Monday November 18, 2024

Shoplifting

Welcome, I’m Mary Louisa Locke, the author of the USA Today best-selling Victorian San Francisco Mystery series and the Caelestis Science Fiction series. In this daily newsletter, I reflect on my life as an indie author trying to age gracefully, including my struggles to maintain a balanced life, what I listen to, read, and watch for entertainment, and occasional bits of information I’ve gleaned from doing the research for my novels.

In addition, now and again I will provide some of my fiction to read, for free, on this newsletter. Everything is available to anyone who subscribes, but I am always pleased when someone shows their appreciation for the newsletter by upgrading to paid.

Daily Diary, Day 1538:

As promised, I am going to start to posting excerpts from Pilfered Promises, the fifth novel in my Victorian San Francisco Mystery series, which is set in the period between Thanksgiving and Christmas of 1880. To start you off, however, I am going to repost parts of a previous Historical Tidbits piece on shoplifting in the 19^th century, since this will help explain the inspiration for the first chapter of the book, which I will excerpt tomorrow.

I did the research for this topic as I was writing Pilfered Promises, which used a large commercial store as its main setting. My fictional store, the Silver Strike Bazaar, was modeled on businesses like Macy’s in New York City, and the City of Paris and the White House in San Francisco, where a shopper could find everything from clothing, books, and children’s toys, to kitchen furniture and firearms. Starting in the mid 19^th century these stores were becoming increasingly important for women, both as shoppers and employees, something that remained true for the next hundred years.

Men like Robert Macy, who is often credited as the first to set up a modern department store in America, did everything possible to get urban middle class women to leave the privacy of their homes and travel to his store to shop. They provided restaurants and tearooms, art galleries, musical entertainment, extravagant window displays and bargains. They also increasingly turned to women in their hiring practices. In his History of Macy’s, Ralph Hower estimated that by 1870s over eighty percent of Macy’s work force were women, from the lowly cash girls and sales clerks, to individual department buyers and managers. (Hower, 275;193-94)

What I hadn’t expected to discover when I started my research was that women were also dominating a third category connected with the modern department store––that of shoplifters.

Shoplifting was not a new problem in 1880. The word itself dates from the 1690s (unlike the term department store, which seems to have been first used in 1878 and didn’t become popular until the late 1880s and 1890s). As long as there were shops, there had been people who stole or “lifted” items from those shops.

What seemed to be new, at least to 19th century observers, was the participation of well-to-do, respectable persons in this petty pilfering. Especially puzzling to store owners, judges, newspaper journalists, and medical professionals was how often it was respectable women who engaged in this behavior. In a time when middle-and-upper class women were still firmly put on pedestals as the guardians of morality, this seemed to be a problem that had to be solved or at least satisfactorily explained.

Elaine S. Abelson, the author of the delightfully titled book, When Ladies Go a Thieving: Middle-Class Shoplifters in the Victorian Department Store, found that store owners believed that the revenue they lost in the last decades of the 19th century was substantial. And, as one owner of a large Chicago store reported, “You must know that shoplifters are generally among the best-dressed and most respectable-looking women that come into our store.” (Chicago Daily Tribune, May 11, 1880)

Department store owners were faced with a conundrum. What were they to do when the very type of shoppers they were trying to attract with their glittering displays of goods seemed to be the same sort of woman who was taking fans, gloves, silk shawls, and jewelry out of the store without paying for them, even if they had the money to purchase those goods in their purses? Women’s multiple layers of clothing made it easy to secret a small item into a hidden pocket or stuff larger ones under their wraps, but some women actually used the cages of their bustles to hide items.

If the store owners let these acts of petty pilfering go, then they had to accept losses that near the Christmas season could rise to as much as 5% of their revenue. But if they tried to have the women arrested, as Robert Macy did the day before Christmas in 1870, there was a terrible public backlash. (Abelson, 120-125)

The women themselves, when accosted, became indignant or tearful and appeared to be at a loss to explain their behavior. Their friends and family were incredulous, judges and juries tended to acquit them if they were actually charged with theft, preferring to believe the clerks or department store detectives who accused the women of stealing were malicious or mistaken. The medical professionals decided to treat this behavior as some sort of mental disorder that they called kleptomania (the term was first used in the 1830s to describe a compulsion to steal for emotional rather than economic reasons.)

This idea that shop-lifting, when done by a woman who could afford to buy the item, was some sort of medical problem, was so widespread that the San Francisco Chronicle could joke that “Kleptomania is coming into fashion again, and rich shop-lifters will be let off and poor ones sent up.” (San Francisco Chronicle, January 26, 1879)

In a similar vein, The Chicago Daily Tribune published the following little ditty.

Kleptomania

“Long since all women of our day
The honest path forsook:
For gloves and shoes sometimes they’ll pay,
But buttons they will hook.”
––Chicago Daily Tribune, October 12, 1879

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