Ahh, the secrets we keep.

For instance, the secrets revealed in a biography of author Truman Capote. (Breakfast at Tiffany’s, In Cold Blood)  I am reading it, although the book came out many years ago, after Capote died.

Its pages were filled with details about the homosexuality of any number of celebrities.  Capote was gay, of course.  So were various he-man movie and television stars.  So were a raft of musicians, composers, poets, authors, members of royalty.  So were many famous wives. And husbands.

Virtually all kept to their closets.  People who wrote about them knew.  People who interviewed them knew.  People who publicized their marriages knew.  Yet all kept silent, so far as the fans were concerned.  They participated in a massive conspiracy of silence.

This was not just because we might not buy tickets to the movies of gay actors or scorn the books of gay writers. It was also because if news slipped out some of the actors and writers could land in jail.  Or be blackballed in their work.  Blackballed by people who knew all along they were gay but figured the audiences and book buyers could not stomach this.