“The health teacher, Mr. Garth, had a thick blond mustache—the universal sign of intelligence—and a rural-Pennsylvania accent that made him say ‘dawn’ instead of ‘down’ and ‘yuman’ instead of ‘human.’ One day, in what I hope was a departure from the state curriculum, Mr. Garth devoted an entire period to teaching us ‘how to spot and avoid homosexuals.’ I could not believe what I was hearing.

I don’t know what happened to this guy at the Teachers College of Anthraciteville, but he had some opinions. ‘These homosexuals, they’ll trick ya. They’ll fine out what kinda music ya like, what kinda candy ya like, then they’ll invite you dawn to their house.’ As I listened, incredulous, I couldn’t help but picture a young Mr. Garth being lured into a van by Paul Lynde. ‘Hey there, sonny, my friends and I were just going into the woods to enjoy some Jethro Tull and a Mars bar. Interested?’ Oh, the shame that must have washed over Mr. Garth as ‘Minstrel in the Gallery’ came to an end and he realized that was no Mars bar! But there was no turning back. He had already eaten half of it.

My blood started to boil as he continued. ‘If you’re talking to someone and you think they might be a homosexual, just run. Just get out of there and tell the nearest adult.’ I stayed after class to tell him that I thought he had misspoken. ‘I think what you meant to say was ‘child molesters,’ not ‘homosexuals.’’ He just watched my hands move as I talked, not unlike a dog.”