The Tumult and the Shouting Dies
That’s the opening line of an Easter cantata I sang lustily as a late adolescent while I was still in my religious phase and was still a member of the church choir. I don’t remember the tune but the opening chorus was, “The tumult and the shouting dies; the captains and the kings depart.”
Why I can remember that from a half century ago and not remember what I had for breakfast three days ago is a mystery—the kind of mystery that bedevils most seniors. The truth is, I do remember what I had for breakfast three days ago, ten days ago and even thirty days ago. It’s the same every day—a cup of coffee and Cheerios with a handful of dried cranberries—or blueberries when they are priced under fifty cents a berry.
The reason that phrase drifts through my mind is because I’m still relishing the experience of the Equality March in D.C. on October 11th. The tumult of 250,000 marchers, gays, lesbians, family and friends, shouting “Equality Now” has died. And, while I didn’t see any captains or kings, the big-wigs who made speeches and us little-wigs have all gone home. My memory, however, of the march and celebration for LGBT equality on a bright clear October Sunday lingers.
I used the march as a focal point for a trip north from Fort Lauderdale to visit family and friends in the northeast, particularly to see my granddaughter, Audrey, who tutors in one of D.C.’s worst schools. I e-mailed her weeks in advance so I could reserve some time on her schedule for lunch, dinner, drinks—whatever. Her rapid response was, “Grandpa, I’ll make time to be with you whenever you’re in D.C. and would it be okay if I marched with you?”
My reply was, “Okay? I’d be thrilled to have you march with me.” And so I met up with Audrey, and with my buddy Jim who’d come to D.C. with the Rehoboth contingent. Using her cell phone, Audrey quickly gathered several of her friends to march with us. From eleven a.m. when we gathered until four p.m. when my new knees and hip started creaking, I had a smile from ear to ear.
In part I was smiling at the signs my fellow marchers carried. The sign of a young woman proclaimed, “I Caught the Bridal Bouquet, Now What?” A mid twenties preppy male’s sign questioned, “Would You Rather I Marry Your Daughter?” And the leather vested biker’s sign stated, “Everyone Is Entitled To a Happy Ending.” More thought provoking was the sign carried by an older guy with a gray brush cut—“Forty Years of Commitment, Zero of Marriage. Is this Justice and Equality in America?”
I was also smiling with the recognition of where my own path has taken me. The first gay rights rally I ever heard of was in downtown Philadelphia in the sixties in front of Independence Hall. I wanted desperately to attend, but, as a respected physician in a suburban Philadelphia community I was deeply closeted at the time. In the nineties, out of the closet and living with my partner in D.C., we participated in AIDS marches, quilt displays, and other gay rallies. Now I was marching proudly with my granddaughter at my side.
As my friend Jim and I left the mall while the ceremonies were winding down, I was stopped by a TV crew requesting an interview. It didn’t look like a news crew. I assumed it might be a documentary or a film class exercise. The two issues the young interviewer hammered me on were “the radical gay agenda” which “threatens America” and recruitment. “Aren’t you gays and lesbians recruiting children and young people into your life style?”
These were easy questions to answer. I told him, “When you find out what the radical gay agenda is, please let me know. I’ve never seen or heard of such a document. I think it’s a boogeyman televangelists trot out when they’re short of cash. Read the signs all around and you’ll see what the radical gay agenda is—EQUALITY. That may have been a radical concept when the Constitution was framed but now it’s the soul of our country.”
As for recruitment, I told the interviewer, “My parents were straight. No one ever recruited me. Furthermore, I practiced Pediatrics for decades before my retirement and cared for hundreds of children. I never recruited a child to what you call, ‘my life style.’ God creates gays and lesbians just as He or She creates straights. You come that way or you don’t, and you can’t fake it.” The interviewer’s cryptic response was, “I don’t think I want to touch that one.” We parted with a handshake and a smile as I continued dragging my weary tush to the Metro.
If you made it to the March and want a nostalgic reprise—or if you didn’t make it and want a taste of the action, go to http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i7lcF9IdhtY. This brief You Tube blurb was put together by my Fort Lauderdale friends Anthony Timiraos and Arthur Crispino. The conclusion of their film is apt and speaks to all of us.
“250,000 friends came to support equality.
250, 000 left with a mission to continue.
Please join us in this second part of our journey.”
John Siegfried, a former Rehoboth resident who now lives in Ft. Lauderdale, maintains strong ties to our community and can be reached at hsajds@aol.com.