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The connection between historical queer voices and artistic achievement is a nearly cliché theme of this blog. However, the intersection of religious art with queer identities is less ubiquitous in the modern era. Today’s queer history narrative invokes exactly that in the fascinating life of a little-known transmasculine performing artist. Not only was Wilmer “Little Axe” Broadnax a powerful vocalist of the mid-20th century, this Black Gospel singer was also posthumously revealed as a transgender man. Today, his legacy has been preserved through the extant recordings which feature his now lost musical gifts. But beyond the music, the historical record is otherwise sparse and leaves numerous questions unanswered.
In light of these evidentiary limitations, this narrative aims to portray the world which faced transgender Americans, and the particular pressures endured by Black transgender individuals, in the mid-20th century when Wilmer rose to prominence in the Gospel movement. This background offers context to what else is known about Wilmer’s life, and what his history tells us more broadly about transgender lives in the 20th century.
Black and Trans in America
One of the few certain biographical details about Wilmer’s life is that his transgender identity was unveiled after his untimely death in 1992. By all accounts, Wilmer was otherwise “closeted” throughout the more than seventy years of his life and public career. These facts are hardly surprising when considering the complex set of pressures Wilmer would have faced as both a transgender and Black man when both identities were subject to intensive persecution throughout his life.
An intersectional understanding of identity is the cornerstone to even a superficial analysis of queer history. As I noted previously in my blog post on Lucy Hicks Anderson, the early 20th century saw Black civil rights initiatives and even flickers of queer activism (certainly queer individuals in public life) all becoming more visible as America’s Gilded Age receded. When Broadnax was born in Texas in 1916, the Black and queer communities were at the precipice of seismic changes.
For Black Americans, the 1910s witnessed both acceleration of the Great Migration and the calcification of Jim Crow repression and white supremacist terrorism in the America South. At the same time, Black singers, artists and literary lights carried the Harlem Renaissance to cultural preeminence, forming the foundation of the vibrant “Roaring 20s”.[1] Many of these Black artistic icons of the age were themselves queer at a time when queer art was rapidly gaining acknowledgment throughout the country. The transgender community itself was in the early stages of a (pardoning the pun) transformative era: the 1910s saw critical early work on trans identities and medical treatment coming from the Hirschfeld Institute for Sexual Sciences in Berlin, while the world’s first recorded male to female bottom surgery would happen just a generation later in 1931.[2]
But what of those individuals who were – are – both Black and transgender? The Black and transgender experience in the United States has inspired a growing body of interdisciplinary scholarship and an especially rich field of historical research. Unfortunately, today Black transgender individuals – facing multiple and interlayered threats from systemic oppression – also face horrifying rates of violence and murder. A recent study found, for example, that among 229 documented US cases of fatal violence against transgender women, 78% involved Black transgender women.[3]
In his book Black On Both Sides: A Racial History of Trans Identity, C. Riley Snorton argues that “trans – in each of its permutations – finds expression and continuous circulation within blackness, and blackness is transected by embodied procedures that fall under the sign of gender.”[4] His work notes the limitations of understanding these (and other) identities in terms of binaries and rigid categories, instead highlighting the influence and interplay between/among the many variations of identity that are possible. This admonition seems especially important in understanding Black trans experiences against the backdrop of 20th century American history with the many identity-forming developments enmeshed therein.
Complexity, to be sure, was a defining characteristic of Wilmer Broadnax’s life against that context.
Golden Age of Gospel
At first glance, the world of midcentury Gospel music may seem a strange place to find a Black transgender artist. The middle of the “American Century” saw this genre flourish amid a wave of unprecedented public popularity in the post-World War II environment. But, not unlike the Harlem Renaissance which preceded it, the Golden Age of American Gospel reached its musical apogee through the talents of Black writers and performers – many of whom were also queer.
Derrick Clifton writes, “Black queer and trans people have influenced the evolution of our sacred music for generations, dating back to the inception of the Gospel genre.”[5] They note that multiple prominent Black queer voices developed and expanded the genre in the 20th century, including Sister Rosetta Tharpe and Clara Ward. This influence was visible despite the tension that continues to permeate the relationship between Black queer Christians and the Black church in America. Clifton suggests that, in some instances, those latter painful experiences of Black queer individuals within the church environment encouraged queer Black musical lights toward other genres, like disco, which themselves bore hallmarks of Gospel.
Record Keeping
But these cultural shifts were still decades into the future when Wilmer Broadnax was born in Houston, Texas in 1916. Relatively little else is known about Broadnax’s early life, and what information remains is itself the subject of controversy. His assigned gender at birth was confirmed to be female by his later autopsy, but there is no indication otherwise regarding when he “transitioned” in the modern sense and under what circumstances.
The best available of the limited evidence is a family census record: in 1930, a census taker spoke with Wilmer’s parents: his mother, Gussie Frazier, who was then married to her children’s step-father, Augustus Flowers (Gussie herself would pass later that year).[6] The record suggests that three children were then living in the household: Wilmer (aged 13), William (aged 10) and Armatha (aged 8).
This information seems clear enough – but the census taker reportedly made unusual notations on his document regarding the “daughter” of the family. Armatha was originally notated as Augustus’ step-son and male; however, these notes were crossed out to instead identify her as female. This has led to speculation that Armatha presented as male to a (initially confused) census employee.
Oddly, Armatha disappears entirely from the historical record afterwards; while her brothers later became nationally famous touring musicians, Armatha is never mentioned. For lack of further evidence, some have posited that Armatha was by then already transitioning and presenting socially as a male, and she in fact became “Wilmer”, when her oldest sibling presumably passed away at some point afterwards. The vanished sibling in this scenario would be the eldest brother, whose place was taken by Armatha who then fully transitioned and adopted her elder brother’s name.
Other sources are less certain of this (admittedly speculative) scenario. It is also entirely possible, perhaps a simpler interpretation, that 13-year old Wilmer fully presented and identified as male in 1930 and was indeed the oldest sibling of the family.[7] The census taker thus correctly identified Wilmer as a (already socially transitioned) teenage boy. If this interpretation is true, however, it is odd that a 1920 census record for Wilmer is apparently unavailable – or at least has not yet been made publicly accessible. Wilmer would have been alive that year, but Armatha would not. Even more intriguingly, Wilmer is thought to have gone by as many as a half-dozen variations of his name throughout his life (Willie, Wilbur, and so on).[8] This gives credence to the notion that an earlier name change, perhaps to that of a deceased sibling, had indeed occurred and “Wilmer” continued to experiment with his preferred name at various points throughout his life.
These theories are, for now, unconfirmable. What does seem clear, however, is that Wilmer lived contentedly with his family through his teenage years and eventual rise to musical fame. At some point, he had fully socially transitioned and was raised by his family as male. No one in his family revealed any information about his assigned gender at birth (indeed, this seems to be a significant reason why details on his early life are so sparse). These details suggest that his family was supportive and understanding of their transgender son/sibling and – given the wider social context – worked together to keep that information as tightly held to their family unit as possible.
Family Quartet
It is unknowable who, if anyone, outside the immediate Broadnax family knew of Wilmer’s transition, but the family was deeply connected to their community churches and the world of Black Gospel. It was these factors, combined with William and Wilmer’s considerable gifts, that launched the family into the spotlight.
When he and his (presumed) younger brother William began to sing together in the 1930s, both were still teenagers. Despite their tender ages, they were quickly sought out in the Gospel world for their musical potential. Wilmer, the shorter of the two, sang in a high tenor (also known as a “ringing tenor” in some of his discography) unusual among male Gospel singers of the time; his much larger brother William sang in a more typical and powerful baritone.[9] Their disparate sizes inspired their nicknames: Wilmer “Little Axe” and William “Big Axe” Broadnax. Anthony Heilbut, whose work The Fan Who Knew Too Much: The Secret Closets of American Culture explores queer intersections within the midcentury Gospel movement, suggests that Wilmer’s considerable vocal flexibility as a performer differentiated him within an otherwise packed Gospel scene.[10]
The two “axes” first sang with the St. Paul Gospel Singers in Houston; toward the end of the decade, the pair moved to Los Angeles and joined the Southern Gospel Singers for about two years.[11] After this initial foray into public performances, the pair formed their own quartet, “The Golden Echoes”. It was with this quartet that the pair’s careers were fast-tracked to national success. The Golden Echoes became a national touring group, with their members earning the bulk of their income from increasingly high-profile gigs in ever-larger venues.
Their timing was fortuitous: the WWII era and the decade after were arguably the pinnacle of Gospel music’s cultural preeminence in America with Black artists throughout the industry taking the genre to new heights.[12] The Golden Echoes were thus at the forefront of the swell in Gospel’s popularity. The group even secured multiple recording contracts (first with Coleman Records in 1948, and then Specialty Records in 1949).[13] By the end of the decade, however, the brothers apparently split for their own individual professional goals: William joined The Five Trumpets in Atlanta, and the original Golden Echoes later split around 1950.
Commercial Success
Little Axe’s next venture, the Spirit of Memphis, was another Gospel group and arguably represented the height of his professional success. Although the group only toured for a few years together, it was “one of the highest paid quartets in the Golden Age of gospel,” earning a reported $200 per week.[14] This would have been a substantial sum even split among the main performers. The Spirt of Memphis was well-established by the time Little Axe joined the team, with a regular radio show in Memphis and a nationwide touring schedule.[15] Little Axe was a fabulous addition to the existing members, particularly Silas Steele, a “booming baritone” who Little Axe deliberately played his much higher, sweeter vocals against to beautiful effect.[16]
Little Axe left the group in 1953 and briefly rejoined his brother William in Atlanta. There, Little Axe joined another popular touring quartet, the Fairfield Four, until 1955. After a perhaps needed break from national touring, Little Axe joined the Five Blind Boys of Mississippi around 1960.[17] Finally, in 1962, Little Axe struck out on his own in a move north to Philadelphia. There, he drew inspiration from his earlier ventures: he formed a new group, “Little Axe and the Golden Echoes”, made up of himself and hand-selected local performers.
The latter iteration of the Golden Echoes would eventually tour as well and recorded four singles for the label Peacock Records.[18] By the late 1960s, however, the Golden Age of Gospel was fast-fading and lucrative opportunities for even talented performers were drying up as popular tastes evolved. One biography notes that Little Axe himself (now entering his fifties) was understandably no longer at his vocal or performing peak, and his own decline was reflected in the Golden Echoes extant recordings in comparison to his earlier work.[19]
“I Always Wondered”
Amid this relatively standard biographical information, it is easy to miss how Little Axe’s story fits into this blog to begin with. Throughout all his years as a singer and performer, traveling throughout the US and gracing multiple recording studios, Broadnax passed as a transgender man seemingly with no notice at all.
It bears emphasis that Little Axe was operating within an exceptionally dangerous time period for queer individuals, particularly the 1950s and early 60s. His career ironically coincided with the growth of the Civil Rights Movement and the notorious Lavender Scare of the same era which saw queer individuals’ lives destroyed by the federal government. While transgender individuals had made early headlines in the US during these years, transgender people in general were by no means publicly accepted or empowered to live as their authentic selves.
Broadnax was thus treading dangerous ground: not only was he a Black transgender man, but he was also building a very public, forward-facing career in Gospel music. Even if (mostly urban) pockets of the US were becoming more accepting of publicly acknowledged queer identities, that was certainly not the case within the churches, the auditoriums, the recording studios and among the fervent, religious audiences which were the fount of Little Axe’s income and those who depended on his skills.
These facts beg the question: did anyone know? Presumably, the Broadnax family were aware of Little Axe’s much earlier gender transition. The evidence otherwise is difficult to discern given Little Axe’s posthumous outing years later. Heilbut’s research suggests that some singers suspected that Little Axe hid a secret: one of these was JoJo Wallace, who reportedly claimed “I always wondered about Axe,” after she learned of his identity following his death.[20]
Whatever anyone’s suspicions may have been, or if his identity was more or less an open secret, is in some aspects irrelevant. For decades, American Gospel enthusiasts simply saw an exceptional performer and a light of what was then a wildly popular genre. As tempting as it may be to hope that public knowledge of his identity would not have undermined his career, a realistic historical perspective suggests the opposite would have been likely. Little Axe, with his varied experience of life through the twilight of his career, might have known this and so worked to keep his identity a secret even into his retirement age.
Legacy
Little Axe toured only sporadically with his old groups after the 1960s. He remained in Philadelphia and, after a life largely spent on the literal and metaphorical road, lived a quiet existence.
That secluded retirement ended violently, however, after a fatal altercation in May 1992. Broadnax, then in his mid-70s, was involved in a troubled relationship with his girlfriend Lavina Richardson (herself in her early 40s). According to news reports of the murder case, Broadnax had attempted to drag Lavina out of a vehicle away from a suspected affair partner. Broadnax reportedly threatened her with a knife during this incident; a passerby disarmed Broadnax while he and Lavina struggled, at which point Lavina grabbed the knife in question and stabbed Broadnax three times.[21] Lavina was ultimately convicted of involuntary manslaughter and claimed that she had been a victim of domestic abuse.[22]
The whole affair was a disturbing end for a former icon of Gospel music, leaving the music industry appalled and reeling. However, Broadnax’s autopsy resulted an unexpected additional revelation: that Broadnax was in fact a transgender man. The Gospel and wider Christian community in the US had to contend with the fact that a transgender individual had risen to national prominence during a time and within a genre theoretically off-limits to the queer community. A combination of each of these factors surrounding Broadnax’s death may have diminished his legacy, leaving us with a cryptic biography and hosts of unanswered questions alongside what remains of Broadnax’s musical gifts.
What to make of these fragments of a strange and unexpected transgender biography? A few themes, ones which have appeared previously in this blog series, might be repeated here – but one in particular stands out. Transgender people have existed, lived and even thrived in a wide range of geographic, temporal, racial and religious contexts. Transgender people have likewise contributed their talents and skills in many places, communities and industries.
Especially important from a historical perspective is what Wilmer Broadnax’s story intimates about the queer history that is yet unknown (or will never be known). Had Broadnax not perished amid a criminal investigation, had his body never been autopsied, the truth of his identity may never have been made public. Broadnax, like many other individuals in trans+ history, became known as a member of that community after the fact. These stories are part of a growing volume of queer history scholarship; the real number of similar narratives, which were never revealed, must be far higher than scholars even a few years ago could have ever imagined.
[1] Steven W. Lewis, “The Harlem Renaissance in Black Queer History,” National Museum of African American History and Culture, May 28, 2022, https://nmaahc.si.edu/explore/stories/harlem-renaissance-black-queer-history.
[2] Susan Stryker, Transgender History: The Roots of Today’s Revolution (New York: Seal Press, 2017), pg. 55.
[3] Pamuela Halliwell, Jill Blumenthal, Rebecca Kennedy, Lauren Lahn and Laramie R. Smith, “Characterizing the Prevalence and Perpetrators of Documented Fatal Violence Against Black Transgender Women in the United States (2013–2021),” full text available at: https://chprc.org/publications/fatal-violence-against-black-transgender-women-in-the-united-states/.
[4] C. Riley Snorton, Black on Both Sides: A Racial History of Trans Identity (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 2017), pg. 2.
[5] Derrick Clifton, “Gospel Music Would Be Nothing Without Black Queer and Trans Artists,” Them, February 1, 2024, https://www.them.us/story/gospel-music-black-queer-and-trans-artists-history-essay.
[6] The United Black Lesbian Elder Project, “A Tenor Passes: Wilmer Broadnax,” accessed July 19, 2025, https://web.archive.org/web/20191203005050/https://ubleproject.tumblr.com/post/29515613795/a-tenor-passes-wilmer-broadnax.
[7] Notably, this is the view suggested in resources from the Black Revolutionary Theatre Workshop, available here: https://www.blackrevolutionarytheatreworkshop.org/bhm-heroes-willmer-little-ax-broadnax/.
[8] National Black Justice Coalition, “Wilmer Broadnax,” December 28, 2017, https://beenhere.org/2017/12/28/wilmer-broadnax/.
[9] The United Black Lesbian Elder Project, ibid.
[10] Anthony Heilbut, The Fan Who Knew Too Much: The Secret Closets of American Culture (New York: Soft Skull Press, 2013).
[11] National Black Justice Coalition, ibid.
[12] Portia K. Maultsby, Ph.D, “Timeline of African American Music: Gospel Quartet,” Carnegie Hall, accessed July 19, 2025, https://timeline.carnegiehall.org/genres/gospel-quartet.
[13] One of Little Axe’s recordings with the later iteration of the Golden Echoes (from the 1960s) is available to listen here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R4TVpB1a8f8.
[14] The United Black Lesbian Elder Project, ibid.
[15] Gospel Jubilee “Little Axe: So Many Years,” LP (with attached biography), available at: https://www.queermusicheritage.com/feb2015broadnax.html
[16] Ibid.
[17] National Black Justice Coalition, ibid.
[18] Ibid.
[19] Gospel Jubilee, ibid.
[20] Heilbut, ibid.
[21] Dave Racher, “Girlfriend Guilty In Stabbing,” Philadelphia Daily News, February 5, 1993, https://web.archive.org/web/20160624185421/http://articles.philly.com/1993-02-05/news/25955189_1_manslaughter-perfect-candidate-battered-woman-syndrome.
[22] For clarification regarding this criminal case: I have related these details of Lavina and Broadnax’s relationship and final altercation in brief here, which is not meant to imply that they are unimportant or should not be treated with seriousness. With very limited public information about this case available, I have endeavored to relay only the known facts here as an important piece of his overall story.