Harvey Milk was a political figure but one who did not aspire to political office. But he stepped up in the 60s to become the first openly elected gay official in San Francisco....San Francisco, circa 1977, the city's then supervisor made a speech that would plot the professional path of a filmmaker who had yet to be born. During that speech, immortalized in the 1984 documentary "The Life and Times of Harvey Milk", Milk orates, "There's a kid in San Antonio, and he heard tonight that a gay man was elected to public office, and that will give him hope." Milk, a film about Harvey Milk's life and its impact, is slated for a December 5, 2008, release via Focus Features...www.milkthemovie.com
WHAT HAPPENED
At 11am Monday, November 27, 1978 in San Francisco?
It was 11.00am on Monday morning, November 27, 1978 in San Francisco. The startling news comes to us from KSAN, the popular rock-and-roll station. Dianne Feinstein, President of the Board of Supervisors, in a shaking voice says: "Mayor George Moscone and Supervisor Harvey Milk have been shot . . . and killed. The suspect is Supervisor Dan White."
This statement was to be repeated over and over again on radio, TV, and newspaper headlines.
Shock and disbelief overwhelmed San Franciscans as they were finishing our morning coffee. They quickly dressed and went down to 18th and Castro Streets, a few blocks away. The LGBT community had become accustomed to congregating there whenever events called for reaction. The sidewalks were already crowded. The looks of shock, dismay, anger and fear were on all faces, and tears flowed freely. It was the beginning of the end, or so it seemed. The news that Dan White was in custody was no solace. Their Harvey was gone! Their beloved Mayor and good friend to their community, George Moscone, was also dead. All of their efforts, progress, victories, and hopes for the future, seemed to have evaporated and they felt pushed back to square one.
The City ground to a halt. Many offices and businesses closed. People wept openly in the streets. Strangers hugged each other, trying to offer comfort. But there was no comfort. There was a police car parked in front of Harvey's house down the block. Police presence remained on our street until after the funerals.
At suppertime, they were alerted again by KSAN that there would be a candlelight vigil at Market and Castro. The group could no longer fit in the intersection and began moving slowly down Market toward City Hall. People poured out of almost every building we passed, providing additional mourners. This march was one of the most awesome events in history (tho not like Diana Spencer's death in scale and proportion). But five percent of the population of the entire city was present on a moment's notice and in spite of the mass of humanity, the silence was deafening. Occasional sobs and whispers were the only sounds. There was little traffic and, as if the gods were with them, there was no wind licking at our candles!
As the crowd filled Civic Center, candles were deposited everywhere. Hundreds of tiny points of light lit the statue of Abraham Lincoln. It must have taken city workers weeks to clean up the wax. Someone wisely brought a megaphone and believe it or not, Joan Baez (in person) began singing AMAZING GRACE. Tears flowed freely as the crowd joined in. Chills ran down their collective spine. These are moments that happen only at truly historic events, and there they were with their tiny, tiny candle and heavy, heavy heart, and their 50,000 brothers and sisters.
WHAT HAPPENED
At 11am Monday, November 27, 1978 in San Francisco?
It was 11.00am on Monday morning, November 27, 1978 in San Francisco. The startling news comes to us from KSAN, the popular rock-and-roll station. Dianne Feinstein, President of the Board of Supervisors, in a shaking voice says: "Mayor George Moscone and Supervisor Harvey Milk have been shot . . . and killed. The suspect is Supervisor Dan White."
This statement was to be repeated over and over again on radio, TV, and newspaper headlines.
Shock and disbelief overwhelmed San Franciscans as they were finishing our morning coffee. They quickly dressed and went down to 18th and Castro Streets, a few blocks away. The LGBT community had become accustomed to congregating there whenever events called for reaction. The sidewalks were already crowded. The looks of shock, dismay, anger and fear were on all faces, and tears flowed freely. It was the beginning of the end, or so it seemed. The news that Dan White was in custody was no solace. Their Harvey was gone! Their beloved Mayor and good friend to their community, George Moscone, was also dead. All of their efforts, progress, victories, and hopes for the future, seemed to have evaporated and they felt pushed back to square one.
The City ground to a halt. Many offices and businesses closed. People wept openly in the streets. Strangers hugged each other, trying to offer comfort. But there was no comfort. There was a police car parked in front of Harvey's house down the block. Police presence remained on our street until after the funerals.
At suppertime, they were alerted again by KSAN that there would be a candlelight vigil at Market and Castro. The group could no longer fit in the intersection and began moving slowly down Market toward City Hall. People poured out of almost every building we passed, providing additional mourners. This march was one of the most awesome events in history (tho not like Diana Spencer's death in scale and proportion). But five percent of the population of the entire city was present on a moment's notice and in spite of the mass of humanity, the silence was deafening. Occasional sobs and whispers were the only sounds. There was little traffic and, as if the gods were with them, there was no wind licking at our candles!
As the crowd filled Civic Center, candles were deposited everywhere. Hundreds of tiny points of light lit the statue of Abraham Lincoln. It must have taken city workers weeks to clean up the wax. Someone wisely brought a megaphone and believe it or not, Joan Baez (in person) began singing AMAZING GRACE. Tears flowed freely as the crowd joined in. Chills ran down their collective spine. These are moments that happen only at truly historic events, and there they were with their tiny, tiny candle and heavy, heavy heart, and their 50,000 brothers and sisters.
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