This is not Tonias Cervera, but it could be; reportedly his best friend on one of his ships was a small dog.
I once wrote about Tom, the famous cat that survived the explosion and sinking of the USS Maine during the Spanish-American War. The following tale is about several other seafaring cats who similarly survived naval events during the same war: these were the ship cats of the Cristóbal Colón, a Spanish cruiser that ran aground during the Battle of Santiago de Cuba.
The Battle of Santiago de Cuba
The Cristóbal Colón was one of four ships in the Spanish squadron led by Admiral Pascual Cervera y Topete during the Spanish-American War. During this time, Tonias Cervera (aka Thomas) and at least two other cats were members of the Cristóbal Colón crew.
The Battle of Santiago de Cuba was a short battle that came to a head on July 1, 1898. That day, Admiral Cervera decided that his squadron’s only hope was to try to escape into the open sea by running through the blockade of American battleships.
The Cristóbal Colón, an Italian-made ship that launched in 1896 and was delivered to the Spanish Navy in May 1897.
The Spanish cruiser Infanta Maria Teresa lead the escape, thus sacrificing herself by attacking the USS Brooklyn, the fastest American ship. Next in line were the ships Viscaya and Cristóbal Colón, which was the fastest of the Spanish fleet.
One by one, the Spanish ships began to lose power and beach on the shores. The Cristóbal Colón carried on, but on July 3, after taking six hits from the USS Brooklyn and USS Oregon, Captain Emilio Díaz-Moreu y Quintana had a decision to make.
The captain decided that in order to save the lives of his human and feline crew, he’d need to beach his ship near the mouth of the Tarquino River.
Some of the ship’s sailors made it ashore that day, while others were rescued by American sailors who came alongside the wreck in small boats to take off survivors. At least two cats were also rescued on July 3.
According to news reports, “Fighting Bob” Evans of the battleship Oregon took one of the cats, and another feline was shipped to Captain Charles E. Clark of Michigan. A note attached to this cat read:
To a Good American: Treat me kindly and give me food, as I am a prisoner of war from the Cristobal Colon, being forwarded by my captors, the crew of the Oregon, to the gallant commander, Capt. Charles E. Clark, whose brave efforts forced the Colon to surrender July 3, 1898.
For some reason, Captain Clark could not keep the cat, so he gave it to his brother Lloyd, who lived in St. Joseph, Michigan. Lloyd named the cat Cristobal Colon.
For unknown reasons, Tonias Cervera was not rescued with the other two cats. Perhaps he had hid inside the ship, refusing to leave his home at sea.
That evening, a U.S. Navy salvage team from the repair ship USS Vulcan decided that Cristóbal Colón was worth salvaging and towed her off the rocks. But the ship lacked watertight integrity and quickly capsized.
For the next 26 days, Tonias remained on the partially submerged wreck awaiting his rescue.
The International Cat Show
New-York Tribune, January 10, 1899
Fast forward six months to January 1899, when Tonias Cervera was a guest at the International Cat Show at the Grand Central Palace in New York City. There, he attracted much attention under the care of his new master, Ensign Gerald L. Holsinger, who had served on the salvage ship Vulcan.
Here is the eventful story of how Tonias came to be rescued following his long ordeal at sea, according to Ensign Holsinger:
Lieutenant Richard Pierson Hobson
Soon after the Maria Teresa grounded during the Battle of Santiago de Cuba, the ship was recovered and returned to the sea. It headed toward the beached Cristóbal Colón, along with the tugboat Right Arm of the Merritt-Chapman Wrecking Company.
The crew of the tugboat was able to rescue the half-starved Tonias from his old ship. They placed him on the Maria Teresa, in the care of Lieutenant Richard Pierson Hobson.
A few months later, the Maria Teresa grounded again. This time, the ship went ashore at—you can’t make this up—Bird Point on Cat Island in the Bahama Islands.
At first, the now large cat refused to leave his new vessel. Eventually, Tonias was captured by one of the island natives who had looted the ship after the American sailors abandoned it. (The islanders used the wood and brass from the ship to build cabins on Cat Island.)
The Baltimore Sun, November 23, 1898
Luckily for Tonias (or maybe not), Ensign Holsingercame to his rescue. He reportedly purchased the cat from one of the islanders and brought him on board the Vulcan, where he shared the feline with Assistant Surgeon Thomas.
When Tonias first joined the crew of the Vulcan, the men were so superstitious of this feline interloper that they threatened to throw him overboard. Ensign Holsinger protected him by locking him in his room. The cat was eventually allowed to run about the ship and frolic with an unnamed small dog.
When the ship arrived in New York, Tonias went to live with Holsinger for a short while in Norfolk, Virginia. Two months later, Holsinger brought the cat and his canine friend to the Grand Central Palace for the International Cat Show.
One of the many cats at the 1899 International Cat Show in New York City.
For two weeks, Tonias and the small dog shared the stage with 60 other cats, including Admiral Dewey the “Trick Cat;” Teddy Roosevelt, “the Great Fighter and Great Ratter;” a $200 cat named Coonie, the Pride of Bergen County; and Brian Hughes’ infamous $3000 gray cat Eulata (aka Nicodemus), who is featured in my book, The Cat Men of Gotham.
One reporter for the Philadelphia Inquirer noted that Tonias knew his name, but he “understands English only with difficulty.” As Holsinger told the press, “Tonias is not a handsome cat, but I prize him for the dangers he has passed.”
Unfortunately, by the time Tonias appeared at the cat show, he had already gone through almost all of his nine lives. On January 20, 1899, Tonias passed away following a seizure. At the time, he was getting ready to move into his new home with Holsinger in Rosedale, Kansas.
This story also has a sad ending for Lloyd Clark’s cat, Cristobal Colon. This former ship’s cat died from a fatal cold after appearing at a cat show in Chicago. Both seafaring cats would have probably lived longer had they been left to fend for themselves in their natural homes at sea.
Seaweed and her kittens were among the many feline mascots of the Seamen’s Church Institute in the 1940s. From The Lookout, March 1946
According to the Seamen’s Church Institute of New York (one of the city’s oldest maritime establishments), cats and dogs were the most popular mascots on ships in the good old days. Seamen were especially fond of cats, as they brought good luck to a maiden voyage. The Institute also seemed to favor cats, and in fact had numerous feline mascots at its New York City headquarters in the early 1900s.
Bosun appeared at the Brooklyn-Long Island Cat Show in 1946
The special relationship between sailors and cats dates back thousands of years. Although ship cats were primarily responsible for killing the rats that gnawed at the ship’s ropes and provisions, they also provided companionship and a sense of security for men who were often away from loved ones for long periods of time.
Seafaring cats were especially popular during wartime, when almost every ship had at least one cat. Although some of the cats were born on the piers of Manhattan or Brooklyn, many were refugees that had traveled to New York on the various steamships taking part in the war efforts. American sailors would oftentimes “liberate” the cats of other foreign ships and make them their own.
During the 1930s and 40s, the Institute had several cat mascots — the men called them “The Cat of the Moment” — including Queen Hannah, King Mickey, Stormy Weather, and Bosun. Bosun’s mother, Seaweed, drifted in on a Liberty ship in 1946 and made her home under the desk of game room hostess Christine Albert Hartmann.
Christine Hartmann volunteered in the game room. Seaweed gave birth to four kittens under her desk.
According to The Lookout, on February 9, 1946, Seaweed gave birth to four kittens shortly after she arrived at the Institute. The news of the birth was called “a blessed event on the waterfront.”
The men originally named the kittens Ditto, Quote, Unquote, and Comma because of the white markings on their noses. The mariners hoped to groom the new cats as ship mascots for four new cargo vessels of the United States Lines: Onward, Rapid, Defender, and Whistler.
Mrs. Hartmann set up a basket for the cat family in the game room with a curtain and a sign that said Caternity Hospital. Twice a day, she’d pull back the curtain to let the sailors play with the kittens. The mariners would advise Mrs. Hartmann on the cats’ diets and would offer to bring them to sea on their ships.
Mrs. Hartmann set up the Caternity Hospital for the cats in the Sailors’ Game Room. New York Public Library Digital Collections
Shortly after the kittens’ birth, a contest was held to find better seafaring names for them. James F. Sweeney, a fireman and water tender, came up with the winning names: Fogbound, Skipper, Hatches, and Sea Wolf, who was later renamed Bosun. (Bosun is the ship’s officer in charge of the crew.)
Bosun posing on a speedboat at the Motor Boat Show in 1947.
Of the four kittens, Bosun was the only one who enjoyed stretching out lazily in his bed made by sailors and lapping up egg on toast for breakfast every day. The other cats were lured to the sea: Fogbound went to Greece, Skipper headed to Italy, and Hatches went to the Pacific.
In October 1946, Bosun appeared at the Brooklyn-Long Island Cat Club show at the Hotel Granada (268 Ashland Place) in Brooklyn. The Brooklyn Daily Eagle described the cat as a bum who not only didn’t know who his father was, but who was leading the Life of Reilly amid all the other pampered and more exotic felines at the show.
“An unimportant white color, Bosun is not a cat’s cat. He’s for men and rough talk,” the reporter wrote. His cage was described as being gaudy with pin-up pictures of lady cats in “provocative poses.” None of the other 150 cats in attendance had decorated cages.
Bosun did not compete for any prizes; not only was he not qualified, but his mom, Mrs. Hartmann, was one of the judges.
Boson retired from the Seamen’s Church Institute in 1948 and went to live with the Hartmanns on their farm in Long Island. He made one more public appearance at the Motor Boat Show in 1949, pictured below.
In 1949, Mrs. Hartmann let Bosun visit his old pals at the Seaman’s Booth on the 4th floor of Grand Central Palace Motor Boat Show. Notice the cards and feline pin-up posters around him. From The Lookout, February 1949.
The Seamen’s Church Organ Cats
Although some of the Institute’s cats were described as being “not very religious,” one unnamed female cat was especially fond of the chapel.
In June 1939, Mrs. Janet Ruper, house mother and head of the missing seamen’s bureau, told The Lookout about a cat who spent most of her time in the chapel. She especially enjoyed climbing into the organ chamber and meowing loudly during Sunday services. (Church organs were very popular with Old New York cats.)
One day, the cat gave birth to two kittens in the church organ. “And do you know what?” Mrs. Roper exclaimed. “Those kittens were coal black except for a pure white cross on each of their backs!”
In 1834, a small group of Episcopal men founded the Young Men’s Church Missionary Society on the Lower East Side waterfront. Their first Chaplain, Reverend Benjamin C.C. Parker, presided over church services for seafarers in the Floating Church of Our Savior.
This unique Gothic church was built atop a barge in 1844 and docked, like a large boat, at the foot of Pike Street on the East River. This floating chapel provided not only a place of worship but also a place where seafarers from around the world could feel at home.
The Floating Church of Our Savior at the foot of Pike Street. Today, this church would be under the Manhattan Bridge.
In 1846, the Society built its second floating church, the Floating Church of the Holy Comforter. This church was built at the foot of Dey Street on the Hudson River (right about where One World Trade Center is today) to accommodate seafarers and local residents on the west side of the island. The Holy Comforter provided services until 1868.
Floating Church of the Holy Comforter at the foot of Dey Street (now the site of One World Trade Center).
The Floating Church of Our Savior burned down in 1866 and was replaced with a new floating church in 1870. The second East River church was in use until 1910, after which it was towed to the Kill Van Kull at Mariners’ Harbor in Staten Island and renamed All Saints’ Episcopal Church.
The second floating Church of Our Savior on the East River, 1870-1910.
Here is the former floating church after it was moved from the waterfront to Richmond Terrace opposite Van Name Avenue in 1914.
Throughout the 1800s, the Society built several facilities for mariners, including a reading room at Coenties Slip, a mission house at 34 Pike Street, and a sailors’ boardinghouse at 52 Market Street.
In 1906, the Society formally changed its name to the Seamen’s Church Institute of New York. Two years later, Franklin D. Roosevelt joined the Board; he remained on the Board until his death in 1945.
The old Society missionary at 34 Pike Street, pictured here in 1931, was later home to the Congregation Anshei Slulsk.
Ironically, the Seamen’s Church Institute laid the cornerstone of its new “million-dollar home for seamen” on April 15, 1912. This was the morning of the sinking of RMS Titanic. When the RMS Carpathia arrived in New York with the survivors, the Institute delivered clothing and kits to the surviving Titanic crew members.
The new twelve-story building at 25 South Street accommodated up to 580 seafarers in dormitory-style rooms. The headquarters also housed an employment bureau, savings bank, medical clinic, reading room (stocked with foreign newspapers and magazines), writing room, chapel, and basement storage area for the men to store baggage while at sea. A sign in the lobby read, “This Institute is willing to help men who help themselves.”
Seamen’s Church Institute in 1925. Museum of the City of New York Collections
One of the memorable features of the building was its main door, which was guarded by “Sir Galahad” beside a bell that had been salvaged from the passenger steamer Atlantic, which had wrecked in 1846 on Long Island Sound. The bell rang out the hour and half hour.
In 1917, a memorial to the Titanic was placed on the roof of the building along with a light and a raised ball. The ball was lowered at noon to help ships anchored in the harbor set their clocks. The building was razed in the 1960s, but the Titanic memorial still exists at the comer of Water and Fulton Streets.
The roof of the Seamen’s Church Institute at 25 South Street featured several animal and bird figures and a Titanic memorial.
In 1968, the Seamen’s Church Institute moved into a new 18-story building at 15 State Street in Battery Park. The old cornerstone, ship’s bell, and several bronze memorial plaques were installed at the new headquarters. The Institute sold this building in 1985 for more than $29 million.
The next home for the Seamen’s Church Institute was located at 241 Water Street in the Historic Buildings section of the South Street Seaport Museum. Following the attacks on 9/11, this building was transformed into an emergency relief station for rescue workers, where thousands of meals were served and truckloads of donated supplies were distributed to the workers.
Ten years later, the Seamen’s Church Institute of New York sold its headquarters building on Water Street and donated (permanent loan) its archival collections to CUNY Queens College. The Institute is currently headquartered on the 26th floor at 50 Broadway.
Sadly, I doubt that any modern-day wayward cats ever drift into this new building…
Greenwich Village in the early 1900s was home to many notable cats that made the headline news. There were the Bohemian cats led by Crazy Cat, who reigned supreme around Sheridan Square during the 1910s. And there were the more refined gentlemen cats like Old Timer, Mr. White, and Jonathan, who occupied the feline throne on Greenwich Avenue in the late 1920s and early 1930s.
Old Timer
According to The Villager newspaper (June 7, 1934), Old Timer “was a gentleman adventurer type, with a touch of boulevardier.” During the late 1920s and early 1930s, he was probably the best-known cat in all of Greenwich Village.
Old Timer was not a handsome cat, per se. His nose had a large scar, his left ear was in tatters, his tail was burnt at the tip, and he had nodules on his back. But, as The Villager notes, he was a gentleman cat who got the attention he deserved.
A regular customer at Emily Burmeister’s restaurant at 56 Greenwich Avenue across from Perry Street, Old Timer would show up every night at 5:30 for his al fresco meal. As he waited to be served, he’d wash his whiskers in anticipation. Ten minutes later, Emily would leave his plate outside the front door.
The old cat’s favorite meal was meat and gravy with a bit of crackle. He always ate slowly, like a gourmet diner savoring each tasty morsel. Customers were careful to walk around him so as not to disturb his dining experience. Following his meal, he’d look in at Emily through the window, wash his whiskers again, and head off on his contented way.
Old Timer stopped coming to Emily’s restaurant in the spring of 1934. According to the reporter for The Villager, he had probably “cashed in and gone to his reward.”
Old Timer was a regular customer at The Emily Burmeister Restaurant at 56 Greenwich Avenue, pictured here in 1926 when it was a pharmacy. New York Historical Society.
Mr. White
Old Timer was not the only cat that Emily Burmeister and her partner, Anna Gasslander, cared for at their restaurant and home. The women had a long history with cats, starting with Mr. White.
Emily adopted Mr. White from a Salvation Army girl who had rescued him from an uptown speakeasy (perhaps he was one of Minnie’s many boyfriends at Jack Bleek’s Opera Cafe speakeasy?). He soon became accustomed to his “more refined environment of the Village” working as a mouser for Emily and Anna.
Mr. White did such a good job at the restaurant, he earned a month off every summer at Emily’s country home in Darien, Connecticut. Unfortunately, he was killed by a car while frolicking in the country roads.
Jonathan, the Theatrical Cat
Following the passing of Mr. White and Old Timer’s disappearance in 1934, Emily adopted a Tuxedo cat named Aloise. Emily did not think this name was suited for the cat, so she changed it to Jonathan.
According to The Villager and The Sun, Jonathan was of theatrical lineage. He was born in the magnificent Windsor Terrace (Tudor City) penthouse of Miss Alice Brady, a famous actress of stage and screen. Then he and his mother cat, Maude Adams, lived for a few months with the actor Harold Vermilyea on West 11th Street.
Jonathan did not inherit any acting talents from his early pet parents; Emily said he was more like a stage manager than a performer.
Jonathan took a lot of pride in his appearance. According to The Villager, Jonathan kept his shirt front “meticulously laundered.” The Sun said Jonathan was “immaculate in his white vest and black tuxedo, and no head waiter could be more urbane.”
Jonathan was born in the Windsor Terrace penthouse of movie star Alice Brady, pictured here as Angelica Bullock in My Man Godfrey in 1936.
In his early years on Greenwich Avenue, Jonathan spent meal times sitting on a shelf in the restaurant’s kitchen and bothering the cooks. The pestering obviously worked: By 1943, when Jonathan was 11 years old, he weighed a hefty 17 pounds.
In the 1940s, Emily and Anna operated The Emily Burmeister Restaurant at 84 Seventh Avenue in Chelsea. There, Jonathan spent almost every hour of the day on his post, which was a bench in the lobby.
Jonathan spent many years at The Emily Burmeister Restaurant in a two-story building at 84 Seventh Avenue on the northwest corner of 15th Street, pictured here in 1931. New York Public Library Digital Collections
Jonathan never fought with dogs or other cats (unlike the famous Tommy Cassanova Lamb of the Lambs Club), and he never returned home after a few nights out with a torn ear or damaged eye. As Emily told the reporter, the cat preferred human company to feline company.
During the few hours a day that he was not resting, Jonathan enjoyed going for walks–perhaps, as The Sun noted, “with a view of keeping down his figure.” The cat was a moderate eater, and often refused to eat if he was not served his favorite, lamb kidney, but as the news reporter said, if it were not for his walks, “he would probably resemble a prosperous alderman.”
While most city cats were always on the lookout for danger, Jonathan always had “the assured, unhurried air of a citizen who respects himself and expects others to respect him.” Even when he walked far from his home–he was often spotted as far as Fifth Avenue–Jonathan was always calm and collect.
“Jonathan can take care of himself,” Emily told the Sun reporter. “He is a wise cat.”
A Brief History of Greenwich Avenue
The buildings at 54-56 Greenwich Avenue, where Emily Burmeister first operated her restaurant, were built in 1861 for George Pixton Rogers. These buildings featured a basement and stores on the ground level, with apartments on the upper floors. (In the 1870s, newspaper ads boasted apartments featuring two parlors, three bedrooms, kitchen, water closet, gas and all fixtures.)
Old Timer, Mr. White, and Jonathan lived and dined at The Emily Burmeister Restaurant at 56 Greenwich Avenue, pictured here in 1940, when it was home to Valentine Schmitt’s Quality Meats and Grocery.
George Rogers (1789-1870) was the son of John Rogers Sr. (1749-1799), a merchant who did a booming business after the Revolution at his downtown store on Hanover Square, and at his firm of Berry & Rogers, on Pearl Street.
John Rogers owned several tracts of land in the Village, including two that extended from Greenwich Avenue eastward (shown in the map below). Another large tract, which extended north from present-day Washington Square, was divided in 1825 among his children, George, John Rogers, Jr., and Mary, the wife of William Christopher Rhinelander.
The property of the heirs of John Rogers on what was then called Greenwich Lane at Bank, Perry and Charles Streets. Emily Burmeister’s restaurant was just east of Perry Street. John Randel Farm Maps, 1818-1820.
Greenwich Avenue is one of the oldest existing roads in Manhattan. Originally part of a Lenape trail in what was called the village of Sappokanican, it ran southeast and east to the Post Road (Road to Albany and Boston) about where Cooper Square is today.
Under Dutch rule the trail was called Strand Road. The English called it Sand Hill Road for the sandy hills that it crossed. During this time period, the road was merely a private lane that ran through several farms.
Monument Lane
In 1762, on the spot that is now north of 14th Street where Greenwich Avenue meets Eighth Avenue, British officer William Alexander (aka Lord Stirling) erected an obelisk monument to British Major General James Wolfe, who had died in the Battle of Quebec in the Seven Years’ War. Soon thereafter, Sand Hill Road became known as “The Road to the Obelisk” or “Monument Lane.”
Aside from this description below, very little is known about the monument, and no illustrations of the obelisk exist.
Perhaps the monument contained some of the elements of this design for a monument to General Wolfe, which was owned by Charles Theomartyr Crane in 1789.
According do the American Scenic and Historic Preservation Society (1914):
Monument Lane began at the present Fourth Avenue and Astor Place and ran westward along the present Astor Place; thence to Washington Square North about 100 feet west of Fifth Avenue, where it crossed a brook called at various times Minetta Brook, Bestevaer’s Kill, etc.; thence to the present Sixth Avenue and Greenwich Lane; thence along the present Greenwich Lane to Eighth Avenue between Thirteenth and Fourteenth Streets, where it intersected the now obsolete Southampton Road; thence northward about 150 or 200 feet farther, where it terminated at the Monument.
Monument Lane was a favorite promenade during this time period. Gentlemen and their wives or lady friends would spend a day driving to the obelisk, and then return home via the Great Kill Road and along the old road that ran alongside the Hudson River.
The obelisk appears on the Montressor map of 1765-66, where a “Road to the Obelisk” leads to a spot just east of Oliver De Lancey’s farm. It’s marked “Obelisk Erected to the Memory of General Wolf [sic] and Others.”
The lane was officially opened to the public in 1768. At that time, the only real public road option for villagers was a waterside road that ran along the line of today’s Greenwich Street. This road, which passed over Lispenard’s Salt Meadows and Minetta Water, was often impassable following heavy rains or a strong spring tide.
By 1773, the monument had disappeared from local maps (as noted in the 1766-67 map below). Some believe that Oliver De Lancey, a loyalist, destroyed the monument when his lands were confiscated by the Americans following the war in 1783. However, based on old maps, the obelisk was probably already long gone by that time.
The Monument Lane ran past Lady Warren’s farm to the farm of her brother, Oliver De Lancey, just north of present-day Gansevoort Street. The Ratzer Plan, 1766.
About 1800, the easterly part of the lane between the Bowery and the present Sixth Avenue became Art Street, a part of which survives as Astor Place between Broadway and Third Avenue. The westerly parts of the road were later named Great Kill Road (renamed Gansevoort Street in 1837) and Greenwich Lane.
As shown on this 1869 farm map, Greenwich Lane was also called Great Kill Road where it headed west to the Hudson River. This is now Gansevoort Street. New York Public Library Digital Collections
Greenwich Lane continued past the land owned by the Trustees of Sailors Snug Harbor (later, “The Row” in Washington Square Park) where it met with Art Street (now Astor Place).
In 1825, Greenwich Lane between Sixth Avenue and Broadway was closed to make way for the new Washington Square Park. Great Kill Road became Gansevoort Street in 1837, and the remainder of Greenwich Lane was renamed Greenwich Avenue in 1843.
Today, 54-56 Greenwich Avenue is home to Fiddlestick’s Pub and Grill. At some point, the buildings were combined and joined at the top with #58 by an unusual concrete parapet with rounded balls on either end.
Feeding of the cats on Pitt Street and Broome Street. New York World, February 25, 1894
There are some cats on Broome Street. American cats. English. Irish. Lithuanian German. Italian and Bohemian cats. They all materialize on this street. Every type and grade of feline society is represented here–from the famous Dutch mouser Tom to the indecent, dependent, despised tramp cat of unknown nationality. Fat cats, thin cats, black cats, white cats, dirty cats and very dirty cats, unhappy cats and very unhappy cats, conceited, comfortable-looking cats, and unfortunate homeless cats who are compelled either to subsist on charity or upon their own nocturnal prowlings.”–New York World, February 25, 1894
Miss Clementine Anderson and Miss Mary J. Anderson were two wealthy, educated, and refined “spinsters” who turned the neighborhood around Broome and Pitt Streets on the Lower East Side into a paradise for cats. As the reporter for The World noted, it was only those felines who lived far from 128 Broome Street (aka 22 Pitt Street) that were thin and unhappy.
The Anderson sisters lived with their brother, Andrew J., and his wife, Matilda, in a private residence on the northeast corner of Broome and Pitt Streets. The Andersons had one daughter, Isola J. Anderson, who died in 1872 when she was only eight years old.
Andrew made a living as a carman (a driver of horse-drawn vehicles or trolley cars). His two younger sisters stayed at home and never married. However, according to news reports, the sisters may have earned some money by renting furnished rooms in the home to various clubs, including the Pelham Social Club and the Oregon Wheelmen.
This old cottage double-house on Pitt Street between Broome and Delancey Streets (1861) may be representative of the Anderson residence and site of the mecca for homeless cats. Museum of the City of New York Collections
Although the sisters–both in their 40s–had money and owned property in “aristocratic localities,” they chose to remain in their childhood home in what was called Poverty Hollow on the Lower East Side. If it was good enough for their parents to live and die in, it was good enough for them.
The cats of the Lower East Side certainly knew a good thing when they saw it, too. Here’s how a reporter for The World described the scene:
Should the reader chance to stroll along Broome Street at night, when the noise of trade and traffic, the clamor of hammers in Hoe’s foundry, the shouts of drivers and the shrill notes of whistles are hushed–when the streets are quiet and deserted–should he then noiselessly pick his way along until he stood in front of No. 128 he would witness a sight not soon to be forgotten.
Under the wagons, on the fence, and on the sidewalk would he find cats, cats, cats! Cats everywhere in the vicinity of that number. No noisy quarrelsome crowd, but a peaceful, expectant, comfortable-looking collection of felines, all waiting for the never-failing supply of substantial food, cooked and prepared expressly for them, twice a day by their enthusiastic friends, the 128ers.”
No. 128 Broome Street/22 Pitt Street and the R. Hoe and Co. foundry and printing press factory are circled on this 1891 George Bromley map. Incidentally, Broome Street had two buildings numbered 128: the one to the west of Pitt Street was occupied by the Kindergarten and Potted Plant Association, a charity that sought to make lives more beautiful for tenement children by giving them plants to care for.
According to The World, every morning the milkman delivered 10 bottles of milk to the Anderson sisters. They would boil it and serve it to the cats for breakfast. At night, the sisters would dole out “a goodly amount of meat, appropriately cut, served under the wagons.”
Occasionally, a greedy Tom or Tabby that was fortunate enough to have a home and enough food to eat would make his or her way to the mecca for homeless mousers. The sisters could spot the spoiled kitties right away, and would give them a gentle tap with a whip to shoo them away. The greedy cat might growl or hiss, but eventually it would slink away, never to return.
The End of the Cat Mecca
The construction of the Williamsburg Bridge between 1896 and 1903 resulted in drastic changes to the Andersons’ neighborhood.
I do not know how much longer the cat mecca at Broome and Pitt Streets remained after the article about the Anderson sisters appeared in 1894. I have a feeling, though, that the cats were on their own within a year or two.
The construction of the Williamsburg Bridge between 1896 and 1903 resulted in drastic changes to the Lower East Side neighborhood. Developers also began buying older buildings in the area and replacing them with larger tenement buildings.
In 1897, developers purchased the old three-story buildings at 28 and 30 Pitt Street (perhaps the cottage double-house shown above?). By 1903, the former private residence at 128 Broome Street/22 Pitt Street had been replaced by a large, six-story tenement building pictured below.
According to maps, by 1903, 128 Broome Street (22 Pitt Street) was a six-story apartment building seen here in this NYC Department of Records 1940 tax map.
A Brief History of Pitt Street: Poverty Hollow and Mount Pitt
During the late 1800s, the neighborhood where the Anderson cat ladies lived was known as the Oriental District. Within this district, and very specific to the intersection of Broome and Pitt Streets, was a neighborhood called Poverty Hollow, which comprised a section of the Thirteenth Ward north of Grand Street and east of Pitt Street.
The name of the neighborhood dates back to the early days of New York, when the hill on Pitt Street was called Mount Pitt (aka Jones Hill) and the bottom of the slope was the hollow. Then, the population was primarily Irish, with a few German and Jewish families scattered throughout. It was not uncommon to see a goat eating the grass on the side of Mount Pitt.
According to various maps, Mount Pitt was 40 feet above sea level at its highest point, which was at the intersection of present-day Grand and Ridge Streets. The elevation in the hollow at Broome and Pitt Streets was 22 feet.
This photo of Willett and Delancey Streets (1901) gives you a glimpse of Poverty Hollow. NYPL Digital Collections
In the 1800s and early 1900s, Poverty Hollow and other Lower East Side neighborhoods had their own mayors, so to speak, who looked after the welfare of the poor residents, bailed residents out of jail, and made sure the men were taking care of their wives and children. Several “commissioners” worked with the mayor and held titles such as Duke and Manager.
Pat Connelly, the Mayor of Poverty Hill, had a green Mayoralty Chair, which featured the Irish and American flags and the words “Erin-go-bragh” and “E Pluribus Unum.”
For 32 years, Pat Connelly was the esteemed mayor of Poverty Hollow. He held court in an old shanty on Delancey Street, where he lived and maintained a saloon.
In 1896, Connelly was ousted by Abe Sprung in a heated, politically backed contest. Sprung and his brother Max, the Duke of Willett Street, operated from Mark Hanna Schulum’s cigar store at the top of Mount Pitt.
Connelly regained power a few years later, but in 1901, he was booted from his shanty, which was in the line of the new Williamsburg Bridge.
The De Lancey Farm and Mount Pitt, aka Jones Hill
The Andersons’ home at Broome and Pitt Streets was erected on the old DeLancey Farm, at the base of Mount Pitt (aka Jones Hill), as noted in the map below. When this map was created in 1865, the lots east of Clinton Street had not yet been laid out because the hill was not suitable for robust development.
This 1865 John Bute Holmes Map of the East & West De Lancey Farms shows the perimeter streets as surveyed under James De Lancey, Esq. as well as the present streets as laid down on the maps in the Registers Office at that time.
The recorded history of this property goes back to the Dutch colony of New Amsterdam. In the 1600s, the Dutch West India Company created several large farms, or bouweries, that were granted to settlers. Two farms occupied this part the city: Bouwerie Number 5 (later of Cornelis Claes Swits) and the farm of Claes van Elslandt (1647).
In the early 1700s, the land within these Dutch farm grants was incorporated into the large farm of James DeLancey, the Lieutenant Governor of New York. Over the years, DeLancey also purchased land north of Division Street (now East Broadway), eventually accumulating much of what is now the Lower East Side.
Following the death of James DeLancey, Sr. in 1760, his son James DeLancey, Jr. inherited the farm. In 1763, he granted a two-acre parcel of land “adjoining to the road which leads from the Bowery Lane to Corlears Hook” to his sister, Amelia, and her new husband, Thomas Jones.
Jones Hill is on the lower-right corner of this 1766 Montresor map of the Delancey Farm. The Road to Crown Point, which bisected the Delancey Farm, is now Grand Street. (Crown Point was the British name for Corlears Hook.)
Jones, a provincial judge and military veteran, built a “large double house of wood” on the elevated site in 1765 and named his estate Mount Pitt in honor of William Pitt (later Lord Chatham), whom Jones greatly admired. The property, bounded by today’s Clinton, Broome, Pitt, and Grand Streets, was surrounded by gardens and a fine orchard, and offered commanding views in all directions.
During the Revolutionary War, Mount Pitt was the site of an American fort sometimes referred to as the “Crown Point Battery,” “Fort Pitt,” or “Jones Hill Fort.” The fort, described as a strong circular redoubt with 8 cannons, was later occupied by the British; many Hessians who fought for the British camped in this area during the war.
Throughout the Revolution, the DeLancey and Jones families remained loyal to the British crown. Under the Act of Confiscation of 1779, the DeLancey estate was divided and sold by Commissioners in Forfeiture Isaac Stoutenburgh and Philip Van Cortlandt.
Morgan Lewis purchased the Mount Pitt property in 1784 for 970 pounds (about $2,300 back then). He then sold the land to John R. Livingston (brother of Robert Livingston) in 1792.
View of the city and harbor of New York, taken from Mount Pitt, the seat of John R. Livingston, Esq. Charles-Balthazar-Julien Févret de Saint-Mémin sketched this scene from the porch of Livingston’s home in 1796. Mount Pitt was the highest point on the Lower East Side, with views of Hellgate, Staten Island, New Jersey, and Long Island.
Other parcels of the eastern portion of the DeLancey farm were sold to Joshua Ketcham, John R. Meyer, and John Quackenbos. The Anderson home at 22 Pitt Street was built on one of the Quackenbos lots.
John R. Livingston (1755-1851)
The division of DeLancey’s farm and other large farms resulted in rapid street development and urbanization of the Lower East Side. However, due to the Mount Pitt estate, the area northeast of Clinton and Grand Streets was developed later than the surrounding neighborhood.
Livingston and his heirs reportedly did not begin to sell smaller lots within the property until the 1820s. For many years the home on Mount Pitt was occupied by several gentlemen as a private residence.
The Livingston home became a public house sometime around 1811, but it was never that popular. When the old Mount Pitt was leveled in the 1820s, so too was the estate.
In 1831, after its original church on Sherriff Street was burned down by the anti-Catholic Know Nothing party, St. Mary’s Roman Catholic Church purchased a portion of the Livingston estate from the mayor of New York. The parish constructed its new church on Grand and Ridge Streets–the exact site of the former Livingston home–in 1832.
St. Mary’s on Grand Street. Note the slight incline of the former Mount Pitt. Museum of the City of New York Collections.
By the 1840s, nearly all the remaining lots in the neighborhood were developed with wood frame houses and stores. Most of these old buildings were replaced with four- and five-story brick tenements during the mid-19th-century immigration surge.
Incidentally, remnants Mount Pitt can still be viewed today: several churches in the Lower East Side, including the old Willett Street Methodist Episcopal Church (1826), were constructed of schist quarried from the leveling of the hill.
The old Willett Street Methodist Church, now the Bialystoker Synagogue, was constructed of schist quarried from Mount Pitt.
In the early 1900s, a cat named Lillian Russell who liked to fish made a name for herself as the mascot cat of the Dyker Meadow Golf Club. What the feline angler probably didn’t know was that she had a canine rival at the nearby links for the Marine and Field Club in Bath Beach.
Bob was an intelligent greyhound owned by Miss Maud Beatrice Pottle, age 23, of 8731 21st Avenue in Brooklyn. Bob was specially trained to be Miss Pottle’s golf caddy. She even made a harness for him which allowed him to securely carry her golf clubs.
According to the Brooklyn Daily Eagle, Bob was 15 months old. Maud’s father, James Potter, a Brooklyn merchant in the wine industry, bought the buff-colored dog with amber eyes from a ranch in North Dakota when he was a puppy.
The story of Bob the canine caddy made all the national newspapers. This drawing appeared in the Seattle Star.
The dog was quite pampered in the Potter home: he loved sleeping on a big cushion covered in a blanket, and would cry should the blanket fall off him in the middle of the night. He did not get along well with the cat and other puppy in the household.
It was purely by accident that Bob became a golf caddy. As the story goes, one hot day while Maud was playing golf, she took off her red golf jacket and placed it on Bob’s back. Bob did such a good job carrying the jacket, she thought he could also carry her golf clubs.
Within a few days, Bob was wearing a leather harness devised for this purpose. (Maud was supposedly going to file for a patent for the harness, but I can’t determine whether she did this or not.) The dog also wore a sack around his neck to carry spare golf balls.
At first, Maud led Bob around the golf course on a chain leash. That didn’t last long. You see, Maud had also trained Bob to retrieve. So, as soon as he saw the ball in the air, he would run and follow it “at gratifying speed.”
Bob seemed to know that his caddying job ended as soon as he and Maud left the links. Once the pair returned to the street, Bob would howl until Maud removed the harness. Bob would then happily follow Maud back home, whether she walked, cycled, or drove.
Bob’s leather harness was designed to hold 3 clubs on each side.
The dog soon became the pride of the members of the Marine and Field Club. In fact, the members thought he was more than equal to Lillian Russell the cat.
Scrap the Dog: Bob’s Rival
During this time, the Marine and Field Club also had another canine mascot. His name was Scrap, aka Pickle (some called him Pickle because he was a mutt of 57 different varieties).
Scrap was owned by H.M. Gotan, a club professional who left the dog at the Marine and Field Club during the winter months when he went to Galveston, Texas. The dog got along with all the golfers, but he did not like any creature on four legs.
One day, Scrap got into a big fight with Bob. It took the strength of several people to hold the greyhound back. A few days later, Scrap was found dead. According to the press, someone had poisoned him.
After 1904, no more articles about Bob the canine gold caddy appeared. One reporter suggested that every golfer would soon have his or her own four-legged caddy, but that prediction does not appear to have come true.
In February 1904, Miss Pottle entered Bob in the Westminster Kennel Club dog show at Madison Square Garden. Bob garnered much attention from the public, but because he did not have pedigree papers, none of the judges paid attention to him.
I don’t know what happened to Bob. I do know that Maud married Frederick Charles Hinkel, a salesman, in 1915. They had one son, Frederick Bruce Henkel.
Maud died on April 27, 1960, and was buried in Poughkeepsie Rural Cemetery. Her husband, who was five years younger, died in 1974.
A Brief History of Bath Beach and the Marine and Field Club
The history of Bath Beach’s development begins with Archibald Young, a young man who made his fortune as a partner in his father’s clothing manufacturing company in Upstate New York. Young has been referred to as the Father of Bath Beach.
In 1852, Young married Mary Ann Wanzer, the daughter of Moses and Mary Wanzer. The Wanzers, who had 10 children, moved from Manhattan to Bath, Long Island, in 1841. They established their home on Gravesend Bay, near the foot of present-day Bay 14th Street (see the map below). This home was later purchased by George Carhart and operated as the Hollywood Hotel in the late 1800s.
During this time, what we now call Bath Beach was a small waterfront settlement known as the village of Bath in the old town of New Utrecht, Long Island.
In the 1850s, as shown on this 1852 map, the Bath and Fort Hamilton neighborhoods were occupied by several large farms and a small settlement of smaller waterfront lots. Note the Wanzer property on the bay, south of Franklin Avenue, and the L-shaped Lott farm. (Franklin Avenue is present-day Cropsey Avenue.)
Following his marriage to Mary Ann Wanzer, Young used a portion of his family fortune to purchase the old L-shaped Lott farm, which was just east of the Wanzer property (see map above). He cut the farm into building lots and sold them, thus beginning the development of Bath in earnest.
Young built a magnificent home on Cropsey Avenue between present-day Bay 16th and 17th Streets, which featured a windmill that supplied the house and grounds with water. He and his wife had six children, although only a few daughters survived past childhood.
In 1874, Young and Barney Williams, a well-known Irish comedian and actor, reportedly purchased the old Michael Post farm at Fort Hamilton in a foreclosure sale for $30,000. This parcel included Dyker Meadows, which had been used as a public pasture for 200 years. There was much indignation when Young fenced in the land to keep out the cattle–he even received some death threats until he finally opened the land to cattle again several years later.
Dyker Meadows had served as a common pastureland for about 200 years, until Archibald Young decided to fence it in. This photo was taken at the intersection of today’s Cropsey and 7th Avenues around 1895, the year the Dyker Meadow Golf Club was established on this site.
Over the next few years, Young purchased other large parcels of land. He opened a public park on the waterfront and planted numerous maple trees for shade. By 1879, when he became director of the Brooklyn, Bath, and Coney Island Railroad, Young owned about 187 acres in addition to numerous lots.
Barney Williams
Around this time, Young and former Magistrate John Lott Nostrand began to cut up their farms into building lots. Combined with improved rapid transit options from Manhattan, the tiny village of Bath became a popular place for both summer and winter residents.
In 1885, the name of the village was changed to Bath Beach to distinguish it from the other village of Bath in Steuben County, New York. That same year, Young purchased 40 acres of the old Cropsey farm. At the time of the sale, the Rural Gazette suggested that Bath “might very well be called Youngstown.”
Irish comedian Barney Williams built one of the first homes in Bath Beach, which he called Kathleen Cottage, at the foot of Bay 14th Street. Following his death in 1876, the home became Kathleen Villa by the Sea, a boarding house for women, and later, the Hotel Horton, operated by Joseph H. Horton. New York Public Library Digital Collections
This 1873-74 map of New Utrecht shows Archibald Young’s large tract of land in Bath.
The Marine and Field Club was located on the Gravesend Bay at Cropsey Avenue and Bay 13th Street, as shown on this 1890 E. Robinson map. This map shows the location of the original house and cottage, the boathouse, and the new Tower Hall. Also noted are the Hotel Hollywood, Kathleen Villa by the Sea, and the private residences of Archibald Young. (Warehouse Avenue is now Shore Parkway.)
The Columbia Boat Club
Some of the first members of the Marine and Field Club. These men made up the crew of a four-oared rig called Dandy during the days of the Columbia Boat Club.
The history of the Marine and Field Club goes back to 1872, when there were two rowing clubs in Brooklyn located at the foot of Smith Street on the Gowanus Canal. Two single scullers–Charlie Osborn and Joe Purss–were not members of either club. They joined with another oarsman, Jim Foster, to form their own club called the Columbia Boat Club.
The men bought a small floating boathouse that could hold four boats. They fastened this to a float, from which they rented small rowing and sail boats at the foot of Court Street. After a year, the men had made enough money to build a larger boathouse, which they anchored at the same location.
Over the next few years, the members of the Columbia Boat Club had to float their boathouse to new locations as new docks and other land improvements forced them out. They went from the foot of 49th Street in 1877, to the grounds of the Avon Beach Hotel at Bay 22nd Street in 1884, to the foot of 55th Street in Bay Ridge a year later.
The Marine and Field Club boathouse, 1900.
Finally, after building a larger boathouse (pictured below), they moved to Bay 13th Street, where the structure stood on spikes over the water.
In 1886, about a dozen members of the boat club joined together to buy several acres of property from Carl L. Recknagel, an importer of pharmaceuticals who owned a home and several rentable cottages on Bay 13th Street. The total cost for the grounds, main house, and cottage was $35,000. Recknagel had built the main home in 1881; at that time, it was considered one of the most elegant in the village of Bath.
The first annual meeting of the new social club was held on January 12 1886, at the Hotel St. George. The men were originally going to call the new club the Brooklyn Land and Water Club, but apparently they changed it to the Marine and Field Club.
A view of the original Marine and Field clubhouse from the dock that lead to the boathouse, 1900. The clubhouse, formerly the home of Carl Recknagle, was a large three-story home painted in dark red with a veranda on two sides. From the upper story, one could see Norton’s Point, Staten Island, Fort Hamilton, and the Narrows.
The men’s intention was to form a country club within easy access of New York and Brooklyn. The club would have 10 lawn tennis courts, plus boating, swimming, fishing, sailing, canoeing, and rowing. Charles Stokes was elected president and Hugh Boyd vice president.
In 1888, the Marine and Field Club built a large dormitory for men called Tower Hall. This building, which was off-limits to women, featured a carpeted lounge with a piano, a billiard hall with four tables, a bar, and a wine room. Bedrooms plus a shower and bath were on the upper two floors.
Tower Hall, Marine and Field Club.
Tower Hall was popular with the bachelor members, although there were radio communications for married men to communicate with their wives staying in the cottage sleeping apartments.
In 1896, under the direction of Percy S. Mallett, a nine-hole course was laid out on about 50 acres south of 86th Street adjoining the nine-hole Dyker Meadow course. The course was about two miles from the clubhouse at Bay 13th Street.
According to the New York Journal, “The members of the club, and the women in particular, have taken such an interest in the game that the Green Committee had a temporary seven-hole course laid out” while the full course was being constructed. The temporary course was short, which was perfect for beginning golfers.
About ten years later, in 1909, the two social clubs made an agreement to give members of both clubs access to a combined 18-hole course. The agreement came to an end in April 1914, when the opening of 12th Avenue damaged part of the course that the Marine and Field Club was leasing from the estate of George J. Smith.
This 1906 atlas shows the layout of the Marine and Field Club property, including the dock and boathouse.
In 1926, the Smith estate sold the land to a corporation headed by Isaac Perchelsky, a real estate operator and builder. The corporation applied for a building permit, but it was turned down because the Parks Department was already making plans to purchase the land to create what is now the Dyker Beach Park and Golf Course.
In 1935, a bad storm wrecked the pier and tore the roof off the Marine and Field Club boathouse. When the Belt Parkway was constructed a few years later, it left the club high and dry and at least a quarter of a mile from the water. The club moved to 3000 Emmons Avenue in Sheepshead Bay, where it continued to operate as a social club through the 1940s.
By 1941, builders had taken over the former Marine and Field Club property. The site was soon replaced by a settlement of one-family brick homes that are still standing today.
Tower Hall, Marine and Field Club. 1925. NYPL Digital Collections
Another view of the Marine and Field Club property on Cropsey Avenue and Bay 13th Street. NYPL Digital Collections
