HELPING HANDS : Aid for AIDS Group Reaches Out to Victims

He is slowly dying of AIDS, but like so many, he cannot tell you his name for fear of hurting his parents who still feel disgraced to have a son who is gay. So call him Gary.

Now 40, he was once a well-paid investment counselor. He lived alone in a spacious apartment filled with his collection of French antique furniture and artworks. His closet was lined with expensive designer suits and shirts. His personal life was built around travel and music, especially opera.

Then in December, 1984, doctors delivered their diagnosis. By then he was already too sick to work anymore and, although his health insurance pays 80% of his medical bills, his small savings were soon gone. He began selling off his furniture, his paintings and even his clothes, piece by piece. Only his music remained untouched, hundreds of records and tapes of classical music and operas, sounds that became even more important to him as the disease progressed, lifting his spirits even on days when the pain and depression were at their very worst, giving him the strength to go on, to get up, to keep on trying.

Finally, unable to pay his share of the ever-escalating medical bills and keep his apartment too, he moved last year into the home of a friend until he, too, was stricken with the disease and lost his house.

And so, a few months ago, Gary at last found himself not only so ill that he can now barely walk, but also alone, homeless and too broke to even afford all the monthly prescriptions that keep him alive (now totaling around $2,000), much less the deposits on an apartment.

But, even then, he was afraid to call Aid for AIDS, the only organization of its kind in Los Angeles that provides outright, immediate cash assistance for housing, food and medicine to desperate AIDS patients such as Gary.

“Part of it was pride, I guess. Dignity. Privacy. That’s about all you have left with this disease--when I could still get around, I even went to Forest Lawn and made my own funeral arrangements because I didn’t want to be a burden to anybody. So, anyway, I hated to have to ask strangers for a handout, have people asking me all those personal questions about how much I’m spending, how poor I am. And I was scared to call them too, because I was afraid I’d have to give up what little I had left,” he said, sitting in his tiny, attractive studio apartment, gesturing toward his music collection and the two pieces of his beloved French furniture that still remain.

“But I didn’t have any choice. It was survival. And then Tom came over to talk to me, and he told me that AFA didn’t want me to have to give up everything, that their whole philosophy was to try and help people keep their homes, to keep as much of their surroundings as possible. He didn’t even ask me why I hadn’t sold my music.”

Apartment Is Comfortable

Tom is Tom West, 30, executive director of AFA, who was sitting across from Gary, listening to him talk with a light of satisfied pride in his eyes. It makes him almost as happy as Gary that this apartment is comfortable, that Gary came to AFA for help before he sold every last one of his possessions. It cost AFA $1,175 to move him into this apartment and, of even greater importance to Gary, the organization also pays several hundred dollars each month to pick up his share of prescription costs.

And, while AFA limits cash grants to $1,200 per client, this assistance with medication bills, according to West, will continue for the rest of Gary’s life.

Or, West amended, it will continue as long as AFA has the money to give.

So far, money has not been a problem for the 3-year-old organization that survives on donations and fund-raisers staged largely by the gay community--plus one annual government grant of $52,000 from the City of West Hollywood to cover office operating costs. (West, a former special education teacher from San Francisco, is paid $18,500 per year.)

Numbers Escalating

But West worries that the day is fast approaching when AFA will either have to begin turning applicants away or reduce individual assistance, simply because the number of people who walk through his office doors each week is escalating dramatically. In 1983, for example, AFA served 14 AIDS patients for the entire year. By last year, the number had jumped to 35 per month and so far this year the monthly average is close to 50.

The number of people walking in off the streets, both gays and heterosexuals, keeps increasing. “We’re now helping a few women, too, and we’ve had several children,” West said. “So, I’m guessing that by the end of the year we’re going to be up to 70 or 80 people a month.” (All applicants must have documented proof of an AIDS diagnosis and evidence of financial need; they also must show that they have exhausted all available public assistance programs.)

Day-to-Day Operation

AFA now operates on a day-to-day basis, raising and spending about $25,000 per month. “And we’ve really been lucky, so many good people out there--heterosexuals as well as gays--just keep on giving and giving. A lot of gay bars have AFA jars on their counters and you’d be amazed how much that alone raises for us. And people are constantly having private fund-raising parties for us,” West said. “And, if we’ve got it, we spend it. So every month when we’re through writing checks, our bank account is down to a few dollars and we have to start all over.”

And so AFA is doing its best to sound the alarm now, before the day comes when Tom West will have to tell some dying AIDS victim with no other place to turn that he’ll have to come back some other day.

“I don’t think I could do it,” he said, closing his eyes as if to blot out the vision. “What makes this job rewarding now is knowing that I’m at least improving the quality of life for these people. And, Gary’s a real exception, in that he’s got such spirit, such a will to live. But, believe me, a lot of the people who come in here literally have nothing, their friends have abandoned them, they’re usually in their late 20s with no insurance, no savings, and they’re terrified.”

‘Keeping Me Alive’

“That’s right, compared to so many people I know with AIDS, my situation is an A-plus,” Gary agreed. He worked long enough to now collect $530 per month in Social Security disability payments. “And after I pay my insurance premium ($2,000 annually), that means I’ve only got about $4,000 left to live on. And before AFA started helping me, a lotta months I had to go without some of the medication I needed, so they’re literally keeping me alive. And if friends didn’t give me some extra help too, I couldn’t make it. If I’m around next year, I’ll have to sell that desk and chest for sure. . . .”

His voice trailed off as he glanced at his prized furniture and he was silent for several seconds, trying to regain his line of thought. Because of all the medication he takes, he frequently has memory lapses and apologizes for himself often.

“But a lotta guys are so much worse off,” he continued, remembering. “They don’t get more than about $400 a month in government assistance, they’re just living in a little room, worrying about how to even eat .”

In fact, just thinking about it makes Gary feel guilty. “I guess it’s that old thing they beat into your head, about welfare. You know, if you’re asking for help, you shouldn’t have anything . I still feel guilty sometimes, like I should apologize to people for even having my music left.”

West only looked at him and gently shook his head. It was enough. Gary smiled.