Dramatization of Champaign City Council, December 7, 1971

"It's already seven thirty," I said to Paola as she paid the driver. "We’re a half hour late."

"How are you feeling?" she asked as we approached the glass entrance door. I glanced at the towering concrete structure above us, at the door’s metal handle, beyond which, and up some stairs, the bright fluorescent lighting indicated a council meeting in session.

"Nothing," I replied. "Nothing is real…I feel nothing."

"Yea though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I shall fear no evil," she recited, opening the door for me.

I walked in ahead of her, climbing the steps like a condemned man with no hope of a pardon. I spotted the mimeographed agendas at the doorway. My pipe dream that they had already repealed the law was dashed when I found no mention of the issue on the agenda. With Paola now at my side, we went into the bright lights and took seats in the back.

Mayor Kane was speaking. "The annexation of Weller's Holiday Park…" He stopped dead, in mid-sentence, when Paola and I took our seats. He looked at both of us, just staring. Then the other members of the council and even some audience members looked also.

"They know…they know. Oh my God, what's going to happen?" I agonized in a whisper. Paola sat stoically.

The mayor whispered something to the councilman on his left and the councilman on his right. Soon everybody on the council was whispering to their neighbor or getting up and speaking softly into one another's ear.

"What's happening?" I asked Paola and started to repeat her mantra. "Yea though I walk…" My words were interrupted from the front of the room.

"We have a request," began the mayor, "to repeal an ordinance prohibiting people from dressing in clothing of the opposite sex. All in favor of repealing the ordinance raise your hand." And so it was on that seventh day of December, 1971—every single member of the Champaign City Council raised their hand.

"What just happened?" I mumbled, confused and looking expectedly at Paola.

"Now I guess," joked the mayor, "anybody in the City of Champaign can dress as male or female as he or she happens to feel." There were sighs of relief and laughter.

Paola stood up and shouted joyfully, "You guys aren't as bad as I thought you were." That led to even more laughter.

I just sat there, numb, in disbelief. "Come on, Dave, we should go now," she said. I rose on command.

"Hey," yelled the mayor in good humor. "Aren't you going to stay and see how a city really works?"

"Some other time," Paola called out cheerfully. "We promise."

We walked out of the council room, down the steps, through the glass door and into the rain. "We won!" exclaimed Paola, looking me in the eyes.

"We won?" I said, feigning disbelief.

"Yes. The drag law is no more," she cried in joy, nodding her head affirmatively.

"Pinch me" I said. "Oh my God, we won." I screamed into the dark and rainy streets of downtown Champaign: "We won!" then grabbed Paola and the two of us started to dance down the sidewalk, laughing, through a parking lot, onto another sidewalk. We hugged and danced some more. I almost cried, "I can't believe it. I just can't believe it. We won!"

"The evil law is dead," she shouted. My warm tears and cold rain felt wonderful.

When the waltzing and weeping came to an end, Paola made a suggestion: "Mr. Rosen, we should go back to the hospital now. Perhaps, if our luck remains this wonderful, they might never even know you left."

"Yes, we will. But first there is something we must do; yes, something that must be done."