18. Did you attend the fi rst AIDS Vancouver information forum in March 1983 at
the West End Community Centre? If yes, what do you remember of it?
19. Were you ever contacted by Randy Shilts? Were you aware that he travelled to
Vancouver in 1986 to interview local men about Gaétan?
20. Do you remember the fi rst time you heard the term “patient zero”? Was it in
connection with Gaétan? What did (and does) the term mean to you?
368
Epilogue
I was lucky to be born into a wonderful family. My parents were a
good match, a happy couple totally committed to home and family. Be-
cause this family was such a comfortable, safe place to be, I didn’t re-
ally go through the usual teenage rejection of family for friends. I of-
ten felt more comfortable at home than in the teenage social scene. At
school, possibly because I was a very strong student in a streamed ac-
ademic class, I was not taunted by other students for being different. I
knew I didn’t have the same interests as most boys and didn’t feel any
excitement dancing or dating girls, but I didn’t feel outcast or particu-
larly lonely, in part because of my family, but also because I had one very
close friend with whom I spent all my spare time when I was at school
or in town. Of course, he turned out to be gay as well, but, at the time, it
was never discussed.
Coming out was a long process, mainly the result of my shyness and
social insecurity in the larger world, not my horror or revulsion about
being gay. I was fortunate to be coming of age just when the world
was opening up and liberalizing, when it was cool to be different and
adventurous.
Coming across a copy of the Young Physique in a magazine store the
summer after grade 12 really began my sexual awakening. The follow-
ing September, I decided to hike down to the beach below our residences
at UBC. The trail led directly to what was then the gay section of Wreck
Beach. I returned later with a friend who announced that he thought
these men were homosexual. Excited and intrigued, and always a good
student and an avid reader, I went to the UBC library and found shelves
of books (both fi ction and nonfi ction) on homosexuality. I read most of
them. In a sense, being gay was a revelation (a late one) to me, an ex-
plicit explanation of my “difference,” not something that I had hidden
for years and fi nally allowed to escape. The diffi culty in coming out was
not from internal shame, but on how to do it— alone. I wanted to meet
others, but didn’t know how. I knew that I could not talk about it with my
friends, but that just made me desire a different world with new friends; I
did not want to live in the closet.
I began buying more physique magazines and, when I learned that
there were gay trails in Stanley Park, I would sometimes drive there on
Sunday afternoon. My fi rst sexual encounters were there, but I tended to
fi nd the men I met too old, too different. I wasn’t running from my homo-
sexuality as much as I was running from this realistic version of it. This
pattern of secret exploration continued for 2– 3 years. In my third year at
Zero Hour 369
UBC, I was in an English Honours seminar taught by a very dynamic,
out gay man who became a very positive role model for me, though I was
too shy to talk to him directly about being gay. In 1969, I met a student
a couple of years older who took me out for the fi rst time— to the B&B
Club on Richards Street.
When I began graduate work, I was determined that the secrecy
would end. I told my friend from high school, who had become a room-
mate, that I would not live with him the next year unless I could be open
about my life. Within a few months he was out as well and we were going
downtown together. It was a small world, but it felt safe and exciting and
I never really worried about anything except fi nding true love.
In the late 1960s, the main gay club (I can’t remember the name) was
on Hastings Street, which had no appeal for me, though I did fi nd myself
driving through the neighbourhood. In 1969, when I fi rst went out, the
main club was the B&B at 1369 Richards (later to become the Playpen
South). I soon gravitated to a new club, Faces, on the corner of Robson
and Seymour, which had a more “hippy” image and played newer music.
The Castle and Ambassador pubs were also popular spots, but I was not
a great drinker or smoker and I didn’t feel comfortable there. You could
not stand up with a beer, but had to sit at a table and it was just too dif-
fi cult a scene for someone as shy as I. There were also steam baths, but
I was also too shy and self- conscious for that scene, and felt it was too
focused on sex. For me, it was an innocent time, full of possibility and
hope mixed with anxiety and impatience.
All the clubs in those days were “bottle” clubs, meaning that you
could only drink the liquor that you brought. You paid a cover charge
to get in, checked your liquor at the bar, and then went to mix or dance.
A key change to the gay scene was the opening of the Gandy Dancer in
1975 in a huge, beautiful space with a liquor licence and pulsating, disco
music. Other clubs that I can remember from that time were the Playpen
Central, the Playpen North, Neighbours, and Thurlow’s. In the 1980s
just before AIDS hit Vancouver, the big club on the weekends was John
Barley’s in Gastown.
These early years were a heady time— most people went out on at
least one night of the weekend and very quickly the clubs felt less like
clubs and more like huge, friendly parties where you could easily meet
people from all socioeconomic backgrounds. It seemed a world free of
elitism, a scene that just kept opening up and getting better and, being
young, and almost always with a lover, I was having a great time.
370
Epilogue
For men in Vancouver, the big party magnet was defi nitely San Fran-
cisco, though it was also common in those days to head to Seattle and
Portland for the weekend. Most people soon had friends in Seattle and/
or Portland and weekend visits became regular occurrences. I had met a
man from San Francisco and would visit there at least twice a year.
I fi rst saw Gaétan at Faces in May 1972. I was with my best friend and a
man I was in a relationship with and so only looks were exchanged. Gaé-
tan stood out in the crowd partly because of his good looks, but also
because of his cutting-
edge, extreme style—
bleached blond hair and
clothing that was tight and bright and worn with casual insouciance.
In a Vancouver gay scene that was just beginning to open up, Gaétan
was something new— a man fl amboyantly and defi antly and happily gay,
seemingly unconcerned about what others thought.
We actually met him a few days later (May 24th to be exact) when we
were all at Wreck Beach. He and his friend Jacques had come to Van-
couver to learn English in a UBC summer program and were staying in
the residences on the top of the hill. We visited
and exchanged phone
numbers. It was an awkward time because of the intense and immediate
attraction between Gaétan and me and the fact that my current partner
also liked Gaétan very much. My relationship had been teetering a little
already; Gaétan was the catalyst that pushed it over the edge.
By the middle of the summer, Gaétan and I were in love and together,
though, of course, he had to return to Quebec. That was the beginning
of a tumultuous, intensely passionate affair that was only fi nally over in
early 1975. We were, in most respects, opposites, but there was no ques-
tioning our passion for each other. Looking back over my life, I real-
ize that I am most attracted to those who are different from me, that
my quiet, secure childhood and cautious, analytical brain made those
who were wilder and freer most attractive to me. As in the Joni Mitchell
song, I am, I suspect, “afraid of the devil, but attracted to those ones who
ain’t.” Conversely, I think that Gaétan was attracted to my consistency
and dependability.
Of course, in every respect, the relationship was doomed from the
start— by youth, by our differences, by the burgeoning sexual freedom of
the times, and by distance. I don’t recall the sequence of events exactly,
but know that he was here some again in the fall of 1972; that I visited
him and his family in Quebec in December 1972; that he was here again
for a few weeks in January 1973; that a job was arranged for him here in
Zero Hour 371
early 1973 that fell through. In May 1973, I fl ew to Winnipeg to meet him
as he drove west and he lived here for a few months working as a hair-
dresser. I drove back to see him in Quebec in October 1973. It was a con-
fusing time— when he was here, he missed his family and friends and
Quebec, and, I think, felt stifl ed within the monogamous expectations of
the relationship; when he was away, he missed me and worried I would
meet someone new. It was a time of easy promiscuity and yet, despite the
distance, we both (me especially) held each other to impossible 1950s
standards of fi delity. Lies, cheating, pain, and recrimination became part
of the relationship. I was working full- time as a welfare case worker, try-
ing desperately to fi nish my master’s thesis, considering the possibility of
moving to Montreal, and, ultimately, feeling overwhelmed and occasion-
ally depressed by it all.
Gaétan had determined early on that he wanted to be a fl ight atten-
dant and that was a major impetus for the original trip to learn English
in Vancouver. Although I am not fl uent in spoken French, I had stud-
ied it in university, and can remember helping him with his letters of ap-
plication to Air Canada— enough that he credited me with getting him
through the fi rst door to the program. When he was accepted for train-
ing, we were happy, assuming that all would be solved, that he would be
based in Vancouver with lots of opportunities to return to Quebec. All
of this happened in 1974. After his training, however, he was based in
Toronto and, as we gradually saw less and less of each other, both began
to move on, though still with many phone calls and visits in an attempt
to keep things going. Only later did Gaétan confess to me that he had ac-
tually requested Toronto because the fl ights were better and, I suspect,
because he wanted some freedom and fun. When things really began
to fall apart, he did arrange a transfer to Vancouver, but it was too late:
too much distance and distrust had developed, and our attempt to live
together then was disastrous. He moved out into his own apartment in
early 1975 and, I think, shortly later transferred back to Toronto or Mon-
treal. Later that spring, I began a short relationship with another man,
then left for Europe in the fall, returning in December. On my fi rst visit
to the Gandy Dancer on January 3, 1976, I met the man who would be-
come my lover and partner until he died in May 1993. Gaétan did fl y in
one night in the spring of 1976, and wanted us to try again, but I was in
love with a new man and was surprised to fi nd that I could, for the fi rst
time, say “no” to Gaétan.
After that, I had no contact with Gaétan until 1980 or 1981 when he
372
Epilogue
called while here on a layover. He wanted me to visit him in his hotel
room, but my lover didn’t want that and so we only visited on the phone.
There may have been other calls during this period, but I don’t recall
hearing from him again until he phoned, sounding distraught and lonely,
to tell me that he had “gay cancer” and was having chemotherapy treat-
ment. Up until this point, I had only read a tiny article in the paper about
the mysterious cancer that had shown up in gay men in New York. I was
astonished to learn that Gaétan was part of this group. I was very wor-
ried, though some of my friends assured me that it was not serious as
it was “only skin cancer.” I can remember sending Gaétan encouraging
letters. I have a card that he sent me in January 1982 when he is feeling
depressed about the loss of hair (say he feels like an “alien”) and is re-
sponding to an invitation that I had sent him to come and visit us. I had
obviously sent him a picture of my lover and he comments on how hand-
some he is.
I think that he moved to San Francisco shortly after that . . . and some-
time soon after moved back to Vancouver where he rented an apartment
on Pacifi c Street. He became a good friend to both me and my lover to
the extent that they sometimes went off to movies and shows together
when I wasn’t interested. They shared the same sense of humour and
Gaétan quickly became a part of our life. I was so impressed then by
how much Gaétan had grown up, by how supportive he was of my rela-
tionship, how strong he was about his health situation, and by how much
joy he could still bring to life. Gaétan had a rare ability to live in the mo-
ment and to look for and focus on what was humorous and entertaining
in that moment.
I remember, after one medical setback, holding him in his apart-
ment and him telling me that he wasn’t afraid of being dead; he was just
scared of dying. He never expressed any great sense that life had been
unjust; he just seemed determined to make the best of whatever time he
had left. Early on in our relationship, I had suggested to Gaétan that he
might feel differently about something (I can’t remember what) when he
was forty; he told me then that he simply couldn’t imagine being forty. I
don’t think he ever really expected a long life.
In Vancouver, Gaétan did continue to go out, but not frequently. He
seemed happier to do simple things— go for a ride on his motorcycle, go
the movies, come visit for lunch, go to the beach with us. I think he was
a little tired of the gay scene, still willing to play it, but longing for a se-
cure relationship, a lover. He did develop a relationship with a new man,
Zero Hour 373
though I could tell he wasn’t really in love. I remember his sadnes
s when
he learned of other men in his New York medical group dying and also
his upset and anger when someone phoned him from Los Angeles and
accused him of killing his partner.
I was somewhat aware of the controversy about Gaétan going out and
continuing to be sexually active, but we and our friends were very dis-
missive of people who thought he should hide. My partner’s sister had
phoned and warned us to keep him out of our house, but we were re-
pulsed by her, not him. Good people, we felt, do not shun the ill. We ac-
cepted him without hesitation or fear into our lives. It’s also important to
remember that the consensus at this point was that AIDS was the result
of the collapse of an overburdened immune system. Cancer— and Kapo-
si’s sarcoma was still the major defi nitive marker of the illness— was not,
we all knew, contagious. If people were changing their lifestyles as a re-
sult of AIDS, it was to limit the number of partners and amount of party
drugs, not to change what they did with those partners. I do remember
telling a friend of people being afraid to be with Gaétan and him telling
me, “I’d sleep with him.” Certainly, some people were afraid, but most
of us thought that fear was baseless and wrong.
In the fall of 1983, he started to feel very ill and, I think in Decem-
ber, decided to return home to Quebec for a visit. I invited him to the
house for dinner on the night before he left and we all had a good visit,
but it was a different, very quiet and refl ective Gaétan that night. I can
remember him sitting on the couch, listening to the tick tock of my old
wall clock, talking about how peaceful and beautiful the sound was, and
thanking us over and over for the evening. When I drove him home, we
were very quiet, both near tears, both of us realizing, I think, that we
wouldn’t see each other again.
I did talk regularly to Gaétan in his fi nal weeks in Quebec, the last
time when he was very ill in hospital after some kind of operation as
a result of his MAI [mycobacterium avium intercellulare] infection in
his lungs. My last call to his room was answered by a relative who told
me that they were all gathered there for the administration of the last
rites. . . .
After he died, I worked with his friend, David Durnin, to clear the
Patient Zero and the Making of the AIDS Epidemic Page 62
