1890: The Cat Lady of Bedford Street and Her 29 Feline Companions

Posted: 25th March 2020 by The Hatching Cat in Cat Stories, Crazy Cat Ladies
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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/

1904: Red Cross, the Spring Kitten of Bellevue Hospital

Posted: 20th March 2020 by The Hatching Cat in Cat Stories, Cats in the Mews
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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

 

1873: Superintendent James J. Kelso and the Great NYPD Cat Hunt

Posted: 10th March 2020 by The Hatching Cat in Cats in the Mews
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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

1928: Mary, the Rockaway Beach Cat of Hammels Who Saved Her 5 Kittens

Posted: 21st February 2020 by The Hatching Cat in Cat Stories, Cats in the Mews
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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 »

1942: John Pierre Chates, the Cat Who Came to Stapleton, Staten Island With a Passport

Posted: 21st February 2020 by The Hatching Cat in Cat Stories, Cats in the Mews
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Cats in the Mews: February 20, 1942

This is about a refugee ship, 396 refugees from Lisbon. It’s the usual stuff–a baby was born, a man died, a princess born in Flint, Michigan, escaped across Spain and a guy had to get a passport for a cat.”–Joseph Martin and Gerald Duncan, ship news reporters at Stapleton, Staten Island, New York Daily News, February 21, 1942

New York Daily News, February 21, 1942 Pierre Mande and his cat arrive in Stapleton, Staten Island.
Pierre Mande and his cat at Stapleton. New York Daily News, February 21, 1942

At 3:30 p.m. on February 20, 1942, the Portuguese steamship Serpa Pinto tied up at Stapleton, Staten Island, after a 27-day crossing via Casablanca, Africa, Jamaica, British West Indies, and Cuba. According to the Daily News, the crossing was smooth, with not one sighting of a war-time submarine.

Princess Jane Vatchnadze
Princess Jane Vatchnadze

One of the refugees on board the ship was a 39-year-old princess named Jane Lawrence Vatchandze. The Michigan-born princess had married Georgian Prince David Vatchnadze (Russia) a year earlier.

Prince David had been working at an auto plant in Paris when the war forced the couple to slip across the border to Spain at night in secrecy. The prince and princess were separated at Havana because of a visa issue.

Another passenger was “Pierre Mande,” who was traveling with his cat, whom he called John Pierre Chates (probably should be Jean Pierre Le Chat). This story seems a bit more far-fetched than the princess story, but as one of the ship reporters literally said, “This thing about the cat and the passport smells a little like a publicity stunt, but what the hell.”

According to Pierre, he had been an orchestra leader on several of the large French liners, including the De Grasse and the Paris. He also appeared at the Ritz in Paris before the Germans came in and occupied the city.

In September 1939, Pierre joined the French army. He took part in the attack on Karlsbrunn, Germany, and was captured. Somehow he managed to escape back to Paris, where his cat was still living. The cat had been a gift from a local baker, and Pierre was quite fond of him.

The reporter continued, “He took the cat and escaped to Nice concealed in the bottom of a vinegar wagon. Finally he got to Lisbon and he had to pay 100 francs for a passport for the cat and 50 francs for a visa. That’s what he said. It’s not much of a cat, tiger-striped like any alley cat, but he said it meows the scale when he plays his fiddle.”

The Serpa Pinto and the European Refugees
The S.S. Serpa Pinto carried thousands of Jewish and non-Jewish refugees from war-stricken Europe to safety. One of the most famous refugees was the Lubavitcher Rebbe, Rabbi Menachem M. Schneerson, and his wife, Chaya Mushka, who disembarked from the ship in Staten Island on June 23, 1941.
The S.S. Serpa Pinto carried thousands of Jewish and non-Jewish refugees from war-stricken Europe to safety. One of the most famous refugees was the Lubavitcher Rebbe, Rabbi Menachem M. Schneerson, and his wife, Chaya Mushka, who disembarked from the ship in Staten Island on June 23, 1941.

The refugees were brought to New York by the Joint Distribution Committee (JDC), which had by that time helped financed the crossings for 2,200 people leaving stricken Europe following the attack at Pearl Harbor. (First Lady Eleanor Roosevelt became very active with the JDC in 1940 because of her moral conviction that the refugees were not undesirables–as the US State Department had once labeled them–but rather were future patriotic Americans.)

Many of these refugees had made their way to Portugal, which, as a neutral country, had become an unexpected portal to freedom for tens of thousands of Jewish and non-Jewish refugees.

The S.S. Serpa Pinto was a leading bearer of refugees across the Atlantic to Stapleton, Staten Island
The S.S. Serpa Pinto

Some well-to-do refugees who made it to Lisbon via the Franco-Spanish border could afford expensive seats aboard Clippers, aka the “flying ships” of Pan American Airways, which made Atlantic crossings twice a week. But the majority of refugees had only one option: to obtain visas and secure passage on board one of the Portuguese liners continuously crossing the Atlantic to destinations including Havana, Philadelphia, Baltimore, New York, and Rio de Janeiro. The SS Serpa Pinto became the leading bearer of refugees across the Atlantic.

The JDC maintains a database of passenger lists for the Serpa Pinto journeys between 1941 and 1944. I found the manifest for the January 24, 1942 sailing, which does not list Pierre Mande or his cat. However, I found a third-class passenger named Samuel Mandelbaum from France; the passenger was listed as a 39-year-old musician, which seems to be a good match with Pierre Mande, the orchestra leader.

America’s First Free Port at Stapleton, Staten Island

The municipal piers at Stapleton were built between 1920 and 1920 under the administration of John Francis Hylan. At the time, the project was called “Hylan’s Folly” because the piers were never fully used, and thus, never profitable.

In 1937, Stapleton opened as a free port (Foreign Trade Zone No. 1) under the Foreign Trade-Zones Act (aka Celler Act) of 1934. This act, approved by Franklin D. Roosevelt in June 1934, allowed foreign and domestic merchandise to be brought into the zones without being subject to the customs laws. It was viewed by some as a vital stepping stone to U.S. world trade advances.

The 92-acre fenced-in port at Statelton comprised Piers 12-16, including steamship piers for docking, loading, and unloading ships, as well as warehouses and sheds for packing, inspections, and storage.

The free port at Stapleton, Staten Island. From Foreign Commerce Weekly, January 2, 1943
The free port at Stapleton, Staten Island. From Foreign Commerce Weekly, January 2, 1943

During wartime the free trade zone was a lifesaver for the refugees, who were able to store their possessions and then ship them to wherever they finally settled without having to go through customs red tape.

From 1942 to 1945, in addition to serving as a port of entry for refugees, the piers were also utilized as the Staten Island Terminal facility of the Army’s New York Port of Embarkation. After World War II, the piers once again became a foreign trade zone, but their use declined over time.

Most of the Stapleton piers were demolished by the 1970s. One of the last, used for fishing, was removed when the U.S. Navy proposed to build a base in Stapleton in the 1980s. This highly controversial plan never went through, and plans to build the base were canceled in 1993.

Today, the lone Stapleton pier–Homeport Pier–is the headquarters for FDNY Marine Co. 9 barracks and the fire boat “Fire Fighter II.” The site is also used as part of the annual Fleet Week in New York City. 

The FDNY Marine 9 barracks at Homeport Pier in Stapleton
The FDNY Marine 9 barracks at Homeport Pier in Stapleton.
Arial view of the Stapleton pier; Google Maps
Arial view of the Stapleton pier; Google Maps

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