Dramatization of GLF emergency meeting in response to Wigwam harassment

An anti-war coalition had taken two of the larger rooms and we ended up with a room that wasn’t quite large enough for the fifty people that crowded in. Everyone seemed anxious for the meeting to begin; word had spread fast. Roger Hamilton, our president—he called himself “El Stooge”—brought the Tuesday, April 4th meeting of the Gay Liberation Front of Champaign-Urbana to order and quickly dispensed with the routine agenda items. Skip Fenster, as secretary, read the minutes from the previous meeting and I announced that we had fifteen dollars and forty cents in the treasury, a nice recovery from the minus two dollars following the Valentines Day dance. We quickly disposed of early agenda items and got to the meat of the meeting: the attack at the Wigwam.

The downside of having miraculously pulled the drag law repeal out of a hat was that everyone now looked expectantly at me for my next trick. Luckily, I had taken a Ritalin just before the meeting and was, by then, ready to take on the world.

I raised my hand, it seemed to everyone’s relief, and Roger was quick to call on me. "I do have a proposal, but first,” I said, stretching out the drama that I was thoroughly enjoying, “I wonder if you, Steve, could recount the events of the past week to bring everybody up to speed."

Steve smiled, obviously pleased to be singled out for the honors. He rose and limped slowly over to the front table. The crowd murmured and shook their heads—which pleased me greatly. "Fenton Puck and I, after a hard days work at our music shop,” Steve began, “were sitting in the Wigwam having a beer before retiring for the night. DeWitt Hatfield, the Wigwam manager, he must be six feet five inches tall, came over to the table glaring. Towering over Fenton and me, he bent down with his cloth, as if to wipe off the table, but instead, knocked over Fenton's beer into his lap. You know Fenton; he jumped up and yelled, 'This is an outrage. Get me something to clean off my pants.' DeWitt left without saying a word and we both assumed he was going for some towels to absorb the beer soaking into Fenton's pants. When he returned a few minutes later, there was nothing in his hands. He simply walked up to me, picked up my glass of beer, threw the liquid into my chest and lap and said in a real threatening voice, 'We don't want you faggots in our bar.'" Steve paused and surveyed the crowd. They were shaking their heads and looked angry. He continued. "We were so frightened; I almost fell down the stairs trying to get out." There were several gasps, and somebody at the meeting yelled "shame." That was followed by more cries of “shame.” Steve waited for quiet, and then continued. "It turns out that this is not an isolated incident. We found out later, that the day before he attacked Fenton and I, DeWitt Hatfield came up to Laura and Erin,” Steve gestured to the young couple sitting in the second row, “also just sitting quietly at a table, and dumped an ashtray full of old cigarette butts into Erin's lap."

"It's true," yelled Erin.

"After that," continued Steve, "DeWitt looked down at Laura and Erin and said 'Dyke trash is not welcome in this bar.'" More shouts of "shame" followed. The mood was getting uglier and I could not have been more pleased.

Steve resumed. "On the very same night that Erin and Laura were attacked, Tom Brewster, owner of the Wigwam, told our own Winston Stanfield, that they were going to begin a campaign to change the character of the Wigwam bar." Winston, who was smoking and pacing in a small corner at the back of the room, did not look up at the mention of his name.

Steve began the slow limp back to his seat, as the crowd applauded and again yelled "shame." He turned around and glanced back at me. I nodded approval and we both smiled in a way that said we were playing the same game.

With Steve back at his seat and the outbursts of the crowd dying down, I started to chant, "Stonewall! …Stonewall! …Stonewall! …” It was quickly picked up by others until the whole room, with the exception of Winston Stanfield, still smoking and pacing, was chanting "Stonewall! …Stonewall! …" Even Seth Heller joined in.

With the crowd at its loudest, the door to the meeting room swung open and Doc Willow appeared, his handlebar mustache now cut to something more ordinary and his tie-dyed tee-shirt covered in anti-war buttons. He stood still until the room went silent and he had everyone’s attention. I felt a chill. Revenge is a dish best served cold. Was this payback for the night Paola and I appeared at their teach-in and used the victory in the Champaign City Council to announce a change in the political order? I wondered what Doc was going to say.

"Nixon has just announced a major escalation of the war," Doc began. "He intends to launch massive bombing attacks against the North Vietnamese people. The Peoples Coalition for Peace and Freedom has called an emergency meeting, to begin at once, in the Student Government Room. They encourage everybody to attend."

There were murmurs in the group. Gloria McMaster jumped up and headed for the door. Winston, who had stopped pacing at Doc's announcement, went over to Seth and began to whisper.

I had to handle this. Would our Stonewall at the Wigwam be the first casualty of Nixon’s bombing? I jumped up and the words just came out. "Nixon's attack against the North Vietnamese is one more example, like the Wigwam, of arrogant people using violence to further their warped agendas." The crowd looked at me, Gloria turned in her tracks. They were listening. "This meeting and the one being called in the Student Government Room are examples of oppressed people fighting back against this kind of arrogance and violence. It is imperative that one or two members of our group attend this other meeting and report back on the decisions reached so we all can take part in their action, just as we will report to them on our decision, so they can join us in our action against the Wigwam." I paused and there was applause and whistles from the group. But I wasn’t finished with my lightning diplomacy.

"Gloria McMaster," I continued, "with her extensive anti-war expertise is certainly the best candidate to represent us. We should probably have a second volunteer attend."

Seth Heller raised his hand. "I'll go," he said.

"Excellent!" I said, as Seth rose, joined Gloria and Doc at the door, and exited. Winston looked up and smiled at me. I could tell he was pleased with what I had said and done.

"Now," I said, afraid that silence would bring everything crashing down. "I would like to make a motion that we adopt the following proposal. On Friday, April 7th, at seven thirty p.m., we enter the Wigwam, en masse, sit down and order drinks. If DeWitt Hatfield or any of his cronies dump a beer, an ashtray or in any other way attack any of us, we all rush to that person's defense and defend them by whatever means necessary." I gestured to Roger, our president and moderator.

"Any seconds," asked Roger. There were many seconds and I felt a warm rush of joy. "Discussion?" he added. Suddenly I knew I could just sit back, relax and listen. The die was cast. There weren’t even any objections from Winston. Instead, all of the issues were tactical in nature. Do we arrive at the same time? - yes; where do we meet? - Illini Union; should we act gay? - yes; should we throw chairs? - if need be; should we bring weapons? - no.

"Hearing no more discussion," Roger said, "let's vote. All in favor?" A loud chorus of aye's filled the room. "Opposed." There was silence. "Abstentions?" Only Winston raised his hand. "Motion passes with no opposition and one abstention."

"Then," continued Roger, "I will see each of you, and all of your friends, this Friday in the basement of the Illini Union, at seven thirty. This meeting is now adjourned." The room once again burst into applause, none louder than my own.

Winston came by. "I thought you were going to argue against the motion," I said to him.

"I debated whether or not that would be wise," he replied. "You handled yourself quite well tonight. It's a far cry from the Dave Rosen of six months ago who had everybody in the room hating him." Winston laughed and lit a cigarette and I followed suit, gushing from his compliment. "Heller and I," continued Winston, will head up support on the outside, should arrests occur." He reiterated the value of press releases, raising bail, picketing the police station, generating support from the student government, etc.

As Winston spoke to a small group that had gathered, I grabbed Steve by the waist and lifted him up two feet off the ground. "You were great tonight Steve," I said, letting Steve down and giving him a big hug.

"Thanks," said Steve, blushing and smiling. "We should go out and celebrate. Too bad we can't go to the Wigwam."

"Murphy's Pub," shouted somebody nearby.

"Murphy's Pub, the new Wigwam," yelled Erin. "Let's celebrate!" Everybody cheered. Murphy's Pub was on the north side of Green Street, about a half a block north of the Wigwam.