Dr. Magnette’s account of Peggy’s life often reveals a voyeuristic tone. He described her as a “young blond” who “tells you all about her checkered career of prostitution.” Dr. Magnette went on to write, “This young woman has had quite a career,” adding that it was possible to “talk to this patient for half a day and continue to gather various material,” as if she had been simply a fascinating object to study. It is also disturbing that he described her childhood experience of incestuous rape in the following way: “Her father even carried on sex previously with her when she was a very young girl and has tried since she has grown up but she will not let him do that any more.” The fact that the doctor calls it “sex,” adding that “she will not let him do that any more,” undermines his professionalism, credibility and judgment; his wording implies Peggy initially had a choice in the matter and fails to acknowledge she was unable to give consent as a little girl.
The doctor’s account of Peggy’s experiences as a sex worker goes into some detail, describing her entry into prostitution in 1959, when she was eighteen and still living in Montana, where she was born and raised. After Montana, she moved to Vegas briefly but primarily worked out of Winnemucca before arriving in Reno. She also spent time in Tonopah, Beatty and Ash Meadows, Nevada, where most of her customers came “from the men working in [the town of] Mercury” for the nuclear program there. Peggy told the doctor that the money she made from sex work was best in Winnemucca during the hunting season. There is some discrepancy in the amount of money she made. She initially said she made as much as $500 to $600 in one day, “but when seen later she says the most she would make in a day for her own so-called ‘take home money’ would be about $150 or $165. The madam in the salons and houses takes 40% of the money.” The amount of money the houses kept, according to this account, was also consistent with what people say about Wallace’s practices.
Narcotics Anonymous book on vanity. Oasis Bordello Museum display; photo by Heather Branstetter.
At the conclusion of her admission history and mental examination, Peggy was assigned a “provisional diagnosis” of “personality trait disturbance” and “emotionally unstable personality, with alcoholism and drug addiction and prostitution.” It seems strange that the doctor treated “prostitution” as a diagnosis. He described her thoughts about her means of income as follows:
This patient absolutely vows that she does want to change her life. She says she has never been satisfied with it. She doesn’t feel its [sic] right to take the money from some of these poor men who have been her customers. She is ashamed of her life. She is ashamed, she says, when she faces other people. She said she would like to go to an LPN school. She likes to take care of the sick.
Peggy’s assertion that she would like to become a nurse aligns with Alexa Albert’s findings from her time spent conducting research in a Nevada brothel; most of the women who worked at the Mustang Ranch while she was there in the 1990s expressed an interest in “helping professions,” such as “social work, nursing, teaching, [and] daycare,” as alternative “careers they would want to pursue” if those jobs paid better.257 It’s impossible to know if Peggy truly felt sorry for “these poor men who have been her customers,” whether that was doctor-added interpretation or whether she was telling Dr. Magnette what she thought he wanted to hear. Prior to the publication of the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, Third Edition (DSM-III) in 1980, psychiatrists relied on a narrative case history model of mental health pathology that reported a patient’s words “as close to verbatim as possible by the physician.”258 These accounts, however, were not literal unless quotation marks were used; the clinician was most often “‘recontextualizing’ what the client said in the initial oral interaction.”259 Throughout Peggy’s case history, her doctor did not use quotation marks. According to the psychiatric custom of the time, then, he did not record her words directly but instead filtered them through his own interpretation.
Dr. Magnette’s notes imply that he believed Peggy was eager to please to the point of being insincere. In a patronizing tone, he explained:
This patient was told that we will observe her here a while and that the main thing that we go by here is what she does and how she acts and not how she talks. She has been told that her promises and her possible trying to impress the examiner mean nothing at all, that everything she does must be evidenced in her action—good ward behavior, willingness to work, some sort of a vow and sticking to it that she does really want to change her life and not just talk about it.
Social and behavioral health workers are often justifiably skeptical of their patients’ motivations, but Peggy’s file offers evidence that she genuinely wanted to change her life, which makes Dr. Magnette’s cynical assumptions seem unfair. For example, the doctor indicated she voluntarily “walked into Washoe Hospital about a week or so ago seeking aid” just prior to her commitment, which lasted from February 24 to March 22, 1965. But Dr. Magnette clearly believed Peggy was trying to manipulate him and exhibited drug-seeking behavior. Twice, he described her as a sociopath who tried to convince him to prescribe medicine for her.
According to Peggy’s description, prostitution preceded her drug use. Her husband facilitated her addiction to painkillers before he was sent to prison, at which point she began to rely on her wages from sex work to pay for her addiction. The doctor used a doubtful tone of voice as he wrote, “She claims” her husband influenced her to begin using drugs like “Dilaudid, Morphine, Demerol, Cocaine, and Dolophine” obtained by robbing pharmacies until the time came when “she had to use her money from prostitution to go out and buy the drugs” herself. Dr. Magnette then diminished her to “nothing but an addict” while noting how other doctors knowingly enabled her addiction: “Most of her medication was obtained [legally] from doctors,” and “there was a doctor or two in Las Vegas who even knew she was nothing but an addict,” yet they “continued to give her the drugs at $12 a visit, or give her the drugs to take.”
The doctor’s report concludes:
In the search for real psychotic material, there is none. The patient has never had any hallucinations, delusions, paranoid material or ideas of influence or reference. She says she knows she has been listed as a sociopath. She has done a little reading like most of the sociopaths have and is able to discuss her case, at least in a superficial fashion in a fair way.... She herself has never been in jail. She denies homosexuality.
It is unclear why the report ends with a statement about her sexual orientation. The doctor may have associated the willingness to sell sex with sexual deviance in general; at the time, homosexuality was still classified as a mental health disorder, and it is not uncommon for women sex workers to be bisexual. Peggy’s file indicates that after leaving Wallace, she returned to Montana. In a letter from the Miles City police chief to the Wallace police chief, we find out that she was “run out of town” there, too. The Miles City officer went on to write, “I heard last week a couple of her girl-friends worked her over in Billings, Montana and put her in the hospital.”
PART III
ORAL HISTORIES
6
1945–1973
Memory is notoriously unreliable, as I saw firsthand during the course of this research. But written records alone often lack important contextual details or remain buried in basements until those who don’t recognize their value toss them out. Oral histories are an especially valuable way to learn about the kind of history that tends to be hidden from written records. They allow access to the everyday history and stories that would be lost to future generations after the deaths of the elders because they were never written down. The subject of prostitution is well suited to oral history; it is “tricky to document, because people go out of their way to keep from chronicling the information.”260 After interviewing ninety-nine people for this project, it became apparent how you can discover unexpected truths through patterns and trends that reveal themselves in the stories people tell. In this final part of the book, I share som
e of these discussions, which I have edited lightly for clarity and to protect the privacy of those who requested it. This chapter covers the time from World War II through a temporary closure in 1973.
LOMA DELMONTE
According to Magnuson, Loma arrived around the time of World War II, and she left Wallace during the 1960s. During that time, she ran the Jade Rooms at 611½ Cedar Street. Loma wasn’t as “public” as Dolores was. They were in direct competition, but if you talked to either one of them, they referred to each other as good friends.261 Another man compared Loma to Dolores in terms of their personalities and choice of cars:
Loma Delmonte in 1945. Barnard- Stockbridge Collection, University of Idaho Library Special Collections and Archives.
Loma was more on the brash side. It was ’58 when Dolores bought that baby-blue Coupe Deville. Loma had a ’58 pink Lincoln with a purple Landau top and a really dark red interior. Now that was the difference. Dolores had the baby blue, Loma had the pink big four-door Lincoln Continental, she was more like what you’d think of as a madam being, raucous.262
Penny Garr, Former Maid at the Jade
Aunt Jane got me the [maid] job. Her apartment was close to the [Jade] rooms. My mother practically had a heart attack over it. I was naïve, twenty-one. Found a ten-dollar bill behind the radiator and gave it to Loma. If I would have known better I wouldn’t have done that, because the girl had been “cheating” on her and got fired over it, for hiding some of the money she was making. I should have just given the money back to the girl.
Loma’s room was a disaster, full of clutter. She was very religious, had crucifixes everywhere, gave a lot of money to the Catholic church.
She only had two girls working for her during the time I was there (1966 or so)—it was pretty small. The job paid really well, five dollars an hour. And Loma bought me a nice, monogramed passport wallet for my upcoming trip to Europe. It was a parting gift and was made of black leather, so it probably cost a decent amount, a nice gift.
I was just trying to get money but didn’t tell a lot of people because they might get the wrong impression. I don’t care who knows about it now, but back then I was shy about it and kept it pretty quiet.
Went in earlier around four or five. If someone rang, I would head to the back [instead of answering the door like maids did in some other houses].
Her room was so cluttery, full of religious stuff, it blew my mind. Guess she got married and moved to Seattle or Tacoma. She was heavy set, wore a lot of makeup.
I know she gave a lot of money to the church. Maybe it was guilt. Like she was compensating for something.
Didn’t tell a lot of people in part because of how my mom reacted, didn’t tell people for a long time.
But there were no rapes then. We stuck up for the houses as something that was necessary because of all the transient miners. So we never had any problems on the streets. You just got used to it.
And a lot of people went up there just to have drinks, not sex. Lots of things were different back then.
Loma was quite the pink. Lots of pink. Pink Cadillacs....
She did a lot for the high school, did the most for the kids. Those two [Loma and Dolores] were the most popular madams. Don’t remember any of the others during that time.
Some of them had pimps. A lot of them were college gals.
I don’t care who knows, now, I’m sixty-eight years old. My mom did care. I wasn’t there that long. I was maybe a little uncomfortable, but I was mostly focused on my own life, and it was just a way to make money. Didn’t know how people were going to take it if I told them. Little Catholic girl.
But that religious stuff, that surprised me the most. Just overboard with the Catholic stuff in her room. Crucifixes on the wall, pictures of Jesus. Like she was trying to make up for something.
But you’d see the girls during the day. They never went out at night.
And Doc Peterson made sure they didn’t have any diseases—they did that religiously.
You always felt safe there [in Wallace]. Everybody always knew where Wallace, Idaho, was. I’d say I’m from Wallace, and everyone would know what that was famous for and laugh, even in New York. So you had to live with that your whole life.263
Anonymous 15, Graduated from Wallace High in 1963
A lot of guys had girlfriends up there [in the houses]. By 1963, I had a girl up there as a girlfriend. Most of the girls were nineteen to twenty-one years old; some were from Europe. I had an affair with a redhead girl named Anne Marie from France when I was nineteen or twenty but only saw her a couple of months.…
Loma Delmonte in 1955. Barnard- Stockbridge Collection, University of Idaho Library Special Collections and Archives.
Wallace was unique with the hook shops and open gambling. Made eighty-eight dollars working in the mine and then would just go lose that paycheck.…
Loma was tough.…Loma told me about a former mayor of Wallace who was “sick.” [At first, he wouldn’t tell me the details but then finally did.] This guy who had been mayor used to pay four girls to take enemas and then put it into a bucket. He was bottling it. Loma was upset about it when she found out and kicked him out because she didn’t want that happening in her establishment.264
DOLORES ARNOLD
Dolores was perhaps the most beloved of the madams in Wallace. She ran the Lux Rooms at 212½ Sixth Street beginning in the 1940s. Then in 1967, Dolores bought the Jade from Loma and turned it into the Luxette. Ten years after that, she moved the Lux to 601½ Cedar, where it would remain for another decade, until Dolores became too ill to manage her houses.
Richard Magnuson, Former Prosecutor,
Judge and Local Historian
There were small signs that just said “Rooms,” for most of the houses. The houses were mostly called “cathouses,” not brothels or bordellos. Never heard any called a bordello until the Oasis Museum opened up. They had “Reserved for Bordello Parking” signs that were stolen as quickly as they could put them up.
Most of the signs were very small, but there was an exception. Once during a city council meeting, Fred Levering—a real blue-nose, preceded your grandpa in the depot—was upset about a big sign with a flashing arrow that said “Lux” on it and pointed around the corner to the door in the alley. Most signs were not flamboyant, but this one was.
The thing that upset Fred the most, he said during this meeting: “And she’s painted it titty-pink!”
One year, the madams got into an informal competition to provide bicycles for kids from town who caught fish during a fishing derby in the city pool, which had been drained and filled with water from Printer’s Creek. The best prizes for the derby were the bikes from the madams. They didn’t publicize it; the kids might not have known their prizes were from the madams.
Dolores and the other madams probably had influence around town because they spent so much money. My dad ran the meat market, and Dolores would only shop there when he was there, because she liked him. When he was on vacation, she wouldn’t go there.
Dolores was a very warm person. Anybody needed help, any drive around here, even gave money to refurbish graves of men who had been killed during the labor troubles. She put on a real party every year. Started calling this one club [Gyro Club] the “ham and legs society.” No women except her girls, in long dresses. No hanky-panky, no trick suits [slang for the outfits the girls wore while working]. Dolores hosted a lot of people.265
Anonymous 1 and Sonny Parsons,
Grew Up in Wallace During the 1960s
Anonymous 1: Had to drive all the way down to Lewiston to play football, got back on the bus afterward, driver was drunk. The only thing that kept us alive was knowing that the cathouses would be open no matter what time we got home.
Parsons: I used to go with the madam of the cathouse right up here [at the Arment]. Her name was Tammy. I played in the drum and bugle corps, I didn’t know how to blow the goddamn bugle, and the serpentine went to the Metals and then up into the Arment Rooms. The
bugle corps left and I stayed.… I thought I had it made up there, I was young, single, used to help count the money up there in a goddamn Safeway sack, but I found out later, I wasn’t the only boyfriend up there.
Anonymous 1: He wasn’t the only one, honey. Cha Cha.
Parsons: Some of them had a kid back in Missoula.
Anonymous 1: Three weeks on, one week off.
Parsons: Their mom and dads had a normal life, didn’t know anything. Nice girls.
Anonymous 1: There weren’t a bunch of dogs up here.
Parsons: No. They were good-looking women.
Anonymous 1: And some of them were real professionals. And there was one who worked in the Lux Rooms during the ’50s and ’60s. Cha Cha. Unbelievable. She lived in Spokane, had a nice place in Spokane, and she’d come here to work. Stayed here for eight to nine years and retired.
Dolores and her sister Donna came over here during World War II and started working here in the Arment Rooms. Dolores was beautiful. She looked like Hedy Lamarr....
My grandmother would be there, and I’d go in my grandmother’s when I was a little kid and she’d be sitting there chatting with Dolores and having a cup of coffee with her. Dolores Arnold looked and dressed like a movie star. She was gorgeous. And class. When the old madams like Loma and Dolores ran the cathouses, it was first class, no smoking, no drinking.… They were the old-time madams that understood what the deal was.
Parsons: They were prominent citizens.
Anonymous 1: Did you hear about when she [Dolores] bought the ’57 Studebaker cop car? There was this big fat cop called Louisiana Jim, weighed about three hundred pounds. And Wallace had an old ’54 Chevy van they called the paddy wagon. Why that paddy wagon couldn’t catch nothing. Top speed on it was probably sixty-five miles per hour. That big Louisiana Jim goes up Nine Mile in the paddy wagon and he’s drunk and he’s got some broad in there with him and they’re fooling around and he drives it right in the creek and he rolls it, so they don’t have a cop car anymore. Dolores is good friends with the guy who owned the Studebaker dealership, so she tells him she wants to buy the police a new cop car. They put that new 289 supercharger engine in it. It would outrun anything in Idaho. So everyone was pissed at Dolores.
Selling Sex in the Silver Valley Page 12
