Queer Nightlife in San Francisco as Seen through the Eyes of Juanita MORE!

By Juanita MORE!

Walker Publishing Filed to Visual Arts · Part of Nightlife as Form

Juanita MORE!. Photo by Mr Joe Montana. Courtesy of the artist.

I. It’s a Family Affair

The first thing you need to know about me is that I grew up in a household where celebration was constant. I am a third-generation Latino, and while growing up, we were constantly buzzing with activity—there always seemed to be a gathering or a holiday to observe. We would visit my grandparents’ homes, where my aunts, uncles, and cousins would gather for food, music, and dancing. My culture is wonderfully vibrant, colorful, and festive. This was the world I grew up in. If you want to understand how I got into nightlife and why I love to entertain—and cook when I’m not—you have to start there.

I can vividly recall one particular party at my home. I forget how old I was, but I was young. The night was getting on, and my parents, uncles, and aunts who had come over ushered my cousins and me off to bed. Soon, someone—probably my mom—began to play Led Zeppelin’s “Whole Lotta Love.” Loud. Unable to sleep, I cracked open the bedroom door. There, amid a swirling cloud of weed and dizzying flashes from a portable strobe light, were my parents and relatives dancing and laughing like there was no tomorrow. For me, having a good time has always been a family affair.

Heritage and family, then, shaped my love of celebrating. Coming out as gay gave it direction. In those heady high school years when I was newly out and exploring my identity, the early experiences I had with queer nightlife were electric, brimming full of excitement. And they were deeply nourishing. Going out was where I found community, where I learned—and learned quickly, too—about the thrills and lessons of fantasy, authenticity, dancing, art, cruising, and sex. Going out was where I earned my second education, and nightlife activities helped me find community, my chosen family, and a sense of self.

II. An Early Education

By the time I was 16, I had caught on to the vibrant gay bar scene in Hayward, California, the small East Bay town I called home. There were at least eight gay bars within six blocks, and the parking lots became a cruise fest at night, with cars circling the area. On those streets, I met guys from other high schools, not to mention Nellie queens and daddies. As the story goes, these queer gathering places started when closeted gay sailors stationed at the nearby Alameda naval base would come to my town for a safe place to catch some trade and hang out.

I recall sneaking into my first gay bar through the back door—The World Famous Turf Club. Honestly, my chances of being caught were less than if I had entered through the front door. But it was enough, the briefest taste of something I wanted more of and ultimately would taste. Around this time, I began hanging out with Greg, the only other gay kid in high school I knew. His language was flamboyant in a way I had not experienced before, and he christened me “Betty” to his “Madge.” We became fast friends and would cruise the parking lots of the gay bars in our hometown. He had a car, and soon, we began crossing the Bay Bridge into San Francisco to experience “real” gay life. The Polk Gulch neighborhood was a welcoming mecca at the time and always our first destination.

III. Way Over the Rainbow

At 16, I didn’t look like a 21-year-old. Getting into bars underage in Hayward might have been one thing, but the bars in San Francisco were another story. If I was lucky, I could get into Buzzby’s on Polk Street, with its gorgeous Art Deco bar, but I usually only lasted about 15 minutes before getting kicked out. A few blocks down was the N’Touch at Polk and Sacramento, with its magical lit-up, flashing disco dance floor––that would come back into my life years later. In anticipation of my getting kicked out, Greg would always let me hold the car keys. We always parked just off Polk, on Fern Alley or Austin Street. The irony was, since I was hanging out by the car most nights in the city, I was also getting cruised more and having a lot of sex. One door closes, the other opens.

One Sunday, Madge—Greg—and I went to the Tea Dance at the I-Beam on Haight Street, where I got to hear DJ Steve Fabus play. It was also the first time I’d been in a room full of men twirling on a dance floor with their shirts off, dripping sweat, and doing poppers. The track I Feel Love by Donna Summer sent the dancing gays into a frenzy. As I stared at the all-male spectacle, my entire body froze. I still hear Greg’s voice yelling, “Get on the dance floor, Betty!”

Back then, as a teen, the Castro wasn’t the place I felt welcome as a brown, gay boy. Though I was aware of the burgeoning LGBT rights movement that was forming under figures like Harvey Milk, at the time, I wasn’t comfortable around all the “Castro Clones”––and didn’t see myself being represented among them. I felt more at home South of Market––especially at The Stud. It was eclectic; they didn’t check my ID, and it quickly became a great spot for me to sneak into. One night, I noticed Edith Massey, “The Egg Lady,” from John Water’s trash comedy Pink Flamingos, which I had recently seen and was obsessed with. All night, I sat in a dark corner, trying to get the courage to introduce myself. Finally, an empty barstool opened up next to Massey, and I jumped at the chance. Asking if she wanted to dance with me, she turned, giving me that iconic toothless smile, and replied, “Oh no, honey, I can’t—I broke my arm.”

Soon enough, my friends and I started attending the 18-and-over Studio West nightclub on Montgomery Street. Its balcony overlooked the dance floor, and the sound and lighting were always on point. My friend June and I retreated to the car and rolled in the front seat, in love with the high, each other, and our nightclubbing life.

By 2 a.m., Studio West closed, and we would make our way over to the Trocadero Transfer—or the Troc, as it was fondly known. Now, the Troc was San Francisco’s biggest after-hours nightclub, often compared to Studio 54 in New York, and it was the scene. I was part of the fashionista poser group who partied there, invariably decked out in the latest fashions from Wilkes Bashford and Joseph Magnin, ready to party.

The Troc’s doorman, Jimbo, was notorious for running a tight door, and my fake ID was problematic at times (believe it or not, I am not 6-foot out of heels), so I usually waited across the street until he wasn’t looking to sneak into the club. Yet, despite all the antics I had to go through to get into the Troc—from buying a fierce look to bluffing my way in—it was always worth it. Once inside, we danced the night away as Bobby Viteritti spun magic with his vinyl. My favorite time was early morning when the sun started to rise, and the Troc’s manager would cover the skylights with tarps, transforming the party into a whole other scene. Bobby would drop the music to a completely different tempo, sending the room to erupt with excitement. I still hear Walking on Sunshine by Rockers Revenge as if it were one of those early mornings. When the Troc closed around 6 a.m., we headed to The EndUp to continue partying. We’d stay until we couldn’t physically stand anymore.

It was a time in my life, as a young kid, when San Francisco’s nightlife was thriving. Everything was exciting, and I was reveling in the joy of this new high among a community that was fast becoming my adopted family. It was time to leave the East Bay, and I got a basement apartment with two friends on top of Nob Hill. My room had no windows, only a mattress on the floor and a cardboard dresser and drawers. From the rise on Nob Hill, I often adventured on my own back down to the bars on Polk Street, with which I had been familiar since high school: Polk Gulch, Kimo’s, and The Cinch. I felt comfortable at these places and began making new friends on my old turf. On the weekends, my friends and I partied at the Troc and The EndUp, as they continued to be a big part of our weekend rotation. There was a smorgasbord of party drugs available to us. And it was excessive, but this is how we did it. This was what came with being young, gay, and free in pre-AIDS San Francisco. This was a time of anything goes, a free-fall era imbued with a determination to party our asses off, come what may. Little did we know what was coming.

IV. Dancing with Death

My time at the Nob Hill apartment was short-lived and, soon enough, I moved, along with one of my roommates, into an old Victorian in the Castro District. The Castro had changed dramatically since my first forays there as a young teen, and it felt like an exciting new time to be gay. The bars and clubs overflowed into the streets at night, and I quickly found the spots I enjoyed popping into, including The Detour and The Cafe.

I can clearly recall passing by the Star Pharmacy one day at the Castro and 18th streets intersection. Posted on the window was a flyer depicting Kaposi’s Sarcoma lesions with the headline “Gay Cancer” above it. It was an image that was to become all too horrifyingly familiar. Soon, we began to hear whispers of the “gay disease.” One night, before heading out to the Troc, a big group of friends visited one of our nightlife buddies who was at home sick and bedridden. The apartment was full of love but heavy with whispers, the air filled with questions and fear. The times were scary; the streets became darker, the bars less crowded, with death and darkness looming over us.

And yet, we still found ways to discover joy and express our queerness. New Wave Music. Day-glo Fashion. Pop Art. We caught bands like Bow Wow Wow at Mabuhay Gardens, and Frankie Goes To Hollywood at the Kabuki Theater. We were all trying to find places to escape reality. One day, a friend grabbed me and took me to meet the artist Keith Haring, who was painting a mural at Club DV8. So, despite the darkness, some bright moments were still there to distract our minds.

I also began to volunteer and prepare breakfast for some of San Francisco’s earliest AIDS patients through a hospice program that provided beds and meals for those in need––it’s heartbreaking to say that I never prepared one meal. After that, I became a Shanti Project volunteer, providing companionship and emotional support for people living with—and dying from—AIDS. It was a bleak time. Here I was, living in the heart of the Castro, a ground zero for the AIDS pandemic. I wanted to get away, to escape the darkness I saw on every corner, the headlines, the ghostly look in people’s eyes as I met their gaze.

And so, I decided to take a week off and go to New York City.

V. Bright Lights, Big City

When I landed, I hit the clubs hard. My friends and I partied at AREA and the big converted church Limelight, where it felt like a new era of nightlife was taking shape. The scene at AREA was inspiring. Here, fashion and style would get you past the front door. On my last night, I ended up at the East Village club Boy Bar. While checking my coat, I instantly fell in love with the boy giving me my claim ticket. I chatted with him all night until he suggested I watch the drag show. On stage stood a queen who captured my attention like no other. As the crowd erupted with thunderous applause, I caught my first glimpse of “The Hog Queen of Lip-Sync Glamamore!” Something inside me told me this person would be part of my life.

Later that year, I left the Castro District in San Francisco behind, landing one block away from the West Side Highway and Christopher Street in New York. I rushed back to Boy Bar, hoping to see the coat-check boy and the drag queen, but neither was found. I sat by myself at the bar and ordered a Cosmopolitan. A few minutes later, someone tapped me on the shoulder—the coat-check boy—declaring, “I’m ready for that dinner.” My heart flew straight up into the air like a kite, crashing through the clouds and into the clear blue sky. We had dinner at a cute little Thai restaurant in the West Village and became the boyfriends I always thought we would be.

One night, several weeks later, we headed to the airport to pick up his best friend, who was designing clothes in Los Angeles. Little did I know we were picking up Glamamore, the same queen who appeared on the Boy Bar stage. As we drove to the airport, my boyfriend gave me details about Glama—as her friends had called her. Originally from New York, Glama was already legendary on the NYC circuit as the mother of the Boy Bar Beauties, a drag family that performed weekly at Boy Bar from 1984 to 1992. I didn’t know it then, but Glamamore’s family of queens—Connie Girl, Mona Foot, Codie Ravioli, Princess Diandra, and many more—would not only become cultural icons but also queens I admired. Glamamore would go on to achieve drag superstar status, performing at venues large and small. She is now considered an icon and the Grandmother of the House of MORE!

In short order, I became the first “MOREboy” (which I will explain later). As a MOREboy, my duties included helping Glamamore get to her gigs, carrying whatever she needed to perform at her shows. It was a job I took seriously, and in the process, I went from getting past the front door to being admitted backstage, an uncharted territory that was to change my life forever again. As Glama’s MOREboy, I would accompany her to Tunnel nightclub, where I would meet many of the original Club Kids.

VI. Juanita MORE! Is Born

Three years later, I returned to San Francisco in the fall, settling into the tiny studio apartment in the Tenderloin I still call home today. Life settled into familiar routines until I got a call from Glamamore. My coat-check boyfriend had passed away, and she wanted to come out to San Francisco for a six-week visit at the end of summer. She never left. Glama quickly settled in, and Halloween was fast approaching. The weekend before, I excitedly asked her to put me in drag—something I had never done before. “You’re gonna be hideous,” she replied. Well, I wasn’t. And I loved it.

Being in drag gave me a new reason to go out again. It relieved much of the darkness still weighing heavily on the community. And go out I did. I was in drag every weekend after that, and soon realized the power of drag and appreciated the vast love I received from everyone around me for doing it. Glamamore and I started a drag troupe called The Fishstix with our friend Staci Gives. We wanted a new platform to perform outside the bar scene, so I contacted a friend managing The Improv, a comedy club in downtown San Francisco’s theater district. I wanted to see if we could have the venue for a show. We ran two sold-out weekends and quickly began performing at venues throughout the city.

One venue, Kimo’s on Polk Street, was a former teenage haunt of mine. Kimo’s stage was located on the second level. And, in a twist of what I can only describe as queer fairy fate, the stage floor we performed on was the original, flashing disco dance floor from the N’Touch. (Kimo’s owners had purchased it when the N’Touch went out of business.) I had come a long way from Hayward—and now I was standing on that lit-up floor in heels, performing.

VII. The Ebb and Flow

By the mid-’90s, the LGBTQ community was anxiously awaiting the announcement of the new anti-HIV “cocktail” that would be introduced to our community, leaving everyone very hopeful. San Francisco’s nightlife scene was returning in full effect, with big parties happening again in prominent places.

One of the city’s hottest parties was Club Universe, held on Saturday nights. There, DJ David Harness ruled the dance floor. On any given night, legendary DJs, including Frankie Knuckles, Tony Humphries, Little Louie Vega, Tedd Patterson, Dave Morales, Danny Tenaglia, San Francisco’s Miguel Migs, and Mark Farina, were likely to be heard.

We were also at The Stud weekly for the drag club T-Shack, which ran for 12 years; the legendary late drag queen Heklina started it as an offshoot of Klubstitute, a weekly queer punk underground happening. T-Shack’s weekly changing themes gave the performers plenty of room to bring their wildest stage fantasies to life––it was a literal free-for-all. On my first night performing, I refused to follow along with the Pat Benatar theme and did an Etta James number instead. That’s how my friendship with Heklina began. Twelve years later, T-Shack ended its successful run, and we were all left without a weekly party to call home.

That’s when I decided to have a weekly party in the Castro.

Booty Call Wednesdays was born with the support of MOREboy Joshua J and ran every Wednesday night for eight consecutive years. I missed only one night when I was stuck in New York over Halloween week because of bad weather. Throughout its run, BCW attracted world-class DJs and celebrity guests, including Horse Meat Disco, Jake Shears, Lady Miss Kier, Kim Ann Foxman, Dita Von Teese, Russell Tovey, Raven Symone, Lady Bunny, and Honey Sound System, to name a few. Just as importantly, BCW became a place where new SF residents literally came out queer for the first time, where groups of people met what would become their chosen families, and where relationships bloomed into marriages. It allowed so many people to share their creative and artistic sides, and where many of my young trans friends found comfort and acceptance. People still ask me to bring back that party.

It’s funny how some things habitually return to our lives. As in my youth, I’m spending more time in the SoMa [South of Market] again. I have created a home—of sorts—at the Powerhouse Bar on Folsom and Dore Alley. I currently hold two monthly parties there, one of which is called “Powerblouse.” Glamamore and I invite one lucky person to the stage for a fantasy drag makeover. The attendees watch as we use our sacred drag queen powers to tuck, tape, shape, glue, and staple this person together. Once the vision is complete, we push the newbie-baby drag person onto the stage for their first-ever live lip-sync performance. Monthly, it benefits the Roses Initiative, which is committed to supporting trans girls of color. They provide a space built by and for trans girls of color, sculpted to welcome girls in and uplift their voices and power.

The other monthly party I host at Powerhouse is BEATPIG, which combines the significant elements of leather, fashion, and drag. The party is known for its great music, cheap drinks, juicy go-go dancers, and photographers, all at the legendary leather bar. It benefits Openhouse, which enables San Francisco Bay Area LGBTQ+ seniors to overcome their unique challenges as they age by providing housing, direct services, and community programs.

XI. Life’s A Party. And It’s Work.

Working in nightlife is challenging, and I never took things for granted when I started doing drag. Many people helped bring Juanita to life––it has never just been me. I have also been very conscious of the many queens and kings who came before me, leaving many things to learn from—especially making a positive difference in the lives of our community members. Our queer elders also left us some essential things to carry forward. For me, one thing that stood out most was giving back. I took that to heart from the start, used my privilege as a San Francisco queen, and began organizing events to benefit my community. To date, I’ve helped to raise over 1 million dollars for local charities, shining a light on some of San Francisco’s most impactful LGBTQIA+ organizations.

Participating in the annual Pride celebration is one way I give back to the community that has supported me for so long. Every year since 1970, the community has marked the month of June as a time to reflect, remember, honor, and fight for our rights. Queer people from all walks of life descend upon San Francisco to affirm our humanity and demand progress. Pride is also a time to come together in our queer spaces and have a good time with our friends and family—chosen or otherwise. The history of our community is rooted in clubs and bars, as these are historically safe spaces for queer people to meet, love, dance, and thrive. However, dancing, having fun, and meeting somebody new are not enough. We must also remember to give back to our community because we face issues that require resistance daily.

My annual Pride Party has now reached its 20th year. It has been touted as the “BEST” party of the year over Pride weekend in San Francisco; past beneficiaries include AIDS Benefits Counselors, Tenderloin AIDS Resource Center, Harvey Milk Memorial Bust at City Hall, New Leaf Outreach to Elders, Transgender Law Center, Bay Positives, GSA Network, SF LGBT Center, Outloud Radio, AIDS Housing Alliance, YES!–Youth Empowerment Summit, Queer LifeSpace, LGBT Asylum Project, Our Trans Youth, GLBT Historical Society & Archives, SF Bay Area Nightlife Fund, The Imperial Court of San Francisco, and Q Foundation, and more. It’s magic to create space and art and give back to the community.

Nightlife is once again booming in San Francisco. After the pandemic’s lockdown, we’ve seen a significant surge in new weekly and monthly parties, pageants, and events. In particular, after-hour venues are popping up, bringing back a hedonistic late-’70s vibe filled with promiscuity and heavy partying. A new generation is emerging, losing their inhibitions and figuring out ways to escape the current climate in our world. When we gather, it is essential to remember the path our elders forged in San Francisco, when they felt the freedom to express themselves at bars, bathhouses, sex clubs, and discos. History has an interesting way of repeating itself.▪︎

Discover more about queer nightlife throughout the US in the series Nightlife as Form

Juanita MORE! is a denizen of the limelight. For almost three decades, the laudable hostess has blitzed San Francisco with high glamour, drag irreverence, and danceable beats that have illuminated the entire city. MORE! continues to be a heaping dollop of generosity and a sprinkle of nerve. She inspires those around her to make positive differences in their lives and communities — and doing it all with timeless elegance and an innovative spirit. Most recently, after her reign, Miss MORE! holds the title of Absolute Empress 56 of the Imperial Council of San Francisco –– one of the oldest non-profit organizations globally.