Miami Herald - November 4, 2008
Daniel Shoer Roth

"A positive attitude helps," he continues.

Indeed, Lamas, 55, has not only buried his closest friends but also his brother -- all of them dying of AIDS over the course of the last 20 years while he was also suffering from the virus.

"I concentrate on one thing at a time, without letting my illness destroy me emotionally," he explains without bitterness.

Lamas' perseverance, combined with scientific advances, has allowed him and countless others who contracted HIV during the 1980s to escape the death sentences many thought they had been handed. This week, which marks the 20th anniversary of World AIDS Day, they remember 545,000 people in the United States who weren't so lucky.

Lamas doesn't know when he was infected, though he believes it was after coming to Miami in 1986. He was born in Cardenas, Cuba, where he lived a humble but pleasant childhood, until he began exhibiting feminine traits at age 11. Though he faced discrimination, he took courses in ballet and folk dance and scored his first role at the age of 21 with the cabaret Parisienne of the Hotel Nacional in Havana.

His artistic career flourished: taking the stage at the Copa of the Hotel Riviera and the emblematic Tropicana. By the mid-1980s, the Castro regime tried to recruit him as an informant and he felt the urgency to emigrate. He left the island thanks to his brother, who was gay and living in Miami.

Here, Lamas had to start over, but he got a role in a transvestite show that played on Calle Ocho and another gig with comedian Nestor Cabell. During the next five years, Lamas saw his friends fall like dominos. In 1989, he took an HIV test and the results came back positive. Healthcare options were scarce so he tried alternative therapies he heard about: taking cat's claw, oxygenating his blood and injecting cucumber extract.

"The time came when I didn't even know where I stood or what to do with my life," recalls Lamas. It was then that he succumbed to alcohol and drugs.

While dueling with death, he was forced to face the stigma of AIDS.

"People didn't want to shake your hand, and even gays would isolate you. You had to keep it absolutely secret," recalls Lamas, who also suffers from diabetes and blood clots.

It was impossible to cover up. Anti-retroviral therapies damaged his face and a mound of fat accumulated on his neck. Thanks to the advent of pharmaceutical cocktails, he slowly recovered. Last week, I was with him when he received wonderful news: his CD4 blood cell count was like a healthy person's and his viral load was very low.

But destiny doesn't always smile on him. His leg bothers him and although his health care and living expenses are covered, he receives just $637 from Social Security a month.

Just the same, he takes walks in Miami Beach, spends time with friends who care for him and participates in a twelve-step program that has helped him remain sober for more than a year.

"I've been to hell and back ," sighs the former dancer. "How did I do it? Only God knows."

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