Hatchet Men: The Story of the Tong Wars in San Francisco’s Chinatown by Richard Dillon Page B
Authors: Richard Dillon
Tags: Chinese Americans, chinatown, California history, Chinese history, San Francisco Chinatown, Tongs, Tong Wars, San Francisco history
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making a move to help the officer. By the time the hoodlums were finished a mob of 2,000 men had gathered to see the show. A riot seemed imminent. Chief of Police Patrick Crowley arrived on the scene and with his usual force and vigor—personally leading eighty officers in clearing the streets—he restored order.
To make matters worse and to lend quite unnecessary fuel to the mobs who wanted to “clean up” Chinatown by tearing it down or burning it down, the first bloody internal riot in the Quarter’s history occurred on May 22. The trouble grew out of the rivalry among Chinese laundrymen. The protective association, or guild, of washermen met every Sunday in a joss house over gaming rooms on the corner of Sacramento Street and Oneida Place. Here, applications and complaints were heard and ruled upon. The case of the Was Yeup Company came up. The firm stood accused of violating the association’s districting rules by opening a new washhouse in a district already assigned to another company. The decision was against the interlopers. Soon there was a scuffle between partisans of the company and others in the assemblage. Cleavers, hatchets, knives and clubs were brandished and then freely used. The fight turned into a full-scale riot. The attention of outsiders was commanded when pistol shots echoed from the interior of the building.
Down on Pike Street, John Meagber, a thirty-six-year-old Irish officer, heard the reports. He whistled for help, and five special officers joined him. They entered the fray after sending a citizen to get more aid. Captain Patrick R. Hanna and four of his men rushed to the scene of the presumed slaughter, inviting a number of citizens met en route to join them. Hanna had fought his way through the door when the chief of police arrived with a number of detectives.
A Chinese stood at the top of the narrow stairs leading to the room now jammed with brawling laundrymen. He blazed away at the officers with a pistol, narrowly missing one and actually grazing his coat. When he ceased fire, Hanna ordered his men to charge and several bounded up the staircase while Hanna himself and a few others cut off the rioters’ retreat from the building. The officers who rushed upstairs met with a rough reception but flayed about mightily with their clubs. Although the escape of the rioters appeared to be cut off, they still tried desperately to get away, plunging downstairs and trying to burst through the ring of policemen blocking their exit. Few succeeded, yet only 16 men in all were seized, of whom 3 were wounded. This was a small percentage of the estimated 125 brawlers. The others had all fled by upstairs windows and the roof. The captives were tied together in pairs. An enormous crowd, probably 3,000 people, had been attracted. Chief Crowley, fearing the riot might spread, ordered Hanna to clear the streets. The captain did so with only 4 or 5 men but they had to swing their batons liberally. Crowley later said, “In five minutes more, nothing short of calling out the militia would have quelled the riot.”
About twenty or thirty shots were fired in the melee upstairs but none of the scufflers were killed. The police had three wounded men in custody and apparently a number more were among the great majority of rioters who escaped. The officers found—either in the room or on the prisoners’ persons—four cleavers, two hatchets, one chisel and a solitary knife. Only two pistols were found—a six-shooter and a derringer. But some of the captives explained that the other pistols had been thrown from windows and picked up and hidden by the gunmen’s women, waiting in the street below. The meeting room was a shambles. Its walls were pierced with bullet holes. All the furniture was demolished, including glass vases, ornaments and the joss or idol (from the Portuguese deos, god) itself.
The traditional violence of the city which surrounded the Chinese Quarter seemed finally to be reflected in
To make matters worse and to lend quite unnecessary fuel to the mobs who wanted to “clean up” Chinatown by tearing it down or burning it down, the first bloody internal riot in the Quarter’s history occurred on May 22. The trouble grew out of the rivalry among Chinese laundrymen. The protective association, or guild, of washermen met every Sunday in a joss house over gaming rooms on the corner of Sacramento Street and Oneida Place. Here, applications and complaints were heard and ruled upon. The case of the Was Yeup Company came up. The firm stood accused of violating the association’s districting rules by opening a new washhouse in a district already assigned to another company. The decision was against the interlopers. Soon there was a scuffle between partisans of the company and others in the assemblage. Cleavers, hatchets, knives and clubs were brandished and then freely used. The fight turned into a full-scale riot. The attention of outsiders was commanded when pistol shots echoed from the interior of the building.
Down on Pike Street, John Meagber, a thirty-six-year-old Irish officer, heard the reports. He whistled for help, and five special officers joined him. They entered the fray after sending a citizen to get more aid. Captain Patrick R. Hanna and four of his men rushed to the scene of the presumed slaughter, inviting a number of citizens met en route to join them. Hanna had fought his way through the door when the chief of police arrived with a number of detectives.
A Chinese stood at the top of the narrow stairs leading to the room now jammed with brawling laundrymen. He blazed away at the officers with a pistol, narrowly missing one and actually grazing his coat. When he ceased fire, Hanna ordered his men to charge and several bounded up the staircase while Hanna himself and a few others cut off the rioters’ retreat from the building. The officers who rushed upstairs met with a rough reception but flayed about mightily with their clubs. Although the escape of the rioters appeared to be cut off, they still tried desperately to get away, plunging downstairs and trying to burst through the ring of policemen blocking their exit. Few succeeded, yet only 16 men in all were seized, of whom 3 were wounded. This was a small percentage of the estimated 125 brawlers. The others had all fled by upstairs windows and the roof. The captives were tied together in pairs. An enormous crowd, probably 3,000 people, had been attracted. Chief Crowley, fearing the riot might spread, ordered Hanna to clear the streets. The captain did so with only 4 or 5 men but they had to swing their batons liberally. Crowley later said, “In five minutes more, nothing short of calling out the militia would have quelled the riot.”
About twenty or thirty shots were fired in the melee upstairs but none of the scufflers were killed. The police had three wounded men in custody and apparently a number more were among the great majority of rioters who escaped. The officers found—either in the room or on the prisoners’ persons—four cleavers, two hatchets, one chisel and a solitary knife. Only two pistols were found—a six-shooter and a derringer. But some of the captives explained that the other pistols had been thrown from windows and picked up and hidden by the gunmen’s women, waiting in the street below. The meeting room was a shambles. Its walls were pierced with bullet holes. All the furniture was demolished, including glass vases, ornaments and the joss or idol (from the Portuguese deos, god) itself.
The traditional violence of the city which surrounded the Chinese Quarter seemed finally to be reflected in
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