Paul Broussard's murder: Houston's Stonewall

Ten-year anniversary of Montrose killing honored with candlelight vigil

by D.L. GROOVER

"What's Stonewall?" asked the young woman innocently. I couldn't believe it. We were adding another hideous layer of Mylar streamers to the car that was part of our entrant in the Pride parade when the inevitable discussion came up. That¹s the one where everybody bitches about how hot it is in Houston, and why can't we hold the parade in the winter. "That would be like having Christmas in July," I said. "It's just not the same. It wouldn't be honoring Stonewall." And that's when she blew me away with her wide-eyed question. Although I wanted to slap her silly for being so ignorant of our shared history, I calmly gave her a succinct history of that famous bar in 30 words or less.

"Oh," she said without emotion, and went back to tying the streamers to the bumper.

Our fabulous history didn't seem to faze her one way or the other. It had no impact whatsoever. The only reason we‹and she‹are able to hold this parade; the only reason we‹and she‹are here at all, out in the daylight sporting all things rainbow; the only reason we‹and she‹can feel proud and happy to be gay, is because of Stonewall.

But then I started to think. If the young don't have a clue about the seminal event in our history, what else don¹t they know, don't they appreciate, don¹t they feel? If Stonewall¹s a vacant stare, what of Paul Broussard?

Ten years ago this Wednesday, in the early morning bar-closing hours of July 4, Paul Broussard and two of his best friends, Rick Delauney and Cary Anderson, were attacked by 10 teenagers as the three walked to their parked car on Drew. They had celebrated the national holiday bar-hopping and ended the evening dancing at Heaven. A week before, Paul and Cary had been egged and called a 'fag' by a passing car while walking down Montrose. Cary later said that neither he nor Paul thought it a big deal, it happened all the time in Montrose. It was a little after 2 a.m., when the three reached the 1000 block of Drew. Two cars passed them, then one returned. A young guy called out if they knew where Heaven was. Paul¹s friend, Cary, pointed off in the distance and told him it was now closed. Suddenly, the second car pulled up. The guy in the first car signaled to the second. Without warning, all the doors flew open and the mob attacked. The teenagers from the Woodlands, hopped up on beer and LSD, came at them with 2X4's studded with nails, some wore steel-tipped work boots, some had "queer rocks," used only for gays, and one had a knife. They whooped and yelled like they were at a football game. In their adrenaline rush, Cary and Rick, though bashed by the boards and hit in the face, instinctively scrambled away in terror of being killed. Paul wasn¹t so lucky. It was over quickly. When they heard the squealing tires, Cary and Rick, 30 feet away, raced back toward Drew. They heard the moans before they saw him lying in a bloody heap. Paul was crying and unrecognizable from all the blood flowing from his face. He had been stabbed twice, but the friends didn't realize how serious his injuries were: broken ribs, crushed testicles, his head kicked numerous times by steel-toed boots. In final ignominy, his pockets had been rifled as he lay dying. Paul mumbled incoherently about a client at his bank and a CD that was coming due. He also said he wanted to go home. Then he lost consciousness. After a breakfast at Denny's, the current and former students from Woodlands' McCullough High School drove back to their homes in the Woodlands, high-fiving each other across the two cars. They came down to the Montrose to "beat up some queers." They succeeded. Eight hours after the grotesque beating, Paul Broussard, 27, died at the hospital. Broussard¹s murder caused a fire storm of protests and activism by the gay community. A large demonstration at Westheimer and Montrose demanded more police protection. City Council debated putting more policemen in the Montrose; Houston City Councilman Vince Ryan called on then-governor Ann Richards to push "hate crimes" legislation in the upcoming session; the Houston Police Department was spurred to complete its belated study on hate-crime statistics; 7-month old Queer Nation staged protests in the Woodlands; Q-Patrol was formed to be a visible deterrence to hate crimes around the bar area; the Montrose Clergy Association held rallies in support of hate-crime legislation. Perhaps the most enlightening effort, especially for the straight community, was the month-long undercover police sting in the weeks following the July 4 murder and bashings. Posing as gay, some officers were punched, sprayed with mace, hit by tree limbs, baseball bats, or bottles, and egged. Many of the officers said at the time that they finally understood the daily fear gays faced. The arrests came less than a month later, due to the gang's indiscriminate bragging and HPD's intense manhunt. Because of various levels of participation in the murder/beatings, the 10 defendants were tried in different groups. Jon Christopher Buice, then 17, ringleader and the person who fatally stabbed Broussard, pleaded guilty and was sentenced to a 45-year prison term. He was turned in by a bail bondsman suspicious over his application for a work permit in South Korea. In court, he fingered the others and admitted stabbing Broussard. Under the plea agreement, he'll be eligible for parole in 2003. High school dropout Paul Chance Dillon, the oldest defendant at 23, was on probation for burglary and supposed to be living at the Montgomery County Residential Treatment Center at the time of the killing. He received a 20-year sentence. Under the state's now-defunct mandatory release act, in March 2000, Dillon walked out of prison a free man, after serving six years of his 2-decade sentence. Brian Douglas Spake, 18; Gayland Earl Randle, 19; and Jeffrey Valentine, 18; were sentenced to 10 years deferred adjudication, a type of probation that if successfully completed leaves them with no recorded convictions. Randle violated his probation on numerous occasions and was subsequently sentenced to 15 years in prison. Derrick Attard, 18, and Raphael Gonzalez, 19, received 10 years probation. All of these five spent 3 months in Harris County's boot camp and were ordered to perform 500 hours of community service to gay and lesbian organizations. Although he twice violated his original probationary sentence, Attard was championed by Ray Hill during the San Antonio parole board panel hearings and received his parole in November 2000. Attard served 18 months of his decade-long sentence. Leandro Ramirez, 19, and brothers Javier, 18, and Jaime Aguirre, 19, pleaded guilty to murder and were sentenced to 15 years and one day. The added day made them ineligible for appeals bonds. Broussard was not the first Houston man murdered because he was gay. He wasn¹t the last. Three months later, in the same area of the Montrose as Broussard's killing, Phillip Smith was shot in the face by John Darrington who killed Smith because he didn¹t like gays. The police stings ended, the hate crimes bill withered for 10 years, the homicide rate declined, while the bashings and "faggings" vacillated in frequency and degree. In a sad way, the death of Paul Broussard is Houston's Stonewall. From that day forward, the gay community vigorously stood up and demanded protection. No more, they shouted. It's a demand that hasn¹t been met, and we won't allow anyone to forget it. We should be screaming every day. While you¹re grilling your holiday fare on July 4, take a moment to remember Paul Broussard. The young man targeted by bigots, murdered by them, might have been a family member. He might have been a friend. He might have been you. Remember that. To honor the memory of Paul Broussard and the 10th anniversary of his brutal death, join Q-Patrol for a special candlelight vigil on the 1000 block of West Drew at midnight, July 4. Before the service, why not join Q-Patrol at 9:30 p.m. for their regular surveillance patrol of the Montrose bar area? The walks are fun and for a good cause: your safety.