The conventional narrative of the Black experience in New York City in the decades leading up to the Civil War is a depressing story of racist hostility and exclusion. After slavery ended in New York in 1827, the city’s Black population—which reached its pre-Civil War peak of 16,358 in 1840—competed for jobs with hostile Irish immigrants. The effort of Black property-owners to build the community known as Seneca Village was wiped out by racist mayor Fernando Wood’s plan to build Central Park, a project that excluded Black laborers. The hostilities culminated in the Draft Riots of 1863, which prompted an exodus of African Americans from Manhattan.
In his evocative and exciting new book A Moment in the Sun: Black Manhattan Before the Civil War, historian Shane White shows that amid the hardships, the city’s Black population also sought to define freedom on their own terms. Uniquely capturing life on the city’s vibrant streets and in its dance cellars and oyster houses, White vividly portrays New York as a place where Black culture flourished after the end of slavery.
Emeritus professor at the University of Sidney, White has spent more than a half-century researching and writing about Black New York. His prize-winning 2015 work Prince of Darkness told the story of Jeremiah Hamilton, the city’s enigmatic first Black millionaire, who makes multiple appearances in A Moment in the Sun. In addition to ruthless businessmen like Hamilton, the current work is filled with performing artists, confidence men, and many African American men and women who liked to strut around the Battery on Sundays wearing colorful latest fashions.
The Indypendent recently chatted with White about the book.
TH: In order to show patterns of everyday experience during the decades before and after 1827, you rely heavily on newspapers. Explain what you gathered from your extensive reading of the Penny Press.
SW: It’s difficult to find historical sources that illustrate patterns of daily life among Black New Yorkers in the 18th century. But in the 1820s and 1830s, there was an explosion of material full of fascinating stories. In part, that’s because the newspapers were changing, and the Penny Press now covered court battles and conflicts of all kinds. Black residents of the city started behaving in a different fashion than ever before. There was an incredible proliferation of dance and Black parades, theater companies, and newspapers—as well as Black-owned oyster houses and other businesses. This was an incredibly vibrant period, and my aim is to show how Blacks helped make New York City such a lively place in the first half of the 19th century.
There was an incredible proliferation of dance and Black parades, theater companies, and newspapers—as well as Black-owned oyster houses and other businesses.
TH: You frequently refer to the “amalgamated city,” in which there was extensive racial interaction. At one point you state that there was less residential segregation during the 1820s-30s than in any subsequent period in the city’s history.
SW: The term “amalgamation” was the predecessor for “miscegenation.” The former has broader meaning, because miscegenation referred primarily to sexual reproduction. Amalgamation includes sex, but it also refers to racial mixing of all kinds. Charles Dickens and other white observers came to watch Black dancers. There were Black and white con artists who worked together. The term “amalgamated” was often used to describe such interactions in popular accounts from the period. Meanwhile, as the city grew rapidly during the first half of the 19th century, there was an acute housing shortage. Blacks found accommodation wherever they could, and there weren’t segregated districts. Many residential buildings in the Five Points and elsewhere had whites living on the main floors, with Blacks occupying the cellar and attic. Through the 1830s white households in the city were no more than 20 or 30 yards from a Black household. This meant that there was constant racial interaction on the streets and in the corner stores.
TH: You’ve spent decades sifting through the court records of the New York District Attorney’s office held at the Municipal Archives. Given that during the 1820s-30s, the city’s top judge—Richard Riker—was adamantly pro-slavery, one might expect the courts to have been the site of racist hostility. But you show that this wasn’t always the pattern. Tell us about John Inverness, a Black business owner accused by a member of the street patrol known as “the watch.”
SW: The watch consisted of white men, and in March 1833, one of its members, Charles Sloane, accused Inverness of running an after-hours establishment that disturbed the peace. Inverness retained a white lawyer to fight the charge and he ended up turning the case upside down. Sloane claimed that he had never ate or drank alcohol when he visited Inverness’ place. The defense called a Black waiter who worked there, and he testified that he had served Sloane oyster soup, but the customer was so drunk that “his cap could not stay upon his head,” a wonderful phrase that made Sloane look foolish. A jury of white men acquitted Inverness, which suggests that racist hostility could be challenged. In general, there was a willingness among African Americans during this era to use the courts to solve problems, including their own domestic disputes. At the same time, Riker viewed the courts as a mechanism of social control. He knew how to generate stories in the newspapers by delivering racist denunciations from the bench. There are hundreds of thousands of case files. No other U.S. city has a similar set of court records from the era.
Through the 1830s white households in the city were no more than 20 or 30 yards from a Black household.
TH: You write extensively about confidence men, fortune tellers, and “gambling hells,” a great term for the cellar locations that I had never heard before. Tell us about the tricksters and their significance.
SW: I kept coming across this term “burning,” which was a con that Black men developed, often working with a white accomplice. Two or three Black guys and a white guy would approach an obvious country bumpkin visiting New York City with a bulging wallet. The scammers would convince the tourist to help them “settle a bet” in an alley, then take the dupe’s money. “Burn” started appearing in the newspapers in the mid-1830s and by 1838, the newspapers said it was happening every day. This, too, was part of what freedom meant. The success stories aside, life was extremely difficult economically for Blacks, so the underground economy provided a way to make a living. And some notorious figures, like “Butcher Joe” Morrison, made a lot of money. I’ve been talking about con men for the past two decades, and there’s a certain unease on the part of museum curators who don’t want to include them in exhibitions because their stories are not about Black uplift. But I think they’re precisely the sort of people that history should be about. I want to write the history of ordinary African Americans and street life, which includes con artists of all shapes and kinds.
TH: The book concludes with a portrayal of Thomas Downing, a prominent Black businessman in the decades before the Civil War. You show how he both reinforced racism and challenged it.
SW: Downing was born as a free person in Virginia in 1791 and came to New York City around 1819. He soon became the dominant oyster seller in the city. When Charles Dickens visited Manhattan in the winter of 1842, he went to Downing’s oyster house on Broad Street near the corner of Wall Street. Because of the restaurant’s location, newspaper editors, bankers, and politicians all would go to Downing’s place, which had Black waiters but did not allow African American customers. On the other hand, Downing liberally wrote checks for civil rights causes, and in both 1840-41 and 1855 he challenged discrimination that he experienced on railroads and buses in the city. He was beaten up the first time and resisted being beaten up on the second occasion. When the census taker spoke to him in 1860, Downing initially answered the questions but then refused to say how much money he was worth. He referred to the Supreme Court’s infamous Dred Scott decision three years earlier and said, “I’m property—I can’t own property.” The census entry for Downing thus did not state how much property he owned because he refused point blank to answer the question. He was a fascinating guy.
Theodore Hamm will discuss Frederick Douglass’ experience in Brooklyn atPlymouth Churchon Tuesday, September 29. Admission is free.
