Hidden History
By Susan Zaeske ’89, MA’93, PhD’97
On an otherwise ordinary day in late May, twenty-one people burst through the walls of the traditional classroom.
We were UW students, faculty, and staff, and we were about to make history by studying history. We were boarding a bus and hitting the road to meet people who, starting in the 1950s, have been key players in the lesbian, gay, bisexual, and transgender (LGBT) civil rights movement. We were going to stand where they had once stood and listen to the stories of their struggles. Our stops along the way would include Cleveland, Washington, Baltimore, Philadelphia, and New York City.
On an otherwise ordinary day in late May, twenty-one people burst through the walls of the traditional classroom.
We were UW students, faculty, and staff, and we were about to make history by studying history. We were boarding a bus and hitting the road to meet people who, starting in the 1950s, have been key players in the lesbian, gay, bisexual, and transgender (LGBT) civil rights movement. We were going to stand where they had once stood and listen to the stories of their struggles. Our stops along the way would include Cleveland, Washington, Baltimore, Philadelphia, and New York City.
We weren’t traveling lightly. We carried a weight of responsibility, knowing that we were the first class at UW-Madison — and, perhaps, anywhere — to employ the experiential education format to study LGBT history. We immersed ourselves in the topic for ten full days, meeting with people and grappling with issues throughout the day, over meals, and well into the evening. The learning — and teaching — experience was intense, not only because of the hours we invested in each day, but also because meeting the history-makers heightened the reality of course themes. One of the most important aspects of the class, students said, was that the immersion pushed them to engage more deeply with the material than they would have in a traditional classroom. They were able to speak with and ask almost unlimited questions of the subjects of their study, to interact closely with faculty, and to draw upon their own experience to identify themes and lessons. Students and teachers together became knowledge gatherers and creators — preparing for interactions with speakers, reflecting on experiences and events, and synthesizing disparate versions of the past and conflicting points of view. It all made for meaningful and long-lasting learning, both for students and for me and others who taught the course.
More important than achieving a first, though, was the goal of discovering the history that we could not find on library shelves. We were seeking people who could tell us the stories that have yet to be recorded in journals and books.
“LGBT history has been hidden, and we are attempting to bring it more into view,” says Scott Seyforth MSx’09, the course’s creator, who is a graduate student in educational leadership and policy analysis and serves as a residence life coordinator for University Housing. Seyforth was the major force behind the trip, leading the effort to coordinate hundreds of details, and gaining broad sponsorship from nine different campus organizations, including the offices of the Dean of Students, the Chancellor, and the Provost.
The trip came to fruition, thanks to Seyforth’s persistence and to the indefatigable Joe Elder, a professor of sociology and one of the faculty founders of the university’s LGBT studies certificate program in 2003. “At the moment, LGBT people are probably the most discriminated against,” Elder said when he signed on to help teach the class. “All discriminated groups face barriers. This trip is one way of bringing those barriers down.”
Our leadership team also included two graduate students, Amy Barber ’06, MAx’08, communication arts and women’s studies, and Eric Pritchard MAx’08, English, as well as Maren Greathouse of the LGBT Campus Center.
The fifteen students enrolled in the course were in various stages of their undergraduate careers and, although we never asked, they identified themselves as gay, lesbian, or bisexual, or — for about half of the class — as an “ally,” a term they prefer to use rather than “straight” for individuals who are advocates for LGBT causes, but not LGBT themselves.
“LGBT history has been hidden, and we are attempting to bring it more into view,” says Scott Seyforth MSx’09, the course’s creator, who is a graduate student in educational leadership and policy analysis and serves as a residence life coordinator for University Housing. Seyforth was the major force behind the trip, leading the effort to coordinate hundreds of details, and gaining broad sponsorship from nine different campus organizations, including the offices of the Dean of Students, the Chancellor, and the Provost.
The trip came to fruition, thanks to Seyforth’s persistence and to the indefatigable Joe Elder, a professor of sociology and one of the faculty founders of the university’s LGBT studies certificate program in 2003. “At the moment, LGBT people are probably the most discriminated against,” Elder said when he signed on to help teach the class. “All discriminated groups face barriers. This trip is one way of bringing those barriers down.”
Our leadership team also included two graduate students, Amy Barber ’06, MAx’08, communication arts and women’s studies, and Eric Pritchard MAx’08, English, as well as Maren Greathouse of the LGBT Campus Center.
The fifteen students enrolled in the course were in various stages of their undergraduate careers and, although we never asked, they identified themselves as gay, lesbian, or bisexual, or — for about half of the class — as an “ally,” a term they prefer to use rather than “straight” for individuals who are advocates for LGBT causes, but not LGBT themselves.
The first class session included the chance to meet local activists, such as members of PFLAG (Parents and Families of Lesbians and Gays) and Soulforce, a Christian group that fights oppression of LGBT people. During a visit to St. Francis House, which during the 1970s hosted meetings of gay activist groups, a panel of UW-Madison alumni, faculty, and staff taught the students about the history of LGBT activism on campus and in the Madison community. (See sidebar, page 34.)
We then set off on our rolling history seminar, with a first stop in Cleveland. At an LGBT community center there, we were moved by the stories from a navy veteran turned transgender activist, and from several lesbians in their seventies and eighties. In Washington, D.C., we met founders of 1960s gay organizations, and, quickly jumping to the present, we visited the offices of the Human Rights Campaign, where David Stacy ’90, once a student of Elder’s, serves as a senior public policy advocate. In Baltimore on a Sunday morning, we attended a moving service at the Afro-centric, gay-positive Unity Fellowship Church. And in Philadelphia, the cradle of the nation, we were greeted by a well-known local activist, who outfitted us with picket signs so that we could re-create the demonstrations by people who marched for gay rights in front of Independence Hall every July 4 from 1965 to 1969.
We then set off on our rolling history seminar, with a first stop in Cleveland. At an LGBT community center there, we were moved by the stories from a navy veteran turned transgender activist, and from several lesbians in their seventies and eighties. In Washington, D.C., we met founders of 1960s gay organizations, and, quickly jumping to the present, we visited the offices of the Human Rights Campaign, where David Stacy ’90, once a student of Elder’s, serves as a senior public policy advocate. In Baltimore on a Sunday morning, we attended a moving service at the Afro-centric, gay-positive Unity Fellowship Church. And in Philadelphia, the cradle of the nation, we were greeted by a well-known local activist, who outfitted us with picket signs so that we could re-create the demonstrations by people who marched for gay rights in front of Independence Hall every July 4 from 1965 to 1969.
In New York City, our final destination, we focused our attention on the history of the 1969 Stonewall Rebellion, a several-day clash outside The Stonewall Inn, where police officers fought gay and transgender people who were protesting police entrapment and shakedowns of LGBT citizens. It is regarded as a watershed event for the gay rights movement. We met with Elliott Imse ’05, a communications research associate at the Gay and Lesbian Alliance Against Defamation (GLAAD), and David Carter MA’78, author of Stonewall: The Riots That Sparked the Gay Revolution. Carter’s book was assigned reading for the class, so speaking with him and some of his interview subjects face-to-face was especially meaningful.
In fact, hearing directly from those who had made history in earlier decades was a strong — and emotional — thread woven throughout our journey. Each of the trip’s participants came away from these conversations with new knowledge and new appreciation for those who had stepped forward in years past, without knowing for certain where the road would take them.
By the time our bus returned to Madison, our thoughts were swimming with all that we had observed and learned. Barber, Pritchard, and Kala Kluender x’08, who were among the class participants, share some of those thoughts here.
In fact, hearing directly from those who had made history in earlier decades was a strong — and emotional — thread woven throughout our journey. Each of the trip’s participants came away from these conversations with new knowledge and new appreciation for those who had stepped forward in years past, without knowing for certain where the road would take them.
By the time our bus returned to Madison, our thoughts were swimming with all that we had observed and learned. Barber, Pritchard, and Kala Kluender x’08, who were among the class participants, share some of those thoughts here.
History is messy.
Brave foremothers and forefathers of the gay and lesbian rights movement taught us many things during our trip. But the comment I found most meaningful is one that I heard repeated often: “You’re not just learning history by participating in this trip. You’re making history.”
At the broadest level, very little gay and lesbian history is available to students in our libraries, our news media, or our classrooms. As we created this much-needed course on the topic, we also developed a format that allowed us to learn in a new and different way, outside of and complementary to what little gay and lesbian history we had encountered in classroom settings. We created an environment in which history came alive.
Stories have often been told about the people involved in the movement, rather than by them. On this trip, we heard the stories of gay and lesbian rights pioneers directly from them, rather than filtered through a third party and represented as words on a page. As we talked, we came to our own conclusions about the people and the history they made.
It is one thing to read about groups — the Mattachine Society and the Daughters of Bilitis — that formed to fight for gay and lesbian civil rights beginning in the 1950s, a time when the very notion of gays and lesbians as people who deserve equal rights was unheard of. It is another thing to hear members of the groups describe the deep and paralyzing fear they felt when they decided to picket the White House and Independence Hall in 1965. As they marched, holding signs insisting that “Homosexuals Are Equal Citizens,” they feared for their jobs, their families, their safety, their lives. A few days later, when our group re-created the event, we felt that same fear and vulnerability when passersby shot us chilling glances or spewed anti-gay epithets. The experience gave us a true sense of the courage and bravery it must have taken for the women and men to picket more than forty years ago
Brave foremothers and forefathers of the gay and lesbian rights movement taught us many things during our trip. But the comment I found most meaningful is one that I heard repeated often: “You’re not just learning history by participating in this trip. You’re making history.”
At the broadest level, very little gay and lesbian history is available to students in our libraries, our news media, or our classrooms. As we created this much-needed course on the topic, we also developed a format that allowed us to learn in a new and different way, outside of and complementary to what little gay and lesbian history we had encountered in classroom settings. We created an environment in which history came alive.
Stories have often been told about the people involved in the movement, rather than by them. On this trip, we heard the stories of gay and lesbian rights pioneers directly from them, rather than filtered through a third party and represented as words on a page. As we talked, we came to our own conclusions about the people and the history they made.
It is one thing to read about groups — the Mattachine Society and the Daughters of Bilitis — that formed to fight for gay and lesbian civil rights beginning in the 1950s, a time when the very notion of gays and lesbians as people who deserve equal rights was unheard of. It is another thing to hear members of the groups describe the deep and paralyzing fear they felt when they decided to picket the White House and Independence Hall in 1965. As they marched, holding signs insisting that “Homosexuals Are Equal Citizens,” they feared for their jobs, their families, their safety, their lives. A few days later, when our group re-created the event, we felt that same fear and vulnerability when passersby shot us chilling glances or spewed anti-gay epithets. The experience gave us a true sense of the courage and bravery it must have taken for the women and men to picket more than forty years ago
It is one thing to read about the accomplishments of Victor Banis, a gay author who has written more than one hundred and fifty gay pulp novels since the early 1960s. It is another thing to sit in a room with him and hear him talk about the many publishers of the era who were sentenced to federal prison for distributing “obscene” (gay-themed) material, and to hear him recall how afraid he was when he was indicted on federal charges of conspiracy to distribute the material.
It is one thing to read about the omnipresence of police harassment and brutality inflicted upon gays and lesbians in the 1950s and 1960s. It is another to watch Banis shakily recount the night he was gang-raped by police simply because he was gay. These are stories, and faces, that undoubtedly will stick in our memories even though the course has ended. They are stories that students will incorporate into their lives, their research endeavors, and their future activist work. “I learned about history, yes,” says one student about the course, “but even more about myself and how to evaluate and understand history.”
Joan Biren, a self-described “radical lesbian feminist,” opened her talk with the assertion that “history is the politics of memory.” History, she told us, is contingent upon who has the means and the access to write it. History is often contradictory. History is messy. The reality of history’s complexity and messiness became our trip’s most important lesson.
— Amy Barber
It is one thing to read about the omnipresence of police harassment and brutality inflicted upon gays and lesbians in the 1950s and 1960s. It is another to watch Banis shakily recount the night he was gang-raped by police simply because he was gay. These are stories, and faces, that undoubtedly will stick in our memories even though the course has ended. They are stories that students will incorporate into their lives, their research endeavors, and their future activist work. “I learned about history, yes,” says one student about the course, “but even more about myself and how to evaluate and understand history.”
Joan Biren, a self-described “radical lesbian feminist,” opened her talk with the assertion that “history is the politics of memory.” History, she told us, is contingent upon who has the means and the access to write it. History is often contradictory. History is messy. The reality of history’s complexity and messiness became our trip’s most important lesson.
— Amy Barber
To know these histories is to know myself.
Entering the lounge at the back of The Stonewall Inn, you can’t help but notice the two photos. To your left is a picture of a woman dressed in a chic wrap dress, hair loosely curled, makeup impeccably applied, and a hand raised powerfully in the air. To your right is a picture of a woman with hair adorned with various decorative ornaments, a multitude of paints and glitters on her face, and a Mona Lisa smirk, a look that at once says, “I know much, and am telling you nothing.”
These are photos of Sylvia Rivera, a Latina transgender woman, and Marsha P. Johnson, an African-American transgender woman. Their names, as those knowledgeable about LGBT history can tell you, quickly come up and then fade away in discussions about the Stonewall riots of June 1969. Depending upon whom you ask, or the agenda for the history recounted, depictions of Rivera and Johnson fluctuate from being humorous, quirky, back-up players to being the “real” gay activists. And, in the recollections of still others, they were troublemaking radicals, master grassroots organizers, or sex-working mothers to the “street kids,” the homeless youth who helped spark and solidify the riot’s momentum. In these same recollections, the two women are depicted as having nothing to lose and everything to gain by fighting back and supporting others in the same position. Consequently then, this history posits that their roles were so central to the movement itself that it’s difficult to imagine a Stonewall riot, a gay liberation movement, or a New York City without them.
Entering the lounge at the back of The Stonewall Inn, you can’t help but notice the two photos. To your left is a picture of a woman dressed in a chic wrap dress, hair loosely curled, makeup impeccably applied, and a hand raised powerfully in the air. To your right is a picture of a woman with hair adorned with various decorative ornaments, a multitude of paints and glitters on her face, and a Mona Lisa smirk, a look that at once says, “I know much, and am telling you nothing.”
These are photos of Sylvia Rivera, a Latina transgender woman, and Marsha P. Johnson, an African-American transgender woman. Their names, as those knowledgeable about LGBT history can tell you, quickly come up and then fade away in discussions about the Stonewall riots of June 1969. Depending upon whom you ask, or the agenda for the history recounted, depictions of Rivera and Johnson fluctuate from being humorous, quirky, back-up players to being the “real” gay activists. And, in the recollections of still others, they were troublemaking radicals, master grassroots organizers, or sex-working mothers to the “street kids,” the homeless youth who helped spark and solidify the riot’s momentum. In these same recollections, the two women are depicted as having nothing to lose and everything to gain by fighting back and supporting others in the same position. Consequently then, this history posits that their roles were so central to the movement itself that it’s difficult to imagine a Stonewall riot, a gay liberation movement, or a New York City without them.
As a black gay man, I know the consequences of marginalized histories, whether they are histories I directly identify with or not. To know these histories is to know myself. To silence them is to silence me. These are the consequences of being rendered to historical margins — consequences that erase not only history and ancestors, but also descendants. This erasure is true, in particular, for LGBT people of color, lesbian herstories, and transgender communities.
On our trip, we talked with Bob Kohler, Tommy Lanigan-Schmidt, Danny Garvin, and Karla Jay, who spoke at length about Rivera and
Johnson. In Washington, D.C., we met with A. Billy S. Jones and Louis Hughes, Jr., co-founders of the National Coalition of Black Lesbians and Gays, and Buddy Sutson, co-founder of the Best of Washington, one of the oldest black gay social organizations. As we talked over the history we had come to study, the scant inclusion of LGBT people of color and the transgender community was front and center. Still, these communities were more readily recalled by our panelists than in most other historical accounts of the era, which spoke to the blessing of experiential learning and the mandates we were charged with as students, teachers, and descendants.
This mandate was best summed up by Lanigan-Schmidt, a former street kid. He said the best thing we can do to right the exclusions of history is not to just question or identify them, but instead to make our own contributions through writings, documentaries, and gathering interviews. He also encouraged us to challenge the politics of which materials and ephemera, if any, are deemed history-worthy or “intelligible” historical documents. We, as a learning community, took this charge seriously, and it peppered our class discussions more than any other subject that we heard on those days.
On our trip, we talked with Bob Kohler, Tommy Lanigan-Schmidt, Danny Garvin, and Karla Jay, who spoke at length about Rivera and
Johnson. In Washington, D.C., we met with A. Billy S. Jones and Louis Hughes, Jr., co-founders of the National Coalition of Black Lesbians and Gays, and Buddy Sutson, co-founder of the Best of Washington, one of the oldest black gay social organizations. As we talked over the history we had come to study, the scant inclusion of LGBT people of color and the transgender community was front and center. Still, these communities were more readily recalled by our panelists than in most other historical accounts of the era, which spoke to the blessing of experiential learning and the mandates we were charged with as students, teachers, and descendants.
This mandate was best summed up by Lanigan-Schmidt, a former street kid. He said the best thing we can do to right the exclusions of history is not to just question or identify them, but instead to make our own contributions through writings, documentaries, and gathering interviews. He also encouraged us to challenge the politics of which materials and ephemera, if any, are deemed history-worthy or “intelligible” historical documents. We, as a learning community, took this charge seriously, and it peppered our class discussions more than any other subject that we heard on those days.
Overall, the speakers helped us to understand that within the LGBT community there is a diversity of experiences. We learned that we, as descendants, can use our voices to counteract the consequences of historical invisibility and erasures.
— Eric Pritchard
My awareness of the privileges that I carry has been heightened.
During this course, many of the speakers commented on public health concerns that are specific to LGBT individuals, which helped to inform my personal interest.
For example, Frank Kameny, a prominent figure in the gay civil rights movement, explained that removing homosexuality from the diagnostic manual of the American Psychiatric Association in 1973 was a significant moment in LGBT history. For the first time, he noted, well-respected professionals removed the characterization of being gay or lesbian as medically or psychologically abnormal. We also met with Jessica Xavier, an author, songwriter, and sexual minorities activist, who pointed out that Gender Identity Disorder is currently listed in the manual, and I learned about the issues this presents to transgender and transsexual individuals.
— Eric Pritchard
My awareness of the privileges that I carry has been heightened.
During this course, many of the speakers commented on public health concerns that are specific to LGBT individuals, which helped to inform my personal interest.
For example, Frank Kameny, a prominent figure in the gay civil rights movement, explained that removing homosexuality from the diagnostic manual of the American Psychiatric Association in 1973 was a significant moment in LGBT history. For the first time, he noted, well-respected professionals removed the characterization of being gay or lesbian as medically or psychologically abnormal. We also met with Jessica Xavier, an author, songwriter, and sexual minorities activist, who pointed out that Gender Identity Disorder is currently listed in the manual, and I learned about the issues this presents to transgender and transsexual individuals.
Although many of the people we met are well-known and often cited in LGBT historical writings, I experienced a renewed awareness of those who were not included in meetings, videos, or reading assignments. Unique to LGBT history, I believe, is the loss of some of the most interesting and potentially accurate recordings of events because of the social stigma that drove the gay community underground for decades. The use of pseudonyms, for example, effectively erased ties to activists who may have left integral experiences untold. Some of our most captivating speakers were local organizers who worked at the grassroots level and whose stories may go unrecorded.
We also repeatedly heard speakers describe different versions of the same event, all falling at the mercy of memory and personal perspective. This phenomenon — in addition to issues of race, age, class, access to education, and other resources — points to one of the challenges in writing and reporting history.
In the end, we all developed a very keen appreciation for the caution that must be taken in historical study, and for the need to recognize the invaluable people, places, and events that may not have been acknowledged.
I know that my awareness of the privileges that I carry has been heightened, and as I work toward my goals of becoming a health care provider, community leader, and engaged citizen, my awareness of the unique concerns of the LGBT community will heavily influence my actions. I will translate what I learned in this course into discussions with my friends and family about LGBT issues, increase my recognition of unjust policies on both local and international levels, openly identify myself as an ally, and actively pursue more information about barriers to quality health care faced by LGBT individuals — as well as how to eliminate them. missing image file
— Kala Kluender
Susan Zaeske is a professor and associate chair of UW-Madison’s Department of Communication Arts.
We also repeatedly heard speakers describe different versions of the same event, all falling at the mercy of memory and personal perspective. This phenomenon — in addition to issues of race, age, class, access to education, and other resources — points to one of the challenges in writing and reporting history.
In the end, we all developed a very keen appreciation for the caution that must be taken in historical study, and for the need to recognize the invaluable people, places, and events that may not have been acknowledged.
I know that my awareness of the privileges that I carry has been heightened, and as I work toward my goals of becoming a health care provider, community leader, and engaged citizen, my awareness of the unique concerns of the LGBT community will heavily influence my actions. I will translate what I learned in this course into discussions with my friends and family about LGBT issues, increase my recognition of unjust policies on both local and international levels, openly identify myself as an ally, and actively pursue more information about barriers to quality health care faced by LGBT individuals — as well as how to eliminate them. missing image file
— Kala Kluender
Susan Zaeske is a professor and associate chair of UW-Madison’s Department of Communication Arts.
Close to Home
The UW gay and lesbian civil rights movement faced daunting challenges, yet made steady progress, during its early decades.
By Scott Seyforth MSx’09
When examining the history of gay, lesbian, bisexual, and transgender (LGBT) people at the UW from 1950 to 1970, a stark duality emerges: they contributed to — yet never were fully accepted into — the campus community.
The Haresfoot Club, while not a gay organization, featured all-male casts in revues and Broadway shows. According to information in the UW-Madison Archives, it was an outlet for some gay men, and Haresfoot was one of the few places on campus where the rigidity of 1950s gender roles was satirized. In the spirit of the Wisconsin Idea, the Haresfoot Club performed in seven to ten cities throughout the state each year, with its men-in-drag cast playing women’s parts. Haresfoot offered changing conceptions of gender and gender roles for sixty-five years, from 1898 to 1963, under the motto, “All our women are men, yet every one’s a lady.”
By Scott Seyforth MSx’09
When examining the history of gay, lesbian, bisexual, and transgender (LGBT) people at the UW from 1950 to 1970, a stark duality emerges: they contributed to — yet never were fully accepted into — the campus community.
The Haresfoot Club, while not a gay organization, featured all-male casts in revues and Broadway shows. According to information in the UW-Madison Archives, it was an outlet for some gay men, and Haresfoot was one of the few places on campus where the rigidity of 1950s gender roles was satirized. In the spirit of the Wisconsin Idea, the Haresfoot Club performed in seven to ten cities throughout the state each year, with its men-in-drag cast playing women’s parts. Haresfoot offered changing conceptions of gender and gender roles for sixty-five years, from 1898 to 1963, under the motto, “All our women are men, yet every one’s a lady.”
Despite the acceptance of the gender-bending aspects of the Haresfoot Club, on at least two occasions, the university actively purged groups of students identified as homosexuals. The first purge occurred in 1948, a time when the campus population had tripled in size compared to enrollment before World War II. Networks of gays and lesbians had begun forming on campus and in the community during this period,
representing the most — and, perhaps, the most visible — LGBT groups in campus history until that time. In response to what they perceived as a threat, city and university police arrested twelve men in June 1948, primarily by raiding a private party of gay men at a Madison house. At least four of the men arrested were university students, and they were expelled for gathering with other gay men.
“Each of you by your conduct has caused an indelible mark to be placed against you,” said the judge at the students’ court hearing, according to a Wisconsin State Journal report
of June 21, 1948.
The second gay purge occurred in 1962, culminating a decade of greater policing of homosexual behavior than had ever been seen on campus. Throughout 1962, the campus’s security and dean of men offices conducted a full-scale investigation of gay men, which Ron McCrea ’89 has documented in the Midwest Gay Academic Journal. By coercing gay male students to provide names of other gay men, the offices compiled a list and called in dozens of gay men for questioning. If a man admitted that he was gay, the university called his parents, took away his scholarships, and expelled him. The purge also led to the investigation of certain faculty, staff, and deans. In time, the purge subsided, in part because faculty and counseling center staff stepped in, saying that the purge was causing the university community more harm than good.
representing the most — and, perhaps, the most visible — LGBT groups in campus history until that time. In response to what they perceived as a threat, city and university police arrested twelve men in June 1948, primarily by raiding a private party of gay men at a Madison house. At least four of the men arrested were university students, and they were expelled for gathering with other gay men.
“Each of you by your conduct has caused an indelible mark to be placed against you,” said the judge at the students’ court hearing, according to a Wisconsin State Journal report
of June 21, 1948.
The second gay purge occurred in 1962, culminating a decade of greater policing of homosexual behavior than had ever been seen on campus. Throughout 1962, the campus’s security and dean of men offices conducted a full-scale investigation of gay men, which Ron McCrea ’89 has documented in the Midwest Gay Academic Journal. By coercing gay male students to provide names of other gay men, the offices compiled a list and called in dozens of gay men for questioning. If a man admitted that he was gay, the university called his parents, took away his scholarships, and expelled him. The purge also led to the investigation of certain faculty, staff, and deans. In time, the purge subsided, in part because faculty and counseling center staff stepped in, saying that the purge was causing the university community more harm than good.
During 1950 to 1970, the time period studied by our class, gays and lesbians at the UW lived two lives — one private, one public — because of the hostility toward and stigma associated with their orientation. The Madison gay and lesbian community was largely a private social network, with a mix of undergraduate and graduate students, Madison professionals, and working-class people, with little town/gown split. Although they were not allowed to be “out” at work, some of the most well-respected faculty and staff of this period were members of the LGBT community — professors George Mosse, Harvey Goldberg ’43, PhD’57, and Maxine Bennett, and her partner, Martha Peterson, who served as dean of women from 1956 to 1962.
During the 1950s and 1960s, one of the few bars in Madison that welcomed gays and lesbians was a smoky watering hole at University Avenue and Frances Street called the 602 Club. The unpublicized arrangement at the time was that the back half was for straight patrons, while the front half, along the bar, was for gay patrons. Later in the 1960s, a similar arrangement operated at the old Kollege Klub.
By the mid-1960s, perhaps related to the youth culture’s quest for authenticity, gays and lesbians began a shift toward fusing their private and public lives, and becoming more open about their homosexuality.
During the 1950s and 1960s, one of the few bars in Madison that welcomed gays and lesbians was a smoky watering hole at University Avenue and Frances Street called the 602 Club. The unpublicized arrangement at the time was that the back half was for straight patrons, while the front half, along the bar, was for gay patrons. Later in the 1960s, a similar arrangement operated at the old Kollege Klub.
By the mid-1960s, perhaps related to the youth culture’s quest for authenticity, gays and lesbians began a shift toward fusing their private and public lives, and becoming more open about their homosexuality.
In fall 1969, several men and women gathered at St. Francis House to form the Madison Alliance for Homosexual Equality (MAHE), the first public gay and lesbian student organization in the university’s history. The group was primarily social, meeting weekly in the basement of the Episcopal student center and occasionally holding functions in the upstairs sanctuary. MAHE gave birth to a more political entity, the Gay Liberation Front (GLF) in fall 1971, created, according to its mission, to “promote interaction and solidarity within the gay community and to raise the consciousness of the straight world to the problems of sexist oppression.” GLF marked the beginning of a more politically active LGBT student community, and a new chapter in exploring social justice at the university.
Today more than half a dozen LGBT-related student organizations exist on campus. Undergraduates in any major can now pursue an LGBT studies certificate; since its launch in 2003, sixty-seven students have completed the program, with forty-six working toward completion. The LGBT Campus Center, which was established as a student organization in 1992, by 2003 had evolved into a unit of the Offices of the Dean of Students with full-time staff. Each year, the GLBT Alumni Council, working with the campus center, awards student scholarships to LGBT and ally students.
Today more than half a dozen LGBT-related student organizations exist on campus. Undergraduates in any major can now pursue an LGBT studies certificate; since its launch in 2003, sixty-seven students have completed the program, with forty-six working toward completion. The LGBT Campus Center, which was established as a student organization in 1992, by 2003 had evolved into a unit of the Offices of the Dean of Students with full-time staff. Each year, the GLBT Alumni Council, working with the campus center, awards student scholarships to LGBT and ally students.
