On Friday August 7, 2009, William Conklin and his partner of almost 33 years, David Hallman, learned that William—Bill—had pancreatic cancer. Within 16 days, Bill was dead. David wrote quickly of those 16 days, fearful perhaps that if he lost the memory of them, it would compound his sense of loss. The result is a memoir in 16 chapters—one chapter for each remaining day of Bill’s life—and each chapter toggles between present time and memories of a gay couple building a rich life together. Hallman writes that, initially, he had intended to distribute the memoir only amongst family and friends, but those who read it encouraged him to seek publication so he could share their story more widely. This was wise advice and I’m glad he took it.
Anyone will find August Farewell a comfort who has grieved loved ones lost to a terminal illness, or has acted as a caregiver during the dying process, or served as an impromptu health care advocate, or struggled with the mechanical details of legal concerns and funeral preparations. One might almost call the book a pastoral resource, which seems natural given Hallman’s long service with the United Church of Canada. But the book is more important for the way it normalizes (I’m not sure if that’s the right word) a long-term committed gay relationship. We witness the nervousness as they approach each other at the Manatee in 1976, the first date, the decision to move in together, Bill’s diagnosis with MS, vacations together, buying a house in Stratford together, creating enough space for their individual pursuits (Bill taught music and David practised environmental advocacy through the Untied Church of Canada and the World Council of Churches).
It’s worth noting how remarkable is the simple fact of this book’s existence: that a man feels free enough to write with candor about his joy at life with another man and grief at the loss of that life. In the past, such candor might have resulted in imprisonment. Even today, elsewhere in the world, such candor can result in death. One would like to believe in social change. One would like to believe, as Dan Savage puts it, that it gets better. And Hallman’s memoir affirms that it does, indeed, get better.
However, I worry that Hallman’s memoir might represent something of a high watermark. Over the past year, the city of Toronto has witnessed a remarkable sea change in its receptiveness to social justice concerns. On a couple of occasions, Hallman’s memoir both anticipates and prods us to think about that sea change.
The first is the appearance at the door of Rob and Marco, friends who have heard about the diagnosis and have cooked a dinner for them. David invites them in and asks Rob to say a prayer. Rob is Rob Oliphant, former minister of Eglinton St. George’s United Church and Liberal MP in the riding where I live. Like most Liberal MP’s in Toronto, Rob Oliphant lost his job during the last federal election. His appearance in the memoir offers an unintentional reminder of the marked conservatism which has gripped the entire country and Toronto in particular. Since the election, finance minister Jim Flaherty has wasted no time warning cultural organizations to expect funding cuts. A conservative minister who admitted doctoring a document to deny funding to a social justice organization was nevertheless re-elected. We hold our breath and wonder how long before Harper reneges on his assurance that same-sex marriage is no longer up for debate.
The second is an account of the Toronto bathhouse raids of 1981. While Hallman remains overwhelmingly positive in the events he recalls of his life together with Bill, he makes an exception for the bathhouse raids. Although he and Bill were not part of that scene, they did participate in protests of what they viewed as an abuse of police powers in order to harass a vulnerable group. Two thousand strong, they marched up Yonge Street to Bloor (tracing in reverse the present-day path of the Pride Parade). They staged a peaceful sit-in, claiming a right to be on the streets like anybody else. Things turned ugly when the sit-in broke up and young straight men engaged in a queer-bashing spree. None of the queer-bashers was arrested. Predictably, six of the victims were.
One of the things the Pride Parade does is institutionalize the affirmation that the streets belong to everyone. We get together to celebrate the diverse range of interests which require our protection and nurture if we are to be a whole society. But I sense that sea change. I catch a whiff of it in the air, especially over city hall. With the mayor’s blessing, city councilor Giorgio Mammoliti is waging a passive aggressive little war against Toronto Pride, claiming he is acting in the interests of the Jewish community by rooting out the anti-Semitism inherent in the word apartheid in the Queers Against Israeli Apartheid group. QuAIA can’t participate in Pride Week or city funding will be cut for the whole enterprise. And so we had the spectacle, this weekend, of Mammoliti out with his camcorder hunting down evidence of QuAIA participation. Even councilor Adam Vaughan described Mammoliti’s behaviour as “creepy”. It seems like a smoke-and-mirrors ploy to defund Toronto Pride. Mammoliti’s immaturity, coupled with Rob Ford’s refusal even to acknowledge Pride week, signals a hardening of Toronto’s heart. We are turning our backs on the hard-won right to live with dignity.
More than ever, we need books like August Farewell to remind us that talk about rights in connection with Pride Week is not talk about the right to dress up and march in a parade, or to carry a banner with a particular message, or to party all week long, but the wider right of us all to live fulfilling lives free from fear. August Farewell shows us what such a life looks like.
David G. Hallman’s web site http://davidghallman.com/
If you like this book, you may enjoy Douglas Dunn‘s poetry collection, Elegies.