Stormé DeLarverie

It started with a punch. Simple enough. An action that—though deeply consequential—is the sum total of all those triggers that over time cause something aggressive to stir and swell in the belly. On 28th June 1969, Stormé Delarverie threw a punch that would ricochet and initiate not just a legacy but one of the biggest, most violent uprisings for the LGBTQIA+ community to date. Drag Kings and Queens, dykes, gays, trans, lovers and dancers; basically, anyone caught somewhere in that blurry and alluringly fluffy rainbow zone of fabulousness, stood together to fight. It was during that riotous period known as ‘the 60s’, in a small bar on Christopher Street, New York City: The Stonewall Inn, that saw four days of anger and frustration rain down so hard on a police force that had violated for far too long. Judy Garland died and Stormé Delarverie became a hero all in a week.

The rest is written into Pride and the moment that persecution turned into freedom. As the story goes, a police officer shouted “move, faggot” to Stormé, who replied “I will not! And don’t you dare touch me.” A shove, a kerfuffle, movements that were violent, solid. Hundreds upon hundreds of angry people. Rebelling, rioting, looting, destroying. Chorus lines formed with heel-kicking drags throwing handbags filled with rocks, chanting and screaming chorus lines from well-known musicals.

But, who was Stormé, or Storm-ee? A pioneering Drag King from the Jewel Box Revue, not the first of her kind, lest we forget Charlotte Cushman, Annie Hindle, Vesta Tilley and Gladys Bentley. After that night, she most certainly achieved a notoriety that makes her an important figure in LGBTQIA+ history. Originally from New Orleans, Stormy Dale was the only Drag King performer on a stage with twenty-five Drag Queens. Drag started to get interesting with Stormé around. As a singer, she had it all: the sway, the gentle nod, the dulcet, gravel tones and the three-piece suit. Always dapper, always professional. After the riots, activism consumed her life. Stormé had lived her life always fighting, always on guard, a protective role she perpetuated until her death. Once her father told her: “if you run now, you’ll be running for the rest of your life.” So she stood still and fought.