Barbary Lane Dispatches Podcast

Armistead Maupin

Pull up a chair on the porch of 28 Barbary Lane—tales, truth, and tea from Armistead Maupin. armisteadmaupin.substack.com

  1. 3D AGO

    The Secret I Didn't Know I Had

    Here’s a transcript of the video: “I lived with a secret, but didn’t know it was a secret. I didn’t even know I was living with it for many, many years. My grandfather died about ten years before I was born, and the circumstances of his death were so not discussed that I simply assumed he had died of cancer or something. It wasn’t until I was a teenager that my friend Clark Crampton told me what I needed to know — that my grandfather had killed himself, had taken a shotgun and offed himself in the family home. This was shocking to me because I couldn’t imagine why no one had ever told me. But now that I look back on it, it’s really clear to me what it was. It was just part of that ailment that Southerners have of needing to keep things secret. Always. The interesting part of this is that everybody knew that this had happened. I found some letters in my grandmother’s bedroom one time — very kind but too-gushy letters about what a fine man my grandfather was. They were clearly meant to reassure my grandmother in some way. And I knew something was off, but I couldn’t tell what it was. Years later, mostly in reference to the closet and my being out and all of that, I made the statement: ‘the world changes in direct proportion to the number of people willing to be honest about their lives’. Chris has always told me that this quote was his favorite of mine over the years. And I thought recently about how it applies to everything — not just being in the closet, but about telling the truth about yourself whenever it’s possible. And it’s always possible. “The world changes in direct proportion to the number of people willing to be honest about their lives.” Don’t have any secrets. Secrets are what get you in trouble. And that was what happened with the treatment of my grandfather’s suicide. My family didn’t talk about it, but everybody gossiped about it. And it was a source of great pain, I’m sure, for my grandmother. And it’s just not necessary. I think that coming out of the closet taught me that. That was one of the great gifts of being an openly gay man and being free to talk about it — and unintimidated by the silences that were mandated at the time. So I think that that aspect of my coming out helped in every aspect of my life. I don’t understand people who have secrets about themselves. I just don’t understand it. I feel like this Southern obsession with keeping up appearances and keeping quiet and being discreet comes directly from England, from the UK. I feel that more and more as I live here in London — that there are people who just keep their discreet silences, and it always gets them in trouble. It’s an Anglo-Saxon disease, I suppose — this business of ‘stiff upper lip’ and shut your mouth. It’s very English, and it translates very nicely to the South, as I experienced at the time. In modern times, though, it’s gotten better. We’re not afraid to talk about mental health. We’re not afraid to talk about what’s beyond the norm. We’ve begun to celebrate people who do. I have realized that the current anti-woke movement is just a new version of that old-timey shut up and get on with it attitude. And that’s another reason why I’m so impatient with it. It’s just the modern way of saying, ‘be quiet. That’s none of your business. You shouldn’t talk about that.’ It’s a way of silencing people — to make something bad about being woke, about evolving as a human being, to make that something that should be mocked. That movement is a way of shaming people who have the courage to speak out and say who they are when it violates the laws of white Anglo-Saxon behavior. Some of the most courageous people I know — trans people, queer people speaking their truths — are heroes to me. Their job is much harder than mine, this old garden-variety queer just saying what he thinks. They are the brave folks. And by extension, these anti-woke people are cowards who don’t have the courage to be themselves and want to punish anybody else who does. You know, I wish my father had been able to tell us about his father’s suicide. I wish he’d been able to discuss it. I think I could have put his mind at ease. He told me years later that that wasn’t such a big deal to him, but I didn’t believe it at all. It obviously was a big deal. He lived with it all his life and tried to keep the secret, and punished my grandmother — and, well, the entire family, really — by not being honest. It takes courage to be yourself, whatever that might happen to be. And I wish that people in these repressed conservative areas would see that, and would realize what an improvement it could make on their own lives if they confront their own truth. It was Chris who encouraged me to pursue this line of thought. I was a little hesitant because I thought maybe I’d already delivered the message. It’s one I believe in, and there’s never too much truth. Sadly, truth is a scarce commodity these days. So I want to celebrate it — in every one of you who has the courage to speak your own truth. Thank you for coming along, and I’ll see you soon.” This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit armisteadmaupin.substack.com/subscribe

    8 min
  2. I'm Back

    4D AGO

    I'm Back

    Here’s a transcript of the video:“Well, I’m back. As some of you may already know, I fell down those stairs over there on Christmas Eve — fifteen stairs — and it’s taken me a while to recuperate. I had three weeks in the hospital — the lovely hospital, NHS care — and then another nine days in the Cotswolds. Chris was scheduled for a ski trip out of town, and I didn’t want him to miss out on that. So I went up there, which is not a bad place to be. It’s really beautiful. My sister’s there, so we would go out and have lovely meals in pubs three or four times that week. Then I came back here, and I’m gradually on the mend. I’m told that the bones — the ribs that were broken — are getting better. So yes, I don’t want to bore you with that anymore. But I’m glad to be back, and I’m glad to be telling you a few more stories. It’s nice seeing signs of spring here in London. The bluebells and the daffodils are poking their heads up, and that’s an encouraging sight. I really have looked forward to this time of year living here, because it’s different. You can really feel the departure of winter. Not completely yet — it’s still cold as hell, especially in this house, which isn’t very well insulated — but anyway, it’s nice to be back and have your company again. I really appreciate everybody who contacted me with concern after my accident. That was really appreciated. I’m glad you’re here, and I’m glad I’m here. I’m grateful, too, to the friends who came just to hang out with me here at the house. Among them were Lord Cashman — Michael Cashman — and Richard Lloyd Morgan, our friend the vicar, who was very sweet and easy to be with. And of course, my husband, Christopher, who was just a marvel during all of this, anticipating my needs. He still is, as a matter of fact, because some of the aches haven’t gone yet. But it’s wonderful having someone who’s so tuned in to how I’m feeling. It’s one of the great joys of having a husband, I suppose. So thank you so much for being here and keeping me company in your own way, allowing me to do these talks. You’ll be hearing a lot more from me — and from Chris. We’re so happy to be back. I’m happy to be back. And thanks for tuning in.” This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit armisteadmaupin.substack.com/subscribe

    3 min
  3. Update from Armistead

    JAN 17

    Update from Armistead

    Here’s a transcript of the video:“Hey there. I just want to give you a bit of an update here. I know Chris let you know that I fell down the stairs on Christmas Eve. I don’t do anything halfway. I fell down 15 stairs and landed on my back, fortunately. I think that’s better than landing on your face. And I was out for about two minutes. I was in the hospital for a couple of weeks, receiving care from the NHS. I have a wonderful memory of being awakened at various hours of the night to be given medication by the lovely people who were so tender and sweet and professional. It was a real eye-opener to see how the NHS works. And now that I’m home, Chris is taking marvelous care of me. I worry sometimes that it’s occupying him too much, but we work it out. So I’m on the mend, and I hope I’ll be up to speed in another two weeks or so. It’s hard to state what this all meant to me, because it really was a wake-up call in many ways. Not because I fell down the steps, but because I was very aware of my mortality and my fragility. It’s an interesting thing to encounter at a certain age. I’m 81 now, so everyone’s expecting me to fall down the stairs, but I wasn’t. In a way, it was an eye-opener in terms of reminding myself that I don’t have that long on this planet. I’m grateful for the people in my life who’ve rallied to take care of me, the chief among them being Chris. I’m grateful that I’m still alive. I know that we live in this crazy, f****d up world. We all know that. We’re all conscious of what’s wrong in the world today. But what’s right for me is that I’m still alive, that I’ve seen love in my life and continue to see it. I know the people that are important to me. And that’s a huge, huge benefit. I think it’s important for all of us to keep focusing on kindness during these difficult times. You can find a refuge in kindness, and I think you should. It doesn’t matter whether you fell down the steps or not. Just focus on kindness. It will get you through every time. That’s really what I have to say: kindness, love. That’s all we have. I’m grateful to still be here. And I’m grateful for you who are listening to this. And I’m grateful for my dog, who just walked into the scene. Thank you for being here. Thank you so much for being here.” This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit armisteadmaupin.substack.com/subscribe

    4 min

  4. 12/24/2025

    A Time for Living

    Here’s a transcript of the video: Well… it’s that time of the year again, when we’re all being forced into a state of jollity and merriment, whether we like it or not. I have done that myself in Tales of the City, celebrating a Christmas spent at Barbary Lane. I’m less likely to do it nowadays because I see it as the myth that it is. It’s not… it’s not what I need. What I need is what I get right now, which is love and peace and a state of overall contentment, because I’m with the people I love. That’s all that matters. And if you don’t have any people to love—if you’re just sitting at home right now—rest assured that I’m with you. I’m here with you right now, wishing you the best. And not because it’s Christmas or Hanukkah or anything else, but because that’s what we deserve this year, because of all the torture that’s happened in the world. It’s hard enough to do anything these days but complain, so I’m trying not to do that. My complaints will come later—probably—but right now I just wish you a peaceful, happy, and joyful part of the year. We all deserve that. And we all should believe in that. Whoever we are, whatever religion we are, there’s a time here for us to find peace in the world. It’s the coldest time of the year in most places, and that’s one of the reasons for the holiday—to stave that off. The lights, the colored lights, all of that. It’s wonderful to see them here in London when we drive into town. It’s not what I rely on, but it’s nice to have. What we need to have, no matter what, is a sense of peace and contentment with the life we’ve been given. Christopher Isherwood, my old mentor, once said, “I’m not afraid of death. I’m afraid of not having lived.” And that is very much my philosophy. I’ve tried to live my life to the fullest and not complain about things so much. Sometimes I’ve succeeded; other times I haven’t—but that’s what I aim for. Especially in these times, it’s easy to become paralyzed, to shut down completely because of all the wickedness in the world. And we must not do that. We must hang on to something we believe in and not succumb to the instinct to shut up, to be quiet. There are a lot of people who would love people like me to shut up and be quiet—but I’m not going to do it. As long as I’ve got a breath in me, I’ll be saying what I believe and wishing the same for others. What I wish for you right now is a lovely holiday of some sort. You don’t have to leave home to do it. You don’t have to be with somebody else to do it. You can be by yourself at home and still celebrate. The main thing is to find peace in your heart, and rely on that. Pet your dog.Pet your cat.Go out and buy a dog or a cat. I’m a great believer in the therapy of animals. And know that there’s love coming in your direction from me. Know that I’m here right now wishing you the best of times. That’s all, really. Love you. This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit armisteadmaupin.substack.com/subscribe

    4 min
  5. My Answer to Anita Bryant: Michael's Letter

    12/22/2025

    My Answer to Anita Bryant: Michael's Letter

    Here’s a transcript of the video: I want to talk to you today about Anita Bryant. That name will mean everything to some of you, probably a small minority of you. Most of you don’t know who she was, so let me tell you. She was a Florida beauty queen who sold orange juice publicly, who decided in 1977 that she was going to oppose a resolution in Miami-Dade County supporting gay people. She was horrified that such a thing was being done. She was a Christian—born-again Christian, as a matter of fact, whatever that means—who took the stand that gay people were a menace and that children must be protected from them. So she started something called the Save Our Children campaign to protect children from homosexuals. I was so enraged on the spot that I didn’t know what I was going to do about it. And then I realized I had a perfect voice in Michael Tolliver, the gay character in Tales of the City. Michael gets a letter from his parents saying how thrilled they are that they’re supporting this wonderful woman, Anita Bryant, in her campaign. And he has to tell them that he’s gay himself. So I wrote this coming-out letter that was part of my series, which was the easiest thing I’ve ever written. It came out of me in less than an hour, I think, sitting at my desk at the Chronicle. I realized that I had said something important when I had done it, because it was so personal. Even though it was Michael talking and not me—I wasn’t brave enough to do that with my parents—but they were getting the newspaper, and they would know, I presume, who I was talking about. I had not come out to my own parents at this point, so this letter was two birds with one stone, I thought. I read the letter at a gathering—something called the Moon Over Miami Benefit—which was an immediate response to Anita Bryant’s f*g-baiting. That was the following weekend, as I remember. It was before it had appeared in the newspaper. It was an amazing moment for me. I went up to the front of the Castro Theatre and read the letter. At the end of it, you could have heard a pin drop. I could hear people crying. I think I might have been crying myself at that point. I sat down in my chair, and suddenly there were all these hands on me—men and women—just touching me in various places, to be a part of my comfort, I suppose. When I reflect on this letter, and on the number of people who’ve said it was their reason for coming out—and some very famous people who read the letter publicly—I realize that it’s probably the most significant thing I’ve ever written. This thing that I did in forty-five minutes. I was speaking truth, I guess, at a time when it needed to be spoken, and many people responded to it. Anita Bryant ended up being successful in her campaign to overturn the ordinance, but she galvanized the gay community in a way that she could never have expected. So many of us all over the country were reacting to her. And it basically cursed her for the rest of her life, because people only thought of her as the woman who was against gay rights in Florida. I think she suffered a little because of it. It makes me a little sad to even think of that—that she was so wrongheaded, so stupid in her Christian beliefs, what she thought were Christian beliefs, that she couldn’t let go of this issue for the rest of her life. She died this year, by the way. I don’t want anybody cheering that on, because I think that’s ugly. She paid the price for her foolishness, for her stupidity. She got hit by a pie in the face once upon a time, and that made publicity. I always wondered if her husband might have been part of the… I just wonder if he was actually gay, and that had been part of her opposition to the concept. She never got out of her ignorance—never climbed out of that pit. I’m not sorry about what happened to her, because it had to happen to her. She was so obstinate in her refusal to see our humanity that she couldn’t end up doing what would have been the Christian thing: accepting the reality of gay life. It’s interesting to note that opposition—the opposition—is often the thing that causes marginalized people to stand up and fight. That’s what happened with her, and that’s what must happen now with the people who are opposing trans rights across the world. This is no time to get quiet, especially if you’re gay—in the old sense of the word, gay. We owe it to our trans brothers and sisters to fight for them at this point. So, having said that, I want to end this little diatribe by reading Michael’s letter to you from many, many moons ago—1977. Dear Mama, I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to write. Every time I try to write to you and Papa I realize I’m not saying the things that are in my heart. That would be O.K., if I loved you any less than I do, but you are still my parents and I am still your child. I have friends who think I’m foolish to write this letter. I hope they’re wrong. I hope their doubts are based on parents who loved and trusted them less than mine do. I hope especially that you’ll see this as an act of love on my part, a sign of my continuing need to share my life with you. I wouldn’t have written, I guess, if you hadn’t told me about your involvement in the Save Our Children campaign. That, more than anything, made it clear that my responsibility was to tell you the truth, that your own child is homosexual, and that I never needed saving from anything except the cruel and ignorant piety of people like Anita Bryant. I’m sorry, Mama. Not for what I am, but for how you must feel at this moment. I know what that feeling is, for I felt it for most of my life. Revulsion, shame, disbelief - rejection through fear of something I knew, even as a child, was as basic to my nature as the color of my eyes. No, Mama, I wasn’t “recruited.” No seasoned homosexual ever served as my mentor. But you know what? I wish someone had. I wish someone older than me and wiser than the people in Orlando had taken me aside and said, “You’re all right, kid. You can grow up to be a doctor or a teacher just like anyone else. You’re not crazy or sick or evil. You can succeed and be happy and find peace with friends - all kinds of friends - who don’t give a damn who you go to bed with. Most of all, though, you can love and be loved, without hating yourself for it.” But no one ever said that to me, Mama. I had to find it out on my own, with the help of the city that has become my home. I know this may be hard for you to believe, but San Francisco is full of men and women, both straight and gay, who don’t consider sexuality in measuring the worth of another human being. These aren’t radicals or weirdos, Mama. They are shop clerks and bankers and little old ladies and people who nod and smile to you when you meet them on the bus. Their attitude is neither patronizing nor pitying. And their message is so simple: Yes, you are a person. Yes, I like you. Yes, it’s all right for you to like me, too. I know what you must be thinking now. You’re asking yourself: What did we do wrong? How did we let this happen? Which one of us made him that way? I can’t answer that, Mama. In the long run, I guess I really don’t care. All I know is this: If you and Papa are responsible for the way I am, then I thank you with all my heart, for it’s the light and the joy of my life. I know I can’t tell you what it is to be gay. But I can tell you what it’s not. It’s not hiding behind words, Mama. Like family and decency and Christianity. It’s not fearing your body, or the pleasures that God made for it. It’s not judging your neighbor, except when he’s crass or unkind. Being gay has taught me tolerance, compassion and humility. It has shown me the limitless possibilities of living. It has given me people whose passion and kindness and sensitivity have provided a constant source of strength. It has brought me into the family of man, Mama, and I like it here. I like it. There’s not much else I can say, except that I’m the same Michael you’ve always known. You just know me better now. I have never consciously done anything to hurt you. I never will. Please don’t feel you have to answer this right away. It’s enough for me to know that I no longer have to lie to the people who taught me to value the truth. Mary Ann sends her love. Everything is fine at 28 Barbary Lane. Your loving son, Michael I get a kick out of reading that, I have to admit, because it reminds me of the truth that I saw forty years ago and still see: that being gay has been the best thing that’s ever happened to me. It’s been the light of my life. As I approach the end of my life—not immediately, I hope, but certainly the last scary decade—I know that I believed that then, and I believe it now. Even though the words change—there are more queers now than gays—that’s fine. I’m happy with that. I like queer. Christopher Isherwood used to say queer. I’m so grateful that I’ve been part of this community and this world, which is filled with compassion and decency and goodness. I’ve seen it all the time, and it makes me pity the people who have not experienced the goodness of gay life. So thank you for coming along today. I do appreciate it, and I’ll see you soon. This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit armisteadmaupin.substack.com/subscribe

    12 min

  6. 12/19/2025

    Holding Forth: The End of the Marina Safeway?

    Here’s a transcript of the video: “Hey there. I recently read that the Marina Safeway in San Francisco is about to be demolished—not by Trump, who seems to be a specialist in this—but by an equally greedy corporation that wants to put up a 790-unit apartment building, 85 of which are designated for low-income people. That’s good news. But the plan they’ve put in place is this enormously high thing right there on the waterfront. And I admit that my attachment to a grocery store is sentimental as much as anything, because Tales of the City began—the very first episode of Tales, the one that appeared in the Pacific Sun before I started writing for the Chronicle—hinged on a young woman going to the Marina Safeway, trying to pick up a guy, and ending up meeting a gay man there: Michael Tolliver. So it’s got a very sentimental attachment for me. I mean, you know, over the years I’ve celebrated the Marina Safeway. Some people are divided, rather, in San Francisco. Some people say, ‘Well, we need it. We need affordable housing,’ especially down there where you can’t get anything for less than $3,000 a month. And others are saying it’s a monstrosity that’s too big and too ugly and doesn’t need to happen. I tend to side with people who don’t like greedy developers. I’ve learned that over the years. When they come in to do something, they can f**k up a place very badly. On the other hand, Chris and I moved to London because the rental properties had gotten so out of hand. It’s far, far cheaper to live in London than it was to live in San Francisco. Londoners don’t believe that, but it was true for us. So that was part of our motivation for leaving, and I sympathize with people who want more affordable housing in San Francisco. It’s up to you to figure out what that means—especially those of you who live closer to the Marina Safeway than I do these days. Ezra Klein tells us that he believes one of the problems with liberals—and I consider myself one, and he’s one too—is that we oppose housing projects. And one of the big issues we have is that there’s not enough affordable housing. So there has to be an answer to that somehow or other, and for all I know, this could be it. I’m not asking you to have a sentimental attachment to the Marina Safeway, but I think it’s worth discussing the whole thing. It is a bit of a monstrosity, from the pictures I’ve seen. And so I’d like to know what you think. If you want to pipe up on that subject—if you’re a San Franciscan especially—let me know.” Here’s an article on the proposed development: Marina Residents Erupt Over Giant 25-Story Tower Plan for Beloved Safeway This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit armisteadmaupin.substack.com/subscribe

    4 min
  7. Ask Me Anything: December 17th

    12/17/2025

    Ask Me Anything: December 17th

    Here’s a transcript of the video: This is the third Ask Me Anything feature we’ve done. So I’ve got some questions here from people who are asking me anything. This is from John Hemm.Oh—hi, John. I know this person from many years ago. “What is yours and Chris’s favorite holiday, and how do you spend it?” Well, we don’t really have favorite holidays. I’ve found that living in England—if you ignore Christmas—it kind of comes to you. Years ago, I asked my cousin John if they did Christmas in England, and he laughed at me. Boy, do they do it here. It’s amazing—and it’s nice. Just driving down the street brings it to you. We also like Thanksgiving, mainly because there’s some good eating involved and we don’t have to do anything except be grateful for what we have. So yeah—those are the two. Dave Taylor-Bocanegra asks: “I hope I’m not too late. Wondering if you believe Mona of the Manor will ever be brought to film. I absolutely adored it.” Well, thank you, Dave. I’m proud of that book, and I’m glad you liked it. I have no idea whether it’s ever going to be a film. I never know. Things happen in my life kind of serendipitously. People call up and say, “What about maybe The Moon?” after years of ignoring it. And that may happen with Mona of the Manor. I would like to think it will. I think it’s a fun story. Neil Sechan says: “I started reading your daily posts in the Chron in 1976 and was active in the campaign against the Briggs Initiative in 1978, where I met my husband of 47-plus years… Oh, that’s sweet. … I would be interested in finding out your thoughts about the politics of that era and how it compares and contrasts with the current difficult political situation.” Well, I think it’s worse now—mainly because of Trump and the sort of fascist regime he’s brought into power. There were ugly things going on back then, like the Briggs Initiative, but I don’t quite know what to tell you except that it’s worse—and better in some ways. A lot of us are speaking out and making our voices heard, and I’m not afraid to do that. It’s surprising how many people were afraid to speak out in those days, even though we had leadership—people like Cleve Jones—who really got people riled up in a good way. Yeah, we’re still going to have to fight the battle. They’re still trying to get trans people, in one way or another, and I’m not going to desert the fight until we’ve dealt with that. Okay, next. Joseph Tay Wee Teck writes: “I was 23 in 1996 in Galway, Ireland, and just out when I encountered the Tales of the City stories and somehow every word, line and chapter felt as real and tangible to me as if I had lived through it all. When you wrote these amazing stories Armistead, could you have known of the timelessness and relevance of your words across the years and generations?” No, I didn’t dream that such a thing would happen. It’s the great joy of my life that it did—and that people still find things to love in the books. You don’t set out to write something that’s going to survive across the ages. When I started writing Tales, I really didn’t know what I was doing. They didn’t know what I was doing at the Chronicle either. It just sort of emerged from me, and suddenly there was a gay character. I knew that I had to allow my own politics to come to the fore, so Michael Tolliver became as vocal as I was in many ways. I couldn’t have dreamed it would last this long, and I’m very happy that it did. You never really know when you start creating something. You just try to live in the moment—which is what I did. And because I did, it had resonance, I think, and still does. Thanks for the question, Joseph Tewi Tek. That must be Irish stuff if you were living in Galway. Beatrice writes: “How big was Rock Hudson’s dick, and was he circumcised? Do not use my name. I have enough problems already.” Oh dear. I just did. You have a good sense of humor, Beatrice. I’ve dealt with this in other places, so you know it was big and kind of gnarly. I honestly don’t remember if he was circumcised—it may have been partial. It’s ridiculous to even be talking about this, but I promised I would answer questions. All right, here’s one from Mike: “I remember every week dropping a quarter into the yellow SF Chronicle newspaper vending machines to see the latest Tales. When the books came out, I bought them all. Read each one. Curious: do the books exactly mirror the Chron installments of Tales? I seem to recall some differences, but I’m not sure of it.” Well, I did have a chance to rewrite and tidy things up. It’s better in the form you’ve read in the books. I don’t think you’re going to find some lost gem by tracking down the old Chronicle copies. I was flying by the seat of my pants back then. I just had to get it on the page while I could. You might like to know that when it came time to compile the episodes into a book, I went down to Palm Springs—where all good things happen. My friend Kirk Frederick became my typist. We had the newspaper clippings spread out on the floor, and he very kindly acted as my stenographer. A doctor friend of my parents actually prescribed me some sort of speed to help me write. I wrote like crazy—but by the end of it, I was suicidal. I was very upset, accusing friends who’d gone off to party of deserting me. I was a mess. This was at Rock Hudson’s house, by the way. I don’t think I’ve mentioned that before. He kindly lent me his Palm Springs house to write the damn thing. So—yeah. What more do you need to know? Jonathan L writes: When you returned to the Tales universe starting with “Michael Tolliver Lives,” do you feel you were influenced in writing the characters by the actors who portrayed the characters onscreen, specifically Laura Linney and Olympia Dukakis? Funny you should say that—Laura became Mary Ann for me almost immediately. She understood every nuance of that character, and I began to hear her voice in my head as I wrote. To a lesser degree, Olympia influenced the writing as well. When the producers were casting Tales, they sent me a videotape of Laura reading for another role and asked if she might work as Mary Ann. I took one look and said, “Work for her? She is Mary Ann.” That led to a great professional collaboration and a wonderful friendship. Laura later named her son Bennett Armistead Shower, which still moves me deeply. She’s someone I treasure. She understands me, always has, and we laugh at the same things. Her kindness is one of her greatest qualities—though she also has a wicked little cackle that lets you know you’re really laughing. I’m not being very eloquent here because I’ve never tried to define exactly what I love about Laura. But I do love her with all my heart. Olympia, of course, was a great, great actress. She knew exactly what to do with Anna Madrigal. Today people might say she shouldn’t have played the role because she wasn’t trans—but she owned it, completely. In some scenes she would say, “I’m going to let the man out now,” referring to Anna’s past. She was sensitive, intuitive, and brought real joy to the role. I’ll always be grateful to her for establishing Anna in everyone’s mind—and she did it as a straight woman. Go figure. Olympia was also a close friend. She would call me on my s**t sometimes, which you can imagine. I miss her terribly. She was something primal in my life, not just as Anna but as a person, and I wish I could still spend time with her. So thank you, Jonathan, for letting me celebrate some very special people. And thank you to everyone who tuned in today. I really appreciate it—and I’ll see you next time. This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit armisteadmaupin.substack.com/subscribe

    13 min

  8. 12/12/2025

    My Relationship with Rock Hudson

    Here’s a transcript of the video:Today I’d like to tell you about my friendship—relationship, whatever you want to call it—with Rock Hudson. It began, as many gay stories begin, with a friend of a friend introducing us. I had met Jack Coates in the desert in Palm Springs when I went down for what I thought was a gallery opening in which Rock would be in attendance. A friend of mine and I thought that would be a good thing to go to. And he wasn’t there. We ended up in the desert with everybody but Rock Hudson—all these people who knew him and many who loved him. And I fell in the sack with a guy named Jack Coates, who had been Rock’s partner for years—lover, I think we called him back then. He’d been his lover for four or five years, and I could see why. Jack was an amazingly charismatic guy: very charming, balding—maybe even bald at that point—and he had chest hair that was architectural in its swirliness. We became friends. I thought I was in love, and he was very tactfully making it clear that we weren’t. He was actually dating a diver from the Berkeley swim team, whom I met subsequently through him. Anyway, you don’t need to know all this—stream of consciousness here. Jack took me to San Bernardino to see a production of John Brown’s Body that Rock was starring in. Even then I thought it was pretty awful. Rock was supposed to die, and when he hit the stage it was like a timber falling. He was just this big, loud whomp. It was not the best play, and I think he was told it was an artistic thing and he should do it, so he did it. Afterwards there was a line to meet him. Jack led me back into this interior hallway leading up to Rock’s dressing room. At the moment I got to Rock and shook his hand, the lights went out. The only thing I could think to say was, “Well, this is certainly the opportunity of a lifetime.” He laughed in the dark. And that’s where our friendship began. That was the moment for me. I don’t know whether he felt anything at all. Some months later I got the call that Rock was coming to San Francisco, and he put together a group of men to hang out with him. I was among them, and he really surprised me by standing up and saying, “I have a little reading I want to do.” He had been down to the newsstand at the Fairmont Hotel and obtained a copy of the Bulldog edition of the San Francisco Chronicle—the one that came out the night before. He stood up and read the first chapter of Tales of the City. He knew I had written something, and he went through the trouble of figuring out what it was. He was a little drunk at the time, but it was charming. And I think he kind of figured it would get me into bed—and it did. The next night, as a matter of fact, he and his partner, Tom Clark, invited me to join them at La Bourgogne, this very fancy restaurant in the Tenderloin. We talked about—he knew I was an activist, a gay activist—and the subject came up of when and how he was going to come out. I offered to write the story for him. I said, “I could do it. I’m the guy to do it, really, because I’m out and I know you.” His partner got a terrible look on his face and said, “Not until my mother dies.” That was a peculiar thing to say, I thought. Anybody who was f*****g Rock Hudson would be very proud for his mother to know it. At the end of that evening we headed up the hill to the hotel. Tom kind of flaked out and said he was too tired and was going to bed. So Rock and I caught a cable car together. It was fascinating to watch how the crowd reacted when they saw who he was. They were like, “It’s Commissioner McMillan,” which was the role he was playing at the time on McMillan & Wife. We got back, found Tom already passed out in the bedroom, and Rock and I sat at opposite ends of the living room making conversation. Finally he said, “Well, I should be over there or you should be over here,” which was the only signal I required. We were having a grand old time making out, but I wasn’t up to the task in any way. It was just too intimidating. There was too much clouding it all for me. Finally he came over and sat next to me and said, “You know, I’m just a guy like you.” And I said, “No, you’re not, and I’m Doris Day.” We had a bit of a laugh. It wasn’t the first time he’d heard that, but it was the first time I’d gotten a chance to say it. We had better success on subsequent visits—to his home in L.A., which was called The Castle, and at the house in San Francisco. Chris was surprised to hear this. He thought my only part of the story was that I couldn’t get it up and that was that. But we had several other shots at it, and we did pretty well. He did have a legendarily large penis. It wasn’t the prettiest one I’d ever seen, but it was the biggest. Most of all, what you need to know about Rock was that he was a very sweet man. He seduced the world by being so kind and attentive. He thought everybody should have a lover. He had Tom Clark, who I thought was the world’s worst lover because he was such a b***h—so grumpy and bossy with Rock. Rock made it his mission to see that I found a lover. Back in those days, a lover was a husband. That’s what he wanted for me. When he heard that I’d met somebody and gone on a Princess cruise—on The Love Boat, no less—he insisted on meeting me at the dock. He drove down to San Pedro and met us there. I’ll never forget the look on this woman’s face when she asked who was meeting me. I pointed and said, “That tall guy down there.” And she said, “Oh my God, that’s Rock Hudson.” I won’t pretend I didn’t enjoy that. I did. He felt like confirmation of what I’d always believed gay life could bring you. It had brought me Rock Hudson, at least as a friend. I had been a fan of his for many years—from Giant to Pillow Talk and Lover Come Back. Those Doris Day movies all made me love him. To find myself in a frisky friendship with him was astounding. I wrote about it in my diary—what it felt like to be at the Castle and to be his confidant. He had famous pool parties with gorgeous men—never too young; he liked men over 30, thank God. I was 32, and Jack Coates was 32. At one party a PR man named Warren Seabury showed up with Michelle Phillips, thinking he could crash it. Rock said, “He’s brought a woman with him.” I had to go deal with it. When I realized it was Michelle Phillips, I was dumbstruck. I told her the truth—that Rock had asked to have the thirty most gorgeous men in town meet him. She was a great sport and said she’d given those instructions herself. Despite all this, I was troubled by the Hollywood closet and what it required of him. I was often asked to leave when Liz Taylor or Nancy Walker came by. His closest friends—his logical family—were George Nader and Tom Clark. They went out in odd numbers with briefcases so it looked like a business meeting. My world was San Francisco, where people were out and unashamed. Rock and his circle were terrified of exposure, especially with Confidential magazine always circling. His agent even sold out other stars to protect him. It was an evil place to be. Eventually it strained our friendship. I stopped calling and let it go. I was becoming more famous myself and didn’t want a secret friendship. When he was diagnosed with AIDS, Randy Shilts asked me to comment. I did, saying he was a good man and that everyone in Hollywood knew he was gay. I didn’t realize how much backlash I’d get. People accused me of breaking a code. The word “outing” didn’t even exist yet. But Chris has told me that hearing the news as a teenager made a huge difference in his life. It gave him strength. That’s what I hoped would happen. Later I learned that when Rock hired a biographer, he told her I was the first person she should visit. That meant everything to me. I never saw him again. But he received tens of thousands of fan letters saying they loved him just as he was. He became a pioneer. He owned his truth in the end. I’m grateful I knew him, and I still get a shiver watching his movies—now with an understanding that makes all those jokes make sense. I treasure that memory, and I’d like to think I made a difference in his life, even if it wasn’t the way he planned. Thanks for coming along today, and I look forward to the next time we meet. This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit armisteadmaupin.substack.com/subscribe

    25 min
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Pull up a chair on the porch of 28 Barbary Lane—tales, truth, and tea from Armistead Maupin. armisteadmaupin.substack.com

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