We Stick It to the Wicked Witch of the North

Hell-fer-Sartain, April 1985

Near the end of my horrible nine months and 22 days in horrible Hell-fer-Sartain, the worst place in the world, my ex-boyfriend Fred came to visit.

We were together for only about six months back in 1980, when I was a stupid 19-year old college student.  We lived together, moved to Omaha together -- big mistake -- and broke up -- but stayed friends.  He had given up the ministry -- the only churches he could get were in horrible small towns -- and was working as a mental health counselor.

Near the end of his visit, he asked, "Boomer, when are you coming back to the Midwest?"

"May 8th.  The minute classes are over!"  I told him.  I'm dropping off my last grade, getting in my car, and heading north, and not stopping until I'm out of Hell-fer-Sartain!"

"That's perfect!  You can help me stick it to the Wicked Witch of the North."

"Who?"

"You know, She Who Must Not Be Named... my ex-fiancée...Diane?"

In 1976, Fred moved to Chicago to study for his M.Div. at McCormick Theological Seminary. He had been with a few guys, and even had some gay relationships, but he knew that a theological career required a wife and kids, so he started dating 28 year old Diane, daughter of his professor of Christian ethics and the granddaughter of a big wig in the United Methodist Church -- a prize catch for any upwardly mobile young theologian.

Plus she came with a ready-made family -- David, a 9-year old son from a marriage in her wild hippie youth.  Within a few months, they were engaged.

Diane knew her way around church hierarchy, and made sure that Fred went to the right parties and met the right people.  There was some tension between them -- she wanted sex a lot more often than Fred was willing to give, and she disapproved of his goal of becoming a small-town pastoral counselor -- why not aim for the top, an administrative position at the United Methodist Headquarters in Nashville?  But generally they got along well.

Fred completed his coursework in the spring of 1979, and got an internship at a church in Rock Island.  The plan was for Diane to stay in Chicago, until he completed his internship and got called to a church.  Then they would get married.  But in August 1979, the night before he was to leave for Rock Island, he decided to come out. He still wanted to get married...he promised to stay faithful...but she deserved to know the truth.

Diane did not take it well.  Crying, screaming, throwing things, calling him names, accusing him of being a pedophile: "I can't believe I almost married a queer!"  "You took my dad's class so you could get into his pants!" "You're moving to Rock Island so you can screw homos in public restrooms!" "You're just dating me so you can seduce my son!"

She wouldn't allow him to return to the apartment to pick up his things.  Or send a friend: "Nobody from your child molester club is setting foot in my house!"  Finally her brother offered to do it.

Fred tried to stay in touch -- he hated losing friends -- but Diane hung up on him when he called, and sent his letters back with a terse note: "Refused. Return to pervert."  He did manage to stay in touch with her son, sending letters and gifts to him through his Uncle John, making telephone calls when Diane was at work. David even managed to come to Christmas dinner one year by claiming that he was going to visit a friend.

When Fred came out to him, David said "Yeah, I always knew.  Even when you and Mom were dating.  I figured that's why you never stayed over."

"You may have...um...mentioned her," I said.  "But why did you call her the Wicked Witch of the North?"

"She and her husband live in Dubuque, 60 miles due north of Rock Island."

Figures.  I had driven through Dubuque many times, but never stopped.  It always gave me a frisson of dread.  Nazarenes considered it the epitome of evil. the Mordor of the utter north.

"David is 18 years old now," Fred continued.  "Can you believe it?  Where does the time go?  Anyway, he's going to graduate from high school -- and he sent me an invitation.  I thought you could come as my date.  Just up for the day and back, no overnight."

I was curious.  About Mordor, and about the Wicked Witch of the North.

"Will there be yelling?  I hate it when homophobes start yelling about Leviticus."

"Don't worry -- Diane won't start yelling in public.  One thing she always hated was 'Making a scene.'"

"Sounds great.  I'm in."

Dubuque, June 2, 1985

Fred picked me up at my parents' house at 10:00, and we drove north for an hour to Dubuque. There was enough time for a brief tour of the city -- surprisingly mundane - and a a sneaky-drive past the house where the Wicked Witch of the North lived -- not a castle, an older two-story frame house, painted green -- before going to Dubuque Senior High School.

The graduation ceremony was held in the fieldhouse: about 200 students, so it was easy to find David in the staging area.  He was very tall, with thick brown hair, blue eyes, and a long chiseled chin.  I couldn't tell anything about his physique under the graduation robe.  He hugged us both and asked if I was "the...um...you know."

Fred handed him an envelope containing a graduation-present check and said "No, we tried, but it didn't work out. Where's your mother?"

"Oh, milling around, I guess.  Can you come to the party later?  You can see her then."

"Will we be able to?" I asked. "Or will your mother...um...start screaming?"

He gave me a weird confused look.  "No problemo.  Mom only screams when the Hawkeyes score a touchdown."

We took our seats.  Fred looked around, and finally pointed out the Wicked Witch, wearing a black robe and a pointed hat, carrying a sign saying "I'll Get You, My Pretty."

Ok, not really.  But I swear, there was a dark shadow hovering over her.

When each graduate crossed the stage, their family and friends cheered.  David was in the W's, toward the end.  When he crossed, Fred stood and bellowed loudly "Yeah!  Go, David!"

The Wicked Witch froze in her seat, staring.

After the ceremony, we hung out for awhile, cruising the cute guys (I was only 24 years old, so 18 was ok for me), then headed over to the party at the Witch's house.  There was a sign on the front door: "Come to the back," so we walked around to the back yard, where there were picnic tables festooned with white and blue (the school colors) laid out with hamburgers, bowls of chips, veggies, and potato and macaroni salad, two kinds of cake, and various sodas.  "Rhythm of the Night" was playing from a boom box.

We saw David talking to a group of friends, and headed in his direction. But then someone grabbed my shoulder.  I turned.

The Witch!  Aka Diane.  A short, petite woman with her hair done up in a bob.  Smiling broadly.  Grabbing our hands.

"Fred, it's so great to see you again!  And this must be your boyfriend!"

Being nice to us?  Not screaming?  Fred was just staring, his jaw open, so I jumped in: "I'm Boomer.  We dated for awhile, but it didn't work out.  But we stayed friends...Fred hates losing people."

"Me, too!  When I lost my first husband, I vowed to never lose anyone I cared about again, if I could helpit"  She took Fred's arm.  "We'll have a nice long chat to catch up.  But first let me introduce you to my husband.  You'll love him -- but hands off, he's taken."   She laughed and turned to me.  "But David is single, Boomer."

People can change a lot in six years.

Fred and Diane stayed in contact for the rest of his life.