I don't hook up in public, period. No parks, no nature preserves, no secluded hotel restrooms, no booths at the Pleasure Palace. No way, no how.
But back in college in the Midwest in the 1980s, I didn't know much about gay culture and history, and I thought that the only possible way for gay people to meet was in bars and public places. So I wasn't so picky.
January 30th, 1982, my senior year at Augustana College. I applied to the Ph.D. program in Spanish at Tulane University in New Orleans. They flew me in for an interview, and now I was on my way back to Rock Island.
The three hour flight to St. Louis was uneventful; we flew above the clouds in brilliant sunlight. Our descent was a little bumpy, but we landed at Lambert Airport right on schedule, at 5;15 pm.
I went to the monitor to check on my connection, a 6:30 flight to Moline, Illinois, and home.
The board was lit with dozens of flickering "cancelled" lights.
I had never flown alone before -- my flights to Switzerland, Colombia, and Germany were in supervised groups. What was I supposed to do?
Finally I found the American Airlines help desk. The line was endless. Forget it!
I called the American Airlines telephone number. On hold for half an hour. Forget it!
I walked through the terminal. Stores and restaurants were closing. I grabbed dinner -- a burger and fries -- at the Brewmaster's Tap Room just before it closed. No one explained what was happening.
Later I discovered that St. Louis got 14 inches of snow overnight, the biggest blizzard in history. They closed the airport and sent most of the staff home, stranding thousands of travelers.
All of Saturday night, no flights came in or out, and none of the stores were open except a nacho place and Hudson Books. I had nachos and overpriced candy bars for breakfast and lunch.
Food services began Sunday morning, and flights started going out around noon. But there was such a backlog that I couldn't get out until 6:30 pm.
Get a hotel room? No credit cards, not enough money.
Stuck all night and all day at Lambert International Airport
In the era before smart phones, laptops, wifi, and DVDs.
How I passed the time:
1. Reading three best sellers from the meager selection at Hudson Books: The Hotel New Hampshire, Gorky Park, and Red Dragon. They were all terrible.
2. Calling my parents and asking them to come pick me up, but they were snowed in, too.
3. Vowing never to go to St. Louis again.
4. Vowing not to go to grad school in Spanish.
5. Walking up and down the concourses, looking at the cute guys trying to sleep.
6. Having sex with strangers.
About 11:00 pm Saturday night, I was sitting in a stall in an out-of-the-way restroom at the end of an abandoned concourse, when someone went into the stall next to me.
Great! I'm too shy to perform now! I'll just have to wait it out!
So I waited and waited, and he waited and waited, and before I knew it, things were happening under the partition between the stalls.
Wait -- do people actually do these things in public restrooms?
I had lots of time to research the matter, and it turns out that they do. If you wait in a secluded stall long enough, things just happen. Or else you make eye contact with someone you like, head into the restroom together, and go into the same stall.
That night and the next day, I hooked up with several other stranded passengers and airport employees. The ones I remember are:
1. A middle-aged businessman in a suit and tie
2. A young dad whose wife and kids were waiting outside
3. A guy who worked in the nacho shop, and took me to the store room to finish the hookup.
4. A flight attendant who said he cruised there often
5. A cute college boy from Minneapolis who liked to kiss, and gave me his phone number.
6. An African guy from Zambia.
About as much action as you'd get at a bath house.
But don't try this at home. Undercover police officers are on patrol, hoping to make an arrest for "lewd behavior." It's gross, it's uncomfortable, and it plays into the stereotype of gay men as sexual predators. Besides, in the era of Grinder and internet chat rooms, who wants to be with someone so closeted that he resorts to pick-ups in public restrooms?
But in 1982, it made for a memorable layover at Lambert International Airport.
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