I followed his eyes down as he realized his vulnerability. There was nothing stopping me from taking him out.
Seeing an opportunity to take the upper hand, letting Jim know and then…(pause) not taking it…(pause) – that turned out to be the magic of my bashing back.
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I knew that I could not win any fight with fists and feet, even with one of these guys. But, telling the truth and presenting the options served a disarming blow.
I knew I had won when, like an impossible moment in a Marquez novel, Jim lowered me to the ground and the pack dissolved.
That was the end of my torment from the Rednecks. It was as if a constant annoying noise in my head suddenly stopped. (Pause and slow down…) It took me a while to hear the silence, to feel the difference as I made my way across campus. I had made my world a safer place.
For years, I wondered why I was such a threat to Jim. I wondered how my words, my standing up to him had dissipated his anger.
Years later, work brought me back to Pacific Grove. While I was there, I saw a poster to raise funds for Jim Carminate’s medical bills. He had cancer. I couldn’t help but associate his hate with his cancer.
I still see men leaping at the opportunity for violence and I know – I have proof – that there are alternatives. I also know that moments of seeming powerlessness can lead to victory. What I don't know is if Jim survived his cancer… or his hate.
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DG: John Brennan is a writer and performance artist who will be hiking the Pacific Crest Trail, from Mexico to Canada, some of it in drag. You can read more about his adventures at www.frozenpoodle.com.
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(Outright Radio Theme Music)
That’s all for today’s show.
ORR is produced in collaboration with KXCI in Tucson, Arizona. Senior editor for our show is Jesse Rose DeRooy. Our business manager is John Brennan.
Support for Outright Radio comes from this station and Public Radio International stations nationwide and is made possible in part by the PRI Program Fund, whose contributors include the John D. and Catherine T. MacArthur Foundation. Additional support comes from the Gill Foundation, the Rainbow Endowment, the Gay and Lesbian Fund for South Florida and the Corporation for Public Broadcasting.
Thanks to Jenni Lawson at WWNO, New Orleans and Alex Kosoriek at KUAT, Tucson, Javier Sanchez in Seattle, Scott Wardle, Kwai Lam, Rickster Trickster in Santa Cruz, and special thanks to Peter Troxell and the staff of KUSP, Santa Cruz.
THEME MUSIC
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This is David Gilmore - thanks for joining us.
MUSIC (“Why Worry When You Can Pray” sound bite)
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