The Mayor of Castro Street: The Life and Times of Harvey Milk (1982) By Randy Shilts

I have re-read The Mayor of Castro Street by Randy Shilts each June since it was it published in 1982, but I have never written a review of it. It is a very personal book for me. I call it my bible.

For gay activists, even ones like me who call ourselves “retired from the frontlines” The Mayor is our collective autobiography. Its subtitle … “The Life and Times …” is us, and though we may not march at the head of the parade any longer, it’s OUR parade. This weekend’s Pride Parade will mark my 41^st. And in reality, gay activists may move to the sidewalks, but we never really retire because just living our lives honestly is a political act.

Several years ago, no, more than that I’m afraid, the late and wonderful Paul Varnell, a nationally syndicated gay newspaper columnist in Chicago and close friend, and I, had the delight of jointly interviewing journalist/author RandyShilts over dinner when he was doing a book tour for his epic And the Band Played On.  During the interview I mentioned to Randy (hard to call him Shilts, he was way too cuddly) the importance of The Mayor to me. He said he wrote The Mayor because “the story” needed to be told, however he had never expected it to have the impact on gay readers that it does. 

Randy Shilts

The story details some of the key chapters in the modern day gay rights movement – a historic sea change that has occurred in our lifetimes. While there are skirmishes yet to be fought, and probably re-fought, the war was effectively won this week with the Supreme Court’s ruling on marriage equality. The promise of "equality under the law" has one meaning, you either have it, or you do not; to me it’s never been a difficult concept to grasp.

How far the gay movement has come, and how difficult the road has been, is what will always remain important about The Mayor.  When Harvey Milk and the rest of us were growing up, being gay wasn’t just considered a “perversion” it was an actual criminal offense. At the time, the idea of gay marriage didn’t even rise to the level of science fiction.

People lost their jobs, and were barred from many occupations. They automatically lost the custody of their children, and were usually even denied visitation. Establishments that served gays were routinely extorted by the police for payoffs, and then raided anyway, with the names of those arrested published in newspapers. So-called “professionals” considered barbaric electric shock therapy a “cure.” Gay kids were routinely thrown out by their parents, ostracized and bullied and beaten by their peers. Religious figures made profitable careers out of preaching hatred, and (ironically) called gay men pedophiles. Our relationships were not considered “real” relationships, no matter how many years they had existed. And our government knowingly ignored AIDS until it became an uncontrollable epidemic that began impacting others. And throughout all of this, most -- but not all -- of straight America stood by silently, not wanting to acknowledge what was happening all around them.  

As we celebrate its demise, it is important that we never lose this history. 

The Mayor is the book I always recommend to non-gay people because it, better than any other, describes chapters of American history that they are probably unaware of, even though they lived through it. And its story, our story, my story -- is what I want every young gay person to know, to be proud of, and to never forget.