Stonewall: The Birth of a Movement.

A guest article by Larry Flick

"It was jarring and terrifying... and it was all because we wanted to dance with each other."

Those are the words of Richard Jones, a man who was resting his head on the shoulder of his boyfriend as they swayed to the strains of "This is My Life" by Shirley Bassey as it played from the jukebox at New York's shoulder at the Stonewall Inn. "It was like being shaken from a dream in the most terrible way," Jones says.

In that single moment on an oppressively hot and humid summer night in the early hours of June 28, 1969, a police raid erupted into an explosion of violent rebellion that would later give way to a world-changing revolution. It wasn't planned, nor had there previously been even the slightest prediction of its imminence on the streets. It just happened.

The evening began as many did in New York's Greenwich Village back then. A bevy of men and women gathered at the Stonewall Inn, one of several taverns in the neighborhood that catered to queer men and women. It was (and still is) a fairly small room. Cozy in décor and vibe with exposed brick walls and rustic wood furniture. Opposite the bar was a grand, old-fashioned jukebox, filled with hits by pop stars of the day like Diana Ross & the Supremes and Dusty Springfield, along with selections from Broadway musicals like "Hair" and "Hello, Dolly!". It provided a vibrant soundtrack of joy and hope to people in need of escape from the brutalities of daily life.

Walking into the Stonewall has always felt like stepping into an alternate universe; a safe haven that regulars often described as "cleansing,” and akin to "falling into the arms of loved ones." Back in 1969, there were no politically conscious letters of separation, nor were there venues of sub-cultural distinction. Everyone was welcome, which made for colorful nightly gatherings of drag queens, leather kings, denim-hippies, and everything in between. "We were all just fags, dykes, and queens back then," Stonewall activist Sylvia Riviera once said. “That was good enough for us. We drank and danced and sang along to songs that we loved. You could tell who'd gotten to the jukebox first by the songs that were playing. There was a lot of love in that bar. We took care of each other."

In stark contrast, the streets of New York were bleak. At the time, homosexual acts remained illegal in every state of America except Illinois, and bars and restaurants could get shut down for having gay employees or serving gay patrons.

Police raids on gay bars were common. Their first target was same-gender dancing, which was against New York law in 1969. After that, anyone wearing clothing or cosmetics that were not deemed gender appropriate was either arrested or humiliated by having their faces plunged into buckets of water to wash away any traces of makeup. Violence against queer people reached record highs, with reports of such bias crimes, aka fag-bashing, largely ignored.

But it all began to change on the evening of Friday, June 27th. That was the day of Hollywood legend Judy Garland's funeral. She had died several days earlier of a drug overdose. A celebrated icon among queer
people, she was a symbol of emotional liberation; a woman who struggled to live without pain in real life. In her music, however, Garland was glamorous and larger-than-life. She performed with unbridled freedom. In a song, she would often get the man – and even if she didn't, she would live to fight for love another day. Her music often blared from the speakers of the Stonewall jukebox, filling the room with waves of warmth. Many viewed her passing as simply too much to bare.

As June 27th became the 28th, the Stonewall
was filled with a collision of emotions. As the melancholy melody of Garland's "You'll Never Walk Alone" wafted from the jukebox through the room, some joyfully toasted her life while others drowned their sorrows. In the wee hours of the morning, as patrons slow danced to the gentle songs they chose from the jukebox, police broke the tranquil atmosphere by raiding the bar, as they often did.

As the chaos of arrests ensued, people started pushing and taunting the officers. The riots began with "street" kids, those young gay men who viewed the Stonewall as the only safe space in their lives. Two transgender women, Riviera, and Marsha P. Johnson, were said to have resisted arrest and thrown the first stones at the cops as cries and chants of "ENOUGH!" and "NO MORE!" filled the mucky, humid predawn summer air.

Ironically, the growing mob on the street forced the original police raiding group to retreat into the Stonewall and barricade themselves inside. Some rioters used a parking meter as a battering ram to break through the door; others made impromptu firebombs with bottles, matches and lighter fluid. Finally, sometime after 4 am, things settled down.

Despite being torn apart by the cops, the Stonewall Inn opened shortly before nightfall the next day, drawing a horde of supporters. The bar was largely in tatters, all except for that grand jukebox, which stood prominently in the bar as an indestructible symbol of the humans who fought for their rights. And rightly so. The carefully curated recordings that filled that jukebox were more than familiar hits from the radio. They were reflections and illuminations of people who started a revolution that changed the world. These songs assemble into a compelling mosaic of people and experiences that have not been previously shared
until now. In fact, this is a playlist that has nearly been erased by time and technology, but we have found it... thanks to the surviving figures of that night.

Discover The Stonewall Jukebox on VERO

Check #Stone WallJukebox to explore the playlist curated by Larry, and keep it tuned on his profile for a deep dive into the global impact of the Stonewall movement throughout June.

Visual design: Emilia Wharfe & ArtSchool

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