Don't ask, don't tell, don't fall in love

A rare peek inside the lives of gay military officers reveals staggering sacrifice, loneliness and glass ceilings.

By Dave Cullen

Jun 6, 2000 | It was only a matter of time. Thursday Night Club proved more popular than expected, and a noisy, animated all-male table for 20 could hardly go unnoticed in the middle of Zio's Italian Kitchen near downtown here.

The small, conservative city at the base of Pikes Peak supports 80 evangelical Christian ministries and more than 20,000 GIs. It has emerged as a national center for Christian evangelism, particularly since Focus on the Family moved its massive operations into town. The sleepy city of 320,000 is surrounded by military installations: the Air Force Academy, the Army's 7th Infantry at Fort Carson, two Air Force bases, the U.S. Space Command and NORAD, a small underground city inside hollowed-out Cheyenne Mountain, which monitors North American skies for the start of World War III.

The Denver Post recently dubbed it the "Vatican of Evangelical Christianity." After Colorado's infamous anti-gay Amendment 2 campaign was mobilized from here in 1992, gay activists labeled the area Ground Zero.

Thursday Night Club kicked off in a small restaurant in February, moved up to Zio's in March, and the visible location immediately troubled the soldiers in the group. It's a pretty butch crowd for a gay dinner party, but the civilians occasionally break into high-queen eruptions, provoking minor shudders in the rigid major seated next to me. Weeks later he will confide it took several shots of whiskey to draw him out into public that first time. But his appearance didn't provoke a court martial or an investigation, and he's been a regular ever since.

New men just kept coming out on Thursday nights, and by late March it was growing impossible to escape the curious looks. After weeks of good-natured gawking, an earnest old lady finally leaned over from the next table and asked what brought all these men together.

"Such variety!" she cooed -- black, white, military, civilian and, most strikingly, ages ranging from early 20s to late 50s. One of the soldiers described them as "an eclectic mix of old queens to young military guys."

"I'm so curious what drew you all together," the old woman continued. "What one thing could you possibly all have in common?"

They chuckled about it briefly, then someone yelled "Promise Keepers!" referring to the conservative Christian men's group headquartered 70 miles north, near Denver. The table exploded in laughter, but they never did give her a legitimate answer. Nobody pressed them any further, not that night anyway.

The next week they moved to Amanda's Fonda, an offbeat Mexican restaurant favored by students, grungers and bohemians.

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