Mr. Speaker, on behalf of the Bean family of Strafford, Vermont, and in tribute to their exceptional young son and brother murdered thirty years ago because of his sexual orientation, I submit the following Herald of Randolph story.…
Mr. Speaker, on behalf of the Bean family of Strafford, Vermont, and in tribute to their exceptional young son and brother murdered thirty years ago because of his sexual orientation, I submit the following Herald of Randolph story. Winthrop Bean's story is a tragic tale of senseless loss in the face of homophobia and reminds us of the need to end discrimination and achieve fundamental equality for all.
[From the Herald of Randolph]
Winthrop Bean Remembered
(By Bruce Kogan)
This month will mark the 30th anniversary of a guilty plea
entered in a New York City court by a man named Alfred
Desjardin, 25, pleading guilty to manslaughter-1 in
connection with the stabbing death of Strafford native
Winthrop Bean on May 19, 1983.
It was a story little reported in the mainstream media, but
in the White River Valley of Vermont it was the major news of
the year, because of the effect that Winkie Bean had on all
around him.
My own connection with this case came with my job at New
York State Crime Victims Board, where I was an investigator.
A woman named Linda Strohmeier, who volunteered at the New
York City Gay and Lesbian Anti-Violence Project, approached
me on behalf of Alta Varney, Winthrop's mother, who had filed
a claim for funeral reimbursement. Ms. Strohmeier was from
the area and knew Winkie and his family.
She told me of his ambitions for a career in the theater,
which was why he was in New York City, living with friends on
East 93rd Street. I knew that the location where his body was
found was right near a gay bar called Chaps, long since gone
now.
All the police of the 19th precinct in New York told me in
an official capacity was that he was indeed an innocent
victim, and there was no reason not to grant $1500 from the
state to Alta Varney to bury her son.
Another Dimension
The case always nagged at me, and when I got a chance to
speak on my experiences for a documentary on anti-gay
violence, I decided to do some research on it.
To begin with, 10 days after Winkie's death, there was an
arrest made of Alfred Desjardin, who was described as both a
truck driver and a junkie. As Jerry Orbach used to say on
``Law and Order,'' ``I love it when they're stupid.''
Desjardin left a steak knife with his fingerprints next to
Winkie's body.
But it was Winkie's story that really got to me. The Herald
of Randolph provided a lot of answers. By all accounts,
Winkie was a charismatic young man who had the great good
fortune to grow up in a primarily loving and accepting
atmosphere.
He came from South Strafford, population 1024 at the last
census, and that's about a 25% growth since 1983. It's a
community that is a haven for artistic types of all kinds,
sculptors, painters, and folks who make their living at the
theater. That's where Winkie, at an early age, developed a
love for the theater.
It was the passion of his life. While still in grade school
he wrote plays, designed sets, and organized the other kids
into theater groups. Later on in high school he worked at
adult theater companies.
Former Strafford resident Peter Smith, whom I met, told me
that his best memory of Winkie Bean was watching him build,
out of whatever scrap material he could find, a set for a
local production of ``The Elephant Man.'' Smith later wrote a
beautiful obituary for Winkie for The Herald of Randolph.
(Smith was for many years the director of the Hopkins
Center.)
Not an Issue
For most people in Strafford, Winkie being gay was simply
not an issue. That in itself makes his story unique, as most
of the gay men and lesbians I've become acquainted with from
small towns couldn't wait to get out of them to move to the
big city because of the prejudice against them.
To be sure, he heard the word ``faggot'' every so often,
usually from other kids. But Therese Linehan, whose mother
Kate was friends with Alta Varney and whose older brothers
were Winkie's contemporaries in school, said that those same
kids who called him ``faggot'' would listen to him when they
were part of his theater projects. Winkie had to have
extraordinary charisma and leadership skills for that to
happen.
Kate Linehan told me that Winkie was loved by just about
everyone in the area, and by area I include the surrounding
towns in the White River Valley. She remembers him always
having a kind word for all, never failing to ask sincerely
about people's health and welfare.
Off to New York
When he left to go to New York to become a set designer in
the theater, it was with the well wishes of one and all in
the region. No exile to the big city for Winthrop Bean. He
could have been the local high school jock hero who signs a
major league baseball contract; it was how he was viewed.
This was a story about gay youth from a small town, a story
that I had never heard before.
But on the night of May 19, 1982 after an evening of good
food and drinks with some friends, Winthrop Bean decided to
have a nightcap at Chaps Bar, which was on Third Avenue in
the upper eighties.
Maybe feeling a bit liberated and not on his guard, he was
easy prey for Desjardin who was waiting outside the bar, no
doubt looking for a gay victim who would not put up much
struggle. Winkie was stabbed about eight times and left in a
pool of his own blood to bleed out and die in a stairwell at
229 East 88 Street.
His screams did awake residents who called the police.
I grew up in Brooklyn myself, and in the big city you do
learn street smarts. My own theory of the crime is that
Winthrop Bean, because of the loving and nurturing atmosphere
he was raised in, never developed them.
Therese Linehan told me that Winkie believed in the best in
and of everybody. It was beyond his grasp that people could
want to harm him for any reason. Evil as a concept is
something that a lot of people can't comprehend.
A police tip led to Desjardin's arrest, and the case was
ready to be tried by the New York County district attorney's
office.
Witness Recants
A source in the DA's office told me that one of the
witnesses, a key witness who could have testified and linked
the circumstantial and forensic case that they had developed,
went bad on them. After that, Asst. DA Patrick Dugan had no
choice but to make the best bargain he could and Desjardin
copped to a manslaughter-1 plea and got eight to 35 years for
a brutal murder, which to me had overtones of bias.
The fact is that Desjardin selected the area around Chaps
as a hunting ground. The fact that Winkie was stabbed
multiple times could only come from some primitive rage. And
most important for me was that not only was the incriminating
steak knife left behind with the killer's fingerprints, but
in what he said was a robbery, nothing was taken.
Asst. D.A. Dugan himself was saddened by this turn of
events. In a letter to Alta Varney he wrote that ``during the
course of our investigation . . . I have learned that
Winthrop was a wonderful person whose loss to his family,
friends, and society is irreplaceable.''
As for Desjardin, he got out after his minimum and went
back to a life of crime. He was caught and pled guilty to a
robbery and got 12 additional years that started in 1994.
After 2006, who knows where he is now?
A Hate Crime
The savagery of the crime is similar to a few other crimes
motivated by homophobia, some that I handled claims for in
the course of my years at Crime Victims Board.
And this crime seems similar to one that got national
attention, that of Matthew Shepard. There is another
similarity: The mothers in each case became activists of
sorts.
Judy Shepard's life as spokesperson for hate crimes
legislation is well known. Alta Varney chose a different
route. A Winthrop Bean memorial scholarship was established
shortly after Winkie's death to give funds to students who
want to go into the theater. That's something that honored
his passion, and something I believe he would have approved.
Winkie's name should be on a list of LGBT honored dead,
right up there with Matthew Shepard, Julio Rivera, James
Zappalorti, Henry Marquez, and so many others.
Time and circumstance have allowed his name to fade from
consciousness in a way the others haven't except in the White
River Valley of Vermont, where people still talk of him as
one of the most unforgettable individuals they ever came to
know.