Fighting for our pride: what does Stonewall mean to us now? Plenty, and it's all in this book, says a postmodern West Coaster.

I work for an AIDS organization in Los Angeles. Each year some unfortunate bastard is chosen to coordinate our participation in the annual gay pride parade in West Hollywood. This year I am that unfortunate bastard.

It is a time consuming task that involves having to coordinate a breakfast for the staff before the parade and figuring out something original to do as we march down Santa Monica Boulevard. One year we built a float. It was supposed to be a gay pride peacock. The head kept falling down, so it looked like a depressed turkey.

Gay pride is like file holidays, I love Christmas until I get sucked into the frenzy of all those relatives and start wondering how much weight I'll gain. As pride weekend approaches I get sucked into the frenzy of all those shiftless men and start wondering how much weight I'll need to lose so I can go shirtless myself. As I rally the troops in the office to get off their asses and do yet another pride march under a hot sun, I ask myself, What the hell are we doing this for? Gay pride, like the madness of the holidays, has lost its original meaning.

I picked up David Carter's book Stonewall: The Riots That Sparked the Gay Revolution not expecting much. I'd heard so much about those three nights in June 1969 when the queers rebelled against the police that I felt I'd heard it all. I've read articles and watched documentaries as well as the feature film. I've conducted gay sensitivity workshops that feature the events surrounding Stonewall in the curriculum. What could I possibly get from rids book?

Citing hundreds of documents drawing on years of research--with notes, bibliographic matter, and oral histories that alone total 40 pages--Stonewall could easily have been a dry, scholarly tome. It is not. Carter's book is highly readable and emotionally charged, giving fall meaning to our annual pride festival traditions.

Carter writes, "By 1961 the laws in America were harsher on homosexuals than those in Cuba, Russia, or East Germany, countries that the United States criticized for their despotic ways." Punitive measures in the United States included life imprisonment and castration for sex offenders.

This particular night the Stonewall Inn was raided--then a common occurrence for gay bars--it was the sight of a handcuffed lesbian being beaten by police that "set the whole crowd wild--berserk." Carter takes the reader on a breathtaking ride, detailing how rioters tried to strike back at police officers who had barricaded themselves in the bar.

"As the men continued to pound the heavy doors with the parking meter, others in the crowd grabbed whatever they could find to throw. The attack on the police created a cacophony as the sounds of glass shattering up and down the street mixed with the pounding of the parking meter on the doors, while cries of 'Liberate the bar!' filled the air."

This is a terrific piece of nonfiction, a satisfying, illuminating document that will be referred to time and time again when the issues of Stonewall and gay liberation are raised. It should be read by younger generations who may need reminding that we're a privileged lot. Before we danced freely under a hot sun, we danced in darkness for tear of being arrested--or worse.

This year I chose to do something simple for our pride contingent. We'll wear costumes bought in Chinatown and at tach long trails of fabric behind them. I'll remind the marchers that a lot of people went through a lot of trouble so that we have cause to apply suntan lotion before we take to the parade route. I'll instruct them to smile.

Alumit, author of Letters to Montgomery Clift, is a technical assistance trainer at a Los Angeles AIDS organization.