Greetings St. Louis and welcome to Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual and Transgender Pride Month! On June 25-26, 2011 we add yet another chapter to the Gateway City’s 32-year legacy of hosting one of the finest Queer Pride celebrations in the nation. For many of you, this will be your first Pride and may it prove a memorable one filled with wonderful impressions of our wonderfully prismatic community.
But the ground on which we openly show this pride was prepared for us a generation ago on a balmy summer evening 42-years ago. So let us go back to 1969 where it all began—to a seedy Greenwich Village bar called The Stonewall Inn.
It wasn’t all that long ago when homosexuality was a crime under New York law (which was pretty much the case in every other state.) The effects of this were far-reaching and only substantiated the myth that there was something inherently wrong with us. Accordingly, LGBTers were subjected to frequent harassment in way of nightly raids on the gay bars peppered throughout The Big Apple.
The Stonewall Inn at 53 Christopher St. was the haunt of choice for many a New York City queer and like her sister bars of the era, was Mafia run. Proprietors of these LGBT speakeasies charged hefty covers to drink watered down booze within their run-down rooms and paid off police precincts for special consideration as they were operating sans liquor license. (They were rarely spared.)
“Betty Badge,” as the police were affectionately dubbed, were more than willing to enforce the archaic anti-gay laws which resulted in a rash of bar closings leaving LGBT patrons with few options. But there was little anyone dared do about it—that is until the night of June 27, 1969 rolled around.
There wasn’t anything especially different about that night—other than the fact that the gay community was mourning the loss of Judy Garland. Cries were uttered throughout the Village that “Judy was dead” of an apparent drug overdose. Gay individuals were drawn to her through her sad torch songs and the quiet melancholy that surrounded her. Garland’s resilience in spite of her personal struggles gave a generation of queer men hope and her loss set the tone for the evening.
Raw and on edge, the would-be rioters patronizing Stonewall that evening had endured particular oppression. Being openly gay or transgender wasn’t an option. The laws were stacked against them and the police were becoming unbearable in their tenacity to harass.
On any given night the light above the dance floor would flash on and off to let everyone know that a raid was eminent. A typical raid involved police
In the early morning hours of June 28, the dance floor lights blinked their warning and eight police from the Public Morals Section of the NYPD rushed through the doors of a war-weary Stonewall Inn. The usual barrage of arrests and shoves toward the awaiting wagon ensued—but something unprecedented was also happening—the drag queens, empowered by the cheers and catcalls from displaced patrons, began fighting back.
Most eyewitness accounts confirm that the altercations began verbally at first, but soon turned physical with heels and hair and language that turned the balmy air blue. The melee continued outside and into the police wagon where a patron wrestled away and escaped into the safety of the ever-gathering crowd of onlookers. “Here’s your payoff!” the throngs chanted as they pelted a bewildered police presence with loose change.
Now no one is certain what actually started the tribal adrenaline rush that followed—some report that there was just something in the air that night. Others state that a lesbian threw the first bottle. And still others say that everyone just erupted all at once. Regardless, the donnybrook that ensued was the first of five nights of riots that became the birthplace—the backbone of the modern LGBT civil rights movement.
As the masses swelled and the rioting continued, the tables soon turned as the police sought shelter within the bar. It was a delicious irony. The crowds kept growing and trash cans and squad cars were soon turned on end. A Molotov cocktail found its way onto the streets and joined an arsenal of anything one could find to throw.
When the New York tactical Police showed up they were met by a chorus of mocking street queens who joined arms Rockette-Style, hiked their legs, and sang: We are the Stonewall girls. We wear our hair in curls. We wear no underwear. We show our pubic hair. We wear our dungarees—above our nelly knees!
We had simply endured enough. Tired of the status quo and drawing a line in the sand, we screamed no more! And with that wrong shove or thrown beer bottle or mass eruption life was blown into our fledgling cause.
It would be incorrect to state that Stonewall was the sole start of the queer rights movement—many brave men and women within the Mattachine Society and the Daughters of Bilitus paved the way in the 1950s and 1960s. But the events that summer became a catalyst for empowering our community and have forever ingrained the word Stonewall into our communal vocabulary.
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