Death at Tammany Hall (25 page)

 

O
n a mild, bright Easter morning, Pamela and Prescott went with the Sullivan family by coach to St. Stephen's Church for the eleven o'clock solemn High Mass. The congregation arrived in festive finery: the men in silk top hats, faun or gray frock coats, and matching fine wool suits; the women in colorful silk gowns and elaborate hats.

The robust music of a large choir and orchestra, the clergy's dazzling golden vestments, large banks of odoriferous Easter lilies, and pungent clouds from burning incense combined in a majestic celebration of Christ's resurrection. The spectacle mesmerized Theresa's son, James. The lilies and the incense released a flood of tears from Pamela's eyes.

Members of the Sullivan party had brought along their own reasons for celebration. Mrs. Sullivan seemed to be rejuvenating late in life. Her demented husband was securely committed in a nursing home and her daughters had restored order to the family's finances. Larry White, his wife, Trish, and their daughters reveled in his official commendation and raise in pay for work well done in the Tammany Five case. Finally, liberated from her deceased brother's tyranny, Theresa was free to marry the man she loved, Harry.

After the Mass, Mrs. Donavan served a splendid dinner at Mrs. Sullivan's new, modest apartment off Fourteenth Street to celebrate Harry's exoneration. During the meal he rose to thank Prescott and Pamela for their efforts on his behalf and announced his engagement to Theresa. She added sprightly, “We shall have a simple wedding at City Hall.”

Theresa's remark didn't surprise Pamela. Harry was divorced and not a Catholic. The priest at St. Stephen's had told Theresa that he wouldn't marry them. Earlier, he had supported Michael Sullivan and Judge Fawcett's attempt to separate her from Harry. Now she was skeptical of clergy of any sort and preferred a civil ceremony.

 

After dinner, Pamela stood by an open window, gazing at a sky full of sunlight and breathing mild, warm air. “Would you like to walk in Central Park?” she asked Prescott.

“An excellent idea!” he replied. “We could catch up on news while enjoying the spring weather.” He had been away to Washington, D.C., for the thirtieth anniversary of General Robert E. Lee's surrender, April 9, at Appomattox, Virginia. It ended the Civil War but left the country with much unfinished business. Prescott seized the opportunity to seek pensions for poor, aging, former comrades-in-arms.

As he and Pamela rode in a cab up Fifth Avenue, he remarked, “When I returned yesterday to my office, a letter from Edward was waiting for me. His studies demand a lot of time but he enjoys them. He's also practicing for the college baseball team and looking forward to playing Amherst in May.”

“Then he may see Herbert Pratt again,” Pamela remarked. “Are they still friends?”

“Yes, Edward is aware that Mary and Herb met on the trip to California. ‘No hard feelings,' he wrote. ‘I don't own her.' Still, I think Edward is surprised and hurt that a woman he's fond of also feels attracted to another man.” Prescott hesitated for a moment, then asked, “What have you heard?”

“A few weeks ago, Mary wrote to me, asking for advice. The Pratt Institute in Brooklyn had invited her to apply for a scholarship in the school's prestigious drawing program. Earlier, she had planned to attend North Adams State Normal School in order to teach mill workers' children in Berkshire County. But now she has to consider that an education at Pratt Institute would open up opportunities for much better paid commercial work in the New York City area and beyond.”

Prescott frowned. “Mary would become indebted to Herbert Pratt—he surely recommended her. Even though he's a gentleman, might he expect something in return from her?”

“I've pointed that out to Mary. She's struggling with the invitation and has to decide soon. She likes both Edward and Herb but doesn't feel ready to commit to either man. Certified as a teacher, she could help the poor children of mill workers. With a Pratt diploma she'd be better equipped to help her own father and brother.”

“Hard choices,” Prescott remarked. “What did you advise her?”

“I told her to visit the Pratt Institute with an open mind, examine the program, and speak to students and teachers. If she wished, she could stay in my apartment and become acquainted with living in a big city. She should carefully weigh the alternatives, otherwise she might later regret that she chose badly.”

“Has she taken up your offer?”

“Yes, she'll come to me after she has finished high school in June.”

Prescott was thoughtfully silent for a long moment. “Mary's fortunate to have you as a mentor. You gave her good counsel.”

In Central Park the wind was brisk. Still, the temperature was a comfortable fifty-five degrees and a little warmer in sheltered places. The grass was green but the trees were still bare. People had come from every corner of New York City to enjoy the park on one of its most pleasant days.

After a long walk, Pamela and Prescott sat down together on a bench looking out over the lake between Seventy-second and Seventy-ninth Street, near the great reservoir of water that slaked the city's thirst.

“I've heard from Ellen Chapman,” Pamela remarked. “She and her husband, Howard, have settled in Los Angeles and are both working at the Nadeau Hotel.”

“I'm happy for them,” said Prescott. “I can report that our trust department is pleased with Ambrose Norton and has changed his status from temporary to permanent. He has become engaged to his girlfriend.”

“Have you heard from Catherine Fawcett?” Pamela asked.

Prescott nodded. “She's grateful that I recommended her to my client, that wealthy Fifth Avenue lady involved in the financial dispute with her husband. Catherine has become the lady's indispensable private secretary.”

“Has anything changed at Tammany Hall since Big Tim has gone to prison?” Pamela asked.

Prescott replied, “Frank Dodd has replaced him as boss of the Sixteenth Ward and has also taken over his position as chairman of Tammany Hall's Finance Committee. Under Dodd's enlightened leadership, the Tiger may once again represent the common people of the city. Fred Grant has recovered enough to return to his job at Tammany Hall.”

“I doubt that anyone can truly reform Tammany,” Pamela said. “But I wish Dodd well. What matters most to me is that we reached our chief goal, the exoneration of Harry Miller.”

“Do you have any regrets?” Prescott asked.

“Yes,” she replied with heat. “Justice wasn't fully served. Granted, Judge Fawcett will spend about as much time in prison as Harry did. The other villains will be incarcerated for life. Fair enough. But I wish we could have held Inspector Williams to account for besmirching Harry's good name. In 1887, he accepted Tammany's accusation against Harry far too eagerly.”

Prescott added, “He also wrongly dismissed Harry's hunch that the cabdriver's death was an assassination, regarding it as merely the result of a barroom quarrel between two lowlife characters.”

Pamela wasn't satisfied. “Greed may also have misled Williams. Tammany Hall paid him for protection from reformers and political rivals. It was therefore in his financial interest to safeguard the club's reputation.”

Prescott nodded. “I share your feelings about Williams. Unfortunately, he will not only retire honorably and with full pension but also continue to profit from the favors and the illegal services that he has rendered to the wealthy over many years.”

“The rascal! How is that possible?”

“In his retirement, he will sell insurance, a natural, legal extension of his protection rackets in Chelsea.”

“Who are his potential customers?”

“The prominent, wealthy men and women who have reasons to fear that Williams might know their hidden, unpunished crimes and scandals. If he were to offer to insure their yachts or their mansions, they would surely accept—with the unspoken understanding that he would keep their secrets. If they were to balk, they would risk being exposed to the press or to a zealous prosecutor.”

“A cold, calculating, and clever man,” Pamela observed.

Prescott took her hand. “The day is much too lovely to allow Inspector Williams to spoil it.”

They joined a parade of young people walking arm in arm around the lake. In the distance Harry and Theresa were standing on the opposite shore in a tender embrace.

Moved by the sight, Pamela felt a rush of affection for Prescott. At the same moment, he turned to her and looked fondly into her eyes. They clasped hands, moved to a place sheltered by a thick wall of bushes, and embraced.

“Shall we have a serious conversation, my dear Pamela?” His voice was laden with feeling.

“Yes, dearest Jeremiah, I welcome it.” She gestured to a bench, and they sat side by side.

“Love is apparently contagious,” he began. “Observing Harry and Theresa, a few minutes ago, has given me the courage to say what I've long felt, that I love you and want you to be my wife, if you'll have me.” He searched in her eyes.

She met his gaze and pressed his hand. “Working together for nearly three years, often under trying circumstances, I've come to know, trust, and love you, and gladly accept you as my husband.”

They leaned toward each other in a warm, close embrace.

“Then,” Prescott added, “I suggest a private wedding later this summer when Edward and our friends and your foster girls can attend.” He paused thoughtfully for a moment. “The war seems to have robbed me of belief in God, but I sense that you are religious. Is there a way that our marriage could be blessed?”

“I have in fact inquired,” she replied with a mischievous smile. “The chapel at St. Barnabas Mission is available for a private service. The chaplain, a kindly old priest whom I've known for years, is willing to bless our exchange of vows.”

“Perfect!” Prescott exclaimed.

They rose to their feet and sealed their love with a long and tender kiss. Pamela felt euphoric, like being born again to a new, blissful life, together with Jeremiah, stretching out endlessly.

As they left the park, arm in arm, and entered the hurly-burly of the city, suddenly a tiny, familiar voice of caution spoke up in her mind, unbeckoned.
Look again before you leap, Pamela. Can you trust him, or any man? You are going to be a subservient partner in the marriage. He will own most of the property. Your only asset will be the boardinghouse in Lower Manhattan.

“Are you having second thoughts, Pamela?” Prescott's eyes were so full of compassion that she began to shiver.

“We'll work out the details, Jeremiah. Now let's savor the moment.”

The
Williams Weekly,
1894, pp. 207–209, reported in detail the football team's victory over Amherst on November 17. The fictional Edward Prescott plays the combined role of the real Draper brothers, Phil and Fred. Herbert L. Pratt (1871–1945) was in fact the Amherst captain. He went on to become the president of Standard Oil of New York. The historical Franklin Carter (1837–1919), distinguished scholar in Latin and German, was president of Williams College, 1881–1901, and led the institution's significant expansion.

 

In the late nineteenth century, courts rarely acknowledged or vacated wrongful convictions in major felony cases. Hence, the police reporter and journalist Jacob Riis (1849–1914), and other advocates for judicial victims, sought redress in executive clemency. Ameer Ben Ali spent nine years in Sing Sing until his health declined to the point that he was moved to the Clinton State Prison's department for the criminally insane. In April 1901 Governor Benjamin B. Odell Jr. pardoned Ben Ali, who returned to Algeria without an apology or compensation. See Edwin M. Borchard,
Convicting the Innocent: Errors of Criminal Justice
(Garden City Pub. Co., Garden City, NY, 1932), pp. 66–72. For a recent analysis of wrongful convictions and the use of DNA to correct them, consult Brandon L. Garrett,
Convicting the Innocent: Where Criminal Prosecutions Go Wrong
(Harvard University Press, Cambridge, MA, 2011).

 

For a century and a half, Tammany Hall dominated politics in New York City. In 1894 the Hall itself was located in Manhattan on East Fourteenth Street between Irving Place and Third Avenue. See Oliver E. Allen,
The Tiger: The Rise and Fall of Tammany Hall
(Addison-Wesley, Reading, MA, 1993), for an overview of the organization. Tammany's remarkable success was due primarily to the services it offered to millions of poor immigrants and their impoverished descendants in the city. At its best, as in the fictional characters Florence Mulligan and Frank Dodd, Tammany found food, clothing, heat, and jobs for its clients, helped them navigate the judicial system, and represented their interests in the political arena—all of this, of course, in return for their votes. At its worst, Tammany's leaders siphoned off large sums of money for themselves, sometimes shamelessly, like Boss Tweed (1823–1877); sometimes more discreetly, like Richard Croker (1843–1922). Tammany's allies and agents, such as the fictional Judge Fawcett and Tim Smith, also resorted to fraud and bribery as well as violence. In 1871 at the height of Tweed's corruption, the cartoonist Thomas Nash created the iconic image of Tammany as a tiger mauling a prostrate figure of democracy.

 

New York City's nineteenth-century legislature, the Board of Aldermen, was notoriously corrupt, earning itself the nickname “The Forty Thieves.” In the 1880s the Aldermen also gained the title “Boodle Board,” from the Dutch word meaning “bribe money.” The “Boodle” of 1884, an historical fact, lacks a comprehensive history. Businessman Jacob Sharp (d. 1888) bribed the aldermen to gain a Broadway railway franchise. Legal pursuit of the thieves went on for several years. In 1938 the Board of Aldermen was replaced by the City Council.

 

Mr. William Kemmler, convicted of his wife's murder, was electrocuted at Auburn Prison in upstate New York, August 6, 1890, the first use of the electric chair. The next day, the
New York Times
reported that the powerful eight-minute electric shock filled the death chamber with a dreadful stench of burning flesh, sickening many observers. It was widely but wrongly reported that his body caught fire.

 

The novel's fictional Pullman porter, Charles Hart, illustrates the situation of blacks in late nineteenth-century America: separate and unequal, experiencing systematic discrimination in Northern as well as Southern states. For George Pullman's views see Larry Tye,
Rising from the Rails: Pullman Porters and the Making of the Black Middle Class
(Henry Holt, New York, 2005).

 

By 1894 transcontinental travel by rail had become relatively rapid, comfortable, and inexpensive. See John H. White, Jr.,
Wet Britches and Muddy Boots: A History of Travel in Victorian America
(Indiana University Press, Bloomington, IN, 2012) as well as his authoritative
The American Railroad Passenger Car
(Johns Hopkins University Press, Baltimore, 1985). Prices for a ticket from Chicago to Los Angeles ranged from $59 for a drawing room in a Pullman Palace Car to $4 for a double berth in a Tourist Car. By 1894 telephones could be found in business and professional offices. See Claude S. Fischer,
America Calling: A Social History of the Telephone to 1940
(University of California Press, Berkeley, 1992). For telegraph service consult David Hochfelder,
The Telegraph in America, 1832–1920
(Johns Hopkins University Press, Baltimore, 2012). In 1890 the average price of a ten-word message from New York to Chicago was forty cents.

 

Los Angeles in 1894 is described in B. R. Baumgardt,
Tourists' Guide Book to South California
(B. R. Baumgardt & Co., Los Angeles, 1895). Remi A. Nadeau's
Los Angeles: From Mission to Modern City
(Longmans, Green, New York, 1960) captures the boom and bust character of the city in the late nineteenth century and the entrepreneurial role of Edward Doheny (1856–1935) and Charles Canfield (1848–1913) in the city's oil industry.