Dustin White

Editor

On October 30, 1878, one of the most famous army laundresses passed away. During her life, she was beloved by nearly all who met her, and she would quickly be favored by Libbie Custer. But with her death, a mystery would surface, one that captured the entire nation. Mrs. Nash was a he.

Little is known about the early life of Mrs. Nash. Her birth name has been lost to history, as well as much of her past. A little has survived though.







It was said that she was from Mexico, where she was once married, and had two children, who was pass away while still young. It appeared that at this time, she had lived as a man, driving ox teams over the Santa Fe Trail to New Mexico.

Eventually, Mrs. Nash would find her way to Elizabethtown, Kentucky, where she found a position, as a laundress, with the U.S. Army in 1866.

Nash would gain a reputation as being not only an excellent laundress, but also a talented seamstress who tailored officer’s uniforms, a noted baker whose pies were much sought after, and a dependable nurse and mid-wife, who “few births occurred (on the post) without her expert help.”

Making $17 a month as a laundress, which was more than a private in the army, as well as her work on the side, Nash would build up a sizable nest egg. It may not have been the first time she had worked her way to a fortune though. She would later say that her first husband had earlier abandoned her, taking all of her money in the process.

Latin Heritage

Nash was not known for her external beauty. People would comment on her angular shape and awkward gait, as well as her course and stubborn beard. John Burkman, George Custer’s striker, described her as “funny-looking.” Libbie Custer described her in a different fashion.

“I shuddered when I spoke to her, for the woman was a Mexican, and like the rest of that hairy tribe she had so course and stubborn a beard that her chin had a blue look after shaving, in a marked contrast to her swarthy face. She was tall, angular, awkward and seemingly coarse, but I knew her to be tender hearted. She always came at night and, when I went out to pay her, she was very shy and kept a veil pinned about her lower face.”

Nash would remain veiled, covering her face when going into public. Katherine Gibson, widow of Captain Francis M. Gibson of the Seventh Cavalry, attributed it to Nash’s Latin heritage. In describing why, Katherine wrote:

“‘So bad these winds’, she complained, ‘for a young girl’s complexion,’ which, though true, was surprising, in as much as she had passed her pristine youth.”

It was Nash’s heritage, as well as the current prejudices at the time, that explained, for those around, her looks. As Gibson wrote:

“if one, from time to time, noticed a bit of down on her lips, one reflected that Latin women as they grow older are prone to develop hair on their faces and let it pass as that.”



The Marriages Begin

While Nash may not have had a picturesque beauty, she was nonetheless a catch. Reputed as an excellent cook, as well as being industrious, she was also a woman of mean’s, who would be married no fewer than four times.







Mysteries would surround Nash’s marriages. Her first husband would be unknown, having vanished before Nash took her position with the Army, while the order of her next two marriages is debated.

Most agree though that Nash would wed a second time in 1868, marrying Harry O. Clifton, the quartermaster’s clerk. The relationship was short lived. Burkman, speaking of the marriage, said:

“He’d (Clifton) always been jolly, laughin’ and cuttin’ up jokes, but after he’d been married a spell, he got to be glum and just a few days before his time expired he deserted, saying nothin’ to nobody.”

Like Nash’s first husband, Clifton would also desert her, taking all the money she had saved, as well as deserting his military obligations.

Libbie, commenting on the affair, said that Nash mourned the lost of her money for a short time, but would soon find solace by going to the soldiers’ balls, dressed in gauzy, low-necked gowns.

It wouldn’t be long before another man began to court Nash though, who was still legally married. On April 3, 1871, the Seventh Cavalry arrived in Elizabethtown, and on September 3, George Custer took command. They had been assigned to the southern city in order to deal with the Ku Klux Klan and illicit distilleries.

For Nash, it would be a turning point. Arriving with Custer, Libbie would first meet Nash. Immediately, Libbie formed an admiration for the laundress. Beginning a friendly relationship, Libbie would learn of the trials and tribulations of Nash, including her failed marriages.

Along with striking a friendship with Libbie, Nash would also meet her third husband; Sergeant James Nash. James was the personal servant to Libbie’s brother-in-law, Captain Tom Custer, and quickly fell for Nash. In 1872, the two were married.

The town would be seen arguing a great deal, but they still seemed happy nonetheless. Attending military balls, where Nash was said to have had “constant partners,” as well as other social functions, the marriage seemed to be a success.

Nearly a year into their marriage, the Seventh was ordered to Dakota Territory, and on June 10, 1873, Nash and her husband arrived at Fort Rice, where they would stay until they were transferred to Fort Abraham Lincoln, on September 21.

In Dakota Territory, Nash would prosper, but not with James. As with her previous husbands, James would also desert Nash, taking with him her substantial savings.

James leaving didn’t go unnoticed though. Libbie would write that her brother-in-law was very “put out” by the desertion.

While Nash may have grieved for the loss of at least a third husband, as well as her savings, she would quickly rebound, marrying Sergeant John Noonan by the end of the same year.

Noonan, as noted by Libbie, was “the handsomest solider in his company” and was often admired for his admirably fitting uniform Nash had made for him, “which displayed to advantage his well-portioned figure.”

The marriage seemed to be one filled with happiness. Libbie thought that Noonan had the best of the bargain, as “for notwithstanding his wife was no longer young, and undeniably homely, she could cook well and spared him from eating with his company, and she was a good investment, for she earned so much by her industry.”







Nash, now often called “Old Mrs. Nash,” kept a bright and tidy home for Noonan. Planting and maintaining a flower garden in front of their modest quarters, she made a home for the two of them, which became the center of the social circle in Suds Row, which was east of the Fort Lincoln parade grounds.

The two would escape disaster in 1876, when Custer and his men set off for the Battle of the Little Bighorn. Serving with a detached unit at the Yellowstone Depot, Noonan would return safely home to Nash after the battle.



The couple would have two additional years of happily being married. But the end eventually came.

In the fall of 1878, Noonan was sent out on a patrol, in pursuit of a party of rebellious Indians. While her husband was away, Nash suddenly fell ill, from what was believed to be an appendicitis.

As Nash’s condition worsened, she called for a priest, and instructed those who cared for her that she wanted to be buried as she was. She did not want the normal preparations for her burial.

Seeing that a great loss would soon come upon the fort, many would begin to mourn her imminent passing. As Gibbions writes though, that mourning would, for some, turn into indignation.

“People demanded what right she had to make a glutton of herself on unripe corn, when so many were dependent upon her skillful, Latin fingers for delicate laundering. Besides, the stork was threatening to alight at any moment upon several chimneys. It wasn’t fair, they all contended.”

On November 4, that indignation turned into hysteria, as Nash passed away, and a secret was revealed.

Wanting to show Nash the proper respect that she deserved, by cleaning her up, her closest friends removed her clothing, and discovered that Nash was really a man. Burkman noted, “We was flabbergasted.”

Libbie would relate it in much kinder words: “The mystery which the old creature has guarded for so many years, through a life always public and conspicuous, was revealed. ‘Old Nash’ years before, becoming weary of the laborious life of a man had assumed the disguise of a woman, and hoped to carry the secret to her grave.”

The news quickly spread throughout the country, as a dispatch from Bismarck, Dakota Territory, informed the nation: “A singular development transpired at Fort Lincoln today. Mrs. Sergeant Noonan, who died last night, turns out to be a man. … There is no explanation of the unnatural union except that the supposed Mexican woman was worth $10,000 and was able to buy her husband’s silence. She has been with the 7th Cavalry nine years.”

Noonan wouldn’t inherit the fortune from his wife, but instead, Nash had given it all to the Bismarck Catholic Church. Instead, upon returning to the sad news, that his wife had passed away, Noonan was greeted by unrelenting harassment and ridicule from his fellow soldiers.

Having just lost the person he loved, who he called his wife, and no longer being able to stand the company of his fellow soldiers, Noonan quickly withdrew. Avoiding others, he busied himself by cleaning the stables south of Fort Lincoln.

On November 28, a reporter from the Bismarck Tribune was finally able to locate Noonan. He was adamant that “he didn’t know his wife was a man. In face, he said they had been trying very hard to have a baby.”

Another mystery was at hand though, according to Noonan.

“There is some terrible mystery about this thing that I can’t understand. She had acted as midwife and doctress here at the Post. She was trusted and respected by a large number of people, and I can only think that she must have done something terribly wrong which demanded a disguise of her sex by the diagnosing physicians.”







Noonan would continue by confessing that Nash had once procured an abortion for herself, which he was party to.

He would finish the interview by claiming that Nash had been strangely wronged, and at some time, the mystery would be cleared up.

Two days later, on November 30, 1878, Noonan shot and killed himself.

Burkman described the circumstances as such, “Noonan walked in. His face was gaunt and sorta set. The carpenter looked up. ‘Hello, Noonan!’ he says. ‘Say, you and Mrs. Noonan never had no children, did you?’ We all started laughin’ and then we stopped sudden. Noonan was standin’, lookin’, and his eyes was wild, like an animals that’s been hurt. Then, afore we had send to stop him he pulled out his gun and shot hisself dead, right there at our feet … Layin’ thar, he looked like a kid, and we remembered how oncst hd been so full o’pranks, always smillin’ and jolly. They gave him a nice funeral with the flag and such, and John Martin, the bugler sounded taps.”

The Bismarck Tribune spun the story in a different way. “The suicide was committed with a pistol and Noonan shot himself through the heart. The affair created almost as intense excitement as did the death announcement of Mrs. Noonan, but there was a sigh of relief on the corporate lips of the Seventh Cavalry when its members heard that Noonan by his own hand had relieved his own regiment of the odium which the man’s presence cast upon them.”

Years later, it was clear that Noonan’s fellow troopers were far from having been relieved by his suicide, but Burkman said, were terribly ashamed.

“Noonan’s troubles meant just as much to him as though he’d been a Major. Hundreds of graves scattered over Dakota and Montana of men that’s never been missed, never been writ up, but they was good soldiers jist the same, and without ‘em thar wouldn’t’ve been no country, maybe.”

Noonan would be buried with his fellow soldiers, first at Fort Lincoln, and later reinterred at the Custer Battlefield National Cemetery, where a bit of the honor stripped away from his fellow soldiers was returned.

Nash would also be buried at Fort Lincoln, but upon the forts closing, would not accompany her husband. Instead, as with the other unclaimed civilian bodies, she was moved to St. Mary’s Cemetery, to be laid in an unmarked grave, in section D, between Row 1 and 11.