-L_-;
‘Real’ men can love gay friends
Sammy K. I don’t know if he
still walks through my old
neighborhood, indifferent to
his difference.
As kids, me and my boys verbally
a denigrated Sammy K.
He was tall, lean and
dark like a silhouette. A
thick pair of black horn
rimmed glasses rested
on his broad nose. When
he walked briskly along
the sidcwalks-of our
neighborhood, his bull
switched from side to
side.
We would laugh and point when
ever we saw him. We would hide
behind bushes and buildings and yell
out from our safety: “Faggot!” “Punk! ”
“Sissy Fag!” “Homo!”
If any of my friends ever showed
any h ints of lender emotions, we would
tag him Sammy K, because Sammy K
was a man, but he was an anomaly.of
gender. A man in a woman’s body. Or
a woman in a man’s body.
Whichever role, he was very dif
ferent than the men we knew, the men
we would be.
We were so sure we were nascent
men, we little boys, that we would
mock Sammy K’s every move. The
way he walked, talked and held his
left hand dangling in the air.
But hidden in our laughter and
mockery of this man was fear. We
always thought that one day he would
sneak up on us in the summer night
and “do us up.” He was an oddity, a
freak.
For al 1 those years we swirlcdabout
him like menacing mosquitos, taunt
ing him I ropi a distance, he never said
one word to us. Never even acknowl
edged us.
So we grow, and hopefully learn to
understand tolerance.
My memories of Sammy K were
spawned by activities during
OutWeek. This open assault on the
consciousness of heterosexuals also
made me think of a male friend who is
still in and is not coming out anytime
soon.
1 say friend here, as though he and
I flowed into a smooth, natural rela
tion. Wc didn’t. At least, I didn’t.
It took time for me to accept his
preference for men.
I always thought he was gay but
didn’t know for sure. He was like
Sammy K. Not as obvious, but the
subtle signs were apparent, so he had
to be gay.
But by this time, 1 had grown to
accept the reality. He was his way. I
was my way. But I still reasoned, live
and let live.
It was like a secure, homophobic^
form of Jim Crowism. 1 accepted that
he was the way he was, but I didn’t
have to deal with it.
Now, when I think about my reluc
tance to even hang out with this dude,
I realize that it was not his homosexu
ality that stopped me from befriend
ing him.
Instead, I harbored deep insecuri
ties. I was abashed of what other
people would think of me if I be
friended a gay dude. After all, image
is everything.
So one day I asked this dude: “Are
you gay?”
“Of course not,” he said. “Why
wuuiu yuu uniik ukii
“I just always wondered,” was my
response. “If you were, it wouldn’t
make a difference to me.”
“It’s good to know you have an
open mind,”he said. “But, no. I’m not
gay”
Two days later he called me and
told me he was gay. That was the
beginning of our friendship.
He’s a cool dude. Wise. Hip? A
person I would hang with on any other
level. Because he’s gay and I’m not
doesn’t make a difference anymore.
Actually, it never did. My insecurity
was the source of my reservation.
Already I have heard through the
grapevine that some people I know
have wondered — suddenly —
whether I’m gay. What a surprise,eh?
The wonderful thing about our
friendship is that it has made me more
comfortable with tender emotions that
lie deep inside my maleness.
Many men arc so lough, so cool
that they wouldn’t dare tell their best
buddy that they lovc^ him. Wouldn’t
hug him after not seeing him lor
months. Wouldn’t let any element of
fear, sympathy, shame or sorrow leak
out from behind their veneer of man
hood.
Psychologists have said that we all
have latent homosex ual desires. That’s
a myth at best. Although, perhaps we
all may have the capacity to feel
deeply for members of the same sex.
Whether that transfers to sexual con
tact involves another emotion.
Actually, men loving men and
^ women loving women are not such
far-fetched human conditions.
Yet, I revert back to my innate
form of homosexual Jim Crowism
when I think of myself and sex with a
man.
The thought repulses me. But, it’s
OK for other men to engage in an act
that 1 can never condone for myself.
No one ever said understanding and
acceptance were all-encompassing.
After looking over what I wrote
here, it all sounds like a roundabout
way of saying the flippant remark of
awareness, “Yeah! One of my best
friends is gay ..
That’s not the case. I just find no
Harm in people living me way uiey
want — without imposing their
lifestyle and beliefs on others.
Now that I’ve grown up mentally,
I’m comforted with a kind of weight
less feeling because I know it’s OK
for men to hurt. It’s OK for men to cry
and to experience heartache. It’s OK
for men to love each other, within all
of our own individual limits.
And as a black man who learned to
cherish a friendship with a gay man,
I’ve learned that as long as the sun
shines, no matter who you are or what
you do, someone, somewhere is going
to berate you or judge you, like we did
Sammy K as kids.
It’s bound to happen if you’re a
model citizen, a gangster, a black man
or a homosexual.
So maybe it’s better to be open
about who we arc, always remember
ing that we were never meant to be
anything or anyone else.
Moss is a graduate student studying an
thropology and a Daily Nebraskar. colum
nist.
Directory is a hit, despite errors
Wheeeeceeceeccceeecc! The
new student directories are
out!
Oh, Happy Day!
A tear of joy just trickled down my
trembling check and fell onto my
keyboard. “Ker-splash,” it said.
The first day I gel a
new Student Directory,
I love curl ing up under a
sunbeam and reading
every page, from start
to finish. It’s one of
those books you just
can’t pul down.
One of the first things
anyone does when they
get a new phone book is look up their
own name. Mine says “Alan Phelps,
2912 Everett, 477-7896.” Of course,
that was last year. But then, that’s just
one of the little things you’ve got to
When in fact I lived on Everett. Thai’s
so cool. Bam.
1 called my directory number and
asked for myself, but the woman who
answered my call had no idea where
Alan was. She said I had called some
“company” on “Line 2.” She hung up
on me when I was trying to figure out
how to spell the name of her com
pany, so I’m not sure exactly who she
was.
Since the phone was out, I thought
I might just stop and sec myself on
Evercu Street. It is kind of rude to
drop by without calling first, but the
lady answering Line 2 at The Com
pany sounded a little mad at me, and
Ididn’twant local) her back. Besides,
she might have traced my call and
spnt the Delta Force after me.
' So I drove down to Everett. Alan
has a large branch down in his yard, a
yard that could stand to be mowed, by
the way. I knocked for a wh ilc, but no
one answered. It was somewhat dis
appointing. Joel, Alan’s roommate
who also lives on Everett Street ac
cording to the directory, must have
been elsewhere.
The Student Directory is still a
trove of information, even though we
can’t locate Alan Phelps. His parents’
address and phone number are in there
for some reason, and we can also see
Alan is a “KZ 3.” The “3” must mean
Alan is a junior, and the “KZ,” we
might presume, is an indication of
Alan’s major.
“KZ” is an odd combination of
letters. Bui a little explanation at the
beginning of the book lets us know
that “KZ” stands for, of course, jour
nalism. All of the other abbreviations
make sense, except for “R,” which
means architecture. That is under
standable, because “A” was already
used for agriculture. “J” was used up
.nn iin<lf*rljirr‘H nvAn ihmioli ihi*
“U” stands for nothing.
In the directory, there is a number
for Student Directory Information.
But they didn’t know much there. The
guy I talked to had “no idea’’ where
the “KZ” came from. He said that his
office didn’t publish the directory,
and he encouraged me to call some
other number during business hours.
But I hate being pushed around.
That’s one of the problems with
America today. Everyone is looking
to pass the buck. Oh, I’m sure Student
Directory Information had Nothing
Whatsoever to do with that messed
up book. They’re just a bunch of
angels down there — never make a
mistake at Student Directory Infor
mation! Perfect Record! It must have
been someone clse’s fault entirely,
I’m so sure.
That just makes me SICK.
The guy at Student Directory In
formation also didn’t know exactly
where the photographer who shot the
new front cover stood when he took
the now-famous picture.
“I haven’t even seen the new direc
tory yet,” he said. What kind of Stu
dent Directory Information is this?
People are sitting around at Student
Directory Information without Stu
dent Directories. I would hope that
this problem will soon be rectified.
The cover shot is quite clever, I
have to admit. We are treated to a
view of a dorm phone sitting forlornly
next to a window overlooking cam
pus. The phone is perhaps waiting for
the new directory to come out so
someone will call.
I hope that number was included in
the new directory.
From the angle of the view, it
seems to me this picture must have
been taken from Pound Hall, prob
ably from one of the top floors. As last
year s Student Directory points out, I
once lived in Cather, but I was on the
wrong side of the building to see
campus. I could look out and watch
my car get dusty in the parking lot.
Some of the best parts of the direc
tory arc the filler ads in the yellow
pages. “Tough decision? .Remember
the Yellow Pages!” one says. “Be a
smash hit! Use the Yellow Pages!”
cries another.
My favorite is on page 31 and page
37: “Need a nightlife?” asks a vam
pire. “Try the Yellow Pages!” 1 doubt
anyone actually peruses the yellow
pages in search of a nightlife. But
perhaps we should. That is, evidently,
what vampires do.
Maybe if we all would just use the
Student Directory a little more, our
lives would perk right up. We could
be Smash Hits. Of course, it would be
a bit confusing looking for our friends
at all the places they used to live.
Phelps Is a junior news-editorial major,
the Dally Nebraska wire editor and a colum
nist.
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