On Wednesday, the Supreme Court made two decisions that constituted major victories for the gay rights movement. In my neighborhood in Uptown San Diego, rainbow flags are a permanent fixture; but between June being Pride month, and the celebratory mood after the SCOTUS decisions, the area was positively festooned.
I sat on my friend Jimmy Arrowsmith's patio and talked with him about the new developments in gay rights, and about his experience as an 83-year-old gay man who has witnessed the evolution of attitudes toward the LGBT community for nearly a century.
I asked him if the SCOTUS decisions would affect him in any way, and how his life might have been different had same-sex marriage been an option when he was growing up. Although he's ecstatic about the progress that he's witnessed in the last decade or so, and he's generally one of the most positive people I know, he's a bit wistful about the past. "I felt like I grew up as a criminal," he said.
Jimmy was born in central Kansas in 1930, into a family of Southern Baptists. His dad was a roustabout in the oil fields, and his mom was a homemaker. They followed the oil rigs around Kansas, and Jimmy never stayed in one town long enough to finish the school year. Shortly after his father died when Jimmy was 14, Jimmy quit school and went to work delivering dry-cleaning to support his family. His mother got remarried shortly thereafter, to a man who treated Jimmy like a servant, and charged him for room and board. Jimmy realized that it would be cheaper to move into the YMCA; so, after completing, for the last time, his Friday chore of washing and polishing his stepfather's car--this time "polishing" it with sandpaper--he packed up and moved across town.
Jimmy had known that he was attracted to boys since he was six or seven years old. But he didn't know what it meant, or that there were other people who felt the same way. His earliest memory of a gay man was a character who hung out at the local poolhall, an outcast among grownups and bogeyman to the local kids, rumored to have physical deformities such as female genitalia in his throat. The kids were warned to never allow themselves to be alone with this "evil man" who would certainly do unspeakable things to them given the chance. Jimmy remembers thinking, "I'm like him."
And yet, there were physical encounters with other boys--kids who would grow up to be husbands and fathers, pillars of the community. So Jimmy started to realize that he wasn't alone.
He also realized that if he were to ever be happy, he needed to get out of Hutchinson, Kansas. After a year of living at the YMCA, he spent a summer in California where he stayed with an aunt and uncle and worked at a produce market. The living arrangements were far from perfect: his aunt and uncle had never had children, and complained about how much food sixteen-year-old Jimmy ate. He would hide a loaf of bread from his store in the hedge outside the house, and eat sandwiches in the middle of the night to avoid their censure.
An older man that Jimmy worked with took him under his wing, and offered to let Jimmy stay with him in his small apartment so he could get away from his aunt and uncle. The man was kind, generous, and gay; and Jimmy describes this time as a "great experience." But when summer was over, Jimmy either had to go to school, or get a work permit. Because his aunt and uncle weren't his legal guardians, they couldn't sign the work permit, and Jimmy couldn't afford to stay in California without a job. So he returned to Kansas.
Jimmy stayed in Kansas until he turned 18, at which point he joined the Navy. His stepbrother had served in the Navy in World War II, and had gotten Jimmy interested in the service. Mostly, Jimmy just wanted to get away. "I just wanted to be anywhere where I could be more comfortable," he said. "There, I felt like I was walking a tightrope. If I made a move, I would be tarred and feathered."
Jimmy went to boot camp in San Diego in 1948, and then spent most of the next four years on a ship in the Far East. His primary MO was as a sea-plane tender, but he also worked in the food service.
He recalls one sailor aboard the ship, "Joe", whom he describes as "the most out guy I've ever known."
"Well, after a month or two on the cruise," Jimmy told me, "I don't care who it was--married guys with five kids, whoever--they would come around looking for" him. Joe and the other sailors would sneak into the storage area where they kept the potatoes, and Jimmy would lock them in and stand watch. "He would give me five dollars to use the locker for fifteen minutes," he said. He "was getting paid. I mean, he was a prostitute."
At one point, Jimmy's ship transported a prisoner back to the States to face a court-martial: an American serviceman who had been busted for homosexual activity. The prisoner was always in the company of two guards, and he ate by himself off of a special tray that had to be sterilized between uses as the other sailors taunted him.