SOMEWHERE IN AMERICA,
ON A HOT SUMMER DAY,
IN A BAR—
A GAY BAR—
GAY PEOPLE ARE GETTING DRUNK.
THE DATE IS JUNE 27TH, 1969.
Five blocks away, a convoy of CITY POLICE squad cars and a paddy wagon are en route.
Homophiles are murdered and beaten without consequence. It is the heterosexual prerogative. Fear of the homophiles, combined with the innate belief that Homosexuality is Unnatural and an Abomination, gave birth to an Anti-Homophile Mania. Sodomy is outlawed. And anyone discovered in the act is immediately imprisoned for sentences far beyond reason. Gays and Lesbians found in bars are identified, filed neatly in their database of “Known Homosexuals” and released. Female homosexuals are raped, beaten and left to the cold. Some of them get to the hospital in time, but most of the males don’t. Transvestites are killed without question. Homophiles under the age of consent are forced into mental institutions or “treatment programs,” where they are experimented upon and brainwashed. Most of the Homosexuals subjected to electro-shock therapy and sexual aversion therapy commit suicide.
In the corner of the room, three men are playing pool and laughing. Biker chicks are taking up some of the tables in the middle of the room, close to the stage. The Leather Daddies and Pretty Boys are at the bar, flirting. Julio is behind the bar, pouring a tap for a brunette with bright red lipstick. She’s smacking her gum, making like Marilyn and looking his muscle-bound body up and down like it’s the desert and she just saw a drop of water. Her fag is standing behind her, tall and blonde. He’s not twenty-one yet, and he certainly isn’t eighteen either. His name is William, and he’s fresh meat. His hag is Teresa, and she’s pissed off because her voluptuous, jiggling breasts are being passed up for her friend’s basket. She is obviously buying a drink for the kid. And her I.D. is painfully amateur. But Julio can’t help himself, the kid is delectable. He has to have a little fun.
“Hey,” His voice is husky, and only accentuates the fact that his bicep is as big as William’s head.
William—who is uncomfortable enough just being there—almost jumps out of his skin when he realizes who the bartender is talking to. Caught!
“Huh-Hi,” Williams face turns red and his stomach is bursting with butterflies.
Julio chuckles and hands Terry the drink. He looks at the kid.
“What’s your name?” He asks.
Anne is watching the exchange from her seat across the room. The fag’s hag’s ass is high on the list of Anne’s aspirations, after having two glasses of beer and saying cheers with ta-kill-ya till the drink was spilling out her ears. Judy Garland is dead. But, still, here’s this fine-ass woman. She took a pass by and grabbed Teresa, while Will and Julio were eye-to-eye.
“Hey,” She flashed her sexiest look.
“Um, Hi,” Teresa backed off and wiggled like a worm on a hook.
Anne could tell by first sight this girl just might do it. The small smirk she saw convinced her she might take off her shirt . . . if things end up right. Julio is about to close before the vigil at midnight.
“You want a beer?” Julio asks William.
“No,” William blushes harder as he crashes and crushes against the smooth-talking bartender. “I—I’m not . . .”
Julio cuts him off, “On me.”
William grins, “Okay.”
Teresa tried kissing one of her girlfriends while she was a freshman. She thought about it every so often. Anne was pretty . . . .
THE BAR DOOR SLAMS OPEN—
There’s yelling.
Flashlights are blaring and guns are drawn.
IT’S THE COPS.
They order the patrons of the Gay Bar to Comply. The police tell them they are under arrest for Lewd Conduct, Indecency, Soliciting for Sex and Cross-Dressing. They want to see Identification.
William and Teresa hide. They don’t know that they’ve stepped into a war. The patrons look at each other. After seeing their friends taken and beaten, disappeared and raped, there is no way in hell these Homophiles are going to let the City Police take even one more. Not. One. Fucking. More.
The tranny at the pool table rips off her goatee and screams, “Fuck the police!” She throws a bottle and hits a police officer in the head.
“STOP!” The police scream, “Get on the ground!”
“Why are you arresting us?” One of the biker chicks screams back, “Why can’t you leave us alone?”
The police bark, “Stop. Desist, or we have to use force.”
But the Homosexuals aren’t listening.
One of the biker chicks hits an officer with a chair. Julio throws bottles of alcohol from the bar. And, when the cops get close enough, he grabs one by the throat and throws him into the liquor shelves.
The police draw their batons and hit a biker chick; break one of the pool guy’s arms. It looks like an even fight. The pool guys have gotten the first three officers down, and the biker chicks are throwing the officers out of the bar, one by one.
ON THE STREET— a crowd of Gays, Lesbians, Cross-Dressers and Sympathizers form to watch the beating. The Police, fearing for their lives, fire their weapons into the air, and retreat into the bar. Will and Teresa—having slipped out and joined the crowd sometime during the mêlée—stare at the abandoned police vehicles and the barred door in disbelief.
“That cop broke my fucking arm!” A pool guy screams.
A biker chick rings out, “BURN IT DOWN!”
The crowd roars and hundreds of people surround the bar, beating on the walls and windows. Some of them try to light parts of the building on fire with lighters. Tires are ripped off the police vehicles and set on fire. The windows of the paddy wagon are broken, emergency lights are ripped, and the insides are gutted; wires are everywhere. Plumes of black smoke fill the skies above the city.
Julio appears with a parking meter. “Come on, let’s break it down!”
The police officers inside are calling for backup. The crowd is growing; there must be at least 1,000 people. The bar doors are almost down. As the door breaks, the crowd floods in. The police officers are dragged out of the building and beaten. Soon, the COUNTER-PROTEST FORCES arrive with riot gear. But they are no match for the 2,000 people who now fill the small street. Will and Teresa don’t know it now, but they’re making history. Anne leads the charge.