"Embracing Diversity and Wisdom: The Legacy of My Beloved Gay Cousin, Paul Barby"

In my youth, I attended Fort Worth Christian (1983-1990), an evangelical institution associated with the Richland Hills Church of Christ in Fort Worth, Texas. It was a school that insisted its faculty and staff adhered to the Church of Christ denomination, while simultaneously welcoming students from diverse Christian backgrounds, hoping to sway them towards their beliefs. During those years, the institution promulgated the belief that they held the exclusive key to Heaven, with other Christian denominations like Baptists, Methodists, and Catholics branded as misguided souls destined for damnation (luckily today, the school (FWC) and now re-named Hills Church have discarded such beliefs, but it took decades to do so).

At Fort Worth Christian (FWC), it was commonplace to be indoctrinated with a deep-seated prejudice against homosexuals and lesbians. The narrative often revolved around the story of Sodom and Gomorrah, weaponized to reinforce our biased views against people, in church of all places, labelled as “faggots,” “fairies,” and “queers.” Concurrently, I attended Pantego Bible Church, a denomination considered heretical by Fort Worth Christian, but aligned in its condemnation of homosexuality as an "abomination to the Lord" (Leviticus 18:22 and 20:13).

Within my family circles, hurtful language and negative sentiments were often directed at individuals who identified as gay. Regrettably, during that era, some even used the AIDS epidemic to support their misguided belief about gays, viewing it as a sign from God, erroneously equating it with divine punishment for gay individuals. It was amidst this backdrop of intolerance and prejudice that I had the privilege of knowing my wonderful cousin, Paul Barby. He was a remarkable mentor, a man who nurtured my love for learning, with a passion for plants, astronomy, and religious history.

One conversation with him during my adolescence left an indelible mark. I was attempting to convert him to the Church of Christ doctrine, fervently desiring his place in Heaven beside me. However, his response challenged my theological convictions. He posed a poignant question: Could I truly find happiness in Heaven if my grandmother (a Baptist), Davidson relatives (Presbyterians), Barby-Baptist relatives (supporters of Oklahoma Baptist University), and countless non-Church of Christ family members were destined for Hell or already there? Could God truly be loving and kind if He did such a thing to Baptists and Presbyterians? This inquiry compelled me to rethink my rigid beliefs and acknowledge that, at the tender age of 15, I couldn't possess all the answers about Heaven and Hell. It made me realize that maybe, just maybe, a Baptist could find their way to Heaven!!! It also made me reevaluate what type of God should we be worshiping? One that persecutes gays, Baptists, and Presbyterians, or one that maybe would include them in the ones He would bring into heaven along with Church of Christ members if they lived good lives?

Soon thereafter, I discovered that my dear cousin Paul Barby was gay. This revelation shattered my preconceived notions. I had been conditioned by Fort Worth Christian, Pantego Bible Church, Richland Hills Church of Christ, and some relatives to believe that all gays were inherently evil or worse. However, Paul defied these stereotypes. He embodied honesty and kindness, contrasting starkly with the biased image I had held. This epiphany compelled me to reevaluate my beliefs, recognizing that gays, like anyone else, were part of the rich tapestry of humanity, deserving of respect and understanding. It dawned on me that gay love is merely another manifestation of love itself.

Throughout the years, Paul continued to broaden my horizons, introducing me to neglected areas of thought from my evangelical upbringing. He delved into philosophy, technology, and sociology, guiding my education and offering invaluable critique while proofreading my books on World War II and the Holocaust, especially “Hitler’s Jewish Soldiers.” Together, we explored the Holocaust Museum's exhibition on the Nazi persecution of homosexuals in Oklahoma City in 2005, reveled in the natural beauty of Tucson's botanical gardens and butterfly sanctuary in 2009, and engaged in a three-day seminar on astronomy at Kitt Peak Observatory with Professor Bloch in 2012.

In my darkest moments, such as a painful divorce in 2015-2016, Paul, then 79 and battling congestive heart failure, embarked on a journey from Tucson to Dallas by train, carrying his oxygen tanks, to spend a week with me and ensure my well-being.

As Paul approached the end of his life, I asked him about his struggles in finding meaningful relationships. He confided, "Bryan, my curse as a gay man is that I've often fallen in love with heterosexual men, relationships that typically bore no fruit. I sometimes feel like a woman trapped in a man's body. My sexuality is complex, exacerbated by growing up in the 1940s and 1950s, aware of my differences but unsure of their implications. Perhaps with more support and love from my family, teachers, and church officials when I was young, my adult life might have been less challenging in terms of finding love and companionship."

Paul was a trailblazer in many facets of his life. He established accountability with oil companies regarding the vast lands several of our family members inherited from our patriarch, Otto N. Barby. Despite some conservative Christian family members who may still condemn him for his sexual orientation, they continue to benefit from the oil revenue generated through systems he put in place decades ago—a testament to Paul's selfless love for his family. His journey took him from New York City as an actor to a life as a rancher and oilman in Oklahoma. He served as a regent for Oklahoma State Universities and made history as the first openly gay man in the United States to run for public office, in this case Congress, in 1996—an audacious feat given Oklahoma's conservative leanings. Paul was a true renaissance man, fervently studying history, philosophy, religion, and political science.

Above all, Paul loved me and unwaveringly believed in me. He supported my intellectual pursuits and became one of my earliest clients when I became a financial advisor almost 20 years ago. His desire to contribute to meaningful causes led him to invest in solar energy, proton cancer treatment centers, electric cars, and biotechnology, all driven by his commitment to making the world a better place for everyone, transcending mere financial gain.

As Paul neared the end of his life, I asked him about his thoughts on death. He responded resolutely, "No, I'm not scared of death." When asked about the possibility of an afterlife, he replied, "Absolutely not. I wish there were, but I don't believe in God and Heaven. Only weak-minded people hold such beliefs." His words underscored his intellectual rigor as he continued, "Most people are weak-minded; it's humanity's curse. They don't educate themselves enough to think independently. It took me a long time to let go of God, but I'm glad I did. Now, I embrace reason and science. They're far more exciting. I wish I didn't have to face death, but it's the fate we all share. Embrace life while you have it—there's so much to discover."

In celebrating the life of my beloved cousin, Paul Barby, we honor the wisdom he imparted and the profound impact he had on all who were fortunate enough to know him. His story serves as a testament to the importance of empathy, understanding, and acceptance, and as a reminder that love transcends all boundaries, guiding us toward a brighter and more inclusive future. The attached interview he gave about his life and philosophies was taken a four years ago. It captures his humanity, intelligence, and kindness. Please watch. https://www.notanothersecond.com/stories/paul/...