Callous AIDS Seals Love Stories One by One

When it became obvious his son, his only child, did not have long to live, Bob Hunio reached for the instructions that Stephen had prepared. Steve, at 37, had known for some time that AIDS would claim his life.

This was Friday morning, Feb. 9. The father saw the list of names, friends to be notified upon Steve’s death. Bob Hunio decided to call them now and invite them to their Woodland Hills home, to say goodbye.

Soon, friends began to arrive.

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Bob Hunio shared this story a few days later. Only once had I met his son. Stephen’s wife, Linda, had been a friend of mine. At her funeral in the spring of ‘93, I shook her bereft husband’s hand and offered condolences.

The next day, I wrote about their joyous, sad love story. It bears repeating.

Linda and I had gotten to know each other a few years before that. I was covering AIDS, working on a story about the spread of HIV among heterosexuals, well before Magic Johnson’s disclosure stunned the world. At one point I had met Ann Copeland, co-founder of Women At Risk, an HIV education and support group.

Ann was 40ish, strikingly attractive and stylish--an unlikely symbol of the cause. She had contracted HIV during a brief relationship with a man she later learned was bisexual. When I told Ann my interest in how HIV complicates that fundamental human pursuit--love--she said you’ve got to meet Linda, the other founder of Women At Risk.

Linda Luschei’s story was extraordinary. She was just a newlywed when her first husband fell gravely ill. In previous years a chronic illness had required several blood transfusions. The day before he died, it was discovered he had HIV. Soon Linda discovered she was infected.

For five years she kept her condition secret, confiding only in her father. After meeting other women with HIV, Linda stepped out of the closet.

She was a woman of great spirit, intelligence, candor and wit. And she was lonely. So she put a personal ad in the LA Weekly, stating that she was HIV positive as routinely as the fact that she had blond hair and blue eyes.

She was stunned to receive more than 60 calls, most of them sincere. She wound up steadily dating two men. One had HIV, the other didn’t. Her friends dubbed them “Friday” and “Saturday.”

Over time Linda and I fell out of touch. A couple of years passed. One day I decided to call Women At Risk, hoping to reach her. It was Ann who called back. Her tone was grave.

Ann knew I had a lot of catching up to do. The Linda I knew was vibrant and healthy. Now, Ann told me, Linda was very ill, bedridden, her eyesight robbed by the virus. She was surrounded by family.

But at least Ann could share some comforting news--and that was Steve.

He was neither Friday nor Saturday. Steve was every day. He and Linda had met through a loose network of friends with HIV. Friendship became love, and on New Year’s Eve 1993, with Linda’s health worsening, Steve proposed.

They were married on March 26. It was, as Steve would later write in The Times, “a storybook wedding with all our family and friends. There wasn’t a dry eye in the house. You can see from her picture what a beautiful bride she was. Three days after the wedding, she entered the hospital. I stayed with her until she passed away on June 4.”

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Linda Luschei Hunio was interred on a shady slope at Forest Lawn in Glendale. Last Thursday, Stephen Jay Hunio was interred at her side.

A day before the service, Bob Hunio, 64, reflected on his son’s short life. Steve lived life “fast forward.” He was so bright, but it took him awhile to grow up. Bob and Edi Hunio--they’ve been married 40 years--always loved their son. But Bob admitted there was a period “I wasn’t sure I liked the rascal.”

All that changed in recent years. Before Linda, there’d been a girlfriend who had stayed with Steve even a year after he’d learned he had HIV, though she was uninfected. She helped Steve grow up, Bob said. Still, when Steve met Linda, “He was a diamond in the rough. Linda really polished the edges. . . . I think Steve learned his bravery from Linda.”

In November, a brain tumor, one of AIDS’ many possible complications, put Steve in the hospital. Aware that death was approaching, Bob and Edi brought their son home to nurse him until the end. It was better this way, Bob says, both for Steve and for them. Nurses told the Hunios it was unusual for AIDS patients to die at home. Bob said he is convinced that being with Steve eased the grief for him and his wife.

Bob Hunio made his calls. About 40 friends and relatives dropped by to see Steve and his parents over the next two days. Steve appeared to be unconscious, his breathing growing more difficult. On Saturday afternoon, friends crowded into the bedroom. Bob said it felt as though everyone there was connected by some sort of human electricity. Bob held one of his son’s hands and his wife held the other.

“We kissed him, told him we loved him, and to let go whenever he wants, to meet Linda in heaven. . . . My wife said, ‘My God, he looks like a little wounded bird.’ I said, ‘Steve, it’s OK. It’s OK to let go. Fly away into heaven and meet Linda.’ ”

Even the Hunios’ whippet, a bashful dog, burrowed his way through the crowd and jumped on the bed, as if to say farewell.

“Stephen died a few minutes later. It was amazing. It was utterly amazing.”

Later, Bob Hunio and his son’s friends drank Scotch and shared happier memories.

I learned about Steve’s death a couple of days later from another of Linda’s friends. At a time when we’re cheering Magic Johnson’s comeback, Liz’s call proved sobering.

She didn’t just have news about Linda’s husband. The day after Steve died, AIDS also claimed the life of Ann Copeland. She was 47.

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Scott Harris’ column appears Tuesdays, Thursdays and Sundays. Readers may write to Harris at the Times Valley Edition, 20000 Prairie St., Chatsworth 91311. Please include a phone number.