“According to my wife, I lost my innocence at age 16, and I lost my ignorance at 42.” So said Dave O’Malley, former Chief of Police of Laramie, Wyoming, from the front of the Marriage Equality bus. “Before Matthew Shepard’s death, I had all the traditional, prejudiced views about homosexuals. By the end of that week’s investigations, my prejudices and ignorance were gone.”
He became silent, reflective, starting to speak again but becoming too choked up to continue. “I’m sorry. Today has already been a hard day for me. It was exactly six years ago. It all began a few hours from now, not far from here.”
After describing in greater detail the personal transformation that Matthew Shepard’s murder effected for him and many citizens of Laramie, O’Malley said: “Matt’s legacy is things like you are doing here.”
We had come to Laramie earlier in the day to hold a rally and educational forum at the University of Wyoming. When the students we encountered realized that our group was there to promote extending legal rights and responsibilities to same-sex couples, many averted their eyes or quickened their step. One student said, “What the [expletive deleted] is going on with all this gay [expletive deleted]”?
We gathered at 11:45 on the campus lawn at the invitation of three campus organizations (two BGLT, one feminist), to set up for a 12:00 rally. The only folks from Laramie who seemed intentionally present were the organizers themselves and a straight couple. The couple held a sign reading, “Wyoming is God’s Country. Let’s Keep it that Way. Ban Gay Marriage.”
Given our initial reception, I was surprised when over two hundred people appeared for the rally, mostly students and professors but also a state senator who spoke at length. I was surprised that many students who couldn’t stay asked for literature on their way to class. I was surprised by how moving it was to watch the triple wedding ceremony performed there on the lawn by a local pastor. He simultaneously married a straight couple, a gay couple, and a lesbian couple. I had never seen more than one couple get married at once, and expected such a ceremony to feel bizarre. Instead, watching those individuals with glowing expressions join their hands and hearts in love, it seemed like they and the pastor were sanctifying the ground on which we stood.
When it was my turn to speak, I began by saying. “I’ve read that 'Wyoming is God’s Country.' Watching this beautiful wedding ceremony, and seeing all of you here to support equality for all, I know that it is true.”
After the educational forum that followed, we departed for the Fireside Lounge, the site from which Matthew Shepard was kidnapped in 1998. As you probably know, two men wanted to “teach him a lesson” for being gay. They drove him to a remote farm, tied him to a fencepost, beat him with their fists and the butt of a pistol, and left him there to die in the near-freezing temperatures. He was found by a bicyclist eighteen hours later, still living. He died from his brain stem and other injuries five days later. One doctor said, "These sorts of injuries are what you would see in an eighty-mile an hour car crash, not what you would expect one person could do to another." He was so badly injured that the doctors had been unable to operate.
On the Fireside Lounge's covered patio, the mood was somber. The Caravan riders were the only ones there. Rev. Helen and I led a memorial service. It was not only for Matthew, but for all those who have led lives of courage, staying true to their identities in the face of adversity. Helen began the service by lighting a candle, saying, “Sometimes our spirit is but the gentle glow of a single flame. For the one who keeps it burning brightly to the end, death is not defeat.”
It was an extremely emotional event. I had found myself crying even as I composed the prayer. During the ceremony itself, almost all were crying. Passersby on foot and on bicycles stopped to mutely listen.
The sky had darkened as the ceremony began, and ten minutes after our opening words, a light sprinkle turned to hail. Midway through the service, hail turned back into light rain. As the service concluded, the sky brightened again. I don't tend to attribute meaning to that sort of thing, but I was left mystified and amazed.
After the ceremony, we got behind schedule because the passersby who had stopped wanted to speak with us. They told us that things had greatly improved in Laramie since 1998 for BGLT people, but there was still a way to go. Some took rolls of “Freedom to Marry” stickers with them to share with their friends.
We boarded the bus and headed to the Unitarian Universalist Church of Cheyenne for a potluck dinner. This was the first UU church to host the Caravan, although there will be at least two others along the way.
Many of the Caravan riders have had primarily negative experiences of religion before the Caravan. Some were initially wary in getting to know Helen and me. Now they have begun to ask about Unitarian Universalism. I don't talk about this tradition with those who don't ask about it, but with those who ask, I do. I know too many people who tell me, "I so wish I had known about this faith twenty years ago." On this Caravan, I am feeling proud to be a part of such a tradition as this.