11.02.17 Publisher’s Desk

The death of Matthew Sheppard on October 12, 1998, shook me to my core. It was a devastating, brutal reminder of the misguided hatred some had, and still have, for the LGBTQ community. It was also a reminder to me of how lucky I was to have survived college relatively unscathed.

I identified with Matthew a great deal. We were close in age, just under two years apart; we both went to small, remote colleges; and neither of us was quiet about being gay.

I consider myself to be a city boy. I grew up in Houston playing baseball back when people still cared about baseball, before the strike. My family moved to Orlando in ’86 looking for new beginnings. Orlando wasn’t as big then as it is now, but it was still worthy of the city-life label.

Much to everyone’s shock, I left the urban scene behind when it was time to go to college. I didn’t seek out the big city theater life of New York University as I was expected to. Instead, I only applied to one school: Mars Hill College, a small Southern Baptist college high in the sky of North Carolina’s Blue Ridge Mountains. Looking back it seems like I was keen on torturing myself. Mars Hill College was home to the world champions of clogging. It was the kind of place where it took 13 syllables to say, “Good morning.” There was seriously one street light on Main Street and it was a dry county. The next county over was just about a mile away though, making the Red Dot liquor store on the county line a popular college attraction. The one restaurant on Main Street, Café Nostalgia, closed from time to time when the family running it went on vacation or needed a break. It was a culture shock.

Although I was out during my last two years at Winter Park High School, I was not brave when I first got to Mars Hill. I remember my first visit to the campus when I was interviewing for the coveted Grayson Scholarship, my father looked me dead in the eyes and said, “Now don’t go in there and be all political. Give them a chance to get to know you.” Of course it was his way of begging me not to march into a room full of church folk with all the manliness of a Richard Simmons segment on the David Letterman Show, advice I followed.

But that didn’t last long. I was used to being out and being myself. I sought out any signs of gay life I could find. That led me to the nearby, and now-lesbian-Mecca, Asheville. There I found a gay youth group started by a straight couple in their 70s. Well, they were straight when I first joined the group and each came out separately in the months that followed. I’m not taking credit, that’s just how the timeline goes.

This couple taught me that life was too short to be living in the closet no matter where you lived. I came busting out of that proverbial closet, marched into the college president’s office and demanded that Mars Hill College open its doors to a gay and lesbian youth group. He said no and my mentors told me that it wasn’t the right time to push the issue.

Soon after, I met a lesbian couple who decided to have a commitment ceremony on campus. I walked my friend down the aisle and a faculty member officiated. Unfortunately, as the story goes, a student saw the ceremony from the cafeteria window and let her Southern Baptist father know of the atrocity that took place at the school. The faculty member was fired, the couple dropped out under the threat of expulsion and the institution discussed taking away my scholarship. I fought back with the help of my mentors. I kept my scholarship and gained a gay and lesbian youth group.

I was lucky. I was never assaulted, never abused. I got a few threatening voice mails, but it was a small school so we knew who left them. My brother also attended Mars Hill College and he was part of the cool kids. I have no proof of this, but I am pretty sure he let his fraternity brothers know that I was off limits when it came to harassment.

We recently passed the 19 year mark since the death of Matthew Sheppard. Every year around this time I take a moment to remember how lucky I am and honor Matthew’s memory for his bravery to be himself in a place and time where that cost him his life. We are all a little freer today because of him.

Watermark honors military veteran Todd Richardson in this issue. He is a Tampa Bay-based veteran who was discharged from the Air Force in the ‘80s for being gay. We celebrate Metro Wellness and Community Center’s 25 year anniversary, check in on Jeff Jones’ Pink Collar Comedy Tour and introduce you to Winter Park’s gubernatorial candidate Chris King. Our Last Page dives into the life of Tampa Bay account rep Debbie Reeves.

We strive to bring you a variety of stories, your stories. I hope you enjoy this latest issue.