Henri David Sets the Record Straight on Frank Rizzo and Gender Pronouns

Henri David / Photograph by Kyle Kielinski

He’s created jewelry for the stars at his Pine Street shop, Halloween. He’s run the same Halloween ball since LBJ was in the Oval. Here, Henri David talks Frank Rizzo, his problem with pronouns, and his run-in with David Bowie — all from his landline, the same number he’s had since the ’80s.

Hi, Henri. How are you?
Compared to what? I’m fine, at least compared to everybody else. Everybody else is confused because the world is in turmoil and we are trying to find pleasant things to talk about. So let’s find pleasant things to talk about. I haven’t seen you in a very long time. So, what are you, 28 now? [Laughs] But I do read everything that you write in the print magazine. At least you can still spell.

You can thank my editors. I want to just start off here with the briefest of bios on you, recognizing that some readers might not know exactly who you are.
Perish the thought.

You’re a Center City jeweler whose work has appeared on the bodies of such celebrities as Stevie Nicks and Elton John and who is probably the only person in the world who has hosted a Halloween ball ever since 1968, this year held at the Kimmel Center.
That is fair. Who does anything for 57 years? In terms of my jewelry, this month, the Woodmere Museum is debuting a collection in a new building featuring Philadelphia-made jewelry, and they are making me the centerpiece. There will be a mannequin wearing one of my costumes from over the years and holding my jewelry.

What costume are you giving them?
A coat made of coq feathers. I made it in 1974 and wore it many times in the 1970s. It’s gorgeous and in mint condition.

Right before we started this interview, I showed my daughter a photo of you from 1972, and her first remark was “That’s quite the mustache!” That same article described your facial hair as Mephistophelian. Do you ever shave?
I actually shaved maybe two years ago — I do so probably every 10 years — and it’s fun how many people have no idea who I am after I shave. You know, you and I talked about my facial hair and beauty routine many years ago, and I said, “I don’t do much of anything — I don’t even use soap on my face.” In your magazine, that became “I don’t use soap.” So Henri David doesn’t use soap? I almost wrote a letter.

Photograph courtesy of Henri David

Again, the editor. They are always trying to save space in the print magazine, which I’m going to assume is the only way you consume Philly Mag.
I don’t own a computer. Never will. I don’t have an email address. Never will. No texting.

In fact, I believe you are speaking to me from a landline.
I am, yes. I also still write letters to people, and I am very annoyed with the price of stamps.

Now, if my math is correct, you are set to become an octogenarian around the same time the nation will celebrate its semiquincentennial. How does pushing up against 80 hit you?
It doesn’t hit me at all; it doesn’t feel any way. Eight has always been my lucky number.

How did a kid born in Philly in the 1940s wind up as Henri?
What can I say? My mother had a sense of humor.

Did she want you to grow up as ahn-REE, the French pronunciation?
I don’t think she had anything in mind, really. She wanted to give me something “extra.” My parents were both lovely, very conservative, very quiet people.

And then there’s you.
Very true. My parents couldn’t imagine where the hell I came from.

Henri David / Photograph by Bill Cramer/Common History

Let’s hear about your earliest years.
Well, we lived in Strawberry Mansion, right across from Fairmount Park, and I was always outside back in the days when kids could play outside without getting shot, looking for salamanders and trying to hurt the pigeons. And we would watch The Ed Sullivan Show. He had no personality whatsoever, but he would put on the most interesting people. And at some point, my parents sent me to a theater and music camp, and that really changed my life. I realized I needed to be a performer. Some friends from South Philly got me dancing on television on American Bandstand when I was 16 and also dragged me to Rittenhouse Square, and I said this is where I’m supposed to be.

How was Rittenhouse Square in those days?
It was safe and clean, and all the blue-haired ladies in their gold wedges and lots of jewelry and little poodles loved all the gay boys. They would invite us in for tea. Rittenhouse Square was where everybody met everybody. It was a safe space. Nobody was getting beaten up for being who they were. And there were, of course, plenty of people cruising.

What I didn’t realize until researching for this interview was that you were a drag queen at one point.
>I gave my first drag performance in 1967, and I started the Halloween parties in 1968 because I had all these clothes and needed something worthy of me wearing my stuff to. I think I had 300 people the first year. I lost my shirt but didn’t care. It wasn’t until the 1980s when it really took hold, where it would be covered by all the news stations and newspapers, and everybody who was anybody was there — gay, straight, or otherwise. Thousands of people.

Photograph courtesy of Henri David

In terms of your status as a drag queen, I read an early-’70s account where the reporter was confused, because you were wearing women’s clothing but had all this chest hair spilling out everywhere.
Ah, yes, we called that genderfuck. I remember I was hired to dress up as a cigarette girl in the lobby of the Tower Theater for a David Bowie concert, before he was really big. I sort of looked like a lady, but I wasn’t wearing much makeup, and I had a very hairy chest.

My cigarette tray contained Oh Henry! bars and Good & Plenty, and I would ask, “Suck or chew?” and then hand them out. The people who hired me dragged me backstage to meet David, who was staring at himself in the dressing room mirror, and he didn’t turn around. He just looked at me in the mirror and said, “I fucking love you,” and then went back to staring at himself in the mirror.

Henri David at the David Bowie concert / Photograph courtesy of Henri David

I want to back up for a moment to find out when and how you came out.
I don’t think I was ever “in.” Oh, I did date girls but quickly realized I would rather be with their brothers. My dad died when I was 14, and by that time, I had already decided that gay was what I was going to be. It was never really talked about. I would bring boys home all the time, and my mother wouldn’t bat an eye. My mom had a very hip girlfriend who was very worldly, and I’m pretty sure she pulled my mom aside one day and said, “Listen, this is how it is.”

So you and your mom never discussed it?
One day, I was joyfully playing the piano after a date with this boy Mark. She said, “Well, aren’t you in a good mood?!” And I said yep, because I am going out with Mark. And she asked me what I meant, and I stopped playing for a second and said, “Mark and I are going to be together.” And then I went back to playing the piano. She put her hand on my hand, stopped me from playing, leaned over and looked at me dead in the eyes, asking, “Is he Jewish?” [Laughs]

I’m assuming you come from a Jewish family.
Very. I was raised fairly Orthodox. A very well-behaved son to a proud Jewish father who wanted me to be a cantor, and I loved the theatricality of being a cantor. I guess I was very religious until I found my penis.

Were you obsessed with Halloween as a kid? After all, you have this huge Halloween extravaganza, and your store that’s been around since the ’70s is named after the holiday.
Who doesn’t love the opportunity to dress up and be someone else? It’s fantasy. It’s pure fun. An experience.

Naturally, your costume at the party is always outlandish.
Um, Victor, I think you mean costumes, plural. Costumes. I’ve never worn fewer than three costumes. One year I did 13 costumes and almost killed myself.

Does everybody show up in costume?
Well, if you don’t wear a costume, you pay three times the cost of the ticket. But without fail, there’s always one asshole who shows up and argues about it. Just put on a mask and get in the spirit! What is your problem!?!

Photograph courtesy of Henri David

I would love to hear about some of the more shocking costumes that your guests have worn.
Hmmm. There are so many. But here are three that are sort of related. We once had a group of people, some were dressed as Navy frogmen, there were a couple of reporters, there was a guy in a suit walking around drunk who looked just like Teddy Kennedy, and then there’s a blonde girl playing dead in seaweed, and you realize she’s wearing a Mary Jo Kopechne name tag.

Wow. The Chappaquiddick tragedy as Halloween costume.
But wait. Then there was the time where this group of people had a whole fuselage from a small, real airplane and part of a wing, and they had a guy that looked exactly like JFK Jr. hanging out the window.

Oh my God!
Yeah, that really offended my audience. Then there was a large group of people who staged a funeral procession, complete with mourners and black veils and a coffin, and they get on stage and the coffin stops and out pops a big-boobed Jayne Mansfield with a steering wheel around her neck.

I’m almost speechless. I’d love to switch gears here and ask you about a certain person from Philadelphia history. I’m never quite sure how the person I’m interviewing will respond when I mention his name. He was a hero to many, to others a homophobic bigot: Frank Rizzo.
You know, I was 16 and it was Halloween. I was on 13th with this beautiful Black creature who was blowing kisses to everybody, and all of a sudden, we are surrounded by these white Jersey tough kids, who were clearly ready to kill her. It wasn’t looking good. And then the dark clouds parted and down came this huge figure, who grabbed her by the collar and pushed her into the bar so she’d be safe. And he waves his club at these goons and says, “Get the fuck off my streets.” For that moment, Frank Rizzo was my hero.

Did you have any other interactions with him?
I did not. But listen. Frank was just an old-school guy. He didn’t want to raid a bunch of clubs, because he knew that if he raids one club, we would just find another place to go. An old-school guy like Frank wanted to know where everybody was. I think he took a very “let them be” approach to things as long as “they” weren’t bothering anybody else.

I’d love to know what the 1970s were like for you in Philadelphia. Was it total hedonism?
Oh, you could have plenty of fun in Philly, but you have to keep in mind that we had Atlantic City back then, and Atlantic City was wild. You had a dozen gay bars on New York Avenue that were open 24/7 in the summer. But then the casinos came and ruined everything, because they didn’t want anybody “different” hanging around who might scare the tourists away.

And then, of course, the ’80s.
That was a very strange time. Terribly strange. I lost precisely 100 friends in one 10-year period to AIDS. I happened to fall in love with a wonderful man, and we took each other off the street for that 10-year period. It just happened that way. Otherwise, I probably wouldn’t be here talking to you. I remember going to Temple to hear the activist Larry Kramer speak, and his opening statement was “If you ask someone if they’ve been tested and they say yes, they are lying. Take care of yourself. Take care of your friends. Don’t fall for this shit.” AIDS was truly a terrible, constant threat. I went to so many funerals.

The interior of Halloween, Henri David’s jewelry shop / Photograph by Kyle Kielinski

Fast-forward to 2025. How does it feel being a gay man?
Frightening as hell. I am seeing very big mistakes, very stupid things being done by a very strange person who doesn’t like himself at all. I read all these things in the newspaper that make my hairs stand up. This strange creature is making up all these rules and throwing out all this bullshit and other people in power are kissing his ass, and it is not an attractive ass. I worry about the kids of today and what they are going to experience and when they will have fun again. I feel like we are going to need another generation or two generations before people will be able to be kind to each other and just have pure fun again.

There are those who say that this “strange creature” won, in part, because of how obsessed the Left was with pronouns.
I actually have a major problem with some of this pronoun stuff. You might wanna be called they, them, he, she, it, whatever … it’s fine with me if you want to be pronouned as such. But if you want to be “she,” I’m just saying please look like a “she” at first glance or wear an ID badge telling me you are “she.” Otherwise, don’t give me attitude if I say the wrong thing. Don’t try to trap me in your mishegoss without some warning.

Uh, okay. You sure you want to put that on the record?
Yes. Put that on the record.

I’ll print and mail you any messages we get about it. Given that you’ve lived through so many Philadelphia mayors, I’d like to briefly get your report cards. Best?
Oh, Rendell. Hands down. Bar none. He’s a hoot and a holler. He worked so hard, he was completely out there in the community and wanted to do the most he possibly could do for the city, against all odds.

Ed Rendell and Henri David / Photograph courtesy of Henri David

Mayor Parker?
She’s spending far too much time spray-starching her shirt collars and not enough time listening to people. She’s obsessed with making speeches but not very approachable or accessible. I also found it interesting when, during a mayoral primary forum in front of a bunch of gay people, she could not say “LGBTQ” correctly. It was always “I want to talk to the LBTs” and “Hello to the BLT community.” C’mon, girl. I’m also very concerned that she doesn’t know how to make us look good next year for the semiquinwhatever. The Bicentennial was an absolute disaster.

Henri, do you have any parting words for the good people of Philadelphia?
I do, in fact. Thank you. I want to say: Get off your phones. Stop buying everything online. Go into stores. Touch things. I see people walking down the street looking at their phones and walking into trees. Really! For God’s sake, turn the damn thing off. Say hello to people on the street. Say good morning to your bus driver. We need to disconnect and connect.

This interview has been edited for length and clarity.

Published as “Tricks and Treats” in the October 2025 issue of Philadelphia magazine.