“Brady Bunch” fans were abuzz this week as HGTV unveiled its new show “A Very Brady Renovation” Monday night, which follows all surviving cast members of the original 1969-1974 series as they work with professional renovation experts to recreate their iconic home. The original series debuted 50 years ago this month.
Like most shows of the era, the exteriors seen on the series were a real house. Its interiors were never seen on the hit ABC series — all interiors were filmed on Stage 5 at Paramount Studios. When the house used for the exteriors — located at 11222 Dilling St., in Studio City, Calif., — went on the market last year, a bidding war erupted but HGTV won, purchasing the house for $3.5 million.
Almost immediately, the network planned a massive renovation to make the house look as much inside like the “house” was seen on TV. That involved adding 2,000 square feet to the original floor plan, a task that likely would have given even Mike Brady (an architect) a massive headache!
All six of the Brady “kids” — Barry Williams (Greg), Maureen McCormick (Marcia), Christopher Knight (Peter), Eve Plumb (Jan) and Mike Lookinland (Bobby) joined Jonathan and Drew Scott (“Property Brothers: Forever Home”) Mina Starsiak Hawk and Karen E. Laine (“Good Bones”), Leanne and Steve Ford (“Restored by the Fords”), Jasmine Roth (“Hidden Potential”) and Lara Spencer (“Flea Market Flip”) to execute was the network is calling “the boldest home renovation the world has ever seen.” (Sadly, Alice, Carol and Mike are no longer with us — Ann B. Davis died at age 88 in 2014, Florence Henderson died in 2016 at age 82 and Robert Reed, who was gay, died of AIDS in 1992 at 59.)
Roth, fresh off a red shag carpet event last week, spoke to the Blade by phone Sept. 6 about her work on the show.
WASHINGTON BLADE: How did you come to be involved in the show/project?
JASMINE ROTH: I got a call and it was like, “Hey, we’re thinking about the Brady Bunch house …” and I was like, “Yeah, absolutely,” they didn’t even have to ask me. It was pretty early on, I don’t think they knew exactly what they were planning to do with the house at that point.
BLADE: Had you been a “Brady Bunch” fan as a kid?
ROTH: Yeah. My mom was a huge fan and watched it with her brother and sister the first time through and so when I was a kid, whenever it was on, she was like, “Oh my goodness, come watch this show, the ‘Brady Bunch’ is on.” I definitely grew up watching it, I knew all the characters, I knew the song, so when I got the call it was a no brainer. To say I’m a fan is an understatement.
BLADE: What did you actually do on the project?
ROTH: Each of us hosts were given different areas of the house. I was in charge of Mike’s den, which was a challenge because it was one of those rooms where a lot of scenes were shot, a lot of important scenes. It was a room people spent a lot of time looking at, so I knew I had to get it right with the drafting table and the green shutters and the little sofa. I was also in charge of the master bedroom … which, at the time, was the first time where a couple was shown sleeping together in the same bed, so for the TV world, that was a big deal.
BLADE: I could never figure out what that was supposed to be behind their bed — some kind of a screen or scrim or something? It wasn’t a wall.
ROTH: I think the idea of it was that it was a paper screen and a window behind it so the light would filter through, but of course, this was just on a set so there wasn’t any real light. But that kind of thing came up again and again because it wasn’t technically a real house on the show. One thing that was interesting, when the Brady kids came in, they went, “Oh my gosh, it has ceilings,” because of course on the set, it was just lights and microphones up there. But I think the headboard area was mean to be this kind of Asian-inspired paper shade. In our design, we made it out of bumpy glass and then we had the exact pattern from the set printed onto a kind of contact paper that adhered to the glass to give it that paper look, but more durable.
BLADE: The Bradys had so many interesting paintings (or reproductions) in their house. Did Paramount have those in its prop house or did you have to recreate them?
ROTH: Paramount did have a fair amount of items but we weren’t sure if they were from the original set, you know, they did a lot of reboots and specials and things over the years. But we were able to get as much as we possibly could. A lot of it was in pretty rough shape. … As for the paintings, we recreated most of them.
BLADE: Did the nationwide scavenger hunt for furniture and replicas turn up much you were able to use on the show?
ROTH: Oh my goodness, yes. There was a bust of a woman on the headboard of the bed a fan had bought at a thrift shop years before and donated. He didn’t even know at first it was the same on one the show but recognized it later. It’s the kind of thing you’d never consciously notice watching the show, yet the bedroom wouldn’t really be complete without it.
BLADE: Some of those little tchotchkes changed over the run of the show. Did you just pick the ones that were the most recognizable?
ROTH: Yeah, some changed, some didn’t. There were times we had to make decisions but if it was something that was there for multiple seasons, like the horse at the base of the stairs, obviously those had to be there.
BLADE: Did you find the original horse or is it a replica?
ROTH: Well, we found a horse at Paramount. We’re not sure if it was THE horse, but it looked a lot like it. But unfortunately a bunch of the legs had broken off. So we found a similar one at an online auction and we found a way to kind of meld together the pieces with a 3D printer to fix the parts that were broken on the original.
BLADE: There’s also a smaller horse in the den on the endtable beneath the lamp. For those less noticeable props, did you feel you had to find exact replicas or did close enough work?
ROTH: We just did the best we could with the amount of time we had. We tried to get it as exact as possible down to the objects on the vanity table in the master bedroom and the setup of the books on the shelf in Mike’s den.
BLADE: How long did all this take?
ROTH: It was a six-month project; nine months total with the planning and everything.
BLADE: How were the Brady kids to work with?
ROTH: Oh my gosh, I didn’t know what to expect. I didn’t know if they were gonna want to show up and just kidna watch mostly or what. But they were all really ready to get their hands dirty and they were all super excited about it. They were fun and brought a lot of insight. I don’t think we could have done this project without them. Their memories of these spaces at the end of the day are what really brought it all together.
BLADE: Who was the hardest worker?
ROTH: I’d say it varied. Chris Knight was the biggest skeptic at the beginning. He just thought it was too big of a project, but then he ended up working harder than anyone else because he really wanted it to happen.
BLADE: Any of them you particularly clicked with?
ROTH: I worked with everybody. We were paired up with certain people on each room but I live in Orange County, so it’s close and I was able to be there a lot if I had a day off on my own show or I was literally waiting for paint to dry. So I got to work with every single Brady. Every one of them surprised me, that’s what I’ll say.
BLADE: Susan said once — it seemed kinda half-joking, half not — that when they get together they take care not to put Eve and Maureen next to each other. Did you sense any tension between those two?
ROTH: No, that’s so funny. No, I didn’t pick up on any tension at all honestly. We were so focused on the project, I don’t think there would have been time for anything like that or if there was, it would have just immediately dissipated.
BLADE: How did you even begin to add a second floor to the house without disturbing the facade? That seems crazy impossible.
ROTH: That was one of our biggest challenges. We knew we couldn’t mess with the front because that’s what everybody’s used to seeing. … We actually dug down and recessed the family room about a foot lower than it would have been on the set and that’s how we were able to accomplish the angle of the staircase, which was the most important. You know we had to get the staircase right.
BLADE: What will they do with this house now?
ROTH: That’s the million dollar question, I don’t know. It’s tough because there are a lot of restrictions. It’s in a residential neighborhood but it’s also Hollywood, so there’s that. I think it’s a matter of figuring out something that works for everybody but I honestly don’t know.
BLADE: How many episodes are there?
ROTH: I think four plus a bunch of online-only content.
BLADE: Which Brady kid did you most identify with as a kid?
ROTH: Marcia, although she was way cooler and way prettier. So kinda Marcia but in my dreams.
BLADE: Did it seem like there was genuine camaraderie between the Brady kids or no more than it might be for any of us catching up with coworkers from long ago. Don’t you think the public kind of projects onto them and imagines they’re BFFs and hanging out all the time and so on when probably really that’s not the case?
ROTH: Well they all grew up together and you can’t discount that. When you have that kind of shared experience at such a young age, it’s almost like a real brother or sister. They may not be getting together for dinner every week at this point in their lives, but they picked up right where they left off and we really had fun doing this project together. I think it’s a hundred percent genuine and they are truly brothers and sisters, even if it is just on TV.
Remembering Robert Reed
Despite having a combative relationship with “Brady Bunch” executive producer Sherwood Schwartz, gay actor Robert Reed, who was closeted most of his life, never missed a Brady reunion, having shown up for “The Brady Bunch Hour” (1976-1977), “The Brady Girls Get Married” (1981), “A Very Brady Christmas” (1988) and “The Bradys” (1990).
A lot of the tension centered around Reed, a classically trained actor, thinking the Brady scripts were too silly and implausible. Florence Henderson (Carol) and Barry Williams (Greg) in their respective memoirs (“Life is Not a Stage” and “Growing Up Brady”) have said Reed could be a pain to work with.
“If there was a source of recurring tension on the set, it usually concerned Bob,” Henderson writes. “He wanted ‘The Brady Bunch’ to be Shakespeare. It was the catalyst for terrible fights with Sherwood.”
Williams writes that although the tension continued through the life of the show and through its reunions, Reed was good to the young cast and they didn’t see a lot of the more terse exchanges. “He treated the kids as though they were his real family,” Henderson writes.
“I want to make it crystal clear that this sort of tension was not commonplace on the set … and was not exhibited in front of the kids,” Schwartz is quoted as having said in Williams’ book. “It almost always took place late in the shooting day, long after the Brady kids had gone home. Under normal everyday circumstances, our (set) was friendly, comfortable, relaxed and enjoyable. … Friction was an exception not the rule.”
Was Reed combative by nature or could some of his grumpiness come from being forced to stay in the closet pretty much his whole life? Henderson thinks that compounded his irritability.
“It’s hard to imagine what it must have been like in that era to be an actor in fear of losing his career if his sexual orientation were to become public,” she writes. “Being in that closet had to be a very stressful place.”
— JOEY DiGUGLIELMO
Paradise lost: Remembering the popular Rehoboth men’s guest house
Beach town’s pioneering B&B welcomed gay clientele before arrival of AIDS
“What hath night to do with sleep?” John Milton, A Journey to Paradise
In February 1987, 30-something Bill Courville was at his Mt. Pleasant neighborhood home. He opened the new edition of the Washington Blade. As usual, he read it from beginning to end. With a Ph.D. in psychology, Bill enjoyed the classifieds. It lifted his spirits after reading obituaries of gay men and news of meager AIDS funding from the Reagan administration. Sandwiched between personals and escorts were real estate sales listings, including a one-inch ad about a B&B in downtown Rehoboth Beach, Del.
Bill thought about his youthful days living in New Orleans and working at the Maison De Ville, a small dusty red stucco painted guest house overlooking Toulouse Street. There Tennessee Williams had once lived while penning “A Street Car Named Desire” — when not sipping Sazarac cocktails in the garden courtyard.
He circled the ad and placed it on the kitchen counter for his lover, Bob, to read. The couple had met two years earlier crossing the P Street Bridge and had gradually merged their lives. After Bob looked at the ad, Bill suggested: “Let’s go look at this! We will have a business and an income — and a place to live!” Born in Minnesota, Bob Jerome, the more cautious of the pair, had grown up in California, attending college in Claremont and later working as a Senate staffer. Like Bill, he had a doctorate and traveled throughout the world before their P Street encounter. Unlike Bob, however, Bill never had been to Rehoboth. Nevertheless, Bill insisted this could be their next adventure or at least an excuse to visit the shore off-season.
“It’s a great seasonal resort,” Bob responded positively. “Everybody goes there. There’s gay life!”
The next weekend, they crossed the Chesapeake Bay Bridge and drove to Paradise. Rehoboth was mostly shuttered. But the Renegade bar was open at the fringe of town as was the Blue Moon along the gaying Baltimore Avenue. Driving one street over, they arrived at 40 Maryland Ave.
John, the Realtor, whose lover “Dolly” performed at the Moon, met the couple at the 19th-century house. “It was pretty awful,” remembers Bill. The fatigued Paradise Guest House sign was washed-out and the wide front porch with its handcrafted trellis lusted for paint. The pipes were drained. There was no heat or electricity. There were slivers of mirrors glued on living room walls, a disco ball hanging from the ceiling, 1930s over-stuffed maroon chairs, and yard sale grade furniture facing an old TV. The scent of stale cigarette smoke lingered in the ceilings and walls.
As they wandered through the 28 rooms — most barely wide enough for a floor mattress with a thin plastic sheet and an occasional odd-fitting dresser — they eyed stacks of men’s magazines (Honcho, Mandate, Bound & Gagged), iconic videos like “Boys in the Sand,” “Stryker Force,” and “Pacific Coast Highway,” along with chests of dildos in every imaginable size. Off the living room, a narrow passageway at a left angle to the main corridor led to the first-floor bedrooms. At the end was a trap door. They didn’t venture down. “Seasonal resorts like the Paradise were kind of like bars,” Bill explains. “They look great at night but don’t look at them during the day.”
On their drive back, the couple chatted about the venture. “I told Bill that if we were going to invest, he needed to run it so we could learn the business.” Bob knew his income would cover their personal expenses as long as Bill was willing to do the day-to-day management. “We were youngish. I don’t think we thought about what a massive undertaking it was…. But it seemed right.”
After purchasing the property, they along with some friends had just a few months before the 10-week season began on Memorial Day weekend. “We’d drag them down there and make them work, saying, ‘Oh, you can go to the beach.’ But, of course they never did go as it was always cold and rainy.” Bill wondered, “Does the sun ever shine here?”
Those next weeks were frantic: discarding discolored mattresses and sex toys; tearing out faux bedroom walls to restore the original 14 rooms; buying new white wicker furniture; upgrading the bathrooms, deck, and kitchen. Everything was thoroughly cleaned. Fresh white paint glistened on the walls and gray-painted floors replaced piles of tattered, sandy rugs. A local lesbian contractor built sturdy outside showers replacing a rickety wooden stall connected by a water hose and lined with reflective aluminum foil — designed more for strutting than showering.
“It was a huge undertaking,” admits Bill. “Everything we had was sunk into it. It had to be open!” He remembers one man calling a few days before asking if he could change check-in to Wednesday. “No, you can’t,” Bill said flatly. “You can come Friday at 2 o’clock, but not one minute sooner!”
With little time to advertise in this pre-Internet era, they did their best to explain the changes to former guests, beginning with its new name: The Rehoboth Guest House. More importantly, it now was open to lesbians as well as straights and there was no smoking. “We had a mix of friends,” says Bill. “So it would be gay-owned and operated but pretty much open to whoever wanted to come…. We had been discriminated against for most of our lives. If you don’t want to come you don’t have to.”
Reactions from Paradise veterans varied when Bill and Bob discarded the blue, white, and yellow “Paradise Guest House” sign and, more importantly, its ethos of male eros. One of the new owners’ early supporters was Charlie Allen, who worked in the Baltimore schools but summered in Rehoboth. “He was writing a book,” Bill reveals, “called ‘Summer Sisters’… they were sisters for the summer.” Bob interjects, “The other part of the title was ‘Some Are Not.’ So, it was ‘Summer Sisters [pronounced Some Are Sisters]: Some Are Not.’Charlie died before publishing his book—which has never been found.
Unlike Charlie, “some hardcore folks were upset,” Bob recalls. “This used to be a gay male oasis” where men could “be themselves: wearing dresses; walking around naked; having piercings everywhere. They could get out of their suits and live the lives they wanted with people like them.” In an understanding tone, Bob adds: “That’s hard to take away.” The Paradise was a safe spot not only for Philadelphia accountants, D.C. staffers, and Baltimore teachers, but college kids enjoying summer break, career embarking twinks, and closeted locals seeking safe harbor.
Charlie was best friends with the German-accented Paradise owner Herbert Koerber and his boyfriend, Alvarado Ortiz-Benavides, whom everyone called “Mami”— colloquial Spanish for sweetheart. A gregarious man with fading hair and a reddish beard, Charlie often helped Mami with housekeeping and other chores. Mostly, though, he just enjoyed the sexual freedom of Paradise and the camaraderie among male guests. Some returned each year for a week, others visited more frequently for long weekends, and a few stayed the entire summer. Most guests were younger than Charlie’s 40 odd years, but everyone seemed to get along.
Most of Koerber’s clientele came from word-of-mouth advertising, although there was a classified ad in summer issues of the Washington Blade: “friendly guesthouse, close to beaches and bars.” One of the very first media stories about gay Rehoboth appeared in the May 1980 issue of this iconic paper. It described Paradise as “utterly comfortable” and quoted 38-year-old Herbert: “Tell people I can put them up — maybe even give them a discount during the week — but on weekends, after the bars close, my lobby will be packed.”
Before Herbert opened Paradise, in 1979, there were no openly gay-owned or gay-friendly advertised guest houses in Rehoboth. The Sandcastle, a decrepit speakeasy-like rooming house owned briefly by several gay men, had burnt to the ground four years earlier. The grand Pleasant Inn Lodge, hosted by the reclusive, debonair bachelor Peck Pleasanton and his octogenarian mother, Bessie, welcomed an occasional well-behaved “single” gentleman.
During eight seasons, Paradise evolved as did Herbert and Mami. The two were an odd pair. Herbert, a “fussy queen” who swore like a sailor, was tall and thin with longish hair and a handlebar mustache. He was always tanned even though his forehead would get beet red given his German complexion. The much shorter Mami, whose family was from South America, was soft-spoken and very sweet. Compared to the larger-than-life Herbert, he was less memorable to guests. Bob describes Herbert as “the German businessman. Mami was the onetime boy-toy.” They wintered in Key West, operating a gift shop and hawking kitsch souvenirs like black velvet paintings and seashell coasters.
Herbert monetized every aspect of Paradise, creating a sexual Disneyland. With 28 “teensy rooms the size of bathhouse cubicles,” there could be upwards of 50 men checked-in along with their friends and friends of their friends, wandering in during the night. However, the number of bathrooms — two full baths and two halves — did not expand. “It was shabby and crowded, but we were young and didn’t care,” one Paradise regular muses. “It had a reputation. It was our party house.”
The second floor became clothing optional with men often walking around with towels during midnight hours. Plywood partitions were set between rooms with guests on one side having a window and the other windowless. Herbert’s “summer curtains” served instead of doors, which allowed air (and guests) to circulate. Those with bedroom windows overlooking the sundeck could easily extend an invitation to a coconut-lotioned twink or a weightlifting hunk. “Everything went on at the deck and in the windows and rooms behind it,” recalls a frequent guest. There were late Saturday afternoon happy hours and skit contests. Staging was festive, if not overly decorative, with a jerry-rigged backstage area for costume changing. A raucous backyard crowd cheered contestants.
Originally, there was a huge gabled attic bedroom that required ascending a steep stairway. Herbert slashed it into a tiny single air-conditioned room with the remaining space transformed into an after dark playground full of mattresses with an aroma of poppers and pot. “Herbert turned every square inch of that attic into a bed sleeping sex area. It was masterful,” Bob says in a praiseworthy tone. “Every inch was geared toward pleasure” And, as he and Bill later discovered, There was a leather sling in the “dungeon,” a 10 x 12 cinder block walled room accessed only from the first floor trap door.
Room rates were low and backyard camping was just $5 for those bringing tents. Campers, though, had to be late night partiers. Before dawn, visitors often entered from the alley along a little path leading to the unlocked side gate. Nocturnal grunts, gasps, and groans harmonized to sounds of crashing waves. Back then, as one Paradise regular stresses, “Sex wasn’t a taboo thing. It was like going to lunch! It was as common as going for a cocktail.”
During the day, Herbert was often found in his flip-flops, T-shirt, and khaki shorts, puttering in the garden or tending to his beloved lacecap hydrangeas gracing the front yard. Herbert was estranged from his German-speaking family so Paradise regulars became his family. Friendly, he knew everyone by their first name but don’t ask to reserve a specific room. One returning guest remembers phoning Herbert for a reservation and requesting a first-floor room with a door: “Oh, honey!” Herbert laughed. “It’s just first come, first served.”
Herbert did repairs only when absolutely necessary. But he’d always be painting, using just one color: white. The exception was the wrap-around front porch, lined with rocking chairs, which had a gray floor and ceiling along with knob and tube wiring. Throughout the house, guests used it to hang clothes since there were no closets.
In the early to mid 1980s, Paradise thrived as a money making machine — a bathhouse on the beach. As the number of gay-owned restaurants and bars multiplied along with accompanying media attention, more gay men vacationed at Rehoboth and visited Paradise. “There was a routine,” one recounts. “You’d get up late. Get yourself down to the gay beach. Do a day at the ocean, getting too much sun. Then there was happy hour at the Moon. You had to be there and have a nice look. Then you’d go back, take a nap, and then go to dinner. Then, onto the Renegade!”
Herbert provided a weekend shuttle to the Renegade. About 10 o’clock, he’d drive up in his light colored blue and white ’60s VW van, hop out and, as a regular recollects, “Scream down the hallways: ’Get your asses down here!’” He shuttled guests back-and-forth, with the last pick-up at 1. ”I remember Herbert telling people in his heavy accent, ‘If you miss the last bus, you have to walk the fuck home!” But his gruffness masked protectiveness. ”He’d warn them he was going and he would even count!” Another frequent visitor remembers Herbert “as the kind of guy you’d call at 3 o’clock in the morning to say, ‘I’m in jail.’ And he’d be there.”
In 1980, reports surfaced about clusters of young gay men contacting Pneumocystis pneumonia. Granted the majority of infections and deaths from this “gay cancer” were in New York City and San Francisco, but the Washington Blade published a landmark front-page story, “Rare, Fatal Pneumonia Hits Gay Men,” inJuly 1981.
Herbert began to worry. One guest, living in New York City and volunteering as an AIDS buddy, remembers porch conversations with Herbert. ”He was talking about buying a second one. Then he said, ’I’m concerned since so many people are getting AIDS, I’m not sure whether or not I’ll have a clientele.’”
For many gays, Paradise was a rare time to be themselves and to enjoy the camaraderie and support from other men at a beach resort. Sadly, for some, it was also a death sentence. Sexual desire and psychological denial coupled with governmental inaction and public apathy fueled the AIDS pandemic.
After the 1986 summer season, Herbert and Mami sojourned, as usual, to Key West; Herbert never returned. ”I can remember being surprised to hear that he was ill,” laments a longtime patron. ”He went quickly; we had no indications he was ill.”
Herbert died a week before Bill and Bob opened on Memorial Day weekend. Mami was with him until the end. Like Paradise, he disappeared into history and, along with Herbert and many of his guests, would be remembered by few.
James Sears’ latest book, “Behind the Boardwalk: Queering the History of Rehoboth Beach” will be published next year. Tom Kelch, manger of the Rehoboth Beach Guest House, contributed research to this article.
Lesbian Bar Project to the rescue
Founders complete second year fundraising campaign to save businesses
The Lesbian Bar Project, a New York-based group founded by lesbian filmmakers Erica Rose and Elina Street, raised $117,000 last year to help the nation’s lesbian bars stay in business during the height of the COVID pandemic.
Among the bars receiving financial assistance from the project was D.C.’s A League of Her Own, the Adams Morgan lesbian bar. Owner Dave Perruzza said he and his staff were grateful to receive a $7,000 check from the Lesbian Bar Project early this year when the bar was closed under the city’s COVID shutdown order.
The two women say their 2021 fundraising campaign for the project will raise well over $100,000 as part of their continuing effort to support the nation’s remaining 21 lesbian bars, including A League of Her Own.
“Like a lot of things during COVID, we took a lot for granted,” Street told the Blade in describing how she and Rose reacted when their city’s three remaining lesbian bars – two in Manhattan and one in Brooklyn – shut down like most other bars and restaurants during the peak of the COVID public health restrictions in 2020.
“Erica and I felt very connected to the bars there,” Street said. “And we started these discussions of, we miss our cherished spaces. And now they’re closed. Where do we go?”
With their filmmaking skills as a backdrop, and with the knowledge that the already diminishing number of lesbian bars across the country were struggling to survive under COVID, the two started a fundraising campaign for those bars called the Lesbian Bar Project. Among other things, they produced a video Public Service Announcement with archival scenes of lesbian bars and the women who patronized them.
With financial support from the Jagermeister liquor company’s Save the Night campaign, which was launched to provide financial support for nightlife businesses such as bars and restaurants, Rose and Street arranged for the production of a separate 20-minute documentary film about the role lesbian bars play in the lives of those who patronize them. Rose and Street are listed as the film’s directors.
Among those serving as executive producer and appearing in the documentary is Lea DeLaria, the lesbian comedian, actress and internationally acclaimed star of the Netflix series “Orange is the New Black.”
Also appearing in the documentary is Jo McDaniel, longtime D.C. lesbian activist and bartender and manager at several D.C. gay bars who helped Perruzza open A League of Her Own as the city’s first full-time lesbian bar since the closing of the famed D.C. lesbian bar Phase One nearly a decade ago.
McDaniel says she left her job as A League of Her Own’s manager last year to undertake, along with her life partner Rachel Pike, the start of a new D.C. LGBTQ welcoming bar called As You Are, which began operating online. McDaniel says she and Pike are actively looking for a storefront building in which to open As You Are as an in-person café and bar with a dance floor that will be welcoming to lesbians and the LGBTQ community in general.
The documentary, which helped generate support for the project’s fundraising efforts, can be viewed on the group’s website free of charge at lesbianbarproject.com.
Earlier this month, the national dating app called Hinge announced it was entering into a partnership with the Lesbian Bar Project and would make an initial donation in August of $50,000 to help the project support lesbian bars in need of financial aid.
The announcement said Hinge would educate all its U.S. users about the “importance of LGBTQIA+ establishments” and encourage its LGBTQ members to visit one of the bars for a date.
“The bars that comprise the Lesbian Bar Project are not only a safe space but an essential part of LGBTQIA+ culture,” said Justin McLeod, founder and CEO of Hinge. “Our hope is that this support will help these sacred spaces to stay open through this summer and beyond,” he said in the company’s statement.
The Lesbian Bar Project website provides a list of the 21 lesbian bars that the project has supported. In a notice on the website, Rose and Street note that their initial fundraising campaign for 2021 has been completed, and a financial statement with information on how much has been raised will be released around the time of Labor Day weekend.
Rose told the Blade that until she and Street decide the project’s next plan of action, they are calling on people to donate directly to one or more of the 21 lesbian bars listed on the website.
However, a notice on the website says three of the bars – Cubbyhole of New York City; Sue Ellen’s of Dallas; and Wildside West of San Francisco, “have graciously decided to opt out” of the 2021 pool of funds raised to allow for more contributions to the other bars in greater need.
“In the late 1980s, there were an estimated 200 Lesbian Bars across the country,” a statement posted on the Lesbian Bar Project website says. “These bars are disappearing at a staggering rate, and we cannot afford to lose more of these vital establishments to the fallout of COVID-19,” the statement says.
Rose and Street said the decline in the number of lesbian bars, which began long before the onset of the COVID pandemic, is due to a number of factors, including the overall success of the LGBTQ rights movement. The two said nondiscrimination protections in state and local laws and the landmark 2015 U.S. Supreme Court decision legalizing same-sex marriage nationwide, opened the way for lesbians and LGBTQ people in general to feel comfortable patronizing bars that were not specifically catering to lesbians.
They said that like its impact on gay bars in general, the rise of the Internet and online meet-up sites has also had the effect of enabling lesbians to meet each other outside of bars and other “brick and mortar” establishments.
“So, it’s like all of these factors combined with the pandemic are why many of these places are disappearing,” Rose said. “And that’s why Elina and I jumped into action. Our goal is always to raise awareness. The money raised is definitely a bonus,” she said. “We wanted to raise awareness and tell the stories of these bars. That’s going to make sure we remain indelible in our culture and ensuring our survival.”
Rose was referring to one of the themes of her and Street’s 20-minute documentary – that the in-person interaction offered by lesbian bars and LGBTQ bars in general provides, among other things, an important part of LGBTQ culture and the diversity of LGBTQ people that online and virtual venues cannot provide.
“We believe what makes a bar uniquely Lesbian is its prioritization of creating space for people of marginalized genders; including women, non-binary folks, and trans men,” according to the statement posted on the Lesbian Bar Project website. “As these spaces aim to be inclusive of all individuals across the diverse LGBTQIA+ community, the label Lesbian belongs to all people who feel that it empowers them,” the statement says.
“Without space, we lose power, validity, communal safety and access to intergenerational dialogue,” the statement adds. “With the support of our community, we can make sure these bars receive not only the financial assistance they need but the reference they deserve. When our history isn’t protected, we must protect it ourselves.”
Following is a list of the 21 remaining lesbian bars in the United States released by the Lesbian Bar Project:
A League of Her Own — Washington, D.C.
Alibi’s — Oklahoma City, Okla.
Babes of Carytown — Richmond, Va.
Blush & Blu — Denver
Boycott Bar — Phoenix
Cubbyhole — New York City
Frankie’s — Oklahoma City, Okla.
Ginger’s — Brooklyn, N.Y.
Gossip Grill — San Diego, Calif.
Henrietta Hudson — New York City
Herz — Mobile, Ala.
My Sister’s Room MSR — Atlanta
Pearl Bar — Houston
Slammers — Columbus, Ohio
Sue Ellen’s — Dallas
The Backdoor — Bloomington, Ind.
The Lipstick Lounge — Nashville, Tenn.
Walker’s Pint — Milwaukee, Wisc.
Wildrose — Seattle
Wildside West — San Francisco
Yellow Brick Road Pub — Tulsa, Okla.
Adopting an older child from overseas — one couple’s story
‘He really wanted a forever family, it didn’t matter that we’re gay’
Jim Walker and Ethan Taylor had talked about adoption but weren’t sure how to go about it. Ethan himself was adopted and the biological father of a 13-year-old daughter (Bella) from a previous relationship.
Then, one evening in 2018, a Rainbow Families Facebook post caught their attention. “It mentioned Kidsave,” Ethan said, “a non-profit organization that brings older Colombian orphans to stay with host families for five weeks to experience life here with an American family. They’re unadoptable in their own country because they are over eight years old.”
Jim and Ethan had been together five-plus years by then and known each other for 18. “We looked at each other and said, ‘Let’s do this!’ Next thing we know, we’re signed up to host Juan Carlos,” reminisced Jim.
After a five-week visit, many families decide to adopt the children. In fact, 80% of the children who participate in Kidsave’s “Summer Miracles” program are eventually adopted, and those who are not, often come back for a second visit and are adopted later.
During those five weeks, Kidsave and the host families help the children meet potential adoptive families. The children may or may not know adoption is a possibility, but host families aren’t allowed to talk openly about it during the visit.
Jim and Ethan plowed through the paperwork at warp speed and were approved to host. They attended orientations and training with other host families. Soon they were at Dulles Airport, wearing their yellow Kidsave T-shirts so the kids could easily identify them.
When Juan Carlos came through the customs doors, “He ran up to us, gave us big hugs, and then presented each of us with a braided bracelet from his home country,” recalled Jim. “Right then and there, we fell in love with him and knew we were going to adopt him.”
Juan Carlos didn’t care that a same-sex couple hosted his visit. “Since he never had a father figure in his life, he was thrilled to have TWO dads — and a sister,” said Ethan. “Juan Carlos just really, really wanted a forever family that would love and protect him. It didn’t matter that we happened to be gay.”
“The most surprising thing was how happy, resilient, and adaptable he was — and continues to be,” said Jim. “He had spent more than half his life in an orphanage but he never complained about his circumstances,” said Jim.
After hosting, the process of adoption includes many additional steps and hurdles, and unexpected things can and do happen so an effort is made not to get the children’s hopes up. After a two-week “quiet” period people can apply to adopt. The interest must be two-way – the children must want to be adopted by that family.
“When we did bring him home for good,” recollected Ethan, “he immediately ran upstairs to his bedroom and pulled out a bag of quarters that he had hidden and declared, ‘I always knew that I would be coming back!’”
“We learned about that we have a lot of love and patience to give to a child. Being a parent, especially to two device-obsessed teenagers, can be stressful on any relationship but we have learned effective communication and the value of doing things with each other that don’t always involve the kids.”
Jim and Ethan were married in 2019, and both Juan Carlos and Isabelle participated in the wedding.
“Kidsave is very welcoming for people of various backgrounds and sexual orientations,” said Ethan. “There is a great and growing community of Kidsave families in the D.C. area, including several same-sex and single-parent families. We have made some wonderful friends though Kidsave. We strongly encourage others to consider hosting through Kidsave’s ‘Summer Miracles’ program!”
Summer Miracles kids are here until Aug. 14, and desperately need forever families. Visit Kidsave.org to learn more.
Now 16 years old, Juan Carlos is adjusting well to life as an American teenager. “Every night, when I tuck him into bed, the smile on his face says everything. Being his dad,” noted an equally smiley Jim, “is a dream come true.”
Trudeau’s party wins Canada election
McAuliffe participates in Virginia Pride roundtable
Biden recognizes 10th anniversary of end to ‘Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell’
JOH llama ‘enemigos de la independencia’ a defensores de derechos de poblaciones LGBTQ, las mujeres y el territorio
Thousands participate in Kyiv Pride march
Hey gurl, it’s Randy Rainbow!
Congrats to Parkland survivor Cameron Kasky on coming out
Biden should develop national digital vaccine passport now
Live music returns to D.C.
Gay Guatemala congressman ‘scared’ for his life
Sign Up for Blade eBlasts
Music & Concerts5 days ago
Hey gurl, it’s Randy Rainbow!
Sports7 days ago
Washington Football Team embraces Pride Night Out
Opinions4 days ago
Congrats to Parkland survivor Cameron Kasky on coming out
Local7 days ago
D.C. Pride street fair, block party set for Oct. 17
Opinions5 days ago
Biden should develop national digital vaccine passport now
Commentary6 days ago
Overcoming COVID-19 challenges for prospective gay surrogacy fathers
World6 days ago
Four men arrested for murder of prominent Northern Ireland journalist, activist
Music & Concerts5 days ago
Live music returns to D.C.