This well-known Facebook page serves as a gateway to New York City's gay history from the 1970s and '80s.

 The posts on this virtual time machine include memories of iconic clubs like Studio 54 and tributes to those lost during the early days of the AIDS crisis.

Feb. 10, 2025, 1:55 AM GMT+6

For a vivid journey into LGBTQ history, forget time machines—Facebook’s rapidly growing group, Gay New York 1970s and 80s, serves as a virtual portal, guiding tens of thousands back to an era many never experienced while fostering a thriving online community for the future.The group’s posts, regularly garnering thousands of likes, range from firsthand accounts of legendary clubs like Studio 54 and The Saint to heartfelt reminiscences of first apartments, first loves, and the profound losses of the AIDS epidemic. This diverse collection of memories preserves the past while bringing it to life through Fire Island home videos, vintage Pride photos, DJ playlists, and even gay bar matchbook collections. But its 44,000-plus members don’t just look back—they engage in conversations about the joy of the post-Stonewall years as well as the hardships of the 1980s AIDS crisis.“I’m just blown away,” said Michael Hawke, 68, astonished by the page’s immense popularity and the passion of its members. “It’s amazing how much this group means to people.”Born and raised in Richmond, Virginia, Hawke moved to New York City in 1976 at the age of 21 to pursue modeling and acting. He has shared his own experiences, including a Christopher Street encounter with Marsha P. Johnson, his time as a stripper at The Show Palace Theater, and tales of the city’s nightlife. But he also posts about heartbreak, addiction, and the profound loss he experienced, particularly in the 1980s.“New York was beloved to me—it was my Oz,” Hawke said, reflecting on his transformative 17 years in the city.The origins of his Facebook group trace back to 2020, when, in lockdown at his home in Richmond, he sifted through old boxes of journals, black-and-white photos, and memorabilia, including an invitation to Studio 54’s opening. The flood of memories inspired him to write.“I was looking at these pieces of paper and modeling pictures of my 22-year-old self on the city’s streets,” he recalled. “And it just made me want to start writing.”Initially intending to write a memoir, friends encouraged him to share his stories online. He created a private Facebook group, “Michael’s Story,” posting twice a week about NYC’s gay heyday. The experience was life-changing.“Writing about that era helped me process a lot of loss,” Hawke said. “I thought, ‘Maybe this can help someone else.’”In June 2023, he launched a new, broader group, inviting others to share their own LGBTQ memories of 1970s and 1980s New York. Initially, a few hundred members joined, creating a safe space to reminisce and reconnect. But in April 2023, the group’s popularity soared after being featured on LGBTQ sites like Boy Culture and Kenneth in the 212. Unlike the usual internet rule of avoiding comment sections, Hawke found the feedback overwhelmingly positive, fostering heartfelt discussions and real community connections.As the group expanded, it attracted younger followers, many of whom hadn’t lived through that era—or weren’t even born yet. Their curiosity sparked new discussions, bridging generational gaps.Paul Boudreaux, 38, from Brooklyn, fascinated by NYC’s LGBTQ history, joined the group on a friend’s recommendation. After posting a photo of his Eartha Kitt concert poster from the 1980s, he was met with an unexpected response.“All these people commented, saying they were there, recalling the songs she performed and the atmosphere,” he said. “Their stories made me feel like I was there.”Some of the most powerful posts come from those seeking information about loved ones lost to AIDS. Noel Arce, 37, who was adopted by a gay couple in NYC before losing both fathers to AIDS at age seven, posted a family photo last summer. The response was overwhelming—over 1,000 likes and 100 comments. One commenter, who had worked with his father, even sent him a photo of himself as a toddler with his dad. But what touched him most were the supportive messages.“They were saying, ‘Thank you for sharing. That’s very brave of you,’” Arce said. “It keeps my dads’ story alive and informs people about what was happening then.”Similarly, Ann Humbach, 64, posted a picture of the biological father she never knew, who died of AIDS in 1984. Though she didn’t uncover new information, she found something even more meaningful in the outpouring of kindness from group members.“It’s like getting hugs from strangers who genuinely care,” she said. Now, she returns the kindness by offering virtual hugs to others. “It’s a connection you don’t find in many places.”For Hawke, the group has evolved into a place of healing, connection, and purpose. He spends hours daily managing posts, ensuring discussions remain on topic and respectful. He is also working on a book and documentary about the group’s impact.He attributes its success to principles he learned in Alcoholics Anonymous since getting sober in 1988: avoiding divisive topics like politics and focusing on community service. What surprises him most is the enthusiasm of young members who are not just passive observers but actively engaging and learning.“Today, people relate through technology,” Hawke said. “But back then, you had to connect in person. You had to get dressed up and go out to meet people.”As a young man, Hawke thought his legacy would be in acting. Now, he sees it differently. His life’s work is simply his life—telling stories of a remarkable era and inspiring others to share theirs, ensuring LGBTQ history is not forgotten.“This is what I’d like to be remembered for,” he said. “It’s brought people together and added something unexpected to their lives.”