Mike Reilly,
teacher, director, Coach

made fancy awards
4 feet by 3 feet

deep red posterboard back,
heavy white cardstock front with black calligraphy,

shiny gold stars
colorful ribbons

my first year in high school
doing only lights

10th grade
at the Thespian Awards Ceremony

he gave me Five Stars.

*

I was proud,
shocked,

some seniors,
actors,

with only one star.

*

I was 15 that spring,
J. Mike 25,

a year out of working Carson’s Tonight Show
in New York.

*
I had no Fierce Pride.

Many of the straight boys would lisp “thespian,”
which made me queasy.

*

Mr. Reilly wanted me to act/I always refused.
But he talked me into forensics.

I wrote a speech on Détente,
he helped me with delivery,

tried to get me into hand and arm gestures
as I stood rigid

and recited my quite well-written
take on international diplomacy.

We’d practice
in the speech room

and once at our house
in the basement.

Couldn’t use
the TV room

as my sisters were there,
couldn’t use the laundry room

so we used the gun room.

I tried a few gestures
but they made my face red.

I needed a “good shirt and dress slacks,”
both of which I was lacking

so wore brown cotton pants
which were comfortable

but my best shirt, which I hated,
white with a partial zipper from the neck opening and, worse,

at the end of the gold zipper
a quarter-size decorative gold loop.

I was allergic to polyester
and it was polyester.

So there weren’t going to be any
natural hand or arm gestures

and I made it all the way to the state finals
apparently on writing content alone,

losing for style points,
losing for not being a hot teen

like the winning boys
smooth as fashion models,

smooth as Willie Horton at bat,
Bob Lanier with a hook-shot,

Charlie Sanders running down the sidelines.

*

He kept pressing me to act
and I said, “If we do The Wizard of Oz

I’ll try-out for the Tin Man.”

(So I could be
covered in metal and silver make-up

like I was covered with the Tools of Ignorance
as a catcher.

Covered in shame
for wanting the paper boy.

*

And J. Mike
was about as flaming as you could get

in southeastern lower Michigan.

Driving a group of us home from rehearsal one Saturday afternoon
I was last

and he drove me to see Pat Metheny.

I saw the spark.

My first condo—
decorated in a way I was immediately,

for the first time,
comfortable—

Pat was an Adonis.
J. Mike glowed

with energy and confidence,
but he was not physically in Pat’s category.

For the first time I knew there was hope
I could get anyone.

*

At 23,

going through my school mementos—
things from grade school through high school—

yellow and black mini inflatable soccer ball
I had friends sign the last day of 6th grade,

Little League trophies,
yearbooks,

my Five Star Thespian Award—

Nobody knew me—

It was all fake—

Threw it all away.

*

Even at 8
when I got the trophy for Most Improved Player

the next year for Sportsmanship
I knew MVP

and a Title
were the ones that mattered.

Thought I could get MVP,
strong catcher, good arm, field general,

hit for average and with power.

*

Now I would like to have those trophies,
the yearbooks with silly, often sexual comments,

talking about my “brain,”
signed by friends who knew me best they could.

And J. Mike’s Five Star Thespian Award,
the only one he’d ever awarded to a tenth grader,

just for lighting.

*

After he retired
Michael drove the country meeting former students,

spent 3 days with me in LA.

When I reminded him of meeting Pat Metheny,
describing him and his condo clearly,

he was shocked that he’d felt comfortable enough
to introduce me to Pat when I was 15,

did not remember it, but knew it was true from my descriptions.

Said if he’d been out at that time
he would have been fired as a teacher,

and no gay man could drive students home after rehearsal
as gay men were pedophiles.

*

Said Pat later died of AIDS
and when Mike went to visit,

last days,
Pat’s mother

who always hated Mike
for making him gay

refused the meeting.
Mike never saw Pat again.

*

And as I cruised into 60
Mike sent word that his cancer had spread,

he’d had his bladder “…and sundry nearby organs…”
removed.

Died shortly after
at 70.

*

That gaudy Five Star Thespian Award—
expensively engraved, lettered in India ink,

festooned with gold stars—
I’d like that Gay as the Fourth of July firework

on my wall right now.
Have only this poem.