William Davis Hassler taking a “selfie” in 1913. (He looks a bit like the actor David Craig–what do you think?) New-York Historical Society
I once wrote about Buzzer, the most photographed cat in America during the early 1900s. I think I have just stumbled upon the second most photographed cat during that same time period: Reddy, the ginger cat of New York City photographer William Davis Hassler.
Like Buzzer, Reddy and his four-legged siblings Peaches and Bounce lived in Manhattan during the second decade of the 20th century.
Reddy, Bounce, and Peaches didn’t pose for glamor shots with beautiful women of stage and screen like Buzzer did, but they did feature prominently in many Hassler family photos. Reddy appears in most of the family photos; apparently he was not photo-shy at all.
William Davis Hassler
William Hassler was a prolific commercial photographer who documented New York City buildings, people, and streets during the early 1900s. Working for a vast array of employers, including real estate auction house Joseph P. Day, postcard companies, construction companies, electric companies, and magazines, Hassler took thousands of photos across the five boroughs of New York.
Reddy. New-York Historical Society
The son of Ella Davis and Dr. James P. Hassler, William Hassler was born in Cochranton, Pennsylvania on May 7, 1877. After graduating from the Meadville Commercial College in 1896, he became an assistant manager for the new Armour-Cudahy Meat Packing Company on West 14th Street in New York City (now Patrick Cudahy/Smithfield).
He and his wife Ethel Gray Magaw of Meadville, Pennsylvania, married in June 1904. They had one son, William Gray, who also stars in many of William’s photos.
Peaches. January 22, 1918. New-York Historical Society
William lived and worked out of small apartment (#44) at 150 Vermilyea Avenue, which he began renting in 1905. Many of the photographs in his collection document his personal life in the apartment and capture what life was like for people living in Inwood during the turn of the century.
Bounce in front of 150 Vermilyea Avenue.
Although he took more than 5,000 photographs during his career, very little has been written about William Hassler. He died of a sudden and mysterious illness on April 24, 1921, when he was only 42 years old.
According to a small article in the Daily News, William became ill and died in the 157th Street subway station after traveling on a southbound train. That same day, another 42-year-old man was found dead on a bench at the 180th Street subway station.
This photograph is titled 150 Vermilyea Avenue, 1911. The five-story apartment building is still standing, albeit, now it is surrounded by many other apartment buildings. The Hasslers used to have a garden on this property, which is captured in some of William’s photos. West 207th Street between Vermilyea Avenue and Broadway. Do you see the two dogs?
The New-York Historical Society has a large collection of William’s photographs (more than 5,000), including those featuring his family members and pets. This one below is one of my favorites.
William’s sister, Harriet E. Hassler, and his son, William, with Reddy.
Here are some other favorites, including a creepy Halloween photo I came across on Twitter last October (at that time, the photo was a mystery to me, as I did not know the photographer was William Davis Hassler). Kind of eerie that I came across this photo again exactly one year later–I wasn’t looking for it.
From the captions on the photos, it appears is if Reddy, at least, got to travel quite a bit. Some of the photos of Reddy say they were taken in Astoria, Queens, and I also found one possibly taken at the Hassler home in Pennsylvania.
As you can see in the photos, the two cats and dog received a lot of love and attention from the members and friends of the Hassler family.
James Welty, Walter Welty, Belle Hassler Welty, Ethel Gray Magaw Hassler, William Gray Hassler, Reddy, and some other unidentified people eating cake and ice cream, undated.William Gray and Reddy sharing a bowl of cereal, 1912. Unidentified man and Reddy in a tree, possibly taken in Pennsylvania. Peaches with two other unidentified cats, August 1916.Reddy and some guinea pig friends, Astoria, July 1910. Unidentified group of people in creepy Halloween masks with an unidentified cat at the Hassler’s apartment on October 31, 1916. I wonder if these are the same people in the photo of people eating ice cream above? What do you think? William Gray with Bounce on the Harlem River, 1910. Ethel Hassler, William Gray Hassler, Harriet E. Hassler, and Reddy in the dining area of 150 Vermilyea Avenue, Apartment 44.Hassler friends and relatives at dinner: Mr. and Mrs. Lee, Gray, Hedda, William Gray Hassler, Harriet E. Hassler, Ethel Gray Magaw Hassler and Reddy at the head of the table. Here is 150 Vermilyea Avenue today. When Google Streets captured this, there was a panda bear in the tree…
In Old New York, canine mascots were forbidden in all the social clubs. Cats were not. Thus, clubs like The Lambs Club, the Lotus Club, and the New York Yacht Club had one or more feline mascots.
The following tale is about three of the many cat mascots of the New York Yacht Club.
The New York Yacht Club was founded on July 30, 1844, when John Cox Stevens invited eight of his friends–including John Clarkson Jay, George L. Schuyler, and Hamilton Wilkes–to join him on his yacht, Gimcrack, in the New York Harbor.
The club’s first clubhouse was established at Elysian Fields, in Hoboken, New Jersey, on land donated by Commodore Stevens (now the site of the Stevens Institute of Technology). Over the years, the club moved to several other locations, including Staten Island, Glen Cove, and Mystic, Connecticut.
In 1872, the New York Yacht Club took over three rooms on the second floor of the American Jockey Club headquarters. This four-story brick and stone building was constructed in 1867 on the southwest corner of Madison Avenue and 27th Street for Leonard Jerome, August Belmont, and other founding members of the American Jockey Club who raced their horses at the Jerome Park Racetrack.
The New York Yacht Club occupied several rooms on the second floor of the American Jockey Club on the southwest corner of Madison Avenue and 27th Street.
According to Wood’s Illustrated Hand-Book to New York (1873), “These rooms are beautifully fitted up, and contain a perfect museum of nautical curiosities, comprising some handsome pictures, and a complete set of models of all the yachts that have belonged to the club.” There was a reading room overlooking Madison Avenue that featured reading materials and more than 120 yacht models, a second room furnished with sofas and writing tables, and a bar in the third room.
Sam the Mascot Cat
Sometime around 1883, a young, all-black kitten bypassed the Jockey Club on the first floor and wandered into the second-floor rooms of the New York Yacht Club (perhaps he could smell the of odors of fish lingering in the members’ clothes and hair).
As The New York Times noted a few years later, “In accordance with a popular superstition his advent under the circumstances was considered ‘good luck,’ and he was consequently made quite at home, and he remained there. Sam soon became a general pet of the habitués, and never sought fresh pastures excepting, indeed, for a nocturnal gambol on the roof once in a while.”
Sam was a well-fed feline, but he earned his keep by being “an industrious ratter” and keeping “the building free from the ravages of the destructive rodent.” Although Sam enjoyed partaking in the neighborhood backyard concerts for felines, he never once hosted a concert on the clubhouse premises. Most important, he never allowed any four-legged intruders into the club.
Sam was very sociable and friendly with each member of club. He would welcome them by by “gracefully passing around their legs or sitting under their chairs.” He would sit up all night with the old salts, refusing to sleep until the last of the members had left, no matter how late.
In 1884, the New York Yacht Club moved into its own quarters one block north in a three-story townhouse at 67 Madison Avenue. Along with the yacht paintings, models, and reading materials, the members took along Sam the cat to their new, more modest home.
The New York Yacht Club (with flag), 67 Madison Avenue, 1893. The tower for Madison Square Garden II is in the background. Museum of the City of New York Collections
Relocating Sam was no easy task, even though he only had to travel one block. The poor cat had to be trapped and placed in a bag.
Like most cats, Sam was traumatized in his new surroundings at first, and made a quick escape back to the old clubhouse. Fortunately, “not finding his household gods there, [he] meekly returned to the place, and soon made himself at home.”
Two years later, on June 6, 1886, The New York Times reported that the members of the New York Yacht Club were mourning the loss of their well known and esteemed black cat mascot. According to the newspaper, the members were heartsick when club member Niels Olsen found Sam dead in his tiny bed.
Dobbins the Manx Mascot Cat
This is not Dobbins, but it’s a great vintage cat photo.
Six years after the passing of Sam, another kitten arrived at the New York Yacht Club headquarters on Madison Avenue. She was a quiet cat that didn’t attract much attention, but she could jump like a rabbit.
In 1893, the members of the club named her Tobbins, after Tobin bronze, a type of expensive metal plating that covered the bottom of a victorious yacht called Vigilant. They soon changed her name to Dobbins, perhaps because it’s a bit easier to pronounce.
Dobbins had full run of the clubhouse, which explains why she was constantly caressed by the members whenever she was nearby. She became so famous that yachtsmen from all over the country would call at the New York Yacht Club just to visit their cat. (The only visitor she didn’t like was the Irish Earl of Dunraven, who had tried to argue that an Irish yacht had beaten an American yacht.)
The cat was named for the type of expensive metal that lined the bottom of the yacht Vigilant, owned by millionaire club member Howard Gould.
On January 5, 1897, Dobbins was seen sitting on the front stoop of the clubhouse with a big Maltese (gray) Tom cat. It was raining heavily, but the two cats seemed perfectly content with each other’s company. It was the last time the members saw their cat alive.
Sometime after midnight, a policeman saw a dead cat in front of 69 Madison Avenue and recognized it as Dobbins. He made a note of the location so that he could report that a dead cat was on his post (reporting all dead animals was part of police officers’ duties back then.) When he returned to the site about a half hour later, the large gray cat was standing guard over Dobbins.
The policeman tried to get the cat to move, but the gray cat glared at him and arched his back in defense. The cat began to howl in anguish, only stopping from time to time to lick Dobbins’ lifeless body.
The Sun, January 7, 1897
An hour later, the policemen came back to the scene after still hearing the crying cat. As The Sun reported on January 8, the cries were “more mournful than the policemen had ever heard before.” Touched by the cat’s mourning, he stood and watched the cats for several minutes without disturbing the male cat.
When Niels Olsen (then the club’s superintendent) learned of Dobbins’ death, he examined the cat’s body. He told reporters that there appeared to be a deep ridge across the neck, as if she had been run over or kicked. He contacted the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals and placed a sign in the clubhouse that read: We Mourn Our Loss. Dobbins. Died Jan. 6, 1897.
All day long on that Tuesday, the male cat continued guarding the body of Dobbins. Several dogs sent him scurrying for shelter inside the iron railing, but he refused to eat or leave the area until the following afternoon, when the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals removed poor Dobbins.
The Sun, January 8, 1897
Although the Tom cat did not try to stop the men from taking Dobbins away, he did watch the wagon intently as it started down the street. He followed the wagon for half a block, took one more look at it, and disappeared around the corner of 27th Street, heading toward Fourth Avenue.
According to The Sun, no one knew who owned the Tom cat, but he frequently came calling for Dobbins, and she always answered his call. Perhaps he is the reason she had so many kittens, many of which were adopted by club members over the years. (In 1893 she gave birth to 18 kittens; 10 in 1894; 8 in 1895; and 9 in 1896. She was pregnant at the time of her death.)
Captain, the Son of Dobbins
Following Dobbins’ passing, the members adorned her kitten Captain in black mourning crape. The one-year-old kitten would take his mother’s place as the club’s mascot cat.
Commodore J. Pierpont Morgan
The club men told The Sun reporter that they wished they had captured the guardian Tom cat before he disappeared down the street. They said they would have welcomed him into the clubhouse as another daily reminder of their beloved Dobbins.
Right around the time of Dobbins’ death, New York Yacht Club Commodore J. Pierpont Morgan began looking for a new location for the club. In October 1898, he announced that he would donate three lots on West 44th Street between 5th and 6th Avenues (then a block of horse stables) for the new building. In return, he would be allowed to select the winning design.
The New York Yacht Club was constructed on the site of Teaney’s livery stables (yellow, center of this 1897 map). Although there were several other clubhouses in this neighborhood, the area was primarily occupied by stables in the late 1800s. An ad for Teaney’s livery stables in 1872.
Morgan stipulated that the new clubhouse must have a model room adequate to exhibit their extensive collection as well as serve as a meeting room for 300 people. He also called for a library that could accommodate 15,000 books, a chart room where members could map out their cruises, and 20 sleeping apartments.
The result was a circa 1901 clubhouse designed by Whitney Warren in the Beaux-Arts style. Hopefully, the club members brought Captain or any other mascot cats to their new home (and let’s hope the cat had a more dignified trip uptown on this move than poor Sam had inside a bag!).
In 1908, retiring Commodore Cornelius Vanderbilt gifted the Yacht Club with a $100,000, three-story stable adjoining the clubhouse at 35 West 44th Street. The club converted the old stables into an annex to accommodate its growing membership.
The annex was eventually sold to the Harvard Club of New York City in 1930, and is still occupied by that organization today. The New York Yacht Club is still next door in its 1901 clubhouse.
New York Yacht Club at 37-41 West 44th Street. Museum of the City of New York Collections
The Model Room in the New York Yacht Club clubhouse. I can picture the mascot cats having a wonderful time in this room! Museum of the City of New York Collections
I recently wrote about Robert Bruce MacMurray, a horse-saving fire dog of the New York Fire Department. This cat tale of Old New York, about a blacksmith feline who gave the alarm of fire, proves that the cats of Gotham were also heroes.
“Thomas, a big cat, was the hero of a fire that destroyed the upper part of a stable at 426 and 428 East Seventy-fifth Street early yesterday morning.” So begins a story about the cat in The Sun on November 26, 1906.
According to the report, Aloysius (Alois) Dill, a blacksmith, was asleep on the second floor with his wife Anna and two of their three children when Thomas began scratching at his bedroom door. The cat continued to meow until Dill got out of bed to see what was wrong.
The Sun, November 26, 1906
Smoke was pouring up from the first floor, where Dill had his blacksmith shop. He quickly aroused his family and got them safely outdoors. Thomas the cat disappeared.
Two alarms were sounded, owing to the size of the fire and the danger to the adjoining tenements. Within a few minutes, the entire upper part of the building was in flames.
When the first fire engine arrived, ten families living in a five-story building at 424 East 75th Street had become panic-stricken. Policemen O’Brien and Walsh of the East 67th Street police station were able to get all the family members to the street without harm.
Aloysius Dill and his family lived on the top floor of the Henry Bock building at 426-428 East 75th Street. Dill operated his blacksmith shop on the ground floor and kept about 21 horses in stables in the basement. This photo was taken about 1939.
After about an hour of hard work, the firemen got the blaze under control. They assumed that the 21 horses in the basement stable under the blacksmith shop had all burned to death.
When the men went down into the basement, they found all the horses standing in their stalls, apparently unaware of the flames that had raged overhead. It turns out that the water used to put out the fire had poured into the basement and the animals were knee-deep in water.
The New York Times, November 26, 1906
On the back of a large gray mare was Thomas the cat, meowing piteously and seemingly giving an alarm that danger was at hand. He had apparently jumped up on the horse to stay dry after saving his human family.
The fire did $20,000 in damages. Captain Nat Shire of the East 67th Street police station was the only one injured: he tripped over a fire hose and wrenched his right knee.
A Brief History of the Henry Bock Building
The two-story brick stable, dwelling, and blacksmith shop where this story took place was purchased by Philippine E. Lattemer Bock in October 1895 for $11,000. Philippine and her husband, Henry Carl Bock, lived on the top floor with their children Frederick, Henry, Elfrieda, Dora, and Edward. Henry Bock was a blacksmith who made horse shoes.
Henry Bock and Philippine E. Lattemer were both born in Germany about 1863. They were married on November 7, 1885–about three years after coming to America. The couple was living at 406 East 75th Street when they purchased the home and blacksmith shop.
One month before the fire, in October 1906, the Bock family moved to Seattle, Washington, and the Dill family purchased the property for $17,000. Born in Germany in 1880, Aloysius Dill married Anna Roeder in 1901. Like Bock, Dill was also a blacksmith who made horse shoes.
The Dill family remained in the home until moving to Hempstead, Long Island, sometime between 1925 and 1930.
The Henry Bock building was altered in 1917 and again in 1957. Over the years, the building has been occupied by a lumber company and an auto shop. Today, appropriately, the building houses Country Vets and the American Youth Dance Theater.
The Richard Riker Farm and Arch-Brook Mansion
The Henry Bock house was built on what was once the 12-acre farm of Richard Riker, a city recorder for New York. The farm straddled East 75th Street from the East River to about Second Avenue. Riker’s home, Arch-Brook Mansion, was on the East River.
The Henry Bock house was built on what was once the 12-acre farm of Richard Riker. Riker’s home, Arch-Brook Mansion, was on the East River.
The property goes back to the 1630s, when Dutch settlers used a rushing stream called the Saw Kill to power a saw mill on the East River. In 1677, George Elphinstone and Abraham Shotwell purchased the mill and converted it for leather manufacturing. It then passed on to Sarah Bradley Cox, a widow who married the famous Captain William Kidd.
Captain William Kidd
The Kidds used the mill farmhouse in summers for a few years until Kidd was hanged for piracy and murder in 1700. The land passed through several families until March 6, 1806, when it was sold at $30,000 in foreclosure to three brothers-in-law—Richard Riker, John Lawrence, and John Tom.
Following Tom’s death a year later, Riker and Lawrence divided the large farm in half, with Lawrence renovating the old farmhouse on his section and Riker building a stone, Georgian-style dwelling on his land in 1891.
According to Matilda Pratt Despard, author of “Old New York, From the Battery to Bloomingdale” (1875), “A brook ran through the grounds, and wound its way through the lawn to the river; and after he had built his house, Mr. Riker, in order to make a wide slope of unbroken lawn, threw over this brook an arch of solid masonry.” Reportedly, Riker named his mansion Arch-Brook for the stone arch.
The rural Riker estate on the East River at 75th Street. The landscaped lawn gently sloped to the riverbank. From Valentine’s Manual of New York 1866
Richard Riker died at Arch-Brook at the age of 69 on October 16, 1842. The Riker family divided the estate into city lots, two upon which the Henry Bock house, blacksmith shop, and stables were constructed. Arch-Brook was preserved for many more years, situated within the city block of 74th and 75th Streets, between Avenues A and B and a stone wall was built to protect it.
Richard Riker, 1826
During its final years, the home was occupied by the family of John Matthews, a wealthy businessman who made a fortune in the soda water business.
When Elizabeth Matthews died in the late 1890s, the house sat vacant, its high stone wall slowly eroding until there was little left of them. On July 7, 1899, The Sun announced that the building was going to be demolished to make way for a powerhouse for the Manhattan Elevated Railroad Company.
Now owned and operated by Con Edison, the powerhouse was completed in 1903.
The Manhattan Elevated Railway Company powerhouse is still standing today along the East River; albeit, now it is owned and operated by Con Edison. Museum of the City of New York Collections.
Could this be the Brooklyn Bridge Watchman with his cat? He was described as an old, grey-haired man “with a chinful of whiskers and a moustache,” so let’s pretend that it is!
Before the Brooklyn Bridge was built, there were tenements where the approaches are now. And in those tenement buildings–according to the Brooklyn Bridge watchman–were cats. Lots of cats. ( wonder if one of these cats was Ned of the Bridge, who christened the bridge in 1883?)
Speaking to a reporter from The Sun in 1895, the Brooklyn Bridge watchman explained that when the tenements came down, most of the cats roamed away. However, a few refused to leave, even when the buildings were reduced to ruins.
The Brooklyn Bridge workmen would sometimes feed the cats, but the felines had to become expert hunters in order to survive. “In time,” the Brooklyn Bridge watchman noted, “this activity made of them a superior race.”
The Brooklyn Bridge Watch Cat
On the day that The Sun reporter visited the Brooklyn Bridge watchman, he was using a long, straight stick to stroke his watch cat. The man explained that the grey cat with green eyes was better than a watch dog, and his abilities seemed unlimited. The cat could do everything but talk, but he was not entirely deficient in the vocal expression of ideas or facts.
The Sun, October 13, 1895
“Let a stranger open the gate when I’m at the other end of the yard,” said the Brooklyn Bridge watchman, “and up will jump that cat with arched back and swelled tail, and he yeowls in a voice that causes the stranger to stop and gasp. By the time the stranger gets through gasping, I’m there asking him his business.”
The Brooklyn Bridge watchman continued, “He’s a thoroughbred, that cat is. No stranger can touch that cat.” The man then lifted the cat up by its tail to demonstrate that the watch cat completely trusted his master.
Numerous tenement buildings were demolished to make way for the approaches to the Brooklyn Bridge. New York Public Library digital collections.
According to the Brooklyn Bridge watchman, the watch cat did not yeowl when a child entered the storage rooms on the Brooklyn side of the bridge. “He jumps up from his bed there in the dust beside the gate and makes for him with mouth and eyes wide open. Say! the kid don’t wait, he don’t He gits. I don’t know as the cat would hurt him or not. He ain’t never had a chance.”
The watch cat also never went after dogs. “If he did,” the watchman explained, “the dog ‘ud just open his mouth and swaller ‘im whole. He runs away from dogs like thunder.
“See that pile of lumber what’s no good? That’s where the cat goes to. He gits there ’bout three inches ahead of the dog, and while the dog’s closing up the gap ‘twixt ’em the cat turns around. When the dog starts coming for the gate the cat’s on his back a-clawing like slamnation, and holding on with his teeth.”
While the Brooklyn Bridge watchman talked about his cat, he began poking at piles of granite and stones. As the rats came out of the piles, the watch cat took a swipe at them, killing each one with his claws.
He then told the reporter a story about the cat and several dogs:
The Brooklyn Bridge watch cat was a large gray cat with green eyes, a large head, and a long nose. He had big shoulders and big hips and legs, but a narrow waist. The cat looked at people through the corner of his eyes, and the curl of his upper lip made it appears as if the cat was laughing at you.
“Last week a gang of three dogs comes into the gate. They thought they had a snap, those dogs did. They walks in, slow like, Hully, thought the leader of the gans, here’s a puss. Yip! The other dogs joined in the chase after the cat.
Talk about yelping and barking. I heard it–couldn’t a helped it, and I got into sight just as the cat got up to that pile of lumber. I hollered. I was afraid they’d kill him. They didn’t look at me even.
Say! you won’t believe me when I tell it, but the cat rode two of them to the gate, and clawed the other one with a hind paw. I ain’t afraid he’ll get killed, ‘cept with shot, now. He’ll lick five dogs.”
The Brooklyn Bridge Cat Tribe
In addition to the watch cat, several other cats made their home on or near the Brooklyn Bridge. Some of these felines used the approaches to get onto the bridge, while others would climb upon it.
One cat, the Brooklyn Bridge watchman noted, even took a ride on one of the street cars that traveled over the bridge. He happened to be on the car when the cat curled up in a nearby seat and started to purr. The watchman petted the cat for a bit until the cat disembarked on the Brooklyn side.
Other cats would try to make friends with the Brooklyn Bridge policemen, who would sometimes share their lunch with the felines. Some of the men would try to pet the cats, but even those who got fed the most would not allow humans to get near them. There were, as the Brooklyn Bridge watchman explained, members of the bridge cat tribe.
Some of the Brooklyn Bridge cats would try to befriend the police officers who guarded the bridge. NYPL digital collections
The following dog story of Old New York, taken from the pages of the New York Times and an old book published in 1922 (Dog Heroes of Many Lands by Sarah Nobel Ives) is about a fireman named James MacMurray and his life-saving fire dog, Robert Bruce. Despite countless hours of searching, I cannot determine which midtown (I assume) engine company they were assigned to. Perhaps someone can help me solve this mystery…
Robert Bruce MacMurray of Engine Company ?
When James MacMurray left his position as herdsmen of a large New Jersey stock farm in 1893 to become a member of the New York Fire Department, he brought along his constant companion, Robert Bruce, a well-trained black and tan “sheep dog.” The two-year-old collie was trained to herd sheep, so he had a lot to learn about herding fire horses in city traffic.
“You’ll not find a better,” the tall, red-headed man told the captain of the engine company. “Bruce has been with me upwards of two year, and a finer herder you’ll not find in New Jersey.”
It took him some time to get used to the noise and traffic, but pretty soon, Robert Bruce MacMurray was an official FDNY fire dog. Every evening he sat with the men in their sitting room on the top floor of the engine house, where they would tell stories, read, or play cards. He’d also help out to make sure the horses were properly rubbed down, groomed, and fed each day.
Robert Bruce always slept at the foot of MacMurray’s bed, and when the fire alarm clanked out its warning, he was down the stairs before the fastest fireman could slide down the pole. He would go to all the fires and gallop under the engine. Swift of foot and sure of eye, he never got in the way of firemen’s feet or horses’ hooves.
Twice during his first winter with the FDNY, Robert Bruce was responsible for saving lives. In the first incident he saved the lives of his beloved fire horses, and in the second event, he came to the rescue of his loving master.
The William Campbell Paper Factory Fire
New York World, October 19, 1893
At approximately 8 p.m. on October 18, 1893, James Sexton, a watchman for the William Campbell paper factory on 41st Street and 10th Avenue, was on one of the upper floors of the eight-story brick building when he saw flames coming from the adjacent Nevius & Haviland wall-paper factory.
Soon the fire spread to Campbell’s factory, causing Sexton to lose consciousness near a door on the ground floor. Fortunately, a police officer also saw the flames and was able to drag Sexton out the building before pulling the fire alarm.
Flames were bursting from the windows of both factories by the time the first of many fire companies arrived. In their rush and excitement, the firemen of Robert Bruce’s company forgot about the horses. Even fireman Pete Tinkum, who drove the engine that night, did not notice that the fire was beginning to spread at the corner of the block where his horses stood.
Since it was the dog’s job to stay with the engines during the fires, Robert Bruce was the first to notice the horse nearest the flames succumb to the heat and collapsed. He jumped from firemen to fireman to get their attention, but they were too occupied to pay the dog any mind. Finally, he jumped on Pete, who followed the frantic dog to the engine and saved the other horses just in time before they also suffocated.
The William Campbell Wallpaper Company occupied #514 to #520 West 42nd Street and #503 to #517 on West 41st Street between 10th and 11th Avenues, as noted on this 1885 map. Notice the large Consolidated Gas Company gas tanks to the left. The Grand Street Horse Car Depot, where a large fire took place five years earlier, was also nearby.
Bruce’s second heroic feat came soon after the factory fire, during a smoky fire at a tenement house on 20th Street. This fire filled the building with dense smoke, which made it very difficult for the firemen to find and rescue those residents who stayed inside and didn’t climb down the gutter spouts, hurl themselves from windows into nets, or fall to their deaths.
A tenement fire on Second Avenue is depicted in this 1869 image. New York Public Library Digital Collections
James MacMurray and his partner, Fireman Cummings, were groping their way along the hallway of a second-floor landing when MacMurray grabbed for a broken railing. Unbeknownst to Cummings, MacMurray stumbled and fell, landing under a staircase, where he lay barely conscious, stunned, and alone.
When they realized he was missing, Captain Warner and Cummings started searching through the building, but they couldn’t find him. They were just about to go for a ladder to get into the third floor when they heard Bruce barking inside. The dog appeared at the door and led the men to James.
The Livery Fire of 1899
Robert Bruce MacMurray’s greatest save came during the Great Blizzard in January 1899.
Following a day of constant alarms, another alarm for a fire at a large livery stable near Madison Avenue came in just after the men had finally gotten to bed. Because of the extreme cold and dangerous ice conditions, MacMurry ordered Robert Bruce to “bide at home.”
But the fire dog could not stay back and miss the action, so he took off after the engine. MacMurray spotted him on the fire scene, but he was too busy trying to put out the fire and save the 35 horses inside to reprimand his dog.
The livery fire took place in a large stable like this one, which was located in present-day Times Square at 42nd Street and 7th Avenue.
With the water freezing as soon as it sprayed from the hoses, the firemen knew they could not save the barn. So instead, they focused on leading the horses out of the burning building one by one. Panic seized the horses as they were led out, and they all returned to the stables, where the smoke was too dense for the firemen to rescue them again.
Suddenly, the former sheep-herding dog ran into the flames. “Hold your wits and look!” MacMurray told the worried men.
“Look, man, don’t you see the bonny laddie? He’s herdin’ them! He’s a herdin’ the horses like sheep, and they dare not disobey. He’s bitin’ their heels now. Look how they mind him!”
As a large crowd of firemen and civilians watched in awe, Bruce kept biting at them, jumping on them, and nipping at them to keep the horses from returning to the stable. The horses ran down the street toward Madison Avenue until Bruce herded them onto another side street. He held them against the wall of a brewery until the stable hands were able to lead them to shelter in other stables.
That evening, Robert Bruce MacMurray saved the lives of 20 horses.
The following week a delivery truck arrived at the firehouse with a package addressed to Robert Bruce MacMurray.
Inside was a leather box lined with satin that held a magnificent dog collar with a plate of solid gold tacked onto it that read: “Robert Bruce MacMurray, The Fire Dog, In grateful remembrance of services rendered on the night of January 27, 1899. From (owner) to the dog who saved the lives of twenty horses.”
If you enjoyed this tale, you may enjoy reading about the cat-saving fire dog of Brooklyn’s Engine Company No. 203.
