AJ Cross
I was asked to re-run my award winning column from August 2010 titled “Visiting Hours” by a reader who just lost his partner and was dealing with the partner’s family and possible loss of his home after 15 years because it was in his partner’s name. The Florida Agenda and I want to express our sincerest condolences for the loss of “Frank.” I hope this story helps.
1947 was such an important year for so many people as Jackie Robinson became the first African-American to play in major league baseball. For African-Americans, this news was so important because it placed all eyes on the great talent and ambition possessed by minorities in the United States.
It was a great year for John Clay Morris as well, but his achievement never made the headlines and his story or name was never known. It was the year that he fell in love. He fell in love with Anthony Walker, his long time business associate and his love was not unrequited. They could not allow anyone to know how they felt about one another, share public moments of affection, or declare a vow of lifelong commitment in front of friends or God.
On the contrary, they had to hide any signs of what they felt for one another. They had to speak to one another plainly and without emotion at work and both were constantly in fear that someone would read into their body language or even thoughts and everything they had would be ruined.
It was not a time where two men loving one another was understood or accepted. It was a time when such a love being exposed could bring an end to not only the relationship they had, but their very lives.
Many years had passed and they both successfully kept hidden their affections and would travel on so-called business trips to other cities and places where they could be with one another. They shared such happiness when they were alone with one another. Year after year, for over twenty-five years, they never strayed, nor opened their hearts or beds to any other person. They eventually found a small house on the outskirts of town where they felt no one would know and they began to collect photos of trips and memorabilia of things they did together. John started a collection of spoons from all of the places they had visited together and eventually the spoons covered an entire wall in their kitchen. John had never loved anyone more and Anthony made so many professional sacrifices to accommodate the needs of the relationship.
On September 18, 1972, after just getting home from work, John noticed Anthony sitting in his favorite chair with no lights on and he sat down next to him and asked what was wrong. His lover grabbed his hand and, with a few tears in his eyes, told him that he was diagnosed with lung cancer. It had developed for so long that there was little the doctors felt they could do for him and now it was just a matter of time. As months passed and Anthony became more ill, it became necessary to hospitalize him.
It was decided that his remaining days would be in the hospital and one night around 8 p.m., John arrived at the hospital to spend time with Anthony. The nurse at the front desk greeted him and when he told her that he was there to visit Anthony Morris, the nurse asked what his relationship to the patient was. It was then for the first time in over twenty five years that he had ever been asked that question and the only answer he could give was that he was his friend. The nurse apologized and told him that only family members or his spouse were allowed to visit. He paused for a moment and asked if an exception could be made, and the nurse told him that it was hospital policy. He barely made it to a waiting room chair and fell hard into the seat. How could he not be able to see his lover?
Not be able to hold his hand and comfort him.
John was devastated and he went home. A few days had passed and though they spoke on the phone, it was not enough and they missed one another desperately. On a cold morning in the early part of August, someone knocked on John’s door. When he opened the door, it was the local Sheriff. He informed John that Anthony’s sister became his executor and due to the mounting medical bills foreclosed on the mortgage to the house they had shared for so many years. You see the house was in Anthony’s name and as such John had no legal rights to the home or its contents.
The next day, Anthony’s sister arrived at the house with movers and for the first time John was confronted about his relationship with Anthony. She told him that she had known for years of what “they were” to one another. She told him that she couldn’t stop her brother from living the life he chose, but she would make sure that his memory would not be disgraced. Anthony had no choice but to watch as box after box of his belongings and memories were taken from the house. He cried as the spoons on the wall began to disappear and he simply looked at Anthony’s sister with tears in his eyes. He was not only going to lose the love of his life, but everything that they had together.
As the last box was being packed, she looked at him and said the last thing she would ever say to him. She told him that he could pick one spoon out and keep it, because she knew whatever her feelings were, he had made her brother happy. John died a few years later, never having said goodbye to Anthony. He was buried with the spoon.
