From a 1954 police record in St. Louis to a Black trans-led organization in Chicago, the Mother Roadās queer history has been hiding in plai
Alysse Dalessandro for The Advocate:
Driving along historic Route 66 in Edwardsville,Ā Illinois, I heard the honking before I saw the crowd. At first, all I could make out were American flags waving in the town square. As a solo queer female traveler passing through a city of about 26,000 people, I kept my guard up. Then I spotted a sign. "Proud LGBTQ Mom, Proud Ally." Other signs called for protecting democracy and fighting fascism. I had reached Edwardsville roughly 275 miles into a monthlong journey along Route 66. From June 7 through July 1, Iām exploring theĀ LGBTQ+ experience along America's most famous highway ā its past, present, and future.
As Route 66 celebrates its centennial this year, communities across its more than 2,400 miles are marking the occasion with festivals, museum exhibits, and tributes to the roadway's place in American history. But after visiting Route 66 landmarks and museums, I kept noticing who was missing from the story. Some sites acknowledge the barriers Black travelers faced and the safe havens that emerged in response, including places such as theĀ Alberta HotelĀ in Springfield,Ā Missouri. LGBTQ+ travelers, however, are largely absent from the official narrative. Yet their stories are everywhere once you start looking.
The horns continued to sound as I met Andi Smith, who explained that the American flags were part of preparations for Edwardsville's upcoming Route 66 centennial celebration. Smith knows the town square well. She has been standing there every Friday at noon since Feb. 4, 2025. What started as one woman's frustration with the current administration has grown into a community catalyst. Smith said anywhere from 100 to 300 people now attend the weekly demonstrations, while as many as 1,600 joined the community's recent No Kings protest.
"The first day I stood here by myself, and someone joined me wearing a rainbow sweatshirt," Smith said. "And the next day we had five. By Friday we had a dozen, and it's just kept steamrolling every single week since then." In an April 2025Ā speech, Illinois Gov. J.B. Pritzker applauded Smith's efforts and the stand she has taken in her community. I had never heard of Edwardsville before planning this trip. Yet just a few hours after meeting Smith in the town square, I found myself examining archival documents of LGBTQ+ history when Edwardsville unexpectedly appeared again.
An arrest record in the archives
Along a stretch of roadway designated Historic Route 66 in St. Louis, the Missouri Historical Society is home to theĀ Gateway to PrideĀ collection, one of the Midwest's largest repositories of LGBTQ+ history. The collection preserves everything from personal letters and photographs to police records and organizational documents. Sitting in the archives and paging through materials spanning decades of queer life, I came across a document from the St. Louis Department of Police dated August 27, 1954. The complaint alleged, "homosexuals frequenting the above mentioned taverns." While the names and addresses of those arrested had been redacted, their hometowns remained. Among them was a 28-year-old shipping clerk from Edwardsville. We don't know how he arrived at that St. Louis gay bar. But given the geography and the era, it's entirely possible he traveled there on Route 66. That possibility lingered with me. Because while Route 66 is often remembered as a symbol of freedom, reinvention, and opportunity, it may also have served another purpose: helping LGBTQ+ people find one another. [...]
The journey isn't over
The secrecy that shaped so much of LGBTQ+ history may feel distant. But in many ways, it isn't. Recent years have brought a wave of anti-LGBTQ+ legislation and policies that have complicated daily life ā and travel ā for many people, particularly transgender Americans. In Kansas, for example, the Department of Revenue began sending letters earlier this yearĀ invalidating driver's licensesĀ that reflected transgender residents' gender identities. The policy became one more reminder that where a person lives ā or travels ā can still shape how safely they move through the world. Along Route 66, however, I kept finding communities working to fill those gaps. Illinois' reputation as an LGBTQ+-affirming state has made places like Edwardsville and Springfield destinations for people seeking safety, support, and stability.
"Our governor has really done a good job of making sure the entire country knows that we are an open and affirming state," said Teresa Silva, executive director of the Phoenix Center in Springfield, Illinois. As a result, she said, people are relocating. "People are flooding to this area from states all around us," Silva said. "We have several transplants that are part of theĀ Phoenix CenterĀ community from outside that have come to this area because they can't receive gender affirming care or because they're scared to lose their kids or their marriage." I never expected to find a thriving LGBTQ+ community center providing housing support, HIV testing, harm reduction services, and other resources in Springfield. But Springfield wasn't the only place where I found organizations filling critical gaps.
The Advocate had a good article on the stories of Route 66ās hidden LGBTQ+ history, including an interview with Edwardsville Fridays at Noon protest founder Andi Smith.
