Learn the Inside Story of Laura Evans, Local Madam
Arlene Shovald / The Mountain Mail / June 24, 2015
Evans was born May 31, 1871, in St. Louis, Missouri. As often happens over time, there is some discrepancy as to her birth date and the spelling of her name. On her tombstone in Fairview Cemetery, the date is 1874 and the name is spelled Evens. No one knows why. In almost every existing document, including her death certificate, the name is spelled Evans.
Author and historian June Shaputis surmises the spelling was an error on the part of the funeral director. Possibly it may have been the engraver’s error, since the Stewart Mortuary, which conducted her services, spelled the name Evans (with an “a”) on the death certificate and in all of the information related to her burial, right down to the gray dress she wore for her interment.
She became a prostitute in the 1890s, allegedly deserting husband and daughter and changing her name. Prior to taking up residence on Front Street (now West Sackett Avenue) in Salida around 1896, she worked in St. Louis, Denver and Leadville.
She loved practical jokes, swore a lot, rolled her own cigarettes, liked expensive clothes and surroundings, collected dolls and was quite outspoken, all of which (except the doll collection) were frowned on for a woman in her time. But Evans didn’t care. She wasn’t particularly beautiful, but she was attractive in her younger years with a slim figure and long dark hair, often pulled up in a bun or tied back at the nape of her neck.
Her house of ill repute, in early documents, is often referred to as a “boarding house for women.”
Young women went into prostitution for a number of reasons. Some were victims of white slave rings. Often a girl would answer an ad looking for household help or some other respectable occupation, spend everything she had to relocate and take the job, only to discover it was not as advertised and there was no way to escape.
One house of prostitution in Florence, Wisconsin, for example, advertised for maids, and once a woman accepted the job, she was kept in a house guarded by vicious trained German shepherds and could not leave. Often these young women had no family support or resources to get out of their situation.
Other young women hated poverty and were willing to do anything to get out of it, and prostitution seemed to be a lucrative venture.
Prostitution was and still is a thriving profession, but it was particularly so in Victorian times when sex was unspeakable in proper society and birth control was very limited and often didn’t work.
Consequently sexual relations, for “decent women,” were always tinged with the fear of pregnancy, whether it be a single woman (who would be scorned as an unwed mother) or a married woman who feared an unwanted pregnancy.
However, the life of a prostitute was never easy. By night they were hired lovers, but by day they were not acknowledged by the men they slept with.
Evans moved from Leadville to Salida in about 1896. Legend says she lost favor in Leadville after she smuggled the payroll to miners who were still working during a strike. She carried the $27,000 under her skirt and rode sidesaddle into the mines, allegedly to provide her services to a “friend” who could not come to town. The delivery of the payroll broke the strike, but the miners who were on strike were angry with her for helping the mine owners, and her popularity in Leadville took a dive.
Moving to Salida provided the opportunity to leave the “line” of working girls and open her own house on Front Street. As a madam, her business thrived. She is said to have had the prettiest girls working for her and was respected, at least in one way, for her business success. Six years after moving to Salida she expanded and opened a row of “cribs” across the street.
She was said to be “tough as nails” in many ways but have a “heart of butter” in others. Many stories tell of benevolent acts such as providing milk, coal or groceries for families when the father was out of work or injured, or of paying for a young person’s college education.
During the flu pandemic of 1918, Evans sent her girls out into homes in the community to care for the sick, even providing them with nurses’ uniforms so the folks on the receiving end of their care would not know who they were.
One minister who was among the most adamant about closing down the red light district was stunned when he learned the “nurse” who had taken care of his wife was one of Evans’ girls and that girl went back to the “parlor” when the epidemic was over. The minister then dropped his crusade to close the houses.
Evans’ daughter, however, was not as inclined to forgive. In 1940 she distributed a “defamatory circular,” which brought federal G-men to Salida to investigate. The circular made charges against a local bank official, a lawyer, an undertaker and a widowed hotel employee, stating that an estate had been mishandled.
Evans’ daughter, Lucille, later identified herself as the author of the circular, saying she wanted the people named in it to be smeared because she was angry that she was not accepted in Salida social circles. In her letter she expressed contempt for her mother and the fact that she was a neglected child. “Even a rattlesnake will take care of its young,” she said.
Evans’ life was a composite of “the good, the bad and the ugly.” She was fascinating to many, scorned by others, respected by some and, through it all, fiercely independent, outspoken and often shocking.
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