Rank

by Richard Compson Sater

  He shook his head. “Black. Thanks.”

  I filled my own mug and stirred in some cream.

  “Have a good weekend?” he said.

  “Yes, sir.” I didn’t have to call him sir, I guess, but many retired officers are reluctant to surrender the respect they commanded when in uniform. I knew several people around the headquarters who still called him Colonel Sinclair, and he didn’t correct them.

  He blew on his coffee to cool it and took a cautious sip. “Certainly was beautiful. Finest weekend we’ve seen for a while.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  I waited. He seemed to want something, but when no more words came, I excused myself until he rested a hand on my arm.

  “Harris, have you…um…got a couple of minutes?”

  “I guess so. What can I do for you?”

  “Just wanted to talk with you about something,” he said. “Could you come to my office?”

  I’d never been called to the budget office before for any reason. I checked my watch. “Can it wait, sir? General O’Neill expects me to be here when he arrives. Actually, he should be here by now. It’s not like him to be late. When he gets in, I can ask—”

  “It’s okay. General O’Neill asked me particularly to speak with you, so he won’t mind,” he said.

  My curiosity piqued, I followed him down the hall to his office. He closed the door and offered me a chair. I noticed the Sunday paper on his credenza, open to the picture of me, and I suspected our impending chat would have some connection to the coverage.

  I didn’t know much about Mark Sinclair apart from his job title and the fact that he was gay. There was little about his manner to suggest he was, probably the result of a military career spent in the closet. For him to have reached the rank of full colonel without detection would have required a very dedicated single-mindedness. By now, discretion was probably a habit with him. Impeccable in his grooming, he dressed conservatively in a tie and sport coat but still wore a military haircut. I’d place him around fifty, near the general’s age.

  Sinclair’s office was as businesslike as his demeanor, with only a few personal photos and an aircraft lithograph framed on one wall and the standard military “I love me” stuff on another. The retired colonel had always been friendly toward me and encouraging as I grew into my aide position, but I’d had little reason to seek his company beyond professional courtesy.

  He offered me a chair and sat down across from me, rather than behind his desk, which I appreciated. He offered a plate.

  “Raisin bran muffin? Homemade and delicious too, I must say,” he said.

  I accepted. “Thanks.”

  He cleared his throat. “So, Harris, General O’Neill wanted me to talk with you.”

  “You mentioned that, Mr. Sinclair.”

  “Mark. Please.”

  “Okay, Mark.”

  “How was the parade?”

  “Good fun. A terrific day for it. Were you there?”

  “No. My partner Lou and I usually go, but we were out of town this weekend and didn’t get back until last evening.”

  “It was quite an event.”

  “I’m sorry we missed it.” He cleared his throat again. “I suppose you’ve seen Sunday’s Times.”

  “Not until this morning. Someone left a copy on my desk.” My defenses assumed their position. “Is there a problem with the article?”

  He sighed. “Well, there’s nothing exactly wrong with it, Harris. It’s just that General O’Neill isn’t too happy about being featured in a story about the gay pride parade.”

  “It’s not really about him.” Something inside me—not quite anger, but close—began an ascent, like the temperature climbing on a warm afternoon.

  “But he’s prominently mentioned, alongside your comment about the fact that senior leaders have to set the course for the new gay-friendly military.” Mark scanned the article again. “And although you never say that General O’Neill isn’t on board with the new policy, the implication is that he’s part of the old guard that doesn’t like gay troops to serve openly.”

  “I didn’t say anything of the kind. The reporter was a little liberal with his interpretation there.”

  “Maybe so,” he said. “But whether you actually said it or not is beside the point now. It’s in print, and even if it’s inaccurate, you can’t undo it. You can’t offer a clarification or retraction.”

  I felt myself begin to perspire, a combination of nervousness and irritation. “How would it look if I refused to give my name to the reporter? All I said is that I worked here as General O’Neill’s aide. It’s no secret. The point is that we don’t have to be anonymous anymore.”

  “I agree completely, Harris. Believe me, I’m on your side all the way. But sometimes discretion is the better part of valor.”

  I thought my boss a bit of a coward for not speaking to me himself if he was so concerned about the article in the paper, but if he had, I knew he would not reprimand me gently over coffee and a muffin. But, still. “So, General O’Neill asked you to tell me to put a lid on it, huh?”

  “Absolutely not. He just wanted me to share some personal experiences with you. Maybe provide a little mentoring from one gay man to another. Okay?”

  I nodded.

  “Good.” He cleared his throat again. “I don’t mind mentioning to you that the old man was pretty steamed when he called me yesterday.”

  “Is he going to fire me? I keep waiting for the axe.”

  “Don’t worry about that. I talked him out of it.”

  “Mark, I didn’t say anything to that reporter that isn’t true. And I made sure to tell him it was my own point of view, not the Air Force’s and not the NAF’s. I’m entitled to my own opinion.” I could hear my voice rising with my exasperation. “If General O’Neill doesn’t like gay airmen, he shouldn’t have hired me to begin with.”

  “Come on, Harris. Be fair. Give him a little credit. He’s trying.”

  “Does he know about your partner?”

  “Of course he does. General O’Neill has been to our place several times. And he invited us over to his house for dinner to celebrate my civilian promotion last year. Most people on the staff have met Lou at one function or another.”

  The news surprised me. Perhaps the general was more open-minded than I thought.

  “How long have you guys been together?”

  “About a hundred years.” His grin sparkled. “Actually, we celebrated our twenty-fifth anniversary a couple of weeks ago.” He pointed to a small framed photo on the wall of two men in baseball caps, their arms around each other’s shoulders. “That’s us.”

  He told me that Lou ran the Chamber of Commerce in town, that he’d never served in the military, that they’d staked a claim to their partnership in spite of the service.

  “For years, I had to pretend Lou was my girlfriend. I had to modify the pronouns anytime I swapped stories with colleagues about our weekend activities. It got old fast, and I resented having to do it,” he said. “‘Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell’ didn’t help guys like me who were in committed relationships. I still couldn’t invite Lou to pin on my eagles when I was promoted to colonel, and that hurt.”

  “After you retired, when did you come out?”

  He laughed. “Immediately. At the ceremony, in fact. Lou was front and center, and I thanked him for his love and support and told the crowd he was at least as much of a patriot as I was. I also went into detail about how hard it was for a gay man to serve with honor and integrity. My boss—who was General O’Neill’s predecessor—was visibly uncomfortable, but he remained civil.”

  “I didn’t know you retired from our NAF.”

  “About five years ago. We wanted to stay in the area, so I applied for a civilian slot as a budget analyst. A month after I retired from the Air Force, I came back to the same office and the same coworkers—only I wore different clothes.”

  “And you could hang a picture of Lou on your wall.”

  “
Yes. I haven’t exactly played the flaming queen, but everyone knows. I think it’s important to show the staff that we’re just like everyone else. We’re team players. We conduct ourselves professionally and get the job done. I’m a damn good budget officer, and I’m willing to bet most people think of me first as the money guy, and second or third or fifth or sixth as the gay guy—if they even think about it at all.”

  “That’s how it should be.”

  “I agree. The closet is a lonely place to live, Harris. I know for a fact. Under ‘Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell,’ we learned how to keep secrets,” he said. “It was necessary for survival if you were gay and you wanted to serve.”

  “But we don’t have to keep secrets anymore,” I said. “I don’t know why anyone stays in the closet now. I mean, we’re not the only gay guys on the general’s staff. There’s the medical-squadron deputy, and the maintenance chief. I’d lay money on the security-forces commander too, even though he hides it well. Why haven’t they come out? I don’t get it.”

  “How long have you been in the service?”

  “About five years altogether. Four years enlisted in the Reserve just out of high school. I re-upped and took a commission when they announced ‘Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell’ would be dumped.”

  “You’re young yet, Harris, and you’re lucky. But some people are very comfortable in the closet. I can’t see why anyone would want to stay there, but we have no right to disturb them if that’s their choice. I guess some guys just don’t want to deal with the drama, and I can understand that, too,” he said. “This new climate is unexplored territory, like you said to that reporter.”

  Suppose you had a gay commander, and he showed up at a formal dining-out with his boyfriend? Seeing them as a couple holding hands and dancing together would make a lot of people uncomfortable. The Department of Defense may be able to make a new law that says the military has to accept the new reality, but the government can’t dictate the gut reaction of someone who sees it up close for the first time.

  “There’s still a lot of homophobia out there,” I said.

  “Yes. There will be for a long while,” Mark said. “I doubt if it will ever disappear entirely. For some people, this whole thing is an open wound. They don’t like being told they have to tolerate something that runs against their grain. It will be easier for us in the long run if we keep it low-key. It’s okay to be out. It’s okay to remind people that you’re gay, but you need to have a little situational awareness about it. The Air Force says ‘Service before self,’ and that means putting the best interests of the unit ahead of our own, whether we’re gay or straight. We have to remain aware at all times of the consequences of what we say and do. ‘Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell’ was eliminated because we argued that gay servicemembers are no different than straight ones and being gay would not interfere in any way with accomplishing the military mission.”

  “That’s true.”

  “Of course it is. So we don’t want to draw attention to being gay if it’s going to overshadow the mission. There’s a time and place. Choose your battles carefully. That’s all I’m suggesting. What do you think?”

  “I guess it makes sense.”

  He breathed a relieved sigh. “Good. I was a little apprehensive about bringing up the subject with you. Thanks for making it so easy.”

  Our coffee had long since gone cold. I happened to glance at the clock and was horrified to notice that it was nearing eight fifteen. “Uh-oh. Even if General O’Neill wanted us to talk, I doubt if he wanted the conversation to last for an hour.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll have a word with him.”

  We walked back down the hall toward the general’s office. “I’ve certainly enjoyed getting to know you a little better, Harris. I think we could be great friends.”

  I agreed.

  He surveyed my desk. “So where’s this picture of your boyfriend?”

  I shook my head. “That was a little poetic license, I admit. It seemed like a good sound bite for the reporter, but I don’t actually have a boyfriend at the moment.”

  “No? Well, don’t worry. You’ll meet the right guy. He’s out there, and he’s worth waiting for.”

  We shook hands. “Thanks, Mark.”

  “My pleasure, Harris. Any time.”

  “Tailgate!” A familiar voice, exercising its maximum volume, interrupted us. “Get the hell in here.”

  I sighed. “The master awaits.”

  Mark slapped me on the back and smiled. “You better get the hell in there, Tailgate. Guess I’ll talk with him later.”

  And so we were back to work. To my surprise, the general never mentioned the article in the Times. He had delegated that little chore, it had been handled appropriately, and it did not need to be brought up again.

  Chapter Seven

  If my job was occasionally tedious, it kept me extremely busy. After six months or so, I realized that I was good at it and took some satisfaction in giving the general substantially fewer reasons to yell. I appreciated the encouragement of the staff as I navigated this foreign land, and gratefully accepted any suggestion in my quest to avoid the mistakes made by my predecessors. More than once, Linda and Julia and Mark saved me some embarrassment or a good dressing-down.

  I was learning. But why did he always criticize me so roundly when others were present? Though most of my coworkers might have agreed in principle that his lessons had a point, I’m sure they translated them into more evidence of his dislike for me, proof of my failure to meet his expectations.

  In return, I dutifully insisted to my friends and my folks I disliked him just as thoroughly as ever. It was the safest and easiest façade, particularly since the general’s gruffness toward me always intensified when anyone was around to watch. Yet when we were alone, he always spoke in a normal conversational tone, at which times I found him most amiable, even damnably charming.

  My resistance was eroding.

  He didn’t help matters when he took leave for a week to visit his dad in Tennessee. A few days after his departure, I found in my mailbox a postcard, a picturesque view of the Smoky Mountains. On the back, in his curious slanted scrawl, he’d written: Linedrive—Having fine time, wish you were here, etc. Behave yourself while I’m gone. Yours, SEO.

  Mine?

  Stunned, I stood at the mailbox and read it over and over, examining the picture and the Knoxville postmark and the words scratched on the back as if they would suddenly reveal secrets, establish motive, eliminate doubt, quench a growing thirst. I taped the postcard to my refrigerator, as if I needed a regular reminder of him. I marveled over the fact that he had gone to the trouble of taking my address with him, not to mention buying the card and mailing it.

  Many weeks before, I had looked up his address, too, in the base phone directory, but I’d resisted the impulse to go there, perhaps for fear he’d see me and demand an explanation. And what would I tell him? In his absence, however, I took advantage one evening and went looking. I found his home in the most exclusive neighborhood of the base housing area. I stopped in front, idling for a minute as I examined the place, a stately two-story colonial with an immaculate yard, carefully landscaped. There were no surprises, and I couldn’t learn anything from looking at the exterior, its white blinds shut tight. I wanted to park in the driveway, sit on the porch, walk around to the backyard, peep into a window to see what I could discover.

  I did none of these, of course.

  The staff spent a quiet, relaxing week at the headquarters while the general was gone, and the days passed uneventfully at low volume. But I yearned for his return, even if no one else did.

  *

  “You’ve been working as General O’Neill’s aide for half a year, Harris. That’s a record,” Julia said. “What’s your opinion? Gay or not?”

  We had stopped by Julia’s apartment after our customary Friday dinner-and-movie date to change before heading over to the club for a little late-night dancing. We had an hour to kill before the DJ woul
d start his set, and we’d settled down with beer and a bag of pretzels when Julia popped her question.

  I laughed. “Where did that come from?”

  “You’re in the best position to know. You spend more time with him than anyone.”

  I groaned. “Please. I’m off duty. Give me a break. I don’t even want to think about General O’Neill again until Monday.”

  Julia laughed. “You can drop it anytime,” she said.

  “Drop what?”

  “You might just as well quit pretending you don’t like him,” she said. “I see right through your act, even if you have everyone else fooled. General O’Neill is certainly your type.”

  “He is not!”

  “Oh, come on, Harris. Who are you trying to kid? You go for older guys, the skinny, dark ones with the mustaches. The intellectual-cowboy types. You told me so yourself last year, when you came out to me. Remember?”

  “He’s no cowboy.”

  “Put him in a Stetson hat, and you’d never know the difference.” She giggled. “You know you’d be interested if you had the chance.”

  “I never said anything like that!” At least I’d never said it aloud, although it had crossed my mind a little too often. On that long-ago dinner date, Julia and I had joked about whether or not the general might be gay, but that was before I even knew him. Now I knew him almost too well.

  “So,” Julia said. “Your opinion, please. Gay or not?”

  “I honestly don’t know, Julia. I suppose he might be gay, but even if he is, you’ll never catch him coming out. So what difference does it make?”

  Julia nodded. “I suppose you’re right. Generals don’t do such things, at least not yet. It’ll be a few years before any senior leader has the courage to come out while he’s still wearing the uniform. Somehow I don’t expect General O’Neill to lead the way, even if he is gay. But I can tell he really likes you, even if he has the rest of the staff fooled into thinking he’s the boss from hell.”

  I didn’t let on I’d already figured that out, too. I pretended surprise. “He’s a good actor, then.” I gulped down the rest of my beer and busied myself with the pretzels.