John Preston
Nightfly
I'm sure that others have already heard, but for anyone who hasn't,
John Preston has died from AIDS. The article below lists some of his
many accomplishments. What it doesn't tell, and what some folks may
not know, is that John was also a leatherman and a writer of some very
hot SM porn. He is one of the people who made us what we are.
I'm crying. I've been luckier than I have any right to be. I've
never lost anyone close to me to AIDS. And, in a sick sort of way,
I've encouraged this: not by putting my time and energy into promoting
safer sex, but by becoming more insulated and letting old friends
drift out of contact. I know, if I were to go back to my circle of
friends of ten years ago, I'd find some missing. But I don't look,
and so I'm not touched.
But now I am touched. I didn't know John Preston, and he didn't know
me. We met once, very briefly, in a crowd of people who were
congratulating him on his plenary address at last year's OutWrite
conference in Boston. But he told me, and every writer in the hall
that night, a very important thing: to tell our stories. He spoke of
interviewing gay men and lesbians in Maine, and hearing stories of
incredible courage and dignity and compassion. And from every one, he
said, he'd hear the same disclaimer: "No one wants to hear my story.
No one cares about this."
Where does that conviction come from, that our stories are worthless?
Where do we get that certainty that the history of what we've done
must be kept out of the public eye? From a thousand words and
slights, and equally so from an absence of encouragement. I am
convinced that each of us could speak volumes, if we could only find
our tongues. And what stories we would tell!
That evening, John Preston told us to speak. He told ME to speak, to
tell my story. His voice was gentle and filled with compassion as he
said: Somebody wants to hear your story. Somebody cares.
I would give just about anything to return that voice to us. All I
can do is speak his name, and pass the message on.
*blink* Nightfly *blink*
The post from clari.news.gays follows:
From: clar...@clarinet.com (AP)
Newsgroups: clari.local.maine,clari.living.books,clari.news.books,clari.news.gays,clari.news.group.gays
Distribution: clari.apo
Keywords: U.S. news and features
Copyright: 1994 by The Associated Press, R
Date: Thu, 28 Apr 94 17:10:13 PDT
ACategory: usa
Slugword: John-Preston
Priority: regular
ANPA: Wc: 262/0; Id: V0084; Src: ap; Sel: -----; Adate: 04-28-N/A
Codes: APO-1110
PORTLAND, Maine (AP) -- John Preston, an author, co-founder of
one of the nation's first gay community centers and a former editor
of the Advocate, has died at age 48 after a long battle with AIDS.
Preston, who died Wednesday at his Portland home, co-founded Gay
House Inc. in Minneapolis, and moved on to San Francisco to serve
in 1975 as editor of The Advocate, the nation's largest gay
magazine.
In 1979, he moved to Portland, and said he found the local gay
scene a refreshing change because of the lack of affectation so
prevalent in the big cities.
``Being gay in Portland doesn't have much to do with the media
image of gay life,'' he wrote in his essay on Portland that
appeared in ``Hometowns: Gay Men Write About Where They Belong,''
one of his more than 40 books.
``Hometowns'' and ``The Big Gay Book: A Man's Survival Guide for
the 90s'' were Book of the Month Club selections, bringing his work
before mainstream audiences.
Also among his books, some written under pseudonyms, are a
number of erotic novels that achieved cult status.
After preaching safe sex through much of the 1980s, Preston was
devastated to learn in 1987 that he was infected with the virus
that causes AIDS. He said his sexual behavior reflected the safe
sex message contained in his writings and lectures.
Preston is survived by his parents, Jack and Nancy of Medfield,
Mass., and by two brothers and two sisters. A funeral service was
planned for May 7 in Portland.
Charles C. Tucker
: I'm sure that others have already heard, but for anyone who hasn't,
: John Preston has died from AIDS. The article below lists some of his
: many accomplishments. What it doesn't tell, and what some folks may
: not know, is that John was also a leatherman and a writer of some very
: hot SM porn. He is one of the people who made us what we are.
I was saddened by the news of John Preston's death. Though I am not gay,
I do know the value that I have recieved from the many gay people my life
has touched on, and know the loss that happens when death takes one of
them from this world.
I can't say I ever met Mr. Preston, though we were in the same room
together once. Mr. Preston had come to hear an old friend of his speak,
and I was there to listen to the same speaker.
We were all listening to the speaker when three gay leather men came in.
I felt very wierd, at seeing that. It was not a normal occurence, even in
that unusual place. I had not come out to my own leather sexuality, still
being afraid to tell people what I was.
I remember quite vividly thinking "this is what it is like when you are
minding your own business, and your id walks into the room".
Did those men appearing in that gathering change me? Very likely, as
their image has always been with me. That these men could wear their
leather so openly, so proudly, and with such grace meant that I could do
that too.
When the time came to leave the closet I had hidden my dominance in, I
could do it because of those three men, one of whom was John Preston, as
I later learned.
I had the opportunity to review one of his books a few months ago. It was
not one of his leather sex novels, but more a romantic action adventure
novel. Though the sexual scenes were not my cup of leather, I could and
did identify the love with which Mr. Preston imbued his work. When it
came time to write and post my review of that novel, I spoke in glowing
terms of that love. It was that which had touched me most about his work
in that book.
That the world is now deprived of this man saddens me. No more will his
appearance encourage others to come out to their own sexuality. We have
the books he wrote, but the man who gave them to us is no longer here.
May we find him again, wherever leather saints go.
-Mastercat