L. Thomas Magnum Jr., a lifelong D.C. resident, widely recognized and acclaimed advocate for people with disabilities, and LGBTQ rights activist involved in the city’s Capital Pride events, died Sept. 17 from complications related to stomach cancer. He was 61. 

A statement released by Project ACTION!, a local disability advocacy organization for which Mangrum served for 15 years as co-president, says he worked for more than 20 years for the D.C.-based Maurice Electric Supply company before retiring in 2002 and devoting his efforts to disability-related projects and programs.

Phylis Holton, an official with the D.C. organization Quality Trust For Individuals With Disabilities and a longtime friend of Mangrum, said as a person with a developmental disability Mangrum devoted his life to supporting others with all forms of disabilities. She said that due to a separate spinal condition, Mangrum used a wheelchair for about 15 years prior to his passing.

Holton said Mangrum had a mild form of developmental disability, which the U.S. Centers for Disease Control and Prevention describes as “a group of conditions due to an impairment in physical, learning, language or behavior areas” that usually develops before a child is born during pregnancy.

Holton said Mangrum was an active member of Project ACTION! for 15 years prior to the 15 years he served as the organization’s co-president.

“He traveled nationally and presented at conferences, was featured on webinars and podcasts on a variety of topics related to self-advocacy, accessibility, equality, and more,” Holton told the Washington Blade in a statement.

“He shared his lived experience of being a Black man with a disability, and being gay, and how it impacted how he was treated in the community,” Holton said. “He was a strong advocate and co-facilitated trainings for independent advocacy organizations that Thomas supported and was a key advocate in their advocacy work,” she said.

Holton added, “He would answer a late request to train a group of attorneys, present at a meeting or testify before City Council or meet with an advocacy group to advance pending legislation that impacted people with disabilities.”

She said Mangrum also enjoyed participating in LGBTQ Pride events and last year traveled to the New York Pride events. According to Holton, he looked forward to participating in WorldPride 2025 events earlier this year in D.C. “but his illness prevented him from doing so.”

In a statement announcing Mangrum’s passing, Capital Pride Alliance, the group that organizes D.C.’s annual LGBTQ Pride events and served as the lead organizer of WorldPride 2025 in D.C., called Mangrum a “cherished volunteer” for D.C. Pride events.

June Crenshaw, the Capital Pride Alliance Deputy Director, said Mangrum served as a volunteer for D.C.’s LGBTQ Pride events “for many years” and was involved in many of the planning activities for WorldPride before his illness prevented him from participating in WorldPride earlier this year.

“He certainly in my interaction with him made me very aware of making sure that Capital Pride was thinking about accessibility always, and making sure that we had a welcoming, affirming accessible space for participants and staff with disabilities,” Crenshaw said.

In its statement on Mangrum’s career and accomplishments in life, Project ACTION! says he helped to advance the needs of people with disabilities through service on many boards and commissions. Among them were Lifeline Partnership, the D.C. Developmental Disabilities Council, the D.C. Center for Independent Living, the Washington Metropolitan Area Transportation Authority’s Accountability Advisory Committee, “and many more.”

“His leadership, passion, and unwavering commitment to equity and inclusion made a lasting impact on all who had the privilege to know and work alongside him,” the statement says.

It adds, “Thomas showed us the power of perseverance, courage, and the importance of standing together. His spirit will continue to guide us and strengthen our community for generations to come.”

A funeral for Mangrum was scheduled for Oct. 9, at D.C.’s Westminster Presbyterian Church at 400 I Street, S.W., with a viewing at 10 a.m. followed by a program at 11 a.m. A burial was scheduled to take place that same day at Heritage Memorial Cemetery at 13472 Poplar Hill Road in Waldorf, Md.

Holton said in lieu of flowers, donations may be made to Project ACTION! for a Celebration of Life and advocacy scholarship in Mangrum’s name. A date and location for the Celebration of Life for Mangrum was to be announced later, according to Project ACTION!

Susan Xenarios, LCSW, a visionary and dynamic leader of New York’s crime victim movement for 50 years and a courageous ally of the LGBTQ community, died on Sept. 6 in Manhattan. She was 79.

In 1974, an assailant held a knife to Ms. Xenarios’s throat and raped her on a rooftop in Upper Manhattan. At a time when few sexual assault victims spoke out, she began a lifelong, public campaign to improve the care and treatment of survivors and to reform laws and police procedures. Along with her high-profile advocacy, she never stopped counseling individual survivors of crime, pioneering breakthrough therapeutic interventions.

Ms. Xenarios led the creation of New York’s first program to provide assistance to survivors of sexual assault, the state’s first clinical program for male survivors, and the New York Sexual Assault Forensic Examiner (SAFE) Program, which ensures survivor-centered emergency room protocols, including evidence collection. She served as executive director of the Crime Victims Treatment Center in New York City for 40 years (1977 -2017).

Ms. Xenarios also was a driving force behind several state laws to advance the rights of crime survivors, including a 1993 law protecting the confidentiality of rape crisis center communications, the Hate Crimes Act 2000, which included enhanced penalties for hate-motivated crimes, including anti-LGBTQ assaults, and the 2015 “Enough is Enough” law, one of the first laws in the nation to require all colleges to adopt a set of comprehensive procedures for addressing sexual violence on campuses.

“Susan was a force of nature, a mentor, an extraordinary ally to the LGBT community, and a dear friend,” said Bea Hanson, director of the New York State Office of Victim Services, principal deputy director of the federal Office on Violence Against Women during President Barack Obama’s administration (2011-2017), and director of client services of the New York City Gay and Lesbian Anti-Violence Project (1991-1997). “She was a leader in advocating for the rights of sexual assault survivors and all crime victims. She spoke truth to power with a smile on her face and love in her heart. She will be missed.”

“Susan was the greatest champion and friend of LGBT victims of crime there ever was or ever will be,” said Matt Foreman, former executive director of the NYC Gay and Lesbian Anti-Violence Project (1990-1996) and the Empire State Pride Agenda (1996-2003). “She was one of the first to recognize the prevalence of sexual assault against men and she created the first program to help male survivors. When there was enormous pressure to pass a hate crimes law that did not include anti-LGBT offenses, she made sure the larger movement did not abandon us. She understood the harmful effects of having terms like ‘sodomy’ and ‘deviate sexual intercourse’ in New York State law and led the successful drive to purge them from the books. She was so genuinely warm and supportive, I was shocked when I learned that she wasn’t a lesbian.”

A memorial service will be held on Saturday, Sept. 20, at 11 a.m. at West End Collegiate Church, 245 W. 77th St. in Manhattan.

By AJ SLOAN FOR THE LOS ANGELES BLADE | Wallis Annenberg, who passed away shortly after her 86th birthday on July 28, left behind a legacy that few philanthropists of any era could hope to match. A passionate leader, cultural patron, and unapologetically generous force in Los Angeles, she spent her life championing creativity, compassion, and community. But what often went unsaid, sometimes politely ignored, was that Wallis was also a queer pioneer. In a world that didn’t always make room for women like her, she quietly yet courageously carved out space not just for herself, but for others on the margins, channeling her power and privilege into building a more inclusive world.

Born into one of America’s most influential media families, Wallis Annenberg was raised in Philadelphia with ink practically in her veins. Her father, Walter Annenberg, founded “TV Guide” and “Seventeen,” and built a philanthropic legacy as prominent as his publishing empire. After graduating from Pine Manor College in 1959, Wallis dipped a toe into the family business at “TV Guide” before eventually diving headfirst into the deeper waters of philanthropy. It wasn’t until her father’s death in 2002 that she properly took the reins, steering the Annenberg Foundation into its most impactful era as president and CEO from 2009 until her passing.

Under her leadership, the foundation funneled a staggering $1.5 billion into a wildly diverse portfolio of causes, from arts and culture to environmental conservation, journalism to gerontology, and yes, even animal overpasses. Her imprint on Los Angeles is practically architectural — the Wallis Annenberg Center for the Performing Arts, GenSpace in Koreatown, PetSpace for animal lovers, the ambitious Wildlife Crossing set to open in 2026, and the science-sparking Annenberg Building at the California Science Center. Her boardroom resume reads like a cultural tour of LA and then some — USC, LACMA, MOCA, the Philharmonic, the Music Center, and Harlem Children’s Zone, to name just a few. In 2022, President Joe Biden awarded her the National Humanities Medal, sealing her place in history as part of the only three-generation family to earn such a distinction, further proof that giving back wasn’t just in the Annenberg bloodline but a full-fledged dynasty.

Most obituaries have captured her vast philanthropic footprint, her roles in the public sphere, and her institutional endowments quite accurately yet have almost entirely glossed over or minimized a central truth: Wallis Annenberg lived as a lesbian woman, and openly supported LGBTQ and HIV/AIDS causes with strategically courageous generosity.

To fully and properly honor Wallis is to acknowledge not only her generational wealth and philanthropic vision but also her very much so queer identity: a lesbian woman whose visibility was moderately limited by her time and place yet meaningful when and where it counted. Her sexuality and identity shaped her empathy toward marginalized people. 

Ignoring that part of her story perpetuates the ever-constant sanitization of queer public figures, simplifying them into neutered benefactors while erasing the very identity that informed the bulk of their charitable giving. Wallis’s lived experience as a lesbian deserves proper and public acknowledgment not merely as a footnote but as integral to her philanthropy, her community care, and her story — a story layered with courage, complexity, and an undertone of quiet and careful defiance.

Wallis faced addiction head-on, and the recovery journey didn’t just save her — it connected her to journalist Karen Ocamb, who became to Wallis a close companion and confidante. Wallis didn’t shy away from vulnerability and fueled that same vulnerable energy into generosity, building a philanthropic approach shaped by her experience rather than detachment. 

Among the many tributes after her passing, it was only Ocamb who celebrated and honored Wallis’ sexuality with clarity and care. In her heartfelt Substack tribute, Ocamb wrote, “Wallis never came out — but she lived out loud, fiercely loving women and channeling her passion into transformative giving.”

Back in 1985, when AIDS was still drenched in stigma and so many people, including health professionals, kept their distance, Wallis stepped forward to co-chair the Commitment to Life dinner. That decision was in no way a headline grab but most certainly was a risk on her part for the time. In a day and age when silence was safest when protecting one’s reputation, Wallis chose to speak out through action. Her courage didn’t need a spotlight. It simply showed up where it mattered most.

Navigating public life came with its own choreography. Wallis maintained what some might call “strategic privacy,” presenting a heteronormative front in certain circles while sharing her life, deeply and authentically, with women in more trusted spaces. It wasn’t about hiding but surviving the era she lived in, and, like so many others, choosing when and how to live freely.

Wallis brought that same intentional care to her philanthropy. While major media celebrated her support for the arts, education, and conservation, far less attention was paid to her contributions to LGBTQ elder communities. Initiatives like Gay and Lesbian Elder Housing made a genuine, tangible difference in people’s lives, even if her name wasn’t always highlighted in the coverage.

And through it all, there was Kris Levine, Wallis’s steadfast partner, legally acknowledged near the end of Wallis’s life but largely absent from obituaries. Their relationship, though rarely publicized, was integral. It stood as one more example of how much of Wallis’s real story lived just beneath the surface.

Wallis reshaped what philanthropy could look like. Her leadership turned the Annenberg Foundation toward place-based investments, inclusive community programs, aging and wellness initiatives, and bold infrastructure like GenSpace and the Wallis Center. Her vision made space not just for ideas, but for people too often overlooked. Her presence sent a message, whether spoken or not, that queer women, especially those of her generation, have always helped shape the culture, even when they weren’t given a slot up at the mic. 

Wallis Annenberg leaves behind more than just her sprawling physical legacy. She also leaves us with a moral legacy grounded in generosity extended to communities she truly and deeply cared for, in particular the queer community that she was very much so part of. Let us all remember Wallis not only as a philanthropist, but as a queer woman whose identity was at the epicenter of her compassion. Let this tribute stand as an acknowledgment that she was more than her institutions. She was human, nuanced, hidden, and honest. And let it serve as an invitation to future remembrances. I more than dare you to include the truth of sexuality, the courage of love, and the quiet acts of resistance that defined her.

Wallis Annenberg, may your spirit continue to guide all communities — arts, aging, wildlife, and LGBTQ — toward a world that you helped shape for the better. Your gifts were vast. Your love was real. And your full story deserves telling.