Hey, Allen was allowed to call me Denny, Joey Franko called me Denny, but who told that reporter he could call me Denny?
I was warned by certain, um, dare I say paranoid, elements within the gay (well, OK, the lesbian) community that I would be given a dose of heavy reality and receive horrid personal harm by allowing my picture and name to be printed in the Daily that September. They felt I could expect the flames of hell to open up and suck me in when people came en masse to kill me. It was a lot like the paranoia I felt in 1971 when I first came out. I didn't feel that way anymore and just said, "We'll see." And indeed nothing much at all happened to me after this picture was published. Quite a disappointment for those who predicted my demise. Life continued as before. A couple of older janitors, my gig at the time for the ISU Physical Plant, would never smile at me again, but hell, that was OK. And that memory logically brings up the topic of janitors as a Counterculture force to be reckoned with!
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