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.

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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

1893: A Carroll Gardens Cat and a Tree Grow in Brooklyn

Posted: 19th February 2020 by The Hatching Cat in Cat Stories, Cats in the Mews
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Cats in the Mews: February 19, 1893
The New York Evening World, February 20, 1893 Cat stuck in tree
The New York Evening World, February 20, 1893

On this day in 1893, a little five-year-old boy named Willie Morton did what many grown men and tender-hearted women had failed to do: He rescued a cat that had been stuck high in a maple tree at the corner of Court Street and First Place in the Carroll Gardens section of Brooklyn.

According to the New York Evening World, the poor cat had been stuck in the tree for five days, after escaping from a fierce bulldog. Despite the efforts of many grown men and the coaxing voices of many women, the cat refused to budge from his perch.

Perhaps the cat was stuck at the top of this tree, in front of the John S. Hyde mansion on First Place near Court Street.

On Friday, some mean children and their parents just laughed at the cat as they passed by. But after a snowstorm that evening, these same people began crying, “Poor thing!”

One known high-society member of Mrs. Caroline Astor’s Four Hundred who lived on First Place even shed tears for the kitty in distress. (Perhaps this man was Charles Carroll, a descendant of Charles Carroll of Maryland, a signer of the Declaration of Independence for whom Carroll Gardens is named.)

Recalling a dog that had been rescued from the frozen reservoir in Central Park a few weeks earlier, the residents agreed to try various methods to help the cat return to the ground. (The methods suggested to rescue the dog, who had been stuck on the ice for more than a week, included tying meat to a long rope, using shotguns to frighten him and make him jump over the railing, and lassoing him with rope lariats.)

New York World, February 2, 1983. A little black dog who had fallen over the railing onto the the frozen reservoir in Central Park made the headlines every day until his rescue about a week later. Many different methods were proposed, but in the end, a few men broke the law and jumped onto the ice to rescue the cold and starving dog.
New York World, February 2, 1893. A little black dog who had fallen over the railing onto the frozen reservoir in Central Park made the headlines every day until his rescue about a week later. Many different methods were proposed, but in the end, a few men broke the law and jumped onto the ice to rescue the cold and starving dog.

On Saturday, women and children and a few grown men attempted to lure the cat down, but the kitty continued to grow colder while holding her stance. Not until Sunday, when, as the reporter pointed out, everyone should have been at church services, “did the entire masculine population in the vicinity turn out as a rescuing party.”

One of the would-be heroes, Mr. McKee, a Wall Street broker, brought a tiny “George Washington” hatchet he apparently had since childhood and suggested chopping down the tree. Not only did the property owner object, but nobody believed the man had enough strength and woodsmen skills to topple the urban tree.

Perhaps this is the tree where the cat rescue took place, on the northwest corner of Court Street and 1st Place (the buildings are still standing, but there is no longer a tree in the fenced-in court yard).

Next, a lawyer stepped up and proposed using chloroform to put the cat to sleep so they could catch the unconscious cat as she fell to earth. The man spliced together several fishing poles. Then, fastening a slab of meat that had been saturated with the sleep inducer to the end, he raised the poles up toward the heavens until it was just a few inches from the kitty’s nose.

As the reporter noted, “Tabby persistently refused to either eat or smell, and the disciple of [Sir William] Blackstone was compelled to admit that the cat was wider awake than he was.” (I love the reporter’s sarcasm.)

Finally, little Willie came to the rescue. Placing his caged pet mouse at the foot of the tree, he instructed everyone to step back so the cat could see the tiny prey. Unfortunately, the cat did nothing more than let out a plaintive meow. As darkness fell and the winds sent 40-mile gales through the tabby’s whiskers, the rescuers returned to their homes with heavy hearts.

Now, Willie was not a quitter. All night long he dreamed of the cat and thought of ways to save it. The next morning, he enlisted his own cat in the rescue. He carried his cat to the base of the tree and began playing with it in the snow.

Cat at the base of a tree
The cat calmly walked down the trunk of the tree to join Willie and his pet cat at play.

Still hanging to a topmost branch, the trapped cat watched in interest for several minutes. Then, more calmly than I imagine she climbed up the tree, the cat made her way down the trunk and joined in the play with Willie and his cat.

Willie took the cold and hungry cat to his home, where he and his parents, George and Mary Morton, cared for her while waiting for someone to claim the kitty as their own. (Perhaps the owner was none other than Dr. William H. Hale of nearby 40 First Place, who was found guilty of having too many cats in the early 1900s.)

1902: The Cypress Hills Cat Family That Lived in a Church Organ on Fulton Street

Posted: 17th February 2020 by The Hatching Cat in Cat Stories, Cats in the Mews
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Cats in the Mews: February 17, 1902
New York Sun, February 18, 1902 Cat Family in Church Organ
New York Sun, February 18, 1902

A seemingly uncanny mystery of the church organ, which had puzzled the organist and boys’ choir of the Protestant Episcopal Church of the Transfiguration for more than a week, was solved on this day in 1902.

The mystery began during Sunday morning services on February 9. According to news reports, the singing of the processional had just ended, when a mournful wail came from inside the organ. The church then went completely silent, as members of the boys’ choir, startled by the sudden noise, looked about in wonder.

As the World News reported, “Then, in the hush which had fallen upon choir and congregation, the wail was repeated, its sorrowfulness deepened, its notes more weird: Me-ow-wow-wow-me-ow-e-e!” Clearly it rang through the silent church, then, dying away, ended in what sounded like a low sob. The organist, sitting motionless on his stool, contemplated with amazement the keys.”

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