Farm Boys: Lives of Gay Men from the Rural Midwest (42 page)

My third year of teaching, I was the head volleyball coach and Dee was my assistant. We were going to a party one night, and she asked if I wanted to go dancing. I said I did, and she said, “I want you to know that where we’re going to dance is kind of different.” We went to The Max, in downtown Omaha, and I was just in awe. There were probably eight hundred people in there, men dancing with men, women with women, and women with men. After that, Dee and I would get home from volleyball trips at midnight, drive to Omaha to dance for an hour, go to breakfast with all our new “gay friends,” and get home at 4
A.M.
to be ready to teach at 7:30. We were running ourselves into the ground.

At The Max, the brother of one of my students asked me to dance. I said no. I found out later that another guy asked him if I was gay, and he said, “Well, I’m pretty sure he will be, but I don’t know if he is now.” The guy gave him his number to give to me, but I said I didn’t want it. A couple of days later, I called him up and said, “I’m not going to take his number, but you can give him mine.” We wound up going out for dinner. I took Dee with me, and he took his friend Andrea. I felt pretty comfortable with that, so then he and I went out on a date, and things just went from there. Suddenly, at twenty-five, I knew why I had felt different for the past ten or twelve years. I often wonder how much longer it would have taken if Dee had not asked me to go dancing at The Max.

I wish I had come out when I was younger. I have no doubt that if I had grown up in a city I would have come out in high school. It would have been tough for me to come out in my small-town high school because you can't hide anything. If there had been another gay person I was having a relationship with or just fooling around with, someone would have talked, and if it gets to one person in a class of thirty-two, it gets to everyone. I knew practically everyone, my dad was president of the school board, my mom was involved in several organizations, and my parents were in three bowling groups, two card clubs, and booster club.

In contrast to Christmas 1990, when his parents traveled to Omaha to meet his boyfriend, Christmas 1965 brought Ricky Noss a fancy Western gun-fighter’s outfit. Courtesy of Rick Noss.

I’ve told my parents I was probably always gay, but I had no exposure to gay influences growing up in a conservative German Catholic farm family. There weren’t even stereotypical gay people on TV that I can remember. It kind of surprises me that I didn’t take advantage of the opportunities that were presented to me when I got to college. I guess I just held back because I wasn’t sure what to expect, or what I wanted, or even what it was. It took me till I was twenty-five and it was right in front of me, where I just had to reach out and say, “Here I am—take me.” I was readily accepted into the gay community here in Omaha.

When I came out, I decided I couldn’t be gay and be a teacher. I was a very hands-on teacher and it made me very effective; kids wanted to perform well for me because I was their friend. I hugged my kids, I had slumber parties at my house for kids to come over, watch a sporting event on TV, order pizza, play cards. If word had gotten out that I was gay, no parent would have allowed their junior high boy to come over to my house. They would have thought there were ulterior motives. So I quit teaching.

I am extremely happy the way I am now, but if I had a choice I don’t think I would choose to be gay. I’ve worked hard at becoming a good gay person. When I came out, I went through a period of putting my partying and social life ahead of my work life. I was just basically being a tramp— going to the bar every night, sleeping over at someone’s house, and dragging my butt into work every morning. I was in a state of euphoria, and I wanted to experience it all. Thank god I’m through that! Maybe it’s a stage that most every gay person goes through, or maybe it’s just me, because I came out so late, but I wish I would have had those opportunities when I was in high school. I think it would have made it easier later on.

I’ve become what I think is a responsible gay person, and I like that. I’m a productive person; I’ve got a good career, insurance, and a savings plan for the future. I’ve got a great core group of friends—the friends I met the first few months I was out—but I’ve never had a real long relationship. I dated one guy for nine months, one guy for about two years. The person I’m with now, it’s only been about four months, but I would really like to see it develop. If I had been heterosexual, I think I would have been at this point seven years ago. Being gay has kind of set me back, as far as my personal goals. But now that I’m here, I enjoy it and I’m actually kind of proud of it. I’ve come through. And now that I’ve gotten my own life in order, I can go beyond that and do things for other gay people, like volunteer work and political work.

In 1990, I was Mr. Gay Nebraska, and I started getting a little politically active, going to some fundraisers. But I still wasn’t comfortable enough to say, “Hi, I’m Rick Noss, Mr. Gay Nebraska. What are you going to do on issues related to hate crimes?” I thought I could do it, but when I got into it I couldn’t. We had a few really good role models for that in Omaha, but they’re getting older now, and they’re burnt out. We need people my age and younger to pick that up, and so far no one has stepped forward, so I want to try to do that. This weekend I’m volunteering my time at the AIDS Memorial Quilt, and I’ve got my application in to do public speaking for Nebraska AIDS Project. I would love to do that.

I’m only out to my mom, my dad, and one of my brothers. When my youngest brother came to visit me one weekend we went to a bar in Council Bluffs that’s straight except from one to two in the morning, when it becomes gay. I introduced him to a bunch of my friends at the bar and asked him how he liked them. He said he didn’t think they liked him because they weren’t*talking to him. I said they liked him, they just didn’t know what they could say around him because they knew he didn’t know I was gay. He said he
knew
that’s what it was, and we just laughed and talked. I don’t think I could have that kind of conversation with my middle brother, but I’m sure he’s figured it out.

I’m sure my other relatives have figured it out too, but if they want to know, they can ask me. If they do, I’ll say “Yes, I am,” and then we can go from there. But it’s not something I’ll just come out and say if they don’t have the nerve to ask. Everyone knows at my job at the bank, and I’ve had no problems. My friends at work and the people I know who are straight ask me how my boyfriend is, and when he went into the hospital the bank gave me time off. I think I’m doing a lot of good in that respect, promoting gay awareness, and if I can do that with my friends, maybe they’ll tell their friends. That’s what we need now.

When I came out, I thought there was no way I could ever tell my parents. I thought they would disown me, especially my father. They came to visit me one Labor Day weekend, and I was planning to go to gay bowling. When I said they couldn’t go along, they were just crushed. I said, “I’m not very good, and you know how I hate it when people watch me do something that I’m not very good at. You go shopping and I’ll meet you later.” But I had made the mistake of telling them where the bowling alley was, and at the end of the third game they came in. I said, “Oh my god! My parents are here,” and it spread down twenty-four alleys. There’s nothing more hilarious than watching a hundred gay guys try to act straight. They tried their darnedest for me, and my parents didn’t say a word about it.

Dad and Mom were taking off the next morning, so I wrote them a note. It was a chicken way out, but I did it. I told them to read it on their way home, and that I was going to be gone all day. They said they started to cry when they read it. The first thing they thought of was AIDS. The second thing was that they would never have any grandchildren. They wanted to come back and talk to me, but they knew I wasn’t going to be home, so they left a message on my machine. My dad called me at 6:30 the next morning to make sure he caught me, to tell me he loved me and he didn’t care. He called me and wrote me every day for a week, and my mom called every day. There were great periods of adjustment—maybe more for them than for me. First of all, they said they just didn’t want me to bring my boyfriend home. Two years ago, they came down to Omaha to meet my boyfriend for Christmas. I guess that’s what family means to me—you overcome what you might not agree with or understand, but they’re still your family. I can’t describe how much they mean to me because of that. I’ve
always had a sense of belonging. I’ve always known, no matter how bad things are, I’ve got a home.

1.
The FFA creed that Rick memorized was written by one E. M. Tiffany and adopted at the third national convention of the FFA. It is a gem of inspirational oratory from the early decades of this century:

I believe in the future of farming, with a faith born not of words but of deeds—achievements won by the present and past generations of agriculturists; in the promise of better days through better ways, even as the better things we now enjoy have come to us from the struggles of former years.

I believe that to live and work on a good farm, or to be engaged in other agricultural pursuit, is pleasant as well as challenging; for I know the joys and discomforts of agricultural life and hold an inborn fondness for those associations which, even in hours of discouragement, I cannot deny.

I believe in leadership from ourselves and respect from others. I believe in my own ability to work efficiently and think clearly, with such knowledge and skill as I can secure, and in the ability of progressive agriculturists to serve our own and the public interest in producing and marketing the product of our toil.

I believe in less dependence on begging and more power in bargaining; in the life abundant and enough honest wealth to make it so—for others as well as myself; in less need for charity and more of it when needed; in being happy myself and playing square with those whose happiness depends on me.

I believe that rural America can and will hold true to the best traditions of our national life and that I can exert an influence in my home and community which will stand solid for my part in that inspiring task.

2.
Making Love
(1982) was a widely advertised movie in which a man reveals to his wife that he is gay.

Richard was born in 1961 and grew up with three older brothers on the family farm in central Indiana. It was primarily a grain farm, about 450 acres, but they also raised horses and other animals
—
cattle, sheep, and chickens. Richard left the farm when he got married in 1979. He lives in Indianapolis with his best friend, Keith, and continues to parent his two children.

I GREW UP in a big, old, two-story farmhouse. Having the finest house on the road was not important to Mom and Dad. What was important was that you worked hard and everybody was taken care of and you ate and did what you wanted to do. Growing up that way made me realize how hard it is to get things and to maintain what you want. Nothing was given, everything was earned. We were very structured in the work we had to do. You may have done a lot of bitching about it at the time, but at least at the end of the day you felt good because you’d done it. Baling hay, you’re sweating your balls off in the hayloft, one-hundred-plus degrees and chaff all over you. But when you’re done, you go in and take that shower. There ain’t nothing feels better than a shower at that point. And then you get something to eat and you relax and you know you worked—you can
feel
that you worked.

After I got married, I was going to college and working part-time and then going to the farm and working. I knew I didn’t want to farm, but it wasn’t the chore it was when I was growing up. I could see some value in it. I never got around to completing my college education, but I’m a successful businessman today. I do okay. Farming taught me how to work, to get by, to take care of myself. There’s no question I know how to bust my ass if I need to. And it taught me to be responsible. When you say you’re going to do something, you do it. It’s not just lip service. And it has really made me appreciate the finer things in life. This is a wonderful house, and Keith and I have nice things, and they mean more to us because we worked hard for them. A lot of people think things are owed to them. Nothing’s owed to you.

In high school, all my friends were driving Camaros and Monte Carlos, and I was driving a fricking baby blue ‘62 Ford Falcon, little junk car. It was about to drive me nuts. “Why can’t they buy me a car? Everybody else is getting a car. It’s so unfair!”
I hated my parents at times, going through it. I never felt like I had any money. It took me until I had a family of my own and was trying to earn a living to realize—how the hell did they do it? Four kids and a farm that was relatively small—I know they didn’t have any money. How they were able to do that, and do it well, really amazes me.

My oldest brother didn’t like to do the tractor work, but he was really into the horses and tending the barns. My next-to-the-oldest brother, Ray, and I did the fieldwork. He was my favorite brother. I started riding tractor— plowing and disking and cultivating—when I was in the third grade. Nobody thought I could do it, but it was just something I wanted to do; you’re always trying to make your dad proud of you. I enjoyed it at first, but it didn’t take long for the fun to wear off and for me to think, “Gee, this is a bitch, doing this all day long.” During planting season, I was riding the tractor in the fields, weather permitting, from 7:00 in the morning until 8:00, 9:00, 10:00 at night.