The sounds and images of the 43rd annual Chicago Pride Parade were familiar from years past — with politics mixing with commerce and plentiful bare skin — but the procession was also marked by a series of firsts.
A record crowd estimated at 850,000 by the city's Office of Emergency Management and Communications turned out to watch the parade wind through the Uptown and Lakeview neighborhoods. This was the first trip down a longer route designed to ease the overcrowding that plagued last year's parade.
Along with the new route, the parade itself was different in subtle but significant ways.
In a break with tradition, coordinators put a coalition of religious groups at the head of the queue of floats, marchers and bands, not far behind the politicians who led the parade, Gov. Pat Quinn and Mayor Rahm Emanuel. Organizers honored a request by the groups to be moved up, a shift aimed at promoting the idea that religion and LGBT identities can coexist. In December, Chicago's Cardinal Francis George stirred controversy by comparing paraders to Ku Klux Klan members.
Mixed in with men in hot pants and women in bikinis dancing to pulsating music, the worshippers carried signs that read "Would Jesus discriminate?" and "Gays are God's people."
Before the parade kicked off, a group of about 30 gathered beneath the Red Line tracks for a brief worship service. They sang religious songs modified for LGBT themes and heard short sermons from clergy who had to shout to be heard above the thump of a drum chorus practicing nearby and trains thundering overhead.
American Baptist Pastor David Weasley, who works with The Night Ministry street outreach program, told members of the group that their calling was to make more of the world welcoming to people who have been cast out.
"Whoever you are … we don't love you in spite of that," he yelled. "We love you because of that."
Even Mormons, part of a religion often associated with conservative political causes, were represented, with a group marching behind a banner reading "Mormon Allies." James Miller, of Chicago, held up one end of the banner, and he said the thinking of many Mormons had evolved since the church's leaders stirred controversy by pushing to ban gay marriage in California.
Referring to the group gathered behind the banner, he said, "I take this as a good sign."
Sunday also marked the inaugural march for a new gay and lesbian support group representing people who previously might have avoided publicly affiliating themselves with homosexuality — members of the armed forces.
But the military's "don't ask, don't tell" policy was repealed in September, and members of GLASS, or Gay, Lesbian and Supportive Sailors, marched down Broadway in street clothes. Most of the marchers were active-duty sailors based at Naval Station Great Lakes north of Chicago, said the group's vice president, Robert Baumgartner.
The group provides gay armed forces members "a place to come out of their shells," Baumgartner said.
Parade organizers and police reported no serious disturbances, though the Chicago Fire Department took 34 people from the route, most of them ailing from the heat, Cmdr. Sean Flynn said.
As in past years, politicians shook hands and businesses once again used the parade to advertise themselves.
Near the Chipotle float, which featured a massive replica of a foil-wrapped burrito, a group affiliated with the Chicago Green Wedding Alliance waited to embark. The group is made up of caterers and other wedding vendors committed to environmentally responsible nuptials.
Molly Schemper, of FIG Catering, said a generational shift is wiping out reluctance to accept gay unions.
"I think to the younger generation, it's no big deal," she said.
While the Pride Parade is loaded with the significance of broad political and social issues, history was also made on a personal scale.
Chicagoan Marissa Zesinger said she came out of the closet in January, and she observed the first parade since then by carrying a sign for the Center on Halsted. She said she was gratified to see people, gay and straight, supporting one another.
"It makes you feel not alone," Zesinger said.
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