Ryan White

A candid, compelling, and rollicking portrait of the pirate captain of Margaritaville—Jimmy Buffett. In Jimmy Buffett: A Good Life All the Way, acclaimed music critic Ryan White has crafted the first definitive account of Buffett’s rise from singing songs for beer to his emergence as a tropical icon and CEO behind the Margaritaville industrial complex, a vast network of merchandise, chain restaurants, resorts, and lifestyle products all inspired by his sunny but disillusioned hit “Margaritaville.” Filled with interviews from friends, musicians, Coral Reefer Band members past and present, and business partners who were there, this book is a top-down joyride with plenty of side trips and meanderings from Mobile and Pascagoula to New Orleans, Key West, down into the islands aboard the Euphoria and the Euphoria II, and into the studios and onto the stages where the foundation of Buffett’s reputation was laid. Buffett wasn’t always the pied piper of beaches, bars, and laid-back living. Born on the Gulf Coast, the son of a son of a sailing ship captain, Buffett scuffed around New Orleans in the late sixties, flunked out of Nashville (and a marriage) in 1971, and found refuge among the artists, dopers, shrimpers, and genuine characters who’d collected at the end of the road in Key West. And it was there, in those waning outlaw days at the last American exit, where Buffett, like Hemingway before him, found his voice and eventually brought to life the song that would launch Parrot Head nation. And just where is Margaritaville? It’s wherever it’s five o’clock; it’s wherever there’s a breeze and salt in the air; and it’s wherever Buffett sets his bare feet, smiles, and sings his songs.

Set in the 1980s against a backdrop of the AIDS crisis, deindustrialization and the Reagan era, this book tells the story of one individual's defiant struggle against his community--the city of Kokomo, Indiana. At the same time as teenage AIDS patient Ryan White bravely fought against the intolerance of his hometown to attend public school, one of Kokomo's largest employers, Continental Steel, filed for bankruptcy, significantly raising the stakes of the fight for the city's livelihood and national image. This book tells the story of a fearful time in our recent history, as people in the heartland endured massive layoffs, coped with a lethal new disease and discovered a legacy of toxic waste. Now, some 30 years after Ryan White's death, this book offers a fuller accounting of the challenges that one city reckoned with during this tumultuous period.

In 1985 the eyes of the world turned to the Hoosier State and the attempt by a thirteen-year-old Kokomo, Indiana, teenager to do what seemed to be a simple task—join his fellow classmates at Western Middle School in Russiaville, the school to which his Kokomo neighborhood was assigned. The teenager, Ryan White, however, had been diagnosed with Acquired Immune Deficiency Syndrome from contaminated blood-based products used to treat his hemophilia. “It was my decision,” White said, “to live a normal life, go to school, be with friends, and enjoying day to day activities. It was not going to be easy.” White's words were an understatement, to say the least. His wish to return to school was met with panic by parents and some school officials. The controversy about White and the quiet courage he and his mother, Jeanne, displayed in their battle to have him join his classmates is explored in the eleventh volume in the Indiana Historical Society Press’s Youth Biography Series. A Quiet Hero is written by Nelson Price, who wrote about White’s odyssey during his days as a reporter and columnist for the Indianapolis News. Price goes behind the scenes and brings to light stories and individuals who might have been lost in the media spotlight. After a nine-month court battle, White won the right to return to school, but with concessions. These were not enough for parents of twenty children, who responded by starting their own school. At school, White became the target of slurs and lies, and his locker was vandalized. Although the White family received support from citizens and celebrities around the world, particularly rock singer Elton John, the situation grew so controversial in Kokomo that they moved to Cicero, Indiana—a community that greeted them much differently. In Price’s book, White, who succumbed to his disease in 1990, comes across as a normal teenager who met an impossible situation with uncommon grace, courage, and wisdom. “It was difficult at times, to handle; but I tried to ignore the injustice, because I knew the people were wrong,” White said. “My family and I held no hatred for those people because we realized they were victims of their own ignorance.”

For thousands of years boys known as "bleeders" faced an early, painful death from hemophilia. Dubbed "the Royal Disease" because of its identification with Queen Victoria, the world's most renowned carrier, hemophilia is a genetic disease whose sufferers had little recourse until the mid-twentieth century. In the first book to chronicle the emergence and transformation of the hemophilia community, Susan Resnik sets her story within our national political landscape—where the disease is also a social, psychological, and economic experience. Blood Saga includes many players and domains: men with hemophilia and their families, medical personnel, science researchers, and the author herself, who was Director of Education of the National Hemophilia Foundation in the early 1980s. At that time the "miracle treatment" of freeze-dried pooled plasma blood products enabled men with hemophilia to lead full, normal lives. Then the AIDS virus infiltrated the treatment system and over fifty percent of the hemophilia community became HIV-positive. But rather than collapsing, this community refocused its priorities, extended its reach, and helped shape blood safety policies to prevent further tragedy. The hemophilia community includes people from every socioeconomic and ethnic group, and Resnik's narrative and use of oral histories never lose touch with those affected by the disease. Her extensive informant interviewing allows much of this social history to be told by participants on all levels: parents, wives, nurses, doctors, government agency directors, health care providers, and many others. Gene insertion therapy now holds the promise of a cure for hemophilia in the near future. Scientific breakthroughs inevitably become intertwined with the industry and academic medical centers that govern the national health care system. And in that system, says Resnik, costs and safety are sometimes contending issues. She makes clear that the lessons learned in Blood Saga apply to all of us.

The Ryan White Comprehensive AIDS Resources Emergency (CARE) Act gives funding to cities, states, and other public and private entities to provide care and support services to individuals with HIV and AIDS who have low-incomes and little or no insurance. The CARE Act is a discretionary program that relies on annual appropriations from Congress to provide care for low-income, uninsured, or underinsured individuals who have no other resources to pay for care. Despite its successes, funding has been insufficient to address all of the inequalities and gaps in coverage for people with HIV. In response to a congressional mandate, an Institute of Medicine committee was formed to reevaluate whether CARE allocation strategies are an equitable and efficient way of distributing resources to jurisdictions with the greatest needs and to assess whether quality of care can be refined and expanded. Measuring What Matters: Allocation, Planning, and Quality Assessment for the Ryan White CARE Act proposes several types of analyses that could be used to guide the evaluation and improvement of allocation formulas, as well as a framework for assessing quality of care provided to HIV-infected persons.

The queer recluse, the shambling farmer, the clannish hill folk—white rural populations have long disturbed the American imagination, alternately revered as moral, healthy, and hardworking, and feared as antisocial or socially uncouth. In Peculiar Places, Ryan Lee Cartwright examines the deep archive of these contrary formations, mapping racialized queer and disability histories of white social nonconformity across the rural twentieth-century United States. Sensationalized accounts of white rural communities’ aberrant sexualities, racial intermingling, gender transgressions, and anomalous bodies and minds, which proliferated from the turn of the century, created a national view of the perversity of white rural poverty for the American public. Cartwright contends that these accounts, extracted and estranged from their own ambivalent forum of community gossip, must be read in kind: through a racialized, materialist queercrip optic of the deeply familiar and mundane. Taking in popular science, documentary photography, news media, documentaries, and horror films, Peculiar Places orients itself at the intersections of disability studies, queer studies, and gender studies to illuminate a racialized landscape both profoundly ordinary and familiar.

Ryan White describes how he got AIDS, engaged in a legal battle to return to school, and became a celebrity and spokesman for issues concerning the deadly disease.