A Gay Couple’s Notable Influence on the French Quarter
September 2023
Rip and Marsha Naquin-Delain – founders of Ambush Magazine – both died in 2017, yet the annual Southern Decadence celebration proves their legacy is very much alive.
-By Frank Perez
For 32 years, Rip and Marsha Naquin-Delain lived in the 800 block of Bourbon Street until their untimely 2017 deaths. During that time, the couple had a profound influence on not only the LGBT+ community, but also the French Quarter itself.
The founders and publishers of Ambush Magazine, Rip and Marsha also produced annual events such as the Gay Easter Parade, the Gay Appreciation Awards, and the Magnolia Cotillion; they promoted Southern Decadence and Gay Carnival; they formed the Krewe of Queenateenas, which names a King Cake Queen every year; they raised hundreds of thousands of dollars for local charities over the years; and they threw fabulous parties and tirelessly supported local businesses.
In short, they created a fantasy world that still survives and shapes the gay demimonde of the French Quarter today. They were legends.
But none of that would have happened had it not been for a homophobic fraternity and a homophobic father.
While attending Nicholls State University in the early 1970s, Rip joined a popular fraternity. On weekends, it was not uncommon for members of the fraternity to drive to New Orleans and party in the French Quarter. During these excursions, Rip would often find a way to break away from the pack and surreptitiously visit the lively gay bar scene.
On one of these occasions, Rip created a scandal when he was spotted at a gay bar. Soon thereafter, the fraternity chapter called a special meeting to address this most serious issue. The first words out of the chapter president’s mouth were, “I’d rather have a n****r in this fraternity than a faggot!” The chapter voted unanimously to kick Rip out of the fraternity.
Rip dropped out of school and returned home to Bayou Vista before settling in Baton Rouge. In 1974, he came out of the closet to his family. His father did not respond well. Referring to the Up Stairs Lounge arson, which had occurred the year before, his dad told him, “You’re going to burn just like those queers in New Orleans.”
It was a difficult time for anyone to come out. But Rip had inner strength, an indomitable will, and a well-spring of courage. He took lemons and made rainbow lemonade. In the words of Brent Mundt, “No 19-year-old should experience the nightmare Rip did in 1973. Rather than defeat Rip, it propelled him to make a real difference.”
And what a difference he made.
Marsha grew up in Baton Rouge. Her mother, a police officer, was very supportive when Marsha discovered her sexual orientation and began exploring her gender identity and living as a woman.
In 1973, on one of Rip’s visits to New Orleans, he met Marsha in the middle of Bourbon Street, between two gay bars at the corners of St. Ann Street (what are now the Bourbon Pub and Oz). Their meeting was proof that love at first sight is more than a cliche: They committed to each other immediately and stayed together for the rest of their lives—nearly 50 years. It was a love story for the ages, and one that Rip’s family eventually accepted, including his father.
After finding each other, Rip and Marsha settled into a comfortable life in Baton Rouge. Marsha graduated from the Baton Rouge Beauty College and Rip took a job at the JC Penny department store. By 1977, Rip had cut his teeth in journalism and was the executive editor of The Zipper, a monthly gay newspaper published by Alan D. Lowe and George H. Perry, Jr. in Baton Rouge.
Early copies of The Zipper, its business records, and Rip’s personal correspondence all reveal that Rip and Marsha, during their time in Baton Rouge, were incredibly influential in establishing and promoting the Imperial Court system in Baton Rouge and Miss Gay Louisiana Pageants, Inc. Rip and Marsha then began their own publication called The Alternative, which they sold about a year later.
In 1982, Rip and Marsha launched Ambush Magazine and three years later moved to New Orleans, where they settled into the fabled “Ambush Mansion” at 828 Bourbon Street. It’s not really a mansion, but rather a Creole townhome dating to the 1830s. The magazine’s offices were on the first floor and Rip and Marsha lived on the second and third floors. The second floor, with its balcony overlooking Bourbon Street, was often used to entertain.
In those early years, Rip and Marsha also worked at the legendary Petunia’s restaurant on St. Louis Street, known for its crepes. Rip and Marsha had a life-long love affair with food and were excellent cooks.
In 1987, Rip and Marsha began a Mardi Gras day tradition—the annual Bead Toss from the Ambush Mansion balcony. The following year, the group of friends who gathered for the Bead Toss were dubbed the Krewe of Queenateenas by Jay Loomis. In 1994, on a lark, Rip and Marsha named a King Cake Queen to preside over the Bead Toss. What started as a joke took on a life of its own.
Within a few years, the Bead Toss became eclipsed by the presentation of the King Cake Queen, which occurred at the official Coronation Party. These presentations were grand, formal, invitation-only affairs held at the Ambush headquarters. Occurring early in the Carnival Season, guests would arrive and go through a reception line where they would be photographed with co-captains Rip and Marsha and whomever the reigning King Cake Queen was that year. Guests would then proceed upstairs where they were treated to a full bar and exquisite food prepared by Rip and Marsha themselves.
Each King Cake Queen had a theme, which also informed the food for the reception. For example, when local drag performer Aubrey Synclaire was crowned KCQ XXII, the theme was Vienna: Beautiful, Gay & Gemuthlich. Synclaire was called Queen of the Opera. The food was classic Viennese. When Barbara Ella was dubbed the Borghese Queen, the food was Italian. Each KCQ has an official portrait by local photographer Larry Graham. These portraits lined the stairwell at the Ambush headquarters.
While invitations to the KCQ coronation parties were coveted by many, not everyone wanted to attend. Some in the community were not fans of Rip. These critics cite his imperious demeanor, which was almost dictatorial at times. They had a point. Rip had a grandiose vision of himself and everything he did, which annoyed a lot people—especially if they were never included in the party pics or mentioned in Ambush.
Rip’s authoritarian nature manifested most severely when he “excommunicated” someone. Excommunication meant you were dead to Rip and would never, ever be mentioned or photographed or promoted in Ambush. Two King Cake Queens have been excommunicated, their names stricken from all records.
Another criticism some leveled at Rip was that he was trying to “take over everything.” Rip would have disputed that charge claiming no, he just wanted things done the right way – which, incidentally, was always his way. An example of this involves the highly popular Gay Easter Parade.
The origins of the Gay Easter Parade date back to 1999 and the details surrounding its founding are fuzzy. A friend of Rip and Marsha’s named Lance Ford started the parade but soon after its founding, Rip began producing the event.
The reason for Ford’s exit is unclear. Some have speculated it may have had something to do with one of the excommunicated King Cake Queens. Whatever the case, Rip and Marsha produced the parade until their deaths in 2017. The parade serves as a fundraiser for Food for Friends, a local charity that provides food to people living with HIV. Since it began, the Gay Easter Parade has raised over $300,000. The parade is still produced by current Ambush Magazine owner, Tomy Acosta.
In 1993, when the city of New Orleans began legally recognizing same-sex unions, Rip and Marsha were the first to register as a same-sex couple. They were later legally married in 2013 in New York City, two years before the Supreme Court legalized same-sex marriage across the nation.
Rip and Marsha were also Southern Decadence enthusiasts and tirelessly promoted it through Ambush, and, after the advent of the internet, on a website they created. Before that, Southern Decadence was a smallish affair for people in the know, mostly Quarterites. Rip and Marsha helped it grow into the five-day extravaganza it is now.
In recent years, the economic impact of Southern Decadence has been estimated at $300 million—a fact that certainly helped the city’s attitude toward queerness evolve. While money doesn’t necessarily buy acceptance, it can buy a lot of tolerance. In 2015, Rip and Marsha were named Grand Marshals of the Southern Decadence parade. They selected Jeffrey Palmquist as their successor.
Of all their contributions to the community, however, Ambush looms the largest. At its height, Ambush had a circulation footprint from Austin, Texas to Pensacola, Florida. Always New Orleans-centric, the publication was an invaluable source of information for the LGBT+ community, especially during the dark days of the AIDS crisis. It also served as a useful entertainment guide for queer visitors to the city, many of whom were closeted. Published twice a month, it served as a chronicle of queer life in the French Quarter.
On a personal note, I should point out that before meeting Rip and Marsha, my impression of them was vague. The first thing I noticed was that Rip and Marsha were inseparable. I never saw one without the other. And they were mysterious, even unapproachable.
Observed from a distance, the contrasts between them were obvious—Rip was loud and gregarious; Marsha was quiet and subdued. Rip was masculine; Marsha was feminine. Rip could be aggressive; Marsha tended to be more submissive. But there were similarities too—they both loved to eat (neither was thin) and they both loved to drink (mostly vodka). I also noticed that people either loved or hated them. As a unit, they were both magnetic and polarizing all at once. This, more than anything, fascinated and intrigued me.
My personal and professional relationship with Rip began one Monday afternoon in 2012 at Lafitte’s when Rip asked me if I would be interested in writing a history column for Ambush. In Exile: The History and Lore Surrounding New Orleans Gay Culture and Its Oldest Gay Bar, a book I co-wrote with Jeffrey Palmquist, had just been published and apparently had caught Rip’s attention. When he offered me a column, I jumped at the chance.
As an editor, Rip was a joy to write for. He gave me the freedom to write about whatever I was interested in and he never censored a word I wrote. And even when I wrote about people or places he was not fond of, he was fair and objective. He was a firm supporter of the First Amendment and genuinely believed in the freedom of the press.
Behind all his bravado and shrewd business tactics and sharp tongue, Rip had an incredibly compassionate and generous heart. The hundreds of thousands of dollars he raised for local charities is eclipsed perhaps only by the countless acts of kindness he performed every day for neighbors and those less fortunate—gestures only a few people saw.
I was with Rip helping him lay out the paper at the Ambush offices in 2015 when the Supreme Court effectively legalized same-sex marriage. As we learned of the decision, we looked at each other in amazement for a moment and then he called to Marsha, who was preparing lunch. They embraced tearfully and joy filled the Ambush headquarters. Rip then instructed me to stop the task at hand and immediately write an article about the landmark decision.
My best memories of Rip, however, are the times we shared on Monday afternoons at Lafitte’s. The draw was bartender Jeffrey Palmquist, one of Rip’s best friends, whom the couple had chosen to be their successor as Southern Decadence Grand Marshal. As a handful of Jeffrey’s regulars would gather at the bar, we would all anticipate the arrival of Rip and Marsha. Once situated in their regular barstools, Rip would begin to hold court. Inevitably, hilarious antics would ensue. The more he drank, the louder he became, and the harder Marsha would slap his leg and shush him. Eventually, his acerbic wit turned to me and thus would begin verbal sparring matches that produced side-splitting laughter.
If I was unable to make it to Lafitte’s on a Monday, Rip would text me the following morning to check on me. We often exchanged early morning texts. I’m not a “morning person” but a text from Rip always put me in a good mood.
When my 12th Night Party grew and we began the tradition of naming a “Grand Reveler,” there was never any doubt I would give Rip the title. What a joy it was roasting Rip at the 2017 party. I dubbed him “The Award-Winning Reveler” because he was so proud of his award-winning potato salad.
Because they were such public figures, the last six years without Rip and Marsha have been strange. The role they played in the French Quarter was huge and their absence has left a gaping void, an emptiness felt by many. Their ubiquitous presence, their never-ending social events, their consummate fundraising, their leadership in the LGBT+ community, their profound influence—all that is gone.
But their legacy lives and serves as an example of the power of pride. As we celebrate Southern Decadence, the story of Rip and Marsha reminds us that gay pride is much, much more than corporations waving rainbow flags in an effort to get rainbow dollars; rather, it’s a deeply personal determination to overcome prejudice and bigotry and realize our full potential.
Join our Readers’ Circle now!