Ideas and technology and politics and journalism and history and humor and some other stuff.
You are currently browsing the archive for the Old Print Articles category.
From the July 11, 1885 Brooklyn Daily Eagle:
“Morris Harbinger, of Bremen Street and Clove Road, aged 16 years, while in Cypress Hills Cemetery about a week ago, was accidentally struck in the head by a falling tombstone and severely injured. He was taken to St. Mary’s Hospital, where, after much suffering, he died this morning.”
Tags: Morris Harbinger
From the September 1, 1891 Brooklyn Daily Eagle:
“W.H. DeForest, who is said to have lost his mind through worry and overwork, called at the Hotel St. George the other night and, after asking Clerk Dunn for the keys of the rooms he had engaged, ordered a case of champagne and a box of cigars for himself and a friend. He then incidentally remarked that he would like to buy the hotel outright and offered Mr. Dunn a million dollars cash for it. The clerk referred to him to Captain Tumbridge, the proprietor. DeForest then made extraordinary and most generous offers to Mr. Dunn and then left. He called again yesterday and was followed by two men who took him to an asylum in Poughkeepsie.”
Tags: Captain Tumbridge, Clerk Dunn, W.H. DeForest
From the July 18, 1890 Brooklyn Daily Eagle:
“Jackson, Mo.–Ralph Abernatty, a well to do farmer residing near town, has been terrorizing the community for the last three days. Monday, at the instigation of his wife, he was examined as to his sanity by the courts here and discharged by the jury. Immediately after leaving the court room he had his head shaved and the scalp and his hands painted red. Arming himself with a double barreled shotgun, a revolver and a couple of knives, he proceeded to inaugurate a reign of terror. Yesterday a posse of fifty men was organized for Abernatty’s arrest. He was found in an open field and finally captured, but not without a desperate struggle.”
Tags: Ralph Abernatty
“She was generally after the boys with a broom when they disturbed her.”
An eccentric old woman and some ill-behaved boys were the players in a spooky scenario from the April 30, 1898 Brooklyn Daily Eagle. An excerpt:
“Miss Ella D. Eames, a recluse whose home was at 165 Adams Street, was found dead in her room last night. The deceased was about 81 years old and had lived in the house, which she owned, for over forty years. She was eccentric and her peculiarities appealed to the mischievous sentiments of the boys in the neighborhood, who teased her for the sole purpose of getting her excited. The building is an old fashioned, weather beaten, two story, attic and basement frame house, sadly out of repair and badly needing paint. Miss Eames frequently appealed to the police to drive the boys away from her house, for they not only played in the basement areaway, but threw stones at the windows and frequently broke them. The old woman was known among the boys in the vicinity as the ‘Witch of Adams Street.’
Late yesterday afternoon N.T. Spicer, who lives at 87 Concord Street, passed the house and saw a number of urchins playing noisily in the areaway. Miss Eames was nowhere in sight, a singular circumstance, for she was generally after the boys with a broom when they disturbed her. Mr. Spicer could notice no signs of life on the inside of the recluse’s house and he questioned the people in the neighborhood, who all remembered that they had not seen Miss Eames since Monday. After a brief consultation it was decided to notify the police of the Fulton Street Station and Officer Daniel F. McLaughlin was sent out to make an investigation. He knocked at the front door, but there was no response. Then he forced his way into the house and then to the woman’s room on the second floor. The apartment was stuffy and dusty. When the windows were opened to admit air and a lamp was lit the alien visitors discovered that the apartment was filled with costly property, dresses, pictures and, oddly enough, dolls and toys. The old woman had paid the debt of nature. She was found dead beside her bed and it was evident that she had been preparing to retire when death overtook her.
There was evidence she had not been properly nourished, and it is believed that, although she had plenty of money, she had practically starved herself to death, for there was very little food in the house. The body was taken to an undertaker’s shop on Third Avenue and police took possession of the premises. This morning the police took to the Coroner’s office a number of the effects that were found in Miss Eames’ house. There was $208.12 in cash in the house an bank book from the Dime Savings Institution, which showed a balance to her credit of $2,888.47.
Miss Eames was the last survivor of three sisters who lived in the house. They were all eccentric and were very particular not to allow visits from the neighbors. When Miss Ella was left alone by the death of her sisters her eccentricity seemed to increase. As stated she was very much annoyed by the boys in the neighborhood. She one day caught one of her small tormentors and locked him up in one of the upper rooms of her place. The parents of the imprisoned boy appealed to the police, but when the authorities intervened she refused to allow the policeman to enter the place until they threatened to break into the house. The child was finally released, badly frightened, but wholly unharmed.
Coroner Berger will hold an inquest after Dr. Hawxhurst, the post mortem examiner, has made an autopsy. The indications are that the death was due to starvation. “
Tags: Coroner Berger, Dr. Hawxhurst, Ella D. Eames, N.T. Spicer, Officer Daniel F. McLaughlin
From the August 19, 1874 Brooklyn Daily Eagle:
“Yesterday afternoon, Officer Irwin was attracted by yells and drunken screams to the den No. 91 Degraw Street, occupied by Mrs. Duck. On entering the place, the officer found three women and a child in the place. The women were drunk, and tossing the child about ‘just like,’ said the officer, ‘as if it were a foot ball.’ The little child, who is scarcely three years old, presented a most pitiable sight. The officer, on ascertaining who the mother was, arrested her. The health authorities have been notified of the den which is described as the filthiest hole in Red Hook.”
Tags: Mrs. Duck
From the July 6, 1896 Brooklyn Daily Eagle:
“The officials of a company which makes a feature of insuring the lives of animals notified the management of Glen Island today that they would not pay the policy on the life of Franko, the monkey which committed suicide yesterday. They claim that the suicide clause hold good in this instance the same as in the case of a man. It is claimed that Franko deliberately hanged himself because he was desperately in love with a female monkey in the same cage. Last week he was removed to another cage and the suicide followed.”
Tags: Franko
“The majority of prisoners whose features are photographed object most seriously.”
The Rogues’ Gallery was a collection of photos of known criminals intended to make it easier for law-enforcement officers to track and arrest miscreants. It was a precursor to mug shots and photographs of the FBI’s most-wanted criminals hanging on post office walls. The idea for such a gallery was first hatched in 1857 by Allan Pinkerton for his detective agency, and it was adopted later in the 19th century by the New York City police department. But where exactly were the NYPD photos shot in the time before the department had its own picture-taking facilities? An explanation comes from the May 22, 1877 Brooklyn Daily Eagle. An excerpt:
“Hanging on the door of the house No. 34 Myrtle Avenue, is the sign ‘Wendel, Photographer.’ The photographer’s rooms are on the top floor, which is reached by numerous, narrow stairways. At this place all the rogues’ photographs are taken. Persons who go to Mr. Wendel’s to have their photographs taken must often be treated to a surprise, by seeing a man with manacles on his wrists sitting in front of the camera obscura, while the operator is making the necessary preparations before the subject’s features are delineated. The square piece of glass on which the picture is first taken is called a negative, and it is placed in what is known as a print box. This box is placed where the rays of sun will strike the negative, thus transferring the photograph to the sheet of prepared paper directly under the glass.
The majority of prisoners whose features are photographed object most seriously to having their photographs in possession of the police. The moment they are placed in the chair opposite the camera they will either distort their mouths or close their eyes, never forgetting to pull their hair down over their foreheads. Old offenders as a general rule, that is those whose features grace the Rogues Gallery of other cities, do not mind having their features photographed. Some of them are anxious to make a good appearance, and ranging themselves before a mirror, they arrange their collars and neck ties and comb their hair.
When the criminals, as they frequently do, refuse to have their pictures taken, the policeman or detective who have them in charge force them to sit in the chair in front of the camera, and if the prisoner persists in moving his head, the officer generally places a hand over each of the fellow’s ears and keeps the head from bobbing around. An Eagle reporter has seen a prisoner who fought with the policeman having him in charge and refused to to sit for his photograph. Although heavily manacled, the prisoner fought desperately, and after vainly endeavoring to hold him while the operator performed his work, the policeman clubbed him about the head, and then, with blood running down his face, the prisoner was forced into the chair. The rough treatment he received did have the effect of bringing the man into submission, and the officers were obliged to leave the gallery without having obtained the desired photograph. In this respect women are very unlike the men, and are not at all displeased at having their features photographed, and the majority of them will get themselves up as elaborately as possible before taking their seat in the photographer’s gallery.
Twelve copies of each photograph are made and these are sent to Sergeant Henry Van Wagner of the Detective Squad. The pictures are kept in large albums, and each picture is numbered, and in an index is kept a record of the name of all the prisoners, their age at the time of their arrest, the crime committed and sentence. If, when a criminal has served his term, and returns to this city to prey again on the public, and when police learn of his depredations, by the aid of his photograph an officer who is a stranger to the man, if placed on the case, will succeed in nine cases out of ten in running the criminal own.”
From the May 20. 1943 Brooklyn Daily Eagle:
“There is living upon Staten Island, an old man who has devoted himself to the rigid and solitary life of the hermit. He has constructed a rude hut in the middle of a forest, where he passes both day and night, refusing to hold a communication with his fellow men, and living wholly upon cold water. He was formerly a sailor; and the only reason he can give for his curious delusion, is, that he was very wild and wicked in his youth, and that God, in order to punish him, has now commanded him to live upon water for the space of forty days. Fourteen of these days of penance have already passed, yet he persists in adhering to his simple diet. He is somewhat pale and emaciated, we are told, but quite vigorous and active. During the last summer, he took the same notion into his head, but after eleven days fasting, found out that his punishment was remitted for a time. It is again laid upon him, and he thinks he will be able to endure to the end.”
From the December 26, 1899 Brooklyn Daily Eagle:
“Edward Watson, 25 years old, who lived at Battery Place and Ninety-Second Street, Fort Hamilton, died in the Norwegian Hospital on Sunday night from injuries received in a peculiar manner. Thomas Leary, a private in Battery N, Fifth Artillery, who was charged with causing Watson’s death, was arrested, and when arraigned before Magistrate Nostrand, in the Coney Island court yesterday morning, on a charge of homicide, was held without bail to await the action of the coroner.
Watson and Leary, who had known each other for some time, met in the Dewey Hotel, at Fourth Avenue and One Hundred and First Street, late on Saturday night. The former was standing at the bar drinking with some friends when Leary entered and, on seeing Watson, went up to him and, with a ‘Merry Christmas. old man,’ slapped him on the back. Watson suddenly turned pale and fell on the floor. The best of feelings existed between the two men and the death of Watson was purely accidental. The doctors said that the blow had displaced the fourth vertebra.”
Tags: Edward Watson, Thomas Leary
“It was hard to realize how many fat men make Coney Island a home until last night brought them out.”
Unfortunately for the men of comical bulk who attended a dance given by the Fat Men’s Association of Coney Island in 1890, the Brooklyn Daily Eagle sent a complete wiseass to cover the social event. An excerpt from the August 1 issue of that year:
“Buschman’s Dancing Pavilion at West Brighton bulged out at the sides and the island shook as if suffering from the chill of an earthquake, for the Fat Men’s Association of Coney Island held their annual ball last night, and when large fractions of 25,000 pounds waft themselves over a ball room floor to gentle cadence something has got to give a little bit. It was hard to realize how many fat men make Coney Island a home until last night brought them out. A fundamental rule of the Fat Men’s Association is that no member shall weigh less than 200 pounds and those who weigh 199 gnash their teeth and sit outside the gate. The scales from the coal yard were shifted up for the purpose of proving who was entitled to the pigs which were awarded as prizes to the heavy weights, and it was a wise precaution.
“Seven pigs, twelve ducks and other minor prizes were awarded for proficiency in waltzing, roller skating and weighing.”
When the guests were assembled Ward McAllister Taggart, in the only dress suit on the Island, stood at the entrance and aired his 230 pounds with evident pride. President William Rockwell, the Adonis of the Bowery, smiled disdainfully as he passed in carrying 249 pounds. Treasurer Henry Popper, who is too fat to run away with the money, puts on airs with 284 pounds to his credit. When Special Officer McGinnis wandered around there was a perceptible widening in the cracks along the walls, for McGinnis tips the scales at 399.
A litter of handsome pigs was waiting to be awarded to the men according to their weight, and the contestants took mental notes of their opponents with varying degrees of satisfaction, until Andy Cullen, of Jersey City, came along and made the heaviest of those already there look like consumptives in the last stages of decline.
The only trouble that occurred during the evening was when Special Officer Billy Smith endeavored to steal a pig. The reception committee sat on him one at a time and they gathered up his remains for the inquest. Seven pigs, twelve ducks and other minor prizes were awarded for proficiency in waltzing, roller skating and weighing. The floor groaned under the weight, and it was a satisfaction to know that there was no cellar under it.”
Tags: Andy Cullen, Charles Buschman, President William Rockwell, Special Officer Billy Smith, Special Officer McGinnis, Treasurer Henry Popper, Ward McAllister Taggart
From the January 12, 1858 Brooklyn Daily Eagle:
“A most atrocious murder was committed at Poolville, four miles from Hamilton, N.Y., last Sunday. Jared Comstock and his wife, aged over seventy years, were the victims. Their son was the murderer; he has been for some time insane. At about eight o’clock on Sunday evening he killed his father by knocking him down with an axe; and his mother was killed with a skillet. He then cut their hearts out, and cut one of the bodies in pieces, and roasted the other on the stove, eating a portion of it. He intended to have killed his sister, but fortunately she escaped. The murderer is in custody and has confessed to the act.”
Tags: Jared Comstock, Jared Comstock's Son, Jared Comstock's Wife
From the May 28, 1901 Brooklyn Daily Eagle:
“Eastport, Long Island–While driving through the woods here yesterday, Theodore Tuthill, a resident of this vicinity, found an opossum, with nine young ones. The whole family was secured and Mr. Tuthill will receive $2.25 in bounties for the ears of the mother and the young.”
Tags: Theodore Tuthill
From the February 11, 1889 Brooklyn Daily Eagle:
“Danville, Ill.–Fannie Mann, Annie Lee, Douglas Cole, Jacob Grimes and wife, Charles Grimes and wife, were baptized by immersion yesterday, a few miles west of this city. The Rev. Mr. Hodge, of Caitlin, and John Lee, of this city, performed the ceremony.
A large hole had been cut in the ice, and the ministers took the thinly clad and shivering converts, one of whom is a chronic invalid and another a young mother, one at a time into the water, which was five feet deep. A blizzard and snowstorm was raging, and it was so cold that the ice formed on top of the pool and stiffened their garments as soon as they came out of the water. On completion of the ceremony they walked in their stocking feet a quarter of a mile through the fields to the nearest residence to change garments.”
“Hadn’t had on a pair of pantaloons for six months.”
Legendary Texas Ranger John Coffee Hays wasn’t wearing any pantaloons when he was informed that he had been elevated to a commander of the frontier forces in the 1830s, so it didn’t start with Petraeus. From an article in the May 18, 1848 Brooklyn Daily Eagle in which Hays recalled his early career:
“Among the many incidents in the narration of which the usually taciturn young Ranger was accustomed to beguile the long anf laborious night rides of General Lane in pursuit of the guerillas, I recollect the following which may not be uninteresting to your readers.
‘Did I ever tell you,’ said he one night, as we were riding toward Matamoras in a drizzling rain, ‘about my being appointed commander of the forces of the frontier, by the Texas congress?’
‘No–how was it?’
‘Well, when I was fourteen years old, I got in the habit of going with out spies and following trails to find the camps and villages of the Comanches. In a short time I used to go on alone, when the spies would go no further, and sometimes succeeding in finding the enemy and leading our Rangers to their camp. Very soon the officers employed me as a regular trailer, and from that time I was almost always in the woods in pursuit of the Comanches; and for a whole year I have not slept in a bed, and but twice inn a house. Things went on in this way till I got to be about 18 or 19 years old. One day, after an absence of several months, I came into the settlement. Hadn’t had on a pair of pantaloons for six months–‘
‘No pantaloons–what did you wear?’
‘Oh, moccasins,’ said he. ‘A handkerchief was tied around my head–I’d lost my hat three months before–“
‘Lost your hat–how’d you lose it?’
‘Why, six Comanches happened to see me one day and chased me so close my hat came off in the race–when they stopped pursuit I went back, but they had found it. Well, when I got into the settlements they gathered round and began to tell me I had been appointed to command all the forces to be raised for the protection of the frontier. Of course I supposed they were poking fun at my looks and dress, and I was getting mad fast, when some one handed me a letter containing official notice of the appointment.’
‘I shouldn’t have been more surprised,’ he modestly added, ‘if I’d been chosen President of Texas.'”
Tags: General Lane, John Coffee Hays
From the August 23, 1896 Brooklyn Daily Eagle:
“For the first time in the memory of the police of the Fifth Precinct an Italian committed suicide in that section of the city yesterday afternoon when Joseph Sanagora, 21 years old, of 67 South Second Street, shot himself in the mouth with a .38 caliber revolver. The only apparent reason Sanagora had for committing the rash act was the fact that his parents refused him 5 cents with which he wanted to buy a package of tobacco.”
Tags: Joseph Sanagora
This tragic tale from the January 29, 1897 Brooklyn Daily Eagle has it all: a dealer of animals with poor judgement, a drunken trick elephant, a killer python, etc. An excerpt:
“The desire for strong drink indirectly added another victim to the long list of those who have died from such causes yesterday morning. The deceased, however, does not belong to the genus homo, but is a young elephant from Burmah, aged 18 months, owned by W.A. Conklin, an animal dealer of 40 Vesta Avenue. The elephant’s name was Baby, and he was a trick elephant.
For some time past he had been suffering with a severe cold, for which he was treated by Keeper Frank Gleason with generous doses of quinine and whiskey, the medicine being kept in a large demijohn in the room with Baby. Baby soon became very fond of his medicine, and, shortly after midnight this morning broke his chain and attacked the demijohn, emptying it in short order. It was not long before he became quite joyous, and, in his peregrinations, upset and broke into the snake cage, containing two large Indian pythons. One of those reptiles resented the elephant’s assault and attacked the beast, and after a short struggle succeeded in injuring it to such an extent that it died about a half hour later. The struggle also caused the snake’s death.
Keeper Gleason yesterday sent the elephant’s body to B.G. Wilder, at Cornell University, Ithaca, N.Y., to be mounted and the skeleton articulated. The snake’s skin will adorn the wall of a Brooklyn shop.”
Tags: B.G. Wilder, Baby, Keeper Frank Gleason, W.A. Conklin
From the June 23, 1870 Brooklyn Daily Eagle:
“The nude body of a man was found floating in the river at the foot of Eagle Street, Greenpoint, yesterday afternoon, under most peculiar circumstances. The corpse was that of a man apparently about forty years of age, five feet eight or nine inches in height, with dark, closely cut hair and a smooth face, and had evidently been in the water only a few days.
Around the neck and wrists were found double wires twisted in a form of a necklace and bracelets. These were rather loose, leaving room between the wires and flesh for the insertion of a finger, and look as though they might have been designed for the attachment of cords, though for what real purpose is unknown. A portion of cotton sheet from a bed was wound about the body, which gives rise to the supposition that the deceased had been a patient of some hospital where he died of disease and subsequently was thrown overboard from the hospital ship to save the trouble of a decent interment.”
As we are tossed about in this shipwreck of a world, some people get free furniture and some bubonic plague. Coney Island residents were fortunate enough to be in the former camp in 1897 in the wake of the sinking of the Alvena. An excerpt about their bounty from an article in the Brooklyn Daily Eagle on January 27th of that year:
“The sinking of the Alvena last Thursday has proved a bonanza to the sand fleas and beach combers of Coney Island as well as to many other of its residents. Jack McPhee, one of the island’s most indefatigable beach combers, who for years has made his living from what is cast up by the sea, was the first to discover the treasures of the beach. He was out early yesterday morning, as he usually is after a heavy wind storm and discovered to his amazement and delight the beach strewn with barrels, casks, boxes, cases, bedding and sorts of ship supplies and furniture.
Further investigation showed that the cases, too, were full of brandy, champagne, and Burgundy. Then there were casks of claret and other choice imported wines, cases of imported Dutch herrings, crates of clothing, cases of fine preserves and confections, packages of canned goods of all sorts, fine inlaid wooden furniture and other articles which went to make up the cargo of the ocean liner.
McPhee did not stand long in contemplation of the treasures, but true to his Coney Island training, started to make hay while the sun shone. He gave his first attention as a matter of a course, to the wine, and had made two trips to his domicile before he finally made up his mind that there was enough for everyone, and as the early islanders were getting out of bed, he told everyone he met of his discovery. The news spread like wildfire, and in a short time the beach was lined with people–some even came with wagons to cart the stuff.
It soon became generally known that under the law, whatever was found must be turned in to the nearest police station within forty-eight hours or the finder would be guilty of a misdemeanor. That put somewhat of a damper upon the spirits of the searchers, but at the same time redoubled their energies in getting away with their find, before the police became aware of it. Some, in their greed, dragged cases and bundles up on the beach and buried them, marking the places in their memory. The high winds soon obliterated all traces of the caches and the goods will remain there intact, until suspicion shall have been lulled to sleep by time, when they will probably be dug up.
When finally the police heard of the find, Captain Knipe and a squad of men visited the beach, but almost everything was gone.”
Tags: Captain Knipe, Jack McPhee
From the April 25, 1890 Brooklyn Daily Eagle:
“Salt Lake, Utah–Henry Strauss, of Chicago, yesterday purchased the wife of Fritz Lander, of this city, for $100. Mrs. Lander and Strauss were sweethearts in Germany, but became separated by circumstances. The happy couple at once took the train for San Francisco. Lander is a saloonkeeper and says the money more than compensates for the loss of his wife.”
Tags: Fritz Lander, Henry Strauss, Mrs. Lander
The original Thanksgiving was the sharing of a beautiful bounty among Native Americans and white Europeans. Then, once everyone was full, the bloodletting began in earnest. A horrifying thing that so-called Indians and whites did, after we began invading and stealing their land, was to scalp one another. A story from the July 6, 1890 Brooklyn Daily Eagle, originally published in the Nebraska City News, tells how the scalps of three American Indians ended up in a shop window in Bavaria. An excerpt:
“Frederick Beyschlag concluded some fifteen years ago to make up a collection of Indian relics, such as tomahawks, bows, arrows, moccasins, buffalo robes, etc., all of which he forwarded to his aged father in Germany as a present. In the collection were three scalps, which Dr. Renner had contributed. The hair of two of them was jet black, with the braided scalplock, which designates the warrior of most Indian tribes. The third scalp bore thin, long, light, blonde hair, evidently coming from a massacred man and not a woman, for the latter generally uses a fine comb more effectively when circumstances require it.
The doctor had taken these scalps from the Sioux in August, 1804, at the time when they made their terrible raid on the Blue River region and Colonel O.P. Mason ordered him to place himself between the fleeing settlers and the pursuing Indians, furnishing only a few companions, 27 muskets and 2,000 rounds of buck and ball cartridges, which Dr. Renner distributed among the horror stricken refugees on the Blue and Sandy, whereupon he and a half dozen frontiersmen, armed with Spencer and Henry rifles, Colt’s navy and dragoon revolvers, took up the trail of thirty or forty of the marauding Cheyenne Sioux and followed it across the Republican into Kansas without any difficulty, as the doctor was acquainted with every creek, crossing, hill and valley, having been, in 1857 and 1858, a member of the surveying parties under Generals Manners and Calhoun, who established the boundary between Kansas and Nebraska, commencing in the middle of the channel of Missouri, running west along the fortieth degree northern latitude to the summit of the Rocky Mountains.
When Dr. Renner returned to this city he prepared his trophies carefully with alum and arsenic, so that they are in a good state of preservation to this day.
A few years ago the venerable father of Mr. Beyschlag died and the Indian collection came into the possession of the heirs; they were all afraid of these three scalps, nobody dared to handle them, yes, even the look of them gave the German ladies the horrors. So they concluded to sell them and did so at a fair price. This explains how the three scalps raised in Nebraska form this day an attractive feature in the show window of Mr. Offenhauser, friseur and perruquier (hair dresser and wig maker) on the ‘Schranne’ or corn market in Nördlingen, a thriving city in Middle Bavaria, the native place of the Beyschlag family.”
Tags: Colonel O.P. Mason, Dr. Renner, Frederick Beyschlag, General Calhoun, General Manners, Mr. Offenhauser
From the January 15, 1899 Brooklyn Daily Eagle:
“Seattle–C.R. Maltby, who has arrived here from Dawson, was fifteen months on the Edmonton route. With about 100 other prospectors, he wintered at Wind City. When he left, in January, sixteen men were sick with scurvy. He heard in March that Dr. Mason of Chicago and W. Gauche, son of a Chicago banker,were dying. There were about fifty men stranded there, scurvy stricken and frozen. The Indian guides reported several parties lost in the mountains. These men will never be heard of again.”
Tags: C.R. Maltby, Dr. Mason, W. Gauche
From the November 11, 1901 Brooklyn Daily Eagle:
“There was a family gathering in the apartments of Cassino Di Napoli, a rag picker, 65 years old, who lives on the first floor of the rear house at 570 Sackett Street, between 7 and 8 o’clock last evening and before the party was over one man had stab wounds in the head, two stab wounds in the back, besides a variety of other injuries, and a woman had been slashed on the head and bitten. A knife poker, stove lid and other implements were called into play and the house where the little family reunion took place looked after the fracas as if it were the fatality ward of a hospital.”
Tags: Cassino Di Napoli
From the February 16, 1852 Brooklyn Daily Eagle:
“Last evening, about 8 o’clock, a row occurred between some parties who were making themselves drunk in the liquor store of Henry Briordy, in Stewart’s Alley, Front Street, in which one of the combatants had his ear completely bitten off, and his head and face beautifully minced. The man who lost his ear, who is named James Mullen, had some angry words with a lighterman who manages a boat on the East River, and blows were exchanged between them; but it did not amount to much and the boatman left, while Mullen remained in the rum shop. Soon after a man named Pat McGinnis, who witnessed the scene accused Mullen of meanness. An altercation commenced with the parties inviting each other to the street to settle the differences. The wife of McGinnis offered material aid to her husband by striking Mullen on the head with a club, while her husband bit one of his ears completely off. This morning Justice King fined McGinnis $25, and his wife, who is a good, mild looking woman, was fined $15.”
Tags: Henry Briordy, James Mullen, Justice King, Pat McGinnis, Wife of McGinnis
“He was obliged to shut the boy up or keep him chained, as he would eat all the eggs and chickens unless restrained.”
A growing boy with a healthy appetite was the focus of an article in the Detroit Tribune, which was republished in the September 1, 1871 Brooklyn Daily Eagle. An excerpt:
“Johnson, Mich.–A great deal has been said in our local papers lately about the wonderful and unnatural appetite of the boy William Henry Forbes, now confined to the jail in this city, and to-day your reporter availed himself of the opportunity presented to witness an exhibition of the boy’s capacity. The feat, disgusting enough I assure you, was nothing less than the eating of a chicken raw.
Quite a crowd assembled in the jail barn to see the sight which was literally performed. A live chicken and a knife were placed in the boy’s hands when the revolting operation commenced. The chicken was laid on the floor and held down between the boy’s knees, while he sawed the head off with the knife. The boy then placed the bleeding neck in his mouth and deliberately sucked the warm blood from the body. He then began tearing the skin from the body, which proved quite a difficult task, at the same time, as a sort of pastime, chewing pieces of the skin which had been partly denuded of the feathers. Then beginning with one leg, the disgusting lunch began. I say lunch, for it was three o’clock in the afternoon, and the boy had already eaten three men’s rations for his dinner. After finishing both legs, he stopped long enough to remove the entrails, when he proceeded to finish the chicken. The fact of his eating the chicken in this way was no less surprising than his manner during the performance. He stood in the middle of the floor, apparently regardless of lookers on or their jokes, his whole attention seemingly engaged in what he was doing, and his inhuman meal was also eaten with evident relish. While eating the chicken, in reply to some questions he said he once swallowed a young duck alive, and no one doubted the statement after seeing him.
“He said he once swallowed a young duck alive.”
In conversation the boy seems quite intelligent. He is nearly 15 years old, but is not larger than a boy of 12, and has a hungry wolfish expression, which creates the impression that he has been starved at some period in his life. He was taken from the poorhouse about six years ago by Ira Gavitt, a farmer in the Township of Summit, and at that time ate no more than ordinary boys of his age. He was brought into notice by the arrest of Gavitt on complaint of his neighbor for abusing the boy. Gaviitt claims that he was obliged to shut the boy up or keep him chained, as he would eat all the eggs and chickens unless restrained. The boy will not say anything against Gavitt or his family.
The case is one well worthy of the attention of the medical fraternity. The boy was placed in jail on a charge of stealing, but really it was done to get him out of Gavitt’s hands. He really ought to be sent to the House of Corrections or the Reform School, where he can receive good medical attention, as there can be no doubt that his terrible appetite is a disease. He was asked if he could eat a baby, and he replied that he could if he should try. It is said that he attacked a boy on one occasion, telling him he must kill him to get his blood, for he must have blood.”
Tags: Ira Gavitt, William Henry Forbes
