From her earliest days founding a girls’ club at an orphanage, Richelle Evelyn Donigan has been a builder of community and a champion of the Goddess and human potential. Donigan has collaborated with artists like Prince and Seal. Here she talks about conjuring, changing, creating and moving the molecules -- and her dance trajectory at Robert Henry Johnson's Dance Company, Club Q, Dance Brigade (Krissy Keefer), and Sarah Bush Dance, companies that have long been at the heart of dance and queer cultural life here in the Bay.
"We are conjuring. We are calling something forth that does not, in this realm, exist. We are using our woman power, our female power. We are the creators. Thought create. Women have birthed every human being on this planet. From our bodies, we have brought every human being here. To be able to create a human being in your body... That is powerful. We are creating every human being and everything that has ever been created comes through every human being. We are the source of all of it. That's what we are. When we conjure, we can move mountains and we can create universes. And we do. You are a Goddess, and your power is the greatest power that exists."
Katherine V. Forrest, Lambda Literary Award winner and author of Curious Wine and the Kate Delafield lesbian police detective series, discusses the happiest day of her life (6/7/1957) — coming across the border from Canada with her green card and being taken to a lesbian bar on her 21st birthday with work pals from General Motors (she went back the next night). The serendipity of finding Ann Bannon's Odd Girl Out, whose books were "as necessary to me as air," occurred at a Detroit drugstore shortly after arriving in the United States, "the beacon of the world where everything was possible." Katheirne describes the experience equivalent to the Emerald City first coming into view for Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz. "It was too risky in those days. We were all criminals. We were considered mentally ill. We were perverted. We were thrown out of our families and our jobs and our religions. We were thrown out of the military, we were institutionalized, we were beaten up and killed," she says somberly. "We could not be too careful. If we made a mistake, our life was over. They were very perilous times. We were outlaws. There was an exhilarating part of that, too. People gawked at us in bars. We were soldiers in a foxhole. There was a camaraderie."
This woman has lived it. And she is here to tell . Gratitude to you, KVF.
Susan and Janice met in 1982 when Susan was 30 and Janice was 28 — and at the time, they were both in a relationship. "I feel like I won the lotto," says Janice with a smile. When asked when she knew that she would spend a lifetime with Susan, Janice responded: "Never." But she did see the possibility (of a longterm relationship) with her parents.
Picture this: Fort Funston. A commitment ceremony and baby shower combined, right before they adopted their daughter (pretty much when Susan knew), now almost 30 years old! They share the secrets of staying together and the fact that they are two very different people. "I always liked her as a person and I think she gets better," says Janice. "We have similar values and we believe in community, and she is my favorite person to be with. It's easy. We don't have to talk all of the time. We can just parallel play." Listen to these two beautiful women talk about what it takes to stay together for over four decades, and about learning, growing, and evolving together while continuing to have fun.
After all, they are the notorious Schmata Sisters of Camp Runamuck
In the 1970s, Corona "Cora" Rivera, born in 1946, was on the front lines of gay liberation in New York City, active in Daughters of Bilitis, the Gay Liberation Front, and the Gay Activists Alliance. Cora talks about "being dragged" to GLF meetings, CR (consciousness-raising) groups, Bonnie & Clyde's Bar, and Vito Russo Sunday movies for $1. As a woman of color in the Gay Liberation Front, Cora talks about how it felt, and the leadership seminar she attended — the only woman — on Fire Island. While DOB (Daughters of Bilitis) offered community, it was the GLF and GAA's ZAP tactics that lit her fire. "The action and movement were so exciting at the time. It was a chance to fight — and I wasn't afraid at all," she reflects with a smile. "We ran a revolution. I was free to be as loud and as strong and as big as I wanted to be, and as much of myself as I wanted to be, and there was no watching what you said, and no societal norms. It made you feel stronger and validating, and like a way to get to know yourself. All that stuff came up and out. I didn't have to be a lady anymore, and the ZAPs taught me how not to be a lady, and I didn't have to speak softly."
Simone Wallace, co-founder of Sisterhood Bookstore in Westwood, was a straight woman when she opened her bookstore. She was experiencing something she had never experienced in her life: going to meetings and being surrounded by women who valued her. "Women thought I was smart. And attractive. And I thought, 'Where have I been my whole life?' Being around women was just amazing."
Simone talks about the early days of financing and building the bookstore, juggling a new business and motherhood, how she promoted and spread the word (analog), and who came through her doors. Hear more about what it was like, pre-internet and social media, to find out about community events through a bulletin board at the back of the bookstore. And what this woman built, book by book, speaker by speaker, over a 27-year period is pretty extraordinary.
"People just poured in. Our first button: Smash the Patriarchy."
A few years into her career, and not yet out to her family, Shann's grandmother spotted her name — "Friday Night! Lesbian Comedian, Shann Carr" — on the marquee in Portland, OR and promptly called her mother... "It was good to be a comedian because that perspective of coming at stuff with humor -- it saves everything," says Shann.
A 1988 winner of International Miss Leather, Shann performed stand-up comedy on cruise ships with Atlantis Cruises (mostly gay men), sailing the seas 77 times over a decade, before putting down roots in 2010 as a Palm Springs homeowner. Shann confesses that she was raised by drag queens, leather men, and bears, and came out "as a dyke" at the age of about 19 at summer camp. Shann's first girlfriend was a Jewish, radical, feminist, separatist SM dyke into witchcraft. The mentorship within the leather community is something for which Shann remains grateful. Today she continues to make her Palm Springs community laugh by producing insanely fun and unique events through World Wide Whimsy. www.shanncarr.com
In 1988, Ruthie, born in 1934, a high school PE teacher, and her partner Connie Kurtz took on the NYC Board of Education, fighting for domestic partner benefits. They even came out publicly on The Phil Donahue Show. Six years later, they won, securing benefits for ALL New York City employees. Their courage changed lives, and in this short clip, Ruthie talks about the importance of healthcare benefits for Connie and what it was like to be on national TV. "We weren't brought up as lesbians," she says. "Donahue was an opportunity to speak up and speak out." "I think I have a good legacy," she adds with a smile.
Curiosity and Wonder.
Born in 1941, Martha Wheelock is a documentarian and historian of the women's suffrage movement, a filmmaker (featuring lesser-known women in history), writer, educator, and graduate of Miss Hall's School. Here, she discusses the impact of a photo taken at the 1974 Christopher Street Gay Parade in New York City. The photo, by Bettye Lane, of then-33-year-old Wheelock holding a sign reading "Mother Nature is a Lesbian" written with lipstick, was printed in TIME magazine in 1975. This prompted Wheelock to urgently drive to her parents' home, where the magazine was prominently sitting on their coffee table when she arrived, and come out to them. How did she come up with the slogan on the sign? At the time, female seagulls were reproducing without males, a phenomenon called parthenogenesis — and Wheelock felt it made a statement about homosexuality as a natural force. Watch to hear her mom's reaction. And then her dad's.
"We are everywhere" is a rallying cry coined by Robin Tyler, the first out lesbian comic, which became the powerful signature chant of the first historic 1979 National March on Washington for Lesbian and Gay Rights, which Robin produced. "You are born this way, and if I weren't born this way, I would have chosen it," Robin says with conviction. "I love being a lesbian."
At 16, Robin read a small booklet (The Ladder) by Del Martin and Phyllis Lyon. "It said: if you like another woman, what you are is a lesbian." Years later, she tracked them down to thank them personally, meeting the pair at the airport on her way to Vietnam. "It just shows that one piece of literature — one thing — is the difference between feeling good about yourself or feeling guilty. I never came out because I was never in. Closets are vertical coffins. You die. You suffocate," she says emphatically.
Her biggest inspiration? Watch and see. "The biggest inspiration that keeps you going is love. Love is the strongest thing that there is. There's nothing stronger. Love wins over hate." Hate eats you up alive."
After many years together, Shad & Jody finally tied the knot — but the decision didn't come without a change of heart decades in the making.
Jody had always treasured their rebellious path. "We used to be sexual outlaws, and that was our thing," she reflected. For decades, they had proudly lived as "gender outlaws," going against the grain and forging their own way. "Everything is so normal now. The edge has come off, the fire is gone, and we are status quo status," she said wistfully. Shad remembered the deeper principles that had once guided them. "We were fighting to give women the right to not be married," she recalled. "We had to break the rules and create a new culture — and that meant giving women the freedom to choose." So after a lifetime of writing their own rules, what led them to change their minds? Listen to find out. Shad & Jody are documentarians and produced a film, Mom's Apple Pie and the horrific custody battles lesbian moms faced in the 1970s.
Jeanine "Neen" Nicholson reflects on feeling the love marching in the 2019 Pride Parade as the first LGBTQ Chief of the San Francisco Fire Department. “This parade was extra special because one of them was leading the fire department, and one of them was taking care of them,” she says with raw authenticity. “Representation matters. You’ve got to see it to be it. It’s super important for queers to show other queers what they’re doing in the world, and that you can be whatever you want to be.”
Her words carry the wisdom, grit and determination forged through decades in the male-dominated, misogynistic and racist world of firefighting. “I was married to the fire department for the last five and a half years of my career, and I’m proud of that. I gave my all. I gave it everything I had," she reflects.
“I’m most proud of my resilience. I wanted to make things better, and that’s what I tried to do — giving people opportunities to lead who might never have had the chance under other chiefs, and then watching them (Erica Arteseros Brown) frickiin' kill it."
On Family Building: My daughter was born in 2001 and my son in 2003. At the time, only two states allowed same-sex couples to adopt openly and simultaneously. "We were able to openly adopt two children the way we wanted to," says Kiki with love and conviction. New York offered another gift: on her children's birth certificates, there was no "mother" and "father" — only "Parent 1" and "Parent 2." "Neither of us had to be the baby daddy," she laughs.
Kiki also reflects on being chosen by her daughter's birth mother, who later revealed she had been looking for a "strong Black woman," someone she assumed would be single. When she saw the profile of a lesbian couple instead, she thought "you guys would have to be strong black women to be out." Kiki was a member of the NIA Collective in Oakland and is currently founder and editor-in-chief of BlackHistoryEveryday.com.
Before becoming a celebrated solo artist — creator of plays like June Bride — juggler Sara Felder literally joined the circus. She was tossing balls in Dolores Park one day, a routine practice session, when a van pulled up. Behind the wheel: Lance McGee of the legendary Pickle Family Circus. He watched. An audition followed — club swinging to music — and just like that she hears: "you're in." What began as an apprenticeship blossomed into years of performing and touring with one of the most celebrated circus troupes.
"In the circus, I learned how to be big," she says, arms flung wide. "It's all about the body. I knew it wasn't me. It was very performative, but it was kind of fun being someone who is not you," she adds with a genuine smile. There was just one small problem: Sara Felder had never been camping in her life. During her time with the Pickle Family Circus, she learned fast.
While not exactly a household name, Buzz Bense (1/23/49 - 11/19/2016) — and Bob West helped build sex-positive, safety-conscious spaces for gay men through the height of the AIDS crisis and the decades that followed, one of which was Eros, where Stephen worked from 1999 to 2001. "Eros was wonderful. I tell people I would have paid them to work there." It was, Stephen says, a moment when gay men were beginning to feel safe having public sex again. Eros was sprawling and social, and its rooms had names -- Lucy, Ricky, Little Ricky, Ethel and Fred. Stephen describes lines out the door by 4 PM when he opened, and he walked regular "loops" through the space, keeping watch that rules were being followed.
Marcia, 87, and Linda, 82, met 36 years ago in 1990 — they were 52 and 47 years old, respectively. "We still act like we're teenagers in some ways," they laugh. "We're such a relational couple. We are very physically connected," they say with pride and tenderness. Marcia reflects on the messaging she grew up with — the words "that a strong woman is called when a person asserts themselves," — and how that shaped her belief that a long-term relationship would never be possible for her -- this is, until a fancy girl from Marin came along. Twenty-five years later, they were married by the indomitable Rev. Janie Spahr. Take a listen to this rare love story.
Born in 1949 in The Bronx, Hal Offen was part of New York City's Gay Liberation Front (1970), and later, the Gay Activists Alliance (1971-1972). Here he talks about the distinction between the two organizations, and the people who defined them — Marsha P. Johnson, Sylvia Rivera, Arthur Evans, and Marty Robinson — and what it meant to be among those who chanted 'Out of the Closets and into the Streets.' Hal recalls the gay power chant and meeting Arthur Evans after only having seen him and Dick Leitsch on TV, at his first demonstration in March of 1971 on Park Avenue in New York City.
Hal isn't just reflecting on history. He is the history.
Jan & Max, how they met. In their own words. Press play.
One night at Maud's in 1984 changed what either had imagined for herself — Jan was 33, Max was 28. Both were in non-monogamous relationships — "they didn't call it polyamory back then," Jan explains. What was supposed to be just "a little sweaty summer thing" — Max smiles — turned into 42 years and counting. "Yeah, I chased her," Jan confesses. Max admits the love poems and letters "were a grab," and adds: "I'm a sucker for jewelry. And we would have monogamy as the basis of our relationship." On March 25, 1998, in full-length white wedding gowns, alongside Willie Brown and Carole Migden, they participated in a Same-Sex Wedding and Anniversary Ceremony, and their picture went analog — appearing in print newspapers globally.
Andrew and Jim met in 1989 at the respective ages of 24 and 28 at the then-Café Flore in San Francisco. Andrew talks about what it felt like to create a life together "interweaving our lives," and what it was like when Jim started to feel like family. Jim tells us he was struck by Andrew's depth, wisdom, maturity, and self-confidence. "It's fascinating how that initial chemistry can evolve into something deeper. Now our relationship has so much more depth and history. We've grown, evolved, and matured together. Thirty-seven years seems like a long time, and it is, and it's wonderful. I feel so blessed to be with this man," Jim reflects with quiet sincerity.
Margie Norris, born in 1940 and a former psychiatric social worker from the West Side of Chicago, talks about her crush on Judy Collins and how her mother knew, before she did, that she was a lesbian — a word she had never heard before. "I love the word dyke," she says. "Dykes are strong, strong women, and that is what it implies to me." Margie talks about what a force Elana Dykewomon was -- and the time she got to see June Jordan, too. "I will never ever forget that," and "I will always admire her being open," she says about the gentleness and power of June Jordan.
A self-described Christian, African American chef and musician, Paula “Tuffy” Eldridge is the daughter of Rev. Canon Frankie Easter. She began playing guitar at the age of six and went on to become an acoustic singer-songwriter based in Oklahoma City.
In 1980, she co-produced the first all-woman art and music festival in Oklahoma and was a member of the True Star band.
Tuffy talks about the first girl she ever kissed, falling head over heels while in high school, how her nickname was coined, and her activism beginning in ninth grade—advocating for Black women to be selected for cheer and pep squads.
Sara Waddell Lewinstein talks about meeting Tom Waddell for the first time and publicizing the Gay Games together. She refers to herself as "the mama of the Gay Games," and she means it literally. As one of the original board members, she was there from the beginning. "He was just the fastest thing," she says of Tom, a physician and Olympic decathlete who placed sixth at the 1968 Mexico City Olympic Games.
"I just loved him to death. I didn't realize he was 17 years older than me. When I met Tom I fell in love and thought, Oh! I would love him to be my baby's daddy! So I asked him. But not that day."
Tom said yes. Tom Waddell, Gay Games founder, trailblazer, and Jessica's father — died of AIDS in 1987. "He was a real wonderful man.
I wish he never got AIDS," she says with deep regret.
Paul Evan Gross helped plan the 1981 International Lesbian and Gay Freedom Day Parade and Celebration. "We politicized the f*** out of that parade," he recalls with a laugh that carries the weight of someone whose activism and passion made a profound impact on San Francisco. At the heart of his story is a storefront on Valencia Street, where Paul lived with Tede Matthews alongside lesbian activists with whom he built a community. In an era when men's and women's movements operated in separate worlds, these women brought Paul into the heart of feminist activism, opening doors and building a bridge between communities at a time when gay bashing was prevalent.
Rich (left), born in 1944, and Frank (right), born in 1950, met in New York City in 1979 — and here they celebrate what it means to share nearly five decades together. This is a rare and moving portrait of two men who have built a beautiful life, side by side. I asked each of them: what three words come to mind when you think of the other? Watch and see.
Patrick Eugene Batt, born in 1946 in Sheboygan, Wisconsin, grew up the eldest of seven, with six sisters. Auto Erotica, the Castro institution he built, isn't entirely about those types of magazines (he'll tell you himself that the place is about gay history). A short documentary that won a 2025 Frameline award (one of many), captures what locals have known for years: Patrick Batt is not only a legend and historian, but an irreplaceable piece of this city's soul.
Babs talks about one of her first "wonderful little affairs" with a woman, who told her that she must keep things secret. "That's not what I wanted, and I wanted to sing about being in love, but I couldn't around her."
Babs, a dynamic and energetic octogenarian born in 1944, lives life on a five-year-at-a-time plan, and was a personal assistant to Frank Sinatra and Mia Farrow from the mid-’60s to the early ’70s. Learn more about her award winning 14-minute documentary (Frankly Speaking Films ~ Frameline 2025), Thanks, Babs!
Podiatry was heavily male-dominated when Dr. Hoffman, born in 1941, started out — entering and persisting in that environment in the 1970s took real courage. She holds both a DPM and a PhD, and was in private practice in San Francisco since 1978. Named one of America's 150 Most Influential Podiatric Physicians, she's one of only 50 podiatrists selected for the National Academies of Practice. This woman is evidence of how far above any bar she had to set for herself -- and what a trailblazer. Thank you, Arlene!
From Shanghai to San Francisco, born in 1947, Judge Kay Tsenin’s journey led her to the bench of the SF Superior Court, and here she talks about the night in 1996 "one of the best days of my life," when she won the election as a lesbian judge in San Francisco.
"I started imagining being a judge, I think – well, the way I ended up going to law school was that on a school field trip they took us down to the Hall of Justice. I got fascinated with trials. I used to come down on school holidays. I had nothing else to do so I’d come down and watch trials."
“I wanted to be a Hollywood director. It wasn’t rational,” says iconic photographer, Danny Nicoletta. Each image is its own gratification in terms of evoking some sort of cultural poetics and asking certain questions of the viewer. That’s a real success with making imagery. If you are asking questions that get people out of their comfort zone, and they ask significant questions of themselves, that’s the ultimate success. They get to win the prize in terms of cultural praise because they ask the questions that ask the questions. “Danny, all he comes back with are pictures of drag queens and theatre people,” is what others would say about Danny’s photos. “I didn’t get that memo — what is the queer vernacular?” I did get the memo and began photographing and looking for the queer vernacular and how are we living our lives. I was more attracted to the bombastic, and didn’t get that memo right away." Advice for this generation? Danny talks about doubling down and “you’ll get to the good stuff if you just hang in there during the bad.” It’s your decision to be yourself, and nobody else has a say in that. Jose Sarria was the bridge for me for the era of homosexuals targeted and harassed by society in general, but also the police. This is why history is such a beautiful thing in a sense. I am the bridge from him and his struggles, and now I am the bridge to the next generation’s contemporary struggles, and I get to have some sort of influence on the next level of struggle, whatever that may look like. I am very grateful for having the wisdom to pay attendtion to his story," he says with grace.
We use cookies to analyze website traffic and optimize your website experience. By accepting our use of cookies, your data will be aggregated with all other user data.