The shooter who killed five people and injured 19 others at an LGBTQ+ club that was a refuge in the conservative city of Colorado Springs pleaded guilty to 50 federal hate crime charges on Tuesday, but once again declined to apologize or say anything to the victims’ families.

Prosecutors nevertheless highlighted the importance of Anderson Lee Aldrich finally being forced to take responsibility for the hatred toward LGBTQ+ people that they say motivated the mass shooting. As part of the plea agreement, Aldrich repeatedly admitted on Tuesday to evidence of hatred.

“The admission that these were hate crimes is important to the government, and it’s important to the community of Club Q,” said prosecutor Alison Connaughty.

By targeting Club Q, Aldrich attacked a place that was much more than a bar, Connaughty added.

“It’s a special gathering place for anyone who needed community and anyone who needed that safe place,” she said. “We met people who said ‘this venue saved my life and I was able to feel normal again.’”

Aldrich, 24, is already serving life in prison after pleading guilty to state charges in the 2022 shooting last year. Federal prosecutors focused on proving that the attack at Club Q — a sanctuary for LGBTQ+ people in the mostly conservative city — was premeditated and fueled by bias.

U.S. District Judge Charlotte Sweeney, the first openly gay federal judge in Colorado, was hearing victim testimony before deciding whether to accept the sentencing agreement, which would avoid the death penalty, instead recommending 50 life sentences for the hate crimes plus a total of 190 years on gun charges and other counts.

Aldrich, appearing in an orange prison uniform with his head shaved and wrists handcuffed, declined to speak at the sentencing, and his attorney David Kraut made no explicit mention of hate or bias in his comments. Kraut said there’s no singular explanation for why Aldrich carried out the shooting, but he mentioned childhood trauma, a sometimes abusive mother, online extremism, drug use and access to guns as factors that “combined to increase the risk that Anderson would engage in extreme violence.”

Defense attorneys in the state case had pushed back against hate as a motivation, arguing that Aldrich was drugged up on cocaine and medication at the time. In phone calls from jail with The Associated Press last year, Aldrich didn’t answer directly when asked whether the attack was motivated by hate, saying only, that’s “completely off base,” and ultimately pleaded no contest to the state hate crime charges, which is short of admitting guilt.

Connaughty said investigators uncovered evidence of Aldrich’s hate for the LGBTQ+ community that included two websites created by Aldrich to post hate-related content, a target found inside the defendant’s house with a rainbow ring that had bullets in it and the defendant’s sharing of recordings of 911 calls from the 2016 killing of 49 people at the gay-friendly Pulse nightclub in Orlando, Florida,.

Aldrich also studied other mass shootings, accumulated weapons, shared an online manifesto from a mass shooter who referred to transgenderism as a “disease,” and coordinated a spam email campaign against a former work supervisor who is gay, the prosecutor said.

According to other evidence prosecutors presented to support their sentencing recommendation, Aldrich spent over $9,000 on weapons-related purchases from at least 56 vendors between September 2020 and the attack on Nov. 19, 2022. A hand drawn map of Club Q with an entry and exit point marked was found inside Aldrich’s apartment, along with a black binder of training material entitled “How to handle an active shooter.”

Defense attorneys in the state case said Aldrich is nonbinary, and uses they/them pronouns. But that was rejected by some of the victims as well as the district attorney who prosecuted Aldrich in state court, who called it an effort to avoid hate crime charges.

They include Ashtin Gamblin, who worked the front door that night and remains in physical therapy after being shot nine times. A true member of the LGBTQ+ community would know about the discrimination and the mental health challenges they face and wouldn’t attack its members in such a sanctuary, she said ahead of the hearing.

“We deserve to be safe and go in public and actually survive being in public,” Gamblin told the judge on Tuesday, speaking with her husband by her side, putting a supportive hand on her shoulder.

Gamblin’s mother also spoke, describing how her daughter buried her face in a friend’s blood in hopes of avoiding being shot, and then was taken to a hospital in an ambulance shared by the handcuffed killer. Both mother and daughter as well as other victims said they would prefer Aldrich get the death penalty.

Aldrich visited the club at least eight times before the attack, including stopping by an hour and a half before the shooting, according to prosecutors. Just before midnight, Aldrich returned wearing a tactical vest with ballistic plates and carrying an AR-15 style rifle and started firing immediately. Aldrich killed the first person in the entryway, shot at bartenders and customers at the bar and then moved onto the dance floor, pausing to reload the rifle’s magazine.

“The defendant was able to level everyone,” Connaughty said, adding that Aldrich fired 60 rounds in less than a minute. “The defendant emptied the magazine. The defendant was prepared to inflict the maximum amount of damage in the minimum amount of time.”

The shooting was stopped by a Navy officer who grabbed the barrel of the suspect’s rifle, burning his hand, and an Army veteran who helped subdue Aldrich until police arrived, authorities have said.

There had been a chance to prevent such violence: Aldrich was arrested in June 2021, accused of threatening their grandparents and vowing to become “the next mass killer ″ while stockpiling weapons, body armor and bomb-making materials. But Aldrich’s mother and grandparents refused to cooperate, and prosecutors failed to serve subpoenas to family members that could have kept the case alive, so the charges were eventually dismissed.

Aldrich, who will be returned to state prison after the hearing, was being sentenced federally under the Matthew Shepard and James Byrd Jr. Hate Crimes Prevention Act, which expanded federal law in 2009 to include crimes motivated by sexual orientation, gender identity or disability.

A mass shooting inside a popular LGBTQ nightclub more than 30 years after Colorado earned its “hate state” moniker raised questions over whether Colorado Springs could resolve its legacy as a place of faith-infused conservatism, where the queer community did not mesh with the most vocal leaders’ idea of family values.

Now, a new central hub, called the Prism Community Collective, intends to build a sense of belonging and reflect the open-ended needs of people who survived the Club Q shooting in 2022 and others in the city’s LGBTQ community.

“It’s kind of putting them in the driver’s seat to figure out what the next steps are and what their journey looks like,” Prism site director Stoney Roberts said. “And that can be playing PlayStation for a couple hours during the week, that could be coming to get clothes that affirm you or that you don’t have access to, or being able to take a therapy appointment here in a safe environment.”

The center was formed after 18 months of conversation with the queer community following an attack that left five people dead, 18 others wounded and shattered the little sense of safety that some felt. 

“With a community that’s been so under-resourced and so underserved, it was important to allow folks the grace to come to us whenever they were ready. And I think this year and a half has really been that,” Roberts said. 

The need for community connection and sense of belonging were top requests, he said. The center will also help people access a range of resources, including counseling and gender-affirming care.

Colorful stars, many of them painted by Club Q survivors, line a doorway in the front of the center, one with the message: “You are not alone.” Several rooms inside the building are named after the lives lost in the Nov. 19, 2022, shooting: Daniel Aston, Derrick Rump, Ashley Paugh, Kelly Loving and Raymond Vance Green. 

One room, called the gender-affirming closet, offers a place for people who identify as trans or nonbinary and may not feel comfortable shopping in public, to try on and take donated clothes home for free. People can read in the “Lavender Library,” where donated books about LGBTQ issues line rainbow-colored shelves. 

First photo: Goddess puts donated books on the shelf of Prism Community Collective’s Lavender Library. Second photo“Stars of Hope,” many of which were created by Club Q survivors, decorate the walls of Prism Community Collective during an open house celebration May 22, 2024. .(Mark Reis, Special to The Colorado Sun)

Roberts said he found his queer identity at Club Q, one of the few places he could go to connect with people like him. But as a recovering alcoholic, he found himself looking for more sober queer-friendly spaces. 

Being queer and Black, he also remembers the struggle to feel heard by a primary care doctor in the city.

“It was something that, for a while, was just very daunting to navigate,” Roberts said.

Prism also offers a free online database designed to connect people with inclusive health care professionals who prioritize LGBTQ+ people and their needs.

The story behind the name “Prism” highlights the staff’s commitment to reflect the needs of the community, Roberts said. 

“We’re listening, we’re learning,” he said. “This is a two-way mirror — we’re looking and folks are looking back and we need to make that a collaborative process.”

“A place where we can live our truth”

In developing Prism, organizers had to be open to criticism, lean into discomfort and center community voices to understand the flaws in the existing systems designed to support the LGBTQ community, said Amber Ptak, CEO of Colorado Springs-based nonprofit Community Health Partnership.

“We have to learn how to take accountability as leaders for the failed systems that we perpetuate every single day,” Ptak said during an open house for Prism last month.

In the aftermath of the Club Q shooting, a group of people began meeting to talk about the need for greater access for resources for the queer community and possibly resurrecting a pride center that was shuttered in 2015, leaving a gaping hole in the region, said Rachel Keener, the nonprofit’s LGBTQIA2+ Health Equity Project Manager. 

The acronym in Keener’s title is for lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, queer and/or questioning, intersex, asexual, two-spirit and other affirmative ways people choose to self-identify.

The group advocated for something different from a resiliency center, which are often created in communities after major traumatic events, like in Aurora following the 2012 theater shooting. 

First photo: Jo V Killian, left, and Ash Kruse join others during Prism Community Collective’s open house celebration. Second photo: Attendees play a game in the Lavender Library. (Mark Reis, Special to The Colorado Sun)

“I think this community is really resilient, they’ve been resilient, they’ve continued to be resilient,” Roberts said. “But the truth is, they shouldn’t have to be resilient in the face of some of these barriers, in terms of access and things of that nature. So this is a space where a community can be empowered to access the things that they need.” 

That group, made entirely of LGBTQ+ people, also helped create questions for a survey that was distributed online and in a more accessible print format. The data, which will be made available to the public online, will help the Community Health Partnership advocate for resources and funds, Keener said. 

The nonprofit, which is the lead sponsor of Prism, has hired four staff members, including a Club Q survivor, who will guide the work at the center and gather feedback to continue addressing community needs. The center is funded primarily through state, federal and private grants. 

I also just love being queer. I think it’s one of the best things in life. This is a place where we can live our truth and we can be the colorful people that we are.

— Sarah Banta, community resource specialist

Sarah Banta, a community resource specialist at the center, said she grew up dreaming of a place like Prism after realizing the spaces she could feel accepted in her hometown of Colorado Springs were few and far between. 

She said she believed people in Colorado Springs had the capacity to create a safe space and organized a support group for the queer community to come together.

“When I found out about Prism, I just wanted to be here so badly because it’s something I dreamed of my whole life. I think it’s super important for us to have sober spaces as queer people,” Banta said. 

“I also just love being queer. I think it’s one of the best things in life,” she said. “This is a place where we can live our truth and we can be the colorful people that we are.”

By Colleen Slevin, The Associated Press

The shooter who killed five people and endangered the lives of over 40 others at an LGBTQ+ nightclub in Colorado Springs plans to plead guilty to new federal charges for hate crimes and firearm violations under an agreement that would allow the defendant to avoid the death penalty, according to court documents made public Tuesday.

Anderson Aldrich, 23, made a deal with prosecutors to plead guilty to 50 hate crime charges and 24 firearm violations, the documents show. Aldrich would get multiple life sentences in addition to a 190-year sentence under the plea agreement, which needs a judge’s approval.

The plea agreement was unsealed after Aldrich had pleaded not guilty in court during an initial appearance on Tuesday afternoon. The gun charges can carry a maximum penalty of death.

Aldrich was sentenced to life in prison last June after pleading guilty to state charges of murder and 46 counts of attempted murder — one for each person at Club Q during the attack on Nov. 19, 2022.

Word of the new charges and planned agreement come just days after federal prosecutors revealed they would seek the death penalty in another hate crime case — against a white supremacist who killed 10 Black people at a supermarket in Buffalo, New York. The decision doesn’t change Attorney General Merrick Garland’s moratorium to halt federal executions, but opens a new chapter in the long and complicated history of the death penalty in the U.S.

Aldrich, who is nonbinary and uses they/them pronouns, also pleaded no contest to state charges for hate crimes under a plea agreement. The plea was an acknowledgment there was a good chance Aldrich would be convicted of those crimes without admitting guilt. The pleas carried the same weight as a conviction.

For Tuesday’s hearing, Aldrich appeared by video and was represented by David Kraut with the federal public defender’s office. Telephone and email messages left with Kraut’s office were not immediately returned.

One victim’s dad responds to the charges

Jeff Aston, whose son Daniel Aston was shot and killed in the attack, listened remotely to the hearing and said he was shocked to hear Aldrich plead not guilty.
“This was a hateful, stupid, heinous and cowardly act,” Aston said. “The closest thing to justice that I would like to see is that he has to suffer as much as the suffering he’s caused for so many victims and family members.”

Onstage, Daniel Aston was known for his knee-slides and described himself as the “Master of Silly Business.” After the shooting, his parents said he found Club Q to be a safe place to be a trans man and a drag queen.

The federal charges follow an FBI investigation into the shooting that was confirmed after Aldrich’s sentencing in state court. At the time, Colorado Springs area District Attorney Michael Allen said the threat of the death penalty in the federal system was a “big part of what motivated the defendant” to plead guilty to the state charges.

Aldrich declined to speak at the sentencing hearing in state court, and haven’t said why they hung out at the club, then went outside and returned dressed in body armor. Aldrich began firing an AR-15-style rifle as soon as they came back in.

Prosecutors say Aldrich had visited the club at least six times before that night and that Aldrich’s mother had forced them to go.

In a series of telephone calls from jail, Aldrich told The Associated Press they were on a “very large plethora of drugs” and abusing steroids at the time of the attack. When asked whether the attack was motivated by hate, Aldrich said that was “completely off base.”

The district attorney called those statements self-serving and characterized the assertion as ringing hollow. He said Aldrich’s claim of being nonbinary is part of an effort to avoid hate crime charges, saying there was no evidence of Aldrich identifying as nonbinary before the shooting.

Shooter now housed in Wyoming State Penitentiary

During hearings in the state case in February, prosecutors said Aldrich administered a website that posted a “neo-Nazi white supremacist” shooting training video. A police detective also testified that online gaming friends said Aldrich expressed hatred for the police, LBGTQ+ people and minorities, and used racist and homophobic slurs. One said that Aldrich sent an online message with a photo of a rifle trained on a gay pride parade.

The attack shattered the sense of safety at Club Q, which served as a refuge for the city’s LGBTQ+ community. The shooting was stopped by a Navy officer who grabbed the barrel of the suspect’s rifle, burning his hand, and an Army veteran helped subdue and beat Aldrich until police arrived, authorities said.

The 2022 attack came more than a year after Aldrich was arrested for threatening their grandparents and vowing to become “the next mass killer ” while stockpiling weapons, body armor and bomb-making materials.

Those charges were eventually dismissed after Aldrich’s mother and grandparents refused to cooperate with prosecutors.

Last year Aldrich was moved to the Wyoming State Penitentiary due to safety concerns about the high-profile case, according to Alondra Gonzalez, spokesperson for the Colorado Department of Corrections.

_
Associated Press writers Jesse Bedayn contributed from Denver and Matthew Brown contributed from Billings, Montana.

COLORADO SPRINGS — Moments before the hate-filled attack at Club Q last year, that Nov. 19 evening was just like any other of the 1,042 Saturday nights the beloved club was open. 

Derrick Rump was leading the night shift, slinging drinks behind the bar alongside Daniel Aston, who had just finished his shift and was helping another employee with the computer near the door. It was Raymond Green Vance’s first time at Club Q to watch a drag show with his girlfriend’s family. Ashley Paugh, an ally to the LGBTQ community, came to enjoy a drink. Kelly Loving, who was visiting Colorado Springs for the first time on a trip from Memphis, had just arrived.

On the one-year mark of the mass shooting, hundreds of people gathered Sunday outside of the club in Colorado Springs to honor those five, who were killed in the attack, the 18 people injured and a community forever changed in the rampage that lasted less than a minute. 

A flag with rainbow stripes and colors of black and brown — to represent marginalized LGBTQ people of color — fluttered above the building against a colorless, cloudy sky. 

Matthew Haynes opened Club Q more than 20 years ago, when the city’s only gay club was on the verge of closing and Haynes and his friends still needed a place to go. Over two decades, 160 bartenders served drinks inside the Club, thousands of entertainers graced its stages and tens of thousands of people crossed through its doors, Haynes said. 

“Many, like me, were closeted, questioning, uncertain and scared,” Haynes said at Sunday’s memorial event. “Once inside, we found a welcome face, a hug, friends. Lifelong friendships, partnerships, marriages, all have come from passing through these doors.” 

Families of victims, survivors and community members hugged in the club’s parking lot, some teary-eyed and with rainbow flags draped over their shoulders and “Club Q Strong” pins attached to their coats. 

With a round of applause, the crowd honored the three people who confronted the shooter, saving countless lives. John Thomas was the first to confront the shooter and was shot in the chest as he fought alone for more than 30 seconds, before Richard Fierro joined and the two fought for six more minutes. Then, a transwoman joined and kicked the shooter with her high heels.  

In the wake of the shooting, Haynes said thousands of people from across the country visited to show support for the community. On Friday, the city of Colorado Springs approved plans for a permanent memorial, which will consist of five columns and 17 boulders, along with benches for people to sit and reflect, Haynes said. 

Colorado Springs, a city with a reputation for its religion-infused conservatism, has come a long way, but more work must be done to create inclusive spaces, Mayor Yemi Mobolade said. 

Survivors of the Club Q shooting and family members stand during a moment of silence to honor a Progress pride flag in Colorado Springs, one year after the shooting at the club that killed five people. (Olivia Sun, The Colorado Sun via Report for America)

“We must do better. We will do better. We will work to expel hate, we will address mental health and we will work together toward acceptance, inclusion, and creating a city where everyone feels safe, accepted and welcomed,” said Mobolade, who moved to Colorado Springs in 2010 to start a church. “Colorado Springs has come a long way and we acknowledge we still have work to do.”

What can I do, now that you’re gone? Now that you’ve moved to that great beyond?
My bicycle wheel has lost its spokes, no one’s here to laugh at my dad jokes.
You lit up the room with your smile and wit, you and Club Q made a good fit.
But random bullets from an angry man took away all of your dreams and plans.
Now all that loved you must make a new start, with your light to guide us within our hearts.

— Jeff Aston, sharing a poem he wrote for his son, Daniel who was killed in the Club Q attack

John Suthers, who was mayor on the day of the attack, remembered the shooting and its aftermath as his “darkest days” as mayor. 

“As a community, we must never forget what happened here,” Suthers said Sunday. “We owe it to those who died here and suffered here. My hope today is the same as it was a year ago, that our community will not let it be defined by the depraved acts of a sociopath, but rather by the ways it continues to respond to this tragedy with love.” 

U.S. Sen. John Hickenlooper and Gov. Jared Polis spoke Sunday and a letter from Vice President Kamala Harris was read.

“It’s easy at times to feel overwhelmed by all the hate that’s out there. But I hope that on this anniversary, we see it instead as an opportunity to double down on hope and love. I think that that is really the best way to honor Raymond, Kelly, Daniel, Derrick and Ashley and keep their memories with us,” said Polis, the country’s first elected openly gay governor.

On Monday, Community Health Partnership and Bread and Roses Legal Center will host an event for Transgender Day of Remembrance with speakers Colorado State Poet Laureate Andrea Gibson, Wyatt Kent, who was Aston’s boyfriend and drag performer, and others supporting the LGBTQ community.

The event will honor Aston, one of the club’s beloved bartenders killed in the attack, and Loving, who was visiting Club Q on a weekend trip from Memphis.

Since 2013, at least 334 transgender and gender non-conforming people have been killed across the country, according to data shared from New York City-based nonprofit Human Rights Watch. Nearly 70% of them were killed with a gun, the nonprofit reported. 

It was at Club Q where Svetlana Heim, a survivor of the attack, had one of her first dates with a woman. She remembered going up to bartender Derrick Rump to ask if the two looked good together and if it looked like the date was going well.

He told her to ask her date herself, Heim said, remembering the start of her friendship with Rump, whom she often went to for honest advice and someone she looked up to like “an older sibling.”

Heim, 25, found herself at Club Q at least once a week, before she got a job as a “shot girl,” making and selling Jell-O shots and helping the bartenders. It was a job that helped her embrace her physical appearance, ease her social anxiety and come out of her shell, she told The Colorado Sun before Sunday’s ceremony. 

“That job helped me feel good about myself — you could literally see it if you saw the first week of me working as a shot girl and the last — I was dressed wildly different because I was starting to get more comfortable in my own skin,” Heim said. “Every week, Daniel and Derrick would hype me up.”

Heim has since got a new bartending gig working alongside two other Club Q survivors, who help remind her she is not alone on the hard days. When she stands behind the bar, her mind often drifts to her bartending friends, Aston and Rump, and she smiles. 

“Even though it has been a really rough year, I think for literally anybody involved no matter their victim or survivor status, I know we will heal from this and it is just going to take time,” Heim said. 

“You just have to trust that process. It’s a hard pill to swallow to realize that only time can heal this one.”

Waves of grief wash over Deanna Van Scyoc, changing her mood day to day, minute to minute. 

A sudden “bang,” the sound of gunfire on the TV or a social media post reminding her of her friends, Daniel Aston and Derrick Rump, bring Van Scyoc back to the night a year ago when she hid for her life, crouched under a pool table in Club Q and watched a shooter spray bullets across the dance floor where she once felt safe and free to be herself. 

For 12 minutes and 21 seconds, she relayed the horror to a 911 dispatcher as she put pressure on a friend’s chest where a bullet had struck him.

Almost a year has passed since Nov. 19, 2022, when a normal Saturday night turned deadly at a beloved LGBTQ Colorado Springs club filled with regulars there to catch up and strangers who came to dance, drink and play pool. 

Five people were killed and at least 18 more were injured by bullets, debris or shattered glass. Life for survivors has been forever changed by the hate-filled attack. And the community still mourns the loss of a rare haven in a region with a tumultuous history for embracing the queer community. 

For Van Scyoc, 49, the past year has been filled with therapy and phone calls with friends and survivors to help remind her she is not alone. 

Club Q was her second home, where she went several times a week to host trivia, listen to karaoke or watch drag shows on the weekends. On slow nights, she sat at the bar talking about life with a close-knit group of regulars who felt like family.

The night of the shooting, she had just finished playing pool and was minutes from heading home, when a woman she had never met before asked her to play another game. Instead of closing her tab at the front of the club, where the shooter walked inside wearing tactical gear and carrying an AR-15, she ducked for cover behind the pool table.

She met that stranger again for the first time since the attack in late June, outside a courtroom in downtown Colorado Springs, moments before the shooter pleaded guilty and was sentenced to life in prison.

“She ran over and gave me the biggest hug and said, ‘Thank you, you saved my life.’ I said, ‘No, I didn’t save your life, you saved mine,’” Van Scyoc said. “She gave me the biggest hug I’ve had in a long time.”

The sentencing hearing marked the end of one painful chapter for victims’ families and survivors, but for many, the path toward healing has just begun. 

Through the heavy sadness, Van Scyoc can see the way the attack has bound her community together.

“Senseless acts of hate aren’t going to change who we are. They’re not going to make us hide,” she said. “Our community is still going to thrive and that if anything, this has actually made us stronger.” 

“We are more resolute. We are more impassioned than ever to stand up and speak out to protect each other.” 

To mark one year since the attack, Club Q is holding a ceremony outside the building at noon Sunday to remember the two beloved bartenders Aston, 28, and Rump 38, and Raymond Green Vance, 22, Ashley Paugh, 35, and Kelly Loving, 40. 

Aston’s parents, Sabrina and Jeff, are expected to attend, as is Gov. Jared Polis and Colorado Springs Mayor Yemi Mobolade. 

After, the survivors and families of those lost in the attack will tidy up the memorial space outside of the club, which has been shuttered since the shooting. On Monday, Transgender Day of Remembrance, a vigil and call to action will honor the lives of Loving and Aston at noon at Acacia Park at 115 E. Platte Ave.

Trying to fix “a very broken system”

Rainbow teddy bears, colorful pins from Club Q’s drag performers, handwritten notes from friends and other mementos clutter a shelf inside Ashtin Gamblin’s home in Colorado Springs, reminding her of the love and support she felt in the year since the shooting. 

Near the edge sits a pair of rainbow-colored sunglasses she wore the last night she stood at Club Q’s door before the shooter shot her nine times in the arms and breasts. 

“That was a safe space for me, that wasn’t a job. I got paid to hang out with my friends,” she said Thursday, remembering the random shimmy or twerk she did with the bartenders when she would catch their eyes from behind the bar.

Now, she likes to stay busy working from home, volunteering for VictimsFirst, a nonprofit helping victims of mass shootings, and taking care of her two dogs — Trigger, a German shepherd, and Balto, a husky — and five cats. 

The U.S. has a history of once the media attention stops, the world stops to care.

— Ashtin Gamblin, Club Q survivor who was shot nine times while working the door

“I am one of those people that’s never been able to, even with funerals, take a lot of time off work because I just sit in my thoughts,” said Gamblin, 30. “I’d much rather distract myself.”

She’s trying to “fix a very broken system,” advocating for more mental health resources in the community and getting better training for first responders who work at LGBTQ hate crimes, like using a person’s correct pronouns and avoiding deadnaming someone, she said. 

“The U.S. has a history of once the media attention stops, the world stops to care,” Gamblin said. “And there are many things with Club Q that should be vocalized, that we need to fix.”

“Why is this community that was in its space actually attacked? We were in our own space, but what laws could have helped us?”

The attack also put a pause on her and her husband’s plans to start a family. The couple wanted to start trying for kids when he was scheduled to come back from his deployment, a week after the shooting.  

“There’s a lot of hesitancy with me,” she said, explaining her fear of the potential gun violence inside a public school system. “I don’t know that I want to bring a child into this world just to shelter them from things because of my fear.”

Moving forward

For John Arcediano, the past year has been a slow shedding of an old self he felt he lost the night of the attack and embracing the new person he is becoming. 

After a 15-year career in the restaurant industry, public spaces with large crowds are now triggering for him. When he steps into an unfamiliar place, his eyes dart toward the nearest exits and he maps out a safety plan. 

On the night of the attack he was on the patio, where he rarely spent time while at Club Q, when he heard three distinct pops and assumed it was the stereo system malfunctioning. As he walked toward the front door, he made eye contact with the shooter and froze. A bullet ricocheted off the door before glass exploded on him. 

“The best way to describe being a survivor is being stuck in that moment for the rest of your life and never being able to climb your way out of it and catch up with the rest of the world,” said Arcediano, 36. “The rest of the world kept moving after the incident, but we were all stuck in a moment in time and we’ve been playing catch-up ever since.”

He has since moved into a new advocacy role with nonprofit Community Health Partnership, working with others to bring more resources and create more inclusive and safe spaces for LGBTQ people in Colorado Springs.

In the immediate aftermath of the shooting, Arcediano remembers feeling supported by the pride flags fluttering across the city and displayed in people’s homes and front lawns, and then grew disheartened as he watched people tear them down. 

So at the end of the day, how can you heal in a space that is already not accepting of your lifestyle and is criticizing you every step of the way? And the answer is, it’s hard. It is really hard.

— John Arcediano, Club Q survivor

“It created a really big controversial divide, specifically in the Springs community between the supporting and the not supporting,” he said, “and because we have such a conservative-valued city, it’s really created a culture that the queer community here does not feel comfortable.”

“So at the end of the day, how can you heal in a space that is already not accepting of your lifestyle and is criticizing you every step of the way? And the answer is, it’s hard. It is really hard.”

Last month, staff of Club Q announced the club will reopen at “The Q” inside the Satellite Hotel in southeastern Colorado Springs. An opening date hasn’t been announced. 

Local bars have welcomed the queer community, but Van Scyoc is still looking for a space to fill the hole Club Q left and a place for the LGBTQ community to call their own. 

“In the end, Club Q was just a building. It was the people that made it what it was, but not having what was a safe space to just openly be ourselves and be together — I think that is the hardest part,” she said. 

“When a queer community loses their queer space, going into straight bars never feels the same. No matter how welcoming they are, it’s still just not the same.”

COLORADO SPRINGS — An hour before shots rang out at Club Q in November, leaving five people dead and more than a dozen others wounded, Ashtin Gamblin had a fleeting conversation with Anderson Lee Aldrich.

As the self-described “door girl” for the LGBTQ+ nightclub in Colorado Springs, Gamblin took Aldrich’s entry fee and gave the then-22-year-old a wristband.

Aldrich left the club but later returned — this time wearing tactical gear and wielding multiple weapons. 

“I was nice as can be, made jokes, smiled, laughed,” Gamblin said in a news conference following Aldrich’s sentencing Monday. “Like an hour later I was getting shot by him with no regard for my life.”

Gamblin and other Club Q victims shared their stories of survival, some for the first time, after Aldrich pleaded guilty in the Nov. 19 attack and was sentenced by El Paso County District Judge Michael McHenry to five consecutive life terms in prison without the possibility of parole. It was victims’ first, and possibly only, chance to directly confront Aldrich, now 23. 

Speaking in court and at a news conference after the hearing, victims said they had lasting trauma from the attack. Gamblin’s mom purchased guard dogs and began obsessively calling her daughter. A drag performer who organized a show at the club the night of the attack said sound has become a “personal enemy” and that balloons popping and thunder now cause panic attacks. Another survivor said he’s afraid to go to the grocery store and gas stations.  

Gamblin was shot nine times by Aldrich. She survived by playing dead and hiding behind the body of a coworker, 28-year-old Daniel Aston, who was killed in the shooting.

During the victim impact statements, Gamblin told the court that after the shooter had been subdued by Club Q patrons, she tried desperately to call her husband, who was overseas on a military deployment. In a voicemail she played in court Monday, she could be heard yelling his name repeatedly before hanging up. 

“I kind of wish this was a death penalty state, not because I want him to die but I would like him to sit in a jail cell not knowing when he’s going to die and what his last breath might be,” she said.

“This was deliberate”

Drea Norman was standing by Kelly Loving, 40, one of the five people killed in the shooting, when Aldrich entered the club. 

Once the shots rang out, Norman dropped to the floor and began crawling to find safety. Norman passed another victim, 22-year-old Raymond Green Vance. He was unresponsive.

After the shots stopped, Norman began searching for loved ones in the chaotic club and saw Richard Fierro and Thomas James, two Club Q patrons, holding Aldrich down. They shouted for help because the shooter was starting to crawl away. Norman responded by stomping on Aldrich’s head at least 10 times.

“This was deliberate,” Norman told the judge of the attack, saying that Aldrich seemed excited during the shooting spree. 

Fierro took his opportunity at the courtroom microphone to talk directly to Aldrich, whose head is covered in scars from the counterattack by Fierro, Norman and James. 

“Every time you see the back of your head be reminded, somebody will get you,” he said. 

Another victim, Ed Sanders, said he was shot in his back and leg during the attack. He talked about the ongoing pain and work he does to care for himself and his injuries now.

“My heart goes on and my life goes on, but life isn’t the same,” Sanders, who started visiting Club Q in 2002, said in court. 

Also killed in the attack were Derrick Rump, 38, and Ashley Paugh, 35. The victims ranged in age from 22 to 40. Rump and Aston worked at Club Q.

Stephanie Clark, Paugh’s sister, recalled in court her 11-year-old niece being hopeful that Paugh would be found safe after the shooting. The young girl’s hope dissolved with cries of “no, no, no” and “please do something” after finding out her mother was gone.

“That is something I wish (Aldrich) would hear every day for the rest of his life,” Clark said. 

Alrich identifies as nonbinary and uses they/them pronouns, their lawyers have said.

Michael Anderson, who was bartending at Club Q on the night of the shooting, said Aldrich has “broken this community into pieces that may never be repaired. 

“This monster next to me decided to come into my job and our community safe space and begin hunting us down as if our lives were meaningless,” Anderson said in court. 

A federal court case may follow, Club Q will reopen

In a news conference following the sentencing, leaders from the community and victims commented on the sentencing.

“The threat of the death penalty in the federal system was a big part of what motivated this defendant to take this plea,” El Paso County District Attorney Michael Allen said. “Cases like this are why the death penalty should exist in the state of Colorado.”

Colorado abolished capital punishment in 2020.

At the news conference, the FBI announced it has opened an investigation into the shooting with the U.S. Attorney’s Office and the Civil Rights Division of the Department of Justice. 

That signals a federal hate crime prosecution may be coming. A federal conviction in the case could carry the death penalty, though the Biden administration hasn’t shown a willingness to pursue capital punishment. 

The El Paso County District Attorney’s Office said it will not release documents and video footage from the shooting given the pending federal case.

Matthew Haynes, an owner of Club Q, said at the news conference that the club will reopen in the same location in Colorado Springs. It will include a memorial to the shooting victims and a pride flag flying as high as possible along with metal detectors and “duck and hide areas.”

“This cannot be what defines Club Q in the 20 years of what it has been,” Haynes said. “This person, this act is not what’s going to end Club Q and prevent the next generation from having their safe space — their place to find their friends, their chosen family, their feeling of belonging.”

The Associated Press contributed to this report.

COLORADO SPRINGS —The 23-year-old accused of killing five people and injuring more than a dozen others in November at an LGBTQ nightclub in Colorado Springs will spend the rest of their life in prison after pleading guilty Monday in the attack, including to first-degree murder and attempted first-degree murder.

Anderson Lee Aldrich also pleaded “no contest” to two hate crime charges. 

Aldrich, handcuffed and wearing shackles, admitted to 53 total counts in the Club Q shooting in an El Paso County courtroom filled with victims of the shooting.

As part of the plea deal, Aldrich was sentenced to five consecutive terms of life in prison without the possibility of parole, which is mandatory for those who plead guilty to or are convicted of first-degree murder in Colorado. Aldrich also agreed to serve and was sentenced to 46 consecutive 48-year sentences — totaling 2,208 years — for the attempted first-degree murder counts.

“Guilty,” Aldrich calmly and repeatedly said at a courtroom lectern as they formally agreed to the plea deal. “I intentionally and after deliberation caused the death of each victim listed in those counts.”

El Paso District Judge Michael McHenry read the names of the people killed and injured in the shooting as Aldrich admitted guilt. Those killed were: Derrick Rump, Daniel Aston, Kelly Loving, Ashley Paugh and Raymond Green Vance. They ranged in age from 22 to 40. Rump and Aston worked at Club Q.

McHenry immediately moved to formally sentence Aldrich on Monday, and victims and survivors began to make tearful and forceful statements.

“Our family and friends will never be able to watch Daniel grow and enjoy so many milestones of life,” said Sabrina Aston, whose 28-year-old son was killed in the shooting. “You robbed him of ever fulfilling his dreams.”

Sniffs and sobs could be heard throughout the courtroom as the many victims listened to each other’s remarks. Some were shaking their heads and covering their faces. Tissues were being passed back and forth.

The guilty plea seven months after the attack is a remarkably fast resolution to the court proceedings after a mass shooting. It often takes years before a criminal case against a mass shooter is resolved in Colorado. The gunmen in the 2015 Planned Parenthood shooting in Colorado Springs and 2021 King Soopers shooting in Boulder, for instance, are still awaiting trial because of delays stemming from questions about their competency. 

But Aldrich, who was initially charged with more than 300 criminal counts in the Nov. 19 shooting, told The Associated Press in a recent interview from jail that they have “to take responsibility for what happened.”

The only way Aldrich, who is nonbinary and uses “they” and “them” as pronouns, could have prevented spending the rest of their life in prison was by mounting an insanity defense. Additionally, Aldrich’s attorneys have all but conceded that their client is guilty and Colorado abolished capital punishment in 2020, leaving little doubt about Aldrich’s fate. 

A “no contest” plea carries the same consequences as a guilty plea, though it lets a defendant avoid admitting guilt.

“Because of the evidence presented, I believe that there’s a high probability of being convicted at trial to those counts,” Aldrich said. “And so I’m pleading no contest.”

The guilty plea and sentencing Monday may not mark the end of the criminal proceedings against Aldrich. In a news conference after the hearing, the FBI announced it has also opened a federal investigation into the shooting with the U.S. Attorney’s Office and the Civil Rights Division of the Department of Justice. 

That signals a federal prosecution may be coming. A federal conviction in the case could carry the death penalty, though the Biden administration hasn’t shown a willingness to pursue capital punishment against defendants. 

The El Paso County District Attorney’s Office said it will not release documents and video footage from the shooting given the pending federal case.

Aldrich, whose head is covered in scars from being subdued by three Club Q patrons who stopped the rampage, provided no information on a motive. The suspect declined to address the court, but through their attorney said they were deeply sorry. Someone sitting in the courtroom gallery responded with an audible whisper: “bullshit.”

Aldrich showed little emotion during Monday’s hearing.

Victims of the shooting told Judge McHenry that their lives have been upended by the attack. Many are still dealing with physical and mental injuries. They deeply miss their loved ones who were killed at random. 

Adriana Vance, Raymond’s mother, said her son, 22, was “kind, loving and gentle.” She told the judge Monday that Aldrich “doesn’t deserve to go on.”

“What matters now is that he never sees the sunrise or sunset,” Adriana Vance said. 

Richard Fierro, an Army veteran who was at Club Q and helped stop Aldrich’s attack, looked directly at Aldrich while speaking during the sentencing phase of Monday’s hearing, calling the shooter a “terrorist.”

“I hope the words I shouted into the back of your head echo in your mind for the rest of your life,” Fierro said, referencing what he told the shooter on the night of the attack.

Raymond Vance was the boyfriend of Fierro’s daughter, Kassandra. She, too, was at Club Q the night of the attack but escaped with minor injuries.

“I will never be able to unsee my future laying in a casket before me,” Kassandra Fierro told the court Monday.

Matthew Haynes, one of the owners of Club Q, said he wasn’t at the club when the shooting happened but that he has watched surveillance camera recordings of the attacks many times. 

“This defendant went to Club Q several times before Nov. 19,” Haynes said. “You were served food and drinks by the very bartenders — Daniel, Derek — that you would later return and murder in cold blood. Your head carries the scars of our community fighting back. May every single time you look in the mirror you remember what you did.” 

El Paso County District Attorney Michael Allen told Judge McHenry that Aldrich’s attempts to express remorse ring hollow. 

“He knew exactly what he was doing and was clear-headed while doing it,” Allen said. “When first responders arrived on scene he immediately started blaming one of the patrons for carrying out the shooting.”

Allen said the weapons — an AR-15-style rifle and a handgun — Aldrich carried during the shooting are indications of deliberation: They were unserialized, so-called “ghost guns” with the exception of a handgun frame that had been purchased by the suspect’s mother in Florida.

“If not for the brave actions of three people, many more victims would have died inside Club Q on Nov. 19,” Allen said. “No amount of prison in a case like this comes close to being enough to repair the damage. This plea agreement achieves the highest measure of justice possible under the law in the state of Colorado.”

Authorities revealed during court proceedings earlier this year that Aldrich visited Club Q at least six times prior to the attack and that Aldrich had an aversion to the LGBTQ community. Surveillance footage showed that Aldrich entered the club about 10:15 p.m. on the night of the shooting, stayed for a few minutes, and then left before returning around midnight wearing a ballistic vest and carrying guns.

Aldrich opened fire immediately upon entering the club. The shooting stopped after Aldrich was subdued by Club Q patrons. Aldrich has been jailed since being arrested on the night of the shooting.

Aldrich was arrested by SWAT officers in 2021 after allegedly loading bullets into a Glock pistol and warning their frightened grandparents not to interfere with an elaborate plan to stockpile guns, ammo, body armor and a homemade bomb and commit mass violence. “You guys die today and I’m taking you with me,” Aldrich allegedly said, court documents show. “I’m loaded and ready.”

Aldrich also threatened to become the “next mass killer.” 

A judge dismissed the case against Aldrich in July 2022, however, after prosecutors were unable to serve subpoenas on witnesses, namely the suspect’s mother and grandparents. Aldrich petitioned for the case to be sealed when the charges were dropped, a request that was granted. 

Aldrich was banned from possessing or purchasing guns until the 2021 case was dismissed under a mandatory protection order that was issued by a judge. Authorities seized two firearms from Aldrich as part of the 2021 arrest: a pistol without a serial number, called a “ghost gun,” and an AR-15 style semi-automatic rifle. 

The weapons were never returned, but Aldrich was able to procure more guns elsewhere and use them to carry out the Nov. 19 attack on dancing clubgoers.

“When you commit a hate crime, you are targeting a group of people for their simple existence,” McHenry said before handing down the sentence. “Hate crimes are worse than other crimes. Like too many other people in our culture, you chose to find a power that day behind the trigger of a gun. Your actions reflect the deepest malice of the human heart.”

A New York woman has been indicted for making threats against Denver-area LGBTQ businesses in the days after five people were killed at a gay nightclub in Colorado Springs last year.

Sharon Robinson, who appeared in federal court in Brooklyn on Wednesday, is accused of calling at least four businesses on Dec. 8 and making threats including, “You’re gonna be shot up like Club Q,” and, “I’m going to go over there and shoot you all,” according to her May 17 indictment.

Robinson, 40, who prosecutors say lives in Brooklyn, is accused of making anti-gay slurs during the calls and the grand jury found that she targeted the businesses because of their actual and perceived sexual orientation, the indictment said. That finding could lead to a longer sentence if Robinson is convicted, the U.S. Attorney’s Office for Colorado said in a news release Wednesday announcing Robinson’s indictment and arrest.

The federal public defender who represented Robinson during her court appearance in New York, Amanda David, declined to comment on the allegations.

Robinson was released on $50,000 bond and will be prosecuted in Colorado federal court. The conditions of her release bar her from traveling outside New York City or Long Island except to travel to Colorado to appear in court.

The Club Q shooter is being prosecuted in state court on murder, hate crimes and other charges in the Nov. 19 attack. The venue has been a longtime sanctuary for the LGBTQ community in Colorado Springs. Seventeen people were also wounded in the shooting.

By Alison Berg and William Peterson, Rocky Mountain PBS

COLORADO SPRINGS — Tucked into a corner on Bijou Street in downtown Colorado Springs, ICONS is unassuming from the outside.

The city’s second “official” gay bar is a small space with a rainbow flag and yellow logo painted on the glass door outside. Opaque, sparkly windows cover the exterior and the only window into the inside shows something of a “typical” bar: glass bottles line shelves and stools sit next to a counter.

But walk inside and the bar is anything but typical.

The bar is decorated with purple ambient lighting, murals of LGBTQ+ icons and paintings from local artists. Bathrooms are plastered with the faces of RuPaul and Dolly Parton, playing their music in each bathroom. But the decor and recorded music is hardly the owners’ favorite part.

“Every bartender is a live singer — a professional, top-notch singer — which is really fun,” said Josh Franklin, who co-owns and co-founded the bar with his husband. “At any moment, you could be having a drink or they could be making a drink and pick up a microphone and sing you a song, which is really special.”

When prospective employees apply to ICONS, the owners first have them audition. Bartending can be taught, the two founders felt, but replicating the experience of a New York City piano bar in Colorado Springs would require talented performers first and foremost.

The bar started with five singers, four of whom the founders knew previously. Then word spread and El Paso County’s best vocalists came knocking at ICONS’ doors.

“They’ll make you a drink, and if they have a minute, they’re going to go up and give a full concert performance of a song,” said John Wolfe, Franklin’s husband and the bar’s co-owner and founder. “They’re going to sing Whitney Houston at you, and I guarantee your jaw will drop and you will cry tears. They are so spectacular. I don’t have the words for it.”

Wolfe said the two have had Broadway stars attend the bar and leave feeling envious of the talented bartenders.

“They will be better than singers you see on American Idol or The Voice [or] on a Broadway stage,” Wolfe said. “And we are so, so lucky to have them and that they want to be here and continue.”

Franklin and Wolfe met while auditioning for Broadway performances in New York City. When the two moved to Colorado Springs (Franklin’s hometown) in 2020, they quickly connected with the LGBTQ+ community and felt the community needed a relaxed space downtown.

Six months after COVID-19 hit and much of the world shut down, Franklin and Wolfe felt it was as good a time as any for the city’s queer community to have a gathering space. After six months in isolation, the two wanted to bring lonely community members together in a space that felt kind, inviting and classy.

“When we moved back here, there wasn’t a gay bar downtown at all, and that didn’t sit right with me,” Franklin said. “I wanted to make a space that just did not apologize at all for being gay and welcomed everybody in here to see what it’s like to celebrate who we are.”

Colorado Springs has long held a conservative, anti-LGBTQ+ reputation. Growing up in the city in the 1990s, Franklin said homophobia was all too familiar to him.

But Colorado Springs now could not look more different from the place Franklin grew up, he said. Many downtown businesses hang rainbow flags in their windows; surrounding restaurants and shops have gladly supported ICONS and the bar has been met with nothing but open arms, Franklin said.

“I think part of our mission is to sort of redefine what it means to be gay in in 2023 in Colorado Springs,” Franklin said. “I think people still have that image and that sort of version of Colorado Springs in their brain still, which is confusing to me because if you spend time downtown with these people, you’ll see in this area it is so welcoming and it’s a beautiful, queer-friendly neighborhood.”

Above all, Franklin and Wolfe want ICONS to be unapologetically kind and unapologetically queer, two things the founders say the world needs more of.

“It’s an eclectic group of a queer community here, so some people are in their sixties, and have never been to a queer bar before,” Wolfe said. “The purpose of the space, as far as family goes, is to provide that safety and the comfort and the unconditional love that maybe they’re not getting at home or from their immediate family.”

Em Grotton, a nonbinary bartender at ICONS, said the space provided “chosen family” for them when they moved to Colorado from Texas in search of a safer space to be openly LGBTQ+.

“Any queer space is important and sacred first and foremost, and we just don’t really have a lot of that here in Colorado Springs,” Grotton said. “It just really feels like a safe haven. And when you’re queer and maybe don’t know a lot of people in the community, you know that this is at least one place that you can go. And people are waiting with open arms.”

Though Franklin felt Colorado Springs had opened its arms to the LGBTQ+ community, the city was rattled with tragedy in November, when a gunman shot 25 people at Club Q, the city’s other explicit queer club. Seven died after the shooting.

“What happened at Club Q has changed a lot of things. I think we’ve been adamant to not let this define our future and we know that there’s a bright future for us in Colorado Springs,” Franklin said. “We’re mourning the loss of that horrible tragedy and the people whose lives were taken from us. They were part of our friends and family.”

ICONS closed its doors the day after the shooting to mourn with employees, many of whom knew victims of the shooting. But in the coming days and months, the bar stepped up to fill big shoes as the only official gay space in town.

“We’re all processing in our various ways, but we’re thrilled to be able to provide a space where people can come and feel that strength of community because it is strong,” Franklin said. “It’s not like this one event is going to take away our power. If anything, it’s empowered us to be more loving and kind and strong together and find the strength that is the queer community of Colorado Springs.”

Alison Berg is a multimedia journalist at Rocky Mountain PBS. You can reach her at alisonberg@rmpbs.org.

William Peterson is a senior photojournalist at Rocky Mountain PBS. You can reach him at williampeterson@rmpbs.org.

COLORADO SPRINGS — Surveillance footage capturing the attack at a gay nightclub that left five people dead and 17 others wounded will not be made public until it is presented at trial, a judge ruled Friday.

Prosecutors and defense attorneys had argued that releasing the gruesome video could make it difficult to seat an impartial jury and would further traumatize the survivors while disrespecting those who were killed in the Nov. 19, 2022, shooting.

“Those individuals deserve the respect of not having the last moments or the most traumatic moments of their lives broadcast and downloadable from a State of Colorado web site,” Anderson Lee Aldrich’s public defenders wrote in a March 2 motion.

They also argued that, unlike printed court documents, it would be too difficult to redact the video, which shows “moments of death and severe injury to several people.”

Judge Michael McHenry agreed not to make the footage public because attorneys on both sides were opposed. He said he had not received any media requests to do so.

Public court records released last month include still images of the attack and its aftermath. District Attorney Michael Allen said in a court filing that the surveillance video would be introduced at trial.

On the night of the shooting, Aldrich went to Club Q in Colorado Springs, left and then returned, according to authorities.

Surveillance video showed Aldrich entering the club wearing a red T-shirt and tan ballistic vest while holding an AR-style rifle, with six magazines for the weapon and a pistol visible, police Detective Jason Gasper testified during a February preliminary hearing.

Investigators said that soon after entering, Aldrich opened fire indiscriminately.
The shooting was stopped when Navy information systems technician Thomas James grabbed the barrel of Aldrich’s rifle, burning his hand it was so hot, Detective Ashton Gardner testified.

As panicked patrons fled from the dance floor, James and Aldrich tumbled off a landing and struggled over a handgun. Aldrich fired at least once, shooting James in the ribs, Gardner said.

After being shot, it is clear from the video that James was tiring, “but he continues to do what he can to subdue the suspect until police arrive,” Gardner testified, noting that James later gave up his spot in an ambulance to someone else who was injured.

Army veteran Richard Fierro rushed over to help, grabbing the rifle and throwing it, Gardner said. Fierro then used the handgun to beat Aldrich, telling officers later that he “kept hitting” the suspect until they arrived.

Aldrich is charged with 305 criminal counts, including hate crimes and murder. Public defenders have declined to talk about the case, and investigators have not released a motive.

Prosecutors and defense attorneys argued during a preliminary hearing over whether Adlrich’s actions were a hate crime. Aldrich, who is nonbinary and uses they and them pronouns, had visited Club Q at least six times in the years before the attack, witnesses testified. The venue has long been a sanctuary for the LGBTQ community in the mostly conservative city.

No trial date has been set.