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Jerome Characters
A true story of two women in an Arizona mining
town who although shared the community during
the same time period and shared the same
aspirations, had lives that were miles apart.
Townswomen
By Pamela Ravenwood
Prostitution isn’t a pretty thing, but it
happens. A part of community, it was, especially
in remote mining towns full of scared and
estranged men.
In Jerome, it was business as usual. Madam
Jennie had the biggest establishment in town.
Despite burning down three times in a row, it
was always the first building to go back up –
the combination of Jennie’s cash and volunteer
labor always made it so.
Jennie’s place faced Main Street, that was until
the 20s when everybody started to get religion
or religion got them. Then places like Jennies
was something that everyone pretended didn’t
exist – like poverty, depression and falling
copper prices.
Jennie was not attractive. It was said she had
the face of a mule and the laugh of a horse. But
she was well respected and for that she knew her
choices were right. Unlike the others, she did
look at reality and knew it good and square.
Women had little power or choice unless they
came from money and men would sell their power
in a minute for what a woman could give him in
fifteen. There was something to be said for
power and although a proper lady never spoke of
it, Jennie knew it for certain.
Anne Hopkins loved power and for that she spent
five years in Florence Prison and lost
everything she had. Anne and Jennie may not have
known one another even though they shared the
same town. Jennie lived in the Tenderloin
District while Anne lived on Company Hill. Anne
married and married well. Her husband was a
mining Engineer.
Although he was abusive and
disrespectful, he provided her with a good home
and a life off the streets. But Anne wanted
more. She knew she had more to offer than just a
face at those fancy dinner parties they
attended. With extra money tucked away, Anne
purchased a small home and put the deed in her
name. She rented the home to men who worked in
the mines.
Once the house was paid off,
she would buy another and another. She then
began to invest in mining stocks and even had a
bank account with her own name on it. The shame
she brought upon her husband was nearly
unspeakable – except the townspeople found
plenty of time to speak about it.
Paybacks weren’t simple when you were a man of
importance. Outbursts covered some of the shame
but nothing, no nothing made Anne’s husband more
angry than knowing his wife was doing what she
did much to his embarrassment.
Anne didn’t see it this way. She knew she was
important, intelligent, and generous in that she
gave more than her share in every way to
everyone around her. These were the things her
husband knew he couldn’t take from her. But
there was one thing he could take and that was
himself and give it to another.
Anne discovered the affair shortly after it
happened. She knew exactly who it was – that
teacher down at the school that was always
making appearances at the same social events as
the Hopkins.
It was a long summer and Anne decided to go away
and find rest in San Francisco. Jerome was too
dirty and hot to stand any more. But rest she
did not find. He had won. How was she going to
fight this? Give in? Maybe he did love her.
Maybe it was that whore of a teacher who seduced
him. Yes, certainly it was this. Anne returned
to Jerome but did not go directly to her home
after departing from the train. No, instead she
stopped in town. Inside the Connor Hotel was the
other woman, sitting there so happy with a
friend, eating.
So happy while Anne was so
miserable. She was beautiful, Anne felt old and
ugly. This Arizona sun, three children and her
age of thirty-two marked her as undesirable.
Anne left the Connor Hotel and entered the
hardware store. There she purchased a jar of
carbolic acid. Returning, she dumped half of the
acid into the sink and filled the rest with
water. She thought of her actions, but something
inside compelled her. That same something that
motivated her to make her investments even
though a voice warned her not to because of the
trouble it would cause.
Stepping into the restaurant,
she approached the table where the two women
sat. Without pause, Anne grabbed the woman by
the hair cursing her in God knows what words.
The woman pushed Anne’s arm away and the acid
splattered onto both of them – Anne’s hand and
the other woman’s face. There were screams and
then everything went numb.
They say a man at an adjoining table intervened.
The stories Anne later heard were as scattered
as her thoughts. Despite it all, she had no
remorse. Women liked this deserved what they
got. Surely the townsfolk would agree.
The trial wasn’t as indisputable as Anne’s
recollection of events. Success and prosperity
meant nothing toward a woman’s credibility –
civilized behavior or the lack thereof was the
death nail that sent Anne to Florence Prison for
five to fifteen.
“You should have killed the bastard,” her
cellmate later claimed. You wouldn’t be in here
if you had killed the cheating son-of-a-bitch.”
It was too late now. Anne hadn’t been smart
about this. The local newspapers repeated the
account, just to make sure nobody forgot.
Jennie couldn’t have been smart about what was
coming her way either. It had been ten years and
she was out of the business now. She moved on to
start a new life. With a large savings and a new
home, she decided one man to love was enough.
But she wouldn’t tolerate that man treating her
as if she weren’t. That night she told him to
leave.
He did but then returned at 4
a.m., shot Jennie once before having the
opportunity to chase her down and shoot her
three more times, this time in the head. The
locals saw what had happened and left no time to
reason before putting him out of everyone’s
misery.
All the locals were filled with grief in the
passing of Jennie Bauters – she was a smart and
generous woman they said. We will miss her.
The local newspapers repeated the account, just
to make sure nobody forgot.
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