You may know Nathan Hale well from history books or from New York’s numerous memorials as a symbol of American patriotism, dying for his country long before anybody actually thought it would ever be a country.
The British hanged him in New York as a spy in the aftermath of the Great Fire of1776. He had performed no great deed for George Washington and his army — his intel never made it back to the general — except for volunteering for the spy mission in the first place. His gift to the future United States was in believing it would exist.
Courtesy NYPL
But what if things had been a little different in the life of Mr. Hale as a young man? What if, Sliding Doors-style, decisions made by him and his loved ones had sent him down a different path? What if his ardent patriotism had, instead, been in support of the British cause?
In a captivating new book byVirginiaDeJohn Anderson, a professor of history at the University of Colorado in Boulder, we are presented with an actual historical example — a contrasting figure nearly forgotten — to use for this thought experiment.
THE MARTYR AND THE TRAITOR Nathan Hale, Moses Dunbar, and the American Revolution by Virginia DeJohn Anderson Oxford University Press
The story of Moses Dunbar is the flip-side to the Hale legend. The two Connecticut men were similar in a great many ways (although Dunbar was older) but circumstances led them to different causes.
Dunbar’s story is far less known than Hale’s of course. Hale was proclaimed a true patriot early in the Revolutionary conflict, and those with documents and information about the young schoolmaster proudly preserved them. His story is richly documented and well embroidered.
The opposite is true of Dunbar; he was hung in disgrace after returning home from a mission to recruit British sympathizers among his countrymen. It’s said that Dunbar’s own father offered to provide the rope.
Detail of Amos Doolittle, Connecticut From the best Authorities, first printed by Matthew Carey, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, 1795. (Courtesy, Connecticut Historical Society via Chipstone.)
Anderson tells both of their stories in parallel, and for a time, the reader can experience this book as an excellent social history of life in Connecticut in the mid 18th century — the degrees in which religion, marriage, education and land ownership play a defining role in an individual’s fate.
Dunbar became an Anglican, tied to the Church of England in a time with anti-British fervor was sweeping the countryside. In fact, there are moments when Dunbar seems far more radical than Hale (who, with his Yale education, is exposed to other feisty young men and books full of eye-opening revolutionary beliefs).
Courtesy Brown University Digital Repository
The most vivid portions of Anderson’s well-researched and excellently paced history involve violent attempts by anti-British mobs. Writes Anderson:
“As the weeks passed, Anglicans in general, not just clergy, became target of attacks if they did not announce their opposition to Britain. In East Haddam a seventy-year-old Anglican parish clerk was yanked out of bed on a cold night, stripped, and beaten …… Rumors began circulating that Anglican clergy, in league with the detested Samuel Peters and with the approval of their congregations, were plotting to enslave the colony.”
Below: Nathan Hale’s schoolhouse in East Haddam, CT
NYPL
Dunbar was radicalized by his environment and, observing such displays in his community, chose church (and, by extension, Great Britain) over country. His decision would destroy him and even lead his disgraced family into vigorously supporting the American cause.
In The Martyr and the Traitor, in putting Hale and Dunbar on equal footing, Anderson underscores the intensity of the moment and the uncertainty of its outcome. Hale’s patriotism seems all the more brave but so too does Dunbar’s intransigence.
Both men died on the noose away from loved ones; their ends embody the chaos and certain danger of the Revolutionary War.
PODCAST Part Two of our two-part series on New York City in the years following the Revolutionary War.
During a handful of months in 1789 and 1790, representatives of the new nation of the United States came together in New York City to make decisions which would forever affect the lives of Americans.
In this second part of our two-part show on New York as the first federal capital of the United States, we roll up our sleeves and get down to business. (In the first part, he moved the capital to lower Manhattan and inaugurated ourselves a new president George Washington!)
The men of the first Continental Congress — which first met in the Spring of 1789 — had a lofty job in front of them that year. They needed to not only construct the tools and offices of a brand new government, they were also tasked with defining the basic rights of American citizens via a set of amendments to the U.S. Constitution — the Bill of Rights.
Now imagine doing this in your post-Colonial era garments during a hot summer, all crammed into a few rooms at Federal Hall, the former City Hall building on Wall Street.
It was here that the Bill of Rights was introduced, debated and voted upon. But those weren’t the only monumental decisions being made in the city.
When nobody could come to an agreement on two major issues — the assumption of state debt and the location of the permanent federal capital — it was up to Thomas Jefferson, Alexander Hamilton and James Madison to craft a deal, made during a legendary dinner party on Maiden Lane. We live today with the critical decisions made by these three men on that night over food and wine.
ALSO: The tale of James Hemings, an enslaved man who became an accomplished French chef and most likely the cook for that very dinner, witness to the events in “the room where it happened.”
The Bowery Boys: New York City History podcast is brought to you …. by you!
We are now producing a new Bowery Boys podcast every two weeks. We’re also looking to improve the show in other ways and expand in other ways as well — through publishing, social media, live events and other forms of media. But we can only do this with your help!
We are now a member of Patreon, a patronage platform where you can support your favorite content creators for as little as a $1 a month.
Please visitour page on Patreon and watch a short video of us recording the show and talking about our expansion plans. If you’d like to help out, there are five different pledge levels (and with clever names too — Mannahatta, New Amsterdam, Five Points, Gilded Age, Jazz Age and Empire State). Check them out and consider being a sponsor.
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The setting for much of our show today is Federal Hall, the former City Hall turned headquarters of burgeoning American government.
Peter Lacour delin. A Doolittle sculp. Printed & Sold by A Doolittle New Haven 1790. Re-engraved on copper by Sidney L. Smith. The Society of Iconophiles. New York. 1899.
It was demolished in the 1810s and replaced many years later with the U.S. Customs House (later the Sub Treasury Building).
Courtesy MCNY
Alexander Hamilton, the first head of the Department of Treasury and one of the architects of the Great Compromise of 1790.
Alexander Hamilton. Copy of Engraving, Published Sept. 1804.MCNY
James Madison (depicted here in a pose as the fourth President of the United States) was instrumental in crafting the Bill of Rights and was also involved in the compromise involving the assumption of state debts
MCNY
Thomas Jefferson (depicted here in a pose as the third President of the United States) was America’s first Secretary of State and was instrumental in pulling together the ingredients of the Great Compromise.
MCNY
It’s likely that James Hemings, the brother of Sally Hemings and an enslaved man owned by Jefferson, served the meal that evening in ‘the room that it happened’, aka the Great Compromise.
MCNY
An inventory of kitchen tools written out by Hemings that he used at Monticello. More details on Hemings here.
Library of Congress
A plaque marking the spot on Maiden Lane where Thomas Jefferson’s house once stood.
Courtesy Playbill
The sizable home of Alexander Macomb who rented half his house to George Washington in 1790. In addition to his offices and household, many of his enslaved people worked here as well.
Here’s some old fashioned New York City trivia for you — There’s never been a Speaker of the House from the city of New York, although there have been a couple from New York state — the otherwise unremarkable John W. Taylor, an upstate New Yorker from the Saratoga region, in 1820-21; and a central New York representative, Theodore Medad Pomeroy, who held the post for exactly one dayin 1869.
But never fear! America’s very first Speaker of the House, Frederick Muhlenberg, has a New York connection wholely unique and never to be repeated — he is the only Speaker to have served within that role in New York proper, in the months of 1789-1790 when the city was also the nation’s capital, and the center of government sat in Federal Hall on Wall Street.
Below: Federal Hall, home to the first House of Representatives 1789 [NYPL]
And that was not Muhlenberg’s only tie to the city. Although he served in the House as a representative from Pennsylvania, he had previously lived in New York for two years during a truly volatile moment — the years before the Revolutionary War.
His name will probably sound familiar if you’re a Lutheran. His father Henry Melchior Muhlenbergis considered “the patriarch of the Lutheran Church in North America,” coming to the British colonies from Germany in 1742 by request of several American ministers in need of spiritual direction. Henry spread Lutheranism throughout the colonies, principally to German and Dutch settlers, and for a time in 1751 even lived in New York, uniting the Lutheran congregations here.
He spawned a true religious dynasty as three of his sons entered the ministry. Frederick (pictured below), born in 1750 in Trappe, Pennsylvania, trained at several small churches in the state before moving with his family to New York in 1774. Lutherans were by no means plentiful in New York during this period, but they worshipped in various small congregations throughout the city, including some services at Trinity Church.
Young Muhlenberg, however, took up with a new church situated just east of the city commons, the newish stone Old Christ Church at the southeast corner of Frankfort and William streets, affectionately referred to as the Old Swamp Church.
When that house of worship was built in 1767, this area of the city, sparsely populated, was called the ‘swamp’, not so much for the topography perhaps as for the grim-smelling leather shops and tanneries that sat here.
Collect Pond, which attracted these sorts of businesses, was but a stone’s throw away, and the area retained its air of industry even as the tanneries moved out and the presses (that would soon comprise Park Row’s newspaper district) moved in.
The congregation didn’t seem to mind however, especially now that they had a venerable Muhlenberg as their leader. And they certainly needed him by this time. In fact, he might had come to New York during this period specifically to reassure a tense congregation amid the tensions that were stewing within the city.
The city of over 22,000 inhabitants was being ripped apart with rebellion, as New Yorkers, caught in an increasing spirit of independence, fought back against British tyranny. From the steps of Old Swamp Church, members would have seen the‘liberty poles’, hanging in the commons and festooned with banners, and heard (or participated in) regular rallies there.
Below: Civilians defending the liberty pole in 1776
The clandestine Sons of Liberty would conduct secret meetings in nearby taverns, and services would have been interrupted with sounds of the Sons’ many retaliations against British officials.
Congregants felt the inevitability of war; it would surely dominate their prayers by 1774. Having the guidance of Muhlenberg, son of the colonies’ most prominent Lutheran, would certainly be of great relief.
It seems, though, that Muhlenberg himself was at odds with his role. He was not bold or rebellious himself and he initially believed the conflicts were none of his business. Even as his brother Peter Muhlenberg, a Virginian who embraced the rebel conflict, would join the fledgling Continental Army in 1775, Frederick himself was not yet convinced. He wrote his brother: “You have become too involved in matters with which, as a preacher, you have nothing whatsoever to do and which do not belong to your office.” [source]
Revolution was invitable. But Frederick was a theologian, cautious and steady, and he worried not only for his congregation but for his own family. This passivity would soon fall away. When actual bombs began reigning down on the city, he sent his pregnant wife and children away to Philadelphia. He remained for a few months to officiate over a dwindling flock but soon fled himself in the first months of 1776, looking over his shoulder at a city soon to be paralyzed by war.
Below: An illustration from ‘D.T. Valentine’s Manual, 1859’, looking up from William Street from Frankfort. The building immediately to the left was the old Swamp Church, no longer in service and heavily redone by the mid-19th century.
He returned to New York in 1789 as one of the most powerful men in the new government of the United States. Muhlenberg spent the war in Pennsylvania and soon found his footing there as a political leader, becoming a member of the Continental Congress and later elected as speaker to Pennsylvania’s own state House of Representatives in 1780.
Frederick wasn’t merely heeding a patriotic call. He had grown a little exhausted of the pulpit and wanted to develop his new course, one of his very own.
Muhlenberg’s austere character and unblemished reputation served him well in politics. He led Pennsylvania’s ratification of the Constitution in 1787. When the first national Congress was formed, Muhlenberg represented his state at their first meeting in the new temporary capital and his old home — New York.
Courtesy Museum of the City of New York
His election as Speaker made perfect sense; he had a well-known last name that had helped define American spirituality, and he came from a state neatly between that of President George Washington (from Virginia) and Vice President John Adams (from Massachusetts).
The first House of Representatives met on April 1, 1789, at Federal Hall at the junction of Wall and Broad streets, just south of Old Swamp Church (which now thrived under new leadership). Muhlenberg would help shape the first traditions of the House and define the rules as dictated by the Constitution, its ink still dry and untested. Most notably, his was the first signature to grace the Bill of Rights:
He grew into a tolerant and jovial leader, best known for inviting fellow Congressmen over to his home for fairly elaborate ‘oyster suppers’. Muhlenberg would remain Speaker of the House for the entirety of the first Congress, even as they moved out of New York at the end of 1790. He stayed in the House through 1797, become Speaker again for the Third Congress in 1793.
Muhlenberg’s name has been attached to some rather scandalous events. He was one of three men brought into the confidence of Alexander Hamilton during a blackmail scandal involving his mistress Maria Reynolds. Muhlenberg was sympathetic to Hamilton’s predicament; one of the other three men, political enemy and future president James Monroe, was less so.
Three brothers Major General Peter Muhlenberg, The Hon. Frederick Muhlenberg and Dr. Henry Muhlenberg from the 1913 book Lutheran landmarks and pioneers in America
In 1796, during congressional battles over funding forthe Jay Treaty, Muhlenberg broke a tie vote authorizing the highly controversial treaty to go forward. As a thank-you, his anti-treaty brother-in-law stabbed him in retaliation. He recovered, but family dinners must have been very awkward after that.
Muhlenberg retired shortly thereafter and died in his home in Lancaster, Pennsylvania, in 1801.
As for the Swamp Church, its members slowly drifted away, and the property was purchased by tobacco mogul George Lorillard. The Lorillards also have very deep scars due to the Revolutionary War, butthat is another story.
George Washington’s copy of the Declaration of Independence is perhaps the most well-known of the almost 200 copies first made of the document. As a facsimile, it’s certainly not the the most valuable document held by the Library of Congress — after all, they have Thomas Jefferson’s actual rough draft of the Declaration, along with tens of thousands of his other papers — but it’s certainly an inspiring artifact in its own right.
Below: The document in question.
Because George Washington wasn’t in Philadelphia at the time of the actual declaration on July 2 or the completion by Thomas Jefferson of the finished copy on July 4.
Washington was in New York.
Indeed he had been stationed here since April 9, 1776, headquartered at the Kennedy Mansion at 1 Broadway (pictured below), facing Bowling Green and the statue of King George at its center. Later, as news of a British arrival to New York became evident, he moved his headquarters to City Hall, then on Wall Street and Broad Street.
Below: Washington’s two headquarters pre-July 1776:
Internet Archive Book Images
Hundreds of British war vessels had stationed themselves off of Sandy Hook by the first of July, so fearful a presence that many of New York’s 20,000 residents had fled in fear.
By July 9, thousands of Continental Army soldiers had amassed in New York, turning the port town overnight into a military outpost. The key gathering point for Washington and his men was the Commons, a former livestock area that had been the scene of protests against the British for over a decade. Many a liberty pole had stood here, an age old protest against despotism.
George Washington, painted by Charles Willson Peale in 1776
But on that day, July 9, there was not a single inanimate symbol of protest, but rather many thousands of animate ones, all summoned to gather by 6 p.m. to await Washington’s words.
From the text of Washington’s order that day:
“The several brigades are to be drawn up this evening on their respective Parades, at Six O’Clock, when the declaration of Congress, shewing the grounds and reasons of this measure, is to be read with an audible voice.
The General hopes this important Event will serve as a fresh incentive to every officer, and soldier, to act with Fidelity and Courage, as knowing that now the peace and safety of his Country depends (under God) solely on the success of our arms: And that he is now in the service of a State, possessed of sufficient power to reward his merit, and advance him to the highest Honors of a free Country.”
A copy of the Declaration — the one pictured above — had been hand-delivered to Washington on that very day. However the General himself did not read it aloud. Rather he had one of his aides read it to the gathered crowd.
“When in the Course of human events, it becomes necessary for one people to dissolve the political bands which have connected them with another, and to assume among the powers of the earth, the separate and equal station to which the Laws of Nature and of Nature’s God entitle them, a decent respect to the opinions of mankind requires that they should declare the causes which impel them to the separation….”
Below: A British map of New York as it was played out in 1776:
These weren’t empty phrases. Upon the completion of the reading, New Yorkers knew their city would be attacked. The men of Washington’s army knew they would fight and possibly die.
The words were greeted with joy, fear, anticipation and rage. The crowds surged with excitement. Most ran to their places — to Kings College, to the counting-houses of Hanover Square, to the ships docked along the East River — and prepared for the world to change.
Many people certainly ran to their local taverns to get wasted. (Samuel Fraunces must have hosted a lively crowd that night.) Some New Yorkers went to their homes, packed their belongings and fled.
Needless to say, the reading had gone off as intended. General Washington’s letter to the Continental Congress is an almost amusing example in understatement:
“Agreeable to the request of Congress I caused the Declaration to be proclaimed before all the Army under my immediate Command, and have the pleasure to inform them, that the measure seemed to have their most hearty assent; the Expressions and behaviour both of Officers and Men testifying their warmest approbation of it.”
In fact, not only did his army and the gathered New Yorkers approve of the Declaration, but later that night, they actively demonstrated their approval by rushing down Broadway to Bowling Green, where they proceed to pull down the loathsome statue of King George!
Afterwards, Washington had his personal copy sent to Artemes Ward, his major general stationed in Massachusetts. Washington’s note to Ward also survives:
“The inclosed Declaration will shew you, that Congress at Length, impelled by Necessity, have dissolved the Connection between the American Colonies , and Great Britain, and declared them free and independent States; and in Compliance with their Order, I am to request you will cause this Declaration to be immediately proclaimed at the Head of the Continental Regiments in the Massachusetts Bay.”
Today the Washington Declaration — or rather, a fragment of it — is only one of 26 Dunlap copies that are still believed to exist. It lives, naturally, in Washington D.C. However three copies of the ‘Dunlap’ Declaration are in New York City — at the Morgan Library, at the New York Public Library and another, in the hands of an unknown private collector.
PODCAST The circumstances surrounding the Great Fire of 1776, the events of the Revolutionary War leading up to the disaster, and the tragic tale of the American patriot Nathan Hale.
A little after midnight on September 21, 1776, the Fighting Cocks Tavern on Whitehall Street caught on fire. The drunken revelers inside the tavern were unable to stop the blaze, and it soon raged into a dangerous inferno, spreading up the west side of Manhattan.
Some reports state that the fire started accidentally in the tavern fireplace. But was it actually set on purpose – on the orders of George Washington?
To understand that damning speculation, we unfurl the events that lead up to that moment – from the first outrages against the British by American colonists to the first sparks of the Revolutionary War. Why did New York get caught up so early in the war and what were the circumstances that led to the city falling into British hands?
Underneath this expansive story is another, smaller story – that of a young man on a spy mission, sent by Washington into enemy territory. His name was Nathan Hale, and his fate would intersect with the disastrous events of September 21, 1776.
PLUS: The legacy of St. Paul’s Chapel, a lasting reminder not only of the Great Fire of 1776 but of an even greater disaster which occurred almost exactly 225 years later.
AND: Find out what Alexander Hamilton was up to in September 1776!
The Bowery Boys: New York City History podcast is brought to you …. by you!
We are now producing a new Bowery Boys podcast every two weeks. We’re also looking to improve the show in other ways and expand in other ways as well — through publishing, social media, live events and other forms of media. But we can only do this with your help!
We are now a member of Patreon, a patronage platform where you can support your favorite content creators for as little as a $1 a month.
Please visitour page on Patreon and watch a short video of us recording the show and talking about our expansion plans. If you’d like to help out, there are five different pledge levels (and with clever names too — Mannahatta, New Amsterdam, Five Points, Gilded Age, Jazz Age and Empire State). Check them out and consider being a sponsor.
We greatly appreciate our listeners and readers and thank you for joining us on this journey so far. And the best is yet to come!
An imagining of young Alexander Hamilton in uniform in 1776
Courtesy the Department of Defense
A Harpers Magazine illustration by Howard Pyle from 1880, depicting Nathan Hale receiving the details of his spy mission directly from General Washington.
Courtesy New York Public Library
A beautiful map from 1897 laying out the events of the Battle of Harlem Heights on September 16, 1776.
Courtesy Internet Archives Book Imaging
The Battle of Harlem Heights with a look into the valley called the Hollow Way.
This is New York is 1776, the city that was captured in September 1776.
British Library
A grave illustration showing the severity of the fire, looking at the burning buildings on the west side of Broadway.
New York Public Library
A map delineating the path of the fire from Whitehall Street up the west side of the city.
The ruins of Trinity Church stood for years as evidenced by this image of people just strolling around it like nothing weird had happened.
Internet Archive Book Imaging
Another illustration (from a 1902 history) showing the cemetery in relation to the ruins.
Mount Pleasant, where the British general William Howe set up headquarters and where Nathan Hale was taken after he was captured.
New York Public LIbrary
A vintage trading-card depiction of Nathan Hale’s hanging.
An 1880 illustration by Howard Pyle of the same event.
Courtesy New York Public LIbrary
St Paul’s Chapel (pictured below in 19160, a survivor of the Great Fire of 1776, opened its doors to parishioners the day after the fire.
Courtesy Museum of the City of New York
The statue of Nathan Hale which stands in front of City Hall. He’s been moved around quite a bit since his installation here on November 25, 1893, the anniversary of Evacuation Day.
Big news in the world of numismatics — the U.S. Treasury Department has announced that Alexander Hamilton, long the solitary face on the $10 bill, will be joined by a woman. But who? His wife Eliza Schuyler? Harriet Tubman? Eleanor Roosevelt? And how will she featured?
Thankfully he’s not leaving the bill which he has graced since 1928. Here’s a few other interesting tidbits about his appearance on currency:
1) Why is Hamilton, who was never a president, on money in the first place? He was America’s first treasury secretary, of course, from 1789 to 1795. But in many ways he’s also the inventor of American money!
According to Ron Chernow, Hamilton encouraged the use of the dollar bill as the basic unit of currency and called for a series of coins broken into smaller values, a new concept in an age when bartering was the preferred method of transaction. To encourage the new American spirit, he recommended putting presidential faces on the money. Since there was only one president at that time, this meant the basic unit currency went to Hamilton’s good friend George Washington.
2) Hamilton was the first Secretary of the Treasury, but he was NOT the first Treasurer of the United States. That honor went to Michael Hillegas, a wealthy Philadelphian who led the treasury through the duration of the American Revolution. His face was actually on an early version of the $10 well before Hamilton’s.
3) Hamilton was never in charge of actually making money. While Hamilton is partly responsible for the creation of the U.S. Mint (established in 1792), it was placed under the job of Secretary of State Thomas Jefferson. Chernow: “Unfortunately, Jefferson ran the mint poorly. Hamilton later tried, in vain, to arrange a swap whereby the post office would go to State in exchange for the mint coming under Treasury control, where it belonged.”
The first director of the U.S. Mint was David Rittenhouse, on which Philadelphia’s Rittenhouse Square is named.
Below: The first U.S. Mint building in Philadelphia
Courtesy 1794largecents.com
4) Hamilton is only one of only three non-Presidents to currently grace American paper money, the others being Benjamin Franklin ($100) and Salmon P. Chase ($10,000). But non-presidents have lived upon paper money since its invention. William Tecumseh Sherman, George Meade and Lewis and Clark have all been on U.S. printed currency.
5) For decades, Alexander Hamilton was actually the face of the $1,000 bill.
6) The current image of Hamilton on the $10 bill is based upon a portrait by John Trumbull which currently hangs in New York City Hall. That painting was completed posthumously in 1805; Hamilton had been shot and killed in a duel with Aaron Burr the year before.
7) Alexander faces left where the other members of the Faces On Money Clubare turned right. There is a rarely used $100,000 bill with Woodrow Wilson which faces a similar direction but I doubt you will ever see that in your lifetime.
Hamilton Grange in 1895, courtesy Museum of the City of New York
8) Having your face on money doesn’t mean that you had much. At the end of his life, Hamilton overspent on his new home in upper Manhattan (Hamilton Grange) and was nearly broke. To William Cooper, he wrote, “I have been building a fine house and am very low in Cash; so that it will be amazingly convenient to me to touch your money as soon as possible”
9) The most interesting thing about the that 1928 $10 bill with Alexander Hamilton on the front is actually a small detail which appears on the back — a very small automobile. According to the blog US Dollar Bill: “The car parked outside of the Treasury Department building is based on a number of different cars manufactured at the time and was the creation of the Bureau designer who developed the artwork that served as a model for the engraving, because government agencies were prohibited from endorsing any specific manufacturer or product, according to a bureau of engraving and printing pamphlet.”
10) There is already a woman on the $10 bill, or at least, part of her. On the redesigned 2006 bill, Hamilton breaks free of the oval which has traditionally confined the portrait. He is looking left towards the hand and torch of the Statue of Liberty. Lady Liberty’s torch once sat in Madison Square Park for several yearsas a way to drum up funds for the statue’s pedestal. The park’s namesake, James Madison, wrote the Federalist Papers with Alexander Hamilton and John Jay.
And a bonus fact — Aaron Burr has never been on the face of any currency.
Below: Aaron Burr, to be found nowhere on money
At top of this post — Alexander Hamilton’s first $10 bill, gold certificate edition, printed in 1928
The Lower East Side lost a great one this week. Walter Kühr, the owner of the Main Squeeze accordion store, died last weekend. He completely succeeded at his strange but profound mission in life — to keep accordion music alive in the heart of a once-thriving immigrant neighborhood. He formed the Main Squeeze Orchestra — an all-female accordion group — who performed throughout the city. His store Main Squeeze was a bright and welcome oddity situated among the Chinese and Orthodox Jewish businesses of Essex Street.
And he was also a friend of the Bowery Boys, somebody who made us feel welcome when we moved to his neighborhood in the late 1990s. Walter was a one of a kind guy, and my heart is broken that Essex Street will no longer have this friendly advocate for great music. Learn more about him in the video above and in his obituary here. [New York Times]
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Alexander Hamilton was born on January 11. That we do know. However the actual year is more uncertain. He was born on the island of Nevis in the Caribbean either in either 1755 or 1757. To quote Ron Chernow: “The mass of evidence from the period of Hamilton’s arrival in North America does suggest 1757 as his birth year, but, preferring the integrity of contemporary over retrospective evidence, we will opt here for a birthday of January 11, 1755.”
Regardless you can celebrate his birthday this Saturday at Hamilton Grange for their big birthday celebration. Or save up your enthusiasm for the start of Lin-Manuel Miranda‘s Hamilton musical at the Public Theater, starting on January 20th. Or, to escape the cold, maybe you’d like to just go down to Nevis and visit the Alexander Hamilton birthplace?
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And some other links of interest:
Mega-City: The completely batty plan to turn Manhattan into a landfill-created mega-island, expanding into the harbor and gobbling up islands to become, no joke, “Really Greater New York.” [Gothamist and Gizmodo]
Streit’s Matzo, an institution of Rivington Street and the Lower East Side, has decided to close its doors after 95 years. Sigh. [Bowery Boogie]
Parks and Recreation: Photographer Jon Sobel is visiting every public park in New York City. Not an easy task in this place! For his latest entry, he visits the lush Clove Lakes Park in Staten Island, once a 19th century estate and grist mill and a favored spot of Frederick Law Olsted. [Park Odyssey]
The Haunted Well: You may remember the tale ofthe mysterious SoHo well from one of our past ghost story podcasts. Well, you can now go see the well as it’s been incorporated into the decor of the clothing store which now inhabits the spot at 129 Spring Street. WOW. [Scouting NY]
A Murderer’s Read: My latest story for the 1981 website tie-in to A Most Violent Year focuses on Mark David Chapman — the killer of John Lennon — and his macabre crusade to promote the book The Catcher In The Rye. [1981.nyc]
Before Stonewall: A brief look at a little gay and lesbian history along Christopher Street. [Off the Grid]
PODCAST Alexander Hamilton and Aaron Burr met at a clearing in Weehawken, NJ, in the early morning on July 11, 1804, to mount the most famous duel in American history. But why did they do it?
This is the story of two New York lawyers — two Founding Fathers — that so detested each other that their vitriolic words (well, mostly Hamilton’s) led to these two grown men shooting each other out of honor and dignity, while robbing America of their brilliance, leadership and talent.
You may know the story of this duel from history class, but this podcast focuses on its proximity to New York City, to their homes Richmond Hilland Hamilton Grange and to the places they conducted their legal practices and political machinations.
Which side are you on?
ALSO: Find out the fates of sites that are associated with the duel, including the place Hamilton died and the rather disrespectful journey of the dueling grounds in Weehawken.
And we would like to thank a new sponsor Audible, the premier provider of digital audiobooks. Get a FREE audiobook download and 30 day free trial at www.audibletrial.com/boweryboys. Over 150,000 titles to choose from for your iPhone, Android, Kindle or mp3 player Audible titles play on iPhone, Kindle, Android and more than 500 devices for listening anytime, anywhere.
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CORRECTION: Alexander Hamilton had his fateful dinner as the house of Judge James Kent, not John Kent, as I state here.
Alexander Hamilton, leader of the Federalists was a played out, stressed out, heavily in debt politician by June 1804. This is John Trumbull’s painting of Hamilton, completed almost over a year after the duel.
The Hamilton Grange, a beautiful home on the Hudson that Alexander only lived in for a couple years. (NYPL)
Aaron Burr, Vice President of the United States, was a played out, stressed out, heavily in debt politician by June 1804. This is John Vanderlyn’s portrait of Burr from 1802.
View of the Weekhawken dueling grounds in 1830s. This area most likely still saw some duels at this period. Note the small monument/obelisk marking the spot allegedly where Hamilton fell. (NYPL)
Thomas Addis Emmet’s quaint depiction of the dueling grounds was created in 1881, long after the actual grounds were destroyed by railroad construction. (NYPL)
From the New York Tribune, July 1904, a look at the Hamilton bust that once sat in Weehawken. Several years later, vandals took the bust and hurled it off the cliff.
The William Bayard house in later years, with the lots surrounding it obviously sold and built up around it. (NYPL)
The Hamilton tomb at Trinity Church, picture taken in 1908, although it looks pretty much the same today! (Wurts Brothers, Courtesy MCNY)
Richmond Hill, the spacious mansion and 26-acre estate on the outskirts of town that had once been George Washington‘s headquarters and later the home of John Adams, was also home to another vice president — Aaron Burr. This was the place he lived on that fateful day, July 11, 1804, when he entered into a duel with Alexander Hamilton. Here’s a lovely description of the home from an 1861 biography of Burr by author James Parton:
“[Burr’s] style of living kept pace with his increasing income. In a few years we find him master of Richmond Hill, the mansion where Washington had lived in 1776, with grounds reaching to the Hudson, with ample gardens, and a considerable extent of grove and farm. Here he maintained a liberal establishment and exercised the hospitality which was then in vogue.
The one particular in which Richmond Hill surpassed the other houses of equal pretensions, was its library. From his college days, Colonel Burr had been a zealous buyer of books, and his stock had gone on increasing till, on attaining to the dignity of householder, he was able to give to his miscellaneous collection something of the completeness of a library.
It is evident enough, from his correspondence, that his favorite ethos were still those whom the ‘well-constituted minds’ of that day regarded with admiring horror. The volumes of Gibbon’s History [The Decline And Fall of the Roman Empire] were appearing in those years, striking the orthodox world with wonder and dismay. They had a very hearty welcome in the circle at Richmond Hill.”
After the duel, Burr liquidated his assets, selling Richmond Hill to John Jacob Astor. With the grounds heavily cut up and sold, he had the mansion rolled on logs to the newly carved street corner and turned into a theater and opera house. At this time, he also moved the carriage house further north, where it was later re-purposed and today houses the romantic restaurant One If By Land, Two If By Sea.
It made for a very sumptuous opera house, it appears. According to author Eric Homberger, “Boxes at the Richmond Hill were furnished as though they were an extension of the elegant parlors of St. John’s Park, with ‘light blue hangings, gilded panels and cornice, arm-chairs, and a sofa.'”
It was parallel in style, perhaps, to the Astor Place Opera House across town. Eventually it deteriorated into a lowly roadhouse and saloon — but certainly, the most gorgeous one in town — called the Tivoli Saloon before being torn down in 1849.
Today the site of Richmond Hill and its former ground are occupied by this building, currently the home of WNYC, and the surrounding blocks of this area of the far West Village.
Top image courtesy the Museum of the City of New York
Independence Day may be over, but our celebration of the Founding Fathers continues all this week, culminating in a brand new podcast this Friday! I thought I’d share some of my favorite books on the subject of America building, great reads on the personalities of the men and women who helped form America.
Included here are some of my favorite biographies, as well as narrative histories of events between 1783 and 1817. And there’s a couple event-specific books on the Revolutionary War, for some context. I’ve purposely chosen recently written books (and thus readily accessible) with one exception — Miracle at Philadelphia: The Story of the Constitutional Convention by Catherine Drinker Bowen, written in 1966. Not only is it still a fascinating read, but it was the first book I ever read as a kid about the early days of America.
Do you have any favorites from this time period that I’ve left out? Include your choices in the comments! (Please note it may take a few hours for comments to appear below.)
![[Richmond Hill, residence of Aaron Burr.]](http://boweryboyshistory.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/07/M3Y29313-300x208.jpg)
