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Thirty-two people died and 15 were injured in a devastating arson fire at the UpStairs Lounge, a gay bar in New Orleans’ famed French Quarter, on June 24, 1973. Fifty years later, few have heard of the fire — which up until the Pulse mass shooting in 2016 was the largest mass murder of LGBTQ+ people in U.S. history. Compounding the tragedy was the city’s failure to properly investigate or even publicly acknowledge the fire once it became known that the victims were gay. For the first time just last year, the New Orleans City Council voted to “recognize and honor” the victims and formally apologize to the victims’ loved ones for the city’s response.
The man suspected of starting the fire, Roger Dale Nunez, was himself believed to be gay and a frequent visitor to the UpStairs Lounge. On the evening of June 24, Nunez was kicked out, according to people at the bar. He was furious and allegedly hurried to a nearby drugstore to buy lighter fluid, which he used to douse the club’s downstairs entryway. When someone opened the door at the top, the fire roared upstairs and engulfed the club in flames. Some tried to jump out the windows but were blocked by burglar bars. Others managed to escape through a back entrance.
Those who survived the fire faced a fresh horror in its wake through city officials’ callous response and their neighbors’ hostility or indifference.
The UpStairs Lounge had been a safe space where queer people could socialize, enjoy drag shows and even attend services for the Metropolitan Community Church.
Fifty years later, safe spaces for LGBTQ+ people are shrinking again: There are currently almost 500 anti-LGBTQ+ bills in the U.S., according to the ACLU. The proposed bills target LGBTQ+ people’s civil rights, freedom of speech and expression, healthcare, and educational resources, among other restrictions.
A compelling new podcast, “The Fire UpStairs,” examines the fire, its aftermath and attitudes surrounding it — which are still profoundly relevant today — through interviews and archival footage. Its host and co-producer, Joey Gray, answered HuffPost’s questions from New Orleans, where the city is finally recognizing and commemorating the UpStairs Lounge tragedy. (This interview has been lightly edited for clarity.)
Before I listened to your podcast, I had never heard of the UpStairs Lounge fire. Why do you think it isn’t as well known as other tragedies?
I think a historic lack of knowledge about the events can be linked directly back to the refusal of the city and local authorities to acknowledge the fire at the time it happened. By all accounts, there was a clear, collective effort to sweep this tragedy under the rug and go on as though it never happened. Indications of this disregard were seen almost immediately after it was understood the UpStairs was a gay bar. Rev. Bill Larson’s charred and lifeless body was left, uncovered, in the window of the bar for hours after the fire; the title of Johnny Townsend’s seminal book “Let the Faggots Burn” is said to have been a quote overheard by one of the first responders on the scene that night.
As I discuss in the first episode of the show, no official statements were made by city officials, no public days of mourning were called for, none of the ranking clergymen went on record to offer their support or condolences, and as a criminal investigation, the arson was entirely botched by local authorities. In view of all of that, it’s sadly no wonder why it took so many years for there even to be a general awareness of the fire.
Whether we attribute that to a behind-the-times culture of homophobia and bigotry, paired with shame that may have been internalized by queer folk which likely kept them quiet and trapped in a proverbial closet ― the UpStairs Lounge was not a loud moment in queer history, as we’ve come to think of Stonewall, but no less pivotal.
Why do you think Roger Dale Nunez, the man who allegedly started the fire, was never charged?
Charging anyone for this crime — especially someone who for all intents and purposes was the clear perpetrator, was described as having made a threat to burn the bar down that night upon his expulsion, who matched the description of someone who purchased a large can of lighter fluid at a nearby Walgreens minutes before the fire was started (the exact same can which was later found at the scene of the crime), and who is alleged to have made multiple confessions to friends in the aftermath — would have brought more attention to the fire and to the lives of the gay men who perished in it. Which then would have forced the city and local authorities to acknowledge what happened and reveal how they dragged their feet through every step of that process.
Frankly, he was never charged by authorities because they didn’t want to give it more recognition. And then, tragically, Roger ensured that justice would never come when he took his own life 18 months after the fire.
One fire survivor said, “I was asked later if this was a hate crime, but I said the hate crime wasn’t who started the fire. ... The hate crime was the reaction after the fire.” Would you say this is one of the overarching themes of your podcast?
Certainly, an overarching theme of the podcast is “the reaction after the fire” and the UpStairs Lounge’s place in the broader story of queer liberation and sociopolitical progress made following the fire. But I wouldn’t go as far as to say that we contextualize the UpStairs Lounge arson as a hate crime at all.
While the alleged arsonist’s motives and frame of mind will forever be unknown, he was still someone who existed within this community and wasn’t an outsider attacking this place based solely on the fact that it was a gay bar. Was there hatred in his heart that night? Maybe. But even survivors of this horrific event have gone on record to say that they don’t believe he intended for or truly knew the extent of death and damage he would be causing that night. Either way, what we can see clearly is that the wider reaction following the fire was certainly intentional in its disregard and mishandling (not to mention the blatantly callous and derisive commentary that appeared in its wake), but to say that this was bred from hatred may be a bridge too far.
If anything, it’s a reflection of the times, and of an outmoded mindset. It might be more accurate to say that this was a crime of apathy.
The UpStairs Lounge was more than just a bar. What else did it offer the community at the time?
Several accounts of the UpStairs Lounge have likened it to a “gay Cheers,” a real place that you could go where everybody knew your name. And that was no accident: One of the famous house rules developed by Buddy Rasmussen, the bar manager, was that staff had to know a patron by name before they would serve them. This care and concern lent itself to the bar being an atmosphere that welcomed all, but always looked after its own.
From my research and conversations about the UpStairs, it sounds like a second home to its patrons more than how we would traditionally think of a bar. Sure, there were days and nights of drinking and good-natured fun, but the legacy of the UpStairs Lounge will forever also include its capacity to foster and support community. They housed Sunday church services for the gay-inclusive MCC when they had no other place to worship, they staged theatrical plays and held charity events for the local children’s hospital, and they had drag shows and sing-a-long nights. Longtime patron and arson survivor Ricky Everett even used the bar’s phone line for his mother to call and check in on him.
Are the attacks on LGBTQ people today — not only threats and actual physical violence at queer venues but also legislation, protests against drag shows and vitriol — forcing the community to seek out or create “safe spaces” like the one UpStairs Lounge provided? What are safe spaces for LGBTQ people today?
This is a tough question, because of the well-documented closures of so many queer spaces. And I think part of the magic of queer spaces (gay bars, dance clubs, etc.) historically is that these were the only places you could go to be your authentic self in a world that was otherwise unwelcoming to your nature. They have been, and remain, critical to our sense of identity and development as queer people — and there’s no replacement for having that corporal experience.
As “Tinderbox” author Robert Fieseler says in our second episode, “When you walked into the door of the UpStairs Lounge, you would take off your straight self and enter and embrace that oasis atmosphere.” Regarding the threats, violence, legislation, protests and vitriol ― none of that is new for the queer community, sadly, but the role that queer spaces play in our collective efforts to fight back is that they give us places to gather, to organize, and to liberate ourselves. It’s our joy and freedom of expression, and our resilience in the face of terrible odds that some are trying to take away from us with these measures. And what they likely don’t know is that they can never take those things away from us.
The idea of a “safe space” for queer people has been all but shattered, from the UpStairs Lounge to Pulse and Club Q, along with movie theaters, places of worship, schools and everywhere else folks who seek to cause pain and suffering have attacked us. But even so, the only safe space we’ll ever really need as queer people is anywhere that we gather.
New episodes of “The Fire Upstairs,” which is executive-produced by Ryan Killian Krause, drop on Wednesdays and are available on most podcast platforms.