They Will Eat You Alive

As soon as the bicycle courier arrived with the package, my office manager, Marcus, brought it to me, wished me luck, and then left me alone. I took the yellow padded envelope in my hands, knowing what it contained: a videotape — and an accusation.

Seated at my cluttered desk, just two stories above the loud racket of Market Street's trolleys, I heard nothing apart from the thump of my heart. My hands shook; they often do — owing to a hereditary muscle tremor common to the men in my family — but my anger made the shaking worse. California Senator Dianne Feinstein's mother-knows-best voice played in my mind: "Oh Jim, they will try to eat you alive," she had warned.

I freed the tape from the mailer and read the chicken scratch on its label: Pat Robertson.

I must have something better to do than watch this tape, I thought.

A little after eight o'clock that morning, in the bathroom splashing water on my face, I realized that it was April 2, my oldest daughter Alison's forty-second birthday. She lived in Charlottesville, with her husband Bernie, and was on a daunting mission of her own: founding a school for autistic children. She wanted her kids Harry and Georgia, and others like them, to get the attention not available to them in conventional schools.

The phone rang. I answered the cordless by my bed and immediately noted a hint of agitation in the smooth voice of Ray Mulliner. A refugee of Salt Lake City, excommunicated by the Mormon Church for being gay, he had helped me manage my philanthropic and political work for more than a dozen years.

"Hey, Jim. I am really sorry to bother you, but I just got a call from the White House that you need to know about," he said, pausing so that we both could take a breath.

"Oh really?" I responded, still a bit groggy.

"Yeah. Pat Robertson did a piece on your nomination on his show this morning. It was quite ugly, apparently."

Anxiety spread inside me like spilled paint. "What did he say?" I asked.

"Well, there was a tiny protest in front of the Capitol yesterday; I mean, tiny, as in eight to ten people, and they blew it up into a big story," Ray said. "They made all kinds of accusations about pedophilia."

"Pedophilia?" I yelled. "What? Are these people out of their minds?" "I know, I know. It's becoming very clear that they will stop at nothing," Ray said. "I already have a call in to KPIX to see whether we can get a tape."

"I'll be in as soon as I can," I said.

"Be prepared — the phones are ringing already," he said, hanging up.

I sat in silence, taking shallow breaths. I looked back toward my bed and contemplated diving under the covers.

After a quick shave and fast shower, I threw on a casual shirt and comfortable khaki pants — it was going to be a long day. I grabbed a banana and rushed to the office, so fixated on what had been said about me that I forgot to call Alison to wish her well.

Alone in my office, I put my dread aside, pushed the tape into the slot, and took a seat on the nearby sofa. The blue logo of The 700 Club filled the screen and a voice announced Robertson and his co-host Terry Meeuwsen.

The duo stood in front of a set that looked like a living room, as if all of America was being invited into their home. They stood shoulder to shoulder: Robertson, gray-haired and paternal in a tan jacket, blue shirt, and dark tie; Meeuwsen, blond and just short of fifty, perched next to him. They looked deeply into the camera, into the homes of nearly 1 million viewers. Robertson wrinkled his forehead and squinted for emphasis as he announced news on Paula Jones's sexual harassment lawsuit against President Clinton, which had been dismissed the day before. My heart quickened as they moved on to me.

"A wealthy tycoon with ties to homosexual groups that promote sex with children may soon be a United States ambassador, without approval of the United States Senate," Meeuwsen intoned, slowing at the words sex with children. "Are sexual politics and money driving this behind-the-scenes deal? CBN News investigates."

To me, the show had the atmospherics of children's theater, and I half-expected to see Bert, Ernie, or Big Bird sitting in the anchor's chair. Instead, the camera focused on a precisely coiffed gentleman named Lee Webb to introduce the report. Behind him, across a giant screen, was a grainy image of me. It was plucked from a year-old television interview conducted during San Francisco's 1996 Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, and Transgender Pride Parade. I wore a white Coming Out Day T-shirt, appropriate for the sunny weather and the event but not flattering for television. Bulky headphones and a microphone stood out against my cropped white hair. I looked more like an amateur helicopter pilot than an ambassadorial nominee. The words CONTROVERSIAL APPOINTEE hovered in bold letters above my head, with smaller, fading subtitles in rows below: HORMEL, HORMEL.

Next, a written warning appeared on the screen as the pseudo-anchor tipped his head toward the camera: "A word of warning about our next story. This story may contain graphic images that you will not want your children to see."

Oh please, I thought. How utterly ridiculous.

Describing me as a "radical homosexual activist," Webb explained that I was President Clinton's nominee as ambassador to Luxembourg, and that to overcome objections in the Senate, Clinton might use special powers to bypass a confirmation vote and give me a recess appointment. Next, a reporter from The 700 Club's very own Christian Broadcasting Network appeared on the screen.

Video rolled of a press conference in front of the U.S. Capitol, in which a group of nine protesters, identified as "a mix of ex-homosexuals and Christians," chanted: "Can Hormel! Can Hormel!" They carried signs, some of which read: Pedophiles Go to Jail, not Luxembourg. Speakers claimed that I had given financial support to NAMBLA (the North American Man-Boy Love Association), an organization founded in the 1970s to advocate relationships between men and boys. In his voice-over, the CBN reporter told viewers that my philanthropic work had "helped popularize homosexuality and child sex abuse."

My blood boiled. I should have known it would come to this, I thought.

The seemingly interminable story moved on to an interview with a Christian activist who eventually became my most...