here than in the bars. Besides, if we want to draw young guys to test, we should have young guys on the team.” Arthur agreed.
My second concern was John. “I’m not sure about our retired colonel. I wonder whether he can remain neutral and nonjudgmental.”
Arthur shared my concern, but Steve said, “I’d like to give him a chance.”
“Are you sure? I think guys won’t feel comfortable with him. And him with them. I advise against bringing him on.”
“It’s your program and your team, but I’d ask you to give him a try. You’ll have ten weeks of training to see if he’s appropriate or not. And he may wash out anyway.”
“Why do you want him?”
“I think it would be good to have an older man on the team. And he kind of reminds me of my dad. I know how hard it would be for my father to do something like this. I’d like to think someone would give my dad a chance.”
Arthur gave me a nod-shrug. It was against my better judgment, but like the rest of the prevention team, if Steve asked me to march into Hell with him, I’d only want to know what I should pack. “Okay. We’ll see how he does.”
He flashed his boyish grin. “Thanks. I owe you one.”
By the end of the week, we had interviewed all the candidates and selected nine to start the training— joined by Chad, Leo, and Lionel from the prevention staff, who Steve wanted to be involved— so we had our twelve. Now the work to shape them into a team would begin.
Chapter Nine
“We few, we happy few, we band of brothers”
[Portland, Oregon, April 1994]
In the first session of the training program, Steve welcomed the group with his usual cheerleader enthusiasm. “You will be making a real difference,” he told them. “You’ll be saving the lives of your brothers. We can stop this epidemic in Oregon because of volunteers like you.” I noticed the change in the room’s atmosphere as he spoke, people sitting up straighter, a certain swelling with pride. Steve always had this effect upon people. He ended by thanking them for being part of this effort that had never been tried before. “You are going to be pioneers!”
We began with self-introductions. The colonel led off. “Hi, my name’s John. I’m not gay.” Hoo boy. Great start. My eyes slid over to Steve, who smiled and shrugged his shoulders as if to say, We’ve got ten weeks. It was very important to John that everyone know he was not queer. “But I have a gay son, and I’m here because of him.” The group welcomed him.
Next to John was a handsome, dark-eyed fellow. “Hi. My name’s Marco.” (Lukas whispered to Chad, “Love to see his Polo.”) Marco shared that he was HIV-positive and in a monogamous relationship with his partner, Terry, who was negative.
Lukas’s self-introduction was animated and entertaining. He began by sharing that he came from a small town “forty miles and fifty years north of Portland.” After he’d been speaking for eight minutes and only gotten to his coming out in first grade, I feared we were going to get his complete and unabridged life story. I interrupted him. “Excuse me, Lukas. We need to move on.”
“But I’m not finished.”
“I know. But in the interest of time, this is only a ten-week training.”
After the others introduced themselves, I gave an overview to the program: Arthur would handle the technical information and procedural part; I would handle the counseling and team building. They were each provided a thick binder on HIV and AIDS and standard counseling procedures, and later would be divided into practice teams. I emphasized that everything shared here was confidential, as it would be in the counseling rooms, with the exceptions that we were required to report any instances of sex with minors or a person who by his words was threatening to harm himself or another.
“It’s not our role to judge. We’re here to help.” I was speaking to John. ”And to do that we have to build trust with each person who comes in. That means being nonjudgmental of sexual behaviors that might be foreign to us.”
“I can’t imagine any that’d be foreign to me,” said Lukas.
Each session would be divided into one hour of technical training on HIV/AIDS, and one hour on basic counseling techniques and team building, during which they could ask other members of the group any personal question they wished. The one being asked could choose not to answer.
In their second session, Marco asked the colonel, “How long were you in the military?”
“Thirty-five years.”
“Oh, I love men in uniforms, too!” burbled Lukas.
The others laughed but John just bristled. I suspected he’d be doing a lot more bristling over these coming weeks. “I’m not gay,” he said, in case anyone had forgotten.
Reggie, a young Black computer programmer, asked Lukas if that was his real name.
“No. I chose it. I wanted to call myself Tom Cruise, but that name was already taken. I loved the ‘cruisey’ part.”
It came John’s turn. He was clearly uncomfortable as he addressed Lukas. “Have you always been like this?” The “this” was understood.
“Yes!” Lukas squealed. “Always! Isn’t it wonderful?!”
The others chuckled and laughed, but John just stared at him. It wasn’t so much a look of disapproval as of distaste, so I decided to put them on the same practice team.
In the third session, we began counseling techniques appropriate for HIV testing. The twelve participants would be divided into their practice teams. Before that evening’s session, Arthur and I met with Chad, Leo and Lionel, who would each be assigned to a different group.
“The role-playing the volunteers will be doing can be emotionally intense,” said Arthur. “It’s important that we staff maintain professional boundaries.”
“Professional boundaries?” asked Lionel.
“I mean that we not become emotionally or sexually involved with the volunteers.”
Chad meekly raised his hand. “Uh, too late.”
Arthur looked at him. “Oh. Well, we’ll put you and the other fellow in different practice groups. Who is it?”
He looked sheepish. “Darren.” After Leo, probably the handsomest guy in the group.
“You dog, you!” said Lionel, punching him on the shoulder.
“Okay,” said Arthur, “so we’ll put Darren— ”
“And Frank.”
“ . . . Okay. So, we’ll put Darren and Frank— ”
“And Reggie.”
Arthur stared at him.
“And Lukas.”
