I sit in the bar area of the San Francisco Hilton. San Francisco, home of the homos. And I was desperately trying not to be one. What were they thinking bringing me here? I figured on some right winged small town with lots of balding men and frumpy bunned up women. But what do I get? A bunch of parading twenty year olds in summer shorts and summer spirit making me dizzy.

I sit at the bar and face the glass wall. In the center of the wall is a double glass door that leads to the pool busy with frolicking men. It is ten AM and bloody mary's and mimosas pass around with festive intent.

I could walk out there, say hello, and be flailing in the pool within five minutes. Uh, there it goes. Someone's suit is thrown from the undulating water. I stand and walk to the window wall. I see him turning red and yelling for his suit, and laughing-- everyone is laughing. I want to walk through the door.

"Greg...?" Dr. Mince calls for me as he guides blind Father Feenan to a table. This would be Father Feenan's last trip anywhere I thought as I meet them at the table.

I sit with my back to the window wall and listen to Father Feenan recollect his trip to Rome twenty years earlier. He stops mid-sentence and ponders, as if he's reliving a specific moment. His grin widens, reacting to something we can't see, and he laughs. This goes unnoticed by Dr. Mince who thumbs through CHRISTIAN TODAY.

"Here we go Greg, my boy." He says raising his right arm and grabbing my left shoulder in a grasp of manhood. "Chicago Chapter has you on their calendar and a little blurb about you."

I don't want to hear it so I excuse myself for a bodily function and tell them I'll meet them out front. I stand and turn to the wall window, glance back to Dr. Mince who recognizes my enticement, and I run to the bathroom.

*****

Later, Red Cross Building. I stand about to read "my" speech to sixty young Christians who were here. I remind myself of what Dr. Mince told me, "Even if one person is helped, then you've done some good." Dr. Mince stares at me and nods with approval. He doesn't know what I am really thinking-- that I want to be in the Hilton pool, three bloody mary's down, feeling a man's body against mine.

I look out to the sixty young Christians and I wonder what the hell I have to tell them. I pull out my cards and begin.

I smile. "Hi, I am Greg Shamus and I was a homosexual. But thanks to Dr. Mince and the Christian Church and their faith in me, I am now a successful artist planning a wedding to a... woman." That's our one joke, but barely a chuckle crystalizes. Then silence, except for breathing, breathing I hear and realize it's my own. "I don't know how or why I practiced the deviant behavior of homosexuality. I can't tell you that, but I can tell you that if you think you may have this problem, there is help for you." I become so nervous I can't lift my eyes from the 4 x 6 cards.

I talk on and my mind loses connection to my consciousness. I don't know what I am saying, but my words continue and I can only hope that I am saying the words written on the cards.