Dramatization of Gay Rights Discussion at First Council Meeting
Already, several aldermen held a press conference to stress the urgency of insuring civil rights for gays and lesbians and the importance of handling it at the inaugural meeting of the new council. I was strutting about campus, convinced my ordeal was over, feeling proud of the effects of my candidacy—high on spring! Believing once the bill passed, my troubles would finally be laid to rest.
With the sole exception of Winston, who remained skeptical, those of us who came to that meeting in the warm spring of 1973 were filled with optimism. It seemed inevitable; tonight we would watch as Urbana, Illinois followed Ann Arbor, Michigan into the history books, passing a gay rights ordinance. As it was, if we came bedecked with picnic baskets, it would have been more appropriate to compare us with observers at the first battle in the U.S. Civil War, The Battle of Bull Run.
"We have it in the bag," I said confidently to Skip Fenster, who sat next to me in the Urbana City Council chambers. "The vote should be seven to five with one abstention."
"Who’s the abstention? Somebody who swings both ways?” Skip jerked and gave a short stoner laugh at his own joke.
I pointed to a man mulling around the front of the gallery. "I wish. See that gorgeous guy with the blond hair and the handsome face. He’s Alderman Tim James."
"I noticed him earlier, very hot…Why is he abstaining? Queer fear?" Skip laughed again.
"That's probably the real reason,” I said. “Tim calls himself a Libertarian. He claims to be philosophically opposed to all civil rights laws for the private sector, however, and I'm quoting him, 'no minority group should be denied the coercive powers granted select groups.' So he plans on abstaining."
"You think he's available?"
"I think he's married. Besides, aren't you and Jimmy Breaux still going strong?"
Skip looked at me with a strange expression on his face.
“What? What?” I asked, wondering what I could have said that made him look at me in such a weird way.
“You…don’t know,” Skip said.
“Know what? What are you talking about? You guys broke up?”
Skip snorted and I found it hard to tell if it was a laugh, a gesture of disgust or an itchy nose. “Jimmy OD’d.”
I gasped. “He’s dead?”
“Yes, he’s dead,” said Skip.
“You’re bullshitting me, right?”
“It happened during the last week of your campaign. I guess no one told you.”
“Jimmy Breaux! He looked just like Paul McCartney. He was so hot. I can’t believe he’s dead?” The poet laments early death by the loss of beauty but when I said it, it just sounded shallow.
“I’m the Black Widow. What can I say?”
Our conversation was interrupted by the grand appearance of Roger Hamilton, who along with his boyfriend Matthew, were dressed to the nines. They took seats directly behind Skip and I. "We've come to watch the glorious victory," said Roger. "You must be proud tonight,” he added. “Another one of your babies has hatched."
I barely noticed that they were dressed more for a night on the town than a city council meeting and only vaguely heard Roger’s words, still completely overtaken was I by the death of Jimmy Breaux. "Jimmy Breaux—did you hear?" I replied.
“Old news, honey,” said Roger, stopping abruptly when he glanced toward Skip.
Ignoring Roger’s faux pas, I asked skip, “What did he take?”
“Smack…heroin. It must have been bad stuff.”
“Enough of this depressing chatter,” said Matthew putting his arm around Roger. “We’re here to celebrate victory.”
He was right and I tried to put Jimmy Breaux out of my mind. “Probable victory,” I said. "I've talked with every alderman and the way things stand now, we have it seven to five. Right after the election, we gave each of them a copy of the Ann Arbor bill. Manny had the corporation counsel adapt it to Illinois law and that's what we’re going with."
"Manny?" laughed Roger. "So now you and the mayor are on a first name basis?"
That made me smile. "Don't tell Winston," I said. "He’ll have me expelled from the YSA." And then I laughed.
"Where is Winston?" asked Roger, as he looked around the room.
"Outside, smoking. Poor Winston, the Urbana City Council outlawed smoking in the chambers. Winston thinks it’s heresy. What's politics without smoke-filled back rooms?"
"Frankly, I'm glad. It's nice going someplace where smoke isn't constantly blowing in your face." Roger took a deep breath. "Ah, fresh air!"
"I have it all planned,” I began. “After tonight’s victory in Urbana, we go to tomorrow’s meeting of the new Champaign City Council. The election there gave us a few councilpersons that support the bill. Once Urbana passes, the ones who previously abstained should put us over the hump. Neither city wants to be viewed as more backward than the other." As I look back on those words, I’m reminded of what my Grandma Dotty in Miami once said: Mentsch tracht, Gott lacht.
"Vindication," said Roger. "I bet it feels pretty good."
"It would feel better if I didn’t just find out about Jimmy. But it is true that I must be feeling pretty good these days, since I’m down to my prescribed dose.”
Roger laughed. “So that’s how you measure happiness.”
“To tell you the truth, it’s time I got off these drugs, altogether; time to get on with the business of living; put this obsession with politics in the past." Brian Powers came to mind and I told Roger, “I measure happiness in other ways.” But knew that was a lie.
"The day you quit politics,” said Roger, “is the day Winston quits smoking and grooms himself.”
"Poor Winston,” I said, smiling. “And, I never said quit. Everything in moderation. For instance, in a few weeks there’s going to be a conference of the Illinois Gays for Legislative Action in Normal. We use the victory here in Urbana, and hopefully in Champaign to gain the authority needed to propose a march on Springfield for gay rights at the state level. When the march brings equal rights at the state level, IGLA will have the authority from that victory…” I checked to make sure Winston was out of sight, “to launch a nationwide gay rights march on Washington."
"Yep. That sounds like moderation to me," quipped Roger.
“It is if I’m not obsessed over it. If I make it more like a hobby…”
"It's looking good for passage," said a voice from behind. I turned in my chair and was face to face with Manny Singer.
"Oh, hi," I said, surprised. No longer in the professorial vintage brown suit, Manny donned a black suit now. He was getting into the role of being Urbana’s mayor. I tried to say something intelligent. "I heard, I mean I spoke with the aldermen and we do have a majority."
"I think so," replied the Mayor, "although there could be some fireworks."
"Fireworks?" I said, suddenly feeling uneasy.
"It seems our fellow candidate might have something to say about it," said the Mayor gesturing his head in the direction of Orville Barber who had entered the chamber holding a copy of the Bible. "Good luck," he called out, returning to the front of the room. Barber was impeccably groomed just as he was on the campaign trail. His polished hair looked puffier, more like a televangelist than a politician.
There were twenty three smiling members of the Gay Liberation Front in the audience when Mayor Singer called the council into session. But, I was getting concerned. The appearance of Barber, Bible in hand, was unexpected.
The gay rights bill was the first item of real business. "Before the council votes on the issue," announced Singer, "we would like to open up the floor for any comments from the citizens." This too, was unexpected, no doubt motivated by the presence of the bible thumper.
“Shit,” I whispered to Skip. “I didn’t prepare anything. I didn’t think a speech would be needed.”
Roger tapped me on the shoulder. “Listen to his arguments and rebut each one in turn.”
“I guess I can always fall back on my speeches to the Champaign Council,” I said, nervously. I looked around for another Gay Liberation Front member who might deliver a rebuttal, should Barber speak. Winston was standing in the back with his partner Seth, both clearly itching for another smoke. I wanted to join them. Elsewhere, I saw nothing but smiles and expressions of confidence. Nobody was aware of what was to come.
In the past it had been me against the Champaign City Council. I guess I took Winston at his word that opposing gay rights was in the interest of the state. The very idea that an ordinary citizen would oppose such an ordinance seemed ludicrous at the time.
Separation of church and state was a big theme when I went to high school. I couldn’t imagine how any governing body in the years since the Scopes Monkey Trial, in Illinois for God’s sake, could take a religious zealot seriously.
The Reverend Orville Barber approached the microphone. He introduced himself, his church and made a light-hearted comment about his failed bid for mayor. And then he began. "A few weeks ago, there was an election for mayor of Urbana. That singular election did, in fact, represent two very distinct contests.” Interesting how he and I thought of the election in the same way. “In the bid for mayor,” continued Orville, “Manny Singer sits before you as the people's choice. But there was another choice that day, a choice as old as the Bible itself. It was a choice between good and evil." The smiles were gone. A chorus of boos erupted, which the mayor subdued with his gavel. Barber continued. "The results from the citizens who chose to participate in that race are clear. My eleven percent tally versus Dave Rosen's one point four percent showed that the good citizens of Urbana voted eight to one for virtue over vice."
Seth Heller yelled from the rear. "You mother fucking slime mold." The gay activists started shouting and yelling at Barber who stood his ground calmly, shaking his head like a disappointed parent.
Mayor Singer pounded the gavel repeatedly. "Everybody will have a chance to speak. You will have time to rebut Mr. Barber's remarks in an orderly manner." Slowly, the crowd settled down to a murmur.
"I only have a few more words, Mr. Mayor. Some of you might be skeptical about my analysis of the election results. In addition to my parishioners, today I come before you as a representative of a new organization, 'Concerned Citizens of Urbana'." He reached under his jacket and pulled out a thick stack of paper, held in place by a suspender. "The Concerned Citizens of Urbana have collected one thousand five hundred signatures demanding that this bill not be passed." At this unexpected development, there was whispering between aldermen and whispering between members of the Gay Liberation Front.
"In conclusion," continued Barber, "I would like to read a very pertinent passage from the Holy Bible, Leviticus." He opened his Bible to a bookmarked page. "If any man lieth…"
And that was it. All the members of the GLF were on their feet, shouting. Amidst the obscenities, I got a chant going. "Gay rights now! Gay rights now!" Roger and a few others approached Barber. "Shame, shame, shame," they yelled, pointing a finger at the man. The mayor gave up trying to quiet the crowd. He sat back and drank from a glass of water. Seth Heller was shouting his full litany of invectives. "Smash the state…We will crush you like a worm." It wasn't until two uniformed police appeared in the back that quiet returned.
"Mr. Mayor," said one of the Republican aldermen, "It is most obvious that this issue cannot be resolved today. I would suggest we move it to committee for further hearings and not take up anymore of the valuable time of this council."
"I'm inclined to agree," said Singer. "I'm moving this to the Committee on Legislation, chaired by Alderman Boyce for further consideration. Now let's move on to the next item."
"What about our chance to rebut Barber?" I shouted.
"Yeah," echoed a few others.
"You will have plenty of opportunity to express your views in the committee hearings," replied Singer. "Now let’s move on."
A disappointed group of gay activists got up slowly and walked out of the council chambers. "I hope you've learned by now never to trust the Democrats," said Winston, who nevertheless appeared quite disappointed. He lit a cigarette the moment he stepped outside.
"The lesson never ends," I said blankly. I went for the Ritalin bottle.
“I see we’re giving up the drugs,” said Roger, wryly.
“This is not the time,” I barked.
“Never is,” replied Roger. He chuckled. “Oh, cheer up Dave. Things could be worse.” Roger checked those within earshot and said softly: “You could be Skip Fenster.”
“My God, Jimmy Breaux, dead,” I said. “It’s so hard to believe; only a year after James Fisher.”
