Hawaii Island’s Danny Robinson, Allen Castro and Dennis Heckart have witnessed more than four decades of change in the LGBT community and in their relationships, but one thing has remained constant … a dedication to the principle of agape, the love of people.

Danny and Allen have been in a committed relationship for nearly 36 years. Dennis, who also lives on The Big Island, was Allen’s partner from 1969 thru 1974 and they are now lifelong friends.

"When Allen and I met, it was just the beginning of the liberation movement," Dennis recalls.

Allen recounts stories of a San Francisco bar, The Capri, which in 1969 allowed what was considered "illegal" dancing between same-gender couples, a simple act that, at the time, could get gay and lesbian people arrested. Raids and harassment on gay bars were common.

"We'd wait for the bouncer to give the signal to stop dancing," Allen said. "He'd signal if the cops were coming, which could happen once or twice a night. Back then, most of the gay bars were mafia owned, so there was a lot of finagling going on with the police department. It was a different world."

Allen proudly pulls out a copy of Imagine Magazine’s 1989 pictorial of 20 years of gay pride history in San Francisco. Now 22 years old, the magazine is still in pristine condition because it contains a picture of Allen and Dennis marching in one of San Francisco’s first gay pride marches in 1971. Bell bottoms, Afros and flannel shirts abound … and so do the memories of that day.

"Now millions of people go, but at that one, about 5,000 showed up and the majority was there to heckle," Allen recounts. "Every 20 feet there was a cop to prevent people from hurting the marchers. The march was very short, but I’ll always remember the cops lining the streets for our protection. Now, the cops are marching in the parade, but back then it was a scary proposition because you didn’t know what people were going to do to you."

They were both part of the hippie and "free love" movement that was sweeping the nation.

Dennis, who came out at 18 and was seeing a psychologist to help him deal with not fitting in because of his homosexuality, which was still considered a psychological disorder by the American Psychiatric Association. The psychiatrist recommended that Dennis do something independent, so he bought a car, left the suburbs and headed for the epicenter of the 60s counter culture.

"I fit in because it was a different time," Dennis said. "I fit in with the hippies. You just had to have long hair and smoke dope and you were part of the group. The gay movement inside of that was just a subset of the hippie movement."

Allen was raised in Oakland, CA, across the Bay from San Francisco. Although horrified at first, he got involved in the hippie movement in the “Summer of Love” in 1966. He had been studying to be a Franciscan priest and remembers praying and arguing with a priest during confession.

"I didn't get absolution, so I never went back," Allen said. "(In the hippie movement) I saw the Christianity I craved. It's not your religion. It's the quality of the person that matters. God is love is a concept true to every religion, and it actually transcends religion. Religion is how you live, not what you believe. It’s about true agape … a love for people."

He remembers a teaching from a fellow Franciscan in Santa Barbara. While feeding the homeless Allen was told "you have to look into everyone's eyes and see Jesus. If you can't do that, you don't belong here."

In 1968, Allen went to a musical theater audition to support a boyfriend who was an aspiring actor. His friend was not chosen, but because of his long hair and unique look, Allen became a cast member of the original production of Hair in San Francisco.

In the early 1970s, Allen and Dennis had broken up and were on separate paths. Danny moved to San Francisco on Jan. 2, 1976.

"I was miserable because all my friends were constantly going out and that wasn't working for me," Danny recalls. "I went out one night and met Allen. He took me to his home in Oakland and I never left."

They officially moved in together that March on Danny’s birthday.

"I told him, 'you are here every night, so you might as well move in," Allen said.

They have been together ever since, through good and bad times.

Danny remembers that his friends couldn’t understand why he would give up the free-love lifestyle of gay San Francisco.

"Relationships were rare back then," Danny said.

"When you got into our relationship, you lost all your friends because all your friends were single," Allen concurs.

That lifestyle, however, did have its dangers. They both remember when two of their friends, Jerry Taylor and Robert Hillsborough, were walking home one night and were chased by a gang of thugs. Jerry jumped over a fence and hid, but the gang caught Robert and stabbed him 96 times. The much-publicized murder is memorialized in both the films Milk and Mayor of Castro Street and sparked outrage and marches in San Francisco.

"Allen and I have had some really rocky times," Danny admits. "I'm a recovering alcoholic and Allen has stuck with me through all that."

In 1982, when Danny's alcoholism had hit a certain point, his mother asked him to return to Montana and enter a treatment program. He agreed and Danny, his mother and Allen went through the program as a family.

"Allen didn't know my mother very well at the time," Danny said. "I was in a hospital and Allen came to Montana to support me. My Mom picked him up from the airport, brought him to the hospital to see me and then they went back to her apartment where they stayed together for the next several weeks. It was not very smooth at the beginning, but they became real close. My mother believed that Allen was one of the best things to ever happen to me."

Allen was also there when Danny's mother was very sick and about to die. He almost lost his job with Alameda County when he took six weeks off to be in Montana with her. He was denied family leave which was automatically granted to straight couples in the same situation. Danny also supported Allen through the deaths of his mother and sister, just as any married couple would do.

When San Francisco Mayor Gavin Newsome opened marriage up to same-sex couples on Feb. 12, 2004, Danny and Allen decided to act. Allen remembers that two days had passed and they were afraid that the window of opportunity was going to close. On Sat., Feb. 14, they traveled to San Francisco.

"We hadn’t shaved," Allen said. "We were in jeans. We were afraid they’d close it down."

They were married that day but their marriage was placed in limbo for six months then nullified. As they had rescinded their domestic partnership in California to be married, they were now without any rights. They threatened to sue Allen’s employer, Alameda County, which eventually granted Danny survivorship benefits to avoid litigation. Although Allen was thankful, he did ask the County, "Well, what about all the other people you screwed over? It was an eye-opener."

Now approaching their fourth decade together, Brad and Ron admit that a long-term commitment hasn't been all honeymoon. Danny and Allen retired to Hilo the year after their now nullified marriage, a far cry from the gay incubator of the Bay area. The couple now are reciprocal beneficiaries for their house title and bank accounts.

"It was insulting, demeaning," Allen reports. "It was like getting something from the DMV. They couldn't find something more obscure. It was like getting a registration for a car."

Dennis also retired to The Big Island and the group has formed an extended 'ohana of support. "Here, the gay community is dispersed," Dennis said.

"Since there's not a geographic center, it's difficult to get organized," Danny adds. "It's not homogenized, but I think that’s the case with most rural areas. Dennis, Allen and I have formed a group for support. Dennis and I really weren't that close before because there was a larger community in the Bay area, here, we're very important to each other. We're like brothers. I'm sorry we didn’t have this type of relationship long ago on the mainland, but there were things going on that were beyond our control. We were both working. I think moving here allowed us to get close."

Dennis agrees and adds "and I think it also has to do with the fact that you made an effort to involve yourself in things that were of an interest to me and made them a part of your life, like going to the gym and the beach."

Danny jokes that because he and Dennis have many shared interests and are often in public together, "people think that we’re a couple. When they see two men hanging out together, in their naïve way, they assume we're a couple because we’re gay. That's a hurdle the gay community has to overcome."

The 'ohana now includes Linda Sales, a widow that Danny met in 2008 while a volunteer with Hospice of Hilo when Linda’s husband’s health was failing.

Danny fondly remembers his first meeting with Diego, Linda’s husband.

"I rang the doorbell, rang the doorbell and rang the doorbell," Danny said. "He was very hard of hearing, so I kept knocking and knocking. I decided to look in the window and saw a man sitting in his wheelchair sitting in the living room waiting for me. But he was asleep in his chair and couldn’t hear the doorbell, so I just went in the front door."

Once inside, Diego told Danny, "OK, you massage me now," pulled up his pant leg and put his foot in his lap. "Suddenly, after being in the room for five minutes with him, I'm sitting there with his leg in my lap massaging his leg and foot. After a bit he said enough already and put the other leg up."

During the next year, Danny would sit with Diego while Linda attended parties.

"The Filipinos are very into parties," Danny explains. "I would go and sit with Diego while Linda was at parties. I'd say 'let’s watch TV' and he'd say 'no, I want to talk story.' So he'd talk story in pigeon. By end of the evening, we’d both be horse because we had to talk so loud since he was hard of hearing."

Danny, Linda and Diego formed a unique bond that eventually forced Danny to leave his volunteer role at Hospice.

"We broke all the Hospice rules," Danny said. "They fed me and we weren’t supposed to eat.They took me out for my birthday and we weren't supposed to go in car together. One day, Hospice told me I couldn't go to the house anymore, so I quit."

"When I heard Danny quit. I cried," Linda said. "I called Danny and said 'I hear you are quitting. I pay mileage to come be with my husband.' My husband treats him like a son."

Linda remembers when she bought food and was going to throw out the leftovers; Diego would say "no, Danny is coming Monday. You leave some for Danny."

On his deathbed, Diego asked Danny to be a friend to his wife after he died.

"I put my arms around Linda and told him I will look after her," Danny said.

Diego's passing has been tough on Linda and Danny has honored his promise to Diego.

"She still can’t talk about it," Danny said. "She misses her husband very much. In Filipino culture, they believe that the spirit of the deceased stays with the family. They still set a place for Diego at the family table and argue what to put on the plate."

Linda's story is also one of triumph over hardship. The daughter of farmers, she immigrated to Hawaii in 1962, only to be horrified when she discovered that her move to paradise was living in a plantation shack. Linda went to work cleaning houses and hospitals, eventually building her dream house (which she still lives in) and putting two children through college.

A staunch Catholic from birth, Linda’s devotion to the "'ohana" created by Danny, Allen, Dennis serves as an inspiration to her fellow new family members.

"I never brought my gay identity into relationship with Diego and Linda," Danny said. "I never talked about it. Then one day I told Linda I was gay. She told me 'I love you more for telling me, but don't tell anybody else.' Now she tells everybody."

"In the institutionalized Catholic Church, although there's definitely not a pro-gay stance, there are individual Catholics like Linda that are very forgiving and welcoming. They really don't agree with what is going on within the Church," Danny said.

Danny reports that Linda is always praying that he will come to church with her one day, a prospect she talked about with her priest, Father Hennen. Danny has stuck to his guns and has told Linda and Father Hennen, "I'll come to church when the Catholic Church will solemnize my relationship with Allen and we can get married."

Father Hennen's response to Linda: "Well, maybe Danny doesn't want to come to church. But he's always welcome in my church."

Linda's dream of Danny attending a church service came true while he was working on Neil Abercrombie's gubernatorial campaign and Danny's campaign work took him to Puna's Metropolitan Community Church (MCC).

"Linda finally got me into a church," Danny concedes. "Even though it was an MCC and it was a church filled with transgender and gay people. She cried and cried afterward."

"There is redemption an in individual like Linda, who attends church every day," Danny continues. "There's room in her heart for love and acceptance. Her love and acceptance for the gay community is sort of like that of my mother in Great Falls, Montana, who grew up there and never left. When she got to know us, there was an approval that comes with knowing the couple. If people allowed themselves to know the individual, before they know about the sexuality, it wouldn't matter after the sexuality is exposed because they already love the individual."

Linda is vocal within her Catholic and Filipino circles.

"When I hear them talking (bad about the gays), I always tell them 'Hey, they are the nicest people you can meet. I have a gay friend way back home. Now I met Allen and Danny. They have been more than brothers to me. They're always there for me.'"

Now Danny attends the Filipino parties with Linda. •