Empty Promises

thousands of gay soldiers, sailors, and marines, they all remained closeted. Only Gareth Leifbach had the courage and audacity to face an organization as rigid and conservative as the army.
    Larry admired Gareth’s bravery and his frankness. He was sorry for him when his military career ended on September 25, 1979. On that day, a three-man board of officers met to decide if he should stay in the army despite his avowed homosexuality. Several of Leifbach’s superiors testified before the board that Gareth was an excellent soldier, but the final vote was two to one in favor of an honorable discharge. The decision was front-page news all across the country. Leifbach himself claimed a moral victory; at least one officer had voted in favor of keeping him in the army.
    Although Gareth Leifbach’s career in the service was over, he appeared to be elated over his new place at center stage. Indeed, he glowed with all the attention he was receiving and spoke volubly to any reporter who requested an interview. “I’m not wealthy, but I’m rich,” he told them.
    Gareth was confident of his future. He hinted that a millionaire in Tampa Bay, Florida, had offered to back him financially if he should decide to become a tennis pro. He said he had property in his hometown of Battle Creek, Michigan, which he could always sell for a profit. But Gareth Leifbach’s ace in the hole was his plan to become the poster boy for gay liberation. He was prepared to sue the U.S. Army for $3 million to $5 million because of its discrimination against homosexuals and because it had violated his constitutional rights. He said that he had friends in high places in the gay world. He was only twenty-one, but he was suddenly a man to be reckoned with and he clearly loved the spotlight. He was playing it for all it was worth.
    Gareth Leifbach certainly made a compelling spokesman. He was tan and muscular and well spoken. One of his vast legion of admirers was Larry Duerksen. From his apartment in Seattle, Larry watched Gareth on television and read every word printed about him. He admired Gareth tremendously, and he had written to the embattled army private even before Gareth was banished from the service, even though he didn’t really expect a response. Larry was thrilled when Gareth wrote back, and the men arranged to meet. They did meet and rapidly became close friends. The tall, almost languid library assistant and the tanned tennis player hit it off better than Larry had ever hoped. When Gareth left to go back to Michigan, Larry dared to believe that Gareth might return to Seattle and that he might even accept Larry’s invitation to share his apartment. But that was probably ridiculous. Gareth said he had so many munificent and exciting offers to consider; he just wasn’t sure yet about what he would do.
    Larry didn’t see one disadvantage in being with Gareth. He had always wanted to be the center of attention. By aligning himself with the poster boy for gay rights, he could bask in the reflected glow of Gareth’s fame, and he could have a friend and lover whom he could admire and emulate. But, realistically, he had to admit that a millionaire in Florida had a lot more to offer Gareth than he did.
    Once Gareth left Seattle, something dark and menacing entered Larry Duerksen’s life. He began to tell friends and co-workers that someone was threatening his life. He repeated the details of disturbing phone calls that came late at night. He had no idea why anyone would single him out, but he was convinced that someone was out to get him.
    Larry told a young woman who worked in the library that he had been horrified to find a stained sack lying outside his apartment door. When he peeked in, he gasped. Inside, there was a dead pigeon, its neck wrung. A few days later, he told her about a note slipped under his mat that warned him to be careful. In his letters to Nebraska, he told his relatives that he loved Seattle, but that his enthusiasm for the city was mitigated by the fact that someone was stalking him. He said he had just missed being run over by a car. “It was headed right for me. I was crossing the street on Capitol Hill—but don’t worry,” he wrote. “The police are checking it out and I’ve talked with detectives.”
    No one thought to verify Larry’s stories, and he had never reported any incidents or threats to the Seattle Police.
    Gradually his reports to his family and co-workers became more and more ominous—and