The legacy of Mercedes DeMarco, a drag mother, endures through lessons on beauty.

She was a showstopper in a crystal-covered hot pink ball gown who led a generation of L.G.B.T.Q. youths in El Paso.

By Marisol Chávez

Every night before a drag performance, Kalandra Monarez, 34, carries out the same ritual. She settles into her room backstage, cuts the lights and applies her makeup alone in the dark.

That’s how Ms. Monarez’s mother taught her.

Ms. Monarez was not bound to Mercedes DeMarco by biology, or even by law. Still, Ms. DeMarco was her mother, taking on a nurturing role in her life and teaching her how to navigate the world as a transgender woman. From her mannerisms to the way she speaks, Ms. Monarez traces it all to Ms. DeMarco, who created a semblance of family for her and so many other young L.G.B.T.Q. people in El Paso, Texas, who were trying to establish their identities.

“Her presence was very welcoming, very motherly like,” Ms. Monarez said. “It was something I was not used to, and it felt good.”

Ms. DeMarco, also a transgender woman, was 36 when she died in El Paso police custody in 2013. More than seven years later, her legacy has endured in the city’s L.G.B.T.Q. community. Ms. DeMarco’s children carry on her tradition of splashy performances and drag pageants. Some even adopted her name in her honor.

The relationship that transgender and gender-nonconforming people have with law enforcement has long been strained — and the broader L.G.B.T.Q. community has often been maligned and misunderstood, if not ignored. Some in El Paso argue that this issue was evident in Ms. DeMarco’s case and that it did not receive the level of attention they believe it merited. The local news coverage that did mention Ms. DeMarco’s death referred to her by her former identity and as a man.

“It’s almost as if you were a second-class citizen,” said Nikko Andrews, a close friend of Ms. DeMarco’s and drag show director. “There is not enough outrage when gay and transgender people are being killed.”

On Oct. 13, 2013, Ms. DeMarco was arrested around 4 a.m. after officers responded to a domestic disturbance call. When the police arrived, Ms. DeMarco became “hysterical” and “really, really afraid,” Jaime Gonzalez Licon, who called the police, told The El Paso Times.

Police officers tased Ms. DeMarco twice, saying she had been aggressive, the authorities said. As Ms. DeMarco was being taken to a police station, she became unresponsive, and efforts to revive her failed. After an autopsy, the El Paso County Medical Examiner declared her death accidental, citing positive toxicity reports and cardiovascular disease as the cause.

Her death shook the drag community where Ms. Demarco performed. Mr. Andrews recalled the impression she made on the drag community in El Paso and beyond as she performed across Texas. In El Paso, he said, Ms. DeMarco elevated the drag scene because others wanted to keep up with her. After every pageant, she would start preparing for the next, recruiting dancers and designing costumes.

“Because she pushed the envelope so much and worked so hard, other people were pushed by that, by seeing someone so driven,” Mr. Andrews said. “If she entered a contest, everyone knew that they were going to have to work harder.”

Ms. DeMarco’s greatest dream was to win Miss Gay Texas USofA at Large. Ms. DeMarco performed to pop staples like Madonna’s “Vogue,” but “El Cigarrillo” by Ana Gabriel was her favorite song to lip sync. The powerful ballad was performed in show-stopping outfits, like a hot pink ball gown with a crystal-covered corset. Her hair, platinum white, was always adorned with a crown.

“It was a thrill for her to win. She wanted to prove a point,” Mr. Andrews said. “If she had to rehearse a whole week from day to night or get rhinestones from every Hobby Lobby in the city, she would.”

The glamour, as well as the hard work and creativity to achieve it, was what Ms. DeMarco passed on to her drag children.

Ms. Monarez described Ms. DeMarco as a giver. Ms. DeMarco always helped her children prepare for pageants and drag shows, bought them wigs and helped them sew costumes.

Ms. DeMarco’s lessons were her greatest gift — on makeup and drag skills, Ms. Monarez said, but also her guidance for her children on their transgender journey. She even offered lessons on the cello, the instrument she played, to anyone interested.

For Ms. DeMarco’s friends and children, there are still constant reminders of her: the smell of the compact powder she applied, the Chinese buffets she went to and the Jack in the Box mayonnaise she loved.

For Ms. Monarez, Ms. DeMarco’s death was a nightmare that took years to heal from.

The DeMarco surname will be carried on by Ms. DeMarco’s apprentices and passed on to new generations who will benefit from her lessons despite never meeting her. “I don’t want anyone to ever forget who she was,” Ms. Monarez said, “because she was one of a kind.”