Honoring Steve Hines

Almost twenty years ago I was approached by Lee Willis with Guy Baldwin, and Jan Lyons. A boy still wet behind the ears, Lee told me about his pet project, a memorial plaque honoring those "fallen Leathermen and Leatherwomen."

"Would you help me plan a dinner for the presentation of the plaque?" he asked.

I felt quite humbled to be approached by these Elders of the Tribe and asked, "Why me?" I did not feel up to the task.

They explained that they wanted something "classy." A dinner with a performance of high caliber. With decades of experience as a professional ballet dancer, they knew I would do something worthy of the occasion. "I believe that the Leather community deserves the best," added Lee. "Don't worry. If you need help, just ask. We can do this together."

A few short weeks later Lee invited me over his house. "I need help," I said, as I helped him stretch the large piece of leather over the plaque's background. "I do not know how to go about planning a dinner. I know how to organize a show but not a dinner."

"Steve Hines," was his curt reply. "He will do a good job."

Steve was a friend in the community, handsome with a brush of a mustache and a quick smile. As the weeks flew by and the presentation of the event grew closer, I barely heard from Steve. And whenever I would ask him how things were going, he would simply say, "Everything's fine."

On the night of the presentation, I recall opening up Seattle's Russian Hall with Steve. As I unloaded boxes and boxes of food with him, I realized just how much he had done in preparation for the event. Diligently he had worked without fanfare. No paper plates and napkins for this event. He had prepared a high calibre meal that one might enjoy in a fine restaurant.

That evening, Russian Hall was filled with Leatherfolk not only from Seattle, but also from other cities. An evening as memorable as the plaque. After the dinner, the presentation of names, and the performance, I stood in the front of the hall as people were filing out. I looked over to the kitchen, Steve Hines still working in the kitchen.

"Quiet dignity." Two words that Guy Baldwin had shared with me many months before from a book by Geoffrey Mains. "A Leatherman has 'Quiet Dignity.'" As I watched Steve that night, these words returned. I realized that he exemplified these words in his service to the community.

Today, I remember Steve as a man who was always there providing help without complaint. As I look at the plaque hanging on the wall of The Cuff, I see Steve's name. He died three years after its presentation in 1994.

"Steve Hines, Seattle Daddy's Boy '90 - '91."

A man of service. A true Leatherman.

For more about The Memorial Plaque.