New Year’s is a time for celebration, but it also serves as a moment for significant transformation. On January 1, 1965, the queer community hosted a party that would profoundly alter perceptions of gays and lesbians worldwide. Interestingly, this event was supported by some unexpected allies: straight ministers.
Jallen Rix’s 2013 documentary, Lewd and Lascivious: 1965: Drag Queens, Ministers and the SFPD, recounts how a group of cross-denominational heterosexual ministers moved to San Francisco to better understand how to serve the community. With declining church attendance among younger generations—much like today—the ministers ventured into the gay community to identify areas where they could offer support. They visited numerous gay bars to learn about the community’s needs.
The primary concern? Ongoing police harassment from the San Francisco PD. One bar, The Chuckkers, even put up a sign proclaiming it was “Famous for its unusual entertainment, now presents Police Harassment! Every Friday and Saturday!”
Reverend Ted McIlvenna shared a harrowing account of police brutality with Rix. He recounted a night when he received a call about two gay men who had been brutally assaulted. When he suggested calling the police, they replied, “We can’t call the police because it’s the police that did the kicking.” After taking them to the hospital, they were turned away, with a doctor dismissively labeling them as “dirty, filthy queers.”
McIlvenna, affiliated with Glide Memorial Methodist Church, collaborated with many in the queer community, including Phyllis Lyon and Del Martin, founders of the Daughters of Bilitis. Following a successful summit between clergy and queer leaders, a new organization emerged: the Council on Religion and the Homosexual (CRH).
That winter, the CRH connected with various gay groups in San Francisco, such as the Mattachine Society and the Tavern Guild, to sell tickets for a New Year’s Ball at California Hall on Polk Street. This marked the first time these organizations united as a political force. Tickets were sold for $4 each, with $1 going to the selling organization. Over 500 tickets were sold.
Given the scale of the event, the CRH needed permits, which could only be obtained from the San Francisco Police. When the ministers sought to speak with the chief of police, they were instead met by the vice squad. The officers posed insulting questions about what sexual acts were deemed acceptable by God, ultimately asserting that if the ministers wouldn’t “uphold God’s law,” it was the police’s duty to do so. Fortunately, with legal assistance, the CRH secured the necessary permits, and the police assured them there would be no raid.
However, the CRH was prepared for potential trouble, fully aware of the reliability of the police’s word. Unsurprisingly, the cops arrived, taking photos of attendees despite previously promising that no cameras would be allowed. Police officers continually requested access for “inspections” every ten minutes, according to activist Nancy May. When organizers insisted that any further inspections would require a warrant, arrests began.
Six individuals were taken into custody: four for obstructing the police, including three attorneys—Herb Donaldson, Evander Smith, and Elliot Leighton—and May, who was managing ticket sales and objected to the inspections. Two guests, Konrad Osterreich and Jon Borset, faced charges of lewd and lascivious conduct for dancing too closely.
The raid on California Hall could have been just another chapter in the ongoing saga of police harassment by the SFPD. However, this time, the clergy members present held a press conference the following day, condemning the police for their lies and unwarranted harassment. The ministers garnered front-page coverage in local newspapers, and the story gained traction through wire services. In the wake of the media attention, the ACLU stepped in to offer support and representation.
The trial did not go well for the police. Judge Leo Friedman openly mocked their excuses, including one officer’s claim that cameras were necessary due to the “high incidence of crime these people are involved in.” Disgusted by the police’s behavior, Friedman instructed the jury to deliver a verdict of “not guilty,” stating that the case would be dismissed if they did otherwise.
“It’s useless to waste everybody’s time following this to its finale,” Friedman remarked after the prosecution concluded its case.
Media coverage of the trial brought mainstream attention to the harassment faced by the queer community, playing a crucial role in shifting public perception. Although Borset lost his job after the California Hall incident, he noted that when he explained the situation to his new employer, they found it absurd to arrest someone for dancing.
The California Hall raid also played a pivotal role in establishing San Francisco as the LGBTQ+ capital of the United States, ironically thanks to the police. In their attempts to demonize the community, the police claimed there were as many as 75,000 gays and lesbians in San Francisco. While that number was vastly inflated, it became a self-fulfilling prophecy as queer individuals across the country took notice and decided to make the city their home.
As homophobia and transphobia resurge, fueled by the Republican party’s rhetoric of fear and hatred, it’s essential to remember the lessons learned from the California Hall raid. Unity in the fight against oppression is crucial. Most importantly, while queerphobes may wield power, shining a light on their abhorrent actions often prompts a collective backlash, with many standing in solidarity against injustice.
