Police Raid on the Stonewall Bar

by Mark Segal

Each of us who participated at Stonewall on that night in June 1969 have our own piece of it etched in our memories, and each memory is different and just a small slice of what happened that night. No one can know everything that happened because nobody could have been at every incident connected with that night. The events of first night went on for several hours. Its actions were on numerous blocks of Christopher Street, and some also on streets around Christopher Street. So who all was there? No one can truly say since it was a spontaneous riot, and no one takes attendance during a riot. But another question should be asked: Who was there the second night of Stonewall and the rest of what I call the first magical year of LGBT Liberation? From Stonewall to that first Pride one year later then known as Christopher Street Gay Liberation Day March, the work that changed the community is the work came after that first night of Stonewall.

As an 18-year-old who arrived in New York on May 10, 1969, to escape a city (Philadelphia) where I thought there were no others like me, I found Christopher Street. Each night I’d walk up and down talking to and hanging out with my new friends. Those nights might have included a stop for coffee at the Silver Dollar diner or a stroll on the pier, but late at night I’d always do what others my age would do: head to The Stonewall. There was one reason we went there—we all wanted to dance our asses off, and Stonewall was the only place we could do that.

Much has been written about the bar. It was mafia-run, dark and dirty, and had watered down drinks, but the visions that remain in my mind are those of red, black, and wood. It might have been all those things, but it was also a place we could, at the very least, feel safe to not only dance, but also hold hands, cuddle, or kiss another guy. You could not do any of that outside those doors. Little has been written about the door policy, which it seems had a discriminatory limit of how many drag queens or number of people of color they allowed in, or about the fact that street kids like me often were allowed to skip the door charge to be eye candy for the paying guests.

That June night when the lights blinked on and off, I asked someone what was happening, and the answer I got was: “just another raid.” I later found out that this was a usual practice of the police at the Stonewall. They'd come in the door, yell an insult or two, take a payoff and out the door. But this wasn’t that usual raid. This was violent.

They burst through the door pushing anyone in their path out of the way. They broke liquor bottles; they grabbed people by the neck and smashed them against the wall, shouting all the usual slurs. It seemed, at the time, a frightening moment that felt like we all could expect to be assaulted. I had a crazy idea in that moment: to yell “call the police.” Then I realized that these were the police, and it made me realize how little society felt about us. Most of the hatred that night was aimed at the drag queens or the men who were feminine or women who were masculine. Yes, there were women that night in the Stonewall. They were few, but they were indeed there.

When the police had enough of whatever they were attempting to prove, when they had enough of the satisfaction that they wanted, they started to allow people to leave.

Any patron that night who had a family in the area or a decent job headed away from the Stonewall as soon as they were let outside. Those who stood around and stayed were those of us who had nothing to lose. Street kids, drag queens, or as we’d say today trans people, people of color, a few young activists and some who were walking up the street and just wanted to know what was happening stayed.

When the police were finally ready to leave the bar there were, from what I recall, approximately 50 to 100 of us outside. Police opened the door and people grabbed anything they could get a hold of. Coins in their pockets, an empty can of soda, and threw them at the police peeking behind the open door. To my memory there was no brick or any large item and I nor anyone I’ve talked to knows who threw the first item. It was spontaneous, and no one was taking notes. This happened about three times, the police trying to exit the bar and people throwing things to force them back inside. For me, in that moment of time, I remember thinking “the police had always incarcerated us, now we were incarcerating them.” I later learned that this is when they called for reinforcements.

My thoughts at that moment were confused but thinking that this was 1969 the height of the cultural revolution. We were fighting against the Vietnam War. Women, Black people, and Latino people were all fighting for their rights. Why not us? Then, Marty Robinson came up to me and gave me a piece of chalk and told me to go up and down Christopher Street and write on the walls and street “tomorrow night Stonewall.” I gave it no thought at the time, but somewhere along that night I decided that this is what I’d be doing with the rest of my life.

Marty and others spoke from the steps of the Stonewall the following night, then every night afterwards we handed out leaflets on the street. From those ashes of Stonewall came Gay Liberation Front (GLF).

Almost lost in history, Marty Robinson along with Martha Shelley organized a march one month after Stonewall to protest police harassment. And we continued to organize and form a community.

Some 53 plus years later, what are my thoughts on Stonewall? People ask me how many days Stonewall was. My answer is that Stonewall was one year. In that year, GLF change who we were and created a community where there was none before. It was the first time we self-identified, respected diversity, and recognized our trans community, and most importantly we became out, loud, and proud. We were visible. We leafleted almost every night, organized protests against media and police, took back our street, organized meetings and social events, and fostered the creation of committees that would make a complete LGBT community like community centers, media and legal alerts, discussion groups, youth and trans organizations. And if all of that were not enough, we created the first Pride, which took place on the first anniversary of Stonewall. That year was and remains the most magical year of our struggle for equality.

And while Gay Liberation Front was totally dysfunctional, that disfunction was the magic that literally birthed the grass roots movement we have today. Two facts make that point clear. Before GLF, there were at most no more than a hundred out, visible activists in the country. After Stonewall when we celebrated Pride one year later, we were in the tens of thousands strong and very visible. And that first Pride was diverse as can be. But more importantly, Pride was by far the greatest gift that we have given to the world. Millions of LGBT people in hundreds of countries around the world celebrate or demonstrate it every year. It’s an enduring symbol of our community and all that we are, and it will always be there as a reminder of our past and a beacon of hope for our future.