Thom DeLorenzo/Alaska



I’m a freed eagle winging around our forty-ninth state! Escaping the Hollywood jungle temporarily, your Ms. Ruby is presently visiting Juneau, which happens to be the only mainland capital in the U.S. that is accessible only by air or water. No roads lead to this quaint community and the locals like it that way. This afternoon, I pitched in and served lunch at the Glory Hole, a homeless shelter established in 1981. Afterward, I walk out and onto South Franklin, the lively main shopping street, and literally run into Thom, an old Hollywood pal. We’re both startled.

Thom DeLorenzo, an entertainment publicist, is here cruising, rather, on a cruise. He has been in the biz for eleven years, representing such diverse clients as the legendary Nancy Sinatra [A&U, May 2003], The Young and the Restless’s Heather Tom [A&U, May 2001], and Desperate Housewives’ Kathy Joosten [A&U, January 2001]. Thom is HIV-positive, and has long been an activist ever since he lost his partner of seven years, David Burnside, to AIDS in 1995. He has a close connection with PAWS, AIDS Research Alliance, San Antonio AIDS Foundation, APLA, and Immigration Equality.

Arm in arm we walk across the street to the library, which has an exquisite stained glass creation. One of my activities here is to learn about the craft of stained glass. We park our butts on the floor underneath it, right near the elevators.

Ruby Comer: What a treat to bump into you. Indeed, a small world. Tell me a bit about David, who died over ten years ago.
Thom DeLorenzo: Oh, Ruby, in 1988, we met on a Sunday at the National Gallery in London. A few days later, David, who was Scottish, joined me in Paris, where we spent our first weekend together. He told me our first night there that he was HIV-positive. I told him that it should be no big deal because “I am already in love with you.”

How utterly romantic. After his disclosure, did you worry about yourself?
I did, of course. I didn’t have a whole lot of room to panic, because I was there in Europe by myself for the summer. This was before cells and the Internet, so I couldn’t communicate with anyone else. I kept it to myself. But I don’t regret the decision I made. I’d make it again.

I understand. Did you see David to the very end?
Yes, and I was there in our bedroom when he died. He was thirty-two.

Oh, Thom [saddened, I take a moment]. When were you diagnosed?
In January 2001, but probably carried it for years and was just living in the happy land of denial. I didn’t get tested till
I was sick.

You’ve had opportunistic infections?
Oh, yes. I was hospitalized for PCP. The doctor took one look at me and said, “You do realize that if you stayed home another day or two you’d be dead. You’re very lucky.” I was so goddamn sick. I had sixty T cells and my viral load was 300,000. I was inches from death’s door, so at this point nothing else fucking matters. This is when I finally came to terms with HIV and told everyone. Up till then I didn’t have a good support system. Now was the time to get it, and the support I got was overwhelming. [Thom is teary-eyed.]

You told your family then, too, huh?
Well, I had just been home for the holidays and they saw how bad I looked. When they couldn’t get me for a few days my mother thought I had killed myself. [He gets up, looks out the window at cumulus clouds hovering over Marine Park and the tops of the town’s buildings.] You know, telling people you are HIV-positive is like leaping into a very cold pool. You just do it. From the hospital, I called my dad at his office in Schenectady, New York, and he could not have been sweeter. I apologized to him and said I’m sorry this is happening to you. He said, “You’ve nothing to be sorry for. It’s happening to you.” [Thom is crying. I hand him a Kleenex. He composes himself and sits.] I thought that was great.

And your mother’s response?
She said [he straightens up and puts on an air], “I’m gonna say something. I’m going to get it out of my system and I’m never going to say it again. How could you be so stupid after you saw David die? Okay, that’s it. I’m never saying it again.” [Thom laughs.] And she was on her
cell phone driving in her BMW zippin’ up the highway!

The city-size cruise ship is begging Thom’s departure and I need to pack for my next jaunt. We discover that we will be in the same city tomorrow, Girdwood, a cozy little town about thirty minutes south of Anchorage. We agree to meet up on Mt. Alyeska (Alaska comes from this Aleut word meaning “The Great Land”), a popular ski resort. Geez, I feel like Deborah Kerr in An Affair to Remember making plans to meet Cary Grant at the Empire State Building.

Following my stained glass class in Girdwood, taught by the master himself, Jim Kaiser (a long-time activist who has donated several of his windows to AIDS charities through the years) I stand on the mountain overlooking the valley, snow-capped mountains, Turnagain Arm (large inlet of water), and glaciers—all beneath a tapestry of billowy clouds. What a heavenly sight! I look over and in the near distance I see Thom wandering off the tram. I flag him.

Voilà! [Hugging.] We did it! [We stand, leaning on the railing watching hang-gliders descend off the peak and soar into the ice blue sky.] How did you adjust to being HIV-positive, Thom?
I had adjustments to the meds, had to doctor-shop, and had to deal with the cost of all this. That means kiss the house goodbye and kiss some of the vacations goodbye. It’s your health now, Thom. I pay sometimes thousands of dollars a month.

In what ways has HIV changed you?
It has made me a better, braver, and a bolder person.

I often hear those living with HIV say that.
And it has made me way more politically active than before.

Good. We need another strong voice. What is it like to be HIV as we approach 2007?
It’s frustrating because the disease does not get the respect or fear that it deserves. There’s this perception that you just take a pill and all is fine. I’ve heard people say that HIV is manageable just like diabetes. Well, diabetes is not that manageable! You have to live your life around this disease.

Yes, you can say that again.
There was a time when they thought I was going blind and my numbers were fine. Another time, I couldn’t get out of bed because my neuropathy hurt…so….much. I was on a lot of medicine to kill the pain and numb the nerves that I literally walked out of my apartment in my underwear at three o’clock in the morning on a December evening and locked myself out. There are times when you just don’t know what your body is going to do.

Yikes. Talk about instability. And I’m such a control freak! [We continue to chat as we board the tram and head over to Portage Valley glacier in Chugach National Forest, passing part of the townsite that was destroyed by the 1964 earthquake.]
You learn that this is just the way it is and you don’t have time to feel sorry for yourself.

That’s brave. Say, here we are at the edge of the world, what’s your take on global AIDS?
I’m glad we have a lot of money going overseas, but we have a lot of people in the United States that need drugs and basic treatment, too, who can’t afford them. [He walks over near one of the icy-blue glaciers, as I snap his picture.] I wish they were taken care of before we reached out and helped others. We need to take care of our own first.

Ruby Comer is an independent journalist from the Midwest who is happy to call Hollywood
her home away from home. Reach her by e-mail at MsRubyComer@aol.com.

December 2006