The $300, genuine cherry-colored cat from Connecticut.
“There is a sucker born every minute.” Although there is no evidence that the great showman and circus legend actually said this famous quote, P.T. Barnum has always been closely associated with it. There are many stories behind the quote, including many sources that suggest it arose from the great Cardiff Giant hoax, in which a Syracuse banker named David Hannum exhibited a fake petrified man in 1869. But my favorite story is that of the cherry-colored cat.
In 1927, Gene Byrnes created a comic based on the cherry-colored cat prank.
Barnum was always on the lookout for strange and sensational attractions for his American Museum on the corner of Broadway and Ann Street. As one version of the cat story goes (there are several versions of the tale), the owner of the cherry-colored cat used the phrase to describe P.T. Barnum.
According to this tale, one day Barnum received a letter from a Connecticut farmer who claimed to possess a genuine cherry-colored cat. The farmer asked Barnum if he would be interested in purchasing the cat, explaining that his cat would beat any of the other odd critters Barnum had on display at his museum.
Barnum contacted the farmer and said he’d gladly purchase the cat for his museum if the cat were truly cherry-colored. The farm agreed to ship the cat to Barnum for $300 (other articles say Barnum paid $25, $50, or $200.)
A few days later a crate arrived at the museum. When Barnum opened it, he found a an ordinary-looking jet-black cat inside. In response to Barnum’s angry letter, the farmer responded with a note: Dear Mr. Barnum, did you never see a black cherry? We have loads of them born in Connecticut. There’s a sucker born every minute.”
In 1871, Foster Brothers used a Barnum advertising tactic to advertise its store on Columbia Street.
Another version told by a Yale professor by the name of William Lyon Phelps suggests that Barnum may have borrowed local cats whenever he took his circus on the road.
According to Phelps, who shared his story with a reporter for the Tampa Times in 1939, he once knew a black cat that belonged to a Mrs. Sanford at York and Chapel Streets in New Haven, Connecticut. The day before Barnum’s circus reached town, the cat disappeared. Three days after the circus left, the cat was returned to his house with a card that read, “With Mr. Barnum’s compliments.”
And one more version of this tale, by Henry Collins Brown, suggests that as soon as Barnum saw that he had been fooled, he uttered the phrase, “There is a sucker born every minute.”
Whichever story is correct, there is a chance that the cat had something to do with the famous sucker quote.
In his book “From Alley Pond to Rockefeller Center,” Brown notes that Barnum rightly concluded that he wasn’t the only sucker in New York; there must be many of them. So, he promptly covered every vacant fence, wall, and window he could find with large posters proclaiming the amazing discovery he had made: a genuine, cherry-colored cat from Connecticut.
Customers got a kick out of the hoax; they knew Barnum had pulled a prank on them, but they kept it a secret and encouraged friends and family to go see the cherry-colored cat. Now, the problem was getting all these crowds of people out of the museum to make room for new paying customers.
According to Brown, Barnum instructed one of his carpenters to turn an unused door exiting onto Ann Street into an exit door for customers. He then put up a sign with a hand leading to the door that said, “This Way to the Egress.”
No one had ever heard of an egress before, so they thought it was just another strange exhibit. As they opened the door and stepped onto Ann Street, they realized they had been suckered once again.
An immigrant worker tends to her cow at the Johannes Sprong-Whitehead Duryea homestead on Fresh Meadow Road, Flushing, Queens. Several chickens are also running in the yard. From New York Sketches, Jesse Lynch Williams, 1902.
As soon as you have ridden, or walked—it is better to walk if there is plenty of time—beyond the fine elms of the ancient Flushing streets, you will be in as peaceful looking farming country as can be found anywhere. But the interesting thing about it is that here are seen not merely a few incongruous green patches that happen to be left between rapidly devouring suburban towns—like the fields near Woodside where the German women work—out here one rides through acre after acre of it, farm after farm, mile after mile, up hill, down hill, corn-fields, wheat-fields, stone fences, rail fences, no fences, and never a town in sight, much less anything to suggest the city.—Jesse Lynch Williams, 1902
In the early 1900s, when the 250-year-old Sprong-Duryea house was already considered a decaying relic, Flushing was still flush, so to speak, with farmlands and livestock. Most farmers kept their chickens and cows outside in barns and pens. But the cow and chickens at the Sprong-Duryea homestead lived in a stable in the former drawing room, and in coops set up in the bedrooms of the old house.
The cow is led into a “stable” that was once the drawing room on the east end of the Sprong-Duryea house in Flushing.
Located near the intersection of present-day Pidgeon Meadow Road and 168th Street, the old stone house was constructed in 1662 by Johannes Sprong (aka Johannis Sprungh), who came to New Amsterdam in 1660 when he was about 20 years old. One source claims Johannes came from the Town of Bonn, Drenthe, in northern Holland. The Brooklyn Daily Eagle, however, states he was from Barton, England.
In either case, the young man was an enterprising pioneer who had ideas of founding a homestead far away from any type of civilization. He reportedly obtained permission from the colonial government to chose a tract of wild land southeast of the newly established village of Flushing for his homestead. There, on about 100 acres of prime rolling land, he lived and traded with the Matinecock Native Americans.
The Sprong-Druyea house was right about where the red box is on this 1908 map. By the time this map was created, the property had been acquired by the Flushing Cemetery and the home was on its way to being demolished. New York Public Library Digital Collections
Finding an abundance of large stones on the land, Johannes built his homestead after the style of an English or Irish cottage. The walls were two feet thick of solid masonry, the small windows were set deep with broad sills and sashes that opened backward and forward on hinges, and oaken shutters could be barred from the inside. The home had 12 rooms, including several bedrooms and a kitchen with a large fireplace and bake oven.
The Sprong-Duryea house, sometime before it was torn down around 1906. Queens Historical Society
Now that he had a homestead, Johannes set out to fill all those rooms with children. He and his wife, Anna Sodelaers of Bergen, Norway, had 10 children. One of their daughters, Annetje, married Simon Duryea in 1715. Members of the Sprong and and Duryea families would occupy the house for the next 200 years.
The Revolutionary War Period
During the Revolution, the old stone house was occupied as a fort for nearby residents. A cannon was reportedly mounted in the attic and a port hole was cut through the wall for the large gun. At one point during the war, an iron cannonball about the size of a croquet ball became imbedded in the walls.
At this time, Ida Sprong was living in the house with her family. Her husband (unknown name) was fighting with the Continental Army, so she was left alone to defend her home and family.
When the parties of marauding British became too large for her to cope with successfully by force, she pretended to side with them by sharing the stores of her household. She also allowed the Hessian officers to use the home as their headquarters while the British remained in Queens, from Whitestone to Jamaica.
One odd animal story from this time is about a Flushing farmer whose pig went missing from the pen one night. The farmer’s house was near the Hessian headquarters at the Sprong house, so he suspected the soldiers took the pig.
The farmer summoned some of his neighbors and they went into the house in search of the pig. They found the pig in bed with a solider, who told them he never dreamed anyone would come looking for the pig in his bed.
During the Revolution, American Loyalists and British soldiers took part in many fox hunts throughout Queens (notably the Hempstead Plains of Long Island) and the Bronx.
Sometime just prior to the Revolutionary War, Jacob Suydam operated a grist mill near Kissena Lake, not far from the Druyea homestead. Following his death in 1778, his son-in-law, Joseph Totten, took over the mill.
In 1803, Aaron Duryea purchased the land, which included Kissena Lake and the mill, from Joseph Totten. It was Whitehead Duryea, a son of Aaron, who was the last of the descendants to live in the old Sprong house.
Fifty years later, in 1853, the Flushing Cemetery was founded on the 20-acre farm of John Purchase, which was adjacent to the Sprong-Duryea homestead. Up until this point, John, who was a butcher in the village of Flushing, had grazed his cattle on this land.
Around 1877, the Flushing Cemetery paid Whitehead Duryea $22,000 for his land in order to expand the cemetery. Eventually, the cemetery association leased the old stone house to the Kissena Nursery Company, which had been established near Kissena Lake by Samuel Parsons in 1838.
When this 1873 map was created, the Flushing Cemetery had not yet purchased the 50 acres of land from Whitehead Druyea to expand the cemetery.
By 1905, the old Sprong-Duryea house was being occupied by nursery worker Charles Tway and possibly other workers employed at the Kissena Nursery. (I’m not sure if the cow and chickens were still there by this time.)
With the old stone house falling into decay, nearby residents began filing complaints. The Historical Society tried to raise enough money to purchase the property from the Flushing Cemetery Corporation, but sadly, they were not able to get the funds. Sometime around 1906, the Department of Buildings ordered for the house to be demolished.
All that remains of the Sprong-Duryea are a few photographs and drawings.
Whitehead and Clara Duryea are buried in the Flushing Cemetery.
The Winter Garden Theatre was home to the original Broadway production of Catsfrom 1982 until the production closed in 2000. But about 50 years before the creepy human cats appeared on stage, the theater was famous for its real cats, Minnie and Miss Frothingham.
The cast of Cats at the Winter Garden Theatre, 1982. Museum of the City of New York
Animal mascots on Broadway were quite popular in Old New York–almost every theater in New York City had at least one cat, dog, or monkey mascot. Union Square Jim took top honors as favorite theater mascot cat in the late 1800s, but it was Minnie, the feline mascot of the Winter Garden Theatre, who garnered the most publicity in the twentieth century.
Minnie was even more popular than Miss Frothingham, who was reportedly the feline star of the show at the Winter Garden. Much of Minnie’s publicity was courtesy of New York Daily News columnist John Chapman, who often wrote about the cat’s adventures in his “Mainly About Manhattan” column.
Minnie and Miss Frothingham (these cats are not them) were two of Broadway’s famous feline mascots in the early 1900s.
According to Chapman, Minnie arrived at the Winter Garden Theatre in the fall of 1928, which was the year Warner Bros. took over and converted the former theater into a movie house. (The theater returned to a live performance format in 1933). She made her way to the Montmartre Club, which then occupied the second floor of the three-story nightclub space on the 50th Street/Seventh Avenue side of the building.
The nightclub’s cook fed Minnie and made her welcome. The club had lots of mice, so there was lots of work to keep the kitten busy.
The Montmartre folded following the crash of 1929, but luckily, Larry McAllister, an engineer for the Winter Garden Theatre, found Minnie roaming around the deserted club. He took her back stage and fed her. Then he put her in the cellar where she reportedly captured a rat twice her size.
That catch earned Minnie the title of official mascot of the Winter Garden Theatre.
The Winter Garden Theatre around the 1930s, when the facade was first covered with enormous signs.
According to Chapman, her number-one fan, Minnie was a lady who never left the building. She never had a husband and she never had children. She did have lots of friends, though, especially among the 40-60 stage hands working at the theater at any given time.
The stage hands also adored Minnie, and they would often bring her food and boxes of catnip. In return, any time she caught a mouse she would leave her kill just outside the stage door as a gift for her friends. If one of her favorite stage hands was transferred, she would sit at the door all day waiting for him to return.
Fanny Brice was was of Minnie’s most popular female fans.
Minnie didn’t care for the show girls, but she did make an impression with actress Fanny Brice of the Ziegfeld Follies, who tried to adopt the cat for her own. Morrie the night watchman would not allow it, as he never let Minnie out of his sight.
The popular Winter Garden Theatre cat was not only adored by Chapman and other humans–it seems that Midnight, the mascot cat for Radio City Music Hall, was also smitten with Minnie. The male cat reportedly “sent” a letter to the Daily News that read as follows:
Could you possibly arrange a meeting between the undersigned and Minnie, of the Winter Garden? I am a bachelor, 2 ½ years old, and I occupy a floor and terrace overlooking 50th Street and Sixth Avenue. I can offer her good grub, as I am fed on calf’s liver, chicken and fish. Sometimes, after a cocktail party in the apartment Roxy built [the private suite designed for Samuel Roxy Rothafel], I get caviar.
Minnie Appears on Stage at the Winter Garden
The Winter Garden Theatre on Broadway between 50th and 51st Streets.
Although Chapman insisted that Minnie never once walked onto the stage at the Winter Garden during a performance, other reporters told a different story. According to one newspaper, Minnie once walked on during a “mood” song and took a position downstage center. With the attention of the audience centered on Minnie, the number was ruined. Another time she reportedly chased a dog off the stage, which stopped the show.
Once, someone submitted an application for Minnie for the Actors’ Equity Association. She was almost accepted until the association found out that it was a joke. (I wonder what last name was used on the application?)
During theater productions, when she wasn’t on stage, Minnie spent her time in the basement. As soon as the curtain rose at the end of the show (she knew when the curtain was raised because the rigging extended into the basement), Minnie would come upstairs and wait for Morrie by the water fountain near the stage door.
Minnie reportedly made her debut in “Hold Your Horses,” starring Joe Cook, at the Winter Garden Theatre.
While Minnie waited, the performers would all stop to caress her while exiting the door. Then she would follow Morrie all around the theater as he made his rounds when the theater had closed.
Minnie reportedly made her official Winter Garden Theatre debut in 1933, in a comedic play written by Russel Crouse (of The Sound of Music fame) called “Hold Your Horses.” I find this hard to believe, however, because by this time Minnie was already five years old and no doubt way too big for the part she reportedly played. But according to her pal Chapman, Minnie was used as a prop for actor Joe Cook, who “poured” the cat from a small wine goblet during one scene.
In April 1937, the Brooklyn Daily Eagle reported that Minnie had adopted a kitten. Apparently, Morrie had brought the stray kitten to the theater, never suspecting that Minnie’s maternal instincts would kick in.
One month later, Minnie died following an operation. The very night that Minnie died, a new cat arrived backstage to muscle in on Minnie’s territory. According to Chapman, the Winter Garden crew decided that this cat was not a suitable successor. Minnie was a lady; this cat was not.
Russel Crouse and Miss Frothingham
Following Minnie’s death, show writer and cat fancier Russel Crouse wrote the following letter to the New York Daily News. In the letter, he claimed that Minnie was not the feline star of his show–the real star was his own cat, Miss Frothingham. The delightfully amusing letter read as follows:
“I have just read that Minnie is dead. Now I may speak freely. Far be it from me to speak ill of the dead. Minnie was a nice cat and I liked her. But she had been getting away with murder in the way of publicity for several years, and now that she has gone to the Big Saucer of Milk I think the truth should be known.
Russel Crouse and his business partner Howard Lindsay had numerous hits, including The Sound of Music (with a score by Rodgers and Hammerstein); Anything Goes, and Red, Hot and Blue (with scores by Cole Porter).
Minnie had been claiming that she was the cat that was poured out of the cocktail shaker in “Hold Your Horses,” in which Joe Cook appeared at the Winter Garden several seasons ago. That just wasn’t so. I could have exposed her long ago, but I didn’t have the heart.
The cat that was poured out of the cocktail shaker was Miss Frothingham, who sits before me as I write… Miss Frothingham was born in Boston, where we picked her up from a stagehand for the opening there of “Hold Your Horses.” She was three months old and had been hanging around the alley by the theatre for several weeks—trying to get into a show, she tells me, for her folks told her she had talent.
We brought her to New York, where she suffered the fate of many a promising actress. She ate too much. She finally got so fat she couldn’t fit into the cocktail shaker. So we got a little black cat to succeed her. Miss Frothingham remained at the theatre long enough to slap her successor in the face after his first appearance and then retired—retired to my home where she still lives in the memory of her days in the theatre.
Almost three years ago she confided in me that only a family would make her life complete and that she didn’t want any stage door Johnny for a husband. I got her a husband for a couple of days—a fine upstanding cat named Rockridge Sultan, from the right side of the railroad tracks. It cost me $10, but I understand that Sultan later gave the money back to Miss Frothingham. Anyway, two years ago last Christmas, Miss F. produced a son—and took four encores.
Being born on Christmas day these five children were named Gold, Frankincense, Myrrh, Peace on Earth, and Good Will to Men. They are the nicest kittens you have ever seen, although Miss F. gets pretty sick of them at times. That is due, perhaps, to the fact that they show no desire to go on the stage, being content to stay home and rip up my furniture.
As for Miss Frothingham, she seems quite happy, and whenever she sulks I just take out her notices and read them aloud to her, and that seems to satisfy her. But I know she is still an actress. She likes to bite producers.”
A Brief History of the Winter Garden Theatre
The Winter Garden Theatre (X) was built on the old Hopper Farm, shown on the 1818-1820 John Randel farm maps.
In 1881, William K. Vanderbilt and a group of investors built the area’s biggest building on the blockfront of 50th Street from Broadway to Seventh Avenue. This property, in an area then known as Longacre Square, had once been part of the large Hopper Farm that spread over both sides of Broadway above 50th Street.
Vanderbilt and his wealthy friends didn’t build a hotel; they built the American Horse Exchange–a place where the elite could depend on high-quality thoroughbred horse trading.
On June 12, 1896, a fire swept through the American Horse Exchange. One stable hand and about 60 of the 265 horses stabled there were killed in the blaze as thousands of people crowded around the building, sometimes blocking horses from escaping.
The New York Times reported that ”crazed animals could be seen dashing blindly about in their terror.” Those horses that were lucky to escape were later recovered from all over midtown.
The ruins of the American Horse Exchange at 1642 Broadway between 50th and 51st Streets after a fatal fire in 1896. Museum of the City of New York
Vanderbilt reconstructed the American Horse Exchange in 1897. According to the New York Times, architect A. V. Porter reused a portion of the surviving walls to create a two-, three- and four-story structure with a high covered ring 160 by 80 feet. The ring was bridged by open truss work; the brick perimeter walls featured round-arched windows as did the original building.
With automobiles becoming increasingly popular, especially among the elite, the Vanderbilt group leased the site in 1910 to Lee and J. J. Shubert for their growing theater chain. By this time, Longacre Square was known as Times Square, and the area was home to several large theaters.
The Winter Garden Theatre occupies the second American Horse Exchange, built by William K. Vanderbilt in 1897. Back then, Times Square was called Longacre Square, and this area was the center of the horse and carriage trade.
In building their new theater, the Shuberts reused much of the original perimeter walls of the American Horse Exchange as well as the riding-ring truss work for the theater auditorium. They added a temple-style front on Broadway and a three-story nightclub space that extended back behind the old walls on 50th Street to Seventh Avenue.
Construction on the IRT Broadway-Seventh Avenue Line’s 50th Street Station, outside the American Horse Exchange building, July 14, 1902.
The Schuberts added a temple-style front to the old American Horse Exchange building.
The Winter Garden Theatre made good use of the new large marquee; 1923.
The Winter Garden Theatre opened March 20, 1911, with “Bow Sing” and “La Belle Paree,” which starred Al Jolson (this was the show that launched his theater career). The theater was completely remodeled in 1922, but six years later the venue switched to film when it was taken over by Warner Bros.
The Winter Garden reverted to live theater in September 1933, which is when either Minnie or Miss Frothingham made her stage debut in “Hold Your Horses.”
The old ring of the American Horse Exchange would become the auditorium for the Winter Garden Theatre.
The old truss roof from the former horse exchange building was preserved for the Winter Garden Theatre auditorium.
In later years, the trusswork was covered over.
Two years after another renovation in 1980, “Cats” opened at the Winter Garden, becoming the longest running show in Broadway history. I’ve never been a fan of the feline-themed Broadway show. But if the theater ever gets a few real cats again, I will be sure to buy a ticket for that.
This is not Thomas Wood — it’s actually Blackie, the cat of LIFE magazine photographer Gjon Mili — but he looks the part.
Thomas Wood was one of the many feline tenants of 290 Washington Street, a large, six-story brick factory building on the northwest corner of Washington and Chamber streets. Originally the pet cat of a dye maker at the factory, he made his home on the third floor, which was occupied by the American Wood Decorating Machine Company.
Thomas acquired his surname from employees at Hines & Mansfield, the produce dealers on the ground floor of the building. Employees named all the feline tenants based on the type of company they worked for. Cat surnames included Fruit, Rubber, Wood, and Tin.
A large male cat with jet-black fur “as smooth and glossy as ebony,” Thomas was reportedly the most distinguished of all the “Woods” in the building. He was also known all over the neighborhood as the champion fighter of the factory’s feline colony. His thirst for fighting, however, is what got him in trouble with his employer.
According to The Sun, Thomas howled a lot at night. So much so that nearby residents who wanted to get a good night’s sleep complained about him. They threatened the company to take their complaint to the Department of Health if no action was taken to stop the howls.
Benjamin Haskell, who served as an officer with the Union army during the Battle of Gettysburg, was secretary of the American Wood Decorating Machine Company, The company produced machines for embossing ornamental wood used in construction.
So, Benjamin Haskell, secretary of the American Wood Decorating Machine Company, was forced to let the cat go. Following all the efforts to remove Thomas from the building, Benjamin told a reporter at The Sun all the steps he took to try and remove Thomas Wood.
The Sun reporter noted that Haskell was a church-going man, and therefore, readers should believe his remarkable tale.
According to the story, Benjamin instructed his office boy, Jimmy, to bring the cat to Harlem when he went home after work. Jimmy got an old fruit basket from Hines & Mansfield’s store, stuffed big Tom into it, and carried him up to Harlem on the trolley car.
When he got to Harlem, Jimmy released Thomas Wood on a street corner. The cat ran into the basement of a restaurant, and Jimmy went home satisfied in knowing that he had successfully carried out his orders from Mr. Haskell. Four days later, however, Benjamin found Thomas sitting near the elevator of the factory building at 290 Washington Street.
“I thought I told you to lose that cat,” Benjamin told Jimmy. The office boy said he would try harder next time.
The Sun, August 30, 1896
Jimmy borrowed another old basket, stuffed the big cat inside, and took him downtown to the Battery. He left the cat on one of the freight piers below Washington Market. The next morning, however, several employers from W.H. Cummings, a scrap rubber dealer on the second floor, found Thomas sitting on a narrow wooden staircase inside the Washington Street building.
Thomas Wood was one of the many felines occupying the large factory building at 290 Washington Street, pictured here in a 1940 NYC tax photo.
For his third attempt, poor Jimmy took poor Thomas over to the Fulton Market buildings. Two days later, when the cat didn’t come back, Benjamin congratulated Jimmy for finally getting rid of the cat. The congratulations were premature.
On the third day after Jimmy’s third attempt, the dye maker who originally owned Thomas saw the cat sitting outside on a window sill of the third floor. The cat was reportedly peering in at the dye maker at his work bench.
An investigation showed that Thomas had gotten into the adjoining building, climbed to the roof, and clambered to the window sill.
Realizing that traditional methods would not work on Thomas Wood, Benjamin Haskell called a meeting of his employees to determine the best way to get rid of the determined cat. Shooting him with a pistol was determined to be too brutal, but everyone agreed that asphyxiation would be the most humane way to do away with the feline.
Thomas Wood reportedly made it to the roof of these buildings and then somehow made it to a window ledge on the third floor of 290 Washington Street. Notice the old Belgian blocks; these were the last things to go when this part of Washington Street was demolished in the 1960s.
In order to carry out their dastardly deed, the dye maker got a large tin box and punched a hole in the side. They put the cat in the box and fastened the lid. Then the end of a rubber gas pipe was fitted to the hole and the gas was turned on. When they opened the box ten minutes later, Thomas was lying still with his eyes closed.
“He’s stone dead for sure,” said Jimmy as he shook the cat’s head. The office boy then wrapped the cat up in an old newspaper, put it in a cardboard box, and tied down the lid with twine. He took a trolley car to Bleecker and Thompson streets, where he tossed the box into an ash barrel.
Jimmy tossed Thomas Wood into an ash barrel, like this one photographed in New York City by Jacob Riis in 1888.
Ten days later, just after the men had started work, the dye maker came running into the room with his eyes wide open. “Here he is!” he shouted to the men as he pointed toward the elevator shaft. Sure enough, there sat Thomas Wood, with his black coat as glossy as ever, giving himself his customary morning bath.
“Well, I’ll be blowed,” Jimmy said as he sank back limp against the shop wall. Benjamin walked over and called to the cat. Thomas trotted over and rubbed against his leg, purring happily.
“Gentlemen,” Benjamin said to his dumfounded employees, “I think we would be safe in assuming that this is in all probability the most remarkable occurrence that ever happened in the city of New York.”
Now, I don’t know if this story is completely true. But as little Virginia O’Hanlon’s father wrote, “If you see it in The Sun, it’s so.”
A Brief History of Washington Street
Dominie Everardus Bogardus
Named for George, Washington Street was proposed by 1785 and named and opened by 1797. Also labeled as “Low Water Street” in some late 18th- and early 19th-century deeds, the street was paved with Belgian blocks. Chambers Street was named for John Chambers, a prominent lawyer, corporation counsel, alderman, Supreme Court Judge and officer of Trinity Church from 1727 to his death around 1765.
The area of Washington and Chambers streets where the story of Thomas Wood took place was on the southwestern edge of a 62-acre farm granted to Roelof Janssen (Jansz or Jansen) in 1636 by Governor Van Twiller. The boundaries of this boot-shaped farm were roughly from present-day Warren Street north along Broadway to Duane Street, then northwest to Canal Street.
Following Janssen’s death, his widow, Annetje Jans, married Dominie Everardus Bogardus, the second pastor of the Reformed Dutch Church in New Amsterdam. The farm, which became known as the Dominie’s Bouwerie, featured a tobacco house and plantation that Bogardus leased to other farmers until his death at sea in 1647.
The intersection of Washington and Chambers streets is right on the southwestern edge of the boot-shaped Bogardus Farm. The line along Washington Streets marks the old water line.
In 1670, Governor Francis Lovelace purchased Annetje’s land and added it to the Company’s Bouwerie, which was now being called the Duke’s Farm. Under English rule, the Duke’s Farm became the King’s Farm, and later, when Queen Anne began her reign in 1702, the Queen’s Farm. In 1705, Queen Anne granted the farm to Trinity Church, which in turn sold parcels of land for development.
290 Washington Street
Before there was a six-story brick factory building on the site, 290 Washington Street was a three-story brick house constructed sometime around 1830. The factory building was constructed around 1886.
In July 1899, the building was heavily damaged in a four-alarm fire. The building was then occupied by William M. Hines, dealer in fruits, on the ground floor; the American Wood Decorating Machine Company on the third floor; and William H. Cummings & Sons, dealers in scrap rubber, on the second and fourth through sixth floors.
When the fire started, most of the employees were out of the building on their lunch break; those few inside were all able to escape. One woman living in an adjacent four-story building on Chambers Street threatened to jump from a top window but a police officer ran up the stairs and got her out. As soon as she was safely outdoors, she ran back into her apartment to save her pet parrot.
The New York Times did not report on whether any cats escaped, but I have a feeling if Tommy Wood was in the building, he would have made it out safely.
The Washington Street Urban Renewal Project brought down twenty-four and a half blocks of mostly 19th-century buildings on the west side of Lower Manhattan. Many of the buildings had been in continuous commercial use since before the Civil War as part of the Washington Street produce market. The market, located in the area since the War of 1812, was moved one day to new quarters in Hunts Point, the Bronx. The silence left in the streets was startling. As one wanderer put it, everyone left one night, even the dogs and the rats. –Danny Lyon, The Destruction of Lower Manhattan (Toronto: The Macmillan Company, 1969)
The Bogardus Building/Edward Laing Stores at the intersection of Washington and Murray Streets was one of the many casualties of the Washington Street Urban Renewal Project. Library of Congress
In 1962, much of western Tribeca (38 acres) was restructured and developed as part of the Housing and Development Administration’s Washington Street Urban Renewal Plan. The project comprised a narrow site twelve blocks long (Barclay to Hubert Streets) by two blocks wide.
Vacated buildings from the Washington Street Urban Renewal Project, about 1965.
After all the old buildings were demolished or preserved (a few historic buildings were physically moved), the site was built up with three 39-story housing towers, a complex for Manhattan Community College, an elementary school, middle school, and an office building. The land at Washington and Chambers streets was left vacant and utilized as a parking lot for many years.
By the early 1970s, the site on which Washington Market Community Park is now located was listed in the plan as a “public open space.” Neighborhood activists wanted to create a park, and so in 1978, through much community effort, a park was created, bringing much-needed green space to lower Manhattan again.
Sadly, no dogs are allowed in the park, so one must assume that cats are also prohibited.
Once upon a time, the New York City Post Office employed a feline police squad to protect the mail from rats and mice…
America’s first theatrical club hosted a black-tie dinner in honor of New York City’s toughest cat…
The TWA pilots at the brand-new LaGuardia Airport had a flying feline mascot who won numerous trophies at cat shows…
And a blind cat who wore glasses saved Brooklyn Borough Hall from burning down when he was 27 years old.
Join me on Wednesday, June 9, at 7 p.m., for a virtual trip back in time to explore New York City’s history via amazing stories about theatrical cats, flying feline mascots, famous hotel cats, and other fabulous felines that made the news headlines in the late 1800s and early 1900s.
I’ll be sharing about a dozen of my favorite cat-men tales from my book, The Cat Men of Gotham, and my Hatching Cat website in a 55-minute virtual presentation on ZOOM. The program will be hosted by the Scotch Plains Library as part of their Tails and Tales summer reading program for adults.
This is a fun, casual program, so feel free to wear your cat pajamas, have a glass of wine, and just relax for an hour while I tell you about some amazing cats and their heroes.
Register to Attend
If you are interested in attending this free Tails and Tales program, please register in advance through the Scotch Plains Library by clicking here.
For additional information on other available author events, click here.
