Category Archives: Women of the West

Thanksgiving in Frontier Arizona

c 2019 by Jan MacKell Collins

Portions of this article originally appeared in the Frontier Gazette

What was Thanksgiving in pioneer Arizona like? In many ways, the tradition and overall ambience has changed very little—except, imagine having to butcher your own turkey. Stewing your own cranberries. Baking pies and dinner rolls from scratch. Cooking on a wood-burning stove. Hand-washing the dishes. This was very much a part of Arizona’s Thanksgivings of old.

President Abraham Lincoln signed the Organic Act to form Arizona Territory in February of 1863. Eight months later, he officially designated Thanksgiving an official holiday. Newcomers to Arizona were only too glad to give thanks in their new, albeit primitive, homes. Although the hard work involved to make any large meal was a part of every day life, the workload doubled at Thanksgiving.

The menu from a 1905 issue of Harper’s Bazaar gives much insight into details of a proper Thanksgiving dinner. The courses consisted of “Oysters on the half-shell with cocktail in pepper shells; Radishes, celery, salted nuts; Clear consommé with tapioca; Filet of flounder with pimentos and olives; dressed cucumbers; Roast turkey; cranberry jelly in small molds; creamed chestnuts; glazed sweet-potato; Cider frappé in turkey sherbet-cups; Quail in bread croustades; dressed lettuce; Blazing mince pie; Cheese with almonds; wafers; Angel parfait in glasses; small cakes; coffee.”

As the popularity of Thanksgiving grew during the 1860’s, a number of church cookbooks, ladies’ clubs and professional cooks offered endless numbers of enticing recipes. Amongst the earliest cookbooks was Isabella Mary Beeton’s 1861 Book of Household Management, which favored cooking a “modest” turkey for better flavor. Ms. Beeton recommended butchering the bird and letting it hang for four to eight days, depending on the weather, before dressing it. The required ingredients were one “middling-sized” turkey, white paper, forcemeat (an early term for dressing with meat), flour and butter. The recipe read in part, “Carefully pluck the bird, singe it with white paper, and wipe it thoroughly with a cloth; draw it, preserve the liver and gizzard, and be particular not to break the gall-bag, as no washing will remove the bitter taste it imparts where it once touches.”

More instructions followed, including “flattening the breastbone to make it look plump.” When stuffed and sewn, a “sheet of buttered paper” was fastened to the breast before the bird was put “down to a bright fire, at some little distance at first (afterwards draw it nearer).” The recipe cautioned to “keep it well basted the whole of the time it is cooking.” Gravy was made by dredging the turkey with flour, adding butter and basting with it during the last fifteen minutes.

In time, traditional bread stuffing became a favored alternative to forcemeat. An 1894 edition of the Coconino Weekly Sun offered a fairly simple recipe: “Prepare a dressing of bread crumbs, mixed with butter, pepper, salt, thyme and wet with hot water or milk. Add the beaten yolks of two eggs. Mince a dozen oysters and stir into the dressing, and, if you are partial to the taste, wet the bread crumbs with the oyster liquor.”

As the Victorian era arrived, Thanksgiving Pudding became a favorite dish. The instructions from an 1880 recipe were to the point: “Pound 20 crackers fine, add 5 cups milk and let swell. Beat well 14 eggs. Pint sugar. Cup molasses. 2 small nutmegs. 2 TSP ground clove. 3 ground cinnamon. 2 TSP salt. 1/2 TSP soda. Add to crackers. Finally add pint of raisins. Makes two puddings.”

Other dishes came and went, depending on what was most popular at the time. A staple dating to the first Thanksgiving dinner that has never gone away, however, is the pumpkin pie. A 1927 recipe offered simple, from-scratch ingredients and instructions that can still be followed today:

1 cup cooked pumpkin, 2 egg yolks or 1 egg, 1/3 cup sugar, 1/2 teaspoon salt, 1/2 teaspoon ginger, 1 cup milk. Mix ingredients and pour into unbaked crust. Bake in a hot oven (450 degrees) for 10 minutes. Then reduce heat to 350 degrees and bake until custard is done. Serve with whipped cream.

No matter the recipe, the primitive pioneers of Arizona were thankful for their Thanksgiving dinners, and especially to the many women who toiled in kitchen to make the tastiest meals possible. And a bit of humor never hurt either, as illustrated in this 1895 poem entitled “Mother Gets the Neck”:

“The sage may read the heaven’s tale

But can he this explain;

Why does she choose that bony part

And let the rest remain!

Aye, roasted, fried it is the same,

She loves to sit and peck

At the curved, tidgy meatless thing:

A turkey’s crinkly neck.”

Good Time Girls of Arizona & New Mexico: A Red Light History of the Southwest

c 2019 by Jan MacKell Collins

As part of the new Good Time Girls series in historical prostitution, I am please once again to announce that my new book, Good Time Girls of Arizona and New Mexico has arrived!

It is no secret that I absolutely love writing about shady ladies of the past. Their bravery, dilligence and determination to survive make many of them heroes in my book. Here we have women bearing raw and untamed lands, oppressive heat, little water and a host of unknowns to settle in the southwest during a time when most “respectful” women dared not cross the overland trails. Oppressive too was the society in which these ladies lives, overcoming public shaming and shunning to make their way in a man’s world. Their stories naturally range from tragic to triumphant; all of them should be remembered as human beings, sisters, wives, daughters and mothers.

Expanding on the research I did for Red Light Women of the Rocky Mountains (University of New Mexico Press, 2009 – out of print) and Wild Women of Prescott, Arizona (The History Press, 2015), this tome is a closer look at some of the ladies I wanted to know more about. Included here are chapters on Jennie Bauters, Big Bertha (of Williams, AZ), Sarah Bowman, Lizzie McGrath, Sadie Orchard, May Prescott, Jennie Scott, Silver City Millie and Dona Tules—all madams who were astute businesswomen and wielded much power and profit during their time. Also included are lesser known women such as the Sammie Dean of Jerome, AZ and the fierce Bronco Sue Yonkers. I visited ladies of the camp, wanton women on the Santa Fe Trail, and plenty of other women who dared to work in the prostitution industry and defied the laws, societies and men who tried to suppress them.

For those of you wishing to order the book, you can do so at this link: https://rowman.com/ISBN/9781493038114/Good-Time-Girls-of-Arizona-and-New-Mexico-A-Red-Light-History-of-the-American-Southwest

 

Good Time Girls of Colorado: A Red-Light History of the Centennial State

c 2019 by Jan MacKell Collins

A quick note about this book: expanding on the research I have done for Brothels, Bordellos & Bad Girls: Prostitution in Colorado 1860-1930 (University of New Mexico Press, 2004) and Red Light Women of the Rocky Mountains (University of New Mexico Press, 2009 – out of print), presented here are some notable shady ladies like Mattie Silks, Jennie Rogers, Laura Evens and others. Also included however, are some ladies seldom written about: French Blanche LeCoq, Lou Bunch and Laura Bell McDaniel (whom I was pleased to first introduce to the world clear back in 1999).

Why do I write about historical prostitution? Because I believe that these women made numerous unseen, unappreciated contributions to the growth of the American West. They paid for fines, fees, business licenses and liquor licenses in their towns. They shopped local, buying their clothing, furniture, food, jewelry, medicine and other needed items from local merchants. These women were often angels of mercy, donating to the poor, helping the needy, and making or procuring sizeable donations for churches, schools and other organizations. Many took care of their customers when they were sick, or sometimes when they became elderly.

Hollywood and the general public like to laugh at and shame women of the night for selling sex for a living. In reality, these women often turned to prostitution as the only viable way to make enough money to survive. Theirs was one of the most dangerous professions of the time, the threat of devastating depression, domestic violence, disease, pregnancy and often subsequent abortion, and alcohol or drug related issues being very real issues the ladies faced daily.

I hope you enjoy reading this book as much as I enjoyed writing it and furthering the truth about our good time girls from the past. You can order it here: https://rowman.com/ISBN/9781493038060/Good-Time-Girls-of-Colorado-A-Red-Light-History-of-the-Centennial-State

The Woman Who Dressed as a Man

c 2019 by Jan MacKell Collins

Portions of this article originally appeared in the Colorado Gamber and the Ute Pass Vacation Guide.

It was a hot, dusty and dry Colorado August day in 1899 as the Colorado Midland Railroad chugged into the one horse town of Florissant. As the train came to a stop at the depot, the restless population looked on as passengers disembarked from the train. In such a sleepy town, the coming of the train was always an event to look forward to. New faces bearing news from Colorado Springs were always welcome, and residents yearned for anything fresh to break up the monotony of everyday life.

One woman in particular seemed to stand out from the crowd on the depot platform. For one thing, she was alone and no one was there to greet her—a most unusual circumstance in those times. Furthermore, the gal hardly seemed lost or lonely. Rather, she bore a determined look on her face as she gazed up and down the street. Upon spying the nearest hotel, the woman gathered her bags up and made for the lodge as if she had a mission in mind.

Once the lone traveler had disappeared within the depths of the hotel, the folks watching the train forgot all about her. The exception may have been a reporter for the Cripple Creek Times, who was in town skulking around for fresh news. Alas, there just plain wasn’t much going on. So when the mysterious femme was next seen leaving the hotel dressed in men’s clothing, she became front page news.

In 1899, cross dressing—as most state and city ordinances referred to it—was most inappropriate, as well as downright illegal. Notorious western corset-busters such as Calamity Jane and Pearl Hart were one thing. But this woman had actually appeared quite refined before her change from a ladies’ dress to men’s pantaloons. To make matters worse, the seeming suffragette refused to even acknowledge the odd looks coming her way as she walked with purpose out of town. According the newspaper she was next seen headed toward Guffey in the Freshwater Mining District, that determined look still sparkling in her eye.

For three days, the Cripple Creek Times continued to speculate on the woman’s activities. The hotel front desk yielded little information, except that the lady was from somewhere back east. She had spoken very little, paid cash, and left her room without checking at the desk. As the girl presumably continued her journey to Guffey, newsmongers scrambled for some clues as to her motives and interviewed witnesses as to her whereabouts.

The mystery was finally solved on the third day, when the Times published the rest of the story. Apparently, the woman’s fiancé had suddenly abandoned her in the east, and subsequent inquiries revealed he had taken up with another woman whose expansive ranch was located nearby. The lone traveler had disguised herself in men’s clothing in order to spy on the two and see just what they were up to.

The couple were not at the ranch when the she-man arrived, but a ranch hand remembered her visit. He said it was mighty curious that the young “man” was willingly greeted by the family dog. Also, he said, he began asking questions and leaning towards the cowpoke for closer look at his face. That was when the strange visitor took “his” leave.

That was the end of the story, at least as far as the Times was concerned, although there was some chatter in the paper about the fiance’s mother, who apparently had disapproved of the mysterious femme. Whether the lady reconciled with her unrequited lover remains unknown. But at the very least, she did make history as the first woman daring enough to walk the streets of Florissant dressed as the opposite sex.

Molly Brown Pulls a Fast One

c 2019 by Jan MacKell Collins

When the famed “Unsinkable Molly Brown” of Denver became even more famous as a heroine on the sinking Titanic, news reports about her were most fitting. Previously shunned by Denver’s elite society, Margaret Tobin Brown, wife of a mining milionaire, at last had her day. To the “Sacred 86” and Denver’s other elite circles, she was uncouth, uneducated, and worth no more than a smear campaign launched by Polly Pry of the Denver Post. But her Titanic fame endeared her to the world.

From her posh Denver hotel room after her horrific experience on the sinking ship, Molly told the press that she had boarded the Titanic in a rush to get back to Colorado to see her grandson. The child had been born in the mining town of Victor just five months before. In an effort to see the sickly youngster, Maggie later said, she boarded the ill-fated ship and sailed into history. Sailed into folklore is more like it. For as much as she relished being vindicated and recognized at last, Maggie’s motives behind her statement are questionable. Not only did she initially tell the press she had planned to visit her native home of Hannibal Missouri, but Maggie had already written a letter to her sister there in anticipation of her visit.

In Hannibal, Maggie’s beginnings were as humble as it gets. Both of her parents were uneducated Irish immigrants who had come to America to make a better life for themselves. Each was widowed. The two met and married in Hannibal. Maggie’s father, John Tobin, earned about $1.75 per day digging ditches for Hannibal Gasworks. In 1860, he managed to purchase a tiny house in the “Irish Shanty” section of town. Here, Maggie was born in 1867 and raised with three brothers and sisters, plus two half-siblings.

The Tobins lived a typical, poor Irish lifestyle. Their five room house contained such essentials as a small wood stove in the kitchen, oil lamps and hand-made furniture. There were a few chickens and a cow. Maggie’s mother Johanna favored smoking a clay pipe. These were facts the wealthy ladies of Denver later liked to point out after Maggie married and struck it rich. What they left out was the fact that Maggie attended the O’Leary Private School across the street from her home. Her aunts, Mary and Margaret, were teachers. Maggie attended classes through age 13, receiving an ample amount of schooling for the 1870’s.

Upon leaving school, Maggie procured a job at the Garth tobacco factory. Next, she moved in with her half sister, Katie Becker. The Beckers lived in a two story home in a working class neighborhood. Later, Maggie turned to waitressing, working first at the Continental Hotel and later at the Park Hotel. Historians doubt Maggie’s later story that she met Mark Twain, another famous Hannibalite who came home for a visit in 1882. However, there is a possibility she waited on him at the hotel. True or not, the tale was added to Maggie’s repertoire of wonderful stories. Other stories regarding Twain included hunting and fishing with him, being on a boat with him, and even being rescued by him during a cyclone! This lady loved a good story.

In 1883, Molly’s sister Mary and her husband, Jack Laundrigan, moved to Leadville. Three years later, nineteen-year-old Maggie and her brother Daniel joined them. Upon arriving in Leadville, Maggie and Daniel stayed with their sister. Soon after, Maggie married J.J. Brown and the two made history as Brown’s interests in mining turned him into a millionaire.

Maggie returned to Hannibal in 1887 to give birth to a son, Lawrence Palmer Brown. Perhaps she was having the first of many spats with J.J., as theirs was a stormy relationship. In 1889, according to the Molly Brown House Museum in Hannibal, the rest of Maggie’s family followed her to Leadville. By most accounts, only Kate Becker remained in Hannibal. Maggie’s parents lived the remainder of their lives in Denver, and upon their respective deaths were shipped back to Hannibal for burial.

The Browns moved to Denver to, and lived among the rich. But their wealth, the public decided, was undeserved. The picture of poor little Irish Maggie Tobin lucking out and striking it rich infuriated the upper class society ladies. At every opportunity, these same ladies worked with the media to put Maggie in her place. It is no wonder she began telling stories and doing outlandish things to attract attention. Among her sins was alternating the time of her two children between expensive boarding schools and trips abroad. Both Denver society and J.J. frowned on the practice with a vengeance.

Maggie’s one downfall was that she defied the very status she was seeking. Her lavish parties to which nobody came echoed with her brazen mid-western voice. She was not elegant, handsome or genteel. Many of the wild tales she spun were obvious fibs. The very fact that Maggie Brown did not act the part of her elite female counterparts set her aside from the rest. When she occasionally defended herself, in poorly-spelled letters to the editor of the Denver Post, her adversaries saw an opportunity to poke further fun at her.

Maggie spent the majority of the winter of 1911-12 abroad with her daughter Helen, who was in a German boarding school. The two visited Egypt and Europe. Just previous to that winter, Maggie’s son Lawrence had moved to Victor and worked as a miner. His marriage to a common gal, Eileen Horton, put a strain on the relationship with his father. Jumping on the media bandwagon, the Victor Record published a taunting headline which read, “Peeves Rich Dad; Now He Must Dig for Living.” In reality, the doting Maggie sent Lawrence money on the sly.

On November 21, 1911, Eileen gave birth to a son, Lawrence Palmer Jr. The child wasn’t faring well at Victor’s high altitude, and Eileen took the baby home to Kansas City shortly after Christmas in 1911. By late March “rumor had abounded that the baby died,” said Maggie’s great-granddaughter, Muffet Brown. Who started the rumor is unclear, but it was through a letter from a friend of Helen’s, not any family member, that Maggie discovered her new grandson was in ill-health. She would later tell the press that the letter was what spurred her to action and seek passage back to America.

Here is where Magie’s tale falls apart. A letter sent from Colorado would have to be taken by train to the eastern seaboard to await disbursement by ship to Europe. That meant months before any correspondence arrived. Telegrams by this time were the speediest method for wiring emergency messages. Had the baby become worse, Maggie would have been notified immediately. By the time Maggie heard the news, she had plenty of time to wire back to the states and get verification of the baby’s condition.

According to historian Caroline Bancroft, Maggie booked last minute passage on the Titanic upon hearing of the maiden voyage from John Jacob Astor and his wife Madeline. “Because of her frequent trips in former years she was able to get on the sailing list at the last moment.” said Bancroft. Helen did not accompany her mother, and the Molly Brown House Museum in Denver maintains that Maggie had written from Paris to her sister Kate that she would be coming to Hannibal for a visit upon her return from Europe – not Victor, as she later claimed.

Within two days of the ship’s sinking, the Hannibal Courier-Post ran a story about Maggie’s Titanic adventure, noting “Hannibal Woman Has Sister Among Survivors”. The story related how “Mrs. Brown had expected to spend several weeks in Hannibal during this spring and summer. Three weeks ago she wrote her sister from Paris, stating that the party would sail for America in a few days and that she expected to stop over in Hannibal for a long visit on her way home in Denver.” There was no mention of Maggie’s sick grandbaby.

Upon reaching New York on April 18, Bancroft maintained Maggie checked into the Ritz-Carlton and wired home for money. J.J. was in Arizona at the time, “using the name Bacon in an effort to dodge Maggie’s demands,” according to the historian. J.J.’s secretary in Denver ultimately wired traveling funds. When she got to Denver, Maggie next found comfort in a luxurious suite at the Brown Palace Hotel. Newspaper reporters and admirers mingled with message boys bringing handfuls of telegrams and letters, according to Bancroft.

It was probably at this time that Maggie changed her story and reported she cut her travels short to return to America because her grandson was sick. She also felt free to embellish on her Titanic adventures, the details of which grew longer and more unbelievable the more she spoke of them. Because of her harrowing experience, Maggie gained her long-awaited acceptance into proper Denver society. She at last had the public’s ear, and was talking into it as fast as she could.

By the time things had settlted down, both Lawrence and Eileen had left Victor. Lawrence was working in Oregon, and Eileen was en route with the baby. If she made a stop in Denver to see her mother-in-law, there is no record of the visit. The child, nicknamed “Pat”, survived and lived a long healthy life. He died in California in 1976.

As for the idea that Maggie could have been bringing clothes for Lawrence as was portrayed in 1998’s Titanic film, Margaret Brown did not claim any men’s clothing on her insurance voucher. She was, however, reimbursed by the Titanic’s White Star Line for the other possessions she lost. And did Maggie ever make it to Victor? Certainly not. Furthermore, there is little evidence that she ever saw her grandbaby at all. Eileen and Larry’s marriage was stormy at best; the couple divorced in 1915, remarried in 1917 and divorced again in 1927. Larry ultimately married Hollywood actress Mildred Gregory. The couple lived in California before returning to Leadville.

Within a year of the Titanic disaster, Maggie was renting a cottage in Newport, Rhode Island, where she was later evicted for back rent. During her post-titanic years, Maggie continued traveling. Her last visit to Hannibal was probably in 1926, when she attended the unveiling of a statue depicting Mark Twain’s Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn. When she died in 1932, only about $1,500 was left of the Brown fortune.

 Today, the Molly Brown House in Denver has been restored and maintained as a museum. Likewise, the Molly Brown Dinner Theatre in Hannibal is expanding and entertains guests with stories of her life. And the Molly Brown Birthplace and Museum on Mark Twain Avenue in Hannibal has undergone at least two restorations. The latter, with its clapboard siding and fresh paint, hardly resembles the place Maggie grew up in. It’s o.k. though. Maggie would no doubt like it the way it is, perhaps even borrowing a bit of Twain-lore about how she finagled the neighborhood kids into helping paint it. She’d like that story.

Soiled Doves of the Santa Fe Trail: Colorado and New Mexico

c 2017 by Jan MacKell Collins

Portions of this article first appeared in New Legends Magazine.

Trinidad, Colorado is Santa Fe Trail country where, beginning in 1821, the “Mountain Branch” spanned from today’s Pueblo and south through Trinidad, Raton and on to Santa Fe. While the majority of women who traveled the trail were wives and daughters, it wasn’t long before ladies of the night also joined the caravans heading west.

When Fort Pueblo was established in 1853, several red light districts appeared over time as the city grew. One was by the Arkansas River near today’s central Pueblo. Another was near Santa Fe Avenue and today’s 1st Street. Some of the more notorious bordellos in Pueblo included the Stranger’s Home and the Hotel de Omaha, where fights, murders and suicides occurred with alarming frequency.

The Denver & Rio Grande Railroad began laying rails south of Pueblo in the late 1800’s. The tracks first passed through El Moro, a “company town” located four miles from Trinidad. Such places normally forbid prostitution, but in El Moro, George Close successfully ran a dance hall just around the corner from the New State Hotel with its fancy saloon.

South of Trinidad, the railroad continued over the New Mexico border to Raton. By the 1880’s a red light district was flourishing along Garcia Street, just across the tracks from the business district on First Street. Early soiled doves of Raton included a woman called La Josie, who they say could dance up a storm despite having a peg leg.

When the business district relocated to Second Street, Josie and her cohorts immediately filled the empty buildings along First. In time, Raton’s bawdy houses spanned a two block area near the depot and downtown. In 1888, a devastating fire burned much of the red light district and the business district after a disgruntled working girl threw a lamp at one of her customers.

Further south of Raton was Fort Union, near the Cimarron cutoff of the Santa Fe Trail. Soon after the fort was established in 1851, a group of shady ladies set up shop in some nearby caves. A Captain Sykes discovered their presence when he found that stolen goods from the fort were being used to pay them. Sykes ended the sinful business by capturing the women, shaving their heads, and commanding them to move on.

The ladies did move on—to Loma Parda, a small farming community six miles away. There soldiers could gamble, drink, dance, and carouse with women. Julian Baca’s dance hall featured live music twenty four hours a day. The town’s signature whiskey, “Loma Lightening” was often the cause of thefts, fights and murders.

In contrast to these woolly and wild places along the trail, Trinidad offered more refined places of vice. In its early days, Trinidad was as raucous as anywhere else, marked by the 1874 murder of a call girl named Moll Howard. Her killer claimed the woman attacked him with a butcher knife, and owed him a dollar besides. Moll’s friends heard about the murder, formed an angry mob, and hanged the man by the Purgatoire River.

Within a decade, however, Trinidad’s brothels and parlor houses were neatly situated behind Commercial Street on Mill and Plum Streets, but also near Main Street. The fancier houses sported dance floors, and the Grand, at Santa Fe and Main, even had a swimming pool and Turkish baths. “Bar girls” also offered sex above the saloons, and certain restaurants provided curtained booths, where waitresses could offer more than what was on the menu.

Such places received plenty of business from men living in outlying company towns like Berwind, Ludlow, Morley, and Jensen. On slow nights, some brothels resorted to calling the fire department with some made up “emergency”. The firemen would duly show up to “rescue” girls from the second floors via ladders on which the women descended—wearing no underclothes!

When an ornate building on Main was constructed in 1888, the architect’s plans allegedly included the bust of a local madam on the front facade. Who she was remains unknown, but the best known madam was Mae Phelps. In 1900, Mae employed ten lovely ladies from her brothel at 228 Santa Fe Avenue. Mae defied public officials; once during a court appearance, attorney Jamie McKeough demanded whether Mae “operated a public place on the Santa Fe Trail.” Mae replied, “You ought to know, you’ve been there often enough.”

But Mae also worked with the city, establishing a “Madams’ Association” to construct a special trolley system leading to the red light district. The system was built by a written agreement with the city. Mae also established a “Madams’ Rest Home” outside of town where ill or injured girls could recuperate in peace.

Mae and Trinidad’s red light ladies are long gone, but many of their historic bordellos remain in the downtown area, if you know where to look.

Pictured: The Palace in Raton, New Mexico where shady ladies once took center stage. Photo by Jan MacKell Collins.

The Legend of Tucker Holland

c 2019 by Jan MacKell Collins

Portions of this article are excerpted from Brothels, Bordellos & Bad Girls: Prostitution in Colorado 1860-1930.

           No doubt about it, Tucker Holland had it bad for Dolly Worling. The 24-year-old thought nothing of spending his time and money on the soiled dove of Colorado City’s red light district west of Colorado Springs. In fact, for a good six months leading up to Tucker’s death, his love for Dolly had turned from mere infatuation into downright obsession.

            It was said Tucker was a good boy, residing in Colorado Springs and holding a steady job. But the enticement of Colorado City was his undoing. Tucker and his brother Tony were frequent visitors to the red light district, and both boys had a fondness for Dolly’s house of ill fame, The Cottage.

            On the night of  January 18, 1908, Tucker and Tony were out buying sandwiches for the Cottage girls when Dolly’s ex-husband, Frank Shank, arrived. Frank was a foul mouthed bartender, but his love for Dolly was undying. The couple had been trying to reconcile for some time. Dolly’s love for Frank and Tucker had become precariously balanced, tilting in favor of Frank whenever the boisterous man darkened her door. When Tucker returned with the sandwiches, he discovered he’d been unceremoniously ousted from Dolly’s house. Employee Nettie Crawford met him at the door. Instructions to find somewhere else to sleep were accompanied by a pile of Tucker’s clothes.

            Crestfallen Tucker went away, muttering to Tony, “This is the end of me.” The following morning, the brothers were once more received at Dolly’s house. Tucker and Dolly retired to her boudoir, where Tucker sat on the bed and played with a revolver. Dolly stood at the window making light of Tucker’s intentions as she listened to him declare his love for her. Outside, a small boy on the sidewalk below was pointing his toy pistol at Dolly’s dog. Dolly joked, “See, Tucker, he’s going to shoot my poodle!”

            But Tucker Holland was in no mood for jokes. “Well, here’s another,” he replied. A second later a shot rang out as Tucker shot himself in the head.

            Dolly screamed, and the other girls rushed into the room. Dolly’s cook, Birdie Ward, took the gun from Tucker’s dying hand and laid it on the dresser. Dolly grabbed the gun and turned it on herself, exclaiming, “If he’s dead, I must die too!” Her girls succeeded in wrestling the gun away from her, and Tony summoned the police.

            When authorities arrived, they found Tucker bleeding profusely as he lay across Dolly’s bed. The pistol was on the dresser, but the police had a hard time swallowing the story of why it was there. Each occupant of the house was immediately arrested, including customer Roy Catton. Tucker was bundled off to St. Francis Hospital, where he died at 3 p.m. He never recovered sufficiently enough to make a statement.

            An inquest following the shooting included questioning of Tony Holland, Nettie Crawford and Birdie Ward, as well as prostitutes Mary Catlin and Myrtle Van Duyne. Frank Shank was questioned, but mostly spewed forth epithets for answers. Dolly also was questioned. The inquiry concluded that Tucker Holland had indeed ended his own life.

            Tucker was buried at Evergreen Cemetery, and his untimely death inspired the city authorities in Colorado City to close the brothels. The prostitutes of Colorado City were accordingly given ten days to leave town. Where Dolly Worley went is unknown, but her baggage certainly contained the memory of the boy who loved her—and lost.