Journal Notes

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The person holding onto the tent pole has been mistaken as Kate Warne. No photo exists of Kate.

The depot of the Philadelphia, Wilmington and Baltimore Railroad in Philadelphia was strangely bustling with an assortment of customers on the evening of February 22, 1861. Businessmen dressed in tailcoats, high-waisted trousers, and elaborate cravats milled about with laborers adorned in faded work pants, straw hats, and long dusters. Ladies wearing long, flouncy, bell-shaped dresses with small hats topped with ribbon streamers of blue, gold, and red mingled with women in plain brown skirts, white, leg-o- mutton sleeve blouses and shawls. Some of the women traveled in pairs conversing in low voices as they walked from one side of the track to the other. Most everyone carried carpet bags or leather valises with them.

The depot was the hub of activity; parent and child, railroad employees, and young men in military uniforms made their way with tickets in hand and destinations in mind. Among the travelers were those who were content to remain in one place either on a bench reading a paper or filling the wait time knitting. Some frequently checked their watches, and others drummed their fingers on the wooden armrests of their seats. There was an air of general anticipation. It was chilly and damp, and restless ticket holders studied the sky for rain. In the far distance, thunder could be heard rumbling.

At 10:50 in the evening, an engine and a few passenger cars pulled to a stop at the depot, and a conductor disembarked. The man was pristinely attired and neatly groomed. He removed a stopwatch from his pocket and cast a glance up and down the tracks before reading the time. The conductor made eye contact with a businessman standing near the ticket booth who nodded ever so slightly. The businessman adjusted the hat on his head and walked to the far end of the depot where a freight loader was pushing a cart full of luggage toward the train. The freight man eyed the businessman as he passed by, and the businessman turned and headed in the opposite direction. Something was about to happen, and the three individuals communicating in a minimal way were involved.

Three, well-built men in gray and black suits alighted from one of the cars as the freight man approached. One of the men exchanged pleasantries with the baggage handler as he lifted the suitcases onto the train, and the two other men took in the scene before them. Somewhere out of the shadows of their poorly lit platform, a somberly dressed, slender woman emerged. At first glance she appeared to be alone. She stood quietly waiting for the freight man to load the last piece of luggage. When he had completed the job and was returning to the ticket office, she walked briskly toward the train.

The woman’s hand and wrist were hooked in the arm of a tall man, dark and lanky, wrapped in a heavy, traveling shawl. He wore a broad-brimmed, felt hat low on his head and was careful to look down as he hurried along. When he and his escort reached the car, the woman presented her tickets to the conductor who arrived at the scene at the same time. “My invalid brother and I are attending a family party,” she volunteered. After examining the tickets for a moment, the conductor stepped aside to allow the pair to board. Protectively and tenderly, the woman took her brother’s arm and helped him to the stairs leading up the train. With an hint of reluctance, the lean, angular man climbed aboard.

The Pinks 5

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To learn more about Kate Warne read The Pinks

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The First Female Detectives, Operatives and Spies with

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An Interview with History Muse

I knew Allan Pinkerton had hired a woman detective just as his agency was getting started. I’ve thought about creating a fictional woman detective working for Pinkerton after the Civil War—but it never occurred to me that he’d hired more than one. Chris Enss, with her excellent book, The Pinks: The First Women Detectives, Operatives and Spies with the Pinkerton National Detective Agency, shows us the work of ten “Lady Pinks,” women of intelligence and nerve who carried out complicated spy missions for the Union during the Civil War.

Kate Warne was the first. She was a young widow when she walked into Pinkerton’s office in 1856, and asked for a job as a detective. She told him women could often find out things that men could not. Pinkerton was an enthusiastic innovator, willing to defy convention if he thought it would work, and he hired her.

A complicated first case

Two days after she was hired, Kate Warne was on her first case. Large sums of money had disappeared from the care of an elite express company: one locked pouch with $10,000, and another with $40,000. Pinkerton suspected the manager of the company, but the case against him seemed very weak. Still, when the manager left town for a while, the Pinkertons followed him, and noted that he purchased expensive clothes for himself and his wife, stayed at the finest hotels, and invested in racehorses. His actions prompted his arrest. He was taken to a prison in New York.

His wife left town, to visit relatives in Philadelphia. Six Pinkerton agents went to work.

A 19th century Mission: Impossible

Enss spins a suspenseful story of how the Pinkertons worked this case. Kate Warne made friends with the wife, telling her a long story about a husband falsely imprisoned as a forger.  Another Pinkerton agent, tall and remarkably good-looking, charmed her at dinner gatherings. A third agent got himself hired as the husband’s lawyer, with another agent as his courier. After several deftly told twists and turns, the Pinkertons win the case. I couldn’t help but think of the various Mission: Impossible teams.

Author interview

Chris Enss is not only an author, but also a scriptwriter, a comedienne, a wonderful writer about the American West, and a private detective. She graciously agreed to answer some questions I posed:

History Muse: How did you decide to write this book?

Chris: I am fascinated with women in history who excelled in non-traditional roles.  Kate Warne was one of those women.  I was equally intrigued by Pinkerton himself.  He was a pioneer in the industry of private investigation.  The story of women Pinkerton detectives was begging to be told.

History Muse: I think many of us think of detective work and spy work as solitary, but these women were often part of teams that, frankly, reminded me of Mission: Impossible. How often does that happen? And are you considering a screenplay based on any of these chapters?

Chris: What’s interesting about PI work is that every case is different.  There are times working alone has its advantages and just as many instances when working with a team is important.  I’m am amazed at the dedication The Pinks had to stay on the job for so long.  They had to go undercover for several months and they were content with the case being solved.  No one was out for individual glory.

In my PI work I am generally alone.  I’ve not been involved in any team investigations.  I’m sure the Pinkerton National Detective Agency continues to work with teams to get their suspect.

I am happy to report that Alan Kaplan and Alicia Keyes have optioned The Pinks.  I’m not sure if the program will be a cable series or what, but I’m excited to see what they’ll do.

History Muse: The stories in your book are mostly from the Civil War, but the Pinkerton Agency has been, and remains, part of American society to the present day. Did the agency continue to hire women after the Civil War? It was also noteworthy to me that Pinkerton hired at least one person of color and one bi-racial woman during the period covered in your book. Was that something he continued to do?

Chris: The Pinkerton National Detective Agency has always been a progressive operation.  They hired women from all walks of life and color.  Gender or race had no bearing on being hired because all Pinkerton was focused on was solving crimes.  Once Kate Warne introduced the idea of hiring a woman the flood gates were open.  I applaud Pinkerton for taking the chance he did at a time when no one else would have entertained the idea.

History Muse: The women you profile in The Pinks are remarkable women—from the first operative Kate Warne to Mary Edwards Walker, one of the few women to hold a medical degree. Is there one whose work you particularly admire? Do you think the brains and resourcefulness these women showed is rare, or do you think a lot more people (including female people) could do what they did, given the chance?

Chris: Kate’s story is my favorite.  The spunk it took to walk into Pinkerton’s office and announce you are looking for work as a detective is such a bold, admirable act.  She was a versatile agent too.  She could play the part of a [spiritualist] medium or woman in distress very easily.  One of the key ingredients of being a good private investigator is patience.  You have to plan, execute, and wait, wait, wait.  Kate was good at the waiting.  Many people change their minds about the profession because there is so much waiting.  Motion pictures and television make it seem as though the culprit is apprehended in a matter of days, but that’s not usually the case.  Anyone with great patience can excel as a private investigator.

History Muse: What’s next for you? Do you think you’ll be making more use of the extensive Pinkerton archives?

Chris: I have two new books coming out in 2018.  The first is entitled The Principles of Posse Management.  Principles of Posse Management tells the stories of the lawmen and leaders of the Old West who organized citizens in the pursuit of law and order. This collection of tales reveals what Wyatt Earp, Bat Masterson, Buffalo Bill Cody, and other legends of the old west knew about leadership with a clever twist on the classic shoot-em-up, black-hats-vs-white-hats tale.  In the fall the book Killer Bs will be released.  That book is about the B movies made by Republic Pictures.  I am writing a book about Big Nose Kate and about the women who played important roles in building the railroad.

History Muse: I, for one, am really looking forward to reading about Big Nose Kate!

The Pinks reads like a historical thriller,

with one fascinating plot twist: it is based wholly on truth.

Chris Enss’s The Pinks offers an engrossing look at the women’s flank of the famed Pinkerton group, which provided services of security, protection, investigation, and, in many cases, infiltration by its initially all-male staff of “private eyes.”

Allan Pinkerton had an innovative and invasive approach to dealing with crime and criminals. After immigrating to the United States from Scotland, he eventually established the Pinkerton offices in Chicago. Six years after the agency opened, Kate Warne had the audacious foresight to apply for a job as a Pinkerton detective, despite the fact that Pinkerton himself had never considered hiring women. Warne argued that women could assume undercover roles as ably as men, and that feminine intuition and charm could help them excel as undercover agents.

Though Pinkerton knew the work would be dangerous, he hired Warne and assigned her to numerous cases. Enss depicts Warne as an excellent actress, able to alter her appearance, accent, and mood quickly and convincingly. Pinkerton’s investigations were often complex and went on for extended periods of time as the agents gained the confidence of key individuals—or the guilty parties themselves. Warne rose to every challenge, including escorting a disguised Abraham Lincoln to Washington via train in 1861. The then president-elect was in danger of assassination by a Baltimore cadre of secessionists who wanted Lincoln dead before he even had a chance to take office.

The Pinks notes how Warne’s success encouraged Pinkerton to employ other women, placing them in roles of general investigation or even espionage during the Civil War. They pursued murderers, carried classified documents, decoded messages, and maintained their cover in highly charged situations. Ultimately, the Pinkerton logo became that of a watchful female eye, accompanied by the apt motto of “We Never Sleep.” However, despite Pinkerton’s equal-opportunity mind-set, official American police forces did not hire female detectives until the late nineteenth century.

The Pinks details Warne’s career as a Pinkerton detective, along with various other cases assigned to female agents like Hattie Lawton, Dr. Mary Edwards Walker, and the artistically gifted Lavinia “Vinnie” Ream. Filled with intrigue, suspense, bravery, and women’s accomplishments, The Pinks reads like a historical thriller with one fascinating plot twist: it is based wholly on truth.

Enter now to win a copy of The Pinks

Enter now to win a copy of

The Pinks: The First Women Detectives, Operatives, and Spies with

the Pinkerton National Detective Agency

The Pinks: The First Women Detectives, Operatives, and Spies with the Pinkerton National Detective Agency is recommended for history, women’s issues, and sociology holdings with a special interest in law enforcement as it surveys the Pinkerton Detective Agency and the true stories surrounding the first woman detective in America and those who came after her. Chapters capture feats of courage, daring, and historical import as they follow female agents who pursue justice and whose exploits added to American history and early struggles for justice. No women’s history collection should be without this lively, important survey. Midwest Book Review

Throughout the month of January

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The First Women Detectives, Operatives and Spies with

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The idea of peace on earth good will towards men is lost on the masses standing in the one and only opened security checkpoint line at Sky Harbor Airport. It certainly isn’t a sentiment that springs to my mind standing behind the family of eight who wait until they reach the X-ray scanner to remove their jackets, shoes, laptops, cell phones, jewelry, and the case of hot sauce they purchased from a street vendor in Winslow stuffed in their pockets.

I’m not struck with confidence by the crack security people manning the perimeter. The ones who insist that a mother remove the socks from her infant’s feet because there is a sneaker pattern crocheted into the design. Yeah…  We all know that’s how every bad guy operates, right? It isn’t some religious fanatic with an ax to grind sneaking onboard with something vile. It’s a young mother who dared to put cute socks on her baby with a whimsical design.

Flying in this country has turned into an amazingly arduous process, especially boarding he plane, which has now become this tedious Bataan death march with American Tourister overnight bags. I always get stuck behind this one guy, who takes forever to get situated. He’s clogging the aisle like a piece of human cholesterol jammed in the passengerial artery. You just want to get that soft drink cart and flush his behind out the back door. He’s folding that sport jacket like he’s in the color guard at Arlington National Cemetery.

Or else I get stuck behind a wizard who wants to beat the system by gaffer-taping a twine handle onto a refrigerator-freezer box and calling it “carry on.” Wedging it into the overhead with hydraulic jacks.

And exactly when did flight attendants in this country get so cranky? If they enforce their own rules perhaps things would go a bit smoother for themselves and the passengers who do follow their mandates. I know it’s a tough job. There’s got to be a thousand different ways to tie that neckerchief but why take it out on me? You know the worst thing about it is they don’t even come clean with you and tell you how much they hate you. They treat you with a highly contrived air of mock civility, that tight, pursed-lip grin where they nod agreement with everything you say. You know right behind that face plate they barely tolerate your very existence.

I’d rather they just come out in the open and say, “Hey, listen, jerk. When I was eighteen years old, I made a horrible vocational error, all right? I turned my entire adult life in for cheap airfare to Barbados. Now I’ve got hair with the tensile strength of Elsa Lanchester in Bride of Frankenstein. I haven’t met Mr. Right. I’m a waitress in a bad restaurant at thirty thousand feet.

What about when you leave the plane and they’ve got them propped by the front door in that complete android catatonic stupor where they look like the Yul Brynner robot from Westworld when he blew a headpipe. “Bye. Bye. Bye, Bye.” Part of this is the airline I used. It rhymes with Southwest. Their motto is, “Hey, you know we aren’t good at our job and you decided to fly with us anyway. So, some of this is on you.”

You know who I feel sorry for in the whole air-travel scenario? It’s the poor person who has to drive the jetway. You know the little accordion tentacle that weaves its way out to meet the plane? Everybody else is Waldo Pepperin’ around in their leather jackets, the right stuff coursing through their veins as they push the outside of the envelope. Their  job is to drive the building.

I’m going to start the new year out right and NOT fly anywhere. I’ll be home resolving to make better bad decisions.

Aside from gravity and how good it feels to put a Q-tip too far into your ear, nothing quite unites mankind like the fact that at one time or another, just about all of us have had a lousy job. I don’t know, maybe you still have that lousy job. There are many days, and this one is no exception, when I feel I made a serious vocational error. Of course, it’s not as bad as the singing telegram job I had while I was in college.

The company was called Bananagrams Singing Telegrams. The signature costume was, you guessed it, a banana. I spent more than a year driving around various parts of Tucson, Arizona, dressed as a banana, a mermaid, a monkey, and a chicken. I was running behind one late afternoon when I got to the singing telegram business and was quickly thrown into a frog costume. The costume was a skin-tight number which required you have only the bare essentials under the garment. The foam head of the costume was massive but the eyeholes were positioned perfectly for me to see to drive my pickup. What I hadn’t considered was how I was going to drive the vehicle with webbed hands and feet. Only a twenty-something would bypass such particulars.

As soon the manager of the company helped me into the frog costume, she left. I was alone outside a strip-mall trying to master the art of shoving a dozen helium-filled balloons into the cab of my truck. I had the colorful balloon bouquet positioned just so in the seat, had managed to weigh them down with my purse, and was holding them out of the way so I could close the door when I realized the keys to the vehicle were lying on the dashboard. I stuck my webbed hand in the door but it was too late. The locked door closed on the webbed hand and I couldn’t get it out. No amount of tugging at the web would dislodge it. The skin-tight suit zipped in the back and stopped in the middle of the giant foam head. I couldn’t reach it and, even if I could, I had only the bare essentials on underneath so…

After wrestling for more than fifteen minutes to free the arm of the frog costume from the door, I decided to try and flag down a passerby. I started waving at cars speeding along the thoroughfare, but they thought I was an advertisement and honked and waved back at me as they continued on their way. At long last, a family stopped to see what was going on. Their little dog went crazy at the sight of a giant frog, but they did manage to help get me free.

My grandfather always used to say, “Chris,” and about five minutes later, I’d say, “Yes, Grandpa?” And then he’d say, “Chris, always do something you love, and you’ll never work a day in your life.” Of course, my grandfather worked at an ammunition packing plant and he was extremely sarcastic, but it’s a cute story.

One of the best jobs I had in my life was working at the Old Tucson Movie Studio. I started out as a saloon girl and graduated to stunt person. If I wasn’t on the south side of sixty and had the patience now to deal with rage inducing park guests, I’d want to give it another try. I should just stick with writing and hope for a better tomorrow.

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Straight Lady: The Life and Times of Margaret Dumont, “The Fifth Marx Brother

Margaret Dumont as Mrs. Upjohn raves about Groucho Marx as Dr. Hackenbush in the film A Day at the Races.

“I’m going to someone who understands me, I’m going to Dr. Hackenbush! Why, I didn’t know there was a thing the matter with me until I met him.

And later, when being asked about his medical credentials…

Dr. Hackenbush: Oh, well, uh, to begin with I took four years at Vassar.

Mrs. Upjohn: Vassar? But that’s a girl’s college

Dr. Hackenbush: I found that out the third year. I’d be there yet, but I went out for the swimming team.

To learn more about the great lady Dumont read

Straight Lady: The Life and Times of Margaret Dumont, “The Fifth Marx Brother”

Christmas can be found in the most unlikely places.

A big-hearted ranch hand helps a family in need, and just when he thinks he’s missed Christmas, he discovers the holiday magic was in his acts of kindness all along.

Cowboy True’s Christmas Adventure is currently ranked #16 in Children’s Western American Historical Fiction on Amazon.

Pick up a copy of Cowboy True for the holidays. Available everywhere books are sold, at Amazon.com and Barnes & Noble. Com.

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Straight Lady: The Life and Times of Margaret Dumont, “The Fifth Marx Brother”

Rufus T. Firefly: All I can offer you is a roofus over your head.

Mrs. Teasdale: Your Excellency, I really don’t know what to say.

Rufus T. Firefly: I wouldn’t know what to say either if I was in your place. Maybe you can suggest something.

On October 20, 1882, future actress Margaret Dumont was born in Brooklyn, New York. Her mother was an entertainer who taught music, her father was a sea captain, and stepfather a set decorator for Broadway productions. She was forty-seven when she made her first movie with the Marx Brothers. Tall and regal in bearing, her character provided the perfect foil to wisecracking Groucho Marx.

Almost alone among the wooden heroines and third-rate bit players who peopled the Marx Brothers’ films with victims, she radiated a memorable vulnerability and eternally renewable faith in the chance of sanity in a lunatic world. In doing so she shared their immortality.

To learn more about the great lady Dumont read

Straight Lady: The Life and Times of Margaret Dumont, “The Fifth Marx Brother”