Ada and Minna Simms were raised to be society matrons. Their father was a wealthy Virginia planter, and the girls got the full debutante treatment: music lessons, dance lessons, elocution lessons and a proper debut. Years later they ran the most lavish brothel in America, and they had stumbled into the business by accident.
Two brutes and a way out
The Civil War took the family's money and the plantation home. The girls had already lost their mother and their two older sisters. With few choices left, the sisters married. At 17, Minna wed a jealous, violent man named Lester, who began their married life by nearly strangling her to death. Ada married his brother, who was no better. Both sisters ran, and their options shrank to teaching, show business or prostitution. They chose the stage.
By 1898 their theater troupe had left them stranded in Omaha, Nebraska. They were stranded but not broke, because their father had somehow left them $35,000, about $1.3 million today. Omaha was gearing up for the Trans-Mississippi Exposition and bracing for a flood of tourists and cowboys who would all need a bed. So the sisters opened a boarding house, and it was the poshest one Omaha had ever seen. A Tiffany stained glass ceiling glowed over the foyer, and in the parlor a musician in full black tie played a 14-karat gold-plated player piano.
The boarding house that wasn't
One detail got past them. The shabbier boarding houses nearby were all out-earning theirs, because every one of them was actually a bordello. The sisters only figured this out after they'd opened. They weren't willing to lose their investment, so they recruited willing actresses from their old troupe, and word got around. Between June 1 and November 1, 1898, they more than doubled their inheritance.
Neither sister wanted another husband, and the Omaha money could have carried them for life. Instead, it lit a fire under them. In 1899 they set off on a nationwide brothel-scouting tour: San Francisco's notorious Barbary Coast, then New Orleans and New York, then Washington, D.C. There a brothel operator named Cleo Maitland gave them their marching orders: "Chicago is where you want to be".
Gold, velvet and butterflies
Chicago's red-light district, the Levee, had an opening. The city's most famous madam, Lizzie Allen, had died in 1896, and her house on South Dearborn Street had slid downhill under a successor who was considered too lowbrow for it. The sisters paid $70,000 for a lifetime lease and poured two-thirds of what they had left into redecorating. They added a library of more than a thousand books, a Japanese room with bowls of firecrackers ready to light, a hall of a thousand mirrors, and a gold room with golden cuspidors, which are fancy spittoons. Upstairs were 30 boudoirs. There was a restaurant made up to look like a luxury Pullman train car, and on special occasions live butterflies were released to drift from room to room.
They hired 30 women and laid down the rules: no amateurs, no young widows and no lining clients up to choose. Customers paid by check, because cash was dreadfully vulgar. "Gentlemen are only gentlemen when properly introduced". And they banned cheating or robbing the clients: "We permit no monkey shines".
They named the house after a grandmother who signed her letters "Everly yours". The Everleigh Club opened on February 1, 1900, a day so cold that Chicago's police call boxes froze. Ada turned away the first few men at the door as unsuitable. After that nobody else came, and the staff got restless. Then one woman caught Minna reading about the funeral of meatpacking heir P.D. Armour Jr. in the Chicago Daily News and announced that Minna knew him. Minna had never met the man. But the rumor that she "knows the swells", the city's high society, raced through the house and stopped a mutiny. The club took in $1,000 that night, and the sisters didn't keep a cent of it.
America's most famous madams got into the business by mistake. The Simms sisters opened the poshest boarding house in Omaha, found out afterward that every other boarding house around them was a brothel, and decided to turn theirs into one too.
Princes, gangsters and Uncle Ned
The prices were steep: $50 to walk in, $500 to stay the night and $1,000 for a night with company. John Barrymore came. So did boxing champion Gentleman Jim Corbett and the industrialist John W. "Bet-a-Million" Gates. Prince Henry, brother of Kaiser Wilhelm II, added Chicago to his American tour just to see the club. Big Jim Colosimo, the gangster who came before Al Capone, liked to duck into the kitchen and make homemade spaghetti for the women. The sisters spent about $10,000 a year on bribes and still cleared $120,000 to $150,000.
Then there was Uncle Ned, who never touched a drop of alcohol. Once every winter, after the first snowfall, he paid several thousand dollars to have the whole house devoted to him for the night. He sipped sarsaparilla with vanilla ice cream in a spotlight, plunged his bare feet into buckets of ice and shook jingle bells, shouting about an "old-fashioned sleigh ride". There was no sex involved.
Reformers at the door
Then the progressive reformers came for them. On October 18, 1909, the British evangelist Gypsy Smith led a march through the Levee, singing "Where is my wandering boy tonight?" The marchers stopped to pray outside the Everleigh Club, and once they left, the district had its busiest night ever. Minna, never at a loss for words, sneered at "the fish-faced reformer".
In the end, Minna's own marketing did the club in. She'd put out a 20-page brochure bound in velvet, with pictures of the themed rooms, and a copy landed on Mayor Fred Busse's desk. Maybe it got there by chance, or maybe a rival put it there. In 1910 he formed a vice commission. Its 399-page report, The Social Evil in Chicago, was racy enough that it was illegal to send it through the mail. It also accidentally advertised the job: an Everly woman could earn about $21,000 a year, while a shop girl made six dollars a week. Police were ordered to close what the report called "the most infamous and luxurious place of its kind in the world".
Minna waved it off: "I'll close up shop and walk out of the place with a smile on my face".
A brownstone full of secrets
The sisters gave every employee six months' severance and left for a long tour of Europe. When they came back, Chicago wouldn't leave them alone. So they bought a brownstone near Central Park and furnished it with that gold-plated piano. They took the surname Lester and started a poetry club. They had never used their birth names in Chicago, so few of their new friends had any idea who they'd been. Minna died in 1948 at 82 and was buried in Virginia. Ada died in 1960 at 93, dreading exactly the kind of headline she got: one calling her a "sin sister".
