Pgh Lesbian Correspondents

I have received some awards, honors, and maybe even a badge or two  over the past 20 years of blogging.

Now, an article about me has won a Golden Quill award for the journalist, Steve Mellon of the Pittsburgh Union Progress. He also won two other categories.

Excellence in Written Journalism, Profile – Division 2: “Peering into the darkness, blogger finds the abandoned and vulnerable” by Steve Mellon. The judge’s comment: “There were some strong entries in this category — it’s hard to beat the image of cemetery workers walking over their own future graves daily — but this deeply reported, nuanced portrait of a local blogger who surfaced a story that made national headlines rises above the rest.” 

I feel a bond with Steve, perhaps after hours of exhaustive sharing of my story. Or the culmination of our work together since we met in 2022. He feels like a kindred spirit which might strike you as odd for me to say about a 65 year old white cisgender heterosexual church-going married father of three. What can I say – I like to flip the script?

I have an affinity for local journalists. Chris Potter is one of my favorites – making him laugh uproariously is a delight. Tony Norman. Lynn Cullen. Rich Lord. Foo Conner. David Highfield. Beyond their professional excellence resonates a vibe that simultaneously sets them above, but keeps them ‘one of us.’ You may notice that most are white cisgender heterosexual men. That’s a reflection of the media market, not necessarily me.

Add Steve to that group. When I feel a pang about the vulnerabilities I ripped open during/ our many conversations over coffee, I have innate trust with how he’ll process the information. And I do not trust many people. I even agree to allow him to take some new head shots for me, something I resist A LOT. But it is a rare opportunity to have someone with his credentials do that.

I have a big job as Meredith Gray would say so I’m quite familiar with scrutiny from critics – I’ve been doxxed, cancelled, TERFd, threatened, harassed, humiliated, and smeared by lots of people. Every week, these days.

In the aforementioned profile, I felt a scrutiny to understand me rather than silence or punish me. I wasn’t pitied or painted as some sort of martyr, nor was my actual work minimized as a byproduct of child abuse. Those things aren’t entirely untrue, but they are not the whole picture.

He’s a really nice guy. One thing that always strikes me is when he gives me a ride – he ALWAYS gets out of the car to open the door for me. I can be halfway out and he’s still there. It is an important courtesy to him so I simply fuss with my stuff until he opens the door because I want to return the courtesy. It is a simple, thoughtful gesture. We don’t get too many of those these days.

Pittsburgh is lucky to have Steve Mellon as a journalist. Congratulations to Steve and the other Golden Quill winners.

OK, here’s another anecdote. We were at a Panera working on the story, drinking coffee. We both decided to get a refill and meandered to the carafes. Another white dude was standing there repeatedly flipping the spout without any success – no coffee. He was genuinely puzzled. So Steve went to help him. Two white dudes analyzing the empty coffee carafe, discussing how to get the attention of the staff, very serious. Should they call out? Was anyone in the room? Steve was clearly identifying the problem and going through potential solutions. Other white dude is just bewildered, like a lamb lost in the coffee fields.

I walked over to the different roast carafe – blonde, I believe – and filled my cup, then walked away after a nice long sip of hot relatively freshly brewed coffee. I said nothing.

They followed my lead. Steve acknowledged that I had found a solution he hadn’t considered. Other guy grumbled about the different roast, then returned to his position at the original carafe to wait for a friendly gazelle or giraffe to lead him to his next cup. I do not know what became of him, but I’m pretty sure he did not die for lack of dark roast.

I almost died from rolling my eyes.