Some say it was the sheer collective determination of 250,000 revelers gathered to watch the thirtieth annual Gay and Lesbian Pride Parade that made the rain stop as suddenly as it started. Some attribute it to an incantation performed by a soggy drag queen standing just outside the 7-11 at Halsted and Roscoe.
Twenty minutes of rain transforms the streets into a shiny, glistening catwalk for the 257 parade entries who will sashay, stomp and wiggle their way through the hearts and minds of Chicago. Among the spectators, somewhere in the middle of the feather boas, the piercings and the bare skin, I spot an older woman who is standing alone. Her arms are crossed, her face void. She has on a pair of enormous sunglasses: she can see out, but I can't see in. What is she doing here?
"Who knows. I know what I'm doing here," my friend says ripping open a can of beer and leering at a group of shirtless guys.
And there's plenty of skin. A man wearing a black thong complete with a Playboy Bunny tail stands next to two guys mysteriously dressed in matching military fatigues and war paint. All around, basic leather vests and leather chaps are mixed and matched with requisite slogan T-shirts. But no matter what they're wearing (or not wearing, as is most often the case), everyone shimmers with energy, individualism and pride. Suddenly, the crowd erupts with applause and wolf-whistles, as a convertible carrying Greg Lougainis motors up Halsted, signaling the start of the parade.
The following two-plus hours feature floats carrying Chicago's gay cops; a 30-foot gas-powered Jewel shopping cart; dykes-on-bikes; P-Flag; a marching band and countless floats with half-dressed men and women dancing to music and tossing colored beads, lollipops, flowers and T-shirts to the outstretched hands below.
Further down the parade route, rowdy fits of applause and screams burst out. Minutes later we see why: Spin's float features a strapping, half-naked man taking a shower. His titillating wet torso gyrates to the music in ways Ricky Martin couldn't even begin to imagine.
I steal a sidelong glance at the silent woman hidden behind the sunglasses. What could she possibly make of all this? Does she understand that such blatant exhibition of sexuality is a celebration of freedom?
A few minutes later another float hovers by, tossing prized, glass-beaded necklaces into the crowd. And in the blink of a beaded lash, the woman bends down to grab a neon blue necklace; at the same time, a circuit boy in tiny soccer shorts leaps over the curb to grab the same. He offers her a shy smile, and hands it to her. She takes the beads, opens them and gently places them around his neck. The sun bounces off of her dark glasses, turning them into mirrors that reflect the smiling faces around her, and for one humbling moment I am able to see what she sees.
(Tony Peregrin)
copyright 1999 New City Communications, Inc.