THE PRECINCT WORKING FROM THE INSIDE 
MORE THAN any other institution, the precinct -- the smallest unit of local political organization and influence, be it a voting district, a municipal ward, a party clubhouse, a firehouse, or even a saloon -- provided the economic stability and the power that enabled Irish Americans to progress into the middle class and beyond. For Irish Catholic America in particular the precinct was the political equivalent, and sometime partner, of the parish. Political and parochial influence built churches and orphanages and schools; it built politicians and, ultimately, it built what came to be known as "machines."

Tammany Hall in New York City, which began innocently enough in the late eighteenth century as an institution to help the poor and was named after Delaware Indian chief Tamawend, fell under the sway of the Irish and became a political force -- a machine -- in the early nineteenth century. In many respects, Tammany was the embodiment of the grassroots urban political organizations that sprang up in other American cities where the Irish congregated: the Pendergast organization in Kansas City, the Hague machine in Jersey City, the latter-day Daley machine in Chicago.

To define Tammany, or to define a machine, one has to contend with mercurial structures enveloped in shadows. The very informality of many of these often unofficial political organizations combined with often brazen politicking, arm twisting and civic activities makes definition elusive. Consequently the so-called Irish-American political machines mean different things to different people. To some, they were a legitimate means to political ends; to others, they represent all that is corrupt in politics. In truth, they were both. 

Some aspects of these machines, however are incontrovertible. Any organization deserving of the moniker "machine"operated at a grassroots urban level on behalf (usually) of the Democratic Party. Often, an elected official (such as Jersey City mayor Frank Hague) would be at the helm; in other cases, Tammany Hall, for example, the "chieftain" would be unelected, but not without political influence. The organization would fan out into the neighborhoods, especially in poor areas, and assign a person as the local "ward heeler" to serve as the eyes and ears on the street. He might be on the city payroll, he might be unpaid, he might be a saloonkeeper, but whatever his status, he was plugged into the community. 

Residents in need of a job, an interview, a vendor's license, some official paperwork, or perhaps the ministrations of a doctor they could not afford would appeal to the ward heeler, who would appeal to the leaders of the political club, who would employ their influence with the powers that be to see what could be done. What everyone expected in return was the vote of the beneficiary and those he could influence in coming elections. That was the quid pro quo that fueled the early Irish-American political machines. And a ward heeler was judged by how many votes he could deliver on election day. Poor immigrants understandably were attracted to a political presence that promised the delivery of services, and the Irish were particularly drawn to this method of organizing, with the result that the political machine is considered an Irish gift to American politics.