:quality(70)/cloudfront-us-east-1.images.arcpublishing.com/adn/LAXRXW46WZFINKK3ZGHEHAOGVA.jpg "Stolen suitcase and quarantined steamship led to arrest in Juneau woman’s 1919 murder")
Part of a continuing weekly series on Alaska history by local historian David Reamer. Have a question about Anchorage or Alaska history or an idea for a future article? Go to the form at the bottom of this story.
“Japan Threatens China With War,” blared the banner headline on the Feb. 11, 1919 issue of the Alaska Daily Empire out of Juneau. Other front-page-worthy articles included news on boxer Jack Dempsey, fallout from the First World War, discord between Portugal and Spain, the ongoing Russian Revolution, and a fire in a local laundry. In all, war and labor strife were the dominant themes of the page, as there were also articles about strikes in Seattle, Arizona and London. The brutal murder of a woman in town was removed to the second page of an eight-page newspaper.
Myra Schmidt was a prostitute, a sporting girl, a sex worker. She was many other things besides, but in the social climate of Alaska then, her vocation unfairly defined her, most definitively in death. Rare was the article that did not describe her as a woman of the underworld, the more common term for sex workers of the day. In fact, the first article about her death called her a “woman victim” and “woman of the underworld” before offering her name. Had she been a waitress, her profession wouldn’t have been as integral to her identity. Had she been a waitress, perhaps her violent death in a small community might have made the front page.
Schmidt, also known as Molly Brown and Molly Smith, was last seen alive in the early morning of Feb. 8, 1919. Locals saw her leave a Japanese restaurant on her way back to the isolated cabin that was her home and workplace. That was Saturday. She was around 22 and had only been in Juneau for about six weeks. Like most prostitutes in Alaska then, she was her own boss, without pimp or enforcer. And she was successful. Her safety deposit box at a Juneau bank contained $410, roughly $8,000 in 2024 money, and a receipt for a sealskin coat. Bought in Seattle, the high-quality coat cost $305, roughly $6,000 in 2024 money.
Prostitution had an uneasy quasi-legitimacy in the larger Alaska towns. It was illegal for sure but typically allowed within limits. Many local officials encouraged such activity amid copious winks, nudges and bribes. In 1914, a Juneau city council motion to close every “bawdy house” in town failed for want of a second. Not a failed vote but a failed motion before a vote could be held. In 1915 Anchorage, railroad official Andrew Christensen built a convenient road to the red-light district just outside town.
When brothel houses and sex workers became too public, or too hesitant with their official donations, they could be and often were shut down. Likewise, there were periodic reformers who forced wider closures. Anchorage red-light neighborhoods were closed upon official order no less than five times between 1915 and 1942 alone. Still, they always came back. Officially allowed brothel districts — both called The Line — in Fairbanks and Seward lasted until federal intervention in the early 1950s. Seasoned Anchorage residents will well remember the massage parlors of the 1970s and their whisper-thin veneers of legitimacy.
[The enigmatic life and mysterious death of Matanuska Valley schoolteacher Zelda King]
After Schmidt missed several meals, a couple of female acquaintances dropped by her cabin. On Monday afternoon, Feb. 10, 1919, they discovered the hasp on her door broken, the lock dangling off. The glass windows were smashed, and the screen door damaged. Blood marked most of the surfaces in the small room, the telltale signs of a final struggle. Personal belongings had been searched, alternately scattered or taken. Schmidt’s body was on the bed next to a scarlet-stained towel that had been used to choke her. The killer pushed the towel down her throat, choking her to death.
As noted by several Alaska newspapers, Schmidt was one of several Alaska “women of the underworld” murder victims in recent years. There had been Rose Selberg in 1918 McCarthy and a woman in Douglas just a few months earlier. Over six months later, William Dempsey killed Marie Lavor in Anchorage and tossed her body down a well.
That same Monday evening, 56-year-old John “Whiskey Jack” Gaslow boarded the steamship Estebeth bound for Skagway. He was short, stout and rough-looking, worn by years in the north and with a drinking habit to fit the nickname. His nose and face bore the scars of countless boozy brawls. He had been in Juneau for about a month and had previously borrowed money to eat. Yet, before leaving town, he was coincidentally able to pay his debt and buy a new hat, all besides the steamer ticket itself. He also bore a fresh scratch on his face.
While purchasing a ticket, he dropped a yellow suitcase, which opened to reveal women’s clothing. Stumbling in his conversation with the agent, Gaslow admitted the bag wasn’t his. Instead, he claimed a woman in Juneau had asked him to deliver it to Skagway. The awkward, impromptu lies piled on themselves, including an improbable fake name that still incorporated his actual surname: Gaslow Florentine. Then, Gaslow sealed his fate. He told the agent, “When you return to Juneau, tell an officer about this grip and that it does not belong to me.”
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If the suggestion was a bluff, it was ill-advised, given both the recency of the crime and his restricted movements aboard a steamer. An eroded conscience does not a smooth criminal create. The agent followed the murderer’s suggestion and sent word to marshals in Juneau. Detective skills were not as sophisticated in 1919 as they are now, but officers were immediately suspicious of the man fleeing Juneau with a woman’s belongings on the same day a robbed and murdered woman was discovered in Juneau.
At Skagway, the Estebeth was quarantined due to the influenza pandemic. Before the passengers could be cleared to disembark, officials there arrested Gaslow. He initially refused to let them search the suitcase, which was later identified as belonging to Schmidt. The case’s contents included a mink cape, mink hand muff, silk garters, silk panties, two pairs of women’s shoes, a bra and several other feminine articles, 77 of them in all. A sealskin coat matching the receipt from Schmidt’s safety deposit box was also present. Still, the most damning item was a picture of Schmidt, whom Gaslow maintained he had never met.
In short order, Gaslow was bound over for a grand jury while under a $5,000 bond, which he naturally could not pay. As he never learned when to shut up, he talked continually during his time in the Juneau jail, about the murder and anything else that happened to come up. On March 27, the grand jury returned an indictment.
The trial commenced on Sept. 15, but the intervening months had not been sufficient to provide the defendant or his court-appointed attorneys with a functional defense strategy beyond denying every fact in sight. For example, Gaslow never produced evidence of how he might have legitimately been handed the yellow suitcase. He also never explained his newfound wealth: the money for food, hats and steam tickets.
As might be expected by this point, Whiskey Jack was not the best witness to his innocence. When first arrested, he claimed that a delicate manicure set in the yellow suitcase was for trimming horse hooves. At the trial, he claimed they were for an unidentified “lady friend” in Dawson, an illusory Canadian girlfriend. Months later, he said he was referring to a pair of scissors, still inadequate for horses.
At 11 p.m. on Sept. 23, the case went to the jury, which met until 3:45 in the morning before returning with their decision. Despite the lack of direct evidence — witnesses of the crime or a confession — the jury found Gaslow guilty of murder in the first degree. On Oct. 10, he was sentenced to life imprisonment. His tour of this nation’s prisons took him from McNeil Island to Leavenworth to Seagoville, Texas, where he died in 1948. He maintained his innocence throughout his penitentiary tenure, thus ensuring a bond with his fellow inmates, most of whom were also ever so innocent, at least if you asked them.
[The tale of the Blue Parka Man, whose relentless prison escapes transformed a bandit into a legend]
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Key sources:
“Death Caused Choking is the Verdict Given.” Alaska Daily Empire, February 13, 1919, 8.
“Evidence of Murder Found; Woman Victim.” Alaska Daily Empire, February 11, 1919, 2.
“Gaslow is Put on the Stand in Own Defense.” Alaska Daily Empire, September 20, 1919, 5.
“Jack Gaslow Under Arrest at Skagway.” Alaska Daily Empire, February 15, 1919, 8.
“John Gaslow is Found Guilty of Murder Charge.” Alaska Daily Empire, September 24, 1919, 8.
“John Gaslow is Given Life in Penitentiary.” Alaska Daily Empire, October 10, 1919, 8.
Longenbaugh, Betsy. “Forgotten Murders from Alaska’s Capital.” Kenmore, WA: Epicenter Press, 2022.
