Land of 10,000 Loves: A History of Queer Minnesota

5. Come Outside: Queer People Out in the Open

163 5 Come Outside Queer People Out in the Open In the summer of 2002, one of Minnesota’s oldest gay organizations commemorated its thirtieth outdoor celebration with an extravagant parade down Hennepin Avenue. Thousands watched the Ashley Rukes GLBT Pride Parade, a moving testament to the state’s struggles and victories. Dykes on Bikes led the way, roller-skating drag queens followed, parents walked hand in hand with their children, and blaring marching bands rolled down Minnesota’s queer main street. Following a route that reflects a historical movement and development, the procession began at the center of the former Gateway District in downtown and ended at festival tents in Loring Park, where a hundred thousand gathered to celebrate pride. The dykes roared by, followed by glittering floats full of dancing go-go boys as a highlight of the parade approached. Sharon Sayles Belton, who had ended her second term as Minneapolis’s first female and African American mayor only six months earlier, sat atop a blue convertible and waved to the crowd as the grand marshal. She had supported the community since she served on the Minneapolis city council in the 1980s, and dressed as Glinda the Good Witch, a favorite character in the Judy Garland classic The Wizard of Oz, for her role as grand marshal. A married mother of three, her participation marked a turning point in the history of local queer social acceptance. Earlier mayors—Donald M. Fraser, Al Hofstede, Charles Stenvig—had difficult relationships with community members, and any direct participation in “gay pride” parades was unthinkable. But Sayles Belton was different; she had waved her wand over the annual crowds without fear of a political backlash. “She’s always been a good friend of the GLBT community and could have been elected Queen of the City [in 2002] by the parade goers,” noted one observer.1 Come Outside Co me Outs i de 164 To some, Minnesota’s queer community had become a sunlit menagerie—freed from an underworld of dive bars and public parks. But, in an age of dying social prohibitions and a Web-based “virtual equality,” the simple act of displaying samesex affection in public remains a charged public statement. Events like Twin Cities Pride are still required for public demonstrations of gender nonconformity and same-sex love. In time, however, the hosts will—and have already—become less necessary agents of introducing queer life to the great wide open. An important step in overcoming discrimination against queer people is the ability to express themselves in the presence of a potentially hostile public. This chapter explores more than a dozen manifestations of queer life that have taken place in the public sphere. A range of queer recreation, which has been present since the 1970s but has blossomed after a visible gay middle class emerged in the early 1990s, has expanded opportunities for socialization outside of the more established bar scene. Pride celebrations—including but not limited to Twin Cities Pride—also facilitated an era of openness and positive publicity. Perhaps most Sharon Sayles Belton, the first African American mayor of Minneapolis, dressed as Glinda the Good Witch for the Pride Parade in the early 2000s. A longtime supporter of the queer community, the former city council member helped to recast the city’s image. The local government changed from a presenter of obstacles to an unflagging ally. Photograph by John Yoakam. 165 Come Outsid e important, events like the gay booth at the Minnesota State Fair and organizations like the Queer Street Patrol have claimed the right to occupy spaces and ideas that were previously the preserve of the heterosexual majority. “Some Queer Gets Beat Up Every Other Night Here” A Death in Loring Park, Minneapolis (1971) Geographic centrality, darkness, and lush foliage have long contributed to Loring Park’s place as an epicenter of male sexual activity, but these factors also made the park dangerous for many men. Telling his Loring Park story to readers of Minnesota ’s first gay periodical, Gay Vue, John Moore relived a harrowing scene late one summer night in 1971. The adrenaline rush caused by the evening’s events is evident in Moore’s writing. Misspellings, awkward language, and minor inconsistencies aside, his account paints a clear portrait of the dangers and intolerable police indifference that gay men had to live with at the time. The story begins with Moore talking to...