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Old Print Article: “A Curious Way Of Making A Living,” Brooklyn Daily Eagle (1886)

May 13, 2011 in Old Print Articles, Urban Studies | Permalink

"The girl a few years ago was thought to be a little daft and was confined to the Flatnush Asylum for the insane." (Image by Lewis Hine.)

The August 22, 1886 Brooklyn Daily Eagle carried an odd item about a strange girl who earned a living repairing barbershop supplies. An excerpt:

“‘Nothing today,’ said a Fulton street barber to a fantastically dressed young girl carrying a valise and a parasol, much worse for the wear. An Eagle reporter who was present was curious and inquired the meaning of the tonsorial artist’s words. He said: ‘The girl who was just here makes a living by renovating barbers’ brushes. She takes the brushes when the bristles are about ready to drop out and makes them into new ones. Sometimes she also puts on new backs and inserts new bristles, and straightens those which have become bent. A good  barber’s brush when new costs $1.50. After a brush leaves the little workwoman’s hands it is as good as new. She charges but 50 cents for her work, and it is well worth that sum. ‘There is a history connected with that girl,’ continued the barber, neatly curling the reporter’s mustache and covering the face with magnesia. ‘She is the daughter of formerly wealthy Brooklyn parents who have become reduced.’

‘The girl a few years ago was thought to be a little daft and was confined to the Flatnush Asylum for the insane. She escaped from the institution and went to Newark, N.J., where she was employed in a brush factory. During the dull months she makes a living by repairing barbers’ brushes. In many ways the girl is a great curiosity and would make a great drawing card for a dime museum. She is able to turn her feet in any direction, which would be an improbability for you or I to attempt. This girl, it must be considered, has enjoyed the gift from birth, owing to the tendons of her feet being broken.  I guess she makes a good living at her trade,’ said the barber in conclusion, jerking the apron off the reporter’s neck and crying, ‘Next!'”

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Edison film of an 1894 barber shop:

 

Barber, Twelve Years Old, Shaves A Head (1917)

May 11, 2011 in Excerpts, Old Print Articles, Photography, Urban Studies | Permalink

Straight razor applied to lathered face by pubescent boy.

A muckraker and an artist, the great photographer Lewis Hine took this classic 1917 shot of 12-year-old barber Frank De Natale plying his trade in Boston. By this point, child labor laws, which Hine’s work had helped advance, precluded this lad from working full-time; he was a barber after-school and on Saturdays. A note from an 1884 Brooklyn Daily Eagle article about the child barbers of an earlier era:

“‘How are barbers taught?’

‘We generally get small boys. They are regularly indentured to us by their parents. They are compelled to stay with us for three years. We give them about $50 for the first year and increase their wages as they become accustomed to the work. At first they do nothing but brush the clothes of the customers. Then we make them watch us while we are shaving or hair cutting. If the boy is smart he is soon permitted to lather the customers’ faces, while the hands are busy with other men. They finally graduate into full fledged barbers and receive a salary of from $5 to $12 per week.'”

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Old Print Article: “Early American Giants–Reasons For Believing That A Race Of 20 Footers Lived In Arizona,” Brooklyn Daily Eagle (1900)

May 10, 2011 in Old Print Articles, Science/Tech, Urban Studies | Permalink

"Does anybody believe that a race of gigantic men, who were 12 to 30 feet high, ever lived in these United States of America?"

While the following article from the May 16, 1900 Brooklyn Daily Eagle, which was repinted from the Prescott Prospect, doesn’t prove that a race of 20-foot giants once roamed America, it is conclusive evidence that the newspaper’s editors had been drinking heavily. An excerpt:

“Does anybody believe that there ever has been a race of giants in the world? Does anybody believe that a race of gigantic men, who were 12 to 20 feet high, ever lived in these United States of America? And yet the proof that such a race of people did live in this country is to be found in the Grand Canyon of the Colorado River in northern Arizona. This proof consists of, first, footprints in the red sandstone, footprints that appear to have been made by the moccasined feet of gigantic men, men whose tracks measured twenty inches in length and who stepped five feet at a stride.

The second proof is that there is the petrified body of such a man likewise in the red sandstone of the Grand Canyon district. This body was of a living, breathing man, but after death the flesh was replaced by lime or silica, held in solution in the water. There is ample evidence that nature was able to perform this feat, as the petrifying process is being carried on in the canyon to this day. The third fact is that there is and was a strong and almost universal tradition among the ancient people of Mexico and Peru that such a race of giants lived in their country.

Perhaps it is almost too much to call this proof, but it is at least corroborative testimony. Last June I visited the Grand Canyon as a tourist. There I met Mr. Hull, who was acting as a guide into the canyon and who was a pioneer of northern Arizona. He told me the following story, and with apologies for my credulity, I believe him.

"Outstretched on this slab was the body of a gigantic man turned into stone."

Three years ago he and a companion named Jim Lavelle had been prospecting in this part of the country. They found a ledge which they thought was valuable and had started out of the canyon with samples of the ore, expecting to return in a few days. One of the Indians was with them. Mr. Hull speaks the Indian language fluently, and the Indians have a great admiration for him. The Indian said, ‘Have you ever seen the big Indian up here?’ volunteering to show it. They followed him up a foot trail, which led through a crevice in the red wall, thence on to the bench like formation above but still in the midst of the red sandstone.

They came to a place where a projecting rock formed a shelter over a sloping table like slab of stone which was covered with a white incrustation of lime. Outstretched on this slab was the body of a gigantic man turned into stone. The body was entirely nude and lay face downward. They estimated his height at 18 or 20 feet. They looked at it 10 or 20 minutes and then continued their journey, intending to return and make a more complete investiagtion. Plans changed and they failed to return.

This was startling information, but I had been in a measure prepared for it. It had always seemed reasonable to me that the prehistoric, primeval hunting savages should have been of large stature.”

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Old Print Article: “Henry Clay Dean Is Dead,” Brooklyn Daily Eagle (1887)

May 8, 2011 in Old Print Articles, Politics, Urban Studies | Permalink

"His clothes differed in no respect from a 'wharf-rat's,' except that they were raggeder."

The nineteenth-century Pennsylvania-born preacher and orator Henry Clay Dean (not to be confused with the statesman Henry Clay) lived in roughly the same time frame as Horatio Alger, which made sense, since Dean was Algeresque, a poor and ragged lad who made his way in the world, though he never lost the raggedness.

Mark Twain, another contemporary, had this to say about Dean: “He began life poor and without education. But he educated himself – on the curbstones of Keokuk. He would sit down on a curbstone with his book, careless or unconscious of the clatter of commerce and the tramp of the passing crowds, and bury himself in his studies by the hour, never changing his position except to draw in his knees now and then to let a dray pass unobstructed; and when his book was finished, its contents, however abstruse, had been burned into his memory, and were his permanent possession. In this way he acquired a vast hoard of all sorts of learning, and had it pigeonholed in his head where he could put his intellectual hand on it whenever it was wanted. His clothes differed in no respect from a ‘wharf-rat’s,’ except that they were raggeder, more ill-assorted and inharmonious (and therefore more extravagantly picturesque), and several layers dirtier.”

"He was a man who put on a clean shirt every New Year's Day and didn't take it off until the 31st of December."

The Brooklyn Daily Eagle took notice of Dean’s death with an article in its February 10, 1887 edition. An excerpt:

“Who was Henry Clay Dean? According to a legend familiar in every newspaper office at the mighty West he was a man who put on a clean shirt every New Year’s Day and didn’t take it off until the 31st of December. But that does not fully describe him. Mr. Dean had a useful and honorable career. In the first place he was a preacher of the Gospel and expounded the simple and beautiful truths of the Sermon on the Mount with an unction never surpassed. It was said of him by a Chicago admirer that his fervid eloquence ‘was enough to make the pin feathers of an heretical rooster quiver.’ In the second place he was a political orator whose addresses from the stump often recalled the extemporary speeches of Tom Benton. In the third place he was chaplain of the United States Senate at a time when Senators feared God more than they do to-day, and when their hearts and minds afforded a richer soil for the seeds of divine knowledge. Lastly, Mr. Dean was a Democrat, pure and undefiled–one of the ‘old timers,’ who believed  that although Noah was justified in taking a Republican and Democrat into the ark, he ought to have thrown the former overboard before the waters subsided. He was a good man and true. Peace to his ashes.”

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Old Print Article: Monkey In Grace Church, Brooklyn Daily Eagle (1887)

May 6, 2011 in Old Print Articles, Urban Studies, Videos | Permalink

"The curiosity was bagged for further use in the dime show."

Manhattan’s Grace Church has had some unusual events in its storied history, but the Grace Church in Providence, Rhode Island, had a strange one of its own in 1887. On February 6 of that year, the Brooklyn Daily Eagle reprinted the following story about the house of worship from the Providence Journal:

“One of the early occupants of Grace Church on Sunday afternoon fit in in an unusual and surprising way, although common to its kind. When the janitor had about prepared the house of worship for the reception of the rector and the congregation he was startled by something aloft–a something that made his eyes open and caused wonder in his mind. There was a wide range, and a most propitious one, for the fancy of a sprightly monkey up in the high cornices, arches and the extensive organ loft that mark the architectural beauties of the edifice. The janitor was in a quandary. It was about church time, just before 10:30, when the morning service is celebrated by Rev. Dr. Greer.

The lively brute would not ‘come down,’ as he was commanded, and he took advantage of his short spell of liberty. He swung from one arch to the next, and when his would be captor had bestirred himself and succeeded to frightening the fugitive from one place to another, a quick, silent contemplation of the scene below would follow. The janitor grew angry as the minutes flew by and the time was approaching for the hour of worship. Then he bethought himself of the police, and he resolved to call for an officer. That was done and more than one came. That janitor was fully confident that it would take more men and a good deal of coaxing to rid the church of the unwelcome visitor before Dr. Greer opened morning prayer.

"Constable Handy proposed that he should try his skill at marksmanship right in Grace Church and with the elusive monkey for a target, but the police officers suggested cookies and coaxing."

The fugitive curiosity stayed on high; he’d swing this way and that by his prehensile tail, and jumped from one place to another, always going in the direction where least expected, and usually going higher up when the officers expected him to come down. His antics were well calculated to vex all his pursuers, and it was thought that every plan, of which the officers had but one or two, was useless. Constable Handy proposed that he should try his skill at marksmanship right in Grace Church and with the elusive monkey for a target, but the police officers suggested cookies and coaxing. No shooting was done and no bloodshed was caused. Then the crowd of the pursuers took up a retreat and the fugitive monkey swooped down from a lofty pier in a rectangular course and seemed to seek a closer inspection of the operations of the police. The monkey came down closer and closer, and finally, by strategy and an adroit movement of the whole force of captors moving in a semi circle, the curiosity was bagged for further use in the dime show. It was an exciting hunt, and it is admitted by all the pursuing party that the unwelcome visitor at the Grace Church just slightly escaped being present at divine service, when doubtless he would have caused great consternation in the congregation, if he did not disperse the whole gathering.”

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Old Print Article: “An Angel Rat Catcher,” Brooklyn Daily Eagle (1885)

May 3, 2011 in Old Print Articles, Urban Studies | Permalink

"He is a half witted, low browed fellow."

Vital info about a California rat-killing contest couldn’t be kept from those newshounds at the Brooklyn Daily Eagle, as the June 22 edition of the paper carried a reprinted article about the topic from the Sacramento Record-Union:

“There is at present in the County Hospital a professional rat catcher, named Angel. He is a half witted, low browed fellow, and his looks indicate that he is anything but what his name would imply. As a rat catcher, however, he is a success, and late yesterday afternoon he gave an exhibition of his powers that was simply wonderful. Several of the best rat terriers in the city were procured, and against these Angel was pitted. The first exhibition of his beastly work was at the hospital, where twenty-five rodents were dispatched, Angel killing a majority.

"Angel, with the rapidity of lightning, would grasp a rat with his left hand, and with his right give the rodent's head a quick twist that would break its neck instantly."

The party then went over to the Gerber Bros. slaughter house, where the ‘game’ was found to be more plentiful. The rodents had congregated by the score under bales of hay, and the exciting contest was kept up for over an hour. The dogs and man would gather about a bale, some one would give the hay a sudden flip, and the rat catchers would rush in. Angel, with the rapidity of lightning, would grasp a rat with his left hand, and with his right give the rodent’s head a quick twist that would break its neck instantly. At other times he would grasp a rat in each hand, dash them together, and both would fall to the ground lifeless. Over 100 were killed here, and Angel killed two to the dog’s one. Prior to Angel going to the hospital, he gained a living solely by killing rats, and on one occasion slaughtered forty-five in one hour in the basement of a K street establishment.”

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Old Print Article: “A Brooklynite Buncoed,” Brooklyn Daily Eagle (1890)

May 1, 2011 in Old Print Articles, Urban Studies | Permalink

"An undersized Italian and a fairly prosperous junkman a few days ago went to New York to deposit $217 of his earnings in a Broadway bank."

Swindles in New York didn’t start with Bernie Madoff, as the following story from the bunco files of the July 21, 1890 Brooklyn Daily Eagle proves. An excerpt:

“Caromo De Vitto, of 43 Williams street, an undersized Italian  and a fairly prosperous junkman, a few days ago went to New York to deposit $217 of his earnings in a Broadway bank. He fell into the hands of a bunco man and now mourns the loss of his money. It was in front of old St. Paul’s Church that the junkman was accosted by a suave Italian. This Italian said he was a German, that his name was Romaldo Marano and that he had been in the mines in Virginia. He was generous and confiding. The Brooklynite was asked to join him in a drink and the invitation was accepted. On the way down to a barroom on West street, the two men unbosomed themselves to each other, particularly as to their financial standing, De Vitto truthfully. The man who had been in the mines in Virginia said he had a lot of currency which he had brought up from Virginia. He did not know how to dispose of the stuff.

‘It’s all in this handkerchief,’ said Marano, as he pulled a soiled package from an inner pocket. De Vitto agreed to assist him in having the currency exchanged for more desirable money, but just then a pressing engagement at the Italian consul’s office would prevent him. They agreed to meet again, and an hour later, as De Vitto came out of the Chesebrough building, State street, the stranger with the soiled package was the first to greet him. The package was placed in De Vitto’s hands, and as a guarantee he tendered Marano the $217 he had intended to deposit.

"The package contained a small sack of Carolina tobacco."

‘I have not the slightest doubt as to your honesty and integrity,’ said the bunco man, as he sat down on the stoop of the Chesebrough building, while the junkman scurried off to an exchange office with the currency package in his hand.

A few minutes later De Vitto broke open the package in an exchange office in West street. The package contained a small sack of Carolina tobacco. The shock was great and De Vitto fainted. When he recovered he hurried over to the Cheseborough building, but the Virginian miner from Germany had disappeared.

The police of the Church street station were apprised of the swindling transaction and last night Detective Flynn arrested the bunco man. At the Tombs police court this morning Marano was held in $1,000 to answer at the court of general sessions.”

 

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Old Print Article: Mishaps With Gasoline, Brooklyn Daily Eagle (1889-1901)

April 29, 2011 in Old Print Articles, Urban Studies | Permalink

"Mrs. R.W. Huston was the victim of a gasoline explosion yesterday and was literally roasted to death."

In the late nineteenth century, seemingly no one in the country knew how to behave while in close proximity to gasoline, as this quintet of stories printed in the Brooklyn Daily Eagle demonstrate.

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“The Stove Polish Was Fatal” (November 13, 1901): “Rome, New York--Mrs. Anna Ferguson was fatally burned at the California House, four miles west of this city to-night. She mixed gasoline with stove polish and then started to polish a hot stove. In an instant she was enveloped in flames.”

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“Careless Use Of Gasoline” (September 20, 1890) “Bloomington, Illinois–Conductor Lowrie and Brakemen Brockmiller, of the Chicago and Alton, at Venice yesterday were endeavoring to rid their caboose of vermin by using gasoline. The gasoline caught fire from a cigar in the mouth of one of the men, an explosion followed and Lowrie was fatally burned and Brockmiller very badly injured, being burned about the head and the hands.”

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“Fatal Explosion Of Gasoline” (June 4, 1892): “Eldon, Iowa–Mrs. R.W. Huston was the victim of a gasoline explosion yesterday and was literally roasted to death. A servant was carrying an open vessel of gasoline when it became ignited  from a stove. Mrs. Huston, the servant and two children were frightfully burned. The former lived three hours, suffering untold agonies. The other victims are still alive, but in a most pitiable condition.”

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"The town is lighted at night with gasoline."

“Peculiar Explosion Of Gasoline” (October 4, 1890) “Cheviot, Ohio–“A peculiar accident occurred here last night. The town is lighted at night with gasoline. Edward Connor, one of the lighters, had just started on his trip on a light cart drawn by one horse. At the first lamp one of the cans became lighted. The whole lot exploded. Horse and man caught the burning fluid. The man, badly burned, was thrown from the wagon, while the horse on fire ran through the streets screaming in its awful agony until it dropped dead.”

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“Fell Into A Vat Of Gasoline” (August 15, 1889): “William McBride, aged 22 years, of 146 Kent avenue, fell into a vat of gasoline yesterday afternoon while at the dye works of Greene street, Seventeenth Ward. The body was removed to his home by permission of Coroner Lindsay, who will hold an inquest.”

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Old Print Article: “Urelli Drank Wood Alcohol,” Brooklyn Daily Eagle (1901)

April 26, 2011 in Old Print Articles, Sports, Urban Studies, Videos | Permalink

"The doctor also told him to keep away from the barn." (Image by Leslie Ward.)

Even more than a century ago, you had to live a fast life to be thought of as an old-timer by the age of 34. That was sadly the case with a jockey who met his end on Valentine’s Day in 1901. An excerpt from a Brooklyn Daily Eagle story about him:

“Lawrence Urelli, 34 years old, no home, was found dead in a barn owned by Dr. Robert S. Waters, this morning at Avenue U and Van Sicklen Avenue. It appeared that the man had been drinking of late and the doctor had warned him yesterday to stop it. The doctor also told him to keep away from the barn. This morning when he found the lifeless body of Urelli part of the contents of a bottle of wood alcohol which was in the barn had been used, and it is thought Urelli drank it. The Coroner was notified.

Urelli was an old-time jockey, and the Jockey Club will assume all obligations for his funeral.”

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Old Print Articles: The Plight Of The Locksmith, Brooklyn Daily Eagle (1860-95)

April 25, 2011 in Old Print Articles, Urban Studies | Permalink

"On Saturday he got an air gun and shot a bullet through my store window."

Locksmiths did not have an easy time of it in the 19th century, as the following trio of stories from the Brooklyn Daily Eagle demonstrates.

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“Objects To Being Shot At” (September 19, 1892): “Frederick Harbold, a locksmith of 741 Flushing avenue, was in the Lee avenue police court to-day to complain of Alexander Betts, 17 years old, of Flushing avenue, whom he says is the bad boy of the neighborhood. ‘This boy,’ said he, ‘takes pleasure in annoying storekeepers. So long as he confined this annoyance to rapping on my windows I did not mind, but on Saturday he got an air gun and shot a bullet through my store window. I heard the bullet whiz past my ear. I thought this was going too far and I want him arrested.’ Harbold was told to apply for a warrant at the Gates avenue police court.”

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"Then he threw the man down, it is alleged, kicked him and pulled his whiskers."

“Fun With A Locksmith” (June 24, 1895): “Patrick McCann, a laborer, 27 years old, had a lot of fun with Joseph Cohn, a poor Hebrew locksmith of 215 Third street, who went to the house at 141 North Ninth street, in which McCann lives last Wednesday. McCann, who is a giant in strength, told the traveling locksmith he wanted a key fitted to his kitchen door and when he got Cohn in the kitchen he locked the door. Then he threw the man down, it is alleged, kicked him and pulled his whiskers and when he tired of this sort of fun he placed the end of a revolver at the unfortunate fellow’s head and demanded 10 cents for beer. As Cohn did not have any money McCann locked him in the room and kept him prisoner for two hours. McCann will pay for his fun, however, as Justice Goetting sent him to jail for five days this morning.”

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“Sudden And Very Remarkable Death” (September 4, 1860): “Joseph Yarkhim, a Bohemian and a locksmith, 60 years of age, and unmarried, was, on Sunday evening, found dead in his room. A neighbor entered and saw the old man apparently alive, sitting nearly upright on a chest, slightly bent forward, but in quite a natural position, and having in one hand a piece of twine. The neighbor walked up and extended a hand to Mr. Yarkhim, but was instantly shocked at the discovery that the open eyes that were fixed upon him were fixed in death. The old man had died with singular suddenness, and apparently without a struggle, as no distortion appeared in his features which wore their usual mild though sudden expression. The Coroner was summoned, and found the deceased retaining the same singularly life-like posture and aspect–the eyes apparently staring at the visitors as if in inquiry at the object of their call. The inquest resulted in a verdict of ‘death from debility and privation.’ Deceased was a friendless and penniless old man, whose life has been a series of hardships and vicissitudes that at last exhausted the last remnant of his vital energy. He often omitted eating, and had no near friend to advise or attend to him.”

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Old Print Articles: Window Cleaners, Brooklyn Daily Eagle (1859-1902)

April 20, 2011 in Old Print Articles, Urban Studies | Permalink

"The man's body was reduced almost to pulp by the fall and it is estimated that every bone in his body was broken." (Image by Joseph Murphy.)

Window cleaning was a perilous endeavor in Old New York, becoming more dangerous as skyscrapers began stretching to the heavens. The harness belt that window cleaners wear today was devised all the way back in 1897, but it wasn’t universally adopted right away nor could it protect against injuries from other unexpected hazards, as these hard-boiled accounts from the Brooklyn Daily Eagle demonstrate.

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“Fell Fourteen Stories” (November 4, 1902): “While cleaning windows on the fourteenth floor of the Broadway-Maiden Lane building, an eighteen story sky scraper, on the southeast corner of Broadway and Maiden Lane, Manhattan, this morning, Daniel Murphy, 32 years old, of 961 Dekalb avenue, Brooklyn, missed his footing and fell to the basement. The man’s body was reduced almost to pulp by the fall and it is estimated that every bone in his body was broken.”

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“Modern Window Cleaning: A New Device to Keep Men From Falling” (March 28, 1897): “With the advent of the sky scraper office building has come a new device to protect window cleaners who have to work at perilous heights. The cleaner wears a belt which is attached to a fastening on either side of the window by means of a rope. This device is a safeguard against danger and prevents all possibility of accident in the heretofore perilous occupation of window cleaning. The responsibility for accidents from falling rests upon the owners of the buildings, and hence the scheme has met with considerable favor. The plan herewith described is one of several devices, now patented, for the protection of window cleaners. Many of the large office buildings in New York and Brooklyn are equipped with one or another of these devices.”

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“A Bootblack Killed By Electricity” (March 18, 1890): “An Italian bootblack named Joe Soleastiani of 47 Mulberry street, New York, while engaged in cleaning windows for the Inter State Bank, at 167 Broadway, late yesterday afternoon placed his hands on an electric light wire that ran into the building.”

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“Killed By a Fall From Window” (November 23, 1902): Minnie Siebert, 10 years old, fell from the window of her home, 515 West Fifty-second street, yesterday afternoon and was instantly killed. Yesterday her mother told her to clean the windows. The little girl bowed the shutters and tying them with a string, stood on the window sill and began to her task. The string broke, however, and the child was dashed to the pavement below. Her mother, who was within a few feet of the window from which the child fell, ran down stairs and picked up the child and endeavored to revive her.”

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“Nearly Three Years Ago” (August 10, 1859): “Nearly three years ago a young woman broke a pane of glass while cleaning a window, and cut her arm near the wrist. Her wound soon healed, but in a few weeks a swelling arose some distance from the cut which at times was painful. Three medical men were consulted at various times, who all advised compression on the part. This for a time was always successful, but a few days ago, having been more than usually painful, she went to Mr. E. Sidebottom, surgeon, who extracted a piece of glass nearly a half inch square, which had been embedded edge downward all this time. It was taken out about an inch and half from where the first wound was.”

Old Print Articles: Stowaways, Brooklyn Daily Eagle (1888-1902)

April 17, 2011 in Old Print Articles, Urban Studies | Permalink

""A boy stowaway 3 years old arrived to-day on the steamship Citti di Milano from Naples."

People were always desperate to come to America, so desperate in fact that they would routinely stow away aboard ships back in the day. The following are a quintet of stowaway stories from the Brooklyn Daily Eagle.

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“Three Year Old Stowaway” (December 23, 1902): “A boy stowaway 3 years old arrived to-day on the steamship Citti di Milano from Naples. He refused to talk about himself, but it was believed his mother would claim him when she landed at Ellis Island. The boy was classified as clandestine.”

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“Will Be Sent Home” (March 15, 1888): “Mrs. Lette Fendre, the stowaway, will be returned to Germany by the steamer Lahn, which sails this morning. Collector Magione would not allow her to land until he had got some assurance that she would not be a charge on the county. When the woman arrived she said that a sister named Mrs. Cook, living at 435 Carroll street, Brooklyn, would pay her fare for the passage in coming from Germany. This was not satisfactory to the Collector, however. Yesterday a young man visited Customs Officer Judd. He offered $27, the passage money, to have the old lady released. He was told to see the Collector, but has not since put in an appearance. Mrs. Fendre said: ‘I don’t know who he was. My niece in Brooklyn got married while I was in Germany, but I guess that isn’t her husband. It doesn’t look like the young man who was sparkin’ her when I was here before.’ Repeated explanations were ineffectual to make Mrs. Fendre comprehend her position.”

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"She was not discovered until the vessel was far out to the sea."

“Stowaway Girl a Bride” (September 25, 1899): “Olivette Nielson, the girl stowaway, who managed to get from her home in Copenhagen to New York by secreting herself on the Norge of Thingvalla line, was married yesterday at the Barge Office to Andrew Guttormansen of 215 Twenty-seventh street, Brooklyn. Olivette and Andrew were lovers in their native city and Andrew came over about ten weeks ago to prepare the way for his sweetheart. Two weeks or so ago he wrote that he was ready for her, but he forgot to send her the money for her passage. Olivette was not put out by this little detail, however. She proceeded to conceal herself on board the Norge just as it was about to sail from Copenhagen. She was not discovered until the vessel was far out to the sea.”

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“Beck Fully Recovered” (December 9. 1902): “Johann Beck, who arrived in this country last week after having been shipped as a ‘model’ in a packing case in the hold of the Hamburg-American steamship Palatia was discharged as recovered from the effects of his exhaustion and starvation to-day at St. Mary’s Hospital Hoboken. He has been taken to Ellis Island, where he will await examination before the board of special inquiry as a stowaway.

He is still pale, but is able to walk about and is hopeful of being allowed to land. He says that he was not seeking notoriety, but was genuinely anxious to come to this country and took chances to do so. He adds that he is willing to work and expects to get work if allowed to land. The agents of the Hamburg-American Company have offered to pay his fine of $10 if his health stands the test and he is permitted to land.”

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"Two policemen saw the chase and stepping aside allowed Dreher to run into their arms."

“Objected to Going Back” (September 5, 1900): “Battery Park was the scene of an exciting chase after an immigrant about to be deported this morning escaped. The fugitive was Jacob Dreher, 23 years old, who arrived from Antwerp on August 28 as a stowaway on the Red Line steamer Southwark. Dreher was taken to the Barge Office and ordered returned to Belgium. With a number of other persons this morning he was in a wagon in front of the Barge Office awaiting transportation to the Southwark pier. Watching his chance Dreher leaped from his place, and before Professor Smith could realize what was happening the young fellow was halfway across the park. Smith and Policeman Grogi started in pursuit, and they were joined by several hundred men. A man who had been sitting on a bench endeavored to stop the immigrant and received a blow on the point of the jaw that knocked him over into the grass. Another man undertook the task a short distance away and received almost as violent treatment. Two policemen saw the chase and stepping aside allowed Dreher to run into their arms. He was taken back and manacled to the wagon. All the way back he fought, and it was all the policemen could do to restrain him.

‘Hurrah for liberty! Hurrah for liberty!’ shouted the immigrant, shaking his manacled hands at the crowd. The young fellow was finally put aboard the ship.”

The Fate Of An Alcoholic Parent In 1900

April 15, 2011 in Old Print Articles, Urban Studies | Permalink

From the January 24, 1900 Brooklyn Daily Eagle:

“Elizabeth Lahr, 38 years old, of 266 Johnson avenue, was sent to jail for sixty days this morning by Magistrate Teale, in the Manhattan avenue court, on the charge of being an habitual drunkard. John Lahr, the woman’s husband, was the complainant.

Lahr produced forty pawn tickets in court and stated that they represented articles pawned by his wife. Mrs. Lahr carried the ten weeks’ old infant in her arms when brought before the bar. She was permitted to take the infant to jail with her.”

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Old Print Article: “The Slaughter Of A Monster,”Brooklyn Daily Eagle (1885)

April 14, 2011 in Old Print Articles, Urban Studies | Permalink

"It belongs to a species of gigantic lizards supposed to have been extinct many thousand years." (Image by Arthur Weasley.)

Iowa was overrun by giant, hog-eating lizards in 1885, and the Brooklyn Daily Eagle was only too happy to reprint ridiculous stories about them. An excerpt from a January 10 article of that year:

“A monster animal was killed near Oskaloosa, in this state recently. It measured from one end of tail to tip of nose eighty-one feet. Its heart weighed eight pounds and had four cavities. After being hunted for a long while it was finally killed with a twelve pound cannon loaded with railroad spikes. It required a team of twelve strong men to pull the monster to the river bank after its death.

It was skinned and a taxidermist is stuffing it, when it will be sent to the Academy of Natural Sciences at Philadelphia. The flesh is being carefully removed from the bones, and the skeleton will be properly wired and kept for the present on exhibition at Oskaloosa. Dr. Peck, of Davenport, calls it the Cardiff Giant, and says it belongs to a species of gigantic lizards supposed to have been extinct many thousand years.

The monster had been swallowing farmers’ hogs weighing 300 to 400 pounds each at one gulp. Thousands of people have been gunning for the monster, but it was proof against everything until the cannon brought it down.–Newton (Ia.) Herald“

Commodore Nutt With His Famous Boss

April 13, 2011 in Excerpts, Old Print Articles, Photography, Urban Studies | Permalink

Barnum and Nutt conduct business.

This undated, classic 1800s photograph of sideshow attraction “Commodore Nutt,” along with his employer, P.T. Barnum, was taken by Charles DeForest Fredricks. An excerpt from the performer’s 1881 New York Times obituary:

“Commodore Nutt, the celebrated dwarf, died early yesterday morning at the Anthony House, after suffering nearly two months from a severe attack of Bright’s disease. He was born April 1, 1844, at Manchester, N.H., and at the age of 17 was brought to New-York by Barnum and exhibited in the old museum, corner of Ann-Street and Broadway. He was widely advertised as the ‘smallest man in the world.’ His full name was George Washington Morrison Nutt. His father was a New Hampshire farmer, over six feet in height and weighing 270 pounds. His mother was average size and healthy. When he engaged with Barnum in 1860 he was 30 inches high, but as years went by he grew somewhat, and at the time of his death his height was 3 feet seven inches. In girth his increase in size was even more marked, and it is not improbable that recently his average weight has been fully twice that when originally presented to the public. The ‘Commodore’ was originally known as ‘$30,000 Nutt,” Mr. Barnum claiming that such sum was paid the dwarf to go on exhibition. ‘The fact is, though,’ said Mr. Hutchings, who used to be known as the ‘Lightning Calculator,’ the old man paid the boy but $15 a week.'”

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Old Print Articles: Firebugs, Brooklyn Daily Eagle (1890s)

April 12, 2011 in Old Print Articles, Urban Studies, Videos | Permalink

"The newly arrived class, among whom incendiary fires occur, contains many people who are ignorant, filthy, dishonest and little appreciative as yet of American ways and American law."

There were many different reasons why people set fires during the 1890s, and the scary results didn’t always bring out the most enlightened responses from reporters at the Brooklyn Daily Eagle, as the following quartet of pyromania-related articles prove.

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“The Firebug, Zucker” (December 29, 1896): “The conviction of Zucker, the firebug, and his likelihood of serving the state in prison for the rest of his days, will tend to restore a measure of public confidence. There have been quite too many fires of late. They have a way of breaking out in places that are insured, and insured to at least the value of their contents. In order to avert suspicion themselves, some of the people who set fire to their shops and tenements have deemed it wiser to hire the work done by others, and Zucker, with some confederates made this his business. It is believed that he made $200,000 out of his fees for starting fires and out of his share of the insurance that was paid on burned buildings. The newly arrived class, among whom incendiary fires occur, contains many people who are ignorant, filthy, dishonest and little appreciative as yet of American ways and American law. The conviction of Zucker must serve to them as a warning and deterrent.”

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“A Boy Firebug” (April 29, 1899): “The most youthful prisoner ever accused of the serious crime of arson in Queens County was arraigned to plead to an indictment before County Judge Moore to-day. The accused is George Spillett, 15 years old, of Flushing, L.I. He pleaded guilty to a charge of arson in the third degree, when he admitted that he had set fire to a barn in College Point several weeks ago. Young Spillett was caught redhanded with the torch in his possession after he had ignited a bundle of straw. The boy has been acting queerly for a long time past and it is believed that he is somewhat demented. About a year ago he was arrested for stabbing a playmate named Joseph Schuester during an altercation, but escaped punishment.”

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"The girl is now under arrest, after having admitted that she set fire to the house no less than nine times, the last fire resulting in the complete destruction of the interior." (Image by Henry Mayhew.)

“Is the Little Firebug Mad?”  (January 7, 1895): “The mystery surrounding the series of fires in the house of Adam Coldwell, at 84 Guernsey street, has been explained by the confession of Rhoda Carlton, the 14 year old daughter of Mrs. Coldwell, by a former marriage. The girl is now under arrest, after having admitted that she set fire to the house no less than nine times, the last fire resulting in the complete destruction of the interior, so that the family is now homeless and dependent on the charity of neighbors for shelter.

The girl made a full confession to Captain Rhodes of the Greenpoint police yesterday. She said that she was tired of living in the house and thought she could frighten her family into leaving. She said that she was not happy at all. The girl, who is not bad looking and is rather large for her age, cried as she told how she dropped lighted matches behind the wall paper and in the bed clothes.

Rhoda cried a great deal in court and when asked why she had started the fire she wailed: “I don’t know. I don’t know. I want to see my mamma.”

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“A Peculiar Case” (July 14, 1898): “The Fire Marshal is to-day conducting an investigation into the circumstances attending a peculiar case of alleged arson which occurred yesterday in a two story frame house at 369 South Fifth street, in the Eastern District. The house is occupied by Mrs. Rose Gavin, her son, Isaac Morris, a bartender, his wife, Mrs. Antoinette Morris, and her niece, Annie Mitchell. Mrs. Morris has two children, one of whom died lately. Several years ago she met with an accident, injuring one of her legs. The wound proved intractable and since then it has been necessary to place the patient under the influence of ether no less than eighteen times in order that pieces of the putrefied bone might be removed from the limb without pain. Latterly it has been noticed that the injury and incidental worry has been affecting Mrs. Morris’ mind.

At the Bedford avenue station Mrs. Morris loudly protested against the charge of arson preferred against her. ‘As God as my witness,’ she said, ‘I am innocent of this charge. For a long time my mother has been acting in a strange manner toward me. I wish I were dead.'”

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The Cardiff Giant Arrives In NYC (1904)

April 11, 2011 in Old Print Articles, Urban Studies | Permalink

George Auger, center, of course.

This undated classic photograph shows George Auger, known in his performing days as the “Cardiff Giant.” Auger, who lived a short life, as giants almost always do, was a Welsh man who was somewhere between seven and eight feet tall, depending on whose hoopla you believe. But he was an authentic titan by any measure. An excerpt from a 1904 New York Times article about his first appearance in America, when he was in the employ of P.T. Barnum:

“A new giant, larger than anything in that line yet seen here, arrived on the steamship La Bretagne from Havre. He will be placed on exhibition with the other prodigies in the museum of the Barnum & Bailey Circus, which opens at Madison Square Garden on Saturday night. His name is George Auger, and he comes from Cardiff, in Wales.

Auger is but twenty-two years of age, and now stands somewhat over 7 feet 11 inches in his socks. He wears fourteen size shoes, and gloves which have no numbers on them because nothing so large is made for the trade. His shoulders are almost as broad as those of two ordinary men, and there is cloth enough in one of his suits to fit out a whole ordinary family. With the giant was his wife, who looked like a pygmy beside him.”

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Old Print Articles: Tightrope Walkers, Brooklyn Daily Eagle (1869-97)

April 11, 2011 in Old Print Articles, Urban Studies, Videos | Permalink

"He walked across a rope stretched at a height of 120 feet, and was nearly knocked off during a performance by a man who shot fireworks at him."

The Great Blondin was the best of all 19th-century tightrope walkers, but there were plenty of others who attempted to master the art. This quintet of stories from the Brooklyn Daily Eagle relates some of the sublime and scary moments faced by high-wire practitioners.

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“Blondin” (February 23, 1897): “A man who was as famous in his time as the Czar of all of the Russias has just died in a suburb of London at a comfortable age. He was Blondin, the rope walker. The man had many imitators and few rivals since he came into prominence, but none of them won quite the celebrity he enjoyed. Hardly any of them earned it, in fact. It was he who first conceived the notion of crossing Niagara on a tight rope at a great height above the rushing water, and this self appointed task he carried out, once wheeling a barrow, and again with his head enveloped in a blanket, again crossing at night and again carrying a man on his back. In the grounds of the Crystal Palace in London he walked across a rope stretched at a height of 120 feet, and was nearly knocked off during a performance by a man who shot fireworks at him. He returned to America not long ago and gave exhibitions at West Brighton that were seen by many thousands. Until he was 70 years old he retained his wonderful sense of balance and agility, and could be seen throwing handsprings in front of his house in Ealing.”

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"It was he who first conceived the notion of crossing Niagara on a tight rope...carrying a man on his back."

“Cycling on a Live Wire” (July 30, 1897): “A decided novelty in the line of tight rope performances may be witnessed free at Ridgewood Park next week. Professor Arion, who attracted considerable attention several years ago walking on a narrow span over Niagara Falls, and who has since been giving exhibitions in various parts of the country, will ride a bicycle over a live trolley wire every afternoon and evening. The feat is the latest addition to Professor Arion’s repertoire. His wheel, with the exception of the tires, is a regulation bicycle, fitted up with thirty regulation globes, which receive a current of electricity from the trolley wire beneath. The suit which the performer wears is studded with similar lights, covered wires being attached to his clothing, and when riding at a height of 75 feet above the ground, the sight is a brilliant one. In addition to the above number of tricks, Professor Arion will make up a bed on the wire, first unrolling a mattress, then covering himself with sheets and blankets.”

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“An Insane Tight Rope Walker” (April 22, 1884): “Harry Leslie who made himself famous by crossing the Niagara Falls on a tight rope, is in a violent state of insanity. He was arrested at nine o’clock last evening by an officer of the Seventh Precinct for attempting to stab a man. His mania is said to be grief at the death of his wife which occurred some time ago, and his failure to obtain steady employment. Last evening he created a sensation at his residence, corner Monserole and Manhattan avenues, Greenpoint, by throwing a rope from an upper window and announcing his intention of walking across the street. After thinking he had fastened it to the opposite house, a crowd of about 250 persons gathered below. While the rope was dangling from the window he clutched it and climbed on the sill, from which perilous position he was rescued with difficulty.

Leslie thinks he is a wealthy man and buys blocks of property in Greenpoint for which he gives worthless checks for millions. After the occurrence of last night he was watched by a member of his family. He attempted to stab the policeman who arrested him.”

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"A piece of burning stuff from one of the lighted torches had fallen on her head and set her long hair on fire."

“An Exciting Scene” (January 30, 1869): “An exciting scene occurred the other day at Alcazer, in Spain. Mlle. Rose Saqui, a rope dancer, was performing some jugglery feats, balancing daggers, lighted torches, etc., on the tight rope, when suddenly the cry, ‘You’re on fire’ arose from the audience. A piece of burning stuff from one of the lighted torches had fallen on her head and set her long hair on fire. With one foot on the iron rope and another in the air, the woman did not lose her presence of mind. She passed her hand over her clothes and felt nothing. ‘In your hair!’ cried the excited people. Mlle. Saqui understood, and carried her hand to her head rapidly stifled the fire. She then continued her performance as if nothing happened.”

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“The Advocates of Women’s Rights” (July 12, 1876): “The advocates of women’s rights ought to rejoice over the fact that a woman has successfully imitated the opposite sex in one other and hitherto untried field. An Italian woman walked over Niagara Falls on a tight rope and returned, on Saturday last. She performed the feat admirably well, and proposes to repeat it, the next time carrying a man on her back. That will not be hard to do as many of her sex can attest who have, figuratively speaking, carried some worthless member of the race over all the hard places in life. If there is a man so contemptible as to be willing to be thus publicly carried on a woman’s back, his entire brotherhood who permit women this privilege in the literal sense ought to rise up against him and exterminate him. Meanwhile, let the strong minded rejoice. If they have had not any new discovery or exceptional work accomplished by their representatives as yet, they have some clever imitators among the sex, and the most recently famous of the number is this young woman who has successfully crossed Niagara Falls.”

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Old Print Articles: Hetty Green, Millionaire Miser (1889-1902)

April 7, 2011 in Old Print Articles, Urban Studies | Permalink

"Her appearance would never cause the uninitiated to think that she was anything more extraordinary than an old fashioned woman of moderate means and simple tastes."

Dubbed the “Witch of Wall Street,” Henrietta “Hetty” Green was the wealthiest woman in America in the early 1900s, a force in numerous aspects of the country’s economy, from railroads to real estate. But she was far more feared than loved. Oft-sued and consistently caricatured for her legendary cheapness, Green’s complicated portrait is painted to some degree in the following quartet of old print articles.

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“Hetty Green’s Millions–Peculiar Dress and Tastes of a Widow Who Has Broken Banks,” Brooklyn Daily Eagle (September 17, 1893): “Not a small part of the fame of Brooklyn can be laid to the credit of the remarkable women who have lived and live now within its borders–women who have taken rank and honor in almost every walk of life. It is a well known fact that a very large proportion of the real estate in this city is held in the names of women. It is not a widely known fact that the woman who is reputed to be the richest in the United States lives in the City of Churches, and right in the classic section known as the Heights, too. Her wealth is variously estimated from $40,000,000 to $80,000,000 and her name is Mrs. Hetty Green. Her name and personality are more familiar to Wall Street than they are to Brooklyn society. That is because Mrs. Green has chosen to devote all her time to the manipulation of her fortune and has let society get along without her. Hetty Green at an Ihpetonga ball would create a sensation, indeed, but it is not likely that such an occasion will ever be recorded by society writers.

Nobody ever saw her with a dress which was not severely plain, and seldom has she been noticed when she did not carry an old style and well worn black satchel. Her appearance would never cause the uninitiated to think that she was anything more extraordinary than an old fashioned woman of moderate means and simple tastes, who was on her way to the corner grocery or the bakery on the block below. Yet, if money is power, this same staid looking person is one of the most powerful human beings in the country.”

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“Hetty Green, Menaced, Arms Herself–Yet Only Things in the World She Fears, She Says, Are Lightning and a Religious Lawyer,” New York Times (May 9, 1902): “Mrs. Hetty R. Green, the richest woman in America, now carries a revolver. She says she has been threatened several times, and, as she frequently has much money and negotiable paper about her, she wants to be in a position to protect herself.

Mrs. Green, accompanied by a clerk from the Chemical National Bank, called at the Leonard Street Station on Saturday and applied for a permit to carry a pistol. Sergt. Isaac Frank was at the desk, and when he learned the identity of his callers he invited them to seats within the inclosure.

‘Now, young man,’ said Mrs. Green, ‘I want permission to carry a pistol. Because I am a rich woman some people might to kill me. I have often been threatened.'”

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"Mrs. Ives insists that Mrs. Green is the 'stingiest woman on the face of this earth.'"

“Calls Hetty Green Stingy,” Brooklyn Daily Eagle (December 23, 1902): Mrs. J.H. Ives of Brooklyn, the stepmother of the ‘Napoleon of Finance’ Ives, is now in the ranks of those who declare Hetty Green, a ‘stingy woman.’ In fact, Mrs. Ives insists that Mrs. Green is the ‘stingiest woman on the face of this earth.’

Mrs. Ives’ assertion grows out of a transaction involving the loan of a chair and a sofa to Mrs. Green’s husband, now dead. Out of pity, she says, Mrs. Ives loaned the furniture to make Mr. Green more comfortable in his meagerly furnished room. She and Mrs. Green were schoolgirls together and this explains her interest in Mrs. Green’s husband.

‘I always like Edward Green and sympathized with him,’ said Mrs. Ives. ‘I knew what he had suffered at her hands Why, he couldn’t call his soul his own. He and his wife were not living together and he had a little room in the Cumberland, where the great Flatiron building now stands. He was sick and I called to see him. I was shocked at the surroundings in the wretched place. There was only a bed and a nightstand in the room and the poor fellow didn’t even have a chair to sit in, Still, he did not complain; he had lived with her too long to think of complaining.

Well, I loaned him a rocker and a sofa that had been in our family for many years. When he and his wife were reunited they went to Hoboken and my sofa and rocker went with them. After Mr. Green died last March, I asked Mrs. Green to return the things. Mrs. Green never gave me any satisfaction.”

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“Hetty Green’s Husband Dead,” Brooklyn Daily Eagle (March 19, 1902): “Edward Green, husband of Hetty Green, died at his home to-day. He had been ill a long time with a complication of diseases. Edward Green, known wherever Mrs. Green went as ‘Hetty Green’s husband,’ lived at the Hotel St. George in Brooklyn during the winter of 1897-98 with Mrs. Green and her daughter Sylvia. Chief Clerk F.C. Niolo knew both Mr. and Mrs. Green very well and has been on very friendly terms with Mrs. Green ever since their stay at the St. George. He was greatly shocked to hear of Mr. Green’s death.

He said: ‘They were a very happy and contented couple. Mrs. Green was distinctly the man of the family and the head of the house.'”

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Old Print Articles: Children Smoking, Brooklyn Daily Eagle (1883-98)

April 5, 2011 in Old Print Articles, Urban Studies | Permalink

"If he was not smoking a cigarette, the smoke of which he inhaled, he had a quid of tobacco in his mouth, and sometimes he smoked and chewed at the same time.” (Image by Lewis Hine.)

There were laws in the nineteenth century prohibiting the sale of cigarettes to children under sixteen, but they weren’t often enforced. The results of this oversight were not pretty, as the following quintet of articles from the Brooklyn Daily Eagle demonstrates.

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“Cigarettes Did It” (August 3, 1889): “Insane through smoking cigarettes was the verdict reached by Justice Duffy at the Essex Market Police Court, New York, this morning in the case of Max Casserly, a pale faced youth, who was found wandering along Grand street, in that city, last night.

‘He smokes three packages of cigarettes a day,’ explained Policeman Cohen, who made the arrest.

‘Please, judge,’ stammered the prisoner, ‘give me a cigarette.’

‘You ought to get rattaned instead,’ said Justice Duffy, as he committed him for medical examination.”

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“Nicotine Poisoning” (September 7, 1883): “The death of William P. Morris, of this city at the age of 15, from nicotine poisoning ought to be a warning to the boys who take, as he did, to smoking cigarettes and chewing tobacco before they have done growing or their constitution is able to resist the affects of narcotic poison. Whether tobacco be or not injurious, when used in moderation by full grown men, there can be no two opinions as to the vital injury it does to children. It is true the boy Morris smoked and chewed to excess and that when he once began to use tobacco it became an infatuation with him. If he was not smoking a cigarette, the smoke of which he inhaled, he had a quid of tobacco in his mouth, and sometimes he smoked and chewed at the same time.”

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“Death Caused By Cigarette Smoking” (December 14, 1887): “The death of John W. Quick, a 14-year-old lad, a victim of excessive cigarette smoking was investigated to-day by Coroner Ashbridge. A medical examination showed that death was accelerated by cerebral congestion due to narcotic poisoning the result of excessive cigarette smoking. Mrs. Quick had said that her son was an inveterate cigarette smoker and though she tried repeatedly to break him of the habit, she scarcely ever saw him without a cigarette in his mouth. A verdict in accordance with evidence was rendered.”

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“The Girl Smoked Cigarettes” (August 30, 1897): “Bertha Abel, the girl who was taken to the Bellevue Hospital, New York, Saturday in a fit of hysteria, during which she spoke of having smoked eighteen cigars a night, has not yet recovered from her fit. She is in the insane pavilion and under treatment. Dr. Robertson, who has charge of the insane pavilion cases, said he did not believe the girl smoked eighteen cigars a night. The girl is said to have smoked cigarettes.”

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“My First Smoke” (February 6, 1898): “One day while coming from school I met a boy who had a pack of cigarettes. He gave me one to smoke, while smoking it my sister saw me and she told my father. He did not whip me but he filled his big pipe full of tobacco and gave it to me to smoke. He told me if I did not smoke it he would whip me, but it made me awful sick and it seemed that everything was flying around and I had to hold on the back of my chair to keep from falling off. That was my first and last smoke.–George Peterson (aged 10 years old), 109 North Ninth Street.”

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Annie Oakley, With Rifle, In Her Dotage (1922)

April 4, 2011 in Old Print Articles, Photography, Urban Studies | Permalink

At age 62, Annie Oakley hit 100 clay targets from 16 yards.

This classic 1922 photograph shows legendary markswoman Annie Oakley, still a sure shot just four years before her death, as she displays a firearm given to her by Buffalo Bill. The image from the New York World-Telegram & Sun profiles the 62-year-old Oakley in the same year she suffered injuries in a bad automobile accident, which could have been fatal but only temporarily disarmed her. The Brooklyn Daily Eagle mistakenly pronounced her dead once in 1890. An excerpt from that false report:

“Annie Oakley, the champion woman rifle and wing shot of the world, died at Buenos Aires, South America, on Monday last of congestion of the lungs. At the age of 10 years she was accustomed to handle a light gun with great proficiency and soon obtained a reputation as being one of the best rifle shots, defeating most of the prominent shots in various matches. Just before her departure for Europe last year she joined the Fountain and Coney Island gun clubs in their shoots at Woodlawn Park, Gravesend L.I., and made many friends by her modest and unassuming manner.”

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Oakley, steady of eye and hand, in 1894:

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Old Print Article: “Man With Two Brains,” Brooklyn Daily Eagle (1901)

April 3, 2011 in Old Print Articles, Urban Studies | Permalink

"There seem to be no limitation upon his ability to do wonders in arithmetic."

So-called “Lightning Calculators” were sideshow performers more than a century ago who could solve complicated mathematical problems in their heads in front of live audiences. Few had the facility for numbers displayed by Jacques Inaudi (1867-1950), an Italian who toured extensively with vaudeville shows demonstrating his prodigious abilities. The Brooklyn Daily Eagle profiled the math man on October 15, 1901 (and misidentified his nationality). An excerpt:

“To make a real hit, mathematics in vaudeville have to be of a sensational character. The old time lightning calculator, with his demonstrations and short processes, would depreciate to the vanishing point if compared with Jacques Inaudi, ‘the man with the double brain,’ at the Orpheum this week. Inaudi is a Frenchman and his English is limited but there seem to be no limitation upon his ability to do wonders in arithmetic.

One blackboard isn’t enough for him; so his assistant operates five in a row. Ordinary examples apparently bore him; so, if given an option, he chooses something in the trillions. His assistant, who wears a big black mustache and a dress suit, has to work much harder, physically, than Inaudi. The latter, who faces the audience from a little projecting platform, never looks at the blackboard, but repeats the numbers given him from various parts of the house for his manager, and stage assistant, to write with Parisian flourishes. Then, when the sum in addition, subtraction, cube root or what not, is complete, the manager works it out in sight of the audience but, quick as he is, Monsieur Inaudi finished before him and gives the correct answer to the people in the front.

"One blackboard isn't enough for him; so his assistant operates five in a row."

Last night Inaudi asked first for material for a sum in subtraction. Various three figure combinations were shouted here and there, with the result that when the top of the five boards had been filled to overflowing Inaudi had a proposition like  this–not before–but behind him: Subtract 297, 122, 999, 492, 322, 260 from 495, 876, 711, 411, 460, 594. It was not the sort of a sum that the ordinary school sharp would care to tackle mentally, but Monsieur Inaudi did it, with his back turned to the board; and he did something else beside. This is where the double brain theory gained its notoriety. All the while that Inaudi was calculating in amounts rather more than the average man’s spending money, he was answering questions, as to the week days of certain dates, from anybody in the audience. Many men fired the date of their birth at him and received back instantly the day of the week. A glance at the questioner’s face was enough to indicate that Inaudi’s answer had been the right one.

In the meantime the hard working manager at the blackboard had been taking violent exercise in subtraction.

‘Haf you finished?’ asked Inaudi, from his place out by the footlights.

‘Non, non,’ was the answer, ‘It ees not quite.’

‘I haf finished,’ said Inaudi, calmly.

There, still looking straight ahead, the Frenchman gave the answer, the same as that which had been worked out on the blackboard: 98, 753, 711, 919, 138, 334. After that came multiplication, square root and finally Monsieur Inaudi repeated without a falter, from beginning to end, every figure that appeared on the blackboard up stage.

Inaudi and his manager were the very pink of politeness when an Eagle man saw them later in their dressing room. More tests in mathematics followed and with them every suspicion of possible treachery vanished.

‘What were you before making use of your ability at figures?’ the reporter asked.

‘Monsieur Inaudi was a shepherd,’ his manager replied for him, ‘a shepherd, with hees sheep, in France. One day, years, ago, he came to Marseilles. A strangaire there learned what he could do in mathematiques. He heard him and took him to Paree. Since then he has been before scienteests, doctairs and all–and all say, ‘Monsieur Inaudi ees a man with two brains.’

‘Have you got a memory for other matters like your memory for figures?’

‘It ees for feegures only,’ said Inaudi, answering for himself.”


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Old Print Articles: “A Transaction In Babies,” Brooklyn Daily Eagle (1891)

March 31, 2011 in Old Print Articles, Urban Studies | Permalink

"The beauty of it is that there is a large stock to choose from."

Before every infant was required by law to be accounted for by public authorities, “baby farms,” unlicensed businesses where unwanted newborns exchanged hands via shadowy doorstep adoptions, were prevalent. These were often the unwanted offspring of prostitutes. Before the transaction could be completed, these babies were not often cared for well, and the ones who perished were usually buried surreptitiously on the grounds of the farms. It was a dark practice that led to numerous shocking scandals in that era. One such adoption story which had an odd twist was covered in surprisingly sanguine fashion in the February 18, 1891 Brooklyn Daily Eagle. An excerpt:

“What is known as the ‘baby farm’ is not an entirely modern institution. Nor has it escaped its share of criticism; but it serves one excellent purpose in supplying babies at small cost to lonely couples which Providence has not blessed with children. The beauty of it is that there is a large stock to choose from and it is just as easy to obtain a bouncing little girl, with the customary blue eyes and golden hair, as it is to acquire title to a rosy, roaring and frolicsome boy. It is with keen appreciation of these advantages that Mrs. Huber of Lorimer street, this city, negotiated for a baby warranted to give satisfaction and, having taken it home, succeeded in convincing her husband that the visitor was his son and heir. Mr. Huber appears to be one of those gentle, confiding creatures who are quite willing to believe that the moon is made of green cheese, and it is absolutely certain that he would still be celebrating his newly acquired dignity as a ‘parent’ had not an unlooked for incident disturbed the serenity of his repose.

"Mr. Huber then had the pleasure of ascertaining that while Mrs. Walson Schermerhorn had changed her mind and wanted her baby back."

A few days after the appearance of the crowing youngster at the Lorimer street domicile, Mr. Huber was surprised to find his quarters invaded by strangers. There was a hack in front of the door, and upstairs, in his wife’s room, was a dashing young woman who, strange to say, made claim to Mr. Huber’s baby, and announced her intention to take it away with her, kindly promising, however, to leave another infant in its place. It is, of course, unnecessary to submit that Mr. Huber did not immediately recognize the young woman as the mother of his child, and after settling this point to his own satisfaction, came to the conclusion that he was harboring a lunatic. It was in vain that he appealed to Mrs. Huber. That estimable person, instead of becoming highly indignant at the unexpected turn of affairs, was disposed to accept the situation in a philosophical mood, and sat on the edge of the sofa closely studying the pattern of the carpet. Finally the truth was told, and Mr. Huber then had the pleasure of ascertaining that while Mrs. Watson Schermerhorn had changed her mind and wanted her baby back, Mrs. Kate Burke, polite and obliging as she was, was willing to let her baby be exchanged for it.

We do not believe that people will be disposed severely to blame the wife for the deception of which she was guilty, because her desire to be proud possessor of a prattling baby was really pathetic. It was the consuming passion of her life, for, as she innocently puts it, ‘there can be no happiness when there is no baby.’ But would it not have been advisable to consult the husband before surreptitiously introducing the stranger into the household?”

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Street Life In The Bowery, Manhattan (1896)

March 30, 2011 in Old Print Articles, Photography, Urban Studies | Permalink

A steam train on the Third Avenue El, over the Bowery, 1896.

The famous (and infamous) New York City neighborhood known as the Bowery has rustic roots, it’s name a derivation of the Dutch term “bouwerie,” which means “farm.” But it has historically been a raffish area that more often resembled a funny farm. The above classic photograph shows the Bowery in 1896. The quartet of articles below from the Brooklyn Daily Eagle provides a look at the colorful characters who inhabited the area around that time.

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“Dropped Dead in a Dive” (November 15, 1890): “‘A number of woman frequenters of the lower end of the Bowery in New York sat around a table in the back room of the saloon at 20 Bowery, corner of Pell street, shortly before 1 o’clock this morning drinking beer. Suddenly one of the party grew deathly pale, fell back in her chair and grasped for breath. Before anything could be done for her she was dead. She had met death amid surroundings to which she had been accustomed for years. The death of the woman caused much excitement about the place.

The dead woman was Annie A. Heffernan. She was 29 years old. She had frequented the lower end of Elizabeth street and the Bowery for several years, and was a habitue of the dives and low resorts in that part of the city. Among her class she was, perhaps, more highly thought of than any of her kind. That was because she was the mistress of John, alias Kid, McManus, the burglar who is now serving a term of imprisonment in the Connecticut state prison. Annie was an English girl and came here when she was still quite young. She drifted into bad ways at an early age, and several years ago she fell in with ‘Kid’ McManus. Annie might have been a good looking girl in her younger days, but traces of any former beauty had long since disappeared.”

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“Robbed and Imprisoned” (June 14, 1890): “Rafalo Calisondi, a Bowery, New York, boot black, snatched 50 cents from Georgia Carcuo, a young woman from Dover Plains, N.Y., while going through the Bowery last night. In the Tombs Police Court to-day Justice McMahon held him for trial on $100 bail. The young woman was sent to the House of Detention.”

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“Robbed of Five Cents” (July 16, 1896): “Emery M. Rogers of 45 Bowery, New York, was seized violently by the throat shortly after midnight this morning at Bowery and Bayard street by William C. Lyons, the lightweight boxer. The men struggled desperately for some time and in the struggle Rogers was knocked down. He then alleges that Lyons placed his hand in his pocket, and stole 5 cents, all the money he had. Lyons was arrested. The charge made against him in the police station was highway robbery. Magistrate Kudlich refused to accept that complaint and ordered one of disorderly conduct to be taken. On the latter charge a fine of $5 was imposed. Lyons smiled at the light sentence imposed.”

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“Stabbed in the Stomach” (January 16, 1897): “Two men and a woman were seen quarreling in front of 83 Bowery, New York, early this morning, and the woman and one of the men were arrested. The other one made his escape. At the station house the man gave his name as Charles Brown. He refused to tell where he lived and said he was a sailor. the woman is a well known character. Her name is Carrie Tammany. It was discovered that blood was dripping from the tips of the fingers of the sailor’s right hand, and on the investigation it was found that he had a severe stab wound on his arm. Further inspection revealed a terrible stab wound in his stomach. He was taken to Gouverneur Hospital.

It is believed that the man who made his escape did the stabbing. Neither of the prisoners would tell anything about the affair. The woman was locked up on a charge of disorderly conduct.”

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Bowery dancers Kid Foley and Sailor Lil do a “Tough Dance” in 1902:

Old Print Article: “Well Dressed And Apparently Intelligent, She Cannot Talk Or Even Write,” Brooklyn Daily Eagle (1902)

March 29, 2011 in Old Print Articles, Urban Studies | Permalink

Words fail us all sometimes, but what if they fail absolutely? That was the case in 1902 for a woman found in Brooklyn, who was suffering from aphasia and unable to identify herself to those who wanted to assist her. A speech expert named Mme. Eugenia Dilla was called into try to clarify matters, but it’s not clear that she was a great help. An excerpt about the locked-in, worn-out woman from the August 1 Brooklyn Daily Eagle:

“The identity of the young woman who was remanded to the Ozanam House from the Myrtle avenue police court yesterday as a vagrant is still unknown. The woman, who is suffering from aphasia, appears to be as eager as her custodians to have the mystery solved, but so far she has been wholly unable to give any definite information about herself.

When an Eagle reporter called at the Ozanam House to-day the young woman was in the reception room, where she was undergoing a searching cross examination in at least nine different languages at the hands of an elderly woman, named Mme. Eugenia Dilla. Mme. Dilla read of the plight of the unknown young woman in last night’s Eagle. Mme. Dilla is an American, but is the wife of a Cuban cigar manufacturer. She has the utmost confidence in her ability to communicate intelligently with any person in the world, be the person deaf, dumb and blind, Eskimo or Hindustani. If her work is judged by the quantity of results, she certainly has a high claim to the championship in her line of work. Mme. Dilla talks with her mouth, with her eyes, with her arms, with her shoulders and with her hands. With her hands she speaks first the universal sign language, and beside this, she speaks deaf mute in English, French, Spanish, German and many more tongues, or rather, hands.

When the unknown woman had been put through her inquisition to-day Mme. Dilla stated with absolute assurance that the woman’s name was Favorita, Eurica, Juanita Frederica, Jacinta Irenita Futurita. This was her first name. Her last, or family, name was Farina Irena Jacinita.

‘Do you think she has a middle name?’ the expert communicator was asked.

"Etta betta buega eeny meeny ming no? Ya?"

Mme. Dilla renewed the attack with face, arms, hands, voice and eyes. What she did with her face and eyes and arms cannot be described. What she said sounded like:

‘Etta betta buega eeny meeny ming no? Ya?’

The unfortunate woman bowed and smiled in a mystified way and Mme. Dilla said, with triumph in her voice:

‘Oh, yes, she understands. She says I’m her friend and I’m the only one who understands her. Her middle name? Oh, yes,’ and then addressing the lost woman:

”Looka syta moya numo?’ and other similar things.

‘She says her middle name is Florencita,’ announced Mme. Dilla.

The superintendent of the home, referring to Mme. Dilla, said in a whisper to the Eagle reporter:

‘I think she’s too fussy.’

Mme. Dilla overheard the remark and said with dignity: ‘I assure you that I can find out all that any one can. This woman should be returned to friends. She is lost and she says I am the only friend she has. I insist on finding out all about her.’

"She tooted like a steamboat."

Some one suggested that the madame might obtain fine results with a deck of cards. The madame scorned the idea and continued her sextuple language of signs, passes, spoken and written words and symbols. All that she did and said cannot be reproduced or even indicated. She made noises like all kinds of guns and cannons. She tooted like a steamboat. She turned imaginary keys and broke imaginary windows. She rang imaginary bells and she fell over as if shot. The young woman looked on with wonder depicted in every feature. At last she apparently decided that the madame was trying to amuse her and she smiled and nodded and once or twice clapped her hands. Mme. Dilla kept up her attack for an hour. Then she announced that she had learned the story of the woman’s life. This is the story as told by Mme. Dilla:

‘She is 30 years old and has been married, but her husband is dead. She was born in the Western part of Cuba and suffered much from the Spanish oppression during the war. One of her ancestors was a Chinaman, a very common thing in Cuba. At the time of war she was rich and happy, but lost everything and joined the reconcentrados. She witnessed the death of her husband, who was shot down before her eyes. The shock was so great that she was completely prostrated, and has never recovered the power of speech. She came to this country on a boat and took a furnished room on the wharf. She came to find her brother, who has been in New York for several years. She got into a crooked house of some sort. They took from her everything she had and turned her adrift in the street.’

The superintendent of the Ozanam House did not appear to have much confidence in this story.”

 

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