tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25732530013385689042024-02-19T16:25:18.845-08:00Old Smoke BioJoin me on a journey of rediscovery as I delve into 19th century America and the life of John Morrissey, an Irish born champion bare-knuckle boxer and United States Congressman.Andrew K. F. Amelinckxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03625189659258963004noreply@blogger.comBlogger25125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2573253001338568904.post-7469277279926433722015-10-30T06:04:00.002-07:002015-10-30T06:04:59.558-07:00My book "Gilded Age Murder & Mayhem in the Berkshires" is now available from Arcadia Publishing/The History Press. Fourteen heart-pounding true crime stories from between 1870 and 1911 await! Check it out <a href="https://www.arcadiapublishing.com/9781626197985/Gilded-Age-Murder--Mayhem-in-the-Berkshires">here</a>.<br />
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Andrew K. F. Amelinckxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03625189659258963004noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2573253001338568904.post-90065159365366289142014-08-03T06:44:00.001-07:002014-08-03T06:44:56.557-07:00I'm happy to announce I'll be having my book about murder and mayhem in
the Gilded Age Berkshires (1870-early 1900s) published by the History
Press. Look for it in the fall of 2015. I'll update readers on my
progress as it moves along. Andrew K. F. Amelinckxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03625189659258963004noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2573253001338568904.post-48874258428637148222013-10-26T06:59:00.001-07:002013-10-26T06:59:33.264-07:00Here's a<a href="http://modernfarmer.com/tag/old-time-farm-crime/"> link </a>to my series on old time farm crime for Modern Farmer. Andrew K. F. Amelinckxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03625189659258963004noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2573253001338568904.post-67155759753832486612013-07-16T05:55:00.001-07:002013-07-16T05:55:36.103-07:00More of my old time crime from Modern Farmer. This one on the horrific, and real crime, of <a href="http://modernfarmer.com/2013/07/old-time-farm-crime-a-crime-of-a-different-feather/">ostrich feather theft</a>. Andrew K. F. Amelinckxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03625189659258963004noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2573253001338568904.post-79594794378543437572013-06-22T05:12:00.000-07:002013-06-22T05:14:42.920-07:00I've begun writing a bimonthly series for Modern Farmer magazine called Old-Time Farm Crime. Here's the <a href="http://modernfarmer.com/2013/06/old-time-farm-crime-dick-turpin-horse-thief/">first piece</a>, a look at an 18th century horse thief and highwayman named Dick Turpin and some contemporary examples of equine thievery. Andrew K. F. Amelinckxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03625189659258963004noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2573253001338568904.post-1587533561198559312012-11-04T08:31:00.001-08:002012-11-04T08:31:45.156-08:00A compendium of John Morrissey related images<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />Andrew K. F. Amelinckxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03625189659258963004noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2573253001338568904.post-13471912760107884312012-01-02T07:08:00.000-08:002012-01-02T07:18:39.998-08:00An August day in New York, 1858<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg80iHAZ6thkoR1voKV-QTPmk60_UsCdhVV-dM6oFqeSARyUDo1-EJDSD1_VW0jJILxq8lFixDk_SvkNBvAoTACnBKeNYIB_Sf3qaq8-cNzQKTpFMyCVlfLrHXKKxRDwuQuv6CcGgFrtnSA/s1600/27671r.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 233px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg80iHAZ6thkoR1voKV-QTPmk60_UsCdhVV-dM6oFqeSARyUDo1-EJDSD1_VW0jJILxq8lFixDk_SvkNBvAoTACnBKeNYIB_Sf3qaq8-cNzQKTpFMyCVlfLrHXKKxRDwuQuv6CcGgFrtnSA/s320/27671r.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5693053407821036162" /></a><br />In my quest for information on John Morrissey I spend a lot of time looking through newspapers of yesteryear and often get so drawn into unrelated stories it takes me much longer than I’d like to get my research done. I thought I’d share one from the New York Times of Aug. 3, 1858 as way of explanation for my wandering eyes. <br /><br />The U.S. Marshall’s Office busted two men for counterfeiting Aug. 2 after staking out a Duane Street (Lower Manhattan) company that specialized in metal plating. The electroplating technique was fairly new having come over from England in the 1840s, so our two criminals — Charles Howard and James Ryal — were somewhat innovative. The marshals arrested the men, who were working together, but came into the shop at separate times, each carrying about 100 bogus coins that resembled half-dollars. <br /><br />Nothing was said about the proprietor of the establishment who, it would seem, had to be in on the scheme.<br /><br />The two marshals, after locking the men up in the Tombs, Manhattan’s infamous jail, went to the men’s base of operations on Eighth Avenue, slipped in through a window and discovered the counterfeiters’ tools, along with fake coins in various stages of manufacture as well as burglary equipment. <br /><br />There was no mention on whether the marshals had a warrant when they broke into the apartment through a skylight. <br /><br />Unfortunately, there was no follow up story so the fates of our two alleged criminals have been lost to history. <br /><br />If you liked this tiny slice of life from the annals of crime, check out my newest blog “<a href="http://oldtimecrime.blogspot.com">Old Time Crime</a>.”Andrew K. F. Amelinckxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03625189659258963004noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2573253001338568904.post-88294014666198689282011-05-30T06:57:00.000-07:002011-07-11T10:34:57.974-07:00A few words about Faro<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4TvQIhqoxK6t7rzKqhEa293uvdE2na7MnadbXxqveuzfxDepVY3SnV0JCoB__b4YIaAE1rVxJbt6PLnvfU0p_zpRDQs0IsGrps56fWvBFy7Kaul_O6S5erzDW0JwEoQs4auFd-IVFJgqu/s1600/Farolayout.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 209px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4TvQIhqoxK6t7rzKqhEa293uvdE2na7MnadbXxqveuzfxDepVY3SnV0JCoB__b4YIaAE1rVxJbt6PLnvfU0p_zpRDQs0IsGrps56fWvBFy7Kaul_O6S5erzDW0JwEoQs4auFd-IVFJgqu/s320/Farolayout.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5617007276140832146" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVY5c4bWdZYjSScIu0lwtVh1MwT20aUjbriFiJamcaJSEpjizhRHm_UnhIkwM-YDWrSF36d5dfXJ-pAOikgSWwI_CriZs7tsN4iW1bryV7wKUAdUoz2eeYgqEIJxd4nSIUU5bmsSyTf9m7/s1600/3b12223r.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 226px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVY5c4bWdZYjSScIu0lwtVh1MwT20aUjbriFiJamcaJSEpjizhRHm_UnhIkwM-YDWrSF36d5dfXJ-pAOikgSWwI_CriZs7tsN4iW1bryV7wKUAdUoz2eeYgqEIJxd4nSIUU5bmsSyTf9m7/s320/3b12223r.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5617007116381410994" /></a><br />Faro was the name of the game and it made John Morrissey a lot of money, enough — along with his winnings from boxing — to help bankroll the biggest gambling house and horse racing operation in the East: Saratoga Springs, New York. <br /><br />Faro was a card game of pure chance that originated in France in the late-17th century when it was known as Pharaon, which when it found its way to England not long after was shortened to Pharo. In the United States it was known as Faro or Farobank and was the most popular card game of the 19th century. The game's popularity was due to its simple rules and fairly good odds of winning as compared with other games such as Black Jack. <br /><br />The odds were so good that nearly every game was rigged, and yet the suckers kept on coming back for another go at "bucking the tiger."<br />The game consisted of a playing board and a faro box, a mechanical device from which playing cards were dealt. <br /><br />The board, about three feet long by 1 1/2 feet wide and covered in green felt, had the 13 cards of a single suit — often spades — painted on it. <br /><br />Players, known as punters, would choose which card to lay their money on and place chips on the painted version in hopes that the corresponding card (it could be of a different suit) would come up.<br /><br />The dealer, called the banker, would place a deck of cards face-up inside the faro box (which had a cutaway that revealed the top card) and pull three cards. The first was called the Soda, which was discarded to the left of the faro box. The second was known as the loser and any money placed on that card went to the banker, with one exception. <br /><br />Players could choose to bet on what they believed would be the losing card by "coppering," that is placing a copper washer, purchased, as were the regular chips, from the banker, on the appropriate space. The banker and player would then split the pot. <br /><br />The third card was the the winner. Anyone lucky enough to have placed their chips on that card would double their money. <br /><br />If two of the same cards were both winner and loser in a particular hand, called a "split"— say two aces, queens, etc. — the banker would get half the chips staked on them. <br /><br />This was the dealer's advantage, but was apparently not one lucrative enough to keep the house from using a variety of techniques to cheat players. <br /><br />There were several ways of cheating, two main ways of which involved the faro box. <br /><br />The first involved convincing a mark to be the banker, with the players in on the scam. A rigged faro box would be used that produced cards with a distinctive "tell," using either sanded or slightly misshapen cards, that clued the players in as to which card would win for them and which for the bank. <br /><br />The methods employed by bankers to cheat the players also often involved gaffed boxes that allowed the dealer to spit out whatever card they chose. This was apparently a very expensive device to buy. <br /><br />The practice of using gaffed boxes was so widespread there were mail-order companies that specialized in them. But not all dealers used crooked boxes, many employed the old-fashioned method of card manipulation, which, while requiring some skill, didn't require the outlay of cash for a gaffed box. <br /><br />The trick was to ensure that the banker came up with as many splits as possible, since they allowed the banker to keep half the winnings. A specific way of shuffling that helped guarantee splits was known as "the faro dealer's shuffle." For more information as to specifics go to the <a href="http://sharpsandflats.com/ ">Sharps and Flats website</a>.<br /><br />In 1850, 19-year-old John Morrissey sailed for California with the vague intention of prospecting for gold, but instead he and his friend Daniel Cunningham set up a faro bank and let the gold come to them without nary a pick in the dirt. After returning to New York, he continued in the gambling business and eventually owned a number of high-class dens throughout the city, before turning his sights to creating a gambling mecca in Saratoga. <br /><br />While faro remained popular for more than a century it had died out with the shuttering of the last faro bank in Nevada in 1985.Andrew K. F. Amelinckxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03625189659258963004noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2573253001338568904.post-51410471291881084532011-01-17T06:00:00.000-08:002011-01-18T06:09:05.925-08:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEir6Qtj57RNaw-e8rVnknGWbQBhQD8vGJSiP7MO5HFTq1JK8XE-xew2dOFw5P9tqSJ7K0o-9-n5ZEXVKL5VWSGD7c5UFHI28dOSMTsVIFNV-IlUTcJtyh_5wDMvKZUcOVH_HB8GYwMLuYMu/s1600/05890r.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 223px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEir6Qtj57RNaw-e8rVnknGWbQBhQD8vGJSiP7MO5HFTq1JK8XE-xew2dOFw5P9tqSJ7K0o-9-n5ZEXVKL5VWSGD7c5UFHI28dOSMTsVIFNV-IlUTcJtyh_5wDMvKZUcOVH_HB8GYwMLuYMu/s320/05890r.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5563168260500521234" /></a><br />After an extended hiatus from posting here I've decided it was high time to get back into writing for Old Smoke Bio on a much more regular basis. While away, I have been working on the actual book fairly regularly, but with a year that included the death of my father, moving my mother across the country and a thousand other things pulling me in other directions, it's been a challenge. I've begun doing a radio show on oral history, <a href="http://www.wgxc.org/archives/1988">Difficult Histories</a>, plus two other blogs,<a href="//thetruesentence.blogspot.com">the true sentence</a>, and <a href="http://lookreadlisten.blogspot.com">look,read,listen</a>, not to mention holding down my regular job as a crime reporter. Anyhow, I'm including a teaser for a piece I wrote for a local magazine called "Columbia County History & Heritage," about Morrissey's role in bringing down William "Boss" Tweed. The article also includes the part played by Samuel Tilden, the man who should have been America's 19th president, but was cheated out of the job in a back-room deal. The magazine can be purchased for $5.00 U.S. <a href="http://www.cchsny.org/">here</a>, or if you can stand the wait, it is supposed to be archived on the site for a free download, but it may be awhile before that happens.<br /><br />On October 28, 1871 William “Boss” Tweed sat behind his desk in New York City waiting for the sheriff to arrest him. Once Tweed was one of the most powerful men in America, his office the epicenter of a vast political network, the tendrils—and associated earnings—of which always led back to Tweed. But now he was about to be arrested like a common thief. It seemed that the city which was once his personal fiefdom now assailed him from all sides, starting with the newspapers and the cartoonist Thomas Nast, with his “damned pictures.” But of all his enemies Tweed had special enmity for John Morrissey, his former compatriot. <br /><br />Born on February 12, 1831, John was the only son of Julia and Timothy Morrissey. The couple was of the poorer classes of Templemore, a town of about 5,000 souls in County Tipperary, Ireland. Poverty and a feeling of being hobbled in their own country may have helped in the Morrissey’s decision to immigrate to Troy, New York three years after John was born.<br /> <br />Morrissey began working full-time at age twelve. His father was a poor laborer and he needed John to help feed the family that included seven sisters. The boy’s many jobs included one where he transferred red-hot iron from the fire to a water trough at Burden’s Iron Works. He would make a name for himself as a local brawler, which he would eventually parlay into a career as a boxer. He won the title of “Champion of America” in 1853 in a 37-round fight that took place on a tiny triangle of land known as “Hell’s Acres." <br /> <br />Morrissey held on to his title for six years and went out on top, beating John C. Heenan, known as the Benicia Boy, in 11 rounds that took just under 30 minutes on a marshy point of land jutting into Lake Erie called Long Point in Ontario, Canada. It was Morrissey’s last fight; his wife, Susie, finally won out. She had bigger plans for John. It was time for him to parlay his fighting career into a political one. Morrissey the politician was born. <br /> <br />Morrissey’s relationship with Tammany and Tweed stretched back to before his boxing career had begun, to the late 1840s when he had come from Troy to seek his fortune. He became a “shoulder hitter” for the political organization, dragging voters to the polls to ensure that the Tammany Democrats won the day. He moved up in the organization and was elected to the United States House of Representatives in 1866 with Tammany’s backing, which, according to him, he paid for handsomely. But, said Morrissey, he did not have to buy the voters, telling a reporter years later that except for drinks he did not spend a penny. Instead he won the electorate over by meeting as many of them as humanly possible. If he encountered a man who was not planning on voting for him he would continue visiting him until he would. One can imagine the effect on wavering voters of being stalked by a well-known boxer, whose first job in New York City was a shoulder–hitter. <br /><br /> Reelected in 1868, he had by then earned the respect of his fellow House members who found him considerate, keenly interested in the important issues of the day, and, above all, honest. He was well regarded within in his own party as well as by Republicans. It was at this time that Morrissey’s relationship with Tammany, and more specifically with Tweed’s ring, began to falter.<br /> <br />William Maeger Tweed was born on Manhattan’s Lower East Side to Scotch Irish parents in 1823. Tweed was an apprentice in his father’s chair factory before joining the Americus, also known as the Big 6, volunteer Fire Company, eventually becoming its foreman. In nineteenth-century New York one could not even consider a career in politics without ties to the volunteer fireman who held the power of preserving a city filled with wooden structures that were always one matchstick away from conflagration. <br /> <br />Tweed held some fairly important political posts in the 1850s—He was elected to the United States House of Representatives in 1852 and the New York City Board of Advisors in 1856. However, it was being named the "Grand Sachem" of Tammany Hall in 1858 that opened the floodgates of power and wealth for him. In his position as Grand Sachem he could name whom he wanted to positions in the city government, for which many were willing to pay handsomely. He thus began to build upon the already well-established practice of patronage. <br /> <br />The Sons of St. Tammany was born of fellowship and patriotism in 1786 but soon found a new reason for being: politics. By 1798 Tammany was aligned with the Jeffersonians, under the leadership of Aaron Burr. Its true power and longevity developed through patronage, which Tweed perfected. Tammany’s political ideology was simple; keep politics friendly and provide jobs, patronage, and even citizenship to those willing to vote “early and often.” Their courting of newly arrived immigrants, especially the Irish, who were pouring in starting in the 1840s due to the potato famine, gave them a huge electoral power base. If that did not work they could always stuff the ballots. <br /> <br />With Tweed at its helm Tammany and the city government was soon populated with a number of men willing to break the law for personal gain on a level that had not been seen before. Among these were New York City Comptroller, Richard "Slippery Dick" Connolly, Mayor Abraham Oakey Hall, known as "Elegant Oakey,” and Peter B. Sweeny, the city’s corporation counsel. From 1854 to 1871 it is estimated that between $30 and $200 million was sucked out of the city’s coffers by Tweed and his ring, which in today’s terms would mean over a billion dollars. Their main scam was quite simple. They would overpay by up to 10 times on goods and services with companies that were in on it and take their cut from the inflated portion of the bill. Their crowning achievement may have been the county courthouse, which cost twelve million to build, with two-thirds of that cost being fraudulent.<br /> <br />In April 1870 the New York City charter was pushed through Albany giving Tweed and his gang full control of the city’s treasury. It allowed Mayor Hall to appoint all city officials as well. The charter also made it possible for Tammany to reduce the city taxes by 2 percent of assessed property value. As a result this move doubled the city’s debt to $90 million in a two-year period, between 1869 and 1871. Tilden said that the New York City Charter was sprung upon him but that he was virulently against it. He gave a speech in front of Tweed, by then a state senator, and the rest of the Senate before the bill’s passage, in which he railed against the charter’s potential abuses. But still he did not act. <br /> <br />Morrissey was one of the first Tammany politicians to break with Tweed, splitting in 1868 during his second term in Congress, helping to form a new group of New York Democrats called the Young Democracy. They had plans to ouster Tweed from Tammany Hall but Tweed learned of the plan and used policemen to prevent Young Democracy members from entering the building on the night of the planned coup in March 1870. While the political coup was unsuccessful, pressures from other corners would soon assist in the Ring’s unraveling. Among these was a German-born cartoonist named Thomas Nast. He was born in Landau, Germany in 1840, the son of an army trombonist. He immigrated to New York City with his family six years later. He would become the most celebrated, and influential, cartoonist of his day through his association with Harper's Weekly, where he worked from 1859 to 1860 and from 1862 until 1886. The stalwart Republican tended to see everything in stark black or white and around 1869 he turned his gaze, and pen, toward Tweed and his ring. With the onslaught of satirical cartoons and anti-Tammany editorials from New York City papers the tide was beginning to turn.<br /> <br />On October 28, 1871, it was Tweed’s turn to be brought to bear for his past misdeeds. At 12:30 PM Wheeler Hazard Peckham, a special prosecutor for the state, walked into the sheriff’s office and handed a deputy the arrest order for Tweed on charges filed by Marshall Champlain, New York State Attorney General. An hour later Sheriff Matthew Brennan, who had replaced O’Brian, walked into Tweed’s office at the Public Works building—Tweed had been appointed commissioner by Mayor Hall the year before—and served the papers. “Good morning, Mr. Tweed,” he said pleasantly. <br />“Good morning,” Tweed replied softly. “Mr. Tweed, I have an order for your arrest,” the sheriff told him. “I expected it,” Tweed replied, “but not quite so soon.”<br /> <br />Convicted in December 1873 on 204 charges of misdemeanor criminal fraud , Tweed served one year of a 12-year prison sentence and was immediately rearrested on civil charges upon his release. In 1875 Tweed fled to Cuba and eventually Spain. He was caught, due, in part, to his being recognized through one of Nast’s cartoons featuring Tweed. The cartoon showed Tweed holding two boys by the collar with one hand, and holding a billy club in the other and stating: "If all the people want is to have somebody arrested, I'll have you plunderers convicted. You will be allowed to escape; nobody will be hurt; and then Tilden will go to the White House, and I to Albany as Governor." A Spanish official, unable to read English, apparently thought Tweed was a child kidnapper. <br /> <br />By this time Morrissey had been elected to the New York State Senate in 1875, running on an anti-Tammany platform, known as the “Irving Hall Democracy.” After Tweed’s downfall Morrissey shared power with ”Honest” John Kelly, but was eventually ousted in a power play by his former political ally. Morrissey fought back, winning Tweed’s old district and helping to break Tammany’s hold on the city, at least for a few years.<br /><br />Morrissey won a second term in the state senate but practically killed himself in the process. He went down south for several months, hoping that the balmier weather would improve his health but it did not. During this same time Tweed, back in jail after his Spanish adventure, was also close to death. Tweed died in the Ludlow Street prison in Manhattan on April 18, 1878. Although he had severe pneumonia, as did Morrissey, it was his heart that killed him. His family had practically abandoned him by now but one of his daughters, Elizabeth, was by his side. He mumbled out a number of his enemy’s names and said that they would probably be happy now that he was dead. Morrissey died shortly thereafter. On May 1, 1878, Morrissey’s wife, Susie, and a few of their servants stood nearby. When Morrissey finally succumbed, the entire state mourned his death. Tammany, however, continued to maintain a stranglehold on New York City until the 1960s.Andrew K. F. Amelinckxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03625189659258963004noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2573253001338568904.post-83350798258245943932010-05-08T10:51:00.000-07:002010-05-08T12:36:50.008-07:00California dreaming<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuV6f1gLAWdlNhpP8nXed55kNOSF8Hb5sgoI6xT7fl6oppbUsvoCC_Yk1_QpKutHIUJi9ForDboD2-JsyFEA1iLoWglTHmlJW0FysB7JC3pZVGkdzAEzhGp40msVK2DYlnDLo6TIA5u-Ou/s1600/3f03792r.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 216px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuV6f1gLAWdlNhpP8nXed55kNOSF8Hb5sgoI6xT7fl6oppbUsvoCC_Yk1_QpKutHIUJi9ForDboD2-JsyFEA1iLoWglTHmlJW0FysB7JC3pZVGkdzAEzhGp40msVK2DYlnDLo6TIA5u-Ou/s320/3f03792r.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5468961516551680658" border="0" /></a><br />A rag-tag fleet of boats converged on Mare Island, just outside of Vallejo, California. The steamship Red Jacket, carrying John Morrissey—the contender—and his friends pulled alongside the West Point where George Thompson, newly crowned Champion of California, waited with his entourage. It was a broiling August day and the mosquitoes that plagued the mile wide strip of land named for a Spanish general’s horse were swarming in huge numbers. It was time for the bout that would help put California on the pugilistic map and the 900 men pouring off the various vessels were, like the insects hovering around their heads, ready for blood…<br /><br />So began Morrissey’s plunge into the world of professional boxing, at least as professional as mid-19th century boxing got, which wasn’t very. Speaking of professional, I’ve been doing research on Morrissey’s time in California and the boxing scene there and have found that the newspapers of the era were rather slapdash affairs, filled with vague reports and rumors, unless they actually had a reporter on the scene. When they did have a writer there, the stories contain reams of minutia (which I of course prefer) written in the florid prose of the day.<br /><br />For instance, the first professional fight in San Francisco that was well publicized came off in 1850 between a fighter named James Kelly and another man simply known as “McGee.”<br /><br />This casual attitude extended to other parts of life in old California. On my quest to track down more information on “A man named McGee,” which was apparently his full title, I came across a criminal case involving the Kelly-McGee match. It seems that after Kelly was bested by McGee, he was consoled with $500 from the door. He immediately got drunk with his friend, referred to by everyone as "The Bear Hunter" and was robbed of the money. In the ensuing investigation, handled by the Committee of Vigilance, McGee’s first name never comes up.<br /><br />As an aside, Kelly found out who robbed him and, upon threats of death, recouped his loss by becoming the new proprietor of a bar called “The Port Phillip House.”<br /><br />My search for the elusive first name of Mr. McGee continues…<br /><br />On another note, I’ve found a number of incorrect dates at to when the Morrissey-Thompson fight occurred. It was Aug. 20, 1852, a Friday. Morrissey won.Andrew K. F. Amelinckxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03625189659258963004noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2573253001338568904.post-50265844556117699752010-03-15T07:39:00.000-07:002014-01-25T05:48:58.754-08:00Bottoms Up: New York's Distilling History<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiABBKiimSK03_gPCnC_GLy90yyndJKYEl1TDTQBdNLvRvL7nKEzS4FMznnL8ZumxqF2Bbuix1_KDTBnePero_9DE9QtbjNI5QzEbtGiN9dhbAdRwG-kEc1-3QJT02J1Em4qFwx9zwOcigt/s1600-h/0733r.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiABBKiimSK03_gPCnC_GLy90yyndJKYEl1TDTQBdNLvRvL7nKEzS4FMznnL8ZumxqF2Bbuix1_KDTBnePero_9DE9QtbjNI5QzEbtGiN9dhbAdRwG-kEc1-3QJT02J1Em4qFwx9zwOcigt/s320/0733r.jpg" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5448923905083400290" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 320px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 209px;" /></a><br />
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John Morrissey was known as a drinker, a habit that got him into a number of tussles in his youth and may have contributed, in part, to his early death. So what was his poison? He tended to drink wine and brandy, but wasn't above imbibing in whiskey and later, as his star began to rise, champagne.<br />
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While much of the wine and related inebriates were imported from Europe during Morrissey's time, distilled alcohol was mostly produced stateside and quite a lot was produced in New York, which had a long distilling history.<br />
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The distilling of grains and fruits to produce alcohol has been intimately entwined with the history of America, from George Washington plying his soldiers with spirits to the rise of a national movement that temporarily banned alcohol across the country in the 1920s and gave rise to the bootlegger. New York State once had a thriving distilling industry, but it was the temperance movement and prohibition that helped kill it.<br />
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Beginning in the early-1600s with the Dutch colonization of what is now New York State, alcohol played an important part in the lives of the settlers. The Dutch in particular enjoyed their tippling and drank heartily of beer, brandy and eventually, rum.<br />
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“Weddings and funerals and all occasions of feasts and merry-making were opportunities for hard drinking, of which the guests took full advantage,” wrote Esther Singleton in her 1909 book “Dutch New York.”<br />
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Alcohol, and the tavern, played such a central role in the lives of the colonists that the law took drunkenness into consideration in contractual agreements and even criminal cases. A man had 24-hours to sober up after making a drunken deal, repudiating his actions the day after they were made.<br />
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While the Dutch West India Company, the chartered Dutch trade organization that held dominion over part of North America, imported much of the hard liquor to the colony, It didn’t take long for the newcomers to begin distilling their own alcohol.<br />
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Willem Kieft, the director general for the colony from 1638 to 1647, before being fired for mismanagement, was distilling brandy in Long Island, apparently encroaching on his employer’s privilege to control the product.<br />
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According to Harvey W. Wiley, writing in 1919, it was likely that what was referred to as brandy during this period in North America was not distilled from grapes, but rather from grain and would be considered a whiskey today.<br />
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By the mid-1600s New Amsterdam (New York City) and the Hudson Valley saw a number of distilleries of both brandy and gin begin production.<br />
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Gin was considered to be a drink of the lower classes, but was none-the-less popular. Home-grown liquor was also plentiful, and inventive, being made from peaches, pears, sweet potatoes and apples.<br />
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Dutch colonist Adrian Van der Donck, writing in the mid-1600s, claimed that the English even made a liquor from watermelons. But all these would soon be eclipsed by a product being produced in the neighboring English colony to the east—“that cussed liquor, Rhum, rumbullion, or kill-devil.”<br />
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The above was how 17th century New England colonist John Josselyn described rum, distilled from molasses, which began to be produced in huge quantities in New England by the 1670s.<br />
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Molasses from the West Indies came to New England where it was converted to rum, shipped to Africa and traded for slaves.<br />
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By this time New Netherland was firmly in the hands of the British, and as such, rum became popular, and rum production, although small in comparison with Massachusetts, came to New York.<br />
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If gin and brandy defined the Dutch era in New York and rum that of the revolutionary period, it was whiskey that exemplified the young country, and New York.<br />
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By the early-1800s the continued strife with England, specifically the War of 1812, dried up the country’s supply of molasses and so Americans turned to whiskey produced from native grains and corn.<br />
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Early whiskey distilling used water power to grind the grains or corn, with the stills nearby. Creating the mash used to produce the final product was mixed by hand. Most whiskey at the time was raw, unaged and fiery.<br />
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George Washington helped the whiskey industry take off in America by becoming a distiller himself after retiring from public life. He operated the largest distillery in America at the time, producing 11,000 gallons of whiskey in 1799 at his farm at Mount Vernon.<br />
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By 1825, New York State had more than a thousand small distilleries, and produced a large quantity of the nation's whiskey. But the country’s thirst appeared to be on the wane.<br />
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Hunt’s merchant magazine of 1842 decried the decline in the whiskey trade that year.<br />
“A most remarkable reduction has taken place in the demand for this article during the past twelve months. The demand was much reduced a year ago; but now it is not half what it was then,” wrote Freeman Hunt. “The distillers, four or five years since, were running their works night and day, pressed with the demand for whiskey, and consuming rye and corn in immense quantities; at one time four thousand five hundred bushels daily. Now the consumption is less than two thousand bushels daily, and is rapidly diminishing.”<br />
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This decline coincided with the rise of the temperance movement.<br />
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As early as the Dutch period, people complained of the drunkenness prevalent in the colony and it only got worse.<br />
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The government cracked down on drunkenness, forcing taverns to close at nine at night and shuttering them during church services.<br />
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In Massachusetts, Increase Mather, a Puritan minister influential in the colony’s government, complained in 1686 that “it is an unhappy thing that in later years a kind of drink called Rum has been common among us. They that are poor, and wicked too, can for a penny or two-pence make themselves drunk.”<br />
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That colony also took steps to try and stave the inebriation, with little result.<br />
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The mid-19th century saw the strongest backlash against drinking with a number of New England ministers and reformers take up the teetotaling banner, with barnstorming lectures across the country.<br />
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Soon a number of well-organized groups were formed—The Prohibition Party in 1869, the Women's Christian Temperance Foundation in 1874 and the Anti-Saloon League of America in 1893, among many.<br />
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In fiscal year 1917 New York State was in the top seven producers of distilled spirits in the country, but two years later, with the passing of the 18th Amendment to the U.S. Constitution, Prohibition began and New York’s distilling industry died.Andrew K. F. Amelinckxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03625189659258963004noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2573253001338568904.post-16878099935152740622010-02-12T15:46:00.000-08:002010-02-12T15:48:45.395-08:00Happy 179th birthday J.M. You're a lucky man to have the same birthday as my lovely wife!Andrew K. F. Amelinckxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03625189659258963004noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2573253001338568904.post-88066154516422885862010-01-29T05:49:00.000-08:002010-01-29T06:29:35.781-08:00How we played: A look back at the history of winter sports in New York<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaJ4yr02OyCg9TQIgCdWMHU1oEES8R3wVHMa3yC6nooldEM6y5uNMRA9eRKmct4uunN5MP2XpnuvPn33zXTw5YlSqzkVjxuZyu8YoFUnFTVopLvYYOTZqJ0IxM5NCQ5eIaHtODOnJsSe6V/s1600-h/winter-sports.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 231px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaJ4yr02OyCg9TQIgCdWMHU1oEES8R3wVHMa3yC6nooldEM6y5uNMRA9eRKmct4uunN5MP2XpnuvPn33zXTw5YlSqzkVjxuZyu8YoFUnFTVopLvYYOTZqJ0IxM5NCQ5eIaHtODOnJsSe6V/s320/winter-sports.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5432166810205628914" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Editors note: This originally appeared in the Register-Star in a different form. I've edited the piece to only include winter activities that would have been popular during John Morrissey's lifetime. I've also included a different introduction.</span><br /><br />New York City in the mid-19th century was often a place of abject despair, filled with disease and death. But even the poorer classes weren't above a snowball fight after a snow storm to enliven a desultory existence. Winter sports such as ice skating became hugely popular during Morrissey's lifetime, but had their beginnings years before.<br /><br />When the Dutch settled New York they brought with them a number of winter sports, including ice skating and hockey.17th century skates were made of iron and wood and were often attached to the wearer’s shoes by leather straps. Skating matches were common, but in some areas skating was used as much for business as pleasure. Charles Wooley, an Englishman who visited New York in the 1670s said he found it admirable “to see men and women as it were flying upon their skates from place to place with markets upon their Heads and Backs.”<br /><br />A form of ice hockey was also brought over from the Netherlands as well and, according to some, the word hockey is derived from the Dutch slang word for a goal—hokkie—which roughly translates as “doghouse.”<br /><br />Ice skating had been around for thousands of years by the time the Dutch brought the sport to New York, but it would take the Industrial Revolution to popularize the sport. By the mid-19th century ice skating was becoming a craze among the middle and upper classes, so much so that many American artists began to paint images depicting the sport.<br /><br />While some of the Dutch sports became part of the American fabric, other died out over the years, including a game that involved rolling a disk across the ice. “Cleverly thrown, it would roll a long distance. When it fell, it was thrown again. He who covered the most ground, in a certain number of throws, while the disc rolled upright won the game,” wrote Esther Singleton in her 1909 book “Dutch New York.”<br /><br />Another game, brought to America by Scottish immigrants in the early 19th century, continues to be popular in many parts of the world and even parts of the United States, but has nearly died out in the Hudson Valley. The sport’s history goes back to the 1500s where it was played in Scotland and Holland, with the Scottish codifying its rules around 1807. According to the Ardsley Curling Club Web site, the game involves members of the team sliding 42 pound polished granite stones down a 146 foot long sheet of ice helped by the sweeping of teammates to melt the ice and control the distance and direction of the stone. The closest stones to the target score points. The typical game consists of eight innings. Located in Irvington, in Westchester County, the Ardsley Curling Club was formed in 1932 and is one of only a few clubs left in the region. Both New York City and Albany were centers for curling, both having large populations of Scottish stone masons, and small clubs remain in both cities today.<br /><br />The late 1800s were curling’s heyday in New York with clubs up and down the state. But, according to John Kerr, writing in “Curling in Canada and the United States,” in 1909, the sport was beginning to wane within the state by the turn of the century.<br /><br />“The younger generation don't seem to have the same sentiment, nor are they imbued with the same love for the traditions of the game, or the grand old land that has given to the whole world the best, the cleanest, and manliest of sports that is played outdoors,” he wrote. “There are a few of us left yet who are ready to make any reasonable sacrifice to the end that curling in the States is to go on and progress.”<br /><br />Curling remains hugely popular in Minnesota and Wisconsin as well as Scotland and Canada and became an Olympic medal sport in 1998.<br /><br />A winter sport that has risen in the United States from an obscure activity of California Gold Rush minors to a national pastime is snow skiing, especially the Alpine or down hill variety.<br /> Skiing had been a part of Nordic cultures for thousands of years before making its way to the United States with Nordic and German immigrants.<br /><br />In the 1850s skis were in use on the West Coast during the gold rush, but didn’t catch on until the next century.<br /><br />Ice yachting, the sport of the Robber Barons, came into the fore during Morrissey's time. These wooden hulled machines were the apex of speed and style in the mid-19th century, able to reach speeds of 70 mph or more. The Hudson River Ice Yacht Club, formed in 1885 by John Aspinwall Roosevelt, uncle of 32nd U.S. President Franklin D. Roosevelt, still exists today with around 60 members.<br /><br />While not a sport per se, sleigh riding was popular in the area since the time of the founding of New Amsterdam. While sleighs served as transport they also served as a means to an end, with people taking rides out into the country for entertainment.<br /><br />Sarah Kemble Knight writing of her visit to New York in 1707 commented on the variety and number of sleighs that were present on one excursion. “I believe we mett 50 or 60 slays that day — they fly with great swiftness and some are so furious that they’le turn out of the path for none except a Loaden Cart,” she wrote. According to Singleton, the Dutch often made their sleighs into fantastic shapes, “such as animals, ships, fabulous monsters, or shells, carved, gilded, and brightly painted.”And while it has almost completely passed away every winter around the holidays the sounds and images of this pastime come to life through the classic carol that begins “dashing through the snow...”Andrew K. F. Amelinckxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03625189659258963004noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2573253001338568904.post-86593030687991313602009-08-29T06:06:00.000-07:002010-10-14T15:51:17.073-07:00Samuel Tilden and the 1876 race for president<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7RtRa0Qf4hHaXR4CFa4eMmZASiswvBGC8f7AXR8bs-TsewxA2-pDg3Dz_O2e0_iKQigCX7DubB7-8fFO5urEP7QxhrrkW77IOJhTAcsFdrT71iYYA8Xqy9hzv2-1MAvWD22iVcr4v6KDm/s1600-h/02044r.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 247px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7RtRa0Qf4hHaXR4CFa4eMmZASiswvBGC8f7AXR8bs-TsewxA2-pDg3Dz_O2e0_iKQigCX7DubB7-8fFO5urEP7QxhrrkW77IOJhTAcsFdrT71iYYA8Xqy9hzv2-1MAvWD22iVcr4v6KDm/s320/02044r.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5375373202474508626" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Editor's Note<br />This originally appeared in the Hudson Register-Star Aug.29, 2009. </span><br /><br />NEW LEBANON — Samuel Tilden couldn’t believe it. He had beaten Rutherford Hayes fair and square by more than 250,000 votes, but now it was all slipping through his fingers.<br /><br />Down South they were still fighting it out over the remaining 19 electoral votes. Tilden had secured 184; one shy of a guaranteed win, but Hayes only had 165.<br /><br />The 20th electoral vote was from Oregon, was first deemed illegal, but eventually went to Hayes.<br /><br />Democrats and Republicans had poured down to Louisiana, South Carolina and Florida to ensure that their candidate would get a fair shake, but the news that floated back north was of voting fraud from Republicans and the intimidation of African American voters by the Democrats.<br /><br />Eventually these three states sent two different electoral votes to Congress, one indicating a win for Tilden, the other for Hayes.<br /><br />In late January, with the inauguration date inching closer, Congress passed a law forming a 15-member Electoral Commission to pick a winner. Five Republicans and five Democrats were on the board with one neutral party, Supreme Court Justice David Davis, who later bowed out and was replaced by a Republican. Two days before the inauguration the committee gave all the disputed votes to Hayes.<br /><br />The decision may have been due to a concerted effort at finding the truth or, more likely, to a back-room deal, now termed the “compromise of 1877.”<br /><br />The deal between Republicans and Southern Democrats put Hayes in the White House and helped end Reconstruction by withdrawing federal troops from the South. With that the new Republican state governments were voted out and African Americans were quickly disenfranchised.<br /><br />According to the Brooklyn Daily Eagle in a contemporary editorial, Tilden hadn’t been a party to the compromise.<br /><br />Thomas Hendricks, who was Tilden’s running mate, would eventually attain the position of vice president in 1884 under President Grover Cleveland and would die in office the next year.<br /><br />Hayes, who only served one term as president, hadn’t been his party’s first choice for the job, but was elected as a compromise to James G. Blaine, who they believed couldn’t win the general election.<br /><br />Tilden, on the other hand, had won the Democratic nomination handily and did so on a reform ticket based on his dealings with New York City’s Tweed gang of Tammany Hall. But the truth was far from being black and white.<br /><br />William “Boss” Tweed and his cohorts had been bilking the public for years, managing to steal between $30 million and $200 million in six years, by some estimates.<br /><br />As the Democratic chairman of the New York state, Tilden was slow to act against them, taking five years to do so. It took Tweed’s former allies—including the boxing champion turned politician John Morrissey—a number of reform-minded newspaper editors, like Horace Greeley of the New York Tribune and a cartoonist named Thomas Nast to push Tilden to act.<br /><br />In a New York Times editorial from 1870, Tilden is decried as a “fugleman” or wing-man “for Tweed” at a Democratic convention filled with “city thieves and bullies.”<br /><br />In 1871, Tilden finally acted and began the process that would eventually send Tweed to prison, breaking him both financially and physically.<br /><br />The governorship of New York came after that in 1875 and the Democratic nomination for president a year later.<br /><br />Tilden was born in New Lebanon in 1814 to Elam Tilden and Polly Younglove Jones. The elder Tilden had come from Connecticut with his family when he was young and would eventually make his fortune with a pharmaceutical company based in his hometown.<br /><br />Tilden graduated from New York University Law School in 1841 and became a corporate lawyer who represented nearly every major railroad at the time.<br /><br />Following his loss on the national stage, Tilden retired from politics, turning down the 1880 run at the White House, due, he said, to ill health.<br /><br />He lived in New York City at 15 Gramercy Park South in a house remodeled by Calvert Vaux, Frederick Law Olmsted’s collaborator on Central Park.<br /><br />When he died in 1886, he bequeathed $4 million for a free public library and reading-room in New York City. This was combined with the Astor and Lenox libraries to found the New York Public Library.<br /><br />He was buried in New Lebanon. And on his grave, written, one would guess, in regard to the 1876 election, are the words “I Still Trust in The People”.Andrew K. F. Amelinckxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03625189659258963004noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2573253001338568904.post-72263617213069662662009-08-04T13:21:00.000-07:002009-08-11T06:19:50.284-07:00The firemen’s riot of August 21, 1865<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9gLZyC5qVyUH9mk9mYT48QMtnU2HHu_w6nLH8HOjSuQKZecwuG1LfL7XeupXLBk0b9b3K_5S1r7sRRf5pR_vbg2t_v6oSz4iQnzWncTBVFmuK2e7KIwLQ74e_4kgBHfu4_5okUEc3MggH/s1600-h/fireman.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: undefinedpx; height: undefinedpx;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9gLZyC5qVyUH9mk9mYT48QMtnU2HHu_w6nLH8HOjSuQKZecwuG1LfL7XeupXLBk0b9b3K_5S1r7sRRf5pR_vbg2t_v6oSz4iQnzWncTBVFmuK2e7KIwLQ74e_4kgBHfu4_5okUEc3MggH/s320/fireman.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5366209402768514802" /></a><br />The boy hoisted the old straw mattress onto the roof, lit a match and quickly scampered down the way he had come. A few moments later a bell began clanging loudly, waking the neighborhood. The firefighters from Company No. 6 jumped into action, pulling on their boots, leather helmets and wool jackets and began hauling their pumper towards the scene of the blaze. And that’s when the fight broke out. <br />Their long-time rivals Engine Company No. 41 were waiting for them at Ridge Street, near the intersection with Delancey St. The fire had been a ruse to draw them out and settle their differences once and for all. This was to be achieved through guns, clubs, axes, fists and even the metal fire horns used to amplify the fire fighters’ voices during operations.<br /><br />When Big Six, as they were known, reached Ridge Street all the gaslights had been extinguished. Suddenly No. 41’s pumper pulled up from behind them and stopped slightly ahead and to their right. “Give it to them! Kill the sons of bitches,” someone shouted and the sound of gunfire smashed the unnatural quiet. According to Anthony Burk, the foremen of No. 6, the shots came from near No. 41’s pumper. He was hit three times by bullets. One struck him near his right eye; another on the right cheek and a third grazed his ear. He claimed he hadn’t fired back, but several firemen from No. 41 said they had seen him with a gun that night, and they said, he started firing first.<br /><br />The Metropolitan Police didn’t seem to be of much help that night. They allegedly stayed out of the fight until the shooting died down and there were enough of them to make a dent in the escalating fracas. Platoons began pouring in from all over the eastside. They poured in from Ridge, Delancey and Grand Streets surrounding the combatants. According to members of both fire companies, the police used their nightsticks with wild abandon to disburse the crowd, bloodying a number of firemen that morning. <br /><br />Later in court the police were unable to say who or how the fight began. Officer Robert Gray arrived just before the fight broke out. “I heard a cheer,” he remembered,” but I don’t know from which company it came.” He did recall that the gunfire seemed to be coming from both companies, which was apparent when the smoke cleared 25 minutes later and two firemen from No. 41 lay dying, while others from both companies suffered from bullet wounds, knife slashes and head injuries. Mathias Bettman, a runner, lay with a bullet wound in his abdomen, while James Quigley, a bunker, suffered a bullet wound in his chest. Bunkers slept at the firehouse, while runners would come to the fires from their houses when the alarm sounded. Harry Howard, one of the last Chief Engineers of the volunteer fire department, had put the bunking system in place a few years earlier. <br /><br />That spring the state legislature had passed an act creating a "Metropolitan Fire Department,” spelling the demise of the volunteer companies in New York City. The attorney general, John Martindale, believed the law was illegal and fought on behalf of the volunteers. It went before the State Supreme Court and was found constitutional just two months before the riot. Throughout this time the battles between rival fire companies continued to rage and in fact escalated, probably due to the pressures the men were experiencing as they became pawns in a political game between Albany and Tammany Hall, the political machine controlling the city. The companies were pushed to the breaking point and with tempers flaring violence was the outcome.<br /><br />The month before the New York Times had railed against the territorial and sometimes politically motivated brawls that all too often erupted at fires, slowing down rescue operations and leading to more property damage. It was the insurance companies that first put forth the idea of a paid fire department. They were tired of paying out on blaze after blaze. From there it became a political chess game between the Tammany Hall Democrats who had deep ties with the fire companies and the Republicans in Albany who were interested in resting any kind of political control they could from Tammany. <br /><br />Fire companies had been brawling each other for years, but this fight pushed the city over the edge and ended with a coroner’s inquest jury censuring the fire commissioners for “not being more efficient with organizing a proper fire department.”It wasn’t until 1866 that the new department was fully in place and it was the brave volunteers who had agreed to continue to battle blaze after blaze in the city until that time. These men made up the core of the new fire department that would eventually become the Fire Department City of New York.Andrew K. F. Amelinckxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03625189659258963004noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2573253001338568904.post-77653294749341180192009-05-25T07:59:00.000-07:002009-05-25T15:31:08.179-07:00The Belgian paupers<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicJSbSqAG4BKU1xRh9B4CVjBXF2EIGmaBRLjl5XD1XeT0X_pzNz_2Vk-W_2pXr6mG3b-lXdASkhkRG_dWe1677zPh1-TruoZUJq9bGOHde1-NCSQn9_eWCrZIIDdNSnN4_I5nB1yP3VZ0K/s1600-h/00922v.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 228px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicJSbSqAG4BKU1xRh9B4CVjBXF2EIGmaBRLjl5XD1XeT0X_pzNz_2Vk-W_2pXr6mG3b-lXdASkhkRG_dWe1677zPh1-TruoZUJq9bGOHde1-NCSQn9_eWCrZIIDdNSnN4_I5nB1yP3VZ0K/s320/00922v.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5339780530984573602" border="0" /></a><br />The police herded the 12 men onto the ship headed for New York City. They were from a local beggars’ colony and had asked for and received the help of the provincial government in getting to America. They were going to get a chance to start over, but before that happened, these 12 poverty stricken Belgians would help set off an international scandal and a debate in Congress.<br /><br />There were 351 passengers on board the ship that October 1854 day, but these 12 men happened to arouse the suspicion of the packet ship Rochambeau’s captain, Harris Stackpole. Due to their meager baggage he assumed they were “paupers.” He asked the American counsel whether he could throw them off. The counsel, according to the captain, told Stackpole he would have to take them and could not put them ashore without violating the contract. <br /><br />Stackpole had heard the rumors of the Belgian government shipping paupers and criminals to America, but couldn't prove that these men were of either class. “It was spoken of by American captains that there were going to be a lot of paupers shipped, but it was impossible to find out about it,” he said in court. “I did hear the interpreter say the passage of these men had been paid by the Burgomaster.”<br /><br />Stackpole, born in 1816, was a highly respected captain from Maine who would later retire from the sea and become a merchant in Thomaston, where he had was born, raised and eventually died in 1896.<br /><br />An internal government letter from that time (that ended up published in every major American newspaper) gives a glimpse of the Belgian government’s plans for shipping the poor to America.<br /><br />“The transports for immigrants for the United States will take their<br />departure from Antwerp,” it reads. “A large number of vessels are prepared already to leave at various periods of this month…The departure will take place during the year, every fortnight.”<br /><br />Liberated prisoners and the poor were to be sent to Antwerp at the cost of 180 francs each, which was paid by the municipal government sending them.<br /><br />Belgium, only a little more than 15 years after being recognized as a legitimate nation, was just coming out of what was known as the "hunger years,” which lasted from 1843 to 1850.<br /><br />Industrialization and its centralization in urban centers came early to the country, helping to destroy the rural, home based industry of flax weaving. When combined with the potato blight that swept across Europe, devastating the staple crop of the rural poor—and which was responsible for between 40,000 to 50,000 deaths in Belgium alone—the government was soon dealing with a huge influx of country people into its cities.<br /><br />The government response was to put these people into beggar’s colonies and when the poor kept pouring in, the government, at least in the province of Antwerp, decided on another strategy, that is, they sent them packing to other countries including France, Canada and the United States.<br /><br />The plan worked for a little while, until the word spread among American ship captains who vigorously tried to keep those they considered beggars from coming aboard. Stackpole went so far as to post handbills offering a reward to anyone who could, or would, confirm when the beggars would be shipped to America.<br /><br />Stackpole's suspicions were confirmed after they put ashore in New York harbor.<br /><br />Sgt. William Bell of the Emigrant squad attached to New York City Mayor Fernando Wood’s office, along with several officers, went on board the Rochambeau before the passengers could disembark and secured the "convicts" and intercepted some correspondence for the Belgian Consul related to the men, who were taken to the Tombs, as the city’s jail is known.<br /><br />The American government assumed the men were either convicts or beggars, neither of which were tolerated stateside.<br /><br />It’s highly probable that Lewis Baker, the man who would be charged with the murder of Bill “The Butcher” Poole the next year also came aboard that day, as he had been a member of the Emigrant Squad since its formation two years earlier. This was the same case in which champion bare-knuckle boxer John Morrissey would be named as accessory to the killing.<br /><br />Bell would later act as a defense witness for his old comrade, telling the jury that he had known Baker since childhood and could vouch for his good character.<br /><br /> The 12 Belgians from the Rochambeau remained in jail while the case made its way through the legal and political worlds of New York.<br /><br />In the following months two inquests were held to try and get to the bottom of the situation, as much in the name of justice as for the fact that the 12 men were being housed and fed on the city’s dime.<br /><br />The first was held before Judge Abraham Bogart Jr. and began on Christmas day. Stackpole and the first mate, Christian Hildebrand, both related their belief that the men were convicts, but neither could present any proof backing it up. One of the 12 men also spoke at the hearing, the first time the public had heard from them.<br />J. Baptist Stour, a native of Forest, Belgium, told the judge he had been confined in the Workhouse at Lavine and that he and nine others made application to the mayor of Antwerp to be transported to the United States. The application was accepted, he said, and each man was given 10 francs to defray their expenses.<br /><br />The case was kicked upstairs to a higher court and the men remained in the Tombs.<br /><br />As a side note a year later Judge Bogart was convicted of a misdemeanor while in office for taking bail from a defendant without giving notice to the DA, as required by law. The conviction was later upheld by the Supreme Court<br /><br />After the fist hearing in city court Mayor Fernando Wood, on Valentine’s Day, addressed a letter to Henry W. T. Mali, the Belgian consul in New York, in which he stated that he believed the 12 men were not of a “character to be permitted to go at large in this city or in this country.”<br /><br />He suggested that they be returned to their own country<br />at the cost of the Belgian government, citing his belief the men had arrived there the same way and that they were indeed criminals. “While we cannot set them at liberty, we can no longer retain them in custody,” Wood told the consul, but hold them they did.<br /><br />The Belgian government remained moot on the subject, following the lead of other countries such as England and Germany and biding its time.<br /><br />That same month the case came before Judge James Roosevelt, the man who presided over the Lew Baker murder trial.<br /><br />Two of the 12 accused, Joseph Poismanns, 30, a native of Louvain, and 40-year-old Jean Waggemanns, of Ghent, were there to plead for their release since they had now been in jail for more than two months.<br /><br />According to a NY Times reporter the men appeared to be in good health and looked to be of a “respectable appearance” like “the majority of adult male emigrants from the working classes of Europe who land in this country.”<br /><br />Poismanns, who was a tanner by trade, told the court he had been in a poor house voluntarily for six months before coming to America because he had been unable to find work.<br /><br />He said he wasn’t a convict and had never even been in a courtroom before now. Waggemanns told a similar tale and with this information in hand the judge said that it all seemed to be a matter of a translation problem, in the sense that what was meant by a poor house in Belgium was different then what it meant in America and that the men were not paupers in the same sense of the word. “This ‘depot’ as it had been called, [is] like a Home of Industry with us,” he concluded, adding that he could not assent to the doctrine that “the law looks on a man as a pauper because he has not a cent in his pocket.” He set the men free.<br /><br />But other wheels had been set in motion. The case of the 12 Belgians had become fodder for the larger national debate concerning immigration as well as the fiery dispute on state’s rights.<br /><br />As soon as the case hit the papers the Know Nothings, an anti-immigrant political party also called Nativists or Native Americans, bandied the story about in the halls of Congress saying that this was just another reason to keep immigrants out of America. Members of the party authored legislation that would do just that.<br /><br />Legislation was introduced in January 1855 to keep “foreign paupers, criminals, idiots, lunatics, and insane and blind persons” out of America. It was tabled.<br /><br />The next month a bill was introduced that would allow the states to legislate any matters concerning immigration. It too was tabled.<br /><br />Again, in March a bill to exclude foreign paupers and criminals was introduced.<br />The report that accompanied this bill contained the correspondence concerning the Belgian paupers as well as other similar cases.<br /><br />According to the report “the immigration of foreign paupers and criminals is the chief source of intemperance, the fruitful source of pauperism, and the prolific source of crime; it has brought upon the country a large juvenile vagrant population; the mother of crimes, it has flooded our country with irreligion, immorality, and licentiousness.”<br /><br />The report recommended the adoption of a state policy that would discourage the “esprit du corps” that bound immigrants together; banning the sale of liquor licenses to immigrants who were not citizens; prompt conviction of criminals and establishing institutions “to take charge of all juvenile delinquents and vagrants,” among other reforms.<br /><br />The Know Nothings were a voice in the wilderness, so to speak, in contrast to the vast majority of politicians who were pro-emigration, reflected in the tabling of every piece of ant-immigration legislation introduced by the Nativists.<br /><br />More importantly, the issue of who was able to control the flow of foreigners into port cities, the state or the federal government, a debate wasn’t fully settled until the smoke had cleared from the war that tore the country apart and remade it into a unified nation.Andrew K. F. Amelinckxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03625189659258963004noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2573253001338568904.post-56616189536184040702009-04-04T07:30:00.000-07:002009-04-04T07:33:54.643-07:00Sometimes you get luckySometimes you get lucky.<br />I recently wrote an article (which I’m including below) about a screenwriter named Richard Rosenzweig who is working on a screenplay that revolves around Morrissey’s 1853 prizefight at Boston Corners.<br /><br />We met at a local bar after the article came out and discussed all things Morrissey. He provided me with a copy of some notes taken by a turn of the 19th century reporter who spoke with several locals that witnessed the fight. The first person accounts provide a new perspective on the fight, told from the point of view of the country people who were literally overrun by thousands of crazed fans mostly from New York City.<br /><br />Here’s the article that originally appeared in the Register-Star Newspaper.<br /><br />Oct. 12, 1853 was a fine fall day in Boston Corners and the perfect setting for an illegal bare-knuckle boxing match between John Morrissey and James “Yankee” Sullivan. At that time Boston Corners, more colorfully known as Hell’s Acres, was a tiny hamlet of 120 inhabitants located on the border between Massachusetts and New York.<br /><br />The hamlet and surrounding 1,016-acre triangle of land was part of Massachusetts, having been incorporated as a district in 1838 — but in name only. There was no post office or police department, and the residents didn’t vote or pay taxes to the state. To the east of Boston Corners, the Berkshire Mountains presented a formidable barrier for law enforcement from Massachusetts. Connecticut to the south and New York to the north and west also acted to insulate the area from Massachusetts’ law.<br /><br />Between 4,000 and 10,000 fight fans overran the hamlet for the match that ended with Morrissey winning in 37 rounds.<br /><br />The strange history of the hamlet of Boston Corners and the illicit bare-knuckle prize fight held there in 1853 have caught the imagination of many people through the years and continue to do so today. One of those is Richard Rosenzweig, a jazz drummer by profession and screenwriter by avocation, who has spent three years researching and writing a script, “Hell’s Acres,” based on a somewhat obscure 1938 novel of the same name.<br /><br />According to Rosenzweig, his fascination with the story of the hamlet began when he bought a house in Hillsdale four years ago. After visiting friends in Boston Corners he learned about the area’s history and when his brother, an artist who head been living in the county for several years, introduced him to the novel “Hell’s Acres” by Clay Perry and John Pell, he couldn’t resist.<br /><br />“I fell in love with it,” he said, adding that he had never intended to write an historical drama, but felt the story was too good to pass up.<br /><br />The story revolves around James Grayson, a horse breeder in Saratoga who goes undercover to break up a gang of horse thieves from Boston Corners. The climax of the story takes place during the Morrissey-Sullivan fight.<br /><br />“It reads like a boy’s adventure story,” said Rosenzweig.<br /><br />According to him, many of the novel’s characters and settings were based on fact, but the main character and the story itself are fictional.<br /><br />Rosenzweig said he read the book once and skimmed through it from time to time in order to make the story his own.<br /><br />“I loved doing the research,” he said. “And it was cool that I got to write most of it here.”<br /><br />He said he would often drive by many of the locations where the story took place.<br /><br />Rosenzweig recently had the chance to hear his words come alive at Time and Space Limited in Hudson, during the March 2 read-through of “Hell’s Acres.” The event was part of the Movies Without Pictures program by Upstate Independents, an organization that acts as a resource for independent filmmakers in the Northeast.<br /><br />There are plans for a similar event in April.Andrew K. F. Amelinckxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03625189659258963004noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2573253001338568904.post-85991064585734056672009-03-04T07:15:00.000-08:002009-03-05T05:17:30.485-08:00The NYC board of ed, a whorehouse and prison or How not to teach by exampleOne fine May Manhattan day in 1858 Richard Barry—school commissioner, board of education member and city councilman—decided to while away some time carousing with prostitutes at a Bordello on Howard Street in what is now known as SoHo. <br /><br />At that time the neighborhood was transforming itself into the City’s first Red Light District, with new houses of assignation popping up on almost a daily basis.<br /><br /> Barry, who apparently thought nothing of spending a Monday in a whorehouse, had his fun and left, but soon came storming back, screaming about being robbed of $20 by one of the working girls. He threatened and cajoled Philip Wolfe, the owner of the establishment, but Wolfe just ignored him. Barry vowed vengeance, which he got about a half-hour later. <br /><br />Barry—who represented the Sixth Ward on matters of education—returned with three representatives of the Dead Rabbits, a Sixth Ward gang, and soon educated Wolfe on how denizens of that ward settled disputes. He hit Wolfe on the head with a decanter and proceeded to pummel him into a bloody mess, with the help of the gang members. Adding insult to injury, they stole $100 from Wolfe before leaving. <br /><br />Wolfe, after recovering enough to speak with police, said he believed Barry would have killed him if not for the aid of other pleasure seekers in his establishment coming to his aid.<br /><br />The 14th Ward police arrived as they were leaving and arrested Barry and a volunteer fireman (and Dead Rabbit) Patrick Burk. The two other gang members, John Thompson and John Chase were arrested later after trying to pass a counterfeit two-dollar bill at a nearby bar. One of them pulled a knife on the arresting officer and would have gotten away if not for some concerned citizens who collared the pair. <br />Barry, Chase and Burk bailed out of jail, leaving Thompson—apparently moneyless and friendless—to stew in the Tombs, the City’s underground jail.<br /><br />The BOE member was indicted for first-degree assault, to which he pleaded guilty before Judge George G, Barnard.<br />Barnard, a flamboyant man from a wealthy New York family, had spent his younger days prospecting for gold in California and performing in minstrel shows, among other pursuits, before settling down to practice law back home. <br /><br />When Barry came before him he told him that he had received between 100 and 150 letters from “prominent and influential men” asking for leniency, but, said the judge, he had hundreds of poor men without money, friends or influence who he sentenced to prison for similar crimes. So he sentenced him to four months in prison.<br /><br />“A fine would be inadequate and imprisonment seems to be the only remedy to the recurrence of scenes like this,” he told Barry, who was shocked that he was going to have to do time for simply beating a whorehouse proprietor within an inch of his life.<br /><br />It’s hard to reconcile this image of Barnard as an impartial jurist and later descriptions of him as a scoundrel in the pocket of both the Tweed Ring and the Robber Barons, such as Cornelius Vanderbilt. Barnard would allegedly whittle twigs and swig brandy in his courtroom. He was indeed later impeached, but like many public figures who fall from grace in the public eye, it’s possible that the judge’s defects are all that remain to history.<span style="font-style:italic;"></span>Andrew K. F. Amelinckxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03625189659258963004noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2573253001338568904.post-15370756072600724472009-01-26T06:06:00.000-08:002009-05-25T15:48:29.459-07:00a snapshot of death in 1855<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXn-2BxL5j4dJBz8RgFp9kx-zYt9IZBGWrQ3_sGfPdBUhu3Yd47ioMnhk4WACw2Tth8lje_2FJnmg69Oc2zvSgY4bDEiJVb7PmjJp-WX3sJfy0Tu7CLBq8E4otcJyiNkgwMX9dZVzJdGFj/s1600-h/05591r.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 221px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXn-2BxL5j4dJBz8RgFp9kx-zYt9IZBGWrQ3_sGfPdBUhu3Yd47ioMnhk4WACw2Tth8lje_2FJnmg69Oc2zvSgY4bDEiJVb7PmjJp-WX3sJfy0Tu7CLBq8E4otcJyiNkgwMX9dZVzJdGFj/s320/05591r.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5339897202737795954" border="0" /></a><br /><br />As the poet William Butler Yeats once put it, "a man awaits his end, dreading and hoping all." In mid-19th century New York, John Morrissey and the city's other residents had more to dread than hope for as far as their chances of survival went. Death came in many forms in a time before science had clued in on the causes and cures of diseases. Many of these would be all but eradicated, at least in the United States, 100 years hence.<br /><br />According to the <span style="font-style: italic;">New York Times</span>—it once posted a list of numbers and causes of death weekly—there were 441 deaths in the city of New York for the week of March 31 through April 7, 1855. The numbers in this snapshot of death were not an unusual weekly toll.<br /><br />At that time there were approximately 650,000 people living in the city, so this weekly number, averaged out over a year, meant that almost 10 percent (compared to less than 1 percent today) of the population was dying. But not to worry, a huge influx of immigrants were continually swelling the population, as was the birth rate.<br /><br />Of those who died that week the largest percentage—40 people—came from one of the biggest and poorest wards in the city—the 17th. That ward contained the Bowery and part of the Lower East Side.<br /><br />The 17th ward had a seemingly ever-increasing population in the 1800s, growing from 18,619 in 1850 to 95,365 in only 30 years. All within less than a half-mile square.<br /><br />The 17th ward did not contain the poorest and most famous neighborhood of 1800s New York—the Five Points. The Five Points was in the 6th ward, which came in sixth in amount of dead residents that week, but then there were twice as many people living in the 17th at the time in an area almost four times the size. And since this is not based on per capita data, it's probable that these numbers don't accurately reflect the level of death that occurred in the 6th ward. Needless to say, the poor were dying in droves as compared to the richer classes living uptown. For instance, the 22nd ward located above 40th Street on the West side, which had roughly an equivalent number of residents in 1855, only saw 12 deaths that week.<br /><br />But even those who could afford clean water and medical care could and did succumb to a number of diseases, including Tuberculosis, then known as Consumption, and Scarlet Fever. In that week in 1855 there were 49 deaths from Consumption and 24 from Scarlet Fever. Children had it even worse than adults, that week there were 41 stillbirths and 21 children who died from Marasmus, better known as starvation.<br /><br />Medicine in the mid-1800s was rather a crude affair, with many doctors still relying on the ancient idea of the body's four humors—yellow bile, black bile, blood and phlegm—to treat their patients. Too much black bile? You have melancholia and must be bled. Too much yellow bile? You are choleric and must be bled. You get the point. Many times the cure was worse than the disease. Mercury was used extensively in cures and would often lead to poisoning and death. Surgery was worse yet, with doctors unaware of the need to sterilize instruments or hands before working on a patient. Surgeons would wear the same blood and gore stained smocks in surgery after surgery as a badge of honor to show that they were old hats at their profession.<br /><br />Morrissey suffered at the hands of doctors who tried in vain to cure his Bright's Disease, now known as Chronic Nephritis. He died of pneumonia at 47, most likely brought on by a weakened immune system, due in part to the "cures" he had taken.Andrew K. F. Amelinckxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03625189659258963004noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2573253001338568904.post-3441336749411184932008-11-27T06:34:00.000-08:002008-11-27T06:40:25.934-08:00John Morrissey ready for action<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6nUKNNgTaeOiqEKcKxw0SMsOnigmeP5Vp5KopGhok0SKeQWTgMTxBuwe-bLUcCOmeyrIRD62y0cNbXDcw8WDc84_MSPVzbWZPFEg8fE5r1s2mCfI_Dk25ZbMCoZoIrT7KkgGTzz3ragTm/s1600-h/3a44460r.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 223px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6nUKNNgTaeOiqEKcKxw0SMsOnigmeP5Vp5KopGhok0SKeQWTgMTxBuwe-bLUcCOmeyrIRD62y0cNbXDcw8WDc84_MSPVzbWZPFEg8fE5r1s2mCfI_Dk25ZbMCoZoIrT7KkgGTzz3ragTm/s320/3a44460r.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5273347172621769154" /></a>Andrew K. F. Amelinckxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03625189659258963004noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2573253001338568904.post-8907083427745712572008-11-25T06:07:00.000-08:002008-11-25T09:55:48.472-08:00The library and a sinking shipI spent what I felt was a fairly unproductive day in the New York State Library in Albany Monday, but honestly, for me a day in that library, or any other, is a day well spent. <br /><br />While the day-to-day history of Troy, New York whirled past me on the microfiche machine—an experience that I can only compare to being slightly seasick or doing too many shots back-to-back—an interesting item caught my eye. <br /><br />In the early morning hours of July 16, 1853 the 1,000-passenger steamboat <span style="font-style:italic;">Empire of Troy</span> was on its way down the Hudson River to New York City from Troy. It was six miles below Poughkeepsie when it was rammed by an 180-ton sloop, the <span style="font-style:italic;">General Livingston</span>. The <span style="font-style:italic;">Empire's</span> boiler and paddle wheel were instantly sheared off, sending a torrent of boiling water and scalding steam onto both ships. Captain Levi Smith of the <span style="font-style:italic;">Empire</span>, who had been sleeping at the time, instantly woke up and ran upstairs to see what had happened. Many of the passengers did the same. Several rushed into the saloon and were instantly burned by the super-heated steam that powered the vessel.Others were burned topside by boiling water. Several crew members from the <span style="font-style:italic;">Gen. Livingston</span> were also injured.<br /><br />John Morrissey, a passenger on the <span style="font-style:italic;">Empire</span>, had just gone to bed when the accident occurred. He met up with his soon to be father-in-law, Capt. Smith and they aided several people who had been burned. They then rushed aft. "[We] found two men overboard, whom we rescued," remembered Morrissey after the accident.He and Capt. Smith calmed the rest of the passengers and kept them from jumping overboard. A fire started on board, but was put out soon after it began.<br /><br /> Eight people died and 14 were seriously burned that morning, but its possible more would have died by drowning if not for Morrissey and Capt. Smith. An investigation laid the blame of the accident on the captain of the <span style="font-style:italic;">General Livingston</span>, Jacob Hollenbeck of Athens,NY., for allowing Casper Van Heusen to pilot the ship. Van Heusen was a 21-year old, who was also from Athens and had been on board for less than a week. According to Capt. Smith it was a clear night and you could see for about a mile-and-a-half. Van Heusen, in his defense, had never piloted a boat before. He said he saw some lights on the water up ahead but didn't know what they were. The first mate, who was supposed to be watching out from the forward position, may have been drunk or merely sleeping. He was severely burned in the accident.<br /><br />Morrissey was the last man on the ship, which eventually sank, but not before all the passengers were rescued. The <span style="font-style:italic;">Empire</span> was raised, but the damage was so severe the owners decided to scrap it. <br /><br />The <span style="font-style:italic;">Empire's</span> short career (it was only in service for 10 years, from 1843 to 1853) was rife with accidents. It crashed into a New York City pier in a pea soup fog in 1845. In 1849 the ship sank after a similar accident to the one in 1853. The owners raised it, refitted it and sent it back to work until the ill-fated morning in 1853.<br /><br />Capt.Smith wasn't to blame for any of the <span style="font-style:italic;">Empire's</span> misfortunes. He wasn't the captain in 1845 and, when made captain of the <span style="font-style:italic;">Empire</span>, couldn't rightly keep other ships from bashing into his. Morrissey had been a deck hand for the Captain and would marry his daughter Susan Smith a little over a year after the accident.Andrew K. F. Amelinckxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03625189659258963004noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2573253001338568904.post-85101339377130802862008-11-16T11:11:00.001-08:002008-11-19T15:47:32.526-08:00Bill "the Butcher" Poole gets offed<span style="font-style:italic;">I spent last week killing off Bill “The Butcher” Poole. He was a right hard bastard, hanging on for weeks after taking a bullet in the chest. Here’s a taste of the events leading up to that day 153 years and nine months ago. Mind you this is only a taste. You’ll have to wait for the book to read the more detailed version of what happened…<br /></span><br />John Morrissey sat drinking with friends in the back room of Stanwix Hall, located at 579 Broadway, between Houston and Prince Streets. It was just after 9 p.m. February 24, 1855. The wine was flowing as Morrissey talked with several acquaintances that evening, including Samuel Suydam, Major Morten Fairchild and Captain Lorenzo Lewis of <br />the Louisiana Cavalry. Morrissey had come in after the others. Suydam, a gambling house proprietor, invited Morrissey to have a drink or two. They settled in and thew3e3wine began to flow. 15 minutes later William “Bill the Butcher” Poole walked in. <br /><br />Poole was a nativist, hating all things Irish, including Morrissey. The 34-year old was a butcher by trade and had a stall down at the Washington market. He had a lot of patronage and did well for himself, owning a bar as well as a bank exchange. He was a notorious brawler but not a professional boxer. Morrissey and Poole’s mutual dislike for one another began when Morrissey made his permanent home in New York City in 1852. Morrissey was working for Tammany Hall, while Poole was working against them for the nativist Know Nothing party. They wrangled on more than one occasion, but never officialy fought in the ring. <br /><br />The back room of Stanwix Hall was separated from the bar at the front by a piece of cloth hanging in the doorway. Morrissey didn’t see Poole and his cohorts enter the bar. Knowing that Morrissey and Poole had a longstanding feud, Suydam tried to distract his friend. “Morrissey was sideways to the barroom; I saw Poole before Morrissey did,” Suydam stated during a deposition. He poured Morrissey some more wine and began to sing a song. Morrissey sang accompaniment. The distraction didn’t last long. When Morrissey saw Poole he got up and moved towards the bar. Suydam tried to talk his friend down, begging Morrissey to let him settle the matter between the two men for him. “I have been badly treated by that person and cannot do it,” he responded. Another man, drinking alone, also tried to stop Morrissey. “Let me alone. I know what I’m doing,” said Morrissey. A few seconds later the clamor of loud voices drifted into the back room, which promptly emptied out. <br /><br />“There you are you cowardly son of a bitch,” said Morrissey across the crowded room filled with close to 60 people. He walked up to Poole who stood at the counter with his friends. “You’ve tasted my mutton before. How do you like it?” responded Poole, a cold smile on his lips. The remark was a reference to a beating Morrissey had taken at the hands of Poole and his cronies the previous summer at the docks at Amos Street. It cut Morrissey to the quick. He rushed at Poole but was held back by several people including James Irving, a friend of both men who tried to ease the situation, but to no avail. Poole pulled a pistol from inside his coat and jumped up on the bar. He made a loud farting noise with his mouth as he stood there, gun loosely aimed at Morrissey. Morrissey backed away in the direction of the front door and shouted for a weapon. Several tense seconds passed. Poole jumped back off the bar and stood where he had been before. Suddenly Morrissey had an old revolver and was aiming it in Poole’s direction. A friend had secreted it to him. Poole looked at Morrissey with complete disdain. “Go ahead you coward, shoot,” he said with his gun still trained on him. A crush of people rushed at Morrissey trying to wrestle the gun away. Morrissey got his arm free and snapped the hammer on the ancient pistol. Nothing happened. He tried twice more, but the gun continued to misfire. Irving pulled the gun from Morrissey’s hand. “You damned fool, what are you doing?” Irvin shouted at Morrissey. “I had to. He would have killed me,” responded the visibly shaken fighter. Friends of Poole would later claim in court that Poole didn’t have a weapon. No guns were presented in court as evidence.<br /><br />Two police officers from the 17th Ward, friends of Morrissey, took him outside. “Go home,” Officer John Rue told him. “I swear on my honor and by all that is sacred, I’ll go home,” said Morrissey, before promptly walking into a bar, Charlie Abel’s, just down the street from Stanwix Hall. Rue followed him. They were there for less than five minutes. Rue dragged Morrissey out after one drink and they continued walking down Broadway. Morrissey stumbled into the City Hotel further south on Broadway a few minutes after 10 p.m. He was still in the company of Rue. This was the second bar they had stopped in since leaving Stanwix Hall. George Harpell, the proprietor, took notice of how drunk Morrissey seemed, thinking he was drunker than he had ever seen him before. Lewis Baker, Thomas McLaughlin, known as Pargene, and John Hyler, all friends of Morrissey, soon came in as well, kicking up a racket as they entered. Morrissey went to two other bars that night before finally making it to his father-in-law’s house on Hudson Street around 1 a.m. and passing out. <br /><br />While Morrissey slept a group of his friends went back to Stanwix Hall. Baker, Pargene, Hyler, Charles Van Pelt, Jim Turner and Cornelius Linn entered the bar, unaware that Poole and several of his friends, including Cyrus Shay, Charles Lozier and Jacob Acker, had come back after the earlier incident and were once again drinking there. It was 1:30 a.m. Baker walked up to the bar and ordered a round of drinks. Pargene came up as well, and whether by intention or accident, bumped into Poole. Poole gave him a cold look. Pargene infuriated grabbed him by his collar. “You are a pretty American fighting son of a bitch,” Pargene said in a thick Irish brogue, his face inches away from Poole’s. “Ain’t you a pretty American.”<br /><br />“I’m their standard bearer,” said Poole proudly. <br /><br />“I want to fight you.” Pargene said. Poole just laughed. <br /><br />“Don’t mind him Bill, he’s just drunk,” Turner told Poole. Van Pelt came up behind Pargene and tried to separate the two men. Pargene backhanded him. Van Pelt, angry and embarrassed, walked out of Stanwix Hall. Pargene, still holding onto Poole, spit in his face. Poole broke away and moved farther back into the room, pulling a pistol from beneath his coat. Turner, seeing this, pulled his own gun and moved towards Poole. “You mean to shoot?” asked Turner, pushing Pargene aside. “Then draw, damn you.” He rested his gun on his other arm, took aim and fired, but somehow managed to hit himself in the arm. He dropped to the ground screaming in pain. Another shot from Turner’s revolver hit Poole in the left leg just above the knee. Poole staggered and grabbed Baker who had moved towards him. Both men tumbled to the ground. Shots were fired from several guns. Lozier was hit in the head, probably from the gun of his friend Poole. The bullet grazed Lozier but it was enough to drop him. A second shot hit Lozier in the thigh. Baker and Poole continued wrestling. Baker was hit by two bullets—one in the abdomen and one across the forehead. Poole was shot in the chest, just under the left nipple. Shay got hold of Baker’s pistol, but it went off, burning his left hand, the bullet going into the wooden bar. Baker then made a break for the door. He was stopped momentarily by Acker, but struggled free and was gone. Shay took several shots at him and missed. The rest also made their escape.<br /><br />Poole stood up and stumbled towards the door, pale and shaken. “Bill, come sit down, you’ve been terribly wounded,” Shay told him. “ No, I was only hit in the knee, I think,” responded Poole. Shay then explained to him that he had been hit in the chest. A few minutes later Poole collapsed. Poole was placed in a carriage and driven to his residence in Christopher Street. Doctors were unable to find the bullet that had pierced his heart. <br /><br />Poole lived for more than two weeks before finally dying around 5 p.m. on March 8. He laid the blame on Morrissey. “I think I’m a goner,” he said on his deathbed. “If I die, I die a true American; what grieves me most is to think I was murdered by a set of Irish—by Morrissey in particular.”Andrew K. F. Amelinckxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03625189659258963004noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2573253001338568904.post-53597347319525835732008-10-25T07:39:00.000-07:002008-10-25T13:48:32.521-07:00The tale of the bogus countessI often come across strange little news items while researching John Morrissey’s life. Recently I found one that piqued my interest. I discovered a story about a bogus Countess, which was stuck in the midst of a long list of drowning victims, petit larcenies and attempted suicides crammed together under the heading "General City News" from the Aug. 27, 1860 edition of the <span style="font-style:italic;">New York Times</span>.<br />The Countess had been living rent free at several Manhattan apartments and hotels by telling the proprietors a story of illicit love and banishment. <br /><br />The lady in question went by the name Senora Dona Pedro and claimed she was the only child of a Portuguese royal named Don Pedro. She also said she was the cousin of Prince De Joinville.<br /><br />François-Ferdinand-Philippe-Louis-Marie d'Orléans, prince de Joinville (1818 - 1900) was the third son of Louis Philippe, ruler of France during the July Monarchy and the last king of that country. Joinville was an admiral of the French Navy and an essayist.<br /><br />According to Dona Pedro she was banished from her homeland for marrying an Englishman who later died. She was living in New York on $3000 yearly, a little over $52,000 in today’s dollars. <br /><br />She also claimed to have an estate on Staten Island worth $25,000 ($436,000), with a fine carriage and horses to boot.<br />The Senora was busted when William Grigg of 1051 Broadway finally got tired of not getting his rent from the Senora. She hadn’t paid in four months.<br /> <br />She has been leasing 884 Broadway at the price of $75 per month and didn’t seem too concerned about the owing.<br />Come to find out the Senora was actually named Sarah J. Corkery and was a “procuress of loose women for fast men” aka a Madame. She had been swindling hotelkeepers and the like for upwards of nine years.<br /><br />After her arrest several people came forward to tell how they had been had. Apparently hotelkeepers didn’t talk much amongst themselves in the mid-19th century. <br /><br />One woman who came forward, Mrs. Susan Ramsey, the proprietress of the European House on Broadway, fell for the same story. After a few weeks with nary a penny from the Countess Ramsey's suspicions became aroused. She asked to see the "charming place" on Staten Island. The two women took a ferry to the island and the Countess pointed out her place, one might assume at random. The house actually belonged to Thomas Monroe, a Manhattan merchant. Ramsey, ever the skeptic, asked to go inside. "No," replied the Countess. "I don't like to put the occupants to the inconvenience of showing it."<br />Ramsey, apparently satisfied with the answer would later regret not pushing the matter further. She was out $425 for her troubles.<br /><br /><br />There were two more stories on the case, but after that the paper trail went cold. The last dispatch had our Senora sitting in jail waiting on a lawyer that was indisposed.Andrew K. F. Amelinckxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03625189659258963004noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2573253001338568904.post-49611491489298858592008-08-25T06:49:00.000-07:002008-08-25T07:00:07.954-07:00From the proposal for Old Smoke: A Tale of Pugilism, Power and Politics<span style="font-family: verdana;">Morrissey’s is the quintessential 19th Century American tale of pluck and perseverance. Born into poverty in Ireland he literally fought his way to the American dream of wealth, power and popularity. He was involved in the iconic events and institutions that shaped the country and still haunt our imagination—the immigration of the Irish, the gangs of New York, bare-knuckle boxing, the California gold rush, Tammany Hall politics and the birth of the gambling industry. By the end of his life he had made a fortune and had been a two-term United States Congressman and state senator. When he died, all the state offices in New York closed for the day and flags were flown at half-mast. 20,000 mourners attended his funeral.</span>Andrew K. F. Amelinckxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03625189659258963004noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2573253001338568904.post-8872155427321073422008-08-25T05:33:00.000-07:002008-08-25T06:47:08.797-07:00How it started<span style="font-family:verdana;">John Morrissey stumbled into my life one day while I was doing research for my monthly column on the history of Columbia and Dutchess Counties (NY) called "History Happened Here." Morrissey won the title of "Champion of America" in 1853 in the hamlet of Boston Corners located in the far eastern corner of Columbia County and abutting Massachusetts.</span><span style="font-family:verdana;"> I wrote a little something on the fight in October of 2006 and forgot about it. </span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Several weeks after the piece ran I received an email message from a reader asking whether I would consider writing more on the subject. His father had been a big Morrissey memorabilia collector and apparently had reams of information. Somehow the two of us never connected and as the months passed I once again let Morrissey drift from my mind. But he never totally left.</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">One early morning I woke up and told my wife that I was going to write a biography of Morrissey. She thought it was a great idea and with her behind an idea it will see the light of day. So here we are.</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">This blog is probably as much for me as for anyone else interested in Morrissey, history, sports, politics, gangs, horse racing or the process one goes through while trying to gather these various sundry and vastly different areas into a coherent narrative.</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">You can plan on finding a journal on my day to day research for the book as well as interesting tidbits and side notes not directly related to Morrissey, but that I find too interesting, funny or weird not to include.</span>Andrew K. F. Amelinckxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03625189659258963004noreply@blogger.com0