GETTING RESPECT IN OLD WEST MINING CAMPS

© Craig MacDonald

"Respect" meant a lot in many California and Nevada mining camps. Getting it might take years, it might never happen or it might come with the change of a name. Ragged Ass Bar became Canyon City. Murderer's Bar evolved into Happy Camp. Whiskey Diggings was sometimes called Newark.

Up in the Northern Mines, Whiskey Diggings' housewives and other women became really fed up, with what was becoming, out-of-control hurdy gurdy girls, who fleeced miners' hard-earned money through dances and backroom hanky panky. The "decent" women, who called their respectable town, Newark, met with "Mountain Messenger" publisher Robert Dewey in La Porte to create a campaign to get rid of the wild ladies of the night.

Dewey editorialized against the sleazy denizens of the dark, who drank, cavorted and acted lewd in the saloons. The scribe wrote that these dancers "took an estimated $50,000 last season in the Southern Plumas camps of Whiskey Diggings, Richmond Hill and others. The money obtained by these mercenary creatures has no circulation in our midst but is taken to San Francisco to enrich some speculator, who lurks in subterranean quarters on Pacific and Jackson Streets."

The angry housewives demanded their husbands do something about this dastardly dilemma right away or forfeit the pleasures of marriage. One night, they successfully forced their cowed husbands to literally carry the hurdy gurdys out of the saloon, down Main Street to the City Limit, where the crowd demanded they never return.

The influence of women and respectability also was exerted in Pioche, which was once called, "the wickedest mining camp in Nevada." The town was losing its reputation by the 1870s, as more and more females moved into the once male-dominated community. Miners were getting married and the rugged diggings was rapidly becoming respectable and civilized, much to the disgust of some single chaps.

The July 8, 1876 Pioche Daily Record told its readers about an association being formed "to protect the men from the encroachments of the female sex, which is making the poor male an object of pity. The association proposed to ameliorate this."

That night, The Single Men's Protective Association held its first meeting in a private room, which was filled to capacity. Suddenly, right smack in the middle of the intense meeting, a large thud was heard outside the door, followed by a tremendous crash." The locked door was being battered down!

Moments later, a bevy of angry women stampeded into the room. Chaos ensued as the intruder's chanted their demands to break up the gathering. Male occupants stumbled over tables and chairs to escape; some even dove through windows. Nobody stayed to hear the intruder's demands.

The Single Men's Protective Association was never heard from again. More churches were built, more marriages occurred and Pioche's wicked reputation had bitten the dust for good.

Talk about respectability, in the Summer of 1852, a young Amador County miner wrote in his diary that he "spotted a slender, willowy young woman in Deadman's Creek." She was the only girl for miles around and he really wanted to meet her and make a good impression. But he didn't have a decent pair of pants and a nice shirt.

Soon, he was able to take his gold into town to purchase his "Sunday's best" outfit, suitable for approaching the girl of his dreams. But the night before he was going to wear it, a skunk entered his cabin and "cut loose" forever scenting his new clothes. He sadly wrote in his diary, "I was shattered. Someone else got the girl!"

Another miner, named Jake, also was bitten by the love bug. He feverishly tried to raise $100 to marry his longtime girlfriend. The money was a dowry demanded by her father, who wanted to be properly respected. Fellow prospectors often called out to lovesick Jake, "Have you raised the hundred, yet?"

It wasn't long before he luckily made a strike and took $500 out of the ground. His comrades thought Jake would be hightailing it out of camp for Oregon to marry his gal. But he stayed, increased his pile to more than $6,000, got blinded by his new found wealth, and decided he was not interested in settling down with a woman just yet.

Some male miners did not need anyone else to help them become respectable. J. Ross Browne wrote about visiting Bodie, where a dozen men lived together in a shanty. "These jolly miners were the happiest set of bachelors imaginable," he wrote. "They cooked their own food, did their own washing, mended their clothes, made their own beds, cut their own hair...." They deemed themselves happy and respectable and had no need of assistance from anybody.

Others, however, were convinced they needed a wife to enjoy the most out of life. One Mother Lode lad wrote this about his joyful marriage:

"My marriage as an act of wise
Above all other acts in life,
For I can gaze in two fond eyes
And call their fair possessor wife.
Long of a wife, I stood in need
'Till now I've one who kneads my bread."

"A man's but half a pair of shears
Who lives alone without a wife
And though he lives 100 years
He never lives but half a life.
He's always out of humor, health,
And very often, I believe—
Though he may be a man of wealth
He's sadly out of knees and sleeve.

From mining camp days to today, "Respect" is always in the eye of the beholder. You know it if you've got it. Respecting others can help you get it.