The place was poorly lit. The drinks were watered down, over priced, and served in glasses of questionable cleanliness. There were other bars, nicer ones, but this one was the place to be. They had dancing, and not just a tiny space where one or two couples could take the opportunity to get close. There were two rooms and two jukeboxes. This bar had plenty of space. But the real appeal was the people who came here, not just a handful of white men in business suits, trying to pass, and shyly lowering their guard just long enough to make some back alley hook-up. No. There were young people, black people, asian and latin people. Anyone could get in, and everyone came.
Tonight, Shane had his eye on Miss Marsha. He had a mind to take her home with him, despite the risks of being seen. It wasn't just sex that he was after. He wanted a chance to know her, to spend time with her. She moved through the bar like a butterfly, talking to everyone. Marsha was a rare creature, dressed fully in drag with flowers in her hair, bright colors against dark brown skin, guaranteeing that she stood out in any crown, even this one. She was majestic, magnetic. Shane knew she was homeless, knew that she hustled. She would go home with anyone, but it still took Shane a month to get up the courage to approach her with an offer. She was herself, completely and unapologetically. There was something dangerous in that, at least for people like Shane, who had everything to lose.
For the moment Miss Marsha settled at a table with her friends Miss Sylvia and Miss Tammy. Sylivia gave Shane a once over, seeming to conclude that he was something lower than herself, clean cut white boy and all. Miss Marsha just smiled. "Hi honey! You look lost, can we help you with something?"
"I want to buy you a drink Miss Marsha," he managed softly. He'd watched her sipping on the same shot of bourbon for over an hour, and her glass still wasn't empty.
"Oh honey! Why didn't you just say so?" Marsha tipped back the last of her drink and got to her feet. She was taller than Shane, and this wasn't some trick from high heels. Miss Marsha didn't have women's shoes on. She wrapped an arm around Shane and guided him through the crowd to the bar. "I'll have a shot of bourbon, thank you," she spoke intimately into his ear, allowing Shane to pass her order along to the bartender. Once her drink was in hand she leaned against the bar. "I know I've seen you around before. What's your name?"
Before the young man could answer the overhead lights came on. Everyone knew what that meant. Cops. They were being raided. Again.
Shane knew the drill. Hell, he'd been here when the place was raided on Tuesday. The cops would line everyone up, ask for IDs. Shane would be released. He was dressed appropriately, and hadn't been caught in any immoral act, so they couldn't hold him on any charges. Ms. Marsha would probably spend the night in jail though. It was against the law for men to dress like women.
This raid was different from the others. The cops almost always showed up before 10pm, before any real crowd had a chance to gather. This time it was after midnight and the place was packed. The mood of the crowd was also different, maybe it was just the summer heat getting into everyone's veins, or Judy Garland's funeral that had happened earlier that same day, leaving most everyone feeling raw and edgy.
Shane saw the cops coming towards him and he stepped back to get out of their way, ready to comply with their instructions. Miss Marsha didn't budge. She didn't even look up when the cops told her to move, she just tipped back her bourbon and drained it. Then the cops were on her, shoving her, trying to force her away from the bar. "I've got my civil rights!" Marsha shouted. She hurled her shot glass across the room, shattering the mirror behind the bar.
Something snapped in Shane. It wasn't right for them to push Miss Marsha like that. The cops shouldn't be pushing anyone. All they wanted was a place where they could be left alone. They weren't hurting anyone. Shane felt anger rising, and without even thinking about it, he started pushing back. A lot of people started pushing back.
***
Anita had been nervous about coming to a gay bar on her own, but it's not like she could bring her girlfriends. Girl friends. None of them knew she was a lesbian. It had taken a long time before she'd admitted this to herself, and it wasn't the sort of thing she could just tell people. She learned about the bar in the Village from those same girlfriends. They had been laughing and making fun, but Ani listened with interest. She wanted to go there, to meet people like her. Maybe even to meet a woman she could spend time with. She didn't want to be alone for the rest of her life. She'd just run out of tolerance for the men who were all hands and dicks in this age of free love. She'd tried sex with a man. She hated it. Hated the men who looked at her like she was some kind of doll or trophy. She longed for a woman's touch, and the thought made her go all red and pink, inside and out.
They let her into the bar, and she put her name down in the little book. Not her real name, of course. She knew that much. She stood by the bar waiting to be noticed by the bartender. Ani wasn't much of a drinker, but you had to order something if you planned to stay. She clutched her handbag, feeling out of place and unsure of herself. There were a lot more men than women here. Even the ones in make-up and dresses mostly seemed to be men.
An attractive and well dressed man approached Anita. "Care to dance?" he asked. Ani felt flustered. Does he think I'm a man?
Ani gathered her courage and just blurted out he truth. This place was supposed to be for homosexuals. "I'm not interested in men," she said, "only women."
The guy just smiled, "Good. I'm not a man. My name is Storme. I preform as a man with The Jewel Box Revue, but I'm all woman." Then as way of evidence Storme took Ani's hand and placed it on her chest. Ani could feel Storme's rounded breast beneath the soft fabric of the expensive shirt.
"I'm Anita..." she said, feeling the flush in her cheeks. The juke box started playing Shirley Bassey, a good slow song, "This Is My Life." The thought of slow dancing with this handsome and dignified woman made Ani's heart race. "...and yes... I would love to dance with you."
Storme led Anita to the dance floor. They danced to that song, then to Aretha Franklin and Stevie Wonder. They talked a little, but mostly they just danced, holding each other in the dark, completely oblivious to the strangers all around them. When the lights came on Anita blinked confused, like she was startled out of a perfect dream.
"What's happening?" she asked.
"It's a raid," Storme answered.
"Oh god!" Anita exclaimed in a panic. "What do we do? My parents will kill me if they find out I was here."
Storme grabbed Anita's hand and led her through the crowd. "Come with me. There's a window in the lady's room. We'll get you out of here." The sound of shouting and breaking glass could be heard behind them, but Storme fought through the crowd into the narrow hallway that led to the bathrooms. A cop blocked their way. "My friend needs to pee," she said, undaunted.
"Go back and line up. If your friend really is a girl she'll be out of here in no time." The crowd surged forward, pushing Anita into the cop. He decided to take the opportunity to reach a hand up Ani's skirt and "check" her gender himself. Anita screamed.
"Get your hands off her," Storme demanded. She pulled Anita back, stepping in front of her, and hit the cop in the face. She actually hit him. The cop's night-stick clubbed Storme in the head. Anita lost sight of Storme after that. The crowed jostled, and Ani lost her place near the front. She found herself being pushed further and further back, until she was out of the hallway and back in the main room. Everything was chaos. The cops were trying to get some of the people out, just to thin the crowd, and Ani found herself among the ones selected to be let go. They didn't even ask for her ID or take her name down.
People were gathering outside of the bar. "This is the second raid this week," someone said.
"The Mafia must have forgotten to pay off the police," another speculated.
Anita should have headed home right away. She'd been lucky to get let off so easy, but she wanted to know what happened to Storme. The crowd continued to gather. Everyone wanted to know what was happening inside the bar. After a while some of the cops came out, pushing drag queens into the waiting paddy wagon. The crowed hurled pennies at the cops, and they shouted "Coppers!" and "Pigs!" but things were still pretty tame.
A cop brought Storme out. "These cuffs are too tight!" she complained. Her shirt had been ripped open, making her true gender apparent to the onlookers. She refused to cooperate, fighting and struggling all the way. Storme managed to slip the cop's grip, and made a run for it, only to be tackled to the ground and grabbed up again. Two cops were on her now. She slipped them again, and another two cops joined the skirmish, leaving the back of the paddy wagon unguarded. They beat Storme hard. "Why don't you guys do something!" the unruly lesbian shouted at the crowd.
Her words let something loose in the crowd, as if she'd cut through an invisible barrier. Why didn't they do something? They out-numbered the cops by hundreds. They didn't have to stand there passively and take the abuse. A brick flew through the air and the crowd surged forward ready to fight. Anita didn't feel afraid anymore. She became a different person. She didn't just fight to help Storme. She fought for herself, for the right to be herself, to love who she wanted to love, and to live without fear.
***
Miss Me-gan never set foot in the bar that night. Like most of the homeless queens on Christopher street, it was rare to get together enough money for a luxury like a drink in a bar. The street queens slept in Washington Park, and spent their free time scrounging for food and hustling. No one knew Me-gan's given name. Even the name Me-gan was more of a joke than a proper name, but Me-gan didn't mind. It was as good a name as any. Whenever someone asked their name, they would just shrug and look away. Some times, when pressed, they might answer, "I'm just me." The other queens teased, "Oh look it's Miss 'Me' Again." It was only a matter of time before everyone started calling them "Me-gan."
Hustling was easier in a dress. It let people know what you were about. Men were more likely to approach you, and getting men was essential to survival. Life on the street was hard, but it was still better than life back home in small town Indiana. Me-gan had been an idiot, got caught giving a blowjob to a football player in the locker room, and got themself kicked out of school. The football player had gotten off with a warning. Me-gan was small and odd, obviously the instigator. Expusian was just another excuse for their dad beat them. That wasn't any thing unusual. It was the threat of being sent to an institution to be "cured," that caused them to leave home. Me-gan stole money from their dad's wallet for the bus ticket to New York. They never looked back.
They hadn't gotten much business that day. Greenwich Village had been almost emptied out, most everyone went to see the funeral. Miss Marsha had passed out cookies to everyone in the morning, but Me-gan hadn't gotten anything else to eat that day. It was a hot and miserable day all around. Nighttime was the best time to make a few dollars, and not feeling up to a hike to Time Square, they stuck to Christopher Street. Me-gan sat on the sidewalk with their back against a wall, and didn't bother to get up when the paddy wagon arrived, though on most days he would have run away to hide in the park. The cops didn't seem to take much notice of them at any rate. They had pants on under their dress, three articles of male clothing, as required by law. They considered ditching the pants. If they got arrested they could get fed in jail.
Didn't seem worth the effort. The cops had all their attention focused on the bar. Another raid. Me-gan hadn't planned on getting involved, but the crowd kept getting bigger and bigger until it just swallowed them up. Only then did they get to their feet to try to figure out what was going on. By that time, things were already out of control. The cops had retreated back into the bar. Someone had lit a fire against the side of the building, and Miss New Orleans, a kid that Me-gan knew well was working on liberating a parking meter from the ground. Other street queens decided to help. Together they somehow managed to get it up. They used it like a battering ram against the door of the bar.
More cops arrived. They tried to force the crowd off of Christopher Street, or at least away from the bar, but the blocks were so small that the crowd just kept coming back around again. Me-gan moved with the crowd. It was funny, how they kept coming back, and the cops were getting more and more frustrated. The energy of the crowd was infectious, and for a little while Me-gan forgot all about their empty stomach. A group of street queens where gathering together. Me-gan could tell something was about to go down. "What are you doing?"
Miss Marty grabbed Miss Me-gan by the arm and pulled them into the fold. "Quick, roll up your pants." Me-gan did as they were told. The cops were coming back up the street after pursuing a group in the opposite direction. "Kick line!" Marty announced. The queens linked arms and began to kick and sing. Miss Me-gan didn't know the song the first time through, but the lyrics were simple enough and they picked up the words easily. On the second refrain they sang out loud and strong.
"We are the Village Girls! We wear our hair in curls! We wear our dungarees above our baggy knees!" And kick and kick and kick. They taunted the cops joyfully and without shame. It felt good to stand their ground. To sing and feel pride, as if they mattered, as if they were people too. Me-gan didn't even notice the other group of cops come up from behind until the night stick came down on their shoulder. It hurt, but this time the hurt was worth it. The queens scattered in every direction. Me-gan ran too, but only a little ways. They came back to the bar again, the door was broken in now. The cops had no choice but to flee in the end. This was the first time the street queens had ever fought back. For Me-gan, and others like them, it was the first time they could claim victory over anything.
No one expected anything to change. They had fought one fight, stood their ground one time. Sure the fight lasted a few days, but the excitement died down and eventually everything got quiet again. The change that mattered was the feeling that awakened that night, the feeling of being a community, the feeling of pride.
Tonight, Shane had his eye on Miss Marsha. He had a mind to take her home with him, despite the risks of being seen. It wasn't just sex that he was after. He wanted a chance to know her, to spend time with her. She moved through the bar like a butterfly, talking to everyone. Marsha was a rare creature, dressed fully in drag with flowers in her hair, bright colors against dark brown skin, guaranteeing that she stood out in any crown, even this one. She was majestic, magnetic. Shane knew she was homeless, knew that she hustled. She would go home with anyone, but it still took Shane a month to get up the courage to approach her with an offer. She was herself, completely and unapologetically. There was something dangerous in that, at least for people like Shane, who had everything to lose.
For the moment Miss Marsha settled at a table with her friends Miss Sylvia and Miss Tammy. Sylivia gave Shane a once over, seeming to conclude that he was something lower than herself, clean cut white boy and all. Miss Marsha just smiled. "Hi honey! You look lost, can we help you with something?"
"I want to buy you a drink Miss Marsha," he managed softly. He'd watched her sipping on the same shot of bourbon for over an hour, and her glass still wasn't empty.
"Oh honey! Why didn't you just say so?" Marsha tipped back the last of her drink and got to her feet. She was taller than Shane, and this wasn't some trick from high heels. Miss Marsha didn't have women's shoes on. She wrapped an arm around Shane and guided him through the crowd to the bar. "I'll have a shot of bourbon, thank you," she spoke intimately into his ear, allowing Shane to pass her order along to the bartender. Once her drink was in hand she leaned against the bar. "I know I've seen you around before. What's your name?"
Before the young man could answer the overhead lights came on. Everyone knew what that meant. Cops. They were being raided. Again.
Shane knew the drill. Hell, he'd been here when the place was raided on Tuesday. The cops would line everyone up, ask for IDs. Shane would be released. He was dressed appropriately, and hadn't been caught in any immoral act, so they couldn't hold him on any charges. Ms. Marsha would probably spend the night in jail though. It was against the law for men to dress like women.
This raid was different from the others. The cops almost always showed up before 10pm, before any real crowd had a chance to gather. This time it was after midnight and the place was packed. The mood of the crowd was also different, maybe it was just the summer heat getting into everyone's veins, or Judy Garland's funeral that had happened earlier that same day, leaving most everyone feeling raw and edgy.
Shane saw the cops coming towards him and he stepped back to get out of their way, ready to comply with their instructions. Miss Marsha didn't budge. She didn't even look up when the cops told her to move, she just tipped back her bourbon and drained it. Then the cops were on her, shoving her, trying to force her away from the bar. "I've got my civil rights!" Marsha shouted. She hurled her shot glass across the room, shattering the mirror behind the bar.
Something snapped in Shane. It wasn't right for them to push Miss Marsha like that. The cops shouldn't be pushing anyone. All they wanted was a place where they could be left alone. They weren't hurting anyone. Shane felt anger rising, and without even thinking about it, he started pushing back. A lot of people started pushing back.
***
Anita had been nervous about coming to a gay bar on her own, but it's not like she could bring her girlfriends. Girl friends. None of them knew she was a lesbian. It had taken a long time before she'd admitted this to herself, and it wasn't the sort of thing she could just tell people. She learned about the bar in the Village from those same girlfriends. They had been laughing and making fun, but Ani listened with interest. She wanted to go there, to meet people like her. Maybe even to meet a woman she could spend time with. She didn't want to be alone for the rest of her life. She'd just run out of tolerance for the men who were all hands and dicks in this age of free love. She'd tried sex with a man. She hated it. Hated the men who looked at her like she was some kind of doll or trophy. She longed for a woman's touch, and the thought made her go all red and pink, inside and out.
They let her into the bar, and she put her name down in the little book. Not her real name, of course. She knew that much. She stood by the bar waiting to be noticed by the bartender. Ani wasn't much of a drinker, but you had to order something if you planned to stay. She clutched her handbag, feeling out of place and unsure of herself. There were a lot more men than women here. Even the ones in make-up and dresses mostly seemed to be men.
An attractive and well dressed man approached Anita. "Care to dance?" he asked. Ani felt flustered. Does he think I'm a man?
Ani gathered her courage and just blurted out he truth. This place was supposed to be for homosexuals. "I'm not interested in men," she said, "only women."
The guy just smiled, "Good. I'm not a man. My name is Storme. I preform as a man with The Jewel Box Revue, but I'm all woman." Then as way of evidence Storme took Ani's hand and placed it on her chest. Ani could feel Storme's rounded breast beneath the soft fabric of the expensive shirt.
"I'm Anita..." she said, feeling the flush in her cheeks. The juke box started playing Shirley Bassey, a good slow song, "This Is My Life." The thought of slow dancing with this handsome and dignified woman made Ani's heart race. "...and yes... I would love to dance with you."
Storme led Anita to the dance floor. They danced to that song, then to Aretha Franklin and Stevie Wonder. They talked a little, but mostly they just danced, holding each other in the dark, completely oblivious to the strangers all around them. When the lights came on Anita blinked confused, like she was startled out of a perfect dream.
"What's happening?" she asked.
"It's a raid," Storme answered.
"Oh god!" Anita exclaimed in a panic. "What do we do? My parents will kill me if they find out I was here."
Storme grabbed Anita's hand and led her through the crowd. "Come with me. There's a window in the lady's room. We'll get you out of here." The sound of shouting and breaking glass could be heard behind them, but Storme fought through the crowd into the narrow hallway that led to the bathrooms. A cop blocked their way. "My friend needs to pee," she said, undaunted.
"Go back and line up. If your friend really is a girl she'll be out of here in no time." The crowd surged forward, pushing Anita into the cop. He decided to take the opportunity to reach a hand up Ani's skirt and "check" her gender himself. Anita screamed.
"Get your hands off her," Storme demanded. She pulled Anita back, stepping in front of her, and hit the cop in the face. She actually hit him. The cop's night-stick clubbed Storme in the head. Anita lost sight of Storme after that. The crowed jostled, and Ani lost her place near the front. She found herself being pushed further and further back, until she was out of the hallway and back in the main room. Everything was chaos. The cops were trying to get some of the people out, just to thin the crowd, and Ani found herself among the ones selected to be let go. They didn't even ask for her ID or take her name down.
People were gathering outside of the bar. "This is the second raid this week," someone said.
"The Mafia must have forgotten to pay off the police," another speculated.
Anita should have headed home right away. She'd been lucky to get let off so easy, but she wanted to know what happened to Storme. The crowd continued to gather. Everyone wanted to know what was happening inside the bar. After a while some of the cops came out, pushing drag queens into the waiting paddy wagon. The crowed hurled pennies at the cops, and they shouted "Coppers!" and "Pigs!" but things were still pretty tame.
A cop brought Storme out. "These cuffs are too tight!" she complained. Her shirt had been ripped open, making her true gender apparent to the onlookers. She refused to cooperate, fighting and struggling all the way. Storme managed to slip the cop's grip, and made a run for it, only to be tackled to the ground and grabbed up again. Two cops were on her now. She slipped them again, and another two cops joined the skirmish, leaving the back of the paddy wagon unguarded. They beat Storme hard. "Why don't you guys do something!" the unruly lesbian shouted at the crowd.
Her words let something loose in the crowd, as if she'd cut through an invisible barrier. Why didn't they do something? They out-numbered the cops by hundreds. They didn't have to stand there passively and take the abuse. A brick flew through the air and the crowd surged forward ready to fight. Anita didn't feel afraid anymore. She became a different person. She didn't just fight to help Storme. She fought for herself, for the right to be herself, to love who she wanted to love, and to live without fear.
***
Miss Me-gan never set foot in the bar that night. Like most of the homeless queens on Christopher street, it was rare to get together enough money for a luxury like a drink in a bar. The street queens slept in Washington Park, and spent their free time scrounging for food and hustling. No one knew Me-gan's given name. Even the name Me-gan was more of a joke than a proper name, but Me-gan didn't mind. It was as good a name as any. Whenever someone asked their name, they would just shrug and look away. Some times, when pressed, they might answer, "I'm just me." The other queens teased, "Oh look it's Miss 'Me' Again." It was only a matter of time before everyone started calling them "Me-gan."
Hustling was easier in a dress. It let people know what you were about. Men were more likely to approach you, and getting men was essential to survival. Life on the street was hard, but it was still better than life back home in small town Indiana. Me-gan had been an idiot, got caught giving a blowjob to a football player in the locker room, and got themself kicked out of school. The football player had gotten off with a warning. Me-gan was small and odd, obviously the instigator. Expusian was just another excuse for their dad beat them. That wasn't any thing unusual. It was the threat of being sent to an institution to be "cured," that caused them to leave home. Me-gan stole money from their dad's wallet for the bus ticket to New York. They never looked back.
They hadn't gotten much business that day. Greenwich Village had been almost emptied out, most everyone went to see the funeral. Miss Marsha had passed out cookies to everyone in the morning, but Me-gan hadn't gotten anything else to eat that day. It was a hot and miserable day all around. Nighttime was the best time to make a few dollars, and not feeling up to a hike to Time Square, they stuck to Christopher Street. Me-gan sat on the sidewalk with their back against a wall, and didn't bother to get up when the paddy wagon arrived, though on most days he would have run away to hide in the park. The cops didn't seem to take much notice of them at any rate. They had pants on under their dress, three articles of male clothing, as required by law. They considered ditching the pants. If they got arrested they could get fed in jail.
Didn't seem worth the effort. The cops had all their attention focused on the bar. Another raid. Me-gan hadn't planned on getting involved, but the crowd kept getting bigger and bigger until it just swallowed them up. Only then did they get to their feet to try to figure out what was going on. By that time, things were already out of control. The cops had retreated back into the bar. Someone had lit a fire against the side of the building, and Miss New Orleans, a kid that Me-gan knew well was working on liberating a parking meter from the ground. Other street queens decided to help. Together they somehow managed to get it up. They used it like a battering ram against the door of the bar.
More cops arrived. They tried to force the crowd off of Christopher Street, or at least away from the bar, but the blocks were so small that the crowd just kept coming back around again. Me-gan moved with the crowd. It was funny, how they kept coming back, and the cops were getting more and more frustrated. The energy of the crowd was infectious, and for a little while Me-gan forgot all about their empty stomach. A group of street queens where gathering together. Me-gan could tell something was about to go down. "What are you doing?"
Miss Marty grabbed Miss Me-gan by the arm and pulled them into the fold. "Quick, roll up your pants." Me-gan did as they were told. The cops were coming back up the street after pursuing a group in the opposite direction. "Kick line!" Marty announced. The queens linked arms and began to kick and sing. Miss Me-gan didn't know the song the first time through, but the lyrics were simple enough and they picked up the words easily. On the second refrain they sang out loud and strong.
"We are the Village Girls! We wear our hair in curls! We wear our dungarees above our baggy knees!" And kick and kick and kick. They taunted the cops joyfully and without shame. It felt good to stand their ground. To sing and feel pride, as if they mattered, as if they were people too. Me-gan didn't even notice the other group of cops come up from behind until the night stick came down on their shoulder. It hurt, but this time the hurt was worth it. The queens scattered in every direction. Me-gan ran too, but only a little ways. They came back to the bar again, the door was broken in now. The cops had no choice but to flee in the end. This was the first time the street queens had ever fought back. For Me-gan, and others like them, it was the first time they could claim victory over anything.
No one expected anything to change. They had fought one fight, stood their ground one time. Sure the fight lasted a few days, but the excitement died down and eventually everything got quiet again. The change that mattered was the feeling that awakened that night, the feeling of being a community, the feeling of pride.
The Stonewall Uprising
Start of the Gay Pride Movement in New York, NY
Greenwich Village, Manhattan
June 28, 1969
The perspective characters are fictional but the characters they encounter: Marsha P. Johnson, Storme DeLarverie, and Martin Boyce are real people. There are some contradictory accounts of what really happened that night, and a lot was fictionalized for the sake of narrative flow, but I tried to be as true to facts as I was able, and to portray real life people respectfully.
"The day after the first riot, when it was all over, and I remember sitting, the sun was soon to come-- and I was sitting on the stoop and I was exhausted and I looked at that street. It was dark enough to allow the street lamps to pick up the glitter of all the broken glass and all the debris and all the different colored cloth that was in different places, as if an artist had arranged it, and it was beautiful. It was like Mica. It was like the streets we fought on were strewn with diamonds. It was like a reward." - Martin Boyce, from American Experience: Stonewall Uprising
Start of the Gay Pride Movement in New York, NY
Greenwich Village, Manhattan
June 28, 1969
The perspective characters are fictional but the characters they encounter: Marsha P. Johnson, Storme DeLarverie, and Martin Boyce are real people. There are some contradictory accounts of what really happened that night, and a lot was fictionalized for the sake of narrative flow, but I tried to be as true to facts as I was able, and to portray real life people respectfully.
"The day after the first riot, when it was all over, and I remember sitting, the sun was soon to come-- and I was sitting on the stoop and I was exhausted and I looked at that street. It was dark enough to allow the street lamps to pick up the glitter of all the broken glass and all the debris and all the different colored cloth that was in different places, as if an artist had arranged it, and it was beautiful. It was like Mica. It was like the streets we fought on were strewn with diamonds. It was like a reward." - Martin Boyce, from American Experience: Stonewall Uprising
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