When my brothers and I had this picture taken it was one of the happiest times we had together. If we only knew what was in store for us then we would have savored the moment a bit longer.

Being a fan of western films, I think it only fitting from time to time to note some of the great lines from those movies. Given the fact that I’ve focused on soiled doves this month I’m going to focus on dialogue pertaining strictly to those ladies of the evening. From the movie Escape from Fort Bravo – Southern Belle Carla Forrester (Eleanor Parker) and Captain Roper (William Holden), discuss marrying soiled doves. “The women always look beautiful when they get married and the men always look scared,” Carla tells the Captain. “They both get over it,” the Captain replies. Although she wasn’t portrayed as a soiled dove in the movie Calamity Jane, Jane was indeed a prostitute at one time. Wild Bill Hickok, played by Howard Keel in the film, comments on actress Adelaide Adams to Calamity Jane played by Doris Day. “She’s lovely. Charming figure. Everything a woman ought to be,” Will Bill boasts. “Looks like a fat-frilled, upside undressed beef to me,” Calamity remarks. From the movie The Deadly Companions starring Brian Keith and Strother Martin. “I sure hope this town has some pretty girls in it,” Strother comments as they ride toward a village looking for some nocturnal company. “You get this far out in the brush, they’re all pretty,” Keith reminds him. And finally, from one of my favorite flicks, Destry Rides Again starring James Stewart and Marlene Dietrich. Dietrich ran the saloon and made sure all the male guests were taken care of. “Wait a minute, lady,” Stewart calls out to Dietrich. “Who you calling a lady!” Dietrich snaps back. To learn more about the soiled doves of the Old West and the lives they led read Pistol Packin’ Madams. To order the book visit www.chrisenss.com.

Outlawry wasn’t completely a man’s world, thanks to horse thief and prostitute Belle Starr (1848-1889). One of the great stories of the Bandit Queen holds that she galloped into a livery stable one afternoon and ordered her horse’s shoes to be nailed on backwards. That way, she could really confuse the posse that was hot on her trail. Belle Starr was born Myra Maybelle Shirley to a farming inn keeping family in Medoc, Missouri. The family moved to Carthage, Missouri, when Myra was a little girl. She attended private school there. Excelling in music and Hebrew. The stories about her start right around the time of the Civil War, when some folks swear she was teen spy for Quantrill. Her brother did ride with the raiders, but it doubtful Myra ever say the border butcher. Her father moved the family to Scyene, 10 miles east of Dallas, after the war. It was the summer of 1866 that young Cole Younger came riding by for a brief fling. When he left to rejoin the James boys, Myra Maybelle went to work as a soiled dove and a dealer in a Dallas gaming house. During this time, she met and married James Reed. The true paternity of Belle’s first child, a daughter christened Rosie Lee but always called Pearl, is still a mystery. In 1871, the Reeds moved to California, where Belle had another baby. The family relocated to Texas, where the new parents a earned a living stealing horses. One biographer states that Belle accompanied her husband during the robbery of Watt Grayson in Indian Territory. In that incident, a woman dressed as a man slipped a noose around old man Grayson’s neck and hoisted him “six or seven times” up a tree until he told where he had buried $30,000 in gold. Belle was widowed in 1874 when Reed was slain by a bounty hunter. Belle refused to identify the body, which meant the bounty could not be paid. Belle Starr was shot in the back with a shotgun by an unknown assailant in February 1889.

Mata Hari had the world by its tail-until it turned around and bit her. How else to describe the Dutch officer’s wife who fled Paris in 1904, changed her name (like many soiled doves do) from Margaretha Geertruida Zelle to Mata Hari, and pranced naked on stage while convincing the capitals of Europe that she was an exotic Indian dancer among other things? “I never could dance well,” even she admitted. “People came to see me because I was the first who dared to show myself naked to the public.” Just a few years later Mata Hari was despised as the most notorious spy of World War I. He trouble may have been that she was too popular, so that when war broke out the French and English immediately became suspicious of her German acquaintances. Those “acquaintances” included lovers who had kept her clad in jewels and furs-offstage-through her career, and one of them happened to be the German chief of intelligence in Spain. She was followed constantly throughout Europe, and finally, in February 1917, she was arrested at her hotel in Paris and charged with espionage. There is much speculation as to whether Mata Hari really was engaged in passing secrets to the enemy. She had a gift for talking her way into things-it was the foundation of her career, after all-so it could be that she simply got carried away with her own imaginative tales. She claimed she actually meant to spy for the French, even though they hadn’t requested her assistance. Whatever the case, France, on the brink of defeat, was not much in the mood to give her the benefit of the doubt. In a prison outside of Paris, Mata Hari was put in a padded cell to prevent her from committing suicide. Her many appeals were denied, even by her own Dutch government, to which she wrote, “Jealousy-vengeance-there are so many things that crop up in the life of a woman like me, once people know that she finds herself in a difficult position.” On October 15, Mata Hari was awakened at 5 a.m. and informed that she would be shot that morning. “It’s unbelievable!” she said weakly, but otherwise remained composed. She put on a gray dress, a straw hat, and a white veil, then was driven to the Chateau de Vincennes, a military compound outside of Paris. It was freezing and foggy when she was led in front of a firing squad of twelve soldiers. She refused to be tied to the pole and refused also to be blindfolded. It is said that as the soldiers raised their rifles, Mata Hari smiled at them, even winked. After she collapsed and army surgeon walked over, checked her briefly, then fired a final shot-the coup de grace-into her head to make sure she was dead. Her body, which had been no secret to much of Europe, was taken to a city hospital in Paris, where it was dissected for medical research.

Libby Thompson twirled gracefully around the dance floor of the Sweetwater Saloon in Sweetwater, Texas. A banjo and piano duo performed a clumsy rendition of the house favorite, “Sweet Betsy From Pike.” Libby made a valiant effort to match her talent with the musicians’ limited skills. The rough crowd around her was not interested in the out-of-tune music; their eyes were fixed on the billowing folds of her flaming red costume. The rowdy men hoped to catch a peek at Libby’s shapely, bare legs underneath the yards of fabric on her skirt, but Libby was careful to only let them see enough to keep them interested. Many of the cowboy customers of the Sweetwater were spattered with alkali dust, grease, or just plain dirt. They stretched their eager, unkempt hands out to touch Libby as she pranced by, but she managed to avoid all contact. At the end of the performance she was showered with applause, cheers, and requests to see more. That night, Libby was not in an obliging mood. She smiled, bowed and hurried past the enthusiastic audience as she made her way to the bar for a drink. A surly bartender served her a glass of apply whisky and she headed off to the back of the room with her beverage. A large, purple velvet chair waited for her there in her usual corner spot by the stairs, along with her pets, a pair of prairie dogs. As Libby walked through the mass of people to her throne-like seat, she saw three grimy, bearded men surrounding her seat. One of the inebriated cowhands was poking at her animals with a long stick. “Boys, I’d thank you kindly to stop that,” she warned the unruly trio. The men turned to see who was speaking then broke into a hearty laugh once they saw her. Ignoring the dancer they resumed their harassment of the animals. The animal batted the stick back as it neared them and each time the men would erupt with laughter. Libby watched the three for a few moments then slowly reached into her drawstring purse and removed a pistol. Pointing the gun at the men she said, “Don’t make me ask you again.” The drunk cowhands turned to face Libby and she aimed her pistol at the head of the man with the stick. Laughing, the man told her to “go to hell.” “I’m on my way,” she responded, pulling the hammer back on the gun. “But I don’t mind sending you there first so you can warn them,” she added. The cowboy dropped the stick and he and his friends backed away from Libby’s chair. One by one they staggered out of the saloon. Libby put the gun back in her purse, scooped up her frightened pets, scratched their heads and kissed them repeatedly. Known as Squirrel Tooth Alice, Libby Thompson was named for slight imperfection in her teeth and for the burrowing rodents she kept, which were often mistaken for squirrels. Perhaps in spite of, or due to her idiosyncrasies, Alice was one of the most famous madams of the West. Among the many things that fascinate me about the west was the ability to challenge a bully without fear of getting sued. If you wanted trash out of your life and they wouldn’t go with a kind request you could force them to leave you alone. The bully wasn’t made the victim as is the case now of days either. My nephew works at a Walmart in Missouri and recently shared with me that Dottie Dial, a woman that has done nothing but cause heartache for my family, including accusing my nephew of some horrible acts, used his checkout stand to pay for the things she was going to purchase. While going through the line she had the nerve to ask him how he was doing and inquired about the rest of the family. Dottie Dial is a bully and should leave what’s left of my family alone. Given the circumstances she could have and should have gone through another line. But as I say, she’s a bully and no one will stop a bully these days. If only it were 1873 and Squirrel Tooth Alice was witness to the bad this woman has done and continues to do. I think I know the course Squirrel Tooth Alice would take. To read more about Squirrel Tooth Alice visit www.chrisenss.com.