Old Print Articles

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Old Print Article: “Bears In Terrific Fight In Central Park Zoo,” Brooklyn Daily Eagle (1902)

July 8, 2010 in Old Print Articles, Urban Studies | Permalink

Come get some, Garibaldi. (Image by Sakurai Midori.)

People seriously had nothing to do in New York back in the day, so they would stand around for hours at a zoo and watch a couple of bears beat the crap out of each other. Thankfully, a reporter from the Brooklyn Daily Eagle likewise had nothing better to do and was on hand to file a ridiculously long and unnecessary article for the September 28, 1902 edition. The piece was subtitled, “Rocky, the 960 Pound Grizzly Boss of the Cage, Meets His Equal at Last.” An excerpt:

“While nearly a 1,000 people cheered and groaned alternately, Garibaldi, a 450 pound cinnamon bear, fought to a standstill a 960 pound grizzly bear called Rocky in the most terrific and bloody fight ever witnessed in the Central Park Zoo yesterday afternoon. The battle was fought on the cliff in the bear cage, and, although, neither one was killed, both were so badly used up that they lay on the ground panting for half an hour.

Garibaldi is a trained bear, and this fact is probably responsible for the defeat of his heavier rival. He was presented to Director Smith of the zoo a week ago by Joseph Sareix, a wandering Italian showman, who told Mr. Smith that Garibaldi was becoming so ugly in his temperament that he was afraid to keep him longer. Sareix said that the animal had been trained for a number of years and was as agile as Jim Corbett. He knew all the tricks of wrestling and was especially strong. His long confinement had made him ugly and Sareix was afraid the animal might turn on him and kill him.

Rocky has been in the zoo for some time and has been master of the bear cage. He is an ugly looking brute and has always been considered dangerous. Director Smith feared if the two were put together a fight would ensue, and he concluded to keep Garibaldi in a wooden cage until he got used to the feed and the ways of the keepers in the zoo. So the new bear was put in a cage near the big bear cage and the keepers soon discovered why the Italian showman did not care to keep him any longer. The first day he was put in the cage Garibaldi attempted to force the sides.

This will be my best story ever for the "Eagle."

The climax came yesterday morning when keeper Billy Snyder went to feed the cinnamon. He discovered that the bear had gnawed a large hole though the cage and that it would be a question of a only a few hours when it would be large enough for the bear to crawl through and make his escape. Snyder reported the matter at once to Director Smith, and, after a consultation with other keepers, it was decided that the only thing to be done was to put Garibaldi in the big bear cage. It was concluded that the little bear could not kill the big fellow, and if the cinnamon was killed the city would not be at a loss, for the animal was a gift.

The word was spread rapidly through the park that the bear was to be transferred and that there was liable to be a fight, and a big crowd gathered. The reserves were sent from the Central Park station and the crowd was kept at a distance by a roped line. When all was ready the cage was carted up on top of the hill and Garibaldi was admitted to the big bear cage.

Rocky had been attracted by the crowd around the cage and the roars of Garibaldi, who tried to resist the efforts of his keepers. He recognized a foe and made ready for his entrance into the cage. The cinnamon didn’t flinch, but waited for the grizzly to approach the top of the cliff and then suddenly springing into action dealt the big fellow a blow on the head. Garibaldi had knocked the chip off the other fellow’s shoulder and the fight was on.

The terrific growling of the bears served to attract a greater number of people than had witnessed the transfer, and when the battle opened there were nearly a thousand people surrounding the bear cage. Men yelled and cheered the little bear on and women groaned and some cried as blow after blow was struck and the bears clinched. For fully twenty minuted the fight continued, first one, then the other, seeming to have the advantage. When the fight was about half over both animals were covered in blood and the sight was so sickening that the women were forced to go away and dragged their children with them.”

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Old Print Article: “Umbrella Duels,” Brooklyn Daily Eagle (1895)

July 6, 2010 in Old Print Articles, Urban Studies | Permalink

Hellcat will stab you in the head.

According to this asinine article in the July 6. 1894 edition of the Brooklyn Daily Eagle, Old Timey women were using their umbrellas to beat the snot out of one another. An excerpt:

“Two or three umbrella duels have occurred in this vicinity of late. Women were the duelists and there were no fatalities. Jealousy and hatred were the inspiring causes of these conflicts and a good deal of skill was exhibited in the use of weapons. We have always believed that when the new woman entered the field of honor she would import into that gory reservation something worthy of her own sweet self. And she has.

Men may cling to the pistol, the rapier, the saber, the poignard, the Kentucky shot gun, the bowie of Mizzoura, the bolas of the Argentines, the putty blowers of Paris and the cowhide boots of New England. But woman has a more effective instrument in the umbrella. That is, it is more effective when directed against another woman. A bullet merely kills and often does not hurt much. An umbrella on the contrary does not often kill, but it does worse, it scratches and disfigures and with it the appearance of a rival bonnet may be utterly ruined. Every steel rib is devised to catch a ribbon or a piece of lace, or even to impair the bloom on the cheek of innocence or insurance agents. One woman is known to have made a terrible threat of putting her umbrella down the throat of a certain person and opening it, from the outside. Compared with this possibility of punishment the sports of Romans with the early Christians must be regarded as mere amateur cruelties.

Weapons of mass destruction.

Still, the umbrella has a good deal to commend itself, as opposed to the pistol. In the first place the pistol is monotonous. The people have tired of it as an implement of the novel and the drama and will be glad to welcome something different. Again, the startling noise that accompanies the use of firearms is avoided by the use of umbrellas. Instead of reports there are only screams and whacks.

Again, the pistol duel is sometimes conclusive after a single shot; whereas the umbrella duel is a truer test of sincerity in the attacking parties. A person who is convinced that she has right on her side can do prodigies of skill and daring with an umbrella, while, if a pistol had been used, a lucky or unlucky chance might have settled the battle before it had begun. It is hoped that the new woman will continue to employ the umbrella when she has a cause of war with a neighbor. We hope this because if she should take to using pistols it would be the innocent man in the back yard next door but two who would be hurt.”

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Old Print Article: “Boiling Eggs With Electricty,” Brooklyn Daily Eagle (1890)

July 2, 2010 in Old Print Articles, Science/Tech, Urban Studies | Permalink

"The news of the egg boiling spread quickly."

In the same year that the first New York resident died by electric chair, a much more sanguine use of voltage was displayed: A Manhattan electric supply company boiled an egg with electricity for (perhaps) the first time in NYC history. Wow! A story about this amazing march of scientific progress ran in the July 13, 1890 edition of the Brooklyn Daily Eagle. An excerpt:

“The novel experiment of boiling eggs by electricity was tried recently in the office of the electric supply company, Cincinnati, in the masonic temple, on Third street. Of course they were boiled in water, but electricity was the heating agent. Luke Lilley, the city’s assistant electrician, was chief cook. Charley Marshall, the underwriter’s agent, ate the first egg boiled by the agency of the subtle current. It required six amperes (quantity of electricity) and ninety-six volts (pressure or force) to accomplish the operation with about two quarts of water in a huge tin cup, the electric current being connected through the handle of the cup. The news of the egg boiling spread quickly, and as it was about lunch time, brokers, bulls and bears, bankers, insurance men and lawyers crowded the office. About thirteen dozen eggs were consumed, the only disappointment being that a drink did not go with each egg.”

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Old Print Article: “Goat Guarded Starving Man,” Brooklyn Daily Eagle (1900)

June 30, 2010 in Old Print Articles, Urban Studies | Permalink

"Disreputable looking but vicious billy goat." (Image by Steve Ford Elliott.)

People did whatever the hell they wanted to do in Brooklyn in 1900. If you felt like being a hermit and keeping a pet goat, sure, why not.  Not surprisingly, these asinine decisions sometimes turned out badly. That was the case with a recluse and his hollow-horned buddy as chronicled in the March 6, 1900 edition of the Brooklyn Daily News. An excerpt:

“William Randall, an aged recluse, was found dying of cold and exhaustion in a squalid hovel at 442 Graham avenue last night. His only companion and protector was a disreputable looking but vicious billy goat, who vigorously resented the intrusion of neighbors who sought to relieve the starving man.

Randall, who is 85 years old, has for the past six months been living the life of a hermit in a little one story frame house, formerly used as a stable. He was seen seldom by neighbors and was generally accompanied by the goat who followed him much after the fashion of a dog. Randall had not been seen for nearly a week and when groans were heard last night neighbors decided to investigate. When the door was forced open there was a sound of rapid hoof beats and the goat with lowered horns charged at the intruders. They retreated and summoned Policeman Melton of the Herbert street station who advanced into the place with drawn club. The goat immediately renewed the attack, but was stunned by a blow from the policeman’s stick. With a pitiful bleat the old man’s defender rolled over on the dirt covered floor. He was made helpless by binding his legs.

The old man was found lying on a heap of mildewed hay in a corner with a board serving as a pillow. His long white hair was matted and covered with dirt, which increased the ghastly appearance of his emaciated features. There was no fire nor food in the place. A call for an ambulance brought Dr. Halpin of the Eastern District Hospital. He said the man was on the verge of starvation and hurriedly conveyed him to St. Catherine’s Hospital. Randall was delirious and muttered continually, ‘Alone and dying. My only friend, Billy.’

At the hospital this morning the physician in charge said the old man had improved greatly. The goat will be cared for until Randall is able to leave the hospital.”

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Old Print Article: “Jack The Kisser In Jail,” Brooklyn Daily Eagle (1892)

June 28, 2010 in Old Print Articles, Urban Studies | Permalink

"...the man who, about three months ago, entered at night the Convent of Our Sorrowful Mother at Morgan avenue and Garden street and kissed and offered other indignities to the nuns."

Before the phrase “Jack the Ripper” became synonymous with urban horror, “Jack the Kisser” was often used in newspapers to describe kissing bandits. (There were also many a “Jack the Hugger.”) Quite a number of men seem to have behaved this way in the late nineteenth century.

One such lip-locking louse was Peter Demuth, a Flushing man who favored young girls and nuns. The Brooklyn Daily Eagle had an account of his unwanted advances in its January 18, 1892 edition. An excerpt:

“Peter Demuth, 32 years of age, who was arrested on Tuesday last as the fellow who has become known as ‘Jack the Kisser,’ was sentenced to the penitentiary for eighteen months on three charges. The complainants were Annie Zeibig of 1,035 Flushing avenue; Carrie Leys of 120 Moore street amd Frederika Cassel of 1,011 Flushing avenue.

These young girls had been chased, caught and kissed by the prisoner. The police have had a great deal of trouble in arresting the fellow. He usually escaped the officers by running into one of the Johnson avenue slaughter houses and disappearing. In court to-day he was identified as the man who, about three months ago, entered at night the Convent of Our Sorrowful Mother at Morgan avenue and Garden street and kissed and offered other indignities to the nuns. The sisters, however, refused to prefer charges against him.”

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Old Print Article: “A Maniac Gymnast,” Brooklyn Daily Eagle (1877)

June 24, 2010 in Old Print Articles, Urban Studies | Permalink

Doing this hurts my crazy, crazy lungs so much.

There were plenty of maniacs in New York City in 1877, but how many of them were gymnasts with lung diseases who could climb down the side of a building? An example of one such maniac is at the heart of an article in the February 27, 1887 issue of the Brooklyn Daily Eagle. An excerpt:

“A Spanish gentleman came to the New York Central office this morning and reported a wonderful feat which had been performed by his son Senor Mirande, who is a famous gymnast, as he made his escape from his house No. 340 East Fifty-sixth street, where he had been confined for some times past. It seems that some time ago he caught cold after one of his daring trapeze performances and the cold settled on his lungs.

All efforts to remove the trouble failed, and finally lung disease supervened. He has suffered much of late, being confined to his house, and for the past few days has become delirious so that he had to be watched. Last night he was worse than usual and had to be bound with ropes in his room, which was on the third floor of the house. About 1 o’clock this morning he broke the bands that held him and with a shriek that awoke all other occupants of the house made a dash for the window.

"Go away! I'll climb to the moon!" (Image by Karonen.)

In a twinkling he had gone through it, turning a somersault as he sprang, and hung to the cement by his hands, his body swinging to and fro forty feet above the sidewalk. His friends sprang to his assistance, but he shouted, ‘Go away! I’ll climb to the moon!’ Then he swayed his body with increasing rapidity and let go. A cry of horror escaped from the lips of the relatives, but he grasped the metal leader of the house, went up it hand over hand with the agility of a monkey, and suddenly plunged forward, landing upon the top of a shutter on the top floor.

Then he swung up on a fragile blind, which it was feared would be forced from its hinges by his weight, and suddenly leaping in the air grasped the gutter of the house. He ran along the edge with seeming indifference at the height at which he was performing, and then started to descend headlong the shutter of the adjoining house. Away he went, leaping from shutter to window sill, until the top of the stoop was reached. Then he slid down one of the posts to the street, along which he ran bareheaded until out of sight. His father is in the greatest distress regarding what has become of him, and a general alarm has been sent out to all stations.”

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Old Print Article: “Performing Bears At Bay Shore,” Brooklyn Daily Eagle (1895)

June 21, 2010 in Old Print Articles, Urban Studies | Permalink

"These bears and Italians walked down Clinton avenue."

Whenever I hear negative stereotypes about new immigrants (Mexicans are taking the brunt of the abuse right now), I know it’s just history repeating itself. Old newspaper articles are littered with insulting stereotypes of every ethnic group. Take my people, the Italians, for instance. Even the bizarre stories that involved Italian immigrants used crude language and depictions. Case in point: an article from the August 9, 1895 issue of the Brooklyn Daily Eagle, which had to do with the Long Island town being invaded by bears and Italians. And which was more horrifying?!? An excerpt:

“Yesterday two large bears and three Italians appeared in town. Bears are especially forbidden to roam the streets of Bay Shore. These bears and Italians walked down Clinton avenue, at the extreme western end of the village, which is a street of the fine houses of the city residents, and the bears performed their tricks for the amusement of the New Yorkers. Constable George W. Jeffrey soon located them and had considerable difficulty in getting the Italians into the lockup, and had to use his club freely. Finally they were all shut up, bears and Italians together. Last night their trial came off and each of the men was fined $5. They refused to pay and so Constable Jeffrey took them all to Riverhead jail this morning, where they will stay until the fines are paid.”

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Trick bears, 1899:

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Old Print Article: “Our Dude Tramps” (1895)

June 16, 2010 in Old Print Articles, Urban Studies | Permalink

Little Tramp: I stabbed a train porter in the abdomen to acquire this necktie.

Well-dressed hobos were apparently a very serious problem in the New York region in the late nineteenth century. At least that’s the story that was being pushed in an article entitled, “Our Dude Tramps,” in the August 21, 1895 issue of the Brooklyn Daily Eagle. These ruffians, who previously were content to cover themselves in cast-off rags, had suddenly become narcissistic and were mugging decent folk for their cuff links and cummerbunds. Somebody needed to billy club these tramps into submission before they started to look too handsome. An excerpt:

“These tramps are getting too particular in the matter of their clothes. Formerly they used to go around sort of careless like, with their toes getting the benefit of the sunshine and their hats ventilated with accordion tops and flags of truce flying from the usual place, to signify that they were peaceable. But now, affected with the prevailing rage for living above their station, they insist on being clothed like dudes.

One of them terrified a farmer’s wife into convulsions by wearing a monocle when he went to the door to ask for pie and a bottle of claret. And twice within the week they have held up citizens of New Jersey and compelled them to undress, right down to the buff, in order that they may wear their clothing. The last sufferer was waylaid on the marshes near Newark, and was stripped to his undershirt, a pistol placed over his eye overcoming his natural modesty as to disrobing in this public manner, and he was left a prey to the mosquitoes which in that region surpass turkeys for size and hyenas for voracity.

Then in Bloomfield a tramp stole a swimmer’s clothes and caused him to be chased as a wild man. If the tramps keep on doing that sort of thing much longer they may get themselves disliked.”

Old Print Article: “Thrown Through A Window,” Brooklyn Daily Eagle (1887)

June 13, 2010 in Old Print Articles, Urban Studies | Permalink

“The stranger picked up a razor and invited her to have a shave.”

If I’ve learned one thing from reading Old Timey newspapers, it’s that nothing good ever happened in a New York barbershop during the 1880s. No one ever went in, got a shave, and emerged the better. These shops were full of nonstop drunkenness, insults and bloody fisticuffs. You would have been safer at a cock fight in an opium den.

In a story I came across  recently in the February 12, 1887 issue of the Brooklyn Daily Eagle, a young woman being teased about her alleged hirsuteness led to a wild melee. The story:

“Julia McEvoy, a rather good looking young woman, who says she is 23 years old, was arrested yesterday afternoon by Officer Stevens, of the Sixth Sub Precinct, on a charge of malicious mischief preferred against her by Michael Bria, an Italian barber, whose store is at 455 Graham avenue. Miss McEvoy was very indignant over her arrest and stoutly proclaimed her innocence. When questioned she said she had been the barber’s housekeeper.

She was in the store yesterday afternoon when a friend of her employer’s entered. He seemed to be in a jocular mood and amused himself by poking fun at Miss McEvoy. The latter did not mind this until the stranger picked up a razor and invited her to have a shave. The young woman considered that this involved an unpleasant implication and became indignant at the proposition. She informed the stranger that he was carrying this fun too far, and requested him to desist. He thought, however, that the fun was very mild, and had no intention of relinquishing it. Indeed, Miss McEvoy’s fiery eyes only served to give it keener relish.

Then, according to the young woman’s story, he chased her about the store. It was a very lively chase. They jumped over and around chairs and tables, most of which were soon upset. Though Miss McEvoy is a nimble young woman, she was not agile enough for her tormentor, her skirts seriously impeding her movements. The stranger finally caught her and renewed his proposition to shave her. Miss McEvoy, by that time was really angry, and after she expressed her opinion of him in a manner more vigorous than the man thought the occasion demanded. He also grew angry and a war of words ensued between the two.

The hot Southern blood of the stranger, who was an Italian, was soon aroused, and when Miss McEvoy expressed her opinion of him in a more unendurable form than she had yet used he seized her and pitched her through a large window pane of glass. She escaped without injury, and was about to re-enter the store when the officer appeared. Mr. Bria, who had been absent a part of the time, returned at this moment, and seeing the damage done to this property made the charge against her on which she was arrested.

Miss McEvoy, when taken to the station house. expressed the belief that it was rather cruel to have her arrested after being used as an irresponsible missile instead of being an actual misdemeanant. When Mr. Bria was seen this morning he seemed to have some doubts as to who the actual culprit was. He insinuated that Miss McEvoy had been drinking a little beer. She was not really his housekeeper, but was only employed by him from day to day. The stranger’s name could not be learned. When the case was called in Justice Naecher’s Court this morning Bria did not appear, and Miss McEvoy was discharged.”

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Old Print Article: “Centipedes And Bugs Flow Into His Bathroom,” Brooklyn Daily Eagle (1902)

June 9, 2010 in Old Print Articles, Urban Studies | Permalink

Sorry to barge in unexpectedly, Judge, but I really had to use the can. (Image by Liza Phoenix.)

If the May 8, 1902 issue of the Brooklyn Daily Eagle is to be believed, the entire borough was being invaded by ominous sea monsters. That’s the impression you get from this hyperbolic article about a former New York Supreme Court Justice, whose home had strange things coming out of the bathroom faucets. Less than a year after this article was written, Justice Fredric A. Ward was found dead in his Remsen Street abode, but it was assumed he died from natural causes and not from being strangled by an octopus that crawled out of his toilet. An excerpt from the article subtitled, “No Uncommon Thing, He Has Ascertained, to Receive Visits From Sea Monsters”:

“Former Justice of the Supreme Court Frederic A. Ward has just moved to his new house, at 52 Remsen street. Now Mr. Ward is wishing that he hadn’t. He has found things in his new house not to his liking–not a bit. They are in his bathtubs.

In Justice Ward’s new house are two beautiful bathrooms. He was delighted with them the first day he saw them. That was before he took possession of the house. Now the former Supreme Court Justice is wondering if he was not deceived by the appearance of those bathrooms and of the exquisite bathtubs, done in mosaics, which looked so handsome and so inviting.

It is all because of the water. The first time Mr. Ward turned on the water in the bathtubs, there came flowing out of the pipe such a motley assemblage of sea monsters, garden truck, insects and discarded vegetables that he was for a moment taken back with astonishment. After ordering the servants to clean out the tub, Mr. Ward turned the pipe on again. Still the procession came and was still coming when Mr. Ward decided to bring the parade to a halt.

Judge Judy: A tarantula once stole my lip balm. (Image by Susan Roberts.)

The next day the former Supreme Court Justice determined to try again. He met with the same success. The sea monsters still continued to come, grass of many shades oozed out of the pipes, huge chunks of seaweed that looked as if they had done service in the Brooklyn water system for a number of years followed and the Justice threw up his hands in despair. Mr. Ward then called the attention of the previous tenant who had preceded him to the condition of the water. To his great surprise, Mr. Ward was informed that it was no unusual thing to receive visits periodically from the sea animals described by the former Justice. The latter, however, has determined to cut them short and has written a letter to Water Commissioner Dougherty calling the latter’s attention to the polluted condition of the water being supplied to his house.

Mr. Ward in his letter to the Water Commissioner says that not only is the water full of insects, moss and other disagreeable things, but it is of a muddy and filthy nature, making bathing an impossibility.”

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Old Print Article: “On Osculation–Statesmen And Generals Who Enjoyed The Enviable Pleasure Of Kissing Pretty Girls,” Brooklyn Daily Eagle (1891)

June 4, 2010 in Old Print Articles | Permalink

General Robert E. Lee: I was indeed an incorrigible kissing bandit. And I also was quite fond of the pussy.

I don’t know what was going on in the world on November 24, 1891, but I would have to assume that it was a slow news day. The Brooklyn Daily Eagle ran a story that morning about how famous generals and politicians often took advantage of opportunities to kiss pretty girls. General Robert E. Lee was one of the military men singled out as a kisser of pretty ladies. Imagine his shame! An excerpt from the ridiculous article:

“A cablegram from Berlin announced that Prince Bismarck is enjoying himself at Kissengen, adding that he recently kissed a young lady. The young lady in question desired, it appears, to kiss his hand, but the man of Blut und Eisen was too gallant for that. He seized her and kissed her ruby lips with all the ardor of his 76 years, ending with a good squeeze by way of a clincher.

The incident is suggestive, says the Baltimore Sun, not simply of the fact that pretty girls like to be kissed–provided the other party is a famous man and of discreet age–but of the more instructive truth that kissing pretty girls has been a favorite occupation of all great men of mature age, military men being particularly given to it.

General Robert E. Lee, for example, notwithstanding the staid decorum of his ordinary demeanor, was ever ready, it is stated. to kiss a pretty girl. At Lexington, Va., in the closing years of his life, there were many pretty girls and many encounters of this kind, the girls being quite willing to ‘have it to say’ that they had been so favored by the great patriot and strategist. The victor in many great battles–the victim of the charms of their pretty faces–the idea was just entirely too delightful for anything. The college boys heard of it with mingled feelings of envy and emulation.

To this day the visitor at Lexington will be stopped at this or that turn of the road by his guide–some old colleague–with the remark: ‘Here in 1866 I saw General Lee kiss the beautiful Miss So-and-So. They met, they chatted. At parting the damsel would say, ‘Why, General, aren’t you going to kiss me?’ and thereupon the general would respond with evident animation.”

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Old Print Article: World’s Largest Man Takes Cab Ride To The Morgue, New York Times (1903)

June 1, 2010 in Old Print Articles, Urban Studies | Permalink

"Coffin Cab" is a 1902 illustration by Henry Charles Moore.

“Big Joe” Grimes was the “World’s Largest Man” at P.T. Barnum’s circus at the beginning of last century, when all you needed to be a star was enormous size. (As opposed to current times, when all you need to be a star is enormous emotional baggage.) In a 1902 Ringling tour, he shared performance space with Francisco Lentini, the Three-Legged Boy, and Enoch the Man Fish, among others. But what gave Grimes relative fame and fortune also claimed him–though not in the expected way. It wasn’t a heart attack or stroke or diabetes that ended the sideshow attraction’s life, but rather his huge body straining a cab to the breaking point and beyond.

I came across “World’s Largest Man Dead,” a very brief notice in the September 5, 1903 issue of the New York Times, which details his death but didn’t mention his show biz career, as it were. The piece is subtitled: “‘Big Joe’ Grimes of Cincinnati Breaks Through Cab and Fatally Wounds Himself.” An excerpt:

“‘Big Joe’ Grimes, said to have been the largest man in the world, is dead at the home of his parents in the city, as the result of a peculiar accident. While riding in a cab, his great weight broke through the bottom, one of his legs was gashed, the wound refusing to heal.

Grimes weighed 754 pounds, and was thirty-four years of age. He was 6 feet 4 inches in height, and his body and limbs were of ponderous dimensions.”

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Old Print Article: “News From The Suburbs–Dogs That Howl In The Night In Quiet Flatbush,” Brooklyn Daily Eagle (1896)

May 30, 2010 in Old Print Articles, Urban Studies | Permalink

Run like the wind, Mr. Butterscotch! Your cute goggles will not save you.

Brooklyn was completely insane in 1896, what with old guys going dog-hunting with double-barrel shotguns in the middle of the night. That was the scenario laid out in the June 26, 1896 issue of the Brooklyn Daily Eagle. Stray dogs disturbed the peace and a geezer picked up his weapon. You know the article was from long ago because it refers to Flatbush as “the suburbs.” The piece in full:

“Residents of the southeastern section of Flatbush are up in arms against a pack of hungry, homeless dogs, which nightly turn that peaceful neighborhood into bedlam. These starving brutes invade private lawns, prowl around chicken houses, chase cats, fight with each other over a stray bone and howl at the moon until their hair raising concert awakes the soundest sleeper.

With that patience which is characteristic of the Flatbush resident, the unwilling auditors of these serenades for a whole week put cotton in their ears and walked the floor with the babies before they decided to stand on their rights as citizens and taxpayers.

The initiative was taken by John J. Snyder, who is about 70 years old and lives in a handsome house on East Twenty-first street, near Avenue C. Though he is a hale and hearty man for his age, he is unable to do without sleep. In the dead of the night he was forced to rise from his bed and throw things through the window. Mr. Snyder owns an excellent shotgun and in the wee, small hours of yesterday morning, when the savage concert was at its height, he decided to use it.

Your demise shall be my greatest triumph, Butterscotch.

Unfortunately all his shells were loaded with fine shot, so there was small hope of doing fatal work. Armed with his trusty weapon Mr Snyder descended to the porch. The pack was in the rear of the house in full cry. Mr. Snyder stole around his house with a step as light as that of an Indian. Suddenly two shots rang out in the night. For a moment all was still and then the dogs set up a howl that made cold shivers run down the backs of Mr. Snyder’s neighbors. When morning came the yard was empty of the living and the dead.

Among those who have suffered from the riotous dog concerts are ex-City Auditor Anton Weber, ex-County Clerk William J. Kaiser, William H. Dreyer, John Dreyer and Mr. Van Kuren. All have now laid in a stock of ammunition and when the dogs appear again there will be deadly battle.”

    Old Print Article: “Brodie Goes Over Niagara,” Brooklyn Daily Eagle (1889)

    May 24, 2010 in Old Print Articles, Urban Studies | Permalink

    "Steve Brodie: Champion Bridge Jumper Of The World."

    Steve Brodie was a New York bookie who gambled on the public’s need for heroes. Brodie grew famous in the late 19th century for an array of daring deeds, but he really only had one mighty talent: hoopla.

    The popular Bowery character became a national celebrity in 1886 when he supposedly survived a leap from the recently opened Brooklyn Bridge–or so he claimed. Brodie likely had a dummy thrown off the span while he stayed out of harm’s way under a pier, but the press and public swallowed the story whole. Soon, the phrase “pulling a Brodie” was used whenever anyone performed a large, flamboyant gesture. He was the Houdini of hooey and the “daredevil” rode the publicity to success as a Manhattan saloon owner.

    Once he tasted fame, Brodie wasn’t going away without a fight. The barkeep subsequently claimed a laundry list of other bridge dives and awesone feats that were likely equally bogus. But even if his boasts were illegitimate, Brodie’s notoriety landed him roles in legitimate theater, including 1894’s On the Bowery. The problem was, his whole life was a stage act and you never knew what was real and what was fake. As a result, Brodie’s obituary was written prematurely many times over the years.

    The real one ran in The New York Times on February 1, 1901, under the title “Steve Brodie Dead; Picturesque Career of Famous Bowery Character Ends at San Antonio, Texas.” (The Times had previously pronounced him dead three years earlier.)

    Another time Brodie was hastily drowned in a pool of ink was in a September 7, 1889 article in the Brooklyn Daily Eagle, which reported that Brodie had been seriously, perhaps fatally, wounded (false) after becoming the second man to go over Niagara Falls in a barrel (false), just days after a barrel maker named Carlisle D. Graham had become the first to accomplish the feat (also false). An excerpt:

    “The peculiar form of insanity which Steve Brodie has shown has comprised an ambition on his part to outdo anyone else in jumping from great heights, or in the undertaking of great risks. He has jumped from the Brooklyn Bridge, the Harlem High Bridge, the Cincinnati Suspension Bridge, over the Falls of the Genesee and from other great heights.

    Annie Taylor, the first person to genuinely go over Niagara Falls in a barrel and survive. She performed the feat in 1901.

    To-day it was reported he went over the Horseshoe Falls at Niagara, in a barrel, and that he has been taken up severely, and it is believed fatally, hurt. This last effort was doubtless made in emulation of the report that the idiot cooper named Graham went over the Falls in a barrel the other day. It is reputably declared that Graham did nothing of the kind, and that the report was a fraud to enable him to exhibit himself at paying rates in cheap museums.

    There seems to be no doubt, however, that Brodie believed the Graham story and resolved to equal or exceed the attempt. If his temerity costs him his life, he will only have himself to blame. There will, however, be some sympathy with him because he was local to these communities and because he had undoubted pluck or recklessness. Should he emerge a cripple for life or should he finally recover, ground for his apprehension as a lunatic would be supplied by his last effort. It is a fact, however, that those who surround him are interested in urging him on to risk after risk, and that they make capital out of his peculiar form of audacious insanity. It will be remembered that Brodie’s most successful rival, Donelly, we think his name was, lately lost his life bridge jumping in England.

    Legislation is required to deal with cranks of this kind. The community would not be critical of the character of such legislation, if only it was effective. Peremptorily to rate the cranks as insane, to shave their heads and to lock them up to be looked at by the public would stop their business.”

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    Old Print Article: “A Crazy Man On The Rampage,” Brooklyn Daily Eagle (1890)

    May 20, 2010 in Old Print Articles, Urban Studies | Permalink

    Bellevue Hospital, in the 1890s, would have been a good place for Henry Hertzel.

    Henry Hertzel wasn’t exactly an ideal neighbor. A slaughterhouse worker in Lower Manhattan near the end of the 19th-century, Hertzel was batshit crazy and eager to demonstrate his special brand of insanity. To add to matters, it would appear according to this article I found that his undergarments were somehow “socialistic.” On August 17, 1890, the Brooklyn Daily Eagle had a piece about a man who scared an entire neighborhood. An excerpt:

    “Henry Hertzel resides at 325 First avenue, New York, and among the residents of the vicinity is better known as the crazy terror of First avenue. As the story goes, Hertzel gets as crazy as can be at intervals, and during those periods he seems wholly bent upon the destruction of everything within reach.

    One of these spells seized him yesterday morning. He arose and, as his wife thought, started to his work in a slaughter house on the east side. He did not go there. Instead, he called at Louis Siglock’s men’s furnishing store, at 837 First avenue, where he purchased a suit of red underclothing, telling the party in the store, who knew him, to send to his house for the money, as his wife had it. Later on Mr. Siglock called for the money. By this time Hertzel had returned to his home and went to bed with his brand new suit on. When he heard Siglock demanding the money he jumped out of the bed and, divesting himself of his socialistic garments, sent them flying out of the window and, while in a nude state, sent the dry goods man from the house at full speed, threatening to kill him. Shortly afterward Hertzel dressed himself and went to a saloon and coffee house kept by one Besthoff, at 833 First avenue, and at once proceeded to take charge of the place, but was finally ejected.

    This seemed to arouse his frenzy. He dashed across the way to a bakery kept by Mr. Smith. Here he tried to seize a large bread knife. Mr. Smith saw that there was something wrong, and saw as well that the madman wanted the knife. The baker was too quick for him, and Hertzel, instead of getting the weapon to revenge himself upon the saloon people, found himself stretched on the floor with a well directed blow by Mr. Smith. Picking himself up Hertzel rushed back to the saloon from which he had been ejected. Now he was clean mad and everyone made way for him. When he reached the saloon he found the screen doors fastened against him. With one wrench he had them off their hinges and flung them into the street. This finished, the now utterly crazed man stopped at nothing and in a furious manner proceeded to destroy everything he could lay his hands on and cleaned out the place entirely.

    He then made a dash for the street and the first man he encountered was Siglock, the men’s furnishing man. Then he got mad in earnest and bore down upon Siglock like a wild Texan steer. In a trice they both were engaged in a fierce hand to hand struggle. By this time, at least a thousand men, women and children had gathered in the vicinity. Three policemen now came up and it took all their strength to arrest the crazy man.”

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    Old Print Article: “Not Pretty Conduct,” Brooklyn Daily Eagle (1893)

    May 15, 2010 in Old Print Articles, Urban Studies | Permalink

    "Two men had been voting for themselves at 10 cents a vote in a contest to decide which was the handsomest man in Sheepshead Bay."

    In the August 20, 1893 issue of the Brooklyn Daily Eagle, there was a particularly disquieting item about sheer dandyism. A couple of vain men caused a disturbance when they used fisticuffs to try to settle a disagreement over which one was the handsomer. Such ugly behavior from such angel-faced fops. An excerpt:

    “Two men had been voting for themselves at 10 cents a vote in a contest to decide which was the handsomest man in Sheepshead Bay. The money was to go to Father Hoffman’s church. The young men were evidently jealous of each other for, although in this contest money talked rather than looks, each accused the other of looking worse than the accuser, and he shortly proceeded to make his statement good by pushing the other one’s face against the back of his head. As a result, neither of these young men is fair to look upon to-day, and their good priest has brought the brawlers to book from his pulpit.

    In future contests of this kind a man ought to be debarred from voting for himself. There are no good-looking men any-way, but if the girls think there are, it is their place to vote for them, not the men. Men are conceited creatures, and they ought not to be allowed to make such exhibitions of their conceit. Next time restrict the beauty contests to the girls. They may call each other mean things, but they will not use their fists and nails to wrest a prize.”

      Old Print Article: “Famous Vienna Operator Preparing For Demonstrations Of Bloodless Surgery,” Brooklyn Daily Eagle (1902)

      May 10, 2010 in Old Print Articles, Science/Tech | Permalink

      Adolf Lorenz was famous for his hip surgeries, but he also came up with a treatment for club feet.

      Viennese orthopedic surgeon Adolf Lorenz was a trailblazer when medical procedures in America were still often performed in the home of the patient. He sojourned to the U.S. in December of 1902 and traveled cross country to share his medical knowledge and perform a series of innovative hip surgeries on crippled children.

      In its December 14 issue, the Brooklyn Daily Eagle recorded Lorenz’s arrival in New York. (They spelled his first name “Adolph” instead of the proper “Adolf.”) The piece is subtitled: “Hundred of Local Physicians and Surgeons Seeking Opportunity to Study His Practice and Methods.” An excerpt:

      “Professor Adolph Lorenz,the celebrated Austrian surgeon, arrived yesterday afternoon in New York to begin his operations for congenital dislocations of the hip. He will operate free of charge on a number of young children that have been selected by local physicians as proper subjects for his charity and his treatment.

      Prof. Lorenz came in from Philadelphia at 7 o’clock. He was met in Jersey City by a large number of local surgeons, among them being Dr. Virgil P. Gibney, consulting surgeon for the New York Hospital for the Crippled and Ruptured. Dr. Gibney will have charge of the details of arrangements for Prof. Lorenz’s operations here.

      The famous surgeon went directly to the Holland House, where rooms had been engaged for him. He was seen there by newspaper men, but would not say anything further than that he would be busy until Monday getting ready for his operations. He went out with Dr. Gibney and others before 8 o’clock. Professor Lorenz will spend to-day making preparations for his work here. He will consult with other surgeons, and may examine the children who are to be operated on.”

      In “Lorenz Applauded By Noted Surgeons,” the Times followed up with an account of his first surgeries. It was quite a scene. An excerpt from that piece:

      “The little room in which was the operating table was wholly occupied by spectators. Applause followed applause as Dr. Lorenz demonstrated his method. The expressions on the faces of the watching surgeons showed that they were intensely interested, and they were the chief applause givers.

      It being Dr. Lorenz’s debut in New York, celebrated surgeons and physicians early gathered about the clinic of the hospital on Lexington Avenue. They were prominent, and were admitted to the operating room whether they had invitations or not. It was regarded as the most notable gathering of New York medical men, but they fought for admittance of the small amphitheatre like schoolboys would get into the circus.”

      More Old Print Articles:

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      Old Print Article: “Young Woman Broke His Nose,” Brooklyn Daily Eagle (1898)

      May 4, 2010 in Excerpts, Misc., Old Print Articles, Urban Studies | Permalink

      Allan Pinkerton, father of the American private detective industry: "What is this I hear about a detective-punching hellcat?" (Image by Alexander Gardner.)

      There was apparently one thing that Miss Mamie Wilson of Rockaway Avenue didn’t take kindly to in 1898: being told she was no lady. I came across this article about the ass-kicking Mamie in the August 2, 1898 issue of the Brooklyn Daily Eagle. It was subtitled: “Private Detective McCool Fell Victim to Miss Wilson’s Pugilistic Prowess.” An excerpt:

      “Miss Mamie Wilson of 176 Rockaway avenue, who had Michael Fiero, an Italian barber arrested one day last week, on a charge of threatening to kill her, because she refused to marry him, appeared before Magistrate Teale this morning, and requested to withdraw her charge. She said that she and her mother were going to move from the neighborhood wherein they at present reside and would then be free from molestation at the hands of Fiero. The case was set down for a hearing on August 9.

      The young woman was later arraigned before the magistrate on a charge of dislocating the nasal organ of a young man who says he is a private detective. James McCool, the complainant, who lives at 16 Russell place, alleged that on July 27, he was passing Miss Wilson’s door.

      ‘She called me a loafer, your honor,’ said McCool, ‘and I said she was no lady. Then she struck me with her fist on the nose and dislocated it.’

      In answer to the charge, Miss Wilson said that McCool insulted her. She admitted she struck McCool and said he deserved it. When the magistrate said that she would have to be held for the Special Sessions, the young woman became frightened. She was allowed to go under parole.”

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      Old Print Article: “The Talk Of New York–George Francis Train,” Brooklyn Daily Eagle (1888)

      April 29, 2010 in Misc., Old Print Articles, Urban Studies | Permalink

      This photo, taken somewhere between 1855-1865, shows George Francis Train still somewhat together.

      Although he’s largely forgotten now, George Francis Train was one of the most famous people in the world in the late 1800s. The inspiration for Jules Verne’s Around the World in Eighty Days, Train was a businessman, politician, lecturer, author, world traveler and all-around larger-than-life character. He was also increasingly batshit crazy in his later life.

      Train spent a lot of time during his dotage wandering around Madison Square Park, handing out dimes and refusing to talk to anyone but children and animals. Here’s an excerpt from a June 24, 1888 issue of Brooklyn Daily Eagle, when “Citizen Train” had gone off the rails:

      “I overheard a curious conversation in the barroom of the Hoffman House this week between our returned crank, George Francis Train, and a gentleman who had known him as a boy and who was familiar enough with him to still address him by his Christian name. The Sage of Madison Square strode in looking cool, handsome and as sunburned as ever, arrayed from top to toe in snow white duck, and as usual carrying his straw hat in his hand, while his buttonhole was adorned with cornflowers. He called for milk and vichy, the new Summer drink, with the invention of which that other crank, Ruskin, is credited, and while absorbing it was approached by his aforementioned acquaintance, who extended his hand and said genially, ‘Good morning, George. Glad to see you in the city again.’

      Before his angry flight to New Brunswick and his somewhat sheepish return, the crank never answered any remark made to him by adults, declaring they took from him ‘Psycho-force.’ But now he considered himself sufficiently strong to withstand the drain of speaking to them and replied ‘Good Morning’ at the same time putting his hands behind his back, and adding, ‘You must excuse me, but I can’t shake hands with you’

      Perhaps inspired by his surname, Train was instrumental in the formation of the Union Pacific Railroad.

      ‘Why not?’ demanded the other.

      ‘Because,’ answered the crank, ‘for fifteen years I have never allowed myself to touch man or woman. I should impart a portion of my psychic forces to them and I can not afford to do it. Only lately have I been able even to speak to them.’

      ‘Oh, bother such nonsense,’ cried his friend impatiently. ‘There’s not the slightest use of the type of talk with me, George. I’ve known you too long. I hoped you would finally have gotten over this absurd craze of yours. It’s a shame that a man with your talents should have wasted your life as you have done.’

      Train looked annoyed and uncomfortable and retorted, ‘Why, what have you done yourself to have made your life worth living?’

      ‘If nothing else,’ replied his friend, ‘I have raised to manhood two noble, manly sons, and that in itself is enough.’

      ‘Oh, you think so,’ sneered Train. ‘Well let me tell you what I have done. I have stored up in the last fifteen years enough psychic force to enable me to live for centuries, and it’s growing all the time, so that long after you and your two sons are dead I shall be here, passing through the streets people will fall dead before me, so great and irresistible will be my power.’

      Five minutes after he was talking with the utmost clearness and shrewdness, concerning some investments in real estate in St. Paul and no one could have believed him the lunatic of fifteen seconds previous.”

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      Old Print Aricle: “Human Ostrich Dines Too Fast On Hardware,” New York Times (1904)

      April 24, 2010 in Excerpts, Old Print Articles, Urban Studies | Permalink

      "Fasel used to be a professional 'ostrich.'"

      John Fasel must have been one hell of a bad tailor, because the Williamsburg resident found it necessary to supplement his income performing as a freak who ingested metallic junk in low-brow museums, sideshows and saloons. And he wasn’t a faker who employed sleight of hand–Fasel absolutely chowed down on actual nails, pocket-watch chains, keys, pins, rings, knives, coins, etc.

      The “Human Ostrich” was forced in January 1900 to cease the sideshow life and change his diet after doctors performed emergency surgery and removed the hardware store in his belly. But it isn’t easy to quit the glamour of show biz, and one August evening Fasel let a group of young men in a tavern goad him into drinking beers laced with coins and four-inch nails, resulting in the Ostrich ending up in a Brooklyn hospital in critical condition.

      The Brooklyn Daily Eagle ran at least four stories about Fasel, which is surprising, since I believe the paper only ran two stories about all of World War I (“Holy Crap, Everyone’s Fighting!” and “Wow, That Was A Bitch”). The New York Times also ran a couple of stories about the idiocy in August 1900, including one called, “Junk Eater Critically Ill.”

      The Daily Eagle reported on his miraculous recovery a few days later in “Human Ostrich Recovering,” mocking Fasel with the line: “He is now able to partake of raw shingle nails and other light nourishment.” The Brooklyn paper ran a subsequent story lauding Fasel for not being a phony like other sideshow freaks.

      "...the extraordinary amount of tin tacks, scrap iron, pen knives, and miscellaneous nails which he swallowed one night last week."

      But it was the New York Times four years later that seemed to have the final word when Fasel yet again fell off the wagon. An excerpt from the paper’s April 13, 1904 article, “Human Ostrich Dines Too Fast on Hardware“:

      “The proudest man in Williamsburg today is undoubtedly John Fasel of 246 Varet Street, who is going around showing his friends an X-ray photograph which brings about in bold relief the extraordinary amount of tin tacks, scrap iron, pen knives, and miscellaneous nails which he swallowed one night last week, and which the doctors are now planning to remove.

      Fasel used to be a professional ‘ostrich,’ but four years ago he found it necessary to call a halt on his metallic diet. At that time he was operated on by doctors at St. John’s Hospital, Brooklyn, and still with pride the ‘human ostrich’ recounts the list of junk taken from him on the operating table.

      Fasel went on the plain food wagon and remained there until one night last week, when the old appetite for something heavy and solid made him break his pledge. It was at a ball of the White Association of Brooklyn. There Fasel saw another ‘human ostrich’ making a quick lunch of some dog-chains. The ex-ostrich felt a craving right away, and issued a challenge. His friends cheered vociferously, and the ex-ostrich mounted the platform.

      The ravenous way in which he quickly disposed of all the knives on the table and the broken up water decanter made his rival stare.”

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      Old Print Article: “How The Throat Of A Hunchback Paramour Was Cut,” Brooklyn Daily Eagle (1877)

      April 21, 2010 in Misc., Old Print Articles, Urban Studies | Permalink

      There are no public domain images of Jacob Massoth, of course.

      In the November 26, 1877 issue of the Brooklyn Daily Eagle, I came across this relentlessly insulting (byline-less) account of an incredibly chaotic and lurid murder. Seriously, it’s one of the crazier things you’ll ever read. An excerpt:

      “A bloody tragedy occurred, yesterday, in the basement of the house, No. 517, East Thirteenth street, New York. The victim was Jacob Massoth, a knife and scissors grinder, aged sixty-five years, and his slayer was George Dell, a whitewasher, aged seventeen. Massoth has been a familiar character on the East Side for many years. He was a queer-looking little man with a hunchback, a squat figure, a face like a wrinkled parchment, and stiff gray hair. There was always a mischievous twinkle in his snapping, bead like eyes, and when he lugged his wheel and tools along the streets, the little children scattered in all directions, and as they ran they shouted, ‘Here comes the goblin!’

      For a considerable amount of time, the hunchback had maintained illicit relations with Mrs. Katrina Dell, the mother of the youth who killed him, who lived in the apartment where the deed was done. She is forty-four years of age and has been widowed for four years. It is said that the criminal relations with Massoth were contracted before the death of the late husband. Mrs. Dell is by no means an attractive woman. She is short and stout with an exceedingly dark complexion and coarse features.

      The knife grinder paid her increasing attention and generally lived in the same house with her or in the neighborhood. Wherever the woman and her family moved, the hunchback followed. When they took up their quarters in Thirteenth street he occupied a room on the same floor. Three weeks ago he began to live in the same apartment with his mistress. George Dell, the eldest son, objected to this arrangement, and he urged his mother to marry Massoth. The mother said they had not money enough to pay for a wedding. Meanwhile the neighbors began to talk and the son became restive under the taunts of his companions regarding the infamy of his mother. He was constantly embroiled with Massoth and they had frequent quarrels.

      Yesterday afternoon the youth George stood before a looking glass in the back of the basement shaving himself, when his younger brother, Adolph, jostled against him. George reprimanded the lad and turned him out of the room. Massoth interfered and took the boy’s part, probably using the incident as a means of provoking a quarrel. George told him ‘if he did not look out whose house he was in he would get chucked out.’ The hunchback became furious in a moment. He seized a dinner plate from the table and hurled it at the head of the offender. As the missile struck the wall near George and was dashed to pieces, he turned about angrily, but when Massoth entered the bedroom as if to retreat he only laughed contemptuously and returned to his shaving.

      In a moment Massoth darted from the bedroom with a hatchet in one hand and a heavy whetstone in the other. The hunchback was frantic with rage and springing on the young man dealt him a tremendous blow on the head with the stone just as Mrs. Dell and her daughter Annie rushed in to make a vain endeavor to separate the two. Massoth pushed the women aside and struck several more heavy blows with the whetstone, cutting his scalp and causing blood to pour over his face.

      Then he raised the hatchet to cleave George’s skull. Young Dell endeavored to defend himself from the assault and prevent the infuriated knife grinder from using the hatchet. Maddened by the restraint put on him, Massoth struck George again with the whetstone. The blow fell upon the arm which held the razor. The blade was turned back and as George endeavored to defend himself, the sharp edge came into contact with the jugular vein of the hunchback. The murderous Massoth fell upon the floor. Blood gushed in torrents from the wound, and in a few seconds the wretch lay lifeless upon the crimson stained floor.”

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      Old Print Article: “A ‘Kidnapped’ Monkey,” Brooklyn Daily Eagle (1899)

      April 17, 2010 in Old Print Articles, Urban Studies | Permalink

      "Some bad man has kidnapped him."

      As an Italian-American, I can confirm that there is simply nothing more humorous than an 1890’s Italian organ grinder who treats his monkey like a member of the family. And it’s not just a matter of opinion–science has proven this to be true. I came across this star-crossed tale of Giovanni and his disappeared simian in the October 11, 1899 issue of the Brooklyn Daily Eagle. An excerpt:

      “Somewhere in the city to-day is a kidnapped monkey and a stolen hand organ, says the Philadelphia Bulletin. Giovanni Luirgi will not allow the word ‘stolen’ to be applied to the monk. In telling of his loss to the police at the Germantown station house the Italian said: ‘He was my child, my brother, my only friend. He was more than a monkey. I could understand his speech. Some bad man has kidnapped him.’ Giovanni lives in East Chelten avenue, in a neighborhood known as Sicily. He locked up his monkey and organ in a shed at night, and in the morning they had disappeared, together with his dream of showers of dimes. The Italian does not know whom to suspect, but he feels sure that the monkey did not run away with the organ on his own account.”

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      Old Print Article: “A Human Vampire And A Murderer,” Brooklyn Daily Eagle (1892)

      April 12, 2010 in Misc., Old Print Articles | Permalink

      Away from me, you vampire!

      In the November 4, 1892 edition of the Brooklyn Daily Eagle it was reported that James Brown, a vampiric murderer imprisoned in Ohio, had behaved like a one-man riot while being removed from his cell to be transported to a psychiatric facility. Brown had been arrested for vampire murders while working as a cook aboard the Atlantic in 1866. Brown was originally sentenced to be hanged for killing a fellow crew member who had insulted him, but that judgement was commuted to a life sentence by President Andrew Johnson.

      A quarter-century later, the New York Times added reportage about his alleged blood-sucking exploits. Others followed up on this sensational angle. An excerpt from the Brooklyn Daily Eagle piece:

      “Deputy United States Marshal Williams of Cincinnati has removed James Brown, a deranged United States prisoner, from the Ohio penitentiary to the National Asylum at Washington D.C. The prisoner fought like a tiger at being removed.

      Twenty-five years ago he was charged with being a vampire and living on human blood. He was a Portuguese sailor and shipped on a fishing smack from Boston up the coast in 1867. During the trip two of the crew were missing and an investigation made. Brown was found one day in the hold of the ship, sucking blood from the body of one of the sailors. The other body was found in the same place and had been served in a similar manner. Brown was returned to Boston and convicted of murder and sentenced to be hanged. President Johnson commuted the sentence to imprisonment for life.

      After serving fifteen years in Massachusetts he was transferred to the Ohio prison. He has committed two murders since his confinement. When being taken from the prison, he believed that he was on the way to execution and resisted accordingly.”

      More Old Print Articles:

    • Hunger artist breaks his long fast. (1890)
    • Girl Lured to Opium Den Now a Raving Maniac (1900)
    • Muscular Woman Pummels Husband (1887)
    • Professional Clown Confronted By His Wife in New York (1887)
    • Women Rioters Raise Hell (1899)
    • The Matrimonial Experiences of Colonel Ruth Goshen (1879)

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      Old Print Article: “Succi Breaks His Fast,” Brooklyn Daily Eagle (1890)

      April 8, 2010 in Old Print Articles, Urban Studies | Permalink

      Franz Kafka’s “A Hunger Artist” has always been one of my favorite short stories, but I never really looked into the history of professional fasters. These were entertainers, not political protestors, who went on long hunger strikes to amaze ticket buyers at dime museums with the art of self-abnegation. The popularity of the “sport” pretty much ended in the early twentieth century. Giovanni Succi, who was often referred to as “the little Italian” in newsprint, was one of the most celebrated practitioners.

      In “Succi’s Long Fast,” a New York Times article dated November 6, 1890, the 38-year-old Succi announced his intention to starve himself for a personal record of 45 days at Koster & Bial’s music hall/beer garden in Manhattan. Succi would be on display 24 hours a day as his body wasted; student volunteers from Bellevue Medical College would be on hand to minister to his needs.

      A Brooklyn Daily Eagle article from the following month picks up the story more than 40 lost pounds later. An excerpt from “Succi Breaks His Fast”:

      “It was a remarkable scene, that of the last act in the long fast of Succi, which was successfully concluded at 8:10 o’clock last night. The 45 days were up at 8:10 o’clock but a photographer wanted to get a picture of Succi about to take his first meal and there was a delay of eight minutes, during which time Succi stood with a cup of cocoa in his hand and patiently submitted to the artist’s arrangements. The delay almost resulted fatally, for Succi had wanted his first meal. He was voracious. But after the aroma of the draught had floated in his face for several minutes he seemed to sicken and to suffer from nausea. He was twelve minutes drinking the single cup of cocoa, and he took it as though it was a dose of bitter medicine.”

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      Old Print Article: “Girl Lured To Opium Den Now A Raving Maniac,” Brooklyn Daily Eagle (1900)

      April 5, 2010 in Misc., Old Print Articles, Urban Studies | Permalink

      This photo of an 1880s opium den was taken in San Francisco, not New York. So the Zip girl is not in the picture. (Image by Louis Philippe Lessard.)

      I worry about young Miss Ottilie Zip, a Brooklynite who went insane after twice visiting a Manhattan opium den with a shadowy lawyer. I’d be worried more if this story about her hadn’t been published in the November 5, 1900 issue of the Brooklyn Daily Eagle. I think everyone involved is probably long gone to the big opium den in the sky. An excerpt: “Miss Ottilie Zip, 19 years old, of 245 Forty-sixth street, was taken by her mother, Mrs. Emma Zip, on Saturday to the Kings County Hospital, where she is now confined in the insane ward. Her mental condition will be examined to-day in order to decide whether she should be sent to an insane asylum. The girl talks almost constantly about a lawyer, but never mentions any name. It is reported that this man enticed her into an opium den. Miss Zip went twice last week to the Fourth avenue police station and asked the police to protect her. It is said she called on one occasion, between 1 and 2 o’clock in the morning and raved about a lawyer and the Supreme Court. The sergeant at the desk was finally obliged to send an officer home with her. Mrs. Zip, the girl’s mother, made the following statement: ‘My daughter Ottilie has been acting very strangely for the past week. She is constantly raving over a lawyer whom she  met at Franklin and Centre streets, Manhattan. She does not mention his name. My daughter was formerly employed at the Parker House and went over to New York from Brooklyn to visit her aunt. She was in the habit of staying with her aunt when she was out of employment. She stopped in a drug store to telephone me and I have been informed that she tendered the clerk a dollar bill and he refused to give her change. Then she went to Centre street court to make a complaint against him. While in the court, she met a young lawyer, who took her to a Chinese opium den. She told her aunt about the matter and then became insane. The statement that I took her to dance halls in untrue.'”

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