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A Note From 1874 About A Lamb Transfusion

February 2, 2014 in Old Print Articles, Urban Studies | Permalink

From the October 25, 1874 New York Times:

“The Fall River letter in the Providence Journal of Saturday says: ‘The experiment of a direct transfusion of the blood of a live lamb was performed upon the person of Herman Dubois, residing at No. 41 Globe Street, by Drs. Julius Hoffman and Weyland, of New-York City, this afternoon at 5 o’clock. It took one minute and thirty-three seconds to make the transfusion, about six ounces being transfused within the time, and it proved an entire success. It took nearly an entire day to prepare the lamb for the experiment. Every vein which was connected with the jugular vein was severed and securely tied by the physicians, so as to allow the blood free egress to the arm of the patient. Dr. Hoffman used a small glass tube, about two inches and one-half inch long, slightly curved for the operation, thus bringing the neck of the lamb in very close proximity to the patient’s arm. Mr. Dubois has been afflicted with the consumption a little more than two years, and as a last resort for relief, it was thought best by his friends to try the experiment. At last accounts he was quite comfortable. Immediately after transfusion the patient experienced sharp pains throughout the back, chest and limbs, together with a shortness of breath for about fifteen minutes, then he became quiet until a little after 6, when he exhibited the same symptoms, accompanied with chills for about half an hour, then he became quiet, and remained in that condition at 11 o’clock.”

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Old Print Article: “Mark Twain Is Dead At 74,” New York Times (1910)

January 30, 2014 in Books, Old Print Articles, Photography, Urban Studies | Permalink

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“His strength seemed to increase enough to allow him to enjoy the sunrise.”

Mark Twain, jester and debunker and literary giant, showed you could leave an impression, a mark, on American life and letters even if you weren’t as scarred as Emily Dickinson or Edgar Allan Poe, even if your first impulse was to go for the joke. He saw things as they were and tried to make us all see them a little differently, and in that he succeeded. No matter who comes after, he will always really be the country’s king of comedy. The opening of his obituary in the April 22, 1910 New York Times:

“Danbury, Conn., April 21 — Samuel Langhorne Clemens, ‘Mark Twain,’ died at 22 minutes after 6 tonight. Beside him on the bed lay a beloved book- it was Carlyle’s French Revolution-and near the book his glasses, pushed away with a weary sigh a few hours before. Too weak to speak clearly, ‘Give me my glasses,’ he had written on a piece of paper. He had received them, put them down, and sunk into unconsciousness from which he glided almost imperceptibly into death. He was in his seventy-fifth year.

For some time, his daughter Clara and her husband, Ossip Cabrilowitsch, and the humorist’s biographer, Albert Bigelow Paine, had been by the bed waiting for the end, which Drs. Quintard and Halsey had seen to be a matter of minutes. The patient felt absolutely no pain at the end and the moment of his death was scarcely noticeable.

Death came, however, while his favorite niece, Mrs. E. E. Looms, and her husband, who is Vice President of the Delaware, Lackawanna & Western Railway, and a nephew, Jervis Langdon, were on the way to the railroad station. They had left the house much encouraged by the fact that the sick man had recognized them, and took a train for New York ignorant of what happened later.

Hopes Aroused Yesterday

Although the end had been foreseen by the doctors and would not have been a shock at any time, the apparently strong rally of this morning had given basis for the hope that it would be postponed for several days. Mr. Clemens awoke at about 4 o’clock this morning after a few hours of the first natural sleep he has had for several days, and the nurses could see by the brightness of his eyes that his vitality had been considerably restored. He was able to raise his arms above his head and clasp them behind his neck with the first evidence of physical comfort he had given for a long time.

His strength seemed to increase enough to allow him to enjoy the sunrise, the first signs of which he could see out of the windows in the three sides of the room where he lay. The increasing sunlight seemed to bring ease to him, and by the time the family was about he was strong enough to sit up in bed and overjoyed them by recognizing all of them and speaking a few words to each. This was the first time that his mental powers had been fully his for nearly two days, with the exception of a few minutes early last evening, when he addressed a few sentences to his daughter.

Calls for His Book

For two hours he lay in bed enjoying the feeling of this return of strength. Then he made a movement asked in a faint voice for the copy of Carlyle’s French Revolution, which he has always had near him for the last year, and which he has read and re-read and brooded over.

The book was handed to him, and he lifted it up as if to read. Then a smile faintly illuminated his face when he realized that he was trying to read without his glasses. He tried to say, ‘Given me my glasses,’ but his voice failed, and the nurses bending over him could not understand. He motioned for a sheet of paper and a pencil, and wrote what he could not say.

With his glasses on he read a little and then slowly put the book down with a sigh. Soon he appeared to become drowsy and settled on his pillow. Gradually he sank and settled into a lethargy. Dr. Halsey appreciated that he could have been roused, but considered it better for him to rest. At 3 o’clock he went into complete unconsciousness.

Later Dr. Quintard, who had arrived from New York, held a consultation with Dr. Halsey, and it was decided that death was near. The family was called and gathered about the bedside watching in a silence which was long unbroken. It was the end. At twenty-two minutes past 6, with the sunlight just turning red as it stole into the window in perfect silence he breathed his last.

Died of a Broken Heart

The people of Redding, Bethel, and Danbury listened when they were told that the doctors said Mark Twain was dying of angina pectoris. But they say among themselves that he died of a broken heart. And this is a verdict not of popular sentiment alone. Albert Bigelow Paine, his biographer to be and literary executor, who has been constantly with him, said that for the last year at least Mr. Clemens had been weary of life. When Richard Watson Gilder died, he said: ‘How fortunate he is. No good fortune of that kind ever comes to me.’

The man who has stood to the public for the greatest humorist this country has produced has in private life suffered overwhelming sorrows. The loss of an only son in infancy, a daughter in her teens and one in middle life, and finally of a wife who was a constant and sympathetic companion, has preyed upon his mind. The recent loss of his daughter Jean, who was closest to him in later years when her sister was abroad studying, was the final blow. On the heels of this came the first symptoms of the disease which was surely to be fatal and one of whose accompaniments is mental depression. Mr. Paine says that all heart went out of him and his work when his daughter Jean died. He has practically written nothing since he summoned his energies to write a last chapter memorial of her for his autobiography.”

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A Brief Note From 1912 About A Masked Golfer

January 29, 2014 in Old Print Articles, Sports, Urban Studies | Permalink

From the October 30, 1912 New York Times:

“Golfers and visitors to the golf links at Van Cortlandt Park were not a little surprised yesterday afternoon by the sight of a man wearing a black mask, black clothes, and black plush cap playing on the course. Many inquiries were made, but nothing was learned of the identity of the strange golfer except that he styled himself ‘the Black Masker.’

Other golfers were astonished at the length of the stranger’s drives, and soon practically all of them quit their play to follow him over the course. Still no one was able to account for the presence of the black mask.”

Old Print Articles: Seth Kinman, Maker Of Presidential Chairs (1857/85)

January 28, 2014 in Old Print Articles, Photography, Politics, Urban Studies | Permalink

“A unique character is Seth Kinman, the grizzly bear hunter and presidential chair presenter.”

Seth Kinman was a self-made man and a self-promoter. A bushy-faced nineteenth-century California hunter who never met a bear or buck he cared for, Kinman used the skins and carcasses from his quarry to fashion unusual chairs that he presented to several American Presidents.

Kinman began bestowing these odd gifts to Presidents during the Buchanan Administration, which is the subject of the first excerpt, taken from an 1857 edition of the Brooklyn Daily Eagle. The second excerpt, an article from a 1885 New York Times that originally ran in the San Francisco Call, further examines Kinman’s life and by then what had become a longstanding chair-giving tradition that had allowed him to become friend to several Presidents.

From May 18, 1857 Brooklyn Daily Eagle:

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President Andrew Johnson’s chair.

From “Seth Kinman, The Pacific Coast Nimrod Who Gives Chairs to Presidents,” New York Times, reprinted from the San Francisco Call (December 9, 1885):

A unique character is Seth Kinman, the grizzly bear hunter and presidential chair presenter, now stopping in this city. He is a tall man, 70 years old, straight as an arrow, dressed in buckskin from head to foot, with long silver hair, beard, and shaggy eyebrows, under which and his immense hat a pair of keen eyes peer sharply.

He is the Nimrod of this coast, the great elk shooter and grizzly bear hunter of California, who has presented elk horns and grizzly bear claws from animals that have fallen before his unerring rifle to four Presidents of the United States–Buchanan, Lincoln, Johnson, and Hayes–and has ‘the finest of all’ to present to President Cleveland next spring. He claims to have shot in all more than 800 grizzlies, as many as 50 elk in one month, and to have supplied the Government troops and sawmill hands in Humboldt with 240 elk in 11 months on contract at 25 cents per pound.

He was born in Union County, Penn., in 1815, went to Illinois in 1830, and crossed the plains to California in 1849. He tried mining on Trinity River, but followed hunting mainly for a living. In the Winter of 1856-57 he made his first elkhorn chair, and conceived the idea of presenting it to President Buchanan. Peter Donahue favored it. He went on in the Golden Age with letters to Col. Rynders in New-York, and in Washington he met Senator Gwin, Gen. Denver, and others. Dr. Wozencroft made the presentation speech, and Buchanan was highly pleased. He wrote Rynders to get Kinman the best gun he could find in New-York, which he did, together with two fine pistols. He also got an appointment to corral the Indians on the Government reservation, and when they strayed away he brought them back.

In November, 1804, he presented President Lincoln with an elkhorn chair, which greatly pleased him; Clinton Lloyd, Clerk of the House, made the presentation speech. The chair to Hayes was presented when he was Governor of Ohio, but nominee for President. The chair presented to President Johnson was made of the bones and hide of a grizzly.•

A Brief Note From 1896 About Riotous Disorder

January 27, 2014 in Old Print Articles, Urban Studies | Permalink

From the October 9, 1896 Brooklyn Daily Eagle:

“Kansas City, Mo.–Kansas City’s Fall Carnival came to an end amid scenes of roystering and riotous disorder seldom witnessed anywhere. Many fights and brawls resulted and over seventy arrests were made. As a result of the state of affairs Chief of Police Irwin has declared that in future carnivals no masqueraders will be permitted on the streets at night.”

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Old Print Article: “Michigan Carterites Pound Each Other To ‘Knock The Devil Out,’” Brooklyn Daily Eagle (1893)

January 26, 2014 in Old Print Articles, Urban Studies | Permalink

"These cranks pound and slap and otherwise punish their members."

“These cranks pound and slap and otherwise punish their members.”

Buried deep in the annals of American theological history in the ass-stomping branch of Christianity described in the following article from the January 12, 1893 edition of the Brooklyn Daily Eagle:

“Kalamazoo, Mich.–The noisy Carterites still continue their disturbance at Coloma, and the forbearance of the community has been sadly taxed. Recently Carter promulgated an order from on high to the effect that a tenth of all the property of the members must be paid into his hands for the Lord. It is also said that Carter threatened to kill his wife if she did not obey him. One of the members is reported to have willed his property to Carter in trust for the Lord. He is an old man, and was knocked down and dragged around in order to see whether he could stand the Holy Grace test. These cranks pound and slap and otherwise punish their members, while making the nights and Sundays hideous with their yells and howls for mercy. The thumpings they give each other are for the purpose knocking out the devils, they claim. Not long ago one of the members died, it is said, from the effects of the pounding he received when he joined the Chosen Seven. Carter was given a coat of tar and feathers some weeks since and the citizens threatened not only to repeat the dose but to run his followers out of town.”

A Brief Note From 1890 About A Simian Duel

January 24, 2014 in Old Print Articles, Urban Studies | Permalink

From the July 26, 1890 New York Times:

“A duel recently took place in a traveling circus temporarily stationed in a village outside Paris, and very curious were the consequences. ‘Two acrobats,’ says a dispatch to the London Daily Telegraph, ‘quarreled, and resolved to fight a duel. The place chosen was the ring–after the public performance, of course–the conditions being two shots at twenty-five paces. As usual, neither of the combatants was hurt, and their wounded honors being satisfied the incident terminated. The duelists and their seconds overlooked the presence of two members of their company, who were quietly munching nuts in a corner. These were two trained monkeys, who had been taught to ride around the ring as soldiers, and to fire pistols en route. The monkeys saw the performance of their masters, and when the way was clear they resolved to imitate it. Gravely loading their pistols they faced each other–not at twenty-five paces, but at five–and fired. They both fell dead, one with its head nearly blown off and the other shot in the breast. At the sound of the shots the master of the circus rushed in and found the bodies of the imitative duelists in the ring with the still smoking pistols lying beside them.”

Old Print Article: “Tight Lacing Kills Actor,” New York Times (1912)

January 23, 2014 in Old Print Articles, Urban Studies | Permalink

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“When he appeared in a woman’s role he wore a corset tightly laced.”

Constrictive garments for women have never been healthy and the same holds true for men. A vaudevillian trying to pass for a damsel was killed by his unmentionables according to an article in the November 5, 1912 New York Times. The story:

“ST. LOUIS–Tight lacing caused the death last night of Joseph Hennella, a female impersonator, at the City Hospital, after collapsing on the stage of a South Side vaudeville theatre late on Sunday night.

In order to add to the illusion when he appeared in a woman’s role he wore a corset tightly laced, to give the effect of a small waist.

Hannella fell unconscious on the stage in the course of his act. He died three hours later. The hospital physicians said the tight lacing had caused a kidney trouble and induced a tendency to apoplexy. Hennella was of medium height, and inclined to be stout. He was 40 years old. In his younger days it was easy for him to get the feminine lines, but lately his increasing girth made it necessary for him to lace extremely tight to create the illusion. Usually he made several changes of costume in the course of an act, and the constriction caused by the corset rendered this a fatiguing and laborious process.”

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A Brief Note From 1892 About A Good Beating

January 22, 2014 in Old Print Articles, Urban Studies | Permalink

From the March 13, 1892 Brooklyn Daily Eagle:

“Joseph Williams of Fiftieth Street in this city, and Joseph Driscoll of 7 Washington Street, New York, got into a row in a New Street pool room Friday afternoon. They began by calling each other names and then went out into the street to fight it out. Joe Ellingsworth, the prize fighter, urged them on, but he got disgusted with their lack of courage and gave them both a good beating.”

Old Print Article: “Mummies Made To Order,” Brooklyn Daily Eagle (1888)

January 21, 2014 in Old Print Articles, Urban Studies | Permalink

An article about the ghoulish mummy trade in Egypt which ran in the June 17, 1888 Brooklyn Daily Eagle and was originally published in the Portland Oregonian:

“A gentleman who has just returned from an extended foreign tour was asked yesterday why he had not brought home from Egypt, among other curios, a mummy. He said there was a great deal of fraud in the mummy business. Persons purchasing mummies, of course, like to get them as well preserved and natural looking as possible, and as those found are generally in a more or less dilapidated condition, vendors have engaged in the business of manufacturing bogus mummies. They bargain with tramps, beggars and such people for their defunct carcasses, paying them a sum sufficient to make their remaining days short and sweet. These fellows are preserved and pickled and then smoked till they are good imitations of the genuine mummy. Whole rows of these articles can be seen in smokehouses at once. When sufficiently dry, they are wrapped in mummy cloth and sold, to Americans chiefly, bringing in a high price.”

A Brief Note From 1899 About A Music Lesson

January 20, 2014 in Old Print Articles, Urban Studies | Permalink

From the June 18, 1889 Brooklyn Daily Eagle:

“Kerwood,  W. Va.–William Miller, a  farmer, is dying from the effects of knife wounds inflicted by George Sell, a music teacher at Stemple Ridge. A few evenings ago Sell was conducting a song when a son of Miller interrupted and a fight ensued. Sell whipped young Miller. The father interfered and Sell disemboweled the elder Miller with a knife.”

Old Print Article: “Squallers–The Baby Show At Midget Hall,” Brooklyn Daily Eagle (1877)

January 19, 2014 in Old Print Articles | Permalink

"The dog baby barks when it wants food."

“The dog baby barks when it wants food.”

A misbegotten Manhattan baby show was held, appropriately, at Midget Hall, in 1877. An amazing eyewitness account of the horror was published in the November 26 edition of the Brooklyn Daily Eagle. An excerpt:

“At ten o’clock this morning the great National Baby Show at Midget Hall, corner of Fourteenth Street and Fifth Avenue, New York, was opened. There are four hundred babies entered, and about half that number were in their places this morning. The show occupies two floors of the building, and around the sides of the rooms, on raised platforms, are the babies, with their mothers or nurses. At least one hundred and eighty of the two hundred babies spent the greater portion of the morning crying. The women vainly endeavored to pacify their youngsters, but it seemed as if there was a tacit understanding between the infants that they were not allowed themselves to be bulldozed. Nearly every child had a bottle of milk, and after they exhausted their power of suction and filled their infantile stomachs, they yelled. Dolls and other toys were thrown away on the babies, and many ladies endeavored to stop up the children’s throats by stuffing them with gum drops.

There will be distributed $1000 in prizes ranging from $10 to $150, the highest prize being given to the handsomest mother and child. The mothers, with the exception of two, are not handsome. There are many babies, children of rich New Yorkers, who are entered by their nurses. The majority of the mothers are German, and among the Germans there are a fair sprinkling of Hebrews. There are also Russian babies, Icelandic babies, Polish babies, Norwegian babies, English babies, Irish babies and one Chinese infant named Wee Boo. Many of the infants are positively hideous looking, yet their fond mothers think their offsprings the handsomest in the show. There is one baby that resembles a monkey and another with long ears and jaw, that is called the dog baby. The dog baby barks when it wants food.

Among the novelties are a set of quartets which are promised, but have not yet arrived, and a baby who attempted suicide. The suicidal youngster tried to drown himself in a bath tub. There is another baby that claims attention because it is said that baby was born ten minutes after its mother died. A two year old baby that swallowed a fork, laughed and crowed while it endeavored to bite off the end of its mother’s nose. An elfish looking baby, seventeen months old, is said to weigh less than six pounds, and its mother was proud of it. It was advertised that a baby thirteen months old, without hair or nails, would be exhibited, but the hairless youngster did not make its appearance today.”

A Brief Note From 1909 About Flying Bicycles

January 16, 2014 in Old Print Articles, Science/Tech, Urban Studies | Permalink

From the September 26, 1909 New York Times:

“Paris–Jules Bois believes that motor cars will in a hundred years be things of the past, and that a kind of flying bicycle will have been invented which will enable everybody to traverse the air at will, far above the earth. Hardly any one will remain in the cities at night. They will be places of business only. People of every class will reside in the country or in garden towns at considerable distances fron the populous centres. Pneumatic railways and flying cars and many other means of quick transit will be so developed that the question of time will enter but little into one’s choice of a home. Transportation will be immensely cheaper than it is at present. As there will be less crowding, realty values and rentals will less exorbitant.”

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Old Print Article: “Eccentric Millionaire To Build Freak Pavilion,” New York Times (1907)

January 15, 2014 in Old Print Articles, Urban Studies | Permalink

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“A remarkable feature of this dancing floor is that though it is situated fifty feet above ground no railing has been placed about it.”

A wealthy Pennsylvanian who maybe drank on occasion decided to spend a fortune building a garish pavilion with trees lit up by gas fires and a dance floor without railing 50 feet above the ground. An excerpt from an article about the dreamer pleasure park in the September 1, 1907 New York Times, which at the time spelled “Pittsburgh” without the “h”:

“PITTSBURG, Penn.–A small paradise is the hill back of the home of Thomas McDermott, at Glenfield, ten miles below Pittsburg, on the banks of the Ohio. It is because of McDermott, who is said to be wealthy, is spending so much money beautifying the little park, making it a Luna Park and World’s Pavilion combined, that his wife, Catherine McDermott, has entered court, asking that he be declared an habitual drunkard. Mrs. McDermott tried to have her husband a lunatic because of his reckless expenditures on landscape, but failed, and now she wants to cut off his drinks.

THE TIMES correspondent has had an interview with McDermott,and has also looked through his wonderful pleasure park, which he is building, his wife says, for himself. He says that he is a recluse. This is what makes McDermott so angry. He admits that for the time he does not want the public to know much about his queer venture, nor would anything have been known about it until he was ready had it not been that Mrs. McDermott became suspicious and entered suit to obtain control of his estate. 

McDermott says he is and has been for some time preparing a treat for his neighbors; that it was and is his intention to invite every one to a grand ball and opening as soon as his monster pavilion is completed. McDermott, who is an Irishman, is very angry at his woman neighbors, whom he charges with having led his wife into wrong ways of thinking. He denies the allegation of Mrs. McDermott that he hasn’t been sober in thirty-nine years.

It is safe to assume that if McDermott is the real designer of the great pavilion, Mrs. McDermott will have great trouble proving her assertion. No inebriate ever designed and carried out the massive work now under way. It is a massive toy being erected by a man who has the money and who says he doesn’t care a blank what the public thinks; that it is his own money; he made it honestly, and will spend it as he sees fit. …

The pavilion is shaped like a woman’s hat, which, according to a certain humorist, is ‘anything with any shape at all.’ There just isn’t any shape to the McDermott pavillion. It wanders about, dodging trees here and encircling other trees, while in some places the roof and sides have been so constructed as to avoid hurting some favorite branch of a favorite tree. The whole thing is in the centre of a woody space which McDermott calls his ‘park.’

Rider Haggard never conceived of anything half so grotesque as that park when illuminated at night. There are at least sixty large trees, and from some point in each there springs a tongue of flame. The flame may come from a point high up or burst from near the base of the tree. Weird and uncanny the thing appears until one is told how it is done. It is natural gas which has been piped to each tree and the pipe cunningly concealed. In some cases the pipes are run up the tree quite a distance and out to the end of a branch. In other cases the pipes are run into old-fashioned chandeliers in the top branches of trees. This work was done by McDermott personally in spite of his sixty-odd years, and it was one of his delights to lead a visitor into his park and have his big trees lighted one by one. 

On top of the pavilion is a dancing floor, through which immense poplar trees break here and there, for McDermott has been most careful of his trees. On account of the many trees included in the make-up of the dancing floor it will scarcely ever be popular with the waltzers. A remarkable feature of this dancing floor is that though it is situated fifty feet above ground no railing has been placed about it, nor will one be placed there. A couple might easily two-step off the dancing floor.”

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A Brief Note From 1897 About A Cow Autopsy

January 14, 2014 in Old Print Articles, Urban Studies | Permalink

From the October 27, 1897 New York Times:

“Providence–The Coroner in that portion of South Kingston known as Gould’s Crossing decided to-day, after holding an autopsy upon the carcass of the favorite Jersey cow of Charles C. Allen, that the animal had been killed by a football. The animal became wheezy last Saturday and in the evening at milking time she had kicked and punted so desperately that weakness knocked her out and she fell in a heap.

Farmer Allen sent for a veterinary surgeon, and the two sat up all night and tried unsuccessfully to diagnose that puzzling disease. The veterinary declared that the trouble was a new one to him. He applied all sorts of remedies, and occasionally the distressed animal would arise and kick like a mule, driving her attendants before her. The appetite of the cow failed on Saturday night, and Sunday and Monday she wanted no fodder at all. Then death followed, and Farmer Allen determined to learn the nature of the strange and fatal illness.

The football was found in the stomach and was still partially blown up. It appears that the boys living about Gould’s Crossing went over to one of the fields of the Allen farm Saturday to have a line up, and that in some mysterious manner one of their footballs disappeared. The autopsy explained it all.”

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Old Print Article: “A Hideous Sect,” Brooklyn Daily Eagle (1890)

January 13, 2014 in Old Print Articles, Urban Studies | Permalink

“Gradually he widened his teachings to his little band until he openly advocated the drinking of blood for all diseases.”

“Gradually he widened his teachings to his little band until he openly advocated the drinking of blood for all diseases.”

A 19th-century American religious cult became convinced that drinking human blood was the way to cure all ills, as evidenced by an article in the January 27, 1890 Brooklyn Daily Eagle:

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A Brief Note From 1899 About A Lost Party

January 12, 2014 in Old Print Articles, Urban Studies | Permalink

From the June 20, 1899 New York Times:

“Circle City, Alaska (via San Francisco)–A story of possible cannibalism and death on the Yukon trail has just reached here. Three men who left Dahl River on December 5 for Jimtown were not heard of again, and they were supposed to have been lost. Nothing was heard of them till the steamer Rideout, which arrived to-day, brought a terrible tale of suffering and horror.

The men were Michael Daly, Victor Eldair and M. Provost. They were from Providence, R.I.; Woonsocket, R.I.; and Brockton, Mass., respectively. There bodies were discovered seventeen from the mouth of Old Man’s Creek, they have in all probability having lost the trail and become bewildered. They left Dahl River with only three weeks’ food, which was amply sufficient for the 150 miles to Jimstown, but they soon were reduced to starvation.

Daly’s partially eaten body was found on the stove in the tent just as it was left when death overtook the others. Some scraps of moose hide and moccasin, of which they were endeavoring to make a stew, were also found. Daly’s body was identified by means of the clothes. The other two men were found dead five miles away from the tent. The fact that the tent flaps were shut down would seem to preclude the possibility of Daly’s body having been eaten by animals. The other men were doubtless driven to the awful extremity of cannibalism by hunger. Four hundred dollars were found on the body.”

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Old Print Article: “Stomach A Junk Shop,” New York Times (1900)

January 10, 2014 in Old Print Articles, Urban Studies | Permalink

The “human ostrich,” an inversion of the hunger artist, was a fixture of 19th-century dime museums who would down dimes, sure, but also all manner of metal, from pins to nails to cutlery. But there’s no such thing as a free lunch, and sooner or later the result was stomach surgery for the performer. Such was the case with John Fasel, who found himself atop a surgeon’s table in 1900. From an article about his daring diet and its consequences in the January 14, 1900 New York Times (which referred to him erroneously as “Sasel”):

“John Sasel, twenty-two years old, applied for admission to the St. John’s Hospital, Brooklyn, Thursday. At 4 o’clock yesterday afternoon an operation was performed on the man, and among the other junk the following articles were removed from his stomach:

Two nickel watch chains and one brass chain, two latch keys, six hairpins, 128 common pins, ten two and one-half inch iron nails, two horseshoe nails, and one finger ring, set with a stone. The doctors say that there still remain to be removed eight or more horseshoe nails, the pendant of a gas lamp, and several other articles. The man was said last night to be doing well and to have excellent chance of a recovery.

Sasel had been employed as ‘the man with the ostrich stomach’ at a dime museum in this borough for the last fourteen months. He told the doctors that such articles had been his daily diet during that time, and that he had thrived upon them until Dec. 16 when after swallowing 320 pins, he felt pains in his stomach. These continued until last Wednesday, when he went to a doctor. He then took an emetic, which brought forth a steel watch chain twelve inches long twelve inches long. The doctor advised him to go to a hospital.

At St. John’s Hospital an X ray phtograph was taken Friday afternoon. His stomach was seen to be a veritable junk shop, and the operation was determined upon. Dr. George G. Hopkins, chief operating surgeon at the hospital, performed the operation.”

A Note From 1897 About Risqué Moving Pictures

January 9, 2014 in Old Print Articles, Urban Studies | Permalink

From the July 30, 1897 Brooklyn Daily Eagle:

“The Rev. Frederick Bruce Russell made a raid on the Mutoscope machines at Coney Island this morning and closed several of them. These are a species of moving picture contrivances and show various scenes. They are operated by the dropping of a nickel in a slot. Those closed by Mr. Russell to-day were at Feltman’s Pavilion, Koster’s Concert Hall, the Sea Beach Palace and the Old Iron Pier. The particular pictures which fell under the reformer’s eye were entitled ‘What the Girls Did With Willie’s Hat’ and ‘Fun in a Boarding School.’”

Old Print Article: “The Lost Donner Treasure,” New York Times (1891)

January 8, 2014 in Old Print Articles, Photography, Urban Studies | Permalink

621px-Stumps_of_trees_cut_by_the_Donner_Party

The Donner Party, best known for its eclectic menu, was also a fascination for the buried treasure it reportedly left behind. Prospectors unearthed some of the loot almost fifty years after the pioneers found themselves stranded and starving. A report from the May 17, 1891 New York Times:

Truckee, Cal–There is great excitement in Truckee over the discovery of a portion of the treasure buried by the Donner party in 1846-7. In the early days of gold excitement in the State the Donner party attempted to cross the mountains into California by an untried pass. They were snowed up in the mountains, and suffered great hardships, many dying from cold and starvation. Relief expeditions were sent out and a few survivors were rescued in this way. During their sufferings the party buried a quantity of treasure, the amount of which is estimated by some at $10,000. A search has frequently been made for this treasure, but without success.

There is authentic history of the burial of several hundred dollars by Mrs. Graves, one of the members of the party, on March 8, 1847, near the shores of Donner Lake, and it is supposed it was this money which was found on Thursday last by a miner named Reynolds, who was prospecting the hillside near the lake. He found a spot where the earth had been torn up by a falling tree, and his attention was accidentally called to some dark looking pieces of money lying on top of the ground. He picked up ten ancient looking dollars, and upon scratching slightly in the earth uncovered a large quantity of silver. He afterward searched the ground with a companion, and yesterday the men succeeded in finding nearly $200. They are still prosecuting the search and other searching parties are being organized here. From the present indications the hills on the north side of Donner Lake will be covered with treasure hunters.

Persons familiar with the incidents connected with the Donner party feel no doubt that the money just found is that buried by the party forty years ago. The coins are antiquated and all of dates prior to 1845. They are from France, Spain, Bolivia, Argentine Republic, and a number of other foreign countries, besides a very rare collection of American pieces. As relics of the Donner party the find is a very valuable one, $100 having been offered for one of the pieces.•

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A Brief Note From 1873 About A Wolf Boy

January 6, 2014 in Old Print Articles, Urban Studies | Permalink

From the August 29, 1873 New York Times:

“An interesting child, remarks the Pall Mall Gazette, has lately made his appearance at Lucknow. The Pioneer reports the arrival there of ‘a novelty in the shape of a wolf boy.’ This young gentleman, who is now undergoing a process of taming in a lunatic asylum, was, it is said, carried off by wolves when an infant, and has remained with them until a short time ago, when caught and recognized by his parents. His family, however, can hardly be congratulated on his restoration to their bosom, for his education in the wolf nursery (which, by the way, was purely secular), seems to have been very defective. His manners are not only disagreeable, but peculiar. At first he walked on all fours, though now he has been induced to walk on his two feet only, like a reasonable being; he has long hair on his head, and his body is much scarred, and he cannot speak, nor can he understand a single word. His parents suffered much inconvenience on his first arrival at home, owing to his frequently attacking and trying to devour them by night; and, indeed, it was owing to his persistence in this unfilial conduct that they were compelled in self-defense to place him under medical surveillance. He also, among other disagreeable habits, tears raw meat to pieces with his teeth, and eats it ravenously like a wild beast, and, moreover, bites and snaps at any one who attempts to touch him.”

Old Print Article: “The Story Of Bronson Alcott’s ‘New Eden'” New York Times (1915)

January 5, 2014 in Old Print Articles, Photography, Urban Studies | Permalink

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“The use of animal manures to fertilize the land was considered by Alcott to be ‘disgusting in the extreme.'”

In 1843, Amos Bronson Alcott, Louisa May’s dad and a Transcendentalist and suffragist and abolitionist and animal rights activist, founded the commune known as “Fruitlands” in Massachusetts. He and a bevy of fellow non-farmers planned a small society that was to be safe alike for humans and animals–oh, and for John Palmer, a bearded man who refused to shave much to the consternation of the locals. It was to be a paradise of enlightenment and veganism a century before that latter word was even coined; but much like Brook Farm, it was a crashing financial failure and a dream soon abandoned. From an article in the July 25, 1915 New York Times:

“Alcott got his idea of the new Eden while visiting a group of English mystics headed by James Pierrepoint Greaves, a pupil of Pestalozzi, who had established a school according to the Concord philosopher’s teachings in Surrey, calling the place Alcott House. It was at this school that he met Charles Lane and H.C. Wright, and seems to have been fascinated by both men. Indeed, he writes home of the latter: ‘I am already knit to him with more than human ties, and must take him with me to America …or else abide here with him.’ Both returned with Alcott, and both joined him in establishing the New Eden. …

The scheme of life that underlay Fruitlands was simple. No ‘flesh,’ as the members called meat, was to be eaten. This prohibition included every animal product, such as milk, eggs, honey, butter, cheese. Moreover, they were to raise or to exchange for what could be raised in the neighborhood, all they used in a material way. No sugar, tea or coffee, neither silk nor wool for garments, were allowed. Linen was to be their raiment, for cotton, too, was tabooed. Tunics and trousers or brown liner clothed them fitly.

Not one of their number except Palmer seems to have had any notion of how to farm. Also, as Lane explains in a letter, ‘we are impressed with the conviction that by a faithful reliance on the Spirit which actuates us, we are sure of attaining to clear revelations of daily practical duties as they are to be daily done for us,’ wherefore no plan of work was laid out, and the various philosophers would wander vaguely about the fields, when the spirit hinted, sowing and digging, in some cases going over the same plot which one had scattered with clover seed to sow it again with rye, oats or barley. Two mulberry trees planted by them were put so close to the house that they almost heaved it free of its foundation in later years, though this misfortune was one that the community itself did not have to suffer.

Fruitlands_in_1915The use of animal manures to fertilize the land was considered by Alcott to be ‘disgusting in the extreme,’ and was therefore prohibited. The idea was to plow under the growing green crops to achieve the required richness. The drawback to this being the difficulty of harvesting anything for themselves. But this did not as yet trouble them. What did trouble them was the unaccustomed toil with the spade, for they did not believe in using enslaved beasts to work for them, broke their backs and tore their hands. A compromise was achieved, and Old Palmer went off for a yoke of oxen to do the plowing. One of these proved to be a cow, and Palmer, to the horror of the rest, was seen to indulge in that creature’s yield of milk. He had, as he expressed it, ‘to be let down easy.’

There seem to have been other more spiritual concessions to this demand for an easier rule. The bread of the community was unbolted flour. In order to make it more palatable, Mr. Alcott, with something approximating humor, was accustomed to form the loaves ‘into the shapes of animals and other pleasing figures.’ Water was the sole drink, but it was invariably spoken of as their ‘beverage,’ probably with the same hope of making it appear more desirable. As for the meals, they are always spoken of as ‘chaste,’ the intercourse between the members at Fruitlands was ‘social communion,’ and sleep was a ‘report to sweet repose.’ If there is a power in words, and true sustenance, Fruitlands made the most of it.

Old Palmer’s life was one long fight to keep his beard, an appendage which Fruitlands alone, at the epoch, regarded with equanimity. In spite of the rage with which people generally regarded beards in those days, Palmer believed in them, and his life was a splendid assertion of this belief. Through all sorts of vicissitudes he hung on to that beard. Going to Boston he would be followed by hooting crowds. Men would spring out on him in his native Fitchburg from doorways, and endeavor to tear the offending thing from his face, but he could defend it, and did. Then he would be hauled to court for assault and battery, a fine imposed, on refusal to pay which Palmer would be sentenced to jail. There he remained at one time for over a year, part of it in solitary confinement. The jailers actually tried to shave him there, but the old man put up so fierce a fight that they desisted. Once the minister refused him Holy Communion, whereupon he strode to the altar and took the cup himself, asserting with flashing eyes that he ‘loved his Jesus as well as or better than any one else present.’ When at last he died he had his bearded face carved on his tombstone. where it may still be seen. When Fruitlands failed it was Palmer who bought the place, and there he carried on a queer sort of community of his own for more than twenty years.”

 

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A Brief Note From 1897 About An Approximation

January 2, 2014 in Old Print Articles, Urban Studies | Permalink

From the March 8, 1897 New York Times:

“GUADALAJARA, Mexico–Jesus Campeche, thought to be the oldest man on earth, died on Friday, and, according to his affirmation and other testimony, he was 154 years old. He said he was born in Spain in 1742 and came to this country when he was twenty-four years old. He was living with his great-great-grandson and had copies of the church register at Valladolid, Spain, showing the date of his birth and baptism. According to these papers, he was born Dec. 12, 1742. He related incidents which occurred in the last century, showing that he had told the truth or had stored his mind well with the happenings of that time.

A priest in the church which he attended, who is now eighty-four years old, says he remembers Campeche as being an old man when he was a little boy.”

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“This Chicken’s Beak Was Cut Off, Causing It Intense Pain Until Its Death”

January 2, 2014 in Old Print Articles, Urban Studies | Permalink

Are there any butcher shops in major American cities that still have dead animals hanging in the window? That used to be de rigueur, but suffering and death are bad for business; it’s better to focus on the finished product and disappear all the unpleasantness. The opening of “The Case for Ethical Warning Labels on Meat,” from Thomas Rodham Wells at the Philosopher’s Beard:

“Like cigarettes, meat and dairy packaging should include no nonsense factual warnings about the negative consequences of one’s consumption choices. Just as with cigarettes, there is a strong case that exercising one’s sovereign right to free choice on personal matters requires that people be adequately informed about the significant negative implications of their choices by someone other than the manufacturer that wants them to buy the product. In this case the significant consequences relate to living up to one’s ethical values rather than safe-guarding one’s prudential interests in long-term health. But the principle is the same.

Ethical warning labels would inform consumers of the physical and mental suffering involved in producing the animal products they are considering buying. I envisage labels like this:

This chicken’s beak was cut off, causing it intense pain until its death

and

This cow’s babies were taken away and killed to keep it producing milk.

Servers of cooked animal products, from lowly hot-dog stands to the fanciest restaurants, would also have to include these ethical warnings prominently on their menus.”

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Old Print Article: “Dis Debar Founds A New Cult Here,” New York Times (1909)

January 1, 2014 in Old Print Articles, Photography, Urban Studies | Permalink

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“After a number of escapades in her early career here she ended up in Blackwell’s Island Insane Asylum for a short term.”

The Swami Laura Horos was a Kentucky-born religious swindler of regal countenance, innumerable aliases and great talent, known as a medium who created short-lived sects aimed at separating the devout from their dollars, often selling “spiritual paintings” of little value for exorbitant fees. A serial bride, her husbands were likewise scammers or the unfortunately scammed, and she was frequently arrested in New York City and other points in America. She faced her most serious criminal trial, however, in England in 1901, when she and one of her spouses were charged with (and found guilty of) fraud and rape. Her vagabond life continued when she was released from custody in 1906. A New York Times article in the August 26, 1909 edition covers her return to the city, as she practiced her dark art under the name Ann O’Delia Dis Debar. An excerpt about her career, as it were:

“…Ann O’Delia Dis Debar has been in the papers for years. When she came to New York some thirty-eight years ago she was a handsome young woman, who claimed to be Princess Edith, Countess of Landsfelt, daughter of Ludwig I, King of Bavaria, and Lola Montez. Others say she was the daughter of a Kentucky school teacher named Salomon. 

After a number of escapades in her early career here she ended up in Blackwell’s Island Insane Asylum for a short term. She married Paul Noel Massant, who died soon after; then she turned up in Baltimore. She married Gen. Joseph Dis Debar, and soon afterward was giving spiritualistic séances.

It was about 1885 that she met Luther R. Marsh in this city. He was a wealthy and distinguished lawyer, who had studied law in Daniel Webster’s office. He came entirely under her influence. She gave séances in his Madison Avenue house, which he gave to her, and then bought many paintings which she claimed had been made by spirits. His friends took up his case, had Ann O’Delia Dis Debar indicted, and made her disgorge some some of Mr. Marsh’s property. She spent some time on Blackwell’s Island in 1888. 

After her release she went to Europe, returned to Chicago, where she was known as Vera P. Ava and Ida Veed-Ya, and was sent to Joliet Penitentiary for two years. When she got out she married her third husband, William J. McGowan, who had considerable money. He died soon afterward.

In 1899, she was in New Orleans with Theodore Jackson, whose wife she professed to be. They were driven out of New Orleans and turned up in Florida next. Later they were heard of in Africa doing a religious turn under the name of Helena and Horos. In London, in 1901, her husband was charged with luring young girls into a new cult. He was sent to prison for fifteen years and Dis Debar for seven years. She was turned out on parole in August, 1906, and immediately decamped. For this Scotland Yard is looking for her.

Next she descended upon Michigan at the head of a new cult called the ‘House of Israel,’ or the ‘Flying Rollers.’ Then David Mckay became her secretary. She called herself Elinor L. Mason.

She and Mackay disappeared in 1907 after her identity became suspected and neither had been heard from since up to yesterday. It was learned that they have been working quietly in New Jersey and New York.

The Detective Bureau would like to know where Dis Debar is right now.”

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