Prostitution in the Old West
by Meggan Connors
When you think of a prostitute in the old west, do you think
of a woman wandering the dusty, lonely streets in search of a man to give her a
penny for a…ahem…moment of her time?
Certainly, prostitutes in the old west ran the gamut. There
were, of course, those women who walked the streets and carried a sheet to lay
on the ground. Then there were the women who operated out of cribs—small,
apartment-like rooms with a single window. But there were also madams whose
fame was well known, and who were actually considered respectable citizens,
despite the notoriety of their chosen profession.
From the red light districts of San Francisco's infamous Barbary
Coast to the grand brothels of Virginia City, NV, to the mobile cat wagons of Fort
Dodge—prostitutes were a fixture in western towns and cities.
These women went by many names: soiled doves, or doves;
ladies of the night; scarlet ladies; sportin' women; women of ill repute or ill
fame; and demimonde, just to name a few. What they all had in common was that
they sold their bodies in exchange for money.
Then, as now, many women fell into prostitution. The
majority of women engaged in prostitution were young (most of them were under
thirty years of age), with poor educations, largely illiterate, with families
that had either cast them out or were not in a position to help them. Some of
them were brought into the profession by their husbands or their mothers, or
fell into it because they were seduced by their wealthy employers. These women
simply didn't have the means to provide for themselves, other than by selling
the one thing they had at their disposal.
But prostitution, just like mining and working the railroad,
was a dangerous occupation. These women died in childbirth, of disease, and
many of them met violent ends. Some of them became addicted to drugs, as they
sought a means to drown their pain. Others committed suicide. And, much like
today, many of these women ran the risk of being murdered.
As with any other profession, the prices varied depending on
the woman's age and assets (young and inexperienced was good, as was
attractiveness). On San Francisco's Barbary Coast—once termed "that sink
of moral pollution, whose reefs are strewn with moral wrecks…" by the San
Francisco Call—American women
commanded a higher price than Mexican women and Asian women, while Native
American women and redheads commanded a higher price than other white women, as
Native American women and redheads were thought to be more amorous than the
others.
Still, the average prices for "tossing" one's
"fanny" ranged from 25 cents to one dollar.
Yet while the Barbary Coast catered to the lowest of the
low, other prostitutes became respectable citizens, and their deaths genuinely
mourned (more by the men than the women). One of these instances is the case of
Julia Bulette. As one of the first white women to come to Virginia City,
NV—and, for a time, the only white woman in the city—she quickly became a
prostitute and madam of some renown. Her brothel was a house in the rococo
design, and quite fashionable for the era. She bestowed her favors upon the
firefighters and the miners of the town, who considered her to be an angel of
mercy. She once opened up her brothel to sick miners when they drank
contaminated water, and she nursed them back to health herself. Another time,
she refused to leave Virginia City for the safety of Carson City when an attack
by native tribes seemed imminent. She was often seen walking about town in her
sable furs and expensive jewels. Eventually, she became so well respected she
was made an honorary firefighter.
When she was brutally murdered inside her house in 1867, it
was termed by the Territorial Enterprise (the
newspaper which employed Mark Twain for a time) as "the most cruel,
outrageous and revolting murder ever committed in this city." Her funeral
was overseen by the local firefighters and miners, who followed her in
procession behind a black-plumed, glass-walled hearse. Her gravesite is still
tended to this day, and her picture hangs on the wall in at least one saloon.
When her murderer was apprehended a year later, his execution was witnessed by
"everyone," including Mark Twain.
It's no surprise that the oldest of professions thrived in
the Old West. Nor is it a surprise that the women involved ran the gamut from
vile criminals to near saints (according to local lore—the truth is probably
somewhere in the middle). Then, as now, prostitutes came in every price range,
from streetwalkers to wealthy madams. After all, where there are men and
money—and few women—there will always be those who will seek to take advantage
of the situation.
For those women willing to do it, it was a sure way to make
a quick dollar.
*~*~*~*~*
When her father loses her in a poker game, Lexie Markland is sent to work in the household of Nicholas Wetherby for one year to pay off the debt. Innocent but not naïve, she is savvy enough to know she must maintain her distance from this man who frustrates her with his relentless teasing but whose kisses bring her to her knees. Because although she may be just another conquest to him, the marker he won at the card table, it’s not just her heart in jeopardy should she succumb to Nicholas’ considerable charms.Since his brother’s death almost a year before, nothing has held Nicholas’ attention for long–not women, not booze, not even an excellent hand at cards. Nothing, that is, until he meets the woman he won in a drunken night of poker. Intrigued by his prize and her chilly reserve, he makes it his mission to crack Lexie’s cool demeanor. But even as passion explodes between them, the question remains: will Nicholas be able to take the ultimate risk… and gamble on love?
