Chamblee54

When We Rise, the autobiography of Cleve Jones, was a surprise at the library. I had heard of Mr. Jones … something about the names project and the aids quilt … but didn’t know much else. Pictures today are from ” The Special Collections and Archives, Georgia State University Library. “
Turns out Cleve is a 1954 baby, like myself. He has a different story from me. I find myself thinking of where he was in his life, and where I was in mine. It often is not complementary to me. Cleve was living in San Francisco and Germany. I was in Georgia, just being the bum I was.
A vanity project “Oh dear – hearing over and over again how handsome Cleve was and how ‘hot’ all his lovers were grated on me after a while. It’s a shame because I expected more from someone who was there at the beginning of gay liberation, and indeed, played an important part. His vanity or lost youth seemed more important than really getting to grips with the zeitgeist of the period.”
The Amazon one star reviews confirm something that I’ve picked up on from the book … Mr. Jones has a healthy ego. Everywhere you turn, there’s people that Cleve doesn’t like, or who don’t like him. This is one thing that rings true about the Atlanta experience as well. There was always drama. People have their baggage. There is not always room under the seat to stash it.
For those who are new here, here is the story. Cleve had been saving pills for his suicide, when he was a teenager in Arizona. He got it together, met some people, and moved to California. Cleve lived hand-to-mouth for a while. I think he hustled a little bit. After a while, he got a job, and met somebody who lived in Germany. For a few years he would go back to San Francisco, work for a while, and spend his summers in Europe. About this time Harvey Milk had his camera store on Castro Street … more of a meeting place for his buddies, than a profitable camera store. Cleve got to know Harvey, and eventually was worked for him. Cleve claims to have gone into City Hall, on the day that Harvey was shot. He was able to just walk in, and see the body of Harvey Milk before anybody got to it. This part of the story set my BS detector off.
Dan White was tried for the murder of Harvey Milk, and George Moscone. He was convicted of a much lesser charge, and people were offended. It was a mess. About this time, I went to California on a Trailways bus. I wound up in the moonie camp, outside of Santa Rosa. I somehow got got back to town, but didn’t get to spend much time in the city. I went to a club called the Stud, on Folsom Street. It was one of Cleve’s hangouts.
I was in San Francisco for the pride parade in 1981. This is about the time when the first reports of aids started to come in. Cleve read these initial reports, and was talked to some friends of his about how worried were. Cleve met a man named Bobbi Campbell. Sister Florence Nightmare RN was the 16th person in San Francisco to be diagnosed with Kaposi’s Sarcoma.
Cleve Jones has AIDS. He was took a positive antibody test as soon as they became available. He was in bad shape at one point, when a doctor got him on one of the early nineties drug cocktails. Cleve responded well to the new treatment, and is with us today.
The Names Project is what Cleve Jones is best known for. TNP created the aids quilt, a massive memorial to the people who died of aids. ”The quilt traces its origins to 1985, when Jones decided to commemorate the 1,000 San Francisco residents who had succumbed to AIDS to date by asking those attending a march to tape placards bearing lost loved ones’ names onto the San Francisco Federal Building. To Jones, the wall of names resembled a quilt. Most of the quilt’s blocks are rectangles measuring 6 feet by 3 feet, or roughly the size of a grave. Many were individually crafted by people whose friends and family members succumbed to AIDS …”
Today, the quilt has over 50k panels, and is a piece of logistic work. For some reason, the quilt moved to Atlanta in the early aughts. Cleve did not approve. His official connection to the project ended about this time. At last report, the quilt is moving back to Caifornia.
The connections keep going on. I became virtually connected to a Georgia writer who knew Lance Black, before he used all three names. The Georgia writer, and Dustin Lance Black, did not like each other. Some things never change. Moving on into present tense, @CleveJones1 was forced out of his San Francisco apartment. His landlord doubled the rent, to more the $5,000 a month. I stay in a Brookhaven house, coveted by Mcmansion mongers. Life goes on.