The Great March
—excerpted from the book Farm Story: Coming Out Of Indiana by Eddie Casson
In October 1987, at what has become known as “The Great March,” I held Mark’s face in my mind as I held Kenny’s hand—the first time I had held a man’s hand in public—as we walked together in the bright Washington sun. We were headed to the Mall, part of a long line of men—and women—marching, marching. I looked behind me and then in front. I had a brief thought for my military father. I was finally part of an army— not one he would have ever imagined, but an army filled with as much courage, as much resolve, and as much fierce determination as any army God or country had ever ordered into battle. And we were heading into battle.
It was late evening, as just about everything was at Studio 54. I can’t remember who got me the interview, somebody I met in Cahoots, I think, the Upper West Side gay bar where they had little paper pads that said “Who were you in Cahoots with?” so you could write down your number for someone you wanted to meet up with some other time. 
I don’t like parties, but I had promised I’d attend this one birthday gathering at a ritzy pub in Istanbul, where I live. The upscale establishment allowed my friend to showcase his sense of eliteness. The closeted birthday boy had invited many women—his attempt to preserve his hetero image. The guests were mostly straight. I only knew one other person, his closest buddy, a short guy, well built with tattoos on his shoulder. He was closeted, or at least bisexual. Everyone seemed attracted to him. He was very seductive.
PODCAST: Interviews by baby-boomer LGBTQ historian Mike Balaban, with a diverse guest list, covering issues and themes from the global LGBTQ community.
At the age of 19, I began to realize that something was wrong with my soul.
June 2011, my partner, Juan, and I left our 13-month-old son, Oliver, home in Roanoke with his nanny, and traveled to New York City for a Pride dinner with President Obama. By that time, the LGBTQ Community had made great progress in its fight for equality on many levels. As the recent board chair of the Empire State Pride Agenda (ESPA), NY state’s LGBTQ political action committee, I’d been intimately involved in its strategies, successes and failures. ESPA had begun years before by asking for a few, what now seem like “easy” (though they were not), attainable “wins” each legislative session.
