Finding Willie, Saving Charlie
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City University of New York (CUNY) CUNY Academic Works Dissertations and Theses City College of New York 2015 FINDING WILLIE, SAVING CHARLIE Andrew Geller CUNY City College How does access to this work benefit ou?y Let us know! More information about this work at: https://academicworks.cuny.edu/cc_etds_theses/356 Discover additional works at: https://academicworks.cuny.edu This work is made publicly available by the City University of New York (CUNY). Contact: [email protected] FINDING WILLIE, SAVING CHARLIE by Andy Geller Mentor: Linsey Abrams 5/7/2015 Submitted in partial fulfillment of the requirements for the degree of Master of Fine Arts of the City College of the City University of New York. 1 PART ONE, WILLIE The commander-in-chief answers him while chasing a fly Saying, “Death to all those who would whimper and cry” And dropping a barbell he points to the sky Saying, “The sun’s not yellow, it’s chicken” --Bob Dylan, Tombstone Blues Down the road Route 25 They found this boy He was barely alive --Peter, Paul and Mary Jesus Is On The Wire Before he is anything else, a man must be a man. --Jay Jay 2 MONTREAL 1960 n a cold and windy day in January 1960, Jean-Louis Desjardins, 18 years O old and scion of the Desjardins publishing empire, climbed the attic stairs to the roof of his parents’ federal style mansion in the Town of Notre Dame, a Montreal suburb. The house was huge, two floors plus an attic with a sloping roof and little windows that peaked out. There were chimneys on either end of the roof and between them, a widow’s walk, a long, narrow, fenced-in platform. The maid heard Jean-Louis clomping around on the roof and called out to him through one of the attic windows, “Jean-Louis, what are you doing up there?” “I’m adjusting the TV antenna. There’s some snow on my set.” “All right, but be very careful. It’s very windy.” “I will.” Though it was windy and cold, the sun was brilliant and Jean-Louis watched a bus snaking up the Cote des Neiges hill, nearby. In the far distance, there were bare birch trees on Mount Royal looking like bleached crosses. Jean-Louis smiled as he watched the bus weaving through traffic, but then his mood suddenly changed and tears formed in his eyes. His eyes darted back and forth. He felt he was traveling deep inside himself. Give us this day our daily bread and forgive us our trespasses, he whispered. Give us this day our daily … Twice he began climbing over the widow’s walk fence only to climb back. The third time, the wind made his decision for him. A gust caught him and he lost his footing, slipping down the sloping roof and plunging to the ground. 3 Jean-Louis was not around when school resumed after the Christmas holidays. After a couple of days, an announcement was read in class that Jean-Louis had fallen, broken his leg and suffered internal injuries when he accidentally slid off his roof while adjusting the TV antenna. Jean-Louis was in Room 914 of Royal Victoria Hospital and eager to receive visitors. During lunch in the school cafeteria, Willie Goldstein, one of Jean-Louis’s classmates, suggested that he and his friends Simon Shron and Ollie Moore visit that evening. Simon just shook his head. He hadn’t spoken to Jean-Louis since they went skiing over the holidays. Ollie said he didn’t know Jean-Louis well enough. Willie debated the matter with himself. Is this really something I want to get involved in? The kids hate me enough as it is. If they find out about Jean-Louis, they’ll think I’m a fifi, too, and it’ll make things worse. On the other hand, things couldn’t really get much worse. And if I don’t go, I’m no better than Jay Jay. So he went. he hospital was on a hill above McGill University. Jean-Louis had a large private room with a window that overlooked the squat spires of the Montreal T skyline. The lights of the Jacques Cartier Bridge twinkled in the distance. The room, decorated with posters of works by Picasso and Matisse, was dark except for a blue light over Jean-Louis’s bed and the green graphs of medical monitors. Jean-Louis’ right leg was raised on a pulley and there was an IV in his arm. He looked smaller not completely human, as if he was a subject in a scientific experiment. “You must be disgusted with me,” Jean-Louis said when he saw Willie. “What should I be disgusted about?” Willie asked. “Didn’t Simon tell you?” His voice trailed off. “He gave me a few details,” said Willie, trying to make it seem like no big thing. “I don’t think he told me everything.” 4 “Well, he’ll have to tell you,” Jean-Louis said, starting to cry. “I can’t.” There was an awkward silence while Jean-Louis recovered his composure. Finally Willie said, “Have you had many visitors?” “Some. Not that many. The kids from school aren’t really sure what happened. They don’t know what to say. “I broke the femur in my right leg,” he continued, lowering his voice. “I was fooling around on the roof trying to fix the antenna and I slipped. It was stupid. I should have called a repairman.” Then, with tears again filling his eyes, he said, “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to cause all this trouble.” “You don’t have to be sorry. You didn’t do anything wrong,” Willie said, almost automatically. Jean-Louis began to cry. “I was sure. I was so sure he loved me,” he said, sobbing. And those few words made it clear to Willie what an enormous thing Jean-Louis had done in stepping out of the shadows to reveal his secret. “I told him we could live together without sex. I could get sex elsewhere.” He became convulsed with sobs. Willie, though he instinctively shrank from the contact, put his arms around Jean-Louis and hugged him. “My dad said they’re doing work at McGill that can fix this,” Jean-Louis said. “I’ll be cured. I’ll like girls -- I mean I do like girls. I can change.” Willie realized how difficult it must have been for Jean-Louis to tell his father. Then, looking down and lowering his voice, the boy added, “I tried to end it. I know it was stupid now.” 5 As he spoke, his face drifted in and out of the blue light behind his bed, accenting the lines of his handsome face, which had a two-day growth of beard. The light gave him a look that was sometimes ghostly and sometimes like a death mask. Willie tensed and his heart began to pound. I guess I knew it and didn’t know it. Hearing it is still a shock. “It’s no wonder that you feel bad about yourself when being masculine is pounded into your brain every second,” Willie said, starting to speak almost without realizing what he was saying. “But things aren’t hopeless. There’s a whole world outside Montreal -- New York, London, Paris. You’ll be able to find a place where you can live a full life. I feel the same way you do. I’m going to try to go to college in New York.” “I’m going to begin therapy once I get out of the hospital,” Jean-Louis replied. “My dad’s arranged it,” But he looked like he didn’t believe it. He was clearly very depressed. Willie felt drained when he left the hospital. So this is the fifi, the person we’ve all been taught to hate, the boy who loves other boys. Funny, he doesn’t look any different. He looks just like Jean-Louis, the rich kid who’s my new pal. The friend I sing and play songs with. Now he’s saying that he wants to lie with another man, an act the Bible calls an abomination that should be punished by death. I’ve never met a fifi before. Fifis aren’t real. They’re people you make jokes about. It’s like air crashes or natural disasters. They happen to other people. They never happen to you. Willie wondered where he found the words to tell Jean-Louis that things would get better. One thing he was certain of – though he could not tell you why – Jean-Louis 6 was not going to be cured of homosexuality. It wasn’t an infection; you couldn’t treat it with an antibiotic. Ever awful. OCTOBER 1959 t was a Monday morning in early October 1959, four months before Jean-Louis’ I suicide attempt. It was cold and with an intense scent in the air of dead and dying leavesas Willie rushed to Town of Notre Dame High School. He had many choices. He could walk up Thornton Drive past the aging brown-brick electronics plant, turn right on Canora and then go across the footbridge over the train tracks from the distant suburbs. Or, he could turn right at Aberdare, turn left at the park, go up Simcoe and catch the bridge almost directly. It was a day of endless possibilities. He decided to go up Simcoe. Willie hated school. It meant another day when he would be treated like two cents.