Dramatization of Televised Urbana Mayoral Debate

The following week, the local CBS affiliate sponsored a televised debate. This time, I was invited. So was the latest entry into the race—the Reverend Orville Barber.

Appearing on television was a far cry from door-to-door campaigning in northern Urbana. Eliminate the dogs and I would much rather be meeting people one on one. I arrived at the TV station on Neil Street half an hour early. This would be my first ever appearance on television and I was feeling nauseous. Manny Singer, Ethel Doughty and Orville Barber arrived around the same time and we were all ushered into a small room with concrete block walls.

It was the first time I ever saw Barber in person. I think he was anxious to check me out, since his gaze met my eyes as soon as he entered the room. He was momentarily still, and then acknowledged me with a nod. I nodded back. Barber was well-groomed, in-shape and had polished brown hair, which made him look more like a political candidate than the rest of us. I did not introduce myself and neither did he. Manny wore a brown suit, the same one he did to the luncheon. Ethel wore a solid lavender dress and had on a thick layer of pancake. She looked more like a washed-up lounge singer than a Republican. As for me, I wore a blue cotton shirt and jeans, not that the camera would pick-up anything below the belt.

The four of us sat on folding chairs that faced in the same direction. I looked at my sweaty palms, quickly rose and filled a cone-shaped cup with water from the cooler. Trying to be discreet, I sat back down and removed a Valium from my wallet. I decided earlier that a Valium vial was much too obvious. Ethel Doughty smiled when she watched me swallow the tablet. She was the only one who noticed. The other two, Manny Singer and Orville Barber, were facing away and preoccupied with their own thoughts. Ethel stood up and likewise got herself a cup of water. When she returned to her seat, she rummaged through her purse, locating a pill of her own and swallowed it with the water. She turned to me. "I've been politically involved for many years and I still get so nervous around those television cameras."

"I can understand," I said. "I never did this before and I'm petrified."

Manny, distracted from his thoughts, looked up at me and smiled. "You gave a great speech at the Chamber of Commerce lunch. Pretend the camera isn't even there; you'll do fine. At least, it's not live. Besides, these TV appearances are good ways to generate donations."

Ethel cupped her hands together and, smiling, she looked up; "Donations, oh please, donations."

I chuckled. "For me, the only way this could generate donations is if I pass some guy on the street who says, 'Hey buddy, I saw you on TV the other day. Here's a dollar for your campaign.'" Ethel and Manny both laughed while the preacher grinned, cleared his throat, and began to pray silently yet quite noticeably.

The three of us turned our attention to Orville Barber, his head bowed and hands together in prayer. Unlike Manny and Ethel, with the reverend, it was dislike at first sight. "We all handle nervousness in our own way," I said, in a way that we now call passive-aggressive.

Orville looked up and said to me. "You should try prayer, yourself. God will liberate you from your sexual confusion."

"I can assure you," I replied, suddenly forgetting we were about to be on television, "I am not sexually confused. You are the one confusing thousands of young people with your hateful lies."

"There is no hate in my message," answered Orville calmly. "It is one of love and liberation through our Lord Jesus Christ." Manny rolled his eyes while Ethel watched the exchange with interest.

I was surprised Orville was sophisticated enough to not call for my extermination like most Leviticus-quoting clergy. This subtle form of antipathy was more difficult to fight, although I had heard it before from the Jesus Freaks and wasn’t completely unprepared. "Your love,” I said, “is the kind of love that gets gay people fired from their jobs, falsely arrested by the police, beat up and shot at. Your love got us thrown out of the Wigwam. Your love got a cross burned into…"

"I do not support any of that," shouted Orville.

I came back quickly. "The people who listen to your words certainly do."

"Christians do not engage in that kind of behavior. We love you…"

"So that means you're willing to support the gay rights bill in Urbana to stop this kind of hateful behavior." Orville paused and I smiled triumphantly. Manny gave me a wink.

"That bill you speak of is completely unnecessary…" began Orville.

"We're ready for you," interrupted the technician who opened the door. "Just follow me."

We were led to a long table with four seats facing bright lights and two large cameras on wheels. At each place was a glass of ice water, a small pad of paper and a pencil. Orville and I were placed at either end with Ethel and Manny in the middle. I was seated next to Ethel.

The format of the debate was explained. A local news anchor would ask the questions and there would be time for a closing statement from each of the candidates at the end. Ethel and I looked at each other with nervous excitement as the countdown began.

The argument I had with Orville Barber stimulated my mind. That plus the Valium I took backstage and the Ritalin I took earlier, before entering the building, contributed to a stellar performance. I invoked community control as an effective answer to questions on issues I was vague or completely in the dark about. Winston had worked with me earlier on how to frame local concerns in the context of national problems.

Manny and Ethel gave nuts and bolts answers. They were both interested in running the city and had done their homework. When the anchor asked all the candidates if they supported a gay rights bill, I said, "Of course." Manny said, "It sounds like a pretty good idea" and "The time has come." Ethel said, "Further study is needed and I would have to see evidence of discrimination." Orville said, "Absolutely not."

In my closing arguments, I reiterated major points in the platform, described my arrest by the malicious Urbana policeman, the subsequent grand jury cover-up, called for the passage of a gay civil rights bill, even got the major candidates undivided attention when I talked about the junkyard dogs terrorizing the poor black community.

I paid little attention to the answers given by Manny Singer and Ethel Doughty, focusing all of my attention on the words of Orville Barber. It was as though there were two different campaigns—Doughty vs. Singer and Rosen vs. Barber. I had one overriding goal—to beat Orville Barber!