Bulldogs Atlanta / Photo via Facebook

The Function of Place—Historical Atlanta Black LGBTQ Community Sites

To be Black and queer and free one must make a home for themself in which one can live as they are, given that is often the case, one’s birth home is unwilling to allow them an authentic life.  Forty years ago, Black queer Atlantans began a movement by securing sites in which they could freely gather. They dared boldly as Black people must,  if they are to live as a people who retains values, rituals and places for respite, recreation and resistance. They created a vibrant nightlife by opening bars and events that catered to their tastes. They founded organizations to meet needs unmet by others holding themselves accountable to their people There was this sweeping arc from the mid 80s – through the 90’s during which Atlanta arose as a top tier U.S. metropolis. Along with the city’s explosive development came an outgrowth of Black queer mobilizing.  Those who were regularly overlooked if not omitted by the broader Black and white centered queer communities, began to evolve and diversify to claim space as never before. Claimed space increased visibility. It was through this emergent audacious Black queer presence, that Atlanta came to be recognized as not only the Black mecca, but the Black gay mecca of the nation.

Back then, the club was still the cornerstone of queer social life, an indispensable institution for community building in Atlanta. Anti-black discrimination was quite the normal practice of white owned bars, including Bulldogs which now relies solely on Black patronage. Black patrons were intentionally rejected by demands for extra pieces of ID at the door. “They didn’t want us there, so we didn’t mix”, said Dallas Collier, a well-known hair stylist.  Black bars began springing up in the mid-80s not only in response to institutional racism. Black gays were outgrowing the need for “discreet”, as in closeted, invitation-only private mixers that typified the 70’s. Henri McTerry was one of the most prominent figures of the era. Collier recalled McTerry’s popular tea dances at Alexander’s, a restaurant in the Southern Bell building. He cited the Marquette as the oldest existing gay bar. “It was known for the femme queens and the trade that dated transgender women and femme men”.  There was a demand for more bars that provided space, music and stylings that fit Black cultural tastes. Opened in 1984, Foster’s Lounge was one of the first such venues. Owner David Foster, a Detroit resident opened his bar after having his girlfriend Loretta Young apply for the liquor license. Foster’s was widely popular among Black men until the eponymous owner had to shut it down due to legal challenges. In 1986, Young transferred the license and named her new bar after herself Loretta’s. Loretta’s surpassed Foster’s success and became Atlanta’s flagship Black gay bar. By 1989 another venue emerged as if to usher an oncoming expansion of local Black queer nightlife. Traxx/Warehouse was twice the size of its predecessor. It was the first spacious Atlanta spot to rival the large clubs found only in major hubs like New York and Washington DC. While the Ritz Boys including Phillip Boone and the late David Hampton had been organizing parties all over town, Traxx was their crowning achievement. Other watering holes lining intown included the In-Between, Pearl Garden, Waterworks and The Palace.

Amidst a largely male centered environment,  lesbian organizers were claiming spaces for their sisters. Gloria McCrury was a recognized leader known for planning entertaining events that promoted HIV awareness.  She and McTerry (both deceased) enjoyed a great deal of mutual respect and affection. She frequently collaborated with male promoters, and co- organized large events at Traxx. In the late 80’s, she managed a short-lived watering hole known as Friends at the corner of Spring and 3rd across from Loretta’s.  Jocelyn Lyle a co-founder of Hospitality Atlanta referenced McCrury as “the godmother of Atlanta Black gay entertainment” . “She was an inspiration to women’s organizations”.

In 1990, a white lesbian couple Beverly McMahon and Dana Ford opened the Otherside Lounge at 1924 Piedmont. The Otherside primarily catered to women and was open to all genders. They established an R&B night on Wednesdays that drew a mostly Black crowd of lesbians, gay and bisexual men, and transgender folks and became one the most diverse parties in the city.  In February 1997, the Otherside was bombed and several patrons were seriously injured. McMahon and Ford eventually re-opened but were unable to fully regain the crowds that came before the bombing and closed in 1999. For a short time, the sisters also congregated at Texas, a restaurant rented by the Black lesbian organization Hospitality Atlanta for weekend dance parties. Founding member Jocelyn Lyles noted that “people came to Texas because they felt a sense of belonging”.

The clubs were not the only brick and mortar sites to serve Black LGBTQ community. In 1997 the Atlanta Lambda Center opened at 828 West Peachtree to share the same building as AIDS Survival Project, and the Atlanta Pride Committee. Under the leadership of artist/activist Tony Daniels, the Lambda Center housed a number of Black organizations and events including Speakfire, a spoken word gathering that attracted all genders.  Tony Jones, former pastor of Unity Fellowship of Atlanta recalls how instrumental Daniels was securing an affordable fee for Unity Fellowship. “They knew that as a grass roots organization, we needed a seat at the table we could afford”. Jones listed City Hall East (now reconfigured as Ponce Market) as a significant resource for Second Sunday, a prominent Black gay men’s support organization. Jones’ acknowledged that before his arrival from NY in 1996, there were earlier affirming places of worship led by openly gay Black pastors, Circle of Love founded by the late Pastor Stephanie Williams and The Shepherd’s Table led by Elliott Somerville.

Indigo Arts Playhouse was intended first as a visual arts gallery yet it also served as a venue for writers, musicians, and activist organizers. Black lesbian entrepreneur/artist Kathy Williams rented the modest property on Dekalb Ave. and transformed it into a cherished showplace. The painter wanted to showcase her art as well as that of her partner, a jazz singer then known as Lilly Huddleston. IAP held monthly Sunday Jazz jam sessions where Huddleston and other local musicians could play. Daniels held his signature open mic Speakfire there which featured performers and poets like Imani Evans. Adodi Muse, the self-titled gay Negro ensemble which Daniels co-founded, was one of IAP’s most beloved acts. While the majority of its patrons were Black queer folk, Williams said “It wasn’t only for gays and lesbians. It was like MJQ (Atlanta’s iconic diverse dance club), not all gay, not all straight, it was everybody”. Indigo Arts lasted for approximately two years and created many memories during its all too short lifespan.

The AIDS epidemic intensified the need for increased mobilization and social bonding. While Second Sunday did not have an HIV centered mission, Maurice Franklin acknowledged that the group which was founded “to save our lives”. Anthony McWilliams a veteran artist/activist recognized that Deeper Love Project at AID Atlanta functioned as more than an HIV prevention program for Black gay and bisexual men. “It was so much more than the intended mission. One of the stories I carry about it, is about men meeting lifelong friends”. He recalled meeting Maurice Cook, a graphic designer/organizer at a Second Sunday meeting. Cook would go on to design several of McWilliams album covers and become one of his dearest friends. “In these spaces, I found the community that helped to save my life, and gave me purpose, the activism, I found my life”.

Many who came of age before smart phones and social media feel a deep sense of loss as clubs and other physical venues are disappearing without being replaced. Largely in response to COVID, the popular use of Zoom means shifted our social sphere from physical reality to onscreen projection. For Black LGBTQ of a certain age this registers as a loss of options for affirming in-person spaces. Some have been able to adapt and maintain social interactions and avoid isolation. Others arguably in the majority may feel cut off and left with less support. While we can see and hear each other, we cannot hug or feel a handshake, nor can we smell another’s scent through a computer screen. These sweeping changes to our way of life have incurred benefits along with the losses. How might a history of Black queer centered cultural sites and in-person gatherings teach us to improvise newer ways of real connection across and within generations? As we learn more of our history including our tradition of creating change through creating space we may clearly see ourselves as a people within a people with a past of glories and scars, facing a present we determine day by day. May we meet the inevitable challenges of change with the courage to innovate, adapt and begin again.