First officer down: Highbinder riots at St Peter’s Church

Broadway and City Hall, in 1809. The mobs of the so-called ‘Augustus Street Riot’ would have scuffled just to the west of this illustration. (Courtesy NYPL)

According to the Officer Down Memorial Page, there have been 778 New York law enforcement officers who have died in the course of duty. Fourteen of the last fifteen were those men and women who succumbed to 9/11-related illnesses. The last firearm-related death, Omar J. Edwards, came almost a year ago, in a strange, tragic case of mistaken identity.

The official count considers all officers from as far back as 1802 and the days of the New York City watch under the supervision of its renown High Constable Jacob Hays. (See our podcast below for more information.) Hays would be the sole administrator of this early form of law enforcement and would lead the group until the formation of the New York Municipal Police in 1845.

The watch’s first casualty came in 1806. The man’s name was Christian Luswanger, murdered in the line of duty during a very curious riot.

This was still a city shaking off its colonial trappings and still finding its identity. The mayor of New York that year was 37-year-old DeWitt Clinton, the well connected nephew to the former governor of New York and a man with great things in his future. The British had been gone for over two decades, and the city and its port were rapidly growing. But the real jump starts to the city’s economy and expansion — the Erie Canal, the debut of the steamboat, the Commissioners Plan — would come in the next decade.

New York was small but restless. When mayor Edward Livingston formed the night watch in 1801, it required only a handful of men, overseen by a Watch Committee on the city council (or Common Council). By 1806, all watchmen reported to Hays, and the constable reported to the council, who often directly advised on priorities. “The Captains of Watch in the first district [should] be particularly attentive to the neighborhood of Burling Slip,” according to the minutes of one council meeting.

Hays supervised a couple captains for each of New York’s wards — captains with such sturdy names as Magnus Beekman, Nicholas Lawrence, Gad Dumbolton and William Van Wart. Those captains had other men reporting to them, including Christian Luswanger, of which almost nothing is known — regular watchmen didn’t appear in the council payrolls, only the captains — nothing at all, except for the event which took his life. An event sometimes referred to as the Augustus Street Riots*.

In 1806, St Peter’s Church was the only parish in town if you were a practicing Catholic. (The current building, sometimes called Old St. Peter’s, a simple, neo-classical gem near the WTC site, was built over the old structure in 1840.) It’s most famous congregant would be Elizabeth Ann Seton, the first American to be declared a saint.

Built in 1785, the church (at right) was a perpetual target of anti-Catholic sentiment, and violence would erupt here on Christmas morning, 1806. As worshippers gathered for midnight mass, a group of rowdies gathered outside, prepared to disrupt services.

One source, perhaps drawing from a contemporary New York Evening Post article, calls the group of about fifty a ‘gang’ called the Highbinders. However I’m not exactly sure it was any kind of an organized gang. The word ‘highbinder’ would eventually come to mean any kind of gangster and would even be slang for a corrupt politician. The first ‘gang’ of New York is commonly thought to be the Forty Thieves, who wouldn’t surface for at least another twenty years.

Simply consider them a massive of drunken, anti-Catholic thugs — sailors according to one source, “a nativist gang of apprentices and propertyless journeyman butchers” according to Edwin Burrows and Mike Wallace — all looking to cause trouble. Parishioners ran to get their alderman who eventually broke up the crowd. However they returned the next night — Christmas night — far more incensed, only this time the churchgoers were ready, armed with weapons. Certainly the defenders were not merely parishioners than other Irish immigrants who had heard about the prior evening’s altercation and came looking for a fight.

They got one. The two groups clashed through the street, a few dozen men on each side, travelling from the church’s doorsteps up to the Irish neighborhood in the Sixth Ward — many, many years before it would be called Five Points.

In this melee, the watch were called to quell the violence and arrest the rioters. Jacob Hays may have been there; several of his captains certainly were. Watchman Luswanger was called to join them. Somewhere along the way, a rioter stabbed Luswanger, and the watchman died of his injuries. Apparently, this did nothing but bring more rioters into the chaos.

Diarist William Otter presents a vivid recollection of these events, although he does not mention Luswanger: “The church was surrounded with a motley crew of Irish and sailors…engaged in deadly conflict…..The mob fought from the door of the church to Irish town, being the distance of about a fourth of a mile….A great deal of property was destroyed by the mob and a great deal of human blood shed.”

It took most of the night watch and the light of day to dissolve the rioters. Ten men, all Irishmen, were arrested. The mayor offered a reward for any information on Luswanger’s demise, but danced around firm condemnation of either group. I’m gathering from the lack of evidence that the case of who stabbed the watchman remains unsolved.

NOTE: One of my prime sources on this article states that the watchman’s name was Christopher Newfanger, not Christian Luswanger. I believe the latter is correct, and it is the name officially recognized by the police department.

*According to Forgotten New York, Augustus Street “was later called City Hall Place and in 1941 it was again renamed for Patrick Cardinal Hayes who had died in 1938.”

Categories
Podcasts

Case Files of the New York Police Department 1800-1915

Uniformly chic: Law enforcement officers of the New York Metropolitan Police from 1871 show off their fancy blue threads. Twenty years previous, they weren’t even required to wear standardized apparel. (Courtesy NYPL Digital Library)

PODCAST We’re playing Good Cop / Bad Cop this week, as we take a close look at four events from the early history of the New York Police Department. You’ll meet shining stars of the force like Jacob Hays, who kept the peace in the early 19th century armed with a mean billyclub — and the only man to ever hold the title of High Constable of New York. And then you’ll encounter Joseph Petrosino, the Italian immigrant turned secret weapon in the early battles against organized crime.

Not all the early men in blue were so recommendable. During the Police Riot of 1857, cop turned against cop while the city burned and “Five Points criminals danced in the streets.” And finally there’s the lamentable tale of officer Charles Becker, the only member of the New York Police Department to be executed for criminal misdeed.

But did he really commit the crime — commissioning the murder of a nervous gambler who was prepared to rat him out?

#1 The Saga of High Constable Hays
Imagine encountering this face on a gaslit street at night! Jacob Hays watched over the streets of New York for over 40 years, one of the most dedicated men ever to watch over the city. Hays would become one of New York’s best known — and most feared — men, thanks to his agility with a billy club and his early skills of detection and crime solving. (NYPL)

This is the corner of Broadway and Grand Street in 1818. A wildly bustling street corner today, but quite a different story back in Hays’ day. The constable roamed over a much smaller city — this was at the northern outskirts — and a far different range of crimes. By 1818, he would have only had about a couple dozen officers in his employ, all of whom reported directly to him. (NYPL)

#2 The Police Riot of 1857
New York once had two different — and competing — police forces and boy they just did NOT get along. It all came to blows one June day in 1857, with state-sponsored Metropolitan police officers attacking the renegade men of the Municipal police force.

And it was because of Fernando Wood, the crafty mayor of New York in the 1850s who refused to comply to the state’s authority over city law enforcement. Wood used the police for his own political advantage and hastened its descent into corruption.

#3 Petrosino!
The short Italian immigrant Joseph Petrosino, who become the NYPD’s most potent tool against the growing forces of organized crime during the first years of the 20th century.

Petrosino was assassinated in Italy by the mob and his funeral procession through the city drew thousands of mourners. Today, you can visit the freshly refurbished Petrosino Square at Lafayette and Kenmare streets and see many artifacts relating to Petrosino at the New York City Police Museum.

Petrosino’s funeral procession passed by the U.S. Custom House, April 9, 1909. (LOC)

#4 Murder At The Metropole
Charles Becker and his wife beaming to the press, although I don’t know what they’re smiling about. Becker was convicted of authorizing the murder of down-and-out gambler Herman Rosenthal. The disgraced cop was eventually sent to the electric chair.

The prime witness against Becker was the otherworldly looking Bald Jack Rose, who claimed to have intimate details linking the officer to the vicious crime, which took place outside the Metropole Hotel in midtown.

Two of the gunmen in the Rosenthal murder, nicknamed Gyp The Blood and Lefty Louie, pictured here with the men who brought them in.

I wish the first three tales had full-length histories as good as Mike Dash’s Satan’s Circus, which recounts the excrusiating tale of Herman Rosenthal’s murder and Becker’s arrest. The Becker story is actually recounted in several books, including a fairly recent one by Rose Keefe called The Starker: Big Jack Zelig, the Becker-Rosenthal Case, and the Advent of the Jewish Gangster.

CORRECTION: In referring to the new components of the Metropolitan Police, I mention the ‘city of Richmond’ when I meant the ‘county of Richmond’ — aka Staten Island.

Detective Mary Shanley, armed and disarming

While perusing through the Library of Congress archive, I found these arresting images from 1937. Caption: “Mary A. Shanley, New York City detective – “pickpockets’ captor fears that she might look tough”

“Detective Mary Shanley is a sure shot, as two pickpockets who tried to get away from her know to their sorrow. Here she is with a regulation police revolver, and, below, drawing it from an innocent looking white patent-leather handbag. Miss Shanley can smile with the best of them though and doesn’t think cops should look like cops.”

Shanley was known for catching pickpockets and ‘seat tippers’, thieves who specialized in theater crimes. According to authors James Lardner and Thomas Reppetto, the Irish dynamo once tried to stop a felon right in front of St. Patrick’s Cathedral by shooting her gun in the air.

Apparently, things don’t end well for Miss Shanley. According to a 1941 New York Times article: “WOMAN DETECTIVE IN BRAWL DEMOTED; Mrs. Mary A. Shanley Fires Shot in Barroom After Drink Is Refused.” She was apparently off duty when she fired off her revolver.

Let’s remember her in more pleasant surroundings. Below, Mary meets Mayor LaGuardia, 1937:

All pictures courtesy Library of Congress

The Limelight – a church, then a nightclub, now a mall!


The sanguine days of the Holy Communion, pictured here over 150 years before it would be reconfigured as a shopping mall (from Booth’s History of New York, mid 19th century, courtesy NYPL)

On Friday afternoon, yet another completely implausible transformation will overtake Holy Communion Episcopal Church when it reopens as the Limelight Marketplace, a spacious mall with 60 retailers sitting aside Gothic church features and the ghosts of strung-out club kids.

In honor of this curious transformation, I’m reprinting (with revisions) my history of this building and its later incarnation as the Limelight, one of the most notorious dance clubs of the 1990s. (Originally posted on Aug 10, 2007)


Holy Communion Episcopal Church was never meant to be the gateway to Hell. This lush Gothic style was designed and completed between 1844-1846 by Richard Upjohn, one of early America’s great architects, the master of Gothic Revival style and creator of downtown’s Trinity Church. It was built during a grand time for new churches in the city; in addition to Trinity (which opened in 1846), James Renwick was finishing up work that same year on Grace Church.

Upjohn designed the new chapel for its founder, the Reverend William Muhlenberg, a rector from Flushing, Queens, and known today as the founder of the Episcopal religious school movement. Perhaps the architect could foresee the church’s future tilting towards the bizarre, as it’s the first asymmetrical Gothic church in America. The first! Think of all the uniform symmetry in most churches over 150 years old, and you’ll appreciate its uniqueness.

In its prime, the toast of New York filled its pews, including Cornelius Vanderbilt, John Jacob Astor and Jay Gould. A shadow of its altruistic days can still be seen hovering over St Luke’s Hospital (now St. Luke’s-Roosevelt Hospital Center), which the congregation helped found. To tie this into our podcast on the Dakota Apartments, it was in this hospital that John Lennon died of his wounds sustained at the Dakota.

A convent was added in 1854 where the “Guardians of the Sisterhood of the Holy Communion” — one of the first Anglican orders of nuns — cared for the sick and infirm, well into the new century.

The church fell upon hard times by the mid-century and was eventually sold to a drug rehabilitation center. According to a bishop at the time, there was an implicit understanding that the house of worship was always meant to help the needy. Then Peter Gatien came along, catering to a different kind of need.

Gatien was a club owner who gobbled up nightclub spaces and transformed them into branded clubs called the Limelight — first in Hollywood, Florida, then Atlanta, and London. (He would eventually own many clubs in Manhattan, including the Tunnel, the Palladium downtown, and Club USA.) The Gothic church on 6th Ave proved too enticing — the one in London was also in a former house of worship — and soon Gatien turned the once reverent spot into a house of decadence, opening on November 1983.

From People Magazine’s coverage of the club opening: “Is this consecrated ground?” asked fashion photographer Francesco Scavullo nervously. “Everybody’s having a good time, so I’m not putting it down,” said supermodel Cheryl Tiegs, there with hubby Peter Beard. “Listen,” chimed in Judy Garland’s daughter Lorna Luft, “they’ve been dancing in churches for a long time. Now we’ve just got a little bass added.”

The Limelight distorted Upjohn’s Gothic furnishings through a funhouse mirror. Its labyrinthine hallways and stairwells spilled into ornately designed lounges and dancefloors. Old marble crypts sat next to rows of liquor bottles. The chapel became a VIP lounge. Upstairs, surrealist illustrator HR Giger, famous for his designs of the creatures from the Alien films, created a signature dance floor.

However it was its occupants that made the headlines. In the late 80s and 90s, Peter Gatien and the Limelight helped foster its own buffet of self-made celebrities, the club kid, brightly colored freakshows whose only purpose was to shock and make everybody feel smaller.

Ruler among them was Michael Alig, an extravagent promoter of both his club, his lifestyle and himself. A protege of another nightlife maven James St James, Alig’s wild parties at the Limelight were the stuff of urban legend.

Actual celebrities who frequented the club, like Eddie Murphy and Michael Douglas, were no match for Alig and his menagerie, which often included a few New York celebrities around today — Amanda LaPore, Rupaul and the duo Heatherette, now legitimate fashion designers in their own right.

The avarice of the early ’90s would lead to the downfalls of the Limelight’s main characters. Alig would be charged with murdering fellow club kid Angel Melendez. Gatien was arrested on drug charges in 1996 — by then, the Limelight was a veritable candy store for ecstacy and ‘special k’ — and in 1999 for tax evasion. Alig is in prison, serving a 20-year sentence; Gatien is in Canada, presumably forever.

The Limelight itself? After a dramatic shuttering in 2001, the club was reopened under the name Avalon, and still entertains throngs craving a thumping beat and a really expensive cocktail. The club kids are gone, but ghosts remain, as do the crypts.

You can of course catch a glimpse of the decadence in the film Party Monster, about the kooky days of Alig and the Club Kids, both in documentary and Macauley Culkin-vehicle formats. Harvey Keitel also takes a visit to the club in Bad Lieutenant.

Categories
Podcasts

Brighton Beach and Manhattan Beach, at your leisure

Above: Manhattan Beach Hotel

EPISODE 102 Today Brighton Beach is known for Brooklyn’s thriving Russian community, while its neighbor Manhattan Beach is calm and family oriented. But over a hundred years ago, these neighborhoods were the homes of giant, lavish hotels catering to the upper classes. While regular folk were playing at Coney Island’s Steeplechase Park, Dreamland and Luna Park, the wealthiest were enjoying ‘the tonic of sea bathing’ at three of the most toniest hotels on the East Coast — Brighton Beach Hotel, the Oriental Hotel and Manhattan Beach Hotel.

Find out the origins of these long-gone resorts and how they make their mark on the current neighborhoods of Brighton Beach and Manhattan Beach.

ALSO: Why should we care so much about one particular raging anti-Semite? And why did the Brighton Beach Hotel, several thousand tons of it, have to get dragged inland 500 feet?

Music in this episode is the “Manhattan Beach March” by John Philip Sousa!

A map of Coney Island from 1879. Click into it to see the detail of the various train and horsecar lines traveling over bridges to the island. The Oriental Hotel was built in 1880 and is thus not listed. (Find the original here.)

The Manhattan Beach Hotel by postcard

Facing the other way — the boardwalk of the Manhattan Beach hotel.

And from the water. The hotel was built in 1877 by railroad financier Austin Corbin. He would later scandalize progressive New Yorkers by prohibiting Jewish guests from staying at the resort.

The Oriental Hotel, built in 1880. Click here for another view by George Bradford Brainerd.

An illustration of the Manhattan Beach Hotel in the foreground, the Oriental in the distance. (Courtesy MMCSL)

An illustrated train map for the New York and Manhattan Beach Railway, featuring the two Corbin hotels on the flap. (Courtesy LIRR history)

The Brighton Beach Hotel in 1906. Even as millions streamed into Coney Island to enjoy the frenetic rides and attractions, others could relax here, just a few hundred feet away.

The Brighton Beach was moved — all 6,000 tons of it — in 1888 when the beach in front of it eroded. (Click into pic for better view.) Below it, an illustration of the hotel under siege by the sea. (Courtesy Weather blog)

Along today’s Brighton Beach Avenue, you can find a host of shops and restaurants harkening to the tastes of old Russia.

The real fun lies along the boardwalk at night, a string of Russian restaurants and clubs where the action sometimes spills out to the beach. Up the street at Brighton Beach Avenue, you can find The National restaurant, the closest a New Yorkern can come to finding Atlantic City style dinner entertainment.

In places, you can almost see the line where William Engeman’s Brighton Beach property ends and Austin Corbin’s Manhattan Beach/Oriental Hotel property begins. Brighton Beach is distinguished by handsome pre-war apartment buildings; Manhattan Beach is more single-family homes, many recently built and some very ornate.

Sheepshead Bay, north of Manhattan Beach, is named for a fish which no longer swims here.

One of my favorite things in all of Brooklyn — the Ocean Avenue footbridge. Originally built in 1880, commissioned by Austin Corbin, the pedestrian bridge links the promenade in Manhattan Beach with the one in the neighborhood of Sheepshead Bay. According to Forgotten New York, Corbin kept closing the bridge, worried about ‘undesirables’ flocking to his precious upper-class hotel.

Kingsborough Community College at the far eastern end of the former island. If the college feels a bit like a military barracks, that’s because it was. After Corbin’s hotels were demolished, most of the land went to private home developments. But the far tip went to the Coast Guard and later served as a training base for the United States Maritime Service.


Manhattan Beach Park, a seemingly out of place sandy oasis in the quiet neighborhood of Manhattan Beach, is a remnant of the former resorts.

Categories
Amusements and Thrills

Elephantine Colossus: Brooklyn’s most unusual hotel

 

Visitors to pre-20th century Coney Island would have enjoyed a most unusual site — Elephantine Colossus , more famously known as ‘the Elephant Hotel’, an actual guest house which stood watch over the entertainment district’s beach amusements.

The hotel opened in 1885, a 12-storey pachyderm with 31 organ-themed guest rooms that faced the ocean and featured an observation deck and a cigar store in its leg.

Below: an 1885 diagram 

elephanthotel

 

The press was given a tour when it opened that spring: “The ‘Stomach Room’ … is 60 by 35 feet and trinagular in shape. From the stomach room the explorers walked through the elphant’s diaphragm and along his liver up into his left lung, where a museum is to be situated during the summer. Then the course was from the lung into the ‘Shoulder Room, then up the ‘Cheek Room, where they looked through the elephant’s right eye out onto the ocean.”

Another newspaper account from 1889 gives a charming, nostalgic description of the scene: “The discordant notes of a dozen barrel organs, calliopes and orchestrions attached to the merry-go-rounds of Coney Island floated in on the cool sea breeze, the locomotive whistles of constantly coming and going trains on the half dozen railways and the engine bells lent their share to the busy sounds from the outside world, while the rattle of the toboggan slide built around the big elephant hotel acted as castanets for the other music.”

A family on the beach in 1885, the year the elephant hotel opened. Those clothes look hot!

Brooklyn Museum/Brooklyn Public Library,
George Bradford Brainerd — Brooklyn Museum/Brooklyn Public Library,

If that doesn’t seem absurd enough, in the 1890s its oddly shaped rooms served as a brothel. According to Emil R. Salvini, “‘Seeing the elephant’ became synonymous with an adventure that you would not discuss with your kids.”

Like so many things from Coney Island’s early days, the hotel burned down, a victim of a fire on Sept. 27, 1896 that also took out the nearby Shaw Channel Chute, a roller coaster that encircled the hotel. It was, not surprisingly, often referred to as the Elephant Scenic Railway.

James Lafferty, the owner of the hotel, also built the New Jersey roadside attraction, Lucy the Elephant, which you can still find hanging out in Margate City.

You can find more info on this intreguing entry into New York’s hotel history here.
elephant

The two pictures above are courtesy the NYPL Digital Library

Below, the Elephant in perspective (1886):

Bringing news of King Tut (and his curse) to New York


Howard Carter with his very favorite king (courtesy Life Images)

Years after the Steve Martin novelty hit, King Tut mania returns to New York City. The heavily hyped Tutankhamen and the Golden Age of the Pharaohs finally opened last week at the Discovery Times Square Exposition, promising rooms of priceless artifacts from the tomb of the young Egyptian king.

British archaeologist Howard Carter opened the tomb of King Tut in February 1923 and spent the year investigating the treasures within, even as legend of the ‘curse of King Tut’s tomb’, fueled by the mysterious death of Carter’s financier Lord Carnarvon, electrified the press.

A disagreement with the Egyptian government in 1924 grounded work on the excavation. So in the interim, Carter decided to take news of his discoveries on the road — and started in New York City.

Arriving on the ocean liner Berengaria in April, Carter took to a round of lectures throughout the city. Carter was caught off guard by his reception, finding himself “celebrated and adulated like a star.” And although his proper British diction and inexperience at public speaking turned off a few naysayers, his tales, helpfully illustrated in photos by Met photographer Harry Burton, ultimately helped spark the interest in his discoveries and in Egyptian culture.

He began with with a couple invitation-only discussions at the Waldorf-Astoria for the Metropolitan Museum of Art, an unflagging collaborator with Carter for many years. In fact, the Met’s assistant curator Arthur Mace worked with Carter at the dig and would allegedly fall victim to the curse in 1928.

Carter then presented to a larger audience in a series of four lectures at Carnegie Hall, the first on April 25, 1924. In a venue better known for dynamic musical performances, Carter was still able to pack in over 2,500 people and a madly fascinated press.

According to the Times: “Step by step, he led them to the point where the cover was lifted off the great stone sarcophagus containing the mummy of the Egyptian monarch interred 3,300 years ago.”

For a week in April, dusty Howard Carter became one of the most toasted men in New York City. He spent his days in the city traveling to other venues to share his work — one at the Museum of Natural History, two separate functions at the Brooklyn Academy of Art, and more appearances at Carnegie. At night, he was feted at private dinners.

He carried that enthusiasm with him throughout the country, hitting stops in New Haven, Pittsburgh, Baltimore, Philadelphia and Chicago. He even swung by the White House to have tea with President Calvin Coolidge. (The picture at right is Carter taken at one of these locations, May 1924, courtesy LOC)

Carter left New York for England on the Mauretania in July 1924 and eventually resumed work on the tomb. He took with him Met Museum photographer Harry Burton, who documented further exploration of the dig, providing the most startling and iconic images of the world’s most famous mummy.

The Met would continue to involve itself with the discoveries, and in the 1970s organized its best-known tour of the United States, which culminated in the Met’s own hallways in the winter of 1979.

As for the ‘curse’ of King Tut, you might be interested in reading a 1978 article in New York Magazine about the Met’s 1979 show and the allegations — by no less than their former director Thomas Hoving — that the Met might have used Carter’s appearance as a ‘cover’ to obtain stolen art from the tomb.

Categories
Uncategorized

Mark Twain and the long century without him


Above: Mark Twain at Delmonico’s Restaurant

One hundred years ago today, Mark Twain died of a heart attack in Connecticut, famously the day after Hailey’s Comet whisked by the earth.

Although obviously more known for his reminiscences of Missouri and his later life in Hartford, Conn., New York City figured significantly in his career. Twain first came to New York when he was just 18 years old and would live here at times throughout his life, contributing to various newspapers and journals. He certainly had a love-hate relationship with the city.

But did you know Twain’s funeral actually took place here, in Manhattan, at the Brick Presbyterian Church at 5th Avenue and 37th Street (at right, pic courtesy NYCAGO)? Both it and the townhouses which surrounded it are all gone. However, the congregation built a new church at Park Avenue and 91st which still stands; the church bell within the new building is from the old structure and bore witness to Twain’s funeral.

Twain’s body arrived in town before noon that April 23 at Grand Central Station and was somberly escorted uptown to the church, where a crowd had gathered. Upon Twain’s casket somebody had thrown a bouquet with the words: “”From one who has read ‘Pudd’nhead Wilson.'”

The funeral was clearly the big event of the day. The Associate Press article reports,” “Holders of tickets were admitted first. Millionaires and paupers rubbed elbows in the vast crowd that stood outside.”

After a series of dramatic eulogies, thousands of people streamed by the open coffin, the writer dressed in his recognizable white coat and pants. The doors were closed at 10 p.m., and Twain’s body was transported to its final resting place — Elmira, New York, a much-beloved summer respite for Twain in his youth and the place where he met his wife.

Finally, here’s one humorous recollection of New York City by Mark Twain, published in a letter for a San Francisco newspaper in 1867. Who hasn’t felt this way before?:

“There is something about this ceaseless buzz, and hurry, and bustle, that keeps a stranger in a state of unwholesome excitement all the time, and makes him restless and uneasy, and saps from him all capacity to enjoy anything or take a strong interest in any matter whatever–a something which impels him to try to do everything, and yet permits him to do nothing.

He is a boy in a candy-shop–could choose quickly if there were but one kind of candy, but is hopelessly undetermined in the midst of a hundred kinds. A stranger feels unsatisfied, here, a good part of the time. He starts to a library; changes, and moves toward a theatre; changes again and thinks he will visit a friend; goes within a biscuit-toss of a picture-gallery, a billiard-room, a beer cellar and a circus, in succession, and finally drifts home and to bed, without having really done anything or gone anywhere. He don’t go anywhere because he can’t go everywhere, I suppose.”

Below: Mark Twain in a portrait taken by Matthew Brady (although I believe the photograph was taken in Brady’s D.C. studio, not in New York)

By the way, here’s a pretty extraordinary tale from New York Press by Craig Fehrman about the fight to save Mark Twain’s Fifth Avenue home from demolition.

Goldman Sachs: things were much simpler then

The villain du jour of the latest financial scandal is investment firm Goldman Sachs, accused of fraud by the Securities and Exchange Commission for misleading investors on the shady details of certain ‘exotic’ mortgage-backed securities.

The magnitude of Goldman Sachs’ ambitions over the past 140 years — its seismic up and downs, through booms and recessions — belie its modest beginnings in a basement office next to a coal chute on a small block in downtown Manhattan. It’s doubtful that its founder, Marcus Goldman (at right), would recognize his own company today. Sitting upright on a single stool, well groomed in a Prince Albert jacket, the uniform of New York’s financial class, Goldman prepared to leap into a new venture, the future uncertain. His most important business accessory was a tall, silk hat.

The roots of Goldman Sachs lies within the increasing numbers of German immigrants who came to the United States starting in the late 1840s. There were 100,000 German in New York by 1860 with their own newspapers, schools and churches influencing the city’s cultural identity. Among them were publishers, musicians, bakers, merchants. And lots of bankers.

Early German financiers like Joseph Seligman (later known as the broker of railroad baron Jay Gould) were already established on Wall Street by the time young schoolteacher Marcus Goldman arrived here from Frankfurt in 1848. He started a family in Philadelphia, his wife Bertha employed as seamstress for society ladies while Marcus himself peddled from a horse-drawn cart, later opening his own clothing store.

But it was soon time for some reinvention. Closing his store, in 1869 the Goldmans moved to New York at his wife’s insistence, residing in a Murray Hill brownstone among the families of new wealth. Marcus opened a small business on 30 Pine Street, a small sign “Marcus Goldman, Banker and Broker” barely noticable among the counting houses, book stores and sidewalk trade made up the street parallel to Wall Street.

Goldman’s office was modest indeed, furnished only with a stool and a desk, employing a young apprentice and, according to Stephen Birmingham, “a wizened part-time bookkeeper (who worked afternoons for a funeral parlor).”

It didn’t matter, because Goldman was constantly on his feet anyway. His unique trade was as a broker of IOUs, the at-this-time new busness of commercial paper, transacting between the small merchants of the jewelry and leather trades and the uptown banks. Wandering down Maiden Lane, Goldman would visit the mostly Jewish tradesmen of the area, cultivate their trust and buy their debt at a set rate of interest, shoving notes into his silk hat until it bulged. According to Lisa Endlich, “It was said that a banker’s success each day could be measured by the ‘altitude of his hat’.”

Single-handedly, Goldman was making $5 million a year, keeping his family in finery and a growing number of servants. By 1880, the firm was raking in $30 million. Two years later, he was able to expand his business further by bringing his son-in-law into the fold — Samuel Sachs, son of a Bavarian saddlemaker, who also happened to be friends with one Philip Lehman, whose firm the Lehman Brothers would frequent partner with Goldman’s firm. (And would, 128 years later, file for bankrupsy.)

The new Goldman Sachs company allowed the two participating families to thrive in New York society. And soon, the lucrative firm would no longer be just a family affair, inviting in partners to become Goldman Sachs and Co. in 1885.

Samuel would take over for Marcus at his death in 1904 and would steer the company’s fortunes until his retirement in 1928, a year before the start of the Great Depression. Its fortunes at that point would be guided by Sidney Weinberg, a former janitor who climbed the corporate later to head the firm in 1930, aiming beyond the business dealings once stuff in Goldman’s hat and towards the wave of the future: investment banking.

Categories
Podcasts

The Bronx Zoo: the tale of NYC’s biggest animal house

Postcard of the elephant house, now the central Zoo Center — and home today to a baby rhino below. (Courtesy NYPL)

PODCAST New York City’s most exotic residents inhabit hundreds of leafy acres in the Bronx at the once-named New York Zoological Park.

Sculpted out of the former DeLancey family estate and tucked next to the Bronx River, the Bronx Zoo houses hundreds of different species from across the globe, many endangered and quite foreign to most American zoos.

The well meaning attempts of its founders, however, have sometimes been mired in controversy. The highlight of the show — and the institution’s lowest moment — is the sad tale of Ota Benga, the pygmy once put on display at the zoo in 1906!

ALSO: We take you on a tour of the zoo grounds, unfurling over 110 years of historical trivia, from the ancient Rocking Stone to the tale of Gunda, the Indian elephant who may also have been a poet.

CLICK INTO PICTURES BELOW FOR GREATER DETAIL

Well-dressed families arrive at the south zoo entrance in 1911. (NYPL)

The aquatic bird house, one of the first buildings completed when the zoo opened in 1899. Another building from this date, the House of Reptiles, still stands and you can see it further below. (NYPL)

Bears behind fences. Zoo planners used Bronx Park’s natural topography to build enclosures into the very rocks themselves.

The mysterious Rocking Stone, next to the Rocking Stone Restaurant. Today there’s a World of Darkness exhibit there (presently closed to visitors).

Ota Benga at the Bronx Zoo. The Congolese pygmy once lived at the Museum of Natural History (where he was forced to wear a duck costume!) before being scandalously exhibited for a short time in the Bronx Zoo monkey house in 1906.

Part of his allure to shocked New Yorkers were his filed teeth and his size (4’11’).

Pandora, the zoo’s first panda bear, from 1938. Pandas never lived for very long at the Bronx Zoo, and they stopped regularly keeping them. Pandas Ling Ling and Yun Yun were briefly housed here in the 1980s.

The elephant exhibit, circa the 1960s. The Bronx Zoo’s population of elephants has dwindled to just three animals. Very soon there may be none. (Photo courtesy Life Images, Nina Leen photgrapher)

From the same time period as the picture above, but pretty timeless. The sea lions have been the centerpiece of the zoo since it opened in 1899. (Nina Leen)

Some pics from my trip last week are below. The zoo is one of the greatest places to see the spectacle of the Bronx River. (Click into them to see the detail.)

The Butterfly Garden is one of the newer exhibitions, an intimate greenhouse featuring dozens of varieties of butterflies flying all around you (and sometimes, even on you).

American allligators, the small, unthreatening kind. For something more severe, visit the nile crocodile in the Madagascar exhibit.

A display of some of the zoo’s marvelous, cheeky fontage.

The House of Reptiles, one of the zoo’s oldest structures, from 1899.

The brutalist wonder that is the House of Birds.

A young female gorilla, one of several who look on at gawking zoo visitors in curiousity and confusuion.

From the Madagascar exhibit:

You can find a baby Asian one-horned rhinoceros named Krishnan at the Zoo Center.

And finally, the Bronx Zoo movie star Andy the orangutan in his feature debut Andy’s Animal Alphabet:

Categories
It's Showtime

Lady Day to Lady Gaga: where 20 stars got their starts

Here’s a sampling of female entertainers from the last one hundred years, focusing on one particular venue that figures into shaping that person’s professional career. Obviously, most of these women performed in dozens of places throughout the city. I’m just focusing on location pivotal to their beginnings.

Billie Holiday in a jam session, 1943 (Gjon Mili, courtesy Google Life)

Most of these places are long gone, but you can still visit a couple of them (namely the Bottom Line, The Apollo, and St. Mark’s.)

Sophie Tucker 1918
Reisenweber’s Cafe
58th Street and 8th Avenue
One of New York’s true “red hot” ladies of nightlife, Tucker got her start in the Ziegfeld Follies and developed her sassy schtick in vaudeville. The bawdier contours of her act she picked up on the nightclub circuit, cemented in her appearances at Reisenweber’s Cafe. [Read more in my prior article on Reisenweber’s.]

Ethel Waters 1919
Edmonds Cellar
130th Street
Although she would later be associated with gospel music, Waters’ debut at this dank piano bar brought out the bawdy in this future star, learning to incorporate her natural bluesy with popular standards. The combination, mixed with a sass honed in front of drunken, rowdy clientele, would make Waters (at right) one of the biggest black stars of the Harlem Renaissance.

Josephine Baker 1923 
Plantation Club
126th St and Lenox Ave
That ambitious little showgirl from St. Louis came to New York as a chorus girl in a traveling show and stayed to wow the crowds of Broadway and Harlem, in particular at the Plantation Club, a sleek competitor of the mafia-run Cotton Club. French producers, catching Baker stealing one of her shows at the Plantation, invited her to Paris. And the rest is burlesque history.

Bessie Smith 1923
The Nest

169 West 133rd Street
Bessie (at left) was not the glamorous kind; her dark bluesy performances tended burrow into your soul. Her 1923 performances at the new Harlem club The Nest marked a turning point for her career; she got her Columbia recording contract that year and began a successful run of Broadway and vaudeville performances, until alcoholism and a tragic car accident cut short her career in the 1930s.

Billie Holiday 1933
Covan’s

West 132nd St
You would need a really large map to chart out all the places Billie sang. The moment Elinore Harris left the workhouse (thrown there after a prostitution conviction) and changed her name to Billie Holiday, she worked stages both in Harlem and in Greenwich Village. It was at Covan’s nightclub that a Columbia Records producer heard her. “The way she sang around a melody, her uncanny harmonic sense and her sense of lyric content were almost unbelievable in a girl of 17.” Within a year, Lady Day would make her first recording with Columbia.

Lena Horne 1933
The Cotton Club

142nd St and Lenox Ave
It was the most famous club in Harlem; she was a lovely young 16 year old girl with barely any experience. As the Cotton Club’s youngest chorus girl, Horne (at right) grew up fast, absorbing the presence of the marquee stars, befriending band leaders, and learning the hard knocks of a color segregated entertainment industry — experience she would take with her to Hollywood years later.

Ella Fitzgerald 1935
Savoy Ballroom

140th St. and Lenox Ave
In New York in the 1930s, the best place to hear swing was the Savoy Ballroom, and the best person to hear sing the swing was a young singer who had just been discovered at the Apollo Theater a few months before. The amateur singer was invited to join Chick Webb’s orchestra for a residency at the hoppin’ ballroom, and as dancers jived, a legend was born on stage.


The Andrews Sisters 1937
The Terrace Room @ Hotel New Yorker

481 Eighth Avenue
Years before a war would turn them harmonies into anthemic radio hits, the cornbread sister trio hoped their March 1937 breakout performance at the Terrace Room in the Hotel New Yorker would make them stars. Although the hotel management would find them bland, record executives didn’t. Within the month, they were making music for RCA Victor.

Betty Hutton 1938
Casa Manana

753 Seventh Avenue (at 50th Street)
A scrappy, gangly Midwestern girl who cut her teeth singing in speakeasies and at lake resorts, Hutton was discovered by bandleader Vincent Lopez and taken to New York, where she was given a rare opportunity — to perform in a nightclub owned by impresario Billy Rose. And did she run with it. New Yorkers loved her wacky, electric style, and within a year, she was a scene-stealing co-star in an Ethyl Merman musical.


Pearl as Hello Dolly (Courtesy Google Life)

Pearl Bailey 1944
The Blue Angel

152 East 52nd Street
The choir-trained Virginian songstress had made her rounds on the big band scene — and even toured with the USO during the war — when she took a two-week gig at the swank east-side nightclub the Blue Angel. Her warm, belting voice and stage presence electrified New Yorkers; her two-month stint turned into eight-months, and awaiting her on the other side were a recording contract with Columbia Records and roles on Broadway and in motion pictures.

Nina Simone 1960
The Village Gate

158 Bleecker Street
Simone was already an accomplished musician by the early 1960s, Julliard trained, performing in cabarets of Atlantic City and even scoring a recording contract. But her distinctive sound, the gravity and intensity of her beliefs, would only manifest themselves musically in New York lounges like the Village Gate, one of the few clubs she would enjoy returning to. One live recording from her appearances there became one of her greatest albums, released in 1962. Fun fact — her opening act that night was a new comedian Richard Pryor.

BELOW: “If He Changed My Name” from Nina’s Village Gate release

Barbra Streisand 1960
The Lion

62 West Ninth Street
She had barely left her parents home in Brooklyn when young Barbra Joan Streisand turned to singing as a way to become a star. Her New York debut was at a quiet, mafia-run gay club called The Lion, who had a weekly talent show. Barbra, needing the money, entered with the song ‘A Singing Bee’, and won the prize money. She stayed at the Lion for weeks afterwards, fostering her very first gay fanbase.

Ronnie Spector 1961
Peppermint Lounge

128 West 45th Street
Phil Spector might have transformed (and later married) Spanish Harlem resident Ronnie Bennett, but he did not make her a star. Two years before meeting him, Ronnie, her sister Estelle and cousin Nedra were hired as dancers at the crowded new rock club the Peppermint Lounge. One day they were mistaken for the main act, and so the trio just went with it, performing a Ray Charles cover and winning over the audience. [Read more about the Peppermint Lounge here.]Joni Mitchell 1967
Cafe Au Go Go
152 Bleecker Street
The coffeehouses of Greenwich Village launched their share of careers in the 1960s. Mitchell was a seasoned performer from the folk scenes in Toronto and Detroit when she arrived in New York and played regular performances at the Cafe Au Go Go, a cramped basement space best known as the place comedian Lenny Bruce was arrested on obscenity charges. Opening for Richie Havens one October, Mitchell met her future manager Eliot Roberts here. Within six months, she would release her first album, Songs To A Seagull.

 

Bette Midler 1970
Continental Baths, Ansonia Hotel

2109 Broadway
It seems impossible to imagine — a gay bathhouse as performance venue. But this was the late ’60s/early ’70s, and everything’s possible! Bette had arrived in New York five years previous and was just starring in her first Broadway show when she debuted an odd little cabaret act here at the Continental. With waterfall trickling in the background, Midler created her Divine Miss M persona here, wrapped in a towel. On occasion she even had a shy, betoweled Barry Manilow with her. (Bette wasn’t the only stars to stake out the Continental; Melba Moore, Patti Labelle, Nell Carter and the Pointer Sisters also tried out their acts here.

Patti Smith 1971
St. Marks-On-The-Bowery

131 East 10th Street
While Bette was in a bathhouse, Patti was at church. The career of New York’s pre-eminent 1970s rocker ignited at the rock venue CBGB’s. She and Robert Mapplethorpe would learn the ways of celebrity at Max’s Kansas City. But her first musical appearance was at a more unusual venue — the basement of St. Mark’s On The Bowery, counter-culture community center since the late 1960s. She was there as a poet, but with Lenny Kaye on guitar, she sheepishly sang a few numbers (even a cover of “Mack the Knife”) which kicked off her ascent into rock icon status.



Deborah Harry 1974
CBGBs

315 Bowery
She knew she was star material, but it just took her a couple tries to get it right. The former Max’s Kansas City waitress has already worked through one band, the Wind In The Willows, and tried out another one — the Stilletos, debuting at CBGB’s in May 1974. They folded, but a year later, she took lover and bandmate Chris Stein and formed Blondie. The band would build its reputation on the sturdy little CBGBs stage, easing it into the era of New Wave.

Madonna 1983
Danceteria

30 West 21st Street
She was going to be famous, no matter what. Her time to strike was one evening in 1982, when Danceteria’s flirty hat-check girl slipped her demo cassette “Everybody” to deejay Mark Kamins. A year later, now signed to Warner Bros., she would come back as a performer, and the Madonna identity — more than a mere vocalist — would strike its first pose. [Read more about Danceteria here]
BELOW: Madonna at Danceteria

Mary J Blige 1991
The Apollo Theater

253 W. 125th Street
No surprise that people get discovered at the Apollo; what impresses me is that people still use it as a springboard for fame, decades after it opened. Bronx resident Blige actually got signed to a label deal after being discovered at a White Plains shopping mall. But that deal went nowhere until she started showing up at the Apollo, singing backup to other performers. During those Apollo years, she survived bouts of alcoholism and depression which later fueled her confidence as R&B’s reigning diva. (Photo at left by Annie Leibowitz.)

Lady Gaga 2006
The Bitter End

147 Bleecker Street
Of all the performers to grace the legendary Bitter End stage during its almost 50-year history (Bob Dylan, Woody Allen, Bruce Springsteen), odd that a woman who once went by the name of Stefani Germanotta would be among the lucky few to become superstars. The January 2006 performance might have been the pinnicle of the young singer-songwriter’s career “She was learning how to put on a show,” says Bitter End owner Kenny Gorka. “She learned to get people to listen.” [Daily News] But something about the downrock rock scene set her on a different path, one of complete re-invention. She went to Los Angeles, and came back Lady Gaga.

Lounge Cher: Great moments in wacky NYC music history


Sonny and Cher in New York City (picture courtesy Getty Images)

June 1, 1970: Sonny and Cher begin a two-week stint at the Empire Room at the Waldorf-Astoria.

The Empire was one of the swankiest hotel lounges in Manhattan, usually the site of stars slightly past their prime, pop and jazz musicians of the prior generation.  Dinah Shore, Ray Bolger, Eddie Fisher — they all played the Empire . In fact, in July 1971, Louis Armstrong would give his final performance here at the Empire.  And just a couple months before the debuts of Salvadore ‘Sonny’ Bono and Cherilyn ‘Cher’ Sarkisian , Peggy Lee delighted audiences here with remakes of ‘Bridge Over Troubled Water’ and ‘Is That All There Is?’

So what, exactly, were the nation’s trendiest pop duo doing here?

It had actually been a few years since their biggest hit, ‘I’ve Got You Babe’, and the duo since then had seen their share of flops, both in music and film.  Cher took the first part of 1969 off to give birth to her daughter Chastity.

It was Sonny’s idea to turn the pair into a Las Vegas showstopper, and their first stop before hitting the gambling capital was New York’s Empire Room, to try out a loungier version of their act.

The pair played off their catty, flirty banter and made particular fodder of Cher’s outrageous costumes.  The cheesy repartee obviously did the trick, but it was TV, not Vegas, that came calling.  Within a year, they had their very own prime-time program, The Sonny And Cher Comedy Hour, a ratings bonanza that might have lasted forever if not for their divorce in 1974.

Meanwhile, at the Empire Room, Sonny & Cher were followed up in late June with a more appropriately loungish headliner — Latin troubadour Trini Lopez.

Sedated: Great moments in wacky NYC music history

March 30, 1974: The Ramones, the pride of Forest Hills, Queens, play their first public concert together at Performance Studio, a small space on East 20th Street* managed by future member Tommy Erdelyi (later Tommy Ramone). For their debut set, there were just three of them, and Dee Dee Ramone sang lead

How did it go? Johnny Ramone: “We were awful. We didn’t have the image down yet. Our friends didn’t even want to talk to us anymore after that.”

The jumbled mess of a set did not please an audience comprised of mostly friends, who paid $2 for the privilege of seeing a visibly nervous Dee Dee Ramone accidentally crush his bass underfoot.

It would take a few months for the band to get their musical footing, in time for their debut at CBGB’s on August 16th.

You can read more about this long-forgotten performance space (which also hosted shows by the New York Dolls and Blondie) here.

*Many sources list the studio at 23rd Street, not 20th Street. Anybody have an idea as to its exact address?

Categories
Uncategorized

Triangle Factory Fire: 99 years later

Above: the mangled remains of a flimsy fire escape which sent many Triangle Factory workers to their death

A tragic marker in New York City history: the devastating fire that swept through the upper floors of the Asch Building in 1911, through the sweatshops of the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory, killing 146 people.

Today, March 25th, is the 99th anniversary. I suspect there will be some marking of this grim anniversary today at the corner of Greene Street and Washington Place.

You can download my podcast on the Triangle Factory Fire from our NYC History Archive page on iTunes or you can get it directly from here.

Photo courtesy NYPL

Categories
Podcasts Preservation

Robert Moses: Did he save New York — or destroy it?

Photo above: Robert Moses, October 1952 by Alfred Eisensteadt (Courtesy Google Life)

PODCAST: EPISODE 100 We obviously had to spend our anniversary show with the Power Broker himself, everybody’s favorite Parks Commissioner — Robert Moses.

A healthy debate about Moses will divide your friends, and we provide the resources to make your case for both sides. Robert Moses was one of the most powerful men in New York from the late 1920s until the late 1960s, using multiple appointed positions in state and local government to make his vast dream of a modern New York comes to fruition.

That dream included glorious parkways and gravity-defying bridges. It also included parking lots and the wholesale destruction of thousands of homes. World’s fairs and innovative housing complexes. Elevated highways plowed through residential neighborhoods — straight through Harlem, midtown Manhattan, and SoHo.

We get into the trenches of some of Moses’s most renown and controversial projects — the splendor of Jones Beach; the revolutionary parks and pools; the tragedy of the Cross Bronx Expressway, and his signature project, the Triborough Bridge.

What side will you come down on — did Robert Moses give New York City the resources it needs to excel in the 20th century, or did he hasten its demise with short-sighted, malignant vision?

You can tune into it below, download it for FREE from iTunes or other podcasting services, get it straight from our satellite site.

CORRECTION TO THIS WEEK’S PODCAST: Once again, a misinterpretation of my own handwritten notes creates a somewhat hilarious mistake this time around. Although Jones Beach was indeed truly popular in its first year, it did not see an attendance of 150 million people in its first year. (That would have been more people than lived in the entire United States.) The correct number is 1.5 million.
___________________________________________________

KING OF PARKS: As the first five-borough Parks Commissioner, Moses was responsible for the creation and renovation of hundreds of city parks. If you see a park in New York, Robert Moses either commissioned it or radically altered it. Shunning the ‘waste’ of natural beauty, Moses replaced groves and meadows with tennis courts, playgrounds, drinking fountains and other things made with concrete and asphalt.

ALL WET: Being a swimmer himself, Moses placed an emphasis on public pools throughout the city, including this one in Astoria, Queens. For pools in East Harlem where he wanted to encourage white attendence, Moses reportedly authorized that the temperature of the water made colder — because black people disliked cold water. (Um, Bob, nobody likes cold water.)

CAN’T LIVE WITH ‘EM….: Mayors and governors alike latched onto Moses’s remarkable progress; newspaper editors and community leaders fell over each other to praise him. Voices of dissension were few and ignored. By the 1940s, he was immensely powerful, leading at one point a dozen local and state commissions and authorities. Picture from August 18, 1937. (Courtesy of the Long Island State Park Region Photo Archive)

BRIDGE TO NOWHERE: Moses with a model of his Brooklyn Battery Bridge, which would have cut straight over New York Harbor, linking Battery Park with Red Hook, Brooklyn. To build this monstrosity would require turning Governor’s Island into a gigantic anchorage and eradicating the New York Aquarium, housed in historic Castle Clinton.

The project was defeated by some backroom machinations from President Roosevelt, but Moses got his revenge — on the New York Aquarium. He ripped it out of Castle Clinton and threw it out on Coney Island.

HIGHWAY CITY: Had Moses’s ideas come to full fruition, an elevated highway would have cut through lower Manhattan at Broome Street, a mid-Manhattan version would have landed onto 30th Street, and the culture of Harlem’s 125th Street would have been eliminated by a Cross Harlem Expressway. The two uptown extensions died quickly, but Moses was so close to making LoMaX (the Lower Manhattan Expressway) that one segment, at Chrystie Street, was actually built and abandoned.

SCANDAL: The drab structures at Park West Village belie the scandal of Manhattantown, a proposed development exposed as an elaborate development scam spawned from the federal government Slum Clearance Program — a program overseen by Moses in New York.

NO FAIR: A visibly bitter Moses stands aloft his World’s Fair of 1964-65, a chaotic, financial flop that gave the press, once so adoring of their former Parks Commissioner, ample fodder for mockery.

Robert Moses has divided urban planners, politicians and regular New Yorkers for decades. The 1970s saw the devastating bio The Power Broker by Robert Caro, elaborating in great, grim detail the evils of Moses’s decisions. His legacy was re-evaluated in a critical 2007 exhibition at the Queens Museum.

Photo by Alfred Eisensteadt (Courtesy Google Life)