Paul Dwyer & his father, Dr. Eddie Dwyer
His Story Continued…
Moving to Freedom in Washington DC
When I moved to DC in 1967, I felt free to be myself. I not only found a new, extended family, but within two years I had settled down in a relationship. More than that, I now had a front row seat to the beginnings of the gay rights movement. I knew I had to be involved, that I had to act, but, truth to tell, I never imagined the major changes that were to come in my lifetime.
In 1970, my commitment was further fueled by the reaction of a so-called counselor I met with to discuss my relationship. Her response was that homosexuality was unhealthy and unnatural, and that I needed help. Before I knew it, or knew what she was doing, she had me locked down in a mental ward. Thankfully, I was released the following day by the attending physician, who realized a mistake had been made.
The unfortunate fact is that even then, in 1970, sending gays to mental institutions was not uncommon, since homosexuality was officially classified as a mental illness. Fortunately, in 1973 the American Psychiatric Association removed homosexuality from its diagnostic manual of mental disorders.
My brief commitment, however, led me to research the historical treatment of gays, including quack methods meant to turn gays straight and witch hunts conducted in the 1950’s to root out gays in the government. This made me even more of an activist.
And then the 1980’s were upon us. My activism increased even further in response to Reagan’s callous handling of the AIDS crisis beginning in 1981. While over 200 of my friends and acquaintances died, Reagan refused to admit a crisis existed and, for six years while the plague was exploding, refused even to mention AIDS.
I listened as his party spoke out against the gay movement, wrote anti-gay language into its convention platforms, refused adequate AIDS research funding, and talked of stopping the spread of AIDs by placing gay men in what would have been nothing less than concentration camps. In the middle of all this, televangelist Billy Graham pronounced AIDS as God’s punishment to gays, and Pat Robertson said not to worry, gays will disappear because they cannot reproduce.
Nonetheless, many positive experiences came out of the ‘80’s. One was living with a hero of mine, Leonard Matlovich, a decorated military hero who received the Bronze Star and Purple Heart. After a dishonorable discharge for coming out on active duty and being honored on the cover of Time Magazine, he mobilized efforts to include gays in the military. His tombstone epitaph reads: “When I was in the military, they gave me a medal for killing two men and a discharge for loving one.”
Coming Out to Parents
Deciding to come out to my parents was one of the most difficult decisions I ever made. As progressive as I knew they were, I was still reluctant. My hesitation was not a reflection on them at all, but rather a reflection of my shame, guilt, and lack of self-acceptance. I knew accepting a gay son would be a challenge for them. I postponed telling them because I did not want to embarrass them in their Southern Baptist community and make them the subjects of gossip.
Since my parents were smart, perceptive, and observant, I suspected they had some idea I was gay and possibly were in denial. Although I realized they probably would not initially understand, I knew for certain they loved me. I also knew their adjustment would be challenging and difficult and I expected there would be some disappointed and a sense of loss.
I should say, however, I had never heard my parents say anything negative about gays. They were progressive and had always promoted equality. In fact, they were extraordinary for their time. I never once heard either one say anything negative or discouraging about any minority group; indeed, they were not the type to say anything negative about anyone. And they didn’t just talk the talk; they walked the walk. In the 1940’s, as part of their church work, they had worked and lived with an Osage Native American tribe in Oklahoma.
When I decided it was time to come out, I made the mistake of seeking guidance from my pastor, a Southern Baptist. Projecting his own homophobia on my family and perhaps trying to protect them, he told me never to tell them or mention it to others. It turns out he did not really know my parents as well as I thought. Nevertheless, I followed his advice for too long.
Sadly, I had gotten the same advice from PFLAG (Parents and Friends of Lesbians and Gays). I was advised not tell my parents, since they were Southern Baptists and Dad a minister. This was in 1968, when some 50 percent of parents rejected their gay children.
As years went by, I realized my parents probably had begun to deal with the issue. The tipoff was that I began to receive more than their usual reassurances of their love for me. They constantly reminded me they were proud of me and trusted me. For example, a note from Mom read, “It is okay to be different, as long as you are the same.” Reading this, I felt she was saying it is okay to be gay as long as I kept my values. Later I found books on homosexuality in their bookcases. Nonetheless, I was not ready to tell them and chose to ignore the obvious signs they probably knew.
I look back and wonder how denial can be so strong as to make us ignore what is in front of our faces. How could I be an out activist and still feel a lack of self-acceptance? Well, years of conditioning by society can run deep.
The catalyst to finally come out was a psychiatrist who helped me realize I still had not totally accepted myself. He told me I could not fully accept myself until I told my parents. This was the message I needed to hear. He knew my parents from our sessions, and referring to their intelligence and open mindedness, he kiddingly said they most likely had studied homosexuality extensively and probably knew more about the subject than I did.
Thankfully, I decided to come out. The occasion was an Easter Sunday breakfast in my home, in 1992. I will never forget their excitement, how they rose and hugged me, and how happy they were. They thanked me profusely and expressed relief I finally was open and honest with them. They said that their love for me had never wavered but had only grown. We were all three of us emotional, with tears of joy in our eyes. It was one of the most freeing moments of our lives.
I learned they had known for years but out of respect waited for me to tell them. They spoke of their difficulty initially accepting I was gay. They experienced disbelief, anger, sadness, and loss, and had even wept a few times.
It indeed had been a challenge for them, but they met it as I suspected all along. Some things just take time. I look back on my delay with regret for the years I lost not sharing all of my life with them. I was also sad I hadn’t been there to help them on their own journey.
We had a lot of catching up to do but took time out to attend Easter service at Foundry Methodist Church. It was really comforting to sit a few pews behind Bill and Hillary Clinton, whom we’d always admired for their work on equality. What a joyous day.
Freeing of Parents to Become Gay Rights Activists
By coming out I freed Mom and Dad to come out themselves and work openly for equality. I am so very proud of their many achievements.
First, they became active in PFLAG, opening their home as a safe haven for Baylor gays. They supported students who wanted to come out and helped those who ran into trouble with Baylor’s anti-gay policy. In one absurd case, they defended a senior student whom Baylor decided to deny graduation for the supposed offense of organizing an off-campus gay event. BU demanded a public apology and admittance of his violation. Mom and Dad’s support ensured his graduation.
Second, they were loved by the Waco gay community, never missing a pride event. They loved the annual downtown celebration and were treated like royalty by fantastic people.
Third, Dad, with Mom’s help, wrote a paper in the mid-1980s, The Bible and Homosexuality: A Life Beyond Tradition, describing their journey from a “night of prejudice into a day of enlightenment” in working to understand gays. Their pamphlet has been reprinted many times and distributed in many churches, receiving major positive feedback. A highlight for them was the outpouring of love and respect from my friends when I hosted a reception in my home to honor their work. I was touched by the overwhelming response to my gracious parents, who could not give away enough hugs.
And I loved my Mom’s enthusiasm. She was ever at the ready to discuss gay rights any time, always carrying a supply of pamphlets for anyone with an interest.
Fourth, their work was recognized by PFLAG in naming their new gay center in downtown Waco in their honor. The opening of the Eddie and Velma Dwyer Gay and Lesbian Community Center was a major success; among the more that 150 guests at the opening were 17 Baylor professors, several of them from the Religion Department. The center received extensive press coverage, both domestic and foreign for being named after a minister and his wife.
Supporting Sister and Family
Before I came out to my parents, my sister Dee Dee, my best friend, asked me if I was gay. She made the conversation easy, letting me know in advance that I had her full support. She was extremely popular with my friends, who loved being around her and often told me how lucky I was to have an accepting sister. We had great times at discos in D.C. and New York. She was there for me and my friends through the AIDS crisis, losing many friends herself.
One of the most touching moments in our relationship was when she shared her wedding gifts with me, knowing I would not be getting married and receive gifts as she did.
Her children went on to become LGBT supporters at Baylor. Her daughter Meredith wore a shirt that read “Straight But Not Narrow,” and never hesitated to speak up, as she did in a reply to a homophobic article in the Baylor Lariat. My nephews Marsh and Taylor were equally supportive. The reaction of Taylor, the youngest, was moving when I told him I was gay. I’d waited until I thought he was old enough to understand; when I finally told him, he hugged me and let me know he was upset I hadn’t told him sooner.
Living a Happy Life