The Mystery Skeletons of Oyster Paddy's Tavern

During the 19th century, a tavern situated at the corner of First Avenue and Ferry Street (now known as Stanwix Street) served as the secret hideout for some of Pittsburgh's most dangerous criminals.

Shortly before the owner, Hugh O'Donnell-- locally known as "Oyster Paddy"-- passed away in 1907, human skeletons were unearthed at the site of his notorious saloon during the construction of a new skyscraper. Since Oyster Paddy died taking his secrets to the grave, the fates and identities of these forgotten victims have never been ascertained, thereby forming the basis for one of Pennsylvania's most perplexing unsolved mysteries.

On the morning of Friday, June 22, 1906, workmen employed by Howard Bros. Contractors were excavating a foundation for a new skyscraper when they uncovered a pair of human skeletons two feet beneath the kitchen of a derelict building which had once been Oyster Paddy's Tavern. The initial supposition was that the workers had uncovered the remains of two Indians, but anyone who was old enough to remember the saloon-- and its infamous patrons-- during its heyday prior to the passage of the Brooks License Law of 1887 were highly skeptical of this explanation.

Back then, when taverns were largely unregulated, Paddy's regulars included some of the hardest, meanest men to ever haunt the Steel City waterfront. There was murderous Mike Burns, who was later killed by guards during a prison riot in Canada. There was Brocky McDonald, the bank robber who would eventually meet his demise at the hands of his own gang. There was Booby Adams, Blinky Morgan, Kid Munn, Dutch Tony and an assortment of safecrackers and burglars whose exploits were known to detectives all over the country. There was Joe Anderson, the bartender who operated his own crime syndicate when he wasn't pouring drinks for Oyster Paddy. All of them were dead now, and could therefore shed no light on the matter of the mystery skeletons. The only tavern regular who was still alive was Patsy McGraw, who was locked up at Moundsville Penitentiary in West Virginia, doing hard time for his second murder conviction.

And, of course, there was Hugh O'Donnell. But the man everyone knew as Oyster was in no condition to talk. Feeble and stricken with cancer, the 56-year-old spent most of his free time either at his brother's farm in Wexford or at the hospital in Wheeling, receiving treatment he hoped would stave off the Grim Reaper for a few more days.

Even when Paddy was younger, he never spent much time  at his own establishment. It was Joe Anderson who called the shots and, according to legend, Anderson had a strict rule about snitching. Before the Brooks Law was passed, Oyster Paddy's regulars also included dozens of corrupt local politicians and policemen. But there was a code known to all who frequented the joint: It was understood that any secrets divulged by the patrons, no matter how incriminating, stayed within the confines of the tavern. As a result, thugs and lawmen alike were free to brag about their exploits without fear of repercussion. This turned Paddy's into a sanctuary of sorts.



The Killing of Tiny Sloan
 

In spite of the code, some of the activities which took place inside the tavern were so spectacular that word spread throughout the city. The 1887 murder of William 'Tiny' Sloan, which took place inside the tavern, is one such example.

Sloan, who served as clerk to the chief of police, went into Paddy's at around 3 o'clock on the morning of August 22 with a petty thief named Sim King and two prostitutes who conducted their business under the names of Mame Hanley and Lulu Walters. Sloan, who was popular with the ladies, recognized a girl named Ida Miller, who was seated at a table with Patsy McGraw and Ed Tash. Sloan attempted to buy Ida a drink, but was ordered to leave by McGraw. When Sloan asked why, Ida told him that McGraw had already given her a stern lecture about "talking to a copper".

"And just what do you mean by that?" demanded Sloan, offended that any of the tavern's patrons would regard him as a snitch.

"I meant just what I said!" sneered McGraw. "Besides, I have it in for you anyhow, you dirty, rotten sonuvabitch!" McGraw reached into his hip pocket and drew a revolver. Sloan warned McGraw that he better not try anything, but McGraw fired. The bullet struck Sloan in the abdomen. "I'm a goner," he moaned, falling backwards and crashing against the bar. But when he saw that McGraw was preparing to take another shot, Sloan hurled himself at the attacker. Oyster Paddy, who was behind the bar at the time, wrenched the weapon out of McGraw's hand, but the damage was done-- Tiny Sloan's wound proved to be fatal, and he died six hours later at the Homeopathic Hospital.

The sound of the gunshot attracted Officer Onstott, who raced into the tavern. One of the patrons pointed out the shooter, and Onstott pointed his revolver at McGraw. Paddy, fearing for his friend's life, rushed at the officer and knocked the gun away. "That's not the man you want," lied Paddy. Onstott turned toward the proprietor and quietly warned him that if he tried that again, he would end up with a lead ball in the belly just like Tiny Sloan.

Once Chief of Police Brokaw learned that his clerk had been shot, he immediately ordered the arrest of everyone inside the tavern. Policemen swarmed Oyster Paddy's, arresting everyone inside the building and hauling them to Central Station. Patsy McGraw was eventually tried, convicted, and sentenced to a relatively short term in the Western Penitentiary. McGraw escaped from prison and was later recaptured in Kansas City, where he served out the remainder of his sentence. After his release he moved to West Virginia, where his gun claimed another victim, and he paid for his crime with a life sentence at Moundsville.


The Life and Times of Oyster Paddy


Hugh O'Donnell earned his nickname as a young man working in 'Dad' Heinley's seafood restaurant on Fifth Avenue as an oyster opener. Records indicate this restaurant once stood at the site of the Farmers Bank Building, which was a Pittsburgh landmark until its demolition in May of 1997.
Sometime around 1875 O'Donnell went into business for himself, opening a small saloon and restaurant at the corner of Ferry and Water streets. Business thrived, eventually forcing him to open a larger establishment at First Avenue and Water Street. Not long afterward, Oyster Paddy's began to earn its unsavory reputation.

Then, in 1887, came the Brooks Law, which eventually put O'Donnell out of business. He applied for a license just once, and his appearance before the court of quarter sessions was so disastrous that he never attempted it again. At the hearing the judge, after reading O'Donnell's application, looked down from the bench and asked, "Aren't you the one they call Oyster Paddy?"
"Yes, sir," replied O'Donnell.

"I am surprised that you would ask this court for a license at all," growled the judge. "That is all."

And so ended Oyster Paddy's business career-- at least in Pennsylvania.

O'Donnell left Pittsburgh and went to Sisterville, West Virginia, where he attempted to open another restaurant, but failed. He then planned to open a restaurant in Johnstown, but his plans were derailed by the legendary flood of 1889. His money spent, he was forced to take a job at a lunch counter in Wheeling, where he lived for the remainder of his life. The man known to a generation of rivermen as Oyster Paddy passed away on Sunday, April 14, 1907, while on a train. He had just been discharged from a hospital in Wheeling and was on his way to Wexford where he hoped to pass away surrounded by family. His brother, William, was with him at the time of his death.

Undated photo of Oyster Paddy's, with the Wabash Bridge (1902-1948) in the background

The Tale of the Reluctant Coroner


O'Donnell was quietly dying in a West Virginia hospital when workmen discovered the skeletons beneath the infamous tavern he once owned. Remarkably, Coroner Joseph G. Armstrong refused to investigate the matter until police presented him with more evidence suggesting foul play. As far as the coroner was concerned, the bones were those of forgotten Indians who dwelled along the Monongahela during frontier times.

Armstrong's heel-dragging not only hindered the investigation, but may have sabotaged it entirely. According to Chief Deputy Harry Lowe, curiosity seekers had stolen several of the bones from the work site by the following day. John F. Lally, the detective who first examined the skeletons, concluded that some corrosive chemical-- perhaps lye or quicklime-- had been used to hasten the decomposition process. He based this conclusion on the condition of a cheap, silver-colored pocketwatch found alongside one of the skeletons, the metal appearing to have been exposed to some sort of acid. Yet, in spite of the detective's conclusion (and the fact that Indians didn't possess pocketwatches), Armstrong adamantly refused to empanel a coroner's jury.

As was to be expected, wild rumors began to circulate along the Pittsburgh waterfront. Since the pocketwatch was found in a battered, crushed condition with the hands of the timepiece eternally fixed at 8 o'clock, many believed that the victim had been killed elsewhere and taken to Oyster Paddy's for a hasty burial under the cover of darkness. This seemed possible, since the tavern would have been packed with patrons at 8 o'clock and the murder of two persons certainly could not have been carried out in secrecy.

Others claimed that the bones were those of two detectives who had broken the tavern's anti-snitching policy, but Roger O'Mara, a retired Chief of Detectives, squelched this rumor. No detectives had gone missing during his lengthy tenure. O'Mara had nothing but praise for Oyster Paddy, calling him a "good fellow" who was no worse than any other bar owner in the city (the judge who denied him a liquor license in 1887 probably would've expressed a different opinion, however).

"The resort of Oyster Paddy was no worse than many others," O'Mara stated, "but it was by the river and, therefore, patronized to a great extent by river men. The most desperate criminals, however, did not congregate there. They took to the hotels, where they had more privacy to concoct their schemes."


The Blinky Morgan Gang

History refutes O'Mara's claims, however. Many nefarious schemes were hatched inside Oyster Paddy's, such as the famous 1887 robbery of the Benedict and Ruedy department store in Cleveland carried out by the Blinky Morgan gang, which used the tavern as its headquarters. Blinky's gang stole $15,000 worth of furs and brought them back to Pittsburgh to sell them on the streets, which subsequently resulted in Kid Munn's arrest. Authorities attempted to transport Munn back to Cleveland, but Blinky and the rest of his gang ambushed them outside of Ravenna, Ohio, resulting in the death of one of the officers. Blinky Morgan was executed in Columbus for the officer's murder.

Oyster Paddy's was also the place where the spectacular and successful plot to crack the safe of the Pennsylvania Railroad Depot at Third Street and Liberty Avenue was hatched. After the robbery, the bandits hurried back to the tavern to hide from the police, knowing their secret would be safe with the patrons.

Even Roger O'Mara's favorite informant, identified in papers only as a "negro stool pigeon", was slashed to ribbons inside Oyster Paddy's tavern.

Sol Coulson, a 29-year veteran of the city police force, agreed with O'Mara's assertion that the skeletons found by workers could not possibly be those of missing policemen. If two policemen had gone missing, Coulson would have certainly known about it.

Blinky Morgan

Superintendent Thomas A. McQuaide offered his own theory, insisting the murders had been carried out sometime after Hugh O'Donnell closed the tavern and moved to West Virginia. Newspaper reporters combed their archives trying to dig up stories of unsolved murders and mysterious disappearances from the previous three decades, but couldn't find any puzzle pieces that fit.



A Possible Suspect


The rumor that gained the most traction, and by far the most plausible explanation, was that the killings were carried out by bartender Joe Anderson, who ruled the tavern with an iron fist whenever O'Donnell left town on one of his frequent trips. Is it possible the skeletons belonged to a pair of gangsters or thieves who made the mistake of double-crossing Anderson?

Anderson was known to be the ringleader of his own band of burglars. These bandits entered the tavern through a back door to divvy up their spoils, under Anderson's supervision. These facts seem to suggest the murdered men may have been members of Anderson's gang who, upon returning from a successful robbery, got into an argument with Oyster Paddy's bartender and were given a swift and terrible reward for their efforts. But if Anderson played a role in burying the bodies beneath the kitchen floor, he never felt the icy breath of justice on his neck-- at least not in the earthly realm. Anderson died ten years before the skeletons were discovered.

"I'm not surprised by anything they may find under the place," declared former Police Captain Charles Gallant to the Pittsburgh Daily Post after the skeletons were found. "It was no doubt the toughest resort in the United States at the time. But one thing can be said: Oyster never participated in any of the crimes which were planned there. The place seemed to be known to every thief in the country, and every one of them would go straight to the saloon as soon as he reached Pittsburgh."
Gallant knew from experience that this was true; not only was he a former police captain, he had also been one of Oyster's bartenders.

Of all the policemen who spent time inside the tavern-- either drinking liquor or serving it-- few were as intimately familiar with the rabblerousers, rivermen and roustabouts who made Oyster Paddy's their home away from home. In 1906 Gallant shared his own story about the infamous Blinky Morgan gang:

"One evening the whole gang, including Blinky Morgan and his bunch, were in the place when a riverman came in. Joe Baker took him outside and stole $40 from him. The riverman hunted up a gang of his friends and they came back. The battle that followed was a beaut-- guns, knives, glasses, sandbags and paving stones were the weapons, and the gang almost tore up Ferry Street to get enough cobblestones.

"Oyster and I each got a baseball bat and finally drove everybody out of the place. Then we stood at the door, and when anybody stuck their head in it we soaked them with the bats. That was the only way to keep order in the place."

An 1887 illustration of Oyster Paddy's

The former police captain and bartender added that, during his tenure at the saloon, he saw many strangers who had made the mistake of wandering inside, only to be led away from the building by thieves.

"We never saw them again," explained Gallant. "There was a rumor in circulation that two fellows, suspected of being detectives, had been murdered by the gang, but that was before I went to work there."

Perhaps the primary reason why the mystery remains unsolved to this day is because the authorities didn't know too little-- they knew too much. Oyster Paddy's was a place where patrolmen and pickpockets sat side by side, where murderers and mayors went to unwind after dark, where politicians and prostitutes drank their worries away. Like Cheers!, the fictional Boston bar, Oyster Paddy's was the sort of place where everybody knew your name.