Plans for the [September 14, 1989] Wall Street demonstration against the price of [important early AIDS drug] AZT were advancing, and were not undermined by the pending release of ddI, a direct competitor. On the contrary, it was more important to the activists to keep pressure on [AZT’s manufacturer] Burroughs Wellcome so that Bristol-Myers would not feel encouraged to price its own drug out of reach. Activists formed into affinity groups and made independent plans for actions within the demonstration. Peter Staley and [ACT UP affinity group] the Power Tools wanted to make a spectacular impact on Burroughs Wellcome. The idea to infiltrate the New York Stock Exchange was Staley’s, and once details were worked out it included a plan for a small group in “executive drag” to enter the Exchange on the corner of Wall Street and Broadway and chain themselves inside.
In the weeks leading up to the event, Staley scouted the building with two other men, both of them HIV negative—Charlie Franchino, a chiropractor, and Robert Hilferty, a writer and filmmaker. They posed as tourists with a video camera. Back home they studied Hilferty’s footage. Each of the traders they encountered wore a pocket badge, which the guard at the door scrutinized only glancingly. Hilferty zoomed in on several badges. They were plastic-coated white tags, about three-by-five inches, and contained the name of the firm along with a series of large, bold numbers. Franchino knew a place that would copy them exactly. They decided to masquerade as traders from Bear Stearns, because that firm seemed to have the greatest representation on the floor.
[…]
On the morning of the Wall Street demonstration, the guards were jittery. Leaflets and news accounts predicted the noontime arrival of a thousand ACT UP protesters. Staley and his affinity group members slipped inside the Exchange with the morning crowds. The opening bell was set to sound at 9:30 am. At 9:20, five of them climbed to the balcony, locked a chain to the balustrade, and handcuffed themselves to the chain: Staley, McGrath, and Arsenault from the Power Tools, and filmmakers Scott Robbe and Gregg Bordowitz. No one had yet noticed them up there. When Staley saw the electronic clock read 9:29:45, he signaled to the others to unfurl their banner. It said, “Sell Wellcome,” using the Wall Street shorthand. Then they pulled portable marine foghorns from their pockets and pointed them in the air. For Staley this action had deep personal meaning—payback after having endured the homophobia of the trading desk for so many years. He gave the signal.
The noise was deafening. At the same time, they pulled big stacks of fake money from their pockets—in homage to Abbie Hoffman, who had protested the Vietnam War inside this building years earlier—and threw them into the air. The slogan printed on the bills bypassed diplomacy: “We die while you make money. Fuck your profiteering.”
Once the traders realized what was happening and why, they exploded in outrage. They surged angrily toward the balcony’s staircase. Pens and other projectiles sailed through the air accompanied by cries of “mace the faggots” and worse. In the confusion, nobody realized the opening bell had sounded, and trading was delayed by many minutes, the first time in the 197-year history of the Exchange.
Down below, the two remaining protesters—Hilferty and Richard Elovich, a former IV-drug user—snapped a few photographs and hastily retreated toward the door, sprinting the last several yards after someone bellowed, “Who the fuck are you!” and twisted-faced traders lit out after them. When they were blocks away, the photographers passed their film to designated runners who headed straight for the AP offices to have the images developed and copied for the wire. Police took their time extracting the five from their chains. They dragged them out of the Exchange and into the thunderous applause of fellow activists. As Staley stepped onto the running board of the police department van, he allowed his eyes to turn toward the windows of the old J. P. Morgan trading floor. He pictured his former colleagues pressed against the glass, and smiled.
When lunchtime came, nearly 1,500 other ACT UP protesters descended on Wall Street, likewise armed with air horns and placards and banners decrying the cost of AZT. Their angry voices echoed through the narrow canyons into repetitive, blurred cries: “How many more must die? How many more must die?”
That same day, ACT UP chapters staged satellite demonstrations in London, where Burroughs Wellcome’s parent company was based, and in San Francisco, where the company’s major U.S. warehouse was located. Papers throughout the world carried news of their feat, following The Wall Street Journal, which played the story above the fold. Only the Times, continuing its aggressive stance against covering gay news, let the historic event go unmentioned in the morning papers. The following Monday, admitting to being pinioned by protesters, Burroughs Wellcome slashed the price of AZT for a second time, finally reaching the price range demanded by ACT UP. It took another seven months for the criminal trespass case to come to a head. A judge, ruling that the defendants had acted “in the interests of justice,” dismissed all charges.
