The Other Alabama - Can It Prevail?

Fairhope pier

Beach below Bayview Avenue, Fairhope, Alabama

I often lament what has happened to Alabama politically in the years since I lived there years ago.  I blame much of the state's political insanity on the rise of the Christofascists within the Republican Party, something that has occurred literally all over the country, but the most toxic in the Bible Belt states and even states like Virginia where the urban areas are finally gaining the ability to out vote the religious extremists of the hinterland in statewide contests.  Sadly, Alabama has not yet reached that point where Birmingham, Mobile, Huntsville, etc., can out vote the lunacy that prevails in rural areas and where pastors preaching hate and division are the norm.  When I lived in the Mobile area, I never lived in Mobile proper.  Instead, I lived first in Fairhope on the east side of Mobile Bay and then latter in Spanish Fort (to lessen the commute to work).  The first home that I owned was a creole cottage on Bayview Avenue situated on the bluff overlooking the beach pictured above adjacent to the Fairhope pier.  Although a member of the Athelstan Club in Mobile through my old line law firm, the more laid back atmosphere of the Eastern Shore as it is called with its many northern transplants was appealing.  I knew many good people during those years and many remain trying to bring Alabama into the 21st century (just this past week, Birmingham passed a non-discrimination ordinace protecting LGBT citizens).  A column in the Washington Post reminds us that there is still good in Alabama and that those who are fighting the good fight and opposing the batshitery of Roy Moore and those of his ilk need to be remembered and supported.  Here are column highlights: 

Fairhope, Ala.

There’s a vast barn and field at Oak Hollow Farm 15 minutes from my house that gets rented out as a party venue. This week it served as the media-thronged site of a rally for Republican Senate candidate Roy Moore, with celebrity guest Stephen K. Bannon, invoking God, guns and making Alabama great. At the same hour, at the University of South Alabama across Mobile Bay, a panel discussion was underway on the topic of inclusion. With more than 600 in attendance, six of us from an array of backgrounds — Jewish, Christian, black, white, Asian American — conversed with moderator Soledad O’Brien, the broadcast journalist, about connecting across lines of race, religion, gender and ideology. Such differences challenge not just those of us in this community but also those far beyond.

That these events went on simultaneously was coincidental, but looking back, I see them as representing the two forces at work in my home state, which now is a bellwether for the nation: coming together vs. staying apart. When O’Brien asked me what our state does well and what it doesn’t, I spoke of Alabama’s famous and often well-deserved reputation for hospitality. Newcomers such as the immigrants of my grandparents’ generation arriving at Mobile’s downtown blocks and speaking little English felt welcomed enough to stay and put down roots. “Come on in, y’all!” But running against that grain, I added, was the counter-impulse of a culture anxious about outsiders and fearful of those who look, act, pray or speak differently, even if they live on the other side of town. “Trespassers beware!”

This push-pull, this embracing change or bracing against it will still be with us whether our next senator, as predicted, is the far-right Moore, a longtime public figure who’s made no secret of his disdain for Muslims, gays and those whose sense of faith differs from his evangelical Christian fervor, or mainstream Democrat Doug Jones, in a possible upset. Either way, I feel strongly that an ever-increasing openness, a cultural diversity, is inching forward, if not evidenced by raw numbers, then in the kinds of people who increasingly call Alabama home. Demagogues can still win at the ballot box, but the opposition — those who yearn for and work toward inclusion, a sensibility that crosses political lines — is growing stronger.

In recent weeks, for example, I have enjoyed being among hundreds of Indian families, all from our area, celebrating the Hindu festival of Navaratri by lighting candles to the goddess Durga. I have visited a Muslim friend who teaches in a Muslim school in Mobile, and I have gone to lunch with a buddy who tells me his daughter, who is gay, stays in Mobile because she loves it as home and does not want to move to some strange, far-off metropolis. . . . I have seen mixed-race couples, if still a rarity here, strolling hand in hand, unbothered, on Fairhope Pier.

These stories, under the radar in the nation’s perception of my home, continue, like the prayers we say at High Holy Day services as part of a small but observant Jewish community in our area. At my temple in Mobile, Moses, with the Ten Commandments in his arms, looks over us from a stained-glass window as we ask forgiveness for our litany of sins.

One of those prayers on Yom Kippur, this weekend, asks pardon for the sin of xenophobia, as well as for the mindfulness to do better in the new year.  I pray it for my fellow Alabamians, too.

Living in the opposition can be exhausting as I know first hand from living in Virginia which remains far from perfect.  In Virginia, like Alabama, gays still have no statewide employment non-discrimination protections, are not protected by public accommodation and fair housing laws, and parts of the southwest part of Virginia remain down right scary.    The choices are to either move or stay and fight for change.  For now, the husband and I have chosen to stay and fight to make Virginia a good place for all to live.  Many in Alabama are doing the same thing.   

My Closet Years - Part Three

As I ended in Part two of my closet years saga, after graduating from law school, I took a job with an old line, southern aristocrat law firm in Mobile, Alabama. The reasoning behind taking the job was simple: (1) the firm was paying more than any firms in the Norfolk/Virginia Beach area, (2) it had a sophisticated maritime and oil and gas practice, (3) Mobile is a beautiful city with a great deal of history, (4) the firm paid for memberships in two exclusive clubs. What more could a new law school graduate want, right?

My wife to be, being a New York City native, naturally flipped out at the idea of moving to Alabama, but was won over by the beauty of the city and the fact that we would live on the east side of Mobile Bay which was the home of a number of northern transplants and a fairly artsy community, not to mention the spectacular Grand Hotel in Point Clear, and the gorgeous sugar white beaches of Gulf Shores, often called the redneck Rivera. Among the interesting tidbits of history we learned were (A) that Mobile’s Mardi Gras is older than that of New Orleans (located about 150 miles to the west and several years younger than Mobile), (B) the Maris Gras/society balls – of which there were 45 during that time period - began in late November and reached a crescendo in the two weeks before Mardi Gras, and (C) the term “raising Cain” originated in Mobile. The later stems from the annual celebration on the Sunday immediately prior to Mardi Gras Day in honor of Joseph Cain who revived the Mardi Gras parade tradition after the “War of Northern Aggression,” as the Civil War is sometimes called in the deep South. Each year, anyone who wants to be in the parade, make their own float, etc., can join in the “peoples’ parade” - in contrast to most of the parades put on by mystic societies made up of socially prominent citizens – and parade through the city, with the final stop at the cemetery where Joseph Cain is buried. Upon arrival at the cemetery, a wild party with oceans of alcohol takes place, thereby “raising Cain.” Usually, about 100,000 people would be out, partying and very intoxicated by day’s end.

While in Mobile, I continued my daily mass attendance since the cathedral (of a Romanesque style built in 1830 and very beautiful) was just a few blocks from the office building housing the firm’s offices. Naturally, this was part of my continued effort to “pray away the gay” through full emersion in religion. A side effect was that one of the senior partners in the firm was likewise a daily mass attendee, so I received unofficial brownie points with him. Of course, had he known the reason for my faithful attendance, I suspect he would have thought differently of me. As so true to my past experience, a couple of the attorneys in the firm were real hotties, so I had all the more reason to need that daily mass attendance. Meanwhile, my wife got a job with the Mobile School System and built her own circle of friends. In addition, the son of one of her family’s friends had a job at one of the local TV stations, so we also had our TV friends, so to speak through him. (One handsome, witty and overall great guy reporter later turned out to be gay and sadly killed himself over his inability to accept his sexual orientation). Surprisingly, with her accent, many people though my wife was from New Orleans because residents of the Irish Channel area of New Orleans continue to have an accent much like that of New Yorkers.

After renting a condo for six months, we bought a small 85 year old house in Fairhope – 25 miles from downtown Mobile – that was a Creole cottage style located on a bluff overlooking Mobile Bay and above a city park and the town fishing pier and yacht basin. The photos posted are of the view from our street and a view of the town pier. Shortly thereafter, we had a young married couple from New Orleans move in next door. I recall that it was Derby Day and the new neighbors asked us to come over to watch the race, have drinks and dinner, since the husband’s family (an old New Orleans French family) had previously owned race horses. Sitting across the table from the husband (“ML”) at dinner, he looked me directly in the eyes and I was hypnotized. It was love at first sight for me, and soon the four of us were doing things together all the time. This was not unusual because since Mobilians entertain at home more than anywhere I have ever lived, with casual dinner parties occurring at least weekly.

Not only was ML gorgeous, but he shared my love of history, had family connections to Central America were my mother had been born and spent her younger years, and the chemistry between us worked. Although we never did anything overtly sexual (just a outwardly innocent casual touch or hug, sitting next to each other on the sofa, secretly making sure our legs touched, etc.), the electricity between us was high voltage. I later learned that my attractions were possibly reciprocated the whole time when ML came on to me once while drunk at a local bar often frequented by Jimmy Buffet.

ML’s wife was also very physically attractive and, ironically, my wife always thought she was the one that might be a potential rival for my affections. She never dreamed the real rival was ML. Up to this time, the “affair” with ML was the closest I had ever come to actually acting on my suppressed same-sex attractions. At that point, I still could not admit to myself what the reality was in terms of my sexual orientation. As much as I was madly in love with ML, I could not fully admit it to myself, and there seemed to be no possibility of future with him other than the continuation of the tortured situation in which he and I found ourselves.

Finally, after four years in Mobile, with me on the verge of making partner in the law firm, my wife was pushing to move back closer to her family. I hated the thought of losing ML, but was afraid to refuse to move. In retrospect, I often gave in to my wife on many issues as a subconscious way of trying to make up to her for my secret inability to be the husband she deserved. After several unsuccessful interview attempts in Virginia (where I was already a member of the bar), we decided that I needed to get more corporate and in-house counsel experience. Thus, for the short term, we moved farther away when I took an in-house counsel position with an oil company in Houston. Due to my oil and gas law background gained in Mobile, I had five job offers from oil companies in less than five weeks, and took a job with the company that offered guaranteed foreign travel.