1894: The Hobo Horse and Morgan Phillips, the Old Circus Man of Cherry Street

Posted: 30th December 2015 by The Hatching Cat in Animal Stories, Horse Tales
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In my last post, I introduced you to Morgan Phillips, an old circus man who lived in a tent at 40 Cherry Street in New York City with his wife, their grandson, a horse, and some dogs. In this post, I’ll tell you the beginning and the end of Morgan’s story, and explore the history of 40 Cherry Street.

CherryStreet1891_HatchingCatNYCMorgan and Clarissa S. Phillips lived at 40 Cherry Street — the white  rectangular lot south of Roosevelt Street in this 1891 atlas of Manhattan. Just to the left is the massive Gotham Court Tenement, constructed in 1850. The long, narrow alleyways West Gotham Place and East Gotham Place are on either side.

The Beginning of the End

On August 22, 1892, a young man was found lying in the street at the corner of Market Street and East Broadway. According to news reports, he was taken to Gouverneur Hospital, where, just before he died, he said his name was Albert and that he lived at 30 Monroe Street. Shortly thereafter, an unidentified elderly man called at the hospital and said the young man was his son, Albert Phillips.

This elderly man was no doubt Morgan L. Phillips.

On Wednesday, June 7, 1893, less than a year after their son’s death,  Morgan Phillips and his wife, Clarissa, moved their small red-striped canvas tent from the vacant lot at 30 Monroe Street to the fenced-in lot at 40 Cherry Street.

MonroeStreet1891_HatchingCatNYCThe Phillips were living in a tent in a vacant lot at 30 Monroe Street (the white lot just above the bend in Hamilton Street) when Albert died in August 1892. Today, this square block between Cherry, Market, Catherine, and Monroe streets is the site of the Knickerbocker Village housing development, erected in 1933-34.

According to an article in the New York Herald on June 12, 1893, the family had been living rent-free at 30 Monroe Street for quite a few years when they were forced to find a new home. Apparently, one of the heirs of the estate passed away, and the surviving property owners wanted to erect a four-story tenement on the small lot.

Although they reportedly had several grown children who begged them to find a real home, Morgan and Clarissa moved to 40 Cherry Street, where their tent served as a parlor and dining room, and an old Tally-Ho stagecoach served as their bedroom. Two “large, fierce dogs” and a big bay horse shared the lot with the couple and their grandson (possibly one of Albert’s two sons).

MonroeStreet2_HatchingCatNYC.jpgIn 1934, when this photograph  was taken, 30 Monroe Street was once again an empty lot, so to speak; the four-story tenement built in 1893 had already been demolished to make way for the new Knickerbocker Village under construction. NYPL Digital Collections

The Passing of Clarissa

In the fall of 1893, 76-year-old Clarissa visited a daughter who lived in Seneca Falls, New York. Shortly after returning to New York City in January, she developed pneumonia. Since she was not fit to sleep outdoors, the couple rented two squalid back rooms on the third floor of a four-story pre-Old Law tenement building at 33 Cherry Street.

On February 13, 1894, Morgan Phillips said goodbye to his wife of over 40 years. Heartbroken and confused, Morgan failed to call for an undertaker. Neighbors who had heard Clarissa groaning, and who had seen Morgan kneeling next to her motionless body in the bedroom through a common hallway window, thought he had killed her and called for the police.

33CherryStreet_HatchingCatNYC.jpgClarissa Phillips died at 33 Cherry Street, seen from the back in this photo taken from Water Street in 1936 (farthest windows on right). When the block was demolished as part of a slum clearance project, it was discovered that No. 29-29½, the squat, 2-story building in the shadows, was an old Dutch-style townhouse that once housed the officers of George Washington’s staff. Efforts to save “the oldest house left in Manhattan” were unsuccessful.  NYPL Digital Collections

When Policeman O’Connor, Roundsman Wilbur, and Officer Bowen of the Oak Street police station arrived at the apartment, they had to force open the door. Morgan Phillips told them he did not answer the door because he was frightened and thought he might be harmed. He explained what had happened to his wife and then told them the story of his life.

On February 14, Morgan got a burial permit from the Board of Health. Many neighbors attended her funeral services the next day.

When Policeman O’Connor came to check on Morgan’s welfare after the funeral – to make sure that he hadn’t froze to death – Morgan Phillips was wrapped in blankets and surrounded by straw. He said he could not bear going back to the apartment where his wife had died. Policeman O’Connor said there was no law against sleeping in the open air, so he let him be.

Officer Alonzo S. Evans of the SPCA also came out to check on him and found that the horse and dogs were fine. Officer Evans reported that the tent afforded good protection from the weather for both man and beast, although the roof leaked a little.

The Final Straw on Cherry Street

For weeks after Clarissa’s death, the young hoodlums of Cherry Street tormented Morgan by throwing stones at his property and tearing up his tent. On March 4, 1894, they hung an effigy made of straw-stuffed corduroy pants, coat, and hat from a telegraph pole on the lot. Morgan Phillips discovered the effigy upon returning home from a visit with his daughter-in-law, who was living at 6 Clarkson Street.
For weeks after Clarissa’s death, the young hoodlums of Cherry Street tormented Morgan by throwing stones at his property and tearing up his tent. On March 4, 1894, they hung an effigy made of straw-stuffed corduroy pants, coat, and hat from a telegraph pole on the lot. Morgan discovered the effigy upon returning home from a visit with his daughter-in-law, who was living at 6 Clarkson Street.

On March 7, 1894, three days after the Cherry Hill boys hung an effigy from a telepgraph pole on his lot, Morgan Phillips died at Bellvue Hospital at the age of 76 (give or take a year). The New York press said he died from pneumonia. We all know that he died of a broken heart.

A Brief History of 40 Cherry Street
This concludes the story of Morgan Phillips. (I regret that I do not know what became of the grandson, the horse, or the dogs.) If you like to explore New York City history, you may enjoy the following about Cherry Street.

Read the rest of this entry »

1894: The Hobo Horse and Gypsy of New York’s Cherry Street, Part I

Posted: 21st December 2015 by The Hatching Cat in Animal Attractions, Horse Tales
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In my last post, I wrote about Donald Burns, an animal dealer who lived and sold wild animals on Roosevelt Street in New York City’s deep Lower East Side. While doing research for this story, I came across an article in The New York Times about Morgan L. Phillips, the Gypsy of Cherry Street.

According to the article, Morgan Phillips was an old circus man who lived in a canvas tent in an empty lot at 40 Cherry Street, just south of Roosevelt Street. For over a year, he had been living there with his wife, their grandson, a horse, and some dogs. Given the interesting history of 40 Cherry Street (and the street in general), I couldn’t resist learning more about this man and telling his story.

A scene on Cherry Street: Although he has short hair and looks well dressed in this illustration, according to an article in The New York Herald on March 5, 1894, Morgan L. Phillips was clean shaven with a grey goatee. His clothes were rough and shabby and covered with patches, and his hair was long and badly tangled.
A scene on Cherry Street: Although he has short hair and looks well dressed in this illustration, according to an article in The New York Herald on March 5, 1894, Morgan L. Phillips was clean shaven with a grey goatee. His clothes were rough and shabby and covered with patches, and his hair was long and badly tangled.

In June 1893, Morgan L. Phillips and his wife, Clarissa, pitched a tent in an empty lot at 40 Cherry Street, adjacent to the large Gotham Court tenement complex. Here they lived for about eight months with their grandson, a horse, and a few dogs. On February 14, 1894, Morgan Phillips told his life story to a newspaper reporter and Policeman O’Connor of the Fourth Precinct police station on Oak Street.

In 1870, the Fourth Precinct station house, which was one of the oldest in New York City, was replaced by a new station house at 9–11 Oak Street, near Roosevelt Street and Cherry Street. The complex included a four-story main building and two-story rear building for housing prisoners and vagrants. The station house, seen standing alone around 1949, was among the last structures to be demolished when the neighborhood was demolished to make way for the Governor Alfred E. Smith Houses. (Museum of the City of New York Collections)
In 1870, the Fourth Precinct station house, which was one of the oldest in New York City, was replaced by a new station house at 9–11 Oak Street, near Roosevelt Street and Cherry Street. The complex included a four-story main building and two-story rear building for housing prisoners and vagrants. The station house, seen standing alone around 1949, was among the last structures to be demolished when the neighborhood was demolished to make way for the Governor Alfred E. Smith Houses. (Museum of the City of New York Collections)


Captain Morgan L. Phillips and the Erie Canal

Born in New York City around 1817, Morgan L. Phillips reportedly spent much of his young adulthood on the road. During the 1840s, he owned a fleet of Erie Canal packet boats and was captain of the Jesse Hawley. He was very successful in this business before the railroads took over, carrying as many as 100 passengers between Buffalo and Albany on a regular basis and charging $7 per trip.

“I could have been mayor of Buffalo if I’d wanted,” Morgan told a reporter for the New York World in June 1893.

jesse-hawley_HatchingCatNYC

I cannot confirm that Morgan Phillips was captain of a packet boat called the Jesse Hawley, but Hawley, a flour merchant from Canandaigua, New York, was the first to propose the construction of a canal from the Hudson River to Lake Erie. The Erie Canal, running 363 miles from Albany to Buffalo, opened in 1825. Hawley died in 1842, so it’s very possible that a canal boat was named in his honor. And it’s just as probable that Morgan Phillips was the captain of this boat.

After the railroads were completed, Morgan invested his earnings in a traveling circus, which is how he met his Canadian wife, Clarissa (a circus equestrian rider), and adapted to living in tents. During this time – the late 1840s and early 1850s—his brother supposedly made a fortune as a 49er in the California Gold Rush.

In 1852, give or take a year, Morgan settled back down in New York City and resumed working with horses. According to an article in the New York Herald in March 1894, Morgan once owned the New York Bazaar, a stable at 40 New Bowery (present-day St. James Place), from which he operated a livery business.

In the 1850s, Morgan Phillips reportedly owned a stable at 40 New Bowery called the New York Bazaar. The stable was replaced by the Howard Mission and Home for Little Wanderers in 1867 (the cornerstone was laid on May 15, 1867). The mission, a successor to the Fourth Ward Mission, cared for destitute children by providing clothing, food, and lessons in reading and singing. (New York Public Library Digital Collections)
In the 1850s, Morgan Phillips reportedly owned a stable at 40 New Bowery called the New York Bazaar. The stable was replaced by the Howard Mission and Home for Little Wanderers in 1867 (the cornerstone was laid on May 15, 1867). The mission, a successor to the Fourth Ward Mission, cared for destitute children by providing clothing, food, and lessons in reading and singing. (New York Public Library Digital Collections)

According to the 1855 Census, Morgan and Clarissa lived in an apartment on or near Canal Street with their one-year-old son, Albert. Morgan’s occupation was listed as “coachman.” Then in 1857, according to a news article about a hack driver who had assaulted Morgan Phillips, the family was living at 116 Mercer Street.

M.L. Phillips and the New York Olympic Circus

OlympicCircus_HatchingCatNYC.jpg

In the 1860s, Morgan L. Phillips was manager of Tom King’s Olympic Circus. According to advertisements in the Brooklyn Daily Eagle in October 1863 and August 1867, the circus had afternoon and evening performances at the “Old Circus Lot” in Macomber Square at the corner of Fulton Avenue and DeKalb Avenue in Brooklyn. Equestrian acts, clowns, gymnasts, and a performing dog named Jeff were some of the highlights of the Olympic Circus.

FultonStreet_HatchingCatNYC

In the 1850s and 1860s, Macomber Square, at the junction of Fulton Street and DeKalb Avenue in Brooklyn, was the site of a circus lot and pavilion, where circus men like Dan Rice, Tom King, and Morgan Phillips would pitch their tents for a week or two as they made their way across America with their traveling circuses. Pictured here is John Vandergaw’s wagon and carriage business (22 DeKalb Avenue), on land that is now occupied by the old Dime Savings Bank, and the old Fleet Street Methodist Church, constructed in 1852-53.

In the 1870s and 1880s, Morgan returned to the livery business. According to the 1880 Census, he and his wife lived at 90 Doyers Street with their son Albert, his wife, Emma, and their two young sons, Albert and Freddy. Morgan listed his occupation as a “stableman” and Albert as “hack driver” (he probably worked for his father’s livery business). Morgan stored his old circus paraphernalia on the property and entertained the neighbors – who called him Buffalo Jack — with his two trick horses.

DoyerStreet_HatchingCatNYC

At some point during the 1880s, Morgan and Clarissa moved into an apartment at 11 Doyers Street in New York’s Chinatown, pictured here at the bend in the road (the Mandarin Garden). The lower two floors of this building are still standing and are today occupied by a hair salon and the Nom Wah Tea Parlor, the oldest dim sum parlor in New York City. The top two floors were demolished following a deadly fire that killed seven people at 11-17 Doyer Street in 1939.

The Gypsy of Cherry Street

In June 1893, Morgan Phillips got permission from former New York City Mayor Smith Ely (1887-1888) to occupy the fenced-in lot at 40 Cherry Street. (Smith Ely had purchased the lot in 1890.) There, he set up a half tent/half shanty with a separate stall for his horse and dogs. All around him were brick tenement buildings, like the massive Gotham Court.

Gotham Court at 38 Cherry Street
Gotham Court at 38 Cherry Street


Morgan’s neighbors included everyone who lived on Cherry Hill in the Gotham Court tenement complex. This “model tenement” developed in 1850 by Quaker philanthropist Silas Wood comprised two rows of six, five-story tenements standing back to back and extending 234 feet back from Cherry Street. This photo of Gotham Court at 38 Cherry Street was taken by Richard Hoe Lawrence around 1885. (New York Public Library Digital Collections)

According to neighbors, every night around midnight Morgan would harness his horse to an old hack cab and drive to Union Square, where he worked as a cab man. He’d return in early morning and retire to the tent with his horse until noon. In the afternoon, he’d tinker in the lot, mending pushcarts and carriages or watching over the paraphernalia that he stored for other circus men and showmen.

Blind Man's Alley at 26 Cherry Street, 1890.
Blind Man’s Alley at 26 Cherry Street, 1890.

For many months, the neighborhood ruffians — like these pictured in Blind Man’s Alley at 26 Cherry Street in 1890 — taunted Morgan Phillips by throwing rocks at his tent and his dogs. The boys called him the Gypsy of Cherry Hill. The mothers were all afraid of him, and often accused him of kidnapping their children. Policeman O’Connor came to his rescue on several occasions, until it all came to a sudden end in the winter of 1894. 

Next: Part II, the Final Straw on Cherry Street

In Part II of this old New York tale, I’ll share the sad conclusion to this story and explore the fascinating history of 40 Cherry Street.

1892: Rosy the Manatee and 90 Swans-a-Swimming on New York’s Roosevelt Street

Posted: 3rd December 2015 by The Hatching Cat in Animal Attractions, Animal Stories
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RooseveltStreet-1891Roosevelt Street ran east-west between Park Row and South Street. The street was named after either Nicolas or Jacobus Rosenvelt, the son and grandson, respectively, of the first Roosevelt in North America–Claes Maartenszane van Rosenvelt–who arrived in New Amsterdam around 1649. Today this land is occupied by the Governor Alfred E. Smith Houses.

Once upon a time, before all the streets and buildings of New York City’s “deep East Side” were razed to make way for new public housing projects, there was a little colonial-era street just north of the Brooklyn Bridge called Roosevelt Street.

In 1875, Donald Burns, a veteran circus man and dealer in birds and wild animals, established his business at 115 Roosevelt Street, on the southwest corner of Water Street. Over the next 20 years, this little two-story red-brick building would serve as a temporary home for all kinds of birds, reptiles, and mammals, including panthers, parrots, pythons, swans, and a manatee.

The son of Scottish immigrants John Burns and Annie McGilrey, Donald Burns was born in Canada around 1840. He honed his skills as a trapper and survivalist in the Ontario wilderness at a very young age, and by the time he was in his late teens, he was trading furs in Michigan’s Upper Peninsula and selling bob cats, raccoons, and other animals to traveling circuses and menageries throughout Canada.

115RooseveltStreet-HatchingCat
Donald Burns was long gone when this photo was taken on Roosevelt Street in 1927. The three-story frame building on the corner is 318 Water Street. Just to the right is 115 Roosevelt Street, where Rosy the Manatee, 90 swans, several panthers, 11 wolves, and numerous birds and snakes made their home from about 1875 to 1895.  Previously, this old building housed a jewelry store owned by Henry R. Winstanley (1840s.) New York Public Library Digital Collections

Donald Burns moved to New York City just after the Civil War ended. He opened his first retail business in 1866 at 428 Broadway, where he sold small birds, chickens, dogs, and other small animals to the general public. About a year later, Donald moved his bird and animal shop to 612 Broadway, on the corner of West Houston Street (today the site of a six-story glass office building constructed in 2003).

Sometime around 1868, Donald expanded his business by joining forces with J.B. Gaylord at 280 Front Street near Roosevelt Street. It was here that he began his wholesale animal trade.

Located just one block from the East River and the shipping piers, Donald could easily commission sea captains who were going to Africa, South America, and India to bring back exotic birds and animals, which he would in turn sell to more established New York animal dealers such as Henry Reiche and Archibald and John Reeves. The location also allowed him to export American deer, moose, and caribou to private zoological parks in Europe.

Front_RooseveltStreet_HatchingCat
Donald Burns moved his animal emporium to 280 Front Street (the two-story building pictured here in 1936) around 1868. It was here, under the Brooklyn Bridge, that he began and established his wholesale animal-trade business.
New York Public Library Digital Collections

By the early 1870s, Donald Burns had become very well established as the go-to animal dealer for circuses, museums, menageries, and organ grinders (who purchased monkeys). In addition to the large place on Front Street, Donald also operated out of 115 Roosevelt Street, where he also lived for some time. During these early years, Donald also exhibited at a seasonal menagerie at Bergen Beach in Coney Island and traveled with P.T. Barnum’s circus, Joe Pentland’s (Pendleton) circus, and Andrew Haight’s Great Eastern Circus.

Although he specialized in birds and snakes, it was not uncommon for Donald Burns to serve as the middle-man in deals involving much larger animals, including gorillas, elephants, panthers, tigers, and more. One of his oddest deals, however, involved an Amazonian manatee that he named Rosy (perhaps for Roosevelt Street).

Rosy was only six months old and five feet long when she arrived at 115 Roosevelt Street in August 1891. Taken from the Amazon River Basin of northern South America, she came to America by way of Captain Robert Oliphant of the Booth Line Royal Mail Steamer Cyril. The long journey across the sea was arduous, as it was necessary for the crew to constantly fill her tank with the fresh water she needed to stay alive.

Cyril-RooseveltStreet-HatchingCat
Rosy the manatee sailed from the Amazon River to New York City onboard the RMS Cyril. This ship was sunk in a collision with the Anselm 2, another Booth ship, on the Amazon River in 1905, while hauling rubber from Brazil to England.

Rosy had been purchased by another dealer named John Robinson, and was scheduled to go on exhibit in one of the city’s dime museums — perhaps P.T. Barnum’s American Museum on Broadway. As she awaited her transfer, Rosy was temporarily housed in a large tank at Donald Burns’ animal emporium, which, at the time, was also serving as a temporary home for 11 wolves that were starring in a play at the Globe Dime Museum (one of which escaped on August 25 of that year.)

90 Royal Swans-a-Swimming

One year after Rosy’s arrival, Donald Burns received about 90 swans from Hollywood – the Hollywood Station on the New York and Long Branch Railroad in New Jersey, that is. The swans had all belonged to the late John Hoey, the former director of the Adams Express Company who developed The Hollywood Hotel and Cottages on Cedar Avenue in Long Branch, New Jersey in the 1880s. (President Chester A. Arthur stayed in one of Hoey’s cottages – more like mansions — in the summer of 1882.) You really should see his enormous ocean-front estate, “Hollywood,” and his elaborate gardens on the Historic Long Branch website – just search “Hoey.”

The flock consisted of about 90 swans of different varieties and of all ages, from nearly 100 years old to cygnets. Some of the swans had the Queen’s mark (five long ovals pointed at each end), which had been placed on their bills in England by royal order.

Several of the swans had been marked before Queen Victoria had ascended the throne in 1837. (The privilege of keeping a game of swans in England was at one time manifested by the grant of a mark, which was cut into the skin or beak with a sharp knife. The process of marking the birds was called swan-hopping or swan-upping, and was conducted with ceremony on the first Monday of August.)

Aviary_CentralPark_HatchingCat
In this early 20th-century postcard, you can see a few swans inside the caged-in aviary at the Central Park Menagerie. Today, swans swim freely on the lake and many of the birds fly freely in the Central Park Zoo rain forest exhibit. A newer bird house, which was constructed in 1934 when the menagerie was refurbished to create the new zoo, is still standing today and now serves as a gift shop.

Upon their arrival at 115 Roosevelt Street on December 30, 1892, Donald Burns called on William A. Conklin, the Superintendent of the Central Park Menagerie, to see if he would be interested in taking the swans. Conklin said he’d have to make a formal application in writing to the Commissioners of Parks to have the swans admitted to the menagerie.

I cannot confirm whether these 90 British swans found a home at Central Park, but it would seem only natural, considering the fact that it was the gift of 12 swans from Hamburg, Germany, that started the menagerie at Central Park in 1860.

According to a letter dated May 9, 1860, from George K. Kunhardt, German Consulate, to R.M. Blatchford, president of the Board of Commissioners of the Central Park, the swans arrived in New York City on May 26, 1860, via the Hamburg America Line’s steamer Bavaria. As part of the gift, the Hamburg America Line had offered to take back the swan’s caretaker for free after he instructed the Commissioners of the Central Park on how to care for them.

CentralParkSwans-HatchingCatShortly after the 12 swans arrived from Hamburg, nine of them died. No poison was detected; it was believed that they died of cake, which had been fed to them by the children and women who came to watch them inside the enclosed aviary. The city of Hamburg immediately donated another 10 swans. Eventually, the swans were moved to the Central Park Lake.

The Last Hurrah on South Street

Sometime around 1895, Donald Burns and his assistant, Henry Kimm, moved one block east to 168 South Street, just north of Dover Street and directly under the ramp for the Brooklyn Bridge.

SouthStreet_DonaldBurns_HatchingCatDonald Burns moved his animal emporium one last time to a large brick warehouse at 168 South Street, shown here (left) in this photo taken in 1927. Today this area is a vacant lot under the ramp for the Brooklyn Bridge.
New York Public Library Digital Collections

A few bird cages in the front windows were the only signs of what was inside the building. Inside, there was a small foyer separated from the rest of the building by iron bars (to protect the public in case any animals escaped their cages). One wall was lined with cages of parrots and other birds, and along the other walls were cages and boxes filled with all sorts of wild animals. On March 18, 1898, when this illustration below appeared in the Rome Semi-Weekly Citizen, a few elephants also occupied the back of the room.

Donald Burns had an animal emporium on Roosevelt Street and South Street.

Reportedly, the animal business started to fail when a few of Donald’s circus clients went under. In 1900, city records reported him as being delinquent for failing to pay his annual rent of $916.63. Donald landed on his feet, however; he moved into a flat at 6 Dover Street, his wife gave birth to another son (perhaps Francis), and he took a job as the head keeper in charge of the aviary at the Central Park menagerie under the direction of John W. Smith. (His trapping skills came in handy in the job, as he often trapped birds on Fifth Avenue to replenish the aviary.)

RooseveltStreetBatavia_DonaldBurns_HatchingCat
In his later years, Donald Burns lived in an apartment in a brick tenement at
90 Roosevelt Street, seen here (far left). This photo was taken around 1930 to document the gentrification process that eventually obliterated the entire neighborhood to pave way for the New York City Housing Authority’s Alfred E. Smith Houses. New York Public Library Digital Collections

 On December 14, 1915, at the age of 75, Donald Burns was placed in the New York City Home for the Aged and Infirm, Manhattan Division, on Blackwell’s Island. According to his admission papers, he was in poor physical condition and unable to work. His wife, Johanna, was also residing at the home on Blackwell’s Island.

HomeforAged_HatchingCat.jpg
I do not know when Donald Burns passed on, but I don’t imagine he lived long in “captivity” on Blackwell’s Island, in what looks to me like a prison for people. Photo: Harvard Art Museums/Fogg Museum, Transfer from the Carpenter Center for the Visual Arts, Social Museum Collection

1912: The Cat Lady of Hoyt Street, Brooklyn, and the Mysterious Thanksgiving Day Fire

Posted: 13th November 2015 by The Hatching Cat in Cat Stories, Crazy Cat Ladies
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In one of a cluster of six shabby little frame houses at Hoyt and Livingston Streets, Brooklyn, stubbornly holding their own there against the huge overshadowing business buildings reared all about them, there lived until yesterday a hermit spinster, Miss Octavia Fredericks. The neighborhood was full of stories of her, many of them purely legendary and most of them second-hand, for the neighbors did not see her. A cripple, she clung to the two rooms around the barber shop at 26 Hoyt Street, never leaving the rooms once in 3 years, and never allowing anyone to enter them except the twelve cats…and the barber.— The New York Times, November 29, 1912

Octavia Fredericks, 24 Hoyt Street, Brooklyn, 1912
Miss Octavia Fredericks of 24 Hoyt Street


The Cat Lady’s Tiny Apartment at 24 Hoyt Street

“Miss Frederich always insisted upon having twelve cats,” the barber said. “She had twelve cats always with her in the two little rooms. She was superstitious about twelve cats. She did not care what kinds of cats there were as long as there were twelve of them, and many times a day she would round them up and take roll call to see that she had the twelve. If one cat died, I’d have to get her another one.”— New York Herald, November 29, 1912

On December 5, 1912, one week after Thanksgiving, hundreds of Christmas shoppers in the Fulton Street department store district of downtown Brooklyn observed what The New York Times called “a lively cat hunt.” About eight cats that had been living with a single elderly woman at 24 Hoyt Street were making a nuisance in the neighborhood, and so the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals (SPCA) was called in to round them up.

All of these cats had survived a fire in their mistress’ tiny apartment, which took the life of Octavia Frederich (aka Friedrick, Fredericks, and Friedrich) and four other cats on Thanksgiving Day.

This 1887 Brooklyn map of Hoyt Street shows the Friedrich family’s real estate holdings at the northwest corner of Hoyt and Livingston
This 1887 Brooklyn map of Hoyt Street shows the Friedrich family’s real estate holdings at the northwest corner of Hoyt and Livingston. In 1912, #24 Hoyt Street was actually two brick buildings occupied by Anthony Oreckinto’s barber shop, a tailor shop, and Octavia Friedrich’s tiny apartment. The small one-story frame building (#26) was a newspaper store, and #30 was a three-story frame building that housed R.C. Eldert upholsterers. In the late 1880s, the family lived at #30 Hoyt (aka #201 Livingston) and Octavia’s brothers, Alphonse and Ernest, operated a stained glass-making facility in the rear of #16-18 Hoyt Street. Across the street, at #19-23 Hoyt Street, was a boarding and livery stable. New York Public Library digital collections.

Although detailed reports of the fatal fire in The New York Times, New York Herald, New York Tribune, and Brooklyn Eagle vary quite a bit – for example, the Times said that Octavia was 70, crippled from birth, and lived in a two-room apartment at 26 Hoyt Street; the Eagle said she was 60, was crippled by a stroke about 10 years earlier, and had four rooms at 24 Hoyt Street – I’m leaning much more toward trusting the Brooklyn paper on this one (although she about 72, not 60).

After all, while the Times reported that Octavia owned six frame houses between Fulton and Livingston streets, the Eagle was more accurate in stating that her property consisted of four dwellings: two small, two-story brick buildings, a one-story frame store, and a three-story frame house at the northwest corner of Hoyt and Livingston streets. One just needs to look at the Brooklyn map above from 1887, this 1904 Brooklyn map, and this 1916 Brooklyn map to see that the Times did not get the story quite right.

The Poor, Land-Rich Woman

Born in Metz, Alsace-Lorraine, Octavia Friedrich was the daughter of Celestine Celestine Friedrich and Charles W. Frederich, a tailor. Sometime around 1862, the family, including 22-year-old Octavia and her siblings, Amelie, 20, Alphonse, 28, Lucy, 21, and Ernest, 18, left France to move to America. They settled in Brooklyn on property once occupied by Brooklyn Mayor Samuel Smith’s farm, and Charles and Celestine began investing in real estate. According to the census, all five siblings were still single and living with their parents in the three-story frame house at 201 Livingston Street in Brooklyn in 1865.

Alphonse and Ernest Friedrich were both trained in stained glass making. They established a successful business in the rear of a family-owned building at 16-18 Hoyt Street, specializing in masterpieces for wealthy New Yorkers and churches across America. One of their first projects was St. Thomas Church on Fifth Avenue at 53rd Street, shown here around 1883.
Alphonse and Ernest Friedrich were both trained in stained glass making. They established a successful business in the rear of a family-owned building at 16-18 Hoyt Street, specializing in masterpieces for wealthy New Yorkers and churches across America. One of their first projects was St. Thomas Church on Fifth Avenue at 53rd Street, shown here around 1883. This church, which was designed by Richard Upton and constructed from 1865 to 1870, was destroyed in a horrific fire in 1905. By that time, Ernest had passed away and Alphonse had moved to San Diego with his wife, Mary Ann Walker.

With both her sisters married and gone (Lucy married a prominent Brooklyn music teacher but died before 1875, and Amelie moved to the Seattle area with Brooklyn attorney Newton H. Crittenden), Octavia continued living at 201 Livingston Street with her mother until Catherine died in February 1893.

According to the terms her mother’s will, Octavia had a life interest in the four buildings comprising #24-30 Hoyt Street, even though the real estate holdings had been divided among the three living siblings. A quarrel reportedly ensued over this division, causing a rift between Octavia and her surviving brother and sister.

Fast-forward 10 years to 1905, when the Friedrich estate sold 16-18 Hoyt Street to Abraham & Straus for a reported $100,000. The department store called the 5-story building the Men’s Building, as it was dedicated to men’s apparel.

Abraham & Straus, Brooklyn, Fulton Street, 1915
Founded in Brooklyn as Wechsler & Abraham by Abraham Abraham and Joseph Wechsler in 1865, the first store was at 285 Fulton Street. The department store became Abraham & Straus in 1893, when the Straus family (including Isidor Straus, who 19 years later died on the Titanic) bought out Wechsler’s interest in the store. Abraham & Straus continued to expand in the early 20th century, acquiring the estate of Josiah T. Smith (442-444 Fulton Street) and constructing new buildings on Livingston Street. By 1912, Octavia Friedrich was living in the shadows of A&S (pictured here on Fulton Street in 1915). Museum of the City of New York Collections

By 1912, all of the remaining Friedrich holdings on Hoyt Street were in bad repair, and, due to a high assessed value, barely paid enough rent to pay the high taxes.

According to the Brooklyn Eagle, Octavia’s apartment comprised a small kitchen and three small rooms that were filled with so much rubbish – boxes, old tins cans, milk and wine bottles — they were impassable. The cats lived in the rubbish-filled rooms, while Octavia spent her time in the kitchen, where she had an old coal stove and rusty range, an upholstered chair, a bureau, a small sink, and a tatterred mattress perched atop boxes (a good bed was wrapped up and propped against a wall and did not appear to be used).

During the early 1900s, construction was taking place all around Octavia Friedrich. This photo of the southeast corner of Hoyt and Livingston, looking east down Hoyt, shows the old Ludwig Baumann Store at #35 on the left. This site had previously been a a paint shop and a carriage making facility in several frame buildings. New York Public Library Digital Collections
During the early 1900s, construction was taking place all around Octavia Friedrich. This photo of the southeast corner of Hoyt and Livingston, looking east down Hoyt, shows the old Ludwig Baumann Store at #35 on the left. This site had previously been a a paint shop and a carriage making facility in several frame buildings. New York Public Library Digital Collections


The Thanksgiving Fire

On November 28, 1912, Octavia reportedly told a neighbor she would be cooking a small turkey for Thanksgiving. Some reports suggest she fell asleep and hot coals from the stove fell through the cracks and set fire to some gunnysacks; other reports theorize that a cat tipped over a kerosene lantern. Whatever the cause, that night around 6 p.m., Patrolman John Shaughnessy of the Adams Street police station saw flames through the dust-smeared second-floor windows of the building and pulled the fire alarm.

The first fire engine to arrive on the scene was Engine 126 from State Street, just a few blocks away. Brooklyn Fire Department Chief Charles Furey made his way through the unlocked door in the hallway, but the entrance to the three back rooms was blocked, so he had to force the door to the kitchen. By this time the apartment was filled with black smoke, and the fireman could barely see anything as they put out the fire.

Engine Company 126 of the Brooklyn Fire Department was established in January 1889 as Engine 26 and was stationed at 409 State Street, pictured here.
Engine Company 126 of the Brooklyn Fire Department was established in January 1889 as Engine 26 and was stationed at 409 State Street, pictured here. One year after the fire at Octavia’s apartment, when the old Brooklyn numbers were changed to the 200s, the company was renamed Engine 226. Today, Engine 226 is still housed in this Queen Anne firehouse.

The Barber and the Will

When the firemen returned to the streets, they were met by two women who came out of a restaurant yelling, “Did you find the body? Did you find old Mrs. Fredericks?”

The men went back into the kitchen, where they found her in the upholstered chair by the stove. Ambulance Surgeon Buckley from the Brooklyn Hospital said he thought she had suffocated from smoke inhalation, which was confirmed by undertaker W. Fred Moore.

Anthony Oreckinto, barber, 24 Hoyt Street, Brooklyn
Anthony Oreckinto told police he collected Octavia’s rents, made deposits into her banks, and watched over her securities.

Police got suspicious, however, when Anthony Oreckinto, the barber with a troubled past (his sister shot and killed her husband, and his mother died in a fire at 325 Atlantic Avenue a few years earlier), told them that he was the sole beneficiary of Octavia’s will.

Anthony, who lived nearby at 159 Hoyt Street, told police he had been collecting all the rents and depositing the money in the bank for Olivia Friedrich for the past few years. The last rents he collected totaled $498, which he turned over to her in cash just two days before. Aside from her cats, he said he was the only one ever allowed in her apartment.

“She told me that I had been her good friend for many years; that she had had a bitter quarrel with her relatives, and that she felt that by making the will she was only doing the fair thing by me,” Anthony said.

The barber also said he had signed the will on September 26 in the presence of two witnesses, and that one copy was in a drawer in her room and the original was in a safe deposit box at the the new Dime Savings Bank on Fulton Street.

Three people came forward to dispute this claim, including R.P. Chittenden, Amelie’s nephew by marriage; Russell Walker, Alphonse’s brother-in-law; and Mrs. Laura Morris, who rented a basement from Octavia in which she operated a restaurant.

Octavia Friedrich's will
Anthony Oreckinto claimed that a piece of paper with a few penciled lines and a signature was proof that he was the sole beneficiary of Octavia Friedrich’s property.

The nephew said Octavia Friedrich was in no condition to write a will because she was “deranged” – hence all the rubbish and cats in her apartment. Russell said she was far less rich than the neighborhood gossip reported her to be because she only had a life interest in the property and could not sell the Hoyt Street buildings. Mrs. Morris said she always paid her rent directly to Octavia, and that Octavia had recently confided in her that a man had approached her and asked her to sign a piece of paper.

Because Lieutenant James Kennedy had noted earlier that Octavia’s clothes smelled as if they had been soaked in kerosene, an investigation was ordered. Lieutenant William Roddy alongside Fire Marshall Brophy conducted a thorough investigation but concluded that the fire accidental, and that Octavia’s death was caused by suffocation and burns.

Amelie Marie Friedrich Chittenden and her brother Alphonse inherited all of the family's real estate holdings on Hoyt and Madison streets in Brooklyn. Photo courtesy of J. Zobel, Amelie's great-granddaughter.
Amelie Marie Friedrich Chittenden and her brother Alphonse inherited all of the family’s real estate holdings on Hoyt and Madison streets in Brooklyn. Photo courtesy of J. Zobel, Amelie’s great-granddaughter.

In June 1913, Kings County Surrogate Judge Herbert T. Ketcham declared the will invalid. Records showed that the only property she owned outright was 323 Madison Street — now the site of the Hattie Carthan Playground — which was valued at about $8,000 (the deed was dated June 4, 1898).

The Hoyt Street property — 140 feet on Hoyt and 60 on Livingston — was valued at $150,000 to $175,000. The judge turned this property over to Alphonse and Amelie.

Eight years after the fatal fire, 24 Hoyt Street was advertised as the Rose Waist Shop (Rose Shirtwaist Company). Next door, at 22 Hoyt Street, a flower shop was operated by Charles Abrams. By 1928, all the old buildings at the northwest corner of Hoyt and Livingston had been demolished to make way for the large Art Deco addition to A&S designed by Van Vlech and Starrett and constructed from 1929-1930.

Today, Abraham & Straus — now Macy’s — is an amalgamation of 8 buildings between Hoyt, Fulton, Livingston, and Gallatin Place. And the old boarding and livery stable that was once across from Octavia’s apartment is a giant parking garage for the department store.

Macy's Downtown Brooklyn, shown here in Google Earth at the northwest corner of Hoyt and Livingston Street.
Samuel Smith, born in Huntington, Long Island, in 1788, purchased the easterly portion of the old Tunis G. Johnson farm on the Old Road (Fulton Street) in 1811 (14 acres), for $6,000. He added to this property in 1815 and 1818, and pursued a farming and milk business until about 1825. Little by little he sold of this land, making him one of Brooklyn’s wealthiest citizens. He was elected 10th mayor of Brooklyn in 1850. Today Samuel Smith’s farm is occupied in part Macy’s Downtown Brooklyn, shown here in Google Earth at the northwest corner of Hoyt and Livingston Street. Imagine, just 100 years ago, twelve cats made their home here in a tiny four-room apartment.

1895: George Techow and His Performing Cats That Made Their Debut on Broadway

Posted: 31st October 2015 by The Hatching Cat in Cat Stories, Featured Felines
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Herr George Techow trained his felines to walk on their front feet, jump through hoops of fire, jump over each other on a tightrope, and perform other acts that astonished vaudeville audiences in the late 1890s and early 1900s. In later years, George’s daughter, Alice, took over the act.
Herr George Techow trained his felines to walk on their front feet, jump through hoops of fire, jump over each other on a tightrope, and perform other acts that astonished vaudeville audiences in the late 1890s and early 1900s. In later years, George’s daughter, Alice, took over the act.

“His collection of tabbies is the only show made up entirely of feline soubrettes that was ever organized in the world. Everything they do is performed with the upmost grace. They are as clever as any trick dogs or monkeys and much more entertaining to watch.” – Los Angeles Herald, September 6, 1896, in a feature story about George Techow

A Vagrant Catch is the Easiest to Teach

In the winter of 1895, about 18 trained cats dubbed “the latest sensation in European music halls” by the Philadelphia Times in October of that year made their New York City debut at Oscar Hammerstein’s Olympia Theatre Music Hall on Broadway.

Under the care of trainer Herr Professor George Techow of Hamburg, Germany, these performing felines could walk on their front feet, jump through hoops of fire, jump over each other on a tightrope, and perform other acts that astonished vaudeville audiences.

Herr George Techow performing cats in March 1901 (San Francisco Call). Muller is all the way at the right, wearing his hat and Judy collar.
The performing cats of Herr George Techow in March 1901 (San Francisco Call). Muller the popular clown cat is all the way at the right, wearing his hat and Judy collar.

Herr Techow had been working as an animal trainer at Hagenbach, Germany, when it occurred him that the first person to successfully train cats to perform would be a big hit. He also realized it would take an immense amount of time and patience, but he was determined to give it a try.

Angora and Persian cats were all the rage at this time, so Techow got 10 of the prettiest Angoras he could find. He tried, for over a year, to teach them a few simple tricks, without success. As Techow often told the press – and as was later recalled in the book Concerning Cats: My Own and Some Others — the Angora cats had been bred simply for their good looks. They were lazy, he said, and as a result of inbreeding and generations living with rich folk, they had become “stupid and inert.”

“I cannot teach a kitten. I take them from a year to two or three years old, and train them three years longer before it is safe to put them on the stage with confidence in their performing the tricks they may have mastered.” -- Herr George Techow
“I cannot teach a kitten. I take them from a year to two or three years old, and train them three years longer before it is safe to put them on the stage with confidence in their performing the tricks they may have mastered.” — Herr George Techow

“Only one of the 10 showed any intelligence,” Herr Techow said. “I realized I’d have to use cats from the streets, ownerless felines.” He explained that he “picked street cats that had a bad reputation in the quarter where they prowled, cats that were adept at stealing food from kitchens and butcher shops, for I knew these were unusually intelligent.

“A vagrant cat is the easiest to teach, the quickest to learn,” George Techow explained. “Just as a street gamin gets his wits sharpened by his vagrant life, the stray, half-starved cat, forced to defend himself from foes and to snatch his living where he can, has his perceptive faculties quickened and his brain-cells enlarged.”

Herr Techow was always quick to point out that he never whipped his cats (although he sometimes tapped a whip on the ground as a signal), because fear and punishment do not work with cats. They simply do not understand the purpose of punishment, and, as he told the press, a cat never forgets a blow, nor licks the boot that has kicked him. Although the cats would often misbehave as cats are wan to do, once they got on stage they were all business.

“It can take years to train a cat,” George Techow told The New York Times in 1903. “I can train 12 dogs to perform a number of tricks in the same time it takes to train one cat to perform the simplest act.”

According to Helen Maria Winslow, author of the aforementioned book, the cats were quite fond of their trainer, and would welcome him into a room with purrs and meows. Each cat had a little wire cage for traveling filled with a layer of hay and sawdust, and when George Techow opened the cages, the cats would scramble all over him. (At home they slept in an enormous wicker basket with eight compartments. While on stage, the cats occupied little compartments or tables while awaiting their turn to perform.)

Techow's Cats
“They are exceedingly well trained little beasts, even if not particularly intelligent, and they do with moderately well-concealed reluctance many things that are wonderful in that they are directly opposed to all feline methods and principles.” The New York Times, May 19, 1896

Herr Techow and His Trained Cats Wow New York City Audiences

Following their European tour, including some performances at the Empire Theatre and London Pavilion in London, Herr Techow’s trained cats came to America to wow audiences in cities like Boston, Los Angeles, San Francisco, Philadelphia, and New York. The cat’s first tour took place in 1895, but according to news reports, it looks like they came back a few times in 1902 and 1905.

As the Morning Telegraph reported on April 6, 1905:

It is usually considered that the cat, while a useful as well as ornamental feature in domestic life, is rather difficult to train, but George Techow has succeeded in bringing fifteen or twenty of these midnight prowlers to a point where they are really cultured animals and capable of furnishing no end of amusement. To be sure, many of the feats partake of the usual stunts on the back fence, but they are quite cultivated in spite of that and show the care taken in their education.

Before coming to America, Herr Techow's cats amazed audiences in London and other European cities.
Before coming to America, Herr Techow’s cats amazed audiences in London and other European cities.

In October 1895, the performing cats took the stage for the first time in New York City at Oscar Hammerstein’s Olympia Theatre Music Hall on Broadway.

One of the stars of the show was Muller, the clown cat, who always brought down the house with his antics. Muller wore a hat and a “Judy collar,” and would run circles around his feline co-stars in the way a circus clown would run around the elephants to get a few laughs.

Other stars of the show included Fuchs, a ginger cat from Switzerland who could box with his master or turn a spinning wheel (when he had enough of spinning the wheel, he’d scratch Herr Techow as if so say, “I’ve had enough”).

Peter and Paul from Saxony performed on a trapeze, and other cats like Angot, a white cat from Paris, Bossy, Max (angry but clever) Mietze, and Muller’s son, took part in other various stunts.

Cat on a Cool Roof at the Olympia Theatre

Several cats were trained to walk across a tightrope, which they did easily by using their tails like balancing poles. Herr George Techow said he tried to teach some cats to do somersaults, but that just made them go crazy.
Several cats were trained to walk across a tightrope, which they did easily by using their tails like balancing poles. Herr George Techow said he tried to teach some cats to do somersaults, but that just made them go crazy.

In the summer of 1886, Herr Techow’s cats were invited to perform at Oscar Hammerstein’s Olympia Theatre roof garden. At 44th and Broadway, the Olympia Theatre took up an entire city block and was covered with a 65-foot high frosted-glass roof.

The roof garden was lit with 3,000 electric lights (this illumination initiated a trend that would transform the emerging theater district into the Great White Way), and water pumped from a refrigerated tank in the basement flowed through pipes in the roof to keep it cool.

The massive, block-wide structure of Indiana limestone was designed by J. B. McElfatrick & Son. When it opened on November 25, 1895, the Olympia Theatre was only the second theater to open in what is now known as the Theater District. The first was the Empire Theatre, on the southeast corner of 40th Street and Broadway, which opened in 1893. Museum of the City of New York Collections
The massive, block-wide structure of Indiana limestone was designed by J. B. McElfatrick & Son. When it opened on November 25, 1895, the Olympia Theatre was only the second theater to open in what is now known as the Theater District. The first was the Empire Theatre, on the southeast corner of 40th Street and Broadway, which opened in 1893. Museum of the City of New York Collections

The cats must have been very tempted to break free from their performance and explore the roof’s rustic alpine features. The roof featured rock crags and a stream that flowed into a 40-foot-long lake.

Not unlike Hammerstein’s “Dutch farm” atop his Paradise Roof Garden at 42nd Street and 7th Avenue, the roof garden at the Olympia had live swans imported from Russia, South American monkeys, a duck pond, little cabins, gardens, and a wooden bridge. There was also a promenade around the building that provided views of New Jersey and beyond Central Park.

The Olympia Theatre, also known as Hammerstein's Olympia, was located at 1514-16 Broadway, at 44th Street. The theater complex, built for use by Oscar Hammerstein I in what was then called Longacre Square (today’s Times Square), featured two main auditoriums (Lyric and Music Hall), two small theaters (Concert Hall and Roof Garden), an Oriental café, billiards and bowling facilities. One 50-cent ticket admitted patrons to the entire entertainment complex.
The Olympia Theatre, also known as Hammerstein’s Olympia, was located at 1514-16 Broadway, at 44th Street. The theater complex, built for use by Oscar Hammerstein I in what was then called Longacre Square (today’s Times Square), featured two main auditoriums (Lyric and Music Hall), two small theaters (Concert Hall and Roof Garden), an Oriental café, billiards and bowling facilities. One 50-cent ticket admitted patrons to the entire entertainment complex.

Unfortunately, the giant theater complex proved a quick failure and bankrupted Oscar Hammerstein (although he quickly re-established himself at the aforementioned theater on 42nd Street). On June 29, 1898, the debt-laden Olympia was auctioned off to new owners, who remodeled the Olympia into three theaters:

The 2,800-seat Olympia Music Hall was reduced to a 1,675-seat playhouse called the New York Theatre. The Olympia’s other playhouse, the 1,700-seat Lyric, was reduced to about 900 seats and renamed the Criterion, and the roof garden was enclosed into a conventional 925-seat theater called Jardin de Paris.

The Olympia Theatre Music Hall, where George Techow's trained cats once performed, featured six tiers of box seats and five balconies. In 1899, it was reduced to a 1,675-seat playhouse called the New York Theatre.
The Olympia Theatre Music Hall, where George Techow’s trained cats once performed, featured six tiers of box seats and five balconies. In 1899, it was reduced to a 1,675-seat playhouse called the New York Theatre.

For a brief time the New York Theatre operated as the Moulin Rouge (1912), but it reverted to the New York Theatre a year later. In 1915, a young Marcus Loew took over the New York Theatre and the roof theater, and converted them into movie cinemas. Admission prices were the lowest on Broadway – just 10 or 15 cents depending on time of day.

In 1935, the buildings were demolished to make way for a new cinema built by B.S. Moss called the Criterion, plus retail stores and a dance hall called the International Casino nightclub (historians are unclear as to whether some or all buildings in the complex were demolished and rebuilt, or the shells were gutted and remodeled). The 1,700-seat Criterion Theatre opened in September 1936 and was later leased to Loew’s for about 20 years.

The Criterion Theatre at the northeast corner of Broadway and 44th Street
The Criterion Theatre at the northeast corner of Broadway and 44th Street in 1920.

In March 1980, the Criterion Theatre was converted into five large movie screens. The theater — named the Criterion Center Stage Right in 1988 — continued to operate in the seedy Times Square district until the spring of 2000, when it was gutted to become the massive Toys R Us flagship store with 60-foot Ferris wheel.

Sadly, the toy store and the giant Ferris wheel were recently replaced by an Old Navy and Gap store.

As for Herr Techow’s cats, they went on to continue performing with George’s daughter, Alice, until about 1925.

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