While there's no shortage of queer folk in the preservation movement, as volunteers and preservation professionals, there are very few positive depictions of GLBT identity at the historic sites and buildings that are our life's work. The stigma of deviance has kept interpreters silent on the subject of sexual orientation even at historic houses where the cat has been out of the bag for a long, long time. Though Walt Whitman and Willa Cather are widely honored as distinguished American writers, those who manage their houses presume to manage their reputations by insuring that visitors learn nothing about their same-sex relationships. The closets are even deeper at historic houses associated with national political leaders, such as Eleanor Roosevelt's Val-Kill, despite recent scholarship that has provided compelling evidence of same-sex intimacies in these settings.

Among liberals, sexual orientation and identity has long been perceived as a private matters. Corollary thinking suggests that we have no business "outing" closeted gay people and that sexual orientation is largely irrelevant to the interpretation of the past or current practices (such as fitness to serve in the military). While the idea of privacy continues to be critical to protecting the right of queer folk to love whomever they choose, it is an increasingly problematic concept for public policy and practice, particularly when it is used as a rationale for the suppression of public discourse on controversial subjects.

While Georgia O'Keeffe, for example, may have preferred that her intimate relationship with Maria Chabot remain a secret, and the architect Philip Johnson lived most of his adult life as a closeted gay man, the fact of their same-sex relationships is critical to understanding how their houses in Abiquiu and New Caanan, respectively, came into being. In the case of O'Keeffe, her on-again, off-again romance with Maria Chabot is critical to understanding the landmark. In the words of Paula Martinac, "the renovation of the Abiquiu house was overseen by Maria Chabot, a writer who began living with O'Keeffe in 1941 in an intimate friendship ­ 'a tall handsome young woman,' as O'Keeffe described her. Maria planned all the details of the renovation, including the location of the fireplaces, and studied Hopi architecture in order to duplicate its designs." The major biographies of O'Keeffe all acknowledge Chabot's leading role in the renovation. In Johnson's case, the remarkable collection of art in his landmark Glass House was collected and curated by David Whitney, Johnson's lover of more than 30 years.

Reluctance on the part of historic site administrators to honestly address aspects of sexual orientation and identity that diverge from societal norms parallels problems in telling the truth about slavery in the Great Houses of the South. For years slaves were inaccurately described as "servants" and the subject of slavery was whitewashed through demolition or neglect of the slave quarters. Docents are often uncomfortable with controversial topics and fear visitors' responses. To address this problem, the National Trust for Historic Preservation has initiated a special educational program intended to improve the interpretation of slavery at the historic houses it owns and manages. Who will make a similar case for addressing difficult subjects in an accurate and complete way at O'Keeffe's studio and Johnson's Glass House, which were recently acquired by the National Trust? The time has come for the GLBT movement to hold preservation organizations and agencies accountable for their treatment of the subject.

Same-sex relationships are often obscured at the landmarks of GLBT heritage through asexual euphemisms such as "special friend" or "associate," if they are dealt with at all. At some places, there is an informal policy to address difficult subjects only upon request. Photographs that might raise questions, such as Willa Cather in masculine attire as her alter ego Frank, have no place on the wall of her childhood home. Taken together, these erasures surely make the stories told at these sites more palatable to the most conservative visitors. Yet they represent lost opportunities for educating the public about GLBT history and they leave queer folk and their allies profoundly uncomfortable as they beg the truth about the past. Perhaps it is time to stop being such good guests and to instead "act up" on our visits to historic houses?

Beyond the homes of notable individuals, there are also sites associated with the GLBT movement that merit landmark designation. Recent scholarship has documented the history of the movement, but the need remains to link that history to historic places. Perhaps the premiere example is the Stonewall Inn on Christopher Street in New York City, which was the site of the June 28, 1969, police raid where patrons (mostly drag queens and people of color) fought back in response to police harassment. This was the first historic property to be listed on the National Register, in 1999, and to be designated as a National Historic Landmark because of its significance in gay and lesbian history. More recently, Chicago's Commission on Landmarks awarded preliminary landmark status to the former home of the late pioneering gay activist Henry Gerber (1882 - 1972), who in 1924 founded the Society for Human Rights, which is believed to be the first gay and lesbian civil rights organization in the nation. Since the Chicago City Council holds the power to grant final approval of landmark status, lobbying in the year ahead is warranted.

Part 2 - CONTINUES