Spencer Beach - January 31, 1982

Spencer worked in Public Relations for the New York Public Library and coined the phrase, "Please feed the lions," as part of a fundraising campaign. He was enormously bright. His first career was teaching and he was on the tenure-track at George Washington University, until his name appeared in the paper following a raid. Yes, there were raids; yes, they published names in the papers; and yes, your resignation was expected, and if not, you could expect to be fired. This meant not only losing a job, but losing the means of employment. It often meant moving to a large city and starting over from scratch.

I met Spencer at an Al-Anon meeting and he became by sponsor. He was one of those wonderful anonymous people who was both friend and mentor, and who made Al-Anon and AA into a community of fellowship.

Spencer was also one of the first fifty cases studied by the CDC to define what was to become AIDS - acquired immuno-deficiency syndrome. He died of KS, Kaposi's Sarcoma. At the time I recall feeling upset, but at least hopeful. After all, the CDC was involved now. The resources of the federal government were being put in place and a cure would be forthcoming soon.

Carl Lorenzen - January 23, 1992

Carl Lorenzen - what a handsome man. He was a favorite at Uncle Charlie's Restaurant. Full of all the earnest energy of a midwestern transplant to the big city. He must have been all of 30 when he died and just figuring out who his real friends were.

Bruce Thomsett - January 15, 1987

Bruce come to St Luke's from his ministry in the Lutheran Church. We worked together on a couple of committees and projects including an early AIDS Response Report for the parish. It included the recommendations for the Saturday Night Dinner Program and hospital visits to St Vincent's Hospital.

Rob Berray - January 11, 1995

Rob was the first-born son of Vera and Robert Berray of Millbrook, N.Y., graduate of St Andrew's School in Delaware and Wharton Business School. He was also the ex- of my ex-, Joe McCormick. Rob seemed to follow me around: I took him to a NYCGMC concert, he joined up; I took him to the LURE, he bought leather pants; I moved to 23rd St, he moved to 23rd Street. He even followed me to church at St. Luke's and became an acolyte. And yet he was still tied to Joe. It seems funny now, but not so much then, my last conversation with him went something like this:

"Rob, in the world in which I want to live, my best friend does not have dinner with my ex-lover on my birthday and completely blow me off."

"Why don't you call me back when you're feeling better..."

I guess I never got to feeling better. I really thought he was a decent guy - if not a great friend.

Francis Eato - January 5, 1988

Francis was a street person who stumbled into the Saturday Night Dinner Program at St Luke's. He was living pretty much hand to mouth; room to room in the village. I believe he used to work the Holland and Lincoln Tunnel relieving husbands and boyfriends on their way home to the 'burbs. While that sounds demeaning, what you saw in Francis was not the tacky dress or the tattered jeans, but the enormous stamina it takes to live on the streets of New York.

Before the dinner, those that wanted to would go into the sanctuary for some prayer and blessing. Francis was one who started here and then came to the high mass on Sunday. On those occasions you would see a man radiant with love and gratitude for an open hand at the altar. He was good for St Luke's in our totally white-waspiness.

There was no uncertain controversy about the food program at St Luke's. It started as a recommendation from a group of 3 of us who were appointed by the Rector to come up with ideas to respond to the crisis. Hospitality was a clear path for us and Saturday night was the night most people went without food, so it was a natural mix. It was short-sighted of the Wardens and Vestry to think this would pass muster from the School Board and the parents, however, but that's another story of intolerance, fear and fully-cognizant irrationality.