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He knew he was being killed. The attack itself lasted perhaps a minute. He was aware of everything. I believe he was alive when they loaded him into the ambulance. I don't know if he was alive when they got to the hospital. But it is a terrible death. His death was not in vain. I'm in Jackson Heights, Queens, New York, a multicultural working-class neighborhood that became the epicenter of change in 1990, when a 29- year-old man named Julio Rivera was murdered in cold blood over the Fourth of July weekend for being gay. His death sparked a revolution, changing the approach to prosecuting hate crimes. For Inside Edition Digital, I'm Sal Bono, and this is tough New York.
This was the early 90s, and it was a completely different place, completely different. You know, there were a lot of crimes, from petty to serious, the situation fluctuated, but many neighborhoods really felt the effects of the crack epidemic Well, for the gay community, we were dealing with two related but distinct epidemics. Clearly, HIV was devastating our community And anti-LGBT crime was skyrocketing Crime in New York City was generally on the rise, but for reasons I'm not sure we'll ever understand, crimes against gays and lesbians just skyrocketed. In the early 1990s, Bronx native Julio Rivera lived the life of a proud gay man.
He always followed music and fashion very closely. He was just the kind of guy who could find common ground with a lot of different people. Bartenders are like that, aren't they? Julio was a bartender. In 1980, Julio moved from his parents' house in the Bronx to Manhattan, but it didn't last long. So, he leaves Manhattan. Do you know why? Because gay people were attacked there, and he's moving to Queens. On July 2, 1990, Julio was at a bar where he met a man named Eric Brown, who offered him cocaine and a party. They went to an alcove near PS 69, which was a popular place for dating and drug use. While they were in the alcove, two
other men appeared. Julio was hit in the head with a beer bottle. He was then attacked with a hammer and wrench, and eventually stabbed to death. Julio's boyfriend, Alan, whom they met occasionally, was walking his dog when he heard that Julio had been attacked. Someone runs up to Alan and says, "They attacked Julio in the schoolyard." Julio is known to have said, "Someone hurt him. They are killing me. "They are killing me." He said it out loud, and then the boys ran away, the three of them, and people started coming to help him, and they ran up to Alan, "It's Julio.
He's covered in blood. He's in the schoolyard." Alan takes him in his arms. Goes to him, holds him, stays with him the whole time, gets in the ambulance with him, goes to the hospital, Elmhurst General, and he's there. He is not leaving. He is waiting. The phone rings, it's Alan. Alan Sack, and he says, "Peggy, sit down, please. I have some bad news." I really thought he was going to say that Julio had AIDS. It flashed through my mind. I didn't expect what he said. Alan says, "Peggy, when the doctor came out to tell me he didn't make it, he said he, he, he was covered in blood. From head to toe."
Seeing my friend mutilated and brutally, uh, I've never seen anything like this. That night, Julio was pronounced dead at the hospital. His death was initially called a failed drug deal. For Julio's family and the LGBTQIA+ community, it didn't make sense. In 1990, the police worked completely differently than they do today. They were quick to portray it as a failed drug deal, especially when cocaine was found in the victim's body after an autopsy. First, when they called us to say, well, you know, we need to call a relative and let them know, right? It was a day later. Like, it was n't even, probably, the day after July 4th. I think it was July 5th. And they said, "Oh, your brother is dead. He's dead."
That's what they told him. We, we had to call and tell you that your brother is dead. One weapon was found on the roof -a hammer. The key was never found. But again, from the wounds, it was determined that it was a pipe wrench, so Well, there was nothing in the forensic findings of the case that indicated a failed drug deal. And Julio might have used drugs, but he wasn't a dealer. Uh, the way drug dealers solve problems in their business, so to speak, doesn't involve using a hammer, a knife, you know, a gang of three young men attacking someone.
It was clear that the police just thought: oh, he's gay, so we don't care Secondly, we think he could have been a sex worker, so we really don't care And, uh, thirdly, he was Latino. This was a typical example of how the New York City Police Department ignored crimes against our community, especially against people of color. This is also a sign of homophobic, lesbophobic, or transphobic violence, which is called excessive cruelty. It's not just "I'm going to, you know, hurt you."
I'm going to maim you. This was another clear sign that this was not a failed drug deal. Matt Forman is the former chair of the New York Anti-Violence Project, a nonprofit organization created to eradicate hate-based violence, sexual harassment, stalking, and domestic violence in LGBTQIA+ communities and among people living with HIV. We first learned of this in early July 1990 when Alan Sack, Julio's former partner, approached us, told us what had happened, was upset by the police response, and asked, "What can we do?" So I met with a group of local activists in Jackson Heights, they talked about what happened, and it was incredibly obvious that this gay hate crime was going to be covered up again. And we couldn't let that happen.
While the family was organizing Julio's funeral, Jackson Heights residents held a prayer service for their murdered neighbor. They asked us to come to a candlelight vigil in Queens in memory of Julio. I replied that of course we would come. And we went to Queens. We didn't know what to expect. And then suddenly a train arrives, an elevated train to Jackson Heights. A crowd of people from Manhattan descend the stairs to join the prayer service, as do non-gay neighbors. People walking their dogs joined us.
It was a moment of awakening. We had few witnesses to the attack itself. But we had a community gripped by anger. And, in a way similar to the events at the Stonewall Inn in 1969, it was the spark that led to many positive changes in the LGBT community of Queens because of this terrible, heinous crime. What really made the situation worse was how obvious it was that the police were simply ignoring the facts and trying to cover up the case. It was one of those moments when you see something extremely clearly and can use one incident as a symbol of what was happening systematically and on a large scale.
Public pressure was mounting, demanding that the New York Police Department re-examine the case. Four months after Julio's death, in November 1990, three men were arrested. Danny Doyle and Eric Brown, 21, and Esat Beachy, 20, were from the Jackson Heights area. They were reportedly associated with the fringe gang DMS, which stood for Skinheads in Dr. Boots. Martens. I was surprised, as was everyone else, that they managed to apprehend all three of those who had planned evil that night. And the first thing they did was go to the railroad tracks and with their weapons-a wrench, a pipe wrench, and a hammer-they destroyed the
homeless man's makeshift shelter. They hoped he was inside. They would have killed him that night. "They wanted to kill someone"-these are the words Danny Doyle uses during his testimony. We went out to.we were going to finish someone off. So, they continued on their way and reached the schoolyard. And they came up with a plan to lure Julio onto the school grounds. Why? Because Julio, who was quite smart, would never go into the yard with three strangers. They had weapons with them, so the other two hid with them.
Brown approached Julio with a beer bottle, hit him in the head, and that's how the attack began. Danny Doyle had a knife. He strikes once. Apparently Julio bent over and he stuck the knife in his back. He even testified that it was like a knife in a watermelon. It punctured his lung. He must have choked on his own blood. The news of the arrest of these three men spread everywhere.
I was delighted. I was incredibly happy. It was as if there was finally hope for justice. So often, when it comes to crimes against minorities, justice simply does n't exist. Then, as now, get the police to respond, get to work, conduct a thorough investigation, make arrests, and then bring the case to a guilty verdict. This is something extraordinary. Danny Doyle, the son of a retired New York City police detective pleaded guilty to first-degree manslaughter in August 1991 and received the maximum sentence of 8 1/3 to 25 years in prison. Doyle agreed to testify against his friends, Bisha and Brown.
He stated under oath that they preyed on homosexuals, homeless people, or drug addicts. The news that Doyle is the son of a former police officer shocked the New York Police Department, and it still does to this day It's sad to realize that, you know, your own child, of course, could be involved in something as horrific as murder, like, you know, just a small, you know, small incident based on prejudice. But this, this, uh, you know, speaking as a father, I, you know, this is just amazing. In November 1991, Bishie and Brown were found guilty of second- degree murder and sentenced to life in prison. This was the first case in which someone was tried and convicted of a gay hate crime in New York State. This case marked a turning point in how
crimes like those committed against Julio Rivera would be investigated. The New York Police Department created the Bias Crimes Unit, which later became the Hate Crimes Unit. Marc Magron was once a deputy inspector of the Hate Crimes Task Force before he resigned in 2017. Although he did not work on Julio's case, it inspired him and he saw the changes that occurred after it. I believe that every officer who goes to a hate crime task force should study this case. I, of course, made sure everyone was aware of it, saw some of the methods used, and, most importantly, understood that it wasn't quite what it
seemed at first. You know, this, this was considered to be drug-related, drug addiction-related, some kind of murder, and this was clearly a bias-motivated incident Detective Jacob Habib, who worked under Magron, emphasizes the importance of Julio's case. As an officer, I want them to understand: don't be quick to judge someone because of their sexual orientation, religion, or skin color. You know, take the time to listen to them and properly investigate, you know, uh, any incident that they claim. And, um, just remember that any of these victims could be a member of your family, you know, and you have to treat that accordingly.
Another turning point in the case came when the convictions of Bish and Brown were overturned in 1995. A New York State appeals court ruled that a judge improperly questioned potential jurors about their sexual orientation in his office. In 1996, Brown pleaded guilty to first- degree manslaughter in exchange for a sentence of 5 to 15 years. He agreed to testify against Beachy. Beachy's family posted $350,000 bail for him, but he escaped, becoming a fugitive from justice. He was shot and killed in Tijuana, Mexico, in 2002 When Beachy was found dead in Mexico, what was your reaction? This was justice. Oh, we were very impressed. A terrible, terrible ending.
You know, on the run, I don't like that word, but, you know, away from family. It's really, you know, Sal, it's a tragic word, but it's justice. Yes, I felt that was fair. This is terrible. You probably shouldn't feel that way, you know. Uh, but that's how I feel. I, I have to say that it was justice. The tragedy of Julio Rivera helped create some of New York State's landmark hate crime laws. According to Article 485 of the Criminal Code, this must be an incident that occurs entirely or to a significant extent for motives related to the identity of
the victim. Their identity is race, religion, national origin, sexual orientation, uh, and so on. So, it must be motivated entirely or largely against their identity. Matt Foreman helped lobby for change in Albany with Julio's urn. His body was cremated. I thought it appropriate to take the ballot box for our lobbying efforts. The very idea that New York State couldn't stand up to this because they thought it was an endorsement of a "way of life." It was so terrible. And I really think having a physical representation of people on any issue, whether it's gun violence or cancer, and especially in this case anti-gay hate, was powerful.
And I really think that this helped to finally pass the bill. Julio Rivera is honored every year during the Queens Pride Parade. A street corner near the scene of the tragedy was also named in his honor Tragedies should not happen in silence. We need to use every tragedy to try to make change happen. And I really think that's what happened. However, we are still very, very far from our goal. It's great that Queens has a vibrant LGBT community now, Pride Parade and all that, but it's not. the situation right now for me, a person who came out 50 years ago, is extremely depressing. And many of the gains we have made are
now seriously winding down. We have come a long way, just not long enough. What would you like people to remember about Julio? His sense of humor, his creativity, his love of family, his, um, impulsiveness-he could have said to Alan, "Let's go to the beach." You know, he would go buy cold cuts, bread, drinks, and they would hit the road-that's who he was. "Let's do this. Let's do that. "Let's go dancing." Full of life. A wonderful, simply wonderful guy.
Everyone adored and loved him. Yes. Good. Wait. What's wrong with me? My God, he was handsome. He had a good heart. He is a martyr. He did not die in vain. I think he would be very, very grateful that his friends, loved ones, family didn't forget him If you or someone you love in the LGBTQ community has been threatened or feels unsafe, please visit the New York Anti-Violence Project at avp.org or call the 24-hour hotline at 212-714-1141.
