They come to find friends. Or locate a doctor. Or play bingo.

But lately, the Q Center hasn't felt all that welcoming to Portland's gay, lesbian and transgender communities.

The region's only LGBT center has occupied an uncertain and at times uneasy place in Portland's gender-diverse communities. Recent missteps by the center, a disengaged leader, unpaid bills, a drop in donations and staff departures have angered many in the Q Center's core constituency, leading them to question the nonprofit's role and relevance. African Americans and transgender people have felt excluded, and donations dropped so dramatically last year that some observers predicted the doors could close by March 31.

In some ways, the Q Center's problems are a microcosm of the shifting LGBT landscape in the wider culture: Spurred by YouTube videos and TV shows such as the award-winning "Transparent" and "Orange is the New Black," transgender rights has replaced homosexuality as the new civil-rights frontier.

Founded in part by former Portland mayor Sam Adams, the Q Center was supposed to be a place where all Oregonians felt at home and embraced.

What went wrong?

Q Center

What is it?

The city's only community center that offers events, programs and places to meet for LGBT people. Former mayor Sam Adams and others founded it in 2006 to provide a safe place for families, older people and youth.

What it does

: Connects visitors to mental health counseling, medical care, emergency shelter or housing. Provides community meeting space and training in LGBT issues. Offers support groups, an LGBT library, art gallery, computers, movie nights, bingo.

No. of visitors

in 2014: 15,000

Average age

: 45

Income

in 2014: $709,284

Expenses

in 2014: $805,926

Where money comes from: donations from individuals and businesses such as Comcast and The Standard; rent and contracts with programs such as

Gender identity is a complicated topic, and the Q Center has stumbled trying to serve those wrestling with it. In a recent Q Center survey, more than 200 respondents reported 14 different gender identities, from androgynous to trans. Not everybody gets along and not everybody wants the same thing from the Q Center.

For example, the Mississippi Avenue center hosts a popular program for senior LGBT people, whose needs may differ from the younger trans community's concerns about health, depression or employment.

From the beginning, Q Center leaders saw the space as a hub for the region's increasingly diverse LGBT community, said Bob Speltz, a founding board member.

"Sam Adams said it was time for the LGBT community to have a place of their own," he said. "To have space where we could connect to one another, learn from one another, be inspired by artists who were having trouble finding gallery space, provide low-cost meeting space."

But an early perception was that the Q Center, supported financially by such establishment donors as Nike, Comcast and The Standard, was formed by white men for white men. Even today, most of the staff, volunteers and board members are white, said Neola Young, a staff member.

The Q Center's current problems go back two years when protests led a North Portland gay bar to cancel an appearance by a white man who performs in blackface as an African-American "welfare mother." Q Center leaders tried to heal the rift with a public discussion about racism, but made matters worse by not including any African Americans on the panel. Center leaders eventually canceled the forum, then scheduled a new one with a more diverse group.

Last spring, center organizers angered some trans people when they rented space to a group some believe was sympathetic with Trans-Exclusionary Radical Feminists. TERF's strand of feminism claims that trans women aren't really women and bring male energy and privilege with them.

Comment boards and social media lit up. Some people have long felt the Q Center did not welcome trans people, and this was another example, Young said. Others said that, in the interest of free speech and openness, Q Center organizers shouldn't police who uses the center.

The perception of opaque, absent leadership and an unclear mission, plus the two incidents, caused donors to withdraw. Individual donations in 2014 dropped 35 percent from the previous year, from $180,000 to $117,510. Foundation grants plunged 72 percent, from $139,281 to $38,150. A campaign to raise $1.7 million to buy the Q Center's building brought in only $400,000.

Several sources blame the center's troubles on executive director Barbara McCullough-Jones, who resigned Dec. 31. They also blame board members, who failed to oversee operations closely enough, allowing the center to run out of money.

"Some people were unhappy with (McCullough-Jones), or didn't like her, or didn't have a good experience with her," said Speltz, who serves on the Q Center's new advisory board. "I've seen the data - she was absent a lot. She spent quite a bit of time working remotely. She also had family members in poor health."

McCullough-Jones did not respond to requests for comment.

"There was very poor judgment, and it blew up in their faces," said Devon Rose Davis, another interim board member and an advocate for transgender people.

When the new board took over in December - only two previous board members stayed on -- it discovered debts of $54,000 for employee health insurance and for payments to the center's accountant and auditors, among other operating expenses, said LeAnn Locher, an interim board member. The temporary board, led by Antoinette Edwards, a longtime Portland civil rights activist who directs the city's Office of Youth Violence Prevention, suspended a fundraising drive to buy the center's building.

A financial review conducted for the new board found no illegal activity, Locher said. Donations since December, including $50,000 from Basic Rights Oregon, helped lower the debt to $40,000 while keeping the center open, but the nonprofit is still on the hook for $25,000 for an upcoming March gala unless organizers can find another group to take its place. The center already owes $10,000 to Portland Center Stage for an event it booked but didn't hold in November.

As they try to rebuild the center's finances and community goodwill, temporary board members need to be more transparent and inclusive, Locher said. They created a survey to better understand who uses the center and why.

"Lots of people are too angry at the Q Center to even take the time to fill this out," one person responded.

"You need to be more accessible, more accountable, more transparent, more sustainable," another wrote.

The board responded by holding two town halls this year with plans for another two, and put details about the center's financial status on its website. Board members are also drafting a non-discrimination policy that would require groups that use center space to agree to treat all people equally, Locher said.

That will help appease the trans community, which has historically felt marginalized, said Davis, a trans woman. "What the Q Center did furthered a divide that was already there," she said. "Trans women already feel their issues aren't the queer community's."

Closure looks less likely now, after Basic Rights Oregon, the state's leading gay rights advocacy group, stepped in with financial support.

Despite its problems, the Q Center remains relevant, even life-saving, said several people in the LGBT community. In the digital age, information about LGBT issues is easier to find for people trying to navigate their sexuality. But, the center can still help people through its safe schools program, hospital staff training and social connections.

"They may have just come out, they don't have many gay friends," said Q staff member Micheal Weakley. "They sit in the parking lot, terrified to come in. The Q is a first step to help."

Update: This story has been updated to make clear what role a CPA has played in analyzing the Q Center's finances. The accountant conducted a financial review, not a full-fledged audit.

-- David Stabler

dstabler@oregonian.com

503-221-8217

@davidstabler