Joe Bruno's Mobsters - Six Volume Set (39 page)

New York City
, Mayor Caleb C. Woodhull feared a riot, and he dispatched 350 policemen, commanded by Police Chief G.W. Matsell, to the Astor Place Theater to quell any potential violence. Woodhull also summoned General Sanders, of the New York Militia, to march his eight companies of guardsmen and two troops of Calvary to the area surrounding the playhouse. It was estimated that by 7 p.m., more than 20,000 people had assembled on streets around the Astor Place Theater, itching for a fight.

When the curtain opened at 7:40 p.m., Macready faced a full house of 1,800 people. Inside the theater, the pro-Macready contingent vastly outnumbered
Rynders's group of motley gang members. For some unknown reason, during the first two scenes Rynders and his crew did not budge from their seats. The authorities hoped, in spite of all the advance rhetoric, nothing untoward would occur that night at the theater.

That hope dissipated when Macready strode onto the stage for a third time. Deciding this was time to act, Rynders and his gang vaulted to their feet, and
they began hooting and hollering at Macready. The crowd outside took this as a cue to go into full-attack mode. A huge mob, brandishing assorted weapons, charged at the theater, screaming, “Burn the damned den of aristocracy!”

The mob threw rocks and stones, which broke all the theater's windows. Then, just because they could, the rioters busted every street lamp in sight. The police, who were vastly outnumbered, tried to squelch the disturbance, but to no avail.

Ned Buntline stood at the head of the angry mob, chanting, “Workingmen! Shall Americans or Englishmen rule? Shall the sons whose fathers drove the baseborn miscreants from these shores give up liberty?”

At 9 p.m., Col. Sanders and his troops arrived. Chief Matsell, finally giving up on his policemen being up to the task, and after being hit in the chest with a 20-pound rock, gave Col. Sanders the go-ahead to have his men shoot into the crowd. The firing commenced at a dazzling rate. Men, women, and children were hit by bullets, and a lady, who was sleeping in her bed 150 yards from the theater, took a bullet in her leg.

In a little over an hour, 22 people were killed and 150 injured. Five of the injured died within five days. Ned Buntline was arrested, along with 86 others. Buntline was tried and convicted of “inciting to riot,” and sentenced to a year in jail and a $250 fine. Rynders somehow escaped arrest, and he and his gang members hightailed it back into the Five Points.

Rynders'
s downfall started when he inexplicably abandoned Tammany Hall and his Irish cohorts, and joined the opposition Native American, or “Know Nothing Party.” Rynders renamed his political organization the “Americus Club,” and he aligned himself with Butcher Bill Poole, the head of the Native American Bowery Boys gang. Rynders's place at Tammany Hall, and as commander of the Five Points Irish gangs, was immediately taken by John “Smoke” Morrissey.

The loss of
Rynders's power was vividly displayed during the 1857 Fourth of July holiday, when gang riots took place in and around the Five Points area. The Irish Five Point gangs began their Fourth of July celebration on July 3, when they raided a Bowery Boys dive at 42 Bowery. Initially, the two Irish gangs involved were the Dead Rabbits and the Plug Uglies. However, the Bowery Boys were able to defeat the two Irish gangs decisively, driving them back into the Five Points.

The following day, the Irish Roach Guards joined the other two Irish gangs, and the tide turned. The three Irish gangs invaded a ginmill favored by the Bowery Boys called “The
Green Dragon,” on Broome Street near the Bowery. They pummeled the Bowery Boys out of their own joint, and for good measure, they ripped up the entire dance floor and drank all the liquor in the establishment.

The following day, the Bowery Boys, now joined by another Native American gang called the Atlantic Guards, invaded Irish gang territory in the Five Points. The two warring factions met head-on at the corner of Bayard Street and the Bowery, and thus began one of the most spirited free-for-all gang fights in the history of New York City. The battle spread along Bayard, Baxter, the Bowery, Mulberry, and Elizabeth streets. It was estimated that 800-1,000 gang members took place in the brawl. Combatants used bludgeons, paving stones,
brickbats, axes, pitchforks, guns, and knives. Not only were citizens attacked, but the gangs also looted every store in sight.

The
New York Times
wrote, “brickbats, stones, and clubs were thickly flying around in all directions, and men ran wildly about brandishing firearms. Wounded men lay on the sidewalks and were trampled upon. Now the Rabbits would make a combined rush and force their antagonists up Bayard to the Bowery. Then, the fugitives, being reinforced, turned on their pursuers and compelled a retreat to Mulberry, Elizabeth, and Baxter streets.”

At the time, there were two New York City police forces fighting amongst themselves for the right to police the city: the Metropolitan Police Force and the Municipal Police Force. These two groups were more interested in battling themselves, than they were in quelling the riots. Therefore, they were at best – ineffectiv
e, and at worst – disinterested in ending the gang war. Not realizing Rynders had lost the favor of the Irish gangs, on the evening of July 4 the captains of both police forces decided to call in Rynders to help end the riots. Rynders stood in the middle of the combatants, and he  begged both sides to stop the senseless hostilities.

“I implore you to end this carnage!” Rynders yelled. “You are killing each other for what purpose? For what end?”

The rioters ignored Rynders, and instead, both sides, including the Irish gangs whom Rynders had once ruled, threw rocks and stones at Rynders. Rynders was severely wounded and forced to run for his life.

In the years that followed, Rynders faded into obscurity. In 1862, he surfaced briefly when he backed crooked New York City Mayor Fernando Wood, in Wood's attempt to withdraw New York City from the Union and make it a sovereign state unto itself. Then in 1863, Rynders opposed the Federal Government's right to draft men to fight
in the Civil War. This resulted in the 1863 Civil War Riots, which caused scores of Negroes to be slaughtered, as well as the deaths of over 1,000 rioters, mostly gang members once aligned with Rynders, when he was de facto boss of the Five Points area.

To add insult to injury, Rynders Street, which had been originally named in Captain Isaiah Rynders' honor, was changed to Centre Street, which it is still named to this day.

In 1976, Captain Isaiah Rynders was portrayed in the historical novel
The Furies,
by John Jakes, and he also appeared in the nonfiction book
Lucrecia Mott
(1999), by Dorothy Sterling.

S
harkey, William J.

He was a crook
, a pickpocket, a Tammany Hall politician, and finally - a murderer. Yet William J. Sharkey was best known for his daring escape from death row in New York City's Tombs Prison.

Sharkey was born in New York City
in 1845, to a well-to-do family which resided in the Ninth Ward in Manhattan. Despite the affluence of his family, Sharkey gravitated to the dark side. He began hanging out with pickpockets, gamblers, and crooks, and soon he became a very capable pickpocket himself and a gambler of some renown. Sharkey was eventually arrested for pickpocketing, and he had his picture taken by the municipal photographer, giving himself a definitive presence in the criminal records section of New York City Police Department.

Dealing in stolen bonds, Sharkey soon climbed the criminal ladder. With the money from his illicit endeavors piling in, Sharkey formed his own gang called “Sharkey's Guards,” which had their headquarters at the corner of Wooster and Houston Streets.

It was there that Sharkey insinuated himself into the local political scene, and soon he was the darling of the crooks who ran Tammany Hall. Sharkey dressed in the finest clothes, wearing sparkling diamonds on his fingers and around his neck. Soon, Tammany Hall put Sharkey up for election for Assistant Alderman. Even though Tammany Hall had influence and muscle working in their favor at the polls, Sharkey somehow lost the election. Disappointed with his political failure, Sharkey decided to go back to his first loves: stealing and gambling.

With the money he made from various illegal endeavors, Sharkey traveled to Buffalo, New York
, and he started a faro game. However, Sharkey was so unlucky, he managed to lose $4,000 in just five days. Downtrodden, Sharkey returned to New York City, and he hooked up with his old friend Robert Dunn, real name Bob Isaacs.

Dunn was an employee of the City's Comptroller's Office, but he was also a faro dealer in a Fulton Street gambling house. Figuring Dunn was a more capable faro
player than he, Sharkey gave Dunn $600, and he told him to go to Buffalo and try his hand at faro. Dunn agreed that if he was successful in Buffalo, he promised to repay Sharkey the $600 plus half his winnings.

As luck would have it, Dunn was just as unlucky in Buffalo as Sharkey, and he lost his entire stake. Dunn returned to New York City
, and he told Sharkey the bad news.

On September 1, 1872, Dunn and Sharkey attended the funeral of James Riley, a prominent member of the Michael Norton Association, a political arm of Tammany Hall. After the funeral, Sharkey and Dunn traveled separately to a saloon owned by Charles Harvey, called “The Place,” located at 288 Hudson Street.

By the time Sharkey had arrived, Dunn had already imbibed a few rye whiskeys at the bar. Sharkey ordered a rye himself, and after he knocked it down in one gulp, Sharkey demanded his $600 back from Dunn. Dunn told Sharkey he was tapped out himself, and he couldn't repay the money. Sharkey immediately drew a single-shot Derringer pistol, and he pointed it at Dunn's chest.

Dunn screamed, “Don't shoot, Billy! I'll pay you as soon as I can!”

Sharkey would have none of that. He bellowed back, “You better pay me now!”

Before Dunn could reply, Sharkey fired the Derringer point-blank at Dunn. The bullet pierced Dunn's heart, killing him instantly. Sharkey fled the scene of the crime, but he was
captured a few hours later in a boarding house on Washington Street, near Perry Street.

Sharkey was tried, convicted, and sentenced to be hanged at the Tombs Prison, on August 15, 1873. However, Sharkey's connections at Tammany Hall pushed back his execution date to early December.

While Sharkey was imprisoned, he was visited daily by the most beautiful Maggie Jourdan, herself a very successful pickpocket. Miss Jourdan arrived at the prison early every morning, and she always stayed until visiting hours were over. Miss Jourdan was a great friend of Mrs. Wesley Allen, the wife of a burglar, whose brother John Allen owned a bawdy dance hall on Water Street. John Allen was known as “The Wickedest Man in New York City.”

While most prisoners at the Tombs lived in perpetual squalor, Sharkey lived quite nicely o
n the second tier of the prison in an area called “Murderer's Row.” With the money Jourdan earned stealing, and also by her hocking her jewelry including her gold watch, Sharkey was able to decorate his jail cell No. 40 (which was never locked) with the finest furniture. Jordan bought Sharkey a walnut table, a Kidderminster carpet, a canary in a cage, and a book-and-magazine rack, which was suspended from the ceiling by silken cords. Jourdan also supplied Sharkey with a soft mattress for his bed, a comfortable chair for his lounging, draperies for his cell door, an elegant dressing gown made of velvet and cherry-colored silk, and velvet slippers.

Jourdan often told Sharkey during her visits, that if he died
, she no longer wanted to live.

“Willie, I could never let you suffer,” she tearfully told him.

On November 19, 1873, at exactly 10 a.m., Jourdan arrived at the Franklin Street entrance of The Tombs. The guard on duty gave her the usual pass given to all visitors. The bottom part of her body was noticeably bulky, but the prison guards thought she had just put on additional petticoats to protect herself the from the cold November air. Jourdan immediately went to Sharkey's cell, and she spoke to him for several hours. The prison guards were so accustomed to her being there, they hardly paid any attention to what she did, or what she said to Sharkey.

Mrs. Wesley Allen arrived at the prison at 12:30 p.m. She stopped at Sharkey's cell on the second tier, and
she spoke to both Jourdan and Sharkey. Then Mrs. Allen went upstairs to the third tier to visit a prisoner named Flood. At 1 p.m., Jourdan exited the prison, which was quite unusual, since she always stayed until the end of the day.

A half an hour later, a strange-looking woman, with especially broad shoulders, walked down the second-tier co
rridor, through two lower gates and out of the prison. As this dubious lady exited the prison, she handed her pass to the guard minding the exit. This woman wore a heavy black woolen dress, a black coat, an Alpine bonnet, and a thick green veil which covered her entire face. Patrolmen Dolan was walking down Franklin Street, when he saw this woman jump nimbly onto a passing streetcar, even though she was wearing high French heels.

At 2:05 p.m., Mrs. Wesley Allen tried to exit the prison. As she passed the guard standing at the exit, the guard asked her for her visitor's pass. Mrs. Allen nervously fumbled in her dr
ess pockets for several seconds before she said, “I put it in my pocket, but I must have lost it.”

The guard, realizing something was up, immediately summoned Warden Johnson. Mrs. Allen was detained, while Warden Johnson ordered all cells in the prison to be immediately searched. During this search, they were dismayed to discover that Sharkey's cell was empty. His elegant clothe
s were scattered about his cell, and right above his washbasin were the remnants of his flowing mustache, which had obviously just been shaved off.

Mrs. Allen was immediately arrested, but since there was no concrete evidence to incriminate her, the police reluctantly released her. Jourdan was arrested that night at her mother's home at 167 Ninth Ave. When the detectives told her she was under arrest, Jourdan
replied, “I am the happiest little woman in the world.”

Jourdan was tried in General Sessions Court
, and she was defended by the infamous attorney, Big Bill Howe. Howe was so efficient in Jourdan's defense, the jury acquitted her on all charges.

It was later determined, that despite the fact the police had searched all the piers in the city looking for Sharkey, Sharkey had escaped on the schooner
Frank Atwood,
and had made his way to Haiti. Not liking that country too much, Sharkey boarded another boat, and he traveled to Cuba, where he settled.

Two years after Sharkey had made his escape from The Tombs Prison, Maggie Jourdan joined Sharkey in Cuba. However, for some unknown reason (probably because Sharkey was an incorrigible creature), S
harkey badly mistreated Jourdan; the very woman responsible for Sharkey avoiding the gallows in New York City. Sharkey abused Jourdan so much, the captain of the ship who had taken Jourdan to Cuba, hustled her back on board and took her back to New York City.

Soon afterwards, Jourdan found her true love, whom she married. They presumably lived happily ever after.

As far as it can be determined, William J. Sharkey never returned to New York City.

S
nyder, Ruth Brown

One crime writer called
it, “a cheap crime involving cheap people.” Famous author and playwright Damon Runyon said the crime was so “idiotic,” he coined it, “The Dumbbell Murders,” because the murderers were so dumb.

Blond, broad-shouldered, and buxom, Ruth Brown Snyder was involved in a marriage she could no longer endure. Ruth told peopl
e her husband, Albert Snyder, 13 years her senior, had taken advantage of her youth and tricked her 10 years earlier, when she was only 19-years-old, into a marriage “she really didn't want.” Snyder said Albert, an art editor with
Motor Boating Magazine
, was a mean man, who was able to convince her to marry him because she was young, innocent, and naïve. Snyder told people that on the day they were married, she was too weak and faint even to consummate the marriage with Albert.

Ruth Snyder said, “He had to wait till I was better before he got his way. But to him I was never any better than the ex-switchboard operator who worked in a typing pool.”

Yet, after Albert's death, his editor and publisher, C. F. Chapman, said about Albert, “He was a man's man... a quiet, honest, upright man, ready to play his part in the drama of life without seeking the spotlight, or trying to fill the leading role. All the world is made up of good, solid, silent men like him.”

Judd
Gray was a nondescript, bespectacled corset salesman, who was also involved in a loveless marriage. According to Gray's coworkers, Gray's wife Isabel was an enigma. She was seldom seen or heard by anyone, and had taken on the aspect of an “invisible woman.” Few of Gray's coworkers in the Bien Joilie Corset Company had ever met his wife, or had even spoken to her. In fact, some of his coworkers did not know that the 32-year-old Gray was married.

As he awaited the electric chair,
Gray described his wife in his autobiography, as such: “Isabel, I suppose, one would call a home girl. She had never trained for a career of any kind. She was learning to cook, and was a careful and exceptionally exact housekeeper. As I think it over searchingly, I am not sure, and we were married these many years, of her ambitions, hopes, or her ideals. We made our home, drove our car, played bridge with our friends, danced, raised our child – ostensibly together – married. Never could I seem to attain with her the comradeship that formed the bond between my mother and myself.”

It started out as a blind date arranged by another couple. Ruth Snyder and Judd
Gray first met in a tiny restaurant in midtown Manhattan called “Henry's Swedish Restaurant.” After four hours of complaining to each other about the miseries of their respective marriages, they vowed to meet again soon.

On August 4, 1925, Albert Snyder and his 7-year-old daughter Lorraine were on a boating trip to Shelter Island.
Gray took this opportunity to knock on the door of the Snyder residence in Queens Village. Judd implored Ruth Snyder to have dinner with him at “their place”: Henry's Swedish Restaurant. After they dined and imbibed more than a few alcoholic beverages, Gray invited Snyder to his office on 34
th
Street and Fifth Avenue. His excuse was, “I have to collect a case of sample corsets.”

Inside
Gray's office, Ruth complained to Gray that she had a bad sunburn. “I've got some camphor oil in my desk,” Gray said. “Let me get it for you.”

Gray
retrieved the camphor oil, and he began rubbing the oil seductively on Ruth's reddened neck and shoulders, which aroused both people sexually. After the rubdown, Gray offered to give Snyder one of his new corsets, which he would graciously fit for her. Of course, this necessitated Ruth removing her blouse, which exposed her corpulent breasts. One thing led to another, and in the Bein Jolie Corset Company, Gray and Snyder first consummated their relationship. Ruth was so overcome with Gray's affections, she said to him, “Okay, from now on you can call me Momsie.”

For the next 18 months, while Albert Snyder was at work, Ruth Snyder and Judd
Gray met for numerous trysts in midtown hotels, or sometimes even at the Snyder residence. During these indiscretions, Ruth Snyder's daughter Lorraine was either downstairs sitting on the Snyder living room couch, or in the lobby of a sleazy Manhattan hotel. Their slobbering love affair was such that Gray frequently knelt at Snyder's feet, massaging her feet and ankles, declaring, “You are my Queen, my Momsie, my Mommie.” Ruth would look down lovingly at Gray and say, “You are my baby, my 'Bud', my loverboy.”

It was around this period of time, that Albert Snyder began having a series of strange “accidents.” In the summer of 1925, Albert was jacking up his family Buick so that he could change a flat tire. Suddenly, the jack slipped and the car fell,
almost crushing Albert to death as he quickly scrambled out of harm's way. A few days later, Albert had a problem with the crank of his car. He somehow hit himself on the head with the crank, and he fell to the ground, unconscious. When Albert awoke, he still couldn't figure out how his head could have been struck by that stupid crank.

After those two lucky breaks, or unlucky breaks, according to which way you look at it, Albert had a third accident. In August 1925, Albert again was working under his car in his indoor garage, with the engine running. Being the good wife, Ruth brought her husband a cool whiskey and soda to help him battle the heat. Ruth also told Albert how proud she was that he was such a great mechanic. Ruth then exited the garage, and a few minutes after Albert drank the whiskey, he began to feel drowsy. Albert glanced at the garage doors, and
he was shocked to find that instead of the doors being open, they were now tightly closed, which was causing him to inhale noxious carbon monoxide fumes from the tailpipe of his running car.

Ruth Snyder related these three incidents to Judd
Gray. Even if Albert Snyder didn't realize what was happening, Gray sure did.

“What are you trying to do?”
Gray asked Ruth. “Kill the poor guy?”

“Momsie can't do it alone,” Ruth said. “She needs help. Lover Boy will have to help her.”

At the time, Judd Gray thought, since they had been drinking, it was the alcohol talking, not Ruth. But the next time they met, Gray realized for the first time Ruth had been serious about killing her husband.

After a strenuous bout of lovemaking, Ruth blurted out triumphantly, “We'll be okay for money,” she said. “I've just tricked Albert into taking out some hefty life insurance. He thinks it's only for $1,000, but it's really for $96,000, if he dies by accident. I put three different policies in
front of him and only let him see the space where you sign. I told him it was a thousand buck policy in triplicate. He's covered for $1,000, $5,000, and $45,000, with a double indemnity clause, in case of an accidental death.”

Even after Ruth Snyder had told Judd
Gray that she was intent on killing her husband for the life insurance settlements, Gray still had his doubts. While the two love birds continued carrying on their torrid affair, Albert Snyder was nearly killed in three more “accidents.”

In July 1926, Albert fell asleep on his living room couch and almost died because someone had accidentally left on the gas jets in the kitchen. In January 1927, Albert had a violent case of the hiccups. Ruth said she had the perfect cure for pickups, and she handed her husband a glass of
bichloride of mercury. Albert guzzled down the drink, and he immediately became violently ill. Yet, Albert did not die. The very next month Albert Snyder again fell asleep on his living room couch, and he almost expired, because someone had inadvertently left on the gas tap in the living room.