no stage too small
Description
We’re picking up right where we left off last historical episode, in the late 80s and early 90s, with increased visibility of the Queer community creating more spaces and events centered around Queer joy, especially amongst the AIDS/HIV epidemic. This episode will journey from the late 80s to the mid-2000s, with the opening and closing of various Queer bars. Featuring the longest running Drag King group in the nation, strip clubs in Southeast, Salvadorian food and latin music, and more! Join us this week to learn about some of the District’s most legendary bars.
You can also find works cited and in text citations for the episode in pdf form here.
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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.
(Jazzy music fades in and plays in background)
ABBY: Hey folks, thanks for tuning in to Queering the District Podcast, where we learn about the history of Queer third places in Washington, D.C.! Season one is focused on the evolution of Queer bars, from prohibition to present day.
This season we’ve got two types of episodes: historical and after hours. Our historical episodes explore decades of Queer bar history through narrative-driven stories, while our After Hours episodes bring back favorite guests for gossip games, advice, and late-night chats.
This week is a historical episode, picking up where we left off in the early 90s. If you want a chronological storytelling of Queer bars in D.C., head over our first historical episode, ‘xoxo ladd forrester.’
And now, we start our journey with one of D.C.’s most loved and iconic traditions.
(Jazzy music fades out)
(Door opens, murmurs of people talking, Abby says, “Hi, do I just take a seat anywhere?” Restaurant staff responds, “Wherever you’d like. Inside, outside, booth, just help yourself, bring a menu.” Murmurs of people talking, glasses and cutlery clinking continues in the background)
ABBY: Annie’s Paramount Steakhouse on 17th Street Northwest, opened its doors in 1948 and since then has been one of the earliest establishments to offer a safe and welcoming space for Queer people in D.C. Dr. Greene’s author of Not in my Gayborhood: Gay Neighborhoods and The Rise of The Vicarious Citizen, told me how and why it became such a staple.
DR. GREENE: “These women who told their customers, right, that it was okay for them to hold hands above the table, as opposed to doing it below, giving, you know, people that sense of safety, that sense of freedom, to be able to do what they want.”
(Annie’s server says, “How’s it going?
Abby responds, “Good, how are you?”
Server says, “Good, want something else to drink”
Abby: “Um, water is fine, thank you.”)
During the 1970s and 1980s, a wave of Queer-friendly bars and restaurants joined Annie’s along 17th Street NW.
(Abby says, “thank you” door closes and murmurs of people talking and glasses and cutlery clinking ends)
In 1986, JR’s Bar opened just two blocks down from Annie’s, and it eventually became the birthplace of one of D.C.’s most beloved annual LGBTQ+ traditions.
(crowd cheering loudly starts then fades into the background)
ABBY: The D.C. Drag High Heel Race. Every year on the Tuesday before Halloween, Drag performers, high heel enthusiasts, and friends from all across the DMV gather in their tallest heels to compete against each other in a two-block sprint down 17th street.
(Crowd cheering swells then fades into background)
Legend has it that in October of 1986, 25 Drag Queens raced from JR’s down the street and into Annie’s, took a shot of Schnapps, and then raced back to JR’s. Clinton Winter was the first anointed winner of the race, his prize—a fabulous bottle of champagne. And since 1986, thousands of spectators and participants have gathered along 17th street to see Queens and Queers sprint, and (laughingly) I mean SPRINT down the street, heels clacking against the pavement. It’s just the ultimate celebration of Queer history, Queer bars, and Queer life.
(Crowd cheering fades out)
In 1991, Drew Banks, fresh off his move from San Francisco, decided that the Drag High Heel Race was going to be his first foray into the D.C. Queer bar scene.
DREW BANKS: “I thought it was going to be the perfect introduction to the gay life in D.C.”
ABBY: Little did Drew know that the race actually wasn’t scheduled to happen that year due to neighborhood push back after the previous year's race in 1990. At this point, the event was such a staple tradition that many still visited JR’s Bar and Annie’s, and other local Queer bars on 17th Street, expecting to see their favorite race. So Drew, along with many others, gathered unaware that the event wasn’t going to take place. So as time passed with no heels running down the street, the crowd of 500 people started to ask questions.
DREW BANKS: “All of the people around me were saying, why hasn't it started yet? It should have started by now. And that was the moment that someone noticed the riot police coming down the street.”
(police sirens blares and helicopter hums in the background)
ABBY: Almost 100 police officers and a police helicopter flew to 17th street to quote “do crowd control.” Wearing helmets and bearing shields and batons, the police marched (boots marching down the street) arm in arm down the street towards Drew.
DREW BANKS: “I was sort of flabbergasted. I'd never seen this. And the people around me were like, what, we don't understand what is happening. Why are riot police coming in right now?”
(airhorn sounds, whistle blares, and shouting in the background)
ABBY: Drew, who was frustrated and confused, confronted one of the officers who approached him to disperse.
DREW BANKS: “And I said, ‘You're acting like a bunch of Nazis.’ And I kid you not, the officer clicked his heel together, put his arm out, and said, ‘Zeig Heil’”
ABBY: Shocked and disgusted by the police's behavior, Drew decided to stand his ground.
DREW BANKS: “I don't want to break the law. But what I want to do, is to do something that is, sort of states that we're not doing anything wrong. So I got a group of people to walk on the crosswalk every time that it said we could walk. So it was around four different corners. So by doing that, if we kept walking in a concentric circle, (in the background walk signal starts) traffic couldn't pass because we were always blocking one of the ways for traffic.”
(walk signal ends)
ABBY: While what Drew was doing was perfectly legal, the riot police didn’t respond well to the disruption.
(police chatter on the radio plays in the background)
DREW BANKS: “Well, at one point they saw what we were doing, and they, I remember it very clearly, there were about three policemen standing in front of me in the and the light had just turned to walk, and I stepped off the curb, and they were like, ‘Don't you step off that curb!’ And I said, ‘It says walk.’ And I stepped off the curb, and all of a sudden there was a swarm. It was almost like they were waiting for it. There was a swarm of policemen on me. And this will sound silly, but I had just purchased a new pair of Oliver Peoples glasses, and I was one of those kids that was always breaking my glasses. And I was like, you know, this is an expensive pair of glasses. I'm not going to break them. And I was asking them, I'm like, ‘Just take off my glasses! If you're going to slam my face into the ground, just take off my glasses!’ And then they wouldn't do it. I'm like, and then I would just start screaming. It's like, ‘please just take them off.’ Of course, they didn't. They were ruined. And then my arms were zip tied behind my back, but as I was going down, I remember thinking my shoulder is going to dislocate, and I didn't understand why, until I saw the videotape of what had happened. They had lifted my arm so far behind my head that you could see my hand above my head, so my shoulder, my right shoulder, almost did dislocate because of how violently they were pushing me to the ground.”
(airhorn sounds, whistle blares, shouting, and police chatter on the radio ends)
ABBY: After Drew was released from jail that night, he returned to work the next day with the video of his arrest everywhere on the news. About a month later, the Mayor formally apologized for the police's behavior and expunged the record of the four people arrested, including Drew.
(crowd cheering at the high heel races fades back in and slowly gets louder and louder in the background)
What had long been one of D.C.’s most lighthearted and apolitical celebrations of Queer culture, a high-heel race beloved LGBTQ+ bars and restaurants, was met with aggressive force. The tradition's legacy now includes the violent policing of the Queer community simply for gathering in joy.
(crowd cheering swells then fades out)
As we enter the 90s Queer visibility began to change, as more diverse and marginalized voices within the community began to challenge the white gay narrative that is often prioritized in gay bars in D.C. and nationwide.
LETI GOMEZ: “There was a bar down in Southeast called the Lost and Found, which was primarily, at that time, a gay men's bar, and they advertised a party called ‘Salsa Southeast.’ (salsa music starts to play in the background) And so we thought, oh, we'll go down there and we'll dance to salsa music. So we get there Sunday afternoon, and the DJ, who happened to be Latino, from New York, plays a few Latin tunes and then moves to whatever the popular music was of the day. (salsa music ends and dance pop music starts to play instead) And I remember, I went up to him. I said, ‘Hey, you know, are you going to play more salsa?’ He said, ‘No.’ And I said, ‘Why not?’ He says, ‘Well, you have to understand who the audience is here, who the clientele is here.’ White gay men. So we thought, okay, well, that, you know, basically, you know, you're discounting the fact that we're here. And, you know, he was paid by the bar to do whatever they wanted. (pop music ends and salsa music starts playing again) So we just said, okay, we're gonna have to do it ourselves. And so that was the catalyst for ENLACE organizing parties.”
ABBY: ENLACE was founded soon after the first March on Washington for Gay and Lesbian Rights in 1987. It was D.C.’s first Latine LGBTQ+ advocacy group.
(salsa music fades out)
The group was led by Leti Gomez and started as a response to the AIDS and HIV epidemic and the discrimination that Latine Queers were experiencing in the straight Latine community and in the white LGBTQ+ community. Their organizing wasn’t just political but social too.
(muffled upbeat, playful latin dance music starts to play)
They hosted numerous bailes in people’s houses and basements,
(knock on a door, door opens, and music is no longer muffled and continues to play in the background)
where Leti was able to meet Latine Queers from all different walks of life.
(happy conversations taking place in the background)
LETI: “I'm from San Antonio, Texas, which is a predominantly Mexican American city, and I come to D.C., and there are Latinos here from all over. There's, you know, there's from over South America, Central America, Mexico. One of our members is from Spain. We had members who are from Brazil, who spoke Portuguese, you know, so, it was eye opening for me to meet Latinos from basically all over the western hemisphere.”
ABBY: The diversity within the ENLACE community expanded far beyond geography.
LETI: “Having that group ENLACE was an opportunity to also be visible to each other, and, you know, and it was a mix of class too. I mean, I'm college educated. I had a government job. There were people there that were house cleaners, cooks, busboys. So the various classes were all part of ENLACE and came to our parties. So that was also, for me, important, because I, you know, I got to learn about other people's lives.”
ABBY: Most importantly ENLACE was a safe space where everyone in the Latine Queer community was welcomed.
LETI: “There's always been a part of our community that's undocumented, and so this was like, a safe place for undocumented LGBT people to come connect and hang out and of course, it was, you know, an opportunity to hook up.”
(upbeat, playful latin dance music and happy conversation ends)
ABBY: Just like the Metropolitan Capitalities, they began to outgrow their homes and realized they needed a bigger space. But, it wouldn’t be until 1991 that the Latine Queer community would get a place of their own.
JOSÉ: “That was the first bar, you know, the first for Latinos”
(upbeat and groovy latin music starts and continues to play in the background)
ABBY: El Faro, opened on 18th street in Adams Morgan in 1991. José Gutiérrez, a Latino activist and archivist in D.C., told me about the legacy of this space.
JOSÉ: “The bar was always crowd, really crowd. And the good things about the Latino community is we always mix woman and men or gays and lesbians, you know. And the performance, everybody went to see the performance of Sofia Carrero Fiorella Vandorfino in La Bomba.”
(upbeat and groovy latin music swells then fades into background, murmured conversations and glasses clinking in the background too)
ABBY: The small, intimate and, like José said, very crowded bar, held numerous Latine Queer events. From Drag shows to leather parties, Latine Queers could walk into the space smelling delicious Salvadorian food and hear latin music emanating from the first floor’s jukebox. ENLACE held several parties there, including a salsa party. ENLACE members even had a 15% discount on food when the bar's restaurant was open.
(music, murmured conversations and glasses clinking ends and somber atmospheric music plays quietly in the background)
However, when entering and leaving the bar, patrons frequently experienced hostility and violence on the street. In 1993, a Latina Lesbian, Anna Maria Rosales, was murdered after leaving El Faro.
LETI: “So she and her friends, it was closing time, they were leaving the bar, some guy approached them on the street, I think, tried to make a pass at her. She said something to him. He followed them. He shot her and killed her. They were, you know, immigrants, working class immigrants, and she was just out with her friends one night, you know, to have a good time.”
ABBY: Her death was never forgotten, and the impact of the injustice and hate, left an indelible mark on the Latine Queer community.
LETI GOMEZ: “For a number of years after that, there was always, on the anniversary of her death, there was a mass they were kept, a mass at the church right there on 16th Street.”
(somber atmospheric music fades out)
ABBY: The visibility of the Queer community was undeniable at this point in D.C. history. The Queers were gathering in the streets to see Queens and Kings sprint in their heels, people were defiantly lining up outside of gay bars, and the Latine community was proudly creating their own spaces to see and celebrate each other.
Unfortunately, alongside this increased visibility came more violence and vitriol against the Queer community. Despite this persistent violence and harassment wielded against Queer folks, the community has proven to be even more persistent and resilient, especially in their journey towards creating joyful spaces.
Leti remembers the night when she encouraged the opening of a new Latine Queer bar.
LETI GOMEZ: “I'll never forget, we had an ENLACE party in the space that's now As You Are. And his name was Roberto Hermosilla. And he asked me, he said, “What do you think? You know, I want to host a party.” And I said, go for it.”
ABBY: Heeding Leti’s advice, Roberto did go for it, and he opened…
(upbeat and carefree latin music starts to play in the background)
LETI GOMEZ: “Escandalo which, you know what the word Escandalo means, like, you know, what a scandal.”
ABBY: Escandalo opened in 1994, on P Street in Dupont Circle. It became renowned amongst the community for its Latin music and Drag shows. It was the first bar to regularly host Latin Drag Shows in the District. It was truly just a beloved space.
JOSÉ: “Escandalo was the best bar for the Latino community.”
ABBY: José loved Escandalo. And to him it was more than just a bar.
JOSÉ: “For many Latinas and Latinos with no place to be or safe space, Escandalo became like a community center for Latinos.”
ABBY: José would host poetry open mic nights and a wide variety of other events at Escandalo.
JOSÉ: “Mostly like painting and writing poetry, they also create, like a cultural events with dance, folkloric dance, Mexican food, and meetings.”
ABBY: José shared that every year the Latine LGBTQ+ float for the Pride Parade, was made in the parking lot of Escandalo. This is just one of the many examples of how Escandalo created a celebratory Latine Queer space to not just dance, but to provide for and support one another.
JOSÉ: “So the impact, I think they were extremely important for many, not only like to be a bar, but to be like a community center, to have a place to meet another Latinos and Latinas, to have a place to talk about poetry, a place to talk about cultural issues and prevention also of HIV/AIDS.”
(upbeat and carefree latin music fades out)
ABBY: The AIDS epidemic was still devastating the community in the early 90s. In 1991, AIDS was the leading cause of death for men 25 to 44 in the Latine community. Similar to the Black community, AIDS disproportionately impacted the Latine Queer community. Accessibility to insurance, the price of medical care, as well as the lack of Spanish interpreters in healthcare, meant that many Latine Queers were unable to access equitable care.
Leti remembers how important it felt to be in spaces like Escandalo, a place where ENLACE could educate their Latine Queer peers on the importance of HIV and AIDS testing and prevention but to also just celebrate each other.
(Slow and heartfelt latin music starts to play in the background)
LETI: “We had to find happiness and joy given what was happening. You know, especially in the late 80s and 90s. I mean, I lost a couple of very dear friends to HIV (takes a deep breath and a long pause then continues shakily) It was just a really, was really just a horrible time. So it was important to, you know, have community, you know, to come together and celebrate life and then also, you know, try to help each other.”
(Slow and heartfelt latin music swells then fades out)
ABBY: Just one neighborhood down, on H Street Northwest stood another celebratory space for Queer folks, especially for lesbians. A blog, called “Lost Womyn’s Spaces” quotes a review of the club that said, “By day, it was just another eatery for Downtown office drones. On Friday and Saturday nights, when the Jury is in session, you must be or accompanied by a woman to enter.”
Hung Jury opened in 1984, but it wasn’t until 1996 that it held the first Drag King Competition in D.C.
KEN VEGAS: “I saw this poster at the local coffee shop, and a friend of mine who worked there, she was just like, ‘You should do it.’”
ABBY: Drag King, Ken Vegas, wasn’t the famous King Ken when they saw this poster hanging, they were just a young Queer kid excited to try something new.
KEN VEGAS: “So I was like, dress as a boy, put a mustache on and lip sync. This is a dream.”
ABBY: So Ken, ventured to Hung Jury to strut, dance, and lipsync the night away. The event, thrown by prominent lesbian activist and photographer Cheryl Spector, was a fundraiser for the 1997 Dyke March, so it’s safe to say the bar was packed with the coolest sapphic Queers. Ken wore his friend’s suit and…
KEN VEGAS: “I penciled on a mustache.”
ABBY: Ken made a dramatic and iconic entrance to the stage when his name was announced.
(shoes clacking as he struts)
He was escorted to the stage, arm in arm with a Drag Queen and once reaching the spotlight he pulled out a cigar allowing his Queen to light it (lighter flicks on), and as he took a puff (cigar sparks and cinders, then blows out the cigar smoke)
Fast Love by George Michaels played beginning his historic performance.
(Lounge R&B music starts to play in the background)
Ken took home the crown that night (crowd cheers) and thus began his legendary career.
KEN VEGAS: “The one missing piece was there was no continuity of like there was no place for us to communicate about what we've learned, ideas what we can do. It was just like, hey, we have a Drag show. Do you want to perform? They had just a phone number to call.”
(Lounge R&B music fades out)
ABBY: Ken longed to create a community of Drag Kings, that was inclusive, encouraging, non-competitive, and endlessly creative. His dream became a reality when a local Queer bar owner approached him after a performance.
KEN VEGAS: “And he was just like, ‘You know, that was really cool. Would you consider doing a Drag King show at Chaos?’ And I'm like, I'm a performer, I'm not a producer. Like, what the heck…I was just like, well, maybe this is my chance to implement these ideas.”
ABBY: But no one had ever done what Ken was envisioning… forming a Drag King troupe that performed regularly in the District.
KEN VEGAS: “We had to start from scratch because there was no scene. There was just a handful of people who would occasionally do it.”
ABBY: To test the waters, Ken threw a Drag King competition at the Queer bar, Chaos (large crowd cheers). It was an enormous hit. So a few months later, riding on the coattails of the event's success, Ken formally launched the first and longest running local Drag King troupe, the D.C. Kings. The troupe lasted 15 years.
KEN VEGAS: “I think the math is 140 consecutive shows, non-stop. Like, we didn't have one month where we missed, we were just like, monthly shows for 15 years, over 400 Drag Kings came through.”
ABBY: The first Queer bar to host D.C. Kings and have a monthly show was in a basement on 16th Street NW, near Dupont Circle.
(upbeat latin dance beat with prominent percussion starts in the background)
ABBY: Club Chaos
EBONÉ BELL: “There will never be another Chaos, period. There just won't, that doesn't mean there aren't places now that aren't better or something similar or in the same lines, but there will never be another Chaos, I will tell you that now.”
ABBY: The bar was most popular amongst the sapphic community and the Latine community.
LETI GOMEZ: “We would call it “Chaos.” [pronounced like COW-S] You know, it's like Chaos”
ABBY: Chaos hosted weekly Latine Drag Queen shows and had pictures of Latina Divas all over. At all times, you could find the bar walls adorned with even Latine Queer history.
JOSÉ GUITIÉREZ: “The owners provide me the space to create, you know, posters, pictures, banners about the history of the Queer Latino community in Washington, D.C.”
ABBY: The bar was simply unforgettable.
TONY NELSON: “Nothing will ever replace Chaos. Chaos was such a fabulous spot… I love Chaos. I loved Chaos. It was a great spot.”
ABBY: Club Chaos opened in 1998 and was a celebratory hub for the Latine Queer community and the Drag King community. Eboné Bell, a local Queer advocate, speaker, and founder of Tagg Magazine, loved Chaos and frequented the bar’s weekly Ladies Night on Wednesdays.
EBONÉ BELL: “Even if it was a night that I was going by myself, I knew I would meet somebody, I would know somebody, and be able to just have a good time. I think people take for granted how it feels to feel safe in a space.
(upbeat latin dance beat with prominent percussion fades out)
I think our heterosexual counterparts, maybe even heterosexual white counterparts, absolutely take that for granted, because they usually don't know how it is to walk into a space where nobody looks like you or nobody that you know of identifies like you or whatever the case is, but it is a sense of peace when you have that, and that's exactly what Chaos created, was a sense of safety. It's nothing like the feeling of feeling like you belong and you're safe here, and be around people who understand some of the same struggles that you're going through, or having some of the same issues, or somebody to talk to that's not going to judge you. There's nothing like that. And Chaos was one of a kind in that way.”
ABBY: For Eboné, Chaos was legendary because it centered marginalized voices and experiences.
EBONÉ BELL: “Chaos created a community for others, as I like to say, for the others in our community.”
ABBY: It was this kind of special environment that encouraged Eboné to try something new herself.
(Powerful and groovy pop music starts to play in the background)
EBONÉ BELL: “Honestly, I was just living my, like, pop star dream.”
(Powerful and groovy pop music swells then fades back into the background)
ABBY: In comes E-Cleff, a suave dancer and player, who took the stage at Chaos with his troupe, the D.C. Kings.
EBONÉ BELL: “Man, the D.C. Drag Kings was everything to me, especially as like a young Queer woman coming up, trying to figure out, you know, my own stuff, my own identity, whatever that, that look like.”
ABBY: Drawing from her childhood love of Michael Jackson, Usher, and Justin Timberlake, Eboné was able to transform from a self-proclaimed nerd to a smooth talking and dancing ladies man. E-Cleff’s stellar dance move and iconic beats meant one thing— he knew how to put on a show. And one of his favorites was performing the Michael Jackson hit, Thriller.
EBONÉ BELL: “I had three of my friends. I had the girl who did the girl part at the movie theater, and then I had my friends be the zombies and coming out, and people loved it. I was one of the first Kings to, like put on those type of productions because I wanted people to be entertained.”
ABBY: E-Cleff and the D.C. Kings were legendary, not just because of their immense talent and creativity, but because you couldn’t see it regularly anywhere else in town.
EBONÉ BELL: “‘Cause at the time, Chaos was the only place we could perform. The Drag Queens were performing at 90% of the bars, but Chaos was the only one. And eventually Apex and Badlands were like, ‘Hey, let's do something monthly here. I think we, we have something here.’ So it just created another space for us to do our art and grow community and have more people know about who we were, I think, which was huge.”
(Powerful and groovy pop music ends)
ABBY: Chaos was the jumping point for the D.C. Kings to perform in other Queer bars like Apex/Bandlands and Phase One. The success of their shows is a testament to the environment that Ken crafted within the troupe.
KEN VEGAS: “I was never interested in editing people, like, if they wanted to not bind that's fine. If they didn't want to, like, hide their hips, that's fine. If they didn't want to wear a mustache, that's fine. Like, I didn't, I didn't know what people were going to do, and I didn't want to, I didn't want to guide them into my vision and assumption what they should do. I was just curious. I'm like, let's just see what happens.”
(nostalgic pop music plays in the background)
ABBY: Ken made all of the Kings watch each other perform. At every D.C. King show, you’d find the troupe members lining the backrows, watching and cheering on their group members. (people cheer loudly)
KEN VEGAS: “I was very adamant about us seeing what each other is doing and being very supportive and feeding off of each other that way.”
ABBY: E-Cleff always felt celebrated and seen by his fellow troupe members.
EBONÉ BELL: “They've created a space that allows us to feel like we're stars.”
ABBY: Most importantly, the D.C. Kings provided a family, where people were able to explore who they were on and off the stage.
KEN VEGAS: “We met a lot of great people and provided an opportunity for folks to figure out who they are as humans. A lot of folks transitioned, which is so cool. They found their authentic selves through being a D.C. King.”
ABBY: Chaos was just the beginning of the D.C. King’s fantastic legacy in Queer bars throughout D.C., but that small basement bar demonstrates that our community doesn’t need large stages or dramatic lights to create showstopping performances. Just like Rayceen said about performances in the Black Nugget in the 60s:
RAYCEEN: “The girls made it work.”
ABBY: Queers are scrappy and adaptable and know how to make any space magical and transformative.
(nostalgic pop music swells then ends)
(stadium crowd singing, “For it’s one, two, three strikes you’re out at the old ball game”) they cheer)
ABBY: Attending a Nationals game feels like a summer tradition for many D.C. residents. (metro boarding announcement plays) As fans pile out of the Navy Yard metro station, wearing their brightest reds, whites, and blues, many don’t know that they are walking on top of a once Southeast Queer playground.
(stadium crowd cheering plays in the background) The sounds of home runs and smell of overpriced hot dogs used to be filled with the (loud dance beat blends with the cheering crowd in the background) beats of Tracks’ DJ’s and the smell of sweat from the dancers at Zeigfeld’s Secrets. Navy Yard, an artificial landscape built right on top of significant D.C. history, including Queer history, is an example of a modern-day gentrified neighborhood.
(music and cheering crowd fades out)
ABBY: When the National’s stadium was approved by the city in 2006, many places were forced to close and subsequently demolished so the stadium could be built in its place. One place that was shut down for the National’s stadium was home to a legendary Black lesbian strip club event.
DR. CARNES: “And it was called soft and wet afternoons.”
ABBY: The bar was called Wet/Edge, a gay men's strip club. But on Sundays, mid-day, the space would transform into a sexual fantasy sanctuary for Black Queer women.
DR. CARNES: “It was hosted by someone named Ms. Vicki Harris, and we just called her Ms. Vicki, and she was an older Black lesbian who worked with the owners of this club, and she realized there was an opportunity that on Sundays from like two to six, there's nothing going on, and they could use that space before it was time for the boys to come on stage. And so, she arranged a party called Soft and Wet Afternoons, which was very convenient for a lot of her customers because it was during the day. You could find a babysitter if you had kids, you weren't working. And it was a space that mostly got left alone because it was part of this warehouse complex of Southeast, which mostly was kind of allowed to do whatever it wanted to do. Until it was time to make money with the stadium, they were pretty much left alone. And so there was a lot of privacy and protection in that space, especially because it was already a gay space in a lot of ways. And so the Soft and Wet Afternoons was really the first one in the nation that we know of, and it was the longest running.”
ABBY: Dr. Michelle Carnes, a Queer academic and retired stripper, studied Black lesbian strip clubs in D.C. in the early 2000s. They noted that Wet was the most popular strip club bar amongst Black lesbians. And after they described what the space looked like, I can understand why…the layout, the vibe, almost everything about Wet sounds nothing short of a fantasy.
(Club music starts then fades into background)
DR. CARNES: “Wet was kind of a horseshoe shaped bar with poles, and the bar was in the center, like bartenders would be in the center, like serving you drinks. And you'd sit at the counter at the bar, and there'd be like, poles right in front of you, and then there was a stage, kind of, along one of the side walls, and so the MC could stand on the wall, and then, you know, you could have like a dancer, like, right in your face. And so it really did feel like a strip club. And as a person who had worked in the strip club, like, for me, this was just a transformative experience. They also had a shower at the base of the bar, like against the wall behind the u, the like horseshoe-shaped bar. And so the dancers could get in the shower and turn the water on (shower head turns on and water streams out), and that became like part of the show. Some of them would take gallons of milk and put it over their shoulder and pour the milk on their skin, and then, like, twerk so, like, the milk was like bouncing off of their, like, body. It was absolutely incredible.”
ABBY: Dr. Carnes would spend their Sundays sitting at the horseshoe bar with their notebook, diligently documenting what they saw.
DR. CARNES: “It really was a space that invited you to center Black women's bodies in all shapes and sizes and colors. And I had never been in a space like that that centered Black women's, like, beauty in that way. It was a story that I wanted to make sure got told. It's a history that is often erased completely. Sexual culture, particularly for Queer people, particularly for Black Queer women, had the risk of being completely erased. And so I recognized, as a white person, I was going to miss things. So I made a commitment to do the best that I could with my own like positionality and perspective.”
ABBY: They slowly became a recognized regular in the space, so much so that a newcomer to the event once sought out Dr. Carnes to help her tip her stripper crush.
DR. CARNES: “She said, ‘You have to go with me.’ I agreed, and we approached the stage area, anticipating where the dancer was headed so we could meet her there at the end of the stage. I stood with Lisa and my arms up around her side. I tip the dancer with Lisa between us, as though my arms were acting for Lisa's body. Lisa was staring transfixed as the dancer flipped over onto her stomach, raised her butt, hooked her calves around Lisa. I stepped back and Lisa stumbled forward as the dancer pumped her body against Lisa's chest, her lean legs holding her steady. I watched Lisa jostle around as the dancer popped her butt against her, two Lucite heel stripper shoes digging into Lisa's back. I reached around and handed Lisa a handful of dollars and yelled, ‘okay, now tip her again.’ And Lisa's arm immediately lifted over the dancer's body and released the money over the dancer's body. The dollar bills floated across her back and buttocks, bouncing over her skin to the music. The dancer barely had a moment to say thank you, when Lisa whirled around and marched away from the stage toward me, her eyes wide open. She rushed up to me, clamped onto my shoulders with her hands and exclaimed, ‘I did it! Oh my god! Did you see that? That was so hot.’ Lisa went to get a drink from the bar, and when she returned, she was ready for her next adventure.”
(Club music ends)
ABBY: It’s clear that Soft and Wet Afternoons was an event full of sexual celebration. But, it also became a hub for education and awareness.
(R&B music starts and fades into the background)
DR. CARNES: “It was very common at parties to see the Modern Project, for instance, like distributing information about support groups, health resources, how to do a breast exam, condoms, dental dams, things like that. I remember being at Wet one time, and they had all the dancers up against the wall on the stage, and they all did a breast exam at the same time, because they were all nude, and the MC was talking through the breast exam, like, how to do it, which was something I'll never forget. I took an HIV test at a event one time, like, and you got your results, like, 15 minutes later. So that was a really common way that parties really helped to establish, like, we're here for the community, that’s our intention, and so you'd see tables for local organizations to help distribute those information. And because of the lack of access to competent health resources, culturally competent or financially accessible, having those resources there was really important.”
ABBY: From stripteases to breast exams, these spaces were invested in the health, safety, and happiness of the Black lesbian community. So, when the news that Wet could soon be replaced by a home plate and baseball diamond came, there was nothing else to really feel other than heartbreak. And the fight to try and move the clubs to a different neighborhood was quickly snuffed.
DR. CARNES: “There was an intention to move the clubs, and there was talk of bringing those clubs to New York Avenue, and a lot of the club owners had been approached and were talking about space and potential places to move all that over, but there was a lot of NIMBY going on. There was a lot of like, ‘well, I don't want a bunch of sex clubs in my backyard.’ And I'm sure you read about the letter to the editor for The Washington Blade that was about like, why should we celebrate these clubs that are like, a threat to us getting gay marriage and stuff? And basically, like, we should be ashamed of these things, and why would we want to preserve them? So ultimately, they were not moved. There was no place for them to go.”
ABBY: So in September, 2006, Wet had its last Soft and Wet afternoon.
DR. CARNES: “They were taking the doors off the hinges. (wood smashing) I mean, it was the biggest party I'd ever seen. It was out of control. There were like, piles of women in the shower (water runs from the shower). I mean, it was, it was like we're going down with it, like we're gonna get everything out of this space that we can if they're going to take it from us. I know people who went down after they bulldozed it and got bricks (bricks tumble) and like, have like, you know, bricks that have the, like, classic blue paint on them.
(R&B music fades out)
ABBY: Even almost 20 years after demolition, Dr. Carnes, still mourns the loss of these Queer spaces.
DR. CARNES: (emotionally) “I'll never be able to go, and I'll never be able to take you. I'll never be able to show this to you. And I just don't want people to forget that that was there. If you go to the stadium, like, you would have no idea. It's unrecognizable the way that it used to look in Southeast. They completely wiped it off.”
ABBY: Zeigfelds Secrets was another Queer establishment that was closed for the stadium. So when Craig Seymour, a once dancer at the establishment, came back to D.C. a few years later, he couldn’t believe what had happened to his Queer haven.
CRAIG SEYMOUR: “Just heartbreak, just heartbreak, and just feeling that there was no way that it could ever be like it was, you know, because just the uniqueness of having all of those clubs so close together, and just sort of the freeness about sexuality that was there that wasn't something that you could just replace.”
(sad acoustic music plays in the background)
ABBY: The loss of these Queer bars and clubs signaled an end of an era for Queer nightlife. The Queer playground that used to once define the Navy Yard neighborhood is gone forever. (baseball bat hits a baseball) Now replaced with sterile high rises and a baseball diamond. (stadium announcer speaks)
While the actual buildings that held these liberatory spaces and events no longer stand, the memories and moments of those strip teases, Drag shows, VJ performances, and volleyball games are forever etched into the minds of the Queer community, living proof that you can’t gentrify or erase the memories of Queer joy.
(sad acoustic music fades out)
(Jazzy music starts to play and fades into background)
ABBY: Hey baby… we’re so glad you’re here, and thanks for listening until the end of the episode.
Don’t worry, we promise we won’t leave you hanging too long. Next week, we’ll have an After Hours episode. Where I’ll be asking Eboné Bell for all the juicy goss and playing some fun games, so be sure to tune in! In two weeks time, our final historical episode will pick up where we left off today.
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 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 our social media pages @queeringthedistrictpodcast! You don’t want to miss exclusive interview clips, juicy voicemails, and bi-weekly spotlights.
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. To finish us off this week, we have an anonymous caller who left a love letter for their best friend. If you feel so inclined, maybe take a page out of their book and tell your friends you love them today too.
CALLER: Hey Roman, god knows we have not had enough time to talk together. I’ve known you for almost five years now, and it feels like I’ve known you my entire life. You are one of the very few reasons I keep persisting with this hellscape of a planet and this hellscape that is my life because a life with you in it means a life that has a better tomorrow. And, I know we’re both trapped by circumstances, trapped by politics, trapped by god knows what else, but one day we’ll get to live our life together, and, you know what, that’s enough hope. So thanks for making life worth living. Love you bestie (blows kiss).
(Jazzy music fades out)
