April’s Disco-Lounge - S. Front St.

By the late ’70’s, downtown Wilmington was an interzone. Higher commerce had pulled anchor, and what remained were the less economically mobile, the ever hopefuls, and those just out for a good time.

Keith DeLancey recalls:

April’s Disco-Lounge was an amazing supernova that quickly imploded on Front Street. My brother and I were across the street illegally drinking at the Barbary Coast (pre-Blue Velvet when it was still a dive). We looked across the street and thought we were seeing things…a crazed over the top be-fishnetted sex fiend of indeterminate gender was standing on the corner in front of “April’s” and lewdly gyrating to traffic and encouraging anyone into the bar. Of course, my brother and I went over right away.

Come to find out, the gyrator was none other than April him/herself. She had this other very quiet polite fishnetted sidekick who was clearly female. April asked my age and I told her the truth…15-ish. She said I could have one drink, then we should leave. However, she soon said that someone had bought a round for the house and that I had to stay to finish the new beer. That led to many more, and she decided to let us stay.

The only other people in the bar were marines. They were very nice, and not harrassing the transexual at all. A true lovefest. It was like everyone was on ecstacy without being on ecstacy. Well, as time wore on … it was clear that April was running a flagrant prostitution ring. The sidekick kept taking marines in the back room area for…whatever. Then … April (who had the look of Tim Curry and the attitude of Divine) sat at our table. She kept referring to my brother and I as “queen”. “I tell you what, queen, this is hard work down here.”

Well, then the most outrageous part. She didn’t try to hustle us into purchasing her services … but she encouraged us to go into business with her. She said that a greek ship was sailing into port the following week (and she wasn’t speaking metaphorically), and that she could help us make alot of money. Basically, she was offering us prostitute commission. Well, we chuckled, had more beers and listened to her rave. (Obviously, we didn’t take her up on the offer. I’m seedy, but not THAT seedy!)

The joint was quiclkly closed down after that. I’m not sure what happened to April. Front Street that night was like living in a Charles Bukowski novel or a Tom Waits song.