William 'Boss' Tweed | Police at War | 2

It's the summer of 1870 in New York City, about six months before the sleigh crash that will kill county auditor James Watson. 29-year-old Jimmy O'Brien's reading the paper in his study, cup of coffee in his hand.

Jim has a rounded face with arched eyebrows and lips that curve into a thin, generous smile. His hairline is high and his chin is round and dimpled. He's just thinking about sending for a fresh pot of coffee when his doorbell chimes.

Jim keeps reading, listening as his butler walks down the hall to see who's calling. A few moments later, the butler appears at Jim's study door to announce the visitor. It's Bill Copeland, an accountant who lives nearby.

Earlier this year, Jim used his connections within the city government to get Copeland a job in the comptroller's office. Jim assumes that Copeland's paying a call to thank him for the favor.

But when the butler withdraws, Copeland's face falls into an expression of concern. He's nervous. He takes the seat that Jim pulls out for him and fidgets with his hat for a moment before launching into the problem.

It's the city's accounts, he says. There's something not right there. Jim gestures for him to elaborate.

Copeland's voice comes out as a horse whisper as he explains that some of the figures he's been seeing in the books don't make any sense. The bills the city is paying are astronomical, even for things that shouldn't cost very much.

Plus, there should be sworn affidavits from people stating that the work was completed and that the bill was accurate. He can't find any of those either.

But it's not his place to point this out to his superiors, nor does he think it would be right for him to start digging around for evidence of some kind of wrongdoing. Copeland fixes Jim with an apologetic stare.

He's sure he must be misunderstanding things somehow, but he can't shake the feeling that something is wrong in the comptroller's office. Jim smiles at his friend and tells him he was right to bring this to his attention.

Jim used to be the sheriff of New York County, after all, and still has friends at Tammany Hall. If someone inside the government is doing something they shouldn't, even by mistake, they need to be stopped.

But for that to happen, Copeland is going to need to do his part. Jim asks him to covertly make copies of any troubling documents that he comes across. Once he's gathered enough for a full picture of the problem, Jim will take care of things.

He knows just what to do. From Airship and Evergreen Podcast, I'm Jeremy Schwartz, and this is American Criminal.

3:32

By the time he was about 30, William Tweed had taken a step back from politics. He was still active within Tammany Hall, but some changes to the way New York City's government operated had made him want to take a break and reassess the landscape.

In that time, one of Tammany's more controversial figures rose to prominence and won the 1854 mayoral election.

Fernando Wood had campaigned as a Tammany Democrat, but was also secretly involved with the Know Nothing Party, who were the antithesis of Tammany in almost every way.

Men on both sides of that political divide had tried to thwart Wood's campaign because they didn't want the city led by a man that it seemed no one could trust. Once Wood took office, everyone could see that these guys had the right idea all along.

But though Fernando Wood was about as corrupt as the New York City mayor could get in the 1850s, his leadership wasn't wholly without merit.

For the people paying close attention, he had a lot of lessons to teach about what one should do and shouldn't do once you had a seat of power. The person watching this most closely was Bill Tweed, and he was just itching to get back in the game.

This is episode two in our four-part series on William Boss Tweed, the New York City police riot. It's early January 1855 in New York City Hall. Outside, snow falls on the dirt roads, slowly turning them into a slushy mess.

Inside though, a roaring fire warms the large chamber where the city's common council meets. The 20 aldermen and 60 councilmen that make up the group are assembled to hear their new mayor, 42-year-old Fernando Wood.

Wood was sworn into office on New Year's Day, and now he's come to the council's first meeting of the year to outline his agenda as mayor. As he steps towards the front of the room, the chatter slowly peters out.

Wood's upturned collar stretches past his wide chin, tucking just beneath his large ears. A neatly slicked down swoop of hair curls to one side above his wide pale eyes. When the room is completely still, Wood begins to speak.

He tells the 60 men about his intent to make New York a city in charge of its own fate. Too long has the state legislature pulled the strings.

He was elected to bring about change, he insists, and he expects the Common Council's assistance in making that vision a reality. There's polite applause at the end of Mayor Wood's speech. His sentiment is popular even if he's not.

Half the men are content to watch from the sidelines and see if Wood can follow through on his ideas. The other half are already scheming his downfall. Fernando Wood's first term as mayor of New York City is historic in several ways.

Some historians will eventually call him the first modern mayor of New York. And that seems rich when you remember that this is a time when pigs are allowed to roam the city streets, partly because they help clean up the filth.

But as it relates to the saga of William Tweed, the most important piece of Wood's story is his connection to Tammany Hall. He's the first city mayor to be associated with the society, which marks a huge step in their journey.

As the most powerful elected official in their midst, Wood becomes the de facto leader of the group. But there are still plenty of people within Tammany Hall who oppose Wood.

Remember, a faction within the society ran their own independent Democrat in the mayoral race to try and spoil Wood's chances. And although he wasn't one of the ones behind that particular campaign, Bill Tweed's not a fan of the new mayor.

He is desperate to learn from him, though. Not directly, of course, but by watching every move he makes.

Wood's rise to power in the party came about thanks to well-placed bribes to delegates, as well as the careful circulation of rumors about political enemies.

Bill already knows all about bribes, having accepted his fair share of them during his time as alderman for the city's Seventh Ward. But some of Wood's other tactics? Those caught Bill's attention during the 1853 campaign.

And after Wood is sworn in in early 1854, Bill trains a laser-like focus on the guy. Wood's popularity within his own party is iffy, but he's determined to make a lasting impact on the city. He wants to carve out a strong legacy for himself.

His not-so-secret desire is to go from the mayor's office to the governorship and eventually become president. That's simple enough, right?

Well, after campaigning on a platform of government reform, Wood tells voters that he wants to give New York City control over its own destiny.

As it stands, the state legislature in Albany has a tight grip over what the city government can and can't do. And locals hate it for good reason.

As Wood outlines in his earliest statement to the people, one-third of New York citizens live in some form of poverty, a third. And because of restrictions on their powers, local politicians can't do a whole lot to remedy the situation.

So it's time someone did something about that. Wood tries to redefine the maritalty as the central power in local government. Not just the last word and an argument, but the only one that matters.

And look, if he were an honorable man, this would not be a problem. But he's not. Remember, he's publicly a member of Tammany Hall, the main club for the state's Democrats.

But he's also not so secretly in bed with the Know Nothing Party, whose anti-immigrant and anti-Catholic policies are at odds with the voters who make up Tammany's base. It's hard to trust someone like that.

It also doesn't help that he's not a particularly likable guy, and he's been offering government jobs to anyone willing to pay up. These positions are valuable for the opportunity they provide for wealth.

Many of them don't even require a man to turn up. He could just stay home and accept his salary. But, there's also the chance for bribes and graft payments on top of that, depending on how enterprising you are.

So, by the spring of 1856, about a year into his term, Fernando Wood has proven himself well and truly corrupt. That doesn't make him all that different from the aldermen of the 40 Thieves Council, which was where Bill got his start.

But what does set him apart is his eagerness to go it alone. The 40 Thieves mostly stuck together, all for one and one for all, but Mayor Wood is just about enriching himself.

He even demands that city employees contribute to his re-election campaign. Unsurprisingly, this leads to even more revolt against Wood from within Tammany. Men publish letters pointing out Wood's corruption and calling for his replacement.

But their efforts are futile. Wood secures his party's nomination for Mayor, and before anyone knows it, election day has rolled around again. As ever, violence and dishonesty are rampant.

Not just in New York, but across the country. Ballot boxes are smashed or else stuffed with phony ballots. Men proudly walk from polling place to polling place, casting their vote many times over.

And people bring weapons with them for the inevitable clashes with other political parties. As mayor, it should be Wood's responsibility to curb this kind of behavior. But the chaos only benefits him.

When voters are being tackled to the ground and beaten in the streets, appeals are sent to the mayor's office to send out police to restore order. Wood ignores the requests.

The few police who do step up and try and calm things down, pay dearly for it. At least one officer is stabbed in the eye. When the dust settles, Fernando Wood wins re-election to the mayor's office.

Bill loses his own race for an alderman seat. But come the new year, he'll be presented with an opportunity for a new kind of power.

12:34

In the spring of 1857, the New York State Legislature passes an act creating a bipartisan county board of supervisors. The board is mandated to have six members from the Democratic Party and six Republicans.

Together, the board will oversee crucial aspects of the city's developing democracy, including selecting members of the election board and approving the disbursement of taxpayer dollars.

By insisting that the board have a built-in balance between the two major parties, the hope is that corruption will be impossible.

Bill Tweed is one of the Democrats elected to the board, putting him back in a position similar to the aldermen city he used to hold. And as far as historical records go, the board's first year is squeaky clean.

But Bill's return to elected office isn't the most consequential thing the state legislature does in 1857.

That comes when they pass a law that removes power over New York City's police force from the city's leaders and assign that authority to themselves. For someone like Fernando Wood, this is a worst-case scenario.

He'd started his first term by stating his intent to claw back power from the state government. And now they're taking control of the men who enforce the law every day?

Over Wood's loud protests, state lawmakers entirely abolished the municipal police force and the police board, which they replaced with the Metropolitan Police District.

This new police force is set up to be overseen by five commissioners appointed by New York's governor.

So the lawmakers send Mayor Wood a request that he formally disband the municipal force and turn its property and buildings over to the Metropolitans. Well, Wood just straight up refuses and fights the new law in the courts.

In May 1857, the State Supreme Court rules in favor of the new system. And Wood still refuses to comply. He addresses the existing municipal officers, asking them to support him, support their city.

And about 800 of the 1,100 strong force agree to stand with the mayor. The other 300 vote to join the new Metropolitan force.

Wood basically says good riddance to bad trash and fills the vacancies with new men, while the Metropolitan ranks are also being filled out with new recruits.

The upshot of all of this is that New York City has two separate police forces, one controlled by the mayor and considered illegal by the state government, and one ruled by the legislature. It's a powder keg just looking for a spark.

And that spark arrives in June 1857 with the death of Street Commissioner Joseph Taylor. Exactly what the role of Street Commissioner is, isn't what's important here.

What sets things off is that it's a position that allows a man to accept bribes and other illicit payments. It's also a position that both Mayor Wood and the New York governor believe is their right to fill.

On June 16th, Daniel Conover shows up at City Hall with a letter from the governor, stating that he's the new Street Commissioner. Wood refuses to accept that, insisting that the governor has no power over municipal appointments.

And technically he's in the right, but he's less concerned with the legality than he is with the money. He's already accepted a payment of $50,000 from a guy named Charles Devlin to basically sell him the commissioner job.

So he orders officers from the municipal police to forcibly remove Daniel from the building.

Royally PO, Daniel goes to a judge with no close ties to Wood and has him issue an arrest warrant for the mayor, charging him with assault and inciting a riot.

By the time Captain Walling, a member of the Metropolitan Police, get to City Hall, it's surrounded by hundreds of Wood's municipal police. And there are more inside.

Still, Walling is allowed to proceed to the mayor's office and present him with the warrant.

Like a petulant child, Wood insists that he doesn't recognize the existence or authority of the Metropolitan Police and rings a bell to summon a dozen or so municipals to drag Walling from the room.

So Walling goes back to the judge who issues an order to the county sheriff to arrest Mayor Wood himself. While all this is happening, rumors about what's going on inside City Hall are passing through the streets.

At the Metropolitan Police headquarters, the story is that their own Captain Walling has been beaten and held captive by the mayor's forces.

An outraged group of about 50 officers set off to rescue their comrade, only to be surrounded by hundreds of municipals who've been waiting for this exact thing to happen.

The Metropolitan officers are surrounded, and although they fight back, they're beaten within an inch of their lives. For a minute, it's looking like Mayor Woods going to triumph in this particular clash between powers.

But that same day, the 7th Regiment of the State Militia are parading down Broadway, on their way to Boston for the anniversary of the Battle of Bunker Hill.

Realizing they have a ready fighting force within shouting distance, the State Board of Police Commissioners get a message to the regiment's commander. Within minutes, the regiment changes course to make straight for City Hall.

Confronted with the sight of armed militiamen outside his window, Wood finally agrees to be taken into custody. After that, his popularity in the city dwindles.

He campaigned on government reform of giving New York City the power to shape its own destiny. But his own corruption and antagonizing of the state lawmakers only resulted in less control.

So, having failed to fulfill his promises, Fernando Wood loses his bid for re-election in 1857. He won't stay down for long, though. He'll be back to assert his influence over the city soon enough.

Watching every one of his mistakes and taking note of each carefully orchestrated triumph is Bill Tweed. He analyzes the way Wood pulls strings, the way he grants favors to certain people, the blatant way he sells the power of his office.

And Bill Tweed vows to do things very differently when it's his time to rule. It's April 3rd, 1858 at Westchester House in Lower Manhattan.

19:38

In a banquet hall on the hotel's ground floor, a dozen or so large tables are surrounded by some of the city's most powerful men, lawyers, bankers, lawmakers, almost every one of them a member of Tammany Hall, which has been the dominant political

force in New York since the election of Fernando Wood several years ago. This group isn't here to celebrate accomplishments in the ballot box, though. They're here to celebrate Bill Tweed's 35th birthday.

The guest of honor sits at the front of the room, his plate laden with softshell crab and other expensive delicacies.

As Bill gets stuck into the crab, already his third or fourth helping of the night, an alderman from the next precinct over stands up to make a toast.

These impromptu speeches have been coming thick and fast all night long, and Bill's losing track of who said what, but that's okay with him. He likes that all of these men are here to pay their respects.

He's been a friend to so many of them in recent years, helping them win elections, secure lucrative jobs on the city payroll, or land valuable government contracts.

Bill raises his glass with the rest of the room, taking a small sip of champagne when they cry out his name. His choices have made him a wealthy man of late. In more ways than one.

Bill Tweed has had plenty of money for years now. Just how wealthy he is is difficult to determine, and will remain so for his entire life. But he's rich enough that the financial crisis of September 1857 didn't really affect him.

He's one of the lucky few. The years leading up to the panic were good to the economy, and plenty of Americans had started to take risks with their investments.

When the crisis hit, businesses started folding, and hundreds of thousands of people lost their jobs. New York City wasn't immune, and families were facing a bleak winter.

But with his finances intact, Bill spotted an opportunity to do something good for his community.

He made a donation of $500 to a charity in his home district, Ward 7, so that struggling families could have fuel for their fires and food in their cupboards. Adjusted for inflation, that $500 would be a little under $19,000 today.

So it's not a small amount that Bill gave. He found that he liked making that kind of positive impact. For the rest of his career, supporting charities through his own money and the governments will be a priority of Bill Tweed's.

It won't be his chief concern, though. Moving forward, Bill's most important focus will always be his connection to power, how close he is to it, how much control he has over whom, and the number of people who owe him favors.

That last part is key, because Bill's been smart about the way he's built his political career over the last decade or so. He's made friends with a lot of the right people, and cast his lot in with the winning side on more than one occasion.

That's earned him a certain amount of sway. When the latest mayor, Daniel Tyman, took office in January, he started handing out the best government jobs to leaders within Tammany Hall.

He also asked Bill for his advice on who to place in certain positions, which basically means Bill got to give jobs to some of his own close acquaintances and supporters. Now, these men didn't get their jobs for nothing though.

See, these are positions that might only pay a nominal salary, but that offer plenty of opportunity for graft payments from any government contracts that pass across their desk.

So their true value is incalculable, which means all of these men are now in Bill's debt, and likely share with them any profits they make from their new jobs.

At the same election that brought Mayor Tyman into office, Bill helped to get two men nominated and then elected to positions of their own. He nominated a man named Peter Sweeney for district attorney and George Bernard for a judgeship.

Unusually, Bill didn't demand that these men pay him to ensure their nominations cleared Tammany Hall's process. He did it for free, but that only increases their debt.

This kind of strategic thinking has almost certainly been influenced by Bill's observation of Fernando Wood. The former mayor installed plenty of people in positions of power, but didn't do it in such a way that any of them felt beholden to him.

When the tide turned against him, the voices defending Wood were too few. The men who owed him their jobs figured they could just pay the next guy for the same deal. Bill doesn't intend to make that same mistake.

To be clear, though, what all these guys are doing, selling government jobs and buying influence, I mean it's all pretty much par for the course at this time. I'm not saying it's right, but it's very much part of the game.

So people who are paying attention can see that getting into government is a way to make big money, and they're willing to play by some crooked rules if it means getting ahead.

Of course, with so much cash at stake, there's always gonna be people clamoring to get on the board, even when they've been wiped out before. Fernando Wood is one of those determined players who refuses to stay down.

25:16

After most of the members of Tammany Hall turned on him, Wood formed his own splinter group of the Democratic Party, the Mozart Hall Democrats.

And despite his previous affiliation with the Know Nothing Party, Wood's political brand is still largely aligned with the Tammany Democrats.

Namely, they appeal to the working class citizens of New York and get a large number of votes from the city's immigrant population.

That's a problem for Tammany Hall's leaders, because Wood's a very wealthy man after his two terms in office and he's determined to win his way back to power in the next election.

To do that, he'll be siphoning off votes from their shared base, which could spell disaster for all Democrats on the ticket.

Not wanting to leave anything to chance, the Democratic Party sets out to corrupt an institution that was specifically designed to be incorruptible.

Remember the New York County Board of Supervisors that the state legislature created back when Wood was first sworn into office? It has 12 members, six Republicans and six Democrats.

Bill Tweed is one of those members, and he's at least partly responsible for what's about to happen. So by this stage, Bill has worked his way through the organization to become a co-leader of Tammany Hall, serving in a post called the Grand Seicham.

Okay, I'm going to give a quick history lesson within this history lesson. Tammany Hall was named after Chief Tamminen of the Lenape Nation.

Tamminen lived in the 17th century and came to stand as a symbol of peace throughout America's turbulent childhood. So in tribute to their namesake, Tammany Hall often uses indigenous words and phrases within their society.

Their meeting halls are called Wigwams, and the leader of the group is the Grand Seicham. Okay, anyway, Bill's one of the two Grand Seichams, alongside Isaac Fowler, who's also postmaster of New York City.

And in the fall of 1859, Fowler is the one who raises $2,500 to bribe one of the Republican members of the Board of Supervisors.

For comparison, this is a time when a laborer is going to get about a dollar for working a 10-hour day, and the Democrats give this huge amount of money to Peter Voorhees, with instructions to stay home when an important vote's scheduled to happen.

Exactly where Fowler got this money from, I couldn't say, but in just a few years' time, he'll be removed from his office for embezzlement. So I wouldn't be surprised if he used his office to procure the bribe money.

The reason the Democrats want this particular vote to go their way is because the board is choosing who the election inspectors will be for the upcoming season.

They have to select 609 people, and if the board members vote straight down party lines, there will be an even split of men from each party allocated to supervise the voting process.

But since the Democrats have removed one of their Republican colleagues from the vote, they can do whatever they want.

So Bill arrives at the meeting with a list of names to vote on, and Democrats on that list outnumber Republicans by about five to one.

That means that the Democrats have a distinct advantage over their opponents in the upcoming New York County elections. But that's over the people not affiliated with their party.

It's not that helpful against Fernando Wood, who's been systematically undermining his former allies within Tammany.

In an ironic twist, he spreads rumors that Tammany's leaders sympathize with the xenophobic Know Nothing Party, a group that Wood actually is associated with. Doing this has helped Wood win the support of the city's large immigrant population.

So, come election day, despite the controversial police riots he stirred up during his first time in office, and despite his rampant corruption as a mayor, Wood manages to win the most votes against a divided field of candidates.

In November 1859, New York returns him to City Hall. Five years ago, this was great news for Tammany Hall, one of their own was mayor. Even if he wasn't the most popular guy within the society itself, it was still a net positive.

Now, Fernando Wood has eaten away at Tammany's voter base by convincing people that the group hates immigrants. If they're going to continue being a political force in the city, they'll need to rebuild that eroded trust.

So suddenly, there's a lot of pressure on Bill Tweed's shoulders as Tammany's grand seicham. But he's got a lot going on in his life right now. And soon enough, he's going to need to make some tough decisions.

30:38

It's late summer 1859 in a New York City cemetery, a few months before Fernando Wood is re-elected mayor. 36-year-old Bill Tweed stands by an open grave, watching as a casket is lowered into the ground.

Beside him, his wife Mary Jane sobs quietly into a handkerchief, a black veil covering her tear-streaked face. Bill's father-in-law died two days ago. Bill had known the man his entire life and his parents were long-time friends of the Scottens.

Joseph had worked hard his whole life to provide for his family, and yes, he'd had a comfortable existence. But as he listens to the priest say a final prayer, Bill can't help wondering if it had all been worth it.

Being a successful businessman is one thing, but there's no guarantee of a legacy there. Already, talks have begun to sell the family business. So what will be left of Joseph Skaden except the inheritance he leaves behind?

Divided among his family, the money won't go far, and it pales in comparison to the wealth Bill's managed to accrue in recent years. If only Joseph had been aspirational, Bill thinks, he could have had so, so much more.

Following the death of Bill's father-in-law, the Skaden family sold off the brush-making business, leaving Bill with one less thing to distract him from his political dealings.

His wife had never fully supported his decision to dedicate so much energy to politics. She kind of hoped that removing an obligation from his plate would allow him more time to spend with the family.

After all, they've had seven children together by this stage, and Mary Jane wants Bill to be a presence in the family home. But Bill's focus only narrowed after Joseph's death.

He didn't devote more time to his family, instead dedicating the room in his schedule to spending extra hours at the Tammany building. When he wasn't there, he was doing what he could for his own father's ailing business.

Richard Tweed's been a chair maker all his life, and he built a steady clientele over the decades. But even with Bill and his brother helping run the large workshop, things have been looking bleak.

Orders are slowing down, more competitors pop up every year, and the Tweed factory accrues bigger and bigger debts by the month. Richard hasn't been well enough to work for years now, and Bill's kept the truth about the business from him.

He still pays his dad a share of the profits every month, but that money comes directly from Bill's own finances. Eventually, Bill decides to file for bankruptcy rather than pay off their debts.

So, by the end of 1859, he's closed up shop on his business life for good. He's going all in on politics. But although leaving the business world behind will streamline Bill's life, it's not like the American political landscape is simple.

Tension within the country has been heating up for years. Civil war seems more likely by the day. And even within political parties, people disagree about the correct course of action.

Now, when I say that most of New York is on the side of the Confederate states, that's very much a generalization. There's a lot of room to carve out some detail and nuance within that statement. But I think it's still a fair assessment to make.

And it's a stance that makes sense, because the city has been chafing under the rule of state legislators for years. So plenty of voters and leaders alike see the way a larger government is trying to impose rules onto a smaller one.

And they can empathize with that. I mean, that anti-big government sentiment is what helped propel Fernando Wood to the mayor's office the first time around.

At a Tammany Hall meeting in late 1859, a speaker brings up the recent rebellion led by John Brown and Harper's Ferry.

The speaker expresses sympathy for Brown, who was executed after the failed uprising, but worries aloud about what a civil war will do to the nation.

He says that a conflict between the states will result in the, quote, extermination of the black race. Whether he means that as a warning or a threat, I can't be sure. Fernando Wood's stance is easier to discern.

He advocates for all abolitionists to be executed. When giving speeches to his Mozart Democrats, he tells his supporters that they need to take care of the working men of New York before they make an effort to help the working men of other states.

And I would say that's a fair statement, except that the people in the other states Wood's talking about aren't working men. They're enslaved people. Pretty big difference there.

But at the end of spring 1860, New York's political elite have other things on their mind than the growing threat of civil war. There's corruption in their midst, which, okay, yeah, that's nothing new.

But for once, the law is about to put a stop to it.

35:56

It's May 10th, 1860, in the lobby bar of a New York City hotel. The room is dimly lit by wall sconces and a few gas lamps by the doors. A US.

Marshal for the Southern District of New York, Isaiah Reinders, swaggers into the lounge, removing his hat and stretching his arms wide. Then he loudly announces that he's here to arrest Postmaster Isaac Fowler.

Fowler was recently indicted for stealing over $150,000 in post office receipts. This lux hotel is where he's been living for years, the $25,000 annual bill presumably covered by those stolen funds.

But although he's been assigned to bring Fowler into custody, 55-year-old Reinders serves more than one master.

Sure he's technically in the employ of the federal government, but he's also a longtime member of Tammany Hall, where Fowler's the grand sachem. So instead of going upstairs to Fowler's room, Reinders sits down at the bar and orders a drink.

He makes a point of telling the bartender what he's doing here. Then he turns his stool around to ask if the people sitting by the window heard what he said.

In the space of about 30 minutes, Reinders polishes off two or three whiskeys, loudly repeating his mission to anyone who listened to him. By the time Reinders finally stands up and makes his way upstairs, Fowler's suite is empty.

He's already fled the city and is on his way to Mexico. Isaiah Reinders curses his bad luck as he trudges back down to the lobby and out onto the street. At least no one can say he didn't do his job.

Isaac Fowler's run from the law leaves an opening at Tammany Hall for a new grand sachem to share duties with Bill Tweed. He could do the job alone, but he sees this as an opportunity to rehabilitate the society's image.

Ever since Fernando Wood was forced from Tammany, he's been bad mouthing them to New York's immigrants, especially the city's large Irish population and the beleaguered Catholic community.

Bill wants to prove that Tammany's members don't discriminate. So he nominates James Connor, a Roman Catholic man who was born in Ireland. That's a shrewd play from Bill, who's emerged as one of the surest political minds within Tammany.

But he doesn't have time to celebrate his win. Just a few days later, Bill's father dies. It marks the end of a rocky 12 months for his family.

But despite the upheaval, Bill can't seem to tear himself away from his one great passion, politics.

Sure, his wife calls him dearest and their children call him father, but outside the home, Bill's starting to be addressed with a word he likes much more than any other, boss. From Airship, this is episode 2 in our series on William Boss Tweed.

On the next episode, Bill tightens his stranglehold over Tammany Hall. And at the height of the Civil War, a deadly riot takes over New York City. We used many different sources while preparing this episode.

A couple we can recommend are Boss Tweed, the story of a grim generation by Dennis Tilden Lynch, and Boss Tweed, the rise and fall of the corrupt Paul who conceived the soul of modern New York by Kenneth D. Ackerman.

This episode may contain reenactments or dramatized details. And while in some cases, we can't know exactly what happened, all our dramatizations are based on historical research.

American Criminal is a co-production of Airship and Evergreen podcasts. It's hosted, edited, and executive produced by me, Jeremy Schwartz. Audio editing and sound design by Sean Ruhl Hoffman.

Music by Thrum. This episode is written and researched by Joel Callan. Managing producers are Emily Burke and Sarah Willgrube.

Executive producers are Joel Callan and Lindsey Graham.