Hell, October, 2017We're only 30 miles from Hell.
I'm spending fall break with Jonathan Peng Lee, my hustler/engineer/paranormal enthusiast/gym rat friend who I met 12 years ago at Alan's funeral. It's two days before Halloween, and he has promised to bring me to the scariest place on Earth.
I expected a haunted house, but no: we're spending two nights in Lynchburg, Virginia!
How did I let Jon talk me into this foolhardy trip? Over an hour driving through the Shenandoah Valley that General Sherman burned, through Arkham...I mean Amherst...Stonewall -- no connection to the birthplace of gay rights -- Greif (grief misspelled by rednecks).
Now it's only 20 miles to Hell.
The site of Thomas Road Baptist Church, where Jerry Falwell, the biggest homophobe in the world, spewed his venom. The site of Homophobia University, where the top homophobes in the country send 15,000 of their kids to be indoctrinated into how to hate us more.
We're going undercover as fundamentalists, but still, I doubt we'll make it out alive.
""Why would anyone name a city after the mob murders of thousands of African-Americans in the years after the Civil War?" I wonder.
"It was named before that, after its founder, who ran a ferry in the 1780s," Jon reads off wikipedia. "Hey, guess what? He was an abolitionist. Progressive, huh?"
"Oh, very. I'll bet he was pro-gay, too."
My first view of Hell: Eerie yellow lights, a dark stormy sky, the dark tower like something out of Mordor.
We have a reservation at Craddock Terry Hotel on Commerce Street, "steeped in history." There's a giant woman's shoe over the lobby.
"Fabulous, isn't it?" Jon says sarcastically.
"Don't use that word. Remember, undercover -- one room, two beds, and call me 'Brother.'"
"Whatever you say, darling."
Dinner is at a place called Bootleggers, a couple of blocks away. You enter from the basement: "you may feel like you're entering a speakeasy." There's a gigantic mural of old-time rednecks. I order a turkey burger and truffle-laced french fries. Rather elegant for Hell, I have to admit.
Afterwards we go back to our hotel room and go on Grindr to look for a hookup. I expect a lot of married closet-case-angst types, but we end up inviting over a student from one of the local colleges -- not Homophobia University. He's a Human Services major, and on the swim team.
"You must be closeted among your teammates," I say.
"Oh, no, not at all. Everyone on the team is completely supportive. The captain is majoring in Human Services with a concentration in LGBTQ Advocacy."
LGBTQ Advocacy? WTF?
"Not everybody in town is as backwards as that other university," he says. "In the election, only 50% of the voters in the city voted for the Orange Goblin. Too bad you won't be here next spring. They're doing The Laramie Project at the Renaissance Theater."
"What do you want to do today?" Jon asks. He reads the possibilities from Trip Advisor: "A children's museum, the city museum, a historic mansion, the old cemetery with a Confederate Monument, the Pest House Medical Museum..."
"Have a lot of pestilence in Hell, do they?"
After breakfast we go to the Point of Honor House and go hiking at Blackwater Creek, where I could swear I am being cruised by a cute twink AND I see what looks suspiciously like a couple of gay dads with their kid. Lunch is Szechuan Shrimp (surprisingly not terrible) and Collector's Lair to look at new comics and graphics novels.
Then we hit Randolph College, a fine old brick college where the news magazine has an article about an alumnus who has returned to teach as a visiting professor of mathematics. He's "involved with LGBTQ Advocacy Programs like the Change Project."
We seek out his office hours. Turns out the organization is meant to "elevate the voices of LGBTQ people throughout the Deep South."
"Most people in town are pretty progressive," he says. "We try to distance ourselves from that university down the pike." He points out the calendar on his office wall.
Shirtless, muscular firemen! WTF
"Twelve local firefighters posed shirtless for this calendar, to raise money for cancer research." {Photo by Allison Creasy]
"Hmph! For ladies only, I suppose. Heterosexist tripe!"
"Oh, no, it's for everyone. 'Everyone is welcome.'"
"So....I'll bet there are no gay organizations in town except for some closeted 'support groups.'"
"Well, there's the Diversity Center on Jefferson, sort of our gay community center. They have movie nights and First Friday art shows. There's a gay community choir."
Several of the regulars look like they could be Friends of Dorothy, including a tall, ripped guy in his 30s. He introduces himself as Zeke, an IT director for a health care service in town.
"My...um...friend from the Midwest and I are visiting for the day," Jon says. "Maybe you could recommend someplace that's active on a Monday night?"
He grins. "There aren't bars in Virginia, really, but a lot of the restaurants draw an eclectic clientele. Have you heard of the Kegney Brothers? I'll be happy to show you..."
It's another brew pub in yet another historic building downtown (established 1879). Practically deserted on a Monday night, and the few patrons are all male-female couples. But I gamely order the shepherd's pie. Zeke, who is vegetarian, surprisingly, orders the curried vegetables.
We decide that it's safe to out ourselves. "Any gay organizations in town?"
"They have a LGBT queer-e-oke at the Unitarian Church on Friday nights," Zeke says, "And I don't know if you're into it, but there's a sex party at a guy I know's house every other Saturday."
"We're leaving tomorrow, unfortunately," Jon says. "But if you want to call the guy you know, we can have a mini-party."
After a five-person mini-sex party, we stumble back to our hotel room and go to bed.
In the morning, there's just enough time for breakfast in the hotel and a brief workout at the downtown YMCA before it's time to head back to Charlottesville.
"Boy, am I glad to be out of that place!" I exclaim. "I couldn't have stood it for another minute!
"I know -- it was awful!" Jon exclaims. "Now I know what Hell feels like."
See also: Alan's Gift From Beyond the Grave.
