RUE DE L`AMOUR Gay Café Society and The Once Brilliant Lights

RUE DE L’AMOUR
Gay Café Society and The Once Brilliant Lights of Rampart Street
HOWARD PHILIPS SMITH
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The ERTÉ SALON at RESTAURANT JONATHAN was all abuzz with everyone anticipating the arrival of the
legendary Monsieur Erté himself. Chef Cowman and Sous Chef Estrada were busily preparing a sumptuous
banquet as the din in the second-floor dining room reverberated across the two-story etched glass panel that
hung at the far end. This frosted marvel depicted a woman gazing out into the ether with long cascades of
flowers flowing down from her head into the Night and Day Lounge below, where Erté had stopped to have a
quick Absinthe Sazerac apéritif with the owners Jack Cosner and Jay Schwab. He was a radiant vision in pink:
pink shirt with pink blazer, pink trousers, and, to top it all, a pink bow tie.
A
“His blue eyes sparkled like Cartiers. After all, it was his 90th birthday celebration at the most beautiful art
deco palace in the heart of New Orleans,” recalled Miss Gilbertine Liveaudais, a café society regular during
this time.
Erté was indeed a popular figure in New Orleans, and especially in the French Quarter, where he appeared
from time to time to oversee the sale of his bronze figurines and colorful prints at the prestigious Dyansen
Gallery on Royal Street. But here he was on the fringes of not only society but also the old border of the
original city.
Taking his place in the seat of honor, Erté surveyed his kingdom upstairs, one of high deco splendor with
silver-grey and blue as the predominant colors. The owners had bought a suite of Erté prints and had the best
displayed in the bespoke dining room. But it was the rapturous and fecund siren of SPRING from The Seasons
that was everyone’s favorite. Erté agreed and raised his glass of Veuve-Cliquot to toast the owners who had
dared create this pleasure dome, and to himself for having lasted this long.
At the end of the room, the 20-foot high glass panel, depicting Paradise in lush splendor with exotic birds
and passion flowers, came to its startling conclusion. Two horizontal figures seemed to float above it all,
strangely joined at the hip and gazing up toward the stars. “He’s my reincarnation and brother,” Erté had
commented about Dennis Abbé, the creator of the glass panels throughout the restaurant. Certainly Erté had
inspired these works, but nothing compared to the colorful mural in the entryway with cavorting mermaids
and prismatic sea horses riding the crest of gigantic waves and a white egret surveying it all from his vantage
point high above the Gulf of Mexico.
GILBERTINE LIVEAUDAIS somehow leveraged herself an invitation to the birthday bash. But she attended all
the galas, balls and soirées. She had already proclaimed herself heiress to the title Scarlet Empress, once held
B
by another rather well-known figure in gay café society, namely the sphinx-like antiquarian Elmo Diodorus
Avet, who had restored and filled with antiques a rather opulent house on Bourbon Street. Gilbertine was
a beautiful drag queen who moved effortlessly throughout the hidden, and often restrictive, strata of gay
society, when Rampart Street was a glittering yellow brick road and the bars and discothèques on Bourbon
Street were packed every night of the week. She called herself a quadroon without any hesitation, and, in
fact, she was a dreamy coffee-colored delight, having sprung forth from the projects only a few years before
like a fully formed black Aphrodite. Quadroons were no strangers to Rampart Street, where many were kept in
style by their Uptown benefactors. This system of plaçage existed before the Civil War and was recreated with
some veracity in the film Saratoga Trunk starring Ingrid Bergman as a beautiful and razor-smart daughter of
one of these quadroon mistresses.
“It’s a clever girl who can carve out a career from just two letters!” Gilbertine often would say. And it was
true. ROMAIN DE TIRTOFF, to escape scandal with his old Russian family, lived in Paris under the name Erté
and became a famous gay fashion designer of merit who almost singlehandedly helped turn the art deco
movement into an international sensation. “That’s R and T in French,” explained Gilbertine. “Just two letters!
Imagine that!”
Downstairs in the NIGHT AND DAY LOUNGE, the oxblood-colored piano tinkled over the muffled conversations
of elegantly bedecked couples on their way to the Municipal Auditorium across the street. Earl Woodard and
Spencer Lindsay sat sipping champagne cocktails before heading off to catch one of the first gay balls of
the 1982 carnival season. The Mystic Krewe of Apollo’s annual tableau ball was held on the same evening
as the Knights of Momus and this year’s theme was a closely guarded secret. Woodard and Lindsay were
members of the Krewe of Olympus and thus assured of the best seats up front. Both were a couple of swells,
immaculately groomed in black wool tuxedos, perfect accents to all the chrome and frosted glass Dennis Abbé
had liberally used throughout the bar and restaurant proper.
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“Remember that stormy New Year’s Eve last year?” asked Earl Woodard, a former king of Olympus. “Good
thing we were old friends with the host. He let us borrow the limousine that was waiting for some drama
queen to reappear from the Leontyne Price Room on the third floor! They even have the diva’s tiara from a
performance of Tosca at the Met in a glass case.”
Bill Woolley and his date, also dressed to the nines in formal attire, were waiting to cross over to Armstrong
Park. As permanent Captain of the Mystic Krewe of Celestial Knights, Woolley was also another honored
guest. His krewe’s den was only a few blocks up the street and this year’s ball would be held out in Chalmette,
where most gay balls were now held, at the St. Bernard Civic Auditorium.
“Jean Harlow would have loved this art deco extravaganza of a restaurant,” said Woolley. His date, a bouncer
at Menefee’s, nodded in agreement. After all, the owners of Restaurant Jonathan had framed Harlow’s
wedding announcement and placed it in the restroom along with other tidbits from the age of deco splendor.
A Invitation to the Grand Opening of Jonathan, A Restaurant, 714 No. Rampart Street, 1976. (Tulane Special Collections)
B Entrance foyer of Jonathan, A Restaurant, circa 1976. Mural by Dennis Abbé. (Photograph - Private Collection)
C Oversized menu for Jonathan, an art deco wonder, lithograph, 12 x 18 in. (New Orleans Public Library)
D Spring (The Seasons), Erté, 1970. Prominently displayed in the Erté Room on the second floor of Jonathan, A Restaurant.
D
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Rampart Street in the early 1980s had become the epicenter of a sparkling gay café society, where stars
such as Ginger Rogers, John Travolta and Liza Minnelli landed at Restaurant Jonathan when in town. Of
course, it also became the restaurant of choice for members of the gay krewes on the nights when they were
not working on costumes for the next carnival tableau ball. The restaurant was now filled to the brim, and
everyone had settled into the spirit of celebration as easily as draining a Pirate’s Dream cocktail down to the
last drop.
E
Along the street lay other centers of gay café society, infamous in their own right: Marti’s Restaurant,
Menefee’s Restaurant and Bar, Miss Kitty’s and Travis’ Bar. Martin Shamma opened his restaurant in 1971
with Chef Henry Robinson from Mississippi in the Old Gentilich Building and it became an instant success.
Soon the tables at Marti’s were filled with hungry nightowls and socialites to sample the fare, such as crab
bisque, andouille sausages and Madame Begue’s legendary boeuf bouilli. Crisp white linen tablecloths
contrasted sharply against the red walls and cork ceilings. The delicately sheer curtains poised halfway down
the large windows recalled a French bistro along with the mirrors lining the far wall. Off to the side—for
indeed the entrance was on Dumaine Street— an intimate side bar lay in wait with a colorful mural of the City
Park Pavilion rescued from the old DeSoto Hotel. Its tranquil scene portrayed swans and boats floating in the
placid lake along with smartly dressed figures waiting on the steps running all the way down to the water’s
edge. Marti especially loved the fringes here on Rampart Street and was one of the first pioneers to conquer
the wilds of the outskirts, which for some was too dangerous even to drive through. Urban legends are hard
to dispel in the City That Care Forgot, especially the entrenched ones.
Never one to shy away from the spotlights, the legends surrounding Marti were indeed legion, if not mythic.
One such tale related that he caused a seismic scandal at a ball by the Krewe of Armeinius by wearing a Nazi
armband over his Rubenstein Brothers tuxedo. He was quickly thrown out of the St. Bernard Civic Auditorium
and was said never again to attend another carnival ball.
The morose figure at the end of the bar at Marti’s—in his usual corner sipping a Bourbon cocktail—was none
other than Thomas Lanier Williams III, lost within the whirl of the ceiling fans rotating above his head. By
1982, Tennessee had become a fixture here in the city he loved the best. In his notebooks, he wrote that the
Crescent City “will always seem kind of home-like to me after this.”
Across from Marti’s, Jerry Menefee had opened his sprawling complex which included a huge bar and
discothèque, a chic restaurant upstairs and a lavish health club complete with a swimming pool to the rear.
Ray Cronk and Alvin Payne, both former Queens of the Krewe of Petronius, had in turn opened the New
Orleans Guest House right next door on Ursulines Street. Both had bought into the revival of Rampart Street
and had sold their successful Uptown beauty salon. Menefee’s would be the crowning achievement to this
much-lauded resurrection.
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Menefee had been ensconced in New Orleans for years, starting out as a bartender along with his partner Tex
Knight, at Café Lafitte in Exile on Bourbon Street. “That was before Tom Wood, when the owner was straight,”
explained Knight. They both had earned enough money to renovate the sleazy bar at the corner of St. Ann and
Bourbon, formerly known as the Caverns. But renovations turned out to be more than they had bargained for.
The Caverns was a curious nod to the once-famous restaurant in the basement of the old Grunewald Hotel on
University Place called the Cave, with stalactites and stalagmites created with plaster and cement to hide all
the pipes and conduits. Entire walls were covered with what appeared to be the result of thousands of years
watched over by several stucco nymphs in all their disrobed beauty. Nothing remains of the Caverns, or the
Cave for that matter, now a laundry room in the Roosevelt Hotel.
A known hustler bar, the Caverns had its own concrete-filled stalactites hanging from the ceiling. But Tex
and Jerry cleaned up all the drugs and thugs and converted the building into another form of gay paradise.
The Bourbon Pub downstairs served as a proper cocktail bar, while the upstairs was transformed into disco
heaven. Its playlist during the heyday of disco in the mid-1970s was a constant feature in Billboard Magazine
and its top 20 listings across the country. They even started the trend of giving away a custom-designed
doubloon with the entry fee, and that meant a free drink at the bar. Upstairs the dance area was accented
by a colorful mural of costumed revelers standing expectantly before large floats, anticipating the trinkets
that soon would shower down from heaven. They all held balloons in their hands as they looked upon the
fabled boeuf gras with garlands of multi-hued flowers around its pale neck. Earl Woodard had created this
masterpiece in the mid-1970s, and it was no surprise that Jerry Menefee once again called upon him to
complete his newest endeavor over on Rampart Street, the monster palace and discothèque simply called
Menefee’s. “Even the sconces along the walls were works of art,” Woodard recalled. “They were a series of arms holding stylized red neon flames, like torches. Simply gorgeous!”
Jerry Menefee was a fearless and confident gay presence in the French Quarter. His mother was a relative
of a former governor, and his family was quite prominent in Louisiana. “He had loads of charisma,” Knight
recalled. “No one could resist him once he got going. And he was a flamboyant man. He wore tons of jewelry,
gold necklaces, rings on every finger, earrings, and enormous hats. You couldn’t miss him in a room. No sir!”
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But there was another club along Rampart Street that drew in the crowds every weekend like none other.
Travis’ Bar advertised that this was the place where “all the Beautiful Girls were Boys,” and indeed there
was no other serious drag venue in town since the closing of the legendary My-Oh-My club on the Lakefront.
Travis’ Bar was a smallish affair, barely enough room for a sizable audience, but it sure packed them in.
Drag stars delivered the goods and became famous in their own right within this hermetic demimonde:
Rowena, Mister Boobie, Alotta Mulatta, Ginger Snap, Tarrah and Donnie Jay. Mister Boobie’s rendition of the
flamboyant Rae Bourbon was the stuff of legend, earning him the title of Miss Gay Vieux Carré.
E Postcard for Marti’s Restaurant and Bar, 900 No. Rampart Street, featuring Rowena, star of Travis’s Drag Bar a couple of doors
down and Captain of the Krewe of Petronius, 1978. (Private Collection)
F Original menu for Marti’s Restaurant, George Valentine Dureau, 1971. (New Orleans Public Library)
G Calla Lilly Mural, along the staircase at Menefee’s, Earl Woodard, 1982. (Louisiana State Museum)
H Menefee’s, 1103 No. Rampart Street, 1982. Design by Earl Woodard. (Tulane Special Collections)
H
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The revival of and focus on Rampart Street could not have been possible without the presence of gay bars in
the French Quarter. Miss Dixie’s Bar of Music at 701 Bourbon Street not only set the tone as a place where
gay men felt welcome but also established a sense of community. She looked on her boys as her personal
charge and took care of them when needed. Café Lafitte was another of those places. Settling in to its present
location in the 1960s, Lafitte’s became a temple of sorts, where gay men from around the world stepped
through the corner doors into a world filled with regulars who knew each other and who were more than
likely members of the gay carnival krewes around town. Forced from its original location, where currently
stands the Lafitte Blacksmith Shoppe, Café Lafitte in Exile had lost its lease but not its will to remain visible
and open to a community with a growing sense of history, worth and excitement. Gay Liberation was in full
swing and by the end of the 1970s, New Orleans had become the destination for those wanting to escape
the rest of the repressive South and its intolerance. Nothing resembled New Orleans. Nothing resembled its
cosmopolitan flair and Old World charm. It was a temptress and a saint, all rolled into one. And who could
resist such temptation?
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Pete Fountain’s Bar became a popular dance bar in the mid-1970s around the time the Parade Disco opened.
Along with Café Lafitte in Exile, Bourbon Street was alive and kicking every day of the week and all night long.
Further down toward the river, the Golden Lantern for many became a quiet haven from the restless energy
of Bourbon Street. Located on Royal Street, the Golden Lantern became the nexis for another uniquely gay
experience, the grand march of Southern Decadence. Miss Blanche, a bartender at the Golden Lantern and
agent provacateur, hosted motorcycle christenings along with owner Danny Wilson and terror drag shows
with her infamous troupe called the Demented Women.
“Oh, the drugs. Don’t forget the drugs!” cautioned Blanche. Yes, there were drugs. Quaaludes, Ativans,
Seconals, even Cocaine. It was the drug decade after all, and going out in the French Quarter usually meant
a virtual pharmacy of drugs for the evening. But drugs gave way to focus and that was where the krewes
stepped in, grounding the gay community with a sense of purpose and comradery, and unabashed pride.
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Miss Gilbertine could be found at the Golden Lantern from time to time, but in order to be seen around
town, she usually ended up at the Fatted Calf on St. Peter. This small restaurant attracted the mostly gay set,
especially for lunch and was convenient for the long bar crawl of the evening. But most locals preferred the
Apple Barrel when it was located on Dauphine Street in the Faubourg Marigny. The Apple Barrel saw everyone
come through its doors and reflected the growing settlement of the Marigny by gays relocating into the city.
Several bars, such as the Phoenix Bar and Charlene’s, catered to this expanding group of locals. Charlene’s
was located on Elysian Fields and hosted fundraising events for the newly hatched Krewe of Ishtar, the first
lesbian krewe.
“I go to the Barrel for breakfast a lot,” said Miss Gilbertine. “Everybody ends up there. After a night out,
there’s no other place to recover with tons of coffee and attitude. But give me Restaurant Jonathan any day!
Especially during the carnival season!”
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And sure enough she was back there the next weekend. Jack and Jay were sitting at the bar, and the laughter
from the Paradise Dining Room echoed along with the music. The glow from the etched glass along the back
of the bar caught them in silhouette against all the mirrors and chrome details. The Deco Goddesses with
Birds was yet another masterpiece by the hands of Denis Abbé.
Night and day, you are the one, only you ‘neath the moon or under the sun,
Whether near to me or far, it’s no matter, darling, where you are
I think of you day and night.
Night and day, why is it so that this longin’ for you follows wherever I go?
In the roarin’ traffic’s boom in the silence of my lonely room
I think of you day and night.
Night and day, under the hide of me, there’s an oh, such a hungry yearnin’ burnin’ inside of me
And its torment won’t be through till you let me spend my life makin’ love to you
Day and night, night and day. (—Cole Porter, 1932)
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Everyone was singing along with the piano player, as the bright lights settled in over Rampart Street, formerly
the Rue de l’Amour. These stellar lights of a brilliant society shone for the moment with a dazzling inflection.
Miss Liveaudais and her date only had time for one more champagne cocktail before scurrying off to see Bill
Woolley’s extravaganza, AN EVENING OF BURLESQUE, which was to be one of those nights when all the stars
were in perfect alignment, never to be seen again. The Mystic Krewe of Celestial Knights remained yet again
true to its namesake, and somewhere among the celestial orbs, perhaps Jean Harlow was watching from her
own deco heaven.
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I Café Lafitte in Exile, 901 Bourbon Street, 1980s. (Tulane Special Collections)
J The Bourbon Pub and Parade Discothèque, 801 Bourbon Street, 1975. The disco became so popular that this ad appeared on
the back cover of Blueboy Magazine, a national gay publication. Design by Earl Woodard. (Historic New Orleans Collection)
K Golden Lantern, 1239 Royal Street, 1980s. Design by Earl Woodard. (New Orleans Public Library)
L The Golden Lantern and the Demented Women, Douglas Bourgeois, early 1980s. (Louisiana State Museum)
M The Apple Barrel Restaurant, 1940 Dauphine Street, early 1980s. Design by Earl Woodard. (Historic New Orleans Collection)
N The Fatted Calf Restaurant, 727 St. Peter Street, early 1980s. (New Orleans Public Library)
O An Evening of Burlesque, The Mystic Krewe of Celestial Knights 6th-annual Extravanganza, 1982, Jimmy Keyes.
(Louisiana State Museum)
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VIEUX CARRÉ AND ENVIRONS c. 1982
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Restaurant Jonathan, 714 No. Rampart Street
Travis’ Bar, 834 No. Rampart Street
Marti’s Restaurant, 900 No. Rampart Street
Mystic Krewe of Celestial Knights Krewe Den
914 No. Rampart Street
E New Orleans Guest House, 1118 Ursulines Street
F Menefee’s, 1123 No. Rampart Street
G Dyansen Gallery, 433 Royal Street
H Dixie’s Bar of Music, 701 Bourbon Street
I The Fatted Calf, 727 Saint Peter Street
J Pete’s Bar, 800 Bourbon Street
K Bourbon Pub/Parade Disco, 801 Bourbon Street
L Café Lafitte in Exile, 901 Bourbon Street
M The Golden Lantern, 1239 Royal Street
N The Apple Barrel, 1940 Dauphine Street
O Charlene’s, 940 Elysian Fields
P The Phoenix, 941 Elysian Fields
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MAP BY KRISTINA LAMBROS.