As Terry Noel descended the narrow staircase into the smoky, electric atmosphere of The Downstairs Club—known then as the Jochebo—she felt, for the first time in her life, that she was not alone. The year was 1958. It was Halloween night, the one evening of the year when she could dress as a woman without fear of arrest, without the constant threat of ridicule or violence. The club, tucked away at 456 Madison Pike in Kenton County was an unassuming hideaway, but for those who knew, it was a sanctuary—a place where people like Terry could exist, if only for a few hours, in the fullness of their truth. Every year, The Downstairs Club hosted a drag pageant, an event that not only crowned a new queen but also reaffirmed the community’s defiant joy in the face of a world that often sought to erase them.

By definition, Terry was a new queen, but unlike many of the performers around her, drag was not just an act—it was a gateway to the woman she had always known herself to be. The pageant helped cultivate a vibrant patronage of female impersonators, creating a close-knit drag subculture that offered both camaraderie and competition. Terry had never performed before, but she had spent countless hours in her tiny apartment perfecting every movement—the graceful sway of her hips, the poised flick of her wrist, the sultry arch of her brows. Back then, female impersonators were expected to sing live. Dressed in her favorite gown, Terry was the most beautiful person in the room.

The bar had the feel of a dive, but in a way that was effortlessly artistic—like a cross between the bohemian charm of the Left Bank and the rough warmth of a Midwestern saloon. Some might have called it a dump. A low balcony, edged with a worn wooden bannister, wrapped around the room, giving onlookers a perfect view of the scene below. A series of shallow wooden steps led down into the heart of it all—a sunken dance floor, wide and inviting, its polished surface seeming to absorb and reflect the pulse of the room.

It was on that dance floor where Terry won the pageant handily.

Not long after, while flipping through a magazine, Terry came across an article about the Jewel Box Revue, a traveling drag show that showcased female impersonators of extraordinary talent from across the globe. The Revue was unlike anything she had ever seen—a dazzling spectacle featuring twenty-four stunning female impersonators and a single male impersonator.

The male impersonator was Stormé DeLarverie, a trailblazing drag king who, over a decade later, would be credited with throwing the first punch at the Stonewall Riots. DeLarverie was known for her rendition of “Mr. Sandman” which she performed at the Cat and The Fiddle nightclub in Cincinnati’s West End during several extended engagements throughout the 1950s. The Jewel Box Revue was a revolution in sequins and song, a place where gender was a fluid performance and artistry was paramount. It was also the very first travelling racially integrated drag show.

Determined to be a part of it, Terry sent her photos to Doc Benner, one of the Revue’s owners, and waited anxiously for a response. When the offer finally came—a performance in Asbury Park, New Jersey, in the spring of 1959—she was ecstatic. “I thought I had died and gone to heaven,” she later recalled.

Under the stage name Teri Noel, she soon found herself performing at the notorious Club 82 in Greenwich Village, New York, a glittering jewel in the underground world of mid-century queer nightlife. Like many of the earliest gay bars, including The Downstairs Club in Kentucky, Club 82 was operated by the mob.

These establishments, though offering rare spaces for queer people to gather and express themselves, were controlled by men deeply entrenched in organized crime—figures who saw these bars not as sanctuaries, but as lucrative, illicit ventures. The juxtaposition was striking: in the heart of a dangerous underworld, where violence and exploitation were the norm, queer communities found moments of joy, liberation, and chosen family. Yet this safety was always precarious, their existence at the mercy of criminals who could just as easily extort them as they could provide refuge.

Terry’s years in New York were transformative, not just for her career, but for her identity. She formed deep, lasting friendships with people who understood her journey, and even had a brief romance with actor Jim Hutton—who, decades later, would become one of Freddie Mercury’s great loves. By the time she was twenty-five, she had begun taking the first steps toward transitioning. With financial assistance from Anna Genovese—mob wife of the infamous Genovese crime family and owner of Club 82—Terry underwent gender-affirming surgery in September of 1965. It was a milestone she had dreamed of for years, and with the unwavering support of her mother, who discreetly updated her birth certificate at the local county clerk’s office, she was legally recognized as a woman.

By the late 1960s, Terry had left the world of drag behind. She embraced a quieter life, finding love in a fourteen-year relationship with a Navy man and helping to raise his child. Professionally, she thrived as a computer programmer and analyst—an unexpected yet fitting career for a woman who had always been ahead of her time. Her journey—from a small-town Kentucky girl who never quite fit in, to a celebrated performer, and ultimately, a woman recognized in both society and law—was a testament to resilience, self-acceptance, and the power of chosen family.

In her later years, Terry returned to Northern Kentucky, choosing to spend her golden years close to the family who had come to accept and cherish her. She lived a full life, one marked by defiance and triumph, and when she passed away in December 2023, she left behind a legacy of courage and beauty.

Reflecting on her journey near the end of her life, she mused, “We’ve come a long way, baby, from the dark days of our past.”

And yet, as we stand in an era where transgender rights are once again under attack, her words feel both triumphant and cautionary. For all the progress made, the battles she fought are long from over.

Photos from: https://www.queermusicheritage.com/fem-terrynoel.html

“To The Roots.” Dinah: “Interview with an Activist.” Summer 1988. Issue 1 Volume 1. Interview by Phebe Beiser of Ohio Lesbian Archives. publication of the Lesbian Activist Bureau, Inc. Page 16.

Greater Cincinnati Gay Chamber of Commerce. “Reunion of The Downstairs Club.” GCGCC Newsletter, August 2016. https://myemail.constantcontact.com/Newsletter—August-2016.html?aid=Yi9iDGMw6ho&soid=1101983411344.

“The Cat and The Fiddle Present Male Revue.” The Cincinnati Post. Cincinnati, Ohio. June 17, 1953 ·Page 10

Interview with Teri Noel by Morgan Stevens, 2006. Queermusicheritage.com