Original author Jim Smith, c.1975 & Edited by Jody Drake for this article.
(Printed with Permission from Northern Arizona University, Cline Library, Special Collections and Archives, Jerome State Historic Park Collection)
"Generally speaking, eruptions of 'righteousness' triggered by revelations of vice are not permitted to get too far out of hand. Reporters begin to weary of the story, editors are restored to their senses, and the police, acting in the interest of the politicians, do only enough to enable the administration to declare that 'action has been taken'." (Harry Benjamin & R.E.L.,Master's Thesis, 'Prostitution and Morality')
In attempting to understand the relationship between law and social structure, it is obviously necessary to go beyond the legal rules and examine the law in operation. The rules constitute a blueprint for behavior, not behavior itself, and they can only give a rough indication of what individuals in a society will do in fact.
The town of Jerome, unique in its location, has clung tenaciously to the side of Cleopatra Hill, above the Verde Valley for close to a century. Its economic history, for the most part, is the history of the United Verde Mining Company, for the mines in Jerome yielded over a billion dollars worth of copper, silver and gold, which, collectively, gave the town its nickname, "The Billion Dollar Camp."
Its social history, on the other hand, parallels the social history of nearly all of the early mining camps in Arizona. For like them, Jerome had, in addition to its respectable element, a good-sized population of prostitutes and gamblers, as well as a large number of saloons, all part and parcel of the social amenities that were held, if not in the highest, then at least of the utmost importance in order to counteract the effects of loneliness and drudgery in any early mining camp.
As one historian has written, "The sidewalks, saloons and stores were crowded with men, from sunrise to sunset, then from sunset to another sunrise, buying clothing and food, gambling, drinking and fighting."
Prior to the turn of the century, at least, as Jerome grew and its population was composed, primarily, of men representing upwards of forty nationalities, there was little or no attempt to regulate prostitution in any form. Without a large pupation of respectable women, no one found reason to argue against the incidence of prostitution in town. As in all mining camps which were big enough to support a store, restaurant or saloon, there were women. They were taken for granted and performed, if not a noble function, then a necessary one. Early on in the history of Jerome, houses of prostitution flourished in the very heart of the business district.
A man named Japanese Charlie, for instance, operated a place on Jerome Avenue, one of the city's principal thoroughfares only a short distance from the Connor Hotel. Japanese Charlie's place was, to all extents and purposes, a restaurant and rooming house, but the early citizens of Jerome recognized it for other pleasures that it had to offer.
Aside from the business function, the Connor Hotel, built by Dave Connor and destroyed in all of the three big fires that ravaged Jerome during years 1897, 1898, and 1899, stood like a sort of moral punctuation mark amidst Jerome's growing population of prostitutes in those early years.
For north of that grand old building, along Main Street there sprang up so many dwellings of various sizes and statures, all dedicated to the same purpose, that the area, like its counterparts in many other early mining camps, became known as "tenderloin district."
Although most of the women who came to Jerome on the heels of the mining boom and made their homes in the "tenderloin district" fell into the class of nonentities, long since forgotten in the annals of history, not all of them fell into that class.
A few managed to bring attention where it should not have been brought.
Jerome's red light district was a victim of the trend of the times, the activities of the churches, and the men who made the laws. The feeling grew that such openly conducted and centrally located industry demeaned the reputation of the town, which was trying to claim a place among clean and progressive communities.
Perhaps in part this was true, but it also remains a historical fact that prostitution in Jerome flourished well into the 1930's when, as the mines began to lag in production, economic factors signaled the end, not only of prostitution, but also of the town as a whole.
Legislative action did, however, play a role in the formation of prostitution's history in Jerome.
Sometime around the turn of the century, for whatever reasons, prostitution became somewhat decentralized, moving sway from the center of town and settling along Hull Avenue.
It was under the mayor ship of George W. Hull, in 1905, that women were barred from saloons and the prostitutes were ordered to close up their places of business and leave Jerome once an for all.
The man primarily responsible for implementing this demand and making certain that it was carried out was Fred Hawkins, who enjoyed a long career, first as deputy marshall of Jerome under James F. Roberts, from 1900-1904 and then, later, as full marshall of the town from 1904 through 1916. During that time he had more than a few opportunities to find himself in conflict with the wishes of Jerome's red light population.
It was, in fact, Fred Hawkins who reported to the town council, in 1905, that Mayor Hull's demand had been followed through and Jerome was free of the undesirable subculture.
His report, though, seems, at the least, to have been rather premature and one can only speculate that Hawkins either did nothing, assuming that the ill wind would soon blow over, or else, like many law officials in early camps, warned the prostitutes to use a little discretion until things cooled down a bit.
If the latter is true, it certainly was not the consequence of laziness or ineffectuality on the part of Fred Hawkins. Like most early Arizona law officers confronted with the problem of prostitution, he was unwilling to try to eliminate it when, in fact, the prevailing sentiments of the population were favorable to its continuance.
The tactic to use, then, was to throw the dogs a bone. Whenever the pressure was on to rid the town of its whores, the law officer often had a standing agreement with the principal madams that things could go on as they were, provided a period of quietude were observed temporarily.
A year after Mayor Hull's demand that the prostitutes be run out of town, the new town council passed an ordinance prohibiting gambling. Again, and this time noticeably and vocally, the sentiments of the townspeople, particularly the miners, prevailed and the ordinance was ruled invalid.
Recognizing this as an opportunity to play their hand, the prostitutes took one of the few public stands that they ever took in Jerome's history. The thrust of their argument against the old ruling of 1905 was that if gamblers could continue to thrive in Jerome, even against the wishes of the council, then they, too, should be allowed to stay and without continued harassment.
The town council had painted itself into a corner and was forced to announce that the women could stay on, with the provision that they submit to physical examinations twice monthly. It was at this point, too, that the Hull Avenue red light district was officially founded and recognized.
After the rulings of 1905 and 1906, very little happened to alter the course of events among Jerome's prostitutes until 1913. That year, prostitution along Hull Avenue was finally legalized once and for all by the town. The legislation was intended more for purposes of controlling the red light district than condoning it.
In 1918, the red light district was officially closed due to an order by the State Health Officer in January of that year. The order demanded that the district be closed and that the prostitutes be out of Jerome by March 1st. At the same time the War Department was demanding that brothels all over Arizona be closed due to the increase of venereal disease among soldiers stationed in the state at the outset of World War I. The War Department had made plans to convert all of the Hull Avenue red light district into "cheap, but respectable rooming houses." Apparently the plans were never implemented, though, for at the end of the war, prostitution was revived once again along Hull Avenue and there it continued to thrive until the depletion of the United Verde Mine and the Little Daisy Mine of the United Verde extension which signaled the end of the Jerome mining boom during the 1930s.
Jerome could have stood as a singular example of the age-old adage that morality cannot be legislated. Every attempt at such legislation, regardless of the sentiments of those public officials who formulated such legislation, seemed to be more a thing of convenience than a thing of integrity.
There are no authentic records of the last prostitute in Jerome. Quite probably there were few people left in the town and fewer still who would shed a tear at the passing of a raucous era. After the mines ran dry and the prostitutes left Jerome, the old road named Hull Avenue, for lack of use, simply deteriorated and, like many of its buildings, began to slowly slide downhill in the direction of the Little Daisy Mine. In 1952, permission was granted to the town to reconstruct a portion of that old street. Today it is passable, but few remnants remain to remind the passerby that in 1906, according to local newspapers, there were 40 women plying their chosen trade along that narrow street.
At the tail end of Jerome's reign of prostitution, in 1931, we would see the results of the conflicts between law and society. A young prostitute named 'Sammie' Dean would be the victim of a crime never to be solved. A crime, that, had it happened to one of the town's better citizens, might have been solved.
If you have a talent for seeing the unseen, The Sharlot Hall Museum's Blue Rose Theater will present the case that should have been presented to the Grand Jury in Jerome in 1931. "The Day Of Her Death" will be presented and you may decide who killed Sammie Dean. For more information call 928.445.3122.
Sharlot Hall Museum Photograph Call Number:(Juanita Marie Dean) Reuse only by permission.
Juanita 'Sammie' Dean, c.1925, photo courtesy of the Jerome Historical Society.