LOUISVILLE GAY LIBERATION FRONT
In one of her first emails to me, Micky Nelson asked, “How did my name come to your attention?” It came to my attention because we are currently spotlighting LGBTQ activists outside New York, Los Angeles, and San Francisco. Micky Nelson was a member of the Louisville, Kentucky, Gay Liberation Front. She joined the group when she was 18 years old and in her senior year of high school.
The origin of the Louisville Gay Liberation Front is a noteworthy and, unfortunately, terribly under-documented story. On July 10, 1970, a couple named Marge Jones and Tracy Knight took a groundbreaking step that would forever alter LGBTQ+ history in Louisville. They bravely entered a courthouse and applied for a marriage license, fully aware of the societal norms they were challenging. This was either the second or third time a suit of this sort had been brought up in court. It is also very likely the first time a lesbian marriage was brought up.
The refusal sparked a fire that led to the creation of the Louisville Gay Liberation Front. Jones and Knight's daring act was not just about personal recognition; it was a powerful political statement that questioned the very foundation of a society that denied them their rights. Their story became a rallying cry, inspiring countless others to stand up and advocate for equality.
Micky’s story is one of persistence. After Micky was caught necking with a high school classmate, her father yelled at her, “Queer!” With that one attempted insult, her fate was sealed, and she was radicalized forever more.
—August Bernadicou, Executive Director of The LGBTQ History Project
“I started reading the Louisville Free Press. Many people were writing Louisville Free Press articles and challenging civil rights issues, gender issues, and all those kinds of things. It was the first time people were taking on these issues. It was the hippie days.
I had seen an article about meetings for the Gay Liberation Front. I was still in my last year of high school. It was the Spring of 1970, and I was 18 years old. I decided to attend one of Gay Liberation Front’s meetings at this apartment in Downtown. It was an underdeveloped building. I found out later that it was a whorehouse.
My initial impression of the Louisville Gay Liberation Front was different from what I had expected. I thought the members were going to be hippies like me. When I walked in, I found people of all different ages and races. There were roleplayers—women who had their breasts bound and were wearing wingtip shoes. We met at that location a few times but had to move because we could have been arrested for just being at the building. After all, prostitution was also illegal.
I was highly curious about everything. I wanted to know what was going on. We would go out to the bars and try to get folks to come to the GLF meetings. There were just a lot of people who were engaged in self-hatred back then. I mean, I knew people who freely admitted that they hated themselves and said that they’d be different if they could. That was so sad to me. We would try to go out and leaflet the bars and say, ‘Hey, read this leaflet. Come to a meeting. You don't have to sneak into bars after dark.’ The bar owners would spray us with their water hoses. But it was summer, so we didn't care.
The second apartment where we met was at 420 Belgravia Court, rented by Lynn Fuel and Mike Randall. They had been very active and were among the first organizers of the Louisville Gay Liberation Front.
We were looking for a place to have a gay hotline and host consciousness raising groups—a place where we could have regular meetings. So, we formed the Gay Lib House. The person who rented the house was named John Fish. He had been a radical since the mid-1960s. Seven of us lived in an old 1920s home in the Highlands neighborhood of Louisville, the most liberal area of the city. We started having meetings there and using it as our headquarters. We didn't have much time to get things off the ground. Not even a year had passed since I joined. I was still only 18 years old.
Anyone could call our hotline anytime, and we would try to help. Someone once called and said, ‘I’m just so sick.’ I asked her what was wrong, and she said again that she was sick and couldn’t stand herself. I tried to calm her down, but it didn’t help. She hated herself. I don’t know what happened to her. We had underage friends who would sometimes get kicked out of their houses because their parents were pissed off with them for being gay. Occasionally, they would need respite. They would need a place to stay a night or two on the couch.
We were also subject to random acts of protest. John, who worked at a pet store, had a fish tank. People poured dirt into the fish tank, and all the fish died. People also poured paint on our deck. We attracted a lot of attention.
One evening, I was in the basement and heard somebody at the front door. There was noise upstairs. Someone came running down and told me the FBI was there and that they had sawed-off shotguns and badges. This was the political crap of the Nixon era.
On October 16, 1971, about a week after the alleged FBI showed up, we were busted. Police came in, and there was a raid. John and several others in the house were charged with possessing and selling marijuana. John did not have any marijuana and also did not drink, but he was charged because the house was under his name.
John had epilepsy, and the police wouldn’t let him take his medication. He had a seizure while on the top bunk at the jail and spent part of his incarceration at University Hospital with a concussion and stitches on his head. John’s name, as well as the names of others in the house, appeared in the newspaper. He was working two jobs and lost them both. I was working at McDonalds. Being busted made no difference to me flipping burgers. The bust and the subsequent publicity created the demise of the Gay Lib House, which was only around from May through November.
Now, looking back at this over 50 years later, I think of playing banjo, which I started when I was in my 30s. My motto is never to be afraid to fuck up. If you don’t hurt anyone, it is okay to make a mistake. Just speak your truth and do what you have to do that is right and just.”