San Diego, CA
On its 50th anniversary, San Diego Pride is looking back and ahead
Nobody knows for sure what day it happened, how long it lasted and how many people took part. But sometime in 1974 — most likely around the fifth anniversary of the Stonewall riots in New York City in late June — a group of gay men and lesbians marched down the sidewalks of downtown San Diego to call for gay rights.
Fifty years later, San Diego Pride has grown into one of the largest LGBTQ celebrations in America. Over the years, the annual protest marches and political rallies of the 1970s and ’80s transitioned into celebratory Pride parades and jubilant and inclusive outdoor festivals.
Today, more than 250,000 people, including thousands who travel here from all over the United States, attend San Diego’s Pride festivities, which this year culminate next weekend with the San Diego Pride Parade in Hillcrest and the San Diego Pride Festival in Balboa Park.
For those who haven’t studied the history of the Pride movement in America, San Diego Pride events today seem like merely a festive celebration of self-identity. But for those who have lived the experience, Pride is also about freedom, equality and the ongoing fight to experience life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness without government and religious intervention.
For this article we spoke to the leader and archivist for Lambda Archives of San Diego, which since 1987 has collected, preserved and shared the history of lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender and queer people in San Diego and Imperial counties and Northern Baja California. We also heard from two longtime San Diegans who shared their Pride memories with us for this story.
First we hear from Lambda Archives Managing Director Nicole Verdes and Archivist Dana Wiegand, who talked about the 50-year history of Pride in San Diego. Their comments have been slightly edited for clarity.
Q: Fifty years ago, San Diego was now as a small Navy town. How did it compare to other U.S. cities in its treatment of LGBTQ people in the 1970s?
Dana Wiegand: San Diego was equally as conservative, especially as a Navy town. The (people) faced the same struggles as in any other city in America. We do see that a lot of these communities formed in cities that served as ports for the military. Also, a lot of the change-making activists who were in the military would travel to other community hotspots and speak to the activists there for inspiration on how to build that community in San Diego.
Q: Before Stonewall and the first Pride marches, what was public life line for members of the LGBTQ community in San Diego?
Nicole Verdes: Prior to the first Pride marches, lives were lived in fear and secrecy. Bars and clubs were among the safe spaces to celebrate and be with lovers, but those safe spaces were often subjected to frequent police raids. If they were dancing or sitting too close together, they were targeted. Raids resulted in arrests and public exposure. There were significant consequences for their jobs and families.
Also there have been strict cross-dressing ordinances prohibiting dressing against gender norms, like butch lesbians who dressed more masculine. In San Diego, that ordinance was municipal code 56.19. It became law in 1966. You couldn’t appear in a public place in apparel customarily worn by the opposite sex. It wasn’t repealed until 1997. The cross-dressing ban in National City didn’t get repealed until 2020. A local activist and member of the LGBT community, Coyote Moon, found out by accident the law was still on the books and she stepped up to work with elected officials.
Q: The first city-approved and widely-covered San Diego Pride march took place in 1975. But the first, informal march happened in 1974. What can you tell me about it?
Wiegand: The actual participants in the first march in 1974 is hard to pin down. There were only a few periodicals at the time and they were organized by ad hoc committees. But we know that the first permitted march in 1975 had 400 people.
Even before San Diego had their permitted Pride marches, we had Gay-Ins. Nobody could get a permit. There were too many barriers and the people in charge weren’t allowed to let gay people march in the streets. In 1971, ’72 and ’73, they’d gather for community picnics. Before 1975, when the police chief wrote a permit, the community couldn’t march in the streets so they had to march on the sidewalks. Getting a permit to get a Pride march was a complicated process into the 1980s.
Q: What kind of public response did early Pride marchers encounter in San Diego and how has it changed over the years?
Verdes: In the earlier marches, some people wore paper bags over their heads to protect their identity.
They’d have opposition people showing up to antagonize them verbally. In 1994, a previous mayor of San Diego organized a group of protestors called The Normal People. They wanted to march (in the Pride parade) in political opposition to the homosexual agenda. Former Mayor Hedgecock said their exclusion (from the parade) violated the city’s Human Dignity Ordinance.
In 1999, the theme for Pride was “celebrate the past and create the future.” A tear gas bomb was thrown into the crowd at 10th and University aimed at the Family Matters contingent. It was chaos.
You have people who show up on the sidelines who are Fundamentalists carrying signs like “Fags burn in hell.” That still happens today. You have more organized targeted incidents. San Diego Pride takes very seriously the safety of the people marching in the parade. The antagonistic aspects of it never goes away.
Q: Can you tell me about Lambda Archives and its work?
Verdes: Initially Lambda was started by Jess Jessop, who was a nurse medic in the Vietnam War. He organized the Gay Liberation Front at SDSU and was very active in the 1980s when he pivoted toward AIDS and the lack of government response.
He took the initiative to collect materials to preserve our history. A lot of people who had AIDS, their families would clean out their houses and throw away all of their personal effects. So he jumped into circumvent that and he collected photos, protest signs and other items.
We were entirely volunteer-led until we got our nonprofit status in 1987. We’ve grown to three full-time employees and two part-time employees.
Dana is digitizing the collection. We have year-round youth programs and oral history and scholarship programs that donate funding to queer students at community colleges and trade schools. We have also grown with an intentional focus on our collection of information on queer and trans communities of color.
Weigand: We have collections made up of thousands and thousands of documents, photos, textiles, books, memorabilia and ephemera, which are items not meant to be saved like buttons, pins and flyers. They’re objects our community views as part of our collective history. I want to develop more widely accessible digital archives.
Verdes: Our mission is to collect and preserve and share the LGBTQ heritage for San Diego and Imperial Valley. But the work we do here extends beyond that.
A couple of years ago, we were contacted by a playwright in Britain who learned about the Blood Sisters (a group of women from San Diego’s Democratic Party caucus who organized blood drives for AIDS patients, since gay men were banned from giving blood). We connected her with the original force behind the Blood Sisters.
Our collecting scope is local, but the work we do here can expand to places you wouldn’t think of.
Pride memories from two San Diegans
We asked U-T readers to share their memories of what Pride means to them. Here are two of the mini-essays that were submitted.
Dana Harwood, Mission Hills
When I reflect on “What Pride Means to Me” I always think about my mom’s incredible love and support.
I came out to my mom, Bobbi Harwood, over 30 years ago and although at first she was shocked, confused and worried, she soon found PFLAG (support group for friends and family of the LGBTQ community). She began attending meetings and talking to people who helped her learn about the diverse and incredible LGBTQ community in San Diego.
The following year, my mom marched in her first San Diego Pride parade with PFLAG, carrying a colorful sign she made that proudly stated “I LOVE MY LESBIAN DAUGHTER”. She later served as the president of the San Diego chapter of PFLAG and in 2006 she was named Pride Friend of the Year and was honored during the parade and festival.
My mom and I marched in the San Diego Pride Parade for over 25 years. The day of the Pride parade became her favorite day of the year. Although my mom hasn’t marched in the parade for a few years now, her love for me and her support of the LGBTQ community is as strong as ever.
Patric Stillman, Hillcrest
Pride, for me, is a profound celebration of identity, resilience and community.
Coming out is a deeply personal journey, marked by moments of self-discovery and courage. It’s a process that, while intensely individual, is also immensely communal. This duality highlights the core of Pride: the embrace of one’s true self and the collective strength found in a supportive community.
Over time, my understanding of Pride has evolved. Initially, it was about asserting my identity in the face of societal expectations. Today, it has grown into a broader vision of acceptance and equality. The positive impact of love has been transformative, fostering greater empathy and understanding. In the face of hate, bigotry and ignorance, our community stands as a beacon of hope and solidarity. It is within this community that we find the strength to persist and the love to thrive.
As Americans, we are endowed with the right to pursue happiness — a right that is fundamental and should be universally respected. Pride embodies this pursuit, advocating for the recognition and respect of our happiness, our love and our identities. It is a reminder that our quest for happiness is valid and that it deserves to be valued by everyone.
Thought the years, Pride has always been about joy and celebration. There is something profoundly political in our ability to dance with those awe love, to celebrate our lives openly and without fear. Dancing together, we embody the spirit of what we call LGBTQ+ Pride — defiant, joyous and unapologetically ourselves.
Stillman’s The Studio Door art gallery is presenting its 7th “PROUD+” exhibition through Aug. 3 at 3865 Fourth Ave., San Diego. thestudiodoor.com
San Diego Pride Parade & Festival
Parade: 10 a.m. to 3 p.m. Saturday. Begins at the Hillcrest Pride Flag at 1500 University Ave. and travels west on University, south on Sixth Avenue, left on Balboa Drive and ends at Laurel Street.
Festival: 11 a.m. to 9 p.m. Saturday and July 21 in Balboa Park at Sixth Avenue and Laurel Street. Tickets are $38 for a two-day pass. Order online at sdpride.org/event/san-diego-pride-festival
For a full schedule of Pride events, visit https://sdpride.org/events/
Originally Published:
By Dave Rice
Is Measure A going to affect a significant number of properties? Is it going to affect affordable housing in any meaningful way? Come now, let’s not be dense – this hits a handful of rich people who can absolutely afford to drop $10K in the city coffers if they’re leaving a vacation home vacant on purpose – let’s say that’s their civic contribution that would be realized in other ways if they actually lived, worked, and shopped here full-time.
Or it hits STVR hosts, who can either factor the cost into their business model or give it up if margins are really that thin (maybe not everyone needs to fancy themselves an amateur hotelier). But let’s not kid ourselves and believe the kind of housing this will free up will be plentiful or affordable.
In the exceedingly rare instances where someone might be eligible for an exemption, will it be too hard to apply for? That’s something we can argue and refine but that’s the bathwater, or just the little bit of it that splashes out of the tub, not the baby. An argument that the whole proposal is DOA because military members are too stupid to file for an exemption is either dismissive of or telling tales out of school about what we really think of military intelligence.
Poor, poor grandma who needs a home near her doctor? If she’s really poor why does she have multiple houses, and if she’s not does this really affect her? I live in a neighborhood where “aren’t you afraid you’re going to get shot?” is the first thing outsiders ask me about where I’m from, and if Grandma has owned her mostly-unoccupied vacation house for any significant time I probably pay a lot more property tax than she does. You couldn’t trip over the limbo bar to gain my sympathy, it’s buried a few feet deep.
This is a tiny nod toward taxing the rich, but that’s all. It’s not significant or meaningful, it won’t do a lot, most of the housing stock in question even if returned to actual residents won’t make a dent in the astronomical cost of living in or anywhere near this city. But it’s a tiny step in the right direction – and watching how hysterical the moneyed class is about the rest of us asking for even the tiniest drop in the goddamned bucket we’re trying to fill without their help is telling.
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This is the first installment in a series of stories on the history of dining out in La Jolla, how it’s changed and how it continues to evolve.
It’s hard to imagine La Jolla without its restaurants, from the lines stretching down the block at The Taco Stand to the iconic views at George’s at the Cove.
But the way La Jollans eat and where has changed dramatically since the area’s founding in the 1800s.
In this first part of the new month-long series “Dining Out,” the La Jolla Light looks at local restaurants from the 1880s (when La Jolla was first developed and settled) to the early 1920s.
“La Jolla had very few people at that time,” according to local historian Carol Olten. “There weren’t a lot of restaurants, as far as we know.”
Olten said she gets information about La Jolla’s earliest days from the diaries of local pioneer Anson Mills.
“He kept track of where he went and what he did … but he did a lot of home cooking,” she said. “So when they went to a restaurant for dinner, it was a big occasion. It was something people mainly did on holidays or … a social occasion.”
One restaurant Mills would go to — believed to be one of the first in La Jolla — was Montezuma Cottage. Olten said it is believed to have opened in 1895 near the intersection of Prospect and Jenner streets.
Mills described the restaurant as a popular eating and gathering spot for locals and tourists, Olten said. He wrote an entry about a Thanksgiving dinner there with about 60 people.
Montezuma Cottage later became known as the Seaside Inn and Ocean View restaurant. It was torn down in 1931.
Culturally, eating at a restaurant was a more formal occasion at the time, Olten said.
“You didn’t go to a restaurant just to hang out with friends like you would today. It was purposeful then,” she said.
Around 1900, a restaurant known as the White Rabbit opened near the corner of Girard Avenue and Prospect Street. In addition to a rooftop garden, it featured a tea room, joining a national trend.
“Tea rooms went with the suffragette movement because in those days, [women] didn’t have a place to gather without an escort, so tea rooms started opening in hotels and women could go there and sit down and have a social tea or lunch,” Olten said. “La Jolla got in on the tail end of that thanks to [Green Dragon Colony founder] Anna Held and [La Jolla philanthropist] Ellen Browning Scripps.”
One of them, called The Cricket, opened in the early 1900s with white tablecloths. Olten said it was near what it is now Eddie V’s restaurant.
“It was originally part of the Green Dragon Colony … and was sold to a British woman named Daisy Mitchell,” she said. “It stayed a tea room for many years, and she kept a guest book that was decorated with reds and greens and had a medieval theme. So it was very British.”
Joining a trend toward more upscale dining, one of La Jolla’s “most well-established and well-known restaurants” opened in 1912 at 1227 Prospect St. The Brown Bear had “stylish, fashionable service and a menu to please the gods,” Olten said.
A house specialty was Welsh rabbit served in a silver chafing dish. The restaurant was in operation until 1941.
Several restaurants opened around 1915, about the same time as the Panama-California Exposition, a world’s fair-type event held in 1915-16 that brought 3.7 million people to San Diego.
One of La Jolla’s new restaurants, the Spindrift Inn, opened in 1916 and was considered a “last stop” out of town.
“Most restaurants at that time were located in the immediate Village area,” Olten said. “The one that was astray would have been the Spindrift Inn [in La Jolla Shores]. This was in the very early days of automobiles, so not very many people had cars, but those that did would … drive their cars and the last stop before you got out of town was Spindrift Inn.”
The Spindrift Inn later became The Marine Room, which still stands.
Olten said the restaurant was operated by the Hannay family for about 20 years. Their “rambunctious” fox terrier, Jiggs, would roam the dining room.
Another Expo-era restaurant was the Dining Car, which operated in an old trolley car parked near Goldfish Point. Dinner was $2 per person. It burned down on Halloween night in 1923.
Next installment: With new hotels being built in La Jolla in the 1920s came new hotel restaurants. But later, World War II would have an impact on La Jollans and San Diegans in general and on where and how they ate. ♦
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