Peggy the Pug and Tom the cat
 The USS Maine
St. Paul Globe, March 1, 1898

During the 1800s and early 1900s, the Brooklyn Navy Yard served as a pseudo receiving and distributing station for the animal mascots of American warships.

Some of these animals, like Tom of the USS Maine, were born at the Navy Yard, while others stopped in to visit from time to time during their many years at sea.

In the late 1800s, an Italian-American sailor named Cosmero Aquatero was working as a barber on the USS Vermont, which was permanently anchored at the Brooklyn Navy Yard. During his years stationed in Brooklyn, he kept a record of the births and major events in the lives of these mascots in a dilapidated old book.

USS Vermont
Although the USS Vermont served briefly during the Civil War as a hospital, receiving, and store ship, she spent most of her service at the Brooklyn Navy Yard as a store and receiving ship. Here she is in Brooklyn in 1898, when Cosmero Aquatero was stationed there.

In March 1898, a reporter from The World interviewed Aquatero about some of the famous ship mascots.

Two of the mascots that were well documented in Aquatero’s book were Tom, the mascot of the infamous USS Maine, and Peggy, the young pet pug of the ship’s captain.

As two of the only 91 “crew members” who survived the massive explosion on board the Maine in the Havana Harbor in 1898, their lives were pretty incredible.

Tom, the Senior Navy Cat

Tom mascot cat USS Maine
Tom posed for this photo on board the USS Fern in February 1898. According to one account, the photographer had to give Tom a whole fish before he would stand properly for the photo.

According to Aquatero’s records, Tom was born at the Brooklyn Navy Yard in 1885 (an article in the St. Paul Globe says he was born on a farm in Pennsylvania, but I prefer to trust the old sailor). A grey and black tabby, Tom was very much respected by the sailors, who believed cats brought good luck to ships. There wasn’t a sailor throughout the world who hadn’t made his acquaintance over the years, and each mariner that sailed with Tom placed his greatest confidence in the cat.

Tom began his Navy career on board the USS Minnestota, but when an officer from that ship was transferred to the Maine, he brought Tom with him. On board the Maine, it was Tom’s job to get rid of the rats and the mice. However, it seems that one time the cat was trained to coexist with a rat named Christopher, which had been adopted and tamed by one of the ship’s sailors. As the story goes, cat and rat were able to stay in a room together, but they never did become good friends.

By 1898, when the USS Maine exploded in Havana, Tom was still an active member of the crew and considered to be the oldest cat in the United States Navy.

Peggy Pug The USS Maine
The World, March 6, 1898.


Peggy the Pug

Peggy was the pet of Captain Charles Dwight Sigsbee and his wife, Eliza Rogers Lockwood Sigsbee. The young little dog followed the captain all over the ship, no matter how many steps or ladders he climbed – one time she even fell and broke her leg while following him up a ladder. Peggy was suspicious of everyone in civilian dress that came on board the USS Maine, and barked at anyone who was not in uniform.

In 1898, when the USS Maine disaster occurred in Cuba, Peggy was not quite two years old.

The USS Maine and the Battleship Era

USS Maine
The USS Maine (ACR-1) was built in response to the increase of naval forces in Latin America.

The USS Maine and her sister ship, the USS Texas, were the first modern warships built in the United States. They were built in response to the growing naval power of Brazil, which had commissioned several battleships from Europe, most notably the Riacheulo in 1883.

In 1886, Congress authorized the construction of the Maine and in 1888, her keel was laid down at the Brooklyn Navy Yard. The 6,682-ton, steel twin-screw battleship was launched from the yard on November 18, 1889. The launch of the USS Maine officially began the “battleship era” for the United States.

USS Maine Launch, Brooklyn Navy Yard
The USS Maine was launched from the yard on November 18, 1889. Her launch sponsor was Alice Tracey Wilmerding, the granddaughter of Navy Secretary Benjamin F. Tracy.

Due to some equipment setbacks, the USS Maine was not commissioned until September 17, 1895, under the command of Captain Arent S. Crowninshield. The ship spent most of her active career with the North Atlantic Squadron, operating from Norfolk, Virginia, along the East Coast and the Caribbean. On April 10, 1897, Captain Sigsbee relieved Captain Crowninshield as commander of the
USS Maine.

Remember the Maine!

In January 1898, the USS Maine was sent from Key West, Florida, to Havana to protect American interests during the Cuban War of Independence. Three weeks later, at about 9:40 p.m. on February 15, a massive explosion ripped through the forward section of the ship.

Most of Maine’s crew was sleeping or resting in their hammocks in this part of the ship when the explosion occurred. Captain Sigsbee and most of the officers, on the other hand, were in their staterooms or their smoking quarters, which were in the aft section of the ship.

Captain Sigsbee in his cabin on the USS Maine.
Captain Sigsbee in his cabin on the USS Maine.

Peggy and Tom Survive

When the explosion occurred, Peggy the pug had been asleep in Captain Sigsbee’s stateroom. The captain was also in his cabin and placing a letter in an envelope at the very moment the explosion came. As the captain reported in The Century Magazine, there was a trembling and lurching motion of the vessel, and all the electric lights went out. Then there was intense blackness and smoke.

Somehow Peggy managed to find her way to the poop-deck, which was the highest intact part of the ship above water. There, the captain and Commander Richard Wainwright were waiting for the battleship to settle on the bottom of the harbor. Peggy, trembling with fright, reportedly stood at the place she was taught to take when the lifeboats were lowered.

Captain Charles D. Sigsbee
Captain Charles D. Sigsbee, USS Maine.

Crews from nearby ships, including the Alfonso XII and the City of Washington, manned lifeboats to rescue the surviving crewmen of the Maine. Reluctantly, Captain Sigsbee and Commander Wainwright abandoned the Maine, which continued to burn and explode throughout the night. The next day, Peggy was “strutting about the deck [of the City of Washington] with air of a naval hero.”

Peggy and 62 human survivors returned to Key West on February 17 aboard the steamer Olivette.

Tom’s experience was much more remarkable than Peggy’s, if not miraculous. At the time of the disaster, Tom was sleeping three decks below the upper deck. The force of the explosion was so great that he was literally fired through the three steel decks. The surviving sailors didn’t see Tom at all, and assumed he had perished.

Executive Officer Richard Wainwright
Executive Officer Richard Wainwright was the great-great-grandson of Benjamin Franklin, and nephew of George Dallas, the 11th Vice-President of the United States.

The next morning, Commander Wainwright discovered Tom, who was crying pitifully while crouched on a part of the wreck that was still above water. The officer rescued the cat and took him to the USS Fern, where he was treated for a wounded foot. A few days after the explosion, Tom posed for pictures on a wicker armchair that had been salvaged from the Maine.

Unfortunately, two other cats, including one that joined the ship in Cuba a few days before the explosion, did not survive. However, they did become martyrs for the emerging animal rights movement in the United States. (Animal rights groups often pointed to the Navy and its sailors for their humane treatment of animals as a model for the rest of the country.)

In a pro-cat book published by ASPCA, the author hailed the two cats who died for their country: “The love of cats by sailors and soldiers is well known. In the dreadful explosion of the Maine in Havana, two of the three cats perished.”

USS Maine cooks
This ca. 1896 photo of the USS Maine’s mess cooks was taken by Navy photographer Edward H. Hart. Two of the three cats in this photo did not survive the blast in Havana.

In total 260 men lost their lives as a result of the explosion or shortly thereafter, and six more died later from injuries. There were only 89 survivors, not counting Peggy and Tom, 18 of whom were officers. On March 21, 1898, the US Naval Court of Inquiry declared that a naval mine caused the explosion.

USS Fern
Old Tom continued his service with the USS Fern, which was a gunboat built in 1871 by Delamater and Steack of New York City. The ship served as a home for the officers supervising the wrecking operations in Havana Harbor.

A second forensic inquiry was conducted by Admiral Hyman Rickover in 1974, which confirmed that the cause of the Maine’s destruction was not a Spanish mine or bomb, but the detonation of the forward gun magazines.

Peggy the Pug Perishes

After spending time in Key West for some much-earned rest and relaxation, Peggy was given to U.S. Naval Commander J.Y. Wynn, who was stationed in Chelsea, England.

Soon after moving in with his family, she was outside playing when she either fell or jumped into a catch basin on Addison Street. Efforts were made at once to save her, but she was smothered before they could get her out. Peggy was taken to the Commander Wynn’s home for burial.

Tammany, mascot cat of City Hall

I once wrote about Old Tom, who was a very popular mascot of New York’s City Hall in the early 1900s. Although several other cats took over Tom’s place at City Hall after he died, none of these felines were as popular as Tammany, who occupied City Hall during the administrations of Mayor Jimmy Walker and Mayor Fiorello LaGuardia in the 1930s.

Tammany’s life of luxury as the City Hall cat began sometime around 1930, when New York Mayor James J. Walker found the cat on the Lower East Side. Mayor Walker named the cat Tammany and brought him to City Hall to help get rid of rats in the building. Tammany was apparently quite the charmer, because during the remainder of Mayor Walker’s reign, his rat diet was supplemented by calves’ livers that came out of the city budget.

Hamilton Fish Park
Tammany spent his kitten-hood in the Lower East Side, somewhere near Hamilton Fish Park. The park, shown here during construction, opened in 1900 under the state’s Small Parks Act, which aimed to add open space in crowded neighborhoods. The Beaux-Arts gymnasium, designed by Carrere & Hastings, is the only original feature of the park that still stands today. Museum of the City of New York Collections
Tammany 1933
Tammany in 1933.

Tammany took his job as the City Hall feline boss very seriously. As the New York Sun reported, he was “a bold, swashbuckling lad” and no rat was too big to escape his claws. In addition to rat-catching, Tammany would make the rounds of the building, checking in on a Board of Estimate meeting or a Council session, or dropping by to visit the mayor, whose door was always open for him.

Between visits he’d stretch out in the main corridor and check out the visitors. If the visitor was feline, he’d chase the cat out of the building without mercy. When his work was done, he enjoyed sleeping in his dank cellar retreat.

Tammany was also a great friend of the City Hall reporters – well, he didn’t really like them, but he spent a lot of time in Room 9, the reporters’ room, sleeping on their desks.

The reporters loved to pose Tammany for pictures, but he didn’t love the publicity. Sometimes after being photographed sitting on a reporter’s desk, stalking the halls of City Hall, or looking out the window, he’d spend the rest of the day sulking in the cellar.

The men on the Board of Aldermen also enjoyed Tammany’s company, especially if he did something to break up a meeting. One day in the winter of 1934, the cat created quite a stir when he stared down Alderman Edward Curley of Bronx, who was angrily denouncing Mayor LaGuardia.

Tammany with Alderman Curley.

While Curley was calling the mayor “a self-declared monarch of all his surveys,” Tammany woke up from his nap on a chair near the dais and began nudging the alderman and staring into his face.

As the other alderman’s laughter drowned out Curley’s oration, Aldermanic President Bernard S. Deutsch said, “I think the sergeant-at-arms had better escort the silent member to the back of the room.”

The aldermen responded, “No, no, let him alone!” Alderman Walter R. Hart of Brooklyn then leapt to his feet and said, “I move that the privileges of the floor be extended to the City Hall cat.”

“City Hall Cat’s Job Safe Under LaGuardia”

Fiorello Henry LaGuardia
Fiorello Henry LaGuardia, born Fiorello Enrico La Guardia, was the 99th Mayor of New York for three terms from 1934 to 1945.

Although Tammany’s job was quite secure under Mayor Walker, his fate was questioned by the New York press when Mayor Fiorello LaGuardia took office in 1934. After all, the anti-Tammany “reform” mayor was not a member of the Democratic party – he ran on the Republican-Fusion ticket.

Right from day one, Mayor LaGuardia reorganized the city cabinet with non-partisan officials in his quest to develop a clean and honest city government. As Tammany watched many of his old friends leave City Hall, perhaps he also pondered his own fate under Mayor LaGuardia.

Mayor LaGuardia apparently had no intention of evicting Tammany from City Hall. On January 6, 1934, the headline on the front page of the New York Sun said, “City Hall Cat’s Job Safe Under LaGuardia.” A photo of the mayor with the cat in the foreground accompanied the article (unfortunately, the photo is too dark to post). Shortly thereafter, Tammany was wearing a collar that said “City Hall Custodian” in case he should get lost.

Although the new mayor had no intention of sending Tammany back to the streets of the Lower East Side, life did get a little more challenging for the cat under the “Fusion frugality.”

Tammany with Deputy Mayor Curran
Tammany with Deputy Mayor Curran

No longer were his meals a line item on the city budget; now he had to rely on Tom Halton, a watchman at City Hall, and John Helmuth, night patrolman, who paid for Tammany’s evening meal out of their own pockets. He also had to deal with a cat named Fusion who tried to move in on his territory. This silent battle for control lasted for three weeks, until Fusion disappeared one night during a storm. Hmmm….

The Deputy Mayor Comes to Tammany’s Rescue

Tammany also had to contend with Commissioner Edward M. Markham of the Department of Public Buildings, who, according to rumors, was conspiring with the ASPCA to evict the cat from City Hall. Luckily, he had an ally in Deputy Mayor Henry Hastings Curran, who declared City Hall was under siege when he found out about the plan.

Tammany City Hall Cat
When the ASPCA and Buildings Department threatened to evict Tammany from City Hall, the reporters posed him “typing” Curran’s letter to Commissioner Markham.

On June 13, 1938, Curran wrote a letter to Markham in which he pleaded for clemency, noting Tammany was “the wisest and bravest of all cats.” Curran said the cat had 50,000 friends at City Hall who would fight for him if the ASPCA tried to take him away. “The carnage will be cheerful, instantaneous, and complete,” he wrote. “Let them come!”

The Tragic Death of the Boss Cat

On April 9, 1939, Tom Halton could not find Tammany when he went to feed him at 5 p.m. The next day around noon, the City Hall reporters spotted him in a telephone booth in their room. He had keeled over and was whimpering in pain.

Deputy Mayor Curran immediately called the Ellin Prince Speyer Hospital for Animals to let the vet know he was coming with the cat. Then he commandeered a car belonging to Council President Newbold Morris, and, escorted by two policemen, rushed Tammany to the animal hospital on Lafayette Street.

Ellin Prince Speyer Hospital for Animals
Tammany died on April 11, 1939, at the Ellin Prince Speyer Hospital for Animals at 350 Lafayette Street. Formerly known as the Hospital of Women’s League for Animals, the facility opened in 1914.

There, Dr. James R. Kinney gave him a fluoroscopic exam, which showed the cat was suffering from uremic poisoning and stones in the bladder. Dr. Kinney and his assistants sat up with the cat all night, but at 7:30 a.m. the next day, Tammany passed away. City Hall workers and reporters were notified of his death as they came to work. More than 200 calls came into City Hall that day from people who wanted to give Curran and LaGuardia their condolences.

James Speyer, the husband of the late Ellin Prince Speyer, offered to bury Tammany in a little pet cemetery at Waldheim, his large country estate at Scarborough-on-Hudson. The inscription on the grave read, “Tammany – In Fond Memory of Our Cat – Room 9, City Hall.”

Waldheim, James Speyer estate
Tammany was buried in an aristocratic animal cemetery at Waldheim, the majestic 130-acre Hudson Valley estate of James Speyer. The estate, which fronted the Scarborough-Briarcliff Road and the Albany Post Road, was sold in 1947 and subdivided into about 200 building lots for modest-priced single-family homes.

“If, as the Arabs suppose, the spirits of gentlewomen are re-embodied in cats, there is a delicate appropriateness in this dedication of cat fur to the adornment of living gentlewomen.” –The New York Times, October 12, 1890

Corona Cat Skin Company

“What Smart Women Are Wearing”

In the 1800s and early 1900s, furs were all the rage in Paris and, thus, among the ladies of high society in New York City. In an article titled “Facts About Furs,” published in The New York Times on October 12, 1890, it was reported that the furs of skunks, cats, and dogs were gaining in popularity among the furriers in the United States because they were both durable and comparatively cheap.

If it was fashionable in Paris, it was a fashion must in New York. Extravagant hats with large ostrich feathers and outrageous fur muffs and shawls were in high style in the 1800s. If it was fashionable in Paris, it was a fashion must in New York. Extravagant hats with ostrich feathers and outrageous fur muffs and shawls were in high style in the 1800s.[/caption]

Dog fur, the article noted, was valuable to furriers who wanted to “place aristocratic furs within reach of the democratic masses.” Sheared, plucked and dyed, the fur of the average yellow dog “could be converted into so good an imitation of
sea otter that only experts may distinguish it.”

Cat furs from both small wild cats and domesticated felines were also gaining in popularity, as the furriers learned to make cat skins look like “almost any kind of fur except seal, otter, beaver, sable, or mink.” It was noted that a very fine fox-skin muff could be made of cat fur. With native cat skins selling at $1.50 and $2.00, the reporter said, “Trappers and hunters might find profitable employment in the city back yards as well as the northern wilds.”

A Catastrophic Plan

About 21 years after this article was published, a group of residents from Corona, Queens, got together in December 1911 to devise a way to get rich off of stray cats. Recognizing that cat skins made “excellent coat liners” and would thus be in high demand, the group proposed to open a cat farm that would operate very similar to a poultry farm.

On December 22, the residents met at the hotel of Henry Glickman, 102 National Avenue at Spruce Street (near today’s 103rd Street and Roosevelt Avenue). At the meeting, the group discussed purchasing a plot of land on Long Island and starting a business called the Corona Cat Skin Company.

Linden Lake Corona Queens

Henry Glickman’s hotel was located near the old Linden Lake in Corona. The lake was bounded by Sycamore St. (now 104th St.),  Park St. (now 42nd Ave.), Linden St. and National Ave. (now 103rd St.), and Lake St. (now 41st Ave). After WWII, the lake was deemed unsanitary, so it was filled in. Today it is a NYC park called the Park of the Americas

The plan was to let the public know that they wanted stray cats, and to advise any young boys who lived within a “reasonable freight-weight radius” to start grooming these stray cats in preparation for the new cat farm. (I wonder if they intended on having the cats shipped to them…)

Mr. Glickman and his gang also proposed to fatten the cats by feeding rats to them, and said they would encourage rat catchers to bring their vermin to the cat farm.

“Liberal prices would be paid,” the press reported, although prices had not been set for different breeds and colors of cats. Once the company had enough strays, it would then operate its own breeding program. (Is anyone else getting an image of Cruella de Vil right about now?)

Cat Farm Would Cater to Furriers

One furrier interviewed by The Times said there would be a big market for a cat skin industry. In fact, he thought the supply of cats could never meet the demand. Here’s what I. Freundlich of I. Freundlich & Sons (14-18 East 32nd Street, Manhattan) told the reporter:

“New York gets a great number of cat skins from men in the West who make a business of catching cats and skinning them. I don’t know of any cat-breeding institutions, but they would certainly pay if they furnished the goods. Cat skins would make elegant automobile coats, for instance, and they are used for that purpose now. I have had many skins shipped here for persons who prefer cat skins. The most desirable skins are those of the Maltese cat, the ordinary all gray house cat. These skins sell for 50 to 75 cents. The black cat skins, of course, are less desirable, selling for 25 to 40 cents per skin. I would not be surprised to see such industries flourish in the future.”

Henry Bergh ASPCA

Henry Bergh founded the American Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals (ASPCA) on April 10, 1866.

The SPCA Has a Kitten!

We didn’t have PETA back then, but I’m happy to report that Henry Bergh and his Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals (SPCA) was not pleased with this news, and publicly announced that it was a cruel idea.

“I do not think the object obtained by the killing of cats wholesale would be justifiable,” said Bergh, who was then treasurer of the society and a member of its Board of Managers. “I doubt whether it would be justifiable to kills cats under any considerations unless the flesh of the animal be used as food…The Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals will certainly investigate such an institution if it becomes effective.”

In response to Bergh’s statement, the promoters of the cat farm replied that they did not intend to skin the cats alive. They also said they would treat the cats very well — after all, the cats would have to be treated well if they were to bear smooth coats. (How thoughtful of them.) Mr. Glickman also said that “moonlight soirees on back fences will not be tolerated” because such disturbances would not be good for the pelts.

More Fur Flying

At about the same time the Corona group was making plans, a group from Bay Ridge, Brooklyn, led by Johann Gustave Grafenstein of 450 75th Street, was also considering opening a cat farm on Long Island. Gus had apparently visited a cat farm in Russia, where a furrier was raising cats and then killing them for their furs. (Oh, this is a horrible story.) Ironically, Gus had just retired and sold his business on 52nd Street and 5th Avenue — Dairymen’s Milk Co., which was engaged in the production, bottling, and selling of milk and cream.

Gus told some friends about the idea, “who thought highly of the scheme.” Their plan was to purchase a lot about a half-acre square and then construct a concrete wall around the farm that would go six feet into the ground so that the cats couldn’t dig themselves out.

Cat Got Their Tongues

Gustave Grafenstein

Gus Grafentstein never did open a cat farm on Long Island. He died in 1916 when he fell down the stairs at his home at 450 75th Street in Brooklyn, shown here.

In May 1912, Henry Glickman told the Brooklyn Daily Eagle that the company planned to start its cat business on a large scale within a few weeks. However, there appears to be no further discussion of the cat farm and no action taken. Henry Glickman sold his hotel at 102 National Avenue in 1914, and the next time he appeared in the newspaper it was to announce his plans to build a large meeting hall on Poplar Street to be used by various organizations.

As for Gus, he died tragically and suddenly at the age of 53 on November 11, 1916. He apparently broke his neck when he fainted in his home and fell down a flight of stairs. Justice can been sweet sometimes.

Unfortunately, quite a few cat farms really did exist in upstate New York and throughout the country in the late 1800s and early 1900s. Let’s just all hope this fashion trend never comes back in style.

Subway Nellie, IRT mascot
Nellie was the mascot of the Joralemon-Battery Tunnel and Brooklyn subway.

On November 27, 1907, the very first train to go to Brooklyn via the new Battery-Joralemon Tunnel left the Wall Street station in Manhattan at 12:30 p.m. This train carried about 200 men, including officials of the Interborough Rapid Transit Company, engineers, and reporters. Oh yeah, and a mixed-breed dog named Subway Nellie.

In my last post, I wrote about Jerry Fox, Brooklyn’s mascot cat (is that mascat?) who lost his ninth and final life in 1904 when he fell into an open subway shaft near Borough Hall. This next story is about a dog named Subway Nellie, who was the mascot of that very same subway tunnel.

A Rapid Transit Tunnel to Brooklyn

In May 1900, a committee of 50 Brooklyn men appeared before New York’s Rapid Transit Commission to advocate for a full extension of the subway system to Brooklyn. The Committee of 50 suggested a route that would extend through Broadway to the Battery in Manhattan, under the East River and Joralemon Street in Brooklyn, past Borough Hall, up Fulton Street to Flatbush Avenue, and then to the Long Island Railroad Station at the junction of Flatbush and Atlantic Avenues.

IRT East River Tunnel map
This old IRT map shows the new subway route from Manhattan to Brooklyn, as designed by William Barclay Parsons, chief engineer of the Rapid Transit Commission.

On July 24, 1902, the contract (Contract #2) to build this extension and a tunnel under the East River — called the Battery-Joralemon Tunnel — was awarded to the Rapid Transit Construction Company. This company was owned by August Belmont Jr. and John B. McDonald, the pioneers of New York’s first subway line (Contract #1). The contract was signed on September 11, 1902, and ground was broken in January 1903.

August Belmont Jr
The financier: August Belmont, Jr. (nee August Schonberg), of Belmont Park racetrack fame, was president of the Interborough Rapid Transit Company, which he founded and incorporated in 1902 to help finance the construction and operation of New York City’s first subway line. Belmont and his partner, McDonald, also formed a separate company to build the subway, called the Rapid Transit Construction Company.
John B. McDonald
The contractor: John B. McDonald served as general superintendent of the Croton Dam and directed several large railroad projects before winning the bid to construct New York’s first subway. Required to post a $7 million bond to proceed, he turned to Belmont for financial support.

A Frozen and Starving Puppy

In the winter of 1905, a young mutt sought shelter in the offices of John B. McDonald, near Brooklyn’s Borough Hall, during a severe snowstorm. The shaggy-haired puppy, half starved and frozen, drank some warm milk that the men offered her, and then crawled under a stove to thaw out.

William Barclay Parsons
William Barclay Parsons was the chief engineer of the Rapid Transit Commission.

The men didn’t have the heart to kick her out, so they decided to keep her and call her Nellie – an extremely popular name for female dogs in those days. It would be a little more time before they started calling her Subway Nellie…

Although the offices were warm and comfortable, Nellie was also very interested in all the digging and shoveling outside. (I imagine she thought the men were burying a giant bone.)

As the tunnel expanded, and she was able to wander around without getting in the way of shovels and picks, she started to spend most of her time in the excavation area.

Every time the hollow was enlarged, Nellie would inspect the new portion with a critical eye, wave a paw over the uneven spots, and sleep until it was time to inspect the next phase of the job.

East River tunnel construction
East River Tunnel during construction: Engineers originally wanted to build the tunnel in the open and float it into place, but the War Department, which required the water level atop the tunnel to be 45 feet at low tide, and the great volume of river traffic, put an end to that idea. The tunneling work was instead done by means of shields and compressed air.

As time passed, Nellie became so interested in the work that she didn’t sleep at all during the working hours. She’d examine the work in progress, and show her approval or disapproval with short barks of delight and growls of displeasure. The 500 hundred or so men who were working far below the streets, from the river tubes to Flatbush Avenue, grew quite fond of the little dog.

Her Name Is Subway Nellie

When the excavation project was big enough for people to begin calling it “the subway,” the men christened Nellie with the name “Subway Nellie” in order to make sure that no one confused her with all the other dogs named Nellie in the neighborhood. As time progressed, the subway mascot became very well known around downtown Brooklyn (but not as well known as Jerry Fox, I bet).

With her charming manners she could show up at any restaurant around Borough Hall and be sure of a good meal. “Here comes Subway Nellie,” the restaurant proprietors would say while the employees prepared a plate for her.

East River Tunnel
In early years, the East River tubes had telephones every 300 feet. An IRT employee in an office at the Bowling Green station could monitor the location of the trains in the tunnel via colored lights on a transparency.

As new hands joined the subway extension project, the foreman and other bosses advised them to be friendly to the canine. Of course there was no need to give these orders, because all the men appreciated her knowledge and work ethics. Subway Nellie knew every nook and cranny of the tunnel from Borough Hall all the way out. (She was even allowed to enter the airlocks and explore the high-pressure chambers.)

And she knew who owned every tool – in fact, it was said that if she saw that a riveter had forgotten his hammer, she’d promptly fetch it without being asked.

 Joralemon-Battery Tunnel, where Subway Nellie made her home.
The Joralemon-Battery Tunnel comprises two cast-iron tubes, each just under 16 feet in diameter. As the first tunnel to span the East River, it was quite an impressive feat of engineering — it even had its own postcard. The tunnel currently services the 4 and 5 trains connecting the southern tip of Manhattan to Brooklyn.

Nellie the Timekeeper
Subway Nellie also had a knack for telling time and apparently figured out that the men began work at a certain time, quit at a certain time for lunch, and then came back again to work until 6 p.m. She also seemed to understand that these times correlated to a loud whistle, which the foreman signaled by pulling a cord on a donkey engine.

Putting these two facts together, Nellie decided that it was her obligation to rush up to the cord and pull it with her teeth whenever it was time to start or stop work. When a reporter from the Brooklyn Daily Eagle asked the foreman if he thought Nellie could tell time he replied, “Maybe she could, only there are no clocks in the tunnel.”

Subway Nellie
Nellie was the guest of honor on the inaugural train from Manhattan to Brooklyn Borough Hall station via the new tunnel. Brooklyn Daily Eagle, June 30, 1907

The Guest of Honor

On November 27, 1907, the very first “test run” train to Brooklyn via the new Battery-Joralemon Tunnel left the Wall Street station in Manhattan at 12:36 p.m. This train carried about 200 men, including railroad officials, engineers, and reporters. Subway Nellie was the canine guest of honor on this very first trip.

The conductor for this train was chief motorman Morrison. He drove the three-car train around the South Ferry loop, back up to Bowling Green station, and then through the north tunnel (the south tunnel wasn’t completed yet). The train arrived at Brooklyn Borough Hall at 12:55 p.m. (The train went faster on the return trips: 7½ minutes and then 5 minutes.) A large crowd inside and outside the station greeted the train – they were attracted to the station by the ringing of the bell on top of Borough Hall, as ordered by Borough President Bird S. Coler.

First train to Brooklyn
August Belmont and Theodore P. Shonts, president of the IRT, hosted the very first train to Brooklyn via the Battery-Joralemon Street tunnel under the East River. Doesn’t it look like the man in blue on the right is holding a dog?

A Celebration to Rival the Brooklyn Bridge Party

After this test run, the first experimental train was a West Farms Express that left Bowling Green at 11:30 a.m. on January 6, 1908. Three days later, the first official train, a standard 8-car express train conducted by Grant Cooper, left the West Farms Square station (East Tremont Ave.) at 11:50 p.m. and arrived at Borough Hall at 12:49 a.m. At 12:51 a.m., it began the hour-long, five-cent return trip to the Bronx.

Because of the early hour, a formal ceremony took place about 10 hours after the train’s arrival in Brooklyn. The celebration, hosted by the Citizens’ Committee, began around 11 a.m. with a reception in the Manhattan City Hall. After the reception, the party proceeded to the Brooklyn Bridge station, where a special decorated train took them through the tunnel to Borough Hall.

Brooklyn Subway Opens
According to the Brooklyn Eagle Almanac’s 1909 Gazetteer of Long Island, “The celebration matched the fervor of the Brooklyn Bridge inauguration almost twenty-five years earlier.” Honored guests included Governor Charles E. Hughes, New York Mayor George B. McClellan, August Belmont, John B. McDonald, Borough President Coler, and E.W. Winter, president of the Brooklyn Rapid Transit.

Throngs of enthusiastic “citizens and their wives and sisters” (I guess women were not citizens then) greeted the train and gathered at the station all day long. Horns were blown, bells were rung, and everyone took a ride under the river. The trains through the tunnel were packed to the doors from morning till night.

I’m not sure what happened to Subway Nellie after this big day, but I do know that the workmen who spent a few years underground with Nellie told the press they would make sure that she lived in luxury for the rest of her life after the subway was completed. Today, a bronze tablet in the Borough Hall Station commemorating the IRT extension is all that remains of the days a tunnel united Manhattan with Brooklyn under the East River.

Jerry Fox spectacled cat

Jerry Fox was actually a large tiger cat, or what was called a maltese cat in early days — but he did “wear” spectacles and “read” newspapers in his senior years.

Recently, I wrote about Tom, the mascot of New York’s City Hall from 1891 to 1908. Tom may have acted as if he were the king cat of New York, but that’s probably because he didn’t know about his feline counterpart in Brooklyn.

Jerry Fox, an enormous tiger cat “of striking appearance” who performed heroic deeds during his 28-year reign as Brooklyn’s official cat, would have given Old Tom a run for his money.

Jerry Fox was actually the mascot of T.F. Fox’s popular café in the vicinity of what was then Brooklyn City Hall. He arrived at the cafe around 1879 when he was thought to be two or three years old (he had previously lived with undertaker Jacob M. Hopper until a larger black cat kicked him out). On Sundays and Monday mornings when the cafe was closed, he attracted much attention by sitting in the windows and watching passersby.

But during the rest of the week, when the café was open, he spent his days making scheduled rounds in the neighborhood – it is said that only once in his early years did he fail to show up in the places on his beat about the same time.

Jerry originally lived with undertaker Jacob M. Hopper in the circa 1851 Washington Building on the southeast corner of Court and Joralemon Streets. This building, which was the first headquarters of the YMCA in Brooklyn, was demolished in 1924.

Jerry originally lived with undertaker Jacob M. Hopper in the circa 1851 Washington Building on the southeast corner of Court and Joralemon Streets. This building, which was the first headquarters of the YMCA in Brooklyn, was demolished in 1924.

 

Brooklyn City Hall Park

Jerry made his daily rounds along Fulton Street and City Hall Park, shown here in 1890. He probably had to make some adjustments when the Kings County Elevated Railroad was constructed in 1897. Photo: Long Island Historical Society

Jerry Fox, the Crime-Stopping Cat

Jerry took his job patrolling the City Hall neighborhood very seriously, and was often credited for preventing crimes or alerting humans to danger. While making the rounds of the café each day, for example, he would always alert the owner if he found a door or window ajar.

One time a thief reportedly tried to break into the back window of the café, and Jerry’s loud howls attracted a policeman, who chased the would-be thief away. Another time Jerry chased a mad dog out of another place on his regular beat — the undertaker’s shop next to the café.


Jerry’s Life at Brooklyn’s Civic Center

Brooklyn Municipal Hall, Courthouse, Hall of Records

Jerry spent much of his time around Brooklyn’s old Municipal Building (right), which was constructed around the same time Jerry arrived in 1878. He also meandered around the Brooklyn County Courthouse (middle), constructed in the 1860s, and the Hall of Records, built between 1885 and 1887.

For more than a quarter of century, Jerry made his presence known at City Hall and the Municipal Building. He did not have any political principles — he simply gave his support to whichever party was in power.

He was a smart and dignified cat who made friends with the Brooklyn Bridge officials and played dominoes with Boss Hugh McLaughlin in the Exempt Firemen’s Rooms in City Hall on summer nights.

Sometime around 1903, Jerry started to lose his teeth. Then he lost much of his sight. Lucky for Jerry, he was a friend of Dr. Charles F. Hughes, who reportedly made a special pair of glasses for him.

According to The New York Times, the glasses gave Jerry “a certain quaint dignity” and friends would often give him a newspaper so he could sit on the steps of the Municipal Building and pretend he was reading like the “bums” all around him. Without the glasses, poor Jerry stumbled on the trolley tracks, but soon all the motormen got to know him and would stop their trolleys when he was in sight because they knew he couldn’t see the

Court Street Brooklyn

The sign for Dr. Hughes’ optical business at 59 Court St. is in the top center of this 1915 photo. All the buildings were razed when construction of the new Municipal Building began in 1924.  Long Island Historical Society

Jerry Fox Saves Borough Hall

On the afternoon of May 22, 1904, nearly blind Jerry was wondering about the third floor of Borough Hall when he came upon the vacant office of Judge Almet F. Jenks of the Appellate Division of the Supreme Court.

Papers on the judge’s desk had caught fire by what was reported to be a “misplaced lit cigar.” Judge Jenks was across the street at the law library in the County Courthouse at the time.

Brooklyn Borough Hall

Brooklyn Borough Hall sits on land donated August 16, 1834, by the Remsen and Pierrepont families. Originally called City Hall, it was designed by architects Calvin Pollard and Gamaliel King and completed in 1848. In January 1898, the City of Brooklyn merged with the City of New York, and Kings County became the Borough of Brooklyn. Hence, City Hall became Brooklyn Borough Hall.

Upon seeing (or perhaps smelling) the fire, Jerry rushed out into the chambers and started to howl. Policeman Harry Staton, who was stationed in Borough Hall, knew something had to be wrong, because Jerry was not known to complain.

He located the fire and alerted Policeman John Kessell, who was stationed in the office of Borough President Martin W. Littleton.

Brooklyn City Hall culola fire

Perhaps Jerry knew that the fire in Judge Jenks’ office meant trouble because he saw what happened in February 1895 when a great fire destroyed the cupola of City Hall. Photo: Long Island Historical Society

One news report says the policemen turned in an alarm and then attacked the flames with a fire extinguisher grenade.

Another report said the judge returned to his office and filled one of the officer’s hats with water to pour on the fire. In any event, if it hadn’t been for Jerry’s meows, the damage to Borough Hall may have been much more extensive and the city would have lost more than a desk and some papers.

Kings County Court House

The Kings County Courthouse was built in 1861 on land once part of DuFlon’s Military Garden, which had a theater and later, a lager beer and concert saloon owned by Louis Grantegein. The courthouse was razed 100 years later; today the Brooklyn Law School occupies the site.  Image: George F. Nesbitt & Co., 1862, from the Collections of the Museum of the City of New York.

Murphy Park and the Demise of Jerry Fox

By the time Jerry had saved City Hall, he was already on a downward spiral. The news reporters blamed Jerry’s decrepit condition on Murphy Park, a popular and dangerous hangout for “benchers” (homeless men) and teenage gangs. As reported in the Brooklyn Standard Union on August 17, 1899:

“Jerry Fox was decent and respectable and carried himself well until Murphy Park adjoining the Municipal Building was opened as a summer resort for the hobos and the Knights of Ease. Since then Jerry has become utterly disreputable, neglects his home, pays no attention to his master, stays out at nights, and acts generally in a way that is a shame and a disgrace to his former record. He now lounges on the benches, makes friends with unsavory looking [men], snoozes all day, neglects his baths, drinks [ale] like a fish, does not eat regularly, and is rapidly becoming a wreck of his old self.”

One night in December 1904 Jerry apparently wasn’t wearing his glasses when he strolled away from Borough Hall and fell down a subway shaft. The shaft, which was probably part of the Interborough Rapid Transit expansion project, had been shut down because of trouble with a water main. For five months, everyone assumed Jerry had run away. Unfortunately, when the shaft was reopened in April 1905, workers found his remains. They brought him out by dirt cart.

Jerry’s death was reported in The New York Times on April 7, 1905:

“Had each of the several hundred city officeholders, judges, lawyers, volunteer firemen, war veterans, and business men in Borough Hall Square lost an old college chum there could not have been sorrow more profound than that which greeted the death of Jerry.”

Several of Jerry’s old friends paid tribute to the cat upon learning of his death:

“He was a student as well as a great cat,” said Dr. Hughes.

“I had known him since I was a boy,” said an elderly Heights doctor, who had once extracted Jerry’s lower tusks because they were cutting his upper lip.

“Jerry was an epoch in himself,” said Assemblyman Patrick Burns.
“In an earlier day he would have been to Brooklyn as the codfish is to Boston.”

This concludes the story of Jerry Fox. However, if you enjoy New York history, you may want to read about the historic events surrounding Murphy Park and the Municipal Building, where Jerry spent much of his final years.

When Jerry was in his youth, the buildings in his beat included Brooklyn City Hall, the Municipal Building, Collegiate and Polytechnic Institution, the Court House, and the Reformed Dutch Church.

Joralemon, Livingston, Court Street and Boreum Place

All the land between Joralemon, Livingston, Court Street and Boreum Place, shown here in this 1880 map, was farmland that Philip Livingston turned over to the city in 1801.

In 1805, the First Dutch Reformed Church purchased the 340 x 145 foot lot between Joralemon, Court, and Livingston Streets, and built its third church in 1807. This church was replaced in 1835 by the much larger building shown below, which faced Livingston Street.

In the 1880s, efforts were made to either move the church to the other end of the lot and use it as a lecture hall, or sell the site to the Federal Government for the new post office. Both ideas fell through and the lot was sold on March 1, 1886, to Charles L. Willoughby, a Chicago capitalist, for $250,000. The church was demolished in May 1886.

First Dutch Reformed Church, Brooklyn, 1885, Livingston Street

First Dutch Reformed Church, Livingston Street. Museum of the City of New York Collections

When Charles L. Willoughby purchased the lot from the church, his intention was to hop on the cyclorama bandwagon and build a cyclorama building in Brooklyn.

Cyclorama Building

This 1886 shows a Cyclorama Building where the Dutch Reformed Church previously stood.

The octagonal cyclorama building was 139 feet in diameter, 400 feet in circumference, and 100 feet high with a glass roof.

Gettysburg Cyclorama

Inside the building was a 360-degree cyclorama painting depicting Pickett’s Charge at the Battle of Gettysburg by French artist Paul Philippoteaux. A viewing platform accommodated about 50 people at a time.

The Gettysburg cyclorama painting was on display from October 15, 1886, to August 8, 1887. The exhibit moved to Fourth Avenue and 19th Street in Manhattan after that, and the Brooklyn building was demolished. The Manhattan cyclorama was replaced by the Parker Building in 1900.

Paul Philippoteux

Paul Philippoteux, seen here, had a cylindrical-shaped studio on 149th Street in New York, where he painted Pickett’s Charge, a cyclorama depicting the Confederate attack on the Union forces during the Battle of Gettysburg.

After the Cyclorama Building came down, the lot sat empty for a while until George Murphy, a Department of Public Works employee, had the park created for only $650. (Some sources say the park was named after the Mayor of the City of Brooklyn, Henry C. Murphy, but newspaper articles claim the “honor” goes to George Murphy.)

Murphy Park, Municipal Park, Brooklyn

By 1901 Murphy Park, officially known as Municipal Park, had become a panhandler’s paradise for loafers, bums, gangs, and thieves. As one news article noted, “The scoundrels turned a pretty place into a little hell on earth.” New York Public Library

Although the park was quite lovely in early years — the Board of Directors of the Brooklyn Free Library Association even considered purchasing land for its library headquarters in 1897 – by 1900 its benches were filled by men who could not afford a bed in one of the Fulton Street and Washington Street boarding houses. In 1906 insult was added to injury when the park was converted into a storage yard for subway contractors working on the Borough Hall subway station.

Murphy Park, Brooklyn

The old Municipal Building previously occupied the fenced-in area on the left; the vacant Murphy Park is on the right. Photo: Brooklyn Daily Eagle, October 21, 1916.

In 1915, citizens asked Borough President Pounds and Public Works Commissioner Voorhies to turn the lots once occupied by the old Municipal Building and Murphy Park into a parking lot for all the autos clogging the streets adjoining Borough Hall. (Oh, the horror, people were parking their cars in front of front of apartments, leaving no place for the residents to park!)

Three years after residents begged for a parking lot, the empty lots remained an eyesore. In September 1918, by orders of the United States War Department, the lots were put into use as an exercise and drill ground to prepare student soldiers for World War I.

Brooklyn Polytechnic Institute

In September 1918, Brooklyn’s Polytechnic Institute, seen here, was briefly transformed into barracks as part of a government war initiative called the Students Army Training Corps. In addition to receiving a monthly salary, students in the Corps also had their tuition paid for by the government. Brooklyn Public Library

In 1921 there was a proposal to turn the lots into a practice putting course for the judges whose office windows look out on Borough Hall and the lots. It was thought that some afternoon putting would clear their minds for better rendering of judgments.

Finally, on August 13, 1925, Borough President Edward Riegelmann broke ground for the erection of Brooklyn’s new Municipal Building.

Municipal Building, Brooklyn

The new Municipal Building, designed by McKenzie, Voorhees and Gmelin, was constructed on the former lots that were once Jerry’s old stomping grounds.

Brooklyn Municipal Building

Today the Municipal Building houses many city offices and offices for the Departments of Buildings, Probation, Finance, and Environmental Protection. I wonder if it has a mascot cat…