The LGBTQ History Project

At the heart of our work is the extensive archive of August Bernadicou, who began recording conversations and interviews with these pioneers when he was 13 years old. With thousands of hours of recorded audio and video materials, we aim to capture the LGBTQ+ community’s struggles, losses, and triumphs.

We are committed to preserving and providing access to this vital history. Through our efforts, we aim to shed light on the stories and experiences of those who fought for LGBTQ+ rights. A shared history fosters empathy, bridges divisions, and works towards a future where everyone can thrive regardless of sexual orientation or gender identity. We aspire to create a society that embraces equality and justice. We seek to nurture empathy and compassion, contribute to a more inclusive world, and evolve with the community’s needs.

by August Bernadicou, Executive Director of The LGBTQ History Project

Micky Nelson

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. 

“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 thecity. 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 workedat 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 himtake 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.”

Peter Taylor

I want to give the Faulkner Morgan Archive props for their help with our next feature. The Faulkner Morgan Archive is based in Lexington, Kentucky, and is dedicated to preserving LGBTQ history, a crucial task in a deeply  conservative, Republican state. The archive currently houses 15,000 items and more than 250 hours of recorded interviews. 

I sent them an email asking for any Kentucky Gay Liberation Front leads, and they introduced me to Peter Taylor, who served as the second president of the Lexington, Kentucky, Gay Liberation Front while he was attending the University of Kentucky in the early 1970s. .

From an early age, Peter knew he was different. When he was 12 years old, he read a book that had the word “homosexual” in it. Every time he went to the library after that, he would go straight to the card catalog and look up “homosexuality.” He read everything he could. He and the future were determined! 

What strikes me about Peter is the passion he brings to the conversation. His memory is sharp, and he is confident. Early in our interview he said, “I was kind of a go to hell person. I didn’t really care. I decided that if it was against the law for me to have sex in the first place, it didn’t really matter much if I followed any laws.” 

Peter did have brushes with the law, being arrested purely for being a homosexual. The first time, he was 18 years old. He was speaking with an undercover police officer who said he had no place to sleep. In a friendly, matter-of-fact manner, Peter offered the police officer his couch. The officer, in turn, arrested him for solicitation to commit third degree sodomy. It is like—what does that even mean?

Folks, this highlights the fear and uncertainty of the not-so-far-away times. Most of the United States has progressed, but many parts of the world have not. While we’ve made progress, there’s still a significant journey ahead. It is surreal that a friendly conversation could lead to arrest, showing the stark realities and challenges we face in ensuring basic rights and freedoms for all. 

Peter, we are glad you broke the most archaic and overarching law of the time… simply existing!

“I was born in Jellico, Tennessee, right across the state line from Kentucky. I was furious growing up. I had been made fun of for years and had absolutely no peace at school. I mean, people called me a ‘queer’ and called me a ‘pussy’ every single day. I was one of the smartest kids in the school. I was testing at a college level in reading when I was in the fifth grade, and I got treated like some kind of a freak by everybody. Now, in my work as a social worker, I see that people who get treated like that often turn suicidal. People who arrive at adulthood when they’re gay, lesbian, or trans hate themselves because everybody they’ve ever known has treated them like they were some kind of awful, terrible, horrible person. 

I didn’t hate myself. I hated the bullies. I decided they were a bunch of bastards, and I hoped they all would die, and I wouldn’t waste any time on them if they did. I had a different orientation. I was furious. I didn’t give a goddamn: I’m going to do exactly what I want to, and I’m going to be who I want to be, and we’ll just see what happens. In some ways, it was an experiment. 

Most of the problems that I had were not caused by my being gay. They were simply caused by not being practical, like worrying about where I would get money. I mostly lived on financial aid during the time I was in the Gay Liberation Front. 

I attended Gay Liberation Front meetings in the winter of my freshman year at the University of Kentucky during the 1971-72 school year. I became the president in the fall of 1972. Although we were based on campus, we weren’t officially part of the university. 

There was an organization on campus called the Free University, which gave alternative classes. They let us have a class called the Gay Liberation Front class. We wanted more, though. We wanted access to a phone, office, printing press, etc. We wanted to use university facilities, in other words, their resources, because any recognized student group was allowed to do that. That’s what we were angling for. We were putting together an application to become an official student organization. 

We spent the whole year doing what was required to become officially recognized by the university, but they turned us down. The Kernel, the student newspaper, had an enormous debate over it. We put together an appeal in front of the university judicial board, which was composed of faculty and students. They recommended that we be approved, but the university turned us down again and sent a very lengthy letter written by the head of the law library, explaining the justification was that we were a group that was advocating breaking the law. 

We applied again, but at that point, the university filed suit against our group. They wanted us to stop applying for recognition. They mentioned me by name in the lawsuit, and my name was in the papers. The ACLU provided a volunteer  attorney for us, and we went in front of the Sixth Circuit Court. The attorney general referred to us as ‘a lawful group sprinkled with unlawful activity.’ It was the same excuse as before. 

In protest of the negative ruling, we burned a flag and Bible in the free speech area beside the Student Center. I also wrote a ‘Thank you’ letter to the student newspaper, where I expressed my hope that every single person at the University of Kentucky would have a gay son, daughter, brother, sister, mother, father, or friend ‘so maybe you’ll all better understand what it is we’ve been talking about.’ I’m still pleased with that letter.”