Boxing Kangaroo
With the introduction of boxing kangaroos in America, marsupials were in high demand. Circuses and vaudeville houses sent cables to agents and ship captains in Australia requesting as many as they could find, but there were just not enough to go around. Some places resorted to putting a man in a kangaroo suit. The boxing kangaroo craze continued into the 1940s.

In the spring of 1893, 27-year-old Frank C. Bostock and his wife, Susannah Ethel Bailey, sold their shares of the Bostock, Wombell, and Bailey Circus (yes, that Bailey) and sailed from Liverpool to New York aboard the Bovic, a White Star Line steamship that specialized in the shipment of livestock. The couple didn’t travel alone; their traveling companions included three lions, a kangaroo, and several other large animals from the family’s traveling menagerie. Frank, their boxing kangaroo, would soon become a headliner at Koster and Bial’s Music Hall.

Upon arrival in New York, Frank set up his first exhibition stand near 5th Avenue and Flatbush Avenue in Brooklyn. A showman described the set-up this way: “The Bostock family lived in one wagon and the other two wagons housed four monkeys, five parrots, three lions, a sheep, and a boxing kangaroo.”

The kangaroo pugilist, whom Frank Bostock called Big Frank, had earned his fame in London at the Royal Aquarium. News of the British boxing kangaroo had generated much curiosity in the United States, so Bostock decided to introduce the act to New York.

Koster and Bial 200 Worth Street
John Koster and Albert Bial owned several restaurants and saloons in New York, including this restaurant at 200 Worth Street, which was where the two men reportedly first met. New York Public Library Digital Collections

Big Frank made his American debut on June 1, 1893, at the Madison Square Garden Amphitheater. As The New York Times described the event, the kangaroo wore a pair of regulation boxing gloves on his forepaws and was over six feet tall when standing on his hind legs. He was escorted into the ring by his opponent, “a burly colored man.” (Yes, this was over 100 years ago.)

As soon as Frank Bostock called “Time!” the kangaroo hopped nimbly on his hind legs to the center of the ring with his paws in correct boxing position. He followed his opponent all about the ring, and used a downward chopping movement with his gloved paws. Every time he took a blow from his opponent, he used his tail to keep his balance.

The event ended with three rounds of sparring between Frank the kangaroo and Frank the circus man. Homosapien Frank won the match by throwing himself on marsupial Frank and toppling him to the ground.

Koster & Bial’s Music Hall

Koster and Bial's Music Hall 23rd Street
The first Koster & Bial’s Music Hall was on the corner of Sixth Ave. and 23rd St. Originally home to Bryant’s Opera House, it featured an open-air garden and an enclosed theater. NYPL Digital Collections

One month after making his rounds at Madison Square Garden, Frank the boxing kangaroo was a headliner at Koster & Bial’s Music Hall, a vaudeville theater and beer garden at the northwest corner of 23rd Street and 6th Avenue. Big Frank was apparently a big hit there, as they kept him on the program until the close of the season at the end of August.

Koster & Bial’s has an interesting history, to say the least.

John Koster and Albert Bial were both born in Germany in the 1840s and immigrated to America in the early 1860s. The two men reportedly met in 1869 when Koster hired Bial to work at his restaurant at 200 Worth Street, on the corner of Park Row.

They soon became partners in several restaurants as well as the beer-bottling business.

On May 5, 1879, Koster and Bial purchased a concert hall on 23rd Street near the corner of 6th Avenue. Built in 1870, the theater was originally called Bryant’s Opera House, the home of the popular blackface minstrel troupe, Bryant’s Minstrels.

The Corner, 24th and Sixth Avenue
“The Corner” building was designed by the German architects Herman J. Schwarzmann and Albert Buchman in 1886. It connected to the music hall so theater-goers could enter either through the main entrance at 23rd Street or through The Corner’s ornate entrance of cast iron, stained glass and polished wood on 24th Street, shown in this photograph. NYPL Digital Collections

Following the death of Dan Bryant in 1875, the theater was then home to one concert hall after the other, including Darling’s Opera House, 23rd Street, Theatre Francaise, and the St. James.

In 1881 the partners expanded the business with a 1200-seat vaudeville theater at 115-117 West 23rd Street adjoining the older building. The property was owned by Alfred B. Darling, who also owned Proctor’s Theatre and who was a senior proprietor of the Fifth-Avenue Hotel.

To circumvent a law against serving alcohol in theaters, Koster and Bial replaced the stage curtain with a folding screen. That way, they could say they were a restaurant that provided entertainment rather than a theater offering food and drink.

It was at this theater that Big Frank the boxing kangaroo appeared nightly.

The Corner, Koster & Bial's
The Corner featured a saloon and retail outlet for Koster and Bial’s beer bottling business on the ground floor and sitting rooms on the upper floors. NYPL Digital Collections

The Koster & Bial’s complex continued to grow to include an outdoor beer garden stretching along Sixth Avenue. With Koster in charge of the alcohol and Bial in charge of the performers, Koster & Bial’s was a popular boozy and burlesque-y venue.

In 1886, the partners built an annex called “The Corner” at the southwest corner of 24th Street. The annex had had a saloon and retail outlet for their beer bottling business on the ground floor and sitting rooms on the upper floors.

Albert Bial
This portrait of Albert Bial appeared in Moses King’s Notable New Yorkers of 1896-1899.

Trouble began when Koster & Bial’s started offering more than beer and vaudeville (wink wink). According to The New York Times, the concert hall had a notorious “cork room” in which the walls were covered with champagne bottle stoppers.

“The affairs that took place in the room in the late hours after show time would have astonished the churchgoers,” the Times noted.

Numerous police raids and the scandal they created forced Koster and Bial to close the music hall and annex on August 26, 1893. The Trocadero Vaudevilles were next to move into the music hall, followed by Bon Ton (burlesque) in 1920.

The building was torn down in 1924 and replaced by a six-story brick apartment building.

Josiah Belden moved into The Corner in 1894, operating a billiards parlor and grocery on the first floor and lodging rooms above. For many years during the late-20th century the building housed various entertainment venues until Billy’s Topless bar opened in 1970 (later renamed Billy’s Stopless).

The new Koster and Bial's Music Hall on 34th Street opened on August 28, 1893, just two days after authorities shut down their 23rd Street venue. Museum of the City of New York Collections
The new Koster & Bial’s Music Hall on 34th Street opened on August 28, 1893, just two days after authorities shut down their 23rd Street venue. Museum of the City of New York Collections

Mayor Rudolph Giuliani shut down Billy’s in 2001, and today it’s The Corner Cafe.

After getting kicked out of 23rd Street, Koster and Bial hooked up with Oscar Hammerstein. Hammerstein owned the Manhattan Opera House, a large theater built in 1892 on 34th Street at Herald Square.

Having failed to succeed with high-class opera, Hammerstein offered Koster and Bial a partnership under which he would manage the vaudeville entertainment and they would manage the food.

The new Koster and Bial’s Music Hall opened on August 28, 1893.

Koster & Bial 34th Street
Ticket prices in the new theater ranged from 25¢ for a seat in the gallery to $1.50 for one of the 700 blue satin and silk upholstered, reserved orchestra seats. For that price, one also had a shelf on the back of his or her chair to place alcoholic beverages. The balcony level, reached by marble stairs from the foyer, had 16 exclusive boxes, and the third level refreshment promenade had tables and chairs to accommodate 800 patrons. MCNY Collections

The Kinetoscope at Koster & Bial’s

It was at Koster & Bial’s on 34th Street that inventor Thomas Armat gave the first public demonstration of the projecting kinetoscope movie projector, called the Vitascope, on April 23, 1896. The partners’ plan was to use the Vitascope to reproduce scenes from various successful plays and operas, as well as political speeches, and project them on the 12 x 20 foot screen.

Vitascope
The Vitascope was invented and developed by Thomas Armat, but by mutual agreement Thomas Edison’s Kinetograph company acquired, manufactured, and marketed it, and presented it as having been invented by Edison. Koster & Bial had exclusive rights for exhibiting the projector. A plaque in Macy’s commemorates the Vitascope exhibition.

Although the music hall had some successes, it was more often plagued with financial and management issues. On July 17, 1901, Macy’s announced that it had purchased the property and would be demolishing the theater and other buildings to make way for its flagship store at 34th Street and Broadway.

Three days later, Koster and Bial’s last performance took place on the roof garden. The show ended with a chorus of performers and customers singing “Auld Lang Syne.”

kosterbielsign
A plaque on 34th Street commemorates the first “moving picture” at Koster and Bial’s Music Hall. Photo by P. Gavan

The Kangaroos Keep Kicking

In the spring of 1894, Frank Bostock brought his animal show to Balmer’s Bathing Pavilion near the New Iron Pier at Coney Island. Ten years later, he opened the Bostock Arena at the brand-new Dreamland amusement park at Coney Island. Throughout these years, he continued to feature a boxing kangaroo.

Bostock died of the flu in England in 1912, about a year after the Dreamland fire (May 27, 1911), in which 60 of his 150 animals died. I don’t know if a boxing kangaroo was among those that perished in the flames.

The Corner
The Corner’s cornice and brownstone street markers are still intact today (see top of photo and lower right brick on the second level). So if you happen to be walking down Sixth Avenue near 24th Street, look up and say, “Hey, I know the story behind this building!”
Jiggs Engine Company 205 Dalmatian
Hatching Cat
Paunchy with good living and good fellowship with chefs and motorists, it should be beside the fireside rather than inside the fire line for Jiggs.” Brooklyn Standard Union, August 25, 1923

“Jiggs was the dog who started out as a lithe, slim pup who ran yelping and barking just ahead of the three beautiful horses that pulled old “205.” But Jiggs fell into evil ways. He became a connoisseur of Borough Hall restaurant kitchens. A gourmet.

Things came to such a pass that Jiggs fell down on his job of leading the fire engine. He grew to the proportions of a Shetland pony . . .” –Brooklyn Standard Union, 1929, article about the fire dog of Engine Company 205

When 8-year-old Jiggs died on September 14, 1925, he was called “Brooklyn’s fattest dog” in his “obituary” in The Brooklyn Standard Union. You see, Jiggs had a bad habit of making the daily rounds at the Brooklyn Borough Hall restaurants, and when he died, he tipped the scales at 121 pounds.

It wasn’t his weight, though, that killed him. Jiggs was “humanely dispatched” by the Brooklyn SPCA because he had reportedly become a grumpy old man in his final year of retirement.

A St. Patrick’s Day Puppy

Jiggs was born on March 17, 1917, and presented to Engine Company 205 in Brooklyn Heights on Memorial Day of that year. Right away, he bonded with 39-year-old Engineer Thomas J. “Smoke” McEwan. Over the years, he rarely left his side.

Thomas J. McEwan
Brooklyn Engine Company 205
Although Jiggs would answer to any man in uniform who gave him orders, he would only follow Smoke McEwan. The two were inseparable. If you saw Jiggs anywhere downtown, you could bet Smoke wasn’t far away.

Jiggs also took a liking to Bum and her kittens. Bum was a Brooklyn aristocrat and the long-time mascot cat of Engine Company 205. Her mother had been found cold and starving on the street near the firehouse on Pierrepont Street in 1909. Bum and all her siblings stayed in the neighborhood, but only Bum was lucky enough to get a permanent home at the fire station.

Jiggs was quite hyperactive in his youth, and would bark and jump around like crazy whenever the gong rang for a fire. Bath time was also a struggle for Smoke and fireman Frank Wolf, but somehow they managed to bathe Jiggs four times a week.

Sometimes young Jiggs would get a little too friendly or too ambitious. Once he tried to make friends with one of the horses and got booted through a rear window. Another time he broke his leg while trying to slide down the pole.

Steam Engine Company No. 5, Brooklyn Heights
Later, Brooklyn Engine Company 205
Engine 205 was Brooklyn’s oldest, most famous, and most influential fire company. It was organized as Steam Engine Company No. 5 on September 15, 1869, by young, upstanding men from wealthy families of downtown Brooklyn. The company’s first firehouse was located at 160 Pierrepont Street.

Jiggs Meets Chef Martin

During those first few years as a fire buff, Jiggs never weighed more than 71 pounds. He was fast with the horses and always present on every call, no matter the size of the fire or incident. In his first five years of service, he reportedly responded to more than 10,000 fire calls.

But then he struck up a friendship with John Martin, a chef in Joe’s Restaurant at the corner of Fulton and Pierrepont streets. John couldn’t help but give the dog a few treats every day, and with a menu that listed over 400 food choices, there was plenty to go around for Jiggs.

Joe's Restaurant Fulton Avenue Brooklyn
Joseph Balzarini and Joseph Sartori, both Italian immigrants, opened Joe’s Restaurant in 1909. Located just around the corner from Brooklyn’s insurance, political, and financial hub, it was the place to go for politicians and brokers as well as families and fire dogs. The building was demolished in 1959; today this is the site of 1 Pierrepont Plaza, the 2016 presidential campaign headquarters for Hilary Clinton.

After meeting John Martin, Jiggs discovered other friendly chefs at nearby restaurants. Chefs encouraged the dog to eat and often bragged about the fact that the famous fire dog preferred his restaurant kitchen to another.

Jiggs with Fireman William McGill in 2922.
Jiggs with Fireman William McGill in 2922.

No Diet and No Exercise

Fire dogs are tough but they have three enemies: accidents, colds and overweight. The last is the worst. Now that the days of running to fires with the horses are gone they need to watch their figures, and they have too many kind friends. — New York Sun, December 7, 1940

Clarendon Hotel, Brooklyn
Another of Jigg’s favorites was the Clarendon Grill at the Clarendon Hotel, at 284 Washington Street (now Cadman Plaza East). This 1890 hotel, designed by Brooklyn architect J.G. Glover, replaced the first Clarendon, which was damaged in the deadly Brooklyn Theater fire of 1876. The Clarendon, the old Brooklyn Eagle building, and other buildings were torn down in the 1950s to make way for Cadman Plaza.

Jiggs couldn’t have become a canine epicurean at the worst time in the history of the New York Fire Department. Only 11 years before, Commissioner Rhinelander Waldo proposed motor-driven fire apparatus for the FDNY.

One by one, each company replaced its horses with motorized apparatus. Brooklyn’s Engine 205 was the last to relinquish its horses in 1922.

With the horses gone, Jiggs could no longer get his daily exercise. Refusing to be pensioned off and sent to a retirement farm, Jiggs tried running with the motorized apparatus a few times, but it nearly killed him. An overweight Dalmatian was no match for a motorized engine that could go 30 to 40 miles an hour.

Engine Company 205 Brooklyn
On the morning of December 20, 1922, Fire Commissioner Thomas J. Drennan, Brooklyn Borough President Edward Riegelmann, firefighters, city dignitaries, and Jiggs gathered in back of Brooklyn Borough Hall to pay their final tribute to the last fire horses of Engine 205.

By 1923, Jiggs weighed 118 pounds. Twice the firemen sent him to an exclusive farm for canine reduction treatments, but both times he made his way back to Pierrepont Street. Then on October 12, 1923, Jiggs was taken to the Ellin Prince Speyer Free Hospital for Animals at 350 Lafayette Street in Manhattan to be treated for painful swelling in his right paw, which turned out to be gout.

Jiggs was reportedly put on a strict diet and did lose some weight over the next two months. But before long, when Smoke McEwan wasn’t watching him very carefully, Jiggs got back into his bad ways and was soon as heavy as ever.

By the summer of 1925, Jiggs was reportedly “fatter and lazier than ever.” He spent his days laying outside the firehouse sunning himself, and, as the firemen said, never partook in “any feminine activities such as dieting to reduce.” Captain Leon Howard told the press that the men never fed Jiggs – he fed himself – and that the fatter he got, the more he found to eat.

Jigg, coach dog of Engine Company. 205
Jiggs howled in sorrow as his horse friends were bid farewell as Smoke McEwan tried to console him.

In July 1925, Engine Company 205 was relocated to 274 Hicks Street. For Jiggs, Hicks Street was a long way from Borough Hall and all his favorite restaurants. Unable to adjust to the change, what Smoke once called “the best natured dog in the world” soon grew remorse and ill tempered.

That month, Jiggs nipped at a passerby who had reportedly kicked him in the paw. The man, 38-year-old Alexander Kyle of 78 Kingston Avenue, was treated at Long Island Hospital for a bite on the right leg. Jiggs was transferred to the pound in a wagon donated by the Brooklyn Standard Union (the distance was too great for him to walk), were he was detained for 10 days as authorities confirmed that he didn’t have rabies.

Upon his release from the pound, Jiggs was issued a silver-plated muzzle and a dog license. Fire Commissioner Thomas J. Drennan told Captain Howard, “Put him back on active duty. He will neither be fined nor his pay deducted. Jiggs is one of the best dogs in the history of the Fire Department.”

Apparently Jiggs didn’t wear the muzzle, because two months later, the men of Engine Company 205 had to call in the SPCA to “dispatch” their fire dog. He was reportedly snapping at many people, including children, and was a danger to the public. Sadly, Smoke was on vacation at the time, and the men were not able to locate him before Jiggs was put to death.

274 Hicks Street, Brooklyn
Jiggs was not a happy dog when Engine Company 205 was relocated to 274 Hicks Street in 1925. Today this 1903 landmark building is home to Engine Company 224.

When Jiggs died in 1925, the old Engine Company 205 firehouse on Pierrepont Street died too. For some time, the 1869 building was used as a “parking space” for the mounted police, who would drop their horses off there when they went downtown for lunch or dinner. In the 1940s and 50s, the building served as the headquarters for the Kings County American Legion. Today, there’s a large office building on the site which houses Brooklyn’s Social Security Office.

These days, Engine 205 and Ladder 118 make their home at 74 Middagh Sreet. On September 11, 2001, both companies rushed over the Brooklyn Bridge to get to the World Trade Center. The men of Engine 205 arrived first, but most of their lives were spared when they had to carry the body of a fallen firefighter from another company to an ambulance a block away, out of the immediate danger zone. Sadly, Lt. Robert Walsh and Captain Martin Egan Jr. were also killed.

Lt. Robert Regan, Lt. Joe Agnello, and firefighters Leon Smith, Vernon Cherry, Scott Davidson, and Peter Vega of Ladder 118 were last seen running up the stairs of the Marriott World Trade Center Hotel to help the panicked guests. All six men were killed while trying to save others.

Ladder 118 9/11
Ladder 118 lost six men on 9/11. Lt. Robert Wallace and Capt. Martin Egan, who used to work in the Middagh Street house but were detailed elsewhere that day, were also killed in the terrorist attacks.

Here is the photograph that captured Ladder 118 speeding across the Brooklyn Bridge toward the flaming towers. I have a feeling that if this photo had been taken 80 years earlier, we’d see a horse-drawn ladder truck with a Dalmatian named Jiggs running alongside.

Minnie was just an alley cat — a dusty black and dirty white alley cat, to be more specific. But when she passed away in 1934, she made manly men like Jack Bleeck mourn.

VintageCat2

It was a cold November night in 1920 when good luck brought the orphan kitten to the Opera Café at 561 Seventh Avenue (near 40th Street). John “Jack” Bleeck, who had just taken over the place after working as a bartender there for nine years, saw the kitten outside and invited her in.

He was just about to put up a “Help Wanted” sign for a good mouser, so the timing could not have been better.

Jack Bleeck (pronounced Blake), the son of a St. Louis shoe man, left his home city on a freight car sometime around 1900 to find a better life on the east coast. He landed a job making a dollar a day at a cocktail bar in New Orleans during Mardi Gras. After arriving in New York, his first jobs included selling hats and shoes and tending bar at Manhattan Beach on Coney Island.

In 1920, at the start of Prohibition, Jack borrowed some money to purchase the Opera Café and turn it into a speakeasy. Business was brisk, but Jack was no match for the rats and mice who nibbled at his customers’ shoes. A cat like Minnie was the answer to his prayers.

Prohibition New York 1920
On January 16, 1920, 18th Amendment to the U.S. Constitution–which banned the manufacture, transportation and sale of intoxicating liquors–went into effect. In New York City, police confiscated barrels of wine and beer, smashed them, and dumped their contents into gutters or harbors. While some New Yorkers watched in horror, others began finding ways to circumvent the law by selling alcohol illegally at places called speakeasies.

On the night she arrived, Minnie slept well in a warm corner of the basement, her little belly full with food. She immediately paid Jack back by catching a mouse and placing it at his feet the next morning. Within six months, she had caught most of the critters and the rest moved away.

As Jack Bleeck told the press just before her death in July 1934, while wiping tears from his eyes:

Next door to me was a rathskeller featuring a business men’s lunch for 15 cents, including a glass of near beer. No real business man could eat the cheap cuts of meat they served. The meat was so tough it attracted rats and the rats used to burrow through the foundations and sneak into my café looking for a decent scrap of sirloin.

These rats were the biggest and boldest you ever saw. They would stand right up against the bar and gnaw at the shoes resting against the brass rail. My customers stood for this tickling just so long, and then began to complain.

I put 30 to 40 traps around the café, but the rats thought it was a game and came around more than ever. I threw gallons of ammonia into the holes they bored in the walls, but they thrived on that. Altogether I spent $600 on those damned rats and they didn’t have the courtesy to leave me alone.

Then, as I say, Minnie walked in out of nowhere one cold, snowy day when I opened the door to oil the lock. Minnie may have come from the [Metropolitan Opera House] but I asked no questions and nobody claimed her. She took immediate possession of the premises and went to work on those rats.

Minnie was made of strong stuff. She’d chase the rats into the holes and then wait three or four hours to get another crack at them. Inside of six months she had cleaned out all the rodents and the survivors never dared come back. It was a tough job. The rats used to gang her, but her paws moved like lightning and she could punch like Dempsey.”

Metropolitan Opera House,
Jack Bleeck thought that perhaps Minnie had come from the nearby Metropolitan Opera House at 1411 Broadway. Erected in 1882-83, the Metropolitan Opera House was razed in 1967 and replaced by a 40-story office tower.

In October 1925, Jack sold the Opera Café and secured a charter from Albany to open a social club in a grimy loft building at 213 West 40th Street, next to the new, New York Herald Tribune building. Called the Artist and Writers Club (apparently only one artist could join), the speakeasy-disguised-as-club looked like and operated like a men’s formal dining club.

Jack was a strict disciplinarian at his club, and he was always present at a central table to keep order. If any of the club’s 6,000 members started singing a loud drinking song or tried to occupy a table without permission, Jack saw to it that he was kicked out. If a wife or girlfriend tried to get in, the entrance was blocked (during Prohibition, patrons had to enter the club through a door inside a warehouse where the Metropolitan Opera stored scenery).

Artist and Writers Club
Owner: Jack Bleeck
The club — renamed a restaurant after Prohibition was repealed — featured English pub decor with a 42-foot bar, bare oak tables, and waiters with thick German accents who served German-American fare.

In the early days the Artist and Writers Club attracted opera singers from the Metropolitan Opera House and numerous thespians and stagehands from the National Theatre (later the Billy Rose, and today the Nederlander Theatre) at 208 West 41st Street. Later on, reporters, editors, authors, and press agents from all over the city made the club a favorite literary hangout.

Minnie, Martinis, and Caruso

One of the most famous patrons of the club was the great tenor Enrico Caruso, who would stop by with his friend Antonio Scotti, a baritone, after performing at the Met. Minnie would jump on the bar and arch her back so Caruso could pet her while sipping his Martini.

Although Minnie was the first female ever admitted to the strictly stag club, the feisty feline enjoyed her privileges but did not abuse them. She spent most of her waking hours policing the basement kitchen, which was where she slept in a box filled with sawdust. At 5 p.m. every day she would come upstairs to pass an hour with the men. She loved schmoozing, but she never once meowed or complained in their company.

Artist and Writers Club
On one wall of the club was a set of armor from the Met and a stuffed, striped bass allegedly caught by J.P. Morgan in 1884.

Over the years, Minnie reportedly had 110 kittens. (I wonder if one of her boyfriends was Tommy Lamb of The Lambs Club?)

According to Jack Bleeck, whenever she was pregnant, members of the club would form a kitten pool and bet on the litter size. Usually she had six kittens at a time, but sometimes she’d have only four or five. The mother cat made good mousers of them all, but none of her offspring ever acquired her social abilities.

After the repeal of Prohibition in 1933, Jack had to change the name of his club to the Artist and Writers Restaurant (I guess he still wanted only one artist to dine there). To the great dismay of his patrons, he also had to allow women. It took Jack 10 months to finally open the door to women, but even then he did his best to make most of them feel quite unwelcome.

Tallulah Bankhead
Other than Minnie, the only women who were welcomed at the Artist and Writers Restaurant were hard drinkers like actress Tallulah Bankhead.

The Passing of Minnie

Just six weeks before Minnie died, she gave birth to her final litter of two kittens. Jack Bleeck could sense that she was not faring well after this delivery, so he took her by taxi to the Ellin Prince Speyer Hospital for Animals. There, she was examined by Dr. Bruce Blair, who told Jack his cat had a tumor in her stomach. He said she was too weak for an operation and could not be saved.

Jack Bleeck said his last goodbye to Minnie on July 20, 1934. He then purchased a plot for her at the Hartsdale Pet Cemetery in Westchester County.

While leaving the hospital for the last time, Jack told reporters, “She has a face like a human being. She looks right up in my face as if to say to me, I know I’m sick and you’re trying to help me.” He raised a finger to his moist eyes and said, “Just some soot in my eye…She’s just a cat.”

Jack Bleeck
Jack Bleeck at his restaurant in 1945, about 10 years after he lost his best feline friend, Minnie.

In March 1953, Jack sold the business to Thomas F. Fitzpatrick and Ernst Hitz. He died at his home in Manhasset, Long Island, 10 years later on April 22, 1973, at the age of 83.

In 1981, the old loft building was destroyed in a fire. Today a new building houses a Hale and Hearty soup and sandwich shop, and the old employees’ entrance for the Herald Tribune building is the entrance to the CUNY Graduate School of Journalism.

This story about the early days of Bronx Zoo begins with an Irish immigrant named John Mullaly, who worked as a reporter and editor in the mid-1800s for several New York City papers.

Iguanas

John was a big proponent of green spaces, and often wrote about the lack of such spaces in New York City. Consider that at this time, the city had only one acre of public parkland for every 1,363 inhabitants, compared to one acre for every 200 in Chicago and one acre for every 300 residents in Philadelphia.

On November 26, 1881, the 46-year-old newsman and a large group of citizens concerned with widespread urban growth met at the Fifth Avenue Hotel to form the New York Park Association. John Mullaly was named secretary, Waldo Hutchins was elected president, and Hon. Luther R. Marsh was named vice president.

The goal of the new association was to secure funding to create free public parks that would be rural and governed by as few restrictions as necessary to preserve them from abuse and destruction.

Bronx Zoo 1896
Of the 653 undeveloped acres condemned by the city for the Bronx Zoo, more than half were owned by the Lorillard Estate and 170 acres were owned by the Lydig estate. The remaining acres were owned by the Ann Bolton estate, Jefferson M. Levy, Frederick Grote, C.A.L. Kernochan, Mary L. Barbey, and Eva L. Kipp. All total, it cost the city $2.3 million to acquire the lands for Bronx Park in 1888. This photo shows the northwest corner of what would become the Bronx Zoological Park in 1896. Collection of the author

As a result of the group’s lobbying efforts, an act was passed to appoint special park commissioners to locate and select undeveloped lands for parks and parkways in the 23rd and 24th wards of the Bronx. The commissioners came back with several options, including 1,070 acres embracing the Van Cortlandt estate, 1,000 acres on the Long Island Sound, and 653 acres on the Bronx River. It was estimated that the cost of the land would be no more than $8 million.

Bronx River, Bronx Park, Bronx Zoo
Before the Bronx Botanical Gardens and Bronx Zoo opened in the late 1880s, the Bronx Park was a popular place for picnics, fishing, and boating. New York City pleasure seekers could get there in about a half hour by taking the train from Grand Central on the New York and Harlem Railroad. Museum of the City of New York Collections

In 1884, the New York State Senate and Assembly passed the New Parks Act, which provided funds for the city to condemn these lands. Within a few years, the lands would be known as Van Cortlandt, Pelham Bay, Crotona, Claremont, and Bronx Park (later, Bronx Zoo).

So what does this have to do with iguanas?

In 1906, a large three-foot-long python escaped from the Reptile House but was soon captured by Bronx Zoo employees. New York Public Library Collections
In 1906, a large three-foot-long python escaped from the Reptile House but was soon captured by Bronx Zoo employees. New York Public Library Collections

By spearheading the effort to create green space in the Bronx, John Mullaly, the father of the Bronx park system, was the first of many sparks that led to the creation of the Zoological Park at Bronx Park – today’s Bronx Zoo – where the great iguana escape took place.

Escape From Bronx Zoo

On July 20, 1890, The New York Times wrote a comprehensive visitor’s guide to the new public parks in the Bronx. Here’s what it said about Bronx Park:

“Arriving at the park, the visitor should keep well in mind the fact that he has a right to go wherever he pleases and do just what he pleases so long as ordinary park regulations are observed. He will find fences and places that look like private grounds, but there is absolutely not a foot of private ground in the park and not a fence that one is not at perfect liberty to jump over or crawl under.”

Reptile House, Bronx Zoo
The Reptile House was one of the first structures built at the new zoo in Bronx Park. Work began on August 22, 1898, and was completed in the winter of 1899. The mottled brick, granite, and terracotta building was 146 feet long and 100 feet wide, and was designed to provide “suitable accommodations for representatives of all the orders of living reptiles and batrachians.” Situated on the edge of a forest of great oaks, it featured a nearby natural pool of water in granite rock that served as a summer home for lizards. Today, only the outer structure of the Reptile House remains much as it was in 1899. New York Public Library Collections

Apparently, many of the animals that have lived at the Bronx Zoo over the past 115 years have read this article, including our two iguanas from Cuba, a panther from Mexico, a python, and, of course, the cobra that escaped in 2011 and started its very own Twitter account.

Bronx Zoo Reptile House 1899
Once the iguanas escaped, they had full range of the Reptile House, shown here in 1899 when the zoo first opened. Collection of the author

The two giant iguanas arrived at the Bronx Zoo in July 1907. Although they were each about four feet long, for some reason Keeper Charles Snyder and the other keepers at the Reptile House decided to house them in a small cage without any lid. Even though the walls of the cage were low, they didn’t think the iguanas would try to be jail dodgers.

They underestimated the reptiles. Sometime on Saturday night or early Sunday morning, the two crawled over and out, just as they were instructed to do in The New York Times article.

That Sunday, the Reptile House was very crowded with women and children. Pandemonium erupted when a little girl started to scream after seeing one of the iguanas crawling near the base of the anaconda cage.

Bronx Zoo Reptile House and keepers 1901
It took Keeper Snyder and two guards about an hour to catch the two escaped iguanas and return them to their cages. Here, the Bronx Zoo keepers and attendants stand in front of the Reptile House in 1901. New York Public Library Collections

As the people all struggled to get out of the narrow door, one man scrambled over a low iron fence into the alligator cage — he jumped out as soon as he realized where he had landed.

Meanwhile, the second iguana was hovering near the rattlesnake’s cage. Keeper Snyder came running from his office at the rear of the building and started yelling, “There is nothing to fear. The reptiles are harmless!”

The one iguana responded to that comment by striking at Synder several times as he and two guards attempted to reign in the escapees. It ran past the men and out the door, causing brave men to scatter in all directions.

Bronx Zoo Head Keeper Charlie Snyder
Charles E. (Charlie) Snyder, considered one of the world’s leading authorities on snakes, was head keeper of reptiles at the Bronx Zoo in the early 1900s. Ironically, he died of a rattlesnake bite while hunting in Suffern, New York, in 1929, making him the only person in all of New York State to die from a rattlesnake bite in the 20th century.

Snyder and the guards, who were armed with billy clubs, chased the iguana back into the Reptile House and shut the door. After an hour of chasing the two around the building, they were finally able to throw a burlap bag over them and put them back in the cage. They immediately called for carpenters to build a wire lid so they couldn’t get out again.

A Brief History of the Bronx Zoo

The New York Zoological Park has only to be seen to be appreciated. It is located in what was the old Lydig estate, and many thanks are due to the Lydigs for their thoughtfulness in leaving the great forest trees that add so much to its picturesqueness and beauty.

In 1896, the New York Zoological Society petitioned the city for a municipal zoo aimed at preserving native animals, promoting zoology, and educating the public. The site they chose was 261 acres in the southern section of Bronx Park. A large portion of this land – about 170 acres — had been purchased from the Lydig estate in 1888 to create the park.

DeLancey Mills on Bronx River
The DeLancey Mills were located on the eastern shores of the Bronx River, just south of the falls. Prior to 1895, land east of the river was part of Westchester County. The house and mills burned down in 1845. Collection of the author

The land dated back to 1680, when the town of Westchester granted William Richardson permission to erect mills near the falls on the Bronx River. The mills – three grist mills and a saw mill — then passed to Everet Byvanck, whose widow sold them to William Provoost in 1711. Provoost in turn sold them to Stephen DeLancey, whose heirs sold the property to David Lydig.

David Lydig was the grandson of Philip Lydig, a German ship’s baker who came to America in 1750 and worked as a grain merchant. The ship baker’s son, also Philip, arrived in America 10 years later and was apprenticed to a leather merchant. Philip’s son David was born in 1764.

Philip Lydig cottage, Bronx River
In 1846, Philip Lydig built a cottage near the former DeLancey house on a knoll overlooking the Bronx River.

Sometime around 1830, David Lydig purchased the DeLancey estate on the Bronx River, which included the mills and the old family homestead. He and he wife, Catherine Mesier, and their only son, Phillip Mesier Lydig, lived at the estate in summer months.

In 1845, five years after David Lydig died, the original DeLancey house and mills burned down. A year later, Philip built a cottage on a knoll overlooking the river and his own mills on the west side of the river, a short distance from the dam. The mills produced ground grist for the neighborhood and grain that was transported to New York City via sloops up the Bronx River.

Bronx Zoo boathouse
In the early 1900s, the foundations of the old Lydig mills were still visible near the Bronx Park Boat House, pictured here in 1914. The Boat House was very popular during the summer season and thousands of park visitors used the rowboats that were kept here. Today this is the site of Jungle World at the Bronx Zoo.

When the Lydig property was condemned for Bronx Park, the mills were torn down. However, for many years the foundations still existed, providing a beautiful view of the falls through a ruined archway.

It took a lot of cutting through bureaucratic red tape, but the New York Zoological Society finally got the go-ahead to construct the zoo. Construction began on June 1, 1898.

The Bronx Zoo (originally called the Bronx Zoological Park and the Bronx Zoological Gardens) opened its doors to the public on November 8, 1899. Under the direction of zoo director William Temple Hornaday, the zoo featured 843 animals in 22 exhibits.

Today more than 2 million visitors a year come to see the more than 6,000 animals at the Bronx Zoo. The Reptile House is still there — now called the World of Reptiles — albeit, there are no more iguanas.

“Hundreds of thousands have had an olfactory introduction to Barren Island, though few have ever visited it. It is a sea-washed bit of land a mile and a half long and three-quarters of a mile wide, just at the entrance to Jamaica Bay. There are few persons living on the adjacent coasts who have not been deeply impressed with its existence, for from its shores there has been wafted by the sea breezes and spread abroad more and worse odors of a stomach-turning description than ever emanated from a spot of similar size.” New York Times, November 7, 1890

Hog Barren Island
Close to 1,000 hogs were running wild on Barren Island in Jamaica Bay in 1909, when the New York City Health Department said enough is enough. New York Public Library Collections

No one knows where the hogs came from or when they first took up residence on Barren Island in Jamaica Bay. But according to an estimate by Dr. Walter Bensel, City Sanitary Superintendent, there were close to 1,000 hogs on Barren Island in 1909. That was about 999 too many.

In actuality, the hogs were the least of the worries when it came to Barren Island. To put it simply, the island stunk. It smelled so bad, in fact, that the odorous vapors emanating from Barren Island were making families living along Jamaica Bay sick, depreciating the value of their real estate, and driving away summer guests from Brooklyn hotels.

Brooklyn Ash Company, Barren Island
Factories like the Barren Island Fertilizing Oil and Guano Company, the New York Sanitary Utilization Company, and the Brooklyn Ash Company (shown here) were the causes of the nauseating and offensive odors which were carried by the wind for long distances in the late 1800s and early 1900s.

One of the reasons the island was so odoriferous was the fact that the predominant industries on the island in the late 1800s and early 1900s were stench-producing fish oil factories, fertilizer plants, and horse (glue) factories on the south shore. Hundreds of men worked in these factories, and by 1909, most of them were living on the island in shacks with their families.

If bone boiling, sludge acid, and decaying fish and animal flesh weren’t bad enough, the island was also the garbage dump for Brooklyn and a dumping ground for offal (the entrails of butchered animals) and dead animals, including horses, cats, and dogs.

Barren Island 1911
In this 1911 map, Barren Island and many other islands were still separated from mainland Brooklyn. Notice Dead Horse Bay, which got its name sometime in the 1850s when horse-rendering plants surrounded the beach and bones and other animal body parts were dumped in the water.

But getting back to the hogs: Since 1907, Barren Island had been overrun with hogs. They roamed the island at will, breaking all the sanitary codes in the book. Complaints poured into the Health Department, causing Dr. Bensel to send an inspector to the island to canvass each house to find out who owned them. (The Board of Health was okay with the inhabitants owning hogs as long as they were properly penned.) At every house, the inspector was told that the hogs did not belong to the residents.

On the morning of March 16, 1909, a dozen policemen from the Health Department and Dr. Bensel took a power boat from Canarsie Landing in Brooklyn to Barren Island. Each officer was armed with 200 rounds of cartridges and ordered to kill as many hogs as possible. The moment the men stepped ashore a half hour later, the word started spreading that all the hogs were going to be killed.

Barren Island shack
In 1880, Barren Island’s 309 residents were mostly single men living in 12 residences, including factory dormitories, barracks or some other congregate company housing. By 1900, at which time the population was 520, many of the 103 households of adults, children, and boarders were living in clapboard shacks like this one. Many of the homes had rustic wood fences to enclose livestock — although it sounds like the hogs didn’t have to comply with the fencing.

As the police began shooting the hogs, many women began doing whatever they could to save the swine (there was no longer any doubt that the island residents owned the hogs). They began whistling and shouting and pleading with the officers to spare the animals’ lives. The men split up, with half going up the island in front of the houses and the other going in back of the yards.

As shots rang out non-stop, the women scattered over the fields to reign in their animals. Some men left their jobs at the factories to rescue their hogs and carry them into their homes. Many used pans of shelled corn to coax them into the back yards. Once there, the men carried the hogs into kitchens and even bedrooms to keep them safe.

Barren Island Public School 120
The children were all at school — Public School #120 — when the hog hunt took place. In the 1900s, P.S. 120 had about five teachers who would arrive on Sunday by boat (a police launch in early days, later by passenger ferry) and spend the week in a house next to the school before heading back to their mainland homes on Friday. New York Public Library Collections

Fortunately, few children witnessed the hog massacre as they were inside the public school. Dr. Bensel was kind enough to pick a time and day when the kids would be in school and not outside at recess.

By the end of the day, hundreds of hogs had been killed. Many escaped to the salt marshes where no man could follow them. Others who were saved by their owners were huddled on back porches or poking their noses into kitchens.

“If Roosevelt were only here!” said one officer who was on the New York City police force when former President Teddy Roosevelt was a New York City Police Commissioner. “It was a big mistake he wasn’t invited.”

A Brief History of Barren Island

Barren Island was one of only three islands on the western side of Jamaica Bay that was inhabited or utilized during the Dutch colonial periods (the other two were Bergen and Mill islands). No one is really sure who owned Barren Island at any given time, but as early as 1664, several individuals laid claim to Barren Island or parts thereof, including William Moore and Rutgert Van Brunt.

Map Jamaica Bay
Once one of the largest of the islands in Jamaica Bay, Barren Island has been called by many other names during its history, including Equendito (the Native name), Broken lands, Bearn Island, Barn Island, and Bear’s Island.

When it was still an “island,” Barren Island contained approximately 30 acres of upland and 70 acres of salt meadow. As only shallow streams separated it from the mainland at low tide, men and livestock could reach the island on foot. Small craft could access the northern shore, and larger vessels (like garbage barges in later years) could approach its southern edge. Pasturage for horses and cows and the harvesting of salt hay were the island’s main functions in colonial times.

The island was pretty much uninhabited until the end of the 18th century, when a man by the name of Dooley built a house on the east end for entertaining sportsmen and fishermen. In 1830, John Johnson took over the Dooley house, which was designated a hotel on Dripps’ map of 1852 – and was the only structure noted on the island.

Barren Island
In 1852, the only notable structure on Barren Island was Dooley’s hotel. Twenty-five years later, the island had at least two factories and several smaller structures.

By the late 1850s, Barren Island had two fertilizer plants: One was built in 1859 by Lefferts R.Cornell and processed dead horses and other animals shipped from New York. The other was built around the same time by William B. Reynolds. From that time until the 1930s, the island had about 25 factories (no more than 7 or 8 at a time).

The Great Stink-Out

“What the Grand Canyon is to Colorado, the aroma of garbage and dead animals is, in a sense, to Barren Island.”

In the late 1890s, after receiving numerous complaints of the odors, both the state legislature and the city government made efforts to eliminate the Barren Island stench producers. These efforts failed, partly because the governor and mayor opposed to shutting them down (were the oil factory owners greasing their palms?), and partly because the city had no other plans for disposing its refuse. So the stench continued for many more years.

Garbage scow
During the busiest seasons in the early 1900s, seven or eight garbage scows, each carrying between 500 and 1,000 tons of refuse, would arrive daily at Barren Island. The horse boat also arrived every day with as many as 50 dead horses in addition to cows, cats, and dogs.

The island’s population peaked around 1905 with about 1,500 in inhabitants. During this period, Barren Island had two churches as well as the public school, three hotels, and four saloons. The residents also had their own pharmacy, butcher, bakery, and grocery stores.

Ferry service provided easy access to Rockaway, Sheepshead Bay, and Canarsie. The Canarsie Police Station was two and a half miles away, and police had a boat that they used to make trips to the island on a regular basis.

Barren Island church
In its heyday, Barren Island had a Catholic church and a Protestant church, shown here.

Floyd Bennett Field

In 1922, Judge Alfred J. Talley wrote a letter to Admiral Moffett, Chief of the Naval Bureau of Aeronautics, suggesting that Barren Island would be a great substitute for the discontinued naval air station at Rockaway Park. Talley happened to be the son-in-law of the late Andrew White, who then owned most of the island.

He noted that the island was now connected to Brooklyn via Flatbush Avenue (the avenue was extended to Jamaica Bay in 1921) and that the abandoned buildings could be made suitable for navy uses. There appears to be no followup on this suggestion.

In 1928, about 20 years after the great hog hunt, New York City commissioned Clarence Chamberlain to recommend a site for a new municipal airport. He chose Barren Island, which by that time already had a small dirt runway. This runway was referred to as Barren Island Airport and was used primarily by Paul Rizzo, who established the runway in 1927 to take customers on joy rides.

Barren Island Airport
Barren Island Airport, a dirt runway, was used primarily by Paul Rizzo for taking customers in his plane on joy rides.

The new municipal airport was created by connecting Barren Island and a number of smaller marsh islands to the mainland by filling the channels with six million cubic yards of sand pumped from the bottom of Jamaica Bay. The airport was named after Navy warrant officer Floyd Bennett, a Brooklyn resident who co-piloted the first flight over the North Pole in 1926.

Floyd Bennett Field was dedicated on June 26, 1930, and officially opened on May 23, 1931.

Floyd Bennett Field
Several bay islands were connected by landfill to create Floyd Bennett Field. This map shows the airport in 1940.

The End of an Era

By 1930, the factories, school, stores, and most of the island residents were gone. All that was left were two dozen clapboard shacks, the skeleton of an old fertilizer factory, a church, and about 25 families (mostly Irish, Polish, and Italian) on the eastern end. Each household paid $10 to $12 in monthly rent, or $3 in water taxes if they owned their own homes.

Since the factories had all closed (only the garbage plant was still operating), most of the men lucky to have jobs during the Great Depression commuted to Manhattan. The women stayed on the island to care for the cows, ducks, chickens, and goats (try to picture this with planes flying ahead) while the children attended school in Brooklyn.

Barren Island cars on beach
Although residents continued to live in run-down shacks, each family owned at least one car in the 1930s. Many of the women wore jewels and diamond-studded combs and had other valuable souvenirs that they found when the island was used as a garbage dump.

In the spring of 1936, the city’s parks commissioner, Robert Moses, condemned Barren Island to build the Marine Parkway Bridge. The few remaining families were given 30 days to leave. Although a few people moved their shacks to a corner of the island that was still privately owned by the White estate, most of the residents left the island. Their cottages were bulldozed and the colony was dispersed without ceremony.

Barren Island church
By 1939, most of the buildings on Barren Island were either abandoned or demolished. This church and its neighboring structure were two of the few buildings still standing after the island’s residents were evicted.

The federal government purchased the White tract in 1942, putting a final end to the final hold-outs of Barren Island.