It's Kind of a Long Story... about RYAN WHITE
And Phil Donohue
Hey Drama Goblins,
A couple of weeks ago in a meeting, a colleague brought up Ryan White, the teenager who died of AIDs in the 90s, and asked if I had heard of him.
I showed remarkable and uncharacteristic restraint and didn’t launch into my Ryan White story. I just said that yes, I had heard of him.
Then, later that day, talk show host Phil Donahue died.
It was the message from the universe that I needed to tell my Ryan White story here and now.
I’m so glad you’re here,
Lara
Send The Bills to Phil
Short Story
I made a cross-country trek to see Phil Donahue. I missed him.
Long Story
Toward the end of 1989, my college roommate Marcia and her childhood friend Katy started planning a trip to Thailand. These days everyone and their brother has been to Thailand (including yours truly) but then it was pretty adventurous and exotic. It was also cheap, but you still needed some money, so they came up with a scheme: take time off from school, live for free in Katy’s parents’ basement in Newton, MA, and work at some dumb job until they had enough money.
They got dumb jobs at the Boston Museum of Art as security guards for the Monet Exhibit. When I went to visit them during my Spring Break, it was hilarious to see those two hippie girls in slacks and blazers.
While my pals worked, I touristed around Beantown. I walked the Freedom Trail on a Sunday that was suspiciously quiet. Eerily quiet. When I got into an Italian neighborhood, I started to notice people with palm fronds. Huh? I know on the Jewish holiday of Sukkot you kind of hold a palm frond and a lemon in each hand and shake them while you say a prayer. I’d seen rabbis stop people in the street to do that ritual, but this couldn't be that. What was this?
Turns out it was Palm Sunday. Who knew? Not this Jew.
Marcia took a few days off and we took the train to New York City to sightsee and see… Phil Donahue!
Marcia and I watched Phil Donahue every chance we could. He was the wise, engaged, curious, smart silver-haired ringmaster of a sedate circus of talk show guests and topics. We loved him.
Months earlier, I had written away for tickets to The Phil Donahue Show. I think you actually had to send the network a letter and SASE (Self Addressed Stamped Envelope) with a request for the tickets for the days you wanted.
I had been to New York once before when I was around 12. I went with my Dad and brother for the day while we were visiting our grandparents in New Jersey over Christmas. I didn’t remember much. We saw most of the City from a tour bus, and it was very cold.
This was spring and I was an adult and we were two gals on the town! Back at our apartment in San Francisco, our copy of Stanlee Miller Coy’s The Single Girl’s Book: Making it in the Big City © 1969 had pride of place. The thing was full of gems like “homosexuals make nice companions and every girl ought to have one or two of their own” and to hide your cosmetics when a man is coming over to maintain the mystery of your beauty.
We consulted a Let’s Go! guide to New York to find a place to stay. Let’s Go! was a series of travel books written by and for college students.
It recommended a YMCA youth hostel on 34th Street. When we got there we learned that the first few floors were basically a flop house for homeless people with shelter vouchers, and the upper floors had dorm-style rooms and shared baths for students.
We dropped off our stuff and set out to hit the town. We stopped at a knish stand and the lady clocked us as rubes right off the bat. As she handed us our hot mashed potato-filled pastry, she said in a heavy accent, “You girls have good time. You watch your purse, you have good time.”
We had a great time! Empire State Building! Central Park! That night we hung out in the Village and went to a comedy club with an unfunny comic who had the non-English speaking German girls in stitches. Outside the club, Marcia struck up a conversation with a homeless guy. He said, “I live inside in my imagination.” Then they sang a chorus of, “It was just my imagination, once again, running away with meeee!” and she let him have a lick of her ice cream cone. Because Marcia.
The next day we had to vacate our room and planned to spend the first part of the day tooling around the City, ending up at Rockefeller Center to see Phil.
I had it in my head that we would be able to leave our stuff in lockers in the train station. But, when we got down there the station agent looked at me like we were insane and said, “There are no lockers in the train station. People put bombs in lockers!” Of course. Silly me.
He did say that we could go up to the street and buy a big, plastic, zippered bag and check it at baggage check. We did just that, and when I got to the baggage room I saw that it was joining dozens of identical red, white, and blue striped bags. “Oh great,” I thought, “This is how the movie always starts. Our bags are going to get switched and we’ll get the one with the drugs and get chased by goons all over the City.”
We took our chances with the drug lords, left the bag and took off for another day of sightseeing. I don’t remember what all we did, but I do remember that by the time we dragged our tired, hot, sweaty butts and throbbing feet to 30 Rock, we were looking forward not only to Phil but to sitting in a cool studio for a couple of hours.
But, when we got to the studio, we were informed that the show was canceled that day.
Cancelled? Nooo! My whole trip to the East Coast was predicated on seeing Phil! We slunk out of the building into the muggy sun and decided to go to Canal Jean, “We’re going to shop till we drop and send the bills to Phil! He owes us!”
At the end of the long, disappointing day, we ended up in a diner. I was so hot and cranky, I ordered a green salad. I couldn’t imagine eating anything else.
Marcia ordered French fries and cheesecake. She said, “I could order a sandwich with a side of fries, eat that, and then order cheesecake for dessert. But I don’t want a sandwich. I want French fries and I want cheesecake.”
It’s good to be a grown-up.
We retrieved our bag from among the bags and made it back to Boston without incident.
A few days later, we learned that Phil Donahue had canceled his show that day because he was serving as a pallbearer at Ryan White’s funeral.
Didn’t we feel like heels.
Ryan White was just a few years younger than us. A hemopheliac, he had contracted AIDS in 1986 at the age of 13. In those days, AIDS was a death sentence and he was given 6 months to live. He beat those odds, but the last years of his short life were spent fighting the disease in his body, and the dis-ease with which his community treated him.
By then it was known that AIDS wasn’t spread by casual contact, but that didn’t stop hundreds of parents from pressuring the school district to deny him his right to attend school.
When he was finally allowed to attend, he had to eat separately, use a separate bathroom, and his requirement to attend gym class was “waived.” He and his family were bullied and teased. When a bullet was shot through their living room window, the Whites decided to leave their Kokomo, Indiana home.
His story was national news, and he made regular appearances on The Phil Donahue show to raise awareness for AIDS.
On the first day of high school in his new town, Ryan was warmly greeted by administrators and students who volunteered to shake his hand.
On the one hand, it seems like the time in which Ryan lived was so long ago. That we don’t treat people like that anymore. We believe in science and compassion.
On the other hand, who am I kidding? If anything we have devolved since then. Become more anti-science. Meaner.
Side Story: When I sent away for the Phil Donahue Tickets, I’d also sent away for tickets to Saturday Night Live. SNL didn’t pay attention to the dates I requested, and sent me tickets for a show months before I was going to be in Gotham.
I sent them to our friend Patrick who lived in New York, and it turned out they were for the 15th Anniversary Show! He got to see a bunch of special guests like Mary Tyler Moore, Robin Williams and O.J. Simpson (!), Chevy Chase dump popcorn on Donald Trump, and musical guests Paul Simon and Prince. Prince! If I couldn’t got to the show, I’m glad someone I knew could.
Lara Sez…
Listen!
80s Deep Cut of the Week! Chris Isaak first came on my radar when I saw him sharing half a stage at the LA Street Scene festival not long after his debut album, Silvertone released.
Read!
I saw a trailer for the movie version of Wicked. And, as they say in Boston, it looks wicked! John and I both read the book when it came out and loved it. I can still remember feeling creeped out reading about how Elphaba created the flying monkeys, and compassion when I realized her green skin and allergy to water was a disability.
It’s worth a re-read before the movie comes out.
Eat!
A couple of months ago I recommended baking thin sheets of cottage cheese into a crispy, chewy snack, but admitted that the final product looked not unlike fake vomit.
I have further developed that recipe!
First, blend the cottage cheese until it’s smooth. I just stick an immersion blender in the tub.
Then, spread it out on nonstick liner-lined pan and bake it at 350 for 15 minutes.
Spread on some jarred marinara sauce, and bake it for another 5 minutes.
And you get, Pizza, Flanders Style!
Lara, this is such a wonderful story — a true time capsule of adventuring in youth, and I really love all the details of that time period that you shared, like sending away for tickets with a SASE, the Ryan White history, Phil Donahue and more. Thank you for posting this captivating snapshot of your personal history.