Tag Archives: LGBT Center of Central PA

1 Story at a Time: LGBT History Project re-creates an often-hidden past.

LGBTDan Manedal’s voice still shakes when he recalls the night that teenagers pelted rocks through his windows.

“There was nothing I could do,” he said. “My life was like this because I had decided to be open about my sexuality.”

Coming out in the 1960s and ‘70s was far different than it is for people today, said Manedal, now 67. At age 25, after telling his friends and family he was gay, his life changed.

He moved to a trailer park when he didn’t feel safe in his home.

He was beaten walking out of a gay bar.

He met someone at a gay social event 200 miles from his home in Williamsport only to find they were neighbors. Each had been forced to go far from home to try to find support.

Manedal said he’s proud to see how far the lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgender movement has advanced. But he fears that where it came from will soon be forgotten.

His story is just one of many that, when combined with artifacts and stacks of documents, will help tell the story of LGBT people in central Pennsylvania.

A Story Told

Barry Loveland is founder and chair of the History Project organized by the LGBT Center of Central PA. He’s worked with about 50 volunteers, from student interns to retired professors and historians to preserve the local history of the LGBT community.

The project was started in August 2012 after Loveland met with the center’s Common Roads group for teenagers. A small panel was formed to talk to the younger generations about the hardships many faced when coming out often meant giving up family and friends.

The panel was so well received that it led to a story circle at the LGBT Center, located in Midtown Harrisburg. About 20 people attended, and it sparked the idea, Loveland said, that there were stories to be told.

Over the following months, Loveland recruited volunteers, who were trained how to perform interviews, use video equipment and catalog artifacts. A partnership also was created with Dickinson College in Carlisle, where anything collected or recorded would be kept safe.

The project has grown into a full chronology of central Pennsylvania’s history regarding LGBT issues, from political movements to social acceptance.

“My vision is to have a way for LGBT people to really connect with that history,” Loveland said.

After dozens of interviews are transcribed and more than 100 artifacts are cataloged, the center will create an interactive website including videos, photos and documents.

Many stories examine discrimination, what it was like for people to come out at home and in the workplace, and how community infrastructures were developed for support and socialization, Loveland said.

“A lot of straight people don’t think about the fact that, in their tradition or families, people kind of hand down stories to generations,” Loveland said. “LGBT people have their families, but they also have their chosen families, and sometimes those intergenerational stories don’t come down to them. It’s really important that we build those ties that have never really been there for the LGBT community.”

Slow Process

Lonna Malmsheimer, professor emeritus from Dickinson College’s American studies department, heard about the project while attending a separate event at the LGBT Center.

Because of her experience in communication and history, she was asked if she’d train a group of people who would interview LGBT activists.

So far, three groups of volunteers have gone through training on how to use the video equipment needed to record interviews, but it’s been a slow process.

“Working with volunteers is generally not all that easy,” she said. “They are busy people, too, and it’s often the busiest who offer help.”

While they’ve completed a number of interviews—Malmsheimer having done five or six herself—there are about 80 people on a waiting list who want to tell their own stories.

Malmsheimer, now 73, remembers going to a research library as a graduate student and finding that materials related to LGBT issues were locked up in a separate room. If she wanted to see any of it, she had to get permission.

“Part of the push, as far as I see it as a historian, is that, in the past, this work not only wasn’t done, it couldn’t have been done,” she said.

Sara Tyberg, a 20-year-old sophomore sociology student at Dickinson College, is one of two interns assisting in the project.

Her responsibilities include transcribing interviews and proofing the completed work.

“I think the LGBT History Project is an important project because it is revealing a huge, marginalized history in this area,” Tyberg said. “There’s the saying, ‘History is written by the victors,’ and, for most of history, especially in areas like central Pennsylvania, the (LGBT) community hasn’t been the victor.”

So Local

Tyberg believes participating in the project has taught her a lot about the LGBT experience.

While most people are familiar with LGBT identity, she said, each story is unique.

Louie Marven, executive director of the LGBT Center, said he’s happy to watch the project form under the work of volunteers.

“They’re really the ones who have been making this happen,” he said.

What’s unique about the project is that it’s so local, Marven added. Similar things have been done in major cities, he said, but LGBT people are everywhere.

Many people who are just coming out feel they’ll find the most support in big cities, Marven said. But he wants to change that.

“I hope this project can emphasize that people in rural spaces are doing things to support each other,” he said. “Changes are happening in the LGBT community. I’m excited to see where it takes us.”

For more information on the project or to learn how to get involved, visit www.centralpalgbtcenter.org.

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Over the River: Messiah College graduates are streaming into Harrisburg, bringing youth, creativity & change to the city.

Screenshot 2014-02-28 08.36.31 Screenshot 2014-02-28 08.36.42 Screenshot 2014-02-28 08.36.21 Screenshot 2014-02-28 08.36.10 Screenshot 2014-02-28 08.36.03 Screenshot 2014-02-28 08.35.52 Screenshot 2014-02-28 08.35.44 Screenshot 2014-02-28 08.35.35Louie Marven, executive director of the LGBT Center of Central PA, is tired of hearing the phrase, “What’s in the water at Messiah?”

“Oh my god,” he mimics sarcastically while sipping on a Nugget Nectar ale, “another gay person that went to Messiah and lives in Harrisburg?”

But the question, “What’s in the water at Messiah College?” can be applied to more groups than just the gay community. There are lots of us settling down here.

Marven, ’07, is one of countless graduates who moved to the Sycamore House, an intentional Christian service corps, after graduation. While he hesitates to categorize himself as a “Messiah shill,” Marven admits that it was attractive to stay local, with friends who were staying local, to live and work in community together—one of Messiah’s big thrusts.

Nearly six years later, Marven says he finally feels like a Harrisburg citizen who happened to go to Messiah rather than a Messiah grad living in Harrisburg. “I think it can feel very forceful that we’re this sort of army,” he says, “and I don’t want to be a part of that.”

On the other hand, Marven thinks that Messiah’s supposed “city takeover” is overstated. “It’s a local college, and it’s the closest city. It’s not that weird.”

Indeed, Messiah students long have moved into Harrisburg after graduation. (An amusing confirmation of this came when two of my interviewees bonded over annoyances about their respective Messiah-bred landlords). And in a small city like Harrisburg, we can’t help but cross paths.

But for many fresh graduates, Harrisburg—especially in Midtown and Uptown—is starting to feel like campus, minus the hanging baskets. There are a couple of caffeine hubs where everyone does their homework (job searching), a few small restaurants where they spend their flex dollars (savings), taverns within biking distance that serve adult fountain drinks, and places like the Sycamore House and The MakeSpace, where give-or-take 20-somethings can dine potluck style or catch a live performance.

So, were these hotspots mapped out on diploma backs? Or is there something else going on here?

Growing Network

While Messiah-gration isn’t new, it’s clear that we are connecting and clustering much more visibly than before.

Take Hana Grosh, ’12, who moved to the city seven months ago after feeling a bit nostalgic for her college life and a bit stymied in Lancaster, where her family lives. I see her working her barista magic at Little Amps on Green and State streets. She’ll see my boyfriend, ’09, at band practice and my good friend Liz Laribee, ’07, at the back shop table most days of the week. Laribee is an artist who led the founding of The MakeSpace, a studio, gallery and concert venue situated in Olde Uptown.

A table or three away from Laribee sits Dave Robertson, ’00, who operates a web design business called Factory 44. For years, he was very involved with the civic organization Friends of Midtown. “I was here before it was cool,” he volunteers proudly for a laugh.

“You’re the reason we started The MakeSpace,” says Laribee. “I had about eight ideas brewing at once, and you encouraged me to focus on one at a time, starting with an art center.”

This sort of rap session isn’t unique to certain personalities or to environments with psychedelic tables (we were at Ted’s Bar & Grill; rest in peace, Brick City). Instead, it demonstrates how a growing alumni network has been functioning well in the city.

“Even if I hadn’t known people before moving,” says Marven, “there were mechanisms for meeting them.” Something as simple as a free darts and pool night at Appalachian Brewing Co., advertised through the grapevine, made newcomers feel connected.

“I don’t know how I would have tried to make friends without knowing what previous Messiah people did,” he says.

For example, almost every Messiah student I’ve run into has at least heard of the Sycamore House, if not attended an event or actually lived there for a year. (As a sophomore, I remember sitting on the creaky floor for some benefit concert wondering if this is what a rockin’ house party looked like in the real world.)

Laribee, who helped start the Sycamore House and who lived there between her junior and senior years, saw how easy it was to get involved in the city, thanks to a friend she met through juggling club. She began volunteering at the Center for Champions and moved back into the Sycamore House with Marven after graduation.

While some Sycamore alumni have communicated their frustrations with the program’s growing pains, it continues to offer free housing in exchange for community service pursuits, which is a pretty excellent deal. And for someone like Marven who was helping to write the rules and form the board early on, the program was an invaluable way to find a job in Harrisburg and assist in the formation of the LGBT Center.

Inevitable Intimacy

For Marven and Laribee, the city has certainly provided great resources for growth and creativity, but it can also get tiring after awhile. “Harrisburg is a fascinating, enriching, endless blank canvass for me to figure out how I like to pursue development, creativity and grassroots projects,” says Laribee. “But being so involved here means that there’s a lot to do. As easy as it is to feel you’re in community here, you can also feel trapped.”

Paul Boyed, ’13, who lives within snowball-throwing distance of Laribee, Grosh and me, has started to feel a bit trapped by this inevitable intimacy. “The world that Messiah students live in in Harrisburg is kind of like the activities in college,” he says. He points to the coffee shops and alternative music scenes occupied by local young people.

Boyed lived in Harrisburg his senior year because it was much more affordable than living on campus. Now as a Children’s Targeted Case Manager for Dauphin County, a position he heard about through the Messiah grapevine, Boyed says he’s becoming more frustrated with Harrisburg’s dichotomy of socioeconomic experiences.

“I hear the complaints of people who live here—there are bigger problems,” he says. “But then, when I’m in my own life, it’s peppy, fun. The bigger picture of Harrisburg is the school district. It’s exhausting.”

Henok Begashaw, ’11, works with Boyed as a targeted case manager, and, like Boyed, wrestles with the positives and negatives of the conspicuous Messiah bubble. “The whole point of the city is to attract young people, [but] I hope that people come in and that they’re very aware of the people and space that were here,” he says. “A lot of Messiah alums move to Harrisburg with a missionary mentality. That can be a good thing; that can also be a bad thing.”

Begashaw lived at Messiah’s Harrisburg Institute his senior year and then at the Sycamore House after graduation. Institute/SALT Program Director Ashley Sheaffer, ’06, who remembers Begashaw causing an appropriate amount of mischief during his time there, sees a trend for many students who spend a semester in the city. “They deepen their understanding of the forces at play in a city and become acutely aware of their privilege, while genuinely developing a heart for Harrisburg,” she says. “Most students,” she clarifies, “not all.”

Marven himself remembers that aha moment of discovering the city with friends, and it seemed “a little bit imperialistic for a lot of people,” he admits. Except, then again, Harrisburg was where students, particularly LGBT students, knew to seek community because it was more open, he says.

Project opportunities and left-wing safe spaces aside, students seem to like Harrisburg for its “platform city” feel. Fewer amenities aren’t always a bad thing, and many transplants eventually want to call what was once a platform for better prospects “home.”

“Philly was so big I couldn’t take a bite out of it,” says Katie Manzullo-Thomas, ’10, who moved to Philadelphia after graduation, but is now living in Olde Uptown. “I would rather live in a city with two Little Amps instead of 15 amazing coffee houses. You couldn’t show up somewhere [in Philly] and see someone you know—unlike here.”

And, for Grosh, whose Ethiopian heritage has always inspired her to work with coffee, a part-time barista income can go a long way in Harrisburg. It nearly covers her rent, and she’s able to use her downtime for projects that she cares about—writing and playing music, modeling for Stash Collective, baking for Little Amps, auditioning at Carley’s.

She acknowledges, though, that working part-time isn’t by choice, and that living this way doesn’t facilitate any savings, an ever-increasing problem facing Millennials. Nevertheless, Grosh is grateful to be in a city that is accessible and artistically minded.

“I think Harrisburg has a lot to offer if you really want it to,” she says. “I needed it to be a platform for something bigger [at first], but I don’t want to be waiting on the next best thing. It’s not like you’re biding your time here—you’re making the best of it.”

Samantha Moore, a 2010 Messiah grad, lives in Olde Uptown.

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