Cats in the Mews: March 27, 1904

New York Sun, March 28, 1904
Kittens at Bishop Potter's Confirmation at Church of the Archangel
New York Sun, March 28, 1904

Six months after a brand-new Episcopal Church of the Archangel on St. Nicholas Avenue in Harlem was heavily damaged by fire in 1903, Bishop Henry Codman Potter administered the sacramental rite of confirmation at a new all-brick edifice still under construction. It was the first service held in the new church since the fire.

Because the main body of the church had not yet been completed, the service took place in the congregation’s Neighborhood Guild Hall. The large hall was located in the basement of a five-story rectory and “apartment building” attached to the church proper, and could accommodate 1,200 people.

Bishop Henry Codman Potter administered confirmation at the Church of the Archangel.
Bishop Henry Codman Potter (May 25, 1834 – July 21, 1908) was the seventh Bishop of the Episcopal Diocese of New York.

On the day of the inaugural service with Bishop Potter, the hall was filled to capacity. But that didn’t stop a mother cat and her two kittens from squeezing in and attending the service. Apparently, Mama cat believed her two youngsters deserved to be confirmed in the church also.

Mama Cat Presents Her Kittens

According to the New York Sun, lay reader Allen Davidge Marr was just giving out the second lesson when one of the women in the choir let out out a loud cry. The woman was apparently the first to spot a ginger cat, who had been hiding behind Bishop Potter’s chair.

The cat ran into the north choir stalls, then back into the sanctuary, before making her way down the aisle and through the front door. While the younger members of the church attempted to hold back their merriment, Bishop Potter could only suppress a smile as best he could.

The congregation and the choir resumed its singing, but that did not last long. Soon, everyone in the front pew stopped singing. Like today’s “waves” at giant stadiums and auditoriums, the silence made its way pew by pew to the southern end of the large room, until only the members of the choir remained singing.

Bishop with a cat
Looking at this painting, one can imagine the mother church cat running out from under Bishop Potter’s red robe.

There, occupying the most prominent place on a platform that was currently serving as the sanctuary, stood the mother cat. She took one look around, and then quickly disappeared. When she returned, she was carrying a wee yellow kitten in her mouth. Everyone in the front pews put their heads in their hands and trembled with suppressed laughter.

Once again, the mother cat disappeared. There was a deep sigh of relief from the north aisle, and the singing resumed.

A few seconds later, Mama cat darted out from behind Bishop Potter’s crimson robe, and then vanished again under the robes of the ministers near the choir stalls. “Then, as the hymn burst forth with renewed vigor, she appeared on the platform exhibiting yellow kitty No. 2.”

The bishop sent a small boy up to the platform to encourage the mother cat to leave. Instead, the little boy grabbed one of the kittens, causing Mama cat to clutch her other kitten and make a made dash across the platform. When she realized her second kitten was missing, she scurried up the north aisle, across the stage, and back over the platform to where she had last seen her little one. A small “meow” coming from the direction of the boy led her to her kitten, which she carried away to safety.

The hymn came to an end and the confirmation service for the 30 young children began–albeit, without the two kittens.

A Brief History of the Church of the Archangel
All Soul's Church -- previously the Church of the Archangel -- surrounded by the Carvel Court and Warwick apartment buildings, around 1908. Museum of the City of New York Collections
The Church of the Archangel — now All Soul’s Church — surrounded by the Carvel Court and Warwick apartment buildings, around 1908. Museum of the City of New York Collections

The Episcopal Church of the Archangel was established as a Harlem mission sometime around 1894 by Rev. Dr. T.M. Peters, the Archdeacon of New York. For some time, services were held in hired rooms; later, the diocese purchased a lot on Harlem Avenue (now St. Nicholas Avenue) at 117th Street for 30,000 and constructed a simple church. The church’s first pastor was Rev. Ralph Kenyon.

In 1897, The New York Times described the Church of the Archangel as follows:

A pretty little church that brightened up Harlem Avenue, composed of vacant lots when it was built, and gave bright promise of welcome to the Episcopalians who should come to live in the neighborhood when that neighborhood was built up. It made no great architectural pretensions. The building is only one story high and simple in its outlines. But there is a touch of stained-glass about the windows and the interior is warm and agreeable in coloring. A very nice little church, indeed.”

Soon after Rev. Kenyon resigned from the parish around 1897, the church fell on hard times. The Roman Catholic Church of St. Thomas the Apostle, which was constructing its own church around the block on 118th Street, purchased the simple church. Reportedly, Father John J. Keogan wanted to prevent it from being purchased by the Salvation Army.

The Catholic congregation held services in the little Episcopalian church until its own edifice was completed. The small church was then used as a school for 900 students, until the building burned down on April 13, 1913.

Rev George Starkweather Pratt, Church of the Archangel

After the Church of the Archangel was sold, Rev. George Starkweather Pratt took over the congregation. The first service under his pastorship took place in the crypt of the Cathedral of St. John the Divine; services were also held in various dance halls in Harlem.

Under Rev. Pratt’s leadership, the parish eventually expanded and prospered as more families moved into the neighborhood.

By the end of 1899, Rev. Pratt had erected a temporary worship hall on St. Nicholas Avenue at 114th Street. One year later, the small hall was surrounded by two brand-new, 7-story apartment buildings. The new apartment buildings — the Warwick Apartments and the Carvel Crown Apartments — created a challenge for the congregation, which had been planning to construct a permanent church on its now sandwiched-in lot.

Enter Janes & Leo, the architects hired to design a new Church of the Archangel. Their solution was to design a combo church and rectory, which had never been done before (at least not in New York City). The newspapers called the design a “novel experiment” in church architecture.

Surrounding apartment buildings posed a challenge for the architects of the Church of the Archangel in Harlem

The new structure would be half residential and half ecclesiastical, with a five-story brick structure facing the street and a one-story frame building extending into the rear of the long-but-narrow lot. The structure facing the street would serve as a rectory and apartment building, and the rear of the structure would be the church proper. The entrance to the church would be through a formal church door that lead into a passageway running through and under the home of the rector.

The night before the grand new church was scheduled to open for services, it was severely damaged in a fire of unknown origin.

On the evening of September 27, 1903, Policeman Goodrich of the West 125th Street police station discovered a fire coming from the vestibule of the frame church. As flames pierced the windows and roof, all available fire apparatus above 59th Street were summoned to the blaze.

The Church of the Archangel was destroyed by fire in September 1903.
New York Times, September 27, 1903

The heat of the flames burst the windows in the Carvel Court Apartments at 80 St. Nicholas Avenue, causing the sashes to catch fire. An elevator boy ran the elevator up to the top floor to alert residents, and then stopped on each floor to warn everyone to get out of the building.

On the other side of the church, at 92 St. Nicholas Avenue, the elevator boy and janitor alerted residents of the Warwick Apartments. Panicked residents dressed only in night clothes ran into the streets carrying pet dogs, expensive gowns, and other articles of value.

Several people had to be rescued, but everyone survived. Police arrested five suspicious men, but it was later determined that the men were trying to rob the fleeing residents and had nothing to do with the fire. All church documents were lost in the fire.

Recalling the fire and the period in which the congregants had to worship in a dance hall and later at the Constance apartment house on 113th Street, Bishop Potter had this message for the congregation following the cat escapade and confirmation services in 1904:

I am afraid of the tendency which seems to be growing to make a church look more like a music, or dance, or lecture hall. I have no doubt that God hears more prayers in the kitchen and the bedroom than he does in the church, but it is nevertheless true the sacred and impressive atmosphere in a church or cathedral has a devotional influence. The scenery around us is more influential than many of us think.”

On March 14, 1905, the Church of the Archangel merged with All Souls’s Church. Rev. Pratt continued to lead that congregation until his sudden death at the age of 72 in 1920.

In July 1932, the church was the scene of a rebellion, when the all-white vestry announced that the church would be segregated and black congregants, who made up 75 percent of the congregation, would have to worship in separate services. Bishop William T. Manning interceded and demanded that church services be open to all those souls who chose to attend.

I am going to assume that “all those souls” would include cats, too.

If you enjoyed this story, you may also want to read about the mother cat who lived with her kittens inside a church organ in Brooklyn in 1902: https://hatchingcatnyc.com/2020/02/17/cat-family-lived-in-church-organ/

On March 14, 1905, the Church of the Archangel merged with All Souls's Church
All Souls’ Church
The church proper is hidden behind the five-story rectory building.

Cats in the Mews: March 25, 1890
Mrs. Jane Duncan lived with at least 6 kittens and 17 adults cats in her apartment at 30 Bedford Street (this is not an actual depiction of her but it’s probably a good representation).

On March 25, 1890, Jefferson Market Police Court Justice White committed Mrs. Jane Duncan to the care of the Commissioners of Charities and Correction “for examination as to her sanity.” The sentencing stemmed from charges from her landlord, Dr. Thomas C. Knox, who owned a small building at 30 Bedford Street, on the southeast corner of Carmine Street.

Jefferson Market fire towwer and court
Jane Duncan was sentenced at the Jefferson Court Market, at the intersection of Greenwich Avenue and Sixth Avenue (now the Jefferson Market Library). The block originally housed a dingy police court over a saloon, a volunteer firehouse, a jail, and an octagonal wooden fire lookout tower constructed in 1833. Photo circa 1860, Jefferson Market Library.

Dr. Knox, a former city coroner, operated a drug store on the ground floor of the building. In 1888, he rented some rooms above his shop to Jane Duncan and her late husband, William W. Duncan, a carpenter. William died on March 17 at the age of 63, leaving 58-year-old Jane alone — in the human sense — with her 29 felines.

According to an article in The Sun, Jane had refused to attend her husband’s funeral, choosing instead to stay locked up with her cats. She also refused Dr. Knox’s offer of assistance. The couple had married late in life, so they did not have any children.

Crazy Cat Lady of Bedford Street, New York Sun
New York Sun, March 26, 1890

During her court hearing, Jane begged Court Officer Farrell to allow her to stay with her cats on Bedford Street. Sadly for both Jane and her feline friends, her sanity was at question, and thus, she had to be taken away from her home for closer medical examination.

Neighbors on Carmine and Bedford Streets told The Sun reporter that Jane had been “harmlessly insane.” Over the past two years, she had isolated herself from all humans except for her husband, and she devoted all her time to her cats.

William had provided liberally for her and the cats, but even he spent most of his time out of the house. Every morning the butcher delivered a large supply of the best porterhouse steak for the cats, which he left in the hallway for William to pick up when he returned from his carpentry jobs (the butcher and grocer were not allowed to enter the apartment; Jane kept the door barricaded at all times.) After her husband passed away, Jane had no other choice but to leave the apartment in order to purchase food for her and her pets.

The Fate of the Cats of Bedford Street

Following Jane Duncan’s sentencing, the court officer ordered an agent from the Bergh Society (ASPCA) to check on the status of the cats, as was permitted by a New York law passed in 1867 to expand the ASPCA’s oversight. As was reported in The New York Times, “the state of things that met his eyes when he entered was both pathetic and amusing.”

According to the Times, “a troop of cats great and small, young and old, of all colors and conditions, came eagerly toward the door, expecting to see, no doubt, their demented but gentle mistress. A chorus of feline cries of every pitch was sent forth, and it was evident that the cats were very hungry.”

Crazy Cat Lady of Bedford Street, New York Times
New York Times, March 26, 1890

Upon careful examination of the rooms, the agent found 23 adult cats and 6 kittens, of which a large yellow tomcat with “a most winning expression of countenance” appeared to be the boss. The room was filled with boxes filled with cats; a small box on top of a wardrobe contained the 6 kittens. “As might have been expected, the need of more thorough ventilation was apparent at once.”

Now here’s where it gets very sad, so you may choose to stop reading now. I am a journalist sharing history, so unfortunately I must finish this story, as cruel as it may be.

According to The Times, the agent put all of the bewildered adult cats on the street to fend for themselves; “their tender offspring consigned to a watery grave.”

The Sun reported a similar cruel ending, albeit, an even harsher outcome. According to the Sun, the agent drowned the kittens and then, when the adults cats refused to leave on their own accord, he tossed them from the second-floor window. As the terrified cats rained down on Bedford Street, “the accompanying protests in the strongest terms of the feline vocabulary were ear-splitting.”

As the reporter noted, “The people about Carmine and Bedford Streets think the agent of Bergh’s society sent to dispose of the helpless cats was guilty of all the cruelty which he was expected to prevent.”

Although the adult cats landed on their four feet and survived, “these were pampered aristocratic cats unused to the ways of the world and quite unable to make living from the unprotected refuse barrels of the neighborhood.” The neighborhood was already home to “a full complement of vagrant cats, and the idea of seventeen new and untrained voices added to the back-yard chorus drove people to thoughts of revenge and violence almost before the irresponsible agent of Bergh got away. It would not be safe for him to appear within ten blocks of Bedford and Carmine Streets again.”

I’m sure I’m not alone when I say that I hope the agent did show his face again in that neighborhood, and that he got his just deserts. (Can humans land on both feet if they are pushed from a second-floor window?)

The Herring Farm

Jane Duncan lived with her cats at 30 Bedford Street, just a few blocks southwest of Washington Square Park in the southern end of Greenwich Village. This area of the city was shaped by Dutch land grants allotted to Pieter Janszen Haring (who came to America in 1633) and to a small group of freed African slaves, who established the earliest farms on the land.

Map of the Herring Farm, 1869
Bedford Street is located on what was once the farm of Elbert Herring, which was about 100 acres bounded by present-day Bowery, Washington Square Park North, Bleecker Street, Hudson Street, and Christopher Street.
Bedford Street is located on what was once the farm of Elbert Herring (aka Haring), which was about 100 acres bounded by present-day Bowery, Washington Square Park North, Bleecker Street, Hudson Street, and Christopher Street. The farm included what would later become Washington Square Park, located near the top center of this 1869 map. Museum of the City of New York Collections

Under British rule, these farms were owned by Nicholas Bayard, Elbert Herring, and Trinity Church. During the early Federal period, Aaron Burr purchased the majority of these lands as a real estate investment. The farm was divided into lots in 1794, and in 1803, Burr began selling off parcels to speculative developers.

I have written extensively about the Herring Farm in the following cat tale from 1899 (this story also deals with some animal cruelty), so if you are interested in reading more about the history of the farm, check out this story: https://hatchingcatnyc.com/2018/02/26/cat-fell-west-fourth-street/

Cats in the Mews: March 20, 1904
Here's a photograph of Bellevue Hospital from 1875, It would be another 70 years before thousands of tons of landfill were used to create the East River Driver (later, the FDR), which is why all the buildings are so close to the water's edge. NYPL Digital Collections
Here’s a late 19th-century photograph of Bellevue Hospital. It would be many more years before thousands of tons of landfill were used to create the East River Drive (later, the FDR), which is why all the buildings are so close to the water’s edge. NYPL Digital Collections

In 1895, Miss Lillie James, a proverbial crazy cat lady, was admitted to the Insane Pavilion at Bellevue Hospital. According to her sister, Miss James’ obsession with her many cats had caused her to become mentally unstable.

Miss James agreed to being admitted–on one condition. The two cats that she brought with her to the hospital would also have to be committed to the asylum. After all, she said, it was the cats who were insane. She was perfectly sane and clear of mind.

“It is their conduct that has placed me in my present condition,” she told the doctors. “These cats and nine others have conspired against me and affected my health, with the idea of getting possession of my property. Are these guilty cats to go free while I am locked up?”

Although the hospital refused to admit the cats, one most wonder if they were allowed to stay on the grounds. By 1899, there were more than three dozen cats living at the large Bellevue Hospital complex. And in 1904, there was at least one feline in residence that we know about for sure: a white kitten named Red Cross.

Red Cross was a pure white kitten; vintage white kitten
This is not Red Cross.

Red Cross was born at Bellevue Hospital. She had full run of the complex, including the surrounding yards. Many of the doctors adored her, including Dr. Packer, who worked in the Insane Pavilion (aka, what was then called the psychopathic ward).

Although she was a pure white kitten when she was born, a mischievous intern decided to have some fun with the poor kitty. So, he took some carmine ink and painted crosses on her right and left sides. Hence, she was named Red Cross.

According to The Sun, “Red Cross didn’t seem to mind the doctor’s additions to her spectacular qualities. In fact, she seemed rather proud of them.”

Spring came right on time in 1904. And with it came a doubling of the sparrow population in the hospital yards. As The Sun noted, “They chatter and sqabble and fight for nest-building straws and the trees are alive with them.”

Now, this was the first spring for Red Cross, so she was very excited about all the avian commotion penetrating the otherwise grim hospital yards. “With switching tail and a bloodthirsty eye,” she reportedly made valiant efforts to catch the shadows that the birds cast on the ground. When she couldn’t keep the shadows pinned down, her excitement and frustration levels increased.

Vintage sparrow
Red Cross the cat loved chasing after the sparrows at Bellevue Hospital

At last, Red Cross looked up. She saw hundreds of tiny birds staring back at her, and taunting her from the treetops. With one flying leap, she clutched onto a tree trunk and began climbing.

As she made her way up the tree, the sparrows toyed with and sprang from branch to ever-higher branch. Soon, Red Cross was at the very tip of the topmost branch, with nowhere to go but down. She began meowing loudly as the doctors and attendants watched with both fear and amusement.

One man named Michael Haggerty suggested getting a blanket and holding it under the tree so she could jump down. Dr. Brooks told him that was a foolish idea. “She can climb back most of the way if she gets her nerve,” he said. “Let her have her own way.”

Dr. Crisler tried the woo her down with a “Here kitty, kitty!” Dr. Parker suggested getting a ladder, if one could find a ladder long enough to reach the top of the tree.

As the doctors and attendants debated on what could be done, Red Cross took matters into her own paws. She scrambled along the branch as fast as she could…and then she tumbled out of the tree, “bounding and scratching furiously at every branch she passed.”

According to The Sun, Red Cross did not, as one might expect, land on all four paws. She instead landed flat on her side. Dr. Whittbeck and Dr. Blackwell knelt beside her and ran their hands over her “gaudily emblazoned ribs.” No bones were broken, and her heart was still fluttering, albeit, faintly.

The doctors carried Red Cross into the reception room, where they administered “restoratives,” whatever that means. Soon she was back on her feet and purring.

According to The Sun, “She was patrolling the walks in the late afternoon sunshine yesterday as though she had just taken a new mortgage from the city on the whole establishment. But when sparrows in the tree tops chattered, Red Cross didn’t look up.”

If you’re interested in reading more about the history of Bellevue Hospital, check out the full story of Miss Lillie James and her cats in: 1899: Dewey, Stockings, and the Great Cat Hunt at New York City’s Bellevue Hospital

 

Cats in the Mews: March 10, 1873

When a Maltese cat owned by New York City Police Superintendent James Jackson Kelso was reportedly stolen from his home at 110 East 55th Street, the cat burglary made the headlines in several newspapers across the country.

Superintendent James J. Keslo had a Maltese cat, like this one picture here.
A Maltese cat is defined as any cat whose fur is either completely, or primarily, gray or blue and is of indeterminate breed.

According to The New York Times, the cat, who was “of remarkably dignified appearance,” was Superintendent Kelso’s favorite cat. He valued the cat at $200.

Sometime during the week, “some daring young vagabonds of the Nineteenth Precinct, not having the fear of the Central Office detectives before their eyes,” broke into the superintendent’s four-story brick row house and stole the cat. A general alarm was issued to all the precincts in the city, cautioning the 1,800 police officers on active duty to be on the lookout (BOLO) and to arrest and detain all Maltese cats fitting the description of Kelso’s beloved pet.

The superintendent also offered a $50 reward for the cat’s safe and sound return. (Why do I have a feeling that hundreds of women and children armed with gray cats turned up at Kelso’s home? Keep reading…)

INative New Yorker James Jackson Kelso, formerly Chief of the Detective Office, was appointed Superintendent of Police in October 1870.
Native New Yorker James Jackson Kelso, formerly Chief of the Detective Office, was appointed Superintendent of Police in October 1870. Kelso was born on October 31, 1835. He attended Public School No. 7 and the Free Academy (City College of New York), and was appointed a patrolman for the Metropolitan Police in 1861. He rose quickly through the ranks, being made a sergeant in April 1869 and a captain in December 1869.

The news of the missing cat gave several newspapers the opportunity to poke fun at the city’s police department. The New York Evening Mail asked, “If the resources of our police department are not sufficient to hunt up that cat, what is it good for? Where is the boasted keenness of scent of our detectives?”

The Times-Picayune of New Orleans also had some fun with Kelso’s tragic loss: “The police hunt was futile, but the dollars woke up the cats. Since that advertisement appeared, a procession of Maltese cats enough to stock all the Mediterranean Islands has appeared at police headquarters… If anybody wants cats, let him visit New Orleans; for intensity of ‘wauling,’ vivacity of movement, soprano, contralto, basso and now and then pianissimo combinations on moonlight nights, they are a credit to the musical reputation of this city.”

The Indianapolis News also got in on the story. “Superintendent of Police Kelso of New York has his force hunting high and low for his two hundred dollar Maltese cat, which some fearless wretch stole.”

And even a newspaper in Leavenworth, Kansas, reported the cat burglary and the rush at police headquarters: “From the moment the [reward] offer was made public, there has been a procession of persons at police headquarters with more varieties of Maltese cats than the world was supposed to contain, each person insisting that his was the particular mouser that had been stolen from the Superintendent. There hasn’t been such a bull movement in the cat market for years as that which has resulted from Mr. Keslo’s promised reward which, however, he has repented and withdrawn.”

I searched the newspaper archives for a happy ending to this Maltese cat tale, but sadly, I did not find any good news.

Although Superintendent Kelso’s home on East 55th Street was fairly new in 1873, the neighborhood was still very rural. There were large areas of rocky outcroppings and even a shanty village diagonally across from his home, as the photo below taken in 1871 shows. So hopefully, the thieves sold the cat to someone who gave it a good home. A domesticated cat set loose in this neighborhood would probably not have much of a fighting chance to survive.

Superintendent Keslo lived near Park Avenue and 55th Street, pictured here in 1871.
In this circa 1871 photo, you can still see some wooden shanties at the intersection of East 55th Street and Park Avenue. You can also see the Church of the Advent, erected in 1870 at 123 East 57th Street (white roof, in the right center). I’m sure there was at least one feral cat colony in this rural neighborhood. Museum of the City of New York Collections
Cats in the Mews: February 21, 1928

A veteran mother cat with strong maternal instincts saved her five kittens when a two-story frame house caught fire in the Hammels section of the Rockaways. This is just a short, sweet story, but I added some history since this is my first story that took place on the Rockaway Peninsula in Queens.

Read the rest of this entry »