** A crimp was a lot like a “sea-pimp,” and these base bounty hunters practically ruled the Waterfronts of Portland and Astoria in the late 1800s. Originally a British slang term for “agent,” crimps would act as maritime middlemen, using any means necessary to deliver warm (at times), usually drunken or unconscious bodies to awaiting sea captains. The resourceful crimp would then receive his “blood money,” usually anywhere from $25 to $50 a head, sometimes going as high as $150, depending on the circumstances.

By far the most colorful of these crimping (shanghaiing) tales invariably involve a squat, steely-eyed Liverpudlian named Joseph “Bunco” Kelly. Perhaps the Da Vinci of crimping, Kelly’s nickname is a testament to his shanghaiing artistry.

Kelly’s most famous ruse garnered him—and Portland’s waterfront— a rather infamous international reputation. One somber October night in 1892, when combing the streets of Portland for 20 men to flesh out the crew of The Flying Prince, Kelly spied an open sidewalk trap-door on Second Street and Morrison. Upon climbing down a steep ladder, he came across 24 apparently deeply inebriated fellows in a candle-lit cellar, moaning and gasping. The acrid stench of formaldehyde permeating the chamber quickly led Kelly to deduce that these men had mistakenly broken into the basement of what they thought was the Snug Harbor Saloon next door, but was in actuality the cellar of Johnson & Son undertakers. Thinking the cellar was a part of the Snug Harbor Pub; the men had each consumed cups of embalming fluid, which they had mistaken for liquor. When Kelly found them, several had died and others were dying.

Never one to miss an opportunity, Kelly hurried out of the cellar (closing the door behind him to avoid pesky fresh air from reviving his besotted booty) to fetch some goons to help him transport his expiring merchandise. Claiming the dead were merely unconscious from too much drink, Kelly sold all 24 to a captain whose ship sailed before the truth was discovered. The captain, after relaying that he had “never seen so many dead drunks in his life,” shelled out $50 each for the 14 corpses and 10 severely ill men Kelly had delivered unto him.

The next day, the first mate of the Prince made the ghastly discovery and the ship proceeded to dock and unload its carrion cargo, causing an international uproar that started an international investigation centering on Portland’s crimping practices.