Dramatization of GLF meeting after speech before Council on drag arrests

For the next bi-weekly meeting of the Gay Liberation Front, we reserved a room on the second floor of the Illini Union large enough for our new numbers.

I arrived and expected to be raked over the coals. Instead, several people rushed up to congratulate me.

"I saw the article in the paper, good job!" exclaimed Julie Golden.

"I think this is the first time any paper in this town, other than the Daily Illini, has even mentioned the word gay," chimed in an excited Skip Fenster.

"Well, Dave Rosen, you must be happy," said Winston Stanfield as he and Seth Heller entered the room and saw the gathering at the door.

Everyone was so happy, but I felt an emptiness growing from a hole burning inside me. "I guess it went well," I said, "but nothing happened. The law’s still on the books. The mayor said the council would 'take it under advisement', but what the hell does that mean?"

"You made a statement," declared Julie. "That's what counts. Whatever the outcome, there are many people, here, who are proud of you."

"Thanks," I said, glad at least for that. "OK, Winston, so what do you think we should do next?"

"What do you mean 'we', white man," joked Seth Heller.

"Mr. Rosen, this is your baby," said Winston. "Heller and I will cheer you on from the sidelines, but mass action is the only way to achieve victory. Sooner or later you're going to hit a dead end."

"OK folks," shouted Gloria McMaster from the front table, "Let's bring this meeting to order." We all found places. I sat off to the side with Winston and Seth. Winston always sat to the side, if possible, so he could have room enough to smoke and pace. Steve and Fenton were at their music store, while Roger and Paola were both studying for tests; something I should have also been doing.

The 'response to the drag arrest' item was second to last on the agenda. This gave me a chance to sit back, relax and think about my next move while others dealt with dances and fundraisers. I lit up a cigarette and thought how cool it would be if I paced, in step, behind Winston.

Sometimes you have a funny feeling, a devil-may-care brashness that's just itching to get loose. As I sat there waiting to speak, feeling reckless, I should have just got up and walked away. But, of course, I did not.

When the item concerning our response to the drag arrest came up, Gloria began the discussion, as she was wont to do.

"I spoke with Harold McClintock this morning," she said. "He reported that the cases are going to be split. Tom has decided to plead not guilty and Harold is confident they can put up a good defense." There was applause, even though Tom was not in attendance. I pictured Harold, with his rimless glasses, looking a bit like Heinrich Himmler, standing before a judge.

Julie was recognized. "I would like to thank Dave Rosen for speaking out before the Champaign City Council. I think it was a brave action and an important statement." There was loud applause from the group. Both Doc and Gloria, sitting at the front table, waited patiently for the applause to die down, but said nothing.

I raised my hand and was recognized by Doc. "Although it went well,” I said, “I want to apologize to the group for using the name 'Gay Liberation Front', implying there was an endorsement, when there was none."

"You’re just lucky that everything went smoothly," Gloria spoke out. "I hope you realize now that you jeopardized the legal cases and possibly the well-being of our community without any result. The law is still on the books and if you believe that the city council is going to change the law after your feeble attempt, then you're just as fascist as they are!"

There was a murmur in the meeting hall. The mood had clearly shifted against Gloria McMaster. "That's sour grapes," someone yelled out.

I succeeded in turning the group against Gloria. But I was not a political animal. More the opposite. So all I heard was that the city council was not going to change the law after my feeble attempt.

Winston grabbed my arm. "This political shift is very advantageous," he whispered. "Let's talk after the meeting."

But I was impatient. The demons were restless. The City Council was not going to change the law after my feeble attempt. It was as though I had to do something at once, to seize the magic of the moment, like the gambler who shoves his jackpot winnings into every slot machine within reach, to catch Lady Luck before she looks elsewhere. I thought of the leonine Brian Powers, his blond hair flowing in the wind, raised my hand, was called upon, stood, and made an announcement: "At the next city council meeting. I will demand that they repeal the law. If they do not, I will chain myself to the podium and not leave until they repeal the law or cut the chains and arrest me."

A hush filled the room. Gloria McMaster and Doc Willow broke into smiles—you can lose your mind, when cousins are two of a kind—how could they resist?

Skip Fenster spoke. "Dave, why don't you just go back and remind them politely to consider repealing the ordinance?"

"It's too late for that," I shouted.

Winston gritted his teeth, shook his head, lit a cigarette, and began pacing frantically.

"I would like to put forth a motion, in light of his intention to publicly discredit this organization,” said Doc calmly from the dais, “to censure Dave Rosen." It was seconded.

A woman stood up. “Wait a minute. We were just praising this man two minutes ago.” But she was ignored.

Somebody asked: "What would a censure coming from this organization mean?"

Gloria responded. "It would mean Dave would no longer be recognized as a speaker at these meetings and we would have the option, should it become necessary, to issue a press release disassociating our group from any actions he might take."

There was applause. The sentiment had changed so suddenly, I couldn’t even come to grips with my own emotions. I glanced at Winston for support. Winston was deep in thought, circumnavigating the room, and paid no attention.

"Can we kick him out of the organization?" someone asked.

"I'll have to check with Harold on that," replied Gloria. "This is a recognized student organization and the rules on excluding somebody are fairly strict. But there is nothing to stop the chairs from not recognizing him. If he then insists on speaking out of turn, it will be easier to have him expelled from the organization."

Winston's agitation was nothing short of embarrassing. His usual eccentric gestures were so exaggerated; he became a caricature of himself. He was doing the Funky Winston. When he finally asked to speak, to the relief of all, he was recognized by the chair. He lit a cigarette and began. "Chaining yourself to something as a method of protest is a time-honored tradition throughout the history of progressive movements. It was used frequently in the fight for women's suffrage and more recently in the early days of the anti-war and civil rights movements. On the other hand, these individual actions are no substitute for a mass movement…"

"This kind of irresponsible behavior can destroy lives and set movements back years," yelled Doc, who was not known to raise his voice.

"Tom is bravely pleading not guilty," interjected Gloria. "But in light of the mayhem that Dave Rosen has created, I would not be surprised if he chose, in fact I would encourage him, to change his plea to guilty and avoid Dave's media circus." Gloria got a round of applause.

"Actions must be arrived at through consensus," somebody added. "No individual should have the right to go out and destroy everything we have worked for."

I noticed that little gnome Marc Faucet raise his hand and wondered what intimate secrets of our old relationship—which lasted a month tops—he was going to reveal this time. Doc called on him, like he was plucking a gold coin from the sea. "If you want to really get to Dave Rosen,” said Marc, smirking, “don't talk to him at all. Let me tell you from experience, the silent treatment will work wonders against his big fat ego."

Doc must have decided that Marc’s comment was the best possible final word, since he proceeded to call the question. "We have a motion on the floor to censure Dave Rosen," said Doc. "All in favor, raise…"

Gloria interrupted. "Voting to censure Dave Rosen, or any unstable person for that matter, might expose our members to real danger. For everyone's safety, this decision should be reached by the consensus of the organization, which has clearly been obtained." Her statement was greeted by nodding of heads.

"I demand a vote," I shouted, still in shock. Winston raised his hand, but was ignored.

"We will vote," replied Doc. "But on a different question. All who believe the organization has failed to reach consensus on this issue, raise your hand." Only five hands went up, from Skip, Winston, Seth, Julie Golden—the diplomat and me.

"Then it’s official," pronounced Doc, "Dave Rosen, you are hereby censured until the organization agrees otherwise." Doc held up his blue thumb and whispered something to Gloria, and then he took his thumb and pressed it onto a spare agenda as though this sealed my fate. I noticed a weak smile on both of their faces.

I said nothing. The process unfolded so quickly, it seemed to be a mistake. A distraught Winston paced madly at the back of the room. I noticed nervous eyes glancing in my direction and the self-righteous expressions on the faces of Gloria and Doc. It surprised me when I found myself holding back tears. The room grew fuzzy, and I thought about walking out, but remained glued to the chair. Up above, the patterns on the ceiling board reminded me of the constellation Brian.

The last item on the agenda was labeled 'teach-in'. Gloria was not content to be merciful in victory. She went for the mortal wound. "Some of us,” she began, “have been talking recently about the detrimental effect all of this confrontational politics is having on the group. We thought a teach-in would be a good forum to have some experienced movement people talk about how each of us can avoid confrontation by examining our own consciousness and the racism and sexism buried there. This will be enlightening and enable us to see real solutions to the problems of police brutality."

The date for the teach-in was already set. Doc had reserved a room at the Illini Union: 7:00 p.m., Tuesday, December 7th, 1971; coincidentally, thirty years after Pearl Harbor—the day that will live in infamy. Not coincidentally, the date of the next Champaign City Council meeting.