Rhonda’s World

In a little over a month, I am told by this morning’s newspaper, the university will host a performance called “Considering Matthew Shepard,” which it describes as a “musical response to the tragic death of a young man” interspersed with “the thoughts of poets and selections from Shepard’s journal and his parent’s writing.” The newspaper reminds those who may have forgotten that Shepard was, nearly twenty years ago, “beaten, tortured and tied to a fence,” that he died of his injuries six days later, and that he suffered this gruesome fate “because of his sexual orientation.” The advertised event will memorialize this brutal homicide in a “truly heartfelt story” that combines “incredible voices” and a “very important message” in an “an amazing once-in-a-lifetime experience.”

Let me begin by saying that I don’t think there are any good reasons why anyone should be “beaten, tortured and tied to a fence,” especially in October in “the bleak countryside outside Laramie, Wyoming.” Just to make myself perfectly clear, I do not allow an exception when the reason for doing this is a strong objection to “sexual orientation,” or when the person tied to the fence is homosexual. My opposition to beating, torturing and tying to fences is categorical.

Let me add that I have no objection to Craig Hella Johnson writing this musical tribute, to the chorale ensemble Conspirare performing it, or to the use of Rudder Theater (seating capacity 2,500) to stage it (twice). Moreover, I hope any representatives of the Westboro Baptist Church who might infiltrate the audience and disrupt the performance with rude heckling will be ejected without any tender regard for their comfort or dignity. “Denial of platform” is the tool of cowards, martinets, and saboteurs of the human spirit (which is to say, the Left).

With those testimonials out of the way, I must ask why this gruesome killing is being extravagantly memorialized nearly twenty years later, in an auditorium a thousand miles from Laramie, before an audience of thousands who never knew this obscure and unfortunate young man. And I must answer that it is because the death of Matthew Shepard has been made into a modern myth.

This is evident when we read that the story of Matthew Shepard conveys a “very important message,” which means that his death is significant, rather than simply stupid, sordid, and sad. This death is unlike the deaths of almost all of the other young men whose lives have been cut short senselessly, violently, and without public lamentation.

What is this message? According to the webpage of the Matthew Shepard foundation, it has something to do with “embracing diversity” and “erasing hate,” and presumably also with society’s shameful failure to clasp diversity to its bosom and expunge hate from the land. In other words, the message is that everyone is guilty for the death of Matthew Shepard, and the only means of redemption is to join the progressive crusade.

Anyone who digs a little more deeply into the circumstances of Matthew Shepard’s death will discover that these circumstances were considerably more complicated, and that many of them seem to have been of the stupid and sordid variety.

I’ve known homosexuals like Matthew Shepard, and there is a good chance you have as well. The ones I knew were highly promiscuous, addicted to drugs, and of astonishingly poor judgment (I suspect owing to acute narcissism). When I was living in Washington, D.C. in the early 1980s, I knew a young man who went by the name of Rhonda (birth name Ronald). He even looked like Matthew Shepard. So far as I know, Rhonda did not wind up bleeding on a fence, but if he had, no one would have been surprised.

I’m not sure society could mount a crusade that would make the world safe for Rhonda, and if it could, I’m not sure Rhonda would like that world. From what I’ve read, the same might be said about Matthew Shepard.

18 thoughts on “Rhonda’s World

  1. Pingback: Rhonda’s World | Aus-Alt-Right

  2. My younger elder half-brother Philip was stabbed to death outside a homosexual brothel in downtown Los Angeles on Skid Row in 1972. He was homosexual, drug-addicted, prone to violence, and might just as easily have been the perpetrator as the victim. The world could precisely not have been made safe for Phil, despite the appeals to him from family and friends, over years, and in vain.

    Phil’s pathos, self-inflicted, I understand, and by extension Matthew Shepard’s, but their sainthood is null.

    • I sometimes wonder what happened to Rhonda, and rather doubt he made it through the AIDs epidemic that was just taking off when I left D.C. in 1984. I could cook and he couldn’t, so I sometimes made him food and we would talk. A very odd guy. Sweet and vulnerable and utterly depraved, so one sort of felt pity and sort of didn’t.

  3. When I was receiving instruction in (Roman) Catholicism, back in the mid-90s, one of the other catechumens was a queer man of around 30. T. had been a very promising pianist, and one of his prized possessions was a cassette tape recording of his winning performance in a piano competition. His mother was a dominating woman who had two sons by different fathers, and had adopted another. All were “artistic” – their own euphemism.

    T. had come down from a provincial city to study, and had embraced the “meat market.” He was addicted to narcotics in the form of codeine, and pethidine when he could get it. He could forge a prescription at a pinch, but he relied on doctor-shopping for prescription painkillers containing codeine mixed with either aspirin or paracetamol. He knew what drugs counteracted the effects of dangerous doses of aspirin and paracetamol, and had well-practiced routines for persuading GPs to prescribe the drugs for him.

    I used to drive him to and from the instruction, and consequently was thought to be queer myself, as I discovered later. T. was living in an area housing a high proportion of drug addicts and drug-related criminals. One night he confided in me that “friends” of his had entrusted to him a bag containing a pistol. They had recently wielded this weapon during an armed robbery. Soon after this visit, the police arrived at their apartment, three floors up. The man jumped from the balcony, breaking both ankles, but probably not feeling any pain. What was T. to do?

    The idea of reporting this to the police was unthinkable; they were his “friends.” I suggested he drop the bag in the river, which was nearby. Whether he did I do not know.

    Some time later, he was staying at my house, and he started to visit the nearby surgeries. By this time, he was on probation for some earlier offence. On one of these visits, he was left alone in the room, so he, of course, raided the doctor’s bag for injectables, which he placed in his cap. Suspicions were aroused almost as soon as he left, and the receptionist looked out the door to determine the direction he had taken. He was busted soon after, and ended up in jail, in protection because he was so flagrantly queer.

    There he met the love of his life. The man in question was part Aborigine, part Jamaican, and, though a small man, a particularly violent one. He was in protection because he had witnessed a murder in prison, and had agreed to testify. T.’s association with him was tolerated by the prison staff, possibly because it served to settle the other guy down a bit.

    When the loved one was paroled, he was given into the care of a Catholic priest. This was not a good idea. Because of his work with criminals, the priest had a licenced pistol, which the thug, when he inevitably absconded, took with him.

    In a coastal city, he entered a shopping centre armed with a rifle, took a number of hostages including a pregnant woman, and holed up in the apartment of one of them. There he raped all of his hostages in varied manner. The police of the town, unused to armed sieges, wounded one of their own in the shooting which ensued. The priest was flown up to negotiate. On the way he berated the police, for what they might have done to “his boy.” One can only imagine what the police thought of this priest.

    T., by this time released, attended the trial to offer his support to the accused, who went back to jail for a long time, and who withdrew his offer to testify to the murder.

    The last time I saw T., he was in hospital. He had been found naked and beated, not on the road to Jericho, but in a gutter in the “music precinct.” He had no recollection of how he got there, and had suffered brain damage from the beating. Fortunately, he was still quite lucid.

    Sweet and vulnerable and utterly depraved. His self-destructive reality would be opaque to the crusaders for diversity and tolerance.

    • That’s an interesting story. I don’t see how the world could be made safe for a man like T, and don’t think it unreasonable for the world to take some precautions to make itself safe from men like T.

  4. Pingback: Rhonda’s World | Reaction Times

  5. The Matthew Shepards and “Rhondas” of the world truly are their own worst enemies and suicidal in several ways.

    I was raised in small town USA where aggressive homosexual “pick up” behavior was simply not tolerated. By anyone, including yours truly.

    However, as a 18 year-old just out of H.S. who commuted 50 miles to and from work in Duncan, Ok. (where I also had a girlfriend and would sometimes spend the weekend at a local hotel), I once received a phone call in my room from a young man claiming to be a homosexual looking for a “good time.”

    At first I thought he was a friend of a friend and they were playing a practical joke on me, but was quickly convinced otherwise when the nature of what he was saying to me became very out of character even for the very best of my practical joking friends and acquaintances.

    The man claimed he was from Dallas, where apparently homosexuals rent hotel rooms and signal other “love seeking” homosexuals by opening the curtains to their rooms and removing their shirts. I had removed my shirt and momentarily opened the curtain to check on my vehicle when I heard some commotion coming from outside.

    In any case the conversation only lasted perhaps a minute, at the end of which I became very angry and invited the man to “come on up: I’ll take your money after I’ve beaten you to within an inch of your life!” (He had offered me $100.00 if I would allow him to – in very explicit language not fit for polite company – perform oral sex on me.)

    Some years later I was followed into a public restroom at a roadside stop at 2:00am about midway between Tuscon and Phoenix, Az, by yet another suicidal/thrill-seeker homosexual.

    In this particular case I immediately showed severe displeasure with his inordinate behavior (I was very tired and irritable, and he posted himself at the urinal next to me. As I began to unzip he gazed downward into my space with the look of pleasure and excitement), and moved from the urinal to the privacy of a stall. However, as I was relieving myself I was shocked when I looked over to my right and discovered a large hole in the divider wall between the two stalls, and this man’s head peering through it.

    By this point I’d simply had enough and began to threaten bodily harm on the man. These were in no way idle threats, and to his credit he was smart enough at least to understand that, and began to apologize profusely as I backed him out of the restroom.

    My family and I were traveling with friends on our way to San Diego, and while I would personally never have sent one of my children into a restroom at a roadside stop alone, our friends were not as cautious about that sort of thing as we were with their own kids. So of course I simply gave the guy the option to leave the premises entirely, or to take a beating. He chose the former and skidaddled, and I called the sheriff’s office from my cell and reported the incident.

    When I later told the story to one of my siblings and our Mom, who had flown to San Diego and met us there, they both told me that my reaction to this man’s advances was “mean,” and “insensitive,” “judgemental” and wrong. Go figure.

    • I’ve been thinking about writing a memoir of my experiences with attempted homosexual pickups. Perhaps I inadvertently gave out the wrong signals, but I was certainly pestered by homosexual men from adolescence into my thirties, and in a couple of cases more than pestered. Most of these encounters ended in embarrassment and apologies, but they certainly qualify my reception of what is now the official line on homosexual men.

      • One of the great benefits of getting older is that we become less attractive, and therefore incur fewer of these sorts of encounters.

        Speaking of giving the wrong signals to homosexual men on the prowl, where I come from everybody “knows” everybody, and you acknowledge everybody with a smile, or a wave, or some other friendly gesture as a matter of common courtesy. Regarding the incident at the roadside stop in Arizona, the man in question was leaning on the back of his car as I walked by going to the restroom, and I politely smiled and said “hello” to him as I’m wont to do. This to him was apparently “signaling.” What I never understood is why my initial reaction at the urinal did not convince him he’d misunderstood my politeness.

  6. From what I’ve read, the whole “Matthew” sob story is a crock; Shepard knew his killers well, and had willingly interacted with them on several occasions, most likely in sordid homosexuality-related activities.

  7. This event is a ruthless war on white Supremacy in the service of radical autonomy. And Orthosphereans have no idea what demons to slay?

  8. Thordaddy, could you explain what “demons to slay” means? In Christian tradition, the saints don’t “slay” demons, although in stories of Conan or the like the hero might do so. I suppose you’re writing metaphorically, but your literal points wasn’t clear. Sincere request. Thanks.

    • Wurmbrand: I don’t believe they would have made the point clearer, but I have suppressed some other comments T. made at about the same time. If he answers your question, I’ll approve it.

    • Wumbrand…

      You say Saints don’t slay demons? I say thank God that we all don’t have to be Saints. So demons get slayed by normal white men who have to wake up to a world of utter Evil.

      I guess you and I disagree on the righteousness of killing evil? And such is why I have respectfully self-identified as a white Supremacist and not a plain Christian.

      • Kristor…

        I would imagine self-imprisonment while in possession of your good Father’s free will is like death?

        The immortality of demons is irrelevant in relation to a white Supremacist physically incarnated. The immortality of demons is strictly on Father. The physical dispossession of demons is strictly on white Christian. The exorcised demon is one physical dispossessed of a vassal of incarnation. “It” is, to the irrelevancy of “its” metaphysical immorality, slayed.

        Which is not to say, “it” may not resurrect.

  9. He was also, it is to be noted, not killed because of his sexuality except in the pointless sense that not taking gay lovers would have prevented his death, which is probably not the intended message.

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