8/17 ~ Santa Cruz

1995 USAIDS 5,000 
(20th Anniversary Pictorial Ride) 
Post #60: 
My last post was mostly pictures, no story. Today, is mostly story, and only these two pictures, so enjoy excerpts from AN IMPOSSIBLE DREAM STORY, edited, however only Carl's name changed. The story came right from our Pride Ride News, following the bike trek:

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Picture #138

[ Santa Cruz AIDS Project, like so many others, struggled to stay ahead of demand. They serviced all people, but admitted to a large HIV population in the Hispanic community. They wanted so much to put a face on AIDS locally, wanting to draw media attention and, hopefully, social interest and the funding desperately needed, that Carl Lebman diligently organized a press conference directly in front of the Santa Cruz AIDS Project. It was a touchy situation that opened the possibility of client privacy being compromised. Some communities build walls around groups not to protect them, but to block them from sight. I understood the necessity of respecting privacy, but there comes a time when we need to set an example, to show others how to step up and be counted; that was the time. Everywhere we went, I met men, women, and children infected with and affected by HIV and AIDS; until arriving in Santa Cruz, very few persons of color have been among those faces. I almost preached, “These are warm-blooded, live human beings, all with names, faces, families, troubles, needs, goals, hopes, and dreams just like your own; who will tell their stories?” I invited agency spokespersons to join me in the news, but they were largely ignored, and in some cases rudely pushed aside, by the white correspondents and broadcasters wanting the perfect photo of me.

That evening, we accepted an invitation to stay with a humble gay family: George, Sean, and their pup Riddle. We held hands when the late news came on, hoping for some positive press. I couldn’t understand why reporters excluded everything except my own story. We watched whitewashed TV (appealing to white audiences) in this beautiful home and city of color. Somewhere, lost, was the message that my story had become the culmination of each and every act of mercy, each organized agency reaching out with empathy, and each inflicted person finding his or her own way to live with AIDS.

With tears of embarrassment gathered in my eyes, there fell a pause and one final revelation from the journalist—this one made a difference. While showing the picture of a beautiful young man of color, the reporter articulated, “Santa Cruz suffered a great loss today when the intelligence, wit, and talents of this 24-year-old son joined the countless, faceless numbers in becoming part of our lost future.” The volume went silent for about ten seconds, featuring the picture of a Latino boy, titled “Angel, 1971-1995.” We knew the impact of such sensationalism; there was hope. Perhaps a couple corporations will now sponsor this agency of angels for angels. “This mile is for the brave, sole journalist who dared make a difference, and God bless Santa Cruz.” ] (Pictures from August 17, 1995)
— with George Diaz, Santa Cruz, Sean from Santa Cruz and Riddle from Santa Cruz