Gus Van Sant's new movie on Harvey Milk has provided a motive for recalling my life in San Francisco during those times. Many of the parishioners here were not even born when Harvey came on the national stage.

In 1978, I lived in San Francisco, Harvey Milk's district, three blocks from Castro Street and shopped at his camera store on Castro Street, the epicenter of the gay rights movement. Harvey had been elected to the Board of Supervisors to represent the Castro area in the fall of 1977. I met Harvey on many occasions. He had a twinkle in his mischievous eyes that always made you smile.

The residents of San Francisco endured a lot in the fall of 1978. There was Proposition 6, known as the Briggs Initiative (for its sponsor, a right-wing state senator from Orange County), which would have banned gay school teachers in California. Proposition 6 had galvanized the gay and progressive communities of California. Harvey led the fight to defeat the initiative. He was perfect for the job. He debated Senator John Briggs and destroyed his bigoted arguments on statewide television with his logic and charm.

On November 7, 1978, the initiative went down to defeat and the nation took note that the gay community could exercise some political clout. Happy crowds paraded around the Castro laughing and cheering. I went down to the "No on 6" Headquarters on Market Street and watched as the national networks beamed a smiling Harvey to the nation saying that this was just the beginning. It was a thrilling and empowering moment for the gay community.

Little more than a week later, on November 18, 1978, I was in Los Angeles working on a school desegregation case when I learned about Jonestown. Jim Jones, a local preacher and political power broker, had led his flock from the so-called Peoples Temple to Guyana from San Francisco. 909 members of the Peoples Temple died there in a mass suicide on that day -- they were almost all from San Francisco and the Bay area. The city was in shock. It had the impact on the city of a 9/11. People were numb and walked around in a daze.

I worked at 50 United Nations Plaza, known as the old Federal Building. It is a beautiful Beaux Arts building sharing a park with the San Francisco City Hall. Monday, November 27, 1978, was a sunny, mild day in San Francisco. I was in my office in the late morning when I heard the sirens begin the wail. I soon heard that someone had been shot in City Hall. I decided to walk over and see what was going on.

I arrived to see a group of people gathering in front of City Hall. Then I heard someone say that Harvey Milk and Mayor George Moscone, an ally of Harvey's and the gay community, had been shot and killed by Dan White, another city supervisor. People were in shock. I watched as Harvey's wrapped body was hoisted through a basement window of the building. It was too much. I returned to my office, collected my things and returned to my apartment.

In the Castro, people were crying and others expressed anger. I learned that an impromptu memorial candlelight march had been planned for that evening from the Castro to City Hall. I, with some friends, walked down in the darkness to the Castro that evening and could not believe the crowd of people waiting there with candles. More than 40,000 people had shown up through word of mouth. It was one of the most moving events in which I have ever participated. The crowd marched down Market Street to City Hall, a sea of candles and wet eyes to the beat of a single drum. The crowd was silent.

When we arrived at City Hall, the whole of the park was filled with mourners holding their candles. Suddenly, Joan Baez began to sing Amazing Grace. Tears filled our eyes and strangers supported each other in their grief. I still think about Harvey and what he meant to us and hope that we never forget him.

I am glad that Gus Van Sant has done of a movie of Harvey's life and hope that it captures the hope and despair of those times. Harvey was one of a kind and a unique leader with charm and a loving touch. May his soul rest in peace. He helped open the closet door for us which will never close again.