NYPD police horses at Fifth Avenue and 30th Street in 1907
Perhaps one of these NYPD police horses at Fifth Avenue and 30th Street in 1907 were Lester. NYPL Digital Collections

Every day, Lester the NYPD police horse worked with his two-legged partner on Fifth Avenue near 35th Street. And every day at 5 p.m., he would visit the Mother Goose Tea Room at 13 East 35th Street. He would stick his nose over the hedge and wait for a few lumps of sugar.

The Mother Goose Tea Room, owned by Clementine V. Lasar Studwell, was a novelty tea room that went over the top with the Mother Goose theme, starting with the display window, which featured a large shoe with windows and a door, and a statue of Mother Goose in her red dress.

Illustration of Mother Goose

The halls were decorated with Mother Goose paintings by famous illustrators of children’s stories, and all the chinaware was painted with characters such as Tom Thumb, Jack Horner, and Old King Cole. There were wooden tables and benches crafted in Dutch style, and the waitresses dressed like Dutch maids.

Every day when Lester the police horse came to visit, the waitresses would attend to him just as they would any human customer. After he received his sugar, he would nod his head in thanks and walk away.

Although the Mother Goose Tea Room was popular with children–many children’s had birthday parties there–it was also popular with young ladies who came to read their fortunes in Mrs. Studwell’s fortune-telling tea cups.

Mrs. Studwell, who was popular soprano soloist for several churches in Manhattan and Brooklyn, began the business in 1910 when she was 61 years old, after her husband, George Stuart Studwell, began losing money in his business ventures. (Incidentally, the famous architect Charles McKim made his home in the four-story building at 13 East 35th Street until he moved out in 1908).

Clementine said the tea room was quite profitable with women, who came for the tea leaves, and also with men, who came for the famous German nut bread (and probably the Dutch maid waitresses). All her customers called her Mother Goose.

Every customer who ordered tea would receive a booklet explaining how to read the tea leaves. According to Mrs. Studwell, the proper way to read tea leaves was to turn the cup over four times after finishing the tea.

Clementine Studwell specialized in helping her customers read their tea leaves at her Mother Goose Tea Room.
Clementine Studwell specialized in helping her customers read their tea leaves at her Mother Goose Tea Room.

One the final turn, she said, you could predict your fortune at various points in your life by seeing where the tea leaves landed. If the leaves stopped on the rising sun, for example, it meant fame; if they landed on the book, that denoted wisdom; the four-leaf clover meant good luck and the crown was a sign of power.

Unfortunately for Lester the horse, the novelty tea room did not last long. By 1913 it was called Mrs. Warner’s Tea Shop, and in the 1920s it was known as the Green Parrot Team Room.

In 1923, a third-floor apartment above the tea room was the scene of an alleged torrid love affair between the wife of W.E.D. Stokes, owner of the Ansonia Hotel, and Edgar T. Wallace, a bachelor. The newspapers reported on all the lurid details of the affair, including Mrs. Stokes’ clothing choices or lack thereof.

During the divorce litigation, which lasted five years, several women who worked in the tea room testified that they would bring food up to Mr. Wallace’s bedroom, which is where they saw Mrs. Stokes.

Clementine Studwell died in July 1929 at the age of 79. She was survived by her husband and a son, George.

Museum of the City of New York Collections

The following story features a wealthy miser who lived frugally despite her wealth, about a dozen cats that lived with her in a dingy apartment, an ottoman stuffed with cash, and a few cows that made the Goelet family one of the richest landowners in midtown Manhattan in the 19th and early 20th centuries. Trust me, it all fits together in an odd historical way.

The Wealthy Cat Lady

Maria E.D. Mang moved to America from Austria in 1848, when she about 17. She met and married William Kull, who was a director for the former Bull’s Head Bank on Third Avenue and 25th Street. The couple lived in a fashionable apartment on West 23rd Street and attended many formal affairs. They never had children.

After her husband died in 1863, Maria Kull began collecting cats. Never having had any experience dealing with money, bonds, or real estate before–and trusting no one, including her own family members–she also began hoarding and hiding her cash and securities. She reportedly collected about $5000 in dividends every year following William Kull’s death.

Sometime around 1875, Maria moved into one of the two tenement buildings her husband had owned (and were now in her name). Although the five-story building at 829 First Avenue (where the UN complex now stands) was a bit nicer, she chose the four-story brick tenement closer to midtown Manhattan at 743 Third Avenue. Although she was now the owner of both buildings, she decided to live in only two squalid rooms on the second floor.

Little by little, the woman known in the neighborhood as Grannie Kull turned into a miser, convinced that everyone was trying to steal her money. She began wearing shabby clothes and telling people that all her money was gone, and doing her own handy-man work in the building (such as carpentry and replacing windows) in order to save money.

Maria Kull also started taking in boarders, including an older man of questionable reputation named Herman Weller (aka Weber) who may or may have not been her lover.

743 Third Avenue, on the corner of 46th Street, 1940, NYC Department of Records
Maria Kull owned and lived in the midtown building.
Maria Kull lived with about a dozen cats in a tiny apartment just above the stores at 743 Third Avenue, on the corner of 46th Street. She also owned this building. This photo was taken in 1940. NYC Department of Records.

Although Maria limited her own diet to cheese and crackers, several times a week she would gather up some coins and hobble with her cane to the butcher, where she’d purchase a quarter pound of chuck steak for her cats. Although the cats spent much of their time inside the tiny apartment, they would often go up on the roof or have fights in the backyard. Maria owned the building, so there was nothing the other tenants could say about the cat situation.

Other than a niece, Susan Mang, who traveled from the Bronx to midtown to visit Maria about once a month, other neighbors were never invited to visit. They would bring her food, thinking she was starving, but Maria was a miser and wanted nothing to do with other people.

One day in February 1905, Maria was brutally attacked (the police thought Herman may have beat her, but Maria insisted that two men who were trying to rob her attacked her as she fought them off). The ambulance took her to Flower Free Surgical Hospital, a large facility located along the East River at 63rd Street.

Flower Free Surgical Hospital in Midtown East, Manhattan
The Flower Free Surgical Hospital was built in 1889 on 63rd Street and what was then called Eastern Boulevard.
Maria Kull was described as a Woman Miser in the news, 1905

When the police arrived with the ambulance, Maria asked them to bring a dirty old ottoman to the hospital, as it was the only furniture she said she could sleep on. They of course could not comply with her wishes, so instead, the police and her niece inspected the ottoman.

Stuffed inside they found bunches of $50 bills tied up in rags–a total of about $3000. They also found another $3000 in cash and about $20,000 in securities in the cupboards, plus the deeds to the two buildings.

All total, as the press noted, the woman miser was worth about $100.000.

When Maria returned home from the hospital–where she had also been diagnosed with chronic gastritis due to her poor diet–she found that the Board of Health had removed much of the furniture in her apartment. She continued living there until her death in August.

On the day Maria’s body was found in her apartment, the neighbors had alerted police to all the howls coming from the cats trapped inside. Police broke down the door and found Maria on an old couch, surrounded by her cats. The cats began swarming around the police officers, hoping for a few morsels of food.

Susan Mang and one of Maria’s nephews, Carl Hein, reportedly inherited the estate. Ms. Mang had promised her aunt that she would find homes for the cats before the woman had passed away.

A Brief History of Third Avenue in Midtown Manhattan

So where do the cows and the families of Robert Goelet and Peter Goelet come in, you ask? In the history of the land, of course!

The land on which Maria Kull’s tenement at 743 Third Avenue was constructed in the 1800s was once part of a large, 55-acre farm owned by Thomas Buchanan. Buchanan, born in Glasgow on December 24, 1744, was a descendent of prosperous Scotch merchants. His parents were George and Jean (Lowden) Buchanan.

Third Avenue and 46th Street, Midtown Manhattan

NYPL Digital Collections
This old illustration of Third Avenue and 46th Street shows what midtown Manhattan looked like when Thomas Buchanan bought the land in the early 1800s. I don’t see any cows but they may be hiding somewhere on this property. NYPL Digital Collections

In 1763, following his studies at the University of Glasgow, Buchanan went to New York, where he entered into partnership with his father’s cousin Walter, who was already established in a shipping business in lower Manhattan. The firm of W. & T. Buchanan owned several ships and did extensive trade with the British ports.

Thomas married Almy Townsend, and the couple had numerous children, including a daughter who married Peter Goelet and another daughter who married Peter’s brother, Robert Ratzer Goulet (who, by the way, owned a country estate that is now a wonderful restaurant and B&B called Glenmere Mansion near my hometown).

Mrs. Townsend had a penchant for fresh milk and butter. Therefore, she insisted on having her own cows. She first asked her husband to purchase land near Canal Street (the family had a mansion on Wall Street), but when she realized that wasn’t big enough for for a herd of cows, she convinced him to buy some land along Fifth Avenue in the more remote part of Manhattan.  

Bull's Head Hotel, 44th Street and Fifth Avenue, Midtown Manhattan
The Bull’s Head Inn, depicted here in 1830, was located on present-day 45th Street and Fifth Avenue, on land that was once part of the Thomas Buchannan farm in midtown Manhattan.

And so between 1803 and 1807, Thomas Buchanan purchased 55 acres of common land, which the city was disposing, for the sum of $7,537. The plot was bounded by Fifth and Third Avenues between 45th and 48th Streets. In addition to the cows, Thomas planted turnips, corn, and potatoes on the land.

Thomas Buchanan died on November 10, 1815. At that time, his estate, which also included a country seat on the East River between 54th and 57th Streets, was valued at $50,000.

Thomas Buchanan's midtown property between Fifth and Third Avenues is shown on the John Randel farm map, 1818-1820.
Thomas Buchanan’s midtown property between Fifth and Third Avenues is shown on the John Randel farm map, 1818-1820. The tenement where Maria Kull lived would have been right on the lower right of the map, on the east side of Third Avenue at 46th Street.

In 1902, Thomas and Almy’s descendants, including members of the Goulet family, still owned this land. At this time, this large parcel in midtown Manhattan was valued at $30 million. I’m sure the Goulets were happy that Almy Buchanan had wanted enough land for a herd of cows!



Bang Go, Engine 56 mascot
Bang Go, Engine 56 mascot, 1901

The following short story is one of my favorites from my upcoming book, The Bravest Pets of Gotham: Tales of Four-Legged Firefighters of Old New York (September 2024). I laugh every time I think about this crazy little dog of FDNY Engine 56.

Most fire dogs of the FDNY’s horse-drawn era in Old New York ran ahead of the horses on the ground to warn off pedestrians and other vehicles. Bang Go vaulted through the air. About eight feet high in the air, to be exact.

Bang Go was the son of Go Bang, a prize-winning wire-haired fox terrier worth $2,500 and owned by Governeur Morris Carnochan, chairman of the American Kennel Club Rules Committee.[i] His siblings were Baby Fireaway and Baby Ding Dong.

Carnochan presented the dog to Captain Michael J. McNamara of Engine 56 at 120 West Eighty-Third Street when Bang Go was a puppy in 1899. The captain was leery of accepting the tiny dog at first. “In fact, when we first saw him,” the captain told the press, “we all gave him the ‘Gee-hee.’ I knew nothing of wire-haired terriers then and did not realize his value and intelligence. But in a few days, he had earned for himself the affection and interest of all the firemen in the engine house.”[ii]  

Engine 56, 120 West 83rd Street. NYC Department of Records, 1940
Engine 56, 120 West 83rd Street. NYC Department of Records, 1940 tax photo

Although the tiny dog longed to go to fires with the men, the captain didn’t want him to respond, and so he locked Bang Go up whenever the company banged out for a call. But one day he couldn’t find the dog before the engine set out. When the engine had gone a few blocks, Bang Go showed up, barking and racing with the horses in his excitement.

On their way home, the men saw him pacing in front of the firehouse, warding off all passersby on that side of the street. From then on, whenever he had a chance to run with the horses, he’d dash down the street and repeatedly vault in the air with flying leaps. If he didn’t want to run far, he’d run and do vaults in circles. 

The high-energy full-bred dog of Engine 56 also ate different meals than other fire dogs. For breakfast he had bread and coffee with milk and sugar. Lunch was a large bowl of soup, plenty of meat and vegetables, and bread and butter. Another cup of coffee topped off his night, which explains why Bang Go was a wired wire-haired fox terrier.


A Brief History of Engine 56

Our funny little dog Bang Go made his home at Engine 56, which was organized on July 13, 1889, in a firehouse on West 83rd Street between what was then 9th and 10th Avenues. According to the 1891 map below, Bang Go had a large vacant lot next door in which to play in and release his energy.

This land had formerly been owned by William Story in the early 19th century and then John Eatton Le Conte, a botanist with ties to the Elgin Botanic Garden in midtown Manhattan (where Rockefeller Center is today), in the mid-19th century.

The Engine 56 firehouse is circled in red on this 1891 map. NYPL Digital Collections

The firehouse was designed by Napoleon Le Brun and his son, Pierre, and completed in 1889. Captain Michael J. McNamara, a 40-year-old Irish immigrant who joined the fire department in 1873–and had been promoted to Captain on December 1, 1886–was placed in charge of the new engine company.

Engine 56 had two engineers, James Claire and William Massey; and seven firefighters: Michael Dinan, Charles Calahan, Robert Geddis, Richard Hyde, William Lumbolster, John Linck, and John Douglass. 

McNamara was popular with the men and everyone in the neighborhood. In 1905 he received the New York Daily News medal as the city’s most popular fire captain—receiving 800,000 votes compared to the second place count of 300,000 votes.  The newspaper said “every man, woman, and child on the upper west side knew him and were fond of him, especially the children.”

West 83rd Street 
Edith Morton
MCNY
This is what West 83rd Street would have looked like for Bang Go, as depicted by the artist Edith Morton, who painted this from her home on the top floor of 231 West 83rd Street, on the northeast corner of 83rd and Broadway, around 1890. Museum of the City of New York Collections

After 22 years in command of Engine Company 56, Captain McNamara retired on February 1, 1911. He was the longest serving captain in the FDNY at that time. 

Incidentally, on May 8, 1906, seven years after Bang Go arrived, Engine 56 fireman William J. Sullivan and fireman John J. Sheridan of Engine 39 were walking along Third Avenue when a curtain in a bakery caught fire in the four-story building at 1224 Third Avenue. The men rushed into the building, saving at least six residents, including John Storck, the owner of the bakery, whose family lived in the apartment above.

Just as a fire engine pulled up, Mrs. Pollock, who lived on the third floor, cried out for Sheridan to “Save my baby!”  Sheridan ran back into the smoke-filled building, where he found a fox terrier and what he thought was an infant in a chair, wrapped in a blanket.

He grabbed the dog and the infant and ran out of the building. Once on the sidewalk he realized that “my baby” was the fox terrier.  The infant he had rescued was a baby doll. 

Engine 56 was disbanded in 1960, and Squad Company 6 moved in, until they were disbanded in 1972. That year, the 83rd Street station became home to Engine 74, which had been housed at 207 West 77th Street. This company has a Dalmatian named Yogi (you can see a picture of him here).

Tragically, Engine 74 lost six of its men–Matthew Barnes, John Collins, Kenneth Kumpel, Robert Minara, Joseph Rivelli Jr., and Paul Ruback–in the attack on the World Trade Center on September 11, 2001.

Today the old Engine 56 firehouse is home to Engine 74.
Today the old Engine 56 firehouse is home to Engine 74.

[i] “Fine Dogs Arrive in Town,” New York Sun, February 17, 1899

[ii] “Bang Go, the Mascot,” New-York Tribune, June 30, 1901.

Rin Tin Tin
Rin Tin Tin, born in 1918, was one of the most celebrated animals in film history. He died in 1932.

In true movie-star fashion, Beauty, a police dog and half-brother of canine star Rin Tin Tin, came to the rescue of several Angora kittens when a pet shop at 735 Lexington Avenue caught fire on November 30, 1926.

The fire in the pet shop, owned by former lion tamer Captain Joseph Hamlisch, was first discovered by a young girl who noticed smoke coming from the basement windows. She notified Policeman Esposito at Lexington Avenue and 59th Street, who sent in a general fire alarm and ran toward the shop.

At the time of the fire, Frank Semon, a salesman in the pet shop, was in the store with about 300 canaries, numerous fish, and about 350 various animals, including dogs, cats, monkeys, and ferrets. When Esposito ran into the shop, he found Semon in the rear of the store, dazed and searching for the source of the fire. Esposito brought the salesman outside to the street.

As Semon waited on the sidewalk for the fire department to arrive, Beauty came running out of the building and leaped onto him. The dog barked and tugged at Semon’s jacket to get his attention. When Semon looked into the window, he saw five Angora kittens throwing themselves against the glass in attempts to escape the smoke-filled store.

Beauty the pet shop police dog with Blanche Kropacek in 1926.
Beauty with Blanche Kropacek in 1926.

Semon ran into the store and rescued the kittens in the shop window. When he brought them outside, a crowd of people cheered.

On a second trip into the store, Semon carried out a monkey named Jimmy, who thanked his rescuer by biting him. Although exhausted and nearly overcome by the smoke, Semon made three more trips, saving ten cats, four ferrets, a parrot, five puppies, 15 canaries, and six dogs, including a mother Pekinese dog. Unable to make any more trips, he collapsed on the sidewalk from smoke and exhaustion.

Fourteen firemen were overcome by smoke in the fire, which reportedly started in a rubbish heap in the basement. Sadly, most of the pet shop animals perished, including 300 canaries, four parrots, three monkeys, four ferrets, six dogs, and four Angora cats. All of the fish survived.

Captain Joseph Hamlisch, pet shop owner, Lexington Avenue
Captain Hamlisch's pet shop was located in this building on Lexington Avenue at 59th Street. NYC Department of Records, 1940.
Captain Hamlisch’s pet shop was located in this building on Lexington Avenue at 59th Street. NYC Department of Records, 1940.

Captain Joseph Hamlisch

Captain Joseph Hamlisch

Born in Vienna in 1870, Captain Hamlisch, the owner of the pet shop on Lexington Avenue, called himself a trainer of wild animals. After serving in the Austrian Navy and Army, he became a lion tamer, working primarily with lions at venues such as the Hippodrome at Luna Park. (He also sold lions at his pet shop–in 1922, he ran an ad for two performing lions that he was selling from his shop for $1500).

Hamlisch was also an expert at hunting — his claim to fame was serving as a hunting partner of President Theodore Roosevelt in Africa (he had a medal that was presented to him by the president to prove it) and explorer Carl Akeley in the Belgian Congo.

Following a long illness, the captain died in his home at 509 East 77th Street in 1943 at the age of 73. He reportedly continued running his pet shop and an animal ambulance service until he took ill.

Captain Joseph Hamlisch in 1927 with his animal ambulance.
Captain Joseph Hamlisch in 1927 with his animal ambulance.

Mary Miner (aka Mary the Cat) was a proverbial crazy cat lady who had more cats than she could accommodate and care for. Like Rosalie Goodman, who also hoarded cats in the late 19th century, Mary lived in an ancient, dilapidated tenement house on the Lower East Side. The tenement, on Hamilton Street, was called The Ship.

Described by one reporter as “an old hag” who spent her days begging and going through ash cans looking for edible tidbits for her dozens of cats, Mary got in trouble one December day in 1886. She reportedly accosted several men on Cherry Street and, unbeknown to her neighbors or her cats, was sentenced by Judge Duffy to Blackwell’s Island for three months.

With their sole caretaker gone, the 50 or so cats that shared “a mean little dingy room” in the rear of 43 Hamilton Street with Mary and thousands of roaches became savage as they struggled to survive. Hearing their howls, neighbors could only peak through a “grimy window” to see what was going on inside the room. Unable to open the locked door, they called the police for help.

When Policeman Cullen of the Oak Street police station arrived, he found about 40 cats in the tiny, 10-foot-square room. Several of the cats were dead, including one wrapped in newspaper inside a closet and one that had been stuffed and mounted on a board. There was a large dish of chopped meat on the floor, and an old table served as a scratching post. Two “rank pillows” that had served as Mary’s bed were also on the floor.

When the neighbors learned that the cats of Mary’s cat farm were going to be evicted by the police, they gathered along Hamilton Street to watch the event. Policeman Cullen flung a wad of burning paper toward a dirty stove in order to frighten the cats and then used a stick to try to lure them out.

At first, the cats refused to budge and put up quite a fight. Some of them walked out the door, only to crawl back inside through the window. As the cats ran into the street, some of the women recognized their own lost cats, which Mary had apparently catnapped.

Hamilton Street and Monroe Street at Market Street, 1932. NYPL Digital Collections
Hamilton Street and Monroe Street at Market Street, 1932. NYPL Digital Collections

Once all the cats were out, the window was barricaded. The cats continued to attempt to get back into the room as a man cleaned and disinfected it the next day. The press did not report on the fate of Mary Miner or her dozens of cats.

A Brief History of The Ship on Hamilton Street

The Ship tenement building on Hamilton Avenue, NYC
The front of The Ship, 1896
Rear view of The Ship, Hamilton Street, New York City
Rear view of The Ship, 1896

Hamilton Street no longer exists, but it was once a small block that ran parallel to Monroe Street between Catherine and Market Streets. As one newspaper described it: The street was just one block long, and had a crick where its original tracer, whether human or bovine, for it may well have been a cow path, turned aside for a hillock or a stump.

The old street was originally called Cheapside Street, and it ran through what had been the 56-acre farm of Harmanus Rutgers, who had purchased the land in 1728. In May 1827, the Common Council passed a resolution to change the name from Cheapside to Hamilton (Mr. David T. Valentine wanted to call it Jackson Street, but the original motion was carried.)

Map of the Rutgers Farm, NYPL Digital Collections
Map of the Rutgers Farm, NYPL Digital Collections

The Ship, comprising two buildings and seven houses numbered 41, 43, 45, and 47 Hamilton Street and 38, 40, and 40 1/2 Monroe Street, was on the northern end of Hamilton Street. There are no records of when any of the buildings were constructed, but it does appear that at least one goes back to the late 18th century.

During the late 18th century, Hendrick Rutgers may have used the original building, #41, as a taproom (he made beer on the property). He sold the building to Charles and Isaac Wright, the latter a blacksmith. In 1817, Edward A. Le Breton began operating a brewery at what was then 45 Cheapside Avenue.

In the 1850s, #41 was a sailor’s boarding house (perhaps why the building was called The Ship). The cellar of #41 and #43 was also used to store whisky and other ales at this time. At some point, probably around the 1860s, the buildings were converted for tenement use.

In the 1890s, around the time this story of the cats took place, there were 16 rooms (called cabins) in that section of the The Ship numbered 41 and 43; the largest of the apartments had only two rooms.

The Ship was a two-story building with a brickwork exterior and timber framework, peaked roofs, and alternating doors and small windows.

Every rented room had its own exterior door and a small wooden stoop. An extra door in the center led to a narrow hall, which reportedly reminded one of “the steerage of an old-fashioned emigrant ship.”

Leading from what could be called the main deck (ground floor) were various narrow hallways that ended in a cellar “as dark and damp as ever was the bilge bottom of any old hulk afloat.” Residents called it “the hold” of the ship.

In 1886, Mary Miner was reportedly paying $2 a month for her hovel in this odd, dilapidated building.

The Ship, Hamilton Street, Jacob Riis
This photograph of the interior courtyard of The Ship, which was taken by Jacob Riis in 1896, shows a woman looking down into “the hold” of the building. Little children could easily fall into the hold, which led to one resident tying a rope around her child when he played on the wooden stoop (in a news article about this woman, the child did fall and was hanging by the rope when a reporter came to visit). Museum of the City of New York Digital Collections

For many years, rumors spread that the city was going to condemn the building and evict the tenants. Following a visit in December 1895 by Police Commissioner Theodore Roosevelt and Jacob Riis, a journalist with the Evening Sun newspaper, the case for condemnation was taken more seriously. The Health Department condemned the building in March 1897.

New York Sun, May 3, 1903

Sometime around 1900, a large tenement building was constructed on the site of the old Ship. At this time, the crime-ridden neighborhood was known as the Gap, which, needless to say, did not have a good reputation. (The block also accounted for 291 cases of tuberculosis from 1894 to 1904.)

In 1932 the City sold Hamilton Street to Fred F. French Operators, Inc., the developers of Knickerbocker Village. Governor Alfred E. Smith broke ground for what would be one of the city’s largest slum-clearance housing developments on October 11, 1932.

The new housing development would embrace two blocks bounded by Monroe, Catherine, Cherry, and Market Streets. Most of Hamilton Street was obliterated, save for one small section that is today the site of the Coleman Playground.

Construction of Knickerbocker Village, 1934
Construction of Knickerbocker Village, 1934. NYPL Digital Collections
Knickerbocker Village, New York City. Google Earth
Knickerbocker Village, New York City. Google Earth