CORRESPONDENCErnLetter FromrnWinthrop Universityrnby Luther M. Boggs, Ji.rnOn Campus With the NationalrnAIDS QuiltrnIt was a sleepy Sunday afternoon whenrna section of the national AIDS quiltrnvisited Winthrop University. The sun,rnslipping low into the tops of the pines,rnshown red across the sparsely populatedrncampus. With many students still enjoyingrnthe waning hours of anotherrnweekend spent elsewhere. Rock Hill,rnSouth Carolina, was not up to its normalrnweekday bustle. The lobby of DinkinsrnStudent Center was nearly empty whenrnthe faithful began to trickle in.rnBy the time I arrived, an orderly mobrnof six or seven students was gatheredrnaround a table near the center of thernroom. Behind the table, an earnestrnyoung woman was passing out red ribbons.rnTake a ribbon, she said, take a pin.rnHad the assembled not been so willing,rnso eager to accept, she might easily havernbeen hocking samples of the latestrncelebrity fragrance—Elizabeth Taylor’srnTrue Devotion?—at a department storernmakeup counter in nearby Charlotte.rnTwo others were handing out small whiterncandles collared with the nifty little cardboardrnwax guards that never quite seemrnto work. I politely declined, figuring Irnwould do my candle-holding and waxmonitoringrnon Christmas Eve.rnBeyond the ribbon girl were the earlyrnarrivals. Some sat on the floor, others onrnthe several chairs. Some chatted quietlyrnwith one another about this or that or,rnmore likely, nothing at all. Others,rnsolemn and reflective, sat quietly, gazingrnacross the floor toward a bright and busyrnexpanse of color, a hallowed patchworkrnof large fabric squares—the AIDS quilt.rnSomeone handed me a program. “AnrnEcumenical Prayer Service,” it read,rn”REMEMBERING THE COMMONrnTHREAD.” The title was gathered tornone side to leave room for an illustration:rntwo figures of indeterminate genderrnembracing below a quilt sewn togetherrnwith, yes, a common thread. The service,rnthe bulletin continued, was “for allrnof us touched by the AIDS Crisis”—thernword “crisis” matter-of-factly capitalizedrnand neatly assimilated into the two-word,rnsingle entity “AIDS Crisis.”rnAnd what did that mean, “for all of usrntouched by the AIDS Crisis”? That all ofrnus had, in fact, been touched by AIDS?rnThat all of us should have been touchedrnby AIDS? That those not certain theyrnhad been touched by AIDS should retirernto the adjoining game room for Ping-rnPong or Pole Position and leave the prayingrnand singing and wax control to morernqualified souls? I wasn’t sure; I wasn’trneven sure what “touched by” meant.rnThe proud sponsor of the affair was anrnumbrella organization called WinthroprnCooperative Campus Ministries. Inrnsearch of some explanation, I turned tornthe back page of the bulletin: “WinthroprnCooperative Campus Ministries is a cooperativerneffort by several different denominationsrnat Winthrop University tornserve the Winthrop student body, facultyrnand staff through a variety of enrichingrnopportunities.” Beyond a generalrndeclaration of geography, the statementrnwas more or less, well, vague. Therngroup’s purpose—to serve the communityrn—was clear enough, but the rest wasrna muddle. I wondered how it served andrnto what end. “Through a variety of enrichingrnopportunities,” I read again.rnThis prayer service, I concluded, was anrnopportunity for enrichment.rnSeven campus ministries were listed asrnafhliates. The usual mainline suspects—rnthe Presbyterian and United Methodistrnclubs, the Catholic league and a combinedrngroup of Lutherans and Episcopaliansrn—had signed on, as had thernAfrican Methodist Episcopal bunch andrnsomething called the Reformed UniversityrnFellowship. In a mild surprise, thernBaptists topped the list.rnOutside, beyond the crisscrossed concreternwalkways, past the dogwood treesrnand magnolias, the hour was soundingrnfrom the bell tower. Six o’clock. Inside,rn25 or 30 students huddled for the service.rnStill engrossed in the bulletin, Irnscarcely noticed as a clergyman calledrnthe assembled to order and said somethingrnabout the tragic beauty of thernAIDS quilt. The section laid out on thernfloor behind him, behind the velvet ropernbarriers otherwise used to corral patronsrnat busy banks and museums, was onrntour. This would be a brief stop: onernnight only. The wonder was that it hadrnstopped here at all.rnAfter an opening hymn, a pastor camernforward to lead a responsive reading.rn”We gather this evening to remember,”rnhe said, “longing for the Caring Onernwho calls us from darkness into the lightrnof love.” “Caring One”? “Light of love”?rnWhy not, among Christians, “God” andrn”salvation”? I found out soon enough.rnThe reading continued. “We gather tornbe drawn together, embraced by [the]rnnurturing arms of all who sojourn alongrnthis path we call life.” The vigil, then,rnwas less about petitioning God and morernabout gathering people together to healrneach other—a curious focus for an occasion,rnhowever ecumenical, billed as arnprayer service. Not Thy will, Lord, butrnmine.rnSelf-flattery quickly yielded to selfloathing:rn”We gather this evening in sadnessrn. . . remembering [those] who haverndied of AIDS and acknowledging the indifferencernof our church, our society andrnthe slowness of our human response.”rnPublic indifference to AIDS in America?rnAbout whom were they talking? Afterrnall, Ronald Reagan—the Evil Executivernmany in the AIDS lobby still seem tornthink invented the disease—had longrnsince retired to California. If not Reagan,rnI thought, then whom? Perhaps thernnew demon on the block. Rush Limbaugh.rnAs I recall recent history, neitherrnchurches nor society at large has beenrnindifferent to the plight of those withrnAIDS. The names of AIDS victims havernbeen etched across the national heart.rnFrom Ryan White to Kimberly Bergalis,rnfrom Rock Hudson to Magic Johnson,rnwe have prayed for the living andrnmourned the loss of the dead. And wernthe people, the taxpayers, have spent billionsrnon the quest for a cure. In BillrnClinton’s America, the federal governmentrnwill spend $1.3 billion on AIDS researchrnin this year alone. Indifference?rnNot even close.rnThe stars have certainly done theirrnpart. Nearly all of them—from rock godsrnto jocks, from Hollywood nymphs torngame-show hosts—have kept the faith,rnsporting their red ribbons at everyrnAcademy Awards show, every Emmyrn36/CHRONlCLESrnrnrn