A Different Angle: a random collection of essays and observations, mostly about lesbian/gay/bi issues. © Todd VerBeek, Radio Zero(tm)

It Never Rains on Gay Pride

For years (especially when I was on the Pride planning committee) I've told people with utter confidence, "It doesn't rain on Gay Pride celebrations." This has not been a prediction or a statement of faith, but a simple statement of fact. It doesn't rain. Sure, people have come up with counter-examples (like Seattle, where it rains on everything), but those don't really count. It's come close a couple times, but the fact remains: It doesn't rain.

Well, I almost had to eat my words this year. Briefly, about half-way through the festivities in Grand Rapids this year, some water came out of the sky. But as quickly as it came, it went. I figure that whoever's in charge of the weather got distracted for a minute. When they realized what was happening, they stopped it and sent the sun back. The sunshine lasted until the festival was over.

What happened next is a little harder to explain. As people were starting to prepare for the candlelight march to the Hall of Justice, the clouds came back. Drops started falling from the sky. And most people - sensibly, I admit - headed for their cars and/or the dry safety of the bars.

Most people would say it was raining.

OK, I was inclined to agree. It sure looked like rain to me. So as people started asking me what was happening with the march, I told them that it was probably cancelled. (I've been off the Pride committee for two years now, but nobody seems to understand that I'm not in any way in charge anymore.)

But not everyone took the hint. Fifty-plus people huddled under the shelter of the Ford museum overhang. Figuring that someone had to resolve this issue, I turned to the remaining crowd (as the rain got harder) and asked, "Do you want to march?" (I was half-hoping they'd say no so we could all go home and get dry.) "YES!" they replied. Hmm. I turned around, and started walking. They followed.

(Someone once said that a leader is a person who knows how to find a parade and get in front of it. At that point, I finally figured out why people keep referring to me as a "community leader". I didn't come up with the idea of having a march. I didn't persuade anyone to do it. By standing in front of them and walking, I just helped provide an opportunity... a catalyst... an excuse for doing what these people already wanted to do.)

We marched across the river, past gawking Amway conventioneers, and down the street to the Hall of Justice. We were wet. We were cold. And we were marching, goddamnit.

The folks at the Hall of Justice had told the speakers to go home, and were packing up the p.a. system. When the march (which had been cancelled) unexpectedly arrived, no one knew what to do. But a decision was quickly made to go ahead with it. There in the rain we had our rally. Now-openly-gay Library Commissioner Brandon Heitzmann, County Commissioner Jim Talen, and a lesbian member of gubernatorial candidate Debbie Stabenow's campaign staff (whose name I'm afraid I don't recall) all spoke.

So did it rain? Rain would have cancelled the march. And rain would've cancelled the rally. But that didn't happen. So it must not have rained.

I may have gotten a little wet, but it certainly didn't rain on me. And if the crowd I walked in front of is any indication of the future of Western Michigan, we'll never have to worry about rain again.

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