We’re Glad You’re Here!
The Kingfish Restaurant is at the center of "Hell's Half Mile". As Bay City’s Water Street area was know during the lumbering days, 1850-1900. It was one of the most violent and dangerous waterfronts not only of Michigan but also of the United States. Upward of a million dollars would change hands here in a few weeks, and most of the transactions weren't legal.
Why was Water Street so dangerous, you ask? Well, consider that around May 1st each year upwards of 5,000 of the roughest and toughest lumberjacks would descend on this six block area to party it up and unwind after being cooped up in the woods chopping down trees 12 hours a day for eight or nine months. The loggers would be flush with winter earnings of $75 to $200 or more. These men hadn't had a bath, downed a drink, or seen a woman for six to eight months, so they were really ready for action.
The Wolverton Hotel as on the site of the Kingfish in the 1800's and was considered the finest hostelry in northern Michigan, along with the Campbell House across the street, now the Bay City Antiques Center. The corner of Third and Water was the heart of what was know as "hell’s Half Mile", notorious for its 37 saloons, 26 hotels, and several liquor stores all within a six block area. About 300 prostitutes, the cigar-smoking "Belles of Water Street", also reputedly populated the area. The Third Street Bridge Block, from Water to The river on Third, was known as the Catacombs for its seven saloons on several levels, sin cribs in the basement, the rowdy Steamboat Saloon on the main floor and a wild variety theater with a wine room and private compartments on the top floor. Activities there were suited to the vilest and most depraved tastes and moral corruption those even more than 100 years later it can scarcely be hinted at.
Tunnels ran throughout the streets on "Hell’s Half Mile" and could be entered at the river level where several dives were located, handy for ship crewmen, dock wollopers, longshoremen, and others to grab a quick nip between jobs loading lumber or supplies. The most notorious sin dens included the Miki O'Brien’s, The Walhalla, and the Idaho Saloon on Water between Fourth and Fifth, The Do Drop Inn on Water at Center, The Red Light on Fourth between Saginaw and Water, The Blood Tub upriver at Garfield and 12th, and the infamous George Cook's on Third near Saginaw. So many river hogs once jammed Cook’s that the floor caved in. The injured were removed and planks were quickly placed across the span so the carousing could continue without let-up. A distraught prostitute, Lizzie Gallligan, killed herself with a 50-cent dose of morphine in the Idaho, languishing for hours and dying slowly as customers, including two doctors who tried to save her, watched. One of the best-known houses of prostitution was part of the Catacombs and was called "Holy Old Mackinaw". From there a trap door deposited unfortunate lumberjacks into the river after they had been drugged and robbed.
Although Michigan was "dry" from 1855 to 1875, saloons flourished and drunkenness was common. There were 559 arrests for drunkenness in one year, 1873-1874, and only 9 for operators of illegal saloons. Infamous tippler Johnny "Brick" Thomas was arrested 299 times during his drinking career. Guys like Paddy the Racker, Guzzling Grant Jacobs and Paddy the Marchall D.M. McCraney was charged with drunkenness, indecent exposure, blackmail and keeping a lewd house. At 6-4 and 250 pounds, McCraney and his 12 contract thugs, err patrolmen, extracted $1 a day "protection" from the saloonkeepers. Those who didn't pay were raided. Besides the legalized extortion, bands of thieves and pickpockets descended upon the district when the drive was in.
The end of prohibition in 1875 was a cause for celebration, although activities didn't change much in Bay City. When a liquor dealer operating from Hawkins & Co. cock next door sponsored a bilious cruise to Wenonah Beach, the crew aboard got rowdier than usual. Huge French Canadian timber boss Fabian "Joe" Fournier conquered all in shipboard brawls but his comeuppance as he strode down the gangplank at the end of the violent cruise. His immortal last words came when asked where he was going and Fournier replied "to hell". He may not have been far from wrong. Ex-con Adolphus "Blinky" Robertson, a stone mason from Saginaw, knocked fabled fighting Fournier into the pages of history with a foul blow from a ship carpenter’s mallet. News reports and campfire tales built Fournier into a legendary character, Paul Bunyan, America’s best-loved folk hero.
All of this nefarious activity was gradually snuffed out in the late 1870’s when the food folks of Bay City hired a strong-arm police force headed by burly Civil War veteran Nathaniel Murphy and the temperance preachers and Red Ribbon ladies took over. Some 2,500 formerly drunken lumberjacks "took the pledge", 485 in one week alone. Sale of liquor to minors and habitual drunkenness was forbidden and saloons were required to close Sundays. “Dare to Do Right” was the slogan. A few hostile saloonkeepers tied red ribbons on dogs to show their contempt, but law and order prevailed.
Enjoy your visit to The Kingfish, drink in Bay City’s fabulous history, step down to Dockside and take yourself back a century in time. Please feel free to share this history of lumbering days gone by and we'll look forward to seeing you here soon on "Hell’s Half Mile".
