Dramatization of Arrival at the Urbana City Building

There was a cold bite in the air and I zipped up my jacket as Ellen and I left the Champaign train station. She stayed downtown to distribute press releases and I walked several miles to the Urbana City Building, where I sat down on the steps, around noon, and watched scattered clouds blow rapidly across the face of the sun. Ellen would wend her way east, leaving the releases with the newspapers, TV and radio stations along the way.

A few city workers passed me with hardly a notice. I was just a person taking in the fresh air on the steps of City Hall. Soon that would change, but for now I was enjoying the anonymity, the calm before the storm. Once Ellen returned, the word would be out; the city put on alert: Former Mayoral Candidate Takes up Residence on the Steps of City Hall.

Two hours later, Ellen returned from her distribution errands and brought back a bag of burgers. As she and I sat together and ate, a woman parked her car and jumped out, obviously a reporter since she was accompanied by a photographer. Ellen turned to me. "It’s time for phase two."

I looked at the glass doors and then back to Ellen "City Hall?"

"City Hall," she said, giving me the thumbs up and taking the remaining press releases into the Urbana City Building. Later, she filled me in on what happened inside.

Ellen did not take them by surprise. Inquiring phone calls had already started coming in. A few city workers were standing against the glass, on the inside of the double doors, watching me as the reporter and photographer from the News-Gazette began the interview. Ellen handed each of them a press release, which they eagerly took.

A grandfatherly man in a red bow tie walked towards Ellen. "Hi, I'm Wayne Picardy, City Clerk of Urbana.” He reached toward the stack.

"Have a copy." She handed one to Wayne, who took it, thanked her, and rushed back to his office.

"Where's the mayor’s office?" she asked a city worker.

"It's up on the second…Oh, here he comes now." Manny Singer, the Democrat who defeated me and two others in the previous election, was descending the stairs. Ellen later reported that he had a sour look on his face, and like the others, seemed to be vaguely aware of what was occurring.

"I'll take one of those," he said, when he reached Ellen. He started reading, mumbled "Dave Rosen" and shook his head. "How long does he plan on staying out there?" he asked her.

"Until he receives justice," she replied. The mayor, quickly read all five pages of the release. As he finished, a WCIA television van was pulling up. A reporter for the Daily Illini was also parking in front.

Ellen reported that Manny Singer looked at the ceiling and softly said "Why me?" Then he went out the double doors and joined the reporters and me on the steps.

I looked up. "Hello, Mayor Singer." Manny had picked up a few pounds and was considerably grayer than when I last saw him three years earlier. But he was back to wearing his vintage brown suit.

"Hi, Dave. I'd ask how you were doing, but apparently not so well."

"Did you see the press release?" I asked.

"I read it all," he said, shaking his head disapprovingly.

"Mayor Singer," shouted the reporter from the News-Gazette. "Do you care to comment?"

"I'll issue a statement later on this afternoon.” He winced. “I just found out about this a few minutes ago."

"Are those policemen still on the force?" asked the reporter.

"They are not," replied the Mayor. "Long ago I instructed Urbana police officers to treat everyone with respect. This happened under a previous administration. Mr. Rosen brought this to the council’s attention and that was a big factor in getting the gay rights bill passed."

A tidal wave of emotion hit me like a brick wall. I looked up shocked. "You passed the gay rights bill?"

"Last year. You should be proud of all the work you did to make that happen. It's time to let this old incident rest."

"You passed the bill?" I was incredulous. "It was never reported in the Chicago papers. Not even the gay press. Nobody knew."

"It's not our job to notify the whole world when the council passes a piece of legislation,” said Manny. “It was covered in the papers down here."

I stared off into space. “If only I had known!”

“Holy shit,” said Ellen. “Urbana has a gay rights bill.”

I stared ahead, my eyes wet, and wondered how the last year of my life would have been different, had I known. "Now that you have learned the gay rights bill was passed," asked the reporter from WCIA, "do you plan to abandon your protest?"

"It’s wonderful news,” I replied and then paused for a moment. “…but now that I’m here, let’s get some of these other questions answered. Why did the States Attorney cover-up the investigation and keep it from the grand jury?” I thought back to Michael Peacock in the crumpled suit who seemed so gung-ho just after he completed his initial investigation. “Who were the cops? When did they leave the force? Were they kicked off? Why did so many people work so hard to keep the truth from coming out? My life has been ruined by this. I need to know the answers."

The reporter looked at the mayor who bit his lower lip, but said nothing. She turned back to me. “So you’ll stay here then?”

“Until I get the answers.”

Ellen tapped my shoulder. "Well, something good has happened. Unfortunately, I’ve got to leave now,” She glanced at her watch, “got to catch my train. Good-luck!" She made a fist, as did I.

"You know where to find me," I called after her, waving goodbye.

The mayor started to shiver in the cold with no coat and retreated back to the city building. After I spent twenty more minutes with the reporters, they left to file their stories. A reporter for the Courier arrived as the others were leaving. I spoke with him for half an hour. Unlike the others, he remembered the original protest at the Wigwam four years earlier, or so he claimed, and it made me feel good. Then the newsman left—and I was alone.

The sky was overcast now. It was early evening and growing darker. The cold was starting to seep into the folds of my coat. The burgers in the bag were also cold. I had to pee, but would wait for nightfall and sneak around the back. The workers in city hall would be leaving any minute. I needed to stick by my post until all was clear.

The clock inside read quarter of six and Mayor Singer, wearing a winter coat, left city hall and stopped beside me. "I talked to our Chief of Police. You’re welcome to use the bathroom in the police station."

"Thanks,” I said. “Did you call the press with your side of the story?"

"I did. I think you're wasting your time here,” said Manny. “The past is over; the war, Watergate. We all need to start fresh."

"When I win here, I will start fresh, too. I'll go back to school; become a chemist or a physicist."

The mayor was quiet for a moment. "Have you been following the campaign of Jimmy Carter?"

"Never heard of him," I replied.

"He is a new voice from the south; progressive. Saying the things that you and I believe. A real honest man. I met him at a reception in Washington. Very impressive."

"Maybe he believes in the things you believe, but I doubt he believes in socialist revolution," I said.

Manny laughed. "You radicals keep us Democrats on our toes. How we ever allowed that man Nixon to come in and ruin the country, I'll never know."

I smiled. "You sound like my grandmother."

Manny was silent for a few moments. "You know…I'm going to talk with the police. A person could die of exposure out here. I'll have them keep the outer door to city hall open. You can stay in the foyer. There’s some heat, and at least it's out of the wind."

I was overwhelmed. "Thanks," I said then cracked a smile. "I'm glad you won the election."

Manny cocked his head. "Instead of you?"

"No," I laughed, "Instead of those other two. I always felt that there wasn't an ounce of difference between the Democrats and Republicans, but I doubt Ethel Doughty would let me sleep in the foyer," I said, referring to the Republican mayoral candidate.

Manny scratched his head and looked a bit worried. He went into the police station and came out ten minutes later. "The outer doors will be left open,” he said, then turned and rushed towards the parking lot.

I brought my bag of burgers between the double doors. Inside, it was warm and there was no wind. The foyer was all glass, except the south wall of exposed brown brick with a payphone and a floor radiator for warmth. It was long enough for me to sleep in and about twice as wide. “All the comforts of home,” I said to my glass shell.

Because city hall was closed, I had to go outside to get to the connecting police station. The entrance on the city hall plaza was not the main entrance and it took me a while to find the front desk. "The mayor said I could use the bathroom, here," I said to the officer. The cop said nothing, just pointed to a door.

The bathroom was new and it added to my feeling of home. I found my way back to the plaza. The burgers were inside and in a moment of worry, I was concerned I would encounter a locked door. But the outer door was open and the foyer was mine. From the payphone, I called Chicago and impressed Samantha with my new abode and left her with the number to “my private line.” Afterwards, I ate a cold burger, washed it down with warm flat cola, shed a few tears of bittersweet joy that the gay rights bill had actually been passed in Urbana, took the amphetamine hidden in my pants and floated through the night.