The King of Con: Soapy Smith

Letter 10

If you had wandered into Denver in 1890,  or into Skagway in 1898, and asked who ran the town, the answer might’ve come with a smirk: Soapy Smith does. Smith wasn’t a mayor, a marshal, or a miner, but he ran towns all the same.

From Soap Bars to Schemes

Jefferson Randolph “Soapy” Smith was born in Georgia in 1860, into a family whose fortunes had been upended by the Civil War. He carried with him charm, eloquence, and a restless energy; those traits could have led to success by honest means, but instead found their outlet in deception. Soapy’s education in persuasion began on the streets of Round Rock, Texas, where he lured travelers into his mother’s hotel with a polished pitch.  From there, wandering circus grifters taught him the art of the hustle: shell games, distraction, and misdirection.

Jefferson Randolph “Soapy” Smith

In mining towns like Leadville, Colorado, Soapy hit upon a defining trick: the prize soap racket. He would wrap bills around a few select bars of soap, then wrap all bars identically so no one could tell. On a crowded street corner, he’d speak, sell bars, a planted “winner” would pull out a prize, and the rest would be auctioned off, rigged, naturally, for his gang to win. The name “Soapy” stuck when a police logbook recorded him simply as “Soapy” after an arrest for this very scheme.

But Soapy’s ambitions extended far beyond street sideshows. He saw towns not simply as markets, but as kingdoms to be conquered.

Denver Under His Spell

Soapy’s arrival in Denver in the late 1870s marked a pivotal moment, transforming him from a simple street grifter into an organized gang leader. The city, teeming with miners and fortune-seekers, was a perfect breeding ground for crime. Here, Smith fell under the mentorship of "Doc" Charles Baggs, the "prince of confidence men," who operated elaborate scams out of fake brokerage offices known as "Big Stores." Smith absorbed Baggs's techniques of organization, which included using a cast of steerers, shills, and fixers, and later adapted them for his own operations. When Baggs was forced out of Denver in 1885, a 25-year-old Soapy Smith stepped into the power vacuum, assuming leadership of the gang Baggs had assembled and becoming the city's new master crook.

As his power in Denver grew, Soapy Smith refined his dual identity. He cultivated a façade of respectability, contributing to churches, looking after widows and orphans, and presenting himself as a friend to the poor. He married a singer, Anna Neilson, and established a quiet family life for her and their children, far removed from his criminal enterprises. Yet, this veneer of benevolence masked a ruthless will to power. He established America's first protection racket, demanding tribute from other criminals and businesses in exchange for his "protection" from both the law and rival gangs. This carefully constructed persona, part public benefactor and part crime boss, became the hallmark of his reign in every town he came to dominate.

His influence extended to politicians and police, allowing his gang to operate with a degree of immunity, provided they primarily targeted newcomers and strangers. He bribed city officials, bought protection, and even inserted himself into civic conflicts. In 1894, when Colorado’s reformist Governor Davis Hanson Waite attempted to purge corrupt officials from Denver, a confrontation known as the City Hall War erupted. Soapy was recruited by entrenched officials: he was given a deputy sheriff’s commission, and helped fortify City Hall with rifles and dynamite.

Over time, under pressure from reformers, his saloons were shut down, and he was forced to depart. 

The Allure of the Klondike

The 1893 repeal of the Sherman Silver Purchase Act sent the Colorado economy reeling, and Soapy’s operations in Denver lost much of their fuel. Meanwhile, rivals like the Blonger brothers chipped away at the criminals’ turf. Soapy drifted to Pocatello, to Mexico (where he infamously proposed raising a mercenary legion for Porfirio Díaz), and to various corners of the West in search of fresh marks. 

Then came the Klondike Gold Rush of 1897. Thousands of hopefuls, inexperienced and flush with dreams, flooded toward Alaska. Soapy saw his greatest stage yet. He arrived with a determined plan: transplant his model of deception and governance to the far North.

Skagway’s “King” at Work

Soapy Smith in one of Skagway's saloons

Skagway, Alaska, in 1897, was in a state of chaos: a raw, muddy port teeming with gold-hungry newcomers and zero law. Soapy saw an opportunity. He arrived with his gang and quickly turned the town into his personal fiefdom. He ran fake businesses, like a bogus telegraph office (wires went nowhere) or “Reliable Packers.” His men posed as ministers, reporters, guides, or helpful locals, winning the trust of new arrivals before steering them to crooked hotels, bogus packing services, rigged gambling dens, or shipping cons, all designed as fronts to lure victims into situations where they could be easily robbed. “He created a criminal empire that any Mafia don might envy,” wrote historian Catherine Holder Spude.

He handled opposition cleverly. When the “Committee of 101,” a vigilance group of citizens, threatened his domain, Soapy announced his own “Law and Order Society” of 317 members to counter them. Many petty operators left town at his command. He even formed the Skagway Military Company during the Spanish-American War, writing to President McKinley for official recognition, all to burnish his stature and intimidate critics. He marched in the Fourth of July parade as marshal, riding his gray horse beside the territorial governor. 

Soapy at the July 4th parade in Skagway

By mid‑1898, Soapy’s control was sprawling: he managed the town marshal, staffed friendly press, arranged for stolen gold to be “returned” to victims to bolster his public image, and collected tribute from businesses, legal and otherwise.

Yet the veneer began peeling. As miners returned from the Klondike with gold, many bristled at having been fleeced. The tipping point came when John Douglas Stewart, a returning claimant carrying about $2,700 in gold dust, was robbed of all his gold. The resulting public outrage launched the Vigilance Committee into action.

Clash on the Wharf: The Final Showdown

Soapy among a few members of his gang

On the night of July 8, 1898, while Soapy was drinking in Jeff Smith’s Parlor, his gang warned him of trouble: the vigilantes were assembling on Juneau Wharf. Soapy, holding a Winchester rifle, strode out to confront them. He ran into Frank H. Reid, surveyor, bartender, and one of the guard detail, standing in the gang’s path. 

At approximately 9:15 p.m., shots rang out. Soapy was hit in the heart; he died almost instantly. He had also sustained wounds to his leg and arm. Reid was struck too; he lingered in agony and died 12 days later. 

Soapy’s last words were reputedly, “My God — don’t shoot!” The vigilantes promptly searched Soapy’s trunks (in an outbuilding behind his saloon) and recovered all but about $600 of Stewart’s stolen gold. With Soapy’s death, his intricate network collapsed. Many gang members fled; others were arrested or deported. An empire built on deception and control ended in the blink of an eye.

Frank Reid’s funeral was the grandest Skagway had ever seen. His tombstone reads: "He gave his life for the honor of Skagway." Soapy, in contrast, was buried just outside the cemetery gates, as a man too disreputable to be laid among the respectable dead. 

The grave of Soapy Smith

In Skagway today, Jeff Smith’s Parlor Museum still draws visitors curious about frontier hustle, frontier lawlessness, and the audacious scheme of a man who once claimed control over a town by the water. Soapy’s story continues to stand as a vivid emblem of the wild frontier’s paradox: places where opportunity and gullibility were inseparable, and where a fast tongue could command more authority than any badge.