A virtual presentation for all dog lovers and New York City history buffs!
Back by popular demand for the dog lovers and the cat people who also love dogs!
In the late 1800s and early 1900s, Pomeranians, terriers, bulldogs, and other small breeds were extremely popular with socialites of the “fairer sex” and starlets of stage and screen. Pet dogs were as much a status symbol for these wealthy ladies as were their diamonds and furs. Many women of the Gilded Age loved their dogs more than they loved their children or husbands.
Join me and the Boonton Holmes Public Library on a virtual tour of Old New York as I share fascinating and hilarious stories of wealthy and eccentric women and the pampered pooches they adored. Hear about:
Meet Aimee Crocker, a wealthy heiress who enjoyed collecting things, including bulldogs (at least 25) and husbands (5).
The spoiled monkey griffon responsible for America’s first doggie day care at the Plaza Hotel
The French poodle with a $1 million dog yard on Fifth Avenue
The terrier that inspired Margaret Wise Brown’s last children’s picture book
The pug reportedly buried with her humans at Green-Wood Cemetery—and more!
Fun for dog lovers and New York City history fans alike!
TO REGISTER: This is a free event. To get your personal Zoom link, send an email to registrations@boontonholmeslibrary.org and put “Dog Days” in the subject line. You will then get the link and code to use on the day of the presentation. If you don’t receive a code from the library, please contact me on the day of the event and I can share my code with you.
Author Events
I am available for virtual author events across the United States and in-person presentations in the New York City metropolitan region (including northern New Jersey and the Hudson Valley). If your organization or library is interested in hosting a program, please visit my Author Events page for more information.
Join me and the Greater Astoria Historical Society for a free, one-hour virtual tour of Old Queens. I will take you back in time to explore the history of Queens via amazing stories about cats, dogs, elephants, and other animals that made the newspaper headlines in the 1800s and early 1900s.
Hear about… • The pig that dug up a pot of gold in Sunnyside • The ten elephants that escaped from the Ruhe Wild Animal Farm in Woodside • The squad of Long Island Railroad canine detectives who used their noses to bring more than 100 criminals to justice • The jet-setting feline mascot for the TWA pilots at the brand-new La Guardia Airport • The circus tiger that escaped and was captured in a backyard on Woodside Avenue • The tiny Pomeranian who stopped an Astoria BMT train on the tracks during rush hour
Register Today
To register for this free event, please send an email to info@astorialic.org with “Animals” in the subject line. On the day of the event you will receive a link at about 6 p.m. to join us on Zoom.
Author Events
I am available for virtual author events across the United States and in-person presentations in the New York City metropolitan region (including northern New Jersey and the Hudson Valley). If your organization or library is interested in hosting a program, please visit my Author Events page for more information.
On September 16, 1910, The New York Times ran a small article about a want-ad soliciting 300 cats for performances at the Manhattan Opera House on 34th Street. The stage director would accept all cats–with or without stage experience–to take part in the production of “Hans, the Flute Player.”
The comedic opera was going to be the opening act for Oscar Hammerstein’s newly branded venue on West 34th Street.
According to a full review of the play in The New York Times, “Hans, the Flute Player” is set in the imaginary village of Milkatz, once celebrated for its dolls, but now for its grain and commerce. Hans, who carries a magic flute, lures all the cats from their homes in order to drown them. This allows him to release the mice that he carries in a cage on his shoulder, so that they may destroy all the grain.
Oh yes, I see comedy written all over this scene.
The press agent explained that all cats for consideration should be brought to the stage door the following morning at 10. (I can picture the chaotic cat scene now; comedic opera indeed!) The opera in three acts was scheduled to open in a week, leaving little time to find and train 300 cats.
Hans, the Flute Player was adapted from the French opera by Maurice Vaucaire and Georges Mitchell. It was produced by Oscar Hammerstein and featured music by M. Louis Ganne and lyrics by A. St. John Brennan.
According to the “want-ad” for the cats, the felines were not required to sing. All they had to do was appear for a few moments at the end of the first scene, when the flute player–a sort of second cousin to the Pied Piper of Hamelin–lured them with his magic flute.
The plan was to have all the cats come “snooping out of the front doors and back gates of the stage residences, and surround the principal baritone while he plays on a property flute with the aid of the orchestra. That is all the cats will have to do, absolutely.”
(Note: the opera ends happily, with the departure of the mice and the safe return of the cats to their cozy Milkatz homes.)
I have no idea if the stage director thought through all the logistics: How would they gather and collect all the cats when the scene was over? Who would care for the cats during the two-month run at the theater? What if the cats had to relieve themselves while on stage? How would 300 cats perform together without getting into any cat fights? Where would the cats go after the show ended?
Luckily, the ASPCA came to the rescue before all these issues and more had to be addressed by Oscar Hammerstein and his crew.
The ASPCA Comes to the Rescue
One week before the comedic opera was scheduled to open, an article about the cats appeared in the Topeka Daily Capital. “Oscar Hammerstein’s hopes that 300 howling cats, real ones, would make Richard Strauss music at the opening of the Manhattan Opera House next Tuesday, were ended today by the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals. Several hundred cats were at the stage door, but they did not get inside.”
Topeka Daily Capital, September 19, 1910
According to this article, the plan was not to have the cats come snooping from behind doors, but to have them suspended from wires above the stage. As explained by stage director Jacques Coini, when the piper marched toward the painted river, the cats would be lowered with a rush. The reporter noted, “They were counted upon to become frightened and utter the usual unearthly yowls.”
The morning after the help-wanted ad for cats appeared, a young man drove up to the stage door of the Manhattan Opera House with a wagon filled with a few hundred cats. He began selling the cats for $7 each to people who thought they would get a higher price from Hammerstein.
Soon a hubbub was heard up Thirty-fifth Street. It grew nearer and out of the dust emerged two flying figures. In the lead was a boy with two cats under his arms. He was pursued by a middle-aged man in his shirt sleeves and wearing a cobbler’s apron. They arrived at the stage door together. The man seized the cats, shouting that the boy had stolen them.
A few minutes later, ASPCA Superintendent (and cat-man hero) Thomas F. Freel arrived in the animal ambulance. He asked how the cats were going to be used. When he learned that they were desired primarily for their yowls, he said: “If those cats are used, I’ll see that the performance is stopped.”
“I’ve been hiring human cats for so long it seems to me they ought to let me have a few real ones,” muttered Oscar Hammerstein. He told the reporter he would use stuffed cats for the scene.
A day after the opening show, The New York Times gave it a very positive review. Even the stuffed cats got a brief mention: “The rain of municipal kitties comes at the end of the first act, and is a spectacle worthy of attention.”
Oscar Hammerstein’s Manhattan Opera House
Built by Oscar Hammerstein, grandfather of the famous lyricist, in 1906, the Manhattan Opera House was meant to be a lower-priced alternative to the fancier Metropolitan Opera. Although the opera house was successful, it folded as a venue for grand opera in 1910 when the Met bought off its competition–Hammerstein–for $1.2 million.
Manhattan Opera House at 311 West 34th Street, between 8th and 9th Avenues.
Under the 1910 agreement with the Met, Hammerstein had to promise that he would not produce grand opera again in New York for 10 years. “Hans, the Flute Player” was not a grand opera, so Hammerstein got away with running this comedic opera after signing the agreement with the Met.
The old Manhattan Opera House.
The three-balcony Manhattan Opera House had seating for 3,000 people.
In 1922, after several years as a vaudeville and movie house, the opera house was purchased by the Ancient and Accepted Scottish Rite of Freemasonry, who added several floors and made extensive renovations. Basically, they built a new, more modern building over the shell of the former opera house.
The building was renovated again in 1938; the former theater gained in popularity over the years as a meeting place for unions and political groups, such as the Communist Party and the John Birch Society.
The old Manhattan Opera House after major reconstruction.
During the late 20th century, the building was owned by the Unification Church, which also owned the adjoining New Yorker Hotel on Eighth Avenue. Called the Manhattan Center, it featured audio and video studios, a computer graphics shop, and a large hall on the seventh floor that was perfect for recording classical music and hosting special events.
The Manhattan Center was constructed over the old Manhattan Opera House.
Today, The Manhattan Center comprises the Grand Ballroom, the Hammerstein Ballroom, and the Manhattan Center Studios (TV and sound production studios). In recent years, the building has been used for trade shows, concerts, game shows, special events, and radio shows.
If you enjoyed this tale, you may also like reading about the cats that starred in a musical comedy called the “Soap Bubble” at the Grand Street Museum in Williamsburg.
This story about the pet cat of Edwin Gould is a sad summer tale, but it provides a window into a world in which the wealthy treated their jewels and other inanimate objects far better than their pets.
This photo allegedly depicts a deserted pet cat on the steps of the Edwin Gould residence, West 56th Street and Fifth Avenue. New York Evening World, September 8, 1902.
On September 8, 1903, the New York Evening World reported that a gray and white cat had been living on the steps of the Edwin Gould house at 7 West Fifty-Sixth Street for more than a week. The reporter surmised that she may have been a family pet that was left behind when the Goulds left the city house and went to their new country estate on the Hudson River at the start of the summer.
Passersby said the emaciated cat looked like a former pet cat that had once seen better days. Others thought that perhaps the cat was one of the many forgotten pet cats who spent their summers scavenging from the garbage pails in the nearby Central Park when their wealthy owners left town.
New York Evening World, September 8, 1902.
Whichever theory was true, the poor kitty had been spending every day lounging on the stoop or standing on the window sill and peering inside the empty house. The only time she left the house was when a stray dog chased her away, or when a more fortunate pet dog walked by with its owner.
At night, she kept the neighborhood awake with her cries.
I don’t know what happened to this poor cat, but I have a feeling it did not have a fairy-tale ending. According to the ASCPA, cats were abandoned more than any other family pet when the well-to-do of the Gilded Age left their city homes to spend the summer abroad or at a country estate.
Although some wealthy families boarded their cats for the summer, and a few lucky cats, like Rusty of the Algonquin Hotel, traveled with their owners to their summer homes. many cats were left behind. Way too many abandoned cats were picked up by the ASPCA and sent to the gas chamber if no one came to claim them within a few days.
The Mystery of the Edwin Gould Story
As I was writing this story, I discovered a few discrepancies with the Evening World news article. The first thing I noticed was that the cat appears to be “Photoshopped” in the picture from the Evening World. It looks like the photographer took a picture of the stoop and then superimposed another photo of a cat on top of that, giving the cat an odd, 3D appearance.
I’m not even sure if the stoop belongs to 7 West 56th Street either. If you compare the architectural details of the photo above with the photo below, there are quite a few differences. (I don’t know when the photo below was taken, so the house could have undergone extensive renovations.)
This is the house at 7 West 56th Street (right). New York Public Library Digital Collections
The second problem is that Edwin Gould did not live at 7 West 56th Street. According to an article in the New York Herald, William H. Garden owned the home on 56th Street.
Edwin Gould lived in the mansion directly across the street from this house, at 720 Fifth Avenue. Big difference.
The five-story, 50-foot mansion on Fifth Avenue was constructed in 1879 for a millionaire named George Kemp, who made his fortune in perfumes and body-splashes. Kemp died in the home in 1893, and his wife passed away in 1897. Shortly after her death, the home was leased to Edwin Gould.
This is the former Gould mansion at 720 Fifth Avenue. When this photo was taken, the building was already undergoing demolition. I don’t see a stoop. Library of Congress
The Goulds lived in this home at least until 1908. Although they made extensive renovations to the mansion, it doesn’t appear to have any stoops on which a cat could sit. I have a feeling the reporter may have exaggerated the story to get a larger headline, but that’s my opinion only, based on the facts provided.
In 1911, the Duveen Brothers, dealers in fine art, leased the building at 720 Fifth Avenue for a term of 20 years. In October 1952, Emery Roth & Sons designed the $1.25 million, 15-story office building that still stands today. Directly across the street on Fifth Avenue is Trump Tower.
The Very Charitable Edwin Gould, Sr.
“Edwin was probably the happiest of the Goulds, and he might well have been the richest of them all, had he not persisted in giving away large sums of capital and much of his annual, income each year.”–The New York Times
Edwin Gould was born in Manhattan on February 26, 1866. The son of railroad magnate and financier Jay Gould and Helen Day Miller, Edwin was born into wealth and privilege. With a very large inheritance and three years of studies at Columbia University under his belt, he was worth $20 million by the time he turned 27 (including $8 million that he made on his own, without his family’s help).
Edwin Gould, Sr.
In 1892, Edwin married Sarah Cantine Shrady. The couple had two children: Frank Miller Gould and Edwin Gould, Jr., who died during a hunting accident in 1917 at the age of 23 (he accidentally shot himself with his own gun).
In 1902, Edwin Gould purchased 88 acres of land in the Wickers Creek section of Dobbs Ferry on the Hudson River (the present site of Mercy College). There, he built a 40-room mansion of Spanish architecture.
The Goulds call their estate “Agawam.” It may have been here that the family spent the summer of 1903, leaving their alleged cat behind.
According to historians, it was during the funeral services for Edwin Jr. that Edwin Gould decided to devote the rest of his life to helping children. Apparently, the children of a local children’s home called Sheltering Arms sent a large basket of roses–one rose for each child–to the funeral home.
Edwin and Sarah were already friends and benefactors of the home (they often gave the children circus tickets and ice cream), but it was this special memorial to their son that inspired the couple to devote their fortune and time to kids in need. Over the years, thousands of young people benefited from the schools, parks, playgrounds, and other facilities that the Goulds helped finance.
Edwin Gould with some children of Sheltering Arms.
In 1923, Edwin established the Edwin Gould Foundation for Children to ensure that his legacy and commitment to helping children would continue after his death. He died at his summer home in Oyster Bay, Long Island, on July 11, 1933, at the age of 67. He was buried in the family plot at Woodlawn Cemetery.
Russell Sage and his second wife, Olivia Slocum Sage, reportedly had two cats of the Maltese variety, who had full run of the Sage’s Fifth Avenue mansion. One report said the cats were named Milo and Melita; another said the missing cat was named Malta.
On August 31, 1905, The New York Times and the New-York Tribune reported that Malta, the pet Maltese cat of 89-year-old Russell Sage and his 77-year-old wife, Olivia, was missing. The cat lived with the Sages at their five-story mansion at 632 Fifth Avenue, which was next door to the Vanderbilt and Goulet mansions and directly across from St. Patrick’s Cathedral (now the site of the Rockefeller Center Channel Gardens).
According to the reports, the cat was 12 years old, and she had never before run away from home. She was a well-loved member of the family, and considered to be a faithful friend.
Russell Sage at the age of 87 in 1903.
Russell Sage apparently enjoyed playing with Malta and her brother cat, Milo, after dinner. It was reportedly one of the very few relaxing activities the hard-working multi-millionaire allowed himself to do, even in his final years of life.
Much as been written about the successful financier, but let’s just say that everything Sage touched seemed to turn to gold. He was what some people today would call a winner.
Russell Sage’s road to success began in 1874, when he bought a seat on the New York Stock Exchange. Seeing a great future in the railroad industry, Sage purchased stocks in small western railroads; he made a fortune when the major railways purchased the small systems.
In later years, Sage served as director for many companies, including the Western Union telegraph company, the Union Pacific Railroad, and the Manhattan consolidated system of elevated railroads–to name only a few. He worked out of a circa 1859 brownstone office building at 71 Broadway, and, following a dynamite explosion there, at 31 Nassau Street.
In 1891, Henry L. Norcross entered Sage’s office at 71 Broadway (pictured here in 1895), claiming he needed to discuss railroad bonds. Norcross gave Sage a letter demanding $1.2 million, which Sage declined to pay. Norcross was carrying a bag of dynamite, which exploded, killing Norcross, wounding Sage, and severely wounding a clerk. This structure was replaced in 1897 by the 21-story Empire Building. New York Public Library Digital Collections
The Sages Offer a $10 Reward
Following the cat’s disappearance, Mr. and Mrs. Sage offered a $10 reward for the cat’s safe return. Many people brought cats to their residence with hopes of cashing in on the reward. Sadly, no one returned Malta. (Businessman Christian Gudebrod ran into a similar problem when his cat Snooperkatz went missing from his Broadway shop in 1894.)
When a newspaper reporter checked in on the family to see if they had any luck with the reward, Mr. Sage’s aged Irish maid spoke kindly of the pet, in a soft tone as if speaking of the dead:
Never did he stray out on back fences like common cats. He never did give us no trouble before, an’ now the fat old rascal has to go and run away. He wouldn’t ha’ followed anybody off, because he was a strange old devvil, never takin’ up wid nobody. That’s the reason we knew a fellow here tonight was tellin’ a story when he said our cat had followed him.”
Malta lived with the Sages at 632 Fifth Avenue, which was the former home of Charles Broadway Rouss (far right). When this photo was taken in 1920 photo, the home had been converted to a retail clothing shop called Joseph, Inc. Museum of the City of New York Collections
Now, Russell Sage was not known for his generosity. He was reportedly mean-spirited and stingy (although many people in the financial world referred to him with some affection as Uncle Russell).
Over the course of his long life he accumulated about $70 million in cash, securities, and real estate. By 1900, he was the wealthiest man in America.
Unfortunately for the many needy charities in New York and throughout the country, he kept it all to himself. He was not a charitable man (albeit, he did once loan $125,000 to a Brooklyn church at 6% interest and another time he gave a small amount of money to a family member who was ill).
Several out-of-state newspapers blatantly quipped about his greed when reporting on the $10 reward for Malta the cat:
One newspaper noted that Malta must have been “a pretty darned slick cat for which Russell Sage would let go of $10.” Another paper stated, “Such extravagance is calculated to interfere sadly with Uncle Russell’s plan to live to be a hundred years old.”
Multiple papers picked up on an article that said the story of a $10 reward must be fake news. And a Chicago newspaper said that Mrs. Sage’s “frugal husband must realize that it would be cheaper to go out and buy an entirely new cat.”
The Courier-News, Bridgewater, New Jersey
Russell Sage died at his summer home on Long Island on July 22, 1906. Although he gave a few thousand dollars here and there to a handful of heirs (nieces and nephews), he left most of his entire fortune to his wife.
The newspapers were not kind to the millionaire. As one New Jersey paper noted, “Russell Sage knew no other god than the Golden Calf, which he worshipped religiously since boyhood. The world was not a better place for him having lived in it.”
Olivia Sage devoted a major portion of the money she inherited from her stingy husband to philanthropy. A former teacher and native of Syracuse, Mrs. Sage strongly supported education, both with program and building grants to Syracuse University and other universities. In 1907 she established the Russell Sage Foundation, and in 1916 she founded Russell Sage College in Troy, New York, which is where her husband was born.
About 10 years before her death, a feature story about Mrs. Sage in the Paterson Morning Call noted the following:
During the lifetime of her husband, Mrs. Sage would sometimes say to him, ‘If I had millions at my disposal I would make many persons happy.’ Mr. Sage replied, “My dear, if you had millions at your disposal many persons would make you very unhappy.”
The kindhearted and generous Olivia Sage died on November 4, 1918, also at the age of 90. I’m sure she died at peace, knowing that she had used the millions at her disposal to make many persons happy.
