Going Up?
You’ve probably ridden one this week without thinking about it. The escalator. Reliable. Invisible. Unbothered. Just humming away underfoot while the world moves above.
But beneath those polished steps lies something more than engineering genius—it’s a mechanism that quite literally lifted people into new social spaces. And, perhaps most importantly for this story, the escalator helped carve out unexpected vocations for those whose lives didn’t fit the rigid norms of the day. We’re talking about queer men in the early 20th century—unseen, but not unfelt.
This isn’t about claiming Jesse W. Reno, the engineer credited with the first working escalator, was queer. There’s no evidence of that. But the space he helped invent—the escalator as public performance, as elegant mobility, as service-forward infrastructure—became a surprising launchpad for careers and communities shaped by queer presence.
Reno and the Rise of Modern Motion
Jesse Wilford Reno patented the first inclined elevator in 1892. It debuted in 1896 at Coney Island, whisking thrill-seekers up a 25-degree incline. Unlike his predecessors, who mostly sketched concepts (RIP to Nathan Ames’ unbuilt “Revolving Stairs” of 1859), Reno built the damn thing. Later models were integrated into department stores and subways—where they truly changed the social game.
Escalators didn’t just save effort. They altered how people moved through the world. They made upward mobility—literal and aspirational—available to everyone, not just the young or able-bodied. And in doing so, they cracked open new professional terrain.
Where Queer Men Found Their Footing
Department stores were the playgrounds of status. Opulent, vertical, and full of rules. They were also theatres of performance. Every movement was curated—whether you were a shopper, a staff member, or the man in white gloves helping fainting ladies off the escalator after their first electric ride.
In these high-performance, high-attention spaces, queer men began finding footing. Not because they could be out—but because they could be stylish, meticulous, charming, efficient, discreet. The very traits punished in other industries were prized here. Customer service, beauty, hospitality, travel, and fashion—the pillars of soft infrastructure—became lifelines. Still are.
“The escalator didn’t just lift people. It quietly opened a future where queer men could exist in public with purpose—if not yet with pride.”
No one called them queer, of course. Not on paper. But look through oral histories and behind-the-scenes accounts of 20th-century retail, entertainment, or hotel life, and you’ll see the shadows: the “confirmed bachelors,” the polished attendants, the store-floor whisper networks. The ones who knew how to carry both a tray and a secret.
Allies by Invention
Reno might not have known he was doing this. But his design—the idea of public verticality, the aesthetic of motion and ease, the infrastructure of being seen—offered queer people a kind of usable space in a world full of closed doors. Even the way escalators were built—with attendants nearby, ready to assist—created roles that queer men naturally gravitated toward.
Because let’s be honest: when a job requires charm, anticipation of others’ needs, emotional intelligence, and a sense of style? Queer folks have been overqualified for generations.
It wasn’t activism. It was access.
And sometimes, that’s the wedge you need to start turning a gear.
Showing Our Work
To be clear: we’re not retrofitting queer identity where it doesn’t belong. Jesse Reno was an inventor, not a known activist or queer figure. But context matters. When you see his timeline overlap with Henry Gerber (who founded America’s first gay rights group in 1924), or Alan Hart (a trans man reshaping medicine), or Magnus Hirschfeld (mapping gender diversity before the Nazis shut him down), you realize this era wasn’t a cultural vacuum.
It was a moment full of motion—technical, political, personal. The escalator simply helped move the theatre of human interaction from the drawing room to the department store. And queer people? They already knew how to play to a crowd.
Sidebar: Confirmed Queer Figures of the Era
Visibility isn’t always loud—but it’s always there.
These innovators weren’t speculative. They were out, documented, and shaping the very systems people rode, trusted, or relied on during the same era Jesse Reno introduced the world to the escalator.
[ts_tabs vertical=”yes” mobile=”desktop”][ts_tab title=”Henry Gerber (1892–1972)” disabled=”no” anchor=”” url=”” target=”blank” class=””]Occupation: Postal Worker, Activist
Known For: Founding the first gay rights organization in the U.S., the Society for Human Rights (1924).
Why It Matters: While Reno was building motion, Gerber was building momentum—risking arrest to fight for legal recognition long before Stonewall.
🔍 Queer Rights Architect[/ts_tab]
[ts_tab title=”Alan L. Hart (1890–1962)” disabled=”no” anchor=”” url=”” target=”blank” class=””]Occupation: Physician, Medical Technologist
Known For: Innovating TB detection with X-rays and being one of the first trans men to undergo gender-affirming surgery.
Why It Matters: Hart didn’t just reshape medicine—he helped invent public health infrastructure that saved lives, while living authentically in the shadows.
🔍 Trans Tech Pioneer[/ts_tab]
[ts_tab title=”Magnus Hirschfeld (1868–1935)” disabled=”no” anchor=”” url=”” target=”blank” class=””]Occupation: Sexologist, Researcher
Known For: Founding the Institute for Sexual Science in Berlin, advancing early gender and sexuality studies.
Why It Matters: Hirschfeld coined terms still used today and created the world’s first known LGBTQ+ archive—until the Nazis destroyed it.
🔍 The First Queer Data Scientist[/ts_tab]
[ts_tab title=”John Lyon Burnside III (1916–2008)” disabled=”no” anchor=”” url=”” target=”blank” class=””]Occupation: Inventor, Activist
Known For: Co-inventing the teleidoscope and co-founding the Radical Faeries with his partner Harry Hay.
Why It Matters: Burnside’s career spanned optics and queer spirituality. He reminds us that queer brilliance often spans art, tech, and resistance all at once.
🔍 Inventor of Perspective (Literally)[/ts_tab]
[/ts_tabs]
Visibility Before Pride
We talk a lot about visibility today. But before rainbow logos and pronoun pins, visibility meant something quieter. It meant being reliable, stylish, professional. It meant delivering excellence so gracefully no one thought to question your right to be there.
Escalators made people look up. Queer people made sure there was someone at the top to welcome them.
And in that quiet poise, they carved a path. A future in beauty counters and boarding gates, in concierge desks and care wards.
They weren’t waiting to be discovered—they were already there. Holding the elevator. Pressing the button. Knowing your size. Remembering your mother’s favourite perfume.
Not yet celebrated, but never invisible.
Final Step
The escalator is still with us—quietly humming in malls, airports, metro stations. And queer folks are still there, too—serving, designing, nursing, styling, listening. Reno may not have been part of our alphabet, but he helped build a staircase that many in our community climbed—not just to survive, but eventually, to be seen.
So this Pride, take the escalator. And while you’re gliding up, spare a moment to remind yourself that even before Pride had a flag, it had a floor plan.
Footnote: “The Swooning Debutante Dilemma”
There’s a popular tale that early escalators caused so much distress to delicate ladies that department stores had to station attendants—often impeccably dressed young men—at the top to catch them in case of fainting spells.
While charming, there’s no hard evidence this was common practice. But given the era’s flair for theatrics, tight corsets, and dramatic exits… we’ll let the myth ride the escalator a few more floors.
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