In college, of course, I made close friends with my fraternity brothers. Part of the pledge process creates a special bond between men that sometimes lasts a lifetime. These men will always hold a special place in my heart: Marcus Greer, Dale Hamilton, John L. Colbert, Tony Childs, Jeff French, Flotille Farr, Anthony Acklin, Reginald Campbell, Harvey Hampton, Fredrick Tollette, Ronald Jordan, and of course Carney Butch Carroll.
I also became close to several women besides Chris Hinton. Overtis Hicks and Janis Kearney were in the journalism department and offered me friendships I still treasure. There were also Mellonee Carrigan, Dinah Gail Gant, Isabella Wofford, Judy Wilson, Cassandra Smith, Sharon Norwood, Mary Parker, Cathy Winfrey, Angela Mosley, Bridgette Knox, Bridgette Coleman, Carolyn Torrence, Wanda Marshall, Kim Nichols, and Dionne Harrold, my beloved cheerleader partner and little sister, who died suddenly a few years after graduating from the U of A. I also enjoyed my friendships with my cheerleader teammates Rick Farris, Michelle Reynolds, and Patti Tiffin.
Although I didn’t attend the university while they were students, I became close friends with Randall Ferguson and Mike Saint, a former Razorback great whom I met when I interned at the IBM Little Rock office. Randall became my mentor and taught me more about business and data processing than any college professor could have, and Mike kept me entertained with his stories about his busy social life and playing running back for my favorite team of all time, the Arkansas Razorbacks.
To prove the adage that everything changes with time, I became great friends with Lonnie Ray Williams, an administrator at the University of Arkansas whom I didn’t care for as an undergrad mainly because he was in a rival fraternity. Thank God we grow older and become wiser.
In Dallas, I formed friendships with a group of buppies-in-training and several of my fellow IBMers who lived in cities other than Dallas. Ken Hatten was the cousin of a good friend from college, Patrick Martin, and remains one of my closest friends. I’d also like to mention Ken Baker, Vernon Walker, former Notre Dame football great Clarence Ellis, and Tommy Walker. At IBM, my close buddies included Terry Brantley, Michael Keeler, T. Parker, and Paul Pecka.
When I moved to New York, I formed close friendships with two white women I met at Wang Labs. Jane Dolan and I spent long lunch hours talking about life after corporate America. She was a beautiful girl and wanted to be a model, and so I introduced her to Tracey Nash-Huntley. Lynn Offen shared intimate details of her love life with me over drinks at the Russian Tea Room, and we skipped out on sales calls to attend Broadway matinees. Once, during a performance of Dreamgirls, she became so emotional I thought the management was going to ask her to leave the theater. Although she was an attractive and brainy blonde, Lynn closely identified with the character of Lorrell Robinson.
Speaking of the theater, a visit to the backstage of Smokey Joe’s Café was a moment when I realized that being a writer had made me somewhat famous. I can’t tell you how many times I have stood at the stage door hoping for a glance of Broadway performers as they whisked by well-wishers. One night, I was at it again at Smokey Joe’s when the stage manager recognized me and welcomed me in to meet the cast. I was so excited I didn’t know what to do, but I went into my own private shock when I reached backstage and many of the cast were excited to meet me and wanted to take pictures with me and asked for my autograph. Never in a million years would I have imagined this would happen to me.
While living in New York the last three years, I have formed very strong and loving friendships with several people who call Broadway home. I have been dazzled by their talents and amazed by their kindness. Thank you: Lee Summers, B. J. Crosby, Adrian Bailey, Billy Porter, Brian Chandler, Leonard Wooldridge, Marva Hicks, Lawrence Hamilton, Charles Holt, Bobby Daye, and Terri Burrell for letting me into your world.
I am proud to be a writer today because of the wonderful people who also do what I do for a living. To be quite honest, I didn’t know what to expect. When Anchor Books was preparing to publish Invisible Life, I asked if they were going to send the book to certain famous writers to provide quotes. I was disappointed when I was told that they weren’t writers who were willing to do such a thing. I thought maybe they thought they were too good for me. Now I realize they were just busy working on their own stuff, and boy do I understand. Still, there are a number of writers, known and not so well-known, whom I cherish as friends: Tina McElroy Ansa was the first published writer to reach out and offer advice, love, and friendship. I learned to be gracious and giving to fellow writers from Tina and her husband Jonee Ansa. Pearl Cleage was the first writer to buy one of my books and offer me moral support. Pearl is a wonderful woman and writer.
I was a big fan of Terry McMillan long before Waiting to Exhale. I remember feeling my palms sweat the first time I was in a room with her. It didn’t matter that there were at least two hundred other people and she didn’t have a clue as to who I was or why I was there. She was just nice and has been throughout my career, offering me friendship and advice as I follow the path she has so brilliantly blazed. I could say the same thing about Walter Mosley, and I’m grateful for the example he has set.
There are other writers whom I admire and call friends: Frank McCourt, Eric Jerome Dickey, James Earl Hardy, Kimberla Lawson Roby, Michael Eric Dyson, Bebe Moore Campbell, R. M. Johnson, Iyanla Van Zant, Marita Golden, Jill Nelson, Tananarive Due, Brian Keith Jackson, Keith Boykin, Yolanda Joe, Wally Lamb, and Victoria Christopher Murray. I am so proud to be a part of this group of writers.
The African American gay community got the buzz going on me, and for this I will be forever grateful. There were a few special individuals, like Stanley Bennett Clay, Devere Jackson, Charlene Cothran, and Phil Wilson, who offered support and friendship. I guess you could say becoming a writer allowed me a little nerd’s revenge. After Just As I Am had been published and was garnering a place on bestseller lists, I was in Washington, D.C., on a Sunday afternoon. After a book signing, Bruce Fuller and Tim convinced me to join them at Tracks. At first I said no as I recalled the many Sunday evenings I’d gone there only to leave alone and depressed, but something inside me said, “Go.” When I walked in, you would have thought I had discovered a cure for AIDS; the boys made way for me like God was getting ready to part the Red Sea again. The reception I received was awesome. Good-looking men were lining up to shake my hand and give me a hug. After a couple of hours of this, Tim leaned over and whispered, “Damn, bitch, I think I’m going home and write me a book.” I knew the words were coming out of Tim’s mouth, but it sure did sound like Randy. The only bad thing was the timing of all these good-looking men showing me love. I was still on a mission for something greater, which meant I was still celibate. In the words of the TV character Florida Evans, “Damn, damn, damn.”
Before I put this puppy to a close, I would like to thank and mention a few people who went out of their way to make this dream come true for me in ways both big and small. These are people I met in Atlanta, Washington, D.C., and other cities when nobody knew what an E. or a Lynn was. These people cared enough to find out: Valerie Boyd and Phyllis Perry, two wonderful women and talented authors; Keith Thomas, whose story about me in the Atlanta Journal and Constitution got the buzz sounding so loud that they heard it in New York; also Mingon Goode, Carl Cromwell, Larry Banks, Bruce Fuller, Jerry Gibbs, Janis Murray, and countless others who told just one person about my books, and then they in turn told someone else, and so on and so on …
Thank you all for making a little boy from Little Rock’s dream come true.
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What Becomes of the Brokenhearted Page 26
