"I took hormones from a Mexican doctor in New York, in the '70s. I decided to really be a woman when I was 15, and started doing shows in Puerto Rico." But what has changed, according to Teanga, is how much easier it to to transition. "I was nine years old and wearing my mother's heels. Though Teanga came of age decades before, her story is similar. I have five brothers and I thought they were going to beat me up or kick me out." My aunt had seen me go to different towns with dresses and makeup on. That's how my life started," says Paula, a petite performer. My mom would get mad because I would wear her dresses. We played tea party and made cookies with sugar. It is easy to sense a strong bond between them.Īs each girl opens up about her story in an interview, the others listen and nod. In between acts, the women wait tables and chat amongst each other. Onstage they are transformed into glamorous creatures, their acts perfected with glittering evening gowns, teeny bikinis and lip-syncing. Off stage, sans make-up, they are radiant and beautiful. At the bar, there remains a few solo Mexican cowboys.Įven as La Cueva becomes a gay safe haven, the focus remains on the trans performers. On a slow snowy night at La Cueva, two lesbian couples arrive just after midnight to cuddle at dark tables while gay couples slow dance under the disco ball. In my time, I was seen as a woman, so it was men who came." "Not even in New York or Puerto Rico was it gay. In my day, it was straight men," says Teanga, a little longingly. The patrons were more macho - straight males. You had to park your car and run inside." Teanga explains that the neighborhood has always been rough, that this area of 26th has always been known for prostitution and drug dealing.Īccording to La Cueva's manager, Ruben Lechuga, the bar itself was feistier in the beginning, with fewer bouncers and more fights. "There were a lot of gangsters and they'd throw bottles and shoot at us with BB guns. Teanga presses that La Cueva has become much more safe over the years. That is when the shows became about femme, not men in drag," she says. And my body was so curvy from the hormones. And I just started to take off my clothes. "I was singing, the saxophone was playing.
She says what set La Cueva apart was the sexual energy. Now in her sixties, Ketty can still be found watching the shows from the bar on most nights - her hair still coiffed, lips puffed but body now shaky.
Having successfully done drag at mainstream clubs in New York and Puerto Rico, she wanted to bring the same to Chicago's Latino community. Ketty Teanga started the drag shows at La Cueva.
Opponents say the bar has become a site for drug dealing and "transgender prostitution." But the bar has recently been the center of controversy: in September, Little Village residents began protesting for La Cueva to close. La Cueva has been around for 30 years, providing a place for trans Latinas to work and gay Latinos to belong. This is a bit of a misnomer, as the performers are women - male to female trans women. La Cueva is an LGBTQ historic site - it is known as the oldest Latino drag bar in the country. But locals know this is La Cueva, a Spanish speaking-only bar where women with false eyelashes and hair like exotic birds writhe and lip-sync to Mexican pop music. In the midst of this is a bar with no sign. The smell of taco stands is warm and inviting in the cold, as people bustle amongst the colorful stores - joyerias and a chain of boutiques named, curiously, Brazilian Seduction Jeans.
The stretch of 26th Street that makes the heart of Chicago's Little Village neighborhood is vibrant on a Friday night. This story was submitted by Rachel Rabbit White. I Am Number Four, Unknown, Kaboom, And Everything Is Going Fine & Oscar Shorts »