Christmas of Infamy

In the 60'sand 70's, many upward bound gays found inexpensive summer cottage rentals along pristine beaches and a sleepy village atmosphere in New Buffalo and Sawyer, Michigan.  Word of mouth popularized the area, and as time went on, many couples purchased property in the area, making it an unofficial gay enclave. It became a year around community of gay professionals with second homes . Sort of strange ,since that area centered around Tower Hill, a large summer camp of bible thumping conservative Christians . It was a studied co-existence

So it came to be that my friendship with Dr John Rippon , an esteemed University Professor, got me invited to weekend up at his Sawyer home to what had become a tradition a among area residents. It was a “gathering of the clan” to a Christmas fete, among a group that had forged strong friendships over the years . 

The event was built around a progressive dinner among 5 homes . Each house was full of invited guests who joined in preparing a portion of this gala event that was linked by everyone walking and caroling between the houses in a spirit of Christmas cheer.   The invited comprised professionals rom all walks; such as the Governor’s Office Manager, VP of Standard Oil, Research Chemist, Consumer Reports Division Head, actors, interior designers, area professors and industry execs.  Many had life partners well before it was legal or even acceptable to do so legally.  Our commonality was being gay. But it was a learned and sophisticated group.

John, along with neighbor John Lamping, hosted the first gathering, which was Champagne and appetizers. John had rented this extravagant ostentatious silver champagne fountain which towered on his dining table along with silver chalices. It was quite the spectacle.  John(s) and I, and one other couple, made various pate’s and palate ticklers, all placed on silver trays, lain out across the dining table at the bottom of this huge fountain. John Lamping’s partner Craig was absent, pleading a long bout with a stubborn flu.

With all in readiness, the flock came caroling to the door and were admitted to the start of this Holiday revel. 

The first pours had just begun and the conversations bubbled along with the Champagne, when there was a phone call. It was Craig calling from the City.  John Lamping took the call. Ten minutes in he started to weep. I was by the phone in the kitchen and among the first to see.  I put my arms around him. “What is It, John” 

“Craig just told me it isn’t the flu, He has AIDS,” he sobbed.

 By this time others had noticed and come around and the word spread.  There was weeping and much hugging.  There was no discussion needed, This party was over.  Guests all went to their respective houses and John Rippon. Phil and Chris and I were left to console John Lamping. We cried. We held one another and we drank Champagne until we turned in; drunken, feeling lost and scared.

The next day most were so distraught that we all took our leave and went home. John went to Chicago to console partner Craig.  

The very next year I was invited back to a small Holiday gathering at John Lamping’s home in Michigan.  Craig was there.  He had been a strong muscular Hollywood-idol-handsome man . Now he was barely 125 pounds, gaunt, and with eyes that appeared as if they were looking out from the bottom of twin tar pits.  Craig wore gloves putting ornaments on their tree , because he had Petechiae, an opportunistic disease where any touch of skin would cause small bleeding spots. He tired very often and rapidly, necessitating frequent naps, and his beautiful body was adorned with the stigma of Kaposi’s Sarcoma lesions , brown patches of the spreading cancer within him.  It was a hard visit. Craig died that following February. He had been marketing manager for Marriott Hotels and he was beloved by co-workers. They gave a beautiful memorial at the O’Hare Hotel. It was the first of many memorials I would attend

That was the start of "Hell". Many others went rapidly.  We were scorned by mainstream America, refused addition to hospitals, treated as Pariah by police and cast adrift by a uncaring President unwilling to admit the pandemic, much less allocate funding for a cure, or even treatments.
Most of us spaced our time between memorials with work, funding events for our own, helping thru monetary contributions , hot line staffing, and home visits to the infirm. It was a bleak time of grief and social ostracism. We had pervasive feeling of helplessness and profound sadness.

 So, Christmas still has a double meaning to me. I can still join in the festivities of the season, and old  friendships, but a large part of me still always remembers that Michigan shores day where the world changed for me .

Some of the boyz in happier times- Dear Craig Spencer R.I.P.in bold striped shirt . Rick Emmanuel R.I.P. (in yellow shorts) succumbed to AIDS two years later. Ricks partner, Bill Spahr (In black tee  top) lives on with AIDS thanks to a constant drug cocktail and frequent checks

-Jerry Wendt 2017