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A Brief Note From 1885 About Poison Pickles

July 10, 2013 in Old Print Articles, Urban Studies | Permalink

From the June 3, 1885 New York Times:

“The Health Commissioner of Brooklyn held a conference on Friday last with the men who are engaged in pickling cucumbers in that city. He discovered, it is said, that nearly all of them colored their pickles with a solution of copper. He gave them a warning, and then issued an order forbidding the sale in Brooklyn of pickles colored this way.

On the following Saturday evening little Mary Martin, 8 years old, who lived in Adelphi-street, Brooklyn, was fatally poisoned by a pickle that had been colored with sulphate of copper. The pickle had been bought at a grocery store near her home. She died Monday night, and an autopsy established the cause of death beyond a doubt. Moreover, analysis proved that a part of the pickle which the child had not eaten contained enough poison to kill a man.”

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Old Print Article: “Deadwood Described,” New York Times (1877)

July 9, 2013 in Old Print Articles, Urban Studies | Permalink

“There is no such place anywhere.”

The infamous Wild West town of Deadwood was profiled in all its raffish, criminal, merciless glory in the the August 13, 1877 New York Times. An excerpt:

“Deadwood is as lively as ever. It is a queer place. The man who ventured the remark that a fool and his money are soon parted must have had in his mind’s eye some such place as this. It is the sharpers’ paradise. The ‘tenderfoot’ is here brought face to face with the ingenious bummer, the slick confidence man, the claim jumper, the land shark and the desperado, and he is a man of more than usual alertness who does not get ‘taken in’ somehow or other before he has been 24 hours in this sinful city. There is no such place anywhere. It shows up in its worst forms the ‘fast and flash’ American trait. A little over a year ago the site of this swarming camp was a part of the howling wilderness. To-day there are along the streets and up and down in the gulches, within a mile, over 10,000 people. Here is a city of 4,000 inhabitants, with a floating population of 2,000 more. About 1,500 houses and huts, and hundreds of tents up the hill-sides, an academy, church, two daily newspapers, four banks; 20 lawyers, physicians, dentists, artists; club-houses, theatres in full blast every night, the streets thronged with speculators, tramps, and bummers: gambling-hells open all day long, and ‘cappers’ on every corner watching for the next ‘victim’–such is a hasty glance at Deadwood. It is a place in which the few prey upon the many. You cannot buy anything for less than a quarter; your living costs you double what it would at Denver or Salt Lake City. You can’t step in any direction without facing some device for getting rid of your money. They have even got a ‘corner’ on postage stamps and you must pay from a dime to a quarter for a three-cent stamp. It is no wonder that the thousands who come here with a few dollars in their pockets soon find themselves ‘dead broke’ and dependent upon the charity of the better class of people. It cannot be urged too strongly that poor men or men of small competence should stay away from Black Hills. It may not be out of the way for capitalists to come and look around; but let the poor man stay away. One of the business men here, seeing the condition of the hundreds who lay idle and pennilesss about the street, has the honesty to write to the Deadwood Times, for the benefit of ‘pilgrims,’ in which he says that the truth ought to be told. and the ‘tenderfeet’ be advised to stay at home. I quote from his communication:

deadwodd890‘There are thousands of men in the Hills who would be glad to work for their bread, or enough money to pay their way back home; but there is no employment for them. The placer claims are all taken up by the first comers, and the quartz leads are not yet sufficiently developed to require many laborers. I never saw so many sick-looking men in my life as I have seen in Deadwood. They come here without a cent in their pockets, expecting to gobble up gold by the bucketful, and they soon go away without a ‘flea in the ear.’ Now these pilgrims are not only fools in this ‘vain delusive world.’ They come here full of greedy expectation, but in 24 hours their gorgeous air castles have blown away into bubbles.'”

A Note From 1889 About A Town Without Faith

July 8, 2013 in Old Print Articles, Urban Studies | Permalink

From the December 31, 1889 Brooklyn Daily Eagle:

“Lovington, Ill.–Great excitement prevails here over an attempt of male members of the Pentecost band to decoy Miss May Whitman and Miss Fidora Million, two highly respected girls, from their homes. There was almost a riot at the depot when the faith healers tried to take the girls with them against the wishes of their friends, and knives and revolvers were shown. The girls were finally persuaded not to go on the train, but immediately left the town in buggies in company with members of the band. They were overtaken and carried back to Lovington. Miss Million escaped and left for Tuscola last evening. Two brothers of the girl pursued to Tuscola. Feeling against the faith healers runs very high.”

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Old Print Article: “Human Bones Used As Playthings By Insane Patients,” Brooklyn Daily Eagle (1886)

July 7, 2013 in Old Print Articles, Urban Studies | Permalink

A mental health-care facility converting a burial grounds into a pigsty gave rise to a grisly sport, according to an article in the November 24, 1886 Brooklyn Daily Eagle. The opening:

“People in the rear of the Insane Asylum at Flatbush have been complaining recently that the skulls and bones of human beings were lying outside the fence. They had been thrown, they said, over a thirteen foot fence by the inmates. A complaint in the matter was made by Thomas M. French to Dr. J.S. Young of the Brooklyn Health Department, who in turn notified the Commissioners of Charities and Corrections. The latter called the attention of Dr. J.C. Shaw to the matter and a gang of men was put to work yesterday morning collecting the ghastly relics.

An EAGLE reporter to-day ascertained that a small passage way had been cut through the fence. A few small fragments of bones were discovered outside. The commissioners had been building a pig pen on the ground used for the burial of those who died of cholera in 1847-8, and the remains when disinterring became scattered over the field. Pieces of ribs and back bones could be seen. The reporter asked one of the patients how the skulls and other bones came to be found so far away on the other side of the fence. His reply was that two of the patients were trying to see who could throw them the greatest distance. Just then a carpenter informed the reporter that no person was admitted in the field. The reporter, however, still investigated and found that no person in particular was in charge and that a trench four foot square was nearly filled with about twenty-five skulls and other parts of human skeletons. In a shed beside the pig pen was a barrel nearly filled with more human bones.”

 

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A Brief Note From 1900 About A Salesman

July 5, 2013 in Old Print Articles, Urban Studies | Permalink

 From the April 28, 1900 Brooklyn Daily Eagle:

“Walter Wentworth, 75 years old, and for many years a professional contortionist, is in New York looking for someone to buy his body. He has long been a wonder to medical men on account of the wonderful pliability of his frame, which he has already sold twice–once to Dr. Cowes of Detroit, and later to Dr. Wilder of New York, receiving in each case $100. Both these medical men are dead and now Wentworth is looking for a third speculator.–Chicago Chronicle“

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A Brief Note From 1901 About A Heavy Sleeper

July 2, 2013 in Old Print Articles, Urban Studies | Permalink

From the November 20, 1901 Brooklyn Daily Eagle:

“Decatur, Ala.–James Wynn, an Oxford blacksmith, narrowly escaped being buried alive to-day. After the funeral services the casket was opened at the grave, when the body was seen to move.

The casket was hurried back to the home of Wynn, where he revived and is now under treatment. Wynn had been pronounced dead by physicians and he lay apparently dead for two days.”

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Old Print Article: “Put Daughter Off, Repents,” New York Times (1912)

July 1, 2013 in Old Print Articles, Urban Studies | Permalink

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“She suddenly ordered that the child be taken from the house.”

It sounds almost biblical, but it was only a little more than a century ago that a Long Island mother cast away her three-year-old daughter, the result of some mysterious, multi-generation wound. The story from the August 12, 1903 New York Times (scroll down to second item):

“Mrs. Egbert V. Strong of Babylon, L.I., repented before her death last April that she had cast out her only daughter at the age of 3 years and refused thereafter to have anything to do with her. This was learned yesterday when it became known that Mrs. Strong had left her entire estate, valued at $100,000, to her daughter, Miss Marion Goodale Strong. She is living with Mr. and Mrs. George E. Congdon of Trumansburg, Tompkins County, N.Y. She is 24 years old.

According to residents of Babylon, Mrs. Strong was fond of her daughter until the little girl was 3 years old. Then she suddenly ordered that the child be taken from the house, and she never willingly saw her again. She did see her once, three years later, when Mr. Strong, in an attempt to bring about a reconciliation, induced his wife to visit relatives, not knowing that her daughter was at the same house. Mrs. Strong liked the child until she learned it was her own. Then she left the house and ordered that her daughter’s named should never be mentioned in her presence. It was shortly after that that Marion was sent to live with relatives at Trumansburg, N.Y.

Although Mr. Strong has always been on the friendliest terms with his daughter, his wife’s peculiar dislike never seemed to affect his respect for Mrs. Strong, and they lived happily in Babylon together.

It is said that Mrs. Strong’s mother, Mrs. Goodale of Peconic, L.I., felt similarly toward her daughter for many years, but that there was a final reconciliation.”

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A Brief Note From 1921 About A Pet Skunk

June 30, 2013 in Old Print Articles, Urban Studies | Permalink

From the December 21, 1921 New York Times:

“Middletown, N.Y.–Wade Willis, a lad living at Montgomery, this county, has been deprived of his unusual pet, a skunk, and is sorrowful. Some time ago he discovered a young skunk in a cemetery near his home and brought the animal home in his arms.

His parents protested, but that made no difference to Wade, and for weeks the animal has accompanied him about the village, led by a string and petted by the boy as if it were a dog. The parents at last sold the skunk to a fur dealer. The boy is almost inconsolable.”

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Harriett Chalmers Adams, Dodging Vampires

June 30, 2013 in Old Print Articles, Photography, Urban Studies | Permalink

There’s no doubt that Harriett Chalmers Adams, pictured in the Gobi Desert above and in a portrait below, was a woman ahead of her time, a bold explorer who risked life and limb in search of knowledge. But I wouldn’t say all her reconnaissance was trustworthy. During a 1918 trip through South America, she believed she encountered actual vampires, which may have been really large bats or Peruvian guys wearing capes. From the August 12, 1918 edition of the New York Times:

“Mrs. Harriett Chalmers Adams, woman explorer of South America, and the wife of Franklin Adams of the Pan-American Union, has returned to Washington from another trip to hitherto unknown parts of South America. She has now traveled more than 40,000 miles on that continent. Speaking of her experiences, she says:

‘I have gone through experiences such as, I am convinced, no white woman has had. I have circumnavigated the South American continent, covering more than 40,000 miles, and have penetrated savage wildernesses where no white woman had ever been. I have climbed mountains, walked in the extinct crater of Mount Misti, wandered in regions of mountain cold where my eyelids froze, and, descending into Amazonian wilderness, stayed in a region infested with vampires–creatures which until then I imagined to be pure myths. I have stood in the site of what is possibly the world’s oldest civilization, and have studied ruins built before the time of Babylon.’

Mrs. Adams has spent about eight years in exploration. In this work and pleasure she discovered, high in the Andes, an unknown river of peat–an important geographical discovery which sheds new light on the geologic formation of the continent. She was the first white woman to invade the interior wilderness of Peru, where she wandered about the sources of the Amazon, in company with jaguars, monstrous snakes, and other wild animals, none of which ever harmed or even attacked her, which led Mrs. Adams to the conclusion that no wild beasts are dangerous unless first attacked themselves by men. On this trip Mrs. Adams came to a region infested by vampires, which previously she had believed to be mythical, and spent a night–the most horrible, she says, of her life–among them. On this occasion her husband and Indian guides were attacked and a number of their mules killed by the blood-sucking creatures which measure three to four feet from tip to tip of their wings.”

 

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Old Print Article: “Owl Scared Woman Patient To Death,” New York Times (1903)

June 28, 2013 in Old Print Articles, Urban Studies | Permalink

"A nurse and doctor tried to revive her, but she was dead."

“A nurse and doctor tried to revive her, but she was dead.”

A hospitalized woman was frightened into the great beyond by an owl, and that was just the beginning of the madness recounted in this November 3, 1903 New York Times article—though at least it has a happy ending. The story:

“An owl which flew in by a window and perched on the foot of her bed frightened a woman to death in Gouvernour Hospital last night. The woman was Mrs. Elizabeth Forschleischer, forty-one years old, of 349 Madison Street.

It was about 8 o’clock when she lay in bed on the top floor, a window near the end of her bed, looking out on the river where the moon was rising, very large. A shadow seemed to cross the moon, and something hurtled through the window, and alighted at the foot of her bedstead. The creature was awesomely weird–she had never seen an owl before–and the terrified patient uttered a blood-curdling shriek.

In an instant the room was in an uproar. The other patients half rose in bed to see what was happening, and the entire staff of doctors, nurses, attendants, matrons and help of the hospital rushed to the top floor. Mrs. Forschleischer was found terrible agitated, and a nurse and doctor tried to revive her, but she was dead.

The owl meanwhile had flown to the lintel of a window, near the ceiling, and ‘te-whoo-ed’ and spread his wings. He was a foot high. A consultation was held. Dr. Emily Dunning, the woman ambulance surgeon, suggested a ladder; Dr. Batchelder, the house surgeon, a pole; Dr. Horowitz, dousing him with water; and other suggestions were made hurriedly. It was decided to try the pole.

A long curtain pole was secured by Mr. Helliken. The bird hooted at him as he made the first lunge, but the second came too close and the owl set out for the other end of the room. He hit the wall a dozen times in his flight, banged his head and body against the bedsteads and clothing and wall projections, and finally clung to a door lintel, somewhat higher than he had been before.

Most of the women patients were terribly frightened, and the nurses had to reassure them, but some laughed at the fun, sat up in bed, and joked as the pursuit of the bird went on unavailingly.

"He was put under the waste paper basket and fed on stewed prunes."

“He was put under the waste paper basket and fed on stewed prunes.”

Half a dozen failures with the pole and the caustic comments of doctors, nurses and patients led Dr. Milliken to give up in disgust. Miss Weyer, the head nurse, and Matron Stowers then tried it, but the owl clumsily, although successfully, eluded their pokes at him. He led them a chase all over the ward, while some patients screamed and others laughed heartily.

Then Dr. Horowitz wanted his suggestion of turning the hose on the owl taken up.

‘You see,’ he said. ‘If you wet his wings he can’t fly.’

This was deemed incontrovertible, and a huge syringe was trained upon the owl by Dr. Horowitz and an assistant. 

‘Fire,’ cried Dr. Horowitz, and a pail of water was discharged at the bird. It came nearer hitting the nurses than the owl, struck the wall, splashed all over it, showering pictures, bed clothing, some patients, and the floor, and a caused a shower of sarcasm to fall on Dr. Horowitz’s head. The owl did not move.

There was a tacit understanding that the plan had proved such a failure that it should not be repeated. Then Mr. Batchelder said chloroform was the only thing that would subdue the bird and bring the excitement to an end. He tied a piece of gauze to the end of the curtain pole and dipped it in chloroform.

The owl was clinging for dear life to a picture frame, which swung to and fro under his weight and frightened him more than the pursuers did. The chloroform, with great precautions, was pushed near him. He gave a loud ‘to-whoo’ of disgust, and once more flew away, clumsily banging against a dozen things in a flight of six feet and alighting on a window ledge. Again the chloroform was gingerly shoved toward him.

‘Nice birdie,’ said Dr. Batchelder, coaxingly. ‘Pretty bird; smell o’ that. Go to slee-ee-eep, birdie.’

But the owl was off again, like an aeroplane that doesn’t work, hitting some of the nurses in the head in his awkward flight.

‘Here’s what’ll do the trick,’ said Dr. Dunning, coming in with a waste paper basket tied to the end of a pole. Another chase began, and all made attempts to catch the owl in a basket, as a child would catch a butterfly in a net. The doctors and nurses upset pictures, tables, glasses, and chairs, bumped against walls and beds, and made ineffectual dabs at the bird.

Then by mutual consent and initiative the entire hospital staff got sticks and clubs and tried to hit the owl. He flew this way and that, banging against everything in the room until he flew into the kitchen. There he was cornered, a stroke brought him to the floor and Miss Weyer captured him. He was put under the waste paper basket and fed on stewed prunes, which he seemed to like. The doctor intends to keep him.”

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A Brief Note From 1884 About A Mad Bull

June 25, 2013 in Old Print Articles, Urban Studies | Permalink

From the August 28, 1884 New York Times:

“Erie, Penn.–A mad bull attacked a farmer named Henry Grover to-day in a field and disemboweled him. The injured man was picked up and carried into his house. Physicians said that he could not possibly live.”

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Old Print Article: “Teachers In Despair Over Boy Terrors,” New York Times (1912)

June 24, 2013 in Old Print Articles, Urban Studies | Permalink

“Impudent, sulky, spiteful. Played continually with a penknife.”

It was more than a hundred years ago that imps, devilkins, urchins and rascals ran roughshod over Brooklyn public schools, assailing teachers and fellow pupils alike with verbal and physical abuse. A remembrance of this dark time in our city’s history via the February 18, 1912 New York Times:

“A circular of inquiry sent out to Principals and public school teachers by Dr. Frank K. Perkins, Chairman of the Brooklyn Teachers’ Association’s Committee on Probation Schools, to determine whether or not condition in the schools justify his campaign for the segregation of incorrigible pupils in separate disciplinary schools has brought forth a harvest of replies telling of instances of depravity among pupils that renders insipid the charitable phrases that ‘boys will be boys.’ 

These boys boast that they are ‘hard guys,’ shake fists in the teachers’ faces and bid them go where they themselves are, according to the teachers’ intimations, unconsciously destined; they pull the hair of girl pupils and trip them; they throw spitballs and jab pins into the legs of their fellows with the armed toes of their boots, strike their teachers and their mothers, and threaten the teachers in open classroom with knives and other weapons.

Dr. Perkins, who is himself a Principal in an elementary school, believes such pupils should scarcely be allowed to associate in rooms with normal pupils, or under women teachers whose helplessness is the greater in that corporal punishment is forbidden by the school rules, and the wayward pupils know it.

"He frequently complains of pains in the head."

“He frequently complains of pains in the head.”

T.D., 14 1/2 Years–Uses vile language. Told teacher to go to —. Dismissed himself seven times in one morning. Sat on fence adjoining schoolyard and attracted other boys’ attention. Called teacher a fool.

T.S.—Truant for about twenty-eight days. When he came back he was almost intolerable. He with two others in the class admitted to teacher that he frequently got drunk. Whenever any of the girls chanced to pass him, he tripped them, kicked them, punched them, or pulled their hair. He frequently complains of pains in the head. Frequently, at the beginning of the term, when called on to read, he would leave out words and substitute others in order to suggest or give an immoral meaning.

A.W.—Impudent, sulky, spiteful. Played continually with a penknife. Became impudent when I told him to put it away. One day when I insisted, he said: ‘I’ll stick you with it.’ In a quarrel over a book strap on Nov. 8 he stuck the knife into a boy’s arm.

L.K.—Brought a tube to school through which he threw spitballs, striking a boy in the eye. When reprimanded, he threw his books on the floor, stamped and scraped his feet, banged his desk, and in a loud and threatening voice used the most vile and insulting language. Not satisfied with this exhibition of temper, he placed a pin in his shoe and started to annoy the boys in his vicinity by jabbing them.”

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A Brief Note From 1921 About PEDs

June 21, 2013 in Old Print Articles, Sports, Urban Studies | Permalink

From the December 28, 1921 New York Times:

“Pittsburgh, Pa.–The nimble Pirates, minus the tendency to crack in the heat of a National League pennant chase, and a Pitt football team that will display more agility than any trick movie star, are promised for 1922 by A. Lincoln Bowden, a Pittsburgh oil man, who has volunteered to supply both aggregations with dried monkey meat during the coming year. Glands will be included in the menu, according to the Pittsburgher, who has offered his services in the spirit of a devoted gridiron and diamond fan and says he wants Pittsburgh athletes to beat the world.

Mr. Bowden is about to depart for South America to lay in a supply of monkeys of a superior class, which he has frequently observed in Ecuador. The invigorating element of monkey meat and glands, he asserted, will give indomitable power and unlimited aggressiveness to the baseball and football men.

In proof of his assertions, he points to the case of of a Pittsburgher who was in Ecuador with him two months ago. In this case, Mr. Bowden said, although the patient was quite bald, a diet of monkey meat caused new hair to grow on his head, while all pains and aches left him and neither the heat of the jungle nor the cold of high mountain plateaus affected him in the slightest degree.”

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Old Print Article: “A Strange Story–A Wealthy Recluse,” New York Times (1871)

June 19, 2013 in Old Print Articles, Urban Studies | Permalink

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“His condition was filthy in the extreme.”

Members of the Lunacy Commission popped in on the hovel of a wealthy, naked pack rat one fine day and uncovered a remarkable story, as recounted in an article in the August 18, 1871 New York Times, which was apparently published before the invention of paragraph breaks:

“In the report of the Commissioners in Lunacy, just issued, an extraordinary case is mentioned in the list of lunatics found under illegal charge. It appears that the Commissioner, having learned that a gentlemen reputed to be wealthy, and about thirty-five years of age, whom they designate as Mr. A—, was living for ten years in seclusion at the chief hotel in B—, made inquiry which showed that such a person actually existed, that the manager of the hotel alone had access to him, and that his acts were scarcely consistent with sanity. Very soon one of the medical members of the Board, accompanied by the Secretary, paid a visit to the hotel, and inquired for Mr. M—, the manager. This person was not forthcoming, and, consequently, the doctor and his attendant made their way upstairs, and were going toward the apartments which they understood were occupied by Mr. A—, when they found the manager in the ante-room. Mr. M—, it seems, begged for delay; but the doctor, pushing him aside, opened a door, and speedily found himself in an inner and perfectly dark room, whence came a voice like that of a man under surprise and in alarm, demanding repeatedly what was the matter. Lights were obtained, and the visitors then saw what was before them. From wall to wall the room was literally blocked up with a mass of furniture and rubbish, from the midst of which emerged the head of a middle-aged and dark-bearded man. A single tortuous lane through this lumber led toward him, and the doctor had to pick his way over broken glass and crockery, bundles of candles, old clothes, parcels of stale biscuits, and other indescribable rubbish. No fire was in the grate, and, a curtain being drawn across the window, no daylight was visible. Behind a table, covered with bags of stuff, lay Mr. A— on a small, broken-down horsehair sofa, closely hemmed in on every side. He was enveloped with a rug, but without any other clothing. His condition was filthy in the extreme; his beard was upward of two feet long, the lower two-thirds being inextricably matted with filth and full of vermin. His hair was even more matted and dirtier than the beard, especially on each side over the ears, being in this condition even more than a foot in length. On his feet were some pieces of American cloth, under which was an admixture of filthy rags, paper and refuse tied with numerous strings about his toes, feet and ankles, the condition of which was extremely loathsome. The great toe nails were an inch and a half in length. The finger nails were also enormously long, and with the hands were very offensive to the sight. His legs, from being kept in one position, had become rigid, forming nearly a right angle with the thigh, and resisting the extension, although there appeared to be no swelling or tenderness. The face of the extraordinary person was pale and haggard; but his body, though emitting a powerfully-disagreeable odor, was fairly nourished. He had not washed for years, and though abundance of clothes was lying about the room, he had made no effort to get them. With all these strange appearances, however, Mr. A— appeared to be perfectly sane, and was able to give a rational account of himself, and the reason which had brought him there. In fact, his gentlemanly demeanor most strangely contrasted with horrible condition he was in, and made the sight more painful. The doctor soon ascertained that Mr. A— was possessed not only of the large estates, but a life interest of upward of $100,000; that some ten years ago he had gradually sunk into a nervous condition, which caused him to fancy that people regarded him as a lunatic, and he resolved to shut himself up away from the world. Taking rooms at the hotel, he gradually became more determined in his resolve; and then, having made arrangements with the manager, Mr. M—, to supply him with food, he changed his residence to the apartment where he was now discovered, and from that time had allowed no one to visit him. In this way he had existed for years, until the state of the room he was lying in, and particularly one adjoining, was such that the doctors and others who visited the place professionally express their astonishment that typhus fever had not been generated long ago. From what he said, he would gladly have left his place of seclusion some years since, and he was continually mourning the fact of his being shut out of the world, but the prevailing idea on his mind seemed to be that to accomplish this he must have someone to help him, and Mr. M— appears to have offered him no assistance. Frequently when he heard people talking below his windows he had exclaimed, ‘Oh, God! when shall I be assisted out of this state, and be able to mix again with the world.’ He seemed very anxious to know whether the doctor considered him out of his mind, saying that, although he was laboring under a delusion when he took up his residence at the hotel, he was now perfectly sane, quite disgusted with the state of affairs, and determined that if any attempt were made to show him insane he would spend his whole fortune to prove the contrary. He was very shortly afterward removed in a cab to the neighboring asylum, and there placed in a chair, in which he appeared unable to sit upright, but cowered down with his head bent over his knees, drawing at the same time a large piece of baize over him, concealing his features, which, when exposed, were nervously agitated. Upon his hair being cut, he begged earnestly that no one might be allowed to see it, or the old rags with which he had covered himself. He was afterward placed in a bath, where he proceeded to cleanse himself vigorously, and then being put to bed, some warm brandy and water was given him. Although he at first refused to take proper food, he gave way very soon to the advice of those under whose care he was placed, and expressed his great desire to and in any means which might be adopted for endeavoring to restore the power and motion to his stiffened joints. Although at first his statements were somewhat incoherent, his powers of memory appeared remarkably good, and his conversation was, as a rule, marked by intelligence and shrewdness of mean order. The only semblance of delusion was the idea–frequently repeated by him–that it was necessary to have someone of stronger will than his own which he found inadequate to assist in resuming his position in society. His great regret appeared to be that he had not met with the doctor who first visited him ten years ago, as he said that he only needed a little help to have been enabled to conquer the disposition to seclusion which eventually overcame him. After he had been under medical treatment for some time, and it was found that he was in no way insane. Mr. A— was allowed to leave the asylum, he being exceedingly anxious to go out into the world again. It is not stated in the report which was issued July 23 whether proceedings of any sort were taken against M—, the manager of the hotel.”

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A Brief Note From 1900 About A Steep Fall

June 18, 2013 in Old Print Articles, Urban Studies | Permalink

From the August 28, 1900 New York Times:

Chicago–Samuel Haynes, sixty-five years old, an inmate of the Hospital for the Insane at Kankakee, walked into the river yesterday and was drowned. Haynes was well known as ‘Senyah,’ the trapee performer. He introduced the flying trapeze act, first presenting it at the old Crosby Opera House. Being injured by a fall, he became a printer, later attempting other ventures, all of which failed. About two years ago he showed symptoms of insanity and was removed to the asylum at Kankakee.”

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Old Print Article: “Snakes Used To Exterminate Rats,” New York Times (1903)

June 16, 2013 in Old Print Articles, Urban Studies | Permalink

"A snake pursuing a rat across a dark cellar is not a sight to steady one's nerves."

“A snake pursuing a rat across a dark cellar is not a sight to steady one’s nerves.”

If your city is plagued by rats, the best thing to do is loose a lot of snakes upon them. Then you can have a city plagued by fewer rats and many fat snakes. An excerpt from an article in the August 23, 1903 New York Times about the burgeoning snake-extermination industry:

“New York is almost as rat-ridden a town as the one which the famous Pied Piper cleared of with his marvelous flute; but the work of destroying them is carried on so persistently and scientifically that the rodents are never allowed to gain unmanageable headway. During the rainy weather, however, when the rivers back up into the cellars of the wharf houses and docks, the rats are driven up from their holes in such numbers that one might think a plague of the creatures had suddenly visited New York. At such times the rat-killers are called upon to make extra exertions in destroying them, and every ferret in the town is in active operation. These ferrets are trained to their work, but they are not always able to penetrate  the lowest strongholds of the rats, where their nests are built. Hence it is that new broods are brought forth every season, and the supply is kept up indefinitely.

One of the latest methods of destroying the young of the rats is to train snakes for the work. A good-sized snake can wriggle in almost any hole that a small rat will enter. A snake is too quick for a rat to escape, and when he strikes it is sure death for the rodent. The average snake prefers young rats to large ones, and he will go hunting for the delicate morsels to the neglect of the parents. A good trained snake will smell a nest of young rats a long distance off, and once the scent is taken up it is never dropped until the prey is captured.

Black snakes, garter snakes, grass snakes, and common garden snakes all make good rat catchers, but it requires an expert to train them. If turned loose in a warehouse the average snake will take to the first rat hole, but he will not return to his owner again. It is the retrieving that makes the snake valuable. 

MUST BE TRAINED YOUNG

‘We train snakes when they are very young,’ explained one of the pioneers in this new industry. ‘We started in first to rid our own establishment of mice and rats. We found that one good black snake could gorge himself with more mice than the best cat, and day after day he would return to the chase. A snake brought up on mice and rats acquires a great taste for them, and as he grows older his capacity increases. I have had black snakes in my bunch that would average six or seven young rats a day, and would never tire of the diet. With half a dozen snakes one can clean a house of young rats in a short time.

‘It is quite impossible to train an old snake to return willingly, but we can induce them to enter traps baited with young rats after they have cleaned out a building. In this way it is possible to secure good results without much previous preparation.

‘One of the disadvantages about using snakes for this work is that the building must be shut up overnight, and sometimes for several days, so the snakes themselves cannot escape. This is all right in some warehouses where no work is going on sometimes for weeks at a time. We can go in where there is stored grain or freight and take complete possession of the building. We let the snakes operate there for days and nights in succession. We won’t see anything of the reptiles, it may be, for nearly a week, and then one by one they will crawl back from the holes and hunt around in the opening for prey. We know then that the rats are pretty well cleaned up, and the snakes are hunting for new pastures.

‘We frequently turn snakes loose in cellars of stores and then shut down the doors, warning all the occupants of the building to keep out of the way. Of course some officious janitor will sometimes break the rules and penetrate the cellar, and if he isn’t frightened out of his wits by the snakes it is the fault of his nerves. A snake pursuing a rat across a dark cellar is not a sight to steady one’s nerves. If baffled in his work by the intrusion of any one the black snake will more than likely turn upon the intruder and hiss at him. The reptile is harmless, but his appearance and attitude are not pleasant.

‘We were ordered to clean out the rats from a down-town candy store one day this Summer when the building was being overhauled. Most of the packing and candy-making girls were away for their two weeks’ vacation, and the ferrets and the snakes had full possession of the building. Now snakes and rats are both fond of sweet things. In that cellar there were a score or two of nests, and the young rats offered a great feast to the snakes.

SNAKES FOND OF SUGAR

‘But after cleaning out the young rats the snakes were perfectly contented to stay in the cellar. Plenty of candy had been carried into the holes by the rats, and the wrapping paper and boxes were also saturated with sugar. In fact, the whole cellar was sweet, fairly reeking with sugar, chocolate and sweetmeats. There was enough to last the snakes for months, and they just stayed in the holes gorging themselves with candy and sugar. 

‘We had pretty hard work to entice them from their holes. Somebody suggested milk, and we tried this, and sure enough they did visit a pan of milk every night. I don’t know what for, as I have never seen a snake drink milk yet. They simply did, and we managed to capture them in this way. They would swim around in the milk can, and we could stand by and catch them.”

 

A Note From 1886 About A Man Who Sneezed

June 14, 2013 in Old Print Articles, Urban Studies | Permalink

From the March 12, 1886 New York Times:

Philadelphia–While Frank Murgatroyd was in bed early this morning he was seized with a violent spell of sneezing. The family was aroused, and everything was done for the man’s relief that could be thought of. The sneezing was kept up with unabated vigor, however, and before medical aid could reach him, Murgatroyd was a corpse. It is supposed that he ruptured a blood vessel.”

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Old Print Article: “The Cannibal On Trial,” New York Times (1883)

June 13, 2013 in Old Print Articles, Urban Studies | Permalink

“Their food gave out and for days they lived on rose buds,”

A prospecting party lost its way, most of the miners lost their minds and one, his humanity. From the April 13, 1883 New York Times:

“Denver, Col.–The trial of Alfred G. Packer, charged with having murdered his five companions in San Juan County in 1872, in progress at Lake City for the last few days, was concluded to-night, and the case was given to the jury. The evidence shows that a party of six was organized in Southern Utah in 1872 to prospect in Southern Colorado. While in the vicinity of the present site of Lake City a blinding storm came on and the party lost their way. Their food gave out and for days they lived on rose buds. The men became desperate, and some of them went crazy. While his companions were in this condition Packer deliberately fell upon and butchered the whole party, and for several weeks lived on flesh cut from their bodies. During the trial yesterday Packer calmly made a statement taking two hours for its delivery. He related the experience of the party from their setting out from Utah, closing with the most sickening details of the murder and his subsequent feasting on human flesh. He claims that the killing was done in self-defense. The evidence showed that each member of the party, except Packer, possessed quite a large amount of money, upon which Packer has since been living. After nine years wandering he was captured a few weeks ago near Fort Fetterman, Wyoming. While the evidence is entirely circumstantial, yet it is deemed conclusive. A verdict of guilty is confidently expected.”

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A Brief Note From 1891 About Devout Children

June 11, 2013 in Old Print Articles, Urban Studies | Permalink

From the October 25, 1891 New York Times:

Kalamazoo, Mich.–Three lads named Collins and Pfeiffer have been accused by the Very Rev. Frank A. O’Brien of St. Augustine’s Church of crucifying a cat. The boys will not confess, and their parents, who believe them innocent, have withdrawn them from the parochial school. The boys were playing ‘Ober-Ammergau,’ and nailed the feet of the cat to a cross. The tail, interfering, was cut off, and then nailed on. Mrs. Collins says that she was ordered out of the Deanery because she denied the statement that her son had taken part in the crucifixion. Humane Agent Merrill is investigation the affair.”

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Old Print Article: “Nine Evangelists Go To Jail,” New York Times (1893)

June 10, 2013 in Old Print Articles, Urban Studies | Permalink

"Those of the neighbors who had young sons and daughters set about to rid the village of the evangelist and his followers."

“Those of the neighbors who had young sons and daughters set about to rid the village of the evangelist and his followers.”

A charismatic if questionable vegetarian cult leader with an oddly spelled surname descended upon a New Jersey town toward the end of the 19th century and general oddness and attempted fraud ensued. From the April 25, 1893 New York Times:

“Hackensack, N.J.–Nine religious fanatics were taken to the Hackensack (N.J.) jail this afternoon and placed in charge of Sheriff Albert Bogert.

The leader is Hunstman T. Mnason, the well-known evangelist, who has been in jail before, once for enticing two young girls to leave their homes and join his religious band.

Four years ago Mnason settled in Park Ridge on the New-Jersey and New-York Railroad, and at once set about to form a band to praise God in his own peculiar way.

He became acquainted with the family of Herman Storms, a rich farmer, whose property is valued at $10,000. The farmer did not like the new arrival, but the new religious habits were forcibly impressed upon Mrs. Maria Storms, her son Garry, and daughter Mary, both past their teens. Jane Howell, Mrs. Minnie Stewart, and Eliza Berry were also induced to join the band.

Lately the band was increased by two long-haired men, who called themselves ‘Silas’ and ‘John the Baptist.’ The neighbors noticed that the newcomers worked on Sunday, and about twice a month held what was called an ‘angel dance.’ All were scantily robed and waved a huge blanket with which to drive away the devil.

Those of the neighbors who had young sons and daughters set about to rid the village of the evangelist and his followers. 

A short time ago three of them were arrested for working on Sunday, and two served four days in the Hackensack jail for the offense.

To-day the whole band was arrested, charged with conspiring to cheat and defraud Herman Storms out of his property. The agreement had been drawn up by which Garry Storms was to have the property and the elder Storms should receive $100 and board and clothing for the remainder of his days. All were to meet in Justice W.B. Smith’s office at Park Ridge this afternoon, and witness the signature to the agreement, but they were all placed under arrest and got a hearing immediately afterward.

The affadavit, in part, states:

‘The conspirators, deny, ridicule, and curse all regular religion and religious customs, recognize no Sabbath, and set up a false god of their own, declaring the said Mnason to be the only true and living God, in consequence of which the household of Herman Storms has been put under a petty and grinding despotism, under the dogmatic rule of Huntsman T. Mnason, aided and abetted by his said co-conspirators, wherein unseemly revelry often occurs and disorder reigns, and the laws of society, religion, and State are defied and reviled, to the scandal of the neighborhood and great injury to public morals.’

Several testified against the evangelists at the hearing before Justices Smith and Wortendyke.

Herman Storms testified that Mnason refused to have meat in the house and also refused to allow him the use of his own wagons and horses. The witness gave a vivid sketch of the angel dance.

He said that Mnason ordered the women to get up on the breakfast table and dance around the eatables before food was partaken. Though the property was to be transferred to Garry, Mrs. Storms’s son, it was generally believed that Mnason would soon have secured control and ownership of it.”

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A Note From 1899 About A Severe Toothache

June 9, 2013 in Old Print Articles, Urban Studies | Permalink

From the August 5, 1899 New York Times:

“Mount Holly, N.J.–Frederick W. Pope, the fourteen-year-old son of Charles A. Pope of Columbus, is paralyzed hopelessly as a result of an application of cocaine by a dentist, and has lost the power of speech. Seven weeks ago the lad suffered from a severe toothache and went to a dentist to have the tooth extracted. It was necessary because of the lad’s nervous condition for the dentist to administer some drug. He used cocaine to relieve the pain.

A short time after the tooth was pulled paralysis set in on the right side of the body. It was thought by the physicians that the attack would pass away and leave the lad unharmed. Yesterday the boy was stricken speechless. Several physicians have examined him, and all agree that the case is a hopeless one. The general opinion is that the cocaine went to the brain.”

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Old Print Article: “One In Ten A Poisoner,” New York Times (1907)

June 6, 2013 in Old Print Articles, Urban Studies | Permalink

"To poison's one neighbor then was all the fashion."

“To poison’s one neighbor then was all the fashion.”

On the slowest news day in the history of the printed word, the New York Times published an article about poisoning in 16th-century France. The December 29, 1907 piece:

“Paris–Apropos of Sardou’s new play at the Theatre St. Martin, ‘L’Affair des Poisons,’ a cabled synopsis of which has already appeared in the New York Times, boulevard historians are writing much nowadays about the vogue which poisoning enjoyed during the sixteenth century. To poison’s one neighbor then was all the fashion.

L’Estoile, writing of this in his journal, estimated that in 1572 no fewer than 30,000 persons were mixing noxious compunds in Paris alone. As the population of the city at that time only numbered about 300,000, one out of every ten Parisians was a poisoner. Contemporaneous writers tell weird tales of the methods employed.

It appears that a perfumed glove or the prick of a jeweled ring could be as deadly as a blunderbuss. Only the common horde put poison in food. Some dilettantes of the craft put their ‘cruel venoms on a horse’s saddle,’ so one writer says, and the cavalier was doomed. Another amateur acquired such singular address in his art that all he had to do was to rub his concoction into the stirrup of the man he wished to kill. Riding boots were about an inch thick in those days, but the victim only a few minutes after mounting ‘felt his limbs convulse, his blood burn,’ and so he died.

Kings, Princes, prelates and other high personages whose taking off would cause somebody’s advancement were regarded as legitimate prey. But panic was spread by them to the lowest classes. Thus, according to the author of the ‘Memoires de l’Estat de France sous Francois II,’ peasants for twenty leagues round hid their children when they heard that the royal family was about to come their way.

"The tip of a stag's tail and the brain of a cat are specimen ingredients of some of the concoctions."

“The tip of a stag’s tail and the brain of a cat are specimen ingredients of some of the concoctions.”

They feared that the King’s relatives would steal their little ones for the sake of their blood, children’s blood being necessary to a ‘venom’ of sufficient strength to affect the royal health. The habit of stealing children for this purpose was attributed especially to the Italians living in France, and the chronicles of the time are full of accounts of lynchings which such accusations inspired.

Catherine de Medicis, whose Italian nativity was doubtless to blame for many of the stories told about her, was commonly believed to be something of a witch. It was represented that her favorite companions were her perfumer, René, and her astrologer, Cosme Rugieri. She was believed to mix with her own hands, eternally gloved, the deadliest powders and pastes.

But while many of the poisons used in this murderous epoch were doubtless effective enough, some of them were of a nature to give the intended victim the reputation of bearing a charmed life. The tip of a stag’s tail and the brain of a cat are specimen ingredients of some of the concoctions. And according to Ambroise Paré, the bite of a red-headed man, ‘especially if he be freckled,’ was almost as bad as the bite of an adder.

Against all these evils they possessed, fortunately, admirable antidotes. Precious stones, especially the sapphire, were far more useful in warding off evil in those days than they are now. Nuts and dried figs also nullified any ordinary poison. And if those proved impotent, there was always that heroic remedy or splitting open a horse or an ox and getting inside.”

 

A Note From 1897 About The Archangel Famine

June 5, 2013 in Old Print Articles, Urban Studies | Permalink

From the November 9, 1897 New York Times:

“St. Petersburg--A terrible famine is ravaging the Province of Archangel, a Government of European Russia in the extreme north, extending from the Ural Mountains on the east to Finland on the West. The people wander about reduced almost to skeletons, their heads swollen to the size of buckets. Tea is the only means of subsistence.”

Old Print Article: “Her Fiance Her Brother,” New York Times (1914)

June 4, 2013 in Old Print Articles, Urban Studies | Permalink

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One would hope that premarital sex was rare in Greeley, Colorado, in early 1900s, as one resident learned during that era that her intended was also her immediate relative. From the February 24, 1914 New York Times:

“Greeley, Col.–Just as they were leaving to procure a marriage license and have the nuptial knot tied by a Justice of the Peace. Miss Mary Hardy, a homesteader near Buckingham, Weld County, discovered that Frank Cameron, a neighboring homesteader, to whom she was engaged, was her brother. Miss Hardy fainted, and it was some time before she could be revived.

The discovery of the relationship between Miss Hardy and Cameron, the real name of both being Howard, was brought about through Cameron wearing for the first time in her presence a small gold ring with a peculiar button setting as a fob for his watch chain.

‘Where did you get that ring?’ faltered Miss Hardy, as she noticed and then inspected it.

‘My sister gave me that to remember her by the last time I saw her twenty-three years ago,’ answered Cameron, astonished at her agitation.

‘Then you are my brother!’ exclaimed Miss Hardy and fainted.

When Miss Hardy was revived she proved their relationship beyond all doubt by going to her jewel box and taking from it a silver coin bearing the date of her brother’s birth and his initials, which he had engraved when a boy.

It appears that the brother and sister were deserted in childhood by their parents and later were adopted in different families.”

 

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A Brief Note From 1875 About A Bad Houseguest

June 2, 2013 in Old Print Articles, Urban Studies | Permalink

From the May 17, 1875 Brooklyn Daily Eagle:

“A rather curious freak of a somnambulist is reported as having occurred on Saturday night at No. 669 Bedford Avenue, in this city. At the place mentioned a young man named Chandler Cobb, whose abode is in the town of Wilmington, Vermont, has been on a brief visit to his relative, Mr. Snyder, and during the time has slept in the same bed with another young man named William Martin. Cobb, it seems, is subject to attacks of somnambulism, and while in that state has been known to leave the couch and wander about the dwelling and even out onto the streets. Well, on this occasion, he took one of those walking spells, and after getting up was seized with an idea that Martin was going to shoot him, and so he took a chair and proceeded to beat that unfortunate youth, who was fast asleep, over the head, and did it so energetically for several moments that the other occupants were aroused from their slumbers by the unearthly screams of the victim. While in the act of beating his friend, Cobb became wide awake, and then seemed to be seized with a temporary attack of insanity, for he ran wild down to the store floor, and in his efforts to escape from his imaginary foe, through a large pane of plate glass door, and in so doing was very seriously cut about the head, hands and legs.”

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