Read Love, Ellen: A Mother/Daughter Journey Online
Authors: Betty DeGeneres
Then there was Donna Red Wing, HRC’s national field director, whose compelling story I would later hear in more detail. To meet Donna, a striking part Native American woman, is to be immediately impressed by her vigor and her great gifts as a speaker. Few would suspect what I later learned—that Donna has an inoperable brain tumor. Instead of debilitating her, it has empowered her to work even harder, doing what she believes will make her life—however long it is—really count for something.
After the introductions that first morning, I got started right away with briefings on the National Coming Out Project. I loved the emphasis that was being placed on coming out as a way to create a dialogue and to open channels of communication. I knew well from my own experience how important it is to simply talk. Many families, I was finding out, have a conspiracy of silence—not because of a lack of love but because of a lack of skill at talking. And not talking about being gay means staying in the closet. What’s wrong with the closet? I knew that from Ellen DeGeneres-Ellen Morgan: It’s suffocating. Gay men and women have the same right to be out in the open, breathing the same air, as any of us.
During these briefings, I was also given some background on HRC’s past spokespeople. The list included Chastity Bono, as well as the actress Amanda Bearse, the actor Dan Butler, and Sean Sasser of MTV’s
Real World.
One of the most vocal and most widely recognized past spokespersons for HRC is Candace Gingrich, who pronounces the name “Gingrick.’’ In the months ahead, I would have the pleasure of getting to know Candace. Outgoing and friendly, she is a tiny little bundle of energy.
Candace used the title
Accidental Activist
for her book about her unlikely journey from a conservative background to the path she eventually took. A gifted speaker, she was so effective as a spokesperson that after her stint was over, she was asked to stay on as part of HRC’s permanent staff.
Just after these morning briefings were over, I was given a copy of my schedule for the rest of the day. My first question was, “When do I get to go to the rest room?”
Every minute was planned. Even lunch was a meeting so that I could meet the summer interns who were there to learn about campaigning and helping out at the grassroots level. What an exemplary group of smart, clean-cut young men and women they were. Looking at them and thinking of the ignorance and discrimination they face—just because being gay or lesbian is a part of who they are—when it was my turn to talk, I had to choke back tears.
The following day I was taken to Capitol Hill, my first visit there, by Suzanne Salkind, who manages HRC’s political action committee, and Winnie Stachelberg, HRC’s political director. They’re both attractive, warm, and brilliant. They introduced me to Senators John Breaux and Mary Landrieu from Louisiana and Senator Barbara Boxer from California, and took me to the House of Representatives, which was in session.
HRC’s legislative agenda, about which I was getting an education, included lobbying Congress to support the Hate Crimes Prevention Act, headed for a vote in 1998 and the desperately needed Employment Non-Discrimination Act (ENDA), a bipartisan bill which polls showed an overwhelming majority of Americans support. It was a shock to learn that only eleven states in this country have laws to protect gay and lesbian workers from unfair discrimination on the job. (Tragically, a few months later the number of states would diminish to ten.)
ENDA had come within a hair of passing in September of 1996 when the vote in the Senate was 49 to 50—one vote short. Now our goal was to make sure it passed when it came up again, we hoped in 1998. The fact that a handful of Republicans had crossed party lines to stand up for fairness was encouraging. And, as Elizabeth Birch would later say:
The real miracle was not in the Senate chamber but in the large, ornate room outside. There gathered were leaders from the NAACP to great religious denominations and from corporate leaders to the AFL-CIO. In that room, we were already one America. When we got down to the final hours of the vote, Coretta Scott King, Dorothy Height, and Rosa Parks herself were urging us on.
After two days, I headed back to Los Angeles, fired up and ready to go, taking home as much reading material as I could fit into my suitcase and my carry-on bag. As spokes-person, I wanted to be as knowledgeable as possible. Although National Coming Out Day wasn’t until October 11, my interviews would start in September.
On the airplane, I remembered how Winnie Stachelberg had told me that, for her, coming to work for HRC was “love at first sight.”
I knew just what she meant. I took out my journal and began making notes about the crash course I had taken on this trip. At the end of my entry, I noted with great joy, “This truly feels like my mission in life.”
O
N
O
CTOBER
4, 1997, I stood up to give my first official speech at an HRC dinner for 1,200 in Minneapolis. Over the past two months, I’d been warming up with media interviews. That was easy, but this was a challenge. This was the first time since 1963—thirty-four years before, when I addressed the insurance convention in San Francisco—that I actually had to stand up, walk to the podium, and speak. Before I said a word, I was given a standing ovation—wow! I got another one after I spoke as well. Good thing.
Also speaking that night were Donna Red Wing and Dr. Joycelyn Elders—two fantastic speakers. Luckily, I didn’t have to follow them.
The love and gratitude everyone expressed to me was overwhelming. As I looked around at all those faces, few of whom I knew, I felt that none of them were strangers to me. We were family—part of something that was larger than the sum of its parts.
A week later—when I was back in Los Angeles to acknowledge National Coming Out Day and officially kick off my work as spokesperson—there was a reception at the Universal Hilton. P-FLAG ran a blurb in its local newsletter with the headline,
BETTY DEGENERES COMES OUT AS EVERYONE’S FAVORITE STRAIGHT MOM.
Watching me go to the podium, Ellen and Anne were very moved. Ellen was so unabashedly teary that a reporter asked why she was crying. As she dabbed at her eyes, she said, “To have a mom like this, not only to accept me and love me but to come out and be a spokesperson and travel—I’m so proud of her.” Ellen added, “I’m just a mush—I cry at commercials!”
Now that I was official, I got started on a speaking itinerary that took me to all corners of the map, primarily for events hosted by local HRC groups. Every city and every event amazed me as I hopscotched around the country, back and forth from Los Angeles: Detroit; back to Washington, D.C.; Boston; back to Washington, D.C.; Boston again; San Antonio; New York; Chicago; back to Washington D.C.; to Portland, Maine, and to Portland, Oregon; to Raleigh; Denver; Philadelphia; back to Washington, D.C.; Dallas; Myrtle Beach; New York; to London (that’s London, England); Atlanta; and then to my hometown, New Orleans.
There is not enough space for me to describe every magnificent reception I was given and every remarkable individual I met along the way. Instead, I’d like to offer a sampling to give you a general sense of this unfolding adventure. Many of my trips include three days of events—a cocktail party on Friday, a black-tie dinner on Saturday, and a brunch on Sunday. Often, interviews, lunches, and other meetings are also scheduled.
Though I sometimes speak at smaller events, most of the time I give my main address at the dinners, speaking to audiences of anywhere from 600 to 1,500 and more. From the start, though I felt slightly jittery, I had no real stage fright—thanks again to Aunt Tillie! Besides, I always remind myself, I’m speaking from my heart. And my message is so simple: We love our sons and daughters unconditionally; our gay family members have the right to be who they are, to live their lives in a healthy, open manner—just as we do.
Of course, the more I spoke, the more confident I grew in my new role. One of my few instances of genuine nervousness was on the night of November 8, 1997. Everything about this evening at the Grand Hyatt Hotel in Washington, D.C., was historic. It was the Human Rights Campaign’s first ever annual national dinner—a sellout with 1,500 attending. President Clinton spoke—the first time that a sitting president had addressed a gay civil rights organization. And HRC also presented its first National Civil Rights Awards, three of them: to Dorothy Height and Wade Henderson, two officials from the Leadership Conference on Civil Rights; and to the actress and comedian Ellen DeGeneres.
Knowing that I would be speaking on the same bill as the president of the United States did make me nervous. But since Ellen was the one receiving the award, her speech was an even more daunting assignment. Before going down to the dinner, I joined her and Anne in their suite, along with David Smith and a few others from HRC, while she worked on her speech. She agonized over it, but of course, it turned out to be warm, honest, funny, and wonderful.
When it was time to go downstairs, guards arrived to escort us the back way—through the kitchen and boiler room, not exactly the scenic route.
From the instant that the guards led us inside, to a VIP cocktail party, the energy we all felt was electrifying. There were banks of photographers and reporters and a huge crush of people at the cocktail party. We went into the ballroom for dinner, through metal detectors because of the imminent arrival of President Clinton.
In introducing the president, Elizabeth Birch noted how isolated and ignored the gay community had been by previous administrations. Given the movement’s needs and the expectations, she pointed out, it was inevitable that no one leader could live up to those needs. “But, Mr. President,” Elizabeth said, in spite of some shared disappointments, “you have played a brave and powerful and indispensable role in the march toward justice for us, and all Americans.”
President Clinton took the podium and gave a rousing speech that was positive and encouraging. It was marvelous to hear him recognize many different individuals who were part of the administration and were attending that night as members of HRC. His whole speech would be worth quoting, but one point I especially recall was in reference to the need for ENDA:
All America loses if we let prejudice and discrimination stifle the hopes or deny the potential of a single American. All America loses when any person is denied or forced out of a job because of sexual orientation. Being gay, the last time I thought about it, seemed to have nothing to do with the ability to read a balance book, fix a broken bone, or change a spark plug.
I was on later in the bill, thankfully, and my speech was brief. Though I was not so nervous anymore, I did rush a bit, and I felt somewhat unnecessary compared with all the luminaries—even if I did get a standing ovation. On the other hand, I wouldn’t have missed the opportunity to be part of an event of such importance.
The evening built up gloriously to El’s award and speech. She was introduced by members of HRC’s Youth College, one of whom said, “There are two known cures for what ails America—an end to homophobia and Ellen DeGeneres.”
The standing ovation when Ellen went to the podium and stood there was absolutely incredible. As many times as I had watched her being thunderously applauded, this was on a level and in a context I had never witnessed before. Before she spoke, Ellen looked around the room at what must have been a blur of faces and through what must have been a blur of tears, slowly allowing the love that was being showered on her to help her gain her composure. Then she spoke, and she was great from start to finish. Wild applause followed her explanation for her decision to come out on TV and in person:
I finally got to the point where living honestly and being proud of who I am was more important than fame. Ironically, my being honest made me more famous. So much for those who said it would hurt my career. I was willing to risk all and I was rewarded for it. My life is better than it’s ever been—I found love, and there’s nothing more important than that. … I never wanted to be an activist—I just wanted to entertain people to make them feel good. But if by standing up for what I think is right makes me an activist—I’m an activist.
The minute the program was over, the guards took us back upstairs to have a glass of Dom Pérignon, which Tammy Billik had generously brought. Cheers!
As I
RECOUNT
these steps along the way in my own growth as a mother and human being, I realize that it may be hard for some of you to relate to the path of activism I had chosen. Some of you may have only recently gone through a coming out of a gay family member or friend. If you have only begun your process of acceptance, my work as a spokesperson may seem like something you could never do. I just want you to know that twenty years ago, I would have said the same thing. Others among you may have already reached acceptance for your gay loved one but may wish to keep that information a private, family matter—just as I did all those years after Ellen came out the first time. Still others may be looking for ways to speak out or take a stand but haven’t found the right avenue yet.
To all of you, I want to emphasize that in order to be supportive and loving, it’s not necessary to pursue a course of activism. On the other hand, by sharing my experiences with you, I also want to stress the amazing rewards that can come from reaching out—sometimes beyond what you think you are capable of. I can tell you that everywhere I went I heard stories from people about how Ellen and I were making a difference in their lives.
In Los Angeles, I met a man who told me that he has been with his partner thirty-five years and that his partner’s mother has always accepted them but has refused to talk about it. Then, he said, “She saw you on Larry King and was so impressed that she’s been talking about it ever since.” He smiled and added, “She even said the G word!”
At an HRC luncheon in Washington, D.C., a young woman who came out a year ago to her parents told me that I have advanced them “months” in accepting her. “You’ve relaxed them about the whole thing,” she said.