Running In Reverse

For Heather and Tracey, A Wedding, At Last

By Cara DeGette

Editor, GPHN

Tracey MacDermott and Heather Shockey have been through sickness and health. They’ve shared joy, and sorrow. They’ve been poorer, and richer. For 20 years, they’ve been constant friends, and faithful partners.

They got married last year. And now, two months after the U.S. Supreme Court declared same-sex marriage is legal in all 50 states, MacDermott, 47, and Shockey, 46, are getting ready to have their wedding.

“So it’s all backwards,” MacDermott starts. “But it’s us. It’s us!” Shockey finishes.

Recently, the women described their initial friendship and romance, and the medical emergency that proved to be Tracey’s moment of outing to her family. They shared the very real episodes that could have left them without legal protections as a couple.

They described their particularly fiery battle to stop a bad development from moving forward in their beloved neighborhood – which ultimately led them both to take on top leadership roles on the Greater Park Hill Community Board of Directors.

They recounted their decision to join, along with eight other couples, in a legal challenge to Colorado’s ban on same-sex marriage. They described the harrowing day that bumper-to-bumper traffic and bad information nearly thwarted them from getting to a government office on time to become the second same sex couple to marry that day in Colorado.

And yes, sometimes they complete each other’s thoughts.

‘I can’t sell these’

Their first encounter occurred in the early 90s. At the time, Colorado’s Amendment 2 was kicking into high gear. The anti-gay ballot measure, which prohibited local governments from enacting anti-discrimination ordinances to protect gays and lesbians, passed by a majority vote. Though Amendment 2 was ultimately struck down by the U.S. Supreme Court, its passage resulted in an immediate backlash, a national boycott against the “Hate State” of Colorado.

There was nothing gay about the first conversation between MacDermott and Shockey. At the time, both worked for a national retailer. MacDermott, who had grown up in Parker, was working at a branch in the old Cinderella City Mall, in Englewood. Shockey, originally from Kentucky, was in the Billings, Montana store. Her supervisor had a bright idea to ship boxes and boxes of orange shoes to the Englewood store. Surely the Broncos-loving masses in Colorado would love them, the manager insisted.

Pretty soon Shockey found herself getting a long-distance earful from a “very, very vocal” and not very pleased MacDermott. “I can’t sell these,” was maybe the most polite point highlighted during the telephone exchange. (Note: MacDermott did call back, after she calmed down, and apologized.)

When Shockey transferred to Denver, in September, 1992, she was dating women, and MacDermott was dating men. They became friends. MacDermott, knowing Shockey would be alone for the holidays, invited her home for Christmas dinner. There, Shockey held court, telling the orange shoes story to MacDermott’s delighted family. MacDermott was not as amused.

‘OK, what’s going on?’

Within a few years, the two became a serious couple. They moved to a one-bedroom in the Mayfair neighborhood, but still, MacDermott had not come out to her family. Her sister, Trishia, was the only one to pull her aside and say, “OK, what’s going on?” MacDermott says.

In the end, a brain aneurism outed her.

Avid athletes, Shockey and MacDermott were at the club, working out. Suddenly, MacDermott said, “I don’t feel very good,” and leaned forward. She went into a seizure. Shockey found herself barking orders: ‘Get an ambulance, Don’t let her hurt herself.’

The ambulance ride to the hospital, into the emergency room, was surreal. MacDermott’s parents, and her adult siblings, arrived. The doctors went straight to her mom and dad, to discuss the ruptured aneurism, the surgery, and go over options for care and specify visitation. No one asked Shockey what her relationship was to MacDermott.  She found herself shunted off to the side.  “It was humiliating,” she says.

That night, the family had a pow-wow in Parker about what to do. MacDermott’s sister suggested that Shockey needed to be included in the discussion. They asked why. “I think you know why,” Trishia said.

When she woke up, MacDermott thought she was still in the closet, until her sister filled her in. “I came out while I was sleeping,” MacDermott says.

Learning a new language

In 2004, the couple began house hunting. MacDermott’s brother, a real estate agent, came across a small Park Hill home, near 16th and Dexter. It had archways, a charming kitchen, and an expansive back yard. He knew it was their house.

Shockey liked it; MacDermatt wasn’t so sure. It was a block off Colfax, and she could see the AutoZone store sign from the backyard. Not to worry. Trees can be planted, gardens sowed. They said yes. They moved in and began making their home.

Then came a developer, with plans to buy up the homes across the street, level them, and build a dozen, maybe more, townhomes. MacDermott and Shockey were appalled at the developer’s sneaky tactics to push his plan through. They were disgusted when they realized their city council representative and other officials supported the developer over the interests of neighbors.

They distributed fliers across the neighborhood and organized opposition. Previously-foreign terms like “zoning change” and “registered neighborhood organizations” and “NIMBY” became part of the couple’s regularly spoken language.  Ultimately, the developer backed down.

They were tapped to join the board of the Greater Park Hill Community, Inc., one of Denver’s oldest neighborhood organizations.

“There is nothing wrong with density, in the right areas, but tearing down established neighborhoods and trading them for high-density development is just wrong,” MacDermott says. “I won’t stand it in my backyard, or in anyone’s backyard.”

Shockey was the chair of the Greater Park Hill Community neighborhood organization for two years, and she remains on the board. MacDermott, who has been treasurer for five years, is now the chair-elect. Her term as president begins later this year.

Second class and unequal

MacDermott remembers a conversation she had with her sister long ago. Perhaps same-sex couples had to be even more committed than married couples, went the theory, since they could walk away from one another at any time.

“The idea that I choose this, every single day, really resonated,” MacDermott says.

But their inability to obtain legal protections as a couple rankled Shockey and MacDermott. They had already had the aneurism scare, and, from a business perspective, wanted that everlasting bond.

There was also the romance angle. Shockey had surprised MacDermott with a platinum and diamond ring in an elaborately arranged, and unexpected scavenger hunt on their 10th anniversary. MacDermott presented her sweetheart with a similar ring a couple years later.

The notion that same-sex couples should be willing to “settle” for civil unions – which became law in Colorado two years ago  – was insulting. “It made us feel like second-class citizens,” Shockey says.

They not only wanted the right to get married, they wanted to be married.

Two minutes to spare

In February, 2014, McDermott and Shockey joined eight other same-sex couples to file a lawsuit in Denver District Court seeking to overturn Colorado’s ban on gay marriage.

Five months later, in a separate case, the 10th Circuit Court of Appeals issued a ruling that states cannot prevent gay couples from getting married. On June 25, 2014 – over the objections of then-Colorado Attorney General John Suthers – Boulder County Clerk Hillary Hall began issuing marriage licenses to same-sex couples.

MacDermott seized the window. Not knowing how long it would stay open, she called Shockey at work, at Mountain States Employers Council, where she is an HR consultant. Her partner was in one meeting after another. Eventually MacDermott got through. “You want to run up to Boulder and get married today?”

The logistics kicked in. MacDermott had taken the bus to work, across town at the Anschutz Medical Campus, where she is the Clinical Trials Manager for the department of surgery at the CU School of Medicine. Also, she was dressed for cleaning her office, not to get married.

They got it together anyway. On the highway, traffic was a nightmare. The clock, as they say, was ticking fast. Finally, they made it to the courthouse, sailed into a parking spot right out front, high-fived each other and sprinted to the door. No one was around. It was dead quiet. They were in the wrong place. The county clerk’s office was on the other side of town.

Back in the car, the mood turned sour. Shockey was yelling. “Doggone it, Tracey! You need to be a better co-pilot!” MacDermott steamed. A friend, sitting in the backseat, quietly offered occasional navigation tips. They arrived at the clerk’s office with two minutes to spare, greeted by paparazzi. Well-wishers cheered and clapped them all the way up to the second floor to the counter. The counter clerk flourished a form for a marriage license. MacDermott’s feelings were still a little raw, after the bumpy ride over.

“Just in case, where might be the divorce counter?” she inquired.

“Oh sorry,” the clerk replied smartly. “That one’s closed for the day.”

Last October, Suthers finally gave up the fight to keep gay marriage out of Colorado. MacDermott and Shockey let it sink in: “It’s done. We are actually married.”

A proper wedding

They began planning a proper wedding, the one that will take place this month, on Aug. 8. This time their families and friends will be there. They’ll exchange vows, and symbolically, the rings they’ve already been wearing for years. There will be a tribute to their moms, who will be there celebrating in spirit. And they’ll dance to the song that, a long time ago they vowed one day, they would dance to at their wedding.

They will have another reason to celebrate. Across the country – faster than anyone thought possible – states have abandoned their longtime hostilities toward same-sex marriage. On June 26, the U.S. Supreme Court ruled that couples of the same sex, across the land, have a constitutional right to wed.