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Wednesday the 12th of November, 2008

No Compromise

I recently listened to a series of insightful lectures on the American Civil War given by Dr. Gary Gallagher, a professor of History at the University of Virginia. Early on, Dr. Gallagher analyzed the failure of America’s political leadership to find a compromise on slavery in the days and years leading up to secession and the catastrophic and bloody war. There was the careful attempt to admit to the Union, in tandem, one slave state and one free state to insure the balance of power in the Senate. Henry Clay of Kentucky, the “great compromiser” helped to work out the division of Western territory so that this balance was to be preserved “in perpetuity.” Slavery, however, was not a political battle that could ultimately be negotiated; it was rather a moral battle that did not lend itself to compromise. It pitted a new consciousness against a dying definition. Slavery could not be partially moral or moral under some circumstances. It was either moral or immoral. There was no middle ground.

In the slavery debate, those who shared the new consciousness were quite clear. Human beings cannot be held in bondage. This new consciousness challenged those definitions, which suggested that some people did not qualify as human beings; that some people were primitive, childlike, created to be subservient, and were, therefore, fit for nothing other than manual labor. Within that definition, slavery was deemed to be morally acceptable and those who held this position actually believed that slavery was virtuous, since the slaves were assumed to be receiving the benefits of better health, longer life and wonderful new opportunities in “a civilized and Christian land.” These arguments sound strange, even hostile, to us today but ideas of racial superiority were still a powerful force in the Western world as late as the 20th century, fueling World War II, that cost the lives of over one hundred million people.

I thought about this period of history as I read of my own church, the Anglican Communion, seeking a way, “for the sake of unity,” to accommodate divergent opinions on the issue of homosexuality. The Church’s leadership is acting as if negotiation is possible in this conflict, yet the obvious fact is that homosexuality, like slavery, is a moral issue and thus not amenable to compromise. Once again today’s debate pits an emerging consciousness against a dying definition. The old definition asserts that homosexuality is a choice that evil, perverted or subhuman people make. It cannot, therefore, be tolerated.

People whose depravity causes them to choose “this lifestyle” must be converted or removed lest they destroy the social order; if they are homosexual because of a mental illness, they must be cured or isolated lest they infect the health of all our citizens. That is the definition, stated honestly but more baldly than its proponents will appreciate, that is held by those who call themselves conservative or traditional Christians. I suspect, based on the results of our recent election, that they are a majority in the body politic of America at this moment. They are, however, a frightened majority because every statistical study indicates that this point of view is declining. To defend this position by claiming that the refusal to accept this perspective will destroy “the unity of the Church,” is a breathtakingly bankrupt idea. Trapped inside dying definitions, these Christians assume that not to agree with them places their critics on the side of immorality and moral anarchy.

The emerging new consciousness, on the other hand, rejects every part of that definition. It asserts that homosexual people are neither morally depraved nor mentally sick, since one’s sexual orientation is not a choice; but something to which one awakens. It is like the dawning realization that one is male or female, part of a particular race or nation or even right or left-handed. A just and moral society cannot be erected on a premise that some human beings are subhuman or perverted, not on the basis of their doing but on the basis of their being. It matters not what any source of ancient wisdom has previously declared.

The Bible, for example, was once quoted to support slavery, to oppose science and to prevent women from achieving equality. On every one of those issues the Bible was quite simply wrong. To quote it now to uphold the evil of homophobia is no less wrong. These efforts will fail as they always do. The ultimate tragedy is, however, that some church leaders, ever on the wrong side of great moral questions of history, never seem to learn history’s lesson that any prejudice once publicly challenged by a new consciousness is doomed.

As I survey the debate on this issue in all parts of the Christian tradition, a tragic failure of leadership is once again depressingly obvious. The Roman Catholic hierarchy simply takes the old definition and labors first to defang it and then to perfume it. They call homosexuality “unnatural,” or “a deviation,” urging that it be suppressed wherever possible and controlled where not possible.
Homosexuality, however, has now been incontrovertibly identified as present in the world of higher mammals. It also appears to be a stable and unchanging percentage of the human ran race at all times and in all places. These data suggest that homosexuality is not unnatural at all but is a minority aspect of the created order that appears quite normally in all higher forms of life. Furthermore, this negativity in the Roman Catholic tradition is without character since it is both known and privately acknowledged that a major percentage of Roman Catholic clergy throughout history, including today, have been and are gay males.

To watch the leaders of this church condemn that which is a fact in the lives of its cardinals, bishops and priests is either dishonest or an act of unconscious psychological denial.

The evangelical and fundamentalist churches proclaim that these definitions of antiquity embody the eternal truth of God and any attempt to change them is either the work of Satan or a godless secular spirit that is challenging the word of God in the name of immorality. Yet the new consciousness is dawning there too. As long ago as 1988, the Southern Baptist Convention voted by over a 90% majority to “reaffirm” its condemnation of homosexuality as “behavior repugnant to God” and “condemned by scripture.” They seemed not to recognize that any definition that has to be reaffirmed is no longer holding. The only questions are how protracted will the debate be and how many people will be hurt before that prejudice dies. When anyone seeks to protect a dying definition, failure is inevitable.

The leaders of the mainline churches, aware of the new consciousness, pretend that some compromise is possible. They seek to protect unity by attempting to civilize the debate until a new consensus arrives. They count “the unity of the church” as a worthy goal even as that forced unity violates that Institution’s integrity. Can you imagine that part of the Church that said no to slavery being asked to apologize for upsetting the consciences of the slaveholders? Can you imagine Church leaders saying to slaveholders, “we will not challenge the morality of your decisions about slaves because we would rather keep our faith community united?” Can you imagine coddling slaveholders so that they will not separate themselves in schism from the Church? Can anyone imagine any slave-holding church claiming to be the body of Christ?

Yet if you substitute the word homosexuality for the word slavery, that is what is present today in the main line churches. If homosexuality is a given not a chosen way of life, the continued violation of gay and lesbian people, in order to preserve unity with the Church’s homophobic constituency, is simply immoral. Not to bear corporate witness to those who still languish in the dying definitions of the past is to turn one’s back on the very meaning of the Christ. Do we imagine that Jesus’ invitation was, “Come unto me, some of ye.” instead of “Come unto me, all ye?” Can any Church discriminate against any child of God and still sing, “Just as I am, without one plea, O Lamb of God, I come”?

Slavery could not be compromised in the 19th century because slavery was finally understood as a moral issue. Homosexuality cannot be compromised in the 21st century because it too is a moral issue. To the threats of parts of the Christian Church to leave if homosexual people are welcomed fully without any distinction, the body of Christ must be prepared to say, “That is your choice but we do not compromise truth to comfort you in your prejudice. The Church’s doors will be open when your consciousness is finally formed and you decide to return, but we will not reject homosexuals now to avoid offending you. If the essence of our Christ is summed up in words that John’s Gospel attributes to him, “I have come that they may have life and have it abundantly,” then the choice is clear. Homophobia diminishes life; it does not make it more abundant. It must be ended; it cannot be tolerated even by making it kinder and gentler.

To the leaders of the Churches today I say: “Stop playing ecclesiastical games. Compromising truth never serves the cause of unity. The call of Christ is not to be all things to all people. The time for negotiating and compromising is over. It matters not if you are the Pope, the Archbishop of Canterbury or one of the heads of the various national and international bodies of Christians around the world, both the moral integrity of the Christ you claim to serve and your ability to speak for Christ on any other issue are at stake. There is no room for waffling on this moral imperative. The idea that you will allow politicians to advocate placing discrimination against homosexual persons into the Constitution of this country, while your voices are either in agreement or remain deafeningly silent, is an embarrassment. If it takes a split in the body of Christ to make this generation understand that homosexuality, like slavery, is a non-debatable, moral issue, then for God’s sake, for Christ’s sake, you must be willing to pay that price.”

-- John Shelby Spong

Monday the 13th of October, 2008

Dysfunctional

In the far off distance of the
past where honor was the cause
and the effect was heart tearing,
I tried to understand my difference
in this world but I didn’t find
the understanding which I graved
so.

I was like a hungry lion looking
for his prey, stalking it, pouncing
yet it got away.  I hungered for
knowledge, yet I died of starvation
from lack of wisdom.

People told me to grab the world with
both hands or it will pass me by.  I was
paralized to watch it decay.  The
endless corruption, the violent and horrendous
acts of people.  I treid to stop them
yet I was paralized only to pray.
I breathed their polluted emotions and
drank their intocixated blood, I didn’t
crave it, I had no choice, but to live,
to live in the pollution, the darness,
the family of my past.  But I have
recovered.

© Blake Rackley

What…

I Hurt

The physical, the elemental pain
was sometimes beyond my understanding.
My flesh was torn; my body fighting in vain
to detach itself from my mind; fleeing

My mind is shattered, no longer free
A castle gutted by flame, hate and greed.
A candle smothered.  Why did you not see
me hurt?  I am drowning.  Do you see me bleed?

Dear God, art thou in heaven?  Did I sin?
Am I forsaken?  Why did you not know
my soul was being devoured by kin?
I am the Godless, lost and dying too slow.

I thought I won the battle for my life,
but here I lay, holding a bloody knife.

© Ryan Sales

Sunday the 12th of October, 2008

Still Remembering…

Tribute to Matthew Shepard (Flash File)

My son Matthew did not look like a winner. After all, he was small for his age—weighing, at the most, 110 pounds, and standing only 5’2” tall. He was rather uncoordinated and wore braces from the age of 13 until the day he died. However, in his all too brief life, he proved that he was a winner. My son—a gentle, caring soul—proved that he was as tough as, if not tougher than, anyone I have ever heard of or known. On October 6, 1998, my son tried to show the world that he could win again. On October 12, 1998, my first-born son—and my hero—lost. On October 12, my first-born son—and my hero— died 50 days before his 22nd birthday. He died quietly, surrounded by family and friends, with his mother and brother holding his hand. All that I have left
now are the memories....

Matt officially died at 12:53 a.m. on Monday, October 12, 1998, in a hospital in Fort Collins, Colorado. He actually died on the outskirts of Laramie tied to a fence that Wednesday before, when you beat him. You, Mr. McKinney, with your friend Mr. Henderson, killed my son....

By the end of the beating, his body was just trying to survive. You left him out there by himself, but he wasn’t alone. There were his lifelong friends with him—friends that he had grown up with. You’re probably wondering who these friends were. First, he had the beautiful night sky with the same stars and moon that we used to look at through a telescope. Then, he had the daylight and the sun to shine on him one more time—one more cool, wonderful autumn day in Wyoming. His last day alive in Wyoming. His last day alive in the state that he always proudly called home. And through it all he was breathing in for the last time the smell of Wyoming sagebrush and the scent of pine trees from the snowy range. He heard the wind—the ever-present Wyoming wind—for the last time. He had one more friend with him. One he grew to know through his time in Sunday school and as an acolyte at St. Mark’s in Casper as well as through his visits to St. Matthew’s in Laramie. He had God....

I feel better knowing he wasn’t alone....

Mr. McKinney, one final comment before I sit, and this is the reason that I stand before you now. At no time since Matt was found at the fence and taken to the hospital have Judy and I made any statements about our beliefs concerning the death penalty. We felt that that would be an undue influence on any prospective juror. Judy has been quoted by some right-wing groups as being against the death penalty. It has been stated that Matt was against the death penalty. Both of these statements are wrong. We have held family discussions and talked about the death penalty. Matt believed that there were incidents and crimes that justified the death penalty. For example, he and I discussed the horrible death of James Byrd, Jr. in Jasper, Texas. It was his opinion that the death penalty should be sought and that no expense should be spared to bring those responsible for this murder to justice. Little did we know that the same response would come about involving Matt. I, too, believe in the death penalty. I would like nothing better than to see you die, Mr. McKinney. However, this is the time to begin the healing process. To show mercy to someone who refused to show any mercy. To use this as the first step in my own closure about losing Matt. Mr. McKinney, I am not doing this because of your family. I am definitely not doing this because of the crass and unwarranted pressures put on by the religious community. If anything, that hardens my resolve to see you die. Mr. McKinney, I’m going to grant you life, as hard as that is for me to do, because of Matthew. Every time you celebrate Christmas, a birthday, or the Fourth of July, remember that Matt isn’t. Every time that you wake up in that prison cell, remember that you had the opportunity and the ability to stop your actions that night. Every time that you see your cell mate, remember that you had a choice, and now you are living that choice. You robbed me of something very precious, and I will never forgive you for that. Mr. McKinney, I give you life in the memory of one who no longer lives. May you have a long life, and may you thank Matthew every day for it.

Full Excerpt after the Break.

Scarecrow via Melissa Etheridge

Showers of your crimson blood
Seep into a nation calling up a flood
Of narrow minds who legislate
Thinly veiled intolerance
Bigotry and hate

But they tortured and burned you
They beat you and they tied you
They left you cold and breathing
For love they crucified you

I can’t forget hard as I try
This silhouette against the sky

Scarecrow crying
Waiting to die wondering why
Scarecrow trying
Angels will hold carry your soul away

This was our brother
This was our son
This shepherd young and mild
This unassuming one
We all gasp this can’t happen here
We’re all much too civilized
Where can these monsters hide

But they are knocking on our front door
They’re rocking in our cradles
They’re preaching in our churches
And eating at our tables

I search my soul
My heart and in my mind
To try and find forgiveness
This is someone child
With pain unreconciled
Filled up with father’s hate
Mother’s neglect
I can forgive But I will not forget

Scarecrow crying
Waiting to die wondering why
Scarecrow trying
Rising above all in the name of love

Dennis Shepard’s Statements to the Court
November 4, 1999

Your honor, members of the Jury, Mr. Rerucha:

I would like to begin my statement by addressing the jury. Ladies and gentlemen, a terrible crime was committed in Laramie thirteen months ago. Because of that crime, the reputation of the city of Laramie, the University of Wyoming, and the State of Wyoming became synonymous with gay bashing, hate crimes, and brutality. While some of this reputation may be deserved, it was blown out of proportion by our friends in the media. Yesterday you, the jury, showed the world that Wyoming and the city of Laramie will not tolerate hate crimes. Yes, this was a hate crime, pure and simple, with the added ingredient of robbery. My son Matthew paid a terrible price to open the eyes of all of us who live in Wyoming, the United States, and the world to the unjust and unnecessary fears, discrimination, and intolerance that members of the gay community face every day. Yesterday’s decision by you showed true courage and made a statement. That statement is that Wyoming is the Equality State; that Wyoming will not tolerate discrimination based on sexual orientation; that violence is not the solution. Ladies and gentlemen, you have the respect and admiration of Matthew’s family and friends and of countless strangers around the world. Be proud of what you have accomplished. You may have prevented another family from losing a son or daughter.

Your honor, I would also like to thank you for the dignity and grace with which this trial was conducted. Repeated attempts to distract the court from the true purpose of this trial failed because of your attentiveness, knowledge, and willingness to take a stand and make new law in the area of sexual orientation and the “Gay Panic” defense. By doing so you have emphasized that Matthew was a human being with all the rights and responsibilities and protections of any citizen of Wyoming.

Mr. Rerucha took the oath of office as prosecuting attorney to protect the rights of the citizens of Albany County as mandated by the laws of the state of Wyoming, regardless of his personal feelings and beliefs. At no time did Mr. Rerucha make any decision on the outcome of this case without the permission of Judy and me. It was our decision to take this case to trial, just as it was our decision to accept the plea bargain today and the earlier plea bargain of Mr. Henderson. A trial was necessary to show that this was a hate crime and not just a robbery gone bad. If we had sought a plea bargain earlier, the facts of this case would not have been known and the question would always be present that we had something to hide. In addition, this trial was necessary to help provide some closure to the citizens of Laramie, Albany County, and the state. I find it intolerable that the priests of the Catholic Church and the Newman Center would attempt to influence the jury, the prosecution, and the outcome of this trial by their castigation and persecution of Mr. Rerucha and his family in his private life, by their newspaper advertisements, and by their presence in the courtroom. I find it difficult to believe that they speak for all Catholics. If the leaders of churches want to comment as private citizens, that is one thing. If they say that they represent the beliefs of their church, that is another. This country was founded on separation of church and state. The Catholic Church has stepped over the line and has become a political group with its own agenda. If that be the case, treat them as a political group and eliminate their privileges as a religious organization.

My son Matthew did not look like a winner. After all, he was small for his age—weighing, at the most, 110 pounds, and standing only 5’2” tall. He was rather uncoordinated and wore braces from the age of 13 until the day he died. However, in his all too brief life, he proved that he was a winner. My son—a gentle, caring soul—proved that he was as tough as, if not tougher than, anyone I have ever heard of or known. On October 6, 1998, my son tried to show the world that he could win again. On October 12, 1998, my first-born son—and my hero—lost. On October 12, my first-born son—and my hero— died 50 days before his 22nd birthday. He died quietly, surrounded by family and friends, with his mother and brother holding his hand. All that I have left
now are the memories.

It’s hard to put into words how much Matt meant to family and friends and how much they meant to him. Everyone wanted him to succeed because he tried so hard. The spark that he provided to people had to be experienced. He simply made everyone feel better about themselves. Family and friends were his focus. He knew that he always had their support for anything that he wanted to try.

Matt’s gift was people. He loved being with people, helping people, and making others feel good. The hope of a better world free of harassment and discrimination because a person was different kept him motivated. All his life he felt the stabs of discrimination. Because of that he was sensitive to other people’s feelings. He was naive to the extent that, regardless of the wrongs people did to him, he still had faith that they would change and become “nice.” Matt trusted people, perhaps too much. Violence was not a part of his life until his senior year in high school. He would walk into a fight and try to break it up. He was the perfect negotiator. He could get two people talking to each other again as no one else could.

Matt loved people and he trusted them. He could never understand how one person could hurt another, physically or verbally. They would hurt him, and he would give them another chance. This quality of seeing only good gave him friends around the world. He didn’t see size, race, intelligence, sex, religion, or the hundred other things that people use to make choices about people. All he saw was the person. All he wanted was to make another person his friend. All he wanted was to make another person feel good. All he wanted was to be accepted as an equal.

What did Matt’s friends think of him? Fifteen of his friends from high school in Switzerland, as well as his high school adviser, joined hundreds of others at his memorial services. They left college, fought a blizzard, and came together one more time to say good-bye to Matt. Men and women coming from different countries, cultures, and religions thought enough of my son to drop everything and come to Wyoming—most of them for the first time. That’s why this Wyoming country boy wanted to major in foreign relations and languages. He wanted to continue making friends and at the same time help others. He wanted to make a difference. Did he? You tell me.

I loved my son and, as can be seen throughout this statement, was proud of him. He was not my gay son. He was my son who happened to be gay. He was a good-looking, intelligent, caring person. There were the usual arguments, and at times he was a real pain in the butt. I felt the regrets of a father when he realizes that his son is not a star athlete. But it was replaced with a greater pride when I saw him on the stage. The hours that he spent learning his parts, working behind the scenes, and helping others made me realize that he was actually an excellent athlete—in a more dynamic way—because of the different types of physical and mental conditioning required by actors. To this day I have never figured out how he was able to spend all those hours at the theater, during the school year, and still have good grades.

Because my job involved lots of travel, I never had the same give-and-take with Matt that Judy had. Our relationship at times was strained. But, whenever he had problems we talked. For example, he was unsure about revealing to me that he was gay. He was afraid that I would reject him immediately, so it took him a while to tell me. By that time, his mother and brother had already been told. One day he said that he had something to say. I could see that he was nervous, so I asked him if everything was all right. Matt took a deep breath and told me that he was gay. Then he waited for my reaction. I still remember his surprise when I said, “Yeah? OK, but what’s the point of this conversation?” Then everything was OK. We went back to a father and son who loved each other and respected the beliefs of the other. We were father and son, but we were also friends.

How do I talk about the loss that I feel every time I think about Matt? How can I describe the empty pit in my heart and mind when I think about all the problems that were put in Matt’s way that he overcame? No one can understand the sense of pride and accomplishment that I felt every time he reached the mountain top of another obstacle. No one, including myself, will ever know the frustration and agony that others put him through because he was different. How many people could be given the problems that Matt was presented with and still succeed as he did? How many would continue to smile—at least on the outside—while crying on the inside to keep other people from feeling bad?

I now feel very fortunate that I was able to spend some private time with Matt last summer during my vacation from Saudi Arabia. We sat and talked. I told Matt that he was my hero and that he was the toughest man that I had ever known. When I said that, I bowed down to him out of respect for his ability to continue to smile and keep a positive attitude during all the trials and tribulations that he had gone through. He just laughed. I also told him how proud I was because of what he had accomplished and what he was trying to accomplish. The last thing I said to Matt was that I loved him, and he said he loved me. That was the last private onversation that I ever had with him.

Impact on my life? My life will never be the same. I miss Matt terribly. I think about him all the time—at odd moments when some little thing reminds me of him; when I walk by the refrigerator and see the pictures of him and his brother that we’ve always kept on the door; at special times of the year, like the first day of classes at UW or opening day of sage chicken hunting. I keep wondering almost the same thing that I did when I first saw him in the hospital. What would we have become? How would he have changed his piece of the world to make it better?

Impact on my life? I feel a tremendous sense of guilt. Why wasn’t I there when he needed me most? Why didn’t I spend more time with him? Why didn’t I try to find another type of profession so that I could have been available to spend more time with him as he grew up? What could I have done to be a better father and friend? How do I get an answer to those questions now? The only one who can answer them is Matt. These questions will be with me for the rest of my life. What makes it worse for me is knowing that his mother and brother will have similar unanswered questions.

Impact on my life? In addition to losing my son, I lost my father on November 4, 1998. The stress of the entire affair was too much for him. Dad watched Matt grow up. He taught him how to hunt, fish, camp, ride horses, and love the state of Wyoming. Matt, Logan, dad, and I would spend two to three weeks camping in the mountains at different times of the year—to hunt, to fish, and to goof off. Matt learned to cook over an open fire, tell fishing stories about the one that got away, and to drive a truck from my father.

Three weeks before Matt went to the Fireside Bar for the last time, my parents saw Matt in Laramie. In addition, my father tried calling Matt the night that he was beaten but received no answer. He never got over the guilt of not trying earlier. The additional strain of the hospital vigil, being in the hospital room with Matt when he died, the funeral services with all the media attention and the protesters, [and] helping Judy and me clean out Matt’s apartment in Laramie a few days later was too much. Three weeks after Matt’s death, dad died. Dad told me after the funeral that he never expected to outlive Matt. The stress and the grief were just too much for him.

Impact on my life? How can my life ever be the same again?

When Matt was little, I used to take showers with him, just to teach him not to be scared of the water. Later, Matt helped me do the same thing with Logan. Anyway, Matt and I would be in the shower spitting mouthfuls of water at each other or at his mother, if he could convince her to come into the bathroom. Then he would laugh and laugh. We would also sing in the showers. I taught him the songs “Row, Row, Row Your Boat”; both “Brother John” and its French version, “Frère Jacques”; and “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star.” Matt would sing loud and clear. Now, that voice is silent, the boat has sunk, Jacques is no longer frère, and the little star no longer twinkles.

Matt officially died at 12:53 a.m. on Monday, October 12, 1998, in a hospital in Fort Collins, Colorado. He actually died on the outskirts of Laramie tied to a fence that Wednesday before, when you beat him. You, Mr. McKinney, with your friend Mr. Henderson, killed my son.

By the end of the beating, his body was just trying to survive. You left him out there by himself, but he wasn’t alone. There were his lifelong friends with him—friends that he had grown up with. You’re probably wondering who these friends were. First, he had the beautiful night sky with the same stars and moon that we used to look at through a telescope. Then, he had the daylight and the sun to shine on him one more time—one more cool, wonderful autumn day in Wyoming. His last day alive in Wyoming. His last day alive in the state that he always proudly called home. And through it all he was breathing in for the last time the smell of Wyoming sagebrush and the scent of pine trees from the snowy range. He heard the wind—the ever-present Wyoming wind—for the last time. He had one more friend with him. One he grew to know through his time in Sunday school and as an acolyte at St. Mark’s in Casper as well as through his visits to St. Matthew’s in Laramie. He had God.

I feel better knowing he wasn’t alone.

Matt became a symbol—some say a martyr, putting a boy-next-door face on hate crimes. That’s fine with me. Matt would be thrilled if his death would help others. On the other hand, your agreement to life without parole has taken yourself out of the spotlight and out of the public eye. It means no drawn-out appeals process, [no] chance of walking away free due to a technicality, and no chance of lighter sentence due to a “merciful” jury. Best of all, you won’t be a symbol. No years of publicity, no chance of communication, no nothing—just a miserable future and a more miserable end. It works for me.

My son was taught to look at all sides of an issue before making a decision or taking a stand. He learned this early when he helped campaign for various political candidates while in grade school and junior high. When he did take a stand, it was based on his best judgment. Such a stand cost him his life when he quietly let it be known that he was gay. He didn’t advertise it, but he didn’t back away from the issue either. For that I’ll always be proud of him. He showed me that he was a lot more courageous than most people, including myself. Matt knew that there were dangers to being gay, but he accepted that and wanted to just get on with his life and his ambition of helping others.

Matt’s beating, hospitalization, and funeral focused worldwide attention on hate. Good is coming out of evil. People have said “Enough is enough.” You screwed up, Mr. McKinney. You made the world realize that a person’s lifestyle is not a reason for discrimination, intolerance, persecution, and violence. This is not the 1920s, 30s, and 40s of Nazi Germany. My son died because of your ignorance and intolerance. I can’t bring him back. But I can do my best to see that this never, ever happens to another person or another family again. As I mentioned earlier, my son has become a symbol—a symbol against hate and people like you; a symbol for encouraging respect for individuality; for appreciating that someone is different; for tolerance. I miss my son, but I’m proud to be able to say that he is my son.

Mr. McKinney, one final comment before I sit, and this is the reason that I stand before you now. At no time since Matt was found at the fence and taken to the hospital have Judy and I made any statements about our beliefs concerning the death penalty. We felt that that would be an undue influence on any prospective juror. Judy has been quoted by some right-wing groups as being against the death penalty. It has been stated that Matt was against the death penalty. Both of these statements are wrong. We have held family discussions and talked about the death penalty. Matt believed that there were incidents and crimes that justified the death penalty. For example, he and I discussed the horrible death of James Byrd, Jr. in Jasper, Texas. It was his opinion that the death penalty should be sought and that no expense should be spared to bring those responsible for this murder to justice. Little did we know that the same response would come about involving Matt. I, too, believe in the death penalty. I would like nothing better than to see you die, Mr. McKinney. However, this is the time to begin the healing process. To show mercy to someone who refused to show any mercy. To use this as the first step in my own closure about losing Matt. Mr. McKinney, I am not doing this because of your family. I am definitely not doing this because of the crass and unwarranted pressures put on by the religious community. If anything, that hardens my resolve to see you die. Mr. McKinney, I’m going to grant you life, as hard as that is for me to do, because of Matthew. Every time you celebrate Christmas, a birthday, or the Fourth of July, remember that Matt isn’t. Every time that you wake up in that prison cell, remember that you had the opportunity and the ability to stop your actions that night. Every time that you see your cell mate, remember that you had a choice, and now you are living that choice. You robbed me of something very precious, and I will never forgive you for that. Mr. McKinney, I give you life in the memory of one who no longer lives. May you have a long life, and may you thank Matthew every day for it.

Your honor, members of the jury, Mr. Rerucha, thank you.

Thursday the 11th of September, 2008

Remembering Kenneth Tietjen

About the Kenneth F. Tietjen Memorial Foundation

The Foundation was created in November 2001 as a non-profit organization to honor the memory of Port Authority Police Officer Kenny Tietjen, who sacrificed his life at the World Trade Center on Septemebr 11th.The main goal of the Foundation is to provide bicycles and/or other aid to underpriveledged children throughout New Jersey.

The idea for the Foundation came about because each year during the Christmas season, the Tietjen’s would “adopt” a needy family and provide all the food, clothes, and toys to help make the family’s Christmas a happy one. It was always Kenny’s job to provide the bikes for the children - it was something he looked forward to doing.

With the holidays approaching less than three months after Kenny was killed, his family and friends wanted to find a positive way to keep his memory alive and lessen the huge hole that they would feel by spending Christmas without Kenny.

Through generous donations from friends, family, fellow Port Authority police officers, and wonderful strangers, the Foundation was able to purchase and deliver 11 bicycles to needy children that very first year.  With continued support, the Foundation donated 37 bicycles, 3 computers, and many other toys to families throughout New Jersey during 2002.  With your continued support, Kenny’s Foundation is looking foward to expanding its “Acts of Hope” in the years to come.

For additional information or to make a contribution, please contact .

Thank you for helping us to keep Kenny’s wonderful spirit alive!

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He Claimed the Respirator

As a boy, the two things that scared Ken Tietjen most were fire trucks and police cars. So he took some ribbing from his family when, as an adult, he chose a job that required him to ride in both.

Mr. Tietjen, a Port Authority police officer, was at the 33rd Street PATH station when he heard about the terrorist attack, said Laurie Quinn, his sister. Mr. Tietjen commandeered a taxi, banished the driver to the back seat, and drove to ground zero. He rushed into the north tower and helped people down, but when he emerged to get a new respirator, only one remained, his partner recalled. Smiling, Mr. Tietjen said, “Seniority rules,” took the respirator and ran into the south tower. Moments later, the building fell.

Typical, said Ms. Quinn, noting his commendation for bravery this year, received for tackling a man who had stabbed the sergeant he worked with. As a firefighter several years back, he returned to a burning building to rescue an unconscious colleague.

One of those Mr. Tietjen rescued on Sept. 11 attended his memorial Mass. But he did not stay because he became overwhelmed.

Ms. Quinn said: “My brother had a choice whether to go back and he chose to go back in. I wouldn’t expect anything less from him.”

Profile published in THE NEW YORK TIMES on December 1, 2001.

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Kenneth Tietjen, 31, rushed to the scene

Kenneth Tietjen, a police officer for the Port Authority of New York and New Jersey, always wanted to be a firefighter.

In junior high school, as a member of the Middletown Fire Explorers, he rode his mo-ped to local fires. When he turned 18, his dream became a reality when he became a volunteer for the Belford Engine Company. His mother remembers how proud he was after fighting his first fire.

“He came home and said, ‘We had a great fire today. It was a propane tank,’ “ said Janice Tietjen of Belford. “He was right at the front of the hose and I said, ‘Why were you there?’ He said, ‘That’s where the excitement is.’ “

Mr. Tietjen, 31, of Matawan, died while rescuing people trapped in the World Trade Center after the Sept. 11 attack. He led workers, some of them badly burned, from Tower One before grabbing the last air pack in sight and entering Tower Two.

“He waved to his partner and went in,” his mother said.

Mr. Tietjen, who was engaged to be married later this month, died when Tower Two collapsed.

Mr. Tietjen, who had been a Port Authority police officer for nine years, was working his job on the PATH trains when he heard of the attack. He immediately rushed into Manhattan to help, first commandeering a cab, then hopping an emergency vehicle.

“Wherever he could be, that’s where he was,” his mother said.

At the time of his death, Tietjen was training to be a member of the Port Authority Emergency Services Unit. All he needed was to complete a scuba diving course to fulfill his dream, his mother said.

Mr. Tietjen received several awards for his work with the Port Authority, including a special commendation in 1996 for subduing a man who rammed a patrol car in the Holland Tunnel and then stabbed a police officer.

Off the job, Tietjen, who moved to Matawan two years ago, liked action, too.

He was an avid hockey player and enjoyed riding dirtbikes with his fiancée’s 13-year-old son. He was a reliable handyman, always ready to help others with a home improvement project, his mother said.

“He loved Home Depot,” she said. “He loved everything—life, sports, people, his job. Every day was another project for him. He was a lovable person with many, many friends. And I know it sounds corny, but he was a really good kid . . . He was born on the Fourth of July. He was a hero.”

Tietjen was a parishioner of St. Joseph’s Church in Keyport and a member of Fraternal Order of Police No. 110 and the New Jersey State PBA Lodge 116.

In addition to his mother, Mr. Tietjen is survived by his father, Kenneth Tietjen; his fiancée, Karen Dalla Valle of Matawan; and two sisters, Cindy Tietjen of Belford and Laurie Quinn of Hazlet.

A memorial Mass will be held at 11 a.m. Thursday at St. Joseph’s Church. Visitation will be from 2 to 4 p.m. and 7 to 9 p.m. Wednesday at the John E. Day Funeral Home, 85 Riverside Ave., Red Bank.

In lieu of flowers, donations may be made to the Kenneth F. Tietjen Foundation, which provides bicycles to poor children at Christmas. The address is 27 Gregory St., Hazlet, N.J., 07730.

Profile by Carrie Stetler published in THE STAR-LEDGER.

Kenneth Tietjen
A tradition of giving

Since he was a boy, Kenneth Tietjen had given to the less fortunate. His charity knew no season.

At Christmastime, he’d buy bicycles for needy boys and girls in Monmouth County, N.J. In summers, he’d help out at the Special Olympics on the Jersey Shore. In between, he brought food to homeless shelters in Jersey City.

So it was only fitting that the Port Authority police officer’s family members would continue giving in his name. They bought wooden ramps so wheelchair users can easily traverse the sand to get near the water’s edge on beaches at Sandy Hook. This past Christmas, they purchased 200 bikes for children.

Tietjen was 31 when he died. He was last seen heading up a stairwell in the south tower after the second plane struck. He already had helped direct people to safety from the lobby of the flaming north tower.

“We decided very early on that it was our responsibility to get up every day and make Kenny proud of us,” said his sister, Laurie Tietjen.

Kenneth Tietjen was not married and left no children. He had insurance, and the Twin Towers Fund for uniformed responders who died compensated his family. People from all over the world sent donations to the family.

A woman sent a check for $2, and the gesture made Laurie Tietjen cry. “People were so good to us,” she said. “None of us was financially dependent on him, and after we helped his girlfriend and her son, we wanted to use the money to help people.”

His remains were found two days before Christmas of 2001, giving more meaning to the yuletide tradition. The Tietjens bought 11 bicycles for children that year.

The slain cop’s love of the beach inspired his mother, Janice. She saw wheelchair-accessible boardwalks at Wildwood and came up with the idea to donate similar devices to Sandy Hook. Last June, two handicapped-accessible ramps were dedicated, thanks to the family’s $5,000 gift to the National Park Service.

In addition to relatives’ own donations, they’ve raised $50,000 for good works in Kenneth Tietjen’s name. “It’s something we love to do,” Laurie Tietjen said.

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From the Port Authority Memorial Page:

A day will not go by that I won’t think of you. I wish I could have done more that horrible day. I will miss you deeply! (partners forever)

TJ
Friend

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Hello, I just wanted to say thank you kindly for all that you have done. I’m only 14 years old and I never really thought about how important the U.S.A. really is. I love to know that their are people like you out there watching over us. I send my condolences. Thank you for watching over all of the people in the September 11 tragedy.

Shantay Seamons
Friend

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I just wanted the family of Officer Kenneth Tietjen to know that, yesterday, I rode my motorcycle in the Patriot Parade held here in Arizona memorializing all those who perished in the 9-11 attacks.  One motorcycle for each person we lost.  I rode in the police category and I proudly wore a wristband with his name and PAPD/NJPD written on it. 

I was curious today to find out who this officer was.  So for the heck of it I did a search with his name on the internet and was directed to this website.  Wow, when you see a photo that goes with the name, it really hits home.  I’m hoping this website is still active and that I will hear back from someone.  I have digital photos I’d like to send if anyone is interested. 

Thank you and God Bless.

Paula Gallagher

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Your amazing smile will always be in my heart.  We miss you every day.

Unknown

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Dear Kenny,

It seems like yesterday this terrible tragedy happened. I take comfort in knowing you are with God and are helping him do many miracles. I know you watch over your parents and sisters too. You were so loved in life and still in death you are loved and missed.

You will never be forgotten!

Love.
Aunt Sherry

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Unlike anyone I’ve ever met, you were there for everyone. To me you will always be my partner and best friend. No one can come close. Till we meet again.

TJ
Partner/Friend

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From an Angel on High
a tender message of love was softly whispered into the ear

Weep not for me
now that I have passed.
Remember the laughter, the affection, the joy
not just the recent tears.
Cherish the memories, our hopes and dreams.
Hold fast to the love that we shared.
Be happy with the time we spent together
and being anew.
For I am not really gone,
I am closer than ever before.
As the morning sun rises
and throughout the busy day...I am with you.
Until the setting sun disappears on the horizon
and we watch the day turn into night...I am here.
You may feel a faint breeze stir round your head, while you slumber
as I gently kiss your forehead, “Good night.”
The stars that shine so brightly in my heavenly sky
help me watch over you and keep you from harm.
I am the wind in the trees
and the song of a bird.
I am moonbeams in a midnight sky
and a glorious rainbow after the storm.
I am morning dew
and freshly-fallen snow.
I am a butterfly flying overhead
and a puppy happily at play.
I am a smile on a stranger’s face
a gentle touch
a warm embrace.
Listen to the wind for my message of love.
Watch the sun rise and set in the sky with me.
Feel my essence encircle you with warm memories.
Open your heart to know...I am not gone.
Reach deep into your soul...You will find me.
I am here.
Have no fear.
I am with you,
Always.

Roseanne Cittadino
High School Friend

Wednesday the 10th of September, 2008

Pledge of Allegience

I pledge allegiance to this land
Where heroes protect every woman and man
The flag that represents freedom and choice
The flag that gives us all a free voice
And on September 11th, when our nation was attacked
We all came together and we fought back
In the midst of terror, many heroes died
They fought to save others and in the end sacrificed their lives
They didn’t think twice as they ran toward the fallen cries
All they could think about was to save those victims’ lives
Though they have fallen we can still hear freedom ringing in their voice
From the battlefields to the white house we all had to learn to survive
The tragedies on September 11th left a whole nation to mourn and cry
Now we live on to protect our flag’s integrity
From the people who just don’t seem to see what our nation sees
Though they attack us, never will we fall
I give a salute to the firefighters and soldiers lost on that day
Together we mourn for the victims who had to lose their lives that way
But in their deaths, our nation finally saw
That no matter how much they try, together we cannot fall
So, I pledge allegiance to this land
Where heroes protect every woman and man

© Meghan L. Thomas

Tuesday the 9th of September, 2008

I Saw an Eagle Cry

Today I saw an eagle,
With a teardrop in his eye.
It literally took my breath away,
To see an eagle cry.
I asked him,What’s the matter?,
And he told me what he saw.
A cowardly attack was made,
On the towers that once stood tall.
He said everything he stood for,
Had taken a shocking blow.
So he had to take a moment,
To let his own emotions show.
Then he proudly told me,
That our Nation would survive.
That our Liberty and Freedom,
He’d be sure to keep alive.
He said for us not to be afraid,
To stand together, not apart.
For a terrorist has succeeded,
If he puts fear within our hearts.

© Cassandra L. Gilbert

Monday the 8th of September, 2008

The World Stood Still

Early one morning on a September day
While we were all busy at work or play

Two towers stood tall as the day before
Not knowing that tomorrow they’d stand no more

When the first plane crashed into tower one
No one knew what had just begun

As people were trying to get out alive
Then plane number two took its dive

Then out of the blue one building fell
You could see people run and hear them yell

As we all sat and watched in fear
We dropped to our knees and sheaded tears

Many workers, children firefighters and more
Were all in the path of the mad men that soared

And as the dust from the building began to fade
We all felt sadness but still we prayed

Then the news that another plane had just went down
Out in Pennsylvania, but it hit the ground

For the passengers that rode that plane that day
Stood up for their country in their own way

What else what else could our country take
But another plane went down and the Pentagon did shake

More people were injured and more lives were lost
And the people that did this would pay the cost

Many lives were lost on that September day
As our world stood, still and each of us prayed

Many people just like you and me
Gave their life to set another one free

And on this day when our world stood still
We all joined as one, in God’s Will

For the towers that stood in New York so tall
On September 11th affected us all

© Tracy L. Greer

Sunday the 7th of September, 2008

Alive and Well

They came from different backgrounds,
they came from different towns.
But they all came together when those shining towers came down.
They were people of wealth,
and people almost so poor,
that they could barely feed their families,
but they all watched their children go off to war.
They are people you see everyday, and people so often not,
but they were people, who said hello,
and no....., I haven’t forgot.
They are neighbors, families, friends, and strangers one and all,
they stood side by side, and hand in hand, and answered the urgent call.
My hat goes off to you, all who stood brave and true,
who sacrificed and lost so much, for the red, white, and blue.
These people I know, actually very well,
For they are Americans, and we are alive and well.....

© Mark A. Hull

Saturday the 6th of September, 2008

September 11

You could hear the screams
as the planes hit the towers
on that dreadful day.

Loved ones were lost
firefighters paid the cost tragic.
risking their lives for you and me

The fire was unbearable
one thought went through their heads
should they burn or should they jump
the tragic choice was theirs to make.

Seeing what happened was terrible
knowing there was nothing we could do
to take back the actions that happened that morning.

We could grieve or be angry
but nothing can change
what happened that day.

© Amy L. Thatcher

Friday the 5th of September, 2008

Tribute to 9/11

The flames are out, the debris is cleared…
From that day that we all feared…
To remember those who died that day…
We showed our American pride in many ways…
We hung out the flags and made donations…
To show our pride for our nation…
American slogans written on cars…
Sympathy came from near and far…
Volunteered our time to those we’d never met…
Hoping to aid in the worry and fret…
We lit candles with neighbors and friends…
Showing our pride just wouldn’t end…
Red, White, and Blue was seen everywhere…
Where have they gone, it just isn’t fair…
Is it that people just no longer care…
Are they no longer saying those prayers…
Are all of the flags stuck under the bed…
Did they forget about all who are dead…
American husbands, daughters, and sons are still fighting…
So why are the candles no longer lighting…
Flags went out of stock in every store…
Now they’re no longer hanging by each door…
The war is not over, their still fighting for us…
So few show the colors, is it too much too much of a fuss…
So if you’re one who has put your flag away…
Remember our soldiers are still fighting each day…
So take out the Red, White, and Blue and fly it high… For the soldiers at war that still may die…
Our patriotism should have only just begun…
Do not forget who they are and what they’ve done…
September 11 will stay in our hearts forever, and so should our pride…
AMERICANS RAISE THOSE FLAGS HIGH

© Keifer J. Pesola

Monday the 5th of May, 2008

You said…

You said you couldn’t stand to see my heart broken… So when you broke it, did you close your eyes?

Nobody…

Nobody I think about thinks about me as much as I think about them.

Pain doesn’t hurt…

Pain doesn’t hurt when it’s all you’ve ever felt.

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