This story was produced through Our Stories, Our Power, a community journalism program from Windy City Times and E3 Radio that gives emerging storytellers a platform to report stories for and about their communities.
For more than three decades, Frances D’Alessio has captivated audiences at La Cueva in Little Village, commanding the stage as a show queen with precision, glamour and control. But for two months last year, everything came to a halt.
When federal immigration raids tied to Operation Midway Blitz swept through the neighborhood, the nightclub closed its doors—leaving performers without income and spreading fear throughout the community D’Alessio has called home for nearly 30 years.
Even after reopening, the crowds have not fully returned.
D’Alessio, a transgender Latina performer marking 35 years onstage, has built a legacy in Chicago’s drag and show queen community rooted in discipline, respect and longevity.
Her career has endured through the HIV/AIDS epidemic, immigration challenges and shifting political climates, making her story a window into both the resilience of trans Latinas and the evolving realities facing their communities today.
Becoming Frances
D’Alessio grew up in Iguala, Guerrero, Mexico. At 15, she began working backstage at a nightclub, helping show queens prepare for performances and assisting with costumes. One day, when a cast member failed to show up, the director suddenly needed someone to fill her spot in the opening number.
One of the performers—who would later become one of D’Alessio’s mentors—told the director that the teenager already knew the songs and choreography. The director asked D’Alessio if that was true. She said yes.
Within minutes, D’Alessio was in makeup, hair and costume. But as she watched the other performers take the stage, her confidence disappeared.
“When it was my turn, I got so nervous that I said, ‘I am not going out,’” D’Alessio recalled.
The director had other plans and pushed her onstage.
“When I came out onto that stage, I felt like a fish in the water,” D’Alessio said. “I said, ‘This is it. This is what I’ll do. This is me.’”
After the performance, the other performers congratulated her backstage. That day, Frances was born.
“It was just Frances at that time,” she said. “I didn’t have the D’Alessio name yet.”
D’Alessio began her transition in Mexico around age 15 or 16, when she began taking hormones. But she said she understood herself as a girl long before then.
“I always felt like a woman since I was a child,” D’Alessio said, recalling putting towels on her head to mimic long hair and trying on her aunts’ heels at her grandmother’s house.
Before arriving at La Cueva, D’Alessio performed at Mario’s Place, a now-closed nightclub. She eventually left amid tensions with other performers.
“The girls just didn’t want me there,” she said.
She was later invited by Miss Ketty to perform at Circuit Nightclub, now known as Fantasy Nightclub. Ketty eventually brought her to La Cueva, where D’Alessio has performed since 1996.
D’Alessio credits several mentors throughout her career, including her godmother Fanny Forrette in Mexico, Janet Namer (best known as La Madrina), Lorena Pantoja from Mario’s Place and Miss Ketty.
D’Alessio particularly remembers Ketty as a demanding mentor who pushed her to take performance seriously.
“She was strict,” D’Alessio said. She recalled Ketty once telling her, “If you’re going out there to make a fool of yourself on the dance floor, then go out and do it right. Otherwise, you’re better off not doing it at all.”
D’Alessio said she did not understand the advice at the time. “Now I do, and that’s how she showed she cared.”
D’Alessio now mentors younger performers, including her “trans daughter” Ivanna Rubio, who also performs at La Cueva, and Lea D’Alessio.
“Having her as a mother is a source of pride,” Rubio said. “I get to work alongside her and share the stage with her while continuing to learn from her experience.”
When the music stopped
D’Alessio remembers HIV/AIDS being shrouded in silence in her hometown during the 1990s, even as awareness of the epidemic spread in larger cities.
“We didn’t have access to prevention like condoms,” she said. “Everything was kept secret because of machismo.”
D’Alessio said she did not personally know anyone in Iguala who was publicly identified as having died from AIDS-related complications. Instead, she recalled families attributing deaths to other causes.
In 1994, after her sister died from cancer and left her family in debt, D’Alessio migrated to the United States to help support her parents. She eventually made Chicago home, but more than three decades later, immigration enforcement has again brought uncertainty into her community.
D’Alessio said the immigration crackdown has created fear even among Latinos with legal status or U.S. citizenship.
“It doesn’t affect just immigrants,” she said. “Just by being Latino, it puts us all in danger.”
D’Alessio said the effects became particularly acute during Operation Midway Blitz. As customers stayed home, La Cueva temporarily closed and D’Alessio went about two months without performing there.
“Many people stopped going to work, stores closed and lost business,” she said. “It’s sad and tragic to see this happening in the 21st century.”
Although La Cueva has since reopened, D’Alessio said attendance has not fully recovered.
“Even today, some people are still not showing up because there is fear in them,” she said. “People are scared. They don’t want to come out.”
Performances at La Cueva were reduced from four nights a week to three, affecting performers’ income, she said.
D’Alessio also wishes La Cueva, one of Chicago’s longstanding Latino LGBTQ+ nightlife spaces, received more attention from the broader LGBTQ+ community.
“There has been a lack of support from our own LGBTQ+ community,” she said.
While much of Chicago’s most visible drag nightlife is concentrated around Northalsted, D’Alessio said many LGBTQ+ Chicagoans remain unfamiliar with La Cueva and its history of Latino performers.
A legacy of respect
D’Alessio said she has seen significant changes in acceptance over the years, with larger audiences and more opportunities for performers.
D’Alessio said respect—for herself, her fellow performers and her audiences—has guided her approach to both life and performance.
“I believe that when you are good at what you do, people will continue to love your work,” D’Alessio said. “When you put passion and respect into your craft, that comes through during your performances. The day that people stop applauding me will be the day that Frances D’Alessio goes to rest.”
Her advice to younger performers is straightforward: “Pay attention to your costumes, learn your lyrics and come out onstage with a lot of respect—for yourself, your craft and your audience.”
D’Alessio is known for impersonating singers including Rocío Dúrcal, Jenni Rivera and Alejandra Guzmán, who remain among her most requested performances.
“I enjoy performing as all of them,” she said. “I give them all the same passion, the same delivery, the same respect.”
D’Alessio said she hopes to be remembered as a performer who brought professionalism, admiration and respect to every performance.
“I want to be remembered as someone who did a good show, that I did it with respect to the artist I imitated and that I did it with so much admiration,” D’Alessio said. “I want to be remembered for the professionalism that I gave in my performances.”
This year marks D’Alessio’s 35th year as a performer, a milestone she considers one of her greatest accomplishments. But she said another achievement matters even more: having lived openly as herself.
“Being able to live my true identity is one of my greatest accomplishments,” D’Alessio said. “Having decided my true identity at such a young age and the mere fact that I am still here where I am is another of my greatest accomplishments.”
D’Alessio hopes her story encourages people to learn more about the generations of transgender women who came before them.
“I want people to know that I am a proud Mexican,” she said. “I want people to come and get to know the older generation of transgender women, to know more about our lives [and] to learn that we are not all the same.”
About Our Stories, Our Power: Our Stories, Our Power is a six-week community journalism program led by Windy City Times and E3 Radio that trains emerging storytellers in reporting stories for and about their communities. The program is made possible by a grant from Press Forward Chicago, with support from Columbia College Chicago.
Interested in supporting a future cohort of Our Stories, Our Power? Contact Jake Wittich, managing editor of Windy City Times, at jake@windycitytimes.com.