Live Like Ellis
THE FIRST TIME I MET Ellis McFadden was around 2007, after seeing a local speaker at the Tattered Cover when they still rented the second floor downtown. He was an unsuspecting, bright man who exchanged Colorado history barbs with me for a few minutes. I knew who he was by reputation. I heard his name in Project Angel Heart circles, from the Colorado AIDS Project, spoken among historians, beloved by Aurarian students, and revered by so many others. I researched his collection of materials at Denver Public Library.
David Duffield
I felt his footprints before I really knew him.
A few years later, I ran into Ellis when I did some volunteer work with One Colorado for Lobby Day. We marched up a cold and wet February morning to argue for undocumented workers’ rights, women’s rights, and of course for same-sex civil unions. He corrected me on some facts about Brown’s bluff and the State Capitol. He told me a few stories about the history of the capitol and of Denver — and left me speechless.
I chatted with him over Facebook from time to time and about a year ago started speaking with him about the Colorado LGBT History Project. We met for coffee, went over the project, and he nodded. “Well that’s needed,” he said. Ellis spoke patiently, humbly, truthfully, and forthrightly — it was his nature.
In the fall of 2014, he agreed to do an oral history, and help me with some introductions. I met him in January of 2015. I walked into his apartment, which was warm at twilight. Award upon award decorated his walls, collections of glass, boxes of materials, and a view of Mount Evans out the window kept us further company. We sat, drank tea, and completed the pre-interview.
Oral history is unique in many respects, but people often describe their past like ink layers, like fingerprints. Some describe where they lived, who they loved, what they did. In Ellis’ case, it was where he volunteered, and most importantly what he did for other people. So we followed that pattern in the interview. One of the last quotes that stuck with me was when he responded to a question about what he wanted to see in the community. He wanted young people to do more.
“You gotta do something, people,” he urged.
Throughout all the stories from standing on many cold nights on a corner gathering hat-in-hand cash donations for the Symphony; paying for the Center’s second phone line; fighting against the Anita Bryant campaign; being in CAP’s Buddies program; delivering for Project Angel Heart; serving in countless political campaigns; in making Mountain Bell more LGBT friendly; battling for our right to civil unions, or on and on … I realized that here was a man with a hand in everything.
When I asked him why so much volunteering: “I was always an overachiever. I hate being left out. I’m just good at doing.” A self-accused “eternal optimist,” his voice only broke in the interview at recollecting the shock of Amendment 2, HIV/AIDS, and civil unions.
I saw him a couple more times in the intervening months. I was told only recently he had cancer, days before I had a meeting at CAP, and there on the wall was a big picture of Ellis.
Ellis’ collection at DPL includes great files on nearly every group he volunteered with and countless buttons. It’s free and open to the public and, along with his oral history, make a great legacy and heritage. Yet his life meant so much more.
I saw Ellis on July 3 of this year. I went to his hospice. The bright sunny day filtered into Ellis’ comfortable, quiet, twilight room. The front desk nurse told me “he has a parade of people.” The visit lasted a minute. I knocked, entered, stood stunned a moment to a body thinned and struggling to speak. I took his hand, told him I was glad to see him, he nodded.
“On dresser.” He pointed to a Colorado flag that flew over the state capitol. “Open top drawer.” Two awards. One was from the Colorado Assembly thanking him for his volunteerism, tours at the Capitol, and contribution to democracy. Another was a proclamation from the Governor listing his accomplishments, and declaring July 2 Ellis McFadden Day. I was stunned. As I left I saw I was the fifteenth person to visit him in two days.
I’m still struggling to make meaning. I’ve shed tears. Honor and memory, however, just seem
more useful.
I take much comfort in the fact that Ellis lived to see nationwide marriage equality. It just seems fitting.
Ellis McFadden’s life is one worth emulating. Marcus Aurelius wrote in Meditations: “Death smiles at us all, all a man can do is smile back.” Ellis’ honored memory — his life — is in equal parts legacy, heritage, and prophecy. To live like Ellis is an aspiration to be loved and remembered.
“Do something, people.” Live for others.
Ellis McFadden
Aug. 24, 1949 – July 5, 2015
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