SUMMER 2022 I VOLUME 5 I ISSUE 1
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HEARSE CHASING | OUT IN THE OZARKS | TRANS HEALTH CARE | JORDAN BRA X TON SPEAKS OUT
Queer Sanctuary Arch Rival Roller Derby Accepts All Comers
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A magazine exploring and celebrating the LGBTQ community in St. Louis Publisher Chris Keating Editor in Chief Rosalind Early E D I T O R I A L Managing Editor Jessica Rogen Director of Social Media Elizabeth Van Winkle Contributing Writers Chris Andoe, Steve Louis Brawley, Melissa Meinzer, Gabe Montesanti, Brandon Reid A R T & P R O D U C T I O N Creative Director Haimanti Germain Art Director Evan Sult Production Manager Sean Bieri Contributing Photographers Steven Louis Brawley, Rodd Dierker, Bob Dunnell, Vu Phong, Theo Welling M U LT I M E D I A A D V E R T I S I N G Associate Publisher Colin Bell Account Manager Jennifer Samuel Director of Business Development Rachel Hoppman, Chelsea Nazaruk Director of Sponsorship Sales Deanna Schmidt M A R K E T I N G Director of Marketing & Events Christina Kimerie Marketing Coordinator Sydney Schaefer Social Media Coordinator Jamila Jackson B U S I N E S S Regional Operations Director Emily Fear C I R C U L A T I O N Circulation Manager Kevin G. Powers E U C L I D M E D I A G R O U P Chief Executive Officer Andrew Zelman Chief Operating Officers Chris Keating, Michael Wagner VP of Digital Services Stacy Volhein VP of Marketing Emily Tintera, Cassandra Yardeni www.euclidmediagroup.com N A T I O N A L A D V E R T I S I N G VMG Advertising 1-888-278-9866, www.voicemediagroup.com Out In STL is published by Euclid Media Group Verified Audit Member Out In STL PO Box 179456, St. Louis, MO 63117 www.outinstl.com General information: 314-754-5966 Fax administrative: 314-754-5955 Fax editorial: 314-754-6416
TABLE of CONTENTS INSIDE
Letter from the Pride St. Louis President
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Welcome to Pride
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Gender-Affirming Health Care
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Jordan Braxton Speaks Out
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Roller Derby Welcomes All
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Out in the Ozarks
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Preserving LGBTQIA+ History
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Founded in 2017
ON THE C OVER Out in STL is available free of charge, limited to one copy per reader. Additional copies of the current issue may be purchased for $1.00 plus postage, payable in advance at the Out in STL office. Out in STL may be distributed only by Out in STL authorized distributors. No person may, without prior written permission of Out in STL, take more than one copy of each Out in STL weekly issue. The entire contents of Out in STL are copyright 2018 by Out in STL, LLC. No portion may be reproduced in whole or in part by any means, including electronic retrieval systems, without the expressed written permission of the Publisher, Out in STL, PO Box 179456, St. Louis, MO 63117. Please call the Out in STL office for back-issue information, 314754-5966.
Arch Rival Roller Derby Team Photo by Bob Dunnell
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LE TTER F ROM THE PRESI DENT
BRANDON REID To the LGBTQIA+ community and allies,
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fter a two-year hiatus, we are excited to be “Together Again.” We are showing the world the love we have for one another and that we are proud of the things we’ve accomplished. As we move into the Pride season, it is important to note the amount of stress we have all been under during these past couple of years. It is now finally time to come outside and show our pride to St. Louis. Pride isn’t just a party. The primary intent is to promote the self-affirmation, dignity, equality and increased visibility of LGBTQIA+ individuals in the greater St. Louis region. Pride month is about celebrating the work of LGBTQIA+ people, educating about LGBTQIA+ history and raising awareness of issues affecting the community. It’s a celebration of people coming together in love and friendship. It’s all about being proud of who you are no matter who you love. Pride month is about acceptance, equality and equity for those who haven’t felt included or valued in society and showcasing their presence in one of the most visible areas, downtown St. Louis. PrideFest 2022’s theme “Together Again” rings true more now than ever. We’re coming together to advocate for enhanced support of the most marginalized within our community, as well as to educate society about the longlasting effects of the harm and damage of sex and gender phobias that continue to plague our society, media and institutions. Even as we celebrate together, we should remember the work that still needs to be done in terms of social reform; eliminating violence against LGBTQIA+ individuals; decreasing bullying; increasing access to health, mental health and safe elder care; and stopping the rise of anti-trans legislation. Pride began with the Stonewall riots in New York City in 1969. Led by Black, Latinx and trans people of color, Pride has become a global celebration of queer emancipation and visibility. We need allies, leaders and role models — inside and outside of the communities — to stand up for our rights, protections and freedoms. Those are things we should never ever take for granted. We are extremely excited to be able to showcase our theme this year in various ways: entertainment, education, testing and social gatherings on Saturday, June 25, and Sunday, June 26. PrideSTL hopes that all interested individuals who have never been to an event such as this will come out and be willing to listen and learn and enjoy celebrating with us. We are not only celebrating our freedom to be our authentic selves but remembering the courage of people, such as activist Marsha P. Johnson and other individuals, who were instrumental in getting this movement started and opening doors for all of us. So let’s get “Together Again” and let everyone know we are here, and we aren’t going anywhere. Happy Pride!
Bran don Re i d President, Pride St. Louis Board of Directors
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‘Here We Are’ INTRO TO THE 2022 PRIDEFEST AND ST. LOUIS PRIDE BY JESSICA ROGEN, PHOTOS BY THEO WELLING
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t. Louis PrideFest is a heady mix of rainbow colors, exuberant dancers, pulsating music, wild drinks, great food, old friends and, most importantly, a coming together of people across the region in support of LGBTQIA+ identity and rights. SUMMER 2022
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“The main purpose of starting a Pride festival is to celebrate together as a community,” says Jordan Braxton, Pride St. Louis board member and director of diversity, inclusion and outreach. “If we come together, we get to celebrate how wonderful we are and what a great community we are. And, of course, yes, it’s visibility, too, because when you get that many people together, you say, ‘Oh, my god, there are a lot of queer people here in St. Louis and in this region.’” (For more about Braxton, see page 18.) Braxton recalls feeling that way in the first year that the parade moved downtown. Standing at the front, she looked back at the large, enthusiastic crowd poised to march. It took her breath away. “We have arrived,” she remembers thinking at the time. “Here we are [in] downtown St. Louis with rainbow and trans flags flying, and here we are with the Arch in the background.” That was 2013, and PrideFest has only grown since. The St. Louis PrideFest is one of the largest free festivals in the U.S.; the parade drew over 300,000 people in its last in-person iteration in 2019, Braxton says. This year’s festivities will take place on Saturday, June 25, and Sunday, June 26. PrideFest will be on Tucker Boulevard between Olive and Market streets from 11 a.m. to 7 p.m. on Saturday and 11 a.m. to 6 p.m. on Sunday. The fest will include entertainment, a dance tent, a children’s area, a food court filled with area food vendors, a sober area and a nonprofit village that will include community resources and HIV and STD testing. The Grand Pride Parade steps off on Sunday, June 26, at 11 a.m. from 10th and Market and marches on Market to 18th Street. It will be a fun day for attendees and an important one for the community. “Sometimes society, life can beat you down,” Braxton says. “It’s important that you can go someplace and be around people who accept you and love you and want to be around you.”
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St. Louis Pride started in 1969 with the founding of the Mandrake Society — the area’s first formal gay-rights organization. It formed after several men were arrested on Halloween for dressing in female attire. “Because of Mandrake, I think, people were more comfortable [about] stepping out onto the limb and being more public about activism,” says historian Steven Louis Brawley, pointing to work done by the Women’s Alliance, the Metropolitan Community Church and others. (For more about Brawley, turn to page 40.) Eventually, those collective efforts led to the very first official Pride celebration in 1980. Because then-Mayor James Conway was “lukewarm” about the efforts, the organizers applied
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for the permit as a charity walk. The parade began in the Central West End and went straight down Lindell Boulevard to end at Washington University. There was only one musical performance and a single speaker. Though some openly celebrated, others painted their faces or wore paper bags over their heads, afraid of the repercussions of being out. “It was not as grandiose as today, but everyone knew [it] was a gay thing. [Paradegoers] just played the game,” Brawley says. So much has happened in the 42 years since. There have been steps back — including singer and orange-juice spokesperson Anita Bryant’s anti-gay activism in the ’70s and the current deluge of anti-trans legislation. But there’s also been prog-
ress — Mayor Francis Slay performing four same-sex marriages in 2014, the legalization of same-sex marriage in 2015 and the Supreme Court ruling in 2020 that the Civil Rights Act of 1964 protects LGBTQIA+ workers. Through it all, there’s been a St. Louis Pride celebration every year — until coronavirus precautions necessitated abbreviated or virtual events. So 2022 Pride marks a jubilant return to in-person festivities, and this year’s theme, “Together Again,” celebrates this triumphant return. Whether it’s your first pride or you’ve been there since the beginning, Braxton has some advice. “Just exhale and relax and have a good time.”
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health care Beth Gombos, outreach coordinator at the Metro Trans Umbrella Group, and Willow Rosen, the education and care support specialist at Planned Parenthood of the St. Louis Region and Southwest Missouri, are two of the people working on a collaboration between the two organizations that’s providing gender-affirming health care in the region. THEO WELLING
PLANNED PARENTHOOD AND THE METRO TRANS UMBRELLA GROUP COME TOGETHER TO PROVIDE GENDER-EXPANSIVE CARE BY MELISSA MEINZER
TRANSforming TRANSforming
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collaboration between Planned Parenthood and Metro Trans Umbrella Group has helped almost 700 gender-expansive folks in the region access gender-affirming hormone therapy in the past year and a half. The program, funded by a fouryear grant from the Missouri Foundation for Health, is called TRANSforming Community, TRANSforming Care, or TC2. TC2 prioritizes access for patients and cultural competence from providers.
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ng Community, ng Care “The genesis, if you will, was a gap in trans-affirming healthcare providers in the St. Louis area,” says Beth Gombos, outreach coordinator at the Metro Trans Umbrella Group. “There was less than a handful [of providers] that were openly accepting transgender patients who wanted to start their medical transition.” Gombos knows this problem from multiple angles. Through their work with the Metro Trans Umbrella Group, they’re on the programming side of TC2. Thanks to a frustrating interaction with their lifelong physician, they were among the first of its patients. Gombos says their doctor was aware of their queer and trans identities. They had been seeking care for PMS symptoms,
which beyond the dreadfulness of PMS on its own, were dysphoric for them. The doctor wanted to provide birth control pills to regulate the PMS — a common treatment. But birth control contains female hormones, and Gombos had another idea. They told their doctor they’d done a lot of research and given it a lot of thought, and they were ready to start masculinizing hormones. Initially supportive, the office called back the next day and said that not only would the office not provide gender-affirming hormone therapy but that Gombos would need to find another primary-care physician. “This is my family doctor,” Gombos says. “My mother goes to this doctor. My grandmother goes to this doctor. I thought it was the best care for me at the time. Hearing that they would not only tell me no but that I should find another doctor was devastating.” Gombos sounded off about the experience at work to executive director Sayer Johnson, who reminded Gombos of Metro Trans Umbrella Group’s nascent relationship with Planned Parenthood. That appointment and follow-up, Gombos says, were a very different experience.
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“When I got to my appointment, I was told that my journey and my experience and my knowledge were valued, which is not commonly what happens at doctor’s appointments,” Gombos says. “They assume they know more about you and that you don’t know what you’re talking about with your own stuff.” The doctor walked Gombos through a lot of information about hormone treatment. “My doctor helped me understand the risks and benefits,” Gombos says. “We had a long conversation about informed consent — a lot of it was information I already knew. She acknowledged that.” Before prescribing gender-affirming hormone therapy, physicians often require patients seeking it to provide documentation from a therapist. “No one who wants liposuction or breast augmentation or a nose job has to go see a therapist for procedures that, let’s face it, are also gender affirming for cisgender people,” Gombos says. “This gatekeeping has been removed.” TC2 stresses informed consent, but no therapist’s letter is required. The program follows international best practices for informed consent, adhering to the standards of care published by the World Professional Association for Transgender Health: “persistent, well-documented gender dysphoria; capacity to make a fully informed decision and to consent for treatment; age of majority in a given country; [and] if significant medical or mental health concerns are present, they must be reasonably well controlled.” The standards of care also state that “with appropriate training, feminizing/masculinizing hormone therapy can be managed by a variety of providers, including nurse practitioners and primary-care physicians.” The collaboration between Planned Parenthood and Metro Trans Umprella Group explicitly works to overcome barriers to care, including the expense and logistics of a visit to a therapist. “Historically, the health-care system has not been a reliable or safe space for transgender and gender-expansive folks,” says Willow Rosen, education and care support specialist at Planned Parenthood of the St. Louis Region and Southwest Missouri. “The partnership between the Metro Trans Umbrella Group and Planned Parenthood is a step toward closing that gap to care.” Underserved populations, including trans or gender-nonconforming people, especially those with intersecting Black or brown identities, Gombos says, can have financial hardships that prevent them from seeking care. “A unique aspect of this program is something called the Opportunity Fund,” Gombos says. “It’s part of the grant. It allows us to help transgender and gender-nonconforming patients pay for the services that they can’t afford. It makes a really big difference for people [who] cannot afford an appointment, knowing that there is financial assistance available.” Both Rosen and Gombos stress the importance of having trans and gender-expansive people making decisions about the program. “The majority of TC2 team members identify as gender expansive, which helps us live our mission: ‘nothing about us without us,’” Rosen says. “We are proud to represent our di-
verse identities in the communities we serve.” Gombos says the depth of contact and training that the Metro Trans Umbrella Group staff have with Planned Parenthood staff has been comprehensive. “I’ve been to every single one of the health-care locations in the St. Louis affiliate,” Gombos says. “I have met each one of the providers [who] are going to be providing this medical transition care for the community. I help train and consult with front-desk staff, lab technicians, health-care assistants. “I speak with every single employee [who’s] going to come into contact with a patient. I work with them on pronouns and affirmed names — some are starting with the very basics.” Since January 2021, TC2 has served 670 patients across 1,489 appointments. About 68 percent of patients are in the 20 to 34 age range, with 23 percent of patients between age 16 and 19, and 10 percent over age 35. Most, about 57 percent, visit care centers in St. Louis, with another 23 percent in southwest Missouri and 20 percent accessing care by telehealth. About 46 percent self-pay (with some accessing sliding-scale fees, though specific data on that is not available), while 42 percent use commercial insurance and about 12 percent use Medicare/ Medicaid. Both points of access — Metro Trans Umbrella Group and TC2 — aim to provide comprehensive care, with referrals between the two. Both hope to continually increase access to care through the collaboration. “While health-care access is a critical part of ensuring patients can live authentically, it is just one facet of the program,” Rosen says. “TC2 provides wraparound services including a research program that documents the needs of patients and the disparities they face in health care. The Needs Assessment survey is one important tool to better understand the reality our patients face. Additionally, medically accurate and affirming sex education is another core TC2 service that closes the gap in an education system that doesn’t adequately represent the gender-expansive community.” Gombos says that Metro Trans Umbrella Group is about to launch a telehealth service, where people can link with their provider from Metro Trans Umbrella Group’s space. They’re also launching an injection workshop and partnering with a mail-order pharmacy company, which cuts out the possibility of coming across a pharmacist with an objection to filling a particular prescription. Planned Parenthood is partnering with a health-care transportation agency to provide rides to the Metro Trans Umbrella Group — where patients can do those telehealth appointments and get injection supplies, bloodwork, food, clothing, toiletries and more. “We have been referring a lot of folks to Planned Parenthood to start their medical-transition journey,” Gombos says. “It’s been life changing for folks. I get folks that are struggling. They feel like if they could start their medical transition, it would improve their quality of life. They don’t know how easy it is!”
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Melissa Meinzer lives and writes in Tower Grove South, covering news, culture, arts and health for a variety of publications in town and nationally.
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Unapologe
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getically Her JORDAN BRAXTON IS ONE OF ST. LOUIS’ BIGGEST ADVOCATES FOR TRANS RIGHTS, HIV AND AIDS PREVENTION, AND EQUALITY BY ROSALIND E ARLY
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hen she was in third grade, Jordan Braxton came accross a classmate crying on the school playground. The child, who was from Africa, had sickle cell anemia and other kids teased him about it. When Braxton saw her classmate in distress, she made a speech “in front of everybody on the playground, about how we’re all God’s children and we should all accept each other and love each other for who we are,” she says.
It was the start of Braxton’s journey as an educator and advocate for equal rights. When she moved to St. Louis in 1982, Braxton joined efforts to combat the HIV and AIDS epidemic. She was one of six original fundraisers who started Saint Louis Effort for AIDS. “I got on the street corner of Manchester and Sarah with an evening gown and crown on and a bullhorn prompting people to get tested,” Braxton says. “I’ve gone to the stroll, and the stroll is where gay sex workers hang out, and passed out condoms.” Braxton identified as a gay man for much of her life and has been involved with Pride St. Louis for 25 years. At 52, she discovered she was intersex, which led her on a journey into trans advocacy and education. Jordan Braxton is an educator She’ll find any number of and advocate for LGBTQIA+ ways to help, whether it be rights. speaking at the Women’s THEO WELLING March on behalf of trans
rights; holding classes about diversity, equity and inclusion; or cooking free fried-chicken dinners for those in need. “She’s accepting of everyone and will do anything for anybody,” says longtime friend Jeff Noble, owner of the salon Bouffant Daddy. “She’s the most intelligent, generous, kind person who can still kick your ass that I have ever met.” It all began in Kansas City, where Braxton grew up. Braxton was a late-in-life child to her parents. Her sister, who is 15 years older, is her nearest sibling by age. Braxton remembers those days as being “like a fairy tale” with holiday tableaus at Christmas and Thanksgiving that resembled a Norman Rockwell painting. She says her mother always welcomed everyone and thought no one should be alone on holidays. Braxton put on talent shows in the backyard and learned to cook from her grandmother. Braxton’s mother died when she was 11 and, six months later, her father followed. She went to live with her oldest brother.
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“The moment that I took my first estrogen pill, everything cleared up. It’s like my mind and my body were finally in sync together.” -Jordan Braxton “The whole time I didn’t feel that I was really truly me,” says Braxton, whose gender identity was assigned male at birth. “I always felt like I was trapped in the wrong body. I knew I was a boy, but I always felt like a girl, always feminine and not very masculine.” Braxton, who is over six feet tall, played basketball in the backyard. She also loved performing in shows. When she went to Drury University in Springfield, Missouri, Braxton appeared in every production that they had. “I wanted to be Laurie in Oklahoma,” Braxton says. “But I was still presenting as male at the time.” Springfield, according to Braxton, had a strong evangelical bent and churches on every corner. “I woke up one day and asked myself: Why was a gay Black man living in Springfield, Missouri?” Braxton says. “So I packed up my car and moved to St. Louis.” She got a job at a bank and started going to drag shows. The drag queens wanted to put some makeup on her (at the time, she was still presenting as male, though remembers often being called ma’am). Braxton demurred but finally decided to try it. She asked Noble, also known as drag queen Mona Desmond, to put her in drag. “When I put a wig on [her], I just stood back and said, ‘Oh my god, you look like Sophia Loren!’” Noble remembers. “[She] was stunning with [her] high cheekbones and full lips.” Noble agreed to be her drag mother, which meant Braxton had to audition. “Before you go on stage, your drag mother will always make you do a number,” Braxton says. This is to make sure you’re good enough to go on stage. Set to watch her perform, Noble and some friends asked for Braxton’s stage name. She told them it would be Odessa Blue after a beautiful paint color she had used. “Odessa!” the friends replied. “Who wants the drag name Odessa?” Noble pointed out that Braxton’s skin was the same color as his watered-down Diet Pepsi (Braxton says that they were all in an “altered-state”), and Dieta Pepsi was born. As Dieta Pepsi, Braxton became a fixture of the St. Louis drag scene, performing to help raise money for LGBTQ+ causes. She also has won nine different Missouri pageant titles including Miss Gay Missouri in 1991. “I’m very competitive,” Braxton says. In 2011, when Braxton was 52 years old, Darin Slyman, then-publisher of Vital VOICE, tricked her. Saying that he was getting Braxton Botox for her birthday, Slyman booked her an appointment about weight loss. Before starting the diet, Braxton had to do bloodwork. The doctor was so astonished by the results, she had Braxton come back so she could
test her blood again. “I was no one’s friend at the Braxton had a .01 testosbeginning. I would say I love you terone level. Typical levels and hate you at the same time.” can range anywhere from 800 THEO WELLING to 1200. Braxton was intersex, her doctor told her. What’s more, Braxton needed to start estrogen to balance her body’s hormones. Since her hormones had never been right, Braxton would go through puberty. But due to her age, she’d also go through menopause at the same time. “I was no one’s friend at the beginning. I would say I love you and hate you at the same time,” Braxton recalls about the emotional toll of the hormones. But despite the turmoil, it felt right. “The moment that I took my first estrogen pill, everything cleared up. It’s like my mind and my body were finally in sync together,” Braxton recalls, saying her body filled out. “Mother Nature was very good to me.” At first, Braxton was overwhelmed by all the changes. But she has since adjusted to her intersex identity. She’s also maintained her commitment to advocacy. She was recently appointed to Mayor Tishaura Jones’ Metro St. Louis HIV Health Services Planning Council. “I’m trying to make sure there’s trans representation when it comes to HIV care,” she says. She also works as a prevention supervisor for Vivent Health to stop the spread of HIV and sexually transmitted infections. As for life, Braxton is confident but doesn’t take anything for granted. “Every day that I live as myself is visibility. I go places other trans people don’t. They say, ‘How do you go to a baseball game? How do you go to a hockey game?’ I don’t think about that. I just go. But I’m always aware of my surroundings. “I live my life unapologetically.”
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hen I joined St. Louis’ flat-track roller derby team in 2016, one of the first things I was told was, “Nobody joins roller derby if they have a perfectly happy life. Usually, they’re dealing with some shit.” That was certainly the case for me. I was 22, newly enrolled in graduate school at Washington University and carrying a lot of baggage.
A Queer Sanctuary AFTER A DISASTROUS COMING OUT, GABE MONTESANTI FINDS A NEW FAMILY AT ARCH RIVAL ROLLER DERBY BY G ABE MONTESANTI
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Having grown up in a Catholic family in the conservative Midwest, my identity as a queer person was met with hatred and disgust. My father thought he was being punished by God. My mother demanded that I change my mind. “No man will ever want you after this,” she said. “You’re giving up your chance to have a family.” What I wish I could tell my 22-year-old self is that my family was waiting for me inside that crumbling, south-city roller rink. When I discovered Arch Rival Roller Derby, I found a mecca of acceptance — a hub of misfits who celebrated queerness and nonconformity in the loudest way possible. Arch Rival had such a huge impact on me that it became the subject of my memoir, Brace for Impact. My book sheds light on St. Louis’ derby Roller derby teams, like community, its open emArch Rival, often embrace brace of people who are literpeople who are literally and ally and figuratively scarred, and how it saved my life as a figuratively scarred. queer person. St. Louis’ BOB DUNNELL league is representative of
the sport’s culture in its acceptance of all identities. Roller derby often attracts people who live on the margins. When I joined, I knew almost nothing about roller derby except the 2009 film Whip It, directed by Drew Barrymore and starring Elliot Page. The movie gave me a broad overview of the game: There are 10 players on the track at once, five from each team. The jammers, who wear a star on their helmets, are the only players who score points. Their job is to make it through the pack of skaters who are doing anything they can do to stop them. For each skater on the opposing team the jammer passes, she earns a point. What many people don’t know is that the bouts are not scripted and that playing roller derby requires a high degree of athleticism. I often meet people old enough to remember the ’80s television series RollerGames, a campy show that included an alligator pit in the middle of the track. “Do y’all still elbow each other?” they want to know. “Do you throw punches and hurl each other over the railings?” Though the rules have changed dramatically over the years, the simple answer is that roller derby remains a full-contact
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sport. Body checks are part of the game. We hit hard, we fall often and many of us, including me, have suffered terrible injuries as a result. That’s all foundational to the game. After roller derby waned in popularity in the ’90s, the sport was revived in the early 2000s in Texas. Arch Rival was founded in 2005. Amy Whited-Hylton, known by many by her derby name, Joanie Rollmoan, or simply Romo, was around when it happened. “At the time, there were folks who wanted to be taken more seriously as athletes and others who were here for the pageantry of it all,” she tells me. “The only idea of ‘roller derby’ most of the world had was akin to something like a poorly rehearsed fake wrestling match.” Queerness, she says, has always been a part of league culture. “There were always a fair number of skaters who fell under the LGBTQ umbrella. The mantra for many of us was, ‘Roller derby made me gay.’” Many skaters were with girlfriends or seeking girlfriends. Recruiting fliers went up in places like Hi-Pointe, Way Out Club, Frederick’s Music Lounge and Mokabe’s. Except for the last, none of those were queer spaces, but according to Romo, “if you were going to come into any of those places and be a homophobe, you’d quickly get shown the door.” That’s exactly how Arch Rival operated in its early days. Roller derby is also what brought Romo and her wife, Lipstick Lezgo (Jennifer Hylton-Whited), together for the first time. Lipstick was part of the Jeerleaders, cheering at bouts and performing fun routines but also helping on the administrative side. When I joined Arch Rival Roller Girls in 2016, the league was undergoing a name change to replace “girls” with “der-
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by.” The gendered language did not represent the nonbinary and gender-nonconforming skaters involved. In recent years, other leagues have followed suit, eliminating words like “dolls” and “darlins” from their titles. It didn’t take long for me to realize I’d stumbled into a very special community. I felt a surge of excitement on the first day of practice upon seeing that my fresh-meat coach, Ace (Krista Grant), wore a shirt that said, “Sorry, we don’t skate straight.” I had been the only out person on my college swim team after my girlfriend, Kelly, graduated. After finishing school, we lived in a conservative Ohio town where we didn’t know anyone out. That all changed with Arch Rival. Ace was only the first of many queer people I would meet in training. Boo T. Contusion (Christienne Hinz) was the second — a fellow rookie who, like me, was an academic. The North Carolina bathroom bill had recently been approved into law when we first met, and Boo was wearing a shirt with the transgender flag on it that said, “You can pee next to me.” In a sport so physical and ruthless, those public statements of acceptance provided me with such a feeling of warmth. They assured me I was in the right place. Phoebe Santalla (a.k.a. Above: A full-contact sport, Scooty Boots) joined the team a few years after I did. A trans roller derby brings together all skater, she was assigned male kinds of people to form a unique at birth. Aside from running community. Opposite page: an occasional 5K, Santalla Hart (left) and Montesanti (right). never played sports growing BOB DUNNELL up. She thinks of herself as an
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“I don’t really feel like I’m certified to be a part of the community because the majority of my partners are male. But derby absolutely makes me feel welcomed and that I don’t need to ‘prove’ that I’m anything.” -Bolt Action artistic, spacey and emotional person. “Derby is notoriously queer,” she says, “So I watched my first local game and thought to myself, ‘Hopefully it won’t matter so much what’s in my pants.’” Santalla doesn’t feel like she belongs most places, but derby is a space where she generally does. “I know that’s as much an internal, personal issue as anything, but also I can’t ignore the social narrative constructing transgender and gender-nonconforming folks and specifically trans women as the ‘other,’” she says, mentioning the surge of anti-trans legislation at the state level and that trans violence seems to be on a continuous upward trend. “The truth is, I’m often scared to excel [in roller derby]
because I’m waiting for someone to pull the ‘actually a man’ card, but I also want other gender-nonconforming folks to witness trans excellence,” she adds. “I think that paradox will only be broken by continued and welcome trans involvement.” Stephanie Bondhus (a.k.a. Bolt Action), says that if it weren’t for roller derby, she probably wouldn’t have let herself be queer and out. When she moved to Fargo, North Dakota, for college, she learned about the local roller-derby league through a coworker. “I knew it was an open community for misfits and everyone was accepted, and it was all about empowering women at the time. But I quickly learned it was super open and supportive of all identities,” she says. Roller derby brought Bondhus from Fargo to St. Louis — she wanted to play for a top-level team. When I asked her about bi erasure — the notion that bisexual people are often seen as less queer in some arenas — she stated that she has “absolutely experienced” imposter syndrome when it comes to the LGBTQIA+ world. “I don’t really feel like I’m certified to be a part of the community because the majority of my partners are male,” she says. “But derby absolutely makes me feel welcomed and that I don’t need to ‘prove’ that I’m anything.” When everything shut down in 2020, Arch Rival Roller Derby was ranked third in the world. Just weeks before lockdown, I was drafted onto Arch Rival’s All-Stars team along with 19 other badass skaters who had every intention of bringing home the world championship that November. Of course, that never happened, and for two years, roller derby was mostly in hiatus. For the first two weeks after shutdowns,
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we continued training on our own, hoping things would turn around quickly. When Arch Rival collectively started understanding and accepting the gravity of the pandemic, we found ways to stay connected with virtual workouts and “small-space skating practices,” where league members would lace up their skates and play around in their kitchens or on the concrete patios in their backyard. We did a virtual talent show on Facebook Live, which featured over a dozen “acts,” including everything from drag performances to puppet shows. My wife and I earned third place for our intricate yo-yo routine, which we called “Yos and Hoes.” While many of us established new hobbies during the break, such as park skating and indie craft-making, we also eagerly anticipated the return to gameplay. I spent the first year of the pandemic working diligently on my book, which led to a visiting assistant professor position at the University of North Texas. After my contract was over in May, Kelly and I moved back to St. Louis in time for Arch Rival’s first local game and my book launch. Jessica Hart, known simply by her derby name, Hart, was on the 2020 All-Stars roster with me. I was looking forward to playing with her — not only is Hart queer, she’s also an incredibly talented jammer with enviable footwork that made my jaw drop during tryouts. Like Bondhus, Hart moved to St. Louis to pursue high-level derby. She found Arch by watching competitive tournaments and says she “did not specifically want to be in St. Louis, but it looked nice enough, and I really wanted to skate with Arch.”
Introduced to skating by Arch Rival returns to action this her father, she’s been on year after a COVID-forced hiatus. wheels since she was seven BOB DUNNELL years old. Hart’s first job, at age 15, was in a skating rink, and she started playing derby in 2013 while serving a threeyear tour for the U.S. Army in Brussels, Belgium. “For the most part, my queer identity has been very accepted in the derby community,” she says. “I have never been in a situation where I felt like I did not have support. Sharing the track with individuals whose identities fall all across the spectrum adds to the overall acceptance.” Though Hart is unsure how long she’ll be in St. Louis, her goal is still to assist Arch Rival in bringing home the worldchampionship Hydra trophy. “I have the opportunity to play alongside jammers who have the experience I do not yet have, but want,” she says. Scooty Boots, Bolt Action and Hart are only a few of the many skaters I cannot wait to share the track with now that roller derby is officially back in St. Louis. It’s a beautiful community to witness and be part of, and every month this summer Arch will be competing in local bouts at Queeny Park in Ballwin. Everything will be on display — the glitter, the tattoos, the campiness, and the inclusion and acceptance of people with all backgrounds and identities.
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Gabe Montesanti is a queer, Midwestern roller derby player. She earned her MFA in creative nonfictions from Washington Uniniversity. Her memoir, Brace for Impact, is about roller derby.
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outdoors
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Out in the Ozarks FORGING INROADS FOR THE LGBTQIA+ COMMUNITY IN THE MISSOURI WILDERNESS BY CHRIS AND OE
M Capt’n Mop navigates as Rodd Dierker paddles down the Buffalo River. RODD DIERKER
etropolitan residents fortunate enough to live near natural wonders tend to cherish them, whether that’s the Catskills for New Yorkers or the Hill Country for Austinites. An argument could be made that the Ozarks are as impressive as those oft-hyped areas, but St. Louisans have had a complicated relationship with the wilderness at our southwest doorstep since before the Civil War. Factor in LGBTQ concerns and, for some, the cultural divide can seem insurmountable. SUMMER 2022
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I-44 slices through this terrain, connecting St. Louis at the Ozarks’ northeastern edge and my hometown of Tulsa at their southwestern foothills. For many years, I only thought of the region in the context of that six-hour drive, but when prominent drag queen Jade Sinclair organized a group float trip last summer and many friends signed up, I decided to go along. That inspiring foray led to several more outings, and the desire to talk to others about their experiences. I have found that, despite the cultural divide, our community continues to venture out and forge inroads, some for rejuvenating solitude, some for adventure and others to carve out playgrounds of our own. Camper and kayaker Rodd Dierker, who has traversed 33 rivers with his little dog, Capt’n Mop, says the rivers of the Ozarks saved his life. “My love of the Ozark waterways evolved into an obsession to paddle as many as possible in 2019, primarily because my cocaine addiction had gone into overdrive, and the rivers became my salvation.” Being on the water allowed Dierker to escape the drugs surrounding him in the city. “I never once did cocaine and almost never thought about it until I got back to the city and thought about the shit nonstop. In 2019, my mission to paddle 20 rivers kept me away from drugs one to two weeks every month, all year long. Since then, I’ve discovered that to someone who is crippled by severe antisocialism, the rivers are a place to go and always feel welcomed and always feel surrounded by friends.” As a child, Dierker’s parents owned property along the east fork of the Black River, above Johnson Shut-Ins. That’s where he says he fell in love with the Ozarks, specifically the rivers, caves, springs and seeps. The waterways are in his blood, and the rugged 57-year-old blends in easily. Wanting to learn about the experiences of more conspicuous folks, I asked members of the Queer Exchange STL Facebook group about their relationships to the area. Some of the tales were as troubling as you might expect, including that of a trans man who had to flee his campsite in the middle of the night, leaving his new tent behind. Others had a deep affinity for the region, even if they felt the need to be careful. “I’ve been going to the Black River since I was five, and I camp all the time outside of that,” Thomas Van Horn says. “I socially transitioned to nonbinary just over two years ago. Has made things interesting ….” We spoke about queer visibility, and I mentioned seeing a burly guy in the middle of the busy Huzzah River wearing a lace negligee. There was some mild heckling, but the guy performed and seemed to relish the attention. “Every so often, I’ll see some clearly queer people going down the river. Usually everyone just minds their business,”
An argument could be made that Van Horn replies, saying they the Ozarks — which spans areas personally feel the need to be of Missouri, Arkansas and more low-key when visiting. Oklahoma — is just as an “I love the area, think it’s impressive a wilderness as any. beautiful, and overall have a great time and want to go MISSO URI STATE UNIVERSIT Y back every year. That said, I’m sure I will always stealth when I’m there.” It was also in the Queer Exchange group I learned Dragula star Maxi Glamour would host a nudist gay retreat in June. The event was to be held at SIRenity Farms, which is the newest of several Ozark gay campgrounds. The list includes Cactus Canyon, Magnetic Valley and Dawg Woods. A few years ago, when you saw an RV, you might have pictured Hank Hill driving it. That all changed with the recent explosion of queer camping and “glamping,” or glamour camping. With SIRenity situated only an hour from the Gateway Arch, many St. Louisans spend nearly every weekend there in the warmer months. Since opening in 2020, the campground has amassed 7,000 members in its Facebook group and has welcomed over 2,000 unique guests through its gates. It has as many as 200 campers and guests on summer weekends. “I think we are a little more retreat-resort than a lot of the rustic offerings in the gay camping world with our close proximity to St. Louis and I-44,” says Dennis Duncan, who owns and operates the site with his husband Michael Dekeyser. “We are very accessible, and there is cell service here, so you don’t lose connectivity.” Gay Camping Friends is a Facebook group with over 115,000 followers. In 2021, its members ranked 57 campgrounds in North America, and SIRenity came in at number four. “Amazing for how new we are,” Duncan says. “It’s been a wild and amazing journey. This is the beginning of our third
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season; 2020 was weekends only. Last year was our first full season. We’ve had visitors from over 40 states already.” SIRenity is clothing optional and caters to those who identify as male. It has 1. ZACHARY STEELE 2. SIRENITY 45 full-hookup RV sites, 40 FARMS 3. MATTHE W HUTCHINSON electric-tent sites and 17 lodging options. Day passes are also popular, with guys spending afternoons poolside on the expansive deck. “We’ve been blown away by the community that has formed,” Duncan says. “It’s like there is no stranger or newbie. Once you’re here, you are soon to be family. Cool nights lend themselves to campfires and hot-tub fun. Music in the air, sometimes people bring a guitar and draw a crowd. We’ve even had a guest play bagpipes. People walk around from fire to fire until they stumble onto an irresistible conversation and pull up a chair. Always a cocktail or two and food! Our potlucks give the church ladies a run for their money. Oh, and dogs. We gay folks love our fur babies!” At our back door, there’s a nearly 47,000-square-mile region to explore, the most extensive highland region between the Appalachians and Rockies. An area with mountains, forClockwise from above: 1. Camper Christopher Dunn dries off. 2. SIRenity Farms owners Michael and Dennis Duncan with Roger, Matt, TJ and Andy. 3. Matthew Hutchison and TJ Rinn entertain outside their RV, Sweet Pea.
ests, caves, rivers, lakes and picturesque towns. If you’ve been sleeping on it, a perfect introduction would be to join a group float trip just as I did. Jade Sinclair and her co-owners at Prism, the Grove’s newest hot spot, are planning one on Monday, July 25. There are conversations that only happen in the wilderness, on a raft or around a campfire. We can’t be free of danger in the city, nor can we in the country, but if you do your research, you can navigate this wondrous place and find your tranquil spot. Perhaps a secluded corner of the forest where the bears are quite friendly.
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Chris Andoe is the author of Delusions of Grandeur and House of Villadiva.
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history
The Hearse Chaser PRESERVING THE MEMORABILIA, HISTORY OF LGBTQIA+ ST. LOUIS THAT’S IN DANGER OF BEING LOST
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BY STE VEN LOUIS BRAWLE Y
he nickname came up for the first time this past summer.
When I heard of my friend Ed’s passing, in addition to being saddened by the loss of a special person, I was immediately concerned about his personal collection of local LGBTQIA+ history. What would happen to it? I got nervous. While I was researching my book Gay and Lesbian St. Louis, Ed was very generous in letting me use several of his rare personal photographs documenting local LGBTQIA+ history. During my many visits to his home, I was enthralled by his
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stories of cruising Forest Park, road trips to California and his significant role in local leather and Mardi Gras history. And so last fall, I was relieved to learn there would be an estate sale of Ed’s items. At the event, I was fortunate enough to acquire many of his photographs, artwork and articles of clothing. It was after that sale that a friend jokingly referred to me as a “hearse chaser” — as in a preservation-focused amSteven Louis Brawley earned bulance chaser. the moniker “Hearse Chaser” How did all of this begin? through his relentless efforts After founding the St. Louis to preserve the objects LGBT History Project — my important to LGBTQIA+ project to preserve and prohistory in the region. mote the diverse and dynamic VU PHONG history of the LGBTQIA+
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community — in 2007, I began to hear sad stories of community elders passing away and their personal belongings being thrown out. This included their photos, letters, clothing and other personal artifacts. Often family members were embarrassed or ashamed because their loved ones were part of the LGBTQIA+ community, whether they lived openly or were closeted. As my work became more well known, I started to receive calls about people’s passings and their items being in danger of being trashed. Sometimes people would leave things on porches for me to pick up, sometimes I would be invited to come into the residence and look around. At other times, there would be estate sales, and I would be invited to come early and see what they had. Sometimes people donated items; other times I bought them. No matter the circumstances, it became a personal passion to ensure that the life objects of the LGBTQIA+ community were preserved and not forever lost. One day at work, a colleague approached me and said that a member of her church was the executor of his nextdoor neighbor’s estate, who happened to be gay. She connected us, and I met him at his neighbor’s house. It was a beautiful three-story townhome in Old North St. Louis. He explained his neighbor had recently passed away and he was beginning to sort through the house. He was personal friends of both the man and his late partner. He thought there might be items of significance but was not sure. Upon entering the house, it was sadly like a scene from the show Hoarders. All three floors were filled with beautiful antiques and household items. It was a time capsule of their lives. I spent several days going through the house and discovered the most amazing items — birth certificates, military-discharge records, love letters and cards, even hip 1970s outfits. The man had worked at Washington University for many years. So I contacted my partners at the university and informed them of the treasure trove. Today, the university has archived and preserved this collection. Another time, someone found me on social media and explained that his mother was going into a nursing home. The mother and her husband had been involved in the local leadership of Parents, Families, and Friends of Lesbians and Gays over the years. When I arrived, there were 10 or so boxes filled with their personal files. I cannot imagine these documents being thrown out. More history saved. When a well-known community member died, his family took what they wanted from the apartment, and the estate-sale manager told me I could have anything that was left. It was sad to see so much of his life in plastic tubs. Again, a person’s life journey partially preserved. On a happier note, I also work with commuBrawley has discovered birth nity members who docertificates, military discharge nate items while they’re records, as well as hundreds of still alive. Hundreds of T-shirts, buttons and many T-shirts, buttons, postother historical objects through ers, videos, photographs his work. and more, have been doSTEVEN LOUIS BRAWLEY nated over the past 10 years. It is great to hear
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Part of my preservation effort entails finding safe places to archive these amazing treasures, as it’s vital for museums to collect the items of “minority” communities as well as those of the majority. the personal stories that are associated with their objects. Part of my preservation effort entails finding safe places to archive these amazing treasures, as it’s vital for museums to collect the items of “minority” communities as well as those of the majority. Over the years, I have created formal partnerships with area institutions known internationally for their archival expertise — the Missouri History Museum, the State Historical Society of Missouri at the University of Missouri–St. Louis, Washington University and others. Today, hundreds of items — photographs, videos, clothing, trophies, signage — are now safely preserved in these archives. Many will be included as part of an upcoming Missouri History Museum Gateway to Pride exhibit slated for 2024 that will tell the untold stories of the LGBTQIA+ community. Not only do people die, but LGBTQIA+ businesses and organizations also close. When Magnolia’s bar shut down in 2014, the owner contacted me and said he wanted me to come in and see if there were items I would like. Having been a frequent customer of Mag’s over the years, I was sad to see it close but happy to have the opportunity to preserve its history. I filled up several SUV loads of stuff — the bar’s disco ball, trophies, signs, drag gowns and much more. When the LGBT Center ceased operations in 2014 and JJ’s bar closed in 2021, I was again fortunate to help facilitate items being donated to the Missouri History Museum. I recently had lunch with noted LGBTQIA+ author and historian John D’Emilio. I was telling him stories about my experiences over the years and how the St. Louis community is aggressively working to document local LGBTQIA+ history. He reminded me how fortunate I am to have such welcoming and energetic partners who share my vision. It has not always been that way. So much history has been discarded. So, when someone calls me a “hearse chaser,” I take it as a compliment. Let me know about the next estate sale.
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Steven Louis Brawley is a historian noted for his research related to LGBTQIA+ and pop-culture topics. He is the founder of the St. Louis LGBT History Project, the author of Gay and Lesbian St. Louis and the executive vice president of Area Resources for Community and Human Services.
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