Sometimes You Get a Wake-up Call
I apologize in advance, because this column is not going to be the least bit funny.
It’s about shock, sadness, some understandable complacency, perhaps a premature victory lap and the specter of a man riding around with a white sheet on his head.
The phone rang several hours ago and a man asked for me by name.
“I’m Fay Jacobs,” I said.
He asked if I was the one who wrote the letter to the editor using the term “traditional family values” being code for anti-gay. It was the letter about the Mayor, he said.
I knew exactly what letter it was. It was one in which I expressed disappointment that in the Washington Blade, Mayor Cooper was quoted as wanting to keep “establishments from spoiling Rehoboth’s status and tradition as a family-oriented vacation destination.” I don’t even think the Mayor meant it as anti-gay. I think it was meant to express his concern about loud music and noisy bars. But I did want to make the point that “family-oriented” is often used as code for anti-gay and we should be past having the Mayor use the coded phrase, however inadvertently, when discussing Rehoboth Beach.
I told the caller that I wrote that letter, and he began explaining, rather quietly, that I was an enemy of the United States for pushing the homosexual agenda, demeaning the tradition of one man and one woman and how dare I demean family values.
”You are a disgusting person who, along with all the homosexuals in town, ruined Rehoboth Beach. I am going to do everything within my power to protect my children from the likes of you and those disgusting homosexuals in Rehoboth, even the ones who think that they have won their rights and convinced some politicians to put forth the dangerous homosexual agenda.”
I was so stunned I couldn’t even hang up. I quietly asked him his name and, of course, he refused to give it to me, and continued with his scary, quiet conversation that so frightened me I almost threw up.
I asked if he lived here and he intimated that he did. He just kept talking and I don’t remember much of what else he said, because I was numb.
I asked him why, since I was proud to share my views in a public forum like a “Letters to the Editor” column, he did not answer my letter with his own views, attributed to him, in the newspaper. He told me he just wanted to talk to me personally so I would understand that this will not be tolerated. I told him that calling anonymously was cowardice.
I told him I felt very sad that his gay neighbors frightened him so badly that he had to seek me out on the phone to call me names anonymously and denigrate me and so many, many other Rehoboth residents as well.
He protested that he wasn’t frightened and I shouldn’t think that gay people in Rehoboth have gotten away with anything—that there are people out there that won’t let this town be destroyed by sick homosexuals and that we should all seek therapy and try to change. You are an enemy of the United States, he repeated, and you will not win, he was very, very quietly threatening. I said I was sad that he didn’t value and learn from the diversity around him, and hung up.
We couldn’t get a *69 number as he was a “private caller.” Of course he was.
I called Steve Elkins at CAMP Rehoboth and told him what had happened. He was horribly upset as well, counseling that if he called again, it might be considered stalking, and the police might be able to trace the call. Steve told me that in all the years he has been a public figure with CAMP, he has never had a phone call like that. Anonymous letters, yes, but not a call.
I’d never received anything like this either, even with my more that 20 years as an openly gay writer and gay rights advocate.
So I called the police and reported the incident. The State Trooper I spoke with was very saddened to hear the story and sympathetic, but of course, we both knew there was nothing to be done. The anonymous call itself was not any kind of a crime. Further calls might be considered harassment or stalking and the officer gave me a case number should I hear from the man again. He figured I would not.
Needless to say, the incident set me and Bonnie on edge and ruined the night.
But it told me a few important things:
First, like Klansmen riding around in their hoods, there are people here who have to hide while spreading their vicious hatred.
Second, some of us, myself included, might be a little too complacent about our freedoms here. It reminded me why CAMP Rehoboth was formed in the first place and why it is so important for CAMP to continue sensitivity training programs, outreach to the greater community, and efforts to make friends and stop bullying, hate-speech, hate crimes and plain old bigotry. Dances and art shows are nice, but CAMP Rehoboth is so much more than the fun stuff.
Next, it makes me urge those of you reading this who are not members of CAMP Rehoboth, to please join up. Your membership dues fund the important work of making it safe and welcoming for us here in this community. You can join CAMP Rehoboth online. Do it now if you can.
And finally, this incident, rather than make me cower and hide, makes me more determined than ever to be out, proud and working for equality. There are so many gay people, along with our straight but not narrow allies, who live here, embrace Rehoboth’s diversity, and know we are all better for it.
Fay Jacobs is the author of As I Lay Frying—a Rehoboth Beach Memoir and Fried & True—Tales from Rehoboth Beach. Email Fay Jacobs