I didn’t know Teresa as “Tree”, or “Annie”. I called her Hooker.
I met Hooker in 1984 while attending Arizona State University. She had a harem of beautiful gay boys, and I was lucky enough to join her group. We used to party all night long and eventually end up at her house for more dancing, eating, and partying. Her house was a refuge for most of us back then because we could live authentically as gay men.
I left Arizona in 1985 because I took my freedom a little too far. My grades were suffering, and it was not a path I wanted to be on.
Although we did not talk often, I remained friends with Hooker for almost 40 years. I may not have spoken to her for months, but when we connected, it was like we just spoke yesterday. She was truly one of my best friends. It’s also ironic that we both ended up in high level Human Resource positions given how unprofessional we were. I guess you have to be a little crazy to be successful in HR.
We often joked that if one of us died before the other, we had plenty of shit we could share about the other at our funerals. She knew of one story I would for sure share at hers and would die laughing knowing I probably would. Fortunately for her, I won’t tell that story.
Besides seeing Hooker last week at Scripps hospital in La Jolla, the day before she went to the disco in the sky, I had not seen her since my 60th birthday party. Although already suffering with stage 4 breast cancer (unbeknownst to me), she made all my favorite dishes and brought them out.
When I told one of the gays in Hooker’s harem from back in the day that she had passed, he said “Besides spending many nights at Teresa's house in Tempe, I recall many times she would "pick up" entire bar tabs for friends and total strangers. She would barely bat an eye as she told the bar tender just put it all on my tab.” That’s who she was.
I will miss you my wonderful friend. My life will never be the same without you in it.