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Old Print Article: “A Parlor Fight–A Slugging Match And An Italian Organ Grinder,” Brooklyn Daily Eagle (1886)

March 27, 2011 in Old Print Articles, Urban Studies | Permalink

"A swarthy, dust begrimmed Italian organ grinder with a mammoth instrument on wheels drew up in front of the door."

Apart from a thieving monkey, this June 12, 1886 Brooklyn Daily Eagle story had everything: a boarding-house birthday party, an asbestos company employee, an Italian organ grinder, and several jackasses pummeling one another in impromptu prizefights in a parlor. It’s all so deeply funny. An excerpt:

“Yesterday was the twenty-first birthday of Mrs. Conover, the eldest daughter of Mrs. Denice, who keeps a fashionable boarding house at 55 Orange street, in which Mrs. Conover resides. It has been the custom in the Denice household to celebrate such occasions. Mrs. Conover, who shares with her mother the household cares, had made no preparation for her birthday fete, being so fully occupied with other matters that the evening dinner hour had passed before she remembered that she was 21 years of age. Even then she would not have recalled the interesting event had not her 16 year old brother shortly before 8 o’clock mentioned the fact and proposed a birthday party. Of the boarders in the house at the time, Mr. Raymond who is engaged in the twine business at 101 Reade street, New York; Mr. Titus who is connected with the house of Dunlap & Company, the New York hat manufacturers; Mr. Dockam, of the Asbestos Manufacturing Company, New York; Young Mr. Denice, Mr. Ireland and Mr. McIntosh.

When the party had assembled in the spacious parlors they remembered with dismay that Mrs. Fleury, the only pianist in the establishment was absent. A birthday party without music, would they concluded, be like strawberry shortcake without the strawberries. At this juncture a swarthy, dust begrimmed Italian organ grinder with a mammoth instrument on wheels drew up in front of the door, and proceeded to play with more than customary energy ‘St. Anna’s Day.’ Messrs. Raymond, Ireland and Dockam were simultaneously inspired with an idea, and a minute thereafter the son of Italy was in a corner of the parlor turning out popular airs with great rapidity and flourish.

"From the fourth to the fifteenth rounds lively slugging was witnessed."

The organ struck up a martial air, and the gentleman’s conversation touched on the possibility of Mitchell beating Sullivan. Then they began to boast of their personal and individual prowess. Young Mr. Denice slipped from the room and shortly reappeared with a set of boxing gloves. Mr. Raymond and Mr. Titus has their coats and vests off in an instant and the boxing gloves on their hands. Mr. McIntosh constituted himself referee and before the ladies were well aware of what was transpiring they were the witnesses of the first class bout. The noise of the hand organ attracted the neighbors and every window of the houses opposite were thrown open and an audience of fashionable dead heads witnessed the fight. A stalwart policeman, who was walking his beat at the time, stopped in front of the house and viewed the organ grinder and boxers with amazement. Four rounds in approved Queensberry style were fought and Mr. Titus was declared the winner. At this point Mrs. Denice entered a protest, saying that the neighbors would think she kept a peculiar establishment. Young Mr. Denice and Mr. Dockam, however, had become involved in a  controversy as to their pugilistic merits and they compromised by dismissing the organ grinder. While the ladies were seeing that he took nothing more than the organ with him, Messrs. Denice and Dockam had answered ready to the call of Referee McIntosh.

Dockam led out with his rights, but fell short and received a stunning uppercut in the jaw. He lunged viciously with his left, but missing received one straight from the shoulder between the eyes which staggered him. The first round ended with the honors in favor of Denice. The ladies had become interested and regarded with eagerness the preliminaries for the second round.

"It was a really jolly and original birthday party."

This time Dockam was more cautious, and by acting on the defensive and only striking at his adversary when within reach, he succeeded, when time was called, in obtaining a majority of scientific points. The call of time for the third round brought both men to the front, eager to dispose of his antagonist at once. A genuine slugging match ensued, which ended by Referee McIntosh separating the combatants. They retired to their corners and at the expiration of regulation time began again. From the fourth to the fifteenth rounds lively slugging was witnessed. Both men were tired, but eager for business. On the call of time for the sixteenth round Mrs. Denice and her daughter became aware of the fact that what they thought were blushes on the men’s faces were blood stains. They became frightened and immediately protested against the continuance of the mill. It was then half past ten o’clock. The gentlemen shook hands and, wishing Mrs. Conover many happy birthdays, retired to their rooms, ‘Where,’ said Mrs. Denice to an Eagle reporter this morning, ‘I think they had it out. However, it was a really jolly and original birthday party and a surprise to all concerned.'”

Old Print Article: “A Woman’s Lonely Ride–Only Feminine Mail Carrier In The Far West,” Brooklyn Daily Eagle (1900)

March 24, 2011 in Old Print Articles, Urban Studies | Permalink

"She is always armed with shooting irons, and when a child she was the crack shot of the mining camp."

The mail carrier was a vital cog in American communications for most of our nation’s history. The September 13, 1900 Brooklyn Daily Eagle profiled a unique member of the profession, Sarah M. Burks, the only female mail carrier in the West at the time. Sarah had a particularly treacherous route: She was armed when she traveled and the area streams were poisoned. An excerpt:

“Miss Sarah M. Burks is probably the only woman mail carrier in the West, says the Kansas City Journal and her route is one of the most desolate conceivable. From St. Johns to Jimtown, A.T., she travels twice a week, covering a distance of 208 miles, as the towns are 52 miles apart. The interesting country is practically a wilderness, the settlers being few and far between.

It would be difficult to imagine a more uninviting region than that traversed by Miss Burks. What tiny streams there are poisoned by alkali. Navajo Indians and occasionally an Apache are somewhat plentiful, but white men seldom go there, and then only to get the gold, silver and copper. Nothing in the way of vegetation can grow there. It is simply a region of rich minerals deposited in titanic volcanic action ages ago.

Along the western border of this desolate, uncanny wilderness Miss Burks rides twice a week. Generally she is alone, and if she has a companion he is likely to be a miner, a commercial traveler, or mayhap a lawyer, who has rented a horse from Miss Burks’ father, and she is to collect payment and to see to the care of the horse. She is always armed with shooting irons, and when a child she was the crack shot of the mining camp at Hurqua Hala.

Her hat is a wide straw. She wears short skirts of blue serge, a corduroy or canvas jacket, leather leggings and heavy shoes.”

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Old Print Article: “A Voluntary Prisoner,” Brooklyn Daily Eagle (1896)

March 22, 2011 in Old Print Articles, Urban Studies | Permalink

"The instance is rare where a man voluntarily selects a penal institution for his home and refuses to leave it, even when threatened with physical ejection."

If you were looking for someone to help you plan a prison break at the Raymond Street Jail in Brooklyn during the latter part of the nineteenth century, James Davis was definitely not your man. Even though he never committed a crime, Davis checked into the jail one day as if it were a hotel and never checked out–even when ordered to. Because he was a useful guy and caused no grief, a succession of sheriffs allowed the unusual living arrangement to continue. The October 25 1896 Brooklyn Daily Eagle profiled the curious “convict.” An excerpt:

“Raymond Street Jail has been prolific in characters, most of them bad. Some of them almost beyond redemption. They have nearly all of them pined for freedom, but all of them have been compelled to wait till the law had been satisfied. There have been a few cases in prisons and penitentiaries to the state where long term convicts have been disinclined to leave the bars after having been pardoned, or at the expiration of their sentences. The instance is rare where a man voluntarily selects a penal institution for his home and refuses to leave it, even when threatened with physical ejection. Such a man, however, may be found in the institution over which Sheriff Buttling presides. His name is James Davis. The denizens of the place refer to him and have for many years as Jimmie. Sometimes they call him Jimmie the Paup. Paup with them is a contraction for pauper. They have named him as they have named others with sobriquets that are more laughable to their cult than they are elegant, accurate or appropriate.

The actual Raymond Street Jail. It closed in 1963.

Davis has been a voluntary prisoner in the Raymond Street Jail for twenty-one years. He is an undersized individual of perhaps 55, and wears a little black mustache. His strong characteristic is his silence on all topics, except for prize fighting. On the latter three-fourths of his conversation is devoted to eulogy of Peter Maher, whom he thinks the greatest disciple of fisticuffs the world has ever seen. Comparatively little is known of the early life of Davis, and in fact, comparatively little effort has been taken by the individual himself to communicate any knowledge to those among whom he lives. He is wary of all strangers, and runs away generally when they move forward to investigate him. His value to every sheriff for the past twenty years in this county has been great. Sheriff Buttling, in speaking of him, to an Eagle reporter, said:

‘I can say many good things about our voluntary prisoner. He proves a very valuable man at times. He seems to have the ability to make the inmates do the work assigned to them, and is quick to report any violation of the jail discipline. Why he remains at the jail when he might be doing better for himself is something I do not understand.’

"He is wary of all strangers, and runs away generally when they move forward to investigate him."

The books of the jail do not show that Davis has been guilty of any offense. He just strolled in many years ago and was allowed to occupy a cell in consideration of doing chores around the place. He spoke to few, went his own way and was in no way objectionable to any officials. From one cell, Davis gradually became the tenant of two. In one cell, Davis has a rather extensive collection of portraits of prize fighters. They are all cheap prints, many of them cut from advertisements, of gaudy colors and poor execution. Davis’ cell is always clean.

When Warden Shanley assumed charge of the jail Davis’ case puzzled him a good deal. He didn’t care to have the fellow around the place, because at that time he did not appreciate his value. He thought he would tell Davis to go and did so, but the voluntary prisoner would not budge. The warden quickly learned enough about him to see the propriety of retaining him. The fellow is certainly content. Sheriff Buttling says he believes that Davis would prefer his cell to a room in a mansion.”

Fun In The Sun At Midland Beach (1890s)

March 21, 2011 in Old Print Articles, Photography, Urban Studies | Permalink

Bathing costumes on display at Midland Beach in the 1890s.

The classic photo above shows folks splashing in the waters of Staten Island during the 1890s, when Midland Beach and South Beach were summer destinations for people from all over New York. Despite the popularity of the area, some businesses were were struggling, as evidenced in a August 31, 1898 Brooklyn Daily Eagle article entitled, “Partner Says He Flirted”:

“On motion for a referee to hear and determine in the matter of the suit of Henry H. Kahn for dissolution of the partnership of Kahn & Reeves, hotel keepers at Midland Beach, Richmond County, before Justice Lambert in Supreme Court this morning, Charles H. Hyde was appointed referee. Kahn alleged that the partnership was formed on April 1 last, that it was prosperous until the other partner, Clifford C. Reeves, who had been connected with the Park Theater and other theaters in Manhattan, proceeded to discharge servants without cause and to employ others, to drink and neglect his part of the business, which was to keep the books, and finally to flirt with women patrons, or at least one of them, to the detriment of the business. Counsel in opposition denied absolutely all allegations of flirting and intoxication.”

Old Print Articles: Tales From The Flatbush Insane Asylum (1888-96)

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

"When the woman expostulated, the maniac threw fragments of crockery at her and finally she fled from the house."

As you might expect, life was never boring at the Flatbush Insane Asylum during the 1880s-90s, as the following quintet of stories attests.

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“Shocking Desecration Charged” (New York Times, September 11, 1893): “I heard something the other day,” said a Brooklyn woman to a reporter for The New York Times, “which I think should be made public. It was the story of what a certain doctor did who is employed in the Asylum for the Insane in Flatbush. My informant’s name I withhold for the reason that if I should give it to you a person related to him who is now employed in the asylum would certainly lose his place.

“My informant tells me that about a week ago an aged woman died at the hospital who had been there for a long time. According to the regulations of the institution, the doctor referred to, in company with others of the medical staff, viewed the corpse.

“The doctors were in a merry mood and made quite a lark of the inspection by cracking jokes about the body, and altogether behaving in an unseemly manner. Finally, as I am informed, one of the doctors took a cigarette out of his case and, approaching the bedside, said:

“‘Let’s give the old lady a smoke.’

“Immediately thereafter he pried open the lips of the corpse and placed the cigarette between them.

“‘How’s that, old gal?’ he exclaimed, and then all hands gathered about and made sport of what they saw.”

Dr. Tracey, physician in charge at the Kings County Insane Asylum at Flatbush, was seen by a reporter for The New-York Times and the foregoing statement was laid before him. At first his face flushed and then he gasped out:

“It’s false–a malicious falsehood!”

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“A Lunatic Not Cured” (Brooklyn Daily Eagle, June 10, 1895): William Gatehouse of Livonia avenue, near Freeport street, was sent to the Flatbush Insane Asylum some time ago and on Saturday was discharged as cured. In the Gates avenue police court this morning Justice Harriman committed Gatehouse to jail and he will probably be sent back to the asylum again.

The man returned to his home Saturday night and behaved himself until yesterday afternoon. Then, as his wife completed setting the table for dinner, Gatehouse grabbed the cloth, pulled all the dishes on the floor, announcing that he wanted to play checkers. When the woman expostulated, the maniac threw fragments of crockery at her and finally she fled from the house.”

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“Captain Rhinehart’s Double Life” (Brooklyn Daily Eagle, April 12, 1888): Captain Gilson Rhinehart, 59 years of age, a pilot on Roosevelt street ferryboats, was committed to the Flatbush Insane Asylum yesterday afternoon, by Judge Osborne, of the City Court, on the application of the Commissioners of Charities and Correction. Catherine E. Rhinehart, the wife of the demented man, made the petition for his incarceration. Drs. A.M. Burns and R.H. Stone examined him and pronounced him undoubtedly insane. He imagines that people are anxious to cut his throat, and thinks his feet are poisoned.

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“The Insane Entertained” (Brooklyn Daily Eagle, September 9, 1896): At the Flatbush Insane Asylum, Labor Day was celebrated with a musical and dramatic entertainment and a base ball match, between a picked nine of the patients and the medical staff of the institution. The score of the patients was 23 and that of the medical staff 14. The game had been looked forward to by the patients with a great deal of joyful anticipation and it was witnessed by about four hundred male and female lunatics of the institution, who were on the grounds, and by many more from the windows of the wards who cheered and applauded the good play of both teams. The game was well played, particularly by the patients, who had been practicing for the event for some time.

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“Vagaries of the Insane” (Brooklyn Daily Eagle, June 13, 1888): Chief Judge Clement, of the City Court, this morning committed the following demented persons to the Flatbush Insane Asylum:

William Brown, a sailor, 25 years of age. He imagines that he is an angel and has wings, but complains that devils pursue him and make him fly so much that he is tired.

Rose Boyle, 74 years of age, thinks she  is only 26, and is of the belief that her husband goes to Ireland every night.

Louis Grobel, 60 years of age, imagines that he invented a clock that never stops and is in possession of an income of $1,000,000 a day.

Henry Hall, a bartender, 35 years of age, imagines himself to be a banker and a partner of Edward Stokes. He labors under the delusion that he owns yachts and merchant vessels.

Old Print Articles: Insulting Remarks, Brooklyn Daily Eagle (1880-90s)

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

"Morrissey was in the midst of the fight and regretted his Darwinian expression."

A body couldn’t walk down the street in the 1880s and 1890s without some sharp tongue cracking wise. Insulting remarks were a part of life, but they weren’t always tolerated, as the following quartet of brief stories from the Brooklyn Daily Eagle illustrates.

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“Remarks Too Personal” (August 22, 1899): “Philip Reilly, a bartender at 63 Columbus street, and living at 143 Baltic street, was charged with assault this morning in the Butler street court. A man named Morrissey went last evening into the saloon where Reilly is employed and in the course of an argument incidentally made the remark to the bartender that he (Morrissey) had a monkey at home that was a better looking creature than Reilly. Now while it is true that bartenders have and are expected to put up with a great deal from patrons, this was too much for Reilly. There was a running jump and a high leap across the bar and the next thing the people in the place knew there was moaning. Morrissey was in the midst of the fight and regretted his Darwinian expression. Reilly, it is said, gave him a lesson in manners which he will not soon forget. When Morrissey had explained to Magistrate Brenner this morning about how the trouble arose, the court seemed to think that Reilly was not altogether to blame and discharged him.”

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“Martin Pelz Horsewhipped by Mrs. Frank Ebert” (July 7, 1896): “Martin Pelz of Fort Hamilton was soundly horsewhipped by Mrs. Frank Ebert of 183 Twelfth street, Brooklyn, yesterday, on the corner of Ninety-fifth street and Fifth avenue. Mr. Ebert, the husband, pinioned Pelz’s arms and held him fast while the infuriated woman rained the blows thick and fast. For fully five minutes Pelz was compelled to stand the punishment and though he struggled, he could not get free from the clutches of the husband. Though a crowd gathered no attempt was made to stop the woman. Mrs. Ebert said very little while inflicting the punishment and when she got tired and had satisfaction for her injured feelings, both she and her husband bounded on a Nassau car and rode away. Later in the day they were arrested on a warrant issued by Justice Rhodes and both were in court this morning.

Mr. Pelz lives on Ninety-fifth street, between Fort Hamilton and Fifth avenues, and he has for a neighbor Mrs. McCarthy. It appears on Sunday Mrs. Ebert visited Mrs. McCarthy’s place, but did not find her at home. Miss Mary McCarthy, a daughter, was in, and both she and Mrs. Ebert made a friendly visit to the Pelz household. In the evening Mrs. Pelz visited Mrs. McCarthy and told her not to take Mrs. Ebert to her house again, as her husband did not consider her a fit associate for his wife. Mrs. McCarthy lost no time is communicating what she heard, and the horsewhipping yesterday was the outcome.”

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"He was scalded on several portions of his body."

“A Quick Cure By the Water Method” (August 22, 1884): “Late last night Timothy Crosby made some insulting remarks to his landlady, Mrs. Hogan, of No. 100 John street. As Timothy persisted in his annoying behavior she tried the effect of the water cure on him. Picking up a saucepan of boiling water she threw the whole contents of it over him, and this heroic treatment had the desired result. He was scalded on several portions of his body and was removed to the Homeopathic Hospital. He refused to make any complaint against Mrs. Hogan.”


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“The Red Headed Girl Will Surely Turn” (March 10, 1889): “This morning is police court four young men, named Samuel Allen, Joseph Derry, Mark Ashford and Martin Derry, were charged by Miss Hannah Hartnett with making rude and insulting remarks in her hearing. Miss Hannah is a good looking young lady, but her auburn hair has proved to be the source of much annoyance to her. She found it almost impossible to go on the street unless she was insulted by boys on the corners asking, ‘Where’s the white horse?’ and making other rude remarks. She stood it as long as she could, and then had the above named defendants arrested. They were fined $5 each.”

 

George Appo “Smiles” For The Camera (1894)

March 16, 2011 in Old Print Articles, Photography, Urban Studies | Permalink

"Appo has but one eye, the other having been shot out by the two North Carolinians, Curran and Hogshead."

George Appo had a mug made for a mug shot, and his actions didn’t belie his vicious visage. The grainy but great photo above, which was taken in 1894, shows the prolific pickpocket looking a little worse for the wear–and there was plenty of wear. Born into a crime family, Appo was arrested frequently for an assortment of misdemeanors and felonies. Even when he tried to go straight, things ended up crooked. An excerpt from an 1899 New York Times article about the rogue’s life:

“Appo’s career of crime began when he was sixteen years old, at which time he was sent to prison for two years and six months for picking pockets. Nine months after his release he was sent back for the same term for a like offense. After serving two other terms for theft, making four in all, he went into the ‘green goods‘ business with John McNally, known as the ‘Green Goods King.’ His story of how this business was conducted was one of their most dramatic features of the Lexow investigation and put him on record as one of the country’s most picturesque criminals.

In September, 1884, Appo had his throat cut under circumstances which pointed to an assault on him by agents of the police. This charge was made by Counsel Goff of the Lexow committee.

Appo, on April 8, 1895, attempted to stab Policeman Reiman at the corner of Sixth Avenue and Twenty-eighth Street. He escaped, but was caught in Buffalo, brought back, tried, convicted, and sent to prison for six months.

After his release Appo claimed that he was hounded because of his connection with the Lexow inquiry, and that, in spite of desire to reform, he was denied honorable employment. He tried to lecture on crime and criminals in Buffalo, but was refused a permit.

On July 10, 1896, while in a drunken frenzy, Appo stabbed John Atwood, a reporter, at the corner of Mott Street and Chatham Square, mistaking him for another man. He was tried before Justice McMahon, and, being adjudged insane, was sentenced to the Matteawan Hospital.

Appo has but one eye, the other having been shot out by the two North Carolinians, Curran and Hogshead, whom he lured to Poughkeepsie by a ‘green-goods’ bait.”

 

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Old Print Article: Vendor Trouble, Brooklyn Daily Eagle (1890s)

March 15, 2011 in Old Print Articles, Urban Studies, Videos | Permalink

"The swindler was young and had a sandy mustache. He admired the vendor's pears and ordered him to put up two dozen."

If you wanted to witness mayhem during the 1890s in New York, all you had to do was stand near a street vendor and a crime wave was sure to develop. Five brief articles from the Brooklyn Daily Eagle illustrate this point.

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“A Weight as a Weapon” (September 21, 1896): “Judel Cohen, the proprietor of a fruit store at 449 Rockaway avenue, was found guilty of an assault on Herman Masyr this morning. Masyr is the driver of a baker’s cart for George Geisler at 451 Rockaway avenue, next door to Cohen’s place. On August 31, about 3 o’clock in the afternoon Masyr drove his cart up to the front of the bakery. Cohen is also the possessor of a vendor’s stand and it was standing in front of his place loaded with fruit. The horse which Masyr drove selected the choicest of the fruit and began to feed. An argument followed and Cohen retreated to his store, where he picked up a pound weight. Returning to the front of the place he threw this at Masyr with such good aim that it stretched him unconscious on the sidewalk. Cohen fled and Masyr was put in the hands of an ambulance surgeon who sewed up the wound. Cohen stayed out of New York until yesterday, when he thought the affair had time to blow over. He was arrested at his store last night. Judge Harriman decided that he was guilty but suspended sentence.”

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“An Italian Brained with a Shovel” (May 24, 1894): “Felice Pienzi, an Italian fruit vendor, had his skull fractured by the blow of a shovel wielded by Frank Lense, also an Italian, living in the same house with Pienzi at 155 Twenty-fifth street, this morning. The two men quarreled over a trifling money matter. The injured man was taken to the Seney hospital. His assailant followed him to the hospital in charge of an officer for identification. Pienze cannot recover.”

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“He Lost His Temper” (November 1, 1891): “An Italian chestnut vendor named John Gamma, living at 45 New Bowery, New York, was held for trial in Essex Market police court by Police Justice Ryan, on a charge of stabbing. Gamma keeps his chestnut stall at the corner of Avenue C and Fifth street. Of late he has been greatly annoyed by a number of small boys assembled round his stand. On this day they began teasing him. The young Italian became infuriated and drawing an ugly looking pocket knife, stabbed one of the tormentors named Jacob Morris, 12 years of age, of 58 Avenue C, in the left arm, inflicting a slight injury.”

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“Assaulted a Greek” (March 15, 1898): “Petro Paizalos, a Greek peanut vendor of 923 Atlantic avenue, charged John Dolan of 92 Bergen street, and John F. Fitzgerald of 68 Bergen street, with assault in the Flatbush court this morning. Both prisoners were held by Magistrate Steers for the Court of Special Sessions. A week ago the complainant, in company with another vendor, were walking on Clinton avenue when the two defendants, riding in an express wagon, are said to have attempted to run down Paizalos. A fight followed, in which Dolan is alleged to have struck the Greek with an iron bar, while Fitzgerald struck him with a brick.”

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“The Fruit Man Was Swindled” (July 29, 1893): “An Italian fruit vendor who was stopped, to his loss, for a minute or two last night in front of the municipal building, was a victim of a clever but petty confidence man. The swindler was young and had a sandy mustache. He admired the vendor’s pears and ordered him to put up two dozen.

Then he asked the peddler to give him change for a two dollar bill minus the price of the pears, and disappeared with the cash and the fruit, saying that he would return in a minute with the two dollar bill. He left he vendor at the Joralemon street entrance and disappeared through the rear door leading to Livingston street, taking the pears and the change with him. Several headquarters detectives, who unconsciously witnessed the transaction, failed to find any trace of the swindler when wanted by the peddler.

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Fruit vendors, Lower East Side, 1903:

Barrison Sisters Perform The Cat Dance (1890s)

March 14, 2011 in Old Print Articles, Photography, Urban Studies | Permalink

Cats perched below skirts.

The Barrison Sisters of 1890s vaudeville were a group of struggling New York actresses who found fame (and infamy) when they figured out that sex sells. Hyped as the “Wickedest Girls in the World,” the sibling act is seen in the above classic photo performing its notorious “Cat Dance,” in which the sisters hiked their skirts at the climax to reveal a live kitten that was perched by contraption between their legs. Their lasciviousness was not appreciated by the puritans at the New York Times, which reviewed a Barrison performance in the October 6, 1896 edition. An excerpt:

“The irreverent Barrison sisters, who were once of this country, and who have returned to it, preceded by a foreign-gained reputation for wickedness, public and private, began an eight weeks’ engagement in Koster & Bial’s Music Hall last night. The house was filled, and this means that the top-tier boxes, to see whence one must almost hang over the rail, were as crowded as those nearer the floor.

‘The five Barrisons,’ as a fluffy-haired quintet of the sisters are separated from Lona, the most heralded of all, begin their performance by living up to the stories of their doings that have come from across the water, but the frankly suggestive first song they sing is in the ratio of virtue to vice, when compared to the doings of Lona, who occupies the stage alone, preceding them by two numbers.

Vulgar is a word that may be applied to her performance; perhaps some of those in last night’s audience have by this time found a stronger word. She appears on stage in the attire of a fop, and, depriving a large part of her meaning, as she sings in French, she disrobes, appearing in tights. The story she tells is of the life of a rake.

She departs, only to appear again in a second, riding astride a handsome white horse, which prances around the stage. Bringing it is to a standstill in the centre of the stage, she sings, again in French, and lets the audience know by her action of her exhilaration and her love for the steed.

‘It’s the most audacious piece of deviltry and abandonment I ever saw offered to a New-York public,’ declared an old theatre-goer, as he was leaving the theatre.”

 

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Old Print Article: Giantesses Succumb (1879-1890)

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

"The casket was lifted carefully out of the hearse by as many men as could well get under it to lend a helping hand."

Life didn’t last long for large ladies who were sideshow attractions at dime museums during the nineteenth century. The demise of such women was the subject of the following reports, which were written with the usual sensitivity of journalism of the period.

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“A Huge Weight,” London Telegraph (August 29, 1890): “One of the biggest women on record has died in Paris. She was known as the Phenomenal Female, her real name being Victoire Tauntin and age only 19. Mlle. Tautin was not a giantess in height, but her girth was enormous and it took eight strong men to lift her out of her chair when she used to be conveyed for an exhibition to a music hall. The individual who engaged her found that she did not pay her expenses, owing to the cost entailed by her transit to and from the cafe concert, so Victoire retired from public life and lived quietly with her parents. Lately she had an attack of erysiplas, to which she succumbed. Her funeral was the event of the day in the suburban locality wherein she resided, and great interest was manifested by the neighbors in watching the lugubrious preparations for the poor phenomenon, whose remains were carried to the hearse and afterward to the grave on the shoulders of ten of the most robust men in the employ of the company  of metropolitan undertakers.”

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“The Giantess,” Brooklyn Daily Eagle (March 15, 1884): “The remains of Mrs. Jessie Reed, nee Waldron, the giantess who has for two years been on exhibition by Mr. Bunnell, were taken from Samuel Waldron’s undertaking shop on East Sixty-fourth street, New York, to-day, to the Union avenue Baptist Church, Greenpoint. The hearse was drawn by two stout horses, and was surmounted by plumes. The massive casket, which was three feet, six inches wide and three feet deep, was filled with flowers, the offerings of friends. A great crowd of persons awaited the arrival of the body, many of them being old friends and schoolmates of the giantess. The casket was lifted carefully out of the hearse by as many men as could well get under it to lend a helping hand.

‘Oh I hope they don’t let it fall. It would be fearful if they did,’ several women and young girls whispered to each other timidly, as they saw the men staggering under the weight of nearly 500 pounds.”

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“The Death Is Announced Today,” Brooklyn Daily Eagle (February 19, 1879): The death is announced to-day of an amiable young woman who occupied a more or less public position in the world as a giantess. She was a Mrs. Flandran, and the very physical condition which made her a museum curiosity produced fatal results. She was six feet high and suffered from obesity to such an extent that she weighed at the time of her death no less than 516 pounds. There was nothing very extraordinary about either her life or death, except her height, for her bulkiness was due to disease, and fat people die every year by scores of fatty degeneration of the heart. But apart from her physical state she seems to have been an unusually interesting young woman, for her gentleness, amiability and kindness won for her in her pseudo-professional career many warm friends. An obituary notice of the unfortunate invalid–for that appears to have been the case for many years–intimates that honorable gentlemen of all classes sought her hand in marriage. Of course it is only fair to suppose that many of these proposals had their origin in that prurient ambition to associate oneself with distinction. But doubtless more than one, and especially those in her own sphere, appreciated at their true value the gentle qualities of mind and heart which distinguished the circus curiosity.”

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A Tour Of NYC’s Chinatown In The 1890s

March 10, 2011 in Old Print Articles, Photography, Urban Studies | Permalink

Doyers Street, Chinatown, New York City, 1890s.

San Francisco probably had the most famous Chinatown in America when the above classic photograph was taken in the 1890s, but NYC’s Chinatown was no slouch when it came to colorful street life. The following are a quartet of brief stories about the famous neighborhood from the Brooklyn Daily Eagle of that era.

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“She Missed Him in Bed” (June 1, 1890): “Julia Lee is the most famous woman in Chinatown, in New York. She is athletic and some time ago was married to a distinguished Oriental, part of whose name she bears. Lee Get is but a pygmy alongside his big German-American wife. Get has a weakness for fan tan and the money which he realizes from a small store in the basement of 11 Mott street is freely expended at his favorite game. At a late hour Friday night Lee stole from the side of his wife in bed and crossed over to 12 Mott street. There he joined one Lung and Sing Chung in a game of fan tan. When Julia missed him she started in dishabille to find her spouse. Lee was ingominiously led from the gaming table and dragged into the street. Julia hit Lee in the face and disturbed the symmetry of his nasal organ. His yells were loud enough to bring a policeman, who was a block distant, to the scene. The policeman knowing Mrs. Lee’s reputation took her into custody.”

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“Dangerous Localities” (March 9, 1879): “Some of the localities of Chinatown are positively dangerous, even with an officer. Among these is High Binder’s lane, where murders are often committed. It is the abode of the desperate and daring, and their numbers are countless. They have trap doors for the unwary and refuges in which they hide from the officers of the law. They come upon their victims in droves, rob him, maltreat him, and sometimes scar him with knives.”

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“Smells, Scenes and Noise” (March 9, 1879): “A Chinatown eating house consists usually of three stories. The first floor is for cooking, and the apparatus is very extensive. The second story has tables for the common folks. The third story is for grandees and distinguished people. But a Chinese cook is not restricted to the kitchen: tell him you are hungry, and he will immediately fetch his fire, his cooking utensils, his provisions, and cook under your very nose. He squats down anywhere, makes a fire in or on anything; a basin, dish, pan or pot; there is no limit to his invention. He will cook in the middle of the street, or in the centre of his guests in a restaurant.”

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“Exciting Day in Chinatown” (July 15, 1895): “It was Brooklyn vs. New York in Chinatown yesterday afternoon, and the arrival of the police broke up a small sized riot before the question of supremacy was definitely settled. The trouble had its origin two weeks ago, when Ah Hung, 30 years old, of 20 Pell street, hired Ah Kin, 50, of 20 Pell street, but recently of Brooklyn, to work in his laundry at $10 per week. On Saturday night Ah Kin, instead of receiving $20, was only given $7 by Ah Hung for his two weeks work and an argument ensued. Ah Hung refused to give up the other $13 and inquired in choice Chinese, “What are you going to do about it?”

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San Francisco’s Cbinatown, 1897:

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Old Print Article: Finding Human Skeletons, Brooklyn Daily Eagle (1890-1902)

March 9, 2011 in Old Print Articles, Urban Studies | Permalink

"There was no evidence of any coffin." (Image by Sklmsta.)

You apparently couldn’t walk down the street back in the day without finding a human skeleton. Reports of a few such occasions from the Brooklyn Daily Eagle follow.

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“Unearthed a Skeleton” (January 16, 1897): “A skeleton was unearthed by John Fentuny at Bowery Bay beach late yesterday afternoon. Fentuny was at work in a bank near the mill pond when his pick struck a hard substance. He thought it was stone and kept at work until the different parts of what proved to be a skeleton were revealed. The pick scattered the bones, but the head remained intact. Thomas Blackwell who lives on the beach gathered the bones into a box and brought them to the station house. Coroner Haslam had the skeleton transferred to the Newtown morgue and he says that the body must have been in the ground for many years. There was no evidence of any coffin. An old resident says that a farmhand who had the reputation of being a miser mysteriously disappeared from the neighborhood twenty years ago, and he thinks the skeleton might possibly be that of the miser.”

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“Boys Find a Man’s Skeleton” (November 29, 1896): “The skeleton of a man was found yesterday by Jersey City police on the meadows west of Hackensack river, and north of the Newark branch of the Erie railroad, near Snake Hill. It is supposed that the man had been murdered. The skull lay about five feet from the body.

Three boys who were hunting on the meadows discovered the skeleton on Friday afternoon. They said afterward that they were frightened and did not examine it closely at the time. They continued their hunting expedition and made no report until they returned to Jersey City.”

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"Following the rope was a perfect skeleton of a horse found, the noose of the rope still encircling the neck bones."

“Died of Thirst in the Desert” (May 1, 1890): “San Diego, Cal.–George Millard, arrived at Campo from Indian Wells and reports finding three skeletons on the desert. In one place he saw skeletons of two men lying a few yards apart. They evidently had been companions. Lying on the sand nearby was a third skeleton, betraying in its unnatural position terrible agony of death from heat and thirst. A few steps away was a picket pin driven into the ground with a lariat attached to it. Following the rope was a perfect skeleton of a horse found, the noose of the rope still encircling the neck bones.”

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“Skeleton of Child Found in Tenement Wood Shed” (August 13, 1900): “The discovery of a skeleton in the wood shed of the cellar of the tenement house at 333 Furman street, on Saturday evening at 6:30 o’clock, by three boys caused a report in that section that a baby farm had been unearthed. The neighbors shook their heads over the uncanny find and stories began to circulate freely to the effect that the skeleton might be only one of a number of similar cases.”

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“Newbury’s Ghastly Find” (November 24, 1902): “Rockaway Park, L.I.–Louis Newbury, an attaché of St. Malachi’s Home, while passing through a clump of woods near Eighteenth street, yesterday afternoon found the skeleton of a man. The bones were those of a man judged to have been 5 feet 10 inches tall. A fedora hat, a gold watch, a revolver and 25 cent piece were found near the bones, but there was nothing else by which indentification can be established. The revovler was fully loaded with the exception of one empty chamber and a smooth hole in the skull indicated that the mising bullet had been used to end the life of the stranger.”

 

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Immigrants Arrive At Ellis Island (1902)

March 8, 2011 in Excerpts, Old Print Articles, Urban Studies | Permalink

Hopeful of entering America, immigrants are processed at Ellis Island. (Image by Underwood & Underwood.)

The classic photograph above shows the huddled masses being processed after reaching Ellis Island in 1902, hoping to be admitted into America. But sometimes entrée was complicated, even if you were remarkably beautiful. An article in the Brooklyn Daily Eagle:

“Her Beauty Is Bewildering: A Captivating French Girl Who Is To Be Sent Home” (May 25, 1894): “Sitting in the detention pen at Ellis Island this morning was a French girl of such rare beauty as is seldom seen witnessed by authorities of the immigrant isle. A wealth of golden hair crowned a face, the profile of which is perfect. Her complexion is fresh and rosy, and the large, dreamy blue eyes have a sad expression. The employees have tried in vain to cheer her up and she is continually surrounded by a number of them. She is waiting to be sent back to her home on the next outgoing American line steamship, and this is her story.

Her name is Amelia Caron, 17 years old, and before she sailed for this country on the Paris, which arrived here May 12, she had lived with her parents and elder sister in the village of Chambre, France. which is about an hour’s ride from Paris. There she met and loved a young man named Caesar Hall, 26 years old. They took passage on the Paris together, and upon reaching Ellis Island told authorities they were married. The man was well dressed, good looking and said he was a clerk, They were to live at the Leo house, 6 State street, a semi religious boarding place. Early this week Hall was arrested, charged with stealing 700 francs from a passenger on the voyage across, and was held for trial. The proprietor of the boarding house informed Dr. Senner of the girl’s predicament as her lover had all their funds, which were considerable, and which secured their release from the island.

The authorities took the girl back on Tuesday last. She was examined by the board of special inquiry, when she admitted that she was not married to Hall, but had eloped with him. She was ordered sent back to her home.”

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Immigrants arrive at Ellis Island, 1906:

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Old Print Article: “A Talking Skeleton,” Brooklyn Daily Eagle (1883)

March 7, 2011 in Old Print Articles, Science/Tech, Urban Studies | Permalink

"A more repulsive sight to any lover of the 'human form divine' it would be difficult to imagine."

Isaac Sprague was a nineteenth-century dime museum performer who was billed as the “Living Skeleton.” He had some sort of progressive muscular disease and was invited into classrooms as well as sideshows, so that medical students could study his malady. Such a visit to academia was covered by the Brooklyn Daily Eagle in truly insulting fashion in its November 25, 1883 issue. An excerpt:

“Isaac Sprague, who is usually advertised in museums or traveling shows as the living skeleton, was exhibited yesterday to the students of the Rush Medical College, and was made the subject of a lecture by Dr. Henry M. Lyman. Several hundred students filled the tiers of seats that rose above each other to the roof of the amphitheatre, and in the small semicircle below sat the skeleton. A skeleton he was, indeed, for there did not appear to be a single vestige of flesh on his body, and the skin was drawn tightly over the bones. He wore a pair of trunks, leaving his legs, chest and arms nude, and a more repulsive sight to any lover of the ‘human form divine’ it would be difficult to imagine. The man’s spine was curved to one side and there was a tremulous pulsation in the neck over the right shoulder that produced an irritating effect upon an observer’s nerves. Sprague’s face is not attenuated in comparison with his body, and his neck seems to preserve some muscular tissues, but all the remainder is a mass of living articulated bones.

The skeleton said that he was forty-two years old and had been suffering from progressive muscular atrophy for thirty years. ‘Cases such as this,’ said the lecturer, ‘generally run their course in five years, and few have been known to exceed twenty years. It is safe to say that there is no case like the present one on record.’

‘Have you suffered much?’ the doctor asked.

‘No,’ said the skeleton in a voice almost as thin as his legs. ‘I have had almost no rheumatic pains; have suffered no loss of sleep; I can eat three hearty meals a day, and have been married twice and now have three children.’

The skeleton, in conclusion, told the students that he now weighs fifty pounds, which was half what he weighed when the disease began. He said, in an incidental and humorous way, that his wife weighed 172 pounds. He himself is five feet five and one half inches in height, and his boy, weighing 125 pounds, can carry his father about like a child.”

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Old Print Article: “Ezra F. Merrill’s Death,” Brooklyn Daily Eagle (1899)

March 4, 2011 in Old Print Articles, Urban Studies | Permalink

"Ezra F. Merrill, the wealthy owner of toboggan slides at Coney Island and roller coaster devices." (Image by Buchhändler.)

Ezra F. Merrill was one of the key forces behind the introduction of the toboggan slide to Coney Island, and he also built some popular roller coasters. But his rides weren’t always fun and safe and resulted in numerous injuries and deaths, with scalps lost and skulls crushed. As reported in the May 10, 1899 Brooklyn Daily Eagle, the scream machines even eventually claimed the aged proprietor himself, who was something of an eccentric figure. An excerpt:

“The death of Ezra F. Merrill, the wealthy owner of toboggan slides at Coney Island and roller coaster devices, will be the subject of an investigation by Coroner Burger. Dr. Byrne, the Register of Vital Statistics of the local Health Office, declined to accept the death certificate of the attending physician on the ground that death was due to traumatic or violent origin.

Merrill, who was a character, attended to all his business interests personally. It is said that he was a millionaire, but he dressed like a laborer and ate at the cheapest restaurants on the island. He was trying a new roller coaster car one day last week when it slipped from its moorings and struck him in the stomach. The result was that peritonitis developed and that was given as the cause of death.”

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Old Print Article: “Seekers After Fine Complexions Find Running A Valuable Exercise,” Brooklyn Daile Eagle (1902)

March 2, 2011 in Old Print Articles, Sports, Urban Studies | Permalink

"When you first take up this sport, after two laps, say, you are blowing like porpoises."

Running didn’t take hold as a popular exercise in America until the 1960s, but it had its moments in earlier decades, as evidenced by a brave group of New York women who took the then-rare activity out of doors in 1902. An execerpt from a Brooklyn Daily Eagle article from June 29th of that year:

“Arabella Knickerbocker has a new fad for improving her complexion. It is running, or ‘sprinting,’ as she calls it. ‘Nothing gives me a better color or makes better lungs than running, some one tells me,’ explains Arabella to a group of lovely maidens, ‘so I am training, and determined to learn to run, if not like an antelope, at least some way, somehow.’

‘How perfectly lovely,’ exclaims one who was valedictorian at her class in college, and knows a thing or two. ‘We used to sprint now and then, too. Some one who lectured at the college on ‘Girls,’ and what he didn’t know about them, remarked incidentally, with more point than gallantry. ‘There are no girls today who can run.’ We didn’t exactly run that man off the college grounds, but we then and there formed a club, with a president and rules and bylaws and a prize at the end of a mile.’

‘Well, there are eight of us at the gym,’ continued Arabella, ‘and after practising running in all its branches within doors, we finally boldy ventured forth into the street.’

If girls would turn their athletic attention to running they would find the novel pastime the most exhilarating in the world, as well as one of the most healthful. Excessive running  is as injurious as any other excess, but frequent and easy running is one of the best exercises, and both men and women should run. Of course when you first take up this sport, after two laps, say, you are blowing like porpoises; you haven’t any wind. For one reason, you probably come down with a thud on your heels; you should know that you cannot run unless you get the spring from your toes.

After learning the rudiments of running in a gymnasium, practice should be continued out of doors, for fresh air is one of the factors in the sport. It is the fresh air that is going to give Diana that bewitching color in her cheeks and purify every drop of blood in her body.”

‘

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Old Print Article: Bicycle Troubles, Brooklyn Daily Eagle (1890s)

February 28, 2011 in Old Print Articles, Sports, Urban Studies | Permalink

"A man frequents the park who is in the habit of cutting them about the ankles with a whip."

Bicycling became a huge craze in America during the 1890s. It was a healthy fad that was good for hearts, lungs and mayhem–lots of mayhem. A few brief stories of bike-related turmoil from the Brooklyn Daily Eagle follow.

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“Recent Events” (September 29, 1894): “Chicago women who ride bicycles in bloomers in Washington park have complained to the police that a man frequents the park who is in the habit of cutting them about the ankles with a whip when they pass him.”

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“Don’t Ride in Long Island City” (August 25, 1892): “The hardships a bicycle rider is likely to encounter in Long Island City beside bad roads was fully ventillated in the police court of that city yesterday. George A. Phail is superintendent of the Danier dynamo works, at Steinway. He lives at Winfield and, until two weeks ago, enjoyed great pleasure and exercise in riding across the country roads, a distance of about three miles, to and from his work. On August 8, Phail on his way home through Newtown avenue on his bicycle, encountered Cerl Springer and Gustav Zeigler on the roadway. Springer didn’t fancy the style Phail was putting on and Zeigler does not like bicycles anyway. Zeigler refused to get out of the way to let Phail pass and the latter, in attempting to turn out of Zeigler’s way, was precipitated down an embankment, bicycle and all. Phail gathered himself up the best he could under such circumstances and the irate Germans both told him it served him right, as he had no business riding there. Smarting under his injuries Phail talked back to the Germans and in an instant Springer and Phail were clinching. Zeigler went to his companion’s assistance and soon the prostrate form of the bicycle rider lay in the roadway and was being made a foot ball by the German.

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“A Bicycler’s Arrest” (June 8, 1896): “Some of the new New York policemen are as over busy as their predecessors were neglectful. One of them notified a young woman on a bicycle that her lamp was out. The young woman dismounted and lit her lamp. Then the policeman arrested her. She was carried away in a patrol wagon, locked up in a cell, in the company of riff-raff gathered from the streets on Saturday nights, who insulted and jeered at her, and the sergeant in charge was as officious and ill mannered as his underling. Her relatives finally learned of the arrest and secured her release on bail. At the court Magistrate Simms roundly lectured the policeman and gave an honorable discharge to the young woman, as he considered that by lighting her lamp, when warned to do so, she had complied with the law.”

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“Max Miller’s Wedding Postponed” (September 11, 1893): “Max Miller, a bicycle machinist and expert bicycle rider, employed near the park entrance, was to have been married Saturday evening. Instead of a happy bridegroom he was escorted to a cell in the Flabush station house, charged by his employer with stealing some $200 worth of bicycle goods. His intended bride was allowed to visit him in his cell yesterday afternoon.”

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“Broadsword Fight Awheel” (May 10, 1897): “An unusual sight greeted many cyclists at the Lynwood track yesterday, where ‘Colonel’ Nicholas Hartmann, the broadsword fighter, was practicing his profession, mounted on the front seat of a tandem bicycle. The swordsman was incased in his fighting armor and withstanding the assaults of his trainer in clever style.”

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Bicycle trick riding, 1899:

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Old Print Article: “Must Find Baby To Get Wealth,” Brooklyn Daily Eagle (1900)

February 24, 2011 in Old Print Articles, Urban Studies | Permalink

"The child was adopted nearly a year ago by parties who stipulated that no record of its new owners he made."

I’m not even sure I completely understand this insane 1900 story about the desperate search for a baby that was given up for adoption, but the article spells the word “clue” as “clew,” so that’s good enough for me. An excerpt:

“Williamsport, Pa,. July 19.–Six years ago the wife of Philip Castner of Indianapolis, under an assumed name, gave birth to a son in the Williamsport Hospital. She gave it to the Home for the Friendless and later was divorced from her husband. Recently Castner heard of the birth and came for his son.

At the Home for the Friendless he learned that the child was adopted nearly a year ago by parties who stipulated that no record of its new owners he made. It is reported that the presence of the baby is necessary for the recovery of a fortune, which, if the child is not found within a given time, will revert to other parties. Mr. Castner left the city without having obtained a single clew as to the child’s whereabouts.”

 

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Old Print Article: “The Miser Of Newark,” Brooklyn Daily Eagle (1896)

February 22, 2011 in Old Print Articles, Urban Studies | Permalink

"It is alleged by his wife that he has given her but $7 in fifteen years for the needs of herself and her children." (Image by Maria Feodorovna.)

The July 19, 1896 edition of the Brooklyn Daily Eagle tells the story of miserly Maurice Flynn, who probably could have been a better husband. An excerpt:

“The miser in Balzac’s Eugenie Grandet seems too miserly to be true, but he is outdone in real life. Newark has a worse than prototype in Maurice Flynn, a rich contractor. It is alleged by his wife that he has given her but $7 in fifteen years for the needs of herself and her children, that when she was ill form overwork and asked for help he told her that she was beggar enough and poor enough to be her own servant, that he made her cook for twenty men on a skimped allowance, that when she asked for more and better food he broke her breastbone with a blackjack, while at other times he tried to hold her on a hot stove and beat her with a poker to curb her strange desire for meals. So she asks for divorce, and as her statements are corroborated she is likely to get it.”

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Old Print Article: “The Fire Annihilator,” Brooklyn Daily Eagle (1851)

February 20, 2011 in Old Print Articles, Science/Tech, Urban Studies | Permalink

Not even P.T. Barnum could sell the Fire Annihilator, an early flame extinguisher created by British inventor William Phillips. The Big Top legend invested heavily in the apparatus and announced (with great hoopla, of course) a demonstration in Manhattan to be held on December 17, 1851. Things did not go well.

According to some publications, Barnum’s friend, Signor Blitz, a ventriloquist, bird trainer and magician, complicated matters by mischievously throwing his voice to make it sound like people and livestock were trapped by the fire that had been set for the trial. That may or not be apocryphal. Whatever the cause, the machine failed, and inside of a year the Fire Annihilator factory in London was completely destroyed–by a fire. Because Barnum had often boasted of his ability to fool all of the people all of the time, the ink-stained wretches were not kind about the public failure.

The New York Times panned the Annihilator, and here’s an excerpt from the Brooklyn Daily Eagle story about the doomed demonstration:

Yesterday, in order to satisfy our curiosity in regard to the merits of the so-called Fire Annihilator, we preceded to New York to witness the exhibition trial of the machine, which was announced to take place. In order to avoid accidents, the trial took place so far up town as 63rd street in an unenclosed space of ground, without any houses in the neighborhood. A quantity of pitch was ignited, and two of the machines applied to extinguish the flames. The pitch was spread on a frame of boards about four feet by six, and probably made a coating two or three inches in depth. One of the machines was put in operation, and a stream of white vapor resembling steam issued forth and was directed towards the fire; another similarly charged, was applied to the other side of the fire. A hissing noise followed, but when both of the machines were exhausted the fire was burning as strongly as ever. The performance was repeated several times with similar results.

As the trial was long postponed, and publicly advertised to take place on this occasion, it is to be presumed that everything was so well prepared for testing the capacity of the machine as to give fair proof of its character; and after having witnessed the trial we are forced to say, that we would put infinitely more confidence in a bucket of water, in case of a fire, than in Barnum’s Annihilator.•

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Old Print Article: Children At The House Of Refuge (1870s-90s)

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

"Yesterday afternoon he beat her over the head with a fire shovel." (Image by Lewis Hine.)

Parents in nineteenth-century New York City who had their hands full with their wild, waifish children sometimes requested assistance from the House of Refuge, which was the first juvenile reformatory in the country, with roots going back to 1816. The following brief notices from the Brooklyn Daily Eagle concern incorrigible children who did a stint at the institution.

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“Wayward Rose Herman” (March 1, 1898): “Thirteen year old Rose Herman of 131 Central avenue was committed to the House of Refuge this morning by Magistrate Worth in the Gates avenue court. Mrs. Mary Herman, the girl’s mother, appeared against her and told the magistrate that Rose sought disorderly companions, stayed out late at night and would not heed her mother’s good advice. Some time ago Rose was arrested on a similar complaint and was sent to the Training School. When she came out she continued her waywardness until her mother was forced to appeal to the Children’s Society. Agent Sauer took the girl away.

Rose is a pretty girl and tall for her age. She showed a defiant manner in court and though her mother’s eyes were filled with tears at the parting, the girl was not at all affected and scarcely noticed her mother.”

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“Sent Joseph to the House of Refuge” (May 11, 1895): “Joseph Hoffman of 179 Stuyvesant avenue is only 13 years old, but his mother cannot manage him. Yesterday afternoon he beat her over the head with a fire shovel and she had him arrested. In the Gates avenue police court this morning Judge Harriman committed Joseph to the Hose of Refuge.

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"Maria Delisso, an Italian girl 14 years old, was sent to the House of Refuge by Justice Walsh this morning on a charge of having been a disobedient and vicious child." (Image by Lewis Hine.)

“Maria Was a Bad Girl” (December 19, 1896): Maria Delisso, an Italian girl 14 years old, was sent to the House of Refuge by Justice Walsh this morning on a charge of having been a disobedient and vicious child. The complainant was the girl’s father, who lives at 821 Kent avenue. Maria left home last August, and for two months her father searched for her and finally found her at a low Italian resort on Mott street, New York. Nicolo Scardino, with whom she was living there, has been sent to the Elmira reformatory by authorities of New York City. Roundsman Vacbris of the headquarters squad arrested the girl in the Mott street house.”

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“Committed for a Year” (December 1, 1877): “Justice Elliott this morning committed John J. White, a lad aged 16 years, to the House of Refuge for one year, on the complaint of the mother who resides at No. 294 North Second street. She charged him with stealing her Bible valued at three dollars.”


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Old Print Article: “Death of Sam Ward,” Brooklyn Daily Eagle (1884)

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

"Sam Ward's mission in Washington was to soothe the nerves and livers of unapproachable men." (Image by "Vanity Fair.")

Even those who hate Washington lobbyists probably would have liked Samuel Cutler Ward, a writer and gourmand who used his highly evolved social skills to become known in our nation’s capital as “King of the Lobby.” Ward was actually lauded during his career for using his talent for entertaining to sway votes rather than employing the time-tested method of the bribe. The New York Times provided a lengthy, admiring obituary when Ward died on May 19, 1884, and the Brooklyn Daily Eagle recalled him fondly as well. An excerpt from the Eagle’s clunky piece:

“One of the unique figures on our social stage, perhaps the most widely known and favorably regarded of Americans abroad, passed out of existence when, on Sunday Mr. Samuel Ward, universally known as Sam Ward, died in Italy. The cablegram that announced his death contained the news that he died peacefully, surrounded by friends, very much as he had lived. It is not probable that he had any enemies to speak of, for the true disciple of Epicurus has neither taste nor talent for quarreling. Yet, though he will not be missed as a man more potent in affairs would be lamented, the very fact that this amiable apostle of ease and enjoyment, of indeed a sort of supplementary evangel of sweetness and light as expressed in the important matter of refining the grosser palates and manners of his neighbors, he discharged with a great deal of comfort to himself a really important duty. He went through life seeking by intellignt inquiry into obscure conditions to mitigate its acerbities to the utmost. Bland, clever, cheerful, with a cultivated literary taste  and the perfection of good manners, he made everybody comfortable with whom he came into contact, himself perhaps the most heartily satisfied of them all.

In political life his peculiar talents were turned to unexpected account. The recalcitrance of the Philistine is much more largely due to the protest of his physical organism against the outrage of his diet than is generally suspected. Sam Ward’s mission in Washington was to soothe the nerves and livers of unapproachable men in his own inimitable way. It was by a due proportion of good stories and the finest wines, of a perfect adjustment of edibles and drinkables, with sallies of neat Horatian wit, that he charmed his guests into a proper condition to listen to his arguments.”

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Bohemian Family Rolls Cigars (1890)

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

Journalist Jacob Riis was one of the early adapters of flash photography.

This classic photograph of a Bohemian family rolling cigars in New York in 1890 was taken by Jacob Riis for his book, How the Other Half Lives. As was usually the case with immigrant families, the entire clan, even the children, were involved in the industry, which was conducted over long hours in the cramp tenement in which they lived. It was a hard-knock life, and as the following excerpt from a 1898 article in the Brooklyn Daily Eagle about a cigar-making family makes clear, it was sometimes hard to fathom:

“CIGAR MAKER’S SUICIDE: John Wachtel, 50 years old, a cigarmaker, who lived with his wife and three children on the third floor of the tenement at 48 Morgan avenue, in the Eastern District, committed suicide there shortly after 2 o’clock this morning by shooting himself in the abdomen with a .32 caliber revolver. Wachtel had been drinking heavily for some time. Latterly he entertained the impression, which was groundless, that his oldest daughter, Abbie, was disobedient. The girl helped him to make cigars and her hours were sometimes unusually long. Wachtel for the past few weeks frequently quarreled with his wife regarding his daughter’s supposed disobedience. The mother generally took her daughter’s part and this seemed to annoy Wachtel all the more. He left the house yesterday about 2 o’clock. Wachtel did not reach home until 2 o’clock this morning. A quarrel ensued, after which Wachtel went to the front room and shot himself.”

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Old Print Article: Comic Valentines, Brooklyn Daily Eagle (1886-1900)

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

"The woman who received the valentine caused the arrest of the lady who is charged with sending it" (Image by Quentin Massys.)

Back in the nineteenth century when Valentine’s Day was still known as “St. Valentine’s Day,” sending a comic valentine was at least as likely as sending a sentimental one. A comic valentine was a card that had a grotesque illustration which mocked the recipient’s most obvious flaw (big ears, weak chin, prominent brow, etc.) and contained a rude and abusive poem. It was generally thought of as a middle-class tradition, but even high society got into the act sometimes. The excerpts below from a trio of Brooklyn Daily Eagle articles recall the nasty tradition, which not everyone appreciated.

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“Making Valentines” (December 19, 1886): “The average citizen is not apt to receive a comic valentine descriptive of his principal fault or weakness with any degree of pleasure. He oftener gets mad and in some cases searches for the sender. McLaughlin Brothers’ factory in Brooklyn has, during the past ten months, turned out 15,000,000 comic and 5,000,000 sentimental valentines. With such advantages practical jokers and lovers will have plenty of material with which to work on February 14, Valentine’s birthday. The former prevalent custom of venting a petty spite by sending a comic valentine has comparatively died out in the eastern and Middle States. West of the Mississippi River the valentine has, however, a ready sale.”

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"Cyra'nose' de Bergerac."

“The Comic Valentine” (February 21, 1899): “The right of people to amuse themselves at the expense of others is contested by one woman who resides in the aristocratic portion of the Fourteenth Ward. She received a valentine representing a person with a large nose, and accompanied by doggerel rhymes, together with manuscript additions of a reprehensible character. The lady that sent this gift had been obliged to move from her chateau on North First street at the request of her landlord, and she accused the recipient of the gift of hastening her departure. The woman who received the valentine caused the arrest of the lady who is charged with sending it, and the case has proceeded so far as to be adjourned. Right or wrong in the accusation, the refusal of a person to be amused by reflections on one’s nose will be commended in many quarters where the misfortunes of the arch-type of sufferers, Cyranose de Bergerac, are still unknown. In some quarters of the city the sending of valentines that are called comic has been as absolutely discontinued as the New Year call.”

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Arrows in the butt. (Image by Martin van Maële.)

“Valentine Causes Murder” (February 14, 1900): “C.R. Stewart, grocer, died to-day from the effects of a shot fired by his son Louis, aged 19, in a quarrel over a comic valentine. The son, who is in jail, says he was protecting his mother from an assault made upon her last night by his father. Mr. Stewart had received an offensive valentine and had accused his wife of having sent it. She denied the accusation, and he attempted to assault her when the son fired the shot and afflicted the fatal wound.”

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Old Print Article: “Mrs. S.V. Smith Is Missing,” Brooklyn Daily Eagle (1899)

February 10, 2011 in Old Print Articles, Urban Studies | Permalink

"Mr. Smith is in comfortable circumstances. He is about 35 years old. His wife is a fine looking woman, a few years her husband's junior, and was quite a favorite with other occupants of the flat house."

Mrs. Sarah V. Smith apparently had had enough. In 1891, she up and left her merchant husband and took just about everything with her. Mr. Smith was not amused. The Brooklyn Daily Eagle reported on the sorry domestic situation in its May 3, 1891 issue. An excerpt:

“Mrs. Sarah V. Smith, wife of Isaac N. Smith, a Duane street, New York, wholesale dealer of twine and wrapping paper, mysteriously disappeared from her home in the Kensington apartment house, at the corner of Throop avenue and Quincy street, on Thursday. Where she has gone or why she went away nobody on the premises seems to know. Mr. Smith, who did not know of the wife’s disappearance until several hours after she had vacated her apartments, is evidently as much in the dark regarding her motive in leaving as everybody else. The deserted husband unceremoniously left the premises on Friday morning–the day following his wife’s going away–and has not returned since.

"Isaac N. Smith, a Duane street, New York, wholesale dealer of twine and wrapping paper." (Image by Daniel Schwen.)

The Smith family had occupied the East flat on the second floor of the Kensington building for almost a year. Mr. Smith is in comfortable circumstances. He is about 35 years old. His wife is a fine looking woman, a few years her husband’s junior, and was quite a favorite with other occupants of the flat house. The couple have two children, aged 3 and 5 years respectively. On Thursday evening, according to a statement subsequently made by Mr. Smith, he started for business as usual, bidding his wife an affectionate good bye. At six o’clock that evening he returned home and was astounded to find upon entering his apartment the bulk of furniture and household belongings missing and nothing discernible of his wife and children. The carpets in every room of the house had been taken up and with the other fixings removed. About the only articles left were a framed picture of Mrs. Smith and a large Saratoga trunk containing Mr. Smith’s clothing. The mystified husband made anxious inquiries throughout the building relative to his wife’s disappearance, but obtained but little satisfaction.

The following advertisement, which has a direct bearing on the mystery, appeared in last night’s Eagle: ‘SMITH–TO WHOM IT MAY CONCERN: My wife SARAH V. SMITH, has left my bed and board without my consent and wishes, and I hereby forbid any person or persons from trusting her on my account. ISAAC N. SMITH.'”


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