Devin (and Jeff) and Todd (and Jeff) and Doug, but not Jeff.
The following letter and photos are from 1984-1985. I was 19 or 20. In the eighties, people took photos and wrote letters, and some of them developed AIDS and died of drug overdoses.
This letter is from my friend Devin. My guess is that the year was 1984. I met Devin when I was 15. He was magic to me. A world traveler, a junkie, a sex worker, a beauty, a writer, a style icon, and a sweetheart. I had not, and still have not, met anyone like him. Devin told everyone we were brothers. We looked nothing alike. But people wanted to believe Devin. So did I.
This letter is a relic for many reasons. To receive a letter was an event. It was an object delivered, passed on from one person to another. And, of course, I am aware that the language and scenarios are potentially problematic to our contemporary eye. Too bad.
I kept a box full of letters from different people. And apparently, I kept this one. But I couldn’t keep Devin.
Devin died in 1986. He was 23. I don’t want to say too much more about Devin. I lack the skill to capture that spirit.
This photograph was taken in 1984. I know this because there is a date stamp on the backside of the 3” x 5” print. They used to do that. The image was taken in the back of a limousine that a group of friends had rented to surprise Devin and pick him up at the airport. I had never been in a limo. It was most likely paid for by Devin’s ex-boyfriend, Jeff.
Jeff had made money manufacturing and selling methamphetamines. What else is to say about Jeff? A boy genius who had been kicked out of two Chemical Engineering programs by the time he was 21. He refused to pretend it was hard for him and that angered the faculty and other candidates. But he was much more than that—he was prickly and arrogant with more generosity and kindness than almost anyone I have ever known. Jeff died in 1990.
It was late morning or early afternoon. I know this because I recall insisting that we watch the soap opera on the T.V. I couldn’t believe there was a T.V. in the limo. The hand belonged to my friend Todd.
Todd was a Midwestern transplant proto-twink bankteller when we met. He was then dating Jeff. We were not very close, but I liked him. This was at the beginning of him becoming a terrible speed freak. The strips of fabric on his hands were a symptom of this affliction. By the last time I saw him he was essentially nude wearing many artfully-placed strips of this mysterious gauze like fabric. I don’t know what the fabric was and I also don’t know exactly what became of Todd. I also don’t remember his last name. Try Googling Todd San Francisco 1984 Gay Meth Addict.
My gut tells me Todd did not make it.
This final photo is of my boyfriend Doug. He was trying to tan his track marks so that they would be less noticeable. This photo was taken in Florida at Doug’s parents’ house in 1985. I know this because our whirlwind romance lasted only 5 months. Doug was my first “real” boyfriend. I fell hard. We were a bad match. I was 20 and he was 22. I had decided we would be together forever. I guess Doug thought differently. I spent so many years reliving the heartbreak of this failed romance. It never would have worked. We were both gay heroin addicts and figured we would just die young anyways. Doug did. He died in 1994.
***
This all may sound antiquated or vulgar or romantic or caustic or angry or melodramatic or tragic or beautiful. Maybe it is all those things or none, but what I know for certain is that, for a few moments, forty years ago, Devin made me feel fabulous. Jeff made me feel smart. Doug made me feel beautiful. I had been bullied into believing those things were not true. They made me feel otherwise. I feel very lucky to have known them. They helped me to survive. Sadly, they did not. But this letter and these photos do.
You will have to believe me when I tell you they were all really something. At least they were to me.
Joe Mama-Nitzberg is an artist living in New York. Aside from his visual work, he has worked as a Creative Director in the music industry, a commercial photographer, and taught at New York University.
