I was working to expand Phoenix Place, Savannah's residential facility for people with AIDS, and Mills had been a long term investor in the work.
Now that work was complete, we sat in the sunshine. I'd kicked off my shoes and he giggled.
"You know what I like about you Mike? You know how to dress for Savannah heat."
I was wearing my summer work clothes of Cargo pants, a black tee shirt and loafers with no socks. Mills had on seersucker pants, a white cotton shirt and brogans.
Shrugging my shoulders I didn't know what to say and remained quiet. He smiled, closed his eyes and tilted his head into the sun. I stared at him.He'd been a good friend to the work and to me. In addition to funneling money to expand the AIDS program, Mill's included me at the many parties he threw, introducing other potential supporters and at events he privately sponsored throughout the city.
Savannah was still in the closet in those days and I was helping knock the door open. We provided office space to "First City Network", the emerging gay and lesbian organization. When Phoenix Place opened it was a coming out party for the city's gay community and ended up being quiet the celebration.
As the Supreme Court works through the process of recognizing marriage for anyone who happens to be in love, regardless of their sex, I find myself remembering Mills and those days.
I always thought the AIDS work would be highly controversial in sleepy old "Slow-vannah" as it had been when we opened Glade House in Louisville, Kentucky a few years earlier. But it never was.
It took me forever to understand why. The city's gay population was huge and so many families had already been touched by AIDS. So Phoenix Place was accepted from the start and Mills wrote a check for $30,000 to help finish it.
Today "First City Network" is an established and thriving organization. Savannah's gay and lesbian community is no longer hidden and openly celebrates the diversity of this community. Phoenix Place is the regions dominate provider of services for people now living with AIDS.
Like many other things in Savannah, these things wouldn't have happen without Mills.
A few weeks before he died at the age of 59, I received a note from him instructing me to take his name off the mailing list and thanking me for everything we'd done together. Typical Mills, he didn't want me to waste a newsletter.
On this eve of historical movement towards equality, I'm going to find a half empty bottle of Champaign and toast Mills B. Lane IV, proud of how far we've come.
