EDGE on the Net

I’ve never been one to let go of a grudge. When I was ten, a red-headed, curly-haired girl in my acting class, Jeanette, accused me of stealing her bracelet. She announced the "theft" in front of the entire room, at the prestigious theatrical conservatory I attended in San Francisco. Good (read "rich") children didn’t steal, and since I lived in the suburbs and was overweight, middle class, and, well, a much better actor than she was, I must have been the perpetrator. I distinctly remember the horror of not being able to prove my innocence, and wondering how many of her friends, let alone the instructor, believed her. I don’t know if she ever found the real culprit, but I know she never apologized.

In Seventh Grade, my Third Period Social Studies Teacher, Mrs. Moyner, announced to the entire class that I had cheated on an exam. I’d gotten an "A," and she said, and I quote, "I don’t know how David Toussaint cheated, but I know he cheated." Granted, I’d been a very poor student, I didn’t much care for my teacher, and I’d infuriated her one day when, during the "current events" portion of class, I held up my hand to announce that it was National Condom Day (it was). I wanted her approval, however, and had studied furiously for that exam. The joy was short-lived after her comment, one that she never retracted. I’m still waiting for my name to be cleared.

So it’s no surprise that I still hold a grudge against Bride’s magazine. In 2003, I wrote a one-page article for the Conde Nast publication on gay and lesbian weddings. Titled "Outward Bound," the story seemed revolutionary at the time, a first for the most successful, and oldest, bridal magazine on the newsstand. In an editorial meeting when the idea came up, I said we ought to do it before someone else did, and then asked to write it. I wanted the assignment for two reasons: One, I knew I could do a good job, and two, I knew it would get a lot of publicity. After seven years as a part-time in-house freelance writer and copy editor, I hoped it could move my career forward.

When the article came out six months’ later, a mere 750 words, no one seemed to notice. I heard rumblings from a couple higher-ups that there had been some phone calls, pro and con, and perhaps a letter or two, but that was it. Advertisers did not pull out. I was a little surprised that there wasn’t more coverage, so I phoned the magazine’s PR woman, Lauren, to give her ideas. She said she wasn’t interested. Fair enough.

I took over. I sent out emails, usually as other people, to, among others, The Advocate, Out, Time, Newsweek, and the New York Times’ columnists Frank Rich and Maureen Dowd. Sometimes I feigned shock, claiming I was the father of a 28-year-old girl and was mortified to see such an outrageous story in a conservative bridal magazine. Or I just wrote, "Those Queer Eye guys are nothing: Have you read what’s in Bride’s?" Perhaps my actions were unseemly; I don’t know. I do know that, in writing, waiting around for someone to give you an opportunity is like waiting to win the Lottery in order to make a million. I also believed I was pushing a good product.

I remembered a freelance reporter I’d met a few months’ previously, and called him with the news. Within 48 hours, Bill called and said he’d gotten permission to write the piece for the New York Times Business Section. He asked if I wanted him to tell the powers that be that we knew each other, and I said no; I wasn’t sure how they’d react, and I didn’t want to risk losing the story.

The next time I heard from Bill he told me he’d spoken to the PR woman at Bride’s, and she wouldn’t let him interview me. He could interview the Publisher and the Editor in Chief, but not the author. When Bill said it was standard to speak to the writer, Lauren said any information needed could be provided from other sources.

Turns out, Bill had mentioned that he’d found something I’d written on the Internet that identified me as a gay man, and, in pre-prep interviewing, he’d asked them their thoughts on having a gay man do the story; if they did it on purpose, if it affected the outcome of the piece, that kind of thing. The situation turned almost comical, as I would get a call from Bill telling me the latest "no-David" news, and, right afterward, I’d hear Lauren phoning up the Managing Editor (her office was about ten feet from my desk), after which point she would close her door until the conversation ended.

I gathered from Bill that the people at Bride’s weren’t thrilled at the "revelation" that my sexuality might be discussed and exposed. Ironically, the article in question, "The Striking Similarities Between the Chelsea Boy and the Conde Nast Girl," had been posted on the bulletin board above my desk at Bride’s for seven years. No one had ever complained; several people, including the Editor in Chief, had laughed, but no one had complained.

Bill finally called Lauren and said he’d still do the article, but he’d have to mention that Bride’s refused to let him speak to David Toussaint. Within minutes, Lauren called me with gee-whiz joy and said, "Hey, do you want to be interviewed for the New York Times?!" The phone interview went great, even though Lauren coached me beforehand on what I could or could not say. (She also insisted on listening in on another phone line.) When I asked Lauren what her specific concerns were, she mentioned something "controversial" I’d written on the Internet. I pointed to the article above my desk and said, "You mean this?" Bill never asked me if I was gay during the interview; he later told me he decided it was irrelevant.

On July 28, 2003, the New York Times printed Bill’s article on the front page of the Business section. It was glorious, and I arrived to work a star -- someone from another Conde Nast publication stopped me in the elevator to congratulate me. In the office, everyone was abuzz, the Managing Editor thrilled that her instincts were correct, and that the article would generate tons of buzz! Bill told me the story was one of the most emailed New York Times’ articles of the day, and I couldn’t wait until the next round of publicity hit.

A week later and nothing happened. Two weeks’ later I received an email on my home account from a South American radio station saying they’d been trying to locate me for an interview, but couldn’t reach me. I emailed them back and said I’d love to take part in the spot, and that I would clear it with my bosses. When I phoned Lauren with the great news, she told me that she knew about the radio station, that under no circumstances was I allowed to take part, and that Bride’s would not be publicizing the piece. When I told her that, as a freelance writer, publicity is imperative to generate work, she reminded me that, as a "team player," I wouldn’t want to do anything that might jeopardize my job.

That same week, another Bride’s editor, Cynthia, approached me in the hall and asked if I’d spoken to the editor at Random House who’d been trying to reach me. Turns out, Cynthia (who worked in a different department than Editorial) was friendly with a couple of Random House employees and one of them called her after not being able to reach me. (My home phone is not listed.) Since I worked freelance, my direct line at work was not with the Conde Nast operator, and you would need to get the number from one of my superiors, like the Managing Editor or the Editor in Chief. As I found out later, an editor from the Ballantine Books Division of Random House was in the market for a gay and lesbian wedding-book author. She wanted to meet with me ASAP.

That was a Friday, and I called Lauren to say that, if there was a reason why I was not allowed to speak to the press, someone needed to let me know what it was. Lauren reminded me that, in my contract for the piece, as in every contract, I was not allowed to speak to the press about an article until six months after the release date, unless I had permission. Then she reminded me that I was part of the Bride’s "family," and how sure she was that I’d want to remain a member. She did not express sorrow or regret that I would be losing potential business. Lauren was correct about the contract stipulation: If I had forgotten, it was because in all my writings about the Top Ten Caribbean Swim-Up Bars or the Best Wedding Movie Scenes Ever, no one had ever warned me about making a comment to the press.

Over the weekend, Maureen Dowd wrote a column about the gay brouhaha taking place in the country, and she mentioned my Bride’s piece. (Someone was reading my emails.) I sent her an email, explained the situation at work, and within an hour, Ms. Dowd emailed me back and told me she thought I should speak to the press and be prepared to get fired. She said she would then hook me up with someone from the Metropolitan Section, as the sudden firing of the openly gay writer of the gay wedding piece would probably raise a red flag. I didn’t want to lose my job but I realized she was right.

On Monday morning, fired up and prepared to get fired, I was, instead, escorted into the Editor in Chief’s office like I was J.D. Salinger agreeing to write a piece on New Hampshire Getaways. In addition to the EIC, the Managing Editor and Lauren were there. The EIC told me that I could talk to anyone I wanted to, and do any interviews, provided I informed PR beforehand. She couldn’t have been more gracious, and we all made jokes and giggled and laughed about silly conservative thinking on same-sex weddings.

Before I left the room, I requested documents of all the publicity the piece had received, as well as any contacts of people who’d tried to get a hold of me. I was given two tapes of news coverage, which included everything from E! to "World News Tonight," none of which I’d been told about. (There existed a policy at Bride’s that, whenever an article received publicity, a "Media Alert" memo was issued -- the rule was suspended for "Outward Bound.") As for contacts, I was told that there weren’t any besides the South American radio station. When I mentioned Random House, all three people in the room said they’d forgotten about that particular request.

I was glad we’d worked things out, but I was baffled as to why the Editor in Chief and the Managing Editor would ever think I’d tarnish the name of Bride’s, a magazine I’d had a great relationship with for eight years. "Outward Bound" didn’t take a side on gay weddings; had anyone asked me to elaborate on the story, either my personal views or the magazine’s, I would have told them that my beliefs weren’t relevant and that I wasn’t in a position to speak for Bride’s. My homosexuality had never been an issue at Bride’s; if you’ll forgive the irony, more like a blessing.

I was almost as excited about getting on the phone with Random House (which I did within a few minutes) as I was disappointed by the realization I’d be fired (which I was within a few months). I knew they’d wait a bit, as too immediate a firing would look suspicious. "Gay and Lesbian Weddings" was released amid much to-do in June 2004; I was terminated the preceding February.

I called in sick mid-week, and was told to clean out my desk when I arrived back at work on Monday. There was no two-week’s pay, no notice, no recommendations. Bride’s refused to change my email settings so they would be re-routed to my home account, and they refused to record a new message on my voice-mail, telling callers I no longer worked there or giving them a new number. I lost several contacts during that time, and for at least a month all emails directed to me went into the cyber-void.

When you’re a freelancer, you accept the fact that you can pretty much get fired for anything without retribution. For the record, I helped. I’d almost overdosed on my vacation, and missed my flight back to New York at a time when my presence in the office was needed. After my boss dictated the not-so-generous "severance package," she added that there would be "no scandal." When you are just months from having your first book published, especially one dealing with a topic like weddings, the most frightening thing you can think of is "scandal." I raced out of that office happy I’d only gotten the axe.

What I won’t accept is discrimination. Bride’s was terrified that an openly gay writer would make them look, what, gay? It reminds me of those pro-gay-marriage signs that say "Who Do You Think Designed Her Dress?" How could my byline appear on a story for, say, Aruba Honeymoon Suites (let alone a whole book on homosexual weddings), when the real father of a 28-year-old girl could Google my name and find proof of an un-bridal lifestyle? He might send Bride’s a harsh email on the shocking policies of the publication. Had I been straight, no one at Bride’s would have stopped me from talking to the New York Times or any other member of the press. They would have applauded my tenacity. Ironically, I’d been snuffed out for the very fire I’d lit to keep Bride’s ahead of the trends.

What I won’t tolerate is being a second-rate citizen. Firing is one thing; enslavement another. My supervisors of eight years deliberately kept facts from me, information that (as it turned out) advanced my career significantly, for the simple reason that my being gay was inconvenient. After years of being invited to editorial meetings and cover lines meetings (not because it was in my job description, but because I was good) and proofreading the entire magazine and the month I stayed late to cover for the woman who was fighting cancer and the nights canceling plans because someone had to sign off on editorial pages, I was reduced to nothing more than an office tumor, one that needed quick removal. Had I not accidentally run into Cynthia that day, there’s an extremely good chance I never would have met with Random House and never written that book. That’s shameful.

What I won’t do anymore is shut up. I don’t fear Conde Nast, and I don’t care about repercussions. Our times as gay citizens are too precarious for settling. The fight for gay marriage is tender, as is repealing DADT, the stakes enormous, and the line between falling back and moving forward a thin one. As much as we’d like to think otherwise, silence still equals death, even in the so-called liberal city of New York and the so-called liberal world of publishing.

When the people at Bride’s first told me to keep quiet, I sought advice from an old friend, a man with the strongest work ethic I’ve ever known. His words were simple: "Don’t ruffle anyone’s feathers." This summer, that same man, so devoted to his 12-year-old job that he never took a day off, rarely took vacations (or lunches), and never worked less than a nine- or ten-hour day, ended up in the hospital, diagnosed with exhaustion and depression. His bosses fretted with grief and sent flowers and called and assured him all was fine back at the fort, and to just get well.

Within a week of being released, he was fired, the company president citing mistakes in the short time leading up to his breakdown. My friend is 58 years old, just a couple years before scheduled retirement, unemployed in a market that isn’t fawning over men on the cusp of 60, and replaced by a guy half his age, for half the salary. Contrary to what my friend was raised to believe, he wasn’t a "team player" at work, never part of the company "family." In the end, it isn’t really about grudges or a bracelet or an exam or being gay; it’s about decency, and the question for you.