Isidor Martinez

Steven Miller

If you were going out to clubs in Seattle in the 1990s—Re-bar in particular—you knew Isidor. If you were lucky, Isidor knew you.

Isidor was a big, smart, and sardonic presence. She worked the door in a shredded dress, a busted wig, a few bold smears of makeup. Isidor checked IDs and if you struck Isidor as the kind of person who would cause trouble—the wrong kind of trouble (Isidor loved the right kind of trouble)—you weren't getting into Queer Disco or Lemon Twist or Mocambo Lounge. Those signs that say "No Homophobes, No Racists, No Assholes" that Seattle club owners post at their doors? Isidor was a living, breathing, drinking, smoking, joking, groping version of that sign. Mixed clubs like Re-bar—places that weren't exclusively queer but were queer-friendly, queer-staffed, and partly queer-owned—hired Isidor because she was good at what she did, first and foremost, but also because she sent a loud and clear message to everyone who wanted in: If you couldn't handle the person at the door of the club—if Isidor freaked you out—then you couldn't handle what you were going to encounter inside the club.

Eric Dickerson, also a beloved former Re-bar employee, wrote a touching tribute to Isidor on Facebook:

I am in the sad position of missing a friend that I honestly did not see much after we stopped working together at Re-bar but when I did see her my heart was totally full. Without a word what I learned from this heifer is the kind of thing a mentor teaches. Isidor you were a great example to this young gay boy that the only best strongest most divine thing you can do is be your freaky weird self, I think of the times some asshole would come to the door and start causing a ruckus and there you would be nerf football titties, lipstick and wig and ever present cigarette proud and resolute and unafraid, no reason to cower because as you would say "GURL, fuck them!" So when you were late for work one night I knew something was wrong, I got my man and we rolled to your place at the Moore and got the door guy to let us up and there you were, laying on your floor in a diabetic coma and when you see a sister like that a bond happens you become closer and luckily the paramedics got there in time and we had you for many more years. I miss your belly laugh and most of all I miss you! Love you. Thank you for being fierce, thank you for coming to my wedding, thank you for telling me you were wrong when you told me years ago to leave Christopher, at the wedding you told me he was a good one, just thank you for everything! Goodbye my old friend.

I'm in the same position. I saw Isidor at Re-bar's 25th anniversary party earlier this year and it all came rushing back. Those were good times, Isidor was a good time. She made Seattle a funner, safer, queerer place. She will be missed.