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Dennis McLaughlin 1842-1912

INTRODUCTION:

It would be hard to imagine a world more different from Anglo-Dutch Jersey City than that of Dennis McLaughlin. Dennis's environment was the gritty neighborhood of downtown Jersey City, which from the 1870s would be known as “The Horseshoe.” There he went to the school of hard knocks, where his fellow students were Irish immigrant tough guys. To his credit he would rise to wealth and power. “Denny”, as he was universally known, started as a “Shanty Irish” newsboy on the Jersey City waterfront and moved to buying Horseshoe saloons in his twenties, which climaxed with his entry into the world of Democratic party politics as one of the Hudson County bosses. He ended as a man who the WASP elite of Jersey City and New Jersey had to accept as an equal, even if they did not admit him to their social circles. Both aggressive and charming, he was “Lace Curtain” by the 1890s when he acquired a controlling interest in the Guttenberg racetrack and became one of the major owners of real estate in Jersey City and Hoboken. Crowning his ascent was building a stately summer home in Milford, Pennsylvania where he lived whenever he could get out of Jersey City. At the time of his death in 1912 he was allegedly a millionaire, one of the first Jersey City Irish Catholics to attain that status.

CHILDHOOD:

Life for Dennis began in County Cavan, Ireland, where he was born in 1842, at the height of the great potato famine, which drove so many Irish peasants off the land of their ancestors and into emigration abroad. His parents were no different. We don't know their names, but in 1845 they sailed from Liverpool to New York with three-year-old Dennis and his two older brothers. They settled along the Jersey City waterfront roughly where the Newport Mall is today. Starting ca. 1850 a transition began that would change Jersey City over the next several decades from a village suburb of New York City to a city of over 200,000 by 1900. Accompanying this explosion was an even more significant ethno-cultural change, pitting native-born Protestant against Irish Catholic and German immigrants. The McLaughlins and many others were heralds of the new era, wanting to live with their own kind and mingle as little as possible with foreigners of whatever religion and place of origin. In their new home it was as if County Cavan had been picked up and transported lock-stock-and barrel across the sea; familiar faces from the old country were everywhere, and for Dennis America was probably not as strange as it was for many others. His schoolmates in the Jersey City Catholic schools and at St. Michael's Institute were those with whom he organized political corruption later on. How old he was when he left school cannot be determined, but advanced education was out of the question.

From the age of ten, school did not take up all his time, for he began contributing to the support of his family by selling newspapers at a local street-side stand. In the Horseshoe Dennis and many boys took up paper selling to survive the poverty. They also had to fight among themselves to protect their territory and ward off new rivals. Once, a newsboy of German extraction tried to muscle Dennis away from his position, taking his pile of papers and throwing it in the river. The next day Dennis and his two older brothers picked the kid up and threw HIM into the Hudson River, an event which Dennis in later years found highly amusing. It is interesting to speculate on what might have happened if the rival had been Irish; the whole affair may have been ethnic conflict in miniature.

By 1853 at the age of eleven, Dennis had become one of the leading newsboys on the Jersey City waterfront, staking out a coveted spot by the Pavonia Ferry dock. This was the most strategic place for those embarking or debarking on the way to and from New York City. Developing capitalist ambitions, he established his own newsstand approximately in 1858 on the same site where he had previously hawked his wares. He got to know everybody who was anybody in the waterfront region, and since he was a backslapping glad-hander these qualities would serve him well. An important byproduct of his newsstand and its location was the laying of a foundation for a political career.

LIFE IN THE HORSESHOE

Life around him in the Horseshoe was no bed of roses. In the dark damp tenements pneumonia ran rampant, infant mortality was high, and one was lucky to live beyond fifty. It was a rare day when Dennis did not go to at least one wake, with two or three often common. Most of the buildings, public and private, were tumbledown wooden shanties. As for drinking water, it was so dirty that one drank it at one’s peril. Filth was everywhere and street cleaning was unknown, meaning that pedestrians had to step over or around insect infested horse manure or the rotting carcasses of dead animals. Children, instead of attending school, like Dennis many years earlier, would sell newspapers or just wander around the street dirty, looking for survival among themselves. For men violence was a way of life, and the only amusement was the corner saloon, of which there was at least one on every street corner.

SALOON:

With the profits that had been accumulating from his newsstands, Dennis opened his first saloon on Grove Street in the early 1860s. It was always packed, especially with men from County Cavan, many of who were just off the boat from the Emerald Isle and greeted as they walked in the saloon with the ringing of a big cowbell kept behind the bar. Functioning as a “godfather”, Dennis took responsibility for the well being of his neighbors by providing them with fuel in winter, Thanksgiving and Christmas turkeys, and jobs. His loyalty to County Cavan was proven when he had jobs for all Cavanites ready to work, but when one native of Roscommon (Ned Kenny) tried to seek work, he threw the “foreigner” out. At the end of the day Dennis benefited when the exhausted workers went straight to the saloon to drink rather than going home to their wives and children. When short of cash he extended them credit until payday, collecting most of their wages spent at the bar. By his mid thirties Dennis was boss of downtown Jersey City.

START OF DENNIS’S POLITICAL CAREER:

In any event, the saloon became a political base open twenty-four/seven, even though the Jersey City blue laws mandated no business on Sundays. However, since a good portion of the municipal police owed their positions to Dennis they were more than ready to repay him by turning a blind eye on the Lord's Day. Among the drinkers were politically ambitious Protestant Democrats, who knew that the Irish vote was in Dennis’s hands. There were two constant topics of conversation by the bar, politics and horse racing, probably because they were the main interests of Dennis's life. Frequently the number of revelers was so great that the crowd spilled out into the street. If they were sufficiently well oiled, fights were common, to be broken up either by Dennis’s personal bouncer or Dennis himself. Out of respect for his first wife, Dennis drew the line at prostitution in the bar, although the world’s oldest profession flourished anyway.

Politics for Dennis blossomed in Edward Reilly’s 1862 campaign for Jersey City police commissioner. Dennis was a strong backer, who saw Reilly's promise to appoint Irish-Americans to the city police force as a badly needed move to break what had hitherto been a WASP monopoly. Reilly was elected and kept his word by appointing two Irish Catholic patrolmen recommended by Dennis.

In the following year (1863) there was a mayoral election in which the native born Democrats were now finding it practical to trim their sails and cater to the Irish presence. One of the candidates was Orestes Cleveland, a Protestant who had been a leader of the Know-Nothing movement in the 1850s. His chief backer was his brother Jeremiah, a big time street contractor who knew that with Orestes as mayor in City Hall much business would come his way provided there was an amenable Street Commissioner. To get the votes necessary for Orestes to win, Jeremiah changed his WASP look into an Irish look, with flat hat and big handlebar mustache in order ingratiate himself with the Celtic patrons in Dennis's saloon. This was clear recognition of Dennis's power in the Horseshoe.

On election day it was obvious that the “I'll scratch your back if you scratch mine” ploy had worked, as the saloon was a place where intense vote buying and tissue ballot printing went on. The result was a resounding victory for Orestes Cleveland. As promised, Dennis was rewarded by the new mayor with appointment to the Street Commission, an enormously influential body in view of the rapid expansion of Jersey City at the time. Despite applications from all over the world for street paving contracts, the Commission bypassed them and awarded the contracts to Jeremiah Cleveland regardless of cost.

For the remainder of the 1860s, while there were no concrete advances in his business and/or political life, Dennis was planting seeds that would bear fruit in the early 1870s. He was elected to the Board of Aldermen in 1873 as an independent from downtown Jersey City. Two years before Dennis's election, the Republican state legislature had redrawn the boundaries of the Jersey City Assembly/ Aldermanic districts so as to lessen the political impact of the Irish. The same legislation also affected the duties of the Board of Aldermen. Their traditional responsibilities for appointing police, fire, street cleaners, etc. were placed in the hands of State appointed commissions controlled by members of the GOP. The only substantive power retained by the aldermen was tavern licensing. The whole program was a slap at the Horseshoe Irish, a rearguard action on the part of Republican Protestants to regain the hold on Jersey City they had held before the foreign influx. The Horseshoe Irish retaliated by electing Dennis alderman, and once in office he declared class war: on one side were the rural WASP Republicans and their middle and upper class urban allies; ranged against them were his roughnecks, who had won their spurs fighting English overlords and were now Fenians ready to use violence whenever called on. What the Republicans were not counting on was the way Dennis as alderman used their “reform legislation” as a springboard to consolidate his position as boss of downtown Jersey City. If he could not make the traditional aldermanic appointments, he could function as a welfare agency and provide the poor with fuel, food, and jobs. This he did throughout his terms in office, and was repaid with grassroots loyalty. Horseshoe sentiments were put on display for all to see in a big banner over Dennis's saloon announcing THE HORSESHOE AGAINST THE WORLD! That this slogan meant what it said was demonstrated time and again when so called “top hats” found it perilous to enter the Horseshoe when collecting rents, or traveling through the district for whatever reason. Just the sight of them with their fancy polished boots and fashionable clothes was enough to bring out brass knuckles that were used to chase them from the Irish stronghold. Victory would be the Horseshoe's when Republican commissions were abolished and home rule restored to Jersey City in 1876.

POLITICS IN COUNTY AND STATE:

Clearly Dennis was THE power in the Horseshoe, but he extended his influence beyond the locality when he had himself appointed County Assessor by the Board of Finance. Further, in 1881 he was elected to the New Jersey Assembly from the Second District by a comfortable margin of 1,825 votes. Two re-elections would follow, and in each the size of his victory grew: in 1882 he beat his opponent by 2,300 votes and in 1883 by 2,825. As Assemblyman Dennis had the biggest opportunity of his career so far to influence governors and others with real clout, in that he could suggest, if not command, who was going to get what in the way of patronage and/or money. In return a governor was assured the virtually unanimous vote of the Horseshoe, which usually meant Hudson County as well. But as the saying goes, “All politics is local”, and for Dennis there was no exception. His power rested on what he could do for his constituents, and their gratitude was amply demonstrated on March 21st 1883. That evening at the Eagle Hotel on Pavonia Avenue in Jersey City there was a testimonial dinner for him given by the County Democrats and even a few Republicans, at which there was much laudatory speechmaking and donation of gifts to the guest of honor. The atmosphere was none too serious, especially when Mayor Isaac W. Taussig presented Dennis with a gold watch and chain, a cameo ring, and a gold pin. Congressman William McAdoo of the 7th District then made snide allusions to each as having something to do with the way Dennis wielded control: that Dennis had been “watched” and drawn into a “ring” and would now be “pinned” to his friends. A humorous but shrewd comment!2

County offices also took up Dennis's time from the mid 1880s to ten years later. Most importantly, he was elected County Clerk in 1884, succeeding Sheriff Robert “Bob” Davis and served as such until 1894, when Republicans swept the Democrats out of office and forced him to resign. Concurrently, he was the Clerk of the Hudson County Court and County Court of Common Pleas. The only political or judicial positions that he never held were those at the higher levels, such as Governor, U.S. Senator, Congressman, Justice or Judge of the high State Courts. Possibly a reason for not climbing higher was his religion and ethnicity, as Protestants still had a strong grip even though it was weakening.3

Working closely with Dennis throughout the 1880s was Robert Davis, another product of the Horseshoe. Six years younger than Dennis, Davis was brought to this country from Ireland by his parents. Since they lived close to each other, Dennis and Davis probably learned the strategies of political give and take from the first Horseshoe political leader and future Surrogate William McAvoy, and it was not long before the students were the equal of the teacher. By the end of the 1880s after the death of McAvoy, Dennis's domain was the second ward, where his leadership was unquestioned, with Davis holding the same authority in the sixth ward. Together they were the bosses of the Jersey City Irish, filling local offices with people of their choosing, getting the voters to the polls and bribing them to vote right. When subtle methods of persuasion didn't work, blatantly illegal tactics took over, such as creating fake voters living at fake addresses, dead voters whose names were copied off tombstones, and if all else failed, a sound beating that would often send the bloodied voter to the hospital. For ten years Dennis and Davis had the Irish Catholics and many Democratic Protestants in the palm of their hands until Dennis in 1892 allied with Governor Leon Abbett to back him for a U.S. Senate seat in exchange for his signing a bill legalizing racetrack gambling.

Davis had a personal feud with Abbett and refused to support him under any circumstances. The McLaughlin/Abbett relationship caused the McLaughlin/Davis partnership to deteriorate. The last nail in the coffin was driven in the 1890s when Dennis neglected his responsibility as ward leader in order to make big money in racetrack management. Dennis temporarily left politics, leaving Davis in charge of the Horseshoe. When Dennis wanted to return as boss in the mid 1890s after prolonged absence, there were newcomers that didn't take his comeback attempt seriously, causing the end of his career in the Horseshoe.

JOHANNA BIGANE: first wife

Saloons and politics were not the only important matters in his life. In his travels across the river to Manhattan he met Johanna Biggane, like him born in Ireland, arriving in this country as a teenager. She and two sisters who had proceeded her had found work as maids in the home of a wealthy broker. How she and Dennis met is uncertain, but they were married August 4th 1870 in New York when they were both twenty-eight, and set up housekeeping on Grove Street close by the saloon. Four sons would arrive over the years, and there is no reason to believe that the marriage was not happy.4

GUTTENBERG RACETRACK:

We alluded earlier to Dennis's interest in horse racing. This would lead him to what was arguably the most colorful and controversial position of his life, presidency of the organization that owned and operated the Guttenberg racetrack. Located in what is now North Bergen, it began in 1885 in a minor way, but acquired a new lease on life when it was bought by a notorious gambler named John C. Carr after his basement dealings in Hoboken and Jersey City were closed down. Carr financed his purchase by allying with three others to form the Hudson County Jockey Club, one of whom was Dennis, who was made the club's executive leader and major shareholder.

We alluded earlier to Dennis's interest in horse racing. This would lead him to what was arguably the most colorful and controversial position of his life, presidency of the organization that owned and operated the Guttenberg racetrack. Located in what is now North Bergen, it began in 1885 in a minor way, but acquired a new lease on life when it was bought by a notorious gambler named John C. Carr after his basement dealings in Hoboken and Jersey City were closed down. Carr financed his purchase by allying with three others to form the Hudson County Jockey Club, one of whom was Dennis, who was made the club's executive leader and major shareholder.

The Guttenberg racetrack, popularly known as “The Gut”, was unique among the three New Jersey racetracks in that it was open for business all year round, with the clients protected in inclement weather by glass and large heaters. When the other tracks were closed, racing enthusiasts from all over the State descended on “The Gut”. What mattered most to Dennis was that the racecourse was a moneymaker, and the profits were used to expand the track in 1889 from half a mile to one mile. All the jockeys, stable boys, and helpers stayed and worked at “The Gut” for the winter, presumably in quarters owned by Dennis. Major snowfalls did not interrupt racing; a large crew of groundskeepers would be sent out with shovels to clear the track, and if horses slipped and were injured that was of no consequence in the eyes of the track owners, although humanitarians and animal rights advocates thought otherwise.

Business was brisk, drawing in an average of three thousand people during the week and ten to twelve thousand on weekends and holidays at one dollar a ticket. Even though booking was illegal, thirty bookies paid Dennis $100.00 a day to rent stands, and when they got caught he installed a friendly justice of the peace in an empty stable alongside the track to bail them out. The track had the protection of County Sheriff Davis, who turned a blind eye and could impanel grand juries willing to do his bidding when or if the County prosecutor brought charges. As Democratic boss of Hudson County, Dennis was especially backed by governor Leon Abbett, who, in exchange for Dennis's past and present loyalties, was willing to sign a bill to legalize the racetrack.5

CHALLENGES TO DENNIS’S LEADERSHIP:

Dennis was so wrapped up in the racetrack that he had to abandon his responsibilities in the Horseshoe, although he nonetheless wanted to try controlling from a distance. He promoted his saloon bouncer to second in command, whose job was to inform him of all saloon and political activities. His next step was to replace his first bouncer. The perfect candidate was young Frank Hague, son of First National Bank guard John Hague, a recipient of Dennis's patronage. Frank was at that time a teenager working as an agent for a local boxer. Big and tough, but unhappy in the fight game, Frank jumped at the opportunity to be a roving bouncer. As ward leader, Dennis passed his obligations temporarily to Sheriff “Little Bob” Davis.

The overall objective was to create a hands-off leadership, which didn't work. By the mid 1880s the older generation in the Horseshoe began to die, giving way to a younger generation who had different political ideas and standards. This provided an opening for Ned Kenny, who in the past had been rejected by Dennis because of his being from County Roscommon. He opened his own saloon at 731 Jersey Avenue with compensation from an accident in the Erie Railroad where he had lost four fingers. Kenny's saloon became so famous that even the County Cavan Irishmen gathered there, putting Dennis's on Grove Street out of business.

When the second in command saw how Kenny's prosperity was posing a threat to Dennis's position, he went to the racetrack to notify him. But Dennis was making so much money in “The Gut” that he could ignore the situation, disappointing many of his backers in the Horseshoe.6

ANTI-RACETRACK:

A dark cloud appeared over Dennis after prolonged public disgust with the corruption of the track betting erupted in 1890. For “respectable” middle class Jerseymen racetrack betting was the domain of brawling alcoholic lowlives and their disorderly prostitute companions, supported by those who were supposed to uphold community morals such as legislators, judges, and the police. Self-appointed defenders of anti-racetrack righteousness such as the Law and Order League led by Protestant ministers throughout New Jersey, were determined to enforce morality even if it meant taking matters into their own hands.

On June 17th 1890, with only three days left in the legislative session to stop Governor Abbett from signing a bill that would have legalized racetrack gambling, an angry crowd of League members descended on the State House in Trenton and pressured him to veto, bearing a petition signed by thousands. For Dennis the changed environment was not discouraging at first, since he was convinced that he had protection from the Hudson County bosses, among whom were Bob Davis and Leon Abbett. Imagine Dennis's shock when the Governor, evidently responding to public concern, made a U turn and pocket vetoed the betting bill, even though it had been the product of Abbett's own party. Davis, who knew that Abbett was not trustworthy, remained loyal to Dennis by allowing the now openly illegal practices at the Guttenberg track to go on for two more years as if nothing had happened.7

The stage was set for conflict when the Law and Order League joined with a Justice of the Peace and Captain John Graham of the Fourth Regiment of the New Jersey National Guard to create the Reform League, a Republican oriented activist group whose purpose was to clean up New Jersey corruption wherever possible, and their next target was the Guttenberg racetrack. Dennis considered them invaders and was prepared for battle. Matters came to a boil on January 16th 1892 when Captain Graham and the Reform League, armed with warrants of arrest, raided the racetrack with a view to closing down the betting once and for all.

The corrupted Jersey City police, ready to attack in the interests of the track owners, waded into the “invaders” and a major fight ensued. The invaders seemed to have gained the upper hand, as 152 of the racetrack ring and their police allies were arrested. But their efforts went for naught because Dennis had a pliant justice of the peace of his own next to the track who allowed the detainees to make bail and walk free.

Not yet defeated after a two year battle, Graham upped the ante and presented the evidence of wrongdoing to Sheriff John J. McPhillips of Hudson County, who, unfortunately for Graham, was a Dennis man. The evidence was ignored once again. McPhillips died later that year (1894) after the Republicans had taken control, and was succeeded in the shrievalty by John J. Toffey. Graham did not hesitate to show Toffey the evidence needed to convene a grand jury, and Toffey, unlike his predecessor, found cause and had the Guttenberg Ring indicted. With but two days to go before the racetrack men would be saved by the statute of limitations, Hudson County Prosecutor Charles H. Winfield took the Guttenberg case to the Branch New Jersey Supreme Court (meaning a court of some but not all Supreme Court members, in this case four justices plus Chief Justice William J. Magie).

The Branch Court was presided over by the courageous Justice Job H. Lippincott, a battler against Bob Davis's 1889 ballot box stuffers. Joining Lippincott were Justices Jonathan Dixon, Albert Hoffman, and Robert S. Hudspeth. On the day of the hearing in May 1894, the courtroom not only had the defendants (Dennis McLaughlin, John N. Carr, Gottlieb Walbaum in absentia, and John N. Crusius) but was also filled with politicians of both parties, the defendants' friends, and members of the Law and Order Society. Before a packed courtroom Justice Dixon announced the business of the day was to consider State vs. Crusius. The issue to be decided, he said, was whether State law protected the defendants at the time they were engaging in illegal activities, or whether passage of a subsequent more stringent law overrode the first law.

The defendants' lawyer was Allan McDermott, a friend and political ally of Governor Abbett who was very likely recruited by him. McDermott argued that their conduct had been legal at the time they were overseeing track operations, and therefore should be subject to nothing more than a $500.00 fine. Justices Hoffman and Hudspeth agreed, but Lippincott and Dixon did not buy that line of reasoning, demanding not only a $500.00 fine but one year in jail as well

Since the four justices were arguing amongst each other, they adjourned to the next day and took the case to Chief Justice Magie in his chambers, calling upon him to break the tie. Magie took the position that since the defendants had overseen betting after the prohibitive law had been passed, their ex post facto argument was invalid, aligning himself with Lippincott and Dixon. The following day in court the spectators waited anxiously for the decision, which was shortly announced by Justice Dixon: $500.00 and one year in jail. Accompanying this pronouncement was a heartfelt dressing down given to the defendants, shaming them for their self-confidence in thinking for two years that they were above the law. Once Dixon had finished, McLaughlin et. al. were remanded to the custody of Sheriff Toffey and taken to the Hudson County jail.

Nonetheless, McDermott had one more card to play: appeal the case to the Court of Pardons, appointed by Governor George T. Werts, which could overthrow decisions of the Supreme Court. The earliest date that the Court of Pardons could act was March 4th, meaning that “The Guttenberg Three” were out on bail for two weeks. Most of the Pardons Court's dozen or so members were in the back pocket of corrupt politicians, as were the Democratic governors of that era, and the convicted racetrack men were confident they would walk free. Their optimism was justified when in the first week of March 1895, three years since the beginning of litigation, the whole matter was put to rest when the Pardons Court voted to exonerate Dennis and the other three. Victory was hollow, since the racetrack was permanently closed in 1895.8

RESTORING BOSSISM IN THE HORSESHOE:

For seven years Dennis's life had revolved around “The Gut”, and now that the track was closed his first thought was to resume his leadership in the Horseshoe. But he received a rude awakening when he walked into his saloon, whose operation he had neglected for a long time, and found it gone to rack and ruin. The swinging door through which one gained access from the street had fallen off its hinges, rats and mice were feasting on discarded food, and two drunks were collapsed over the bar. He then sought out his friends, who brought “Rip Van Winkle” up to date on the way things were now. The old Hudson County Ring, they said, had been dissatisfied with Dennis. This was especially true of Frank Hague, who was convinced he was not getting the recognition from Dennis he thought he deserved. At the same time the alliance between Dennis and governor Abbett regarding the racetrack upset Bob Davis, causing the Easy Boss to fall into the same camp as Hague. As if the defection of Hague and Davis was not enough, Ned Kenny joined the anti-McLaughlin forces.

While Kenny had no political ambitions of his own, he welcomed Hague and the old ring, thus making his saloon and Dennis's rival centers of local power. With Hague, Davis, and Kenny all in opposition, any attempt by Dennis to pick up where he had left off before Guttenburg was going to be an uphill battle. However he was not going to go down without a fight, the opening round of which was to open a new saloon at 510 Grove Street, larger and fancier than the old. Once the new place was up and going, “ The Battle of the Beer Barrels” was on, between Dennis's saloon and Kenny's. It was fought on many fronts, including parades through the Horseshoe sponsored by one side or the other, which usually descended into fistfights and large scale brawls.

The umpire was Bob Davis, who reminded the antagonists that victory in the 1896 election overrode their personal feud, and that they should join forces in the interest of party harmony. Dennis and Kenny saw Davis's point and had no trouble burying the hatchet when it came to supporting an Assembly candidate, but local constable was another matter. Dennis's man was William Ryan, who was unacceptable to Kenny. Beyond not liking Ryan Kenny did not know where to go, although Davis told him he could not be on the fence for long since the nominating convention was coming up in only a week.

Kenny finally hit on Frank Hague, who was enthusiastic but lacked money; that problem was quickly remedied and Hague, after distributing funds in the right places, was elected decisively over Ryan. Here was clear evidence of Dennis's failure in his quest to regain lost power, and from that time on his career in the Horseshoe was over. The torch of leadership in the Horseshoe passed to Davis and Hague. Dennis had failed, but the loss was easily absorbed, given his wealth and new center of gravity in Milford, Pennsylvania.9

LACE-CURTAIN:

In a number of ways, both professional and personal, the mid 1890s marked a turning point in Dennis's life. It was at that time that the shanty Irishman of the working class began to take on the plumage of lace-curtain upper middle class status. Forty-five years old in 1892, the combination of profitable newsstands, a thriving saloon, political ward leadership, and the Guttenberg racetrack had made him a very rich man, probably a millionaire. For someone of his wealth and standing, the Horseshoe undoubtedly seemed confining. His wife Johanna, who had been a domestic servant when they met, presumably was satisfied living on Grove Street in a working class environment with their four children. But tragedy struck in 1892 when she died at forty-five, after twenty-two years of marriage. The reason for her death is unknown, but it must have been a bitter blow, especially on top of the developing racetrack problems. While fending off the threat of jail time after his wife's death, Dennis evidently did not let these problems get him down. At the same time he was indicted for the Guttenberg racetrack scandal he met Theresa L. Stack of Hoboken.

TERESA SLACK: second wife

It's likely that she was from a higher social background than Johanna, being daughter of Hoboken Street Commissioner Edward Stack and sister of Hoboken Prosecutor Detective Maurice J. Stack, each politically well connected. Saint Michael's Church, which she and her family had attended for years, was the site of her's and Dennis's wedding in 1894. The crowning move following the marriage was Dennis's leaving the Horseshoe and buying a house on 8th Street in Hoboken, where they set up housekeeping with his children from his first marriage, accompanied by servants. After Dennis and Theresa had their first child, Edward F. C., he decided that Theresa would need help raising his three boys along with Edward, and hired a governess. Three daughters came later, giving the governess more.

The fact that his and Theresa's son was named Edward Faitoute Condict carried much significance. In his political world Dennis for a number of years had worked closely with the Hudson County Ring, headed by Edward Faitoute Condict Young, a WASP of colonial ancestry. Dennis and Bob Davis, both Irish Catholic, took their orders from Young, President of the First National Bank in Jersey City, who remained behind the scenes. Dennis also borrowed heavily from Young's bank for several years while politically active, investing in Jersey City and Hoboken real estate. He bought whole street blocks in some cases, making him by 1900 the largest landholder in Hudson County. Thus in two ways Dennis was beholden to Young, and naming his son as he did was a way of repaying the debt.11

Climaxing Dennis's rise from rags to riches was spending vacations in Milford Pennsylvania in Pike County, just across the Delaware River from New Jersey. In the early 1900s he oversaw construction of a twenty-four room neoclassical mansion costing $50,000.00, probably three quarters of a million in today's money. Known as “ The Columns”, it contained a drawing room, music room, two parlors, kitchen, dining room, study, twelve bedrooms, a playroom, four full and one half bathrooms. It is not unlikely that the trips from Hoboken to Milford were made in a chauffeur driven limousine, which only the wealthy could afford at that time. This was lace curtain living with a vengeance, and a far cry from the Horseshoe.12

Riches didn't bring happiness, however. The fact was that Johanna's children did not get along with either Theresa or her children. Being twenty years younger than Dennis, the age difference between her and Johanna's children was not that great, which was probably a major factor in the problem. Be that as it may, quarreling was constant and what made it even worse was the births of Theresa's children, mostly girls. Once Johanna's boys were old enough to be on their own they took off, either getting married or living by themselves in Hudson County. Adding to Dennis's unhappiness was Theresa's pneumonia, which caused her death in 1912 on the same day as Johanna's death in 1892, exactly twenty years before.13

DEATH IN 1912:

Bereft, Dennis's own health declined after Theresa's death, and he decided to spend time at The Columns to relax. He tried to ease his sorrow by asking the live-in governess to marry him, but with respect she turned him down. With his health still getting worse, on Memorial Day 1912 he was obligated to go back to Jersey City to see his physician. The doctor diagnosed acute indigestion and sent him home to rest. On June 6th the doctor made a house call and was encouraged by the progress Dennis was making, thinking that he was on the road to a full recovery. That evening, after giving him his meal in his bedroom, his attending nurse went downstairs to have dinner with the rest of the family. When she returned, she was shocked to find him unconscious, with his head dangling over the back of his chair and his limp hand holding a partially spilled glass of water. He died just a few minutes later.14

FUNERAL AND INTERNMENT:

He had been a long time parishioner of Saint Michael's Church, and it was there that his funeral took place, followed by interment at Holy Name Cemetery on West Side Avenue, Jersey City. Today there is a large monument over his grave, and both his wives are buried there with him. Dennis McLaughlin had never altogether left the Horseshoe. Despite his becoming lace curtain he always remembered the place where he had mastered the art of survival and that had provided the starting place for his rise. The Horseshoe was his spiritual home no matter where he lived. His passing concluded an important chapter in the history of the Hudson County Democratic party. All the other major leaders, starting with Abbett in 1894 and ending with Davis in 1911, had departed. With Dennis joining them the way was now open for the rise of the most powerful of them all, Frank Hague.