SHARED by LYNN

Gabriel

Henry. Hank. Gabriel. Gabe. All were names for my favorite brother. He despised the name Hank so when he landed in Chicago from small town Iowa with a detour in Florida, he called himself “Gabriel.” It suited him because he was cool with an unparalleled sense of humor and style.  He had done some modeling in Chicago as I saw the ads for Marshall Fields and Century Mall with his chiseled cheekbones (the same ones my son Jake has inherited).

Gabriel lived and worked for the nightlife as someone bartending and doing lights for The Bistro, a gay disco in its heyday, followed by the Paradise, as far as I knew as his little sister.  He had a following in Chicago and people loved him for his conversations, kindness, generosity, quick wit and big laugh.  

In the 80s he had to endure discrimination even at the Bistro on Dearborn when patrons who were angry they weren’t allowed in sooner or even cops would throw glasses at the workers and the gay (and straight) patrons. He had escaped the scrutiny of Iowa only to find the small-mindedness and intolerance leaching into pockets of the urban center.  

He had a zest for life and knew how to throw a good party! His place was decorated in a beautiful custom sectional, Nagel prints and giant tulip lights above mirrored columns - it was the pinnacle of the ‘80s! But behind the beautiful furnishings and fast-paced life, he was sick. He had fainted inexplicably. He called home to our small town doctor for some pills. My mom left my senior year of high school to take care of him in his place on Ontario. I couldn’t believe it when I heard the news: it wasn’t true, I thought! He is only in his 20’s! What I didn’t understand was that a virus had been running dormant and then rampant in his community. When he was back home he’d ask me to stay up with him and watch TV longer. All his friends were dying he said. I said, “You’re fine. You’re just run down.” My teenage brain couldn’t process it.

I learned his longtime partner died first. My mom would go around Chicago getting him all the foods he might like for her to make his favorite meals so he could eat something. She stayed with him for many, many months that year. I missed her but I knew he needed her more. He had purchased a beautiful white tuxedo that he was going to wear to my high school graduation in 1986. People in our small town whispered and my dad hid from people asking him questions in our small town. He had a stroke that year. His beautiful boy was really dying.  

My mom faced the impossible tasks a mother facing the stigma of AIDS in the 80s had to endure. Her son was dying. She told him he couldn’t come home to Iowa, but that she would live with him in Chicago. He was relieved. She would call an ambulance and she would have to lie that her son did not have AIDS or they wouldn’t come. The ambulance wouldn’t come! She said she felt bad when they arrived and she had to tell them. Impossible! My brother was caught in the perilous window of time when we lost so many to the terrible virus. Had it been 10 years before or 10 years after that passage, he likely would have lived a full and normal life with all of his gifts God had given him. If AIDs had appeared before that time, he would have known to protect himself. Had he been sick and gotten it years later, people were surviving the illness.  

It was a tragedy for me, his little sister, and for all of us really. Anyone who did not get to see his big grin or feel his warmth and generosity another day felt it. He was not well enough to attend my graduation. He died in the Fall of 1986. He was buried in that beautiful white tuxedo.

SHARED by LYNN

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