I first saw John in 1996 during a chaotic time in my life. Each day we were packing boxes and preparing to move for the second time in fifteen months and I wasn't actually prepared for Carol's phone call.
"I've a buddy for you if you're interested. His name is John and he has a teenage son. I can meet you outside his house for an introduction. I like to do that with new clients."
My heart sank. If I'd had courage enough I would have said 'no', that I wasn't ready. I'd been through buddy training and a weekend-long Whitman/Walker training seminar at George Washington Medical School just 10 days before; the result of learning that a young man I'd babysat for years was HIV positive. My workday was averaging 25 hours a day and moving was a hassle....
"I'll be there," I said.
It was a beautiful sunny day in late June when Carol and I met on a small side street near Western Avenue in Bethesda, Maryland. We received no answer to a knock on the door and I half wished that we'd find no one there. Trying the door we discovered it was unlocked. Dust and tarnished silver and a large dining table covered in pill bottles greeted us. Our client was upstairs and looked as if he couldn't last the night. My God, I thought, they said they'd give me someone who wasn't terribly ill. This man looked for all the world like a portrait of an anguished Christ on the cross. John begged our forgiveness for not getting up and asked us to have a seat. We, John and Carol and I, conversed until nearly dusk. Eventually Carol left and John's friend Bill arrived and I gave them a resume by way of introduction. I also gave John a potted plant and a stuffed bunny and took my leave. I could tell that John was not thrilled that I had said that I could not come during the day to bring the mail upstairs to him as I had a paying job and didn't get off work until after six in the evening. I had also said that I would be unable to come by in the evening before moving was completed the week of the Fourth of July. There was a chance John would ask for a different volunteer.
On the third of July I was out tooling around, having some private time, when the thought occured to me to buy a bouquet of red and white carnations and drive the twelve miles to John's and surprise him. There was no one home so I placed the flowers inside the storm door and left. When I got home there was a phone call and John invited me to a holiday brunch of smoked salmon before he and Bill were to depart to stay with John's brother, William, for a few days. I hadn't the heart to tell him that I hated any form of salmon passionately. This was to be our first meal together, our first time to socialize with John ambulatory again. I was there at the appointed time. Warily I poked the poached mass of pale pink fish while the chef awaited a pronouncement on this delicacy. "Wonderful', I said, 'delicious", and gulped more coffee. John also toyed with his food as Bill, already finished, sorted mail and wrote checks. Two tickets fell from an envelope.
"Can you find someone to go with you to a concert?" asked Bill.
"Er, yes, when,...where?"
"George Washington University. Gay Mens' Chorus. Tomorrow night. We'll be out of town."
"Why, thank you. I'd love to go."
The next day I called everyone I could think of but no deal.
"Uh, a concert? I don't think I could", said one.
"Gee, I can't go. I have to wash the car" exclaimed another.
"Couldn't you get me a few more free tickets?" demanded a third.
So the answer was 'no' and I took the train to town alone that night. Clutching the tickets I watched twosomes and foursomes arrive and saunter into the hall without stopping at the ticket window. Eventually what I was waiting for happened and a lone male, clothes in tatters, joined the long line to purchase tickets.
"Excuse me,' I cut into the gentleman's reverie, 'are you here for a ticket?"
"Uh, yes," came the hesitant response.
"I have a free ticket if you'd like it."
"Well, where is the seat?"
"Best in the house." I told him.
We exchanged a few words when we were seated and then fell silent. I noticed the unhealthy pallor, the starved appearance, the too-long unkempt hair. Poor but with a love of music, I thought. At least this once he has a truly good seat. When the concert ended and it was time to go my 'friend' departed in silence, taking with him, perhaps, a little of the magic with which to color his life. I know I did. The walk back to the train station past students celebrating Friday night was warmed with the afterglow of beautiful voices singing in concert and I was glad to be a part of this great city called Washington.
"I couldn't find anyone to go with me on short notice." I told Bill and John.
"Hmm." said Bill without looking up.
"So I turned the extra ticket in and here is the money."
"Okay", said Bill as he wrote still one more check for prescriptions or doctors.
"Er, God,' I said silently, ' it was just a little white lie. I know I've been telling a few of them lately but I know You understand..."
Throughout that year John was in and out of Sibley Memorial Hospital with pancreatitis. Hallmark at Cabin John Mall found me a regular customer for balloon bouquets as did the Giant stores for fresh flowers. In between hospitalizations there were rental movies I got from Tower and took to John's house, visits to the theater, the Renaissance Festival in Bowie, Maryland, and Halloween in DC when John dressed as a druid priest and I as a black cat. One night we parked across Georgetown and walked a few miles through autumn-crisp side streets, crunching leaves underfoot, to see the Italian film, "The Postman," at the now-defunct, Key Theater. Driving back in late evening John admired a costume jewelry ring I was wearing , a Lucite ring with many colors in it. I still have that ring and when I look at it my mind's eye sees John riding home with me in my little car and I hear again his voice as I did that night as I imagined John as he was when he lived near Wisconsin Avenue with his small son. No AIDS then and a whole lifetime ahead to see his child grow and his career develop. A momentary lapse, an indiscretion, and this bright promise vanished forever.
In October both John and I volunteered to help with the Candlelight March on the Mall. John worked with the NAMES people and I was one of the many marshals. Neither of us got within a mile of Elizabeth Taylor. Neither of us got a break or a meal or even to sit down a moment but we did a good night's work. After doing Capitol security until dark my group got to jog to the reflecting pool at the OTHER end of the Mall, beating the parade there, in order to keep the crowd from falling into a bog at the pool's east end. Not only did we miss seeing the ceremony at the Memorial but we stood ankle deep in cold water for much of that last hour and, glad as I am that celebrities came to participate in the events, I thought the real heroes, those who actually made a sacrifice, were those tired and hungry souls such as John and my fellow marshals who donated their time to be of assistance to visitors. Shortly before Elizabeth Taylor asked that all candles be extinguished I noticed a circle of friends, each holding a candle, lower the candles to the ground and stand huddled over them. Lit from below the flickering light made the circle resemble survivors from a concentration camp. Soon, too soon, new squares would be added to the Quilt and more names to the list.
Following a group exiting the train station at Friendship Heights I jumped into an elevator and ended up on a dark street with the main entrance nowhere in sight. Nowhere were the familiar globe lights and chic boutiques. Thoroughly disoriented, I decided to walk in a circle and survey the area in which I'd found myself. Just 'round a corner was a place with the strange name of Booeymonger's which sold sandwiches and sodas and was cheerfully lit. Perhaps someone could give directions to Western Avenue. After a ten minute wait for the sullen Hispanic counter girls to cease filing their nails and chatting with one another and wait on their only customer I decided to just get a Coke and keep the conversation minimal. Continuing around the block I noticed a funeral home called Gawler's and the name struck a chord. It was November 1963 and the body of the late President Kennedy had been taken to a place in Bethesda called Gawler's. For a moment I stood there staring and remembering that rainy Friday when I'd been a schoolgirl in the Midwest hearing the news of the assassination...
Eventually I struck out in a direction I hoped was promising and, distantly, thought I saw pinpoints of light marking the subway entrance. "Ah, at last,' I said to no one, 'perhaps I can find where I parked the car." The car was still where I'd left it, my faithful sub compact, and I could begin the final journey home. A few blocks from the parking lot I detoured past John's house and saw that, as usual, all the lights were on even though it was well past midnight. If not an actual rage against the dying of the light, this was certainly a protest.
In November I met John's son who had been away at college. I spent Thanksgiving with John's relatives at his mother's home in Great Falls, Virginia. We had enough food to feed an army and settled into a comfortable lethargy while the younger generation watched "My Fair Lady" on television. Christmas was spent at John's house complete with arcane little family rituals and traditions. We exchanged gifts and John's sister presented each person with a Beanie Baby. In late afternoon John's son, Jason, and some of the younger people went out in the snow for a walk. The air was cold and clean and the falling snow tasted like the ice cones at a county fair. It was good to be alive and to have shared a holiday with people for the first time in many years. Having no birth relatives of my own, I tended to hibernate with a good book and wait for the season to pass.
This year was different.
It is hard to say when it began; the subtle drift. Phone calls to the answering machine were seldom, if ever, returned. We fell into a pattern.
"Hey, John, would you like to go to a movie with me this weekend?"
"Umm. let me see. It's Tuesday and I don't know what my schedule is yet. Let me ask Bill if this weekend is good and call you on Thursday."
"Oh, okay. I'd appreciate that."
When I hadn't heard anything by Friday I would call again.
"Hi, John. Do you want to go anywhere this weekend?"
"Uh, I don't know. Bill hasn't told me what my schedule is yet. I'll call you."
"Sure, John."
There would be no call.
It would be easy to blame Bill or to imagine my escorting John about as provoking jealousy in Bill but I find this very difficult to accept. With Bill as with myself, there must be private time to recoup, to recharge one's batteries. It is far more likely that John was stalling for a 'best offer' from various people who would invite him to events. While not hoping for much, this possibility was disheartening.
In May I was invited to John's house to help plant tomato and other vegetables he'd bought. What I didn't know is that John had purchased enough for a full size farm rather than a small garden. Bill and I did the actual work and John supervised. In the evening I begged off as I had to start work early in the morning. John presented me with a lovely bouquet of iris which I kept until they shed their petals. It was a precious gesture and an unaccustomed one. I was never to see that house or garden, now so familiar to me, again.
"Take care of yourself. You are a very special person and I will always be extremely grateful for all your help and support when I was so sick. Thank you.Have a wonderful 1998.
Love,
John"
I thought about John and all his relatives gathering round the tree to celebrate an old fashioned Christmas and reluctantly admitted to myself that my life was now to be lived elsewhere and with very different people. My new boss had asked me to spend Christmas with his family and to decline would have been disastrous. Spring arrived and a long hot summer. Autumn brought rain and crops ripening in the fields around my house. Halloween in a small town seemed light years removed from the Mardi Gras atmosphere of the District and, almost before anyone realized it, the holidays arrived and snow and ice storms which shut down power in much of Pepco's area for over a week. It was during this time of dangerous storms that John passed into immortality, his battle of nearly two decades with AIDS done at last.
I learned of John's death from reading the SSDI online. By that time John was six months with the angels and I was living over a thousand miles away and newly married. If there was anything I learned by being with John it's that all life is a temporary situation and that nothing lasts but memories and that which we have shared with another.
I would like to proffer the following composition. The author is unknown. If you recognize the text and know the author please email me.
People come into your life for a reason, a season, or a lifetime. When you figure out which it is, you know exactly what to do.When someone is in your life for a REASON, it is usually to meet a need you have expressed outwardly or inwardly. They have come to assist you through a difficulty, to provide you with guidance and support, to aid you physically, emotionally, or spiritually. They may seem like a godsend, and they are.
They are there for the reason you need them to be. Then, without any wrongdoing on your part or at an inconvenient time, this person will say or do something to bring the relationship to an end. Sometimes they die. Sometimes they walk away. Sometimes they act up or out and force you to take a stand. What we must realize is that our need has been met, our desire fulfilled; their work is done. The prayer you sent up has been answered and it is now time to move on.
When people come into your life for a SEASON, it is because your turn has come to share, grow, or learn. They may bring you an experience of peace or make you laugh. They may teach you something you have never done. They usually give you an unbelievable amount of joy. Believe it! It is real!
But, only for a season.
LIFETIME relationships teach you lifetime lessons; those things you must build upon in order to have a solid emotional foundation. Your job is to accept the lesson, love the person/people; and put what you have learned to use in all other relationships and areas of your life.
John wasn't perfect and death does not convey sainthood. Often John was moody or just plain contrary and argumentative. But he could also be warm and funny and confiding. John was a loving father and a devoted friend to many. He was an avid churchgoer and member of St. Paul's Episcopal of Washington. John loved animals and plants and traveling. He wanted his name read aloud and a square in the Quilt if ever the NAMES people returned to Washington DC. They did not return.
John's obituary reads as follows:
John Rollin Watson III, 44, Medical Librarian and AIDS Information Specialist
Washington Post (01/21/99) P. B6 International AIDS educator John Rollin Watson III died on Saturday, January 16, of AIDS complications. Mr. Watson, 44, played a key role in the development of the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention's National AIDS Clearinghouse, working from 1988 to 1996 as a librarian and Senior International Multicultural liaison at CDC NAC. His fluency in languages and his experience around the world helped to further his understanding of how cultural and ethnic subtleties affect the way in which people accept HIV prevention information. In addition, Mr. Watson provided intensive, tailored training and technical help to AIDS information providers sent to the CDC by foreign governments for training. Mr. Watson's many other achievements include serving on the Maryland Governor's Advisory Council on AIDS, serving as a member of the Whitman-Walker Clinic AIDS Services Operating Committee, and serving as an advisor to the Pan-American Health Organization's AIDS programs. He also was a founding member of GENA, participated in AIDS meetings across the world, advised Infoshare Russia, and mentored a Washington, D.C., youth AIDS group. Mr. Watson is survived by his life partner, Bill Owens-Smith, his son Jason, his mother, and three siblings.
For almost half his existance John lived with AIDS and, although his life was not long, John lived it well.
“Do Not Go Gentle into That Good Night” by Dylan Thomas’
Read at the 1996 Candlelight March in Washington, DC
Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
