Lurid Tale #4
The effect of that storied neighborhood has always been difficult to describe to the uninitiated. Even on a pleasant spring night like the one we moved through that Thursday, the place exuded a deep sense of mortal threat, yet that threat was not always or even usually exhibited on loud or aggressive ways, such as was the case in some other shady parts of the city…Five Points was an entirely different breed of neighborhood. Oh, there were shouts and screams to be heard, all right; but they tended to drift out of buildings, or, if they originate outside, to be quickly stifled. Indeed, I think the most disconcerting thing about the area around Mulberry Bend… was the surprisingly low level of outward activity. The residents of the neighborhood spend most of their time crammed into the miserable shanties and tenements that lined the street, or, more often, packed into the dives that occupied the ground and first floor of a remarkably large number of those squalid buildings. Death and despair did their work without fanfare in the Bend, and they did a lot of it: just walking down those lonely, decrepit streets was enough to make the sunniest of souls wonder about the ultimate value of human life.
Caleb Carr, p. 516
The Five Points is usually described as the most notorious “slum” in New York City and from the 19th century on it became the symbol of everything dark and degraded. It was also known as the most notorious neighborhood in Manhattan in the 1800s. Robert McNamara, a history writer states: “The reputation of the Five Points was so widespread that when the famous author Charles Dickens visited New York on his first trip to America in 1842, the chronicler of London's underside wanted to see it for himself.” Charles Dicken’s wrote about the Five Points:
What place is this, to which the squalid street conducts us? A kind of square of leprous houses, some of which are attainable only by crazy wooden stairs without. What lies beyond this tottering flight of steps, that creak beneath our tread? – A miserable room, lighted by one dim candle, and destitute of all comfort, save that which may be hidden in a wretched bed. Beside it sits a man: his elbows in his knees: his forehead hidden in his hands.” What ails that man? Asks the foremost officer. “Fever,” he sullenly replies, without looking up. Conceive the fancies of a fevered brain in such place as this! Ascend these pitch-dark stairs, heedful of a false footing on the trembling boards, and grope your way with me into the wolfish den, where neither ray of light nor breath of air appears to come.
Charles Dickens quote in Rebecca Yamin’s, Lurid Tales and
Homely Stories of New York’s Notorious Five Points.