Tag Archive for: Northern Kentucky

Covington Police Officer Doug Ullrich smiling in uniform, pictured in front of the Roebling Bridge. Overlaid is an excerpt from a federal civil rights lawsuit alleging his actions and departmental failures violated plaintiffs' Fourth and Fourteenth Amendment rights.

Covington’s LGBTQ+ Liaison Officer Has 9 Federal Lawsuits. The Community Wants Answers.

May 14, 2026/in Community, Gov & Politics/by BJ Bethel

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Curtis Clemons has lived in Northern Kentucky his entire life.

The 36-year-old said he’s loved Covington since he was a kid. Growing up 45 minutes away in Williamstown, he looked forward to weekends “in the city” with his family.

Clemons, now a resident and a local realtor, said he usually felt safe in Covington when he interacted with local law enforcement until he learned of a police officer in Covington named Doug Ullrich.

“The interactions I’ve seen on the news and reported about Officer Ullrich, but also the interactions officers have had on the Roebling Bridge last summer,” Clemons said. “There was unjust violence toward citizens on the bridge.”

Clemons was one of several members of the Covington LGBTQ+ community that spoke with Queer Kentucky who were concerned with Ullrich, the number of lawsuits filed against him and what they see is a lack of action by the city and the Covington Police Department.

Ullrich is a training specialist and the department’s LGBTQ+ Liaison Officer. On the Covington Police Department website, it describes the LGTBQ+ Liaison Officer mission, “To build communication between the LGBTQ+ community and (the department),” by “developing trust and understanding.” Clemons, and other members of the LGTBQ+ Community interviewed by Queer Kentucky, believe the department is failing in that mission.

Ullrich made news in early 2025 when dashcam video of his October 2024 arrest of Damien Conner became public. Conner, an LGBTQ+ Black man, was pulled out of his car by Ullrich and another officer after they cut his seat belt. According to the complaint, Ullrich said he smelled marijuana in Conner’s vehicle after he began removing him from the vehicle.

Conner was held overnight, but wasn’t charged when he was released the next morning.

In March 2025, he filed a federal lawsuit against the Covington Police Department and Ullrich for violating his civil rights. It’s one of nine lawsuits filed in federal court against Ullrich since 2021.

Clemons said the lawsuits against Ullrich and the handling of protestors on the Roebling Bridge last year, who were rallying against the detention of Ayiman Soliman by ICE, have put him in a position where he’s afraid of interactions with the police department.

“It has eroded any trust that I might have had,” Clemons said.

Ullrich has been the department’s LGBTQ+ Liaison since 2023. In May 2025, Queer Kentucky published a profile on Ullrich, including excerpts from his 300-page personnel file.

Ullrich’s personnel file showed praise for his work involving traffic stops and drug enforcement. It also showed concerns from other officers and supervisors, including a 2014 group chat conversation with other officers, where Ullrich said, “I violate every policy,” in response to another officer discussing the time he tased a suspect who posed no threat and was running away.

Another member of the chat wrote, “…if u r ever the defendant in a federal case, it could come back to haunt…just my piece of advice, been there, done that, it was not fun.”

Nine lawsuits since 2021

Despite being sued nine times in federal court, Ullrich hasn’t been found liable in the three cases that have been decided. One of those cases is before the Sixth Circuit Appellate Court.

“When one officer repeatedly appears in these cases, it naturally leads people to ask whether supervisory oversight and accountability mechanisms are working the way they should and if anyone truly cares,” said Elise Sebastian, who does volunteer work in the city.

In 2021, Jeffrey Cundiff sued Ullrich and the department after he was given a body cavity search during a traffic stop. Ullrich won partially on summary judgment in March 2024.

In a suit filed in 2021, Anthony Wynn claimed he was assaulted by Ullrich and other officers over the course of three arrests. Wynn sued Ullrich, the police department and 50 officers. Ullrich and some other defendants were dropped from the suit after the judge partially dismissed portions of the case on statute of limitations grounds. The Eastern Kentucky District ruled in favor of the defendants last year. The Sixth Circuit affirmed the ruling in April.

Ashley Ferrerias filed a civil suit in 2024 after she claimed she was physically and sexually assaulted, and had her First Amendment rights violated after she was knocked off her crutches and arrested when questioning why her boyfriend was pulled over. Her case was appealed after the court found in Ullrich’s favor in February. Ferreiras is also awaiting an appeal on her criminal conviction in the case related to her civil filing.

Eight days after the Ferrerias case was decided in Eastern Kentucky District Court, Ullrich was sued in February by Covington residents Stephen Weier and Brandon Greenlee for allegedly conducting a warrantless vehicle search, false arrest and unlawful detainment during a March 2025 traffic stop. Weier accused Ullrich of sexual assault while being searched.

Despite the court deciding in Ullrich’s favor in the Ferrerias case (the judge ruled that Ferrerias’s convictions in Kenton County Court wiped out her claims of having her civil rights violated), Clemons said it hasn’t assuaged his worries about the department.

“If the suits are still being filed then it’s clear there’s still a problem at the Covington Police Department,” Clemons said. “Ullrich may just be a symptom of those issues. Mayor Ron Washington, I think he was the highest or one of the highest-ranking African American police officers in the state of Kentucky, even though he’s retired,” Clemons said. “I would love to see him say something.”

In a response to Queer Kentucky, the City of Covington sent the following statement:

“Because some cases remain pending, the Covington Police Department and the City are limited in what we can comment on publicly.

“That said, the rulings issued so far show that the actions taken by the City’s police officers were professional, lawful, and within established operating procedures.

“The Covington Police Department is committed to professional policing, accountability, and ensuring that officers carry out their duties responsibly while protecting the people and visitors of Covington.

“The City will continue to let the legal process play out while remaining focused on serving the community and upholding the standards expected of the police department.”

A Dangerous and Confusing Message

“Liaison roles exist to build trust with communities that historically have had complicated and often harmful interactions with law enforcement,” said Elise Sebastian. “When the officer assigned to build that trust is simultaneously facing repeated allegations of excessive force, it sends a dangerous and confusing message. This creates a credibility problem.”

Sebastian lives outside Covington with her wife. She’s frequently in the city for LGBTQ+ events and first heard of Ullrich when his arrest of Conner made local news.

“After the news reports, I started paying closer attention to the department’s response,” Sebastian said. “What stood out to me wasn’t just the lawsuits themselves, but the pattern. When one officer appears in that many cases, people are going to ask questions about oversight and accountability.”

Dr. Chelsea Elsmere, a psychologist specializing in LGBTQ+ health concerns, said instances of discrimination can lead to members of a marginalized group losing trust in institutions and feeling they aren’t safe where they live. That can lead to adverse mental and physical health effects, Elsmere said. Ullrich’s status as LGBTQ+ Liaison and the allegations of excessive force could pose a mental health issue.

“It’s a big problem if you can’t trust who is supposed to be protecting you,” Elsmere said. “There is so much fear in our world today; people need to feel secure in their own spaces.

“This is called ‘minority stress theory;’ and is particularly relevant to police interactions,” Elsmere said. “LGBTQ+ individuals are likely to have a baseline of low trust in police and be reluctant to seek help from them. Documented incidents that bring safety into question aren’t going to help this problem, nor is a lack of transparency/accountability from the department in response.”

Sebastian said the situation has caused her to make fewer trips to Covington.

“Trust is fragile, especially between law enforcement and LGBTQ+ communities that historically have experienced discrimination or over-policing,” Sebastian said. “When the officer assigned to be a bridge to that community is repeatedly named in civil rights lawsuits, it undermines the purpose of that bridge.”

Questions about Use Of Force Policy

While Ullrich won the Ferrerias case, depositions reveal that there may be inconsistencies in the department’s use of force policy.

Ullrich and Officer Anthony Fritsch were sued in federal civil court by Ferreiras in 2023 after she alleged officers assaulted her in front of her house. The incident began when officers, including Ullrich, had pulled over her boyfriend in front of her home for a broken taillight.

According to her complaint, she came down to the sidewalk on crutches, and officers pulled the crutches away from her. She filed the suit claiming she was unlawfully charged and arrested, and accused the officers of “physical and sexual assault.”

Ferreiras was found guilty of charges related to the incident. Like her civil suit, that case is before an appeals court.

During the August 2025 deposition, Officer Anthony Fritsch was asked by attorney Justin Whitaker if he was trained on the department’s use of force policy.

“No one specifically trained us on use of force policy,” Fritsch said. “We were expected to read it and understand it.”

Ullrich, a department training officer, said this wasn’t the case when questioned by attorney Whitaker.

During the deposition, Ullrich didn’t say whether he was in charge of training Fritsch on use of force policy. But it has caused community members to question whether the department is taking the policy seriously, especially with the training officer being sued eight times.

Community members: Department needs to address concerns

Elsmere said if more cases against Ulrich continue to be filed, the city’s police department would be in a bind, not only with the LGBTQ+ community, but anyone who feels the department isn’t being responsive to major issues.

“Each new case deepens the rift,” Elsmere said. “Though Ulrich’s interest in serving as LGBTQ+ liaison may come with good intent, the incidents in question have had damaging impact. It is undeniable that these events have undermined relations between the community and (the Covington) police department as a whole. That’s quite contradictory to the very concept of a liaison.”

As long as the department remains quiet, Sebastian, who does regular volunteer work in Covington, said she doesn’t believe the department is taking Ullrich or the community’s concerns seriously.

“The public understands that policing is difficult work,” Sebastian said. “What people struggle with is when a pattern emerges and the response from leadership appears quiet or procedural. That is when trust erodes.”

After the Roebling Bridge Protest, the department suspended one officer for a month and recommended he receive additional training. Sebastian said this is a similar moment and requires similar action.

“This is a moment for the city and the police department to demonstrate that ethical standards and public trust actually matter,” Sebastian said.

Tracy Kisenda, who is suing Ullrich, is awaiting his criminal trial in June. Kisenda is facing charges of assaulting officers and disrupting governmental operations. He said those charges are false, according to his civil complaint, filed in 2025.

Emily Schubert, a licensed clinical social worker, sits on a purple couch inside Thrive Empowerment Center in Covington, Kentucky, a trauma-informed LGBTQ-affirming community space focused on safety, healing, and advocacy amid rising anti-LGBTQ+ violence in Northern Kentucky.

What ‘Y’all’ Really Means: When Community Safety, Civil Rights and Police Collide in Northern Kentucky

December 29, 2025/in Culture, Gov & Politics, Opinion/by Queer Kentucky

The views and opinions expressed in submissions to Queer Kentucky are those of the authors and do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of Queer Kentucky. Any content provided by our submissions or regular columnists are of their opinion. As a reader, you are always welcome to submit your op-eds through our submission form: https://queerkentucky.com/submit-an-article/

by Emily Schubert

Northern Kentucky is nestled in the Greater Cincinnati Region, a quick 15-30 minute drive from the city of Cincinnati and an hour or two away from Lexington and Louisville. Like other densely populated regions in the state of Kentucky, Northern Kentucky is a melting pot of opportunity and diversity, an eclectic pocket of communities that people of various demographics and identities call home and find safety within. That’s why in July 2025, citizens of Covington (Northern Kentucky’s largest city) were shaken to their core when the Covington Police Department used excessive force to detain protestors holding a peaceful demonstration on the Roebling Bridge. While these community members were protesting against the unlawful arrest and kidnapping of civilians conducted by ICE, the department’s actions revealed a deeper issue at the heart of the burgeoning volatility in our sociopolitical climate: politically motivated division and violence.

Consequently, this growing hostility has challenged communities such as the Northern Kentucky area to remain accepting, tolerant, and non-combative towards their immigrant, BIPOC, LGBTQ+, and other minority/marginalized community members. The unfortunate reality of this community violence is captured by the Human Rights Campaign. The campaign’s data collection indicated that, since 2022, there have been nearly 2000 incidents of anti-LGBTQ+ violence nationwide. In 2023, over 2800 hate crimes were recorded against LGBTQ+ people (accounting for 23% of all hate crimes that year). Additionally, 2024 data collected over a ten-year time period indicated anti-LGBTQ+ extremists were responsible for the murders of nearly 400 LGBTQ+ identifying people. While these numbers are disheartening and problematic enough in their own right, they grotesquely underrepresent the true number of violent incidences experienced by the LGBTQ+ population, as not all jurisdictions report hate crimes into the FBI database tracking these numbers. Keeping that in mind, consider what the data would indicate if it were to include violence perpetuated on other minority groups within our community. Now consider if that data was expanded to include violence perpetuated on non-minority groups who were actively helping/supporting minority members of their communities, practicing community advocacy, or peacefully protesting in accordance with their First Amendment rights. Though some may refuse to admit it, one can’t help but argue that this data seems to highlight America’s position as land of the suppressed, but home for the violent and intolerant.

What does this mean for the Covington I stroll through? The one that flourishes with quirky, unique, and diverse people of all walks of life? The zip code that’s home to the career, the community, the loved ones, the best tacos this side of the Ohio River, the friendliest bookstore and coffee shop, the little carved out corner of peace and belonging I call mine and, as such, ours? It means we adapt, pooling together our tangible and intangible resources along with our intellectual, emotional, and human capital. We connect, communicate, educate, and empower. We invest in what strengthens our community and, serendipitously, what also strengthens us. We commit to maintaining our personal safety by maintaining everyone’s safety, whether that be physically, verbally, emotionally, or relationally. We prepare, both in mind and body–by being aware of warning signs of power-based violence, by effectively setting boundaries/limits, and by learning to use our voices and posture to move through the world safely and with confidence. We prevent division, silence, and violence. We resist capitulation and resignation that hostility and volatility beg of us. We heal ourselves and each other. Like our community depends on it. Because it does.

In Covington, arguably the northernmost point of Kentucky and a stone’s throw away from Cincinnati, the city has boasted nearly 5 consecutive years of earning a 100% rating by the Municipal Equality Index spearheaded by the Human Rights Campaign. As a result, Covington has established itself as a hub for businesses and non-profits owned and operated by LGBTQ+ individuals and allies alike. This indicates, now more than ever, the important power a community retains when it protects, advocates for, and promotes the safety and acceptance of all its members–especially the most at-risk and marginalized. Coincidentally, creating these safe spaces for all members of the community to express themselves and gather together (regardless of race, ethnicity, gender, sexual orientation, etc.) can have positive economical and equitable outcomes. As all its members flourish within safe and inclusive spaces, so too does the community itself.

At the heart of all power-based violence is the desire to suppress and silence. We regain this power when we think, yell, run, or fight–for ourselves, for others, for our morals and values, for human rights, for democracy, for our communities. But most importantly, we tell. And we never stop telling. A voice is a verse; a community is a chorus. So, here’s what I want to tell you:

As I often do when free time allows, I was strolling through Covington’s city sidewalks on my lunchbreak the other day. On my way to the Roebling Bridge, the site of that July protest gone sour, I passed the following: a pride center, a community center, a multicultural resource center, a career center, a homeless shelter, a number of non-profits, several telephone poles crowded with past and future community happenings, an art center, two breweries–both hosting LGBTQ+ specific events over the next few weeks, and so many homes and businesses waving pride flags that I eventually lost count. I also passed Covington City Hall. One sign on the window boasted about the record-breaking success of small businesses in the city, numbers far surpassing that of other cities nationwide. And another sign. Right there. In plain view: “Y’all really means all.”

Author Bio:

Emily Schubert (she/her) is a proud member of the LGBTQ+ community. She is a Licensed Clinical Social Worker in Kentucky and Ohio, specializing in mood disorders, personality disorders, trauma, and gender-affirming care. She facilitates both individual therapy and support/reconnection groups at Thrive Empowerment Center–a trauma-informed, female-led community center located in Covington, KY.

Reference Links

https://www.covingtonky.gov/news/2024/11/22/3-peat-covington-earns-top-lgbtq-score

https://hrc-prod-requests.s3-us-west-2.amazonaws.com/Research/Trans-Violence-2025.pdf

State Rep. Lisa Willner speaks at Queer Kentucky’s Queer Politics in the Bluegrass panel in Louisville, joined by policy expert Jackie McGranahan, Sen. Karen Berg, and Fairness Campaign Executive Director Chris Hartman.

Inside Kentucky’s 2026 Legislative Session: Takeaways From Two LGBTQ+ Legislative Preview Panels

December 17, 2025/in Gov & Politics, Kentucky, News/by Olivia Krauth

Kentucky’s 2026 legislative session starts in less than a month, and Queer Kentucky has already been helping Kentuckians prepare for it.

Queer Kentucky — the state’s only LGBTQ-focused newsroom — held two legislative preview panels in December, one in Newport and the other in Louisville.

Attendees heard from folks well-versed in all things Frankfort, including the Fairness Campaign’s Chris Hartman, policy experts Cara Stewart and Jackie McGrahanan, lawmakers Rep. Lisa Willner and Sen. Karen Berg, and even me, Queer Kentucky’s lead political reporter.

Weren’t able to make it to one of the panels? No worries — here’s a rundown of what you missed.

How does session work?

Policy expert Kara Stewart speaks to a packed audience at Queer Kentucky’s Queer Politics in the Bluegrass legislative preview panel in Newport, with panelists seated beside her inside Roebling Books.

Policy expert Cara Stewart speaks to a packed audience at Queer Kentucky’s Queer Politics in the Bluegrass legislative preview panel in Newport, Fairness Campaign Executive Director Chris Hartman and Queer Kentucky political reporter Olivia Krauth beside her inside Roebling Books. Photos by Murphy Meador Communications

Kentucky’s 2026 legislative session starts Jan. 6 and runs until mid-April. Lawmakers will meet nearly every business day during that timeframe, and are expected to file hundreds of bills.

Since the session lasts so long — 60 total working days — the legislature is typically pretty slow to start in January, but things tend to start to heat up in February and hit a fever pitch in March.

The upcoming session is a budget session, so lawmakers’ top priority will be deciding what to include — or not — in the state’s next two-year budget.

What are the top LGBTQ+ bills to watch for?

Logan Richardson and Spencer Jenkins listen during Queer Kentucky’s Queer Politics in the Bluegrass legislative preview panel in Newport, seated among community members at the event. Photos by Murphy Meador Communications.

Covington Resident Logan Richardson and Queer Kentucky Editor-in-Chief Spencer Jenkins listen during Queer Kentucky’s Queer Politics in the Bluegrass legislative preview panel in Newport, seated among community members at the event. Photos by Murphy Meador Communications.

The GOP-dominated legislature did away with prefiling bills — aka making proposed legislation available to the public before session starts — a few years ago, so no one knows exactly what LGBTQ+ legislation could get filed in 2026.

But Hartman noted a few bills that have been filed in the past that we might see again:

Measures allowing healthcare workers to refuse to treat or serve someone based on religious or moral beliefs, potentially meaning discrimination against LGBTQ+ people.
“Jackpot justice” legislation that could make it easier to sue cities or counties with fairness ordinances.
Anti-drag bills aimed at stifling public drag shows, potentially putting businesses, nonprofits, Pride festivals and performers at risk, depending on how the legislation is worded.

Getting involved is critical

Panelists including State Rep. Lisa Willner, policy experts Jackie McGranahan and Cara Stewart, Sen. Karen Berg, and Fairness Campaign Executive Director Chris Hartman smile and engage during Queer Kentucky’s Queer Politics in the Bluegrass panel event. Photo by Murphy Meador Communications.

From last-second bill changes to critical meetings held during normal working hours, the legislature doesn’t exactly make it easy to make your voice heard, panelists noted.

And the upcoming session marks the first of at least a few years where the Capitol will be closed for renovations, shutting down a key rally and protest area and limiting the public’s chances to interact directly with lawmakers.

That’s why it is even more important to show up how you can to support or push back against legislation, panelists said. Although the Capitol will be closed, the Capitol Annex — where all of the committee meetings take place and where bills get their first votes and often see the most change and discussion — will still be open to the public.

“It really does matter that people show up,” Hartman said at the Newport panel. You can sign up to testify against a bill, too, but “just your physical presence is powerful. Every time we can fill the chamber with bodies, it gives more people pause than you might know.”

Any day you can show up in-person is worth it, Stewart noted in Newport. And when you’re there, remember only a little bit of facetime with a lawmaker can make a large difference.

“Find a way to be honest,” Stewart said. “Find a way to be, you know, authentic to yourself, your own experience, and share something about you because that’s hard to deny.”

Willner, a Democrat representing part of Louisville, said, “We need to change who’s in the seats, but the people there who are in the seats now, there are times when their hearts and minds have been changed.

“It’s because you show up,” she continued. “It’s because the community turns out; it’s because people are willing to sit down with people who wish you didn’t exist and show them that, in fact, you do.”

Can’t make it to Frankfort? You can still write or call your lawmakers, share information about bills on social media, or encourage others who can get to the Capitol to do so.

Rally around state and local candidates

Community members fill a local bookstore in Newport for Queer Kentucky’s Queer Politics in the Bluegrass legislative preview panel, with panelists seated at the front discussing Kentucky’s 2026 legislative session.

Community members fill Roebling Books in Newport for Queer Kentucky’s Queer Politics in the Bluegrass legislative preview panel, with panelists seated at the front discussing Kentucky’s 2026 legislative session. Photo by Murphy Meador Communications.

On top of the legislative session, 2026 also brings several midterm elections ranging from Congressional seats to candidates for Frankfort to local school boards and city councils.

Republicans hold a supermajority at the state-level in Kentucky, and 119 of the 138 seats in Kentucky’s House and Senate will be on the ballot next year.

While it is unlikely Democrats could snag a majority in either chamber, there are still several seats that could be flipped or at least considered at play. Berg, for example, said she believes around 11 of the 19 state Senate seats up for election already have strong Democratic candidates who could make it a real contest.

But candidates need help, and several panelists encouraged attendees to help door knock or otherwise support candidates who support the LGBTQ+ community. That potentially includes some of the more moderate Republicans in Frankfort who have broken ranks with their party to support LGBTQ+ people in past votes and now face primary challengers because of it.

You can also run for office, particularly local office, yourself. Kentucky’s deadline to file for a seat that has a partisan primary election is Jan. 9.

Help shape Queer Kentucky’s politics reporting in 2026 by filling out this survey!

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Wives Shelbi and Ashley Nation, known as the Nation wives, stand arm in arm in front of Wyoming Meat Market. They are smiling, wearing work aprons, and standing on the brick sidewalk beneath the shop’s black awning that reads “Wyoming Meat Market.” A bench and storefront windows are visible behind them.

Inside Reka’s, Covington’s Lesbian-Owned Whole-Animal Butchery Reviving Italian Traditions

November 19, 2025/in Culture, Business, Hospitality, Kentucky/by Sav Gripshover

There are few butcheries in the region offering high quality meat sourced from local farmers, unique and experimental sandwich recipes, and imported Italian groceries – and there may only be one owned by a married pair of queer women. Introducing Reka’s: a butchery prioritizing a whole-animal approach located at 401 Scott St. in Covington.

A Lesbian-Owned Butchery Rooted in Family and Italian Heritage

Photo provided by Rekas Butchery and Delicatessen.

Wives Shelbi and Ashley Nation opened Reka’s in 2024 with the goal of celebrating Shelbi’s great-grandmother’s legacy as a chef and business owner in the male-dominated meat industry. When developing a sister location to their original butchery, Wyoming Meat Market, they borrowed her name – Reka – and her classic Italian recipes.

“Our roots go back not only to Italy and our Italian heritage, but also to our family members,” Ashley Nation said. “We’re female and we’re business owners. [We’re] something against the norm.”

Also against the norm is their whole-animal approach: a way to ensure quality control and sustainable practices from the farm to the butchery. The Nations were inspired by the original owner of Wyoming Meat Market, who started the trend in the 1920s. By ordering a whole cow only once a week, butchers can intentionally utilize it to its fullest extent and avoid food waste.

“The idea is that a whole cow can feed a community and nothing goes to waste,” Nation said. “Get a cow once a week, butcher it, and the community would come feed off of it. Whatever we didn’t sell that week, we would grind and make burgers and have a community grill-out, and that still happens in Wyoming.”

“We do that because we know the cow. We know what our cows eat. We know where they live. We know everything about them,” Ashley Nation said. “When you talk to our butchers here… They can tell you just about anything… people really care about their food, and I think that goes a long way.”

A Whole-Animal Philosophy That Connects Food and Community

Interior of Reka’s butchery and market, showing displays of fresh produce, Italian groceries, dry goods, and a refrigerated case labeled Fresh Food. Wooden floors, pendant lights, and organized shelves create a clean and welcoming shopping space.

The interior of Reka’s shows a bright, organized market space featuring fresh produce, Italian pantry items, local meats, and prepared foods. Photo provided by Reka’s.

The whole-animal approach corroborates more than just Reka’s commitment to sustainability and meat quality. It also showcases their devotion to their local community, which they aspire to connect with further in future years.

“Especially with the holidays coming around, we’re trying to plan a holiday pop-up,” Nation said. Currently, Reka’s boasts a wide Thanksgiving menu complete with a whole turkey and side dish bundle. “We definitely have plans to be a part of the community.”

With the recent government shutdown pausing food assistance, the Nations feel called to provide for the community and give back to its members now more than ever. Reka’s is sending donations of non-perishable items and a percentage of item sales to Be Concerned in Covington, a food pantry serving eight counties in Northern Kentucky.

“With SNAP coming to an end, we’re partnering with local food banks and starting a food drive,” Nation said. “We want to help our neighbors.”

Since introducing themselves to their Northern Kentucky “neighbors” over a year ago, Reka’s has developed a strong community of regulars: some who visit the shop every day, twice a day.

“We focus heavily on what our customers want,” Nation notes receiving requests for aged Parmesan cheese and Italian holiday cakes – all things they’re happy to provide. “We’ll have the lunch crowd, so some people come in and get a sandwich… then they’ll come back after work and get chicken or steak.”

Creating Safety, Acceptance, and Belonging for LGBTQ Customers

Whether customers visit to explore the shelves of imported groceries, place orders for their families’ dinners, or snag what Nation calls “bomb sandwiches” for their lunch break, they all share something Nation briefly feared they wouldn’t – a respect for her and her wife’s relationship.

“There’s still, as always, a bit of ‘what are people gonna say?’” Nation said.

When beginning their business, Nation worried referring to Shelbi, the primary butcher and founder of Reka’s, as her wife might provoke stares or judgement. Instead, she’s found herself “pleasantly surprised” by the reception from customers.

“If I just say ‘my wife’ – I used to be worried to say that term – people don’t even flinch,” Nation said. “That’s really, really nice, because that’s something that, as a business owner, you really don’t know if that’s gonna affect your business. At this point, if it does, then I don’t really want them as a customer anyways.”

Despite being perhaps the country’s only whole-animal, queer female-owned butchery, Reka’s originality and innovation doesn’t contradict their desire to be a “safe space” for many queer shoppers in the area.

“It’s really fun to have people come in and tell their stories, and just explain how happy they are that we’re here,” Nation said. “It makes me feel really good.”

In the future, Reka’s hopes to partner with Covington Pride to show their appreciation to the community and introduce everyone to the fascinating Italian flavors they offer in store. Until then, customers hoping to sample imported snacks, order extra sides for their Thanksgiving feast, or try a sandwich with a unique fusion of flavors can visit Reka’s from Tuesday to Saturday each week!

From Archive To Action: The queer, sex-positive magazine bridging print media, history, and activism

March 19, 2025/0 Comments/in Culture/by Molly Stephens

Avery Plummer was finishing her Master’s degree in Art History at Ohio University, considering her thesis, and the COVID-19 pandemic obliterated all opportunities for interpersonal community. In the spell of isolation, she was figuring out her own identity as a queer woman in an increasingly terrifying landscape to be a member of the LGBTQ+ community. And then she found On Our Backs magazine.

On Our Backs is a vintage lesbian porn magazine, starkly contrasted with its smutty contemporaries (like Playboy) that centered on women, sexual health, education, and advocacy. She channeled this inspiration and created the first issue of nymph(o) magazine to serve as her masters thesis, and still continues the project today. nymph(o) is a modern, sex positive print-only publication that centers queer experience, joy, sexuality, and a masterfully vast breadth of diverse voices on glossy paper in a visually breathtaking delivery system.

Nothing is off limits in nymph(o). Photos, interviews, poetry, and comics find themselves snugly nestled within its pages. Life is given to the voices of people across gender identities, sexual spectrums, ability levels, ages, and experiences. This is a matter of ethics and principle for Plummer, who conducts herself with this posture in all aspects of her life, but especially in this area.

When asked about how she navigates the sometimes-problematic attitudes and ideas of our queer forebears, she waxes about honoring our collective past and looking to these blueprints for context and inspiration while building the world we desire to live within.

Cover Art by Maddy McFadden

“Constantly looking at things through a critical lens, we can’t accept everything as fact. I had to do this specifically with On Our Backs, it was very white. It was not as trans as something you might see today …There can be a gentleness in that critique, but not accepting it as fact,” she says.

This is a hard line, and clearly a well-protected boundary for Plummer. It’s of critical importance for her to include as many stories as possible in nymph(o), and to do so with veneration. Utilizing so many elements in this magazine not only makes it a significantly more fun read, it serves the purpose of capturing the work of its subjects exactly as the artists intend their words to be shared; however a contributor wants to tell their story is how it is told within her pages.

Each issue begins with a loose theme. Concepts like “fighting for joy” or “queer spaces” become the backbone of a deeply collaborative process. She opens submissions for contributions, but will also seek out specific people if there is a topic she knows she has to cover. This duality of reliance on community, while opening the scope, results in multiplicity of content that leaves readers with a satisfyingly juicy experience.

Between her acting as curator, her partner, Maddy, serving as creative director, and a network of artists, there is “room to devolve,” as she says. This is a piece of art, showcasing the miraculous ways queer people can work together, challenge each other, and craft something cohesive and celebratory.

While this project may have started as her thesis, it has evolved into an antithesis of the way media is consumed in the modern timeline. In times where endless scrolling is seen as the work, and reposting is tantamount with organizing, nymph(o) is a defiant, stunning piece of revolutionary art that begs us to slow down and immerse ourselves; to linger awhile, languish in textures, and move our eyes across its substantial pages.

She says, “Context gets left out of many conversations [on social media],” and print media is a way to create a larger body of work that exists only within the spaces it’s meant to belong. The Internet has its virtues of accessibility, which has certainly activated many members of the community, and saved the lives of queer people all over the world. But print media can be something by communities, for communities, away from normative gazes. Creating and preserving spaces for our eyes only bears importance, and can serve as a pivotal organizing space.

Cover Art by Denver Bastion

“That’s how you move in stealth, that’s how you get these large groups of people to know about things, but not the groups you’re targeting. It’s free from the constraints of a social media platform that is run by the oppressor. There’s a lot of power in it. Where the struggle happens and it falls flat is the ability to access the information,” she says. Plummer laments the lack of grassroots gatherings in the era of social media, and how organizers prompt us to check their social media to know when things are happening, but the exposed nature of that can be a pitfall. Print media is powerful, because it’s made (often by hand) by us, for us, and only has to be seen and loved by the people whose power it is meant to uplift.

Yet the main motivation for nymph(o) being a physical piece of media seems to be rooted in Plummer’s abiding love for archival work. We met to chat in the Ohio Lesbian Archives, a treasure trove of books, magazines, and ephemera meticulously assembled to document the movements of queer people in Ohio. She volunteers at the OLA, and it’s abundantly clear that ensuring the preservation of our history is the key to unlocking a future of liberation.

The Ohio Lesbian Archive was the womb that birthed nymph(o), and feels very much like a hallowed and sacred ground from which to birth the next queer freedom movement. Its original home was above the iconic Crazy Ladies Bookstore, and has independently housed thousands of pieces of history for over thirty years.

When I asked Plummer about how archives are activist spaces, she brings up what she calls “The precarious imprecarity” of LGBTQ+ communities. She says, “Archiving is activism because archivism is proof. We have been and always will be here, it’s literal proof of that. When we’re seeing increasing efforts to erase that history and evidence, these grassroots archives become so important. They can’t erase that. Keeping pieces of proof outside of a higher institution. We’re not connected to a university that can cut their DEI funding. We’re keeping this open to the community.”

Art by Mallory Stowe

The OLA is home to “Jill’s Journals”, which are quite simply the personal journals of a lesbian named Jill. They’re only available to be viewed in the archive, and they’re a real treat. Plummer loves these journals, saying “[we have been] amazing, whimsical creatures throughout history,” and capturing these seemingly mundane moments are powerful ways to remain connected to the humanness, whimsy, aesthetics, and humor of our people.

When we look upon the world-shattering efforts of Act Up and are inspired by culture-shifting work done in the past, it can be easy to forget that queer people are hilarious, queer people made grocery lists, queer people ran errands. A reminder that there has always been a resilience resting within the daily movements of life is how revolutions are carried out. Archives preserve that, and do so in a physical space where community happens. Collective knowledge and skills are shared, strengthening the solidarity between us all in a way human beings can only do when sharing the air of a room together.

nymph(o) magazine’s next issue is in the works, and the Ohio Lesbian Archives has open visiting hours biweekly on Wednesday from 6:30-8:30 & Sunday from 11:30-1:30.

The Downstairs Club: A History of the Segregated Queer Haven in Kenton County

March 17, 2025/in Culture, History/by Jake Hogue

Along the winding stretch of Madison Pike—known locally as the 3-L Highway, just outside of Covington—where gas stations, roadside diners, and farm stands dotted the landscape, one unassuming building held a secret. At first glance, 456 Madison Pike looked like little more than a modest bar tucked into the hillside, its roof barely visible from the parking lot. But for those in the know, this was The Downstairs Club—one of the most infamous and cherished queer gathering places in the region from the late 1950s through the 1970s.

Hidden in the rolling hills of Kenton County, its remote location offered a paradoxical mix of isolation and protection. Beneath the cover of darkness, LGBTQ patrons from Kentucky and Ohio found more than a bar; they found a sanctuary. Here, in this smoky underground haven, affection could unfold freely, forging deeper connections and strengthening a community that so often had to exist in secrecy. Unlike the fleeting, often dangerous encounters in surveilled parks or shadowed street corners, The Downstairs Club offered something rare—embraces without fear, conversation without pretense, and the simple yet radical act of being seen.

Longtime patron Scott Parker, who threw a reunion for former patrons The Downstairs Club at Below Zero in 2016, recalled that the bar welcomed icons like Little Richard and Jimi Hendrix, describing it as “known from coast to coast for its uniqueness and the very special place that it was.” He was interviewed for a story about the reunion put out by the Cincinnati Chamber of Commerce Newsletter that year, “This was in the 1960s and early ’70s when, in more liberal parts of the country like Los Angeles, dancing was not allowed in gay bars and nightclubs,” he said. “Nowhere in the city of Los Angeles was dancing allowed. Now you can understand how unique The Downstairs Club was during this period. It was truly ‘one of a kind’ and ahead of the times.”

The club had first opened under the name The Jochebo, a moniker derived from the first three letters of the names of its founders—the Speakes family. John T. “Jack” Speakes, a former U.S. Army corporal, and his wife, Helen, had already operated another queer-friendly bar, The Riviera (not to be confused with a different bar of the same name that opened in the 1970s). Their son, Bobby Combs, became a fixture in the local queer scene, earning the nickname, “Darling of The Downstairs Club,” for his quick wit and charm. He later ran That Darn Pussy Cat, a Newport go-go bar that law enforcement targeted for allegedly existing “specifically and entirely to encourage, incite, create, permit, and entice persons who practice homosexuality.”

For years, it was an open secret that the Speakes family had ties to what remained of organized crime in the region—connections that, for a time, seemed to shield them from police interference. But that protection unraveled in 1962 as both Cincinnati and Covington sought to suppress the city’s growing and undeniable queer subculture.

In June, a Kenton County judge denied Jack and Helen Speakes an entertainment permit for The Jochebo Club, citing illegal operation and fostering obscenity. Testimony from law enforcement officers painted a damning picture, and the judge condemned the club for defying state laws. Local newspapers echoed the court’s outrage, labeling the venue a den of vice frequented by “sex deviates” and “so-called queers.”

Yet despite these legal battles, The Downstairs Club remained resilient. In May 1965, The Cincinnati Enquirer alluded to its endurance, questioning delays in legal proceedings against regional gambling dens and remarking, “Understand that there is a basement bar in Kenton County that is getting its fair share of homosexuals as customers.” By 1968, Kentucky’s Alcoholic Beverage Control Board vowed to crack down on “taverns that cater to homosexuals” in Northern Kentucky. That same month, The Enquirer issued another thinly veiled warning:

“While Covington Police are cracking down on gambling and vice in their city, they might also take a look at a basement night spot that is crowded nightly with homosexuals. Narcotics agents might also take a look at the place.”

Yet, for reasons unknown, The Downstairs Club remained largely untouched after 1962. Whether due to lingering political connections, selective enforcement, or sheer luck, the club continued to operate, providing a rare and vital refuge for its patrons.

For all its reputation as a liberated space, the club, like most LGBTQ venues of the era, remained deeply segregated. Even after the end of legal segregation, de facto barriers persisted—Black gay men and women were often required to have white co-signers or present multiple forms of ID to gain entry.

Cincinnati activist Mary Ann Lederer, whose visit to The Downstairs Club helped inspire her activism and the founding of the city’s first gay rights organization in 1967, was dismayed to discover the club’s strict enforcement of racial boundaries. She recalled in an interview with local lesbian activist Phebe Beiser in a publication entitled Dinah the 1980s:

“I felt I should boycott the place, but this was the only gay bar I really enjoyed. I had waited many years to find it and didn’t want to give it up,” she said. “I decided to integrate it from the inside out. I went back and talked to the owner’s son, who was gay. He seemed to wish it were integrated but thought this was impossible. After all, Kentucky in the early ’60s was really South.”

It was published in Dinah, a local lesbian publication that ran throughout the 1970s and 1980s and & To the Roots, a periodical that ran briefly for two or three issues in 1988. “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.

For all its defiance of mainstream social norms, The Downstairs Club upheld the same racial exclusions that pervaded much of American society. This reality complicates any nostalgic view of the club, forcing us to reckon with the exclusion embedded in queer spaces of the past. For many, this underground refuge remained just that—a refuge, but only for those who met its unspoken criteria.

By the 1970s, the club finally desegregated, following other businesses in slowly adapting to social change. Yet the legacy of segregation in queer spaces lingers, with Black and white LGBTQ social circles often remaining divided to this day.

The Downstairs Club’s eventual closure remains somewhat shrouded in mystery, as is often the case with clandestine spaces that exist on the margins of legality. Some accounts suggest that as LGBTQ rights gained more visibility and larger cities offered more welcoming environments, the need for a hidden, rural sanctuary diminished. Others speculate that law enforcement pressure, or perhaps a shift in ownership, led to its end. Whatever the reason, by the late 1970s, the club had faded into history, leaving behind only memories and scattered mentions in legal records and personal accounts.

The story of The Downstairs Club is one of resilience, secrecy, and the relentless need for spaces where queer people—against all odds—could find community, even in the most unexpected corners of America. It was a place of laughter, of love, of dancing in defiance of a world that demanded silence. It was a place where, for a few precious hours, people could shed the masks they wore in their daily lives and simply exist. But it was also a place where the wounds of racism and exclusion mirrored the broader struggles within the LGBTQ community itself.

Remembering The Downstairs Club means remembering both its triumphs and its failings. It means honoring those who built, defended, and ultimately lost this sanctuary. And it means continuing the fight for spaces where everyone, regardless of race, gender, or sexuality, can find a home.

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Tag Archive for: Northern Kentucky

Nine lawsuits since 2021

A Dangerous and Confusing Message

Questions about Use Of Force Policy

Community members: Department needs to address concerns

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What are the top LGBTQ+ bills to watch for?

Getting involved is critical

Rally around state and local candidates

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