Billy Bean

That’a girl, Rho! Let’s show these men who’s got the power, I holler to Rhoda, my best girlfriend and tennis partner who I met at an AIDS hotline years ago. Rho just scored a point against our opposing team—my beau, Rudy, and her husband, Mortie. Today I’m on the Flamingo Park court in sizzling Miami Beach (love these Latin men; sorry, Rudy), after giving a lecture on AIDS prevention yesterday. Mortie hits a drive toward me but the ball goes out. A handsome man with luscious legs retrieves the ball and hands it to me. Aye carumba! “Aren’t you Ruby Comer?” he inquires. Why, yes, I am, I coyly reply. Lo and behold, it’s pro sportster, Billy Bean.

Ironically, I just finished reading his book, Going the Other Way, on the plane from L.A. to Miami. For years, this baseball player (1987–1995) kept his homosexuality a secret from his teammates, the Detroit Tigers, Los Angeles Dodgers, and San Diego Padres. In 1999, Billy was on the front page of The New York Times, supposedly being interviewed about the Miami restaurant he co-owned with his partner, Efrain Veiga, but the writer leaked the buzz. (“I think I needed for that to happen. I didn’t think anyone would care. What a surprise!”) Billy has participated in many fundraising events for AIDS. He is also deeply involved with the Human Rights Campaign and the Hetrick-Martin Institute.

The next day, Billy and I reconvene at Segafredo Espresso, a cute, little coffee bar with an edge on funky Lincoln Road. Seated outside under an umbrella, Bill sips a triple tall latte while I down some iced green tea.

Ruby Comer: It must be synchronicity that we met. After reading your book, I was going to invite you for an interview.

Billy Bean: I’m honored, Ruby. We certainly must be on the same wavelength.

I found that one of the tragic parts of the book was the death of your partner, Sam, from AIDS.

Yes, it was hard. He was my whole lifeline to everything. We were together for two-and-a-half years. He was the first gay person I ever told my real name to.

Sam died one morning; then, in the afternoon, you had to play a game, all the while not letting on. Wow! The pain you must have endured. How did you deal with losing him?

I pretended that it really didn’t happen. In the end, that was a very damaging thing to try and accomplish. When you live completely closeted and you’re lying to everyone about your life, there aren’t very many options. There was a lot of me that felt like I deserved the pain because it was terrible to be gay. You see, I had all that baggage. I trained myself to put my personal life second. Yet Sam was great about it.

It must have been hard for both of you to live like that.

Also, I felt that, if I started to talk about Sam’s death with somebody, I would have completely fallen apart. The long-term effect was worse but the short-term remedy was to just block it out. Before a game, I would sit in my car and listen to music to help me remember him. I would cry myself out so that I wouldn’t carry my grief into the clubhouse.

[Sighing with empathy] Ah, such pressure. How are you about Sam today?

It’s still painful sometimes. I’m glad I feel like that though, because it makes me realize that I haven’t forgotten him. And it doesn’t mean I love Efrain less, it just means that the relationship was important to me, and I hope that our spirits cross somewhere in the afterlife.

[In a sassy tone] And just what is your take on the afterlife, Mr. Bean?

[Laughing at my delivery] My faith is that we do meet up with the people we’ve lost. Knowing this gives me a really happy feeling. I believe in God, and there’s got to be a justification for our life [he says quizzically]. One can accept the belief that the world is random and that there’s no meaning, or we can hope and have faith that there is—and that’s what I choose.

As you said in the book, you had unprotected sex with Sam, and fortunately, you are HIV-negative…[he cuts me off].

Yes, I am very fortunate. [Having unprotected sex] was a mistake. After Sam got sick, he tested. Since he was positive, I naturally felt that I would convert and thought I would be dying very soon. In my naiveté, [I thought] just because we were monogamous and he looked healthy, and took great care of himself, that he couldn’t be HIV-positive. That was my ignorance. It doesn’t matter who you are. Anyone can contract HIV!

Indeed! Being a role model, young fans look up to you; what can you say to these kids about AIDS prevention?

[He pauses and smiles.] When you’re young, strong, and beautiful you feel invincible. I guess there’s something sexy about power and danger, and not using a condom exemplifies that. And it’s so human nature not to deal with anything until it happens to you, isn’t it? [With his sweet boyish face, he asserts sternly] The answer is education. Talk about it, speak their language, and boost their self-respect. When I speak around the country, I focus on HIV awareness, and the empowerment of kids to achieve their dreams.

Billy Bean, Billy Bean—I love saying your name! You are a grand slam in my book.

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.

January 2004