Los Angeles, May 1959
Cooper Donuts, on a seedy stretch of Main Street in Los Angeles, was one of the few places that welcomed gay street hustlers, drag queens and transgender people.
The local police, however, were not so kind.
âThey interrogate you, fingerprint you without booking you: An illegal LA cop-tactic to scare you from hanging around,â wrote author John Rechy, a regular at the shop, in his 1963 novel âCity at Night.â
In May 1959 two police officers conducted their latest roundup at the shop, which included Rechy, and the crowd revolted and pelted the officers with coffee, doughnuts, trash and utensils.
They âfled into their car, called backups, and soon the street was bustling with disobedience. Gay people danced about the cars,â Rechy later said.
Historians consider Cooper Donuts to be the first LGBTQ uprising in modern history, but Rechy said anyone who was openly gay back then was in rebellion, âmany at the time risking years of imprisonment.â Both homosexuality and cross dressing were illegal.
âEach act of protest bolsters the next one pushing for equal rights â and respect,â Rechy said in an email.
Charlotte, North Carolina, December 1961
The Charlotte Observer described Maxine Doyle Perkins as a âpublic nuisanceâ â a âhopeless homosexualâ born a male named Max who dressed female.
In 1961, Perkins was charged with having sex with a man. She wore a dress to court and was sentenced to up to 30 years in prison.
Two years later her conviction was overturned for lack of a fair trial.
In a landmark ruling, Judge James Braxton Craven of U.S. District Court questioned the severity of North Carolinaâs laws, which he noted were based on statutes from the court of King Henry VIII in 1533.
âAre homosexuals twice as dangerous to society as second-degree murderers â as indicated by the maximum punishment for each offense?â Craven asked.
The judge also thought prison was not much of a punishment for Perkins, adding that being confined with so many men âis a little like throwing Brâer Rabbit into the brier patch.â
The ruling received news media coverage, including from Time magazine, and in 1965 state lawmakers reduced jail sentences for homosexuality to between four months and 10 years.
At a new trialPerkins dressed as a man and was acquitted.
Columbus, Ohio, October 1964
Just giving a party for gay people in Columbus in 1964 was against the law.
So it was an act of defiance when David Zimmer, Orn Huntington and others organized what would become an annual Halloween drag ball.
âBusinesses with a known gay clientele were usually subject to police harassment or raids, sometimes under the auspices of health code violations or permit violations,â said Eric Feingold, history curator at the Ohio History Connection, the stateâs historical society.
Invitation-only guests called a pay phone for the ballâs location and were locked inside the event in order to keep the police out, creating a rare safe space for the areaâs LGBTQ community.
Eventually the ball became a showcase for drag culture and fundraiser during the AIDS epidemic. Today Columbus hosts one of the largest Pride celebrations in the Midwest.
Philadelphia, July 1965
One of the earliest organized public demonstrations for gay rights took place at the cradle of American democracy, Independence Hall, on July 4, 1965.
Gay men and lesbians, in suits and ties and dresses, politely marched with signs reading, âHomosexuals Ask For Equality Before the Law.â
âThe gay community really had a bad public image at that time,â said John James, one of the nearly 40 marchers. The formal attire communicated respectability, but the risks to demonstrators were enormous.
âI had asked not to be photographed,â James said. Being publicly identified as a homosexual could mean being fired.
This was no idle threat. In 1953 President Dwight Eisenhower banned homosexuals from working in the federal government.
Even scientists, like astronomer Frank Kameny, were fired when their orientation became known. James had just begun his career at the National Institutes of Health as a computer programmer.
A news photographer had indeed taken a picture. However, it was not widely circulated, and Jamesâ career continued unhindered.
Decades later James became the publisher of âAIDS Treatment News,â a vital news source during the epidemic, a future that could have been threatened had he been outed in 1965.
New York City, April 1966
It was the unwritten law of the New York State Liquor Authority in the 1960s that homosexuals were inherently âdisorderly,â and to serve them alcohol meant a bar could lose its liquor license.
âRestaurant and bar owners were afraid of being closed by the police, because if you had the gay people in it, the cops would come and close it. So they put signs up saying, âIf youâre gay, donât come here,ââ Dick Leitsch said in a videotaped interview with the LGBTQ history bank Outwords Archive before his death last year. In April 1966, Leitsch was president of the Mattachine Society, an early gay rights organization.
Inspired by sit-ins by black protesters at segregated lunch counters in the South, Leitsch and his Mattachine colleagues conducted a âsip-inâ at Juliusâ bar in Greenwich Village.
âWe had heard that Juliusâ refused to serve gays. So we went in, we sat down and said, âWeâre homosexuals.â And the waiter said, âI canât serve you.â And there was a photographer. He got a picture of him, and thatâs how we got that famous picture,â Leitsch said.
The âsip-inâ received attention as one of the earliest acts of LGBTQ civil disobedience, including an article on the front page of The New York Times with the headline â3 Deviates Invite Exclusion by Bars.â After the publicity the liquor authority relented.
San Francisco, August 1966
A policemanâs manhandling was the final straw on a hot summer night at Gene Comptonâs cafeteria.
The diner was a beloved retreat for drag queens, transgender people and gay denizens of the areaâs tough Tenderloin neighborhood, where many subsisted on drugs and prostitution and were routinely arrested on charges of cross dressing.
Tensions had been building for weeks following a protest for rights. So when the police conducted a raid, and an officer grabbed one of the women, she threw her coffee in his face.
The diner erupted in violence. As many as 60 patrons pummeled the police with anything they could throw. Windows were smashed, fighting seeped into the streets, a police car was destroyed and a newsstand set ablaze.
Comptonâs is considered one of the first acts of âmilitant queer resistance,â Susan Stryker, a professor of gender and womenâs studies at the University of Arizona, said in her 2005 documentary âScreaming Queens,â which brought details of the riot to light.
The incident is also considered the historical start of the transgender rights movement, but it did not spread or gain notoriety.
âComptonâs and Stonewall had the same spark,â Stryker said. âIt was state-sanctioned violence by the police against sexual and gender minorities. But there simply wasnât enough tinder, so to speak, in 1966. Unlike Stonewall where you had the same spark and it turns into a conflagration.â
Huntington Park, California, October 1968
At the first service of the Metropolitan Community Church, the scripture featured long-suffering Job. Pastor Troy Perry knew the story all too well.
Perry had been a religious prodigy, preaching at 13. In an effort to combat his homosexuality, he married a ministerâs daughter, had two sons and moved to a church in California.
When he could no longer hide that he was gay, Perry was excommunicated and divorced, and his wife took off with their children. Later, after a failed relationship, he slit his wrists in his bathtub.
Perry was saved by his roommate, and when he awoke in a nearby hospital he said he heard the voice of God say, âI love you, and I donât have stepsons and daughters.â
âIt dawned on me, after a few months, that if God loved me, God had to love other gay people,â Perry said.
So he started his own church â one that welcomed gays and lesbians and fought for progressive causes. The first service had 12 people in his living room.
Today the church is celebrating 50 years with more than 220 branches in 33 nations, but along the way it has endured harassment, arson and the slayings of eight clergy members.
âThe end of Jobâs story is that God gave him back more than he had ever owned,â Perry said.
Milwaukee, October 1971
Donna Burkett, then 25, and Manonia Evans, 21, knew they would be confronting the government when they walked into the Milwaukee County Clerkâs office.
The two African American women asked for a license to marry. When denied they began one of nationâs first battles for marriage equality.
âIt is already a given right through the Constitution,â Burkett told local station WTMJ-TV in 1971.
The women took their case to court. They lost, and the harsh publicity surrounding the controversy (âJetâ magazine deridingly described who was the man and who was the woman in the relationship) helped break the couple apart.
Burkett, contacted by phone in May, said her actions were not heroic. âWhy does anyone care about that? It was so long ago,â she said.
Others see it differently.
Five years ago the Milwaukee LGBT Community Center gave Burkett an award for her courage.
Houston, July 1975
Ray Hill was a teenager in 1958 in Houston when he came out as gay to his parents.
âThey were afraid I might grow up to be a Republican,â Hill later said. âBut if I was gay, they could handle that.â
His profession was another matter. Hill became a burglar and went to prison. When he was released in 1975 he noticed how many gays and lesbians in Texas lived in fear.
âTheyâre all in their closets. Theyâre all scared,â Hill told the Outwords Archive shortly before his death last year.
So Hill started the radio program âWilde âNâ Steinâ (referring to Oscar Wilde and Gertrude Stein) on KPFT-FM, one of the nationâs earliest broadcasts for LGBTQ listeners. âWhat I had in mind was to build community with radio,â he said.
The conversation was not universally welcomed. Hill said he became âthe guy that talks about being gay, and I open the phones.â
Later, he became the stationâs manager and, as an openly gay man and an ex-convict, challenged the Federal Communications Commissionâs provision that such positions could go only to people of âgood moral character.â He also fought to reform the justice system.
âHis legacy of unrepentant rabble-rousing made Texas a more welcome place for the underdog,â wrote journalist RenĂ©e Feltz in the âTexas Observerâ at the time of Hillâs death.
Fayetteville, Arkansas, 1970s and 1981
Beginning in the 1970s dozens of groups of lesbians, determined to separate themselves from the male-dominated world, bought properties across rural America, often in the Bible Belt, and set up their own self-sufficient communities called âwomynâs lands.â
Diana Rivers founded the Ozark Land Holding Association in 1981, on 240 acres with a mountain and creek, near Fayetteville, built around the idea of âwomen living on land that we have control over,â Rivers said.
âWe didnât go out and advertise,â she said. âWe didnât go around the neighborhood saying, âThis is a lesbian community moving in next to you.ââ
But the women did not hide either.
They marched in the earliest Pride parades in Fayetteville. âI remember gay pride when 10 of us would go out walking down the street,â Rivers said, âhoping no one would throw a rock at us.â
Now thousands attend Fayettevilleâs Pride celebrations and âthe street is jammed with people cheering and waving and carrying on,â Rivers said.
And the locals appear to accept Riversâ settlement, and some matter-of-factly call it âDyke Mountain.â
This article originally appeared in The New York Times.