Morris was described as a husky, grey-striped cat. This is not him, but this vintage cat fits the description.

For fifteen years, Morris served as the ever-watchful feline mascot and mouser of the Sheepshead Bay police station, which was located in the Homecrest neighborhood of Sheepshead Bay. As official police cat of the 68th Precinct, it was his job to nab the rats and other vermin with which the rural district was infested.

Morris, described as a “husky gray-striped guardian of the law,” was donated to the Sheepshead Bay station in 1903 by members of the Sheepshead Bay Racing Association. The men christened him Morris in honor of his godfather, John Albert Morris, who conceived and built the Morris Park Racetrack in the Bronx in 1889.

If in fact Morris arrived at the Sheepshead Bay station in 1903, he would have spent his first three years in the old police station of what was then the 28th Precinct , which was located on Voorhies Avenue, just west of Sheepshead Bay Road (next to Mrs. Josephine Mason’s St. Elmo Village boarding house).

This station would have been problematic for Morris, because the basement of the old, two-story frame building would always flood at high tide. However, the old frame station also had a one-story barn, so that would have been a perfect place for Morris to do his mousing duties.

In July 1904, construction commenced on a new Sheepshead Bay station adjacent to the tracks of the Brighton Beach Railroad, on the northwest corner of Avenue U and East 15th Street. The large, Renaissance Revival-style station could accommodate 100 men, and featured electric lights and steam heat (a luxury for the suburbs). The station also had a two-story stable in the rear, where the Sheepshead Bay mounted squad kept their ten horses.

The new station was completed and furnished in May 1906.

Sheepshead Bay police station in Homecrest suburb
The former Sheepshead Bay station house was located at the northwest corner of Avenue U and East 15th Street, in the suburb of Homecrest. This grand building was demolished in 1979.

During this era, no doubt, there was plenty of work to keep Morris busy for fifteen years. As this 1907 map below shows, the police station was surrounded by many vacant lots, even while new homes of Homecrest continued to rise atop the old farmland. As the Brooklyn Standard Union noted in 1918, “Always on the job, he was never on trial before the Commissioner, charged with violations.”

The Sheepshead Bay police station in the Homecrest community is noted at the right center of this 1907 map. New York Public Library Digital Collections.
The Sheepshead Bay police station in the Homecrest community is noted at the right center of this 1907 map. All the yellow boxes represent the original Homecrest houses, which were all built on double lots. New York Public Library Digital Collections.

On September 6, 1918, Morris was seated at his usual post, alongside Sergeant Ira Ferris at the desk, when he spotted a large rat trying to break into the precinct. With a “tremendous spring he landed on the intruder, but the exertion was too great, and the grim reaper claimed him for his own.”

Captain John Falconer, Sergeant Ferris, and the entire force of the precinct held “appropriate services.” Morris was buried in the front yard of the police station, his grab marked by a handsome marble slab, “suitable inscribed.”

The police station was demolished in 1979. Today the site of Morris the police cat’s grave is covered by a Duane Reade pharmacy.

A Brief History of the Superb of Homecrest

The Sheepshead Bay police station was located in a brand-new superb called Homecrest. Following is a brief history of this community.

In 1898, a new suburb of Gravesend proper began to rise from the grounds once occupied by potato patches and tomato vines. The development was three-quarters of a mile long a half mile wide, and was bounded by Coney Island and Ocean Avenues and Avenues V and S.

The Homecrest community was built atop the old farms of John Voorhies, Jane Stillwell, and Letty Ann Stillwell, all noted on this 1890 map.
The Homecrest community was built atop the old farms of John Voorhies, Jane Stillwell, and Letty Ann Stillwell, all noted on this 1890 map.

This tract formerly comprised the farms of Jane E. Stillwell, Letty Ann Stillwell, and John J. Voorhies—all descendants of the founding families of Gravesend. The first large parcel of land was purchased in November 1897 by the Harbor and Suburban Building and Savings Association, who had offices at 34-36 Wall Street. According to the 1890 map below, the police station was located on the former farm of Letty Ann Stillwell.

By 1899, about 50 houses—each costing $3,000 to $5,000—were occupied, and another 50 were nearing completion (the plans called for nearly 1,000 homes in total). Original residents included William Bennett, a Manhattan caterer; G.L. Smith, a Manhattan insurance broker; H.C. Hasselbrook, a Brooklyn Police Department official; and George A. Woods, a Brooklyn Fire Department official. Click here for a complete list of original residents, published in the Brooklyn Daily Eagle.

In the late 1890s, numerous ads for Homecrest appeared in the Brooklyn and New York City newspapers.
In the late 1890s, numerous ads for Homecrest appeared in the Brooklyn and New York City newspapers.

By 1903, eight miles of graded roads, concrete sidewalks, gas mains, and sewers were in place. The neighborhood also had electric lights in the streets and 2,000 silver maple trees to create “a shady retreat.” Advertisements like this one at left and below promoted the new community as a place to get a breath of fresh air after a hard day in the city.

In the beginning, developers had strict rules for the Homecrest community. No house could stand on less than two lots, and no house could cost less than $1,800. Buyers did not have to put much money down, and they had a whopping twelve years to pay for their new home.

A typical Homecrest home had ten rooms. On the first floor, arranged on either side of a spacious hall, were a parlor, foyer, reception room, dining room, and kitchen. A broad stairway led to the upper floors.

On the second floor, there were typically three rooms and a bathroom. The third floor had an additional three large sleeping rooms (not sure if the bathroom on the second floor was all for the entire house.)

Most of the homes in Homecrest had a hot air furnace, and all the homes had gas. Every house had terraced, graded lawn and a full view of the Lower Bay and Atlantic Highlands. According to the ads, it was a thirty-minute, five-cent trolley ride to Manhattan.

All in all, not a bad place for a faithful, hard-working police cat to spend his life and career.

In this 1908 photo of Homecrest, at Avenue U and East 14th Street, No. 2068 East 14th Street is just to the right of center. Until recently, this house was still standing; scaffolding now blocks its view.

Homecrest Public School 96 was located on the northeast corner of Ocean Avenue and Avenue U.
Homecrest Public School 96 was located on the northeast corner of Ocean Avenue and Avenue U. In 1906, this school was ordered to be abandoned immediately. A new school with 32 classrooms was constructed at Avenue T and East 15th Street.
One of many large ads for the new houses at Homecrest.
One of many large ads for the new houses at Homecrest.
This is feline mascot of the battleship Wisconsin in 1936.
This is feline mascot of the battleship Wisconsin in 1936. C. Buster, the cat of the USS Indiana, was described as a Maltese (gray) cat.

There was much sorrow and indignation among the men on board the USS Indiana on April 27, 1903. That day, there were about six men on the battleship sick list. C. Buster, the battleship cat, was also on the sick list.

“C. Buster!” the ship’s surgeon called out. Letting out a plaintive meow and hopping on three legs, the battleship cat responded to the doctor’s summons. Not able to explain his injury, the cat held up his paw and allowed the doctor to examine it.

According to the story, C. Buster had gotten into the middle of a mix-up between two of the sailors while the battleship was moored at the Brooklyn Navy Yard. One of the men threw a boot at the other, and when the soldier ducked to avoid getting hit, the boot hit the cat instead.

Despite the hundreds of cats that lived and worked at the Brooklyn Navy Yard, there was no facility to treat cats and dogs at the naval facility. So, one of the stewards wrote up medical transfer papers for a cat and dog hospital on Fulton Street in Brooklyn. Commander A.C. Hodgson, the second-in-command officer who owned C. Buster, took the battleship cat to the hospital to have his leg set by Dr. Herbert Joseph Brotheridge.

C. Buster’s visit to the Fort Greene Hospital for Dogs and Cats was not the first time a mascot of the USS Indiana required treatment there. The ship’s dog, Rogers, was also treated by Dr. Brotheridge for a diseased hind leg.

Sadly, the doctor had to amputate Rogers’ leg. Although it took Rogers a while to get used to his condition, he was eventually able to hop around on three legs without difficulty. C. Buster fully recovered from his broken leg.

The ship also had a brindle goat at this time named Nancy. There are no reports of Nancy requiring veterinary care at the animal hospital.

Nancy the goat poses with the men of the battleship Indiana in 1903.
Nancy the goat (far left) poses with the men of the battleship USS Indiana in 1903. During this time, the ship was moored at the Brooklyn Navy Yard. C. Buster the battleship cat and Rogers the canine mascot must have been camera shy.

A Brief History of the Fort Greene Hospital for Dogs and Cats

Born in 1875, Dr. Herbert Joseph Brotheridge graduated from the New York College of Veterinary Surgery in 1894. He opened his first animal hospital in 1895 in his hometown of Freeport, Long Island before setting up shop in Brooklyn.

Sometime around 1901, Dr. Brotheridge established a practice for dogs, cats, and other small domestic animals in a one-story brick building on Cumberland Avenue, just north of Myrtle Avenue (now the site of the Walt Whitman Houses, completed in 1944.) In 1903, he opened a pet hospital at 560 Fulton Street, near the junction of Hudson and Flatbush Avenues. Next door was the new Orpheum Theatre, built in 1899-1900.

The Fort Greene Hospital for Dogs and Cats was located at 560 Fulton Street, pictured here in 1910.
The Fort Greene Hospital for Dogs and Cats was located at 560 Fulton Street, pictured here in 1910. By this time, Dr. Brotheridge was involved with his military duties, and the Orpheum Bowling Alley had taken over this address.

According to an article about the hospital published in 1903, the hospital was a novel idea in that it specialized in family pets as opposed to horses and livestock. The first-of-its-kind facility featured a reception room or parlor in the front, where wealthy clients brought their pets, and an operating room with marble tables, tubs, and washstands in the back of the building.

Dr. Herbert J. Brotheridge with his trained assistant in 1908. 
Fort Greene Hospital for Dogs and Cats
Dr. Herbert J. Brotheridge with his trained assistant in 1908.

On one side of the main room were beds for dogs and cats arranged against a wall in “individual wards,” and on the other side were cages for birds. A metal gutter attached to each tier of wards drained into the sewer, allowing for quick and sanitary cleaning. There was also a bath where each animal was bathed upon arrival; weekly baths were provided for those animals spending longer periods of time in the hospital.

“The clients display as much anxiety over their sick as would humans waiting in the reception room or a hospital or infirmary,” Dr. Brotheridge told a reporter in 1908. He explained that most of the ailments he treated were stomach related for the dogs and skin or throat related for the cats. Many of these ailments were the result of being overfed by their wealthy owners.

“After Fido has been fed on caramels and sweet cakes until he’s so bloated he can hardly walk, his lady finds he’s sick one morning,” he said. “She’s alarmed and she offers him more candy and cake and when Fido refuses she hurries him here. Some of them cry as if they were babies they were bringing. Some of them cry a good deal more, I guess.”

Asked which animal made the best or worst patients, Dr. Brotheridge said cats were the most sensitive of all patients as they were “cross and crotchety.”

Although Dr. Brotheridge was known as a cat and dog specialist, he made the news for his role in the execution of Topsy the elephant, who was electrocuted by none other than Thomas Edison in January 1904. Dr. Brotheridge supervised the horrific event and even fed Topsy the cyanide-laced carrots before Edison pulled the switch.

The pet animal hospital didn’t last long, as Dr. Brotheridge became very active in the military, serving as a veterinary sergeant with the National Guard from 1902 to 1908 and as a captain in the Veterinary Reserves Corps during World War I, where he was stationed at Fort Oglethorpe in Georgia.

By 1910, the animal hospital was gone and a new billiards academy and bowling alley had moved into 560 Fulton Avenue. The academy and alleys were built by Herman F. Ehler, a Brooklynite, who was the kingpin of bowling, having built a chain of bowling alleys in Brooklyn, Manhattan, Pittsburg, Buffalo, Cincinatti, Chicago, Newark, Trenton.

The Orpheum Billiard Academy and bowling alleys occupied this site through the mid-1940s.

The Orpheum Billiard Academy and bowling alleys at 560 Fulton Street.
The Orpheum Billiard Academy and bowling alleys at 560 Fulton Street.

On August 28, 1932, Dr. Brotheridge and his wife Gertrude were walking across Ocean Hill Boulevard in High Hill Beach (a small community at present-day Jones Beach that existed until 1939) when they were struck by a vehicle driven by Fred Haupt. Mrs. Brotheridge was killed instantly. Dr. Brotheridge died at Brunswick Hospital in Amityville the next day.

Haupt was arrested and charged with second degree manslaughter. The Brotheridges were buried at Amityville Cemetery.

I recently visited the Pounce Cat Cafe in Charleston, South Carolina. Their sign lured me in — who could resist live nude cats, pole-dancing felines, and kitty lap dances! As I’m now writing a new book about FDNY animal mascots, I thought I’d pay tribute to a few “pole-dancing” fire cats that I’ve featured in early posts, as well as give you a little tease with some snippets of fire-cat stories that will be in my upcoming book.

Peter was a pole-dancing cat of Engine 152 in Bushwick, Brooklyn in the early 1900s. I don’t have a picture of him sliding down the pole, but I did find an older newspaper photo of him climbing a ladder, which I posted in the original story.

Tootsy, the pole-dancing fire cat of NYC Engine 27
Tootsy of Engine 27

Bouncer, the fire cat of New York’s Fire Patrol 3, also mastered sliding down the pole–only four months after joining the patrol house. When it came to the landing, he outdid every member, striking the rubber mat “as gently as an autumn leaf landing on the turf.” Bouncer will be featured in The FDNY Mascots of Gotham, and I’ll be adding a few more fun details about his life as a fire cat in the book.

Tootsy, the feline firefighter of Engine 27, not only slid down the fire pole (pole dancing was second nature to her), but she also enjoyed jumping on the apparatus and trying to hitch a ride to the fires! Tootsy was featured in my first book, The Cat Men of Gotham, and she’ll also be making a cameo in my new book (she was the quintessential fire cat).

Tommy, pole-dancing cat, Engine 15, 1923
Here is Tommy of Engine 15 in 1924. He slid the pole whenever it was dinner time. NY Daily News, October 10, 1923

One of the most famous pole-dancing fire cats of the FDNY was Barney of Engine 59, then located on West 137th Street. Barney’s claim to fame in the early 1900s was sliding down the brass fire pole, which he did “as gracefully as any member of the company.” He didn’t swoop down in a flash like the men did, but by wrapping his four paws around the brass rod, he was able to slide down rather quickly.

Another fire cat possessing pole-dancing skills during this era was Jerry of Ladder 25 on West Seventy-Seventh Street. Even though he was old and had lost most of his teeth by 1910, the coal black cat was “still as ardent in answering an alarm when he is upstairs in the dormitory as the newest recruit.” Whenever an alarm came in, Jerry would spring from his bed and go down the pole. Sometimes he’d slide down by clasping it with only his front paws, but as he got older, he preferred hitching a ride on the shoulders of one of the firemen.

Dick, a large tortoise-shell cat attached to Brooklyn’s Ladder 107, never used the stairs in the firehouse, always choosing the pole as his preferred method of descent. This cat also had an excellent attendance record at fires and was reportedly the happiest when perched on the driver’s seat responding to a call.

Like these other cats, Thomas of Brooklyn’s Engine 239 was a pro when it came to sliding down the pole. In fact, he liked to make a game of it. Whenever he saw one of his friends in uniform making for the pole, he would beat him to it and slide down first. Then he’d jump aboard the apparatus and give a haughty wave of the tail while the men were still donning their boots and gear.

I hope these stories have offered you a “good tease” for more, and you are getting your dollar bills ready for when I reveal these fire cats’ full stories in the FDNY Mascots of Gotham!

Jim the Great Dane took center stage in this article about several canine heroes rewarded for their bravery at the 8th annual Workhorse Parade, sponsored by the New York Women's League for Animals.
Jim the Great Dane (pictured here with Miss Pauline Frederick) took center stage in this news article about several canine heroes rewarded for their bravery at the 8th annual Workhorse Parade, sponsored by the New York Women’s League for Animals.

Upcoming Book Preview: The following story of a heroic Great Dane who saved his master and two other men during a fire and gas leak at 57 West 57th Street is one of almost 100 stories that will be featured in my upcoming book, The Bravest Animals of Gotham: Tales of FDNY Mascots of Old New York (2023). Jim was not a member of the FDNY, but he was a civilian first responder (or should I say fur-st responder?) who deserves an honorary mention in the book and on this site.

Jim was a massive Great Dane with a magnificent sense of smell. So, when the three-year-old dog detected a bad odor in his master’s home at 57 West 57th Street on the morning of October 21, 1913, he knew something did not smell right.

In fact, a vacuum cleaner in the basement of Dr. Harry Tower Galpin’s apartment hotel had exploded, blowing the caps off twenty-two gas meters that were above it. The gas flooded the rooms where Dr. Galpin, his brother, and a family friend were asleep.

Jim ran to his master’s bedroom and barked several times, but Dr. Galpin was already overcome by the fumes. The large dog then began biting Dr. Galpin.

According to the press, the Great Dane left 106 tooth marks on Dr. Galpin’s body before the druggist was sufficiently aroused to make it to a window and then save his guests. 

Dr. Galpin, who not only owned the building and rented studios and apartments, but also ran a drug store on the ground floor, told reporters that he was thankful for every one of those bites.

The Alps restaurant, Sixth Avenue and 58th Street
For his brave act of courage and intelligence, Dr. Galpin and his friends hosted a luncheon in Jim’s honor at the Alps, a popular restaurant established in 1907 on Sixth Avenue at 58th Street. The restaurant was attached to the building that Dr. Galpin owned. 

The story of Jim’s heroics made the news across the United States and Canada, setting off a series of honorary engagements for Jim and his master. With every article published, Jim’s fame spread, as artists, writers, Canadian sportsmen, and members of New York City’s high society went out of their way to meet the Great Dane.

Mrs. Ellin Leslie Prince Lowery Speyer
Mrs. Ellin Prince Speyer

In February 1914, Mrs. Ellin Leslie Prince Lowery Speyer, president of the New York Woman’s League for Animals, invited Jim to her home at 1058 Fifth Avenue. The 127-pound dog was especially groomed for the occasion, and his brindle coat reportedly shone.

About one hundred officers and guests of the league allowed the Great Dane “to rub nose against their costly furs” and shake their hands with his black paws.

That same month, Miss Katie Sanborn invited Jim to her home for afternoon tea with several other high-society ladies. The women discovered that Jim was “an inveterate tea drinker” who also enjoyed joining Dr. Galpin in a “quiet smoke.” (According to a photograph published in the Ottawa Daily Republic, Jim partook in a smoke from a hookah pipe at the tea party.)

Jim, the Great Dane, enjoys some tea and a hookah pipe with high-society ladies.
Jim, the Great Dane, enjoys some tea and a hookah pipe with high-society ladies. Ottawa Daily Republic.

Multiple newspapers reported the following about Jim: “The average man looks upon a tea with horror. It is a thing to be avoided at any cost. There is one member of the masculine sex in this city, however, who not only attends these festivities, but can honestly and truthfully say that he enjoys them.”

The grand honor for Jim came on Memorial Day in 1914, when the Great Dane and three other dogs received lifesaving awards at Manhattan’s eighth annual Workhorse Parade, sponsored by the New York Women’s League for Animals.

The other canine honorees included Trixie, a Japanese spaniel belonging to James Harcourt of Brooklyn, who woke up the family when a fire broke out in the family’s house in 1910; Bum, the Twelfth Precinct mascot dog who helped save the life of a child whose clothes had caught fire during a bonfire; and Olaf Hansen’s Newfoundland, Teddy, who saved two people from drowning in the Hudson River in 1909. 

In the fall of 1914, Jim took a trip to Saratoga Springs with Dr. Galpin. Having lost his wife, Nina Florence, only three years earlier, the druggist traveled everywhere with his Great Dane—Jim even had his own special seat in the rear of the vehicle.

During this trip, Jim’s hip was injured after he was struck by another vehicle while playing outdoors. Two veterinarians were able to treat most of his injuries but they could not repair his crippled hip.

A few weeks later, Dr. Galpin noticed that Jim had gnawed two holes into the hip, allowing the affected area to drain. Within two days, the wounds had healed, and he was walking almost as good as new.

“He did what the vets couldn’t or didn’t do, and just how he knew how to do it is more than I can tell you,” Galpin told the press. “Medical degrees are not conferred upon canines, but if they were, my dog Jim ought to have one, summa cum laude.”

Jim the Great Dane Is Murdered

Jim’s life came to an abrupt and violent end during a robbery on July 14, 1919.

Jim the Great Dane murdered, July 20, 1919
The Spokesman Review (Spokane, WA), July 20 1919.

According to the New York Times, Dr. Galpin had closed his business on Monday night and sent Jim to his sleeping quarters in the basement, which he shared with an unnamed drugstore cat. At about 5:00 a.m. the next morning, the Great Dane ran into his master’s room and pressed he cold nose against his hand. Then he ran into the store as the druggist scrambled to get out of bed.

Before Dr. Galpin could reach the store, he heard a loud commotion, followed by Jim’s yelps. A quick examination showed that robbers had stolen money and stamps from the cash drawer; they had also attempted to break open a safe. Based on a trail of blood, Jim must have attacked the thieves while they were trying to get into the safe.

The culprits escaped, but not before they struck Jim with a heavy weapon, possibly a blackjack. Jim succumbed to his injuries, including broken ribs and a pierced abdominal wall. 

Ten years later, Dr. Galpin died suddenly of heart disease at the age of fifty-nine. He was survived by his new wife, Selma, and two sons, Harry T. Jr. and Allen Ross.

A Brief History of West 57th Street

The story of Jim the Great Dane took place in a building on the northeast corner of West 57th Street and Sixth Avenue, on land once owned by Rachel Cosine. Back then, this neighborhood was called Bloomingdale, which comprised numerous farms and homesteads along the old Bloomingdale Road (Broadway). Bloomingdale Square, the rural town center, was located between 55th and 57th Streets and Eighth and Ninth Avenues.

Bloomingdale Village, 1868. NYPL digital collections.
Bloomingdale Village, 1868. NYPL digital collections.

The earliest records of this area go back to Sir Richard Nicolls, the first English governor of New York, who issued a patent for lands along the Hudson River above present-day 42nd Street to Johannes Van Brugh, Thomas Hall, John Vigne, Egbert Wouters, and Jacob Leanders. This property eventually came into the hands of Cornelius Cosine and henceforth was known as the Cosine Farm.

Born in New York sometime around 1718, Cornelius Cosine was the son of Jacobus Cosynszen and Aeltje Aumach Cosynszen. The Cosynszens (also referred to as the Anglicized name Cosine or Cozine) were early Dutch settlers who arrived in New Amsterdam around 1684.

Here is just a portion of the 200-acre Cosine farm (1853 map), which included lands under water at the foot of 52nd to 57th Streets.
Here is just a portion of the 200-acre Cosine farm (1853 map), which included lands under water at the foot of 52nd to 57th Streets.

Cornelius Cosine owned the family farm from present-day 53rd to 57th Streets between the North River (Hudson) and the “common lands” near Sixth Avenue. Following Cornelius’ death in 1786, the land was deeded to his two sons, Cornelius Jr. and Balm Johnson.

Balm Johnson and his wife, Catharina, had eight children, including daughters Rachel, Catherine, Sarah (Hopper), Hannah, and Jane (Ackerman), and sons John, Nicholas, and Cornelius. Rachel Cosine, who died in 1854, inherited the northern parcel of the farm along 57th Street., as shown in the map below.

John Randel farm map, 1818-1820.

John Cosine inherited the land in 1809, but for years it was tied up in the courts with judgments and mortgages. In 1838, the farm was deeded to mortgage holder John Jacob Astor in a foreclosure sale. Astor, who paid only $23,000 for the farm, gave it to his daughter, Laura Astor Delano, six years later as her wedding gift.

From about 1845 through 1869, Broadway was laid out and widened. As this illustration below from 1868 shows, the land around Sixth Avenue and 57th Street was rocky and undeveloped, save for frame houses and shanties.

In 1902, the old Cosine farm came into possession of Laura’s eight nieces and nephews, (Lewis Stuyvesant Chanler and his siblings). About 20 years later, in 1925, the Fifty-Seventh Street Corporation acquired the plot at 57th Street and Sixth Avenue with plans to replace Dr. Galpin’s old drug store and apartment building with a modern building featuring four stores and an arcade.

The final result was not a retail center, but Alain E. White’s Medical Arts Building, also known as the Professional Centre Building. Designed by the architectural firm of Warren & Wetmore, the 18-story structure was specifically intended for physicians, dentists, druggists and other medical professionals (click here for a current floor plan of the building).

One of the doctors who moved into the new building was Dr. George E Browning, who opened the Medical Arts Sanitarium on the entire 14th floor in 1928 (the facility was sometimes called Dr. Browning’s Sanitarium). On the 17th and 18th floors were luxury penthouse apartments, and Charlie Brazelle operated a night club called Boeuf sur le Toit in the basement (the club would later become Dario’s La Martinique, where Danny Kaye made his New York debut.)

Today, the now 21-story building still has some medical offices, but the sanitarium is of course gone and the former penthouse apartments are home to an art gallery. Ironically, one of the businesses now located on the spot where a Great Dane saved a druggist is the Cornerstone Medical Arts Center, a drug and alcohol rehabilitation center.

57 W 57th St, New York, NY 10019 -
57 West 57th Street.

Brooklyn Dodgers pitcher Ralph Branca, April 13, 1951. Brooklyn Public Library Digital Collections.
Brooklyn Dodgers pitcher Ralph Branca, April 13, 1951. Brooklyn Public Library Digital Collections.

In 1951, the Brooklyn Dodgers were favored to win the National League race. The 1950 World Champion New York Yankees were expected to come in second place in the American League. That April, the two teams played against each other in a three-game exhibition series. The first game took place at Yankee Stadium on Friday, April 13.

Pitching for the Brooklyn Dodgers that day was 25-year-old Ralph Branca of Mount Vernon, NY. I don’t know where Branca found the cat (the Brooklyn Robins–the name of the Dodgers prior to 1932–had a black cat named Victory, but that was way back in 1927). But he told the press that the cat had “crossed his path” on Friday the 13th. By holding the cat and displaying his numbered uniform, Branca was reportedly sending the Yankees a message that his team was not afraid of any bad-luck signs.

The Dodgers did win that day by a score of 7 to 6, with Pee Wee Reese, captain and shortstop for the Dodgers, scoring a few of those runs. So, perhaps the cat was a good-luck charm just like Victory was in 1927. (The full story of Victory is featured in The Cat Men of Gotham.)

Some of the other big names in this game included Joe DiMaggio, Yogi Berra, and Jackie Robinson (Phil Rizutto was on the injured list). Mickey Mantle, the 19-year-old rookie sensation of the Yankees, would not make his Gotham debut until the April 14 game against the Dodgers at Ebbets Field. The Yankees had to wait for the Army Board to confirm that he was physically unqualified for Army service due to a bone infection in his left leg, which he had received from a football injury in 1946.

Thomson's game-winning drive off the Brooklyn Dodgers in the third game at the Polo Grounds
The dotted line represents the approximate track of Thomson’s game-winning drive in the third game at the Polo Grounds.

Under the management of Casey Stengel, the Yankees went on to win the 1951 World Series in six games against the New York Giants (today’s San Francisco Giants), who had won the National League pennant in a three-game playoff with the Brooklyn Dodgers. It was the last World Series for DeMaggio and the first for Mantle and Giants rookie Willie Mays.

Incidentally, during the three-game playoff series between the Dodgers and the Giants, Branca gave up a walk-off three-run homerun to Bobby Thomson of the Giants at the Polo Grounds. The game-winning homerun took place in the third game on October 3, 1951. The line drive was known in the baseball world as the “Shot Heard ‘Round the World.” Here’s a video of the dramatic moment:

Bobby Thomson’s Shot Heard ‘Round The World – Bing video

Maybe Branca should have brought the black cat to this game also. Like the black cat that “jinxed” the Boston Braves (now Atlanta Braves) at the Polo Grounds in 1932, or the black cat that brought good luck to the New York Mets in 1969, Branca’s cat may have helped the Dodgers win against the Giants, which would have pitted the Dodgers against in the Yankees in the 1951 World Series. Who knows what the final outcome would have been, all because of a cat…

Brooklyn Dodgers pitcher Ralph Branca, April 14, 1951. Brooklyn Public Library Digital Collections.
Brooklyn Dodgers pitcher Ralph Branca, April 14, 1951.
After a few photos, the cat was ready to high-tail it out of the dugout.

A Brief History of Ebbets Field

Future site of Ebbets Field, home of Brooklyn Dodgers.
The little house in this old photo is on present-day Empire Boulevard. Ebbets Field was constructed on the property forward of this house.

Before the old Ebbets Field stadium took over the block bounded by Bedford Avenue, Sullivan Place, Cedar Place (today’s Zenita Thompson Place), and Montgomery Street in 1913, the surrounding area was a disreputable, ramshackle, wilderness neighborhood called Pigtown, Goatville, Tin-Can Alley, and Crow Hill. The barren land was home to cow paths, goat trails, pig farms, and shanty dwellers who used a giant pit in the center of the block as a garbage dump.

The future site of Ebbets Field in 1912.
The future site of Ebbets Field in the winter of 1912.

Charles Ebbets’s friends told him that he was crazy to think such a miserable location could feature a modern concrete ballpark that would make Brooklyn the envy of the baseball world. But Ebbets persisted, quietly using proceeds from the sale of his great-grandfather’s business at 41 Broad Street in Manhattan to buy just over 4 acres of parcels for a steal behind the disguise of a dummy corporation.

Ebbets Field, home to Brooklyn Dodgers, before opening, 1913. Museum of the City of New York Collections
Ebbets Field before opening, 1913. Museum of the City of New York Collections

Over the course of three years, Ebbets secretly purchased about 40 small lots on the cheap until the news finally leaked out, forcing him to pay outrageous prices for the last few parcels. Although Ebbets planned to call the new stadium Washington Park, several Brooklyn sports editors suggested that he call his ballpark Ebbets Field.

Ebbets Field, home of Brooklyn Dodgers, 1913. Museum of the City of New York Collections
Ebbets Field before opening, 1913. Museum of the City of New York Collections
Ebbets Field in the early years

The stadium opened on April 5, 1913, with an exhibition game in which the Brooklyn Dodgers beat the New York Yankees.

On February 23, 1960, three years after the Dodgers moved to Los Angeles, a wrecker’s ball painted to look like an enormous baseball crashed into the walls of a stadium that was once home to players like Casey Stengel, Roy
Campanella, Pee Wee Reese, and Jackie Robinson.

On February 23, 1960, three years after the Dodgers moved to Los Angeles, a wrecker’s ball painted to look like an enormous baseball crashed into the walls of Ebbets Field.

A $22 million, twenty-story, 1,377-unit housing project rose on the site. Today, on a small patch of fenced-in grass where the stadium clubhouse used to be, signs advise residents to keep their dogs and other pets off the lawn.