There’s nothing quite like some good old-fashioned government corruption, with emphasis on the “old” because to be frank, I’m tired of the corruption within our current administration. However, I absolutely love reading about the juicy details of old government scandals; you can’t help but feel that you’re being let in on some dirty little secret. This week in history, I wanted to bring attention to one of my absolute favorite scandals: The political machine of Tammany Hall in New York City and the poetic downfall of William “Boss” Tweed.
Named after Chief Tammanend of the Lenni-Lenape tribe, Tammany Hall as an organization itself began in the late 1700s. However, its political significance started when it was run by none other than Aaron Burr until his duel with Alexander Hamilton. Eventually, it became a stronghold for the Democratic Party, but was rife with corruption.
Tammany Hall was most notably corrupt during the 1860s and 1870s when Tweed came into power; he ended up embezzling millions of dollars in funds from 1868 to 1871. This was done primarily through inflated contracts and unnecessary renovations. One of his largest schemes consisted of a courthouse that cost $15 million to build, with $9 million of that going to Tweed and his ring.
Where Tweed made his primary mistake was by showing off his wealth to a point where no one could possibly look away. From yachts, a mansion on Fifth Avenue and an estate in Greenwich, Conn., Tweed took a bit too much pride in the cash he was rolling in. Thomas Nast — arguably one of America’s most influential political cartoonists — and The New York Times both played large roles in bringing Tweed’s reign to an end.
Nast was a no-nonsense kind of man with a tolerance for hypocrisy, so when he turned his attention to Tammany Hall, he came after Tweed with quite a venom. The cartoons irked Tweed, with him even going so far as to reportedly say, “Let’s stop those damned pictures … I don’t care so much what the papers write about me—my constituents can’t read, but damn it, they can see pictures.”
The New York Times would then go on to publish a secret Tammany Hall ledger that Tweed couldn’t escape, showing the blatant embezzlement of city funds. Tweed was convicted of his crimes on Nov. 19, 1873, and was sentenced to 12 years of prison and $12,750 in fines. But he was able to appeal and lowered his sentence to one year of prison and a fine of only $250. Tweed’s luck would not last though, as in 1875, he was arrested again by the state of New York in an attempt to recover $6 million that had been stolen. Unable to afford the $3 million bail, Tweed fled to Spain.
In Spain, Tweed would actually end up being recognized due to one of Nast’s political cartoons (talk about a full circle moment.) After being extradited to the United States, Tweed would live out the remainder of his days in Ludlow Prison, where he would contract pneumonia and pass away in 1878. The irony is, Ludlow Prison was one of Tweed’s projects that he had used to embezzle funds. Ultimately, the terrible conditions he created would lead to his demise.
With all that being said, I can’t say that Tweed was all that bad — aside from the corruption and borderline highway robbery of city funds. Under his leadership, Tammany Hall did a lot for the city and for immigrants. He widened Broadway, preserved part of Central Park — which would eventually become the site for the Metropolitan Museum of Art — opened orphanages and ensured that immigrants just arriving would have food and shelter. All of this could have been done to secure more support and keep the political machine running, but I’m not sure if I entirely believe that’s the case.
Regardless, even after Tweed died, the corruption at Tammany Hall didn’t stop — it arguably got worse. John Kelly took power in the 1870s and was the first of 10 Irish American bosses who would come to run the Hall, transforming it into a well-oiled machine. He didn’t make the same mistakes Tweed did, and the organization continued to churn out politicians well into the 20th century.