Dramatization of Urbana City Council vote on gay rights

In late-August, the Urbana City Council was prepared to vote on the newly reworded civil rights ordinance. Despite the summer lull, Winston and I managed to get twenty supporters to the meeting, most donning orange wristbands and headbands that Reggie Flanders and his partner John Hooper had made. Unfortunately, Roger and Matthew had not yet returned from Europe.

The gay rights ordinance was still expected to pass 7-5-1. This time, however, we weren’t so naïve. Gays and Christians eyed each other warily over the center aisle.

"See those guys there?" I pointed across the room for Reggie. “Those three are ringleaders of Concerned Citizens—the ones from the hearing."

"Um, hum: a bunch of constipated old white men," said Reggie. Skip Fenster sat on my left and the two of us started laughing at Reggie’s comment, loud enough to attract attention from the Concerned Citizens and several of the aldermen.

I looked at Skip and said. "We must maintain our dignity." But that sounded so hilarious we both burst out laughing again. I changed the subject before I embarrassed myself any more. “Look over there,” I said, pointing up front. George McPherson, the Republican Barry Manilow look-alike, was talking in a corner with the blond-haired, handsome libertarian Tim James. “Don’t they make a cute couple,” I said, but this made Skip laugh again. Luckily, I didn’t see the humor. I fished some note cards from my front pocket and began to riffle through them, while Skip giggled alone. This time I came prepared to speak and was certain one or more of the Concerned Citizens did likewise.

On schedule, Mayor Manny Singer called the meeting to order. He had picked up some weight since the last time I saw him. Perhaps the pressures of the office had led him to junk food. Like last time, the gay rights ordinance was the first real item of business on the agenda.

"Speakers will be limited to three minutes," instructed the mayor. "There will be no noise, applause or any sound whatsoever, before, after or during the time a speaker is at the podium. Disrupters will be removed from the meeting. I hope I have made myself clear." There was silence. "Good. Let's begin."

The first speaker was from Concerned Citizens and was brief. "I am a Christian. My objection is simple. The council has no right to pass a law against God's law." It took a great deal of restraint, but we remained silent.

I spoke next, feeling confident. I gave the same speech I had given in Champaign, talking about the false arrest by the Urbana cop and his “no faggots can bring charges against a straight man…” declaration, the shooting, the burned cross on my dorm door, the firing of a teacher, and the discrimination and violence at the Wigwam. "Even though the Wigwam was in Champaign, the same thing could happen here in Urbana." A few people applauded, but the mayor’s gavel quickly silenced them.

Next Orville Barber spoke. "There are already laws on the books against shooting somebody, destruction of property or police misconduct. Mr. Rosen should pursue his grievances under existing law." There was a bit of a commotion. Somebody shouted, “He already tried,” but the mayor quickly gaveled them silent. The Reverend Barber continued. "I promise you this. We, the Concerned Citizens of Urbana, will actively work against the re-election of any alderman who supports this legislation." There were jeers and Mayor Singer gaveled until the commotion quieted.

I tried to enlist another speaker for the pro-gay side, but nobody was willing or felt they had anything new to say. If only Brian Powers would tell the council how he was fired as an Urbana school teacher. My thoughts were interrupted when Mayor Singer called the question.

One by one the aldermen voted. The first vote was negative, there were murmurs but he was a Republican and his vote was expected.

All quieted when Tim James, the Libertarian Republican, was set to cast his vote. Everyone moved to the edge of their seat. “He’s going to abstain,” I whispered to Reggie.

“I vote no,” said Tim and the Concerned Citizens broke into applause. My mouth dropped in shock and the booing began in earnest. Mayor Singer gaveled the crowd quiet, but not before Skip yelled to Tim, “Honey, don’t feel bad about what we did last night in the bushes,” and the booing became laughter and Christian mouths dropped.

The voting continued as expected with the Republicans voting no and all Democrats so-far but Truscott voting yes. “We’ll still win 7-6,” I whispered to Reggie, my confidence returning, and then looked back at Winston who was pacing in the rear of the council chambers under the watchful eye of the sergeant at arms.

When it came time for the last alderman, Legislative Committee Chairman Ken Boyce, to cast his vote, the count was five for, six against. Since Boyce had approved the wording he had instructed Winston and Alderman Joel Sandberg to modify, he was expected to tie it up and the mayor would vote for the ordinance, breaking the tie. Boyce cleared his throat and looked around the room. I noticed that Winston had stopped pacing and was clutching his pack of Pall Malls. "I have looked at the latest version of the proposed ordinance,” said Ken, once again clearing his throat, “and I am not completely satisfied with the language. Therefore, I must regrettably vote no."

Instead of booing, I rose from my seat, lifted my hands high in the air and motioned towards the door. Every member of the Gay Liberation Front rose up together and walked out of the meeting. We assembled in front of the council doors, and the press hurried after us. It was a fine show. “Next time, we will return even stronger,” I told the press.

There was a rage coming. But it was not an explosion; something more subtle. And it felt as though it would stay with me forever.