All the Young Men

by Ruth Coker Burks

  Paul found true love again, with Robert, who is lovely. Robert moved to Hot Springs from Oklahoma shortly after Billy died. He looked like Billy, only taller. People said it was too soon; they would come to me crying about it. But they were only mad because they all thought they were going to be the next Mrs. Wineland, and here was this queen who came from Oklahoma. Paul and Robert are still together, and knowing Paul was so well taken care of helped me leave Hot Springs when I did.

  When Paul opens up the albums, Our House is alive again. The bar moved to a place on East Grand Avenue shortly after Billy’s death. It wasn’t the same. Everyone was dying. Paul stopped working there, and the Our House I knew was torn down. The albums Paul brought today end with Billy.

  Looking at the photos of Billy, Paul tells me, “It’s like looking at an old movie. He was so young. I keep thinking, What was I doing with such a young man? But I see I was young too. So that’s okay.”

  He pauses, and I know we’re both thinking about Billy’s last days. We have become living memorials. No matter how happy a memory we allow ourselves to examine, the loss awaits us and the curtain falls.

  “You were always so calm,” said Paul. “Like somebody handed you a script. The funeral . . . I knew you had talked to whoever so I could be with him, I just didn’t know the conversation.”

  “You didn’t need to.”

  “You said, ‘Do this. Do this. It will work out.’ Looking back, I think, Was she really this smart? Or was someone working through her?”

  “God was working through me,” I say. “But it wasn’t my time. It was your time. I was just there to keep the wheels going.”

  “You were the only one doing that for us.”

  Paul hands me a picture of me and Billy. “I want you to have this one.” We are smiling in the photo, both so young. I think about the first time I saw him and then of us on that elephant, when we were both scared of what we knew was coming. Paul and I are quiet a moment, and I slow my breathing to the same rhythm Billy and I kept when I held him in my arms on his last night on earth.

  I feel him with us, and I smile.

  Photo Insert

  My family cemetery in Hot Springs, Arkansas.

  I buried Jimmy at my father’s grave.

  My daddy and me on a trip down his beloved Peace River in Florida.

  My mother was held at a TB sanatorium from the time I was six months old to when I was five. This was my one visit, and they had to spank me to sit on her lap.

  The last picture of me and Daddy, taken a few weeks before he died. He angled himself to hide his tracheotomy.

  My second grade school photo. My mother cut off all my hair in one of her episodes.

  Me in 1986, when I began my AIDS work.

  My daughter Allison at age five.

  My home at that time in Hot Springs.

  Allison and I would bring a picnic breakfast to watch the horses doing their morning workout at Oaklawn Park Race Track.

  I buried the ashes of my men in these cookie jars.

  My church, First United Methodist, where God was every Sunday morning. And where I was not welcome.

  On a dock my boyfriend Mitch built. I wore that just because I could.

  Miss Marilyn Morrell and Paul Wineland, manager of Our House lounge. A love for the ages.

  In Little Rock with the lovely Miss Sookie Simone (left) and the lovely Miss Lena London, the reigning Miss Gay Arkansas 1991.

  Billy was always a star, even when he wasn’t performing as Marilyn. He left me that red Victor Costa dress.

  Allison right after her daddy died. I had to fight to make our church let her be an acolyte.

  Paul, Billy, and Mother Superior at home.

  Billy and me.

  Billy near the end.

  One of Marilyn’s last performances at Our House.

  Returning to the hospital where I met Jimmy, three decades gone by.

  Acknowledgments

  Ruth Coker Burks

  I first need to thank the people I cared for, and especially the men of Our House in Hot Springs and Discovery, in Little Rock. They took us both in, myself and my daughter, and they made a family for us. It is the honor of my life that you let me into your lives. I owe so much to every drag queen I have been privileged to know and watch. They taught me how to live while you’re dying.

  I am so grateful to Elisabeth Schmitz for reading the beginnings of my story and believing in us. She is a gifted editor, one who gave us the space and confidence to let us create the book my guys deserved. Everyone at Grove Atlantic has been lovely, and I especially want to thank Morgan Entrekin, Judy Hottensen, Deb Seager, Julia Berner-Tobin, and Yvonne Cha for their incredible work.

  Thank you also to Kristin Lang, Anthony Roberts, and Esther Bochner at Audible for bringing this book to so many people.

  It is difficult for me to find words to thank Kevin Carr O’Leary for putting his heart into this book. He knows how dearly I held the memories of my guys, and I believe they came to him to share their stories. He allowed me to visit with so many of the men I lost. They became so vivid I could smell their cologne, or reach out a hand to smooth their hair. He took on my soul.

  There would be no book without Toni Long. Thank you for believing in me, and for sharing your guidance and friendship through these years.

  Albert Lee at United Talent shepherded me through this process and brought Kevin to me. He encouraged me to have ownership of my story, and I am thankful for his care and attention.

  I was on a plane when I met Jim Greene, a magical person who set so much of this project into motion. He did everything possible to connect me to people, including Toni Long. He’s put such beautiful energy into helping this process along, and he’s been a blessing. He makes me believe in angels, because he was an angel sent to me.

  Paul Wineland and I visited the gates of heaven and the gates of hell together. Through all we went through, I never heard him complain. And I have never seen such devotion as he showed Billy. I am also so grateful Robert came into Paul’s life when he did. He mended Paul’s broken heart to the best of his ability.

  Bonnie Slawson was my teacher before any of us knew what I would have to know how to do. In helping her navigate her cancer recovery—and with it the maze of health insurance and housing assistance—she prepared me for the work that defined my life.

  Bonnie’s doctor, Bruce Leipzig, MD, treated her like she had a million dollars. He was so invested in her health, and supported her decision that if it wasn’t poison, she’d try it. He showed me what was possible in a doctor and did it with such grace.

  Marcia Moore Hudson moved to Hot Springs from Denver when I was in the sixth grade. She was just a little older than me, and when she got on the school bus she saw me, this pitiful lost girl who nobody would sit next to. And she sat down with me. For many years, she was the only person who loved me. Before she passed from a brain tumor in June 2015, some of the last words she spoke to me were, “Now Ruthie, you write that book.” She believed in me, and you would not be holding this book if she had not been so kind.

  Matt Friedman was a rabbi who came into my life after the events of this book. He offered me emotional support while I was in the depths of grief. I am eternally grateful.

  I am indebted to journalist David Koon for bringing attention to my story and to Files Cemetery in 2015. When we met, I only saw my life in black and white—he saw the technicolor. The care he put into his Arkansas Times article gave me the courage to face the pain of looking back on those years. He truly saved my life.

  I want to thank John White at Storycorps for calling me at 9:30 one night in 2014 and asking me if I was that nurse who took care of AIDS patients in Arkansas. And I said “No, I’m not a nurse, but I did take care of people . . . ” He asked if they could come down to Arkansas to record my story. He had urgency and he understood the v
alue of this story. My dear sweet Liyna Anwar was the producer on the segment. Warm and funny and inviting, she sat with me, urging me to keep going. Liyna passed recently at the age of thirty, way too soon. But the good she brought to this world will go on for generations and generations.

  During the events in this book, Doug Krile at KARK was the only reporter in Arkansas who would talk to me on camera. He helped me get the word out when no one else would. Laine Baker later covered my work while she was at KNWA, and I have since enjoyed watching her family through the years. Joel Kattner, a photographer from KNWA, has become a great friend. I am also grateful to Melinda Gassaway, the executive editor of the Sentinel-Record in Hot Springs, for all the times she listened when I said, “I just need five minutes of your time.”

  I am thankful that Norman Jones created spaces for the LGBT community to meet. He endured horrible insults, harassment, and violence, because he was the face of the community in Arkansas. I am in awe of his strength in living his dream. He is a hardass with a heart of gold.

  I want to acknowledge some of the people of Hot Springs who would come to help me in meaningful ways. Wendell Workman was a lifesaver pharmacist who would give my guys hope in a bottle. As the president of the Downtown Merchants Association, Stueart Pennington was a great support, and also my funny friend. Suzann Franks and Debby Shackelford let me into their world. I am also grateful to Hot Springs National Park Superintendent Roger Giddings, and past mayors Melinda Baran and Helen Selig.

  Owen DeVasier was my north star. He was a spiritual guiding light for me after I met him at the psychic fair in Hot Springs. He passed in 2005, and I will love him forever.

  My cousin Raymond Lawler changed my life when he made me a blond all those years ago. We grew up apart, but every night as a child I would look at a photo of him and tell him good night. I loved him dearly from afar, and my worries about the safety of him and his friends fueled my need to help the LGBT community.

  Scarlett Howell made me feel beautiful when I was so fragile. When I first sat in her stylist’s chair, she gave me back my dignity. She has taken me under her wing and held me there.

  Cheryl Stevenson is a wonderful friend and healer. People may mistake her kindness for timidity, but she observes everything and leads with her genuine heart.

  Monika Miles has been my friend through hard times for both of us in the past ten years. I admire the graceful way she carries herself in life. She has a steel in her that is so strong that she doesn’t need to let people see it to feel it. Her friendship and her sense of humor have kept me going this past decade.

  I was privileged to have Suzanne Whiteman come into my life some years ago. She was the proud daughter of a Cheyenne medicine man, and she brought her beautiful family and Native American culture to me. I was honored that she chose to come live with me as she prepared for her death. She passed in January 2019, while I was working on this book. I was holding her hand when she passed, and her spirit remains with me.

  Dr. Cara Riley, my doctor, did her residency at an AIDS hospice in Tulsa. She’s an amazing doctor and I would not be here were it not for her care, compassion, and knowledge. I will love her until the end of time. Before Dr. Riley, I saw Jeff Jones, a PA who listened to my concerns and believed what I was telling him. He treated me as family.

  I want to thank my daughter Allison for being with me on this journey. She was the girl who sat on the laps of people in the depths of despair and brought a light to their darkest moments. People shunned her, but she showed such resilience in holding love in her heart. I tried my very best to give her a life when she had lost so much.

  I now have to speak directly to my magical grandchildren, so they will always have this. Jack, you are my first grandchild, and it is a joy to be your Coco. Ike, my Prince Ike, you are a remarkable young man. Don’t ever let anyone take your twirl away. Ella, I see you carrying a journal and a box of pens everywhere you go. As you find the amazing life waiting for you, know that you will always be my twinkle.

  When it comes to my parents, first I want to thank my daddy, because that will put me in the mood to say something nice about my mother. In 1957 he was the veteran of two world wars, and he was dying. He’d been diagnosed with emphysema and he and my mother made a business deal: They would marry and she would get a pension when he died. The clicker in the deal is that he wanted a baby girl. He wanted me, and he loved me. He died when I was five, but he’s been with me the whole way. My mother was 39 when I was born, and she too became sick. She taught me how to fend for myself and not to take no for an answer. Did she teach me to be brave, or did she make me have to be?

  Kevin Carr O’Leary

  For decades, Ruth Coker Burks carried the weight of the memory of the men she cared for and laid to rest. It is the honor of my professional life that she trusted me to help tell her story and theirs.

  I am deeply grateful to the many people at Grove Atlantic who took such care with this book, particularly our wonderful editor Elisabeth Schmitz. I have felt so fortunate to have her guidance. Thank you also to the team at Audible, who heard the magic in Ruth’s voice. I am also indebted to Albert Lee for bringing me to Ruth, and to the United Talent family.

  This book would not be what it is if Paul Wineland had not opened his life and photo albums to me. “I adore Paul,” Ruth slips in every time she speaks of him, and now I do too. I am also thankful to Ruth’s daughter Allison for being willing to open up to me. And to every single person in Hot Springs who spoke with me once Ruth vouched for me, thank you.

  When I was twenty, I started reading POZ, a magazine about living with HIV. Its founder, Sean Strub, gave me an internship that became the best job ever. I am grateful to everyone I worked with as an editor there, and to Walter Armstrong, RonniLyn Pustil, Gonzalo Aburto, Dick Scanlan, Stephen Gendin, Jeffrey Hoover, Jennifer Hsu, LeRoy Whitfield, Bob Lederer, Laura Whitehorn, Greg Lugliani, Esther Kaplan, Kevin Irvine, Lady Catiria, and Shawn Decker.

  Through POZ I met Barton Lidicé Beneš, my best friend. Losing him in 2012 remains the wound that helped me understand Ruth’s loss of Billy.

  I am blessed to have Kathleen Carr O’Leary as a first reader and mother. My father, Daniel Philip O’Leary would have loved Ruth. I also thank my brother, Dan O’Leary, for inspiring my love of books.

  I would not have been able to devote these years to helping Ruth tell her story without the steadfast support of my husband, Brian Esser. I wrote the first chapter on my phone, lying on the floor of our son Keith’s bedroom as I waited for him to fall asleep. And it was because of our younger child, Jason, that I could picture Allison so clearly as Ruth spoke. I love you all.