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By Jacob Hogue
Special to NKyTribune
Drag queens and kings have been here since the beginning of entertainment in America. They predate baseball but have always had a precarious place in American entertainment and culture, existing somewhere between the spotlight and the shadow; between hatred and admiration; between clown and beauty queen. The realm of female impersonation has, for a myriad of reasons, attracted people that we would now refer to as LGBTQ+. This is as true in the days of Shakespeare in England as it is today. Throughout history, drag performers have evolved to struggle against misunderstanding.
Some of the earliest stages for gender impersonation in Cincinnati were the city’s thriving theater venues. In the early 1820s, celebrated American actor Edwin Forrest moved to what was then known as the “Athens of the Drama.” Later, after rising to fame for his commanding portrayals of Spartacus and King Lear, Forrest allegedly won a piece of land near Covington’s current Devou Park during a card game with Israel Ludlow in the 1830s. Yet even by the late 19th century, biographers struggled to reconcile Forrest’s iconic masculine image with his early roles in gender impersonation—an unease that mirrored the shifting cultural discomfort with cross-gender performance (William Rounseville Alger, “Life of Edwin Forrest, the American Tragedian,” vol. 1. Philadelphia: J. B. Lippincott & Company, 1877; “Prominent People of the Theatrical Profession in Early Cincinnati Recalled,” “The Cincinnati Enquirer,” November 11, 1923, p. 75).
Charlotte Cushman, one of the few actresses to rival Forrest’s fame, pushed these boundaries even further. She became internationally renowned for her portrayal of Romeo in “Romeo and Juliet,” a bold cross-dressing performance that made waves across the theatrical world. Cushman owned Cincinnati’s Spencer House, a prominent riverfront hotel, for over a decade. Her masculine presentation and well-documented relationships with women challenged social expectations and added to the growing anxieties surrounding gender nonconformity in performance (Lisa Merrill, “When Romeo was a Woman.” United Kingdom: University of Michigan Press, 1999.)
Gender impersonation attracted a surprising cast of historical figures. Future president Ulysses S. Grant, then a young officer from southwestern Ohio, was reluctantly dressed in drag for a camp performance in Corpus Christi, Texas, at the start of the Mexican-American War. Although he never went on stage due to fear that the performance would backfire, the idea that a future U.S. President was considered for a female role is notable (Hamlin Garland, “Ulysses S. Grant: His Life and Character. Doubleday & McClure Company, 1898.)
Thomas Buchanan Read, the poet behind “Sheridan’s Ride,” was known to perform in women’s roles in Cincinnati during the 1830s before the wealthy Nicholas Longworth sponsored his formal art training in New York (Kenneth Roland Walker, “A History of the Middle West from the Beginning to 1970.” Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1972, p. 267).
Female impersonation rose to prominence in American minstrel shows in the mid-19th century, often rooted in racism and performed in blackface. One of the earliest stars of the genre, George Christy, brought his “Miss Lucy Long” character to Cincinnati stages like Pike’s Opera House and Smith and Nixon Hall. But it was Patrick Francis Glassey—better known as Only Leon—who redefined the art form by introducing the “prima donna” character: a glamorous, emotionally resonant persona that moved beyond crude caricature, even as it remained entangled with the racist conventions of minstrelsy.
Leon, trained as a boy soprano, brought his troupe to Cincinnati in 1862 and quickly became one of the most celebrated female impersonators in the country. With his partner Edwin Kelly, he launched the Academy of Music in 1866 near Cincinnati’s bustling Second Ward. Their goal was to offer a more refined minstrel show, one aimed at elite audiences rather than the rowdy “peanut gallery.” Despite enormous success, fires destroyed both Pike’s Opera House and their own venue within months. The couple left Cincinnati and soon after, Kelly was tried (and acquitted) for murder in New York. Leon’s career continued to soar, and by the 1870s and 1880s, he was so famous he had to brand himself as “Only Leon.” Though admired for his artistry, Leon’s offstage femininity drew mockery and suspicion—foreshadowing the growing unease with gender nonconformity that would follow (“Edwin Kelly, 529 West Fifth Street,” “Williams’ Cincinnati Directory,” p. 267).
But by the late 19th Century, the winds had shifted. New theories in sexology cast gender impersonation as pathological rather than entertaining. As the line between Leon’s act and his identity blurred, society grew uncomfortable with his queerness—what had once drawn crowds now drew suspicion. He could no longer pass as “just an act.” And so, like many gender impersonators of his time, Only Leon not only experienced harassment but later faded from view. A similar fate awaited another gender impersonator who moved to Cincinnati shortly after Leon left.
By the 1870s, a new figure took the stage: the male impersonator. Unlike Charlotte Cushman, whose “breeches roles” in classical theater were confined to specific characters, male impersonators in variety and vaudeville embodied fully masculine personas—often sharp-dressed, swaggering performers who sang popular songs and parodied male behavior. Annie Hindle, considered the first male impersonator in the US, moved to Cincinnati in the 1870s, already a star. Offstage, Hindle didn’t separate performance from life: they smoked cigars, cursed, wore men’s clothing despite anti-cross-dressing laws, and pursued romantic relationships with women. Hindle was reportedly married to at least two women and one man and was known for shaving their upper lip to create a stubble. Their refusal to conform made them both a sensation and a target.
In the 1880s, Hindle’s wedding to a woman named Annie Ryan was interrupted by a journalist; when questioned, Hindle said they were a man, and the reverend agreed —but headlines mocked them as the “male impersonator, impersonator.” Hindle returned to Cincinnati in the 1890s, first living with singer Jennie Kramer, then alone as “Charles Hindle” on Court Street by 1898 (Gillian M. Rodger, “Just One of the Boys: Female-to-Male Cross-Dressing on the American Variety Stage.” Urbana-Champaign: University of Illinois Press, 2018; “Charles Hindle, actor. 617 West Court Street,” “Cincinnati City Directory,” 1898, p. 746).
Hindle, who was one of the most respected performers in the country just a decade prior, was forced to work shows at places like the Kohl and Middleton Dime Museum on Vine Street where they were treated as a sort of “freak show” attraction.
Stories like Cushman’s, Hindle’s — and that of fellow gender impersonator Francis Leon—deepened growing public anxieties that gender impersonation wasn’t just entertainment, but a sign of deeper moral and social deviance.
By the early 20th century, shifting public attitudes toward sexuality made it increasingly difficult for female impersonators to distance themselves from associations with homosexuality. To survive and succeed, they adapted—again. The most successful female impersonators of the era understood that their continued stardom hinged not just on stagecraft, but on carefully constructed offstage personas. None navigated this double life more skillfully than Julian Eltinge, often hailed as the greatest female impersonator of all time.
Eltinge began performing at the age of ten and by 1904 had ascended to the top of the vaudeville circuit. At the height of his fame, he was a bigger box office draw than Charlie Chaplin and the highest-paid actor of his generation. When he performed at Cincinnati’s Orpheum Theater in 1910, the local press raved about his brilliance, wit, and charisma. But what truly cemented his stardom was his offstage image—a cultivated portrait of rugged masculinity designed to shield him from whispers of queerness. Eltinge smoked cigars, picked bar fights, and posed for photographs lifting weights. He did what he had to do to be seen as “one of the boys.”
During his Cincinnati appearance, cartoonist Windsor McCay famously illustrated Eltinge in dual roles: one glamorous and feminine, the other masculine and baseball-loving. That same year, Eltinge staged a publicity stunt at the Cincinnati Gym—a mock boxing match against former heavyweight champion “Gentleman” Jim Corbett, whom Eltinge allegedly “defeated.” (“Julian Eltinge Impersonator of Fair Women Vanquishes Corbett,” “Cincinnati Post,” March 5, 1910, p. 10).
Though the event was clearly choreographed for laughs and headlines, later rumors suggested a more complex connection between the two men. In Darwin Porter’s “The Secret Life of Humphrey Bogart,” Corbett was rumored to have “a thing for transvestites,” adding layers of ambiguity to the spectacle. For audiences, the event reinforced a key message: Julian Eltinge was a manly man, both on and off the stage.
This formula — projecting conventional masculinity to offset the perceived risks of gender performance — was later echoed by another, unexpected figure in Cincinnati history. Four decades before he became mayor of Cincinnati, Charles Phelps Taft II, son of President William Howard Taft, attended his uncle’s all-boys school in Connecticut. National newspapers fixated on the young Taft, praising him as an ideal American boy—athletic, intelligent, and bold. In 1908, he was called “a vigorous and robust specimen of American youth” and described as “anything but a percy boy” (“Taft On a Vacation,” “Minneapolis Star Tribune,” September 27, 1908).
Yet in 1909, the same year he was heralded as “a manly lad,” young Charlie performed in a local production of “The Private Secretary”—appearing onstage in a brown wig and gown as the character Eva Webster. The press, curiously, had little to say about this. Instead, more ink was devoted to the fact that Charlie had started wearing long pants during his winter break (“Young Charlie Taft: New White House Boy Is Manly Lad,” “Raymond Nebraska Review,” April 17, 1909).
A year later, Charlie again stepped into a female role, portraying Lady Thomason Bettertet in “The Amazons,” a play about three aristocratic girls raised as boys. Despite extensive media interest in his life, this performance was mentioned only sparingly—likely because of its delicate implications. One article tried to soften the blow, assuring readers that although Charlie was a “female impersonator,” he was “anything but effeminate.” In a time when gender roles were rigid and deeply policed, the press appeared eager to protect the image of the president’s son. Much like Eltinge, one article indicated that Charlie was going to be taught in the “manly” art of boxing. Whether this downplaying was due to editorial discretion or a coordinated effort remains unknown. But what’s clear is that Charlie Taft’s experiences in drag complicate the narrative that gender performance is a modern or marginal phenomenon (“Charlie Taft is a Female Impersonator but is Anything but Effeminate,” “Chattanooga News,” February 25, 1910; “Walsh Will Show Charlie Taft Just How to Handle His Dukes,” “Seattle Star,” October 12, 1909).
Julian Eltinge wasn’t the only celebrated female impersonator tied to Cincinnati. Lestra LaMonte, born Lester Ross in 1900, began performing as a female impersonator at just five years old as Little Eva in “Uncle Tom’s Cabin,” thanks to his mother Hazel LaMonte. While other boys were in school, Lestra toured the country with Hazel and his brother, performing vaudeville acts. A talented actor, singer, and dancer with an emerging passion for costume design and fashion, by 18 years old Lestra had made his mark early, being lauded as “the peer of any female impersonator who has appeared here since the time of ‘Only Leon.’ ”
After Hazel married Republican-connected tailor Harry Schneller in 1920, they moved into a crowded home on Elm Street. A string of suspicious fires — one accompanied by a threatening note — destroyed hundreds of dollars in stage costumes in 1922. Undeterred, Hazel and Lestra reimagined their act, crafting costumes and set décor from crepe paper. These “Paper Creations” wowed audiences and cemented LaMonte’s reputation as a visionary designer. By the mid-1920s, LaMonte was touring globally—appearing in Australia, South Africa, Europe, and Paris’s famed Folies Bergère (“Theatrical Costumes Damaged,” “Cincinnati Enquirer,” September 22, 1922, p. 9).
Like Eltinge, Lestra maintained his masculine persona offstage to meet public expectations. In 1928, he performed as a “Living Model Display” at Shillito’s Department Store in Cincinnati before headlining at New York’s Palace Theater (“Be Sure to See the Living Model Display,” “Cincinnati Times Star,” February 28, 1928, p. 7; “Palace,” “Cincinnati Enquirer,” February 23, 1928, p. 5).
LaMonte reached his peak during the “Pansy Craze” of the late 1920s and early 1930s, performing alongside Rae Bourbon, Karyl Norman, and Gene Malin as queer culture gained visibility despite ongoing police crackdowns. In later years, LaMonte settled at Finocchio’s in San Francisco, where he thrived as a choreographer, producer, and headliner through the 1950s and 1960s. Even while battling cancer, he continued to perform and innovate. Lestra LaMonte died in January 1964, leaving behind a nearly six-decade legacy as one of the most creative and resilient figures in American drag history (“SF Entertainer Succumbs At 63,” “The Fresno Bee,” Fresno California. January 9, 1964, p. 3).
While Lestra LaMonte was pushing the boundaries of female impersonation nationally, Cincinnati maintained a conservative stance toward gender nonconformity. In 1934, the Gay Boy Revue—a Hollywood-based troupe of female impersonators—began performing in the Greater Cincinnati area, debuting at Covington’s New Lookout House. Though popular, these performances drew increasing scrutiny. In 1936, the New Lookout House was sued as a “public nuisance” for allegedly corrupting public morals. This era marked another crackdown on gender impersonators across the Tr-State (“Padlocking of Lookout House Is Urged,” “Cincinnati Enquirer,” May 12, 1936).
By the mid-20th century, female and male impersonation had waned in mainstream popularity, but drag continued to thrive in nightclubs and underground circuits.
Traveling shows like the Gay Boy Revue and the Jewel Box Revue brought dazzling performances to venues across Cincinnati from the 1930s through the 1950s. Local entertainer and Newport resident Bobby Sullivan became a hometown sensation at one of many venues that hired female impersonators. Sullivan was also known for his charity work, often performing for wounded veterans in hospitals.
One notable hotspot was the Cotton Club — not explicitly queer, but unmistakably queer — adjacent. Located in the Hotel Sterling in Cincinnati’s West End, the Cotton Club featured beloved drag artists like Faye Lawrence, Baby Ray, Shelina Rogers, and Dixie Lee. Dixie, who was raised in Cincinnati’s West End, became a local legend—equally known for her commanding stage presence and for standing her ground against men who disrespected her. Many of these performers also engaged in sex work, revealing how queerness, performance, and survival were deeply intertwined.
But backlash loomed. In July 1948, Newport’s Varga Club and New Look Club were threatened with police raids unless they canceled their impersonator acts (“Kentucky Post,” July 24, 1948, p. 1).
Legal double standards were common. That same month, an attorney successfully defended a cross-dressing client by presenting a photograph of a Cincinnati police officer in drag at a charity baseball game. The case was dismissed, but the message was clear: drag was acceptable when aligned with mainstream norms—humorous, heterosexual, charitable—but punishable when performed by queer people outside those confines (“Cincinnati Enquirer,” July 21, 1948, p. 17).
The Varga Club, nestled at Sixth and York Streets in Newport, was one of the city’s most infamous nightspots. Velvet drapes framed a modest stage lit by a rainbow of spotlights. The air was thick with smoke and anticipation as patrons sipped bootleg liquor from sweating glasses. When Pete Thompson joined the revue, he had no stage name. The club’s hostess, Dixie, suggested “Peaches” for its fruity allure, and “LaVerne” was borrowed from a famed Detroit impersonator. Thus, Peaches LaVerne was born.
Unlike modern drag queens, Peaches sang live and performed a full-fledged act that combined glamour, talent, and theatrical flair. She didn’t identify as a drag queen— a term not yet prominent — but as a female illusionist, an artist dedicated to perfecting the seamless transformation into another gender. Yet Peaches also captured the bawdy humor and exaggerated “camp” that would define drag in the decades to follow, making her a bridge between classic vaudeville impersonation and the vibrant drag culture yet to come.
Peaches won the Miss Varga Pageant in 1947 and continued performing until the club’s closure at the end of the decade. By day, Pete lived a more conventional life, working as an x-ray technician in Mariemont, Ohio. Like many queer people of the era, Peaches moved between two worlds, striving to keep them separate in an increasingly precarious time.
Despite glowing newspaper reviews of the Gay Boy Revue in the late 1940s, drag performances began to stoke public anxiety. Postwar America was gripped by moral panic. Fears about masculinity and sexuality intensified, and drag was increasingly conflated with homosexuality—a link that provoked hostility from police and moral crusaders alike.
In June 1947, after a successful 23-week run in Cincinnati, the Band Box Nightclub on Gilbert Avenue had its liquor license renewal denied. Police cited “indecent floor shows” and “undesirable persons. The owner challenged the ruling, arguing censorship, but ultimately pledged to cooperate by modifying the entertainment. Oddly, the Gay Boy Revue had performed at other venues in the city without legal consequence, raising questions about selective enforcement” (“Nightclub’s Permit Refused, Owners of Two Others Cited,” “Cincinnati Enquirer,” June 14, 1947, p. 3).
The crackdown escalated in 1948. Newport City officials met with nightclub owners, including those of the Varga and New Look Club (at 2124 Monmouth Street), to “regulate” their entertainment following complaints. Ads promoting “impersonating females” now drew public outrage and law enforcement attention. The mayor of Newport personally threatened to shut down any venue that hosted the Gay Boy Revue. Yet in July 1949, the revue returned to the same space—reopened under a new owner and rebranded as Club Alexandria (“Clean Up Weintraub Tells Cafes,” “Kentucky Post,” July 24, 1948, p. 1).
The hypocrisy of cross-dressing laws became starkly evident when attorney Arthur C. Fricke defended a man arrested for wearing women’s clothing by presenting a photo of a police officer in drag at a charity event. The charge was dismissed. Still, cross-dressing for “charity” or comedy—such as womanless weddings and sports fundraisers—remained socially acceptable, while gender nonconformity in queer contexts was criminalized (“Ball Game Back Fires,” “Cincinnati Enquirer,” July 21, 1948, p. 17.)
In 1951 the Netherland Plaza Hotel in Cincinnati was cited by the Ohio State Liquor Board for hosting a female impersonator at a dinner dance. The hotel defended the act as “clean entertainment,” but Liquor Enforcement Chief Anthony Rutkowski ruled that drag performances were prohibited at liquor-licensed venue. (“Liquor Board Cited Hotel; Impersonator Disallowed,” “Cincinnati Enquirer,” April 21, 1951).
The arguments being made today against drag are based on revisionist history—a selective memory that erases decades of acceptance and celebration. If someone tries to tell you that drag is “new,” tell them there were more female impersonators performing on Vine Street in the 19th century than there are today. If someone claims drag is “un-American,” remind them that the son of a US President performed in drag twice while his father was in office. Or that drag queens entertained troops during both World Wars and performed for wounded veterans in hospitals.
Drag is as American as baseball or apple pie. And it is woven into the fabric of queer survival, expression, and liberation. Drag queens not only entertained your great grandparents, they have propelled the LGBTQ movement to new heights. It’s time we honored that history—not erased it.
Jacob Hogue received his MA in Public History from Northern Kentucky University. He is a programmer at the Kenton County Public Library.
Paul A. Tenkotte, PhD is Editor of the “Our Rich History” weekly series and Professor of History at Northern Kentucky University (NKU). To browse ten years of past columns, see: nkytribune.com/our-rich-history. Tenkotte also serves as Director of the ORVILLE Project (Ohio River Valley Innovation Library and Learning Engagement). He can be contacted at tenkottep@nku.edu.