He Would've Turned 63 Today

Dennis Shelpman

As I mark the occasion of what would've been his 63rd birthday, it is time for me to tell another story.

Dennis was my first. My first love? No, it's already been established that distinction went to Steve Golden, as ultimately unrequited as it may have been.

Dennis was my first relationship that lasted longer than the life of a firefly.

We met the night of the summer solstice, June 1981. I had turned 23 a few weeks earlier and had just come out of the latest in a series of disastrous affairs, the most recent being with Fred Sibinic, a mortician's assistant who had just recently relocated to Tucson from Ann Arbor.

I was not in the best of moods that night, probably best described as "surly." I was rapidly sinking into an "I hate men" mindset because of recent events, but my hormones still compelled me to go out on the prowl.

At my usual Tucson stomping grounds, The Joshua Tree, things were not going well. Summarily rejected by every man I approached (no doubt because of the energy I was giving off)  after an hour or so I said fuck it and decided to leave and go to The Bum Steer, a straight college bar down by the university and see how the other half lived—thinking that maybe the whole gay thing really wasn't for me after all and I'd do better dating women.

Yeah, I know, right?

Anyhow, as I was leaving The Joshua Tree, Dennis was walking in. As we passed each other in the narrow, crowded entrance hallway, our eyes met, we both smiled and…continued on our way.

In the parking lot I was halfway back to my truck when it was like something slapped me up the side of my head and said, "Stop! Go back." I did a 180 and went back into the bar.

I found Dennis by himself, sitting on the back patio drinking a beer. I grabbed a sparkling water (I don't drink except on very rare occasions) and stood about thirty feet away under a neon beer sign. And needless to say, it was kind of difficult to be all sexy and sultry when you're constantly swatting bugs away. After a few minutes of these theatrics Dennis motioned for me to come over and introduced himself. And so it began.

Dennis spent the night. And the night following. And I'll be the first to admit that there was no denying something was sparking here.

After that second night he returned home (he was still living with his mom) and came out to her. It didn't go well. Her ultimatum: "Stop being gay or get out." (Those were her exact words.)

The next day, Dennis moved in with me.

The first couple weeks were the proverbial honeymoon. But this was the first time I had intimately lived with someone and frankly…I started missing my autonomy.

I pleaded with Dennis to patch things up with his Mom because as much as I adored the guy I was not ready for a relationship like this. Dennis and his mom made peace, and he moved back out.

But we still kept getting together—every night in fact—and things came to a head in the Shelpman household once again. Dennis moved back in with me.

In the fall we moved into a newly constructed apartment, tucked against Pantano Wash about a mile north of where we'd been living. Being against the wash and having a second floor apartment, we had a beautiful, unobstructed view of the Catalina Mountains to the north.

Things were good for a few months but then my independent, selfish "I need my space!" nature reared it's ugly head again (something that thankfully life, wisdom, and a bout with cancer has rid me of) and Dennis moved out again. This time he left most of his stuff, as I think we both knew this was only temporary.

It was. We were on the phone almost every night talking when one night his mom picked up the extension (remember those?) and said, "It's obvious you boys love each other. Work your shit out and get back together."

After that Dennis and I stayed together another year or so until he announced he was moving to Dallas. We weren't breaking up; he was just going to be gone for however long it took for him to figure out exactly who he was and reconnect with his estranged father. Then he'd be back.

A lot happened in the six months he was gone (more stories for a different time), but after he returned he decided to "finally get his act together" and get his degree; not from The University of Arizona which was literally just down the street, but from Arizona State in Tempe, a suburb of Phoenix, two hours to the north.

We got an apartment squared away in Phoenix, close enough to ASU that it wouldn't be a horrific daily commute, but more in-town to provide the amenities we also desired. But the universe had other plans. The following week I drove up for a job interview (which I ultimately landed) and while there I met a guy who had a three bedroom townhouse in Tempe and was looking for roommates. (Don't wag your fingers at me. Dennis and I never had a monogamous relationship; our only rules were to be honest about our extracurricular activities and never bring anyone home to our bed.)

Moving in with Steve led to some interesting shared…experiences. (Yes,that means exactly what you think it does.) This caused its own set of problems while bringing others into sharp focus, and in February of 1985, Dennis and I called it quits for good. I moved out and into a place of my own.

Dennis and I remained best friends through all of this. It was a few months thereafter, however, that Dennis learned he was HIV positive. He's one of those guys who knew exactly where and when he contracted the virus (it was from a guy he had been seeing).

He followed the rest of our little tribe to San Francisco about six months after we'd relocated there and ended up falling in love.

While HIV-positive, Dennis remained in good health until shortly after he was involved in an auto wreck and lost his spleen. He started AZT shortly thereafter and his health took a nosedive.

Over the following years, he suffered a series of AIDS-related maladies, finally resulting in the loss of his sight. I think this is what drained the life from him, as prior to that he'd vowed to fight this with every fiber of his being, promising me directly that he wasn't going to go anywhere.

In January of 1991, he found himself in the hospital again. He'd been doing relatively well even without his sight but we could all tell he was done with all of it. One afternoon that same little voice that told me to go back into The Joshua Tree that night ten years earlier told me to pay a visit to the hospital now. I left work early and hopped on a bus.

When I arrived, his room was full. His mom had flown in a few days earlier to help out at his apartment, and everyone he knew was there as well. It seems we'd all gotten the calling. In the brief few minutes when the crowd had dissipated and we found ourselves alone together, I leaned over him and said, "You remember that promise you made to me? You don't have to keep it. If you need to go, then go. I love you."

Dennis passed that night.

I wanted his mom to have the portrait I'd done of him several years earlier:

She refused to take it. Our friend Rick related that she had made it clear that while she knew he didn't get the disease from me, she still held me ultimately responsible for Dennis's death, having "turned him gay" all those many years earlier. Needless to say, despite several attempts at reaching out over the subsequent decades, Vicki and I haven't spoken since.

[reposted and edited a bit from 2022]