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San Francisco’s Stonewall: Raid on Gay Dance Shoot Up the City by Allen White
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Published in Bay Area Reporter, June 22, 1989. From research papers of James Waller.
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San Francisco's Stonewall Raid on Gay Dance Shoot Up the City
by Allen White
On Jan. 1, 1965 a growing gay community used a New Year's Day dance part to make a stand for their rights. It was, many believe, San Francisco's Stonewall.
Unlike New York City, San Francisco's gay community had been growing and developing for almost a decade. Jose Sarria had already run for public office, becoming the first openly gay person to do so. Phyllis Lyon and Del Martin had founded the Daughters of Bilitis, the first lesbian rights organization in the country. Gay men had joined together to form the Society for Individual Rights. Hal Call had formed the Mattachine Society. Social Clubs had formed like the Coits and the bar owners had organized the Tavern Guild.
It was a community that was becoming increasingly visible. Against that visibility was the contact threat of police harassment. Undercover police were assigned to go into gay bars and arrest people for simply toughing or hugging each other. Holding hands was an arrestable offense.
The turning point came with a dance sponsored by the Council for Religion and the Homosexual. The organization was the concept of the Rev. Ted McIlvenna, then a young adult director at Glide Church. Working with him was the Rev. Cecil Williams. At the time, Williams had been at Glide for less than a year. Also in the pack of ministers was the Rev. Robert Cromey, who at the time was a special assistant to Episcopal Bishop James Pike, the Rev. Clarence Calwell of the United Church of Christ and Chuck Lewis of the Lutheran's North Beach Mission.
The purpose of the ball was to raise funds to "create a dialogue between the church and the homosexual," said organizers. What they really created was a lavish party with an orchestra and a show. The location was the old California Hall on Polk Street near Turk, which now houses the Culinary Academy.
The police furnished the drama. Prior to the dance they set up floodlights outside the hall. As each person arrived they were photographed.
Phyllis Lyon and Del Martin had arrived early, before the police. They were at the ticket table.
"I remember the people all looked stunned as they came in the front door."
It would be later in the evening before they found out reach had run a gauntlet of police cameras.
Herb Caen would report the following week that the police took more than four hours of footage at the event. "Longer than Cleopatra," Caen said, "and probably better."
Outside on the street, the ministers gathered and observed. The ministers were outraged.
"The police department wanted to deal more in theology rather than open up dialogue," Williams said, "We see you're married, how do your wives accept this?"
There were three lawyers who were present to deal with any legal problems. Before the night ended they would all be in jail. Two of the attorneys were Elliot Leighton and Arroyo Seco.
The third attorney who was arrested that night was Herb Donaldson. He would later
Page 2:
become the secondly openly gay person in California to be appointed to a judgeship. He now sits on the San Francisco Municipal Court.
They arrested Nancy May, who worked for the Teamsters, because she complained of the treatment. She was charged with obstructing justice.
The entertainment for the night was Franklin. Gene Boche, who many know as Bella, remembers the show as "fabulous."
"Franklin wore this incredible white jewel gown and came out in front of a 25-piece orchestra," Boche said.
Franklin is a hair stylist in the Fairmont Hotel. Wearing the white gown and a Barbara Streisand-styled blond wig, the entertainer came out of the orchestra, one time playing the violin, another time playing the trumpet.
"The band leader played the trumpet off stage," he remembers.
His big number was an impersonation of Marlene Dietrich.
"They had created an outfit made of 1,500 balloons. I will never forget coming out and singing 'You're the Cream in My Coffee.'"
As he performed, the police descended on the 500 people in the building.
"It was really scary," Franklin said. "It seemed so safe."
Franklin had a hard time seeing the crowd because of the lights. He just knew there was commotion.
Somewhere between 20 and 40 police officers descended on the hall. Phyllis Lyon remembers that two people were standing on folding chairs to watch the show. As the chairs began to collapse, the two grabbed for each other.
The two—Konrad Osterreich of Los Angeles and Jon Borset who worked as a display person on Pine Street—whose touching was deemed by police to be lewd were arrested on charges of disorderly conduct. As was the case in those days, part of the punishment was to have your name and where you worked published in the San Francisco Chronicle.
Bob Cramer was one of dozens of people who had tickets for the event.
"As drove up I could see all the police and the lights." Like most gays in those days, he drove on.
The dance was held on a Friday night. On Saturday, the ministers held a news conference, angrily denouncing the police. They accused the police of "intimidation and obvious hostility. The Rev. McIlvenna said the police told them that "that they thought were being used by various homosexual organizations in this city."
McIlvenna also said, "It was a very well run ball. After the police forced their way in, it took them more than an hour to find anything wrong."
The following week then Mayor John Shelley ordered then-Police Chief Thomas Cahill to conduct an investigation.
Raids were nothing new to gays in San Francisco. What was different was the public attention. The ministers had focused attention on the event way that had never before been done. Straights in San Francisco were exposed to the gay community through the eyes of the ministers. It made the difference and the relationship between the police, gays, the church and city government would never be the same again.
San Francisco's Stonewall Raid on Gay Dance Shoot Up the City
by Allen White
On Jan. 1, 1965 a growing gay community used a New Year's Day dance part to make a stand for their rights. It was, many believe, San Francisco's Stonewall.
Unlike New York City, San Francisco's gay community had been growing and developing for almost a decade. Jose Sarria had already run for public office, becoming the first openly gay person to do so. Phyllis Lyon and Del Martin had founded the Daughters of Bilitis, the first lesbian rights organization in the country. Gay men had joined together to form the Society for Individual Rights. Hal Call had formed the Mattachine Society. Social Clubs had formed like the Coits and the bar owners had organized the Tavern Guild.
It was a community that was becoming increasingly visible. Against that visibility was the contact threat of police harassment. Undercover police were assigned to go into gay bars and arrest people for simply toughing or hugging each other. Holding hands was an arrestable offense.
The turning point came with a dance sponsored by the Council for Religion and the Homosexual. The organization was the concept of the Rev. Ted McIlvenna, then a young adult director at Glide Church. Working with him was the Rev. Cecil Williams. At the time, Williams had been at Glide for less than a year. Also in the pack of ministers was the Rev. Robert Cromey, who at the time was a special assistant to Episcopal Bishop James Pike, the Rev. Clarence Calwell of the United Church of Christ and Chuck Lewis of the Lutheran's North Beach Mission.
The purpose of the ball was to raise funds to "create a dialogue between the church and the homosexual," said organizers. What they really created was a lavish party with an orchestra and a show. The location was the old California Hall on Polk Street near Turk, which now houses the Culinary Academy.
The police furnished the drama. Prior to the dance they set up floodlights outside the hall. As each person arrived they were photographed.
Phyllis Lyon and Del Martin had arrived early, before the police. They were at the ticket table.
"I remember the people all looked stunned as they came in the front door."
It would be later in the evening before they found out reach had run a gauntlet of police cameras.
Herb Caen would report the following week that the police took more than four hours of footage at the event. "Longer than Cleopatra," Caen said, "and probably better."
Outside on the street, the ministers gathered and observed. The ministers were outraged.
"The police department wanted to deal more in theology rather than open up dialogue," Williams said, "We see you're married, how do your wives accept this?"
There were three lawyers who were present to deal with any legal problems. Before the night ended they would all be in jail. Two of the attorneys were Elliot Leighton and Arroyo Seco.
The third attorney who was arrested that night was Herb Donaldson. He would later
Page 2:
become the secondly openly gay person in California to be appointed to a judgeship. He now sits on the San Francisco Municipal Court.
They arrested Nancy May, who worked for the Teamsters, because she complained of the treatment. She was charged with obstructing justice.
The entertainment for the night was Franklin. Gene Boche, who many know as Bella, remembers the show as "fabulous."
"Franklin wore this incredible white jewel gown and came out in front of a 25-piece orchestra," Boche said.
Franklin is a hair stylist in the Fairmont Hotel. Wearing the white gown and a Barbara Streisand-styled blond wig, the entertainer came out of the orchestra, one time playing the violin, another time playing the trumpet.
"The band leader played the trumpet off stage," he remembers.
His big number was an impersonation of Marlene Dietrich.
"They had created an outfit made of 1,500 balloons. I will never forget coming out and singing 'You're the Cream in My Coffee.'"
As he performed, the police descended on the 500 people in the building.
"It was really scary," Franklin said. "It seemed so safe."
Franklin had a hard time seeing the crowd because of the lights. He just knew there was commotion.
Somewhere between 20 and 40 police officers descended on the hall. Phyllis Lyon remembers that two people were standing on folding chairs to watch the show. As the chairs began to collapse, the two grabbed for each other.
The two—Konrad Osterreich of Los Angeles and Jon Borset who worked as a display person on Pine Street—whose touching was deemed by police to be lewd were arrested on charges of disorderly conduct. As was the case in those days, part of the punishment was to have your name and where you worked published in the San Francisco Chronicle.
Bob Cramer was one of dozens of people who had tickets for the event.
"As drove up I could see all the police and the lights." Like most gays in those days, he drove on.
The dance was held on a Friday night. On Saturday, the ministers held a news conference, angrily denouncing the police. They accused the police of "intimidation and obvious hostility. The Rev. McIlvenna said the police told them that "that they thought were being used by various homosexual organizations in this city."
McIlvenna also said, "It was a very well run ball. After the police forced their way in, it took them more than an hour to find anything wrong."
The following week then Mayor John Shelley ordered then-Police Chief Thomas Cahill to conduct an investigation.
Raids were nothing new to gays in San Francisco. What was different was the public attention. The ministers had focused attention on the event way that had never before been done. Straights in San Francisco were exposed to the gay community through the eyes of the ministers. It made the difference and the relationship between the police, gays, the church and city government would never be the same again.