9
"As a Friend and Sister"
Relationships with Women

When prostitute Clara Hazard began a letter to Helen Jewett by saying she was writing "as a friend and sister," she gave an indication of the warm relationships that often existed between prostitutes. Several of Hazard's letters, as well as information from other prostitutes' records, reveal that close but complex relationships often characterized prostitutes' friendships. This evidence contrasts with the descriptions of prostitutes' associations frequently found in nineteenth-century literature. Contemporaries' superficial appraisals of prostitutes' female peer relationships resulted in the creation of two distinct stereotypes: a "negative" image that characterized such associations as fraught with jealousy, rivalry, and hatred, and a "sympathetic-idealized" image that assumed a scenario in which prostitutes were believed to bond with one another in opposition to men and respectable society.

According to the negative stereotype, prostitutes' need for customers led to cutthroat competition, and their jealousies over their lovers often led to feuds and even violence. Supposedly, female adversarial relationships were especially noticeable between madams and the prostitutes in their brothels, whom the madams tried to exploit. Because of the degradation inherent in their occupation, prostitutes lost the normal womanly feelings of tenderness, compassion, and love and thus seldom were good women who would care for the sick or love children. This lack of womanly feelings also was the reason many sought the downfall

and destruction of fellow females by trying to lure them into the profession.^[1]

In contrast, the sympathetic-idealized scenario presented the prostitutes' natural adversaries as predatory men. Although non-prostitute women also had to deal with male predation and discrimination, respectable women were unable to have mutual friendships with prostitutes. Thus, prostitutes were bound to each other by their opposition to customers and their social separation from other women. They demonstrated mutual loyalty in several ways, such as offering assistance if another prostitute's customer became abusive and adhering to a common code that governed their conduct in relation to each other's lovers. Because prostitutes understood the extreme devotion one felt for a lover, there was a mutual understanding that one should not get involved with another prostitute's man, and, if one knew a lover was being unfaithful, one should tell her fellow prostitute. Furthermore, since prostitutes understood how difficult "the life" could be, they often displayed "hearts of gold," giving even their last cent to help an unfortunate sister in great need. Finally, a life of exploitation enhanced some womanly feelings, causing prostitutes to become especially compassionate nurses to sick friends and nurturing caretakers of children.^[2]

The persistence of both of these images suggests that each stereotype was rooted in an element of truth. Some professional competition existed between prostitutes: clients were money. A prostitute always hoped to attract new customers to become part of her regular clientele, and she carefully guarded those clients she already had. Incidents of violence between prostitutes, reported in the press and in court documents, indicate that some antagonisms and jealousies were very real. The third tier of the theater, where prostitutes congregated in large numbers, was often the scene of such feuds; the New Era , for example, reported that Lydia Wilson, an "old, well-known prostitute," and Mary Barton, newly arrived from Philadelphia, were arrested in the third tier of the Park Theatre for "kicking up a rumpus" when they fought over who was the prettiest, who could drink the most champagne and walk a crack, and who had the handsomest and most agreeable male friend. Wilson reportedly called Barton names and "drew a dirk" on her, seriously cutting Barton's cheek. In another incident, a prostitute named Maria Tracey brought vitriol into the Bowery Theatre and threw it on two other prostitutes, allegedly because Tracey was jealous of their good

looks and hoped to spoil their faces. Fortunately, she damaged only their clothes. According to the Sun , two black prostitutes, Maria Mitchell and Adeliza Coin, got into a fight in the gallery of the Park Theatre over "who had the blackest complexion and who was the boss of the Five Points." Both were arrested; Coin was sent to prison, but Mitchell was given leniency because she was known to the magistrates for having adopted an "unprotected babe." The saloon of the Park Theatre also was the site of an attack by Matilda Phillips on Frances Mills. Phillips became drunk and "split open the head of Mills."^[3] Although the precipitator of much disorder and violence among prostitutes was drunkenness, most of their quarrels were rooted in smoldering frustrations, jealousies, and antagonisms.

Another common scene of conflict was the brothel or prostitution boarding house, not only because of problems in living arrangements or the strains of forced intimacy but also because those in closest proximity were vulnerable to displaced anger generated by frustrations a prostitute might feel about her life in general. Prostitute Mary Fowler was arrested for biting off the ear of Sarah Ann Cooper while both were working at the brothel of Mrs. Powell in Elizabeth Street. Cooper was a servant who had angered Fowler by not giving her a "properly cooked breakfast." The Sun reported no cause for an attack by Sarah Hall on Mary Ann Foster in their brothel at 28 Anthony. Hall was sent to prison for giving Foster a "considerable gash in the region of the abdomen with a table knife." Ann Wilson was arrested for an assault on Mary Kelly, a coworker in her house. Wilson attacked Kelly, beating her with an iron griddle, tearing her hair, and cutting her hand to the bone. Wilson claimed she was acting in self-defense because Kelly first had hit her several times over the head with a poker and also had pulled her hair. The judge believed Kelly, and Wilson was committed to prison.^[4]

One of the most vicious examples of female violence was the killing of prostitute Mary Drake by her madam, Catherine Hoffman. Drake, known as a very intemperate woman, boarded with Hoffman and her husband Shay. On a May evening in 1839, Drake was sitting on the step at the door of the Hoffmans' bar/brothel. A young man stopped and propositioned Drake, who refused his offer, so he went away. Infuriated, Catherine Hoffman seized Drake by the hair, slapped her face, and dragged her into the barroom. Hoffman then threw Drake down, hitting her head against the door, beating and kicking her violently, and de-

sisting only when her husband cried out, "Catherine, you have given that girl enough," and pulled her away from Drake. Drake lay in bed at a neighboring saloon for several days "in a stupid state" before dying. Hoffman was convicted of manslaughter.^[5] Although few conflicts between madams and prostitutes reached this degree of violence, the potential for discord was so built into a relationship where one's success depended on the exploitation of another that clashes were bound to occur. Aggressive reactions were not limited to the brothel keepers alone, however. Prostitute Mary Barton, perhaps angry over a perceived mistreatment by Mrs. West, brothel keeper at 3 Franklin Street, went to West's house while West was ill and "fell upon and beat her severely." West lodged a complaint at the police office, obtained a warrant, and was escorted home by two police officers. While West was at the police office, Barton had returned to the brothel with a prostitute-friend, Mary Redstone, and together they had abused and beat other inmates before stoning and throwing mud at the house. Barton and Redstone were arrested and sent to prison.^[6]

Since police records, court reports, and newspaper stories tend to emphasize the conflicts and problems that characterized prostitutes' associations with each other, these sources offer a distorted view of the role of female peer relationships in a prostitute's life. Day-to-day events involving compatibility and congeniality are, as a rule, not newsworthy stories, but they present a more complete picture of the prostitute's life and the female friends that were such an important part of her daily existence.

A female support network was as essential to the prostitute's life as it was to other nineteenth-century women's lives, and certain structural aspects of prostitution—living and working together—facilitated close female friendships. Prostitutes shared living quarters and leisure activities, visited each other, exchanged gifts and small favors, corresponded with each other, fought and reconciled, protected and nursed one other, and died together.^[7] At a minimum, these interventions in each other's lives created cooperative relationships; at best, they led to intimate friendships built on genuine affection and mutual concern, and often reinforced by the family rejection experienced by many prostitutes. Prostitutes turned to one another for the emotional support and comfort they might otherwise have found at home, and to counteract feelings of isolation from the respectable community or demonstrations of hostility

sometimes experienced in customer relationships. Thus, prostitutes assumed an emotional centrality in each other's lives, which often led to deep, mutual friendships characterized by strong female bonding and a special sense of solidarity.

Several letters found in the Jewett correspondence vividly illustrate the important role female friendships played in the lives of prostitutes. Clara Hazard appears to have been one of Jewett's closest friends. Three letters to Jewett from "Friend Clara" were written after Hazard left New York and returned to her home town of Philadelphia; three others are mentioned in the police inventory but were never published. Clara also is mentioned in three letters between Jewett and Frank Rivers.

Hazard wrote in language demonstrating obvious affection for Jewett, whom she called her "esteemed friend" and even, as noted earlier, her "sister." Hazard wrote: "As a friend and sister I embrace this time to write you a few lines."^[8] Her letters close with expressions of affection such as, "I remain, yours affectionately until death, Clara." The nostalgia Hazard felt in being separated from her friend was indicated in her description of things that reminded her of Jewett: "I tell my fortune with the cards, when I think of you, and hope you do of me."^[9] The intimacy of the friendship is suggested by the personal nature of the details Hazard chose to share with Jewett, including the ups and downs of her love life, the minutia of everyday life, and her innermost feelings about her relationship with her lover.

In Hazard's letters one sees evidence of the many kinds of services and small favors performed by prostitutes for each other, which cemented their friendships. Before moving from New York, Hazard apparently was sick and was nursed back to health by Jewett. On her arrival in Philadelphia, and later in Baltimore, Hazard gladly executed a series of errands for Jewett and other New York friends.

I called on the lady you requested me to [in Baltimore], and left the small package with her sister, as she was not in. . .. I left JoAnn in Philadelphia and she was well. Little Mary called on her landlady and left $40 the day before JoAnn arrived in Philadelphia. . .. Tell Mr. Berry I called on Catherine to-day. She sent the cape by Hannah Blisset.^[10]

In another letter she reported, "Tell Josephine as soon as Mrs. Smith gets an opportunity to send the cloak safe, she Will do so."^[11]

Hazard's letters also give a clear indication of the existence of a close friendship network among prostitutes within a city, such as New York, as well as between one city's prostitutes and those who worked in other major cities of the East Coast, such as Philadelphia, Baltimore, Washington, and Boston. Jewett made her first trip to visit friends in Philadelphia in late June 1835 and apparently returned there in late July or early August. She discussed a third trip to Philadelphia in the fall (which she may or may not have taken) and then made her final trip in mid-December 1835. Jewett wrote home from her first trip that Clara had given her "a warm reception," and she added that "there is much pleasure in going where people are glad to see you."^[12] Jewett was not alone in taking trips to visit friends in other cities. Letters mention other prostitutes making short visits to East Coast cities to stay with friends, including some out-of-town prostitutes who traveled to New York to visit Jewett and other prostitute-friends in the network there. During Hazard's short trip to Baltimore, she made a call on Jewett's "lady friend" and also on "Catherine," who was acquainted with a number of New York prostitutes as well as with brothel owners Mr. and Mrs. Berry. Catherine sent a message that "she will be on to see you [Jewett] shortly, and sends her love to you and all other friends."^[13] Hazard also mentioned that Catherine had just seen their mutual friend Hannah Blisset, who also was visiting in Baltimore but was on her way back to New York.^[14]

The importance prostitutes placed on trips as a means of maintaining close contact is evident in repeated requests to one another for additional visits. Hazard mentions in her first letter: "I want much to see you, and will do so next week," and in her next letter she states: "I want to see you very much, and would be very glad if you would pay me a visit this week."^[15] She also is eager that her correspondence be answered: "My dear H., be sure to write me as soon as you receive this, and let me know the news of your city."^[16] Clara apologized to Jewett for an anticipated interruption in their correspondence while Clara was on vacation.^[17]

Letters from Jewett's other friends confirm the existence of a strong network of friendships among prostitutes. Ann Farmer of Philadelphia, like Clara Hazard, was grateful to Jewett for nursing her through an illness: "I've almost recovered from my indisposition, perhaps I should have been quite well had you have [sic ] been here to attend me with your kind nursing, which I shall never forget."^[18] She also asked Jewett to

extend words of appreciation to Mrs. Gallagher, a New York brothel keeper and friend of madams Mary Berry and Rosina Townsend:

. . . Dear Helen, I wish you to go to Mrs. Gallagher's, and tell her for me, I have not forgot her kindness to me while in New York. I hope she will not prevent my returning the compliment. I hope to see her this summer when I will have more time to devote to her ladyship; for she was truly attentive to me.^[19]

Farmer followed this request with a few lines that revealed she felt a financial as well as emotional obligation to Mrs. Gallagher: "I am only sorry that disagreeable occurrence took place losing her money. Tell her I have not forgot the handsome dress which she fairly won. I shall do myself the honor of paying it soon."^[20]

Farmer ends her letter with an evocation of the warm feelings for Jewett held by the inhabitants of Farmer's brothel, suggesting the extent to which a sense of "family" existed in the brothel among the prostitutes, servants, and children.

The ladies are well, the fish are well, the servants are well, and we are all well. Your favorite, little Steve, says you must make haste and come on here and bring him a pair of trousers and some money. The family all join in sending their love to you, and I expect if old John, the hackman, knew I was writing to you, I presume he would send his love also.^[21]

Farmer also sent Jewett greetings and messages from some of her male admirers in Philadelphia, indicating that Jewett had spent enough time there to know the circle of men who hung around Farmer's brothel, who were similar to the group that gravitated to Jewett in New York. Farmer further noted she was familiar with some of Jewett's closest male friends in New York, such as "Mr. Crockett," who was traveling in the West at that point.

Some of the most interesting letters received by Jewett were those from her brothel madam, Mary Berry. Although a brothel keeper and one of her prostitutes might be friends or fond of one another, the fact that the madam's economic well-being depended on her ability to exert some control over the prostitute in order to manage a business and earn a profit militated against a completely mutual tie. Thus, a friendship with a madam was complicated—as a "mother" and friend she might demonstrate genuine affection for her prostitutes, but her actions could

always be interpreted as having ulterior motives designed to guard her economic interests.

On Jewett's trip to Philadelphia in December 1835, she sent a letter to Berry and received two letters in return. Much of what Berry wrote was about the members of their "brothel family," and it gives evidence of the close relationships that existed within their brothel-home. Mr. Berry was on a trip to Washington, and Mrs. Berry sent a message to him through Jewett because she thought he might visit in Philadelphia for a while.^[22] The light-hearted manner in which Berry related the "escapades" and activities of Jewett's brothel friends reflects the congeniality that existed in the relationships of the brothel females:

I want to tell you a good joke. Hannah Blisset and Lady Elizabeth stole out last night and . . . got gloriously drunk. . .. Hannah was somewhat more sober than Lady E. . .. Hannah will be on to Philadelphia on Monday, so you will have some fun in plaguing her on the matter. Saucy Caroline and Elizabeth send their love to you. Elizabeth is going away to-day.^[23]

Berry also noted that Jewett's presence was missed by brothel inhabitants and clients as well: "There has not been any of our folks to see us since you have been gone, only the Englishman. . .. You don't know how I long to see you. We are all quite lonesome without our Merry Nell."^[24] In her second letter, Berry again illustrates that a warm companionship existed among the female friends of the brothel:

Hannah, Louisa and Caroline send their best love to you, all wish you to come home, particularly Hannah, for she has no one to dig round town with her.^[25]

In this second letter, however, the cash nexus of the madam/prostitute relationship is much more evident. Berry was concerned with protecting her business, which apparently was suffering because of the absence of the brothel "favorite." Berry pointed out that some clients were so eager to see Jewett that they left the house on learning of her absence. Berry also asked Jewett for a loan.

. . . Dear Helen if you have got any more money than you know what to do with, I wish you would oblige me by sending me some, and I shall not forget you, for the times are very hard indeed.^[26]

Her most important piece of information was the revelation that Jewett's lover, Frank Rivers, had come to the brothel to be with Jewett's

friend, Hannah Blisset. Berry reported that Blisset's behavior had been beyond reproach: "She, in a very ladylike and candid manner, told him she would not, and rejected his offer with becoming dignity, so he went away."^[27] If Betty's motive was to adhere to the "code" by telling a fellow-prostitute of the infidelity of her lover, she suffered for being the bearer of bad news. If her motive was to get Jewett back home so business would pick up, she made a terrible miscalculation. Jewett did return home immediately and broke off her relationship with Rivers, but she also had conflicts with Berry which strained that relationship and caused her to move to another brothel within a few weeks.

The importance of prostitutes' friendships is also evident in admissions records at the House of Refuge. These records verify that friendships were crucial both initially in bringing a woman into the profession and as companionship after a woman had become a prostitute. Young girls started streetwalking together, shared rooms with each other, entered a brothel together, and were brought to the Refuge together. Maria Williams and Keziah Anne Kidd, both daughters of working-class parents, had another girlfriend who first took them "walking in Broadway for company" to find men who would escort them to assignation houses. Williams and Kidd also accompanied each other to the third tier of the Bowery Theatre. For several months the girls lived at home while practicing prostitution in the evenings but then decided to move in together at Mrs. Langdon's prostitution house on Greene Street. They had been there only a short time before their parents discovered their whereabouts and had them arrested and sent to the Refuge. Another set of friends, Mary Ann Brewer and the Utter sisters, also were sent to the Refuge together. All three had worked and lived with each other for several months in Williamsburgh, often coming into the city together on their nights off and once getting arrested together for harassing a woman and child, the incident which led to their being sent to the Refuge. Brewer and the older Utter sister had both been casual prostitutes before they were admitted, but presumably twelve-year-old Ann Jeanette had not. After a year at the Refuge, each girl was either indentured or sent to the care of friends, positions which lasted only a brief period. At roughly the same time, all three ran away from their new homes and returned to New York, where they again went on the town.^[28]

Census records also reinforce the assumption that friendships existed and were important to women who lived in prostitution boarding

houses or in brothels. Since censuses contain no narrative histories, information is more speculative, but it is still suggestive of supportive friendships. Carry Belmont and Ellen Stevens were in Emma Clifton's house in 1855, and both had come to the residence from Massachusetts three months before. Of the names recorded in Jane Winslow's house, three besides Winslow were in the house in both the 1850 and 1855 censuses. If these women remained together for at least five years, and maybe more, they probably got along together well enough to consider each other friends. The same was probably true of the women in Maria Adams's house. Adams was listed as the head of household at 55 Leonard in both 1850 and 1855. A Miss Stiles also is listed as a resident in both censuses, and in an 1853 brothel directory, R. Stiles is listed as the "keeper" of Adams's house at 55 Leonard. The house also lists a Miss LeCount from Canada in 1850 and a Miss LeCompt from Canada in 1855, possibly the same person, who may have found the company and living situation pleasant enough to remain a number of years with Adams and Stiles. Another situation indicating possible friendships is that of Margaret Brown, who owned and was a resident of a brothel run by Frances Barton at 35 Mercer. Both Brown and Barton had been residents of New York for twenty years. By 1859, Brown still owned the house, but Mary Clinton, who was a resident in the house in 1850, was listed in a brothel directory as manager of the house.^[29]

Other indications of the existence of friendships among prostitutes were the leisure activities enjoyed by these women. Although "walking out" and attending the theater were methods of attracting clients, they also were important leisure events enjoyed by prostitutes together. Prostitutes frequently strolled in company with each other in both the afternoon and evening, and, as Madam Berry wrote, her boarder Hannah was wishing Jewett would return home soon because she had "no one to dig around town with her." The theater also might be attended several times a week and usually was visited with other prostitutes. One contemporary noted that the "demi-monde" were very fond of picnics and balls, and often the profession predominated at these events. He added that occasionally "a number of the cyprians of the city and their friends go on a pie-nie by themselves, . . . the whole company is fallen."^[30] He made special note of the fact that male companions were

[Full Size]

26.
Two Prostitutes on an Outing to the Park. Prostitutes enjoyed 
each other's company and friendship. Those with sufficient economic resources 
accompanied one another on carriage rides in the park, evenings at the theater, 
and outings to the country. (Courtesy of the New-York Historical Society, 
New York City)

not necessary for prostitutes to enjoy an excursion from the city— prostitutes had "ways of enjoying themselves alone":

A number of them have formed themselves into a boat club, and every summer enjoy the sport of rowing on a little river in New Jersey, away from the vulgar gaze. They have a tasty uniform, fashioned so as to fully display their graceful and beautiful forms, and are said to be expert oarswomen.^[31]

Although it appears that most of a prostitute's friends were within the profession, there is evidence that prostitutes had some female friendships outside the profession as well. Hazard's and Jewett's friend Catherine, who was visiting in Baltimore, possibly was visiting non-prostitute friends because Hazard reports: "She says she is living virtuously with her friends" (italics mine). Since Hazard "called on her," however, it does not appear that she was making a special effort to hide her other life.^[32]

Helen Jewett also corresponded with a Philadelphia woman named Emily who seemed to be a friend from outside the profession, perhaps from the days before Jewett entered prostitution. In one letter she commented to Jewett: "Helen, I feel for your situation, I regret that you have fallen," and she chastised Jewett: "if you have some bad qualities, I am sensible you have many redeeming ones, and I look forward to the day when you may set more value on them. . .. You [are] unkind to none but yourself."^[33]

Emily's two letters to Jewett are filled with intimate feelings of sorrow and grief over the loss of her infant son, feelings she wished to share: "I have lost my dear, dear baby. . .. I thought he was only lent to me, and now I know it, for he was an angel. Helen, his little cherub face is ever before me. I cannot write."^[34] In Emily's first letter, she commented on Jewett's having recently sent her money, a gesture which did not seem to surprise her. Emily acknowledged that she was one who had "seen much trouble." From her second letter Jewett learned that their relationship, like some of her male friendships, had its limits: apparently, Jewett needed a character reference or a court alibi, and the friendship stopped short of Emily's "coupling her name" with that of Jewett before a public forum.

. . . Helen, you are aware that I would oblige you at almost any risk, but that of losing my character , which I do not estimate lightly, and I trust your sense of honor is not so far lost, that you would couple my name with yours in a court of justice, where my motives for obliging you could not be appreciated. I do not wish to wound your feelings; my Heavenly Father knows I would not do so. . .. You say that you have been in the police office. . .. I believe you to be innocent of any crime that would bring you there, and I'm sure the world would think so too, if they knew you were unkind to none but yourself. . .. If I can honorably assist you in any difficulty, [I] will do so.^[35]

In spite of her refusal, Emily ended her letter by encouraging her friend both to confide in her and solicit her aid: "When you write,

keep nothing back. Write soon and let me know how I can assist you."

Even though Emily felt she could not be completely supportive of her prostitute friend, there are many examples of prostitutes demonstrating strong loyalty for their colleagues as well as receiving it from them. Samuel Prime commented on an incident that occurred when a watchman was dragging a prostitute to the police station from one of the "dens of vice" in lower Manhattan. Another woman followed close behind, declaring she would go with her, even though a man was holding on to the second woman, trying to pull her back. Prime noted:

There was devotion in the woman who would follow her friend to the prison; and she did follow her, in spite of the force and entreaties of her husband. In this extremity of vice there was such friendship as we rarely meet.^[36]

Prostitutes also came to one another's rescue when situations appeared dangerous. Catherine Erriott picked up William Branton while she was streetwalking on Chatham Street. She took him home, and in the middle of the night a scuffle started between them. Branton soon found himself in a "pitched battle with seven to eight female demons," Erriott's prostitute friends.^[37]

Mary Louisa Clark, who was probably both a seamstress and a prostitute, received support from her friend, Sarah Edmonds, when Edmonds testified on her behalf as a character witness before a court. Clark was arrested along with two other women for operating houses of prostitution at 3, 5, and 7 White Street, addresses long known as brothel locations. On being ordered out, one woman vacated immediately but the others, Clark and Mary Ann Demarest, "defied the law" and stayed. The neighbors then took the case to court and testified that "persons were passing to and fro from these houses frequently, particularly at night when a free intercourse has been observed." The neighbors went on to say that

it may be attempted to prove that Mrs. Clark, No. 3 White St. keeps an establishment for Ladies Dressmaking—a sign appears on one of the window shutters "French Dress Making." No indications of a respectable establishment of this kind have appeared . . . respectable females do not visit the House and no persons are seen going to or from it with bundles or parcels as is usual at Dress Makers.^[38]

The neighbors also pointed out that at each step in the complaint and court process, pictures of fashionable ladies' dresses had been placed in Clark's windows for a couple of days and then removed.

At the court hearing, Demarest admitted her guilt, but Clark denied hers and brought in Sarah Edmonds as a character witness. In her testimony, Edmonds, wife of George Edmonds, said that she met Clark through another acquaintance who had "learned the mantua making trade" with Clark. Edmonds said Clark was the widow of a respectable man and was now maintaining herself by dressmaking, a profession "at which she labors with a great deal of industry." Edmonds stated that she usually walked past the house daily and had visited Clark frequently, both in the day and night, and the house was not a house of ill fame but was perfectly proper.

Despite the testimony of friend Edmonds, the Court believed the neighbors, and Clark was convicted of operating a disorderly house. Clark may have been using the dressmaking alibi as a subterfuge, but it is also possible she considered herself (as did Sarah Edmonds) a dressmaker by trade who worked at sewing and practiced prostitution, if at all, for supplementary income.^[39]

At times prostitutes may not have fully appreciated the loyalty and support of their friends. The friends of Eliza Hall, concerned about her future, went to the police and requested that the authorities arrest her and remove her from a house of prostitution. Hall was arrested and committed to jail in hopes she would consider reforming.^[40]

Because attitudes hostile to a prostitute's way of life, such as those exhibited by Hall's friends, made friendships with women outside the profession relatively difficult to sustain, most full-time prostitutes probably had few "straight" friends. Current studies show that breaking with straight friends is considered by those in the trade to be a crucial step in the socialization into prostitution.^[41] For occasional and part-time prostitutes, however, a woman's friends probably did not change much when she began to practice prostitution, since friends themselves may have experienced the same pressures, i.e., economic, familial, social, that led to occasional prostitution.

Whether nineteenth-century female friendships among prostitutes also included lesbian relationships is not known. Very little is recorded about homosexual relationships at all, male or female, so there were either few relationships of this nature or they were literally unmen-

tionable. The Sun printed one story about Jane (alias James) Walker, a "man woman," who was not associated with prostitution. Walker was arrested in the street drunk, in male attire. She told the authorities she was born in Scotland and orphaned before age twelve. While in Scotland, she began wearing male attire, a practice she said was common in that country. She also took the name George Moore Wilson and was hired as a male in a cotton factory. Walker said she had "entered a bonafide courtship" with the factory superintendent's daughter and married her in a Scottish church. The couple soon after left for the United States, and en route to America Walker's wife discovered she had married a woman, "but it didn't appear to upset her and they continued to live and labor together in harmony and love." The wife, described by the paper as "a rather hard visaged woman of thirty or thirty-five years of age . . . [with] a rather fiery temper," corroborated the story. An indication that such relationships were infrequent is the Sun's comment that the couple had "the most singular of all connubial ties with which we were ever acquainted."^[42]

Another story covered by the Sun which did have some connection to prostitution was that of a black New Yorker, Peter Sewally, alias Mary Jones, alias Eliza Smith. "Miss Jones" was arrested by police for stealing a wallet and money from Robert Haslem. Haslem met Jones walking in Bleeker Street and was taken to a nearby alley, where Jones and Haslem "caressed and conversed." After parting, Haslem discovered the theft and went to the police, and Jones was arrested. While officers were searching the prisoner for the wallet they discovered that "Miss Jones" was really a man, Peter Sewally.

In court, when questioned about why he had dressed as a woman, Sewally replied:

I have been in the practice of waiting upon Girls of ill fame and made up the Beds and received the Company at the door and received the money for the Rooms and etc. and they induced me to dress in women's clothes, saying I looked so much better in them and I have always attended parties among the people of my own colour dressed in this way—and in New Orleans I always dressed in this way.^[43]

Sewally was found guilty of grand larceny and was sentenced to the state prison for three years.^[44] In reporting the case, the Sun noted that Sewally frequently prowled the streets in the vicinity of the Five Points

in order to lure men into dens of prostitution, where he picked their pockets. It is possible Sewally's disguise did not fool all of his customers, some of whom may have knowingly accepted his caresses, even if they were unsuspecting of the theft of their wallets.^[45]

Although no statutes outlawed lesbian relationships, females were subject to arrest for wearing male attire.^[46] The law could have been directed against a woman's "misrepresenting" herself, but it also may have been a statement of public sexual boundaries. On numerous occasions women were arrested on the streets for masquerading in men's clothing. In one case, a young woman was arrested in an "impure neighborhood" where she had visited a cigar store and a soda fountain in male disguise, and the court released her on promise she would "reform her morals in the future." Another woman claimed she dressed as a man in order to spy on her unsuspecting boyfriend. Most, however, said they dressed as men "on a lark" so they could roam the streets and night spots the only way they could be out without being arrested as prostitutes.^[47]

The stories of Walker and Sewally hint that some homosexuality did exist in nineteenth-century New York, but these relationships probably were rare or very well hidden. Whether lesbian relationships were a part of nineteenth-century prostitution is even more of a mystery. Marion Goldman has pursued the same question for late-nineteenth-century Western prostitutes, and her conclusion applies to New York as well:

The question of whether . . . prostitutes had genital or other physical contact with one another is as unimportant as it is unanswerable. Twentieth-century conceptions which absolutely dichotomize platonic and romantic love distort the rich emotional relationships which occurred between many nineteenth-century women. . .. Some . . . prostitutes created their own social worlds of love and mutuality, although the scope of those worlds remained and remain private matters for the friends who shared them.^[48]

Perhaps some of the closest of a prostitute's friends were her sisters and cousins. Census records are among the sources attesting to the fact that many female family relationships remained intact while a woman practiced prostitution. However, since the only relationships recorded by census takers were relationships to heads of households, kinship is not necessarily noted. In many cases in which surnames in a household are the same, birthplaces are identical also, but different places of birth do

not preclude the possibility that prostitutes with the same name could be sisters. Moreover, sisters could be together in a brothel but have different names, as in the case of Emma Soule and Grace Walton, in which case kinship would only be known if noted by the census taker. Like surnames could suggest that the women were cousins, aunt and niece, or even sisters-in-law. It is also possible that since many prostitutes changed their names, the names in a household are coincidentally the same, although a prostitute creating a new identity for herself probably would make some effort to be different from other women in a brothel. The following related names were found in the 1850 and 1855 censuses:

In 1855 Grace Walton was still living with her sister Emma Soule, but by this time Harriet Rowe was no longer in Kate Rowe's house because she had become the head of her own establishment. Also, Mary Malloy is no longer listed in Ann Malloy's brothel.

Tax records support census data in testifying to the existence of siblings and female kin working together in prostitution. In the 1848 tax record, Elizabeth Lewis and Maria (also Mary or Maggie) Lewis are listed together at 73 Grand, and then for the next ten years one or the other is listed as head of a prostitution house at 6 Thompson.^[49] The House of Refuge recorded several sets of sisters admitted for prostitution: Ann and Catherine Butler, Christina and Caroline Hoyt, Margaret and Sarah Lyon, Eliza and Catherine Faulkner, Phebe and Eliza Seigler, and the previously mentioned Ann Jeanette and Mary Ann Utter. Julia Decker, Eliza Van Tassle, Amelia Goldsmith, and Jane Anderson were each said to have practiced prostitution with a sister, though the sisters were not admitted, most likely because they were over eighteen.^[50]

That sisters or cousins might remain in close contact with each other in prostitution was more understandable to many in the nineteenth century than that parents would "accept" a daughter's moral transgressions by continuing to associate with her while she was a prostitute. Newspapers like the Advocate of Moral Reform reported as fact, though somber fact, that families commonly disowned daughters who had affairs, not to mention those who "fully went on the town." When parents were forgiving, it usually was assumed that the daughter repented and returned home to a moral life.^[51] That a parent might accept a

daughter's ongoing life of prostitution was incomprehensible to observers. The Advocate expressed great dismay over the response of the parents of one young prostitute who were confronted with their daughter's improbity. The Moral Reform Society's visiting committee had been to see a family on Twenty-third Street who had two daughters, eighteen and sixteen. Later, one of the daughters was observed entering a "house of ill fame," and the reformers went immediately and informed the parents. The Advocate reported that "the father, who was a foreigner, manifested a cold indifference, and said, 'Oh, lady, I no care for that.'"^[52] Another case of parents who accepted and continued associating with a prostitute-daughter is that of Clara Hazard. Hazard noted in a letter to Jewett that: "[I] walk out but very seldom, and when I do, it is only to my mother's."^[53] A third example is that noted at the beginning of Chapter 8 of a Mrs. Cornell, who, while managing the operations of a prostitution establishment at the corner of Grand and Mercer streets, "a very private house" attached to a saloon, was said to be "liv[ing] at home with her folks, but attend[ing] to business here in the evenings."^[54]

Even more offensive to reformers than parents who passively accepted a daughter's prostitution were parents who actually assisted her in the profession or profited from her illicit sex. This offense Sanger termed a "social crime."^[55] To reiterate a few examples: Mary Berry was said to have learned the prostitution profession from her mother, and Charlotte Willis's mother managed the brothel where Charlotte worked as a prostitute. Ann and Catherine Buffer were the daughters of a "low, drunken" prostitute who was reported by neighbors to have "traded the girls' sex for rum." Mary Anthony was brought up by prostitute Patience Berger, who claimed to be her guardian, but was believed by some people to be her mother. Although Berger sent her "daughter" away to boarding school for several years, Anthony returned home to the brothel and began a career in prostitution that was intermittent over the next decade.^[56]

There are other cases involving parents who were not in the prostitution business themselves but who were not bothered by their daughters' associations with prostitution; in fact, many such parents actually played a role in exposing the daughters to the profession. After observing close-at-hand the life of prostitution, the daughters accepted illicit sex as a practical or familiar way to make money. Margaret Ann Bush was placed by her mother in the brothel of Mrs. Robins at 49 Beaver Street

so she could learn to work as a domestic. Jane Leve, a child of Jewish parents, was left at her mother's death with Mrs. Van Allen, keeper of a brothel. Leve helped dress the prostitutes in the brothel and then began sleeping with Van Allen's son before she was brought to the House of Refuge by the police. In the case of Lydia Ann Hawhurst, whose parents seemed not to care about her welfare, it was the police authorities themselves who bound her as a child-keeper to boatman William Harrington and his wife, who kept a bawdy house in Center Street.^[57]

Although parents might wish that their daughters were in occupations other than prostitution, the above data on families' relationships with their prostitute daughters suggests that the practice of prostitution was not as alienating a profession as nineteenth-century moral reformers would have one believe. The line separating respectable from disrespectable behavior was much clearer for the middle class than for the laboring class. Working families, like middle-class families, understood differences between moral and immoral actions, but within their milieu, cultural and ethical norms were less rigidly fixed. Some allowance was made for the exigencies of a present situation and the need for choices among limited and unappealing options. A daughter's prostitution may have been instrumental in maintaining a family's economic well-being, in which case rejection was not likely to occur. Certainly, prostitution could be an isolating and difficult occupation for many reasons, but alienation from and lack of emotional support by one's family was not always involved.

A prostitute's relationship with her parental family was often important to her and could be demanding, but the family connection that probably required the most from the prostitute in terms of responsibility and emotional involvement was her role as mother. Sanger's study clearly pointed out how frequently prostitutes assumed this role. Almost half of the interviewees had children—about three-fourths each of the widows and married women, and about 30 percent of the single women. Even though widows and married women had been in legal marital relationships at some point, a little over 40 percent of their children were illegitimate, and thus were children for whom the prostitutes assumed sole responsibility. Sanger also noted a high rate of mortality among prostitutes' children, an overall 62 percent, which was an indication of the difficult life faced by both children and mothers.^[58] In spite of the many difficulties encountered as parental providers, however, prosti-

tutes were not so different from other working women as they struggled and worried about how to care for their offspring.

The Advocate of Moral Reform noted that the fact of motherhood was one of the "excuses" prostitutes often stated for not leaving their wicked life: "I have no other way of getting a living—I keep my children at boarding schools, and colleges, from the money I receive from [prostitution]."^[59] The Advocate's editor also pointed out that prostitutes were "the last in the world to have their daughters follow their footsteps." Thus, by sending children away they could provide a better environment for them. Sanger found that one-third of the prostitute mothers he interviewed boarded their children away from home, and only 10 percent cared for their offspring at home. The remaining children, over 50 percent, presumably lived with relatives or were on their own.^[60]

Boarding a child away from home did not solve all of a prostitute-mother's worries. Sarah Buchanan's mother obtained for her twelve-year-old daughter a position as a domestic but then brought Sarah back home when she was raped by her employer. After Susan Matilda Badger turned fourteen and began to mature, her mother, Mary Jane Roberts, placed her in the country to live with a family. When the family learned the profession of the mother, they refused to keep Susan any longer and sent her home. Roberts then resorted to a "public" boarding situation for Susan and "took her before a magistrate and sent [her to the House of Refuge] as a vagrant." And although Patience Berger sent her ward to boarding school for several years and relieved herself of the daily worries of parenting, the experience did not keep the girl out of prostitution.^[61]

Many prostitutes lacked the means or the desire to board their children away from home. For a streetwalker with her own living quarters, child care probably was handled much as it would have been by a day worker—older children or relatives helped out, or the children roamed the neighborhood streets, playing and scavenging. For women who lived in brothels or prostitution boarding houses, offspring became part of the brothel family, working at small household tasks or, if too young to be domestically productive, playing with other prostitutes' or servants' children.

Several children who appear to be the offspring of prostitutes are listed in brothels and assignation houses in the censuses of 1850 and 1855.

Since censuses contain no material that elaborates on family histories or the dynamics of childrearing in the brothel, one must speculate on the nature of some relationships. Jane Lord had her four-year-old son John living with her in her assignation house in 1850. No husband is listed with Lord in either that census or the one in 1855, though city directories until 1855 list her husband, Jacob, a seaman, as a resident at the address. The 1855 census stated that Jane Lord was a widow, so it is unclear how much of a role the seaman father had in the family, if he had any at all. Also living as one of seven boarders in the Lord house in 1850 is a Rachel Brown, whose four-year-old daughter Sarah was with her, a probable companion for young John Lord. Elizabeth Darragh and her two sons, ages three and one, moved from Pennsylvania to the brothel of Anna Howell, who was also a native of Pennsylvania and possibly a kinswoman or former friend who offered single-parent Darragh a place to work and rear her children.^[62]

In a number of the other brothels, it is clear that one of the prostitute boarders is a mother because a child and woman by the same name are listed together.^[63] In some houses, such as those of Rebecca Weyman and Ellen Thompson, children are listed whose names match those of no one else in the brothel, making it impossible to identify their mothers. Perhaps the children were given the mothers' real names or the surnames of the fathers. In Jane Hill's establishment, one of the boarders was a mulatto prostitute named Rhoda Kelly, who had moved from Saratoga two years before and had a six-year-old daughter named Josephine Kelly with her. There is another mulatto child in the house named Anna Smith, who is the only Smith in the house. This child also had moved from Saratoga two years before, the same time as Kelly, so it is possible she was Kelly's daughter and was using her father's name, or she might have been a relative of Kelly, or of Hill, who also was a native of Saratoga. In Eleanor Barrett's house, there is an Ellen Van Fost, age eleven, and a Robert Van Fost, age two, and their surname is different from those of other prostitute boarders. The real estate tax record, however, shows that the property was owned by a "C. J. Vanvorst," possibly the children's father and also possibly Barrett's husband.^[64]

Although a prostitute could oversee the rearing of children who remained with her, she could not prevent them from being exposed at some point in their lives to violence, alcohol, drugs, or unsavory com-

pany—dangers that might be, but were not necessarily, faced by children of other working parents. When rowdies attacked the brothel of Amanda Smith at 3 Franklin Street, they destroyed a very valuable piano and beat Smith on the head. The men then

wound up their inhumanity by attacking and beating her son, who was at the time crippled through being afflicted with the rheumatism, and whom they beat so violently that he was left on the floor nearly dead.^[65]

Smith had the men arrested for assault. In another incident, the four-year-old daughter of prostitute Mary Bowen of 104 Church Street was sent by her mother with a dollar to get crackers at a local store. On the way home, the child was stopped by two older girls, who bullied her and took her money. Accustomed to filing charges against individuals who assaulted her or her brothel, Mrs. Bowen had both girls arrested. Police released them to the custody of their parents, who had to promise they would enforce proper discipline and see that no similar incidents happened again.^[66]

Even if a prostitute's children avoided violence, they occasionally witnessed situations that were unsuitable for young children. Reporters for the Advocate of Moral Reform were appalled that a middle-aged madam allegedly had seventeen "awful deaths" of prostitutes in her house on Leonard Street in her twelve years in the profession. Compounding the evil was the fact that in addition to the eleven boarding prostitutes in the establishment were two of the madam's own daughters, ages ten and twelve, who were "training for the business" and were exposed to the "unnatural" deaths. The Advocate reported that the madam said she also had a three-year-old daughter but admitted she "wouldn't have her in such company,"^[67]

Sometimes prostitutes' children ran with a group of friends whose activities got them in trouble with the authorities. Eleven-year-old Margaret Fox, daughter of Mrs. Francis Reed, who managed a brothel on Crosby Street, was arrested with four friends for stealing a basket of clothes. The police committed her to the House of Refuge, where she stayed for at least four years and possibly more. Although the Refuge at first thought Margaret was "full of talk but a promising child," by the end of four years they said she had "so ungovernable a temper as to be past management... really she is a hard one."^[68] Louis Sweet, son of

Susan "Jenny" Sweet of 100 Church Street, got into trouble several times for stealing. Concerned about her son's welfare, Mrs. Sweet

packed him off to New Bedford to ship on a whaling voyage, in order, if possible to relieve him of his bad associates; but the young scamp, before getting on ship ran off, and the day before yesterday returned back to the city again; and that night entered his mother's house, stole [three gold bracelets and other jewelry valued at $60] and soon after pawned them to a Dutch grocer for some liquor.... Justice Mountfort gave the young man a severe reprimand and committed him to prison to await further examination.^[69]

Although most prostitutes probably tried to care for their children as well as possible, some were unfit for the task. Nine-year-old Maria Frampton's parents were separated, and her father tried to board her in places where she would be "out of reach" of her prostitute mother. Her mother repeatedly found her and took her back to her brothel. When the mother was arrested and sent to the penitentiary for drunken and riotous behavior, Maria was sent to the House of Refuge, where she was found to be "filthy and full of sores from head to the soles of her feet—a real object of pity." Several months after her admittance, the matron recorded that Maria was "knowing far beyond her age ... and though a long distance off, her mother is bad and gives bad influence."^[70] Mary Seymour, who was said to have become "crazy soon after she came to New York," abandoned her baby. She spent five to six weeks "strolling" near Catherine Market and "sleeping in the most filthy cellars among Negroes and in every real sense [she] was a vagrant." Seymour was sent to the House of Refuge because she claimed she was under eighteen, but the admitting officer recorded that she believed Seymour was twenty to twenty-two years old. Officials noted she had "turns of insanity," when she tore her hair and clothes and several times tried to hang herself. On her last suicide attempt, when the matron cut her down she was nearly dead. Refuge officials finally sent Seymour to the "Belle View crazy house," from which she escaped shortly afterward.^[71]

For many prostitutes with children, the role of mother was not sought but was a fact of life women had children, and children had to be cared for. For other women, however, the task of being a mother seemed too onerous, and action was taken to limit future responsibilities by contraception, abortion, and even infanticide or child abandonment.^[72] Though there are many reasons why prostitutes would not wish to have

children, sources indicate that some welcomed the opportunity. John R. McDowall commented in his Journal that "orphans were sometimes taken by bawds and reared to puberty."^[73] In 1850 police charged a black couple with "brutal and inhuman treatment" for tying up and nearly starving a five-year-old mulatto girl. The court removed the child from the couple's custody and

she was placed in the kind care of Miss Eliza Fisher, a splendid looking colored woman, carrying a good natured countenance and weighing something like three hundred pounds weight. Eliza very smilingly took charge of the little responsibility, and with a crowd of colored persons, left the court.^[74]

Fisher's long history as a prostitute is filled with incidents involving the police, so the authorities must have known her well and believed that she would take good care of the child. Law officials were also aware of the maternal responsibility assumed by prostitute Maria Mitchell, who, as described above, was let go after an arrest for fighting because the magistrates knew she had adopted an "unprotected babe."^[75] For Fisher and Mitchell, as for all prostitutes, childrearing was a difficult responsibility—time-consuming as well as a financial and emotional strain. But the emotional rewards of motherhood—of having someone to love, care for, and work for—often seemed rewarding enough for prostitutes to wish to assume the task. Many prostitutes, like other women, including Jewett's friend Clara Hazard, saw motherhood as "the first duty of life" and looked forward to it.

It is impossible to know how most relationships between prostitutes and their children fared over a long number of years, but it is also difficult to know about other relationships between mothers and children in the nineteenth century. In some cases, relationships continued as mother and child aged. Nelson Miller and his wife lived near and had contact with mother Adeline, who had a long career as a brothel madam. Clara Hazard probably continued seeing her mother. If Mary Malloy was the mother of brothel manager Ann Malloy, the fact that they were living together in their fifties and thirties indicates the relationship had continued through most of what would be the average lifespan of a nineteenth-century mother. Other prostitutes sent their children off to create new lives for the offspring, and their anonymity was maintained forever. Still others managed to see that the children grew up, but neither parent nor child invested in a lifetime relationship.

Prostitutes, like other nineteenth-century women, had multiple identities—identities created through a variety of relationships in their private and public lives. Publicly, the prostitute was a harlot, a woman-for-hire, but privately she might be a mother, sister, daughter, and friend, as well as a wife, lover, or business associate. In each of her roles the prostitute had the opportunity for pleasure and enrichment as well as difficulties and disappointments. The prostitute's own evaluation of all these experiences and relationships was crucial, of course, for determining how she felt about herself and her life as a whole. Despondency or depression was one response. The letters of Ann Farmer offer insight into the hopelessness and pessimism felt by some prostitutes. Farmer wrote to Jewett that she wished she had Jewett's temperament and disposition because she then would be "more calculated to go through this ungrateful world." Farmer apparently felt pain and distress because of her profession and because of the unhappy relationships she experienced both with the men in her life and with her family. She noted that even noble-hearted men, when it suited their convenience, would leave prostitutes like herself

unprotected, uncomplemented and uncomforted to buffet the storms of this bleak unfriendly world and leave us to brood over the disgraceful pangs of remorse, until we glide to the grave unnoticed—with perhaps hardly enough to commit us to our mother earth.^[76]

Farmer described herself as "extremely unhappy relative to family affairs of a previous nature. I have a silent sorrow here, a grief that rends my heart. O God, I must not think of it."^[77] Those less articulate than Farmer sometimes expressed their depression and sense of isolation through alcoholism, drug addiction, and suicide.

Although despondency, if not depression, must have been experienced by most prostitutes sometime in their professional lives, personal relationships, especially with fellow prostitutes, often provided solace and support. As a part of the so-called underworld, prostitutes created a subculture, a sphere of their own which encompassed a social world of brothels, disreputable boardinghouses, saloons, and theaters and was supported by a network of female friendships and relationships established through shared involvements and mutual understanding. Yet even though separated into their own social world, prostitutes were a part of the wider "woman's sphere." As a mother, sister, daughter, wife,

lover, or laborer, a prostitute shared the common cares, desires, and constraints of nineteenth-century women, extending her "identity" into the larger female sphere. Some prostitutes could intellectualize about woman's social and emotional position in nineteenth-century society, noting woman's superior sensibilities but limited possibilities—her sub-ordinance in the affairs of the world but predominance in the "affairs of the heart."^[78] Helen Jewett, in a letter to her lover, wrote of the differences in the "spheres" and sensibilities of men and women:

Women only can understand woman's heart. We cannot, dare not complain, for sympathy is denied us if we do.

With man it is otherwise. He can with impunity expose all, ... court sympathy and obtain it, while at the same time poor neglected woman cannot be allowed to share in the many pursuits and pleasures man has to occupy his time; of course he does not need to be pitied, unless it is for his vices and excesses.^[79]

Many prostitutes not as articulate as Jewett understood the limitations of nineteenth-century society in terms of their daily lives. But they also understood the options. Prostitution was a profession selected from the limited possibilities available to women. It could be difficult and isolating, but it did not prevent a woman from developing additional identities in life, and it certainly did not prevent her from enjoying rewarding and reinforcing relationships with others.