Remembering Bowery Culture

ABRAM C. DAYTON, Last Days of Knickerbocker Life in New York (1882)

The transcendentalist world — airy, abstract, intellectual — contrasts sharply with the view Abram C. Dayton (1818–1877) offered of New York’s urban culture during the 1840s. Dayton was one of the city’s elites, and his memoir captures the spirit of a city in transition. In the selection excerpted here, Dayton describes the “Bowery Boys,” whose distinctive style of dress and working-class culture snubbed the expectations of upper- and middle-class respectability. These young, independent, unmarried men, freed from parental restraint, indulged in leisure pursuits they defined and controlled.

A considerable element in the [fire] department was composed of a class known as “Bowery boys,” peculiar in dress, gait, manner, tone; an inimitable species of the race, attempted for some time to be copied on the stage, but the portraiture was either so weak or so grossly exaggerated as scarcely to be recognized. These “B’hoys” had fashions of their own, which they adhered to with all the tenacity of a reigning belle; they were the most consummate dandies of the day, though they affected to look upon a Broadway swell with most decided contempt. The hair of the b’hoy or fire laddie was one of his chief cares, and from appearance the engrossing object of his solicitude. At the back of the head it was cropped as close as scissors could cut, while the front locks permitted to grow to considerable length were matted by a lavish application of bears grease, the ends tucked under so as to form a roll, and brushed until they shone like glass bottles. His broad, massive face, was closely shaven, as beards in any shape were deemed effeminate, and so forbidden by their creed; a black, straight, broad-brimmed hat, polished as highly as a hot iron could effect, was worn with a pitch forward, with a slight inclination to one side, intended to impart a rakish air; a large shirt collar turned down and loosely fastened, school boy fashion, so as to expose the full proportions of a thick, brawny neck; a black frock coat with skirts extending below the knee; a flashy satin or velvet vest, cut so low as to display the entire bosom of a shirt, often embroidered; pantaloons tight to the knee, thence gradually swelling in size to the bottom, so as nearly to conceal a foot usually of most ample dimensions. This stunning make-up was heightened by a profusion of jewelry as varied and costly as the b’hoy could procure. His rolling swaggering gait on the promenade on the Bowery; his position, at rest, reclining against a lamp or awning post; the precise angle of the ever-present cigar; the tone of voice, something between a falsetto and a growl; the unwritten slang which constituted his vocabulary cannot be described; even the talented Chanfrau,1 after devoted study of the role, failed to come up to the full reality in his popular and much admired delineation of Mose.

The b’hoys female friend, whether wife, sister or sweetheart, was as odd and eccentric as her curious protector. Her style of attire was a cheap but always greatly exaggerated copy of the prevailing Broadway mode; her skirt was shorter and fuller; her bodice longer and lower; her hat more flaring and more gaudily trimmed; her handkerchief more ample and more flauntingly carried; her corkscrew curls thinner, longer and stiffer, but her gait and swing were studied imitations of her lord and master, and she tripped by the side of her beau ideal with an air which plainly said “I know no fear and ask no favor.”

Running with his favorite machine or sauntering on the Bowery the fire-laddie was a most interesting study to the naturalist, but on the ball-room floor at Tammany he was “seen, felt and understood,” unapproachable, “alone in his glory.” The b’hoy danced; to dance he required space. “No pent up Utica, etc.,” for his every movement was widespread as the swoop of the American eagle, which, by-the-bye, was his favorite bird; the symbol of his patriotism; its effigy was the crowning glory of his darling engine. Each cotillion was opened by a bow to his partner and another to the lady on the right. This bow, composed of a twitch, a jerk and a profound salaam, was an affair so grand, so complicated, that to witness it amply repaid a somewhat dangerous visit to one of their festive gatherings. It behooved, however, the outside visitor to be very cautious and undemonstrative while gratifying his curiosity, for the laddies were proud, jealous of intruders; they would not brook the slightest approach to a sneer or unseemly stare; but, above all, the Broadway exquisite who ventured “within the pale” was compelled to be very guarded in his advances towards any fair one whose peculiar style he might chance for the moment to admire. These gaily caparisoned ladies were closely watched by their muscular admirers, and any approach to familiarity either by word or look was certain to be visited by instant punishment of a positive nature.

The pistol and knife now used by the modern cowardly bravado were not then in vogue, but these formidable braves carried fists backed by muscle, which were powerful weapons for aggressive purposes.

Abram C. Dayton, Last Days of Knickerbocker Life in New York (New York: George W. Harlan, 1882), 164–167.

READING AND DISCUSSION QUESTIONS