The AIDS Interview

Headline: 1985 television interview with AIDS patient

Marty Levin, News Eight at 4:30

The 4:30 newscast was a brand new concept. Casual, familiar. No suit coat, loose tie. The format was formulaic: brief headlines, personal interview, tease the 5:00 news stories with reporters as they were preparing them. The newscaster sat in the middle of the newsroom with all the commotion and chaos and cool. The medium was, indeed, part of the message.

The idea had been that of a progressive news director but it took an anchor like Marty to pull it off. There was a lot of ad lib, a lot winging it— it required a sharp mind, an affable style and a rare ability to pivot as the need arose. For Marty, it meant a fresh approach and a chance to roll up his sleeves, literally, and meet a new challenge.

The daily interviews were usually newsmakers—elected officials, subject experts, visiting dignitaries. There was some occasional fluff—a celebrity hocking a movie or a writer plugging a book—but it was mostly a program where you learned a little more about the world than just the big events and the natural disasters.

Marty wasn’t one to bring his work home or dwell on what he’d done or would do next. I rarely knew ahead of time who was in the line-up or big hitters he’d be meeting. Unless it was extraordinary, I’d hear about it at dinner if I remembered to ask.

Today was different. My phone rang at nearly 4:00 and Marty said, “I’m going to interview a guy with late-stage AIDS on the 4:30. I’d like to shake his hand afterward if you’re okay with that. All the research says it’s safe but if you’re not ok with it, I won’t do it.”

It was February of 1985. Our baby boy was four months old. I looked at his sweet face and my throat tightened.

“Does the news director think it’s a good idea?” I tried.

“He doesn’t know. I think he’d say no so I’m not going to ask,” Marty said.

AIDS was an exploding epidemic—feared, misunderstood and stigmatized. It was deeply and almost exclusively impacting the gay community. In 1982, health officials had named the disease GRID for Gay-Related Immune Deficiency. That link led to the moniker “Gay Plague” and, by 1985, nearly 7,000 people had died of the disease.

A few weeks before, I’d had my first personal encounter with an AIDS related death. I ran into a fellow I had taught with at the high school. He said, “Did you hear about Mark Brown?” I smiled thinking of the gregarious student and expected a success story. “He just died of AIDS.”

Marty waited for an answer from me. Should he shake hands with a man who was dying from AIDS? There would be a public response—from both sides—but the only thing that mattered right now was whether the act would, could harm our child. The answer was certainly no, it could not, but a mother’s instinct is more complicated and I didn’t answer right away.

Marty would never make a gesture of any kind just to make a point—although make a point it certainly would. But if he believed it was safe, which he absolutely did, then I could believe that, too. I said so.

These two men, one very ill, sat and talked for about four minutes. What was life like now? How was he coping? What did he wish others to know? At the end, with quiet respect, the two men shook hands and Marty wished him well.

There was, in fact, a very public response—everything from, “I’ll never watch that fag lover again” to “what a powerful statement he made” to, simply, “thank you.”

For my part, I’ve never loved Marty more. Not because he did a bold and brave and important thing in front of thousands of people but that he considered me and our son in his decision. “Are you okay with it?” That spoke to his character even more than his courage.