In Honor of Andy

I am honored to be the coordinator for the Wine Train’s 6th annual LGBT event and the first Napa Valley Wine Train Pride Ride, which will benefit the Richmond/Ermet Aid Foundation. Why me and why am I so passionate about this event? If this event can contribute just a tiny bit to help people suffering from profound illness or misfortune, then what I do for a living has a lot more purpose.

So many of us have been personally affected by HIV/AIDS. One of my greatest connections was through a close friend, Andy. Some years ago, I was enjoying the holiday season with my new husband, when I got a call from Andy. He said, “It’s time for you to come and get me.”

Andy knew he was very sick, but in his mind, he wasn’t dying, not yet. He just couldn’t manage on his own anymore. He needed my help so he could continue his treatment and hang on until there was a cure. Never mind that I had a job in Los Angeles that I couldn’t just take time off from and zip up to San Francisco for who knew how long. And where was I taking him to, and what was my new husband going to say about it?

Andy wasn’t concerned about my job or husband. He told me to figure it out because he was doing me a favor. “You need to be here for you, not for me,” he said. “Because if I do die, you will feel really bad if you weren’t here for me.”

He was right. It took every ounce of strength he could muster to make the trip south to walk me down the aisle a mere 3 months prior. His entire family disowned him the day he came out. I was the only one he could count on, and I loved him.

Two days later, I was packing up the beautiful Twin Peaks home where Andy and José lived. We lost José about a year earlier, and Andy was doing the best he could on his own, but now he was afraid. My plan was to find Andy a place in the same apartment complex where my husband and I were living in Playa del Rey.

“No, I want you to find me a place near the ocean,” Andy said. “If the time does come, I want to die just like Beaches. I want to hear the sound of the waves while I’m lying in bed.”

I replied, “Andy, I want you close to us so I can take care of you.”

He shot back, “You can still take care of me at the beach.”

I went to work at Northwest Airlines Cargo the next day. All of my friends knew about Andy. We all had those friends, and friends of friends, and even more heart wrenching, our co-workers. The airline industry was hit especially hard by the “plague.” First there was Bill. We all said: “Go, we’ll cover your shifts until you come back.” Later, my friend Joan would be the one to take care of Bill when he got too sick to take care of himself. And when Bill was gone, Joan took care of someone else.

It was the early 80s when Andy and I worked at SunAire Lines, a tiny commuter at LAX. Andy was a baggage handler on the ramp where he was miserable–always being teased and bullied because he was a “fag.” Finally, he got a transfer to the ticket counter where we were all young, happy and having the time of our lives.

Then Andy and his longtime boyfriend Steve broke up and he moved into a small garage that was converted into a barebones apartment because it was all he could afford. My own relationship ended shortly after, and Andy took me in until I could get my act together.

We shared his double airbed, a space heater, a hot plate and a tiny bathroom. We worked hard all week and he took me to fabulous gay clubs on the weekends where we danced until dawn. Oil Can Harry’s (an LGBT bar in Studio City) and Circus Disco were my favorites because they were so welcoming to minorities and women.

We grew up together; he went to Alaska Airlines and I went to Northwest. He moved to San Francisco and found José, and I found someone as well. We kept in touch and stayed close. Then one day he called and told me the news: “I have AIDS.”

Andy and I drove the U-Haul truck full of designer furniture and art down to Manhattan Beach, where by some miracle, we found a small detached studio apartment practically on the sand. Jose left Andy in pretty good financial shape so, thankfully, money was not a huge issue. The elderly landlord sized us up when we got the keys–he thought we were a couple, so we went with it.

Andy deteriorated rapidly. He was only in his dream house for a few months before he needed to be hospitalized. He would shake pneumonia only to fight another bout within days. His medications were constantly changing. He would tell me the doctors said if he did this or did that, took this or took that, he might get better and be able to go home. It was clear to me that he was being used as a human guinea pig.

Then his lung collapsed and I was horrified to see the humongous tube coming out of his side. “A setback,” the doctors said, “but definitely something that could heal.” Then the other lung collapsed and another tube was inserted and the doctors still gave him hope. I never imagined this sweet, darling man would be capable of enduring such excruciating pain. Andy was the bravest person I have ever known. He loved life so much and was a relentless fighter. He truly believed he could beat it. I felt so guilty praying that his tortured soul would be put out of misery.

Then one afternoon, a nurse called and told me Andy had taken a turn for the worse and didn’t have much time left. I got there as soon as possible and sat by his bed, holding his hand for what seemed like an eternity. He was comfortable, but he was frightened. He knew he was dying and I told him I wouldn’t leave him. It was close to midnight when Andy got very excited and told me, “Jose is here.” Then he relaxed and a few minutes later, he was gone.

Many friends attended the beautiful memorial service Andy arranged before his death. A planned highlight was for me to sing “Wind Beneath My Wings” to celebrate his life and to convey how much he meant to me. Even though it wasn’t my best performance because I was so emotional, it was what my beloved Andy requested. All he wanted was to die just like Beaches.