In 1969, America woke up to read and hear about the riots at the Stonewall Inn in New York City. Although skirmishes had made local news in San Francisco in the mid-1960s at Compton's Cafeteria and at California Hall, it was the three-day battle between the NYPD and a bar full of fed up drag queens and transgenders at Stonewall that began what was then called the Gay Liberation Movement. People everywhere took notice. And when Life magazine ran a cover story on the new, emerging movement, noting that some 70,000 homosexuals lived in San Francisco alone, a migration of LGBT people to the city was unleashed that would make San Francisco the center of what was to become the civil rights movement of the next four decades. It is the evolution of this movement and those who comprise it, that the Bay Area Reporter has attempted to chronicle for now 40 years.
Bob Ross was one of those 70,000 who comprised the early, vibrant gay community in San Francisco. He, too, was an immigrant, settling in San Francisco from New York following three years of service on a Navy submarine. A chef by trade, he witnessed the growing pains of this emerging new community of which he was a proud member. San Francisco had nightclubs and bars, baths and churches, and communities of gay people grouped by their particular interests. What it didn't have was a voice, a common means of communication across groups and interests. It didn't have a newspaper. And it needed one, as the mainstream press seemed only to be interested in the sordid side of gay life. So in 1971, Bob and a business partner, Paul Bentley, launched the B.A.R. to report on the LGBT community in all its diversity. It would be free and it would report on matters of interest to the community it served, subjects that often weren't mentioned elsewhere. Its reporting would be accurate, in depth, relevant, hopefully interesting and entertaining.
Ross hired writers who knew their fields and would become household names. He asked Harvey Milk to write about politics. When Milk retired his column to run for public office, Wayne Friday took his place and became, for decades, the most read (and often feared) political writer in San Francisco. Sweet Lips (Dick Walters) wrote of the Polk's vibrant social scene and its behind the scenes intrigues. Marcus Hernandez (Mister Marcus) wrote proudly of the large leather community that was developing. Freelance writers were hired to cover the goings-on in the cultural world. Not only did they know their subjects better than their counterparts in the straight press, they were more entertaining – and always looking for the gay angle. If Marlena attended the opening of the opera in six-inch heels and a foot of hair, you read about it in the B.A.R.
Over time, the B.A.R. expanded and was able to hire full time reporters and editors, journalists with degrees in their fields. In addition to its commentary on events that were happening, the B.A.R. was able to report, to investigate what was happening behind the scenes and to make that information available to our readers. The 1970s focused on our emerging community's struggle for equal rights and dignity, investigating police abuse and tensions with other authorities and even within our own community, and covering the community's early efforts to elect one of our own to public office.
Then the early 1980s came, and we were shaken to our core. There was a new disease, a "gay cancer." No one knew what it was or what caused it. The president of the United States refused to say AIDS. Homophobia and just fear of the unknown made gay men pariahs. San Francisco was ground zero for the AIDS epidemic. The important research into the disease was being done here. People wanted information. Ross and the B.A.R. committed to provide that information. It was for its coverage of the HIV/AIDS epidemic that the B.A.R. became more than just a community newspaper. It became essential to the fabric of our community and our city and the go-to source for information worldwide. And we demanded respect for those living with HIV/AIDS and particularly for those who succumbed to its ravages. The B.A.R. committed that they would not be forgotten and printed photos and life stories of the dead. Some weekly issues were particularly painful as the obituaries took multiple pages to print. And in recent years, the B.A.R. has been the unquestioned source for information on the fight for marriage equality.
The B.A.R. has attempted to stay relevant to our community, not only in its content but in the manner of delivering that content. The paper's website is considered by its peers as the best gay newspaper website in the country; our multimedia additions and participation in social networking adds a totally new dimension to reporting on and commenting on matters of relevance to our readers. Sensing a need, we have recently launched our monthly nightlife guide BARtab to keep our readers informed of the goings-on around town in a glossy publication that contains additional original content. All this is made possible by the dedicated staff and writers who toil to make the B.A.R. not only the oldest LGBT newspaper in America but the best as well. A huge shout out also to our advertisers who have remained loyal and make our work possible. And, of course, to our readers, without whom, we would have no purpose.
It is said that newspapers are the first draft of history. The B.A.R. has played a seminal role in writing that draft. It has been our mission for 40 years. It remains our mission today.