Secrets of a Gay Marine Porn Star. Rich Merritt
article. I still had a month to go. And, let me tell you, that month was hell. Every day I came in and every day everyone was looking at me as if they had cracked the code and identified me as the impertinent “R.”
I had been personally invited to General McCorkle’s farewell party and, because I had such deep respect for him, I had no intention of letting my fears keep me away. However, I planned to arrive late, sneak in, say hello to him and his wife, Kathy, and then make a hasty departure. The party was in full swing with many of the officers of the Third Marine Aircraft Wing—the Third MAW—present when I entered the front of the Camp Pendleton officers’ club. Having been his aide for a year, I should have known that General McCorkle would be late, but I was too nervous to think about that.
As I stood in the doorway to the room where the party was being held, trying to find a discreet spot to slink off to, I heard a familiar, deep voice booming in the hallway behind me.
“Captain Merritt! How the hell are ya?” The general shook my hand as every eye in the room turned to watch his entrance. But because of where I was standing—absolutely frozen—they all saw me first. I was blocking their view of the general. I don’t know how many of them knew that I was the gay Marine officer from the Times story—probably all of them, maybe none of them. But I felt like Scarlett O’Hara in the scene from Gone with the Wind, when Rhett makes her go to the party wearing a slutty-looking dress after everyone in Atlanta has found out about her “affair” with Ashley. Scarlett enters the room and a hush falls over the crowd as they all stare at her with contempt and disbelief. No one said a word, however, at least not to my face, and this party ended with General McCorkle wishing me the best of luck with my law career. Just as Melanie was so gracious to Scarlett.
On my last day in the Marines I had a change-of-command ceremony. This ceremony represented me handing the command of my battery over to another captain. Before the ceremony my lieutenant took me aside and said, “Sir, everyone thinks you’re going to ‘come out’ today.” It sounded like he was accusing me.
I immediately went over to my first sergeant. “I don’t know what people are saying,” I told him very quickly, “but I would never do anything to disgrace this battery. This last year and a half hasn’t been about me. It’s been about the men and the Marines and this battery and I’m not going to do anything to diminish that or say anything to diminish that.” He just nodded. I think he was glad that I told him that.
Just before the ceremony, I checked my military e-mail account one last time. A gay acquaintance at Third MAW headquarters had just forwarded me a note that General McCorkle had sent to all the commanding officers in Third MAW the Friday before the Times story came out. The Times had sent an advance copy of the article to the Pentagon, which in turn forwarded it to the West Coast generals. In the e-mail, General McCorkle advised all the squadron commanders that any issues pertaining to this story were to be referred to the legal officers immediately. It confirmed my suspicion that the article really was a big deal at the highest levels. I was also angry because, while the Times had sent the Pentagon an advance copy, they hadn’t even bothered to give one to any of the participants in the story.
A few of my gay military friends came to the ceremony, but most stayed away out of fear of being associated with me. At the ceremony fifteen months earlier, when I had taken command of the battery, many gay servicemen had attended, proud to see one of our own taking command. Now, I felt like a pariah. I also found out afterwards that my men were trying to figure out which one was Brandon, my boyfriend who had a feature role in article. They mistakenly assumed a fellow Marine, Bossy, was my boyfriend, choosing him as the “gayest” over my real boyfriend, Brandon.
After I was officially out of the Marines, I was free to “come out” as the man behind “R” and I did my long-awaited interview with Max Harrold. A photographer came to my condo to take some photographs and, unlike the Times photos, these pictures would show my face.
Max Harrold took me to the offices of The Advocate and I met Judy Wieder, the editor in chief. It was a very friendly meeting. The article hit the stands in the December issue of The Advocate. George Michael was on the cover because he had just come out after getting busted for beating off in the park.
The article identifying me as the Marine from the cover of the Times was a two-page spread with a big photograph of me wearing my USC T-shirt with my sleeve rolled up showing my USMC tattoo. Unlike the New York Times Magazine article, however, I didn’t like this story. Max was incorrect about several things. He also left out several really interesting tidbits. I remember I wrote to Jennifer Egan fuming, “I just can’t believe this.” I pointed out all the things he got wrong.
She replied, “You just have to let this stuff go.” I didn’t realize how relevant that piece of advice would soon become.
Things were starting to happen very quickly. Jennifer told me that the Times wanted to do a feature story on Brandon and me, and she would be the writer. She said this was rare, the paper and the magazine rarely do crossover stories like this. Soon after that she conveyed the happy news that her magazine article had been nominated for a Pulitzer. I was incredibly excited.
Next, the Los Angeles Times called requesting an interview. They did a story on me that also included photographs. It was all really thrilling. People were aware of who I was. “This is the New York Times cover boy!”
And then, just as it was getting bigger and bigger, the bubble burst.
Shortly after Christmas I received a phone call from John Erich at The Advocate. He informed me that one of his readers, a man to whom I had been introduced by a mutual friend years before, recognized me from my pornographic videos. Now the editors wanted to know if it was true. Was I the model from the porn videos?
I was stunned. All I could say was, “I don’t have any comment. Let me get back to you.” Before I could hang up Erich said, “Well, we’re going to do a story.”
I immediately called SLDN and they in essence told me, “We have nothing to do with this—SLDN has nothing to say about this.”
I thought, Oh great. I’m being abandoned by these people. I had done the story partly for them. I had put my neck on the line—not to mention that I had helped raise a lot of money for the organization. Now I felt as if they were washing their hands of me.
Panic-stricken, I called The Advocate back. “I don’t understand why you’re doing this story,” I said indignantly. “It doesn’t help anyone. If it’s a lie, you’re going to get sued for libel. If it’s true, what good does it do? I don’t understand why you would do this.” My argument didn’t do anything to sway them.
After I realized that they were going to go ahead with the story, the worst part was knowing how this would affect Jennifer Egan. I had trusted her completely. She had placed her trust in me as well, and she rewarded me with a beautiful article. Sure I spilled my guts to her, but I hadn’t spilled all my guts. I had chosen what I wanted her to hear.
I called Jennifer and told her. I could hear the hurt in her voice. I sensed that she was feeling as if I betrayed her. But all she said is that she would get back to me. Soon after, she telephoned. Obviously the new feature story was off. And now the Times was going to have to print something about my past, which they did shortly thereafter—on page A-17: GAY MARINE IN TIMES ACTED IN SMUT FILMS.
Brandon and I kept thinking that maybe The Advocate wouldn’t make such a big deal out of it. Indeed, the next issue didn’t have anything about it at all. I breathed a sigh of temporary relief. Jennifer called me feeling the same way. “Maybe they decided to drop the story,” she said. I could only hope.
But two weeks later, on a Sunday, I received an e-mail from a friend of mine in DC. The e-mail simply said, “I just saw The Advocate! Fuck ’em.” So I knew something was coming. Yet no one was talking to me. The silence was deafening.
Monday night I came home and Brandon said, “Tim Carter just called—You’re on the cover.” Oh my God. Now I was identified as THE MARINE WHO WAS ALSO A PORN STAR. I was just mortified. How was I going to deal with this?
Everything I struggled to accomplish