Collecting Oral Histories

 In my last post, I discussed the challenges of writing a history that ends so close to the present day. However, there was also a clear benefit to writing a recent history: I had a rich set of sources for my research. Most of Family Matters is centered in the 1990s, when individuals and companies were increasingly using email – and still printing out the messages! As a result, I had the great fortune of being able to review hard copies of typewritten documents. (I’ll admit, I squealed every time I saw the AOL logo at the top of an email.) Moreover, I was able to fill in gaps with oral history interviews. In this post, I’ll cover how I went about collecting oral histories.

The first step in collecting oral histories is always identifying people to interview. (That was usually the simplest task in the process, thanks to the spreadsheets I discussed in my second post.) The second step is tracking the individuals down. I did name searches in google, which often produce email address or phone numbers on their institutional websites or their social media pages. If that didn’t work, I could often find groups with which they were or had been associated. I contacted those organizations, by phone, email, or snail mail, asking if they would be willing to pass a message to the individual, along with my contact information.

 Most of the people who I contacted responded with enthusiasm. They were glad to hear someone was writing a book on the subject and were eager to share their experiences. Many of these interviews opened the door to additional interviews. That was in part because, during each session, I asked each person if they could think of anyone else who I should speak with about the subject, which helped me identify additional interviewees.

I also asked them if they could put me in contact with those people. That could be extremely helpful, for two reasons. First, some people felt more comfortable speaking with me after they had heard from people they trusted. One of the major players in the debates over gay and lesbian rights in the 1980s and 1990s was psychologist Paul Cameron, who produced a series of studies claiming homosexuals were more likely to molest children then heterosexuals. His anti-homosexual bias was so virulent and obvious that the American Psychological Association ultimately expelled him for ethics violations. I wanted to speak with him about what led him to his research and how he designed his studies, but he did not respond to my initial messages. However, after I interviewed another conservative researcher, who sent Cameron an email vouching for my professionalism, he agreed to speak with me.

The other way that my interviewees opened doors was by contacting individuals I could not track down myself. I’ll never forget the day my phone rang from an unknown New Hampshire number. I had been researching New Hampshire’s 1987 law banning gay and lesbian foster parents. One of my interviewees, who had advocated against the statute, recommended I speak with Donna Sytek, who was then a leading New Hampshire Republican legislator. The person had said they would try to track her down, but after weeks went by, I lost faith that would happen. My efforts to find her email, phone number, or address had failed. I had accepted it wasn’t meant to be when the phone call came through. I picked up, the person on the other line said something along the lines of: “This is Donna Sytek. I heard you wanted to speak to me?” I was flustered, thrilled, and confused. I asked her how she had found out I was searching for her. She told me that someone I had interviewed had talked to another person, who spoke to someone else, who ran into Sytek at the grocery store. Everyone had told me New Hampshire was a small state. No kidding!

 Of course, some people who I wanted to interview never responded to my messages, while others simply declined. The reasons they gave indicated just how controversial the events continued to be, despite the time that has passed. There is perhaps no better example of that than the message I received from Eloise Anderson, the former director of the California Department of Social Services (CDSS).

 I contacted Anderson as part of my research on same-sex couples’ efforts to adopt children in the 1980s and 1990s. In 1987, CDSS announced it would only recommend joint adoptions by married couples. The agency developed this policy to avoid endorsing same-sex parents, while also sidestepping claims that it was discriminating based on sexual orientation. In 1994, the agency rescinded the policy – much to the Governor’s dismay. He blasted Anderson, whom he had appointed, for her “huge overstep” and instructed her to reinstate the policy. Here's where things got interesting. The agency acted as if it were complying – it held hearings and created a proposed rule that complied with the administrative process. But then Anderson did something unexpected: she refused to file the paperwork. She let the proposed rule languish until the deadline for its implementation had passed. As a result, the police never became law. The governor, legislators, and activists assumed that the policy was in place—and the truth only came to light in 1998.

 A newspaper account of the events provided two different explanations. One was that the measure garnered so much opposition that it was impossible for CDSS to respond to all of the comments within the administrative procedure deadline. Another came from a former official, who told the reporter: “Eloise didn’t believe in what the governor was asking . . . so she just didn’t do it.” As you can imagine, I really wanted to speak to Anderson to find out more about what had actually happened. I therefore emailed her—and was initially excited to receive a quick reply. Her response, however, was not at all what I expected. She declined my request…because she claimed to have absolutely no memory of any of the events about which I wanted to speak with her!

Given the turmoil that surrounded the policy—and the fact that the state governor publicly reprimanded her for her actions—I had trouble believing her statement. At the same time, I completely understood her reluctance to talk about the events, especially since she was serving as the Secretary of Children and Families in Wisconsin at the time I contacted her.

Anderson was just one of the dozens of people who declined or did not respond to my requests for an interview. But just as many people—if not more—said yes. In my next post, I’ll address how I went about using the oral histories I collected. All of them helped make Family Matters a more complete and richer account of the struggle for queer rights.

Photo by 2H Media on Unsplash