Ireland, often admired for its cultural richness and hospitality, has a lesser-known shadowy past that extends across the Atlantic. Kevin Fidgeon reflects on his family's connection to notorious Irish American gangs, including his uncle's involvement in New Jersey's waterfront corruption.
My wife and I travel to Ireland every year for a two-week vacation. We have been to almost every part of the Emerald Island and will return again this year. Age restricts us from renting a car, so we will spend the bulk of our time in the fair city of Dublin.
We have met numerous kind and wonderful people over the years. The culture of Ireland embraces us on every visit - enjoying its natural beauty, historic sites, vibrant music, welcoming pubs, unmatched literary arts, and the generosity shown to the rest of the world. Kindness and innate goodness seem to be at the center of the Irish soul and this makes me wonder about my own family of Irish immigrants who made their way to America.
Family members tend to romanticize their early struggle with poverty, lack of education, and their rural Irish roots. A strong belief in the Church ensured them that someday they would be rewarded. Many would eventually find employment with the police and local government. They would eventually flee the likes of Jersey City and its tenements following World War I and World War II. They became first-time homeowners, populating small towns throughout northern New Jersey.
In 2019, Netflix released a popular too-long movie called “The Irishman” which told the story of Irish gangsters during the 1950s. Watching the movie was like seeing home movies from my childhood.
My sweet rosary-carrying mother was a Noonan, from County Clare. Her great uncle Cornelius J. Noonan was the undisputed head of the family and a leader of the “Arsenal Gang." This Irish gang of mobsters controlled the waterfront on both the New York and New Jersey sides of the Hudson River.
In 1953, the movie “On the Waterfront," filmed in Hoboken, New Jersey, told the story of murder and union corruption. Marlon Brando’s famous line, “I could’ve been somebody” spoke of his destruction by the union bosses and the hopelessness of his life. My family were the “bad” guys in the movie.
Uncle Connie was the president of the Inland Terminal Workers Union, Local 1730, International Longshoremen's Association. He ran a large criminal enterprise that controlled the movement of goods through the waterfront. An “Irish Tax” was imposed that amounted to millions of dollars. The Arsenal Gang expanded in the Rackets that equaled or rivaled the Mafia during the wonderful 1950s.
The New York Times described Uncle Connie as a close associate of John “Cockeyed” Dunn who was an enforcer and strongman for the union. Dunn was found guilty of a waterfront murder and sentenced to death by electrocution at Sing Sing. When given the option of life imprisonment or death if he testified, he reportedly said, “I ain't no canary."
Uncle Connie would be subpoenaed by the New York City Crime Commission and the US Senate Rackets Committee; he pleaded the fifth 57 times and was never convicted of a single crime. He was no canary.
My sweet rosary-carrying mother was mortified when the FBI took her picture as she left Connie’s wake on November 18, 1964.
This article was submitted to the IrishCentral contributors network by a member of the global Irish community. To become an IrishCentral contributor click here.
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