Do Twin Brew Spirits Still Roam Across the Garden State?

Elizabethport, New Jersey, has given its residents plenty of fodder to produce strange and macabre tales, often spun from its reputation as a 1920s mobster haven. Much of its eerie history resulted from its location along the Arthur Kill as it flows into the Hudson River and the constant change in the landscape along the banks of the kill as the area evolved from a Revolutionary War commercial hub to center of industry to a modern transportation corridor feeding into Newark International Airport.

This transformation often left in its wake hundreds of residential and business relics abandoned over the years by the diverse populations of immigrant groups who moved through it on their way up on the economic scale and into New Jersey's more suburban areas.

Two major industries, beer brewing and coffee making, often flourished side-by-side during and after Prohibition in the area of E’Port. Some of the most colorful tales sprung from the Rising Sun Brewery, which had its start in two buildings bordered by Marshall and Seventh Streets, in the heart of the area.

Although much more notable for its bootleg beer than coffee brewing, it is not that much of a stretch to imagine the Roaring 20s mobsters establishing a healthy side hustle in the bean trade to complement their main business. This also allowed them to lower the heat from the Feds when the authorities came too close.

Rising Sun, founded in the late 1880s, survived a fatal explosion and fire early in its history that killed one of the workers. A newer complex replaced the original and changed hands under a number of different names and several owners whose tales added to both its famous and infamous history.

Like many liquor-manufacturing facilities in the Garden State, much of the most notorious activity for the brewery happened during the 13-year period when illegal alcoholic beverage-making and sales operations headed by several highly-ranked members of the underworld dominated the headlines.

During and after Prohibition rumors of many spirits besides those consumed illegally often rose from inside the Sun. These other-worldly inhabitants supposedly began haunting the building after several breweries drew large profits from the operation, both legal and illegal, for a while then went out of business. The list included New York mobster Waxey Gordon.

Rumors said long-time Reading, Pa. brewer and bootlegger Max Hassel had set up several bootlegging operations in Elizabeth’s Carteret Hotel in 1929 with Gordon and Max Greenberg, another manufacturer of illegal beer.

Their success caught the eye of high profile mobster Dutch Schultz, and he hired hitmen to kill Hassel and Greenberg at the Carteret on April 12, 1933. Reportedly, Gordon escaped because he had skipped out with a prostitute in one of the hotel's hidden siderooms.

Although none of the mobsters associated with the Rising Sun lived to tell any tales of its sordid past, a close encounter with the ghost of a federal agent killed during a raid on the complex supposedly surfaced many years later.

Newspaper accounts of the era reported that in 1928, gangsters trapped federal agent John J. Finiello inside the building, which they had turned into a fortress for the protection of their illegal hooch operations, during a raid by the FBI and other agencies.

Finiello, based in Philadelphia, had a reputation many said rivaled that of legendary Elliot Ness. Barrelling his way in, Finiello fired his revolver twice but died with eight bullets in his body. Five of the shots pierced the warrant the crack agent had used to authorize his search of the building.

Later, John G. Smith, chief of federal prohibition agents, led a squad into the Rising Sun through an underground passageway into a blacksmith’s shop where they found 1,500 barrels of beer. There they arrested a minor mob figure, Julius H. Russell, who they held pending an investigation.

Federal Judge William Clark later ordered the brewery padlocked for one year. The defendant company supposedly appealed the legality of the raid to the United States Circuit Court of Appeals, which held the search warrant valid.

The padlocks came off on April 7, 1933 and the Rising Sun again rose on February 14, 1934. It eventually closed its doors and only two smokestacks from the original facility still stand.

Shortly after my Rutgers graduation in 1970 my curiosity about the history of my hometown struck a chord with me and I decided to explore the ruins of what remained of the brewery. Lured by the scent of coffee beans and illegal suds from my hometown's past, I contacted Harold Goodrich from the Elizabeth Historical Society, another rabid fan of E’town’s mobster past like myself. He agreed to guide me and we got permission from city officials to tour the complex.

On that trip, I believe I crossed paths with Finiello. Goodrich, walking cautiously ahead of me, pried open the door to the area where he believed the blacksmith’s shop once had stood. After a half hour of combing through dusty rubble we heard a dull banging noise like a piece of lumber being moved, followed by a loud clicking sound, like that of a person loading a revolver.

We kept feeling our way forward, moving objects out of our way. A few feet ahead the clicking sound came back again, followed by what sounded like human footsteps. Then another piece of lumber fell down, almost striking me on the head and nearly knocking me unconscious.

My guide and myself turned and moved debris out of our way as quickly as we could, finally feeling our way out into the fresh air.

As we sat down for a breather on an abandoned barstool Goodrich told me about rumors concerning the “ghost of the Rising Sun.”

“Supposedly Finiello’s spirit did not rest after his death because he believed he could not go onto the netherworld until he captured the bootlegger who shot him. Rumor says he still roams the halls of the brewery seeking to even the score.”

“Now you tell me,” I screamed.

With that, we ran to our cars and sped back to the historical society building where our tour started. A few years later, the city finished demolishing most of what remained of the Rising Sun, leaving only two smokestacks, one on each of the former brewery facilities.