24
The Gay & Lesbian Review
/
WORLDWIDE
cure, for PPS, which involves progressive muscle deterioration,
accompanied by pain. Doug developed chronic sciatica, and then
a veritable plague of ailments—two strokes, diabetes, weakened
lungs, and kidney failure—necessitating frequent hospitaliza-
tions. He’d long since given up booze-and-talk marathons with
political buddies, but toward the end he was rarely able to leave
his shabby East Village apartment—nor able to pay the rent for
it. Long-time friends kept him this side of homelessness.
Yet to the end, his voice gravelly from muscular debilitation,
he continued to work the phones and—somehow—to write oc-
casional reports and reviews for
Gay City News
. When Hurricane
Sandy hit in 2013, John Berendt sent a car to collect Doug from
his blacked-out apartment and installed him in a bedroom in his
elegant townhouse. Doug reported to the political consultant
Ethan Geto, his friend of many years, that the food was “
very
good” and that he wouldn’t mind staying. Courage and humor,
not complaint, were Doug’s stock-in-trade. Another old friend,
Sean Strub, the founder of
POZ
, dropped by one evening and re-
ported that despite the muscle deterioration that made it difficult
for Doug to hold his head up, intellectually he was in scintillat-
ing form—so much so that Sean regretted not having brought
along a tape recorder to memorialize what was “a master’s tuto-
rial” about “the global political environment.”
After returning to his apartment from his stay at John’s,
“Dougie”—as his close friends affectionately called him— rap-
idly declined. He died on October 26, 2013. A voice of uncom-
mon clarity and charm went silent, his passion and wit emptying
into the void.
Indonesia, and Uganda. The provincialism of gay
Americans infuriated him.
For his pains, Doug was himself criticized for
judging other cultures according to the degree to
which they did or did not conform to Western notions
of “gay identity.” Widely read, Doug was delighted to
discover that most Arab countries had a strong tradi-
tion of male-to-male love and lust, though it typically
co-existed with opposite-gender attraction. Doug re-
sisted any automatic acceptance of cultural relativism
in the name of certain universalist claims. It is
never
right, he’d thunder, to hang two adolescent boys (as
happened in Iran in 2005) for “heretical sodomy”; one
can
never
justify clitoral surgery for young girls as es-
sential to teaching them their “proper” gender role.
For Doug these were criminal acts, and no theocratic
or historic justification could excuse them.
Saints or Sinners—the dichotomous approach
sometimes looms large in Doug’s political writing (as
well as in his personal friendships). Yet his critics from
the
far
left were much more likely than Doug to avoid
shades of gray. This was particularly true of those who
denounced him and, by implication, all those who oc-
casionally blurred ideological categories (meaning
most social democrats), for swinging between the
hope that they could “work within the system” to
bring about progressive change and their gut-level
awareness that only a far more drastic stance—non-
violent revolution? anarchistic localism?—held out
any real chance for substantive social change.
In working with anti-war Democrats like Al
Lowenstein and Bella Abzug and thereby encouraging the belief
that electoral politics could ever dislodge corporate capitalism’s
predatory domination, some critics accused Doug of bolstering
the iniquitous “permanent government” and sabotaging the so-
cialist vision to which he rhetorically adhered. To this Doug
would reply that the conservative mindset in the U.S. that con-
tinued to blame individual “failure” on a lack of ability and/or
effort rather than on structural obstacles relating to race, class,
and gender, dictated a step-by-step pragmatism, a willingness to
choose “the lesser of two evils” as the only alternative to despair
and retreat. To Doug theoretical purity was a form of snobbism.
The last half-dozen years of Doug’s life were full of suffering.
Afflicted with PPS (post-polio syndrome—the return of the dis-
ease many years after recovering from the initial viral attack),
Doug’s health inexorably declined. There’s no treatment, let alone
Psalm
For I shall praise Hasbro, for Big Jim and Big Josh, for the
safari jeep, the boots, the beard. For preparing the way.
For I shall praise Jim Palmer, star pitcher for the
Baltimore Orioles, whose underwear ads were holy writ
of adolescence. Praise for David Hodo, whose torn jeans
and hard hat were an annunciation. Praise, oh praise, for
Tom Selleck, Magnum PI.
Blessed be the one who touched my leg when I sat on
the second pew at church with all the other boys, for the
shame of it, the snickers, for what I learned.
Blessed be the furry attorney from Waco, whose letters
mapped the terrain of the closet. Blessed be his locked
trunk of porn, book of revelations.
Blessed be the priest who listened in the dark
confessional of a hotel bed as we both looked back, brush
of skin, taste of salt.
Blessed be the architect in Hyde Park, who ate a sweet
green apple as he kissed me, fruit of knowledge.
E
D
M
ADDEN