GIRLS OF THE GULCH

 Every autumn old-timers in Deadwood nostalgically recall the days when brothels operated openly (albeit illegally) and deer hunters arrived in town with guns loaded for “wild game” of a different variety.

            One woman who played in the high school band in the 1940s remembers when some local booster decided it would be a nice touch to have the young musicians playing on the platform when the train pulled in loaded with hunters. She said the hunters didn’t seem particularly impressed with the musical renditions and didn’t hang around the train station very long. She was much older (and wiser) when she finally realized what kind of “game” those hunters were seeking.

            A standard joke told in Deadwood bars relates the tale of a dutiful Minnesota housewife who packed her husband’s suitcase for his annual Deadwood hunting trip. When the hunter returned home to chide his wife for forgetting to pack his underwear she replied with a sly smile, “I tucked it in your gun case, dear.”

            Ask any longtime Hills resident about the girls and (with a gleam in the eye) the response is likely to be, “Well, don’t use my name, but I remember…”  But a few of them respond to questions with the no-comment explanation, “Not enough people have died yet!”

 “Where are the girls?”

            In early day Deadwood there was a sort of invisible line on Main Street; the “good women” stayed on Upper Main, leaving the lower Badlands area to women of the less respectable professions.

            In the l930s that line became blurred as the town grew and women began working in respectable stores and cafes. It was inevitable the two groups of women would become acquainted.

“They weren’t hussies or bold as you might expect,” one woman said.

               They usually came out of their rooms in the late afternoon when nobody was around. They came into the local cafes and were very polite and quiet; you had to make conversation with them.

            I remember one day when I was going to the bank and met one of them on the street. In those days every other place on Main Street was a bar (or it seemed that way). There were a number of men standing in the street. When I said ‘hello’ to her, she dropped her eyes and wouldn’t speak to me. I was so surprised, because I had talked to her a number of times before.

            Later on, when I saw her again, I asked why she had acted that way. Had I offended her? Didn’t she hear me? She told me that everyone knew what she did for a living and it wouldn’t be good for a ‘nice girl’ like myself to be seen talking to her.

             Anyone who grew up in Deadwood couldn’t help being aware of the profession practiced by girls who lived in upstairs rooms above many of the downtown business places. Before legal gaming became Deadwood’s major industry in 1989, the economy of the Northern Hills town was fueled by back room poker games and prostitution. Men from surrounding areas came to Deadwood to have a good time. They rented motel rooms, bought meals and drinks, and the money the girls spent liberally on cars, clothing and personal necessities turned over five to seven times, keeping the business climate healthy.

            “They made good money,” said one former store clerk.

             They would buy beautiful dresses and lingerie at the New York Store. Of course, merchants were reluctant to give them credit, so they usually paid cash.

            It was a hard life and they deteriorated fast. They had problems with alcohol and drugs and you could see them change. Sometimes they were just gone and you never saw them again.

             Brown-eyed April, with her soft southern drawl, came to Deadwood from Virginia in the late 1970s, hoping to bag “big bucks” by working at the Green Door during the busy fall hunting season.

            April well remembers the first customers one night  -- a family group. An older man and his middle-aged son from Minnesota visited Dixie’s place when they came to town every fall. That year they brought 21-year-old “junior” along to introduce him to the finer points of a deer hunting trip to the Black Hills.

            It was April’s last night at the Green Door -- one of the busiest she had experienced. By the time the sun peeked over the hills enclosing the gulch, the petite young girl had entertained 28 ardent males. She celebrated her 21^st birthday before leaving Deadwood that same day.

            A downtown bar owner is sure he will undoubtedly hear the same old question this fall when the hunters hit town.

            “Where are the girls?” they ask, and their faces fall when he tells them Deadwood’s brothels closed 20 years ago.