“Lou Newton” needed to look good, and as madam of a notorious brothel on the main drag of Cincinnati’s red-light district, she pulled in enough cash to support a lavish lifestyle.



Lou was born Louisa Schmidtberger, maybe in 1864, maybe in 1860. Sources vary. She was still a teenager when she married a saloonkeeper and all-round operator named Isaac Newton “Ike” Brownfield, and she took his middle name as her pseudonym, or “nom de joie.”

Her “house” was at 526 George Street, on the north side, five doors east of Smith Street. It was a non-stop party palace for close to 30 years. In addition to her income from horny gentlemen, Lou inherited the entirety of her husband’s estate. Ike died in 1902 and bequeathed a substantial real estate portfolio to his widow as the only beneficiary.

Unlike a lot of husbands whose wives owned whorehouses, Ike Brownfield was well-behaved and discreet. He lived in an apartment at a separate address on Seventh Street, just two blocks from Lou’s “bagnio” on George Street. His death certificate claims he was a real estate speculator. That was about as legal as his investments got, but he didn’t beat his wife and he didn’t steal her money.

When Lou Newton died, an era was ending as the federal government cracked down on “bawdy districts” throughout the United States if they were located within five miles of U.S. Army training facilities. Cincinnati’s red-light district in the West End was about five miles as the crow flies from Fort Thomas, Kentucky, back when it really was a fort. The “Temples of Venus” were doomed. Lou Newton didn’t live to see that order executed. She was among the last of the George Street madams when she died 19 January 1917.

It took a lot of money to run a high-class brothel. There was rent, of course, because many madams rented, rather than owned, their houses. The accouterments were not cheap. Despite the name, houses in “red-light” districts didn’t employ red lights to attract business. Stained-glass windows carried the names of women of negotiable affection. Furniture, also often rented, communicated the quality of the establishment. Champagne flowed in the George Street houses, and so did bribes – to the neighborhood cop on the beat, to the desk sergeant and to the police court judge. It all added up.

And, of course, clothing had to inspire clients to open their pocketbooks. A prostitute’s wardrobe signaled very effectively whether a liaison would run $2 or $25. Lou Newton’s house was top-notch and she kept dressmakers busy to maintain her style. Just how big these investments totaled was revealed after Lou died. A Walnut Hills dressmaker submitted an unpaid bill totaling $1,690 to Lou’s executor, attorney Charles S. Bell. In today’s dollars, after a century of inflation, that’s the equivalent of almost $33,000.

Among the items included on this invoice were two suits of clothing at $300 apiece – or $5,800 apiece today. Another suit cost $275, or $5,300 today. The clincher, though, was a single suit of embroidered underwear, billed at $345. With inflation factored in, that ensemble of unmentionables would cost more than $6,700 in 2018. For comparison, top-of-the-line underwear suits at Pogue’s fetched $15 back then – or about $370 in today’s dollars.

Keep in mind that Lou was somewhere between 52 and 57 when she ordered these items. She had been the madam of her own house since at least 1889. It had been a long time since she needed to personally entertain a customer, but it was widely known that madams often maintained a number of “special” clients who paid top-dollar for the embraces of an experienced woman.

Apparently, Lou still serviced some long-time friends, and she needed to dress for the occasion. The 1900 census indicates how she afforded these luxuries. When the enumerator, John C. Flood, visited 526 George Street, he found Madam Newton as the head of a large female household. Mr. Flood described Lou as a boarding house keeper and 34-year-old Edna Schall and 24-year-old May Walker as housekeepers. It is likely that Edna and May were exactly that – most good-sized brothels employed at least two maids, or a maid and a cook. The other boarders, according to Mr. Flood, were allegedly employed in a variety of occupations. There were two actresses, a stenographer, three laundresses, a clerk and two dressmakers. With two dressmakers in residence, one might wonder why Lou needed to go to Walnut Hills for her outfits. At least one of these alleged “dressmakers,” however, was arrested for loitering, the standard charge when a house of prostitution was raided. Lou Newton, then, employed at least nine prostitutes. It was standard for madams to collect half of each girl’s earnings. Even with fines and bribes factored into the mix, it’s obvious that Lou skimmed enough filthy lucre to buy several sets of $6,000 underwear.

Alas, you can’t take it with you. Lou Newton, aka Louisa Brownfield, is buried near her husband, Ike, in the old Baltimore Pike Cemetery straddling Fairmount and Westwood. The poor dear has no headstone to mark her final resting place. It might be that the executor and a (step?)son gobbled up the remains of an estate built upon decades of lust on long-lost George Street.

And who inherited the underwear?