Vol. 2 No. 7 May, 1985 STEPPIN’ OUT STAFF Just O ut is published the first of each month. Copyright 1985. No part of Just Out may be re produced without the written permission of the publishers. Co-pubiishers Jay Brown Renee LaChance Written and graphic materials are welcomed for submission. All written material should be typed and double-spaced. All graphic material should be black ink on white paper. Editor Jay Brown Deadline for submissions is the 15th of each month. O ut A bout Toivn is a courtesy to our readers. Items must be received by the 15th of each month. Contributors W.C. McRae Rosanne King Jim Anctil Sandra DeHelen Lee Lynch Billy Russo Sandra Pinches Eleanor Malin Display advertising will be accepted up to five days before publication date, if camera ready, if not. then seven days prior. Classified ads must be received at the office of Just O ut ten days prior to publication date, along with payment Editorial policies allow the rejection or the edit ing of an article or advertisement that is offensive, demeaning or may result in legal action. Just Out consults the Associated Press Stylebook and Libel Manual on editorial decisions. Graphic Arts Director Rupert Kinnard Advertising Director Roger Hall Views expressed in letters to the editor, columns, and features may not necessarily be those of the editorial staff of Just Out. Advertising Associate Eve Sicular Subscriptions to Just Out are available for $7.50 for 12 issues. A free copy of Just Out and/or advertising rates are available upon reguesL Production Directors Bev LaBelle Dustin Dickenson The mailing address and telephone number for Just O ut are: Proofreader Anita Q uiton P.O. Box 15117 Portland. OR 9 7 2 1 5 2 3 6 -1 2 5 2 E D I T O R I A L photo bv Helen Lottrldge b y J a y B ro w n Has the horror of the Holocaust been m inimized? Was Hanna Arendt correct when she said that evil is banal? Forty years ago this m onth, Am ericans were horrified by the heinous crim es of the Nazis, w hen Am erican and British troops liberated the concentration camps. Never before had the w orld witnessed m a n ’s inhum anity on so large a scale. The horror must neuer be forgotten. And yet, the undeniable fact of the Holocaust has recently been the object of a concentrated cam p aig n by anti-Sem ites who say the Holocaust never happened. And the President of the United States refuses to cancel a visit to a cem etery where m e m b ers o f the Nazi SS are buried. And closer to hom e, two people I know well, both of w hom were born after W W II stated that they'd “had it up to here with all this Holocaust stuff." Granted, both persons are m em bers of a privileged group — white Am erican heterosexual males in their mid-thirties. "Auschwitz was conceived, structured, elaborated, perfected, built, organized and im p lem en ted by the SS. They were the killers of Jews primarily, but not only o f Jews. They butchered Poles and Czechs, French and Dutch, Norwegians and Danes, Yugoslavs. Ukrainians, Greeks, Gypsies and gays. Auschwitz was a universe and the SS were its gods. W hy then should anyone visit and, by doing so, honor their cem etery as though they had been nothing but patriotic soldiers who died for their fatherland?" ‘= = ’Y W h o could have heard Elie Wiesel, survivor of the Auschwitz and Buchenwald death camps, and now chairm an of the US Holocaust M em orial Council, on April 18, 1985, and not believe in the necessity of forever rem em bering the Holocaust and its victims? ‘= x r\s¡EE) When someone you love comes out To the E ditor o f Ju s t O u t: I have been try in g to w rite this letter to som eone, anyone, for alm ost three years: I was raised by two extrem ely w arm , loving, intelligent and beautiful parents. My m other was strong, honest, and earthy without sac rificing her femininity. My father was sensitive, quiet, com passionate and gentle — and it was these qualities that m ade him most m asculine. Although theirs was a rocky m ar riage, I never doubted their love for me. My parents raised m e with a strong sense of caring, a lack of prejudice, and a desire to learn and understand. In m y senior year of high school, those values were severely tested when a series of Just O ut Wav 1985 events turned m y world upside-down. My father had a m ild heart attack and was in the hospital for several days, during which tim e he had som e deep discussions with m y m o th er and took a good, long look at himself. A few days later, m y m other sat m e down and inform ed m e that she and Dad were separat ing; D ad would move out as soon as he was well enough. She couldn't, however, explain the specific reasons why. W hen D ad cam e hom e from the hospital, I stayed out of the house a lot during the first couple o f days — I just couldn't handle the tension. I’d stay after school and practice m y m usic, or I’d go for long bike rides out by the berry fields, trying to calm m y m ind — I couldn't believe m y parents were splitting up. Well, I had to co m e hom e eventually — one night after band practice, I cam e into the living room and found D ad on the couch, reading. He asked m e to sit down, he wanted to tell m e som ething. Uh-oh, I thought, som ething's up. To m y surprise, he started talking about his feelings about m en and w o m en — and about when he was m y age — the things he thought about, worried a b o u t T h e y were things that every teenager worries about, but they were co m po unded b y . . . He struggled; he wanted to say som ething, but c o u ld n ’t I d o n ’t know how or why, but a thought entered m y head and I blurted it out: “Dad, are you a hom osexual?" He looked relieved that I’d asked. He said quietly, "Yes, Honey, I am." He waited for m y reaction; he looked very nervous about what h e’d just adm itted. I sat quietly, looking at the hole in m y tennis shoe and not sure of what to say. I was surprised, of course; m y father never really fit the “gay" stereotype. H e’s truly tall, dark and handsom e, with broad shoulders, big m uscular hands and a deep, resonant voice. His m ovem ents w eren’t par ticularly graceful: he som etim es rem inded m e of a sure-footed bighorn ram . But I thought about D a d ’s way of thinking — his quiet, aware, listening kind of attitude; his gentleness, his tendency to walk away from a fight (rather than run the risk of hurting h im self or som eo ne else) — all the earm arks of an intelligent, sensitive m an. M y father was truly a paradox — a "gentle giant" w ho sim ply w anted to be himself, and who was now asking m e to let him be his com plete and re al self with those he loved. D id he want m y blessing? I thought about that for a m inute — no, it was evident from the look on his face that all he really wanted was to continue to be a part of m y life, as m y father and as m y friend. How could I even th in k of denying him that? If I did, then everything he taught m e w ould be a lie. and both of us would be h u rt N o. I needed him just as m u ch as he needed m e — and I told him so: "It doesn't matter, D ad - y o u ’re still m y father and I still love you." W e em b rac ed , sm iling through our tears. It hasn't always been easy since that day. M y parents did divorce, and I spent tim e living with each of th e m when I w asn’t in college. C o n tin u e d o n page 7 3