October 22nd, 1997 to October 28th, 1997

Imagine That: Letters from Russell

by Lydia Stux

I was 17 years old when I met Russell Denver Patrick Harold. In 1975, 21-year-old Russell was already much the way he would be all his short life-proudly and openly gay, independent, an avowed non-conformist, an aspiring artist, highly irreverent and possessed of a wicked sense of humor. In 1978, I took some time off from school to travel. When I returned six months later, Russell and his lover William were making plans to leave Ohio. Their move to San Francisco in 1979 marked the beginning of our extraordinary 17-year correspondence, excerpts of which are reprinted in this four-part series for Outlines.

May 16, 1979
Sorry this took so long, but we in California are mellow. I really cannot think of what I'm going to say. I have so much to tell you. The trip out was the best, and a little of the worst. I understand totally when you say "never drive across country with friend" to that I add "never drive across country with a lover." The trip started out about two weeks before we actually left with me going to see my sister. My niece is the cutest, sweetest, most angelic creature that ever stole my heart. But after five days of missing Bill (believe it!), I came back to Ohio, you weren't home. Then back to see the man I missed more than I thought possible. Then, the morning we were leaving for California, I noticed a strange rash on my arms. About an hour into the trip a large bee flew in the window and stung the shit out of my left arm. We spent the night in Chicago, my left arm swollen and very painful, and a bad case of poison ivy on both arms and spreading.

Needless to say, I was miserable. The one thing I could not do was scratch. Try sitting in a car eight hours a day (or more) with an itch you can't scratch, someone with whom you have exhausted every possible subject, and nothing really to think about except how much you wanna scratch! I took it for a day and then insisted I drive. It got better. After two days of corn fields, endless row after boring row of goddamn corn fields, the scenery became a constant beauty. The mountains were beautiful. I saw my first wild deer. A buffalo was eating grass by the side of the road, angry because people kept stopping and saying "My God, Harry, a buffalo, get the camera and the kids!!" We loved the tourists. They loved our sign (my idea!), "Californny or Bust." All in all, it was a very nice vacation ending in the city of Saint Francis. I've ended where I've always wanted to live. I've found a culture I never had and a validity in being different.

So, kid, grab a cig and think about me.

Just went to my first mall in California. S.F. doesn't have "malls" (they're too tacky!). We had to drive to Daly City, 20 minutes away. We left being surrounded by gays to being surrounded by heteros (no offense). How strange they are!

September 1982
Currently, I am lying in bed, flat on my back, with a heating pad wrapped around my left calf. I have been like this all week. I have been on crutches for the same amount of time. I have been working out for three solid years and have my first injury, and it hurts like HELL!!! I tore my calf muscle. How the hell I didn't feel something like that, how I walked Saturday, I don't know. It will be three weeks until I can walk again or work out again. What a fucking bitch!!! On top of all that, I turned down the offer of pain pills. And, I still don't know why I did that. I guess because the pain was minimal, compared to now, I figured I didn't need or couldn't afford them.

Separatist that I am, my doctor is gay, cute as hell, too. So it was great telling him I did it while working out. He'd heard it all before, wasn't even impressed. Maybe I was trying to impress him with how macho I was, how much pain I can take. (Yeah, doc, cut off the leg, I have a bullet I can chew on.) Anyway, it, seems, rather, stupid ... now.

November 30, 1982
BITCH!! HOW DARE YOU! ARE YOU CRAZY?? When you move, you move faster than Ex-Lax, don't you? Not even a second thought. Just get out of school and take the first job that comes along. SHEEEIT! In Chi-town, no less! Just remember, when you're 50 and a big-time, fancy-schmancy theater person, just remember you could have lived in San Francisco! Seriously, though, fuck you and, if I move there, could I stay with you for a week or so?

I got your card the day before my birthday, and I call that perfect timing. (Thank you for the card, but some one stole the money you put inside.)

February 8, 1983
I realize that you have probably been trying to call me, but I am not home, and won't be. But, because everything is going wrong, I will try to get this to you before I leave for Ohio.

Lyds, sit down. I mean it! Sit!!! I am now in a hospital. Only way to say it, straight out, I am in a hospital. Immobile and worried. Remember a few months ago when I wrote of having a torn calf muscle?? And, then I had pneumonia?? Well, both of those were wrong. My "torn calf" was a blood clot working its way through my system. The "pneumonia" was that same blood clot in my left lung. Had that clot gone to my heart, I would have died of a heart attack. Had it gone to my brain, I would have had a stroke, then died. The worst thing they could have done was send me home. That is what they did. Believe me, Lydia, I am considering legal action.

Three days ago, my calf, which never really got better, got worse very quickly. On my calf was a red-raised streak that hurt like hell and was hot as fire. That was a large blood clot on its way to my lungs, heart, or brain, and no one knew which one. One hour later, I was in the hospital, being stuck every hour on the hour. I will be here six more days, maybe more. I feel fine, my leg doesn't hurt anymore, but the clot hasn't moved and hasn't dissolved. I am on anti-coagulants and stool softeners. Intravenous left hand and a pin-cushion for a right arm. What caused this malady?? Smoking cigarettes! That's what they tell me, after how lucky I was to be alive after the last blood clots, was that I must quit. At 29, I have been warned.

Obviously, with my leg, my hep., etc., I have missed a hour here, an hour there. When I went to my doctor yesterday, I was warned by my boss that he was noticing this, and I should not miss any more work. However, I missed today, will miss another week and maybe more. So, I also might get fired.

Just try, Lydia, at this point, to tell me, "When life gives you lemons, make lemonade!" and I will send you a letter bomb.

July 1983
So, you've been depressed? About love? Honey, like my mother used to say, "Men are like buses. Another one will be along in a couple of minutes."

Do what I do. Put on a cock ring and your tightest jock-strap to increase cruise-appeal and hit the bars. Works every time!

Gerber/Hart Library & Archives welcomes Lydia Stux on Friday, Nov. 7, at 7:30 p.m., for a reading from the manuscript, "Imagine That: Letters from Russell." This program is free and open to the public. Gerber/Hart is located 3352 N. Paulina St. in Chicago. Call (773) 883-3003.

Send us your feedback!

Site development donated by Benchmark Online Productions.
Web space provided by SUBA.