Journal Notes

The Victorian posture was one of stern resistance to human weakness, in particular to carnal pleasures. But the business of vice was extensive enough in Old West cities of the 1880’s to suggest the devil was not in limbo. Respectable standards prescribed laws against prostitution in varying degrees in stringency, but these were not largely enforced as the more urgent demands of lust and money proved irresistible. In the larger cities such as Denver, Colorado and San Francisco, California, prostitution entrepreneurs offered services for all classes and pocketbooks, from palatial bagnios and brownstones to dives in the slum areas. It was a commercial trade, practiced with remarkable openness. The stock solicitation “Hello, dear, won’t you come home with me?” astounded visitors in San Francisco where the girls were particular brazen. Sex had become a commodity; as America’s first woman doctor, Elizabeth Blackwell, observed; “Shrewdness and large capital are enlisted in the lawless stimulation of the mighty instinct of sex.” Police protection cost the bordello operator an initiation fee of $300 to $500 and $30 to $50 monthly thereafter, traditionally collected by the precinct captain. The enormous number of girls involved in interesting counterpoint to the proclaimed rectitude of Victorian life. In 1870, when it’s population was more than 192,000, San Francisco had an estimated 7,500 prostitutes. Prostitution’s unsavory side effects were often more damaging than the vice itself, as the bordellos attracted and encouraged all manner of criminals who found in them a harvest of easy victims. For more stories about the soiled doves of the Old West visit www.chrisenss.com.

The forecast for paperback and hardcover books isn’t good. According to business analysts and stock market speculators, along with cues from the current economic temperature, books will soon be going by the way of vinyl. Ebooks, APPs, Kindles, IPADs, all manner of electronic gadgetry will be taking the place of a book you can hold in your hand, a book you can smell, touch, tuck under your arm or tuck away on a book shelf. Books will become dinosaurs and publishing houses will be no more. It is with all that in mind that I have come to the conclusion that once I live up to all the contracts for the books I want to write I will be retiring from this particular field. The last book I will pen will be about my brother Rick. The Plea will contain the story of what happens to a man and his siblings when he is falsely accused of a crime. It will include letters of confessions from the so-called victim, photographs, interviews with lawyers, politicians, journal entries, live film footage and much more. I will be stepping aside from the work I have been doing in the fall of 2016. I’ll write more about what lies ahead for me later, but for now I will continue with the subject for this month, prostitution in the Old West. This story and many others just like them are found in the book Pistol Packin Madames. “Kate Horony removed the crystal stopper from a glass container filled with brandy and poured herself a drink. The svelte, well-dressed nineteen-year-old took a big gulp, and then poured another. She slammed the brandy back and trained the derringer in her right hand on a man’s body that was stretched out before her. Jonas Stonebreak was lying in a pool of blood, with a bullet in his upper torso. He stirred a bit, struggling to lift his head off the floor. He glanced around the bedroom at the Tribolet parlor house until his blurry eyes came to rest on Kate. She stared down at him, her eyes filled with contempt. The lifeless frame of Madam Blanc Tribolet was slumped in a chair next to Jonas. Kate motioned to the dead woman with her empty glass. “You had no cause to kill Blance,” she told him. “You’re a miserable cur.” She blinked away a tear and poured another drink, while Jonas tried to sit up. “She was asking for it,” he offered, spitting blood. “No she wasn’t,” Kate responded, pointing the gun at his head, “But you sure as hell have.” She squeezed the trigger, firing off a shot that lodged a bullet in Jonas’s forehead. He collapsed in a heap. Kate drank down another brandy before pocketing her gun and leaving the room. Blance Tribolet was the first madam Kate Horony, better known as Big Nose Kate, ever worked for. She was more than an employer to the young woman; she was a friend and surrogate mother as well. The revenge Kate sought for the murder of her benefactress was one of many defining moments in the life of one of the West’s most notorious prostitutes.” God to www.chrisenss.com to read more.

Frontier prostitutes, by nature of their profession, often found themselves in trouble with the law. It was not uncommon for a lady of the evening to be accused of blackmail, theft, or even murder. Such was the case of a soiled dove in Northern California accused of murdering a miner. 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, 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 an entire new outfit of clothing. 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, 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 search for previous traces of him; and it was discovered that he had passed the evening at the dance house, and then gone to Old Harriet’s where all further trace of him was lost. Harriet and her fighting man were arrested and charged before the Justice with murder. McConnell prosecuted and Sawyer defended. The examination lasted several days. The prosecution proved that Berry had money, traced his movements the night of his death, as herein stated, showed that the wound on his head must have been given while he was alive, and that it was made with some round, blunt weapon; that there was a pair of scales on Old Harriet’s counter, and a large weight, which would produce such a wound; the condition of the body, with a new, strong suit of clothes entirely missing; which, it was contended it was impossible could be torn off by the stream, or at least, without greatly marring the body, which was intact, except the death wound on the head. The cry of murder was also proven, leaving a close kitted theory by the prosecution, well sustained before the drowning. As to the missing clothes, it was argued, though with less confidence, that they had been stripped off by the water, rocks, and logs. The case was so puzzling that the Justice took it under advisement for several days. While he was considering it, two men walked the log in company, when one of them pitched off and disappeared. Everybody turned out to find the body, but the search was unsuccessful for several days, when it was found in the eddy below the town from which Berry’s body was taken. The head of the new victim was marked with the same kind of extravagated wound as that of the first one, but there were no other wounds on the body, and all his clothes were gone except his shirt, which was turned inside out and hung at the wrist. The Berry case was at once reopened and this evidence of what might happen was submitted: “The Lord has intervened to save an innocent woman!” Of course the accused went free. If only all the people falsely accused of a crime could be set free.

Madams and the prostitutes who worked for them added to the atmosphere of trouble in explosive towns across the Old West. Some women made a fortune, some remained paupers, others escaped the life of a sporting girl by committing suicide. Soiled Doves were a significant part of the new frontier and their contribution to cow towns and gold rush camps is the subject of the book entitled Pistol Packin’ Madams. Some people believe that the prostitutes in the early mining camps lived a life of wealth, luxury and good times. Although there was wine, whisky, gold and high times, the life of a prostitute wasn’t all glamorous. Newspapers, letters court records and diaries reveal that their lives were invariably tragic and often depressing. Throughout the month of August I’ll be focusing on stories about these colorful women and the often tragic lives they lived. And now…a bit about prostitute Tessie Wall. 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 passerbys 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 he was involved with. 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 chocked 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 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, 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 when she was 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. In 1884, Tessie accepted a marriage proposal from Edward M. Wall, a handsome fireman twice her age. Edward was a heavy drinker and was often out of work because of his “weakness.” Tessie supported them with her job as a housekeeper. Two years after the pair married they had a son. Joseph Lawrence Wall’s life was short. He died four months after his birth from respiratory complications. Tessie was devastated and following her husband’s example, took up drinking to dull the pain. Read more about Tessie Wall at www.chrisenss.com.

Big changes are coming to my website and news about the additional books I’ll be releasing soon will be announced over the next month. Until then I’ll be presenting some of my favorite mail-order bride ads included in the book Hearts West: Mail-Order Brides on the Frontier. For more information about the book go to www.chrisenss.com. “By a lady who can wash, cook, scour, sew, milk, spin, weave, hoe, (can’t plow), cut wood, make fires, feed the pigs, raise the chickens, rock the cradle, (gold-rocker, I thank you, Sir!), saw a plank, drive nails, etc. These are a few of the solid branches; now for the ornamental. “Long time ago” she went as far as syntax, read Murray’s Geography and through two rules in Pike’s Grammar. Could find 6 states on the Atlas. Could read, and you can see she can write. Can – no, could – paint roses, butterflies, ships, etc. Could once dance; can ride a horse, donkey or oxen, besides a great many things too numerous to be named here. Oh, I hear you ask, could she scold? No, she can’t you, you ______ _______ good-for-nothing________! Now for her terms. Her age is none of your business. She is neither handsome nor a fright, yet an old man need not apply, nor any who have not a little more education than she has, and a great deal more gold, for there must be $20,000 settled on her before she will bind herself to perform all the above. Address to Dorothy Scraggs, with real name. P.O. Marysville.”

It was an honor to have worked on the book about Sam Sixkiller with Howard Kazanjian and to have met Sam Sixkiller’s family members in Oklahoma last month. The following review of the material appears in the September 2012 edition of True West Magazine. “Sam Sixkiller: Cherokee Frontier Lawman is a very important book, if only for the fact that it is one of the first, if not the first, biographies of an American Indian law enforcement officer of the Old West. The book is not about just any American Indian; it chronicles the life of one of the most famous and outstanding lawmen during the frontier era. Authors Howard Kazanjian and Chris Enss, through outstanding research, tell the engrossing story of Cherokee lawman Sam Sixkiller. During his career he was a deputy U.S. marshal under Judge Isaac C. Parker, a captain of the U.S. Indian Police and a railroad detective. This is an outstanding book on the Indian Territory and an American frontier hero. Art Burton, author of Black, Red and Deadly: Black and Indian Gunfighters of the Indian Territory, 1870-1907.”

I’m taking a departure from writing about the Old West today. My thoughts have been centered around the horrific event that took place at a movie theatre in Colorado. I’ve read articles and heard talking heads blame violence on television and in motion pictures for the shooting and I wanted to respond. From cave drawings depicting the hunt to tribal war songs to a little tome called the Bible, the portrayal of violence has, in one way or another, been a part of human discourse ever since we stopped dragging our knuckles on the ground and started using them to give each other noogies. It seems like everyone is looking for someone to blame when people go bad, but motion pictures and television aren’t the biggest influences on kids. We are. There’s probably more real emotional violence and bad vibes at the average American family dinner table than in an entire season of C-S-I. At least that was my experience. I don’t know if I really buy that there’s a connection between violent movies and TV and violent behavior. I mean, I grew up watching a steady diet of Dark Shadows, Cannon, Johnny Quest and Bugs Bunny. I never once thought it was okay to load a gun and go hunting “wabbit” in public places. That being said, there are many shows that prey on our morbid curiosity: When Animals Kill, Brushes with Death, Shark Wranglers, and one of the worst of all, Housewives of New Jersey. Watching the local news isn’t any better. In reporting violent crime, the local news comports itself with all the dignity and responsibility of Moe, Larry, and Shemp locked in a haunted house. I think it’s all very simple. Forget government intervention, forget blaming all the bad that happens on movies and television and get back to basics. Stay home with your loved ones, turn the TV off, pray together, talk together, get to know one another. Tell the people in your life that have had a positive impact on you just how much their influence means. Hug them like there’s no tomorrow because as we know for many of the men and women who went to the movies this past weekend in Colorado there was no tomorrow.

The New World gambling parlor in Marysville, California in 1851 was filled with prospectors and sojourners eager to lay their money down on a game of chance. Patrons could choose from a variety of amusements which included roulette, dice, faro and poker. The New World was a grand and ornate saloon. An elaborate bar lined an entire wall and brass mountings accentuated the gleaming countertops. Imposing mirrors clung to all sides of the enormous entryway and paintings of nude women relaxed in beauty prostrate, loomed over the patrons from the walls above. Madame Belle Ryan, a voluptuous creature with dark hair, hazel eyes and a fair complexion, sauntered down the stairs surveying the guests that had gathered. Men scrambled for a place at the tables, their gold dust and gold nuggets had been exchanged for the chips they tossed onto the green felt – bets for the lucky cards in their hands. Charles Cora, a handsome brute of a man with black hair and a thick, healthy trimmed mustache caught Belle’s eye. He was very nicely dressed. From the Bowler hat on top of his head to the polished, black boots on his feet, he exuded style and confidence. Charles was seated at a table in the corner of the room dealing a hand of poker to four men around him. The pile of chips in front of Charles was proof that he’d had a successful evening. He turned to look at Belle and gave her an approving nod. She smiled back at him then noticed a handful of Cavalry soldiers standing just inside the saloon. Charles spotted the men too and motioned slightly for Belle to go over to them. She winked and proceeded obligingly. The wide-eyed troops admired the beautiful Belle as she strode their way. “Why don’t you come on in and join the fun. Have a drink, sit in on a game or two?” she purred invitingly. “We aren’t much for gambling, ma’am,” one of the young soldiers shared. “We just got our pay and thought we’d stop in for one shot of whisky and then be on our way.” Belle slowly approached the uniform clad man and stopped uncomfortably close to his face. The soldier breathed in her perfume then glanced away, shyly. “But it’s so early,” she said smiling. “Have a drink, play a hand of faro and then we’ll dance,” she persuaded. “I guess we can stick around for a little while,” the enchanted young man offered. Belle escorted the troops to the bar and had the bartender serve them a glass of whisky. “That ones on the house,” she assured them. She then locked arms with a pair of the soldiers and ushered them to the faro table. They obediently sat down and Charles tipped his hat at the new players. “I’ll be back in a bit for my dance,” Belle whispered in their ears. As Belle walked away the bartender served another round of drinks to the soldiers and Charles started dealing the cards. By the time Belle returned to the table the troops had lost their entire wages. They took a turn with her on the dance floor then lumbered out of the establishment, dazed and disappointed. Occasionally, Belle Cora was the one that dealt the cards, but her main contribution to the gambling industry was luring players to the game and building their confidence. Belle and her partner, Charles Cora, made hundreds of thousands of dollars off unsuspecting marks who believe they were better than the professional gamblers luring them to the tables. Belle Ryan Cora was born in Baltimore in 1832 and her parents named her Clara Belle. Her father was the minister of a small parish and the home life she had with her doting mother and young sister, Anna was idyllic. At 17 she fell in love with a distinguished older gentlemen and became pregnant. After learning the news, the child’s father abandoned them. Desperate and ashamed, Belle fled to New Orleans to have her child. The baby died shortly after being born and Belle was despondent and alone. While wandering the streets of New Orleans contemplating her life, she met a kindly woman who took pity on her situation and offered to help.
Belle recognized the woman as a known madam in the city. She was fully aware of the kind of assistance being presented, but she felt her options were limited. After accompanying the woman to her parlor house, being fed and provided a new wardrobe, Belle accepted her offer of work. In a matter of only a few months she was earning more than any other woman in the city. When Charles Cora, a well-known New Orleans gambler spotted Belle he was instantly smitten. She was equally taken with him. The two began spending time together and in a few weeks were inseparable. Once the news of the California gold rush reached Charles, he decided to try his luck in a place rich with glittering finds. With Belle by his side the two boarded a steamship bound for San Francisco. Charles and Belle weren’t the only ones with a dubious past making the trip. The vessel contained more than 40 gamblers and ladies of the evening. Personalities clashed during the voyage. The scruples of such motley passengers were questionable or nonexistent. When they weren’t cheating one another at a game of poker of faro, they were conning law abiding travelers out of their possessions or blatantly stealing from others. Charles was one of two thieves who got caught trying to take writer Edward L. Williams’s purse filled with money. On December 11, 1849, Williams recorded the incident in his journal. “I was hanging in a hammock near the bow, alongside a row of bunks,” he wrote. “Not long after falling asleep I was awakened by a volley of curses and a loud “Get out of here!” There followed more “coarse and vile oaths” and the threat: “If you don’t get out, I will cut you down. You are keeping the air from me!” I didn’t move. One of them I recognized as Charles Cora, removed a large knife from his pocket. Just then, on the other side of his hammock I saw a pistol gleaming in the moonlight and the man holding it said, “You attempt to cut the boy down for his purse before me and I will blow a hole through you, you infernal blackleg Southerner. I know you, you used to run a gambling game at New Orleans and you robbed everybody. Get away from that boy!” The confrontation between Charles and the competing robber intensified as the voyage continued. Angry over the thwarted attempt to steal a bankroll to gamble with, Charles and his cohorts took to bullying the passengers. He caused so much trouble the ship’s captain had him and his partners in crime placed in irons. Belle and Charles arrived in San Francisco on December 28, 1849. The gambling team then boarded a stage for Sacramento. The river city was the location for some of the territories biggest poker games. The price to sit in on the game was $20 thousand. Belle put up the money and Charles played. He won a sizeable amount in one hand, but his luck quickly changed and he lost it all. Belle fronted him an additional $60 thousand to stay in the game, but he was unable to turn things around. He then solemnly vowed he would never again play with a woman’s money. The lovers left Sacramento and made the rounds at the various mining camps in the foothills. They set up games at make shift saloons and Belle lured perspective gamblers in for Charles to fleece. Once they had made up the losses they incurred in Sacramento they moved on to Marysville and opened a gambling den called The New World. There were no limits on the bets taken at the tables at the New World. One prospector recalled that “Charles Cora himself laid down a bet of $10 thousand in one hand of 5 card draw. He won his bet too.” Once the gaming house was established and earning a profit, Belle sought to expand the enterprise. In April 1851, she traveled to Sonora. The booming mining town had a population of 5 thousand people and was in desperate need of additional entertainment. Using the name Arabelle Ryan, the confidence woman and madam purchased a house of ill repute. She called the combination brothel and gambling den the Sonora Club. (A confidence woman is someone who gains a person’s trust in order to entice them into a game of chance.) The business was a profitable venture. Charles followed after his paramour and dealt cards for her. By the end of 1851, Belle and Charles had earned more than $126 thousand from their combined businesses in Sonora and Marysville. The gamblers used their substantial holdings to move their trade to San Francisco. Although Charles and Belle were not married she took on his last name when they relocated to the city by the bay. The pair operated out of a two story wooden building that had two entrances. Belle decorated the combination bordello and casino with the finest furnishings and accoutrements. When the Coras opened the doors to the business on November 17, 1852, patrons reported that “it rivaled the finest residences in the city.” Customers included politicians, entrepreneurs and other gambling professionals. They were treated to free champagne and hors d’oeuvres, the most beautiful women in the trade, and liberal tables with a new deck of cards or dice each night. A description of the Cora House included in a manuscript written in 1855 by historian Frank Soule, provides the best look inside Belle’s establishment. “In the fall of 1855, Belle and Charles hosted a party designed to attract high rollers to the den,” Soule noted. “The evening the couple selected for their soirée fell on the same night Mrs. William Richardson was having a get together. Mrs. Richardson and her husband, a U.S. Marshal, were unhappy with the lack of male attendants at their event. When they learned that their invited guests chose to go to Belle’s place, the marshal and his wife were furious.” The previous year antigambling laws had been past by California representatives and all such establishments were to have been shut down. Charles Cora could no longer practice his profession legally. The Richardson’s suspected the party at Belle’s place had actually been a private game in which Charles was the dealer. Mrs. Richardson and the marshal vowed to monitor the activities at the Cora House and catch the pair in the act of breaking the law. When Charles learned of the Richardsons’ plan he informed Belle. A bitter feud between the couples erupted. On November 5, 1855, the Coras and the Richardsons attended a play at the American Theatre. The two couples were placed in balcony seats in close proximity of the other. When the Richardsons learned that the Coras were at the same performance the marshal demanded the theatre management throw the “low moral fiber duo” out. When the manager refused, the Richardsons left. Over the next week, Charles and the marshal exchanged insults and derogatory remarks. Whenever their paths crossed tensions escalated into threats. Finally the two met on the streets to settle things once and for all. The gambler shot Marshal Richardson in the head with a derringer, killing him instantly. Charles was arrested and thrown in jail. Many of the towns people who admired the marshal were outraged and demanded that Cora be hanged immediately. Belle rushed to her common-law husband’s aid and hired two high-powered attorneys to represent him. The cost of their combined retainer was $45 thousand. While Belle fought to prove that Charles acted in self defense, a vigilante committee was being organized. Leaders of the group planned to overtake the jail and exact their own justice. Initial attempts to break into the facility and remove Charles were thwarted. He was arraigned on December 1, 1855, and the trial was set for early January. Belle was not content with merely purchasing good counsel, and she turned her attention to the witnesses who claimed to have seen Charles brutally gun down the unarmed marshal. Belle met with an eye witness to the shooting and offered her money to change her story. When that didn’t work she threatened to kill her. Neither approach convinced the witness to redact her accusation and she was allowed to go on her way unharmed. Charles trial began on January 3, 1856. Shortly after a jury was selected, Belle attempted to bribe a select few of them. Her efforts were fruitless. No one would agree to side with the unpopular couple. The court was made aware of Belle’s behavior, but decided against any legal action. The trial was lengthy and the prosecution played up the “devious” characteristics of Charles and Belle, referring to the pair as “shady gamblers with sinfulness in their lives.” The defense argued that their morals weren’t on trial and that whatever “sinfulness there was in Belle’s life, it was far outweighed by her fidelity to her man.” The jury deliberated for 41 hours after having received the case. They returned having failed to reach a verdict. While Charles awaited a second trial the public at large grew more and more incensed a the outcome. Believing that Charles would get away with murder, the vigilante committee stormed the jail and escorted him to a secret area to be hung. A blindfolded Belle was brought to the location of the execution. The tearful madams asked if one of the clergymen there would marry her and Charles. Minutes before Charles was put to death the two were legally wed. Heartbroken and inconsolable, Belle Cora retreated to her bedroom at the gambling den and remained tucked away in the house for more than a month. Belle emerged a changed woman. She sold the business and moved to a small house with only a few servants as company. She used her considerable financial holdings to support local charities and help children obtain a higher education. She died in San Francisco on February 17, 1862, having given away the bulk of her fortune. She was 30 years-old.

Flamboyant, outspoken gossip columnist, Hedda Hopper approached the podium at the Hollywood American Legion and stared out over a sea of faces. The majority of the people watching her were influential leaders in the movie business who had assembled for a regular meeting of the Motion Picture Alliance for the Preservation of American Ideals in April of 1951. The organization’s president, John Wayne introduced Hopper to the crowd. She had asked for a chance to address the group on a matter of profound importance. Wayne graciously accommodated her. It wasn’t unusual for members to request a moment to speak on a topic they wanted the alliance to consider. Wayne was unaware that the issue Hopper wanted to discuss was the actor himself. As a round of polite applause rose up, Duke headed back to his seat on the dais. Hopper stopped him before he could get too far away and pulled him back towards the lectern. Wayne smiled obligingly. Wayne had been a member of the Motion Picture Alliance almost from the beginning of its inception in the late 1940s when directors Sam Wood, Walt Disney, and Leo McCarey had founded the group to protect the movie profession from the perceived threat of communism life. The Communist movement was founded in 1919. The economic idea behind the organization was collective ownership of property and group labor for the common advantage. Communism was a growing political force in the United States in the 30s and 40s. At the conclusion of W.W. II, the majority of the U.S. population decided to take a stand against the repressive movement. By the late 1940s a wide-ranging anti-communist network was in place to lead the nation on a crusade against domestic communism. In October 1947, a number of suspected Communists working in the Hollywood film industry were summoned to appear before the House Committee on Un-American Activities, which was investigating communist influence in Hollywood labor unions. The Motion Picture Alliance was a major force of the anti-communism network that sought to stop the impact of the party. Part of the group’s statement of principles included a commitment “to fight with every means at our organized command, any effort of any group or individual to divert the loyalty of the screen from the free America that gave it birth.” Many Hollywood actors, writer and producers were called before the HUAC. Gary Cooper, Robert Montgomery, George Murphy and Ronald Reagan testified, named names and encouraged Congress to intervene. Wayne was never asked to appear before the committee, but his idol Harry Carey was not as fortunate. Carey refused to be manipulated by the committee chair, Joseph McCarthy. McCarthy wanted those who testified to make untrue statements about fellow actors he hoped to imprison. Carey would not go along with him. His uncooperative attitude led to his own blacklisting. Many high-profile conservatives, such as Clark Gable, Gary Cooper and Ward Bond were members along with John Wayne. The majority of the members of the Motion Picture Alliance for the Preservation of American Ideals were in favor of “blacklisting” or barring members of the Communist Party from jobs in the motion-picture industry both on-screen and behind the scenes. Although Wayne believed in maintaining the American ideals in film, he was not in favor of blacklisting. He felt that denying a person the right to work based on their political orientation was wrong. He was also tolerant of industry professionals once associated with the Communist Party who apologized and asked for a second chance. Wayne’s understanding attitude did not sit well with many of the members of the alliance. The majority believed the best way to fight the Communist influence was to bar party members from jobs in front of behind the screen. The situation that angered Hedda Hopper and brought Duke a fair amount of criticism concerned actor Larry Parks. In 1951, Parks had been called before the House Un-American Activities Committee and extensively questioned about his involvement with the Communist Party. He admitted to being a member of the party and expressed his deep regret over the association. He then cooperated with the committee in their quest to find out who else was involved with the movement. Parks gave the committee several names of other participants. Although he was never officially blacklisted, Columbia Pictures terminated his contract and other studios refused to work with him as well. Leaders of the House Un-American Activities Committee asked Wayne, as president of the Motion Picture Alliance, to comment on Parks’s actions. Duke’s response was not the harsh reply they expected. He called Parks’s behavior courageous and added that he needed moral support. “He should be commended as a good American.” Few in the alliance agreed with Wayne. At the Motion Picture Alliance April meeting in 1951, Hedda Hopper gave Duke a thorough tongue lashing at one of the regular meetings of the alliance. She called him a “damn fool” for supporting Larry Parks. Wayne hotly defended his position and added, “when any member of the party breaks with them, we must welcome him back into American society. We should give him friendship and help him find employment again in our industry.” The reaction from the alliance members at the end of the Hopper Wayne exchange was mixed. Some were irritated with Hedda Hopper’s open criticism of Wayne while others commended her firm position. After much discussion the conservative and liberal sides of the alliance decided that all its members would withhold any comments on the HUAC hearings until the complete facts were known. According to director John Farrow, who worked with Wayne on the movie Hondo, Duke’s politics revolved around a simple issue, “he felt protective of his country and its way of life.” In spite of the fact that Duke had a soft heart for those who had made personal mistakes, he was less forgiving of filmmakers who produced material that denounced America’s heritage and foundation, which was perhaps what motivated him to participate in the Alliance. Among the directors and producers he strongly objected to were Academy Award winners Robert Rossen and Stanley Kramer. Wayne felt that Rossen’s film All the King’s Men and Kramer’s movie High Noon were patently “un-American.” All the King’s Men is the story of the rise of politician Willie Stark. Duke believed that the majority of the characters in Rossen’s motion picture lacked moral fiber. The character of Stark was a shady leader who seems only to benefit from his corrupt ways. Duke believed that character fully demonstrated to young viewers that doing right is pointless and evil has great rewards. Duke also felt that Kramer’s High Noon possessed the “single most disrespectful act in any film to date.” At the end of the movie Gary Cooper’s character removes his United States sheriff’s badge, tosses it into the street and steps on it as he walks away. “The message was clear and disturbing to me. It was like belittling the medal of honor,” Wayne told biographer Maurice Zolotow. In an effort to counteract the negative impact of the movies Duke referred to as “protest films,” he set out to make a series of patriotic films. The four motion pictures he choose to do based on their positive political content were Flying Leathernecks and Operation Pacific, released in 1951, Big Jim McLain, released in 1952, and Jet Pilot, released in 1957. All the films were box office successes. Big Jim McLain was a specifically anti-Communist film that generated a great deal of attention not only among film-goers, but with motion picture executives and government officials. In the movie Duke plays a F.B.I. investigator working for the House Committee on Un-American Activities. When it’s learned the Communists are threatening to infiltrate Hawaii, he and his partner are sent to the islands to get evidence against the Red cells that can be used for a documented public hearing. When the film was released it instantly sparked the interest of the Federal Bureau of Investigations and specifically J. Edgar Hoover. Hoover was concerned his agency would be perceived by audiences as one that would rob citizen’s of their Civil Rights in order to build a case against citizens. After reviewing both the completed motion picture and the written screenplay, the script, F.B.I. officials were satisfied the movie had nothing to do with them. They found it to be more the story of the HUAC investigative methods. Some film critics called Big Jim McLain an “embarrassment to the film industry,” and many more liberal-minded movie goers left the theatres fuming. Although the majority of reviews for the film were poor, it was no less a financial success. At the end of the 1952 it ranked among the top 30 highest grossing movies of the year. Young Duke Wayne’s traditional ideas first took root in Iowa. His parents, neighbors and friends families were conservative, and though he had at one time considered himself a liberal, he was a registered Republican and staunchly opposed to excessive taxation, big government and politicians. He was not shy about sharing his opinion on the subject with those closest to him, but was uncomfortable publicly speaking out against any of those areas. It was that uneasiness that convinced him to turn down the Motion Picture Alliance’s initial invitation to be the group’s president in 1949. Ward Bond persuaded Wayne to rethink his position, appealing to his patriotism. Bond believed fervently, as did many other members of the motion-picture industry, that the Communist threat was very real and had crept into the making of movies. “America needs someone like you,” Bond told Duke. “The Alliance needs someone of your stature too.” Wayne reconsidered the offer, believing that it would be a great way to stand up for his country. He reasoned that if he could make a difference with the Alliance he might be able to effect change on a grander scale, but Duke had no real political ambitions for himself. He was motivated solely to serve the country he loved and help those in need. One of his associates said that Wayne was about as “political as a Bengal tiger.” In 1952, Duke supported Senator Robert Taft of Ohio’s run for President of the United States. Taft was against President Franklin Roosevelt’s New Deal and the spending that went into funding the program and in favor of cutting taxes and putting a cap on government spending. Duke campaigned heavily for the Senator. Dwight D. Eisenhower would take the nomination and become President, but that wouldn’t end his relationship with the national political scene. According to fellow actor Ronald Reagan, “John Wayne represented the true American spirit.” The Republican Party capitalized on his influence in 1968 and called upon the star to open their convention in Miami, Florida. He was asked to deliver an inspirational reading rather than the run of the mill invocation. The speech he gave had the desired effect on the cheering crowd. He made it clear to voters that a “true commitment to American values made a difference to all United States citizens.” “This nation,” he proudly told delegates, “is more than laws and government. It’s an outlook, an attitude.” The applause at the conclusion of his speech lasted more than four minutes. John Wayne served three consecutive terms as president of the Motion Picture Alliance. He was succeeded as the head of MPA by Ward Bond. Ronald Reagan would eventually take over as president of the organization, echoing Duke’s sentiments about love for country and dedication to the American dream. The controversial investigation conducted by the HUAC resulted in the blacklisting of a large contingency of Hollywood writers, actors, directors and producers. Many never fully recovered from the social stigma attached to their names and reputation. The HUAC communist probe had a negative impact on the Motion Picture Alliance and many of its members. Industry professionals sympathetic to the plight of the individuals who bravely endured being blacklisted accused the MPA of not only being too compliant with the HUAC, but for being anti-labor, anti-Semitic, anti-women and anti-Negro. In 1975, 13 years after the House of Representatives changed the committee’s name from HUAC to the committee on Internal Society, the organization was completely abolished. The MPA disbanded at the same time. John Wayne arrived on the other side of the highly publicized “Red Scare” years virtually unscathed. Wayne’s liberal peers didn’t agree with his involvement with the MPA, but respected his conservative views and recognized him as a “fair minded individual who was not a reactionary, but a balanced, understanding man.” Most of Wayne’s fans saw him in the same light. In the midst of a troubled period in U.S. history, Wayne continued to seen by the public as a true American, a symbol of a time when men proved their worth not with words, but action.

The life of Captain John Augustus Sutter, the German-Swiss pioneer, dramatically changed when gold was discovered on his property on January 24, 1848. Once the news of the find was made public the West was transformed into a land teaming with eager prospectors. Sutter immigrated from Switzerland hoping to make his fortune in America. He scarcely could have imagined the impact the glittering lumps of gold found near his sawmill in Coloma, California, would have had on his future and that of the emerging nation. Sutter was born in February 15, 1803 in Kandern Baden, Germany, a few miles from the Swiss border. He received his formal education in the village of Neuchatal. At 13 he became an apprentice to a firm of printers and booksellers. Although he was a diligent worker the trade did not suit him. He ventured into business, owning and operating a dry goods store. In addition to managing his store he also served as a Lieutenant in the Swedish Army Reserve Corps. Due in part to his expensive way of living, Sutter eventually ran into trouble with his debtors and lost the store. In May 1834, he fled the area and his creditors and headed for America. He left behind a wife and five children. Shortly after arriving in New York, Sutter was able to reestablish himself in the business world. His spending habits had not changed however and he fell into the same desperate financial situation as before. Again he ran and this time ended up in St. Louis, Missouri. There he worked as an inn keeper and merchant. Four years after his arrival into the states, and with a goal of building an agricultural empire, he joined the American Fur Company and headed west. After taking a brief detour to the Hawaiian Islands, Sutter made it to Monterey, California. He was driven to see his dream realized and met with the leader of the territory, Governor Alvarado, to discuss the possibility of establishing a business in the country. As soon as the initial permission was granted, Sutter secure two schooners filled with supplies and sent them down the Sacramento River. Two weeks later the vessels landed at the location where the American River meets the Sacramento. The Natives around the area where Sutter had disembarked did not like the foreign control of their land. They harassed him because of his association with the government in power. Sutter made treaties with the Indians and dealt fairly with them in all matters. They finally became friends and later worked for him. John Sutter successfully acquired a land grant by becoming an official Mexican citizen on August 29, 1840. The following year he began construction on a fort that would become the headquarters for all newcomers to California. Miwok and Nisenam Indians, Mexican and Hawaiian people were hired to work and guard the fort and the 48 acres of land surrounding the site. The fort housed a distillery, flour mill, bakery and a blacksmith and carpentry shop. The fields around the property contained several heads of cattle and numerous horses. There were also sheep, chickens and pigs. The fort grew to become a necessary stop for emigrants who came west. In 1847, Sutter contracted with the carpenter and pioneer James Marshall to build a sawmill on the South Fork of the American River, 50 miles east of Sutter’s Fort. The sawmill was near completion when Marshall discovered gold while walking along the clear banks of the water. At the time of the find that started the Gold Rush, Sutter’s asset were at their height. After several years of growth, the fort was self-contained. Instead of the gold find bringing him fortune, his land was suddenly overrun with squatters. They slaughtered his cattle at will and helped themselves to the rest of his livestock. His wheat fields were trampled, his lumber and grist mills were deserted and dismantled, and hides were left to rot in his tannery. His workers, even the Native Americans, abandoned him for the gold fields. Broken and desperate, Sutter fled with his newly arrived family to a farm near Yuba City, California. By 1865, having seen his fort reduced to one building and his farm burned to the ground, Sutter moved to Lititz, Pennsylvania. He lived out the remainder of his days near poverty. From 1865 to 1880, Sutter lobbied Congress for compensation for the loss of land for which he had paid thousands of dollars in taxes. Year after year he was told by political leaders that the matter would be addressed and settled, but it was never fully resolved. On June 20, 1880, John Sutter died of heart failure. He was 77 years-old. His funeral was attended by General Phil Sheridan and Mark Twain, and his eulogy was delivered by Western Expedition leader, General John Charles Fremont. Sutter was laid to rest in the Moravian Brotherhood’s Cemetery in Lititz, Pennsylvania.