In a recent article, Charles Francis, the current president of the Mattachine Society, referred to the Canadian prime minister’s recent apology to his country’s sexual minorities for decades of “systemic oppression, criminalization, and violence.” Francis goes on to contrast Canada with the US and its shameful history of discrimination against sexual minorities, which “remains officially unrecognized—much less apologized for.” In this time of a hostile Trump-Pence administration, Francis asks, “Do we want to remember? Or do we want to forget?” He concludes, “Our equality depends upon it. No history. No equality.” Living in Oregon, I remember with dread our shameful gay history with the numerous ballot initiatives that sought to limit the rights of the LGBT community, some of which became law. There was Measure 8 in 1988, Measure 9 in 1992, Measure 13 in 1994, another Measure 9 in 2000, and Measure 36 in 2004, which successfully used the state constitution to ban same-sex marriage.
This is one of many reasons why the Gay & Lesbian Archive of the Pacific Northwest (GLAPN)—and other archives around the US—are such valuable organizations. They protect a history that could easily be lost. Without contacting early GLAPN members, I never could have created my Medicine for the Blues trilogy. Sharing gay history became a major motivation for me in completing the project.
Another recent article by Julio Capó Jr. in Time describes a Ku Klux Klan raid on a queer joint near Miami, Florida, in 1937. The Klan stormed La Paloma, rounded up staff and performers (female strippers, drag queens, and others), and ordered the nightspot closed. Less than two weeks later, local law enforcement conducted its own raid. But La Paloma soon reopened with “spicier entertainment than ever,” including a satire of the Klan’s raid.
Capó writes that like the Stonewall Inn in 1969, “Queer joints have historically been key sites of resistance” and, I would add, community building. While the Stonewall Inn has become famous in the US and abroad, the raids against many other queer joints across the country—like La Paloma—have been forgotten. I was never present at a gay bar raid, but I have known people who have personal recollections of these assaults on our freedom of assembly.
GLAPN records on its timeline that Portland, Oregon, has its own history of queer joints, one of the earliest in 1907:
1907
Gay businessman Theodore Kruse purchases the Belvedere Hotel at Fourth and Alder in Portland. Inside is the Louvre Restaurant, which Kruse turns into a “bohemian” place that becomes a thriving spot for Portland’s Gay men. A separate “Gent’s Dining Room” has mirrored walls and palm trees. The restaurant is cited by newspapers for frequent liquor law violations and is called a “front” for “immoral activity.”
1950
The Oregon Liquor Control Commission allows the reinstatement of a Portland bar’s liquor license only with the proviso that it cease drag shows. Beginning in 1949, Portland police began undercover infiltration of bars to report on drag shows, same sex dancing, and sexual solicitation.
1969
A few of Portland’s female impersonators organize the Portland Forum, which provides social and cultural activities for the gay community.
1972
First Portland Gay Community Center opened by Second Foundation above the Other Inn Tavern, 258 SW Alder St. Financial woes close the doors after 6 months. Dahl & Penne’s Tavern (founded 1898) becomes the center of gay culture in Portland for 10.5 years.
It is easy to become complacent in a time when same-sex marriage is legal and anti-discrimination laws are in place in many localities around the US. But we are often warned, unless we remember our history, we are likely to repeat it. As the tag line for This Way Out, the international LGBT radio magazine, says, “An informed community is a strong community.”
Let’s learn and remember our history.
—Jeff Stookey
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Read more about gay history in my novel Acquaintance. Buy the book HERE.
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