https://www.washingtonpost.com/dc-md-va/2022/11/21/derrick-rump-colorado-springs-shooting-victim/
I'm gonna miss you forever, Chocolate Chip.
Bartender Derrick Rump ‘is what made Club Q’
Without him, one club regular said, the place is ‘never going to be the same’
By Casey Parks
November 21, 2022 at 6:21 p.m. EST
Club Q regulars could tell before they even entered the bar if Derrick Rump was working that night. Most evenings, the 38-year-old blasted Britney Spears songs so loud you could hear them from the parking lot, friends said.
If they heard “Toxic” or “... Baby One More Time,” they knew Rump was behind the bar and the night was going to be good.
Sassy and pint-size, Rump was seen as the glue that held together the queer community in Colorado Springs.
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He bought lashes and outfits for drag queens who couldn’t afford them, and during the pandemic, when all of the performers lost their jobs, he bought other people’s groceries for two months straight.
“He is what made Club Q,” said Kayla Rene Cortes, a 26-year-old lesbian who has visited the bar for years.
Rump is one of five people killed in a mass shooting at Club Q late Saturday night. At least 18 other people were injured.
Without him, Cortes said, the club is “never going to be the same.”
How the Colorado mass shooting unfolded — and ended — inside Club Q
Rump started working at the single-story bar five years ago, and he instantly established himself as a good listener with a heavy pour. He opened five days a week, and he spent most shifts mixing drinks in the upper lounge, an elevated spot where the acoustics made it easier to carry on a conversation.
If you didn’t know him and saw his face, friends said, you might have thought he didn’t want to talk. He was direct and sarcastic, and his dark eyebrows were often raised in a way that felt both daring and distinct, but the minute he started talking, that look melted away.
“He was super welcoming,” Anthony Kichton said. Kichton, a biomedical equipment technician in the Air Force and student at the University of Colorado, met Rump 10 years ago.
“Every time I saw him, he was always positive and extremely kind,” Kichton said.
One of Rump’s best friends, a drag performer who started at Club Q the same night Rump did, said Rump could connect with anyone, regardless of age or gender or sexuality.
The performer spoke on the condition of anonymity. Many people have sent hateful messages to others who frequented the club in the days since the shooting, she said, and she does not feel safe having her name or face available publicly.
A few years ago, Rump and fellow bartender Daniel Aston decided to stop referring to customers as “guys” or “girls.” Instead, the performer said, they greeted everyone with “Hi, friend.”
“It changed so many people’s lives because they didn’t feel misgendered,” the performer said. “I know it’s such a small thing, but it matters to people.”
Aston was also killed Saturday night.
Jared Sikes said he was nervous the first time he went to Club Q because he hadn’t been to a gay bar in years. He felt out of place until he spotted Rump and Aston.
“I hung out near the bar where their smiling faces and warm personalities made me feel welcome,” Sikes wrote on Facebook. “It was the same story every time we spoke. They were kind and considerate and the world is a darker place without them.”
Rump occasionally pulled himself away from the bar to counsel people on the patio, the drag performer said, and every Thursday night, he signed up for karaoke. He was a passionate singer, if not a technically talented one, and he sang the same off-key version of “Runaway Train” every week. He somehow never learned all the words to the Soul Asylum classic, the performer said, but that didn’t matter.
“He would take the mic and go right to the middle of the dance floor,” the drag performer recalled. “He always missed the first word, then from there, it was him and the song playing catch-up very loudly and proudly.”
Rump wasn’t a drag performer himself, but last month he agreed to try it.
Before the pandemic, the bar often had lines around the block, but it has struggled over the past few years. Some nights, only a dozen or so people came. The small crowd gave the bar a homey feel — patrons often hung out and played Uno together — but the workers were looking for a way to draw in more customers, and they figured new entertainment might help. Many performers left the bar or the business entirely during the pandemic, and most weeks this year, the same five drag queens entertained people five nights a week.
Rump’s friend decided to create “Let’s Do Drag,” a new Sunday night event to recruit and train new performers. The first week, hardly anyone signed up. Drag can be expensive and daunting, and people seemed nervous to dive in. But in early October, Rump said he’d give it a go.
He borrowed a wig and a dress, and a friend painted his face with black lipstick and turquoise eye shadow. Rump didn’t want anyone to see him before the show, but he teased his friends with peeks at the details on Snapchat. His wig was platinum blonde, his dress black and sequined.
When showtime came, Rump didn’t know how to walk in his high-heeled boots, so he wobbled toward the stage until he could strut.
“He was having the time of his life,” the performer said. “I’ve never seen him so sassy in my life, and he was already pretty sassy.”
Afterward, Rump and all his friends cried backstage.
“It was such a powerful night,” the performer said. “He got a lot of people to try drag. I had people signing up left and right after that.”
Rump grew up in Berks County, Pa. Tracy Hampton met Rump there 15 years ago when they both worked for a small mailing company. Hampton said Rump helped her grieve the loss of her daughter.
“Derrick was the sweetest soul I ever knew, and like a second son to me,” she said. “He always had a smile ready for everyone. He made friends very easily.”
When Rump moved from Pennsylvania to Colorado, Hampton said she felt lost without him, but they stayed in touch, and she talked to him a few days before his death.
“I’m just glad the last thing I got to tell him was that I love him,” she said.
Rump had been living in Colorado Springs for at least a decade. The city is about an hour’s drive from Denver, and it’s home to a tightknit queer community, mostly people who fled more conservative areas for LGBTQ-friendly Colorado, only to find that the rents in Denver were too expensive.
The past few years had been hard on that community, the performer said. None of the other tragedies made the news, but some people lost homes, and other people lost people. Rump had endured his own string of losses, but he was reluctant to ask others for help. Instead, he found solace in stepping in for other people.
In that way, he leaves what many described as an unfillable hole. He is the person they most need to guide them through this time, they said.
Even if he didn’t know what to do, he often stepped up and acted as if he did. For a gay man, he was a decidedly “not decorative” person — his Christmas stocking was the only one without glitter on it last year — but he often volunteered to help decorate. And when people lost their homes, he took them shopping and paid for everything.
Maybe he wouldn’t know now how they’re supposed to move on, friends said, but he would have found a way to lead them.
“Derek had a tough-love attitude with everything,” said Alex Gallagher, a regular who left Club Q about 20 minutes before the shooting began. “If he saw me crying right now he’d probably tell me to stop crying, to stop being so dramatic. We loved that about him.”
Ari Schneider, Molly Hennessy-Fiske, Maham Javaid, Cate Brown and Alice R. Crites contributed to this report.
Mass shooting at Club Q in Colorado
The latest: A day after the 22-year-old man who allegedly opened fire inside an LGBTQ nightclub was preliminarily charged with murder and hate crimes, investigators continued seeking a motive Tuesday behind the nation’s most recent mass shooting.
Remembering the victims: Officials on Monday identified the five victims killed in the Colorado Springs shooting. Their names are Daniel Aston, Raymond Green Vance, Kelly Loving, Ashley Paugh and Derrick Rump. Here’s how to help family members of the victims and survivors of the Club Q shooting.
Stopping the shooter: An Army veteran who was at the nightclub to celebrate a friend’s birthday with his family disarmed and subdued the gunman. Here’s how the Club Q shooting unfolded.
The suspect: The suspect, Anderson Lee Aldrich, faces five murder charges and five charges of committing a bias-motivated crime causing bodily injury, city spokesman Max D’Onofrio said. Prosecutors will later file former charges. Records show that Aldrich changed his name at age 15, obscuring a a tumultuous past.
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