Reflections on Pre-Stonewall LGBT University Life

I travel around the United States and other countries to give presentations and workshops on social justice issues on university and high-school campuses and at professional conferences. Recently, after I spoke about the topic of heterosexism at an East Coast university, a student asked me what my undergraduate lesbian, gay, bisexual, and transgender (LGBT) student group was like. "Was there much resistance from the administration and from other students?" she inquired. More questions followed: "Did the women and men work well together?" "Were bisexuals and trans people welcomed?" "Was the group's focus political or mainly social?" "Was there a separate 'coming-out' group for new members?" "What kinds of campus activities did your group sponsor?"

As she asked me these questions, my head began to whirl with visions of my undergraduate years. I stopped long enough to inform her that I graduated with my B.A. degree on June 13, 1969 -- 15 days before the momentous Stonewall rebellion, an event generally credited with sparking the modern movement for LGBT liberation and equality.

Though I later learned that some universities, like Cornell, Stanford, and Columbia, had officially recognized LGBT student groups before 1969, as a graduating senior the concept of an "out" person, let alone an organized, above-ground student organization, was not even in my range of possibilities.

Heterosexism and "Red Baiting" in the Cold War

I was born during the height of the Cold War era, directly following World War II, a time when any sort of human difference was held suspect. On the floor of the U.S. Senate, a young and brash senator from Wisconsin, Joseph McCarthy, loudly proclaimed that Communists corrupt the minds, and homosexuals corrupt the bodies, of good, upstanding Americans, and he proceeded to purge suspected Communists and homosexuals from government service.

Before my second birthday my parents suspected that I might be gay or, to use the terminology of the day, "homosexual." Shy, withdrawn, I preferred to spend most of my time alone. Later, on the playground at school, children called me names like "sissy," "fairy," pansy," and "little girl" with an incredible vehemence and malice that I did not understand.

My parents sent me to a child psychologist in 1951, when I was only 4 years old, and they kept sending me until I reached my 13th birthday, with the expressed purpose of making sure that I did not grow up "homosexual." Each session at the psychologist's office, I took off my coat and placed it on the hook behind the door, and for the next 50 minutes the psychologist and I built model airplanes, cars, boats, and trains -- so-called age-appropriate "boy-type toys." It was obvious that the psychologist confused issues of gender expression with sexuality, believing that he could prevent homosexuality by ensuring that I learned "masculine" behaviors.

During high school in the early 1960s, I had very few friends, and I never dated. It was not that I did not wish to date, but I wanted to date some of the other boys, but I could not even talk about this at the time, for the concept of a high-school gay-straight alliance was still many years in the future. In high school the topic of homosexuality rarely surfaced officially in the classroom, and then only in a negative context.

I graduated from high school in 1965 with the hope that college life would somehow be better for me. I hoped that people would be more open-minded, less conforming, more accepting of difference.

Something Was Missing

To a great extent things were better. In college I demonstrated my opposition to the war in Vietnam with others. I worked to reduce racism on campus, and I helped plan environmental ecology teach-ins. Nevertheless, there was still something missing for me. I knew I was gay, but I had no outlet of support through which I could express my feelings. As far as I knew, there were no openly LGBT people, no support groups, no organizations, and no classes or library materials that did anything more than tell me that homosexuality was "abnormal" and that I needed to change.

In 1967 I finally decided to see a therapist in the campus counseling center, and I began what for me was a very difficult coming-out process. And then, in 1970, during my first year of graduate school, I experienced a turning point in my life. In my campus newspaper, The Spartan Daily, at San José State University, I saw the headline in big, bold letters: "GAY LIBERATION FRONT DENIED CAMPUS RECOGNITION." The article stated that the chancellor of the California State University system, Glenn Dumke, under then-governor Ronald Reagan's direction, had denied recognition to the campus chapter of the Gay Liberation Front.

In the ruling Dumke stated, "The effect of recognition ... of the Gay Liberation Front could conceivably be to endorse or to promote homosexual behavior, to attract homosexuals to the campus, and to expose minors to homosexual advocacy and practices." He also expressed his "belief that the proposed Front created too great a risk for students -- a risk which might lead students to engage in illegal homosexual behavior."

Curiosity and Fear

This was the first I had heard of such a group, and the first time I had heard about other LGBT people on my campus. I called the coordinator of the group, and she invited me to the next meeting. Because the chancellor did not permit group members to hold meetings on our campus, they met at a little diner on a small side street a few blocks off campus. Unfortunately, this only confirmed my fears of the underground nature of LGBT life. As I approached the door to enter the meeting, I felt as if I were a member of the French resistance during the Nazi occupation.

Upon entering, I saw around 15 people. I recognized one man from my chemistry class, but the others were strangers. I saw a near-even mix of men and women, which made me feel a bit easier. In my mind I had envisioned 50 men waiting to pounce on me as I entered, but I soon discovered that they were all good people who were concerned about me. They invited me to their homes, and before too long I relaxed in their presence.

I left San José in 1971 to work for a progressive educational journal, EdCentric, at the National Students Association in Washington, D.C. A few month after arriving, I founded and became the first director of the National Gay Students Center, a national clearinghouse working to connect and exchange information between the newly emerging network of LGBT campus organizations within the U.S.

One year after leaving San José, I read that students at Sacramento State University, represented by the student government, sued the chancellor in Sacramento County Superior Court and won the case, forcing the university to officially recognize their group. The court upheld the students' First Amendment rights to free speech and freedom of association by affirming their contention that "to justify suppression of free speech, there must be reasonable grounds to fear that serious evil will result if free speech is practiced; there must be reasonable grounds to believe that the danger apprehended is imminent."

I had the opportunity to talk with Marty Rogers, one of the founding members of the LGBT group at Sacramento State University, who described how the denial of recognition and eventual court battle was instrumental in the group's organizing success:

Being denied recognition, being decreed invisible, reactivated in most group members other similar and painful incidents in their lives. The difference this time was that there was mutual support -- from the campus newspaper and from the student government. Two faculty members openly acknowledged their homosexuality through letters to the Acting College President and the campus newspaper -- they insisted on being seen. For once, homosexuals were not running and hiding. Publicly announcing one's homosexuality, an issue which had not really been confronted previously, became an actuality as a result of the denial of recognition.

Fortified by this precedent-setting case, other campus groups throughout the country have waged and won similar battles.

Hope for the Future

A few years ago I boarded a subway train car on the Green Line in Boston, bound for Boston University, where I was scheduled to present a workshop on LGBT history at an annual Northeast LGBT student conference. Also entering the car were four young male students en route to the conference, one of whom I remembered from a workshop I had given the previous day.

Once on board, they sat two by two in rows directly in front of me. After a few moments of animated talk and without apparent concern or self-consciousness, one of them reached out his hand and gently stroked the hair of the young man seated next to him. The other man welcomed and accepted the gesture.

Witnessing this scene, I thought about how far LGBT people had come from the time I attended college as an undergraduate. Tears came to my eyes as I thought back to the pain of coming out of a closet of denial and fear. I saw before me memories of the hard and often frightening work so many of us have been doing to ensure a safer environment for young people to be able to display seemingly simple acts of affection for someone of their own sex, acts that different-sex couples routinely take for granted.

Through my travels to college and university campuses, I've come away with the definite sense that conditions remain somewhat difficult for some LGBT and questioning young people today, though we have made progress. On many campuses support systems have been set firmly in place, and students today appear more self-assured and exhibit a certain joyous and feisty rebellion not seen only a decade or so ago.

In October each year we now commemorate National LGBT History Month, founded by Missouri high-school history teacher Rodney Wilson in 1994. I hope we will further investigate, record, and pass on our history to future generations. Though I realize that school is still not a particularly "queer" place to be, it is a great deal better than ever before. In solidarity, then, keep up the struggle.

For my two-part LGBT History PowerPoint presentation for your information and use, go to and click "AnLGBTHistoryOne" and "AnLGBTHistoryTwo."