Lilly led the way and we followed. Cars rushed past us, our feet pattering over the worn-out and ever-changing grooves of the Charleston sidewalks. We were excited, the energy of King St infectious and the anticipation for the show fueling our steps that warm evening. We always come here later in the night, when the sky is dark but the lights from bars, streetlamps, and cars flood the street as if the sun was still shining above.
We walked through the crowded throng on King St, dodging drunk girls in heels and tourists idly gazing at the commotion. Lilly turned the corner of Anne St, stopping suddenly for a car to pass before racing across the intersection, my friend Sarah and I at her heels.
There it stood, adjacent to King St and patrons crowding the front, smoking cigarettes and wearing various outlandish outfits and wigs. Crossing the street, we approached the door under the bright neon “Dudley’s” sign, pulling out our IDs for the bouncer to inspect.
We don’t know its history, but we don’t need to. Charleston’s official and most popular gay bar is always busy. There aren’t many officially designated queer locations, but we don’t need them as much, with bookstores proudly displaying LGBTQIA fiction sections and the “Y’all Means All” sign hanging outside the Circular Congregational Church. I’d personally never been to Dudley’s before this night, and as a queer woman I was excited and curious about the experience it provided. Especially since Lilly, my (straight) friend, had been raving about their drag shows.
Laughter rang out from the patrons and music pounded from inside, the place already packed for the upcoming 10 pm drag show. The front of the building would’ve been nondescript if not for the bright neon lights and extravagantly dressed people milling about outside, the dirty concrete walls drowned out by light and moving bodies.
“It wasn’t this busy last time, but it is a Saturday night,” Lilly shrugged.
The bouncer checked each of our IDs then moved aside, leading us through the door and into a large, dimly lit room, the dark wood of the bar in the back reflecting the pink lights on the ceiling. The walls, even behind the bar, were covered in full-length mirrors, with chairs and tables scattered at all the edges of the room, with the exception of a covered stage occupying the left-hand corner.
Sarah immediately pumped into a man wearing a full-length skirt, drunkenly weaving through bodies to make it to the door.
“Sorry sir!” she yelled, but he just laughed it off and went outside, giving us a clear line to the bar.
“Hey ya’ll!” said the bartender, a stern-faced, short woman with bleached blonde hair cut in a pixie cut and two nose rings glinting in the neon.
“Hi!” yelled Lilly over the sultry voice of Troye Sivan pounding through the speakers, “Remember me? I was here the other night and brought my friends for tonight’s drag show!”
“Yes, you did,” she said, looking at each of us in turn. She seemed rather serious for someone working in such a lively and fun bar, but I didn’t want to let her admittedly sour mood ruin our night.
She didn’t seem in any mood for conversation, preferring to drown Lilly’s chattering out and turning to us for our drink orders in turn. There were a lot of patrons that night, no need to get to know us individually.
I ordered a gin and tonic, Lilly a cosmopolitan, and Sarah a beer, and while waiting for our drinks we struck up some conversation with two guys holding hands and sitting next to us.
They asked if we lived here and when we answered in the affirmative, they inquired about our jobs and lives as students. When I mentioned working retail at a store called OOPS, the younger man’s eyes lit up.
“You must know David then!” He exclaimed excitedly.
“Oh my goodness, I love David!” I yelled back. My charismatic, floral shirted coworker once told me he and his boyfriend frequented the bar on nights they were both off.
“David’s a sweetheart,” commented a voice from behind me. I turned around to see one of the performers, a gorgeous queen who’s blonde wig was piled high in ringlets around her head and who’s pink dress sparkled in the (many) lights, smiling and sipping her drink. “Welcome to Dudley’s, I hope y’all enjoy the show! Give all David’s friends a drink on me,” she ordered the bartender, then downed her own and proceeded towards the stage.
My friends and I grabbed our drinks and made our way to a table with a good view of the stage.
What followed was a dramatic, lip-synced rendition of classic ABBA hits, interspersed with witty remarks from the performer about the increasingly drunk and riotous patrons.
As a queer person living in Charleston who is relatively unaware about Charleston’s specifically queer history and past culture, I was admittedly the most excited to read Why We Never Danced the Charleston, Harlan Greene’s novel about queer male Charlestonians in the 1920s, out of all the texts on our syllabus. Many of the experiences the characters have in the novel differ from those of queer Charlestonians today, a secrecy and covertness dictating their actions that’s not as intense or conspicuous in my modern context. Though the issue of LGBTQ rights has far to go indeed, I wanted to celebrate how far we’ve come since the difficulties facing people like Ned and Hirsch. When I read the scene of Swinton taking his friends to a secret gay bar, I immediately reflected on how the scene, and it’s prevailing attitude, was so different from my experience in Charleston’s current gay bar, Dudley’s. Patroned by queer and straight people alike, the bar throws frequent drag shows that serve as a celebration of queer identity I’m sure characters like Hirsch and Greene’s narrator could never imagine. I wanted to highlight the excitement that comes with celebrating your identity that the characters were experiencing, but also emphasize how much freer, vibrant, and outwardly public that feeling is like in the modern context. The story is mostly true, with the pacing slightly altered to reflect the original text but the feelings of vibrant community and fun no different than the real thing.