Alan

I moved to Houston in 1990 after a long, cold year of the white stuff in Colorado. I liked Colorado but the cold and snow, forget it.

Like any self-respecting gay man in their 20's, the first thing I did when I settled in Houston was check the gay bars and meet new people. Alan was the first person I met. Alan and his cowboy-posse surrounded me in the BRB, Houston's gay C&W bar, about 5 minutes after I arrived.

Which one of us are you going home with?

Maybe we could start out with an easier question like you asking my name?

Ok, whats your name?

Jim

Nice to meet ya Jim, now back to your selection for this evening!

Bob, I'm trading you all in for whats behind door number 3!

Smart-ass! I knew I liked you!

So started our friendship.

Alan and I were polar opposites: he was the tall, red-headed extrovert cowboy who literally could not function without 4-5 hours a day of being surrounded by a crowd of people. He got off work at 3, changed and at 3:30 he would arrive in the Montrose for pre-happy hour. At 5 he would transition to happy hour, around 8 he would take in a quick bite then head out for the 930 to 2a post-happy hour. He did this 7 nights a week.

I, on the other hand, the short blonde introvert, was completely content with my one friday night out, afterwards I needed no social interaction until the following week.

Still we became the best of friends. He never tried to change me and I reciprocated. One night after closing the BRB and exhausting after-hours at the Ripcord, we found ourselves at some 24-hour dinner sucking down omelettes and coffee. This is when Alan told me he had AIDS.

I must have had a face on, since I said absolutely nothing.

Now Jim, you know as well as I do that getting enough sleep, eating right, stopping my 2 packs a day of Marlboro Red and cutting back on my daily pre and post happy hours would be like putting me in pine box before my time.

I know I was put here to show people that this thing does not have to stop you from living. I know it and now you know it too.

And I did. We never talked about this subject again, no need really, he had made his stance clear.

Although Alan never mentioned it to me, I would later discover that he spent his weekend days at hospices, walking-the-walk, his Texas-sized personality and upbeat perspective were almost legendary in Houston. He was Houston's poster boy for living with AIDS.

My two years in Houston were memorable, largely due to Alan and his grab-life-by-the-balls persona. Unfortunately, work took me to Dallas in 1992 and we were only able to see each other occasionally there after.

In 1993 he inherited a bit of land in his home town, Tulsa and moved back to the build his dream home. I still remember his endless 2am phones, the panic discussions over what tile for the kitchen, was a shower for 12 considered gauche or how pink did I want my room to be (he knew I hated pink). A year of this insanity went on until mid-1994 when he started to settle down. He made me promise that I would visit when he finished his house, he was planning a housewarming party for himself sometime in September. But like many good plans there were some glitches to pulling it off.

Alan passed away on July 5th, 1994, he was 32 years old, exactly, it was his birthday.

His family informed me of his passing but they did want any of us at the services. I ignored them and went anyway, standing a respectful distance from them but still able to see. Later, I went to Alan's almost-finished house and said good-bye and happy birthday in a way Alan woud have liked: a 6-pack, a pack of Marlboro Reds and his picture, which had just been published in Houston's gay rag.

Thats why, for the past 12 years, my July 4th weekend has always been truncated or sometimes scraped all together - I'm in Tulsa on July 5th, celebrating a birthday for a very special friend.



Alan Hughes (July 5, 1962 - July 5, 1994)