Remembering Pedro

December 1st marked World AIDS Day (or month.) I've seen a lot of blog and social media posts in the last few days and I was inspired by a former FIU classmate to repost an old post I wrote about the late Pedro Zamora, who was my contemporary, a fellow gay Cuban-American from Miami whom I never got to meet in person but I admired his HIV awareness advocacy. He empowered the gay, Cuban, Latino, and HIV positive community. Even though I am HIV negative,  I have people in my life who are positive and I sympathize with them and support them with all my heart.

Here is what I wrote as an editorial about Pedro in The Miami Herald in April 1996 when I was a super, super young lad named... Johnny!)

A psychic once proclaimed that Pedro Zamora was born to save lives. I know many who can attest to that.

Pedro died in 1994 the day after the final episode of The Real World: San Francisco aired. He died from complications from AIDS after a three-year crusade to educate folks, especially young people, about the illness.

You don't hear much about Pedro anymore.

The years have passed. There was a street named after him in West Miami-Dade. A former clinic in Boston also carried his name. MTV no longer shows the reruns from his season.

Sometimes, I can't help but wonder what a positive role model Pedro would be today to a whole new generation of young people. He showed people that AIDS was everywhere. Young or old, gay or straight, it's there. And a few moments of pleasure could never be worth risking one's life. He also taught people how to avoid catching the virus - and how to deal with people who had it.

He made an impression on me right away when I was 20 because I saw a little of myself in him. We were both Miami Cubans, about the same age and gay and I was just beginning to embark on the real world of dating. (We also had the trademark thick dark eyebrows.)

When "The Real World" cameras highlighted his tight-knit and affectionate Cuban family, I saw some of my own family reflected in his. Pedro's thick Cuban accent was music to my ears, part of Miami's soundtrack. He was on"The Real World" when cast members had real stories to tell besides the I-got-drunk-and-hooked-up-with-so-and-so tales.

I always wished I could have met Pedro. If I had, I would have said "Gracias chico!" for educating me and so many of my fellow friends in Miami and beyond. 

When I Was the Jumpingest Boy on My Block

I loved jump roping. As a kid growing up in Miami Beach, it was something I excelled at. I could jump forward, backward and even criss-cross the rope side to side as I leapt through the loop.  Whenever my female classmates were jump roping or if there was a competition to see how many we could do in a minute, I was game.

I jumped so well that I won a few trophies and ribbons from the Miami Beach Parks and Recreation Department when I was in the after-school and summer camp program at Muss Park. That caught the attention of The Miami Herald which featured me in a small profile about my jumping rope skills.

I was 10 at the time and I remember the reporter Laura Misch visited our apartment. She sat with me in our living room and gently asked questions about what I loved about the sport and my future in it. She was respectful, sweet and really really pretty. She probably wanted to write about something more serious and bigger than a story about an effeminate boy with dark brown hair who was happy with a rope in his hand. But she made me feel like I was important that day and her sole focus. She genuinely seemed interested in knowing me.

After I happily showed her my collection of trophies, I then showed her what I could do. We stepped  outside my two-story apartment building. A Herald photographer Michel du Cille later met up with me and I showed him what I could do too. With my white rope in hand, I jumped fast, hard, the rope and my arms a blur in motion.  I remember I jumped so much that afternoon that my calves ached into tight balls of pain.  (Below is the photo that used with the story.)

A couple of days later on May 22 in the Sunday Miami Herald Beach Neighbors edition, there I was on page 14 under a section called "Portrait of Beaches People." My parents were so proud and especially my Tio Frank (Uncle Frank,) my mom's brother who was a boxing coach in Cuba and Venezuela where his boxers trained by jump roping. I remember he bought a stack of the Herald and told people about his jump roping nephew.

After the story was published, my classmates' moms and my teachers congratulated me when they saw me at North Beach Elementary or at Muss Park. (Back then, The Miami Herald was everywhere, dotting practically every household lawn and filling newsstands on every business corner, and I felt like everyone from Miami Beach to Bay Harbor Islands, the coverage area of Beach Neighbors, saw the piece.)

Below is the text of the story that the Herald published about me. I never got to see Ms. Misch again but I never forgot her professionalism and how she captured the spirit of a 10-year-old boy through her short 333-word story or what we call a "brite" in journalism.

Coincidentally about four years later, I joined the school newspaper at Miami Beach High. Less than two years later, I began working as an intern in the same Neighbors office she worked out of.  I began writing about Miami Beach's unsung heroes and colorful personalities like she did. I wanted to make the people I wrote about feel the same way Ms. Misch made me feel about me, that they mattered and their story was important, something I continue to do today at The New York Times.

BY LAURA MISCH Herald Staff Writer

Tell him there's no future in jumping rope and 10-year-old Johnny Diaz just smiles and bounces on. And on. And on.

He's the jumpingest boy on his block, in his school, maybe the world. Johnny Diaz is a rope jumping fanatic. While other kids his age catch fly balls and go for touchdowns, Johnny likes the simplicity of a piece of rope, a place to jump and his own boundless energy.

He practices three hours a day, sometimes, jumping fast and slow, forward and backward, arms crossed and arms rigid. Before he saved up and bought his own rope, Johnny practiced his routines with an electrical cord.

He's already worried about being a has-been in a little kids' game. In fourth grade at North Beach Elementary, he's a year too old to win any more trophies. He's also getting heavier, and that spells the end for any serious rope jumper. He was clocked once at 200 jumps a minute. Now the best he can do is 155. You've got to be light on your feet.

But Johnny has memories. The trophies and ribbons, more than 20 of them, sit on his parents' dresser. He won his first trophy at Muss Park, in first grade. It was the beginning of an unflagging enthusiasm for the gentle art of jumping rope.

The kids tease him.

"People say it's for girls, but it's not." Jump. Jump. Jump.

"Some people call me a sissy." Jump. Jump. Jump.

"But I don't care because I want to be a champion jumproper." Jump. Jump. Jump.

He knows he won't make it. He realizes, in the twilight of his rope jumping career, that there are other possibilities in the world.

"Tennis," he said, "is what I plan to play." He also collects coins and stamps.

There was one kid at school who told Johnny in so many words that anybody who spent his time jumping rope was a fool.

"If he said that in front of a boxer, he'd punch him." Jump. Jump. Jump.

Looking back at 'Queer Miami'

Before visiting the new "Queer Miami" exhibit, I thought I knew my local LGBTQ history. I assumed the exhibit would focus on Miami's first gay Pride event in 1978, lead up to the 1980s AIDS crisis and then highlight the more recent legalization of same-sex marriage.

Boy, was I wrong.

The exhibit was so much more comprehensive than I had anticipated. It looks back at more than 100 years of LGBTQ history in Miami and Miami Beach from the early Florida ordinances that criminalized homosexual and transgender behavior to the impact of gay/lesbian immigration in the Magic City.

I recently wrote a Sun Sentinel article about the HistoryMiami Museum exhibit which was curated by University of Massachusetts Amherst history professor and Miami native Julio Capo Jr.  Housed in a sprawling 5,000-square-foot gallery in the downtown Miami museum, the exhibit uses a mix of historical records, news articles, video testimonials and memorabilia to tell the story of gay Miami.

While I'm too young to remember some of the things that were pre-1980, there were a couple of displays that really jumped out at me and transported me back to my childhood and college days.

One section centered on the police raids of early Miami Beach clubs and bars that catered to gay and lesbians.  In this part, there was black and white surveillance film of 21st street beach at Collins Avenue in Miami Beach. The footage showed throngs of men sunbathing and lounging.  An enlarged photo captured two men hugging on the beach by the lifeguard stand. 

Growing up on the beach, I remember my parents warning me about this area because of the maricones (fags in Spanish) when I'd go bike riding after school and on weekends.

In middle school and then high school, I was a regular at the  Miami Beach Public Library which was located across from this beach. I remember seeing men strolling up and down the street and meeting up with one another. Although I didn't make the immediate connection then, I knew this was their spot.

Venturing deeper into the exhibit, I rounded a corner and my eyes landed on a familiar face -  the late Cuban-American AIDS educator Pedro Zamora. A photo of him smiling with his arm around his father bedecked the top of a display case about Florida's AIDS crisis. Below the photo was The Miami Herald's front page obituary about Pedro's legacy in raising awareness about HIV/AIDS.

I've written some blog posts about Pedro over the years because I saw a lot of myself in him. We were born around the same time and we grew up as gay men in conservative Cuban families in South Florida. So this part of the display was sweet and sad at the same time, like a seeing a long lost old friend.

Another display celebrated The White Party fundraiser. T-shirts, programs, fliers and passes to the HIV/AIDS fundraiser for Care Resource filled the glass case. The memorabilia whisked me back to my first White Party in 1998 at Vizcaya Museum and Gardens in Miami. For the occasion,  I bought white jeans to match my white long-sleeved shirt.

I had heard so much buzz about the annual gala that I wanted to experience it. When I walked into the historic home and explored the manicured maze of lush gardens, I was struck by how everything from the guests' fashion to the elegant table decorations and chairs was awash in white. Everyone was in a celebratory mood, sipping wine and drinking to a good cause. 

A vibrant installation of ribbons in rainbow hues awaits visitors at the end of the exhibit. Visitors here are asked to share their own story on a card and to then post it on the wall.

I was only at the exhibit for an hour (I got there at 4 p.m. and they were closing at 5 p.m. so I was rushing somewhat.) But I plan to return to soak up more of the history.

The exhibit is up through Sept. 1, 2019 at HistoryMiami Museum, 101 W. Flagler St.  To read more about the exhibit, visit my Sun Sentinel article here.

5 reasons for Miami and Fort Lauderdale's high HIV rates

Miami and Fort Lauderdale have led the nation in new HIV infections over the years. It's no surprise to locals who see giant billboards along I-95, bus ads and public service announcements on TV urging folks to get tested and treated. We also have the AIDS walk and other fundraisers and social events that promote safe sex, HIV awareness and the importance of PrEP.

But why does South Florida lead the nation in HIV compared to other states?  I reached out to some medical experts and HIV advocates in the region and wrote up a story in the Sun Sentinel that listed five reasons why HIV is rampant here.

"Some people have been around others who are infected for so long that they realize the disease is chronic and not the death sentence it was in the '80s so they have lost their fear of getting infected,''s said Claudette Grant, director of clinical services for Broward Health Community Health Services in Fort Lauderdale.

"We have so much HIV here in South Florida that the odds are that much higher a partner would have HIV,'' said Dr. Stephen Fallon of Latinos Salud, a Wilton Manors-based nonprofit that works with Latino gay men. "And, much more critically, we have so many people living with HIV who are either not in care, or not taking their medicines as prescribed."

There are more reasons but the five that I mentioned in the story are the ones that came up the most during my interviews.

The Hunks and Ladies of One Day At A Time, 2018

One Day At A Time which was remade last year with a modern and Cuban flavor is back for a second season on Netflix. (The show was just renewed for a third season.)

The show follows a Cuban-American family in Los Angeles where single mom Penelope raises her teen children with help, maybe too much help, from her mom, Lydia, fabulously played by the incomparable Rita Moreno.

Like the original Norman Lear show from 1975-1984, this new version deftly balances comedy with social topical issues. The first season chronicled Penelope, an Army vet and nurse, as she helped her daughter Elena (played by Isabella Gomez) come out and prepare for her sweet fifteen (which she wore a white jacket and pant suit! Go Elena!)

The second season continued Elena's journey as she started dating and experienced her first kiss with Syd, her love interest. Elena's scenes with Syd came off natural and real, like two teenagers figuring out what it means to be gay and the complicated unwritten rules of dating. (Maybe the show should be called One Gay A Time!)

But each of the characters had their moments and stories this season. Tween son Alex (Marcel Ruiz) learned the realities of being a darker shade than his lily-white Cuban sister and how Latino racism exists in Los Angeles after some kids told him to "Go back to Mexico, Beaner!" even though he was born in the US.

Lydia, the "abuelita" character, struggles to let go of some (actually all) her personal belongings and mementos that she's hoarded in the garage since leaving Cuba for the US in 1962. She also struggles with letting go of the Cuba that she knew and left behind as she decides to become an American citizen.

And strong-willed and spirited Penelope, played superbly by Justina Machado, explored dating after finalizing her divorce.

In the new season, viewers meet her hunky former Army buddy Max, a paramedic played by Ed Quinn, who steals her heart (and most scenes he appears in, especially when he's shirtless.)

Max says all the right things. He is funny, warm and kind. Most of all, he is supportive of Penelope's use of antidepressants because of her PTSD and anxiety. And he's understanding of her limited spare time as she juggles a full-time job, her family and going back to school. Hopefully, Mr. Perfect returns in season three.(Are you listening, writers?)

The show has another hunk though. Todd Grinnell plays lovable neighbor and building manager Schneider (another nod to the original series.) Schneider is like a taller and straight version of Jack from NBC's Will and Grace but with more layers to his character. As the geeksome (handsome and geeky) comic relief, Schneider tends to storm into the apartment, says something funny and heads right back out.

But he has also become an unofficial member of the Alvarez family. He learns espanol to better relate to them. And along with Lydia, he decides to become an American citizen. (The Schneider character in this reboot is Canadian.)

The show's writers also deepened Schneider's back story: He is a recovering alcoholic. His sobriety is often referenced as a joke: "I woke up three days later in an alley...and the bowling ball hit me. I was in the gutter for a long time,'' he says in episode 9 this season.

But the character can be serious when he uses his journey of sobriety to help Penelope when she struggles with going off her medications and stops attending her group therapy (which is led by MacKenzie Phillips, another nice touch and tribute to the original series.)  Penelope stops taking her pills and the group therapy because, well, she's embarrassed to tell Max early in their relationship.

In a moving scene, Schneider sits with Penelope on his sofa late at night and reassures her about the importance of taking her medication and continued therapy. Wearing a bathrobe, he tells her, "There's something that I want I can't have for the rest of my life. There's something you don't want you have to have for the rest of yours.''

Yes, laughter and jokes are sprinkled through the show along with some Spanish phrases. Yet it's those dramatic scenes grounded in realism and beautifully written that have helped make One Day At A Time one of my go-to-shows on Netflix. I'm looking forward to season tres, cuatro, cinco...  Thank you to the show's executive producers Gloria Calderon Kellett and Mike Royce for creating this new version of One Day At A Time.

And thanks to the Snipping Tool on my computer, here are some more screen grabs of Ed Quinn from the second season. I have more screen grabs of Todd Grinnell from last year's blog post.

Blast from the past: The Real World Miami

A broadcast TV friend who is a big fan of The Real World sent me these old Real World Miami clips which feel like another lifetime (and hairstyle) ago compared to the new Real World cast. If you watch closely in the clips you'll see a younger familiar face with a crew cut wondering what the heck is he doing in this crazy house with seven complete opposites off the Venetian causeway and dating Dan Renzi.

In the video below, I appear in the beginning and then later on at 10:38.

In this one, I appear at the 4:12 mark.