ithout a doubt, the December 13, 1994, issue of The Advocate is our black sheep—rebellious, self-destructive, and endlessly fascinating.
It's not so much the content, which included articles about the Republicans' sweep of the midterm election and allegations of illegal activity at Johnson & Johnson. It's the cover—an illustration by Steven Johnson Leyba of a bloody and tattooed Christ at his crucifixion wearing a crown of thorns and freedom rings around his neck. The collage is strong at first glance, and on second look disturbing. Hair sticks to Christ's torso; he leans against a background of skin that is, as one reader described it, "gynecologically festooned"; phallic projections snake beneath his armpits, with the right one bearing a bloody penetration wound—as from a nail. By the way, the actual illustration incorporated real hair and real bits of skin. The kicker? Next to his head, bold white letters query, "Is God Gay?"
It's terrifying and engaging and exactly what then–editor in chief Jeff Yarbrough had in mind.
"It's an homage to the infamous Time magazine cover 'Is God Dead?'" explains Yarbrough. "We just felt if you have that cover line, why not go the whole way? There's no reason to show restraint at that point."
But did it have to be that disturbing? "We didn't want to put horns on the pope, something cheesy like that," he says. "We were in the business of rattling cages. Covers were thought out to be as provocative as possible. Can anything go too far at The Advocate?"
Even at The Advocate, people wondered. The art director refused to work on the cover. Other editors squawked and grumbled. But Yarbrough saw that dissent as a good sign.
Sometimes when you play the religion card with people who are otherwise very open, they back off."It scared people internally," he recalls. "And to have a cover that would get everyone talking was so rare. Sometimes when you play the religion card with people who are otherwise very open, they back off."
Of course, that includes advertisers. Joe Landry, advertising manager at the time, remembers "this backlash from the Christian right. The Swiss Army ad [in that issue] had a Macy's tag on it, and all these people cut up their Macy's cards. I lost Swiss Army after that."
Over the years the controversy spawned several "urban legends" in our newsroom. For instance, It was the worst-selling cover ever. Actually, it was the fourth-highest-sold cover in 1994, beating out issues featuring Rudolph Giuliani, Johnny Depp, and AIDS education. Or, in some parts of the country they refused to unload it from delivery trucks. Yet people in states we'd call conservative, like Texas and Ohio, read the story and responded.
Of course, this is all hindsight. Truth is, at the time, this cover was a huge risk. And no one knew that better than the guy who green-lit it. Rather than deal with fallout, Yarbrough scheduled meetings in New York—some 2,500 miles from his L.A. office—for early December.
He laughs: "I hid in the Royalton Hotel for 15 days when it hit newsstands."