Remembering Andrea Philippe Regard
The National AIDS Memorial strives to share the story of the struggle against HIV/AIDS and ensure that the lives of those taken by the ongoing HIV/AIDS crisis are never forgotten.
Despite what our name might imply, this mission is more than a ‘national’ one. The pain and struggle experienced are not unique to the United States. The active response that HIV/AIDS has sparked and the lessons we’ve learned are international, providing a relevant blueprint for those fighting health and social injustices across the globe.
Andrea Phillipe Regard is one of the millions taken by HIV/AIDS outside of the United States. Andrea was a Brazilian florist who flourished throughout his young life in Europe, a flowering presence for those who knew him before HIV/AIDS uprooted and ended his life as it has for so many. This is Andrea’s story, told from the perspective of his close friend Harry Hillery.
Mr Andrea Philippe Regard
Born - 16 March 1965 – Sao Paulo
Died – 13 May 1991 – Ward Six, Hove General Hospital
Andrea Philippe Regard was a talented Brazilian florist who worked at and lived above Jane Greenwoods on Gardner Street in Brighton, UK. Always a lover of convenience in any form, when my café opened to replace the tool shop opposite, he was overjoyed. Andrea had little need for power tools, unless attached to someone suitably swarthy, but he loved a good coffee. And so it was that after a few trips across the street, he was part of the furniture, and a day rarely passed without his presence.
Andrea would sashay in at around 10am, order a double espresso and then sit at his customary table. He’d stir in six or more sugar cubes, fingers spread like a cockatoo crest, and then announce his presence by calling down the kitchen stairs in a Zsa Zsa Gabor burr. I’d join him for his tales of our city, which usually began in a bar and ended in a bed somewhere in the area. He had an appetite for large men; the rougher the better, with ‘straight’ tradesmen a speciality. They couldn’t get enough of his boyish good looks, big brown eyes, and one-liners and nor could I.
Glitter ball
Andrea loved a party, and his 25th birthday was a great excuse to throw one. At the time, my cafe was on a roll and the queer place to hang, so it was the natural choice for a venue. Plans were made and invitations sent out in embossed bespoke envelopes. On the day, we closed early and laboured to transform the space into a palace befitting a queen. It wasn’t quite Versailles, but we did a fine job trying to recreate it with miles of ribbon, sumptuous fabrics, arum lilies and balloons. This was to be the party of the year and everyone Andrea invited came, and thanks to North Laine traders and the gay scene out for a good time there was a wonderful infectious exuberance in the room. Before long, hips were shaking to the finest indie, funk, and crowd pleasers, as Andrea flitted resplendent in a bespoke Katherine Hamnett suit of black bejewelled fabric that glittered like a night sky. The suit designed to be roomy and flowing now hung from him. At the time he brushed off the loss of weight with some excuse because he was always feeling fat and on some diet or another.
There is a light that never goes out
Andrea ate much of his food at my café, and I’d usually rustle up something he fancied to order from the supplies at hand. His favourite dish was a steaming plate of pasta with a creamy mushroom and bacon sauce, covered with an inch of parmesan cheese. But a half portion because he was on a diet, naturally. I first remember concerns circling like black crows when Andrea started to lose his ravenous appetite and more of the little weight he carried on his slight frame. The boyish good looks and olive skin were fading like fabric left out in the sun. When we spoke about it, he brushed my concerns aside and always seemed to have a perfectly reasonable explanation. I remember him looking me square in the eye and saying there was absolutely nothing to worry about. But a dark anxiety and paranoia raged amongst gay men in those days and even a bad cold would have people jumping to conclusions. I was happy to believe what he told me because I couldn’t process the truth.
Some time passed and I began to notice a swelling on the left side of Andrea’s neck. This time it was an infection that was being treated he said, nothing to worry about, but my fears were back. At the time I was working as a volunteer for the Sussex AIDS Centre and Helpline and could not help but fear the worst. When the swelling grew to the size of an orange, cocking his head to the right I had to share my fears, but any mention of the virus was smothered, the idea dismissed, and the subject quickly changed. I wish I had done more, but realistically it was already too late. I saw, or feared, something in his face that I had already seen before.
Very late one night my telephone rang, and it was Andrea. He was clearly deeply upset and requested that I come over to see him. I dressed quickly and crossed the empty street as a red fox slunk into the shadows. Andrea opened the door in tears, and I followed him to his kitchen where we sat at a table holding hands. He confirmed my worst fears with three words delivered in a terrified yelp - I have AIDS. I cradled his dwindling form in my arms and whispered ‘you’ll be fine as our tears soaked my shirt.
Beaches
Andrea never came back to the café or worked again. He was admitted to Ward 6 at the Hove General Hospital, a place few managed to leave in the early 1990s. Ward 6 was isolated from the rest of the hospital at the very top of the building, hidden away from a public fearful of the ‘gay plague’, but also to protect those staying there. Andrea was popular so there was always someone to visit, and I spent Sundays with him when the café was closed. Whenever he talked about his death, I would try to change the subject because I still didn’t want to believe it. Andrea by contrast was reconciled to his fate thanks to a Catholic faith which made him fearless and accepting, but which also comforted him like a warm blanket on a cold night. It was his time to go and there was nothing that could be done. We would spend time watching movies together, gossiping, and planning visits to Sao Paolo to see the boys, bars, and beaches when he got better. Andrea would humour the plans with anecdotes from his youth. One day we’ll stroll Rua Oscar Freire looking at the boys’ I’d say, but we both knew this would never happen.
Over the course of two months Andrea disappeared as the virus asset stripped his body. Each visit would see part of him shaved away and his suffering increased. On good days, when light would break through the clouds of his pain, he would tie up loose ends and sell his belongings so that every available penny could be sent home to his family. How much for this do you think? It’s Paul Smith darling. He sounds so boring, but he makes lovely clothes. His resolve was iron and my love and admiration for him grew stronger with each day. When awake he was tenacious but always smiling or trying to make me smile. What do think of my new diet? I wanted to lose weight darling, but this is ridiculous!
I continued to visit Andrea wrapped in a shroud of denial. No one in my life had died back then and I couldn’t process the situation or imagine him gone so I avoided thinking about it. It felt impossible and ridiculous that he would not get better, he was only 26 for Christ’s sake.
One day Andrea requested the movie ‘Beaches’ which I hadn’t seen. All I knew was that it starred Bette Midler, so I expected something lightweight and funny. As the story of terminal illness and friendship flowed from the screen, I began to sob uncontrollably. Andrea held my hand with a rosary squeezed in between and consoled me. I will die soon because I’m almost ready. Do you believe in angels? I replied that I didn’t, well you must, he said, because soon I’ll be watching over you.
Andrea slipped into a coma and died on the 13 May 1991. He was just 26 years old.
I think of Andrea often and it’s natural for me to look up to the sky to say hello. He is the kestrel hovering by the roadside, the jet trail hexagram, the crescent moon.
Ostracon - 13 May 2021
The wind is strong and sharp today, tumbling clouds across the sky like toddlers running a sack race. But the sun shines through to give the blue greens of the hills and sea a flickering vitality. When its warmth glances against my cheek, it’s as reassuring and welcome as a hand caressing my face. I imagine it’s your hand Andrea and that gives me great comfort. Your grave is covered in grass with sprays of daisies and buttercups. There’s no headstone, but after all these years I find you easily enough, by instinct. I crouch down and push my finger into the green, feeling the chill of the ceramic plaque I made for you. A nest of ants has made their home here too, and they climb my arm as I carefully claw at the grass to reveal an outline. I pour water from a flask to wash away the mud and watch the past trickle away. These days the piece is chipped and cracked but the colour is still bright and the arum lily still visible. Despite the efforts of the gardeners and their tractor mowers it holds together, only the yellow stamen has gone. But the damage really doesn’t matter, if anything it’s given the piece the charm of a relic. I carefully wipe it clean and trim the grass with scissors to give a sharp edge, then I frame the plaque with the wildflowers that pepper the lawn. Thank you for watching over me and for keeping me safe.
Written by Harry Hillery
How Andrea Lives On
Andrea lives on through the memories of his loved ones worldwide. His story will continue to be told in perpetuity through his AIDS Memorial Quilt panel.
Like Andrea’s headstone, his Quilt panel also features a bright arum lily, the flower that surrounded Andrea at his 25th birthday party. The panel ties the story of Andrea’s life through the Brazil flag with the year he was born at the top and the Brighton flag with the year his life was taken by AIDS at the bottom.
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