Beach a Place Gays, Lesbians Call Their Own

The first hint that the place is different from any other spot in the sun comes on the narrow pathway winding down from Coast Highway. A man is handing out copies of the Orange County Blade, a news magazine for gays and lesbians.

The impression is enhanced on the sand. At first it looks like any other weekend beach crowd in Southern California, with bathing-suited bodies lying sunbaked on vast open stretches of sand. Gradually, one discerns a difference: the left-hand side of the strand is occupied almost entirely by men, and on the right is a handful of women.

Welcome to West Street Beach, Orange County’s only bit of coast patronized almost exclusively by gays and lesbians.

“It’s a place we can be ourselves,” says Michael Aprato, 34, who visits here regularly from his home in Los Angeles. “We feel relaxed here.”

Says John Ettinger, 28, who’s been coming to the beach for years: “Many people in our community feel frightened and uncomfortable in straight society. If they were to be themselves and hold their lover’s hand, they could be gay-bashed. This is our beach.”

Indeed, a stroll along the sand of West Street Beach reveals beach-goers being themselves without apparent concern. As on any other beach, some of the couples hold hands, apply tanning lotion to each other or occasionally share a kiss.

Baggy trunks may be all the rage elsewhere on the Southern California coast, but at West Street Beach the Speedo is generally the bathing suit of choice among men. An occasional G-string can also be spotted. Out toward the surf, games of paddle ball go full tilt. The more adventurous sometimes swim out to large yachts anchored just offshore for on-board parties.

Just down the coast from the tight clump of sunbathers on West Street Beach is a swath of sand used mostly by families and residents of the apartments and houses atop the bluff. No one seems to give much mind to the crowds at West Street Beach, and the occasional gay couples who stroll down the sand generate little fuss.

Sometimes, an unsuspecting out-of-town couple with children might wander into the knot of gays and lesbians. Some beat a hasty retreat, West Street regulars say. But many sit down and amiably join the crowd.

The easy tolerance between the two groups is typical of Laguna Beach, where the evolution of West Street Beach has closely paralleled the rise of the city as a destination known nationally for its hospitality to gays and lesbians.

Back in the 1960s, longtime beach-goers say, much of the city’s burgeoning homosexual population frequented Main Beach, which also featured several gay bars. About 20 years ago, they say, the city renovated the beach, closing the bars and inadvertently driving away most of the patrons.

One of them, Bob Majors, eventually purchased a home several miles down Coast Highway just south of Aliso Beach. It was there on the sand that he began throwing weekend parties for his gay friends--known as the “Majorettes”--during which they would engage in furious volleyball games.

Gradually the crowd grew. Majors died in the early 1980s, but part of his legacy is the thousands of gay men and women who now gather on the beach each weekend. Those gatherings have the unofficial blessings of the city.

“It’s extremely important that gay and lesbian people have a place together and socialize outside the typical venues such as bars,” says Laguna Mayor Robert F. Gentry, who is openly gay himself. “There are not many places in the county where the gay and lesbian community feels validated; we in Laguna Beach want them to feel courted. They are very much part of the city’s roots. We are committed to diversity and, frankly, we enjoy the benefits of their money.”

Neil G. Fitzpatrick, a city councilman who is not gay, also lauds the city’s tolerant atmosphere, calling the gay beach “no big deal.” And “no big deal,” he said, “equates to acceptance.”

It is the feeling of acceptance that seems to draw the crowd--much of which comes from out of town. Surrounded by people of similar sexual orientation, these beach-goers say, they feel free to be themselves without incurring the wrath of disapproving straight people. “It’s a place where I can spend time with my lover interacting freely away from the harsh judgment of (others),” says Louis Dicerbo, 27, who drove down from his home in Los Angeles on a recent Sunday to spend a day in the sun with Adam Onofre, 38.

Said Onofre: “I don’t think we’re comfortable going to a straight beach; there’s an overriding fear of offending other people.”

Police and lifeguard officials say they have no more crime problems at West Street Beach than at any other beach in town. In fact, says Police Officer Harold Griswold, who patrols the beach regularly, “this is one of the better beaches” in terms of cleanliness and conduct.

The view is shared by some nearby residents. “They are very good people,” says Mike, speaking of the those who frequent the beach. A businessman who has lived in a house overlooking the gay beach for eight years, Mike wouldn’t give his last name. “They are well-mannered and have never bothered us,” he said. “They mind their own business.”

That seemed to be what most of the West Street beach-goers were doing on a recent summer Sunday. While some lounged in the scorching sun, others played paddle ball or tried their hands at surfing.

“This is one of the best beaches I know,” said Kim Samaniego, 24, the manager of a pizza parlor in Rancho Cucamonga who sat on the sand with another young woman. “If I had a chance to go anywhere, I’d come here; I’m a lesbian and I feel like being with my peers.”

Over on the men’s side, meanwhile, a veritable army of beach towels was patting down the sand of yet another perfect California day.

“It’s kind of like a fraternity,” Art Elswood, 30, said, surveying his peers in swimming trunks, many of them with sleek well-muscled bodies. “There’s a comfort level.”

Michael McIntyre, 36, of Laguna Beach, had but one regret. “It will be better,” he said, “when we don’t need a separate beach.”