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The gay revolution : the story of the struggle / Lillian Faderman.

By: Material type: TextTextPublication details: New York, NY : Simon & Schuster, 2015.Description: xx, 794 pages, 16 unnumbered pages of plates : illustrations ; 24 cmISBN:
  • 9781451694116
  • 1451694113
Subject(s): DDC classification:
  • 306.76/60973 23
Summary: A chronicle of the modern struggle for gay, lesbian and transgender rights draws on interviews with politicians, military figures, legal activists and members of the LGBT community to document the cause's struggles since the 1950s.
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Item type Current library Collection Shelving location Call number Status Date due Barcode Item holds
Adult Book Phillipsburg Free Public Library Adult Non-Fiction Adult Non-Fiction 306.7660973 FAD Available 36748002256552
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Enhanced descriptions from Syndetics:

The fight for gay, lesbian and trans civil rights is the most important civil rights issue of the present day. Based on rigorous research and more than 150 interviews, The Gay Revolution tells this unfinished story not through dry facts but through dramatic accounts of passionate struggles, with all the sweep, depth and intricacies only an award-winning activist, scholar and novelist like Lillian Faderman can evoke. A defining account, this is the most complete and authoritative book of its kind.

Includes bibliographical references (pages [641]-767) and index.

A chronicle of the modern struggle for gay, lesbian and transgender rights draws on interviews with politicians, military figures, legal activists and members of the LGBT community to document the cause's struggles since the 1950s.

Excerpt provided by Syndetics

The Gay Revolution PROLOGUE On the morning of May 26, 1948, Professor E. K. Johnston was standing at the rostrum in a University of Missouri auditorium. The annual awards ceremony for the School of Journalism was in full swing. Best columnist, best sports writer, best feature writer--each award winner was called up to the stage, where Professor Johnston shook his hand and said kind and appropriate words as he bestowed a trophy of recognition. The professor had been on the University of Missouri faculty since 1924 and was now fifty years old, a man distinguished and comfortable in middle age, dressed formally in a light summer suit, spectacles balanced low on the bridge of his nose. Professor Johnston had taken a place of honor on that stage because that academic year he'd served as acting dean of the School of Journalism. The elderly permanent dean, Frank Mott, had been on leave, and Professor Johnston was an apt choice as his temporary replacement: E. K. Johnston was a full professor, he was much loved and respected by students and colleagues alike, 1 and he had a national reputation as a multiterm president of a professional fraternity for those working in the relatively new discipline of the science of newspaper advertising. 2 Indeed, it was assumed by many at the University of Missouri that when the present dean retired, Professor Johnston would be named his permanent successor. But as Professor Johnston was fulfilling his academic duties by shaking hands and wishing the aspiring young journalists continued success, he knew there was a warrant out for his arrest, issued by the county prosecutor. 3 He suspected too that the charge against him was commission of sodomy. But for the moment, he wanted only to get through the awards ceremony--to fulfill his last duty of the academic year to the students in his charge--and he did. When the ceremony was over, Professor Johnston drove himself downtown, walked into the county prosecutor's office, and gave himself up. At his arraignment, he pleaded innocent. Thrown into the Boone County jail until he could raise bail, he spent two days behind bars. 4 The county prosecutor, Howard Lang, had started the investigation six months earlier. There'd been a robbery, and a man was apprehended and brought in for questioning. It was he, Prosecutor Lang told the newspapers, who talked about a "homosexual ring" there in Columbia, Missouri, that carried on sex orgies. As happened often during police interrogations of homosexuals in the mid-twentieth century, police detectives grilled the robber until he named names. One of the names was Willie Coots, a thirty-nine-year-old gift shop employee. Coots was then brought in and was made to name more names. Each man that Willie Coots named was dragged in for questioning and grilled. A police department secretary took down in shorthand what each arrestee said, and she compiled a list of thirty names. 5 Of all the men Coots named, the most interesting to the Columbia police, because of his prominence, was Professor E. K. Johnston. Coots confessed that he and the professor had lived together for ten years as lovers and for the last six years as friends. The police wanted more facts. Had he and Johnston held homosexual parties in their shared apartment? Yes, they had. More names; other homosexuals who'd had illegal congress with Johnston. Yes, he did remember some: just a few days earlier, there was a man named Warren Heathman. Heathman was a thirty-five-year-old World War II veteran who had fought overseas; he'd earned a master's degree in agriculture from the University of Missouri and was now an instructor for the Veterans Administration's farm training program. Heathman could not be found at his home address, so the Columbia police sent out an all-points bulletin for his arrest. He was picked up by state highway patrolmen in Rolla, Missouri, about two hours away, and locked up overnight in Jefferson City's Cole County Jail. In the morning, patrolmen shackled him and drove him to the jail in Columbia, and he too was grilled. This was serious business, they told him. Perjury is a felony for which he could be incarcerated for five years. Willie Coots had mentioned a big fish: a professor at the university. Did Heathman know E. K. Johnston? When had he last seen him? Where? Heathman, disoriented and scared, did not take long to answer every question they threw at him. Yes, he and Johnston engaged in homosexual activities. Yes, on an average of every other week. Yes, usually in Johnston's apartment. Yes, he'd been to homosexual parties not only in that same apartment but also at a cabin near Salem, Missouri. ("Mad parties of a homosexual cabal," the newspapers would report. 6 ) Just as Willie Coots had done, Heathman signed a statement implicating Johnston as the leader of the "homosexual ring." Heathman and Coots both waived their preliminary hearings; they did not want to drag out their ordeal. Because neither one was the supposed kingpin of the "homosexual ring," their bail was set at $2,500 apiece, $1,000 lower than Johnston's. 7 The professor, however, was not as easily intimidated. He had gone himself to the police station and demanded to know why there was a warrant out for his arrest. When police detectives took him into a room to interrogate him, he knew his rights. He would say nothing to his inquisitors except "I want to talk to my lawyer." He was permitted to call his attorney, Edwin Orr, who advised him not to sign any statement and not to waive his preliminary hearing. From the Boone County Jail, he contacted his half brother in Kansas City, and a friend in Sedalia, Missouri, and borrowed money for the $3,500 bond. 8 In their coverage of the story, local newspapers were sure to name both Howard Johnston, the brother, and Fred Hildebrandt, the friend, shaming them for having aided and abetted a homosexual. Family newspapers within a thousand-mile radius of Columbia all seemed to pick up the story, which was covered by the wire services of the Associated Press as well as the United Press International. The local papers embellished their articles with sensational headlines. "Missouri Professor Held for Sodomy: Termed Principal in Homosexual Ring" was the Pottstown (PA) Mercury headline. 9 The headline in Arkansas's Hope Star was simply "Homosexual," which was shocking enough all by itself in 1948. 10 It was not until his temporary release from jail that Johnston learned that he'd been found guilty even before he was tried. "In view of the nature and gravity of the charges that have been made against Professor E. K. Johnston," the president of the university, Frederick Middlebush, told reporters, "he has been relieved of his duties as a member of the university." 11 Hysteria spread. The superintendent of the State Highway Patrol, Colonel Hugh Waggoner, announced not only to the university's board of curators but also to the media that Johnston was only the tip of the iceberg. 12 The board of curators panicked. Allen McReynolds, its president, immediately called a press conference to promise the public, "The board will take such action as it deems necessary to protect the interests of the university." McReynolds added defensively that homosexuals were "a public problem, and one that ought to be solved." 13 Missouri's governor, Phil Donnelly, weighed in, assuring Missourians that he had ordered the president of the board of curators to confer with State Highway Patrol officials about the homosexuals they'd discovered and to make sure such people had no place on the university's faculty or among the student body. 14 On November 17 Johnston stood before Judge W. M. Dinwiddie of the Boone County Circuit Court. Johnston's lawyer, Edwin Orr, had advised him that the prosecutor held in his hands multiple signed statements. He must throw himself at the mercy of the court. Johnston must have struggled to resign himself to this: How could he relinquish into perpetuity the image of the man he once was? How could he claim as his the character of a criminal? Orr promised that he would call witnesses who would talk about Johnston's good character and plead for clemency. The witnesses would tell the judge there was no point in sending a man like Johnston to jail. The ex-professor was by now emotionally and physically exhausted. He'd lost his job, his good name, his beloved students, his entire career--even his pension. He was fifty years old. What would he live on for the rest of his life? He had no more fight left in him. And if he did not confess to the world of being guilty of sodomy and then throw himself at Judge Dinwiddie's mercy, he would be locked in jail for who knew how many years to come. Johnston pleaded guilty and did not open his mouth again for the rest of the trial. The principal witness for the defense was Dr. Edward Gildea, head of the Department of Psychiatry at Washington University in Saint Louis. Asked whether E. K. Johnston would be a menace to society if he were placed on probation, the psychiatrist said no, "though in my judgment he is a homosexual." He was followed by a long line of character witnesses. Each confirmed that Johnston had been widely respected and liked; that a penitentiary sentence would not help him nor serve society; that he could be turned free without detriment to society. 15 The pleas for clemency were not without effect. Judge Dinwiddie wouldn't send the defendant to jail, he announced. He'd put him on probation for four years. Johnston must have felt a surge of relief, even joy. But the judge was not through. Johnston was required to post a $2,000 bond. It was his obligation to pay all court costs. Judge Dinwiddie ordered him to report regularly to Wayne Ballard, the state probation officer. Finally, Judge Dinwiddie concluded, "Your order of probation includes your cessation of all homosexual practices." 16 •  •  • There's a Women's Memorial at Arlington National Cemetery. It was erected in 1997 to honor the two million women who have served in the American military, past and present. It sits on the grand four-acre ceremonial entrance; and its elegant structure, with its lofty classical design and its arced ceiling made of glass tablets, is worthy of the solemn site. There's also an auditorium at the Women's Memorial, where ceremonies are held to recognize the outstanding achievements of female military personnel. In that auditorium, army colonel Tammy Smith was pinned with two stars: one on each epaulet, making official her promotion to brigadier general. A ceremony that celebrates a woman's rise to the rank of general is certainly rare, though not unheard of: there'd already been about fifty women generals or admirals serving in the US military. But the auditorium of the Women's Memorial had never yet seen quite such a ceremony as the one that took place on August 10, 2012. 17 At four o'clock, as a soloist sang "The Star Spangled Banner," Smith, a short, slight, bespectacled woman who'd once been a senior parachutist and an airplane jump master, marched onto the stage together with her commanding officer, Major General Jack Stultz. Media cameras rolled and clicked. In General Stultz's ceremonial remarks he talked about why Smith had been promoted to her elevated position: she'd racked up a fruit salad of medals in her distinguished twenty-six years of service in the army, which included a stint in Afghanistan as chief of army reserve affairs. General Stultz praised "the values she epitomized" and her ability as a leader. She is, he said, "a quiet professional who just knows how to come in and take over." Then the general introduced the guests of honor: first Smith's elderly father and then her spouse and her in-laws. Traditionally, the stars on a new general's epaulets are pinned by the two individuals most meaningful to that person. Smith stood at attention while her father pinned on one side and her spouse pinned on the other. Her in-laws too had an official role in the ceremony: they were chosen to remove the colonel's shoulder boards from Smith's uniform and replace them with a general's shoulder boards. Next, father and spouse unfurled a flag--red with a white star--which is to be flown wherever Smith will be stationed to announce that a general is present. There was little about this traditional ceremony that was unique--except that the spouse, Tracey Hepner, was a woman. It was a brave act, not because Smith might be in danger of discharge or losing her new rank, but because never before in the entire history of the US military had it been done. Smith had told General Stultz well in advance that she wanted her wife to be part of the pinning ceremony. "He didn't blink an eye," she recalled; nor did the Department of Defense. "This is your story. It's a good story. Don't be afraid to tell it," DOD officials said in encouraging her to respond to media requests for interviews about the inclusion of her wife in her promotion ceremony. "Tell them why it's important to have Tracey pin your star. Tell them what it means to you." 18 What it meant, General Smith told the media, was that finally, with the repeal of "Don't Ask, Don't Tell," she was able to feel "full, authentic, and complete" by no longer having to keep secret who she was. She had no desire to grandstand--to make political "coming-out" declarations. Her wife's prominent role in the ceremony was Smith's clear and simple statement that "this is my family." Since Don't Ask, Don't Tell has been overturned, sexual orientation is considered a private matter by the Department of Defense. It's a private matter for General Smith as well--but, she said, participating with family in traditional ceremonies, such as the pinning ceremony, is both common and expected of a leader. By including her wife, she was doing no more and no less than what military leaders have always done at such ceremonies. •  •  • What long-fought battles, tragic losses, and hard-won triumphs have brought us as a country from the days when a much-loved and gifted professor could be disgraced, thrown in jail, and hounded out of his profession as soon as his private life was revealed, to the days when a military officer could marry the woman she loves in broad daylight and be promoted, in a very public ceremony, to the rank of general with her wife by her side? How does the amazing evolution in image and status of gays and lesbians, as well as bisexual and transgender people, affect all Americans? And what remains to be done before they will truly be first-class American citizens? These are the stories The Gay Revolution will tell. Excerpted from The Gay Revolution: The Story of the Struggle by Lillian Faderman All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.

Reviews provided by Syndetics

Library Journal Review

One of queer history's founding scholars, Faderman (Gay L.A.), has written a sweeping and moving narrative that chronicles the fight for lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender and queer (LGBTQ) citizenship rights from World War II to the turn of the milennium. In ten thematic, roughly chronological sections, the author offers readers familiar names and events masterfully woven to show how a scrappy postwar homophile movement grew into the politically conscious and politically diverse community we have today. Across nearly 70 years of political organizing, an abiding tension emerges between assimilationists and sexual radicals: those who want to be seen as "normal" and those who argue that "gay is good" and culturally distinct from a heteronormative way of life. As Faderm an shows, this intramovement tension remains evident today. If this work has a weakness it is a by-product of Faderman's laudable ambition: big-picture narratives inevitably shortchange individual stories. Nonurban, nonpoliticized queer experiences also continue to be underexplored. Still, this volume will deservedly become a standard in the field. VERDICT Well suited to undergraduate courses in LGBTQ history, this book is highly recommended for readers interested in the 20th-century politics of sexual identity and the history of social justice activism. [See Prepub Alert, 3/9/15.]-Anna J. Clutterbuck-Cook, Massachusetts Historical Soc. Lib., Boston © Copyright 2015. Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.

Publishers Weekly Review

Faderman (Naked in the Promised Land), a scholar of lesbian history and literature, renders the slow transformation of culture into a sweeping narrative of the American struggle for gay and lesbian civil rights. She digs deep into media and legislative archives to construct a comprehensive narrative, beginning in the 1950s with the scapegoating of homosexuals under "vag-lewds" law and the first formulation of homosexuals as a minority group, and continuing to the current and recent legal fights around the Employment Non-Discrimination Act (ENDA), hate crime legislation, and marriage equality. Faderman depicts the struggle as a conflict between "suits and streets," offering balanced coverage of both meticulous lobbying from the government, military, and professional organizations such as the American Psychological Association, and the rapid changes wrought by historical radicalizations such as the Stonewall riots, the Harvey Milk riots, and the aggressive medical activism of ACT UP. First-person accounts from over 100 interviews conducted as original research for the book punctuate this extraordinary story. Faderman's immense cultural history will give today's LGBTQ activists both a profound appreciation of their forebears and the motivation to carry the struggle forward. (Sept.) © Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved.

CHOICE Review

Faderman has spent her career writing about lesbian, gay, bisexual, and transgender (LGBT) history, and in the process, she has won an astounding six Lambda Literary Awards. Her latest book is a tour de force, exploring the LGBT struggle for civil rights in the US, from the creation of the Mattachine Society in 1950 all the way to the June 2015 Supreme Court ruling legalizing same-sex marriage. Weighing in at nearly 800 pages, this rich reference book provides brief descriptions of every major triumph, setback, organization, and personality in this long struggle, all told in an engaging way by this gifted storyteller. Sadly, though, the heft of the book would likely prove overwhelming to undergraduates. And while the topics for hundreds of research papers lie within its pages, the volume's usefulness for that purpose is diminished by the fact that Faderman seldom references secondary literature in her citations. While The Gay Revolution is an indispensable addition to any academic research library, undergraduates will likely be better served by Marc Stein's Rethinking the Gay and Lesbian Movement (2012). Summing Up: Essential. Graduate students, comprehensive collections, and up. --Susan Ferentinos, independent scholar

Booklist Review

*Starred Review* A Lambda Literary and Stonewall Book Award-winning author, scholar, and retired college professor, Faderman has crafted an epic yet remarkably intimate work that belongs among the most definitive civil rights titles, LGBTQ-specific or otherwise. Based on more than 150 interviews and the author's exhaustive research, The Gay Revolution begins by recalling the government's gay witch hunts of the 1950s and spans the next six and a half decades of the ongoing struggle for legal and societal equality. All of the prominent landmarks of the gay rights movement (the Stonewall riots; Anita Bryant's Save Our Children political coalition; Don't Ask, Don't Tell) are covered thoroughly, but Faderman's writing conveys such fresh passion that readers will feel like they are experiencing these history-altering moments in real time. However, it's the lesser-told stories such as the rise and eventual decline of the early gay rights group, the Mattachine Society, and its founder, Harry Hay, who went on to start the Radical Faeries movement that bring voice to the brave, trailblazing heroes who risked so much to help chip away at the hostile and pervasive intolerance that once singularly defined the homosexual American experience. HIGH-DEMAND BACKSTORY: This book is destined to be one of the lasting contributions to the literature of the gay rights movement.--Keech, Chris Copyright 2015 Booklist

Kirkus Book Review

The history of the struggle for gay rights in the United States. In this superbly researched book, acclaimed LGBT scholar Faderman (My Mother's Wars, 2013, etc.) examines the roots of the sociopolitical movement that, for the last 60 years, has worked to achieve justice for LGBT people. The author begins in the 1950s, when "the government, the law, the church, [and] the psychiatric profession all colluded to tell homosexuals they were guilty just by being who they were." Yet a brave few individualse.g., Harry Hay, Phyllis Lyon, and Del Martintook action by creating organizations intended to offer safe alternatives to gay and lesbian bars. In these groups, homosexuals could offer each other support and seek the respect they desired from mainstream heterosexual society. As the organizations grew, they assimilated ideas from such political catalysts as the burgeoning civil rights movement. By 1969, the Stonewall riots revealed a far more radicalized community, contingents of which created political groups that actively agitated for civil rights rather than simple respect. Mainstream society responded with "family values" movements led by such icons as Anita Bryant. Her anti-gay zeal actually worked to unite the LGBT community and help its members push for political change at the local and then, into the 1980s and beyond, national levels. Faderman documents the tragedy of AIDS and how that epidemic also brought together gays and lesbians and created a still greater sense of solidarity among homosexuals, who, by the 1990s, had begun to press for workplace protections as well as recognition of gay and lesbian families. The author concludes with the Supreme Court's 2013 decision to strike down the Defense of Marriage Act, specifically its provision that marriage be defined in heterosexual terms only. Throughout this engaging and extremely well-documented book, Faderman clearly shows that for the LGBT community, equality is not a completed goal. Yet the ideal of fully integrated citizenship is closer to becoming reality than ever before. Inspiring and necessary reading for all Americans interested in social justice. Copyright Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.
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