by Mark Segal
“There is another reason I’m here today. I am representing what up to now has been an almost invisible minority, the gay community. On this very spot in 1965, the first gay civil rights march in America was held. Last Friday we commemorated those brave souls with a historic marker which you could see over there on the northwest corner of 6th and Chestnut streets. Millions of patriotic gay and lesbian Americans have watched speeches in front of this magnificent building on July 4 and we’ve still remained invisible. But today, for the first time in 229 years, a member of their community, an openly gay American, has the opportunity to stand on this podium and say, God bless America.”
When I made my way back to my seat, the mayor reached over and said, with a large smile, “Very well done.”
Elton was given an award that we had created for him. He accepted with grace, and posed for a picture with the mayor and Barney, before getting back into his SUV. The ceremony now over, Jason and I got into a car and, before we could catch our breath, the motorcade was on its way to the William Way Community Center, our second stop of the day. Dolph Goldenburg, executive director of the community center, was awaiting Elton to unveil a new sign for a street renamed after the star.
In rapid-fire succession, Elton got out of his vehicle, made a few remarks, cut the ribbon, and posed for a few more photos. We then parted ways, Elton back to his hotel to prepare for the concert and me to the Parkway to see how sound check and other preparations were going.
* * *
As I walked down the Parkway, I glimpsed the stage. Mike Barnes and his stagehands from the union had erected what must have been the world’s largest red ribbon as a backdrop. I was also delighted as I walked past every one of the ten giant LCD screens lining the Parkway. I had badgered my old friend John Dougherty from the Electrical Union to donate the additional $80,000 that we were short for the rental cost. It was beautiful. The sound system was top notch too.
The first words I heard coming out of the speakers were during Patti LaBelle’s sound check. She was going off about Elton with more than a few choice words. I rushed up to the stage. Jerry Blavat, a legendary radio deejay known locally as the “Geator with the Heater,” whom I had asked to keep an eye on his friend Patti, was standing off to the side. He shrugged as I got to the stage. Patti had just been informed that Elton, who had previously agreed to perform a duet with her, had changed his mind. When I went over to Elton’s road manager to inquire about possibly of putting the duet back into the program, he told me that the star had made up his mind and it was final, no questions.
It was now up to me, the producer, to placate Patti. “How’s my favorite yelling diva?” I said as I approached. She didn’t laugh. She just kept shouting, letting it all out. I wasn’t too upset because I knew she wasn’t mad at me, but at the situation. I explained how sorry I was but that there was nothing I could do. Being the professional that she is, Patti eventually concluded her sound check and then said, “I’m all done here now, what time should I arrive tonight?” I gave her the details and kissed her on the cheek, then she said to me sternly: “You owe me.”
With that bullet dodged, I went inside the Philadelphia Museum of Art to check on the rest of the Freedom Ball preparations. Fred Stein, our party organizer, had created an atmosphere that was beyond elegant. Elton’s signature was emblazoned in lasers atop the grand staircase. Members of the Philadelphia Boys Choir were lined up on each side of the magnificent stone staircase rehearsing the song “Circle of Life” from The Lion King. Food tables and bars were being erected with special buntings displaying our logo. It looked like something you’d expect from a White House event, and even at a thousand dollars a ticket it was still a bargain. For those who paid more, there would be a photo op with Elton that we had negotiated with his team.
* * *
Before the event commenced, Jason and I did one last check inside the backstage production trailer. Bruce, our emcee, ever my friend but now in need of support, walked up to me and asked for his script. I just stared at him. My brain was overloaded. He shook his head and said, calmly and with a hint of a smile, “There is no script, is there?”
My reply was as timid as they come: “Thought you’d just wing it.”
Bruce, the consummate professional and take-charge guy, said, “I’ll write it. Ask Wayne Brady to come over to my trailer and we’ll get it done. But Mark, did you know there is no mirror in my dressing room? Betsy Ross doesn’t happen unless she has a mirror. The first lady of the flag must look proper.” Even under stress, Bruce had a great sense of humor.
* * *
It was five p.m. and time for the ball to begin. Jason and I left the production area and ran up those famous Rocky steps. Midway up I tripped, and for an instant believed I was having a heart attack. Jason grabbed me, and as I lifted myself back up, I could hear the Philly Pops playing the overture to Star Wars. Enlivened by the music and happy Peter had honored my request, Jason and I walked hand in hand up the remainder of the steps.
For the first time I got a glimpse of the crowd. It was overwhelming. People were stretched far beyond what my eyes could see. With Jason still holding my hand and Peter’s music inspiring the crowd, I knew the evening was going to be a success. Bill Fraser, with a long-range camera, somehow captured that moment on film. It is one of my favorite photographs of all time.
Jason and I quickly headed back into the museum and found an empty gallery in which I could change into a fresh suit. I was standing, if you please, next to a Renoir.
When we entered the party it was going very well. Sponsors and people who donated their time, money, or services to help us make the evening a success were mingling with politicos and corporate CEOs. Trumpeters stood at the top of the stairs that were lined by the Boys Choir in white pants and blazing red jackets. Jerry Blavat in his distinctive radio voice announced each of the dignitaries as they descended the steps. They came down in pairs with the trumpeters blaring away like they were Cinderella making an entrance at the ball. Somehow, in the middle of it all, I lost Jason. I didn’t have time to look for him as it was my turn to accompany Robert Key of the EJAF, who was having the time of his life, down the magical steps. As the trumpeters blared, Blavat announced, “Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome the producer of our ball, Robert Key of the Elton John AIDS Foundation, and our own Mark Segal.” The crowd went wild as we descended the stairs and the Boys Choir serenaded us with “Circle of Life.” At the bottom I made a brief speech and then gathered the people who had paid extra money to have their photo op with Elton. We all made a mad dash down to the painstakingly appointed dressing room in the basement to get ready for the star.
Before we actually entered the dressing room, Robert Key said that Elton wanted to skip the photos. I finally snapped. “You call him right now and tell him that if he does not come here, it will be a violation of the contract and he will be fired.” Robert, one of the most dignified and stiff-upper-lipped people I’ve ever known, looked very nervous. He asked what I’d do if Elton refused to come, and I replied: “I’ll march onstage and announce that Sir Elton John did not honor his contract and has been fired.”
Fortunately, Robert was able to restore the original plan, but as we walked to the photo area, another member of the EJAF pulled me aside. “Just wanted to let you know that Elton prefers to have good-looking guys in the front row. It helps him perform better.” Dumbfounded, I glanced around and saw Bruce Yelk, who worked with Jeff Guaracino at the tourism agency, and who I thought might be able to fulfill the request. He took it all in stride and stepped away to make some phone calls. To this day I wonder if Robert was just attempting a joke.
When I paused for a moment to catch my breath, Jason reappeared and asked what he’d missed. I rolled my eyes, too tired to even laugh. We left the ball and went back down the steps to the production trailer. Bryan Adams and Rufus Wainwright had already performed, and Patti was next. As Jason and I opened the door to the trailer, we saw a man arguing with a group of svelte
girls in black dresses. The man, a security guard in charge of keeping people off the stage, was refusing to let the girls up. “We are Patti LaBelle’s singers!” one of them shouted. Jason recognized them from the earlier rehearsal, and told me they were fine. I ran up to the guard and demanded that he let them through, then apologized to the singers.
We sat in for Patti and her singers as they performed “Lady Marmalade” and then headed backstage again. The next time I saw Elton was just before my introduction. He was chatting with Bruce and said I reminded him of Nathan Lane. Then I was told that it was time for me to go onstage to thank all our sponsors. Yet in all the confusion, we had forgotten to print out our list of sponsors. Dan and Jason, from inside the trailer, wrote out a list and handed it to me just in time.
Walking onto that stage I was exhausted. But the applause, which seemed to go on forever, was humbling and lifted me up. My job was simple: read the list and introduce Elton. I was also there to pump the crowd up for the final act, the most grand performance that had ever graced the July 4 stage. (Afterward people told me that I sounded like a man at the end of a long and arduous ordeal and was simply glad to be rid of it all. Producing this concert was one of the most thrilling things I’ve ever done but I was never more relieved than when it was all over.)
It was now time for my introduction: “Ladies and gentlemen, it is my honor to introduce you to the man who gave us our city song and made tonight possible, Sir Elton John!” With that it was over for me, but not before one last interesting moment.
Apparently, Elton’s band did not start playing on cue after my introduction, so when I returned to join Jason in the wings of the stage I heard Elton screaming, “Play! Play!” Finally they started, and Jason and I took our seats and watched as Elton mesmerized the crowd. He truly gave, in my estimation, and many of his longtime fans agree, one of his best performances ever. He even dedicated a song to me, which was a surprise. As Jason and I held each other toward the end of the performance, Jason said, “It’s over, you did it! I knew you would.”
* * *
When Elton and his police escort were leaving for the chartered plane, the fireworks began. Standing on the stage with Jason watching the fireworks, I let out a sigh of relief. Heading down the steps, we saw Dan passing by on the back of a police cart, waving goodbye. It dawned on us that we hadn’t arranged for a ride home, and since the area was blocked from cars, including cabs, we had a nice long walk ahead of us.
Naturally, we still had one more highlight left in the day. As we were walking away from the Philadelphia Museum of Art, out of nowhere came the SUV limo that had just taken Elton to the airport. When the doors opened, it was full of what looked like a group of female hookers. Huh? We continued on, and as we hit Logan Fountain a man yelled out to us, asking if we wanted to buy an official T-shirt. It wasn’t; he was a counterfeiter. I stepped up to him and started to call the police over, but once again Jason held me back. We’d been through enough already. We finally made it to Market Street and near City Hall we found a cab. We slept late the following morning.
Chapter 13
Meeting with Mr. President
I had promised Jason a nice vacation after the concert. We went to Greece. With our friends Barbara Lichtman, Rita Mezzaroba, Dennis Cook, and Larry Furman, we rented a four-cabin catamaran out of Athens with Rob Metzger as our captain and set off to sail the Greek isles. The deal with my friends was that there would be no drama. Somehow, no one had told us about the infamous Etesian winds of the Aegean Sea that can whip up waves of fifteen feet or more and tear the sail off a boat.
We made it to two islands before we hit Mykonos where the harbormaster literally shut down the harbor and forbid any boats to sail. I could think of worse things than being stuck in Mykonos for a couple of days. We had a blast dancing on the rocks at Super Paradise beach and visiting the local discos and restaurants. Enjoying the beauty of the island was an additional treat.
Once we were allowed to leave Mykonos, we set sail to our last stop, a small island called Kythnos. As we were approaching we dropped our anchor and it got stuck on the bottom of the channel leading to the harbor. After numerous attempts to get the attention of the harbormaster, or anyone for that matter, it seemed we’d be stuck all night. To heck with it, we’d figure it out in the morning. Then we heard a blast. It was the horn of a 40,000-ton ferry headed directly toward us. Everyone started running around the boat in a panic. Rob was at the controls, and as I saw the ferry heading for a direct hit I yelled, “Just step on it!” He did, and the ferry passed by so close you could reach out and touch it. Later, after the night had gone and turned into early morning, we cut the anchor loose and headed to port in Athens. Drama seems to follow me.
On my return home, it was back to business. I needed a new passion, which became examining LGBT history. October is LGBT History Month and each year the Philadelphia Gay News, along with eighteen other LGBT newspapers and numerous websites, coordinates the National LGBT History Project.
Mark Horn informed me that a Gay Youth reunion was being planned for the fall of 2007 and I wanted to prepare myself. I began by doing some historical research of my own for the first time.
* * *
On November 3, 2007, the first-ever Gay Youth reunion was held at New York City’s Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual & Transgender Community Center. While the organization had gone through many names and mission changes over the years, its doors were still open, making it the longest-serving LGBT organization in the city. Nearly one hundred of us met up that day. Five of the originals members showed up, including Mark Horn, my vice president.
When I arrived, people came up to chat, many of whom I didn’t know. Then the chairperson welcomed everyone and said, “Without this guy, we wouldn’t be here—the founder of Gay Youth, our papa, Mark Segal.” As people got to their feet one by one and explained what the organization had done for them, it felt like an out-of-body experience.
Following the after-party, there was a special moment for the class of 1969. Mark Horn, Jeff Hochhauser, Michael Knowles, and I left the reunion, locked arms, and walked down Eighth Avenue chanting once again and for the first time since 1971, “We are the Stonewall girls . . .”
The bubble burst on the train home to Philly. Recalling everyone who had spoken, I sobbed uncontrollably, tears of pure pride. At fifty-six I was still a Gay Youth. My brain had a hard time taking in all that had happened, and it was also the first time my age truly registered with me. On the train, here’s how I wrote about that day:
It only took thirty-eight years, but today in New York City, it was graduation day. Presiding over this day were members of Gay Youth, GLYNY, and all its other reincarnations through the years. The organizers were brilliant in hosting first a meeting, which served as our graduation, then an after-party which served as a prom, one that most of us never had.
And Tom Approbato wrote in New York’s Gay City News:
Gay Youth would over time emerge as the parent of every other gay and lesbian student group throughout the United States. From humble beginnings, with a handful of dedicated teenagers, Gay Youth left a legacy for LGBT youth in America.
GLNY was in fact one name for an organization whose mast changed several times over the years—Gay Youth; Bisexual, Gay and Lesbian Youth of New York (BiGLYNY); and Bi, Gay, Lesbian, Transgender Youth of New York (BiGLTYNY) at different times were the words on the common banner . . .
Eighty-nine alumni spanning the years 1969 through 1994 traveled from their homes all across the country to answer a common call. Members came from New York, New Jersey, Pennsylvania, Florida, Illinois, Wisconsin, Arizona, California, and even the UK. There were men and women of all ethnicities, backgrounds, and even persuasions with one common bond—the feelings of friendship established during our teenage years.
We shared some of the toughest coming-of-age experiences with each other. In a peer-run support group, there was no place for false sympathy. Our bonds of friendship and support were ea
rnest and heartfelt.
Mark Segal, one of the founders of Gay Youth from 1969, addressed the membership with a stirring speech. Although Mark now lives in Philadelphia, he made the trip into New York to see his contemporaries and his surrogate progeny. He spoke passionately about the lifelong friendships he established as well as the ongoing effect that this teen support group has had on his life.
“It’s like the graduation I never had,” Mark said. “I never went to my high school prom or my high school reunion. This is my prom. This is my reunion.”
Many of us in the audience echoed those sentiments as we sat in a big circle and introduced ourselves.
Back home with a new sense of pride, several projects were moving forward, but one that had never been completed was building an elevator at the community center for those in wheelchairs. Councilman Kenney had lobbied the mayor to give the center a grant for the funds required to finally complete this task. A community center is a place where we should all feel free to gather, no matter what our political positions are, and like Switzerland be politically neutral.
Our community was in full preparation mode as we headed into the presidential primary year of 2008. By the time the Democrat wagon reached Pennsylvania in March of 2008 the field of nominees in the Democratic party had been narrowed down to Senator Hillary Clinton and Senator Barack Obama.
Throughout the primaries, in each state Senator Obama campaigned, his staff would often promise the local LGBT media an interview, then pull out at the last moment. As far as we at Philadelphia Gay News were concerned, that was not going to happen on our watch. We requested interviews with both Clinton and Obama. Due to Clinton’s relationship with Governor Rendell, she quickly agreed. Obama agreed too, but kept putting it off. Finally, with only two weeks to go before the primary, we decided to wait no longer and to act.