On any given day, Greg’s Our Place is filled with friends sitting around the bar, underneath the neon lights and Pride flags. The bartender only takes cash.
When I walked in one late Wednesday afternoon, I heard my name — “Hunter! Over here, honey!” — and there stood a pillar of the drag community of Indianapolis: Victoria Geiger, who is known by her stage name Vicki St. James.
She had been waiting for me by the bar’s service well, wearing a gorgeous white dress and red lipstick. Her blonde hair looked Marilyn Monroe-esque. I was there to interview her, the bombshell from Anderson, Indiana. The woman who paved the way for a new generation of queens with her artistic vision and business-minded attitude.
This interview has been edited for clarity and brevity.
Tell me about the first time you performed in drag.
The first time was for IYG (Indiana Youth Group) –I want to say … 1987? It was at the Centro Hispano, which was formerly a little church so it had a huge stage. I was doing the duet from “Beaches” with a friend.
I was wearing a long red wig and a black dress — I got the dress from my mother’s hairdresser in Anderson. She was the first real adult I came out to and she kept my secret. She would let me come over and put makeup on at her house.
So anyway, we got halfway through the show at IYG and all of the sudden I got stage fright, and just left. Left the stage and abandoned my friend there! That was the first time.
How did you find out about drag queens?
From my mother and stepfather. We lived in Roanoke, Virginia, at the time, and my stepfather became a partner for a “dirty bookstore” with a friend of his named David. David’s best friend was Marcus, a little skinny guy. My mother would keep me away from David and Marcus — Marcus was a drag queen. When I saw Marcus in drag, he told me he was going to a party. I was in awe.
Also in Roanoke, my parents owned an ice cream shop and there was a gay presence. One time, we were going through downtown and I saw these women crossing the street that were dolled up — big hair, short dresses, high heels, fingernails, absolutely gorgeous. I said “Oh, Mommy, they look like movie stars!” And my stepfather said they were drag queens.
What was your first interaction with LGBTQ+ nightlife?
So, Mom and I moved back to Indiana in 1987. In 1988, I was driving up to Indy to hang out on the Central Library steps near St. Clair.
Why the steps of the library?
Because that’s where anyone who was under 18 could go and hang out. My friend Andi Kimm — a former Miss Gay Indiana — invited me to go to IYG. It was a place where gay kids were going, and so if there wasn’t a meeting that night then we would go to the library.
We would hang out there until the police would chase us off and then we would drive to North Street. We had nicknames for the police: Agnes, Judy Justice, Hateful Helen, Oh No The PoPo. Someone would scream it out and we would drive away.
Did you feel safe coming to Indianapolis?
Yes. I wanted to get away from Anderson. My cousins were really popular and I wasn’t. I was “backwards.” So, once I was able to drive, I would take my friends with me. Ruth Reynolds, who was a prolific drag queen from Anderson, would come with us. I would get in drag at their house and drive to Indy.
How did you know that a place was gay-friendly in Indianapolis?
Ruth, mainly. I met other gay people in the area through them. We would go to Muncie, too — we weren’t allowed in Mark III Taproom, but we would cruise downtown. The police would harass us there too.
The police would be there and run you off?
We were always scared of it, especially if we were in drag because they would make fun of us. There were multiple types of harassment, interrogation or making fun of us if we were pulled over or caught on the street.
What was your first gay bar experience in Indianapolis?
Downtown Olly’s used to be called Brother’s. Back by the bathrooms, they used to keep copies of the “bar rags” (LGBT publications) — The Works, The Indiana Word, The Mirror, SARJ Guide. We would go in and make a bee line for the rags. Normally, we were kicked out because we were underage, but by then we had the magazines and knew where to see drag queens or other things going on in the community.
Could you tell me about Tomorrow’s, the gay bar that used to be on Meridian and 20th?
It was on Meridian and 22nd. It was a little tiny bar owned by a Korean woman. She also served food — what an amazing cook! One time, I had an interaction with a queen that was wearing this dress with long, long fabric and I was complimenting her. She was all made up, and I asked, “Oh my gosh, that dress is so fabulous! Where did you get it?” The queen looked me right in the eye and said, “A fabric store!” And we just cackled!
What is a bar that stands out to you from the time you came out in the ’90s, during your transition, that was important to you?
Bullwinkle’s in Bloomington gave me my first taste of performing. Metro, here in Indianapolis, has been there for me at multiple periods of my life. Paul Eckert, who owned many of the city’s gay bars, offered an opportunity for me to perform at Club Cabaret.
Some of the older performers really helped me and pushed me in these spaces and made me better. When an older girl is telling you something, they aren’t trying to hold you back but actually trying to protect your longevity in the community.
Alan Eaton, the original owner of Club Cabaret, changed the face of drag in Indianapolis. It made me realize it was a business. It pushed me to be the best I could be.
You once said that a lot of people think drag is a show, but that it actually is a legitimate business.
Some people do it because it’s fun and it’s an entertainment, but it is also a business. For years people asked me, “What’s your real job?” and that pissed me off because I was presenting the best show I could, and it was my real job. I made it a real job, thanks to Eaton.
At the time though — trying to survive as a queen — we were making so little, but we all looked out for each other. I would go to Leslie Ryan’s home, a famous queen in Indy in the ’90s and 2000s, and she would cook me a big dinner then send me home with more.
My Instagram post about you received over 300 likes and 55 shares but most importantly, an outpouring of love for you. When someone says they have been following you or watching you for 15-plus years, what do you say to them?
Honestly, the first thing I say is, “Thank you,” because for a kid from Anderson, it’s flattering that someone else thinks I’m that special.
What is one thing your followers need to know about you?
One thing that is important to me is my drag children, the “St. James kids.” So many people in this community look up to me in that way because they may go home and not have an actual supportive mother that loves them for being “the gay kid.” And when they see me, I am the surrogate mother or mentor. I love being that for someone.
Who is one person from the past of LGBTQIA+ Indy that the future of the LGBTQIA+ needs to know about?
Cleo Brasher, the owner of Miss Gay Indiana. Because he owned the pageants, he worked for the post office and paid for it all out of his own pocket. It only made a profit one time in 44 years.
He did it for the kids who loved drag as much as he did, to give us a place where we belong. He did not need to keep something going for that long, taking a loss from it.
What is something you want to pass on to current and future people in the LGBTQIA+ community?
Don’t rush it. Savor it all. You don’t realize it right now, but you’re building those memories right now. And it doesn’t last forever. Nothing does.
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