Dr. Schwerner

I went to Dr. Joseph Schwerner today. He's the distant relative of the Civil Rights activist, Mickey Schwerner. Schwerner was working dilligently to help put an end to the racial segregation taking place in the deep south, specifically Neshoba County, Mississippi. In Neshoba, he, another Civil Rights activist named Andrew Goodman, and an African American COFO member named James Cheney were rounded up and murdered by seven KKK members. I know this because he has a plaque dedicated to the loss of his third cousin on a plaque in the waiting room.

It kind of showed me that ... it helped me think that he was willing to sacrifice to help people like me. It really gave me a good outlook on life.

So I walked into his office. He was sitting back there. He looked the spitting image of his third cousin, Mickey. He had the brown-grey goatee surrounding his mouth. He had the curly, dark hair, and the bony, kindly face. He had the eyes that made me feel safe and comfortable.

I was not "coming onto" him, by the way. I hope it doesn't need to be said. Others might have, but it takes me to become close friends with a guy before I start liking him. It's smarter that way. It hurts less that way. Unless he turns out to be one of the bashers in the town. Then it hurts.

I told him everything. I'm not going to tell you exactly what happened. All the horrible things said, done. It hurt enough to tell them to him, but I'm not posting it on the net for everyone to see. Besides, they might figure out who's writing these. I remember what he told me. Word for word.

"Listen. I don't know if I can ever understand how much pain you could be going through, and it's not something medication can fix, give me a healthier paycheck be-damned. I'm going to suggest this for you. Tell your parents. Have you done that?"

I told him I did.

"Good, good. The next thing you should do is write down in something. A journal or just a piece of paper you write to yourself then dispose of, anything."

I told him I was writing in a blog.

"Good, that's good... well... the world can see everything you write, though. Have you given away your name and address?"

No.

"Good. Next, I would say band together. Singularly, it seems like a problem. An unsolvable problem. But I know a lot of people in the general area who have come to me with their problems, and I can say there are more people in that town who are considered 'sexually estranged' aside from yourself by the populace. I won't give out names, but you should form together. LBGT, GSA, or just knowing smiles, anything to help you out.

"Just... I've seen a lot of people come through here. Some I've seen in the newspaper- their names in the obituaries. I want you to make a promise with me. No matter how bad it seems, no matter how dangerous or hurtful it is, just band through. It can be overcome. Don't let it end you, and don't you dare end yourself, okay?"

I agreed. He ended the session with a knowing smile and a shake of the hand. I left... I felt so much better. I almost forgot about what the town would do in such a case. They'd kill us, probably. No- but they'd break our legs. Maybe tear out our vocal chords so we can't talk. ...I have no idea. They're sick people, some of them. Some of them are very conservative- some still hate the idea of desegregation, and refer to those who are of darker complexion as the N-word.

But... but it won't hurt to try.

Well...

It will... but it won't hurt my pride.