A
Gay Soldier’s Life
John
F. Medeiros,
Master Sergeant (Retired),
U.S. Army
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I
am the subject of the photograph called Don't Ask,
Don't Tell in an exhibit showing social issues
Americans are not comfortable with. Aptly
named Issues and Icons, the exhibit debuted in July
of 2004 at the International Photography Hall of
Fame in Oklahoma City. It can be seen, along with
the other 40-or-so photographs, by going to http://www.issuesandicons.com/photos.htm
(http://www.issuesandicons.com/images/large/Donta.jpg)
The
image purposely portrays a stereotypical senior
noncom with a no-nonsense demeanor who is bedecked
with awards and decorations befitting a 24-year
career. Added to the uniform, however, are various
gay symbols representing the unspoken truth of the
fact that the man proudly wearing the U.S. Army
uniform is also a homosexual.
The
artist, Adam Nehr, is a distinguished photographer
working for a defense contractor supporting NASA
and the U.S. Air Force at the Kennedy Space Center
and the Cape Canaveral Air Force Station in Florida.
He recently became a board member of the prestigious
International Photography Hall of Fame.
What
does the image really represent? It’s not just a
picture of me. It represents every gay man and woman
who has served throughout our short history in the
defense of these great United States of America in
peace and in war. Because of the fears of being
discovered and its consequences, it is unfortunate
we will probably never know to what extent uniformed
gay men and women helped shape U.S. history.
As
for me, I certainly didn’t shape any U.S. history.
I just did my job, and I tried to do it well.
I
enlisted into the Massachusetts National
Guard in November of 1956 while still in high
school. I already knew I was gay. My
biggest fear at that time was the perceived
possibility that the military had "tests"
to catch gays. As far as I knew then I
was the only "queer" (the New England term
for gays) in the U.S. military, and I was always on
my guard.
Twenty-seven
years later at my retirement ceremony all I could
think of was the fact that I had beat the system,
even though I had had two close calls.
From
a lowly publications clerk at the Brook Army Medical
Center (BAMC) outside of San Antonio, TX, to an
office manager for a 25-person committee at the
Office of the Secretary of Defense (Reserve Affairs)
at the Pentagon, I was fortunate to have had
exciting assignments throughout my career.
The
publications job was tedious; however, I discovered
there was money to be made by doing the duty at the
headquarters after hours. As a 19-year-old Private
First Class (E-3), I was the one responsible for
alerting medical officers of incoming
helicopter-borne burn patients and for ensuring the
duty officer was awake to sign necessary acceptance
orders for those patients. While it doesn’t seem
great shakes, it taught me responsibilities I never
thought I was capable of. After all, I was just a
kid from a small town, of immigrant parents, and an
immigrant myself. Not bad for gay guy who didn’t
know what he was getting in to when he joined the
Army.
Aside
from all of that, the tour at Fort Sam Houston also
brought about a great personal, social event. The
guys in the barracks discovered I was a virgin (with
girls, at least), and insisted on taking me to a
bordello on the other side of the border so that I
could achieve my manhood. Of course, I was scared
out of my boots over this but couldn’t back out
lest they think I was queer. I don’t know how I
managed it, but manage it I did. I still get the
shivers when I think of that night.
Not
so exciting was my tour in Korea. However, my
position as operations clerk with an infantry
battalion did bring me two promotions in a 13-month
period. I left there as a specialist five (E-5) at
the ripe-ole-age of 20. The biggest problem in Korea
was being consistent with my story as to why I didn’t
go to the local village each weekend to meet the
ladies. If I remember correctly, it had something to
do with my fiancé back home, and my strict
old-country Catholic upbringing. God forbid anybody
should think I didn’t patronize the ladies because
I was queer! But that was life in the early 50’s
for a gay soldier: fictionalizing fiancés or
dodging questions about other personal matters that
most red-blooded GI’s did on their time off away
from camp.
The
next assignment was to First U.S. Army headquarters
on Governors Island, just a 10-minute ferry ride
from the tip of Manhattan. The assignment itself
wasn’t so glamorous, a clerk-typist for the chief
of operations.
My
boss was a gnarly chief warrant officer who I think
practiced looking mean before going to work each
morning. His tutorage was no picnic. At least there
was the City to go to each night, which helped me
tremendously to find my gay way in the ways of the
big city. I remember being terrified at going into
my first gay bar in the Village and always looking
for an alternative exit in case the place got
raided. I knew I looked very conspicuous in my GI
haircut, but it didn’t stop me from entering that
particular place and, in essence, a whole new world.
I forever give thanks to the person who thought up
off-limits lists, for that was how most of us gays
found respite from the rigors of soldiering.
Besides
the good fortune of living just a few minutes from
Manhattan, I was able to have a week’s temporary
duty at West Point for an operations exercise.
While
at Governors Island, I somehow managed to get
involved with a fellow soldier who lived across the
street. It was a very clandestine affair with all
sorts of precautions to avoid detection. I had
previously paired up with a lesbian soldier, and we
had everyone convinced we were a very happy couple.
We always took the ferry together into the city and
then waited for the next boat to bring my special
friend. The three of us then went to her girlfriend’s
apartment (a former soldier who had been discharged
during one of the "witch hunts" that had
taken place the year before). Returning to the
island was the same, except when we were forced to
take the last ferry of the night. In those instances
we simply got on and separated. My "gal"
and I made goo-goo eyes at each other for the
benefit of those watching while my boyfriend
dutifully went to either the upper deck or to the
other side of the boat. Such was the life of
soldiers constantly looking over their soldiers. We
took it in stride and considered such tactics as
simply out-maneuvering the military establishment in
order to be able to serve our country.
Upon
reenlisting, I chose to become a stenographer and
was shipped off to the steno school at Fort Benjamin
Harrison, IN. During the five-month course, I was
fortunate to have met more than one fellow soldier
whose inclinations were the same as mine. After all,
it was a stenographers’ school. At least there we
were able to give each other support and have
company when visiting Indianapolis. The off-limits
lists were always a handy tool for finding friendly
atmospheres.
Dear
Uncle Sam assigned me back to Governors Island at
the completion of the steno school. I was assigned
to a deputy commanding general. The assignment was
short-lived as I received expedited orders for an
assignment to the NATO Liaison Office in Ankara,
Turkey, that required a top secret clearance.
Clearances and their investigations were always a
matter of stress; however, I must have been
exemplary both on and off duty since the interim
clearance was granted and followed up with a final a
few months after getting to Turkey.
There
really wasn’t much actual work to do during most
of that assignment. My boss, a full Army colonel
suggested I help with the Cub Scout program for the
American boys who lived in the Ankara area. I agreed
and organized a very successful program. The only
drawback was that I was in constant fear of being
perceived as "too friendly" with the kids.
I made it a point never to physically touch any of
the boys. Some of the tykes could have used a hug or
two. It would have been one heck of a scandal at any
allegation of misbehavior since I represented the
Boy Scouts, the U.S. Army, and NATO.
In
spite of that, the programs we put on brought many,
many compliments from both the Boy Scout adult
leaders and the kids’ parents. I was given a
handsome trophy by the Boy Scouts upon my
reassignment back to the U.S.
One
of my official duties was to buy very large wreaths
for NATO dignitaries to lay at the tomb of the first
president of Turkey, Mustafa Kemal Ataturk.
Officially known as the Ataturk Mausoleum, it was a
great honor for me to be at each ceremony when the
VIP would ceremoniously parade the length of the
memorial with two Turkish military carrying
"my" wreath. I did get to meet many
internationally known personages, both civilian and
military, because of it.
There
was some drama in Turkey during my assignment. In
the course of two attempted revolutions, we, as NATO
people, were the only foreigners allowed on the
streets during the strict curfews imposed by the
military authorities. Our NATO sedan was stopped at
every corner where we had to show military ID’s
and our NATO badges. Upon entering the Turkish
General Staff building where the office was located
(equivalent to our Pentagon), we were escorted to
and from our office by armed senior military
officers. One afternoon, close to the end of the
day, we hurt a loud bang but thought nothing of it.
As we approached the entrance for our departure, we
could see a dead Turkish officer who had been shot
trying to enter the building without authority.
One
late afternoon, during normal times, I had the
distinct pleasure of opening the entrance door for
one Turkish General Ismet Inonu, the first prime
minister and second president of the Republic of
Turkey. I rendered the Turkish indoor salute
(clicked heals and a bowing of the head), which he
acknowledged.
My
departure from Turkey was a sad one for me. I would
miss the work with the kids and would certainly miss
the travels I was able to do throughout the country
during Turkish holidays. My appreciation for
archeology and, to an extent, photography, was
greatly enhanced during that tour. I must have done
a good job there as I also left with another
promotion. I was now a Specialist Six (E-6) at 23
years of age.
I
was off to the U.S. for an assignment to McChord
AFB, WA, as a stenographer to a brigadier general
commanding a NIKE missile headquarters. We were an
Army unit tucked away at a corner of the Air Force
base. The general already had a civilian steno, so I
was reassigned to the Information Office and helped
put out a monthly newspaper. The only real
excitement at the AFB was our monthly parades to
show off our Army military bearing. I was given the
job of carrying the general’s flag. I hated
marching, but there I was in my spit-polished boots,
heavily starched khakis, and a chrome-plated parade
helmet. No show biz there; I would have gladly
accepted a drum major’s position. At least we
weren’t marching behind the horses as we had to do
during the parades up Fifth Avenue in New York City.
What a mess that was!
I
was sent to Hawaii in October of 1965. I worked in
the chief of staff’s office of the 25th Infantry
Division, Schofield Barracks. Part of my duties were
very beneficial to me. I had to summarize courts
martial cases for the commanding general’s
signature. It gave me great insight on where not to
go in Honolulu as the investigators were casing the
gay bars. Many a soldier was being discharged after
being seen "leaving a homosexual
establishment."
My
tour in Hawaii was cut short in December of that
year with the division being deployed to Vietnam. I
had another set of expedited orders, but this time
it was off to war. I was chosen to be the general’s
secretary as part of an advance party to prepare for
the division’s deployment. We left on a commercial
air carrier on Christmas Eve, traveled a very long
night, and landed in Saigon mid-morning Christmas
day just in time to freshen up a bit and participate
in a traditional military Christmas meal. The
only problem was that there was only a spoon for me
to eat with. And so started my Vietnam tour.
It wasn’t all bad those first few months. I soon
discovered "family" and so was in good
company until we got sent to Cu Chi. There was one
young officer that was way too flamboyant for my
liking so I avoided him and his crowd at the price
of being very lonely at times. Discretion prevailed.
From
there, the boss became the commander for an infantry
brigade that served with distinction in the Pleiku
area of central Vietnam. He eventually got three
stars before retiring.
I
got very tired of the Army by the time my enlistment
was up and opted not to reenlist at the end of my
Vietnam tour. I got discharged, went home to
Massachusetts, and eventually entered into a
convenience marriage a girl I had known in grade
school. We had disclosed our proclivities to each
other in correspondence while I was in Vietnam. The
convenience marriage became very inconvenient after
a few months and so a separation and divorce
followed. I thought I could start a new life by
joining the U.S. Air Force and learning a new
career: air traffic control. Another worry, though,
as now I had a vindictive ex-wife who, throughout
the separation and divorce, told everyone the
marriage failed because I was gay. Her proclivities,
however, never entered the picture. I behaved like a
gentleman and just countered to whoever asked that
it was her way of getting back at me. Deep down
inside, though, it was a serious concern for
clearance investigations.
The
air traffic school was at Keesler AFB, MS. It was
about 90 minutes away from New Orleans. My routine
was that I would study all week, leave for New
Orleans after classes on Friday nights and return to
the school on Monday mornings in time to study for
an hour or two. Even with that routine for five or
six months, I managed to graduate with honors. My
assignment was to Hurlburt Field, a sub-base of
Eglin AFB, FL, to work in the control tower and
assist in pilot training on OV-10’s and C-130’s.
Thousands of touch-and-go and stop-and-go aircraft
maneuvers later, I was reassigned once more, this
time to Clark AB in the Philippines.
My
flight to the Philippines was highlighted by a stop
in Honolulu, where gay civilian friends I had met
while stationed in Hawaii had come out to the
airport to present me with a lei. I have to admit I
was a little overwhelmed by the gesture but it didn’t
stop me from grinning from ear to ear as I reboarded.
It was one of the nicest things that had happened to
me.
My
original orders were for an assignment at the Manila
International Airport where I was supposed to help
teach the Filipino military with my air traffic
control knowledge, little that it was. I had been
given a civilian clothing allowance and was
permitted to ship household goods, since I would be
living on the economy. All of that literally flew
out the window at my arrival at Clark AB; my orders
were changed and I was now assigned to that
facility. Since I had envisioned a luxury lifestyle
in Manila, I was greatly disappointed at the turn of
events. It took a lot of convincing to be allowed to
live on the economy outside of the base instead of
living in the barracks. But I managed.
Through
various contacts I was able to find
"family," and offered one of them to live
at my place. It was a good arrangement and,
eventually, the household grew to three roommates.
The house eventually became a social gathering place
on Saturday nights after the Airmens’ Club closed.
Since it was a mixed crowd of men and women, albeit
gay, to anyone noticing, it was just ordinary
get-togethers. It was certainly the good life, even
though it wasn’t Manila.
After
a while, I was transferred to radar control, which I
detested. I persevered for a few months. In the
meantime, I was fortunate to be promoted once again;
I was now a technical sergeant (E6).
I
could handle the visual air traffic but the blips on
radar screens just didn’t seem like real aircraft,
and the lines didn’t seem like mountains. I asked
to be relieved of air traffic control, and I was…that
afternoon. The Air Force wasn’t taking any chances
of a serious accident happening on my shift after my
telling them I wasn’t hacking it. I was able to
revert to my stenographer specialty and became the
admin guy for the flight officer. At the end of my
tour, I was reassigned to a headquarters at the Los
Angeles airport. Unfortunately, on the day the
furniture was being loaded for shipment, a courier
came by to give me amended orders to the Pentagon,
Washington D.C. I was amended into Clark AB and
amended out of it too.
The
Pentagon, and with it came more worries about
clearances. The job at the Operations Center for the
Chief of Operations, USAF, required a top secret
clearance. Would this investigation be the one where
the ex would do me in? I just hoped for the best
and, fortunately, nothing came of it as I was
granted the clearance. I worked the rotating 12-hour
shifts for six months and, as time went by, I became
more and more anxious about getting caught. It
reached a point where I just couldn’t stand the
pressure of working in a top-secret room. In my mind’s
eye I could see nasty headlines about a gay NCO working in a Pentagon Air Force top-secret on operations center being caught and possible allegations of security compromise.
I
decided to leave the Air Force at the end of the
enlistment. It caused quite a stir when I made the
announcement since it was such a critical job. They
had less than a month to find a replacement.
I
worked for a railroad company in Washington. I was a
secretary to a vice president. No great shakes,
really. After a couple of years I realized I had
made a serious mistake in leaving the military with
14 years active duty. I began to look into getting
back in. The Services were willing to take me in,
but wanted me to either go back to basic training or
wanted to bring me in two ranks below what I had
left with. Fortunately one weekend, I was
commiserating my situation to a friend’s friend
who suggested that I join his Army Reserve unit and
apply for active duty after a few months. That is
what he did. That’s what I did, and I could get
back into the Service without losing a grade, too.
After
submitting an application for active duty, I was
interviewed by a colonel in the Chief, Army Reserve’s
office in the Pentagon, was accepted, and started
active duty at the same office the following week as
a staff sergeant (E6). Life was good.
I
managed almost nine years of active duty for the
Army Reserve, working in various assignments from
ordinary clerking to being admin NCO for various
Reserve and National Guard studies, a feasibility
study and eventual implementation of a program to
individually manage Army Reserve officers, and
finally a five-year tour with the Office of the
Secretary of Defense (Reserve Affairs) on a
25-person multi-service committee designed to advise
and convince employers throughout the United States
and territories that reservists were by law entitled
to have their jobs back when finished with
active-duty tours.
Besides
being the admin NCO, I also served as the assistant
ombudsman to reservists who needed assistance. What
cases the committee couldn’t resolve was forwarded
to the Department of Labor.
During
those five years I was promoted twice. The master
sergeant (E8) promotion came just as my 20 years of
active duty approached. The big question was whether
or not to risk the two mandatory years of active
duty to be able to retire in that grade and run the
risk of something going terribly wrong….one
accusation of being gay and my whole career would be
down the tubes. It was a risk worth taking, I
decided, after doing the math of what the promotion,
longevity, and cost of living pay raises would do
for me at retirement. However, it wasn’t at all an
easy decision.
Those
five years allowed me to occasionally work directly
with the assistant secretary of defense for reserve
affairs and with the secretaries of the Army and the
Air Force. I was privileged to have met Secretary of
Defense Weinberger at a luncheon.
Upon
retirement I was awarded the Department of Defense’s
Defense Meritorious Service Medal and the National
Guard Bureau’s Meritorious Service Award. The U.S.
Army had previously awarded me with four Army
Commendation Medals along with various Certificates
of Achievement.
I
stood proudly in April 1983 in the reviewing stand
at Fort Myer, VA, while the U.S. Army’s Third
Infantry marched by along with the Third Infantry
Colonial Marching Band in my honor. The thought that
ran through my head at the time was "I beat the
system! I’m here where I belong!" It’s a
sad commentary though that any gay man or woman
should have to think that during a retirement
ceremony.
Never
mind, I was still elated. So happy, in fact, that
when a former boss of mine, an Army colonel,
approached me for congratulations, I spontaneously
gave him a huge kiss on the cheek. He was astounded,
but I quickly assured him it was OK as it was a
Portuguese custom to kiss everybody on special
occasions.
I
sincerely hope my story shows just how cunning a gay
had to be to avoid the pitfalls of accusations and
investigations. It was always a case of looking over
one’s shoulder to be sure everything was OK while
serving my country to my utmost. It was tedious, and
I’m thankful I prevailed.
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