The Marital Corporation Ch. 07

"Almost," Peter said. "However, because you are a well organized, articulate and effective minority, rather than `using' your interest, I'm seeking to merge other social interests with yours. Look at it this way. What chance do we have if we continue our present mad course? Obviously, we're not going to change the world, but, as President Bush used to say, together, we might light a candle. That's why I'm here tonight. If I can't get through the primary, my candle will go out."

"Mr. Baylis," Mining said, "Can I get you a beer?"

"You can if you'll call me Pete," he replied.

The meeting was over. Ties loosened, the five men then sat on kitchen chairs in an informal circle, getting acquainted. Mr. Mining became Ted. The other men became Chris, Jack and Denny.

An hour went by before Ted looked at his watch. "I'm sorry to be such a poor host," he said apologetically, "but five am comes awfully early." Turning to Peter, he added, "Could you come down to Jack's Espresso Lounge Saturday night? Say around 9:30? I know some of the guys would be very interested in your ideas."

"I'd be glad to," Peter said. "Should I bring stuff to hand out or would it be better just to meet and talk?"

"It would be better, I think, just to meet and talk. If they like what they hear, there'll be plenty of time later for handouts."

Peter thanked Ted for his hospitality and courtesy, and shook hands all around before going back to his car. It had been a busy night.

Doc Porter and Peter had lunch on Thursday. He told Doc about reaching out to the gay community through Barney Lansing. Doc nodded thoughtfully as Peter described his subsequent visit to Ted Mining's home in Portage Bay, but he frowned when Peter told him he had been invited to the Espresso Lounge.

"I don't think that's a good idea," he said. "You hang around those fairies too much, and you're gonna lose a lot of the moderate votes you need."

Peter began to protest, but Doc held up his hand. "No, hear me out. I don't personally worry too much if a man squats to pee," he said, "but other folks do. All I'm saying is, you don't want folks to begin wondering which side of the fence you're on."

"I understand that," Peter said patiently. He was tempted to test his family corporation idea on Doc, but intuitively knew this wasn't something the old man was ready to hear.

As he considered confiding in his advisor, Peter realized for the first time how far he had strayed from contemporary Republican orthodoxy. He tried to reason with the old man. "Look, Doc," Peter said, "I think I'm making real headway with those fellows in Portage Bay."

"All I got to say," the old man said stubbornly, "is that you be careful or you'll start hearing your name in Sam Bassett's sermons. It'll be something about Sodom and Gomorrah. You sure as hell don't need that!"

"I know, Doc, but you said it yourself; I'm dead in the water unless I can talk a substantial number of those fellows into voting for me. I'll try to be careful, but this is a chance I have to take."

"Yes," Doc sighed, "I suppose you do. Just be careful."

It occurred to Peter as he studied the old man's face that he knew very little about this strange old man. "Doc, forgive my asking, but does your wife suffer from color blindness?"

Doc shook his head. "I've been a widower for 15 years," he said. "Why do you ask?"

"Those sport jackets of yours. My wife wouldn't let me out of the house if I tried to wear something like that." Peter smiled in an effort to take the edge off his words.

"I quit worrying about what other people thought long before Janey died," the old man said. "but these coats are useful. They tend to separate the fools from the knaves. Fools won't have anything to do with a crazy old man who dresses like this," here he paused and looked pointedly at Peter, "but the knaves mistake me for a fool, and come within easy striking range." He grinned roguishly at the younger man.

Peter laughed and shook his head. "I'll tell you one thing, Doc. I'm damn glad you're on my side. By the way, there's another thing I'm curious about, if you don't mind my asking. What are you a doctor of?"

This time it was Porter's turn to laugh. "Don't ask me to do brain surgery or a triple by-pass," he said. "I was an Army horse mechanic. I retired from the Army when they ran out of horses. First I set up a small animal practice, but I couldn't handle the stupidity of my patient's owners. So I went into politics. That was before Janey died," he added. "I've been coaching young wannabes like you ever since. Sometimes we win."

Peter suddenly felt very close to this strange old man. Impulsively, he asked, "Would you come to dinner sometime?"

"I'd like that very much," Doc Porter replied. "I'd like to meet your family."

"Let me check with Marge, and I'll give you a call. How's that?"

"Fine. Any night except Tuesdays." They shook hands again and went their separate ways.

Peter sat in his car the following Saturday evening, staring unseeingly through the windshield as he silently debated whether to keep his appointment in Jack's Espresso Lounge. He well knew the risk he was running. It was one thing to meet Ted Mining and his friends in the relative privacy of the man's home, and quite another to walk openly into a gay bar on heavily traveled Montlake Avenue. If Sam Bassett had the slightest inkling where he was at that moment, he knew he was dead meat. With a great sigh, he opened the car door, and stepped on the muddy gravel of Jack's parking lot. He walked across the lot and, taking another deep breath, pushed the door open and walked inside.

At first, the room and its inhabitants seemed not much different from a score of other coffee houses in and around Seattle. Obviously Jack, whoever he was, had a good thing going. A cluster of men stood at the far end of the room throwing darts. The tables surrounding the small dance floor were crowded. A hum of animated conversation rose above the melodic sounds from the old fashioned bubble juke box, but the three couples dancing cheek to cheek were different. All the dancers were men. There wasn't a woman in the room.

"Hey, Pete!" He peered into the gloom. Toward the back of the room, near the dart players, he saw an arm wave. Slowly, apologetically, he made his way toward the table where he now saw Ted Mining standing. Barney Lansing was seated next to him.

As Peter approached the large table, some of the men stood. "Hi, Ted," he said, extending his hand, "how are you?" Peter turned to Barney. "This is a pleasant surprise." Lansing smiled and nodded, but still didn't offer to shake hands. Ted quickly introduced Peter to the ten or twelve men sitting around the table. Some nodded, others waved. The younger of the council members he had met at Ted's offered his hand.

"I've given the guys a rough synopsis of the meeting we had Monday night," Ted began. "I'm not sure everyone here understands your strategy, so why don't you sort of bring us all up to date?"

By this time, the off-hand speech Peter had given Barney Lansing in his office two weeks earlier had been refined, enabling him to quickly recite the social problems he hoped to ameliorate with his family corporation proposal. He concluded by carefully explaining how his proposal would benefit the gay community.

Peter searched the faces around the table for clues when he finished. He had thought, while he was talking, that he had seen one or two heads nod in agreement, but if so, they were fleeting. However, Peter was learning, as every successful public speaker must, to sense and respond to the subliminal signals he received from his audience. The signals he perceived tonight had been overwhelmingly positive.

"I think the boys may have some questions," Ted said.

Before anyone else could speak, Barney Lansing interrupted, saying, "I have an editorial in next week's Alternatives supporting what Pete's trying to do. The time is past when we gays, or welfare mothers, or Jews or blacks, or any other identifiable minority can afford to take the long view, and stand on principle. We're surrounded by hate groups, hostile politicians, and a public which views us with indifference. I won't even comment on those paranoids who run around the woods playing soldier and calling themselves patriots.

"Although it's not everything I would like to see, I think Pete has hit on something we ought to support even if it means," here he rolled his eyes and visibly shuddered. Peter was reminded again of his look-alike.". . .Even if it means marking a name in the Republican column!"

The hissing and catcalling this announcement caused died away in a wave of good natured laughter.

Lansing continued, "I'm not kidding. If you've read a little history, you'll know how close we are today to repeating the mistakes made by King Charles I who was beheaded by Cromwell in 1649. We can't afford complacency, nor can we allow the Holy Rollers to define our terms of reference. I think Pete's basic idea might work, if only because it is inclusive. It provides for everyone presently outside the mainstream. If this idea attracts a enough interest, it could become reality."

It was obvious that Lansing's endorsement meant a great deal to these men. One chap near the end of the table, held up his hand. "I'm still not sure I fully understand," he said. "Are you redefining the family?"

"Partly that," Peter said. "but I think I'm really redefining the tribe. Admittedly, there is a big semantic overlap, but we have to be careful about using words like `marital' and `marriage', because, like national symbols such as the flag, those words carry enormous emotional significance for many people. Why wave a red flag? That's why I call my program a `family corporation,' instead of a 'marital corporation' -- but I could just as well have called it rutabagas, except if I did that, nobody would know what I was talking about."

Bingo. This time, everyone smiled and nodded. A middle-aged man halfway down the table spoke up. "Speaking for myself, now that I'm out, I tend to resist anything that might force me back in. Dick and I would like to get married some day, but I'm not sure we'll ever be ready to form a corporation. Speaking for myself, I'd want to be married in church."

Several men murmured, "Hear, hear."

"Thank you," Peter said. "This is why I came here tonight; to see whether, in the short run, half a loaf would be acceptable. Under my proposal, however, it wouldn't have to be that way. I haven't yet drafted the precise language, but I have always assumed that such a bill would remove any bar to a subsequent religious ceremony. But I'll be honest with you. On that point, always remember that the protectors of the faith may embrace martyrdom rather than surrender.

"On the other hand, try to keep this issue in perspective. Less than 50 years ago, half the states in the union had anti-miscegenation statutes which prohibited the marriage of persons of different races. Nineteen states still had them only 30 years ago when the Supreme Court finally declared them unconstitutional.

"I'll be frank with you. I'm not a religious person, so I have difficulty understanding how seriously some people regard these things. Fortunately, Barney's little history lesson about Cromwell helps me put these things into better perspective.

"What I'm saying is that Washington State, particularly western Washington, has a long tradition of sensible liberalism. Remember that when Governor Locke vetoed the bill that would have prevented same-sex marriages, he said `I will oppose measures that divide, disrespect or diminish our humanity.' Thus, I believe that if I can survive the primary election and defeat my Democratic opponent in November, this proposal will receive thoughtful consideration in Olympia, where it counts. Do you have any more questions?"

No one did, so Peter shook hands again with Ted, while thanking him for the opportunity to meet his friends, waved to Lansing, and returned to his car, which, he quickly discovered, had four flat tires.

Peter returned to the lounge, seeking a telephone. Lansing saw him come in and elbowed his way through the crowd to Peter's side.

"Got a problem?" he asked.

Peter sighed. "Yeah, I have four flat tires. I'm just calling Triple A."

"Save yer nickel," Lansing growled. "That parking lot is hell on tires. Chances are they just let the air out. These steel belted radials are a bitch to slash. I have some canned air in the car. Hell, I must go through a case a year. Let's see. Where's your car?"

They stopped at Lansing's car where he retrieved a can with a little hose attached. Peter led the way to the Toyota. "Sure," Lansing said after inspecting the tires, "all they did was let the air out." He screwed the hose to a tire stem and pressed a lever on the can.

Peter heard the air whistling into the tire, and slowly, ever so slowly, the car began to lift. It seemed to take several minutes, but gradually the bulge at the bottom of the tire flattened out. He then repeated the process on the other tires.

"If it was me, with a pretty car like this, I'd park across the street or down the block next time."

Peter thanked Lansing again. This time, Lansing offered his hand. "I'll send you a copy of the paper when it comes out," he said. "Good luck."

(to be continued)