Memoirs — Peter Millard

Or Words to That Effect

Dr. Peter Millard (1932-2001) began lecturing in English at the University of Saskatchewan in 1963. His subsequent academic career was distinguished. Besides authoring numerous books and articles he served as the University’s don of residence, as chair of the English Department and as chair of the Faculty Association.

In 1973 he joined Saskatoon’s burgeoning gay liberation movement and quickly became an organizer and spokesperson in most of the province’s early battles to advance equal rights for gays and lesbians. He held leadership roles in the Gay Community Centre of Saskatoon, the Committee to Defend Doug Wilson, and the Coalition for Human Equality.

On campus he organized a Gay Academic Union in 1975 and became the mentor/protector of two generations of lesbian and gay students. In 1991 he taught the University’s first gay studies course, an examination of social attitudes towards homosexuality in literature. In 1994 the University established the Peter Millard scholarship, Canada’s first university-administered scholarship for research in gay and lesbian studies.

After his academic retirement in 1992 one of Millard’s chief pursuits was the writing of a personal memoir with the working title Or Words to That Effect. After his death the completed manuscript was added to the Peter Millard Papers at the University of Saskatchewan Archives. The memoir covers many aspects of Millard’s rich and wide-ranging life, including his student and academic careers and his dedication to the visual arts in both England and Saskatoon. He writes at length of his emotional life as a gay man and of his many experiences in gay activism.

Saskatchewan Resources for Sexual and Gender Diversity is pleased to host three short excerpts which we have titled:
1) Before Gay Liberation
2) God Likes Gays — A Campus Debate
3) Anita Bryant’s 1978 Visit to Moose Jaw

God Likes Gays — A Campus Debate (Chronology Link)

Having resolved to be open about my homosexuality, I decided I would try to get as much mileage out of it as possible. One of my voluntary activities at the university was to help the student debating team by acting as coach and sometimes as a participant. The debating club held an annual exhibition match, and it was decided that year that the debate would be on something to do with homosexuality, which was fast becoming one of the hottest topics around the city. The resolution finally decided on was "God likes gays." Opposing the resolution was a Christian fundamentalist minister from the city, teamed with a graduate student from the English department-- an articulate married woman, wife of a doctor, both of whom happened to be friends of mine. For the resolution were myself and a lesbian student.

The four of us met for lunch before the debate. The minister was a dapper man, brimming with that curious sense of power that popular preachers carry with them. His team mate was smartly turned out in suit and silk scarf. They were introduced, and it was amusing to see how quickly they established their credentials with each other:

"Ah, I see you are married! And how many children do you have?"
"Three. And you?"
"Three also. How old are yours?"

And so on. They waved their banner of normalcy before us, mainly, no doubt, to reassure themselves, but the implication was not lost on me and my partner.

The lecture theatre where the debate was to take place was packed. Every seat was filled, and people were sitting on the floor in the aisles. We took our places on the platform at the front of the room, and while the preliminaries were going on I scanned the rows of seats in front of me. On occasions like this you feel the need for friends. I spotted one or two faculty members who were sympathetic to the cause, and, even more comforting, a clutch of gay people. Almost an entire row of seats, about half way up the raked hall, was occupied by students from my freshman class, and that was rather alarming. Although I had been active in the Gay Community Centre for some time, my homosexuality was not general knowledge. There seemed to be a great deal of curiosity about the debate in general and about the fact that an English professor was defending the resolution.

During the debate I noticed for the first time a phenomenon that was to become familiar to me as I progressed in gay activism. The minister, and even the married graduate student, seemed to have a strange propensity to prurience in their speeches. I do not think it was intentional; in fact it seemed inadvertent, as if it were arising from the unconscious. The minister in particular kept producing salacious double-entendres ("I don't want homosexuals ramming it down my throat." Surprised realization. Giggle). This would not be the last time that I found myself in the odd position of being shocked by a righteous defender of morality, but I will come back to this subject later.

During my speech in favour of the motion-- an attempt to get the best of both worlds by trying to answer irrationality with reason and, at the same time, appeal to the emotions with rhetoric-- I began one sentence casually with the words "As a homosexual myself ...” There was an almost audible gasp from the audience, and I noticed the students from my freshman class look at each other in surprise. It must be remembered that at that time homosexuality was still a fairly novel topic, and it is extremely unlikely that anyone in the audience had ever heard a public declaration of homosexuality.

It was an extraordinary feeling. I had broken cover, and was standing in the brightly lit open. There was fear, but it was overwhelmed by a surge of euphoria. No more hiding, no more lies, no more deception; there was no going back now.

The debate was over. The hall was needed for the first of the afternoon lectures, and we hurried the crowd out. Now I would see what the reaction would be. Outside, the wife of a departmental colleague came up to me. "I'm very glad you did that," she said, "I've always thought there was something a little bit false in our relationship, but now we can really be friends." A somewhat different reaction came from a male, gay, member of the department: "Why did you do that? Your friends won't be able to talk to you, now." It was sad to see what fear could do to this man who in all his relationships was more than ordinarily generous and loyal. He was also, incidentally, an example of how blind many gay people are about themselves. No-one who had anything to do with this man was under any illusion about his sexuality. At the faculty club, for instance, it was not unusual for him to have a triple gin instead of lunch and then grope the nearest male. Yet it was so unthinkable to him that anyone should know about his homosexuality that he went about convinced that his secret was safe.

The University of Saskatchewan now had its openly gay faculty member, the only one, and from then on my existence took on an element of the symbolic: I was the token homosexual. There would be snide remarks, the occasional joke, and some more serious opposition: I never made homosexuality an issue in the classroom, yet I knew of one student, there may have been more, who protested to the dean about having to take a class from a known homosexual. By far the more common reaction, however, was either support or, more often, indifference.

— Peter Millard Papers (University of Saskatchewan Archives. P.T. Millard Fonds. MG 47)


	Home Books Journals Manuscripts History Theses Bibliography Audio/Visual Links of Interest Contact Credits Search	Saskatchewan Resources for Sexual Diversity Memoirs — Peter Millard Or Words to That Effect Dr. Peter Millard (1932-2001) began lecturing in English at the University of Saskatchewan in 1963. His subsequent academic career was distinguished. Besides authoring numerous books and articles he served as the University’s don of residence, as chair of the English Department and as chair of the Faculty Association. In 1973 he joined Saskatoon’s burgeoning gay liberation movement and quickly became an organizer and spokesperson in most of the province’s early battles to advance equal rights for gays and lesbians. He held leadership roles in the Gay Community Centre of Saskatoon, the Committee to Defend Doug Wilson, and the Coalition for Human Equality. On campus he organized a Gay Academic Union in 1975 and became the mentor/protector of two generations of lesbian and gay students. In 1991 he taught the University’s first gay studies course, an examination of social attitudes towards homosexuality in literature. In 1994 the University established the Peter Millard scholarship, Canada’s first university-administered scholarship for research in gay and lesbian studies. After his academic retirement in 1992 one of Millard’s chief pursuits was the writing of a personal memoir with the working title Or Words to That Effect. After his death the completed manuscript was added to the Peter Millard Papers at the University of Saskatchewan Archives. The memoir covers many aspects of Millard’s rich and wide-ranging life, including his student and academic careers and his dedication to the visual arts in both England and Saskatoon. He writes at length of his emotional life as a gay man and of his many experiences in gay activism. Saskatchewan Resources for Sexual and Gender Diversity is pleased to host three short excerpts which we have titled: 1) Before Gay Liberation 2) God Likes Gays — A Campus Debate 3) Anita Bryant’s 1978 Visit to Moose Jaw God Likes Gays — A Campus Debate (Chronology Link) Having resolved to be open about my homosexuality, I decided I would try to get as much mileage out of it as possible. One of my voluntary activities at the university was to help the student debating team by acting as coach and sometimes as a participant. The debating club held an annual exhibition match, and it was decided that year that the debate would be on something to do with homosexuality, which was fast becoming one of the hottest topics around the city. The resolution finally decided on was "God likes gays." Opposing the resolution was a Christian fundamentalist minister from the city, teamed with a graduate student from the English department-- an articulate married woman, wife of a doctor, both of whom happened to be friends of mine. For the resolution were myself and a lesbian student. The four of us met for lunch before the debate. The minister was a dapper man, brimming with that curious sense of power that popular preachers carry with them. His team mate was smartly turned out in suit and silk scarf. They were introduced, and it was amusing to see how quickly they established their credentials with each other: "Ah, I see you are married! And how many children do you have?" "Three. And you?" "Three also. How old are yours?" And so on. They waved their banner of normalcy before us, mainly, no doubt, to reassure themselves, but the implication was not lost on me and my partner. The lecture theatre where the debate was to take place was packed. Every seat was filled, and people were sitting on the floor in the aisles. We took our places on the platform at the front of the room, and while the preliminaries were going on I scanned the rows of seats in front of me. On occasions like this you feel the need for friends. I spotted one or two faculty members who were sympathetic to the cause, and, even more comforting, a clutch of gay people. Almost an entire row of seats, about half way up the raked hall, was occupied by students from my freshman class, and that was rather alarming. Although I had been active in the Gay Community Centre for some time, my homosexuality was not general knowledge. There seemed to be a great deal of curiosity about the debate in general and about the fact that an English professor was defending the resolution. During the debate I noticed for the first time a phenomenon that was to become familiar to me as I progressed in gay activism. The minister, and even the married graduate student, seemed to have a strange propensity to prurience in their speeches. I do not think it was intentional; in fact it seemed inadvertent, as if it were arising from the unconscious. The minister in particular kept producing salacious double-entendres ("I don't want homosexuals ramming it down my throat." Surprised realization. Giggle). This would not be the last time that I found myself in the odd position of being shocked by a righteous defender of morality, but I will come back to this subject later. During my speech in favour of the motion-- an attempt to get the best of both worlds by trying to answer irrationality with reason and, at the same time, appeal to the emotions with rhetoric-- I began one sentence casually with the words "As a homosexual myself ...” There was an almost audible gasp from the audience, and I noticed the students from my freshman class look at each other in surprise. It must be remembered that at that time homosexuality was still a fairly novel topic, and it is extremely unlikely that anyone in the audience had ever heard a public declaration of homosexuality. It was an extraordinary feeling. I had broken cover, and was standing in the brightly lit open. There was fear, but it was overwhelmed by a surge of euphoria. No more hiding, no more lies, no more deception; there was no going back now. The debate was over. The hall was needed for the first of the afternoon lectures, and we hurried the crowd out. Now I would see what the reaction would be. Outside, the wife of a departmental colleague came up to me. "I'm very glad you did that," she said, "I've always thought there was something a little bit false in our relationship, but now we can really be friends." A somewhat different reaction came from a male, gay, member of the department: "Why did you do that? Your friends won't be able to talk to you, now." It was sad to see what fear could do to this man who in all his relationships was more than ordinarily generous and loyal. He was also, incidentally, an example of how blind many gay people are about themselves. No-one who had anything to do with this man was under any illusion about his sexuality. At the faculty club, for instance, it was not unusual for him to have a triple gin instead of lunch and then grope the nearest male. Yet it was so unthinkable to him that anyone should know about his homosexuality that he went about convinced that his secret was safe. The University of Saskatchewan now had its openly gay faculty member, the only one, and from then on my existence took on an element of the symbolic: I was the token homosexual. There would be snide remarks, the occasional joke, and some more serious opposition: I never made homosexuality an issue in the classroom, yet I knew of one student, there may have been more, who protested to the dean about having to take a class from a known homosexual. By far the more common reaction, however, was either support or, more often, indifference. — Peter Millard Papers (University of Saskatchewan Archives. P.T. Millard Fonds. MG 47)
		“It was an extraordinary feeling. I had broken cover, and was standing in the brightly lit open. There was fear, but it was overwhelmed by a surge of euphoria. No more hiding, no more lies, no more deception; there was no going back now.” ~ Peter Millard, "God Likes Gays — A Campus Debate"