He was preparing to have a sex-change operation. He was to be called Susan, no
longer Steve. True to his bureaucratic temperament, he drafted an eight-page
transition plan.
Then came questions from a local newspaper reporter.
What he hoped would be a low-key affair within city hall became national news.
His life and that of his family would never be the same. Not to mention the
lives of the some 76,000 residents just outside St. Petersburg.
Stanton thought that, besides his new name, little else would change in the
day-to-day operations of a city he had managed for 14 years.
What Stanton didn't know was that someone in his selected circle of confidants
leaked his plans to a reporter at The St. Petersburg Times.
The story first appeared Feb. 21 on the newspaper's Web site.
Soon after, all of Largo learned that their top bureaucrat was undergoing
hormone treatments and therapy in preparation for a sex-change operation.
Within hours, city hall was besieged by television cameras.
Stanton had not told his father, who lives in the small Panhandle city of
DeFuniak Springs, or his son, who was still in school.
He called his dad less than 20 minutes before a televised news conference that
day.
His reaction: "Stunned," Stanton said.
He waited until later that evening to call a family meeting with his wife,
Donna, who had known for years, and their son, Travis.
The story quickly spread far beyond Largo.
Stanton fielded calls from CNN, USA Today and The New York Times.
Most Largo city commissioners were aghast.
Faced with a barrage of calls and e-mails - many from the city's close-knit
religious community - they voted last week to fire Stanton, saying they doubted
his integrity and ability to lead the city and its 1,200 employees.
He's on paid leave until the termination, which requires a second commission
vote to become final.
"When people think of transsexuals, they typically think of people on shows
like Jerry Springer. It conjures up all kinds of scary images," said Stanton.
"I was never going to come in to work in a pink miniskirt and pumps."
At the city hall meeting last week, more than 400 people turned out, some
voicing their support while others passionately called for his immediate
ouster.
"I think he was unprepared for the magnitude of what has happened," said Largo
Mayor Pat Gerard, one of Stanton's most vocal allies and one of two commission
members to vote in his favor.
Since the vote, national advocacy groups have rallied around Stanton, holding
up his firing as a case for anti-discrimination laws intended to protect
transgendered people.
Largo itself remains polarized.
"If this had been Los Angeles or San Francisco, maybe it wouldn't have been a
big deal," said James Melton, a 35-year-old construction worker who supports
Stanton's firing.
Stanton himself got a mixed reaction. He got a pornographic greeting card, and
his car was pelted with eggs. He also got calls from well-wishers and bouquets
of flowers from anonymous supporters.
"There certainly was a rush to judgment," Stanton said of his firing. He's
still undecided about appealing the commission's decision.
None of the five commissioners who voted to remove Stanton from his
$140,000-a-year job responded to requests for comment.
Stanton, careful to keep his family out of the public eye, said his son has
taken the firestorm in stride.
The day after the news broke, Travis insisted on going to school.
Stanton has his share of vocal detractors.
Charlie Martin, senior pastor of the 6,000-member First Baptist Church of
Indian Rocks, said Stanton was infringing on the rights of his employees.
"To call him a her, when he's really a she, is trampling on our religious
convictions," he said. "I believe we are created in God's image."
Objections were not limited to those in the religious community, Martin said.
"You also had the good ol' redneck boys and Florida crackers, many of whom have
not darkened the doorstep of any church," Martin said. "They had a problem with
this, too."
For most of his life, Stanton said he tried to deny his true self - alternately
squirreling away a cache of women's clothing only to toss them in Dumpsters
every time a new chapter began in his life: graduating from the University of
Florida, changing jobs, getting married.
"I knew it was not good to be doing this if you aspired to have a career in
government," he said. "But the cycle would just begin again."
He met his wife in an aerobics class while he was working for a local
government in Kentucky. They fell in love; he looked forward to starting a
family.
About seven years after he married Donna, Stanton said he "felt that presence
reaching out."
He began reaching out in Internet chatrooms, minimizing his screen each time
his wife walked into the room. She thought he was having an affair.
At first, he told his wife he liked wearing women's clothing - not that he was
a man trapped in a woman's body.
She was supportive and even accompanied him to Ross Dress for Less to pick out
some casual wear.
But as he began venturing outside of their home, his wife began to worry about
his safety.
He began visiting cities like Orlando and Chicago on weekend trips, where he
dressed and acted as Susan - although he says his jaunts were relatively staid
affairs.
"I'm not a wild and crazy animal," said Stanton, who said he often traveled to
Jacksonville to attend the symphony, where he learned to get over the initial
discomfort of gentlemen buying him drinks at intermission.
He chose the name Susan because that was what his late mother would have named
him had he been a girl.
Stanton said he will live as Susan for a year, part of the medical protocol
required for people who consider a sex change operation - which is not covered
by insurance.
Stanton said he's not attracted to men and that he and his wife have no plans
to divorce. "But who knows what the future holds?"
His future relations with the city are also uncertain.
Stanton is being represented by the National Center for Lesbian Rights, which
has handled several groundbreaking cases involving transgendered people - but
said he is not certain he will sue and is holding out that the commission will
reverse their decision.
Meanwhile, the saga continues to unwind, with Largo residents dissecting each
new twist and disclosure. On Friday, Newsweek magazine reported that the
suspended city manager must now wear a sports bra when he runs, thanks to
shifting hormones.
"This is not a place where you can, like, stand out and people won't stare at
you," he said Chris Benoit, 19, standing near a large flashing billboard
advertising the local cultural center's upcoming tribute to John Denver.
The last thing to seize Largo's attention on such a grand scale, he said, was
when Largo High football star Dexter McCluster ran more than 2,000 yards in a
season, two years ago.
"And people thought that was a big deal," he said.
