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Out of many...: A social history of the homosexual rights movement as originated and continued in Los Angeles, California

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Out of many...: A social history of the homosexual rights movement as originated and continued in Los Angeles, California

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Content OUT OF MANY... A SOCIAL HISTORY OF THE HOMOSEXUAL RIGHTS MOVEMENT AS ORIGINATED AND CONTINUED IN LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA by C. Todd White A Dissertation Presented to the FACULTY OF THE GRADUATE SCHOOL UNIVERSITY OF SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA In Partial Fulfillment of the Requirements for the Degree DOCTOR OF PHILOSOPHY (ANTHROPOLOGY) May 2005 Copyright 2005 C. Todd White UNIVERSITY OF SOUTHERN CALIFORNA THE GRADUATE SCHOOL UNIVERSITY PARK LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA 90089-1695 This dissertation, written by Under the direction o fh dissertation committee, and approved by all its members, has been presented to and accepted by the Dean o f the Graduate School, in partial fulfillment o f the requirements fo r the degree o f DOC OF PHILOSOPHY Dean 5 /1 2 /0 5 Date Dissertation Committee If Chair i l Dedication Dedicated to my partner, Robert R. Cook and to the memory of David Aberle, Rae Furnish, Joseph Hansen, Jim Holloway, Jessie Lopez, and Tania Trapanier. Ill Contents Dedication................................................................................................................ ii Abstract....................................................................................................................................vii Chapter One Introduction(s)........................................................................................................................... 1 Regarding the Ethnographic Process................................................................................ 3 Biographical Precedents.......................... 7 Social Histories.................................................................................................................. 10 Some Pre-1950s Influences on the Homosexual Rights Movement............................14 “ Lisa Ben” and Vice Versa............................................................................................15 Alfred Kinsey................................................................................................................ 15 Ford, Beach, and Benedict: Patterns of Sexual Behavior........................................ 17 The 1950s and the Birth of a Movement..................................................................... 18 Why Los Angeles?............................................................................................................19 A Note on Gay.................................................................................................................. 22 Overview...........................................................................................................................23 Chapter Two An Introduction to Don Slater and Dale Jennings............................................................ 28 Boys of the West................................................... 29 William Dale Jennings.................................................................................................... 34 On Communist and Carnivores..................................................................................38 Making Film................................................................................................................44 Aspects of the Novelist................................................................................................44 A Christian Buddhist.................................................................................................. 47 A Prodigal Flero.........................................................................................................49 Don Slater.........................................................................................................................52 Young Don Slater.......................................................................................................54 Slater as Editor and Librarian............................................................ 57 Slater the Administrator............................................................................................58 Chapter Three Consultants and Core Personnel........................................................................................... 65 Core Leaders.................................................................................................................... 66 IV Harry H a y .................................................................................................................. 66 Jim Kepner.................................................................................................................. 70 William Lambert / W Dorr Legg.............................................................................. 77 Primary Consultants......................................................................................................... 79 Jim Schneider..............................................................................................................80 Billy Glover.................................................................................................................. 87 Joseph Hansen..............................................................................................................90 “ Antonio Sanchez”.......................................................................................................93 Chapter Four Dale Jennings and the Launch of ONE Magazine (1949— 1954).................................... 99 The Founding of Mattachine........................................................................................101 The Arrest of Dale Jennings..........................................................................................106 A heck of an idea.............................................................................................................112 The Founding of ONE, Incorporated........................................................................114 A Shout in the W in d ...................................................................................................117 Back to Business.............................................................................................................. 120 Cleaning House: 1953— 1954 ..................................................................................... 124 From Platform to Plank: The Elimination of Jennings.............................................130 The Corporate Vessel.....................................................................................................133 Chapter Five The Establishment of ONE Institute and the Coming (and Going) of Jim Kepner (1955-1960)....................................................................................................................... 139 Jennings Out....................................................................................................................139 Kepner In.................................................................................................... 141 Kepner Resigns (the first time)..................................................................................... 143 ONE Institute for Homophile Studies........................................................................145 Legal Setbacks................................................................................................................ 148 The Divisions of O N E...................................................................................................149 Income and Remuneration............................................................................................152 More Legal Setbacks....................................................................................................... 154 Publication and (or) Education...................................................................................156 Kepner s Journal: ONE Institute Quarterly................................................................. 157 Running Hard and Standing Still.................................................................................159 1960: Impending C hange............................................................................................ 162 V Chapter Six How ONE became Two (1960— 1965)............................................................................ 166 Part 1 : Separation...................... .................................................................................. 166 Fissions and Fusions: On Sex, Politics, Special Interests, and Institutions .........166 ONE vs. DOB: The Homosexual Bill of Rights Disaster.........................................170 The Venice Group and the Rise of Professor W . Dorr Legg...................................... 176 Part 2; D ivision..............................................................................................................182 Social Dramas and Tactical Passions........................................................................182 1962— 1965: Prelude and Overture........................................................................184 Elections and Electioneering..................................................................................... 187 The 1 9 6 4 Annual Business Meeting..................................................................... 190 Election Woes..............................................................................................................192 The 1 9 6 5 Annual Business Meeting..................................................................... 197 “ Night of the Long Knives”....................................................................................... 201 The H eist..................................................................................................................204 Chapter Seven Two Years of W ar.................................................................................................................. 209 O f Pots and Kettles, Heroes and Knaves..................................................................... 209 Schneider’ s Attempt at Mediation................................................................................ 212 Legg Files Suit (and heists the heist): Case Number 8 6 4 8 2 4.................................. 220 August 1965: The Tangent Group Retaliates...................... 226 The Trial (August 13, 1965).............................................................. 228 Legg Responds................................................................................................................232 Back to C o u rt................................................................................................................234 The Interrogation of Lambert (January 26, 1 9 6 6 )................................................. 237 A Break in the Case........................................................................................................ 244 Agreement of Settlement..............................................................................................247 Chapter Eight The Founding of ISHR and the H IC................................................................................ 251 New Beginnings. .................................................................................................... 251 The Founding of ISH R ................................................................................................253 The Bibliography Project..............................................................................................257 The Motorcade to Protest Exclusion of Homosexuals from the U.S. Military. . . 258 The Women...................................................................................................................... 262 VI The Founding of the H IC ........................................................................................... 263 Picketing The Los Angeles Times....................................................................................264 Beans for Queens........................................................................................................... 265 Christopher Street W est................................................................................................266 The (Late) Great David Brandstetter..........................................................................269 Troubles from Without and W ithin............................................................................270 The Rebirth of ONE (A Phoenix Founders)...............................................................271 Chapter Nine Conclusion (s).........................................................................................................................274 The End of ONE Institute........................................................................................... 275 The Venice Group, Gentrified.....................................................................................276 The Death of Dorr L eg g ..............................................................................................281 Friendship Renewed.......................................................................................................283 Slater and Jennings, Revisited...................................................................................283 The Death of Don Slater......................................................................................... 287 The Death of Jim Kepner.........................................................................................293 The Death of Dale Jennings.....................................................................................294 The Teacup of History.............................................. 295 References Cited.................................................................................................................... 299 Appendices............................................................................................................................. 309 Appendix 1 : Map and Legend.....................................................................................309 Legend . .................................................................................................................. 309 Map of the Silver Lake and Echo Park Areas.......................................................... 310 Appendix 2: Pseudonyms and Acronyms...................................................................311 Pseudonyms................................................................................................................311 Corporate Pseudonyms..............................................................................................311 Acronyms.................................................................................................................. 312 Appendix 3: Dramatis Personae.................................................................................. 312 Appendix 4: Time Line of Significant Events............................................................ 314 Appendix 5: Methods.................................................................................................... 323 vu Abstract This dissertation explores the history of the modern American movement for homosexual rights, which originated in Los Angeles, California in the late 1940s and continues today. Part ethnography and part social history, it relates a detailed and accurate account of the history of this movement as manifest through the emergence of four related organizations: Mattachine, ONE Incorporated, the Homosexual Information Center (HIC), and the Institute for Human Resources (ISHR), which has been doing business as ONE, Incorporated since the two organi zations merged in 1995. As such, it is a chronicle of how one clandestine special interest associa tion emerged as a powerful political force that spawned several other organizations over a period of over fifty years. It will be seen that history is fragile and subject to alteration, and in order to get the story right, the social scientist or historian must combine different research methods such as participant observation, extensive and repeated interviews with key informants, and thorough archival research to verify and validate facts as they are encountered. W ith this done, one can more readily perceive patterns of organizational growth and better discern the ultimate reasons for organizational fissions and fusions and the motivations and personalities of the key persons involved. Through the course of creating and maintaining these organizations, the pioneers of the movement have become a virtual kindred, supporting each other as they have aged and provid ing the social and familial network that has eased the solitude and suffering of advancing age. Through the use of technology such as the Internet and the telephone, constraints to social networking from distant places have been greatly overcome, facilitating long-term social interac tions for the aging homosexual populace and making it easier to manage corporate affairs and rapidly disseminate information. Chapter One Introduction(s) We believe that the homophile scholar can be the true eclectic, who by the yardstick of his own different nature, and by the added objectivity of his position as an outsider, discovers the boundaries of those philosophies that naively try to measure all men by a single rule. He is therefore able to find the good in each system, and the shortcomings of each. He is slave to none of them— his initial bias is likely to release him from entrap ment by the smug and unnoticed conventional bias of many other students. —Jim Kepner ^ The anthropologist engages in peculiar work. He or she tries to understand a different culture to the point of finding it to be intelligible regardless of how strange it seems in comparison with one’ s own background. This is accomplished by attempting to experi ence the new culture from within, living in it for a time as a member, all the while maintaining sufficient detachment to observe and analyze it with some objectivity. This peculiar posture— being inside and outside at the same time— is called participant ob servation. It is a fruitful paradox, one that has allowed anthropologists to find sense and purpose within a society’ s seeming illogical and arbitrary customs and beliefs Work ing with one’ s own society, and more specifically with one’ s own ethnic and familial heritage, is perilous, and much more difficult. Yet it has a certain validity and value not available in other circumstances. — Barbara MyerhofH This dissertation explores the history of the modern American movement for homosexual rights, which originated in Los Angeles, California in the late 1940s and continues today. Part ethnography and part social history, its purpose is to construct a detailed and accurate account ing of the history of this movement as manifest through the emergence of four related organiza- 2 dons: Mattachine, ONE Incorporated, the Homosexual Information Center (HIC), and the Institute for Human Resources (ISHR), which is currently doing business as ONE, Incorporat ed, the two organizations having merged in December of 1995. As such, it is a chronicle of how one clandestine special interest association emerged as a powerful political force that spawned several other organizations over a period of over fifty years. This history began as two independent biographical projects. The first began when I set out to learn more about the life history of Jim Kepner soon after moving to Los Angeles from Las Vegas in the fall of 1998. The result of that study was a short documentary film honoring Kepner that I directed and edited for a course in documentary filmmaking, which was broadcast on Trojan Vision in December of 1999. The second project began when Dale Jennings died in 1999, and H IC president Jim Schneider and USC professor Walter L. Williams asked that I help to distribute the press release and then assist with Jennings’ s memorial service, the first public event hosted by ONE Institute & Archives in their newly acquired facility near USC campus, at 909 West Adams. From there, I continued to learn more about Jennings and was surprised to find that he had been one of the original founders of Mattachine, the first successful homosexual organization in the United States. I had read of Mattachine before but only in association with Harry Hay, who is frequently referred to as the founder or father of the gay rights movement (Roscoe 1996a; Timmons 1990; Hay 1996; Thompson 1987). In 1952, Jennings was instru mental in the formation of ONE, Incorporated, established late in 1952 in order to produce and distribute ONE, the nation’ s first magazine openly dedicated to homosexual issues, which began publication in January of 1953. I continued to study Jennings in order to contribute a chapter for a book being edited by Vern Bullough (2002a) and published by Harrington Park Press that profiled several o f the pre-Stonewall pioneers, many who, I was surprised to learn, had lived in my vicinity, and several of which had also matriculated at the University of Southern California. I never would have set out with the ambition of recording the fifty-year history of this movement for my doctoral research study. The scope of the project would have been overwhelm- 3 ing, and there were too many conflicting stories floating about and too many personalities involved— it would probably take years to sort things out. Engaging the process through a person-centered approach helped me to get a grasp on this elusive history, and moving from the personal to the political made the task manageable. As I learned more about Jennings and his accomplishments, I began to realize that the organizations that he helped to establish had a significant impact on legal policies in Los Angeles and the United States, and the accomplishments of these organizations have affected the lives of most of us living in America today. Yet despite their notable achievements, it seems that other events, most notably the famous Stonewall rebellion in Greenwich Village of June 1969, have overshadowed the history of these West-coast organizations, leaving many of those who fought and won significant battles for the movement in the historical sidelines, largely forgotten by the new generation of scholars of Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, and Transgendered (LGBT) history that has emerged in the wake of the gay liberation movement. It is hoped that through this endeavor, they will be more properly remembered by history. Regarding the Ethnographic Process After five years of archival excavations/explorations in the personal libraries of several of the pre-Stonewall pioneers, I have tunneled through a mountain of data and am surrounded by more, enough perhaps for a lifetime’ s worth of study and several additional publications. The HIC archives now includes over 6,000 books, magazines, and periodicals spanning the entire twentieth century. It has twenty four-drawer file cabinets, each jam-packed with ephemera such as personal notes, corporate records, and newspaper clippings. It will probably take several more years to complete an inventory of this ever-growing collection and to get all of the records in order and properly archived. W ith this much information to work with, the trick, as ethnographer Harry Wolcott has also found (1999), has been in deciding early on which details to include in this history and which to gloss over or omit. In this light, the writing of ethnography or social history becomes 4 one of first excavating facts or data and then sifting, sorting, and organizing into a compre hensible format. Only after this has been completed can one interpret the data; apply, test, and formulate a theory; or speculate as to what it all means. But even then, it becomes necessary to have one driving thesis or question pulling it all together, helping to prioritize the information as one begins the process of culling the data. Finding this information has been a momentous event, one largely attributable to for tune. When H IC s long-standing president, Don Slater, died on Valentines day of 1997, Jim Schneider, as H IC s new president, inherited over two hundred and fifty boxes of papers, books, magazines, newspapers, old bills, and thousands of old manila folders stuffed with ephemeral fragments of the movements history. I had completed my initial research project on Dale Jennings when Schneider and Billy Glover, H IC s vice president, asked me to help sort through their materials. I agreed to help, and this dissertation is the result of what we discovered. As we began the sorting process, I likened the process to that of field archeology, which is my father’ s occupation. It was helpful to have the prior experience with the process of excava tion, for it made the task ahead seem feasible; it could be tackled one piece or section at a time. The first trick was to sort the boxes and compile an inventory, which meant that each one had to be opened and the contents listed on the side of the box. Then Schneider and I, with a few volunteers, sorted the contents onto bookcases according to topic, the categories being roughly thus: books, magazines, newspapers yet to clip, files, and office supplies. Sometimes we would shuffle the contents of the boxes to fit these categories, but this was not often needed, suggesting that Slater had left the archives in good order. We evaluated the books and, thanks to the many bookcases donated by HIC board member Joseph Hansen, were able to sort them into discrete sections: art, poetry, fiction, theater, history social sciences, natural sciences, women’ s studies, psychology, anthropology, philosophy, and religion. Thanks to the meticulous records of Don Slater, we were able to figure out which books were a part of the original library of ONE, Incorporated, the nation’ s first 5 archives dedicated to homosexuality, and we began to create an inventory of those materials and to set those materials aside, when discovered, for special archiving at CSUN. H IC s database manager, John Richards, created a FileMaker Pro database in which these titles are being cata loged and their provenance recorded. Though the assistance of other volunteers, especially web designer Stephen Allison and H IC s fund raiser Chuck Stewart, who also obtained a Ph.D. in anthropology at USC, the library is being virtually reconstructed and will soon be available over the internet. As I discovered key historical documents for the organization, such as their bylaws and other official government documents, I scanned them into a desktop computer and created and archived two files: a high-resolution graphic for purposes of reproduction and a second low-resolution image to post on the world wide web. I created a web site for the HIC, Tangents Online, which can be located at http://www.tangentgroup.org. While this seemed like a lot of work, there have been numerous times when having key documents on the web has facilitated the writing process. For instance, whenever I needed to reference Jennings’ s speech delivered at the 1953 Mattachine convention, or the 1967 compromise agreement, each was only a few mouse-clicks away. Creating the web site was also one way by which I could be of use to my consultants, giving them back something of lasting value as they helped me, facilitating my career as a cultural anthropologist interested in exploring methods of applying anthropological methods toward social and historical purposes. Wolcott has commented that “if ‘ ethno’ refers to people, and ‘graph’ to a picture, then the challenge of presenting a picture of a group of people seems to provide direction enough for many a researcher eager to get on with it” (63). But without a purpose in the form of a central question or thesis, an ethnographic study lacks grounding. While I appreciate the empirical ad monitions of anthropology— to keep one’ s eye open for “native” trends and to let the data (and the natives) speak for themselves— I also appreciate the need for interpretation and explication. Janet Hoskins has reminded me that “ethnography is more than research into historical facts: 6 it is an account of how a society works (perhaps presented through the prism of an individual’ s life, as in the life history)” (personal communication). It is my hope that this person-centered approach will help the reader empathize with and understand the people behind the process, so to speak, while providing insights into the social mechanisms in the form of rituals and tradi tions that undergird and drive these organizational fissions and fusions. Through employing the theories and language of particular historians, sociologists, and ethnographers, I hope to illustrate both personal and social aspects of this history. This study is centered on one central thesis, which I have framed in the form of a question: Why did ONE, Incorporated split in the spring of 1965? W hat drove Don Slater and his group to hijack the entire office and set it up in a Universal City warehouse? After fifteen years of successful if not turbulent operation, what drove the two factions to sever in such discrete units? Why did each faction come to hate the other so, allowing their feud to divert the movement’ s scarce resources into their futile and prolonged court battles? Was Don Slater really a thief, as Dorr Legg so often proclaimed, or did his Tangent Group truly represent a majority of ON E’ s legally elected board, as it has asserted for years? These are the questions that I set out with, and I have tried to remain true to them throughout. It turned out that in order to understand what happed to ONE in the spring of 1965,1 had to know about the beginnings of Mattachine in 1948 and the arrest of Dale Jennings in 1952. In order to understand the history of ONE, Incorporated, I quickly found that it would be impossible to simply study the corporation on its own merit, as a discrete entity or unit. ONE itself had been born out of several other organizations, such as Mattachine, the Citizens’ Committee to Outlaw Entrapment, and the Knights of the Clocks. In turn, ONE spawned yet other organizations, most notably the H IC and ISHR. All of these organizations— their terminal histories and their lingering ideologies— must be considered to answer these simple questions: Why did ONE divide? Why does it matter? W hat have been the long-term results, and what are the implication for the surviving corporations and other special-interest, non-profit organiza 7 tions and. corporations? I soon found that implied in my specific questions lurked yet another one: W hat can todays activists learn from their forebears, those of the not-so-distant past? I think that after reading this history, most will find that they can learn quite a lot. Biographical Precedents In original conception, this project was conceived in the tradition of the person-centered ethnography, as inspired by Langness and Frank’ s Lives: An Anthropological Approach to Biography (1981). But this does not mean that this work will qualify as what Wolcott has called “person- centered ethnography,” being the product of an ethnographic researcher “who works closely with only a few informants and most often with one individual who becomes a key informant ” (1999, 156). Wolcott warns that such a process can become too person-centered, resulting in a cultural analysis that has been “overwhelmed by personality and personal history ” (156). If taken alone, my second and third chapters, comprised of several biographical sketches, are clearly more biographical than ethnographic, even though these profiles were constructed through the ethnographic methods of participant observation and life-history interviews. It is in chapters four through nine, where I present a chronological history of the Los Angeles-based movement, that the reader will appreciate having been acquainted with the leaders and their friends and core constituents. In the biographical chapters, two and three, special attention will be paid to what David Mandelbaum has famously called “turnings,” or moments in a life history where a critical change has taken place, often marked by life-crisis rites such as the death of a parent, marriage, or divorce (Wolcott 1999, 165— 167; Langness and Frank 1981, 72). High school graduations, initiation into adult sexuality, the forming and dissolution of a domestic partnership, and ceremonies marking the presentation of institutional awards of merit are some of the significant social turnings that will be mentioned in each profile. In later chapters, we will see that often, the personal “turnings ” of an organization’ s leaders either cause or coincide with similar turnings within the institution, which I call pivotal events. Such events, such as the resignation or arrest 8 of a core leader, mark a significant change in the corporate structure and its goals and aspira tions, as reflected in the daily operations of the organization, its formal missions and policy statement, and in the product or service it provides. Initially, pivotal events may qualify as what Barbara Myerhoff has called “definitional ceremonies,” times when the organization’ s mythic history, ritual habits, and sense of identity are created (1979, 32). After such an event is repeated or becomes cyclic, as with an annual confer ence or business meeting, it becomes what I call an organizational ritual, where these rituals are accentuated and traditions continued. I have found that such rituals signify an organization’ s vitality and directly contribute to its staying power. While definitional ceremonies generate momentum, organizational rituals keep it going, providing the social inertia to keep the orga nization stable and moving forward. Indeed, as may be seen, sometimes the momentum gained in one successful event can carry the corporation, based on reputation alone, past a time when otherwise it would have foundered. On the other hand, a corporation in trouble could use the ritual occasion to mask its difficulties while putting the squeeze on an audience of benefactors in order to raise needed revenue or resources. In either case, certain ceremonial occasions, particu larly when considered in retrospect, mark the pulse and vitality of the organization, and they provide a convenient markers by which to plot and describe the institution’ s social history. Through the history of ONE, Incorporated, many of the rituals devised in the definitional period soon became time-honored traditions. For instance, the second annual business meet ing was known as the annual Midwinter Institute in 1955, a weekend event sponsored by the newly created education division, ONE Institute that became one of the most important annual traditions. According to the bylaws, officers were to be elected every three years, beginning in 1954, making 1957, 1960, and 1963 key or pivotal years, and the confrontations and alliances that occurred in proximity of those elections will merit particular attention. As Myerhoff found in her study of a Jewish community center near the strand in Venice, California, called Number Our Days, it would be expected that electioneering in the months prior to those dates would be 9 intensified, and it is during such periods that old problems begin to resurface, and conflicts or issues which may have been simmering now reach full a boil: Emotions surrounding elections ran very high always. For months before people voted for officers and the board of directors, electioneering was intense. Coalitions were formed and reformed. Marginal members were assiduously wooed. Block votes of interest groups were sought. Every assembly of more than two was turned into an op portunity for speechifying It was at the nomination meeting, not the elections, that definitive decisions were made. (120— 121) Every election has the potential to turn from an organizational ritual to a definitional ritual, in so far as the election determines whether to stay the current course or chart a new one. Such times are rife with tension, and while many elections flow predictably and transitions are minimally felt, others can intensify rivalries and ultimately fracture a corporation. Politics, which could be thought of as a social sphere where the policies of an institution meet the antics of its members, is as ubiquitous to institutions as are the bureaucratic systems that drive them. Social anthropologists have long studied politics in “tribal” situations, but it has only been in the past twenty-five years or so that have they begun to comfortably apply ethno graphic methods and observations to their own societies. Only recently has “autoethnography” become legitimized by the AAA, through the formation of sections such as the recently formed Society for the Anthropology of North America (SANA) and the Society for the Anthropol ogy of Europe (SAE). Lesbian and gay anthropologists, beginning with Ester Newtons highly influential Mother Camp: Female Impersonators in America (1972), have been leaders in the study of contemporary American culture. Since Newtons publication, publications by LGBT anthro pologists such as William L. Leap , Ellen Lewin, Stephen O. Murray (1996), and Gilbert Herdt (1993), and their students and fellow members of the Society of Lesbian and Gay Anthropolo gists (SOLGA), have proliferated, making outstanding models of auto-ethnographic social analy sis easy to come by. These new pioneers have taken full advantage of the rights gained by Slater and Jennings, especially the right to publish and publicly discuss issues pertinent to homosexual ity. It is no stretch to claim that the works of these scholars has been made possible through the 10 victories first won by the pre-Stonewall pioneers. In turn, todays LGBT scholars have provided a rich and newly cultivated field by which an entire burgeoning generation of auto-ethnographers is currently emerging and being sustained. Social Histories Though this project began as a biographical endeavor, the years of cumulative research and active participant/observation, I have been able to perceive patterns of organizational change and growth that are not only interesting in their own right but also yield insight as to the causes of fision/fijsion politics in special interest associations and corporations as institutions. In a way, this project is an attempt at what some have called “salvage anthropology,” an attempt to capture in text the essence of a cultural phenomenon before it vanishes entirely into the past. The project itself began as an attempt on my part to “salvage” for history the life histories of three of those recently passed, namely Kepner, Jennings, and Slater. It is hardly a lament. This is a story of friendship and camaraderie, of how a common interest transcended the needs of its original purpose to form lasting relationships that the survivors themselves refer to as kinship network, a kindred of choice. It is a tale of separation and division, fissions and fusions, but it is also a tale of continuance and continuity, of longevity, victory, hope, and triumph. Homosexual, hetero sexual, lesbian, transgendered, gay— all of these identities are herein represented as individuals united in purpose and ambition, as articulated in the Articles of Incorporation of the HIC, rati fied in 1968; “To conduct a continuing examination into the nature, circumstances and social issues of homosexuality, and to generate, gather, organize, make available and broadcast the best current thought on sexual questions generally.” This has been a collaborative— and thereby corroborative— endeavor, and so it is appro priate that I introduce with gratitude those who have made this work possible. I am grateful to Walter L. Williams, Ernie Potvin, Jim Schneider, Vern L. Bullough, Billy Glover, Joseph Hansen, Reid Rasmussen, and Mark Thompson for recruiting me to the local cause and provid ing support through the duration of the project. I am grateful to my advisors in the anthropol 11 ogy department at USC, who allowed me to change the original subject of my study when this opportunity presented itself. I could not have accomplished this if not for the steadfast friend ship, trust, and confidence of my dissertation chair, G. Alexander Moore. His textbook Cultural Anthropology: The Field Study o f Human Beings (1998) has been of great value to this study, and it is from this text that I began to see the utility of casting historic events into the patterns of the social drama. Janet Hoskins has also been of great assistance, and her books Biographical Objects (1998) and The Play o f Time (1993) have served as models and inspiration through their treatment of sacred objects and respect for the ephemeral. 1 would also like to thank Nancy Lutkehaus, Andrei Simic, and Stephen O. Murray for their confidence and encouragement throughout the course of this study, and Sarah Pratt, Dean of Academic Programs, who lent a patient ear and provided generous support through difficult times. I could not have taken on the task without the assistance of many loyal and dedicated orga nizational volunteers, especially John Richards, Chuck Stewart, Sandi Meza, and Richard “Kitt” DeFatta for help in sorting through the materials and organizing the books; Megan R. Geier for her many hours of data entry; Joan Rivard for organizing the files and beautifying our office(s), and John Richards for creating and maintaining our database and, more recently, for managing the Outside Links section of H lC ’ s web site, TANGENTS Online. Susan Parker, Associate Dean for the University Library of the California State University, Northridge and Tony Gardner, Curator of Special Collections, deserve special recognition for providing a safe and secure home for the H IC collection and for supporting the Vern and Bonnie Bullough Collection on Sex and Gender. For the duration of this project, I was sustained through grants from ISHR including four Hal Call Mattachine Scholar Awards (200— 2001); two USC Lambda Alumni Association Research Awards (1999, 2002); a Dissertation Research Fellowship Grant from the USC College of Letters, Arts, and Sciences (2003); and over six years of Teaching Assistantships through the Department of Anthropology (1998— 2003). 12 No organization can survive for over thirty years, as the H IC has, without sound legal grounding. A corporation is as much a legal entity as it is a social phenomenon, so lawyers are integral to the system. The H IC owes a special thanks to attorneys who have provided sup port and legal assistance in past and present: George Sibley, Eric Julber, Herb Selwyn, Edward Raiden, Steward A. Simke, Spencer Lugash, Robert R. Cook, and Michael Flattery have pro vided the legal advice necessary to navigate the organization through turbulent waters and very difficult times. I should add that most of these men have provided their assistance free of charge or else at modest rates: they have provided their support because they care about the organiza tion and want to see it survive. This is an important distinction, because in Bailey’ s terms, it makes them a part of the “core” of the organization. Later, we will see a faction arise that lacks this core, and we find that the expenses of a mercenary attorney are quite high. While Dale Jennings compared his attorney after his arrest in 1952 to a knight on a white horse coming to his rescue (Slade 2001), Dorr Legg was to later make a pact with his attorney whereby once his Venice Group had legally trounced Slater’ s Tangent group, any gains from the lawsuit would pay the attorney’ s fees. As will be seen, his approach backfired when the promised victory never hap pens, and Legg’ s organization was left with the bill. Politics can become a game of spite, and an organization engaged in a legal battle against such a Faustian adversary is in a perilous situation indeed. W ithout the support of White Knight lawyers, it is extremely difficult for any small non-profit organization to survive, no matter how noble its cause. Far more than I had anticipated, an applied approach to auto-ethnography has meant that I have had to become familiar with the law. This has been a hard lesson, for lawyers speak in a strange tongue, and without a good legal interpreter the novice anthropologist is left grasping for flotsam in a vast Latinate sea. It is through laws that an organization is given its fundamental structure. It is by no accident that politicians speak of “planks” and “platforms.” Metaphors from ships and sailing also lend themselves well to corporate vernacular, and I employ them often as “native” referents, borrowing from my sources themselves. While it is 13 through the bureaucratic laws of finance and government policies that corporations truly float, it is living people who provide the forward motion and momentum required to keep the vessel sailing. Like any vessel, a corporation can founder. It can be sunk through factors such as neglect, hostile action, and turbulent waters. Corporate renegades can still be forced to the plank with sabers pricking their backs; minions can still mutiny, and corporate captains still, at times, go down with their ships. The stakes are high in the business world, the ultimate goal always profit but survival. Time is always of the essence. Death and endings are as much a part of the story as life and new beginnings because the momentum of the corporate vessel is a social momentum, a progress generated by the efforts of many. This simple truth has become a central theme to this endeavor, as I have attempted to convey in my title. Many of the first leaders of this movement had passed away before I began my project, most notably my primary subjects, Don Slater and Dale Jennings. Others, such as Harry Hay, Fred Frisbie, Morris Kight, and Joseph Hansen, have died during the course of the study. Many of my consultants are past or approaching their seventieth birthdays. As I have seen my primary consultants age, the desire to finish this project has intensified, as has my sense of its value as a historical contribution. At first my consultants, these are now my friends, and in welcoming me into their friendship network—which I would call a kindred of sorts— I have found a renewed sense of purpose and even a home, away from home. In some ways, this is a follow-up to a dissertation for the history department at USC that was published in 1978, Salvatore J. Licatas Gay Power: A History o f the American Gay Movement, 1908— 1974. Licata divided the movement into three historical periods, the first being the period of the pioneers, which characterized the 1950s. The sixties were called the period of civil rights activism, and the “modern Stonewall gay liberation period” began in 1969. This progressive and tri-episodic time-line is often espoused by gay rights historians, as if the pre-Gay libbers had gone the way of the dinosaur. While I agree that the Stonewall rebellion marked an important milestone in the history of the movement and no-doubt marked a significant change in social 14 attitudes both within and without the movement, for the purposes of this study I will shift the traditional emphasis and consider the split of ONE, Incorporated as the most significant pivotal event in the movement. For my purposes, the pre-split era in Los Angeles may be segmented into three distinct periods, each marked by who was actively leading ONE, Incorporated. First, the subject of chapter three, was the era of Dale Jennings, founder of Mattachine and then the first editor of ONE Magazine. After the resignation of Jennings in the fall of 1953, Jim Kepner was recruited to the editorial board, marking the second era of ONE, as will be discussed in chapter four. The third era is marked by the Kepner’ s resignation and is characterized by rising tension between those who, like Dorr Legg, felt ONE was foremost an education organization and those like Don Slater who felt the magazine should remain their first priority. This will be the subject of chapter six, which concludes with the infamous heist itself. In all of these pre-Stonewall periods, it will be important to distinguish between those who preferred to be identified as homosexuals and those who preferred the term homophile or, more rarely, as gay. These distinctions will be discussed briefly in this introduction and in detail throughout the rest of this dissertation, but they will be explored at more length in the conclusion and in future work. For present purposes, some of the primary influences on both homosexuals and homophiles should be mentioned, as an orientation to the time period and subject at hand. Some Pre-1950s Influences on the Homosexual Rights Movement In an age where homosexuality is increasingly tolerated and discussed within North Amer icas urban centers, it is difficult to understand the apprehensions that these men and women endured fifty years ago, fearful that the police or FBI would come busting to and arrest them at any moment. The threat of a raid, be it in a bar, a cruising ground, or even ones home, was a very real possibility. The police called the shots. No attorney would come forth to defend one accused of sexual perversion or subversion. The newspapers would take care of ones reputation while the legal system sapped the accused of time and resources. The police were well known to 15 use Mafia-like ruses and tactics of extortion. It is no exaggeration to say that homosexuals lived in legitimate fear of the very institution that should have been protecting them. “ Lisa Ben” and Vice Versa The first homosexual-themed publication on record to have been regularly distributed in the United States was produced by Edythe Eyde, who wrote as “Lisa Ben,” an anagrammatic pseudonym for Lesbian, in her office at RKO Studios in Los Angeles beginning in June of 1947.^ This was Vice Versa: Americas Gayest Magazine, limited to sixteen copies distributed to a circle of friends (Licata 1978, 62— 63). Vice Versa fluctuated from fourteen to twenty stapled pages of play and film reviews, poetry, fiction, and pointed social commentary through a “Queer as it Seems” Department. While copies of the “magazine” were scarce, their influence was signifi cant. “She and some of her readers gained confidence and identity through Vice Versa and went on to become active in the homophile organizations of the fifties” (ibid, 63 ) Legg, as Marvin Cutler, wrote: “There is little doubt that this truly remarkable earlier effort prepared the way for feminine participation in what as been called America’ s first successful homosexual magazine, and so has had a very considerable influence on publishing history in the United States (1956, 91). Alfred Kinsey The publishing of the Kinsey Report in 1948 is heralded as the dawn of the sexual revolu tion. It was comprehensive in scope, didactic, data-rich, seemingly objective and scientific. Kinsey himself was an entomologist at Indiana University. His study was grounded part in social and part in the biological sciences, being strongly influenced by biologists such as Frank Beach and anthropologists such as Ruth Benedict and Clellen Ford. An appreciation of these combined influences is crucial for an understanding of Kinsey’ s approach and his findings and why his work inspired hope and confidence in so many homosexual people. He believed that differences in human behavior should be attributed to heredity and biological factors, including the envi- 16 ronment, psychological conditioning, and social pressures. Kinsey referred Benedict’ s Patterns o f Culture and other anthropologists to evoke the notion of cultural relativism and to imply that such an approach could explain the great diversity o f sexual behavior in human societies (202). He charged psychologists to consider not only social deviants but also what psychologi cal mechanisms are at play in those who more readily conform to social expectations. In other words, the normal was as worthy of study as the peculiar. Kinsey was not afraid to advocate on behalf of his research. This passage from his chapter on “Psychosexual Development in Health and Disease ” (1948) is bold and daring. Kinsey is not afraid to point a finger of blame toward the institutions of morality and the social treatment of sexual deviants. This passage merits citing at length because it well summarizes the pertinent issues around which the homosexual movement would concentrate over the next two decades: The enforcement of these fundamentally religious codes against the so-called sexual perversions has been accomplished, throughout the centuries, by attaching consider able emotional significance to them. This has been effected, in part, by synonymizing the terms clean, natural, normal, moral, and right, and the terms unclean, unnatural, abnormal, immoral, and wrong. Modern philosophers have added concepts of mental degeneracy and psychosexual immaturity to the synonymy. The emotions evoked by these classifications have been responsible for some of the most sordid chapters in human history. Rarely has man been more cruel against man than in the condemnation and punishment of those accused of the so-called sexual perversions. The punishment for sexual acts which are crimes against persons has never been more severe. The penal ties have included imprisonment, torture, the loss of life or limb, banishment, black mail, social ostracism, the loss of social prestige, renunciation by friends and families, the loss of position in school or in business, severe penalties meted out for convictions of men serving in the armed forces, public condemnation by emotionally Insecure and vindictive judges on the bench, and the torture endured by those who live in perpetual fear that their non-conformant sexual behavior will be exposed to public view. These are the penalties which have been imposed on and against person who have failed to adhere to the mandated custom. Such cruelties have not often been matched, except in religious and racial persecutions. (16— 17) The Kinsey Report sold over 200,000 copies within two months of its publication date, January 5, 1948. In March, a reviewer for Time magazine wrote that booksellers had not seen such a success since Gone with the Wind, and the New York Times Book Review dubbed it one of the most important works of the century so far (Archer 2002, 118). Obviously, homosexual 17 people had a champion in Kinsey. Many of them were in total agreement with his findings, based on their own personal experiences during their tour of duty in the war. Ford, Beach, and Benedict: Patterns of Sexual Behavior In 1951, Yale professors Clellen Ford and Frank Beach published Patterns o f Sexual Be havior, which broke new ground in fields first sown by the Boasian anthropologists and largely left fallow since the maelstrom of the Second World War. Ford and Beach combined Benedicts philosophies of diverse cultural patterns with knowledge of American sexuality as articulated by Kinsey, using the discursive space that his study had opened to explore the question of homosexuality from a cross-cultural and even cross-species perspective. In contrasting one hundred and ninety different societies. Ford and Beach found evidence of homosexual behavior in seventy-six of them. This was considered to be somewhat below actual levels of incidence due to the severe sanctions against homosexuality in several of the cultures. In twenty-eight of the societies, homosexual encounters were frowned upon, occurrences being infrequent and best not discussed. In the majority, forty-nine societies, such activity was considered normal. In such societies, they state: The most common form of institutionalized homosexuality is that of the berdache or transvestite. The berdache is a male who dresses like a woman, performs womens tasks, and adopts some aspects of the feminine role in sexual behavior with male partners. Less frequently a woman dresses like a man and seeks to adopt the male sex role. (130) Ford’ s training in anthropology and Beach’ s background in Psychology combined to make Patterns an educated, thoughtful, and engaging book for a broad and intelligent audience. It showed what many homosexuals had suspected: that homosexual behavior was pervasive in all cultures and populations, yet homosexuals had been forgotten by history and silenced within most modern nations. Homosexuals lived isolated from one another and in such small numbers that they had been totally unaware of the potential magnitude of their cumulative influence. After World War II, though, the thought occurred to some, especially in port cities like Los Angles, San Francisco, and New York, that if they could organize homosexuals into an under- 18 ground social movement— as the Communists had.— they could mobilize on behalf of homo sexual rights while still protecting the privacy of its members. The act of unification could be a source of great social power, giving hope to the downtrodden and inspiring pride where shame had been. By 1950, the talk turned to action, and the first homosexual rights organizations were formed in Los Angeles in order, as D ’ Emilio put it, “to forge a unified movement o f homosexu als ready to fight against their oppression” (1983, 64— 66). The 1950s and the Birth of a Movement Historian John D ’Emilio has written extensively on what life was like for homosexuals in the 1950s in Sexual Politics, Sexual Communities: The Making o f a Homosexual Minority in the United States, 1940— 1970 (1983). D ’Emilio’ s book focuses on the active and relentless pursuit that police departments across the country carried out of homosexual persons and behavior. In 1950, Eisenhower had signed executive order 10450, which equated homosexuality with sexual perversion and barred all homosexuals from working in the federal government. The next several years in Washington, over 1,000 people per year were arrested for homosexual conduct. Other cites in which homosexuals were especially targeted in the 1950s include Baltimore, Philadel phia, Wichita, Dallas, Memphis, Seattle, Boise, Ann Arbor, and Los Angeles (ibid 49— 50). For the first two years of Mattachine, each time members gathered in private homes, they did so in fear. Shades were always drawn when they couldn’ t meet in a basement, and a sharp lookout for the police or FBI would always be kept. Nevertheless, discussion groups proliferated throughout southern California and San Francisco, and true to Hay’ s plan, anonymity was pro tected at all costs. The meetings usually took place in private homes, but they “were conducted in such a way that most of those attending had no idea who was in charge. The identities of the Mattachine leaders.. .were kept secret from all but a handful of Mattachine members at the top of the organization’ s hierarchy ” (Marcus 1992, 26). Jennings suspected that the group had probably been infiltrated, but the police found the group’ s activities “too innocuous to bother with” (Alwood 1996, 26). He told journalist Edward Alwood in a 1994 interview: “There were 19 meetings, meetings, meetings every night of the week. When the police realized we were a bunch of commies debating legal questions, they must have realized there wasn’ t any reason to arrest us” (ibid, 27-28). While the fear and a common enemy was one cohesive factor in unifying the first “Mat- tachinos, ” in order for any special interest organization to gain staying power it must develop and successfully perpetuate rituals. For a nascent group or a neophyte entering to a secret order, such rituals occur as definitional ceremonies, or “performances of identity, sanctified at the level of myth” (Myerhoff 1979, 32). The founders of Mattachine formulated rituals for their definitional ceremonies from three primary sources: the Communists, fraternal organizations such as the Masons, and Alcoholics Anonymous. Inspired by structure of the Communist Party and from self-groups such as Alcoholics Anonymous, Hay devised adopted a cell-like structure that would guarantee the anonymity of its members. While teaching music history for the Labor School, he was “dealing with the Guild System and the Freemasonry movement” (Katz 1992, 411). From the Masons came secret oaths, rituals by candlelight, the solemnity of a brother hood, and a profound respect for “ancestors,” the many who had gone before. O f all of the key metaphors embraced by the group at this time, none resonates stronger than that of a brother hood. Even nay-sayers such as Jennings agreed that something special about this agnatic clan, something bordering on the transcendental or sacred. It was not only talks of politics and plan ning that drew this group together. It was also the palpable energy of their collective presence; a force Victor Turner (1974) has called “communitas,” which they often referred to as “magic.” Why Los Angeles? According to gay historian/journalist Jim Kepner, Los Angeles had not only a rich gay history, but also a rich ^y^-history. He noted that when a band of Mexican settlers calledpo- hladores arrived in the Los Angeles area, they found the “Berdache” role prevalent among the local Gabrielino Indians. Kepner noted that these people “wore clothing of the opposite gender and often took on a variety of magic social roles” (1998, 1). He had also heard of one strapping 20 young Californio from Rancho San Antonio who appeared with an entourage of handsome men at the Plaza area famously known as Olvera Street, who “weren’ t interested ” when the local “se- nioritas got the flutters” (ibid). In the 1950s, those whom Licata has dubbed the pioneers of the movement frequently met in the taverns of Olvera Street, where Don Slater’ s Hispanic partner, Anthony Sanchez, was a star performer. As for which was the first gay bar to emerge in the Los Angeles area, Kepner wrote that “each gay or lesbian I’ ve talked to recalled a different bar in different years.” In the downtown area, bars such as Maxwell’ s, the Biltmore, the Numbers, The Crown Jewel, The Waldorf, and Jolie s were known homosexual hangouts for years. Bunker Hill had been a “gay neighborhood for decades, from at least the time when Stockton’ s sailors started building a fortification there in 1848” (ibid, 2). Other such neighborhoods were Echo Park, Silver Lake, Boyle Heights, and West Lake. West Hollywood, originally called Sherman, was “outside of the homophobic LAPD’ s reach, ” so it became safe-haven for many gays. Kepner reports that in 1943 there were “dozens of gay bars” in the vicinity of Hollywood and Cherokee, such as Bradleys. Hollywood itself “was our promenade,” wrote Kepner, “and there was still a good chance of seeing movie stars on the street— or in the cruising spots, where many big names got into trouble which the studio publicity departments had to hush up” (ibid, 4). None of this, however, goes to suggest why Los Angeles should have been the birthplace o f ONE Magazine and the movement for homosexual rights. Once during an interview, Joseph Hansen admitted that he was perplexed as to why things began here. After all. New York was the cultural capital of the United States, and most of the large publishing houses were there. But “Don Slater was here,” he stated, “and the rest of these guys— Harry Hay, and other, let us say eccentric people— were here and were willing to bet their all on an impossible long shot. Sexologist and historian Vern L. Bullough has been an important consultant for this study because after the split of to corporation in 1965, he became one of the few activists who stayed neutral and maintained positive relations with both halves or “aspects” of ONE. Bullough agrees 21 with Hansen that what happened in Los Angeles was a result of the confluence of the right people gathered together at the right time, to fight for a common cause. At the same time, many of the more discreet homosexuals were affluent or could make a living relatively easily. California was a wealthy state in the 1950s, and there was a giddy optimism in the air, a hangover from victory in World War II. While Europe was struggling to regain its ground, America was moving forward, a land of renewed opportunity where nearly anything could happen, with a little hard work, determination, and ingenuity. O f course there were many homosexuals in Los Angeles, especially in the movie industry. Bullough pointed out that many o f those who migrated to Los Angeles, or stayed here after the war, had no families. They were free, in a sense, to make their own identity and begin to reform traditional bonds of friendship and kinship. “There is always some moving, but there was a mas sive number o f people moving here then, as there is now again,” he commented during a recent interview in his home in Valley Village.^ And many of them wanted partners. Those looking for a different social venue than the bar scene followed the address in ONEs masthead directly to o n e ’ s doorstep. Like pilgrims, volunteers like Schneider, Bullough, Clover, and Hansen came from distant places to pay their respects and to contribute however they could to the organiza tion and the movement. They were willing to take a stand. Little did they know that the bonds that they formed during those years would endure to sustain them in their old age, creating a support network that anthropologist Kath Weston would call a “gay (or chosen) family,” (1991, 2) a family by choice rather than blood or marriage. More implication of this idea will be explored at length in the last two chapters of this work. Many factors were involved in making Los Angeles the birthplace of the modern homo sexual rights movement, but it seems that in several cities in North America, the time was right for homosexuals to begin working together to fight for the decriminalization of homosexuality and equal rights for those who lived a homosexual lifestyle. W hat was needed was a few brave 22 and talented people to stand up, stop complaining amongst themselves about their situation, and start taking action for change. A Note on Gay... While I owe much to gay scholars who have written on this history before, most notably D ’Emilio, Katz, Licata, and Marcus, I must confess my discomfort with the habit that some writers have of referring to these early defenders of sexual rights as “gay.” D ’Emilio, for instance, writes that the urban gay subculture emerged in the 1940s. In some ways, I agree with him: a sense of camaraderie among homosexuals was emerging that had not been there before, and I agree that it was largely experiences during World War II that spurred this latent awareness, as was the case with Dale Jennings, Don Slater, and Jim Kepner. I agree that “gay bars” existed at this time, and probably long before, that catered almost exclusively to a homosexual clientele. But I have found that the word, when used in the letters and publications by my subjects and consultants at this time, between 1950 and 1969, had an entirely different meaning. I argue that to impose a post-Stonewall conception of “gay” onto pre-Stonewall people, attitudes, or movements is to distort the history of that movement, putting the ends before the intentions, let alone the means. Such historical myopia mutes and distorts the cautions and perspectives of those who went against the prevailing trends and stands in the way o f our ability to learn from the trials and even failures of our forebears. This dissertation gives voice to the non-gays and the pre-gays, the ones who cautioned their homo- and bi-sexual cohorts against waging a battle for equality through the politics of identity. It was the right to do certain things, to perform particular sexual acts that Jennings and Slater were fighting for. It was not the right to he anything other than a happier and more respected individual. Though the later gays were to write these off as “assimilationists,” those who pre ferred to call themselves “homosexual ” or “homophile” argued that they were instead integration- ists, arguing back that separate was never equal, and to ghettoize the movement through identity politics was to march it into a cultural cul-de-sac. 23 With this said, I should add that there is no denying that “Gay” exists. In contemporary American culture, it is an economic, sexual, spiritual, and intellectual force, deliciously contro versial, stigma to some and standard for others. It is part movement, part institution, and part identity. It is amalgamated and amorphous, a sometimes distinct and sometimes obscure social dynamic that made a distinctive splash on American society in the late 1960s that rapidly sent ripples across the world. Hundreds of scholars in dozens of nations have documented and com mented on a myriad of takes on this thing called “Gay.” Yet before Stonewall, in June of 1969, few had openly identified by the term, and most of those who did used it as insider’ s parlance or in jest. How did the word go from a campy insult to a rallying cry for thousands if not millions of homosexual men and women? While it was not my intention to study the evolution of these terms, certain patterns of use emerged over the course of the project that merit comment and further study. Overview The following two chapters of this history introduce the leaders of the movement and their crew— a rogues’ gallery of sexual rebels, several of the key participants in the social history of ONE, Incorporated and later, the HIC, The personal histories of Dale Jennings and Don Slater will be related at length in chapter two, as they are the primary subjects for my study, the key “protagonists” o f the historical narrative that follows in chapters four through seven. It is hoped that the biographical profiles provided will help to provide what Wolcott has called the “cultural orientation” or the social setting and boundaries in which these individuals lived and operated (1999,91). Chapter three will introduce others who worked with Jennings and Slater, many who were volunteers for these organizations over long durations and often at considerable personal expense. The first section of the chapter presents three of the core leaders to the movement: Harry Hay, Jim Kepner, and William Lambert, later known as W. Dorr Legg. The second sec tion presents my four primary consultants for this study, men who were active in the movement 24 and lived or worked closely with Slater and Jennings. These include Jim Schneider, Billy Glover, Joe Hansen, and “ Antonio Sanchez.” This chapter seeks to build on the prior by attempting to represent Jennings and Slater through the eyes of those who knew them well, flushing out the personalities of these two protagonists by adding details and perceptions from those who worked closely with them over a period of many years. Chapters four through nine build on the biographical chapters by pulling the people together in a historical situation and then putting them into action. Chapter four presents the early history of the homosexual rights movement, telling of the founding of what was to became first the Mattachine Society and then ONE Incorporated, culminating on the successful publica tion of O NE Magazine and the expulsion of Jennings from the society soon after it became a full-fledged corporation. Much of this history has been recorded by esteemed scholars such as Katz and D ’Emilio and will be summarized here; however, through interviews and access to the personal archives of the founders and key people in these organizations, I will be able to provide rich details to corroborate, add to, and sometimes question some of what has been written before. Chapter five and six detail show how ONE, Inc. started to become polarized around two different goals and two opposing leaders: Don Slater, who wanted to continue to focus the organization’ s resources on the magazine, and Bill Lambert, also known as Dorr Legg, who favored his school for homosexuals, ONE Institute for Homophile Studies. Chapters seven and eight will tell of the history of the two organizations formed after the split, O N E and the newly formed HIC. The goals and strategies of the new polities will be summarized, and key events after the Slater/Legg tête-à-tête will be related, including the triumph of the Odorizzi Case, which Slater became active in during the months prior to the 1965 division. Slater had been instrumental in securing the needed help to bring about this famous case pertaining to Undue Influence on a schoolteacher. The ensuing Appellate Court Decision is still being taught in law schools throughout the nation today. Another of the first acts of civil disobedience undertaken 25 by the newly emerged H IC was to help coordinate a motorcade protest against the armed forces policy o f forbidding gays in the military that was featured on CBS News for about two minutes. Throughout chapters four through nine, special attention will be given to episodes that were pivotal in either the organizational history of the corporation and/or in the life history of one of the protagonists or consultants. Often, the personal “life crisis” or transformational rites such as promotions or resignation will correlate with definitional ceremonies, “symbolic displays of unity or ritual performances that affirm members widest or most basic beliefs” (Myerhoff 1979, 32). In chapter five especially, which details the events leading up to and following the decisive split on Easter morning in 1965, “the heist” itself will be considered as a social drama, as conceived by Victor Turner (1974), G. Alexander Moore (1998), and Barbara Myerhoff (1979, 31— 33). Myerhoff has called social dramas “public occasions wherein a significant crisis emerges and is resolved.” By properly analyzing such events through the sequential and discrete phases of the social drama, we will better understand the actions and motivations involved at the time the event occurred. In other words, framing these events as social dramas will help to contextualize the events within a social and political framework. Since the individuals involved will be introduced (to varying degrees) chapters two and three, the reader should have a good idea of the personal motivations and temperaments involved, such as personality factors, conflicting al legiances, or transgressive behavior. At the same time, recurring patterns, such as the fission and fusion of political alliances, will become more clear, and then explored and commented upon. Alexander Moore points out that the social drama always involves “a protagonist (hero or heroine) who feels a grievance. ..confronts an opponent, engages in conflict or gains ritual redress, and is either victorious or flees (140). While this is a useful pattern for an ethnographer to strive to elucidate, in order to interpret or “read” a social drama properly, one must first have properly located or “plotted” each episode in the entire sequence of relevant events. If one perceives an action or attack as an initial breach of peace while the perpetrator in question had considered it to have been retaliatory redress, then interpretation of the process is complicated 26 by a clash of perspectives. It is possible that the actors themselves may not be in agreement as to what stage of the process an action should be considered. One of the first tasks for any adjudica tor is to get the story straight. The social drama in question must be properly “narrativised” before it can be fairly resolved, pulling conflicting stories into harmony and making sure all of the contestants are reading the same script and rule book. While this sounds obvious, it is often not the case. Sometimes, I have found, it is erroneous to assume that the players even want the same script, and there are always some who will bend or break the rules given the chance for political or financial gain. Sometimes it is to one party’ s advantage to have conflicting versions of the story circulating, as will be seen in chapter six, especially, which details the period after the split, the two years in which ONE was effectively two organizations. Legg’ s group contin ued to call itself O N E and remained on Venice Blvd. Slater’ s faction called itself the Tangent Group, which set up O N E ’ s offices in a small warehouse in Universal City. The story as I first learned of it through my studies at USC and my work at O N E Institute & Archives was that Slater had stolen O N E’ s archives and that his entire faction was nothing more than a group of errant rogues. “The Heist” was discussed as having been one of the great tragedies of the homophile movement, which had never quite recovered from the blow. This story was intended to legitimate the history of the new ONE Institute. Several of the Directors of ONE Institute & Archives have asserted that they are a surviving aspect of ONE, Incorporated, but according to their legal pedigree, they are more properly the progeny of Jim Kepner’ s International Gay Archives, which he established in the years following his (final) resignation from ONE, in 1960. Ultimately, ONE, Incorporated merged with ISHR in 1995, and to this date, ISHR still does business as ONE, Inc. (www.ishrdbaone.org). When I first began this project over five years ago, it did not take long for me to recognize that there were several significant disjunctures in the history I was learning. Trying to piece to gether the profile of Jennings was especially difficult, and I later learned that much of what I had first read about him had been erroneous and heavily biased, coming largely from the perspective 27 of Harry Hay, who seems to have felt that Jennings had betrayed him (Timmons 1990). I was forced to carefully compare as many different sources as possible: interviews, correspondence, legal documents became important sources of information but were themselves often biased, erroneous, and fragmentary (Slater was especially bad at not dating his notes, letters, and post cards). But bit-by-bit, the pieces have come together. In comparing facts and perspectives, and in bringing my consultants into dialogue with each other where conflicting memories or perspec tives were involved, I have attempted to reconstruct a social history of the nascent homosexual rights movement. In ethnography, as in life, one must be certain to get all of the pertinent facts before judg ing or jumping to conclusions. Reputations are at stake, and the proper, accurate remembrance of a life. The stakes are high, and the challenge daunting. Yet, with Wolcott s call for context trumpeted with Geertz’ s call for meticulous detail, thick descriptions may become rich descrip tions, and the writer, the reader, and the object of history all may reap a reward. (Footnotes) ^ O NE Institute Quarterly, Spring 1958 " (1979, 18) ^ Personal interview, Sept. 6, 2004 ^ Sept. 23, 2004 ^ Legg, in Homosexuals Today 1956, notes that Lisa Ben had previously achieved some notoriety through writing science fiction (90). 28 Chapter Two An Introduction to D on Slater and Dale Jennings I wonder sometimes what it might be like today if it weren’ t for Dale Jennings and Don Slater. —Jim Schneider^ Heroes are no taller than their enemies. — Dale Jennings^ D on Slater and Dale Jennings are known as two of the first pioneers of the modern American homosexual rights movement, which was established in the hills of Echo Park, near downtown Los Angeles in the early 1950s. As the organizers and first editors of O NE Magazine and founding members of ONE, Incorporated, they helped to create a social movement that has left a significant imprint on society and had profound repercussions on American culture. Staunch humanists, these men were champions of fundamental freedoms of speech, press, and the inalienable right to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. While this may sound overly dramatic or laudatory to the extreme, the fact remains that few corporations in recent history have affected the status quo in regards to its attitudes on sex and sexuality than the organiza tions that these two helped to establish. It is fair to say that every American has been affected by the battles that they helped to fight. As particularly successful champions of liberty, their story deserves as accurate and detailed an accounting as possible. 29 Until recently,^ historians of the current LGBT movement had not paid much attention to Slater or Jennings. This chapter seeks to flesh out these two-dimensional figures of history in order to help correct that oversight. Each man played a pivotal role within the movement for homosexual rights. Both, for a while, were leaders in the cause for homosexual rights, though the duration of Slater’ s tenure as editor of O NE Magazine helped him ultimately to establish and influence an inner circle or “core” of retainers (Bailey 2001, ix), in this case the co-editors and authors of ONE. But despite all the wrangling and controversy that surrounds them, there are three bedrocks of achievement that undeniably earn each of these men the right to be called pioneer and hero. For Jennings, it was his victory in court over charges of lewd conduct, the first time a man admitted in court to being a homosexual but successfully denied having trans gressed any law. For Slater, it was his victory in the Supreme Court for the right to distribute ONE Magazine and openly discuss human sexual practices in general and homosexual rights in particular. The third triumph was the success and longevity of the magazine itself, first as ONE and later as Tangents. These three core victories energized and galvanized the movement, giving it impetus, or staying power. Boys of the West O Boy of the West! To you many things to absorb... — Walt Whitman'* After serving in the Army during World War II, both Slater and Jennings enrolled at the University of Southern California through the benefits of the GI bill. Slater getting a BA in English and Jennings studying filmmaking. While attending USC, they lived near downtown Los Angeles, in or near Echo Park, but they did not associate as friends at this time. I am un certain how they met, but according to Fred Frisbie,^ it was Jennings who introduced Slater to the magazine, bringing him to the second organizational meeting on October 22, 1952. These men were subsequently instrumental in the founding and establishment of ONE Incorporated, an organization formed in order to legally publish and distribute ONE Magazine, the nation’ s 30 first successful, publicly distributed periodical dedicated to homosexual issues. Though they had common goals and philosophies, they had “moved in different circles,” as Slater later put it, until O N E was formed.^ While both Jennings and Slater were extroverted leaders and prolific writers equally dedi cated to the cause, their talents were complementary rather than competitive. Common interests and philosophies drew them together first as colleagues and later as friends. Though Jennings was six years the elder, he seems to have regarded Slater in those early years as a peer rather than a “mentee,” or perhaps as a fellow veteran, a true comrade at arms. Trained as a youth in dance, theater, and later filmmaking, Jennings excelled at plotting a course of action and then seeing it through. His talents were in writing and directing. Slater was better at editing and administrat ing, a great facilitator, good at coordinating the troops and putting them at their ease but prefer ring to lead, so to speak, quietly and from behind. Both men shared a common libertarian ethos: neither ever felt the need to loft a standard or to unite with other homosexuals under some unifying label or common, shared identity. In fact, they warned against this in ONE Magazine for years, and it was largely this principle that was to conjoin them in a common cause, history, and friendship that endured for over forty years. W hen the gay liberation movement emerged in 1969 and one by one, hundreds if not thousands of Americans proceeded to file out of the closet, Jennings and Slater stood by, watching in amazement as one of their greatest fears became manifest. In the early days of their association, the question of what to call the homosexual collective had been a matter of great concern. While Slater and Jennings preferred homosexual and their colleague Bill Lambert preferred the term homophile, none of them had taken the term “gay” seriously. To Slater it was a campy word, evocative of “ Auntie George.. .one of the principal freaks in E. F. Bensons amusing and perceptive book of the 1920s, The Freaks o f Mayfair” (Slater 1970). Benson had described the “ Auntie” as “quite a gay little boy” who matured to “develop a sentimental rapture with stained-glass windows and ecclesiastical rites and church music.” While 31 Slater had nothing against effeminate males and continually worked with and supported trans vestites and drag queens, he perceived “ Auntie George” to be a dangerous stereotype. Though the word “gay” could be used as an adjective to describe such a person, as a noun it had a vulgar ring to it. In his view, it was similar to calling a black person a “Stepinfetchit” or “Uncle Tom” (ibid). Jennings was in full agreement. His articles in the first issues of O NE Magazine frequently fought the “we are a people” philosophy as touted by Harry Hay and to a lesser degree Chuck Rowland and Jim Kepner. So far as he was concerned, to come out of the closet and openly proclaim oneself “gay” was like tattooing a target on one’ s forehead. Both Slater and Jennings merely wanted what they felt entitled to as citizens of the United States; equal rights and treatment under the law, in particular, the right to be intimate with whom one pleased provided both parties were willing, no one was seriously hurt, and public decency laws had not been transgressed. Slater articulated this point many times in his columns and articles in ONE and then Tangents, but he spoke and wrote in a most direct, to-the-point manner in discussions and correspondence with his friends. In a letter to Jennings dated July 5, 1991, he wrote: My thinking leans on Kinsey and Hooker. Alfred found that most attitudes about normal and abnormal sexual behavior are colored by social and moral judgments. There is no biologic justification... Evelyn in her studies was unable to distinguish between the homosexual and heterosexual interests in her subjects from the results of the sup posedly reliable personality tests which she gave them. My conclusion from Kinsey and Hooker is that homosexuality leaves no psychologic or biologic trace, and that persons who are homosexually active are not identifiable or a class of people separate and distinct from the rest of the population. Yet, a lot of people, perhaps the majority, believe that “homosexuals” comprise a fixed constituency. The standardized gays believe that the homosexual constituency, as such, has rights. Rather than fight for the rights of a separate and distinct people. Slater suggested, in secur ing the rights of the individual, the rights of the group would follow. “Since the early days of the homosexual movement in the U.S., the Homosexual Information Center has held the position that the protection of privacy in sexual relations is the key to sexual freedom. ” Through ONE 32 and Tangents magazines, Slater had held fast to this libertarian ideal, as expressed in an undated (1995?) letter to Dale Jennings: Each individual has the right to decide what kind of sexual practices he or she will or will not engage in, and with whom. Both the administrative and punitive power of the state should be concerned only with situations where force or public decency are involved. The pimp, the prostitute, the fornicator, wife swapper, porno distribu tor— should be protected. It is the individual not the state that should make decisions that touch so directly on the freedom and dignity of people. Though ONE, Incorporated and later the H IC both worked specifically on behalf of the homosexual. Slater and his crew of loyal followers worked to secure the civil liberties of every one, heterosexuals included. “We are assimilationists,” he wrote in his letter to Jennings. Or, he suggested, perhaps they would better be referred to as integrationists. We do not support the growing isolation of homosexuals as a separate people from mainstream America in the fight for equality.. .To make an issue of sex in situations where sex is unrelated is to do the exact opposite of what needs to be done. Not until persons can enter the armed forces, join the police, etc. without discussing their sexual propensities will we wipe out the social, economic and legal cul-de-sac into which homosexuals have been historically relegated, (ibid) W hen labels had to be used, both Slater and Jennings confessed to being homosexuals first, homophiles second, and neither ever became comfortable with the word “gay.” How can you unite, let alone define a people around what they do in bed? they continually wondered (Hansen 1998, 19). A secondary theme of this dissertation— the ethno-historic question driving this dissertation— seeks to ask why this is so. W hat was it precisely about the gay phenomenon that so annoyed them? And on the other hand (or in the other camp, as it were) why did others such as Jim Kepner and Harry Hay come to so eagerly embrace the word as adequately representing a salient aspect of their collective and innate identity? O f course my premise at the outset— my thesis, so to speak— was that a historically nuanced understanding of these differing points of views would significantly alter perception of what is now commonly referred to as “gay history” and “gay politics.” Furthermore, these debates and dialogues continue within the current LGBT movement. These driving questions and suppositions will be reflected on and pondered inter 33 mittently throughout this dissertation, and some conclusions will be posited in the final chapter, after my narrative history of O N E and HIC has been concluded. The purpose of this chapter is to introduce Jennings and Slater in some detail. By elaborat ing on the lives of these two men, they become “protagonists” to my narrative, a term more appropriate than “consultant” since both men were deceased by the time I arrived on the scene. As mentioned in the introduction, by “protagonist” we mean the hero or heroine of a narrative who “feels a grievance.. .confronts an opponent, engages in conflict or gains ritual redress, and is either victorious or flees” (Moore 1998, 140). The use of this term, then, underscores their roles as leaders and heroes of the social dramas that will be related throughout this book. O f course, “antagonists” will also be named and considered, persons and factors that stood in opposition to the goals and desires of Slater and Jennings that manifest sometimes as individuals— Dorr Legg in particular— and sometimes as coalitions. But they also increasingly appear in the guise of more abstract but dire adversaries, such as poverty, solitude, and old age. Besides common philosophies, another bond that tied these two men together was their common history. For nearly forty years. Slater and Jennings belonged to the same organizations, promoted common causes, fought the same battles, and had the same adversaries— though the results and consequences of their struggles were significantly different. W hen they did work together, Slater and Jennings formed a strong partnership. They shared many common interests throughout their lives, such as literature, theater, music, and philosophy, though Jennings’ s tastes tended towards the Classics and the Renaissance and Slater preferred the Victorian era. Both men had an uncommon respect for the power of words and the efficacy of a well-turned phrase. While others about them chattered excitedly about utopian futures and divine brotherhoods, these two put their thoughts on paper and cleared a way for others to do the same. They encour aged forethought and strategy, helping the organization to identify specific and “doable” goals that could then be pursued and attained through dedicated and concerted action. And they both, I was surprised to find, were staunch Republicans. 34 William Dale Jennings I am aware of my almost total preoccupation with the male and male sexuality. It is life-long. I prefer to think that I’ d not have accomplished my bit without it instead of the depressing possibility that I’ d have done more. — Dale Jennings^ This biographical sketch of Dale Jennings is the most extensive profile that will be presented in this dissertation. There are a few reasons for this. First, it was largely through learning about Jennings that I became interested in researching the Los Angeles movement for homosexual rights— or was even made aware such a movement existed. I became more aware of his history and philosophies in the summer of 2000, when Jim Schneider approached me to broadcast an obituary/press release that he had written with Dr. Walter L. Williams. Through distributing the release I became fascinated by Jennings and desired to learn more about his life history in order to better appreciate his accomplishments as author and activist. I revisited the histories of the Mattachine I had found and began to reconsider what I head read about Jennings in contrast to the person that I was coming to know through reading his journals and sorting through his personal archives, which had been bequeathed to the H IC and were being warehoused in Pico Rivera. When Vern Bullough invited me to write a profile on Jennings for inclusion in an upcoming collection of biographical sketches of early activists in the history of the movement before Stonewall, I jumped at the opportunity. The result of that study has been published (White 2002a), and this is an updated and corrected version of that history. Dale Jennings is commonly found in the indices of Cay history books such as those by John D ’Emilio (1983, 62-63, 70-71, 73, 80, 87), Jonathan Ned Katz (1992, 411-416), and Eric Marcus (2002, 19, 24) but the actual references to him are often pointed and brief. He is listed as one of the founders of the Mattachine Society, a follower of Harry Hay. After read ing Timmons’ s biography The Trouble with Harry Hay: Founder o f the Modern Gay Movement (1990), I had concluded that Jennings was the black sheep of the Mattachine flock, gathered around the staff of Harry Hay with the other glazy-eyed sheep. While Hay is held aloft in the 35 text as the founder of the movement, the lives and achievements of others, Jennings in particu lar, are unfairly distorted and usually diminished. There can hardly serve as a better example of the “great man” phenomenon in history than Timmons’ book on Hay. Unfortunately, I used this text as a basis for my published profile on Jennings (White 2002a) to later learn that several of the facts I had repeated were erroneous. It was late in the study that I discovered Jennings’ s letters to Slater regarding his frustration with Timmons’ book, where he complained of being the only founder whom Timmons failed to interview and for having been cast as the villain of the book. Jennings was hardly a villain, and many have called him a hero. At his death, Vern Bullough and others lauded him as the “Rosa Parks of the Gay Rights Movement®” for having prevailed in the first court case in the United States where a man admitted in court to being a homosexual yet successfully fought charges of lewd conduct in a public place. Riding the wave of fame, he next became senior editor and contributor for ONE, the first successful magazine in the United States dedicated to equal rights for homosexuals, published and distributed by O NE Incorporated, a spin-off of Mattachine that he co-founded. This chapter will discuss these events while filling in some of the background of Jennings’ s history, providing a glimpse of the insecuri ties he harbored behind the indomitable facade he presented to his friends and cohorts within the movement. William Dale Jennings was born on October 21, 1917, in Amarillo, Texas. His father, Wil liam Arthur Jennings, was a salesman and his mother, Charlotte Sophie [Knebel] Jennings, was a housewife.^ All of the men in Jennings’ s family shared the first name of William, and so each was known by their middle name. This was fine by young Dale, who later wrote to a fan that his grandfather once called him “Willy ” and in so doing “both turned my stomach and alienated the two of us.”* ° He later came to admire his old progenitor, after learning that he had been an early railroad engineer and a pioneer settler in Colorado. * * Jennings shared his grandfather’ s passion for travel. As a youth, he sold the Saturday Evening Post àoot-to-àoot, and he began to 36 collect the paper’ s illustrations of windjammers, by Anton Otto Fishcer. “Oddly,” he later wrote in an unpublished essay (1992), the tall ships thrilled me right down to the toes.” His family pondered the strange fascination as his collection of ship pictures continued to grow. Jennings was a child prodigy, of sorts, as a ballet dancer.*^ He was considered the “talented one ” in the family, and according to his nephew Patrick he was “given music lessons while the rest of the family carried him along. ” His sister Elaine, older by two years, wished that she could also take lessons, but there was not enough money to send both of them to private classes. Young Dale was always considered “the talented one, ” and “if he was rude or obnoxious, well, he was ‘ special’ and it just had to be forgiven. He graduated from South Senior High School in Denver, Colorado, in 1935, and he then enrolled at Denver University, where he studied speech and rhetoric for eighteen months. Jennings then decided to move to Los Angeles, where he rented out an old stable from which he ran a theater company. Theatre Caravan, at the corner of Olympic and Alvarado in the Westlake district, from January 1939 until January of 1941. He is reported to have written and produced sixty plays for Caravan, but he earned little in the process. As Producer for the troupe, he designed the sets, composed music, and performed on stage with his fellow actors, which he hired and directed. Old negatives found in a crisp, faded envelope with “Dale Danc ing” printed on the front developed into a rare glimpse of the young man about this time: a slender Jennings, probably in his early 20s, leaping about someone’ s patio, feet off the ground in poses that seemed part Jazz and part ballet, part raw and part sophisticated. I later learned from his correspondence with Slater that he had studied dance in Los Angeles under modern dance pioneer Lester Horton,*^ and, according to Sanchez,*^ Jennings had also danced for the legend ary Martha Graham. The days of dancing and theater came to an end with the start of World War II. Jennings entered into active service at Fort Macarthur, on November 13, 1942, one month after his twenty-fifth birthday. After three months of training as a Private in Basic Training and Anti 37 aircraft technology, he was promoted to Technical Sergeant, a non-commissioned Intelligence officer. He received two weeks training in cryptography at Camp Hulen, Texas, where he was trained in air and ground liaison and operation of the M-209 converter and other cryptographic devices. Then, on December 10, 1943, Jennings was shipped out to join the 356'*' Searchlight Battalion in the Asiatic-Pacific Theater. He spent the next two years stationed in the Southern Philippines where he spent some time on Guadalcanal, late in the year after the bloody winter battle of 1942— 43. His job was to present lectures to the battalion on orientation censorship, information, and education. He taught instructional courses on scouting and patrolling, and he drew up reconnaissance maps and charts as assigned. He also served as the editor of the battalion newspaper. While in the Philippines, Sergeant Jennings kept a fascinating journal, perhaps as much fic tion as diary, which interestingly enough has the word O NE etched in tall letters on both front and back covers, in red crayon. There is nothing truly personal or intimate in the diary, for he knew that his bunk mates and others would jump on the chance to read it, even though he did keep it locked in a safe. The diary occasionally refers to his wife back home, named “Tuck,”* ^ but it also speaks openly o f an appreciation for masculine beauty and homosexual angst: “I looked at him today and knew that our friendship is a night-time thing. More than him being brusque and me militarily respectful— for by day, with all his features sharp and clear, I do not know him.” Many passages also exemplify Jennings talents as a writer. I found this passage particularly striking: There is a delicate tropic fern, of finely balanced proportions, that closes up when touched. A design of rich, green living changed in the mom ent of touching into a withered, brown, dead-seeming wisp of rubble. Then don’ t touch it; look, enjoy (love) and pass by. A few pages later, the plant is mentioned again: He and Captain Abbey were looking at the little folding fern; they had stopped on the way from chow, were touching frond after frond, watching them wither. Lt. R. hobbled up on his crutches as the Captain in his final way, labeled them “cannibal plants.” R. 38 said flatly and at once, “They’ re a homosexual plant. Use their pollen on themselves,” and hobbled off without a smile or goodbye. Somehow, I was very angry. Jennings returned to Fort MacArthur on Christmas Eve, 1945, after two years and fifteen days of Foreign Duty. Apart from a Medal for Cood Conduct, he had also been decorated with a World War II Victory Medal, and American Campaign Medal, an Asiatic-Pacific Campaign Medal, and a Philippine Liberation Ribbon with one Bronze Star. He received his honorable discharge on January second, 1946. Six months later, on June tenth, Jennings was granted a divorce from Esther Slayton Jennings, the “Tuck” mentioned in his journal.*® The brevity of this marriage suggests that indeed, much of the talk of “the wife” at home was to deflect charges of homosexuality— or to assure a real or potential sexual partner that one’ s eggs really were in the right basket and that any hanky panky in the meantime was nothing more than a release of pent up (and properly masculine) tension. After the war, Jennings worked for a traveling ice show (Jennings 1992). Sometime in the latter half of the 1940s, he studied filmmaking for two years at USC, through the benefits of the C.I. Bill. During this time, he continued to be attracted to other men, but he was hardly open about it. Once, a queer-hating boss said to him, “I understand you only wear red socks, Jennings. Has it anything to do with why Rock Hudson wears them?” He described his reaction to this kind of intimidation: “I wasn’ t about to be tagged as fag and so leaned over backwards playing it straight” (ibid). The attempt was ultimately unsuccessful, however. O n September 27, 1950, his third attempt at heterosexual partnership came to an end, and another brief marriage, to Jacqueline Carney Jennings, was annulled. On Communist and Carnivores... Ever concerned about his career in film production, young Jennings was perfectly content to keep his sexual life private. Nevertheless, Jennings, stepped into the gay movement one No vember night in 1950, when he met Harry Hay and Rudi Cernreich, two active members of the Communist party in Los Auigeles. Hay was a teacher for the California Labor School and a long 39 term member of the Communist party (Katz 1992, 413). Encouraged by his lover Cernreich, he had presented a prospectus he had written calling on the “androgynes of the world” to unite to a student in his music history class named Bob Hull (Hay 1996, 63— 75). This was the third draft of a document Hay and Cernreich had been working on since August of 1948, under Hays pseudonym of Eann MacDonald. The document asked three primary questions: “Who were the homosexuals? W hat were their purposes in life? How could they negotiate with the parent soci ety to make their contributions as a group?” (Licata 1978, 108— 109). Hull was thrilled with the document, so he called and asked Hay if he could bring two friends over to discuss the matter. These were his lover-turned-roommate, fellow communist Chuck Rowland, and Hull’ s current boyfriend, the recently divorced Dale Jennings. Hay claimed that the three were so excited about . the prospectus that they came flying into his yard the Saturday of their meeting, waving the document and saying, “We could have written this ourselves!” (Katz 1992, 410). Hay did not recall to biographer Stuart Timmons that Jennings had been a member of the Communist Party, but he reported that his mother had been active indeed, being affectionately known as “Ma Jennings” to those in the Party in the 1930s. His elder sister had apparently been involved as well, so while Jennings had not been a member. Hay and his fellow Communists had still regarded Jennings as “one hell of a fellow traveler.” In fact, Jennings had\>^ç.w a member of the party, though his mother and sister had not. His mother had not come to California until the 1940s and she was not even sympathetic to the Communists. Jennings was furious when he learned his mother had been so maligned in print: “No one ever once referred to her as “Ma Jennings. ” The Bonnie and Clyde epithet could only have come from someone who did not know this quiet, submissive little woman ” (Jennings 1990, 4). In one H IC Newsletter, Jennings wrote in an angry review of Timmons’ book: “His claim that my dear little apolitical mother was a Party member is ludicrously false. She thought the Russian revolution was a ballet step.”* ^ In an undated (1984?) Christmas card to Slater and Sanchez, Jennings wrote, “When I was a loud-mouthed commie, people fled the Mattachine in the thousands; now that the 40 prevailing shade this season is red, my conservatism is worse than damned: it’ s ignored.” A July 16, 1990 letter to Slater also indicated that he had been in “the local red cell. ” Indeed, Legg had cast Jennings out of the movement in 1954 largely due to his communist activities and associa tions— yet Jennings had been in the Party for exactly nine days (Jennings 1990, 4). Gay journalist/historian Jim Kepner, who had also served a brief period as a member of the Party and had likewise been cast out for being a homosexual, believed that the common back ground in Communism “gave them a starting philosophy with strategic applications.. .analyses which suggested specific courses of action, the experience and chutzpah to tackle what seemed hopeless, and the idea of a minority community which must learn to respect itself, to build its own institutions, resources and sense of fraternity/sorority ” (1994, 10). Thus it was that these five renegade comrades met to discuss the prospectus on November 11, 1950, and again two days later. A larger, semi-public discussion group convened the follow ing month, on December 11. These meetings convened in the home of Hay’ s mother, and two early topics of discussion included “ A Sense of Value” and “Social Directions of the Homosexual (Licata 1978,110). In the spring of 1951, the group began to call itself Mattachine and had recruited another five members, including their first woman, Ruth Bernhard, though other women had attended the public meetings. That summer, they adopted official Missions and Purposes, which proclaimed homosexuals to be one of the largest minorities in America. Hay designed an elaborate initiation ceremony reminiscent of the Freemasons. More on this history will be related in chapter four. The importance of such definitional rituals is clear, but many of the traditions Hay began were not to be long-lived. While Hay more than any other may have actively attempted to provide the symbolic systems and ritual traditions for the nascent organization, Jennings and the other founders also participated in the creation of those rituals and accompanying myths, credos, and pledges. Jennings was aware of the emotional power those initiation rituals gener ated for the neophyte Mattachino, for he later wrote: “To many a homosexual, who may have 41 lived out years of loneliness or bitterness, believing that his lot in society was a miserable one and without hope, the whole proceedings, the sense of group fellowship, the joining of hands in solemn oath, bespoke something so new, and of such dazzling implication as to be well-nigh unbelievable” (Timmons 1990, 155). Another of Mattachine s early founders, Konrad Stevens, said, “When we would initiate somebody into the Mattachine, and we would stand around in a circle and hold hands, and say the pledge— I would get a chill up my spine, every time. And 1 would get a very emotional surge” (in Slade 2001). At the same time, ritual for some was drudgery for others, and Jennings in particular was becoming annoyed with the routine. When asked if he had found those meetings boring, he affirmed that he had: “We kept repeating ourselves. And you see, you forget that the so called “upper echelon” had been through all this shit endlessly, and then we had to repeat it for the membership, and I just sat back and went into a coma” (Slade 2001). While this further exem plifies Jennings’ s sarcastic attitude in general, it also points toward what Myerhoff referred to as the paradoxical and dualistic nature of rituals, especially definitional rituals, that are theatrical/ contrived on one hand yet supposed to appear logical/inevitable on the other. This is a danger ous paradox because when a ritual is no longer convincing, its theatricality becomes readily apparent, and this leads to the realization that all of the other “truths, ” ceremonies, and rituals were contrived as well: “O ur most precious conceptions and convictions— are all mere inven tion, not inevitable understandings about the world at all but the results of mortals’ imaginings” (Myerhoff 1979, 86). Myerhoff has also pointed out that in order for rituals to work, they must be grounded on a shared understanding or interpretation of the symbols they utilize. Hay and the others had learned this first hand through their experience in the labor movement. The trouble was, homo sexuals had few symbols of value to which they could readily turn, and certainly none around which they could rally. They were not adequately represented in history or literature that they were aware of, with rare exceptions such as The Well o f Loneliness or The Trials o f Oscar Wilde. 42 Hay articulated the problem: “We were calling to a brotherhood to come together, to find out about who we were as people, who we were as homosexuals. But where have we been? Obviously we have been other places in history, but if we were other places in history, what happened to us? Why aren’ t we here now?” (Slade 2001). Until that history could be investigated and recovered, organizational cohesion was facilitated through the creation of new symbols, such as secret ritu als, and a solemn oath taken to advance the goals of the society while protecting the identity of its members. Hay envisioned his organization as a “Golden Brotherhood” (ibid). For Hay “brotherhood” was the perfect metaphor for linking what Mattachine represented to a sacred, secret social entity that had been present to some degree in all human social groups but had been nearly extinguished by modern society and its institutions. The word simultane ously evokes bonds of kinship stemming from blood and fellowship. If such kinship bonds were to be granted to homosexuals, then perhaps ethnic or minority status could be argued for as well: We are a national and a cultural minority. And if we establish ourselves as a cultural minority in this country all of the sudden they can’ t put us on the defensive any longer: we are an entity which is entitled to the protection under the first ten amendments of the constitution. And we can set ourselves up on that point, and we can take the initia tive. And that would make it possible for us to look at ourselves in an entirely different way. (ibid) Jennings, however, remained disdainful of the “cultural minority ” impetus that Hay was driving Mattachine. While other members sifted and sorted through names trying to find one that aptly described them as a people, Jennings grew frustrated, wanting simply to get to the task at hand. While they droned on about “the pain and sorrow, the desperate loneliness of being homosexual and afraid, always having to lie and hide,” Jennings stood aloof and “struggled not to laugh aloud” (Hansen 1998, 19— 20). Writing under his pseudonym Jeff Winters^® he later reported that when Hay proposed that the group call itself Mattachine, after a troupe of masked bachelors who led the festivities in the medieval French Feast of Fools, Hay hadn’ t noticed “the sniggers of the rest of us. ” Yet it was also Jennings who wrote, as Hieronymous K., “It would be 43 the Mattachine Foundation commemorating the fools and jesters of legend who spoke the truth in the face of stern authority” (1953, 19). Four decades later he wrote to his friend Don Slater, “My interest in the bodies of other males has given me a sense of profound brotherhood that strictly heterosexual males are denied.Like the rituals he helped to create, Jennings himself was somewhat conflicted— and more than a bit of a paradox. More on Jennings’ s unprecedented influence on the history o f the homosexual rights move ment will be elaborated in subsequent chapters. W hat should be noted here is that it was largely through the planning and efforts of Dale Jennings that the Mattachine Society gained fame, that ONE Magazine was launched and ONE, Incorporated formed. Jennings became the editor of ONE early in 1953, but he did not get to enjoy his post at the helm for very long. At the early edge of spring in 1954, Business Manager Bill Lambert pressured him to leave. Jennings never sounded bitter when discussing this final incident in the company that was largely of his own creation, though it must have hit him very hard. He confessed to having been overly divisive, and he felt that his bullying approach had ultimately backfired. Jennings later admitted in a July 16,1990 letter to Don Slater that the maverick style and stodgy attitude he projected to his cohorts at O N E were largely to compensate for low self-esteem. He did not contest Leggs decision to cast him from the editorial board of O N E and found it ironic that he had been evicted from ON E and the “red cell” simultaneously: [Dorr Legg] got rid of me at almost the precise time that the local red cell took my membership card away from me for being a carnivore^^ and hence a security risk. Naturally both organizations were quite correct and should have been more circumspect about letting me come near them in the very beginning. But with his association with ONE behind him, how could he go back to his life as it was— there was nothing there to return to. He would not be able to get a job in Hollywood, as his name had been all over the papers— for a time, he had been the most talked about homo sexual in the city, as will be seen in chapter four. As Myerhoff has observed, “W hen ostracized people have nowhere else to go, expulsion from their group may be tantamount to physical 44 death” (172— 173). Though I have no evidence that his thoughts may have turned to suicide, the years after his removal from ONE are dark to me— a period of silence in an otherwise prolific life. Making Film I have yet to research Jennings’ s film career in depth, but it should be noted that Jennings was an active film-maker through the 1960s. On January 14, 1965, a photo in the Thursday Denver Post showed Jennings at work behind a camera, shooting a documentary on the National Ski Patrol at Vail and W inter Park ski areas. New Era Productions was producing the film, as sponsored by Schlitz Brewing Company. Later that year, Jennings became the first author to win three separate awards in the same year from the Columbus Film Festival, held at the Batelle Memorial Institute in Columbus, Ohio. According to a clipping from an unidentified Denver newspaper, two of the awards were for travel films and one had a religious theme. Jennings had produced the pictures through Interlude Films in Los Angeles, which he had recently created with Ralph Hulett and Max Hutto. O n May 7, 1969, Interlude was presented with a Hugo Award for the film. National Anthem: A Contemporary Visualization , during the fourth Chicago International Film Festival. It seems that Jennings was able to redeem his screen career, after all. Aspects of the Novelist In the years after he left ONE, Jennings wrote his first novel. The Ronin, which was published in 1968 by Tuttle Books of Japan. Jennings studied T ’ai Chi in China and Zen in Japan in the later 1950s, and this book pays homage to Japanese culture. In Ronin, he recast an old Buddhist legend into his own poetic encomium on manhood. The story tells of a knight without a Lord whose arrogant pride caused much pain to those he encountered. At last, the Ronin learns empathy, and he attempts to atone for his past crimes by tunneling through a mountain in order to secure safe passage for travelers who must otherwise traverse a treacher ous cliff. Jennings was proud that the book had been published in Japan, though it had not 45 sold as well as he had hoped: “Fm afraid my erotic passages were a little too much for them,” he later wrote to a fanIn this same letter, Jennings described his Ronin as a man with “three balls.. .and a permanent erection,” whose “pretty damned big” manhood/sword gets him into all sorts of trouble. A favorable review in the Japan Times described The Ronin: “The story is as old and as mysterious as man, witty in spots, erotic in others, written in plain but compassionate language.In The Maininchi Daily News, an even more astute writer said of Jennings’ s difficult text; “The book is philosophical on a realistic level. The reader begins connecting one statement with another to reach realizations he never thought he would want to make.”^ ^ The book finally caught on and has now been reprinted several times. To date. The Ronin has been Jennings’ s most successful novel, which is still available from Tuttle Books. Jennings’ s second book grew out of a film treatment he had sold to Warner Brothers called The Cowboys. Warner Brothers had purchased the motion picture rights to The Cowboys in 1970, for $150,000. At that time. C o w b o y s a three-page plot summary in which an aging rancher named Anse, an old cook, and nine boys drive a herd of cattle across Montana, after Anse’ s regular hands are called to fight in the Civil War. Through the drive, each boy would attain “manhood” and become a hero in his own right: “The fat boy outshines everyone in calming the cattle at night with his soft singing— and the one they started out calling sissy turns out to have the coolest head in a crisis.” The group encounters rustlers, pure “prairie scum” who “grab-ass” with the boys and beat Anse to a pulp, nearly killing him. The boys wreak revenge by tricking and exterminating the prairie-vermin rustlers, and Anse recovers in the end to berate the boys lovingly. In the book and movie version of Cowboys, Anse becomes Wil, who is brutally killed by the rustlers as the boys watch. Jennings worked with Irving Ravetch and Harriet Frank, Jr. to create the screenplay for Cowboys. Mark Rydell produced and directed the movie, which starred John Wayne as Wil. As part of the contract, he received a separate card credit; “Based on a novel by Dale Jennings,” though plans for the publication of the novel were still being drawn. 46 Like The Ronin, Cowboys featured a wave-tossed hero, a boy on the verge of manhood named Cimarron. Jennings defined this as a Spanish/Mexican word as “an animal that runs alone or a man who is wanted; in combining the sense of being both wild and solitary, it is one of the beautiful words in the language” (Jennings 1971, 227). In the introduction to the novel, Jennings advises readers to read the glossary before delving in to the text, in order to “bone up on the West a bit.” Be wary of double entendre and euphemisms, he winks. How, then, is one to interpret the description of Wil as he coyly eyes young Slim and slaps his leg with “that long, stiff riata o f his” (65)? The sight of the boys scrambling under their blankets to get dressed in the cold, early morning suggests to one of the boys an orgy, an idea elaborated on “until many of the boys stumbled off into the darkness too stimulated to irrigate the plain” (ibid, 83). Jennings defended such passages as portraying a historic reality, but the publishers would have none of it. A senior editor at Bantam demanded that all glimmers of homoeroticism be deleted if the book was to be published. In a memorandum to Jennings dated Sept. 25, 1970, the editor wrote: Sure there was sex in “them days,” and for all I know this story may depict it accurately. It gets in the way, however, and it weakens the story unnecessarily. Judicious cutting would make a big difference, and I think the real taboos have to do with masturbation and the way in which the author has suggested adolescent homosexuality without really describing it. Such stuff is out of place in a book for adults. This same editor advised that Jennings turn up the intensity, so to speak, on the hetero erotic passages: “I rather like the scene of the floozy walking naked through the town with a gun in each hand.” In other words, lets kill the circle jerks, but bring on la femme fatale. In a formal letter from editor Bob Silverstein of Bantam Books, Jennings was formally entreated to make substantial changes to The Cowboys: “The intimations of adolescent homo sexuality are distracting. Either they should be more clearly spelled out or considerably toned down. And frankly I urge the latter.” Jennings submitted a revision in January, 1971, but it was clearly not enough; Silverstein replied the following March that Bantam had forwarded Cowboys 47 to Putnam. “No word yet,” he wrote, “But very high hopes all around.” Stein and Day publish ers of New York published the book in 1971, but Jennings retained the copyright. W ith the financial success of The Cowboys, Jennings was free to go anywhere he pleased.^^ He eventually moved to Trinidad, in Humboldt County of northern California, but he lost his home there and most of his possession in a palimony lawsuit brought on by an ex-lover Walter King, commonly referred to as Ward.^^ So Jennings returned to Los Angeles, where both Hol lywood and the movement had largely forgotten him. A Christian Buddhist While Jennings never renounced Christianity, his religious affiliations tended to lie with the orient more than they did his occidental heritage. He had been profoundly influence by Christi anity in his youth, though not to the fervent degree Kepner had. O n several different occasions in his later years, Jennings told Schneider that he had read the bible from cover to cover three times in his life. In February of 1997, two days before Slater was to die in the hospital, Jennings wrote a dialog between he and God in which God said that since life on earth was hell then “a specific place called hell was superfluous.” As for heaven, it was “not a heaven but simply an else where without the inconvenience of natural disasters. I didn’ t intend that it should be a vacation spot.” The dialogue concludes by evoking the classic dilemma of fatalism vs. free will: Q. May I quote you, God? A. W hat do you think? Isn’ t that why I’ ve granted this interview? Q. Oh? A. You’ re suddenly pensive, dear boy. Q. Frankly I don’ t like the idea of being used. A. Lamb, I’ m as inescapable as I am omnipotent. Q. This gives one pause. A. Yes? Q. W hat if I don’ t say one word when I get back? A. True, that’ s a possibility but is it actually likely? The ambiguity of the final answer is a deliberate paradox. While Jennings would love to broadcast his thoughts to the world, who would listen? W hat if upon finishing this particular essay Jennings would again forget to save before shutting down his machine? And even if the 48 glowing yellow text on the black terminal screen should manage to make it to the hard drive, or even better manifest as a manuscript on the dot matrix printer given to him by Schneider, would the text itself survive to publication? Quite probably, it didn’ t seem likely to the old man on the brink of his own mortality, his best friend on his deathbed and his own mind beginning to deceive him. In a July 30, 1998 letter to a San Francisco literary agent in which he sought assistance in promoting a text-in-progress called Multiple Joys, Jennings wrote that two of the book’ s stron gest selling points would be sex and Buddhism. “In view of the fact that there [are] 20 million Nichiren Shoshu Buddhists around the world and 500 thousand here in the U.S., I foresee a ready market.” I had learned from his journals that Jennings had turned to Nichiren Buddhism in the 1980s. This came as no real surprise, given his love for the Orient, which was developed during his stay in the Philippines during World War II and then later travels to Japan. According to one diary, he had reenlisted and was stationed in the fall of 1955 at Atsugi, on the main Japa nese island, Honshu. The base had been built in 1938 by the Japanese Imperial Navy to serve as Emperor Hirohito’ s Kamikaze Naval Air Base, and had been formally commissioned as a U.S. Naval Station on December 1, 1950. While Jennings was frustrated by his work at the station, and this journal, as the one before, lists sundry complaints of not having adequate tools and sup plies, he quickly became enamored with Japanese landscape, architecture, philosophy, art, and history. “My interest in Japan came suddenly and out of the blue. I found myself literally hungry for anything I could lay hands on relating to Japan,” he later wrote in a letter to a fan. At some time in the 1980s, Jennings began to practice Buddhism as promulgated through the SGI, Soika Gakkai International. Members of the SGI follow the teachings of the Buddha, known as Siddhartha Gautama or Shakymuni Buddha and later interpreted and taught by Nichiren, a Japanese Priest who promulgated enlightenment through the chanting of the Lotus Sutra in the thirteenth century. As the lotus flower is sacred for its rare ability to at once bloom and produce seed, so the lotus sutra articulates and celebrates the mystic law o f cause and effect. 49 Through the chanting o f the sutra “Nam Myoho Renge Kyo,” one could expedite the processes of reincarnation by purging negative karma, simultaneously focusing on the attainment of both spiritual enlightenment and worldly goals. I have yet to find the precise point, if there was one, when Jennings became disenchanted with the promises of gonyo and the philosophies of Nichiren Buddhism. I see no hint that it was a part of his daily practice as his seventieth birthday approached, and he found himself increasingly poor and alone, having been repeatedly rejected by agents and employers and largely forgotten by the movement and his friends. Jim Schneider has said that Jennings wanted nothing to do with the SGI so far as he was aware. I cannot help but wonder if part of his reason for losing his faith was the lack of a return, so to speak, on his investment. If he could have sold just one more winning script, play, or novel, he could once again be back in the black. Once, he wrote of his attempt to “chant” a disgruntled colleague “into being my fan.” How frustrating it must have been, always feeling one treatment or screenplay away from his next fortune! But alas, the ‘big hit’ never came, though Jennings had continued to write, chant, and pray every day for years. A Prodigal Hero A dancer, more than any other human being, dies two deaths; the first, the physical when the body will no longer respond as you would wish. — Martha Graham As the 1980s wore on, Jennings’ s financial situation became desperate. He had managed to get along and even found some work, but his outside income counted against him when, in the fall of 1984, his accountant notified him that he had been overpaid by Social Security, which on October 29, 1984, demanded nearly $4,000.00 within thirty days. It was a financial calamity from which he was to never fully recover. W ith pride at stake, it was difficult for him to admit that he needed assistance, but pushed to the wall, he wrote to his old friend Don Slater, on Feb. 12, 1985 asking for employment— 50 and help. “The time has come to send out signals,” the letter began. “Those in need of the services of a life-guard must advertise.” He had an application in for a job as a security guard, but he said that his main interest was more in securing groceries than paying on his debt. “The bills can wait.” Jennings did not expect Slater to hire him, only to keep him in mind should he know of an opportunity. “Please give me a buzz while I still have the phone.” He added that he was not panicked, that he was “willing to face whatever is coming without fear. My only con cern is that my books and scripts fall into caring hands.” He concluded by thanking Slater for having contributed to the most rewarding moments of his past few years. “It was so good to find that— at least philosophically— I am not alone.” Thus began a correspondence and a renewed friendship between Jennings and Slater that would last until Slaters death in 1997. Jennings greatly admired Slater, and he believed whole heartedly in the goals of the Homosexual Information Center, or HIC, which Slater had estab lished as a spin-off of ON E Incorporated in the mid-1960s. They still agreed on many points, as Slater wrote in a letter to Jennings dated July 5, 1991: “The protection of privacy in sexual relations is the key to sexual freedom. It is the only centralized control necessary or acceptable in a democratic society... It is the individual, not the state, that should make decisions that touch so directly on the freedom and dignity of people... The sexual act and all its variations belongs to everyone.” The 1990s were not good years for Jennings. He remained isolated and alone, a reclusive old man, probably alcoholic, who felt befuddled by technology and haunted by regret. He moved into Rudi Steinert s old apartment, a few doors to the west of Slater and Sanchezs home on Calumet, after Steinert passed in August of 1993. Sanchez called the apartment a “hole in the wall” and said that Jennings had pretty much ended up on skid row. He once cautioned me: You don’ t want to end up like Dale! In one instant— the flash of an eye— something can happen. He used to be a dancer, but in the end he could hardly walk. He used to drink and smoke and do everything that was bad for you. He used to brag about his money. He used to be well off, but then he landed in the skids. Don finally ended up getting 51 him a hole-in-the-wall on Calumet. A lot of rich people end up really poor. You have to be careful!^® Jennings drank a lot in his later years, having a penchant for martinis and Johnny Walker. He grudgingly allowed others to care for him, but he hated having live-in guests and feared that someone might dispose of or attempt to destroy his artwork and accumulated writings, as his nephew had once tried to do. As for his living situation, Sanchez may exaggerate the situation some. Steinert had left all of his belongings, including an apartment full of Gothic German furniture, to Slater, and Jennings inherited it all indirectly when he moved in. The apartment was dark, the east half of the ground level of a dilapidated two-story Victorian. Jennings wrote of his impressions of the place in a diary entry of Friday, August 20, 1993: My first impression of the old house at 1411 Calumet in Los Angeles was one of gloom and decay, and the clutter of despair. Rudi Steinert left behind a peculiar treasury of oddments that few could enjoy and an air of bitter agony to make all recoil. The three great rooms were filled with baronial furniture dear to those of his Germanic background. Tall carved straight chairs devoid of comfort, tapestries, rugs Oriental and Egyptian... Jennings was impressed that Steinert had been fluent in several different languages. He was surprised to find that they had much in common, and he had kept and enjoyed several of the volumes Steinert had left behind, such as the short stories o f Maugham and the speeches and letters of Lytton Strachey. There were Japanese boxes, vases, and prints that delighted him. He mused over the countless pictures Steinert had of himself, and he reasoned that it was due to his having been an actor: “ Actors especially are constantly aware that once the show closes, that’ s an end of it except of the performance photos. In between runs, life is filled with nostalgia even at the youngest age.” By 1996, Jennings realized that his memory was slipping. He wrote in his diary of being frustrated by losing his scissors and not being able to remember names of objects or recent events. He still wrote diligently every day, but more than a few times he lost a day’ s efforts by turning off his computer before saving the document. Concerned, he made final arrangements 52 that his works and property would go to the HIC, He wrote of his relief that his words would be preserved— but swore to haunt from the grave anyone who should dare to edit him. To the end of his days, Jennings never stopped writing, and his legacy to the H IC consists of hundreds of articles, several unpublished books, plays, film treatments, and stories, which he collectively called “these invaluable treasures of the heart.He hoped that H IC could preserve his writings and his collections, and perhaps it might even profit from them. He has also left to the HIC a collection of scrapbooks that contain thousands of pictures, mostly o f men, that he had cut out of magazines and meticulously pasted into large scrapbooks, often with added quips and commentary. He called this corpus a “pictorial record of America’ s most beautiful men” from the 1950s through the ’80s, and creating and perusing this collection had brought some comfort to his days of solitude. Dale Jennings died of respiratory failure on May 11, 2000, at the age of eighty-two. HIC Chairman Jim Schneider was with him at his passing. His memorial service, held June 25, 2000, was the first public event held in what was supposed to become H IC ’ s new home, ONE Insti tute & Archives, near the campus of USC in Los Angeles. In method and manner, Jennings was indeed, as Timmons put it, “opinionated, intelligent and aggressively virile” (144). In a way, he had lived a life similar to that Cimarron he had so admired— his had indeed been the way of the maverick. But solitude did not seem so heroic to Jennings as an old man. Perhaps he felt, like his Ronin, that he had tunneled through a moun tain to secure the safety of others, only to find after years of labor that he had miscalculated from the start and had created a path to a ledge he judged more lethal than the one he had set out to avoid.^° Don Slater To hear himself called a hero would make Don very uncomfortable. But it’ s the truth— a hero was what he was. —Joseph Hansen (1997, 5) 53 Much of my research has been motivated through a desire to better understand Don Slater, whom I first learned of through professor Walter L. Williams during my personal interviews with him and in his seminar on gay history, which I took through the Gender Studies Depart ment at USC in the fall of 1999. My first impression of Slater, accordingly, was one of a stub born and emotional rebel who had actually hijacked “O N E Institute” and made off with the better half of the Institute’ s library. According to Williams,^* Slater’ s emphasis within ONE was solely focused on “expanding O NE Magazine and making it a more general circulation magazine that would spread the homosexual viewpoint widely within American society.” Williams told me in a 1999 interview that O NE Magazine had been an offshoot of O N E Institute, which had been founded in 1952. Rather than working with Dorr Legg and those who were more oriented to the educational aspects of the organizations. Slater and a splinter group thirteen years later “took half of the library that had been built up at ONE Institute over the years and kept it in a separate location. ” Williams concluded: “The organization fractured in the 1960s was a terrible and unfortunate result that meant that O N E Institute became not really at the forefront of the movement after that.” W hat a pressing weight for any historical figure to bear! To have the downfall of the entire Los Angeles homophile movement placed so squarely on the shoulders o f one person and a few of his wayward lackeys was to foist a mighty burden indeed. The story of the schism of ONE Incorporated as I imagined it was a tale of two epic figures in Los Angeles history. Dorr Legg and Don Slater; one was known as a great but imperious hero and the other a cunning and passionate knave. But Williams’ s view on the split came through his mentor. Dorr Legg, whom he met in 1976 in Los Angeles while researching The Spirit and the Flesh (1986). He was only repeating what Legg had told him and Kepner hadn’ t denied. After five years of research and dozens of discussions with those who worked closely with him, I have come to the conclusion that Slater was hardly a villain. Time and again, those who knew him best call him an altruistic, good-hearted man who readily came to the service of those 54 in need and never willfully hurt another human being. Tony Sanchez, his lover of over fifty-two years, described him as a “good Samaritan” who genuinely cared for people.^^ Though his pass ing was not celebrated in anywhere near as grand a scale as Kepner or Hays, those who worked closely with Slater vowed that neither he nor his work would be forgotten. Fourteen of his closest friends contributed to a booklet that was edited by Joseph Hansen and published by the H IC in 1997, Don Slater: A Gay Rights Pioneer Remembered by his Friends. Hansen also authored a biography of Slater, titled A Few Doors West o f Hope (1998) and contributed the chapter on Slater that was published in Bullough’ s edited volume Before Stonewall (2002). W ithout excep tion, my primary consultants have held Don Slater in very high regard. “He was a good man, through and through,” wrote Joe Hansen (1997, 5). Years after his passing, Hansen and the others continued to work to ensure that his work, his philosophies, and his role in history are remembered. Young Don Slater Don Slater was born in Pasadena on Aug. 21. 1923, first born of identical twins. His parents had been in their thirties when Don and his brother Harvey were born, a few years after the family moved to California. Slater had an elder sister and brother as well. His father, Warren Steven Slater, was an athletic director of the Pasadena YMCA. His students in Pasadena, and later in Glendale, Los Angeles, and Oceanside, affectionately referred to him as “Coach.” Athletics was Coach Slater’ s prime passion apart from his family. He spent many years as a president of the Pasadena and Glendale YMCAs or the Los Angeles area Boys Clubs, and he was elected “Dad of the Year” by the boys of the Oceanside club, in 1956 (Hansen 2002, 103— 104). His family moved a lot during the 1920s and ’30s, although they remained in the greater Los Angeles area. Still, the constant upheaval meant that young Slater was not able to form long term friendships in his childhood— each time he made new friends, the family would soon be on the move again. Though it would be difficult to track his history as he progressed through the Los Angeles schools, it is known that he spent some time in Junior High School at John 55 Marshall in Glendale, and he graduated from Chaffey High in Capistrano Beach in 1942. He was drafted into the army soon after, in February 1943 (Hansen 1998; Hansen 2002). Young Slater was a short and slender lad, described by Hansen as Puckish (1998). He was a sensitive intellectual, nowhere near as athletic as his father. He did not take to competitive sports, and discussions of the local or national teams did not interest him. Perhaps due to his passion for nature and the outdoors, he did love to swim and ski. Once inducted, the army sent him to Camp Hale, Colorado, to train as a ski trooper. Slaters stint in the military was an important event in his life, short lived though it was. Later that October, he was confined to the infirmary, “his heart beating double time” (Hansen 2002, 104). A few weeks later, he was honor ably discharged and headed back to Los Angeles. W ith the assistance of the US Army’ s rehabilitation program. Slater enrolled in February 1944 at the University of Southern California to work toward a bachelor’ s degree in English, u s e ’ s campus was situated in a neighborhood surrounded by old Victorian houses such as those he loved at nearby Bunker Hill. “Don loved old Los Angeles,” Hansen wrote, “the more run-down and ragged the better.” He and his partner, Antonio Sanchez, lived poor in those days and frequently moved from apartment to apartment. Even then. Slater tended to put principles before his own needs, and he was not making much money working for the bookstore. This was particularly hard on Sanchez, who once described Slater to me as having been “very bright but not too practical.” Hansen reports that Slater “didn’ t pay a lot of attention to his studies” at USC, but having seen some if his notebooks, I would add that when a class caught his fancy, such as one pertain ing to literature or American history, he kept meticulous notes and often jotted thoughtful commentary in the margins. His first few years at USC, he studied French, organic evolution, and anatomy. He took especially detailed notes for his courses in English, including history of the novel and grammar. Slater became known as a bit of a rebel on campus. He had “collected traffic tickets like trophies, then decided to act liked Thoreau, refuse to pay the fines, and go to 56 jail for civil disobedience. His position was that the state had no business telling him where he could park” (Hansen 2002, 104). Slater worked in the USC library by day as a Stack Supervisor. At night, Hansen tells us, he would hang out with Hal Bargelt and other members of the University’ s “gay underground ” boozing in the bars on sleazy Main Street. “He enjoyed the transvestites,” Bargelt recalls, and was as friendly with them and the other lost souls adrift in the gritty shadows of Main Street’ s gaudy neon as he was with his fellow students by day. (ibid) One spring night in 1945, when Slater was twenty-one years old, he went “cruising” for sex to nearby Pershing Square and met a slender Hispanic boy o f about sixteen named Antonio Sanchez.^^ As Slater described the meeting to Hansen, the two had repeatedly bumped into each other while prowling. ‘What! You again?” they laughed. The two joked that they must have been meant for each other, and indeed, they were to remain partners until Slater’ s death nearly fihy-two years later. After living together for a while in a ski lodge belonging to Slater’ s parents. Slater and Sanchez moved into an apartment at 221 South Bunker Hill Avenue. They occupied a section of a refurbished Victorian mansion. The house on Hill was ‘ a few doors west of Hope Street,’ thus the title of Hansen’ s biography. Slater had often called it such due to nearby Hope Street, which “had originally been part of a triad of streets. Faith, Hope, and Charity, of which only Hope had survived” (ibid, 105). Where that stately Victorian once stood, one will now find Frank Gehry’ s Walt Disney Concert Hall. In 1948, Slater again fell ill with rheumatic fever. By this time he was a senior at the University, but due to his extended absence, he withdrew from classes and asked to be given a fresh start the following term. He made good use of the free time allotted him once he recov ered: “Don had his Wanderjarh in the best Eugene O ’Neill style, going ashore to explore the waterfronts of Oslo, Stockholm, Bremen, Le Havre, Marseilles, and other fabled ports of call ” (Hansen 2002, 106). After his extended adventure, he returned to school and his boyfriend and was awarded his BA in English literature, with an emphasis on the Victorian novel. Now a 57 graduate, he donned a tie and started to work for Vroman s bookstore in Pasadena, making fifty cents an hour while Sanchez made a better income through his musical performances. After get ting of work in Pasadena, Slater would often go to see Sanchez perform at the El Paseo Inn on Olvera Street. Sometimes he would bring a friend with him, and it made Sanchez proud to have his lover in the audience.^^ One night Slater brought a man named Bill Lambert, whom Slater admired for his “erudition and his way with words.” Sanchez was impressed with Lambert as well: “He had charm and poise and manner, and was clever,” he later told Hansen. Slater and Sanchez went with Lambert to a meeting of the Mattachine one night, but neither was impressed with the organization. “A sewing circle,’ Don said afterward, calling it ‘The Stitch and Bitch club’” (ibid, 106). He wanted little to do with Hay’ s organization. Slater as Editor and Librarian As seen, Don Slater was hardly new to the scene when Jennings and others set out to pub lish O NE Magazine. Though he had attended a Mattachine discussion meeting, he just hadn’ t really been interested in joining Hay’ s party and had been put off by the “mystic brotherhood” talk of the early Mattachine. But when he heard of the idea of a magazine designed to convey a homosexual viewpoint to the general public, he and his lover Sanchez set to the task of dis seminating information on homosexuality to those who needed that information. The magazine was the perfect conduit by which they could facilitate an open discussion of homosexuality and homosexual rights on as broad a level as possible— perhaps even throughout the nation. Slater learned how to edit through English and composition classes taken at the University of Southern California. A true love for literature and an inquisitive nature fueled his desire for the English degree. He kept many of the books that he read during that time, especially those on natural science and literature. Some volumes in his collection, such as those by Matthew Arnold, he turned to repeatedly over the years, much like one would an old friend. In the early 1960s, Slater’ s primary duty was to the magazine. But he was also active in building O N E’ s library, which he saw as being the core of the organization, the source of their 58 information and their history. Slater was very bit the archivist that Kepner was. He was to become Assistant Professor in Literature for the Educational Division of O NE, teaching courses such as Writing for Publications and also a Library Workshop on “classification and use of scientific works and fiction in the homophile field.” Jim Kepner (1997) reported that Slater had graduated from USC with a degree in library science, but this is not so. Nevertheless, his cohorts at O N E appreciated him as much for his skills as a librarian as for his talents as editor. The classification system that he created with his USC cohort Jack Cibson was adopted by Kepner’ s library and is still being used by some archives today. In August of 1965, four months after he had successfully removed all of O N E ’ s archives from the Venice site to a new office on Cahuenga Boulevard in Universal City, Slater wrote a passionate letter to H IC ’ s attorney, Ed Raiden, claiming that the library and archival materials that O N E had collected represented the true heart of the corporation. “If O N E has any assets, this is it. Damn the future of its publications, but the fate of this material is important. With Raiden’ s help, Legg’ s tactic was thwarted. Slater raised the money for the bond, as required by a judge, and the majority o f O N E’ s library, now called the H IC collection, has remained in the care of H IC ever since. Slater the Administrator Though the details of these events will be elaborated in chapter five, a brief sketch of the highlights of Slater’ s career will help to understand the philosophies and principles that were guiding him during the early years of the corporation. After the schism of ONE, he became the chair of the new organization, the Homosexual Information Center, which was established in 1965, officially founded in 1968, and became federally tax-exempt in 1971. Even through the course of the split, through a prolonged and bitter dispute that caused him four years of persis tent frustration and anguish. Slater continued to fight other battles on behalf of the movement. The most notable involved a schoolteacher named Don Odorizzi. Slater, with the assistance of 59 Jim Schneider, was able to help Odorizzi win a significant case of Undue Influence on a school teacher by the Bloomfield School District. The case is still being taught in law schools today In 1966, Slater loaned the entire H IC facility on Cahuenga to Harry Hay, and he co chaired the planning meeting with Hay to launch a motorcade protest on May 16, “ Armed Forces Day, against the armed forces policy of not allowing homosexuals to serve in the military. Activist Vern Bullough and H IC directors Jim Schneider and Billy Glover also rode in the motorcade. CBS news broadcast brief coverage of the event that night on the evening news. The following year. Slater assisted as H IC sponsored a production of Clare Boothe Luce’ s play The Women, which drew a crowd of over 300 the night it was performed at the Embassy Auditorium in downtown Los Angeles. During the performance, police arrived and arrested Slater, who had identified himself as being “the one in charge ” when so asked by the officer. According to Schneider, the police had protested that the audience and performers, all cross-dressed men, were “nothing but fags and queers,” at which point Slater rebuked them. “They then handcuffed Don and carted him off to jail, with Don cussing them out at the top of his voice all the way for wasting the taxpayer’ s money. Slater’ s subsequent complaints lead to a change in the city codes that denuded the Police Commission of its powers of censorship (Hansen 1998, 71). In 1968, Slater led a picket of the Los Angeles Times for the editorial board’ s refusal to publish an advertisement for a play called Geese, which portrayed two young (and occasionally naked) male lovers, vis-à-vis their parents (Kepner 1997). The Times policy was changed, another significant victory for Slater, who later arranged after-the-show discussions with the audience. In the 1970s, Slater wrote to politicians encouraging them to court the votes of homosexu als. But then with Hay, he also picketed the offices of ONE, Incorporated for their having sup ported a homophobic city councilman. But when others picketed Barney’ s Beanery restaurant in effort to have the owners remove a sign that said “Fagots Keep O ut ” [sic]. Slater stayed home, saying that the owner had the right to serve whom he pleased. Morris Kight and Rev. Troy Perry had organized this successful demonstration, and Joe Hansen was on site with a tape recorder. 60 interviewing Perry for a later broadcast on his homosexual-themed radio show, broadcast on KPFK. Slater, it should be added, was less than impressed with Perry, whom he considered a gay separatist and therefore a “false prophet” (Hansen 1998, 70, 75). Ever the iconoclast. Slater often turned his wit and scanty resources against his fellow gays, suggesting he was more the Diogenes of the movement than its gadfly. It is difficult to capture the cantankerous spontaneity of Slaters wit and daring. As Glover has put it, “W hat is hard to put on paper that showed Dons truly remarkable character is how he constantly used the courts to make his points and try to force others to be honest.” For example, Glover recalled an incident in which he had gone with Slater as a witness, in case Slater was arrested, to confront the Customs office for withholding a European publication, such as Revolt or Vennen. Slater simply asked to see the magazine, which, when produced, he snatched, saying, “Oh yes, this is ours!” and then proceeded to walk out of the office. W ith two men behind saying, “Mr. Slater, you can’ t do that...” and a bemused Glover shuffling behind. Slater proceeded to the elevator with his prize, and they made it to the elevator and left.^® Sometimes his principles interfered with his manners, however, as when he refused to pay a neighbor in Colorado for work done on a water line that was to their mutual benefit, on grounds that he hadn’ t been asked first. The neighbor took Slater and Sanchez to court over the issue, but the judge upheld Slater’ s position. According to Glover, Slater would have paid if the neighbor had simply been more courteous. In 1979, Slater had an artificial valve implanted in his heart. During the procedure he became infected with hepatitis B, and though the surgery was a success the virus almost killed him (Hansen 2002, 113). Then, as he left the Hollywood office late one night in 1983, he was mugged and attacked in the dark parking lot behind the building (Lucas 1997). He managed to get back into the office, and he called Charles Lucas to ask for help. Lucas called fellow H IC board members Rudi Steinert and Susan Howe, who rushed to the office to find Slater drenched in blood. The thugs had taken everything— his money and briefcase, but also his clothes, shoes. 61 and. car. Lucas wrapped Slater in a blanket and managed to get him down the fire escape and into his car. Rather than go to the hospital. Slater insisted that they take him home. Sanchez arrived home early the next morning, but by that time Slater had become so weak that he consented to be taken to the hospital (ibid, 86— 87). According to Sanchez,^^ his wounds were superficial. Lucas and Howe, though, recall that his face had been brutally smashed and bones had probably been fractured. No police report was filed on the incident. Sanchezs car eventually showed up at the local compound, and Slater recovered very fast. Still, he had been lucky. He could easily have been killed in the incident, which Sanchez insists was not a hate crime but a mugging, with the promise of sex used as lure or bait. Hollywood Blvd. and Highland Ave. were notorious cruising grounds for hustlers, and it was not uncommon for one to stop in (on a slow night) and either request help or proffer assistance. It was one such rogue “volunteer” who had attacked Slater and taken his belongings— and nearly his life. The Hollywood offices of the H IC were subsequently closed, and the library and office were moved into Slater and Sanchez’ s Victorian home on Calumet. W ith the assistance of a Veteran’ s Administration (VA) loan. Slater and Sanchez bought a second, more rustic house in Southwest Colorado, near the four corners area. Through the 1980s, the two frequently went back and forth from Los Angeles to Colorado. Jennings and Glover occasionally made the twelve-hour drive as well. Slater loved the peace of the Colorado spread, but he also loved to be back home in Los Angeles, where he could tend to his shaded garden with the spires of downtown Los Angles standing like sentinels nearby. He and Sanchez added a rooster, Calhoun, to their extended family of urban critters, including several dogs and cats. In December of 1996, Slater suffered from a severe cardiac arrest (Lucas 1997). He had neglected to have his aged heart valve replaced, and now he was too weak to undergo the procedure. For the next two months, he stayed in the VA Hospital, until he passed at ten at 62 night on February 14, 1997, at seventy-three years old. His death took many by surprise. He had expected to live well into his eighties, as his father had before him. While Don Slater and Dale Jennings shared many common philosophies and convictions, their friendship did not blossom until late in their lives, after Jennings sent his plea for help in 1985. The story of this renewed friendship will be the subject o f the final chapter, which will describe some details of their final years. For present purposes, others need be introduced, those who formed the core of ONE, Incorporated, by remaining true to its objectives for an extended duration, some who have been working towards equal rights for homosexuals for over thirty years. Some were allied more with Slater and the duty to publish O NE Magazine while others were drawn to Leggs vision of an academic institute, but all of the people in the following chapter contributed to the longevity and success of the corporation. (Footnotes) ^ Personal communication, 2001 ^ (Jennings 1990, 4) ^ See esp. Bullough (2002a), Murdoch and Price (2001), and Cain (2002) ^ Walt W hitman, “To a Western Boy,” Leaves o f Grass poem #71 ^ Personal communication. Letter dated Feb. 3, 2001 ^ Letter to Dale Jennings, July 4, 1990 ^ Letter to Don Slater, Oct. 19, 1990 ^ Personal communication, 2001; New York Times obituary ^ According to Jennings’ s birth certificate Undated letter to a fan Letter to “Lee, ” June 7, 1983 63 Letter from Patrick Dale Porter, cousin of Jennings, to Jim Schneider, dated May 11, 2000 Ibid Jim Schneider, personal communication 1 3 Letter to Jennings from D on Slater, Nov. 27, 1990. Also letter to Jim Schneider from Patrick Dale Porter, dated May 11, 2000. 1 * 3 Personal communication, Jan. 16, 2004 1 ^ According to Porters letter to Schneider, Tucks real name was Esther Mayer, and she had been an actress in Jennings’ s theater company in the 1940s. 1 ® Letter from Patrick Dale Porter to Jim Schneider, dated May 11, 2000 1 3 * Newsletter #42, from Bossier City, Louisiana. (Undated, probably 1990.) According to Bullough, Legg, Elcano, and Kepner 1976. Legg was Bullough’ s source on the pseudonyms listed in this reference (personal communication, Aug. 27, 2003). ^ 1 Dated October 19, 1990 A “meat eater — i.e., a male homosexual ^ 3 Dated June 7, 1983 “Texan’ s Tale of a Ronin,” by John Japan Times, Sept. 11, 1968 ^ 3 Book review by “M. Purl. ” The Maininchi Daily News, Sept. 14, 1968 Timmons (1990) reported that Jennings secured a ranch outside of Los Angeles, but this is not so. Letter to Jim Schneider from Patrick Dale Porter, dated May 11, 2000 Personal communication, Jan. 16, 2004 Undated letter to Slater. 3 ® Jennings inscribed Slater’ s volume of The Ronin: “To Don Slater, who will understand this inevitable marriage.” 3 ^ Interview with Walter L. Williams, Oct. 12, 1999 64 3 ^ Personal communication, Jan. 16, 2004 3 3 A pseudonym 3 ^ Personal communication, Dec. 27, 2003 3 3 Letter dated Aug. 15, 1965 3 ^ Jim Schneider, personal communication. Letter titled “Notes on Don Slater,” March 21, 2001 3 7 Ibid 3 * Personal communication, Feb. 14, 2004 3 3 Personal communication, Feb. 11, 2004 65 Chapter Three Consultants and Core Personnel This chapter presents brief biographical sketches of several individuals who worked close within the homosexual rights movement in Los Angeles. Two of O N E ’ s leaders, Don Slater and Dale Jennings, have been presented in chapter two, and this chapter introduces three other primary leaders: Harry Hay, Jim Kepner, and William Lambert, later known as W. Dorr Legg. The four primary consultants for this project, Jim Schneider, “ Antonio Sanchez,” Billy Glover, and Joseph Hansen are profiled in the second section of this chapter. Some of the others who were active in the movement for a brief period of time but whose influence has had a lasting impression will be introduced as they enter into the narrative during later chapters. Though this dissertation utilizes biographical profiles far more than a more traditional eth nography would, it is not person-centered ethnography, nor is it biography, though it contains elements of both. The primary goal is not an attempt to reconstruct the personal history of one person^ or a select few but rather an attempt to better understand and reconstruct the social history of a civil rights movement through a person-centered approach, adding to the historic narrative what Turner^ has called the “humanistic coefficient” or factors which consider the experiences, backgrounds, and perceptions of the primary actors involved (1974, 32). 6 6 Core Leaders Harry Hay The significance o f Harry Hay in the history of the homosexual and gay movements can hardly be understated. More has been written about Harry Hay, often called the “father” of the gay movement (Licata 1976, 106), than about any o f the other pioneers of the Los Angeles homosexual movement. Henry “Harry” Hay was born on April 7, 1912, in Sussex, England and was raised in an upper middle-class neighborhood in Los Angeles. He was an active and articulate scholar through high school, graduating with honors in 1929 and then spending the next year working for an attorney in an office downtown (Licata 1978, 105). It was during this time that he appar ently discovered “cruising” in nearby Pershing Square, having his first sexual encounter with an older man (probably in his early thirties) whom he had met there, named “Champ” (ibid, 106). According to Will Roscoe, however, Hays first sexual encounter had actually been on a steam ship bound to Los Angeles, with a sailor named Matt, when Hay was a youth of fourteen. After the encounter, the sailor gave Hay a “gift” which Hay was to later claim was “the most beautiful gift that any older man ever gave a younger man”: Someday you’ re going to come to a port, and you won’ t understand a word that’ s said around you, and you won’ t see a face, you won’ t get a smell that’ s familiar to you at all and you’ll be frightened, and terrified, and afraid. And all of the sudden across this room, because you’ re a tall boy, you’ll see a pair of eyes open and glow, at you, as you lift your eyes open and glowing at him. At that moment of eye lock you are home, and you are safe, and you are free. This is my gift.^ From this experience. Hay came to perceive homosexuals as being part of a secret brother hood, with an imperative to “protect each others anonymity with our lives”: Over the centuries, this is how we have managed to stay alive and this is how we have managed to prevail: we have always guarded each other’ s anonymity as if it were our own, because if I guard you, you in turn will guard me and that’ s the only safety we’ ve got. I’ ve never forgotten this; it is something that was embedded in my very young mind and I’ ve remembered this many, many times. 67 In 1931, he left Los Angeles to matriculate at Stanford University, but he was not there long, and he did not obtain a degree. In the fall of 1932, after having an affair with James Broughton and having coming out to his classmates as “temperamental,” he moved back to Los Angeles. According to Roscoe, he began working on the cast for the Antonio Pastor Theatre the next February, “in character and comedy roles. He soon began dating the lead actor for the theater. Will Geer, who would later become famous for his role as Grandpa Walton” (1996b, 356; Slade 2001). In an interview conducted by Salvatore Licata on August 7, 1976, Hay related how he had first been drawn to social activism in 1934 when, as a young man in his early twenties, he witnessed a V-shaped wedge of mounted police force their way through a crowd of people who had gathered before the Los Angeles City Hall, demonstrating for milk. “He grew furi ous. Hay hurled a rock, which hit the lead policeman, knocking him from his horse. He was saved from arrest when a friendly Mexican-American pulled him into a maze of humble dwell ings that scaled the nearby hill” (Licata 1978, 107). Hay later told Roscoe that it had been a well-known drag queen named Clarabelle who had helped usher Hay to safety as he escaped into Bunker Hill (1996b, 37, 356). Later that year a second event was to make a life-changing impression upon him. He had traveled with Geer to San Francisco in order to participate in the Longshoremens strike of 1934. While they were there, the National Guard opened fire on the crowd. Hay heard bullets whizzing by his ear. Two people were killed and others were wounded. A funeral march followed, with a procession of 100,000 people that snaked its way through the streets o f the city. It was here that Hay got a glimpse of “power of the people,” and he knew that it was in being able to mobilize the masses where real power lie, the power to cause change for the betterment of society (Slade 2001). Hay had been attending meetings of the Communist Party since February 1933. Under directives from Moscow, the Party at that time was attempting to form coalitions with all other groups that were opposed to fascism, even if other groups were ideologically opposed to 68 socialism. This was known as the Popular Front policy, and it “called on artists to foster social consciousness and mobilize the masses through art” (Roscoe 1996b, 38). Such tactics were somewhat successful in Los Angeles, where “many of the writers, actors, and crafts people in the burgeoning film industry joined Popular Front organizations.” Hay was hooked— he had certainly found his place. “He signed up for nearly every progressive cause and organization that arose in the 1930s” (ibid). He would remain active in the party for the next eighteen years (Katz 1992,412). From 1939 to 1942, Hay lived in New York, where he studied the lives and works of Marx and Engels with the intention of becoming a teacher for the Communist Party (Roscoe 1996b, 39). According to Licata, “Hay introduced folk singing into the progressive left, putting on Hootenannies with talent such as Peter Seeger, Burl Ives, Leadbelly, and Woody Guthrie” (Licata 1978, 107). He learned at this time the efficacy of music, pageantry, theater, and ritual in social movements. W ith those cultural elements manifest around a social cause, a formidable move ment could be built around a core of common values by which common objectives could be thoughtfully determined and attained. Hay returned to Los Angeles in the winter of 1942 and continued to teach Marxist courses on political economy. After staging a successful “Big Sing Fest” in October of 1945, he was invited by local leftist organizations to conduct “a ten-week educational program of people’ s songs.” The first course was taught at the Oleson Studios and was successful enough that Hay was soon teaching such courses in workshops all around Los Angeles (Licata 1978, 108). In 1946, he joined forces with his folk-music associates to form Los Angeles People’ s Songs, later affiliated with Seeger’ s People’ s Songs, Incorporated, in New York. He developed a course called “Music, Barometer of the Class Struggle ” for the Peoples’ Education Center [PEC] later that year. The course was offered in 1947 through the Southern California Labor School, a successor to the PEC, which was in actuality the Hollywood Communist Party (Roscoe 1996b, 45; Licata 1978, 108). It was partially through the success of these and subsequent courses that Hay was 69 to research homosexuality and begin to conceive of homosexuals as a repressed cultural minor ity. He began to ponder ways by which homosexuals such as those dozens he was meeting on beaches, in bars, or even closer to home in Pershing Square, could be stimulated toward social action. O n a summer night in August 1948, Hay attended what he later called a “Gay party” of students somewhere near USC campus, by invitation of a man he had met while cruising Westlake Park (Timmons 1990, 134). He proposed organizing homosexuals within some sort of club or society, and those present seemed enthusiastic about the idea. Though future meetings never materialized, it was the night after this event that Hay, in afterglow, wrote a document which proposed that an organization be formed called “Bachelors Anonymous,” which would be “devoted to the welfare of Gay people” (Roscoe 1996a, 4). The prospectus was written under the pseudonym “Eann MacDonald,” and it posed three “important questions that would stimulate a great deal of future discussion: “Who were the homosexuals? W hat were their purposes in life? How could they negotiate with the parent society to make their contribution as a group?” ((Licata 1978, 108— 109). No copies of this seminal document survive, and nothing was to come of it at all until two years later, when Hay met Rudy Gernreich, a fashion designer from Germany, and they became lovers. Gernreich encouraged Hay to revive his prospectus and to present it to others, which Hay finally did in the fall of 1950. The story o f how Hay went on to organize and inspire the homosexual movement’ s first organization, the Mattachine Society, will be related in some detail in chapter four. It should be noted that Hay had been married during his years as a Communist. He and his wife Anita were married in September of 1938, and they adopted a daughter, Hannah, in 1943. During this time, he continued to have affairs with men and to cruise Pershing Square. He divorced Anita about the time of his first anniversary with Gernreich, in September of 1951. Details of this relationship are well covered in Hay (1996) and Slade (2001). 70 Harry Hays philosophies have been appealing to many, and after Mattachine he proceeded to found or inspire so many homosexual and gay associations that sexologist Vern Bullough calls him “the Johnny Appleseed of the American gay movement” (2002b, 73). Due to the magnitude o f his influence on the homophile, homosexual, gay, and modern LGBT movements. Hay may certainly be considered a prophet, one who influenced and was admired by many but who grounded his authority on a spiritual calling (Moore 1992, 146). O f course, from the outset. Hay had to build his following one person at a time, and the inevitability of success was far from assured. Jim Kepner Jim Kepner had been abandoned as an infant by his biological family, though he did not learn of this until he was nearly twenty years old (Kepner 1998, 1). Mary Kepner discovered him swaddled in newspapers and left beneath an oleander in an empty lot in Galveston, Texas, on September 19, 1923.^ He had probably been abandoned due to his malformed legs and a clubfoot (Potvin 1998). Mary was a nurse, and she and her husband James Lynn Kepner promptly adopted the child and arranged for corrective surgery. They continued to help their foundling son through the following difficult years o f physical therapy (ibid; Gannett and Percy 2002, 125-126). Though Mary had been brought up in a strict Catholic tradition, young Jim was raised a Protestant. According to his friend and fellow gay researcher Ernie Potvin, he attended church school regularly and was thoroughly religious throughout his youth, aspiring to be a missionary in Africa when he was twelve, as confessed to young Houston Press reporter Walter Cronkite in an interview occasioned by his having recently won a prize in bible studies (Potvin 1998, 6). However, his education and the experiences of his early teen years, including an undeniable attraction “to other boys or to older men,” caused him to question his long-held faith and religious beliefs (Kepner 1998, 1). Kepner had been aware of his attraction to other males since he was four years old, and he experienced his first crush on another schoolboy as early as the first 71 grade (ibid). Where religion had become problematic, Kepner began exploring libraries, and he found comfort and solace in books, especially science fiction. As for his formal education, an anonymous obituary published in the W inter 1997— 98 edition of the ONE*IGLA Bulletin., edited by Ernie Potvin, reported that Kepner had graduated cum laude from Galveston’ s Ball High school (1997). Potvin repeated this in a later article in the Bulletin, adding that Kepner had especially “excelled in English, Latin, history, and science” (1998, 6). But Paul Cain has found that some who worked with Kepner have claimed that he had dropped out before graduating (2002, 20). Kepner contrived the same tactic that Hay had to get out of gym and having to shower with other boys in high school; he joined the ROTC, which he was surprised to find he enjoyed though he later declined a commission as a lieutenant. While in school, he worked as a soda jerk, a messenger for Western Union, and an office clerk. He aspired toward college, but that did not become financially feasible until twenty years later, when he was settled in Los Angeles in the 1960s. As war became inevitable in 1942, Kepner moved with his father to San Francisco, where he soon found and became a part of the homosexual underground. He had his first sexual experience about this time, with a Merchant Marine named Nial, who shipped out within hours after their first encounter.^ Kepnet’ s crippled leg prevented him from serving in the military. While working full time for a milk carton factory, he began to seek information on homosexual ity in his off hours. Disappointed with what he found in the public library, he began to search through the used bookstores. Surely, he reasoned, there must be a culture and a history that went along with all of these people! According to Potvin, one of the first books that he acquired was Radclifife Hall’ s Well o f Loneliness, which had been circulating since 1928. While he seems to have enjoyed the text, nineteen-year-old Kepner was told by a sympathetic coworker that if he were to be seen walking the streets with Hall’ s book tucked under his arm, he would soon recognized and embraced by his elusive gay brethren, but this tactic failed (Kepner 1966, 4). Kepner also ordered two homosexual-themed “Little Blue Books ” for a nickel each from Halde- 72 man-Julius publishers of Girard, Kansas. He ordered a slew of other titles from the Girard press as well, so as not to draw attention to himself (Potvin 1998). Kepner discovered that there were other homosexual people in his science fiction clubs, which Licata has called “surrogate organizations for closeted homosexuals during the forties” (1978, 56). He was frustrated at the extent of the hiding, though, and the degree o f persecution levied against those who refused to hide. Soon after arriving in San Francisco, Kepner witnessed a police raid at The Black Cat bar, on Montgomery Street. Just as he had gathered enough nerve to approach the doorway, the police rushed the place. Kepner hid in “a nearby doorway as they hauled out a dozen handsome huskies who went along as if they deserved arrest.” He was especially impressed by the bravery exhibited by the dozen or so “queens” who were also hauled off by the police. “I can still hear one queen cry, ‘Don’ t shove me, you bastard, or I’ll bite your fucking balls off!”’ he later wrote in his history of gay journalism, Rough News, Daring Views. “That queen paid dearly, and it took me a long while to understand why hearing that made me feel proud ” (Kepner 1998, 399; also 1994, 8). Kepner continued to participate in the science fiction clubs into 1943, though rumors of his homosexuality had affected his popularity and standing within the groups. He told some of his San Francisco friends that he intended to start a magazine for homosexuals called The Gay Fan, and many of these contacts were offended by the idea and discontinued their contact with him (Potvin 1998, 8; Kepner 1989). So he moved to Los Angeles, where he again sought out others interested in science fiction. He joined the Los Angeles Science Fantasy Society, becoming their secretary and then president, though once again, when rumors of his homosexuality began to proliferate, he had to leave. He decided to publish a fanzine of his own. Toward Tomorrow. For employment in Los Angeles, he worked once again as a soda jerk; then he became a ware houseman for Pacific Electric Railway and next a machine operator, manufacturing parts for airplanes in an ironworks plant (Potvin 1998). 73 At some point in 1943, he made contact with a “pen-pal” from Rhinelander, Wisconsin named Wally Jordon, who had supposedly revived a nationwide organization of homosexuals called the Sons of Hamidy. Kepner was thrilled with the notion that there was such a network, but he soon found that it was a hoax and that Jordon had been writing to others billing Kepner as secretary for the organization before he had even formally consented to join (Kepner 1989). Though there had been no Hamidy, the idea o f such an organization would continue to inspire him. “I held on to the dream” (1994, 7). In 1945, he helped to organize The Futurian Society o f Los Angeles, which was inspired by a group of Marxist science fiction fans in Manhattan. Kepner made plans to move to New York himself and become a writer, but his original plan was spoiled when one o f the other six founders of the Futurian Society turned out to be an FBI plant. Kepner made it to New York anyway, having hitchhiked the entire way there on two separate occasions. He published the final, fifth issue of Toward Tomorrow, which had a strong Marxist leaning. He became active in Communist Party activities and he enjoyed hanging out listening to soapbox lecturers in Union Square or Columbus Circle. He got a job on staff at the Daily Worker and began to write news bits and occasional film reviews. He participated in writers’ workshops and even met one of his favorite columnists, Dorothy Parker. But in associating with the other writers, Kepner realized that though he had a passion for journalism, he was probably not skilled enough to make a solid living at it (ibid). Kepner became an official member of the Communist Party, and later, upon returning to Los Angles, he wrote film reviews for People's World, a Party publication. W hen it was discovered that he was a homosexual, though, he was cast out o f the party as “an enemy o f the people.” Devastated, Kepner moved next to Miami. Unable to find work there, he moved back to San Francisco, where he volunteered at the Communist Parties’ California Labor School library. He and fellow traveler Mel Brown opened a store there called “Books on Telegraph Hill,” which carried several “radical. Gay, and avant-garde books, ” such as The Divided Path, which Kepner 74 recommended, and Dianetics, which he didn’ t. The store went out o f business after eighteen months, and the two moved to Los Angeles (ibid, 8— 9). In 1951, Kepner and Brown moved in to a rustic Craftsman-styled house at 2141 Baxter Street, famous for being among the steepest streets in Los Angeles. Kepner was to live there until 1972, making this by far the longest time he was ever to reside at one location. Kepner soon brought both sex and politics home with him, by hosting “twice-weekly gatherings of a mixed group of sci-fi fans, ex-radicals, and characters he met in Pershing Square.” Potvin reports that Kepner had proposed the idea of a gay magazine or a gay organization to his friends, but noth ing had ever emerged. Then, about 1951, he ran the idea past some of his homosexual friends, including “Lisa Ben, ” his neighbor Betty Purdue, Mel Brown, and a man who happened to be the roommate of Bill Lambert. (Kepner did not actually meet Lambert until a later Mattachine discussion session, where Lambert was selling copies of ONE at 20<t per copy.) While most of his friends were appalled by the idea of a publication for “gays,” some few were supportive. Purdue took Kepner to his first Mattachine Society discussion meeting, held in a home in Los Feliz. The topic o f this meeting was “W hat can we do about those swishes and dykes who give us a bad name?” Though usually “timid in new groups, ” Kepner, remembering the brave behavior of the “nelly queens” arrested at the Black Cat in San Francisco, stood up for “the swishes.” After all, “it was those obvious ones who established squatter’ s rights to the Gay bars the rest of us could sneak in and out o f” (Kepner 1998, 3). After attending several more Mattachine meetings, Kepner was formally invited to join one of the five Mattachine groups, which were then called “guilds.” In the spring on 1954, just after Dale Jennings had been expelled from ONE, Incorpo rated, Kepner was invited to contribute to O NE Magazine. His first article, “The Importance of Being Different,” was published under the name of Lyn Pedersen. In the May issue, Pedersen was listed among the Editorial Staff, replacing Ben Tabor. Kepner was soon contributing several articles or opinions to each issue, adding “Dal McIntyre ” and “Frank Golovitz ” to his list of 75 pseudonyms. As himself or as one of various personages, Jim Kepner eventually published to all of the primary magazines of the homosexual rights movement in the 1950s, including The Ladder, O NE Magazine, 2iX\à Mattachine Review. Historian/journalist Rodger Streitmatter has called him a “one-man news service” that was highly effective at distributing and wielding information: Kepner used the clippings to compile, using the articles published in the three maga zines, the first comprehensive record of gays being ridiculed, entrapped, and abused. The total mounted higher and higher as Kepner documented the victims of what he characterized as homosexual witch hunts: 11 in Phoenix, 6 in Salt Lake City, 40 in Dallas, 10 in Oklahoma City, 67 in Memphis, and 162 in Baltimore. (1995, 26) Kepner resigned from ONE, Incorporated in late fall of 1960 due to frustrations with Slater and Legg, both of whom were avid Republicans. The ultimate cause was a letter from the 1RS stating that if O NE Incorporated continued to tell its contributors that contributions to O N E should be deducted, it would not only close O N E permanently but could also throw him in jail, as O N E ’ s President. These circumstances will be elucidated later, in chapters four and five. To support himself financially, Kepner became a taxi driver. Though Hay and Kepner had met in 1955 at a meeting in O N E ’ s office where Hay gave a speech on “The Conspiracy of Silence,” their friendship did not get into full swing until about 1960, when they began to see each other on a regular basis. As Hay recalled it, they couldn’ t meet at Kepner’ s house because he and Kepner’ s house mate did not get along. So Kepner would pick Hay up for lunch, which they would eat in the back of Kepner’ s taxi. They would find some quiet corner of a parking lot and discuss many of their common views and interests. “Together we theorized about every aspect of the homophile movement.” The discussions would continue for four years. Finally, in May of 1963, Hay moved in with Kepner. They found that while they were certainly compatible as friends, there was no sexual spark between them. That fall. Hay met John Burnside, and the two started dating almost immediately. By December, they had moved in together, and they spent their first winter together vacationing in Baja (Hay 1996, 76 360). They remained lovers until Hay’ s passing, in 2002. Kepner, though, would never have much luck with love. In 1966, Kepner began an ill-fated venture that was to cost him his Baxter Street home. Going against the advice of his friends and associates, he mortgaged his house in order to secure the capital needed to launch a new magazine; Pursuit & Symposium. The magazine was to serve a dual purpose. aspired to “project somewhat an image of homosexuality as a whole— if that is possible” (Kepner 1966, 7). In this volume, a majority of which was written by Kepner and credited to some of his old pen names. As Lyn Pedersen, he contributed “ A Gay Camp Looks at the Camp Cult.” Robert Gregory was credited with an article on “Censorship in 1966,” and Frank Colovitz authored a short story called “He That Loveth His Life.” In the “Symposium” half of the magazine, differing views and perspectives would be presented, in this case, the transcription of a discussion on morality featuring a philosopher, a judge, a Baptist clergyman, a psychoanalyst, and an anthro-psychologist. In an editorial titled “Toujours Cai, ” Kepner uses the pronoun “we” when referring to him self in the first person, as a form of “gay editorial. ” In the article, Kepner wrote of his childhood and of his first sexual experiences. As for the creation of Pursuit & Symposium, he noted that due to the recent split of ONE, Incorporated into two factions, “where there was O N E Magazine, there are two. We now make it three.” He added: Many fine friends, with less intimate experience of the trying problems that tear at such small volunteer groups as One, feel this ought not to be so. We need unity, they say. Good, when possible. But don’ t we also value diversity? If we can’ t all work together in harness, we ought as least to keep working. (1966, 23) Kepner argued that there was room enough in the field for his magazine and even others. Unfor tunately he was wrong, and after two issues, he was bankrupt and his house was lost. While Kepner’ s news reports and essays had been read by thousands of homosexual (and heterosexual) people across the country and overseas, locally in Los Angeles he became increas ingly known as an archivist. He was always pleased when others expressed their interest in 77 homosexual history, and he often invited them to peruse his personal archives of homosexual-re lated ephemera, which he had continued to collect since his youth in San Francisco. His col lection had become vast by the early 1970s, and late in 1978 he moved his collection out from his apartment, which Fleishman described to me as having become filled with piles of books, newspapers, and magazines, into a storefront on Hudson Street. He incorporated the collection, which he had named the Western Gay Archives, as the National Gay Archives. The collection was renamed the International Gay and Lesbian Archives in 1984, and this merged with ONE Institute in 1994 to form ONE/IGLA. This organization currently (2003) calls itself ON E Institute & Archives and is housed in a building owned by USC, at 909 West Adams. Kepner did not live long enough to see the current facility, but he was heartened when he learned that the two major archives that he had helped to found, O N E Incorporated and IGLA, would be merged into the new facility, reunifying much of his material. He was thrilled when he learned that Slaters H IC collection might be added as well, bringing the three primary archives he had helped to create together at last. William Lambert / W . Dorr Legg One of the most elusive mysteries in my research has been the “true” name of the long standing director of O N E Institute, W. Dorr Legg. Don Slater and Dale Jennings continually referred to him as Bill Lambert. As Joseph Hansen understood it, “Lambert came up with a dozen, maybe a score [of pseudonyms] for himself... In the end, Lambert would try to disap pear completely behind his bizarre favorite, W. Dorr Legg” (1998, 44). But I think Jim Kepner is more correct to note that Lambert was indeed his “real” name— and so was Legg. In the minutes of a business meeting on June 7, 1953, Lambert was referred to as “Bill Legg. ” Wayne Dynes (2002) may have solved the puzzle by reporting that his full name of record was William Lambert Dorr Legg, being the adopted son of Frank E. Legg and his wife, Frances C. Dorr. As Bill Lambert, this man is remembered as the business manager for ONE, Incorporated. As W. Dorr Legg, he is one of the founders of O N E’ s Research Division, known as O N E Insti 78 tute. Walter Williams described Legg as “a very imperious personality who just never gave up.” Williams added that Legg “kept ON E Institute together for many years, going back from 1952 when it was founded, until actually his death when he was 89 years old.”^ As Marvin Cutler, Lambert published one o f the first significant histories o f the homophile movement. Homosexu als Today: A Handbook o f Organizations and Publications (1956). Later, as W. Dorr Legg, he edited Homophile Studies in Theory and Practice, which was published just prior to his death in 1994. Together, these books provide a useful introduction to the history of ONE Incorporated and ONE Institute. Though the later volume is biased toward the educational aspects of the organization and does not give much credit to the roles played by other leaders, particularly Dale Jennings, Jim Kepner, and Don Slater, it provides other rich details and preserves a significant part of the history of the homosexual/homophile movement, which now spans over fifty years. Despite the significant role he played in the organizations history, not much was ever really known about the personal life and history of Dorr Legg. He was born in Michigan on Decem ber 15, 1904, and died a few months before his ninetieth birthday. According to a July 1995 newsletter by Kepner, Legg had been orphaned at an early age and brought up by relatives. His religious affiliation in youth had been Christian Science. His first homosexual encounter hap pened in Florida when he was nineteen years old. In college, he studied piano as an undergradu ate and then proceeded to earn two masters degrees, in landscape design and urban planning, from the University of Michigan. After graduating in 1928, he moved to New York, where he worked for an architectural agency. According to Dynes, it was through Broadway plays, speakeasies, and drag balls in Harlem that Legg “began to explore the link between gay social life and the almost equally taboo world of black-white friendships” (Dynes 2002, 97). After leaving Manhattan, Legg moved to Florida and then Oregon before he settled in Los Angles in 1949 (Cain 2002, Dynes 2002). The first organization that Lambert participated in was Knights o f the Clocks (Dynes 2002, 98). A black man named Merton L. Bird had founded the Knights in 1949. Accord- 79 ing to Licata, the group had a dual purpose, to combat “both antihomosexuality and racism.” The Knights held formal business meetings and offered employment and housing services to mixed-race, homosexual partners (1978, 64). ONE, Incorporated soon followed, which Legg liked to claim had been created in his home at the corner of twenty-seventh and Dalton streets in Los Angeles, on October 15, 1952.® W ithin ONE, Legg was instrumental in the formation of O N E’ s Research Division, known as ONE Institute. In 1965, he was to found ISHR, the Institute for the Development of Human Relations, a non-profit organization designed to work in tandem with ONE. He later helped to organize the Log Cabin Republicans. All of these organizations except for Knights continue on in some form today. Primary Consultants Be forthright about how you happened to initiate the study and how you happened to work particularly closely with particular individuals. Be revealing in important details about how you entered the field, your first contracts, and the impressions you assume you made— or tried to make— on those in the setting, as well as the first impressions you gained of them. — Harry F. Wolcott (1999, 141) I have titled this dissertation Out O f Many... in effort to evoke the many individuals who have been actively involved in the homosexual rights movement. There were far more involved, of course, than will be named in these pages or perhaps in any particular history on the move ment. Hundreds of helpers, volunteers, students, and correspondents have worked for or come into contact with these Los Angeles-based organizations over the years. Because of the secrecy involved in the early years, dozens if not hundreds of its volunteers may remain anonymous or forgotten. Yet the key figures of the homosexual movement, namely Harry Hay, Dale Jennings, Jim Kepner, Don Slater, and Dorr Legg, could not have accomplished their historic feats with out the assistance of many diligent and dedicated assistants. A few of them will be elaborated on here. 80 Jim Schneider One of the most constant of the volunteer supporters of the Los Angeles-based homosexual rights movement was Jim Schneider, whose involved commitment to the movement now spans forty years. I begin this section with an introduction of Jim Schneider for a few reasons. First, Schneider is the current President of the HIC, having taken that role since Slater died in 1997. The second is because Schneider is the one who pulled me in to this wonderful, crazy mess. Soon after meeting me in 1999, he said, “W hy are you doing all of this work from the outside, when you should be doing it from the inside!” It was Schneider who consequently nominated me to the Board of Directors of ONE, Incorporated, and later of the HIC. W ithout a doubt, Jim Schneider is one of the most dedicated workers the homosexual rights movement has known. O f all the volunteers I met while helping to renovate the USC facility on West Adams between 1998 and 2002, he was among the most diligent and dedicated of the volunteers. I was amazed to find out that Schneider had been working for O N E and the homosexual movement for over thirty-five years. I felt a sense of awe and deep respect, knowing that he had worked side-by-side, for decades, with the great legends o f the pre-gay movement that I was just beginning to learn about. Jim Kepner, Harry Hay, John Burnside, D on Slater, “ Antonio Sanchez,” and Dorr Legg— he had known them all. James Vernon Schneider was born on a family farm in Nebraska on April 4, 1932, the second of seven children. His father was a farmer who supported his family comfortably even through the depression. But Schneider is still haunted by the memory of coming home from the fields one day in his thirteenth summer to spy his mother waving her apron over her head, run ning from the house as he was returning. There had been a terrible farm accident. A boom came down from the thrasher before it had been secured, pinning the elder Schneider to the ground. He was never able to walk again. Compounding the difficulties, Schneider had a one-year-old sister who was mentally retarded. Through determination and hard work, young Jim and his elder brother kept the family together until their father died in 1954. 81 Though Schneider grew up within a tightly knit Protestant farm family, he often felt alone and isolated from the world. After his father’ s death, he packed up his courage and moved to Oakland, California at a brother’ s invitation. He only stayed in the Bay Area for three months, however, as he had no tolerance for the perpetual fog. So he next moved to Fresno, and after a year there he settled in Huntington Park, a suburb southeast of Los Angeles, in Los Angeles County. Kepner described Schneider at this time as “a shy but determined young bachelor with a burning desire to ‘ get ahead in life’” (Kepner 1971, 1). Disliking his newfound solitude, he tried meeting women through a dating agency, but nothing “clicked” with any of them. He became increasingly aware of his attraction toward men— and this awareness did not sit well. One night, after a particularly enjoyable evening of dinner and conversation with a young woman from N orth Carolina, his date expressed her surprise that Schneider had not made a pass at her. “ Is something wrong? ” she asked, and the question resonated in his mind for a few days. Troubled, he called the Los Angeles Medical Association and for the first time in his life stated, “ I think I’ m a homosexual.” The respondent on the phone, uneducated on the topic, suggested that he call an urologist. So he did, and after a nervous wait in the magazine room found himself bravely telling the man in the white jacket that he was a homosexual. The doctor laughed. “ Who sent you here? ” he said. “W hat you need is a psychologist!” Schneider returned home and called the recommended clinic. Here he met a young psychologist named Dr. Timmer. The two met twice weekly for a period of months, and rap port gradually developed. Breakthrough came when Timmer introduced Schneider to The Price o f Salt, a novel by Patricia Highsmith as Claire Morgan. Schneider read the book about two women who fell in love with each other, and, tearful at the happy ending, he reconciled himself to his sexuality and set about to learn what it meant to be “gay.” Dr. Timmer told Schneider of ONE, Magazine and suggested that he find a copy, which is precisely what Schneider set out to do. 82 It was around Christmas in 1959 that Schneider got up the courage to call ONE, Incorpo rated, and Don Slater answered the phone. Schneider asked where he could find a copy of ONE Magazine and was directed to the Florence and Pacific Newsstand close Schneiders home in Huntington Park. He soon purchased his first O N E Magazine, the December issue of 1959. He was especially moved by the image portrayed on the cover: two young men outdoors at night, possibly at camp, on sitting beside a campfire, the other crouched and leaning toward the other, face and torso aglow, with a burro looking on in the background. The cover was attributed to the Swiss publication Der Kreis, the art by Rico, from Zurich. For the first time, Schneider read of the others at ONE. This issue of ONE, volume VII number 12, was appealing to Schneider for many reasons. The first article was an editorial by Slater that presented a discussion held among the staff at O N E on what a homosexual might ultimately desire if he or she were to be granted a Christmas wish. Slaters response was articulate and thoughtful, appealing to both the common or “same” aspects of homosexuals in society while simultaneously noting clear differences: The homosexual like everyone else is concerned with the tax rate, the policies of armies, the practices of churches.. .Like everyone else, the homosexual works and fights, plows the fields and harvests the grain— but as a homosexual. He plays and swims and skis and climbs mountains, dances and sings and drives cars as a homosexual. His homo sexuality can be seen to effect is whole life. And this he must understand if he is to be gay, sure-footed— a happy lover who is able to succeed in his individual aspirations and his sex experiences. (4) Slater continued: “In matters of sex we may be said to be reaching a new kind of adjustment socially, better fitted to the homosexual and to our age generally.” But with increased acceptance came increased responsibility: As individuals in pairs or in pairs we must be well informed about the whole range of possibilities if we are to make intelligent choices. We cannot continue to rely upon parents, the church, psychologists, or the police to determine what we want or should expect from life. Perhaps, he noted, the right to marriage might be one such consideration, for some ho mosexuals. But “faced with the many opportunities for experimenting as we are, we should be 83 working out a code of ethics which insists upon our rights to express our sexual development and generally share in the common enjoyment of life.” Basic rights should be asserted or fought for, such as “the right to expect protection of our property and protection for the individual and homosexual family unit where it exists. We should probably expect military service, freedom of dress, and freedom from any sort of controls that link us with criminals and the maladjusted.” In conclusion, the homosexual should “use his intelligence and insist upon recognition of his overt behavior as one of the expected forms of deviation from heterosexual monogamy. He should also insist upon personal happiness, sharing things of the world, a defined position, and respectability.” This editorial was followed by a discussion on the possibility of homosexual marriage by Jim Eagan, and next was a romantic short story called “The Exiles” that told of two Indians who had fallen in love and were caught in the act by Father Gomez o f the Mission of San Luis Rey. One boy was banished from the mission by the Padre, and the other decided voluntarily to go as well. The story ended with the two lovers, Esteban and Arturo, hand in hand and heading bravely together into wilderness— perhaps toward a distant campfire such as the one depicted on cover. The concluding article to Schneider s inaugural read of O NE Magazine was a column by Dr. Blanche M. Baker, a San Francisco psychologist with over twenty-five years of experience in marriage counseling and a long-time supporter of the organization. In her response to an inquiry as to the merits of “gay marriage” and an accusation that the topic had been “slighted” by ONEs editors. Baker reminded the writer of an August 1953 issue on the topic. She concluded that the ultimate reason that many homosexual relations were ephemeral was due to he “lack of self-confidence and appreciation of ones self as in individual.” Should a person with homosexual tendencies be accepted by his or her family and community, he or she would become “adjusted individuals who live quiet, creative lives in their own unique way and never find the path to the psychiatrists office.” This was exactly the kind of information he had been looking for! 84 There could hardly have been a better issue for Schneider to find. The articles were thoughtful and appealing; Elloree, Frederic, and the editorial team had produced an issue that was exceptionally tight. Schneider again contacted Slater, and a few weeks later he attended a discussion group at O N E ’ s Hill Street office, where he met Slater and also the business man ager, William Lambert. Though the magazine had moved him, Schneider was not particularly inspired by this first encounter with ONE, Incorporated. He had expected more people than the scant few he met that evening. The building itself was old, the office shabby and unkempt. Still, largely inspired by the thoughts and efforts of Slater and Kepner, he became active in the organization. In 1962 he helped O N E move to larger quarters on Venice Boulevard, west of downtown Los Angeles. About this time, he had placed a carefully phrased personal ad in the Los Angeles Times that resulted in his meeting a schoolteacher with whom he developed a loving, long-term relationship. Soon, both were dedicating their Friday nights to ONE, Inc., doing odd jobs and helping to distribute the magazine. Schneider became the leader of the Friday Night Work Committee, and in January of 1965 he was elected onto the Board of Directors. His term of service was to be short lived, however, due to situations that ultimately led to the split of the organization shortly after. The complicated history of this division is the heart of my research project and will be related in chapter five. It should be said here, though, that Schneider at tempted to prevent the split and proposed a compromise resolution. Instead, Legg’ s faction of O N E voted him out of the corporation, so he subsequently joined the Tangent Group and resumed working with Slater, “Sanchez,” Hansen, and Glover in Universal City. While all of this was happening at ONE, Schneider was facing significant trouble on his home front as well. The beautiful Spanish-styled home that he had purchased and moved into late in 1963 was threatened when the property it sat on was appropriated through eminent domain by H untington Park’ s school board, in August of 1964, in order to expand the parking at a nearby elementary school. Dismayed and without l^ a l representation, Schneider decided to 85 fight the school board, so he rejected their initial offer for the property. He studied the process and filed an in propia persona, asking “that the court recognize his home as a “monumental contribution to our cultural heritage, a distinct, rare, unique and noble work of art, design and construction, there fore worth $125,000, or in excess thereof” (Kepner 1971, 29). This was five times their original offer! The board responded by increasing their offer by a mere $1500.00. Schneider took the matter to court, but the fee was set: the school board had prevailed. Schneider still did not give up. He managed to purchase the structure from the city for the minimum price of $50. Original plans to move the house to Downy were scrapped and then a location at Bell Gardens also fell through. Finally, in August of 1967, the house was moved from Huntington Park to the City o f Commerce. A patio was added and the original decorator was called in to restore her wall paintings. In 1970, City of Commerce Mayor Quigley presented Schneider with a City of Commerce Beautification Award for “Demonstrated Pride of Owner ship.” The award was given at the City Council Meeting on March second, and a photo of Schneider receiving the award was printed in the city newspaper. Schneider’ s friend and fellow activist Jim Kepner documented the story in The House that Found a Home, published by Ranch SouthEast Press in 1971. Schneider has been dedicated to the homosexual cause continually ever since he first called O N E Inc. and spoke to Don Slater, that winter in 1959. W hen I first met him in the fall of 1998, I would occasionally meet him as he came to the office of ONE/IGLA near USC campus on West Adams, which John O ’Brien was attempting to renovate. In time, it was increasingly common for me to see him in work gloves and business suit, moving dusty boxes and tending to the two hundred and fifty-seven boxes and twelve steel filing cabinets full of history that had been left to his care. He was a generous, honest, and methodical man, seeming simple in his forthright manner yet also a cunning strategist and effective leader, when provided the opportunity. In my experience, his hunches are always on the mark, making his actions preemp tive where appropriate, always with a solid backup plan. This should not come as a surprise; a 86 successful entrepreneur and model citizen for over fifty years, there is not much in the way of corporate or common-interest politics Schneider hasn’ t experienced or seen. In October of 1988, Schneider expressed his frustration during a board meeting at O N E’ s West Hollywood office that O ’Brien was not moving fast enough on the project and had per haps muddied the waters with USC. The other directors agreed, and O ’Brien was asked to resign as President of ONE/IGLA, which he did. Schneider became the head of the Building Commit tee, and through his hard work and dedication to the project, plus his bringing to the project the talented carpenter Gus Sanchez, O NE Institute & Archives held its first public event, Jennings’ memorial, on June 25, 2000. O N E ’ s official grand opening followed in May of 2001. All of o n e ’ s Board members pulled together to host a gala ceremony with hundreds in attendance, the likes of which the homosexual public of Los Angeles had not seen since the memorial service for Kepner in 1998 and would not see again until the passing of Morris Kight two years later. As Schneider’ s obligations to O N E had increased, so did his burden to care for his associ ate Jennings, who had been diagnosed with Vascular Dementia, a forerunner to Alzheimer’ s. Jennings required around-the-clock supervision by a trained nursing staff, so Schneider arranged for Jennings to be placed at Del Rio Convalescent Center and Sanitarium, two blocks from Schneider’ s home. He added forty boxes of Jennings’ personal archives and seven filing cabinets to the H IC collection still stored in his company’ s warehouse. Schneider was with Jennings at the hospital when he died on May 11, 2000. Schneider and Williams drafted a press release, and Jennings’ passing was noted by the nation’ s newspapers, including a feature article in the New York Times. Schneider, this writer, and fellow ONE board member Stuart Timmons organized a memorial service for Jennings, that public event of June 25, 2000. Schneider emceed the cer emony, a bittersweet occasion with about sixty people present. Eric Slade had provided a video interview of Jennings, a clip from his upcoming movie, Hope Along the Wind: The Life o f Harry Hay (2001). In presenting the clip, Schneider announced proudly that a portion of the Jennings interview had been filmed in his living room. 87 In the fall of 2000, the H IC collection was at last moved into the facility. While Williams focused on raising more money to complete the renovations, Schneider oversaw the actual construction. After much intensive labor, the work neared completion, and O N E Institute’ s volunteers began to unpack the collection. Immediately, however, the H IC materials spawned new controversy as some o f O N E ’ s librarians sought to merge the books and magazines into the general collection without ever having produced a written agreement nor having provided the basic elements of the promises made by O ’Brien. In order to protect its assets, the directors of the H IC, namely Jim Schneider and Billy Glover,^ decided to move its collection out of ONE Institute and into the Vern and Bonnie Bullough Collection on human sexuality, at California State University, Northridge, where the Library’ s staff had agreed to help inventory, receive, and properly archive the materials while working with the H IC so that it could survive as a viable non-profit corporation, maintaining control over most of its assets. Billy Glover I first became acquainted with Billy Glover over the Internet in 1999, soon after Ernie Potvin died and I began to answer O N E Institute’ s e-mail. To me, he was some strange man from Louisiana who sent out anywhere from six to twelve e-mails a day to various gay organiza tions and friends, and he forwarded every single one on to me, which I dutifully archived. By the end of the year, there were hundreds of messages, and I had made dozens of connections through Glover with people like Susan Howe, Jeanne Barney, and “ Antonio Sanchez.” This man was connected— and very much a team player. His primary concern after Slater’ s death was that none who had participated in the movement should be forgotten. Glover has been as dedicated as a soldier to O NE Magazine, the movement, and to Slater for nearly as long as Schneider. From his remote location in Bossier City, Louisiana, Glover still visits his local public library every day to send and receive e-mails and to check on the progress of the movement. “Things sure have changed,” he once mused, with a cautiously optimistic grin. 88 Glover was born September 16, 1932, in Shreveport, Louisiana. He grew up in Bossier City and attended Bossier schools, the high school being four blocks from his home on Monroe Street. He played flute in the band, which traveled over the summers to Lion Club meetings. Glover graduated in 1950 and went to Louisiana State University in Baton Rouge, where he “had more fun than learning.” He graduated in 1955 and was immediately drafted into the Army, training at Camp Chafee, Arkansas. He transferred to Fort Riley, one o f the first soldiers to join the first division attending to soldiers returning from Germany. He later went to Fort Benjamin Harrison for further training in finance, with the understanding that he would be stationed in Europe for his time remaining. W hen that didn’ t happen, he got upset and started “acting up. ” He was caught in a suspicious encounter with another man. Though no sex was involved in this particular instance, Glover was discharged over the incident in 1956. Glover, like Kepner, remembers having had homosexual feelings and tendencies all his life. He recalls once being caught fooling around with other boys under a wooden bridge near his house when he was four years old. By the time he was seven, he was participating in sexual games and “circle jerks” with other neighborhood boys.^° He had sexual relation with several other boys in high school, and later at Louisiana State University and then within the army. But his sexual life came into full swing after he was discharged and moved to Los Angeles, where he would drive his old Pontiac to Long Beach, Oceanside, or San Clemente in search o f a wander ing sailor. Glover had seen O N E Magazine on various newsstands, so upon arriving in Los Angles he decided to contact the publishers at ON E Inc., first meeting Jim Kepner at the original office on Hill Street in Los Angeles. He decided to attend the 1959 convention of Mattachine in Denver. Inspired by the event, he sojourned to San Francisco, where he stayed with Hal Call, editor of Mattachine Review, for a week. He worked for a while at Pan Graphic press and contributed a review for the hook Advise and Consent in the February 1961 issue. 89 He soon returned to Los Angeles and started volunteering at ONE. He became one of the first paid office employees shortly after Jim Kepner left in the fall of 1960. His first assign ment— self-appointed— was the inglorious task of painting the library floor with the only color at hand: bright red. But nobody seemed to mind (1997, 27). Glover worked in all areas, very much the office gofer. One of his favorite jobs was delivering O NE Magazine to the local news stands, a task that often fell to him because Slater and Legg were often without a functioning automobile. He was also a part of the committee that slipped the magazines into brown paper wrappers, and it was often Glover who ported the bundled magazines to the post office. W hen the differences between Slater and Legg came to a head in the spring of 1965, Glover s loyalties remained with the magazine, so he joined with Don Slater, “ Antonio Sanchez,” Joseph and Jane Hansen, and Jim Schneider to incorporate the Homosexual Information Center in 1968. The organization was recognized as a federally tax-exempt, 501(c)(3) organization in 1971. Prior to Slaters death in 1997, Glover had decided to return to his home in Louisiana and he continues to serve the H IC from there. Until recently, he lived in his boyhood home, close to his old school and surrounded by old friends and neighbors. It has been a privilege to be able to hear Glover tell of his many fond memories of all of these places and people and to be the archivist for his Internet correspondence. He is proud to have participated at meetings at all of the locations o f O N E and H IC, some of which he moder ated as business manager. He recalls the excitement of picketing of the Los Angeles Times and Fort MacArthur, and he was a key organizer for the Motorcade in 1966 over homosexuals and the military, appearing afterward on television shows such as Regis Philbin and Louis Lomax. He is very proud for having worked shoulder-to-shoulder with all of the great Los Angeles advocates, especially Joe and Jane Hansen, Bob Waltrip, Vern Bullough, Harry Hay and John Burnside. He continues to support H IC today, working with Jim Schneider, Jeanne Barney, and, until recently, Joseph Hansen and Charles Lucas, to keep Slaters Homosexual Information Center going. 90 Young Billy Glover had no idea what work he would do as he graduated from high school, college, and the military, but in retrospect, he feels as though he had been destined to become an advocate for homosexual rights. He considers himself lucky to have found a place to serve and such good people to serve with, and he hopes that young people of this new century will be so fortunate. Joseph Hansen Joseph Hansen was born on July 19, 1923. He spent the first ten years of his life in his hometown of Aberdeen, in the remote northeast corner of South Dakota. The family moved to Minneapolis in 1933, and then three years later they moved to Southern California and settled in Pasadena. He died on November 22, 2004, alone in his home in Laguna Beach. Hansen began writing when he was nine years old, in Aberdeen. In Pasadena, at the John Marshall Junior High School, he started to write and edit for the school paper. In 1939, he went to the Pasadena Junior College, where he was a reporter for the school newspaper and often performed in plays and radio shows. After school, he worked for the public library (Hansen 1995, 237). He began to purchase and read books by classic authors such as Shakespeare, Poe, W hitman, Thoreau, and Emerson. Finding W hitmans Leaves o f Grass was quite a shock, as it celebrated feelings that Hansen, who had been an active Christian throughout his youth, had thought were sinful. “W hitm ans manly ease with his sexuality eased my worries, and Emerson’ s ‘Self Reliance’ urged me to be myself, no matter what the world might think” (ibid, 237— 238). At this time, he befriended Robert Ben Ali, whose play Manya, written when Ali was seventeen years old, had achieved national notoriety and launched the career of a boy actor Bill Beedle, soon to become William Holden. Ali introduced Hansen to even more great literature, such as the works of Homer, Joyce, Cocteau, Rimbaud and Baudelaire. Hansen described Ali at this time as “more than lover, ” being also “ mentor, counselor, comforter, [and] a spellbinding talker. ” Reflecting on Ben Ali, Hansen recalled that he had always been lucky with his friends. “They have been my university— the only one I was to have or to want” (ibid, 238). 91 Hansen began working for the Pickwick Bookshop on Hollywood Boulevard in February of 1943. As the bus ride from Pasadena to Pickwicks took over an hour, he moved out from his parents’ house and found a room on Yucca Street, close to the bookstore. He continued to see Ben Ali, as he had for the past three years, but this was to change when Jane Bancroft came into the shop one Saturday morning. Bancroft was from Texas, though her family line could be traced to John W inthrop, first governor of the Massachusetts Bay Colony. She had grown up around horses, and “her arrested vocabulary suggested the stables of Fort Bliss, the Army cavalry post at El Paso.. .and the stockyards, where she’ d worked cattle from horseback. ” Her vulgar manner and style belied her lively, well-read, and sophisticated mind. She was an adroit reader with an amazing memory, fascinated by history, politics, religion, and philosophy. Hansen was surprised to find himself attracted to her body as much as her mind: “Slender, narrow-hipped, tall for a girl, she wore bell-bottom jeans and cut her hair short like a boy’ s. I found her a treat to look at” (ibid, 239— 240). The two were married at the Los Angeles courthouse on August 4, 1943. Their daughter Barbara was born a year later, July of 1944. Though Joe and Jane had married, they each considered themselves to be primarily homosexual, and they both pursued relationships with others of the same sex. In the late 1940s, inspired by folk singers such as Burl Ives, Richard Dyer-Bennett, and Susan Reed, Hansen bought an Autoharp and began singing songs of his own. From late 1951 through 1953, he was featured on a weekly radio show called The Stranger from the Sea. The show did fairly well, and a record company called Tempo produced a couple of albums that sold well in the Los Angeles area but garnered little attention elsewhere. During this time, he, Jane, and Barbara were living in a house in the Hollywood Hills that had been given to them by Jane’ s mother. Though living in the heart of the city, they again had the feel of the country, for there was plenty of wilderness surrounding them in the canyons, and a neighbor with a horse let Jane ride when she wanted (Hansen 1995). 92 The only writing Hansen did during the first years of the 1950s was of song lyrics and broadcast copy, but he never lost interest in the craft: and felt that writing was his preferred vocation. 1955, he and Jane helped a friend to write two episodes of Lassie, “The Greyhound” and “The Hungry Deer.” The next year, John Ciardi published a poem by Hansen about youth in South Dakota, which appeared in Saturday Review. Two more poems with similar themes soon appeared in the New Yorker. These proved to be a couple of false starts, however, and there seemed to be no career about to emerge. So he turned to selling encyclopedias for a while, door- to-door, until he found work as a clerk in the shipping department for Technicolor. In 1961, Hansen’ s lover Wayne Placek took him to O N E ’ s Hill Street office to meet Don Slater, to see if Slater would be interested in publishing a story that Hansen had written in ONE Magazine. Slater liked the story and agreed to print a shorter version at a later date. Up to then, Hansen had only published poetry, and his debut in O NE Magazine was three poems printed in the March 1962 issue. In the June issue, Hansen’ s shortened story was published: The Chosen, by “James Colton,” a pseudonym used under Slater’ s insistence. Hansen’ s stories soon became a mainstay of the magazine. Slater required that Hansen continue to use the Colton pseudonym for his own protection, though many years later, Hansen would still wish that he could have used his real name. In any case, he was forever grateful to Slater for having started him “on a career that would result in thirty novels and who know how many short stories, almost all of them accounts of what it is like to be homosexual in our world and time” (Hansen 1998, 42-45). Slater invited Hansen to join ONEs editorial board in 1962. Hansen agreed to the job, but insisted that the magazine should cease speaking to the choir as it were and start addressing the community at large: “Only through enlisting the understanding o f people of good will in the heterosexual segment o f society that we [have] a chance to gain equal rights in that society.”^ He felt that this would provide for the fresh, new approach that the magazine, and the organization, so desperately needed. 93 Hansen became a cofounder of the Homosexual Information Center, soon after Slater moved O N E ’ s office to Cahuenga Pass in April 1965. His stories, reports, reviews, and com mentaries were to grace the pages of Tangents until it ceased publication in 1970. After that, Joe and his wife Jane continued to function on the board of directors of the H IC until they resigned their positions in June 1977. Hansen returned to H IC ’ s board after Slater died in 1997, and he continued to support the organization until his own death in November, 2004. “Antonio Sanchez” “ Antonio Sanchez” was born in Taylor, Texas, on December 10, 1934. He spent most of his youth in Dallas, where much of his family still resides. Music and dancing came naturally to Sanchez in his youth, but the art was forbidden to him by his mother, who had warned him that “Only sissies played music” (Hansen 1998, 14). Young Sanchez still fantasized about becoming a performer, and he used to love to twirl and dance through the house— provided there was no one there to see him. His natural talent for music eventually prevailed, and Sanchez taught himself how to play the piano. He learned to play the banjo and accordion, as well. As mentioned, Sanchez met Slater when he was just sixteen years old. H e shared with he newfound love his dream o f becoming a dancer, and Slater thought it a great idea. So one day, Sanchez skipped class to head to a dance studio in Hollywood, where a dance instructor took a fancy to him and introduced him to the famous Spanish dancer Jose Cansino, who had ap peared in Too Many Blondes (1941) and The Loves o f Carmen (1948). Cansino had grown up in a family famous for Spanish dance, and his sister, Margarita Cansino, had recently left dancing to become an actress, going by the name o f Rita Hayworth. Cansino told Sanchez that he also would be able to make it into the spotlight one day. Sanchez was soon a member of Jose Casino’ s dance company, performing on weekends for parties and fiestas. He appeared at Disneyland, Knott’ s Berry Farm, and Magic Mountain. The dance company settled in to the El Paseo Nightclub on rustic Olvera Street, and Sanchez became a regular in the Cansino show. In 1950, he was given his own act. He was treated like a prince. 94 “I was in the spotlight,” he said. “I used to look nice.”^ ^ He taught ballroom dance for Arthur Murray and Veloz and Yolanda as well as being an expert in samba and tango. Sanchez certainly had made it into the spotlight— and several local celebrities took notice. In time, he associated with Chuck Connors, Dorothy Malone, and Arlene Dahl. Through working as an extra, he also associated with Debbie Reynolds and Nancy Sinatra. Several of the actresses and other “lonely women of a certain age” that he had associated with in the 1950s had bought him fancy things. More than once, he had arrived home driving a brand new car he had just selected from right off the showroom floor, a gift from a celebrity “friend.” But later, Sanchez watched as several his celebrity friends in Los Angeles went from opulence to the skids. Some who had been generous to him in his early days on Olvera Street began to write him let ters, asking for the return of the diamonds or emeralds they had given him in better days. One by one, many o f those great Hollywood stars that Sanchez had associated with fell from their heights as Jennings had, landing in poverty, obscurity, and old age. Those who had lived high in the 1950s and ’60s saw their lives unravel in the 1980s. Some died of AIDS-related illnesses. It made sense for Sanchez to return to Colorado. He and Slater had fallen in love with their life there, where living was serene, the views spectacular, and the troubles of city life seemed far behind. Today, Sanchez resides in the mountain home that he and Slater purchased thirty-five years ago. He still dances or exercises every day. “I am active for life,” he says proudly. Sanchez owns the house now, and there is a trailer on site to, for his mother or anyone else who visits. He gets around the Four Corners area in a large Ford pickup, and he travels as a Latin Bilingual Enter tainer specializing in Country Western music. He can perform Clogg, Spanish, and Flamenco dances, and his repertoire includes dozens of songs, folk and popular, in four different languages. Sanchez’ s talents extend into the visual arts as well. He contributed artwork to O NE for years, assisting Joan Corbin as needed. He designed several covers for O NE and later Tangents magazines. It was his partially his talents as artist and musician that had charmed D on Slater. 95 W hen Slater returned to his study at USC in 1952, he took a course on ceramics that was taught by Glen Luken, Luken allowed Sanchez to audit the course with Slater, and together the two young lovers studied art and music and literature. They were auspicious times, with a cultural renaissance happening on the other side of the hill in Hollywood, where the eyes of the world had rested. Anything seemed possible in this magical place. Perhaps here the love of two men could endure. Perhaps they could even serve as a model for others— two male lovers if mixed ethnicity living openly as such in a world yet hostile to homosexuality. Knowing full-well they were in an oasis, of sorts, of limited tolerance and possibility, they were inspired by the organiz ing of Mattachine. W hen Jennings was acquitted later that year, and he started to talk about starting a magazine about homosexuals, they were both drawn to the cause. The course with Luken had showed them how well they could work together. Jennings’ s little magazine could be just the thing to keep their interests in common, and their love for each other growing.^'* Sanchez today is somewhat lonely as widower, but he does manage to keep himself active and happy. He currently studies acrylics and oil painting with an artist from Santa Fe and has recently donated one of his creations to a fund raiser for a new library in Durango. He has been single for nearly nine years now. He wishes that he could find a male companion to share the rest of his life with, but he realizes that is unlikely, living as he does in a remote country home. He has no Internet access, but he frequently travels the four corners region in his pickup, a traveling bard with hundreds o f songs to sing and some amazing stories to tell. Unfortunately, he cannot tell some of those he would like. Remembering how Slater was attacked outside the Hollywood office, Sanchez began to fear for his own safety as an elderly gay man. After his move to Colorado and as he began to be more comfortable in his solitude, stories started to circulate regarding homosexual murders, most notoriously that of Matthew Shepard, who was blud geoned to death on October 7, 1998. Sanchez is the only consultant to request that I protect his identity by using a pseudonym. He has become all too aware of his own vulnerability, and the thoughts of renewed publicity 96 scare him. Though he has answered my questions patiently and engaged my attention through many stories of the people that he knew and worked with, he confided in me recently that he had been so scared after my first contact with him, and my telling him about my research and the web site, that he had motion sensor lights installed on his house. That was certainly not the response I had expected! I immediately removed a photo I had of him in his twenties and altered the web site to reflect his new identity. Many of his HIC colleagues have been annoyed and even angered by this request, calling it the act of a coward. I should note that I had been reluctant to contact Sanchez for a very long time. W hen I obtained his phone number and address from Clover two years ago, I immediately phoned him to introduce myself and to tell him that the H IC was still caring for his archives and that it was likely the most valuable materials could join with the Vern and Bonnie Bullough Collection on human sexuality at California State University, Northridge. He was pleased that the H IC was still functioning and that it had developed such a prestigious association. I did not keep him long on the phone, for Clover had made it expressly clear that he did not want to be bothered and wanted little remembrance of his past. It was only recently that I felt that his input was critical to the project— after all, he is the last survivor of the first generation o f this history. So putting Clovers warnings aside, I phoned him in December 2003. I found that he was receptive and engaging— and very alone. Immediately he sent me a very special (belated) birthday card, and then another for Christmas. We struck up a correspondence and have spoken on the phone at least once a week this year. This brief sketch of Sanchez completes the biographical section of this dissertation. The following chapters attempt to reconstruct a chronological narrative o f the events leading up to the creation of O NE Magazine and the subsequent history of O N E Incorporated and its spin-off organizations, namely the Institute for Human Resources [ISHR] and the Homosexual Informa tion Center [HIC]. The cursory familiarity of the key personnel provided by this and the prior 97 chapter should prepare the reader for what is to come, so that the actions and motivations of these people will be more readily comprehensible. At this point, however, certain patterns have materialized that may help to further explain the history of the movement. First, all of these individuals with the exception of Slater and Hay had come from the Midwest or heartland states, including South Dakota, Michigan, Nebraska, Colorado, Louisiana, and Texas. All had been heavily affected by their experiences in the Second World War, during which they learned fist hand that homosexuality was far more common than they had at first believed and they wanted to share this awareness with others. While none of these men were affluent, all were somehow able to support themselves as they volunteered for the cause. Knowing full well that better money could be made elsewhere, many of these men nevertheless continued to dedicate their time and their resources to the cause. It was largely through their sacrifices that the movement was able to survive in its formative years. (Footnotes) ^ Classic examples of the person-centered or “bioethnographic” studies include Marjorie Shostak’ s Nisa (1982) and Freeman’ s Untouchable (1979). Radin’ s Crashing Thunder (1926), Neihard’ s Black Elk Speaks (1932), and Theodora Kroeber’ s publications on Ishi (i.e. 1961) stand in my mind as models of the craft, but of all of the Native American-themed ethnobiographies, perhaps the one most inspirational to my endeavor has been Mari Sandoz’ s epic Crazy Horse: Strange Man o f the Oglalas (1961), in how she used an ethnographic methodology o f combined historical research, formal and informal interviews, and long-term participant observation to reconstruct the personal history of one recently deceased. ^ Following Florian Znaniecki ^ Comments made in a Symposium on Outing, at the H IC offices in the spring of 1990. The exact date was not recorded and has yet to be ascertained. Mbid ^ Reported as August in Marcus 1992, 43 ^ Kepner describes his coming out experience in an article titled “Toujours Cai,” published in the first issue of Pursuit dr Symposium (1966). 98 ^ Interview, October 12, 1999. ® i.e., Lambert interrogatory ^ Hansen was not aware of the situation until afterward, but he supported the move and has been supportive of the association with CSUN. Personal communication, e-mail dated July 8, 2003 Letter to D on Slater, June 21, 1977 The pseudonym was selected by the consultant himself. Personal communication, Feb. 22, 2004 The notes from Luken’ s class are on file in the H IC archives 99 Chapter Four Dale Jennings and the Launch o f ONE Magazine (1949- 1954) The stage was set. The time had come in America for the appearance of organizations avowedly dedicated to the problems of the homosexual, and to the welfare of the homosexual. W hy this idea, still apparently shocking novelty to many, should have first have found permanent expression in Los Angeles is something social historians may one day explain. Perhaps the brutalities of some police officials and the periodic “clean up drives” fostered by an administration said to be much indebted to certain church groups had something to do with goading action. Perhaps the teeming intellectual ferment characterizing the city played its part. Perhaps a realization o f the injustices suffered by minority groups in a city o f so many minority groups.. .was unusually vivid. At any rate, in Los Angeles, so far as is known, the first large-scale movement still in existence by or for homosexuals was started in 1950. — W Dorr Legg^ The story of the founding, ascension, and dissolution of ONE, Incorporated has been published several times, most famously by historians such as John D ’Emilio (1983), Eric Marcus (1992), and Jonathan Ned Katz (1992, 2001). While these histories have been properly lauded and deserve their places as bedrocks for the study o f the origins of the contemporary gay move ment, they do suffer from two significant disadvantages. The first is a lack of proximity. None of these scholars was able to spend substantial time with the original corporate records of the early Mattachine or ONE. Second, these scholars had interviewed only one or two of the key people involved, so they obtained only a cursory understanding of the underlying complexities and nuances— the philosophical and emotional convection— rumbling beneath the fissures and 100 fusions that repeatedly manifest in the California-based organizations the first thirty years of the movement. The biases of the subjects have often become the biases of the scholar, and slanted or fragmentary information, and even falsehoods, are still being perpetuated, often unwittingly.^ The ethnographic approach is highly effective in teasing out these truths, not necessarily to prove one false and the other correct so much as to explicate the differing “realities” as expressed in narrative and historical documents and explain or reconcile them. The rest o f this dissertation provides a narrative history o f the Los Angeles-based move ment for homosexual rights as constructed through an ethnographic process. This history was compiled by referencing historical source materials and through interviews and discussion with my consultants, thus tapping in to both historic and oral traditions. Primary resources consist of letters, minutes of business meetings, piecing together the history as researched and excavated, so to speak, through extensive library and archival research. The minutes of business meetings, especially annual meetings where the most crucial decisions were made, have helped to provide the chronological backbone to the story. All minutes, corporate records, and letters cited are from the H IC archives, which include the personal archives of Don Slater and Dale Jennings, documents pertaining to the history o f ONE, Incorporated (most of which are copies of origi nals), and original documents recording the history of the HIC. The result should be a more comprehensive and accurate portrayal of this movement than has heretofore been possible. As an ethnohistory, this dissertation is replete with details. Many that seem trivial or tangential to the central “plot” have been included for historic purposes. I feel that it is impor tant that as many participants as possible be named, identified, and recognized. The dissertation title. Out o f M any. .. is a reflection of that intention: to record as accurately as possible the roles played by those typically not named or else forgotten by most of the popular histories of the homosexual or gay rights movement. Pseudonyms will be set of in quotation marks, thus Edyth Eyde becomes “Lisa Ben.” There are no composite personas in this history, and only one of my consultants will be identified through pseudonym, per his request. W ith rare exception, I will 101 prefer to identify most protagonists using the names by which they most commonly addressed each other in face-to-face interactions. Where possible, surviving participants in the history of O N E and H IC have helped to verify and validate the historic details. Friends of Slater and long-time H IC supporters such as Jeanne Barney, Susan Howe, and Paul Harris have also helped to fill in details and helped me to better understand the shifting purposes of the organization (s) and the complex motives behind the man. Several of these people have been introduced in chapter three, but a more detailed accounting of their role in the history of O NE and H IC will be related in this later section of the dissertation, chapters four through nine. I arrived too late on the scene to have met Jennings, Kepner, Legg, or Slater face-to-face. Rather than consultants, then, I have come to consider these as the primary “protagonists” in my history. They are the spirits I hope to channel through the narratives and correspondences of those who knew and worked closely with them. In focusing my study on the perspectives, behavior, and achievements of these four men, the important roles of these and other pioneers in the struggle for homosexual rights will be better understood, and their choices and sacrifices better appreciated, by future scholars and historians of the movement for homosexual liberty. The Founding of Mattachine It would not be too much of a stretch to see the Mattachine s Harry Hay as a visionary, perhaps even a prophet. — Bert Archer^ The Harry Hay o f the ’50s had all the humor of Moses striding down the mountain with that dratted Decalogue. — Dale Jennings'^ Almost universally, gay scholars mark the beginning o f the organized gay movement in America with the founding of the Mattachine Foundation, which was established by Harry Hay and four others in the Echo Park district of Los Angeles in the fall of 1950. Hay’ s account of the influences and inspirations behind this now-famous prospectus calling for homosexual rights has 102 been recorded in Radically Gay: Gay Liberation in the Words o f its Founder, edited by Will Roscoe (1996). Roscoe became an intimate friend of Hays, and he has traced these influences to several sources, some organizational and some cultural. While this dissertation will elaborate on the structural or organizational aspects of Mattachine and a few of its subsequent manifestations, the cultural or more literary influences are also important to remember, for it is from these that Hay grounded his conception of Gays as a repressed cultural minority. The first cultural model was the Native American tradition of the Two-Spirit, formerly called “berdache.” Hay had first encountered the Two-Spirit in the early 1930s, through read ing a Modern Library compilation called The Making o f Man, edited by V. F. Calverton, which included articles by Edward Carpenter and Edward Westermarck (Roscoe 1996b, 47). Later, by the mid-1940s, he discovered the works of Marxist anthropologist Gordon Childe and the Boasian cultural anthropologists, especially Margaret Mead and Ruth Benedict (ibid, 39). Hay was particularly inspired through reading about the berdache in Ruth Benedicts’ Patterns o f Culture. Through this source. Hay envisioned the berdache as having “a reputation not only for excellence in crafts and domestic work, but in many tribes they were religious specialists as well ” (ibid, 47). Following Morgan, Marx, and Engels, Hay believed in primitive or primal matriarchy, a theory that he advocated as early as 1953 (Hay 1996). He embraced the idea that matriarchal societies had existed in Europe in the not-too-distant past and that these “folk” societies had their own form of ritualized berdache, which had often manifested as the jester or ritual fool. Hay referred to this hypothetical personage as the “Folk Berdache” (ibid, 110), and he lamented that the homosexual’ s role in society has diminished considerably since “the whole Matriarchal cultural structure— known as the folk—was transformed and, thus, disappeared as a social force in history” (ibid, 113). Hay thus envisioned the Mattachine to be what an anthropologist would call a revitaliza tion movement, a calling to arms to a people who had been silenced and divided for millennia. 103 He thought that through teaching the history of such people, the homosexual minority could use the archetype to hearken back to a time and place where the Two-Spirit “was an accepted institution” and “having no household and children to care for, could devote most of their time— aside from filling their ow n...bellies— with the social, economic, and educational need of their communities generally” (ibid, 114). Hay also grounded his cultural model on the Kinsey report, which provided scientific proof that, as Hay interpreted it, approximately 10% o f the world’ s population regularly engaged in homosexual acts. A percentage of those were considered to be exclusively homosexual and should be allowed the right to that existence. “Rather than a few isolated misfits lurking about the red-light districts of the largest cities, there were, in fact, millions of homosexuals— everywhere” (Roscoe, in Hay 1996, 60). The trick now was in organizing them and focusing their latent resources and energies on improving their place in society. A 1949 version of Hay’ s prospectus “described how we would set up the guilds, how we would keep them underground and separat ed so that no one group could ever know who all the other members were and their anonymity would be secured ” (Katz 1992, 411). After years o f planning and forethought. Hay’ s project finally got underway when he met Rudy Gernreich, who for years was only identified by historians as “X” (Licata 1978, 108; Katz 1992, 409). The two had met Saturday morning, July 8, at a rehearsal at the Lester Horton Dance Theater, and according to Hay they were in love from the start (Hay 1996, 314). Gernreich was a holocaust survivor, a refugee from the Auschwitz concentration camp. Clearly, as Hay described it to Katz, “he and his family had come through some horrible experiences ” (Katz 1992, 409). Gernreich was a talented and controversial fashion designer, most famously known for having designed the topless swimsuit for women in 1964 and is also credited with the thong, circa 1979. His styles were as avant-garde as his ideas, and he is known in science-fiction circles for having designed the costumes for Space, 1999. At the time of his meeting with Hay, he tended to be socially aloof: “He wasn’ t a practicing member of anything” (ibid). Gernreich 104 was thrilled with Hays idea of a homosexual organization, though, and he prompted Hay to revive it yet again. Together, Gernreich and Hay visited homosexual beaches circulating a petition for the Stockholm Peace Petition in protest of the Korean War. Between August and October 1950, they secured 500 signatures on the petition. At the same time, they asked if they had heard of the Kinsey report, and if so would they mind attending discussion groups focused on Kinseys data? As Hay told Katz: “We also used this petition activity as a way of talking about our prospectus.. .some of the guys gave us their names and addresses— in case we ever got a Gay organization going. They were some of the people we eventually contacted for our discussion groups” (1992, 411). In November, prompted by Gernreich, Hay gave a copy of his prospectus, “Preliminary Concepts” calling for the unification of the “androgynes o f the world” to Bob Hull, a student in his music class at the Labor School whom Hay suspected might be a homosexuaP (Hay 1996, 315; Katz 1992, 411). Hays hunch was right, and Hull was excited about the document. He called to ask Hay if he could bring two friends over to discuss the matter. These were Hulls roommate and ex-lover. Chuck Rowland, and his current boyfriend. Dale Jennings. O n November 11, 1950, the five met to discuss the matter at Hays residence, at 2328 Cove Avenue, in the Silver Lake district of Los Angeles (Hay 1996: 63— 75, 358; The Center for Preservation Education and Planning, 2000). As Hay remembers it, “Bob Hull, Chuck Rowland, and Dale Jennings come flying into my yard waving the prospectus, saying, “We could have written this ourselves— when do we begin?” (Katz 1992, 411). Rowland, who had resigned from the Communist party two years prior but still agreed with many of its precepts, did not recall greeting Hay so enthusiastically— he had been a total stranger at the time— but he readily admits having recalled his first impression upon reading the document: “I could have written this myself” was precisely his initial response. 105 Rowland whole-heartedly agreed that homosexuals represented a repressed cultural minor ity. He wrote in an October 1990 letter to Jennings that he had once announced to the group that he would be willing to devote his life to the organization provided there was some unifying “sound theory or philosophy” from which they could proceed. Hay had replied instantly: “We are an oppressed cultural minority.” The comment had a profound impact on Rowland, who would continue to advocate on behalf of that minority for years. “To me, the gay culture idea was the cornerstone of the Mattachine,” he wrote in his letter to Jennings. “You say we wanted to change the laws, and that was and is a worthy objective. But changing laws is almost meaning less unless one changes the hearts of men, both homosexual and heterosexual, and the heart change is, to me, what the Mattachine was all about.” Kepner was to later refer to Rowland as “the founders’ best organizer ” (1994, 11). Through the end of 1950 and into 1951, the five men met weekly to plan their organiza tion. Between meetings, they approached others, hoping to expand their circle. But no one showed any interest until April of 1951, when two strangers showed up for a meeting.^ These two were Konrad Stevens, commonly known as Steve, and James (Jim) Gruber. Steve and Jim were lovers who were often in full agreement with each other, causing Jennings to christen them collectively as “Stim.”^ The nickname stuck, and with the addition o f this pair, the five found ers became a magic seven, and things began to happen. These seven became the “fifth order ” or chief administrators of the growing association. They had tentatively called themselves The Society o f Fools (Timmons 1990, 150), but now a better name seemed desirable. According to Rowland, it was Stevens who had first hit upon the name. They had collectively been tossing around monikers “derived from the itinerant entertainers of the Middle Ages: Robin Goodfel- lows. Le matchin, Los Matachines.” Stevens stated that he liked “matachine ” the best, and Rowland suggested that they Americanize the word to Mattachine. As Rowland later recalled, “Everyone instantly agreed,” and the group had its name.^ 106 In Jennings’ s recollection, the event had been far from somber. The following was written just after the publication of Timmons’ book, in the H IC Newsletter #42.^ 1 include it not to negate the strong emotions felt and later related by the others but to illustrate how widely differ ent the perceptions and purposes of the seven founders of Mattachine had been: When he [Hay] pressed the historical analogy between us and the medieval fools and jesters, we were torn between indignation and laughter. 1 suspect it was our loudly vocal scorn that made Harry stick to his guns and finally wear us down to occasion. We voted to accept because the meetings were always too long and we wanted to go home and get in a litde loving. But the vote was provisional and neither unanimous nor enthusiastic. In any case, the group discussions remained fairly unified around Hay’ s three central questions: W ho are we? W hat are we for? Where are we going? On July 20, 1951, Mattachine formally adopted its Mission and Purposes (Katz 1992, 412). The primary purpose was to unify homo sexuals who had been “isolated from their own kind. ” The second was to educate both homo sexuals and the general heterosexual populace. The third purpose was to “provide leadership to the whole mass of social deviates” (ibid). W ith a name and a clear purpose, the Mattachine fellowship set out to make a positive difference in the lives of homosexual people in Los Angeles and in America at large. The Arrest o f Dale Jennings Dale’ s life revolved around the court case.. .It was a huge focus of his life, defined him and his path for the remainder of his days. He could never escape it, could never forget it when it became a burden. He did not easily carry that enormous weight of the icon that had landed on his shoulders, but it was his destiny. — Patrick Dale Porter^® Considering how much he craved privacy and worked toward a career as a Hollywood filmmaker, it is somewhat ironic that it should be Jennings who galvanized the Mattachine and brought it to the attention of a wider American public. The precipitating event was his arrest in the spring of 1952 for allegedly soliciting a police officer in a bathroom in Westlake Park, now known as MacArthur Park. Jennings had left his Echo Park home that evening, hoping, he said, to catch a good movie. It was a long walk, over a mile from his hillside home on Lemoyne 107 to the theater district. Once there, he decided against the first two shows, and he stepped into a public toilet on his way to a third, about nine p.m. He soon left, “having done nothing that the city architect didn’ t have in mind when he designed the place.” Only now, a “big, rough looking character who appeared out of nowhere” began following him. Jennings proceeded to the theater only to find that the show there was one he’ d already seen. And so he turned back for home— still followed by the stranger (Jennings 1953, 12). Jennings wrote that he now became afraid that the man had set out to rob him, so he “walked fast, took detours and said goodbye at each street corner. ” Upon arriving home, however, the man persisted, and, before a witness, he pushed past Jennings and into the house. Jennings describes what happened then in an article later printed in the first issue of ONE Maga zine'. W hat followed would have been a nightmare even if he hadn’ t turned out to be vice squad. Sure now that this big character was a thug, I— as the prosecutor described it— “flitted wildly ” from room to room wondering how to get rid of this person sprawled on the divan making sexual gestures and proposals. I was almost relieved when he strolled into the back bedroom because now I could call the police ... Then he called twice, “Come in here!” His voice was loud and commanding. He’ d taken his jacket off, was sprawled on the bed and his shirt was unbuttoned half way dow n... [H]e insisted that I was homosexual and urged me to “let down my hair. ” He’ d been in the navy and “all us guys played around.” I told him repeatedly that he had the wrong guy; he got angrier each time I said it. At last he grabbed my hand and tried to force it down the front of his trousers. I jumped up and away. Then there was the badge and he was snapping the handcuffs on with the remark, “Maybe you’ll talk better with my partner outside.” (ibid) The partner, Jennings wrote, was nowhere to be found when they left his house. Cuffed, he was paraded all the way back to the park, where he was ushered into the waiting patrol car. The arresting officer sat in the back seat beside him, and he and two others in the front seat asked a barrage of baited questions, such as “How long have you been this way?” The officers “repeatedly made jokes about police brutality, laughingly asked. ..if they’ d been brutal and each of the three instructed me to plead guilty and everything would be alright. ” Jennings feared that he was in for “the usual beating, ” probably out in the country somewhere, but they eventually made it to 108 the station. Jennings was booked at 11:30 p.m., though he was not allowed to make his phone call until after 3:00 the next morning (ibid, 12— 13). That call was to Harry Hay, to ask for the $50 bail. Hay later related that the only reason Jennings had decided to call him was because he was the only one known to have had a check book (Slade 2001). Hay posted the bail by 6:30, and the two went for breakfast at the Brown Derby. It was there that they decided that Mattachine would help contest the charge. According to Jennings, it had all been Hays idea. He wrote in an unpublished article titled “The Trouble with Fairies” (1990) that while most tall people were apologetic about their height, Hay was “the only tall person 1 ever met who used it with the imperial self-confidence of the chosen.” He continued: “From his great height, he laid heavy hands on my shoulders, stared intensely down at me in his best S.A.G.^^ style, and made his great and solemn pitch.” W hen this happened, Jennings’ s spirits sank. He had seen Hay do this “to so many squirming people” before. Hay told Jennings not to fear, that he and Mattachine would stand behind him as he fought. The Great Man pointed out that 1, in my miserable way, would be somewhat Chosen, too, if 1 stood up to the Establishment. 1 had nothing to lose but my chains. After all, working in a family business, 1 couldn’ t get fired. Being recently divorced, it would not hurt my wife and 1 could continue at USC as something o f a hero if the straights on campus didn’ t go to work on me as they did all the fairies. He himself would be hon ored to do such a thing, but of course, he had too many familial responsibilities. Oh, 1 was lucky. (Jennings 1990, 2) Soon after breakfast. Hay called an emergency meeting, and the Mattachine clan convened back in Jennings’ s house later than night to hear the news and discuss a strategy. It should be noted, however, that Hay’ s recollection of the arrest somewhat differs from Jennings’ s version: Dale had just broken off with Bob Hull and was not, 1 know, feeling very great. He told me that he had met someone in the can at Westlake Park. The man had his hand on his crotch, but Dale wasn’ t interested. He said the man insisted on following him home, and almost pushed his way through the door. He asked for coffee, and when Dale went to get it, he saw the man moving the window blind, as if signaling to someone else. He got scared and started to say something, when there was a sudden pounding on the door, and Dale was arrested. (Timmons 1990, 164) 109 O f course, no one can be sure as to what really happened that night except for Jennings and the arresting officer. Jennings admitted later that the man had indeed been quite handsome (Slade 2001), and he knew that some o f his supporters did not actually believe the story. He wrote in the first issue of O NE Magazine'. “To be innocent and yet not be able to convince even your own firm constituents, carries a peculiar agony” (1953, 11). He later wrote o f his cohorts, “They were unanimously willing to support my supposed perjury to defy a statute as unjust as 288a.”^ ^ There were two somewhat conflicting emotions going through Jennings at the time: determination and fear. Compounding the dread of long-term incarceration and public humili ation, Jennings had heard that the judges at this time “were still giving sex-offenders the choice between a long sentence and castration.” From the date of his arrest to the start o f the trial, he had “lived with the threat over my head of being neutered,” and this terrified him. “I am a man. I like being a man. At times I positively glory in being a man. ..To me, the loss of my masculin ity would be the same as a death sentence (ibid, 3).” The contrasting emotion, determination, came when Jennings thought of how many people had been through such an ordeal before yet had been completely and totally isolated through their suffering and grief. One of my prevailing thoughts was, “I am not alone. Think of all the guys who have gone through this, completely alone. I must stand up for myself, and for them...” I knew my place. I knew that speaking out was of prime importance. And I spoke out.” (in Slade 2001) Hay persuaded Long Beach lawyer George Sibley to take the case, and under Sibleys advisement, Mattachine organized The Citizens’ Committee to Outlaw Entrapment^^ [CCOE], a non-profit organization that raised funds and promoted Jennings’ s pending trial through use of leaflets and flyers. According to one publication, reprinted in Legg’ s Homosexuals Today 1956, the committee’ s primary purpose was to stand against police brutality toward homosexuals: [Goaded by recent] scientific research and statistics by such eminent authorities as Donald Webster Cory, Dr. Alfred Kinsey, Dr. William, Kroger, Dr. Clara Thompson, and others, [homosexuals have become aware] of themselves as a social Minority with the group-culture characteristics, (patterns, problems, and oppressions), that are 1 1 0 common to all Minorities similarly persecuted by baseless myths and vulgar prejudices.” (Legg [Cutler] 1956, 22) The purpose of the CCO E was “to expose to all eyes an injudicial and unconstitutional police conspiracy which, under the cloak o f protecting public morals, threatens not only all Minorities but civil rights and privileges generally.” The organization claimed that the odds were “six-to-one that the victim will offer to pay during the two hours it takes the prowl car to get to the nearest district station three miles away, a time-lapse knows as the ‘sweat-out’ period. ” Should a person decide to plead his innocence, there was a ‘ ‘ nine-to-one chance of a GUILTY verdict ” due to five fundamental facts: 1) The literal impossibility of a person, presumed guilty, proving innocence in a preju diced court-room; 2) The perjured evidence of a plainclothes “decoy”. .. 3) The prejudice of both jury and press automatically equating every Homosexual with a fabricated lewd and dissolute “stereotype ” ; 4) The Roman-holiday sport of forcing a defendant to testify against himself in order to prove innocence against perjured and false testimony; 5) The well-established pattern of denying the Homosexual the capacity of innocence by negating his testimony even though the evidence is overwhelmingly against his giving trespass as charged. The committee added that all people were to be treated as innocent until proven guilty beyond any shadow of a doubt, and this call for libertarian-based code of ethics follows: Every American Citizen is guaranteed the right to hold his own opinions. If he wishes to hug to his bosom the vipers of hate for Jews, for Negroes, or for South Sicilian Cath olics, he is at liberty to do so. The right of every individual to transform his personal opinions into personal emotions is likewise tolerated though not encouraged since such agitations conceivably can become infections. As citizens we all have these rights. BUT AS CITIZENS W E ALSO HAVE T H E DUTY T O SEE THAT SUCH O PIN IO N S AND EM O TIO NS D O N O T TRANSGRESS T H E CIVIL RIGHTS OF OTHERS. The areas o f personally held opinions and of civil safeguards are carefully separated by the cause-ways of the Law. W hen emotions impinge upon civil privilege we call it Anarchy. The moment a jury, or a newspaper, or a community, convicts an accused as guilty because, (convicted in their own minds that every Homosexual is automatically a lewd and dissolute stereotype), they deem him capable of having committed the charge even though in the given instance he may be innocent... It is commonplace for the Los Angeles City Vice Squad to telephone the employer of a victim, who chooses to fight to maintain his integrity— BEFORE TH E TRIAL IS EVEN CALLED. To be sure this I l l should be labelled as employing undue influence to obstruct the established patterns of justice. (Legg 1956, 23-24) The much-publicized trial began on June 23, 1952. Jennings admitted in court to being a homosexual but adamantly denied any wrongdoing. After ten days, the jury deadlocked eleven to one in Jennings’ s favor. Though the arresting officer had been caught in a lie, one person stymied the jury. The judge then dismissed the charges, and a stunned Jennings left the court house a free man. Walking out of the courtroom free was a liberation that I’ d never anticipated. It didn’ t happen in our society. You went to ja il for this sort of thing. And so I was numb for some time, and it began to dawn on me that we did have a victory, (in Slade 2001) The controversial case drew national attention to Mattachine, and through the summer fol lowing the trial, membership in the organization ballooned. Mattachine-like discussion groups immediately sprang up in Long Beach, Laguna Beach, and Fresno. By early 1953, groups had formed as far away as San Diego, San Francisco, Oakland, Berkeley, and Chicago. Obviously, the days of the “secret society” were over. As Mattachine’ s popularity grew after the trial, however. Hay felt his authority began to diminish. In particular. Hay was becoming annoyed by Jennings, who was becoming disdainful and began to stand in vocal opposition to anything Hay favored (Timmons 1986, 178). Wffiile Hay believed that gays were a unique and especially talented folk who had been an integral part of tribal societies and needed to unify in order to reclaim those sacred and traditional roles, Jennings insisted that there was no essential difference between males who preferred sex with women and those who preferred men. Hay wanted visibility; Jennings wanted privacy. Hay wanted to call forth a separate class of people that Jennings felt should remain integrated. Hay wanted publicity, and Jennings wanted to be left alone. “Homosexuality is today’ s great irrelevancy,” Jennings wrote in one of his first articles for O N E Magazine, titled “Homosexuals are Not a People” ( [Jeff Winters] 1953, 2— 6). And he was not alone in this conviction. Even before the entrapment incident, others in the com 1 1 2 munity, such as D on Slater, had complained that Hays secretive organization was not doing a satisfactory job of reaching the general public and of taking legal and political action to protect and defend the rights o f homosexuals. “We wanted more action than weekly sympo sia,” said Mattachine member Fred Frisbee (personal communication, 2000), who was known by his fellow “Mattachinos” as George Mortenson.'^ Jennings later complained to journalist Streitmatter: We were young and tired o f whispering to each other. We were tired of locking the doors and pulling down the shades whenever we wanted to talk about who we were. So we just decided: “W hat the hell?” and decided to take a different course of action. (Streitmatter 1995, 30— 31) A heck of an idea... One day in the early fall o f 1951, Fred Frisbie picked up a young black man who told him about this amazing organization called Mattachine. N ot knowing what to expect, Frisbie nevertheless invited him to bring the Mattachine to his house and even agreed to provide a keg of beer. Ten days later, seven cars pulled up to Frisbie’ s home near USC, and twenty-six revelers converged onto the premises. Most notable to Frisbie was a “stoutish young man introduced simply as Martin'^ who soon started to camp it up with a bamboo cocktail umbrella.” Frisbie recalled there being several young women present and four younger men, barely over eighteen. The rest were adults in their thirties or older, with stately D orr Legg the honored senior elder. One man began playing the parlor grand, and others gathered around the piano to sing while others danced, mingled, or joined in a game of cards dealt by a handsome man with an eye patch. Frisbie felt at home with this rebellious band of revelers. It had been a surprisingly festive occasion that Frisbie would reflect on fondly for the rest of his life.^^ Around ten days later, on Wednesday, October fifteenth, Frisbie and the others met for another Mattachine discussion group, at the home of Bill Lambert at the corner of 27'*^ and D a lto n .E a rly in the meeting, Frisbie and his “wife,” a cross-dressed and effeminate man, were invited by Lambert to join the Mattachine, and they heartily accepted.'® According to the 113 Minutes as later published in the fall 1958 issue of ONE Confidential, Dale Jennings,'^ Martin Block, Bill Lambert, “John B.,”^° and Chuck Rowland were present/' Those interested in creating a magazine arranged to meet again later, so, according to the minutes, they gathered the following week, October 22, in the home of “John B.” in order “to explore the possibility of a publication devoted to homosexuality and attendant problems. The original conception for the magazine was that of an inexpensive mimeograph. Ideas circu lated among those in attendance: Jennings, Rowland, Block, Lambert, Slater, and the host. The group did not come to any great conclusions that night, but they prudently decided to seek legal counsel before proceeding. So on October 29, Block, Slater, Jennings, Lambert, and an African- American schoolteacher named Bailey Whitaker met at the home of Mattachine’ s attorney, Fred Snider. Apart from the legal questions of publishing, the group discussed mail permits, city licensing, and what legal form the corporation should take. They began to fish for a name, but nothing really caught on. The determined but daunted crew met again on November fifth in the home of someone called “Cliff.” Here, twenty-five names were considered and rejected, with the BRIDGE or WEDGE surviving as possibilities— an interesting juxtaposition, with one name implying unity and the other separation. One thing that was resolved was that the magazine would not be mimeographed. The group convened back at Jennings’ s house on Wednesday, November 12. All present. Block, Slater, Lambert, and Sanchez, approved of Jennings’ s idea to print a pocket-sized monthly dedicated to homosexual issues. They discussed practical and production factors, such as the number of pages and method of printing. They decided that they would probably go with offset printing, and Jennings would ask his sister, who owned a printing company with her husband, for help. But how on earth would they raise the necessary funds? The following Sunday, Block, Whitaker, Lambert, Jennings, Slater, and M erton Bird met back at Lambert’ s house. Bird had come to offer as a potential model the charters of two existing corporations, one probably having been for the Knights of the Clock, as introduced in 114 chapter one, but the offer was declined. Next, there was discussion of a possible merger with the Knights, which had been incorporated since 1948. That offer was also declined. A proposed structure for an editorial board and advisory council was presented and considered, but no action was taken. During a meeting held on Wednesday the nineteenth in the home of Slater and Sanchez,^^ officials from the Mattachine Foundation came forward to offer $ 100 towards the cost of publication. The offer was tabled. The group then resolved that in the future, “all gifts must come without stipulations or conditions,” though I have not been able to discern precisely what stipulations had been made. Copy for a promotional sheet was discussed and edited. Slater, Sanchez, Jennings, Whitaker, and Lambert were present for these actions. The next meeting convened on Sunday, November 23, at W hitaker’ s home at 3916 Lomitas Drive. Whitaker proposed that the magazine be called ONE, from a passage he had read in a poem by Thomas Carlyle: “ A mystic bond of brotherhood makes all men one. ” The name immediately c a u g h t.T h e title was discussed and enthusiastically accepted, and then the first manuscripts for the magazine were reviewed. It was decided that the members of ONE, Inc. would submit their ideas for a credo for the magazine at the next meeting. Whitaker, Block, Jennings, Slater, and Lambert continued a discussion of the corporate structure in preparation for a “meeting of incorporation. ” The Founding of ONE, Incorporated Socially disdained groups have to find their own standards, generating internal codes for taking each other’ s measure. Only by doing so can they avoid the devastating conse quences of judging themselves in the terms used by people who disdain them, in whose system they will always amount to nothing. (Myerhoff 1979, 142) O n Saturday, November 29, 1952, the founders met in Martin Block’ s Studio Bookshop, 6661 V 2 Hollywood Boulevard, for the ultimate definitional ritual; the Meeting of Incorporation for ONE, Incorporated. In compliance with state law, three officers were chosen: Block was elected President, Slater was Vice-President, and Jennings became the corporation’ s first Secre 115 tary. These three also comprised the editorial board of O NE Magazine. Whitaker, Bird, Sanchez, and Lambert were also voted onto the board, making a total of seven voting members, though a motion had been adopted that set corporate membership at nine. In preliminary discussions, three o f these nine members, called “trustees,” were to be women; at least one should be a Negro, one Asian, and another should be a member of another racial or ethnic group. Whitaker was put in charge of circulation, and Joan Corbin, as “Eve Elloree,” was recruited to be the primary artist. Fred Frisbie (as “George Mortenson”) and Corbins lover Irma “Corky” Wolf (as “ Ann Carll Reid”) would also contribute artwork as needed (Legg 3). A credo for the corpora tion was discussed, but again nothing was resolved. Finally, Bill Lambert was appointed the Business Manager for the corporation, and O N E Incorporated was officially in business. The second corporate meeting occurred a few days later, December second, where they discussed the contents of the first issue. Slater took the minutes, penned in the same USC spiral notebook in which he and Sanchez had written their notes from the ceramics class they had taken under Glen Luken. Lambert and Whitaker were also present. After discussing some o f the initial content, the first editorial policy was adopted, that each manuscript would be discussed at the meeting immediately following its receipt and some action would be taken one way or another, thus taming the slush pile before its anticipated accumulation. There was a brief discus sion of a credo. Bailey Whitaker, referred to as “René” in Slaters notes, had proposed one that they agreed captured the essence of the magazine but still needed editing as “it wandered a bit.” Jennings’ s proposed credo was deemed “somewhat chatty— needs to be more impersonal. Should be a discussion rather than a statement.” It was decided to leave the title of the credo column undetermined at that time, though the discussion would continue. The editorial board decided to refrain from attacking the philosophical content of the articles submitted, focusing instead on “form and diction.” W ith this agreed, they decided to meet next week at the home of Jennings, in Echo Park. 116 O n December 8, 1952, Lambert, Whitaker, Slater, and Jennings convened in Jennings’ s house on Lemoyne. Whitaker became Promotional Manager for the magazine, and Rowland was put in charge o f circulation. Jennings’ s article “To Be Accused is to be Guilty” was accepted as revised. Two new policies were adopted. One prohibited the editorial board from discussing the magazine’ s content with outsiders, and the other resolved that each member o f the corpora tion would bring two pertinent news items, a letter, and a proposed credo to the next meeting. Whitaker agreed to contact Donald Webster Cory, to see if that author, famous for his 1951 publication of The Homosexual in America, would consider contributing to the magazine. There were to be three more board meetings before the end of the year, on December 16, 21, and 26, during which content o f the magazine and policies of the corporation would be decided. A credo was finally adopted on the first of those meetings, by combining paragraphs from articles submitted by Jennings, Whitaker, and Slater. William Lambert later wrote that he considered O NE to be in essence a blending of two organizations: Mattachine and Knights of the Clock. Certain founders of ONE, Inc. were indeed from Mattachine— Dale Jennings and Martin Block— and some from Knights of the Clock, namely William Lambert and Merton Bird (Legg 1994:3). But it should be noted that the majority of founding members had been independent and even critical of those organiza tions. ONE, Incorporated was, to a greater extent than had yet been seen, an open organiza tion, orchestrated to address the larger heterosexual community. W here the former groups had operated in silence, the directors of O N E actively sought a public audience. While many of o n e 's writers would cloak their identities through nom-de-plume, others, such as Slater, Hay, Jennings, and Lambert, stood openly and defiantly in defense of the right to be homosexual through securing rights they felt had been granted in the constitution and denied through the oppression and proliferation of sodomy laws. It was around these overt leaders that the core of first Mattachine and then O N E was constructed, as will be discussed. 117 Though Harry Hay was not directly involved in the meetings that lead to the founding of O NE, Incorporated, his influence within the homosexual community during this time was tremendous, and his Mattachine Foundation continued to grow. In October 1952 and March 1953, he presented a lecture titled “The Homosexual and H istory... An Invitation to Further Study” at a Mattachine discussion group in Laguna Beach. Approximately seventy-five people listened to his theories on the history of the Berdache tradition and why this mattered to the modern hom o sex u al.H is concluding remarks in the published version of the lecture articulate a clear and compelling call for action: The M inority today must take stock of the communities in which they live and find the services they can undertake that the community needs and that familial households have not the time to do. They must once again take the initiative to produce that area of the social— even if grudging, at first— recognition of their capacity for needed commu nity contributiveness. They must erect for themselves a self-disciplined platform upon which they can be recognized as functioning members of society. (Hay 1996, 114— 115) A Shout in the Wind W ith Jennings at the helm, O N E ’ s first little magazine was published and distributed through the bars and clubs of Los Angeles. Nothing like it had ever been seen before, and both the law and public opinion seemed impossible obstacles against its success. As Joe Hansen has reminded us, “when O NE was first published, same-sex acts were outlawed in every State of the Union” (1997, 1). Yet through its thought-provoking essays, daring social commentary, and sharp, modern design, O NE succeeded. On the cover of the November 1953 issue, ONE proclaimed itself “The Homosexual Magazine,” and in the summer of 1957 this subtitle changed to “The Homosexual Viewpoint.” Largely through the editorial prowess of Wolf and Slater, and the art of Sanchez and Corbin, O NE Magazine served “as one of the unofficial voices of the homosexual rights movement” until 1972— a solid twenty-years worth of homosexual history (Licata, 172). O N E had intended from the beginning to become a non-profit corporation, and attorneys Ibanez and Snider had assisted with the paperwork. But in a letter dated February 24, 1953,^^ the Franchise Tax Board of the State of California rejected O N E ’ s application for tax exemption. 118 In the words o f John J. Campbell, Executive Officer of the board; “In order to be exempt under Section 2370Id, and organization must be organized and operated exclusively for educational and scientific purposes. Because the above corporation will publish and sell a magazine relating to such purposes, it will not be operated exclusively for educational and scientific purposes.” As O NE Magazine was the heart of ONE, Incorporated, so Dale Jennings was the heart of O NE for its first year of production. A seasoned playwright and budding author, he had at last found (or created) his own niche in the homosexual rights movement as editor-in-chief and author. Fred Frisbie, who would later serve as a President of ONE, recalled: Dale Jennings was the only one who had been exposed to the process of pamphleteering in the process of helping his sister issue broadsides and advertising matter in her sewing business. So Dale Jennings was busy from morning till night coaching we [sic] novices, in this and that nicety from scribbled notes to properly formed “Dummies” ready for the printer— to be set in type, how to indicate the position of artwork relative to text, etc. (2000) The first issue of O NE was odd looking, nearly square at six by seven inches, with a gray cover and the logo and stripes in purple ink. Frisbee recalled that Don Slater designed the cover (personal communication), but Jim Kepner has reported that Lambert had been the artist (1999, 3) and Sanchez feels certain it had been Corbin. In any case, this debut issue was printed in the basement of Jennings’ s sister and brother-in-law’ s house, on a press they owned as a part of their business California Market Sketch and P re ss.T h e editorial board of that first issue included Block, Jennings, and Slater, with Donald Webster Cory as Contributing Editor and William Lambert as Business Manager. The issue was peddled by its creators “from bar stool to bar stool ” in the local bars o f Los Angeles (Hansen 1998, 28). The price was a quarter, the same cost as a beer, and according to Sanchez, “the amateur peddlers all came home with pockets jingling” (ibid). The magazine, if not a smash hit, was certainly a success. Jennings’ s essays in those early issues were often pointed and angry, and the personas he wrote under invited lively debate. For example, in the second issue o f O A ^ Jennings, as Jeff Winters,^^ scathingly chastised Christine Jorgansen, equating her much-discussed sex change op 119 eration with cosmetic surgery and calling her a self-imposed eunuch: “You’ re not a woman you know .. .those expensive scalpels only gave you the legal right to transvestitism.” He continued; Homosexuals are not a third sex, personalities in the body of the wrong sex, biological confusions of nature. Most neurotic symptoms they display— and there are plenty— can just as easily have been caused by society refusing to adjust to them as the reverse. Their vast number in both history and present makes it impossible to label them freaks and so unusual as to be called abnormal. (13) Clearly, Jennings was using the Winters pseudonym to voice an extreme position in order to stir up controversy. However, it seems to me that these ideas accurately reflect his opinion at the time of writing. Jennings certainly lacked the respect for “swishes” that Kepner, Slater, and Hay had developed. Until late in his life, he seemed to think their behavior was a bizarre affectation, not a legitimate and natural signifier of an innately felt identity. In the May issue, Rowland responded to Jennings’ s assertion that homosexuals did not comprise a cultural minority.^^ He constructed his argument from Webster’ s first definition of culture: “The complex distinctive attainments, beliefs, traditions, etc., constituting the back ground o f a racial, religious, or social group.” He stated that ONEs very existence was proof positive that such a culture existed. Not all homosexuals were active participants in this culture though: he estimated that “only a few o f the 1,500,000 absolute’ American homosexuals partici pate.” This “small minority within a small minority” was distinguishable as those “homosexuals who visit the homosexual bars, who walk or talk or gesticulate in the universally recognized, homosexual manner.” These few realized that they were on the cutting edge of “an emergent homosexual culture ” and sought to develop a homosexual code of ethics that was different from that of heterosexuals. Rowland pointed out that many participated in the homosexual culture, some part-time and others more exclusively, but many also participated in other cultures as well. Homosexuality was but one aspect of their cultural awareness. Religious and ethnic factors should be considered: “Most homosexuals in this county as a matter of fact, do participate in homosexual culture and also in the dominant, heterosexual culture and in any other culture 1 2 0 from which they sprang or in which their lives involve them.” As a carryover from their days in the Mattachine, the “ Are we a people?” debate between Jennings and Rowland continued. While in part the culture wars’ may have been a gimmick designed to ignite controversy and stimulate sales, it also signifies a genuine division within the homosexual rights movement, one that was there from the very first meeting. At this stage of the magazine’ s history, the controversy might be harnessed to the betterment of the organization. “Culturalists”^ ® such as Rowland, Legg and Hay and libertarians such as Slater and Jennings needed each other to further their cause and fight a common adversary. If allowed to fester unresolved, however, the issue was clearly divisive enough to threaten the future vitality of the organization. Back to business... In these early days, O NE Magazine was distributed in a variety o f ways, but via post or newsstand it always came in a plain brown wrapper. At first, many newsstands refused to distrib ute the magazine. M artin Block recalled selling O NE in the Los Angeles bars: Only after the bar sales proved that the magazines could make a profit did a few news stand owners agree to stock copies. As soon as they did, 90 percent of sales were by single copies, rather than subscription. By the end of the decade, the three magazines \ONE, The Ladder, and Mattachine Review\ were selling at dozens of newsstands and adult bookstores across the country, with ONE boasting that it was selling copies in every state. (Streitmatter 1995, 28— 29) Block, Jennings, and Slater were listed as the Editorial Board for the first six issues, January through June 1953, with William Lambert as Business Manager and Donald Webster Cory as Contributing Editor. According to corporate records, the first issue garnered $76.50 in pre-1953 income, through donations. Jennings, Block, and Sanchez signed the Articles of Incorporation for O N E on February 7, 1953. O N E was granted its Charter from the State of California the following May 27. These articles established the primary and ancillary missions of O N E Incorporated, which was first and foremost the publication of a magazine: 1 2 1 The specific and primary purposes for which this corporation was formed are to publish and disseminate a magazine dealing primarily with homosexuality from the scientific, historical and critical point of view, and to aid in the social integration and rehabilita tion of the sexual variant. There were six more general purposes established. The first was to publish other books and papers “concerned with medical, social, pathological, psychological and therapeutic research of every kind and description pertaining to socio- sexual behavior.” O N E also sought “to sponsor, supervise, and conduct educational programs...to promote among the general public an inter est, knowledge and understanding of the problems” of “all social and emotional variants.” The following purpose, accordingly, was to “stimulate, sponsor, aid, supervise and conduct research” on homosexuality and said “variants.” The fourth purpose proved to be the most controversial and divisive within the homosexual movement: to “promote the integration into society of such persons whose behavior varies from the current moral and social standards and to aid the development of the social and moral responsibility of all such persons.” This goal stands in contrast to many o f the central tenets of the more radical post-Stonewall gay movement, which championed the right to be different. Hay called those in favor of integration “assimilationists,” and while he granted them— and even fought for— their right to privacy (as will be seen), he was critical of them as being largely cowards and perhaps in denial of their more true essence or being. Most importantly, these twin goals of integration and the establishment of a moral code of ethics were cornerstones of the homosexual/homophile rights movement and subsequently help to define it against the later gay movement, where rather than blending in, the rite-of-passage instead involved the process of “coming out.” The remaining goals, involving research, scholarship, and education, are essential to homosexuals, homophiles, and gays— and probably all social movements pertaining to the promotion of equal rights. The final two purposes allowed O N E to hold and/or trade property and to expand on its missions, as stated above, in ways deemed appropriate “to promote the interests of the corpora 1 2 2 tion.” The corporations non-profit status was asserted, pursuant to Part 1 of division 1 of Title 1 of the Corporate Code of the State of California, with the principal office located in Los Angeles County. First directors were as stated, Martin Block, Dale Jennings, and Antonio Sanchez. Membership classifications were to be set forth in the by-laws of the corporation, to be adopted by the first directors. In the summer of 1953, Jennings sent complimentary issues of O N E to over a hundred scholars, journalists, authors, and intellectuals, with a letter requesting submissions for “one o f the first publications in the English language to offer space to the literature of deviation.” He requested that they submit any stories, essay, or poems to O NE magazine that remained unpublished. Jennings claimed that there would be no remuneration for the work, since ONE, Incorporated was a non-profit corporation. (This claim, o f course, was premature.) Among those contacted were Jean Cocteau, Noel Coward, Lillian Heilman, Gilbert Highet, Aidous Huxley, Christopher Isherwood, Normal Mailer, Thomas Mann, Margaret Mead, Dorothy Parker, Jean Paul Sartre, Tennessee Williams, and Evelyn Waugh. The plea did meet with some success; Mailer contributed an article titled “The Homosexual Villain” that appeared in the January 1955 issue of ONE. But the list also reflects the editors’ high-reaching ambitions and widely diverse interests. “O NE is a new magazine which concerns itself with the many aspects of homosexuality. Its purposes are to inform the heterosexual majority about deviation, the homo sexuals about themselves and to criticize as well as attempt to bridge a gap... It aims to be read in every home. ” W ith Jennings at the helm, it was full speed ahead: he seemed certain that word of this little magazine would spread around the world. The bylaws for ONE, Incorporated were filed with the secretary of State on Oct. 16, 1953, a full year after the magazine’ s inception. These bylaws established positions of directors, officers, and members, with directors and officers being one and the same: the Chairman, Vice Chairman, and Secretary-Treasurer. The founding directors would be replaced at the first annual meeting, in January 1954. Directors would elect the officers annually. In case of a vacancy. 123 someone would be appointed to the office during the next monthly Directors’ meeting. Should a director resign, remaining members would appoint a member to serve until the next annual meeting, when a new election would be held to determine who would fill in for the rest of the unexpired term. The bylaws established two categories of membership: voting and non-voting. There would be nine voting members o f the corporation, including the three directors/officers. In case of resignation or vacancy, the directors would appoint a stand-in to serve until the next annual meeting. A two-thirds majority of the voting members present was required for a nominee to become a director. If the candidate failed the vote, then the vacancy would remain until the fol lowing annual meeting. A person could be removed from membership by a unanimous vote of the directors present and voting at any of the monthly director’ s meetings, provided that person had been notified of the pending action prior to the meeting and had been invited to defend his or her position by addressing the Board. Directors were empowered to form departments or committees, and appoint project managers who would coordinate with board and provide the annual reports on that department’ s behalf. This person would act as the department or committee’ s advisor to the Board. A class of non-voting members was also created, commonly referred to as the “Friends of O N E.” Typically, each Friend received a subscription to ONE, a wallet-sized membership card, and other ancillary publications such as, O NE Confidential and occasional newsletters. In January 1953, the month that ONE Magazine was first published, Jim Kepner attended his first Mattachine meeting by invitation of his neighbor Betty Perdue, who wrote for O NE and later Tangents as Geraldine Jackson. There were more than a few people present, he recalled, and no one thought of pulling the shades out o f fear in this Hollywood home. Similarly, German filmmaker Rosa von Praunheim wrote of his extended visit to Los Angeles: “There has been a lot of talk about how clandestine, how fearful the early M attachine meetings were. I’ m sure some of them were that, but I did not see the evidence of it” (1979, 37). This suggests that the clandes- 124 tine “secret society” phase of the movement was short, less than four years. And it ended abrupt ly. There was only so much that could be done under cover. Jennings felt more alone during the days following the arrest than he had ever felt in his life. But perhaps had he been more attuned to the effects that his cause had on others, he would realize that he was not the only one to have been “outed” in the process. Hay was among the first after the trial to go public with his iden tity. Don Slater and William Lambert (so it was thought) did so as well. Jennings was fortunate to have had so many of his Mattachine cohorts stand with him throughout his ordeal. Cleaning House: 1953— 1954 In the spring of 1953, the Mattachine Foundation “began to rip itself apart,” as Kepner put it. Though the first five “radical founders” of Mattachine had “taken their analysis of homosexual conditions from Marxist social theory,” newcomers to the organization were “horrified [by the Communist] radicals in their midst.” So “Hay imperiously resigned in the founders name” and the “new leaders adopted an apologetic assimilationist course” (Kepner 1998, 3). The Interim Committee of the Administrative Council of the Mattachine Foundation, Inc. issued an “Of ficial Statement of Policy on Political Questions and Related Matters,” in which the purposes of the organizations were succinctly put: “The Mattachine Foundation, Inc., is a non-profit cor poration organized in conformity with the corporate laws of the State of California to study the questions of sexual deviation and their relation to American society as a whole.” This was the sole purpose of the organization, as distinct from the taking any political or religious stand unrelated to the topic of homosexuality and “the problems of sexual deviation.” To clarify, they added: The Foundation has never been, is not now and must never be identified with any “ism”— political, religious or otherwise. The Foundation has never solicited and does not welcome the endorsement or assistance of individuals or groups wishing to further the goals of those individuals or groups to the detriment of the missions of the Foundation. According to Will Roscoe, when the original leaders were expunged from Mattachine in May o f 1953, “the broad grass-roots base of Mattachine vanished, never to reach its pre-1953 levels again” (1996a, 4). The San Francisco Area Council of the Mattachine Society soon became the 125 most active aspect of Mattachine, headed by Hal Call, editor o f the region’ s newsletter and of Pan Graphics Press, which published several book and the Mattachine Review. As Mattachine in Los Angeles languished, ONE, Incorporated was beginning to grow. There were some significant changes made in the summer of 1953. First, in June, the price of the magazine doubled, from a quarter to .504. Chuck Rowland and James Gruber were added to the Editorial Board for the magazine. Joan Corbin and Corky W olf were appointed as members of the Circulation Department, and in July they would be listed on the Editorial Board as assistants. Jennings made it known in a corporate meeting on Sunday, June 28, that his “primary interest is to become either a contributing editor or editor-in-chief.” During this meeting, Rowland was officially elected to corporate membership, and it was decided to write to Merton Bird and Martin Block due to their prolonged absences. O n July 3, each received a letter from Jennings. Block was advised that he had been retained on the editorial board of ONE as a contributing editor, which excused him from editorial meetings. He was urged to attend the next corporate meeting, at seven p.m. on Sunday, July 19 at Slater and Sanchez’ s residence on Bunker Hill. The letter to “Dear Byrd” was nowhere near as cordial: “You are instructed to attend the next corporate meeting to show just cause why your name should hot be dropped as a member of the corporation... Failure to appear will result in your name being automatically dropped without appeal.” Jennings was appointed editor-in-chief during an editorial board meeting held on Wednes day, July 15- His duties as specified were to “arrange, make minor space changes, select fillers, designs, type styles.” Slater tendered his resignation from the board unless he was to be pro moted to contributing editor, but that motion was tabled, “to be taken up at the next editorial meeting if he persists.” O n Sunday, July 19, the corporation had its first significant shake up. Both Block and Bird were absent, so Bird was dropped from membership, and consequently the name “Guy Rousseau ” was dropped from the magazine’ s masthead. Block’ s membership status was “tabled 126 indefinitely,” and Corbin and W olf were elected to fill the vacancies. Lambert became the new chairman, Jennings the new vice-chairman, and Rowland was the new Secretary-Treasurer. Bailey Whitaker was to be the official proofreader for the magazine. O n Sunday, August 2, Lambert reported on an interview he’ d had with a new attorney named Eric Julber, and the board voted to retain him as their attorney. One month later, during a corporate meeting on Sunday, September 6, Lambert lauded the August issue of O NE as “the most im portant landmark in the history of O N E.” He congratulated Corbin and W olf for their contributions to subscriptions and mailing, art, and editorial departments. He noted that they had been credited in the magazines masthead for the very first time. Lambert noted that there had only been one thousand copies of the first issue printed, and six hundred of those were by direct order of the Mattachine Foundation. There had been only six hundred issues printed in February, but half of those had been damaged through “printing difficulties.” In March, another thousand were printed, and for the first time, the magazine was cut and stapled commercially. In April, fifteen hundred copies came off the press, and in May June, and July the volume was increased to two thousand. That ended up being too many, and hundreds of copies remained at summer’ s end. The May issue had not been as well received as they had hoped, which deadened sales in June. Sales increased somewhat in July, which Lambert credited to a “lively June issue.” In July, the editors printed their first short story “But They’ll Outgrow It.. a pastoral romance contributed by Roland about two boys who lived near a prairie lake. W ith recovered sales, three thousand issues were printed in August. Soon after. New York distribution centers took an interest in the little homosexual magazine from Los Angeles, and their orders justified September’ s increase to five thousand copies. The masthead of this September issue listed Dale Jennings as the Editor-in-Chief. The Editorial Board was comprised of Eve Elloree, David L. Freeman, Ann Carll Reid, and James W hitman. Donald Webster Cory, Martin Block, and Don Slater were Contributing Editors. The green cover as designed by Elloree boldly posed the question, “Homosexual Marriage? ” 127 as a teaser for an article titled “Reformers Choice: Marriage License or Just License.” This prophetic article, supposedly submitted by a reader “E. B. Saunders,” posed the hypothetical assumption that the goals of social acceptance as espoused by the Mattachine Society would have been achieved by the year 2053. Would society then allow homosexuals to continue on in their promiscuous ways? The effect, it was supposed, would be that of “legalizing promiscuity for a special section of the population,” and this freedom, in turn, would make the bonds of het erosexual unions even less tenable. “Heterosexual marriage must be protected. The acceptance of homosexuality without homosexual marriage ties would be an attack upon it.” The article concluded that along with homosexual marriage would inevitably come the problem of homo sexual adultery. “To those living adulterous lives since discovering themselves to be deviates, this comes as a ludicrous suggestion. Yet to heterosexuals it is of great moment and quite to the point. Equal rights mean equal responsibility: equal freedoms mean equal limitations.” Saunders ended the article by again stating the original problem: that the Mattachine was hitting the ground running before a proper destination had been selected. “W hen one digs, it must be to make a ditch, a well, a trench: something! Otherwise all of this energetic work merely produces a hole. Any bomb can do that.”^ ^ The following letter, “The Fey and Free Will” by “Walter B.” pondered whether one became a homosexual or was born gay. This was in response to a letter from “Donald Ferrar” of Oakland that ran in the May issue (with the “Freeman” essay previously discussed) and stated in surprisingly contemporary terms: “It looks like you’ re fighting not just for rights but for special rights.” Ferrar noted that many of his “gay” friends did not feel they were any different from anyone else, nor did they want to “stand up and be counted. ” In fact, he said, “They wanted the counting stopped.” Ferrar felt almost betrayed by those who now insisted that “gays” were dif ferent: “I thought you wanted to be accepted— not honored.” He concluded: “I strongly suggest you decide soon whether you want civil rights or a legal cult.” The “Walter B. ” article stated that contrary to Ferrar’ s comment that it was “beside the point” as to whether one was born or made 128 gay, it actually mattered a lot, “Becoming gay” was an act of choice or will, whereas being “born gay” made it an “incurable...mental illness.” This “dualistic and absurd thinking” was where society had cast homosexuals, not where they necessarily wanted to be themselves. Nevertheless, provided the dichotomy, most gays preferred the “born gay” scenario, to combat the implica tions of the Christian conception of sinning versus free will. “This is the only way of turning aside the legal and social persecution that would otherwise be the homosexual’ s part.” The author suggested that ultimately, the causes of homosexuality should be considered on more “deterministic” grounds, where “everyone in the environment of the perpetrator is re sponsible for the latter’ s antisocial acts— and, a fortiori, in greater or lesser degree, for the latter’ s being gay—which makes the idea of punishment absurd.” Two pages later, almost as an after thought to the above article, a quote was featured from Margaret Mead’ s Coming o f Age in Samoa: Realizing that our own ways are not humanly inevitable nor God-ordained, but are the fruit of long and turbulent history, we may well examine all of our institutions, thrown into strong relief against the history of other civilizations, and weighing them in the balance, be not afraid to find them wanting. Clearly, Jennings’ s little magazine was chock full of cutting-edged thoughts and contrasting points of view. There certainly was a lot of original, creative material here for the 1950s reader to ponder, and many of the debates first articulated in ONEs pages have continued through today. Lambert’ s praise for the September issue had been well deserved. However, when it was delivered to the post office, the Los Angeles Postal Service withheld O N E from distribution as postal officials in Washington, D C deliberated on whether the magazine had crossed the line into obscenity. The postmaster held the issues from the second to the eighteenth of September. Though ultimately released, the editors of ONE responded by printing “O N E is N O T GRATE FUL” across the front cover of the October issue, with this on the back: O N E thanks no one for this reluctant acceptance. It is true that this decision is historic. Never before has a governmental agency o f this size admitted that homosexuals not only have legal rights but might have respectable motives as well. The admission is welcome, but it’ s tardy and far from enough. AS we sit around quietly like nice little ladies and gentlemen gradually educating the public and the courts at our leisure, thousands of 129 homosexuals are being unjustly arrested, blackmailed, fined, jailed, intimidated, beaten, ruined, and m urdered... [T]he deviate hearing of our late August issue through mail bars will not be overly impressed. O n October 12, Jennings, as Corporation Secretary, sent a letter to Whitaker and other board members calling for a corporate meeting at his home on Lemoyne Street, which was to convene at seven on the evening on the eighteenth in order to discuss “past and present remu neration for all of O N E s employees, and to set up a scale for the future.” Article six of O N E s bylaws clearly gave the board of directors the authority to “fix all rates of compensation and salaries to be paid to Directors, officers, members, or others.” As Legg had pointed out during his September 9 presentation, it was time for O N E to pay its debts to its workers and clear the slate for the future. Rather than paying salaries, though, ONE, Incorporated started paying rent. In November, the organization moved it’ s records from Slater’ s home on Bunker Hill to 232 South Hill Street, described by Ross Ingersoll as “two dismal rooms in a shabby gray building in a decaying section of downtown L.A., furnished with scrappy second-hand desks and chairs, shelving and file cabinets, gifts of the ‘ friends of one’” (qtd. in Hansen 1998, 29— 30). Most of the offices in the two stories above the Goodwill store at street level were rented by “fly- by-night sweatshops, the type that churned out women’ s clothes until the workers tried to get paid and the boss vanished” (ibid). Hansen also used the office setting for a David Brandstetter mystery. Murdoch and Price provide a deft description of the office: “In the dingy third-floor hallway, the dull whir of sewing machines was jarringly punctuated by a soprano singing teacher, whose voice wandered around on every note that undistinguished location [seemed straight out of a film noir set, a white-on-black hand-lettered sign on a frosted glass door read simply O N E” (2002, 27-28). O n November 1, 1953, the Board of Directors met to declare the first directors of the corporation. These people were, as listed: Martin Block, Eve Elloree, David Freeman, Dale Jennings, William Lambert, Donald Slater, Ann Carll Reid, Antonio Sanchez, and Guy 130 Rousseau. It was acknowledged that each had been serving informally since O N E ’ s date of incor poration, May 27, 1953. W ith this action, the legal status of the corporation was secured. From Platform to Plank: The Elimination of Jennings O n November 15, 1953, the Mattachine Society honored Dale Jennings with an achieve ment award in recognition for his work on O NE Magazine and steadfast dedication to ONE, Incorporated.^^ The tone and style of the narrative are typical Jennings, his narrative persona shifting from bashful to braggart, sounding first the winds and then the brass. But there is a political message toward the end of the speech that may be key to understanding Jennings’ s fate within ONE. At the start, the speech was rousing and relevant: “Each of us here tonight is a hero, each has a place in history” he began. “We are that little band that the Future will celebrate We are despised, yet we sit here tonight in courageous defiance of a society given to lynching.” He declared that the stance he was taking was that of an “immoderate m an.. .wholly unrestrained, more than a little vulgar and shockingly belligerent. ” He added that moderation was a form of fear: “W hen we avoid action by pleading its imprudence, we in our fear forget those most im prudent men at Valley Forge.. .The Jew Moses did not say ‘Thou shalt commit less adultery’ Yet the established order against which he revolted was no more primitive than the identical bigotry which we face.” He continued: Before smiling away these grand comparisons, think for a moment how gigantic is the oppression under which we live. None has ever equaled it in completeness. We are dictated to in every facet of human behavior. Where we live, whom we shall have for friends, how we shall express that friendship, the color of our friends, their number: we shall not have physical satisfaction of any kind not approved by courts of law, what we wear, how we wear it, how we move, our facial expressions, gestures, vocabularies and what we say with them, our very tones of voice — and even the way we think! We know well the punishments for non-conformity. This is a tyranny beyond any tyranny ever known! Then is it immoderate to say tonight that those who fight this tyranny deserve the highest praise? But Jennings did not flatter his audience for long. His lecture turned on the observation that “while moderation is a form of fear, fear takes the form of many immoderate acts.” And he 131 pointed out that in reasonable times, these acts would be lauded as just means to overthrow unfair or tyrannical laws. He cautioned that today, the freedom of speech required for such laws to be engaged in a public forum was being mitigated. All one had to do to silence an activist was to call the opposition by “a certain name pre-filled with odium .” Nevertheless, one particular “Readers’ Digest'version, of a four letter word is thrown about like rice at a wedding. Take a handful and let go; you’ re sure to hit someone. ” One might expect that many in the audience would anticipate the dreaded word would be one having something to do with homosexuality like “queer,” “homo,” or “faggot.” But in the era of Senator Joe McCarthy, the red scare was also on their collective mind. By the end of 1953, ONE, Incorporated had earned a total of $4779.70 from magazine sales and another $507.33 in gifts and memberships. According to the 1953 annual report, they had averaged 929 subscriptions each month, with 1,515 more issues distributed via the news stands. There had been 36,867 total copies printed of twelve issues, with 29,311 total copies distributed. Annual non-voting membership fees to O NE, Inc., which included a year subscrip tion to ONE, cost $10. One could also become a contributing member for $25, Associate for $50, and a Life Member for $100. In January of 1954, O NE changed to a larger format of 816 by 516 inches. The cover of this issue featured a black and white photo o f a man silhouetted against the surf, his right hand reaching up as if to grasp the sun. For the first time, “The Homosexual Magazine” was printed on the cover, a slogan was to become almost as a subtitle for later issues. Eve Elloree contributed some illustrations, as she had in the past, but other sketches were provided by Dale Jennings. Despite the amazing successes of the magazine, there were not-so-apparent problems behind the scenes with O N E Incorporated’ s leadership during this time. Perhaps Jennings had contributed too much to the early 1954 issues of ONE. Perhaps he had been too bossy or headstrong around O N E ’ s offices. While he had not expressly admitted to having been a Communist, his circuitous denial certainly bred suspicion. Clearly, many would think that O N E had been equally infested. Jennings had become the official Secretary-Treasurer of ONE, 132 Incorporated at the annual meeting in January 1954, Lambert was elected Chairman and Wolf became Vice-Chairman, But though he had worked hard for the organization and had been the driving force behind the success O NE Magazine, Jennings was not to last much longer as Editor and Chief. According to the minutes of a special meeting that convened on March 22, with “Bill, Dale, Joan, Corky, Ed, Ben, and Chuck” present. Dale Jennings resigned.^'^ The minutes state that other business had been discussed, but no details were mentioned. Kepner has stated that the reasons for Jennings’ s resignation were that Jennings had “fo cused on legal matters to the exclusion of literature, history, and Gay cultural concerns— which Lambert, Rowland, Ann Carll Reid, and I pushed. ” He further asserts that Rowland and Lambert had challenged him for having written the entire December 1953 issue himself, but as that issue had been entirely fiction, this somewhat contradicts the claim that Jennings was against having a fictional issue. O N E’ s attorney had cautioned them against the publication of fiction in the early issues, which could be interpreted as advocating homosexuality rather than as presenting objective information. And according to O N E ’ s records, Rowland had nothing to do with Jennings’ s resignation, though they clearly disagreed on several key points. Most likely, it was Jennings’ s somewhat belligerent personality, combined with his Communistic past, that lead to his resignation. In retrospect, it is fair to wonder if Lambert’ s own ambition within O N E was a factor as well. Jennings was the first dedicated activist to have been cast out of the corporation by William Lambert. He was certainly not the last. O n March 31, Lambert and W olf met for a Special Meeting of the Board of Directors, in order to decide who should fill Jennings’ s position as Director. First, W olf was appointed Secretary pro-tem. According to the bylaws, only those who had been members of the cor poration at the time of the Jan. 3, 1954 annual meeting would be eligible, which meant only Corbin, Sanchez, and Slater could be considered. Ben Tabor, who according to the minutes of this March thirty-first meeting had been elected as a director on February 21, was removed from 133 corporate membership when the vote in which he was elected was now declared “out of order, hence invalid.” It was further decided that since Sanchez had served a full term as Director, he should not be considered. Elloree, serving as Art Editor, was also removed from eligibility. So, through the process of elimination, Don Slater was appointed to fill the vacancy left by Jennings. The editorial board recruited Jim Kepner to take over the job of providing news summaries for the magazine in May, a job he was to continue until his resignation in I960 (Kepner 1998, 3). The Corporate Vessel In relating this narrative history thus far, I have often utilized nautical metaphors to convey of the process by which O N E Incorporated was founded. I first began to ponder the metaphor of the ship as a reference for the corporate ethos of ONE when Jim Schneider told me that Slater had preferred to think of his actions in the spring of 1965 as a mutiny rather than a heist. In putting the needs of the magazine before the needs of the corporation, the ship, so to speak, had been constructed sails-first. The launch of the second issued relied entirely on the success of the first. The third issue finally caught on in the newsstands, facilitating local distribution, which in turn lead to more subscribers. After several months, O NE Magazine became ONE, Incorpo rated. This was a fact that Jennings had been well aware of, and Slater would never let Lambert forget: O NE Incorporated did not create O NE Magazine. To the contrary, O NE Magazine had created O NE, Incorporated. If, under the masthead of ONE, the pages of the magazine be considered as the sails of the corporation, and the artists and editors though of as crew, then the corporation itself comprises the hull of the vessel, its protective (legal) casing. As most of the corporations revenue was generated through subscriptions and sales, there would be no need for an office, or an editor, or a business manager, should the magazine fail. Thus it was the readers who provided the wind, granting through their feedback and subscriptions the momentum needed to keep the information flowing and thus facilitating a frank and open discussion on homosexual rights and issues. 134 The metaphor of the ship, of course, evokes feelings of instability, of being wave-tossed and vulnerable to lurking beasts and tempests. Slater and Jennings had become accustomed to such situations through their experience. Nothing was ever truly predictable; no matter how one might desire stability, change was as inevitable as income tax, and nearly as routine. Neverthe less, the success of the magazine relied entirely on the support of its readers, and for the most part they were an invisible and silent resource. For others. Bill Lambert in particular, another analogy was preferable on how to manage a corporation. The ship analogy may have fit in ON E s early years, but that had been but a stage in its evolution, and clearly it was time to move on. In order for the corporation to grow, Lambert began to conceive of O N E as an institution— and that was a different model altogether. W hen Lambert began his September 6, 1953 report by lauding the editors for their landmark August issue and welcoming Corky Wolf to the editorial board, his remarks were but an overture to his real task at hand as the corporations acting director. After three paragraphs of kind words, he turns to “more general matters,” his euphemism for the more particular matter of business. He reminded the crew that the advances they had made were in no way due to their forethought and planning: “We have blundered along, leaping a bit precariously from position to position, certain procedures have gradually emerged not by any special vision or foresight on our parts, but because the logic of events has demanded them.” He continued that it was time that they learned from their past in order to plot a better future: “It is important that we all review some of these procedures, in order that we may more effectively go about the colossal task of doing what has never before been done in our country...: providing a public forum for the frank and fearless consideration of homosexuality.” Wliile Slater and Jennings often evoked the structural metaphor of a ship and its sails to convey their conception of the relationship between the magazine, the corporation, and the audience, as that, Lambert all along had a different comparison in mind: that of a forum, an an cient Roman assembly where judicial and other public business was discussed and carried out. A 135 forum also provides for open discussion of public policies, a place where politics converges with marketplace. This forum, in Lamberts estimation, was the core of ONE: it was the organization that produced the magazine, not the other way around. “The corporation.. .is comprised o f the three directors, whose name appear on the charter, and six other members. These nine persons are the owners and publishers [and it is they who] determine ALL of the policies of the corpora tion, including, of course, editorial policies.” Lambert continued that the corporation had to “employ” various others to achieve its goals. Though many had worked as volunteers, it was time to begin paying these workers for their time, and those who worked the most would get paid the most. He asked that each employee keep a record of their time and work invested in preparation for future remuneration by the company. As for content, he reminded O N E’ s editors that selecting and printing content was but the first step. From there, the magazine went into production and circulation phases. Advertising sales were also an important consideration, and all of these departments answered to the business office itself—and thus to Mr. Lambert. He suggested that those corporate members who had used their true name bore a greater burden than those who did not. “In any legal action, the corporation members are required to state their correct names and addresses, what ever else they may choose not to state, under constitutional privileges. ” While it would be fruitless to try to discern which structural metaphor was the more cor rect, it is worthwhile to note that there were not only contrasting philosophies but also contrast ing business models working within the organization. WThereas Jennings had always put the needs of the magazine before the needs of the corporation and may have perceived himself as the captain of a ship surrounded by a crew of worthy assistants and advisors, Lambert’ s conception of the corporation put the magazine on the bottom, more the effects of their labor than the driv ing cause. His conception of a “forum ” was indeed that of a pyramidal power structure, where the business office kept things in order, and ultimately, O N E’ s business manager had the last say. 136 W ith these conflicting ideas of what the organization was for and how it as to be run intact, O N E Inc. managed to survive, with Lambert now its undisputed leader. He was the eldest of the crew, and others seem to have naturally deferred to him for leadership. He had sacrificed his career in city planning for the benefit of the corporation— a brave if not foolish act, but one that endeared him to his cohorts, who looked up to him for guidance and leadership. Lambert was the first full-time employee of the homosexual movement, but his salary was never guaranteed. His commitment to O N E was a commitment to a meager existence, and while he tallied every penny the corporation owed him, he did not hold a grudge when his salary could not be paid. Lambert was dedicated to the organization one hundred per-cent. Wffiile the others had to work outside of the organization to support themselves, perhaps if the corporation continued to grow, and the magazine continued to prosper, then others, such as the magazine’ s editor and art direc tor, could eventually be paid for their contributions. For the time being, though, that was not possible, and O N E continued to resemble a common interest association than it did a legitimate business. There was still much work to be done for O N E to be stable enough financially to hire others, but with determined Lambert in charge, there was hope for the corporation. O N E would continue to grow, and in time, perhaps, all would prosper. (Footnotes) ^ (as Marvin Cutler, 1956, 2— 3) ^ For example, gay historian Charles Kaiser, in his widely read The Gay Metropolis (1997, 100— 101), reports that O N E Magazine actually published by the Mattachine Society. ^ (2002, 115) ^ (In Hansen 1998, 23) ^ A copy of this “Preliminary Concepts ” is reprinted in Hay 1996, 63— 75 ^ Letter to Jennings from Rowland, October 1990 Mbid 137 Mbid ^ Undated, probably 1990 Letter to Jim Schneider, dated May 26, 2000 Screen Actors’ Guild According to O N E ’ s attorney Herb Selwyn, in the 1950s Section 288a involved oral copulation, a crime that was punishable with up to fourteen years in prison. Though the law could theoretically be applied to heterosexuals as well as heterosexuals, Selwyn noted that it was seldom applied to heterosexuals (Marcus 2002, 38). Legg, writing as Marvin Cutler (1956, 24), suggested that the CCO E was formed before Jennings was arrested, but this is not so. Jennings was arrested first, and the Committee was formed soon after. Personal communication, Feb. 3, 2001 Probably M artin Block Personal communication, Feb. 3, 2001 The “Minutes of Meetings Concerning a Proposed Publication, 1952” and “Minutes of Meetings of O NE, Incorporated, ” Nov. 29— Dec. 26, 1952, were later published in ONE Confidential'5'32i, Fall 1958. Personal communication. Letter from Fred Frisbie dated February 3, 2001 Called “Dale Martin” in a copy o f the original minutes on file in the H IC archives Identified as Johnny Button by M artin Block (Marcus 2002, 39) Though there was no real significant event that marked this meeting as a definitional ritual, this date was immortalized by Lambert as the date of O N E ’ s founding, and for the next thirty years, O NE, Incorporated would commemorate it’ s anniversary on October 15. According to M artin Block, this meeting was held in the home of Johnny Button in West Hollywood. According to Block, it was Button who proposed the idea of the magazine (in Marcus 2002, 39). W ith this said, it was probably Button that Legg referred to when he stated that it was the host of that week’ s Mattachine discussion group who came up with the idea for the magazine and then “thought better of the idea the next day and quickly resigned” (Cain 2002, 5). 138 Slater and Sanchez resided at 221 S. Bunker Hill at the time. Kepner has pointed out that the name evoked a “ubiquitous World War II joke about an army sergeant teaching a group o f rookies to count off.” According to the joke, the Sergeant came up to the first recruit, who had refused to speak out, and barked; “‘Hey! You! Ain’ t you one?’ ‘Yes,’ lisped the recruit, ‘ Are you one too?”’ Kepner added that due to the famous joke, “ ‘ Hes one vtzs common Gay jargon” (1998, 3). The lecture was written in 1953 and published in Racially Gay (Hay 1996, 94— 119). Document provided by ISHR. Though the letter is dated Feb. 24, 1953, it is not stamped as received by the attorneys until November 5, 1953. Letter to Jim Schneider from Patrick Dale Porter, dated May 11, 2000. According to Bullough (1976). Bullough’ s primary source of these pseudonyms was W. Dorr Legg (personal communication). 29 writing as David L. Freeman Jennings used this word to describe Rowland, Hay, and Lambert in his 1990s correspondence with Don Slater. This final sentence, with its dramatic twist, might be considered the signature of Jennings, though I have not been able to verify his having used the Saunders pseudonym. I discovered his acceptance speech in his personal files in the H IC archives and have since posted it on the H IC web site. Kepner (1998:5) seems to attribute the “sharper Layout and delightful artwork” of this issue to the resignation of Jennings, but Jennings was very much a part of this issue and did not resign from ONE, Inc. until March 1954. ^ This is the first time that everyone’ s real name was revealed in the corporation’ s minutes. 139 Chapter Five The Establishment o f O N E Institute and the Com ing (and Going) o f Jim Kepner (1955- 1960) Jennings O ut... Getting rid of Jennings did not solve any of O N E s problems, though it did significantly shift the balance of power from the editor-in-chief and to the senior bureaucratic administrator. Indeed, as will be seen, it shocked many into silence and deference. No one really knew what had happened or had been said during the meeting with Jennings on March 22, 1953— only Lambert and W olf had been present, and neither seem to have discussed the conversation after ward. However, this was a pivotal moment in the history of the organization, one that haunted those remaining. They were increasingly cautious about what they said but still optimistic that the corporation would survive. Kepner and the others knew that if Lambert could so easily get rid of Jennings, he could just as well get rid o f them. O n the other hand, here was a man who seemed willing to defend the corporation with his life, if need be— no one seemed willing to sacrifice more for the cause than he. The event of March twenty-second was a peculiar and rare occurrence in the history of the organization. It was a definitive moment, yet it was met with a strange silence— there is no letter of resignation, no discussion o f the details survive in the corporate minutes, the usually vocifer 140 ous editors of O NE remained totally quiet on the matter. It was almost as if the man had never existed. Because of this, and the means by which Jennings’ s resignation was achieved, I have called this event a closed-door coup. As such, it is worth elaborating on, because such events occur again in the future and with some regularity— enough to count them as a form of ritual. As such, a closed-door coup has several distinct features. While the repercussions so far as the organization is concerned are significant, only a few, in this case three directors are involved: a protagonist, an antagonist, and one key witness who is implicit in the action yet likely to remain silent or else be supportive of the event afterward. Such a person may or may not stand to gain by the expulsion, or he or she may feel that the person leave for the “ultimate good” of the corporation. In any case, the fact remains that of those who enter the room, one will leave bereft of all stations and duties held within the corporation, thus the event qualifies as a coup, a change in governance. W hen considered in this light, the closed-door coup becomes a kind of definitional ritual. While it may be a tragic event for the ousted individual, by his or her expulsion some impasse has been surmounted, or perhaps greater factionalizing has been prevented or at least delayed. As for whether such an event is for the corporation’ s welfare or to its detriment is probably a question subject to perspective; however, the regularity o f such events suggests that they play a crucial role in the history of some organizations. In this case, there are two attempts at closed- door coups to follow, both in 1965, when the corporation physically and permanently divides. These will be taken up in the next chapter. W ith Jennings gone, O NE was in need o f an editor, and it was good fortune that Jim Kepner was recruited for the job. Kepner was ideal for the position in many ways. He was a talented writer, trained as a journalist. He was adaptable, willing to write in a few distinctive “voices ” and thereby represent various perspectives, employing several different pen names. And perhaps most importantly, he was a relative moderate so far as office politics were concerned, being as dedicated to O N E ’ s educational mission as he was to O NE Magazine. Some such as 141 Vern Bullough^ have suggested that it was largely through Kepner’ s impartiality and cooperative efforts that O N E Incorporated was to survive the years after Jennings’ s removal. Though he performed admirably in this role, it took its toll on him personally, and Kepner was to suffer for years, having sacrificed his income and career and having postponed his education for the sake of the corporation and its work on behalf of homosexuals. Kepner In Jim Kepner’ s first article appeared in the March 1954 issue of O NE Magazine, published under the pseudonym of Lyn Pedersen. It was titled “The Importance of Being Different,” and as a debut article it was a zinger. “ Are homosexuals in any im portant way different from other people?” he asked rhetorically before making his position on the matter quite clear: “Vive la difference! ” But he cautioned his readers that divergent opinions on the matter had fractured the Mattachine Society which had become “almost schizoid ” over the question. “W hat can a Society accomplish if half of it feels its object is to convince the world we’ re just like everyone else and the other half feels homosexuals are variants in the full sense of the term and have every right to be?” Kepner had attended the Mattachine conferences in April, May, and October of 1953 and had seen firsthand what utter disasters they were. As Ernie Potvin put it, “People came with sky-rocketing hopes to these conferences and tore one another apart. Jim thought he was the only person in those gatherings who saw that they did not all want the same thing nor could they easily agree on how to get it” (1998, 9). Kepner felt that duality was dangerous, having the potential to polarize the movement, dividing its energy and resources by fueling conflicts from within. “Only by allowing the free action of individual groups within the structure of an elastic society can such diverse philosophies work together. But such schizophrenia is hard to handle. ” He believed that it was important for all homosexuals to remember that they were united in purpose, and they must sacrifice their differences to it. He concluded the article with a prescient observation: “W ith other minorities, racial and religious, similar dichotomies have forced into 142 existence a variety of opposing organizations, each with its own clear-cut program. For homo sexuals, as well, this must probably come, in time.” For now, he concluded that while he would continue to advocate for “the right to be different,” he acknowledged that somewhere along the line, he had “picked up the notion that I cant protect my own rights in that quarter without fighting for everyone else’ s” (ibid). Kepner brought renewed ambition and optimism to the corporation, but having a vision is one thing and making it real is quite another no matter how much enthusiasm one devotes to the project. During his first year at ONE, Kepner, Chuck Rowland, and Bob Hull attempted to coordinate a group of homosexuals in Mexico, but their efforts fell flat. Kepner attempted to start an organization in Tucson with Dave SchafiFer, but that organization never materialized either. Still, Kepner was encouraged by the feedback he had received from his readers. Some had written to him that O NE Magazine had “saved their lives,” and knowing this moved and motivated him, as it did the others (Potvin 1998, 9). By the fall of 1954, O N E M a g a z i n e being shipped monthly to 1,650 subscribers, most of whom paid an extra dollar a year to receive it wrapped in a plain wrapper. Newsstand and other sales increased total circulation to five thousand (Murdoch and Price 2001, 27). However, this rise in readership and distribution did not immediately translate to increased revenue for the corporation. Due to lack o f funds, O N E cancelled the August and September issues and extended all subscriptions by two months as compensation. Compounding their difficulties, the postmaster detained the October issue of O NE on grounds of obscenity, even though O N E’ s attorney Eric Julber, had been extra vigilant in his perusal of that issue, the cover of which said “You C ant Print T hat.” Government censors nevertheless “banned it under a law that forbade the mailing of any ‘ obscene, lewd, lascivious or filthy publication” (ibid, 29) due to a short story attributed to Jane Dahr titled “Sappho Remembered,” which portrayed lesbian romance in a positive light. 143 Historians Deb Price and Joyce Murdoch point out that the staff at O N E was not too alarmed when they first heard of the seizure, as it had happened before with the “Homosexual Marriage?” issue of Sept. 1953, which the postmaster had delayed by several weeks. But postal inspectors in Washington agreed with Los Angeles postmaster O tto K. Olesens assessment that the issue was unsuitable for mailing. The officers of O N E were eager to challenge Olesen in court, but the organization’ s financial situation prevented quick action. Julber decided that he would take the job and not charge O N E for his service, but even then it was nearly a year, September 16, 1955, before he filed his lawsuit. Kepner Resigns (the first time) In February o f 1955, exasperated Jim Kepner resigned from the corporation. Chuck Rowland had proposed that O N E raise money to purchase a house to convert into a mission or home for wayward homosexuals. Kepner became increasingly frustrated as others discussed the idea, fearing that the resources needed would starve out the publications division. In a letter to the directors dated February 27, he complained that he and others felt as though they had been “manipulated like puppets” and were afraid that “some aims of the corporation are likely to defeat ... the magazine.” He admitted that his frustrations had been building for the prior few months, but he had decided to remain silent, fearing that what happened to Jennings would soon happen to him: “[I feared that] any opposition on my part to Chuck’ s project would lead to my expulsion.” He felt that the mission to provide a home for “the lost ones from Main Street” was an awful idea, yet when he spoke of it he had been told to “m ind his own business,” even though the project would have been detrimental to O NE Magazine. Kepner further argued that as Editor-in-Chief, he should have a vote in corporate policy. He complained that the “corporation’ s predilection for interdepartmental secrecy and intrigue made for impossible working conditions.” As for Rowland or the others telling him what to do, he stated that it was only when his employer, Canco, gave him orders that he felt compelled “to carry them out with minimum regard for my own opinions”— but of course he was being paid 144 for his work there. Kepner believed that the job of Editor-in-Chief should likewise be a paid position, even if on a part-time basis. “ A magazine th at.. .can pay the editors enough to expect them to express the publishers’ viewpoint down to the last letter is a bit different from a maga zine that is asking the editor to contribute his services gratis and in his spare time, while earning his living elsewhere.” Until O N E could afford to pay even a modest salary to its core faculty, the organization could only be “a cooperative venture” of “volunteers in a common cause.” As a “corporation,” O N E was in stagnant waters and perhaps even doomed to failure. He concluded his resignation letter with the cordial hope that he could work with O N E again at some point in the future, adding that his departure may have been bit premature, as some of his complaints had already been dealt with adequately. (Rowland’ s home for wayward homosexuals never materialized.) He assured his colleagues at O N E that both the corporation and the magazine had his “continued and hearty support.” Kepner was out of the organization for the time being, but in the month prior to his departure, an idea had been planted that would draw him back to O N E— and even provide him the requested income. Chuck Rowland, however, did not fare as well, and he became disappointed when support for his concept fell flat. Rowland resigned from O N E soon after Kepner, though I have not been able to find his resignation letter. A letter to him from Irma Wolff acting as Chairman for ONE, Incorporated, dated March 1, 1956, accepted his resignation with regrets. “We believe that this unique and hazardous venture has endured during the past four years because O N E ’ s members have given their unwavering loyalty to the principle of majority rule. ” W olf admon ished Rowland for having held meetings in his home that had “encouraged the development of something entirely foreign to the assignment given you at the Corporation meeting February 1.” Since it was “not possible to be a member of the corporation without the willingness to subscribe to this fundamental democratic procedure...no other conclusion remains for us that you have repudiated a movement and a leadership you only recently appeared to hold in such high esteem.” 145 ONE Institute for Homophiie Studies In January of 1955, O N E ’ s education division, now calling itself O N E Institute for Homophiie Studies, sponsored its first public function, a Midwinter Institute. If the success of a definitional ritual should be measured on the longevity of its continuance, then the Midwinter Institutes stand as one of O N E ’ s greatest achievements. Annually thereafter for the next twenty five years, O N E ’ s Midwinter Institutes would present speakers and hold seminars to audiences gathered from all over the world, on topics such as psychology, law, religion, literature, his tory, and cultural diversity. Live entertainment such as dances, plays, and puppet shows would entertain the conveners year after year. Dozens and sometimes hundreds of the Friends of O N E would come from across the southwest and other distant urban centers to participate in the annual event, always held the final weekend in January— an ideal time for a pilgrimage to Los Angeles. For the March issue of 1956, Irma W olf was promoted from Managing Editor to Editor, a position that had been vacant since the resignation of Jennings two years prior. Wolf imme diately tried to recruit more women writers and a larger female audience. She had worked for O N E since first volunteering for the organization in the spring of 1953, and she had become Chairman at the 1955 Annual Meeting. “Corky,” as her associates called her, was one of O N E’ s most reliable and perhaps under-appreciated volunteers at this time. While o n e ’ s Articles of Incorporation had not specifically created an education division, its existence helped to fulfill the second and third General Purposes of corporation, which called for research and education on homosexual issues. In the summer of 1956, the Education Divi sion committee of O N E Incorporated, which included Kepner, Legg, and Merritt M. Thom p son, reported that a study they had conducted pertaining to the quality of existing education pertaining to homophiles and homosexuality “exhibited numerous shortcomings, ” which were later enumerated in O NE Magazine: 146 (1) scholarly timidity in dealing with a topic considered socially distasteful; (2) almost complete absence in institutional budgets of funds for furthering study of the topic; (3) medical, psychoanalytic or other bias limiting the viewpoints of most research; (4) culturally-conditioned bias concerning homosexuality on the part of most researchers; (5) low level of research work in the field in consequence of the above factors. ^ To remedy these problems and misconceptions, the committee recommend that courses be offered in homophiie studies, which would take into consideration such diverse fields as anthro pology, sociology, biology, history, law, literature, and religion (Potvin 1998, 9). The directors voted to accept these recommendations, and in the fall of 1956, O N E Institute of Homophiie Studies began offering its first courses of study. According to Slater’ s records, there were thirteen students enrolled in this first term, all members of O N E ’ s staff. These included Slater himself, Legg, Kepner, Rudi Steinert, and Merritt M. Thompson, going by the name Thomas M. Merritt. This first seminar, HS-lOO, which met for nine weeks. In the next spring, the course met for 18 weeks, and 15 students matriculated, including a future Director of ONE, Fred Frisbie, as George Mortenson. It was during this spring term in 1957 that a vocabulary committee was created, headed by Dean Thompson; it was hoped that a dictionary of homosexuality could be compiled and published in the future. Twenty-five other students met for an eight-session extension Symposium in San Francisco. That fall, HS-210 was offered, being the first of a two-semester course titled In troduction to Homophiie Studies, which met for 18 weeks. According to Slater’ s records, twelve students enrolled, including Wayne Placek, Stella Rush, and Barbara Sutton. According to the 1958 Annual Report, there had been two primary problems with the running of O N E Institute of Homophiie Studies in its first year and a half of operation. The first was the considerable strain on faculty— it was a very heavy workload for no pay. Not one of the four faculty members was reimbursed for time spent preparing or teaching a class. Another problem was that there was no textbook, which called for “forced-draft measures on the part of the faculty” and “considerable misapprehension on the part of many students as to the scope and 147 true nature of the studies undertaken.” This in turn led to “careless study, or none at all, a dearth of the original thought and a standard of scholarship not very high in most cases.” But the leaders at O N E Institute were not to be daunted by such trivialities as scarcity of resources and general lack o f interest. “Perhaps this is to be expected,” they reasoned, “deal ing with a file so generally plagued by low standards of scholarship, beset by taboos and social disapproval.” Under the leadership ofThom pson, the four members o f the Education Division set out to break new ground by accomplishing what he called “structuralizing the field”: “Not only must O N E Institute pioneer in devising methods of studying the homophiie, but must also somehow awaken others to see the need for such studies and then hold the students to satisfac tory standards of accomplishment.”'^ Thompson himself, a professor of education at USC, was a relative newcomer to ONE. He had heard o f the first Midwinter Institute in 1955 but had decided not to go lest it only be “a small group of eccentrics, freaks, or what have you.” He gathered up courage to attend in 1956 and found, to his surprise, that the group was comprised of “very normal, fine appearing young people, some of them college students.” He was particularly impressed with Dorr Legg, “a dynamic, highly intelligent, former college professor in the fields of art and aesthetics.” Legg and Thompson immediately became friends. As educators, they agreed “the fact that the biases, prejudices, and social maladjustments in general were so nearly always based upon ignorance,” and therefore “the most helpful activity to the movement would be an Institute, a kind of specialized graduate school of classes covering the relation o f sex, particularly homosexuality, to the larger field of culture” (Merritt M. Thompson 1969). Looking to the brighter side of the situation, all four of O N E Institute’ s faculty “acknowledge[d] the great benefits to themselves from their study and researches in clearer understanding of the homophiie and his place in society.” W ith this came an increased con fidence in their ability to combat “professional and popular errors concerning the subject. ” Thompson noted that the students had reported such benefits as well. He also noted that the 148 mission of “structuralizing the field” had been facilitated through the “accumulation o f much bibliographical material, quantities of litde-known facts, new perspectives on anthropology, soci ology, history, literature and a number of other subjects which deal direedy with the homophiie man or woman.” ^ The organization owed much to its archivists. Legal Setbacks While the organization was progressing on many fronts, the legal battle with the postmaster continued, and in this arena things did not seem so sure. Julber presented his case against the Postmaster on January 16, 1956, with District Judge Thurm ond Clarke presiding. Julber s open ing brief cited U.S. Code, title 18, section 1461: Every obscene, lewd, lascivious, or filthy book, pamphlet, picture, paper, letter, writing, print or other publication of an indecent character; and .. .every written or printed card, letter, circular, book, pamphlet, advertisement, or notice of any kind giving informa tion. ..o f such mentioned matters, articles, or things...is declared to be non-mailable matter and shall not be conveyed in the mail or delivered from any post office or by any letter carrier. Julber countered that the magazine was not “obscene, lewd, lascivious, or filthy” and that the actions of Olesen had been “arbitrary, capricious and an abuse of discretion, unsupported by evidence.” In refusing to distribute the magazine, the Postmaster had caused “a deprivation of Plaintiffs property and liberty without due process of law.” Following this came twenty-eight pages articulating six key arguments. Apart from the complaints already mentioned, Julber noted that in order to violate the statute in question, “a work must be lewdly simulative to the average reader, and not to those of a particular class.” He further stated that “a comparison of other literature on the same subject being offered for public sale at the same time as the instant work and freely transmitted in the public mails shows that the instant work is not obscene, lewd or lascivious under prevailing literary standards.” In defense of this statement, Julber included a sixteen-page appendix that listed twenty magazines and journals that had published articles between 1951 and 1954. Also listed were sixty-seven books or short stories that had clearly pertained to homosexuality. Authors cited 149 included Henry James, D. H. Lawrence, Sherwood Anderson, Paul Bowles, Gore Vidal, Christo pher Isherwood, Fritz Peters, Herman Melville, and Willa Gather. While most of the titles listed were fiction, Cory s Homosexuals in America was listed, and Ruth Benedict’ s Patterns o f Culture was cited: Western civilization tends to regard even a mild homosexual as abnormal. We have only to turn to other cultures, however, to realize that homosexuals have by no means been uniformly inadequate to the social situation. In some societies they have been especially acclaimed.^ The index concluded with an ironic flourish by citing Jack Lait and Lee Mortimer’ s infamous expose Washington Confidential (1951) for its “many references to homosexuals in government positions, to fairy hangouts, queers, [and] perverts. ” Judge Clarke was not at all impressed with Julber s brief. O n March 2, 1956, he entered his judgment in favor of Olesen, stating that the magazine in question had contained “filthy and obscene material obviously calculated to stimulate the lust of the homosexual reader” (in Hansen 1998, 36). He added: “The suggestion that homosexuals should be recognized as a segment of our people and be accorded special privilege as a class is rejected.” This was puzzling, as nowhere in Julber’ s brief was it suggested that homosexuals were a distinct class of people deserving special protection. Nevertheless, Julber, for the time being, was defeated. The Divisions of ONE In 1956, Kepner had recommended that O N E rent an additional room in which they could house their books and start a library. To get things going, Kepner donated four hundred of his own books, which, according to Ernie Potvin, included “the core of his non-fiction col lection” and more than doubled the size of the corporation’ s library (1998, 10). Though Legg had glowingly written of the quality of O N E’ s library, in reality it had before this time “only consisted o f no more than a few boxes of books behind couches at Gorky’ s and Joan’ s, or hidden away in Don Slater’ s closet ” (ibid). Slater had been the corporation’ s first librarian, though in corporate records and in O NE Magazine “Leslie Colfax” received this credit. Potvin points out 150 that “this was the first Gay library in the United States, but it would not be the last that Jim would be responsible for starting.” Kepner did not give to O N E all of his treasured volumes, however, and his personal library continued to grow, becoming first the Western Gay Archives and then the International Gay and Lesbian Archives (ibid). By this time, the divisions and subdivisions of the corporation were firmly established. The four service departments of the corporation included the Book Service, through which patrons could purchase books related to homosexuality, and the Bureau of Public Information, which provided a “watch dog” service by publicizing news reports “of illegal acts directed against homosexuals by public and private figures and to correct published falsehoods about homosexu als.” The remaining two departments were Business and Accounting and Public Relations. The Publication Division was responsible for the printing and distribution of ONE Maga zine. Through the Book Department, O NE had published two thousand numbered copies of Game o f Fools in 1955, a play by James Barr. Barr was author of the homosexual-themed novel Quatrefoil (1950), the story of love shared between two male navy officers, and Derricks (1951), a volume of short stories. His works were considered important for portraying homosexuals “who were neither disgusting, fantastic, nor pitiable ‘ cases’, but vigorous, healthy young Ameri can males, and extremely attractive to women” (Legg 1956, 2). In 1956, the Publications Division published Homosexuals Today: A Handbook o f Organiza tions dr Publications, edited by Bill Lambert as “Marvin Cutler” (Legg 1996, 2). Homosexuals Today was a handsome publication, with a heavy black-cloth binding embossed with bold yellow type and a stylized face seemingly painted onto the front. Stylized images and others sketches by Corbin, drawn from the pages of the now-historic publications of O N E and Mattachine, graced its one hundred and eighty-eight pages. The content, a scrapbook-like history o f the movement, was divided into three sections: “The United States,” “ Europe,” and “ Homosexuals Today,” plus an index. The foreword, erroneously paginated as chapter one, situated the reader in America 1950, where “ attitudes toward homosexuals presented the faces of Janus— zealous repression, on 151 the one hand, and awakening progress, on the other” (Legg [Cutler] 1956, 1). Following was a speech that Slater had delivered at the 1956 Mattachine Society convention in San Francisco concerning “The Homophiie Press Today.” As for O NE Magazine, 1957 was a year of change, including a subscription increase. A “new look” for the magazine was unveiled for the June-July issue, reflecting a change in the way the magazine was printed. Formerly, the offset method had been used; the new produc tion method would be the “speedier and more accurate” letter-press.^ Also, O N E’ s talented art director, Joan Corbin, who worked a full-time job elsewhere, had been increasingly assisted by Dawn Frederics and Fred Frisbie, which alleviated her work load and diversified the style of the magazine. o n e ’ s third Midwinter Institute began on Saturday, January 26, 1957. Wolf, Legg, and Kepner had been elected to the Board of Directors the evening before. The theme of the confer ence was “The Homosexual Answers his Critics.” The event included a dramatic presentation featuring scenes from a yet-unpublished play by James Barr Fugate, author o f Quatrefoil (1950) and Derricks (1951). Hay gave a two-hour lecture on “The Homophiie in Search of a Historical Context and Cultural Contiguity” that was printed in O NE Confidential the following fall. The speech is notable for its homage to anthropology, which he stated had “gone to some pains to demonstrate some physiological validity for this small minority.” He mentioned both Ford and Beach’ s Patterns o f Sexual Behavior (1951) and Ruth Benedict’ s Patterns o f Culture as invaluable contributions to the betterment of the role of homophiles in society. Hay spoke of the berdache, a term he said had been “employed to represent the diversity of social employment of the Homophilic phenomena by varying social levels of Amerindian cultures.” Hay said that the berdache was important as representing a folk pattern— “the vast substratal acculturation of the mass”— that had provided “the imperturbable foundation of all social and political complexes until astonishingly recent days.” In other words, after years of sup pression by dominant European culture, the phenomenon continued to persists, and this fact. 152 he claimed, was supported in the archeological evidence from the Mesolithic and Paleolithic. Though, he admitted, V. Gordon Childe himself was disinclined to “adduce a patriarchic or gynarchic culture as a formative stage in the evolution of European Society, we will rely on much of his.. .solidly-rooted summarizations to reconstruct the emergence of the Berdache phenom enon as a constructive social institution” (Hay, in Legg 1994, 240) Income and Remuneration About the summer of 1957, ONE, Inc. began to pay two salaries, one to the Editor, Don Slater, and one to the Business Manager, William Lambert. At a dollar per hour, the fee was hardly exorbitant, but it did strain the budget and probably frustrated Jim Kepner, who had been working full time at O NE while also working a full-time factory job five to six nights each week. So in August, Kepner quit the night job, “took a heavy cut in his standard of living,” and joined the “hurly-burly of O N E ’ s daily office duties” {ONE Confidential, Fall 1958, 2). W ith three salaries now to support, O N E ’ s deficit began to increase, so on October 15, celebrated as the fifth anniversary o f the corporation, the organization confessed in its annual fund-drive letter to having amassed a deficit of $5,184.19 and asked its readers for help. The fault, they claimed, was the “long-unrealistic 25^ price and $2.50 & $3.50 subs for O N E Magazine, and in some degree our earliest venture in book publishing,” meaning that though Homosexuals Today and Game o f Fools had sold very well, they had only netted “a theoretical profit of $752.99.”® Game o f Fools had earned $895; however, over seven hundred and twenty-three copies remained unsold. The fund drive itself was mildly successful, and by the end of 1957 the organization had reduced its deficit by $1,500.00.^ Kepner and Slater took part on a public panel that fall, titled “W hat Does the Rise in Homosexuality Mean?,” sponsored by an organization called The Searchers in Hollywood. Slater stated that he believed homosexuality to be increasing for the simple reason that the population itself was increasing. He added that many homosexuals who had been repressed or miserable with their sexuality might have been emboldened by the Kinsey report, which had helped them 153 to “accept their deviancy” (ibid.). A subsequent speaker, Dr. Arthur E. Briggs, author of Walt Whitman, Thinker and Artist (1952) and member of the Ethical Culture Society of Los Angeles, “agreed [with Slaters] idea that the recent wars may have fostered an increase in homosexuality.” The next speaker, however, was former vice officer Fred Otash, who claimed to have invented the “peep-hole technique” used by LAPD vice to monitor public toilets and strongly disagreed that the war had anything to do with it. He stated that while he was in the Marines, “the only fags we ran into were some Navy men who were doing womens work.” He added that in Venice in particular, the public had frequently complained of “being accosted” by male homosexuals in public rest rooms. Homosexual men, he claimed, were continually on the lookout for “a real man” and therefore were continually luring heterosexuals, especially young boys, into engaging in homosexual acts. Kepner countered by noting that there was far more heterosexual graffiti soliciting sex on the bathroom walls than homosexual. And if a man were to be propositioned, couldn’ t he just say no? W hen Otash responded that he could not find homosexuality advocated in the Bible and that “either we should enforce the law as it stands, or else we should change it, ” Kepner remind ed him that the passion between David and Jonathan was described as “surpassing the love of women. ” Kepner quipped that if Otash “would care to do a bit of “peeping ” in Pershing Square, he might find more Marines than sailors there among the male prostitutes and others who were seeking a bit of homosexual activity.” Otash replied with the bizarre but commonly heard non sequitur: “The real men who offered their services to homosexuals couldn’ t really be considered as homosexuals in any sense.” Briggs concluded the discussion by citing Goethe’ s assertion that “homosexuality has been around as long as men have.” Then, citing Ford and Beach, he added: “It just might be quite common among animals as well.” In the fall 1958 issue of O NE Confidential, it was announced that O N E was preparing to publish two new books. One was to be “a general survey of the homosexual field, quite unlike any other works so far in print, viewing the subject from different angles— the biological, an 154 thropological, sociological, religious, legal, psychological, literary and philosophical viewpoints.” The second would be more historical in focus, with biographical profiles of notable homosexuals from the past. W hile the volumes as described never appeared, portions from Jim Kepner’ s work, “Introduction to Homophiie Studies” and Legg’ s “Homosexuality in History” were later printed in the fall 1958 issue of the Quarterly. This ambitious goal anticipates the comprehensive two- volume Annotated Index o f Homosexuality finally published in 1976 by Bullough, Legg, Elcano, and Kepner. More Legal Setbacks O n February 27, 1957, a three-judge panel from the N inth Circuit Court of Appeals ruled with District Judge Clarke that the October 1954 issue of O N E had indeed been obscene and therefore was not suitable for mailing. The judges were most disturbed by the short story “Sappho Remembered,” which they deemed “nothing more than cheap pornography calculated to promote lesbianism” (Murdoch and Price 2001, 34). In addition to Clarke’ s commentary, they added that the magazine in question “has a primary purpose of exciting lust, lewd and lascivious thoughts and sensual desire in the minds of persons reading it.” They added: “Social standards are fixed by and for the great majority and not by or for a hardened or weakened minority” (ibid, 33). This setback certainly had its effects on the morale of those at ONE, Incorporated. As Joseph Hansen has noted, “Lambert began to have misgivings. O N E ’ s board of Directors grew restive. Some were ready to give up,” but Slater and Julber continued to press on (1988, 36). Julber filed a petition for a rehearing on March 14, which was denied a month later, on April 12. So he wrote a Petition for Writ of Certiorari to the United States Court of Appeals for the Ninth Circuit, which he filed with the Supreme Court on June 13, 1957.^® In the short, nine-page writ, Julber asked the Supreme Court to specify that the Court o f Appeals had erred in finding the magazine obscene. It had misrepresented and incorrectly gauged “the moral tone of the com m unity” and failed to take into consideration the bibliographic appendix. 155 Two days after O N E celebrated its fifth anniversary, Irma W olf presented her resignation to Lambert, Kepner, and Slater during a board meeting on October 17, 1957. W olf had been in for surgery in early September, and six weeks later she still lacked the energy to continue her work for the organization. O N E printed a resignation letter^ ^ by “Reid” in the December issue, which featured a sketch of her on the cover by Corbin. In the letter. W olf said that she had “for some years given a “minimum of effort” to my employer and the “maximum of effort” to ONE. The situation would remain this way had I any say in the matter. I have not.” Though Wolf had never been paid for her work, her feeling of loyalty toward the corporation remained strong. The minutes of the October 17 meeting report that both “Corky and Vicki” resigned immediately, though Vicki would continue to “clean up loose ends on circulation correspondence.” Slater was appointed as a temporary third member of the board, and “Nancy” was to be the acting Womens director, with “Woody” to manage circulation records, assisted by “Cinger.” Slater was appointed to serve as acting Editor, with Lambert and Kepner voting members of the editorial board. Though W olf’ s health had indeed taken a turn for the worse, Kepner stated that she had also resigned “due to growing distress with Dorr Legg’ s male chauvinism” (1998, 395). He also noted that with W olf gone, the three of them formed a “precariously balanced board of direc tors” as no two of them ever seemed to agree on the issues. Votes were often split two to one, and consensus was unheard of (ibid). O n a side note, that December 6, 1957, Bill Lambert participated in a seminar hosted by the publications department of the Mattachine Society in San Francisco titled “Progress Survey, Workshop and Seminar.” Dr. Wallace de Ortega Maxey, editor of a new publication called Sex and Censorship (1958), was the principal speaker. The main event was the morning session, tape-recorded and later broadcast on KPFA in Berkeley, pertaining to homosexuality. Speakers at this morning session included San Francisco psychologist Blanche M. Baker; Hal Call, editor of Mattachine Review; and the anthropologist Margaret Mead. 156 Publication and (or) Education During the business meeting prior to the 1958 annual meeting, the directors of ON E elect ed to make their combined knowledge and historical materials accessible to the public through the publication o f a scholarly journal, O NE Institute Quarterly. The journal would publish and reprint articles, reports, and studies dealing with homosexuality, which could be available to the public through subscription and could also be used as a reference in O N E Institute’ s courses. It would be announced at the 1958 annual meeting that the first issue would appear the following spring, “the first textbook of homophiie studies ever written anywhere.” By the end of 1957, the impetus of the corporation had clearly shifted away from the pub lication of O N E Magazine and toward a different and, for some, higher goal: education. “The sexual variant needs education about himself and his place in society, if he is to become a happy and productive citizen,” the 1957 annual report declared. “Few, if any, existing public or private educational institutions have provided this type of education. The general public needs to be educated about sex variation, in order to counteract ignorant prejudice and harmful discrimina tory practices.” For this reason, O N E Institute had been started, and a new publication, ONE Institute Quarterly o f Homophiie Studies would be launched, “designed for the serious student,” its appeal is scholarly, not “popular. ” To help fund OIQ and to help alleviate the increased cost of printing O NE Magazine, the organization created a new three-tiered structure for membership, effective February first, 1958. Those who contributed at least $15 per year were to be classified as “ Annual Members,” and these would receive a one-year subscription to O NE Magazine and the quarterly O NE Confi dential. Those who contributed $30 were Contributing Members, and they received the same benefits as the Annual Members plus a copy of the corporation’ s Annual Report. For $50, Asso ciate Members received the above spiffs plus “an additional Supplement, containing interesting material not available elsewhere.” All members were invited to attend the Annual Meetings and the following Midwinter Institute. 157 ONE, Inc. hosted its 6th annual Midwinter Institute from January 31 through February 2, 1958. The theme of the meeting was “Homosexuality— Way of Life.” Was such a notion as absurd as the psychiatrists and psychologists would have it? Viewed from the perspective of his tory, it was certainly “a novel idea, perhaps an American one; certainly of comparatively recent origin” {ONE Confidential, W inter 1958:1). Other people in other times, places, and cultures had certainly made a place for their homosexuals: “Various ancient cultures fitted the homo sexual into their patterns o f living as the medicine man, the shaman, the priest, generally as “ the man like a woman,’ or, “ the woman like a man .” Nevertheless, this was apparently not enough for the directors of O N E to consider such individuals as a leading a homosexual “way of life.” They maintain that it was not until the late 1800s that such writers as W hitman and Carpenter had dared to “hint at some more stable position for the erotic lové of a man for a man, or a woman for a woman,” though “their approaches were both faltering and extremely vague.” In the current day, they wrote, European homophiie organizations were “developing pleasant social lives for their members. ..while many American homophiles feel that an aim of their groups should be a reduction in the incidence of homosexuality. ” Such “reductionism” was hardly the attitude of ONE. [Sjuppose that Nature (dare we even say God?) has intended or “chosen,” for some very important and special reasons, a certain percentage of all men and women to express to the fullest extent the innate homosexuality we are told [by Kinsey] is a part of us all. Suppose that it should be discovered that by suppressing and repressing such men and women that traces and cultures have brought about their own slow suicide. Suppose, most startling of all, that high moral values should be discovered in such a way of life. Does it not seem well worth our time and attention to discuss these matters[?](ibid:2) Kepner’ s Journal: ONE Institute Quarterly To facilitate such discussion, the first issue o f O NE Institute Quarterly was published and delivered to the Hill Street office on June 6*, 1958. According to editor Jim Kepner’ s 1959 annual report, the Quarterly differed from O NE Magazine in a few significant ways. It was more serious in tone and didactic in purpose, its intent being to “disseminate the results of the 158 Institute’ s studies in the homophiie side of history, religion, law, literature, and the sciences, and also to print or evaluate studies or researches by other scholars in the field.” Dawn Frederic of O NE Magazines art department was appointed the art director. The printing was done by the same firm that produced ONE, at a bid of $346 for five hundred 32-page copies. The first issue, with six hundred issues printed, costing .93«t to print and mail each copy, though O N E charged its subscribers less than .88<t. The second issue, with five hundred copies printed, cost .96<t each, and the third cost .84<f, with six hundred printed. An extra one hundred were to be distributed to University libraries thanks to outside funding through a contributor. By the start of 1959, the Quarterly had attracted three hundred subscribers with fifty more copies distributed through six newsstands and bookstores. Kepner estimated that it would take about seven hundred and sixty total subscribers to break even on costs for publication and distributions; five hundred more would be needed If they were to recoup other office and editorial expenses. Clearly, as Kepner put it, the cost of producing O N E ’ s third publication fell “well short of the break-even point.” But was it worth the costs? Kepner and Legg argued yes, that it was time to till and sow the field of homosexual scholarship. For them this was O N E ’ s new and urgent mission, all expenses be damned. “We frankly admit that at times our sympathies and desires for prompt progress tempt us to move faster than ‘ sound business judgement’ would approve, ” the Board wrote to the Friends of O N E in the fall 1958 issue o f O NE Confidential. “But if sound business judgement’ had been at the helm in 1952, O N E would never have started in the first place.” Earlier in 1958, Stella Rush, known as “Sten Russell,” became chair of the Promotion Committee, and her first goal was to recruit expired subscribers to come back to O NE Maga zine, which D on Slater now described as “a propaganda device used to put the homosexual point of view across” (Annual Report 1958, 6). The tone of the magazine had shifted somewhat since the 1957 meeting where homosexuality was indeed perceived as a valid, legitimate, and even noble way of life. W ith this said, the next question became one of advocacy: “Can we, should we advocate homosexuality? ” Dr. Blanche Baker was to address this issue in the January 1959 issue 159 of ONE. As for the Education Division, O N E Institute hardly had a banner year. The summer classes of 1958 were cancelled due to lack o f enrollment, and Slater’ s fall Seminar on English Literature was likewise cancelled. Legg, as director of O N E Institute, attributed the problem to “the serious lack of awareness on the part both of professional people and the homophiie public of the value of systematic study o f the subject ” (Annual Report 1958:12). He voiced frustration over the lack of interest and seems to have lamented the situation by browbeating his audience, the Friends o f ONE: It seems patent to us that if the homophiie is ever to be regarded as a part of society to be taken seriously he must begin by taking himself seriously and approach his whole mode of living with at least the same degree of care that other segments of society exer cise. First-class citizenship requires first-class efforts. There is no easier way, unfortunate as this may be, to have civil rights and civil respect, (ibid) The situation hardly improved the following year. In the fall of 1959, a class in Homophiie Sociology met regularly but only attracted an average of eight students. A course called Land marks in Homophiie Literature was dropped after a few sessions due to low enrollment, but a seminar for faculty members pertaining to German History managed to continue periodically through the term. The officers and faculty of O N E Institute included Thomas M. M erritt as Dean Emeritus; W. Dorr Legg, Director; and Alison Hunter, a pseudonym used primarily by Legg, was Secretary. Faculty included James Kepner, Jr., Instructor in History and Psychology; W. Dorr Legg, A.B., B.M., M.L.D., Associate Professor of Sociology; “Thomas M. M erritt,” Ph.D., Professor Emeritus of Philosophy; and Donald Slater, A.B., Instructor in Literature. Running Hard and Standing Still In July of 1958, O NE Magazine reached an all-time low for subscriptions, falling below nine hundred. By comparison, there had been nearly eighteen hundred subscribers to O NE in the best m onth o f 1954. This probably reflected frustration on behalf of the magazine’ s subscrib ers, who in 1957 had gone three months (non-consecutive) without a magazine and then in one month had received two issues— meaning they had received ten issues instead of the anticipated 160 twelve. Readers also seemed to be weary of the same writers and the same topics, month after month. “We have discovered that we have to work had to sell this magazine, and like the treadmill in Alice Through the Looking-Glass, you find you have to run awfully hard just to stand still,” Kepner wrote in his annual report as Circulation Director (14). Progress had been made, though, and in 1958 there were twelve issues printed, and each was distributed in the middle of the month o f issue (ibid). Ten issues had been produced in 1954, ’55, and ’57 and only nine in 1956. At the end of 1958 there were over 55,000 back issues in stock and only a few issues from the first few years o f publication had sold out. O n Monday, October 27, during a board meeting with Slater, Kepner, and Lambert pres ent, the matter of O N E ’ s tax exemption was discussed. Kepner and Slater wanted to know what the holdup was, and Legg stalled by discussing some pending court case that could have bearings on their status. It was decided not to pursue legal recourse for the moment, but they would have their attorney, Eric Julber, discuss his recommendations at the Corporate Meeting to be held on Wednesday, November 12. The corporation had managed to follow through with its plan to pay three wages in 1958, but not without some problems. According to the annual report. Slater had allowed O N E to reduce his salary from $47.50 per week to $42.50 in December. Lambert continued to earn $47.50 weekly, and, beginning August 1, Jim Kepner was paid $75 per week as Manager of the Book Department. At the end of the year, the corporation had a net worth of over $15,000, nearly a $5,000 increase from the year before. This, however, was because the projected value of the library had been added to the assets, with estimated value o f $5,000. W ithout this, the corporation was actually down from 1957 by about $300. All departments reported growth and smooth sailing in 1959, with one notable exception. Slater noted in his annual editor’ s report that since the Women’ s Editor had resigned in order to attend school, and no one had stepped forward to replace her. O N E had prided itself on having had women on its staff and in its membership, but “feminine interest began wandering over 161 to The Daughters of Bilitis and their Ladder.” While O N E may be wanting for female writers, Corbin, as ever going by the name “Eve Elloree,” had designed and illustrated half of the issues in 1959, with Dawn Frederick now on hand to work on alternate issues. As for O N E ’ s library, the addition of a second room in the Hill Street offices provided the room needed for the library to grow. Former staff member Ben Tabor donated a large desk, and Fred Frisbie installed new shelves for the expanded library. Librarian “Leslie Colfax” reported that two hundred and fifty new titles had been added to O N E ’ s archive, including a donation by Ruben Bush of bound volumes of a complete run of Der Kreis, which had begun publication in 1937. The 1959 report for One Institute Quarterly v v a s not too promising. In its third year, the O /Q had “still not reached a level o f circulation which eases its financial burden on the corpora tion.” Readers had complained that the material in the first volume was too difficult for the readers of ONE. “ A number of readers went into a state of emotional shock over their inability to read or comprehend some of the material in the first volume,” lamented editor Kepner. “We have discovered to our sorrow that the mere fact that a manuscript is too long or too dense for O NE Magazine does not make it suitable for use in the Quarterly.” It was announced that the forthcoming issue would be a double issue in order to “help us somewhat in catching up to schedule.” The journal was never delivered on time. The fall 1959 issue was not distributed until January 1, 1960, and many subscribers had complained of not receiving certain issues when in fact the late distribution and quirky numbering system had confused them into thinking they had missed an issue. Compounding matters, the printers, who had done a great job with O NE Magazine since 1957, were not at all enthusiastic about O N E ’ s more intelligent progeny. Kepner wrote in his report: “They seem to have been distinctly dragging their feet with the last few issues, so with fear and trembling about going so far a field, we have arranged to have the Quarterly printed in English from now on, by the printer who did The Kevai ” Kepner further reported that the new printer’ s estimates were $200 per issue less than the previous printers, bringing the cost per 162 issue down to 57<f as opposed to the 97< P cost before. If accurate, the savings were substantial, but there was no mention of shipping and other fees that could significantly raise the price of production. At the close of 1959, there were two hundred and forty-eight non-voting members of ONE, Incorporated, called the Friends of ONE. People from all over the world came to visit the Hill Street office, pilgrims from places such as New Zealand, Indonesia, France, Portugal, Brazil, Holland, and most of the United States including Alaska. O N E had clearly made an impression among the homophiles of the world. In order to accommodate this newfound fame and let others into the organization, an awkward and ill-conceived effort to expand the Board of Directors was devised. O N E ’ s attorney allowed for the interpretation o f the bylaws that each board member could be given half a vote, thus clearing the way to double the size of the board to 18. Two new voting members were due to be nominated during the next annual meeting, in January 1960. 1960: Impending Change O n the night of Friday, January 29, Ron Longworth and Clarence Harrison were elected Voting Members of the corporation. As for the triennial election of officers, Kepner was elected Chairman, Slater was Vice Chairman, and Legg was the Secretary-Treasurer.^^ About twenty-five members and supporters attended the ceremony, including San Francisco psychologist Blanche M. Baker and her husband, both long-time supporters of the corporation. Jim Kepner chaired the meeting, which convened ad 8:15 p.m. and adjourned at 10:10. The theme of the 1960 Midwinter Institute was “The Homosexual in the Community.” Featured session conveners included Reverend Stephen Fritchman of First Unitarian Church in Los Angeles; Beverly Hills psychologist Zolton Gross; the Director of the Southern California ACLU, Eason Monroe; and the famous Dr. Evelyn Hooker, psychologist from UCLA. For entertainment, James Barr’ s Game o f Fools was performed for the first time in the United States. 163 The cumulative attendance of the eight sessions was four hundred and five people— a most auspicious beginning for the new decade. Kepner, though, was not to last out the year as a member of the corporation. His reasons for resigning were many, and he had been frustrated by the organization for a very long time. In his resignation letter, dated November 15. 1960, he blamed “a wide divergence of policy and purpose” that had emerged between himself and the other members of the board, especially as regards the “overblown claims made for the Institute, a general chip-on-the-shoulder atti tude. . .haggling about the Quarterly, the handling of the forthcoming Midwinter Institute plans, mismanagement of the Book Service and other serious financial questions, and some general personnel problems.” Kepner concluded his letter: “Since the working conditions at the office have grown increasingly intolerable for me during the past five months, I now feel I have no alternative but to resign from membership in the Corporation.” Billy Glover recalls that many of Kepner’ s issues in the office involved politics: he was a liberal democrat, and Slater and Legg were both avid Republicans (as Jennings had been). But there was one over-arching reason that Kepner was to resign from the corporation and begin a five-year vacation from homosexual activism: a letter he had received from the 1RS. At one point in 1959, an agent of the State o f California Franchise Tax Board came to O N E and perused their corporate records. This person assured O N E that in his opinion, it should qualify as a tax-exempt organization. He pledged to help the organization secure Federal exemption status, which they had formerly been denied. Despite repeated (half-hearted) at tempts, ONE, Inc. never would secure Federal tax-exempt status, though O N E’ s attorney had been so confident it would happen that he prematurely encouraged the Friends of ONE to deduct their contributions anyway. It later turned out that the reason that O N E had not been granted tax-exempt status was not because the state had denied O N E ’ s application but because o n e ’ s business manager, William Lambert, had never submitted the required form designating “who would receive the corporate property if ever O N E dissolved ” (Kepner 1998, 395).^^ W hen 164 Kepner received a letter from the 1RS that threatened to prosecute the organization— and him personally— “with criminal action if we kept claiming to be tax deductible,” that was the last straw (ibid). Kepner was out the door, for good this time. W ith Kepner gone. Slater, who had been an editor o f O NE for years but preferred to operate from the sidelines, now found himself the undisputed senior editor of the magazine, even without title of editor-in-chief. Slaters allegiances, as per O N E ’ s bylaws, were first with the magazine and then with the institute, and increasingly the magazine became Slater’ s domain and the institute was the realm of Legg. It seemed to be a healthy partnership; both Slater and Legg were conservative republicans who had proven themselves equally dedicated to the movement. While they were like-minded in many ways, they complemented each other organizationally, with Legg managing the finances and Slater concentrating on the magazine. While these were their tendencies, their roles at this point were far from solid: Legg often contributed to ONE Magazine and Slater managed O N E Library. Both held seminars and courses within ON E Institute, though Slater had been disappointed when his classes were cancelled due to lack of enrollment. Moreover, whereas Legg was often stodgy and imperious. Slater was more person able and charming. While he may not have been captain of the ship, he made a great First Mate, always conveying to others a respect toward Legg that bordered on reverence. They were fighting the same battle, after all, and Legg was one o f the corporation’ s most dedicated workers and intelligent tacticians. (Footnotes) ^ Personal communication ^ As Ann Carll Reid ^ September 1962 ^ 1958 Annual Report for ONE, Incorporated 165 ^ 1958 Annual Report for O NE, Incorporated ^ See (Benedict 1934, 242) ^ 1958 Annual Report for ONE, Incorporated, page 3 ®Ibid ^ O NE Confidential, Fall 1958 Julber filed the writ in person and paid his own travel expenses (Hansen 1998, 37) Dated Oct. 21, 1957 1 ^ It is exceedingly rare for corporate minutes to refer to officers by their “real” first name. The only other minutes I have found that listed members by their first names were those of Dale Jennings’ s resignation on March 22, 1954. The fact that these minutes, both pertaining to the resignations of O N E ’ s first two Editors, drop the use of pseudonym and use first names only suggests that the emotions at these times were high, and professionalizing the common— or conversely making common what is normally professional— might be taken as a sign of respect for the one resigning. 1 ^ The name “Jim” was scratched out as Women’ s Editor and “Nancy” written in. i'^ Probably either Jack Gibson or Slater himself 1 ^ According to minutes, this election actually took place during a board meeting on February 2, I960. 1 ^ Legg continued to tell people that the reason O N E had not been able to achieve tax-exempt status was because of profit made through the selling of ONE Magazine. Legg related this to Evelyn Hooker in a letter to her dated Feb. 8, 1968. (Document provided by ISHR.) 166 Chapter Six H ow O N E became Two (1960- 1965) Life is defined through its extremes, where passions reign: there is no middle ground of reason. — F. G. Bailey (1983, 36) Part 1: Separation Fissions and Fusions: On Sex, Politics, Special Interests, and Institutions This chapter details the division of ONE, Incorporated, during the years between the resignation of Jim Kepner and the ultimate division of the corporation, which occurred when Slater and others removed O N E s entire office to Cahuenga Pass in Universal City, on Sunday, April 18, 1965. The chapter that follows will discuss the consequences of that event: a barrage of charges and countercharges followed by a pernicious two-year court battle, which was settled out of court on April 27, 1967. As the driving question behind my research has been to better understand the events that had caused this division, this chapter may be thought of as the heart of the project. All that has been written before has been presented in order to better understand the events in this chapter, and the chapters that follow will trace the fallout of the split through the 1970s and up to the deaths o f many of the first generation of leaders, in the mid-1990s. Jim Kepner, as Lyn Pedersen, was still listed as Associate Editor in the December, I960 issue of ONE Magazine. After Kepner’ s resignation. Slater invited Ross Ingersoll to join the 167 editorial board. Ingersoll accepted the job and soon began writing for O N E as “Marcel Martin.” Ingersoll had met Slater and Sanchez during the banquet of the 1958 Annual Meeting, and they struck up a friendship and kept in touch thereafter. Ingersoll, who taught foreign languages courses for a local college, translated an article from the French magazine Arcadie for his first contribution to the magazine. The January 1962 issue of O NE featured a six-paged “editorial” by Ingersoll that summa rized the history of the magazine and was lauded by Joseph Hansen as “one of the best articles OA'jÊ’had ever printed” (1998, 27). Though his prose was drier than Kepners droll commentary, Ingersoll was a worthy replacement for Kepner so far as the magazine was concerned. He soon became a regular contributor to ONE, which he continued to edit with Slater even after the split and subsequent transition from O NE to Tangents. A new director was needed to fill the remaining two years of Kepner s term on O N E ’ s board, so during the annual meeting on Friday, January 27, 1961, Fred Frisbie was formally elected to that position, which he had tentatively held since the prior December 16. Clarence W Harrison had resigned during a corporate meeting the prior Monday, but no reasons were cited in his letter of resignation, dated January twenty-second. Joe Weaver, known consistently in the corporate documents as “Joe Aaron,” was elected to voting membership to fill the vacancy; he had served as Chair of the Promotion Committee since early February. Fred Frisbie announced that the organization had considered moving its offices in I960, and a house near the downtown business district had been considered but then rejected as a possible site. Some board members had attended the first annual convention o f the Daughters of Bilitis [DOB], a lesbian organization that had been founded by Del M artin and Phyllis Lyon in 1955, and Frisbie had been so impressed he reported that it had been “a fine Convention in all ways and put the mens organization to shame.” ^ The promotions committee updated a bro chure promoting the organization and distributed twenty thousand copies, and an advertisement for O NE Magazine had been broadcast on a Los Angeles radio station, which so far as Frisbie 168 knew was the first time a “homophile organization had done such a thing.” Also, in an issue of O NE Confidential, the organization had announced plans for expansion and the costs involved. After many of the Friends of O N E had expressed their concern that O N E was in danger of overextending itself, Frisbie acknowledged that perhaps it had been a “rash” thing to do (ibid 6). The meeting adjourned at 10 p.m., at which time around sixty Friends of O NE and their guests were invited to the home o f Rudy Steinert. O NE Magazine posted its best year since 1954, as measured in subscriptions, with an average of 3,805 copies distributed each month— nearly 1,000 more than the 1958 average. Ingersoll was the new International Editor, and “ Alison H unter” was listed as Women’ s Editor. ^ Slater noted in his annual report that bold stories such as “The Junk Dealer” and “ A Beer, a Bath, and a Summer Night” had brought both criticism and praise. “Our attorney has long been counseling us to keep moving farther in the direction of frank statement, as well as literary merit. We don’ t want to go too far, but we don’ t want the Magazine to be dull. ” Looking ahead, the primary goal for the magazine in 1961 would be to attract more women readers, and so another “ All-Feminine Issue ” would be published. As for the art. Dawn Frederick designed five issues and contributed thirteen illustrations. Joan Corbin designed six issues and contributed thirty illustrations. In her Art Director’ s report for 1960, Corbin expressed her gratitude to Slater for his assistance: The truth is that D on Slater, in addition to all his other duties, is often forced to act as Art Director and, due to the inaction of Eve Elloree, does all the soliciting for new material. Don handled the entire January 1961, issue, a very fine accomplishment, espe cially for one not familiar with the pitfalls of paste-up, further proof o f his versatility. In early I960, it had been agreed that the Layout Artist would be paid $35 per issue. Both Corbin and Frederick had been paid a few times, but the goal of a permanent salary ended up being unrealistic. Corbin complained: “It remains to be seen which burden is more tolerable: that of the hourly insistence of a moral responsibility to pay for value received, or that of having made a commitment and N O T BEING ABLE to meet it. ” 169 W hat had kept Corbin so involved with ONE, if she felt she had not been appropriately rewarded? She worked a full-time job as a drawing-board artist elsewhere, she explained, but “when weekends come I am ravenous for a different kind of activity.” She said that it took “a minimum of two days to do a satisfactory issue” and that she had taken on the task as often as possible. “All of us at O N E work under extreme difficulties,” she added. “Compared to the stress and strain of the rest, mine have been nothing.” She announced, however, that she and her partner had purchased a house and property in the foothills north of Glendale, and the couple was maintaining and upgrading the property themselves. As a result, she could only commit to four issues for the coming year. Regrettably, Dawn Frederick would not be able to assist at all. Corbin ended her report again thanking Slater “for his infinite patience and understanding.” O N E Institute’ s spring lecture series in 1960 had sixty-six students enrolled, and the fall series had eighty-seven. Slater gave a lecture on “Petronius Arbiter and the First Gay Novel,” with actor Morgan Farley reading from The Satyricon. Ann Holmquest, as “ Ann Bannon,” lead a talk entitled “Some Secrets of the Gay Novel,” and Harry Hay gave a heady lecture entitled “The End of a Dream: The Semantic Impasse. ” By invitation of the San Francisco Mattachine Society, Kepner, Slater, Legg, and Clarence Harrison, on successive weekends, “conducted seven two-hour Extension classes, brief capsule-summaries selected from the Institute’ s class-work.” There were ninety people total in attendance at these four seminars. As for the regular classes, three courses were offered and conducted in the spring: Freud’ s Theory of Homosexuality, The Gay Novel, and The Sociology of Homosexuality. A total of two hundred and thirteen people had enrolled, and there were fifty-one two-hour sessions comprising a course. The fall term in cluded The Theory and Practice of Homophile Education, The Gay Novel, and Homosexuality in History. There were fifty-eight sessions for each course, and one hundred eighty-two people enrolled. This was clearly the best year yet for the Education Division of ONE, Incorporated. However, things were not going so well for the Quarterly. Printing in England had been more problematic than it was worth, so a new, local printer was located. Legg admitted that even 170 still, “its circulation has by no means yet attained a figure which makes its production relatively economical.” The Quarterly still required significant subvention, and with Kepner out of the scene, Legg was left alone to justify the journals existence. Attendance at classes and the circulation of the Quarterly show clearly how difficult it is to arouse serious interest in the study of homophile questions. To put it bluntly, homosexuals would appear to care very little about their own welfare, to judge by this evidence, but this does not imply, as we see it, that the attempt to awaken them should be abandoned. (Annual Report I960, 17) Frustrated but determined, Legg would continue to educate the homophile, whether his efforts were appreciated or not— and no matter what the cost. ONE vs. DOB: The Homosexual Bill of Rights Disaster The primary purpose of the convention during the Midwinter Institute of 1961 was to produce a Homosexual Bill o f Rights, which was to unify and rally all those present. ONE Inc.’ s leaders were surprised when Del Martin wrote in the January issue of The Ladder: Such a “Bill of Rights” is unnecessary, irrelevant, and likely to set the homophile movement back into oblivion... [it] implies that his document would be a statement representative of this entire minority group. Nothing could be further from the truth... It implies that we want exclusive rights— yet we want no rights for ourselves which we would not extend to others (in Masters 1962, 119— 120). In preparation for the Midwinter discussion, O NE and Mattachine had issued thousands of four-page questionnaires. The first two pages asked questions pertaining to the respondent’ s opinion regarding the Bill o f Rights and the social standing of homosexuals in general. The second two pages asked more intimate, optional questions. R. E. L. Masters correctly assessed that “It is not unlikely that this portion of the questionnaire, along with a lack of enthusiasm for the proposed Bill of Rights and perhaps fear concerning its consequences, was in part respon sible for the small number of questionnaires returned” (ibid, 122), and his description of the fallout of this meeting is (unfortunately) the best I have found in print. Only three hundred and twenty five questionnaires were returned, but, suspiciously, the officers of O N E had not tabu lated the results before the meeting. 171 Dorr Legg anticipated that the DOB would provide “the loyal opposition” to the plan, but Del Martin later reported that most who were present at the convention agreed with the D OB’ s perspective— they had hardly been in the minority at all, yet the assembly leaders refused to let Martin and others change the ordained format of the meeting, and they would not consider modifying or eliminating the title of the proposal. DOB President Jaye Bell withdrew that organization from the proceedings “unless the Bill of rights form were to be abandoned. W. Dorr Legg of ONE, imminent authority on Paleolithic sodomy rites and other matters, made it clear that this would not occur” (Masters 1962, 125). W ith Kepner gone the stability of the board of directors became increasingly precarious, and 1961 was a year of exodus, with many good people leaving the corporation and a dearth o f viable talent available for replacement. W ith Kepner, two other voting members, John H. Lawson and D on L. Plagmann, had also resigned. Kepners resignation was finalized during the corporate meeting of January 22. Lambert sent a letter advising Kepner of this on the follow ing day, when he also sent a letter to Lois Mercer asking her to work full time for the corporate office as bookkeeper. Mercer accepted, though she did most of the work from her home, near 1 and Normandy. During a board meeting on February first, it was decided to hire Ron Longworth to work full time since the corporation was “short handed and in need of staff replacement.” Longworth refused the position, suggesting that O N E couldn’ t afford him. He recommended that the corporation “devote all its energies to its most profitable operations ” and should contract out many of it secondary activities and services “until better times. ” Lambert replied on February fifteenth that these comments had been well taken, though Longworth had not made clear which “secondary activities” should be abandoned. The Quarterly had been noted, but “the general feeling seems to be that it is too important to drop. ” He replied that the corporation’ s most important “income producer” was ONE Confidential. “It strongly cements the Friends to the Corporation.” Lambert suggested that O NE Confidential shipped together with O N E Magazine in order to save cost. He invited Longworth to help carry this out, but 172 Longworth was not impressed with the plan, and on April 14, 1961, he resigned from voting membership. Though shaken by the Bill of Rights fiasco, Stella Rush, known publicly as “Sten Russell,” had decided to stay on the editorial board of O N E Magazine. Rush had been a director o f ONE for the previous five years and was also active in the DOB. A sketch of her by Frederick had been featured on the cover o f ONE in June of 1960. But she resigned later that summer after discov ering that an article published in the February I960 issue and attributed to “ Alison H unter” had not been written by Alice Horvath, as had been assumed— or by any other woman. Her resigna tion came during a phone conversation with Slater on Wednesday, July 12. She explained her reasons in a letter to O N E dated Sunday, July 23. In this letter, she complained that the Febru ary editorial had advocated homosexuality as a means of birth control: It is time to call for at least half the women of the world to do their duty and N O T have babies, at least not more than the world can support. We can think of no better way to ensure this than by encouraging more women to join in permanent and highly moral partnerships with one another. Rush called the opinion presented “drastic,” having overtones that were both “suicidal” and “fascist.. .a school of thought and action inimical to the liberty of all citizens.” She was infuri ated that “some of the male members of the corporation feel justified in writing the most drastic opinions under this feminine pseudonym [Alison Hunter] if a feminine editor happens to be lacking at the mom ent.” She noted that the article contained “undertones... of the same school as the Lambert editorial which was relegated to O NE Confidential as a matter of personal opin ion” and concluded: “I find this particular development distressing on more levels than I care to enumerate, or you would care to hear. I’ m sure.” Thus ended Rush’ s five-year membership on o n e ’ s board of directors. She had served on the magazine’ s editorial board for sixteen months. Whereas the acknowledgement-of-resignation letters sent to Kepner and the other who had resigned earlier in the year had been brief and well-wishing, the letter to Rush, addressed August ninth, 1961, was more commanding than polite. Though it was signed by Frisbie as Chairman 173 of ONE, the style certainly sounds more like Legg s stern authority than it does Frisbies flowery and polite prose: Now there are two points we feel must be clarified in no uncertain terms. First, no one can serve two masters and do equal justice to both. Since the Daughters pursue a line of reasoning widely divergent from that of ONE, it follows that anyone active in the two organizations must find his thinking subdy tinged and influenced by both. W ithout elaborating further let it simply be stipulated that in the future voting membership and participation in Corporation affairs of O N E shall be extended only to those not so connected with another homophile organization. Rush was also lambasted for her “ regrettable tendency to be precipitate in drawing conclu sions without making a sufficient examination of the related circumstances and qualifying con ditions." She was reminded that in 1954, it had been Irma Wolf, the Editor, who had devised those particular pen names, which had been considered corporate property: “Leslie Colfax,” as Librarian; “Marvin Cutler,” Director of the Bureau o f Public Information; “Robert Gregory,” Editorial Secretary; “Armand Quezon,” International Editor, and “ Alison Hunter,” the Women’ s Editor. The letter continued: We sincerely wish it had been possible for you to grasp clearly the differences of policy in the use of such names (or titles) and in such personal pen names as Sten Russell, Marcel Martin, James Barr, Gabrielle Ganelle, Lyn Pedersen, Alice Horvath, William Lambert, W. H. Hamilton, and many others. As it was, Russell should have known that the views of “ Alison H unter” did not represent “the ideas o f some particular person.” The letter concluded by adding that Rush’ s resignation had not yet been acted upon by the board, so if she wanted to reconsider her resignation they would be willing to meet and discuss the situation. The condescending tone of the letter, though, ensured that was not likely to happen. I only recently^ discovered, clipped beneath a copy o f her resignation letter, a note from Rush addressed to Lambert that might explain such prickly response. The note was dated July 27, 1961, penned by Rush after having had a “distracted long-distance phone call from Amanda S.” the night before. It seems that the real problem with “ Amanda” had been a letter Lambert had written to her. Rush complained: 174 Ho nest-to-Pete, Bill, couldn’ t you think of some better reasons to keep her away from L.A. than by telling her lies about the women here.. .After all, I don’ t know another pair than Cork and Vick who get drunk & C beat each other up. Undoubtedly I could find some if I combed the bars! But what the hell. She continued; “You wonder where the trust, faith, and loyalty to O N E is going? Your letter to Amanda is an example of how to queer said trust, faith and loyalty.” She added that the Alice Horvath situation as mentioned in her resignation letter was but one of many examples of how Lambert had violated the trust of the organization and its workers. She understood how difficult Lambert’ s life had been since he had become dedicated to O N E, and she had made “large allowances for this fact.” Others had felt otherwise, pointing out that he was suffering the consequences of his own decisions, and “why should they have to pay for your unhappiness? ” She concluded on a critical note that she said stemmed more from her respect and admiration for Lambert than it did from ill will or bitterness: “It is hard to believe a man of your brilliance cannot look as scathingly at himself as he does the rest of the world.” Rush sent her original letter of resignation to the chairman, Fred Frisbie, and she mailed copies to each other board member because she was “tired of people giving phony reasons till you chase them down in person.. .Corporation members have a right to know why they are being deserted and not be given some Polly anna story.” She concluded with her best wishes and hopes that she could soon afford to send a monitory donation in the future and contribute again to the magazine. o n e ’ s tenth annual business meeting convened on Friday evening, January 26. Fred Frisbie called the session to order at 8 p.m. as Chairman. H e introduced Don Slater as Vice- chairman, and Dorr Legg as the Secretary. Fellow board member Joe Weaver was introduced as head of promotions and circulation. Billy Clover was the Secretary of Social Services, and Joan Corbin, now seventy-three years old, was Art Director. Lois Mitchell was the organization’ s bookkeeper and the final staff member introduced. The members of the various work com- 175 mittees were acknowledged for “their staunch support but without them the ship would be scuttled.” Next, Morgan Farley was nominated and voted in as a member of the board. All agreed that Farley, described by Hansen as “a fragile, white-haired man with a voice beautiful as the rus tling of autumn leaves,” had certainly earned the position (Hansen 1998, 46). Chairman Frisbie then addressed the conveners, delivering a rousing speech in which he reviewed the decade-long history of the organization. He spoke of how he once gave one of the editors some money for new shoes, after he saw holes in the shoe leather. This person accepted the cash but said that he would “have half soles put on and apply the rest toward the printing bill.” Frisbie continued; W ith this kind o f abstemious, devoted, dedicated will to serve— and go on serving come what may— so is it any wonder that O N E rocked along for ten years? The wonder of it all is that, in a measure, we did prosper. We made tremendous gains in serving a seg ment of humanity— and by this token, all humanity. We are a child of our times—we are a voice no longer in the wilderness but are heard in the cities— ever militant are we, and this is our strength. The milestones of achievement are passed by and remain as markers. Dorr Legg, known by many as Bill Lambert, next presented a ten-year Summary of Busi ness Operations. Legg divided his history of the organization into four distinct epochs. The first was the period of “the launching of the Corporation.” This ended after about eight brief months, when O N E moved into its corporate office downtown, and then came the “period of professionalization,” where the organization became departmentalized and workers were trained accordingly. Third was a period of expansion, where O N E began “carrying out the stated purposes of the Corporation’ s charter. ” It was decided that it was not prudent to rely only on income generated from only one source, sales of the magazine. So in 1955, “another base of financial support was provided when the Corporation decided to begin the book-publishing operations provided for in its charter.” O N E held its first educational endeavor, the Midwinter Institute, which had since become an annual tradition. ONE Confidential launched in 1956, 176 and business records were “improved, unified, [and] made more accurate.” A Book Service for the friends of O N E was opened as well. Legg stated that the corporation had just started its fourth period, that o f “Corporate adult hood and consolidation.” He said that this was marked by “the close of the period of volunteer help (except for committee work) and o f operations conducted form peoples homes.” O N E had recently created an entirely new bookkeeping system, and “O N E has now moved into the big-time by acquiring that modern hallmark of distinction, a tax attorney.” Most importantly, Legg concluded: The Corporations dependency upon the fluctuations and unexpected reactions o f the sales of O NE Magazine have gradually decreased from a ratio of more than 90% of the Corporation’ s income in 1953 to just over 50% of its income in 1961. In view of the extremely hazardous record of many large publishing firms over the past 10 years and of the demise o f some of the nation’ s very largest magazines this would appear to be a development much to the advantage of the Corporation’ s prosperity. While Legg never went so far as to call O NE a liability for the organization, as the Quar terly had certainly become, it seems to have become an inconvenience and a nuisance for O N E’ s business manager. Legg clearly believed that a more solid “financial structure ” could be secured through perusing O N E ’ s seemingly long-neglected mission statement. The Venice Group and the Rise of Professor W . Dorr Legg In April 1962, W Dorr Legg, as Professor of O N E Institute, appeared in O NE Magazine, contributing a critical review of Irving Bieber’ s Homosexuality. Legg’ s name had appeared once before, in the April issue o f 1959, where Slater had listed “W. Dorr Legg ” as one of the speakers during the prior Midwinter Institute Saturday afternoon session on “Mental Health and the Homosexual. ” The September 1961 issue of OVE'had introduced him as “William Dorr Legg, A.B., B.M., M .L.D., (University of Michigan) Associate Professor of Social Studies, trained in music and landscape architecture. ” The profile credited him with having pursued a career in “city planning and landscape architecture in Florida, New York City and on the West Coast. ” “He has been Assistant Professor of landscape Architecture at Oregon State College, later owner 177 of Dorr School of Design, Hollywood, with a faculty of eight architects, interior decorators, professional artists and landscape architects.” He was said to have contributed “to professional journals in the United States and abroad.” In the spring of 1962, O NE was evicted from its third-floor office on Hill Street, which was to be leveled due to earthquake risks. Thanks to actor and friend of O N E Morgan Farley, a new location at 2256 West Venice Boulevard near downtown Los Angeles was found and secured, Farley perhaps having paid for the first month’ s rent out of his own pocket (Hansen 2002, 109). Fred Frisbie signed the five-year lease on April 12, 1962, which allowed ONE, Incorporated the use of the second floor of the facility for the purposes of setting up “publishers offices.” The rent was set at $160.00 per month— a rate they could easily afford. ONE INC. was soon stenciled onto the left entrance door, with its four divisions EDUCATION / PUBLISH IN G / SOCIAL SERVICE / RESEARCH listed on the right. The organization settled into its bright and spacious location on the first of May, and the entire crew was thrilled by their luck. Though O NE, Incorporated’ s charter specified that the primary purpose of the organiza tion was to publish a magazine, the organization’ s emphasis began to shift towards its secondary purposes, pertaining to research and education. According to Hansen, this is largely because Lambert began to shift the purposes and resources of the organization toward his own ends. Since O N E could not afford to hire a faculty, they would make do with what they had. Slater, who had a degree in English, could teach literature; Morgan Farley, acting. Lambert would teach about the social-scientific aspects of homosexuality, and the others could be used as needed as supporting faculty. Lambert, now increasingly referred to as Professor W Dorr Legg, was especially pleased with the new facility. “W hen a list of O N E’ s functions was painted on the door of the new place, education came first ” (Hansen 2002, 110). Legg began to imagine this improved but still sparse headquarters as converted into a school, a university for homophile studies that he would organize and direct. “He could hold seminars in it, ” wrote Joseph Hansen, “conducted 178 by himself.” But this assessment might be overly harsh. Finding others to go along was easy. Even Slater was thrilled with the new arrangements, and he looked forward to teaching classes on homosexual history and homophile literature. During a board meeting on July 25, he was officially appointed to O N E Institutes faculty and given the title “ Assistant Professor.” The title came, however, without pay, and Slater would have to continue to support himself through outside work. On August 16, Legg, Slater, and Frisbie hosted a meeting at the new office to discuss several proposals that had been made to establish a foundation in honor of Blanche M. Baker, who had died the prior December 11. Dr. Harry Benjamin of New York was present, as was Merit Thompson and William F. Baker, spouse of the deceased, who had traveled from San Jose. These people, with the exception of Baker, had resolved at an earlier meeting, on January 27, 1961, that they would “found and establish the Blanche M. Baker Foundation to conduct and to sponsor educational efforts, research, publication and counseling services in the interests of homophile men and women. W hen it came time to nominate directors or trustees for the new organization, Legg, Slater, and Frisbie declined due to their other commitments. Baker, pleased that a foundation might be started in his wife’ s honor, expressed his willingness to participate. Benjamin and Thompson said that they would accept such a position provided the workload was minimal and other persons, such as an executive secretary, would do most of the work involved. The state of California required at least three residents of the state to act as founding officers, but those who had offered to be incorporators lived so far apart from one another that it was suggested that there be five incorporators, at least one of whom should be a woman. It was further decided that this organization should “maintain a publication for general circulation containing a Questions and Answers Department somewhat along the lines of Dr. Baker’ s own magazine column, ‘Toward Understanding’, preferably to be conducted by a woman doctor or psychologist. ” Also featured would be a “program of public education by means of lectures and other activities somewhat along such lines as those developed by Hirshfeld at his 179 famed Institute in Berlin.”^ It was also suggested that the foundation maintain a clinic that could provide psychological as wall as medical treatments. A training program was considered for specialists who could run such a clinic, but this “was felt to be not inappropriate, but too utopian for immediate consideration.” It was next decided that the Blanche M. Baker Foundation would be as autonomous as possible, though it could collaborate with other organizations, and a professional should be hired as a publicist. It was proposed that the Foundation be housed in the Baker’ s home in San Jose, but a majority believed that San Francisco would be a preferable location, since that is where Dr. Baker had worked. All agreed that the title of the organization would be the Blanche M. Baker foundation, and it would be a non-profit corporation. A list of twelve people who would be contacted to help with the organization was compiled, which included authors Aldous Huxley and Gerald Heard, Beverly Hills businessman Otto Openheimer, O N E ’ s attorney Eric Julber, and psychologist Evelyn Hooker. It was agreed that the list o f potential people would be expanded, and “active steps toward incorporating.. .should proceed forthwith.” Though this meeting was a success and the intentions conveyed were noble, it seems that no further action was taken, and the idea for a non-profit organization that was devoted to homophiles and dedicated to Baker ultimately foundered. O N E did, however, later change the name of its library to the Blanche M. Baker Memorial Library. And later, with the help of benefactor Reed Erickson, O N E was to form an organization very similar to the one that had been here envisioned, known as the Institute for the Study of Hum an Resources, or ISHR. The fall semester at O N E Institute for Homophile Studies commenced on Monday, September 17, 1962. Thomas M. Merritt headed the institute as Dean Emeritus; William Dorr Legg, A.B., B.M., M.L.D. was its Director; and Robert Gregory was Secretary. Morgan Farley, Instructor in Drama and Literature, taught HS-134, a Drama Workshop conducting readings and dramatic representations of homophile poetry and plays, on Thursday evenings from eight to ten, the hours of all evening courses. Don Slater, A.B., was billed as Assistant Professor in Lit 180 erature, teaching Writing for Publication (HS-136 and HS-137), which dealt with the “special problems of writing for the American and European homophile press.” O n Tuesday evenings. Slater also taught HS-140 and 141 (l4lSin the summer of 1963), a library workshop focused on “classification and use of scientific works and fiction in the homophile field” and discussing processes of cataloguing bibliographic research. Legg taught HS-212 and 213. HS-212, a two- semester course on Homosexual History that met on Monday evenings and dealt with “specula tive, scientific, and philosophic trends” and the “emergence of a wo rid-wide social movement.” The second semester’ s course, HS— 213, was an analysis of programs and ideology o f homophile organizations in the United States and abroad. A complete Description of Courses was printed on the back o f the September issue of ONE. The fees for each course were $15.00, and visitors were allowed to sit in on any particular session for $1.00. W hat did this shift in emphasis bode for the future of the magazine? “Education is one of the purposes for which O N E (a non-profit California corporation) was organized in 1952,” the readers were reminded. “Its charter calls for ‘ dealing primarily with homosexuality’ through research, educational programs,’ publications and other such means as are enumerated in its charter. ” O N E then would not be diverting energy and resources away from the magazine unnecessarily. Rather, it would be following through on an earlier promise, making salient a purpose that had been latent. One might easily come away with the impression that O N E was in the process o f moving onto a higher purpose. Another, though, might find that O N E was spreading itself too thin: For the fact that the magazine had been the sole excuse for O N E ’ s existence, had brought friends and supporters from all across America, had alerted the establishment that homosexuals were part of the warp and weft of society and had rights the same as everyone else.. .Bill Lambert suddenly cared nothing. He would build his hallowed Institute of Homophile Studies above that dusty saloon on Venice Boulevard, and teach the truth to a happy few (and few they always would be), expenses be damned. (Hansen 2002, 110) 181 The December 1962 issue of O Æ h a d a homey feel to it— a rare mood for the magazine. The cover featured a festive sketch by Corbin depicting two small fairies festooning baubles and beads in an evergreen bough. A blurb in the inside cover introduced the organization by summa rizing its mission and purpose as articulated in the articles of incorporation, as it had for years: A non-profit corporation formed to publish a magazine dealing primarily with ho mosexuality from the scientific, historical and critical point of view ... to sponsor educational programs, lectures and concerts for the aid and benefit of social variants, and to promote among the general public an interest, knowledge and understanding of the problems of variation.. .to sponsor research and promote the integration into society of such persons whose behavior and inclinations vary from current moral and social standards. The masthead listed Don Slater as Editor and Robert Cregory as Managing Editor. Associate Editors were William Lambert and Ross Ingersoll, as “Marcel M artin.” “ Alison Hunter” was Womens Editor, and ‘ Eve Elloree” as Art Director, was credited with the intriguing cover of a stylized Christmas tree, an image recycled from a prior issue, with a myriad of decorations and pixies festooning beaded chains and dangling ornaments from within pine branches. Staff Artist Fred Frisbie and Antonio Sanchez complimented Corbins art throughout the issue, as they had for years. According to tradition, the December issue featured a short story, a fifteen-page tale by Hansen, as “James Colton,” called “Kindness.” This was a revised version of the short story that had inspired Wayne Placek to introduce Hansen to Don Slater in the first place, published at last (Hansen 1998, 56). The December editorial, written by Lambert, presented pretty much the same line it had for the past ten years. Forceful as Lamberts statement may sound, after ten years of the same tune it was beginning to sound somber and humdrum to many of ONEs subscribers: That mission is to help homosexual men and women to live a better life. They must be encouraged to think clearly for themselves and about the mainly hostile society in which they find themselves. If this means the administering of large doses of courage, even of belligerence, then this must be done, for at all costs they must be roused and awakened and to see themselves as citizens and as people. Secondarily, perhaps, the Magazine must also concern itself with making the outsider understand the homosexual in his almost infinite variations and aspects. 182 The cheerful holiday mood of was quelled by a surprising obituary tucked toward the back of the issue, on page twenty-three: “To the Memory of Robert Hull. ..D ead by his Own H and.” Mattachine founder Henry Hay, who had presented Hull with his original “Mattachine idea prospectus” back in 1950, contributed a rueful obituary: Bob, it was your stubborn search for logical function a decade ago, coupled with the passion and intensity of your belief in the first Mattachine idea, that helped create within the living and working relationship of the pioneer Seven a bond even closer and more precious than brotherhood. Somewhere, in the years that followed, we— who now scribble these pedestrian sentiments— failed you. Forgive us! Part 2: Division We began to see, though it took a long time for most of us to realize it, that even if Lesbians and Gays were “in the same boat,” we weren’ t always paddling in the same direction. —Jim Kepner (1994, 14). Social Dramas and Tactical Passions This second section of this chapter describes the key organizational event and rituals that lead up to the division of O NE, Incorporated. In the spring of 1965, O N E split into two separate voluntary organizations, one headed by Legg and still resident on Venice Blvd and the other, headed by Don Slater, headquartered across from Universal Studios on Cahuenga Blvd. Both claimed to be the legitimate ONE, Inc., though Legg won the use of the name ONE early on, and Slater managed to keep a significant portion of the archives. Despite a court battle that was waged for two years after, this is how things were to remain— Slater got the materials and Legg retained the name. Both organizations continued to serve the needs of homosexuals after the split, each in its own way, as will be discussed in chapters eight and nine. Both continued to publish a magazine, and from May through August 1965, there were two ONEs in circulation, each claiming to be the real O N E Magazine. As noted in the introduction, Victor Turner (1974, 37— 40) has elucidated four stages of a social drama that anthropologists such as Myerhoff have found useful in their descriptions 183 and analyses of corporate politics. The drama begins when here is a breach of normal relations, which escalates to the second phase of the drama, crisis. The third phase is of redress, when in effort to limit or constrain the effects of the crisis, “pragmatic attempts [at reconciliation] and symbolic action reach their fullest” (41). The final phase either results in reintegration of the group or else a total and irreparable fission. Turner believed that this pattern of social drama could be universally applied, but though it was universal, it was “a product of culture, not of nature” (32). G. Alexander Moore, in his textbook Cultural Anthropology: The Field Study o f Human Beings, has elaborated on this to articulate five discrete phases of the social drama. While his phases strongly correlate with Turners, Moore’ s conception of the social drama is in part inspired by Turner and also inspired by the work of ethologist Jane Goodall, who has famously observed that chimpanzees follow a similar patterned sequence of aggression as humans. Moore differs from Turner by suggesting that the reason for the ubiquity of the social drama in human interac tions is firmly rooted in human nature (1992, 121). Moore’ s first phase occurs when there is an initial grievance or anger caused by the action of an individual or polity that threatens to disrupt social order. The second begins after an encoun ter or “breach of peace, ” which may involve a challenge such as “laying down the gauntlet. ” The result is the third stage, that of confrontation, which can lead to either violence or redress in the forth. The final phase is also one of two possible options: reconciliation or separation. In the case at hand, reconciliation proved to be impossible, and ONE remained split in half. From April 18, 1965 until the time of the out-of-court compromise on April 25, 1967, both organizations claimed to be the real O NE, Incorporated. Legg continued as the Director of the Venice Group, while Slater headed the Tangent Group, now located on Cahuenga Pass in Universal City. For four months there were two different but similarly titled O NE Magazines in distribution. While Legg’ s version appeared similar to past issues, Slater altered the title of his to One: The Homosexual Viewpoint. This was changed to Tangents in October of 1965, as homage 184 to a column Kepner used to write for ONE. The first several issues of Tangents proclaimed that it was “published monthly by the majority of the legally elected voting members of O N E ,” and the Tangent Group, now incorporated as the Homosexual Information Center or H IC, continues to boast that it was founded by “a majority of the legally elected voting members of ONE, Incor porated” today. As shown in the previous two chapters, ONE, Incorporated had been a house divided since its inception, there having emerged within the organization two primary clusters or “camps,” One, the “homosexuals,” was set on the securing liberty and equal rights for homo sexual people. These I have illustrated through the ideas of Slater and Jennings, who were tireless in their dedication to magazine during their tenure on ONEs editorial board. The other contin gency, centered on Lambert and to a lesser extent Kepner, were the homophiles or “culturists,” as Jennings was to later call them. These differences yielded different goals and purposes of the organization. The homophiles were primarily interested in making O N E an educational institution that served the needs for the more immediate community, those who could come to the facility and participate in its seminars and discussions. The homosexuals wanted to contest the sodomy laws and to fight for equal rights for homosexuals to serve in institutions such as the military. They felt that the right to sexual privacy should rank nearly as high as the right to sexual freedom, and they wanted to encourage debate on the issues on a national level through a magazine that would appeal to all people, homosexual and other. While both trends managed to coexist within the corporation for fifteen years, my research suggests that it was this funda mental difference in goals, more than any difficulty arising from emotional duress or personality conflicts, that provided the underlying cause of the division and eventual dissolution o f ONE, Incorporated. 1962— 1965: Prelude and Overture Though some have rated the split of O NE as one of the great tragedies of the homosexual and homophile movements, others have shrugged it aside as irrelevant and inconsequential. 185 Harry Hay said that the whole matter revolved around “two dinosaurs spitting at each other and not realizing that dinosaurs had become obsolete” (Cain 2002, 8). New York activist Frank Kameny told Paul Cain that so far as he was concerned, had both Legg and Slater “suddenly vanished from the scene now, or any time in the last decade or decade and a half, there wouldn’ t be so much as a ripple ” (ibid, 9). Judging by the minor commemorations that marked the deaths of these two men as opposed to the more significant occasions such as the memorial service for Jim Kepner (and, more recently, those of Harry Hay and Morris Kight), perhaps that is so. But then again, sometimes it takes a while for a ripple to work its way from Los Angeles to Manhat tan. At the beginning of 1962, there were six directors of O NE, Incorporated. Joseph Weaver, as “Joe Aaron,” was the chair. William Lambert was the vice-chair, and Monwell Boyfrank was the Secretary/Treasurer. N ot much was a known about the history of Boyfrank other than that he began associating with homosexual rights pioneer H enry Gerber in 1940. Supposedly Boyfrank had pressed Gerber to restart the activities of the Society for Human Rights, which had been established in Illinois in 1924 and, after a hellacious ordeal involving his arrest and prolonged trial, was never revived (Licata 1976, 53. See also Kepner and Murray 2002, 30— 31). Boyfrank, who joined O N E at Gerber’ s urging (Kepner and Murray 2002, 33), was a more thor ough secretary than Legg had been. Legg’ s minutes were hen scratches on colored half-sheets of paper, usually hand-written with a fiat pencil and often very difficult to read. Boyfrank’ s minutes were a significant change, detailed and typed. “Boyfrank” had a peculiar habit of playing with his moniker: sometimes he would spell his last name “Boyfrank ” and others “boyFrank. ” He signed the name with one swoop and only the M capitalized: Monwellboyffank. His style was elevated and hypercorrect, as when he wrote in the minutes from Sunday, April 7: Father Bernard [of the American Eastern Orthodox Church in Las Vegas, Nevada] made a tentative proposal that his church assume the obligation, one evening of each month, o f any o f those who feel the need, from a moral standpoint, with idea of later, provided One sanctioned such idea, of an occasional discussion group. 186 Boyfrank had immense respect for O N E’ s new vice-chair, whom he tended to refer to as “Profes sor Legg” when speaking of his affiliations with O N E Institute and “Bill Lambert” when the topic turned to business affairs— as if William Lambert and W Dorr Legg were two people. It seems that Lambert/Legg preferred it that way. Morgan Farley had submitted his resignation on December second, but I have been unable to ascertain why. The Corporate Meeting that day was adjourned early due to the “chairman’ s withdrawal.” During the Annual Meeting later in January, Boyfrank was elected onto the board as Secretary. The board now consisted of six members. During a Friday-evening board meeting on February first. Weaver was elected Chairman. Legg was elected Vice-chairman, and Boyfrank became O N E ’ s Secretary/Treasurer. The remaining corporate members were Slater, Sanchez, and Steinert. John Burnside was recruited to be Associate Editor o f the Quarterly. Farley’ s drama classes were officially cancelled during a board meeting on Friday March 1, 1963.^ There was discussion of whether or not to keep the office open on Thursday evenings, when the class had been scheduled, but this was not resolved. It was noted that the American Eastern Orthodox Church was having apprehensions about its relationship with ONE. It was made clear that the organizations were to remain totally distinct, and the church should not suppose that it would be doing the printing of O NE Magazine. Appreciation and allegiance to o n e ’ s long-standing publisher. The Wolfer Company, was assured. O n Sunday evening, March third, it was announced that Father Bernard Newman would present the April lecture of O N E Institute, titled “The Way of T ru th .” O n Sunday, May 5,^ it was decided to integrate the American Eastern Orthodox Church into O N E ’ s social services division and “religious counseling as a part of One’ s social service work be expanded. ” It was also announced that the building they occupied on Venice was for sale, for $67,500, and the board decided to investigate the feasibility of purchasing the property. Later that month, during a board meeting on the thirty-first. Weaver resigned as chairman of the promotions committee, and Jim Schneider was installed in his place. After missing several 187 corporate meetings, Sanchez and Corbin were to be notified that if they did not attend the corporate meeting on July 28, they would be dropped from corporate membership. W hen that day arrived, Sanchez was present but Corbin was not, and after eleven years of dedication and service, Joan Corbin, ONEs talented and much-loved art director was dropped from member ship. Unlike Rush, who left with a flourish, Corbins exit is marked with silence, as if she had simply faded away. Another dedicated, long-term member— one of the core personalities behind the magazine— fallen by the wayside. Elections and Electioneering In her study of the day-to-day operations of a Jewish center in Venice, California, Barbara Myerhoff noted that elections were particularly emotional times for the folk of the center. Months before an actual election, electioneering became intense. “Coalitions were formed and reformed. Marginal members were assiduously wooed. Block votes of interest groups were sought. Every assembly of more than two was turned into an opportunity for speechifying.” She added that it was at nomination meetings rather than the elections themselves where “definitive decisions were made” (1979, 120— 121). While this phenomenon was true in the case of ONE, Incorporated, it was intensified in 1963, with tensions running very high. O n November 24, the directors of O N E had gathered for a nomination meeting o f their own, to discuss possible candidates for any vacancies for voting members in anticipation of the annual meeting to be held two months hence. It soon became apparent that the six current voting members were evenly split as to which candidates they would favor. Slater, Sanchez, and Steinert wanted Glover elected. Glover had been a staunch supporter o f the magazine for years and had assisted the corporation in many ways, as previously discussed. The other three voting members, Boyfrank, Aaron, and Lambert— all officers— were opposed to Glover but were mildly in favor of Thelma Vargas, Lew Bonham, Reuben Bush, and Bob Winn.^ Slaters group did not feel that any of these others had contributed enough to the organization to become voting members and opposed each of them for this or other reasons. Most if not all were agreed 188 that two of the candidates discussed should be elected: Harry Hay and John Burnside. Getting those two on board was assured, provided they accepted. Before adjourning that night, it was agreed that Burnside, Glover, and Hay would be on the ballot as primary candidates. It was further agreed, as was customary, that they would vote on each candidate separately, one at a time. Bonham, Bush, Vargas, and W inn would be on the ballot as alternates, in case any of the three primary candidates declined nomination. Slater hoped that he could persuade Hay and Burnside to vote for Glover. Unless that happened, Glover’ s chances were dubious, since the bylaws required a two-thirds majority vote in the election of a new member. For that to happen, it would clearly be to Slater’ s advantage that each nominee be voted on individually, and Glover would be last. If all else failed, the Slater-Sanchez-Steinert coalition should be able to form a voting block, assuring that none of Legg’ s preferred alternate candidates could be elected, either. W ith the polarized state of affairs within ONE, Incorporated, it was appropriate that the January 1964 issue of O NE Magazine had been printed in stark black and white. The magazine launched with Slater, of course, as Editor. “Robert Gregory ” was Managing Editor, and Glover, Ingersoll, and “Mack ” O ’Neal, as “K. O. Neal,” were Associate Editors. Staff artists were Frisbie, Sanchez, and Roy Berquist, as “Rolf Berlinsen.” Apart from the logo, date, and price (still fifty cents), the white cover simply stated in bold print: “T H E HOMOSEXUAL W O RLD ’S BEST SELLING MAGAZINE 12th YEAR. ” In his editorial, Slater boasted that O NE was “the oldest U.S. Publication of its kind in existence today; and it is the most widely read in all the world. ” This issue featured an article by Donald Webster Cory and John P. Leroy titled “The Echo of a Growing Movement,” which reported on the recent American Psychological Association conference that had been held in Philadelphia over Labor Day weekend, 1963. A coalition of East Coast homophile organizations was present, ECH O , that lobbied for “enlightened discussion” on the subject of homosexuality. The theme for the conference had been “Homo sexuality— Time for Reappraisal. ” For the first time, the New York Times boldly printed the 189 word “Homosexual” in an advertisement for the event, which attracted around ten thousand psychologists. A paper by R. E. L. Masters was read in his absence in which he criticized homophile orga nizations for giving “litde aid and encouragement to the effeminate homosexual, the transvestite, and the transsexual.” He said that these organizations were ashamed of the effeminates among them and so shunned them and refused to allow them to participate in the movement. “In rejecting them, he maintains, “the organizations display bad faith, for the movement is presum ably for the benefit o f all homosexuals.” Donald Webster Cory, author of The Homosexual in America (1951), was next to address the assembly. After a brief historic overview, he criticized the movement for its ineffective leader ship, neurotic tendencies, unreasonable if not abstract goals, and the proliferation of mediocre writers and false experts on the subject. O n the upside, the dialogue regarding homosexuality at the professional and even popular levels had become more sophisticated and social attitudes seemed to be becoming more favorable. As homosexual individuals had made gains in social standing, homophile scholarship had gained in credibility, and government agencies and the ACLU were coming to homophile organizations for input and cooperation. The movement had certainly made some progress; a long-latent social force was mobilizing. O n Friday evening, October 11, Weaver reported that his lecture, delivered the prior Sunday evening at Christ Memorial Church in North Hollywood, had gone very well. He reported that “opposition was only nominal, everybody but .. .the conductor of the meeting having chickened out.” Aaron estimated that nearly one hundred and fifty people had been present, an even distribution o f men and women. The lecture had been taped by radio station KPFK, and the church presented Aaron with a plaque in gratitude for his work. O n January 12, Legg convened a director’ s meeting at 5:10 p.m. with Weaver, Steinert, Sanchez, and Boyfrank attending. Legg gave a financial report, and Weaver discussed rules of taxation. A prior meeting of January fifth was discussed, as was O N E ’ s upcoming tour in 190 Europe, which was to be directed by Steinert. Next, Boyfrank made an abrupt announcement: he was going to resign due to ailing health. The resignation seems to have been intended to take effect immediately, following adjournment. It was agreed to ask Lewis Bonham, a resident of Glendale, if he would accept nomination to voting membership of the corporation. Bonham would also be asked to typeset the forthcoming article, “Crime against nature.” This agreed, the session adjourned at 8:25 p.m. The 1964Annual Business Meeting According to Slaters notes and deposition, the meeting of Saturday, January twenty- fifth, 1964, was a bizarre event indeed, which he later compared to Bedlam. According to the minutes, there were forty-six guests and members present, and many of them grew disgusted as disputes and rancor carried the meeting through the night and into the morning. The direc tors as listed on the roster were Weaver, Boyfrank, Legg, Slater, and Steinert. Visitors included Frisbie, W inn, Schneider, Bonham, Clover, and Melvin Cain. People had come from all over southern California to be a part of the annual event: North Hollywood, Clendale, Burbank, South Pasadena, Torrance, Van Nuys, San Diego, Santa Anna, Culver City, Pico Rivera, and Palm Springs. One person, William F . Baker, husband of the late Blanche M. Baker, had trav eled from San Francisco, and Father Bernard Newman had come from Las Vegas. Each of these fifty people had come to the meeting as pilgrims, eager to witness and participate in the historic occasion. Weaver chaired the meeting, and Boyfrank acted as secretary despite his prior resigna tion. Five of the six voting members were present: Aaron, Boyfrank, Legg, Slater, and Steinert. Sanchez was absent due to a work obligation, but Slater had secured permission to vote on his behalf via proxy ^ Burnside and Hay were present, and each was rapidly nominated and elected onto the board, leaving one vacancy to be filled. The now eight voting members decided they would choose between Clover, Bonham, and W inn to fill the remaining vacancy. 191 According to Slaters copy of the minutes, six more ballots were cast, but none of the remaining nominees received enough votes to secure a place on the board. There was a half-hour recess from 11:15 to 11:45 p.m., and then Slater, Steinert, Burnside, and Legg each made a speech. Farley, whom Glover recalls was also present that night, later told Glover that Slater had tried too hard to pressure Hay and Burnside into siding with him on Glover’ s behalf, and that they and some others in the room had responded with doubt and suspicion. At some point after Hay and Burnside were elected, the chair, siding with Boyfrank and Legg, decided to deny Slater the use of his lovers proxy. Making matters worse for Slater, the balloting procedure that night had been altered from the customary procedure. The usual practice of voting on one person at a time had been abandoned, whereas the new procedure, according to Weaver, required each director to write three names on one ballot, one for each vacancy. That is how Burnside and Hay had been elected, each having been named on four or more ballots, and Glover had not been elected, probably having been one vote short. Slater also questioned why Weaver had been voting anyway, as it had long been tradition that the Chair would only vote to break a tie. He insisted that the corporate customs be honored. He also suggested that they cease their debate of balloting procedures before such a large audience, and he moved that they recess until the next day, when the debate could continue in a more private forum. This motion was defeated, and Weaver pressed the vote. More speeches were made, and more votes were cast. Eventually, Hay and Burnside became furious with the situation, and they both resigned on the spot and refused further nominations. After all of the fighting, the group was back to square one, with three seats remaining vacant. At 12:45 in the morning, another vote was taken, again with no conclusive results. Slater continued to protest the voting methods and asserted that the only legitimate candidate was Glover. Then Legg addressed the meeting and another vote ensued, but still no majority pre vailed. It was decided at 12:55 a.m. to break in order to allow Sanchez time to get there after 192 work and cast his vote in person. At 1:30 a.m., with Sanchez present, the meeting resumed. The Chair again insisted that they write in three names, as they had before. Two more ballots were taken, and Weaver pronounced that Bonham and W inn had been elected as voting members. According to the minutes, three more ballots were taken, after this, with no result. At this, at 2:03 a.m., the meeting recessed until the following Sunday. According to Legg, seventeen ballots had been cast that night. ^ ^ The result was that the board had, apparently, been increased with the election of two new members. But in the process, it had made a mockery of the corporation and alienated some o f its most talented and dedicated supporters. Election W oes Along their way home after this disastrous annual meeting, Sanchez, Slater, and Steinert compared notes and found that none of them had voted for W inn or Bonham. If this were true, then it would have been impossible that either had truly been elected to the board. Unfortunate ly, at that late hour and after all the confusion, it seems that Slater had not thought to examine the ballots during the meeting, though later in a court deposition he pointed out that it would not have been possible to have done so anyway, as it was a secret ballot: “No motion is in order that violates the privacy of a balloting procedure other than the show of hands or ayes or nays.” As it was, one of two things had probably happened: either one of them had indeed voted for both W inn and Bonham, or Boyfrank had misrepresented the vote and in effect helped Legg maneuver a coup. Slater clearly thought that was what had happened; Legg later stated that he thought Steinert had probably defected. In either case, with Steinert, Slater, and Sanchez steadfast in their denial of having voted for those two men. Slater and his faction insisted that Bonham and W inn had not been properly elected and thus were not duly authorized as voting members of ONE. Slater and Sanchez repeatedly made this assertion and challenged the elec tion at corporate meetings throughout the rest of 1964, but the majority had ignored them, and the chairman had allowed it. According to Slater’ s notes, Lambert consequently threatened 193 that if Slater were to discuss the issue with anyone “outside the corporation proper he would be dropped from membership.” In later correspondence with his attorney Ed Raiden/^ Slater admitted that he had gone to outside council for advice. This attorney, E Z. Deutsch, had told Slater: “Founders of such a movement as the homosexual is engaged in, because of the nature of their persons, usually kill each other off or are eliminated by their followers and officers when they get in the way of progress.” While it is assumed Deutsch was speaking metaphorically and it was a social rather than an actual death that was suggested, the severity of her metonymy confirmed to Slater that he was in a dire situation. Legg’ s pattern was all too clear. First Jennings had resigned due to frustration with Legg, then Kepner and Wolf. More recently Rush, Farley and Corbin had also left, all having complained about the situation at ONE. Now Hay and Burnside had become alienated. As Slater began to see it, more than a few good volunteers had left the organization due to Lamberts conduct. Now, it seemed, his own job was on the line, so the indomitable Don Slater braced himself for a fight. On Sunday, February 2, between 1:30 and 2:20 in the afternoon, the voting members of the O N E with the exception of W inn gathered to discuss the situation. There was much debate, but nothing was resolved. During the next board meeting on February 16, with seven voting members present, Slater proclaimed that an error had been made in the annual elections, but he was outvoted and the minutes were approved as they were. Harry Hay was present at this meeting to act as witness and parliamentarian, and accord ing to Legg, he had also been there to verify that the proceedings of this meeting had been conducted in accordance with Roberts Rules ofOrder}^ While this may seem inconsequential, this was actually a deft move on Legg’ s part. There had been many traditions established within the corporation that had existed apart from Robert’ s Rules, such as the policy that the Chair not vote unless to break a tie and the method of balloting, which Slater complained had been altered to Legg’ s advantage. While he seemed to be enforcing the standard, many of the “rules” and “traditions” that Hay was moderating were actually new to the corporation, while long-standing 194 traditions were being cast aside as they became inconveniences for the new majority. After all of his planning, it seemed Legg had remained a step ahead. Slater was stymied, and the corporation was at an impasse. O n August 12, Slater mailed a letter o f complaint to Boyfrank: “It is becoming increasingly difficult to reach the Board of Directors. On more than one matter on which I asked the board’ s consideration I have had no reply. I would like to suggest a corporation meeting to facilitate communication and action. ” Boyfrank answered with a very peculiar two-page letter. “Dear Don, I think I see what you’ re driving at in your valued note o f the 12^\ and you have good company in your dissatisfaction. We are paralyzed.” He continued, with a comment probably suggestive of Slater’ s small stature: O ur most loved and respected corporation members have an elfin disdain of mere money. That is part of their charm, and without it I imagine One would never have got started. Time was when that what-the-hell, let’ s-go-for-broke attitude was appropriate and availful. You didn’ t know what the future held, you did not have so much as a shirt to lose, you could improvise then and modify later according to developments and you were young and full of mustard. You felt a powerful urge to start something and you started something. But, Boyfrank admonished, in all of this brash action there had been no real attempt to make money. Rather than be an asset to ONE, Boyfrank asserted that the publications had been a failure: “O ur magazines don’ t make money for us: they’ re a drain on us. And you’ re an older man by twelve critical years in a world where youth is at a premium and age is an embarrassment and a calamity.” In Boyfrank’ s opinion. Slater only wanted people working for O N E who were like Slater: “courageous, extroverted and a little scrappy”: You want all men to be Don Slaters. That would be a delectable world, but it is not the world we happen to live in. You’ re not going to change, and any hint that you adopt less of a damn-your-eyes policy in the magazine’ s format will only make you more determined to express the pure, absolute or 200-proof Don Slater with no concessions to conventions and cowards. As for the calling of a meeting, Boyfrank rejected the request: 195 Let me ask, W hom do you know among the members of the corporation who will change any more readily than you will? W hat argument can you advance that hasn’ t been used already? For example, could you tell Mr. Good anything that would make him confident that your magazine will become a money-maker for him and for us? Could you bring yourself to make changes that would enable more firms to advertise on Onei To ask these questions is to answer them. Each man’ s behavior is a function of his principle, his character, his self-respect. That being true, there is no use in calling meet ings. We are at a deadlock. It may be deplorable, but any man who might consent to the sacrifice of his principle would expect a disaster to result— and he might be right. A letter from Steinertto Weaver dated nearly a month later, on September 9, 1964, complained that there had not been a corporate meeting since June or July. Steinert requested that one be held before he left for Europe later that year on a trip that was to be part vacation and part business. A corporate meeting was finally called for September 25, during which he warned the board that he might not make it back in time for the annual meeting, scheduled for Friday, January 29. He requested an absentee vote should he not make it back on time, and the directors voted to grant this request. O n October fourth, the Friends of ON E convened at the W aldorf Astoria Hotel in New York, to see Steinert and fourteen others off on a three-week tour of Europe. According to an article on “Social Services ” by “B. W.” that appeared in the November 1964 issue of Confi,^^ there were around fifty people present. Steinert, a former European, was the first to speak, after an hour of food and socializing. He gave a rousing speech on how homosexuals in America should “come courageously into closer fellowship with and support of each other” and to “shed all pussyfooting and mask-wearing, to stand up and be counted as self-respecting homosexual citizens ” (ibid, 3). Chuck Thompson, manager o f the tour, spoke briefly and was followed by Dorr Legg, who encouraged the audience to “enlist support for O N E ” by sending news clip pings to the Venice Street office and by reporting on local court cases and legal issues. After a question and answer session, Reed Erickson was introduced, a female-to-male transsexual who had been a patient of Harry Benjamin’ s and was president of the Erickson Educational Founda tion [EEF], a philanthropic organization based in Baton Rouge, Louisiana. Then, Legg made a 196 grand announcement: a new corporation had been formed in Los Angeles, called the Institute for the Study of Hum an Resources, or ISHR. Erickson was President of this organization; Don Slater was Vice-president, and Legg was its secretary-treasurer. Unlike ONE, ISHR was a tax-exempt corporation that was “legally prepared to receive contributions from those wishing to take substantial tax deductions for their gifts.” It was a simple plan, really: individuals and corporations could receive tax advantages by donating to ISHR, which in turn would make contributions to ONE. Legg stayed in New York from Saturday through Wednesday, October third through the seventh. W hile there he met with Donald Webster Cory and New York Mattachine President Julian Hodges. Legg noted that the Mattachine office resembled O N E s first two-room office on Hill Street, in Los Angeles. He later had dinner with Dr. Harry Benjamin, who had been a close friend of the late Dr. Blanche M. Baker. Barbara Cittings and Kay Tobin, editors for The Ladder, came up from Philadelphia to visit with the Los Angeles contingency. A meeting with Clark Polak, editor of a new publication called The Drum published by New York’ s Janus Society, did not go as well when Polak accused O N E of “rank ‘ parochialism and provinciality ” (ibid, 4). While traveling through Europe and India later that fall, Steinert wrote to O N E ’ s corpo rate office requesting an update on corporate business, but O N E ’ s secretary Boyfrank did not respond until December 26. According to Slater’ s notes, Boyfrank’ s letter advised Steinert that he “would not be allowed an absentee ballot after all, and the corporation was considering by-law changes of a quite serious nature.” Clearly, Legg, Boyfrank, and Weaver were staging a second at tempt at taking over the organization. Steinert did not receive the letter until Thursday, January 14, 1965, and by then it was too late for him to make it back in time for the annual meeting, to be held on January 29. A corporate meeting was held on Friday evening, January 15, with Slater, Sanchez, Bonham, Legg, Boyfrank, and Weaver in attendance. Friend of O N E Reed Erickson was also present, visiting from Louisiana. A tape recording was played of Slater’ s recent lecture at Califor- 197 nia State College. Next, it was decided that O N E ’ s library would be incorporated as the Blanche Baker Memorial Library. It was also decided, under protest from Slater and Sanchez, that the annual meeting would convene at 8:00 p.m., as it usually had, but would adjourn promptly at ten and resume the next day at two in the afternoon. D uring a board meeting the following week, January 22, Bonham, Legg, Boyfrank, and Weaver met and decided that the slate for nominees for the election at the upcoming annual meeting would be “Creg C., Keith D., Billie C., Bob N., Johnnie N., Chet S., Jim S. and Thelma V.” All were prepared for another showdown. The 1965 Annual Business Meeting The thirteenth annual business meeting for ONE, Incorporated adjourned early as planned, before all of the business scheduled had been tended to, which enraged Slater and San chez. In a note to the other board members. Slater pointed out that some of the Friends of O N E had traveled a great distance to be there and had “made it a point to be in attendance through out the sessions. ” In addition to the voting members, there were twenty-five non-voting Friends of O N E present, including Hay, Burnside, Morris Kight, Ceraldine Jackson, and Jim Schneider’ s partner Henry Lieffers. Robert E. Newton and Creg N. Coron were listed as a couple. Fifteen guests had also been present, but voting members Slater, Steinert, and W inn were absent. Some reports were given: Ingersoll reported on the status of the magazine, and Bonham reported both on finances and circulation. Roy Berquist spoke on the status o f O N E ’ s art department, and then the meeting adjourned promptly at 10:00 p.m. W hen the meeting reconvened at two the next afternoon, there was a lack of quorum, so no business was conducted. Voting members present included Bonham, Boyfrank, Legg, and Sanchez. Schneider presented two reports, on the Social Services division’ s rehabilitation activi ties and as chair of the Friday night work committee. The nine non-voting members present included Hay and Burnside, Coron and Newton, and Kepner. John Nojima, Legg’ s long-term partner, was listed as a visitor. Since there was lack of a quorum to conduct further business, “the 198 meeting adjourned to the earliest hour at which a quorum can be secured.” The voting members were to be notified by the secretary as to where and when the next corporate meeting would convene. This second session of the annual meeting adjourned at 5:00 p.m. The third session of the annual business meeting convened Friday evening, February fifth, with Weaver, Bonham, Boyfrank, Legg, Slater, and W inn present and Sanchez and Steinert absent. According to Boyfranks minutes. Dorr Legg, acting as chair, began the meeting by reading excerpts from Robert’ s Rules o f Order. Slater objected to this, and rising to a point of order, he read aloud a letter he had addressed to certain members of the board, dated February third. Slaters objections were overruled, and he withdrew from the meeting in protest. Boyfrank then proposed a motion to dismiss Slater from membership in the corporation, which Weaver seconded, but the motion was tabled. It was decided, however, that “any member who is outside the state for sixty days, so that he can not attend meetings, shall have his vote and status as a voting member suspended during such absence.” This motion carried unanimously, clearing the way for the bylaw changes that had been proposed in Boyfranks letter of December 26. The number of voting members was raised to fifteen, and there were to be five directors rather than the traditional three. These would be elected at the annual meeting in January 1966 and again each third meeting thereafter. The directors proceeded to elect new board members, per the newly modified bylaws. Kieth [sic] Dyer, Chet Samson, and James Schneider were first to be elected members. Gregory Coron and Robert Newton were elected next, followed by Lou Bonham. The final matter dis cussed was the dismissal of D on Slater, but this again was tabled, as it was during a subsequent meeting on Sunday afternoon, February 14. O n Friday, February 12, Newton, as chairman of the Advertising Committee, recruited Dick Spellman to assist as a member of that committee. O n Sunday, March 21, the third corporate meeting of 1965 convened at the Venice Street office. Bonham, Boyfrank, Coron, Aaron, Dyer, Legg, Newton, Sanchez, Sampson, Schneider, and W inn were present, with Slater and Steinert absent. After the minutes of the 199 prior meeting were read and approved, Sanchez addressed the assembly and proposed a motion, “the purpose of which was not clear.” W hen the motion failed to receive a second, Sanchez left in frustration. Newton next discussed his recent lecture at Claremont College, and Legg reported on a recent meeting he had with the ACLU. Chet Sampson, who owned a travel agency, reported on an upcoming trip to Europe and suggested that Slater be invited to go with him, with Kepner as backup. This motion carried unanimously. Schneider gave his report on the progress of the Friday-night work committee. Then Weaver moved that Dyer be appointed Associate Editor of O NE Magazine, “to represent the corporation on the editorial board.” The motion carried, and Dyer agreed to serve as a liaison between the editors and the directors— an act that was to have dire consequences. O n March 23, a note was sent to Kepner advising him that Slater would be unable to go to Europe with Sampson. Though the airfare to and from New York was being provided. Slater could not afford the other expenses, so Kepner was presented the opportunity, and he accepted. The note to Kepner, probably sent by Legg, asked that he address the European organizations on o n e ’ s behalf and then to write an article on the journey upon his return. Kepner was thrilled to have the opportunity, and though he had been given short notice, he welcomed the chance to tour Europe while perhaps rekindling his relationship with O N E in the process. How did he know that tensions within the organization were near the boiling point— and that the corpora tion would physically split while he was away! O n March 24, Dyer resigned as Associate Editor of O NE Magazine, stating that he felt unqualified for the job. In an attached report of the proceedings of the editorial staff meeting he had attended on Monday, March 22, Dyer stated that the editors had at first welcomed him, but when he told them that he had been appointed Associate Editor by the board, a lively discussion ensued. The editors were offended that he had been appointed without their approval, and they decided that “immediate action would be taken to make necessary adjustments in the Magazine Staff personnel.” In the mean time things would stay as they were, with Don Slater the Editor 2 0 0 in Chief. Dyer was asked to tell the directors that if the board felt out of touch with them, the editors, that it had been empowered by article three, section D of the bylaws to invite whomever they wished to attend their meetings. The editorial staff had been “puzzled” by the corporation’ s move, as there had always been “a satisfactory working relationship between the Magazine and the Corporation and Board of Directors. ” Dyer concluded his report by agreeing with the editors, stating “the Magazine has and is functioning in a most satisftictory and responsible way, internally. ” Legg sent a personal response to Dyer on March 25. He reminded Dyer that Slater had no power to appoint his own edi tors— only the board could make appointments and fill positions within the corporation. Slater’ s position as Editor was advisory at best. The next corporate meeting convened on April 11, 1965. Bonham, Boyfrank, Coron, Weaver, Dyer, Legg, Newton, Schneider, and W inn were present, and Sanchez, Slater, and Steinert were absent. It was announced that Kepner would be going to Europe in Slater’ s place. Dyer reported that he had met with the editorial board of the magazine, which had resisted his appointment. He formally resigned his position as Associate Editor. Bob Waltrip spoke on the “editorial problems ” with the magazine. Bonham moved that the corporation “express dissatis faction with the failure o f the editorial board of ONE Magazine to adhere to corporate policy.” Weaver seconded this motion, and it carried. Coron and Dyer proposed that some representative of the editorial board should be present at all corporate meetings, but this motion was tabled. Dyer then moved that “the editorial board, in the absence of Don Slater, rotate the position of editor-in-chief monthly among all of its members,” This was seconded by W inn and carried unanimously. It was decided that Legg would advise the editorial board of these decisions during their next board meeting, which was to be held in O N E’ s offices the following night. This meet ing adjourned at 8:40 p.m. 2 0 1 * ‘ Night of the Long Knives’ ’ Tensions had been running exceedingly high within the corporation, and Slaters position had become precarious, his influence greatly diminished. Legg, Boyfrank, and Aaron in par ticular were furious at the editors’ refusal to admit Dyer to their ranks. In turn, the editors were annoyed that Legg would resign from the editorial board and then try to dictate policy from his position as Chairman. Legg showed up to the editors’ meeting the following night to tell them of the boards’ disappointments. Ingersoll has described the occasion in detail: Slater, Hansen, Mac McNeal and I were holding a regular editorial session, probably arguing, with Mac’ s shrill, angry voice loudest o f all. And suddenly Lambert stormed into the room, drew himself up in his imperial majesty, and began to lay down the law, letting us know that we were underlings, and were not empowered to discuss policy, let alone make it, and to tell us what we could and could not do, and what we would and would not be allowed to do. Mac, who was wearing a stunning camel’ s hair coat that night, jumped up, shrieked at Lambert that he wasn’ t going to take any more of “that shit,” and slammed out of the room. Lambert went on, unfazed [sic], and soon Hansen got to his feet, announced qui- edy that he too had heard more than enough, and walked out. I was just as indignant, but I simply sat there and said nothing. Don had sat through the whole thing without saying a word, and I didn’ t want to do or say anything until I had a chance to talk to him. (Ingersoll 1997, 12— 13)^^ Hansen likewise recalls that he did not stay to hear the end of Legg’ s rant. “I left while he was still raving on, convinced he was out of his m ind.” Hansen had heard about the “shady revisions of the Corporation bylaws,” largely due to Slater’ s absences and the “almost endless 1965 annual membership meeting.” As he saw it, within a few short months o f becoming the Chair, Legg “had dumped most of the legally elected Board of Directors, and replaced them with lackeys elected’ by no one but himself” (1998, 53— 54). Hansen’ s assessment seems correct in many ways. As it stood, Legg clearly had Boyfrank and Weaver on his side, or perhaps even in his pocket. While Legg was not paying them for their services— they were not his hirelings— they did stand to gain in their relationship with Legg. As F. G. Bailey has observed, relationships between a leader and follower typically involve both a moral element and a transactional one (2001, 44). The moral element of their bond is clear: 2 0 2 to further the needs o f the organization, with a particular emphasis on expanding social services and education divisions. The transactional element is not as obvious, but while no money was being exchanged, there was a considerable amount o f power involved. Boyfrank and Weaver were, after all, the senior officers o f the corporation. For Legg, who was fond o f structure and nearly obsessed with hierarchy, this made them the undisputed leaders of the corporation. As he had reminded Dyer, only the board could make appointments, fill positions, or determine corporate policy. At this time, the three officers had gained total control over the board, and that was not likely to change. Legg and Slater would remain at odds. But with Legg leading a unified coalition of the corporations officers, the cards were clearly stacked in his favor. There could hardly be anyone more unlike Dorr Legg than Don Slater. Even physically they were distinct, with Legg being tall and lanky. Slater short and puckish. Whereas Legg loved formality and thrived on authority Slater was casual and easy-going, and as such he was appeal ing to a different sort of person than those drawn more toward Legg. To borrow from Turner, one might say that Legg represented “structure” and Slater “anti-structure,” though enshrouding Slater in the accompanying cloud o f liminality and communitas would be taking things a bit far (1969, 175— 176). Still, while some were attracted to Legg’ s regimented business philosophies, others were drawn to Slater’ s good humor and more personable ways. Slater preferred to lead through example, and he had not sought power but in fact had avoided it. While he was proud to have become the senior editor of ONE, it was never a position he coveted or actively sought. Slater was content to progress more slowly up corporate ranks. He was always respectful to others, especially his elders, and he enjoyed sharing power and authority with the other editors. He loved to engage in intellectual discussions, and he preferred to make decisions based on debate, consensus, and common sense. Both Slater and Legg were fiercely intelligent people who had been equally dedicated to the cause, though clearly they held contrary visions of the corporation’ s primary missions and purposes. They were each experienced in social activism and had won a significant gain for the 203 rights of homosexuals in Los Angeles and in the United States through the Supreme Court decision. Both had learned the inner mechanisms of the legal system, and neither was afraid to use the courts to achieve his goal. Together, they formed a formidable alliance. Apart, they could be redoubtable adversaries. Once Mac McNeal left after that meeting, he never returned. This was a substantial setback for O NE Magazine, which he had supported financially and through his writing. McNeal had taken over the Tangents news column, which had become O N E s most-read column since its in auguration by Kepner, and now that job, and “the rumpled brown manila envelope stuffed with clippings from readers all over the country, all over the world,” became Joe Hansens responsi bility. Hansen would not let Legg bully him out of working for O N E Magazine and standing fast beside his friend and colleague. Slater. Ingersoll, however, wrote his letter of resignation to o n e ’ s board the next day, the morning of April thirteenth. “ At the conclusion of the meeting last night— and I am sure that by now you will have learned of all that transpired at that meet ing— I announced that I was not walking out on the meeting nor on the magazine. I hope that this resignation will not be considered a denial of those words.” Ingersoll concluded that if he felt his presence would help the situation he would stay, but he could see no reason for staying. W hen Slater heard that Ingersoll had resigned, he called him to tell him that he had been “working on a plan he thought would straighten things out and make it possible for us to work together again.” Slater asked Ingersoll to sit tight and suspend his resignation for the time being. He asked Joe and Jane Hansen to kindly sit tight, as well. It was Glover who, in retrospect, compared Legg’ s actions in “firing ” the entire editorial board to the Night of the Long Knives, and his surviving H IC compatriots nod and smile at the comparison. While Slater had not been murdered, as Ernst Rohm had been on the night of June 28, 1934 as Hitler began ferreting homosexuals out of his army (Dynes 1985, 103), the com parison signifies the severity o f the Legg’ s action and the severity o f the repercussions. The Dyer affair had angered both the officers and the editors— even though Dyer himself had the best 204 intentions at heart, it was his action that set off the social drama, causing anger and grievance to both sides, now clearly distinct factions gathered around two leaders, Legg and Slater. During the meeting of April twelfth, when Legg went barging into the meeting of the editorial board, he had effectively thrown down the gauntlet: the desires of O NE s officers outweighed the needs of the editors. The editorial board had no right to discuss or try to influence corporate policy, and if the editors did not agree then they were all fired. From Slaters perspective, the prediction of the psychologist Deutsch had come true. ONE Institute had clearly become a higher priority to the corporation than O NE Magazine, and it seemed that the editors and the magazine were about to be eliminated. Slater knew that with the financial support of Erickson and the EEF, O N E Institute could, perhaps, survive without the magazine. And if O N E Magazine would no longer be needed, then neither would its edi tors, he in particular. Slater saw the writing on the wall. He knew how Legg liked to operate— it was clear that his expulsion from O NE was pending. Unless, of course, it could be pre-empted, which is exactly what he set out to do. A confrontation between them was imminent. Together with Sanchez and Glover, he laid out a plan to reverse the situation. It was time for another closed-door coup— only this time, it would be Legg in the hot seat. The Heist O n Wednesday, April 14, 1965, Slater and Glover, claiming to represent ONE, Incorpo rated, rented warehouse space from Atlas Screen & Manufacturing Company, 3473 Cahuenga Boulevard in Hollywood, across from Universal Studios. It was a simple facility and a simple lease: after a $75 deposit. Slater could have the space for $75 a month for the first six months and then pay $100 per month thereafter. The new address for Slaters O N E would be 347314 Cahuenga Blvd. In sealing the deal. Atlas agreed to install a swinging door in place of the exist ing sliding door entrance. Slater had already cataloged and inventoried most of the library, which he had worked hard to create. The accounts were in order, so it was easy for Slater and his crew to pack up the 205 materials on Saturday night and move them to Cahuenga before Legg was to be at the office to prepare for the board meeting scheduled for Sunday afternoon. Slater had earlier conferred with his attorney, who has assured him that though his plan was certainly non-conventional, the law was on his side (Hansen 1998, 55). So then Slater, Glover, Sanchez, and a friend of Slater who owned a moving van, Jano Cybulski, met at O N E early on Sunday morning, April 18, and they cleared out the office, taking everything to the new office on Cahuenga Blvd. (Hansen 1998, 55-59). Hansen has provided a rich description of the ensuing confrontation. After the move, an exhausted Slater left Glover asleep on the sofa in the new office to take Sanchez home. Once there, “[Antonio] dropped exhausted into bed, while D on fed the cats, took a shower, and changed his clothes.” [Slater then] drove the old Studebaker back to Venice boulevard, climbed the stairs again, found an overlooked chair, placed it in the middle of the sunny morning vacancy, and sat down on it to await the arrival of Bill Lambert, knowing he would come early to make ready for the big meeting at which he would at last strip Don Slater of any part in O NE, Inc. (ibid, 57) Legg must have been flabbergasted when he crested the stairs to find the office bare. He no doubt became furious when he realized that the office was completely vacant except for a single office chair and a seated Don Slater, who was tired but smiling. Slater relished this moment, later telling Hansen that he had “never lived a better moment in my life” (ibid, 57). After the delicious silence, Legg began to rant: “But you c a n t... This is outrageous! This is robbery. Grand larceny! Lm calling the police!” But he didn’ t. Slater suggested that they calm down and work out a compromise, but Legg refused to engage in any negotiations, stating: “I don’ t compromise with thieves. ” Still, Slater said that if Legg would “restore the legally elected Board, and agree to resume O N E ’ s activities on the old footing,” then they could meet with Slater’ s attorney the next day to sign papers that had been prepared, and he would return the office, library, and mailing list Legg stood fast. 206 refusing Slaters terms. He opted to take the matter to court— and to O N E s membership. While Slater spoke of compromise, for Legg, it sounded more like an all-or-none ultimatum— or a coup, which is exactly how he presented it to his fellow directors later that day (ibid, 58). Slater felt that he had won, but at what price? He had successfully turned the table on Legg and staged a closed-door coup of his own, which put an entirely new twist on the ritual. To again utilize terms from Turner (1969, 170— 178), rather than having been a ritual of status elevation whereby the power and influence of one was furthered by the elimination of the other, he had converted it into a ritual of status reversal whereby the underdog— Slater— had reversed the situation in order to leverage a compromise. It was a bold move, the outcome of which was far from certain. Later that afternoon, during the business meeting and after Slater had gone home to catch up on sleep, Legg began a smear campaign against Slater that would continue for the next two decades. W ith the support and encouragement of Boyfrank, an entirely new board, and fund ing from their new-found philanthropist Reed Erickson, Legg hired Beverly Hills lawyer Hillel Chodos, and together they would relentlessly pursue Slater and his Tangent Group, dragging them in and out of court for the next five years, as will be seen in the next chapter. In the five years following Kepner s resignation, O N E had become increasing polarized between those who supported O N E Institute and those who favored the magazine. In the end, Kepnet’ s prediction that the movement would in time become fractured into different organizations, each with its own clear-cut mission and purpose, had come to pass. Rather than a metaphor of vessels and ships, Kepner believed that a corporation was more like an organism that could grow and perhaps even divide. F. G. Bailey got it right when he said that “periods of faction-fighting, like adolescence, precede maturity.” If a faction can survive long enough to develop a core of constituents, then “a new kind of group, which is no longer a faction, has come into existence” (2001, 53). As we will see in the next chapter, two new groups did come 207 into existence, thought the fighting was to intensify and continue. To carry Baileys metaphor, it was to be a prolonged adolescence for both of the new organizations. (Footnotes) ^ 1960 Annual Report, 5 ^ According to Bullough et al. (1976), Marilyn Moon and Nancy Cowan were the real women behind the pseudonym of Alison Hunter, though Don Slater sometime used the name too. In the 1967 Agreement of Settlement, Leggs faction claimed the exclusive right to the pseudonym. 3 March 22, 2004 ^ Proposed Baker Foundation report dated Aug. 16, 1962. Mbid ^ Boyfrank’ s minutes are erroneously dated 1962. ^ Boyfrank’ s minutes are erroneously dated Sunday, March 3. ® Lambert first invited W inn to join ONE in April, 1963. ^ Antonio Sanchez’ s proxy request, on file in the Slater collection at the H IC, is dated January 27, 1964 and authorizes Don Slater “to act as my proxy in all considerations pertaining to the 1963 Business Meeting held at O N E’ s offices 2256 Venice Blvd, Los Angeles, January 27, 1964.” It should be noted that this is not the correct date for the business meeting. Billy Glover, personal communication Answer to interrogatories, Jan. 26, 1966 Legg’ s answer to interrogatories, Jan. 26, 1966 Letter dated Aug. 15, 1965 Such introspection on Slater’ s part is suggested in his notes for the pending court case, as will be discussed in the next chapter. Answer to interrogatories, Jan. 26, 1966 i^As“R. H. Stuart” 208 Vol. IX, no. 11 Boyfrank later penned in his minutes “to fill out the term of Joe Aaron, resigned,” though Aaron had not resigned as this point. 19 Here, Ingersolls recollection is in error. Slater was not present at this meeting. 209 Chapter Seven Two Years o f War O f Pots and Kettles, Heroes and Knaves The division of O N E Incorporated marked the end of one era and the dawning of a new one. W ith the infighting now over, each group had the chance to start anew and focus on what it did the best. The Tangent Group could continue to publish the magazine, and the Venice Group could develop its Institute for Homophile Studies. Unfortunately, for Legg and Slater, it became a zero-sum game where only one o f the groups could continue as the “real” ONE, Inc. Hostilities that had been simmering for the past two years now boiled over, and the Friends of O NE were split clean down the middle, with only two individuals, Kepner and Bullough, remaining independent enough to maintain working relationships with both organizations. The first thing that the Tangent Group did after their move to Cahuenga was to host an Open House, on May second. Using the coveted mailing list, they next distributed a ONE Confidential to the Friends of O NE, announcing the new Cahuenga address and attempting to clarify “the recent changes that have taken place and the reasons behind those changes” by listing a litany of complaints. The newsletter claimed that the Board of Directors of O N E “had become a rubber stamp for its chairman. And under his direction O N E was failing.” Matricula tion in the courses being offered by the Education Division had been “falling off drastically.” As for the Social Science division, it was “no longer vital,” and the Publications Division “had failed to keep a verbal contract with an author after announcing that his book would be issued,” 2 1 0 though advance payments had been accepted. Subscriptions to O NE Magazine had “fallen off dangerously” after a policy change had made membership in O N E mandatory after the first year of subscribing. To make matters worse, an immense debt to the printer had been amassed, and “constant appeals for financial aid could not keep O N E out of debt.” The letter continued: To D on Slater.. .the situation appeared increasingly alarm ing... Many other alert and intelligent and forward-looking Members shared his conviction that action would have to be taken to stop the downward spiral. The chairman of the Board, however, arbitrari ly blocked any and all attempts at free discussion and arbitration. His dictatorial frame of mind was nowhere more evident than in his unilateral attempt to gain complete control over O N E Magazine and its editorial functions. This resulted in the resignation of the editors of ONE, some of whom had been with the Magazine from its founding, others for periods of up to eight years. All of the physical assets of the corporation had been moved, “in order to save the orga nization and the principles for which it stands.” The intention o f the move was to guarantee continuance of O N E Magazine, which was “the most important— because it was the widest reaching— arm of the organization.” It was further announced that the “Social Science Division, the Lecture Bureau, the Bookservice, [and] the Library are again at the disposal of all Members, Friends and Subscribers. All policies of exclusion are ended.” Slater described O N E ’ s new office, perched as it was “on the inner edge of Hollywood proper.” He wrote of the gully across the road, and an old riverbank that had recently been converted to a highway that ran from downtown Los Angeles all the way up the coast to Santa Barbara and beyond. To the northeast, looking across the freeway, there were “green hillsides scattered with Eucalyptus and underbrush.. .the whole scene is a little bit of O ld California, our visitors agree. ” O n the second o f May, Legg, Bonham, and Boyfrank, as the Board of Directors of ONE, Incorporated, distributed a letter of their own to the friends of O N E that stated: “ Any state ment that O N E has moved its offices is false.” The letter stated that O NE Magazine’ s “former editor” Don Slater “illegally entered ” the corporate offices “using keys which long had been entrusted to him ,” and removed, with the help of unnamed others, property that they valued in 2 1 1 excess of $10,000. The property, the letter continued, included volumes from O N E’ s Library and the inventory for the Book Service, all correspondence, and office furniture, equipment, and supplies. Denying that there might be any reasonable explanation for such behavior, Legg’ s letter attributed the rash action to Slater’ s “present disturbed state of mind, ” whereby he had convinced himself and a few others that he was acting in a just manner. “Slater has not been on o n e ’ s payroll since November, 1964,” Legg declared, and “he has not held any office in the Corporation since 1963.” Legg further asserted that Slater had previously all but resigned from his editorial work on the magazine, though his name had been left on the masthead as a courtesy “in the hope that he might resolve his subjective problems— whatever they were— and again function as active editor. ” In the meantime, O N E intended to “regain possession of all of its property.” It was also hoped that Slater’ s “many relatives living in this area can also be safeguarded against embarrass ments arising from his conduct, if this can be managed.” Those Friends of O N E who were to receive this letter were to take heart that the madman would be tempered, the property returned, and O N E would continue on as before, after this annoying, unfortunate incident had been weathered. “If the more irresponsible and impetuous elements are removing themselves from our midst we shall be all the stronger for the cleansing.” The board of directors was “solidly together in this resolve. ” Barbara Myerhoff has noted that whatever the outcome, the final phase of the social drama is “accomplished through symbolic displays of unity or ritual performances that affirm members’ widest or most basic beliefs ” (1979, 32). Considered as such, these objects and rituals that come into play during these moments can provide unique insight into to those heartfelt beliefs and values. Assuming the organization survived the ordeal intact, such rituals would be enacted by the group as a whole and may be considered rituals of healing. If the group has divided, as in this case, then each side will be back, in a sense, at square one, having to redefine itself, first against the other group and ultimately as an organization in its own right. It would be expected 2 1 2 that the first rituals established by a new organization would seek to validate its own historical integrity while discrediting the (former) adversary. The process of becoming an autonomous organization has been compared to that of emerging into adulthood from adolescence. One reply to this letter came to the Venice office from two Friends of ONE, Robert Mernagh and Richard Yamamoto, in strong defense of Slaters Tangent Group. The letter began by attacking Legg’ s leadership ethic: “ A good executive knows how to delegate authority” and should act “more as a coordinator than a meddler. He realizes that the end product is the summation of the group working as a whole rather than of the individual’ s glory.” As for the accusation that Slater had resigned due to “subjective issues, ” Mernagh and Yamamoto held that it was Legg’ s imperious attitude that had led to separation: “In our opinion he has lost the drive and vision of the movement and subverted and exploited it to meet his own emotional needs.” As for the others on the “lax, short sighted, do-nothing board,” they were merely Legg’ s lackeys who had neither historic nor contributory relevance to the organization. “How many of you are hiding behind pseudonyms? How much of your position in the corporation is more than token? W hat actual voice have you, other than the right to parrot the responses o f Mr. Lambert? ” Schneider’ s Attempt at Mediation O n Tuesday, April twentieth, Jim Schneider wrote a letter to Slater in which he expressed his puzzlement: You have made your move and have brought a man to his knees. While I may have disagreed with you over devices and methods used, I may also have been an incapable judge since I have such inadequate knowledge of the personalities and inner conflicts involved in O N E ’ s past. May I suggest that you do not fail to be charitable to Dorr in your time of supremacy... He asked if Slater would consider moving the corporation back to Venice on the condition that Legg resign from the board. “I am now interested in learning whether D on Slater’ s ship will be any different in ways of admonition, permissibility, charity, and general conduct over that of the other regime.” He added that he had never “been interested in taking sides except as necessary. 213 but rather, I am only concerned that O N E should move forward to help others. To this progress I am devoted and am willing to spend my efforts when called upon to do so.” The next day, Schneider wrote a letter to all board members' that called for both Legg and Slater to step down from the board so that O N E would not remain divided. I have no concern over who may damn me if I do, and who may damn me if I don’ t. However, I’ll be damned if anybody is going to tell me that I can’ t speak my mind. Unless drastic action is taken by all concerned parties to bring about a prom pt solution to the dilemma at hand, O N E ’ s death will occur and O N E ’ s funeral will commence within 10 days O N E is about to be murdered by self-inflicted wounds (a bitch fight amongst homosexuals) in a petty little power struggle over control and policies. Schneider called upon both Slater and Legg to remember their commitment to the homosexual rights movement and not to their own “distaste o f each other’ s prejudices, attitudes, acts or per sonal feelings.” He urged that both resign their positions immediately. H e reminded his fellow directors that without incoming mail, O N E was effectively out of business, and as it was, the post office was withholding O N E ’ s mail until the postmaster could adjudicate Slater and Legg’ s conflicting claims o f corporate legitimacy. H e urged all members involved to come up with “a compromise solution over such policies and functions between the two opposing factions. ” Schneider proposed that each board member compose a list o f grievances, and then meet informally to discuss them in his home Saturday afternoon, April 24. He called for what would now be called a “brain-storming session, ” where they could “enlist every possible new idea they can think of for resolving this problem.” Perhaps, he suggested, Slater could be put in total charge and control of the magazine and oversee employment of Glover while Legg could be given O NE Confidential and the Quarterly. He added that he had prepared a written resignation, which he intended to submit this coming Sunday at the corporate meeting. He urged others to do the same, but to first discuss the matter in his home. Legg’ s group met for an emergency meeting on Sunday April 25. Schneider surprised everyone there by making a motion that W. Dorr Legg resign as Chairman of the Board. The motion lost in a vote of five to four, and the slim margin made Schneider believe that perhaps 214 his idea had merit but his timing was off: others were just not ready to break the ranks, and be sides, what would they do once Legg was gone? Schneider believed that his motion was defeated “only because of the absence of time to develop any workable formula or solution to replace the resignation of W, Dorr Legg.”^ O n May 8, Schneider wrote a nine-page letter to his fellow board members. He had spoken to all of those involved and managed to reach some solid conclusions and propose sound resolu tions. He began by illustrating the rancor involved, citing “the reckless charges and counter charges hurled back and forth” between Slater’ s and his followers and Legg and his: Dictators, thieves, manipulator of minds, lust to play God, unlawful acts, criminal, the damned great white father is leading innocent children on a collision course with disas ter, the damned psychopath is determined to have every thing his way or ruin O N E for good, illegal acts, irregular maneuvering for control, contriver of the personality cult, perpetrator of perpetual confusion and dissension, and etc. Schneider noted that it had been difficult to piece the story together, as both Slater and Legg “are most sensitively aware of the entire history of each other and O NE, Incorporated and its growth and development since its beginning. But both are distrustful of anyone making any in quiry o f past happenings, lest that person be an agent of the other.” Nevertheless, Schneider had managed to piece together a thorough and accurate summation of the pertinent grievances on both sides. Slater contended that problems started with the November 23, 1963 annual meeting, where Legg had secured enough influence within the board to “secretly change the voting proce dure on January 12, 1964 so that more than one candidate would be voted on at a time.” Slater further stated that the chairman had violated long-standing “assumed tradition” by actively voting on the candidates himself. The use and then refusal to allow Slater to use Sanchez’ s proxy vote was “most irregular,” and when Slater had moved for a recess, “which is a privileged motion and must be ruled on by the Chairman in accordance with Roberts Rules o f Order, ” Legg had not called the question to vote and continued the meeting regardless. 215 Legg, in turn, argued that Slater was a sore loser and “simply refused to abide by the major ity vote.” Slater countered this by saying that Legg had “rigged things up so much against him, and has packed the Corporate Membership and Board with so many “stooges,” that any affirma tive vote in favor of any proposals of Don Slater is impossible.” Slater had many complaints against Leggs management of the 1965 annual business meeting. First, he had argued that the thirty-day notice had not been properly given to each corporate member, with Steinert being the one who had not been notified. The third session, on February fifth, had not been a legitimate session because “no meeting can be recessed or adjourned unless it specifies a designated time and date for reconvening prior to the time of adjournment or recess.” If this meeting was therefore illegal, it meant that “the five newly elected voting Corporate Members who were elected at this continued meeting were also illegal, and so are the amended By-Law changes which were voted in.” W ith this said. Slater contended that “his present action was the most honorable under the conditions imposed on him and was done for reasons of preventing embarrassment to innocent people in a public court action.” He added that if Legg decided to take legal action, he was prepared to defend himself. Schneider had noted things were wrong about the time of his own election to the board because Slater was never around. Schneider once approached Slater to inquire as to what was wrong, and Slater replied that he felt that trying to apprise the newer board members of the situation would have no effect for they simply did what they were told to do by Legg. The case in point was when Legg persuaded the board to appoint a representative to the editorial board, when none had been requested. Slater had been greatly offended and felt that would be a “severe blow to the integrity of O NE Magazine and a further attempt by W. Dorr Legg to ‘ take over’ all the affairs of O N E, Incorporated. ” He was also riled that Legg had been asserting that none of o n e ’ s publications actually paid for themselves. “This is a damned lie,” Slater insisted. ' ’ ’ ’ONE Magazine has more than supported itself for years.” Thus, Schneider added, the new corporate 216 members were totally in the dark, “having to deal with heavy charges and counter charges being flung between Don Slater and W. Dorr Legg in a most disturbing and disrupting manner.” Schneider next provided an astute assessment of the corporation’ s bylaws, which he found to contain some “startling undemocratic ” elements. The three directors/officers of the corporation truly had a lot of power, with all of their decisions binding for the entire corpora tion, with no chance for change or override on behalf of the voting members. He believed that Article IV-C, which allowed for any voting member to be stripped from membership by “the unanimous vote of the Directors present and voting at any regular Director’ s meeting, ” may be unconstitutional because it did not include any “process of appeal ” for the member in question. “Thus, an alleged ‘ packed’ or stooge’ Board might remove a Member or employee it doesn’ t like, and that Member had no process for which to appeal to the Corporate Membership at large or to an impartial outside hearing officer for a reversal o f Board’ s decision. ” Conversely, if the board had agreed with the Board’ s decision, there was no way for the board to express its concurrence. The system as it was set up was frustrating for corporate members who wanted to be active in the affairs and operations of O NE, and it bred “lack of interest, lack of stimulation, and lack of participation in the many affairs and activities of ONE. Most o f all, this separation contrib uted to the current lack of “rapport” within the corporation. Neither side was truly talking— or even listening— to the other side, and “if one faction knocks the other faction off, the Thomas Carlyle’ s phrase “A mystic bond of brotherhood makes all men one,” shall have lived and died in vain. To prevent the demise of O NE, Schneider proposed a compromise solution, with twenty- one stipulations. Basically, Schneider was calling for Legg and Slater to resign from their posi tions as board members and act more in the capacity of employees or advisors to the corpora tion. Future voting would be done “by secret ballot or in the absence o f both ” Slater and Legg to diffuse any rancorous feelings and diminish the level of politicking. Schneider proposed that the bylaws be amended to allow the voting members to “nullify a decision o f the Board of Direc 217 tors by a 2/3 vote of all voting Corporate Members” (including absentee votes), and likewise a system of appeal for members dismissed by the board should be established. All decisions of the Directors should be reported to the voting members each month, and minutes of all corporate meetings should be distributed to each member in a timely manner. He suggested that the corporation find “a better and easier understood parliamentary process for the conduct o f meet ings than Roberts Rules o f Order” , and he hoped that all involved would consider his compromise or propose similar ideas of their own. He concluded with ten arguments in favor of the proposed compromise, which would bring both of the current warring factions backing alignment while strengthening the corporation by making it more democratic and adding necessary checks and balances. Governing control of O N E would be taken out of the hands of both contending factions, and the Board itself would become more fair and impartial. In his last paragraph, Schneider stated that he and his partner, Henry J. Lieffers, had prepared this agreement after consulting with the office of Charles E. Rickerhauser Jr., who was the State Deputy Commis sioner of Corporations. He included with each letter a ballot whereby each member could vote for the agreement as it was offered or with suggested changes, or vote against the measure while offering suggestions. W hen Schneider talked to Slater about his letter. Slater admitted that the idea had merit but was not likely to happen. Indeed, Legg responded by having Schneider removed from the board— and the corporation. The news came to Schneider in a letter dated two days after Schneider had sent his proposed compromise, on May 10. Boyfrank had summoned Schneider to dismissal proceedings on May 16, 1965. Schneider responded the following day. May 11, asking if he could change the time to 3:00 p.m. from 4:00, and would he be allowed to bring a witness to “give evidence and testimony on my behalfi*” H e also requested that the specific charges against him be clarified. Schneider added that he was a bit puzzled by the action since Boyfrank had sent him a glowing letter of appreciation just six months prior, on December 8. 218 “It is neither healthy nor wise to purge a voice of dissent,” Schneider added, “nor is it hardly fair or democratic.” He never received an answer to this letter. O n Saturday, May 12, a beleaguered Schneider sent another note to Don Slater. “I have watched your mutineered ship (as you call it) sail, and I have been greatly concerned.” He asked, “If there are those alleged Corporate Members to be left behind, who are relatively newcomers... then there is the question o f whether anything is left for them to look forward to or pursue.” Slater interpreted this as Schneiders awkward way o f asking to be pulled from the corporate flotsam and permitted to board the new vessel. Sure enough. Slater graciously invited Schneider to be a part of his group and to help continue to produce the magazine. In his response dated May 14, Slater complimented Schneider on his “calm perseverance,” which “had a certain nobil ity about it.” He said that no one, in his opinion, had really been “left behind.” They had simply failed to keep up. He added that “newcomers” in particular were rarely “left behind”— this was a complaint more common to the old timers. Unfortunately, in the case of O NE, Slater felt that in some ways, it had been the newcomers that had let the organization down the most: At an age when I was old enough to be their father, I had to negotiate a second revolu tion in my life, when I had wanted to rest, and when it should properly have been the responsibility of the younger ONES. After all. Bill, Tony, and I had done our work years ago when we founded ONE. W hy should any one of us have to be called on a second time? Slater reminded Schneider that he had never “said the that persons voted into corporate mem bership this year would not make good members.” But since the meeting on Sunday afternoon, April 18, shortly after his private encounter with Legg, Slater had been appalled by the newcom ers’ lack of understanding of O N E ’ s history and its mission, their failure to realize that “a blow had been struck.” After this. Slater had “come to regard them all as fools without a spark of life.” He continued: You think I was hard on them? You think I was enraged? I was too easy on the lily-liv ered bastards. I was not enraged, I was outraged— because I found it inconceivable that after what had happened they still would endure the fiction that their interests were in control. 219 As for the mention of blackmail, Slater denied that he had ever done such a thing. The subject had been raised at the meeting that afternoon, but not by him. Look at the record. All public statements about the situation originating from 3473 1/2 have carefully avoided personalities. N ot so the statements o f the “board” of ONE of 2256. T hat statement read before the audience of May third and later published is loaded with intimidation by public accusation. O n Thursday, May 13, Schneider reported to the directors that he had received a letter from Chet Sampson, which had been postmarked in Copenhagen, Denmark two days prior. Sampson reported that the Cay European tour had proceeded “splendidly.” He had received Schneider’ s nine-page letter and other correspondence, and he felt badly to have been away at such a critical period. He commended Schneider and Lieffers for their time and effort and said that it was absurd that anyone should question their loyalty to the ONE. He said that he had enjoyed his three-year association with “Dorr, D on and Billy” and he appreciated each of them individually. But he felt that they had all done a lousy job of public relations and that the five of them— Schneider, W inn, Coron, Dyer, and Sampson— had demonstrated through their financial contributions and their actions that there was no question o f their loyalty to O N E and their merit as voting members. “W ho else could they name who has better rights to be on the Board? ” He said that he might be able to contribute $1,000 a year to O NE, once he returned and the situation stabilized. As for Schneider’ s proposals, Sampson found there to be “a great deal of merit in most of the items, and most of them involving By-Law changes sound excellent.” He liked the idea of the voting members acting as an adjudicating body on the matter, hearing both Slater and Legg voice their grievances and some sort of resolution be derived through the process. He felt that the trouble would be that neither would agree to “such a resignation— turning over to OTHERS control of what TH EYhuAt up. ” That was Sampson’ s only real reservation; other than that, he agreed with most of what Schneider had proposed. He wished Schneider the best of luck in 220 reunifying the corporation, though he expressed doubts that Legg or Slater would relinquish control of the corporation they had created. He was right. The Venice group voted to remove Slater from membership in O N E on April 23, 1965. Sanchez and Steinert were similarly expunged on May 16^. During that same meeting. Dyer dissolved his Dramatic Arts Service and resigned from all duties and responsibilities within the corporation, “due to existing conditions of ONE, INCORPORATED failing to uphold its own standards.” O n June 14, the Venice group sent a letter to the Friends of O N E stating that there had been no “split” of the organization. “Instead, there has been the cheap, criminal theft of property generously contributed to O N E.” They continued, “This contemptible theft has been the work of cynical opportunists and their dupes.” The directors asked that their “friend” not give their address or personal information to the “counterfeit” organization, and to have their names promptly removed from their mailing list. As for the articles that had been duplicated in the two versions of O NE Magazine, they argued that the counterfeit editors had used the stories “as a measure of economy because they had long been typeset, not for their intrinsic merits.” The perpetrators of this brash crime were being properly hounded, and “each will have to answer for his acts in due time.” Legg Files Suit (and heists the heist): Case Number 864824 O n July 21st, Beverly Hills attorney Hillel Chodos filed a lawsuit on behalf of Dorr Leggs group, calling itself “O NE, Incorporated, a California Corporation.” The suit was given case number 864824, and it was filed against “Donald Rutherford Slater, [Antonio Sanchez], Wil liam Edward Glover, Joseph Hansen, Rudolph N. Steinert, Bank o f America, and Does One Through Twenty-Five” for possession of property, damages for conversion, and conjunctive relief. It is significant that no people were listed as Plaintiff, just the organization. This tactic clearly gave Legg’ s group the upper hand by preempting any legitimacy Slater’ s group may have had to be O N E, Incorporated. ^ The complaint cited three causes of action. In the first, Chodos 221 asserted that “management of plaintiff’ s affairs shall be vested in a board of three directors,” namely a chairman, a vice-chairman, and a secretary-treasurer. Further, “a voting member may be removed from membership, after notice and an opportunity to be heard, by the unanimous vote of the directors present and voting at any regular director’ s meeting.” It was declared that defendants Slater and Sanchez, who had been voting members of O N E continuously since 1953, until they had been “duly removed from membership by the unanimous vote of the direc tors at a regular meeting, after notice and an opportunity to be heard. ” It was added that neither Slater or Sanchez, and none of the other defendants listed, “has been an officer or director of plaintiff since January, 1963.” The report asserted that “some time between 2:00 p.m., Saturday, April 17, 1965, and 3:00 p.m., Sunday, April 18, 1965,” Don Slater and the other defendants used a key with which Slater had been entrusted to access the offices and remove all the corporations’ property, as will be detailed below and was valued at $10,000. This allegation asserts that Slater had betrayed the corporation’ s trust and suggests that Slater had entered into the offices under suspicious circum stances and without proper authority. Chodos noted in his second action that the defendants had moved the property to 3473- 1/2 Cahuenga Blvd, in Hollywood, California and had diverted mail to that address in the name of ONE, Incorporated. They had the telephone listing changed from ONE, Incorporated to O NE Magazine and had “caused the telephone company to direct telephone calls intended for plaintiff to them. ” They had begun publishing a magazine of their own with the same title as that published by the Plaintiff, and they had been paid to do so, accepting payments and making deposits in the Plaintiff’ s name. Chodos asserted that this action was done “fraudulently, willfully and maliciously, with a design to oppress, harass and injure the plaintiff; and the defen dants have at all times well known that they were acting fraudulently and without any claim or color of right. These damages amounted to a much larger amount: $50,000. The suit also called for “exemplary damages ” to the tune of $200,000. 222 For its third cause o f action, Chodos asked that the court take immediate action, in order to prevent the defendants from continuing to operate in the plaintiff’ s name. Chodos further requested that the court issue a permanent injunction that would restrain Slater and the other named defendants from “holding themselves out to the members, subscribers or contributors of [ONE, Incorporated] as the duly authorized officers, directors or representatives” of ONE. Nor could they publish a magazine with “ O NE” , “ O NE Magazine, "or any similar name as title. The defendants were to restrain from soliciting or accepting mail or donations on behalf of ONE, Incorporated. Nor could they enter into any contracts or otherwise identify as ONE, Inc. or in any way claim to be acting on O N E ’ s behalf. As a separate action, on the same day of January twenty-first, 1966, Manuel Boyfrank, as secretary of ONE, Inc., filed a Declaration for Claim and Delivery of Personal Property as a part of the action for the case. The list of items is repeated here in detail: (a) Office equipment, including a Rex rotary mimeograph; and IBM electric typewriter; and Adler typewriter; a Royal typewriter; and Underwood typewriter; a Burroughs adding machine; and Elliott addressing machine; and office desk; a shipping table and associated equipment; numerous office chairs; and approximately ten steel file cabinets. (b) Files and records, reflecting the operations and activities of [ONE, Inc.] since 1952, including, among others, the following: master correspondence files comprising four four-drawer file cabinets; files relating to the O N E Institute, a research organization sponsored by plaintiff; master card index file of names and addresses of members, subscribers and others; members’ financial card file; social service files; editorial files, comprising approximately six file drawers, containing manuscripts, photos and similar materials. (c) A complete set of addressograph plates, or address stencils, containing the names and addresses of members of [ONE, Inc.], subscribers to the magazine, former members and subscribers, and other persons receiving material from plaintiff on a regular basis. (d) Business records, documents and equipment, including checkbooks, bank endorse ment stamps, banking records, news dealer financial records...; ledgers and journals from 1952 to the present; federal and California tax records; invoices, showing accounts payable, and records showing accounts receivable; financial statements; and similar material. (e) The business licenses of the corporation. (d) (sic) The corporation seal; and the minutes of the meetings of the director, and of the voting members, of this corporation since 1952. (f) Book service stock, consisting of a supply or inventory of books held by plaintiff for sale to its members and other interested persons... (g) Research library, consisting of approximately 3,000 bound volumes; 1,000 paper- 223 back volumes; papers, documents and manuscripts; approximately 100 tape recordings; card index; and general library equipment, including shelving, librarians desk and chairs. These items were said to be in the possession of “defendants Donald Rutherford Slater, Antonio Sanchez, William Edward Glover, Joseph Hanson [sic], and Rudolph N. Steinert.” Boyfrank declared that “none of the said defendants has or asserts any legal ground, nor has any claim or color or right to either the title or possession with respect to the said personal property,” and the Sheriff was directed to confiscate this property from 3473 1/2 Cahuenga Boulevard, in Hol lywood. O n the next day, July 22, a Temporary Restraining Order was issued against Donald Rutherford Slater, et al. Slater, Sanchez, Glover, Hanson, [sic] Steinert, and the Bank o f Amer ica, who were summoned to court the following August third at nine in the morning to show cause why an injunction should not be issued against them that would prohibit them “from holding themselves out to the members, subscribers or contributors” or “as the duly authorized officers, directors or representatives” of ONE, Incorporated. They were never to publish, print, or circulate any magazine called O NE or ONE Magazine, nor could they “solicit or receive any mail, communications, manuscripts, checks or funds address to or intended for ‘One, Incor porated.’” Any such materials received were to be forwarded to 2256 Venice at once. The order issued upon O N E ’ s filing a $1,000 bond."^ As a memorandum added to the temporary restraint, Chodos, sounding a lot like Legg, wrote: The wrongful quality of the defendant’ s acts is compounded by virtue of the fact that, as alleged in the verified complaint, plaintiff has long reposed trust and confidence in the defendants Slater and [Sanchez], who have previously been officers and directors, and who have been privy to all of [ONE, Incorporated’ s] business operation and confiden tial files... [This action could] constitute “unfair com petition” and therefore O N E could be entitled to “injunctive relief.” It was further added: “Slater and [Sanchez], and their confederates, have actually physically appropriated [ONE’ s] personal property and removed it from its previous location to offices 224 obtained by them.” Chodos complained that Slater et al. had been “holding themselves out generally” to be ONE, Incorporated and had thus been “diverting contributions from plaintiffs long-standing members, subscribers and contributors, including both funds, correspondence and valuable research data, to their own use.” He further alleged “that the acts and conduct” of the Slater group had “been done.. .without any claim or color of right.” It was further stated: “None of the defendants has been an officer or director of [ONE, Incorporated] for more than two years prior to the inception of their plan of usurpation.” This initial restraining order was dissolved on July 30, 1965, as none of the defendants had been properly served by that date. However, the said defendants (excluding “Does One Through Twenty-Five,” who are never again mentioned) were ordered to appear in the Court room of Department 47, 111 N orth Hill Street, at 9:00 a.m. on August 13, 1965, to show why an injunction should not be issued that barred them from holding themselves out as directors or representatives of ONE, Incorporated, from publishing ONE Magazine, and from receiving payments or mail as ONE, Incorporated or entering into any contracts on O N E ’ s behalf. Judge Harold F. Collins of the Superior Court signed this new summons on July 30, 1965. The summons was accompanied by an application for a new temporary restraining order that superseded the previous one. Also included was a declaration of Legg’ s attorney Hillel Chodos in which he declared that Slater had threatened O N E ’ s officers that he would destroy the property should any attempt to recover them be attempted. For that reason, he urged that the sheriff, as directed by the court, should not tell any defendant of the pending action until after the possessions had been recovered. The sheriff’ s office had originally suggested that this would be completed by July 28, so O N E had refrained from serving Slater et al. until that time. As of the date of this action, July 30, the materials had not yet been confiscated, though the Sheriff’ s office planned to get the goods at noon on August second. The new restraining order would be issued on or after that date. Slater seems to have received his copy of this new summons, combined with the original complaints as had been filed 225 on July 22, on August second, 1965, a date written on the front page of Slater’ s copy of these documents. According to plan, the sheriff’ s department succeeded in confiscating the materials as or before the summons and restraining order were served. A $20,000 bond would need to be secured if Slater were to retrieve the materials. Slater had lost everything— or so it seemed. While the Sheriff held the majority o f the materials, the mailing list and other crucial documents were actually stored at the home of a friend of Slater’ s, Rodney Hee. According to Billy Glover,^ Slater was furious that Legg had the Sheriff confiscate the materials, not only for the value of the resources and their use to either faction but because their mailing list of subscribers was top secret information that should have been protected at all costs— especially from the police. Putting the mailing list in the hands of the Sheriff would be a dangerous violation of the movement’ s most sacred pact: the right to privacy. Slater had acted preemptively by storing them in Hee’ s residence. The secret was kept, and neither Legg nor the Sheriff was able to recover the list o f subscribers at this time. According to Sanchez, however, Glover, who had been amazingly quiet about the entire plan, had slipped and told some of Hee’ s neighbors about the nature of the materials they had stowed. One morning not long after, Hee’ s house was pelted with eggs. Hee was a pianist who collected pianos, and he became fearful that someone would set fire to his house. Sanchez and Slater thought Hee’ s fear a bit extreme, but events to come would remind them that though many were becoming more tolerant and accepting of homosexuals, others still hated them and would not hesitate to intimidate and harm them if given the chance. Slater was able to reason with Hee, and once his fears were allayed, the materials remained in Hee’ s home for about a year. O n August fifteenth. Slater wrote an impassioned letter to his attorney, Ed. Raiden, in which he stated that so far as he was concerned, the true “heart” o f ONE, Incorporated, was in the possession of the sheriff. Though others, such as Joe and Jane Hansen, had felt that all that had truly mattered had been the magazine, Slater valued the historic assets that he had helped O N E to accumulate: legal rulings, case histories, diaries of individuals, newsletters and publica 226 tions of other organizations that had worked toward the cause, and books and “incunabula” all related to homosexuality and the history of the homosexual rights movement. There had been no organization that homosexuals in America could turn to before ONE. There had been no homophile press before O N E Magazine, though now. Slater reported, there were over twenty homosexual publications in circulation. Laws had been changed, and California was updating its own penal code, which was to be completed by 1969. Truly, history had been made, and O N E’ s archives had recorded much of the process. “If O N E has any assets this is it. Damn the future of its publications, but the fate of this material is im portant.” Slater hoped that in the future, after he “gave up the battle lines,’ he would be able to “retire to a place where I might organize and digest the material collected, and produce some sort of worthwhile result.” Though his days as a leader and advocate for homosexual rights were far from over and many victories were still ahead for Slater, he never did find the place or the time to organize the materials as he had desired. August 1965: The Tangent Group Retaliates The Tangent group was not to give up easily. Early in August 1965, Edward Raiden helped Slater, Sanchez, Glover, and Steinert to file their answers to the plaintiff’ s claims and three calls for action. They disagreed with some of the claims that had been made by Chodos, such as as serting that the circulation of O NE Magazine was closer to four thousand than the five thousand claimed by plaintiff, eight hundred of which had been distributed through subscription and the remaining through newsstands. Also, the research library contained two thousand rather than three thousand volumes, five hundred paperback books instead of the thousand claimed, and a more reasonable value estimation of $2,500, much less than the plaintiff ’ s evaluation of $10,000. As concerning the board o f ONE, Slater and Sanchez claimed that they were still voting members, as they had never been legally removed. As for the assertion that neither had served as voting members since January of 1963, they denied this and asserted that from 1963 and through part of 1964 Slater, Sanchez, and Steinert had “constituted three of six remaining voting members and during part of 1964 and since April 23, 1965, have been three out of five 227 remaining voting members of ONE, Incorporated.” Slater and the other defendants had moved the named materials on April seventeenth with the intention of continuing to “run the affairs of ONE, Incorporated” from the new location. The defendants further denied “that the transfer and change were made without the consent and against the will of plaintiff, ONE, Incorporated, but allege on the contrary that the three defendants. Slater, Sanchez, and Steinert, appearing hereby constituted a majority of the voting members of the said O N E, Incorporated and were therefore entitled to act for the corporation.” In conclusion, the defendants claimed to be “the legal and proper and controlling members of ONE, Incorporated.” As such, many if not all of the claims and allegations made by the plaintiff were denied. Slater’ s preparatory notes clarify his strategy in his battle with Lambert. He was to focus the courts attention on the “fraud and intim idation” at the 1964 elections. Further, he planned to show that the Directors had failed to protect Sanchez’ s proxy vote and that the Chair had “failed to permit or entertain my motion for a recess to the following day. ” He also hoped to show that the election of W inn and Bonham had “not represented the will of 2/3 of those members present and voting. ” O n August 12, 1965, a counter summons was served involving case number 864824. This one names cross-complainants “Don Slater, Antonio Sanchez, and Rudolph H. Steinert, and ONE, Incorporated” against cross-defendants “William Lambert, alias W. Dorr Legg, Monwell Boyfrank, alias Manuel Boy Frank, Lewis Bonham, Gregory Coron, alias Gregory Carr, Bob Newton, alias Robert Earl, [and] Chet Sampson, alias Chuck Thompson. ” The Lambert group was given ten days from the date of service of the complaint to appear in the Superior Court of the State of California and answer the cross-complaint. In this cross-complaint. Slater, Sanchez, and Steinert assert that they were the true majority of ONE, Incorporated. Sanchez, it was pointed out, had been “one of the original organizers and has been a director, an officer or a voting member of said Corporation from the time of its inception to the present time; cross complainant Don Slater has been since shortly after it’ s inception, and is still a voting member 228 and the editor of its magazine continuously for the past ten years.” Steinert and Boyfrank had each been voting members since the twenty-fifth of January, 1963. Legg and Weaver were listed as the remaining two board members as of January 1964, though it was added that Weaver had officially resigned about April 23, 1965. Up to this point, it is clear that the strategy of Raiden and Slater had been, predictably, to meet the Legg faction point by point and to make their arguments based on facts that were veri fiable by the personal records and letters, many o f which were then in possession of the Sheriff. In the fifth paragraph of their cross-complaint, they conclude that based on the facts presented, ONE, Incorporated was “so divided into factions that they cannot agree upon or elect a board of directors consisting of an uneven number.” It followed that the factions had the corporation “so deadlocked that its business can no longer be conducted with advantage to its members.” The logical thing for the court to do. Slater and Raiden argued, was to liquidate the corpora tion and appoint a “receiver of the corporation as provided in Section 4656 o f the Corporations Code.” This receiver, once appointed, would “take over and manage the business and affairs o f the corporation and to preserve its property pending the hearing and determination o f this cross-complaint for dissolution.” An alternative consideration provided that the court could reunify the organization by appointing “a provisional director as provided in Section 4655 of the Corporations Code.” The Trial (August 13, 1965) O n Friday morning, August 13th, at 9:02 a.m., the court convened and Hillel Chodos and Edward Raiden appeared before the bench. Also present was Lequita McKay, who represented Hirsh-Graphics, the printer Slater had been using to publish ONE Magazine. A detailed record of the hearing survives as a Reporters Transcript on Appeal. Edward M. Altman was the official court reporter, and the Honorable Ralph H. Nutter was the Judge. N utter began by stating that a cross-complaint had been filed the previous day, on August 12, which was to be heard on August 23 by a judge in Department 16. Raiden asked the trial be 229 moved from 9 to 10 a.m. as Chodos had some other business to tend until that time. Lequita McKay chimed in at this point that her clients, Mr. Hirsh and Hirsh-Graphics, were opposed to any motion of continuance and should not have been included in the dispute in the first place. And here, the judge made a startling turn. He called Chodos to task for having called the previous night and having been rude. “I would like to make a suggestion that when you call in the next time, courtesy on the telephone is always helpful. I happen to be the one who received the phone call.” Chodos apologized and stammered that he had no recollection of what he had said. “It was very abrupt, almost rude orders,” Nutter continued. “Maybe under those circumstances you would rather have it go over to sixteen. Frankly I was a little bit shocked by the tone of the address.” Raiden spoke up at this point and said that Chodos had simply wanted the restraining order continued until the twenty-third. He said that he had no objection to the continuance in part, but he objected “to that phase of the restraining order which restrains the defendants and each of them from holding out to the members, subscribers or contributors that they are officers, directors, representatives of One, Incorporated.” H e added; “We should have the same right that they have.” Judge N utter agreed that the dispute should be consolidated and, as Chodos had not been given time to respond to the cross-complaint, the case certainly should not be heard that morning. In the meantime, Nutter vacated that part of the restraining order that pertained to the printers, stating that they were free to do business with whom they pleased. W hen Chodos voiced protest, the judge noted that it might still be possible for the plaintiff to bring a separate suit against them for damages, but repeated that he could see no reason to hold them for the matter at hand. Raiden again stated that he was willing to “keep every thing else in status quo” except for the objection as stated. He reminded the court that “all of the equipment and the place of business” had been seized. “We are now litigating on the question of the surety. That is why the Receiver will be the ideal determinative.” He agreed with the court in that “one judge should 230 decide the whole thing,” and he agreed to the continuance, with the reservation that “the restraint against us saying we are One, Inc. is far too expansive.” As for paragraph two of the re straining order, pertaining to the publishing of a magazine known as ONE, and paragraphs three and four, which prohibited Slaters group from doing business as or receiving mail or donations on behalf of O N E, those could stand. W hen the judge suggested this option to him, Chodos politely refused to delete the first paragraph from the restraining order. “Then,” answered Judge Nutter, “we have to have the hearing this morning.” Chodos balked. “Does your Honor wish to proceed with it right now at this time?” “I dont wish to proceed with it,” answered the judge. “But if you refuse to stipulate that the matter may go over, I guess we will have to hear it this morning.” But first, the court decided to look to other matters, so there was a recess to the case. W hen the case was again called to the bench, Mr. Raiden informed the court that he and Mr. Chodos had discussed the matter in the hallway during the break. Raiden had explained to Chodos: “We are concerned that we are not permitted to tell the members and the contributors our position, and we want to be able to do that.” He claimed that under those circumstances, Chodos had agreed to strike the first paragraph and to continue the matter to department sixteen. By this action, nearly three lines of paragraph one of the temporary restraining order were deleted, these lines being: “One, restrain ing the said defendants and each of them from holding themselves out to the members, sub scribers or contributors of the plaintiff as the duly authorized officers, directors or representatives of the plaintiff.” The rest o f the order remained in effect, and the matter was to be continued to department sixteen on August twenty-third, at 9:00 a.m. Clearly, this had been a near disaster for Legg’ s faction. For Raiden to have so effectively hit them this late in the game was setback enough, but to find that the “rude” actions of Chodos the night prior to the trial had so biased the judge against them must sure have been a shocker to Legg and Bonham, who could only stand by as Judge N utter summarily dismissed their claim 231 against the publisher and struck down a key component o f their restraining order. For Slater s crew, this small victory provided crucial leverage. They could change the name of the magazine readily enough. But they had won the right to continue to claim a right to the history of ONE, Incorporated. Indeed, so far as he was concerned, they still were O NE, Incorporated. They could continue to claim to represent the majority of the legally elected board members of ONE, Incorporated, as o f the January 1964 elections. And this claim was to be printed in every issue of their newly titled magazine: “Tangents is published monthly by the majority o f legally elected voting members of O N E .” In effect, there were two ONEs, the Venice Group, and the Tangent Group. Both were legitimate aspects of ONE, Incorporated. The division had been that: a split, not an outright robbery, as Legg would continue to claim. And a legitimate fission is an entirely different matter than a madmans coup. Judge Nutter had seen enough to realize that this was a true separation, a corporate divorce of sorts. As such it was a civil matter, and no crime had been committed. Slater was given the green light to proceed with his case, which he did with renewed determination. Though the court battle will continue, as will be seen, it should be here noted that this “status quo” is to great degree how things were to remain for the next thirty years. Ultimately, the Tangent group kept the archives, or the great majority o f it, which is currently being added to the Vern and Bonnie Bullough Collection of Human Sexuality, at California State University, Northridge. The Venice Group continued to operate as ONE, Incorporated, focusing on educa tional seminars and courses. Each group continued to take pot-shots at the other, and the vitriol between them became so severe that few could truly remain neutral or bipartisan. As mentioned, only Jim Kepner and Vern Bullough were truly successful at working with both organizations over the long term. The sharpness o f the “cleavage,” however, suggests the cor poration had been fractured for some time, and the schism had been inevitable. Perhaps Judge Nutter had perceived this as well. 232 Legg Responds O n August 19, 1965, Legg, Boyfrank, Bonham, Coron, Newton, and Sampson filed their answer to the cross complaint of the Tangent Croup. These cross-defendants asserted that Slater and Sanchez had indeed at times been officers and voting members, but they claimed that Slater had been removed as a voting member on April 25, “duly and properly, after notice and opportunity to be heard.” They further claimed that Slater had not been the editor of ONE for “ten years, but only from January, 1959, until April 22, 1965,” citing more technicality than actuality. As for Sanchez and Rudolph H. Steinert, they had been “duly and properly” removed as voting members of O NE, Inc. on May 16. Legg asserted that he himself had been a voting member of O N E since its inception in 1953 and an officer/director during that entire time. Boyfrank had been on the board since January 25, 1963. Bonham had been a director since January 1964 (Slater would refute this) and became an officer the following December. The Venice Croup, of course, denied that the Tangent Croup had comprised a majority of the voting members, especially at the time of the filing of the cross-complaint, by which time, Legg asserted, they had all been removed from membership. Legg also asserted that there had been seven voting members of the corporation as of January 1964, listing the obvious six plus Lew Bonham. There was no mention of Winn. The Venice Croup further asserted that during that time, there had been a Board of Directors consisting o f three: Legg, Boyfrank, and Aaron. Bonham had been a Director since Aarons resignation, in December of 1964.^ The directors of the organization since then had been Legg, Boyfrank, and Bonham. The cross-defendants further asserted that Slater and his crew were not entitled to any of the relief they had sought because they had “come before this Court with unclean hands,” having stolen the property in question. O n August 19, Legg filed a separate declaration in opposition to Slaters application for a receiver and in favor o f the preliminary injunction as filed by Chodos. Legg asserted that he had contributed to the magazine and thus “occasionally used the pen name o f ‘William Lambert’.” 233 “Each of the other individual parties to this action have occasionally used a pen name, with the exception of Manuel Boyfrank and Lewis Bonham,” he continued. “Donald Rutherford Slater,” he asserted, was also known as Leslie Colfax and Cregory James. Rudolph H. Steinert went by R. H. Stuart, and William E. Clover wrote as W E. C. Mclntire. Legg attached a copy of the Articles o f Incorporation and a copy of the bylaws, which had not been amended “except to the extent shown in the minutes of the 1965 regular meeting,” which were also attached. My impression of Legg’ s declaration is that it is a hodgepodge of fact and fiction. It is deliberately misleading to portray Slater as second-rate office help who had, probably due to unrelated hardships, gone bonkers, took advantage of the corporation’ s trust and hijacked the entire enterprise in the name of some fools’ crusade. This must have infuriated Slater, who always stuck to the facts and trusted that common sense and logic would prevail. There were many misstatements in Legg’ s declaration. For one, he refers to the annual meeting of January twenty-ninth and thirtieth as a “regular meeting,” which understates its significance as an annual meeting. He states that he had been the Chairman of the board for that meeting, when in fact it had been Joe Weaver. As chair that night, Legg stated that he had in no way deviated from the traditional methods, nor had he in any way violated the standards as set forth in Robert's Rules o f Order. More, the chair had even adjourned the meeting to allow Sanchez to return and cast his ballot (there was no mention of Slater’ s denied use of proxy). After this, Bonham and W inn were elected to voting membership— the implication in Legg’ s statement being that perhaps Sanchez had not voted as Slater had expected he would. Slater’ s claim that the Feb. 5, 1965 meeting had been illegal was also denounced, and Boyfranks’ s minutes were presented to show that he had showed up, made a motion, and left when that motion was defeated. Legg, of course, did not mention the editors’ meeting, which suggested to the court that the reason Slater had performed his brash act was because he had felt slighted by the board. Also, no mention was made of the pending motion to remove Slater from corporate membership. Chodos jumped right from that February meeting to the April heist: “Between the afternoon of 234 April 17, 1965, and the afternoon of April 18, 1965,” Slater and the other defendants came to O N E and removed the items, as stated. This marks the time between Legg’ s leaving the office on Saturday and returning the following Easter afternoon. The implication was that Slater and his crew had snuck in at night like criminals, with a key that had been entrusted to Slater by the directors.^ Legg’ s declaration continues that on April 22, a notice to Slater had officially informed him that a “regular April meeting ” had been set for April 25 that would discuss his dismissal from the organization. (Slater later insisted that this had not been a regular meeting of the directors but was instead a special meeting.) A copy of the notice was attached as Exhibit G. The meeting had convened as scheduled, and Legg and Boyfrank voted to cast Slater from the organization. O n April 23, Legg and Boyfrank sent another letter to Slater, this one dismissing him as editor of O NE Magazine. During a board of directors meeting on April 30, Legg and Boyfrank wrote to Sanchez and Steinert, stating that they were to appear before the directors on May 16 to give reason why they should not be removed from voting membership of ONE. A similar letter was later sent to Jim Schneider on May tenth. Legg’ s declaration concludes that the directors indeed met on May sixteenth, and though the minutes were not in his possession (most if not all of the records were still being held by the sheriff), he assured the court that neither Sanchez, Steinert, nor Schneider had appeared, “and that they were duly removed as members of the corporation on May 16, 1965.” According to Slater, the account of the meeting was not accurate. Jim Schneider had showed up and had been allowed to address the board, however he was not allowed to present his witness. Details of these events will be related presently. Back to Court Both factions of O N E convened again in court on Monday, August 23, 1965, for a hearing regarding the Order to Show Cause for the Appointment of Receiver and the continuance of the previous Order to Show Cause. According to Raiden^, “the discussion on this day revolved 235 almost entirely around the matter o f election and the method of election of members, directors, and officers of the corporation.” Judge Wells seemed stuck as to what to do, desiring to protect both parties. Raiden pointed out that if Leggs faction were to be given the materials, this would have the same effect as having decided the case before it even went to trial. It was conceded that in fairness, “each faction should have access to the equipment and material.” But then Wells became fixated on the fact that Slaters faction had filed a proceeding asking that the organiza tion be dissolved and a receiver be appointed, who would act as arbitrator. Wells concluded that since Raiden had asked for dissolution, he must not have been too hurt from being restrained from operations. Further, he stated that while he was going to make no ruling as to who was to have possession of the materials in question, he did feel, due to the defendants’ request for dissolution, that Legg’ s faction did indeed have grounds for a preliminary injunction, and he required a $10,000 bond. Raiden asked if this bond were to be put up by the individuals or the corporation, and Wells answered that this was the only ruling that he could make “because of the request of the defendant faction for a receiver.” He clarified: “I am granting their injunction as requested against your operating and against your hypothecation for the reason that what you are seeking here is dissolution.. .You are claiming the right to continue operating pending dissolution. I am granting their request with the $10,000 bond with the additional provision that their injunction may include no hypothecation. ” Wells added that he was “not making any disposition of the assets. 1 am not saying that they are entitled to them as opposed to you__ You can keep possession all you w ant.. .1 am not ordering you to turn anything over to them.”^ Nevertheless, this was a decisive victory for Legg, and it was Raiden’ s turn to have lost face in the courtroom. Raiden complained that he had never been given the chance to show evidence or file a declaration showing the Court that the declaration that Legg had signed on August 19 and filed the next day was false. Legg’ s faction had “secured a victory granting all the injunctive relief requested in their complaint, and one which accomplished the main purpose of the action in 236 advance of a trial,” Legg’ s faction had made no effort since the August 23 hearing to bring the matter to trial, even though the action had been filed on July 22, 1965 and the issue was joined on September 2l/° Slater’ s deposition was taken at 1:30 p.m. on Thursday, September 16, 1965, in Chodos’ s law office in Beverly Hills. There was little stated by Slater that would have come as a surprise. He asserted that Bonham could not have been elected during the 1964 annual meeting, for the reasons already mentioned. Further, the February 5, 1965 meeting had not been a legitimate continuation of the annual meeting, therefore the bylaw changes had been illegally ratified and the new members elected that night were not members at all. Raiden often prevented Slater from incriminating himself, due to Legg’ s assertion that the materials had been stolen and that charge of conspiracy. While many papers were filed and charges continually volleyed between both factions of ONE, nothing much was accomplished by either side in 1966. Raiden filed an appeal in July. Chodos responded with a brief on August 3, 1966. Legg’ s faction added to their complaint the fact that while their income prior to the split had been approximately $49,000 per year, it had since dropped to less than $24,000, and this was a direct result o f the “wrongful acts of defen dants.”^ ^ In November, a hearing was held by request of Chodos in which it was asserted that Slater was in contempt o f court, but nothing was resolved on the matter. Schneider wrote to Slater on December 10, 1966, urging Slater to follow the advice of Raiden and file a libel suit post-haste. “It appears to me your flirting with compromise in public pronouncements and conversations only weakens your position and gives the other faction some propaganda advantages.. .i.e., why would you be offering to compromise and get out of a mess if you were so right?” Schneider told Slater that such negotiations ought to have been done privately and kept confidential, and that a defamation suit was certainly in order. Slater, weary of the process, decided to let the matter rest. 237 The Venice Group was showing signs o f fatigue as well. Legg wrote to Erickson on January 7, 1966^^ that he was restless to “get some action out of Hillel if at all possible.” He stated that many o f the Friends of O N E were “starting to get discouraged,” and this meant that they had stopped providing financial support. To make matters worse, the printer had “cracked down” yet again, due to their excessive debt. “Still,” Legg continued,” “we have to see to it that the Maga zine is regular. For nothing is so panic-inducing in people as signs of weakness on our part.” The Interrogation of Lambert (January 26, 1966) Dorr Legg replied to Slater’ s interrogatories in the office of his attorney, Hillel Chodos, in Beverly Hills. The response was not served to Ed Raiden until January 26, 1966. The fact that Legg waited so long to answer Slater’ s interrogatories suggests that after his first unsuccessful day in court, his strategy changed from one of aggressive offensive to one of delay. Under the circumstances, this should be expected. Legg’ s faction carried the name ONE, Incorporated, so far as he was concerned he could continue to propagate a version of history that validated his organization and vilified Slater’ s. The propaganda attack against the Tangent Croup had gone well; Legg knew Slater had been stewing in his own emotional juices this entire time. It was unlikely that things would change that much in the next trial. Legg would get to keep and use the name “ONE, Incorporated, ” and there remained a distinct possibility that Slater would have to relinquish all or some of the materials in the future. Meanwhile, Slater would continue to do what he had always done: the logical thing based on the facts as he knew them. For Legg, this made him a difficult but predictable adversary. At this point, both Slater and Legg’ s followings were surviving “factions” of ONE, Incor porated, though both had tried to discredit the other as having been illegitimate. Every faction has a leader (or a core group of leaders), and in this case we clearly have Slater and Legg at the heads of two distinct groups. In retrospect, it is clear that Legg had used promises of power and influence to lure people such as Aaron and Boyfrank to the board. W hen things did not go as planned, Legg’ s supporters soon jumped ship, to be replaced by others who would also do 238 (vote) as he desired. O f course, Leggs greatest asset was his attorney Chodos, who was paid to be o n e ’ s legal bulldog and financed, ultimately, through Erickson. W hen we turn to Slater’ s group, however, we do indeed find the core of ONE, Incorpo rated— surprisingly intact, in fact, as exemplified in the dedication of these individuals to the magazine from the date of the removal of the material forward. The fact that all but one of o n e 's editors supported Slater and continued to work with him illustrates the strength of their friendship and their commitment to the magazine. Moreover, the unwavering dedication of this core o f activists— Bullough, Slater, Clover, Schneider, Steinert, Ingersoll, and the Hansens— would continue to contribute to the homosexual rights movement in Los Angeles, helping to keep it alive and thriving for the next fifteen years, as will be discussed in the next chapter. Legg’ s organization, on the other had, though well-funded through the generous contributions of The Erickson Foundation, illustrates Bailey’ s point that factions, once established, are difficult to maintain. Legg had to spend much of his time and energy “keeping the fabric in repair.” Bailey likens such an organization to a machine in which “seven-eights of its output [is] spent on its own maintenance” with only a small fraction left over for politics and mission statements. This also will be discussed again in the following chapter. As a part o f the process of discovery in a trial, interrogatories are taken under oath, but the utility o f the practice is often debated among attorneys, for it is known that the other side can “hokey up the answers ” as one attorney described it. It seems that is exactly what Legg attempted to do, though Slater did manage to nail him down on a few basic facts. As I read through the notes of the session, it became easy for me to imagine a square cham ber with scuffed walls and a long mirror beside a single door. Dorr Legg is sitting in a wooden office chair in the center of the room, a wide-brimmed lamp dangling from a cord above him. Don Slater is slowly pacing around L ^ g , occasionally tapping his pencil on his yellow Spiro tablet. There is a nervous urgency to Slater, a determination to get to some simple truths. This 239 Legg was a sly one, hard to pin down. Best to start with simple facts, first, like names and dates. Turning towards the seated figure, he begins: “O n what date was O N E founded?” “October 15, 1952.” “ And where does this take place?” “ At the home of W. Dorr Legg, at the corner of Dalton and 27th Streets in Los Angeles.” “W ho were the founders of the organization? W ho planned the Articles of Incorpora tion?” “ A large number people contributed to the creation of the Articles and the Bylaws of ONE, Incorporated. Many made suggestions and contributed ideas.” “ And what name did you go by at this time?” “Dorr Legg.” Slater’ s pacing stops. “Dorr Legg”? “Yes, W. D orr Legg.” Slater leans closer to Legg’ s face, watching his eyes intently. Legg matches Slater’ s gaze, cocking his head sideways and back at an awkward angle. “Is that your true name? ” “Ybs.” Slater stands up slowly, and turns way from Legg to face the long mirror, where he knows the attorneys are watching. “W hen and where were you born?” “Michigan, 1904.” “How long have you been a member of ONE?” “Since its creation on October 15, 1952. ” “W hat do your consider your current status with that organization to be? ” “I am a director o f O N E, Incorporated. I am also a member of the Board o f Trustees in charge of O N E Institute. ” “I see. And what names have you recently used for your work with O N E Institute? ” “My own name, W. Dorr Legg. Not only recently but at all times. ” Slater pauses. This was certainly not the answer he expected. For years, he had known and worked with this man as Bill Lambert. Though many at O N E had used pseudonyms, often in effort to expand the named list o f contributors, Lambert, so far as Slater was aware, had always used his own name, just as Slater and a few others had. Slater had always thought of himself and Lambert as special in that regard— they had voluntarily put their true names on the magazine from the start, without any pseud onym to protect them. It was one of the bravest things they had done. “Then who is Richard Conger?” Slater asked. “Richard Conger is a fictitious name devised by the management of O N E as a house name. It is used as a pen name for whoever is performing the functions o f editor of O NE Magazine at any particular time.” “W ho is the editor of ONEMagazineV' “O NE does not have a single editor but is edited by a committee. I am a member of that committee. ” “Have you ever been business manager of ONE, Incorporated? ” “Yes.” “Under what names have you acted in that capacity?” “W. Dorr Legg and William Lambert.” 240 “Do you teach at O N E Institute?” “Yes.” “Do you have a college degree?” “Yes. An A.B., B.M., and an M .L.D.” “Is O N E Institute an accredited school?” A voice interrupts from over a speaker in the ceiling. It is Hillel Chodos, Legg’ s attor ney: “Objection! That question is irrelevant and is not calculated to lead to any evidence relevant to this action. I advise you not to answer. Dorr.” Slater paused, then scratched a dark line across his note pad. He proceeded with his questions. “W hat are the subdivisions of ONE, Incorporated, Mr. Legg?” “The subdivisions are the Bureau of Public Information and Lectures, O N E Institute of Homophile Studies, O N E Institute Quarterly o f Homophile Studies, Publication Division, Research Division, and the Social Services Division. The Research Division is currently lacking an acting director, so the board of directors of ONE, Incorporated is conducting its activities for the time being.” “Has the Research Division ever received any grants or gifts?” “Yes.” “W hat is the relationship between O N E ’ s Research Division and the Institute for the Study of Human Resources, known as ISHR, which you recently formed with Don Slater and Antonio Sanchez? ” “There is no relationship between ISHR and the Research Division of ONE, Incorporated, except that both organizations are concerned with the study of similar problems. ” “Did ONE, Incorporated pay for the incorporation of ISHR?” “Objection!” the voice of Chodos boomed again. “That question is irrelevant and is not calculated to lead to any evidence relevant to this action. I advise my client not to answer. ” “It’ s okay, Hillel, ” Legg responded with a flick of his hand. “I don’ t think any harm will be done. ” “Okay Dorr, but without waiving my objection, I will permit you to answer a few of the coming questions.” “Thank you, Hillel. And the answer is no, O N E did not give money to help pay for the incorporation of ISHR. ” “ And who were the organizers of the Institute for the Study of Human Resources?” “W. Dorr Legg, Donald Slater, and Antonio Sanchez.” “Is Don Slater still a director of ISHR?” “No. He was removed on June 5, 1965. He was sent a notice of his removal from the board. ” “Please name those individuals that you allege are present voting members o f ONE, Incorporated. ” “Myself, Bonham, Boyfrank, Robert Newton, Gregory Coron, and Chet Sampson.” “W hen was Chet Sampson elected to voting membership?” “ At our annual meeting in 1965 ” “Was Jim Schneider elected at that same time? ” “Yes.” “W ho removes voting members of ONE?” “The Directors present and voting at any regular meeting, if they vote unanimously.” 241 “ Are the voting directors ever asked to vote on the removal of the voting members?” “N o.” “Were the alleged new corporation members elected at the February 5, 1965 meeting asked to vote on the removal of Don Slater from O N E at that same meeting?” “N o.” “W ho voted on the alleged removal of Jim Schneider from membership in ONE?” “The directors, specifically Legg, Bonham, and Boyfrank, for reasons deemed suf ficient by them including, among others, Schneiders continued assertions that his election to membership was invalid and his continued manifestation of a disposi tion contrary to that of the directors. In my opinion, Schneider has obstructed the corporations work and employed dilatory tactics for that purpose. This was explained to Schneider when he was removed on May 16, 1965.” “ And was Mr. Schneider allowed witnesses at his trial that day?” “The proceedings resulting in Mr. Schneiders removal was not a trial. No witnesses are ever allowed in the course of such a proceeding. And, in any event, no request was made by Schneider to have witnesses speak in his behalf.” “H um ph. The purpose of a witness is to do just that, is it not? It seems unlikely that you would not admit Mr. Kepner simply because he had not asked permission to speak on Schneider s behalf. So who was present when Mr. Slater was allegedly removed from membership in ONE?” “ As per the bylaws, O N E ’ s officers— myself, Bonham, and Boyfrank— were unani mous in the decision. Schneider, Coron, Newton, Dyer, and W inn, as voting members, were present as observers.” “Was D on Slater permitted to speak in his own defense?” “Slater failed to appear at 4:45, the noticed time, and he was removed at 4:55 by unanimous vote. He appeared soon after, at 5:00, stated that the proceedings were a farce, and asked if anyone wished to hear his side of the matter. Nobody did.” “ And were you also present when Rudi Steinert was allegedly dropped from voting membership? “Yes. As with Schneider, I voted against him for reasons deemed sufficient in accor dance with the By-Laws, including primary disloyalty to ONE, Incorporated.” “ And Antonio Sanchez? Were you present when he, too, was allegedly dropped form membership? ” “’ Ybs.” “ And what of Morgan Farley? Didn’ t he resign from O N E too? and Fred Frisbie? W hat of Stella Rush and Irma Wolf? Isn’ t it true that Jim Kepner resigned twice^'^... “Objection, ” echoed the stern monotone of Chodos. This line of questioning is off the point and is immaterial to any of the issues at hand. ” “Indeed, Mr. Chodos,” said Slater, “it is most certainly pertinent. But if you insist. I’ll forgive Mr. Legg’ s declination to provide an answer. But it is true, Mr. Legg, that despite the ongoing exodus of so many others, you have remained a voting member of O NE from it inception to today? “Yes, I have already stated so.” “ And have you ever opened a bank account under the name of William Lambert?” “Yes, as ordered by O N E’ s directors. ” Have you ever opened a bank account under the name of W. Dorr Legg?” “Yes, as ordered by O N E ’ s directors. ” 242 “W ho presides at Corporation meetings of ONE?” “The Chairman. He also presides at board meetings.” “D id the Chairman preside at meetings during the first year?” “Until the adoption of By-Laws, meetings were held informally; thereafter, the meet ings were presided over by the Chairman.” “Is it true that a lot of the business of O N E is conducted by the general consent of those attending meetings?” “ As a rule, yes. But it should be pointed out that business is not conducted by the general consent of those attending meetings; it is normally conducted with the general consent of those in attendance.” “ Are the voting members of O N E permitted to vote on all questions concerning ONE?” “The votes of voting members, other than directors, are advisory only, except with reference to the election of directors and the election of voting members. The advisory votes may be disregarded by the board of directors if they so choose.” “Do the directors frequently change the vote of the corporation members after ques tions have been decided?” “Objection!” Chodos again. “Your question is unintelligible and the word “fre quently” not defined. However, it should be noted that such votes are advisory and are, therefore, not “changed” when advice is rejected.” “Did you, Mr. Legg, or any of the other directors of O NE, Incorporated, acting at the time of or prior to the 1964 Annual Meeting, change the nominees agreed upon by the voting members for the 1964 election?” “Objection!” answered Chodos instead of his client. “Your question is unintelligible and does not indicate by whom the alleged “agreement” was made. The order of voting was established in accordance with the By-Laws and Roberts Rules” Slater kept his composure. The time to challenge this response would come later. “Did the directors of ONE, Incorporated, acting at the time of or prior to the 1964 Annual Meeting, change the nominees agreed upon by the voting members for the 1964 elections?” Legg answered for himself this time. “The procedure for electing voting members is set forth in the By-Laws and in Roberts Rules o f Order. The directors make nominations, and the Chairman establishes procedure. Discussion and agreement among the mem bers with respect to such procedure has been customary, for the purpose of advising the board of directors and the Chairman.” The following questions focused on the controversial 1964 annual meeting. W hen asked about Sanchezs vote by proxy, Legg stated that he did not remember whether or not Slater had used the proxy during the first part of the meeting, though he admitted that the Chair might have permitted it. Slater asked why, then, there was no mention of the refusal to allow Sanchez his proxy in the minutes. Legg then added that during that meeting. Hay and Burnside had been elected as members but resigned during that same meeting because of “confusion caused by 243 Slater.” Legg shrugged aside the claim that the voting procedure had been irregular. It was up to the Directors to make nominations and the Chairman to set the proper procedures— simple as that. L ^ g ’ s strategy, as guided by Chodos, was to deny that any procedure had been done that was contrary to Roberts Rules and corporate policy. Chodos had helped to keep Legg on target here, so that any question regarding procedure was answered more in accordance with what should have happened rather than what did happen, as when Legg answered that the Chair man had always voted as a member of the assembly, as authorized by Roberts Rules, when it had actually been customary since the early days of O N E for the Chair to only vote in order to break a tie. As for the meeting on February 5, Legg stated that it had indeed been a legitimate con tinuation of the annual business meeting and that “adjournments from each session to the next succeeding one were made in accordance with the By-Laws and Roberts Rules o f Order ” As for Legg’ s having called Slater a thief, Legg said that “Slater took and removed the personal property to O N E, Incorporated, with intent to deprive the rightful owner (i.e., ONE, Incorporated) of such property and its possession; and that, in my opinion, such conduct amounted to theft by Slater.” W hich is like saying, “I said that he stole something, but I did not call him a thief.” Moreover, as Jim Schneider has pointed out, any alleged theft of such magni tude should warrant the calling the police immediately, in order to best prosecute the thieves. He adds: “It is amazing that forty years after, dolts for Dorr are still parroting this thieving allegation.” As Schneider and the others at Tangents see it, Legg had been elusive throughout the entire process, bending facts and language to suit his needs. While none of this surprised Slater, certainly it intrigued him. Slater, who continually strove towards a higher understanding o f people, had no clue what Leggs motivations truly were. At one point, he even consulted with an astrologer for advice on how to proceed. As it turns out, Legg’ s needs were fairly obvious. His newfound philanthropic friend had not been as generous as had been anticipated, and the Venice Group was strapped for cash. 244 A Break in the Case.... In the spring of 2004, Reed Rasmussen, Secretary of ISHR, invited me to peruse the archives at ISH Rs offices. Among the files he showed me were letters between Legg and Chodos dated from the spring of 1966 to the final court grievance pertaining to the split, filed December 26, 1969. These documents provide rare insight as to the strategy as planned by Legg and, to a lesser extant, Boyfrank— and to their underlying grievances and motivations. The documents reveal an underlying need for money— an irony, since by this point, a relationship with the wealthy and philanthropic Erickson and his EEF had been well established. According to a letter to Chodos from Bonham dated June 9, 1966, the Venice Croup had received nearly $6,000 in loans and $2500 in contributions since April 17, 1965. The European tours for the years 1964, 1965, and 1966 added $8,780.20, $7,058.32, and $5,740.42 to the annual gross incomes, respectively. Bonham included a month-by month breakdown of the income for the twelve months “preceding.. .and subsequent to the property removal.” The difference was a staggering drop in income from $48,914.34 the year prior to the split and $23,642.50 the year following, which amounted to a staggering loss of $25,271.84, or a reduc tion nearly by half. O n January 16, 1967, Clerk of the California Supreme Court William J. Sullivan trans ferred the case, now called 2 civil 30272, to the Court of Appeal, first district, in the State Build ing in San Francisco, renumbered 1 civil 24237. Slater sent a letter on January 23 to the new Presiding Judge requesting “the court decide this case as soon as possible” since “the preliminary injunction which has been in existence a year and a half now has had a decidedly hurtful effect on our work.” During the summer and fall of 1966, Legg had sent all kinds of materials he had gathered pertaining Slater’ s continued obstinacy to Chodos, which he called “ammunition” in a letter to his counsel dated August fifth. In the same letter, Legg expressed his frustration that Slater con 245 tinued to use the Venice letterhead for his new business, only with the old address crossed out and the Cahuenga address typed above it. W ith a letter to Chodos dated January 31,1967, Legg enclosed a copy o f the recent Tangents magazine, the September issue that had been distributed four months late. Someone in the magazine had written a book review using the pseudonym of Robert Gregory, while “the originator of that pen named works here at the office daily, as is well known to everyone at Cahuenga.” Richard Conger and Sidney Rothman were also referred to, none, according to Legg, “had ever written anything for Tangents, or w ould...” Worst of all, the masthead continued to contain the statement: “published by the majority of the voting members of O N E.” He concluded: “All of this is very irksome, especially when it all is being published with o n e ’ s money.” O n Tuesday, February 28, a compromise was negotiated in the offices of Hillel Chodos in Beverly Hills. It was agreed that the library would be halved and portions of it given to the Venice Group. All Book Service stock was to be returned, as were all business records and a file cabinet that Legg said properly belonged to ISHR. A “jointly framed letter of explanation of the terms of settlement, including their agreement to desist from any further use of or claim to the name ONE, is to be prepared and mailed out.” All of these conditions were to be met before the Venice group would withdraw its case, “otherwise we proceed on the 14'^ as scheduled. In the following letter to Chodos on record, dated the following day, March first, Legg thanked his council for “a good, healthy seminar on realism last night.” He urged Chodos to keep up the pressure and to make sure that “the determination that has kept us going operates here in the case-settlement.” He suggested that they put the “squeeze” on Hirsh Graphics, from which he would “be more than happy to accept typeset in any amount from $5 worth up.” As for the Bank of America, “whatever can be squeezed can go toward your bill. How to squeeze?” Legg suggested that they “forget the unbelieving judiciary” and deal on O N E’ s own ground, publication.” He suggested that they “tell the story in full and sparing neither feeling, names or whatever unless B of A acknowledges their guilt and comes clean by way of some restitution. ” 246 Legg concluded by stating that since it appeared there would be no damages coming forth form the case against Slater, “it is going to be a long, slow pull with your bill.” In a letter to Chodos from O N E’ s President Lewis Bonham dated March 6, it was la mented that not all voting members of the board had been able to participate in the compromise proceedings. Reed Erickson especially had questions regarding the arrangement, and members Les Collins, Bill Sutherland, Chet Sampson, and Manuel Boyfrank had not been reached for their input. After consulting with Erickson, they had decided that the Tangent Group should relinquish no less than $2,500 in damages: We agree that when any member feels so strongly on a matter like this the other Members should stand together on the point. We have all (again except Chet and Manuel) agreed that if Cahuenga is genuinely seeking an out of court settlement it must be because it is to their advantage to do so. Therefore, it should be worth something to them to scratch around. Bonham noted that three o f the Tangent Group were property owners, and they could stand to lose a lot more “by receiving judgments from the courts.” O f this $2,500, $1,500 would immediately go to pay Chodos, and the rest would help with “urgent expenses here.” If they were to go to court, his bill would be paid off at the rate of $300 per month “starting as soon as judgment has been rendered.” Bonham presented this letter to Chodos on the sixth o f March. The next day, March 7, Legg wrote to Chodos himself^ to express his disappointment that Chodos had opted to forgo the $1,500 they had promised him. In fact, he had decided not to push for a cash settlement at all, which annoyed Legg immensely. Legg went on to enumerate known assets of the Tangent Group. They had heard Glover offer to advance the entire $20,000 needed for the repossession security after the materials had been taken by the sheriff. Schneider, it was known, owned a valuable home and had a substantial income. Slater could borrow something against his own home or sell one of his two cars if necessary, plus he had family “scattered all over the area here; none of them are without means.” He concluded: “They have well-heeled supporters all over the 247 area, apart form those with houses, any of whom could be counted on for a bit here and a bit there, if the need were shown. We just don’ t buy the argument that they cannot come up with the money, yours and ours both.” Legg had spoken to Herb Selwyn, who had been a mediator in the process, and Selwyn had pointed out that it was only a matter o f face at this point. But Legg disagreed. I hope you do not underestimate the feelings all o f us have had to live with for the past two years or the personal deprivations and strain we have experienced. Lew has had no salary for eight weeks! We already have given up far more than should be asked of us. We have nothing more to concede and, come what may, have to stand by our convic tions. O n March 15, Bonham sent a letter to Chodos that followed up on a conversation they had over the telephone that day, when they had discussed the terms of the settlement with the Tangent Group. During a corporate meeting the prior evening, the Board of the Venice Group had passed a motion that the settlement would be approved provided the complete mailing list was returned “as evidence of good faith on the part of Cahuenga. ” Since the Venice Group had withdrawn their demand for a cash reimbursement, they insisted instead that “all property originally removed ” would be returned: That is, all Corporation records, minutes, education notes, etc., all Library books, manuscripts. Book Service stock.. .property belonging to ISHR, all equipment, and that a joint letter agreeable to both parties stating the terms o f the agreement be sent to the complete mailing list of both parties. The letter refers to fact that Raiden had been allowed a continuance nearly two weeks prior with the understanding that the list would be turned over “within a few days.” Bonham won dered, “Is the agreement a part of the court record, and can it be enforced?” Agreement of Settlement In April of 1965, the directors of O N E and H IC decided to draft an Agreement of Settle ment^^ and resolve the matter out of court. O n April 25, 1967, the Agreement of Settlement was signed by W. Dorr Legg, Chet Sampson, Lewis Bonham, Monwell Boyfrank, Gregory Coron 248 and Robert Newton as First Parties and Don Slater, William Glover, Rudolf Steinert, Joseph Hansen, and Antonio Sanchez as Second Parties. The recital of the agreement stated prior to April 18, 1967,^^ “all of the individual parties hereto were members o f or associated with ONE, Incorporated.” This statement should have put an end to the “which is the real O N E wran gling— each schism, up to that recent date, had some legitimate claim to represent some aspect of the original organization. Since April 18, 1965, all of the above listed persons had “engaged in activities directed to the advancement of the homophile movement but have done so separately.” It was agreed that the Tangent Group would return to the Venice Group a copy of the mail ing list^^; all of the business records of O N E including the minutes, business correspondence, minutes, and financial records. Some office furniture would be relinquished, including book shelves, file cabinets, and an Adler typewriter. The library books were to be divided equally. As for file materials and records, “either group may reproduce whatever they wish.” Such copying would be completed by July of 1967, but the sharing of materials in the future was to be encour aged. The Tangent Group was to retain the wooden file that held the library card file, “including the card index itself.” It also retained the editorial files and the directory of homophile organiza tions. These things were to be carried out “with all possible speed,” and any further problems or complaints would be taken to a board of arbitrators. Outside of such arbitration, each side waived any future claim for damages “arising out of any matters occurring prior to the date hereof.” The case, number 864824, was to be dismissed without costs to either side. The Venice Group would continue to have the right to the name ONE, Incorporated. Members of the Tangent Group would “resign altogether from all offices and memberships in the said corporation.” Nor would they use the pseudonyms of Richard Congar, Alison Hunter, Marvin Cutler, or William Lambert, in any o f their future publications. As a final provision, a letter would be drafted, signed, and distributed by both parties that would explain the compro mise “to all interested persons.” 249 A final draft of this letter was dated May 8, 1967. It asserted “the expense, delay and the bitterness always attendant upon litigation have been sufficiently disadvantageous to both sides and to the Homophile Movement as a whole, as to make a compromise desirable.” It was announced that the Venice Group would continue to operate as ONE, Incorporated and to publish O N E Magazine. The Tangent Group, operating from Cahuenga Blvd., would “hence forth conduct its affairs, including the publication of Tangents Magazine, under the organization name. Tangents.” The letter was signed by Lewis Bonham, President of O NE, Incorporated^® and Don Slater, Editor of Tangents. Even more than a compromise, the agreement and its accompanying letter suggest that a legitimate truce had been struck between the two organizations. Neither side had declared a vic tory; neither had lost the right to be and to have been O N E, Incorporated, albeit from that point on O N E would exist as two distinct organizations. In a letter dated April 27, 1967, Chodos wrote to the Clerk for the court of appeals in San Francisco, telling him that No. 2 Civil 30272 had been settled and dismissed” on that day in the Superior Court of Los Angeles County. The deal had been struck, and O N E was now two. (Footnotes) ^ Legg, Slater, Sanchez, boyFrank, Bonham, Newton, Coron, Dyer, Weaver, Steinert, W inn, and Sampson ^ Letter to “Those Concerned with the internal affairs of O N E, Incorporated,” dated May 8, 1965 ^ As for the mention of “Does one through twenty-five,” the claim stated that they did not know who or what this group was but asked that their names would be provided in future court filings. The defendants had to purchase a bond themselves, valued at $20,000, from Northwestern National Insurance Company, for the amount of $200. They did this on July 22, 1965. ^ Personal communication. Summer 2003. 250 ^ Aaron had actually resigned on April 23, less than a week after the split. ^ Legg reported that there was a meeting of members later that Sunday, April 18th, at 5:00 p.m., but I have not been able to find copies of the minutes of said meeting, though they were supposedly admitted as Exhibit F . ® From his appellants opening brief, appeal from Superior Court of Los Angeles County Hon. Richard L. Wells, Judge H bid Ibid Answers o f Plaintiff to Interrogatories propounded by defendant Bank of America, June 15, 1966 12 This document was provided by ISHR. According to Reid Rasmussen, the current treasurer of ISHR, part of the delay was that Legg refused to take the oath. Other previous directors named by Slater were Robert J. Underwood, Ronald Longworth, Clarence Harrison, John Lawson, Don Plagmann, and Dale Jennings. From a letter to Chodos from Lewis Bonham, dated March 6, 1967. This letter was provided by ISHR. 16 Letter provided by ISHR. Early drafts were titled “ Agreement of Compromise,” but this was changed to “ Agreement of Settlement” by the final version. 18 The original printed date was 1965, but on signed copies the year was changed to 1967. According to Joseph Hansen, Legg already had a copy of the mailing list that he had made illicitly prior to the heist. W hen Slater and others wondered how Legg could continue to distribute the magazine, he told them that he had committed the list to memory. (See Dynes 2002, 100). Legg also asserted that Slater had never returned a draft of his master’ s thesis on the sociology of homosexuality (ibid), but I have not found such a document in the H IC archives. Drafts of this letter suggest Dorr Legg had originally intended to sign the document rather than Bonham. 251 Chapter Eight The Founding o f ISHR and the H IC Those were the golden days, although we didn’ t know it, — Billy Glover New Beginnings Since the 1965 division of ONE, Incorporated, many have debated whether the split was for the benefit or to the detriment of the homosexual rights movement, in Los Angeles and in the United States. Some, especially those who remained loyal to D orr Legg, first called it a tragic crime and later a substantial blow that had been heroically overcome. Others called it a calamity from which the Los Angeles movement never recovered. This chapter presents brief historical vignettes, a series of independent battles that show that the battle for homosexual rights, by now collectively known as the gay and lesbian movement, made significant gains in Los Angeles after the schism of O N E, Incorporated. John O ’Brien, who participated in the Stonewall uprising and helped to found the Gay Liberation Front soon after, believes that after the split, both O NE, Inc. and the H IC “hobbled along for the next thirty years living mainly on their past im portant accomplishments.” In his Executive Director’ s Report to ONE/IGLA, presented to the Directors on April third, 1997, O ’Brien wrote: This feud was based upon the stubborn individual control exerted by Dorr Legg, that cost our Movement many activists and their lost energies. Most people fled this bitter 252 battle for control o f O NE, which wound up in the U.S. courts. Only shells of previous activism, vibrancy and creativity were left with both camps being suspicious (and jeal ous for control) of new people and energy.^ While it could be said that the schism of ONE, Incorporated polarized the movement for years afterward, my research suggests otherwise. Stonewall was one of many battles that would continue to rage in the metropolitan United States. In Los Angeles especially, the homosexual community continued to be hounded and harassed by LAPD vice. The battle intensified in the 1970s; it did not diminish. Each of the surviving “aspects” o f ONE, Incorporated, the Venice Group and Tangent Group, continued to function after the split, and each played vital roles in the ultimate success and longevity of the local movement. O NE, like it’ s predecessor Mattachine, had been volatile from the start, and the split may have been inevitable as the organization expanded and matured. Bailey (2001) has noted that factions may arise (or be intensified) when a “new kind of political resource” emerges that inten sifies competition. My research suggests that the political differences within O N E were intensi fied when new resources became available through the financial contributions o f Reid Erickson and the Erickson Educational Foundation. I posit that these new resources emboldened Legg to the extent that he attempted to fire the editors and destroy O N E M agazine in order to further the interest of O N E ’ s educational division, O N E Institute for Homophile Studies. Slater, who had seen Legg similarly depose of prior editors and contributors such as Jennings, Kepner, and Wolf, anticipated his own expulsion and took a preemptive action. The heist of April 18, 1965 was a desperate act, but it was not the workings of a criminal. Slater had intended to use the act in order to gain leverage, hoping to force Legg into a compromise situation. Instead, Legg used the money garnered from the EEF to wage an extended court battle against Slater and the Tangent Group. As this chapter will show, Legg continued to collect revenue from the EEF to fund the compilation of the first homosexual index, but he stalled on the job while using the money to pay him and to pay his attorney, Hillel Chodos. 253 Rather than attempt to assess whether the division of O N E was for the better or worse, this chapter presents historical highlights of both organizations, to illustrate the success and limita tions of each. As Joseph Hansen once told me, “There have been many, many, many events that have taken us to where we are today. I think pebbles more than boulders have built this mountain, on top o f which we stand. This chapter presents some of those significant events, the smaller batdes that helped to further the cause for homosexual rights in Los Angeles. The Founding o f ISHR In the summer of 1964, a man telephoned the offices of ONE, Inc. and stated that he would like to offer financial support the organization. This man, Reed Erickson, had recently established a philanthropic organization called the Erickson Educational Foundation, a non profit corporation based out o f Baton Rouge, Louisiana. Erickson had been a Friend of ONE for several years prior, but he had never contributed on a large scale before. Legg and Slater were both leery of the offer, assuming that there would be strings attached. But Legg decided to go to New York to meet with Erickson and attorney William Kraker in October, on the occasion of the Friends of O N E meeting at the Waldorf Astoria, as mentioned in chapter six. Erickson had been born a girl, named Rita Alma Erickson. She was born in El Paso, Texas but the family moved to Philadelphia when she was young. Rita began associating with Lesbians as early as high school and was known to them as Eric. Erickson attended Temple University from 1936 until 1940, when the family moved to Baton Rouge, Louisiana, where her father had located the headquarters of his lead smelting business. Erickson graduated from Louisiana State University the “the first female graduate firom LSU s school of mechanical engineering” (Devor 2002, 384). In 1963, Erickson began the transition, through the help of Dr. Harry Benjamin, to living and identifying as a male. The sex change procedure was completed in 1965, which set a legal precedent in Louisiana (ibid, 385). He advised O N E to develop a non-profit corporation so that he and others could reap tax benefit from their contributions to the organization. He wrote in a 254 letter to Legg dated August 11, 1964: “I agree with the Board that a research organization would be formed first and most promptly— to liberate you and Don was our first step.” This organiza tion, once it had secured non-profit status, could receive the money and then channel it back into ONE. Also, this organization could become a research foundation dedicated to scholarship and education, and O N E could continue to publish and to push towards the reformation of laws pertaining to homosexuality (ibid, 387). O n August 17, 1964, Legg wrote to Kraker^ asking if he had heard from Erickson regard ing the formation of the non-profit research foundation. Legg wrote that he had discussed the matter with O N E ’ s board members, and they had agreed that there should be three incorpora tors, preferably “o f academic stature,” and the articles of incorporation and by-laws should be “as modest and simple as possible, ” as O N E ’ s had been. “We have found this to be greatly useful here in keeping us hewed right to the line, ” he explained. Two days later, Legg wrote again to Kraker, telling him that they had come up with the following mission statement: To promote, assist, encourage and foster scientific research, study and investigation of male and female homosexuality and various other types of human behavior; to advance education, educational facilities and the training o f persons for the aid and betterment of persons having behavioral patterns which may result in social disorientation; to this end, to gather, analyze and evaluate from a unified point of view available data from the fields o f anthropology, biology, medicine, psychology, law, religion and other studies. In order for the new organization to maintain its tax-exempt status, it was stipulated that the group would remain “educational, scientific and charitable. ” Any profits garnered would be applied toward research, scholarship, and publication. Several names for the organization had been proposed: Francis Bacon Academy; Institute for Socio-cultural Research; Institute of Uni fied Behavioral Research; Edward Carpenter Foundation; Foundation (or Bureau or Institute) for Isophyllic Research; and the one ultimately selected: the Institute for the Study o f Human Resources, or ISHR. O n September 21, 1964, the Franchise Tax Board for the State of California granted ISHR exemption from franchise tax. Kraker forwarded this information to Legg on the twenty-fifth. 255 This was received on the twenty-eighth, at which time Legg sent a note to Erickson stating that he was looking forward to “spring[ing] the organization’ s incorporation as a surprise announce ment at the Buffet and hope to get some people to shell out for it. ” He also said that he would be meeting Erickson in M anhattan on Saturday and would be staying at the Taft. Upon his return from New York, Legg wrote to Erickson on October 17 to report that he and Slater had met with Kraker twice and several things had been accomplished. The new ad dress for the organization was to be 509 South Beverly Drive, Suite 1, in Beverly Hills, Califor nia, the address of Kraker’ s law office. A bank account had been opened in ISHR’ s name. Legg wrote that he had “reported in full to our Board at O N E,” and a corporate meeting had been set for October 23. He continued: Some of the Members appear to have difficulty in visualizing how the relationship be tween the two bodies can function to the advantage of both. The job that night will be to spell this out clearly so that we can then proceed at once with well-defined projects. If you have any further suggestions that would help to clarify things for the doubters do send them along, although I do find that [Kraker] and I both seem to arrive inde pendently at precisely the lines of development you and I discussed both July d'*' and in New York. Kraker sent a memo to Slater and Legg on October 31 : “C et those budgets and lists together pronto.” O n November 7, Legg responded with a brief note to Erickson, letting him know they had “not been idle. ” Two major projects had been put on the table. The first was “massive Bibliography operation, ” as proposed by Slater. The second was a “legal research project laid out as to design but not as to staff and budget, although we know who we would propose if funds are ever available.” Legg reported that there had been trouble at O N E Inc. when the printer “lowered the boom about the size of our bill with him and refused to budge for a time. ” O n November 13, Don Slater, as Vice Chairman of ISHR, and W. Dorr Legg, as its Secretary-Treasurer, sent a formal proposal to Erickson, as ISHR’ s President, and to Kraker.^ The business outline was composed of two primary sections, the first relating to administration of the new organization and the second pertaining to a Human Resources Joint Study Project, 256 which would be directed by Merrit M, Thompson, The Human Resources project would involve four subdivisions. The first would be dedicated to Human Behavior Research, and a psychiatrist had been approached to put together a proposal for that project. The second project involved educational research. Legg would be Chief o f this section, with Lewis L. Bonham, Secretary. The third was divided into four data-gathering subdivisions: Bureau of Anthropology, Bureau of Biological and Medical Research, Bureau of Legal Research, and Religious Attitudes Survey Project. The fourth section, which included a full outline, budget, and timetable, was a bibliog raphy project that would be organized and edited by Slater. There was certainly a great need for a bibliography on matters pertaining to homosexuality. As Slater noted in his proposal, “a bibliography is almost always a useful tool in the scientific research of any subject.” Though many other fields had compiled extensive bibliographies to facilitate research, none had yet been created for that controversial topic, so that this would be “the first o f its kind.” Slater proposed that “every discipline which may encompass homosexual ity” be included in the work. He estimated that it would take two months to properly catalog what had been published in history and another two weeks for religion. Law would take four months, as would sociology and anthropology. Literature was allocated five months, and medi cine and psychology would take six months each. Philosophy would only take four weeks. After organizing, compiling, and indexing, it was estimated that the job would take three years to complete. Slater’ s budget called for two professional researchers and one assistant to format the bibliography. Slater would head the project with his friend John D. “Jack” Gibson, who had studied psychology at USC and had ten years experience working for technical libraries in the United States and abroad. Slater estimated the project would cost just under $75,000. The letter and initial proposal were delayed by over a week, until Slater felt that he had “given the matter enough study to warrant his signing.” According to a November 21 note sent to Erickson by Legg, Slater was concerned that “too complete an outline might tend to ‘ freeze’ into a status quo and hamper alteration that might seem desirable later on. ” He wrote a letter 257 to Erickson himself on November 24 in which he stated that he felt that ISHR should be “light in weight and unencumbered.” He sent his own proposal for consideration, which was similar to Legg’ s in many ways but at odds with it in others. Similarities of both texts, however, sug gest that Slater and Legg could have created one document had they been in amicable terms with one another in willing to cooperate to unify the corporate vision. As it was, they left it for Erickson to sort out. After the split of April 18, 1965, Legg immediately began a campaign against Slater, repeatedly berating him to Erickson and calling him a lunatic and a thief. So far as ISHR was concerned. Slater soon became a nobody; it was only the lawsuit against him that endured. In effect, so far as many of the Friends of O N E were concerned. Slater had been reduced to a legal entity, a rogue, criminal, and a villain, and his followers had been exiled from O NE Institute and its events and effectively silenced, due to the continued legal threats and scrutiny. Legg and his attorney Chodos had tried for years to crush the ‘ outlaw’ insurgents, yet in the end Legg could only watch in growing dismay (and Chodos’ s great profit) as Slater’ s mutaneered ship sailed on. The Tangent Group and its magazine pressed ahead, while the Venice Group sallied forth into different waters, those of education. The organizations would continue to butt heads occasionally over the next twenty years, but for the most part, they eventually learned that each was more successful in its selected endeavors the more it let the other side be. The Bibliography Project In March of 1966, J. M. Underwood submitted a report on the bibliography project to Erickson. To date, there had been three hundred citations compiled, but the listing would not be published for another “four to six months. ” Meanwhile, Vern L. Bullough had collected eight to ten thousand index cards of material for a similar project. Some of the materials he had gathered needed to be verified for accuracy, so a deal was struck. Bullough would turn his data over to Legg if he would verify and correct the questionable information. Jim Kepner would be hired to type up the final draft, and Barrett W. Alcano, a librarian at California State University 258 Northridge, would assist as well. The Erickson Foundation provided additional funds to com plete the project. Slater had been dropped from the project due to “the heist” of the prior year, as discussed in chapter seven. As a part of the deal, Legg was to process two hundred and fifty entries a day, but he soon fell behind and, according to Bullough,^ the project soon fell into disorder. Many of the non-English citations were especially difficult to verify, and there were many German citations that were especially problematic. The x y N O -v o X x u v s x ç . Annotated Bibliography o f Homosexuality was finally published in 1976 by Garland Publishers, edited by Bullough, Legg, Elcano, and Kepner. (There had been some debate as to who should be listed as the first editor on the volume, Legg or Bullough, and they finally decided to go with the alphabetic listing.) All royalties and the copyright for the book were assigned to ISHR. The Bibliography sold very well, but there were still some errors and flaws in the published copy. Legg approached Erickson for funds by which they could compile a revised edition, and the project was approved and funded. There was good work done on the new volume for a full eighteen months. Then, in 1980, there was a dispute as to who would be listed as first author. Legg had lost out to Bullough the first time around; this time, he was not about to be listed second, behind relative newcomer to the project Wayne Dynes, who had been working on a bibliography of his own in New Y ork.*^ Legg simply refused to work with Dynes, and so the project stalled half way to its completion, the L’ s having just been compiled. Whereas the second corrected bibliography project could have been a great contribution to homosexual scholarship, the project, like so many others, fell victim to what Dynes has called “poisonous animosities.”^ Though there never was an updated version of the Bibliography, Dynes completed an index of his own. Homosexuality: A Research Guide, published by Garland in 1987. The Motorcade to Protest Exclusion of Homosexuals from the U.S. Military Beginning on March 8,1966, Slater dedicated the entire H IC facility to the needs of Harry Hay and the Los Angeles Committee to Fight Exclusion o f Homosexuals from the Armed 259 Forces. While the Vietnam War was raging, homosexuals were being excluded from military service. Complicating the issue, some draftees were avoiding recruitment by gaming the system through affected homosexual jargon and mannerisms. Slater and Hay co-chaired biweekly planning meetings to organize a motorcade in protest against the armed forces’ policy of forbidding gays in the military, which Slater called “the first gay motorcade” (1966). According to journalist Randy Shifts, Slater had taken the idea of the motorcade to the National Planning Conference of Homophile Organizations in Kansas City the weekend of February 19 (Shifts 1993, 65— 66). His plan was to unify the fourteen homophile organizations then working in the United States towards coordinated protests and civil actions to help achieve a common goal: the end of the government policy that excluded homosexuals from serving in the armed forces. After the conference, communications continued between organiza tions in Kansas City, Los Angles, New York, Philadelphia, San Francisco, and Washington DC, but the effort ultimately faltered, and in some quarters “outright opposition to the program was voiced” (Slater 1966). Through the joint leadership of Hay and Slater, the Los Angeles Commit tee continued to push on. According to Shifts, the Committee issued a press release on February 28 that announced that the military, while “publicly paying lip-service to the idea that homosexual persons are unfit for military service, has quietly instructed induction centers to make discreet exceptions’ to the rule— the case of homosexuals who are not the obvious’ types” (1993, 66). O n March 18, 1966, the Committee distributed the following paragraph, printed on strips o f yellow paper:® The pressing need for change regarding the draft status and treatment of homosexuals in the armed services is a national issue on which the homophile organizations of the U. S. have agreed to work together on a national basis by arranging simultaneous meet ings in such cities as San Francisco, Seattle, Denver, Chicago, New York, Philadelphia, Washington, Miami, Boston, and Los Angles on May 21 To coordinate the work in the Los Angeles area the Committee to Fight Exclusion of the Homosexuals from the Armed Forces was established in the local area sympathetic to the homosexual. 260 The statement concludes with a call for assistance and action o f interested parties and groups, which would be coordinated locally and through the National Planning Conference of Homophile Organizations. O n the same day, the Committee issued a formal statement. In response to Ceneral Hershey s warning that there was “a dangerous shortage of eligible men to serve in the armed forces,” it stated that over seventeen million people were denied the right to join the military “simply because t h ^ are homosexual.” Further, those who wanted to evade the draft often did so by posing as homosexuals or effecting stereotypic homosexual mannerisms such as an occasional flick of the wrist (Shilts 1993, 67). The Committee pointed out that “millions of homosexual men and women have served with honor as soldiers, sailors, airmen and marines in the wars of our country,” but in order to do so they had to “swear falsely before the examining boards, denying the truth about themselves under oath.” Many o f those had been discharged upon suspicion or discovery of homosexual behavior. The statement concluded with a call for action urging sympathizers to write to the President and their congressional representatives “to protest this waste of needed manpower and the unjustified denial of the right of a loyal citizen to serve his country in war; and close this loophole for draft evaders.” The address and phone number of the Cahuenga office concluded the statement. O n May first, the Committee began distributing maps of the motorcade route and infor mation about the protest through a leaflet campaign directed to gay bar goers. There was little community support for the motorcade and virtually no response to their fundraising efforts, though they had distributed leaflets in selected locations from Topanga Canyon to Long Beach. The night before the event, sixty picket signs had been created and the drivers’ route confirmed. Photographers from Time were on hand early on, and when given the opportunity. Hay spoke out against his fellow gays who had not assisted with the event and would probably not even show up for the occasion: “W ith [all of] the work we’ ve put into this thing and with the thou 261 sands of homosexuals in the area, it is fantastic to realize we will be lucky to have forty persons show up for the motorcade tomorrow— and at least twenty who do will not be gay.” Sergeant Wesley Sherman of LAPD s Department of Special Events asked, “If you want to go into military service, why don’ t you just sign up?” Slater replied in his article on the motor cade, published in the May 1966 edition of Tangents, that a desire to go into the service was not the question. Slater called Sherman’ s attention to the fact that he and “most other Committee members had already served and had been honorably discharged.” The issue was simply that “homosexuals are asking for equal rights and benefits from their country. At the same time they recognize their equal duties and responsibilities. ” The motorcade began Saturday afternoon at two o’clock. The only Los Angeles newspaper to take an interest was the Free Press. The City Editor of the Los Angeles Times had said that he would dispatch a reporter “only if someone was hurt. ” Jim Schneider drove car five, and Vern and Bonnie Bullough rode in the first car. There were ten or twelve cars in the caravan, each with signs and banners bringing attention to their cause. Vern Bullough recalls that there was not much reaction to the motorcade: most people just stared as they went by. They proceeded on without incident, except that at some point, the car that Hay was driving got lost or diverted, and it and another car or two went off in a different direction. They managed to meet back up at the office on Cahuenga, and there they celebrated and proceeded to congratulate themselves. While it was not a major event, it had symbolic significance, and some people had paid atten tion. Bullough himself said that it was a complicated matter. W hen he and Bonnie had showed up to lend their support, they had not expected to be ushered into the first car. Vern was not entirely comfortable even being there. “I was basically opposed to what we were doing because we were saying that gays could should be drafted and serve and I was opposed to the war! But I went.”^ A two-minute report was run on the CBS News that night, and the day following Harry Hay and John Burnside appeared on the Melvin Belli show to discuss the results of the action. 262 They later appeared on the Joe Pyne radio show, to discuss the status of homosexual rights in general. Pyne interviewed Slater on the success of the protest in other parts of the country later, on May 26. Meanwhile, Legg had been frustrated by the whole affair. He wrote to Erickson on Thurs day April 21 to complain that the media had been calling, and the New York Times News Service had distributed “under an LA heading a three-column story about homosexuals and the armed forces quoting Slater from one end of the story to the other with wild talk about ‘ a homosexual motorcade’ to drive down Wilshire Boulevard with lo u d sp e a k e rs.T h e Times had reported that Tangents magazine had been “an outgrowth of a now defunct publication called O NE.” Legg further complained that the DA’ s office had been to visit the Venice office “wonder ing if there are to be riots in connection with these military demonstrations! Hillel has been alerted on all these matters of course. ” Through all the frustration, Legg was to sit with Slater on a panel of an ACLU meeting in San Diego the following Monday, the twenty-fifth. O n May first, the Venice group hosted O N E ’ s one hundred and eleventh lecture, on “Homosexuals and the Draft.” The Women O n December 16, 1967, Don Slater and the H IC hosted a special event to bolster their Legal Defense Fund. In the Embassy Auditorium at the corner of ninth and Grand in down town Los Angeles, they held a benefit performance of The Women, a comedy by Clare Booth Luce that had been popular within the homosexual community since it’ s release in 1939 as the M GM blockbuster directed by George Cukor and starring Joan Crawford and Rosalind Russell. According to Billy Glover, Don Schneider was the behind-the-scenes Producer of the show, in which all roles were to be played by men. Lyle Paige was Director, and D on Showman, as H IC ’ s director of social functions, was Producer. (Showman had directed the premier of James Barr’ s play Game O f Fools for the O N E Institute Convention in January, I960.) The cast of fifteen included mostly professional and three first-time performers. Lark Ballard, a dancer from the 263 Midwest who had performed professionally in Omaha and Kansas City, played the role of Mrs. Howard Fowler. Crystal Allen was played by a professional drag queen actually called “Chrystal,” who had performed for seven years in Honolulu and then ten more years in Hollywood. One o f the performers had first cross-dressed for the United States Air Force and had since traveled across the country performing in drag. Morris Kight promoted the event. Jim Schneider was in the audience of about three hundred the night of the performance. He recalls there having been some commotion coming from the entrance lobby shortly after the play began, but none of the patrons knew what took place until after the play. Six vice officers from the LAPD were trying to cancel the show, claiming that the group had not secured a permit. They also wanted to look around the premises for lewd conduct. W hen they asked who was in charge. Slater presented himself. One officer peeked in at the audience and proclaimed, “There’ s nothing but fags and queers in there!” Slater rebuffed him and was promptly cuffed and taken to jail, him berating them all the way to the station for wasting taxpayers’ money. Ultimately, the charge of not having a permit was thrown out, and Slater scored another victory when the police commission decided to change its censorship policy regarding cross-dressing in a theatrical performance. In the spring of 1968, the Tangent Group was barely getting by financially. It cost $700 a m onth to produce Tangents magazine, or $8,400 per year. W ith an annual subscription cost of $7.00, the magazine required twelve hundred paid subscribers to “maintain the monthly pub lishing schedule.” Slater reported in a notice to subscribers in March 1968 that during the prior year they had less than half of the required subscribers to cover their expenses, and therefore they had only printed six issues for the year. Until subscriptions increased. Tangents would continue to be published bi-monthly. The Founding of the HIC The founding of the H IC marks the end of the battle over the division of ONE. As explained in the prior chapter, the Agreement of Settlement stated that both groups had been 264 ONE, Incorporated up until April 18, 1967. Since then, they had operated as two different organizations: the Venice Group, still carrying the name of ONE, Incorporated, and the Tangent Group, which now officially became the Homosexual Information Center. The H IC would become federally tax exempt four years later, in 1971. The Articles of Incorporation of the Homosexual Information Center were officially filed with the State of California on August l4th, 1968. Herb Selwyn was the representing counsel, the same attorney who had helped to incorporate the Mattachine Society in 1954. The articles of incorporation were formally filed on November 4, 1968, by Secretary of State Frank M. Jordan. The name of the corporation became Homosexual Information Center, a General Nonprofit Corporation in the State of California. Its primary purposes were: “To conduct a continuing examination into the nature, circumstances and social issues of homosexuality, and to generate, gather, organize, make available and broadcast the best current thought on sexual questions generally.” The property and assets of the corporation were “irrevocably dedicated to education and literary purposes,” and the Founding Directors were Glover, Schneider, and Slater.*® Picketing the Los Angeles Times In October of 1969, the H IC decided to place an advertisement in the LA Times, which was refused due to the newspapers policy not to publish the word “homosexual.” Outraged at the refusal. Slater took a few people with him to meet with the editorial board of the Times face to face. Paul Rothermell, administrative assistant in charge of advertising, stated that the Times was a family paper and the policy against using the word had been in place for a long time. Following this. Slater obtained a permit from a grudging judge to picket the Times, from ten in the morning until two in the afternoon for one day only. Joseph and Jane Hansen made most if not all of the signs and marched the entire time. Joe s lover Wayne Placek helped to distribute a press release on the matter, issued on October 16.** “The Times by its attitude shows that it is cold and indifferent to the efforts of homosexuals to improve their legal and social position in 265 America.” As a key player of the homosexual rights movement and a legally chartered California corporation, the H IC asserted that its name was hardly a “put on.” “The Times might like to forget that there are some 200,000 homosexuals living in the Los Angeles area... [and] these men and women will not go away simply because the Times shuts them out of its advertising vocabu lary.” No other minority would be so maligned— “The reaction against such a restriction would be so spontaneous and so strong that even this leading paper would feel the pressure.” As Schneider has told it, the protest and ensuing boycott were very effective. “Now some body took notice and the Times, and I dare say Don brought about the beginning of the end for such a lily-livered policy” (personal communication 2001). “Yes, people don’ t know what it was like back in those hectic days, ” he added. Surely this was a significant victory for all homosexuals in the Los Angeles area. Beans for Queens One of the first organized gay demonstrations in Los Angeles was the protest of Barney’ s Beanery in February o f 1970. Barneys was a restaurant located at 8447 Santa Monica Boulevard that had a sign posted inside that read FAGOTS [sic] STAY OUT, which had first been hung in the 1930s in order to “ward off police pressure” (Kepner 1988, 2). Upon moving to Los Angeles, Kepner had refused to attend Mattachine discussion groups that were held in Barneys “because I’ d objected to...sitting under that antique ‘FAGOTS STAY O U T ’ sign” (1994, 11). Sometime later, Barney’ s management and clientele began to take the sign literally, and homosexuals were vigorously excluded in the 1960s, pressured if not encouraged by the police department (Kepner 1988, 2). While some at the H IC participated in the protest at Barney’ s, Slater decided to protest the protestors. O n February 7, 1970, he issued a press release titled “Fagots For Staying O ut of Barney’ s Forever, Associated.” “ For over 35 years Hollywood Fagots have managed to boycott Barney’ s Beanery,” Slater reminded his audience. “Miss Barney herself, in a moment of high fagotry, was compromised into placing our slogan Fagots Stay O ut’ on the wall of her Beanery. 266 Now a lot of do-good kai-kai sisters and trade queens are spoiling all the fun.” Slater asserted, “Miss Barney has a right to ask us to stay out.” Likewise, Fagots had the right to boycott. He continued: “So what’ s all the fagoty fuss? Help us keep a fagot’ s faith. Please don’ t cross the picket line. Join our efforts to boycott Barney’ s. Fight fagots fight! Remember the slogan: “Fagots Stay O ut.” The release was signed “Fagots for staying out Barneys Forever, Associated,” and the H IC ’ s P . O. box was given. After a solid week of picketing by Kight and the others, Barney’ s relented and the restaurant manager handed Kight the sign. The picketers went home, victorious. The surrender was a mere feint, though, and another was soon put up in its place. This second sign did not come down until 1985 (Cole 2004). In 1999, USC cinema student Andrew Colville released a documentary on Morris Kight called Live on Tape: The Life and Times o f Morris Kight: Liberator. Colville had been recruited by Kight to record what he called a “videograph of the historical record. ” While Slater may have boycotted the boycott, others at H IC apparently did participate. Colville’ s documentary contained footage of someone marching with a sign bearing the H IC logo, which had been designed by Jane Hansen. Christopher Street West O n May 1, 1970, Morris Kight, who had helped to organize the Los Angeles chapter of the Gay Liberation Front, came up with the idea of launching a parade to commemorate the anniversary of the Stonewall Rebellion. They would march down Hollywood Blvd. on the last June Sunday o f 1970. To begin the campaign, Kight made and distributed three thousand pink and lavender buttons that read “GAY POWER / CH RISTOPH ER STREET WEST ’70.”* ^ He recruited Rev. Troy Perry, founder of the Universal Fellowship of Metropolitan Community Churches, to help promote the event. Perry and Kight met with the Police Commission, headed by chief Edward M. Davis, who told them that as far he was concerned homosexuality was illegal, and “granting a parade permit to a group of homosexuals to parade down Hollywood Boulevard would be the same as giving a permit to a group of thieves and robbers ” (ibid). The 267 Commission decided that they would grant the permit provided the group posted two bonds totaling one and a half million dollars. Plus, the group was to pay $1,500 “for the policeman that it will take to protect you,” There were to me a minimum o f 3,000 people participating in the march; otherwise, the celebrants would have to stay on the sidewalk. Perry and Kight brought the case to the attention of the ACLU, which recommended they contact attorney Herb Selwyn, W hen Selwyn appeared with Perry before the Police Commission a week later, the bond request was dropped but not the protection fee. T hat was on a Friday, The next Monday, June 22, they appeared before the California Supreme Court, Their request for the permit was granted, and the police were instructed to “protect us as they would any other group” (Perry, ibid). The parade commenced the next Sunday, and registered groups proceeded in chronologi cal order, behind a Volkswagen Microbus blaring prerecorded marches (as there had not been enough time for them to secure a real marching band), A group from Orange County carried a sign that read “Homosexuals for Ronald Reagan,” Another said “Heterosexuals for Homosexual Freedom,” One controversial float featured a man on a cross with a sign before him that said “In Memory of Those Killed by the Pigs,” A campy “flock of shrieking drag queens [followed,],., running every which way to escape club-wielding guys dressed as cops” (ibid), “The parade was super silly, and very ragtag,” said Joseph Hansen, who observed from the sidelines that day, “Nobody had any money for the floats or anything but somehow or other, they threw out a few sequins and a bit of tulle, and some paint, and got out there and did it the best we could,” Ragtag it may have been, but the event was spectacular in its own right, and the spirit of the event was astonishing, “Nobody knew whether we were going to have mobs dragging us down off the floats or what was going to happen,” explained Joseph Hansen, And o f course it didn’ t happen that way at all, everybody just smiled and waved, if they paid any attention at all.”^ ^ 268 W hen I asked Hansen to describe a particular event or occasion he had experienced work ing within the movement that stood out in his memory, he chose to describe his feelings and experiences on this day. Hansen had been on the planning committee as H IC s representative. He recalled that some of the people involved wanted the play to be funny and others wanted it to be serious. “I did my best to mediate that and so we got a good mix— or we got a mix— of funny and serious, and in between.” Morris Kight later referred to leading the parade as the happiest moment of his life (Colville 1999). Hansen agreed, saying the event was ^"electrifying. It really was. It startled people, but I think the most amazing thing about it was its effect on homosexuals.” He recalled being across from the Pickwick Bookshop, 6743 Hollywood Blvd. He had worked for the Pickwick years prior, and a man he used to work with who was still employed there, Lloyd, was watching in front of the store. W hen he spotted Hansen, he hollered out across the street: “JOE! Isn’ t this wonderful! Isn’ t this a marvelous day! Can you imagine this ever happening?” And Hansen realized that the parade was a great success, and that it had indeed marked a change in social awareness. The fact of the parade, the fact that nobody threw eggs or rotten tomatoes at it, and nobody jeered— people stood and smiled as it went by—was a huge shock and a very pleasant one to people like Lloyd, and there were thousands of them in Los Angeles at that time. I think it just showed homosexuals that being bold, being brave, and coming out was not going to have the awful results that everybody always feared. Those days were passed; they were behind us. And that was a thrilling day. That was a thrilling day... Slater, of course, stayed at home that day, as he had for the Barneys campaign. W hen I asked Hansen how Slater had responded to the parade, he replied: D on probably grumped and huffed and puffed and didn’ t think it was a good idea. Don was an integrationist, as I am. He didn’ t really think that anybody ought to make a spectacle of himself, you know. Don was perfectly frank about being gay, about being a homosexual. But as for making a big deal of it, as for being a bird of bright plumage, no. No, that was not for him.^'^ 269 Still, Slater agreed that H IC should play a role, and thus Hansen, and Joe became the organiza tions official emissary to Christopher Street West. The (Late) Great David Brandstetter Before, the detective had a dame on his arm, a whiskey on the bar and a revolver in his hand. Dave Brandstetter was just as smart, just as tough and yet he had a gay sensibility. That was like a bombshell for me. —Johh Morgan Wilson (qtd. in Taka- hama 1998) In 1970, Joan Kahn o f Harper & Row published Joe Hansens novel Fadeout. Kahn was a leading editor in mystery and suspense fiction who favored books that broke into new territory. She had also published the first novel with a black detective (W inn 1997, 28). Kahns instincts paid off— Fadeout was a great success and is still in publication today having been reprinted by Alyson and, more recently, the University of Wisconsin Press. Solomon Hastings, in an article titled “Homosexuals in the Mystery: Victims or Victimizers?” assessed Brandstetter s acceptance by the largely heterosexual audience at the time: Brandstetter is the most honestly portrayed gay in crime fiction: a middle-aged man— who happens to be homosexual— with mundane, everyday problems. Some of his cases involve homosexuals, others do not. He develops romantic relationships, but he does not let his personal life style interfere with his work. It merely adds richness to his character in much the way any ongoing heterosexual relationship deepens anyone elses life. W ritten in the dry style common to all West Coast detective and private eye stories, Hansens work has found an audience beyond the gay com m unity.. .with Hansen the homosexual in crime fiction finally achieves three-dimensionality, (ibid, 495) The Brandstetter books were successful because Brandstetter was a “cool guy”— people could relate to him, partially because he was, in many ways, a typical sleuth. “My joke,” said Hansen, was to take the true hard-broiled character in American fiction tradition and make him a homosexual. He was going to be a nice man, a good man, and he was going to do his job extraordinarily well” (in Takahama 1998). Whereas male homosexuals were known to be promiscuous and incapable of long-term romantic relationships, Hansen, whose own marriage to Jane lasted fifty-one years, portrayed Brandstetter otherwise: “While Dave's relationship with 270 his lover has lasted twenty-two years, his father has been married nine tim es.. .Its as if the only people who couldn’ t have relationships that lasted are homosexuals, and of course that isn’ t true. It’ s far from the truth” (ibid). Hansen ushered Brandstetter through twelve volumes before retir ing him permanently in 1991. Troubles from Without and Within Joe and Jane Hansen resigned from the H IC on June 21, 1977, prompted by a letter they had received from Billy Glover taking them to task for “failing to contribute substantively to H IC and its activities. ” In his letter of resignation to Don Slater, Hansen voiced his many frus trations with Glover and credited him with the demise of Tangents. Glover had been in charge of distribution— which by the end of 1969 had become virtually nil. Since the magazine, Glover had started “writing letters directed at many quarters of our society, letters he plainly believes to help to right wrongs, correct erroneous positions, and generally aid the cause of homosexuals.” Hansen was severely critical of Glover’ s “ill-advised [though] numerous missives.” He stated that in a recent radio address, in which he had been critical of Morris Kight and Troy Perry for having hurt the homosexual movement by proclaiming themselves its spokesmen, he would have included Glover on that list, had he not been “in the position o f having to defend H IC when it was under attack. ” Though all were agreed that Glover meant well, the Hansens were agreed that as a spokesperson for the corporation, “Billy has been a disaster.” They expressed their gratitude to Slater for always having considered them a boon to the organization and the movement for homosexual rights; “T hat sort of firm and lasting friendship is precious.” But, they advised. Slater could not “have it both ways.” In effect, Hansen had given Slater an ultimatum; either Glover goes or they would. Hansen answered for Slater that as Chair, Slater would never do such a thing to a fellow soldier who had been loyal to the cause for so long. The facts were clear. “We must move out and leave room for others who can contribute as Billy would wish.” 271 To make matters worse for Slater and the HIC, Laud Humphreys, a sociologist from Pitzer College in Claremont who had been working with Legg and the Venice Group, reported in his book O ut o f the Cbsets: The Sociology o f Homosexual Liberation (1972) that Slaters famous heist was a prime example o f “the sort of organizational takeover that borders on larceny.” Humphreys, who had never contacted anyone at the Tangent Group for their perspective on the situation, faithfully reported Leggs version of the story: Upon arrival at the offices of ONE, Inc., one morning, a worker found the build ing stripped: gone were all material pertaining to the magazine, membership and subscription lists, books, typewriters and other machines, desks, and chairs. An editor of the magazine decided that he was ONE and, taken everything with him, moved to another location to continue publishing the magazine. For a few months, there were two publications called One Because O N E was incorporated, the board of directors eventually won possession of the surreptitious O N E s assets— after lengthy court battles that reportedly cost ONE, Inc., in excess of $100,000. It was this financial loss that prevented the original organization from publishing the magazine for more than two years. (93— 94) Slater was dumbfounded when he discovered this passage. He wrote a complaining letter to Legg soon after reading it, but the damage was done. The success of Humphreys prior book Tearoom Trade: Impersonal Sex in Public Places (1970) assured that this volume too would be widely read. The Rebirth of ONE (A Phoenix Founders) W ith the help of Jim Kepner, Legg, as Richard Conger, revived O N E M agazine for four issues, beginning in January 1972. Conger was listed as Editor, and Kepner Associate Editor for these issues. The magazine was 8!6 by 11 inches and printed on high-gloss paper. While the design had been updated, most of the copy, headers, and line art had been taken from previous issues. The second issue, dated March/April 1972, published an account o f the twentieth-annual meeting of ONE, Incorporated, which convened in the Golden State Room of the Los Angeles Hilton. Doctor Blanche M. Baker had been present for the occasion, as was attorney Eric Julber and author Donald Webster Cory. Cinematographer Pat Rocco, who had filmed the protest at Barneys Beanerie, performed a song he had written called “They Called the W ind Mariah.” After this, Los Angeles Councilman Robert Stevenson gave a speech congratulating ONE for its 272 “pioneer role in the battle for homophile civil rights but warned that the Gay Community must learn to stand united if it hopes to become stronger and more politically effective in the future.” Professor Legg was next to the podium. He recapped some of the great moments in O N E s history, including the “founding of the first tax exempt foundation affiliate for any homophile organization,” ISHR, and the recent “establishment by the Erickson Educational Foundation of Training Fellowships for students at Long Beach State College to be enrolled in O N E Institute Classes [1971]. Lisa Ben was next to address the assembly, and she “gave a charming account of her struggles and efforts during this unique pioneer enterprise” (no author, 8— 9). As for other matters of business, Robert Earl resigned as O N E ’ s president that night, and O N E ’ s ninth annual European Tour was announced, which would last for three weeks beginning on Septem ber eighth. In the third issue of the new ONE, ISHRs address was given as being the same as for ONE, Incorporated, suggesting that for all practical purposes, the two organizations were acting as one. Both were heavily reliant upon the generosity of Erickson and the EEF. As the next chapter will show, this too was a tenuous relationship, and if the funding were to cease, the organization would perish. (Footnotes) ^ A copy of this document was provided via fax by ONE Institute on July 8, 2002. ^ Personal communication, interview, Sept. 2, 2004 ^ In correspondences with Erickson and Slater, Legg referred to him as “Bill Crocker” or “Bill C.” ^ In later drafts of this proposal, Robert G. W inn is listed as Vice President in place of Don Slater. ^ Personal communication, interview, Feb. 19, 2002 ^ Ibid; Dynes, personal communication, telephone conversation June 21, 2004 ^ Personal communication, e-mail, June 22, 2004 273 ® Found in the H IC collection ^ Personal communication, interview, Sept. 24, 2004 A copy of the official bylaws is available in PDF format on the H IC website. Personal communication, e-mail, Sept. 6, 2004 See http://lapride.org.History.htm Personal interview, Sept. 2, 2004 Ibid 274 Chapter Nine Conclusion (s) As a social history, this has not been a tale of white hats versus black or good versus bad. This has only been a tale o f heroes versus villains so far as such accusations were made by those involved. In times of crisis, such epithets as “rebel,” “psychotic,” and “thief” were slung about nearly as frequently as badges of merit and titles of honors had been bestowed, often reciprocally, during the annual rituals of more stable times. And this work hardly qualifies as a mystery: it was said from the start that though ONE, Inc. divided in 1965 to become two organizations. Slater and Legg resolved their differences, and from 1967 on the organizations functioned separately but amicably, Leggs organization still calling itself ONE and Slaters having become the Homo sexual Information Center, or HIC. After years of mutual antagonism. Slater and Legg eventually buried their hatchets (after first having to remove them from each others backs), and a truce was declared between them. It is fair to wonder if their newfound respect for each other came as much from having endured so many years of tenacious onslaught than from any rekindled sense o f brotherhood. Perhaps age itself is a social lubricant. My experiences with the elders o f O N E suggest that people in their latter years— in this case in their 70s and 80s— no longer exasperate each other as much or spend as much time picking at each others wounds. Though some may be too proud to instigate 275 reconciliation, they often welcome it once the opportunity is presented. For the aging pioneers of this history, the process of compiling this study, of comparing thoughts and memories of one against the others, has been a chance for a renewed friendship and understanding that has been embraced and welcomed. Through modern technology, the internet, FAX machines, and cell phones, many of these surviving elders are now in constant communication with one another, always ready and at hand to assist when needed. Passions run strong in the course of a human life. It is hardly irrelevant in a social history to speak of bonds built on love, hatred, and love renewed. In focusing only on strife, we lose the value of reconciliation, which is possibly where some of the greatest lessons are to be discovered. The story of the split of O NE, Incorporated could be viewed as the natural and perhaps inevi table social process of corporate fission, whereby a small non-profit corporation passed through an extended period of unity through a period of factionalism, from which two new, discrete organizations emerged. Over this extended period, the participants themselves aged and their needs and desires shifted accordingly, so personally, it has been a story of how allies turned into adversaries and then changed back, through the process of what Myerhoff and Simic have called “life’ s career ” (1978), into allies. As anthropologist Sally Falk Moore has pointed out, “social relationships may be accumulated over time,” and through cumulative social processes and an extended reputation and history within a particular social arena, there can be a profound sense o f love, respect, and sense of belonging that comes with renewed or life-long friendships in old age (1978, 25). The End of ONE Institute Due to my emphasis on the history and contributions of Don Slater and Dale Jennings, the focus of this history has been on the history of ONE, Inc. and the HIC. But the history of the Venice Group in the 1980s through the 1990s should also be mentioned in order to round-out this history and provide a more balanced account. Much of this information was provided by 276 Reid Rasmussen, current Executive Treasurer of ISHR, and I owe a debt of gratitude to him and to the other directors o f ISHR for their generosity, their many years of financial support, and their endless patience as I have worked towards completion of this project. Having access to the letters of Dorr Legg and the other directors o f ISHR, as well as the many court documents sur rounding the battle over an ultimate division of the Milbank estate, allows me to conclude this chapter by providing this brief overview of the fate of the Venice Group, Leggs half of ONE, Incorporated. Though the two halves of O NE were never again to be reunited, the organization may at least be rejoined in history. The Venice Group, Gentrified It was during a program held at the Gay Academic Union in Los Angeles in 1982 that Dorr Legg met David G. Cameron, a man who specialized in the historic preservation of buildings. Cameron, who had never been to the Venice office, asked what the facility was like and offered to assist if they wanted to look for a new location. W hen Legg responded that he was indeed interested, Cameron introduced him to James E. Dunham, a real estate broker who had already met Reed Erickson. ^ Later that fall, Dunham suggested to Legg that the Milbank/McFie Estate, located at the corner of Country Club Drive and Arlington Avenue in the prestigious Country Club Park district of Los Angeles had recently become available for purchase and might be an excellent home for O N E Institute. Isaac Milbank had originally purchased the lot for $70,000 in 1913. The property stretched four hundred feet along Country Club Drive and three hundred and sixty feet along Arlington, encompassing three and a half acres. Architect G. Lawrence Stimson o f Pasadena designed the houses in a style reminiscent of Stimsons own residence, as per Milbanks request.^ Plans for the estate included two main buildings with a total of twenty-seven rooms, the smaller home built for M ilbanks daughter and son-in-law. There was a separate green house, chapel, and a chauffeur’ s quarters beside the garages. The estate was declared Historical Monument number 420, on December 13, 1989. 277 After touring the location, Legg drove to Ericksons home in Ojai with photos of the prop erty, and Erickson was pleased with the prospect. The facility at Venice had decayed considerably over the past twenty years, and the creaky old building was showing the wear. Erickson had been a long-term supporter of ONE, having donated, either personally or through the EEF, over $187,000 to O NE, through ISHR. Erickson had been a founder of ISHR, as discussed in the prior chapter, and he served as its president from 1964 until 1979. In 1982, he promised in his will to bequeath one million dollars worth of gold to ISHR. According to court records,^ Erickson stated that he approved of the location and stated outright: “I will buy it for you.” Legg returned to Los Angeles and told Dunham to draw up an offer for the property that Erickson would sign. The property owner. Church Universal and Triumphant, Incorporated, rejected the first offer. But in January o f 1983, the sellers contacted Dunham with a counter offer, which Erickson accepted provided that the cost of transfer tax would be evenly divided and the name of the buyer would be changed from the Erickson Educational Foundation to the Institute for the Study of Human Resources. The estate sold for $1,800,000. Erickson paid for most of the property in one-and-a-half million dollars worth of solid gold Krugerrands, which were transported from Erickson’ s house in Ojai to a money exchange office in Beverly Hills. Erickson’ s wife Evangeline; his secretary, Gloria Southwick; and Episcopal Priest Dwain Houser, who worked for ISHR at the time, participated in and witnessed the transfer of bullion. Also present was Zelda R. Suplee, who had served as Assistant Director for ISHR beginning in October 1967. Suplee took over as Director of ISHR when Erickson moved his main residence from Baton Rouge to Mazatlan Mexico in 1973. She moved to Los Angeles to continue working for Erickson in the spring of 1983. According to a letter she had written to Legg on August 17, 1987, Erickson had told her soon after the purchase that he had intended to turn the deed to the estate over to ON E Institute by May first, 1983. He then postponed the date to June first, and there was some discussion as to how to publicize the event. There was no further mention of the deed, however, even though Suplee had delayed the publication of the 278 EEF newsletter by several months in waiting for the announcement. Suplee chalked it up as “just another instance o f ‘ welshing’ that I had become familiar with.” While it was Erickson who had paid for it, there was still some uncertainly as to who the real owner of the estate would be. Church Universal and Triumphant, Incorporated, presented the keys of the estate to Legg on Sunday, March 6, 1983, and O NE and ISHR began to move in right away. O n April fourth, Legg wrote a letter to Erickson stating that he had received a call from attorney Herb Selwyn, who advised that the title of the estate should officially be turned over to O N E and not the Erickson Educational Foundation, as Erickson had apparently decided. According to Legg, if ONE were publicly associated with the EEF, it could damage their fund-raising efforts because the EEF was known to be associated with transsexual issues whereas O N E was dedicated to the larger issue of homosexuality. “This [subject of transsexuality] brings strong emotional feel ings to one part of the population while the homophile concerns touch millions of men and women.” And after all, he pointed, out, transsexual concerns were “provided for in the Institute’ s programs through Paul Walker and the Janus Information activities.” Selwyn more prudently recommended the title be transferred to O N E so that “the long-range future of O N E Institute should be insulated as much as possible form being drawn into the disposition of your estate at any time.”^ Erickson, however, held his ground. In fact, according to Legg, there were a few times in 1983 when the offices of O N E were broken into and ransacked, and materials pertain ing to Erickson, such as the 1982 will and selective letters by Erickson to Legg, mysteriously disappeared. Legg, experienced in such matters, had made copies of many of these documents and kept them off site, to emerge again during the ensuing trial. O n January 3, 1984, Erickson wrote a distraught letter to O N E in which he declared he must withdraw all support due to his “exceedingly poor health,” which had been “destroyed by Evangelina, who never was married to me^ and who continually drugged me, Mickey Finned me, and injected me with female hormones to lower my libido and feminize me.” Erickson said 279 O N E had two weeks to come up with funding of its own or else he would be forced to sell the property. He added: Evangelina is trying to tie up my assets and sue me for 50% of all I ever earned includ ing Milbank. My sister and my ex, Aileen, have been blackmailing me for years, and have made problems for me with the police department in Ojai, with everyone’ s help. Undaunted by Erickson’ s letter, Legg proceeded to hold a Convocation and Open House at the new facility, 3340 Country Club Drive, on Sunday, January 29, 1984. Legg convened the event, while Bob Mitchell welcomed the crowd with organ music. Jesse Jacobs, President of O NE, Incorporated, gave the welcome address, and then Legg, as Dean o f O N E Institute, in troduced Victor J. Burner as Dean of Division of Special Programs. He next introduced Gene R. Touchet and Paul A. Walker as Deans of the Graduate School, Walker heading the San Francisco programs. Walter L. Williams was presented as Dean of O NE Institute’ s Center for Advanced Studies, and Jim Dunham was there as Director of Development for O N E Institute and the Community. The highlight of the event was when Deborah Ann Coates, Paul David Hardman, and Michael Antonio Lombardi were awarded Masters of Arts in Homophile Studies degrees. This was not the first time that ONE Institute had issued advanced degrees in homophile studies. A year prior, in August 1981, Legg awarded O N E Institute’ s first (honorary) degrees in homophile studies to Reed Erickson and Christopher Isherwood in the thirtieth anniversary gala for O N E held at the Los Angeles Hilton. Over six hundred people were present for the event. According to Legg, O N E had been accredited by the State of California as a graduate degree- granting institution. However, the official Authorization to Operate from the California State Department of Education Office of Private Postsecondary Education, dated August 18, 1981, designated O N E Institute Graduate School of Homophile Studies as a degree-granting institu tion in accordance with California Education Code section 94310(c), stating that while ONE could grant degrees, it remained “unaccredited and unapproved, authorized by filing of public disclosure information.” This document further stipulated that O N E “may not issue diplomas under this authority.” 280 Through the spring, Legg entertained the idea of O N E purchasing the Milbank estate from Erickson,*’ but that was not feasible due to the financial status of the organization. By summer, Erickson had hired the Landsdell Protective Agency to secure the premises. For four days, Legg was locked in, with padlocks and cables securing all five gates to the estate and armed guards with dogs posted all around. At one point, Legg went out to demand that welders stop welding the gates shut. Erickson, who was standing nearby, instructed one of the welders to “burn him” before scuttling off in his limousine. Legg was not burned, but he later recalled the incident in his Respondent’ s Brief of October 16, 1991, which certainly helped his case against Erickson, whom Legg described as “the ever-eccentric, millionaire, transsexual, philanthropist.” In December of 1985, Legg obtained a court injunction that enjoined Erickson, his em ployees, or his associates “from entering.. .the garage and storage sheds located on the grounds of said Milbank estate.” The same were further enjoined from “interfering and attempting to interfere with the peaceful use and enjoyment o f .. .the main level of the Milbank Mansion.” According to a letter from Legg to Erickson dated December 6, 1985, the deed to the property showed that the EEF, a republic of Panama Corporation, was the actual owner of the property. “Since your Court action filed July 7, 1984 to quiet the title ownership is legally in the custody of the court until all litigation has been completed. You are N O T the owner.” This was in refer ence to the EEF s having filed an action for damages and trespass against O N E and ISHR for not quitting the property as requested. In 1986, Erickson left the United States to avoid prosecution under narcotics charges in Los Angeles and Ventura counties. A Conservator was appointed by a the Ventura County Supe rior Court, and the cases were consolidated and tried late in 1989, under Judge Philip M. Saeta, with no jury. Saeta found that ISHR was the lawful owner of the Estate due to the doctrine of promissory Estoppel, whereby a “promisor” is bound to his or her word when the “promisee” relies on that promise to the extent that his or her status would be significantly compromised by 281 the breach of the agreement. Further, Legg was granted $10,000 in general damages and another $10,000 in punitive damages for his charge of false imprisonment. According to documents provided by ISHR, Erickson moved for a new trial and to vacate the judgment in June of 1990, but the request was denied. O n July second, he filed for an appeal that was successful, and the ruling was reversed. Legg filed his Respondent’ s Brief, written by Russell and Wynn, on Oct. 16, 1991. In January of 1992, Erickson died, and his daughter Monica Erickson became executrix of his will and estate. The matter was soon back in court, and in October of that year the parties finally agreed to a setdement, with the property divided between the Erickson estate and ISHR. The terms of this settlement were not finalized until February 1994. O n July 11 of that year, the Directors of ISHR voted to hire Fred Sands realtors to sell their portion of the estate. This decision was the last formal document that Legg would ever sign. The Death o f Dorr Legg Dorr Legg died in his sleep on Tuesday, July 26, 1994. He was eighty-nine years old. According to an obituary published by ONE, Legg had been feeling weak and in ill health for several months. In his last days, he contacted several of his co-directors to request that they record his final words and life history on tape and video, before it was too late. He narrated this history over a period of two hours, portions o f which were quoted in his obituary. Surprisingly, Slater became distraught when he learned of Legg’ s death. According to Bullough, Slater called him late on the night of Legg’ s passing and said “ Lambert's dead!” \n an anguished voice and then just hung up the phone. After all they had been through and the many years of grief and frustration they had heaped upon each other, the fact remained that Legg had been committed to O N E and the movement for over forty-two years, and in some ways. Slater had never stopped admiring him. For Slater, there was no denying it: the homosexual rights movement had lost one of its senior elders and greatest pioneers. 282 Legg had helped to plan his funeral before his passing. He had originally wanted to be buried in his home state of Michigan but later decided that his body should remain in Los Angeles, where he had spent the last half of his life. He was buried at Forest Lawn Cemetery in the Hollywood Hills on Friday, July 29, at two in the afternoon. Nine men were present for the interment including Thomas Hunter Russell, President of ISHR; David Cameron, President of ONE, Inc.; Walter L. Williams, Director of ISHR; Reid Rasmussen, Secretary of ISHR; and Johnny Nojima, who had been Legg’ s companion for thirty years and was the executor of Legg’ s will and estate. One month after his burial, on August 28, 1994, a memorial service was held in Legg’ s honor at Milbank Estate, commonly referred to as the O N E Institute Campus. This was the last public ceremony to be held at Milbank, and ONE Institute was never to hold classes again. O n February 27, 1995, the house at 1130 Arlington was sold to two professors by unani mous approval of ISHR’ s directors, for $525,000. From this, $112,000 plus interest went to pay off debt that had been acquired through the term of the lawsuit. Reid Rasmussen and John Nojima were each repaid $20,000. Victor Burner and ONE, Inc. were each reimbursed $10,000, and Hall Call, Director of the Mattachine Foundation in San Francisco, was to be repaid $52,000 plus interest.^ After other fees and charges, there was little to nothing of the selling price remaining for ON E or ISHR. The smaller house, at 1214 S. Van Ness, was sold to the Avatar Meher Baba Center for a total of $380,000. ISHR’ s board approved this offer on November 13, 1996, and escrow closed on February 10, 1997. Slater noted in an undated® letter to Jennings that former O N E president Fred Frisbie was “totally destroyed when the followers of Lambert jettisoned the O N E joint immediately upon his death” and had said he would never speak to any of them again. However, when O N E Insti tute & Archives held its grand opening at 909 West Adams in May of 2000, Frisbie was present as an honored guest. It seemed that O NE Institute would continue on in the new location, thanks to the efforts of Walter L. Williams and John O ’Brien and the generosity of USC. 283 But this organization that called itself O N E Institute & Archives had until recently been known as O N E/I GLA, a surviving aspect of Jim Kep net’ s International Gay Archives. After Legg’ s death and the sale of the Milbank estate, O N E Incorporated merged with ISHR, with ISHR being the surviving corporation and ONE, Inc. the merging corporation. The agreement of merger was signed on December 11, 1995, with Russell and Cameron signing as Presidents of ISHR and O NE, respectively, and Rasmussen signing as Secretary of both organizations. W ith this done, the organization known as ONE, Incorporated officially ceased to exist. The historical vignettes presented in this and the previous chapter show that the division of O N E Incorporated was hardly the demise of the movement. Many significant battles had been fought and won through acts of civil disobedience that were often barely coordinated and hardly orchestrated. The movement was successful partially because in each case, there was a clear ad versary: the postmaster, the Times, the police commission. Miss Barney, each event a “pebble in the mountain” of the movement’ s history, to paraphrase Hansen. The twenty-year span between the division of O N E and the dissolution of O N E Institute mark an era where great strides were made in the battle to secure equal rights for homosexuals. But the story is hardly over. Two of its three faces/corporations— ISHR and H IC — have managed to survive, carried as they are on battered shoulders of the surviving few, who strive to continue the process of pebble piling. Friendship Renewed Slater and Jennings, Revisited As discussed earlier in the second chapter of this history. Dale Jennings and Don Slater renewed their friendship after Jennings contacted Slater in 1985 in his search for employment. Between 1990 and 1995, Jennings lived a few doors to the west of Slater and Sanchez, in Rudi Steinert’ s old apartment on Calumet. It is during this time that their relationship became inscribed in letters and postcards, for Slater was often in Colorado, where he wrote to Jennings from Summit Ridge. Though Slater insisted that others properly inscribe and date their articles 284 and letters to him, he addressed his notes only by the day. It seems from context, though, that the sequence in which Jennings had filed these letters reflects the order in which they had been received. The letters reveal their mutual great love for nature and travel. Slater often wrote of the scenery and wildlife around the four corners area. In the early winter of 1995, he wrote excitedly to Jennings that he had seen a small herd of Elk in a nearby field and had watched them for nearly twenty minutes. He wrote occasionally of death, reflecting that Chuck Rowland was in the hospital and in bad health. “Things become precious when we lose them. Life, for instance. I was reminded of this yesterday when I saw a snowflake fall. Wonderfully intricate, the minute it came to earth it began to die. I’ ve perked up today.. .There is no time to be moody.” In the fall 1994, the H IC was contacted by John O ’Brien, a New York expatriate who was now the President of O N E Institute, located in its new facility near USC’ s downtown campus. O ’Brien had been a member of the Young Socialists Alliance, a youth division of the Marxist Socialist Workers Party in New York, but as with Jennings, Hay, and Kepner, he had been cast out of the Party due to his sexuality (Carter 2004, 120). O ’Brien was as intelligent as he was intimidating, a muscular man who had grown up in Spanish Harlem. He had been an active civil rights protester since his days as a teenager, when he sojourned to Alabama to participate in a civil rights protest for blacks. Even after years of living in Los Angeles, he was New York to the core, and when I met him he spoke frequently of how he missed his home. O ’Brien had been active in the Stonewall rebellion and had since dedicated his life to gay causes. He was now working with Williams in Los Angeles to help ONE/IGLA to move into the facility being offered by USC. Slater had been leery but intrigued by ONE/IGLA’ s offer. In one of his Summit Ridge let ters to Jennings, Slater wrote that he was not interested in hearing about what H IC ’ s role in the new organization might be so much as he wanted “clarification about them and their arrange ments with the university.” W hat was the relationship between O N E and IGLA? H IC should 285 see their articles of incorporation and the legal documents that bound them. Slater requested that O ’Brien provide in writing “the names of all those involved in the project— including those on the staff of the university— and their position and place in the scheme. ” After they did more fact finding, then could they decide if they wanted to be a part of the “new USC complex” and if so, what their role would be. In January o f 1995, Jennings, as the Secretary of the H IC, met with O ’Brien to discuss the extensive collection of books and records on the homosexual movement that had been housed for the past several years in Slater’ s home, largely unused. O ’Brien and USC professor Walter Williams were trying to persuade Jennings and the H IC to unite its collection with theirs. The addition of H IC ’ s materials to the ONE/IGLA collection would mean that O N E would have amassed not only the largest holdings of gay and lesbian archival materials in the nation but would be the most historically viable as well. O ’Brien’ s ambition was to continue to unify the primary forming and directing what could be heralded as the Nation’ s Gay Attic, a veritable Queer Library of Congress and Smithsonian both rolled into a new, reunified ONE. There was some confusion as to O ’Brien’ s station and his credibility, as Jennings’ report on the visit refers to him as the “head of the Queer Studies department” whereas in fact O ’Brien had no official ties with USC. Walter Williams, a Professor of Anthropology at USC and fellow director of ONE, soon joined them. Williams had brokered the arrangement between ONE and USC, whereby O N E could move its holdings and operations within one of USC’ s evacuated fraternity houses for a number of years. Jennings remained suspicious of O ’Brien and of O N E ’ s motivations in general but noted that he was “more attracted to Williams’ mind. ” He noted that in arguing legitimate historical concerns that the collections should be unified, Williams seemed totally convinced that gay and lesbian scholars were well past the point in history where gays lived in any legitimate danger. To Williams, an era of tolerance had arrived, and there was no pending threat of conservative regression, backlash, or fallout against the improving civil attitudes and court victories the move- 286 ment had accrued over the past forty-five years. A life-long student of history and a well-traveled veteran of World War II, Jennings found “such self-assurance alarmingly immature.” He added; “It didn’ t strike them that their wealth, success and political power are irrelevant. No political power is permanent.” Besides this, Williams and O ’Brien had a sense of urgency about them, pressing for an immediate answer or commitment. It seemed to Jennings, though, that O N E really intended this to be a one-sided donation rather than a more balanced agreement that H IC was certainly entitled to and in the position to bargain for. Jennings pressed O ’Brien for details: Would H IC be assured an autonomous space within ONE, secure with locks, control of the keys, and their own computer and phone line? Would H IC be represented on O N E ’ s board? H IC had, after all, been a successful, functioning organization dedicated to the rights of homosexuals since their split with ONE, Incorporated in 1965. Since then, H IC ’ s achievements had been every bit as prestigious as O N E ’ s and in some ways more successful, yet the operational philosophies of the two organizations remained distinct. In his report back to the H IC, Jennings reminded his fellow directors that O N E had a long history of antagonism toward their views. Even if one of H IC ’ s directors were to be allowed to sit on o n e ’ s board, this was no assurance that H IC would be granted a lasting vote. “Once on the board, you could be eliminated quickly,” he warned.^ The H IC responded to ONE/IGLA’ s offer prudently. They agreed to become an autonomous special collection within ONE/IGLA, provided that ONE/IGLA’ s board put its terms in writing. There was one other issue that troubled Jennings and the other directors of the HIC. They knew from their long-standing involvement within the homophile movement that “history ” as they had lived it and the history they read in books or articles were often out of sync and occasionally even at odds. Would O NE Institute accurately present H IC ’ s history to the public? Would it honor O ’Briens pact of autonomy and the board’ s offer to support H IC ’ s president, Jim Schneider, in a position of leadership? 287 Jennings attempted to illustrate this point to O ’Brien through allegory by relating a story regarding a trend that had developed within the elite class of sixteenth-century Denmark. The affluent D utch had learned that they could order Chinese porcelain in designs “duplicated to the last detail,” and to do so had become trendy. Jennings related this conversation in his report to H IC s board: One lady was fond of a particular set of D utch scenes in blue on white. Sending a dam aged cup which so no longer wanted, she asked that the pattern be copied. In due time her set arrived, copied exactly down to the smallest detail including an identical nick in each cup. “But isn’ t that what she wanted?” O ’Brien replied, clearly missing the point. Jennings attempted to clarify by stating that he was still “miffed” that Timmons had inscribed his mother upon history “as a commie cell leader.”^ ® O ’Brien astonished Jennings by responding, “That’ s your opinion. She might have been a cell leader without you ever guessing.” Clearly this meeting between two prominent homosexual rights activists had not gone well. Jennings’ s subsequent report to his fellow directors was prophetic and foreboding: I feel that USC’ s basic motive in wanting them (and they really want them badly) is for the purpose of enhancing their prestige and promoting more money. I’ m fairly sure that once they got their hands on the H IC collection, they’ d wash their hands of us. The directors decided to wait for O ’Brien to put an offer in writing, but despite his reas surance that one was pending, no document ever came, and the H IC archives remained stacked, piled, and boxed haphazardly throughout Slater and Sanchez’ s aging but stately Victorian on Calumet. The Death of Don Slater Don Slater died on February 14, 1997, of heart failure. Schneider had driven Sanchez to the Veteran’ s hospital in west Los Angeles that morning to find that D on had passed thirty min utes earlier. Sanchez broke down when he found that the man he had loved for over fifty years had passed, and Schneider did his best to comfort him. The next day, Schneider took Sanchez to Armstrong Mortuary downtown, to arrange for Slater’ s cremation. 288 This was an awful time for Sanchez, to say the least. N ot only had he lost his lover of fifty-two years, but the flurry of activity that had suddenly surrounded him was emotionally intense and financially overwhelming. As soon as news of his lover’ s death spread, several people began to pressure him to move from the house on Calumet. Fred Frisbie had told him that he and Slater had discussed the matter and had agreed that if anything happened to Don, Antonio would settle in with him. Schneider suggested that Sanchez should sell the house and live with him in Commerce. Slater’ s cousin, who lived nearby told Sanchez that there had been a lot of seismic damage to the structure of the house and pointed out that the stone foundation was crumbling away. Sanchez was also aware that the steep roof was again beginning to leak. To make matters worse. Slater had purchased the house in Colorado through a VA loan, and since Sanchez did not qualify as surviving partner or spouse, the balance o f the mortgage was imme diately due. Fortunately, Slater and Sanchez had owned everything in joint tenancy; otherwise, Sanchez would have lost much more than the right to carry the mortgage. All were amazed when Sanchez sold the Calumet property to the first offer, and he used the money to pay for the house in Dolores. He moved there as fast as he could to settle in with the one person he felt had been a good friend to him, a neighbor named Hazel. There were several reasons for Sanchez’ s brusque departure. For one, many of the “friends” he had were no longer in the black. “Sugar Daddies and Sugar Mommas were getting hard to come by,” he told me in a bemoaned voice during one telephone interview. Some of his old friend started to call him, having fallen on hard times themselves, and requested that gifts they had given him in better days be returned. Others were no longer around, and some, such as actor Chuck Connors, he believes had died o f AIDS-related illnesses. Suddenly, the old Victo rian home seemed haunted, saturated with memories and brimming with death. Two men approached the surviving officers o f the H IC and offered to help protect its materials. The first was Vern Bullough, who wanted the H IC collection to join with his archives, the Vern and Bonnie Bullough Collection on Human Sexuality at California State University, 289 Northridge. Bullough was immediately allowed to take several of the H IC ’ s duplicate books to CSUN, and more were promised once the materials had been properly sorted. The other to approach the H IC was John O ’Brien, Executive Director of O N E Institute, which in 1994 had merged with Kep net’ s International Gay and Lesbian Archives and Legg’ s Blanche Baker Library. That same year, O N E had become affiliated with the University of Southern California through the efforts of Williams and had been given a building near campus that had previously been occupied by a fraternity. Williams and O ’Brien gave a tour of the new building to the H IC board in 1996, as discussed earlier. The two-story brick structure with its vaulted skylight showed much promise, but it had been heavily vandalized by the exiting frater nity, lacked climate control and adequate office space, and it was in need of major refurbishing inside and out. O ’Brien again invited the board o f H IC to the USC facility days after Slater’ s passing. He assured Schneider, Sanchez, Glover, and Jennings that if they would agree to house their col lection within o n e ’ s new facility, H IC would remain autonomous, and its files and archives would not be simply “merged” or absorbed into the general collection, though the books might be intermingled within O N E’ s stacks. O ’Brien predicted that the renovation would be com pleted within a year, and H IC could then move into its own space, a large area that had formerly been the kitchen. Its books could be shelved with the others in the main library, but H IC would continue to have its own separate files and archives. This offer appealed to Schneider, Glover, and Sanchez, partially because Slater had been a USC alumnus and Jennings had studied cinema there for two years. Jennings, though, remained leery o f the deal. He and Slater had argued before that if O N E wanted the collection so badly, H IC should at least be offered a position on O N E ’ s board. O N E ’ s Board of Directors agreed to this and asked H IC to nominate one o f their members. Schneider was elected to the post, and the H IC decided to move its office and its collection to O N E Institute. 290 As the new President of H IC, Schneider became the custodian of the materials until the renovations were completed. W ith Glover in Louisiana and Sanchez living in Colorado, he alone was responsible for the entire H IC archives. He purchased ten large black filing cabinets for the clippings, correspondence, and newsletters, which he stowed in his company’ s warehouse. The remaining two hundred and seventy-six boxes had to be stored in a separate facility, which he began to pay out of his personal funds. The board of O N E expressed its gratitude, and Schneider was voted back onto the board in the fall o f 1997, thirty-two years after his “dis missal” by Legg. The occasion meant a lot to him. He felt that had made the right choice, and his recently deceased cohorts could rest a little easier because of it. John O ’Brien sent a letter to Billy Glover on April 2, 1997. He began by discussing arrangements for Slater’ s memorial service, which Albert Brecht, co-chair of USC’ s Lambda Alumni Association, was helping to coordinate. O ’Brien noted that USC had committed $50,000 to the “architectural needs” of the building on West Adams, which would be disbursed by July first. An additional $140,000 would be spent after that date to finish the job, not includ ing “other moneys set aside for roof, security and structural foundation work.” O ’Brien stated that work on the building should be completed and the facility open by spring of 1998. He invited the H IC to participate in the grand opening, as a “special invited guest.” He suggested that H IC might want to have its own opening at some point, “which we would of course honor and try to be helpful in providing space and staff support. ” He added, “Several of our special collections have their own activities. We just try to coordinate them, to not conflict if possible in dates and times.” O ’Brien predicted that it would take two years to process the H IC materials, and he offered his assistance to get the job done. He suggested that they work together toward organizing H IC ’ s collection to make it accessible to researchers. He wanted to assess what materials and computer databases would be needed, and to set up a budget to carry out the work. He asked that the H IC “develop close working ties with O N E to help assist in having the building open and the H IC 291 Collection functioning.” He pledged that O NE Institute was “committed to working with HIC to organize and save this important collection.. .1 can assure you that I will do my most to have this history-making alliance between us grown and produce an effort we will be proud of.” The five-page Execute Director’ s Report to the directors of O N E Institute, though, dated the following day on April third, was of a different tone. At least three of those pages detailed his “rescue” and “preservation ” of the H IC ’ s archives. His report described “harsh and unhealthy conditions, ” and he complained of working long hours over ten days with little or no help from others. He did mention other O N E Incorporated assistants, such as Ernie Potvin and Bill Kaiser, and he noted that Kepner had been there for a brief while, too. O ’Brien complained: The only members of H IC to do work were Antonio Sanchez and D on Schneider [sic]. Mr. Schneider helped considerably during the weekends when not at his work in both physical moving and providing boxes, purchasing file cabinets, and providing storage of the file cabinets in his offices. According to Schneider’ s records, there had been two hundred and seventy-six boxes packed with the H IC ’ s collection and historical records after Slater died. Most of them, two hundred and fifty-three boxes, were taken to the Iron Mountain storage facility, where Schneider paid $70 per m onth out of his own pocket to store them. The remaining twenty-three boxes, as overflow, were taken by O ’Brien to be stored with the O NE Institute materials, with the understanding that they would be returned to the H IC once the materials were situated at the West Adams facility. Schneider has since complained that these twenty-three boxes were never returned, though he has found some of the contents circulating among the librarians and some materials, such as original books from the Blanche M. Baker Memorial Library, have been placed on o n e ’ s duplicates rack and sold to the public. Compared to the concern and generosity expressed in his letter to Glover, O ’Brien’ s notes to his colleagues seem harsh and exaggerated. “These were very labor-intensive and unhealthy work conditions and long exhaustive hours,” he complained. “I sat for many hours with a mask on mainly to dust the O N E files and other rarities to box for saving... It was the worst 292 conditions that I have experienced in many years, reminding me of the old IGLA storage areas on Lexington before I joined the board.” He claimed to have found “the original O N E Inc. organizational files and correspondence hidden in the bottom of assorted boxes in no order, throughout the basement and garage.” He explained the significance of this discovery: Don was always worried that someone would steal back these files and thus he hid them. No one had seen them since April 1965. These files contain original papers and many photographs on a W ho’ s W ho of our Movement from 1952 to 1965... In addi tion to all the original O N E Inc. materials and library, we obtained all the papers and books from the H IC that they had acquired since 1965. This included (ironically given the conditions at H IC ’ s archives) the collections of other groups and individuals, that were sent them for safe keeping.” O ’Brien next makes a surprising admission: I decided not to box the original O N E Inc. files and correspondence to be placed in storage with the rest of the H IC collection. It needed immediate attention and it was really not theirs. O n Saturday March 29 Bill Kaiser and I placed them in alphabetical order in file cabinets. We will over the next couple of Saturdays, transfer these folders to better ones. We will then turn them over to be catalogued and filed under O N E Inc., at our Werle building location [in West Hollywood]. His report concludes: “No one has known or seen what these files have contained, for over thirty years. The H IC board members never saw the materials (even Don who kept them in grocery boxes all these years never reviewed them!) ” Yet he also noted that many o f the materials seemed to have been well cared for, and some parts of the collection had been well organized. He noted that Legg had a key to the Cahuenga offices at some point in the 1970s, suggesting that Slater kept some materials accessible and other things hidden. He ends by asserting that if not for his heroic acts, “the H IC collection (and some of the best of O N E Inc.) would all have been lost. ” W hat O ’Brien did not know was that there were multiple copies of all of those documents. These were on file with ISHR and have been made public by ISHR’ s Executive Secretary, Reid Rasmussen. The files that O ’Brien coveted and claimed ownership of were H IC ’ s legitimate historical archives. 293 O ’Brien estimated that it would take up to two years of extensive effort to properly process and archive the H IC materials, and for this funds and a staff would be needed. He said that he would set up a meeting with the H IC board by the end of the month, in order “to proceed with these problems.” This never happened. In the meantime, he pledged to seek financial and volunteer assistance to start the work and also arrange a memorial for Slater at USC. This is all part of our setting up a positive working relationship with H IC members and the easy transfer o f their materials to the new USC building. I hope to have a written agreement of the understanding between H IC and ourselves signed at the end of this month. Once the building is finished the H IC collection will be transferred to this building for processing. And so it was settled. O N E Institute & Archives, with H IC on board as an autonomous special collection, was scheduled to open within the year, with the H IC installed in the area that had been the fraternity’ s kitchen, on the first floor. It was a great space, with plenty of room for the collection, its bookcases and file cabinets— and it would be rent free, as well. It was a wonderful offer, but it never was put into writing. The Death o f Jim Kepner Jim Kepner died after an intestinal operation at Midway Hospital on Saturday, November 15, 1997. He had complained the day before of a stomachache to his friends Walter Williams, John O ’Brien, and Flo Fleishman. Fleishman or O ’Brien took him to the hospital, where it was found he had a perforated intestine. Reparative surgery failed, and seventy-five-year-old Kepner did not survive the procedure. W hen Williams went to collect Kepner’ s personal belongings, the officials asked if he was family. Williams replied that he was. Later, Williams first thought badly about this, but upon reflection he realized that they had become a family, of sorts. As they had worked together toward common goals and the advancement of O N E Institute, O ’Brien, Williams, and Fleishman had become a kindred of sorts. No matter what others might say, they knew this to be truth— they were indeed Kepner’ s family. ^ ^ 294 At his passing, Kepner was remembered as one of the true first and greatest pioneer jour nalists of the homophile movement. His memorial service was held at the Samuel Goldwyn Theater of the Academy of M otion Picture Arts and Sciences in Beverly Hills, and it was truly an elaborate affair. Hundreds of prominent gay and lesbian activists were in attendance, and the list o f speakers included Urvashi Vaid, Malcolm Boyd, Mark Thompson, Lisa Ben, Hal Call, Del Martin, Phyllis Lyon, Jose Sarria, and Harry Hay. I arrived to help Professor Williams distribute information on O N E Institute to the attendees. It was here that I first met Jim Schneider, who was distributing Joe Hansen s biography of Don Slater, A Few Doors West o f Hope and promot ing the HIC. Shoulder to shoulder with Schneider, I helped to greet hundreds of other gay and lesbian pilgrims, many who had traveled great distances to pay their respects for this man. I was at once humbled and invigorated by the experience, which Paul Cain has rightly called “the most illustrious assemblage ever of gay movement leaders” (2002, 26). Though the call for the occasion was a sad one, I cannot imagine a finer inauguration or welcoming in to the rank and file of the homosexual rights movement than the one I experienced that night. The Death of Dale Jennings In the summer of 1998, Jennings moved from the apartment on Calumet to Schneider’ s house in Commerce, as it was clear that he could no longer take care of himself alone. At first, Schneider was happy to have the company, but within weeks of his moving in, he realized that Jennings was having a hard time remembering even simple things. Concerned, he took Jennings in for testing, where he was diagnosed with Parkinson’ s. Jennings volunteered for a study for a promising new drug under development, but he knew that ultimately, there was nothing that could be done for him. Jennings would end his days as his sister had, suffering from senile dementia and brain degeneration. W ith the assistance of Schneider, he was admitted to the Del Rio Convalescent Center, nearby Schneider’ s house. Thanks to the efforts of Schneider, Jennings was able to secure the only private room on the premises. 295 William Dale Jennings died on May 11, 2000. Schneider was present with him as he passed. It was an experience that had a profound effect on Schneider, one he has described many times to those would listen. The day after Jennings’ s passing, Schneider and Williams drafted an obituary, announcing the death of this forgotten pioneer. They contacted me for help in distributing the release, which I published on the ONE/IGLA web site and faxed to newspapers all over the country. The story was picked up in a few gay newspapers, such as the Las Vegas Bugle. The Los Angeles Times pub lished a cursory obituary on Friday, May 19 (in which I was erroneously referred to as a “friend of Jennings”). The New York Times published a more detailed obituary on Monday, May 22, by Dudley Clendinen, that reprinted a photo of an old passport photo of young Dale Jennings that the H IC provided. Schneider arranged to have Jennings cremated, as he had Slater three years before. He sent the ashes to Jennings’ s cousin, Patrick Dale Porter, who was living in northern California. Porter received the ashes on May 26, and he wrote to Schneider that he would be scattering them off shore near Trinidad, where Jennings had lived in the 1970s. After years of strife, frustration, anxiety, and poverty. Dale Jennings could finally rest. W ith Jennings gone, and most of the H IC materials stored in Iron Mountain, the organi zation’ s future rested with Schneider. W ith Glover in Louisiana, Hansen in Laguna Beach, and Sanchez in Colorado, he felt alone for the first time in decades. All he could do was pay the bills and keep the organization intact, while keeping an eye out for those who would help. The H IC was down, but it was not out. In time, it was hoped, the materials would be safe in the facility at USC, and H IC would have an office from which to regroup and press on. In the mean time, there was a lot of work to be done. The Teacup of History This dissertation has told of the social history of the homosexual rights movement, as it originated and has been continued in Los Angeles, California. It has attempted to relate 296 the history of several organizations over the period o f over fifty years, as constructed through participant observation and life history interviews from several of the surviving elder pioneers of that movement. After finding that the history of the local movement as it had been perpetuated in pub lished was erroneous in many ways, I discovered Jennings’ s report to the H IC where he wrote of his unfortunate meeting with O ’Brien, in which he told the story of the Danish woman who mistakenly ordered an entire set of chipped teacups, asking that her damaged original be dupli cated. Motivated by that allegory, I attempted to repair the chip in the teacup of gay history by cross-checking and verifying the facts as I found them. Rather than rely on a few brief interviews with one or two key consultants, I have interviewed many o f my consultants repeatedly and at length and have not been afraid to ask difficult questions in order to get the story right, or to send a quick e-mail or place a phone call to clarify a point or perspective. Where memory has failed, corporate and government records have been a crucial resource, especially in nailing down specific dates and verbiage used in contractual agreements. In researching the fifteen year history prior to the infamous split of April 27, 1965, I found that the while the corporation was born out of a common need— the repeal of the sodomy laws and equal rights for homosexuals— the individuals involved banded together to form not only a corporate network but established bonds of friendship so strong that they became as a kin to one another. As these pioneers grew old together, they began to realize that they needed each other in ways they had not anticipated. The history o f the movement since the split stands as testament to the durability of these bonds, as when Jim Schneider invited Jennings into his home when he was diagnosed with Alzheimer’ s and when he attempted to comfort Sanchez after the death of his lover of fifty years. Two patterns have emerged as I have compiled this history that deserve mention. First, most of the activists, with the exception of Slater, moved to Los Angeles from other places, es pecially the Midwest. Like Jim Schneider, many o f them brought a heartland ethic of hard work 297 and family devotion with them when they migrated to Los Angeles, and once here, they wanted to reach out to the homosexual contingency that remained. This explains the emphasis these people had on publication and the dissemination of information and history on homosexuality to those not in the west coast urban centers. A second pattern of note is that a great majority of these activists were in long-term relationships. Even Billy Glover, the corporate playboy when he first joined with ONE, settled down for a long-term relationship once he met Melvin Cain. This shows that those who are able to dedicate themselves to an organization for a long duration are also likely to form personal relationships that are equally enduring. One of the things that has haunted my consultants in their later years is the fear that they had been forgotten by the movement that they helped to begin, and in many ways, they have been. While some, such as Joseph Hansen, are occasionally remembered in the gay press, none except for perhaps Bullough have the notoriety or the income that they had in earlier years. Hansen himself often said that he felt in his latter days that he was “living at the bottom of the food chain,” and while he was too proud to ask for assistance from his friends, it was largely through their help that he was able to survive. W hen Hansen died last November, it fell to his cohorts from the H IC to distribute the press release and to help his transgendered son, Jamie, to get through the difficult times. As these pioneers have aged, moving toward the inevitable end, they have rekindled their affection for each other and turned increasingly to one another as family. While it was not the intention of this study to conclude with a discussion of gay kinship, the experience of these elders show that these are the pressing issues with gays as they grow older, especially after the death of a life mate or long-term partner. I plan to write more on this in future papers and publications. (Footnotes) ' David Cameron interview by Holly Devor, dated May 14, 1996. Interview notes provided by ISHR. 298 ^ From an unpublished draft manuscript “ A History of the Milbank/McFie Estate,” by David G. Cameron, as provided by ISHR. ^ Reed Erickson et al. v. W. Dorr Leg et al. “ Appeal: Respondent’ s Brief,” by Thomas Hunter Russell and Robert A. Wynn. Filed on October 16, 1991. Document provided by ISHR. A copy of this document was provided by ISHR. ^ According to Holly Devor, Erickson and Evangelina Trujillo Armendairz were married in Baton Rouge in 1967. This was Erickson’ s third marriage (2002, 385). ^ Letter to Erickson from Legg dated April 2, 1984 ^ Walter Williams persuaded Call to donate this money back to ISHR to establish a scholarship fund in Call’ s name. ^ Fall/winter 1994? ^ Dated Jan. 30, 1995 See Timmons 1990, 144 Williams, personal communication, November 16, 1997. 299 References Cited Alwood, Edward. 1996. Straight News: Gays, Lesbians, and the News Media. New York; Columbia University Press. Archer, Bert. 2002. The End o f Gay (and the Death o f Heterosexuality). New York: Thunder’ s M outh Press. Bailey, E G. 2001. Stratagems and Spoils: A Social Anthropology o f Politics. 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Bunker Hill Ave. 6 - Residence of Harry Hay, 2328 Cove Ave. 7 - Residence of Jim Kepner, 2141 Baxter St. 8 — Residence of Bill Lambert, 27'^ and Dalton 9 — Los Angeles City College 10 — Residence of Chuck Rowland, 417 S. Coronado 1 1 - Later residence of Don Slater and Antonio Sanchez, 1354 Calumet. Rudi Steinert lived nearby, 1411 Calumet (and later Dale Jennings). 310 Map of the Silver Lake and Echo Park Areas S anta M )nica Blvd CL M elrose Ave Beverly Blvd o - W. A dam s Blvd. 311 Appendix 2: Pseudonyms and Acronyms Pseudonyms Real Name Roy Berquist Merton L. Bird Monwell Boyfrank Joan Corbin Gregory Coren Edythe Eyde Fred Frisbie Jack Gibson Billy Glover Barbara Grier Joseph Fiansen Jane Hansen Henry (Harry) Hay Ann Holmquist Ross Ingersoll W. Dale Jennings Jim Kepner William Lambert/Dorr Legg “Mac” McNeal Robert “Bob” Newton Betty Perdue Arthur A. Peters Chuck Rowland Stella Rush Edward Sagarin Chuck Samson Helen Sandoz Donald Slater Rudi Steinert Merrit M. Thompson Joe Weaver Bailey Whitaker Irma “Corky” Wolf Pseudonym(s) Rolf Berlinson M. Byrd, Guy Rousseau Manuel Boy Frank Eve Ellory Gregory Carr Lisa Ben George Mortenson Leslie Colfax W E. G. Mclntire Gene Damon James Colton Jane Race Eann MacDonald Ann Bannon Marcel Martin Heironymous K, Elizabeth Lalo, R. Noone, Jeff Winters John or Jane Anold, Dal McIntyre, Lyn Pederson, Frank Golovitz Hollister Barnes, Marvin Cutler, Richard Conger, Alison Hunter, Wendy Lane K. O. Neal Robert Earl Geraldine Jackson Fritz Peters David L. Freeman, Don Fry. Sten Russell Donald Webster Cory Chuck Thompson Helen Sanders, Ben Cat Leslie Colfax, Gregory James, Dal Mclntire Rudy H. Stewart Thomas M. Merritt Joe Aaron Guy Rousseau Ann Carll Reid Corporate Pseudonyms Cal, Del, Hal, Sal, or Val Mclntire (ONE Inc. after I960) Robert Gregory (first used by Julian “Woody” Underwood) Ursula Enters Copely (HIC) 312 Acronyms Acronym Full Name ACLU American Civil Liberties Union CCOE Citizens’ Committee to Outlaw Entrapment DOB Daughters of Bilitis EEF Erickson Educational Foundation GMMC Gay Men’ s Medicine Circle HIC Homosexual Information Center IGLA International Gay and Lesbian Achives ISHR Institute for the Study of Human Resources NACHO North American Conference of Homophile Organizations OIQ ONE Institute Quarterly SOLGA Society of Lesbian and Gay Anthropologists Appendix 3: Dramatis Personae Martin Block: Owner of Studio Bookshop in Hollywood Blvd. in the 1950s. An original founder of ONE, Inc. and editor of ONE Magazine. Monwell Boyfrank. Joined ONE at the urging of his friend Henry Gerber. Replaced Morgan Farley as a board member in 1963. Sided with Legg after the 1965 division. Vern Bullough: Worked with Slater and Legg to have the Southern California ACLU defend homosexuals in 1965- John Burnside. Long term companion to Harry Hay. Elected to ONE s board and resigned on the same night. Melvin Cain. Met Billy Glover on Nov. 22, 1963 and began to volunteer for ONE, Incorpo rated. Joan Corbin. As “Eve Ellory,” primary artist for ONE Magazine. Reed Erickson. Founder of ISHR, he served as its President for 15 years. Purchaser of the Milbank Estate. Morgan Farley. Helped ONE to find and secure the Venice Street office in 1962. Fred Frisbie. Early member of Mattachine and long-term supporter of ONE, Incorporated and friend to Dorr Legg. In 1961, replaced Kepner as President of ONE, Inc. Billy Glover. Began volunteering for ONE, Incorporated after moving to Los Angeles in 1962. Currently Vice President of the HIC. Joseph Hansen. Began writing for ONE Magazine in 1961. With his wife Jane, helped to found the HIC in 1968 and to produce and edit Tangents magazine. Helped to organize the first Gay Pride parade in June 1970 as HIC s representative to Christopher Street West. A director of the HIC until his death in November, 2004. 313 Harry Hay. Founder of Mattachine in Silver Lake, in 1950. Helped to organize the 1966 Motorcade protesting the exclusion of homosexuals in the military. Hay is largely considered the father of the contemporary Gay movement. Ross Ingersoll. Editor of ONE Magazine after Jim Kepner s resignation in 1961. Continued to work with Slater after the 1965 split of ONE Inc. and subsequent transition from ONE Maga zine lo Tangents. Dale Jennings (1917— 2000): Among the first five founders of Mattachine and first Editor of ONE Magazine. First Secretary-Treasure of ONE, Inc. Resigned from ONE for unknown reasons on March 22, 1954. EricJulber. Attorney who helped to incorporate ONE in 1953. Fought for the right to distribute ONE Magazine through the mail, landing a significant Supreme Court victory in 1958. Kight, Morris. Chairman and founder of Christopher Street West and organizer of the first Gay Pride Parade, June 1970. William Lambert/Dorr Legg: As William Lambert, among the first officers of ONE, Incorpo rated. As Dorr Legg, one of the founders and key administrators of ONEs education division, ONE Institute of Homophile Studies. John D. “Jack” Gibson. As “Leslie Colfax,” worked with Don Slater to invent the library system used to catalog ONEs archives. Jim Kepner An editor of ONE Magazine from the resignation of Jennings in March of 1953 until I960. President of ONE Inc. from until his resignation in I960. Chuck Rowland. One of the first five founders of Mattachine. Believed with Hay that homo sexuals comprised a cultural minority. Stella Rush. Director of ONE, Incorporated from 1955 until resigning in I960. Served on the editorial board for eighteen months prior to her resignation. Chet Sampson. Owned a travel agency. Coordinated the second trip to Europe in 1965. Jim Schneider. Volunteer for ONE Inc. since 1962. Current President of the HIC. Herb Selwyn. Attorney who incorporated Mattachine Society in 1954 and signed the Aticles of Incorporation for HIC. One of the few attorneys in Los Angeles who would represent people accused of homosexual acts during the 1950s. Donald Slater. A founding editor of ONE Magazine and First Vice-President of ONE, Inc. Rudi Steinert. One of the first students of ONE Institute, in the fall of 1956. Long-time friend and neighbor to Slater and Sanchez on Calumet. Conducted ONEs first European tour in 1965. Merritt M. Thompson. Professor of Education at USC. Dean of ONE Institute since its incep tion in 1956. Bailey Whitaker. African-American schoolteacher who helped create ONE Magazine and proposed the name ONE, after a line from a poem by Thomas Carlyle. Irma “Corl^/” Wolf. As “ Ann Carll Reid,” Editor of ONE Magazine after Jennings's resignation in 1954. 314 Appendix 4: Time Line of Significant Events 1912 Harry Hay is born in Sussex, England. 1923 July 19: Joseph Hansen is born in Aberdeen, South Dakota. Aug. 21: Don Slater is born in Pasadena, California. Aug. 19; Infant James Kepner, Jr. is discovered under an oleander bush in Galveston, Texas. 1934 Harry Hay joins the Communist party. 1943 Joseph Hansen marries Jane Bancroft. 1944 Feb.: Don Slater enrolls at the University of Southern California. 1945 Don Slater and Antonio Sanchez meet in Pershing Square, near downtown Los Angeles. 1947 June: Edyth Eyde, as “Lisa Ben,” distributes the first copy of Vice V ersa to her friends. 1948 Aug: Hay brings the idea for a homosexual organization up at a party hosted by USC students. 1950 President Eisenhower signs Executive Order 10450, citing “ sexual perversions” as reasons for preventing homosexuals from being employed by the federal government. James Barrs Quatrefoil published by Greenberg. Nov. 11 : Harry Hay, Rudy Gernreich, Bob Hull, Chuck Rowland, and Dale Jennings meet to discuss Hays prospectus calling on the “ androgynes of the world” to unite. Mattachine is born. 1951 Donald Webster Cory’ s The Homosexual in America published. James Barr’ s Derricks published by Greenberg. The “Black Cat ” case in San Francisco leads the California Supreme Court to rule that “homo sexuals, like all other citizens, had the right to assemble and be served in bars, resturants [sic], theaters or elsewhere, and that no discrimination could be enforced on them or on the propriet- ros [sic] because of homosexuality” (ONE Confidential, Winter 1958, 7). 1952 June 23: Trial of Dale Jennings begins and lasts for ten days. 315 Oct. 15; Mattachine Discussion Group in home of Bill Lambert. Idea proposed to publish a magazine dedicated to homosexuality. Dale Jennings, “Don E,” “John B.,” Bill Lambert, and Martin Block attend. Oct. 22: Committee met to continue to explore the idea of the magazine, in the home of “ John B.” Dale Jennings, Chuck Rowland, Martin Block, Bill Lambert, Don Slater, and the host were present. Oct. 29: Committee meets again, in home of Mattachine attorney Fred Snider. Legal questions were discussed, such as how to obtain a city license and mail permit and how to form a corpora tion or organization. The means of creating and distributing a magazine were also addressed. Martin Block, Don Slater, Dale Jennings, Bailey Whitaker, and Bill Lambert were present. Discussion ensued as to what to title the magazine. Nov. 5: Dale Jennings, Martin Block, “Cliff,” “Don E,” Bailey Whitaker, Bill Lambert, Don Slater, and “Bill J.” meet in the home of “Cliff” to discuss names for the magazine. Aound twenty-five names are proposed and eliminated, with BRIDGE and WEDGE retained as pos sibilities. Nov. 12: Martin Block, Dale Jennings, Don Slater, Bill Lambert, and Antonio Sanchez meet in the home of Jennings. It was decided to make the magazine a pocket-sized monthly. Methods of printing and distribution were also discussed. Nov. 16: Meeting at the residence of Bill Lambert. Discussion of how the corporation should be structured. Charters of two existing corporations were presented for use as models; the offer to adopt either was declined. Merton Bird, of the Knights of the Clock, suggests merging the two organizations. The offer was declined. Proposed structure of the Editorial Board and Advisory Council was presented. Martin Block, Bill Lambert, Bailey Whitaker, Merton Bird, Dale Jennings, and Don Slater were in attendance. 1953 Evelyn Hooker, prompted by Christopher Isherwood, contacts the Mattachine Society in search of subjects for her study of differences between male homosexuals and heterosexuals. Jan.: Premier of ONE Magazine, edited by Martin Block, Dale Jennings, and Don Slater, with William Lambert as Business Manager and Donald Webster Cory as Contributing Editor. Jim Kepner brought to his first meeting of Mattachine by his friend and neighbor Betty Perdue. Feb. 7: ONE Incorporated’ s Aticles of Incorporation filed with the Secretary of State in Sacramento. April 11 : Mattachine Foundation decides to form a new organization: Mattachine Society is born. Later, a second conference convenes to create a new constitution for the organization. May 27: ONE Incorporated’ s Charter for the Corporation granted by the State of California. May: Mattachine adopts a democratic constitution. The Mattachine Foundation is formally dissolved, and the Mattachine Society is formed in its place. June: Martin Block retires as editor of ONE Magazine. Dale Jennings takes over the position. Sept. 2: Postmaster of Los Ageles confiscates an issue of ONE Magazine that featured an article on homosexual marriage. Attorney EricJulber secured the release of the issue on Sept. 18. Oct 16: ONE, Incorporated’ s bylaws filed with Secretary of State, Sacramento, CA 316 Nov. 14: Dale Jennings gives a speech at the Mattachine Society Banquet. ONE moves into an office at 232 S. Hill Street, downtown Los Angeles. 1954 Jan. 3: Second Annual Meeting. Jan. 21: Dorr Legg becomes Chairman of the Board for ONE Inc. Feb. 21: Business Meeting. Ben Tabor voted as a corporate member. Later (3/31) this action was ruled “out of order” and thus invalid. March 22: Dale Jennings resigns as editor of ONE', Irma “Corky” Wolf, as “ Ann Carll Reid,” becomes editor. March 31 : Special Meeting of the Board of Directors. Irma Wolf and Bill Lambert were in attendance. Wolf was appointed secretary pro-tem. Don Slater appointed to serve as a director in place of Dale Jennings, who had resigned. October: Issue of ONE Magazine withheld from distribution by Postal Authorities in Los Ange les as obscene and un-mailable. 1955 Jan.: ONEs education division, ONE Institute of Homophile Studies, sponsors a Midwinter Institute, its first public function. Third annual meeting. Feb. 27: Date of Jim Kepner s first letter of resignation from ONE, Incorporated. ONE begins selling books through its Book Service. ONE, Inc. publishes Game of Fools: A Play, by James (Barr) Fugate, limited to 2,000 copies. 1956 Jan.: Second Annual Midwinter Institute. Theme: “ American Homosexuals: 1950— 1955.” Fourth Annual Meeting. March 1, 1956: Chuck Rowland resigns as head of ONE s Social Service Division. W. Dorr Legg, as Marvin Cutler, edits and publishes Homosexuals Today, 1956, through the Publications Division of ONE, Incorporated. Summer: ONE s Educational Division committee reports of severe deficiencies in the academic study of homosexuality. The board of directors accepts the committee’ s recommendations, and ONE Institute for Homophile Studies is created, which begins offering nine-week courses to the officers and volunteers of ONE, Incorporated later in the fall. Due to pressure from law enforcement agencies, including the Attorney General’ s office in CA, the Alcoholic Beverage Control Commission “ordered to suspend the liquor licenses of bars serving homosexuals” and “sex perverts” (ONE Confidential, winter 1958, 7). 1957 Jan. 25: Fifth annual meeting. Wolf, Legg, and Kepner re-elected to the Board of Directors. 317 Third Annual Midwinter Institute, beginning Jan. 26. Theme: “The Homosexual Answers his Critics.” Harry Hay delivers a two-hour lecture on “The Homophile in Search of a Historical Context and Cultural Contiguity.” Jan. 27: Dramatic presentation made, scenes from Mama Doll, a yet-unpublished play by James Barr Fugate. Feb: ONE loses its case in Ninth District Court in San Francisco and decides to appeal. Oct. 15: Wolf resigns. Slater is elected to stand in for her until the next Annual Meeting. 1958 Jan. 13: ONE Inc. wins a major Supreme Court Victory. Jan. 15: Business meeting. Education Division recommends the publication of a scholarly journal. Motion to create ONE Institute Quarterly for Homophile Studies passed unanimously. Jan. 31 : Sixth Annual Meeting. ONE Institute Quarterly announced. Don Slater elected a Direc tor to fill in for the last two years of Irma Wolf’ s term. Jan. 31— Feb. 2: Annual Midwinter Institute. Theme: “Homosexuality: A Way of Life.” June 6: ONE Institute Quarterly published, the first scholarly journal in the United States dedicated to homosexual scholarship. Jim Kepner, Thomas M. Merritt (Merritt M. Thompson), and William Dorr Legg were the primary editors. Aug: Jim Kepner hired full-time “to organized and manage a book club with a view to offering a better service for our subscribers and a better financial return for ONE” (1958 Ann. Report) o n e ’ s book service now carried 130 different titles. Dec. 6: William Lambert attends the “Progress Survey, Workshop and Seminar,” hosted by the Mattachine Society in San Francisco. 1959 Mattachine Conference in Denver. Billy Glover attends and decides to become an activist. Jan. 30— Feb. 1 : Seventh Annual Business Meeting and Midwinter Institute. Feb. 1 : Dramatic presentation: two one-act plays by Doyle Eugene Livingston. Antonio Sanchez performed a Spanish dance. Dramatic readings by Rachel Rosenthal and Morgan Farley. April 19: ONE Institute sponsored dramatic event: poetry reading by Morgan Farley and homosexually themed folk songs by “Lisa Ben. ” Dec.: Jim Schneider contacts Don Slater at ONE Inc. and becomes an active volunteer for the organization. 1960 Jan. 29: Eighth Annual Business Meeting. Ron Longworth and Clarence Harrison were nomi nated and elected as new voting Members. Triennial Elections of Directors: Voting members James Kepner, W. Dorr Legg, and Don Slater elected to serve as officers for terms ending the last Friday evening in January 1963. Jan. 29— 31 : Annual Midwinter Institute. Theme; The Homosexual in Society. 318 Jan. 31: Game of Fools performed, by James Barr Fugate. Chuck Taylor directed. November 1: date of Jim Kepner s letter to the Members of ONE in which he claims he had resigned from the office of Chairman the week prior due to “recurrent and seemingly unavoid able personal frictions and fundamental policy disagreements.” November 15: Date of Jim Kepner s second letter of resignation from ONE, Incorporated. December 11 : Death of Dr. Blanche M. Baker. December 16: Fred Frisbie, as “George Mortenson,” begins serving as Director of ONE, Inc. in place of Jim Kepner. Frisbie serves as Chairman of the Board through 1962. 1961 Joseph Hansen meets Don Slater and begins writing for ONE Magazine. Jan. 26— 29: Seventh Annual Midwinter Institute and the Homosexual Bill of Rights fiasco. Jan. 27: Ninth Annual Business Meeting. Jan. 28: ONE Institute sponsored dramatic presentation. “Marionettes in Camp,” by Hank Rabey. Anonio Sanchez performed a Spanish dance. Spring 1961: National Mattachine Society dissolves (Kaiser 1997, 139). Nov.: Jack Nichols and Franklin Kameny found the Mattachine Society in Washington, DC. Stella Rush resigns from ONE’ s editorial board. 1962 January 26— 28: Tenth annual business meeting held, 232 South Hill Street. George Mortenson, Chairman; Don Slater, Vice Chairman; William Lambert, Secretary-Treasurer. Jan. 28; ONE Institute sponsored dramatic presentation: “ An Afternoon in the Theater,” read ings, songs, and dances. Antonio Sanchez, director. (Legg 1994: 263) May 1: ONE Inc. moves to Venice Blvd. May 6: ONE Institute sponsored dramatic presentation: “Cavafy, His Personality and Poetry,” an impersonation by Rudi Steinert. September 17: Fall semester begins at ONE Institute for Homophile Studies, with courses taught by Don Slater, Morgan Farley and W. Dorr Legg. 1963 Jan. 25: Eleventh Annual Meeting. Manuel Boyfrank and Rudolph H. Steinert become voting members. Board of Directors: Joseph Aaron, W. Dorr Legg, and Manuel Boyfrank. Legg acts as Chairman through 1963. John Rechys City o f Night pnhMshcà by Grove Press. 1964 Joseph Hansen, as James Colton, publishes Lost on Twilight Road. The Institute for the Study of Human Resources (ISHR) founded. 319 Jan. 15: Manuel Boyfrank gives letter of resignation, due to health, at a Board meeting chaired by Bill Lambert. According to Slater: “It was printed in our agenda for the members to act upon, to get ready for this action, and at the time of the annual meeting.. .the matter was not discussed, though it had been on the agenda and others, esp. Slater, requested it be discussed and protested when it was ignored by the chair.” Jan. 25— 26: Twelfth Annual Business Meeting, chaired by Joe Weaver, as “Joseph Aaron.” Boyfrank acted as secretary. Members present: Antonio Sanchez, Rudi Steinert, Bill Lambert, Manuel Boyfrank, Joe Weaver, and Don Slater. Weaver becomes Chairman and remains so until his resignation. Aug. 15: Date of Manuel Boyfrank’ s letter to Don Slater admitting that the organization was “ paralyzed” and at an impasse with no compromise possible due to “cross purposes and diver gences of opinion.” Sept. 9: Rudi Steinert sends a letter to Chairman Joe Aaron requesting a Corporate Meeting. 1965 Jan. 29 and 30, Feb. 5: Thirteenth Annual Business Meeting. Adjourned session continued Feb. 5 at 8:00 p.m. Sanchez present 12/29. Slater present 2/5. Steinert not present at any session; Legg and Boyfrank present in all. April 13: Don Slater requests a Corporate Meeting to convene at 5 p.m. on Sunday, April 13, “ to take action upon the critical situation which has developed in the Editorial Board of ONE Magazine. ” April 18: Slater, Sanchez, and Glover move ONEs library and office to Cahuenga Blvd., calling themselves “The Tangent Group,” after a regular column usually written by Kepner, asserting that they were “the majority of legally elected board members of ONE.” Legg and Kepner referred to the event as “the heist,” and Slater preferred the term “mutiny.” April 21: Dorr Legg calls a business meeting of the Members of ONE to convene at 5:00 p.m., Sunday, April 25, in the corporate offices on Venice Blvd., “to transact such business as may arise.” April 23: Weaver resigns from the Corporation due to outside work issues and the “present corporate dillema” [sic]. April 25: Business meeting. Dorr Leggs Venice Group votes to remove Don Slater from membership. May 12: Jim Schneider writes a letter to Don Slater asking for an explanation of his actions. May 16: Rudi Steinert and Antonio Sanchez are removed from membership in Leggs faction of ONE, Inc. Slater not notified of a board meeting held on April 25, but when he showed up at a corporation meeting later that day, he was not allowed to speak. May 18: Jim Schneider removed from ONE Inc.’ s board in a letter from Mon well Boyfrank. The Institute for the Study of Human Resources (ISHR) incorporated and granted non-profit 501(c)(3) status. July 21 : Dorr Legg’ s faction, acting as ONE, Incorporated, files suit against “Donald Rutherford Slater, Antonio Sanchez, William Edward Glover, Joseph Hansen, Rudolph N. Steinert, et al. for possession of property, for damages for conversion, and for conjunctive relief.” In a separate filing, Manuel Boyfrank, as Secretary-Treasurer of ONE, Inc., files a Declaration for Claim and Delivery of Personal Property. Both complaints were filed by Hillel Chodos, Attorney at Law, case number 864824. 320 July 27: First public meeting of Mattachine Midwest July 30th: Summons and new restraining order issued on behalf of plaintiff, as mentioned above, case number 864824. Aug. 2: The Los Angeles Sheriffs Department confiscates the materials in question from the Cahuenga office. Don Slater and the Tangent Group served with a summons and a temporary restraining order. Aug. 12: Edward Raiden, representing Don Slater, Antonio Sanchez, Rudolph H. Steinert, and ONE, Incorporated, files cross-complaint in case number 864824. Aug. 13: First court hearing for case number 864824. The complaint and cross-complaint are consolidated and transferred to 16. A second hearing is set for Sept. 23rd. Aug. 19: Leggs faction files the Answer to Cross-Complaint, asserting that Slater, Sanchez, and Steinert had been removed from voting membership form ONE, Incorporated on May 16, 1965, and therefore had no right to file their complaint of 8/12 on the organizations behalf. Sept. 16: Don Slaters deposition taken in the law offices of Hillel Chodos, in Beverly Hills. 1966 Feb. 19— 20: Don Slater attends the National Planning Conference of Homophile Organizations held in Kansas City where a launch is planned of a national campaign to protest the exclusion of homosexuals by the US Military. May 21: Los Angeles Motorcade in protest of the exclusion of homosexuals from the U.S. Armed Forces. 1967 Feb. 11: Rally outside of the Black Cat Bar in Los Angeles. Sept: The Los Angeles Advocate hcpns publication. Dec. 16: The Tangent Group sponsors the play. The Women, with all roles played by men. 1968 July: Frank Kameny coins the slogan, “Gay is Good,” inspired by the “Black is Beautiful” slogan/chant of New York civil rights protesters. Oct.: Twelve homosexual Christians meet in the Los Angeles home of Rev. Troy Perry, the first assembly of what was to become the Metropolitan Community Church, “the first congregation in the country to identify itself publicly as a gay church” (Kaiser 143). Nov. 4: Articles of Incorporation filed in Sacramento for the HIC, accepted by Secretary of State Frank M. Jordan. 1969 June 22: Judy Garland dies in London of an accidental drug overdose. June 28, 1:20 a.m.: Police raid the Stonewall in Greenwich Village, New York, and are met with resistance. Gay Liberation Front (GLF) founded. 321 1970 Jan.: Gay Activists Alliance (GAA) founded in New York. Tangents ceases publication. Joseph Hansen publishes Fadeout, the first David Brandstetter mystery novel. 1971 March: Homosexual Information Center is granted exemption from federal income tax under section 501(c)(3) of the Internal Revenue Code. The House that found a Home published, Jim Kepner s book on Jim Schneider s ordeal of nearly losing his home through imminent domain. 1972 Jim Kepner founds the International Gay and Lesbian Archives (IGLA) in Hollywood. 1974 National Gay Task Force founded by Bruck Voeller, former chairperson of GAA 1976 Vern Bullough, Jim Kepner, Barrett W. Elcano, and W. Dorr Leggs two-volume Annotated Bibliography of Homosexuality published by Garland Publishing, Inc. 1977 November: Harvey Milk elected to San Franciscos city council. 1978 Nov: Harvey Milk assassinated by Dan White. 1979 Jim Kepner incorporates the National Gay Archives. 1981 ONE Institute’ s Graduate School of Homophile Studies begins. California State Department of Private Postsecondary Education authorizes ONE Institute Graduate School to offer a program of courses leading to the Master of Arts and Doctor of Philosophy degrees in Homophile Studies. 1983 ONE Inc. moves from Venice Blvd. to Arlington Hall, a large estate in the Pico/Arlington district of Los Angeles, thanks to a grant from Reed Erickson. 1984 Jim Kepner’ s National Gay Archives becomes the International Gay and Lesbian Archives (IGLA), housed at 1654 North Hudson Street, off of Hollywood Blvd. 1986 April: The Bowers v. Hardwick Supreme Court decision denies gays and lesbians protection from state laws. 322 1987 Oct. 11: March on Washington. 1994 ONE Institutes library merges with Kepner s IGLA to form ONE Institute/International Gay and Lesbian Archives (ONE/IGLA). June 10: Dale Jennings interviewed by Edward Alwood. July 26/7: Dorr Legg dies in his sleep. ONE Institute ceases activities as an educational facility. 1996 Merger of ISHR and ONE Inc., with ISHR the surviving corporation and ONE Inc. the merg ing corporation. 1997 Feb. 14: Don Slater dies. Walter Williams, with the help of John Waiblinger and Ernie Potvin, launches the International Gay and Lesbian Review as an online publication of ONE Institute Press, web-hosted by USC. Nov. 15: Jim Kepner dies. About that time, HICs president Jim Schneider is also elected onto Board of Directors for ONE Institute. 1998 May 22: Jim Kepner s Memorial Service, at the Samuel Goldwyn Theatre of the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences. June: Todd White moves to La Crescenta from Las Vegas and enrolls as a Ph.D. student in Anthropology at USC. Soon after, Ernie Potvin dies. White takes over the ONE Institute web site and becomes an Associate Editor of the International Gay and Lesbian Review. Oct: John O ’Brien resigns as Director of ONE/IGLA. 2000 May 11: Dale Jennings dies of respiratory failure at Specialty Hospital, La Mirada, CA. June 25: Memorial Service for Dale Jennings, emceed by HIC president Jim Schneider and ONE board member Stuart Timmons. This is the first public event at ONE Institute’ s USC facility. ONE/IGLA changes its name to ONE Institute & Archives. 2004 Nov. 23: Joseph Hansen dies of respiratory failure in his Laguna Beach home. 323 Appendix 5: Methods The research that culminated in this dissertation began as two distinct biographical as signments. The first was to edit and direct a short film, through a course in documentary filmmaking I took in the fall semester of 1998 entitled ONE: A Tribute to Jim Kepner, which was broadcast on TrojanVision at the conclusion of the term in December. For this project, I recorded extended interviews with Walter Williams, John O ’Brien, and Reverend Florene Fleishman, associates of the late Jim Kepner who had worked closely with him over many years. At the same time, I was enrolled in a seminar on GLBT studies that Williams taught through the Gender Studies department. W4ien Dale Jennings died in 2000, Williams and Schneider asked that I help to distribute an obituary and conduct a memorial service, and so I began to learn more about Jennings. The more I read, the more curious I became. About this time, I heard that Vern Bullough was compiling a book of biographical profiles, and I offered my assistance if needed. He assigned to me chapters on Jennings and Schneider, and so I set out to learn all I could about the roles and histories of these two pioneers. From there, the project continued to grow. I continued my interviews with the elders of the movement, expanding my list of con sultants as I continued to work for both the H IC and O N E Institute, as described in the introduction. I became particularly interested in the collection under Schneider’ s care, the H IC collection. W hen Schneider asked that I help inventory and process the collection, I agreed and we set about unpacking the materials. We first sorted through the boxes and began to compile an inventory. Then Schneider and I, with a few volunteers, sorted the contents onto bookcases according to topic: books, magazines, newspapers yet to clip, files, and office supplies. We evaluated the books and, thanks to the many bookcases donated by H IC board member Joseph Hansen, were able to sort them into discrete sections: art, poetry, fiction, theater, history, social sciences, natural sciences, women’ s studies, psychology, anthropology philosophy and religion. 324 Thanks to the library records as kept by Don Slater, we were able to figure out which books were a part of the original library of ONE, Incorporated, the nations oldest surviving corporate archives dedicated to homosexuality, and we began to create an inventory of those materials and to those materials aside, when discovered, for special archiving. H IC s database manager, John Richards, created a FileMaker Pro database in which these titles are being cataloged and their provenance recorded by a crew of volunteers. Though their efforts, the library is being virtually reconstructed and will soon be available over the Internet. In the meantime, Schneider and I have worked with Vern Bullough, Tony Gardner, and Susan Parker at California State University, Northridge to archive H IC s more valuable books in their Special Collections. There, they will be both professionally archived and accessible to all, though they may not be removed from the Special Collections reading room. The H IC collection doubles the size of the Vern and Bonnie Bullough Collection of Human Sexuality and adds considerably to its collection of rare materials on human sexuality. As we processed the materials, key historical documents of the organization, such as their bylaws, minutes of corporate meetings, and other official documents gradually emerged. I scanned many of them into a desktop computer and created low-resolution images to post on the H IC web site. Tangents Online, located at http://www.tangentgroup.org. Having these documents readily available on the web greatly facilitated the compilation process. At the same time, other journalists and researchers have been using the data on the web site to write their own articles. Tangents Online is now commonly referred to in the local gay media, and a new crew o f professionals and associates is working to expand and further develop this resource. The site is comprised of five basic sections. The first is history section that features profiles in a “Rogues’ Gallery” of key players in H IC ’ s history, a detailed outline of pivotal historic events in the history of the Los Angeles-based movement, and links to complete text or JPEG reproductions of key documents in the history. The second is an About Us section that includes essential corporate information, such as the Directors and basic contact information, and third 325 is an extensive Outside Links section that includes hundreds of links to other organizations and related information pages and is currently managed by John Richards. The fourth section is a Literature section, which includes text such as short stories by Joseph Hansen as originally published in O N E and Tangents magazines, and numerous book reviews and abstracts. The goal and purpose of the web site helps to further the original purposes of the organization as set forth in their Articles of Incorporation: “To conduct a continuing examination into the nature, circumstances and social issues of homosexuality, and to generate, gather, organize, make avail able and broadcast the best current thought on sexual questions generally.” I hope that through the continued help of others, the site can help the organization to achieve its goals and to grow. This study is the result, then, of many different methods. At first, the formation of bio graphic profiles provided points of access to this history, allowing me to become aquainted with some of the people behind the politics and better understand their motives and achievements. Through repeated interviews, research, and daily participation in organizational business, I began to put together an accurate chronology of events. As the story came into focus, I could apply structural models of Social Drama as elaborated by Moore, Turner, and Myerhoff to better situate the action of the dramatis personae. Observations of E G. Bailey help to anticipate and explain the actions of the players and help us to see fission/fusion politics as inevitable processes of growth and change rather than rigid and static structures. As I created this document, I was continually sharing it with others to cross check my per spectives and hone my opinions. Credit goes to Stephen O. Murray, Billy Glover, Paul Harris, Joseph Hansen, Vern L. Bullough, Susan Howe, and my partner Robert R. Cook, as well as my committee members G. Alexander Moore, Andrei Simic, Janet Hoskins, and Jeanne Jackson, who have read countless prior drafts and made this a truly collaborative endeavor. I never could have accomplished this study without the assistance of many. UMI Number: DP23580 All rights reserved INFORMATION TO ALL USERS The quality of this reproduction is dependent upon the quality of the copy submitted. In the unlikely event that the author did not send a complete manuscript and there are missing pages, these will be noted. Also, if material had to be removed, a note will indicate the deletion. D isasrtefcn PubliaNng UMI DP23580 Published by ProQuest LLC (2014). Copyright in the Dissertation held by the Author. Microform Edition © ProQuest LLC. All rights reserved. This work is protected against unauthorized copying under Title 17, United States Code ProQuest LLC. 789 East Eisenhower Parkway P.O. Box 1346 Ann Arbor, Ml 48106 - 1346

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Creator White, C. Todd (Christopher Todd) (author)

Core Title Out of many...: A social history of the homosexual rights movement as originated and continued in Los Angeles, California

School Graduate School

Degree Doctor of Philosophy

Degree Program Anthropology

Degree Conferral Date 2005-05

Publisher University of Southern California (original), University of Southern California. Libraries (digital)

Tag OAI-PMH Harvest,social sciences

Language English

Contributor Digitized by ProQuest (provenance)

Permanent Link (DOI) https://doi.org/10.25549/usctheses-c30-203637

Unique identifier UC11224999

Identifier DP23580.pdf (filename),usctheses-c30-203637 (legacy record id)

Legacy Identifier DP23580.pdf

Dmrecord 203637

Document Type Dissertation

Rights White, Christopher Todd

Type texts

Source University of Southern California (contributing entity), University of Southern California Dissertations and Theses (collection)

Access Conditions The author retains rights to his/her dissertation, thesis or other graduate work according to U.S. copyright law. Electronic access is being provided by the USC Libraries in agreement with the au...

Repository Name University of Southern California Digital Library

Repository Location USC Digital Library, University of Southern California, University Park Campus, Los Angeles, California 90089, USA