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A parade of horse-drawn carriages deposited fashionably dressed San Francisco citizens at the entrance of the Tivoli Theatre. A handsome couple, holding hands and cooing as young lovers do, emerged from one of the vehicles. A figure across the street, hidden in the shadows of an alleyway, eyed the pair intently. Once the couple entered the building, Tessie Wall stepped out of the darkness into the subdued light of a row of gas lamps lining the busy thoroughfare. Tears streamed down the svelte blonde’s face. The pain of seeing the man she loved with another woman was unbearable.

Several hours before, Tessie and her ex-husband, Frank Daroux, entertained passersby with a robust argument over the other woman in his life. After accusing the man of being a liar and a thief, Tessie begged him for another chance and promised to make him forget anyone else with whom he was involved. Frank angrily warned Tessie that if she started anything he would put her “so far away that no one would find her.”

The words he had said to her played over and over again in her head. “You’ve got my husband,” she mumbled to herself. “And you’ll get yours someday. It’s not right.” She choked back a torrent of tears, reached into her handbag, and removed a silver-plated revolver. Hiding the weapon in the folds of her dress, she stepped back into the dark alleyway and waited.

It wasn’t long until Frank walked out of the theatre, alone. Standing on the steps of the building, he lit up a cigar and cast a glance into the night sky. Preoccupied with the view of the stars, Frank did not see Tessie hurry across the street and race over to him. Before he realized what was happening, Tessie pointed the gun at his chest and fired. As Frank fell backwards, he grabbed hold of the rim of a nearby stage. Tessie unloaded two more shots into his upper body. Frank collapsed in a bloody heap.

Tessie stood over his near lifeless frame, sobbing. When the police arrived, she was kneeling beside Frank, the gun still clutched in her hand. When asked why she opened fire on him, she wailed, “I shot him ‘cause I love him, God damn him!”

Tessie Wall was one of the Barbary Coast’s most popular madams. Since entering the business in 1898, her life had been mired in controversy. Born on May 26, 1869, she was one of ten children. Her mother, who died at the age of forty-four, named her chubby, ash-blond daughter Teresa Susan Donahue. Her father, Eugene, was a dock worker and spent a considerable amount of time away from home. Teresa and her brothers and sisters took care of themselves. By the time she turned thirteen, Teresa, or Tessie as she was referred to by friends and family, had developed into a beautiful, curvaceous young woman. She turned heads everywhere she went in the Mission District where she lived.

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An Open Secret: The Story of Deadwood’s Most Notorious Bordellos

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A tall, hump-shouldered man with gray, bushy hair and a hangdog look on his long, lumpy face pulled a stack of chips from the middle of the poker table toward him. Minnie Smith, the gambler who had dealt the winning hand, scowled at the player as he collected his earnings. “You’re sure packin’ a heavy load of luck, friend,” Minnie said in a low, clipped tone.

“Luck had nothing to do with it,” the man replied. “You may be right at that,” Minnie snapped back. She pushed back from the table a bit and eyed the bullwhip curled in her lap. The man gave her a sly grin, “You’re not sore about losing?” he asked. “No,” Minnie responded calmly. “I get mighty sore about cheating though.” A tense silence filled the air as Minnie and the gambler stared down each other.

In the split second it took the man to jump up and reach for his gun, Minnie had snapped her whip and disarmed him. In the process of jerking the weapon out of his hand, a breastplate holdout that had been tucked inside his jacket sleeve dropped onto the floor. The man looked on in horror as the face cards attached to the hidden pocket scattered around him.

“I hate a cheat,” Minnie snarled. All eyes were on the dealer as she reared back and let the whip fly. After a few painful strikes, the man dropped to his knees and desperately tried to find cover from the continued beating. Minnie was relentless and finally had to be subdued by the other card players around her. The gambler was helped off the floor and escorted to the town doctor.

That kind of violent exchange wasn’t unusual in the rowdy railroad town of Colorado City, Colorado, in 1887. What made the event unique, however, was that a woman was the aggressor. The public display further enhanced the quick-tempered reputation of the madam and sometimes gambler, Minnie Smith. There were very few in and around the area that hadn’t heard of her.

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An Open Secret: The Story of Deadwood’s Most Notorious Bordellos.

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The cold, gray January sky above Virginia City, Nevada, in 1867 unleashed a torrent of sleet on a slow-moving funeral procession traveling along the main thoroughfare of town. Several members of the volunteer fire department, Virginia Engine Company Number One, were first in a long line of mourners following a horse drawn carriage transporting the body of soiled dove Julia Bulette. Playing “The Girl I Left Behind Me,” the Nevada militia band shuffled behind the hearse. Black wreaths and streamers hung from the balconies of the buildings along the route which the remains of the beloved thirty-five-year-old woman were escorted. Miners who knew Julia wept openly. Out of respect for the deceased woman, all the saloons were closed. Plummeting temperatures and icy winds eventually drove most funeral-goers inside their homes and businesses before Julia was lowered into the ground.

Julia Bulette was murdered on January 19, 1867, at 11:30 in the evening in her home on North D Street in Virginia City. The fair but frail prostitute told her neighbor and best friend Gertrude Holmes she was expecting company but did not specify whom the company might be. Twelve hours later Gertrude discovered Julia’s lifeless body in bed. She had been beaten and strangled. Gertrude told the authorities that Julia was lying in the center of the bed with the blankets pulled over her head and that the sheets under her frame were smooth. She told the police that it appeared as though no one had ever been in the bed with Julia.

The authorities believed the scene had been staged. Marks on Julia’s body and tears on the pillow used to smother her indicated she struggled with her attacker. The murderer then set the room to look as though nothing was out of the ordinary. He covered Julia’s body in such a way that, at a passing glance, she would merely appear to be asleep. It had fooled the handyman she had employed to come in and build a fire for her each day. When the gentleman entered Julia’s home at eleven in the morning, he believed she was sleeping. He explained to law enforcement officers that he was quiet as he went about his work and left when the job was done. A search of the modest home Julia rented revealed that many of her possessions were missing. The citizens of Virginia City were outraged by the crime.

Julia Bulette was born in London, England, in 1832. She arrived in Virginia City, Nevada, in 1863. Men in the bustling, silver mining community supported several sporting women, and Julia was no exception. She was an independent contractor. She did not work as a madam of a house of ill repute managing other women in the trade. She had a few regular customers including Thomas Peasley. Peasley owned a local saloon and was known to be Julia’s favorite paramour. In addition to running a business, Peasley was a volunteer firefighter. Julia’s interest in the Virginia Engine Company Number One began with him. She supported them monetarily when she could and cheered them on whenever they were called to a job. In recognition of her service, she was presented with a handsome feminine rendition of a fireman’s uniform. It consisted of a fireman’s shield, front shirt, belt, and helmet embossed with the insignia of Virginia Engine Company Number One. Julia was the only woman who was an honorary member of the volunteer force.

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An Open Secret: The Story of Deadwood’s Most Notorious Bordellos

An Open Secret: The Story of Deadwood’s Most Notorious Bordellos is a top recommendation for American history library collections interested in 19th century events in general and South Dakota history in particular.

It narrows the focus to South Dakota’s bordellos and the madams who operated them, using the historical novel format to capture real-life events that shaped the culture and nature of the small town of Deadwood, South Dakota. This town was burned to the ground, yet its survivors persisted against all odds, facing hardships and abuse during battles the town’s women fought.

An Open Secret‘s candid look at the profession of prostitution during these times and the impact it held on men and women’s lives embraces historical fact without glorifying it. This choice brings the motivations, struggles, and people of the town to life through the eyes and experiences of madams who fostered reputations as tough but fair managers. Readers will be surprised to note their efforts didn’t ruin young girls, but actually supported them in different ways.

Rowdy patrons, murders, and gamblers all come to life as Chris Enss and Deadwood History, Inc. explores the world of Deadwood and its people, adding vintage photos that bring this milieu to life.

The choice of pairing historical fiction’s action and vivid descriptions with facts embracing Deadwood’s history and culture results in a special brand of regional history that will prove surprisingly accessible to a wide audience, from history readers to those who enjoy 19th century settings and rollicking good stories based on vivid characters and events.

Libraries strong in historical novels that center on 19th century American history will find An Open Secret‘s powerfully compelling examination of prostitution, bordellos, and the madams who ran them to be an involving, enlightening experience that is highly recommended for book club discussion groups, as well.

Midwest Book Review

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Prostitutes, by nature of their profession, often find themselves in trouble with the law. It was not uncommon for a nineteenth-century harlot to be accused of blackmail, theft, or even murder. Such was the case of a soiled dove in northern California. The curious criminal proceedings were held before Justice John Anderson in 1852, and an article in an August edition of the Union Times attempted to unravel the mystery for its readers:

 “A public woman, popularly known as “Old Harriet,” kept a saloon on Broad Street in Nevada City, overlooking Deer Creek. She had a man who kept bar for her and did any necessary fighting. Opposite her establishment was a dance house. A man named Pat Berry was mining on the opposite side of Deer Creek at Gold Run. Owing to a recent freshet there were no bridges at the foot of the town, but a tree had been cleared of limbs and felled across it, over which foot passengers made their way. The stream was still high and raged among the naked boulders and logs which were then innocent of tailings.

“On Saturday Berry came over to town, having made some money during the week, and rigged himself out with a new outfit. He spent the evening until late at the dance house and then went over to Old Harriet’s place, which was the last ever seen of him alive.

“In the course of the night a man in the neighborhood heard what he took to be a cry of “murder,” but he may have been mistaken. Two or three days after, about six miles below Nevada City, in an eddy in the creek, Berry’s body was found, completely naked. On the forehead was a large, extravagated wound, the blood discoloration proving that this wound was given while the person was alive. Finding him in this condition led to a search for previous traces of him; and it was discovered that he had spent the evening at the dance house, and then gone to Old Harriet’s, where all further traces of him were lost.”

Harriet and her fighting man were arrested and charged before the justice with murder. Other victims were discovered when authorities further investigated the incident. But was Madam Harriet guilty?

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An Open Secret: The Story of Deadwood’s Most Notorious Bordellos.