There is a character in Thornton Wilder’s play, “Our Town,” named Simon Stinson, an alcoholic with secrets, we are told, who was “Not cut out for small town life.” Simon lived in the little New England community of Grover’s Corners working valiantly, albeit irritably, with the ladies of the community as the church’s choir director. In the course of the play we discover that the gentleman tragically ended his musical career by his own hands. The suicide speaks to the audience from beyond the grave, bitter in death as he had been in his sad, abbreviated life. And while it is left unspoken, we in the audience walk away assuming Simon’s secret was that he was a closeted gay.
Today we expect to hear from Ireland whether the citizens of that community are willing to confer on their gay and lesbian brothers, sisters, sons and daughters, the right to marry. This is a matter of great interest to American gays, and is a hot topic in the gay political blogs. Older commenters, in particular, tell how emotionally moved they are by a vote that does not touch them directly. They describe feeling (excuse the odd word choice) “verklempt,” when hearing about the great crowds of ex-pats at the air terminals in England and elsewhere returning to Ireland to vote yes in the same sex marriage referendum. They breathlessly await the news of a “Yes” vote in the Emerald Isle, just as they breathlessly await the ruling by the Supreme Court in the next month or so on the same issue.
About thirty years ago I came out to my children from a former marriage. I told them, "Don’t share this with people at school or your friends. Keep this our secret." I wanted them to keep the secret for two reasons. First, there was stigma attached to being gay, and I didn’t want my kids to deal with the stigma. Growing up is difficult enough without having to struggle with the complications of a parent’s sex life. Prejudice is a difficult thing for adults to deal with, much less children. And secondly, in that day being actively gay was actually against the law. And while crimes against nature laws were seldom enforced, keeping in the closet was generally considered to be wise and cautious. But that wisdom and caution had a price. That price of living in a closet was isolation. Which brings me back to Simon.
The narrator in Our Town was probably right about Simon. A small, parochial town is a hard and lonely place for a gay man. But a few years back, a big city would also be a hard place for a closeted gay to live. The unhappiness of the Simon Stinsons of America was not the result of being in small towns so much as being alone in small towns -- and in large cities. And that is why there is such emotion in my community about the referendum in Ireland and the Supreme Court decision. Same sex marriage offers the possibility of long term, committed relationships to the gay community. It offers the possibility of a family life to America’s Simon Stinsons. If Simon had a family of his own, he would surely not have been the tragic figure of Our Town. And that is why we are all choked up. Secrets and solitude make for great literature. Unfortunately, they also make for miserable lives.