A Night at the Ariston Baths

by Michael Murphy

  Angry, Theodore pounded his fist on the table and spoke sharply. “No crime was committed. No one was forced. Whatever happened took place between consenting adults. The court has failed to show me how society has been harmed.

  “The law,” Theodore said, “makes us criminals for being born. Where’s the fairness in that? Where’s the justice in that? There is none.”

  Joel sat quietly for a moment, looking down, before finally saying, “They think that by criminalizing what is natural for us that we will change, that we will magically disappear. But I have news for them. For me it is doing exactly the opposite. I don’t know how, but somehow I must fight this insanity. I have to… I don’t know, do something. Somehow, sometime, I will find a way and I will fight back.”

  “I have a dream that comes to me often at night. That one day men like us can go into public and have a conversation without having to worry about who might overhear us. A day when we can assemble without fear of police persecution. I dream of a day when two men can walk hand in hand down the street,” Theodore said.

  Joel gasped at that one, but Theodore was not finished yet.

  “But most of all, I dream of a day when men will be able to fight back, to say enough is enough, stop harassing us. We did nothing wrong. That’s what I dream of at night.”

  They were both quiet for a moment before Joel said, “I like your dream, Theodore. I don’t think it will ever happen, but it makes for a nice dream.”

  “I want it to happen. I have to believe that someday—it may be many, many years from now—that someday people will stand up, will fight back, and will be allowed to live as we were born to live.”

  AFTER THAT day, Joel and Theodore sat together in the courtroom, quietly listening, hoping against hope that some miracle would happen.

  Theodore had secured a number of people to testify on Martin’s behalf during the trial, and he expected those references to help him escape conviction. But when the district attorney started his summation, his words were clear.

  “The People contend, and now maintain that they have proved that between the time when the defendant entered those premises, on the evening of the 21st of February, 1903, and the time when he was arrested, he did commit an act of sodomy upon another male person, a crime too horrible to be spoken of in proper society. We have offered direct testimony of two witnesses to that effect.”

  Theodore wanted to jump to his feet and scream at the so-called “public servant.” How could this man stand up in open court and presume to say such things about Martin? How?

  “The defendant took the stand on his own behalf, but I think you will all agree that this man has sufficient at stake here to lead him to testify to any alleged state of facts, to anything that he might believe would be a defense to enable him to escape the result of his own act. Aye, even to commit perjury to escape.”

  By the time the attorneys completed their summations and the judge had given his instructions to the jury, Theodore had become numb. He heard words spoken aloud, he saw the twelve men of the jury stand and leave the room. And then he saw them return more quickly than seemed possible. Theodore sat, listening, hoping that the jurors would do the proper thing, but their facial expressions and body language did not give him the assurance he so desperately craved.

  OF THE twelve men who had been charged, several paid their bail and simply disappeared before they could stand trial. On the morning of June 26th of 1903, Martin and the other men who were tried and found guilty were led into the courtroom to stand before the judge for sentencing.

  Theodore was appalled at the sight of his best friend, chained together with the other men. Martin didn’t look up and therefore didn’t see Theodore, who so desperately wanted to see his friend’s eyes. The mood of the seven men did not appear hopeful.

  And as it turned out, they were correct. They all knew they’d been found guilty in their individual trials.

  If Theodore had thought listening to the trial and then the verdict had been difficult, hearing the sentences was a thousand times worse. He had felt momentary hope when one of the attorneys for another defendant stood and told the court, “A man who is guilty of manslaughter in the first degree or highway robbery has committed a serious crime. Society is affected. An assault upon a person results in grievous bodily harm or death. A robbery separates a citizen from his property, sometimes violently. But an act of this nature, it seems to me, on the contrary, is not a crime that affects the public welfare, but is, rather, to be classified as a vice; and I have a question in my own mind whether it ought to be made a crime, at all. The most that can be said about it is that it affects two people, unless you wish to philosophize, to speculate, as to the moral effect of the act of two people.”

  But any hopes he felt were dashed when the judge interrupted him and said, “Take it up with Albany. Your statement is out of order. Please sit down.”

  The first man, John Rogers, was sentenced to twenty years at hard labor in Sing Sing prison. When Theodore heard the judge deliver that sentence, he felt as if someone had slugged him in the gut. Turning to the five remaining men, the judge said, “I sentence each of you to state prison for a period of seven years and two months.”

  When the sentences had been rendered and the prisoners led out of the courtroom, Theodore sat, stunned by what had happened. No one else in the courtroom had the slightest qualms about what had just happened, but Theodore was torn apart inside. It was nothing new to him, but he felt horrified once again by the mere concept that the law criminalized him and Martin and others like them for simply doing what nature told them they should do.

  Theodore wasn’t even able to mourn for long before the courtroom was filled again with people there for another trial. Even though he wanted to run away and hide, to lick his wounds, Theodore couldn’t do that. He had been out of his office far longer than he should have been. He had to return to work. He had to earn his salary. Life had to go on.

  In a complete daze, Theodore made his way back to his office, where he had a great deal of work waiting for him. By that point, Martin’s employment had been terminated, and he had yet to be replaced, so there was never a shortage of work for Theodore to do.

  The afternoon dragged on forever as Theodore, for once, could not concentrate on his work and struggled to do what had always been second nature to him. When he tried to add a column of numbers, he kept coming up with different results. Theodore did not typically make mathematical mistakes. That day his mind was tortured with the fresh memories of what he had been forced to witness just hours earlier. That day his work suffered right along with Theodore.

  Since he’d been out during the day, he stayed late to make up the time, but those extra hours were no more fruitful than the afternoon had been. Theodore knew he needed to try to keep himself busy, because when he went back to his room, he would come face-to-face with the reality of the situation all over again in an unavoidable fashion.

  He couldn’t escape his grief when he finally got back to his boarding house that night as he faced the nearly unbearable task of packing Martin’s possessions and moving them into his room. He had kept Martin’s room, paying for it as well as his own during the trial, but now Theodore had to accept that Martin was gone and would not be returning any time soon.

  He packed Martin’s books, his letters, his clothes, and everything else in his room. It was late when he finished and moved the last box into his own room. His room was not spacious, but it felt even smaller now that it contained a pile of boxes with Martin’s possessions. The thought of facing those boxes every day brought him to tears.

  Chapter Seventeen—What of Theodore?

  THEODORE HUNKERED down and worked diligently at his job, toiling away day after day, to make money and replenish his depleted savings. He was in a city where something was always happening, a place with a great many diversions readily available, not to mention countless liaison potentials. But Theodore put his head down, focused on his work, and completely shut him
self off from the city life around him.

  Each morning he moved from his rooming house to his office, where he put in longer hours than his coworkers. Well after everyone else called it a day, Theodore remained at his desk. When he left, he made his way directly back to his room, where he went to bed. The following morning, he got out of bed and did the whole thing again. Over and over and over again.

  That summer, his first in the city, was brutally hot and miserable. Any place indoors was stifling, even with a window open at night. The city transformed into an oven. Theodore had never sweated so much in his life. He never felt clean. He never felt comfortable. And it only got worse as the temperature continued to rise, some days in August topping out over one hundred degrees.

  It was on one such scorching day, that Theodore received Martin’s first letter from Sing Sing prison.

  July 31, 1903

  Theodore—

  We arrived at Sing Sing prison along with an assortment of other ruffians and hoodlums. At least George and I had each other for conversation and comfort for the voyage up the river.

  The prison is huge and ghastly ugly. Too soon to know how it will all work. We were photographed, interviewed, and examined. They fed us and that was about it for today.

  Martin

  Theodore was comforted to hear that at least Martin had his friend George with him. The comfort of a familiar face could do wonders for a person, in his own experience. He kept an ongoing correspondence with Martin, and arranged, at Martin’s request, an appeal of the court’s decision in his case. But that appeal failed.

  Theodore had accumulated a few dollars, enough to buy a train ticket and provide for himself for a short while. During the uncomfortable summer days, he contemplated leaving the city, but time after time, he would decide to go only to change his mind at the last moment.

  He was quite surprised when he wrote to Martin about his thoughts of returning home.

  August 7, 1903

  Theodore—

  Why in the world would you ever leave the city and all it has to offer to return to that ghastly place where we lived? I am so disappointed in you, Theodore. I had imagined you frolicking in the city, going places, seeing things, entertaining callers. In other words, doing all the things that I cannot do for the next seven years.

  Martin

  Was Martin mad? At him? Why in the world would he ever feel that way? He tried to let his own anger go, though, because he knew Martin was going through a hell he could not imagine.

  Theodore worked throughout the remainder of the summer and into the fall of the year. The cooler temperatures of fall, though, did little to make his presence in the city any more comfortable.

  While he had drawn comfort from knowing Martin had a friend with him at Sing Sing prison, that comfort was short-lived. A letter from Martin dated the last day of the month of October reached him in early November and took away what little comfort Theodore had.

  October 31, 1903

  Theodore—

  George is gone. I still cannot believe he’s gone, but he is. It wasn’t his own doing, I suppose. When he was sent here, his sister, Marguerite, made it her full-time mission to save him from the hell that is prison. She called in all sorts of favors and used all of her family’s connections, right up to the President of the United States, President Theodore Roosevelt. The President personally asked the governor of New York to pardon George—and he did it. George was pardoned and released the same day, four days ago. He’s gone back to the city and been swept south to his family’s home in Kentucky. Who knows what they’ll try to do with him next. They find him to be a treasure on one hand and an embarrassment on the other. Just like how the rest of the world deals with us. Theodore, do you think the world will ever see how illogical their reaction to us is? I hope so. I sincerely hope that I live long enough to see that day arrive. I hope, but I don’t believe I will live so long. Perhaps, though, my friend, you will survive to see that day. If you do, please give a cheer on my behalf as well as your own.

  Martin

  Theodore found it nearly impossible to conceive of anyone who could approach the President of the United States to ask for a personal favor—and get it. He could remember the man Martin was talking about. He’d seen the two of them engaged together that dreadful night at the bathhouse.

  November 1, 1903

  Martin—

  Now that your friend, George, has been pardoned, is there any possibility of you piggy backing on his release? What I was thinking was simply that if the President and the governor have publicly decreed that George was not guilty of the crimes with which he was charged—he was released, after all—then does that impact you? You were charged with being involved with him. But if George is now not guilty, how can you be guilty? I’m sure that they can finagle it to make sense for their goals somehow, but if it worked for one, why not try to make it work for you as well? I think of you often, my friend. Be well.

  Theodore

  Theodore checked the mail every day, hoping he would find a letter informing him that Martin had been released as well since it was impossible for one person to be guilty of the crime with which he was charged without the other person as well. But the weeks that followed brought no further correspondence, either good or bad.

  November 15, 1903

  Teddy—

  Life in here is alternately peaceful and hellish. Lately it has been the latter. The guards are as guilty as the other prisoners in making our life worse than it needs to be. The guards make sure to keep the other prisoners informed of the crimes of which we were found guilty. As you might expect, the other prisoners all come to us, expecting that we will take care of them. They don’t understand when we say no. They think that because we like men, we automatically want all men. They don’t understand at all. Some of them can be put off, but some of them cannot. Some of the men in here have nothing to lose by twisting arms, throwing punches, slamming faces into the brick walls. And the guards? They of course look the other way, always conveniently out of sight at just the moment when these encounters take place.

  I’m sorry if this letter is more difficult to read than my usual. My right hand is very sore from being stepped on repeatedly. Also, I have a black eye from a recent punch to the face that I took from someone who did not want to hear me when I said, “No.” But don’t worry. They will heal. They have before and they will again. If nothing else, this place will make me tougher and more able to stand up for myself. Take care of yourself my friend.

  As always,

  Your friend Martin

  Increasingly Theodore woke most mornings having slept poorly the night before. After reading Martin’s last letter, he had another reason to sleep poorly. Just before Thanksgiving, he woke one morning, exhausted from another night of tossing and turning and was struck by the fact that he had no desire to be where he was. Everything that had brought him to New York was gone. And he now hated the city. The crowded streets, the constant noise, the heat and humidity in summer and the prospect of another cold winter were all simply too much. He had had enough.

  Theodore decided it was time to go home.

  He informed his boss he was leaving New York, thanked him for the job, and hoped he could use his boss as a reference for future employment should the need arise. His boss was not happy to lose Theodore, knowing he was the hardest worker in the office.

  As Theodore packed his belongings, he mourned the loss of the life he had come to New York to experience. He had gone through many different stages of grief, everything from anger to depression. He was feeling an overwhelming sense of embarrassment. How in the world was he supposed to explain what had happened when he got home? He simply didn’t know, but he did know that he couldn’t remain in New York any longer.

  Theodore wrote to Martin to inform him that he was returning to their hometown in Western Pennsylvania, and then, leaving as much as possible behind for the next tenant of his room, Theodore got ready to depart. He assured Martin that he was
packing and taking his things for him.

  He had a great many bags, more than he alone could lift and move, so he engaged his landlady’s son to help him move everything to the ferry terminal and onto the ferryboat, where he hired another man to help him get them onto the train. When he got off the train in his hometown, the stationmaster recognized Theodore and gladly agreed to hold his bags until he was able to retrieve them later.

  FROM THE letters his mother regularly sent, he knew his parents were living in a smaller house at the edge of town, within walking distance of most things that they might need. As he walked along the quiet street of his old hometown, Theodore couldn’t help but smile. New York and the nightmare events were behind him. He didn’t belong there, even though that was where he would have been able to find other inverts. By returning to his hometown, he cut himself off from any hope of finding other men who favored men, but at least the fear of arrest or worse was removed.

  Since his decision to leave New York had been rather spontaneous—albeit after a great deal of thought over the months leading up to the final move—his parents didn’t know he was coming. As he knocked on their front door, he was nervous but anxious as well. But when his mother opened the door, she screamed with delight, throwing her arms around him and welcoming him.

  “Theodore! What are you doing here? I’m so happy to see you. You’ve lost weight. You haven’t been eating. Come in, come in. Are you alone? Is Martin with you?”