BEING ALIVE: February 1995
Jim Stoecker

In looking back on the last five and a half years, I realized that I have been very lucky indeed in the people I have known. Special people, out of the ordinary people, people who have indeed made a difference. Some of these people, I am happy to say, I still see regularly; some unfortunately are now living at a distance-and some have simply vanished, vanished to I certainly don't know where.

One of the truly special people I have been lucky enough to know is the man whose life I am remembering here, my good friend, Gilbert Cornilliet. I first met Gilbert in the late summer of 1989 at the old Being Alive offices on the wrong end of Santa Monica Boulevard in Silver Lake. My good friend Emily had convinced me that I ought to be working on the Being Alive Newsletter and Gilbert had started in being the Newsletter's resident computer genius just the month before. From that first day, I knew Gilbert and I would be friends. There was a kind of instant rapport and I knew we'd work well together. He smiled at the things I said and laughed at all the right lines.

It didn't take long for Gilbert, Emily and I to form a strong team. We were all amateurs; we really didn't know exactly what we were doing. But we learned pretty quickly. And the Newsletter soon took on a kind of professional sheen-thanks in large part to Gilbert's virtuosic computer skills and Emily's unflagging perfectionism. A few years back, my doctor was trying to produce his own small quarterly newsletter, and I remember him asking me in some amazement how Being Alive was able to put out a monthly Newsletter of such high quality with only volunteer help. And I told him the answer to that was simple: you just needed the right volunteers.

Over the years that I have worked on the Newsletter, many people have helped and I remember them all today. We certainly missed Emily when she moved to the East Coast. Though we understood why she left, Gilbert and I both felt a bit bereft. But we carried on.

Even as his health deteriorated, as it did over the last couple of years, Gilbert was there at his post one weekend a month. I often wondered how he could sit in front of a computer for hours on end, but I was sure glad he could. Some months with his condition so precarious, I thought we just weren't going to make it. But we did. Not an issue was missed; not an issue was late.

Finally, with his brain surgery last June, Gilbert just couldn't go on with his Newsletter work. I remember him calling me and saying, "Jim, I don't think I will be able to do the June Newsletter. They are going to open up my head." I think maybe he thought he would be back with us some weekend, but it didn't happen. Nonetheless, he remained involved. I would discuss with him what we were doing, because he was genuinely interested, and I would ask his advice about things-not as a courtesy, but because I needed that advice.

The weekend before Gilbert died, we were working on the January Newsletter. Mark, who appeared somewhat miraculously and took up being our computer genius when Gilbert was forced to retire, was having some problems-what I don't know-but I figured if anyone would know the answer, Gilbert would. So I got him on the phone and he said "let me talk to Mark." He knew I wouldn't know what the hell he was talking about. With Mark sitting at the computer, Gilbert walked him through step by step and in about five minutes solved the problem. That was less than a week before he died.

I think of the friendship that Gilbert and I shared as something new, unique, special for these plague years. Certainly, we grew close over the five and a half years we knew each other. Those two days each month weren't all spent focused on the Newsletter. We had our laughs and our lunches. We had our occasional social evenings too-Gilbert was the one person I could always get to go to a French movie. But mingled with our personal relationship was our common cause. We were comrades, as well as friends. And out of our relationship we were able to produce something that was of value to the larger community -our community, the infected community, the diseased pariahs.

Our friendship was not only about him and me, it was about the work we were doing, it was about trying to make a difference. In some ways, you might say, we egged each other on. Gilbert's dedication kept me going, kept me focused on the fight. And I would hope that I might have, at times, kept him going too. Perhaps, that is what friendship is all about in this Age of AIDS.

Yes, I am a very lucky person. That Thursday night, the night before Gilbert died, I went over to DeLongpre for a visit. I knew deep down that the end was close, though I hardly realized how close. When I got there, things were pretty chaotic with Robbie Jenkins stopping by, and the nurse in to do her number, and equipment being delivered. Gilbert's room was stifling and stuffy with the humidifier whirling. But finally things settled down. Chris had taken a break and gone out to dinner. Walt was busy on the phone in the dining room. And we, my friend and I, were alone and quiet. At some point, Gilbert said to me, "Well, Jim, what have you got to tell me?" And so I told him. I told him essentially what I am trying to tell you here. How deeply grateful I am for his friendship-not only for what it means to me personally, but also because we were able to make something of our friendship, because together we were able to do something for others-so many others we don't even know-others, like us, caught up in this plague. I told Gilbert that last night that we were a great team, he and I. And he agreed.

Finally, I have to say that watching a friend die brings on a jumble of thoughts and feelings. And one thing I am feeling more and more is a deep-seated anger. It is just not right that so terrific a human being should die so awful a death, that a person who had so much humanity to contribute should have his life ended far too soon. But we know this-we've heard it before, we've said it often. There has been way too much dying in our community-and we fear there will only be more.

Gilbert and I would, from time to time, talk about the last issue of the Newsletter. "Cure Found" screams the headline, with the subhead saying "Newsletter Ceases Publication." I am afraid we are far from the last issue. Right now, I would be extremely happy to see "Way to Manage Virus Discovered" with the subhead "Newsletter Readership Drops Off Dramatically." That would definitely be OK. But at this point, even that seems but a pipe dream.

So, despite all the death or maybe because of it, we have to continue the struggle. We have to pick ourselves up and keep on going, difficult as it may be in this now colder and emptier world. Today we need to rededicate ourselves to the fight against HIV, until those Newsletter headlines become a reality. That, it seems to me, is the finest tribute that we can offer our fallen friend and comrade.

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