Loving Life
Daniel Franzese lives life in abundance and shares his knowledge about HIV to keep his peeps safe
by Dann Dulin

Photographed Exclusively for A&U by Sean Black

Grips shuffle furniture. Electricians position the lights. The crew and staff are squeezed into tiny spaces surrounding the set, an entire house from the front yard to the back rooms. “Rolling!” announces an officious crewmember. Stillness. The director shouts, “Action.”

This is Soundstage 2 at Santa Clarita Studios in Santa Clarita, California, thirty miles north of Los Angeles. Daniel Franzese is on set filming a scene for the new ABC Family series, Recovery Road, portraying a recovering choreographer who’s lost his mojo. He’s the patriarch to the residents at Springtime Meadows, a rehab facility. There’s a few more takes and then lunch is announced.

Entering the set, I find Daniel sitting on a couch gazing at his phone. After introductions, we head off to the commissary trailer where an array of fresh, delectable food awaits. “Are you hungry?” he asks. “Help yourself.”

Carrying copious portions of food, we settle at the end of a long cafeteria table, the room dotted with other hungry chatty cast and crew. Daniel is outfitted in a long loosely tied silk kimono-style robe, a grey shlubby tank top underneath, black sweatpants and slipper-sandals with grey rumpled socks, and donning a simple gold necklace. The six-foot-three inch actor doesn’t look much different than Eddie, the affable HIV-positive character he played on HBO’s Looking. Daniel appeared in Season Two, the final season, and bulldozed the part, giving the series a well-needed touchstone. Unfortunately, and surprisingly, the series was canceled several months ago. But perk up you die-hard fans. In the fall, he and the rest of the San Francisco gang will begin production on a Looking film. “It’s being written as we speak,” offers Daniel.

Commenting on the correct pronunciation of his last name, Daniel asserts, “RuPaul taught me a great way to say it. ‘I don’t have my own air conditioner. I have to use my—friend’s AC.’” He beams that genuine hearty smile and we both giggle. Pronounced Fran-SAY-see, it summons up St. Francis of Assisi.

Daniel was recently appointed Ambassador to the Elizabeth Taylor Foundation (ETAF). “I’ve taken a whole new perspective on the disease since my new position,” he remarks. “I feel a passion and responsibility towards this commitment. I’ve lost friends to AIDS and several friends are HIV-positive.” (The Looking finale party benefitted ETAF.)

Flashback roughly one year ago when Daniel came out. It had been ten years since he was cast in his breakout role in Mean Girls with Lindsay Lohan and Rachel McAdams. He played high school student, Damian, “almost too gay to function,” as his best friend, Janis, described him.

Post-Mean Girls, Daniel was boxed in. He wanted to play many kinds of roles, not just gay roles, but he was being typecast. Like Damian, he wanted the audience to laugh with him, not at him, and so he began to turn down roles. It became harder to pay the rent. Fed up with the situation, in April 2014, Daniel changed the course of his life when he publicly wrote a letter to his Mean Girls character, Damian, part of which is written below.

….Damian, you had ruined my life and I was really pissed at you. I became celibate for a year and a half. I didn’t go to any gay bars, have any flings and I lied to anyone who asked if I was gay. I even brought a girl to the ‘Mean Girls’ premiere and kissed her on the red carpet, making her my unwitting beard.

It wasn’t until years later that grown men started to coming up to me on the street—some of them in tears—and thanking me for being a role model to them. Telling me I gave them comfort not only being young and gay but also being a big dude. It was then that I realized how much of an impact YOU had made on them.

Meanwhile, I was still in the closet….I had the perfect opportunity in 2004 to let people know the REAL Daniel Franzese. Now in 2014—ten years later—looking back, it took YOU to teach me how to be proud of myself again….I had to remind myself that my parents named me Daniel because it means “God is my judge.” So, I’m not afraid anymore. Of Hollywood, the closet or mean girls. Thank you for that, Damian.

“My HIV and AIDS ‘calling’…I had to do it Big to raise awareness.”

After the letter was published, Daniel’s friend and next-door neighbor, Ryan, who had recently been diagnosed with HIV, developed agoraphobia and his health was declining. To save Ryan, Daniel called Quinn Tivey, Elizabeth Taylor’s grandson, who’s actively involved in amfAR and ETAF. Quinn provided Daniel a roadmap for Ryan’s care.

Weeks later, Daniel was cast in the role of Eddie in Looking. It was serendipitous. The casting director was the same one who had “discovered” Daniel singing in a Florida gay bar and had cast him in his first film, Bully. Daniel excitedly called Quinn to tell him the good news. Quinn congratulated him and said he was in town and was on his way to one of the ETAF facilities. He invited Daniel to join him. There, Daniel met ETAF managing director, Joel Goldman, and subsequently was offered the position of Ambassador. “Before I even had the part of Eddie, there was this pull, this connection [to the HIV community],” he notes, taking a bite of roast chicken and adding, “I was just astounded by all the different things that were available to Ryan, and how Joel took time to meet Ryan one-on-one. Now he had great care.”

Daniel learned more about HIV. Through GLAAD, he discovered that he was the only HIV character on television. There hadn’t been one on television in quite a long time. (Currently there’s an HIV-positive character on How To Get Away With Murder.) He also learned that antiretroviral drugs are no longer administered in a cocktail, but rather by as little as one pill a day. Daniel passed on these facts to Ryan.

“Here’s this educated gay male actor, who’s playing an HIV-positive part that’s looking for information and finding out a lot of information for the first time. Then here’s another person who’s just had HIV for a year and he’s also learning things for the first time. Then I knew,” he stops and sighs, “that information was not getting out to those who needed to hear it. I was angry. I had to do everything I could to use my voice so people could be informed. Whether it’d be on a large scale like an interview with A&U or something as a conversation with a bunch of guys at a bar. I haven’t been able to shut up.”

Daniel has played his new part as Ambassador quite well. In April, he joined Joel, Joseph Drungil of AIDS United, Quinn Tivey, and others in Washington, D.C., for AIDSWatch, an annual constituent-based national HIV/AIDS advocacy event hosted by ETAF. Hundreds of activists and people living with AIDS meet with members of Congress, educating them on the epidemic in the United States. Daniel met with several members of Congress. “I was challenging them,” he says bluntly. “I said, ‘You’re taking meetings all day for AIDSWatch. Why aren’t you wearing an AIDS ribbon? If this was 1994, you would be!’”

Daniel’s time on Capitol Hill was revelatory. “I was moved to tears watching how passionate and focused Elizabeth Taylor’s grandchildren were in carrying out what she wanted,” he tenderly mentions in a sonorous voice. “I was once in Barbara Boxer’s office, and there was this older gentleman talking about how most of his money-earning years were spent on medications to keep himself alive and in good shape which cost hundreds of thousands of dollars.”

“It’s really time that everybody reevaluate where we stand as a nation and the world on this issue. We have the tools now to eradicate this disease by ninety-six percent in our country and we’re just not using them. That is so frustrating,” he declares, waving his knife in the air, gesturing with a dramatic sweep. “We need to talk about getting rid of these abstinence programs and bringing back needle-exchange programs which work. Abstinence programs do not. We…need…to…be…realistic.” He goes on. “We need to figure how to lower the cost of these drugs, including PrEP, to make them more accessible.” (Daniel admits if he were single he would take PrEP and he encourages his friends to do so.)

He has two beverages, iced tea and mango juice, and every so often pours a bit of mango juice into the iced tea. Daniel takes a sip and continues. “Witnessing how Capitol Hill works, I could see myself being a councilman or something—you know, addressing people, changing their minds, bringing tears to their eyes. Okay. I’ve got the gift of voice. That’s what I do for a living. I can engage and entertain while I get the message across.”

He does that splendidly with “the big hairy dude” he affectionately calls his character Eddie on Looking. Daniel was pleased with the way his character was written. “Michael Lannan and Andrew Haigh depicted Eddie in a good light. They showed him being pursued. He was healthy and happy and changing other people’s lives, like working with the trans-kids. They didn’t deal with any [usual HIV-positive victim] bullshit. Eddie was living in an unabashed and unapologetic life.”

Several months ago, Daniel was a guest at the Texas Bear Roundup—a bear convention—in Dallas. “When I appeared on The Doctors talking about PrEP, Dr. Jorge [Jorge E. Rodriguez, a reoccurring guest] brought up the term, ‘a magnetic couple’—someone who’s positive and someone who’s negative—which is kind of beautiful. That stuck with me. Well, I met a magnetic couple in Dallas. They were in tears telling me how much Eddie and Agustín’s relationship had meant to them. One of the guys said, ‘I can’t tell you how many times I’ve had that same scare, with my partner, or men before him. This is the first time in a storyline that ended happily.’ Their account moved me,” says Daniel compassionately, looking off briefly when a tray is dropped on the floor that causes a roaring clatter. The Texas couple refers to an episode where Eddie cums on Agustín’s eye and Agustín freaks out with AIDS anxiety. They finally talk it out and it’s resolved.

Out of the blue, Daniel, in an agitated voice, cites the recent HIV epidemic in Austin, Indiana, a rural part of the state, caused by needle sharing. “That has my stomach turning,” he protests with a cayenne pinch of irritation. Tom Friden, CDC Director, addressed the issue stating that this town has a higher rate of HIV than “any country in sub-Saharan Africa. They’ve had more people infected with HIV through injection drug use than in all of New York City last year.”

In small towns, there’s usually a stigma and residents don’t get tested or treated. Also, unlike big urban areas, there’s no funding, awareness, or services.

“This Could Have Been Prevented With A Needle-Exchange Program!” bellows Daniel in majuscules. “That’s why we gave an award to New York Senator Jose Serrano, who was very instrumental in implementing a needle-exchange program. New York used to have fifty-one percent new infections, now it’s down to .3.”

Sitting there, Daniel bears earmarks to the headstrong investigative Julia Roberts in Erin Brockovich on a crusade, through trial and error, to fight the good fight.

“I’ve spent a lot of years being silent about issues that I care about because I was in the closet. I felt stigmatized just being a gay male actor in Hollywood. Some people don’t have a voice—children, animals—and I feel the need to speak up. I can’t really shut up about things I really believe in now.”

Daniel was born in Brooklyn and lived there until he was seven, when his family (he has two younger siblings) moved to Ft. Lauderdale. He’s extremely close to his family. In fact, one of his all time favorite activities is “laughing with my mom.” (Don’t miss his sidesplitting series, “Shit Italian Mom’s Say,” on YouTube, and other numerous parodies, such as “Please Go Home!”). He’s especially fond of his Nana, so much so that she’s played bit parts in some of his films. Even if she can’t appear, his character mentions her name. This calls to mind Carol Burnett’s tugging at her ear at the end of each show as a nod to her grandmother. Incidentally, Carol Burnett is on the top of Daniel’s list of celebrities that he’d like to meet. He also admires Lucille Ball, Jackie Gleason, Sid Caesar, and Ernie Kovacs, and has culled from their talents.

In high school, Daniel took Leadership and was a member of the Student Council. His high school offered a good STD education, as well. “I was a little couch potato so I watched everything from The Ryan White Story to the special episode of Designing Women and all those shows in the nineties, when HIV and AIDS was a big hot-button topic,” he says, whisking his beard.

“I fell in love with Pedro [Zamora on MTV’s The Real World San Francisco] and cried watching Rent.” He pauses. “Beyond The Candelabra and The Normal Heart are great, but yesteryear stories. Liberace died of complications from AIDS but how and what was his journey at that time? Stories are being told today but we need to show everything to erase stigma and to get rid of some of these antiquated laws,” he argues vigorously. “We need to showcase more characters with HIV! When they were visible, it’s been proven that infections declined.”

Finishing his lunch, Daniel crisscrosses one semi-hirsute arm over the other and gracefully leans into the table, fiercely concentrated. He has the right fusion of masculine and feminine that he could have his own brand of scented candle. “Look, everybody needs to get tested. I was shocked by some of the statistics I’ve been learning: every month, a thousand people between the ages of thirteen to twenty-four are newly infected.” He quivers, rocking his head back and forth. “I brought this up on The Doctors too. If you’re straight or in a committed relationship like I am [he’s been coupled for nearly a year], your responsibility isn’t over.” He ponders, while pouring more mango juice into his iced tea.

“I would love a campaign called, ‘Check It!’ Everyone gets tested—no matter what. Married, straight, everybody gets tested just to prove that they got tested.”

Daniel was tested after his first sexual encounter at age nineteen with a girl. “I was scared, so the next day I got tested. It took a week to get the results!,” he exhales, recalling the angst, relating that he was twenty-one when he first had sex with a guy. When Daniel and his partner, Joseph Bradley Phillips, met at a NoHo [North Hollywood] Starbucks, they were both tested before they had sex. “We are very much in love. He’s adorable…,” coos Daniel softly, with a hint of pride. The couple eventually wants to have children, but for now they own a Dorky (a Dachshund and a Yorkie) named Henry.

As if on cue, an AD (assistant director) approaches. “Daniel, We’re back from lunch, and they’re ready for you on stage.”

He removes his empty tray and helps himself to ice cream. Any remaining thoughts, I ask. Hastily downing his last nibbles of ice cream, Daniel succinctly responds, in an adamant tone, “Anybody that needs me to speak about the epidemic, I am offering my services to your readers. If I don’t know what to say, I’m one phone call away from a person who does. Let’s Talk About It.”

Dann Dulin, Senior Editor of A&U, interviewed actor Jay Ellis for the May coverstory.

The Ins & Outs of Happy Sex
Dr. Rachael Ross slaps no bandage on the deep wounds of the epidemic. Instead her Rx is to kill the virus at its intimate roots
by Dann Dulin

Photographed Exclusively for A&U by Sean Black

The doctor is in and she’s making house calls.

Though slight in stature and calm in demeanor, make no bones about it, sexologist Dr. Rachael Ross means business. She’s fervent about shaking up her viewers on The Doctors with her signature hardball style. “HIV prevention has been the center of my existence before I was legal to drink,” says Dr. Ross, who’s cautious to reveal her age.

Raised in Gary, Indiana, she comes from a close family of doctors and nine siblings. Her father, David, and brother, Nathaniel, are in practice and so was her sister Rebekkah until her death in 2011 from complications related to sickle cell anemia. Dr. Rachael, who lives in Chicago, still maintains her family practice in Gary. Losing her sister, who was thirteen months Rachael’s junior, was a colossal blow to Rachael. Both were acutely committed to mentoring girls in their hometown. In 2012, Dr. Ross received the prestigious Northwest Indiana’s International Service Award for her work. The National Council of Negro Women also recognized the medical duo’s philanthropy.

Dr. Ross is the author of Down Right Feel Right–Outercourse: For Her & For Him (2009), an uncomplicated manual about safer intimate sex. She also speaks at colleges and high schools, and is a spokesperson for OraQuick, a self-administered rapid HIV test.

“We just never talk about sex—and how you get it,” she complains, bedecked in a black T-shirt that reads, “I Can’t Breathe” (referring to the words Eric Garner uttered to New York policemen who held him in the chokehold that killed him), a longish non-descript grey unbuttoned sweater, blue Jeans and navy blue UGGS. “Doesn’t seem like there is really anybody totally honest about it. We’ll say, ‘Use a condom,’ but what about the sex? We’re not addressing the fact that half way through intercourse the guy takes it off. We’re not talking about how it feels better without it. We’re not talking about ways to please your partner other than through penetration. Consequently, there’s a whole lot of education that’s lost,” she rhapsodizes, appending, “India has really staved off their infection rate to some extent because the government teaches ‘outer-course.’”

She continues. “We’re not talking about how you get that virus. We’re not talking about how you’re less likely to contract the virus if things are wetter, smoother, and gliding, or how vaginal dryness increases one’s risk. We’re not talking about why the anus makes one more susceptible than the vagina and why oral sex is less risky than penetration,” grumbles Rachael, taking a breath. “Having another STD also increases your risk.

“Such dialogue is missing from sex education and HIV prevention. It’s terrible,” laments Dr. Ross with frustration. “We’re in a piercing and tattoo culture, and we’re not talking about how putting holes in the skin increases one’s risk,” she stops and whispers, “if it’s not healed up. And if the virus gets on the needle, it can enter the bloodstream.” She breaks and crosses her legs. “This should be common knowledge.”

“The conversation and the dollars aren’t targeting prevention. So if you don’t have a community that’s dedicated to prevention and pushing the message, then it gets drowned out.”

The African-American community is especially vulnerable. While studying at Vanderbilt in the mid-nineties, Rachael had a premonition. “Being in college, sex was in the air. We’d be at parties and people were having sex up against the wall. I said to myself, ‘This is going to be a black people problem—watch.’ I knew it!” she says assertively. Right then she had an epiphany and decided to devote her career to educating people about STDs.

She was further convinced during a trip to New York for spring break where she worked for an AIDS organization. She met two men who were dying, an older man and a young man who still appeared healthy. “This [scene] really hit home,” she remarks with an emotional plunk. “People were getting a deadly virus just by their love for each other by a physical act.”

Dr. Rachael graduated with a BA in anthropology from Vanderbilt University. She earned her MD from Meharry Medical College in 2001 and her PhD from the American Academy of Clinical Sexologists.

Dr. Rachael’s ease in talking about intimate topics is refreshing. She gabs about it as though she were talking about last night’s dinner. Imagine the public health benefits if we could discuss sex with such bearing.

Cozied up on a light olive-colored malleable sofa in her petite but homey dressing room on the Paramount lot, Rachael just completed a taping of The Doctors. She has no airs and is charming and personable. Moments before we met, as I waited for her to leave the set, I was speaking with Andrea McKinnon, the show’s delightful publicist. Dr. Ross approached us, politely extended her hand, and said, “I wanted to introduce myself and I’ll see you soon in my dressing room.”

Once we’re together in her dressing room, she offers me something to drink. Rachael reaches into the miniature fridge and grabs a Pelligrino for me and chooses a Lime La Croix for herself.

“In the nineties, when I first started HIV outreach the target was gay men. Now HIV and AIDS has become a major problem within the African-American community.”

Rachael attributes the high rate of infection in the African-American community to behavior and socio-economic factors. “I think that’s the difference between what’s happening in the African-American community versus what was happening in the gay community. There’s none of that hope or pride or love,” she clarifies, taking a sip of her sparkling water. “There are so many reasons to live! But there are so many problems in the hood,” indicates Dr. Ross with a deliberate fake chuckle. “It’s just like, ‘Take a number bitch!’”

Denial is a huge part of the problem, she believes. “It’s devastating to see the denial among African-American women. When I look at their rate of infection in comparison to Latina and White women….” Rachael halts, not being able to find the words to finish, due to irritation. “When I look at what’s happening in the culture, I know it’s due to partner-sharing. The reason our risk is so high is because we’re attracted to a group of people who have a higher incidence of infection than other groups,” she says. “The culture of hip-hop pushes partner-sharing. Listen to our radio stations. Too many of the songs talk about sleeping with someone else’s girl or messin’ with someone else’s man. All of that is propelling us into an HIV culture. And since so few are dying of it anymore…,” she softens and lowers her voice, “… it’s become the silent killer.”

On The Doctors, Dr. Ross has adamantly stated, “There’s no such thing as safe sex.” She expounds, “There’s only saf-er sex.The difference between safe sex and safer sex is that safe sex is the sex you have with yourself. Safer sex is reducing one’s risk. Saf-er sex is using a condom. Saf-er sex is knowing your risk stratification.

“They should teach risk stratification in the schools like, ‘What’s the riskiest thing I can do at the moment?’ ‘What’s the least riskiest thing I can do sexually at this moment?’ ‘If I’ve got cuts all over my fingers and I bite my fingernails, well my fingers are off-limits.’ Understand that you have a greater risk through anal sex than you would through oral sex. Yes, you can still contract STDs but it’s safer. Saf-er,” she repeats. “It’s clinically proven to be safer. So when I say safer, I mean risk stratification.

“Ever since I was a youngster, in every sexual situation I think: ‘Who is this person? What are my risks? And what are the top things that I should not do and what things do I think I can get away with?’”

Dr. Rachael addresses the question of risk in Down Right Feel Right. It’s a dual-purpose book. One side of the book is for him, flip it over and the other side is for her. “The whole idea is to titillate and to educate at the same time,” she resolves. “It talks about the stuff we used to do as kids before we went on to penetration. This is the saf-er forms of sex. When we become adults, we get so caught up in penetration that we forget that there are other ways to orgasm, and other ways to please yourself and your partner.”

Outercourse is anything other than penetrative sex. “We’ve called it foreplay for so long because we’re used to believing that the real play is penetration,” the doctor explains.

When one person in a relationship is HIV-positive, outercourse becomes a huge part of their life. In that situation they must create strategies to please each other and still be intimate. “As HIV rates go up, the likelihood of falling in love with someone who is HIV-positive becomes quite high. Studies show time and time again that people don’t automatically leave their partners when they find out that they have herpes or find out that they are HIV-positive,” she insists. “Love is love and you find a way to deal with that.”

Her book illustrates how people can decrease their risk of contracting HIV. It’s worth mentioning again: it’s about risk stratification—the riskiest and the least riskiest behaviors. When you are the receiver of penetrative sex, you are at way more risk than the person who is the penetrator. “The tissue of the vagina is designed to be a lot more resistant to tearing than the anus,” she points out, leaning forward. “For men having sex with men, it’s much easier [to contract HIV] because the anus tears more vigorously.”

“As for sex between a man and a woman, it is very easy for a woman to contract the virus, which is why the rates of infection for women are increasing. It’s because it’s so much easier for us.” Dr. Ross momentarily looks off toward the freestanding makeshift rack of clothes and the many pairs of shoes that line one side of the wall. On the shelf above are framed family photographs, a few wine bottles, books, including Reader’s Digest, votive candles, and other paraphernalia.

“If you take a straight couple that doesn’t even know the female condom exists, and I introduce them to it, they look at it and say, ‘Okay, what is this contraption? It looks kind of crazy.’ Then they use it. Nine times out of ten they’re going to say they enjoyed it way more than the male condom.”

What about male condoms versus female condoms? Dr. Rachael displays a spirited foxy smile. “You know what? Women ….and men,” she pauses for effect, “enjoy the female condom. If you take a straight couple that doesn’t even know the female condom exists, and I introduce them to it, they look at it and say, ‘Okay, what is this contraption? It looks kind of crazy.’ Then they use it. Nine times out of ten they’re going to say they enjoyed it way more than the male condom. The female condom feels freer. It’s not like he has a sheath on. I love female condoms,” she exclaims. “I’m a big fan.”

In developing countries people wash out the condom for reuse. In America, typically, people will use it once. Female condoms are used for anal sex in developing countries, as well, but the marketers aren’t comfortable about advertising this in the USA. “When you talk to the manufacturers and you ask them, ‘Why don’t you market these more?!’ They answer, ‘American women are too squeamish to spend the time to stick [the condom] in. It’s just not a culturally sound thing for them to do.’ Thus, the company doesn’t spend as much marketing dollars here as they do in other countries because they recognize our fear of even touching ourselves or talking about ourselves down there.

“I’m excited about this type of technology,” raves Rachael. “Anything that creates a sheath along the part that’s vulnerable—the anus or the vagina—is definitely going to be a winner. It also warms up to body temperature. It’s made out of polyurethane, so you have less allergic reactions because there’s no latex involved. You put the lube on it and everything just slips and slides.

“The female condom is easy to use. You can put it in before you go out on a date. When that heat of the moment comes, you’re prepared,” she spiritedly offers.

As for the male condom, everyone has heard guys chant, “Condoms disturb the flow of intimacy.” Dr. Rachael responds, “If that’s your thought process, you can end up dead.” To get over that mental obstacle, she instructs men to practice with condoms, learning how to open the packet in the dark. “Get familiar with the condom,” she urges. “Masturbate wearing a condom. Get used to cumming in one. Train yourself.”

She adds, “There’s such a hang-up about anal sex, too. ‘If I tell my girlfriend or my wife that that’s something I want to do, I’m less of a man. But if I just get a guy to do it, then it evens itself out.’ It’s such a weird thought process….”

In addition to the pervasive macho attitudes in many cultures, the false notion commonly exists that if you know someone well, you can trust them. “‘I’ve known him for a month now,’” mimics Rachael countering, “Yeh, but just because you’ve known him for four weeks doesn’t mean he doesn’t have anything. We get too comfortable. Only when both of you have tested negative, can you trust each other,” she advises then ponders.

Tilting her head, Dr. Ross slightly grins, “Eventually there still may be some risk—because people do lie…and that’s evident on-line. Studies show that by the time people meet, after they have exchanged photos and texted each other, they are more likely to trust and have unprotected sex quicker,” she contends. “On-line meeting breeds this false comfort. After all, you still don’t know this joker…!” She shifts positions then daintily adjusts her sweater, her hot pink nails evident. “On the Internet, most people are making up stories anyway. I try to encourage kids not to be on there [social media] all the time. If you can get them to temper their social media, they really start to feel better about themselves,” she insists. “This works well for adults, too!”

Media can certainly contain mixed messages that haze our reality. Case in point, several years ago when there appeared an ad for OraQuick, it was a photograph of a smiling Magic Johnson dressed in a white T-shirt, with the caption, “You can live healthy with HIV.” Emphasizes Dr. Ross, “It was a billboard that was in every major ghetto in America. To me, it insinuates that we’ve lost the fight for not getting it. We’re saying, ‘Well, it’s okay if you get infected. You can be healthy and you can live long as long as you take your medicine like I do.’ That’s the part of that message I don’t like,” she remarks minimally perturbed. “I don’t like the idea that it’s okay to get HIV and take medication for the rest of your life. Who knows what this medication is going to do in the long-term?!”

There’s a tap on the door. A peer peeks in to remind her of a short production meeting coming up before they tape another show. Rachael replies that she’ll be there soon. Dr. Ross carries on where she left off, passionate about saving lives. You want her on your side.

“Also, since there are different types of HIV strains. If someone gets infected, maybe the particular drugs on the market will not treat your kind of virus.” As for her take on PrEP, Dr. Rachael doesn’t have a definitive answer. “I’m not convinced that a whole community needs to be popping a pill that I know can cause renal failure. We just don’t know enough about the long-term effects of antiviral drugs.”

Dr. Ross hopes that media coverage about the virus will not continue to decline. “What saddens me is that when it’s Black HIV Awareness Day or World AIDS Day, it’s virtually impossible to get booked on a show to talk about it. It’s become old news and nobody’s interested in the subject right now. What they’d rather have me talk about is how to give somebody a great blowjob!”

Though the epidemic may not be a sexy topic, Dr. Ross is—and she’s our Town Crier. Charismatic and engaging, people perk up and tend to listen to her sage words. During our time together I tell her that she’s the new Dr. Ruth (a sex therapist who became an icon in the eighties known for her frankness, opening the closet on talking freely about sex). She’s very gracious to my compliment. But Rachael insists that it’s going to take someone like Rock Hudson or Ryan White to come forward to put the epidemic back in the news.

“I know there are celebrities out there who are HIV-affected and I wish some of them would come forward—‘I have HIV and this is what I’m living with…’ It’s going to take something like this to reenergize the movement.” She broadens her sparkling mahogany-ebony eyes and concludes, “The face of HIV and AIDS is gonna have to be somebody who…has the virus.”

For more info, log on to: www.drrachael.com.

A special thank you to Susie Odjakjian for her keen ear and grammatical expertise. Post-production (Digital Styling): Eve Harlowe Art & Photography; www.EveHarlowe.com. Make-up and hair: Geno Freeman.

Dann Dulin interviewed actor Daniel Franzese for the July cover story.

French Kiss
Parlaying a modeling career onto the big screen after serving his French homeland in the esteemed Paris Fire Brigade where he witnessed the horrors of AIDS firsthand in its earliest days, actor Gilles Marini redoubles his commitment to the audience he credits for helping to make him a star.
Text & Photos by Sean Black

Slaying it in his latest role as serial killer Sebastien Dussault on Lifetime’s Devious Maids, Gilles Marini, thirty-nine, isn’t too fazed about his character’s uncertain survival. The Hollywood heartthrob has proven his staying power as an actor while his international fanbase anticipates his hopeful return.

After literally going up in flames in the Season Three finale, the smoldering actor is reenergizing at his hilltop home where, upon my arrival, he greets me in cutoff sweats and a sleeveless tee emblazoned with the American flag. Marini became a permanent citizen of the United States back in June of 2012. It is a dream he admits that took him nearly ten years to achieve.

Having just washed and waxed his sixteen-year-old son George’s muscle-car, a Dodge Challenger, he hefts aside the buffing towel and extends a taut arm.

Handshake, bro hug. This guy’s the real deal.

I first met Gilles last summer while crossing the New York Harbor on a motorcylce-laden ferry to Governor’s Island reflecting on the bittersweet skyline views of Lower Manhattan where the iconic Twin Towers of the original World Trade Center once stood tall.

Governor’s Island was the last stop of Kiehl’s Fifth Annual LifeRide, and Gilles had made the twelve-day, 1,600 mile motorcycle trek from Milwaukee to New York City to raise funds and awareness for amfAR. Banding together with the pack of celebrity riders along with dedicated amfAR staffers and press, they were led by crusader and motorcycle enthusiast Chris Salgardo, President of Kiehl’s USA. Kiehl’s, the premium skin and hair care apothecary line heralding “Since 1851” from its New York City East Village origins, has raised over $400,000 from its LifeRide events and specially created products to help fund research to find a cure for AIDS.

Riding up to moving, meticulously hand-crafted panels from the AIDS Memorial Quilt that were laid across the sprawling green lawns of the Island’s former 172-acre military base offered a reminder of why these individuals make this draining yet rewarding journey. Staff of The NAMES Project Foundation were also on hand. The NAMES Project Foundation was founded in 1987 and is the non-profit organization charged with taking care of The AIDS Memorial Quilt. The agency’s mission is to preserve, care for and to use the ever-growing AIDS Memorial Quilt to foster healing, heighten awareness and inspire action in the age of AIDS and beyond.

“I love being a part of LifeRide. I learn so much about the disease. It makes me a better man.”

“I love being a part of LifeRide. I learn so much about the disease,” shares Marini. He also just participated in LifeRide 6.

“It makes me a better man,” he says with pride. “Chris Salgardo says after eight to ten hours of driving it becomes dangerous. The ride can be very hard and Chris has geared it that way to remind us what we are riding for—the ups and downs, the dangers.” His thoughtful analogy references the bumps in the road of life. “Making this LifeRide [which he thinks is beautifully named] a difficult ride reminds each of us, every day, that we are riding for a purpose and that we have to be alert, we need to be conscious, we need to be good to ourselves and to others, and to survive that day. It isn’t a victory until we end this disease. So as long as AIDS exists, LifeRide will exist and Chris will make sure of that,” Marini confidently assures.

Gilles’ humanity and rigorous work ethic stems from his upbringing as the son of humble bakers. His mother Francine is Greek and his late father Georges, for whom Gilles’ son is named, was Italian. Gilles is the middle child of three, with an older sister and a younger brother. He was born in Grasse, a small city on the French Riviera known for perfume manufacturing as well as the birthplace of Jean-Honoré Fragonard, the nineteenth-century Rococo genre painter of French aristocracy.

Instilled with a dedication to working long hours, Marini helped in his father’s bakery from the age of eight to his high-school graduation baking up pastries. “I was pretty good at making anything from eclairs, to milles-feuilles, and even strawberry shortcakes,” he shares as he remembers his dear father. “The nicest dude you’d ever want to meet,” he quickly notes.

“People would call my father ‘tonton,’ or uncle, because when kids were thrown out of their homes for right or wrong reasons, [the bakery] was the place they would come. It was warm in the winter and at night and my father was always there. He worked from 10 p.m. to 2 p.m.—you heard me right 10 p.m. to 2 p.m.! He wanted me there with him at the bakery at a very early age because he wanted me to see [his commitment] what he was doing each night. By exposing me to this [dedication] he knew it would help me later on in life and he was absolutely right.”

Upon graduation from high school Marini left his parent’s bakery to join the French army, where he served as a fireman for the famous Paris Fire Brigade (Brigade des Sapeurs-Pompiers de Paris), which serves as the primary fire and rescue service for Paris and surrounding sites of national strategic importance. With 8,550 firemen, it is the largest fire brigade in Europe and the third-largest urban fire service in the world, after Tokyo and New York City.

“I had a great physicality,” admits Gilles. “I was very gifted in sports, too, in general.” He still keeps fit by playing soccer regularly and practicing MMA (mixed martial arts). “Back in those days military service was an obligation—I think they should have kept it that way. Youth these days are lazy and have no respect.” He laughs at his brief rant, signature of a caring father.

Rather than merely passing his time in the military, Gilles instead embraced his country’s call. “If I have to do this—then I want to learn a skill,” he thought. “There were a couple of Special Forces and one of them was the Fire Brigade in Paris. I was told I would never get in because I was from the south and it was too difficult but I didn’t listen to anyone and I got in.”

“[AIDS] was very much in the forefront of society’s mind. It affected mainly the gay community and they were looked upon as if they were carrying the Black Plague. It was very difficult for many of them to seek out or ask for help at that time. I cannot even imagine what so many must have experienced and gone through.”

“I heard a number of stories from my fellow firefighters at the time about when they would arrive at an accident with an injured person [with AIDS] and that person would admit to feeling ashamed and worry that the firefighters wouldn’t attend to their injuries. It was absolutely heartbreaking. We knew so little back then.”

Growing up in Grasse, Gilles had already been exposed to seeing people suffering with HIV and dying from AIDS. “My neighborhood was filled with IV drug addicts, as heroin was huge in the late eighties and early nineties, and out of nowhere [it seemed] every single young person who was abusing heroin in the neighborhood came down with AIDS and died.”

Gilles recalls one specific harrowing tale when he was around ten-years-old that left a mark and has stayed with him. “One memory that I have is of this guy, I think his name was Kevin. He came into the bakery and my father gave him some bread because we knew he was a drug addict and he was broke. When he bit and pulled the bread from his mouth most of his teeth fell out onto the ground. I remember my heart went ‘boom’ inside of me and I remember thinking that I would never use drugs in my life, ever. I was in shock without realizing it at that moment.”

The early days of the pandemic filled people with irrational fears that science was trying to right in the media. People were afraid to shake hands or to sit next to a person with HIV or AIDS. “There was so much misinformation out there at the time. It was insane,” he recalls. Finally, people from the medical industry started to know a little bit more about the transmission of the virus and correct information was leaking into the mainstream via newspapers, radio and TV. “One of the leading French actresses in France at that time, Clémentine Célarié, went on television and she kissed a man with HIV on the mouth. French kiss!—tongue!—on national television—you know France is edgier. She made a point that said—‘Stop saying all this bullshit—this is not how you contract HIV’—because a lot of people were getting hurt.”

The event Gilles recounts occurred on April 7, 1994, when major French channels united to broadcast a unique and critical program at the time, which soon became the political action group known as Sidaction. (The French word for “AIDS” is “SIDA.”) During its inception and first nationally televised gathering, Célarié’s bold symbolic gesture showed viewers and the world that HIV is not transmitted through kissing let alone a handshake, contrary to popular belief at the time. The impact of the broadcast was considerable, attracting 23 million viewers and raising 45 million euro. Key allegiances were forming around the globe among health workers, journalists, activists, celebrities like Elizabeth Taylor [A&U, February 2003] and Morgan Fairchild [A&U, December 1997], and researchers like Dr. Mathilde Krim [A&U, December 2001], the founding chairman of amfAR. And, of course, France made a vital contribution to AIDS research when Luc Montagnier and his team at the Pasteur Institute, including Françoise Barré-Sinoussi and Jean-Claude Chermann, published findings about their isolating of HIV, a first-ever accomplishment which helped determine HIV as the virus that caused AIDS.

Celebrating its twentieth anniversary in 2014, Sidaction continues to be a major public event in raising awareness and funds for HIV/AIDS charities, research institutions, and the medical care for those suffering with HIV/AIDS. Sidaction formed from members of The Association of Artists Against AIDS, ACT UP-Paris, AIDS Federation, Arcat-AIDS, along with a number of other researchers, and activists.

Twenty years later, reminiscing about this high point of television, Clémentine Célarié humorously confirmed in an interview that she is healthy and never seroconverted. “The first thing is that I’m still not HIV-positive,” she shared with the French media.

Latest data from a 2011 report indicates that 160,000 people are living with HIV/AIDS in France of today’s 37 million worldwide. France has the second highest number of new diagnoses in Western and Central Europe followed by Italy. Evidence shows increasing rates of HIV transmission in a number of European countries, particularly among men who have sex with men (MSM) as in other regions of the globe.

It’s no surprise then, considering France’s past commitment to the fight against AIDS and his own experiences as a firefighter, that Gilles formed a deep appreciation for the struggles of individuals living with HIV or AIDS, and others made vulnerable by social stigma and discrimination. It’s an appreciation that he imported to the United States, when, thanks to an impressive portfolio of images by Paris-based photographer Fred Goudon, he was able to embark on a modeling career soon after fulfilling his military duties.

Gilles first met Goudon while living and serving in Paris, and was introduced to modeling by the photographer (probably most famous on our shores for his Dieux du Stade rugby-hunk charity calendars). “Fred Goudon, one of my dearest friends, helped me understand what it is to be a gay man in this world and that the love men share is the same without differences in terms of love. In simple words, Fred helped me to understand that we all feel the same way. Perhaps a problem with homophobia is that people don’t understand because they don’t have friends who are gay. There aren’t any good reasons in life for disliking another person without knowing them first.”

Moving to the United States to learn English while finding his footing as a model, Gilles soon found work. One of his first modeling jobs was a television commercial for Bud Light beer. Other commercials quickly followed and in 2005 Marini made his movie-acting debut in the provocatively titled horror flick Screech of the Decapitated.

In addition to his most recent role as Dussault on Devious Maids, Marini is known for playing Angelo Sorrento on ABC Family’s hit series Switched at Birth, Nicolas on CBS’s 2 Broke Girls, Luc Laurent on ABC’s Brothers & Sisters and the steamy neighbor Dante in Sex and the City: The Movie, his breakout cameo au naturel (that’s French for “edgier,” as Gilles might say). He finished second place by less than one percent of the votes on Season Eight Dancing With the Stars and was ushered back for its first ever All-Stars edition after viewers voted him the “Best All-Time DWTS Contestant.”

Gilles lives with his wife Carole, his son Georges and his nine-year-old daughter Juliana. He is especially proud to raise his children in this country. “I want the very best for the United States and look forward to getting more involved in politics and education. We need smart children for a better world with parents who are involved in the lives of their children. Acceptance, compassion, and respect must be instilled in our kids as a part of their way of living. This we must do.”

For more information about Gilles, log on to: www.GillesMarini.com. to find out more about the AIDS-related work of the organizations mentioned in this article, log on to: www.sidaction.org and www.amfar.org/liferide.

Post -production (Digital Styling): Eve Harlowe Art & Photography; www.EveHarlowe.com.

Sean Black, Senior Editor, photographed Dr. Rachael Ross for the October issue.

Evolved Encounter
Jonathan Groff Mixes Reel Life with Real Life & Looks to the Beginning of the Epidemic for Wisdom
by Dann Dulin

Jonathan Groff is aroused.

In the middle of the crosswalk at the bustling intersection of La Cienega and Santa Monica Boulevards in West Hollywood, California, he enthusiastically high-fives me because he discovers that we’re both devoted I Love Lucy nuts!

The singer, dancer, and actor, who early in his career was on the soap One Life to Live, not only has affection for classic television, but he has a surging passion and a spiritual affinity toward the epidemic as well. Moments earlier, on this blinding sunlit day, we met outside Starbucks. He greeted me with a hug then briskly whisked off to order a brew, extending the offer to me, as well. When he returned, we decided that the place was too noisy for a talk. I suggested we walk a few blocks to a friend’s more sedate art studio. An art aficionado, he perked up and inquired about the artist. Toting his coffee and a chocolate graham cracker treat, we set out for the studio.

On the way, we were stopped by a fan of Jonathan’s HBO series Looking, which, regrettably, was not renewed for a third season. (HBO is set to air a Looking special in early 2016.) The guy feverishly asserted, “My husband and I love your show and how honestly it portrays the gay community. I’m not just a fan, I’m also an actor and I compliment you and the show.” Jonathan smiled graciously and we moved on.

Jonathan lamented about the cancellation of Looking, which was in the vein of Girls, Sex and The City, and Queer As Folk. “We were all just becoming familiar and grasping our characters. It’s too bad.” We then discussed how it takes awhile for an actor to find the true character like it did for Lucy Ricardo, Mary Richards, or Rhoda Morgenstern, two more of his favorites. “If you look at early episodes of I Love Lucy, The Mary Tyler Moore Show, or Rhoda, their characters were not fully developed either,” he points out.

Looking was the first TV show in a long while to spotlight HIV and AIDS. In the second season, Jonathan’s character, Patrick, even goes through AIDS anxiety because he had unprotected sex. He was so anxious that during a night out with his friends at a bar, he asks one of them to join him in the bathroom. Once there, he raises his T-shirt and shows him a small patch of redness on his stomach. “Look at those little red bumps, right there,” remarks Patrick. “Is it bed bugs? It wasn’t there this morning. It’s definitely not AIDS…is it?” His friend assures him it’s not. Patrick’s worries continue to haunt him until he gets tested and the results are negative.

“I’m glad we touched on this because it’s a universal thing—gay and straight,” notes Jonathan, now in the art studio and poised on a crimson-red loveseat. “I think AIDS panic is good because it keeps us aware. It’s better to err on the side of AIDS panic than not. Scaring people into having safe sex is not a bad thing.”

“The first time I was tested was when they discovered melanoma on my chest, which was about seven years ago,” he asserts. Fortunately, the cancer was removed with surgery. “I wasn’t freaked out [about the HIV test] like Patrick was. It was rather low-key. I get tested every year now or when a boyfriend turns into a serious relationship, or before I put myself in a potentially dangerous situation.” Jonathan is currently single, though several years ago he had a two-and-a-half year relationship with actor Zachary Quinto.

“I’m not HIV-positive, so I imagine it’s quite stressful to bring the topic up when you’re dating. The more we talk about HIV in every day life the easier it becomes. It doesn’t have to be awkward, taboo, or intense to talk openly about sex. It should be a part of the getting-to-know-you part, before you have sex,” persists Jonathan. He breaks off a bit of the chocolate graham cracker and plunks it in his mouth.

“One of the hang-ups I find with dating is that often times people have decided what they want and what they like before even meeting someone,” observes Jonathan. “There are many labels people use nowadays and it’s limiting. I wish people would get to know someone before deciding. Having HIV is so much more than a label. There’s got to be an organic moment of connection instead of, ‘Hi. I’m so-and-so and I have HIV, just so you know.’ That can possibly freak somebody out and push them away.”

This solidly built guy, who’s been naked on screen several times, is mild-mannered, easygoing, and lively. He looks as though he just stepped off the UCLA campus in his regular fitting jeans, New Balance running shoes, a red t-shirt (his favorite color), a faded dark blue hoodie, and a flag blue baseball cap with its Fog Rugby logo. A few short strands of hair sweep out of his turned-around cap, like thistles of dark hay. There’s a confident calm about him, almost angelic. In fact, during our time together, his cell goes off and the tone is a tranquil strumming harp.

While shooting episodes of Looking, the crew was at times concerned that the audience might think they were making light of the epidemic. “With the AIDS panic scene, we wondered if people who are infected would be upset with that kind of comedic take. But I think the relatability of the moment allowed people to embrace the humor of it,” Jonathan explains, taking a swig of java. “We knew in the back of our minds, though, that with the character of Eddie [played by Daniel Franzese, A&U July 2015], who’s HIV-positive, that he was being shown in a modern sensible way on how someone infected could lead a healthy life. Several of my friends are HIV-positive and Eddie represents them well.”

Earlier in the year, Jonathan was at his doctor’s office in New York for a checkup. The doctor praised Looking and telling Jonathan: “I’ve been treating people for HIV since 1982 and no one has ever come in talking about the disease until now after those [HIV-themed] episodes aired.” His doctor became emotional and continued, “Please send my thank you to the people who do your show. There’s such little gay programming on television. People are watching your show and adhering to it like the Bible.”

The actor who’s the voice of hunky iceman Kristoff in the wildly popular animated Disney film Frozen insists strongly again, “It’s so important to talk about this disease!” He leans forward, hunching with his elbows on his knees. “The episode where Patrick is fucking his boyfriend Kevin, Kevin takes out the condom and sensually tears it open with his mouth then gives it to Patrick. He makes it a part of the sex act. It’s hot….” Jonathan declares in a soft sensual voice. “The fact is you don’t know how many lives you’ve saved by just those few moments. This is really major. Even though it’s 2015, people are still uncomfortable confronting sex.” He clutches his empty coffee cup, holding it securely near his heart. “I think in some way, entertainment has a responsibility to be true-to-form and real as possible.”

Jonathan certainly has lived up to that standard by being a part of the ensemble cast of the film The Normal Heart and of course, Looking. Jonathan was thrilled to be a part of Larry Kramer’s The Normal Heart, the story of the early days of the epidemic based on his activism. Jonathan considers Kramer a hero. “His legacy has sustained,” he says thoughtfully. “Larry came to the set when we were shooting the White Party at the beach on Fire Island. He wasn’t there very long when he burst into tears and had to leave. It seems to have brought back too many tragic memories of the loss of his friends,” recounts Jonathan, tugging on both sides of his hoodie to adjust. “When I went to see the premiere of the play on Broadway, he was out in front of the theatre handing out pamphlets. Then at the premiere of the film at the Ziegfeld Theatre [in New York], after the screening, he stood up as people applauded, and he gave a speech. The man is a legend—and he fights hard. Larry Kramer is still the go-to dude.”

To play Craig, his character in The Normal Heart, Jonathan sought out a friend who lived through that devastating era. “We met for dinner one night and I picked his brain. He told me that in the onset of this disease he and fifteen friends were talking about the shock of it all. Then in ten years, there were only three of them left….Fuuuck…,” Jonathan says ruefully in a mesmerized stupor of disbelief. There’s a long interval of silence.

“Even though I didn’t live through the eighties,” he says, “I feel connected to it.” His demeanor changes and his light ice blue glinting eyes dampen. “I can see myself there. I feel a kinship to that generation,” clarifies Jonathan with sincere authenticity, almost ethereal. “I think by working with Broadway Cares I was shrouded in that whole historical experience.” He stops. Jonathan looks about the room filled with dipped-in paints, different sized brushes, and an overhead projector. “I can’t even articulate it. I feel emotionally connected in a deep… guttural…level,” he attests tenderly. “I don’t know what would have happened if I were in my early twenties living back then. It was an intense time. I’m respectful of it and it makes me feel sad. I’m so drawn to that era….”

As a child, it was somewhat different for him. “My first memory of the epidemic was when I was a kid,” he reflects. “I remember associating gay with AIDS and dying. I was about ten and went to King May Beach in Wildwood, New Jersey, a gay community. I walked up to a bookstore and on the door was a rainbow flag. I was gay so I knew about the colored flag. I grabbed the doorknob ready to walk in but just stared at the flag. I quickly wiped my hand on my clothes and ran away. My ten-year-old mind saw the flag that meant gay that meant death. Oh, I was horrified.”

A Pennsylvania boy, Jonathan moved to New York at twenty and soon landed on Broadway, originating the role of Melchior in the rock musical Spring Awakening. He stayed with the company for over two years and received a Tony nomination for his demanding performance. He was twenty-two. When asked what one of his favorite life moments was, he replies, “The last night of Spring Awakening, Lea [Michelle] and I were leaving the show together and the audience bought tickets knowing it was our last performance. It felt like a rock concert. That was a…a Real Moment,” hums Jonathan, brightening a comfortable grin recalling the cathartic memory.

Jonathan and Lea hooked up professionally again a few years later on Glee. He had the reoccurring role of Jesse St. James, a Vocal Adrenaline alum, who was the love interest for Lea’s character, Rachel Berry. In fact, earlier this year, he was in Los Angeles to shoot the last episode. “It was really moving. Everyone cried all day.”

It was during Spring Awakening that he performed in Broadway Backwards, an annual fundraiser that benefits Broadway Cares. This was not his first endeavor with the iconic organization. “When I first moved to New York, I was waiting tables. Tom Viola [executive director of the non-profit] came into the restaurant. He stated, ‘You’re an actor.’ And I replied, ‘Yeh.’ He said, ‘You should volunteer with us because you can see the ends of all the Broadway shows for free by collecting money.’ So I did that for a year.”

Jonathan was already familiar with Broadway Cares, as during his high school years he attended many Broadway and off-Broadway shows, like Angels in America and The Normal Heart (“These plays were mesmerizing and mind-blowing….”), and recalls the red buckets the volunteers would carry to collect money. “At the end of a Spring Awakening performance, when I would make the announcement about Broadway Cares, I remember seeing some of the same volunteers when I first started doing that.”

Jonathan continues his activism this month, serving as an Event Chair for Elton John AIDS Foundation’s 14th Annual New York Benefit Gala. The benefit is called An Enduring Vision, and will be held at Cipriani Wall Street in New York City on November 2. Just last month GLADD and the Elizabeth Taylor AIDS Foundation launched a gripping PSA in which Jonathan appears.

Having turned thirty this year, Jonathan admits he went through pangs of “Oh-my-gosh-does-that-mean-I-have-to-have-my-shit-together?” Well, it seems he’s evolved quite nicely. In 2010 he made his West End debut in a production of Deathtrap, starring opposite Simon Russell Beale, a critically acclaimed talent. He also appeared in a blazing production at Los Angeles’ Mark Taper Forum in Red, appearing with Alfred Molina in a two-man drama about the artist Mark Rothko. Jonathan played Rothko’s assistant, Ken. (Eddie Redmayne won the Tony award for his Broadway portrayal of Ken). Jonathan’s performance was riveting and searing.

Taking Woodstock was his first film. Directed by Ang Lee, Jonathan played a long frizzy-haired hippie, Michael Lang, who was the organizer of the legendary event. To get into character, Jonathan spent several days with Lang and his family. Several years later he appeared in C.O.G. Co-written by David Sedaris, Jonathan played Sedaris, which is loosely based on the author’s life. In last year’s American Sniper, Jonathan was a Vet playing opposite Bradley Cooper.

Appearing recently on Broadway as King George III in the hip-hop musical Hamilton, about founding father Alexander Hamilton, Jonathan received ravishing reviews for his performance. It can be a hectic schedule doing eight shows a week, but to chill, Groff takes yoga classes. When he’s down, angry, or feels overwhelmed—which is not often he offers—he takes to the street for a run, to the gym to exercise, or reads a book. He’s currently reading Go Set A Watchman, Harper Lee’s prequel to To Kill A Mockingbird. One thing Jonathan worries about is responding to people, as with a text, an e-mail, or phone call. That’s a refreshing attribute in this day of fast-paced technology, Attention Deficit Disorder (A.D.D.), and haughty ego-centeredness. “I feel incredible guilt if I don’t respond to someone,” he bridles.

As our time draws to an end, Jonathan rises up and roams about the studio glancing at completed canvases by resident artist, Davidd Batalon, which are stacked up against several of the walls. “I really like this overhead one. I’ve never seen an airplane from that perspective,” he mutters quizzically. Jonathan spies several paintings that display male nudes in sensual positions. Studying one piece, with his back toward me, he slowly turns around, faces me straight on, and pointedly states, “You know, sex is only dangerous when it’s not brought out in the open. I know I’m repeating myself, but that’s the point.” He takes a considerable pause.

Still standing, the afternoon sun streams in through the window and illuminates his features. Jonathan folds his arms, glances into space as if recalling a memory then flashes his trademark gleaming boyish smile. “I’ve learned so much from my friends who lived during the early AIDS days—and it’s important to have people in your life who keep you accountable.”

Thank you to Matthew Hetznecker for his incomparable support.

Dann Dulin interviewed Dr. Rachael Ross for the September cover story.

JONATHAN JIVES
The actor picks his faves.

Food: Cheeseburger.
Music: None.
Film: Ferris Bueller’s Day Off.
Clothing: T-shirt.
Sitcom: I Love Lucy.
City: New York. But my heart right now is in San Francisco [due to filming Looking there].
Historical figure: Tennessee Williams.
Physical asset above the waist: My hair because it grows fast and it’s thick.
Physical asset below the waist: My feet because I use them a lot and they have not let me down.
Female actor: Cate Blanchett.
Male actor: Mark Ruffalo.

JONATHAN’S JOURNEY

Complete this sentence: The one thing about fame I don’t like is …
Sometimes it gets mistaken for talent.

Who have you been starstruck by?
Sutton Foster. [He’s a serious dedicated fan.]

Have you ever been intimidated by someone you’ve worked with?
John Gallagher Jr., who was one of my co-stars in Spring Awakening, because he was in Rabbit Hole on Broadway with Cynthia Nixon and we were Off-Broadway. When we were in rehearsals he would have to leave them to perform in the matinee performance.

Out of the many people you have met, is there one in particular who stands out the most?
Alfred Molina. He’s a very generous actor and he possesses all good qualities in one.

What celebrity would you like to have wild animal sex with?
[He takes a deep sigh] Mark Ruffalo.

Briefs, boxers, sockjock, thong . . .?
I go back and forth from nothing to briefs.

How many times during the day do you look at yourself in the mirror?
I’d say three. I don’t look too much.

What foreign country are you dying to visit?
Spain.

How do you deal with nerves before you go on stage or the set?
I look forward to feeling nervous. In Spring Awakening I was so nervous to walk out on stage for the first preview that I was nearly crippled with nerves. I felt the same way the following night. I even asked a cast mate if this was normal. Six months later, I felt nothing! I was excited to do the show but any extra adrenalin was absolutely gone. So now when I start to feel nervous I think, “This is good . . .” It makes me feel alive, which means I care.

Who are you dying to work with?
I really want to work with Cate Blanchett!

Positive Connection
For Twenty of the Thirty Years She Has Been Living with HIV, Aileen Getty Was In Pain. The Last Decade, Though, Has Brought Not Only Joy to Her, But to Others As Well
by Dann Dulin

Photographed Exclusively for A&U by Sean Black

At one time, Aileen Getty’s grandfather, J. Paul Getty, industrialist and art collector, was known as the richest man in the world. With such a pedigree, you’d assume that Aileen was destined for a life of ease. It wasn’t. In fact, some parts played out like a tragic Gothic novel.

On a hot, muggy end-of-summer afternoon, my assistant Davidd and I drive up the winding tree lined gravel road to Getty’s ranch in Ojai, California, an hour north of Los Angeles and long a retreat for celebrities (Channing Tatum and Emily Blunt recently bought homes here). Aileen invited this journalist to her recently purchased home. She rarely grants interviews—in one article she had protested, “I’m terrified of interviews…”—so I wanted to put her at ease.

I didn’t have to. Standing by the Spanish-tiled front door, Aileen, along with her publicist, Sarah, warmly greet us. We easily embrace with robust enthusiasm, as if we’ve known each other for years. Then Aileen offhandedly asks, “Why don’t we all go on a bike ride later this afternoon?” Her brightness and eagerness are disarming.

Our host is smartly clad in beige slacks and a loose-fitting muted grey-blue Spanish top, her feet in sandals. The Holly Hunter-lookalike is down-to-earth, kicked back, and possesses a hint of Earth Mother. She’s a refreshing throwback to the Sixties. She has several tattoos, one on her upper arm that reads “Biohazard” (“I wanted to wear it like a badge so HIV wouldn’t corrupt my insides”). A subtle raspiness to her voice summons up Lauren Bacall, and the rhythm and intonation of her speech is, well, a bit like Holly Hunter’s.

While remarking about the unusually humid weather, Aileen escorts us into a spacious, sun-splashed room. Immediately, my eyes dart to the intense lavender tablecloth on a circular dining room table. Surprise. It’s set for lunch. In the center are vases of fresh-cut flowers from her revered garden. The room is brimming with contemporary art. Some paintings hang, others rest on the floor. Aileen is not fully moved in yet. An expansive floor-to-ceiling window offers a view of the lush landscape.

As we chat about politics, disco music, reality television, and selfies, Aileen totes out platters of food from the kitchen one at a time. A local chef prepared today’s lunch and, because of her sensitive immune system, she’s a vegan. She asks us if we’re okay with that. “Unfortunately, eating for well-being is a very expensive proposition today. I think we have to demand organic food and once we start eating it regularly, the prices will come down,” she asserts, carrying out a dish, concluding, “I love how food brings us together.”

What a feast! I ask about the menu. (She owns several restaurants in Los Angeles.)

Aileen fetches a list and reads: Socca’s made with chickpea flour (“I like them because they taste like a dry omelet.”), yellow squash primavera, Swiss chard and red Cannellini beans, and smashed Peruvian potatoes (they’re purple). Suddenly, she scans the table. “Hmmm, we have quinoa with sweet potato and kale, but I don’t think I brought it out…,” she flashes annoyance, though sounding not terribly fussed. She returns to the kitchen and brings the dish to the table.

To drink, we have a choice of different flavored Kombucha (fermented tea and mushroom). I choose the Golden Pear and note that it tastes like beer. “That’s why I love it!” exclaims Aileen, amid a devilish laugh, which is guttural and infectious. Sarah adds, “It got me to stop drinking Diet Coke.”

I learned how to live in a way that makes me feel comfortable with myself. I learned not to depend on someone else. I can do for myself! It’s been really good…

Brutally honest, Aileen has overcome many of her demons and achieved self-love. “I learned how to live in a way that makes me feel comfortable with myself. I learned not to depend on someone else. I can do for myself! It’s been really good…”

“Dude [she uses this affectionate term occasionally throughout our time together], I’m at a place now where I know very little. In some ways I’m at a loss. Not a void, but a loss that’s looking to what I can divert into.” Aileen pauses, then peals off some wisdom. “You are enough. At all times preserve what’s authentic within you! We have the freedom to change our minds so long as we stay truthful,” she attests. “So much of those ten years were fulfilling, engaging, but sometimes bewildering. It was the most creative decade of my life.”

Aileen became an activist early in the epidemic before she was diagnosed. At that time, the hospital rooms were quarantined. When a visitor arrived, they had to don surgical masks and gloves before seeing the patient. Sometimes a whole body suit was required. “As soon as I was aware of the disease, I went into high gear…,” she reflects intensely, her serious big browns squinting. “I may have been one of the first people around the amfAR offices. I could be wrong. There was an office in Beverly Hills and I remember I was alone there and learning how to use Microsoft Word.”

In 1985, Elizabeth Taylor co-founded amfAR with Drs. Michael Gottlieb and Mathilde Krim. One of their fundraisers was called Art Against AIDS. Aileen nonchalantly points to a piece of assemblage art hanging on the wall. “I created this for Art Against AIDS years ago.” I rise from the table to view it. It’s roughly three feet-tall and four feet-wide, with the words “Death Row” repeated in the same typed font throughout the piece. Diagonally across the bottom are double zeroes with the word “zeros.” Framing the piece is slate-grey barbed wire fencing, which brings to mind the crown of thorns Christ wore for the crucifixion.

Last year, L.A.’s Project Angel Food honored Ms. Getty with its inaugural Elizabeth Taylor Leadership Award. She also serves as Ambassador to her former mother-in-law’s organization, the Elizabeth Taylor AIDS Foundation (ETAF). Aileen married Elizabeth’s son, Christopher Wilding.

Taylor played an important role in Aileen’s life. Aileen and Chris had just moved into a Los Angeles apartment when his father, British actor Michael Wilding, died. Aileen and Elizabeth met at the Wilding homestead in England when attending his funeral. “To this day, it is just such a good family. I’ve been so fortunate,” she admits with admiration.

Though Aileen and Chris divorced in 1990 after eight years (though together for ten) and two kids, Elizabeth and Aileen remained family. Taylor, who Aileen calls “Mom,” was never judgmental and supported Aileen until her death in 2011. Interviewed for A&U by this reporter in 2003, Elizabeth proudly said, “Aileen is magic. What a survivor. She’s been in and out of hospitals so many times but she fights. Aileen is a tiny woman yet she uses her courage, her brain, and every power in herself. Her spirit is keeping her alive.”

“Mom made me feel loved,” Aileen says softly with heartfelt passion. “This was huge for me but I was never able to reciprocate. I needed somebody to be totally unafraid because I ended up turning people’s fear of me into a weapon that I turned against myself,” she recalls. “To have Mom in my court was an incredible gift. I wasn’t able to engage because I just didn’t have the courage to do so at the time. But none of it went unacknowledged by me. Today I’m here in large part because of Mom and some other anchors who expected more of me.” Aileen takes a sip of Kombucha. “Even to just be attached in name to Mom is huge for me. I feel privileged to be in the same energy field as she’s in. I’m honored to be Ambassador of her Foundation. It’s a direct activity with mom’s spirit and to stay connected with her.”

“Connected” is a word Aileen uses many times this afternoon. “I love knowing so many people and being connected to them. I love their interests, their passions,” she rapturously remarks with drink in hand. “It changes your lens. When your input is so diverse you become a more diverse human being. Most of my life was less connected but now I have this connectivity where I feel this new freedom to be myself.” She takes another serving of squash and potatoes and sums up spritely, “We all have a connection! There’s a bridge that exists between each of us. I want to take more time understanding the bridge….”

After Rock Hudson went public with his AIDS diagnosis, Aileen was at Elizabeth’s home sifting through his mail. Elizabeth and Rock were dear friends. “I was going through sacks and sacks of Hudson’s mail reading how much hatred was within the letters. It was staggering to read how frightened people were. My introduction to AIDS was full-on.”

“In retrospect,” she notes, “it’s somehow odd that during that period I ended up becoming HIV-positive myself, having chosen behaviors to attract that. I really do believe we attract certain things in our life because we have something we want to learn from it.” Tara, her nearly two-year-old Akita, brushes in between Aileen and me. “You’re just the best girl,” she enthuses as she pets her. “It was such a powerful time for me. The world changed.

“I felt like I was the only girl. I was frightened. I didn’t throw myself into that place of embrace that I might have had if I had been a gay man. I was raising two little kids. I didn’t want people to know where I had contracted HIV.”

Though diagnosed in 1986, she didn’t go public until 1991. It wasn’t her choice. A television show informed her that they were going to air a piece on her. Magic Johnson had recently come out. “At that time I was in poor shape. I was high. I was ashamed of myself,” recounts Aileen, fiddling with one of the cream-colored lengthy tassels that hang from her short sleeves. “I had been clean before I contracted HIV, but when I was diagnosed I got high again and I stayed high. That was my way of dealing with it. It’s no excuse, but that’s what I did. These last ten years have been extraordinarily enlightening.”

There’s a note of gratification in her voice. “In the past thirty years, I’ve learned adaptability—emotionally, spiritually and physically. My being has become more elastic and bounces in ways that it wouldn’t have done before. I developed in so many ways.”

Elizabeth Taylor was an unwavering source of support for Aileen, but others, including family, were not so kind. “I remember that feeling of prejudice,” she laments matter-of-factly. “The early years were very hard years and I don’t think I’m over that. I don’t talk about it much, but I feel it. It lives in a very deep place in me that’s conflicted and still painful. I’m more of a person now who reaches out for joy instead of pain. It’s still an emotionally charged active event within me.” She stops, giggles, and grins. “I wouldn’t change anything, because it’s been…such… a ride.”

Aileen’s childhood was spent in Rome. In 1976, at seventeen, she moved to America.

Anorexia, addiction, rehab, self-mutilation, abusive relationships, and then HIV touched her life in the early years. She contracted HIV after having unprotected sex when she was involved in an extramarital affair. It shattered her marriage to Christopher Wilding. After another marriage and another divorce, Aileen was on this decade-long trajectory of reflection. A survivor, she has transformed herself into a global philanthropist and community leader.

In 2005, she established GettLove, a nonprofit organization to house and aid Los Angeles individuals who are experiencing homelessness. In 2012, she founded the Aileen Getty Foundation, currently supporting eight causes: YaLa (youth oriented social network-based peace movement), David Lynch Foundation (to bring meditation and mindfulness to school children), Center at Blessed Sacrament (homeless project), amfAR (dedicated to ending AIDS through research), Museum of Contemporary Art (preserving art), Africa Foundation (empowers communities around wildlife conservation areas), ETAF (raises funds and AIDS awareness), and Friends of Hollywood Central Park (a New York Central Park-inspired infrastructure plan).

The Gettys are not unlike any other famous wealthy brood. Tragedy is woven into their lives. When asked about this, Aileen replies, “This sounds like such a simple answer, but I think there’s something to be said about money and the power that’s associated with it. It’s inherently toxic. To have more than others is somehow unjust,” she warns. “It comes with generations that become less and less adept and skilled at real life. There’s a trade-off. I want so much to benefit in the best possible way from the gift that comes with this opportunity.” Aileen halts and briefly glances out through the thick wooden doors that enter onto the hallway and a floor-to-ceiling Palladian style window. “You know, I’m just in awe of what a wondrous incredible life it has been, but how diligent I have to stay and remain for it’s easy to be persuaded by stuff.”

We educate through fear! Joy has a better way of taking root….At the core of infection is not knowing oneself.

Aileen comments on the high HIV infection rates among young people today. On the issue of prevention, she’s adamant. “We educate through fear!” she pronounces. “Joy has a better way of taking root.” There’s a short silence. “At the core of infection is not knowing oneself.”

She scrubs the last dish and places it in the dishwasher then asks if we’d like a tour of her home. The four of us meander through her casually elegant Paul R. Williams two-level hacienda. Built in 1929, the home affords captivating views. Abundant with meandering indoor and outdoor hallways, the home has eight bedrooms and eight baths.

Though she has an apartment in the arts district of downtown Los Angeles, Ojai is Aileen’s retreat. Usually the place bursts with family, like her two sons, Caleb, thirty-two, who builds and works on cars and bikes and lives close to her in Los Angeles, and Andrew, thirty-one, who writes music and directs films, and lives with his wife on a ranch in Sylmar.

“I’m a very lucky parent. I have incredible kids. They’re both divine souls and we’re all very close,” she confides proudly, perched on the side of a trickling fountain. It sits in the middle of a courtyard of an olive orchard, flowers, and manicured shrubs. It’s the focal point of the house and adjacent to the luscious hefty-size rose garden.

Aileen also has a thriving relationship with her ex-, Chris Wilding, and his wife, who join in on family get-togethers. “Chris is a beautiful human being. I was harsh on him. I really roughed him up…,” she kids out of embarrassment. “We went through some really bad years, guys. I wasn’t fit for a relationship. I needed some serious work!”

As Davidd and Sarah lag behind, Aileen leads me outside to the swimming pool, offset by a massive old lazy oak tree. I am overwhelmed by the stunning view. We walk past the pool to the edge of the hill and quietly stand for a few minutes before the Ojai hills.

Aileen suspends silence and asks if I am in a relationship. She’s not only eager to learn about others, but to learn about herself through you. After I answer, I turn the question back on her. The introspective decade has gladly brought her celibacy. “There are periods where I think I would love to date now, but then in a minute,” she snaps her fingers, “I become terrified.” She peeks around for Tara who has followed us, and spots her. “Friends tell me that it’s different today and somewhat easier, but I don’t believe it. I’m not afraid of rejection, I’m fearful of being vulnerable in front of others.

“Oddly enough, some things have changed enormously in my life, like the value I now place on life. Human beings are very interesting. We have patterns that we fall into and things get triggered,” she insists with measured cadence. “One thing triggers another pattern and all of a sudden your alignment is all out of whack.”

She contemplates. “I do have the tools [to have a relationship] but don’t know how to activate them,” she offers, having considered therapy. “After being with myself for ten years I do have the wherewithal and can come into a relationship as a whole human being.”

Aileen confides that she’s attracted to “the package” – whether it’s male or female.

So many extraordinary things have resulted from this epidemic. For me, the most direct benefit has been really witnessing in… my… entire… being…on…a…cellular level—that LOVE is far greater than any other power.

With that, she asks, “How about some tea and dessert?” In anticipation, the four of us congregate back at the dining table. The vegan, gluten-free dessert is a coconut yogurt parfait, sweetened with agave and layered with buckwheat granola and berries. Absolute heaven. “I’m addicted to it!” she beams, pouring hot water into cups, serving a variety of herbal teas. She offers a toast and we all clink cups.

“I love how food brings us together,” she quips, sitting down. “That’s what’s great about this house, just like us sharing right now. There’s no distraction. We’re just fully present for hearing each other and for celebrating each other’s lives in this moment in a full way. It’s awesome.”

As the sun fades, we prepare to depart. Standing together on the stone-laid entranceway, Aileen turns to me. “So many extraordinary things have resulted from this epidemic. For me, the most direct benefit has been really witnessing,” she pauses, then with surgical precision utters in a soulful voice “—in… my… entire… being…on…a…cellular level—that LOVE is far greater than any other power. Gay men came together and this showed me that love conquerors all,” she revs spiritedly, with her nuclear-wattage energy. “Dude, it made me turn a page in my own evolution to not be afraid. Or even if I am afraid, not to let my fear come before my ability to express my love.”

Dann Dulin interviewed Jonathan Groff for the November cover story.

[Editor’s note: With all the hubbub around Star Wars, naturally our thoughts returned to this April 1998 cover story interview with Carrie Fisher, one of our favorites. Over the years, Ms. Fisher has continued to support AIDS causes. And did we see daughter Billie Lourd at amfar’s Inspiration Gala in L.A.? Yes, we did! We hope you enjoy this look back.]

In Bed with Carrie Fisher
by Dann Dulin

Photographed Exclusively for A&U by Jordan Ancel

As the day grew brighter, he grew dimmer, and more of his friends gathered around his bed. They took up their oars and rowed with him as far as they could. ‘You’ve done everything you’ve had to do. You’ve done it and you’ve done it well. Now you have to do just one more thing. And that thing is nothing at all. Feel all the colorful warm liquids passing into you. Let them do their magic, let us work our charm. Okay?’ (Cora says). ‘Okay,’ William said with the gentlest resignation. ‘All right.’ His eyes closed, skin yellow. They made the crossing with him as far as they could, and the morphine took him the rest of the way.
—from Delusions of Grandma by Carrie Fisher

Merely change the name of Cora, in this best-selling novel, to Carrie, change William to Julian, and the year to 1985—a short time prior to the death of Rock Hudson—and you have Carrie’s initial reality check into the AIDS tragedy. She has been on the front lines twice.

However, Carrie’s first realization of AIDS came before that. “My friend, Joan Hackett had ovarian cancer, so we went to give blood for her,” she says sitting Indian style on the rustic fourposter bed in her Beverly Hills Canyon home. “They had us fill out a form that said: Are you an IV drug user? Have you been to Haiti? And I was making jokes about it because we really didn’t have any idea of what it was about. It was bizarre because they weren’t explaining what the questionnaire referred to. So we all gave blood. And that was the first time I had heard about AIDS.”

Carrie is dressed in her white, flannel nightgown, with the signature glasses atop her head pulling back her unusually long, highlighted hair. She is fresh-faced, perky and youthful—she looks good. It’s hard to believe that she’s forty-one. She is sitting on her rainbow colored bed sheets, and a sky blue down comforter awash with stars that could have been spun by Merlin the Magician himself.

Just moments ago, I was driving on Sunset turning north into the Canyon. I parked on the street, buzzed the intercom and the gate of weathered wood parted and slowly opened. Ahead of me, up on a hill, stood a one level hacienda. Later I found out that this is called “Casa Ladera”—House on the Slop—built in 1910 with former occupants being Bette Davis, Edith Head and Robert Armstrong.

Reaching the porch, which extends the entire length of the ranch-style house, I was greeted by a little yapping dog, Bingo. Chris, Carrie’s personal assistant, shushes Bingo and lets me in. Although Chris has been with Carrie only a short while, one would swear that they had been together much longer because of his efficiency and easygoing manner.

As I sat in the living room, Chris asked if he could get me something to drink. Herbal tea. Chamomile. He departed saying that he would find out where Carrie wanted to hold the interview. The masculine décor included a large fireplace with a dark wooden mantle, and a huge stuffed moose head mounted on the wall above. Paintings of animals done in a dramatic chiaroscuro style hung over a sofa. Casing the joint, I felt as though I were in a Sportsman’s Lodge and that Clarke Gable and Spencer Tracy would soon enter trading hunting quips.

A Steinway, which once belonged to Ronald Coleman, served as a display table for Carrie’s family album. Among the famed photos were a black and white 5×7 of Jimmy Stewart signed to her daughter, Billie, a signed photo of Michael Jackson, Meryl Streep and Carrie hugging, Carrie’s mother and brother cheek to cheek, and an adorable black and white glossy of a bare-bottom Billie, loosely thrown over Carrie’s shoulder, as Carrie mocks slapping Billie’s butt. A radiant laugh pours out of Carrie.

Several gorgeous stained glass windows, bought in London, were lit from behind to create an ethereal glow. One depicted a saint and a cow, both with wings inscribed with the word, “Sacrafice.” Stunning. Religious artifacts were placed throughout. And to enhance the room, parts of the walls and arches were painted in decorative mural motifs by artist Michael Foulkrod.

The place was filled with knickknacks, Americana, collectibles and other tchotches—even some Star Wars memorabilia. In the corner, dressed in her slave girl’s threads, stood a life size cut-out of Princess Leia! Chris appeared, handed me a cup of herbal tea, and said, “Carrie wants to do the interview in bed.” I followed him down the long hallway and entered Carrie’s bedroom—a modest room matching the décor in the living room, but with more of a child’s flavor. At the foot of the bed was a life-size polar bear. A three-foot-long miniature Jabba The Hut lie on the floor under the window. Carrie was in bed, snuggled under the covers, with her head on the pillow. She had not been awake long. She greeted me with a warm smile, and a slight hint of embarrassment. It didn’t take me long to place my cup and saucer on the night stand and hop into her bed. I propped myself up with pillows, Carrie sat up, and I felt as though I was talking to an old friend.

Carrie elaborates on her experiences with Julian, her friend who died of AIDS complications, which is fictionalized in her book, Delusions of Grandma. She had just finished Surrender the Pink, which was bought by Steven Speilberg. She sent for Julian. The day before he arrived, diapers came. What did you think, I ask. “I didn’t know what to think! I took things almost like a child. I don’t know what I thought. But I didn’t know whether it meant he could put on the diapers, or I was going to put on the diapers. I had no idea!” she says laughing, as though this happened yesterday.

She had known Julian for years, but had not seen him recently. When he arrived at her door, he was loaded on pain killers. “I thought, ‘Wow!'” She pauses for a second as if reliving her shock and realization of his condition, then continues, “This is very serious.” Julian stayed in the guest room. He was incontinent. He couldn’t walk. She hired nurses for him. She took him to parties in his wheelchair. “I would get him manicures and pedicures and he would come outside in his underwear with the catheter.” She stops to take a breath, and says, “And he was beautful. He was beautiful. People were freaked out, but his was something I learned from my mother, too. You take care of your own.” I notice her large, expressive brown eyes, and her tiny dangling earrings made up of a cluster of colored stones.

This was the time when people were terrified because they thought that the virus was transmitted through touching, breathing, kissing, and tears. “At that point, it was like having leprosy in the house. And you could get it any way. But Julian also liked to fuck with people about it too.” At one point there was an issue with her grandmother. “Since there were a lot of needles around….and basically there was blood all over my house….my grandmother was concerned for my safety.” Carrie ponders on whether or not to mention her grandmother, but then nods and says, “Oh, she won’t read this.”

The medical costs were astronomical then, and are even higher today. Carrie struggled with the insurance company. Julian’s insurance only covered a nurse for half a day. Carrie said she wanted so badly to ask them, “Which half of the day do you think he’s okay?!” Julian felt guilty about Carrie’s financial support. “I had the biggest talk with him I ever had with either of these friends of mine who have lived with me (and died).” She just started doing rewrites, and she told him, “I make a lot of money for what I do, and if I don’t share that money with anyone I will go to hell.'”

Julian stayed with Carrie for two months. He got sicker and sicker and Carrie witnessed his slow, grueling decline. “He still was beautiful. He just looked like this ravaged, beautiful pretty type,” Carrie recalls. One evening Julian threw up a pint of blood. Carrie called 911 and “they came over wearing space suits which I’d never seen. I was very upset.” Julian got on the stretcher, looked up and jokingly said, “Who’s coming with me to the hospital?” Carrie replied, “I am.” Since Julian’s family was in Australia. Carrie took full charge. Julian was in denial hoping for a cure, and Carrie played along, though she knew the verdict. At one point, Carrie talked with Julian about not being kept alive on machines. This was extremely difficult to discuss with him. “I looked at Julian and I thought, why not me?” she says. Carrie watched her friend die.

“When Julian died I wanted to have a baby like that,” she says as she snaps her fingers. After Julian’s death, she searched for a mortuary for the cremation, but it was difficult to find because few would take “AIDS victims.” Carrie traveled deep into the heart of the San Fernando Valley to pick out an urn. She bought one that resembled Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom because she thought he would like that. “I was a mess. A mess. And I don’t like that,” she continues. “So I learned about death. And it wasn’t scary because it was Julian.”

Ten years later, tragedy struck again. With Carrie’s friend, Michael, it was a bit different than Julian, because Michael knew he was dying and he was prepared for it; he acquired many of the AIDS-related opportunistic infections; and Carrie’s two-year-old daughter, Billie, was around. Billie loved Michael. Carrie was not only faced with Michael’s demise, but was confronted with Billie’s emotions. Fortunately, she was assisted by a child psychologist.

As Michael lay in the hospital in a coma, Carrie watched over him. “Then he came out to talk to me some more.” She looks down for a second, then pulls her straight, silky hair back from her face. I knew drugs very well, and I was trying to get them to give him morphine instead of Demerol because Demoral’s too high-pitched and morphine is a more cozy drug.” Michael eventually chose to disconnect all life-supports and say his good-byes to his family and Carrie. “He said to me, ‘You know, I think I’ll miss you most of all,’ which is he line from The Wizard of Oz.” Carrie’s eyes fill with tears and she says in a low whisper, “I get upset now.” Through all of this, she comments about death, “I don’t think it’s scary. You’re still living up until you die.” She takes satisfaction in knowing that both of her friends had full lives up to the end.

If all this wasn’t enough, about the same time Michael was near the end, a friend of a friend, who was dying from AIDS, requested as his last wish to have lunch with Carrie. The lunch never transpired, nor did they ever meet. However, for about two months Carrie became close phone buddies with David. There were times when David was delirious, but Carrie was still there for him. Just one day after Micahel’s death, David died. David was David Feinberg, the author of several books, including the AIDS-themed novels, Eighty-Sixed (1989), its sequel, Spontaneous Combustion (1991), and Queer and Loathing (1994), published posthumously.

Carrie said it was a nightmare, and that she often thinks of her friends. Michael’s photo is a permanent fixture in her star-shaped mosaic fountain in her backyard which she designed, that has a chandelier hanging directly overhead. It could be called “kitsch,” but his is Carrie, a blending of the old and the new.

What have these traumatic, life-altering experiences done for her? “It makes me really feel that when I die I hope somebody’s there like me. But then you think, there will be somebody there like me, but they’ll be on the wrong end. It is another part of life. It’s not the easiest part.” She reaches around on the night table, where a candle burns, and grabs a cigarette. “Now it’s easier because they’ve given a lot to me by allowing me into a very intimate situation of their deaths.” She lights a Marlboro Light. “With this disease it is really a bad one. And I’ve watched a lot of deaths by the time I was thirty-five.

Carrie emphasizes that there should be commercials on television educating the public about AIDS and HIV, especially for heterosexuals. She says if they can air a shocking commercial about a little boy playing with a gun, they can certainly encourage HIV prevention.

“Condoms. Condoms. Condoms,” Carrie shouts when asked what she would tell the youth today about AIDS and HIV. And for people to get tested. Billie comes to mind. We both agree that by the time Billie reaches puberty there will hopefully be more understanding of this disease. If she does need to educate Billie, she will urge her to use condoms, to get tested, and to maintain just one sweetheart. Carrie searches for an ashtray.

AIDS is a medical condition that is still deemed to be terminal in spite of all the new and promising drugs. Carrie relates to the word terminal. “I always drag it to that,” she says laughingly. “I’m somebody who’s very freaked out about a lot of things. And probably some of it because I am manic-depressive,” she says so matter-of-factly. She says that she could never live with having AIDS or HIV, and thinks the people who do are so courageous.

“Because I have no perspective. It would just drive me,” she halts. “You always think on certain visits to the doctor they will tell you something and you think,” she changes positions and whispers, “I’m dying. To me, AIDS and manic-depression are the same thing. They know that certain medicines work but they don’t know why. Well, that’s comforting. So you’re basically giving me a medication that could be bad for me in twelve billion ways.” A sour smirk paints her face.

When were you diagnosed with manic-depression? “Long Ago,” she guiltily whispers. She was diagnosed at age twenty-four. “But I didn’t ‘get it’ until I went into the hospital and had a psychotic break.” That was the summer of 1997. She explains, “For a long time I was extremely manic. I didn’t have strong depressions.” When she did have depression, they gave her tons of medication and none of them worked. The medications made her collapse and they all conflicted with each other. “Then I went the other direction and it was very, very scary. And I would not, prior to that, have said I was manic-depressive. It would have been too serious of a thing for me to run around saying that. But I didn’t really have strong signs of it prior to that. I was generally manic. And that was lucky.”

She is now regulated with the proper medication. Carrie laughs. “Oh, yeah. Right. You arrived here and it was 11:00, and I was sleeping!” She giggles. “The difficulty is the medications make you tired.” With Michael and Julian she confesses that she was in the manic state. “Also, those situations pull me up. I’m terrific in a crisis. I’ve had depressions that are very, very, very bad. And I’ll just say that without going into any other [detail]. You pretty much know what that means. But I have a daughter and those are just not viable options.”

Carrie prefers to be called a writer. Writing is her passion and she lets me know that. Even as a child she kept journals and realized she had “a certain style.” Although she didn’t always want to be in “The Biz.” At age thirteen, she thought about being a criminal psychologist. At sixteen, her first employment was as a singer in her mother’s Broadway show, Irene. Her eyes widen as she blurts out, “I grew up with a lot of gay guys. I thought all men in the world were gay. Then I got to London, of all places, and I thought , they’re not!” She attended drama school in London for two years, then stayed on to make the film epic of this generation, the Star Wars trilogy, playing the celebrated Princess Leia.

She continued writing during this period and was addicted to prescription drugs, as well. Straight out of rehab, at the age of twenty-eight, she wrote Postcards from the Edge. Later, two more books followed, Surrender the Pink and Delusions of Grandma. She even interviewed Madonna for Rolling Stone magazine in the late eighties, and continued to make movies for ten years. Her first film appearance was in 1975’s Shampoo. Other movies include: The Blues Brothers, The ‘Burbs, Garbo Talks, Soapdish, Hannah and Her Sisters and When Harry Met Sally.

Carrie has not had a major role in a movie since Billie’s birth in 1992. She has no desire to act. If she does it is only a one day shoot, like last year’s movie, Austin Powers: International Man of Mystery. “I don’t like waiting in little Winnebagos,” she scoffs. She sniffs and lights another cigarette. “I don’t like my looks. I did [movies] for as long as I like them. At least with writing, I can sort of call my own hours. I have a partner that I write with. I like writing books because it’s sort of more respectable.” She grins. She admits she would like more children, but it would limit her time to write. It was difficult finishing her last book, Delusions of Grandma, because Billie was just a year old.

Carrie now shares an office with her writing partner, Elaine Pope (Seinfeld, Murphy Brown); they are currently creating, writing, and producing a TV series for Universal. Carrie and Elaine are also colaborating on a movie for Disney, and Carrie has a book deal with Simon and Schuster.

This is a very busy woman. I ask Carrie where she gets her drive, her strength, her discipline, let alone her confidence. Carrie sneezes, then replies, “Partly from my mother. She’s certainly a role model. The other part is a mystery. I end up having finished a book or something, and I think, how did I do that? Because I don’t feel like doing that much most of the time. But I’ll do it anyway. So that’s some kind of discipline that I have. Although my mother has extraordinary discipline. And I don’t understand that. It’s insane. And I kind of feel like, wow, I get jealous of that.”

While on the topic of her mother, I ask Carrie what are her favorite Debbie Reynolds’ films. She names three: Catered Affair, Singing in the Rain and The Rat Race.

How does Carrie define success? “There are various ways. Be a good sibling. My brother, Todd, was great when I was in the hospital. He lives in Las Vegas.” When she talks about her brother, her voice becomes tender and warm. “The funny thing about Todd is he’s related to these very volatile women and he’s just very blasé about it. He’s fantastic. Also, to enjoy your life with the best means that you have. Which I did for a long time but I’m a little more challenged now. But I still do.

She props herself up on the pillow, and leans back against the sturdy wooden headboard. She looks cuddly and contemplative. What motivates her to get out of bed in the morning? “Not much!” she says, poking fun at herself, having been in bed when I arrived. She pauses and adds, “I have to go to work.”

Chris knocks, immediately enters, and excuses himself. Looking overwhelmed, he confirms with Carrie an AIDS Project Los Angeles dinner Thursday night with David Geffen. She thinks a second and replies, “Okay.” There is an obvious bond of trust between Carrie and Chris.

“I’ve been much more involved personally rather than a big red ribbon wearer, although Michael left me all of his,” she says and quietly laughs. However, Carrie is being modest. She has contributed financially and has done many benefits and events with various AIDS organizations. Carrie did a fund-raiser for amfAR, one of Elizabeth Taylor’s favorite organizations, “need I say?” She purses her lips and blows cigarette smoke. “She sent flowers and a note to everyone involved. I thought I was the only recipient. At the event, I stood at the podium and said, ‘I received flowers from Elizabeth Taylor.’ And I got everyone in the room to believe that the flowers were finally the apology for stealing my father thirty-two years ago.” It turned out that the attached note was just to thank Carrie for her work that evening. “But I could read an apology between the lines if I wanted to,” she says with a shrug and outstretched arms.

Elizabeth heard about this and thought it was very funny. She invited Carrie over to her home. “We actually talked about his stuff, with Eddie and all this stuff, then she pushed me into the pool. I said do it. And she said, ‘No, No. You’ll pull me in.’ I said I absolutely won’t pull you in. Push me in the pool. So eventually she just pushed me in the pool. It was great. It was a kind of healing. I liked her for that. And I think she’s done great work.

Throughout her career, and being raised in a celebrity home, Carrie has had the opportunity to encounter many inspiring talents. I wonder who her heroes are. Without any hesitation she says softly, “Cary Grant.” She giggles, briefly transforms into a shy little girl who’s having her first major crush and says, “I love him.” She beams as she cuddles the pillow. She seems far away as she continues, “When I met him I was so shy I fell apart. I could talk to him on the phone. Both my parents went up to him (at separate time) and said that I had an LSD problem. Which was quite far from the truth. They had him call me. My mother knew him. My fahter didn’t know him and went up to him at Grace Kelly’s funeral and didn’t know her either, but he went there. And he went up to Cary Grant and he said, ‘my daughter has an LSD problem.’ So it was humiliating when I got a call from him. I said, I don’t have a (problem)! Cary was elegant, he was easy, smooth.” She mentions other heroes, “Susanna Moore, Anne Sexton, and Sylvia Plath—they’re all manic-depressive; suicides. I also like George Eliot and Buck Henry.”

Carrie gets up. I get up. Nothing is spoken. We sort of know where each are going. We pass each other at the foot of the bed, and she says, “You go to the little boys, I’ll go to the little girls.” She goes to one bathroom. I go to the other. Both are on opposite sides of her bedroom. While in the foyer of the bathroom, I spot a famed black and white photograph of Cary Grant, circa late forties, hanging on the wall. It is signed “To Carrie, who wsn’t even born when this was taken. Affectionately.” What a handsome man.

I go back into the room and she is not there yet. So I take my empty cup and saucer out to the kitchen. The door of the fridge is loaded with articles, photos, and other paraphernalia. Several magnets catch my eye. One says, “When mama ain’t happy, ain’t nobody happy.” Another is a commercial color photo of Eddie and Debbie in their fifties wedding garb, that anybody could buy at a specialized store. A snapshot of Bette Midler holding her baby daughter is taped prominently in the middle, amidst news clippings and jokes. I walk back to the bedroom, meet Carrie on the bed and we reconvene.

Give me one word to describe Carrie Fisher. There is a long pause. “Well, the first word that comes to my mind is intense.” She laughs. “I’m intense about what I do and who I’m with. I like to be present. Sometimes I like to measure it against who I’m with. It’s bad sometimes because people think I don’t like them or whatever. They read it as cold. But I don’t mean it that way. But there’s a lot of me,” she pauses, becomes the little girl again, and in a shy, yet sexy, voice continues, “in such a little package.”

There is a phone call for Carrie. It’s her ex-husband, Paul Simon, who is a good friend. I understand they communicate frequently. I gather my interviewing gear while they converse. The conversation sounds intense. But Carrie wouldn’t have it any other way.

Dann Dulin is a Senior Editor of A&U.

Between Shadows & Highlights
Photographer Greg Gorman Talks Candidly About Celebrities, Photography & the AIDS Pandemic
by Alina Oswald

Photographed Exclusively for A&U by Sean Black

The other day I came across not one, but two inspiring quotes by celebrity photographer Greg Gorman. “For me, a photograph is most successful when it doesn’t answer all the questions, but leaves something to the imagination,” says the first quote. It’s followed closely by a second quote, which adds, “It’s not always what you say in the highlights, but what you don’t say in the shadows that makes the picture more successful.”

“The two quotes are pretty intertwined,” Gorman explains over the phone, as he’s preparing large, thirty-by-forty prints of celebrity portraits for a show that opened in Berlin, Germany, this past December. “Back when I started [out as a photographer], my pictures were really broadly lit,” he further comments. “The people looked good, the pictures were pretty and very clear, and you could see everything that was going on. But there wasn’t any mystique.” That mystique came through only once he started creating a relationship between the highlights and shadows in his work. As a result, his images starting creating more intrigue, leaving viewers wanting to know more about the subjects. And that’s a good thing, because, he adds, “I don’t think you have to spell everything out.”

A Kansas City native now in his sixties and living in California, Greg Gorman has spent the last four decades of his life photographing celebrities. “I’ve shot so many people over the years, from David Bowie to Leonardo DiCaprio, Dustin Hoffman [A&U, October 2004], Al Pacino, and Robert De Niro. I had the chance to work one on one with some of my [big screen] icons. I’ve made a lot of friendships over the years looking through my lens.”

Greg Gorman’s work has been exhibited in galleries and museums across the country and around the world. He is the recipient of the Lifetime Achievement Award from Professional Photographers of America, and of the Achievement in Portraiture Award from The Lucie Foundation, among many others. He has also done charitable work for the Elton John AIDS Foundation and other AIDS nonprofits, and has authored several books, including Framed, Inside Life, Perspectives, As I See It, and Just Between Us. But Greg Gorman is not only a celebrity photographer and award-winning photographer, but also a mentor. A decade or so ago, he has changed directions. After almost a lifetime of photographing celebrities, he became interested in making wine and teaching photography. In addition to teaching photography workshops, he is also on the board of the School of Visual Arts, in New York City, where he teaches large-format printing.

And yet, looking back at his remarkable career in photography, Greg Gorman points out that he did not, necessarily, seek out to become a photographer. It was the other way around. “I think photography chose me,” he explains, “because, never having taken a picture before in my life, I borrowed a friend’s camera in 1968 to shoot a Jimi Hendrix concert.” He adds, “I asked my friend what I should set the camera at, and what I should do.”

Gorman remembers going to the concert and shooting a few images, and then going to his friend’s home. The friend had a darkroom in his basement, where they developed the film. “And when I saw the images coming up on this mysterious piece of paper, I was totally hooked,” the photographer says. “And my very first image [was] pretty much out of focus. I don’t know if I had too much camera shake or smoked too much dope in those days, because this was back in ‘68….And that’s kind of how it all began.”

He attended school at the University of Kansas, where he studied photojournalism, the only photography course offered there at the time. After graduation, he moved to California, to get a master’s degree in film. “I realized that I was too much of a control freak to pursue film,” he comments, “because they were always going for the great acting gig over the great camera gig. And so I went back to my roots, which was basically still photography.”

The early seventies found Gorman living in Los Angeles. So, he started doing headshots for thirty-five dollars a day, including film and processing. “I would start shooting young actors and actresses,” he says. “And that slowly snowballed into what ultimately became my career.”

A few years later, in the late seventies, he started to get some cover work. Through mutual friends he met the sister of the renowned fashion photographer, Bruce Weber. “She trusted me and loved my work, and early on hooked me up with the likes of David Bowie, and some of the stars and pretty well-known people that I had the good fortune to photograph.” Then Gorman started working on the sets of films like Tootsie, The Big Chill, Scarface, and, later on, Under the Tuscan Sun, The Italian Job, Pirates of the Caribbean, and The Hurt Locker.

He credits part of his success to his Midwestern upbringing and his personality that “melded well with the celebrities” and that helped him get along with just about anybody, famous or not. Speaking of dealing with and photographing celebrities, he explains that, “It’s just about human nature, and dealing with people as human beings. I think the problem with celebrities is that too many people treat them as celebrities, when, at the end of the day they are just like everybody else.” And then he adds, “You know, with a lot of celebrities there are a lot of egos involved, and I kind of checked mine at the door, and made sure [the celebrities] were comfortable.”

Gorman clearly remembers the person who gave him the first break in the business. It was Robert Hayes, executive editor of Interview Magazine who helped him launch his career. “Without Robert Hayes I don’t think any of this might have been possible,” he says. “I remember one day calling the Interview Magazine, up in New York City, [to] speak with Robert Hayes, and they said that he was out sick. I called back a few days later, and they said ‘he’s out with the flu.’ And this went on for a few weeks. And I finally [called the magazine again and] said, no one has the flu for weeks.”

And that’s when the photographer was told that Hayes didn’t actually have the flu, but that he had AIDS. After further inquiries, the photographer learned that Hayes was in the hospital in New York City, but that not many people were going to visit him. At the time, people didn’t know much about how one would contract the virus, and hence, many were worried that they would get infected. “If you were in the same room with a person [who had HIV] you presumed that you could possibly get the virus, too,” Gorman explains.

But learning about Robert Hayes, Gorman decided to fly to New York and visit Hayes in the hospital. “He was in a quarantine room,” the photographer recalls. “I had to put on a mask, a gown, gloves, and a little hat over my head, to go in the room.” He pauses for a moment, as if reliving the experience. “And at that point, when I went to see him, he almost looked like a little child. He reverted….It was so horrible in those days. But I went to see him, because people [in this stage of the disease] they need your love, and they need your attention, your compassion.”

That hospital visit marked the beginning of Greg Gorman’s awareness of the epidemic, and of his relationships with people living with the virus. He recalls an older picture showing him and four or five other men who were younger than he was. At the time the picture was taken, he didn’t know that they were HIV-positive. He found out only later that the virus had taken the lives of all these younger men in that group picture.

“I’m an openly gay person,” he says. “And I was certainly greatly affected by the epidemic. In the early days, in the early eighties, I was losing friends…they were dropping like flies. It left me with a big vacuum in my life.”

He goes on to say that a lot of people have lost their lives to HIV/AIDS. They were not living wild or promiscuous lives. They were good and respectful people, great human beings, and a lot of them meaningful to the photographer’s life. “And no one really knew in the beginning what the hell was going on, how you got it, what was happening,” he says, talking about the early days of the epidemic. “I was losing friends left and right, almost everybody whom I knew in the eighties.” There were not only personal friends or acquaintances, but also almost the entire creative world. “Watching them go through the hideous death associated with the earlier days of AIDS, before they came up with [life-saving] medications, it was of tremendous concern to me,” he adds.

And so, when charities and foundations came about, the photographer became actively involved in the work of many organizations, using his images to help raise HIV and AIDS awareness. Gorman has done charitable work for many AIDS foundations, including Focus on AIDS, AIDS Healthcare Foundation—he photographed medical professionals involved with the foundation—and PAWS/LA, an organization “dedicated to preserving the loving bond between people and their companion animals, founded in 1989 in response to the companion animal-related crises faced by residents of Los Angeles county who were financially and physically debilitated by HIV/AIDS.”

Gorman is also an important part of the Elton John AIDS Foundation. Founded in 1992, EJAF is now “one of the world’s largest HIV grant-makers,” and has offices located on both sides of the Pond, in New York City and London. “Elton John is a good friend,” the photographer explains. “He asked me to be on his board of advisors, so I’ve been on his board for a long period of time.”

Over the years, Greg Gorman has had the opportunity to photograph many actors who played in movies inspired by the epidemic—Tom Hanks (in Philadelphia) and Al Pacino (in Angels in America) first come to mind. “There’ve never been big discussions [about HIV, with these celebrities] but all of us in the entertainment business, particularly being the industry that’s been most affected, I know that we all share the same love of humanity, and our concern and care for people that we’ve lost. And, trust me, there’s no one in Hollywood that hasn’t lost numerous people to HIV/AIDS.”

As our chat continues, Gorman brings up the role of arts in telling the story of the pandemic. He points out the importance, even today, of being educated and informed about HIV and AIDS. “I think a big part of it is what Elton’s organization is so focused on,” he says, “and that is educating people [about] AIDS awareness. [HIV/AIDS] is not over by any stretch of imagination. Just because there are good meds [available] and you’re seeing statistics in many areas drop, it does not mean that this is the time for people to be clueless or careless.”

Having lived through and survived the dark years of the epidemic, having lost many friends to the epidemic, Gorman is optimistic and hopeful that we will eventually find a cure. But he’s also very realistic regarding the reasons behind the long, too long a time that it might take to find a solution—a cure or vaccine—to HIV/AIDS.

“It’s big business,” he says, commenting on the role of pharmaceutical industry in finding a solution to the epidemic, once and for all. “You know…HIV keeps the hospitals and pharmacies busy. As much as I don’t want to admit that, I think that’s a big part of it.”

When it comes to fighting HIV/AIDS, there is only so much that charities and foundations can do. Elton John’s AIDS foundation is a good example—every penny received goes toward AIDS awareness and eliminating the face of AIDS off the planet. But that’s a difficult task, mainly because the work done by so many dedicated charities is often affected by many factors. And a good part of the success of these organizations depends on available finances and funds.

And yet, when it comes to the AIDS epidemic, we find ourselves in a much better place today compared to where we were some three decades ago. In the U.S. and other developed countries, people living with HIV/AIDS are not dying the way they were dying at the onset of the epidemic, but HIV remains a devastating problem in other parts of the world.

“I think that everybody is hopeful [in finding a cure], and that we can see an end to [the epidemic],” Gorman says. “We’ve all been affected by it. We’ve lost too many people [to it]. I don’t think there’s anybody today that hasn’t been affected by HIV/AIDS. No one really wants to see [it] continue.

“The important thing is to follow your heart, and be generous and open to all of those [living] with HIV or AIDS, and reach out in any way that you can to touch their lives, not only emotionally, but financially, in terms of helping them live a better life.”

Visit the Elton John AIDS Foundation at www.ejaf.org. Learn more about Greg Gorman’s photography work, his books, and the photography workshops he offers, by visiting his website: www.gormanphotography.com.

Alina Oswald is Arts Editor of A&U.

Frame by Frame
Alina Oswald Talks With Greg Gorman About Photography

What are your favorite subjects?
People who are not caught up in their own image. Often enough in Hollywood, people have this idea of who they’re supposed to be in front of the lens. Sometimes, breaking through barriers can be a complex situation.

Who would be one person you’d like to have the chance to photograph?
The person I’ve wanted to photograph most of my life, and I’ve been pretty open about that, is Brigitte Bardot. She’s someone that I used to love when I was growing up. For me, she was the ultimate sex symbol, and the hottest gal on the planet. She never really [had] any work [done], and she’s quite old now. I wanted to do a book with her as a contrast [between the way she used to look and the way she looks] right now. She’s very open and candid, but [that kind of project] is something that she doesn’t see the relevance of, which is really unfortunate. But it would have been a great project.

What is your favorite project you’ve worked on?
Gosh! I’ve worked on a lot of great projects over the years. I think probably my favorite project is L.A.Eyeworks, which was an amazing campaign for which I’ve shot people from every walk of life, with very little judgmental issues from the creative side. They really pretty much let me do what I wanted. We’ve shot everything from drag queens to prolific authors, actors, musicians, and models. And the strong dichotomy in that project, I think, not only produced a great book [Framed], but also broke down a lot of barriers in a lot of ways.

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What would be a photography project that you’d like to work on?
It’s funny…I think when you spend your whole life shooting people, you often look and admire people that you’re shooting outside the comfort zone. I think everything that I work on, it would have to be people-related. I’d like to do a project showing any aspects of humanity. It could be very interesting.

What would you tell someone who wants to become a celebrity photographer?
I think that the celebrity world has changed lately. I think the reason why I got out of the world of celebrity—I did it for forty years—is that creatives, today, have a different mindset, [and] are much younger. It’s totally contradictory to who I am, and who I am as an artist. The world today is a different world….It’s a completely different mindset.

What advice would you give young photographers?
Starting out today? Well, for young photographers starting out today I’d suggest to find another profession…because with the onset of [smart]phones, everybody considers himself to be the greatest photographer. So, that being said, for working photographers, and I think for most photographers, I would say, don’t ever feel like you’ve taken the perfect picture. There’s always room for improvement. Every time I look at my work, and at [recent work], I think of how to find a way to be much better, and I think that’s what pushes [the] drive of a creative person, and keeps an artist moving forward. ◊

[Editor’s note: This cover story interview with Candis Cayne originally appeared in March 2009. Currently she can be seen on I Am Cait and The Young and the Restless. She has continued her commitment to individuals living with and affected by HIV/AIDS by fundraising for TPAN and raising awareness with Moovz.]

Raising Cayne
She became a breakout star on Dirty Sexy Money and now Candis Cayne is using her bigger spotlight to raise awareness about crystal meth, her losses, and the transgender community
by Dann Dulin

Photographed Exclusively for A&U by Mark Bennington

In 1986, Candis Cayne was hanging out with her girlfriend. Her friend’s mother, who was a healthcare professional, sat them both down for a talk. “I just wanna tell you guys about something,” she said. “I want you to be very, very careful. There’s something out there, it’s called AIDS, and you can get it by being sexual with other people.” Candis, who was fifteen at the time, wasn’t even sexually active, but the mother continued to explicitly explain the disease, giving them full instructions on what they could and could not do. “Being raised on Maui,” Candis says, “I was out of the loop and sheltered. I was never taught about AIDS prevention in school either. The mentality was if you get AIDS, you’re a faggot.”

Thank heaven for motherly advice, for it may have saved Candis’s life, as some of her friends succumbed to the disease. In the early nineties, she was kicking her legs up in her one-woman show in New York. One day, Candis was knocked down emotionally after finding out about a friend who had left the city unannounced. “A month later, my pal Sherry called and said, ‘Doug’s passed.’” Her eyes widen and her mouth opens. “I didn’t think she was serious. I didn’t know how to react. I was shocked.” Candis was numb; she couldn’t cry. Weeks later, as she and her father were watching the film Schindler’s List, she had a thunderous outpouring of repressed emotion. “All these feelings came out about Doug. I was a complete mess throughout the film. I was sobbing, bawling…,” she recalls. “There have been a lot of moments like this when I lost friends. I’m young enough where I didn’t see the mass murder of our community the way I could have, though I have a lot of friends now who are HIV-positive and lead a healthy, happy life.”

One of those friends is also a Maui native. While living in New York, Candis returned to the Island for a visit one day and couldn’t get in touch with her old friend. “My drag mother [for privacy, Candis doesn’t want to give her male friend’s name] was not answering my phone calls. I couldn’t figure out why she wouldn’t talk to me,” she says, stumped. “I finally got a hold of her and she said, ‘I don’t really want to see anybody right now.’ This was the early nineties, before the cocktails were available. I convinced her to come with me and get a massage. When she undressed, I saw black lesions on her body, including one on the tip of her nose. I was taken aback. I had never seen that before. It was really intense.” Her drag mother was fortunate enough to have a brother who worked for the pharmaceutical company that was developing the new antiretroviral treatments. “She was one of the first people to go on the cocktails. I’m getting chills just thinking about it,” Candis tells me tenderly. “And the next year I saw her again and she was fine. She just made it, Dann….”

Candis shakes her head in relief. Talking with her is like being in the presence of a spiritually evolved supermodel with the essence of a young Ann-Margret. This girl is Vogue gorgeous, centered, and she carries herself like a star. Probably best known as Billy Baldwin’s love interest, Carmelita, on ABC’s Dirty Sexy Money, Candis also has appeared in Wigstock: The Movie, Stonewall, Sordid Lives: The Series, CSI: New York, and To Wong Foo…, where she was head choreographer. She recently completed filming several episodes of Nip/Tuck.

After shooting a few festive poses with A&U photographer Mark Bennington, Candis dons a comfy, sleeveless, aqua top and black sweat pants and then distributes bottles of spring water to our crew. She’s barefoot and her crimson red toenails are like neon lights against the dark wooden floor. She sits on a modern, loose-cushion, light grey sofa in the contemporary style living room of her vintage 1920s duplex in L.A.’s South Carthay district. The simple décor is peppered with glassware, candles, and crystals. Next to the widescreen HDTV are several DVDs, including All About Eve, The Visitor, The Ab Fab Collection, and Zack and Miri Make a Porno. On the coffee table is a book by Sophia Loren, Women and Beauty, and A Course in Miracles lays next to a package of opened Nicoderm gum. Yes, Candis smokes and she’s not proud of it.

What she does take pride in is her long association with the LGBT and AIDS communities. Candis has many transgender girlfriends who are HIV-positive. Over the years, some have died of AIDS, which is why she’s so concerned about the spread of the disease among the transgender population. “I know that there’s a lot of guys who like transgender women, but, because they are so ashamed of themselves, they go from girl to tranny and sometimes they date men.”

In the early nineties, when she first started dancing professionally (she’s classically trained), one particular guy would hang around the club, complimenting her, “Oh you look great, girl.” “I’d ask the other girls [about him] and they’d say, ‘You want to stay away from him. He gives the girls The Thing [HIV].’ There were guys who you didn’t want to fool around with because you knew they were carriers. It’s a scary thing,” she sighs. “There’s a lot of [transgender] girls who are insecure about their identity and their appearance. They’re in transition and they’ll do anything to please a man or make him love her—low self-esteem issues. It has a lot to do with letting somebody…fuck you…without a condom,” she laughs with a wide smile, adding, “Excuse my French. Bleep. Bleep.” She tilts her head forward and her voluminous hair cascades over her face. She carefully tosses it back. This could be a Pantene commercial. She continues. “In the transgender world, there’s a lot of prostitution. Girls aren’t stupid now, but then there are those moments when the more sex you have the easier it is to become positive. It’s an issue the girls really need to think about.”

How does this girl take care of herself? “Getting tested for the first time was probably the most horrifying moment of my life,” she laments. “I did it late. I was twenty-three or twenty-four. I had been sexually active for a few years. While I was waiting for the results, I’d think about all the times when I had been unsafe—how I let him do that to me or how I did that that night. Then I’d think about when I got a cold and it lasted for a month. And I’ve had those deceiving moments where I had been dating and I’d say, ‘Oh, well, he looks healthy. We don’t need to have protected sex.’ I just let my passion get in the way. That’s stupid.” Samson, one of her two large boxers (the other’s named Delilah), stands by her legs waiting to be petted. Candis acquiesces. “So here I am waiting for my test results thinking, ‘Well…,’” she blows a raspberry, “‘I’m positive.’” She throws her arms upward to emphasize her certainty that she is indeed infected. “It just angered me so much that somebody my [young] age who was just loving someone else would be scarred for….,” she takes a meaningful pause, “…life.”

Counselors were standing by when she got the news in case her results were postive (though, either way, one may need counseling). Candis was negative. She recalls being in the doctor’s office. “I was like, ‘Ahhhhh….’” Candis thrusts her body forward and dramatically collapses to accentuate the relief she experienced. “I hugged and kissed the doctor. He was some straight man.” She loudly laughs, adding, “The doctor’s thinking, ‘Why’s she leaning on me?’—you know?! I told him, ‘Thank you so much!’ It was the scariest moment and the happiest moment,” she clarifies, looking momentarily out the radiant stained-glass living room window. Since then, Candis has tested with several of her boyfriends. Her current paramour is Marco, who DJs for her show. They’ve been together for six and a half years. Now engaged, they plan to wed on Maui.

All during the interview, Candis sits on the edge of the sofa. She’s focused and direct, like a good pupil in class. She’s articulate, forthcoming, and honest.

Candis has long been active in the AIDS fight. After this year’s Oscar ceremony, she attended the APLA Oscar Party. Last year she performed in a benefit for AIDS Healthcare Foundation. She’s also worked with Pediatric AIDS Foundation. “Whenever they call, I do it,” explains Candis, nonchalantly. She’s also passionate about the issue of hate in the gay community and has hosted several GLAAD functions. “What motivates me to get involved is that this is my community. Even if I’m transgendered, or if I’m not transgendered, people want to think of me as just a woman, I’m a part of this community. I have felt firsthand what AIDS has done to our community, so if I can’t afford to give money, at least I can give my time and do a couple of [musical] numbers.” She smiles.

“I think everybody in the entertainment business, no matter what city they are performing in, should sponsor an event and talk about these important issues when they’re onstage. I’m guilty about not doing it myself,” she realizes. “I do a show every Monday night [at The Abbey in West Hollywood called The Candis Cayne Show] and I really should say, ‘AIDS is still around. Use a condom.’ I am going to start doing it,” she asserts with conviction. The apathy of so many people who feel that AIDS is passé enrages her. “We need to talk about it!” Her voice is crisp and feisty. “People see HIV-positive people who are leading healthy lives and they assume that AIDS is not a serious matter anymore. They think AIDS in Africa is the issue and not the situation here at home. So wrong!”

Indeed, the under-thirty set has a high rate of HIV infection. They are a new generation that never witnessed the brutal realities of an AIDS-ravaged community. What’s Candis’s take on this? “The younger kids somehow, sometimes feel like it’s a way to fit into their community, if all their friends are positive,” she says offhandedly, referring to those who “choose” to get infected. Did she just say that? Yes. Kids are getting a false impression about being HIV-positive, and so they cast the condom to the side and take their chances.

“Our community has always been very sexually oriented. Even before the bathhouse days of the seventies it was all about sex. When things are repressed you find ways to sneak around. When you’re sneaking around you’re doing things because you want that rush to get rid of all that repression you feel. Nowadays, everything is just so open, you would assume that people would be more intelligent about their choices.” She curtly blots her glossy lips with her finger, her nail tips painted nun-white.

“What gets me most is the meth epidemic that’s infiltrated our community: It’s really causing new HIV infections,” she points out. “They get high and they don’t care [about protected sex]. Meth chemically changes your mental state and it does something to your brain. You don’t think about what you’re doing and you don’t feel any ramifications of your actions.”

Candis has lost friends to meth. “You know what gets me? I have a couple of friends who were negative into their thirties and early forties and started doing meth and now they’re positive,” she exclaims, sadly. “They should have known better. And not only are they infecting themselves, but they are carrying on that infection to other people who are doing the exact same thing.” She pauses and, in the most serious tone I’ve heard, says vehemently, “That’s unforgivable.”

Like clockwork, Mark quietly enters to see how much longer we’ll be talking, as he wants to grab the light and capture Candis in its timely rays. I tell him we are nearly finished.

Having witnessed the deaths of so many people, Candis is driven to protect those around her, like her seven-year-old daughter, Satori (Marco’s child from a former relationship). “She’s too young now, but as soon as it gets to that point where I see her looking cross-eyed at a boy—or girl—I’ll put her down and say, ‘Let’s talk.’” She briefly glances away. “My friends who are positive, who can actually function and still get through life and be happy—that’s a lot to carry…” she proclaims, touching my knee for emphasis. Candis folds her hands, lays them in her lap, and concludes, “They are my heroes.”

Thanks to to Jill Merin for her valuable assistance and Robert Constant for hair and makeup.

To contact photographer Mark Bennington, log on to www.markbennington.com.

Dann Dulin interviewed Jason Mewes for the February cover story.

Soul Mom
More than Hollywood’s funny ‘it’ girl, a title she quickly earned with Style Network’s home-makeover show Clean House and Comedy Central’s Reno 911! (both 2003), Niecy Nash is a self-proclaimed old-soul and mom who channels her own life experience to make her characters—like her role in the AIDS-themed Boys on the Side, her very first film gig—even more relatable. The Emmy Award-winning and recently nominated Best Supporting Actress in a Comedy for the Critics’ Choice awards is garnering praise for her serious turns on and off the big screen while using her effervescent, maternal voice to urge youngsters to stay vigilant against HIV.
by Sean Black

Photos by Robert Ector

Of late, everything’s coming up roses for Niecy Nash; a happy home life, solid faith, and a booming acting career with three stellar, hit television roles (Fox Network’s Scream Queens, TV Land’s The Soul Man, in its fifth season, and HBO’s Getting On with the 2015 Primetime Emmy nom for Outstanding Supporting Actress in a Comedy Series). She’s just guest-starred on Fox’s Brooklyn Nine-Nine, too. To say that the actress known early on for her popping, behind-the-ear flowers is busy is an understatement of immense proportions.

All of this on the heels of her notable 2014 role in director Ava DuVernay’s epic film Selma about Martin Luther King Jr.’s historic Alabama march to secure equal voting rights, the glam in-demand triple threat opens up about life, the invincibility of youth, and why she finds comfort in her consummate role as Momma Denise.

Carving out some time for this phone interview on the airdate of the season finale of Scream Queens Nash succinctly weighs in when we begin and I ask her about the recent, disturbing San Bernardino shootings just 100 miles east of her L.A. hometown.

“When the power of love overcomes the love of power that is when we will know peace,” she opens up and wisely shares. Through all the glitz and giggles of her comedic assent, life hasn’t been forever rosy for Niecy, born Carol Denise Ensley on February 23, 1970, in Palmdale, California. There have been thorns along the way for this actor, author and producer who spent her earliest childhood years in St. Louis. After returning to Los Angeles, growing up and chasing the dreams that TV sensation Lola Falana had planted in her head when she was just a child, she tragically lost her younger brother, Michael, to gun violence on his high school campus before his eighteenth birthday. Realizing then her gift for making people laugh and smile she slowly lifted herself, her mother and the loved ones around her out of the despair and sadness over the loss of their beloved family member.

“Well, I think that for me how we treat one another goes back to our relationship with God. And I feel if there is anything askew in our hearts and our minds then we should go back to our manufacturer. I think the thing that we are all created for is love, and that’s the bottom-line. It’s the one thing too that I feel as a whole that humanity struggles with the most.”

The heartbreaking event subsequently led Niecy and her mother to their ambassadorial roles with M.A.V.I.S (Mothers Against Violence in Schools) shortly after Michael’s death.Founded in 1993 by their mother, Margaret Ensley, an earlier victim to gun violence herself, M.A.V.I.S. teaches and advocates nonviolence as well as lending support to parents and schools in violence prevention.

I think the thing that we are all created for is love, and that’s the bottom-line. It’s the one thing too that I feel as a whole that humanity struggles with the most.

“As you should. That is what you do when she calls,” declares Nash. “Sheryl Lee has been a champion for the prevention of HIV for a very long time and so many of the DIVAS have supported her events because we know how passionate she is about this cause.”

In 1990, Sheryl Lee Ralph [A&U, 2008; 2015] founded The DIVA Foundation, a nonprofit organization seeking to raise awareness about HIV and AIDS and in particular its impact on women and children. It’s signature event, DIVAS Simply Singing!, has brought together top-notch singers and performers for a one-night-only extravaganza which has continued now for twenty-five years, making it the longest consecutive running musical AIDS benefit in the country. Over the years DIVAS who have responded to her call have included The Supreme Mary Wilson, Chaka Khan, Faith Evans, Jennifer Holliday, the late Natalie Cole and Teena Marie, Kelly Price [A&U, April 2011], Brenda Russell, Loretta Devine [A&U, January 2008], Jenifer Lewis [A&U, May 2005], Patti LaBelle [A&U, June 2005], Sharon Stone, Whoopi Goldberg [A&U, June 2000] and Nash to name only a few.

Nash continues, “First of all, you believe in what she’s doing and she puts it together in such a way that is classy, fun and entertaining and at the same time you get a message. I call it edutainment because its education and entertainment at the same time. She’s been a tireless champion and I love to support her every chance I get.”

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Sheryl Lee Ralph tells A&U, “My friend, my sister, the divinely inspired victoriously audacious DIVA Niecy Nash has never shied away from using her voice or from getting involved in the fight against HIV/AIDS.”

Ralph, Nash’s close friend and matron of honor at her 2011 wedding, adds, “Not only has she raised her voice in solidarity in several DIVAS Simply Singing! Galas, but she has even tried to sing a song too.”

Like Sheryl, Niecy was inspired to join the fight against AIDS because the disease hit her circle of friends. “We had a family friend who was infected back in the eighties. So that is when I first heard about it. That was back at a time when everyone was still really unsure of how it was actually contracted and how you could be affected if you were just even around someone who had it. So I learned about it and came to the awareness about it at a time when there was a lot of fear. And now there’s so much knowledge and so much information and so many ways to educate yourself—I just feel that this is the part that is absolutely necessary—the knowledge and the information is out there for everybody – for anybody who is sleeping with anybody,” as she uses dramatic inflection of her voice to punctuate her point.

But individuals, especially youth, often have a hard time hearing the message. “I think the thing about being young is you feel very invincible. Young people feel that because youth is on their side it automatically means they can do anything, and nothing will harm them. It’s just not wise, not to be safe. I just think that when you are young and in love you throw caution to the wind and expect that bad things that happen in the world will happen to everybody else except you. And that’s just not true.

“The thing of it is—it’s a gift to yourself to protect yourself because the things that come along with having unprotected sex are not necessary. You can still achieve the same level of intimacy and be safe, that’s the thing. It is a gift you give to yourself.”

As a mother of three, ages sixteen, twenty, and twenty-four, plus one stepson from her marriage now to Jay Tucker, Niecy’s maternal sense of protection always kicks in, knowing, as any good parent does, that the message needs to be tailored to young ears.

“Every child is different,” urges Nash. “So you know when the conversations come up and you feel like there is a certain thing on that particular child’s radar—then it’s something [at that time] to be discussed. Once they come into the awareness of what sex is then you have to address it and talk about it in ways that are healthy.”

Unsurprisingly, her compassion and her caring heart allowed her to inhabit her first film role—in Boys on the Side—in a movie that touched on living with HIV. “At that time I think I was just so overwhelmed and grateful with the opportunity to have a scene with Ms. Whoopie Goldberg. I was so young I was just a baby back then I had never been on a first-class flight. So there were so many firsts in that whole process for me. While I was grateful to be telling that story there was another wave of gratitude that was just to be living my dream and that’s what I was the most present to at that time.”

I also think HBO and Ryan Murphy, who’s my boss on Scream Queens, did an amazing job doing the HBO film The Normal Heart from the screenplay by Larry Kramer. [For Murphy] to tell that story with grace and dignity and compassion was just a beautiful thing.

Ever since that “first-class flight” in Boys on the Side, Niecy has brought a clear sense of self to her

acting role choices. “I would say that I always try to find something in my real life that I can use to make a character relatable. I play Cedric the Entertainer’s wife on The Soul Man and I remember when Cedric first asked me to play his wife, the very first thing I said is: ‘Are we happily married? Because if we aren’t I don’t want to do it. I am not interested in being a smart-talking wife. If I am going to be somebody’s wife on TV then I want to be in love. I want children to be able to turn on the television and to see a [good] example of what love looks like and people who are trying to co-labor.’ So to that degree I do bring a lot of who I am as a real wife even in terms of pet names and how I talk to my husband—I do bring that to my character.”

Even with her role on Scream Queens, playing security guard Denise Hemphill who fancies herself a Columbo when clearly she’s not, Niecy was able to tap into her mother-on-a-mission sensibility. “I feel like I have been a mother for a very long time. I started having children when I was twenty-one so I have been like an old soul and a mom for a very long time. More than Officer Denise I consider that particular character Momma Denise, and her goal is to mother these sorority girls in the Kappa House. So that is a part of my real life that I would say that I bring to that.

“And then with respect to Didi Ortley [her character on Getting On] I really am a lover of people, and I want them to be well and better. I want them to be a little better after I leave than they were before I came. So, I am a natural caregiver and in that respect I find that I am in a very comfortable place with very comfortable footing when playing Denise ‘Didi’ Ortley.”

While anyone who has seen Niecy on-screen knows she has the acting chops that can swing audiences from heartbreak to hilarity, her identity is clearly a through-line. “When it comes to my job off screen I feel that my role, my ‘who’ is to show up whether it is on a set, or on the red carpet, or behind the scenes at some event and to be of service—that’s my goal—that’s my ‘who.’”

Sean Black is a Senior Editor of A&U.

A Haven in Havana
Dr. Mariela Castro Espín, the daughter of Cuban President Raúl Castro and the niece of Fidel Castro, heads up CENESEX, the Cuban National Center for Sexual Education, carrying on the legacy of her beloved mother, Vilma Espín, while building a safer, brighter future for her country’s LGBT Community
by Sean Black, with Chael Needle

Photographed Exclusively for A&U by Sean Black

We were free, always, to ask questions of our parents,” emphatically states Mariela Castro, through a translator, about conversations between her parents and their children when she was growing up. “We did it frequently,” she adds. “My parents always taught us that the absence of the protection of the rights of all people was a tragedy that should be resolved.” “All people,” she learned, included individuals who are LGBT and those who are living with HIV as well. As a child, she was shocked to hear of a man who had been disowned by his father because of his sexual orientation and subsequently ended his young life in a suicide, she shares. One might surmise that her impetus for her active role in politics and equality was in part forged by these domestic dialogues and early experiences.

And it might also explain why CENESEX (the Cuban National Center for Sexual Education), part of Cuba’s National Ministry of Health, has become a home base (emphasis on “home”) for many in the LGBT community in Havana and even beyond.

Several walking blocks southwest of Cuba’s famed El Malecón, a four to five mile seafront promenade cradling Central Havana’s coastline sits a cozy fortress in the charming Vedado neighborhood known as CENESEX. Although a quainter stronghold than the city’s monumental Castillo de los Tres Reyes del Morro (El Morro), a sixteenth-century fort begun in 1589 that impressively rendered Havana as the safest port in the Americas during the heyday of pirates and imperial invaders, CENESEX is nonetheless an organization and notable landmark, dedicated to Cuba’s comprehensive sexual health programming with a major focus on the LGBT population. CENESEX is led by Mariela Castro, the fifty-three-year-old mother of three, an academic and rising political figure of her own accord; she is an internationally heralded advocate and expert specializing in the rights of transgender individuals. She holds a PhD in the social sciences with a specialization in Transgender Studies.

Over the course of two days, A&U was invited to this safe haven, along with friends and delegates, mostly gay men of color. Acting as a photojournalist, I was honored to be asked to travel with the Black AIDS Institute delegation spearheaded by Phill Wilson, BAI’s founder, President and CEO, and this issue’s guest editor (see Wilson’s “Building Communidad”).

CENESEX, meticulously maintained, is flanked by once-elegant stately mansions in various states of disrepair, still quite opulent despite their crumbling facades and weathered windows agape and swagged in lace and brightly colored fabric. Neighboring structures with air-drying linens and clothing strung ledge-to-ledge imbue old-world charm over Cuba’s transitioning socio-economics, the balconies punctuated by the occasional, friendly onlooker with smart device in hand.

Arriving early on the first day, under the care of our trusty En Lista drivers, we pass freely through a wrought-iron gate following a tidy path up to a gracious satin-white wrap-around porch, sun-drenched seating areas abounding with lush foliage and manicured botanicals. Interior and exterior walls are awash in fresh coats of soft yellow paint that blend aptly with an ambience that’s calm and soothing amid the non-frenzied buzz of people of all ages, genders and sexualities working the grounds. Gardeners, office staff, security and cooks alike tend to tasks efficiently and dutifully yet never forgoing the passing chance to offer warm smiles and glimpses of kind eyes, all meant to acknowledge and affirm visitors.

“Everyone’s work at CENESEX is important,” proudly notes Ariel Causa Menéndez, an enthusiastic, bright young man and head of CENESEX’s International Relations Group, during our welcome orientation. It’s an idea that spills over to his love of American football. When I learned his favorite team was the Patriots, I singled out Tom Brady knowing how sports fans love their heroes, but he demurred in an aside, shifting the spotlight from the quarterback to the team. Point taken. It’s a team effort, like CENESEX.

That explains why Ariel, who is straight, so easily embraces his role as an LGBT ally. And that helps explain why Mariela Castro, who is also straight, is so confident and comfortable in her role as an LGBT ally, too. Cuba’s mission is the emancipation of all human beings; advocating across identities is par for the course in the nation’s people-centered approach to organizing life, work, and play.

Still, I wanted to know Castro’s specific reasons for her commitment to the LGBT community, and by extension, HIV/AIDS work. Mariela explained, with Ariel acting as translator throughout our interview, that she focused on this community because essentially LGBT rights up until recently were not included in the Cuban political agenda. Although her mother had always been worried about and cared for these matters up till the time she became seriously ill, it was Mariela who, when she became the director of CENESEX, made it her mission to incorporate the human rights of the LGBT community into the country’s larger social-political dialogue, as the Cuban Revolution was built on the principles of justice. She resolutely says about the fight for LGBT inclusion, “It was due, and would be just, based on these principles.”

She first began working with the trans community because its members came to her, and from those interactions, discovered that part of the LGBT community remained outside of the revolutionary project. The fight for rights, thus, has been a mixing of outsider grass-roots and insider government politics in a way not known in the United States. It sounds very complicated—individuals who were not recognized by the establishment now are suddenly embraced by the establishment and must work with the government. I should note that, historically, the trans liberation movement in Cuba preceded and in effect paved the way for the country’s LGBT movement. While trans activists have always been a part of the United States’ LGBT movement, on the front lines of California’s Compton’s Cafeteria Riot and Dewey’s Lunch Counter Riot, and New York City’s Stonewall Riots, all during the 1960s, they have often been overshadowed and in many ways marginalized by white gay male activists and how our history of LGBT equality and that of AIDS activism has been told.

When she started working on LGBT issues, she was fortunate to have the support of the Communist Party, she says. However her father has been quieter on this stance. “He has always, nevertheless, encouraged my siblings and me to fight for our own beliefs and causes. I am forever grateful to my father for his advice,” she shares.

People of Cuba

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CENESEX, as its mission statement conveys, encourages these types of “open, knowledgeable dialogues,” perhaps echoing Mariela’s early upbringing. As an institution devoted to education and research in the field of human sexuality, CENESEX “promotes scientific research” and “fosters the exchange of experiences.” CENESEX’s intersectoral approach to human rights and sexual education can be traced back to early efforts of the Cuban Revolution that were later formalized through a collaboration of the Federation of Cuban Women (FMC), the Ministry of Public Health, and different sectors of the state and civil society in the early seventies. The National Work Group on Sexual Education (GNTS), created by the FMC, which for many years was directed by Mariela’s mother, Vilma Espín, took up the charge of training and educating professionals and the general public. GNTES became its own legal entity in 1977, working with the Commission for the Attention of Rights Equality for Women, Family, Childhood and Youth to establish a firmer scientific basis supporting sexual education; support the expertise of therapists and sexual educators; and provide specialized care to transsexual people, among other actions. CENESEX along with serving as the governmental advisory institution in all issues related to sexual health was founded in 1989 to continue the work of GNTES with a gender-centric approach. A recent example of its gender-based services is counseling and identifying Cuban transgender individuals who might want to consider sex-reassignment surgery; the procedure is now state-sponsored under Cuba’s universal healthcare system after the government lifted the ban on the procedure in 2007.

CENESEX’s various activities also now include post-graduate education; education for physicians, sociologists, psychologists, specialists and activists, among others; substantial research and teaching initiatives; various publishing activities (of note is the organization’s quarterly publication, Sexologia y Sociedad); and international partnerships for training and social networking for the equality and advancements in all areas of sexual health. Its programming includes a maternity and paternity campaign, which runs between Valentine’s Day and Father’s Day and is committed to ensuring gender equality; a campaign about AIDS awareness on World AIDS Day held December 1; and other campaigns targeted to educating about women’s rights, domestic violence, and violence against children. The legal department works in tandem, and oversees and investigates complaints in all areas in regards to discrimination and abuse. Visually reinforcing this stance, the walls of CENESEX’s atrium serve as gallery space reflecting the Center’s bold campaigns, networks, and outreach initiatives. Significant work by internationally prominent artists, such as Italian photographic artist Giuseppe Klain, whose exhibition “I Miserabili” was on display during my visits, is showcased. Klain’s powerful work aligned with Cuba’s stance on the protection of women and their rights. Past exhibitions have included work by Los Angeles-based artist Byron Motley and images from his book Embracing Cuba. These efforts reflect the spark of the Cuban Revolution more than fifty-five years ago.

CENESEX posters and campaign art

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But socialism is open to revision—that’s also why CENESEX has evolved to include educational components around community-tailored sexuality education and prevention and promotion of sexual health; HIV/AIDS awareness; and advocacy for individuals who are lesbian, gay, bisexual, and transgender, among others. Presently, CENESEX offers direct support to five social community networks, including Youth Network for Health and Sexual Rights, Transgender People Network (TransCuba), Network of Lesbian and Bisexual Women, Humanity for Diversity (HxD) and the Network of Lawyers for Sexual Rights.

“Socialism has been a bad word not just in the U.S., but elsewhere in the world because of political interests that have tried to demonize it, make it bad,” says Manuel Vázquez Seijido, Chief Legal Advisor at CENESEX, during one of our CENESEX meetings, with Ariel Causa acting as translator. Indeed, socialism has cropped up in recent years in the United States’ healthcare arena. Opponents of President Obama’s Affordable Care and Patient Protection Act have long labeled his approach as “socialist,” meaning to scare up an antiquated Cold War ideology that pitted Americans against Soviets and to highlight more recently claimed “failures” of Canada and various European countries’ systems to provide gold-standard care. And now Presidential candidate Bernie Sanders is taking heat for his stances as a democratic socialist, including universal access to healthcare.

He continues about defining socialism in this context of demonization, “However, our experience [involves] not just constructed socialism but learning how to construct socialism because it is not something we have already figured out as a whole.” In other words, it is not a static concept or practice, frozen in time as many in the rest of the world would have it.

“It doesn’t mean that we are perfect; it doesn’t mean we have done each and everything right—we have discovered along the way that we have made mistakes; they are mistakes we hadn’t discovered and we are working on solving those that we know [about] and we are perfecting the work we are doing. However the key value of socialism, the most important thing, is to put the human being in the center of the spotlight.

“Hence, in order to put the human being in the center of the spotlight his or her [inherent] rights must be placed in the center of whatever project you build, in a process of liberation that will secure the right to enjoy freely these very rights.”

Manuel and Ariel pause to compare the terms “liberation” and “emancipation” in translation. “I know you are a harsh public,” half-jokingly mentions Ariel.

Continuing, Manuel adds, “Socialism has been an important strategy for the Cuban Government and Cuban people to develop a response that addresses people with these kinds of limitations—people living with HIV, including those seropositive within the LGBT community.

“There are two key principles of our healthcare system in its development and implementation, which are universality, which means everyone has the right to receive attention, and the entire intervention must be delivered for free. So the state takes part and assumes the responsibilities of preventing people from getting infected, working on prevention as a key way to avoid people getting infected and if the person gets infected guaranteeing that that person will have the kind of respect and dignity that anyone deserves including medical attention to people living with HIV. That is an example of how socialism helps people living with HIV.”

Manuel asks, “Do you happen to know that Cuba was declared—we are very proud of this—[to have eradicated] the vertical transmission of the disease?”

Just last year, news of this breakthrough on the AIDS front came around the time that the United States began its first steps in lifting its embargo on Cuba. In June 2015, Cuba received validation from the World Health Organization that the country’s efforts to reduce mother-to-child transmission of HIV and syphilis was a stellar success—the nation became the first in the world to eliminate new infections by this mode of transmission. According to WHO, the success stems from an integration of maternal and child health programs with HIV/STI programs, as well as abundant and equal access to free universal healthcare, in this case, tailored to reproductive and sexual health. This success is mirrored in other aspects of HIV education, testing, treatment, and support, which benefits from an approach that threads together governmental institutions and agencies, the media, and health and education organizations under Cuban Ministry of Public Health’s National Strategic Plan for Sexually-Transmitted Infections–HIV/AIDS as implemented by the National STI–HIV/AIDS Prevention Center. Cuba boasts the lowest rate of HIV infection and the highest level of HIV/AIDS treatment among all Caribbean nations. According to 2014 estimates from UNAIDS, the prevalence rate of HIV among adults aged fifteen to forty-nine is 0.3 percent. By comparison, Haiti is at 1.9 percent for the same population; Jamaica at 1.6.

One of the most impactful and longest campaigns for public wellbeing was HIV messaging targeting young people and MSM. Notes Manuel: “The Campaign takes physical expression in many many ways; education materials, brochures, flyers, magazines, our magazine. We generate trainings here with the activists in order for them to deliver the campaign guidelines and spread it all through the country.”

Condom distribution is widespread, through public campaigns and purchasing them at pharmacies and cafeterias, and the like. Because of governmental subsidizing, condoms can be purchased for five cents for three condoms. Access to condoms is almost universal. “In Cuba the government puts a very large part of its budget to the attention of HIV issues,” says Manuel.

I ask if Cuban researchers are working toward a cure. “Of course [but] because of the blockade, it is hard for us to gain access to supplies for medicines and supplies for the treatment so in many cases we’ve had to produce them ourselves, which means also that we have had to redirect [the expertise of] our specialists that would be otherwise researching for a cure and reassign resources in order to create our own versions of antiretroviral medicines in order to come up with the needs we had at the moment,” explains Manuel. The CENESEX representatives also say if Cuban researchers find a cure, they would share it freely with the world.

Today, while access to HIV-related and LGBT-centered care is not a barrier, engagement in care is still stymied. The primary cause? Arguably, it’s stigma and discrimination. Cuba’s early response to the first wave of the epidemic may have inadvertently propelled this stigma. Although President Fidel Castro responded to the epidemic much earlier and more robustly than President Ronald Reagan, the creation of sanitariums for people living with (or, at that time, sometimes dying of) AIDS mandated the quarantining of positive individuals by governmental policy and arguably supported the notion that individuals living with HIV/AIDS were an Other to be kept outside of society. Now fourteen AIDS Sanitariums remain and since 1994 they have been voluntary. But also, in general, Cuba, like the rest of the world, has not been immune to heteronormativity, homophobia and transphobia, longstanding drivers of stigma and discrimination in patriarchal cultures.

One of the ways CENESEX works hard to end this stigma and discrimination is through the transformative power of art. Ariel, on behalf of CENESEX, echoes A&U’s mission that art is an effective cultural tool in disseminating critical information effecting change within societies especially when targeted successfully to those at risk for HIV infection.

“We use art as a key strategy of delivering HIV prevention messaging in our campaign posters, designed by our Communications Department and placed in public spaces.”

Las Vegas, a club in Havana

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Continuing he adds, “We also organize prevention events in nightclubs and in other social hubs of the LGBT community, and use venues that have major social impact against homophobia.” For example, this May, CENESEX is planning a slate of activities against homophobia and transphobia in Havana and Matanzas, including a lecture by Mariela, activist panels, photo exhibits by Paolo Titolo (husband of Dr. Castro Espín) and Byron Motley, parades against homophobia and transphobia, diversity celebrations, and anti-stigma galas, among other events.

Included in this messaging are coveted “Calendar Boy” calendars raffled at clubs and events, one of which Mariela presented to me along with a warm hug upon my arrival.

Additionally, at the gracious, impromptu invitation and arrangement of Manuel, I was welcomed the night before my return to the U.S. to Cuba’s colorful and extravagant nightclub, Las Vegas, featuring the famed performer Imperio, who made a point to give a shout-out to A&U magazine as a special guest.

“We do what we call ‘prevention from the stage’ through transformista artists who deliver messages of prevention while doing their performances,” shared Manuel.

Cuba’s gay nightlife venues encourage light-hearted exchanges between transformistas and the audience about safer sex at performance intermissions along with interspersed animation videos depicting scenarios for sexually active, gay individuals. The graphics reinforce plausible situations, which hopefully appeal and make impressions on the crowd’s energized spectators. Several transformistas and a troupe of scintillating dancers turned out brilliant performances in legendary Cuban form under superb artistic direction going late into the early hours of the following morning.

At the conclusion of our meetings, on day two of our interviews following a balcony photo shoot that nicely captured a sunny backlighting as warm as her demeanor, Mariela Castro acknowledges the importance of CENESEX’s work and reemphasizes her further commitment to its future and to those who find resources, shelter and safety under its roof.

In closing, she made clear her message to A&U: “I am well aware of the ethical-philosophical contradictions that ‘move’ in the [socio-political] matters we have discussed,” clarifies Castro, a student of Socialist-Marxist thought. She affirms however that Marxism is a coherent and progressive alternative to capitalism, a system from which the Cuban Revolution sought to liberate the Cuban people. “On this basis, the Revolution must uphold its historic, social responsibility to eliminate segregation, discrimination and social exclusion.”

She continues, “The revolution succeeded in dismantling many of the mechanisms of domination but lacked clarity on this issue of LGBT equality, as did most other countries in the world, but if we want to strengthen socialism [and our mission] we have to address it head on. By changing global consciousness and educating entire populations we shall surely succeed; no doubt.”

Special thanks to Dr. Mariela Castro Espín, Ariel, Manuel, Miguel and the entire staff of CENESEX (www.cenesex.org), Phill Wilson for including A&U and the travelers of his historic delegation and most especially the many new friends who made my trip remarkable and unforgettable including Andy Sanchez, my guide at the drop of a hat, David our chauffeur, Anita y Ariel, Omar, Restaurante Torresson, Orly, Orlando Sr., Idada, Rubén, Miguel, Arturo, Nicholas, Sulema, Vivianna, Barbara, Jorge, and many other remarkable individuals who opened their doors, their minds and their hearts to me. Muchas gracias!

Sean Black interviewed Niecy Nash for the February 2016 cover story.

Chael Needle is Managing Editor of A&U.

[Editor’s note: 2016 Presidential candidate Hillary Clinton recently praised the Reagans’ record on AIDS; she quickly claimed she “misspoke” after advocates criticized her. Revisit our April 2005 cover story interview with then-Senator Clinton for her stances at that time.]

Capital Hill
Senator Hillary Rodham Clinton is closely associated with many issues, and healthcare is close to the top of the list. In an interview with A&U’s B. Andrew Plant. She addresses how HIV/AIDS is interrelated to so many facets of our lives, from education and healthcare delivery to information technology. Most importantly, the Senator restates her deep and passionate commitment to people living with AIDS

In Living History, her bestselling autobiography, Senator Hillary Rodham Clinton relates anecdotes about HIV/AIDS in ways only a true participant in modern history can. She talks of visiting the countries of sub-Saharan Africa as they were realizing the catastrophic devastation of AIDS. She remembers early on in the Clinton Presidential administration working for better testing and labeling of pediatric drugs, inspired by her friend, AIDS activist Elizabeth Glaser.

And that’s just the tip of the iceberg. Suffice to say that now-Senator Hillary Rodham Clinton—who views AIDS from many perspectives, including those of mother, attorney, diplomat, and politician—is informed and compassionate about the pandemic.

In one of her previous books, It Takes A Village, published during her tour of duty as First Lady, Senator Clinton posited that it takes a community working collectively to raise a child. So, it made sense to ask her what it would take to beat AIDS.

“It will take a lot more than a village to beat AIDS,” she says. “It will take the entire world. It will require the government to pledge funding and resources not only to battling domestic epidemics, but toward multilateral efforts like The Global Fund, which has been seriously underfunded since it was founded.”
And she doesn’t stop there. “It will require scientists and research institutions to continue investigating scientific advancements in vaccines, microbicides and treatments,” she adds. “[And] it will require our medical professionals to seek out the opportunities to go to the places where AIDS is most critical, and provide treatment and the health infrastructure which simply does not exist.”

The Senator also has a charge for those beyond the medical community, saying, “it will [also] require the commitment of religious leaders, who can deliver spiritual sustenance to people with HIV and their loved ones, and help lead the efforts to reduce stigma.”

Arguably, this healthcare advocate knows of what she speaks. She was First Lady of Arkansas when the Ryan White CARE Act, which distributes federal funding related to HIV/AIDS, was first enacted. Later, as First Lady of the United States, she championed Ryan White funding and other AIDS initiatives. This year, as Ryan White is up for reauthorization before Congress (as it is every five years), Senator Clinton says the process is an opportunity to bring national attention to the pandemic [see Sidebar below].

“In my role as a U.S. Senator, I am able to fight for increased HIV/AIDS services, particularly for those that affect New York City, an epicenter of the epidemic in the United States,” she says. “In the city, 66,000 people are living with HIV/AIDS, and I am committed to helping them get the medications and care that will allow them to continue participating in their lives to the fullest extent possible.”

She notes that, fortunately, there are many wonderful providers and social service agencies in New York City that work at the neighborhood level to address the concerns of people living with HIV.

Of course, her concern extends beyond New Yorkers. “I’m concerned about all persons with this disease across the globe,” she says. “I think that we need to improve care for everyone with HIV, and I am very proud of my legislative record on AIDS issues. I’ve introduced several bills to benefit people with AIDS, including the Early Treatment for HIV Act, which would allow states to expand their Medicaid programs to provide treatment services for low-income individuals living with HIV (who have not yet developed full-blown AIDS).”

The Senator proudly notes that her husband was the first President to establish the position of AIDS “czar”—Director of the White House Office on National AIDS Policy (which coordinates domestic efforts to reduce the number of new HIV infections). “I think that during his time in the White House, [Bill Clinton] was able to focus a lot of resources and attention on the epidemic,” she says. Likewise, she acknowledges her own opportunity, while in the White House, to make AIDS more of a focal point.

“While First Lady, I was active in bringing attention to the impact of AIDS on women and children,” she says. “I advocated increased counseling and testing for pregnant women, especially after we learned of the effects that AZT could have on preventing mother-to-child transmission. Our government’s early action on promoting testing has helped thousands of mothers during their pregnancies.”

But just as she is hopeful, touting improvement in AIDS treatment, she also recognizes the work ahead. “While we have made much progress, we are still a long way from resolving this epidemic,” she says.

From her perspective as Arkansas’ First Lady when the Ryan White CARE Act was enacted, she recalls, “I was able to see what assistance this program could be to states…like Arkansas, which, at that time, had a very small number of reported AIDS cases. With the state grants [it] provided, Arkansas was able to have some resources dedicated to AIDS to help the people in the state who would otherwise not have access to programs that tend to their unique needs.”

Undoubtedly, Clinton has worked to better the healthcare system, above and beyond HIV and AIDS. So, I asked how an overhauled U.S. health system could most benefit people with AIDS, as well as how the unique threat of the pandemic might still continue to be a special challenge for us. Her answer is characteristically straightforward.

“We have the most advanced medical system in human history—the finest medical institutions, the newest treatments, the best-trained healthcare professionals,” Senator Clinton says. “But in spite of the best intentions of clinicians, patients, and policy makers, our system is plagued with underuse, overuse, and misuse.”

Clearly, that is something the junior Senator from New York would like to change. “Because of this crisis, I have introduced legislation to modernize our healthcare system, reduce errors, and lower costs,” she says, “By building a fully interoperable information technology infrastructure, we can share information and empower patients to become active participants in maintaining their health while ensuring their privacy.”

By using information technology in a way that protects privacy but reduces duplication, Senator Clinton says, “it would make the healthcare system infinitely easier for a person with HIV to navigate.” Instead of having to pass records from primary caregivers to specialists, for example, a streamlined healthcare system would make it easier and quicker for a provider to access test results and treatment information.

“Having more information about drug interactions and possible treatment resistance will make it easier to adjust regimens and improve the health of people living with HIV,” she adds.

She also notes that, as we make improvements to the overall healthcare system, “we must be particularly vigilant to ensure that better management of AIDS does not lead us to become complacent about the threat that the disease poses.” And, as you might expect, the Senator has specific ideas as to just where that vigilance is needed.

“While we want to make sure that everyone will have access to medications and treatment,” she says, “we cannot lose sight of the fact that we still need increased research on AIDS. Slowing the progression of HIV is certainly no substitute for a cure, and we cannot allow our progress in improving the health of many to distract us from the overall goal of complete eradication….”

In terms of balancing education and prevention resources, I just had to ask Senator Clinton her “take” on the recent resurgence of abstinence-only or abstinence-centric programs. Her answer envelops sound science—and compassion.

“As educators have been saying since the beginning of the AIDS epidemic, abstinence is the only sure method of prevention,” she says. “And for so many of America’s teenagers, abstinence is really the right choice. There is a lot of pressure from society to have sex….But so many of our teens just aren’t ready, and know they are not ready to accept the emotional and physical responsibilities involved with having sex for the first time.”

At the same time, she is realistic about the necessary breadth of education and prevention programs. “I think that an abstinence-only curriculum—a ‘Just Say No’ program—does a great disservice to our youth,” she says. “At some point, when they do make the choice to have sex, they are going to need to know how to protect themselves against HIV and other sexually transmitted infections. It’s not a matter of sending a mixed message to our youth…it’s a matter of giving them information that could save their lives.”

As always, the informed worldview of this long-time policy maker is apparent in her answers to my questions.

“One other reason that I do not support abstinence-only programs, especially on the international level, is that, far too often, avoiding sex is not just a matter of saying ‘no,’” she says. “Many women and girls cannot make the choice of when to have sex. They are forced into situations where they have to have sex with partners to avoid abuse, and in addition to trying to help them get out of these situations, we have to give them the information they need to protect themselves.”

Make no mistake, Senator Clinton is ready to mobilize to ensure sound education and prevention policy has the footing it needs, all the while staying the course with AIDS treatment. “I fully support increasing funding for HIV education and prevention,” Clinton says. “But I do not think that we should be [forced to choose between funding] prevention or treatment. We need to understand that prevention and treatment are linked. Treatment offers us an opportunity to continue education and counseling with people who are HIV-positive, to reduce the possibility that they might pass the virus to others.”

With international AIDS efforts seemingly more in vogue now than domestic efforts to battle the pandemic, I ask the Senator how we might strike a balance between the two. Her approach to the topic is both philosophical and practical. “It is clear that AIDS has had a devastating effect not only for our nation, but for many developing countries,” she says. “The toll of HIV/AIDS has reached catastrophic proportions around the world, and it would be inexcusable for our government to sit on the sidelines any longer.” She continues, saying, “We have experience in fighting AIDS domestically, and it’s our duty to use this knowledge to help other nations deal with their own epidemics.”

Now, as for a focus on the AIDS crisis closer to home, she says, “I think that the recent UNAIDS theme of ‘women and girls around the world’ offered an excellent way to draw attention to the domestic AIDS epidemic. In the United States, AIDS cases among women have tripled since 1985, and in New York, about one-third of new AIDS cases occur among women.”

“We can no longer afford to ignore the rampant epidemic among African-American women, who represent an overwhelming seventy-two percent of new HIV diagnoses among women,” the Senator says.

“We need to examine the factors behind the increasing rates of HIV infection among women, learn what the barriers are that keep women from protecting themselves, and develop programs that will address those barriers. Since women are also traditionally caregivers of children and family members, we need to ensure that our programs are flexible enough to recognize the dual role of women as both provider and patient.”

And, because she is indeed a sitting member of the U.S. Senate, Clinton again notes opportunities Congress has to effect AIDS change. “I…think that when reauthorization of [Ryan White] comes before Congress, we will be able to bring national attention to the domestic epidemic, and the shortfalls that currently exist in our HIV/AIDS care,” she says. “Too many people are on ADAP [AIDS Drug Assistance Program] waiting lists. Too few people are able to access treatment at the early stages of HIV disease, and too many people are still becoming infected with HIV. I’m hopeful that when we discuss Ryan White, we will gain an understanding of AIDS in America that will allow us to provide a higher standard of care and support to people living with HIV/AIDS.”

Finally, I wondered what words of encouragement one of the most recognized and powerful women in America might offer to people with HIV/AIDS who may be wondering if help is on the way. “They should know that there are many of us in government, both Democrats and Republicans, who are working to confront and eradicate this disease and support those living with this virus,” she says. “[They should know that] we support increased funding for treatment, more research on vaccines, and additional social services for people infected with and affected by HIV.”

Obviously, Clinton is well-aware of the unprecedented nature of the pandemic—and the role she can play in battling it. “The profound human tragedy of HIV/AIDS has already exacted an incalculable economic and human toll, and we will continue to devote our energy and resources to seeking solutions for the epidemic,” she says.

In closing, the Senator reflects on both the progress and the plight of individuals living with HIV/AIDS, saying, “we have so far to go in the fight against this pandemic, but I am encouraged by the significant progress that we have made so far. I know that, someday, we will be able to ensure that, no matter where you live, AIDS will cease to be the terrifying killer it is today.”

B. Andrew Plant is an Atlanta-based freelance writer and formerly the Editor at Large of A&U.

Two for the Road
Activist Acting Duo Teddy & Milissa Sears Spin Dollars Toward the Epidemic and In Tandem They Raise the Bar for Every Celebrity Couple
by Dann Dulin

Photographed Exclusively for A&U by Sean Black

Knock, knock, knock. Hmmm. Nobody’s home? Do I have the correct address? I am a few minutes early. I descend the stairs to the narrow alley-like street, typical of L.A.’s beach cities. The early afternoon sun is warm and radiant, as I glance down the lane. Two blocks away I see a couple approaching. Suddenly, the man raises his arms skyward and waves. Could it be Teddy and Milissa Sears?

It is! Their arms are laden with boxes of pastries from their favorite local bakery. Teddy’s in town for the weekend from Vancouver, Canada, where he shoots the celebrated TV show, The Flash. He portrays a DC comic book character, speedster Jay Garrick, and his doppelganger Hunter Zolomon, known as Zoom, a supervillain. Also, he appears as Dr. Austin Langham in HBO’s Masters of Sex. Milissa is currently involved with pilot season, hoping to land a television show. (Pilot season is the time actors hope to be cast in a pilot episode of a proposed television series for network consideration.)

The couple live two blocks from the Pacific Ocean. As we enter their apartment, I’m instantly enveloped by the scent of roses. Milissa indicates it’s from a candle. Fresh flowers in vases abound, strategically placed among their mid-century modern furniture. There’s a spinet piano against one wall, and a retro-looking turntable and family framed photographs atop a walnut table. The color scheme is a range of grays. Their home is warm and welcoming.

Teddy and Milissa are grateful for their successful acting careers, but they have also given back by raising a bundle of money for amfAR by participating in all six annual Keihl’s LifeRides. They were joined by other bikers that included Jay Ellis [A&U, May 2015], Kevin Robert Frost (amfAR’s CEO), Gilles Marini [A&U, October 2015], and Tricia Helfer [A&U, December 2012].

“We get to see beautiful parts of the country,” Teddy enthuses while brewing tea in the kitchen. “We’re raising money for a cause we care a lot about.” Traveling and volunteering are their passions. Two years ago the LifeRide ended on New York’s Governor’s Island, where the AIDS Memorial Quilt was displayed and the names were read in a moving ceremony. “Seeing the Quilt just made it so much more personal. Each little patch was made with so much love. A lot of tears were shed that day,” says Milissa, from the kitchen, Teddy adding, “It was very powerful. Seeing artifacts that were significant for each person, stitched onto the Quilt forever. This brought it all home.”

After laying out a smattering of bite-size crisped-rice marshmallow squares, powdered almond drops, and oatmeal cookies, Teddy and Milissa set themselves informally on the floor near the coffee table. I am planted on their sofa. Teddy is handsomely bedecked in light beige denim and a casual collared Napoleonic blue shirt, untucked with sleeves rolled up. Teddy sports a cap with the logo “Star Laboratories,” the company that The Flash works for to help fight crime. Milissa’s becoming in tight semi-ripped blue Jeans and a rounded neck dark blue sweater. Both are barefoot.

“We need to keep the discussion going about AIDS,” presses Teddy, pouring tea for us all. “That’s what we like about Kiehl’s. It keeps the epidemic in the headlines, especially in the towns we ride through. We need to keep the money flowing for research to cure this baby by 2020, which is amfAR’s goal.”

Kevin Robert Frost, CEO of amfAR, has motorcycled alongside the Searses for several years. “The Kiehl’s LifeRide is a grueling ten-day motorcycle ride,” Kevin specifies, “which raises funds for amfAR and generates AIDS awareness. These two are of the most genuine, big-hearted people you’re likely to meet and I’m privileged to consider them friends. They are committed supporters of the fight against AIDS. I’ve no doubt they’ll be shoulder to shoulder with us until our job is done.”

Indeed, they plan to ride again this year.

Milissa first learned about the epidemic during an elementary school assembly in her hometown of Barrington, Illinois, forty miles from Chicago. Afterwards the students collectively sang, “We are the World.” “I was thinking about this on the walk home just now,” she says. “When I was little, the big topic of conversation was Ryan White. I was not able to fully grasp the significance of his plight, but I realized that he was someone who could have been my classmate and he’s struggling with this illness all because of a blood transfusion,” remembers Milissa. She sits cross-legged, fingers interlaced, her face intense. “The fact that it’s still here, a massive pandemic that has not been eradicated..…” she trails off, questioning.

Teddy, a few years older than Milissa (they both share the same April birthdate), first became aware of AIDS while attending an all-boys school in his hometown of Bethesda, Maryland. “I remember going through sex education when AIDS was all over the news. Hearing the teachers talk about HIV scared me. It made all us kids more cautious about our choices.” He looks up. “I remember being really taken by it. What is this disease that we can’t seem to eradicate? I was captivated by the mystery,” he notes. “It’s deeply embedded into my childhood memories.

Teddy discovered amfAR when he wrote a term paper in high school, “Should Condoms be Distributed in Schools?” “I was sixteen and I was all excited about wearing a condom!” he chuckles. “amfAR stuck with me because I thought, Why are some letters small and others caps? I was always getting it wrong.”

He goes on. “AIDS is not the disease du jour. Zika is the disease du jour and it’s scaring a lot of people.” Their antique mantle clock chimes. He scratches the back of his head and proceeds. “HIV and AIDS has been around for a long time. Maybe it’s not as terrifying as it used to be, but,” he pauses succinctly, “the disease is still a killer.”

Milissa appends, “Kevin [Robert Frost] and I had lunch a couple months ago. He was telling me that AIDS research to find a cure will also lead to treatments for other autoimmune diseases.” Adds Teddy, “All the more reason to throw our weight behind it.”

“Even though I haven’t lost anyone to the disease,” Milissa points out solemnly, “I feel it on a deep level.” Teddy resonates, “We’re all just one degree of separation from someone who’s battling the disease. It’s all around us….” There’s a collective silence when deafening air horns shatter it. Teddy informs me there’s a local surfing contest today.

Besides LifeRide, the pair has been involved in other AIDS fundraisers, as well. Teddy hosted a fundraiser in Dallas called Two X Two For AIDS And Art. A total of $8.5 million was raised for the Dallas Museum of Art and amfAR. Teddy plans to host again this October.

They’re also involved with in IAVA (Iraq and Afghanistan Veterans of America), which was founded by, Paul Rieckhoff, Teddy’s former New York roommate. Milissa serves on the Los Angeles Leadership Council for NRDC (National Resources Defense Council). She attributes her activism to her upbringing, especially her mother whom she considers a gigantic influence. Milissa rises to grab one of the arranged framed photographs off from the cabinet and proudly shows me a picture of her mother on the beach in a family shot snapped at Teddy and Milissa’s wedding.

The Sears met as neighbors and have been married for over two years (they got hitched near the seashore, not far from their abode). Teddy proposed to her at Rome’s Spanish Steps. It was early morning before any crowds gathered. The scene calls to mind Willie Wyler’s romantic film, Roman Holiday, written by Dalton Trumbo and starring Gregory Peck and Audrey Hepburn (one of Milissa’s favorite actors). When asked what attracted them to each other, Milissa stares into Teddy’s steel-grey eyes and replies, “Teddy feels like home. He has a huge heart, and he’s my very best friend.” Looking at me, Teddy offers, “She’s warmhearted, easy to talk to, and I feel comfortable in her presence.” He takes a beat, glances over to Milissa and says with elated emotion, as if he had a boyhood crush, “I just love this woman!”

One thing’s for sure, they’re hardly the stereotypical Hollywood power couple. Instead of attending lavish parties, Mr. And Mrs. Sears prefer to stay home and binge watch House of Cards, Veep, or Homeland. They also enjoy cooking together while listening to Frank Sinatra. They cherish their sanctuary, where they’ve resided for six years.

Teddy states simply, “I like to wake up, go to work, and come home.” He means it. “Acting is a job like any other. Home life is everything,” he fervently insists. “Things that matter most don’t change whether you’re making a truckload of money or whether you’re just skating by. I’m so anti-seeing and anti-being seen. I don’t give a shit about any of that stuff.”

He scoots back a few feet to prop himself up against the sliding door that leads to the balcony, with its far-reaching ocean view.

“An added bonus of this industry is if we can succeed in our work and develop any sort of a profile that we use that platform to draw attention to special causes.” Milissa, her glittering honey-green eyes heightened, sums up, “To be of service.” Teddy concludes, “You’ll never catch me at The Ivy [a celebrity-swarming Beverly Hills restaurant] or any of that stupid shit. Who fucking cares?!” He then quickly eclipses my journalistic doubt, “And you can print that.”

After graduating from University of Virginia in Charlottesville with a degree in Business Management, Teddy moved to New York City. He had no desire to be an actor. “When you come from Chevy Chase, Maryland, you tend to seek a career in business, commercial real estate, or government. Nobody does anything creative and pays the bills where I’m from and not that I knew growing up.”

Just then, one of their two cats, Motor, ambles into the living room. Teddy greets his friend as Motor settles down to sun himself, near the patio door, on the pale grayish carpet.

Teddy continues. “I fell backwards into acting through working with a modeling agency,” he explains. He heard about an audition while at the agency and decided to go. He landed the part!

For two years he appeared on the soap, One Live to Live. Then he was fired. Fired? Yep. “There was a regime change, but the long and short of it was that I just wasn’t very good and they didn’t know what to do with me,” he soberly replies, taking a bite of the cookie. “Once I got fired I realized this is what I wanted to do. I really doubled-down and got some training because I really didn’t know what I was doing back then. I needed to get some craft, as they say.”

Teddy’s debut was in an episode of Sex and the City titled, “The Real Me,” where Carrie becomes a fashion model and trips, face first, on the runaway.

Margaret Cho [A&U, September 2000] and Jose Llana [A&U, August 2008] co-starred. Teddy was in the first row of the audience “oowing and ahhing,” reacting to Carrie’s stumble, no lines. Since then, he’s racked up credits on Ugly Betty, Las Vegas, A Single Man, Law & Order, Torchwood, Blue Bloods, Mad Men, and the inaugural series of the anthology American Horror Story, playing Zachary Quinto’s husband. SPOILER ALERT: He dies horrifically in the end. “His death scene was hard to watch,” says Milissa with alarm in her voice, clinching her fist and tightening her facial features. “It…was…gruesome.”

Since he has completed his character’s storyline on The Flash, Teddy will be performing in a TV reboot of 24, for Fox. His latest film, Nine Lives, with Jennifer Garner, Kevin Spacey, and Christopher Walken, will be released later this year. He also had an indie film called Liv due out.

Teddy has no relation to the famous Sears and Roebuck department stores, but his relatives can be traced back to the Mayflower. In 1912, his great grandfather won Olympic Gold in pistol shooting in Stockholm, the same Olympics as Jim Thorpe competed. In 1956, his aunt won Bronze in the 100-meter butterfly in Melbourne.

Athleticism is in the genes. “I’m riding their coattails,” he boasts modestly. Teddy once had aspirations of becoming an Olympic swimmer, but he hung up his competitive Speedos at the age of fifteen. He preferred team sports and grew up playing ice hockey and football, and then played water polo and football in college. Today he still enjoys ice hockey at the local rink.

Teddy can best be described as having equal healthy parts of male and female energy. His acting heroes are Allison Janney and Sarah Paulson. When asked when he last cried, he replies, “while watching the film Rudy”—that 1993 movie starring Sean Astin as the underdog who beats the odds to play college football. Pondering, he reveals, “The older I get, the softer I seem to get—and I’m all for it.” Teddy’s a man’s man joining the exclusive club alongside the likes of Spencer Tracy, Ryan Reynolds, and George Clooney.

Milissa, whose ancestry is half Yugoslavian and half English, Italian and French, is named after her Dad’s sister. Milissa moved to Los Angeles to attend USC (University of Southern California), where she received her BA, studying theater and French. After graduating, she pursued her lifelong dream of acting. Her debut role was playing “Nervous Girl” in the comedy film The Iron Man. She later appeared in Sympathy for Delicious, Masters of Sex, Criminal Minds, and Law & Order, and has the recurring role as Karen Lisbon on The Mentalist.

“Would you like more tea?” asks Milissa. Affirmative, I reply. While she heats more water, Teddy replenishes the nearly eaten treats.

Teddy took his first HIV test when he was in his mid-twenties in a Chelsea clinic in New York. It took a week to get results! “I was always safe, but I was a little worried. The waiting was nerve-wracking.” Milissa was first tested at USC health clinic.

Combing her fingers through her bouncy shiny brown hair, she says, “I believe people are talking about the disease in a much more open and honest way now than they did when I was growing up,” she surmises. “It’s not a coincidence that we are much closer to a cure.”

The petite thespian believes that to be fully educated about HIV, one has to be tested. Teddy, with a glow in his eyes, strokes his chin, and quips, “I think it’s kind of sexy in a way for a couple to be tested together.” Milissa nods and firmly affixes his point with the weight of her insight, “Trust is so important in any relationship. Essentially, you are putting your life in someone else’s hands.” She shifts position, leaning back, supporting herself with her hands on the floor, and legs stretched out in front of her. “Everyone needs to have open dialogues about this disease,” she demands. “Two of my girlfriends, Lauren Paul and Molly Thompson, run an organization called Kind Campaign. I volunteer and help them when I can, and what I’ve seen at their assemblies is that these young girls appreciate honest, open discussions.”

“During one NPR [National Public Radio] program, I heard professionals say that the dialogue needs to start at a young age, in the pediatrician’s office. Some parents are not ready to handle this and so doing it at the doctor’s office is a safe environment. When the kid does reach that age of exploration they already have the information.”

As the afternoon sun wanes, I gather my belongings. Milissa carries out empty plates and teacups to the kitchen, while Teddy playfully wrestles with Motor. Their other feline, another rescue cat named Trouble, strolls out of the bedroom into the kitchen. Milissa picks her up and cuddles. As I prepare to leave, Milissa keenly turns toward me, her focus as bright and direct as a cat watching a bird. “I hope the epidemic will be all over soon,” she says in closing. Teddy, now standing near us, adds, “I’m excited to keep this train on the track and move forward, riding on amfAR’s mission. One day we’ll read about this disease in history books.” In a line that could be straight out of The Flash, Teddy wraps, “That’s…the goal.”

For more information about amfAR, log on to: www.amfar.org. For more information about Kiehl’s LifeRide, visit: http://www.amfar.org/liferide/.

Hair and makeup for Milissa Sears and hair and grooming for Teddy Sears by Streicher Sisters at STRIIIKE.

Hats off to Jennifer Eagle for her encouragement, interest, and support.

Dann Dulin is a Senior Editor of A&U. He interviewed Aileen Getty for the December 2015 cover story.

Editor’s note: A&U featured actress Doris Roberts in a May 2003 cover story interview. Roberts, who recently passed away, was a longtime supporter of S.T.A.G.E. and Children Affected by AIDS.

Love, Laughter, and Tears
Doris Roberts Talks with A&U’s Dann Dulin on Living with Loss, Seizing Life, and Her Unique Power to Freeze People

Who is that?!

It’s always been one of those “Do-I-know-her?” faces; a face you instantly recognized, though you couldn’t quite put your finger on who it was. It’s the face of veteran character actor, Doris Roberts, who for over forty-five years has made countless guest appearances on such classic shows as The Mary Tyler Moore Show, Barney Miller, St. Elsewhere, and Empty Nest, to name just a few. She was a series regular on Remington Steele and Angie, appeared on Broadway for twenty years, and has made numerous feature films. She even made a slew of Glade Air Freshener commercials in the seventies. (In fact, there is a plaque outside her home that reads: “Bienvenidos a la Casa de Glade”). But thanks to her current role in the hit series Everybody Loves Raymond, she made the transcendent leap from notoriety to outright stardom. Her character, Marie Barone, is the new millennium’s Mrs. Cleaver, but with a hell of a lot more moxie than the Beaver’s mom. Doris is highly recognizable in another venue—the AIDS community. From the very beginning, when so many people snubbed their noses at helping out, she generously came forward, and continues her selfless work today.

“Unfortunately, I’ve lost over forty friends. It’s outrageous,” she says, as she shakes her head in disgust over the AIDS crisis with her big, brown eyes beaming. “There was a time when I kiddingly used to say that I should put a sign outside saying, Memorials ‘R’ Us, because I did more memorials for people than I can imagine. Some were extremely funny; some were wonderfully celebrating.” She caresses the Egyptian lapis lazuli ring on her finger. “Mourning is a private thing. I believe in celebrating people, even though not everybody deserves to be,” she says off the cuff. “But those who do, I want to celebrate them.” In fact, her living room is a celebration, filled with framed photographs of friends and family. As she says in her new book, Are You Hungry, Dear? Life, Laughs, and Lasagna (St. Martin’s Press), “I acknowledge all the people who touched my life and made it better, and for those who didn’t, you’re not in the book!”

Doris’s keen sense of humor is evident throughout the interview. She’s smart, feisty, straightforward, and her youthful face and infectious smile is radiant. She’s casually dressy in a dark turquoise-patterned pantsuit and looks grand. We are seated in her airy, rustic living room, where large wooden beams stretch across the ceiling, pink- and rose-toned rugs cover a dark hardwood floor, and a modest fireplace looks as though it has recently been used. Off to the side is a solarium balcony overflowing with houseplants. This comfy little hacienda is located high above the City of Angels in the Hollywood Hills, and nestled amidst trees and lush, fragrant shrubbery. The house was originally built for legendary producer, Hal Wallis, and Roberts has lived here for over twenty-five years—almost as long as she has been an AIDS activist.

In the early eighties, Doris and then-journalist/director, David Galligan [A&U, December 1999], started the annual musical variety fundraiser, S.T.A.G.E. (Southland Theatre Artists Goodwill Event). In March of this year, S.T.A.G.E. held its nineteenth event, Loesser is More: The Songs of Frank Loesser, and raised $360,000. The gigantic cast included Carole Cook, Rod McKuen, Tyne Daly, Dale Kristien, Betty Garrett, Bill Hutton, and Sally Struthers. “At that time, I would ask important people for money, and they’d give me the money but they’d say, ‘Don’t put my name on it,’” she notes about the early stages of S.T.A.G.E. “It only got acceptable after Rock Hudson died and Elizabeth Taylor got involved. I was doing it when it wasn’t fashionable,” she says ensconced in a comfortable sofa.

Today, AIDS apathy still irritates Doris. “The entire continent of Africa you can say goodbye to. AIDS is rampant all over the world—Russia, Thailand. Americans think if it’s not in their backyard, if it doesn’t touch white, Anglo-Saxon America…,” she trails off, then thoughtfully adds: “My God, it’s a plague. Nobody really says that. They just say, ‘That’s AIDS.’” With such an attitude of resignation, Doris is concerned about the risks for the younger set. “What can we say to them? Their body is raging with hormones. I mean, in the black and Hispanic community it’s tough to get these macho guys to even wear condoms. They feel they are absolutely immune to HIV and AIDS,” she says, sadly aggravated. “But they don’t have a reference for this. We have experienced losing friends to AIDS, they haven’t.”

Indeed, death has visited Doris many times in her life, testing her courage and personal strength. “I lost my husband [novelist/playwright William Goyen], my dear, great friend [actor] Jimmy Coco, and about four others all in a period of about three years,” she reflects. “It sent me into analysis, I must say, which was quite helpful, but I survived the loss. I’m really a peasant.” She pauses briefly, then takes on an extra verve when she asserts: “Ya knock me down; I’ll go right into the ground but I keep coming back up. And when I break through that ground I’m singing and dancing.” She returns to her normal voice. “This is the only way I want to live. Humor is imperative, more important than food. Look, you have a choice when someone dies. You can lie down and die with them, or you have a mourning period, then get up, put the coffee cup down, and get back into life. And if you can’t do anything else, do something for someone else.”

Doris recently heard about a research project on longevity which was conducted with people in their nineties. So what kept them going? Each subject stated in their own way that it was their ability to survive and to accept loss. “Life hits you. It’s tough. But you heal yourself,” she remarks matter-of-factly, then continues with deep feeling, “I miss them terribly,, the ones I lost. But I am so grateful to have had them in my life because they really touched and changed my life.”

At seventy-two, Doris is full of piss and vinegar, with a full and active life. Prior to the morning interview, she worked out with a trainer, jogged on the treadmill, and had a massage. She attends acting classes every Saturday, and often frequents the theater and the opera. And she’s a hardcore globetrotter, too. “Old” is not in this gal’s vocabulary. “You can call me an older woman but not an old woman,” she declares. “I went to the Senate Committee and spoke to them about ageism. I did a lot of research, and want the word ‘old’ stricken from the dictionary and the word ‘older’ to replace it. The minute you’re born you’re getting older!” She shifts positions and rests her elbow on the sofa arm. “In the last hundred years, the average age of a Nobel Prize winner was sixty-five. Older people have wisdom,” she stresses. “If I wake up in the morning and I have a new pain, I’m delighted that I can feel it. Some of my friends, unfortunately, have given up and have settled. That’s the worst thing you can do unless you want to die. Have purpose; get involved. Help someone else. I am more active than anybody else in my Raymond cast,” she chuckles. “I love to learn something new every day.”

How has the AIDS epidemic changed her attitude about life? “Life is so precious, and we mustn’t waste time with petty dislikes, jealousy, resentment, judgment, envy, and all that bullshit. What a waste of life that is!” She can’t understand how one can hold on to anger toward someone for years on end. It only hurts you, she emphasizes. “If you don’t like that person—out of your life! The Italians do something that I adore,” she says, as she hoists her arm upward exclaiming, “Basta! Enough. And it’s gone. I call this—riddle.” Doris explains. While in Napa Valley touring a winery, she encountered a riddler. No, not Batman’s rival but a person whose job it is to release the fermentation at the bottom of the champagne bottle. He does this with an ever so slight twist of the cork. “It sucks out the garbage, and you’ve got great champagne,” she says spiritedly. “I thought, How do I get the garbage out of my body? Well, I just riddle. We assume change requires the strength of pushing a boat uphill and across the road. It’s nothing like that; it doesn’t work that way. All it takes is a little twist. That’s all it takes! Riddle. Riddle. Toss the garbage with that tiny change of attitude. Seeing the Riddler completely changed my life.

“Now, if someone is mean to me, harmful, or evil, they’re out of my life. I cross them out of my address book,” she says slyly. But Doris does something even better than that. A couple of years ago, she was working with an actress who drove Roberts crazy. Doris would walk past her dressing room and greet this actress to receive only a muttered ‘hmmm.’ “I resented that and it made me angry,” she admits. “But what I did was jot her name on a piece of paper, stick it in a Styrofoam cup with water, and place it in the freezer. She’s not worth my thoughts. That’s why she’s frozen.” All of a sudden, Doris realizes that the actress is still in the freezer. Laughing, Roberts’ publicist, Dale C. Olson, who has been seated nearby, stands and interjects, “The moral of the story: Get Doris Roberts angry, and she’ll freeze you!” We roar with laughter, as Dale exits.

In the early nineties, Doris got to know Joe Cristina, a Mattel executive, on a professional level, which soon turned personal. “Doris called my office one day and was told that I was out sick due to a long-term illness. I phoned her when I returned to the office, and she was more concerned about my health than our business dealings,” says Joe. “I disclosed to her that I was HIV-positive, and her immediate response was ‘How can I help?’ I told her of my desire to start an organization to help children affected by AIDS, and she declared without hesitation, ‘Count me in.’”

The organization is called Children Affected By AIDS Foundation (CAAF), and its mission is to make a positive difference in the lives of children infected and affected by HIV/AIDS by educating the public and advocating on their behalf, and by bringing joy and fun into the children’s lives. Each year, CAAF hosts Dream Halloween, an elaborate fundraiser in Los Angeles, Chicago, and New York. Says Cristina: “Doris has been untiring in her support of CAAF. We call her our ‘guardian angel’ because she watches over all the children and families we serve, and she is truly an angel—fulfilling every wish we bring to her. Over CAAF’s ten-year history, Doris has selflessly given of herself to raise awareness and critically needed funds to help make a difference in the lives of tens of thousands of children impacted by HIV/AIDS.” Doris notes, “Most organizations raise money for research, which is necessary, but who puts these little ones to bed at night? And feeds them? And clothes them? CAAF sees that the money gets to these organizations all across the country where they, in turn, provide direct services to the children (orphans, also) who are affected by HIV/AIDS. This includes care, basic needs, and recreation.”

I ask Doris to show me the Emmy she won last year for Everybody Loves Raymond, the cast of which sponsored a benefit for amfAR in 2001. She ushers me down a few stairs to a cozy basement where all her awards are displayed. (Roberts has three Emmys, two for Raymond and one for St. Elsewhere, and in February she received a star on Hollywood Boulevard.) Along with a bar and a makeshift wine rack under the stairwell, there’s an adorable antique five-octave rehearsal piano that had belonged to her mother. She mentions that there has been many a night of carousing and singing to the tunes of someone playing the piano. I can just imagine Lily Tomlin singing along with Dame Maggie Smith, Pierce Brosnan, and Roddy McDowell. Decorating the walls are numerous framed photographs of Doris with other celebrities, along with framed Playbills of her Broadway shows.

As I ooh and ahh over the Emmys and other honors, she gracefully leans back on the bar and looks somewhat pensive. “My awards are lovely and I love to show them off, but the greatest award that was given to me was by the firemen and policemen at Ground Zero. I can’t tell this story without…,” her voice cracks and she stops momentarily as her eyes fill with tears. Doris and her family (she has one son, Michael, and three grandkids) were visiting Ground Zero when one of the guys said they’d like to present her with something. They handed her a folded flag that had flown over Ground Zero, and a piece of the Twin Towers. “I was overwhelmed. I said, ‘I’m so grateful that you’ve given this to me but’—and I looked around furtively thinking, ‘Why are you giving this to me? This is a piece of history.’ They said, ‘We’ve been here since September 11 looking for pieces of our friends, and we’d go home at night, turn on the television and you were there making us laugh. You brought us right back into life.” Doris is visibly moved. “Well, there’s no award I can receive that will top that for me. With my talent, I can make people laugh and give them another attitude about life. What a blessing that is for me—it’s a great blessing.” And Doris, we are all blessed by your compassion, vitality, and chutzpah in the fight against AIDS.

Dann Dulin is Senior Editor of A&U.

Doris’s Diary

Name your favorite country
Italy
Name your favorite place to disappear to
The movies
Who is your best friend?
Jimmy Coco (sadly, he died in 1987)
Who is your greatest influence?
My husband, William Goyen. He was my mentor.
Who would you like to work with that you haven’t yet?
Tony Hopkins, Judi Dench, Maggie Smith, and Edie Falco
Name your favorite classic movie.
Gone With The Wind
Name your favorite classic male actor.
Cary Grant, Laurence Olivier, and Spencer Tracy
Name your favorite classic female actor.
Katherine Hepburn
Who are your heroes?
Rudy Guliani, and Tom Hanks
What do you want to be remembered for?
As a lovely human being

Doris reacts with one word, if possible, to people who have touched her life
Ray Romano – Real, honest, self-deprecating
Carol Kane – Adorable
Patricia Heaton – smart, sharp
Marilyn Monroe – sad
Neil Simon – wonderfully funny
Lily Tomlin – Brilliant
Peter Boyle – Bright, well-read, I adore him
Mary Tyler Moore – Delicious
Better Midler – Fabuloso!
William Goyen – the love of my life, extraordinary human being
Doris Roberts – Survivor

Doris Gems
“Everybody’s a teacher if you listen.

I DEPLORE the references that the media makes to older people: old coots, old cougars, old farts, over the hill.

I used to sit near Marilyn Monroe in the Actor’s Studio. I didn’t know who she was then. She’d get dressed up in those (sexy) dresses because that was her identity. Sad. Those cameras wouldn’t leave her alone. She didn’t know where to hide.

I performed on Broadway for twenty-two years before I came to Hollywood. It was Lily Tomlin who asked me to be on her special that brought her West.
It was Neil Simon who started my career with “Last of the Red Hot Lovers” on Broadway with Jimmy Coco.

You can’t show me an ad on TV with hard bodies and say I have to buy that car. You have to tell me WHY that car is better and safer than another car. You have to work harder, and Madison Avenue doesn’t want to that. Also, Madison Avenue tells you what you’re supposed to look like, what you’re supposed to wear. Excuse me, I don’t want to be zero or minus zero — God, these skinny, skinny women!

I’m involved with the charity “Puppies Behind Bars.” When the puppy is eight weeks old it is given to an inmate. The inmate is responsible for the dog, and after sixteen months the dog becomes a guide dog, or explosive detective canine for law enforcement. Iif they are deemed inappropriate for service dog use then they are instead placed in homes with blind children. The inmate learns responsibility, self-esteem, and purpose, and they come out of prison more ready for life.”

On Time
Ashanti Clocks In Hours by Influencing and Inspiring Others to Be Wise When It Comes to Sex
by Dann Dulin

Photographed Exclusively for A&U by Annie Tritt

The elevator doors open. There’s Ashanti and her mother, Tina. They just stepped off an opposing elevator. I introduce myself and we proceed together down the hall to her publicist’s office. It’s noon and we’re both on time, here on the sixth floor of the Pacific Design Center, an architectural gem known as the Blue Whale, in the heart of West Hollywood, California.

“I don’t even have my heels on yet,” exclaims Ashanti, thinking she might be able to prep before we meet.

Once in the office, Maureen, her topnotch PR, ushers us to a private room. After offering us bottled water, Maureen and Tina, Ashanti’s manager, who calls herself “MOMager,” and could easily be mistaken for Ashanti’s sister, exit. As Ashanti slips on her basic semi-spikey black shiny heels and fusses with her hair, which is tightly swept back into a long, flowing ponytail, we briefly chat about several of her projects reminiscing about the music video “Foolish.” “Terrence Howard was hilarious!” she shares, chuckling. “After we finished that scene in bed where I’m straddling him, he gets outta bed, pulls his pants up, and says (to the crew), ‘Yep. Ashanti’s pregnant, guys. I just want you all to know.’ I was dying with laughter all the time during the shoot. He even played his guitar on the set.”

Ashanti is releasing two films this year, Stuck, a drama set in the New York subway, and Mothers and Daughters, a drama for which she not only served as executive producer but composed the musical score as well. She appears alongside Susan Sarandon, Sharon Stone, and Courtney Cox.

Ashanti’s known for dodging personal questions, but this afternoon she’s candid and forthcoming, opening up about the impact the epidemic has had on her.

The singer first heard about AIDS at the age of fourteen, when a family member was stricken with it. To respect those still living, Ashanti is private about revealing the identity. “It…was…really…tragic,” her voice lowers while her sparkling ebony eyes roll upward and her head nods gently back and forth. “It came out of nowhere.” The person who contracted the virus didn’t tell anyone and infected someone else.”

While studying dance as a teen at the Bernice Johnson Cultural Arts Center in Jamaica, New York, several of Ashanti’s teachers died from AIDS-related causes. “I was really affected by their deaths,” she tells me, sitting next to her on a light tan leather couch, dressed in fire engine red stylish slacks, sleeveless form-fitting charcoal grey and white herringbone pattern midriff, and accessorized with skinny gigantic hoop earrings. “It’s always hard to see someone you know and care about die, especially from a disease that is shunned upon because of lack of awareness.” Her phone rings, with descending glissando tones. She switches it off. Ashanti’s screensaver is a picture of herself and her grandmother smelling an arrangement of orchids, her grandmother’s favorite flower.

Raised in a loving home in Glen Cove, New York, Ashanti Shequoiya Douglas and her sister, Kenashia, have musical parents. Her mother, who’s like a best friend, is a former dance instructor and her father, Kenkaide, was a singer. They’ve been married for nearly forty years. Ashanti was named after the Ashanti Empire in Ghana, a nation where women were powerful.

Ashanti started dance classes at the age of two (“They had to be potty trained in order to dance—and she was!” Tina later related). Around twelve years of age, Ashanti was doing chores around the house when the music she was listening to became too loud. Her mom told her to turn it down. Tina didn’t realize that Ashanti had headphones on and the strong and soulful voice that she heard was Ashanti singing along with the music. The girl had talent! Tina morphed into a stage mom and entered her daughter into talent shows, where Ashanti took first place. The future pop star’s career was launched and Tina became her manager.

At fourteen, Ashanti landed her first record contract. Dividing her time between recording sessions and high school, she was an honor student and a track star. After graduation in 1998, Virginia’s Hampton University offered her a track scholarship. It was a thorny decision but Ashanti chose a music career instead of academia.

In 2002 she released her debut album, Ashanti, having written all twelve tracks. Three of those album’s songs “Foolish,” “Always On Time,” and “What’s Luv” made the Top 10 all in one week. This was a record breaker. Ashanti became the first female artist to have three singles simultaneously and it sold more than 500,000 copies its first week. This landed her in the Guinness Book of World Records for the greatest-selling debut album from a female artist. Ashanti was critically acclaimed and it received a Grammy for Best Contemporary R&B Album. Around this time, she wrote JLo’s number-one hit, “Ain’t It Funny.” Ashanti’s latest album, Braveheart, was released in 2014. Right now, she’s back in the studio recording a new album for release later this year, on her own label, Written Entertainment.

After the esteem of her eponymous album, her career snowballed. Ashanti branched out into film (Bride and Prejudice, Coach Carter, John Tucker Must Die, and Resident Evil: Extinction), TV (Sabrina, the Teenage Witch, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Las Vegas, Law & Order: SVU and Army Wives), and stage (playing Dorothy in The Wiz for New York City Center’s Encores! Off-Center).

Her career has propelled her around the globe, even to Africa. During her last visit, the Ebola epidemic was raging. She’s hesitant to talk about it. Ten years ago a drunk driver killed her cousin who also was her assistant. “It’s funny, I never talk about this,” she notes mournfully. “It took a long time before I could even think about her being murdered.” She takes time to recompose. Ashanti comments on how strange it is when you’re an artist that those in charge take you to the rich part of town, so she didn’t see much of the AIDS outbreak. But driving to her destination, she passed impoverished areas. “It was tough taking all this devastation in,” she recounts earnestly, briefly glancing at the floor. “It felt like there’s no middle class. You’re either really, really rich or you’re struggling. It was also difficult to determine if someone was affected by HIV versus someone affected by the Ebola virus versus someone affected by pure poverty and neglect.” She playfully twists on her ponytail then continues. “It was just very hard to see the country in such conditions. Some workers were saying more women had AIDS than anyone else in the country. It was very distressing.”

Ashanti attributes her success to her parents, and her backbone buoyancy to her grandfather, Tina’s dad. While growing up, her grandfather, James Davis, a civil rights activist, cared for Ashanti while her parents worked. As president of the Glen Cove NAACP, he integrated the firehouse and the police station, he created public housing, and he started a daycare center where Ashanti once worked. The man marched in Selma and was friends with Martin Luther King and Malcolm X.

“My grandfather is like Big Time,” she grins proudly, raising her fist in the air. “He was really cool and had a huge influence on my entire family. They named a street after him in Glen Cove, near the church that I still attend.”

He died right before Ashanti’s first solo appearance in 2000, the Teen Choice Awards, where she and Ja Rule performed “Always On Time.” (Fortunately, he got to listen to one of her songs on the radio from his hospital bed beforehand.) “I wasn’t going to do the performance that night. I said, ‘I’m not doing it!’” Her family boosted that her grandfather would want her to do it. “It was hard but I got through it.” She takes a deep breath. “My grandfather was one of my best friends. He was my buddy.”

Ashanti’s demanding schedule requires fortitude. “You have to have a certain discipline,” she points out. “You have to know and understand the bigger picture. People have worked hard to get you this gig; people are depending on you. So just because you’re going through something, you have to suck it up and be professional.

“Trust me! There’s many times—Oh. My. Gosh.—where your head is not there, your heart is somewhere else, you’re dealing with drama, but you have to perform or you have to appear on The Today Show, so you smile and you turn it on.”

She goes on. “If you’re going to perform for a crowd, all’s they know is that they paid their money a month ago and are coming to watch a great show. They don’t care if one of your dancers got the flu and couldn’t make the flight or you fractured your toe on the way or that your luggage was stolen. No one wants to hear a story.” Ashanti takes a sip of water. “Recently I was in Australia and I didn’t have all the equipment I needed right before the show. Something didn’t work. But that doesn’t matter. What matters are those fans, some who traveled from New Zealand, some who drove two hours.

“Some people are cut for it and some are not,” she remarks. “I have what’s called a really mean or a really good poker face. I could be dealing with death but nobody’ll know. For me, that’s a tool—and it’s a blessing.” Her face softens into a smile. Ashanti has the elegance of Iman and the strength of Cleopatra.

Her fame is another blessing. “I’ve been fortunate to live my dream and I’ve been given a platform to reach millions of people,” she says about her humanitarianism. “To me it only makes sense to give back. When there’s an occasion to help someone and change their life, it may not seem important to you, but it could be something gigantic for them. It’s part of the formula of life,” she resolves.

Ashanti has many passions and sets the bar high for others. She’s long been an advocate for HIV awareness and helps to decrease the ignorance, by working with several organizations that include Broadway Cares. The songwriter has also committed to such causes as domestic violence, the LGBT community, empowering women, cancer, sickle cell, and heart health. Ashanti has helped raise funds for building homes for those in need and she aided in the Tsunami and for Katrina victims. Charities she’s connected with include Make a Wish Foundation, Partnership for a Healthier America, Boys and Girls Club of America, ACT, and Jumpstart.

“No matter what function I attend or perform, all through my career, AIDS ways heavily on my mind and I take that opportunity to raise awareness whenever I can,” she offers firmly with fervent pathos.

Late last year, Ashanti teamed up with First Lady Michelle Obama’s Partnership for a Healthier America (PHA) initiative, where Ashanti’s single, Let’s Go, encourages people to drink more water daily for the Drink Up campaign: #DrinkUpAshanti.

Ashanti has recorded several public service announcements, one for domestic violence that appeared on thousands of film screens. Another one for the Southeast Asia tsunami, in which she also helped raise funds for the disaster. Several years ago she did a Wrap It Up: HIV Prevention spot for the BET channel. In 2008, when Lawrence King, an eighth grader in Oxnard, California, was murdered for being gay, Ashanti taped a PSA for the LGBT community addressing discrimination. In 2011, she shot a PSA on education, with Denzel Washington, directed by Ron Howard.

1 of 5

Ashanti is eager to do another PSA for the HIV community. “It’s got to be visual—drastic and dramatic,” she persists with gusto, donning the director hat, her hands all a flutter. “Something happening to a newborn baby and it wasn’t her fault. Then you see the mom crying.” Ashanti sits back, brainstorming ways to get people to learn more about prevention. “Social media is a gift and a curse,” she laments. “It’s awesome when it’s used in a positive way. But nowadays, people’s attention span is very short…,” exclaims the recipient of the Aretha Franklin Entertainer of the Year award in an exhaustive dismissive tone.

Ashanti dated Nelly for nearly a decade, but it ended in 2012. Currently, she’s “been dating someone for a good amount of time.” That’s all she’ll reveal. Though she admits to always using condoms, Ashanti empathizes that it can be challenging to ask the person you’re dating about STI’s. “Sometimes it’s hard when you’re starting out with someone. You wonder how to approach the subject,” she grumbles. “Let me make it clear, though, just because a person doesn’t look like they have a disease, they may. But you have to bring it up!” Ashanti crosses her legs. Her high-heeled foot bobs up and down.

“When I’m in a position like that I’m the best about being sarcastic to make my point. I’m a strong woman.” Out of the blue, she feigns a new voice and imagines a scenario of confronting a guy. “‘…This isn’t gonna fly! We’re going to do what I wanna do. If not, you can go about your business.’ Don’t let a person dictate what’s going to happen in your life,” she roils with emotion. Ashanti thinks. “You could remark in an off the cuff humorous way, ‘Say, when was your last blood test?!’” Ashanti momentarily stares off into space then puts the back of her hands gently over her eyes.

“However, I realize there are women who have no self esteem. I watch those Lifetime movies-of-the-week…,” quips Ashanti, brusquely with a wave of her hand. “Some girls will do whatever it takes to be accepted. It makes me sad.”

She pauses, then in a crescendo of emotion she pounds her fist into her palm and declares, “Speaking
your mind is where it’s at! My heroes are those people who get the message out about HIV despite risking public ridicule,” Ashanti says, recognizing Elton John and Magic Johnson as two examples. “I remember a model was asked to do a billboard for AIDS, but he was skeptical that people would think he was HIV-positive. He ended up doing it, they cut him a great check. It was posted on Sunset Boulevard in L.A., a huge billboard. People did think he had AIDS, but he cleared it up saying, ‘That’s the point.’ Even though more people were interested in whether he had AIDS, they got the message.”

Ashanti leans in, resting her forearms over her knees and looks directly at me. “If there’s one thing I want to get across in this interview today, this is it,” the artist asserts with force. She clears her throat, straightens up, and presents as though she might be speaking at the podium of a high school auditorium. “People need to understand that the disease does not discriminate. Anyone can get it. That needs to be drilled. If you think you’re not part of a certain group that won’t get HIV, you’re fooling yourself. And if you have it, and don’t get tested,”—she breaks for effect—you’re…spreading…it! That’s ignorance!” Ashanti’s face is awash in disgust.

After a moment of silence, Ashanti bestows her gratitude for the interview, gives a hug, and bids farewell. Her last harrowing words echo as I depart down the corridor back to the elevator. Passing a large window that boasts a captivating view of the Hollywood Hills, I espy the iconic nightclubs, House of Blues and Troubadour, a launching pad for many famous artists.

There’s also the Roxy, where Ashanti has performed. Exemplifying integrity and responsibility, with her charismatic spirit and timely compassion, Ashanti will continue to appear all around the world for a wide range of causes.

Grateful to Jennifer Eagle for her keen eye and intuitive nature. Kudos to Angela Fairhurst of Fairhurst Productions for making all this happen!

Hair by Marcello Costa using Redken for kenbarboza.com. Styling by Oscar Montes de Oca for kenbarboza.com; Assistant Stylist: Andy Diaz; Maekup by D’angelo Thompson (www.dangelothompson.com).

Wardrobe Credits:
Black Jumper: Barbara Bui/Halter Jumper; Oscar Tiye/ Sandals; Helen Ficalora/ Disc necklace; H&M/ earrings and rings

Cover Jacket: Zara/Belted Jacket; Oscar Tiye/ Sandals; Helen Ficalora/ Disc necklace; H&M/ earrings and rings

Bomber Jacket: Zara/ Bomber Jacket ; Fashion Nova/ Bodysuit; Rag and Bone/ Jeans ; H&M/ Jewelry

For more about the work of photographer Annie Tritt, log on to: www.annietritt.com.

Dann Dulin is Senior Editor of A&U. He interviewed actors Teddy and Milissa Sears for the April cover story.

Footsteps
Joel Goldman follows Elizabeth Taylor’s lead by sustaining the activist’s unparalleled work in her foundation
by Dann Dulin

Photographed Exclusively for A&U by Sean Black

Joel Goldman had big shoes to fill. In 2011, two years after Elizabeth Taylor’s death, Goldman was tapped for the position of the first Managing Director of The Elizabeth Taylor AIDS Foundation (ETAF).

A Midwestern boy hailing from Columbus, Ohio, Goldman certainly was well qualified for the job. Following his graduation from Indiana University School of Public & Environmental Affairs, Joel joined the staff of Sigma Alpha Mu, his college fraternity’s national office doing leadership development and served as its Assistant Executive Director. He was flourishing until his world volcanically erupted. He was diagnosed with HIV, and was told that he had two to three years to live. It was 1991. Joel was twenty-eight.

With the short time remaining, he felt a core urge to educate others about the disease. He set out on a speaking tour around the country with a college buddy and named the tour, “Friendship in the Age of AIDS.” The tour lasted twelve years! Miraculous antiretroviral drugs then became available extending many of the lives of those infected. Joel delivered inspiring talks in high schools, colleges, conferences, and youth groups, winning him many awards, including the Ryan’s Angel Award from The Ryan White Foundation.

After that, Joel’s résumé reads like an Oprah charity list. In 1997 he was hired by the Elizabeth Glaser Pediatric AIDS Foundation (EGPAF) where he created “Caring for Kids 101,” a college fundraising and outreach program that raised $2 million in its first eighteen months. (Joel considers Elizabeth Glaser’s son Jake, who continues his mother’s fight to end pediatric AIDS, one of his heroes, as he does activist Mary Fisher [A&U, February 2001].)

Eventually, Joel recruited Scott Wolf (at the height of Party of Five) and Brooke Shields (at the height of Suddenly Susan) as “Caring for Kids 101” celebrity spokespeople. They started dance marathon

programs on hundreds of campuses that raised funds for pediatric AIDS while doing prevention programming for college students. The celebrity spokesperson team grew and traveled with Joel to dance marathons throughout the U.S. The team included Kimberly Williams-Paisly, Jeff Probst [A&U, August 2003], Jaime Pressly, Jeff Timmons (98 Degrees), Tia & Tamera Mowry, Kate Shindle (Miss America 1999), Kim Webster, and many Survivor and Real World cast members. The college program still exists today at EGPAF.

Goldman also introduced such events as Celebrity Dodgeball, managed the organization’s celebrity relationships, and established cause-marketing platforms with brands, including a partnership with Survivor creator Mark Burnett and host Jeff Probst that has raised tens of millions of dollars for not only EGPAF, but other causes as well.

In 2004, he worked with St. Jude Children’s Research Hospital, launching the “Thanks & Giving” campaign that has raised tens of millions of dollars since its inception.

In 2005 after Hurricane Katrina, Joel worked with America’s Second Harvest, which later emerged as Feeding America. While there, he created Feeding America’s Entertainment Council, chaired by David Arquette, which recruited fifty actors, athletes, musicians, and chefs to raise awareness of hunger in America.

Before blending with ETAF, Joel was Director of Entertainment Industry Relations at Malaria No More, creating and producing events and campaigns, including Hollywood Bites Back, Comedy Fights Malaria, and Mararious, which involved more than sixty comics that included Conan O’Brian and Ed Helms.

Joel continues to spin his otherworldly magnetic force with ETAF, overseeing programs and projects that address a diverse array of needs.

AIDSWatch is an advocacy event that takes place annually in the nation’s capital, where ETAF ambassadors meet with members of Congress to educate them on the state of the epidemic today.

UCLA’s Sex Squad program recently announced expansion of funding into colleges in the South, where over forty percent of all new HIV infections in the U.S. occur, specifically in the thirteen to twenty-four age group. The program is a student-based theater group that travels to local Los Angeles high schools teaching sex education through performance. “Inadequate sex education is a major contributor to the challenge facing teens in properly estimating their HIV risk,” notes Joel.

Malawi is also a major ongoing focal point. “The tide of the epidemic is already turning due to our collective efforts. Over the past decade, annual AIDS deaths in Malawi have fallen by more than sixty percent and new infections by more than half. Now it’s time for a knockout punch, and it will take the commitment of all of us—together—to deliver it.”

Grant-Making in the Southern United States has been newly extended for a second year, with ETAF once again partnering with the Elton John AIDS Foundation (EJAF) for new awards. Together the two foundations have awarded $330,000 in grants to five organizations addressing the AIDS epidemic.

Macy’s Fashion Pass campaign (July 28–August 7) will team up ETAF and Macy’s for another year. Macy’s invites customers to purchase a $5 Fashion Pass and receive twenty-five-percent savings on purchases. One hundred percent of the $5 sale of each Fashion Pass will be donated to ETAF and the CFDA (The Council of Fashion Designers of America, Inc.).

Elizabeth Taylor’s legacy endures through ETAF’s Ambassadors and Advisors, some of whom are her grandchildren, like Quinn Tivey (his mother, Liza Todd Burton, was Elizabeth and producer Mike Todd’s only child). Joel and Quinn, a New York-based visual artist and photographer, worked closely together in 2013, collaborating on a photo-essay project. In addition, twenty-five percent of royalties from sales of Taylor’s signature fragrance, White Diamonds, goes to ETAF providing funding for many grants.

(Elizabeth Taylor’s alluring and seductive White Diamonds commercial can still be seen on television today.)

Though Joel travels extensively for ETAF (in July he’ll attend the International AIDS Conference in Durban, South Africa), and is a workaholic by nature, Joel does maintain a domestic life with Don, his partner of ten years (and they just tied the knot in February!). They’ve traveled the world together (“…dying to go to New Zealand”) and, when home, they enjoy an evening out by going to the movies. Joel takes weekly classes of Soul Cycle and Fly Wheel. “It’s spinning on steroids,” he clarifies playfully about the intense workout.

Over the past decade, annual AIDS deaths in Malawi have fallen by more than sixty percent and new infections by more than half. Now it’s time for a knockout punch, and it will take the commitment of all of us–together–to deliver it.

Dann Dulin: How is ETAF different from other organizations?
Joel Goldman: Something special that differentiates us is the path Ms. Taylor paved for her foundation to continue even after she passed. Always two steps ahead, she arranged for all of ETAF’s operating costs to be paid for by her trust. Because of this, every dollar donated to ETAF goes directly to helping people affected by HIV and AIDS.

What’s one of your top goals for ETAF?
One of my goals is to use our assets to help reinvigorate this necessary conversation. The annual new HIV infection rate has stayed the same for the past two decades. We have the tools, the technology, and the science to change this. But we’ve become complacent. There have been so many great interventions since the beginning of this epidemic: PEPFAR, the Global Fund, and more. Let’s give our final push so we can see an end to this disease for good.

When did you first hear about the epidemic?
I was an undergraduate at Indiana University from 1981–1985, the first four years of the epidemic. I read about AIDS in the school and local Bloomington newspapers. The gist was that the new disease was not something that was going to make its way to Indiana. It’s a New York, Los Angeles, and San Francisco problem. I even remember reading that AIDS was not a disease of the educated, as though a virus would know if you were enrolled in an institution of higher education and not enter your body! The truth is the blinders went up right from the start in this very conservative state.

Ironically, thirty years later, it took more people testing positive for HIV due to intravenous drug use in Scott County, Indiana—sixty miles from where I went to college—in one month, than New York City had in all of 2014, before Governor Mike Pence acknowledged the problem and lifted the ban on syringe exchange programs in the state.

How many friends have you lost to AIDS?
Unfortunately, I have known many adults, and because of my work with the Elizabeth Glaser Pediatric AIDS Foundation, way too many children who have lost battles to HIV and AIDS. And by the grace of God, I’ve only lost four close friends…but their deaths still weigh on my heart.

Describe the circumstances of your getting infected.
I did not know at the time of infection, but I pieced it together twelve years later when I learned that someone I dated on and off from 1985 to 1987 had passed away from AIDS two years after we had broken up. We decided to part ways on New Year’s Eve 1987. We had a great drunken New Years in Chicago to say goodbye. It was the only time in our relationship that we did not use condoms.

A month later I met Eddie, who became my partner for eleven years. Our second date was spent in an emergency room with a terrible flu-like illness. I had never experienced such symptoms before. I now know that I was seroconverting. Eddie and I got HIV tested together within the first month of dating. Our tests came back negative. And because we were in a monogamous relationship we never got tested again until four years later when I was sick quite often with infections like giardia, thrush, and shingles. These were big clues that I probably was HIV-positive. I went to the Planned Parenthood in Indianapolis using a fake name to avoid insurance companies’ “pre-existing conditions” rules. If I tested positive I never would have been able to change jobs and still be covered by insurance.

How did you feel after hearing your results?
When the counselor told me my results I went numb. The counselor spoke but it was like hearing Charlie Brown’s teacher talk in the old cartoon—nothing registered. I remember walking down the hallway, still thinking I am going to wake up from this bad dream when I spotted a bowl of lollipops at the reception desk. I had never tasted food in my dreams before. When I tasted that cherry lollipop I knew this was not a bad dream. This was reality.

What happened then?
I took a walk around the block because I was so shaken. I could not drive. I noticed flowers, trees, the blue sky, like I had never noticed them before. They were vibrant; they stirred me. Before this moment I never noticed nature. The closest I got to nature was an LL Bean catalogue. My HIV diagnosis was an awakening for me. It put me on a new path.

And that path was helping others in need. However, I have a sense that it’s embedded in your character. Where did those values come from?
I knew that I was going to help people when I was eight years-old. Our family had been invited to Thanksgiving dinner by a congregant from my father’s Temple [Joel’s father was a Rabbi]. We went around the table to say what we were grateful for. I said that I was grateful that we weren’t poor like the family who was hosting us because we had three bathrooms and they had only one. Well…Rabbi and Mrs. Goldman were mortified, but instead of punishing me, they exposed me to real poverty.

The following week they had me pack a box of my favorite toys to bring on a day trip. My parents drove me a few hours out of town to farmland. We turned off on a dirt road and pulled up to a bunch of shacks. We were at a migrant worker camp [Joel’s father served on migrant worker rights commission with Congresswoman Bella Abzug in upstate New York]. He then took me into one of the shacks that had a bathroom with no plumbing, dirt floors, bedrolls for beds, no furniture, and no toys. They had arranged for me to stay and play with boys my own age and my parents left me there for the day. It changed me. Even at such a young age I came to understand how blessed I was, but more importantly, that there was so much that needs to be done to help the world.

What’s the best thing you enjoy about being connected with ETAF?
We have an amazing group of ETAF Ambassadors. They help the organization carry out Elizabeth Taylor’s vision and work and continue in the fight against AIDS without pause or hesitation. We’re in the trenches together and sometimes they accompany me on meetings.

One time at a breakfast hosted by [PEPFAR] Ambassador Birx and UNAIDS Executive Director Michel Sidibe, someone came to me and asked if they were my staff. We all laughed, but it hit me that the ETAF Ambassadors are a higher level of a committed volunteer. They are there because they honor the extraordinary Elizabeth Taylor who touched their lives. I get a sense of who this woman was by the devotion and level of commitment that I see every day. [Joel never met Taylor, though he heard her speak several times.]

A parting thought, Joel?
It’s been an honor to help support this part of Elizabeth Taylor’s legacy—being the first one who courageously stepped forward—but it’s really a team effort between so many people, each lending a helping hand. But let’s be honest, there isn’t a person on this planet with chutzpah big enough to fit into Elizabeth Taylor’s pumps!

For more information about the Elizabeth Taylor AIDS Foundation, log on to: www.elizabethtayloraidsfoundation.org.

Dann Dulin interviewed singer Ashanti for the May cover story.

Richly Deserved
As singer John Grant’s painful past fuels his powerful autobiographical songs, his soul-searching work brings him closer to inner peace
by Dann Dulin

Photographed Exclusively for A&U by Sean Black

Discover Iceland’s Greatest National Resource…Icelandic Glaciers. This gigantic eye catching advertisement swiftly whizzes by, covering the entire length of a double-sized Los Angeles Metro bus. I’m seated at a cozy corner table at the Ace Hotel restaurant looking out on downtown traffic at 9th and South Broadway, waiting for the arrival of the eclectic singer, John Grant, who lives in Reykjavik, Iceland, where surely he has come to know about glaciers. “Glacier” is one of his popular songs about John’s struggles growing up gay, and he was recently joined on-stage by Kylie Minogue [A&U, February 2013] for a duet of the song in tribute to the victims of the Orlando masscre.

The musician is widely famous in Europe, not—yet—all that visible in the U.S. Currently on a national tour, John has collaborated with Elton John, Sinead O’Connor, Hercules & Love Affair, Tracey Thorn, and Alison Goldfrapp. He’s been called a “diarist of the human condition,” as his narrative songs are deeply personal. One reviewer wrote about his live performance, “Leaves his audience awestruck and on its feet.”

His folksy electronic pop-rock poetic music and his honest-to-the-core velvety baritone voice landed him a Best International Male Solo Artist nomination at the 2014 BRITS. Several of his songs have been used in films and TV shows, including the HBO series, Looking. Last year he released his third album, Grey Tickles, Black Pressure (an Icelandic expression meaning “midlife crisis”), following his debut album, Queen of Denmark (2010), and Pale Green Ghosts (2013). His current album debuted at #5 on the U.K. charts. The songwriter is a bookworm (just finished the Madeline Kahn biography), a horror fan (loves all the Exorcist films), and enjoys the music of Donna Summer and Karen Carpenter, his first inspiration.

Moments later, a Brit, Matt, Grant’s tour manager of three years, appears and escorts me backstage to John’s dressing room.

Grant performs tonight at The Ace Theatre, a majestic Spanish gothic superstructure built in 1927 by Mary Pickford, Douglas Fairbanks and Charlie Chaplain (originally known as the United Artists building). Several years ago the city talked about bulldozing the structure. What a pity it would’ve been to destroy such a sacred historical ornate relic. Pickford had it built as her own private screening room.

On entering John’s petite dressing room, there’s an immediate disarmingly magnetic quality about him, a warmth and softness that belies his ruggedly handsome bearlike appearance. He could be Zach Galifianakis’ brother. Though a stagehand is fussing about, along with his personal manager of many years, Fiona, Grant is serene. Matt introduces us and soon everyone departs. As he walks out the door, Matt tosses, “I’ll leave you guys to it.”

The musician is clad in dark blue jeans, a black T-shirt with a graphic of the Tokyo subway map, and a black knit hat that sports a small logo, Lucky Records Reykjavik. I quickly learn that the man doesn’t harbor secrets and is refreshingly raw.

Flipping through pages of an A&U issue I brought, John makes several comments until he stumbles on an article about Anjelica Huston. “Class act…,” he notes thoughtfully. “She has an interesting background, doesn’t she? I didn’t realize she was raised in Ireland. It’s on my radar to read her memoir.” He quickly scans over the story and repeats a byline, “No shame about being HIV positive…” He mulls it over a moment then slightly bristles.

“When I hear people telling me that I’ve gotten that disease because I’m a pervert who’s going to hell, I respond, ‘Oh, so my mother had Christian lung cancer?’ [His mother died of the illness in 1995.] There’s some serious non-loving going on there,” John points out, irritated by the obvious hypocritical flaw. “Ridiculous. Yeh, so what’s your fucking excuse [why you have a disease]?!” He clears his throat. “I’m just so surprised the way people act in this country,” he groans in somber disappointment, correcting himself, “Of course, it’s everywhere. Don’t get me started on Russia.”

I mention the homophobia on the island of Jamaica and Grant responds, “[Sometimes I feel like] I’m never going to be welcomed or considered a human being [there]. [But] I recently saw Gully Queens [Young and Gay: Jamaica’s Gully Queens on Viceland channel] about Jamaican homeless LGBTI youths. They blow my mind. The circumstances that people are thriving in and they find their way. They’re taking care of each other,” he avers, sitting on the edge of an Old World Luther-style crescent platform chair, with leather seat and back, enhancing his Viking appearance. His elbows are planted firmly on the chair’s arms, while his hands are folded in front of him. He maintains this defensive position most of the time.

I suffer from PTSD, due to the hatred and abuse I took for twenty years. I was rejected from outside the home and from inside the home. It left me crippled, battling addictions because the need to escape was so big

“I don’t want to be any different than I am, but I certainly don’t….” John doesn’t finish his thought and mumbles a few inaudible words. “My brain resets every day. When I get up, I set about writing [out] my thought processes. I experience a constant knee-jerk reaction by projecting the past onto the present where a lot of these dangers no longer exist, but I react as though I’m still in it. It’s understandable,” he attests, crossing his feet at the ankles. “But it’s not something I feel particularly proud of.”

Though he is forty-eight (this month), the bullying John experienced in his childhood is as fresh as the snow in winter. Raised in Buchanan, Michigan, his fundamentalist family moved to Parker, Colorado, when he was twelve. Badgered by kids at school for being gay and his lack of supportive parents (“Homosexuality was not an option!” he blurts) made him feel like an alien. The negative jabs of others seared him and over time, and he developed a massive dose of toxic shame. This led to twenty years of self -destruction, wrestling with drugs (mostly cocaine), alcohol, and eventually sex. He suffered from agoraphobia, panic attacks, anxiety, and depression as well. John lauds therapy, Paxil, and Alcoholics Anonymous as lifesavers, navigating his way to a healthier self.

A stagehand fleetingly pops in looking for Fiona. “Haven’t seen her,” replies John.

Delicately stroking his beard, Grant reflects on his childhood. “I knew I was gay from a very early age. I wrote the song ‘Sigourney Weaver’ about being in middle school with the hyper-rich and coming from a small town in Michigan. There was all this disgust and hatred thrown at me from the perspective of class, which got mixed in with the hatred that was being directed towards me for being gay. Others had already figured out that I was gay even though I wasn’t able to have any sort of dialogue with myself,” he recalls. “I hadn’t expressed anything to anybody. There just seemed to be rejection no matter where I went: ‘What the fuck are you looking at, faggot?’ ‘I’m going to kill you, fucking faggot!’ ‘What are you fucking doing here you fucking faggot?’”

Grant’s chilling words cut close to the bone. His tone is fiery as though those hate-filled words were just uttered. At home he was constantly reminded that he must fit into the picture that his parents had of him, that it was not okay for him to be authentic. Try to imagine it for a second. You’re bound by the intolerant judgment of your peers and your family. Unfortunately, many of us can.

The only sexual advice his pious parents ever gave him was that masturbation was wrong, but it didn’t prevent John from experimenting. When he was six, he played around with a kid next door. One time the neighbor’s sister caught them. Later, the boy’s cousin approached John and fired, “I know what you guys are doing and I’ll ruin your life if you keep on.” It scared the hell out of Grant. (At fifteen, he had his first sexual experience with a boy he met at church.)

Being positive was one of the greatest things that happened to me. It caused me to get more serious about being in recovery, too

But there was a silver lining, someone who believed in…him. His drama teacher confided, “You’re one of the people that I would encourage to act as a living, if you feel you want to do that.” Of course, his parents wouldn’t have any part of it, grousing, “No son of ours is going to get into a disgusting field like acting.” But John was a good actor.

He was good at auditioning as well. When the time came to audition before his fellow thespians, whom he’d known for several years, it should have been just routine. But this time it was disturbingly different. He tried out for the Cheshire Cat in Alice In Wonderland, which was going to be performed around elementary schools. “In that moment on stage, everything just came together…and changed. I couldn’t audition in front of these people who I knew for years, who loved me exactly the way I was,” he laments ruefully, removing his hat. “It was a horrrrifying experience!” He soothingly tugs on his beard and looks down. “I feel like I’ve spent every moment since then trying to get back to that unaffected child or young person. I’ve made progress, but it’s an ongoing battle.”

When he was twenty, John lived in Germany where he attended a conversion conference. Brainwashed in his youth, his parents voices echoed: “We still love you but this isn’t something that you choose. You’ve got to be healed.” His engineer father had once revealed to him that they knew he was different from the age of two. John’s invalidating mother once stung him when she confessed, “I’m disappointed in you.” At the conference, John met some “wonderful people,” and ended up sleeping with his roommate. He lets out a guffaw and adds deliciously, “And he was cute.”

Grant returned home to Colorado and in 1994 started a band, The Czars. Despite favorable reviews, they didn’t build an audience. The band broke up ten years later due to John’s unbearable behavior. He hit rock bottom.

It was a nurse that mended John’s life. He met her at Denver General Hospital where he was getting tested for STIs. She urged him to seek rehabilitation through AA. In 2004, John kicked alcohol and drugs. Freshly sober, he made a commitment to start over. He laid down roots in New York, where he lived for three years. While there, John worked as a flight attendant for a small airline (“The worst job I ever had!”), a clerk in a record store, a waiter, and a professional translator. He trained to be a Russian Medical Interpreter at New York University School for Continuing and Professional Studies, and then was hired by a hospital to translate between doctor and patient. (“That was an amazing, amazing job,” he emphasizes solidly.) On the downside, he also began replacing his former addictive substances with sex—a lot of sex.

Several years later, John received a text from a former one-night stand admitting to him that he had just been diagnosed HIV-positive. “I was in shock,” declares John, who was on a press junket in Stockholm. “This guy was actually a journalist who came to interview me while I was in London. There was this crazy sexual thing going on between us during the interview.” Due to a tech rehearsal, the interview was interrupted, and on a later date, they reunited in Den Haag, Netherlands, and completed the interview.

“I put myself in this situation,” concedes Grant. “I had the choice to put on a condom. I knew what I was doing.” He cracks a faint smile. “I was not taking drugs and alcohol but I was still engaging in destructive behavior. Changing my attitude toward sex seemed like such an insurmountable task that I just decided, ‘Well I’ll just give into it and do whatever the fuck I want,’” he says. “You can’t pick and choose which destructive behaviors you’re going to keep, you have to go all the way.”

Grant credits being diagnosed as a “gift,” as it empowered him to take responsibility for his life. “For once in my life, I took control,” the poet-singer recounts with pride. “Being positive was one of the greatest things that happened to me. It caused me to get more serious about being in recovery, too.”

To ease the anxiety over his diagnosis, John wrote a song, which is how he copes with pressing issues. “Ernest Borgnine” was created.

Got off of the hooch and the crack and skipped the smack down—
But then you had to find yourself a lower low.
Doc ain’t lookin’ at me; says I got the disease.
Now what did you expect? You spent your life on your knees.

The repeated phrase in the chorus explains where the idea came from: I wonder what Ernie Borgnine would do. “He was a favorite actor of mine and I’d ask, ‘What would this film hero do in a situation like mine?’” John was mesmerized by Borgnine’s performances. “I always saw him in these disaster flicks, really liked his face, and thought he was a great actor,” he opines. “He’s just sort of one of the fixtures of the seventies for me, and that era is one of the greatest things that ever happened, besides the eighties, which I think were even better!” the songwriter exclaims with overwhelming enthusiasm. “I really am stuck in the seventies and the eighties.” (When asked to describe his music Grant answers, “It’s a mixture of the seventies and the eighties.”)

The artist ponders pensively. There’s stillness. “I used food, I used money, I used sex—all for escape,” announces John. “For decades I’ve used everything for the wrong reasons.” He takes a deep breath and let’s out a hearty sigh. “Ya know, it’s a horrifying place to be self-aware and none of those toys to play with anymore that helped you forget.”

Though John relentlessly confesses in self-disparaging words, with insightful humor, his next move in life was bold and gutsy. With his trademark frankness, in 2012 at a live performance at the Meltdown Festival in London, he came out publicly about his status.

I felt shame for being HIV-positive, but I thought, why not?! I knew it was time for me to own this.

Someone lightly raps on the door. John answers, “Come in.” A fellow enters saying, “Excuse me.” John pronounces, “This is my incredible keyboardist.” Chris extends his hand and we shake. He grabs something from the table and walks out. There’s an obvious affection between the two.

Living with HIV for John has been a challenge. “There’s been weirdness going on since I’ve started taking the drugs,” he specifies, currently taking Truvada and raltegravir and the virus is undetectable. “Sometimes when I wake up in the morning, it takes me time to focus. It’s like everything is a moving mosaic made up of tiny little tiles moving very slowly. I have nightmares and vivid dreams too. You know, you hear all about these kinds of things [when you’re infected].”

Grant maintains sobriety by the using the foundation he’s laid down for himself and by using the support of the 12-step program. “It…is…tough,” admits John, gradually and gently. “Anything that smacks of my upbringing, especially God-talk, is very difficult for me to stomach. It’s so deeply ingrained in me,” he says. “It’s very hard to conceive of believing in anything, even though I feel like I do. But on the surface, I wonder to what extent I’m capable of actually believing in something on my own, which isn’t connected to programming that I received.” For an instant, John sits back, presses his forefinger to his mouth, as if he’s shushing someone, looks upward, then returns to his usual position of leaning forward. “I do experience incredible things in these programs, and I’ve met incredible people who are there for you consistently and are not judgmental. I’ve learned anytime that I see shit that I don’t like, I move on.”

Therapy helps as well. He’s had plenty of it on an irregular basis. Before his national tour, he had a session with a new therapist in Iceland. “It seems promising,” he boasts. In their first session, the therapist asked, ‘Why do you think you’re here? Your sponsor called me and as a favor to him I’m seeing you, even though I’m not accepting new patients right now.’ “I told him my story and he said, ‘Ahh, let’s get you signed up for another appointment, shall we?’” John is amused. We laugh.

Iceland is therapeutic for John too. “I feel safe here,” he remarks. John first visited Iceland in 2011 to attend the Iceland Airwaves Festival. Soon after, he moved there, captivated by the country’s beauty. Though he’s fluent in German, Russian, and Spanish, he hasn’t quite tackled Icelandic completely. “I’m making great progress in Icelandic,” he insists, “but I’m not fluent. It’s a very hard language. There are one hundred and twenty forms for every adjective and sixteen forms for every noun—and that’s the good news!” He chuckles.

Of many things Grant likes about Iceland, one is his Icelandic boyfriend, a graphic designer. He doesn’t want to mention his name, as he honors his beau’s wishes to remain private. They’ve been dating for nearly three years. When time permits, his partner will cozy up with him while John’s on tour. They recently returned from a trip to Japan. “He’s quite something…,” he coos.

Mystery is not a high priority for upfront, straightforward John. On their second date, John revealed his HIV status. “I didn’t want anything to develop between us, and then lose it.” Afterwards, his beau went home, researched it, and returned, saying, “Hmmm…I can deal with that!”
Their relationship is developing, Grant says. He’s content with their connection, which is a barometer of the progress he’s made in intimacy. “Being close to someone was never a possibility for me before,” John divulges. “It isn’t possible if you don’t have access to yourself. You just don’t have anything to bring to the table.”

This is a new position for the crooner and it’s tricky. Sex was always an escape, a validation, and he was usually high. “Having sex in the moment, with somebody I deeply care for, brings up a lot of fear of intimacy for me.” He arches an eyebrow and deduces, “This is not a fantasy.”

“Sometimes I wonder why sex is such a complicated issue with this person who you feel so deeply for and yet, you know that you’re willing to fuck at least fifty of the guys you saw earlier today, no questions asked,” he smirks. “That’s a problem for me. It doesn’t make sense. I’m uncomfortable talking about it and feel embarrassed or ashamed. But I talk about it because I know I shouldn’t be ashamed.”

I mention the “Madonna/Whore Complex,” a psychoanalytic term for those who have the inability to express their full desire with a loved one, tending to place them on a pedestal, thus finding it easier to have anonymous sex, where there’s no preconceived intimacy.
The door creaks open. Matt pokes his head in, “Be ready for you in five minutes for the sound check.” John replies playfully, “Yeh, I’ll believe that!”

Music keeps John healthy. Music is his life; life is his music. He listens to a litany of singers: Gary Numan, New Order, Nina Hagen, Lene Lovich, Alien Sex Fiends, Skinny Puppy, Vicious Pink, Blamage, Visage, Culture Club. There’s urgency when he names these musicians. It’s his passion. Without warning, John eagerly asks, “Oh, have you heard of Susanne Sundfør, from Norway?!” I haven’t. “You have to hear her, Dann! Her voice is pure, angelic…”

John swiftly drops to the floor, knees scooting under the coffee table and hurriedly clicks on his laptop that lies on the table. He needs to get to the stage. John is like a kid who’s found buried treasure. Trying to call up a YouTube video, he finds the reception is poor. Disappointed, he searches for his phone and tries to pull up the singer’s video. “I really want you to hear her,” he proclaims. The cell works! The video plays while he holds the phone in the palm of his hand. We watch together. At one point he says, “Look, I’m all chills.” Indeed. I look, and his arms are splotched with goosebumps.

John’s reaction to Sundfør is really him looking into a mirror. He’s the one who sings with purity, beauty, and fervor. After the interview, I sneak into the theater and listen to Grant sing for a sound check. Aside from the technicians, I was the only one in the 1,600-seat venue. His live performance can’t compare to viewing him on YouTube. The Internet screen does not do him justice! He’s the Tennessee Williams of music. John’s killer voice, laser-sharp sensibility, and luscious bewitching phrasing, transfix me. This time, I had chills.

The Susanne Sundfør video is nearly over, so John lowers the volume. He looks at me with those striking, dancing blue eyes and reflects. “There was a moment when I could have said that I could go back to that [addiction] and finish the job [suicide]. But I said to myself, ‘Wouldn’t you like to actually find out what’s at the bottom of all this shame and self-loathing and what’s been keeping you back from actually realizing yourself all these years?

“I realize I connect with people,” clarifies John, with a pleasant satisfaction. “I like doing what I do and I feel comfortable on stage. I didn’t feel comfortable in my skin in any way shape or form for years. I still struggle with that, but it’s getting better.” John briefly glances to his side at the dominating theatrical makeup mirror, with its illuminating lit high wattage bulbs, which expands the width of the room.

“Of course I still have a lot of shit to deal with. Happiness is not this Holy Grail where you get there someday. It’s right now. And that doesn’t necessarily mean the absence of pain. They aren’t mutually exclusive.” He grins, glancing down at his blue leather trainer shoes. “It’s acceptance. Acceptance,” John repeats eloquently, with a knowing nod. “My latest album Grey Tickles, Black Pressure is all about acceptance.”

A faint crescendo of a rockin’ beat of African drums can be heard. It’s his phone. John switches it off. He knows it’s Matt calling. He abruptly says, “I gotta go.” With a bear hug (he gives good hug!), he’s out the door. “I hope we run into each other again. Thank you,” offers John genuinely, concluding, “Don’t forget to check out Susanne Sundfør…” as his husky resonating voice echoes down the hall, slowly fading out.

For more about John Grant and tour dates, log on to: www.johngrantmusic.com.

Photographer’s Assistant: Fridgeir Helgason; Grooming by Garret Gervais at GRID Agency (www.gridagency.com); Digital Styling by Eve Harlowe (www.eveharlowe.com).

A special appreciation extended to Matthew Hetsnecker for his support.

Dann Dulin interviewed Joel Goldman for the June cover story.

Words by Grant

What do you do in your spare time?
I like to buy a shitload of books. I put them around, my home, sit myself down, and stare at the ceiling (he chuckles.) I love being surrounded by all these incredible books. After a tour I love going home, picking a book out and spending time with it. I have a gigantic shelf of reference books in all different languages. It’s a great way to bust your own balls, with keeping your languages fresh, by buying a Russian/Spanish dictionary or a German/Icelandic dictionary.

One of the press shots for your new album, Grey Tickles, Black Pressure, depicts you holding a croquet mallet, all splattered in dripping blood. How did that idea come about?
It’s just me fantasizing about the times that I did want to take a croquet mallet and bash the head of someone who was directing this hatred towards me. It’s also because I love horror flicks.

If you could invite any famous person to dinner, who would that be?
Madeline Kahn

Name a few of your favorite films.
Wings of Desire. Adaptation blows my mind. Tootsie is one of my all time favorites!

Briefs, boxers, sockjock, thong—or nothing at all?
Boxer briefs.

Complete this sentence: I know it’s going to be a good day when . . .
I manage to get out of bed.

What celebrity would you like to have wild animal sex with?
Colin Farrell

Lady Gaga, Madonna, or Gloria Gaynor?
Grace Jones.

Name one word to describe John Grant.
Quality.

Editor’s note: Lamman Rucker spoke with A&U for the January 2007 cover story. At the time, he focused his energies on raising awareness about HIV prevention, especially among youth of color and he is still dedicated to the fight.

Learning Curves
Actor & AIDS Educator Lamman Rucker Shares His Notes, Along with Sonya Lockett and Denise Stokes, on Raising Awareness at BET’s Rap-It-Up Teen Forums
by Chael Needle

A recent Teen Forum panel, part of BET’s Rap-It-Up HIV/AIDS public awareness initiative, was in full swing at York College in Jamaica, Queens, when the moderator, Jeff Johnson, a BET on-air personality, posed a question to the room about sexual health. “When do we begin to ‘rap up’ your character?”

Before that, amid the frank, accurate talk with Dr. Jedan Phillips about HIV and transmission routes for STDs and a young woman’s inquiry as to whether Sammie, a young R&B artist, would ever date someone who was HIV-positive (yes, he would), the panel members had been working all along toward this stretch of the dialogue. Actor Lamman Rucker admitted to making some bad choices when he was a college basketball player, and shared how he was able to take self-control. WBNA player Shameka Christon offered a similar story about not giving in to negative peer pressure, knowing that STDs or pregnancy would slow down her goals to play pro ball. Raqiyah, a DJ at Hot 97, the forum’s local sponsor, told about a college roommate and friend who had contracted HIV, saying the stripclub environment her friend had worked in may have put her at risk. V.I.P., a member of the R&B group J Adore, related a story of leaving a steamy embrace to go buy condoms and finding himself stuck on the staircase, part of him wanting to go back inside without protection. The part urging him to go out and buy condoms eventually won.

“Do the lyrics affect how the community possibly views sex?” Johnson continued, perhaps echoing a wider dialogue within the African-American community that has wrestled with what some see as an exploitative mainstream trend of promoting the denigration of women and the glamorization of violence and materialism, and which threatens to shift hip-hop away from its roots as social critique.

“Isn’t it just a record?” responded one of the members of J Adore, adding that individuals should analyze the video or the lyrics for themselves.

“I’m going to flip that coin,” Rucker said in response. “We all individually have to be mature about what we’re looking at. Adults need to help children interpret what they’re experiencing. As an actor we have to take responsibility about images, the lyrics, choreography. We need integrity, a value system—not just concern for moving units. And receivers need to be accountable, too; otherwise we’ll just point fingers.”
Rucker might as well be describing BET’s value system, whose bottom line seems not to rest with profits but with its viewers’ lives. Started in 1997, the award-winning Rap-It-Up has brought HIV prevention, education, and awareness to the forefront of a community whose members now account for the most AIDS diagnoses, most people estimated to be living with AIDS, and most HIV-related deaths than any other racial group within the United States. In particular, Rap-It-Up seeks to reach out to BET’s younger demographic, especially as African-American teens (ages thirteen to nineteen) accounted for sixty-six percent of newly-reported AIDS cases among youth in 2003 even though they represent only fifteen percent of U.S. teens.

Thanks in part to a solid partnership with the Kaiser Family Foundation, Rap-It-Up is the nation’s largest public education campaign reaching African-Americans. It has used (and continues to explore) every conceivable means—PSAs featuring musical artists and edgy vignettes, news programs, on-line content, special events around the country, classroom curricula, a toll-free sexual health hotline—to relay accurate information about sexual health and connect the pandemic with hearts and minds.

One of the grass-roots campaign’s most engaging platforms is its Rap-It-Up Teen Forums, which travel to urban markets to reach out to younger people about social issues with a particular focus on HIV/AIDS in the African-American community, with support from a local cable affiliate or radio station. Rucker has been on five Teen Forum panels—most recently at York College and, before that, at Palm Beach Community College in Florida—since becoming more formally involved in the campaign this year. “Some of the earlier [times I sat on panels] were certain random opportunities, if I was in the area…even before I was a ‘celebrity,’” he says, shrugging off the label with a laugh. Last August, he headed to the International AIDS Conference in Toronto to screen and discuss his costarring role in Let’s Talk, a film made from one of the winning scripts of 2005’s Rap-It-Up/Black AIDS Short Subject film competition, and was glad for this chance to make a difference. “I’m West Indian, and there’s a large West Indian community there [in Toronto] and I think it’s important to reach out to as many different communities and as many different ethnicities as possible, so I always look forward to going to different parts of the country because I know there’s going to be a different target audience.”

Though some things remain the same from event to event—on-site HIV testing, plenty of educational materials, panel discussions—the teen forums are anything but routine. The dynamic changes all the time as the panel or the moderator changes, says Sonya Lockett, vice president, Public Affairs, BET. But each panel, which always consists of a mix of physicians, celebrities, individuals living with HIV/AIDS, and educators, strives for the same goal: to make the teen participants feel comfortable enough to express themselves and ask questions about sexual health and other issues.

The forums click with teens because of their uncensored flow of information, free of strictures or political spin. Young people do want to know the information, Lockett has learned. “Sometimes they’re getting a lot of the clinical talk, sometimes they’re not getting any talk at all, but I think they do listen when it’s people they admire or people that look like them, or people who they see that they can be.” But it’s not as if they tune out if they hear something they don’t agree with, they speak up. “Those kids—they don’t take shit from you [anyway],” says Lockett, who describes a teen forum last year in Baton Rouge where one of the panel’s physicians trotted out the old-school approach of blaming girls for dressing provocatively and not keeping the boys in line. “Wrong! And these kids let him have it, and I loved it—I love that they stood up for themselves….”

The panelists’ authority derives in large part from a personal approach, says Lockett, and Denise Stokes, a Rap-It-Up spokesperson and Teen Forum panelist, agrees about this avenue to relatability. Stokes, who brings with her a long résumé that includes having been a member of the HIV/AIDS Advisory Council under President Clinton, writing, and motivational speaking, says: “My first approach is what I don’t want to offer—a talking head telling them what to do,” she says, sharing that she offers up her experiences to teens—learning about infection at a young age, trying to adjust to living with HIV/AIDS, a slew of bad decisions and their consequences, her feelings through it all—and then challenges them to become more self-aware about their decision-making processes.

Stokes has been impressed with the potential of teens around the country, whom, she says, do not get enough credit for what they think about or for what “they are willing to talk about if given a chance. A lot of people say it’s hard to get young people, especially teenagers, to open up, but I think that when you set the tone of, ‘I’m not scared to tell you where I’ve been, and what I’ve gone through,’ and ‘I don’t have to have the I’m-the-grown-person-with-all-the-answers attitude,’ they really respond….”

An essential part of this dialogue is featuring well-known musical artists, athletes, and actors on the panel. “You put the word ‘AIDS’ on a poster and you say, ‘Free AIDS Seminar Tonight,’ and you might get ten people! You put the words, ‘Lamman Rucker’ or ‘Avant’ on the billboard and suddenly there’s standing room only,” Stokes says, joking that her name alone might not do the trick.

In particular, Lockett shares, Rucker’s “strong, passionate” voice helps to counter the stigma, especially in the African-American community, that AIDS is a gay disease. “You have this tall, built, young straight guy who’s like, ‘No, [it’s not only a gay disease] and it’s something you have to be concerned about.’” Rucker carries a lot of weight with straight women, as well, she says, mentioning his presence at a Q&A at one of the showings of Let’s Talk at the U.S. Conference on AIDS in Florida where a lot of women’s issues about negotiating safer sex came up. Rucker advised the women: “‘You need to do this; I would respect a woman who comes to me and says she [sticks to her guns about insisting on condom use]’….It’s great to hear a man telling you this. And it’s not like the doctor or the AIDS educator; it’s the guy who’s out there dating and telling you this is what I feel.”

Teens undoubtedly recognize Lamman Rucker from his stints on As the World Turns, All My Children, and Half & Half, among other acting projects. They might also recognize in him a kindred spirit. Like them, he too was interested in sexual health education when he was their age. Long before he joined the work of Rap-It-Up, he became certified as a peer educator and teen sexuality counselor while attending the Duke Ellington High School for the Performing Arts in Washington, D.C., in the late eighties thanks to a program sponsored by Planned Parenthood of Metropolitan Washington called WAITT (Washington Area Improvisational Teen Theater), and the leadership of a “wonderful, wonderful woman” named Margaret Copemann. WAITT’s acronym doubled as its message, explains Rucker, “encouraging teens and adolescents to wait until they engaged in any sexual activity…until they were ready or until they had access to the proper information.” Saturdays were spent being trained by Copemann at Planned Parenthood, and by other skilled people in the field, about HIV/AIDS, STDs, and teen pregnancy, among other topics. A part of the time was also spent working on creating performance pieces for their peers.

“Naturally, as a result of us being teenagers ourselves, we were living the experience. We knew by going through puberty ourselves and being in that place where our bodies were changing. Certain people were dealing with their own sexuality, and their own sexual identity even,” says Rucker, adding that their group sessions covered abuse, rape, pressures from all directions “because, you know, all these things are interconnected,” he says about one of the most “phenomenal” experiences of his life, especially as an actor, and one of the most expressive. “It was almost like we were going to therapy every week! And at the same time it was like a release, like an emotional workout sometimes.

“And sometimes it was just fucking fun! We would go and just laugh our asses off. We came up with some of the funniest stuff you would ever imagine.” This is probably an understatement; after all, well-known comedian Dave Chappelle was one of Rucker’s buddies from childhood and into high school, and was part of the improv group as well. “Most of the stuff he does on his show, that’s high school,” Rucker reveals. “We used to come up with improvisational scenes and situations very similar to how his show is structured…and then we’d have to get up on our feet and roll with it….It was like going to a teen variety show,” he says. An interactive component always followed, and the teen educators always had to be ready to answer intelligently and encouragingly, and to set a positive (but not perfect) example. Often, guest speakers would speak directly about living with HIV/AIDS or their experiences as a teen parent, or offer medical expertise or resources. Even before joining, Rucker “was aware of friends, family, other people in my community, [and] outside my community, who were being affected by AIDS and HIV and sexually transmitted diseases, teenage pregnancy—both of my siblings were teenage parents….It really helped to have a vehicle to help us make sense of it, cope with it, and be able to contribute and give something back.”

Rucker comes from a family of educators and artists, one that seems to have measured time in learning moments. He followed in his family’s footsteps in double-time, earning a master’s in education and curriculum development as well as earning roles in television and movies, like the upcoming romantic comedy, The Inevitable Undoing of Jay Brooks. He also somehow had time to play college and semi-pro basketball, along with other sports. His involvement with Rap-It-Up is, in fact, one of a handful of ways he gets involved in community action. Rucker is a board member of Youth Investment Ministry of the Arts (YIMA), a D.C.-based nonprofit that provides after-school programs in the arts and academics with a spiritual base, as well as a board member and celebrity committee chair of Adventures in Health, Education & Agricultural Development (AHEAD), a Rockville, Maryland-based nonprofit that focuses on decreasing the rates of infant mortality, malnutrition, HIV/AIDS, and other fatal issues in Tanzania and other East African countries. He is also an educator/administrator for the Los Angeles-based Inner City Industry, an after-school program focusing on academic enrichment, youth entrepreneurship, and creative expression for high-schoolers in inner-city Compton and Los Angeles.

He sees his role as educator as filling the gap that often exists between child and parent, and believes that peer education works because being able to identify with the person you are listening to is an important component of taking to heart what you are hearing. “They’re using language that you use. They see you looking like them, dressing like them…and yet you’re saying words that they haven’t had the courage to say.”
Rucker, who still maintains strong one-on-one mentoring relationships with current and former students, and players, adds that positive role-modeling does have the capacity to make it “cool” to be smart, to be responsible, to have respect for yourself, your body and the bodies of others, your parents, and your community without the fear of criticism or ridicule.

He knows these choices aren’t always easy, and that’s one of the reasons why he was attracted to Let’s Talk. The film follows the blossoming romance of Rucker’s character, Maurice, and Essence (Jillian Reeves), who turn to their friends for support as they inch toward making a deeper commitment. When Essence suggests to Maurice that they should both go get tested, Maurice gets testy. “It’s a situation that I know—that I know well; I’ve been on both sides of the issue,” he says, adding that most everyone has been at the “let’s talk about HIV” crossroads, even if it was just a “what if” posed by a friend: “‘Aight, I have a question for you,’” he starts in the voice of one of those friends. “‘What if you were in a situation where you was about to hit it and this girl said, Hold up, stop, wait. I know I really like you, too, but I want you to get tested for HIV. What would you do?’ And all your friends turn to you and look for your answer,” he says with a knowing chuckle.

“I’ve heard all kinds of different responses to that….I’m still fortunate enough that the majority of my friends would probably have said, ‘Yo, man, I be mad as hell but I’d probably turn around and ask her the same thing,’” he says. “But you’d also be surprised how many people would say the opposite: ‘To hell with that. I’d be out of there,’ or, ‘She look like she aight; she don’t look like nothing wrong with her.’ There are so many different things that people might say. But what’s the best thing to say? What’s the right thing to say? Who knows?” Feelings usually get hurt when the topic is broached, he says in reply to his own question, and not confronting the issue is often an avoidance of other ones—issues of trust, fidelity, the intention to not stick around after sex. “But at the same time that’s exactly why the confrontation is necessary….Most people would rather not deal with it. That’s the road of least resistance, but you actually accomplish so much more, ten other things, just by attacking that one thing.”

If the aim of Rap-It-Up is to open a dialogue about sexual health among young people, the forum’s successes speak for themselves. But Rap-It-Up aims to sustain that dialogue, to make AIDS part of our normal, everyday conversation, as Sonya Lockett notes. The dialogue, says Denise Stokes, depends on working through what divides us—“drawing lines” has put us all at risk. And the dialogue depends as well, says Lamman Rucker, on listening to and learning from teens, from everyone: “The best teachers are actually better students. You can never stop educating yourself, exposing yourself to what’s going on. You’re always going to meet somebody who has a story a little different than any story you’ve heard before.”

Chael Needle is Managing Editor of A&U.

Spoken Words
Poet & AIDS advocate Mary Bowman raises awareness about individuals living with perinatal HIV infection and discusses her journey of healing and the power of self-care
by Chael Needle

Photographed Exclusively for A&U by Sean Black

Mary Bowman raised her hand one day in her fourth-grade class, stood up, and spoke a few words. She announced that she was HIV-positive. She shared a fact about her life. She wanted to participate.

The teacher had been talking with the students about Ryan White, the Indiana youth, infected with HIV through blood treatment for his hemophilia, who had been stigmatized and discriminated against by parents and teachers at his school because of their AIDSphobia and unwillingness to learn the facts about HIV transmission. He was banned from school. Neighbors cancelled their subscriptions along his paper route. Students were withdrawn from his school by their parents after a successful court battle allowed him to return. Ryan’s mother, Jeanne White Ginder, has said, “It was really bad. People were really cruel; people said that he had to be gay, that he had to have done something bad or wrong, or he wouldn’t have had it. It was God’s punishment….”

By the time Ryan died of AIDS-related causes in 1990, just shy of his high school graduation, he had become a teenaged activist, even gaining the ear of the Reagans. By the time Mary’s teacher had mentioned him, about seven or eight years after his death, Ryan had long since been the subject of a made-for-TV movie and had become an inspiration for millions everywhere; his legacy of advocacy has lived on, perhaps most prominently through a federal HIV/AIDS care program that bears his name.

Although fourth-grader Mary had been living with HIV her entire life, diagnosed six months after her birth, she had only been recently told of her serostatus, by accident, at a doctor’s visit. During triage, a nurse had asked her how long she had been HIV-positive. Mary didn’t know the answer. “I had never heard that word before; all I knew was: I take medicine because I have a blood condition. That’s what my family called it….”

When the teacher mentioned White, a few days after this doctor’s visit, Mary became excited. “I was like, ‘Oh, my gosh, there was a kid who has HIV and he speaks out,’” says Bowman. Afterwards, her classmates started to shun her, and Mary became discouraged. She faced a policy of silence within her own home, too. The woman she calls “Mom,” the wife of her father, who had taken her in, had not wanted her to disclose. “My parents didn’t want me to tell my secret. It was like, ‘You have to keep certain things private in our home.’ That really just closed me up…I didn’t feel like I was good enough.” Suddenly, Mary became burdened under the weight of all those negative feelings about herself. Her battle with internalized stigma had begun. Mental health issues haunted her through high school, though later she worked through them.

Of living with HIV, and putting a name to the condition at eight or nine, she says: “I didn’t know it was a bad thing until I disclosed. I mean, it’s not a bad thing, but I didn’t know that the world thought it was a bad thing, so I disclosed my status.”

Mary’s mother, Franci Lonece Smothers, who went by Lonece, died of AIDS-related causes in 1992, three years after Mary’s birth in 1988. Mary has written about this mother she did not know in “Dandelions,” a poem in her collection titled Lotus, which won the National Underground Spokenword Poetry Awards’ Book of the Year prize and was published under the name, Marie Elaine.

“My mother was a dandelion in the midst of roses / Ignorant of her purpose she uprooted her soul and unknowingly left herself for dead / It has been said that my mother when above the influence transmuted broken hearts into smiles / All the while dying on the inside / AIDS didn’t kill my mother / It put her at rest….”

On the page, as this excerpt shows, the power of Bowman’s words sparks thoughts and feelings—the heat of melancholy, the heat of empathy; on the stage, the power of her words makes you want to dip your torch in hers and run around like an Olympic bearer, rallying others to join in the celebration and the critique.

If you have not had the pleasure of hearing her at Spit Dat or Busboys & Poets, two popular spoken-word sites in D.C., you can seek out her spoken-word performances on YouTube. You can sense her deep connection with the audience as well as her brilliance, as she fits words together and finishes a puzzle you may have only started. Spoken word poetry demands the embodied self, and Bowman uses this convention to not only touch on current events but also to engage listeners as a woman living with HIV. Each word spoken, angry or joyous, is an invitation to heal.

In “I Know What HIV Looks Like,” she expands the space of positive identity to include herself and others who have been disappeared by stereotype or misperception: “It was predicted that she would breathe her last breath before 5 / But now / Here she stands 5 foot 9 / 15 years after her expected demise… / She can’t allow people to go on and think / That HIV only looks like / Skinny bodies, pale skin, open sores, and baby thin hair / She can’t help but start a movement that does more than just wear red t-shirts on December 1st / No matter how much it hurts….”

Raised in Clinton, Maryland, a stone’s throw from D.C., where she now lives with her wife and stepson, Mary found an outlet for her bottled-up feelings one day in ninth-grade English class.

Her impetus to continue writing is sourced, in part, in her early home life, where the approach of keeping private her diagnosis and the circumstances of the death of her mother became more of a hindrance than a help. With poetry, she enjoyed being able to express all that was not supposed to be talked about. “Writing just freed me,” Bowman shares, “and I could just talk about anything I wanted to without consequence so that’s really why I kept writing.”

Her creativity was further nurtured in a high school poetry club called BASU Poetry, and watching spoken-word performances on HBO’s Def Poetry Jam on television helped to introduce her to the genre at which she would excel. Graduating in 2006, she did not step up to Spit Dat’s open-mike stage until the end of 2008.

Although Bowman considers poetry her main medium, she has recorded an album of music called Love B.O.A.T.S. (Based on a True Story) and even dabbled in photography thanks to the Through Positive Eyes project, which invites individuals living with HIV/AIDS to document their realities with cameras. However, she is going to leave photography to the photographers, she relates with a laugh.

As for her creative process, Bowman eschews staring at the blank page. She cannot compel creativity. Sometimes, she approaches her creative process more formally, like when she composed songs for her album, but even then nothing was forced. She seizes the moment when it comes: “I’m just like, ‘Okay, well, now is the moment to write.’ It usually comes to me through divine inspiration.”

As for mortal inspiration, Bowman quickly responds: “Maya Angelou, I would have to say, is my number-one inspiration, icon, mother spirit, spirit animal, whatever you want to call it! Maya Angelou definitely is one of my biggest, biggest, biggest inspirations.” (She is tickled when I promise to send her the January 2001 A&U issue featuring the Angelou cover story.) She makes a point to mention Lucille Clifton, too, citing the empowering “Won’t You Celebrate With Me” as one of her favorite poems.

She is also inspired by poets in her local community, like Rasheed Copeland, with whom she came up as a poet; Yaya Bey; and Michelle Antoinette, whose poetry name is “Love The Poet.” About Michelle, Bowman says: “Not only her words but her drive and her commitment to art especially inspires me. She’s actually a close friend of mine, so she’s one of the only people in the poetry community that kind of took me under their wing and saw something in me that needed to be nurtured—and took the time out to nurture it.”

Spoken word poetry relies on, or, rather, demands audience interaction. On why the audience is so important, Bowman explains: “Because it’s for them essentially. I learned a couple years ago that I’m not here because of me; I’m here because there’s a greater mission and purpose for my life. And, so, whatever words I’m given to give to people it’s [for them]. I mean, it’s for me first, of course, to do the healing part, but when I take it to the stage it’s for the audience. So that’s very important…because you never know what somebody is going through in the audience. And, so, what I say can make or break a situation and I take that responsibility very seriously.”

Poetry is universal. If you allow yourself to be present, in the moment, you’ll get something out of it.

She has recently taken a break from spoken-word performances, though continues to participate in the community as a host at Busboys.

“Right now I’m working on life,” she says, with a chuckle. But she is serious about this respite, creating for herself a space for self-care. She wants to be careful, too, about planning her next move. “I don’t feel obligated to be something that I’m not ready for yet. You know what I mean?”

Asked if as a creative person she worries about running out of material, she responds: “Yes, I do worry about running out of things to say. That’s kind of where I am now. It’s like, okay, writing ‘Dandelions’ was easy. Not easy in a sense that I’m such a great writer and it was just easy; it was easy in that things just came to me, so I sat there and just let the words flow through me. And, so, now, I’m like, ‘Okay, well, what do I want to say?’ So I’ve been really praying and trying to focus on myself and my spirituality in trying to change the message because, I think, that I have way more to offer than what I’ve already offered, if you understand what I’m trying to say.”

What do I want to say? The question that Bowman poses in her creative process interconnects with her HIV advocacy, which spirals up from her life experiences living with HIV and losing a mother to AIDS.

In “My Mother, My Thought,” Bowman delves into the loss of her mother: “Like it doesn’t hurt cuz it does / Alive is what she was / And will never be again / But she will always be a thought / My thought / My mother.”

Asked if her family kept her mother’s memory alive, Bowman responds: “I think my parents did the best that they could with what they had. My mother was young—I think my mother was twenty-seven or twenty-eight when she passed away, so she was extremely young when she had me—[and] because of her history [with substance use] my parents tried to give me the story as best they could without demonizing her. And, so, the stories that I got weren’t necessarily stories that I probably would have liked to hear.”

She empathizes with her parents. “As I matured I had to realize that, for my parents, it was a sticky situation. My father cheated on his wife and I was a result of his infidelity. So, of course, that’s going to be a touchy subject for my parents anyway….So, yeah, it was kind of a weird situation I grew up in, but it made me better.”

Once older, Mary culled stories from other members of her biological family—her father hadn’t known her mother that well—and she developed a better sense of who her mother was. “She was definitely a person who loved to laugh, loved to have a good time, to dress well,” shares Bowman. These family members filled in the big picture with smaller snapshots. “I remember a couple of months ago I asked my older sister what kind of cigarettes my mother smoked. And she said, ‘Newport shorts, soft pack,’ and I was like, ‘Wow, that’s the same type I like.’ Things like that get me excited because people don’t realize that missing out on those intimate details definitely affects you as a child.”

Bowman feels connected to her mother, and, when I ask if she feels her life is a continuation of her mother’s journey, she agrees with this notion. She does not feel an obligation, however, to represent her; her advocacy and empathy have been an organic evolution. “I feel like this is what I was born to do and that realization came when I was twenty-five,” she says, having realized at the time that she was around the same age as her mother when she gave birth to her. “So that really put things into perspective. What would I do at twenty-five with five children? I don’t know what I would do. I would probably go crazy! But she was able to do the best she could with what she had. And, so that put me in a place where it’s like, ‘Okay, I’m not only doing this for my mother, but I’m doing this for young women who are like my mother and who are maybe in the same shoes that she was in.’ So, it’s more of a responsibility, less of a burden. I don’t feel like I have to, but I feel grateful and I feel honored to be able to go on in her name and carry her name with me wherever I go.”

Bowman, twenty-seven, has carried her mother’s name far in a short time. She has been an ambassador for the U.S. Department of Health’s Office of Women’s Health for its Women and Girls HIV/AIDS Awareness Day, has lent her voice to National Women & Girls HIV/AIDS Awareness Day and National Black HIV/AIDS Awareness Day PSAs, has worked at an HIV/AIDS organization focused on women, and has performed at the XIX International AIDS Conference, AIDSWatch (receiving a Positive Leadership Award from the advocacy initiative in 2015), and DIVAS Simply Singing!, among other events and conferences. She has also facilitated support groups for youth living with HIV and has spoken on panels.

As a young person myself growing up living with HIV, I didn’t have anybody to go to for inspiration. We had support groups at Children’s Hospital and things like that, but it still wasn’t enough.

“What prompted me was the need for young people to be invited into the space of HIV prevention, and, through art and using art as a vehicle, to drive advocacy and awareness to the masses,” Bowman says about her motivation for starting Purpose Over Entertainment. “As a young person myself growing up living with HIV, I didn’t have anybody to go to for inspiration. We had support groups at Children’s Hospital and things like that, but it still wasn’t enough. For instance, I didn’t know what to do in social spaces. I didn’t know what to do when sex conversations came up. I didn’t know how to be a young person living with HIV. And, so, what I wanted to do was teach, or inspire, young people to know that you can be young with HIV and still live a normal, healthy, amazing life. That you don’t have to be ashamed of what you have because it’s not your fault. And I wanted to be a living example….”

When we hear an advocate living with HIV/AIDS, that person is usually an adult, usually someone who contracted HIV as an adult. Not often do we hear from someone who has been perinatally infected—Nkosi Johnson became a positive force for change in his brief life; Jake Glaser is perhaps the most well known advocate. Now a new generation is speaking out; advocates like Paige Rawl and Ashley Murphy have been coming of age and coming to voice. Bowman, too, is committed to advocating for children, youth, and adults living with perinatal HIV infection. According to a 2013 CDC estimate, 9,131 adults and adolescents (ages thirteen and older) in the U.S. are living with HIV acquired through perinatal transmission. Globally, according to 2015 UNAIDS estimates, only seventy-seven percent of women have access to meds that can reduce the risk of mother-to-child transmission; only forty-nine percent of children (fifteen and under) living with HIV have accessed antiretroviral therapy; and 400 children become infected with HIV every day.

What does the world not understand about individuals living with perinatal HIV infection here at home? Bowman responds: “I don’t think they recognize us; I don’t think they really realize that we’re still here, which is funny because there’s a documentary [by that name].” Bowman’s friend Grissel Granados, along with John Thompson, released a documentary called We’re Still Here recently.

“When you hear people talk about the epidemic we always hear about the MSM community, white MSM, black MSM, about the women of color, black women. We hear about all these other populations,” says Bowman, adding that perinatally infected individuals are often not recognized as long-term survivors. “We are long term survivors and are probably more valid [as such] because we don’t know anything other than HIV….”

Long-term survivors are often erased from the public consciousness, and even, some say, from the radars of AIDS service organizations. Documentaries revisit the 1980s as if this is only past history, but guess what? Some people are still living that history. Born eight days after the first World AIDS Day, Mary Bowman is part of the now.

“That’s what they don’t realize, that we’ve never known a world without HIV; it’s always been a part of our lives. It’s been with us from diapers through kindergarten, through family members not trying to sit with us or, you know, we’ve got to figure out why we can’t visit certain family members [because] unbeknownst to us these family members have stigmas, so they don’t even realize that they can let us play with their children,” she says, listing more injustices like being rejected by a dentist because of his AIDSphobia.

“We’ve lived through these experiences since birth, through our entire lives. And, so, one, I feel like we have a lot more experience than people really [give us credit for] and, two, our stories are valid, and I don’t think they [are recognized as such]. That’s why I do what I do because I want to create a space for perinatally infected youth and adults to tell their stories because we’re so unrecognized—and that’s not fair.”

Bowman points out that the transition from being a child living with HIV to an adult living with HIV can be a struggle. “Once we leave adolescent care they throw us into the adult care world and we don’t know what the hell to do. And, so, that’s not fair either and, of course, we appreciate the fact that we were so coddled as youths and adolescents—for me, it was Children’s Hospital, everything was a one-stop shop.” Shifting from child-centered care to adult-centered care came as a “shock,” she says. “And, so, I fell out of care. We don’t have programs to walk you through that process and there are so many gaps in the program.

“It’s like, ‘Okay, now you’re an adult, go on along your way,’ when I didn’t know how to find a doctor; I didn’t know how to figure out insurance, like which doctors took my insurance; I didn’t know I needed a gynecologist, or a dentist, or all of these things to make sure that my HIV stays under control….I had to figure it out for myself and that’s not fair.” Adults who are newly diagnosed positive, suggests Bowman, have a much greater chance at being linked to care and staying in care, thanks to navigators. Children who become adults living with HIV often do not have that same type of hands-on support.

Now, as Bowman waits for inspiration to strike again, she has realized that she has to take a step back and focus on self-care. “I realized that I’ve given so much of myself to HIV prevention, and poetry, and I haven’t really given the same amount of energy and love to myself…,” says Bowman. When I mention giving and giving, and then not having anything to give to yourself, she continues, “Right, because then you’ll burn out and then who are you helping when you’re burnt out? Nobody. You’re just giving people exhausted energy and that’s not right because people don’t get healed that way.”

A recent negative experience made her stop and assess the whole system of HIV prevention, organizations fighting AIDS, and her place in it all.

“And, so, now what I’m trying to do is single out a way to impact people in a different way,” Bowman says, mentioning that HIV prevention and care efforts sometimes miss the mark. “I’m not saying that the way that people are fighting against HIV and AIDS is wrong, but I do feel like there has to be a more efficient way to reach the people that people are trying to reach. When I go to these conferences [and other places that are doing outreach], the people who they say they’re trying to reach are never there and [I ask myself], ‘Well, who are you really talking to? Because if you keep preaching to the choir, these people that are outside these walls are not going to get saved.’

“So if I had to say I’m working on anything that’s what I’m working on—getting myself together so that when I come back into the world I can offer something on a higher level and take my message to the next level, and not just try to be conformed.”

Her resistance is relatable. Nobody wants conformity foisted upon them, as a person or an advocate. And conformity probably bristles all but the most traditional poets. Spoken word may at times take up conventional rhyme schemes and regular meters, but its power lies in its flexibility to flow with the particulars of human voices, to adjust, quickly, to the insights bubbling up in one’s heart and the tone of the room. This freedom is why Purpose Over Entertainment follows a business model and is not a nonprofit. “I want to be able to do whatever I need to do to get the message out. I don’t want to be stuck in guidelines or [stifled] because of a particular funder….”

I wondered if she has felt boxed in by what other people might expect her to be: “Mary, the advocate living with HIV” or “Mary, the poet who talks about HIV.” “I have once felt that way. I think now with taking a break and taking a step back I am freeing myself from that feeling because I don’t want to be in a box,” Bowman asserts. “I’m not just Mary the HIV advocate, I’m not just Mary the poet, I’m not just Mary the singer. I’m a lot of other amazing things and, of course, when you touch people, they hold on to you, in that moment. So they want you to be that thing every time they see you and that’s not fair.

So if I had to say I’m working on anything that’s what I’m working on—getting myself together so that when I come back into the world I can offer something on a higher level and take my message to the next level…

Self-definition is crucial for surviving and thriving. “Find yourself and make sure you know who you are and don’t be persuaded or moved by anyone else’s opinions because opinions change. So this person may feel some way about you today based on how they feel about themselves, and that’s not fair for you to conform your whole entire life based on someone else’s opinion—and that’s especially true for people living with HIV. The world will tell you, ‘Oh, well, you can’t have sex, or you can’t love anybody, or you can’t have this particular job, or you can’t do this because you’re positive.’

“No, F that. That’s not fair. I can do whatever I want, especially if I’m taking care of myself and I’m keeping my head down and doing everything that I need to do to make sure that I keep other people safe. So I would definitely encourage everybody to find themselves, sit with themselves, and get to know themselves. Take themselves out on a date, like get to know themselves, and really hold true to that and really try hard not to be swayed by other people’s opinions because they don’t matter in real life.”

Truer words were never spoken.

Chael Needle is Managing Editor of A&U. He interviewed Sheryl Lee Ralph for the August 2015 cover story.

Diving Back In
Back at the Summer Olympics for the First Time, Four-Time Olympic Gold Medalist & HIV Activist Greg Louganis Opens Up About His Incredible Journey and How He’s Giving Back to Other Athletic Champions
by Chip Alfred

Photographed Exclusively for A&U by Sean Black

Greg Louganis is undeniably the greatest diver of all time. Now, after a two-decade absence, the most-decorated Olympic diver in history returns for the Summer Games in Rio. This time, Louganis steps into a different role—as a broadcast commentator for Latin America’s Globo TV. As he prepares for yet another milestone in a legendary life and legacy, A&U sat down with Louganis for an intimate look at the challenges he’s overcome, what inspires him, and why he believes his best years may be yet to come.

Gregory Efthimios Louganis was born in 1960 in El Cajon, California, just outside San Diego. Given up at birth by his teenage parents, Greg, who is of Swedish and Samoan descent, was adopted at nine months by Frances and Peter Louganis. “Growing up, I went through a difficult period, especially as an adolescent,” he recalls. “I thought to myself, if my natural parents couldn’t love me, then nobody could love me because I wasn’t worthy of it.” He was shy, self-conscious, had a stutter, and suffered from dyslexia (which he never realized until later in life). He was bullied and taunted repeatedly by his classmates. The young Louganis suffered severe bouts of depression, and remembers saying to his mom, “I understand how people can die of sadness.” From a very early age the one place he found joy was on stage. “I felt it was the only thing I had to offer.”

“My mom used to joke that I was in diapers when I started in dance and acrobatics,” Louganis says with a smile. He began taking lessons at eighteen months, discovered gymnastics at age three, and entered his first talent competition at age six. “When I was eight, we got a pool built in our backyard. My mom didn’t want me to kill myself, so she got me diving lessons.” By the time he was fourteen, he caught the attention of renowned coach Dr. Sammy Lee. The former Olympic diving champ helped Louganis earn his first Olympic silver medal in Montreal in 1976. After training with Lee for five years, Louganis was in top shape and primed to go for the gold at the 1980 Olympics in Moscow. Then, in the wake of the Soviet invasion of Afghanistan, President Jimmy Carter announced the U.S. boycott of the Games. Louganis would have to wait another four years if he wanted to pursue his Olympic dreams.

Since 1978, Louganis had been training with coach Ron O’Brien, who would guide the rest of his diving career. Going into the 1984 Summer Games in Los Angeles, he was at peak performance. In L.A., he received two gold medals; Greg Louganis became a household name. He contemplated retiring from diving, but he set his sights on a new goal instead. No diver had ever won four gold medals, so Louganis set out to break that record at the 1988 Summer Games in Seoul, South Korea.

At the preliminaries for the three-meter springboard competition in Seoul, the unthinkable happened. Louganis hit his head on the end of the board, suffering a bloody cut that required five stitches. It was a startling moment that was heard and seen around the world. Everyone wondered—including Louganis himself—if he would ever dive again. Then, just thirty minutes later, Louganis stepped up on that springboard one more time. With several thousand people packed into Seoul’s Chamship Pool, Louganis says, “the atmosphere was electric.” He walked to the edge of the board, gathered his composure, and looked into the crowd to bolster his courage. He touched his heart several times, as if he was asking the crowd for their love to get through it. Not only did he make that dive, he scored the best dive of the day. “Somebody once said that, at that moment, I was the toughest sissy in the world,” Louganis told the L.A. Times. The crowd went wild. Louganis won two gold medals in Seoul, sealing his fate as the greatest diver who ever lived. After he completed his last dive, Louganis, wiping the tears from his face, fell into the arms of his coach. O’Brien hugged him tightly and cried out, “We did it, buddy! That was a hell of a way to do it!”

Reflecting on that famous comeback dive, Louganis says it was his friend and “guardian angel” Ryan White who inspired him to get back up on the board. After reading about the Indiana boy expelled from school because of his HIV status, Louganis invited White to join him at the 1986 U.S. Diving Indoor Championships in Indianapolis. “I felt if I reached out to this young boy and showed I wasn’t afraid of him, people might not be so afraid of him,” Louganis says. “What I got from Ryan was that he was a fighter and I wasn’t.” After Greg slammed his head on the board, he was asked if he was ready to call it quits. He thought about Ryan White and said, “We’ve worked too long and too hard to go down without a fight.”

Beyond the fanfare of his Olympic victories, what the public didn’t see was the inner turmoil Louganis was concealing. He was hiding a secret that could have kept him from competing in Seoul. After his partner was hospitalized with a bout of PCP, Louganis was tested for HIV and turned up positive. “I was training in Florida at the time,” he remembers. “I was going to pack up my things and move back to California, lock myself in my house, and wait to die.” But his doctor encouraged him to keep training and recommended starting aggressive treatment right away. Louganis started on an AZT regimen, which consisted of two pills at a time, every four hours around the clock. He couldn’t sleep through the night, and he lived with an alarm clock going off all the time reminding him to take the next dose. It was a grueling drain on his energy and stamina, amid the already strenuous physical and mental demands of gearing up for his last hurrah at the Olympics. Had he disclosed his HIV status before Seoul, he would not have been allowed entry into the country to compete.

There was another secret Louganis was keeping. Although his friends and family knew he was gay, Louganis was still keeping that part of his private life private. “I felt like I was living on an island with only a phone for communication to the outside world. That’s what secrets do to you. They isolate you.” He decided it was time to open up—about all of it. “I knew the only way I could express myself and the true scope of who I was would be through a book.” Breaking the Surface, written with Eric Marcus, was published in 1995. The searingly candid, tell-all autobiography rose to the top of the New York Times bestseller list and was made into a TV movie starring Mario Lopez.

In advance of the book launch, Louganis was suddenly thrust into the center of an international media firestorm. A hard hitting prime-time interview with Barbara Walters was just the beginning. He appeared on the cover of People with a headline that read, “My Private Hell.” Then, it was Oprah Winfrey, who asked him, “Over the years has the secret of being gay and HIV-positive exhausted you?” Louganis simply nodded. CNN’s Larry King even had the balls to ask Louganis, “How could a smart guy like you have unprotected sex?” Louganis handled all of the intense public scrutiny in stride. After the media frenzy died down, he felt like he had been freed from the secrets that were weighing him down. At last, a huge burden was lifted off his shoulders.

While he continued the process of documenting his life for the book, Louganis had the opportunity to take his career in a new direction—as an Off-Broadway actor. In 1993, Louganis premiered in Jeffrey, a play about a gay man so fearful of AIDS that he swears off sex. In Jeffrey, Louganis played the part of Darius, a gay chorus boy in Cats who is also HIV-positive. “I was able to live out my fantasies through him,” Louganis tells A&U. “He was out and proud!” Louganis also faced the fears of his own mortality, as his character Darius dies in the play. Louganis says Darius delivers the most poignant message in the play. He advises Jeffrey to hate AIDS, not life. “Jeffrey had stopped living and entertaining the idea of leaving his heart open,” Louganis explains.

After his run in Jeffrey, Louganis was offered the chance to open his heart in a way he never imagined he would. After competing as a closeted athlete for more than two decades, he was invited to welcome 15,000 gay and lesbian athletes to the 1994 Gay Games in New York. In his videotaped address to the crowd, he said how proud he was to be part of an event that represents true Olympic ideals. “This is our chance to show ourselves and the world how strong we are as individuals and as a community,” he said. As he finished with, “It’s great to be out and proud,” the audience erupted in cheers. And audiences of all kinds have been cheering him ever since. Thousands of people would come to hear him speak at Breaking the Surface book signings across the country. People would come up to him and say things like, “You saved my life,” or “You gave me hope.” His intent was that sharing his narrative would make a difference in other people’s lives, and clearly it has. “That’s very empowering for me and for others because it makes other people feel like they’re not alone.”

About five years ago, a woman approached Louganis about chronicling his story for an even broader audience. Cheryl Furjanic, a documentary filmmaker, reached out to him with a proposition. “She said kids under the age of twenty-seven don’t know who Greg Louganis is,” he recounts. “She wanted to change that, and to reintroduce me to a younger generation.” Louganis agreed to allow Furjanic, producer/writer Will Sweeney, and their crew to follow him over the course of three years. Back on Board, which premiered in 2014, shows a side of Greg Louganis many of us haven’t seen before. As the film opens, the man who won forty-seven national and thirteen world diving championships was barely treading water financially—facing foreclosure of his treasured Malibu home. “People think a gold medal is worth millions and that really isn’t the reality,” Louganis notes. It certainly wasn’t the reality for him. After he retired from the Olympics, Louganis wasn’t offered the lucrative endorsement deals that some of his fellow Olympians received. His income from acting jobs, speaking engagements and public appearances wasn’t always steady. “When we first approached him, we had no idea that we would find him facing such difficulties,” Furjanic explains. “During the three years we spent making this film, one thing that became clear is Greg’s resilience.” Louganis managed to sell his house and end up debt-free with enough left over to pay for his wedding with soulmate Johnny Chaillot. “Now we can build,” he told Chaillot. “Now we can start over.”

And after years of little involvement in diving, Louganis returned to the sport he loves, making a splash at the 2012 London Olympics as a mentor for the U.S. team (one of the divers he mentored was David Boudia, who won a gold medal in London, and at press time one silver medal in Rio in synchronized diving with partner Steele Johnson). Now Louganis is focusing his attention on the cause he is most passionate about—helping Olympians and other athletic champions with aftercare. “When you go to the Olympics there’s this really high high,” he says. “If you do well, there’s this wave you can ride for a while but that ride will end.” Louganis is involved in an international initiative called Crossing the Line, which supports elite athletes in the transition from retirement to the next stage of their lives. The organization offers support and information from athletes and independent experts, and brings together a global community of transitioning athletes.

For Louganis, retirement has been challenging at times, but he has seized the opportunity to reinvent himself. As one of the nation’s leading advocates for HIV/AIDS awareness and LGBT equality, he manages a busy schedule of public appearances and speaking engagements year-round. He addresses many different types of groups, but one thing always remains the same. “Whenever I go and speak, it doesn’t matter who the group is or where it is, I share all of me.” That “all of me” includes a suicide attempt, an abusive relationship, addictions to alcohol and painkillers, and how he has persevered through all of it. He says his secret to surviving and thriving is that he doesn’t allow his journey with HIV/AIDS to take over his life. “It was and still is only a mere part of me. It does not define me,” he explains. He takes his meds in the morning and again in the evening, but the rest of the time, he just goes about the business of living. “I think living with HIV for as long as I have, it’s my constant companion. It’s there. I’m aware,” he shared in an interview with Men’s Health. “I try to be as mindful as I can be, and not take anything for granted.” He says this taught him how to appreciate all that he has and all that he’s accomplished. “I may have thought I’d be dead by thirty, but I feel very much alive now.”

Now, as he takes the plunge into the next phase of his Olympic career, Louganis weighs in on the one recognition he never received—his face on the cover of a Wheaties cereal box. After he won his first gold medal, a reporter asked Wheaties, which is marketed as the “Breakfast of Champions,” why Louganis wasn’t featured on the cover of the box. According to Louganis, the Wheaties rep told the reporter that they were never in talks with him because “I allegedly didn’t share the same family values.” After the release of Back on Board, a Change.org petition was launched to lobby General Mills, maker of Wheaties, to give Greg the recognition he deserved. The petition garnered 40,000 signatures, and Louganis was touched when he finally appeared on the box this year. He told the New York Times why it held such a special meaning for him at that point in his life. “Getting it now means people will see me as a whole person—a flawed person who is gay, HIV-positive, with all the other things I’ve been through.”

Today, Greg Louganis celebrates his past and lives fully in the present, with a renewed sense of optimism about the future. The fifty-six-year-old Olympic superstar stays fit with a regular routine of yoga, cross training and weightlifting. With his devoted husband and their prize-winning Jack Russell terrier Dobby, Louganis has found comfort and contentment. “Johnny keeps me grounded and appreciating what I have in that moment,” Louganis affirms. “It’s waking up each morning and just saying I wonder what the universe has in store for us today.”

For more information about Greg Louganis, log on to: www.greglouganis.com. For information about his new documentary, log on to: www.hbo.com/sports/back-on-board-greg-louganis. For more information about Crossing the Line, visit: www.crossingthelinesport.com.

Chip Alfred, A&U’s Editor at Large, interviewed Greg Louganis in 2008 for his first article for A&U when the Olympic champion was named an LGBT History Month Icon.