The Uprising

One night in 1959.

The accounts are incomplete. The records are scarce. That is part of the story — not a reason to stop telling it.

Los Angeles, spring of 1959. A stretch of Main Street, open all night.

Two gay bars — Harold’s and the Waldorf — next to a small donut counter with a dozen stools and a pot of coffee that never went cold. A coffee and a donut went for a dime. Businesses in the area didn’t want everyone. Transgender women, drag queens, the hustlers who moved through the margins of the city at midnight — they were turned away, or tolerated just barely, or served until a police car slowed outside the window.

Cooper Do-nuts let them in. That was the policy. Nobody made a sign about it. Nobody needed to.

Then one night, two LAPD officers walked in and started checking IDs. It wasn’t unusual — the police came regularly. But according to those who were there, this night was different.

01  /  What happened

The ID check. The arrest. The moment the street changed.

The ID check was a standard LAPD tactic of the era. Officers compared the name and gender on a patron’s identification against how they were dressed. If they didn’t match — if a person presented as a woman but their ID said otherwise — that was grounds for arrest under the city’s masquerading ordinance. Under Chief William H. Parker, LAPD arrests of LGBTQ people had increased by more than 85 percent over the previous decade.

That night, the officers selected five people from the shop. John Rechy, a writer who says he was among them, later described the group as two hustlers, two queens, and a young man just cruising.

When the officers tried to load all five into the back of a single squad car, the car was too small. Someone resisted. The patrons still inside the shop came out.

What followed — the scale of it, how long it lasted, whether it made the papers the next morning — is precisely what the record does not settle. What is not contested is that something happened. The officers left. For a moment, the street belonged to the people who had been pushed to its edges.

“I don’t know what it was. I don’t know how big it was. But something definitely happened that night.”

Keith Evans — grandson of founder Jack Evans

02  /  What the record shows

Testimony, memory, and the gap in between.

The primary account comes from John Rechy, who says he was there. He first told the story publicly in 2005, in an interview for the book Gay LA by Lillian Faderman and Stuart Timmons. His novel City of Night, published in 1963, draws on the same world — the same streets, the same late-night cast — but does not recount the uprising directly.

Nancy Valverde, a Chicana lesbian and longtime Cooper Do-nuts regular, wasn’t at the shop that night. Her friends had called her from the shop asking for support. Her boss made it clear: leave and your job is gone. She stayed. The next morning, she says, she read about it in the paper on her way to work.

That paper has not been found. But she remembers it.

The LAPD, asked in 2020 to provide records from the period, reported that anything from that era had likely been purged or destroyed. There is no surviving police report. What remains is testimony — partial, imperfect, and separated from the events by decades. The Cooper Do-nuts Foundation is actively working to fill that gap.

“It was all over town. I wasn’t there in person, but I heard about it right away.”

Nancy Valverde — community elder, Cooper Do-nuts regular

03  /  What is not in dispute

The things the record clearly supports.

Whatever the precise details of that night, certain things are well-documented:

Cooper Do-nuts was a real business, operating on South Main Street from 1952 through the mid-1990s, founded and run by the Evans family.

The Main Street corridor in this period was home to a documented LGBTQ+ community — gay men, transgender women, drag performers — who gathered in the late-night establishments that remained open to them.

LAPD harassment of this community was systematic. Arrests for “masquerading” were routine. Under Chief William H. Parker, LGBTQ arrests increased 86.5% over the prior decade.

Cooper Do-nuts welcomed people the bars next door would not serve. By the family’s own account and by the account of those who were there, this was not accidental.

In 2023, the City of Los Angeles designated the corner at 2nd and Main a historic landmark — Cooper Do-nuts/Nancy Valverde Square. The LAPD issued a formal public apology for its historical harassment of LGBTQ citizens.

The historical significance of Cooper Do-nuts does not rest on one night. It rests on what the shop was — decade after decade — and who it chose to let in.

04  /  Why it matters

In light of all of that other darkness.

The people in that shop had been pushed to the margins of a city that criminalized their existence. The bars beside them had turned them away. The police were a routine threat. And yet, on an ordinary night in the spring of 1959, something shifted.

Ten years later, a confrontation at the Stonewall Inn in New York would become the founding moment of the modern LGBTQ rights movement. The people at Cooper Do-nuts didn’t know they were making history. They were just tired of being arrested for who they were.

“The most important takeaway is not whether or not a riot happened, but that in light of all of that other darkness, there was a ray of shining light.”

Keith Evans

This history is still being uncovered.

The Cooper Do-nuts Foundation is actively working to expand the record — reviewing archives, collecting oral histories, and making the Evans family’s documents available for the first time. Follow the work as it develops.

We’ll only write when we have something worth saying.

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