Exit 3 - Candles In The Castro

Welcome Passengers. In Exit 3, we travel back to San Francisco. To 1977, in order to  examine the murder of Robert Hillsborough. A young gay man whose death sent shock waves through the LGBTQ+ community during a time of rising fear, tension, and cultural division in the U.S. 

As anti-gay campaigns led by figures like Anita Bryant spread across the country, fear and hostility toward the gay community intensified. This episode explores the climate surrounding Hillsborough's murder, the impact it had on San Francisco and beyond, and why so many people believed his death represented something much larger than a single act of violence. 

History usually doesn't disappear. It just waits for us to stop paying attention to return. 

-Sarah Elle

For a full list of our sources, sponsors and affiliates, please visit our website at Corridorofcrime.com

https://www.oklahoman.com/obituaries/pokl1052221

https://tr.ee/gDJi0T

https://www.au.org/the-latest/articles/singer-anita-bryant-leaves-legacy-of-homophobia-and-extremism/

Please visit our website to use direct links. 

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Transcript

SPEAKER_04 0:00

Welcome, passengers. This is Sarah L, along with ML Browning, two lifelong friends who didn't just stay friends. We stayed curious. This is Corridor of Crime, and we're taking you with us. Every episode is an exit, and every exit is a story. So buckle up. And please remember to always check your blind spots.

SPEAKER_00 0:37

Hi, this is ML Browning. Before we begin, this episode includes discussions of violence and sensitive topics. Please take care while listening.

SPEAKER_04 0:54

Today's episode is sponsored by Miss Congeniality LLC, Highbrow Ingredients, and Lowbrow Humor, kind of like your bestie. You can find all the information in our show notes. We hope future collaborations through Corridor of Crime and Miss Congeniality Candles can help support LGBTQ Plus outreach and crisis resources. If there's an organization you believe in, we'd love to hear about it. Please reach out at studio at corridoroofcrime.com.

SPEAKER_02 1:35

This is ML Browning along with Sarah L for Corridor of Crime. Welcome.

SPEAKER_04 1:41

Hi, don't mind me. I just literally threw my microphone off of the table. Well, hi, ML.

SPEAKER_01 1:51

How are you doing this week? How's your week going?

SPEAKER_04 1:54

Um, you know what? The week was pretty good. Um, the weekends a I I'm gonna say it's a little rough.

SPEAKER_01 2:01

The struggle is real sometimes.

SPEAKER_04 2:03

It really is. How's yours?

SPEAKER_02 2:06

It's good. It was a long week, but yes, I agree. Weekends are tough sometimes. Agreed. So, what do you have for us this week?

SPEAKER_04 2:15

Well, I do have a great episode today, but first I want to point out my little puppy that I'm holding right now. And listeners, if you could see her, she is absolutely adorable. She's a rescue from our local Humane Society who had some type of agreement with the Fresno Humane Society. So shout out to Fresno. But unfortunately, they had a list um they obviously wanted to avoid and needed help with. So some of their babies were shipped up here. And long story longer, I ended up with a one-year-old. Cute little puppy. And I currently have two other dogs that are very small. Well, probably larger than they should be. But um she's tiny, and I'm loving her because she's an absolute lap dog, which I secretly want. And that's funny. It's funny in that I need something to hold. I used to love big dogs and I wanted to run with them, and now my kids are older, and I just want something to hold. It's so weird. Are you a large dog owner type person? I am. Yeah, and I think I always was. I fell in love with my first small dog, and then after that, it's like one for every season.

SPEAKER_02 3:31

I am definitely a lab lover. I love the labs. But if you guys could see the ears on this dog, I mean, I'm usually not a small dog lover, but these ears are so stinging cute. She is so cute.

SPEAKER_04 3:45

So I've been um feigning, I call it pet paralysis, where I can't do much because the puppy needs me, needs me to hold her. Hence the mic fall and all of the things. But here we are, and I do actually have a story for us. Well, let's get to it. Welcome, passengers. This is exit three. So before Robert Hillsboro became part of a case, he was a son his mother Helen talked about with a kind of quiet pride. She said he once told her that if he got a job as a gardener for the city of San Francisco, he would be the happiest man in the world. His dream was not to be rich or famous, just happy, by doing something he genuinely loved. He waited two years for that job, and eventually he got it. And Robert had grown close enough with his mother throughout his life that years later, when she was asked to describe him, she didn't talk about his death first. She talked about his life. Robert Hillsborough was born on March 31st, 1944, in Portland, Oregon. In 1977, he was 33 and still building a life. I couldn't find any information or sources on siblings, but everything pointed to a respectful and loving relationship with his mother. Robert finally got his dream job as a city gardener after two years of wanting and waiting. He was responsible for the playground near City Hall, where the children called him Mr. Green Jeans, according to a book written by Lillian Faderman titled The Gay Revolution: The Story of the Struggle. Robert was a man who loved being outdoors. He loved working with his hands. He built model ships and made art that was intricate and detailed. That's the kind of thing that takes patience. It takes a certain type of person. He listened to classical music, and that's the kind of music you also sit with and even feel. You don't just hear classical music. It's music that sort of paints the atmosphere. His mother described him as a quiet and peaceful person and someone who was not drawn to conflict by nature. Robert had come out to his mother Helen about six years before his death, and that mattered because in the early 70s, coming out was not a casual admission. It wasn't something someone could do without thinking about what it might cost them. But Robert did it anyway, and to his own mother in the 70s. And I think this says a lot about the relationship he had with his mother, as well as what it says about who Helen was. But Robert built a life in a city that at that time felt like one of the few places in the country where that kind of life, living openly gay, was possible. In San Francisco, especially in and around the Castro, there was something forming. And the Castro wasn't just a neighborhood. It had become one of the most visibly gay communities in the country. People moved there from all over, looking for something they couldn't find where they came from. If they weren't already from the area, of course. But what they were seeking was safety and an accepting community, like what everyone's looking for. A place they didn't have to explain themselves just to exist. The storefronts, the bars, and even bulletin boards up at the supermarkets. Remember those?

SPEAKER_01 7:06

Yes.

SPEAKER_04 7:07

You could find your babysitting job at the bulletin board from the supermarkets. Your first roommate, which is horrendously scary to think about. But nonetheless, really most everything truly reflected back to you who you were in one neighborhood. You could walk down the street and see your life, your identity, your community out in the open if you identified as gay or queer. And for a lot of people, that was new. I would say more than a lot. Acceptance, visibility, and a community that reflected back to you what you saw in yourself. That gave so many people a sense that they didn't have to hide anymore or pretend to be someone they weren't because they had always been afraid before. I did a little research on the Castro and how it came to be. And although, like all history, it is much more complex than what I'm about to share. However, I'm happy to give a mini historical overview for our listeners who are unfamiliar or may assume it is just a part of the landscape of living in the U.S., this equality thing. So prepare for a little detour, passengers, for a neighborhood context of the Castro and how it came to be. In the late 1800s, Victorian homes had been the most desirable homes, and the area that most were built in was known as Eureka Valley. As the 1960s arrived, they had become outdated on the outside and run down on the inside. They were monstrosities to heat and ill-equipped with current electrical standards, and apparently something I was not aware of, but had I stopped to consider, it would have been apparent. And buckle up my bougie identifying passengers, Sans historical potty knowledge. Victorian homes originally had toilets on the back porch. Let's take a pause to yield for our thoughts around this. Visual and potential olfactory neighborhood consequence. All right, let us proceed. So as a reminder, Victorian homes also existed prior to vehicles and therefore no cars meant no garages. Do you want to circle back and think about potties on the back porch at all? Are you are you thinking about that?

SPEAKER_01 9:14

You look shocked. Are you okay? I was wondering if you saw the look on my face because I'm processing the fact that somebody would have their toilet on the back porch.

SPEAKER_04 9:24

That's very strange. And it makes you realize modern um luxuries that we don't even think about what we would have had to live without. Yeah, I was I I got stuck there for a little bit. But so during the 1960s, people left for updated homes and suburban lives and closer grocery shopping. Apparently, city ordinances also required police and fire department employees to live in suburban city limits. And so they also left Eureka Valley for this reason. Slowly, gay bars and drag shows began to pop up in the area one by one over the next decade that had become less populated by traditional families, as well as, let us not forget, the counterculture movement, also known as the hippie or hate Ashbury movement, maybe even those dirty hippies from the older generation, which was merely one mile away from the Castro. I mean, what a time. What a time to live in the Castro or Hate Ashbury. I would have loved it personally. I didn't know they were that close to each other. Yeah. Anyway, the cheap Victorians in Eureka Valley attracted a large number of gay homeowners. The first wave of gay hippies, in quotes, preceded affluent gay professionals. The second group spent hours restoring their queen aunns, gentrifying the neighborhood simultaneously. Gay business owners set up shop along 18th, Upper Market, and Castro Streets. Soon all merchants could meet the needs of the residents. Truly, what a time to witness the evolution of San Francisco, the amazing artists, musicians, and designers during that time as well. In this process, Eureka Valley became one of the first gay neighborhoods in the world. A neighborhood that came to be known and referred to as the Castro after its busiest street and the large red neon theater sign that lit it up at night. I do love a good detour. There are so many things we could just blow on by, happily holding onto our ignorance. If we don't pause every once in a while to wonder what uh TF is this about, and who pray tell came before us and mapped the roads. So while these counterculture movements were happening around love and acceptance and community on the West Coast, something very different was happening in other parts of the country. Out here on the corridor, reliability isn't optional. It's everything. Whether you're commuting, hauling, or running a full fleet, CNC Tires Inc. keeps you moving with trusted brands like Michelin, including MRT retreading. From passenger vehicles to commercial fleets, they've built their reputation on safety, service, and keeping people on the road. They're serving Southern Oregon and Northern California. Because on the corridor, the wrong tire at the wrong time isn't just inconvenient, it matters. CNC Tires Inc., details and link in the show notes. Okay, wait. I actually found these trivia decks from Fun Fact Company that are kind of addictive. It's just random fun facts, weird history, stuff you didn't know you didn't know. I grabbed the Party Mix one. It's their bestseller, but they also have a would you rather? I almost got, but it's a version that's honestly kind of chaotic, my favorite, which is a classic if you have kids. It says ages 10 and up, but it's more like thoughtful fun, not super basic. I linked the one I got in the show notes if you want to check it out. And they're running a deal if you grab two decks. So if you're already there, I almost did, but you may as well make it a problem. Born in Barnesdale, Oklahoma in 1940, Anita Bryant was 37 years old by 1977. By then, she was living in Miami-Dade County and had become the face of a campaign called, okay, are you ready for it? Save Our Children, which was um is a movement that worked, works to roll back protections for gay men and lesbians, or rather LGBTQIA members, if referencing today. And it worked at the time in many places across the U.S., believe it or not, even in Eugene, Oregon, which is shocking to realize now if you know the political climate in Eugene. Disclaimer, this is a generalization. Thank you. But in June of that year, voters in Miami-Dade County, Florida, repealed a law that had protected people from discrimination for housing and employment based on sexual orientation. Sometimes I get the feeling that we're living in some sort of groundhog day experiment. Like, uh is this story on repeat? I'm I'm confused. What year is it? Anyway, according to her life story written in the Oklahoman in January 2025, Anita had made her career out of entertainment. When this article was written in her home state, she had just passed away the month prior. So if you're mathing, she passed in December of 2024. Although her entertainment career is even more vast than we will share here and available through many online sources, we will offer an overview for context in order to highlight her influence at the time. Anita had lived a privileged life off of her beauty and talent in her early years. She starred in her own local TV show at the age of 12 and made national television appearances, including American Bandstand. You know who I used to love was Barry Manilo.

SPEAKER_02 15:21

Oh my gosh. Loved I was a fan of you got me hooked, in fact. I did for one of my birthdays when I lived back east. My mom took me to see him live in content. I did. Oh, how dare you! It was amazing.

SPEAKER_04 15:35

How dare you! Good for you. I love and your mom went with you.

SPEAKER_02 15:39

Yeah, she bought the tickets for me and she took me and it was all inspired from me because I didn't even know who he was before I met you. That is such a beautiful story.

SPEAKER_04 15:49

And I love that your mom went. Oh my gosh, I love that. Okay, chills, girl.

unknown 15:54

Okay.

SPEAKER_04 15:56

Um, moving along. Okay, including American Bandstand after winning the title of Miss Oklahoma in 1958. Anita was also a three-time Grammy nominated singer and a Christian author. A few more of her accomplishments include singing at the 1971 Super Bowl as well as singing at both Republican and Democratic conventions. Can you even imagine the audacity of singing at both? Today it would never fly. Anita also sang at the White House for LBJ and again later at his graveside. And he clearly must have been a fan. And in 1977, where we find ourselves in our story, Anita was the spokeswoman for Florida Orange Juice for nine years in total, but approximately for seven at this point. Sources vary slightly in terms of exact year by one or two years before. Prior to this, she had been the spokesperson for Coca-Cola for seven. And just as an honorable mention, separate from her spokeswoman/slash spokesperson positions, merely to have a real understanding of her popularity, she had also been voted most admired woman by good housekeeping in the late 70s. So her Save Our Children message spread very fast, even without the help of the World Wide Web, likely because of this popularity of hers. In my opinion, all of her slogans are phrases I'm unwilling to repeat because they were so hateful. However, they would sadly echo some of those familiar today in words we can read online about the queer community from certain groups of people. They were words full of hate and not backed by science, humanity, or love. So I'm not going to share those slogans. But because of this hate-fueled speech, blanketed in religion, the response opposing Florida and Anita in particular came just as swiftly as her initial support. Across the country, but especially in the Castro, people started boycotting Florida orange juice in particular, refusing to buy it, refusing to serve it, and even swapping it out in drinks at bars. Because Anita Bryant wasn't just a political figure, she was a spokesperson for the Florida Citrus Commission. So suddenly something as small as a glass of orange juice became political. And in San Francisco, the response didn't stay abstract. It showed up in everyday life. For example, bars in the Castro completely stopped serving screwdrivers, which, as we know, with all things capitalism touches, including food, everything seems to have its moment. And in the 1970s, orange juice was absolutely having one. And if you're old enough to remember, screwdrivers in the 70s were what cosmopolitans became in the early 2000s. Orange juice was everywhere, basking in its cultural peak. But restaurants pulled orange juice from their menus. People made a point of not buying it at all because Anita Bryant wasn't just leading a political campaign. She was the face of Florida orange juice. So the boycott became personal. In communities that were founded on acceptance and tolerance. Some in the Castro even joked about turning a specific day in what they called the Anita Bryant Day, where orange juice was deliberately avoided altogether, which is an important, again, to reflect on context, because in the 1970s, orange juice was heavily marketed and a common household staple. It was part protest, part defiance, and of course part community. Because even something small like what you ordered at a bar had suddenly become a way to take a stand. I think we've seen some of the same type of protest recently, but because we don't like to look at our history, we treat it like a new cancel culture phenomenon. But it truly has deeper roots. This is not something new. Human behavior is not coming up with anything new. I wish I could play a portion of Anita's commercial for Florida Orange Juice. I know many of our listeners would immediately recognize it, but I have something better for you today. ML and I will be bringing it to you, a cappella.

SPEAKER_00 20:00

Yay!

SPEAKER_04 20:01

Because in the eighth or ninth grade, we discussed music as a potential career. And although, depending on who is telling the story, I was joking.

SPEAKER_02 20:10

I mean, I felt like she was serious.

SPEAKER_04 20:13

Maybe I was. I don't know. So let us prepare. We're gonna go warm up our voices. Why not put a little sunshine in your day?

SPEAKER_03 20:27

Remember, breakfast without orange juice is like a day without sunshine.

SPEAKER_04 20:34

Okay, but unfortunately, due to copyright, we could not afford to play the actual commercial and give that 1970s advertisement the recognition it truly deserved. Uh but she does sound very, very wholesome, just as we did, and very unlike the leader of such hateful slogans she was putting out at the time. And you might recognize her famous lines we shared, and if that doesn't ring any memory bells, we don't know what will. But now, in all seriousness, I do have an actual gem for you. And I can only play a clip of the song, but it will be linked in the show notes on our website. It was written by Annie O'Brien, and she is on stage in 1977 at the Luckenbach World's Fair in Texas, performing with Rosie Carter. Rosie also happens to be June Carter's daughter and a stepdaughter of Mr. Johnny Cash. But the song is essentially the response, or rather the reaction, to Anita Bryant and her ideology. It is titled Squeeze a Fruit for Anita, and we hope you enjoy it. I do highly recommend you finding your way to the full-length version. It is available on YouTube and posted by your creator at Such is Life videos, and you can see Annie, her comment. On the night of June 21st, 1977, Robert went out with a friend. He and his friend Jerry Taylor, who was 27 at the time, went out that night, first to Oil Can Henry's, which was a disco in San Francisco. It actually sounds like a disco. It was music, dancing, people, and fun. The kind of place where for a few hours you can just exist without thinking too much about the world outside. Afterward, they headed to Wisburger in the Mission District, which was in the same district as Robert's apartment, but just a few blocks away. Quick historical side road travelers, the Wizburger, if you aren't familiar, was established in 1955 and located at 700 South Vaness Avenue. It still is there, and it is one of the city's last remaining walk-up, car-friendly drive-in restaurants. It is a place deeply woven into the city's pop culture and LGBTQ plus history. But let's return to our main road. So it was late, and when they stopped, it was the kind of stop they likely didn't think twice about. Just food, just a normal end to a normal night. Burger and fries after a night of going out dancing, refueling their bodies before going home. We've all done it, most of us. It was there in the parking lot that the night of fun shifted and abruptly came to an end. Four young men in a car approached them. At first it was verbal assaults, shouting anti-gay slurs, the kind of harassment that wasn't unfamiliar, but also was never harmless. Robert and his friend Jerry got into Robert's car, trying to leave. And as they did so, a couple of the men pounded on the car, one even actually climbing onto it. Robert and Jerry were able to drive off, and it could have ended there. It really should have ended there. But it didn't. The car followed them. They didn't have far to go, and so just a few blocks away in near his apartment, Robert parked. And when they got out, the same group was there. This time it turned physical. The men jumped out and attacked them both, beating both men brutally. Jerry Taylor managed to break away. He was able to seek help from a friend who lived in a nearby apartment after climbing a tall fence. Robert was not so lucky. Robert was stabbed 15 times by 19-year-old John Cordova, while John screamed the F slur repeatedly, according to eyewitness testimony. Witnesses also reported hearing not only hate slurs, but also hearing this one's forinita during the attack. Neighbors rushed to help and, of course, police were called. Robert was taken to Mission Emergency Hospital, where he was pronounced dead less than an hour later. This wasn't just violence. It was something else, something louder. Because those words, this one's for Anita, didn't come out of nowhere. It came from a moment in history where rhetoric was getting sharper and more dangerous. There wasn't really a widespread understanding of hate crimes, at least not in the way we think about them today. So when Robert Hillsborough was murdered, his death wasn't immediately treated that way. There are sources that show that at first, newspapers framed the story like a routine mugging. But as more details came out, like the number of attackers and the slurs that were shouted, it became clear that this was not a standard mugging. And that it was something else. The narrative changed and this wasn't random. The community knew it, and the community pushed back, and it forced people to see it for what it was. Initially, all four men were arrested. However, records indicate that only two of the men were charged, John Cordova, 19, and Thomas Spooner, 21. I did find information that a third suspect, Michael Chavez of Daly City, who was 20 at the time, received immunity for agreeing to testify against the other defendants. And the 16-year-old involved was released to the California Youth Authority and could be held for three to four years, according to an article written November 23, 1977, in the Bay Area Reporter. 19-year-old John Cordova, the man identified as the one who actually stabbed Robert, was later convicted of second-degree murder and sentenced to 10 years. However, multiple sources I could find stated that all charges were eventually dropped on remaining defendants apart from John Cordova. In the days after Robert Hillsborough's death, people gathered in San Francisco to mourn him. 3,000 people showed up to his memorial service at Grace Cathedral. Just days later, Pride took place in San Francisco, and it is reported that it didn't feel the same. An estimated 300,000 people showed up, which is one of the largest gatherings the city had ever seen at the time. More than the anti-Vietnam War protests. But the mood had changed for Pride that year. That year was described as beautiful, angry, and spirited. People carried flowers for Robert. Instead of the normal feeling of celebration, pride had become something else too: mourning and resistance. A record-breaking number of people who showed up, they did so and they didn't do it quietly. They showed up to march, to honor with candlelight vigils. It was a visible collective grief that spread through the city that Robert had chosen to build his life in. Harvey Milk was there speaking to the crowd, calling attention to what had happened and to what it meant. This day's focus did seem to recenter around Harvey Milk, which then became a day to celebrate for the LGBTQIA community, and that really was needed. But in that, some of Robert was likely lost just through the natural process of the refocus. Robert was a thoughtful, kind man who enjoyed art, music, quiet pleasures, and working with his hands. This wasn't just a loss. It felt like a warning at the time. Even at the state level, Robert's death was recognized because following the murder of Robert Hillsborough, flags were ordered at Half-Staff in his honor as a city employee, a gardener. That job that made Robert the happiest man in the city, someone who had waited two years for the chance to do that work. Robert only had the job for four months. The one thing he swore that would have made him the happiest man in San Francisco. As for Anita Bryant, she never wavered in her opposition to queer rights. Her views were so extreme she became toxic. Soon after Robert's death, she lost her $100,000 a year Florida orange juice contract. $100,000 in 1977 would translate to approximately $545,000 today, according to the U.S. Consumer Price Index inflation data. But even that might not feel as wealthy as $100,000 did in the late 70s, because housing, healthcare, education, they've all outpaced general inflation dramatically. She then lost her marriage and even her attempts to reignite her singing career. Her agent dropped her and she filed for bankruptcy. Twice. Anita's views on homosexuality never wavered. Not even when her granddaughter came out to her. Some members in the gay community at the time believed that Anita did bring their community struggles to the forefront of everyday conversation. The National Gay Task Forces co-executives at the time wrote a thank you to Bryant and her Save Our Children organization in 1977. It read in part that they were, quote, doing the 20 million lesbian and gay men in America an enormous favor. They are focusing for the public the nature of the prejudice and discrimination we face, unquote, and had sent it to the New York Times. Before the Stonewall Pride riots of 1969 and Anita Bryant's campaign, the queer community lived in deep secrecy, navigating hostility through hidden social networks, underground bars, and coded communication. This information can be found through many sources, including lived experiences. After Roberts' murder in 1977, his mother Helen filed a $5 million lawsuit against Anita Bryant and several other anti-gay activists, arguing that their public rhetoric had helped fuel the climate of hatred that led to her son's killing. The lawsuit pointed to reports that Hillsborough's attackers shouted, this one's for Anita, during the attack. The case was ultimately dismissed in 1978, in part over jurisdictional and procedural issues involving out-of-state defendants, but also because the court found that there was not a strong enough legal connection between Bryant's speech and the murder itself. Though widely criticized as inflammatory, Bryant's activism remained protected under the First Amendment. I want to end this episode with a quote that has echoed through generations, often repeated by leaders like Winston Churchill and John F. Kennedy in the years following World War II and the Holocaust. But the original words came from George Santillana in his 1905 book, The Life of Reason. Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it. More than a century later, it remains a warning and a reminder that hatred rarely arrives looking new. It resurfaces, evolves, changes language, changes targets, and waits for people to forget what it once cost. Thanks so much for listening. All of our sources are in the show notes. Please find a full list and our affiliate links at corridorofcrime.com. We'd love for you to follow us on social media at Corridor of Crime on the platform of your choice. We'd appreciate it if you'd consider liking, rating, and subscribing to allow us to keep putting content out. Corridor of Crime is hosted and produced by Sarah L and ML Browning. Executive produced by Sarah L and music is composed by Matthew Langdon Music. We will see you at the next exit. Until then, don't forget to buckle up and remember to always check your blind spots.