Pride, 2026

My name is Mathew Tombers.

These are some facts about me: I am 76 years old, run Edgartown Books, a proud book monger.

I am a gay man, born a Catholic in Minnesota into a time which was homophobic. Attending a Catholic boys high school, I was agonizingly afraid I would be discovered.

College was better, but not by leaps and bounds. Being gay was not O.K. in 1960s Minnesota. Working with a therapist, I realized whoever I was going to be had to be discovered somewhere else.

So in 1978, I loaded my car, headed for Los Angeles, where I knew virtually no one, leaving on a brutally cold day in late January. It was the beginning of my “hero’s journey,” even if I didn’t feel heroic.

With great good luck, I found a waiter’s job. Later, found a foothold in media, a business where gay was not O.K. In one job I was told if the president of the unit found out, a way would be found to eliminate me. Both cable networks I worked at in the ’80s and ’90s were surprisingly homophobic.

At 76, I have lived through things.

When I heard about the Stonewall riot in college, I felt wonder at their courage.

In L.A., it was the last days of the disco age, sometimes dancing at Studio One until “Last Dance” by Donna Summer closed the night.

I have lived through AIDS, personally unscathed though not untouched or unafraid, fearful every time I was intimate with someone. I buried friends, scattered ashes.

Richard Easthouse, my greatest friend in that time, a television executive, with whom I rollicked on trips to New York, standing once in a summer rain, laughing as we were drenched, fell sick. His partner called; I flew to New York, sat with him, other friends and family; he rallied, slipped, rallied, went. We buried him in northern California on a foggy day. A friend from my waiter days went home to England because he couldn’t afford medical care in America, died alone, shunned by family, delirious at the end.

The “cocktail” came, a savior for so many I knew; AIDS began to fade as a concern. Public opinion began to change. In the aughts, I attended the wedding of my friends Gary and Angel; their love incandescent. I understood viscerally, for the first time, the importance of marriage, to be recognized in front of loved ones and society for the relationship you have.

Back in my radio days, 46 years ago, I met the people who now own Edgartown Books. Eighteen months of retirement nearly bored me to death, so I asked them if they needed help. One thing led to another. I live here now, run their bookstore, sit on the vestry at St. Andrew’s, am community-involved, write for The MV Times, integrated into this Island community. The media business had me on planes a lot of the time; roots were hard to make.

Here, I feel rooted. And unafraid. The Island is an embracing place. Anyone who knows me here knows my sexuality; it is a nonissue. We even have our own Pride now, and I am proud we do.

There is, however, a concerning trend happening: Acceptance of us has plateaued; some states this year are actively counterprogramming Pride, calling June “Fidelity Month” or some such variation.

I do not want the gay young men and women I know, who give so much to life, to feel they cannot be who they are for fear. Let us let them walk hand in hand down Main Street, as did one of my young employees last summer — my smile was broad as I drove by the two young women.

My life was formed by fear and shame. I have spent a half-century becoming this person. We have come so far. Let us not go back, here, on this Island, or anywhere.