Dramatization of GLF teach-in, December 7, 1971

Paola and I took a cab back to the Illini Union and walked up the staircase to the second floor. We found the room; room 211 with a printed label on the wall beside the door: Gay Liberation Front—teach-in.

I quietly opened the door and allowed Paola to enter first, then crept in behind her. It was a large hall, capable of holding several hundred people. The two of us stood in relative darkness, the lights on only in front where Gloria McMaster sat on a desk. In the spotlight, I thought she looked like a Halloween display. She was lecturing about fifty people who were sitting on the floor cross-legged.

"I don't see your picture with a bulls-eye," whispered Paola, chuckling.

"These people are learning all about the evils of confrontational politics," I said. "It's time for a little unscheduled lesson."

"People," called out Gloria. She saw two persons in the shadows, but clearly did not recognize us. "There's plenty of room up here."

Paola and I walked slowly towards the front. There was a gasp. "It's Dave Rosen," somebody shouted and every head turned.

"God knows what Gloria must have told them," I snickered.

"You are not welcome here," Gloria said, pointing her finger. Doc and a heftier guy rose—the people’s defense force.

Marc Faucet shrieked in mock terror. "He's escaped the funny farm!" There was nervous laughter.

"Are you going to behave yourself?" asked Gloria, probably trying to cover herself in the event of an incident.

Neither Paola nor I answered. Both of us looked intently at the group, saying nothing. Nobody knew what would happen next. A dead silence fell like a pall over the room. Doc and the hefty guy took a step closer.

Suddenly Paola shouted out. "They repealed the law. The drag law is dead."

Confusion struck. People looked up at Gloria and back to Paola.

"The Champaign City Council unanimously repealed the law one half hour ago," I added.

Mouths dropped. None more so than Gloria McMaster with shock so pronounced her face resembled that of a fish hunting for food. Doc stared ahead blankly. I smiled, wiping away tears rolling down my cheeks and just surveyed the room, looking at them all. They looked back at Paola and me as though nothing made sense.

Then Skip Fenster stood. I noticed his stringy blond hair moving back and forth as he trembled. His nervousness added to his stoner shake. He lifted his arms and began to clap. The confused teach-in participants just stared at him like a flock of deer in the headlights. But Skip continued to clap and clap and slowly, one by one, others joined him, until after a minute the whole room was engulfed in thunderous applause. "Tell us how," Skip yelled above the roar.

Paola smiled and I just stared. It felt like a dream. There was nothing more to say, so I motioned to Paola and we slipped out the door. The applause rang in the distance as we descended the stairs and exited the Illini Union to the misty evening.