I know you’re not supposed to say anything bad about the dead; however, when Rush Limbaugh and Pat Robertson died, I broke decorum, and with Anita Bryant’s death I shall do the same. When I heard that she died, all I could think about was that Satan himself greeted her with a pie in the face upon her entrance to hell.

Bryant was once celebrated as a singer and beauty queen, but those of us who are old enough remember her, nightmarishly, as a vehement anti-LGBTQ+ activist in the 1970s. She went on a horrible antigay crusade that inflicted significant harm on countless people and left an indelible stain on her legacy. 

I’m being nice. She had no legacy other than as someone who espoused and preached hate. That is all she will be remembered for.

Bryant first gained national attention as a pop singer and the 1958 Miss Oklahoma, later becoming a spokesperson for the Florida Citrus Commission. I can vividly recall her hawking orange juice on television. She and that juice were a ubiquitous presence, and then she and those oranges turned rotten. 

Her transition from entertainer to activist began in 1977 when she launched the “Save Our Children” campaign, and I know this from deep, dark memory. That was the year my father died, in January, and at 12 years old going on 13, I was starting to realize I was gay. And that was something that I thought was forbidden, partly because of Bryant.

Her initiative aimed to repeal a Miami-Dade County, Fla., ordinance that prohibited discrimination based on sexual orientation, making the county one of the first to enact such protections. 

Bryant’s campaign was steeped in inflammatory rhetoric, portraying LGBTQ+ people as threats to children and society. She asserted that the ordinance would lead to the “recruitment” of children into homosexuality, a baseless claim that fueled public fear and prejudice. 

As a kid who always watched the evening news — once a news junkie, always a news junkie — I remember how awful she made me feel. She was demonizing this evolving feeling and who I was, and that was something very bad. A priest’s abuse only compounded the situation. I kept wondering why this woman who drank orange juice was making me swallow something so ruinous.

The success of the “Save Our Children” campaign emboldened Bryant to take her crusade nationwide. That’s when she started appearing on the CBS News With Walter Cronkite — my preferred news program. She supported initiatives to prevent queer couples from adopting children and backed the Briggs Initiative in California, which sought to ban LGBTQ+ individuals from teaching in public schools. 

These efforts propagated harmful stereotypes and legitimized discrimination, leading to increased stigmatization and marginalization of LGBTQ+ communities across the United States. You have to know something about that time. There were no queer national leaders, no one to look up to; it was the antithesis of what we have today.

That’s why Bryant, who was a celebrity, was getting so much attention. It’s because she could, and since she came into your living room often, drinking all-American orange juice, most people felt comfortable with her venom. 

But courageous people began to step forward and fight back. Bryant’s activism made her a target for protest. A notable incident occurred on October 14, 1977, when gay rights activist Thom Higgins threw a pie in her face during a press conference in Des Moines, Iowa. This act of defiance became emblematic of the resistance against her oppressive agenda. 

I remember when that happened. She looked foolish, and I dare say that I wasn’t the only one who felt that way. It was as if Bryant was suddenly exposed. But the damage had already been done.

Suddenly the sourpuss that was Bryant didn’t squeeze in with the sweetness of orange juice.

The repercussions of Bryant’s actions were profound. Her campaigns not only rolled back legal protections for LGBTQ+ individuals but also perpetuated a climate of fear and hostility. Many LGBTQ+ people faced increased discrimination, harassment, and violence as a result of the prejudices she espoused. The psychological toll was immense, contributing to feelings of isolation and despair within the community.

And that included a teenage boy from Pittsburgh.

In the years following her anti-LGBTQ+ crusade, Bryant’s personal and professional life suffered significantly. Her marriage ended in divorce in 1980, a development that led to her being shunned by the same Christian fundamentalist audiences that once supported her. 

Then it seemed all her hate started to backfire on her. Financial difficulties ensued, with failed business ventures and bankruptcies marking her later years. She attempted to revive her career through various means, including opening Anita Bryant’s Music Mansion in Branson, Mo., but these efforts were largely unsuccessful. 

In other words, she sucked all of the juice out of her orange with her despicable words and actions.

Adding a layer of personal irony to her legacy, Bryant’s granddaughter Sarah Green came out as gay and announced her intention to marry her same-sex partner. When I heard about that, my oh my, did I have a good laugh. Talk about getting hit with a pie in the face!

Her story, at its core, is a cautionary tale about the perils of bigotry. Her relentless campaigns against LGBTQ+ rights inflicted widespread harm, fostering an environment of discrimination and fear. And her rabid outspokenness was what people remember, not the orange juice.

It’s funny, but there was a time early in my life when I stopped drinking orange juice. In fact, the last time I did was maybe 30 years ago, when I went to an orange grove in Florida. You picked oranges from the trees and then made them into fresh squeezed orange juice.

I instantly turned it into a screwdriver to make it more palatable. So Anita, good riddance, and good luck finding an orange tree in hell.

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