Love, Ellen: A Mother/Daughter Journey (26 page)

I said, “Well, in thirty-nine states she could be fired from her job or evicted from her home simply because she’s gay.”

Will didn’t answer. And there was still no sign of a smile.

After my segment I watched Elizabeth from the green room. Bill Bennett went off on a tangent, talking about polygamous marriage and pedophiles. He made no sense at all. Elizabeth kept her cool. She was reasonable, even brilliant.

Incidentally, I had an interesting interaction with Cokie Roberts. I had long been a fan of hers from her NPR days, so I had been dismayed by a piece Cokie and her husband had written a month earlier in their syndicated column. They had sharply criticized statements by Vice President Gore, who applauded
Ellen
as a good show for family values because it opened minds and furthered acceptance of diversity. They said that the show Gore should have praised was
Touched by an Angel
, for its message about spirituality. I wrote immediately to say how disappointed I was that they found it necessary to put
Ellen
down in order to praise another show. My point was this:

When I first arrived on the set of
This Week
and was introduced to Cokie, I brought up my letter, saying again how much their piece had troubled me. She had no comment at that time. A few months later, I received a warm reply from her in the mail.

As you can see, my growing political awareness was another transformation. After coming from my staunchly conservative background, I had changed over time because of personal issues, and now I was actually meeting political leaders and becoming part of the political process.

During one of my many trips to Washington, I went again to Capitol Hill and met more allies in the cause for equal gay rights: Representative Zoe Lofgren from San Jose, California; Representative Barney Frank, who is openly gay; Joe Kennedy, Jr., and his wife; Kennedy’s sister Kathleen Kennedy Townsend; the lieutenant governor of Maryland; and Representative Richard Gephardt, the Democratic minority leader of the House.

It was on this trip that I went into the gallery and saw the House in session while Candace Gingrich’s brother was speaking. She would later tell me, sadly, that her brother won’t give her the time of day. His attitude is that gay people should be tolerated as alcoholics are. And, she would say, his definition of family is a mother, a father, and children—nothing else. That excludes a lot of adults and children who thought they were families.

Four months later, I was back in Washington. David Smith had called to say that I was urgently needed for a press conference on Capitol Hill. This was HRC’s response to a luncheon being held that day in the Senate Dining Room by a rightwing religious extremist group. Use of the dining room was obtained for them by Congressman Dick Armey, who is infamous for referring to Congressman Barney Frank as “Barney Fag.” When Armey received more bad press than he had probably anticipated, he said it was a “slip of the tongue.” Congressman Frank’s response was, “That’s funny. In fifty years my mother has never once been called Mrs. Fag.”

In our press conference, I gave my usual message, urging parents and siblings to love and accept their gay family members. I thought that day of the words spoken by Dr. Dorothy Height at the HRC dinner in Washington when she reminded us of the links between the struggle for gay rights and the fight for equal rights for our African-American brothers and sisters:

Those words gave me inspiration, as did the courageous examples of the many people I had been meeting. I thought of the longtime activists all around the country—the mothers and fathers who have been working tirelessly, usually with little fanfare, for equal rights for their gay sons and daughters. I thought of those on the frontline, like Richard Zaldivar, who spoke at one of our P-FLAG meetings about the program he heads in East L.A. The vital work Richard is doing includes three support groups he has established for HIV-positive gay Latinos; he has also founded
Las Memorias,
a wall memorial to victims of AIDS from the Latino community. Zaldivar is a true hero.

I thought about a true heroine I had met—the amazing Mary Fisher, who delivered the keynote address when I attended an HRC event in San Antonio. I was fortunate to spend time talking to her about her work and experiences. Mary contracted the HIV virus from her husband, who has since died of AIDS. She became famous when she addressed the Republican convention in 1992 about the AIDS crisis. After she spoke so poignantly, it was impossible for those who heard her to continue to ignore the epidemic. She has created a foundation and lectures tirelessly around the country for funding and greater tolerance for all people—straight and gay, old and young—who are struggling with AIDS.

Mary told me how frustrated she feels when people say, “But you look so well.” Her regimen of medications generally keeps her able to meet her demanding schedule: mothering her two little boys, working as an artist, and speaking publicly. But sometimes the virus gets the upper hand and she has to cancel her engagements. What an inspiration she is! And her books, which she kindly autographed and gave me, are equally inspiring.

I also thought that day of Coretta Scott King, a great humanitarian whom I was honored to meet. I had not realized how accomplished she was in her own right, before she ever married Dr. King. Among other things, she was a graduate of Antioch University, where she had majored in peace studies, a perfect preparation for the important role she would play in the great movements of the 1960s and later. I recalled her keynote address at the Los Angeles HRC event and how she had quoted her husband’s simple reminder: “Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere.”

A
MID ALL THIS
activity, it wasn’t easy to find time to spend with my kids. I did get to spend a cherished Thanksgiving with Vance, for which I prepared a New Orleans-style vegetarian gumbo and candied yams.

When Vance arrived and we sat down to dinner together, we had a heart-to-heart talk that was very much overdue. In his understated way, he let me know he was glad that I was happy in my life.

Pretty amazing, I said, feeling full of Thanksgiving spirit. How interesting, I told him, that even though I was single, I was more fulfilled than ever before in my life; and that opening myself up had brought me new friends, new experiences, new vistas. “And how are you doing, Vance?” I asked seriously.

He paused. Looking at him—with his handsome, young face, his dark hair and those green eyes, his still lean physique—I had to remind myself that he was already in his early forties. He still could pass for early thirties. “Everything’s great,” he said. “I’ve got lots of stuff cooking.”

I brought up his love life, but Vance shrugged uncomfortably. “You know, Mom,” he said, “I’m private about that stuff. Like you.”

“Private?” I asked.

Yes, he asserted, he and I both are private and even stand-offish, because, he said, of the German in us from the Pfeffer lineage.

Standoffish? That somehow didn’t fit the way I was starting to see myself. Obviously, I was changing, I told him.

Saying nothing, he raised his eyebrows as if to say that maybe he too could work at getting past his cool reserve. Then, in classic DeGeneres fashion, he added some levity, saying, “Mom, the yams were delicious. And everything else too—the, uh, succotash, really healthy. Really,
really
healthy.”

I laughed as I corrected him, letting him know that it was actually gumbo. He said he knew that but just liked to say the word “succotash.”

Catching up with Ellen and Anne had to wait until Christmas, when I met the two of them in New York. We celebrated Christmas Eve together at Park Avenue Café, a five-star restaurant. It was one of the most memorable dinners I’ve ever had—wonderful food, beautiful presentation, appetizers that were compliments of the chef, scrumptious architectural desserts, and a truly extravagant French red wine Ellen ordered, which was sublime.

The most delicious part of the meal was our conversation. We found it hard to believe that it was only eight months since our lives had taken such a dramatic turn. Most years aren’t as life-changing as the past one had been. We usually go from one year to the next hardly noticing any difference in the pattern of our lives. But because of what Ellen had had the courage to do, our lives—hers and mine—were changed forever. And Anne’s life had changed too—because they are so honest about their relationship, they’ve made the way easier for countless other same-sex couples. This is the most gratifying part of our changes—that so many people feel so good about themselves.

Before this trip to New York, one of the few times I had seen El was when I went to the set with some of my HRC colleagues to watch
Ellen
being filmed. In the fall of 1997, Ellen and her producers and writers were exploring a story line that followed her character’s experiences as a single gay woman dating different women and then developing a relationship. Not every episode dealt with a gay issue. Nonetheless, I consistently heard, from gay and straight people alike, how relevant and courageous the show was. Many people felt that the episodes were better written and funnier than ever. My personal favorite featured Emma Thompson and Sean Penn as guest stars. But in spite of critical praise, the ratings were flagging, and support from the network and the studio was not forthcoming—they did nothing to offer alternative time slots or more promotion to help boost the show.

At the same time, El and Anne told me about the positive responses they’d been getting everywhere they went: families telling Ellen they love her show, people giving them the thumbs-up sign. The day before, they were walking hand in hand, as they always do, and an elderly woman who was walking toward them with her husband said, “Good for you two!”

As they were telling me this, we noticed a family of seven at the table next to us. A short while later, one of the group, a girl about six years old, walked up to Ellen with a card on which one of the grown-ups had written: “Ellen, Merry Christmas and thanks for your show. Sarah and Family.” Those are good family values!

My heart was full as I looked across at Ellen and Anne. They were sitting with their hands intertwined, two women in love. Only eight months before, Ellen could not have openly shown affection for a girlfriend. In fact, it occurred to me then that, before Anne, I had never seen El hold hands with, or kiss, or show affection for any of her partners. Twenty years earlier, a show of affection may have made me uncomfortable. But now, I saw their sincere expression of love as the most natural thing in the world.

I told them how heartbreaking it is when I meet couples who must hide their relationship. Hearing such stories is always hard for Ellen. It is also a sensitive matter for Anne, whose family has not been at all accepting. One story concerned a man in a twenty-one-year relationship who had told me that his parents were completely supportive until suddenly, last Christmas, they cut off contact. It seemed that a niece had become a fundamentalist and turned the whole family against him and his partner. “You have to wonder how they could be so easily swayed,” I said.

This raised a related issue: the increasing number of incidents of discrimination and gay-bashing we were hearing about. Anne articulated it—”Why does it bother other people so much who I love?”

It was getting late and we knew that the battle against intolerance wasn’t going to be solved by the three of us in one sitting. Still, it felt good to know that we were part of the battle, sharing a dream for the future—a dream that a day will soon come when people will look back in disbelief at today’s discrimination.

It was not so much what was said that made this Christmas Eve so special for me. It was simply that the three of us are grateful for each other and enjoy each other’s companionship so much. This is a gift not to be taken lightly. I’m truly sorry that, by her own choice, Anne’s mother is missing out on all of this joy.

T
HE
N
EW
Y
EAR
brought more unforgettable encounters and adventures. Everywhere I went, there was an outpouring of love—from people whose parents are supportive, from people who wish their parents were supportive. I was immediately embraced as part of their lives and their stories.

While traveling to Portland, Oregon, I was approached at the airport by a small group of fellow passengers who thought they recognized me. One of them said, “Aren’t you David Letterman’s mother?”

I said, “No—Ellen’s.” They were just as excited.

In Portland, I stayed at the Benson, a truly beautiful, charming old hotel, in one of the loveliest suites I’ve seen—complete with a fireplace and a double-size Jacuzzi in the marble bathroom. On my first day, I had lunch in the lobby with Julie, another darling, helpful new friend from HRC in Washington; and Craig, the terrific chairman of that night’s event.

Craig said, “I’m one of the lucky ones. My mother’s always been very accepting of my sexual orientation. But after she saw you on Larry King, she called me and said, ‘You know, Craig, I should do more.’“

I loved that. Julie nodded, saying that her mother was also accepting and that they’d always been close. Then she added, “My mother and I were both at the national dinner. After your speech, Mom said it made her realize how very special our relationship is. She had sort of taken our relationship for granted, not realizing how many gay men and women long for what we have.”