It’s largely because of him and a handful of colleagues that library shelves today have space for books like “Two Grooms” — a historic accomplishment that McConnell, now 80 and enjoying a quiet retirement in Minneapolis with his husband, worries is endangered.

Since the slender storybook’s release, with LGBTQ and racial-equity themes have been challenged in dozens of states, according to the free speech advocacy organization PEN America. It’s the recorded by the American Library Association since it began tracking bans 20 years ago. 

“I suspect it’s probably by now been banned in Florida,” McConnell says. “I can see what’s coming. … We’ve got a fight on our hands.” 

Historically, LGBTQ-related books are among those most stolen from libraries — a metric that librarians, oddly or not, still use to gauge demand when ordering new volumes, despite decades-long efforts to reduce the stigma of browsing for books about queer people. In fact, while his status as one of the first gay grooms may be what most visibly enshrines McConnell in history, he played a pivotal role in creating library shelf space for “boy meets boy” tales such as his — as well as a wide array of LGBTQ fiction and books about queer history, culture, health care and other resources.

As a child, McConnell secretly visited the library looking to understand his same-sex attraction — and, finding no help, went on to a career as a librarian with a special interest in curating collections of LGBTQ books. 

Indeed, current-day librarians credit McConnell’s accomplishments — everything from convincing publishers that libraries would provide a market for positive portrayals of queer people to replacing pejorative subject headings in card catalogs — for helping to provide safety and privacy for youth and adults as they seek out information.

K-12 school librarians, for example, often receive regular training in how to accommodate LGBTQ students and are frequently the staff member who sponsors the school’s gay-straight alliance. This work is a direct outgrowth of advocacy by McConnell and a small group of colleagues who, in the immediate aftermath of the Stonewall uprising in June 1969, organized the American Library Association as the first professional group with a queer committee formally advocating for LGBTQ rights. 

McConnell’s story is a variation on a common one. In middle school, he walked from his home in Norman, Oklahoma, to the local library. While he was certain there was nothing wrong with him, he didn’t know why he was different or how to find other people like himself. It took some sleuthing, but he eventually found the right shelf at the nearby University of Oklahoma library — and, to his teenaged chagrin, a selection of titles that seemed designed to ruin his self-esteem. 

“Most of it was negative and most of it psychological,” he recalls. “And — how shall I put this? — lies.” 

Depictions of LGBTQ people living normal, fulfilling lives, he came to learn, mostly did not exist. “Publishers were afraid in those years to put out positive titles,” he says. “I knew during this time of great closetry for the community, and no information available except lies, that I was going to have a hard time — and the library was the answer.”

Another Stonewall-era activist with the American Library Association, the late Barbara Gittings, made her own exploratory trip to the library as a college freshman in 1949. “When I speak to gay groups and mention ‘the lies in the libraries,’ listeners over 35 know instantly what I mean,” she wrote in “Gays in Libraryland: The Gay and Lesbian Task Force of the American Library Association: The First 16 Years.” “Most gays have at some point gone to books in an effort to understand about being gay or to get some help in living as gay.”

More than half a century later, despite current headlines, gay-related resources in any library — adult, university, K-12 — are plentiful. What was born as the association’s Task Force on Gay Liberation has evolved into the , which screens LGBTQ-themed books and bestows awards on the best. This year, “Two Grooms” was named a top-10 title for younger readers. 

A division of the larger organization, the American Association of School Librarians, offers a wealth of resources for educators, librarians and families. In 2018, it published “,” which, among other guidance, helps school staff explain and defend standards for what youth media centers should offer. 

GLSEN, a national nonprofit that supports schools to be safe places for LGBTQ students, offers , free, boxed sets of age-appropriate books. Now in 1,800 schools in 28 states, the 10-book collections include stickers with the group’s web address, posters and other classroom resources that let young readers know that the library offers even more. 

“We hear all the time that students can’t wait to get their hands on these books,” says Michael Rady, GLSEN’s Rainbow Library manager. “In Kansas, a librarian processed their new books on a Friday and shelved them immediately. By Monday, they were all checked out.”

Many of the ways in which present-day librarians try to ensure welcoming environments are outgrowths of strategies generated by Stonewall-era librarians. For instance, “Serving the Faithful Reader,” a 1976 series of skits, taught reference desk staff how to react to fearful visitors who might not be able or willing to say outright what they are after. 

School librarians are urged to set out books that feature LGBTQ youth of different identities, races, ethnicities and backgrounds not just for Pride month, but for showcasing other holidays or themes, says Rachel Altobelli, director of library services and instructional materials for Albuquerque Public Schools and a member of the group that authored the intellectual freedom report.

That way, all kinds of kids see themselves without having to ask, or even necessarily be looking for LGBTQ information — they might be fantasy fiction fans or get sucked in by graphic novels, she says. 

Librarians in Altobelli’s district are trained to understand that they may never know which books made a difference for which kids — and that’s a good thing. More children are coming out at younger ages than ever before, she notes, but lots still “want to be able to figure things out in their own time in their own way, and they don’t need any random grownups to know.”

“We tell our librarians, with some kids, ‘You’re not going to have that big, beautiful, magical  moment where they come in and thank you,” she adds. “But you nonetheless saved their life, and you might never know.”

Library privacy topped the 1970s Task Force on Gay Liberation agenda, too. Presentations for librarians included “Closet Keys,” which focused on good LGBTQ periodicals to subscribe to, and, “You Want to Look up WHAT?” covering how to index them. 

McConnell, Gittings and their contemporaries were determined to end the practice of forcing visitors to search through catalog cards bearing headings like “sexual deviance” and “sexual predation.” Along with librarians from other demographic groups demanding better representation, they pushed the Library of Congress to change a number of classifications.

“That put us into positive (shelving classification) numbers,” recalls McConnell, in turn enabling readers to be less secretive. 

The early task force also considered what it called “the stolen-book problem,” a phenomenon Altobelli and Rady say continues to this day. Whether LGBTQ-themed books disappear from a library’s inventory because students are embarrassed to check them out and simply take them, or don’t return them because they have no other sources of factual information, the rate at which the titles need to be reordered is something librarians see as a gauge of popularity.

As the current wave of anti-LGBTQ legislation has swept the country, demand for GLSEN’s Rainbow Libraries has increased, says Rady, who hopes to increase the number of schools with sets of books to 3,000 by the end of the year. The debate’s inflammatory tone, he says, has posed particular problems for youth in communities that have little LGBTQ visibility. 

“It’s really hard to be closeted. It’s really hard to come out. It’s really hard to be the only LGBT person in your community,” he says. “We’ve heard from librarians how it’s the first time [students] can dive into someone else’s story and see themselves.”

Helping people see a good life for themselves was, of course, McConnell’s goal when, freshly hired by the University of Minnesota to acquire books for its libraries, he wed Jack Baker. Baker had gone to law school specifically to find a legal path to marriage. In the face of the publicity that attended the nuptials, however, McConnell was fired. 

(The university has since apologized, and houses McConnell’s work-in-progress archive in its .) 

Using a license legally obtained in Blue Earth County, Minnesota, the two got married anyhow, in a 1971 ceremony with a hippie aesthetic faithfully depicted in “Two Grooms.” After, they fought for the validity of their union all the way up to the U.S. Supreme Court, where it was dismissed in a single sentence.

When the court recognized marriage equality in Obergefell v Hodges in 2015, the justices made sure to reach back half a century and issue a new decision in McConnell’s case. “The court now holds that same-sex couples may exercise the fundamental right to marry,” the jurists wrote. “No longer may this liberty be denied to them. Baker v Nelson must be and now is overruled.”

“Two Grooms,” which uses a cake-baking metaphor to illustrate the process of nurturing a relationship, isn’t the only account of Baker’s and McConnell’s marriage that can be found in public libraries today. They would like to keep it that way.

“ ‘Don’t say gay,’ ” he scoffs. “Sweetheart, we got over that 50 years ago.”

So what would McConnell say to a student who goes into a school library where books like his have been removed? 

“I would say talk to someone that you know loves you and that you feel safe with and tell them,” he says. “I know that that’s scary. But is there someone that you feel safe with you can do that?”

The information would be voluntarily reported, anonymous and — notable at a time when some states are shunning data deemed politically unpalatable — collected nationwide. If implemented, the initiative would represent the largest-scale effort to date to document the experiences of the nation’s LGBTQ students. 

The push got a boost earlier this week from the White House when President Joe Biden, acting in recognition of Pride month, creating a committee to oversee the expansion of LGBTQ data collection throughout the federal government and directing the department to form a working group to advance policies to protect gay, lesbian and gender nonconforming students and families.     

The move comes after years of conversations among civil rights and education advocates who recognized both the need for the data and the complicated nature of collecting it in ways that are backed by scientific and medical best practices; invite LGBTQ participation; will generate information researchers need; and do not expose young people to the safety risks that coming out sometimes poses. 

“Not having questions asked about sexual orientation and gender identity creates an invisibility and makes it really hard for lawmakers and policymakers to be able to determine what the actual needs of the community are and how best to address them,” says Sarah Warbelow, legal director for the Human Rights Campaign. “If you don’t have the data, it makes it hard to argue to a policymaker that they have to change their policies in order to protect LGBTQ folks.”

According to the American Civil Liberties Union, targeting LGBTQ Americans have been introduced in state legislatures this year, many aimed at transgender youth. 

In submitted in April, GLSEN, a nonprofit that advocates for LGBTQ students, noted that NAEP results are used for scholarly research and to make crucial decisions about education policy and distribution of resources to schools. “To better determine how well our K-12 schools are serving the needs of all students, GLSEN urges the NAEP to add LGBTQ+ inclusive survey measures,” the organization wrote.

The change, civil rights groups say, would push schools to take note of and inform solutions.

First administered more than 50 years ago, NAEP has always documented how well U.S. schools meet the needs of students of different races and ethnicities, those with disabilities, low-income children and other subgroups. The tests are administered to a representative sample of fourth and ninth graders, with the results used to identify unmet needs, illuminate disparities and highlight successes.

In a reply to GLSEN sent before Biden’s executive order, the department said it was considering changes to NAEP assessments that would allow for expanded gender categories. The National Center for Education Statistics, which administers the exams, “is actively working towards including more gender identity options in future NAEP data collections both from school records (where we get student gender information) and teacher self-reports via the teacher survey questionnaire,” the agency replied. “We are exploring ways to disaggregate student record data into binary and non-binary as a start.”

No timeline for either change was given. While silent on the topic of modifying NAEP to report sexual orientation, the reply letter noted that the center has been part of within the federal government about the issue. 

LGBTQ rights groups say it’s not enough — and is happening too slowly. According to a survey by , in 2021 reported that politics were harming their mental health and that COVID-19 adversely affected their living situation, with just a third calling their home affirming. Forty-two percent said they had seriously considered suicide in the past year, a rate that rises to more than half for trans and non-binary students. 

Particularly problematic: States can opt out of collecting data on sexual orientation and gender identity when administering some existing surveys, such as the two main Centers for Disease Control and Prevention reviews of youth welfare, Warbelow says. This can obscure bias in ways many people might not anticipate, especially as schools often have no formal record of a student’s orientation and young people are leery of outing themselves. 

“We have some indication that LGBTQ students are overrepresented in disproportionate school discipline,” she says. “So one scenario [could be] where a straight student and an LGBT student are engaged in a disagreement. Oftentimes, it starts by that straight student engaging in bullying. And you see the teacher or the administration end up sending both kids down to the principal’s office. And then the penalty ends up being stiffer for the LGBTQ student.”

In recent years, scientifically and legally sound has gotten a major boost from the National Academies of Sciences, Engineering and Medicine, which in 2020 recommended that the federal government begin capturing more information and this past March followed up with specific guidance on how best to do so. 

Last spring, in the wake of the National Academies’ reports, came together to press federal agencies to adopt the recommendations. If they succeed, the government will, for the first time, collect data that could be used to draw apples-to-apples comparisons. 

Often referred to as the nation’s report card, NAEP is uniquely suited for collecting sensitive demographic information, proponents of the change say. Because the exams don’t assess individual schools, the results can’t be misused by officials bent on finding gay teachers or trans student athletes, for example. People who are uncomfortable participating can opt out. 

“We want the federal government to be required to collect data, but the individual participant to have the flexibility to be able to say that they’re not going to disclose their sexual orientation or gender identity,” says Warbelow. 

For reasons ranging from the well-intended to the political, LGBTQ people are poorly represented in official statistics. For example, an estimated 5 in 6 LGBTQ adults can’t be identified by federal surveys documenting everything from rates of disease to housing discrimination, largely because they rarely include pertinent questions. The experiences of LGBTQ youth in school and in their communities are even more poorly documented. 

While education researchers and policymakers can talk about historically underserved students using deep, wide-ranging data about household income, race, disability, English learner status and experience with housing insecurity and the foster care system, what’s known about queer students is often drawn from small surveys or by extrapolating from those that tabulate information in different ways.

For two decades, GLSEN’s own surveys have consistently found that students subjected to in-school bullying and victimization have poorer educational outcomes, including lower attendance, grade-point averages and rates of college enrollment, than their heterosexual, cis-gendered peers. Students who experience both anti-LGBTQ victimization and racism are most likely to skip school out of fear, report feeling like they don’t belong and experience high levels of depression, the organization noted. Other surveys show that LGBTQ youth are disproportionately homeless and in foster care. 

Meanwhile, CDC surveys show the number of teens identifying as LGBTQ is growing, adding urgency to the need for accurate information. Using two CDC surveys, concluded that the percentage of youth who identify as “non-heterosexual” rose from 8% to almost 12% between 2015 and 2017. 

Estimates from the University of California Los Angeles’ Williams Institute reveal that the number of individuals ages 13 to 17 who identify as transgender between 2017, when few of the surveys used to estimate the size of the population asked about gender identity, and 2020, when LGBTQ information was more widely solicited. 

States, however, are not required to include LGBTQ demographic information when they help conduct CDC surveys. This erases not just the kids, but the public health and safety crises they are experiencing. 

Initial shifts to including LGBTQ questions in federal research have shown that the problems are acute. The Census Bureau began collecting information about the sexual orientation and gender identity of people responding to its Household Pulse Survey a year ago. The initial surveys found that nearly half of LGBTQ people reported experiencing anxiety more than half of the days in a week — twice as many as non-LGBTQ respondents. 

Paige Kowalski, executive vice president of the Data Quality Campaign, has been part of the conversation about collecting more information about LGBTQ students for years. Schools and other institutions, she points out, have drawn lots of wrong conclusions based on simplistic interpretations of statistics.

“Sometimes the narrative that people take away is that this group of students does not perform well,” says Kowalski. “The blame, the burden is shifted to the student and the family instead of the system and the policy.” 

She wants the federal government to go further than compiling statistics, with their potential for misuse, to include the people affected — who understand — in designing new data systems and overseeing how the information is publicized and analyzed. 

“The tech piece is easy; you create another box to check,” she says. “The people piece is the hard piece — and we skip over it alot.”   

Disclosure: Disclosure: Carnegie Corporation of New York, the Bill & Melinda Gates Foundation and Chan Zuckerberg Initiative provide financial support to Data Quality Campaign and ĂÛÌÒÓ°ÊÓ.

Editor’s note: to protect students’ and families’ privacy, we have chosen to refer to students and their families by first name only.

Last Friday evening, in Birmingham, Alabama, parents, guardians and friends sat under sparkling rows of string lights, waiting in joyous anticipation for the â€™s inaugural graduation ceremony.  

Charity Jackson, Magic City’s chief academic officer, stood center stage in front of a ring of white, gray and purple balloons. Mike Wilson, the school’s founding principal, led the faculty and staff into the main space of the , the all-ages LGBTQ+ organization that birthed the South’s first charter school dedicated to affirming LGBTQ+ students.

Finally, a single-file line of 12 seniors, clad in purple caps and gowns, entered the space. As Jackson began introducing the graduating class, the crowd erupted in cheers full of pride, appreciation and love.

Since the Acceptance Center had been the inspiration and inception place for the Academy, this moment brought everything full circle. It was also a moment that felt long overdue.   

In its early stages, Magic City Acceptance Academy suffered three rejections from the Alabama Public Charter School Commission. However, the school was finally approved and opened its doors in the fall of 2021 in the Birmingham suburb of Homewood, Alabama, with 250 students in grades 6-12.   

When the students first came into the space, said Wilson, they were “wrapped up in their trauma.” They had come from environments where they’d been bullied and marginalized. At the Academy, the staff and faculty worked to educate and empower their students.    

Clover, a graduating senior, said it wasn’t until they came to the Academy that they saw their grades flourish. Along with the good grades, they’ve also created bonds with students that they never thought they’d have. Clover said,

Clover’s mother, Rachel, said from the beginning of the year till now, she’s seen a change in them. Previously, Clover was “miserable” in school, and there didn’t seem to be many options. But when Rachel discovered Magic City Acceptance Academy, she thought it could be a solution. Rachel said,

“Seeing your child come into their own and be their own individual is quite an experience that I didn’t expect. I mean, I knew that they would make improvements and make friends, but seeing them come out of their shell and become who they are has been one of the greatest parenting experiences I’ve had.”

To Support Traumatized Youth, Adults Must Shift Their Thinking

To create an environment that focuses on both the mental and social development of students, the Magic City Acceptance Academy is a trauma-informed space.  helps professionals change their focus away from asking “what’s wrong with you?” to asking “what happened to you?”

Making that shift was challenging, said Academy history teacher Lexia Banks. 

“It was kind of like having to learn how to teach all over again because we are emphasizing different parts of the students here and giving more priority to their mental and social development and our overall mental health,” she said.

The payoff was evident at the eighth graders’ promotion ceremony, held earlier in the day. The students seemed full of joy as they played with friends and went to teachers to offer them heartfelt goodbyes and even handwritten letters.  

Banks said she’s seen how students have transformed from being shy and scared to being able to demand things that, in the past, they’d only ever have the courage to ask close friends.  

“It’s been an honor to be able to provide that kind of support,” she said.  

Offering trauma-informed support is a key piece of Magic City Acceptance Academy’s model, but it is also just one piece of a larger puzzle. Principal Wilson said the Academy talks about social justice initiatives, practices restorative justice and weaves in social and emotional learning, while also providing strong academics.

After Political Pushback, Community Steps Up

Magic City Acceptance Academy has pushed forward despite some political pushback.

In April, an Alabama gubernatorial candidate released a  criticizing the Academy for “exploitation” of children and “not education.” Due to this, the Academy had to add security to keep students safe from strangers who showed up at the school’s property to film students or shout Bible verses at them.  

However, after this, the Academy began to garner more support from the community. They received encouraging messages on a blog a parent had posted, emails and even postcards and signs from churches in the surrounding area.  

Last Friday large colorful signs from different churches, including , hung along the walls in the cafeteria and the first floor with messages like “You are beautiful” and signatures from its members. Handmade posters sported inclusive and encouraging phrases like “You are perfect just the way you are.” 

Some of the posters even came from beyond Alabama. One read:

“Remember to just take a breath. Smell the roses and blow out the candles. You are loved and important. You’re doing your best. Black Forest, CO.” 

Closer to home, the local community has bonded with the new school in many ways, whether through the local staff members who had been with Wilson for years, or via the school’s partnership with . 

This bond also appeared during graduation, when Denise Bishop, a supporter of the school, and  a Mardi Gras Krewe for the LGBTQ+ community, presented two scholarships to senior Gwen. The news prompted a spectator to call out: “I’m proud to be your aunt!”  

‘This Was a Lifesaver’  

These bonds among students, faculty, staff, community and families create a palpable environment of love and acceptance. Danny Carr, Jefferson County’s district attorney, took note in his commencement address.   

“When I walked into this room, and as I sat here, you know what I felt? I felt love. I felt respect. I felt opportunity. I felt honor. I felt all those things we so need in our community,” Carr said.

After Carr’s speech, students received their diplomas, and Wilson offered his closing remarks. â€œTwo and half years ago I sat right behind those books writing this proposal so we can have this school, now look at you,” he said.  

“We are the best school in the country,” Wilson proclaimed, jumping up and down with emotion. “This day and every day I’m proud to stand up and say I am who I am in this building, in this school, in this city, in this state. I am a cis-gendered gay male who has the best darn school in the state because we have the best darn staff in the state,” he said. “God bless you all, and know 
 there’s this group of people who are always going to be there for you. I love you. Thank you for sharing your senior year with me.”

After the ceremony, a grandparent approached Wilson and said, “I’m not overstating; this was a lifesaver.”

Wilson hears accolades like this with profound ambivalence. While he’s grateful the school is living up to its mission, he wants to live in a world where no young person should be in life-threatening danger because of their sexual orientation or gender identity. 

But in the world where Wilson lives—Birmingham, Alabama of 2022—it hurts to tell any young person there’s no room for them at Magic City Acceptance Academy. Already, they have enough applications to meet their target enrollment of 350 students. Wilson is hoping to add another counselor and social worker to the staff to meet the needs of more students.

This story was originally published by