Breaking the Surface (40 page)

When I got home to California, I began thinking about what my next step would be. I felt incredibly inspired by my experiences at the Gay Games, and thought there might be an opportunity to take that inspiration and throw my support behind something I had started reading about while I was in New York.

For several months, a controversy had been brewing over the planned venue of the 1996 Olympic volleyball preliminaries, which were set to be held in Cobb County, Georgia, which is outside Atlanta. In August 1993, Cobb County’s commissioners passed an antigay resolution, which stated that “lifestyles advocated by the gay community” are “incompatible with the standards to which this community subscribes.” A number of organizations had been lobbying the Atlanta organizing committee to move the volleyball venue because of that resolution. The Atlanta committee was not exactly rushing to make a decision, and the U.S. Olympic Committee was keeping a very safe distance from the whole controversy.

Two weeks after the Gay Games ended, I had a perfect opportunity to say something directly to the U.S. Olympic Committee about what I thought should be done. Several months earlier, I’d been invited to go to St. Louis on July 7 to accept the Robert J. Kane Award, which is given annually to an “American athlete who achieved success at the U.S. Olympic Festival, who continues to give back to his or her sport, and who exemplifies the spirit and ideals of Bob Kane, including fairness, a commitment to excellence, and a dedication to sport and athletics.” Robert Kane was the founder of the U.S. Olympic Festival, and the award this year was sponsored by the Xerox Corporation.

So I decided that I’d talk about Cobb County in my acceptance speech. I also wanted to talk about my experience at the Gay Games and what it meant to me. But I decided to start my speech by dedicating my award to Dr. Tom Waddell, who founded the Gay Games. He was a former Olympian, and he died of AIDS. Dr. Waddell had originally wanted to call the Gay Games the Gay Olympics, but the U.S. Olympic Committee sued him to prevent him from using the word
Olympics
. To pay his legal bills, Dr. Waddell had to mortgage his home. The USOC won its case, and I thought that Dr. Waddell deserved some recognition for his dedication to Olympic ideals and for giving gay and lesbian athletes around the world a place to compete without the fear of being judged or condemned for who they are.

I have the bad habit of not paying attention to the specifics of an event until I get there. In this case, it was a good thing I didn’t, because I’m not sure I would have had the guts to deliver the speech I’d prepared. When I got to the hotel that night, I looked through the materials that had been left for me and discovered that this was not going to be a small awards breakfast. This was being held at the U.S. Olympic Festival, an annual event that brings together young athletes from around the country and U.S. Olympics officials. A thousand people were expected at the breakfast. I didn’t sleep very well that night.

The next morning, I went over my speech several times more before I left my room for the banquet hall. I knew I could get through it okay, but I was nervous. I was about to bring the issue of homosexuality to the Olympic realm in a very public way. In a confident moment, I thought, It’s about time!

When I was introduced, everyone in the hall stood up and applauded. It was a wonderful welcome, but I wondered how enthusiastic they were going to be once I finished my acceptance speech. Before I started talking I had an awful sense of terror, unlike anything I’d ever experienced on the diving board. Sitting in the audience not far from where I was standing were officials from the U.S. Olympic Committee, a table full of officials from U.S. Diving, and a table full of people from the Atlanta organizing committee. I was already sweating by the time I finished thanking the U.S. Olympic Committee, Xerox, and all the appropriate people. I took a deep breath and said:

     I accept the Robert J. Kane Award with humble gratitude, and I’d like to dedicate it to the memory of Dr. Tom Waddell, an Olympic athlete who died of AIDS on July 11, 1987. Tom was a college football player, a gymnast, and a track-and-field star. He was thirty when he made the U.S. Olympic team and finished sixth in the 1968 Olympic decathlon. I was only twenty-eight when I
retired
from diving. Tom was also a physician, a paratrooper, and a father. He was also gay, and in 1982, Tom founded the Gay Games, an Olympic-style event that embraces many of the same ideals that the Olympics and the Robert J. Kane Award are intended to celebrate.

     As many of you know, I was in New York City two weeks ago to be part of Gay Games IV. I wasn’t there to compete, but I had the chance to work out with divers from around the world, including a couple of former Olympians. I also volunteered to announce the diving competitions and I gave two diving exhibitions. I did pretty well, but I was glad there weren’t any judges scoring my dives.

     During my time in New York, I was welcomed as warmly as I’ve ever been, and for the first time, I was welcomed as an openly gay athlete. It was a real thrill for me, and that experience made me realize how important it is for athletes to feel welcome for who they are. It made me think about the Olympics when I was a competitor and how challenging it was to do my best. The physical, and psychological pressures of competition at that level are enormous, even when you feel you have the support of the nation or the community in which you’re competing.

     That’s why I’m concerned about some of the athletes who are scheduled to compete in the volleyball preliminaries at the 1996 Olympics in Atlanta. I remember my last Olympic preliminaries very well. I still have a dent in my head as a souvenir. The volleyball preliminaries are set to be held in Cobb County, Georgia, just outside Atlanta. Last year, Cobb County adopted a resolution condemning gay people. It’s the first and only antigay resolution of its kind to be adopted by a local government in the United States.

     So now, added to the normal pressures of competition, the gay men and women who will participate in the volleyball preliminaries will have the pressure of knowing they’re not wanted in Cobb County. No athlete should need to worry about feeling judged or unwelcome, especially at the Olympics. What should matter is doing your best.

     I guess the people of Cobb County have every right to pass whatever resolutions they like. But by passing this antigay resolution they have made clear that some of our athletes are unwelcome.

     The U.S. Olympic Committee has already sent an important message to all Olympic athletes by giving the Robert J. Kane Award to an openly gay athlete. You’ve made it clear that sexual orientation is not a barrier to full participation in the Olympic movement. Now you can reinforce that message by encouraging the Atlanta committee for the Olympic Games to move the volleyball preliminaries to a venue that welcomes all athletes, including gay and lesbian Olympians.

     This is not a political issue. It’s an issue of fairness. It’s about demonstrating our commitment to the Olympic spirit and the very ideals that motivated Robert J. Kane to establish the first National Sports Festival.

     Before closing, I just wanted to tell you how impressed I was to find out that Xerox has made a considerable effort to make its gay employees feel welcome by including sexual orientation in its nondiscrimination clause and by supporting its very active gay and lesbian employee organization.

     Again, thank you to the U.S. Olympic Committee and Xerox for this great honor. I promise to do my best to live up to the ideals of the Robert J. Kane Award.

When I finished, there was a pause before people started applauding, mostly polite applause this time, nothing like the rousing ovation I’d gotten when I was first introduced. I looked out at the banquet hall, and only about a dozen people were standing to applaud me. That really didn’t matter, because all I cared about was whether or not they were listening. From their reaction, I could tell they had heard me.

As I stepped down from the podium, Jackie Joyner-Kersee was there to greet me with a high five. Jackie and I were named the 1987 sportspeople of the year by the U.S. Olympic Committee. Before I had a chance to say anything to her, I was surrounded by reporters and young athletes. It was an absolute whirlwind, with reporters asking questions, photographers wanting to take pictures, and athletes wanting to talk to me and get my autograph.

The most memorable moment was when a group of deaf girls came up to me and talked to me through an interpreter. First they told me that what I did was the bravest thing they’d ever seen, and that in my diving it must have been extremely lonely. They asked how my parents reacted to my sexuality, and they said they hoped my parents were supportive, because they knew how lonely it could be when you were different. It made me feel so good to know that there were people in the audience who empathized with what I’d experienced, that I wasn’t all alone. When they were saying good-bye, one of the girls threw her arms around me and gave me a big hug, and I hugged her back.

Almost every article about that event described me mopping the sweat from my brow after I finished the speech. I was soaked, but I was very proud that I’d done it. It was worth it, because clearly what I said had some sort of impact. The day before the event, the U.S. Olympic Committee’s official position on Cobb County was that it was up to the Atlanta organizing committee. After my speech, when reporters asked USOC president LeRoy Walker for his comments, he said that the issue would be dealt with soon. He said, “I don’t think this is something that can simmer. I think the committee will look at it now and do something quickly. We’re going to either have to say we’re going to leave it there, or we’re going to move it.” He added, “But it’s strictly up to the local organizing committee.”

If I had any doubt that my message got across, it evaporated three weeks later, when the Atlanta organizing committee announced that it was moving the volleyball competition out of Cobb County. A lot of people had been working very hard for several months to get the venue changed, and I was thrilled that I was able to help bring the issue to a head.

I came away from my experience in St. Louis with a new sense of pride in myself as a gay man and in my ability to speak my mind. In the past, I’d always let my diving speak for me, because I had no confidence that I could communicate in any other way. That worked for a long time. But in St. Louis I’d had something important to say, something that couldn’t be said through my diving. I had to speak, and people listened.

I don’t think of my experiences in New York and in St. Louis as the end of my story. I really feel like I’m starting life all over again. The past year has been challenging, but it’s also been exciting, rich, and expansive. I’ve been learning a lot about what it means to be gay, meeting with and talking to many different gay and lesbian people, including author Paul Monette, whose book
Becoming a Man
has inspired me to take a closer look at my own life. I’ve also met with Terry DeCrescenzo, who runs an organization for gay and lesbian youth in Los Angeles. Given the difficult time I had growing up as a gay man, I’m very interested in exploring ways that I can be of help to young gay and lesbian people today.

In recent months, I’ve gotten more involved in AIDS work. Besides participating in fund-raisers, which I’ve done for several years, I’ve been doing volunteer dog grooming for an organization called PAWS—Pets Are Wonderful Support. PAWS volunteers take care of the pets of people living with AIDS and HIV so they can keep their pets at home with them. The organization also places pets in new homes if a client passes away. In the future, I’m planning to devote even more of my time to AIDS education and fund-raising efforts.

I don’t know what direction my professional life will take, but this is a great time for me to explore my various interests. I love my dogs, and most likely I’ll continue to be involved in breeding and showing them. Another thing I’ve enjoyed doing in the past is teaching dance, and for the first time this past fall, I began teaching a theater movement class at the University of Southern California. I have twenty-eight students and we meet twice a week. I’m enjoying being a teacher, and I think I’m learning as much from my students—mostly about communication—as they are from me.

I still have a lot to figure out about healthy relationships, and I’m trying. One important lesson I’ve finally learned is not to jump from one relationship into the next. For the first time in my adult life, I’ve been single for an extended period. And I’m dating, which is, I’m sure, as much fun and as awkward as it would be for any other retired Olympic champion diver in his mid-thirties with HIV. I’ve discovered that there are indeed very kind and loving gay men out in the world, but I imagine it will be a while before I’m ready to get involved in a serious relationship. I still have a few things to sort out.

One thing that has helped me begin to sort out my past experiences and my life is professional counseling. Therapy is helping me learn how to live again, and maybe for the first time learn how to live as a full person proud of who he is and tolerant of what he’s not. Perhaps most important, it’s helped me understand my ongoing problems with depression and why I’ve always felt so bad about myself. I’ve been off antidepressant medication for a couple of months now, and I’ve been feeling good. I still have ups and downs, but not like I used to.