As a professional journalist, I've been out since Gerald Ford was president, Billie Jean King won Wimbledon and a landmark show premiered on NBC called “Saturday Night Live.”
For those of you keeping score at home, that's 33 years.
How many in this ballroom are under 33? (Show of hands.) I've got problems older than you.
One always pays a price for being a pioneer, however, and I paid it, enduring more than my share of vitriol and, occasionally, open warfare.
And that was as a sportswriter.
So imagine, for a moment, being in New Orleans in 1975 as a female AND an out lesbian. Not to mention a Yankee, a Jew and a wiseass with biceps of steel in a department of Good Old Boys with two first names. MY editor's was Billy Earl.
Maybe it's because I'm half Russian, but I never believed that anything — especially my sexuality — would prevent me from advancing into Georgia...I mean, to the pinnacle of my profession.
But I was flying solo. Where were my compatriots, and why were they so afraid?
That's why, when Roy Aarons came to Philadelphia almost 20 years ago to talk up this new organization called NLGJA, he immediately got my attention.
Naturally, as one who earned her living through economy of expression, I hated the lugubrious acronym. But I was able to get beyond that.
As Roy spoke, I, more than anyone else in the room, understood the historic importance of what he was saying. A national, professional organization for gay reporters? A uniting of the lost tribe? I was there.
And I never left. I have given my heart to this organization for two reasons — the importance of its mission and the quality of its members.
Over the years, members have come and gone, but the mission continues. It is up to us to keep it strong. To be vigilant, every day, against those who would silence us.
We're here. We're queer. We're on deadline.
And we're not going away.
Thank you for this honor. We won't let you down, Roy .
