Stories of ImpactAIDS Memorial Quilt
In June of 1987, a small group of strangers gathered in a San Francisco storefront to document the lives they feared history would neglect. Their goal was to create a memorial for those who had died of AIDS, and to thereby help people understand the devastating impact of the disease. The meeting of devoted friends and lovers served as the foundation of the NAMES Project AIDS Memorial Quilt.
Today the Quilt is a powerful visual reminder of the AIDS pandemic. More than 48,000 individual 3-by-6-foot memorial panels – most commemorating the life of someone who has died of AIDS – have been sewn together by friends, lovers, and family members. The Quilt has redefined the tradition of quilt-making in response to contemporary circumstances. A memorial, a tool for education and a work of art, the Quilt is a unique creation, an uncommon and uplifting response to the tragic loss of human life.
The Piedmont Care Memorial Panel was designed and created in 2011 by artist Sabrina Myers. Sabrina says, “I want to help raise awareness for this disease that has come to light in my lifetime. Piedmont Care does so much work in the area of public education and personal aid, when the call went out for a banner, I had to respond.”
The Piedmont Care Memorial Panel is sponsored by Barbara Lanthier Colvin, Phillip Hudson, and Angela Viney
Angela Viney
In memory of her brother, George Claudius Cameon
In 1992, I experienced the first major loss of my life when my brother died of AIDS. He was 34. George was a special young man who, at the age of 12, announced his plans to become an attorney. He began representing others in high school and organized a protest for clean water in our coal- mining town of 300.
George had goals beyond the aspirations of others in that town and beyond the financial resources of our family. Through hard work and determination, he achieved his goal, and upon his death was working as general counsel for a state college. Near the end of his life, George continued to represent others, telling the medical team caring for him that they could administer new drugs in hopes that it would be helpful to other AIDS patients in the future.
The AIDS Memorial Quilt is more important now than ever. It symbolizes the current state of our nation where the “others” are maligned and mistreated because of gender, sexuality, economic status, race, nationality, and religion. The AIDS Memorial Quilt represents nearly 10,000 individual victims of AIDS, but the quilt cannot hold the names of the many affected by this epidemic.
Barbara Lanthier Colvin
In memory of her brother, George Michael Lanthier
George was the youngest of nine children. From the get-go, he was an entertainer, and lots of stories can be told of his creative nature and how he liked to escape and explore. George was bright, engaging, and talented. He was involved in theater during his junior and senior high school years. He was the ninth Lanthier to graduate from Spartanburg High School and went on to study at the University of South Carolina. In his early academic career, he was elected Reading Clerk for the South Carolina Senate.
George was an early victim of HIV. In the fall of 1987, he became gravely ill. His symptoms were bizarre for a young man. With the loving care and expertise provided at Richland Memorial, George was ultimately diagnosed with HIV. This was early in the process of identification, diagnosis, and treatment, and very early in awareness and understanding. I absolutely commend the Senate of the State of South Carolina for their compassion and support during George’s illness and beyond.
The AIDS Memorial Quilt is a wonderful way to pay tribute to this wonderful young man, and all those affected by HIV and AIDS. The media has been quiet about this epidemic, but it is still very real. The mission and goals of Piedmont Care are alive and well in Spartanburg. Thanks to Piedmont Care, so many have access to early diagnosis, treatment, and support.
Caring & Sharing
I am an African American female wanting to share with someone my story. I am hoping to help someone in a time of despair or to help someone make a better choice. I am HIV positive, and it has been 10 years of fighting.
To all I wish to share that it could happen to you. You should not judge someone else because it could happen to you. The world needs to learn to educate itself and use precaution. I don't understand why we as a people are not learning. Love yourself and believe that you have that right. If you had the knowledge that I have now, you would be more open. Do not be judgmental. Respect yourself. Take a stand.
It is not easy to live with HIV and its physical and mental struggle. Living is an everyday battle. The stigma makes it harder. It has made me a stronger person. It made me a better person. I am blessed that I know, so I can see and fight it.
Please get tested. Then you can make wise decisions for yourself. That is your right. There is hope if you stop the cycle you are on and get tested. Why not love yourself? Take charge of your life. Be your own woman or man. Don't let fear stop you. There is help out there. Seek help to save your life. You can live a positive life.
Getting tested is taking control, whether you test positive or negative. Fight the battle. Stop the spread. It only takes a few seconds to do your part. Can you spare a few seconds to stop this disease?
No one asks for HIV, but it is real. I did not ask for HIV. I was young and made bad choices. I was living like the streets and the boys were most important. I pray. I am wise now because I have no choice. I have to be cautious because I would never put this on anyone. I hope I can help at least one person claim their choices.
You are a child of God. Be a cure. Get help. Get knowledge. Start the fight. Win the battle. We can win the war to stop the spread of HIV. Love yourself. Please.
Love Life,
Someone Who Cares
How Hard Could It Be?
For Jeff and all the others for whom we made it hard
How hard could it be?
Just tell them.
They’re friends.
They’re coworkers.
They'll understand.
It won't be a problem.
I can't tell them.
You have to.
I have tried.
The moment is never right.
The words don't come.
Will you tell them?
How hard could it be?
I gather my courage
I take a deep breath.
They’re friends.
They’ll understand.
I blurt it out.
Jeff is gay.
He's been married.
How could you say that about a friend?
I knew it!
I thought he was a friend.
How are we going to face him?
How are we going to work with him?
How could this be so hard?
My head is spinning.
They’re friends.
They're coworkers.
They'll understand.
What is the problem?!
How hard could it be?
Just tell them.
They're friends.
They're coworkers.
They’ll understand.
It won't be a problem.
I can't tell them.
You have to.
I have tried.
The moment is never right.
The words don't come.
Will you tell them?
How hard could it be?
I gather my courage.
I take a deep breath.
They’re friends.
They’ll understand.
I blurt it out.
Jeff is HIV positive.
It's no surprise; he's gay.
I figured he had a lot of partners.
I knew it!
Oh god, he hugged me last week!
How are we going to face him?
How are we going to work with him?
How could this be so hard?
My head is spinning.
They’re friends.
They’re coworkers.
They'll understand.
What is the problem?!
How hard could it be?
Just tell them.
They’re friends.
They’re coworkers.
They'll understand.
It won't be a problem.
I can't tell them.
You have to.
I have tried.
The moment is never right.
The words don't come.
Will you tell them?
How hard could it be?
I gather my courage. I take a deep breath.
They’re friends.
They'll understand. I blurt it out.
Jeff has AIDS.
He's so thin.
How long will he work?
I knew it!
Oh god, he hugged me last week!
How are we going to face him?
How are we going to work with him?
Just tell them.
They’re friends
They’re coworkers.
How hard could it be?
I blink back the tears.
I swallow hard.
Jeff died last night.
He was such a wonderful man.
How can I help?
I knew this would happen ever since you said he was gay.
Diane M. Daane
Jason’s Story
At Morningside Baptist Church we held a Watch Night Communion Service at midnight on New Year’s Eve. On Saturday, New Year's morning, I made hospital visits and two home visits before a traditional lunch of turnip greens, black-eyed peas, and pork chops with my family. I conducted a two o'clock wedding, and at the end of an already long day, I headed to my office to put the finishing touches on my sermon for the next morning, Sunday,
On that late New Year’s afternoon, a young man whom I did not know was waiting for me outside my office door.
"Are you Pastor Neely?" he asked.
I introduced myself. He gave me his real name, but I will call him Jason. He asked, "Do you have time to talk with me?" I invited him into my office.
Jason explained that he was just walking past the church when he saw all the cars. He found his way into an open door, discovered the wedding, and decided to wait for me. "It's New Year’s Day," he commented, "and I want to talk with a pastor. I'm ready to turn over a new leaf."
I settled back to hear Jason's story. I thought he must be in his mid-thirties, but his gaunt face and slender body showed wear and tear far beyond his years. Jason, who grew up in South Carolina, was a high school athlete before he became a high school dropout. "My mom died when I was in the eighth grade," he explained. "I could never do anything right for my dad. My best was never good enough for him."
Jason enlisted in the U. S. Marine Corps to try to please his father. He served in Desert Storm. "I wanted to re-up, but they wouldn't let me. I think they knew I was gay." After that, Jason's father disowned him.
Jason has been living in Atlanta for almost ten years. "I did all the wrong things," he said. He returned to his hometown soon after Christmas because he had received word that his father had lung cancer. "He's been a smoker all of my life," Jason said. "I tried to get him to quit, but he never did." I noticed a pack of Marlboros in Jason's shirt pocket.
The trip home was a disappointment to Jason. Though his father is dying, he would still have little to do with his son. "My dad is real sick, and so am I," Jason continued. "I found out I was HIV positive a couple of years ago. Now I have AIDS."
Jason has, in his own mind, accepted the unfair stereotypes about AIDS being divine retribution upon gay men. In nearly forty years of pastoral ministry, I have learned that trying to fix blame for human suffering is neither helpful nor redemptive.
"The way I figure," Jason explained, "I deserve AIDS the same as my dad deserves lung cancer. Doesn't the Bible say we reap what we sow?"
Jason, of course, is correct. There are natural consequences for our sins and all of us have sinned. The Christian faith affirms that God responds to confession and repentance with grace and mercy. I like Sparky Anderson's definitions: "Grace is getting what you don't deserve. Mercy is not getting what you do deserve."
Grace is the gift of unconditional love.
Mercy is the gift of pardon.
"My dad and I are both going to die. I don't think either one of us has very long. My dad says he's going to heaven. I want to be sure I'm there, too, even though he thinks I'm going to hell. I believe that heaven is my best chance to make things right between us, but first, I want to be sure I make things right with God."
I spoke with Jason about his faith. He had grown up in a Baptist church, where he was a member of the youth group. As a teenager, he had been baptized. Jason came to me on New Year’s Day to confess and receive the forgiveness of God. We prayed together and before he left to hitchhike to Atlanta, we embraced. Jason wept and thanked me, I shed a few tears of my own and bid him goodbye, offering God's blessing.
Jesus Christ, whom I follow, offered forgiveness instead of condemnation to a woman caught in adultery. He embraced the leper before he healed him. Some have said that AIDS is the present-day equivalent to leprosy in Jesus' day. While people with AIDS are not immediately identifiable and AIDS cannot be contracted by casual contact, the stigma that AIDS patients carry is similar to that of first-century lepers. Jason wanted what every person in every age wants - simply to be loved. The message of Jesus was, "Love one another as I have loved you."
Jason did not stop at the church and wait for me on New Year’s Day to ask for money or medicine. He did not ask for transportation. He wanted a new beginning. Though he gave few details, he wanted to confess, and he asked for the gift of forgiveness. I had the privilege of being the pastor Jason chose at random to hear his story and to offer the assurance of God's grace.
Jason's visit was a gift to me. It gave me the opportunity to form a new resolve. My New Year’s prayer is that God will grant to me what the Apostle Paul called the mind of Christ: to view others with the eyes of Jesus, to hear others with the ears of Jesus, to love others with the heart of Jesus, to respond to others with the spirit of Jesus.
Will Jason and his dad ever be reconciled? Only heaven knows for sure. Will I ever see Jason again? Someday, I believe so. Someday.
Kirk H. Neely
Kris Neely
Professor of Art and Director of Interdisciplinary Studies, Spartanburg Methodist College
It is important for us all to remember the past – those who we have lost and those who continue the fight. It is important that we remember the fear and stigma, the pain and uncertainty. It is important for us to also celebrate brave lives facing down fear, infection, hate, ignorance, and injustice. It is important for us to celebrate the pioneering courage of Piedmont Care and the difficult road to serve those who are in need of medical care, support services, and prevention measures.
I remember the cautions my parents gave in the 1980s. I remember us learning together about HIV and responding to the fears in our community, our nation, and our world. Then, HIV was a mystery. Now, the misinformed thinking and rhetoric that surrounded the disease has been replaced with reliable research, public policy, and good medicine. The mystery disease is now a treatable condition. Transmission and preventative measures are now common knowledge if we listen and learn.
Forgetting and misremembering do not serve us. Our community needs to celebrate and remember how far we have come, how much further we can go, and how much we can do when we work together for a cure.
Spartanburg Methodist College has been a proud partner in Piedmont Care programs for many years. We look forward to continuing to support and encourage our students in confronting fear and pioneering a better future through education, research, and collaborative problem-solving. We all benefit from the legacy of Piedmont Care.
Phillip Hudson
In memory of Michael, Tracy, Butch, and so many others
Back in the late 1980s, we started the first HIV support group in the Upstate. It was held in a small, out-of-the-way church in Greer and was a safe space for those with HIV who feared being outed by their status. As the years passed, nearly all those support group participants lost their lives to the epidemic.
In those years, there was nothing to do but help make them as comfortable as possible for the remainder of their lives. So, for me, the AIDS Memorial Quilt was a sobering reminder of all those dead or dying during the late 80s and early 90s.
Many panels on this quilt were created by those who died from the illness or completed by their families and friends upon their death. But in 2019, things are brighter. The AIDS Memorial Quilt offers a different, more positive perspective today. It is now a reminder of how far we have come with a possible end to HIV in sight. Today, these panels symbolize hope. Death rates are down and those living with HIV and AIDS can now live a normal lifespan because of the services provided by Piedmont Care.
Rev. Donna Stroud
The client called and asked me if she could come in the back door for her appointment. She parked in a parking lot a block away. She looked furtively around when she entered the door and quickly went into my office. “Joan” (name has been changed), is a 64-year-old African American female. She has been HIV positive for 15 years. Her family does not know. Her friends do not know. She is active in a church that she believes would shun her if they found out about her status. Joan is confident that her son and other family members would isolate her from the family if they ever found out about her status.
Unfortunately, her story is not unique. Patients have died from complications with HIV and AIDS without their families knowing that they had the disease. I remember being in a hospital room once where the doctor advised me that the patient had not told his family, and they believed that he had died of pneumonia.
These are situations that create a need for organizations like Piedmont Care. Clients need help with medical, housing, transportation, counseling and support assistance. These services are just a few of the support systems that Piedmont Care provides. People often have no insurance and no stable support system.
For decades, Piedmont Care has been there for them. Staff and volunteers understand specific needs related to HIV and AIDS. The need for these services has not decreased. Instead, the need for education in our schools, our churches and our community has increased. Without the voice of Piedmont Care, HIV and AIDS would be a silent scream to people that often do not understand what being HIV and AIDS positive really means.
Thank you, Piedmont Care, for excellent service! Your presence makes our community a better place.
Thank You
Thanks for all my wonderful friends.
Thanks for forgiving me for my oppressive sins.
Thanks for my supportive family.
Thanks for my soul that feels amicably.
Thanks for my mysterious good health.
Thanks for my glorious commonwealth.
Thanks for my creative mind.
Thanks for the people who were kind.
Thanks for allowing me to be humble.
Thanks for not letting me ever crumble.
Thanks for reading my verse.
Thanks for AIDS not being a curse.
– Geoff Black