Deacon Lawrence J. Schact (1927-2022)
Deacon Lawrence died a couple of weeks ago. His funeral was last Tuesday. Not only was he one of St. Michael's oldest members, but he was probably the last remnant of that church's pioneering gay past. The story has not been told often enough, of how the place was on its last legs fiscally with its old-stock, New York Knickerbocker constituency dwindling in numbers, a closeted gay bishop was assigned the task of closing the church and moving control of its not insignificant endowment to the diocese. The move was stalled by another closeted gay man who happened to be the church's rector. This priest, together with about a dozen other slightly less closeted gay men banded with an equal number of Carribean women parishioners until they were able to build the congregation into an efficient, self-reliant force.
That is the St. Michaels I fell in love with thirty years ago and Deacon Lawrence was one of the first people I made friends with. He and his life-long partner, Russell Frink were white-haired, elders of the church even then. Russell, with his natty suits and patrician bearing, bore a dignified, silent witness to a - by then - bygone era of dressing up for church. It was only later that I learned that Russell was a southerner and did not need explaining when I arrived on Mothers and Fathers days with a red or white carnation in my boutinierre. He was completely familiar with the tradition.
In fact, it is difficult to tell the story of Deacon Lawrence without the story of his great love and ground-breaking marraige to Russell. They had already been together 55 years when New York State permitted them a marraige license in 2012, only a few months before Russell's death.
Despite what you might expect, Deacon Lawrence never wore his "gayness" on his sleeve. He was as traditional in his attitudes toward the liturgy and to church conduct as any member of the Old Guard. He wore a jacket and tie every Sunday and he deplored the use of the altar chancel as a performative space for children's pageants and the like. But, he kept his views to himself for the most part and only started limiting his attendance as the pain in his deteriorating joints made in-person attendance unbearable.
My understanding is that he died peacefully in the same stately, pre-War, Riverside Drive apartment where he and Russell spent their first night together. That was one heck of a one-night stand.
That is the St. Michaels I fell in love with thirty years ago and Deacon Lawrence was one of the first people I made friends with. He and his life-long partner, Russell Frink were white-haired, elders of the church even then. Russell, with his natty suits and patrician bearing, bore a dignified, silent witness to a - by then - bygone era of dressing up for church. It was only later that I learned that Russell was a southerner and did not need explaining when I arrived on Mothers and Fathers days with a red or white carnation in my boutinierre. He was completely familiar with the tradition.
In fact, it is difficult to tell the story of Deacon Lawrence without the story of his great love and ground-breaking marraige to Russell. They had already been together 55 years when New York State permitted them a marraige license in 2012, only a few months before Russell's death.
Despite what you might expect, Deacon Lawrence never wore his "gayness" on his sleeve. He was as traditional in his attitudes toward the liturgy and to church conduct as any member of the Old Guard. He wore a jacket and tie every Sunday and he deplored the use of the altar chancel as a performative space for children's pageants and the like. But, he kept his views to himself for the most part and only started limiting his attendance as the pain in his deteriorating joints made in-person attendance unbearable.
My understanding is that he died peacefully in the same stately, pre-War, Riverside Drive apartment where he and Russell spent their first night together. That was one heck of a one-night stand.