But back in college in the Midwest in the 1980s, I didn't know much about gay culture and history, and I thought that the only possible way for gay people to meet was in bars and public places. So I wasn't so picky.
January 30th, 1982, my senior year at Augustana College. I applied to the Ph.D. program in Spanish at Tulane University in New Orleans. They flew me in for an interview, and now I was on my way back to Rock Island.
The three hour flight to St. Louis was uneventful; we flew above the clouds in brilliant sunlight. Our descent was a little bumpy, but we landed at Lambert Airport right on schedule, at 5;15 pm.
I went to the monitor to check on my connection, a 6:30 flight.
The board was lit with dozens of flickering "cancelled" lights.
I had never flown alone before -- my flights to Switzerland, Colombia, and Germany were in supervised groups. What was I supposed to do?
Finally I found the American Airlines help desk. The line was endless. Forget it!
I called the American Airlines telephone number. On hold for half an hour. Forget it!
The uncensored story, with photos, is on Tales of West Hollywood