And Then I Danced

by Mark Segal

  I believe the commercial cost us under a thousand dollars to produce. We then tried to place it. There, we ran into a surprise: most of the stations were afraid to sell us time. No one had ever run an ad against a sitting city council candidate without being a candidate themselves.

  We called a press conference and announced that only two TV stations would sell us time for the commercial. This was outrageous. We thanked the two stations, KYW and WPHL, and told the assembled press, which included the stations that wouldn’t sell us time, that the commercial would begin running the following morning on the news shows. That night the six p.m. and eleven p.m. news on most stations led with the press conference, with the commercial as part of the story. We ended up getting the commercial on TV free of charge and it ran more times on the news than the airtime we’d actually purchased.

  But the true magic of that moment was that we were the first LGBT group to ever fight a standing councilman with a TV campaign. We made bumper stickers with the Say No to Rafferty logo next to a snarling Rafferty. We handed them out and they began to appear all over the city. People like activist Mike Marsico and members of ACT UP kept coming back for more stickers for their army of friends and colleagues. People saw them and recalled the commercial, and it appeared as if we had a citywide campaign going.

  This led to the most powerful member of the Pennsylvania Senate calling and asking to have lunch with me. Enter Vince Fumo, not only a state senator, but also a ward leader, who was trying to help get his friend Jim Kenney elected to the council. Vince felt that if our campaign took votes from Rafferty, it would help Kenney win. The idea was to take Rafferty off the list of endorsed five and replace him with Kenney, and to do it ward by ward. Finally we had found our candidate! Once agreed, Vince began to call ward leaders and I’d take them to lunch at The Palm.

  Ed Rendell was at the top of the ticket, and thus far I had not asked him to do anything for us in this election. But now things were moving fast. So fast that Rafferty began to believe he needed to get a stronger campaign together. I was so focused on our own campaign I didn’t have time to pay attention to Rafferty’s response. It seemed, like other city council candidates, Rafferty expected that the City Committee and Rendell would carry him on their ticket. I don’t think he ever expected any ward leaders to request that his name be removed.

  I took ward leaders to lunch almost every day, which became one of the largest expenses of our campaign, since there were sixty-nine of them. I became such a regular that my picture now graces the wall of The Palm. We printed new bumper stickers and announced new commercials that didn’t exist. There was not a week without some announcement. A month before the election, ward leaders were now publicly announcing that Rafferty was off their ticket.

  We now went shopping for an election-night hotel ballroom. We secured the ballroom next to that of the Ed Rendell campaign in the Warwick Hotel. That night saw an early win for Ed. He, his wife Midge, and his son Jesse came over to our ballroom as soon as he declared victory. Our night was just beginning, and to the surprise of everyone our little smoke-and-mirrors campaign had been widely embraced. The city council election was still close, too close to call. We already knew at that hour that Rafferty was no longer at the top, but had we toppled him? We wouldn’t know until the following day.

  Ed and Midge gave me hugs as they prepared to leave, and I witnessed a beautiful family moment in politics: the two of them bent down to their little son Jesse to explain that, with his dad becoming mayor, life would now change, but the two of them would always be there for him.

  The following morning, I was awakened by the phone ringing. It was Senator Fumo, who greeted me with an incredible laugh: “Congratulations!” He went on to say a lot more, but all I heard was that one word. When I finally roused and regained some ability to understand the situation, Vince made me realize the importance of what we had done, but also some of the finer points of the game of politics. “Mark, you won, but Fran has a family to feed. We have to give him something. How about if we put him on a commission?” This was a level of politics I had no knowledge of, and all I could say to the man who had first reached out to help was, “If that’s what you feel is correct.”

  In hindsight, I realize Vince was explaining to me that we had just knocked off a giant, and in victory we should offer an olive branch. After all, the giant could rise again, if not placated. The fact that Vince even asked me was a sign that he respected the campaign we had launched, and understood that this made the LGBT vote a powerhouse. In the subsequent election, we continued to make a pro-gay difference in local politics, leading the president of the city council, John Street, who at that time was considered a homophobe, to spend $400,000 to protect his own seat.

  As Ed began building his mayoral team, he appointed members of our board to his administration. Some elected officials suggested to me that Ed should offer me a position of deputy mayor. This went to my head, and I let it be known to media friends that out of respect, I should be asked. Word got around to Ed’s campaign manager, David L. Cohen, who called and made the offer, but also told me that I wouldn’t be happy, since taking that position meant that I was no longer independent. I’d be part of the administration and would have to voice their positions. David was right, and I quickly declined the offer.

  The first week as mayor, Ed called me to his office. He was leaning back in his chair with his feet up on the desk.

  “What commission or board do you want?”

  “How about the airport board?”

  Ed was surprised, and suggested several boards and commissions that offered compensation, and I responded, “The airport board.”

  He looked at me sternly. “Why? It doesn’t pay anything.”

  My answer: “Mr. Mayor, I want to be Philadelphia’s first official flying fairy.”

  Ed still likes to tell that story.

  * * *

  James Carville, one of the nation’s most renowned political consultants, showed me his tremendous charms during our first conversation. Jim is often credited for the Clinton White House victory, and the man knows how to win debates. He is a lover of the political deal and I got a taste of that early in his career. Robert Casey Sr., the father of future US Senator Bob Casey Jr., was running for Pennsylvania governor in 1978, and Carville was his manager, willing to do whatever it took so that this would not be Casey’s fourth failure in getting to the governor’s mansion. It was during this campaign that Carville uttered his famous description of Pennsylvania. He said in his Louisiana drawl, “On one side of the state you have Pittsburgh, on the other Philadelphia, and in the middle is Alabama.” Some have since remarked that his description is an insult to Alabama.

  The polls were running pretty even and Casey needed one more thing to go his way to pull off a victory. The old Democratic coalition was drawing together to support him, but the gay community was suspicious of Casey and his devotion to the church. He had not met with gay leaders or made his position on gay rights known. What’s more, my newspaper was not offered an opportunity to interview Casey and find out what he stood for and how he would apply that to the gay community.

  It was in this atmosphere that I picked up my phone one day and was greeted by: “Mark, what the hell do I have to do to get you to support Bob? This is Jim Carville.” Taken aback, I said hello and asked why he was the one calling. He explained that since Bill Bateoff, a campaign fundraiser and acquaintance of mine, had been unable to make a deal and get me on board, he thought he’d give me a talking-to.

  I replied that it was very clear what was required for my support. Unlike others, there was no need of patronage, state funding of any particular organization, or bond issues to any law firms I was associated with. All I needed was for Casey to support the state’s gay rights legislation when introduced in the legislature, and to recreate the Pennsylvania Council for Sexual Minorities that Governor Shapp had started and which had died under Shapp’s successor.

  “That’s all?” Jim ut
tered.

  I immediately said, “And one more item: an interview in my newspaper, so he can give his remarks on these issues.”

  “Done deal,” Jim responded.

  After the interview was published, Jim called to thank me for handling Bob in a polite and professional manner. At that point I asked what I should do when Bob doesn’t keep his promises. After telling me that should not be a concern, since Bob always keeps his word, Jim said, “You have Bill [Bateoff] talk to Bob, and if he can’t take care of it, you call me and I’ll set him straight.”

  Governor Robert Casey broke every promise, and I’m still waiting for Mr. Carville’s return call.

  It was around this time that I got a call from an up-and-coming union leader by the name of John Dougherty from the International Brotherhood of Electrical Workers. We set up a meeting and he asked what he could do to help the LGBT community. Never one to shy away from the big ask, I explained that we had just purchased a building to be used as our community center and it needed some electrical work. Being a generous guy, John replied, “Not a problem, consider it done.” He sent over a few apprentices to take a look and unfortunately, the building needed a completely new electrical system, which would require more then a few apprentices. To his credit, John never told me what the price tag on that job would have been. Certainly a price tag the center could not have paid.

  Later I’d discover that John was doing this in part as a way of showing his daughter his support of the LGBT community since she had recently come out to him. We’ve gone on to engage in many battles together, sometimes even opposed to one another, but we remain friends and enjoy a special bond.

  * * *

  Councilman Jim Kenney, our replacement for Fran Rafferty, showed gratitude from the beginning. Soon after being sworn in, he arranged a meeting with Council President John Street and me. Basically, we were quickly shown the door. Leaving the office, Jim laughed and said, “Well, that went well.”

  We thought that Street, who had been opposed to domestic partnership legislation for religious reasons, might see the writing on the wall. Not a chance. Thus began the fight for domestic partnership and another national first when we connected tax savings to LGBT relationships. Yes, we did beat Vermont to become the first government to recognize that domestic partners mean taxation as well.

  By Ed’s second term he had created a peaceful, working relationship with Council President Street, who was still opposed to domestic partners legislation. Ed was somewhat boxed in, since Street controlled the council with an iron fist. Without the council, Ed wouldn’t have a city budget. Knowing this and having to straddle us and Street, he publicly said that if passed by the council, he’d sign domestic partnership into law (though I believe he expected Street would never allow it to pass).

  Street was all about power. He understood how power could be a force for good, and he believed his community hadn’t gotten the benefits it deserved. We were like-minded in that respect. Enter my partners in this effort. From our PAC’s board, Andy Chirls, who would later become the first openly gay chancellor of the Philadelphia Bar Association, and Andrew Park, executive director of the Center for Lesbian and Gay Civil Rights, both stepped up. As with the Rafferty campaign, we knew we had to define our characters. This meant that we had to paint Street as the homophobe who was blocking the door of equality.

  Andy Chirls’s job was to stay close to Street’s coalition members who we knew would be uncomfortable with being labeled homophobic. That was the behind-the-scenes campaign. In front of the camera, Andrew Park commissioned surveys, brought out people who had lost their homes due to unfair tax laws, and showed people in hospitals unable to see their partners on their deathbed, all with the tag line: John Street Did This.

  Street felt the heat.

  He called a special evening session of the city council. It was rumored that he actually intended to force a vote on the legislation while he still had some control. What he didn’t know then was that one of his strongest supporters on the council, Republican Thacher Longstreth, was wavering. This was a vote I really hadn’t counted on even though he was someone with whom I had developed a friendship. Thacher, his girlfriend Melanie (who he lived with, and who was employed by the council), and I would sometimes have dinner together. Hearing the life story of one of Philadelphia’s most blue-blooded and beloved characters was a joy, and as word got around about our friendship, it bemused the city. The conservative, Republican, blue-blooded socialite being friends with the out, loud, and in-your-face gay activist.

  So on that fateful night, Street needed Thacher there, but he didn’t show. Street went as far as asking the police to find Thacher, requesting his presence in the council chambers. He didn’t give up until almost midnight. Which of course irritated the other council members. Later, when I asked Melanie where they were, she said delightedly, “I took him to the circus so John couldn’t find us.”

  The first call to break Street’s coalition was from a councilman whom I expected would feel the guiltiest, Michael Nutter, himself a future mayor and president of the US Conference of Mayors. Nutter asked if we would allow him to reintroduce the legislation that Jim Kenney and Councilman Frank DiCicco had previously submitted. Kenney and DiCicco were gracious and stepped in as cosponsors. The votes were now moving in our direction. It became a race, and for the first time Street knew he was in trouble. His designs on power were in jeopardy.

  Andrew Park and his team of lawyers had written companion bills to create a domestic partners registry and give tax benefits similar to those offered to heterosexual married couples. As we came closer to a vote, only Street, the Catholic Church, and evangelicals publicly opposed the bill.

  On the morning of the vote, I was shuffling from one council office to another. It was clear how close this vote would be. Street would sometimes be coming out of a councilmember’s office just as I was going in. Our union friends had packed the galleries and it was said that a certain councilman was told that if his vote was needed, he would give it to us. I must admit that I didn’t believe what I heard, until I entered the council and saw two muscled giants having a chat with that councilman.

  Thacher was playing it cool, telling both Street and me that he’d make a final decision when he actually voted. Street had to face the fact that he might actually lose a vote in the council he controlled. As council president, he hadn’t yet lost one vote. So at the very last minute, he proposed his own domestic partners legislation. Of course it was a sham.

  Andrew Park recently shared with me his memory of the vote on the John Street decoy bill, just before the vote on the real domestic partners bill: “I was standing next to you on the railing of the city council behind all the desks. You were on your cell phone with Vince Fumo. You handed the phone to Janie Blackwell who was going to vote in favor of Street’s bill. I don’t know what Vince said to her, but it changed her vote. I think he offered her a campaign contribution. She was the deciding factor.”

  By the end of the day we had passed real domestic partnership legislation with a surprise vote from Thacher Longstreth.

  Street, to his credit, quickly began to reach out to me. It might be relevant that he was about to run for mayor. I gave him an education on the subject of domestic partners and we soon became friends. I wouldn’t be endorsing him for mayor, since he was still painted as a homophobe, but he and I knew that this didn’t mean we couldn’t start a dialogue.

  In time Street began to question his own position on the matter, and this led to us having long discussions. As mayor, he actually did more for the gay community than Ed Rendell. He fought all the way to the state supreme court to protect Philly’s domestic partners law, the one he originally fought against. And he won. He also launched a war on discrimination against gay people in the Boy Scouts and he both funded LGBT organizations and hired LGBT staffers.

  The highlight for me was when he personally performed the domestic partners ceremony for his gay staffer Micah Mahjoubian and his partne
r Ryan Bunch. In a front row seat in an ornate City Hall room, I watched as Mayor John Street talked about marriage and how it should be afforded to all. This was the end result of legislation that he had opposed five years earlier and a testament to the power of education. To conclude the ceremony, Street brought out a broom. He told a story about slaves who were forbidden to marry without the permission of their owner. “They’d call the ceremony ‘jumping the broom.’ Since it is outlawed for LGBT to marry in our country, like it was for slaves, it is appropriate for you, Micah and Ryan, to jump the broom.” When he laid it down before them, there was not a dry eye in the room.

  When people ask me about Street, my reply is that we’re friends and that he’s really funny and often surprising. After winning reelection as mayor, he invited me to lunch one day. I thought we’d meet at the Capital Grille or maybe The Palm. But he had another idea: we’d dine in his office. When I got there, a table had been set up in a little back chamber where Ed used to keep a soda machine. It had white linen on it with china, crystals, and even lit candles. A server was at the ready. It was elegant, and I do not know if I’ve ever felt more out of place or uncomfortable. Yet he did it for two reasons: first, to show thanks and appreciation for our unlikely friendship, and second, to prove a point.

  During Street’s inauguration, I had attempted to stop him from limiting the power of the new city council president, Anna Verna. In a strange twist of circumstance, Verna had a delightful and upbeat assistant named Pat Rafferty who I became friendly with, and it turned out her husband was Fran Rafferty. Street had known the power of that city council presidency and didn’t want it to get in his way. My attempt at blocking this power grab had failed.

  Street said over lunch, “Mark, without a soldier who is willing to fight, you can’t win. Anna will never fight.”