STORIES

There are not a lot of us left who were there at the beginning of West Hollywood Aquatics in 1982. Our numbers have grown thin, especially for those of us who seroconverted in the early days of what was then was called the gay plague. My name is James Ballard, and I am one of those survivors.

I am blessed with the remembrances of a team that used joy, compassion, courage, and love to fight against a virus that silently spread for years before it was given a name and started taking lives. This is our history as I know it.

Our team was first known as West Hollywood Swim Club, but in many aquatic circles we were dismissed at the onset as “that fag team.” Back then, abuse at meets was not whispered, it was shouted — at least until the races ended and the results were posted. No, we didn’t win every race, but we won more than enough to make it hurt, and we wanted to make it hurt every time another team called us out for being gay.

Looking back, I’d say we found a fair amount of joy in being aggressively gay, because we were building more than a team. We were building pride and an environment where no one need apologize for living out loud. That light still shines.

It would be years before we zeroed in on National and World Masters records, but we could see the possibility, if only we could stay in the water and stay alive. You see, at the beginning, none of us knew that our world had already changed, that a virus was taking hold of our lives. Colds grew into pneumonia, what seemed like bruises became Kaposi sarcoma, and fear spread. There was no test to detect the virus.

We had been working out at E.G. Roberts, a Los Angeles city pool on Pico Boulevard where we had a permit, but our eviction came without notice. The pool manager didn’t want us spreading our disease even though no one knew how it spread or even what caused the disease.

It was like facing a tidal wave in the dark. We lobbied LA City Hall and the LA County Supervisors with very limited success. We took workouts where we could find them, moving from pool to pool. We were constantly searching.

Where could our openly gay team find workout space, and how much chlorine would be dumped into the pool before we walked on deck?

We were rarely welcomed, and we wondered whether our team would survive. November 29th, 1984 changed that. West Hollywood incorporated into an independent city and the next year we were given a home in the old pool that lived below where STORIES: The AIDS Monument now stands. Yes, the pool deck was cracked and the tile needed repair, but it didn’t matter. It was our home and with every lap, we sang a little louder and prayed a little harder.

To us, the space where the AIDS Monument now stands will always be sacred. The smiles and the talent and the souls that lifted us up live on here, and I see the tall bronze Traces as spires rising from the light in the water that connected us with hope and the strength to swim the next mile and believe tomorrow was possible.

By the time we moved to the old pool in West Hollywood Park, we knew it was a virus. Medical researchers, however, offered no promise of a treatment.

The disease was relentless. We grieved and we cried as we said goodbye to the teammates we loved. There was no reprieve as the virus continued to take its toll. The grief overwhelmed us as we wondered who would be next. Most of us knew we could be next. No one felt safe, but in diving into the water we could escape and feel the beauty of living.

It became our freedom. Swimming was living.

We started reading the names of those we lost at swim meets, but those lists were always incomplete. So many simply disappeared. We hoped they had gone home to be with family, but we knew that home was a door that would never open for so many. And year after year, we read more names and remembered.

The lessons we learned was we had to form our own family because who else would understand? We did not turn away, and through it all, new members stepped up. The gay male team gave way to the team of everyone. It was magical. We lived with acceptance, and those who joined gave us hope and proved that change was possible.

Now four decades later, we have not lost the faith. We swim in a new pool that has a view of the bronze Traces, and we know they will carry the light of our team into the heavens. We will not forget. We are West Hollywood Aquatics.