April 5, 2002 - Nobody Asked

LETTERS From CAMP Rehoboth

Nobody Asked, Nobody Told

Many gay people living in Rehoboth often get a false sense of security regarding the acceptance and social status of gay Americans.

However, there's nothing like speaking with a military retiree to jolt you back to realitya reality that a new Rehoboth resident has lived for many years. The fact that even this many milesand milestonesfrom the Pentagon, she's afraid to reveal her last name ("My pension could really be at stake!"), tells a powerful story.

When Pat, a trim, energetic retiree first joined the military as a physical therapist in 1954, she had no idea about gays, much less whether she was one. Stationed in Hawaii in the late 50's, she had a very close but platonic friendship. "Neither of us had any idea there could be a name for what we were feeling. I had no clue."

When Pat returned stateside, the two friends were separated and began to drift apart. "When I applied to go to Alaska, she was upset and I couldn't understand why. She was so hurt she just cut off contact with me. I had no idea what was going on."

In 1973, near the end of her rewarding, but socially unfulfilled career, Pat was stationed in San Francisco. "I had a close friend, we played a lot of golf and went out to dinner often. One day she said 'You and I have become close friends and I have to tell you that I'm gay.' Well, I was surprised, but I said that was okay, but she shouldn't expect anything from me. That was a Wednesday. By Friday we were involved! I had to look in the mirror and tell myself 'this is what I am and it's okay because love is love.'"

When Pat says "it was difficult, if not impossible for people in the military to stay together" it has double meaning. Not only was it difficult to maintain relationships, but it was virtually impossible for lovers to remain in the same geographic area.

"There I was, near the end of my career, while my gal still had years to go. We had no idea how we'd handle being apart. Distances caused even the strongest relationships to falter."

Shortly thereafter, Pat was offered a challenging and prestigious job in Germany and felt she had to take it. Against great odds, six months later, Pat's partner finagled orders to Belgiumsame continent, but still ten hours apart.

After more wily maneuvers, the two women managed to get stationed at the same German hospital. "We were together over there for a year and a half, with our own car and fabulous weekends traveling and enjoying ourselves," remembers Pat. "It was wonderful."

But sooner or later, another transfer would come through and their idyll would end. "I realized I had to get out of the military to salvage the relationship, so I retired in 1976 after 22 years. From that point on Pat became "a camp follower."

For 15 years, Pat followed her partner, first to Texas and then, in the early '80's to Aberdeen, MD. "She was going to be chief nurse there; we went up and found a house, but I didn't go anywhere near the hospital. If I went to the base, I made sure I did the whole fem routine, carried a purse and everything. We had them convinced we weren't gay, just two friends living together. We actually heard people say 'I'm so glad they aren't that way.'"

"It seems strange when I look back, but people didn't know. At least I don't think they did."

Pat recalls it as a different time. In some ways it was easier to camouflage a relationship. She doesn't think today's climate, with more gay visibility, would allow such deceptions.

"Actually, 20 years ago, if they'd kicked every gay woman out of the military, there'd be no one left. We were everywhere. It's not like that today."

Sadly, despite Pat and her partner working to be together, the lack of a gay support system, the isolation and the deceit led the long-term partners to grow apart. "It was sad, and the life we had to lead was partly to blame," she says.

But just when she was down about being alone, fortune smiled. Pat became reacquainted with an old friend and soon the friendship turned into a committed relationship.

Hearing that Rehoboth had a large gay presence, Pat and her new partner moved to the beach. Slowly, they've been coming out of their cocoon, attending a gay-friendly church, and finally meeting members of their own community.

"For the very first time in my life, I'm comfortable!" says Pat, her eyes twinkling, recalling the first time she heard a woman say 'and this is my partner.' Oh, that was nice!" A short time later, when she was dining downtown, she had the chance to introduce her own partner that way. "Wow! It felt just great."

Encouraged by the atmosphere ("I can't believe we even have our own beaches!"), Pat finally came out to her family, including a conversation with her sister last fall. "I didn't say the word lesbian, but she understood. It was amazing."

Summing it up, Pat grins and says, "I can be loose and free, and open, and I don't have to worry about the military anymore."

Well, almost. We wish we could have run a photo of Pat so you could see the happy mischief in her eyes and big smile on her facebut the old caution is just too hard for her to lay down. "I really can't risk that pension," she says.

We'll never know if a Letters article with a last name or identifiable photo could really mean disastrous consequences for this pensioner. But we're sorry that her retirement is still tinged by that concern. But on the whole, Pat tells Letters she is one happy camper. And we're delighted to welcome her to the family.

LETTERS From CAMP Rehoboth, Vol. 12, No. 03, April 5, 2002.