Well, that said, we all know everybody’s favorite huckleberry Doc Holliday was a dentist, but it was a baby girl, born Lucy Beaman Hobbs on March 14, 1833, in Constable, New York, who changed dental history.

 At a time when a woman’s chief role was that of wife/mother/homemaker, Lucy’s only other choices were schoolmarm or nurse, proper but “spinsterish” occupations. But even as a little girl, Lucy Beaman Hobbs longed for the unexpected.

 However, she caved a little bit, spending ten years in a Michigan classroom. But she always held tight to her dream of pursuing medical science. 

Solely on the basis of her gender, the Eclectic College of Medicine in Cincinnati, Ohio rejected her in 1859. Nevertheless, one of the school’s professors gave her private lessons, and at his suggestion, she turned her interest to dentistry. 

Again due to her gender, she could only pursue her dental studies as a private pupil. Fortunately, the dean of the Ohio College of Dental Surgery also took her under his wing. Later, she apprenticed herself to a graduate of the school. Again denied admission to the dental college –because of her gender — she started her own practice in Cincinnati in the spring of 1861 when she was 28. 

She later moved her practice to Bellevue, Iowa (1862) and thence to McGregor, Iowa (1862-1865). In time, she came to be known by what sounds a bit like a Native American soubriquet: “the woman who pulls teeth.” 

Interestingly, the Iowa State Dental Society accepted Lucy as a member in July 1865. Affirming that she had proven herself a worthy equal to male colleagues, the Society sent her as a delegate to the American Dental Association convention in Chicago that year. In November 1865,  four years into her own dental practice, she was at last admitted to the senior class of the Ohio College of Dental Surgery. 

Due to her expertise and to support from a small but devoted group of admirers, she earned her degree only a few months later, on February 21, 1866. Thus Lucy Hobbs thus became the first woman in the U.S. –and likely the world– to earn a doctorate in dentistry. 

While practicing in Chicago, she met Civil War veteran James M. Taylor, and married the railway maintenance worker in April 1867. Under his wife’s guidance, James too became a dentist. 

Late in 1867, the Doctors Taylor moved to the western town of Lawrence, Kansas, where they soon built a successful practice, focusing on women and children. Most patients referred to the highly-regarded dentist as “Dr Lucy.” She and James did not have children of their own, and after his death in 1886, she retired from most of her professional duties. However, she remained active in civic and political causes, most importantly the woman’s suffrage movement. 

Peers and citizens alike hailed her as a pioneer in opening the doors for more women in dentistry. By 1900, almost one thousand women were taking part in the profession. 

During her career in Kansas, Dr. Taylor wrote, “I am a New Yorker by birth, but I love my adopted country — the West. To it belongs the credit of making it possible for women to be recognized in the dental profession on equal terms with men.” 

This courageous, determined woman died in Lawrence on October 3, 1910 at the age of 77. In her obituary, she was recognized as “one of the most striking figures of Lawrence [who] occupied a position of honor and ability, and for years she occupied a place high in the ranks of her profession.”

 Since I am by nature a weenie, I can hardly describe my admiration for the strong pioneering women who came before,   whose struggles and challenges have made a better world for me, for my daughter—and my son, too. During their childhood, my kids had a female dentist, a female pediatrician, and our pets were cared for by a female veterinarian. Pretty cool, no? 

I don’t dare ask for comments today about your dental experiences, but I’d sure love to hear about the strong women   you admire, and why.

Eliza Stewart was born in 1833 in Crawford County, Pennsylvania. She was the eldest of eight children. Her father was Scots Irish and when her mother died in childbirth, Eliza took on the role of raising her seven siblings. Dispite all of her responsibilities, Eliza continued to attend school. She was an excellent student. She graduated from the Washington Female Seminary as valedictorian. Upon graduation she began teaching school. Eight years later, she decided to go West. She arrived in Laramie, Wyoming just as the town was about to open its first public school. Seeing as how Eliza held such glowing credentials, they quickly hired the unmarried woman as their first teacher. The first classes began in February 1869.

(That same year Wyoming granted women the right to vote and hold office.)

But, Eliza didn’t stay single very much longer. She met Stephen Boyd and fell in love. In March 1870, a few months before they were married, Eliza, at the age of 36, received a summons to serve on the grand jury.

I couldn’t find any information about the kinds of cases they heard, but it is known that they were highly praised for their work. And more importantly, it opened the door for other women to do things that before were limited to men.

I’m sure Eliza was thrilled to have blazed the trail. That was quite an honor.

Here’s a sculpted bust of Eliza that’s on display in Laramie.

She didn’t stop there though. Two months after her marriage, Eliza helped organize the Wyoming Literary and Library Association. She was instrumental in establishing the first library in Laramie.

And in August 1873, she became the first woman to be nominated to run for the Territorial legislature. However, she withdrew her name from the ballot. I’m not sure that anyone knows the reason why. Eliza did remain interested in politics though and got involved in the Women’s Temperance movement a few years later. In fact, she served several terms as the organization’s secretary and traveled to the party’s national convention in Indiana in 1888.

Meanwhile, she and her husband opened a “notions” shop in downtown Laramie. They sold boots, shoes, sewing machines, and a variety of household goods.

Also, Eliza and Stephen had three children, one of whom died in infancy.

Eliza slipped on a patch of ice during the winter of 1912 and broke her hip. The pioneer who had lived such a vital interesting life died a week later at the age of 79.

Because of her and women like her, the frontier West became a more civilized, much better place. She reminds me of the strong heroines we like to portray in our books. And here, readers think we craft these characters from somewhere in our brains!

Does your family history have people who seem larger than life? Can you imagine them leaving their mark on the Old West?

This fascination started during a chat with my mother-in-law. We were looking at some of her treasures, things that have been in her family for a long time. One of those items was something I couldn’t identity. 

“What’s that?” I asked.

“I don’t know what it’s called,” she answered. “But women used it to save hair they pulled from their brushes.”

My eyebrows shot up. “Why would they save it?”  (Anything that comes out of my hairbrush goes in the trash or down the toilet.)  

Neither of us knew, so I did some googling and discovered Victorian hair receivers, “ratts” and the lost art of hair jewelry. 

In Victorian times, just about every woman had a hair receiver on her dressing table. She also had a lot of hair. After brushing it, she’d cull the broken strands from the brush and put them in the container.  Hair receivers were typically made of porcelain, glass, wood or celluloid. They sat in plain sight and were generally quite pretty.  They’re most easily identified by the finger-sized hold in their lids, designed to allow a woman to push through the hair.

Hair receivers kept a dressing table clean and free from loose strands, but what do you do with the hair? Commonly, the collected hair was used to make pin cushions. The wad could be quite dense, and the oil on the hair had a lubricating effect on the pins. The hair could also be used to make small pillows.  The soft texture gave it an advantage over pin feathers, which could be prickly.

The collected hair had another common use. A woman’s hair was considered “her crowning glory.” As a result, Victorian women had elaborate hairstyles. To get the fullness and volume, they used “ratts” (sometimes spelled rats).  A ratt was made by stuffing a hairnet with hair, sewing it shut and inserting it into the elaborate coif.  A ratt, roughly the size of a potato, gave a Victorian woman her trademark “Big Hair.”

A lot of us probably have a lock of hair in a scrap book. I’ve got a snip from my oldest son’s first haircut. In Victorian times, this sentimental practice went far beyond a snip or two in a locket.  “Hair art” might have been the “scrapbooking” of its day.  It was considered a suitable occupation for young ladies and gave rise to a variety of interesting creations.

Mourning brooches were common. With high infant mortality rates and the devastation of the Civil War, death was very much present. Jewelry made from the hair of a lost loved one was seen as a fitting memorial. Friends and family members often exchanged sentimental tokens. The hair used in hair art didn’t typically come from hair receivers. It was carefully selected for color and texture and had to be straight to get the desired effect. Hair jewelry is deserves a blog of its own. 

So what do you think? Are hair receivers gross or useful?  I’m still on the fence, but I’m in awe of women who made such good use of something I’d have thrown away.

That spring, Tabor grubstaked a pair of sorry-looking miners named August Rische and George Hook.  They didn’t seem to know much about prospecting, but the two of them wandered into the hills and, by pure chance, dug into a vein of pure silver.  Their Little Pittsburgh Mine yielded $20,000 a week.  Haw Tabor’s $60 investment earned him $2 million in the first year alone without getting his hands dirty.  In short order he became mayor of boomtown Leadville and lieutenant governor of Colorado.  Augusta, unable to adjust to her husband’s meteoric rise, became more and more reclusive.

Enter Baby Doe.  Born Elizabeth Bonduel McCourt, and newly divorced from her slacker husband, Harvey Doe, she was blue-eyed, blond, spunky and irresistible.  In 1879 she met the newly Rich Haw Tabor.  Despite their 26-year age difference the two fell in love.  Over the next few years, as Tabor’s relationship with Augusta became more distant, his liaison with Baby Doe became increasingly public.  In 1881, Tabor quietly obtained a backwoods divorce from his wife (without bothering to inform her).  At some point he and Baby Doe were quietly married.

Eventually word of the secret divorce reached Augusta Tabor.  She hauled her ex husband into court and received a million dollar settlement.

 In 1883 Tabor was appointed to fill a 30-day vacancy as U.S. Senator from Colorado.  He and Baby Doe took advantage of the chance to stage a lavish Washington wedding, attended by no less a person than President Chester A. Arthur.  Soon, however, the gossip caught up with them.  The priest who’d performed the ceremony declared the marriage illegal because both parties had been divorced.  But since they’d already married each other earlier, it didn’t make any difference.  The wedding had been pure theatre.

That was the end of Tabor’s political career.  Although he and Baby Doe lived well for a time, and he attempted to run for governor and senator, public opinion had turned against him.

            In 1893 the final blow came when the federal government announced that it was going to stop buying silver for its currency and convert to the gold standard.  The crash ruined Tabor.  Everything he had was sold, but nothing he could do was enough to support Baby Doe and their two daughters.  In 1899 he died of appendicitis in the single room he shared with his family.  Shortly before his death, he reportedly told his wife to “hang onto the Matchless Mine.”

 Baby Doe spent the remaining thirty-five years of her life in a cabin outside the Matchless Mine in Leadville.  Still beautiful, she could have easily remarried.  She chose instead to “hold onto the Matchless.”

 In Early March, 1935, her frozen body was discovered on the floor of her cabin.  Deserted by her two daughters, she had passed into legend.  Her life has been the subject of two books, a Hollywood movie, two operas, a screen play, a one-woman show and countless other books and articles.

 The only connection this story has to my March 2010 book, THE HORSEMAN’S BRIDE, is that they both take place in Colorado.  But I wanted to give you the first look at my cover.  More about the story next month!  Or if you’d like a sneak preview, you can check it out on my web site: 

http://www.elizabethlaneauthor.com

We hear a lot about the Cattle Barons, the men who made their fortune raising the beef that people back East and west in California loved. Behind many of the men were strong women who helped forge the economy right along with them. I’ll introduce you to a few:

Aubony Stuart – Along with her husband Granville, they had an unlikely, but nearly-perfect marriage during the time when Indian-white hostility was at its peak. A full-blooded Shoshone, Aubony settled easily into her mixed marriage. She and Granville had nine children and later they adopted and raised two children of his dead brother James.

Eula Kendrick – She lived and dressed stylishly even on the frontier. A friend once commented that “her trim, erect figure sets off to perfection frocks which are always the last word in smartness and elegance.” But she wasn’t just a pretty face and fashion plate. She kept her husband’s books before she shared his retirement at the Sheridan, Wyoming, home they called Trail’s End.

Elizabeth Iliff – Sold Singer sewing machines when her husband John met her trudging along a country road. She was the perfect wife for a cattleman, handling every crisis as it arose. When he died at 48, her first thought was to telegraph his ranch foreman to double the guard on the herds before rustlers could move in.
Nellie Wibaux – had a flair that matched the one of her husband Pierre. Even though their first home was a log cabin with a sod roof, for Thanksgiving they prepared turkey, plum pudding, and mince pie. She hovered over the stove in an evening gown. He drank champagne with a flour sack over his stiff shirt and swallow-tailed coat.

Agusta Kohrs – ran the domestic half of her husband Conrad’s domain in decisive Teutonic style. She started by firing the cook and taking over his duties. Later, with the staff trained to her satisfaction, she made tours to Europe and annual visits to New York’s Metropolitan Opera, which she attended the last time in 1942 (the year I was born) at the age of 93.

Mary Ann Goodnight – We know about the Goodnight cattle trail, but we don’t often hear about his wife. She was as tough and patient as her husband. She waited until age 31 to marry, when Charlie had established his Colorado spread. Later she helped him get through his financial crash. Eventually, she presided over their Palo Dura spread, where she was the only white woman for hundreds of miles around.

I’ve taken this information from the Time-Life The Old West series, The Cowboys. Photographs of these women show many of them to be quite lovely.

The old West was hard on many women, but it also proved to be an avenue to wealth and a better way of life, even though it took a lot of work.

Lena Nelson Dooley

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Releasing in September:

Wild West Christmas (with Kathleen Y’Barbo, Vickie McDonough, and Darlene Franklin)

Christmas Love at Lake Tahoe (with Jeanie Smith Cash, Jean Kincaid, and Jeri Odell)

I will give away a free copy of each book drawn from the list of today’s comments.  Click on the covers to purchase on Amazon