Visiting Old Haunts, Part I: A Pilgrimage of Memories on Whitworth University’s Campus, 50 Years After I First Matriculated as a Student

 “Be You. Be Here. BELONG!” flashed the electronic billboard at Whitworth University as my husband and I turned into the campus. 

If only that sentiment were true when I was a college student, I thought to myself, my life would’ve been different today.

On our pilgrimage/road trip from Seattle to Spokane, my husband Christian Halstead and I first stopped in Seattle. It was the first time since 1991 that I had been in Spokane, after my then-wife and I and our young daughter, Adrianne, moved in 1991 to Melbourne, FL, and I was given “leave” from my teaching position at Whitworth College.

I went to Whitworth College(it’s prior name) in the fall of 1973, moving from Portland, OR, with my mom being sure I settled into my dorm in West Warren before she drove back to Portland. My dad stayed at home. 

And didn’t quite know what I had gotten myself into. I knew it was a Christian related college, connected with the then-United Presbyterian Church (USA). Today, it is no longer affiliated with the Presbyterian Church (USA). It is kind of “pan-Presbyterian.” And there are some very conservative denominations who use the name “Presbyterian.” Most of my friends had backgrounds in Young Life, like I did, both at home and at Whitworth. Many students were going to seminary. Fuller Seminary to be exact. A few to Princeton Seminary. I didn’t know or think at the time that I would have such an inclination or calling.

And I knew I was gay and living in my very own, hand made closet. I knew since I was 5 or 6 years old that I was gay, but didn’t know what to do with it, especially when the church in which I grew up kept calling it a “sin,” as did the society in which I grew up in Beaverton, OR.

Nevertheless, the first man I ever loved was at Whitworth. He was a “freshman,” like I was. He had a soccer body, with blonde hair blue eyes, my height. He was incredibly smart, and in order to hang out with him, I had to learn to study like he did. To make a “B” in a class was a failure. For me, that was a blooming success. I soon adapted his ethos of studying and pulled all “A” grades my last semester at the college.

We used stories of Jonathan and David to justify our love that had to be hidden on campus, but explored in the back seats of his cars, on hikes, and a bike ride, in which we traveled over 1200 miles, biking from Spokane to his parents’ home in San Francisco. There was a lot of intimate time in the tent we put up every night. I kissed and fell head-over-heels in love with him, and I liked it. 

Sadly, because there was no support for our relationship, let alone any stories about this kind of love around us in the college or society, our love fell apart. I tried to become a resident hall assistant (RA) at Whitworth in 1975, but knew I failed the “requirement” for being an RA when I told them that the love between two men was the same as heterosexual love. I went on to the University of Kansas to study music therapy and minored in piano performance and special education, and he went to UC Davis. Both of us went back into our gay closets, and got married to women. 

I threw all these memories into a place of denial in my life, because I was foolish enough to return to Whitworth as a faculty member in 1989. More of that to come in the next posting.

If I had a chance to tell my 18 year-old self that I would return in 50 years with my husband, I would’ve laughed heartily, been shocked, and would’ve been envious of what was to come.