Why and for whom was the photograph taken?

This is the Fourth Ward, long given up to the worst abominations in the way of human dwellings. That alley has a bad record. A murder was committed there less than a week ago, and it was not the first by a great many. In point of nationality it is typical of all down-town New York city. When I took a census once of that alley, there were one hundred and forty families, one hundred Irish, thirty-eight Italians, and two German, and not a native born individual in the entire alley except the children. No one but an Irishman could have thought of the answer one gave me when I asked him what was the reason a policeman was always on duty there. He said, “It’s on account of them two Dutch families that live in the alley. They make so much trouble.” [Laughter.] A Chinaman of whom I asked the same question outside the alley took another view of it. He just took one look down the alley and then hurried on; “Lem Ilish velly bad,” he said. [Laughter.] When the cholera came along some years ago, the ratio of deaths was not over sixteen or seventeen to the thousand in the “clean” wards up-town, but down there in that alley it was one hundred and ninety-five to the thousand. That is what such a place stands for in times of epidemic.

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Not very far from that house there is a block that is reputed to be the worse spot in the country, and I should say it might be true from my acquaintance with it. It was decided to tear it down long since, but five years have passed, and the block is there still. We go slowly, very slowly in such matters as that in New York, when there is neither money nor politics in it. Here you are with the Italians. They live out of doors most of the time, and that is why they are healthy though dirty, and the death rate is not so large. Go there at sunset some evening, and you will see an army of men and women slouching along with the unmistakable gait of the tramp. Where they all go will puzzle you. One by one they disappear, even while you look and before your very eyes. You will be troubled to find what becomes of them, till you look sharp and find doorways leading into side alleys.

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This one was called Bandit’s Roost from an old Neapolitan bandit who lived there and died there. Since then the “Roost” has been filled up by rather inoffensive Italians, who do no harm except on Sunday, when they take to playing cards and generally in the end to the knife; then murder comes in to finish the business.

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And now we come to the bottom, down to the black-and-tan dive. When the black and white of both sexes meet on such ground, then you have the abomination than which there is none more vile. From there the descent is very easy to the rogue’s gallery.

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Conclusion

Riis’ commentary attaches very specific stories and ideas to photos that, viewed on their own, invite a variety of interpretations. While Riis and his listeners shared a strong desire to improve living conditions in poor city neighborhoods, their attitudes mirrored the prejudices of the dominant culture toward “foreigners,” as evidenced by Riis’ words and the audience reactions indicated in brackets in the transcribed text. A mix of disdain and social outrage marked Riis’ presentation of the photos. For example, he pairs a supposedly humorous account of how various ethnic groups on a block account for crime with the fact that so many more poor residents than wealthy ones die during cholera epidemics. Considering Riis’ photographs in the context that most turn-of-the-twentieth-century viewers would have experienced them—with Riis’ prejudices and reform agenda to guide their interpretations—is crucial for understanding them as historical documents.

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