It was 1974; Gloria Frankel unlocked the doors to The Seahorse Cabaret on a humid South Bend night, not knowing if they’d still be open by morning. At that time same-sex dancing was illegal in Indiana, and a woman like Gloria — outspoken, defiant, and a “fierce protector of South Bend’s queer community” — wasn’t exactly welcome in polite society. But Gloria had seen enough by then. She’d lived through the hush-hush corners of mid-century Indiana and watched from afar as the Stonewall Riots shook New York. She wasn’t about to let South Bend stay in the shadows, so she carved out a place for people like her, people who needed somewhere to exist out loud. The Seahorse wasn’t just a bar — it was a lifeline.
Inside, the cabaret came alive with rhythm and performance. Drag queens, trans women, gay couples — all moved to the music and danced under the lights, sharing laughter and apprehension in equal parts. Police visits were frequent, and so were threats of firebombs and fines. But Gloria didn’t flinch. She paid the penalties, mended the walls, and opened again the next night. After a suspected arson attack on the cabaret in 1982, Gloria and her friends restored the Seahorse with help from the community in a matter of days, ensuring the space would be available for those who relied on it. That decade more residents relied on the Seahorse as an important fixture for HIV information and activist training. In the face of adversity, the Seahorse became a beacon of hope, a testament to the resilience and spirit of a community determined to be seen and heard.
Fast forward to today, and South Bend wears its colors a little brighter. Pride flags hang in windows, our city brings together thousands of people to celebrate Pride in the Park every June, and in 2015, Mayor Pete Buttigieg came out and wrote his truth in the pages of the South Bend Tribune. “For a local student struggling with her sexuality,” he wrote, “it might be helpful for an openly gay mayor to send the message that her community will always have a place for her.” The foundation Gloria laid all those years ago didn’t just hold, it grew. The struggles she endured made room for the celebrations we now enjoy. The Seahorse may be gone, but its echo lingers in every parade, every policy, every place that says: you’re welcome here.
Picture it: a room packed wall to wall, the sound of disco shaking the floor, and Gloria behind the bar, arms crossed, eyeing the door like she dared anyone to ruin her night. The music’s too loud, the crowd too free. In that room, what people thought on the outside didn’t matter. Inside the Seahorse, there was possibility, resistance, and a joy so bright it made your eyes sting. “I could be me,” says DeAnn Gatto in an oral history interview for the Civil Rights Heritage Center. You didn’t just dance there — you found your community.
And still, we press forward. Gloria’s gone now, but her story lives on in the lives she touched, in the activists she mentored, and in the truths she refused to bury. As we look to the future, the legacy of the Seahorse continues to inspire new generations to stand up, speak out, and build communities where everyone is free to be their authentic selves. There’s work yet to be done — but thanks to Gloria Frankel and other early LGBTQ activists of South Bend, we know it can be done. And we know it starts, always, with someone brave enough to open the door.
Dive Deeper Into Local LGBTQ History
Books to Check Out
Buttigieg, P. (2015, June 16). Why coming out matters. The South Bend Tribune. https://www.southbendtribune.com/story/news/local/2015/06/16/south-bend-mayor-why-coming-out-matters/45761773/
Civil Rights Heritage Center. Queer SB in the 1970s. South Bend, IN. Indiana University South Bend. https://iusbarchives.omeka.net/exhibits/show/queer-sb-in-the-1970s/community
Poletika, N. (2017, June 29). Gloria Frankel & The Seahorse: The South Bend LGBT Club’s Fight for Gay Rights. Indiana Historical Society: Untold Indiana. https://blog.history.in.gov/tag/gloria-frankel/
