See Gene & John Run
By Jeff Kagan
Picture it: New York City, 1953. President Eisenhower is in the White House, the Korean War is just coming to an end. I Love Lucy dominates the airwaves as the most popular show on television, and an 18-year-old Elvis Presley just recorded his first song. American life is as picturesque and pleasing as a Norman Rockwell painting.
While life seemed so “carefree and gay” for most, there were many who couldn’t be as carefree and gay as they wanted to be. Being a gay American in that era meant hiding your sexual orientation from your family and your employer. It was in 1953 that President Eisenhower signed Executive Order 10450 which mandated “sexual perverts” be fired from federal jobs. At that time, homosexuality was defined a disease, and gays were portrayed in public service films (one was titled Boys Beware) as having a “sickness that was not visible, like smallpox, but no less dangerous and contagious.” It would be another 20 years before the American Psychiatric Association declassified homosexuality as a mental disorder. Regardless of the discrimination and openly accepted condemnation, gays and lesbians persevered, living their lives in the underground and somehow managing to get by.
At age 24, John Kiley left his hometown of Adelaide, Australia, and came to the United States, settling in New York City. He secured a job with the Australian government as a writer with the news and information bureau, a precursor to the current Australian tourism department.
One warm evening in June 1953 John was having drinks with a friend at Lenny’s Hideaway, a basement bar on 10th Street between Seventh and Eighth avenues in the West Village when he struck up a conversation with a young, dark-complexioned man named Gene Silbert. A friendship commenced, and soon grew to be more than friendship. Neither could have imagined the future they’d have together.
In the winter if 1958 John decided to take up skiing. He had never seen snow in his homeland of Australia, and he was fascinated by it. He asked his friend Louis to teach him some “pre-ski” exercises. Louis went to the gym quite often, which was not at all the norm as it is today. “We thought he was absolutely weird to lift weights. At that time, the only people we knew of that went to a gym looked like Charles Atlas,” Gene says. “We said ‘Louis, if you go to the gym you’re going to end up like that. And if you stop, you’ll turn to fudge!’”
John recollects the defined muscle-boys who frequented the gymnasium, as well as the pungent scent of Ben-Gay in the air. “It was very off-putting,” he says. Louis brought him to calisthenics class on the basketball court. The instructor was a tough Frenchman named Renee who had a slight resemblance to Otto Preminger (Mr. Freeze from the 1960s Batman TV series). And in the corner was an upright grand piano with a little old lady playing show tunes as they trained eight-beats to the bar. At the end of the workout, they ran laps around the court.
One day, they arrived at the gymnasium to find they couldn’t use it—the floor was being shellacked. Louis said, “C’mon. We’re going to go run out on the street.” John was embarrassed by just the thought of running in public. “It just wasn’t done!” he says. Realizing he didn’t have any other options, he conceded—a touch of humiliation in the name of fitness.
John began running regularly, outdoors too, and soon convinced Gene to run with him. One afternoon they were both running up Fifth Avenue near Central Park. A car drove by and the driver hurled a bagel at John, along with some colorful metaphors. On the way back home, running down Madison Avenue, another car drove by and the driver threw coffee on him. As much as this was a disheartening sign of the times, John makes light of the situation by saying at least he got breakfast out of it.
Tourism was not only a professional aspiration for John, but a personal one. And since he (and Gene) had added running to their likes, they figured, why not combine them? They continued to run, touring Europe, literally running through dozens of countries as they travelled. “From Hong Kong to the Dominican Republic,” John remarks. In 1990, they participated in the Gay Games in Vancouver, Canada. This would be the first of many trips they’d take to the quadrennial tournament. Gene says, “Remember, we’re old guys and we were already old guys 20 years ago. We were both runners, but we never ran with any groups.” Every four years, they returned to the Gay Games: New York (1994), Amsterdam (1998), Sydney (2002) and Cologne (2010), only absent from Chicago in 2006. Did they win any medals? “More than I can carry,” says Gene. As they got older, so did the competition, and the pool of athletes got smaller. John says, “There’s very little competition in our age classification. But now I swim, as I wore out my right hip. I get in the pool and I’m the only one, so they say, ‘Get to the end,’ and I do, and get my gold medal!” As one of their friends once observed, “He or she that lives longest, wins.”
Gene and John are thankful that the years have been good to them. A little over 10 years ago, when they reached their seventies, they decided it was time to plan for the future. They needed a will, with the idea that once they “cross that big finish line in the sky,” their savings would be given to their favorite charities. It was important to them that their money go towards enriching the lives of young LGBT athletes. They recognized the impact that sports had on their own lives over the years: the camaraderie, general togetherness and healthy lifestyle, and they wanted to be able to provide the same for LGBT youth. “It was not until we started running with the gay group and then went to Vancouver that so many people came up to us and said, ‘If only we had this (gay sports) when we were a little younger, it would have made our lives so much more wonderful,’” John says.
Their attorney suggested the best approach would be to start a foundation, so the Gene & John Rainbow Community Foundation was born. They both handled the major aspects themselves: soliciting applications, reviewing them, and deciding on the final recipients. As time went on, however, it became difficult to manage. “When we originally discussed it with our lawyer, people were not out as they are now. Young people were not nearly as sophisticated, and all the technology did not exist. Finding applicants was somewhat difficult. And we kept on getting older.” John says.
They then paired up with the Stonewall Community Foundation, which helped them find applicants and managed the scholarships on Gene and John’s behalf. In 2002, the newly named Gene & John Athletic Fund of Stonewall was launched at Gay Games VI in Sydney. Its mission is to promote a healthy and productive lifestyle through athletic endeavor, and to provide inspiring role models for gay, lesbian and transgender athletes of all ages. Additionally, the fund enables athletes to continue their education while pursuing athletics. This year, they awarded two recipients each $2,500 scholarships. Since its inception, the fund has given out more than $30,000 to LGBT athletes all over the United States.
At 84 and 83, respectively, Gene and John have been together close to 60 years. They know a thing or two about a thing or two. Living a healthy lifestyle is one way to ensure longevity. These days, the philanthropic octogenarians sit in their Murray Hill apartment nostalgically looking back through the decades, musing over their experiences—how they first met, how they started running and how they were able to give something back to their community for future generations of athletes. “And it all started on the gym floor with show tunes!” John says with an ear-to-ear grin.
To learn more about the Gene & John Athletic Fund of Stonewall, or to make a contribution, go to geneandjohnfoundation.org.
Find more articles by Jeff Kagan at outinthelockerroom.com.
