It's 11 AM on Monday morning, November 27, 1978 in San Francisco. The startling news comes to us from KSAN, the popular rock-and-roll station. Dianne Feinstein, President of the Board of Supervisors, in a shaking voice says: "Mayor George Moscone and Supervisor Harvey Milk have been shot . . . and killed. The suspect is Supervisor Dan White." This statement was to be repeated over and over again on radio, TV, and newspaper headlines. Shock and disbelief overwhelmed Frankie and me as we were finishing our morning coffee in our Henry Street home. We quickly dressed and went down to 18th and Castro Streets, a few blocks away. Our community had become accustomed to congregating there whenever events called for reaction. The sidewalks were already crowded. The looks of shock, dismay, anger and fear were on all faces, and tears flowed freely. It was the beginning of the end, or so it seemed. The news that Dan White was in custody was no solace. Our Harvey was gone! Our beloved Mayor and good friend to our community, George Moscone was also dead. All of our efforts, our progress, our victories, our hopes for the future, seemed to have evaporated and we felt pushed back to square one. The City ground to a halt. Many offices and businesses closed. People wept openly in the streets. Strangers hugged each other, trying to offer comfort. But there was no comfort. Clutching a Special Edition of the paper, Frankie and I went back to Henry Street. There was a police car parked in front of Harvey's house down the block. Police presence remained on our street until after the funerals. At suppertime, we were alerted again by KSAN that there would be a candlelight vigil at Market and Castro. When we arrived, the crowd was already huge. Considering that there had been no planning, this was phenomenal. It assured us that we were not alone. We WERE community and we WERE supported by our fellow citizens. We stopped at Cliff's and bought a few candles from the rapidly dwindling supply. They gave us paper cups to protect the candles from the breeze. The group could no longer fit in the intersection and began moving slowly down Market toward City Hall. People poured out of almost every building we passed, providing additional mourners. This march was one of the most awesome events in my life. Five percent of the population of the entire city was present on a moment's notice and in spite of the mass of humanity, the silence was deafening. Occasional sobs and whispers were the only sounds. There was little traffic and, as if the gods were with us, there was no wind licking at our candles! As the crowd filled Civic Center, candles were deposited everywhere. Hundreds of tiny points of light lit the statue of Abraham Lincoln. It must have taken city workers weeks to clean up the wax. Someone wisely brought a megaphone and believe it or not, Joan Baez (in person) began singing AMAZING GRACE. Tears flowed freely as the crowd joined in. Chills ran down our collective spine. These are moments that happen only at truly historic events, and there I was with my tiny, tiny candle and my heavy, heavy heart, and my 50,000 brothers and sisters. FORWARD TO NEXT MILK PAGE BACK TO MILK INDEX BACK TO CASTRO STREET This page created June 19, 1996 and updated APRIL 20, 1999 • Text and Graphics © 1996 - 1999 • UD Graphics • San Francisco •