Shootout on the Juneau Wharf

On July 8, 1898, one of the Wild West’s most infamous con men met his end not in a saloon or a courtroom, but on a weathered dock at the edge of Skagway, Alaska. Jefferson Randolph “Soapy” Smith had made a career out of charming suckers and swindling prospectors, running everything from fake lotteries to rigged card games. He called himself a protector of order, but the people of Skagway saw through the illusion. When Soapy’s gang robbed a returning miner of his gold, the town finally had enough. What followed was a tense standoff between vigilantes and outlaws that exploded into a deadly shootout on the Juneau Wharf. This episode of Dave Does History dives deep into the man, the myth, and the final moments that ended a criminal empire with a crack of gunfire. It’s a true tale of greed, grit, and a town that decided to fight back.

It was a warm July evening in 1898, and the sun was still clinging to the sky above Skagway, Alaska, when a man with a rifle and a reputation walked down to the Juneau Wharf. Jefferson Randolph “Soapy” Smith was no ordinary outlaw. He didn’t rob banks or raid stagecoaches. His weapon of choice had always been charm, deception, and the human tendency to believe that maybe, just maybe, this time they’d be the lucky one. But on this night, his con games had run their course, and Skagway was no longer buying what Soapy was selling.

Soapy was born into Southern gentility in Georgia in 1860, but the Civil War wrecked all that. As a young man, he drifted west and quickly figured out something important. There was more money in fooling people than in working alongside them. He started with the shell game, dabbled in three-card monte, and perfected a soap scam that earned him his nickname. He’d wrap bars of soap in paper, claiming that some had money hidden inside. The crowd would grow, his planted accomplice would “win” a \$100 bill, and the suckers would scramble to buy a chance at their own windfall. But there was never another winning bar. That was Soapy’s brilliance. It looked like theater, smelled like luck, and worked like a machine.

By the 1880s, he was operating a full criminal empire in Denver. His Tivoli Club saloon ran crooked card games, fake lotteries, and bogus stock exchanges. He had city officials in his pocket, police on his payroll, and an aura of generosity that kept the locals off his back. He gave to the poor. He helped the churches. He played the role of benefactor while fleecing travelers who’d never see their money again. When Denver cracked down, he moved to Creede, Colorado, pulling off the same tricks. When Creede fell apart, he set his sights on the gold rush of the Klondike.

Skagway, Alaska, was rough, hungry, and loaded with gold. It was the perfect mark. Soapy set up shop in a saloon he called Jeff Smith’s Parlor and got to work. He brought his gang with him and quickly became the shadow mayor of the town. He created a so-called Skagway Military Company and even got official recognition from the War Department. He ran cons out of back rooms, tricked greenhorns with fake telegraph lines, and managed to control law enforcement through bribes and intimidation. He claimed to be protecting the town from chaos. In reality, he was the source of it.

But Skagway wasn’t just a collection of wide-eyed prospectors and crooked gamblers. There were merchants and settlers who wanted law and order. They saw what Soapy was doing, and they didn’t like it. When one of Soapy’s gang members stole \$2,600 in gold from a miner named John Stewart, the outrage boiled over. Stewart had just returned from the Klondike and was tricked into a rigged card game. When he tried to report the theft, the deputy marshal, who answered to Soapy, told him to keep quiet. The town had had enough.

The Committee of 101, a group of vigilante citizens, formed to challenge Soapy’s grip on Skagway. In response, Soapy claimed to have 317 supporters and printed his own handbills to intimidate the opposition. On July 8, 1898, the Committee called for a meeting at the end of the Juneau Wharf. Word of the gathering made its way to Soapy. He got a note from one of his men that read, “The crowd is angry. If you want to do anything, do it quick.” Soapy downed a few drinks, grabbed his Winchester rifle, and headed out.

Frank Reid, a local city engineer and former bartender who had worked under Soapy’s thumb, was one of four men posted at the wharf to keep Soapy’s crew out of the meeting. Reid was the only one armed. The others were Jesse Murphy, Captain Josias Tanner, and John Landers. Around 9:15 p.m., Soapy appeared at the entrance of the wharf. He told his men to stay behind and walked alone toward the meeting.

As Soapy approached, Landers and another man leapt off the side of the wharf to get out of his way. Tanner and Murphy watched him pass without interference. Then Soapy reached Reid. The two men exchanged words, and then, in an instant, everything changed. Accounts differ on who moved first. Some say Soapy raised his rifle to club Reid. Others say Reid tried to draw his revolver. What we know is that the two men clashed violently. Reid grabbed the barrel of Soapy’s rifle. Soapy broke free and swung again. Reid managed to fire his revolver, but the first round misfired. The second hit Soapy in the arm. A third struck him in the thigh. Soapy fired his rifle and hit Reid in the groin and abdomen.

Reid went down. Soapy staggered. Murphy rushed forward, wrestled the rifle from Soapy’s hands, and without hesitation, turned it on him. Soapy shouted, “My God, don’t shoot!” Murphy pulled the trigger. The bullet hit Soapy in the heart. He dropped where he stood. Dead before he hit the planks.

The rest of Soapy’s gang backed away. Someone shouted, “They’ve killed Soapy. If you don’t clear out quick, they’ll kill you too.” And with that, the criminal empire of Jefferson Randolph Smith unraveled in the length of a gunshot echo.

In the days that followed, vigilantes took over. The Soap Gang was arrested or ran for the hills. Stewart’s gold was recovered in a trunk behind Soapy’s saloon, all but \$600 accounted for. Reid died from his wounds twelve days later. His funeral was the largest in Skagway’s history. His gravestone reads, “He gave his life for the honor of Skagway.”

Soapy Smith was buried just outside the town cemetery. Not quite part of the town. Not quite part of the wilderness. Fitting for a man who never truly belonged to either. Today, July 8 is remembered in Skagway and even in Hollywood with an annual Soapy Smith Wake. There are costumes, card games, and toasts to the man who conned his way into the history books.

But the real legacy of Soapy Smith isn’t in the gold he stole or the scams he ran. It’s in the reminder that for all the charm and confidence in the world, sooner or later, every con runs out of road. On the Juneau Wharf, the people of Skagway stopped being marks and took back their town. Soapy played his last hand and lost. And history, with all its quiet judgment, closed the book on the man who once sold soap and walked like a king.