The Query Letter: All Gays Go to Heaven, narrative memoir (GLBT), ~160,000 Dear Agent X: During a weight loss surgery in 2001 I was permanently disabled by a wayward surgeon’s knife leaving the nerves in both of my feet, mid foot forward, demylianted and dead. The necrotic tissue was still connected to its living brethren resulting in severe chronic pain. The weight sloughed off, though, and for a time, narcotics controlled the pain. I launched into the life I had always wanted to pursue, post doctoral study under my college mentor. The little University town of Lubbock, Texas held may other surprises for me. Along the way I discovered the powerful pull of cocaine, the joy of truly having a best friend, the high of lecturing at the college level and the first attempt at a gay relationship. The victories became fewer and further between in my life. The cocaine stopped working, the ability to meet the needs of my students and mentors became weakened by the ever progressing pain. The love relationship ended with a physical beating which sent me to the hospital. When death found me, I expected hell. I’d been a good person, but as a gay person, my religion had always told me it would be my destiny. Fortunately, God doesn’t keep score or hate nearly as much as the Southern Baptists would have us believe. It was a good thing until I was resuscitated returning to the disabled body with a taste of paradise. I have 15 years of counseling experience as well as working in executive marketing. I hold advanced degrees in counseling, psychology, human development and divinity. I have written two other published works and have been profiled in the Dallas Voice. I have contributed to Newsweek and I have had articles published in a McGraw Hill textbook. In addition to working as a professional pastoral counselor I run the GLBT Social Nework site www.queerbook.com. A full proposal or a galley copy of All Gays Go to Heaven awaits your request. Best regards, Reece W. Manley, DD, M.Ed., MPM
All Gays Go to Heaven A Memoir Proposal 150,000 words/Non Fiction/Gay and Lesbian/Recovery/Spirituality
Reece Wyman Manley 15530 Lewis Place #4729 Addison, TX 75001 214-206-1607 C 214-862-3675 Message 800-936-0812 reece@manley.net
http://www.allgaysgotoheaven.com
Table of Contents I. Overview: (From the Query) .................................................................................................................... 3 II. Readership............................................................................................................................................... 4 III. Author Biography .................................................................................................................................... 5 V. Marketing and Promotion....................................................................................................................... 7 IV. Contents Outline ..................................................................................................................................... 8 Part One .................................................................................................................................................... 8 Part Two .................................................................................................................................................... 8 Part Three ................................................................................................................................................. 9 Part Four ................................................................................................................................................... 9 Selected Chapters ....................................................................................................................................... 11 Chapter Eight – Captain to the Bridge ........................................................................................................ 11 Chapter Nine – Cocaine and Whiskey ......................................................................................................... 16 Chapter Twelve – The Making of Dr. Manley ............................................................................................. 24
I. Overview: (From the Query) In 2008, I died. Being a gay man, having grown up in a small town church in west Texas, I expected hell. Instead, I was embraced by the most passionate, powerful love, peace and acceptance. When the doctor revived me, it really pissed me off. What happens when you come back speaking about the afterlife? They place you in a Trauma Psychiatric Center and wait. What happened for me was the recovery from childhood incest and beatings. I pulled it together having passed through heaven and the chronic daily pain I have from a botched weight loss surgery To begin, I recall the times before the Crossing. I begin my tale at the point of deciding to have a gastric bypass. During the surgery, an injury is delivered to my nerves resulting in severe, chronic neuropathic pain. The surgery works, I lost weight. And, with plenty of Oxycontin, I set off to find a life as a doctoral candidate at Texas Tech University. Suddenly, the life I always wanted was mine. The sex was good, the drinks were strong and the coke worked great to take away the pain. On the flip side, I found a mentor, excelled in academia and furthered deep friendships in the gay community of the small college town. Everything was going so well, until the pain outgrew the drugs. Soon, nothing but the pain could be the focus. Drugs, stronger drugs, and then 26 procedures to correct the pain. Each one weakened my body and decreased my depression. Responding with stronger and stronger self-medication, my health deteriorated until it delivered me to the hospital to wait for death. All Gays Go to Heaven is a monomythic narrative full of both humor and poignant moments. It is the story of a life filled with experiences that need to be shared. I feel confident in the work having a strong audience in the GLBT community as well as those seeking spiritual answers. It is the first memoir to include elements of incest to the afterlife, having a gay spirituality component.
II. Readership The gay and lesbian community is well established as having 55% to 65% higher discretionary income than the straight community with books enjoying sales above and beyond the traditional market. Using both traditional and electronic marketing mediums, All Gays Go to Heaven should enjoy similar success as: Wonderbread and Ecstacy, Charles Isherwood, Alyson Once a Marine, Eric Alva, Alyson Loving Emma, Carol Ortlip, Alyson All Gays Go to Heaven also enjoys a 96% positive consumer study review for title and contents from Texas Research and Investment. This study is appended to the end of the proposal.
As the publisher is aware, memoir interest is at an all time high being featured in July 2010 edition of Writer’s Digest as “the important connection to lives we all search for”. The gay memoir is especially sought after when it contains genuine elements of the common community of readers. All Gays Goes to Heaven contains these elements of coming out, addiction issues, first loves resolving badly and the need for something above and beyond the normal straight life. The gay life is often a quest for acceptance which is shown in All Gays Go to Heaven.
III. Author Biography Reece Wyman Manley Message Center 1-800-936-0812 H 214-206-1607 reece@manley.net
Introduction: All of my works stem from a sense of integrity and passion. I cannot tell you about something I do not care about and maintain integrity. I cannot maintain complete integrity without passion for a topic. I have never written a throw away article, life is too short. Areas of Expertise: Spirituality (Judeo/Christian) Christian Living Progressive Christianity Crisis Intervention (Mental Health) Chronic Pain Areas of Proficient Competency: Writer Education Medical – Neurology Travel – Caribbean Home Computers and Programs
Psychology - Adolescent Psychology - Counseling Psychology – Parenting Consumer Research Duties of Clergy
Book Publishing Medical (General)
Experience: Author, Crossing Twice, Advocate USA Publishing, Non-Fiction, Christian/Inspiration Author, Spirit Thinking: Your 30 Day Guide and Workbook, Advocate USA Publishing, Non-Fiction, SelfHelp 108 articles written for Suite101.com. 112 articles written for Demand Studios Employment: Owner, Reece W. Manley, DD, M.Ed, MPM, LLC, Professional Pastoral Counseling, Author, Consume Research. Fifteen years of counseling experience working with clients ranging from the indigent to billionaires, divorce to dying.
1992 – Current Board Member, AdTel International, Inc. Dallas, TX. Vice President of Promotion and Development, AdTel International Inc., Dallas, TX. Director of Development, AdTel International, Inc., Dallas, TX Other Select Positions: Youth Minister, First United Methodist Church, Tulia, Texas. Youth Pastor, First Presbyterian Church, Levelland, Texas. Licensed Professional Counselor, Texas Youth Commission. Declared Legally Disabled with Neurological Injury, 2004. Continue to work in chronic pain but have learned strong advocacy skills from the condition. Education: Post-Doctoral Work in Human Development and Family Studies 2003 – 2005 Texas Tech University Doctor of Divinity 1997 American Institute of Holistic Theology Master of Education in Professional Counseling 1995 Texas State University Bachelor of Arts in Psychology and a Minor in Classical Languages 1994 Texas Tech University Ministerial Training Many Paths Ministry Ordination into the Clergy 2009 Selected Associations Authors Guild Association of Christian Writers American Professional Pastoral Counseling Association American Psychological Association
Texas Counseling Association
V. Marketing and Promotion Dr. Manley already has a strong following from his readership of his previous books and extensive contacts in the GLBT community. In addition, Red Carpet Marketing of Las Vegas stands ready to engage in extensive marketing of the title with Publishers support. Red Carpet Marketing is an innovative marketing team specializing in building relationships with the Gay and Lesbian Community. Dr. Manley regularly engages in CBS Radio, Blogs, and Queerbook.com community. Reece is a recognized Internet marketing expert and is Google Certified. All Gays Go to Heaven is especially appealing in its possibility of screenplay and teleplay production.
IV. Contents Outline Contents
Part One The opening of the book casts Reece and his Dad experiencing life right before electing to have an aggressive, risky weight loss surgery. Traveling from Dallas to New York in 2001, the preprocedure, procedure and post-procedure is covered with laughs and insights into Reece. Reece’s nemesis of neuropathy is conveyed during the surgery and joins him for life.
Chapter One – 414 Pounds of Fun Chapter Two - What’s With the Feet? Chapter Three – Hitting the Floor Chapter Four – Getting Out of the Hospital Chapter Five – Times in the City Chapter Six – Back to Big D
Part Two The second part of the book joins Reece pursuing his lifelong dreams of independence, a professorship and love in the small university city of Lubbock, Texas with a surprisingly lively gay underground. Despite pain, Reece excels in academia, fails miserably in love and tries a number of procedures to ameliorate the pain. Reece explores love with Chris and his best friend, Jeff.
Chapter Seven – Cocaine and Classes Chapter Eight – Captain to the Bridge Chapter Nine – Cocaine and Whiskey Chapter Ten – After the Snowfall Chapter Eleven – A Palace in the Clouds Chapter Twelve – The Making of Dr. Manley Chapter Thirteen – You Give Love a Bad Name Chapter Fourteen – International Pain Clinic Chapter Fifteen – Chris and Green Eyes Chapter Sixteen – A Midnight Ride Chapter Seventeen – Captain’s Command Chapter Eighteen – Captain and Crew Chapter Nineteen – Back to the Boys Chapter Twenty – Jeffrey and the McDonald’s Moment
Chapter Twenty One – Making the Grade Chapter Twenty Two – Captain and Chris Chapter Twenty Three – Back to the Chris Thing Chapter Twenty Four – Love and Loss Chapter Twenty Five – The Other Battle Chapter Twenty Six – The Maslow Moment Chapter Twenty Seven – Getting Angry Chapter Twenty Eight – It Comes to Blows Chapter Twenty Nine – The Aftermath of Hate Chapter Thirty – Life After Chris and Onto Tech Chapter Thirty One – The Infamous Table Accident Chapter Thirty Two – The Champ Cure Chapter Thirty Three – The Lubbock Solution Chapter Thirty Four – The Spinal Cord Stimulator – v 1.0 Chapter Thirty Five – The Good Life Chapter Thirty Six – Spinal Cord Stimulator – v 2.0 Chapter Thirty Seven – Spinal Cord Stimulator v 3.0 Chapter Thirty Eight – The Last Party Chapter Thirty Nine – The Last Push Chapter Forty – The ER Again Chapter Forty One – The Hopeless Case of Wounds
Part Three Depression and pain become hallmarks of Reece’s life as he succumbs to the neuropathy and has his dreams fall into pieces. His body reacts to the self-medication becoming so ill that Reece has a medically verified near death experience and return from the other side.
Chapter Forty Two – Christmas 2005 Chapter Forty Three – Back to Dallas and Depression Chapter Forty Four – Death Becomes Me
Part Four Reece survives his battle which takes him into death and returns him, disheartened to a life full of unbeaten challenges. He faces down legal troubles, incest recovery and abuse history while spending time in the Trauma Treatment Program at Timberlawn Mental Health System. He emerges finally victorious, yet still unsteady to take on life and love again.
Chapter Forty Five – Back to Life, Back to Reality Chapter Forty Six – Learning to Walk Again
Chapter Forty Seven – Roxie Loves Reece Chapter Forty Eight – The Long Arm of the Law Chapter Forty Nine – S*it Out of Luck Chapter Fifty – Goodbye Grandmother Chapter Fifty One – Nuthouse. Room for one. Chapter Fifty Two – The Nuthouse Rocks Chapter Fifty Three – Waking Up Crazy Chapter Fifty Four – Waking Up Sane Chapter Fifty Five – Flame On Chapter Fifty Six – The Hard Times Chapter Fifty Seven – What About a Path? Chapter Fifty Eight – Transitioning to Real Life Chapter Fifty Nine – The Big Truth Epilogue
Selected Chapters Chapter Eight – Captain to the Bridge One of the first orders of business upon landing in Lubbock was to make a connection with Dr. Sorrell and have dinner at “our” place. Catfish Station was a horribly greasy but terrifically tasting home style joint just a mile from the university. It was far enough away that the students couldn’t reach it easily, but still close enough that the crowd was bound to have one or two professors in at any time among the local farmers and migrant workers, medical staff, students and hospitality industry. These were the main populations of Lubbock, Texas, and each was well represented: farmers, migrants, academics, medicine and hospitality. Gwen and I lined up to order our favorite meals. For me, it was the baked catfish, which I could eat exactly 1/6th of, while Gwen was considerably more adventurous. This Mensa-qualified, triple Ph.D. holder, women’s studies pioneer, did have a few little dirty secrets, one being the #6 on Catfish Station menu. The entrée was called a Dirty Steak. It began with a chicken fried steak. From there, they piled on gravy, chili, and cheese. Then they sided it with fries. Sometimes, there would even be bacon crumbled over it, depending on not whether the Good Professor was feeling healthy or not. Today, she was feeling healthy, so she passed on the bacon bits, but asked for a little extra chili. We grabbed a seat on one of the picnic benches Catfish Station uses for all their tables. “You grab the napkins, and I’ll grab the drinks,” Gwen said. And, to my delight, she returned with two ice cold beers. “Now, I don’t expect you to finish that but have a sip with me and we’ll call it a toast to having you back.” I clinked the mug against hers and gave a quick, “Thanks, Captain.” Captain. That was another idiosyncrasy to this great woman of academia. She was a Star Trek addict. And, if you didn’t call her “Professor Sorell” (not Dr. Sorrell, she works way too hard to be confused with a physician) you had just
better call her Captain. “I got you something,” she said as she settled in. She presented me with a copy of a Master student’s dissertation entitled, “Possible Identity Development of the Betazid Woman.” I laughed. I can envision this poor little Master’s student having survived countless other classes and ending up in Professor Sorrell’s Advanced Identity Development Theories class. It had been the same topic I had chosen in the class. It was an assignment to come up with a way to apply developmental theory to a fictional race of characters in the Star Trek world. “Don’t laugh, she almost outscored you!” “Thanks, Captain. I think.” “Oh, don’t thank me, you’ve got another twenty to grade by next Friday,” she said as she raised another little toast to me. “Do you know how long it’s been since I had somebody I trusted enough to grade papers?” she said, handing over a compliment and an assignment at the same time. With that, she began to dig into her dirty steak as I popped catfish into my mouth. “So, you’re ready to do this for real, are you now, Reece?” She’d been disappointed when I’d pursued my Masters at Texas State rather than staying at Tech for immediate doctoral work. “Aye, Captain, I’m all yours.” “You’ll regret that statement. I have no idea what constitutes a work load for you. It seems like you could do anything I put in front of you when you were a senior. But, I intend to find the limit!” She smiled up at me and I was, captured, as always by her eyes. The grey-green eyes held brilliance that showed through them. She could quote every piece of Shakespeare written and almost every word and chapter of the current issue of the Journal of Identity. However, her eyes are much more than just intelligent. They are curious, kind, and playful as well. “What are you looking at, did I get chili on me already?” she asks. “Nope, just wondering what Dr. McCoy would make out of your dining choices!”
“Well, it’s all just part of being an enigma, Reece. You’ll have to learn that making eccentric dining choices makes you all the more mysterious. Students like that. Boys like that. Even deans like that.” “So, the secret to my success at Tech will be bringing down Dean Henderson and ordering the dirty steak?” “It worked for me, didn’t it? That and the $10 million in grants I brought in to this place last year. We’ve got a bit of payback coming to us, and I can’t wait for you to see the new office they’re building for me at Women’s Studies. If you’ve got a minute after dinner, we’ll head over and tour the updated office. They are crazy. They gave me a key to everything.” “What do they have you working on right now, Captain?” “Oh, they’d be happy if I were working on ‘Why Sororities Cause Cavities: Too Sweet to Survive’ but they’ve given me some much more mundane tasks of administration to fill out the last of the year. Lots of trips to make and lots of hands to shake. That’s why I’m so glad to have you back. I need someone to mind the store.” “No problem, so long as I get a copy of the keys to Registrar’s office. I thought I’d go ahead and grant myself the PhD and save you the time, Captain.” She pulled out a huge key ring that thudded and clanked down on the table. She said, “If you can pick it out, you can have it!” I passed on the guessing game and took another sip of beer. I’d had six bites of catfish, and I was slowing down quickly. Captain noticed and asked, “So, tell me more about this weight loss surgery, Reece. What was that like?” I recounted most of the story for her while she ate her meal and stopped me at a few points for clarification. As I reached the end, she shook her head. “So, what exactly is causing the pain?” “We know it’s nerve damage, but we’re still trying to get things pinned down,” I answered, recounting a few of the doctors I’d seen.
“Have you been out to the Pain Institute on the south loop the University has opened? I hear they’re doing some great things, and I really respect the chief neurologists they have out there. Her name is Jane and I’d be happy to make a call for you and let her now you’re on your way.” I appreciated the thought. However, I was beginning to lose hope on the front. None of the doctors wanted to tackle the pain with anything but medications and that left me feeling like I was just covering up the condition. But, I decided to make the appointment. The Captain and I drove over to the University from the little outpost of fast food gluttony. She was a short woman, and she looked a bit worn beyond her years. She had a determined face, but not a mean one. It was a face that had seen too many men hit her as a young woman. In her 40’s she fled and returned to school. There she excelled beyond anyone’s expectations. 20 years later she was the head of one of the most prestigious Women’s Studies departments in Texas. She held dual PhD’s, countless articles, and research grants and has formed the minds of thousands of students over the years. All of this and she was my friend. We pulled into the parking lot of the Human Sciences building and exited the vehicle. I remember standing there on that warm August night and the damn feet began to hurt. The medication was wearing off quickly. I took a few steps toward the college and simply had to stop. “Captain,” I said trying to stop her forward advance looking for the right key on the huge key ring for the building. “I’m going to have to wait until tomorrow.” Professor Sorell swung around to face me, “Reece, it’s not that far...” She caught my eyes. They had tears in them. “My God, it’s that bad?” “Yeah, it’s not fun when it decides it’s out of medication.” “Yes, we can do this tomorrow. Can you drive?” I answered in the affirmative and the Captain came over and did a very rare thing for the Captain. She hugged my shoulder. “You’ll beat this Reece. You’ll beat this.” She followed me back to my car.
The pain was throbbing by the time I arrived back to my apartment. My friend Jeff was there and he knew the routine. He got things moved around so I could get my feet up and fetched the medication. It took a long time to work.
Chapter Nine – Cocaine and Whiskey Two major events happened that fall at Texas Tech. The first was my time spent at the International Pain Clinic at Lubbock. The second was I found a substance that absolutely obliterated the pain – cocaine. I believe I’ll begin with the second. Cocaine and queers have gone together like peas and carrots for a long time. I would hazard a professional guess that at least 70% of gay men my age has tried the white magical powder. I was about to begin a dangerous relationship, and it was going to begin in a little bar in west Texas. I had tried Cocaine before my surgery, sometime in 1996. I didn’t get much from it. It made my head hurt and made my heart beat fast. So, I hadn’t tried the drug for almost 8 years when I found the white lady again in the bathroom of a bar. It was my friend Jeff who hooked me up with my first experience. Jeff and James, Jeff’s sometimes boyfriend and I went to a little club called Buck’s. Buck’s was a bar and pool hall dropped in the middle of what was called the Tech Ghetto. The ghetto was the collection of blocks of cheap housing, which attracted either starving students or poverty victims. There were apartment buildings which had been erected in the 1950’s and hadn’t seen any help or care since then. The rent went as low as $325 a month and people packed as many family members as possible in every unit. This kind of crowding and poverty made for blocks of drugs and gang activity. What in the world a gay bar was doing in the middle of this, I have no idea. Perhaps it was the only place rent was cheap enough. Perhaps they hoped the gay bashing frat boys would be afraid to venture into the depth of the neighborhood. Or, perhaps, they simply thought there was no better place for the rejected than in a block full of rejects. We arrived at about 7:00 PM to a large open room, painted dark and covered with neon. A pink strip went all around the room with the inverted pink triangle. The warning on the door simply said: “This is a gay friendly establishment. If you have a problem with that, you will not be allowed to remain.” It was opening night for Buck’s, and we found ourselves among what appeared to be hundreds of
people. Yes, the one in ten applies, apparently, to Lubbock as well. The age of the group ranged from the barely legal to the elderly gents who had come to see what this generation was going to do with the freedom they had once imagined. Certainly, youth is wasted on the young. Jeff led the way to the bar making contact with the bartender as we walked his direction. Jeff, I think, had probably been in every gay man’s bed in Lubbock in his one year residency. He was handsome and friendly. He was also dying the slow death of AIDS. However, he never brought it up and would bristle if anyone else broached the subject, but the illness had begun to make the first signs of its presence on his face with slightly sunken eyes. Of course, these had been professionally covered over with makeup, and no one would see it unless they were searching. “Brian,” Jeff shouted and waved, “Girl! Cocktails!” He approached the bar and Brian leaned forward to give him a hug. We ordered drinks and settled in at the bar to take in the scene. We were only there for a few minutes when Jeff began to leave James and I while he floated from one newcomer to the party to another. It seemed every time the door opened, Jeff would bounce off his barstool and into their arms. A quick word and then he’d return. “Are you the welcoming committee, tonight?” I asked. “You never know when Mr. Right will come in so you’ve gotta kiss a lot of toads,” said Jeff, downing his second rum and coke. Another face appeared in the doorway, and Jeff sashayed over to receive his proper hugs and a kiss if he could get one. I was just beginning to relax and enjoy myself when the feet began. I ignored them. I was at a party, damn it, and I did not want to deal with this. I was much thinner than the last time I was in Lubbock, and I was beginning to see familiar faces and enjoy the “Oh, my god, you look great!” ’s that were flowing my way. Suddenly, there was a bustle at the door, and the room erupted in applause. It was the Lady Shamu: A drag queen of great fame for the tiny bar. The DJ spun a tune as the Lady Shamu waltzed her way into the bar lip-synching to Madonna’s
“Celebration.” She went from one person to another collecting dollar bills like a bee on flowers. She buzzed her path from the front door to the small stage set up on the back wall. Brian leaned over the bar, “Well, look what finally drug herself in here. She’s two hours late. There will be hell to pay with the manager. She called in she’d been in a car accident. The only thing that looks like a wreck is her make up!" There was, of course, a reason the Lady Shamu was called Shamu. She, um, he was 6’2” and weighed in at about 360. 6’5” and 390 if you counted the heels she had on her size 14 feet. The sequin dress she was wearing was bright gold and perched high upon her head was a tiara made of enough rhinestones to light a small city. “Darlings, darlings, I know darlings,” Lady Shamu began, “Can a girl get a drink? I’m ab-so-lutely thirsty! You,” she pointed into the crowd, “Fetch! Fetch! Go little boy and get the Lady a cocktail. You don’t have to buy a lady a drink but if you don’t I may have to sleep with you, and we’d both hate that honey.” The young man immediately went to fetch a drink. “Oh, darlings, forgive me for being late, you won’t believe what I had happened to me,” she moved in perfectly graceful swoops of her hand. Her nails were manicured and polished. “You see my lovely manie? Except for one!” She flipped her hand over and extended the middle finger of her right hand which was missing the nail. “I was in a car accident coming here. Oh, my, yes. I almost died I’m sure. But, they would not take me in the ambulance! Just because they didn’t see any signs of trauma. Signs of trauma? Oh babies, that pissed me off. I showed them my finger. Now, is this trauma or is this trauma? Yes, indeed, they just went on their way.” As Lady Shamu went on to explain the happening, I happened to laugh and something in the vibration triggered the pain in my feet. Damn. It was bad. I wanted to cry, but I had learned the lesson that, when it flared up, the event was over unless I wanted to end up crying like a baby in a room full of strangers. The next time Jeff floated by, I grabbed him. “Babe, I’ve got to go. The feet are killing me. I won’t be able to walk out of here,” Jeff gave me a look and then gave
James a look. It was a cue. “I want you to go with James, real quick.” I began to protest but Jeff said, “Trust me.” I followed James to the bathroom without any idea of what I was getting myself into. I didn’t know if I was going to have to turn down a sexual advance or provide insights to a problem. I didn’t know if I was going to be asked for money or just given a phone number. We arrived in the bathroom and the pain from the walk from the bar was overwhelming. The bathroom had a couch and I took to it and extended my feet up as I was trying to think what I needed to say, “Look, James, I appreciate whatev....” James locked the bathroom door. “Okay, try this. Just once. I live with pain in my back and this, well, I promise you’ll be glad you did.” James fished out a little bag, a straw and then undid the zipper on the minuscule zip lock bag. Oh, God, I thought. Cocaine. Then, despite my best thoughts and intents, for some reason I took it. I sniffed in a deep breath, delivering the white powder to my nose. It took about three seconds to hit. Boom! It cleared my head instantly with energetic euphoria and bam! the pain disappeared completely. I don’t mean it eased up or lessened or even became bearable. The pain was absolutely gone! “I’ll be damned!” “Like that do you,” asked James with a crooked grin. “Told you it’d work.” His words faded as my mind continued to escalate in energy and ecstasy. It was like watching fireworks. My feet had been on fire, and then a final blast of pain was replaced with perfect relief. Oh, and the energy. I felt like I had woken up from a dream! The cocaine was delivering on its promise. I was feeling no pain. A part of my moral compass was trying to point through the high, but I took the second snort and was off to the comfort of the powder. “Damn!” I said. “Damn, damn, damn.” What happened next is blurred. I was altered. I was out of pain. I was about to be a dancing queen! I had found a new best friend. It would be a hard friendship; it would deliver me to the door of my death. But, for that moment in a gay bar
bathroom in Lubbock, Texas, I had found a new drug. No, I had found a new friend. A new illness. A new demon. If you have never done cocaine, there is really nothing to prepare you for the rush it delivers. I am glad it falls so short of what awaits us on the other side of life. But, for this world, it invokes all of the energy, euphoria, and excitement lying within the neurotransmitters in the brain. There is a small twinge of pain as the white powder enters up through the nasal cavity, then an immediate deadening of the skin, and then an explosion of ecstasy and clarity. As your body’s chemistry shifts to accommodate the strange, foreign substance, a flood of endorphins are released as the heart races according to the strange directions it’s received. Your mind sharpens to crystal clarity, and if you’ve been drinking, the foggy, puffy, slow happy buzz is immediately shredded in favor of screaming rapture. You feel as if you are impenetrable and, without a second’s pause, all pain is gone. It took me a second to realize I was no longer in pain. The initial power of the drug had knocked me over, laughing on the couch. It wasn’t until James sat on my feet, which were still propped on the couch that I saw the magic of this new friend. The blood pressure then goes up. It is my understanding that one in 100 people who use cocaine die the first time they use it. It may be higher, but it’s hard to bring statistics to things not talked about, especially in Lubbock, Texas. It was like a gay bar, something extraneous and unconnected to the small town ethos. It was odd as finding Gwen Sorrell, PhD, on these dusty south plains. A place where God, farming and good solid values were all that were expected, invited, or embraced. I was doing coke in a gay bar in Lubbock, Texas. Not the entry to any paragraph written about Lubbock, Texas before this one. Nevertheless, there I was and the action had been complete. I realized the cocaine I had had before was heavily cut and this stuff was more pure. The two could not be compared. I retracted my feet expecting a shooting pain to accompany the pressure. I braced for it, and it never came. I tested it. I pushed on James’ butt on the sofa next to me. No pain. The toes reported touch to some object, not sensitive
enough to tell whether it was floor or flesh. I repeated the experiment, “Excuse me, what the heck are you doing? Playing tap ass with my Wrangler’s?” “Relax, it’s not the first hard thing pressed against them,” I said flirtingly. What? I was flirting? Yes, I was most definitely flirting. I felt like flirting. Hell, I felt like running. I felt like hitting the dance floor. I felt like myself, pain free, from head to toe. I had not been this person since July 30, 2001. Not since the surgery. Not since something went wrong. But, not only was I energetic, flirtatious, and festive, I was almost thin! “Okay, boys, hollah time,” I said as I unlocked the bathroom to find the divine Miss Shamu most in need of the facilities. “Oh, baby, I was about to have to use the little Lesbians room! What you babies been doin up in here, don’t ya know a girl’s gotta refreshin after a show...,” the Lady Shamu’s eyes widened with delight as she brushed off a bit of powder from my goatee. “Yes, baby, yes. Now, that will make you a girl’s best friend. You sure you want to leave? We can have a little party right here. You’ve never seen me show RESPECT, baby.” Despite the Lady Shamu’s offer, I simply gave her a quick hug and said, “See the young man in the Wrangler’s and put it on my tab!” “Oh, baby!! You are divine!” she hurried me out as she pushed James back into the bathroom. I heard the lock slide. Jeff was standing outside the door to greet me. “Somebody looks fabulous,” Jeff said as I walked toward him. The music of the club was intense, and I was catching every hit of base. Somehow I had missed it before, but now it was tempting my feet to move and my body to move. I had never had the desire to be out on the dance floor more in my life. “Shall we dance, m’Lord?” I asked Jeff. He giggled and gave me a c’mon signal. We gyrated and turned to the tunes of Love Shack, something by Cher and a country song thrown in for the ladies of the room. “Oh, girl,” Jess said exasperated. “Cocktail time, cocktail time.” We approached the bar, black and square in the middle of the room. I had not noticed how smooth, black, and shiny it was before as we approached. And, then,
I noticed Brian. He had seemed some non-descript barman when I had arrived, but now he seemed to be the most handsome creature in the world. I dropped into a barstool and stood transfixed. “Um, what do I have on my shirt?” he asked. Jeff plopped down beside me. He waved his hand in front of my eyes and I didn’t blink. “Oh, my, he’s got a boy in his eye,” Jeff said. The bartender blushed a bit. Actually, blushed! Over me! “To answer your question,” I said to Brian, “Nothing’s on your shirt, but it shouldn’t be on you.” Again, I was trifling with actual sexual overtones! I looked up and 7 o’clock had become 11. I was running out of steam and then, the pain began again. It pounded, at first, as if knocking upon some heavy door for recognition. I tried to ignore it, but looked back over at Brian. I was just wondering what he’d have to do with a fat, older guy like me. I was at least 7 years his senior and it was silly of me to even think. The pain exploded in. “Shit,” I said. Jeff looked about. “Who, what, where, when, why?” Jeff said his little query for confusing situations. “Feet are back, Jeff. Come on let’s go.” Jeff got up as if we were leaving and I followed him. As we walked toward the exit the pain had become a lumbering ball of pain. But instead of making the turn to the exit, he grabbed James. He led both of us into the bathroom where a couple was making out in very aggressive style up upon the sink. “Out, bitches. Now! Out, out, out,” Jeff commanded and for some reason everyone obeyed. Jeff locked the door. “James, round two for the good Mr. Manley, please.” “Wait, Jeff, I just wanna go home. It’s late and I’m tired.” “Fine, if you want to go home, you can go after one more try.” I started to half protest but the truth was I wanted to give it another shot. James and I repeated our ritual from before. BAM! Glory! I counted the seconds and the count reached seven before my feet again threw off the shackles of pain. My mind cleared. My libido returned. It was as if there was just a bit of magic captured right here on earth in a gay bar in
Lubbock, Texas of all places. I don’t remember the rest of the evening in full. I remember flashes of it: The bar, the dance floor, an after hour party. Brian, nude. More flashes. The Lady Shamu and others at IHOP.
Chapter Twelve – The Making of Dr. Manley I looked every inch the Ph.D. candidate. I was wearing my khakis and a purple polo shirt. I had on my glasses to lend an intellectual look. I had made certain the class had a desk which could be set on and behind. I picked up my lecture notes and the handouts I’d ordered from the Human Development offices, checked my mailbox, and then headed over to the newest building on the campus of Texas Tech University, the College of Human Sciences extension building. It was connected to the original college which was erected in 1929 made from the red clay bricks carved out of the area lands. It was a beautiful old building, made to be impressive to the residents of the area. Texas Tech had one national claim, it was the largest University campus in the nation. Again, it was so flat and so windy that it costs less to buy the acreage than it did to build a second story. As I crossed from the old building into the new halls, the decoration changed as well. The first clean, new smell of the concrete and tiled floors was enough to brighten my mood considerably. I stepped into the College of Human Sciences Atrium to Honor. It was simply a three story atrium stuffed full of big, leafy plants which reached out from the planting racks of the balconies on the second and third floors of the building. The new building had been built around the idea of the open atrium. Banners to the different schools of the college hung from the ceiling of the atrium. It housed the School of Human Development and Family studies, the School of Arts and Fashion, the School of Addiction Studies and the School of Restaurant and Hotel Management. We were a strange mix of schools all built around the idea of the human potential. We were also the most progressive thought college of the University. If it was a new counseling theory or idea, you would find it here. If it was a new movement such as GLBT Studies, or, new for Lubbock, women’s studies, Human Sciences would indeed be the place to turn. It was the college bringing in the most grants so we had received the nice new building addition instead of the College of Arts and Sciences. The College of Human Sciences also attracted the most talented and forward thinking professors on campus. Professors like Gwen Sorrell, Ph.D., whose office I
was now digging through to see if she had left me any specific class rules. I had been entrusted with a key to Dr. Sorrell’s office and the Captain never did that. But she’d done it for me and I treated every piece of information as 100% confidential. There were some things you’d expect to find in a sixty something woman’s belongings – icy hot, Tums, grocery lists. Then some things you wouldn’t – a Star Trek communicator, a Klingon dagger, and a rainbow pride flag. All in all, she was one thing – an original. I found the folder marked “Reece! Intro to Hum Dev” and picked it up. I opened it and found a note with her hand writing. “Act like a Klingon. Scare the hell out of them. If they smell fear, they’ll attack. I’ll drop by sometime to introduce myself to the group. Captain.” Good advice, as always. I saved the note for some reason and placed it up on my cubicle’s wall. It’d be advice I’d turn to many times in my short career in academia. I followed the numbers until I arrived at my assigned classroom. A gathering of nervous students were already in the hallway, some sitting, some standing. Groups had begun to talk and gossip about the semester’s start. The nontraditional students, people who were not 18-21, seemed to match the traditional students for this night class. My enrollment had figures at 51. It was going to be a big group for my first encounter in teaching. I had prepared as best I could but I was a bit fatigued and fuzzy from the night before. I told myself I would not make the mistake again. I reached the door after carefully maneuvering around the little clique’s of people sitting in circles in the hallway. The door was locked with a nine digit keypad. I entered my social security number and hit pound. Somewhere, a computer checked my credentials, matched me with the classroom and time and a green light appeared. I opened the door, walked in and placed the gathering of notes and the textbook on the pedestal. I was loaded down with syllabi, welcome to the course notes, and the DVD I had with the power point presentation. I stuck in the hallway. “Okay, Advanced Human Physiology, come on in,” I announced. It created a little panic and everyone checked their schedules almost immediately. I didn’t say a
word. I returned to the seat in the room while I waited for a moment, I loaded the DVD into the room’s projection system. After a few moments, a girl came in and said, “I’m sorry. I’m looking for Introduction to Human Development. I heard you say something about human physiology. Can you help me?” “You bet. You’re in the right place. Have a seat.” Instead, she ran out and gathered her friends and came in to the classroom. Finally, everyone in the hall came in again. I just answered every question with, “Welcome. Have a seat.” The electronic bell rang and I looked outside the classroom and there were a few people still hanging in the classroom. “Okay, let’s try this, Introduction to Human Development. If that’s your class, you’re in the right place. Welcome. Come on in. I have to get you in and close the door by 6:05 or apparently we all turn into pumpkins. I let the class visit and select seats for the few moments before the 6:05 chime went off. It told me I was to begin the course work. I picked up the notes I’d been given by the college in regards to the coursework. “Okay, everybody, I need you to pay attention. It no doubt has something for us all. It’s the note from the Dean’s Office to Graduate Teaching Assistants.” I began to read the note from the beginning. “Dear Reece W. Manley, M.Ed., Welcome to Texas Tech College of Higher Education, College of Human Sciences, School of Human Development and Family Studies. On behalf of the college and your Advising Professor, Dr. Gwen Sorrell, we are pleased to have you as a candidate for the Doctor of Philosophy in Human Development. We are also pleased you will be teaching this fall under Dr. Sorrell’s supervision. Here are a few tips to help you in your teaching: Review the course description and the syllabi used the semesters before you. This will help you set goals for your class.
Remember, students are expected to attend all classes. This is essential for our night courses. During the class, you may provide breaks as you determine as necessary. Break periods may not exceed thirty minutes combined. You may not release your class more than 30 minutes early. The textbook title and materials for the class will be provided to you.” I held up the huge book. “However, your students will have to buy the book at extremely inflated prices to feed the every growing publisher. We will also be happy to screw over your students by inflating the prices of pens and notebooks.” A few nervous laughs in the group. “You will be responsible for keeping attendance of each student. If they are late, you are to ask them for a reasonable excuse. Whatever they say, you are to tell them to leave and fail them for the three hours of the evening. Unless, of course, they bring you a live duck, two onions, and a carrot.” More laughs. “Remember to maintain an environment conducive to learning at all times. Try to speak in a monotone voice to lull them to sleep. If you catch them sleeping, rap them on the knuckles with your yard stick.” I picked up the yard stick as if I were continuing to read from script. More laughs. “Students sometimes have questions. Remember to give them the best answers you can. Or, have them hike the one mile to the library find the answer to the question and hike back. Count them tardy. Fail them for the three hours.” The class had caught on and were having fun. “Good luck with your semester and enjoy the magic of teaching a bright and brilliant group of people. Please turn in all presented ducks and vegetables at the end of class to Restaurant and Hospitality Management offices. They are making stew this week. With much love and tender affections, The Graduate School.” I placed the letter down on the desk. “Any questions?” Not a hand went up, but a girl did appear in the doorway. “Is this Introduction to Human Development?”
“Yes,” I said. “You’re late. Where’s the duck?” The class laughed as the late girl searched for answers and finally managed, “I didn’t get a class supply list!” More laughter. “It’s okay, please have a seat. Okay, guys, My name is Reece. I’m a Ph.D. candidate for the Doctor of Philosophy in Human Development. That sounds impressive, but mostly it means I have a Master’s Degree and I’m studying Human Development. Specifically, I’m interested in identity formation in gay and lesbian persons.” One of two frat boys in the back make an instant ‘How gay’ comment. “You’ve something to add? Great, our first class discussion is upon us. What’s your name?” I said in as authoritative a tone as I could. I indicated toward the handsome young man in the white cap who was to be my first victim of the stability of sexism in the city of stalwart values. “Craig Keller. Nah, I don’t have anything to say. Sorry.” “Really, Mr. Keller,” I said, not letting him off the hook, “Because it sounded like either the word gay or lesbian offended you, entertained you, or raised such great lust in your heart your lips could not resist giving voice. “No, I’m just a Christian, so I think some things are wrong,” said Mr. Keller. “I value your beliefs, Mr. Keller, but I do not value your unsolicited opinion.” I turned back to write on the blackboard to make my next point. “Jeez, what a fag,” floated up to my ears from the back of the classroom. I pivoted around and fixed my eyes on Mr. Keller. “What did you say, Mr. Keller,” I queried. “Nothing, Mr. Manley,” Craig answered back in a defiant tone. I felt my anger rushing to the surface and my cheeks went red with the tough of rage coming up from my belly. “Once more, Mr. Keller. Did I hear you say ‘What a fag’ or not?” I used the word reserved for familiar kidding but external hatred. Craig’s locked eyes were angry, too. “I didn’t hear anything, Mr. Manley.” I allowed my temper to come under control and then I said, “That’s your one strike, Craig. I believe you feel like you shouldn’t have said what you said so we’ll
drop it. But, it’s your one strike,” Then, to the class, “I will not tolerate a few things in the class and it is part of College of Human Sciences that I make a few things clear, words designed to convey slander or hatred will not be tolerated. Secondly, you are to respect your fellow students at all times while on campus. You’ve paid good money to learn in a hate-free environment. So, please check the attitudes at the door and come inside this and all classrooms with some basic human manners.” I concluded. I turned back to the backboard and could feel his eye’s burning into me, I said, without turning to the class, “Mr. Keller, can I see you at the first break , please?” I was about to write down my name when suddenly Mr. Keller was right beside me and filled with rage. He leaned in close, “I’m dropping your class, faggot.” I blinked for a moment and said, “Jesus loves you too. Baby girl, take care,” I said in my best queen voice. It almost, almost got him to the rage point to take a swing, but instead he exited the halls and started yelling “Texas Tech hires queers! You a fag, need a job, come on in.” “Sorry, about that class,” I said. In the doorway appeared Dr. Sorrell. “Captain!” I corrected myself, “Dr. Sorrell!” “Looks like I missed the floor show,” said Dr. Sorrell. The class laughed nervously at this new arrival. “Mr. Manley, may I see you in the hall for a moment.” I became nervous. The class looked nervous. The clock even looked nervous. “Well, that depends. Do you have a guillotine out there?” I asked? “No, just step outside for a moment, please” said Captain flatly. I obeyed. There was very little else to do. She positioned me right outside the door as she walked back into the classroom.” “This is Introduction to Human Development and I’m Dr. Gwen Sorrell, Head of Women’s Studies and Associate Dean here at the College of Human Sciences. Welcome to the class. I will be monitoring this class. That means my name will
be on your tuition receipts, and I will be overseeing your teaching assistant. But, first, I want to introduce you to someone. This gentleman has overcome great obstacles and has made serious sacrifices to be here with you. This gentleman is quite brilliant. He earned the equivalent of two bachelor’s in a little under a year and a half. He attended what I believe to be the best counseling program in the state and earned a Masters. He is one of the brightest I’ve worked with here at Texas Tech and I want to tell you how very lucky you are to meet him tonight. Okay, Mr. Manley, please come in.” I sheepishly made it to stool resting beside the lectern. It was something akin to taking a seat at the right hand of the goddess. I was almost as tall as Gwen sitting there with her at the lecture post and facing out to the 49 remaining students. “Now, Mr. Manley, I believe you were covering the college’s statement of inclusion. I want to say a few things right here and right now. It’s better for everyone involved if what is said offends you that you drop the class. If you are here because it’s a night class and it looked like an easy three hours, you might as well drop the class now.” She stopped and became deep in thought for a moment, “Reece, tell the class why you are so passionate about the ‘fag’ word,” she instructed. I tried to think how to best answer the question, then deciding on honesty, I said simply, “Well, because I’m gay.” The class shifted in their seats. “And...” prodded Captain. “Because I’m very interested in how that identity formed. Was it nature? Was it nurture? Was it a combination?” “Very good. Now I want to reiterate what Mr. Manley was saying. We do not tolerate hate filled language or disrespect of our students at any time. You are, of course, welcome to any small minded opinion you may hold. But, please hold it. Secondly, if you have a problem with Mr. Manley, please don’t come see me about it. I’m simply going to agree with him about it. So, please go see the Associate dean, what, no, that’s me, too. You need to make an appointment with
Dean of the College of Human Sciences. She travels quite a bit, so make it in advance. Now, I’ll leave you all to get acquainted. Thank you for taking the class. If you don’t understand something or, sincerely, if you do have questions, it is Reece’s job. If he has questions, he’ll come speak with me and I may visit again,” she walked out of the room. “That was the boss lady,” I said. I went back to covering the syllabus and delivered my first lecture on the introduction of human development, and then broke the room into small groups for the last third of the class. The classroom desks were robin blue egg and lightweight enough to move readily. I was scooting around on the instructor’s stool from group to group like a bee in a clover field. The assignment for the small group exercise was to introduce themselves to each other. Then, I had wanted them to do a basic historigraph outlining their immediate family and indicating any divorces, their sibling’s status’, and if they had children, what kind. When making this kind of map, the line between the symbols of the people could be interrupted with any number of factors. For example, an “X” on the line indicated the person has died. A “I” on the line meant the person was imprisoned. A parallel sign meant a divorce. As I spun over to group three, I noticed one student, one of the non-traditionals had drawn a questions mark between herself and one of her children. “Great work you are doing. What’s your name?” I asked. “Lucy, Mr. Manley, nice to meet you,” she said happily shaking my hand. “It’s Reece, Lucy, and it’s nice to meet you, too.” I motioned to the question mark between her and her child whose name was written as Denise. “What is the question mark for?” Lucy looked down and said, “I gave Denise up for adoption and I didn’t know what mark to make for that.” I couldn’t remember the correct notation either so I just agreed with her. “That’s really great, Lucy. I’m impressed with anyone who can make that decision.” I pushed along and thought nothing of the comment. I’d simply made an observation and had shared it.
The last few minutes of the class sped by and the release bell caught me by surprise. “Okay, I said, please leave your graph on the desk up front, be sure it has your name on it. You’ll be receiving a 100 if you turned it in. If you didn’t turn it in, ergo, you weren’t here, you’ll be receiving a 0. So, if you have friends who walked out at the last break, offer to turn in their graph for $50.00 or more if you think you can get it and enjoy lunch on me. See you next week!” I walked back to the desk began to gather up the paperwork from the class reflecting on all that had happened that night. Lucy had approached and was about to turn in her paper then hesitated. “I think I’d rather take the 0 than have you know this about me,” she said. I felt a lump come up in my throat almost immediately. I realized, suddenly, how very much I’d asked the class to do. Those who were kids, freshman of the traditional sort, had simply had to write down mommy and daddy and perhaps a brother. It was the non-traditional students that I had asked to do more than could possibly be done in forty minutes in front of complete strangers. “Lucy, I’m sorry, you don’t have to turn it in. Simply make a note that you turned it in. I’ll give you the 100.” Lucy broke down in the now empty and suddenly expansive classroom. There was little to do but wait for Lucy to break her heaving. She embraced me and I returned the hug in what I hoped was a supportive feeling. However, the lump in my throat was beginning to make its way to my eyes. Before I could do anything about it, I found myself joining her in a good cry in the most inappropriate of places. She heaved as sorrows from her past came out and I heaved in return of my own past stabs. Finally, she broke her embrace and began to collect herself as I did the same. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to worry you.” “You didn’t worry me at all. Sometimes a good cry helps. Now, would you like a referral to some campus resources for talking things out?”, I asked Lucy. She nodded quickly her Kleenex now dug out of her pocket. “That would be good,” she said with another little sob.
I let her walk with me to the College’s Office display board and I helped her to find a name of a potential therapist in the program’s counselor program. “Lucy, come back next Wednesday. I will try not to make anyone uncomfortable, again, okay.” Lucy promised to come back and then left me there in the now darkened atrium of the college. I went back to the room and shut it down for the night. Pushed my code into the door and somewhere a computer made note of my exiting the room and closing out my first night of teaching. As I picked along the dark path back to the faculty parking, the incandescent lights above held out just enough to see. The bright blue strobe light of the student emergency stations were blinking on and off across the wide, flat campus of Texas Tech. It was a wonderful August evening as I drove home, I let the top down and enjoyed the night air and the cool of the evening. My feet had begun to burn badly but I felt a wonderful coursing of energy for the night. I had discovered another love, teaching.
This survey was prepared at the order of Advocate USA Publishing. It was placed live on Google Docs using the Google Spreadsheet application on May 1, 2010 and remained active until June 1, 2010. Copyright Š 2010 Texas Research and Investment http://www.texas1.net
Of the 25 invitations sent out, 19 responded during the 30 day open survey period. Percentages can be easily calculated. AVERAGE READER of ALL GAYS GO TO HEAVEN could be a member of either GENDER and is most likely to be 33 years of age with a GLBT ORIENTATION. The average READER read the book in 8 DAYS. General ratings for GRID 1. EASE OF READ = 4.5, ENJOYMENT OF READ = 4.8, RELATE TO CHARACTERS = 4.8., RECOMMEND TO FRIENDS = 4.9, OVERALL RATING = 4.9. Portions of this report have been electronically generated. Please verify figures as necessary.