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BOB, DORIS, PATTI, NONA
Don, Jan, Rita, RONA

     This literary piece could no doubt qualify for the Guinness Book of Records as the longest suicide note ever written. Providing, of course, that at its conclusion I have actually undertaken that final effort and ended this trying existence. I have finally decided to write this incredible story about those dastardly unwritten rules that are such an integral part of so much of our lives because I know that the pain I personally experience daily is shared by far too many of my fellow travelers. We grow up in this land of the free with any number of common images that we accept all too readily as simply part of the American scene. We marvel at the nostalgia of a Norman Rockwell painting of a little boy dipping a girl’s pigtail in an inkwell, but is this possibly the innocent beginning of domestic violence and crimes against women? Halloweens’ trick or treat night was an annual event that I looked forward to as a child, but was this devilish, prank filled holiday possibly the subtle roots of the massive defacing of our urban environments with all sorts of graffiti? And I strongly suggest that that often feared all-American school-yard bully picking on some sissy is precisely the kind of rampant anti-social behavior that has given rise to the need for all the current hate crime legislation.
     I  would like to believe that most Americans find these open acts of prejudice, violent crimes, and the unnecessary destruction of public property as totally unacceptable to our perceived way of life. I can’t imagine that even the perpetrators themselves would tolerate being the object of these same senseless acts. Many of us can share the same conjured images that are beckoned from our experiences and memories when we hear, for example, the word bigot. I still imagine, for myself, some red-neck type, ignorantly imitating, amusingly in the mindless manner of our distant cousin, the monkey, some act of male aggression like raping that woman, "who asked for it!" or an adult continuation of that school-yard sissy harassment now referred to as gay bashing. We are, as a society, just beginning to seriously deal with many of these kinds of antisocial behavior mentioned above. They have become so blatantly obvious, but there is another form of discrimination, which is all too often completely overlooked because its negative effects on and harm to its individual victims are not always readily apparent. Its perpetrators are often conveniently disguised by their innocent and righteous appearance and they often cleverly employ the use of unwritten rules to justify their actions. I have come to refer to this equally abusive and often sinister form of discrimination as white-collar bigotry. The damage that is done to the individual victim of this form of bigotry may not be easily measured in physical terms, but the emotional pain and psychological injuries that are too often unnecessarily inflicted may never heal in a lifetime. Marsena Thompson, a very close African-American friend of mine, expressed the bleak tragedy of all forms of bigotry by suggesting the unfortunate potential loss to mankind itself when, for example: "the cure for cancer may be lost in the mind of some ghetto kid who never had the chance to…." It would have even been so much better for me to have invested all the energy, that was dedicated and so necessary to the writing of this book, to something that could have been more broadly beneficial to all mankind. I seriously contend that there can be no realistic hope of ever subduing this continued attack and unnecessary intimidation of so many of our societies’ most unjustly disenfranchised, until these cleverly disguised forms of white-collar bigotry are fully exposed and understood for exactly what they are. We will never really know the extent of the unseen devastation that they so wrongfully wrought on their innocent victims. I don’t challenge these bigots’ rights to believe whatever they have so ignorantly acquired, but their oftentimes legally tolerated behavior is a gross infringement of my own rights as a law-abiding American.
     So, how do you like the possibly familiar ring of this new coinage of what is actually a long standing form of discrimination; "white-collar bigotry?" I have actually been trying out this new term and its far reaching implications with several close friends, and had even suggested to them that I might have to write a book to explain to others just how hideously widespread this subtle form of discrimination really is. I fully realize that I may be giving away one of the central themes of this personal soirée. The story may be so compelling and fascinating, in and of itself, with its all too often overly zealous characters, that knowing the ultimate destination should in no way detract from the reader’s potential interest or pleasure (perhaps displeasure) in reading this lurid, very personal, social-psychological, legal adventure. The other underlying factor is that what has so sadly happened to me in these last six years of my life is too often experienced every day by so many other fellow patrons of this planet. And even more tragic, is the unfortunate fact that most of these poor souls simply suffer in resounding silence. They have most likely never had the opportunity to resolve any of their most painful inner-conflicts nor the necessary physical or mental capability to successfully cope with or ward off the multitude of hostilities experienced as part of their simply living and trying to survive in this supposedly safe and free society. So many unwarranted physical and/or expressed emotional assaults are experienced with such great pain, that too many simply withdraw into a fantasy world that insulates the individual from reality. Thus, mental illness! The rest of us simply encounter what has come to be popularly known as clinical depression. Neither form of retreat from nor denial of this emotional pain offers much comfort to the victim.
      NO!, I’m not satisfied with simply calling myself an American and endlessly paying those unequally imposed high taxes which theoretically go to maintain this great, free society in which we are all supposed to be equally treated. I’m not equal, according to the laws of this land. And unfortunately, there are too many people who are all too willing to constantly and blatantly remind me everyday of my life that "people like you" just aren’t really welcome to enjoy those Constitutionally promised Rights, most specifically the very American "pursuit of happiness." At the very least, I could be happier, and perhaps even justly satisfied, if I was only given my full and rightful share of that "Right to Privacy." Just leave me alone!
      We have all heard and come to believe that morality cannot be effectively legislated; nor can well-meaning civil rights legislation change long held private and public attitudes. And sadly, the very leadership of so damn many of our established American, Christian institutions, unfortunately fosters the very worst judgmental pronouncements of all. The very cores of so many of these established churches have come to be so morally corrupted with religious bigotry that they are no longer really capable of fulfilling the role of their own God-given leadership of the truly morally righteous. They have for so long blindly violated the most basic doctrines of what Christianity was meant to be that they have now found themselves tragically being expelled from the "Garden of Eden." Too many of the followers still faithfully, yet blindly attend these churches in body, but many of them have come to realize that their true spiritual nourishment now has to be provided by their own moral sense of what is truly right and/or spiritual. I find it sadly amusing that so much of what is referred to as the right-winged Christian movement blames and condemns the others for their own failure to maintain the institutional integrity of the American family. There is, indeed, a very serious breakdown of the family in America, but gays, for example, cannot, in any way be held responsible for our all-time high divorce rate. These ill-meaning Christian leaders have simply failed to heed those most time-honored words of their own Savior’s advice. They blatantly refuse to deal with the oh so many beams in their own eyes as they aggressively attempt judging the often imagined and even more often ignorantly contrived motes in the eyes of their fellow earthlings. They seriously need more introspective mirrors to reflect on their own lives.
      I realize I’m not apt to change the world with this very modest piece of literature, truthful and replete as it may be, but after-all, I have already suggested the true crux of the matter. This is, after all, only my suicide note! Let me be very clear, that I am of very sound mind and spirit as I relate this factual case of white-collar bigotry. I wouldn’t want to be unnecessarily departing this earthly plane just because of some imagined fatal flaw in my character. It is simply that I am tired; I am very tired of living in an environment that is so unjustly hostile to my very existence as a very loving, caring person. And, I experience daily an even greater and often unexpressed distress when I encounter and then empathize with that same form of suffering in all too many of my fellow travelers that share this ominous hi-way of emotional pain and personal indignation. These fellow travelers are from every stratum of our society and they come in every size, color, creed, age and religious belief. Their only, truly unintentional, fault is that they simply don’t always conveniently fit the very oftentimes false and failing standards and expectations of that ‘greater society.’ Of course, I am not fully convinced at all, that this greater society actually exists in reality! And speaking of society, this brings me to the rest of the story of my own sad association with one of our American 20th Century institutions, the American Orchid Society (AOS). This AOS is a true microcosm, sad to say, of a large portion of American society and many of its other respected institutions! It may be interesting to note that the primary purpose (and so printed in bold letters in their own statement of purpose) of the AOS is to provide a judging system of orchids for its membership. The judges’ primary directive, in accomplishing this process of judging these orchids, is to judge that given orchid against some theoretical ideal. Of course, the self-proclaimed bigot, in that same vein and spirit, often judges others, not against a humane reality, but against some warped and often ill conceived theoretical ideal. This simplistic and thoughtless approach sort of reminds me of that Hitler and his ill-conceived Aryan ideal for Germany and the world that we live in. What strange company we all must too often keep on this planet!
      Now, do you begin to understand why I would like to get the hell out of here! I’m tired, simply tired, and at fifty-five, I feel that I have lived long enough in this Christian hellhole full of both vocal and non-vocal bigots and hypocrites. I now wish to reside in a much kindlier and peaceful place—death, I could imagine, would certainly provide that, considering, of course, theoretically, I would not have to contend with these damn white-collar bigots. I sincerely hope that Saint Peter has been rightfully instructed by our loving God to turn them away from those pearly gates!
     One last note before we get started. I have entertained a number of astonishing ideas as a psychotherapist that many of us, no doubt, have all come to realize because of the innate awareness that most of us are apt to have of the most inner workings of our own minds. We all have feelings and countless thoughts that we never really express to anyone else, because in those most common words of all: "I feel I have too much to lose!" You don’t often tell that boss what you really think about your job or them, you might just get fired; you likewise don’t tell that valued customer what you’re really thinking, you might lose their good patronage; and we certainly don’t always attempt to tell our lovers everything, they might just decide to get up and walkout, leaving us all alone to face the future. And perhaps even most significantly and tragically of all, I strongly suspect that we all too often don’t even acknowledge to ourselves the many harsh realities of our daily existence. It’s just too damn hard sometimes to face that reality. In those immortal words of Scarlet O’Hara: "I’ll think about that tomorrow!" So, where is this leading? Every so often, throughout this book I’m going to give you, the reader, my reality check. In other words, what was really going on inside my mind and not necessarily openly expressed at that particular moment. And sometimes, I will even attempt to relate some of my private thoughts and inner reactions that may be spontaneously surfacing in the present as I am telling you some of these, and what are now past, events. I’ll try to honestly and very candidly share with you some of those most despairing thoughts and feelings that often made me want to end this modest life at any given moment. And, of course, I will give you some of the privately conceived humor of the situation that may have very well helped me to more successfully cope with what could have otherwise been very tragic moments for me. Indulge me a little with the use of some of my questionable language, sometimes not in the very best of social taste, but always most honestly expressed! This won’t always be easy, you understand, because I might have to continue this unpleasant existence and live with the consequences of sharing some of these uncomfortable situations and expressed hostilities. Most certainly, it will be even more difficult to maintain meaningful relationships with some of these people about whom I have expressed, in many cases, such negative feelings and opinions. Please note, I said opinions. But also understand that we are all inclined to act based on; what we earnestly believe we see with our own eyes; what we believe we know to be the truth; and what we feel, based on our own individual set of learned emotions, that are integrated into that inner, most private reality that is so totally unique to each of us. In Greek mythology we are warned us not to open Pandora’s box, so in that same knowing and concerned spirit, I warn you not to read this book, unless you are fully prepared to honestly deal with your own, often unexpressed, inner emotions and turmoil!

PORTIONS OF THE BOOK

     Sunday morning came far too soon, as it always does, after a long, late drive back from judging. At about 10:00 AM I received a call from Bill Heath of Santa Fe. Actually he lives with his partner, another Bill, just east of town in a rural area called Pecos. Bill sounded pretty distressed because he had received a call from Lois Dauelsberg in which she went on and on about how badly she had been treated by this Joe Walker, and that he was "up to his old tricks again!" Neither Bill nor I had any idea what she was so painfully referring to. I had pretty well decided the whole situation with the Denver group was a totally lost cause, and I had turned what little attention I had left in an entirely other direction, towards some badly needed, hoped-for constructive changes in the AOS at large. Bill went on to indicate that Lois had ragged on about me several other times in the past. He indicated that he was getting so damn tired of her bull, that he considered one way to avoid her annoying lamentations in the future was to just simply resign from the Escalante group altogether. This would have been quite a blow to that group because the Bills are singularly the hardest working pair they have. I’m sure you can believe me when I say that this call really distressed me as well. Here I am, tired from a two day marathon excursion to OKC to "do orchids," and then I have to come home to this distressing telephone call concerning this Lois that I had thought would have been sufficiently appeased by my no longer being in the student judging program.
     With this two-day, tiring trip over, and another meeting of ZOG about to take place at 2:00 P.M., I didn’t really have time to deal with the situation at the moment of that call. I told Bill thanks for the call, and that I would get back to him that evening. The day was to belong to Ken and his second quality award, and I was most upset that this Los Alamos bitch was having another case of verbal diarrhea! Isn’t there some cure for this malady? Say a large dose of arsenic. They use it on rats, don’t they!
Reality check: I can’t even begin to tell you just how totally distressing this call was. I had seriously thought that this bitch had finally put her hatred to rest, but obviously I was wrong. With my tenuous health and the resolve to not be here on earth much longer, I had hoped that the few months I had left would be lived in peace. I was certainly in no good frame of mind or sufficiently healthy to do any further battle with this bigoted bitch, and it was already sufficiently demonstrated that the AOS had no intentions of trying to control this bitch’s foul mouth or constant harassment. I was just beginning to feel a little hopeful, and the now, the very short lived lack of stress from the AOS quarters that was possibly having a positive effect on my health, was rudely interrupted. I had another one of those gut-wrenching feelings that this wasn’t going to have a good effect on my health!
     The meeting at Susan’s home was fun, and I didn’t give any sign of a clue that anything was wrong or that I had gotten this very distressful call from Bill. I still hold to that belief that orchid group gatherings ought to be focused on orchids. Of course, my own enjoyment was severely curtailed by my wanting to get this meeting over with, and get myself home where I could get started at nipping this latest unsolicited attack of this carnivorous, two-rooted little bitch of a plant, in the bud. Lee had been so wiped out by the trip that she didn’t make the meeting, but Pete was there, I guess because he had had those little catnaps on the way home the night before. I missed Lee being there because she had now become part of my support system, and the one person who I was now going to be able to confide in. I would have probably shared this call with her, but since she wasn’t there, I still managed to make it through the meeting without even the slightest show of distress to anyone else. I didn’t give any indication at all, that another ominous storm was beginning to brew on my more than sensitive coastline.
     That Sunday evening, I gave Anita Aldrich another call, and god only knows why I would even give this simpleton another try. She was still the Chairperson of the COA, and I thought she ought to know that this Lois was rattling off her mouth once again, and that since I wasn’t a student any longer, this was definitely NOT a "student problem." Of course, Anita can’t think in any other terms except what best serves her own narrow perception of reality. I never could understand why she couldn’t have simply said something as profound as: "I’m sorry you’re having this problem with Lois. I’ll have a talk with her." My attempted conversation with Anita was cut all too short because she claimed that she had to get off to some ‘important’ meeting in her local area. I felt like it was that regular, good old ‘brush-off.’ I wonder why I just keep beating myself up with this problem. I had tried to ignore it, but the idea of the Bills possibly quitting the Escalante group gave me visions of what had happened to the NMOS group. NMOS was now struggling to keep its head above water, all because of this Lois Dauelsberg, and the most ineffectual Ms. Anita of south Texas.
     I was really feeling down, and getting depressed all over again and just after such a fun and rewarding weekend with orchids. This is definitely not what the doctor prescribes for people in my condition. This telephone call from Bill stirred all that garbage up for me, and I realized that I had to keep my stress level down if I had any hope of surviving this little private health hell of mine. I called Bill back after my attempted and aborted talk with Anita, and told him just how totally frustrated I was with no one making any real effort to shut this bitch up, and get her off my back. I went on to tell Bill that "this whole affair was killing me." "That, in fact, it really was killing me, since stress is the number one factor responsible for shortening the lives of so many AIDS patients." Since I had made it such a point to not tell anyone in this area of my health situation, this was the first time; at least I thought that Bill wouldn’t have had any knowledge of my health condition. Well, Bill then told me the rest of the story. He told me he was sorry to hear of my illness, but that he had not previously told me everything about this call from Lois, because he didn’t want to upset me any further. He went on to tell me that Lois had actually called him specifically to inform him that this Joe Walker had AIDS, and that further, it was his having AIDS that accounted for "the reason why Joe was acting in such a strange manner." We weren’t quite sure what she was referring to, as I was acting like I had always acted--doing orchids, and not much of anything else. To make things even worse, Bill went on to say that this call from Lois was not the first person that had expressed to him their knowledge of Joe Walker having AIDS. It seems that Jean Schroeder of Salt Lake City had inquired about my health condition, and whether Bill thought I might be up to hosting any speakers for New Mexico in the future. Jean was a very good contact person and the primary coordinator for many guest speakers coming to the Southwest. She had arranged for a number of speakers in New Mexico in the past and apparently, her sole motivation for offering this valued service was its mutual financial benefit to the societies in this area. If you bring a speaker from as far as the East Coast, it is certainly cheaper for several different parties involved sharing those high transportation costs.
     John, sensing the very serious nature of this call, had picked up one of the extensions in the bedroom, and we both heard of this Lois’ blatant disregard for my privacy. He immediately came into the library where I was still on the phone with Bill, and was he fuming! I asked Bill if he would do me a favor, and give a call to Anita himself. I thought that maybe her hearing some of this trash from someone else other than myself might just impress her to listen a little closer to the fact that this woman is constantly harassing Joe Walker. Bill said he would be more than glad to do that,…

    When the judging was completed in the Southwest Region, the illustrious and aging Dalton Watson, the then chairman, would ask if anyone wanted to discuss any of the "plants on the table." In this region, only the plants that are selected by the certified judges are given any serious consideration. This is a similar approach that had been practiced in Denver that I had told you about previously—the very one I really didn’t like! Well, I had brought this Paph that had been grown by Ken Stegemiller, and I had done a considerable amount of research on this particular grex and was very confident that it deserved a good award. I had brought this particular plant to the Southwest region for judging despite their well-known reputation for considering Paphs as weeds. I was curious if even a superior plant might be given that exceptional consideration. When Dr. Watson asked for any discussion on the plants, I offered my disappointment that this particular Paph had been overlooked, particularly since I had "done this homework and thought that it should have been considered." Had this region had the practice of looking at each and every plant in terms of its particular AOS award history or the information that is readily available on its parentage, there would be a more objective reason for either the awarding or passing over a particular flower. Dr. Watson seemed a little more than irritated at my unsolicited criticism, referring to the omission, upon which he said: "I just want you to know that there are three of us here, that together, have over one hundred years of judging experience." I know just what he was attempting to say to me, but all I could think was: "Yes!, but what he’s really conveying to me, is that these three old farts have a hundred years 'old’ experience!" There was no love loss here, as I am sure this old man didn’t like me for being one of them homos, and I didn’t particularly care for him because he still relished in telling "Nigger" jokes. Unlike the sound of that tree falling in the forest, what offends me most is not the fact that he tells these offensive jokes, but that obviously he tells them in the presence of other people who just don’t share his racial bigotry and verbalized disrespect for African-Americans.
     I decided that I would, in fact, try and get back into the student judging program despite its numerous AOS tolerated bigots, so I planned on leaving early Sunday morning for Tulsa where I would talk with Dr. John Kramer, the new Chairman of the Great Plains Judging Region. I was hoping to have one of those face-to-face (man-to-man!) conversations, and tell him that I wanted to get on with my life and to try to once again put this whole stupid mess behind all of us. The entire drive to Tulsa wasn’t very unlike that wrenching drive to Denver after that scathing letter was sent in November of 1992. I spent the entire time rehearsing my spiel so as to choose those ‘just right words’ that would best represent a situation that would, not only serve my best interest, but also be in the very best interests of the GPJR. I arrived at about 8:00 P.M. after the grueling drive of about 550 miles. I stopped in a convenience store and called John Kramer to ask if he could spare me a few minutes to talk. He asked if I was planning on staying in Tulsa that night, and offered to put me up. I got some very good directions, and headed for John’s home.
     John was waiting for me just outside his house in front of the garage through which we eventually entered his home. We went right to a little informal sitting area, and started to talk without much ado. I was a little surprised, as most enthusiastic orchid growers take their guest right to the greenhouse to show off their prized orchids before anything else can possibly transpire. Oh well, enough of my expectations, and anyway, I really didn’t drive all that distance just to look at orchids.
     I pretty well got right down to the point since the evening was fast advancing and I really didn’t want to impose on John’s good hospitality, particularly since I had given him no advance warning of my coming to Tulsa. I assumed that since John was a medical doctor, he would fully understand the confidentiality issues surrounding those delicate medical problems like AIDS, and that he would understand the significance of my wanting to avoid any further stress whenever possible. Early on, the phone interrupted our little talk, and John informed me after he had hung up, that it was Bill Hayward, and that he would call him back later. Hearing that name rattled my cage a little and refocused my composure to a more cautious mode. I proceeded to suggest that all this whole unseemly mess probably had far more to do with my being a homosexual than any other single issue. There was no denial on John’s part, and to this point concerning my gay life-style, I was surprised to hear him reply, in so many thoughtless words, that such hostilities and objections to homosexuality were, after all, being politically legitimized by the presidential candidacy of Pat Buchanan. I thought to myself, that this kind of warped reasoning could only be surmised in the mind of some religiously ignorant bigot! I’m not sure what John’s point really was, but I got this rather sickening feeling in my stomach that he was trying to tell me something I really hadn’t driven all this way to hear! When I told him just how distressful it was for me to have encountered this blatant disclosure of my AIDS situation by Lois, he replied with this strong sense of having had some previous knowledge. I got the impression that he not only already knew of this particular incident, but possibly other disclosures that I had not yet been made aware of. I was particularly taken back and very angered when he said to me: "You have told so many people, I don’t understand how this can have possibly distressed you." Well, he made that statement with such ease, seemingly to have rehearsed it as some pitiful defense for having possibly told so many people himself about my AIDS status. What was surprising to me, is that John even knew of it himself, and especially since I had only told three people in Great Plains, that I thought I could have trusted with such delicate information. I didn’t pursue this newly introduced issue that I had not only, not told, "so many people," but how in the hell did this John Kramer know all about my AIDS before I was able to tell him myself! I really felt totally violated, and that I had been emotionally raped. I was now experiencing some crazy feeling deep in my gut that somehow I had missed something in this whole translation!
     Kramer went on to say that the best thing for me, relating to my idea of getting back into the judging program, was simply to not even consider it! He said that even if I did manage to get the approval of the majority of the judges in the GPJR, I could certainly be assured that the COA would never approve of any elevations for Joe Walker. He went on to say that there never had been any serious or even sincere intentions on the part of the GPJC to ever elevate me beyond my student status, even from the very beginning. This man’s demeanor depicted that he actually seemed to be enjoying his telling me all of this shit. He informed me of just what a fool I had been for these several years, for even believing that I might have ever had any ghost of a chance at becoming a judge in the AOS. To top it all off, John went on to tell me with such great pride and pleasure, just how he and this bosom buddy of his, Bill Hayward had all their early AOS training together way down there in south Texas. It seemed to me, at the time, that what he was really trying to convey was that they both shared these same bigoted, ‘south Texas’ attitudes. I felt like I had walked right into hell itself, and talked with that silver-tongued devil. And I did, indeed, feel like that fool for having been so blinded to what was now coming to light, the real crux of the matter—this was a real genuine case of carefully concealed white-collar bigotry. The dastardly cat was finally out of the bag and I was very much the worst for it!
Reality Check: When I first wrote about this encounter with John Kramer, I deliberately left out two things that he said because I didn’t want to deal with the reality of either item at the time. The first item dealt with Cecil Stanfield who had recently died. When I had called John about wanting to talk with him tragic evening, I had also called Cecil’s widow to express our great loss and it was my intentions to spend a little time with her the next day. Cecil had always expressed a great deal of affection for me and his loss touched the very deepest parts of my soul. Kramer said that Cecil was actually my only true supporter and the only person that I could have actually relied on for any support in my efforts. This really made his untimely passing all the more tragic for my situation and me. The other item that I didn’t really want to deal with was his comments about Max and that I needn’t count on him for any real support in the future. John made reference to the fact that I had been previously informed about some of the secret information about my status in the judging program that had most likely come from Max. He implied that Max would not be so supportive in the future. I really wonder if Max had been threatened in some way that would cause him to act scared at possibly losing what he felt he had achieved in the AOS. I really didn’t want to believe that Max was so weak and even more, that he wasn’t capable of standing up for his friend. Every time something like this happens, I feel so cutoff from everybody and wonder if the only thing people want from me is only what I have to offer them?
    And if all of this doesn’t take the cake, John just kept on rubbing it in, and added that cherry to the top with the biggest insult of all. To these injuries that he had already skillfully levied, he sarcastically suggested that in any case I should simply continue attending the monthly judgings at GPJC, and become "one of their prized clerks!" This little barbed epistle so reminded me of that stereotypical Southern bigot whose narrow-minded response to ‘equal rights’ for the African-American was: "Oh, I guess it’s OK, as long as they know their place!" And I guess John perceived my only rightful place, as an outspoken gay, was that of a prized clerk.
     I can’t begin to tell you at just what level the adrenaline was now flowing in my veins, but you can well imagine the very worst thoughts that anybody might be having under these harsh conditions, and you probably wouldn’t even be close. It’s a good thing that I subscribe to what is called civilization, because I could have easily killed this man right on the spot, and not ever have had the slightest flinch at the sight of his blood. This imagined possibility would be very unusual for me because under most circumstances, the very sight of blood makes me extremely ill. After all of this totally unnecessary verbal abuse and emotional torture, John, in all his pious and smug countenance said that he thought we ought to retire now. After all, he had invited me to stay the night! When he uttered those kind, hospitable words which followed all that shit he had just dished out, I came totally unglued and said: "I wouldn’t even consider staying in this awful place now, and I’m getting the fuck out of here!" I was storming out of there, saying something probably far more hateful that what I just shared with you, headed back through the garage the same way I had entered this hellhole, got into my green van, slammed the fucking door on the gates of this hell, and drove off into the night, headed for home, and far away from this most Bible-belted, hate-filled haven of Christian bigots! I had been totally devastated by this encounter, mostly because I had never had even the slightest imagined idea that this very John Kramer, supposedly an educated doctor, would have been this bigot from hell that he so dramatically made himself out to be. If I had known that John and Bill Hayward were as apparently joined at the waist as it turned out to be, I might have had some inkling of a warning. Had I only known, I would have never attempted this grueling trip to Tulsa. I thought Denver, Colorado was a bigoted place, but now I understand that tongue-in-cheek statement that: "If there really is such a thing as a Bible belt, then Tulsa must surely be the buckle!" You can now add me to the list of those who can testify to the hate that is too often taught by Christian fundamentalist.
     Remember, I just gotten finished driving to Tulsa that day, arriving somewhere about 8:00 PM that night. Now at about 9:15 PM, I’m back on the road again heading all too anxiously for home and the only safe refuge I knew. The adrenaline was still being madly pumped into my blood stream, and so I had made extremely remarkable time for about five hundred miles before I finally couldn’t go another inch. I was totally beaten and wiped out from this deadening ordeal! I pulled into a much needed and timely rest stop on I-40 about a hundred miles short of Albuquerque, just as the sun was beginning to come up, and instantly crashed into a dead-like sleep! There I was, really one very sick, sick puppy, driving all over hell, and for whatever for! At that point I just couldn’t have imagined all those endless tangled webs of deceit that had been unjustly cast about me by who knows how many different deceitful players enmeshed in the American Orchid Society. I kept thinking of Roger Brown and his puzzling initial statement: "I don’t have a problem with your life style!" "Play it again Sam!" I also played with that most haunting statement from Bill Hayward about his having been so instrumental with that gay problem in, of all places in the world, Tulsa, Oklahoma. What a big can of ugly worms I had inadvertently opened, and why me? I had just wanted to live the rest of my life, whatever little bit I might have had left, enjoying orchids and the beauty they have to offer this otherwise, and too often, ugly world that I had found myself being such an unwanted part of. So, once again, what in the hell does my gay life-style, and now my fatal health situation, have to do with the enjoyment of orchids? If I ever was actually suicidal, this was certainly an opportune moment to have done something very serious about it. Fortunately, I had always tried to keep my word as best I could. That thoughtfully imposed promise that I had made to Diann O'Neill a couple of nights before, to please give her a call before I did anything desperate, was the very thought on my troubled mind that had kept me alive at that most critical of all moments. For then, I had to only to continue on this dreadfully bumpy road out of hell’s own bigoted infested inferno.
     I had awakened up from my deep sleep still fretting over the awful events of the previous day and night. I couldn't get the idea of wanting to be dead out of my mind and kept inventing all sorts of scenarios that might have served as a viable alternative to my wanting to continue doing something pleasurable with my passion for orchids. I drove that final hundred or so miles into Cedar Crest later that Monday morning, unloaded the orchids into the greenhouse, told John I would tell him the whole story as soon as I had awakened from another extremely needed nap, and crashed once again into a deep depressing sleep! Of course, I would have been so grateful to have never awakened from that deep hellish sleep, but that just wasn’t to have been my good fortune!
Reality Check: This whole trip back to Cedar Crest was filled with the blistering ideas of just how I might end this miserable life without having too many bad effects on the people I love and would leave behind. There just isn’t an easy way out, so I then try and decide what I might be able to do to make this whole situation bearable enough for me to stick around a little longer. I have now come to realize that remaining here only gives these wretched vultures all the more opportunities to pick at my already bare bones. The closest word to describe the situation I feel myself trapped in is torture, and not just one dimension, but that inevitable "D" choice of "All of the above." That revolving internal dialog kept annoyingly returning to that starting/ending point, suicide!

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