Outrage, Personal Resolve, and The Times of Harvey Milk: What Gay Pride Means To Me

What is Gay Pride?
What does even mean to celebrate Gay Pride? Is it all about festive parties, lots of alcohol, and rainbow-colored sexy clothing? Or is it a somber recognition of the Stonewall patrons and their fight against police harassment as they sought to simply live as openly as they could in a NYC bar?

I can’t tell you what it means for other people, but I can tell you what it means to me and how it all started.

This is not my coming out story though I do mention it below. It is, however, the genesis story of my pride as a gay man, and the resolve to celebrate that pride unapologetically in a world where many would still love to see me slink back into the outer fringes of society.

It all began with Harvey Milk!

It was 1987. I was one year out of college and living in Chicago in my very first apartment on Winona St. Though it was an exciting time in my life, the transition from sheltered college life to being a poor professional dancer was tough. Being a full-time dancer was hard work, and finding love had never been easy. And while I had good friends in the dance company, I dearly missed my college friends.

I was also struggling as a young gay man. Not in terms of self-acceptance or anything along those lines. It was more of a desperate longing for positive gay role models to affirm that my life wasn’t doomed to be sad and tragic; filled with loneliness, familial rejection and societal disapproval. Books (The Front Runner) and movies (My Private Idaho, My Beautiful Launderette, Maurice) at that time offered no solace. And then I read about The Times of Harvey Milk in my local gay weekly.

Honestly, I didn’t know much about Harvey’s story or I likely would never have watched the movie on that lonely night in my apartment. But with my ever-present hope for inspiration, I popped the tape into the VCR.

Over the next 90 minutes, I was introduced to one of the first openly-gay politicians in the country. I was introduced to his life in San Francisco, and shown how much he meant to San Francisco’s gay community. Unfortunately, I also learned about his assassination at the hands of a political rival, and cried my eyes out as though I’d personally witnessed his death.

Then I got angry! As the facts were revealed about Dan White’s murder trial, his ‘Twinkie defense’, and the eventual manslaughter verdict, I seethed with anger that the positive role model that I’d so badly needed had been ripped away before I could even meet him. I watched the footage of the White Night Riots and regretted that I hadn’t been there to take part.

When all was said and done – and all angry tears had been ceased flowing – I had found my resolve as a gay man. You can shun me, beat me, shame me, and even try to kill me. But you will NEVER break me.

The following year, I visited San Francisco for the very first time. One of the first things I did was go to SF City Hall so that I could see the place where Harvey and George Moscone were killed. To this day I’m amazed that nobody questioned or arrested this young Black guy walking into offices and taking pictures.

After my experience with The Times of Harvey Milk, my attention turned to the growing AIDS epidemic. Friends were starting to die from AIDS, and nobody seemed to cared about the disease that seemed to only strike gay men. More men who I started to view as role models (Keith Haring, Sylvester, and my artistic director Joseph Holmes to name a few) were dying. I read Larry Kramer’s ‘The Normal Heart’, and my anger burned hotter.

Yet still I remembered that though I may have struggles in life, love, or dance, I will not be broken because I am gay. I vowed that I would survive, thrive, and live my life as a gay man proudly and unapologetically.

The following year I traveled ‘home’ to Ohio in order to have the talk with my parents that we’d needed to have at least 3-5 years earlier. Everyone knew I was gay, but it had never been talked about openly. That needed to change. It wasn’t easy, but we got through it. For me, there was no other choice. Either I lived proudly as a gay man or I lived in shame. And the latter was unacceptable.

Fast forward 30+ years. It’s Pride month, and I’m walking on a street that I’m sure Harvey must have walked on just as many times as me though I’m pretty sure he never saw a painting of himself on the side of a building. I moved to San Francisco in 1991 and have lived here ever since. As a gay man I’ve loved this city at times, and hated it at other times because of my own struggles or, often, issues within the gay community itself. But my resolve has never wavered. I will not be broken.

I don’t remember when, but I stopped looking outside of myself for positive gay role models. Though I’ve met many LGBTQ men and women that I respect and admire, I decided to become the role model I’d always wished I’d had while growing up. My one enduring hope as I become an LGBTQ elder is that maybe, just maybe, I’ve had a positive affect on a young person who has come out and needs to see someone like me. A young person that needs to see that happiness can be found when you live your life as an out & proud gay man.

Thank you, Harvey. ❤️