With the captaincy hanging in the tree ready to be plucked, I went to my friends at Police Headquarters and told them practically what I’d said to Tweed, and they agreed with me. Having gotten both ends of the game working, I rested for the outcome, and it wasn’t long before I had the pleasure of congratulating Captain James Irving. And in this manner was formed the first real Bank Ring and satisfactory combine between members of the police force at headquarters and certain precincts, with the Under World, in which money was to be paid for protection—the thieves to rob right and left and be allowed to sell bonds and securities unmolested, upon the payment of a ten per cent “rake-off.” All the friction which had hitherto annoyed, not only the members of my profession, but the policemen who were inclined to be on the “square” with us, disappeared. In this connection I am referring to high-class men, such as bank burglars, bank sneaks, and big forgers and the like. The small-fry thief was, naturally, for some time after that, paying his “bit” to the coppers on post; but these fellows soon got to squealing on us, and we had them sent up the beautiful Hudson River, thirty miles, where Sing Sing was their home for such a time as they could be taught better ways.
The Bank Ring, or the patent safety switch, as you please, soon getting into excellent working condition, its members began to realize what they’d lost in the great Lord bond robbery, the Star Insurance Company and the Royal Insurance Company “tricks,” all of which would have paid them a fine “rake-off,” but of which they had been deprived by the methods of Captain Young. Besides these big “tricks,” there were many others, not quite so important, but a mighty good investment of government service, in vice-protecting stocks. But the bitterest medicine of all was the recent New Windsor Bank loot. It pinched the Bank Ring, even to recall the profits lost to them in that “trick.”
Of those who were the bone and sinew of the combine, and known to me personally, and who were for the most part on the “level” with me, I must mention Captain John Jourdan of the Sixth Precinct, afterward Superintendent of Police, who was frequently spoken of as “The Little Man”; Detective John McCord, Detective James J. Kelso, subsequently Superintendent of Police, Detective George Radford, Detective Thomas Davidson, Detective Joseph Seymour, and Patrolman Michael Conners. I had many personal dealings with these men and, as I have said, they usually acted the part they took in good faith. Captain Jourdan was an officer with an excellent record in the line of duty, though he did stand high in the friendship of Boss Tweed and held an important place in the counsels of the Bank Ring. He and Jack McCord were, practically, the ruling power of the Ring. When Langdon W. Moore alias Charlie Adams was captured on a Jersey farm along the Delaware River, it was Captain Jourdan who did it. Moore had robbed the Concord, Massachusetts, National and Savings Banks, and had hidden three hundred thousand dollars’ worth of securities under the flooring of one of his stables. In a midnight search of the farm it was Jourdan who discovered the securities and returned them to the bank. Again, when the notorious Fairy McGuire and his gang of crooks were apprehended for the Bowdoinham Bank robbery in Maine, was it not Captain Jourdan who furnished the evidence that sent all hands to prison? Not only had he obtained power in this sort of police work, but, being the protégé of Bill Tweed, he could command almost anything he wanted. This influence he acquired through the masterful work he had done for Tweed in the famous Sixth Precinct,—the station house of which was on Franklin Street,—in the way of manipulating votes on election day. All together Captain Jourdan was a mighty handy man to know.
As to Jack McCord, who “pulled” a wonderful stroke with the captain, he was an astute copper without question—astute in the art of diverting gold from its legitimate channels into the private conduit leading to the fat pocket of the Bank Ring. I have been told that he made more arrests during his long career as a policeman than any other member of the force at that period. It was with much boastfulness that I once heard him declare in this fashion: “I never sent but one man to prison, and then it was the fool’s own fault and not mine. I told him to stand trial, but he pleaded guilty.”
It is safe to estimate that McCord’s arrests were made purely and simply for a “shake-down”; indeed, I was told that at least ninety-nine per cent of them were. He was, let me say, an adept in discovering grafters of the Under World; in fact showed advanced qualities in this pursuit. Naturally, new crooks put in an appearance frequently, and it wasn’t long before Jack learned of it, and then it was his job to see whether or not something was doing. I have a vivid recollection of his mode of procedure, and will attempt to demonstrate it as well as I am able. His headquarters were at the Metropolitan Hotel in Broadway, just below Houston Street, near Niblo’s Garden, a theatre famous in its day. A grafter would be told he’d better call on McCord at the hotel, and then came the meeting. The grafter had to examine a business card, as a starter.
“Have a card,” Jack would say; “I’m McCord, the Central Office detective.” I recall his bluff style, for it amused me.
“Glad to know you,” the crook would answer, whether he was or not, and they would shake hands—just for business, you know.
“And my office hours on week days are from seven P.M. to ten P.M., at this hotel. Don’t forget the address,” continued the detective.
“I hope I won’t,” the crook would reply, with a smile, not lost on McCord.
“Of course you won’t forget my address,” repeated Jack, “I wouldn’t, if I were you. I may be of much service, you know!”