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.
A virtual presentation for the dogs and all dog lovers!
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 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 “Happy Hour” 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.
On this day in history, the business district of Huntington, Long Island, was reportedly “much disturbed” by a strange phenomenon “which was without precedent in the annals of local tradition or the memory of the oldest inhabitant.” According to The New York Times and Brooklyn Times Union, on that day, it rained cats in front of the Brush Block building on Main Street and New York Avenue.
The first person to notice the cats was James Madison Brush, president of the Bank of Huntington, and co-owner of the Brush Block building, where he also ran a general store. James was going about his business as usual when he noticed that his store was suddenly filled with feline customers of all shapes, sizes, and colors.
As James began leading the cats back outside, he was amazed to find the street filled with cats! For every cat he drove out of the store, 15 more rushed in. He told a reporter from the Brooklyn Times Union that he couldn’t walk anywhere without stepping on a cat.
Soon, every businessman in the neighborhood was hard at work chasing the cats out of their stores. Customers of the human kind could do nothing but walk cautiously along the sidewalk as the men used brooms to sweep cats out and hold others at bay. For more than an hour, the community was engaged in hunting out, dislodging, and pursuing the feline invaders.
Brooklyn Times Union, August 20, 1897
Although no one could say exactly how many cats there were, “Everybody was sure that the meteorological eccentricities of the season had culminated at last in a downpour such as had never before occurred, even on Long Island, where the air is likely at any time to yield strange things.”
Showers of toads, grasshoppers, small snakes, and fish were not infrequent in Huntington, but a downpour of cats led to all kinds of superstitions. Soon, everyone was calling their friends in other towns to ask, “Is it raining cats with you?”
The Brush Block, on the South East corner of Main Street and New York Avenue. This picture was taken about 10 years after it rained cats in front of this building.
Just as soon as the cats appeared, they all seemed to disappear. So, how were the people of Huntington to prove that they had not all gone cat crazy?
According to The New York Times, James had captured and kept one cat, thinking he could use it as evidence. But many argued that one cat was not enough to prove that it had rained cats on Main Street. (The cat ended up winning over James, who decided to keep the cat for his store.)
Real estate men suggested various schemes for using the phenomenon as a way of promoting the sale of lots in town. However, there was serious doubt that a reputation for having a deluge of cats would be to the town’s advantage, even if it was the only town in the world where such a thing had happened.
Cashier Conklin Lets the Cat of the Bag
Finally, it was Douglas Conklin, the cashier at the Bank of Huntington, who let the cat out of the bag. He told everyone that he had seen four men drive up Main Street in a wagon containing filled bags. The men drove down a side street, where they opened the bags and released the cats. Then they drove away.
Douglas said he did not know the men, but when he realized they were pulling a big practical joke on the town, he played along and remained quiet. It is not known where the cats went after they disappeared from the streets, but we can only hope that they all had homes to return to.
As the newspapers noted, the men obviously spent a lot of time and some money gathering all the cats (and how did they get them into the bags?!). It was surmised that they “exhausted the available cat supply of half a dozen Long Island towns.”
I’m wondering if these weren’t some of the excess postal cats that the New York City post office used to ship by mail bags to other post office sub-stations when the feline population got out of control…
The Brush Block Building
The Brush Block, sometime around 1900. Can you picture this scene with dozens of cats?
During the mid-1800s, the block on the south side of Main Street east of New York Avenue was occupied by a row of wood frame buildings. The general store owned by James Brush and his brother-in-law Henry S. Brush was in the two-story corner building (an attorney named Thomas Young rented the second floor). Next was the Bank of Huntington, a stationery store owned by Edward C. Grumman, and George F. Barr’s jewelry store.
At the end of what was called the Brush block was the post office; the law offices of Charles R. Street, who was also the postmaster, occupied rooms above the post office. To the east of this block of buildings were the carriage factory of Ebenezer Jarvis, James B. Scudder’s harness shop, and the Second Presbyterian Church.
On September 12, 1888, a large fire destroyed all the buildings along Main Street from New York Avenue to the Second Presbyterian Church. Henry and James quickly erected a new, three-story Brush Block building on the site, which was then one of the largest buildings in Huntington.
The building still exists, although it no longer has a third floor (part of the floor was removed in 1927 and the other part in 1937).
James Madison Brush
James Madison Brush, the son of James Madison Brush and Sarah Downing, was born on the old family farm at Old Fields (now Greenlawn) on November 20, 1845. Fifth in a family of 12 children, he was a descendant of Richard Brush, who settled in West Neck after emigrating from England in 1672.
When this map was created in the early 1900s, Frederick Brush had taken ownership of the eastern portion of the Brush farm in Greenlawn. Just to the north is Centerport, where my family has owned property since the 1920s. New York Public Library Digital Collections
Following his schooling at the local district school, Brush worked with Captain John Dickerson in his country store at Centerport for several years. After attending business college in Poughkeepsie, New York, he worked as a clerk in the general store of Rogers, Sammis and Scudder in the Village of Huntington.
James Madison Brush
In 1875, James and his brother-in-law, Supervisor Henry S. Brush, started a general store on Main Street in Huntington, which brought the men much success. Ten years later, he organized the private bank of James M. Brush & Co., which was later merged into the Bank of Huntington. Brush served as president of this bank until his death.
Brush died on January 29, 1902, following a diabetic incident at his home. He was survived by his wife, Emma, his daughter, Emma, and several siblings.
At the time of his death, Frederick Brush took over the eastern half of the family farm.
One of the many kittens featured in Regeneration, co-written and directed by Raoul Walsh.
One of the many positive things I have been doing during the COVID-19 pandemic is watching The Alienist, which is set in 1896 New York City. I’ve also been watching various old and classic movies also set in Manhattan. In addition to favorites such as West Side Story and Breakfast at Tiffany’s, I discovered a 1915 silent film called Regeneration, which was co-written and directed by Raoul Walsh.
I was pleased to find the complete film online. I was even happier to discover that the film starred several cats and one dog. Having written about Elizabeth Kingston, who rented cats from her Richmond Hill, Queens cattery to film studios during this same time period, I immediately wondered if any of the cats in this film were from her Kingston Kattery.
The first kitten to make a cameo appears in the opening scene of Regeneration (do you see it?), after Owen discovers he is now a poor orphan boy.
Cited as one of the first full-length gangster films, Regeneration tells the story of Owen, a poor orphan who is forced into a life of poverty after his mother dies. Using three actors of various ages, the film portrays Owen’s journey from his young life with abusive adoptive parents to his teenage years working on the docks and his adult years controlling the mob. One of the most memorable scenes–other than the cat and dog scenes–is a fire aboard an excursion ferry, much like the General Slocum disaster of 1904.
A few minutes into the film, several more cats appear on the steps with some children inside a dingy tenement building.
Regeneration was shot on location in New York City’s Lower East Side (down on the docks and the Bowery), and, in addition to several cats and one dog, the film used real prostitutes, gangsters, and homeless people as extras. It was the first film produced by Fox Film Corporation (a forerunner of the 20th Century Fox) and was released on September 13, 1915, to critical acclaim.
Regeneration also features one dog, who appears outside the window of Marie Deering, a benevolent social workers who reforms Owen.
Pets and animals were apparently a recurring theme in Walsh’s films. The majority of his many films featured dogs, but lions, horses, monkeys, seals, birds, and elephants also made appearances. In addition to Regeneration, cats had cameo roles in The Strawberry Blonde, and lions and tigers were featured in The Thief of Baghdad and Esther and the King.
The kitten from the opening scene makes another appearance–he was the star kitty!
Reporting on the feline film stars of the Kingston Kattery in 1916, The New York Sun said:
“These cats have been in more motion picture shows than most of the actors, and their acting reaps a nice harvest for their owner. They don’t get rattled when the camera man begins to grind, and seem to enjoy posing.” According to Miss Kingston, her tabbies “registered very well” (showed well on the screen), they photographed beautifully when it came to close-ups, and “they never turn a hair in the most thrilling of scenes and stunts.”
This orange tabby (I assume) was one of my favorites in the film.
The Cats of The Alienist
As an aside, if you enjoy psycho-killer movies (my favorite genre), have a strong stomach, and want to journey back in time to gritty Old New York in full color, I highly recommend this series. My husband and I binge-watched Season 1 in three days, and I can’t wait to delve into Season 2.
Not only does it bring 19th-century New York to life, but, like Regeneration, it also features some cameo cats (albeit, the scenes are gruesome, to say the least). My husband and I now look for cats in every episode. I must admit, though, I was quite disappointed that the scenes depicting Bellevue Hospital did not feature any cats. The director should have read my blog or consulted me first….just saying.
Some of the original cats of the Washington Heights shelter included Jack, Daisy, and Minnie from Brooklyn; Spotter and Monsie from Rockland County; and Minnie and Turtle Shell from 28th Street. The home also had a feline mascot named Cookie Edwards who was responsible for keeping the others in order.
The story of Caroline G. Ewen begins in the summer of 1890, when five women decided to devote their lives to improving the lives of city cats and dogs. They formed the Society to Befriend Domestic Animals, and set out to find the perfect house to rent in a remote part of the city so as to not disturb the neighbors. They found such a place in Washington Heights, on Amsterdam Avenue between 185th and 187th Street.
Their mission was “to provide shelter and food for the homeless and maltreated animals; to secure painless death for animals rendered decrepit by accident or incurable ailment; to secure through educative agencies the repression of all forms of cruelty to animals.”
All was fine and well for homeless cats until 1893, when the women were forced to leave the dilapidated farmhouse. Without a shelter to house the animals, they turned to another method to help “save” the feline population of New York City–mercy killing via chloroform.
For three years, an old farmhouse on Amsterdam Avenue served as a shelter for the cats. As one New York paper reported, the old farmhouse was “on the verge of dissolution” and its surroundings were “of the most dismal description.” A signboard outside the door was painted in white letters: “We speak for those who cannot speak for themselves. Home for friendless domestic animals. Compassion.” There were also holes cut in the door so the animals could come and go.
Armed with catnip, airtight baskets lined with oilcloth, and sponges saturated in chloroform, up to 20 volunteers would roam the streets late at night to “save the souls” of the homeless cats. They called themselves the Midnight Band of Mercy. Their main benefactor and volunteer was Caroline Ewen, the wealthy daughter of Civil War Brigadier General John Ewen and his wife, Maria.
Although several of the women were eventually arrested, and the Midnight Band of Mercy was disbanded, Caroline continued saving cats in a slightly more humane way–this time via cat hoarding at her home.
Caroline Ewen and Her 80 to 180 Cats
New York Evening World, August 5, 1894
In August 1904, two of Caroline’s neighbors at 103 and 107 East 101st Street petitioned the Board of Health regarding the nightly concerts of 80 or more fat and sassy cats sheltered in the woman’s three-stone brownstone at 105 East 101st Street. “It is not that we object to Miss Ewan’s humane impulses in caring for all the stray and homeless felines of the neighborhood, but the noise of her pets is something wonderful,” the petitioners said. “It is enough to drive a strong man with a newly-signed pledge in the pocket to drink.”
According to petitioners Jacob Thorman and J. Kaplan, “There are bass cats and soprano cats, tenor cats and contraite cats, but there is no feline to drill them and make them sing in unison or harmony. I am fond of good music, but I do not consider eighty cats singing in eighty keys and eighty kinds of time good music.”
The circa 1890 brownstones at 101 and 103 East 101st Street. Caroline Ewen’s brownstone was just to the right. Park Avenue is to the left. New York Public Library digital collections
Here is a recent floor plan for Caroline Ewen’s home at 105 East 101st Street. Can you image dozens of cats in every room, on the roof deck, and in the backyard?
Reportedly, Caroline had moved into the home a year prior. At that time, she had only three cats and three servants. But then she made an offer to the little neighborhood boys that they couldn’t refuse: for every stray, hungry, and homeless feline they brought her, she would pay them ten cents. In return, they had to pledge to be kind to all living creatures and to protect them from cruelty.
Here is the wording that was on the back of pledge card, which also featured a picture of a dog and cat fraternizing. Every boy with a cat received a dime and this card:
In addition to what one neighbor described as “mangy cats,” some of the boys also brought her well-fed kitties that already had homes. So, Caroline had to remind them that she would only pay for homeless cats. By the summer of 1904, Caroline Ewen had anywhere from 80 to 180 cats, as estimated by her neighbors.
According to The Sun, one of Caroline’s aims was to reform bad street cats by bringing them indoors and introducing them to “the joys of gentle domesticity.” To prevent the indoor cats from falling out the windows, Caroline put screens in all her windows.
After restoring the cats to good health, she looked for families to adopt them. Dewey, an all-white cat who looked like “an admiral on the quarter-deck,” was one such former wicked kitty who had learned good manners.
Caroline wouldn’t say how many cats she had, but she did admit she had a lot. She also said that she refused to listen to her neighbor’s complaints, and would continue to rescue and care for starving and homeless cats as long as she wished and without regard to how her neighbors felt about it.
New York Sun, August 27, 1904
Well, it wasn’t long before a health inspector from the Board of Health showed up at Caroline’s house. At first he told the neighbors there was nothing he could do, but when they all threatened to move if he didn’t deal with their complaints, he told the cat lover that she would have to move.
“Yes, I expect to move,” she told a reporter from The Sun. “I shall go somewhere on the West Side, where my friends are, and where people can sympathize with my love for cats. What harm do my cats do anybody?”
I’m not sure where Caroline Ewen ended up next, but by 1910 she was living at 23 West 86th Street, just to the west of Central Park. In those days, Central Park was a haven for stray cats and dogs, so I wouldn’t be surprised if they ate many of their meals at Caroline’s house.
Brigadier General John Ewen
Brigadier General John Ewen
Caroline Ewen was one of four children of John Ewen, a brigadier general in New York State’s National Guard during the Civil War.
Ewen, a civil engineer by trade, took part in surveying and laying out the village of Williamsburg in Brooklyn. During his illustrious career he also served as the chief engineer for the New York and Harlem Railroad, as New York City’s Street Commissioner and, later, as Comptroller. He was subsequently elected president of the Pennsylvania Coal Company (the hamlet of Port Ewen, New York, where the company had a coal depot, was named for him).
During the 1840s, John and his brother Daniel established their country estates on about 150 acres that were once part of the Frederick Van Cortlandt estate in the Bronx (then Westchester County), between Kingsbridge and Riverdale. When John Ewen died at the age of 67 in 1877, Caroline and her two sisters–Louise and Eliza–inherited about $1 million from their father.
Caroline Ewen Bequeaths Her Estate to Stray Cats
Brooklyn Daily Eagle, December 14, 1913
Caroline Ewen died at the age of 73 on April 12, 1913, at her home at 45 West 92nd Street. According to several newspapers, her will stipulated that all but $500 of her personal holdings (cash and real estate totaling about $300,000) go to various societies dedicated to serving homeless and suffering dogs, cats, and other animals in New York, Boston, Philadelphia, London, Rome, Naples, and the Island of Madeira.
Some of the beneficiaries included the Humane Society of New York City, the Animal Rescue League of Boston, and the “Cat’s House” in London (aka, The London Institution for Lost and Starving Cats).
Unfortunately, some of these agencies provided only temporary shelter for cats born outside of the aristocratic class before killing them with chloroform. According to the Brooklyn Daily Eagle, for example, the announcement that the Ewen estate had bequeathed $50,000 to the London cat house caused quite a flutter of excitement among the nurses who worked at this facility, but the cats may not have been so joyful:
“Altogether, there is quite a noticeable change in the conduct of the ordinary London cat since the news of this remarkable legacy reached this side. He evidently realizes that a substantial bank balance at the Institution means a curtailment of his liberty and an earlier consignment to the lethal chamber unless he is able to carry about with him evidence of a distinguished pedigree.”
The London home for cats; Brooklyn Daily Eagle, December 14, 1913
Some of the feline “beneficiaries” hanging out on the roof at the London home for cats.
The nurses who took care of the pampered aristocratic cats at London’s cat home were thrilled to learn of the large donation.
The Ewen Family Estate Goes to the Cats and Dogs
Three years after Caroline died, her sister Eliza offered five acres of her portion of the family estate to the New York City Parks Commissioner, Borough of the Bronx. The deal was that the city had to create a park called Ewen Park in honor of her father, and Eliza had to be allowed to live in her house and have full use of the buildings and grounds until she died. The park was designed in 1935, following her death.
This 1916 photo shows the John Ewen estate, which was located on land overlooking Kingsbridge in the Bronx. Today, this is the site of the Ewen Park. Appropriately, a fenced-in dog run is located on the site of the former house.
The Ewen home was located near 231st Street between Johnson and Riverdale Avenues (center of map). A large greenhouse with Ewen’s prized collection of plants adjacent to the home burned down in 1904. NYPL digital collections
In October 1921, a year after the death of Louise Ewen, 162 lots along the Spuyten Duyvil Parkway (now Manhattan College Parkway), 231st Street, Riverdale Avenue, and adjacent thoroughfares were sold at auction. The sale marked the breaking down of a major barrier in the development of Riverdale by opening a tract of land that had been held by the Ewens and two other families for nearly 250 years.
The property was originally part of the Frederick Van Cortlandt Estate, established from 1768 to 1788. James R. Whiting purchased 200 acres in 1836, and then he sold about 150 acres to General John Ewen and his brother Daniel, who both established their country estates on the land.
New York Herald, October 20, 1921
Per the wills of Caroline and Louise, more than half of the proceeds from the auction sale–$50,000–was donated to the same humane societies that benefited from Caroline’s personal inheritance when she died in 1913.
Several people contested the sisters’ wills, including nephew John Ewen (Eliza’s son), and Otto von Koenitz, an ex-convict and much younger ex-husband of Louise who had once falsely claimed that he was a baron (very long, complex story). The court held the wills of both sisters were valid.
By the way, I do not know how many cats Caroline had when she died, but I do know that her sister Louise adopted her beloved cat, Petie. As the story goes, Caroline was going to have Petie euthanized when she died to prevent him from being mistreated; instead, he lived another seven years with Louise. He was euthanized and buried alongside Louise after she died in January 1920 at her home at 151 West 86th Street.
Now, if only I knew where Louise was buried. There is a Ewen family buried at Old St. Raymond’s Cemetery in the Bronx, but looking at the dates on the gravestone, it appears to be a different family. So this is a still a mystery…
This illustration from the Syracuse Herald in 1921 depicts the late Louise Ewen with a servant and a portrait of her former husband. Could this be Petie on her lap?
Caroline Ewen’s three-story brownstone on East 101st Street (middle) as it looks today. I wonder if there are any cats in the backyard?
