It was just another Saturday night in November 2022 until the first shots rang out. Honestly, it feels like a lifetime ago, yet the images of Club Q remain seared into the collective memory of Colorado Springs. We talk a lot about the tragedy. We talk about the politics. But we don't talk enough about the specific, gritty bravery of the night club shooting queens who were on stage that night, literally performing for their lives.
Drag isn't just about the makeup.
It's about the community. On November 19, 2022, the performers at Club Q weren't just entertainers; they became the first line of defense in a chaotic, bloody scene that lasted only a few minutes but changed everything. People often assume that in a crisis, everyone freezes. Some did. But others, including the queens who had just been under the spotlight, jumped into a nightmare they never signed up for.
The Reality of the Club Q Massacre
The numbers are well-documented. Five people lost their lives: Daniel Aston, Kelly Loving, Ashley Paugh, Derrick Rump, and Raymond Green Vance. It’s heavy. When the gunman entered with an AR-15 style rifle, the atmosphere shifted from "Venus" by Lady Gaga to the sound of breaking glass and screaming.
The "night club shooting queens" who were scheduled to perform that night, including those who participated in the "Punk and Drag" show, found themselves in a literal war zone. This wasn't a movie. There was no slow-motion. Just the smell of gunpowder and the frantic scramble for the back exits.
Why the Performers Stayed
Tiara Latrice Kelley, a well-known performer in the area, has spoken openly about that night. She wasn't just worried about herself. That’s the thing about the drag scene in smaller cities like Colorado Springs—it’s a family. When you’re a queen, you’re often the "mother" of the house. You feel responsible for the kids in the front row.
Many people don't realize that the layout of these clubs is often a maze. If you don't know the backstage exits, you're trapped. The performers knew the building. They guided people. They hid people in dressing rooms. They did the work that the bouncers, who were also under fire, were trying to coordinate.
The Heroism of Thomas James and Richard Fierro
We have to talk about the intervention. It’s impossible to discuss the night club shooting queens without mentioning the two men who actually stopped the shooter. Richard Fierro, a combat veteran, and Thomas James, a Navy petty officer.
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Fierro’s account is chillingly blunt. He saw the flash of the muzzle and just moved. He tackled the guy. But here’s the detail that often gets glossed over: while Fierro was pinning the shooter down, he yelled for help. Thomas James stepped in. James, according to reports and his own harrowing testimony, was injured but continued to fight.
And then there was the drag performer.
One of the performers—often referred to in the initial media frenzy as "the person in high heels"—used their literal heels to stomp on the shooter's head while Fierro held him down. That is a level of visceral, desperate self-defense that you don't see in Hollywood. It was raw. It was messy. It was necessary.
Beyond the Headlines: The Mental Toll
The aftermath isn't just about court dates. It's about the fact that these queens had to go back to work. For many, drag is their primary income. Imagine having to put on a wig and a smile in a different venue just weeks after seeing your friends murdered.
The trauma is real.
Experts like Dr. Megan Lavoie, who works with trauma survivors, often point out that "secondary" victims—those who survived but witnessed the carnage—face years of PTSD. For the night club shooting queens, the stage, which used to be their safest space, became a place of hyper-vigilance. Every time a door slams or a balloon pops, the brain goes back to that Saturday night.
- Daniel Aston was a trans man and a bartender who was the life of the party.
- Derrick Rump was the guy who kept the drinks flowing and the music loud.
- The community lost its anchors.
What People Get Wrong About Club Q
There’s this misconception that the shooting happened because the club was "unprotected." That’s a myth. Club Q had security. They had protocols. But you can’t always "protocol" your way out of a surprise attack with a high-capacity magazine.
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Another thing? The shooter’s identity. There was a lot of legal maneuvering regarding the shooter’s non-binary self-identification, which many in the LGBTQ+ community saw as a cynical ploy to avoid hate crime charges. Eventually, the shooter, Anderson Lee Aldrich, pleaded guilty to 50 federal hate crime charges in addition to the state murder charges. They are currently serving multiple life sentences.
The legal system eventually worked, but it didn't bring back the "Punk and Drag" show.
The Resilience of the Colorado Springs Scene
You’d think a shooting would kill the drag scene in a conservative-leaning city. It did the opposite. It galvanized it. The night club shooting queens didn't disappear. They moved to other venues like Icons or The 10/10.
They showed up at the state capitol. They advocated for red flag laws. They reminded people that a queen in 6-inch heels is a lot tougher than she looks.
Let's be real: Colorado has a complicated history with guns. From Columbine to Aurora to the King Soopers in Boulder, the state is a map of tragedy. But the response from the LGBTQ+ community in the Springs was unique. They didn't just ask for "thoughts and prayers." They asked for systemic change and better protection for "soft targets" like bars and community centers.
The New Club Q
In 2024, plans were finalized to reopen Club Q in a new location under the name "The Q." The original site is being turned into a memorial. It’s a delicate balance. How do you honor the dead without staying stuck in the tragedy?
The performers who survived are the ones leading that conversation. They are the ones who decide what the "vibe" of the new space will be. It’s not just about dancing anymore. It’s about survival.
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Actionable Steps for Supporting Local LGBTQ+ Spaces
If you’re reading this and wondering how to actually help or how to stay safe in these environments, there are practical things to do. It’s not just about "awareness."
- Support the performers directly. Most queens have their Venmo or CashApp handles on their social media. Tip them. They are the ones paying for their own security and therapy these days.
- Advocate for venue security. If you frequent a club, ask the management about their emergency exits and if their staff is trained in "Stop the Bleed" protocols. It sounds dark, but it saves lives.
- Donate to the Colorado Healing Fund. They were instrumental in getting money to the victims of the Club Q shooting without the red tape that usually slows down government aid.
- Vote on local safety ordinances. Gun laws are often handled at the state level, but local zoning and safety permits for nightlife can include requirements for better security infrastructure.
The story of the night club shooting queens isn't over. Every time a performer steps onto a stage in a city that might not want them there, they are carrying the weight of Club Q. They are showing that the community is "unbroken," a word that became a slogan in the Springs after the tragedy.
It’s about more than just a show. It’s about the right to exist in a public space without looking over your shoulder. The queens of Club Q proved that even in the face of absolute hatred, they aren't going anywhere. They’ll just be wearing a little more glitter and standing a little taller.
Moving Forward After the Tragedy
If you want to stay informed on the status of the survivors and the ongoing memorial efforts, follow the official "Club Q Strong" social media pages. They provide updates on the "The Q" reopening and the various foundations set up for the families of the five victims.
Understanding the nuance of this event requires looking past the 24-hour news cycle. It requires acknowledging the specific bravery of people like Tiara Latrice Kelley and the unnamed performers who used their platform—and their bodies—to protect their community.
Don't just remember the shooter's name. Remember the names of the people who stood their ground. Remember the queens who turned a place of music into a place of resistance.