1915: Bill Nichols, the Cat Who Could Have Been a Rikers Island Hero

Posted: 21st October 2026 by The Hatching Cat in Cat Stories, Dog Tails
Tags: , , , ,
0
Vintage black and white kitten
Bill grew up in rural Staten Island, where he learned how to be a great mouser. (This vintage kitty is not Bill)

I recently learned that there is a large cat colony on Rikers Island, where hundreds of feral cats have been living for many years (most of the original cats had been dumped on the island by employees of the large correctional facility there).

The cats are cared for by volunteers with a group called Rikers Island Cat Rescue, who are working hard to raise $100,000 to build a dedicated cat sanctuary on the island. The sanctuary will provide a safe place for the cats to live, with food, shelter, medical care, and plenty of room to roam until they can be adopted into good homes (the group’s slogan is “Let Me-Owt!”).

After making my first but not last donation to this fabulous cause, I decided to find out if there was any cat history on Rikers Island. I did find one story that I share below. Please consider making a donation while you read this tale–and if you’d like to see photos of the Rikers Island cats, visit them on Instagram.

A Brief History of Rikers Island

The recorded history of Rikers Island dates back to 1664, when a Dutch settler and farmer named Abraham Rycken Van Lent acquired a patent for the island from Director General Petrus Stuyvesant.

Rycken had arrived in New Netherland around 1638, and over time, he acquired several parcels of land. His first land grant, along the Wallabout Bay, came from Director General William Kleft in 1638. Sixteen years later, he obtained a grant for the old Armen Bowerie (poor farm), which is now under LaGuardia Airport. From this farm, Rycken could look across the Bowery Bay and see the 90-acre island–then call Hulett’s Island–which he would come to own.

(According to some reports–although not completely proven–the first non-native resident of the island was a settler named George Hewlett (Hulett), who lived there with the widow of Guisbert Rycken prior to 1664. Guisbert had been Abraham’s neighbor on the Wallabout Bay, and the two men may have been cousins.)

Rikers Island, 1893
Rikers Island was originally a small island of about 90 acres, as shown on this 1893 map. Landfill and ash hauling expanded it eastward, and today it is over 400 acres, as shown below.
Rikers Island, 2026

In his will dated March 9, 1688, Abraham Rycken bequeathed all his land to his eighth child, Abraham Jr. Abraham’s grandson, Andrew Riker, built a home on the island, where he lived with his wife, Elizabeth Wyckoff, and their children during the latter part of the 18th century.

Throughout the 19th century, members of the Riker family used the island for growing corn and hay and raising livestock. During the Civil War, the island served as a military camp for Union troops.

In 1883, Jacob Hess, New York City’s Commissioner of Charities and Corrections, began taking steps to purchase Rikers Island for use as a work-house and farm colony. Following a year of governmental red tape, Hess purchased the island and its surrounding underwater land from John T. Wilson, a descendant of Abraham Rycken, for $180,000. 

Soon after the Department of Charities and Corrections purchased the island, the city’s sanitation department began using the north end of the island as a dumping ground for garbage and debris. It’s no surprise that the island soon became inundated with rats, who feasted on the garbage and grew larger than cats.

Although the city introduced many wild dogs to the island to fight off the rats, the dogs were no match for catching and killing rats. Everyone knows that’s a job for cats.

1914: Miss Katharine B. Davis Named Head of the Department of Corrections

Katharine B. Davis, Department of Corrections

Fast-forward to 1914, which is when Katharine Bement Davis took over as the head of the city’s Department of Corrections. Miss Davis was determined to show all the men who had belittled and doubted her that she meant business. Not only did she have some progressive ideas about running prisons, but she also had the courage to put those ideas into practice.

One of Miss Davis’ ideas was to increase the size of the farm on Rikers Island to accommodate approximately 300 short-term prisoners who were currently in over-crowded facilities at Blackwell’s Island (now Roosevelt Island). In addition to extending the farm by cleaning some of the land used by dump, her plan called for building more dormitories as well as a hospital and a chapel for the men.

Miss Davis had selected Reverend William Nichols, the Protestant pastor at Blackwell’s Island, to take over the new chapel on Rikers Island once it was completed. Rev. Nichols was also invited to bring his cat Bill, a handsome black-and-white cat with yellow eyes and “long, manly whiskers.”

Not only did the two-year-old cat minister to the prisoners by allowing them to pet him, but he was also an expert rat hunter. The pastor was excited about bringing his cat to Rikers Island, where the feline could do good work killing the rats.

Dormitories at Rikers Island, 1930s
Katherine Davis ordered the construction of additional dormitories, like these shown here, to house the short-term prison workers on Rikers Island.

Bill had joined the Nichols family when he was only three weeks old, when the family was living on Staten Island. One of Bill’s best friends was a wild bunny, who came to play with Bill every day. When the family moved to Blackwell’s Island in 1914, Rev. Nichols said “the rabbit sat on the back fence and watched them depart with an expression of almost human woe.”

Rikers Island to get Cat, 1915
New York Tribune, September 12, 1915

Bill made the trip to Blackwell’s Island wrapped in a black velvet bag and carried in Mrs. Nicholas’ arms. Although he didn’t mind the rail part of the journey too much, he was very unhappy with the boat portion of the trip. But once settled on the island, he began putting his rat hunting skills to work.

“He counts that day lost when he doesn’t bag two or three,” Rev. Nichols told the press. “Wharf rats, large as himself, are frequently slain by him, and yet he never bears a mark of combat, but is as smooth and as glossy as if he did nothing but lie in the sun and make his toilet.”

1930: The War of the Dogs, Rats, and Pigs

Unfortunately for Bill and Rev. Nicholas, the hospital and chapel planned for Rikers Island were not constructed until about 20 years later. So Bill never did get his chance to fight off the rats and protect all those wild dogs who were not up to the job. By 1930, the garbage dump on the north side of the island was inundated with thousands of fat rats.

Without a reliable cat like Bill, the garbage dump laborers had to depend on the dogs, who eventually learned to go after the rats after the men used their rifles and shotguns to entice them every night. But soon the dogs began getting out of control. Not satisfied with only rats, they began killing the pigs at the prison farm. When several farm workers threatened to shoot the dogs, the dump laborers threatened violence.

“We couldn’t stay here a week if the dogs weren’t here,” said Patrick Hines, superintendent at the dump. “The rats would chase us right off the island.”

The prison farm and piggery at Rikers Island, 1932. NYPL Digital Collections.
The prison farm and piggery at Rikers Island, 1932. NYPL Digital Collections.

Even after the original $10 million penitentiary building was completed in 1934, the island was still overrun with rats, which, according to the Daily News, “had defined every possible extermination device,” including about 100 dogs, poison gas, and poison bait.

Aerial photo of Rikers Island in the 1930s
A large pile of garbage and debris still remained on the island when this aerial photo was taken around 1935, shortly after the correctional facility opened.

It took a World’s Fair to clean up the mess on Rikers Island. Because city planner Robert Moses did not want the unsightly dump to be visible to the attendees of the 1939 World’s Fair in Flushing Meadows, Queens, Moses ordered the dump shut down.

Today, approximately 6,000 inmates are housed on Rikers Island, and despite the cat colony, the island is still plagued by vermin and insects. The New York City passed a law in 2019 requiring the facility to shut down by August 2027, but city officials do not expect to meet that deadline due to construction delays at the replacement facilities.

W

1930s: Johnny and Snooky, the Aristocratic Cats of Montague Street

Posted: 20th August 2026 by The Hatching Cat in Cat Stories
Tags: , , , ,
0
Johnny, the fancy feline of 62 Montague Street, Brooklyn Heights, 1930s
Johnny, the fancy feline of 62 Montague Street

Johnny was a fancy-schmancy feline. So it’s no surprise that the pampered pet lived in one of the fanciest apartment buildings in Brooklyn Heights, at 62 Montague Street.

Johnny was a black Persian cat owned by Mrs. Gordon Gray (nee Jane Donaldson Myers). Jane Gray was a childless widow and a proud Daughter of the American Revolution. A graduate of Fordham University, Mrs. Gray worked most of her life as a registered nurse.

Jane Gray and Johnny lived in apartment 3B, a small one-bedroom apartment with a view of the harbor, for which Jane paid $40 a month (about $640 today). Johnny loved watching the birds and all the action on the docks from his velvet-lined window seat.

62 Montague Street, Brooklyn Heights
62 Montague Street, Brooklyn Heights

One day, Jane Gray invited a reporter into her home to meet Johnny and take his picture for the newspaper. Jane told the reporter that her feline companion was a long-haired gentleman with glamour pants, which is what she called the tufts of fur on his legs. (I now tell my male cats that they are wearing glamour pants!)

She than bragged about how Johnny could understand her commands, like when she called him to see the birds in the window or when she asked him to sit up and box or do standing jumps.

According to Jane–who called herself Mother when addressing the cat–Johnny was a finicky feline who would only eat one brand of canned shrimp. He also liked codfish and chopped calves’ liver, followed by some ice cream or rice pudding for desert. In addition to the comfy window seat, Johnny had his own scratching chair. I wonder if that really worked?

In addition to watching the birds, Johnny loved listening to Jane on her piano and music on the radio. Specifically, he liked classical music. That modern swing music was not his thing.

Jane Gray adopted Johnny when he was about 8 months old. He doesn’t look too happy about having his picture taken.

Every year, Johnny would have a birthday party. One of the guests of honor was his girlfriend, Miss Ann, a blond Angora cat who lived in the apartment above them (the feline Romeo and Juliet of Montague Street, perhaps?). Hopefully, Jane chaperoned the two pedigreed Brooklyn Heights felines to prevent any hanky panky.

Jane told the reporter that Johnny would always be well cared for, even if she passed away before he did. Her will stipulated that the cat would go to her niece with a $20 monthly allowance for food and veterinary care. I don’t know when Johnny passed, but Jane Gray died in 1962 at the age of 78.

Snooky Bandbox

During this same time period, another unwed woman on Montague Street also felt that her cat was deserving of publicity in the Brooklyn newspapers. The cat had the unusual name of Snooky Bandbox, and she lived with Miss Anna Juliette Osborne (aka Osborn), a hat and dressmaker who lived and worked at 154 Montague Street.

(Incidentally, Bandbox Snooky is the name of an early 20th-century animal behavior experiment involving a cat named Snooky who was trained to stop jumping into a bandbox [aka cardboard hatbox] when her owner placed a bowl of water in the box. Snooky was also the name of a famous cat who lived in New York’s City Hall.)

According to Miss Osborne, Snooky was born on an oil tanker in Africa in 1924. When the captain of the ship was transferred to another ship that already had a cat, he had to find a new home for Snooky. He presented the black cat to his lady friend, Miss Osborn.

Like many of the high-society cats of the Heights during this time, Snooky never went calling on other aristocratic cats without her engraved calling card, which Miss Osborne would would dole out to the other cat ladies. Snooky also had a gentleman feline friend in Loudonville, NY, named Lucky Strike, who sent her cards every year at Christmas, Valentine’s Day, and Easter.

Snooky Bandbox the cat of 154 Montague Street
Snooky Bandbox of 154 Montague Street

A Brief History of 62 Montague Street

When we hear the name Montague, we may think of Lord and Lady Montague of Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet. Brooklyn’s Montague Street was named for a Lady Montague, but this lady of the house lived during the 18th century.

Lady Mary Wortley Montagu, sometime after 1716
Lady Montagu, sometime after 1716

Originally, the street was named Constable Street in honor of Anna Maria Constable, the wife of Brooklyn Heights developer Hezekiah Beers Pierrepont. According to legend, locals often joked about the street sharing a name with the constables, or police officers.

In 1840, Pierrepont’s son, Henry Evelyn Pierrepont, changed the name in honor of Lady Mary Wortley Montagu, a well-known English writer, aristocrat, and feminist who was a distant relative of the Pierrepont family.

The historic 10-story building at 62 Montague Street, originally called The Arlington, was designed by Montrose Whiting Morris for Mr. C.D. Burwell, president of the Brooklyn Hotel Company. Completed in 1887 at a cost of $125,000, it was located just steps from the Wall Street Ferry landing at the foot of Montague Street.

The Arlington originally had 17 rooms on each floor, which accommodated 20 family apartments and 10 “bachelor” (studio) units. The elevated building also had a restaurant on the second floor.

In September 1907, a late-night fire destroyed the 7th floor up to the cupolas on the roof. The four top stories were gutted in the four-alarm fire, and 43 families were displaced.

According to numerous news reports of the fire, many residents jumped onto the roof of the neighboring building or descended the fire escapes wearing nothing but their nightclothes. Following the speedy renovations, the building was renamed the Harbor View Apartments.

One of the most famous human residents of 62 Montague was the playwright Arthur Miller, who moved into the building after marrying his college sweetheart, Mary Slattery. For about one year, Arthur and Mary shared a 7-room apartment on the 10th floor with Mary’s roommates. A plaque on the building honors his brief residence there.

A Brief History of 154 Montague Street

154 Montague Street, 1940.

The three-story Italianate brownstone at 154 Montague Street was originally a private residence, and later, one of several schools for girls in Brooklyn Heights during the late late 19th century. The school, which opened in 1875 with 16 young girls, was first under the direction of Miss Clara F. Hall. In addition to primary lessons, the school provided instruction in English and other languages.

In the 1880s, 154 Montague Street was known as Mrs. Robert Goodwin’s School for Girls (Young Ladies’ Seminary). Under Mrs. Goodwin, a native of Germany, and her business partner, Miss Agnes Goodwin, the institution was referred to as a “parlor school,” aka “fireside school,” which provided primary education in private homes. The school offered its students–many of them from prominent families–individualized instruction with an emphasis on German language education.

During the 1940s, Miss Osborn’s shop, Osborn & West Hats & Gowns, was known as a high-end millinery and dressmaking shop for the well-to-do. Miss Osborne shared the space with James Stuart Gillespie (who called himself Guy Pierrepont), the long-time publisher of the Brooklyn Blue Book and Long Island Society Register (a register dating back to 1858).

According to an article published in The New Yorker, visitors to the publishing office had to walk past the dressmakers’ sewing room. I wonder if Snooky Bandit greeted them all?

Hatching Cat Talks Grimalkins on the Gilded Gentleman

Posted: 22nd May 2026 by The Hatching Cat in Cat Stories
Tags: , ,
0
Peggy Gavan and Carl Raymond, The Gilded Gentleman
Peggy Gavan and Carl Raymond, The Gilded Gentleman

A few months ago, I had the pleasure of being the guest of Carl Raymond on his popular podcast, The Gilded Gentleman. Carl started his podcast in 2021, and it is now at an impressive #21 on Apple’s top history podcasts.

During the hour-long program, I share many of my favorite cat stories of Old New York and answer all of Carl’s questions about the grimalkins who put their paws on New York City during the Gilded Age.

Here is a summary from his website:

Episode #130: Cats of the Gilded Age

Many people are curious about which of the famous Gilded Age families (and even those not on Fifth Avenue) had cats as pets — and the answer may surprise you. Cats nonetheless were a constant in Gilded Age New York and often performed very specific, even professional roles.

Author and unofficial “cat historian” Peggy Gavan joins the Gilded Gentleman table for a look at some of the Gilded Age’s most famous cats from Nicodeemus, who was on show at New York’s first ever cat show in 1895, to Buzzer, America’s most photographed cat (find out why), and several others.|

In addition, Peggy shares that when crucial services benefiting the welfare of cats, such as the ASPCA, other humane societies, and widespread veterinary care, came into being to protect the well-being of our feline friends. 

Click here to go to Episode #130.
If you have never had the opportunity to attend or tune into one my speaking presentations or taken one of my New York City walking tours with Cats About Town, I hope you’ll take some time to join Carl and me as we have some laughs and talk all about cats of the Gilded Age.

And speaking of Cats About Town walking tours, we have some fun news for the 2026 season, including something new for dog lovers:

Vintage dog and cats photograph
  • This year we have partnered with Airbnb to make our tours more accessible to out-of-town tourists
  • We have also partnered with several small and independent companies–we call them our Goody Bag Partners–who will be providing lots of kitty-tested-and-approved treats for the goody bags that every guest on our tours receive. Out new partners are:
  • And for those of you who also love or have pet dogs, or who have dog lovers in your life, we’ve added a special tour in Midtown Manhattan that explores the cats AND dogs who lived along Fifth Avenue during the Gilded Age. There are only two of these tours scheduled, so if it sounds like something you’d like to do, reserve your spot now.

1894: The Astor Kitten Who Caused a Stir at 320 Fifth Avenue

Posted: 7th May 2026 by The Hatching Cat in Cat Stories
Tags: , , , , , ,
1
Tuxedo cat on a window ledge

When a little black and white kitten fell from a ledge on Fifth Avenue, everyone who witnessed the event placed the blame on the ASPCA and the fire department. We’ll never know who was at fault, but what I want to know is this: Was this in fact a pet cat of Charlotte Augusta Astor?

The story began on November 21, 1894, when a man named J.H. Stetson saw the kitten on a stone lintel above a fourth-floor window at 320 Fifth Avenue, which was owned by Dr. Christopher Bell and his wife Mary. According to servants in this home, the kitten had been there for two days. Dr. Bell said the cat had originally crawled out from a top-floor window at 324 Fifth Avenue and made its way across the lintels to the Bell’s townhouse.

The magnificent home at 324 Fifth Avenue was owned by Charlotte Augusta Astor, the daughter of the late William Backhouse Astor Jr. and Caroline Astor (the notorious Mrs. Astor of The Four Hundred list). Which is why I’d like to think that the cat in this story is a feline Astor (probably just wishful thinking, but it makes for a good story).

Upon seeing the kitten stuck on the ledge, Mr. Stetson called the police, who in turn called the ASPCA. An officer from the ASPCA responded, and he allegedly placed catnip on the lintels to lure the cat into an open window. The catnip did not work, and the officer left the scene without taking any further action.

The following day, someone contacted the fire department about the stuck kitten. Hook and Ladder Company 12 responded, and at the suggestion of Dr. Bell, the men gained access to Ms. Astor’s residence and opened the window on the upper floor (the ledge of this window was apparently at the same level as the lintels on 320 and 322 Fifth Avenue).

Charlotte Astor's house at 324 Fifth Avenue; the townhomes of Dr. and Mrs. Bell and Mrs. Albert Bierstadt are to the left at 320 and 322 Fifth Avenue. On the far right is the home of John Jacob Astor
The red arrow is pointing to the top floor of Charlotte Astor’s house at 324 Fifth Avenue; the townhomes of Dr. and Mrs. Bell and Mrs. Albert Bierstadt are to the left at 320 and 322 Fifth Avenue. On the far right is the home of John Jacob Astor, which would eventually become the site of the Waldorf-Astoria Hotel and then the Empire State Building.

While the firemen were trying to shoo the kitten toward the open window, the cat jumped across several lintels, making her way from #320 to #322. But before she could reach the Astor home, the cat lost her footing and fell. No one saw what happened to the cat after that–she somehow magically disappeared.

Many people in the crowd who were watching the feline catastrophe blamed the fire department for using a hook to push the cat off the lintel. Accusations started flying all over the place–even the women of the Midnight Band of Mercy got involved, blaming both the ASPCA and FDNY Chief Ed Croker for negligence. Croker told the press that the firemen never brought a hook into the building, and none of the men pushed the cat.

When asked where he thought the cat had gone, Croker said, “It was as if the earth had opened and swallowed her.” He said that one of the women from the Band of Mercy who fed homeless cats said she was ready to rescue the cat, but “no trace of it could be found.” Hopefully she landed on all four feet and scampered quickly away from the crowd.

The townhomes of Dr. and Mrs. Bell and Mrs. Albert Bierstadt at 320 (corner building) and 322 Fifth Avenue.
The townhomes of Dr. and Mrs. Bell and Mrs. Albert Bierstadt at 320 (corner building) and 322 Fifth Avenue. The top of Mrs. Astor’s home is just visible at the top right of this photo.

A Brief History of the Bell and Astor Homes

The history surrounding this section of Fifth Avenue where the Astor cat story took place gives us a glimpse into the lives and scandals and “troubles” of the upper class during the Gilded Age.

This block was once owned by the Corporation of the City of New York. In 1799, John Thompson purchased 20 acres of this common land, bounded by about 32nd to 35th Streets and Fifth and Madison Avenues.

In 1825, Isaac Lawrence and his brother Thomas–both prominent merchants with offices on Pearl Street–purchased the land from Thompson (who had run into financial trouble) for $14,000. Two years later, William Backhouse Astor Jr. bought Thomas’ portion of the land for $20,500. And then in 1840, Isaac Lawrence and Astor split Isaac’s portion, each getting 124 building lots. Over the next few years, Lawrence and Astor continued to purchase additional property in this neighborhood.

In 1843, Isaac Lawrence’s lots were sold at auction (reportedly, his son William Beach Lawrence, a once-successful jurist who was married to Hetty Gracie, a daughter of Archibald Gracie of Gracie Mansion, had run up some extensive debts, so Isaac had to sell his property to bail out his son). The soggy lot on the northwest corner of Fifth Avenue and 32nd Street was purchased by T. Putnam for just $600. Putnam later said it was one of the worst purchases he had ever made, believing that even a 700-foot pole would not find bottom on the lot.

Albert Bierstadt
Albert Bierstadt

The next owner of this corner lot was Thomas Rigney, who purchased the land from Putman and built the brownstone townhouse at 320 Fifth Avenue, where the Bells would later live. (It was reported that Rigney’s house never sunk into the ground as Putnam had feared.) Rigney sold the home to Isaac Underhill Coles in 1861.

In 1877, Mary Bell purchased the brownstone home and rear stables at 3 West 32nd Street from the Coles’ heirs for a whopping $80,000. By this time, the house was in a very prestigious residential district of Manhattan, just one block south of the mansions of John and William Astor. Mary got a good deal.

Next door, at 322 Fifth Avenue, was the handsome townhouse of David Stewart, a banker, and his wife Mary. Following David’s death, his widow married artist Albert Bierstadt, a member of the second generation of the Hudson River School. Mr. and Mrs. Bierstadt continued living in the Fifth Avenue home until Albert died in 1902.

Caroline Augusta Astor Drayton
Caroline Augusta Astor Drayton

The most interesting homeowner on this block, at 324 Fifth Avenue, was Mrs. James Coleman Drayton (aka Charlotte Augusta Astor), the daughter of the late William Backhouse and Caroline Astor. Charlotte was only 20 years old and one of the most desirable débutantes of the Gilded Age when she was married to Drayton, a prominent lawyer, in 1879 (the grand wedding took place in the Astor mansion).

The marriage didn’t last long.

In 1890, the Draytons traveled to Europe with hopes of reconciling their differences. But by this time, it was known by all that Charlotte was spending a great deal of her time in London with Major Hallet Alsop Borrowe, an unemployed playboy who lived off his father’s wealth.

James Coleman Drayton, husband of Charlotte Astor
James Coleman Drayton

The very public affair didn’t go over well with Mr. Drayton or Mr. Astor.

In fact, Drayton challenged Borrowe to a duel; luckily some friends intervened and prevented this from happening. And Mr. Astor disinherited his daughter while leaving $850,000 in trust for her 3 children upon his death that year (her brother, John Jacob Astor IV, gave her $1 million to help her get by). The Draytons divorced in 1896.

Major Hallet Alsop Borrowe, suitor of Charlotte Astor
Major Hallet Alsop Borrowe

In 1900, the Bell’s 25-year-old son, Denniston M. Bell, was charged with arson for allegedly setting fire to several buildings, including a stable, near the family home in Newport, Rhode Island. Dr. Bell died in 1902, reportedly overcome by the grief his son’s actions and arrest had caused.

By now, the Astor mansions had been replaced with the Waldorf-Astoria Hotel, and many of the brownstone residences in the neighborhood had been converted into lofts or showrooms for business purposes.

Knowing her time had come, Mary Bell purchased the Bierstadt house in 1903 for $400,000, bringing the total value of her land to about $1.25 million. She partnered with developer Henry Corn to construct an 11-story store, loft, and office building on the land that long ago was considered unbuildable.

The new Reed & Barton building at 320 Fifth Avenue, about 1905
The new Reed & Barton building at 320 Fifth Avenue, about 1905. The Waldorf-Astoria Hotel is on the right.
320 Fifth Avenue, 2026
320 Fifth Avenue, 2026. The Empire State Building looms above.

1905: Malta, the Wandering Cat of NYC Financier Russell Sage

Posted: 20th February 2026 by The Hatching Cat in Cat Stories
Tags: , , , , ,
2
Russell Sage offers $10 reward for missing cat, 1905

New York City financier Russell Sage, aka Uncle Russell, had a reputation on Wall Street as being a spendthrift, a workaholic, and a ruthless money lender without emotion. So when he failed to show up at work after offering a $10 reward for the return of his missing cat, his financial cronies thought he’d gone mad.

“Groups of excited men argued on the curbs of Wall and Broad Streets,” one newspaper noted after Russell announced the reward. “He’s sick,” exclaimed one man. “The market will go to pieces,” another bemoaned.

One news reporter snidely noted that the $10 reward would come from Russell Sage’s $80 million rainy-day fund. Another paper pointed out that finding Russell’s cat would be the only way the average citizen could get hold of his money.

Malta, a large Maltese cat that Russell and his wife, Margaret Olivia Slocum Sage, had owned for 12 years, disappeared from their Fifth Avenue home one day in August 1905. Russell grieved deeply, unable to report to his Nassau Street office as he had done every workday for so many years.

Russell Sage and Margaret Sage
Russell and Margaret Sage

Malto and his sibling Melita were gifted to the Sages by a country friend when they were just kittens. For 12 years they had full run of the house, first in their townhouse at 506 5th Avenue, just north of 42nd Street, and then at 632 Fifth Avenue when the Sages moved into that home in 1903.

Although everyone thought that the cats belonged to Margaret, it was Russell who cared for them the most. In fact, one of the few ways that Uncle Russell Sage de-stressed after a long day of work was to play with his two kitties after dinner. So when Malto took to the back fences of Fifth Avenue and didn’t come home within hours as he’d always done, Russell was heartbroken.

Russell Sage missing cat New York Herald, August 31, 1905
New York Herald, August 31, 1905

Thankfully for Russell and Malta, the grief was short lived. A few days after the cat wandered away, he snuck back into the home through a back door, like a prodigal son. As one newspaper reported, once the cat was safely home again, “an air of peace settled down upon his offices again.”

A Brief History of 632 Fifth Avenue

If you enjoy the history of New York City, you may be interested to learn the history of the Russell Sage home at 632 Fifth Avenue, and of the land that it occupied. Before I get into it, I will tell you that today this site is occupied by the Art Deco brass statue of Atlas at Rockefeller Center, directly across from St. Patrick’s Cathedral.

The land now occupied by Rockefeller Center was once the site of the Elgin Botanic Garden, the first botanical garden in New York State. The 20-acre gardens were established in 1801 by Dr. David Hosack, Columbia professor of botany (he was also the doctor who attended to Alexander Hamilton after his fatal duel with Aaron Burr). He purchased the land between Middle Road (Fifth Avenue), Sixth Avenue, 47th Street and 51st Street from the city for $4,807.

Elgin Botanical Garden

The gardens featured a conservatory for the preservation of green house plants, two hot-houses, and a pond for aquatic species. The whole establishment was surrounded by trees and shrubs and a 7-foot stone wall.

Ten years after they opened, the gardens were turned over to the Regents of the University (now known as SUNY Board of Regents). They were eventually abandoned and fell into decay. Then in 1814, New York State held a lottery to benefit a number of state colleges. Because Columbia was left out of this lottery, its “consolation prize” was this rural and remote midtown land upon which the college could use for its campus.

“Whoop-de-doo,” was the school’s board of trustees’ initial reaction, not realizing that they were sitting on a gold mine that included the garden as well as 260 building lots.

The Elgin Botanical Garden
The Elgin Botanic Garden featured the gardens and greenhouses on about 260 buildable lots in what would become prime Manhattan real estate.

In October 1816, the trustees agreed to officially take possession of the Botanic Garden. Three years later, Governor DeWitt Clinton and the state legislature permitted the college to lease the former gardens, dropping a requirement that it be a future college site. One of the first leaseholders was a gardener named William Shaw, who leased the land for $400 a year for a period of 21 years.

Over the years, Columbia leased the land to several people, including John Ward and Simeon Draper. By the 1890’s, Columbia’s annual income from the property had soared to more than $280,000 annually. Nice consolation prize.

One of the Fifth Avenue lots on Columbia’s land was leased to an eccentric merchant named Charles “Broadway” Rouss, who had worked his way up from poverty to become the owner of a successful chain of retail stores throughout the United States. From the 1870s until 1902, Rouss made his home on this leasehold, in a four-story brownstone across from St. Patrick’s Cathedral.

Russell Sage Reluctantly Moves

When Rouss died in 1902, he sold the home and lease at 632 Fifth Avenue to Mrs. Jeannette P. Goin, who in turn sold it the Sages for $100,000. Russell Sage was reluctant to leave his old home at 506 5th Avenue, where he had lived for almost 50 years, but Margaret Sage was anxious to move 10 blocks north to escape the hustle and bustle of midtown Manhattan.

I could not find any photographs of the Sage home during the time that the couple lived there, but below are photos of the building in 1914 and 1920, after the building had been expanded (fifth floor added) and renovated into lofts for commercial use.

Fifth Avenue and 51st Street, 1920
The former Sage home is the smaller building in the middle, behind the street lamp. 1920.
Fifth Avenue and 51st Street, 1914
The former Sage home is on the far right, 1914.

Russell Sage died in his home at the age of 89 on July 22, 1906. He was buried in a steel, burglar-proof vault in the Oakwood Cemetery in Troy, NY.

Atlas, Rockefeller Center
Atlas, Rockefeller Center

Margaret Sage, who was now one of the wealthiest women in the country, sold the lease to Joseph, Inc., a milliner, in 1909 and moved to the former Draper estate at 604 Fifth Avenue. In her last nine years of life, she used her large inheritance (about $75 million) to found and support numerous educational institutions. She died at the age of 90 and was buried in the vault at Oakwood Cemetery.

By the way, you know that consolation prize? Well, in 1931, the Rockefellers became the largest leaseholder of Columbia’s land. In 1985, Columbia sold the 11.7 acres of land under Rockefeller Center to the Rockefeller Group for $400 million.

Older Entries