Sodomy Law A Sword Over Gay Lifestyle In Military -- 2 Years In Prison Served By Officer In Air Force

Steve Marose is sitting in a Seattle restaurant, calm but for the napkin he is twisting between his fingers. With each recollection, he adds another turn until the white cloth is as knotted as the story he's telling about witch hunts, family shame and a ruined career.

For two years in the late 1980s, Marose served in the Air Force. He was dedicated and competent. He also was gay. When his superiors discovered he was homosexual, he was dismissed. That would have been that except for one thing: The military also sent him to prison.

Under Article 125 of the Uniform Code of Military Justice, sodomy is unlawful. Marose was convicted of having sex with other men and sent to prison. He was 24 years old. He was incarcerated for almost two years.

The military's sodomy law is a slumbering dragon. Even if the Department of Defense overturns its ban against homosexuals, as President Clinton has pledged, it can still court-martial military personnel who practice anal or oral sex. The code applies to both gays and straights, but is usually used to prosecute homosexuals.

Only Congress can strike sodomy from the military code and the chances of that are unlikely. Almost half the states still outlaw sodomy, and lawmakers are mindful of that.

"I don't think any congressman would have a good chance of being re-elected if they went on the record saying they want to make sodomy legal," says Paul Arcari, director of legislative affairs for the Retired Officers Association, a group that is lobbying against lifting the ban.

"If we can't ban these people from the military, we'll see to it they can't practice their homosexuality," Arcari said. That sentiment worries Marose, who was raised in Tacoma and now lives in Seattle.

"If they lift the ban, you can be gay, but you've got to be a monk," he says. "If you admit you're gay, it gives them a reason to watch you." Marose discovered that when his journey through the military justice system began four years ago.

Records show he was stationed at England Air Force base in Louisiana. He was a second lieutenant who supervised 55 people in four maintenance shops. In 1989, his operation was named branch of the year.

Performance reviews from that period describe Marose as an efficient, enthusiastic and innovative leader whose proposals saved the Air Force time and money. Superiors praised his performance. "He continuously seeks ways to improve the readiness of his branch," said one report, which also noted Marose's positive influence on morale.

On base, he was respected. Off base, he was watched. The Air Force learned he was homosexual and began a six-month investigation that Marose now calls a witch hunt.

He says his friends were questioned and he was followed, even to the Mardi Gras celebration in neighboring New Orleans.

Eventually, he was charged with having sex with other men on three occasions. The sex was consensual. It didn't matter. Marose went on trial for sodomy.

"I had to stand up in court and give intimate, gory details of everything that happened - scientific names of parts, where they went and to what point. All this in front of my friends. I started to cry, not over what I did, but of having to describe it in front of other people. I felt like dirt."

During the trial, two supervisors testified on his behalf. It didn't help.

July 19, 1990, Marose was court-martialed. The military code is very specific: It forbids sodomy, defined as "unnatural carnal copulation with another person of the same or opposite sex or with an animal."

The military also forbids fraternization between personnel - a charge that was included in Marose's conviction. In 1989, Marose allowed a noncommissioned officer, a sergeant, to temporarily stay at his house. The sergeant slept on a couch.

One night both men were watching television in Marose's bedroom. They were drinking and the sergeant passed out in front of the TV. Court records show that Marose did not wake him, but let him sleep on the bed. The two men did not have sex that night.

Marose was charged with conduct unbecoming an officer, which added fuel to the sodomy charges against him.

Military officials won't comment on the Marose case, except to say that sodomy disrupts military discipline and can sometimes lead to prosecution.

After the trial, Marose went to prison.

"I was scared to death," he recalls, again twisting the napkin in his hands. Sitting there, he still looks military - short hair, straight posture, direct gaze from green eyes. "I didn't know what would happen to me. I didn't know if people would rape me or beat me up."

Although Fort Leavenworth is a military prison, it is home to murderers, thieves, molesters and spies. Marose feared for his safety.

But, because he was an officer, he was segregated from the general population. He was harassed but not harmed.

Nor was he visited by family. They could not afford the trip from Tacoma and, well, there was so much confusion. Phyllis Marose had long suspected her son was gay, recognizing that his dates with women were "a disaster." Steve Marose agrees.

"I had to see if there was any hope in that direction," he says. "I was scared to death that anyone would think I was gay. So my image demanded that I got laid - and that people knew about it, too. I didn't hate it. It wasn't awful. I didn't go eeewwww at the whole thought of women."

He began to accept his homosexuality, although other family members couldn't. His father, James Marose, was a career military man. He didn't think his son deserved to go to prison for sodomy but he didn't approve of his son's gay lifestyle, either.

"I'm a retired master sergeant in the Air Force," he says. "For 22 years, I went by their rules. Steve did wrong; they didn't like it. It's placing me in a very difficult position.

"For years, I preached to young airmen that, whatever you do, keep your nose clean. When you get out, you can do whatever you want. Go out with an honorable discharge. Then my son turns around and this happens.

"When you're put in prison with a dishonorable discharge, that's just about as bad as it can get. You wouldn't believe what you'd have to do to get that in the military - damn near have to kill somebody."

His son didn't kill somebody. He loved somebody instead. The irony is not lost on Steve Marose.

"If these had been women, it wouldn't have been an issue," he said. "It wouldn't have come up one iota."

Marose is now 27 and works for an insurance company in Seattle. The work is OK, but it's not his life's passion. He liked the military, although he won't go back. Even if the ban against homosexuals is lifted, he fears the Uniform Code of Military Justice.