The odious biological realities of a deadly epidemic encouraged paradox. At a dinner party one night, Cliff Morrison, the nursing coordinator for the AIDS Ward at San Francisco General Hospital, was introduced to a man who later scolded his host, “You should have told me who he was. I never would have shaken his hand if I knew where he worked.” After dinner, the anxious guest left the party for an evening at the baths. In line at the Club Baths at Eighth and Howard streets, patrons jokingly called the facility “AIDS and Howard,” even while they fished membership cards and locker fees from
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