Most people have seen the iconic and epic Martin Scorsese film Gangs of New York, but few know the far cooler true story of the legendary beef in the Bowery that spanned two continents and survived two international wars (Independence and 1812) as well as the American Civil War. For those of you who have been living under a rock these last 20 years and never saw Daniel Day Lewis’ best performance (and arguably one of Leo’s best as well), I highly recommend you do so, though the details imparted in that film have little to nothing to do with this story beyond the fact that those motherfuckers liked to fight.
The root of the beef is as old as time itself- the haves versus the have-nots and the almost-have-nots teaming up real hard with the haves to ensure they don’t end up with the have-nots. It’s the same story that leads to pretty much any artificial distinction between peoples, and in this case it was the “Natives,” a preposterous fucking name for people of English extraction who’d only been in the area for a century or so, versus the Immigrants, which was basically the Scots-Irish fleeing British oppression and their own incessant and essentially nonsensical internecine strife in their own Highlands and borderlands. To be clear- there is no “good” side to this story- the maniac immigrants the Natives hated were the same people who settled Appalachia, and they’re so historically unpleasant that even the pacifist-to-death Quakers took up arms against them in Pennsylvania during the colonial period (the same Quakers who’d left England to avoid fighting in wars in the first place).
That said, appears on its face to be a story about immigrants versus anti-immigrants and English-descended Americans versus everyone else, it’s actually a story about the role boxing has traditionally played in the United States, about the abandonment of all-in rules for more refined boxing rules, and a story that must be told if for no other reason than the men involved are named Bill the Butcher and Old Smoke John. Not only were these two of the most hard-bitten, quick-fisted dickheads ever to stroll down Wall Street in NYC, but they were both central figures in New York City politics. If this story doesn’t give you some insight into exactly how fucking crazy life was in the American history I covered in the Empire Builder Diet series, probably nothing will.
New York in the middle of the 18th Century could only be described as a hellish, stinking apocalyptic scene that probably rivaled your worst imaginings of hell. Commissions were formed to map the various stenches around the city, so that the sources could be found and neutralized. The air was filled with soot from coal-fired foundries and factories; grease from cooking fires and the residue of oil lamps coated everything; over that, you had the oppressive stench of horseshit from the several pounds of manure and more than a quart of urine that each of the 170000 horses in the city dumped each day on the streets and sidewalks (Horses), the clinging fetidity of the open sewers, and over all of that the lingering scent of the rotting trash littering the sidewalks and streets.
Indoors, if you can believe it, was fucking worse.
“In 19th-century New York, even tenements were ranked. Some were considered too good for the Irish, who were relegated to densely packed hovels in the urban shanty town of Five Points, on the Lower East Side. Here families huddled together, with several hundred people in one building.
In the 1860s, almost 300,000 people lived within one square mile. Rear structures were appended and floors were added, stacked precariously one on top of another. Rooms were divided and subdivided. It was not uncommon for five families – about 20 people – to share one room that measured 12ft by 12ft and had two beds and no table or chairs. There was no ventilation or sanitation inside, and human and animal waste piled up in the courtyards outside. Swine roamed freely, and dead horses posed a major problem on the streets. The ordure and stench caused not only physical disease but what Jacob Riis, the pioneering photojournalist who recorded the slums of the city in the late 19th century, described as a ‘deadly moral contagion'” (O’Sullivan).
Amidst all of that, the country was tearing itself the fuck apart over slavery, and deeper than that, over class privilege related to the draft. Everyone was awful, everything was filthy, the food sucked, and life was a waking nightmare from which the only escape was drunkenness- yes, everyone was more or less drunk all of the time. The poverty and drunkenness led to crime, and crime led to gangs, which led to shittier conditions for everyone, only made worse by deep-seated political corruption that seemed purpose-built to keep poor people poor (though that is not an accurate statement by any means).
Obviously, people wanted a way out of that bullshit (and a way to defend themselves, and that is where boxing came into the picture. Boxing has always been the sport for the new Americans on the rise- the Irish, people of African, native and Latin extraction, and women (until you have the vote and the ability to drive, you’re not fully a legal “human”) have fight sports as a means by which they could empower themselves and whatever community to which they ascribe. This phenomenon dates even to the roots of the sport of boxing, which in the time of Bill the Butcher and Old Smoke was still in its infancy, and it puts the names of even hated foreigners on the lips of even the most virulent, batshit racists of the day, like horror and blackpill god HP Lovecraft, who often discussed fight sports with fellow literary god Robert E. Howard, the creator of Conan the Barbarian. In some correspondence between these two titans of fantasy and weird fiction, Howard wrote to Lovecraft:
“There have been, however, few more desperate rogues than those living in old New York, from all I can hear. In the days of the Hudson Dusters, the Dead Rabbits and other gangs. Bill Poole, the leader of the ‘native Americans’ must have possessed incredible vitality, to have lived fourteen days. . . with a bullet under his heart”
“I’d have given five dollars to have seen the fight John Morrissey had with Poole” (Leno).
While it’s unsurprising that the men sided with the native in this encounter, it does point precisely to the aforementioned sociological theory that fight sport plays a critical role in the advancement of new or downtrodden groups within a given polity. It is curious, however, that those men sided with Poole given the circumstances of both the fight and his life, as Lovecraft in particular was obsessed to the point of insanity with being aristocratic, even as his family’s fortunes dwindled, and William The Butcher Poole was anything but aristocratic.
If you recall the movie, you’ll recall Daniel Day Lewis’ character is William Cutting, which is a fictionalization of William Poole (July 24, 1821 – March 8, 1855). Standing 6′ and over 200 pounds, William Poole was essentially a meat-filled giant of a man for his time. A butcher by trade, Poole was also one of the most feared rough and tumble fighters of his time and was known to be seriously quick with his fists if anyone thought themselves his equal in a fight or in physical strength. As I mentioned in an earlier Fustigation Fury, the “boxing” of the day was far closer to MMA than boxing at the best of times, and usually involved a round or two out of three of live-edged weapons, and as a butcher, Bill Poole was pretty much unmatched with a blade as well. Bill piled all of those vicious streetfighting/rough-and-tumble skills into a man who outweighed the average American male by 60 pounds and stood almost a half a foot taller, a blade in each hand and nothing but hatred in his heart for the damnable Papists.
Standing opposite the seasoned streetfighter was John Morrissey, an Irish immigrant who was used to fighting according to the London Prize rules, which were conceived in 1838 but not fully implemented until 1853. The shift in rules was a gradual one intended to legitimize the then-illegal sport, aimed at preventing deaths (which were so common that almost all of the 2000+ historical worldwide boxing deaths, only 500 of them occurred after 1884), and Morrisey had fought under those rules as an Irish immigrant fighting in gold rush towns in the American West. Quite a bit lighter than the Butcher, Morrissey stood 6′ and 170bs, which still made him a giant compared to the diminutive people of that era, but as a man giving up 30 pounds to his opponent, Morrissey definitely didn’t use his fucking head when choosing the fight rules.
Morrissey had some good idea of what it was he was walking into- he had fought an Irishman who was an enforcer for Irish immigrants in Tammany, a man named Yankee Sullivan, in a title match for the undisputed bare-knuckle title in the US (which although illegal nevertheless took place). Sullivan was inexplicably backed by Bill the Butcher, who as an avowed Nativist must have just hated Sullivan slightly less than Morrissey, or thought Morrissey had no shot. After they moved the fight to avoid the two companies of militia the state of Maryland sent to stop the proceedings, Morrissey and Sullivan fought under London Prize Rules, which the Sullivan didn’t understand. After knocking out Morrissey, Sullivan left the ring while Morrissey was still being counted out, for which he was disqualified.
“London Prize Ring rules, set of rules governing bareknuckle boxing, which were adopted in 1838 and revised in 1853. They superseded those drawn up by Jack Broughton, known as the father of English boxing, in 1743. Under the London rules, bouts were held in a 24-ft (7.3-m) square “ring” enclosed by ropes. A knockdown ended the round, followed by a 30-second rest and an additional 8 seconds to regain the center of the ring. Butting, gouging, hitting below the waist, and kicking were banned. Although the Marquess of Queensberry rules, which called for glove matches, appeared in 1867, professional bareknuckle fights continued. The last heavyweight championship bout held under London rules was in 1889 when John L. Sullivan beat Jake Kilrain [the fight pictured left] in 75 rounds to defend his heavyweight championship” (Britannica).
Morrissey’s win by disqualification didn’t sit well with anyone in the crowd, least of all Bill the Butcher, and it wasn’t as if the two men didn’t already have beef- they were both enforcers for opposite sides of NYC politics. Poole was the “shoulder-hitter” for the Nativists, while Morrissey had quickly established himself as the ruling fist of god on the Irish side. When Poole refused to pay up on the outcome of Morrissey’s fight, a beef was begun that would eventually end in Bill the Butcher’s untimely death. The kicker is that Morrissey was either so cocky or so stupid as to think that he could easily beat an accomplished streetfighter known to be incredibly dangerous who outsized him considerably that when he was offered the choice of rules he strayed from his school and played right into William Poole’s hand- he chose a no-rules fight.
The two circled each other for about 30 seconds until Morrissey thrust his left fist forward. Poole ducked, seized his enemy by the waist, and threw him to the ground.
Poole then fought as dirty as one might imagine. Atop Morrissey, he bit, tore, scratched, kicked and punched. He gouged Morrissey’s right eye until it streamed with blood. According to the New York Times, Morrissey was so disfigured “that he was scarce recognized by his friends.”
“Enough,” Morrissey cried, and he was shuttled away while his opponent enjoyed a toast and absconded on his rowboat.
Some accounts hold that Poole’s supporters attacked Morrissey during the fight, thus giving the Butcher a cheated victory. Other maintained that Poole was the only one who touched Morrissey. We’ll never know the truth.
Either way, Morrissey was a bloody mess. He retreated to a hotel about a mile away on Leonard Street to lick his wounds and plot revenge. As for Poole, he headed to Coney Island with his friends to celebrate” (Zimmerman).
The aftermath of this stupid nonsense over the equivalent of $3k is exactly what you’d expect, be they gangbangers from modern day Chi-Raq or idiot scumbags from the hellish nightmarescape that was mid-19th century New York City. After seven months of convalescence, Morrissey and two of his boys found Bill the Butcher getting hammered at a local watering hole and another fight broke out, but this one with pistols. Varying accounts have Morrissey just walking up to Poole and pulling the trigger three times in his face to no effect, while others have his compatriots simply bombing in there and blasting Poole. A Welsh immigrant was the one who pulled the trigger, and although Bill managed to get away from the scene, he died two weeks later, telling his friends he “died a true American.” Neither Morrissey nor the Welshman were convicted of the murder, which occurred in front of enough witnesses that three hung juries should have been an impossibility, and Morrissey went on to be a reasonably positive influence on the world around him thereafter.
Morrissey, who had retired from fighting after being essentially fed through a thresher, re-entered the ring one last time to defeat John C. Heenan for the title, a man who would later fight boxing legend Tom Sayers in Britain in the first official world title fight. He actually made the utterly insane if-you-consider-it three-to-four-week by sailing ship trip to Britain to witness the fight and placed $600 ($18k in 2020) on massive underdog Sayers to win after spending an afternoon coaching up Sayers on his opponent. Interestingly, the fight was declared a draw after Heenan, who’d been fighting completely blind, and Sayers, who gave up fifty pounds and six inches to the 6’2″ 195lb Heenan, was obviously fucking exhausted after pounding on each other for almost three straight hours. The crowd, rowdy as fuck and obviously ready to end the fight themselves, stormed the ring, and the purse was split between the two utterly brutalized, one temporarily blind and one nearly crippled, fighters.
After his retirement from boxing, Morrissey invested heavily in more vice, “allegedly owning stakes in 16 casinos at one point. In August 1860, it was estimated that he was worth $200000 [$5,156,198.02 in 2020 dollars]” and “all of which he had gained at hazard” (Wikipedia). In Saratoga Springs, NY, Morrissey helped establish the posh and exclusive Saratoga Race Course and “The Club House”, “a casino in Saratoga that attracted such notable guests as [the first President to face Birther accusations and the man who defended the 1850s San Francisco version of Rosa Parks, which got public transportation in that city desegregated 100 years before everyone else] Chester A. Arthur, [the only president to endure a more fractious and unpleasant election than the 2020] Rutherford B. Hayes, [the only president to have his memoirs published by Mark Twain] Ulysses S. Grant, Cornelius Vanderbilt, John D. Rockefeller [whom authors Michael Klepper and Robert Gunther placed at the apex of the list of the richest Americans, with Vanderbilt trailing Rockefeller in their1996 book The Wealthy 100], and [god-tier author] Mark Twain” (Ibid).
Ten years after peeling Bill the Butcher’s cap back and getting away scot-free, Morrissey ran for Congress and served two consecutive terms in the House (1867-1871) and two more in the Senate (1875-1878), during which time he basically just stayed drunk as shit and threatened to beat the fuck out of any Congressman who would challenge him. Despite his rough background, Morrissey was a true champion of the people as a Congressman, fighting corruption and testifying against demigod-level shitbag politician William “Boss” Tweed before dropping dead of pneumonia at 47. In the end, Morrissey is the one who is remembered fondly, both as a member of the International Boxing Hall of Fame and as the first Irish mob boss in history, but it is Bill the Butcher whose name we’ll remember, simply because Daniel Day Lewis (and a nod to Leo as well) is only actor who could dare to challenge the inimitable Nic Cage for greatest actor of all time.
Sources:
Leno, Brian and Don Herron. Two-gun Bob: appreciating an American tough guy. Up and Down these Mean Streets: The Official Website of Don Herron. 2 Apr 2017. Web. 16 Nov 2020. https://donherron.com/two-gun-bob-appreciating-an-american-tough-guy/
London prize rules. Britannica. 18 Apr 2020. Web. 19 Nov 2020. https://www.britannica.com/sports/London-Prize-Ring-rules
John Morrisssey. Wikipedia. Web. 19 Nov 2020. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/John_Morrissey
Wertz, Frederick. The true story of the Irish immigrant who stood up to Bill the Butcher. IrishCentral. 28 Mar 2016. Web. 19 Nov 2020. www.irishcentral.com/roots/history/the-true-story-of-the-irish-immigrant-who-stood-up-to-bill-the-butcher.
What horses left behind in the 19th centuury city. Ephemeral New York. 8 Jun 2011. Web. 19 Nov 2020. https://ephemeralnewyork.wordpress.com/2011/06/08/what-horses-left-behind-in-19th-century-new-york/
William Poole. Wikipedia. Web. 19 Nov 2020. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/William_Poole
Williams, Joseph. The real Bill the butcher from ‘Gangs Of New York’ was a xenophobic pugilist with a short temper. All Things Interesting. 3 Oct 2019. Web. 19 Nov 2020. https://allthatsinteresting.com/bill-the-butcher
Zimmerman, Ken Jr. Thug beats world champ in street brawl. Ken Zimmerman Jr. 7 Apr 2014. Web. 19 Nov 2020. https://kenzimmermanjr.com/thug-beats-world-champ-brawl/
Interesting shit mate. Will have to rewatch that movie now!
It popped up while I was researching the history of boxing and Tom Sayers, whose featured in an upcoming article about the origins of modern boxing and their old school training methods (many of which I got from a badass early chick fighter). I’m psyched you liked it- I figure when shit like that pops up I might as well write about it- it can’t hurt, haha.