I didn't meet an openly gay person — at least, one of my generation — until my freshman year at UC Irvine. The resident advisor for my dorm announced casually to her group during welcome week that she was a member of the campus group Irvine Queers, and that pretty much ended the topic, as I never heard anyone bring up her sexuality for the rest of the year.
She was a terrific resident advisor, which may have been why people left her alone. But having lived through a decade of public school, where "That's so gay" was the most popular insult, and even effeminate boys insisted that they were straight, I found myself amazed at how unassumingly she fit into the group. No slurs tacked on her door, no obtrusive questions, no girls (or boys) tensing up when she walked into the room. Perhaps, with a woman living under the roof who didn't flaunt her sexuality but wasn't ashamed of it, gay jokes seemed like a waste of energy.