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.
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