"Research does indicate that some schizophrenics decline faster if they smoke hash." (Image by Zantastik.)
From “Running the Asylum,” Graeme Wood’s new Atlantic article about mental-health care in Pakistan, a land that’s suffered a dizzying succession of jihads, terrorism, floods and hashish, always hashish:
“Raja, in his early 30s, is a typical case. He has been out of his mind and addicted to hash for most of his adult life. He’s tall and skinny, with a film of dirt on his face that suggests he can’t quite look after himself. Wazir says Raja routinely relapses by leaving the hospital and hanging out at a nearby shrine close to a police station, where addicts gather to smoke hash and opium. (Wazir blames the hash for worsening Raja’s mental problems. Research does indicate that some schizophrenics decline faster if they smoke hash. Other research, however, shows that cannabidiol, one of the psychoactive chemicals in hashish, has antipsychotic properties. Perhaps it’s a wash.)
Today is a good day for Raja. His eyes bug out, and his lips are pulled back in a huge grin that reveals teeth the color of brown sugar, looking so rotten that a swig of water might wash them away entirely. On bad days, he flies into uncontrollable schizophrenic rages. ‘If he is violent or too talkative or too mischievous,’ Wazir says, ‘we put him again in the mental hospital, and if he requires it, he gets electric shocks.’ He has gone through about 15 rounds of shock therapy. ‘But he’s young, so he can sustain it.’
Wazir says his countrymen have been mentally traumatized more or less continuously for the past 35 years. ‘First it was Afghan jihad, then it was Kashmiri jihad, then it was the nuclear issue, then it was terrorism and suicide bombings, and now floods,’ he says. ‘I have not heard any good news coming to me in Pakistan’”
"The newly arrived class, among whom incendiary fires occur, contains many people who are ignorant, filthy, dishonest and little appreciative as yet of American ways and American law."
There were many different reasons why people set fires during the 1890s, and the scary results didn’t always bring out the most enlightened responses from reporters at the Brooklyn Daily Eagle, as the following quartet of pyromania-related articles prove.
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“The Firebug, Zucker” (December 29, 1896): “The conviction of Zucker, the firebug, and his likelihood of serving the state in prison for the rest of his days, will tend to restore a measure of public confidence. There have been quite too many fires of late. They have a way of breaking out in places that are insured, and insured to at least the value of their contents. In order to avert suspicion themselves, some of the people who set fire to their shops and tenements have deemed it wiser to hire the work done by others, and Zucker, with some confederates made this his business. It is believed that he made $200,000 out of his fees for starting fires and out of his share of the insurance that was paid on burned buildings. The newly arrived class, among whom incendiary fires occur, contains many people who are ignorant, filthy, dishonest and little appreciative as yet of American ways and American law. The conviction of Zucker must serve to them as a warning and deterrent.”
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“A Boy Firebug” (April 29, 1899): “The most youthful prisoner ever accused of the serious crime of arson in Queens County was arraigned to plead to an indictment before County Judge Moore to-day. The accused is George Spillett, 15 years old, of Flushing, L.I. He pleaded guilty to a charge of arson in the third degree, when he admitted that he had set fire to a barn in College Point several weeks ago. Young Spillett was caught redhanded with the torch in his possession after he had ignited a bundle of straw. The boy has been acting queerly for a long time past and it is believed that he is somewhat demented. About a year ago he was arrested for stabbing a playmate named Joseph Schuester during an altercation, but escaped punishment.”
••••••••••
"The girl is now under arrest, after having admitted that she set fire to the house no less than nine times, the last fire resulting in the complete destruction of the interior." (Image by Henry Mayhew.)
“Is the Little Firebug Mad?” (January 7, 1895): “The mystery surrounding the series of fires in the house of Adam Coldwell, at 84 Guernsey street, has been explained by the confession of Rhoda Carlton, the 14 year old daughter of Mrs. Coldwell, by a former marriage. The girl is now under arrest, after having admitted that she set fire to the house no less than nine times, the last fire resulting in the complete destruction of the interior, so that the family is now homeless and dependent on the charity of neighbors for shelter.
The girl made a full confession to Captain Rhodes of the Greenpoint police yesterday. She said that she was tired of living in the house and thought she could frighten her family into leaving. She said that she was not happy at all. The girl, who is not bad looking and is rather large for her age, cried as she told how she dropped lighted matches behind the wall paper and in the bed clothes.
Rhoda cried a great deal in court and when asked why she had started the fire she wailed: “I don’t know. I don’t know. I want to see my mamma.”
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“A Peculiar Case” (July 14, 1898): “The Fire Marshal is to-day conducting an investigation into the circumstances attending a peculiar case of alleged arson which occurred yesterday in a two story frame house at 369 South Fifth street, in the Eastern District. The house is occupied by Mrs. Rose Gavin, her son, Isaac Morris, a bartender, his wife, Mrs. Antoinette Morris, and her niece, Annie Mitchell. Mrs. Morris has two children, one of whom died lately. Several years ago she met with an accident, injuring one of her legs. The wound proved intractable and since then it has been necessary to place the patient under the influence of ether no less than eighteen times in order that pieces of the putrefied bone might be removed from the limb without pain. Latterly it has been noticed that the injury and incidental worry has been affecting Mrs. Morris’ mind.
At the Bedford avenue station Mrs. Morris loudly protested against the charge of arson preferred against her. ‘As God as my witness,’ she said, ‘I am innocent of this charge. For a long time my mother has been acting in a strange manner toward me. I wish I were dead.'”
I’m looking for a dog agent to put “Crystal” on the map. Crystal – for her crystal blue eyes…. She has Star Power… I have a photo of her as a baby, she’s a little bigger now. Everyone says she should model, and be in commericals…. She is very smart. This is my first time doing this sort of thing so any help would be appricated.
A fun 1963 profile of writer Ray Bradbury, then 43, which was made during the early days of the Space Race. Things on display that are going or gone: crowded bookstores, typewriters, filing cabinets.
Atari famously brought the video game craze into the home with consoles that played removable cartridges rather than having games built into the system, but it wasn’t the first company to offer such a setup. The Fairchild Channel F did it earlier and one of Fairchild’s chief engineers and inventors, Jerry Lawson, just passed away. An excerpt from a new article about him on 1UP: “Engineer, inventor and video game pioneer Jerry Lawson passed away Saturday of unknown causes.
Lawson was among the earliest video game engineers. His first arcade title, Chicago Coins’ Demolition Derby, was developed in his garage in the early 1970s.
Lawson is remembered as the inventor of Fairchild Semiconductor’s home video game console, the Channel F. Released in 1976, the Channel F is the first console with programmable game cartridges; before it, home video game systems only played the games that were built into them.
Until recently, Lawson’s name was not very well known, even amongst the video game community. Fortunately, Lawson was honored by the International Game Developers Association’s Minority Special Interest Group at the Game Developers Conference just last month.”
This undated classic photograph shows George Auger, known in his performing days as the “Cardiff Giant.” Auger, who lived a short life, as giants almost always do, was a Welsh man who was somewhere between seven and eight feet tall, depending on whose hoopla you believe. But he was an authentic titan by any measure. An excerpt from a 1904New York Times article about his first appearance in America, when he was in the employ of P.T. Barnum:
“A new giant, larger than anything in that line yet seen here, arrived on the steamship La Bretagne from Havre. He will be placed on exhibition with the other prodigies in the museum of the Barnum & Bailey Circus, which opens at Madison Square Garden on Saturday night. His name is George Auger, and he comes from Cardiff, in Wales.
Auger is but twenty-two years of age, and now stands somewhat over 7 feet 11 inches in his socks. He wears fourteen size shoes, and gloves which have no numbers on them because nothing so large is made for the trade. His shoulders are almost as broad as those of two ordinary men, and there is cloth enough in one of his suits to fit out a whole ordinary family. With the giant was his wife, who looked like a pygmy beside him.”
"Corbett told him that he was homeless, almost penniless, and headed to Kansas to stake a claim." (Image by Mathew Brady.)
The opening of “The Man Who Shot the Man Who Shot Lincoln,” Ernest B. Furgurson’s American Scholar account of the unusual life of Boston Corbett, the soldier who killed John Wilkes Booth:
“One morning in September 1878, a tired traveler, five feet four inches tall, with a wispy beard, arrived at the office of the daily Pittsburgh Leader. His vest and coat were a faded purple, and his previously black pants were gray with age and wear. As he stepped inside, he lifted a once fashionable silk hat to disclose brown hair parted down the middle like a woman’s. Despite the mileage that showed in his face and clothes, he was well kept, and spoke with clarity. He handed the editor a note from an agent at the Pittsburgh rail depot, which said: ‘This will introduce to you Mr. Boston Corbett, of Camden, N.J., the avenger of Abraham Lincoln. Mr. Corbett is rather bashful, but at my solicitation he concluded to call on the Leader editor as an old soldier.’
The newspaperman realized that this was no joke. He remembered the photographs of this man, spread across the North after he shot the assassin John Wilkes Booth 13 years earlier, in April 1865. He invited him to sit and talk. Corbett told him that he was homeless, almost penniless, and headed to Kansas to stake a claim. The railroad agent had suggested that he come to the newspaper to tell his story, on the chance that someone would help him on his way.” (ThanksLongform.)
"We just sold an authenticated piece of chewing gum from a Hollywood producer." (Image by Kulmalukko.)
anything unusual?
we are a new and coming e tradeing business and we offer u a platform to sell anything unusual like celebrity memorabilia we jus sold an authenticated peice of chewing gum from a hollywood producer and retrieved 75 dollars for it so if u have anythig unusaul and authentic for sale we can sell it we take a small broker fee and u get the rest no scam if we dont sell u wont get charged
We’re headed further and further into a paperless currency world in the near future, but bills still have a role right now. Below is a list of the average lifespan for a number of denominations, which don’t last long. It’s taken from an Atlantic article, The Destruction of Money.
"He walked across a rope stretched at a height of 120 feet, and was nearly knocked off during a performance by a man who shot fireworks at him."
The Great Blondin was the best of all 19th-century tightrope walkers, but there were plenty of others who attempted to master the art. This quintet of stories from the Brooklyn Daily Eagle relates some of the sublime and scary moments faced by high-wire practitioners.
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“Blondin” (February 23, 1897): “A man who was as famous in his time as the Czar of all of the Russiashas just diedin a suburb of London at a comfortable age. He was Blondin, the rope walker. The man had many imitators and few rivals since he came into prominence, but none of them won quite the celebrity he enjoyed. Hardly any of them earned it, in fact. It was he who first conceived the notion ofcrossing Niagara on a tight ropeat a great height above the rushing water, and this self appointed task he carried out, once wheeling a barrow, and again with his head enveloped in a blanket, again crossing at night and again carrying a man on his back. In the grounds of theCrystal Palace in Londonhe walked across a rope stretched at a height of 120 feet, and was nearly knocked off during a performance by a man who shot fireworks at him. He returned to America not long ago and gave exhibitions at West Brighton that were seen by many thousands. Until he was 70 years old he retained his wonderful sense of balance and agility, and could be seen throwing handsprings in front of his house in Ealing.”
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"It was he who first conceived the notion of crossing Niagara on a tight rope...carrying a man on his back."
“Cycling on a Live Wire” (July 30, 1897): “A decided novelty in the line of tight rope performances may be witnessed free at Ridgewood Park next week. Professor Arion, who attracted considerable attention several years ago walking on a narrow span over Niagara Falls, and who has since been giving exhibitions in various parts of the country, will ride a bicycle over a live trolley wire every afternoon and evening. The feat is the latest addition to Professor Arion’s repertoire. His wheel, with the exception of the tires, is a regulation bicycle, fitted up with thirty regulation globes, which receive a current of electricity from the trolley wire beneath. The suit which the performer wears is studded with similar lights, covered wires being attached to his clothing, and when riding at a height of 75 feet above the ground, the sight is a brilliant one. In addition to the above number of tricks, Professor Arion will make up a bed on the wire, first unrolling a mattress, then covering himself with sheets and blankets.”
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“An Insane Tight Rope Walker” (April 22, 1884): “Harry Leslie who made himself famous by crossing the Niagara Falls on a tight rope, is in a violent state of insanity. He was arrested at nine o’clock last evening by an officer of the Seventh Precinct for attempting to stab a man. His mania is said to be grief at the death of his wife which occurred some time ago, and his failure to obtain steady employment. Last evening he created a sensation at his residence, corner Monserole and Manhattan avenues, Greenpoint, by throwing a rope from an upper window and announcing his intention of walking across the street. After thinking he had fastened it to the opposite house, a crowd of about 250 persons gathered below. While the rope was dangling from the window he clutched it and climbed on the sill, from which perilous position he was rescued with difficulty.
Leslie thinks he is a wealthy man and buys blocks of property in Greenpoint for which he gives worthless checks for millions. After the occurrence of last night he was watched by a member of his family. He attempted to stab the policeman who arrested him.”
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"A piece of burning stuff from one of the lighted torches had fallen on her head and set her long hair on fire."
“An Exciting Scene” (January 30, 1869): “An exciting scene occurred the other day at Alcazer, in Spain. Mlle. Rose Saqui, a rope dancer, was performing some jugglery feats, balancing daggers, lighted torches, etc., on the tight rope, when suddenly the cry, ‘You’re on fire’ arose from the audience. A piece of burning stuff from one of the lighted torches had fallen on her head and set her long hair on fire. With one foot on the iron rope and another in the air, the woman did not lose her presence of mind. She passed her hand over her clothes and felt nothing. ‘In your hair!’ cried the excited people. Mlle. Saqui understood, and carried her hand to her head rapidly stifled the fire. She then continued her performance as if nothing happened.”
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“The Advocates of Women’s Rights” (July 12, 1876): “The advocates of women’s rights ought to rejoice over the fact that a woman has successfully imitated the opposite sex in one other and hitherto untried field. An Italian woman walked over Niagara Falls on a tight rope and returned, on Saturday last. She performed the feat admirably well, and proposes to repeat it, the next time carrying a man on her back. That will not be hard to do as many of her sex can attest who have, figuratively speaking, carried some worthless member of the race over all the hard places in life. If there is a man so contemptible as to be willing to be thus publicly carried on a woman’s back, his entire brotherhood who permit women this privilege in the literal sense ought to rise up against him and exterminate him. Meanwhile, let the strong minded rejoice. If they have had not any new discovery or exceptional work accomplished by their representatives as yet, they have some clever imitators among the sex, and the most recently famous of the number is this young woman who has successfully crossed Niagara Falls.”
"He turned his head to see what was going on, and there was the steel grille of a black van heading straight toward him."
From “Lucky Jim,” Elizabeth Gilbert’s amazing 2002 GQ profile of Jim MacLaren, an incredibly accomplished athlete and actor who suffered two devastating accidents and passed away last year:
“Soon he could run a marathon in just over three hours, routinely finishing in the top third of able-bodied contenders. And then he took up triathlons. Yes, triathlons. Once he’d survived a few of those, he set out to conquer the Ironman, one of the most brutal organized sporting events ever imagined. Two and a half miles of swimming, 112 miles of biking and a full 26.2-mile marathon, all in one race, all in one day. And all on one leg. Which explains what Jim MacLaren was doing in Southern California on that cool June afternoon in1993. He was participating in an Ironman.Jim was excelling. He was speeding through the town of Mission Viejo on his bicycle, tearing ass at thirty-five miles per hour. The sidewalks were crowded with spectators, and he was dimly aware of their cheers. He had just pulled ahead of a thick snarl of cyclists. He was leading the pack. Suddenly, Jim heard the crowd gasp. He turned his head to see what was going on, and there was the steel grille of a black van heading straight toward him. He realized he was about to be hit by a goddamn car.It was supposed to have been a closed racecourse. But for some unknown reason,a cop guarding an intersection decided to let one car through, and he misjudged how fast the bicyclists were coming. As Jim MacLaren was approaching,the cop was gesturing to the driver of the van to hit the gas. The driver, a 50-year-old man on his way to church, was merely obeying orders. He floored it. He didn’t see Jim until Jim was on his windshield.This time Jim vividly remembers being hit. He remembers the screams from the crowd. He remembers his body flying across the street and smashing into a lamppost headfirst, snapping his neck. He remembers riding in the ambulance and being aware that he could not feel his limbs. He was put under anesthesia for emergency surgery on his spine, and when he woke up he was in the trauma ward. He could not move. His head was shaved. There was a bolt screwed into the back of his skull, preventing him from shifting his head even a millimeter. Jim remembers this well. But what he remembers most clearly is this image: All the nurses were in tears.’We’re so sorry,’ they kept saying. Jim MacLaren was now a quadriplegic. He was 30 years old. And this is where his story begins.” (Thanks Kevin Kelly.)
"Supervised, public visit of course." (Image by Phillip Capper.)
Need a baby to hold – $50 (Midtown West)
My friend Chloe has never held a baby before. Can anyone help her? She has never experienced the feeling of looking into a newborn baby’s eyes and seeing God. For 50 bucks I’ll pay you to let my friend Chloe hold your baby. Supervised, public visit of course. This is no joke! 50 bucks for about 15 min of your time. Email me back with any questions.
"On Aug. 16, 1987, thousands of new age adherents following the lead of Arguelles." (Image by Luke Hancock.)
On August 18, 1987, people gathered in Central Park (and other locales all over the world) for an odd event called Harmonic Convergence, blowing conch shells and dancing, which would supposedly delay Earth’s doom. It was a bit of ridiculousness birthed (with sincerity) by a Minnesota art historian named Jose Arguelles, who just passed away. Here’s an excerpt from his obituary:
“Jose Arguelles, an art historian whose teachings about the Mayan calendar inspired the harmonic convergence event of 1987, has died at age 72.
His publisher and a statement from his foundation said he died March 23, in Australia. A spokeswoman for the publisher said Monday the cause was peritonitis.
On Aug. 16, 1987, thousands of new age adherents following the lead of Arguelles gathered at places such as the red rocks of Sedona, Ariz., Serpent Mound in Ohio and the Arthurian town of Glastonbury in England.
Arguelles was living in Boulder, Colo., and had written The Mayan Factor: Path Beyond Technology, which argued for replacing the Gregorian calendar, said Earth was in the last phases of a galactic beam of light it entered in 3113 B.C., and called for meditation to give humanity a chance to enter a new age in 2012.
At a mountain campsite, he blew a conch shell, and around the world others chanted, formed circles, held hands at dawn and danced in what one participant said was an attempt to change the worldwide consciousness. Debunkers ranged from academics to the Doonesbury comic strip.”
Beatrice Wood came to art late but with gusto. (Thanks Documentarian.)
From Michael Kimmelman’s 1999 remembrance of Wood in the New York Times: “The time is summer 1917, the place, Coney Island. Beatrice Wood is seated on a fake ox while behind her, in an oxcart, against a painted backdrop, sit Marcel Duchamp and Francis Picabia. They have come from the roller coaster. ‘With Marcel’s arm around me,’ Wood recalled years later, ‘I would have gone on any ride into hell with the same heroic abandon as a Japanese lover standing on the rim of a volcano ready to take a suicide leap.’ In the photograph she looks more queasy than lovestruck, clutching her hat as if afraid it might still blow off.
Wood, who died this year a few days after her 105th birthday, flirtatious to the end, became a potter of luminescent talent, having taken up ceramics in her 40’s when she failed to find a teapot to match some plates she had bought in Holland. Her fame, which mostly came later in life, stemmed from a combination of her art, her longevity and her sheer verve.
When she was born, Cezanne was still a little-known painter and Grover Cleveland was President. When she died, she was, in a sense, just coming into her own, having had a full-scale museum retrospective in New York City a year earlier and having been named a ‘living treasure’ by the Governor of California a couple of years before that. Through a friend she’d lately been introduced to a film director who decided to base a character in a new movie on her. The director was James Cameron. The character was Rose in Titanic.“
An inside look at the insane set of Apocalypse Now, reported with verve in 1977 in Newsweek by Maureen Orth:
“Life on the set – four different locations in the Philippines – also escalated quickly to apocalyptic dimensions. The young crew, composed largely of Americans, Filipions and Italians, weathered a typhoon, survived dysentery and sweated through day after day of relentless heat – alleviated by periodic R&R trips to Hong Kong. Stuntmen amused themselves by diving from fourth-story windows into the motel pool below. The prop man, Doug Madison, became adept at fabricating top secret CIA documents, thought nothing of driving 400 miles to fetch a special Army knife, and made a connection with a supplier of real corpses – before he was vetoed. At one point, Coppola asked Tavoularis to produce 1,000 blackbirds, which prompted the designer to consider making cardboard beaks for pigeons and dyeing them black. The film company retained a full-time snake man, who appeared every morning on the set with a sack full of pythons. The Italians brought in pasta and mozzarella from Italy in film cans. Did Coppola want a tribe of primitive mountain people living on the set in their own functioning village? He got it.” (Thanks Longform.)
I bet you I can spend 1 million dollars in one day without even leaving Brooklyn thing is I don’t have it so the trade you can record how I do it. If not I got a better idea loan the money to me you don’t even have to leave my sight bet you I can still spend without actually spending when people see that kind of money I will still get whatever I want without spending a dime sounds crazy but true. Email me to get this started.
I would guess that Hell’s Angels: A Strange and Terrible Saga is the most factual book that Hunter S. Thompson ever wrote. It’s amusing to see Gonzo look so intimidated, but, you know, you buy the ticket, you take the ride. (ThanksDocumentarian.)
“The Angels don’t like to be called losers, but they have learned to live with it. ‘Yeah, I guess I am,’ said one. ‘But you’re looking at one loser who’s going to make a hell of a scene on the way out.'”
"Her appearance would never cause the uninitiated to think that she was anything more extraordinary than an old fashioned woman of moderate means and simple tastes."
Dubbed the “Witch of Wall Street,” Henrietta “Hetty” Green was the wealthiest woman in America in the early 1900s, a force in numerous aspects of the country’s economy, from railroads to real estate. But she was far more feared than loved. Oft-sued and consistently caricatured for her legendary cheapness, Green’s complicated portrait is painted to some degree in the following quartet of old print articles.
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“Hetty Green’s Millions–Peculiar Dress and Tastes of a Widow Who Has Broken Banks,” Brooklyn Daily Eagle (September 17, 1893): “Not a small part of the fame of Brooklyn can be laid to the credit of the remarkable women who have lived and live now within its borders–women who have taken rank and honor in almost every walk of life. It is a well known fact that a very large proportion of the real estate in this city is held in the names of women. It is not a widely known fact that the woman who is reputed to be the richest in the United States lives in the City of Churches, and right in the classic section known as the Heights, too. Her wealth is variously estimated from $40,000,000 to $80,000,000 and her name is Mrs. Hetty Green. Her name and personality are more familiar to Wall Street than they are to Brooklyn society. That is because Mrs. Green has chosen to devote all her time to the manipulation of her fortune and has let society get along without her. Hetty Green at an Ihpetonga ball would create a sensation, indeed, but it is not likely that such an occasion will ever be recorded by society writers.
Nobody ever saw her with a dress which was not severely plain, and seldom has she been noticed when she did not carry an old style and well worn black satchel. Her appearance would never cause the uninitiated to think that she was anything more extraordinary than an old fashioned woman of moderate means and simple tastes, who was on her way to the corner grocery or the bakery on the block below. Yet, if money is power, this same staid looking person is one of the most powerful human beings in the country.”
Mrs. Green, accompanied by a clerk from the Chemical National Bank, called at the Leonard Street Station on Saturday and applied for a permit to carry a pistol. Sergt. Isaac Frank was at the desk, and when he learned the identity of his callers he invited them to seats within the inclosure.
‘Now, young man,’ said Mrs. Green, ‘I want permission to carry a pistol. Because I am a rich woman some people might to kill me. I have often been threatened.'”
••••••••••
"Mrs. Ives insists that Mrs. Green is the 'stingiest woman on the face of this earth.'"
“Calls Hetty Green Stingy,” Brooklyn Daily Eagle (December 23, 1902): Mrs. J.H. Ives of Brooklyn, the stepmother of the ‘Napoleon of Finance’ Ives, is now in the ranks of those who declare Hetty Green, a ‘stingy woman.’ In fact, Mrs. Ives insists that Mrs. Green is the ‘stingiest woman on the face of this earth.’
Mrs. Ives’ assertion grows out of a transaction involving the loan of a chair and a sofa to Mrs. Green’s husband, now dead. Out of pity, she says, Mrs. Ives loaned the furniture to make Mr. Green more comfortable in his meagerly furnished room. She and Mrs. Green were schoolgirls together and this explains her interest in Mrs. Green’s husband.
‘I always like Edward Green and sympathized with him,’ said Mrs. Ives. ‘I knew what he had suffered at her hands Why, he couldn’t call his soul his own. He and his wife were not living together and he had a little room in the Cumberland, where the great Flatiron building now stands. He was sick and I called to see him. I was shocked at the surroundings in the wretched place. There was only a bed and a nightstand in the room and the poor fellow didn’t even have a chair to sit in, Still, he did not complain; he had lived with her too long to think of complaining.
Well, I loaned him a rocker and a sofa that had been in our family for many years. When he and his wife were reunited they went to Hoboken and my sofa and rocker went with them. After Mr. Green died last March, I asked Mrs. Green to return the things. Mrs. Green never gave me any satisfaction.”
••••••••••
“Hetty Green’s Husband Dead,” Brooklyn Daily Eagle (March 19, 1902): “Edward Green, husband of Hetty Green, died at his home to-day. He had been ill a long time with a complication of diseases. Edward Green, known wherever Mrs. Green went as ‘Hetty Green’s husband,’ lived at the Hotel St. George in Brooklyn during the winter of 1897-98 with Mrs. Green and her daughter Sylvia. Chief Clerk F.C. Niolo knew both Mr. and Mrs. Green very well and has been on very friendly terms with Mrs. Green ever since their stay at the St. George. He was greatly shocked to hear of Mr. Green’s death.
He said: ‘They were a very happy and contented couple. Mrs. Green was distinctly the man of the family and the head of the house.'”
