Armistead Maupin, author of TALES OF THE CITY, MORE TALES OF THE CITY, FURTHER TALES OF THE CITY, and his latest, BABYCAKES, was in Houston to speak at the Metropolitan Community Church of the Resurrection's 10th anniversary dinner held at the Westin Oaks Galleria Hotel, which is also where the first part of this interview took place.

Wearing a bright yellow shirt, Maupin greeted me with an even brighter smile. He was a joy to interview. His opinions are not the norm, and he's very outspoken; and though you may be somewhat incensed at least once while reading the interview, his sense of humor is the highlight.

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Blase DiStefano: I know one of the things you talk about is coming out on the job and to family.
Armistead Maupin: Yes. It's the only thing. There wouldn't be a gay movement if people would come out to their families and employers.

Why do you think people don't?
People are afraid; most people, not just gay people, are that way anyway. Most people are just afraid to take charge of their own lives and get out there and be who they are. I think the only way you can really be happy is to go through this life feeling that you're a unique individual. And if you're gay, you're lucky, 'cause you've already got a big head start—you've got something about you that separates you from most of society to begin with. And then you take that and look at yourself and say, "Now what is it that separates me not only from society but from other gay people?" Once you find that—the thing that makes you special—then you're happy with yourself, you like yourself. The you can present yourself anywhere and have no problem with it.

People are afraid they're not going to be loved . . . essentially. And it's a terrible mistake, because every gay person I know who has come out talks about how much better it is after they've come out. I don't know why, but people who are still in the closet can't get that message.

I understand why some people are in the closet—because they're greedy, they wanna make money; they wanna be famous; they want a certain amount of professional position. And if that's the case, they're entitled to all the misery they're inflicting on themselves.

When did YOU come out?
Late. It embarrasses me how late. It upsets me, because I could have had a lot more fun earlier. But I essentially came out to my family at the same time Michael came out to his family.

Michael?
My gay character [in his TALES OF THE CITY series of books].

Oh . . .
[Laughter] I'm sorry, I do talk about these people as if they're living.

I know of Michael, because I've read your books, but it didn't occur to me . . .
[Laughter] They're my entourage. They travel with me.

How nice. What absolutely wonderful trips you must have.
Yes, but you can't do much with Michael in bed while Dede's sitting on the couch . . .

I was 32 before I really confronted my parents with it. I wrote Michael's coming-out letter to his parents which appeared in the [SAN FRANCISCO] CHRONICLE. And my parents were subscribing to the CHRONICLE because I was writing the series, and I hoped that this would get the message across to them. My mother figured it out; my father didn't figure it out until he read that I was gay in NEWSWEEK magazine.

I assume he already knew, right?
Yes. Afterward, he said, "I suspected it ever since you were 13," and he asked my forgiveness for not bringing it up himself. It's often the case, I think. The parents want a way to talk about it, but the child simply refuses to acknowledge the strength of the parental love.

What if the parents have been told, but the subject is pretty much avoided?
Keep bringing it up. They need to get used to the child being familiar with it, that it's not some terrible dark secret. And as long as the child continues to act as if it's a terrible dark secret, then you'll be treated that way.

I was shocked to find out just a little while ago that at the cocktail party in my honor tonight [Friday, June 21, 1985] the media has been forbidden, because there are going to be council members attending who don't want to be photographed with fags and dykes. Well, why the hell are they invited to the cocktail party?

Well, I don't know, but do you know about [the referendum] . . .
I know what's going on, but that's just bowing to the political arm of things. No politician is worth that, no matter how sympathetic they may seem to the gay community.

When I came out of the closet, I nailed the door shut, and I'm not going back in it for anybody, including some politician who says he'll help me out as soon as I get him into power—if I'll just stay out of the way until he gets elected.

When I was a kid in the South, I saw black people who behaved the same way. We called them Uncle Toms. And that's what's going on.

You said you were in the South as a kid. Where exactly was that?
I was born in Washington, D.C., but I grew up in Raleigh, North Carolina. I'm a Southern boy.

Were you gay?
I knew since I was 13 that I was attracted to men, but I didn't act on it till I was twice that age.

How did that affect you?
I jerked off a lot.

[Laughter]
Still do, as a matter of fact.

[Laughter] But how did it affect you mentally? Did it bother you a lot?
Oh, sure. I went through a lot of torment over it. I kept thinking that if I had the nerve to confront my parents about it, I could get psychiatric help, and they could cure me. I had a feeling that it was gonna set, that it was gonna be a fixed thing by the time I was 21 if I didn't get help. Of course, it was a fixed thing by the time I was six, I'm sure.

So, I would sit around trying to work up the nerve to ask for psychiatric help. Thank God I didn't get it, because they would have been attaching electrodes to my balls.

Well, I don't know, I guess it depends on the psychiatrist . . .
I'm telling you, in 1958 . . .

Oh, okay, they would have attached electrodes to your balls. I went to a psychologist much later than that, for a couple of years. It didn't do much good, but it was somebody to talk to.
He was probably gay himself.

I don't know; I wanted him to be gay, but I could never tell for sure. He said he wasn't. I remember telling him about having sex with my boyfriend, and he eagerly egged me on, "Now how did it happen?" and "Now what exactly did you do?" He was real interested.
[Laughter] "Tell me more, my child." I think a few priests have asked for elaborate confessions too many times.

What religion are you?
I'm an Episcopalian, so I have not been seriously warped by my religion.

I was seriously warped—I was Catholic.
Catholics and Baptists have it very hard. The religions which are most cruel to their gay members are the ones which are represented within the gay community—the gay Mormons, the gay Catholics, the Jewish congregations—the religions which make it most difficult for homosexuals within the mainstream religions; they can't let go of the religion even after they're gay.

That's not letting go of God—I want to make a distinction. I'm a very spiritual person; I feel a connection with God. I just don't feel the necessity to go kiss the butt of a religious group which has done nothing but oppress gay people from the beginning of time . . . and continues to do it in spite of the fact that there are an enormous amount of gay people, particularly within the Catholic clergy and certainly within the Episcopal clergy, my own church. And yet, somehow they can't manage to come around to accept the full tenets of Christ's teachings and say, "Yes, everybody get's God's love; everybody's love is as valid as everybody else's."

Maybe it's so engrained, people just don't know how to get away from it.
They get 'em early.

Maybe they think once they leave, what else is there?
Well, if you haven't developed your own relationship with God by the time you're 20 years old, then something is wrong anyway.

What is your idea of God?
[Laughter]

I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours.
Okay, tell me yours.

I believe WE make what God is. We're all God, both the people and everything else that make up the universe. And our thoughts and actions contribute to the world's makeup . . . This is hard to put into words.
There's a great line from THE RULING CLASS, "I believe I am God, because every time I talk to Him, I find that I'm talking to myself." I think there's more truth to that than anybody is willing to admit.

We find Him or Her in our own heart. Some people simply do not look or [they simply] stop looking. I think we, especially gay people, are capable of enormous love. We should be capable of a kind of all-encompassing love that includes even people who hate us. In that way, we're more Christian that Christians.

Born again/fundamentalist Christians have a very narrow tunnel vision of the world, which excludes almost everyone except who's sitting down in the pew next to them. I don't think that's what Jesus had in mind at all. He was running around with whores and outcasts.

Do you think that there are gay people who feel that AIDS is God's punishment?
Yes, I think it's especially sad to think that there are gay people with AIDS who feel that this is somehow God's retribution.

I spoke with [writer] Christopher Isherwood a couple of days ago for an interview with the VILLAGE VOICE for their gay rights issue, and I brought up that very question. And he said, "It breaks my heart to think that these young men think that this terrible thing in some way is God's will." He said, "If it's God's will, fuck God's will. God's will must be circumvented."

I couldn't agree more. If your spirituality is telling you that AIDS is a way of punishing you, then you're in the wrong fucking religion. There are plenty of religions on this earth that do not regard physical ailments in that primitive, Neanderthal way.

Would you have any advice for those people who are afraid of getting AIDS and for those who have AIDS but don't feel good about themselves and don't know what to do about it?
Call me [laughter].

What's your phone number?
[Laughter] No way.

I don't know what to say. I hate to think there are people with AIDS who feel that way. It's a very legitimate fear; I think people should be very careful. I'm a big advocate of safe sex. I have a wonderful time having safe sex. It just requires a little imagination.

[Rather than try to make a smooth transition into the next part of the interview, a short explanation is in order. At that point in the interview, the batteries in my tape recorder decided to die (without my knowledge). When I later played the tape, I discovered this little annoyance. A fter recovering from my depression, I called Armistead Maupin, and he graciously agreed to answer a few more questions. I called him the day after San Franciscans celebrated the return of the gay hostages. I began the phone interview by asking him about the celebration.]

Armistead Maupin: It went very well. We had about a thousand people at the corner of 18th and Castro. Everybody sang the national anthem, and the band and the chorus sang "God Bless America," and the local city supervisor got up and said what a proud moment it was to see two gay San Francisco lovers walking down the gangplank to greet the president. It was very impressive.

I'd like to continue where we left off, or whether where my tape left off—with safe sex.
Well, I'm one of the lucky ones, because most of the things that are described as safe sex are what I like to do anyway. Very visual person.

As a matter of fact, I went to a safe-sex jack-off party. I was late for it because I was welcoming the hostages. Sing the national anthem, then run up the hill—it's time to make it to the safe-sex jack-off party. Life is not easy in the '80s.

It was one of those days when my own life seemed so full of high comedy that I realized I wasn't going to have to make it up. Sure enough, it's going to find its way as the opening chapter of my new book—Michael trying to get out of the homecoming rally in time to make it to the jack-off party.

I think the whole safe-sex phenomenon, if you can call it that, is a real tribute to the way in which gay men are capable of adjusting to any kind of crisis situation. I think really what we're learning to do—and which is to our benefit and to our greater enjoyment—is to use our imagination. Sex is all in the mind, you know? We's like to think it's in the groin, but it's all in the mind.

[A phone call to Armistead Maupin was coming in, and he said we could just ignore it. I told him to please answer it. I had been wondering the whole time if I was actually getting his voice on tape, and this delightful interruption allowed me to hurriedly check it out. I was elated when I heard his voice on the playback.]

Armistead Maupin: That was the PR man for the hostages, calling to tell me that the boys are going to be on the CBS morning news.

Wonderful!
Yeah, I'm real proud of 'em; they're great guys. They're nice, average fellows who didn't want the attention, and they have borne under it very gracefully.

Did you find out what effect it had on them?
They were about five months into an around-the-world cruise. They actually left America thinking they might take up residence in some other country. As soon as they had gone through this experience, it threw the whole thing into perspective for them, and they realized how much they loved the freedom of home. To them, that also meant California and San Francisco and the fact that there was place in the world where they could walk down the street with their arms around each other.

It's an enormously inspiring story. At one point when they were on the airplane on the ground being held at gunpoint, and they thought they were going to die, one of them passed a note saying "I love you" to the other one in front of the plane. It was delivered by the stewardess, who waited until one of the terrorists wasn't looking and then threw the note into the other guy's lap.

When that story was told at the celebration, people had tears streaming down their faces. One of the fellows said, "The only message we have to give anybody is that if you love somebody and haven't told them, then go out and do it right now." It was amazing.

Now back to your question.

Yes, back to safe sex.
We sort of covered that.

Okay, how about if we segue into affection.
That's usually the way I do it actually.

Many people consider affection and saying words like "I love you" as kind of mushy. What are your feelings?
My books kind of speak for themselves. The characters are always saying they love each other. That's the way I run my life. I don't say it if I don't mean it; I don't say it to get someone else to say they love me.

Do you feel that affection is an important part of sex?
I think it can function either way perfectly well. I have totally adequate sex without feeling that I'm in love with the person. It's wonderful both ways—sex can function outside of romance or within it.

But it breaks my heart to see people carrying on like there's no tomorrow. I think it's very sad that some gay men see sex as their only validation. They're just not getting it right. I'm sorry—sex is wonderful, but there are other forms of love.

My last question is one that I had asked in our first interview but that I didn't get on tape. Are you afraid of dying?
I'm not afraid of it, but I'm vividly aware that it's going to happen. I feel tremendously mortal, and I conduct my life accordingly. That's why I don't put up with much bullshit; that's why I don't spend time trying to delude people about who I am or what my life is about. And it's why I don't spend time with people whose character I consider to be less than acceptable. I've always felt that I could go tomorrow, and I want to go feeling that I've lived my life as rich and rewarding a way as possible.

But you don't think of it on a daily basis, do you?
I don't think of breathing on a daily basis, but it's there. It's the body of awareness by which you construct your life.

What I was trying to feel out is that there are a lot of people who are afraid of AIDS and therefore afraid of death. And they seem to think . . .
I think it's the other way around. I think they're afraid of death and thererfore afraid of AIDS. That's why they won't even approach the subject, because it's like confronting death itself.

That's logical. Okay, I think I've covered . . .
Incidentally, you might have some fun reading my interview with Isherwood [VILLAGE VOICE, July 9, 1985], because he tells me that [poet, W.H.] Auden was his fuck buddy.

Okay, so tell me, who are some of your fuck buddies?
[Laughter]

Well, come on, come on.
I'll have to check my address book.

In other words, Elton John is not one of them, right?
Just friends and neighbors, just friends and neighbors.

Okay, okay.

 

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