Working Girls of the Old West

c 2024 by Jan MacKell Collins

Portions of this article are excerpted from Jan’s article about saloon girls in Grunge magazine and her various books about historical prostitution.

Picture just about any western film with a classic old-time saloon, and you will inevitably encounter a “soiled dove” or dance hall girl with a painted face, hair swept up into a bun, wearing an exquisite gown with a low-cut bodice. She often appears most genteel and is the most colorful character in the place. She’s usually standing by the bar, fan in hand, waiting for the inevitable fight to break out – or starting some tousle of her own. Yes, Hollywood has a bad habit of typecasting “saloon girls” as pretty little things whose job, most of the time, is to stand around waiting for the right man to rescue them. Why is this?

In his thesis, “Reel or Reality? The Portrayal of Prostitution in Major Motion Pictures,” Raleigh Blasdell rightfully theorizes that even at this late date, the intimate details of the sordid business of prostitution remains largely hidden from the public. Rather than delving into the personal histories of these women, film makers have preferred to keep their pasts in the dark, preferring to portray them as just another flavorful part of the movie set rather than allowing viewers to get to know them. In the movie western arena, these women are often romanticized at best, or portrayed as shameless, nasty harlots at their worst. But there is definitely a big difference between the typical Hollywood harlot and the hard-working, disrespected woman who was forced to sell her body for sex.

Women were forced to step into the seedy side of life for a number of reasons. In her well-researched book, The Lost Sisterhood: Prostitution in America, 1900-1918, author Ruth Rosen cites cases where some working girls were orphaned as children or came from broken homes. Others were widowed with no other way to earn a living. Madam Laura Evens of Salida, Colorado, admitted to entering the profession simply because she “loved to sing and dance and get drunk and have a good time.” Money was definitely a motivating factor as well: the few respectable jobs available to women offered low wages on which women, especially single ladies, could barely survive.

It is true that in the American West of the 1800s and early 1900s, women made less money than men on every level. There was little to no help available to help them do better. Examples are many: In 1917,when the city of San Francisco attempted to eradicate the flesh trade, Madam Reggie Gamble publicly attacked city officials, telling them that if they wanted women to cease working as prostitutes, the men “better give up something of their dividends and pay the girls’ wages so they can live…they will always be coming into it as long as conditions, wages and education are as they are. You don’t do us any good by attacking us. Why don’t you attack those conditions?”

The conditions Ms. Gamble spoke of were often less than ideal. Women like her were usually relegating to working in anything from a saloon or dance hall, to a “crib,” to a fancy parlor house. Montana’s first newspaper publisher, Thomas J. Dimsdale, described a typical “hurdy-gurdy” house as a “large room, furnished with a bar at one end…and divided, at the end of this bar, by a railing running from side to side…beyond the barrier sit the dancing women, called ‘hurdy-gurdies.'” Dances cost $1.00 in gold apiece. Some women offered sex on the side, often operating out of small one or two-room apartments called cribs. In larger cities, such as Los Angeles for instance, such places were no bigger than one or two rooms and often consisting “of nothing more than a makeshift bed and wash basin.”

Lucky was the working girl who landed a job in an actual brothel or a parlor house. Both were generally more elegantly furnished and offered only the best in liquor, wine, cigars and food, as well as card games and other entertainment in addition to sex. These places employed beautiful, cultured and talented women, who were overseen by the madam of the house and made more than common prostitutes. Madams tended to be astute business women. Denver madam Mattie Silks once explained, “I went into the sporting life for business reasons and for no other. It was a way for a woman in those days to make money and I made it. I considered myself then and do now—as a business woman.”

No matter where they worked, competition was tough among dance hall girls and prostitutes alike. Women were not beyond beating or even killing one another over money, possessions or the attentions of men. Hostility, jealousy, and even theft undermined the determination to survive. Although some women managed to make friends with their co-workers, their relationship could quickly deteriorate in the realm of trying to make money and attract men, sometimes in the hopes of marrying and leaving the profession. The chances of making friends outside of their realm were rare.

Some of the more notorious squabbles between soiled doves included madam Etta Clark and “Big Alice” Abbott of El Paso, Texas. When one of Alice’s girls, Bessie Colvin, left the madam to work for Etta, the two madams violently clashed and beat each other to a pulp. The fight ended when Etta shot at Alice, hitting her in what doctor’s identified as the “pubic arch.” By chance or purpose, newspapers reported that Alice had been shot in the “public arch,” which amused the public to a great degree (and still does. Who wants to laugh at a woman who has been severely wounded?). In Colorado, Leadville madams Mollie May and Sallie Purple were next door rivals who decided to battle it out with gunfire, shooting randomly at each other’s brothels for several hours.

Overshadowing violence, or the threat of violence, were “house rules” in most of the nicer bordellos. They were set by the women’s employers, many of whom were astute businesswomen. Money was the name of the game, and a girl who couldn’t make it was shown the door. The general goal for prostitutes and especially dance hall girls was to get their customers to drink and spend money (although for some brothels, servicing as many men as possible in one evening was preferred). In the dance halls, the women were paid a percentage of what they made. In the Klondike, for instance, the girls were given a chip, sometimes made of ivory, clay or metal, for each dollar their customer spent. Most men spent between .75 cents and a dollar per dance, plus drinks, and the cost was usually split 50/50 with the women. The girls would stash their chips into their stockings throughout the evening and cash in their stash in the next day.

In the case of prostitutes, women either split their earnings with the madam (who provided room and board), or paid her rent. Some girls lived elsewhere and only rented their rooms by the night, while others lived in the brothel full time. In many cases, these women relied on the madam’s credit to purchase their toiletries, clothing and other items, and the cost was added to their monthly board. In addition most saloon girls and prostitutes were required to pay for regular fines and license fees. Over time, laws also stipulated that prostitutes were only allowed to work with a clean bill of health issued by a city physician—whom the women also paid.

Since the red-light realm often included access to alcohol and drugs, it was not difficult to become addicted to either one. Given the stress of working as a prostitute or dance hall girl, it is no surprise that many women suffered from depression, sadness and missed their families from whom they had been alienated. Drugs and alcohol readily supplied a diversion to the facts of these women’s lives. Christmas was especially a difficult time, resulting in an increase in suicides. Although many dance hall girls drank only colored water with their customers (it was important to stay sober in order to keep control over their situation), less scrupulous pimps and madams encouraged addiction as a means of controlling their girls. Many higher class madams kept strict rules about their girls’ recreational use of drugs and alcohol, but even then the rules were subject to failure.

Venereal disease was a very real fear among the red-light industry. Illnesses like gonorrhea and syphilis were unfortunately widespread, and treatment of STD’s was downright dangerous since penicillin wasn’t invented yet. Such dangerous substances as calomel, a powder of mercurous chloride, could give patients mercury poisoning which might to death. Arsenic was equally dangerous, but in time women learned that saffron was less dangerous and easier to procure. But there was another potential victim of STD’s as well: the wives of men who had contracted such illnesses and passed it on to them. In 1907, 19-year-old prostitute Anna Groves contracted venereal disease from one of her customers. When the man refused to do anything to help her, Anna fired a shot at him through the window of a Wyoming saloon. The bullet missed its mark but Anna was arrested anyway. In reporting the incident, Laramie’s Semi-Weekly Boomerang noted that Anna was in poor health, although she “pleaded guilty and expressed regrets that she was such a poor shot.” The girl was sentenced to two years in the state penitentiary, but pardoned after five months when it became painfully apparent that she was fatally ill.

Venereal disease was not the only enemy of sex workers in the old west. Violence against the fairer sex was unfortunately common, including sexual assault. There were few laws to protect women—especially those in the skin trade. Even if they reported an attack, the guilty party was rarely pursued. she wrote. History is unfortunately rife with reports of women being assaulted or killed. In 1905, Madam “Belgian Jennie” Bauters of Jerome, Arizona moved to smaller town outside of Oatman. It was that she was accosted by her morphine-addicted ex-boyfriend in 1905. The man shot Jennie three times and took time to reload his gun before he saw that she “was not dead yet.” The villain actually “moved her head so that he could get a better shot and then deliberately fired the pistol into her head.” Few women thought to defend themselves against such brutes, but Washington Madam Jennie Bright proved an exception. When a man with venereal disease was denied entry to Jennie’s brothel, he tried to hit her. The madam produced a revolver and shot the man neatly through the heart. Jennie left town until the murder blew over.

One of the worst things a working girl could experience was an unwanted pregnancy, which put her out of work and made her business difficult. In a time when safe contraceptives were unavailable or even outlawed, women sometimes resorted to unsafe methods of abortion. Such actions were kept on the downlow, since the Comstock Act of 1873 not only banned birth control items and information, but also abortion. Thus women had to come up with their own homemade remedies to keep from getting pregnant. It didn’t always work; the true number of infants produced by working girls in the old west will never be known. Abortions were never reported because of the Comstock Act and most stillborns or aborted fetuses were quietly disposed of or buried without record. In spite of this sad fact, some women such as madams Laura Bell McDaniel and Laura Evens of Colorado, were able to raise their children—sometimes out of the prostitution realm. In an interview with Laura Evens’ great-grandsons, the men verified that Laura’s daughter Lucille “didn’t talk about her mother,” but “just described her mother as being a ‘landlady’.” And Laura Bell’s daughter, Pearl, was sent to a convent academy in Texas to prevent her from being judged because of her mother at the local schools.

Most, but not all, women in the prostitution realm hoped to marry someday as a means of leaving the profession for good. The shortage of women in the early west when the ratio of men to women was 10 to one, often enticed men to marry a lady from the saloon or prostitution industry. And, it was actually a wise man who reckoned that a former working girl would make an excellent companion. Madam Mattie Silks stated that “my girls made good wives” because “they understood men and how to treat them and they were faithful to their husbands.” Understandably, some working girls were hesitant or even afraid to marry. Many were afraid that their past would somehow catch up with them, or they would be shunned from society by those who knew their past. Such was the case of Lottie Johl of Bodie, California. After Lottie died, the good women of the town did their best to prevent her faithful husband from burying her in the public cemetery.

Most unfortunately, not many prostitutes died a natural death. The average working girl was susceptible to any number of maladies, from complications of childbirth to violence to disease, or even suicide. One of the most tragic stories in the latter case was the suicide of Eleanora Dumont, aka Madam Moustache, a sometime madam and gambler who wandered out of the city limits of Bodie and drank a vial of poison after losing all of her money. There are, however, some accounts of ladies, usually madams, who were able to retire. One of these was Madam Cora Phillips, also known as “the 24-carat Queen, of Bohemia” who ran several high class parlor houses in California and was able to retire very, very comfortably. Among the strongest of working girls who worked hard for what they wanted was Sally Stanford. The determined Ms. Stanford was not just a successful madam in and around San Francisco during her lifetime; upon retiring, she endured five elections before finally being elected to the city council and later, mayor, of Sausalito. “We sinners never give up,” she quipped. For Sally at least, the wages of sin paid well.

The Adventures of Butch Cassidy & The Sundance Kid

c 2024 by Jan MacKell Collins

Portions of this article will appear in the upcoming book, Wicked Cripple Creek District, due out later this year.

Few outlaws of the old west have quite charmed history buffs like Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid. The unlikely pair are engrained in history due to their stint with the Wild Bunch, a transient group of outlaws credited with numerous train and bank robberies around the turn of the last century. Members of the Wild Bunch were comprised of unemployed cowboys, misfits, outlaws and others who favored hanging out at their hideout, Hole in the Wall, in a remote section of north-central Wyoming. From there, Cassidy often led his own Hole in the Wall Gang on numerous illegal escapades, while Sundance tended to come and go as he pleased.

Cassidy and the Kid came from diverse backgrounds: Cassidy was raised as Robert LeRoy Parker at his Mormon family’s ranch in Utah. Harry Longabaugh, alias the Sundance Kid, came from Pennsylvania. Although neither outlaw claimed the other as his partner, the two were somehow thrown together—especially after Pinkerton’s Detective Agency decided to break up the Wild Bunch, permanently. By circumstance, it was Butch and Sundance who eventually fled to Bolivia together, along with Sundance’s girlfriend, Etta Place. South America provided protection from the law and even a way for Butch and Sundance to go straight. From there, legendary tales, along with some cryptic documentation of the threesome, have created a history mystery quite unlike any other.

The true number of Wild Bunch outlaws is hard to pin down. Some of the better-known members, according to Spartacus Educational Ltd., included Butch and Sundance, but also Will Carver, O.C. Camilla Hanks, Ben the “Tall Texan” Kilpatrick, Elzy Lay, Bob Lee, Lonnie and Harvey Logan (alias Kid Curry), George Sutherland (alias Flat-Nose Curry), Matt Warner and many others. Some were married, some were single. Many of them were simply outcasts, forced by one incident or another to step over the lines of the law. Within the confines of their many hideouts, they found acceptance among each other, as well as a forum for their varied talents.

With or without the gang, each member of the Wild Bunch had a gentlemen’s agreement to never betray one another. Under Butch Cassidy’s tutelage, the gang was rarely violent. Writer Jack Adler is just one of many authors to repeat the tale that the outlaws were instructed to shoot at the horses, not the riders, if the gang was pursued by a posse. According to a Pinkerton’s report in 1924, the Wild Bunch “committed few murders in comparison to their great number of bold crimes. Their code must have been higher [than that] of the low-class criminal of today, who kills on sight and gets away with motor [cars].”  At any given time, various members of the gang could be found lounging around at Hole in the Wall, or Robber’s Roost—another hideout in Utah.

Because of his reputation as a robber rather than a killer, Cassidy especially was able to retain relationships with “respectable” folks. Trusting, upstanding citizens who knew him were known to participate in horse races at Wild Bunch hideouts. According to Cassidy’s sister, Lula Betenson, Cassidy came from a respectable family and had a number of honorable friends scattered throughout the west. Often, proceeds from the robberies Cassidy took part in went to needy families, earning him the title of the “Robin Hood of the West.”  In return for his generosity and compassion, Cassidy’s friends were willing to put him up, feed him on the run, finance his escapes, and lie about his whereabouts.

Even law officers liked Cassidy. In his book, Butch Cassidy: Beyond the Grave, W.C. Jameson recounts the time the outlaw was sentenced to prison for horse stealing in Wyoming during 1894. When Constable Henry Boedeker was asked why Cassidy wasn’t shackled with the other prisoners, he responded that the outlaw was the only one who could be trusted. Indeed, Cassidy was a model prisoner. Eighteen months into his sentence, he met with Governor W.A. Richards to discuss early parole. Although Cassidy told Richards he was far more interested in robbing banks than stealing horses, the governor released him anyway—upon a promise from Cassidy that he would leave Wyoming banks alone. According to Butch Cassidy biographer Richard M. Patterson, Cassidy kept his promise.

An excellent marksman, the Sundance Kid sported a more reckless reputation than his easy-going counterpart. In about 1882, the 15-year-old youth headed west with his cousin in a covered wagon, according to writer Neil Patrick. The would-robber was arrested for the first and only time in 1887 for horse stealing and served two years for the crime at Sundance, Wyoming. Upon his release in 1889, the young cowpoke took an honest job breaking horses for the historic Bar U Ranch in Alberta, Canada. In 1892, however, the Sundance Kid was named a suspect following an 1892 train robbery at Malta, Montana. The young outlaw took his new moniker from the town where he served his time.

In 1897, Sundance Kid outlaw Harvey Logan, and the two robbed a bank in Belle Fouche, South Dakota. Both were captured and jailed in Deadwood, but were able to escape. Eventually, Logan introduced Sundance to Butch Cassidy, and he officially joined up with the Wild Bunch. But as much as Sundance sported a reputation as a gunfighter, sources confirm that as far as anyone knows, he never killed anyone during his time with the Wild Bunch. Rather, Sundance preferred the persona of a dapper-dan who was a favorite of the ladies. It is he who kept company with an equally refined woman, the mysterious Etta Place who accompanied he and Butch Cassidy to Bolivia.

As romantic sounding as her moniker is, Etta Place was not the lady’s real name. According to longtime Butch and Sundance researcher Anne Meadows, Pinkerton’s generated the earliest documentation about Etta and identified her first name as Ethel, but also Etta, Eva and Rita. Others have identified Etta by other names, and theories are rampant as to her origins. In her book, The Wild Bunch at Robber’s Roost, author Pearl Baker wrote that Etta Place was the second woman to appear at the hideout in 1896. She also said Etta was initially Butch Cassidy’s girlfriend, a claim disputed by Lula Betenson.

Other historians have said the woman at the hideout was not Etta at all, but someone else. The real Etta, according to Pinkerton’s, claimed Butch and Sundance met Etta at Fannie Porter’s brothel in San Antonio, Texas. Because Pinkerton’s believed the story was true, historians believed it too. But Etta fails to appear in any documents related to Fannie Porter, and dogged research by authors like Donna Ernst (who married into the lineage of the Sundance Kid) has failed to turn up any hard evidence. All that is known for sure is that the genteel lady fell hard enough for the Sundance Kid to risk fleeing from the law with him to South America. Etta Place’s story, or lack thereof, is so interesting that she has become ingrained in the hearts of historians.

In the movie, “Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid,” a rather comical scene depicts Wild Bunch members accidentally blowing a train car to smithereens. As wood and metal fly through the air, Sundance quips, “Think you used enough dynamite there, Butch?” The scene immortalizes the infamous robbery of a Union Pacific train near Wilcox, Wyoming on June 2, 1899. Among those newspapers to report the incident was the Telluride Daily Journal in Colorado, where a young Cassidy Cassidy had robbed his first bank back in 1889. Authorities scrambled to find the culprits as Butch, Sundance, and their cohorts scattered in all directions. But it was not until October that Cassidy and his buddies were even identified as the robbers.

It would be two more years before authorities could put their finger on any of the bandits. Following dozens of leads, Pinkerton’s and other detectives looked everywhere for the elusive robbers. Finally, the men found what they were looking for in the way of “Lewis” Curry, aka Lonny Logan, whom they tracked to a small town in Kansas. Logan was killed while trying to escape, but the lawmen also found another important clue: the robber had recently been in Cripple Creek, Colorado with another man identified as Bob Curry, better known as Robert Lee. The Cripple Creek Morning Times verified that both men had been involved in the Wilcox Robbery, and both men likely knew the whereabouts of Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid.

With Lonnie dead, officers notified the Cripple Creek sheriff to find and arrest Bob Lee. Law officers found him dealing a game of stud poker at the Antlers Saloon on Cripple Creek’s main drag, Bennett Avenue. Undersheriff Harrington approached the man and asked if his name was Bob Lee, to which Lee responded, “What is it to you?” Harrington answered, “Well never mind, you’re the man I want. You are under arrest.” Lee said he wasn’t armed, but a search revealed he was carrying a “huge pearl-handled six-shooter.” On the way to jail, Lee asked if he was being arrested for gambling several times. When he learned he was wanted for the Wilcox train robbery, he “shut up like a clam.”

Lee was extradited to Wyoming, where his trial was set for May. Although noted Cripple Creek attorney J. Maurice Finn defended him, the 1900 census (pictured here) verifies Lee as a prisoner at the Wyoming State Penitentiary in Laramie, where he was sentenced to ten years for his participation in the Wilcox affair. Two years after he released, Lee’s death certificate verifies he died from Bright’s Disease at the young age of 45 years. Lee never implicated Butch and Sundance in the robbery. Besides, Cassidy had previously promised to stay out of Wyoming. But the Pinkerton’s Agency, angered over the Wilcox robbery and tired of the Wild Bunch’s antics, set out for Cassidy and Sundance with a vengeance.

As Bob Lee went through the wringer over the Wilcox robbery, others of the Wild Bunch were having a high time. On November 21, 1900, according to author Donna Ernst, Sundance, Butch, Will Carver, Ben Kilpatrick and Harvey Logan had their portrait taken in Fort Worth, Texas. Wells, Fargo & Company detective Fred J. Dodge saw the image, recognized Will Carver, and sent a copy to Pinkerton’s. Shortly afterwards, says Anne Meadows, Sundance took Etta to New Orleans to celebrate the New Year before the couple traveled to Pennsylvania to meet Sundance’s family. The twosome next went to New York, where they saw a doctor for some unknown ailment and joined up with Cassidy, according to biographer Richard Patterson.

During their time in New York, Butch, Sundance and Etta used various aliases as they spent three weeks seeing the sights. At Tiffany & Co., Sundance bought a fancy lapel watch for Etta, as well as a gold watch for himself. More telling to Pinkerton’s was the only known photograph of Etta, with Sundance, that was taken at DeYoung Photography Studio. Just a few days later, Sundance and Etta (and perhaps Cassidy) were believed to have boarded the SS Herminius for Buenos Aires, per Donna Ernst. Anne Meadows also found that Sundance and Etta checked into the Hotel Europa upon their arrival, and that Sundance opened a bank account amounting to about $12,000.

An article by Jack Epstein, in the Christian Science Monitor, states that soon after their arrival in Bolivia, Butch, Sundance and Etta made their way to Argentina. There, they purchased a ranch in the Cholila Valley. The ranch was a 12,000 acre spread, ample enough to house cattle, sheep and horses, and Cassidy built a cozy cabin for the three to live in. Neighbors recalled liking the threesome, noting they were “law-abiding citizens.” Anne Meadows and Daniel Buck personally visited the cabin during the 1990s and were told by others that Etta set her table “with a certain etiquette” that included “napkins [and] china plates,” also that the cabin was simply but elegantly appointed with burgundy-and-gold brocade wallpaper.

Cassidy now went by James Ryan, while Sundance and Etta masqueraded as Mr. and Mrs. Harry Place. The aliases would change over time, especially when the three returned to robbing banks in about 1904. Several robberies were attributed to Butch and Sundance, sometimes accompanied by Etta. Soon, wanted posters were appearing throughout South America looking for the “bandidos yanqui,” said Donna Ernst. But Etta must have sensed some uneasiness about remaining in South America, for she traveled back and forth to the United States, say Ernst and Meadows. The last time was in 1905, when Sundance indicated in a letter to his friend, Dan Gibbon, stating he was taking his “wife” to San Francisco. It was the last time anyone would hear any official news about the mysterious Etta Place.

On November 4, 1908 Carlos Pero, courier for a local mine, was accosted by two Anglo men wearing bandanas over their faces. The pair relieved Pero of the payroll he carried and disappeared. The authorities were notified and concentrated their efforts on the village of San Vicente. Two men were there fitting Pero’s description of the robbers. When a Bolivian soldier approached a house where the bandits were hiding, he was shot dead. In the gun battle that followed, according to Mayor Cleto Bellot, there were three screams inside the house, and then two shots in succession. Upon entering the house, lawmen found the bandits, who appeared to have committed a murder-suicide.

On a visit to San Vicente, Anne Meadows and Daniel Buck were told by a local, Senor Risso, that about twenty soldiers were on the scene of the shootout. When the dead men were discovered, “The corpses were laid out in the patio and later buried in the cemetery.” The trouble was, the men were only assumed to be Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid. “How did that rumor get started?” posed writer Steven Law. Law believed Lula Betenson’s story that the duo’s friend, Percy Seibert, purposely started the story that Butch and Sundance had been killed so that the outlaws could “go straight” without further interference from the law. Soon afterwards, stories began circulating that the outlaws had returned to the United States.

For years, numerous people claimed to have seen Butch, or Sundance, or both (and sometimes Etta) as they revisited their friends and family. One of the earliest reports came from Milton David Hinkle, who said he saw Butch and Sundance in Argentina in 1909 and again in 1913. Anne Meadows gives citations of additional sightings reported in 1910, 1915 and 1918. Author C.F. Eckhardt said there were “historical indications” that Cassidy managed a ranch in Sonora, New Mexico in the late 1920s. The stories went on and on.

The most believable tale of those claiming to have seen Cassidy after 1908 came from members of his own family. Cassidy’s nephew, Bill Betenson, claimed there were roughly twenty “well-documented” sightings over the years. Betenson also supported his mother Lula’s claim that the outlaw came home in 1925 and spent time with the family. Lula Betenson said Cassidy died in 1937, a date which jives of with the death of William T. Phillips who claimed he actually was Butch Cassidy. Betenson didn’t believe him, but Phillips told his story in an unpublished novella, “Bandit Invincible: The Story of Butch Cassidy” and achieved national fame. “Total horse pucky,” said Daniel Buck in 2011. “It [the novella] doesn’t bear a great deal of relationship to Butch Cassidy’s real life, or Butch Cassidy’s life as we know it.”

The debates about whether Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid really died in 1908 likely would be less famous were it not for William Goldman and George Roy Hill. Goldman’s movie script, “Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid,” turned to gold under Hill’s direction. Released in 1969, the film won four Oscars and was nominated for best picture. The film also catapulted actors Paul Newman (as Butch Cassidy) and Robert Redford (as the Sundance Kid) to stardom. Actress Katharine Ross, who played the beautiful and refined Etta Place, later remembered, “I don’t really know how I got the part. I didn’t audition. Maybe the producers wanted me at that moment.”

Most tantalizing to audiences was a disclaimer in the opening credits of the film reading, “Most of what follows is true.” The statement perked up the ears of historians and history buffs nationwide as the movie made over $100 million in box-office sales. In the years since the movie was released, dozens upon dozens of books have been written about Butch Cassidy, the Sundance Kid, Etta Place, the Hole-in-the-Wall Gang and the Wild Bunch, as well as the group’s other members. But also thousands of new evidence has surfaced regarding the deaths of Butch and Sundance, no solid conclusions have been reached. In life, the outlaws eluded the law with finesse. And in death, the elusive pair has managed to give history the slip.

Colorado’s White—and Deep—Christmas, in the Cripple Creek District, 1913

c 2024 by Jan MacKell Collins

It was the storm of storms, that December 5^th of 1913. For hours on end, snowflakes the size of silver dollars floated down from the dark grey clouds culminating the sky. The silence was deafening as a crisp white blanket fell gently over the Cripple Creek District, creating its own tiny universe. Fires were stoked in every stove, in every town, as the snow continued to fall. Folks hurried to get home before it got worse, trudging over crunchy white pathways that used to be roads. Miners emerged from their long shifts deep in the shafts to find mounds of snow covering the ground, and it was still coming down.

People began comparing the storm to a similar one in 1896. But within a few more hours, the electric railway lines were closed down as the tracks disappeared under the blanket of white. Soon even the Midland Terminal, the Florence & Cripple Creek and the Short Line railroad trains could not blaze a trail through the drifts. The blizzard obliterated all sight of familiar landmarks, from signs pointing the way home to front porches and even the first floors of every building in the district. Before it was over, parts of the district would be buried under an amazing eight feet of snow, with the wind creating drifts as high as 20 feet both in and out of town.

“Never within the memory of the old-timers has the snow lain so deep on the streets of the city,” reported the Cripple Creek Times, “and the drifting has not been near as bad during any of the big blizzards.” Those who could not make it home in time were a poor lot. The towns and camps surrounding Cripple Creek were completely isolated, connected to the outside world only by those fortunate enough to have a telephone. A good number of people were forced to seek shelter in Cripple Creek, where soon there wasn’t a lodging room to be had.

Many ended up sleeping in the chairs of hotel lobbies, on the billiards tables in saloons, or the floors of various restaurants. Others straggled through the deep snow as far as they were able before appealing to the good nature of friends or even strangers whose homes they stumbled upon. Bruce Vinyard, a teamster at the nearby town of Stratton, had eight men marooned at his house for two days. Throughout the district, folks ventured no further than their stove pipes, clearing snow off the top to keep it from snuffing out their fires. The starry night that shone through at midnight was deceiving; winds kept the snowflakes spiraling through the air as drifts formed like nobody had ever seen before.

Come Saturday morning, the 6^th, residents of the district awoke to a winter wonderland with stunningly blue skies and curiously warm temperatures. Many in fact likened it to a beautiful summer day, save for the tell-tale quilt of deep snow that covered everything. Snow shovels were brought out as people poured out of their shelters to see how others had fared. Miners and others who had found themselves stranded in the hills walked into town. Bruce Vinyard delivered his house guests and six other people back to their homes at Midway and Altman via horseback.

Throughout the day Saturday, the crunching of metal and wooden shovels on hard packed snow was audible all over the district. By nightfall a passageway two feet wide and as tall as 20 feet had been shoveled along Bennett Avenue. Residents dug literal tunnels from their homes to the streets; a good number of houses had snow clear up and over their rooftops. A coach full of men with shovels toiled from 8 a.m. to nightfall to clear the railroad tracks out of town. By dark, however, the men had failed to get as far as the nearest town, Anaconda, and it would be days before the train could reach Victor.

In fact, it was almost a week before train service was restored in its entirety. Working round the clock, rotary plows on the front of the train engines chewed their way through the ice and snow. When the engines got stuck, the “shovelers” would jump out and clear the tracks as best they could. At times, the train was able to advance only a few feet before becoming stuck once more. Slowly but surely, however, the crews stayed consistent and broke through the last drift on December 11.

Meanwhile, a train that had been struggling to reach the district since December 10 finally became stranded at Bull Hill behind a derailed Midland Terminal train. Undaunted, crews brought a Short Line train in from the other direction and transferred all the goods before heading back, first towards Victor and then on to Cripple Creek.

When the first train in a week was finally able to chug into Cripple Creek, it was met by a cheering crowd at the Midland Terminal Depot. Hundreds of people who had spent the last week stranded in Victor and Goldfield were crammed into its passenger coaches. Three wagon loads of mail that had been detained at Colorado Springs, 14,000 pounds of fresh meat, several baskets of bread, cases of eggs and other perishables finally made it home along with hundreds of mail-ordered Christmas presents. Once emptied, the cars quickly filled back up with folks who had been trying to get back to their homes in Colorado Springs for days. By some miracle, the train was only four hours behind its regular schedule on that joyous day.

Back in Cripple Creek and Victor, folks made the best of their predicament by playing in the snow. There had been no serious injuries or reported deaths, and the comradery fairly flowed throughout town. Armed with sleds and cameras, the men, women and children of Cripple Creek clambered among the drifts, staged snowball fights and slid down the hilly streets around town. “Everyone had a good time and seldom has such good fellowship prevailed.” The Times crowed proudly. “Everyone took part in the snowfights, rolled each other in the snow and photographed persons they had never seen before.” Indeed it was a holiday season to end all holiday seasons, complete with good will, presents, and the whitest Christmas anyone had ever seen.

Image courtesy Cripple Creek District Museum

Ute Pass, An Ancient Highway in Colorado

c 2024 by Jan MacKell Collins

Portions of this article were originally published in The Woodland Park Sentinel

At a peak elevation of 9183′, Ute Pass in El Paso and Teller Counties has remained one of Colorado’s most picturesque roads of its kind for several centuries. The ancient trail-turned-highway is so beautiful that it has sometimes been classified as one “continuous resort” by others. Indeed, a trip along Ute Pass included numerous handy stopping points where small ranches, towns, hotels, restaurants and other conveniences are easily accessible. In these places the land is fairly flat, the views incredible, there is water to be had, and the mountain air filled with pine scents is absolutely refreshing to the lungs.

Long before the founding of its numerous resort towns, Ute Pass was an ancient Native trail dating back hundreds of years and serving two useful purposes. Beginning at Manitou Springs, the trail served as a gateway to the Rocky Mountains. Manitou Springs was of special interest to the Utes, since numerous bubbling springs in the area provided healing water. The Utes, and others, believed that the great spirit, Manitou, rested beneath the springs and that as he slept, his breath created bubbles in the water. In later years, Manitou would be known to spiritualists and psychics as a very special place indeed.  

New Mexico Governor Juan Bautista de Anza was probably the first Spaniard to travel Ute Pass, in August of 1779. De Anza and his men traversed the pass in a quest to capture Comanche chief Cuerno Verde. The arrogant young chief was destined to meet his end a month later, when de Anza killed him south of Pueblo.

There was little other activity of note on Ute Pass for over two decades, until November of 1806. That year, Zebulon Pike and a party of explorers traveled the pass and attempted to scale Pikes Peak. Upon discovering the mountain’s actual height of 14,110 feet and width of 450 square miles, Pike deemed the peak unscalable and never climbed it. In 1820, Major Stephen H. Long accomplished what Zebulon Pike could not. For a time Pike’s Peak was also known as Long’s Peak, prior to the latter name being assigned to a mountain near Estes Park to the north. Over the next several decades, several other explorers braved Ute Pass to observe its scenic wonders. Among them were Kit Carson, explorer Lt. John C. Fremont, and English adventurer George F. Ruxton. These men had the foresight to know that Ute Pass would some day serve as a highway for many travelers.

The premonitions of Carson, Fremont and Ruxton became reality in 1859 with the first use of the pass by freighters. Hundreds of prospectors and merchants were making their way to the gold fields on the western slope. Augusta and Horace (H.A.W.) Tabor traversed the pass on their way to Leadville, where they struck it rich and made millions in the silver mines. The trip was indeed memorable for Augusta, who was ill and made the trek in a “sick wagon.”

In time, freighters and coaches began stopping at Robert’s Saloon in today’s little town of Cascade to rest and have a drink. Cascade also made an ideal place to water horses. The tiny saloon may have influenced others in realizing just how ideal Ute Pass was for a vacation spot. Soon, merchants from Colorado City, an early supply town between Colorado Springs and Manitou, built a new access to what was called “Ute Pass Indian Trail.” The trail began just below beautiful Rainbow Falls outside of Manitou, and the ancient trail was rebuilt as a more passable route to Cascade. The easier route attracted miners heading west, who could to stock up on supplies in Colorado City.

As with any area which experiences growth, the bad always came with the good. One of the earliest crimes on Ute Pass occurred in 1866, when a woman named Mrs. Kearney was found beheaded at her home. Nearby, her dead grandson was found stuffed into a grain sack. Several mysteries surrounded the death scene: Mrs. Kearney’s house was locked up tight, but inside the table was set for three and dinner was still sitting on the stove. Yet the sinister death of Mrs. Kearney hardly discouraged travelers on Ute Pass. In 1871 the Spotsweed and McLellan Stage was one of the many passenger stages who made their way up the pass. The coaches stopped at the top of the pass in today’s Divide, where a few primitive boardinghouses supplied food and lodging. So frequent was stage passage by this time that the original Ute trail was abandoned in favor of an all new road built by E.T. Colton. Even so, the new pass was a rocky and precarious shelf road with flimsy guardrails built along the south side. 

Another mystery was added to the pass in 1873, when allegedly, a stage coach carrying $40,000 in gold bullion, and its passengers, disappeared somewhere between Woodland Park and Colorado Springs (and no, it apparently was never found). This disturbing incident failed to frighten travel writer Isabella Bird, who made her way up the pass alone while sightseeing in Colorado. Bird was likely hardened to frontier life after an uncomfortable incident in Colorado Springs: The home in which she stayed the night housed a young man who had succumbed to tuberculosis and was laid out in the parlor as children played around the body.

Other strange events occurred in the canyons of Ute Pass. In 1877 J.T. Schlessinger, Secretary to General William Jackson Palmer who founded Colorado Springs, was found dead in a meadow along the pass. The area had been marked for a duel. Schlessinger’s body bore a bullet hole through the heart, covered by a daintily placed handkerchief. His killer was never found. Six years later, two skulls bearing bullet holes were found by a couple of fishermen. The skulls turned out to be those of two men who had been missing for some time from the town of Alma in Park County.

These unfortunate incidents were put out of mind as tourists continued to visit the region. In about 1885, the Cascade Town and Improvement Company was incorporated. Two years later, the Colorado Midland Railway made its way through Ute Pass. Accompanying the new railraod were two more towns, Green Mountain Falls in the middle of the pass, and Manitou Park near its peak.

As residents of Ute Pass came to recognize its vacation qualities, more towns and hotels were built to attract tourism. An an official carriage road was built to the top of Pikes Peak in 1888. Two years later, the wagon road was improved and included turn outs to avoid accidents on the narrow passage. The communities of Chipita Park and Woodland Park followed, as well as a spur of the Colorado Midland Railroad, the Midland Terminal Railroad, that veered towards the Cripple Creek District after gold was discovered there in the early 1890’s. Each of the pleasant little towns along the pass attracted an assortment of people from all over. In 1899, the town of Crystola was founded by psychics.

In 1901 two Denver mechanics, W. B. Felker and C.A. Yont, drove the first automobile from Colorado Springs, up Ute Pass, and very nearly to the top of Pikes Peak. It was quite a feat back then, and a message that automobiles would soon be traversing the pass. For a few years around 1911, convicts from the Colorado State Penitentiary in Canon City were put to work on improving Ute Pass even more. The prisoners camped right on the pass as they worked. Fortunate is the Native origins of pass were never forgotten. In 1912, the original Ute Pass Indian Trail was officially recognized and dedicated. Among those participating in the historic ceremony was 70-year-old Buckskin Charlie, chief of the Southern Utes. A number of other Utes rode the trail as well, many of whom had frequently traveled the pass in earlier days. Six years later, Ute Pass was included in the Pikes Peak Ocean-to-Ocean Highway, deemed the fastest route from Washington D.C. to San Francisco.

In 1930 the State of Colorado finally recognized the pass as State Highway 24 and began maintaining it on a regular basis. Part of the new improvement plans included building a bridge over Rainbow Falls. Fortunately falls are still there, and the remnants of the original pass are noted by a plaque on the rocks. Even after the Colorado Midland ceased using the pass, the volume of auto travel continued growing. In 1965 a new four lane highway was built from Manitou Springs to Cascade. The extension was followed in 1973 from Cascade to Green Mountain Falls, and from there to Woodland Park in 1977.

As work on the road progressed, twelve historic sites along the pass were marked by the Ute Pass Historical Society. Although the historical markers are hard to find today, a few of them can be spotted by driving through the historic communities of Manitou Springs, Cascade, Chipita Park, Green Mountain Falls, Crystola, Woodland Park and Divide. Also, the original cuts of the abandoned Colorado Midland Railroad can still be seen above the highway. In certain areas along the pass, remnants of the original Ute Indian Trail remain accessible to hikers. Indeed, beautiful Ute Pass remains as an ideal area to look at where we’ve been.

The “Big Swede”: Bert Bergstrom in Colorado

c 2024 by Jan MacKell Collins

Nobody messed with Bert. There was something about the big Swede with a heart of gold that everybody loved. Friends of Bert’s were many. His enemies were few. And anybody with a problem could always go straight to him.

Born in Sweden in 1896, Bert Bergstrom migrated to the United States in about 1912 and eventually found his way to Cripple Creek, the high-altitude gold mining town in Teller County. When prohibition was repealed in 1933, Bert was the first tavern owner to acquire a liquor license in Teller County. He opened the Cripple Creek Inn right on Bennett Avenue in 1934. The popular watering hole remained in business until the early 1990’s.

It was probably in Cripple Creek that Bert earned the nickname “Big Bert” or, sometimes, “The Big Swede.” In later years, many would remember that Bert was strikingly tall, with a head of white hair and a jolly sense of humor. When he moved to Woodland Park in 1945, the tiny population of 200 heartily welcomed Bert to town. It was not long before Bert became a veritable institution to the city: In 1946 he purchased the old Ute Inn on Highway 24 rolling through town from H.H. Robinson. Then he set about building some rodeo grounds. The first Ute Trail Stampede Rodeo took place in July of 1947 and eventually blossomed into Woodland’s biggest annual event.

In 1952, Bergstrom’s fine reputation received a blow. A Denver Post article revealed that several taverns in and around Woodland Park were quietly conducting illegal games of chance. Bergstrom was only too happy to post bonds for his fellow tavern owners, including Gabriel Brock of the Crystola Inn. But when Governor Dan Thornton ordered raids on the illegal gambling joints, and the Ute Inn was among the first to be busted. The Ouray Inn, Brock’s Crystola Inn and Trotter’s Inn were also raided.

The war against gambling raged for over a year. Mayor Stacy P. Stuart and Woodland Park’s city council claimed that syndicate gamblers, in cahoots with people like Bert, were threatening to take over the town. One night, an armed vigilante group even formed against the pro-gamblers. No shots were fired, but Woodland Park’s streets were cleared for two hours as residents were ordered to stay indoors. Through it all, Bergstrom stayed true to his fellow businessmen. When asked to testify against Gabriel Brock, Bert refused—and his decision was upheld by the court.

Bert Bergstrom might have been beyond the reach of the long arm of the law, but he wasn’t safe from tax collectors. In February of 1952, the Ute Inn was seized for non-payment of property taxes between 1946 and 1950. Tax agents went so far as to begin conducting an inventory of the bar, but Bergstrom foiled them by paying up and taking his tavern back. The Ute Inn reopened to a happy public, where diners could choose from such tasty menu items as Colorado Mountain Trout and fried chicken, plus a variety of home made baked goods. As the Ute prospered, Bergstrom orchestrated construction of a grandstand at the arena grounds. The stands were built from donated materials and volunteer labor on land Bergstrom donated himself. Bergstrom Arena remained a fixture in downtown Woodland Park until 2008.

Bert’s benevolent acts, meanwhile, continued for over three decades. Besides running the Ute Inn and Bergstrom Arena, he played Santa Claus and acted as Grand Marshall at the Ute Trail Stampede each year. He was also the oldest member of the Woodland Park Saddle Club, and a life time member of the Cripple Creek Elks Lodge. No needy charity escaped him, it seemed. Customers at the Ute Inn grew accustomed, and regularly donated to, Bergstrom’s campaigns for the March of Dimes and other worthy causes.

Bert Bergstrom died in 1986, a much admired gentleman. They say some 500 people attended his funeral, and he is buried in Woodland Park’s cemetery with his wife and son. Today, Bergstrom Park continues to pay homage to his contributions to Woodland Park. As for questions about his reputation and motives during the city’s turbulent days, Bert probably put it best himself in a 1971 interview: “The business I was in was the liquor business, because the Ute Inn was a bar. But, I gained the respect of young and old, not only in Woodland Park but in Teller County.”

The Story of the Cresson Mine, Cripple Creek District, Colorado

c 2024 by Jan MacKell Collins

Portions of this article originally appeared in Colorado Gambler magazine.

Visitors driving around the historic Cripple Creek District, located on the backside of Pikes Peak, can see for themselves the expanse of modern mining operations above and between the 1890’s cities of Cripple Creek and Victor. The area covered not only remains rich in gold, but in history as well. It was here that one of the last great gold booms in American history, as well as Colorado, took place. At one time, thousands of prospect holes dotted the landscape. Some developed into some of the largest mines of their time. The Cresson was one of these.

The Cresson was first staked in 1894. The name of its original owner is unclear, but history states that J.R. and Eugene Harbeck of Chicago were the owners who matter most in this tale. Allegedly the two awoke from a night of partaking in potables to find themselves owners of the Cresson. Possession of the mine was no notable feat. It was located about a mile above the town of Elkton in rough terrain, and was deemed worthless to boot.

To complicate matters, the brothers Harbeck had no money to develop their mine. Instead, they relied on good news about the district to attract investors from back home. Occasionally they were able to sell a little stock, which was invested in the profitless hole on the mountain. The mine was also occasionally financed by leasing various parcels to prospectors. Frank Ish, former owner of the Cripple Creek Crusher newspaper, was one of hopeful prospectors who gathered the cash to sink a 600-foot shaft at the Cresson. He found nothing.

While the Cresson failed, the area around it flourished. In 1905 the population of Elkton reached 3,000, comprised mostly of miners who worked in the surrounding hills. Charles Waldron had been managing the Cresson. When he gave up, the Harbecks hired Richard Roelofs, a civil engineer who had been in the district since about 1893. Roelofs already had his own troubles: his wife, Mabel, had left him shortly after their son, Richard Jr. was born. By 1895 Mabel was committing petty thefts around Philadelphia when she was caught passing bad checks around town. Mabel went to jail as Richard Jr. was returned to Cripple Creek to live with his father. The twosome had been bouncing around from place to place when Roelofs was hired to work the Cresson’s 600-foot shaft left by Frank Ish.

Three years later, in 1908, Mabel committed suicide in New York. Roelofs was still plugging away at the Cresson, but he had several of his own useful inventions under his belt. One was a safety trip used to make running the cage out of the shaft safer. He also erected an areal tram to run down the hill to Elkton. Most importantly, Roelofs was pulling low grade ore from the Cresson which assayed at $15.00 to the ton. It mattered little that most of the mines around the Cripple Creek District were petering out (or so everyone thought), and many had shut down as the populace slowly began moving away. Roelofs had that wonderful and rare gut feeling that the Cresson was going to be profitable one day.

As Roelofs’ success grew, so did profits at the mine. By 1910, rumor was that “the miracle miner” had extracted $60,000 in gold from the Cresson. The profits allowed the mine to finally get out of debt. By 1913, the mine was earning $150,000 in annual profit. Folks of the district suspected the figures to be mere speculation mixed with wishful thinking until November of 1914, when Roelofs urgently summoned Hildreth Frost to Cripple Creek. Frost was the book keeper for the Cresson from his office in Colorado Springs. But Roelofs was so insistent that Frost come to see him as soon as possible that he dropped everything to get to Cripple Creek. Upon his arrival, the accountant made his way to where Roelofs was lodging in the Palace Block at 2^nd Street and Bennett Avenue. Still, the mining man refused to explain why Frost was summoned. All would be revealed in the morning, Roelofs promised.

The following morning, Roelofs urged Frost and another mining magnate, Ed De LaVergne, to accompany him the Cresson. The three men descended deep into the mine. The deeper they went, the more De LaVergne and Frost wondered how much further they were going. Then, at the 12th level, the men finally saw what Roelofs was so excited about. Within the mountain was a cavern, called a “vug” in the industry. The cave measured 40 feet high, 20 feet long and 15 feet wide. The walls, as well as the ceiling, were absolutely covered with oxidized gold flakes nearly an inch in diameter. The giant geode was worth a fortune! No wonder Roelofs had hesitated to tell Frost anything at the Palace, where anyone could eavesdrop on the conversation.

Within the first week of the discovery, miners literally scraped the gold flakes by hand from the walls. Nearly $40,000 of gold was taken. Within a month, the vug produced 1400 sacks and $1,200,000 worth of gold at $20.67 per ounce. It is clear why robbery of the Cresson Vug became a primary fear. Roelofs saw to it that heavy vault doors were installed at the mine entrance and the miners were required to change their clothes between shifts. Ore shipments were transported in sealed boxes and protected by armed guards. In one instance, one carload of ore alone was worth a million dollars. The overhead tram was improved, running between the vaulted doors of the Cresson and Elkton.

The Cresson Mine was soon the second largest producing mine in the district for the time. Richard Roelofs and the Harbecks stood back and smiled. A lot. Stockholders back in Chicago smiled also, especially when million dollar dividends were distributed to them in 1915. Roelofs, of course, also profited beyond his wildest dreams. In 1917 the wealthy man retired to New York City, where he lived very comfortably to the age of 82. Following his father’s advice, Richard Jr. became a stock broker in Manhattan and also lived comfortably until his death in 1971.

Millionaire Albert E. Carlton later purchased the Cresson for $4,000,000. But even as mining slowed the Cresson continued to produce, even after the station house below the Elkton mine closed in 1919. By 1951, $49,000,000 in gold had been mined from the Cresson shaft, which dipped an astounding 2,400 feet below the surface. But although speculators knew there was still plenty of gold in the Cresson, methods of the day made it too expensive to mine anymore. The mine sat dormant for a few decades until it was purchased by The Cripple Creek & Victor Gold Mining Company. The CC&V Mine has since changed hands as subsequent owners have continued to draw the precious metal from the Earth.

Due to the modern mining methods, the town of Elkton fell to mining operations in 1994, and no sign of it or its original landscape exists today. The mine around the Cresson, meanwhile, has expanded more and more, to the extent that it can now be seen from the window of commercial airliners passing by. If Richard Roelofs were standing at the original shaft today, along with Eugene and J.R. Harbeck, the three would be proud to know their worthless little mine is still producing millions.

Image: Richard Roelofs, the hands-on mining manager, is shown here in the days before he struck it incredibly rich. Courtesy Cripple Creek District Museum.

The Ripley Rip-Off of Colorado, Believe it or Not!

c 2024 by Jan MacKell Collins

Portions of this article originally appeared in the Colorado Gambler magazine.

Sometimes the little coincidences around the Cripple Creek District in Colorado are truly amazing. Ask the locals, and they will tell some truly coincidental and strange tales: Like those occasions when when two people will show up at Mt. Pisgah Cemetery from opposite ends of the earth, looking for the same grave. One time two women visited the Cripple Creek District Museum on the same day looking for the same great-grandma: one was a paternal grand daughter, the other maternal, and neither had ever met. Talk about a pioneer family enough, and sooner or later a long lost descendant will show up. That’s just how it is around here, and the stories of Robert and Donald Ripley is just one more example.

Nationally-known cartoonist Robert Leroy Ripley was born in Santa Rosa, California in 1890. When his father died his mother, Lillie, moved to San Francisco. In 1910 the family was living in a lodging house and consisted of Robert and Lillie, as well as Leroy’s brother Douglas. Roy also had a sister, Effie. Young Robert was working, under his middle name, as a newspaper artist for the San Francisco Chronicle and providing the only support for his mother and brother.

In 1908 Ripley sold his first drawing for $8.00. Four years later he moved to New York as a self-taught cartoonist and began using his first name, Robert. His famous “Believe it or Not!” column, a cartoon strip illustrating strange but true facts about people, animals, places and things, premiered in the New York Globe in 1918. A brief marriage in 1919 ended in divorce, but once his series achieved fame, Ripley started traveling the world looking for odd or unusual facts to publish. He returned to California in 1920 for a brief visit, but by 1923 he was traveling the world. Over the next 29 years Ripley traveled 201 countries. He also met thousands of people and made some fun and interesting accomplishments.

In 1929 for instance, a Ripley cartoon about the lack of a national anthem resulted in the adoption of “The Star Spangled Banner” as such. Ripley’s first “Odditorium” opened in Chicago in 1933. The exhibit featured posters with Ripley’s illustrations, but also artifacts from around the globe and live performances from sword swallowers and contortionists and the like.  He also published a number of books, gave lectures and radio programs, and produced several films on his unusual subjects. By 1936 he was the most famous man in America. A year later he accepted a cartoon submission from Charles Schulz, who later became famous for his Peanuts comic strip. The cartoon was of a dog who could ingest nails and bolts with no ill effects—and who also served as a prototype for Snoopy (Schulz also grew up in Ripley’s hometown of Santa Rosa and once lived in the Pikes Peak region, residing at Colorado Springs during the 1950’s).

Edward Meyer, Vice President of Exhibits & Archives at Ripley Entertainment Inc. in 2006, said that Ripley may have passed through Colorado Springs when he was in the area during the spring of 1940. In doing so, Ripley may have just made a lasting impression on  a young man living in the high mountain town of Victor who just happened to be named Donald Ripley.

Donald Gilbert Ripley was born in 1910 at a Ft. Morgan farm, ten years after Robert Ripley. In 1934 Ripley moved to Victor with a Bachelor of Fine Arts and bookkeeping skills. “On the first day of January,” he later wrote, “I landed in Victor, Colorado, armed with the magnificent sum of five dollars, a college sheepskin, the ink scarcely dry, plus a doubtful amount of ambition.”

Ripley first went to work as a miner and later, a bookkeeper. For a time, he also lived in and had a shop in what is now Kat House Liquors and Splendid Pleasures in Victor. In 1936 he produced the first of three known books, The Trammer’s Guide. The other two books appear to have been derivatives of the first and were titled Gold Miner’s Talk and Mining Poems With Hair on Their Chest. All three books were produced in limited quantities and are collector’s items today.

It is highly probable that Don Ripley was inspired by Rufus Porter, a.k.a. “The Hard Rock Poet”, whom he would have known from the nearby town of Goldfield. Porter also published several books of poetry, and later wrote a column for the Colorado Springs Gazette for several years. Between knowing Porter and possibly meeting Robert Ripley in 1940, Donald Ripley likely penned other cartoons that have been lost to history (another coincidence is that both men sported the nickname “Rip”). Donald Ripley’s other claim to fame was the entertaining, colored map he rendered of the Cripple Creek District in 1941. One of the only known copies is in the archives of the Cripple Creek District Museum.

Ripley’s map is a fun read. Names of cities, camps and mines are accentuated with illustrations depicting namesakes, schools, mineshafts and other buildings. Although Ripley married in 1939, the names and likenesses of two women appear on the map as well: Mary Navin and Grace Arthur, whose home is also marked on the picture of Victor. What the women meant to Ripley is anybody’s guess. In 1943 he purchased a former miner’s cabin at 327 S. 6^th Street in Victor, but he didn’t stay there long. The house sold in 1945 and Don Ripley moved on.

In subsequent years, collectors of his booklets and map have insinuated that the Ripley House in Victor was a former home of the famed Robert Ripley. Alas, there is no familial tie between Robert and Donald Ripley. A search of paternal ancestors failed to reveal even the slightest clue, although Donald did have an uncle who was indeed named Leroy Ripley. But even that small coincidence has yielded nothing to link the two artists. Furthermore, Meyer said, Don Ripley’s cartoons are “definitely not the same Ripley—a very different cartoon style!” Meyer speculates that since Robert Ripley was at the height of his popularity in the 1940’s he was also being emulated by other artists and writers all over America. “With your guy having the same name I am sure he went out of his way to self-promote himself as a Ripley,” he said.

Given Donald Ripley’s colorful character, there could be some truth to Meyer’s statement. But he did establish somewhat of a local reputation in his own right. He was a fine carpenter in addition to his other skills. He was the first park ranger at Hovenweep National Monument on the Colorado and Utah border, and helped develop interpretive signs at Mesa Verde National Park. After his wife Bessie died in 1982, Ripley continued working on a variety of projects. He was also honored by Colorado University in 1992 for his archeological work and adopted by the Crow Indian tribe.

But it is unknown as to whether the two Ripleys ever really met. And, although Donald Ripley was well-enough aware of the fame of Robert Ripley, it is highly unlikely the famous Ripley knew of his cartooning counterpart. Robert died of a heart attack in 1949, during the filming of the 13^th episode of his television series in New York. He was only 55 years old. In 1950, the first Ripley’s Believe it or Not! museum opened in St. Augustine, Florida. Donald Ripley outlived Robert by over 50 years, passing away at Dolores in Montezuma County in 2003.

Today there are over forty Ripley’s Believe it or Not! museums and attractions world-wide. In Victor, Don Ripley’s former home has been on historic home tours and is still recognized as the Ripley House. The odds of two men with the same surname and the same nickname, pursuing the same career in two different places yet at the same time are unknown. Those are just the facts—believe it or not.

Victor, Colorado: The Rise and Fall of the Woods Empire

c 2024 by Jan MacKell Collins

Portions of this article originally appeared in the Colorado Gambler magazine.

There was a time when Warren Woods and his sons, Frank and Harry, were a household name in the Cripple Creek District.

Originally from Illinois, the Woods family first came to Colorado in 1878 when the threesome tried their luck at silver mining in Leadville. The endeavor was unsuccessful and the family parted ways before regrouping at Creede in 1888. With the tidy profits made from real estate and mining investments, the Woods came to the Cripple Creek District in about 1892. It was here their dreams of prosperity finally came to fruition.

Upon buying and platting the townsite of Victor in 1893, the Woods Investment Company set about building the first solid structure in town at 4^th and Victor Avenue. In addition, they built the first jail and several other buildings. Most of their structures housed businesses they owned or had an interest in, and it is said even the first Sunday School service in Victor took place at the investment company office. Wherever an organization prospered, the Woods usually had a hand in it.

In 1894, workmen digging the foundation for the Woods’ Victor Hotel found the renowned Gold Coin vein, which ran up the hill to a claim of that name. Over the next two years, the Woods purchased the claim and sunk a 106′ shaft, mining directly under the very buildings they had constructed. Soon, the Gold Coin was yielding $50,000 per month. But the Gold Coin was much more than just another mine: In true Victorian fashion, the Gold Coin shaft house featured rounded, stained glass windows, wrought iron fencing and other adornments that made it the fanciest looking mine in the entire Cripple Creek District.

Next, the Woods built the Economic Gold Extraction Company outside of town. It was the largest reduction mill in the nation at the time. Ore was transported from the Gold Coin via a 4000′ tunnel through Squaw Mountain. Electric cars, propelled by the Woods own hydroelectric plant, traversed the tunnel.

Over the next five years, the Gold Coin Mine produced close to $55 million dollars in gold. The Woods were pulling in nearly $100,000 per month! Part of the proceeds went to build the Gold Coin Club, to which all employees of the corporations controlled by the Woods Investment Company were eligible for membership. The club included a gymnasium, clubroom, billiard and pool room, a large dance floor and a bowling alley. Now the Woods were not only regarded as wealthy, they were also considered kind. That kindness extended itself generously following the famous fire of Victor in 1899.

The date was August 21, 1899. The Gold Coin Club had just recently opened—in fact, painters were putting finishing touches on the exterior that day. The fire began in a bagnio on ^3rd Street and crept slowly out of control. Many were taken by surprise. Josiah A. Small, an officer of the Woods Investment Company wrote to his wife that evening: “As H.G. and Frank were both away, I thought best to take no chances and immediately started to put books, papers, etc. into the vault, which you know, is just completed. We filled it chuck full and got all the furniture out and by that time the [Victor] hotel was in flames.” The fire spread, engulfing the Gold Coin Mine as well as the clubhouse, which was located directly across the street. “It was a touching sight to see the Gold coin and our beautiful Club house go,” Small reminisced, “and when the fire reached the boilers the old whistle commenced to blow and it sounded almost human in its wail…”

In the wake of the tragedy, the Gold Coin heroically continued paying dividends without fail. Within a week the insurance adjustors had arrived. According to Small, the Woods received a check for $38,000. They likely received more checks like it. Regardless, there was talk within ten days of the fire of adding a fourth story to the Woods Investment Company building at 4^th & Victor. This was done, and the addition was billed by newspapers as “the most pretentious building in the district.”

On January 1^st 1900  the Woods Investment Company gave a reopening bash for the miners and residents of Victor.  A promenade concert by the Gold Coin Band was followed by a grand ball to commemorate it. At a cost of $40,000, the Gold Coin Club premiered to employees three months later. Clearly, the Woods liked a good party.

While the Gold Coin was not the wealthiest mine in the district, the Woods were certainly established as among the wealthiest property and mine owners. It only made sense to them that they should buy up all the other mines they could and monopolize the electric plants for Victor and Cripple Creek. In 1900, they purchased the townsite of Grassy for $180,000 from Cripple Creek developers Bennett & Myers. The name was changed to Cameron and was accompanied by Pinnacle Park, a large amusement park for the district.

A 1903 Cripple Creek Times article commented, “The Woods people have the distinction of never having promoted a company that lost money for the investors, a record that few promoters can boast of.” But unfortunately, the Woods brothers had started becoming victims of their own wealth. Pinnacle Park, the Gold Coin and the newfangled Skaguay Power Dam were failing to produce enough income to pay the bills. The Woods were said to be worth $30 million, but they were slowly but surely going downhill.

By 1905, the failing Gold Coin mine had sold. Despite rumors of an impending deal to process ore from Stratton’s Independence Mine, the Economic Mill ceased operations. The mill burned in 1908, and local legend states there was so much sulphur in the old mill that Victor smelled like rotten eggs for three days. In addition, roughly 100 mines once belonging to the Woods were sold to a St. Louis investor. The company was forced to downsize their offices.

The Woods gave up and finally left Victor in 1910, taking a one room office in the low-rent Independence Building in Colorado Springs. Warren Woods passed away in Pasadena California in 1918. Harry made a little of his money back and retired to Laguna Beach, California, where he died in the 1920’s. Frank turned first to oil and then back to gold while living in Colorado Springs. In the meantime, he suffered the loss of two children and two wives. He eventually moved to Los Angeles, where he died in 1932. Friends raised the money for his burial.

And what remains of the Woods’ reign in Victor? The Gold Coin Club found use as a hospital. It is now privately owned and is occasionally open for the public to see. As for the Gold Coin mine, it remains in the form of a brick foundation and wood shaft frame and other remnants that illustrate how beautiful it once was. It is all that is left of the millionaires who did themselves in.

A Century Old Christmas in the Cripple Creek District of Colorado

c 2023 by Jan MacKell Collins

Portions of this article first appeared in the Colorado Gambler magazine.

The gaudy glare of casino lights in historic downtown Cripple Creek may appear caustic to some these days, but there was a time, over a century ago, when the town also was lit up – especially at Christmas. For those living in the Cripple Creek District at the turn of the last century, Christmas was the favorite holiday by far. This is when long missed family visited. Neighbors talked and exchanged Christmas recipes. Quarrels were settled. School plays were performed. Parties were given. Dances were held. Snowmen were built. City employees received boxes of cigars and other gifts as their Christmas bonus. A dozen or more Santa Clauses appeared at every church and lodge in the district. And the delicious smell of freshly baked cookies, cakes and pies wafted from nearly every home.

Each dwelling, no matter how large or how small, had a Christmas tree. In fact, celebration over cutting the tree became so emphatic that in 1907, Colorado Governor Buchtel issued a proclamation against the needless cutting down of trees throughout the state. Much like today, it was customary to cover the family tree with an assortment of fantastic decorations. Homemade popcorn and cranberry stringers were a favorite, and candles were often used before the advent of lights. Later, bulbs were shaped in the form of Santa Claus, teddy bears and other symbols of Christmas. When the bulbs burned out, they could still function as ornaments.

Just like today, the Cripple Creek of old did not escape commercialism at Christmas. Stores along Bennett Avenue began advertising their wares in local papers immediately following Thanksgiving. They knew that the miners received $5 Christmas bonuses and how the local housewives had scrimped and saved all year. Among those shops offering the most in Christmas shopping in 1900 were the Bazaar Dry Goods at 3rd and Bennett, D.F. Blackmer, The Ellis, The May, Segil Brothers, and The Atlantic. The latter store ran an annual ad proclaiming, “Christmas time is Candy Time!”

Other stores offered anything from ladies and men’s suits to china and brick-a-brack. Toiletries, handkerchiefs, shoes, gloves, “toggles” and “haberdashery” were also ideal presents. “We are making great preparations for Christmas trade and the toys, dolls, etc. are rapidly being placed on display,” explained the Bazaar in their advertisements. “Our stock in these lines will be large and complete as ever.” Most department stores offered sales to encourage shoppers to buy early and save. The ads grew more persistent as Christmas drew near.

The stress of holiday shopping was countered by the balls, dinners and get togethers held by a number of organizations around town. Of these, the Elks lodge of both Cripple Creek and Victor were the most extravagant. Party-goers were encouraged to bring their children to see Santa Claus. A giant Christmas tree was erected in the lodge room and decorated with tinsel, ornaments, candy and small presents for each child. An inviting array of food was laid out, and attendees often ate and danced through the night. Blankets and coats provided bedding for smaller children who wore out before the night was over.

The holiday activities peaked on Christmas Day as families reunited and celebrated with Christmas dinner. Although the courthouse and most shops closed, the saloons did not. Some even served turkey dinners, but in spite of their good intentions a number of inebriated celebrators were generally in jail by evening. Sheriff Henry Von Phul, who maintained order in Cripple Creek for many years, always arranged for his prisoners to get Christmas dinner. Meanwhile, opera houses and boxing rings offered special Christmas shows for those who escaped the good sheriff’s grasp.

As the gold boom waned, Cripple Creek Christmas’ settled into quieter, albeit ever traditional, celebrations. In Victor and Cripple Creek, an annual parade included Santa Claus arrived on the city fire truck amidst the clamor of excited children. In an 1998 interview with Margaret Hack (nee Acklebein), who grew up in Cripple Creek, the lady had many fond memories, including seeing Santa Claus, going to Midnight Mass on Christmas Eve and cooking the turkey Christmas morning. The Acklebeins had a coal stove, which Margaret claimed was much better than any stove used today. “The food tasted so much better!” she said.

Loretta Bielz Tremayne, who grew up in Victor, also recalled similar experiences as a child. Loretta’s family had an amazing 15 children, and the family often made their own gifts. “My mother would make doll clothes, and my grandmother and aunts would make rag dolls,” she said. The boys of the family would receive homemade wood toys such as guns and trucks. “There wasn’t very much money at that time,” Loretta explained, “but we would each get one ‘bought’ thing.”

Loretta also had two favorite memories of a past Christmas. One was when she received her first pair of ice skates, which were made to clamp onto the bottom of her shoes. The other was shortly after she married her husband, Art. “When Art and I got married, he had a three year old boy,” she said, “and we took him to see Santa. He was so excited to see Santa. It was our first Christmas  together. He enjoyed it so much!” That young boy was Richard Tremayne who, with his brothers Art Jr. and Ernie, had fond memories of sledding down Third and Fourth Street, and hoping for the best as they skidded their sleds across Bennett Avenue on the way down the hill. Their mother, said Art, threw a fit when she found out.

Dick Tremayne also remembered that Santa Claus was usually played by one of the local firemen or elk members. Santa threw an assortment of goodies, mostly fruit, candy and nuts, from the firetruck as he rolled down the main drag. Popcorn balls were another favorite treat. Loretta Tremayne recalled the fire station in Victor always had a cross on top at Christmas, and the late Joe West once played Santa. “There’s been so many memories.” she sighed.

With time, shops in the district closed down one by one as mining slowed down in the Cripple Creek District. Margaret Hack and her husband, former Cripple Creek mayor Henry “June” Hack, purchased a grocery at Bennett Avenue and Second Street in 1953. “All the years we had the grocery store, things were quiet in Cripple Creek.” said Margaret. But at Christmas, “Henry decorated the store with lights in the window and Loretta Davis, the school superintendent, said ‘It looks so pretty!’ It was the first time she’d seen lights on Bennett in many years.”

All this time, the Elks lodges continued to spread good cheer with parties and dinner baskets with all the fixings to needy families of the area. In Cripple Creek, Santa Claus also continued his annual trek from the fire station to the stoplight that once sat at Bennett and Second Street. The only tradition to really change was the venue for Christmas shopping: Folks began making trips to Colorado Springs and Canon City, where there was a larger selection of goods. The only other alternative was to order items from the Montgomery Ward or J.C. Penney catalog – buying sites like Amazon hadn’t been thought of. “Kids in those days sat with the catalogs – we called it “The Wish Book,” explained Margaret Hack, “and picked out what they wanted.”

Other Cripple Creek customs included closing off 4th Street for sledding and taking evening trips to admire the decorated homes around town. The Red Lantern, a former brothel that transformed into a favored local hangout on Myers Avenue, always had a brightly decorated tree in the parking lot. Margaret also recalled groups of carolers who made their way around town. And there was always the Elks. Today, some of the traditions and landmarks that were once so well known in the Cripple Creek District have disappeared. Luckily, a new generation of traditions have slowly grown over the last thirty years. And, the downtown areas of Cripple Creek and Victor continue to light up the night with their own lights and decorations. After all, they always have, and they always will.

The Fortuitous Fortune Club of Victor, Colorado

c 2023 By Jan MacKell Collins

Portions of this article originally appeared in the Colorado Gambler magazine.

“Do not confuse fortuitous with fortunate.” warns the Oxford American Dictionary, which defines the former word as “happening by chance.” In which case, fortuitous is an appropriate term to use in describing the historic Fortune Club in downtown Victor, the second largest city in the Cripple Creek District of Colorado. It is purely by chance that this building, once a prominent social center of Victor, remains intact and very similar to its original appearance, and has been a centralized meeting place for residents for over 100 years.

Following the devastating Victor fire of August 1899, the Fortune Club arose from the rubble at 300 Victor Avenue. Then as now, it was an imposing two story edifice with a corner entrance on the first floor. Inside, a lengthy bar was accompanied by a number of gaming tables and period furniture. Patrons were welcome to partake in gambling and drinking downstairs, while the upstairs rooms were fitted to accommodate a number of ladies of the evening and their guests. For convenience, kegs of beer were delivered via small doors at sidewalk level on the side of the building. The windows were shaded by beautiful canvas awnings.

The Fortune Club appears to have been the dreamchild of Sam Lang. Sam first appeared in the Cripple Creek District in 1896, running at least two saloons in Cripple Creek. By 1900, Sam’s enterprises had expanded to Victor, where he is listed in city directories as proprietor of the Fortune Club. The business-minded Lang made no mistake by situating his saloon and gaming emporium on the prominent corner of Victor Avenue and Third Street. Across Third Street was the Hackley Furniture Store, with a hotel upstairs. Catty-corner to that was the Monarch Club, said to be the finest gentleman’s club west of the Mississippi. It was no accident that the Cripple Creek Stage let passengers off at this prominent corner, and so the Fortune Club was rarely without customers.

By 1901, Sam already had his hands full with the Rocky Mountain Liquor House in Cripple Creek. A relation by the name of Harry Lang took over operations in Victor. Harry officially formed the Fortune Liquor Company in June of 1901, and activity at the Fortune Club really began swinging into action. A number of faro and poker dealers, bartenders and prostitutes called the place home for the next fifteen years. Most of their names are lost to history, but former owner Mac McCormick once compiled a semi-list of some of the painted ladies who may have made their by living working at the Fortune Club. They include Cleo and Hattie Fay, Hattie May Jordan, Red Stocking Lee, The Chicago Rose, Goldfield Lil, Violet Long and Hazel Vernon Wright. Most unfortunately, none of these ladies appear in any official documents.

As for Harry C. Lang, he may have doubled as a foreman at the Glorietta Mining Lease of the Cripple Creek Mining Company. It is certain he spent most of his time at the Fortune Club while residing a few doors up at 308 Victor Avenue. By 1905, Harry made his home at 201 West Spicer, indicating that his profits enabled him to enhance his accommodations and move into an actual house. Sometime between 1905 and 1908, Harry took a wife. Blanche Lang’s influence on the Fortune Club is prominent in courthouse records, where her name appears on most business dealings after 1908. This is not surprising, since Colorado tax officials gave women-owned businesses larger tax breaks. They still do this even today.

In the meantime, Sam Lang changed the name of his business in Cripple Creek to the Green Ribbon Liquor Company. Two years later, Sam sold out to manager Victor Weisburg and moved out of the district. He left behind only a small legacy in comparison to his successor of the Fortune Club: Harry Lang continued running the Fortune Club for several more years, eventually caving in under pressure from temperance unions and the oncoming threat of prohibition. As of 1913, the Fortune Club was no longer known as such in city directories. It is notable, however, that until 1916 Harry and Blanche continued to operating a saloon 300 Victor Avenue. The couple were living at 210 South 2nd Street when they closed the tavern later that year. By 1920, with national prohibition firmly set in place, the Lang’s had sold out and left town.

IN 1925, Mr. and Mrs. Ivan Harshbarger purchased the building and opened a confectionery and stationary store. A Flak soda fountain was installed to replace the original bar. For the next 44 years, the Harshbargers remained faithful proprietors of the old Fortune Club. Only the services occasionally changed as “Harshies” expanded to include a pharmacy and liquor store after prohibition ended in the 1930’s. By then, the Harshbargers were one of the most prominent families in Victor. Throughout the ’30’s, the Harshbarger name often appeared in the Cripple Creek Times Record and other newspapers of the district.

The Harshbargers continued to lovingly preserve the Fortune Club’s historic facade and exquisitely authentic interior. As of 1966, for instance, the place was still heated by oil stoves. The store was then known as Harshbarger & Son, run by G.I. and Rollin Harshbarger. When the Harshbargers finally sold to Jack and Betty Walker in 1969, it was the passing of a family and town landmark. They say that Harshies gained distinction in its four-decade reign as the oldest business under single management to ever function in the Cripple Creek District.

The Walkers did not retain ownership of the old Fortune Club for long. During the 1970’s, Carol Roberts and Barbara Doop owned the building, later selling to Herbert and Leola Edgington. The Edgington’s in turn sold to Charles and Charlotte Kapitan. In the end, Wayne “Mac” McCormick and business partner June Bradley bought the Fortune Club, vowing to restore it to its original post-prohibition splendor.

The former red-light rooms upstairs were the biggest problem, according to newspaper interviews with Mac. Following Harry Lang’s ownership of the Fortune Club, the eleven rooms alternated as apartments and hotel rooms, eventually falling into disrepair. Plaster fell from the ceiling and the walls were in need of paint. Fortunately, other decor such as the original Victorian woodwork remained untouched. When Mac took over sole ownership of the Club in 1995, the rooms were rented out to residents of Victor. Renters let the rooms at the Fortune Club with a firm understanding that the original decor, including the beautiful woodwork, was to be left intact.

Although the Fortune Club is closed at this time, visitors can peer through the bottom floor windows to see the original Flak fountain and its marble bar which has served so many residents and visitors over the years. Wood and glass cases, original shelving and several artifacts and photographs from Victor’s past remain as well. This writer especially enjoyed many an afternoon taking in the view while sipping a malt, which locals will testify was quite unlike any other in this world. It is only a hopeful guess that the 1904 player piano remains as well, and that someone will soon reopen this epic cornerstone in the heart of Victor. The spirits of the Harshbargers, Harry Lang, Mac McCormick and a host of other past owners would be proud to see their dreams carried on in such fine tradition.