THE WORKING ROYALS
CONTINUED FROM PAGE 61
Court donations, among other private
donations, to provide assistance. A flat
tire might need to get fixed so the client
can get to work. We also had someone
who needed a prosthetic device, and no
one else would pay for that.”
With about 100 regal heads, The
Court’s membership today is about half
of what it was in its heyday. There are
other gay organizations now vying for
members. And many young queer people
don’t feel the need to belong to any gay
group at all, feeling comfortable and ac-
cepted in the world at large in a way many
of their counterparts in the 1990s did not.
This doesn’t mean The Court’s con-
tributions are dwindling, though. The
internet has strengthened exposure
and friendships among Court members
across the country, so when Pond started
doing online fund-raisers a few years ago,
donations rolled in from afar.
In the beginning, The Court wasn’t
receptive to straight allies joining, to the
disappointment of some early members.
Today it’s open to any gender and is less
strict about apparel: Gowns no longer
need to touch the ground, and gloves
don’t have to match. The nonbinary title
of “Emprex” has recently been introduced.
One of The Court’s many unsung im-
pacts is forging support across nonprofits
for different causes. Volunteers of the Cat
Adoption Team, in appreciation for the
group’s assistance, now likewise show
up for The Court’s other causes, such
as suicide prevention. As a result, feline
enthusiasts attend its annual Suicide Is
a Drag fund-raiser. Without The Court,
they might not even know of the event.
“At the last one, we were all singing
‘Love Can Build a Bridge’ by The Judds,
and everyone was holding hands and cry-
ing,” says Rousselle. “That show tends to
be emotional because most folks there
have lost someone to suicide.”
The Court is still way too under the
radar, in a camp of its own, quietly rais-
ing funds with few pats on its red velvet
backs. But if its numbers are shrinking, it
can be said that its heart is still growing.
“As long as I can stand in 4-inch heels,
you will see me traveling and participat-
ing,” says Truly Scrumptious. “This is
about so much more than drag.”
7 6 C I N C I N N AT I M A G A Z I N E . C O M M A R C H 2 0 2 3
THE BELLE, THE CAD, AND THE SEX SCANDAL
MARCH 1879
NANCY A.
DICKEY
A V I C T O R I A N E R A PAT E R N I T Y
C A S E TA K E S U S B A C K T O A
C I N C I N N AT I W H E R E S E X WA S
S H A M E F U L , A B O R T I O N WA S
MURDER, AND WOMEN WERE
SECOND-CLASS CITIZENS.
how recklessly, had a maximum penalty
three years lighter than any other form
of manslaughter.
Statements by others suggest that
Madame Frazier was performing at least
one abortion a week, possibly more, and
she was just one of the city’s providers.
Only a small percentage of abortions
were prosecuted, but that did nothing
to change vehement public disdain for
the procedure. In praising Maley, The En-
quirer asked, “If Coroner Maley does not
attend to this work who will, and who
will put a stop to the wholesale murder
of unborn children if he does not?”
Anyone who helped a woman procure
an abortion—including paramours, hus-
bands, friends, and parents—was eligi-
ble for a seven-year prison sentence. If
Tytus had succeeded in finding a doctor
for Dickey, he would have been guilty of
the same crime as the doctor. Tytus was
desperate and willing to take this risk,
but it was a bad time to find a competent
physician who was willing to perform an
abortion in Cincinnati. An Enquirer edi-
torial called the often quiet, unassuming
homes where abortions were performed
“the foulest sores on the social body”
and noted with enthusiasm that “Doc-
tor Maley is keeping a sharp eye on these
places and as fast as the opportunity of-
fers he will bring the occupants, be they
men or women, to trial.”
CINCINNATI PHYSICIAN D.W. MCCAR-
thy had been mentioned in a past abor-
tion investigation, but he’d never been
charged with the crime. Doctors rarely
faced charges for performing abortions
unless they botched one badly enough
to send a woman to the hospital or the
morgue. Nevertheless, McCarthy didn’t
want to risk his luck in the present legal
environment, so he refused Tytus’s plea
to perform an abortion on Nancy Dickey.
NO. 59
He did offer an alternative.
B Y M I C H A E L D. M O R G A N
McCarthy arranged for Dickey to live
with a woman named Mrs. Ducker dur-
ing the last few weeks of her pregnancy.
Ducker concealed both the pregnancy
JOHN B.
TYTUS LITTLE ALICE and the birth of a daughter, Alice, in De-
cember 1873. McCarthy then performed
several ethically questionable services
while Ducker raised Alice from birth to
the age of 4.
Tytus provided money for Alice’s
care through McCarthy, but he also be-
came scarce. According to Dickey, he’d
repeated his intention to marry her in
May 1873, but that proved disingenuous
when he married a strikingly beautiful
and extremely rich heiress from one
of the wealthiest and most influential
families in Ft. Wayne, Indiana.
In the years that followed, Dickey
floated between family members and
friends without a clear plan for her fu-
ture. She rarely saw her daughter, en-
trusting Alice to the care of a stranger
who billed her for the service of raising
the girl. The birth didn’t bring the joy
that it should have, as Dickey remained
terrified to let anyone know that she was
an unchaste woman with a fatherless
child. Finally, in December 1877, after all
attempts to reach an amicable resolu-
tion with Tytus were exhausted and her
only remaining options were desperate,
Dickey made the entire sordid tale public
by filing a bastardy suit against him.
Family Court and child support
payments are relatively recent devel-
opments in the law. In the 1800s, the
closest equivalent started with filing
criminal bastardy charges against the
alleged father. Long before blood tests
or DNA, the mother had the burden of
proving the identity of her child’s father
through physical resemblance and tes-
timony about her own sexual history. If
the accused either confessed his pater-
nity or was found to be the father by a
jury, he was guilty of criminal bastardy.
There was no jail time—the punishment
was to pay the cost of the child’s care in
whatever amount the judge deemed fair.
Dickey also filed a $20,000 civil suit
against Tytus for breach of an oral mar-
riage contract, a legally recognized claim