During her modest upbringing in the Southeast Los Angeles community of Bell Gardens, Lisa Middleton — the eldest of three born to an ironworker dad and stay-at-home mom — remembers one specific trip to the desert. “We took the tram when I was very young, in the ’60s, and that was neat,” she recalls. “My father did not like to attend anything that required him to have to pay for it. So, we got to do that only once. I didn’t grow up with all these Palm Springs memories of sitting by the pool.”
Never in her wildest dreams, then, did Middleton — the only one of dozens of relatives to pursue higher education —think she’d rise to become a history-making figure in Palm Springs, one lauded for her contributions to its people.
On Feb. 21, Middleton will add one more accolade to her brimming trophy case: At the 32nd Steve Chase Humanitarian Awards presented by Desert Care Network at the Palm Springs Convention Center, she will receive DAP Health’s Community Service Award.
“Lisa Middleton has given so much of herself to this community, with heart, integrity, and a deep commitment to making Palm Springs a place where everyone belongs,” says DAP Health Board Vice Chair and Gala Chair Kevin Bass. “Honoring her is our way of expressing gratitude for the countless ways she’s lifted us all.”
As we sit in the Bass-Bloesser Boardroom at DAP Health in Palm Springs on a sunny fall morning, I ask Middleton, 73, what this tribute means. “It is an expression of respect from DAP Health for the work I’ve done in this community,” she says. “And that expression of respect is humbling. DAP Health — its mission, history, and people — represent the very best of Palm Springs.”
The Youth of a Misfit
Middleton says she felt different growing up. “My parents were evangelical Pentecostal Christians, and life revolved completely around that,” recalls Middleton of her early years. “And it didn’t work for me.”
She sought refuge with three of her grandparents. “They had very similar backgrounds, with both families coming out of Oklahoma, but between my four grandparents, there was not 12 years of formal education,” she says, pointing out that her maternal grandfather died when she was 7. “I spent a lot of summers in their homes. I just loved being around them. They put up with me.”
Not that Middleton was a difficult child or teen. She simply stuck out. “I remember watching the silly 1960s TV programs where there were attorneys and professionals and the like,” she remembers. “That was such a completely different existence from what I saw.”
Middleton wanted to go to law school but couldn’t afford it. So she studied political science at UCLA, got married after graduation, and had two children. She also landed a good job with the State Compensation Insurance Fund in Los Angeles.
“The plan was to work for two or three years, get some money, then go on to law school,” she says. “But I got promoted — and promoted again. I was clearly someone they liked. I got the opportunity to attend USC’s School of Public Administration and got my master’s.”
For decades, Middleton focused on her career to avoid coming to terms with her gender dysphoria. “I was not the first nor the last person to try to find a substitute for living authentically,” she says now.
Coming Out
“I did not want to die by suicide, but there was no will to live, there was no joy from anything,” Middleton says about the years before she came out. “Everyone’s process is different, but we all have one fundamental aspect in common. At some point in time, you must accept yourself and publicly declare who you are.”
Middleton began living dual lives in 1992. “I was at work and with my children in one gender, and every other minute, in another. I ultimately came out in 1995.”
She was still at the Insurance Fund, now working at its San Francisco headquarters. A recent study had revealed 75% of the city’s transgender residents were unemployed. The vast majority of those who made money were sex workers. Middleton counted her blessings.
“It was made clear I was going to be accepted at work,” she says. “It was the kind of acceptance one hopes to get from leadership. But I had been promoted a half-dozen times during the previous 10 years and was not promoted again for another dozen years after coming out. I respect the organization and appreciate how fortunate I was in comparison to others, but to say there were no issues would be not accurate.”
Rediscovering Palm Springs
By 2000, Middleton had met her wife, Cheryl, whom she wed in 2013. They came to Palm Springs annually to celebrate their anniversary, and by 2009, the couple knew they’d retire in the desert, doing so a year later. But “retire” is a relative term for Middleton.
To meet fellow community members, she immediately joined various boards and societies. By 2014, she’d been appointed to the Palm Springs Planning Commission. It was about this time she got to know Geoff Kors and his husband, James Williamson.
“When Geoff ran for City Council in 2015, I went to work on his campaign,” she says. “It was a great opportunity to work for somebody I adore, and thought would just be an outstanding City Council member. In the course of that campaign, people started approaching me about running, too. I remember walking into the kind of room political people walk into. I looked around and realized I did not know the name of at least half the people. And I needed to if I was going to be an effective candidate.”
By 2017, Middleton was well-acquainted and ready, becoming the first openly transgender person in California history to be elected to political office. In 2022, she became only the third trans person ever to serve as mayor of an American city.
“My gay agenda in Palm Springs was public safety, a growing economy, emergency management, a high quality of life for our residents, and paved streets,” she says. “Government has core responsibilities it’s supposed to be good at and get done for anyone, regardless of what their views are on this or that political issue. I enjoyed being part of those who carried out that mission, and I got to do it in a place like Palm Springs.”
Steadfast Service
Middleton’s list of contributions is as far-reaching as it is legendary. With a short break, she has served as a governor’s appointee on the Board of Administration of the California Public Employees’ Retirement System (CalPERS) — which provides pensions to over 2 million Californians, and health benefits to 1.5 million more — since April 2019.
She has also served as a member of the League of California Cities’ board of directors and as a Cal Cities vice president.
She currently serves on the boards of The Campaign School at Yale University, the Equality California Institute, USC’s Lambda LGBTQ+ Alumni Association, and the Boys & Girls Club of Palm Springs. Prior board tenures include Lyon-Martin Women’s Health Services, Desert Horticulture Society, Neighborhoods USA, and The LGBTQ Community Center of the Desert, where in 2014 she served as interim executive director.
Middleton knows that what she’s accomplished in Palm Springs, she could have done in a thousand other U.S. cities. But would any have given her the opportunity? Despite her competencies, compassion, and commitment, she believes, they would probably have said, “Thanks, but no thanks. We’re good.”
“And they would have smiled when they said it,” Middleton surmises. “I’ve not met anyone in the LGBTQ community who does not have at least one story to tell — and usually, many more — about their realization they’re being judged not by what they’ve done and can do, but by who they are. That feeling of being judged by who I am — what I am — never goes away.”
But Middleton is certain that in the desert, she’s found home. For good. “Palm Springs is an incredible community,” she maintains. “There are people you can trust who will have your back. We are a community of respect, opportunity, and service. Steve Chase and the brave founders of DAP have left us both a legacy and a responsibility.”
