Glass House founder and Executive Director Erin Bailey with Al Whitaker, one of the center’s first clients and now one of its youth leaders (Photos by Caroline Savoie/Dallas Voice)
CAROLINE SAVOIE | East Texas Reporter
carosavo@storydustsearch.com
TYLER — On the day Glass House opened its doors in June 2024, a blank white board hung in the lobby, a simple invitation for visitors to leave their mark. Alexander “Al” Whitaker, a 24-year-old transgender man, was one of the first to inscribe his chosen name on the blank slate.
Less than two years later, the board is covered with colorful names, signatures and reminders that what began as a hopeful experiment has grown into something much larger.
“That board greets people when they walk in,” Whitaker said. “It lets them know they can find a home here, that they’re one of many people who can get help here.”
That transformation mirrors the evolution of Glass House itself, a Tyler-based LGBTQ+ resource center that has become a critical hub for community, care and connection in East Texas, even as it faces mounting financial uncertainty.
Building something where nothing existed
When founder and Executive Director Erin Bailey first arrived in Tyler, she wasn’t sure something like Glass House was possible.
“I had lived all over the South… and when I got here, I was like, ‘This is not a safe place for the community,’” she said. Over time, she said, she felt a growing desire to create that safe place herself.
Since opening its physical space in June 2024, Glass House has expanded from an office into a multi-use community center offering peer support groups, events, a food pantry, a community closet and technology access.
“We just ask what people want and try to accommodate,” Bailey said. “We listen to what our people say.”
That responsiveness has helped fuel rapid growth, both in participation and visibility.
“Now there are events happening every week… we’re collaborating with other LGBTQ+ orgs in town,” she said. “The community is starting to come out from that shell here in Tyler and be more open and more proud.”
A regional hub and rising need
For many in East Texas, Glass House has filled a long-standing gap.
“I used to have to drive to Dallas for resources,” Whitaker said. “Now we have people driving here from Kaufmann and Gilmer to get help from us.”
As the only LGBTQ+ resource center within roughly a 100-mile radius, Glass House serves a wide geographic area, drawing visitors from surrounding towns and counties.
But that increased need hasn’t always translated into consistent turnout, and Whitaker said he suspects that divisive political attitudes and legislation in Texas and nationwide are to blame for the downtick in attendance.
“There’s been an increase in the amount that we’re needed, and at the same time, a decrease in attendance,” Whitaker said. “We know Tyler is a safe place to be, but is East
Texas, or Texas at all, a safe place to be?”
He and Bailey both pointed to fear fueled by political rhetoric and lived experiences as a factor keeping some people away.
Inside the center, demand for basic resources continues to grow.
“The need right now… especially for the food pantry and clothing, it’s really large,” Bailey said. “All of our clothes are gone. Toiletries are almost completely gone. And we’ll always accept more for the food pantry.”
Glass House relies heavily on donations and grant funding to sustain those services, and Bailey said that funding is far from guaranteed. While waiting on grant decisions expected in the coming months, the organization has turned to community fundraising efforts to stay afloat.
“This is kind of what determines what happens in the next several months,” she said. “We need funding to keep our doors open.”
Youth leadership and shared ownership
As Glass House has grown, so has its leadership, particularly among younger community members. The organization recently transitioned its Alphabet Army programming direction over to youth who had aged out of it, giving them direct control over planning and events.
“Those guys know what the kids want more than I do,” Bailey said. “They’re more willing to open up with each other.”
Whitaker, 24, is one of those leaders. A trans man who grew up in East Texas, he said his return to Tyler after college came with hesitation shaped by years of bullying and isolation.
“I was openly queer starting at 13… and there was a lot of stigma,” he said. But when he came back in 2023, he found something different.
“It made me feel more safe,” he said. “It brought me hope that other people would have that same sense of safety and community.”
He quickly became involved with Glass House, first as a volunteer and later as a board member and youth event coordinator. “I get to be a young voice for the day-to-day participants,” he said.
Collaboration as a foundation
Glass House’s work is deeply tied to partnerships with other organizations in the region, including Tyler Area Gays and local advocacy groups.
“We thrive because we work together,” Whitaker said.
Those collaborations help extend the center’s reach, from hosting peer groups to distributing hygiene supplies to unhoused individuals.
“There are things people don’t think about,” Bailey said, noting the importance of practical considerations like packaging and usability. “We try to give people what they actually need.”
Despite the uncertainty surrounding funding, both Bailey and Whitaker remain committed to the work.
For Whitaker, that commitment is deeply personal. Years before he ever stepped into Glass House, Whitaker made a quiet promise to himself.
“When I was 12, I told myself that if I made it to adulthood, I would be the adult I needed,” he said.
At the time, he was navigating bullying, family hardship and thoughts of not wanting to be alive. The idea of adulthood felt uncertain. It was, he said, something aspirational, not expected.
Years later, during a phone call with Bailey, something shifted. “She was thanking me for everything I had done,” he said. “And I realized… I had fulfilled that promise.”
Now, as a youth leader at Glass House, Whitaker sees that promise not as something completed, but something ongoing. “I get to continue to be that person,” he said. “I get to be the adult that kids can come to.”
Back in the lobby, the board he once signed continues to fill. Name by name, story by story, hard-won night after hard-won day.
For Whitaker, it stands as proof of what’s possible.
Every day at Glass House, he said, he’s living the promise he once wasn’t sure he’d get the chance to keep.