telling the small community that their son has HIV “Dad will say: ‘What they don’t know won’t hurt them,”’ he said. He’s very understanding of their reluctance to tell, though. He called his father “a great man” and his mother a “wonderful mom.” “They are proud of everything I’ve done out here,” he said. The ivy vine of stigmas and phobias connect ed to the virus makes McCarty’s sympathetic compromise understandable. He was active in high school in sports, drama and band and “so respected by the coaches and everyone that they gave me my own set of keys for the gym.” Now, when he’s back home, he dances around a number of issues. _ $ If spending die day in public, he has to find a sneaky way of taking the 48 prescribed pills he needs every day. Complaining about his often severe arthritis would be hard to explain at his age. “It’s frustrating that I have to sit there and lie about why I don’t feel well enough to go to an auc tion at 6 a.m.,” he said. Questions about dating net smoke-screened answers. He avoids the complex issues about HIV-positive people finding romantic partners. The silent nature of McCarty’s life back home says a lot of things, including gender. “If I was a woman, this wouldn’t be as diffi cult to go public with,” he said. Hartley agreed: “People tend to feel more sorry for women with HIV than men who have it,” she said. “It’s because they don’t even understand how women can get it” McCarty admits he was infected with HIV because he practiced unsafe sex. But it seems society’s attitude towards HIV and AIDS has given him an additional affliction - a secrecy virus that has spread within him over the years. He can speak about his disease in front of any group, but he still refuses to tell the name of his small Illinois hometown. “When I die it will have to say that I had HIV in my obituary,” he said. “I think all my family and friends who don’t know will be shocked and hurt that they weren’t told.” ■L A