no place like home
Description
We’re picking up right where we left off last historical episode, with John Eddy searching for a space for the Metropolitan Capitolites’ first bar. This episode will journey from the 70s to the 80s, where Queer visibility is increasing across the city. Featuring gays lining up in public to dance, lesbian bars with sticky floors, exclusive sound systems and large dance floors, Drag performances, and more, join us to learn about some of the District’s most iconic bars.
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Have a story to share? Think we missed something? Give us a call, and bare it all after the beep at 202-753-6570.
Special thanks to the Rainbow History Project, the DC Public Library, and the countless other academics and historians, whether featured in these episodes or not, who helped inspire and guide us through this process.
Audio editing by Madalyn Reagan
transcript
You can read a full transcript below or in pdf version. You can find a pdf version of the transcript with in-text citations here.
Text in italics and parentheses indicates ambient sound, sound effects, and music integrated into the podcast, unless noted otherwise.
(Motorcycle revs and speeds off)
JOHN EDDY: “I had a motorcycle, and I used to drive around looking for a location, and I lived right up the street. I lived on Anacostia Road, and I accidentally just drove into that parking lot.”
ABBY: John Eddy was looking for a place to start a bar with the Metropolitan Capitolites, a Black gay social clique, and he landed in the Fort Totten neighborhood, on Riggs Road Northeast. He walked onto the first floor of a white leather bar and negotiated with the owner, who unbeknownst to him was having financial trouble and who easily agreed to let him rent out the basement. They called the joint the Zodiac Den, and on their opening night the Capitolites didn’t know what to expect.
(Door opens and can hear people in conversation, then dance music starts to play in the background)
JOHN EDDY: “About an hour before we opened the door, we looked outside, and there was a line. So, we were flabbergasted. You know, where'd all these people come from? Well, this particular facility was off the beaten path, so nobody knew who was going and who was coming. And if you blink, you missed it. So, we opened up the first night with about 200 people.”
ABBY: There was no strict age limit or alcohol served, so the Zodiac Den served as a space for everyone, especially those in the Black gay community. It allowed folks, young and old, to party and dance together. A few years later, the Capitolites took over the first floor and the basement of the building and began calling themselves Third World. One key difference came with the expansion: the Third World became an inclusive space for gay women too.
JOHN EDDY: ”We decided to integrate, and we found a young lesbian in the community who knew all of the girls, so we invited her and had a meeting with her and told her to tell your clan, come on over here.”
(Dance music fades out)
ABBY: Third World quickly became an institution that the Queer community went to rain or shine.
(Storm with heavy wind and snow)
JOHN EDDY and JAY JAY in italics: “We said, nobody's coming out tonight. Let's close up. We were there, and we getting ready to close. And we went outside, and the parking lot was full of people waiting to get in. (Wow.)”
(Dance music starts playing in the background again)
JOHN EDDY: “And, so, we were shocked, you know, that all of these people come out in the snow, you know, six, seven inches of snow to have a good time.”
(Dance music fades out)
ABBY: As Black Queer people in D.C. found spaces to celebrate and connect, the broader Black community, especially in neighborhoods like Shaw, was grappling with long-standing neglect from both local and federal governments. With few resources coming in, it was often the Black church that stepped up to fill the financial gap. Dr. Greene, author of Not in My Gayborhood: Gay Neighborhoods and the Rise of the Vicarious Citizen, explained how this dynamic shaped Black Queer life in the city.
DR. GREENE: “The main institution that will support these communities will be the Black churches. And so, again, you see Black churches all over the Shaw neighborhood for quite a period of time. And, you know, it is the Black church, and respectability politics, that will always be a kind of an opponent to homosexuality, right? But then that, coupled with the Black Power movements that often saw homosexuality as a white disease that infected Black people, that again, you're going to see these attitudes change, and it will kind of create this effect that will force D.C. Black residents, Black Queer residents, in the closet to a certain extent. They'll become more insular and insulated.”
ABBY: The rise in homophobia within the Black community also coincided with the rise of Queer nightlife in Southeast…an area that would help Black Queer people, for maybe the first time, separate their home life from their Queer community.
DR. GREENE: “With the development of bars along O Street…people will, you know, create a greater distance between themselves and the communities that they live in.”
ABBY: The rise of Queer establishments in Southeast started at the same time that the nation began to see and feel the impacts of various social movements: the anti-war movement, the second-wave feminist movement, the continual fight for civil rights, the Red Power movement, and, of course, the gay rights movement. Being the nation's capital, the D.C. community naturally saw an influx of not just activism but activists moving into the city permanently. As Queer activist groups like the Mattachine Society of Washington, the Gay Activist Alliance, and The Furies formed, we also saw a plethora of Queer bars open all around the city.
Most bars that we’ve explored so far have been in either the downtown D.C. area, near Franklin Square Park and the White House, or around the U street and Shaw neighborhood. But now, in the late 60s early 70s, we get to travel to 8th Street Southeast, Barracks Row, Capitol Hill.
(Car drives down the street)
Over the course of 50 years, this street would host over 25 LGBTQ+ businesses and be known to the city as the “gay way.”
(Muffled electronic music in the background)
PAUL KUNTZLER: “I drove over to Eighth Street, and there was a long line of young gay men waiting to get in.”
ABBY: Paul Kuntzler, self-proclaimed second oldest gay activist in the U.S., is describing a night when he went to Plus One, the first openly gay-owned and gay dancing bar in D.C.
(Car tires screeching, police radio chatter in the background)
PAUL KUNTZLER: “All of a sudden, police cars from both direction descended here. Each car had four officers. They got out and walked towards the Plus One. But, nothing happened. I mean, the guys waiting said, ‘what's wrong, officer?’ You know, in early years, everybody would have run away. And they went back and tried it again. It didn't work, and they just went away.”
(Electronic music swells and then plays in the background no longer muffled)
ABBY: After opening in 1968, not only was this the first bar to break the unwritten rule against same sex dancing in businesses, but gay patrons lined up outside, publicly declaring that they were entering a gay bar. And, when provoked by police, the gays simply didn’t care. This was one year before Stonewall, in a city where you could still get fired from the federal government for suspicion of being a homosexual. I think the biggest lesson we can learn from this historic event is that nothing is gonna stop the gays from being able to dance.
(Electronic music fades out)
The success of Plus One also fostered the creation of one of D.C.’s most iconic Drag Queens.
(Soft, elegant music swells and then fades into the background)
ELLA FITZGERALD: “I went to the Plus One for a audition”
ABBY: Before Ella Fitzgerald, was the Drag Ella Fitzgerald, she was a young Donnell Robinson trying to find his footing in the D.C. Drag scene in the late 60s.
ELLA FITZGERALD: “I was still living at home at my grandparents’ in Warrington. Got in Drag in the car. I was driving a little 1973 Gremlin, that little ugly car. Drove to D.C. and went to the bar and told him that I wanted to be in the show.”
ABBY: That’s where Donnell met his first Drag Mother, Miss Brandy Dover, the Drag Mother headlining the show at Plus One.
ELLA FITZGERALD: “And Brandy was the first person that put pink eyeshadow on my lid, and that's all we had then. Everybody wore it. If you went in drag, you had to wear Super Frost Pink, and Brandy was the first one told me that you need to—’oh, keep still.’ [mimicks Brandy putting on eyeshadow] ”
ABBY: Ella, or how she describes herself at that time…
ELLA FITZGERALD: “This little, fat Black queen named Sharon O'Brien.”
ABBY: Was known for her comedy, which the owner at Plus One, often took advantage of.
ELLA FITZGERALD: “The owner put me in roller skates, and I didn't know how to roller skate and made me, pushed me out on the stage. And the more that I fell, the more they laughed.”
(Roller skates roll, then a thud from a fall, then people laughing)
ELLA FITZGERALD: “Then he named me the Black Fanny Bryce.”
ABBY: Little did she know, there was another Fanny Brice Drag Queen at the time, and she was the Vice President of the Academies. The Awards Club and The Oscars, once rival Drag clubs in D.C., combined in the late 60s and early 70s, creating The Academy of Washington, a prestigious Drag social and performance group. The Academy held weekly meetings for members and yearly pageants, like Miss Gay America, Miss Gay Universe, and the Oscars. Members and friends would often hang out at Club Louie’s, on 9th Street NW, on the third floor, which they called, The Oscar’s Eye. That’s where Ella, or at the time Fanny Brice, was introduced to Mother Mame Dennis, leader of The Academies in the 70s.
ELLA: “Mother Mame was down in the main bar, and Marlo introduced me to Mother Mame, [Ella mimicking Mame Dennis follows in italics] ‘Oh, I know who you are, darling. And if you're going to be in this group, you're going to have to change your name immediately. We have a Fanny Bryce.’
I was like, ‘Oh, yes, ma’am.’
She says ‘You can either be Ella Fitzgerald or Neil Carter.’ And Neil Carter was a short fat Black woman on Broadway at the time.
Me and my smart big mouth, I says, ‘I'll take Ella Fitzgerald for $2.’
‘Oh, you're a smart little thing, aren't you?’
‘I'm sorry,’ and that's how it started. The next Sunday was the function, and she introduced me to the Academy; ‘The first African American Drag daughter. This is Ella Fitzgerald, and she will be my daughter.’”
(Soft, elegant music fades out)
ABBY: As Ella began to make a name for herself all across the District, other Queer bars began to pop up near the Plus One, Ella’s first place of Drag employment. Between 1968 and 1978, six Queer bars opened on 8th Street Southeast, all within two blocks of each other.
(Car driving by)
The first exclusively lesbian bar in D.C., Jo’Anna’s, was also one of the first “gay way” establishments in 1968. It had a small dance floor and hosted women film festivals in the early ‘70s. (old film reel clicks and plays)
Their advertisement poster, archived by the Rainbow History Project, reads very mysteriously as.. “It’s New… It’s Different… Jo’Annas.”
(instrumental piano music with prominent drum line plays in the background)
ABBY: Jo-Annas was the place that Bob Rourke and his friend Ricky Drake started the Capital Metropolitan Rainbow Alliance of the Deaf, CMRA for short, a social and educational organization dedicated to uplifting and supporting the Deaf LGBTQ+ community.
In a recent conversation, Bob Rourke and Deaf Queer researcher, Dr. Klein, discussed the rich and often overlooked history of Deaf Queer life in D.C.
In her research, Dr. Klein discovered that bars like Jo-Anna’s were often extremely dimly lit, making it hard for Deaf patrons to communicate visually. To adapt, Bob and other Deaf Queer folks would gather near the only consistent light source available— the soft, artificial glow of a cigarette vending machine tucked in the corner.
(Switch flicks on, vending machine hums)
It was there, in that narrow pool of light, that Bob and Ricky huddled together and began laying the foundation of what would become D.C.’s first Deaf LGBTQ+ organization.
Jo-Annas did ultimately close in the late 70s. However, the closure of Jo’Anna’s didn’t make 8th Street void of sapphic spaces. In fact, Jo’Anna’s had competition!
(soft, romantic, electric guitar music plays in the background)
Phase One, a smaller, more intimate lesbian bar, opened up just down the block from Jo’Anna’s in 1971. Phase One would actually later become the longest running lesbian bar in the country, not closing until 2016.
DR.MORRIS: “There were about four of us, and we walked in, and it was very intimidating. You know, there's a dance floor the size of a postage stamp.”
ABBY: Dr. Bonnie Morris, a professor, poet, and author, went to American University in the 80s, and later taught at Georgetown and George Washington University for more than 20 years. She told me about her first time going to Phase One.
DR. MORRIS: “There was a huge bouncer at the door, and then there were two women at the next table passionately making out. And, I just couldn't stop staring at them.”
ABBY: At 19 years old, that was the first time Dr. Morris saw two women in love and kissing. It was also a first for other things as well…
DR. MORRIS: “There were women who were clearly interested in me, but who offered me drugs, and I didn't know what the hell was going on. I was offered poppers, but I didn't know what they were, and this woman was sort of leering. ‘I'd like to get to know you better, honey.’”
ABBY: While Dr. Morris remembers the Phase for the unabashed lesbian love, attraction, and personality proudly on display, June Thomas, author of “A Place of Our Own: Six Spaces that Shaped Queer Women’s Culture” and previous D.C. resident, thought first of…
JUNE THOMAS: “I just remember, like, that sticky floor, constantly sticky floor.”
(Crunchy footsteps, with shoes pulling up from a sticky floor)
ABBY: It’s not that June didn’t like The Phase, she just felt the lesbian community deserved more than a tiny bar with, as she said, sticky floors.
JUNE THOMAS: “It's easy to complain about places like the Phase because they were kind of skanky, I guess. (laughs) You know, don't we deserve better than this? You know, at the same time, like they were ours, you know? And that felt—you know, it was very, very relaxed. Like, you wouldn’t feel out of place, like it was a very comfortable space, even, even despite the sticky floor.”
(Crunchy footsteps, with shoes pulling up from a sticky floor)
(soft, romantic, electric guitar music fades out)
ABBY: The Phase was right down the block from the Marine Barracks in Capitol Hill, which served as a huge threat to the lesbian community. In the article, “Battle for Queer Capitol Hill” by Eric Gonzaba, multiple lesbians reported being harassed, sexually assaulted, and attacked by Marines. In 1978, the Phase One owner recalled someone throwing a gas bomb into the bar. Yet even with all of this, Phase One still remained a staple for the white lesbian community.
Contrarily, in the 1970s, Phase One was an unwelcoming space for the Black and trans communities. Black patrons were often required to show multiple forms of ID, and the bar enforced a dress code that specifically targeted Black attire. Drag was outright banned—a policy that effectively excluded trans people. In 1978, Phase One was named in a discrimination complaint as one of five D.C. bars that treated Black patrons unfairly compared to white customers. It actually wasn’t until 1984 that the D.C. Council passed a bill threatening to revoke the liquor licenses of businesses with racist ID practices. But once again, it wasn’t just Phase One, racist carding was a systemic issue at many gay nightclubs.
JIM HARVEY: “The biggest challenge was always Pier Nine. You could get in during the week when there were not very many people there, but on weekends, they wanted to make certain that the bar was as close to white as possible.”
ABBY: Pier Nine, in Navy Yard, was the second largest dancing gay club to open in D.C., in 1970 (Rainbow History Project). Jim Harvey, a Black gay activist, would struggle getting in.
JIM HARVEY: “If you didn't have three IDs, you couldn't get in. If you were wearing a hat, you couldn't wear it and come in the bar. You know, if you look suspicious, you know, they question you a lot and still turn you away. There was a lot of that.”
(Electronic dance music plays in the background)
ABBY: Even when he could get through the door…the bar service wasn’t any better.
(Cocktail shaker shakes, glass is set on counter, liquid pours into glass)
JIM HARVEY: “The bartender turned and snapped at us and said, ‘If and when I decide to serve you, I'll do it in my own time.”
ABBY: But, many Black Queer people, like Jim, didn’t let this behavior slide.
(kicking and stomping followed by glass shattering, one by one)
JIM HARVEY: “I climbed up on the bar, and I walked from one end of the bar to the other, kicking everything off the bar that was in my path, and I jumped down, and I said to my friend Robert, I said, ‘Well, I think our work is done here. Let's go someplace where we can be accepted.’”
ABBY: Afterwards, Jim would hit up his friend, who worked on the police force.
JIM HARVEY: “On the way out, I called my friend, Bill Hough, the police officer. And he came, and the routine with the police usually was, they walk in, flashlights blazing, go to the DJ or whoever’s playing the music, stop the music (background music abruptly stops), make them turn up all of the house lights (light switches, police radio chatter starts in the background), and then just ask a lot of questions eventually, and then leave. So it was our own brand of harassment that we could do on our side to make things a little better. We'd feel satisfied that we’d gotten our vengeance, I guess you could say.”
(police radio chatter stops)
ABBY: While some white business owners directly discriminated against and excluded Black patrons, others began to directly cater to the Black Queer community. The Brass Rail, which opened in 1967, wasn’t initially a Black gay bar, in fact it was a biker bar (motorcycle revs).…Then a couple years later, a country western bar, (western guitar riff)… then, in 1975 when Annex, a Black gay bar across the street closed, the Rail owners saw an opportunity and took it. They began advertising and catering to the Black Queer community. While their intentions may be questionable, it became a safe haven for many folks.
(Electronic dance music with heavy bass plays in the background)
RAYCEEN PENDARVIS: “My very first club was the Brass Rail. That's where I came out. The original Brass Rail, which was located on 14th Street in the heart of downtown.”
ABBY: The Rail was a frequent stop for Mother Rayceen, who we met last episode and was born and raised in D.C. Rayceen said the trick to getting in underage was by always being on the right side of the bouncer.
RAYCEEN PENDARVIS: “Adrian Blackwell was like our own version of what we call the ultimate diva. You know, she was a cross between Wendy Williams and Sherry Shepherd. She was funny. She was comical. She was a personality all of her own, and she sometimes would have these long braids down to the floor, and she would always greet you at the door. “Hello, baby. How are you, baby. Welcome, baby, come on in.” And if you won her favor, you could get in without her carding you. If Miss Blackwell did not like you, she would not let you in. So she would card you for your ID, and she would make sure you were coming in and you were of age. If she liked you, she would let you in without carding you.”
ABBY: Once in the Brass Rail, patrons had two options: go downstairs to the first level to a more dim, intimate room, where people who Rayceen said didn’t want to get “clocked” would go; or, you could go to the second floor, which was Rayceen’s stomping grounds, where there was a bar and dance floor. That’s where Rayceen met most of the “the girls,” Rayceen's loving label for trans women.
RAYCEEN: “The older girls would always look out for you, and they would tell you stories. “Oh, darling, you're young, you're lucky. Are you in school? What are you doing with yourself? Oh, darling, oh, this and that.” And they would tell you, you know, “Beauty is not enough. Stay in school, make something of yourself.” And they would tell you these wonderful stories, and they would make sure they were like your fairy godmother.”
ABBY: The Rail was popular for its Railettes performances, an in-house Drag group. The Rainbow History Project notes in their Spaces and Places database that an iconic Drag Queen, Barbara MacNair, would perform her Moms Mabley impersonation there. But for Rayceen, the Rail was special because it meant freedom.
(Glasses clinking the background while Rayceen talks)
RAYCEEN: “And sometimes you sit at the bar and notice the man with a wedding ring on. You would say, “Are you married?” And he would say, “Yes, but I come here because I like to see other things.” And, you know, that was to each his own, but it was a place that no one ever, ever felt as if they could not be their self. It was a place where no one judged you, no one looked at you. You weren't beneath them. You weren't above them. We were all equal in the Brass Rail. And that's what I loved about the Brass Rail the most, that it was just a wonderful place where everyone felt free.”
(Electronic dance music fades out)
Abby: Over in Fort Totten, Third World was becoming more and more popular as time passed.
(motorcycle revs and hums while John is speaking)
JOHN EDDY: “We were outgrowing the Third World, because it was, like, packed in there, just like the Zodiac, just like the Metropolitan Capitolites. So, I got on my rusty motorcycle again and drove around town looking for a facility.”
(motorcycle revs and drives off into the distance)
ABBY: It was 1975 and John was on his search for the Metropolitan Capitolites’ next big thing.
This time, John landed in Petworth on Upshur Road Northwest. There sat a huge, yellow brick L-shaped warehouse that once operated as an automobile garage and showroom. It was there that John, Bishop Rainey Cheeks, Aundrea Scott, Pauletta Scott, and Morrell Chasten created one of the most legendary clubs in D.C. history.
(House music starts to play in the background)
ABBY: The Clubhouse…Featuring a 10,000 square foot dance floor and a sound system created by Richard Long, the designer of Studio 54 in New York. The ceilings were always covered with John’s favorite and cheapest decorations: balloons.
The DJ booth sat on cinder blocks so that none of the vibrations from the speakers or dance floor would jostle the booth because, at the time, all DJ’s used vinyls on turntables (turntable stylus placed on record), so the cinder blocks would prevent the records from skipping. DJ Mandrill, worked as a DJ at The Clubhouse and could only find one way to describe to me what it really sounded like in there.
DJ MANDRILL: “When you were in The Clubhouse, it felt like you had headphones on, and it didn't hurt your ears. That's the best way I can explain it. It was like listening to your favorite record on headphones, where it was loud, but it wasn't hurting your ears.”
ABBY: The music DJ Mandrill and others played was underground music. They wouldn’t play any music that you could hear on the radio. Labels would send The Clubhouse and DJ’s records that you could only hear at The Clubhouse.
DJ MANDRILL: “And the underground scene in the Black gay nightclubs was such that they didn't want anything in there that reminded them of mainstream anything.”
ABBY: DJ Jay Jay said that their choice in music created a sense of exclusivity.
JAY JAY: “It was only heard in the walls of the club. And then, of course, you know, people like that, as in that's one of many reasons to keep coming back to The Clubhouse, because of the music.”
ABBY: The music was one of the reasons that Rayceen loved The Clubhouse.
RAYCEEN PENDARVIS: “The music would be fabulous. The music would tell a story. You come in, and it would start kind of metal (house music transitions into heavy electric guitar), then it would come to this (guitar transitions to disco music) fabulous, fabulous disco beat and house beat (transition to house music that keeps playing in the background) just slamming all across the wall.”
ABBY: Rayceen even had a coveted membership card. These cards, inspired from John and Aundrea’s time attending New York City clubs, helped The Clubhouse manage who was coming into their space.
JOHN EDDY: “The membership created the environment. We never revoked any memberships. We had advised the people up front that if you act up, or your guests act up, we're going to take your membership card. So the membership card was like a gold card.”
ABBY: The first group of members were their trusted patrons from Third World and Zodiac Den. Anyone else had to apply for a membership, pending a pristine recommendation from a member or employee. Interested clubgoers had to go through an interview process with management. However, most membership cards couldn’t get you in every night. Friday nights and Saturday nights had their own exclusive memberships.
JOHN EDDY: “Initially, we decided, well, it would be all Queer. Then we came back, said well we can't pay this rent, if it was all Queer (laughs). So we decided, okay, we'll have two types of memberships. We'll have one for the gays and we'll have one for the straights. So, Friday night was called ZEI Social Club membership and Saturday was called Vibrations.”
ABBY: Because the straight night was a more “rumbuctious” crowd, they had a dress code. But on Saturday night, for the Queers, there were no rules.
JOHN EDDY: “We did not have a dress code. You could come as you are, you could come as long as your private parts was covered, you could come. And we basically did not have an age limit, although we were saying fourteen. But I think we had some twelves in there, too (laughs). They could sneak out the window and out the house, which some of them did, and come and go back through the window. (laughs)”
ABBY: Opening at midnight and by closing mid mornings, Saturdays were for the Queers, or how they refer to themselves: The Children. Rayceen and Tony Nelson were frequents of the Saturday night Vibrations party. When I asked Rayceen what was most memorable about those Saturday nights, community was a big one.
RAYCEEN PENDARVIS: “Dancing to an amazing beat and looking around and seeing all the faces of the most creative, beautiful people who are part of my community, and unfortunately, many of them are not here. But those are the moments that stand out: the faces, the people, the happiness, the joy, the love, the camaraderie, and that's what I remember the most about The Clubhouse.”
(house music fades out)
ABBY: Unlike Rayceen, Tony, a Washingtoninan and Drag MC, didn’t have a membership, but that didn’t stop him from getting in the door.
TONY NELSON: “If you were not a member, you had to go with somebody who was, and if you didn't have the money to get in, they would allow you to come early in the day, like maybe 20 people, and you could help set up the balloons and stuff like that. So, there was often times I would trek up there to hang balloons (a person blows up a balloon) or do something like that.”
ABBY: Saturday nights felt legendary to Tony, and they started in the early mornings of the night.
TONY NELSON: “It didn't start till like 2 a.m. We didn't leave out of The Clubhouse until eight, nine o'clock the next morning (car drives past), on Sunday morning. Go down, like, walking down the streets, and people going to church, and their good—the Black ladies with their good church hats on (conversation murmurs in the background), we walking past tired and broke down coming back from The Clubhouse."
ABBY: Another frequent stop for Tony at the time was much different from The Clubhouse. No big dance floor, no membership, just a row house bar with good music.
TONY NELSON: “Row houses are narrow. It had this long, narrow dance floor, as soon as you got around that corner, and at the foot of that dance floor was the DJ booth. The music was amazing.”
ABBY: Tony’s weekend routine consisted of Delta Elite on Fridays and Clubhouse on Saturday.
TONY NELSON: “We would go to the Delta, and we would dance, and we would dance, we would dance (dance music plays in the background), til we fell out, and then Saturday night, we go to The Clubhouse and just dance and dance and fall out.”
ABBY: Like I said earlier, nothing is gonna stop the gays from dancing.
(Dance music swells then fades into house music)
ABBY: Every year, Aundrea Scott and the Clubhouse crew would come together to orchestrate an unforgettable extravaganza on Memorial weekend that turned into D.C.’s Black Pride. It was called The Children’s Hour.
DJ JAY JAY: “It was basically thrown by the employees for them to invite their guests. But, you had to be invited. You couldn't just walk up, pay to get in. You had to be invited to pay to get in. And that's kind of like a little, as I would call velvet rope mentality, as in this is the place to be, this is the party you have to come to.”
(House music fades out)
ABBY: It wasn’t just the exclusivity that made it special.
DJ JAY JAY: “One of the concepts of Children's Hour was always a theme, and they had many themes. So, the very first theme that they had in 1978 was called the Land of Oz (heavy wind and windows creaking, sparkle and shimmer sounds), which basically, you come dressed as one of the characters from the Wizard of Oz.”
ABBY: The crowd didn’t just show up—they transformed, arriving in jaw-dropping costumes, complete with stunning hair and makeup, ready to fully immerse themselves in the fantasy. It wasn’t just a party, it was an epic celebration. With each passing year, its popularity exploded. What began as an employee gathering, evolved into a landmark event in Black Queer culture, solidifying the Clubhouse’s legendary status as the place to be.
(Dance music with heavy bass starts playing in the background)
Above all, it became a one-of-a-kind safe space where countless people could truly be themselves, free to express their identity without fear or judgment.
DJ MANDRILL: “The Clubhouse was this haven of hope, a haven of security, a place where you could form camaraderie and connection with people that were like-minded, where you felt safe. So all of those things combined, created this sort of wanting attitude and acceptance of attitude, of this is what it is, this is what is exclusively ours, and isn't this a great thing? I can come here and lose my inhibitions and not be worried about being threatened or talked bad about or reported at my job or whatever the case.”
(Dance music abruptly stops and solemn music slowly fades in)
ABBY: But then, everything changed.
ELLA FITZGERALD: “We just lost people just, I mean, it was, it was a funeral every other week, and it came to the point where I, I couldn't cry anymore.”
JIM HARVEY: “Knowledge of somebody who was sick or dead was never far from our lips”
ABBY: With the arrival of AIDS and HIV, Queer nightlife, especially at The Clubhouse, was never the same again. The vibrant energy that once defined it began to unravel in ways that no one could have predicted.
(solemn music fades out)
(Silence for a beat then jazzy piano music starts to fade in and plays in the background when Abby starts talking)
ABBY: Hey baby… we’re so glad you’re here, and thanks so much for listening until the end of the episode.
Don’t you worry, because we promise we won’t leave you hanging for too long. Next week, we’ll have an After Hours episode, where I’ll be asking John Eddy, one of the founders of Clubhouse, all of the juicy goss about what was happening with the Metropolitan Capitolites and the Clubhouse. And of course, we’ll be playing some fun games, so y’all better tune in! In two weeks time, our third historical episode will pick up where we left off.
We want to thank the Rainbow History Project, the DC Public Library, and the countless other academics and historians, whether featured in these episodes or not, who helped inspire and guide us through this process.
And, of course, as always, shout out to the rest of the QTDP team, Ellie and Mads for making this podcast happen.
You can find a transcript for this, and every episode, on our website at queeringthedistrictpodcast.com and linked below in the episode notes.
If you want to learn more and stay up to date on all things Queering the District Podcast, follow us on our social media pages @queeringthedistrictpodcast! You don’t want to miss our exclusive interview clips, juicy voicemails, and our bi-weekly spotlights.
Do you have a story to share? Do you think we missed something? Give us a call, and bare it all after the beep at 202-753-6570.
If you’re still with us, as always we have a treat for you. This week’s voicemail comes to you from the wonderful Rebecca.
REBECCA VOICEMAIL: Hi, this is Rebecca. I’m just reporting that me and my homies came to a Drag show tonight. And particularly we were excited because we did bring a token straight to see their first Drag show. So shout out to Maisie for coming to see her first Drag show. And shout out to all the Queers, who were like Maisie needs to see a Drag show. So, that’s what we’re doing tonight, and I hope you feature us on your podcast. Thanks! We love As You Are, bye.
(Jazzy music fades out)
