Arts & Entertainment
Bulleit Bourbon founder’s lesbian daughter claims family is homophobic
the heir says her family has been homophobic to her personally and professionally
Hollis Bulleit, the lesbian daughter of Bulleit Bourbon founderĀ Tom Bulleit, has accused her family of cutting her out the family business for being gay.
In a series of Facebook posts, Bulleit detailed how she and her partner Cher were blocked from the family and the Bulleit Bourbon business over the course of their relationship.
Bulleit begins by saying her position at the company was terminated in December 2016 without warning. Bulleit had worked for her family company for 25 years including as the Bourbon’s “global ambassador” starting in 2010. She mentions that she received no special send-off from her family and co-workers and that Cher was not invited to the grand opening of a Bulleit Bourbon store, an effort Bulleit says she played a huge part in opening.
“I sat and watched my beloved cry for one of the rare times in our decade long partnership when she saw photos of my stepbrotherās girlfriend (who seems like a lovely person) of less than a year who had a printed sign and assigned seat. Cher had nothing. We were erased and no one lifted a finger. To this day I have no footprint to my name, no commemorative brick, not even a proper going away party. This seems highly unfair, but also like bad business. For the years of free artwork I gave and made from my heart, this has been a heartless and unnecessarily punitive ending that has continued well past December of 2016,” Bulleit writes.
“Since Cher and I have been together she has been excluded from ‘the family business’ from the start; yet Tomās second wife and all of my stepbrotherās girlfriends were included in photos, event invites, and press. Even though my work events were FAMILY WORK events both parties played that to their advantage when it came to the exclusion of my family ā Cher ā by acting as if I was a single ambassador and not a family member,” Bulleit continues. “In the course of ten years Cher and I spent less than three weeks time in the company of the Bulleit family.
She went on to say she does not want to work for another bourbon company because she still feels loyalty to her family. However, she cannot start her own brand because her last name is trademarked and her skills are only suited for work in this industry. Bulleit receives no financial support from her family.
Although it took her awhile to speak out, Bulleit encourages people to call out homophobia to protect themselves.
“I should never have been put in a position to hide my familyās homophobia or my companyās complacency in order to keep my job. I did nothing wrong. I have nothing to be ashamed of. But the punishments, the silent treatments, and the threats continue. When you chose to be silent in the face of this type of behavior you are not being well mannered. You are choosing to hide because you can and you are protecting yourself,” Bulleit says.
Theater
āHand to Godā showcases actors and their puppets
Luke Hartwood serves as designer, coach for Keegan production
āHand to Godā
Feb. 1-March 2
Keegan Theatre
1742 Church St., N.W.
$49-$59
Keegantheatre.org
Luke Hartwood has loved puppets for as long as he can remember.
At 24, heās indulging his passion as puppet designer/coach and properties designer for Keegan Theatreās production of Robert Askinsā āHand to God.ā Itās the Tony-nominated comedy about meek Jason who after the death of his father finds an outlet for his anxiety at the Christian Puppet Ministry in small town Texas.
Puppets begin as a design team collaboration, Hartwood explains, and move on from there. With āHand to God,ā the playwrightās notes describe Jasonās badly behaved puppet Tyrone as looking āElmo-y and shit,ā but beyond that thereās room for some interpretation.
Hartwood, who is gay and Asian American, graduated from George Mason University in May 2023. He majored in theater with a double concentration in performance and design/technology, and minored in graphic design.
āWith all my varied interests thatās what made sense to me,ā he says. āIt wasnāt easy but now Iām a flexible candidate when interviewing for work. Iām skilled in design and the physical fabrication of puppets. And I also act.ā
Based in Northern Virginia, heās been with his partner for six years. Recently, Hartwood shared his thoughts on puppetry and what he wants from the future.
WASHINGTON BLADE: Whatās the attraction to puppets?
LUKE HARTWOOD: Iāve always loved puppets. It started as a kid watching cartoons, Iād pause the TV get out a sheet of paper and draw a character, usually PokĆ©mon and Digimon. I learned to use shapes, rounded or sharp edges depending if I wanted to make it cute or scary. I moved from 2-D to 3-D using cereal boxes to give dimension to the drawings. Once I carved a character into the wood of my momās sideboard. She wasnāt happy.
BLADE: Were puppets your way into theater?
HARTWOOD: Not exactly. Despite some fear, I started acting when I was a sophomore in high school. I was a shy kid, but I wanted to be in theater. With me, I also brought my love of art and soon began working on props. It wasnāt unusual to see me in costume backstage between scenes building props.
BLADE: And you continued in college?
HARTWOOD: Mine was the dreaded COVID college experience and the creation of Zoom theater. When we finally came back to live theater, my stage fright returned too. But I got past that and acted in āYouāre a Good Man, Charlie Brownā [Hartwood was cast as the titular blockhead]. Itās a low-tech show; I did cutouts in the style of Peanuts characters. That was fun.
BLADE: With āHand to Godā at Keegan youāre really multitasking. Tell me a little bit about working with actors.
HARTWOOD: During casting, the actors were asked to bring a sock to use as a puppet. Not to show expertise but to prove some potential.
Actor Drew Sharpe plays both Jason and his puppet Tyrone throughout the show; itās like patting your head and rubbing your tummy at the same time.
We start with basics. But then we retrain the way an actor thinks about a puppet. Not only is he marking up his script with his own blocking and intentions, but heās also doing the same thing for his puppet. Itās playing two roles simultaneously. Iām in awe of how quickly Drew has learned and improved over the last few weeks.
BLADE: Does being queer affect your project choices?
HARTWOOD: I try to incorporate my queerness into theater. For a while I didnāt know how to do that. Iām not writing plays or activist pieces, but Iām selective of what shows I do. I like to dedicate time to shows I care about, particularly those involving the queer and POC communities. Sometimes that means working with a smaller theater and not getting paid as much.
BLADE: Is money a concern?
HARTWOOD: I recently quit my full-time corporate job as a business analyst at a government contracting company to focus fully on theater. If Iām going to spend 40 hours of my week doing something I better love it.
I was picturing myself in 10, 20, or 30 years. If I push my artistry now, thereās more time for me to become successful or to get my big break.
Also, I just graduated from bartending school. That should help pay the bills.
BLADE: How does āHand to Godā jibe with your professional ethos?
HARTWOOD: Really well. Though not explicitly written for the queer community or POC, it explores grief, toxic masculinity and what it means to be āman enough.ā And that resonates with a lot of queer folks.
And, Iām definitely here for the puppets
āWhen the Band Played Onā
By Michael G. Lee
c.2025, Chicago Review Press
$30/282 pages
You spent most of your early career playing second fiddle.
But nowĀ youāve got the baton, and a story to tell that people arenāt going to want to hear,Ā though itās essentialĀ that theyĀ face the music.Ā They mustĀ know whatās happening. As in the new bookĀ āWhen the Band Played Onā by Michael G. Lee,Ā this time, itās personal.
Born in 1951 in small-town Iowa, Randy Shilts was his alcoholic, abusive motherās third of six sons. Frustrated, drunk, she reportedly beat Shilts almost daily when he was young; she also called him a āsissy,ā which āseemed to follow Randy everywhere.ā
Perhaps because of the abuse, Shilts had to āteach himself social graces,ā developing āadultlike impassivenessā and ābiting sarcasm,ā traits that featured strongly as he matured and became a writer. He was exploring his sexuality then, learning āthe subtleties of sexual communication,ā while sleeping with women before fully coming out as gay to friends.
Nearing his 21st birthday, Shilts moved to Oregon to attend college and to āallow myself love.ā There, he became somewhat of an activist before leaving San Francisco to fully pursue journalism, focusing on stories of gay life that were āmostly unknown to anyone outside of gay culture.ā
He would bounce between Oregon and California several times, though he never lost sight of his writing career and, through it, his activism. In both states, Shilts reported on gay life, until he was well known to national readers and gay influencers. After San Francisco supervisor Harvey Milk was assassinated, he was tapped to write Milkās biography.
By 1982, Shilts was in love, had a book under his belt, a radio gig, and a regular byline in a national publication reporting āon the GRID beat,ā an acronym later changed to AIDS. He was even under contract to write a second book.
But Shilts was careless. Just once, careless.
āIn hindsight,ā says Lee, āā¦ it was likely the night when Randy crossed the line, becoming more a part of the pandemic than just another worried bystander.ā
Perhaps not surprisingly, there are two distinct audiences for āWhen the Band Played On.ā One type of reader will remember the AIDS crisis and the seminal book about it. The other is too young to remember it, but needs to know Randy Shiltsās place in its history.
The journey may be different, but the result is the same: author Michael G. Lee tells a complicated, still-controversial story of Shilts and the book that made America pay attention, and itās edgy for modern eyes. Lee clearly shows why Shilts had fans and haters, why Shilts was who he was, and Lee keeps some mystery in the tale. Shilts had the knowledge to keep himself safe but he apparently didnāt, and readers are left to wonder why. Thereās uncomfortable tension in that, and a lot of hypothetical thinking to be had.
For scholars of gay history, this is an essential book to read. Also, for anyone too young to remember AIDS as it was, āWhen the Band Played Onā hits the right note.
The Blade may receive commissions from qualifying purchases made via this post.
Out & About
2025 is the year to prioritize LGBTQ wellness
Community center hosts workshop ‘prioritizing self-care & community care’
The DC LGBTQ+ Community Center will host āPrioritizing Self-Care & Community Care in 2025 Workshopā on Wednesday, Jan. 22 at 7 p.m.
This will be an engaging conversation about how to prioritize self-care and community care in the upcoming year. This one-hour workshop will be facilitated by Program Director & Psychotherapist Jocelyn Jacoby. This workshop is designed to be a place where LGBTQ people can be in community with each other as the community grapples with fear and hope and comes up with practical ways to promote resiliency.
Registration for this event is mandatory and can be accessed on the DC Centerās website.Ā
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