Rick336
05-19-2008, 02:28 PM
It was the summer between my Junior and Senior years in high school when the Stonewall riot occurred in New York City. It was 1969 and I was only 17. I hadn't heard about a queer riot up north. When I wasn’t mowing yards or lying in front of the TV, I was off somewhere with my buddies drinking beer and raising hell. I sure didn't give a damn about any news from New York City. Besides, the story probably didn’t even make it down to North Carolina.
During this time however, I was secretly fighting a dreaded fear that I might be attracted to guys more than girls. It scared me. So in high school and college I dated girls to make sure there was really nothing wrong with me.Besides, I figured I'd eventually grow out of it.
After graduation I went to the University of North Carolina at Charlotte where I met Myra, a Southern beauty. But in 1973 at age 22, I transferred to the Minneapolis School of Art and Design, 1,200 miles away from home. It was only to be for one year and Myra was willing to wait for me.
But in Minneapolis I was finding that my attraction to guys was still with me and I was very worried about it. I was afraid that I might have a mental disorder and that I might need to see a psychiatrist.
I went to the school library and looked for any information I could find about homosexuality. About all I found was a 1969 Time Magazine article that mentioned the Stonewall riot but other than that wasn't very helpful. Because I was so far away from home and very horny I decided to go to a gay bar down on Hennepin Avenue called the Gay 90s. I met a guy and we ended up back at his place. Afterwards I was almost suicidal at what I had done.
But then in January 1974 something happened. I had met a guy and fell in love. It was the first time I had ever felt love like that. It was the most awesome and beautiful feeling I‘d ever experienced. His name was Larry and he was 27.
In April, Myra flew up from Charlotte to spend some time with me during her spring break. After the second night, as we lay in my bed, I told her about Larry. She was devastated. She threatened to kill herself. She was ready to fly back to Charlotte that night. I insisted that she stay in Minneapolis until I felt she was emotionally ok to go back to Charlotte. She insisted that I see a Christian counselor right away.
Billy Graham's headquarters were located in Minneapolis in 1974 and within walking distance of the school. So one afternoon me and Myra went to talk to a counselor at Billy Graham's office. When I told him I had fallen in love with a man, he stammered and stuttered and searched for words. I felt kind of sorry for the guy. He finally managed to say that I could be "cured" of being a "homo" with prayer. So the three of us prayed.
It didn't work. Besides, I was in love. Why the hell would I want to be cured of that?
Finally, when I thought my girlfriend was ready to deal with life again, I put her on a plane back to Charlotte. Soon me and Larry began to make plans to spend the summer together.
Still, even though I was in love, it was with a man. I was having serious problems dealing with that. I was a queer. I'd never been a queer before. Was I a freak of nature? Was I mentally disturbed? The thought was really messing with my head. I loved Larry but I didn't love myself.
One summer afternoon in '74 I took a bus downtown and went to a bookstore on Hennepin Avenue. Among the shelves of self-help books I found a paperback titled, "The Gay Mystique" by Peter Fisher. I bought it and took it back to my apartment and began reading it right away.
The book was written two years earlier in 1972, just a few years after the Stonewall riot. Peter Fisher and his partner Marc Rubin were Gay Rights activists who lived in New York City. Peter was one of the first members of the Gay Activists Alliance which had organized immediately after Stonewall.
In the book Peter talked about his experiences of growing up gay and coming out of the closet. He discussed discrimination, love, relationships, self-respect, and self-acceptance.
In the chapter titled "Self-acceptance" Peter Fisher described the very first Gay Pride parade on the one year anniversary of the Stonewall riot in New York City. I’ll never forget the words:
"Coming out is always a gradual process - you cannot change your life overnight. But most gay people who have left the closet recall a particular moment or experience that was especially important, the point at which they really knew they were free and would never hide again. For me this moment occured at the end of June 1970 when the first march was held in New York to commemorate the Stonewall riot.
There had never been a gay march in the city before and nobody was sure how the police and the straight public would react. A good deal of contingency planning went on behind the scenes in case of violence. The crowd swelled and swelled, surpassing the wildest expectations. Suddenly we were off.
I doubt the spirit of that first march will ever be recaptured. The crowd was definitely beautiful. I had never seen so many different gay people, so many smiles, such radiance - where were the unhappy homosexuals I had heard of all my life?
Feelings ran high. We moved uptown past police lines, blue uniforms, billy clubs, patrol cars, flashing lights: I could smell the confrontation. Before we reached Central Park we were a tide flooding Sixth Avenue from sidewalk to sidewalk for blocks and blocks. We were strong, Our voices rocked the buildings as we passed. "OUT OF THE CLOSETS AND INTO THE STREETS!" We were gentle. "I am a lesbian and I am beautiful," read a sign. We were a tapestry, a riot of color, a madcap dance, the last American revolution.
I reeled in the glory of it, walked as I had never walked before, soared. I looked up at the walls of glass and stone, and the tiny faces looking down, and laughed and shouted: I’m gay and I’m proud! I hadn’t shouted since I was a child. When had I really felt proud before? The years of hiding and hating myself and putting up with things and hurting and lying and wanting to scream ripped through me and exploded.
There’s no going back after that. You can’t feel those things and take them back to the closet and nurse them. When you know what it really means to be free, you know that freedom is life. Do you know how it tastes to be alive for the first time?
Oppression in any form requires the complicity of the oppressed. To come out is to refuse to oppress oneself, refuse to play the game. To come out is to assert one’s validity and equality and to declare that one will defend himself. It is the only real form of self-respect.
There’s no moral obligation to come out of the closet - or if there is, it is not one which any one homosexual can determine for another. We would never have been in the closet in the first place if we had not allowed others to make our moral decisions for us.
Freedom must be chosen.”
- Peter Fisher 1972
Over the years and many moves from apartment to apartment and eventually back to North Carolina, I lost the book. Last week I googled Peter Fisher’s name. I found a news story that Stonewall gay activist Marc Rubin, Peter’s life partner of four decades, had died in February 2007 at age 74. He was survived by Peter.
I found that the book, “The Gay Mystique,” had been out of print for many, many years. But to my luck, I located an old copy on the internet for sale. So I purchased it and received it in the mail just a few days ago. It was worn and tattered with faded brown pages. But the familiar words rang out again for the first time in 34 years.
"Do you know how it tastes to be alive for the first time? There's no going back."
If someday Peter Fisher gets on his computer and googles his own name, he may find this story. And if that happens I want to say this to him:
Yes Peter. I know how it feels to be alive for the very first time. In the spring of 1974, I was a very confused and scared young man not knowing what was happening to me. But you were there and with your words of encouragement you gave me hope and self-acceptance. You changed my life and helped me find many years of happiness in a hostile world. Reading your book for the first time was the point at which I knew I was free and would never hide again. I owe much of my happiness to you.
Thank you Peter Fisher.
Rick Hunter
* Next year will be the 40th anniversary of the Stonewall Riot.
During this time however, I was secretly fighting a dreaded fear that I might be attracted to guys more than girls. It scared me. So in high school and college I dated girls to make sure there was really nothing wrong with me.Besides, I figured I'd eventually grow out of it.
After graduation I went to the University of North Carolina at Charlotte where I met Myra, a Southern beauty. But in 1973 at age 22, I transferred to the Minneapolis School of Art and Design, 1,200 miles away from home. It was only to be for one year and Myra was willing to wait for me.
But in Minneapolis I was finding that my attraction to guys was still with me and I was very worried about it. I was afraid that I might have a mental disorder and that I might need to see a psychiatrist.
I went to the school library and looked for any information I could find about homosexuality. About all I found was a 1969 Time Magazine article that mentioned the Stonewall riot but other than that wasn't very helpful. Because I was so far away from home and very horny I decided to go to a gay bar down on Hennepin Avenue called the Gay 90s. I met a guy and we ended up back at his place. Afterwards I was almost suicidal at what I had done.
But then in January 1974 something happened. I had met a guy and fell in love. It was the first time I had ever felt love like that. It was the most awesome and beautiful feeling I‘d ever experienced. His name was Larry and he was 27.
In April, Myra flew up from Charlotte to spend some time with me during her spring break. After the second night, as we lay in my bed, I told her about Larry. She was devastated. She threatened to kill herself. She was ready to fly back to Charlotte that night. I insisted that she stay in Minneapolis until I felt she was emotionally ok to go back to Charlotte. She insisted that I see a Christian counselor right away.
Billy Graham's headquarters were located in Minneapolis in 1974 and within walking distance of the school. So one afternoon me and Myra went to talk to a counselor at Billy Graham's office. When I told him I had fallen in love with a man, he stammered and stuttered and searched for words. I felt kind of sorry for the guy. He finally managed to say that I could be "cured" of being a "homo" with prayer. So the three of us prayed.
It didn't work. Besides, I was in love. Why the hell would I want to be cured of that?
Finally, when I thought my girlfriend was ready to deal with life again, I put her on a plane back to Charlotte. Soon me and Larry began to make plans to spend the summer together.
Still, even though I was in love, it was with a man. I was having serious problems dealing with that. I was a queer. I'd never been a queer before. Was I a freak of nature? Was I mentally disturbed? The thought was really messing with my head. I loved Larry but I didn't love myself.
One summer afternoon in '74 I took a bus downtown and went to a bookstore on Hennepin Avenue. Among the shelves of self-help books I found a paperback titled, "The Gay Mystique" by Peter Fisher. I bought it and took it back to my apartment and began reading it right away.
The book was written two years earlier in 1972, just a few years after the Stonewall riot. Peter Fisher and his partner Marc Rubin were Gay Rights activists who lived in New York City. Peter was one of the first members of the Gay Activists Alliance which had organized immediately after Stonewall.
In the book Peter talked about his experiences of growing up gay and coming out of the closet. He discussed discrimination, love, relationships, self-respect, and self-acceptance.
In the chapter titled "Self-acceptance" Peter Fisher described the very first Gay Pride parade on the one year anniversary of the Stonewall riot in New York City. I’ll never forget the words:
"Coming out is always a gradual process - you cannot change your life overnight. But most gay people who have left the closet recall a particular moment or experience that was especially important, the point at which they really knew they were free and would never hide again. For me this moment occured at the end of June 1970 when the first march was held in New York to commemorate the Stonewall riot.
There had never been a gay march in the city before and nobody was sure how the police and the straight public would react. A good deal of contingency planning went on behind the scenes in case of violence. The crowd swelled and swelled, surpassing the wildest expectations. Suddenly we were off.
I doubt the spirit of that first march will ever be recaptured. The crowd was definitely beautiful. I had never seen so many different gay people, so many smiles, such radiance - where were the unhappy homosexuals I had heard of all my life?
Feelings ran high. We moved uptown past police lines, blue uniforms, billy clubs, patrol cars, flashing lights: I could smell the confrontation. Before we reached Central Park we were a tide flooding Sixth Avenue from sidewalk to sidewalk for blocks and blocks. We were strong, Our voices rocked the buildings as we passed. "OUT OF THE CLOSETS AND INTO THE STREETS!" We were gentle. "I am a lesbian and I am beautiful," read a sign. We were a tapestry, a riot of color, a madcap dance, the last American revolution.
I reeled in the glory of it, walked as I had never walked before, soared. I looked up at the walls of glass and stone, and the tiny faces looking down, and laughed and shouted: I’m gay and I’m proud! I hadn’t shouted since I was a child. When had I really felt proud before? The years of hiding and hating myself and putting up with things and hurting and lying and wanting to scream ripped through me and exploded.
There’s no going back after that. You can’t feel those things and take them back to the closet and nurse them. When you know what it really means to be free, you know that freedom is life. Do you know how it tastes to be alive for the first time?
Oppression in any form requires the complicity of the oppressed. To come out is to refuse to oppress oneself, refuse to play the game. To come out is to assert one’s validity and equality and to declare that one will defend himself. It is the only real form of self-respect.
There’s no moral obligation to come out of the closet - or if there is, it is not one which any one homosexual can determine for another. We would never have been in the closet in the first place if we had not allowed others to make our moral decisions for us.
Freedom must be chosen.”
- Peter Fisher 1972
Over the years and many moves from apartment to apartment and eventually back to North Carolina, I lost the book. Last week I googled Peter Fisher’s name. I found a news story that Stonewall gay activist Marc Rubin, Peter’s life partner of four decades, had died in February 2007 at age 74. He was survived by Peter.
I found that the book, “The Gay Mystique,” had been out of print for many, many years. But to my luck, I located an old copy on the internet for sale. So I purchased it and received it in the mail just a few days ago. It was worn and tattered with faded brown pages. But the familiar words rang out again for the first time in 34 years.
"Do you know how it tastes to be alive for the first time? There's no going back."
If someday Peter Fisher gets on his computer and googles his own name, he may find this story. And if that happens I want to say this to him:
Yes Peter. I know how it feels to be alive for the very first time. In the spring of 1974, I was a very confused and scared young man not knowing what was happening to me. But you were there and with your words of encouragement you gave me hope and self-acceptance. You changed my life and helped me find many years of happiness in a hostile world. Reading your book for the first time was the point at which I knew I was free and would never hide again. I owe much of my happiness to you.
Thank you Peter Fisher.
Rick Hunter
* Next year will be the 40th anniversary of the Stonewall Riot.