■ For many, Pulse tattoos provide a tangible reminder of those they lost.
For many, tattoos provide a tangible reminder of loved ones they’ve lost
They don’t need the rainbow-colored ink to remember the horrific events at Pulse in the early morning hours of June 12, 2016. How could they forget?
But for those who marked the 49 murders of mostly gay and Latinx people inside the Orange Avenue nightclub with tattoos, the artwork etched into their skin provides a tangible symbol of the emotions etched into their heart — emotions they feel to this day.
“It’s meant to celebrate the lives of those we lost, and to remember to live life to the fullest,” said Mike Van Dyke of his tattoo — the date of the mass shooting in Roman numerals on his hip. “It reminds me to say hello to that cute guy standing in the corner, ask him to dance, live.”
Van Dyke is a puppeteer at Universal Orlando. Theme-park workers, restaurateurs, political operatives, performers, elected officials: All are united by the tragedy, all are united by their ink. The tattoos form an instant bond, a knowing smile, a shared experience.
Blue Star was dining in Fort Lauderdale recently when the server’s arm caught her eye.
“We were immediately connected by our Pulse tattoos,” said Star, who owns Häos on Church restaurant downtown. “When you see that tattoo, you know you have a connection with someone.”
It’s impossible to know just how many share that connection. News reports in the weeks following the Pulse tragedy reported hundreds upon hundreds getting tattoos; many artists donated their services in exchange for donations to Pulse-related charities.
Many of those getting inked opted for the jagged line of an EKG pulse reading, but others took a different approach.
Ricardo Negrón Almodóvar, who escaped the club on the night of the shooting, found inspiration from family and poetry.
A phrase from Uruguayan writer Mario Benedetti adorns his right forearm: “Cuando los odios andan sueltos, uno ama en defensa propia,” which translates as, “When hatred runs loose, you love in self-defense.”
“This was a phrase that my younger sister sent me the day after it happened,” Negrón Almodóvar said.
Star’s large-scale tattoo wraps around her body and includes 49 birds in flight, signifying the 49 lost in the shooting and reminiscent of Andrew Spear’s Mills-50 neighborhood mural.
In 2016, Star owned a Virginia Avenue performance space called The Venue, which quickly became a community gathering place, a spot to leave donations for survivors and volunteers — and on one memorable day, an impromptu tattoo parlor. When an artist volunteered his services, more than a dozen people accepted his offer, Star said. Among them: City commissioner Patty Sheehan.
It wasn’t uncommon for groups to seek tattoos together.
Christian Santiago, a Walt Disney World cast member, got his tattoo with a group of friends with connections to Pulse. He was settling his tab after an evening at Parliament House, the now-demolished gay resort on Orange Blossom Trail, when his bartender “pulled out his phone and said, ‘There’s a shooting at Pulse.’ “
Santiago and his friends didn’t waste time: “We grabbed a taxi and headed there.” Like many, they spent a long night together, waiting for news.
Van Dyke and roommates Josh Roth and Kasey Sollenberger were all working at Universal Orlando at the time. They aren’t sure who first brought up getting tattoos together: “We just kind of all knew we wanted to get it done,” Roth said.
Pulse is where Roth saw his first drag show, it was where he and Van Dyke decided to become roommates. Like many, they saw Pulse as more than a place to grab a drink.
“I had nobody to be around on the gay scene,” said Santiago, of his first weeks in Central Florida after moving here from California to attend college. “That was my first club to go to. It helped me find steady ground in Orlando.”
For Rob Ward, a SAK Comedy Lab instructor and freelance director who worked for
Walt Disney World before the pandemic: “It was a place where I got to see my friends, and be silly together, dance together, share a drink together. It was our place to sit and gossip. To me, it was the gay
version of ‘Cheers.’ “
When Ward got his tattoo, which included the distinctive Pulse logo that adorned the club’s sign, it was cathartic.
“It felt like I was doing something important,” he said. “We had all done nothing but cry for days. This felt liberating, like I was taking control.”
For Sollenberger, her tattoo reinforced her commitment to being an ally to the LGBT community.
“It’s my best friends,” she said simply.
She, Roth and Van Dyke lived close to Pulse, passing by daily.
“It was horrible the first time to see this place that was such a haven turned into a crime scene,” Sollenberger said. But then, it began to reflect the strength of Central Florida: “Every time I passed it, it became a bigger and bigger memorial.”
Roth also was inspired by the regional outpouring of love.
“My biggest reason I got the tattoo was not just the tragedy
but the community response that followed,” Roth said. “It was so heartwarming.”
Roth’s rainbow-colored heartbeat line was his first tattoo — and it wasn’t something he took lightly. With the Holocaust connotations of being tattooed, his Jewish parents had urged him to never get ink. But when he explained why he wanted the Pulse tattoo, he was met with compassion.
“There was no pushback at all,” he said. “They just understood.”
Because of the sisterly connection, Negrón Almodóvar’s tattoo also conjures thoughts of love.
“It is a reminder of the love my family has for me,” said Negrón Almodóvar, who works for voterrights organization All Voting Is Local Florida. He’s sad that Florida’s track record on gay issues isn’t stronger, pointing to Gov. Ron DeSantis’s recent elimination of $150,000 in state funding for counseling Pulse survivors and $750,000 for housing homeless gay and transgender youth.
“Ironic, since it happened here,”
he said.
Roth also has a voting-related job, working for the LGBTQ Victory Fund, which strives to get more openly gay candidates elected to public office. He turned from entertainment to nonprofit work after the tragedy.
“My career trajectory completely changed after Pulse,” he said — and his tattoo helps signify that.
“What happened at Pulse and after is so engrained in our souls,” Roth said. “We are forever changed, so having my body changed forever is a reflection of that.”
The tattoos can trigger different — and bittersweet — emotions as time passes.
“It’s changed every year,” Van Dyke said. “The first year was very somber. This year, I’m still not sure what I’m going to feel.”
Because of Disney’s revised tattoo policy, this is the first year theme-park visitors are seeing Santiago’s tattoo.
“I was like, ‘Thank God for the new policy,’ “said Santiago, an
attendant at Toy Story Mania at Disney’s Hollywood Studios. So far, reaction has been positive, he said, with guests wishing him “Happy Pride Month” or telling him, “I’m sorry that it happened.”
Some even offer hugs, he said, though he has to decline.
Star finds moments of quiet reflection in her tattoo.
“When I put on lotion, I give the birds all my love,” she said. “I take that time to remember.”
And Ward experiences mixed emotions.
“It brings a smile sometimes, tears sometimes,” he said.
But the image also gives him strength.
“This is a part of my life that was taken from me,” Ward said. “So getting a permanent tattoo on my body was a way of taking it back.”