All my children

The day eight years ago that then 22-year-old Billy Chappell moved to Sacramento, he walked into a gay bar for the first time. Before he could so much as pull up to a stool, a woman’s yell was directed at him from a corner.

“Who do you know?” the woman demanded.

“No one,” Chappell answered sheepishly.

“You’re going to sit here with me and meet my friends and, if we like you, you will be part of the family.”

That fateful day Chappell met 15 people he still considers his closest friends, but none more special than the woman in the corner, Bianca Ramos.

“She made sure no matter whom you were that you were taken care of and watched out for,” says Chappell, now a 30-year-old graphic designer and Midtown resident.

Mother to dozens, friend to thousands and a local legend in the worlds of drag queens, charity work and the local LGBTQI community, Ramos died of medical complications from an infection on September 8. She was 46.

Ramos was not born a man or a woman. The child of Mexican immigrants came into the world on March 29, 1961, intersexed—meaning she had the genitals of a boy and a girl. Doctors with scalpels ready gave her parents the choice: son or daughter. But Ramos’ parentals refused to pick a gender or submit their child to surgery. They would let him or her make his or her own decision when the time came.

Ramos’ gift of altruism and her natural inclination to mother made her ultimate decision easy: She was a woman. Hear her roar.

Perhaps it was that innate acceptance of who she was at heart made it easier for Ramos to counsel young gays coming out, surviving a cruel world or struggling with their own sexual-identity issues. Longtime friends cited her intimate understanding of the difficulties that lie in a life where one’s gender and sexuality do not fit into conventional society. Most referred to her as their “mother” and themselves as her “children.” Many who found themselves orphaned by condemnatory and disapproving families found a safe and loving place to stay in Ramos’ home.

Unaware of the existence of a gay and lesbian social network in Sacramento when he went looking for one seven years ago, Jason Kirkland eventually stumbled into a support group event where Ramos was holding court.

“I was scared to death of her when I first met her,” Kirkland says with a laugh. “She was a big woman; her physical presence alone was really intimidating. The irony was Bianca was nothing to be scared of. She was the person everyone could rely on for love.”

With many young homosexuals living without the love and support of their families, Kirkland says Ramos led the way to independence and a new sense of self-worth for many of these young people.

“The two things she’d tell you were if you don’t have a strong family then make one,” says Kirkland. “If your family needs time to learn to love and accept you, find someone who is going to love you from day one. She would tell us that everyone is lovable and that they are idiots not to love you. The family I’ve chosen now means more to me than anything.”

Ramos’ generosity was not limited to friendship. She believed that charity was the place to heal oneself and others and encouraged everyone in her path to follow her lead.

“She convinced me that we were all here to give back,” says Kirkland. “That we all have something to offer the world. She encouraged me to get involved and I was very hesitant, but I did.”

Charity events Ramos hosted included countless bingo games, car washes, raffles, buffet dinners, bazaars, taco feeds and parties that benefited local charities such as CARES, Breaking Barriers, and Christmas in July, among others. Friends estimate the total fund-raising of these events surpassed $3 million.

“She taught us that the way to really be charitable was to do something with your own two hands, your voice, your talents,” says Kirkland. “She wanted every event to be fun. She didn’t want to just write a check; she wanted to give herself, as well.”

Many people who have reaped the benefits of Ramos’ friendship and charitable efforts attended her September 15 memorial service at Club 21, just one of several memorial services with standing room only crowds that have been held in her honor.

“There were so many people,” says friend Shawnie Wallace, a 36-year-old Midtown resident who met Ramos 22 years ago. “All different walks of life. … Every race, every kind of person. Transsexuals, straight, gay, police officers, you name it, they were there for Bianca. It was what any person would ever want. We laughed and we cried. It was exactly what it should have been. We all knew she was still with us.”