by Gray’s story, as if it held some special meaning or significance I couldn’t yet grasp.
And I was right. It would not be the last time Gray saw the ghost of Cleve Cole.
Chapter Eight
Oregon Pioneers
[Portland, Oregon, March 1994]
It was bold. It was daring. It had never been done before.
At the beginning of my second month with CAP, Steve spelled out the challenge at a prevention team meeting: Gay men in Portland were not showing up to test for HIV at the public health sites. “The county wants us to get more guys to test,” he said. Since the county’s grant paid a big chunk of the agency’s prevention budget, we understood this “request” was to be taken seriously.
“It’s not going to happen,” said Chad. “We’re not going to convince guys to go into the health department and get tested.”
“Chad’s right,” Lionel said. “They don’t trust the health department. It’s government.”
“But, my God,” exclaimed Steve, “half the nurses there are gay men!”
“Doesn’t matter,” Chad said. “It’s an image problem.”
Steve tossed the memo into the center of the table. “Well, they’re building it into our contract, so we better find a way to deliver. The feds are pressuring the state, the state’s pressuring the county, and the county’s pressuring us.”
“Great, so what do we do?” said Chad. “Go home and yell at our dog?”
“I didn’t know you had a dog,” said Lionel.
“Shut up, will you? It’s like a metaphor or something.”
“No, this is important,” Steve said. “We need to know how the epidemic is playing out here in Oregon. We’ve only got anecdotal information and the numbers of those who’ve already advanced to full-blown AIDS. And guys need to know their status so they don’t infect their brothers.” Brothers. That was Steve-talk. Coming from anyone else, it might sound corny or phony, but in Steve’s world we were all brothers. Personally, I didn’t believe the fractious political groups making up the so-called gay so-called community were brothers, but I appreciated that he did.
There were five of us on the prevention team. Each member had specific responsibilities. Chad, a psychology major at Portland State University, coordinated the men’s discussion groups. Puppy dog cute, he was one of those people who exudes sexuality. He had introduced himself to me as the “Prevention Team slut.” Like Steve, he was HIV-positive but, unlike Steve, had begun to show symptoms and was now taking eighty-plus pills a day. Nonetheless, he didn’t let that slow him down from being the poster boy for safer sex (“I give lots of demonstrations”), emphasizing that one can be HIV-positive and still have a fulfilling sex life. “Very fulfilling,” Lionel always added. African American, six foot two, of which 98 percent was muscle, Lionel coordinated the bar outreach program. Andie was the program assistant(“the token woman,” she called herself). Super organized, she kept the team on task and timelines. Still in her early twenties and pretty, she was forever falling in and out of love. “I’m in love with Chad,” she confided to me when we first met.
“Chad? Isn’t he— ”
“Yeah. All the men I fall in love with are gay.”
“Have you considered maybe expanding your social circle?”
And then there was Leo. Like me, he was new to the team. Twenty years old, he was an extremely handsome— beautiful some would say— Mexican American developing an outreach program to the street kids, having been one himself not long ago. He had straightened out his life over the past two years and was now attending Portland Community College. I’d been told he had some connection to Sandy.
“Okay,” said Steve, “let’s brainstorm ideas on to how to get guys to test. Remember, this is brainstorming. Say the first thing that comes to your mind. No idea is too dumb or too outrageous.” Andie went to the whiteboard to write down the ideas.
Lionel raised his hand. “We could offer a free blow job with each test.”
Steve stared at him. “Now that’s a dumb idea. Any serious ideas?”
Lionel mumbled, “It was the first thing that came to my mind.”
Without their hearts in it, the team began tossing out ideas.
“We could pass out coupons so guys can test for free,” Leo offered.
“They’ve tried that,” said Steve. “It’s not a money issue. It’s a trust issue.”
Lionel tried again. “How about with every test, you get a free pass to the baths.”
“Isn’t that kind of like handing out matches and gasoline to prevent fires?” said Chad.
“Is that another metaphor?”
“So what’s your idea?” Steve asked Chad.
He thought. “Maybe you get a coupon for a free drink at Silverado with each test. The owner there supports our work.”
“Oh, sure,” said Andie. “Ply them with alcohol and further dull their powers of judgment.”
“Okay, okay,” said Steve. “More ideas.”
“Steve, face it,” said Chad. “It’s not going to work. No one wants to go to the health department where they have to admit they’re gay or may have had unsafe sex.”
Lionel agreed. “Being tested by the health department is like getting a physical exam from your mom.”
The team was collectively squirming at the thought when it suddenly came to me.
“So, we’ll do it.”
The others looked at me.
“Do what?”
“We’ll test gay men.”
“What do you mean?” asked Steve.
“We develop and train a team of volunteers, all gay men, and offer HIV counseling and testing here once a week in the evening. We’ll devise some ID system so guys can test anonymously. We’ll keep their names, and the health department gets the test results.”
“Neat idea,” said Chad, “but the county’ll never allow nonprofessionals to do the testing.”
“If they want test results badly enough, they might. Especially if they can oversee the testing.”
Steve was intrigued. “You might have something. Do you know any precedent for this? Anywhere testing is being done by volunteers? Bureaucrats love precedents.”
“I could do a lit search when I’m at school tomorrow,” offered Chad.
“Or maybe we pitch it
