Jack Nichols: As the longtime editor of Kentucky's gay newspaper, The Letter, you probably have a keener eye trained on the Bluegrass State than anybody else. What's the difference between a southern state like Kentucky and, say, Alabama?

David Williams: Kentucky, in general, is a socially conservative state. Protestant fundamentalism has an emotional hold on our politicians, and it's difficult for the GLBT community to have its voice heard.

But Kentucky isn't as rabid about its conservatism as other Southern states, mainly because there aren't one but six different sub-regions, all of which are constantly arguing with one another. Kentucky has a long history of sub- regions arguing and sometimes fighting with other sub-regions, and then there is fighting within sub-regions. The end result, politically, is a lot of horse trading when the legislature is in session, and a strange kind of live and let live attitude generally.

What also makes Kentucky atypical of the South is a large Catholic minority which resides mainly in Louisville (the largest city), northern Kentucky (across from Cincinnati), and along the Ohio River. Up until the 1960s, American Catholics were persecuted in Kentucky as well as the U.S., and so they've grown to be more tolerant of others: it was their way of surviving in a hostile climate. Kentucky's large Catholic minority is well-represented in the state's cultural life and tremendously influences politics in Louisville, which, because of its size (about one in four Kentuckians live in the metropolitan area), influences the state in general. It's no mistake that many of our Catholic politicians--with notable exceptions--are more sympathetic to gay and lesbian issues.

Jack Nichols: You say Kentucky activism really got going about 1982? How did it get started and what impelled you to activism?

David Williams: I didn't initiate activism in 1982. There were others before me. But 1982 marks the beginning of a strong activist movement in Louisville and Lexington: many others besides myself first became involved that year because of the way Sam Dorr was treated by the bank that fired him because of his homosexuality. The Sam Dorr case is basically Kentucky's Stonewall.

I first became involved not because I wanted to become politically active; I just looked upon gay groups as just another way to pick up men. The activism came later.

The first group I became involved with suited those purposes nicely. It was a gay men's social group called Lambda Louisville, which is now defunct. But I wasn't a member more than a month or two before its president approached me to work on the group's proposed newsletter, which it hoped to turn into a citywide gay newspaper.

I worked as a writer, reporter, and copy editor for a couple of years before taking over as editor. My one year as editor was disastrous. It started out fine, but then I fell in love and quickly lost interest. Others had to take over, and it wasn't a happy experience at the end.

My work with Lambda led me to become involved with Gays and Lesbians United for Equality, a coalition of local groups. It was under their auspices that I established the Kentucky Gay and Lesbian Library and Archives in November of 1982.

So one thing fed into another, and then another, and another, and I've been active locally and statewide ever since then except for a brief hiatus in 1988-1989 (burnout).

Jack Nichols: Tell me about your current life. In the August issue of The Letter you provided both a pro and con views about living in Louisville. Even New Yorkers have love/hate relationships with that city. I suppose it's the same with any town that's half-way livable.

David Williams: My personal life is happy. The Louisville GLBT community is currently going through crisis. Attendance was off at most Pride Month activities, and some groups are hurting for new leadership. Part of this is due to the fact that over the last seven years the community has expended a great deal of energy trying to get a gay civil rights ordinance passed, only to see failure three times. So there's burnout and growing apathy. The Letter, I hope, will serve as a means of holding things together until we get our second wind.

Jack Nichols: Your past history too. You were in the armed services, for example. And you came out on May 13, 1973, a date you sometimes call your birthday. Tell me a little about your personal life too, your great loves, for example.

David Williams: I was raised a strict Catholic and went through the entire Catholic school system, even going to graduate school at Notre Dame in Indiana for one semester. I have two younger brothers and several nieces and nephews. Both my parents are deceased.

Until the age of 25, I was your basic nerd: I hadn't a clue about the world, and I hadn't experienced a thing. I'd only had sex two or three times. I was like a man in a cannon, ready to be shot into the air, landing God knows where!

That coming out would have happened earlier had I not received my draft notice in late 1968. That summer, I graduated from college, had my first sexual experience and left the church for good, all in the space of a couple of months. But the draft pushed me right back into the closet. I could have told the selective service board that I was homosexual and probably been turned away from serving; but at that time I wasn't ready to do anything like that. I had no support system personally, and there was no national network of support groups like we have today (this was a year before Stonewall). So I allowed myself to be drafted, and told myself I'd just get through it as best I could. In order to avoid the infantry, I signed on for a third year as a clerk.

Fortunately I didn't get to Vietnam. The orders were changed at the last minute, and I was sent to an obscure Army base in Augsburg, Germany, where I basically hid out for two and a half years. The last year was especially difficult because I couldn't stand being in the closet any more. All I had uppermost in my mind was getting that honorable discharge, so I wasn't about to risk it in trying to pick up other soldiers or civilians. So I was miserable, and got into alcohol and drugs heavy through the better part of that year.

Upon discharge in January 1972, I returned to Louisville and was prepared to move away for good. But that spring was especially beautiful, and shortly thereafter, after getting my own apartment, I had my first sexual experiences in Louisville. I learned that I could live a comfortable gay life in Louisville, so there was little reason to leave. Family concerns also kept me close to home.

That fall I fell in love for the first time, with a school teacher thirteen years my senior. I was in heaven for five months. But it was puppy love, or perhaps lust, and when I discovered the gay bars, that pretty much ended what had started out as a very beautiful love. I didn't do him right when we split and have regretted hurting him ever since.

I like to say I wasn't born until the age of 26, when I walked into my first gay bar. It was the Badlands Territory, Louisville's first real gay disco, and the date was May 13, 1973.

You have to understand that I'd gone through 26 years of low self-esteem. From sixth grade on up through high school and beyond, I was harassed because classmates perceived me to be gay. In the Army, one guy got so upset he tried to engage me in a knock-down, drag-out fight. So I didn't think I was worth much, which is perhaps why, despite my college education, I hadn't formulated any real goals.

All that changed when I walked through those doors. Heads turned, and I suddenly realized that other men thought me attractive. That summer was like one long beach party for me, and that party continued for many years thereafter, actually, through two other relationships. I couldn't get enough men! I'm not the same person I was before the age of 26, but I could have said that at 26-1/2. It was like being born again religiously, I suppose.

I tell people that since 1972 I've had seven husbands, three affairs, and 300 tricks. A good time was had by all.

Jack Nichols: You have the kind of down-to-earth humanity I remember about your state. What's going on with local expressions of the gay and lesbian movement in Kentucky right now? Does the Christian Coalition have much clout?

David Williams: The local movement is suffering a little burnout. We did manage to have sexual orientation added to our state hate crimes law this past spring: our first major statewide victory. But attendance has been down at meetings and events this year, and I fear that the movement is becoming stagnant.

On the other hand, I see signs of rejuvenation. Eastern Kentucky--by far the most conservative part of the state--now has a third gay and lesbian social and support group. It's called MAGIC. Attendance is growing at MCC in Elizabethtown, a small city south of Louisville. And student groups seem to be holding their own in such places as Western State University in Bowling Green, in south-central Kentucky.

In Louisville, we now have six of our aldermen (city councilmen) in favor of passing a gay civil rights law (called the Fairness Amendment). That's half the board. We may finally see some kind of movement on that next year.

The Louisville gay and lesbian community consistently receives majority support for most of its issues; it's the politicians who are dragging their feet.

I think by simply demonstrating that we're not going to disappear, and that we're a force to be considered (if not reckoned with), Kentucky will eventually turn around. The political leadership may not be listening to us, but they do know we're here. That's probably just as important as anything.

The Christian Coalition per se doesn't have much clout in Kentucky, but it doesn't have to worry about that too much, as the same type of work is done by churches and local religious right groups, which have always had a stranglehold on social progress in the state.

Jack Nichols: How have the national gay and lesbian organizations like the Human Rights Campaign and the National Gay and Lesbian Task Force fared in Kentucky? Do they have any clout?

Jack Nichols: Lige Clarke, the great love of my life was from the hills of Southeastern Kentucky, a place where, in spite of conformity, there are also some very unique individuals. I've always carried an impression of fair-mindedness among the people in those remote hills, as if they seemed unlikely to categorize people in groups, but might be more likely to treat acquaintances on a person to person basis. Live and let live. Do you think I'm dreaming?

David Williams: Greg Stumbo, a state legislator from Prestonberg in the eastern part of the state and a leader in the House, was one of our most eloquent spokespersons when the state was debating a bill to ban same-sex marriages this past spring. The eastern part of the state is a fascinating study in contrasts, however. While they do respect an individual's right to do whatever he wants, there is a strong religious sense, a very down-home, bedrock type of religion that colors the entire culture. And they do have a definite problem with gays and lesbians. That's where they draw the line. It's not easy being gay or lesbian in the mountains: most gays and lesbians remain extremely closeted.

I went to a meeting of a gay social group last year, and what impressed me immediately was the paranoia I felt among the group. First of all, the group meets at a different place each week so as not to draw suspicion from the neighbors. At the one meeting I went to, several people who entered the door looked behind them before the door was shut, to make sure that no one saw them come in. I heard a report during the meeting of one gay couple's house being torched a while back.

So while individuality and eccentricity is tolerated to a considerable degree, homosexuality is not, generally. This is not to say that everyone is the same: many families do support their gay and lesbian children, but in a quiet way.

Jack Nichols: I know that the enemies of gays in Kentucky like Dr. Frank Simon, are poised to attack you and your newspaper. What are some of the things they've said and done?

David Williams: The worst thing from Dr. Simon came a couple of years ago, when he read a couple of personals ads from our newspaper on a call-in talk show. One of the ads was from an adult man looking for a "boy toy." The second ad was from an adult man looking for a "nudist boy." The third was from an adult lesbian looking for a "baby dyke." Simon claimed that these ads proved that our newspaper was allowing ads from adults looking for sex with children.

The only problem is that the two adult men had printed age requirements. The first adult wanted someone 28-38, and the second wanted someone 18-38. Simon skipped over that part when he read the ads on the air, even though the age requirements are clearly visible. So he basically lied to the public.

The third ad, of course, was from an adult lesbian looking for another adult lesbian, but because she was looking for a "baby" dyke, Simon thought she was looking for a baby to have sex with!

We have talked with our attorney on several occasions about this, but she cautions that defamation suits are hard to win and costly. So we have contented ourselves, so far, with simply publicizing Simon's deviousness in our paper and the other papers.

Four years ago we did an investigation of some of Simon's anti-gay political material, which is based on the work of Paul Cameron. We tore most of his assertions apart. He dismissed it as, I believe, "typical gay propaganda," or something like that.

Jack Nichols: What's this I read in The Letter about the Log Cabin Republicans giving money to the anti-gay Louisville congresswoman, Anne Northup? And I noticed that business peoples' support of Democrat Ernesto Scorsone in Lexington was only 15% greater than support given a Republican. Are there many gay and lesbian Blue Grass Republicans?

David Williams: You can probably count gay and lesbian Republicans in Louisville and Lexington on the fingers of two hands! Most gay and lesbian Republicans I know tend to vote Democratic.

The donation the national Log Cabin Republicans gave to Anne Northup was cockamamie. They argue that it's important to keep their foot in her door because of her support for some AIDS issues. But I don't think they realize she's just using that foot as a doorstop. She has no intention of ever voting in support of any gay and lesbian issue. This year she voted against the gay and lesbian community every chance she got. That includes supporting the Hefley Amendment (she was joined by Kentucky's other five congressmen as well). She's about as far right on social issues as any Republican can get.

Jack Nichols: Your loved ones have been struck down by AIDS. What kind of AIDS networks exist in Kentucky and what are some of the major dangers, like general ignorance of the disease, that Kentuckians face?

David Williams: The support networks for AIDS are good throughout Kentucky--except for the eastern mountains, which basically remain in denial. People there go to Lexington, in the Bluegrass, for information and treatment.

Community Health Trust in Louisville has done a marvelous job of helping people financially, and educating the public and the community about AIDS. AIDS Volunteers of Lexington has also done well with a smaller caseload.

The main problem continues to be ignorance in the rural areas, and denial in the African-American community. The first death from AIDS in Kentucky was a black man from Haiti, and there have been so many African-Americans who've died from AIDS. Yet there's still a wall of silence which no one knows how to penetrate. The same goes for rural areas, which are under the sway of the fundamentalist churches.

Jack Nichols: Your September editorial mentions all the gay married men you've noted sneaking around on the Internet looking for sex with other men. If their spouses only knew what fantasies lurk in their partners, minds, you write, the divorce courts would start melting down come Monday. I recall communicating with just such a man in Kentucky. Do you think there may be more married gay men there than elsewhere?

David Williams: I really don't know, but I'd suspect we probably average just as many married gay men and lesbians as any other Southern or Midwestern state. In the Internet chat rooms area on America On-Line, I've noted just as many in Colorado and Illinois as in Kentucky. Of course, that's all anecdotal. I doubt that anyone really knows.

Jack Nichols: In your reply to the Ex-Gay Christian newspaper advertising campaign, you take a freedom-of-choice stance. If some gay men or lesbians are really that uncomfortable, you say, let em go! But you also talk about our obligation to provide these estranged gay people with information. A nice warm hug can't hurt, either, you explain. What sort of information should we provide?

David Williams: There is a great deal of solid information about these so-called "ex-gay ministries" and "conversion therapy" in general. The bottom line: they don't work. There are exceptions, of course; bisexual men seem to have an easier time of it if they're desirous of suppressing their homosexual side. And some recent studies have concluded that sexual attraction is more fluid in women. But for most gay men, these groups are a waste of time: and we have plenty of documentation around to prove it.

Jack Nichols: Two expatriate Kentuckians, Lige Clarke and Dick Leitsch, were prominent pre-Stonewall pioneers of the gay and lesbian movement in Washington and New York. They were also good friends. Dick Leitsch wrote for the original GAY, which Clarke edited. It was America's first weekly newspaper. Clarke was murdered--gunned down at a roadblock in 1975-- but Dick Leitsch, who is still alive, was president of the New York Mattachine Society, Inc. between 1965 and past 1970. Dick Leitsch is from the Louisville area, did you know that?

David Williams: I believe I read that somewhere in a recently published book.

Jack Nichols: How has the Kentucky mainstream press treated the fact that the West Paducah boy who opened fire last December on a high-school Christian prayer group was being taunted and harassed as gay, even though he doesn't self-identify as such?

David Williams: The Louisville Courier-Journal all but ignored that in its initial reports. It finally dealt with it a bit more in another article this week. But I was quite upset with that newspaper about the way it glossed over the issue, and I wrote a letter to the editor complaining about it, which they published. They didn't seem to grasp the problem.

I'm not aware of how Kentucky's other major daily, the Lexington Herald- Leader, treated it, and it would be impossible for me to find out how smaller papers handled it. The only paper that dove into that issue thoroughly was the Paducah Sun, which is published in the same county where the shootings occurred. I'm not familiar with that paper, but I'd say it was quite a stretch for them to report on that like they did. Maybe not. It's an Ohio River town and therefore a bit more moderate than other places inland.

Jack Nichols: You told me that the Louisville community feels angry about harassment that's recently affected MT Closets, a gay business. But not angry enough to picket. Has the community ever been moved to picket?

David Williams: The Louisville gay and lesbian community by and large has never felt comfortable taking to the streets. Whenever we have had demonstrations, it's generally been 100-200 people. Three years ago we did get about 1100 people for our annual March for Justice, which also serves as a sort of Gay Pride Parade. But this year it was down to 340, which is around the same level as ten years ago.

The local community lives comfortably; it's a decent city to live in. But the general feeling is, don't rock the boat, don't make waves. When the community does get upset, they tend to write letters, make phone calls, give money to the Fairness Campaign. They do things more quietly here, which is fine up to a point, but we end up not always getting our point across.

The last time I know of where the gay and lesbian community picketed anything was in 1970, when it picketed a gay bar because it didn't allow drag queens inside.

Jack Nichols: Outside of Louisville and Lexington's night life, where can gay men and lesbians meet others in Kentucky?

David Williams: Kentucky has 120 counties and therefore 120 county courthouses, most of which are in squares. Gay men have historically met each other in those areas.

But more popular nowadays are out of the way spots: roadside parks; parking lots next to dams; various areas at state parks; local parks; interstate rest stops (the rest stop at Sonora on I-65 south of Elizabethtown is the most famous). Every town has its town queer, so they'd be a central switchboard connecting men with other men.

Lesbians have a rougher time of it. They don't tend to meet each other in rest stops. I'd suspect that most out lesbians live in larger cities like Louisville and Lexington, where it's easier to meet.

Jack Nichols: The Letter runs free ads for prisoners, as well as a warning about prisoner scams. Many prisoners learn they are bisexuals while incarcerated. What have you noticed as a newspaperman running these ads?

David Williams: We just recently started running prisoners ads, so I don't have a real handle on that. We receive many letters accompanying the ads they want to place, and in reading them, I get the feeling that most of these men are gay. How many are bisexual or heterosexual, I can't really say at this point.

Jack Nichols: What do you project about future developments in Kentucky--both hopeful and discouraging?

David Williams: I see the city of Louisville finally passing some kind of gay civil rights ordinance within the next two years: perhaps even in 1999. That would be a strong signal to the political establishment. With the recent spate of lawsuits filed by gay teenagers against their school systems, we might see more sensitivity training in the larger school systems.

As for Kentucky as a whole, progress will be much slower and won't come for decades in some areas. The political establishment is too worried about the churches to move quickly on gay and lesbian issues very quickly. Except for Ernesto Scorsone, who's favored to win his race for Congress from the sixth district in November, it will be years before we get a congressperson who supports gay and lesbian civil rights.

Jack Nichols: Tell me about your plans for The Letter. It is online now too, right? How can people subscribe, and what's the online address?

David Williams: I don't want to give away too much! Let me just say we hope to continue to expand our distribution in Kentucky and bordering states, and become a major regional NEWSpaper containing news and features of substance.

We're currently on line at www.iglou.com/theletter. Subscriptions are $25 for the first year, $20 for renewals. Our address is: Phoenix Hill Enterprises, P.O. Box 3882, Louisville, 40201

Jack Nichols: Thanks, David, for being the kind of man you are. Kentucky has always been very dear to me because of Lige. He's buried on a little hilltop in Knott County, way back up in "them hills" I can't listen to My Old Kentucky Home without getting a little teary.

David Williams: Thanks for allowing me the opportunity to talk about Kentucky, The Letter and my career.