The Secrets of the Great City / A Work Descriptive of the Virtues and the Vices, the Mysteries, Miseries and Crimes of New York City

by James Dabney McCabe

In the July number of Packard's Monthly, an able and sprightly magazine, published in this city, there appeared an article by Mr. Oliver Dyer, entitled "The Wickedest Man in New York." It was a lengthy and interesting account of a dance-house, carried on at No. 304 Water street—one of the vilest sections of the city—by one John Allen, and of the proprietor himself. As many of our readers may not have seen this article, we give portions of it, referring them to the magazine for the rest.

The Wickedest Man in New York goes by the name of John Allen. He lives at No. 304 Water street. He keeps a dance-house there. He is about forty-five years old. He is reputed to be worth one hundred thousand dollars, more or less, and is known to be worth over seventy thousand dollars. He has three brothers, who are clergymen—two of them being Presbyterians, and the other a Baptist—and is reported to have once been a minister of the Gospel himself. He is known formerly to have been a school teacher, and is a man of education and fine natural powers; was originally a good man; and is yet a 'good fellow' in many respects. Were it not for his good qualities he never could have attained unto the bad eminence of being the Wickedest Man in New York.

The best bad is always the worst.

Take him for all in all, our Wickedest Man is a phenomenon. He reads the Bible to his dance-house girls, and his favorite papers are the New York Observer and the Independent. He takes them regularly, and reads them. We have repeatedly seen them lying on the counter of his bar-room, amid decanters and glasses, along with the daily Herald and the Sun. We have also seen a dozen copies of the Little Wanderer's Friend at a time scattered about his place, for he takes an interest in mission work, and 'goes in' generally for progress for other people.

This Wickedest Man is the only entity appertaining to the shady side of New York life which we have been unable to fathom, analyze, and account for. But he is too much for us. Why a human being of his education, natural tastes, force of character, and wealth, should continue to live in a Water street dance-house, and bring up his children in a soul-destroying atmosphere of sin and degradation, is more than we can comprehend.

For the Wickedest Man loves his children. His little five-year-old boy is the apple of his eye, the core of his heart, and the chief object of his worship. He never misses an opportunity to sound the child's praises, and to show off his accomplishments. And all things considered, the little fellow is truly a wonder. He is crammed full of information on all manner of topics, and is ever ready to respond to his doting father's attempts to make his smartness visible to the naked eye.

We have never visited the Wickedest Man's dance-house without having our attention called afresh to his little son's abilities, except once, and then he took us round to the school which the child attends, to let us see that he ranks with the best, and is a favorite with his teacher. That was on the 28th day of May last, at about a quarter to twelve in the day time, when we went to No. 304 Water street, to tell Mr. Allen that the fated time had come for serving him up in a magazine article.

For be it known to the reader, we have had our pen couched at John Allen for nearly two years. In the year 1865, the Sabbath after President Lincoln was assassinated, we began an exploration and sub- soiling of New York city, as to its crime, poverty, want, woe, wretchedness, and degradation, which we have pursued ever since, as other engagements would permit. Of course, it was not long before we found out John Allen. We at once recognized his genius for wickedness, and made him an especial study. But, as we have said, he baffles us. We have told him so, and have frequently asked him to help us out of our dilemma, but he always comes short of the complete thing.

We think we know why this Wickedest Man persists in living in his Water street den—that we have, in fact, penetrated his secret; but as we are not absolutely certain as to the matter, we will not set our suspicion down in print, lest we should do him injustice.

We have said that our Wickedest Man is a phenomenon. We meant this in its application to the deepest springs of his character; but it is also, and perhaps equally, applicable to the external manifestations of those deepest springs.