Down and out in Hollywood
By ARTHUR JONES
NCR Staff North Hollywood, Calif.
Fr. David Garricks most recent job was as a Pinkerton
security guard for The Tonight Show. It paid $6.60 an hour.
Now hes unemployed, $15,000 in debt and on the brink of
losing his apartment.
Two years ago, things were better. Garrick was a member of the
Congregation of the Holy Cross and an assistant drama professor at the
University of Notre Dame. That was before he resigned -- first from the
university, and then from the religious order. Garrick left the university in
1998, saying hed become the victim of discrimination by his religious
order after he announced he was gay.
On this mid-November night, at the Performance Space in North
Hollywood, actors have beckoned the priest to join them. In a cowboy hat but
dress shoes, and with thumbs up, he shyly stands alongside them as they receive
their well-earned applause.
Its the last night of Garricks play, A Difficult
Patient. It recounts the insider struggles that led to the American
Psychological Associations 1973 decision to remove homosexuality from its
catalogue of illnesses.
Garrick wrote the play under the pen name David Ste. Croix --
David Holy Cross, for the order he left last year. Woven through it is the
personal trauma of a gay young man attempting to distance himself from an
oppressive psychiatrist who is anti-gay.
Lack of attendance
The performance was packed. All 36 folding chairs and the
six-person pew were occupied in the theater space in St. Matthews
Lutheran Church. The trouble was, after a 10-night run, the play was closing
eight days early for lack of attendance. Some nights saw only three people in
the seats. The plays knell was sounded when the Los Angeles Times
and the gay weekly Frontiers both slammed it. Garricks $15,000
debt came from mounting the production.
As we talked, pre-play, at Tonis Italian restaurant, Garrick
was alternately nervous and distracted, and at one point close to tears.
Producer, director and his own gofer, he was also exhausted, a man attempting
to find a handhold in a vortex.
A decade ago, when Garrick was at New York University, working
toward his doctorate in performance arts, the situation he finds himself in
today was far from what he had in mind. But the decade held two dramatic
surprises for the priest. One was a revelation, inspired by the Merchant Ivory
movie version of E.M. Forsters novel Maurice. The second was what
happened after he opposed Notre Dames decision to ban the student gay and
lesbian group from meeting on campus in 1995.
Garrick saw Maurice in 1990. It was the first time the
priest had ever seen gays portrayed with understanding on the screen,
homosexuals whose lives he could identify with. It was life-changing for
me, he said. Id been lied to all my life. On the subway
heading back to Queens, I really thanked God for showing me what the truth
was.
Born in Chicago, raised in Tulsa, Okla., Garrick was the eldest of
five boys. When he was 14, his father, an entrepreneur in the oil world, died
in the crash of a private plane. That was the same year that Garrick discovered
he was gay.
I regarded the discovery as the most tremendous disaster
imaginable and decided it was a cross God was giving me, he said.
It was a cross all right. Its bad enough for heterosexuals going
through all the horrors of adolescence. For homosexuals its just
appalling.
When sexuality manifests itself finally in its adult status
its like becoming a different person in a way. Thats true for every
human being, and for homosexuals it is just overwhelming.
In the play, Garricks difficult patient is a young man
confounded by his love for another man.
Getting through adolescence
Garrick continued, I got through adolescence by prayer and
believing in Jesus. I just kept it to myself. I never attempted to make any
sexual contacts. I was completely intimidated by the whole thing and
upset.
He attended Cascia Hall in Tulsa, and Brophy Prep in Phoenix
before going to Notre Dame for undergraduate work in theater studies. Hed
been writing plays and poetry as a teen.
Garrick graduated from Notre Dame in 1966 and was ordained by
Archbishop Joseph Bernardin 10 years later. Along the way, he spent two years
in the U.S. Army and wrote more plays.
He found he wanted to teach. He looked at the teaching orders, and
Holy Cross seemed to click. He liked the Holy Cross life, despite
the difficulties of entering the novitiate at 35. But, he said, things
changed, first at the top of the church, and then in the Holy Cross order. The
papal administration became more and more intrusive, more and more fearful.
We began to see a loss of nerve at the university after Fr.
Hesburgh left, Garrick said, referring to Fr. Theodore Hesburgh, who
served as Notre Dames president for 35 years, until his retirement in
1987. As things tightened up at the Vatican, the Notre Dame
administration tightened up with it.
Garrick taught in the program of liberal studies, the Great Books
seminars, until the late 1980s, when he asked to go for a doctorate in
performance studies. He began teaching drama at Notre Dame in 1992, completing
his dissertation for New York University that year. During this period, Garrick
told his superior he was gay and celibate.
After that, I noticed straight away when I came back from
New York, I was no longer on the list of confessors, said Garrick, who
was serving as chaplain to the Notre Dames gay and lesbian community at
the time.
An open letter
In 1995, Notre Dame barred a gay and lesbian group from meeting on
campus, provoking an uproar. An ad hoc committee was appointed to review the
situation and make recommendations. A year later, when the committee
recommended the group be permitted to meet on campus and the university
leadership said no, Garrick publicly, through an open letter in the school
newspaper, revealed he was gay.
Garrick resigned as assistant professor of communication and
theater effective May 1998. Because he was gay, he said, he was not allowed to
hear confessions or celebrate Mass at Sacred Heart Basilica on campus.
Garricks Holy Cross superiors denied at the time that Garrick had been
barred from priestly ministries.
People in the [Holy Cross] community were not unkind, they
just presumed I was going to crash, said Garrick. It became a
self-fulfilling prophecy. They would say, Davids not going to last,
theres no point in building relationships with him or investing in David
anymore. And the prophecy fulfilled itself.
Where gay Catholic priests are concerned, Garrick has his own
prophecy. In the 1960s, he said, the straight priests -- and
it was part of the crisis -- realized, and it is hard to say exactly what they
realized, realized that getting married would not be a step down. So many said,
I need to be married, I ought to be married, I want to be married.
The church had given them a false choice, be celibate or leave. It
wasnt Gods idea, and they realized it. So a large number of priests
left.
When gay priests realize it is perfectly OK for them to be
married, that there is a life commitment, even a sacramental commitment gay
people can make to each other, the same thing is going to happen, Garrick
said. Then the problem of the gay priesthood will have solved itself.
There wont be any priests left at all, except for the few, the very few,
straight and gay, who have a vocation to celibacy.
After Garrick put principle before security and resigned, leaders
of his order were upset. They couldnt think what to do with
me, he said. He suggested Los Angeles where he could live in a Holy Cross
rectory and work as a volunteer in AIDS ministry. The order agreed but said
that within 10 months after his arrival in November 1998, hed have to
find a salaried position somewhere.
Professorial lifestyle
There were unpleasantries, said Garrick, and
Im sure from their point of view it wasnt pleasant, either.
He provoked some unpleasantness by continuing to live a professorial lifestyle,
buying books and taking a $2,000 trip to complete an epic poem. They were
quite angry, he said. He had begun writing A Difficult
Patient.
After 18 years as a Holy Cross priest, Garrick left the order in
June 1999 with $5,000 and an 8-year-old car. Hell get no pension at 65.
By November 1999, while furiously job-hunting, he had finished the first draft
of his play.
Colleges dont want you when youre 54, he
said. To move out of the rectory and get a roof over his head, he took the
Pinkerton job. It would have made more sense financially to take a
computer job someplace. Or I could put on this damn play.
In June the local chapter of Dignity, an organization for gay and
lesbian Catholics, agreed to sponsor the play. Garrick celebrates Mass for
Dignity members, though he has not sought clerical privileges in the Los
Angeles archdiocese.
The plays nonprofit status meant the union would agree to
Equity actors and managers working in the play for $7 a night, showcasing their
talents. Garrick advertised, held auditions and, through workshops, playwright
and players fashioned A Difficult Patient into a 2-hour and
5-minute play with one intermission.
It opened with an agreeable Los Angeles Times
feature story but was ravaged by the reviews, and closed after 10 nights.
During closing night intermission, theatergoers were telling Garrick he was
closing too soon, that the word -- despite the reviews -- was getting out. But
the sparsely attended performances meant the money -- the credit, really -- had
already run out.
Garricks play is set in the early 1970s, in the months
preceding the American Psychiatric Associations vote to remove
homosexuality from its catalogue of illnesses. It explores the effect of power
wielded by a fearful person on someone who is vulnerable. The power wielder in
the play is Dr. Rothwax, an anti-gay psychiatrist; his patient -- effectively
his victim -- is Lysses, a young man attempting to come to terms with his
homosexuality.
The plays minor chord is the thin, searching root of a
seedling -- the need to love and be loved -- on a rocky hillside. Gays and
lesbians, tentatively beginning to form a movement in the early 70s,
became corporate victims, in effect, of the psychiatric association, and
particularly of key anti-gay or behavior modification psychotherapists. But
Lysses love for a gay activist finds a space in which to grow, and its
growth later cracks the rock and breaks free. Lysses breaks free of Rothwax,
though he is not unscarred.
In the restaurant over coffee, Garrick talked about his own
vulnerability.
Im not laid back, he said. Im
extremely concerned about my financial collapse, about not having a job. Just
today I sent out four job applications, this time including the fact I had
produced and directed an Equity production of my own play. Thats a bit
more on the resumé. Ive got about seven more to send
out.
But faced with closing night, he admitted, Its easy to
have faith when were set, comfortable, OK. It gets hard when there really
isnt enough money and you could get evicted. He added
philosophically, God wanted me to have a minimum wage job so I would
learn how impossible it is for people to live on minimum wage. Humbling.
Im too proud.
Two-and-a-half hours later, in a performance space marked only by
black curtains and spotlight stands, Garrick stood alongside the cast to take
his bow. The applause was as thunderous as 42 people can make it.
Arthur Jones e-mail address is
ajones96@aol.com
National Catholic Reporter, January 12,
2001
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