By Benjamin Groff II Groff Media © Truth Endures July 1, 2026
[Information for portions of this report was found at LGBTQ NATION. Providing an undeniable and outstanding service to the LGBTQI+ Community!]
July is when the music has stopped, the flags are folded away, and we ask: Who carried us here?
That is where Gregory Marks comes in.
June has ended.
The parades have passed.
The rainbow flags that fluttered in storefront windows and along city streets are being folded and stored away until next year.
And that is exactly why I wanted to write about Gregory Marks.
Because some people do their greatest work when the crowds have gone home.
Gregory Marks spent decades singing with and alongside members of the LGBTQ community, helping people endure grief that many outside the community never witnessed. He was there when AIDS was stealing friends, lovers, brothers, and sons. He was there when funerals came too often and hope seemed in short supply. Music became his ministry. His voice became a refuge.
He was part of a generation that understood something profound:
Sometimes people cannot speak their grief.
But they can sing it.
The LGBTQ movement has always had its celebrated leaders. We know the names of activists who marched, politicians who legislated, and pioneers who challenged unjust laws.
But there are also people like Gregory Marks.
The caretakers.
The listeners.
The singers.
The ones who sat beside hospital beds.
The ones who attended memorials when families would not.
The ones who stood shoulder to shoulder with a hurting community and quietly said:
“You are not alone.”
The history of LGBTQ choirs and musical organizations is deeply intertwined with survival. Groups such as the San Francisco Gay Men’s Chorus became places where people could grieve together, celebrate together, and declare openly who they were in a world that often wished they would disappear. Music became protest. Music became healing. Music became hope.
That is Gregory Marks’ legacy.
Not merely the songs he sang.
But the people he helped carry through unbearable moments.
I think there is a lesson in that.
Pride Month is important.
The rainbow flag matters.
Celebration matters.
But perhaps what matters most is what happens on July 1st.
When the banners come down.
When the headlines move on.
When ordinary people continue doing extraordinary things for one another.
That is where love proves itself.
Not in the applause.
Not in the parade.
But in the quiet decision to stand beside another person and help them carry what feels too heavy to bear.
Gregory Marks did that.
And because he did, his song continues.
Long after the music ends.