1890: The Crazy Cat Ladies and The Murderous Midnight Band of Mercy, Part I

Posted: 1st July 2014 by The Hatching Cat in Cat Stories, Crazy Cat Ladies
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Part I: The Society to Befriend Domestic Animals

Washington Heights home for cats

Over 100 stray cats and boarder cats lived at the Washington Heights cat home, including Jack, Daisy, and Minnie from Brooklyn; Mrs. Vele’s Spotter and Monsie from Rockland County; Minnie and Turtle Shell from 28th Street; and Cry Baby, Sad Face, and Ash Barrel Kate.

Like all crazy cat ladies or cat hoarders, Mrs. Sarah J. Edwards and Mrs. Grace Georgia Devide had good intentions when they opened a refuge for homeless cats in 1890. But something went terribly wrong, and a mission to provide shelter and food for friendless and maltreated cats turned into the
Midnight Band of Mercy — a midnight-hour killing spree.

In the summer of 1890, five animal lovers declared that they would devote the rest of their lives to improving the lives of city cats. They formed the Society to Befriend Domestic Animals (SBDA), and set out to find the perfect house to rent in a remote part of the city so as to not disturb the neighbors.

The society comprised Mrs. Grace Georgia Devide, Mrs. Sarah Jennie Edwards, Mrs. Emma Charlton, Mrs. Mary Hans, and Mrs. Mary Wilson.

The mission of SBDA was “to provide shelter and food for the homeless and maltreated animals; to secure painless death for animals rendered decrepit by accident or incurable ailment; to secure through educative agencies the repression of all forms of cruelty to animals.” Unfortunately, some of the founding members appear to have gone mad, forming a Midnight Band of Mercy that went against their original mission.

The Home for Friendless Pets

125 West 28th Street

Sarah Edwards lived with her cook, chambermaid, and about 20 cats in a five-story loft-building flat at 125 West 28th Street (shown here in 1928). This address was the former site of the Smith & Crane church furniture factory, which burned down in 1880. Today it is the site of a Cambria Suites hotel.

On August 30, 1890, a reporter from The New York World visited Sarah Edward’s apartment at 125 West 28th Street to discuss plans for the “cat asylum” with the women. Sarah was a widow (and reportedly a former working girl in the Tenderloin District), but she had plenty of feline company: On that day, her parlor was filled with about 20 cats – some were on the piano, some on the sofa, and one cat was on each of the women’s laps.

Grace Devide, a southern belle from Virginia and the animated leader of the movement, lived with her husband in a four-story brownstone at 230 West 21st Street. She told the reporter that she had begun feeding stray cats in her neighborhood around 1875.

She liked to feed the cats at midnight, because this was the time “when wicked boys are asleep and cruel men are too drunk to use their canes.” During the day, she’d tell the little boys who tortured the cats that it was a sin to kill them. Grace’s favorite time to feed the cats is what led to the Midnight Band of Mercy.

The Home for Friendless Cats

The women’s plans to establish a cat asylum generated a lot of attention in the New York newspapers. Some readers sent monetary donations in response to the articles. Many people brought lame and mangy animals to Sarah’s home, which she had a hard time turning away.

230 West 21st Street

Grace Devide gave up this four-story brownstone at 230 West 21st Street to dedicate her life to stray cats and other animals.

One day in October, a line of men and boys carrying cats and dogs stretched halfway down 28th Street. After stepping on numerous cat tails, Sarah’s cook reportedly packed her trunk and moved out. The chambermaid and a waitress also threatened to quit.

The ladies, did, however, get an offer from Mr. Thomas W. Organ to rent a dilapidated frame shanty on the old Barney and Rosannah Bowers farm for $50 a month.

The house was ideally situated on a large tract overlooking the Harlem River at the terminus of the new Tenth Avenue (Amsterdam Avenue) cable road near 185th Street in Washington Heights.

1891 George Bromley map

The ladies of the SBDA rented an old farmhouse and two stables, possibly the three yellow structures on Amsterdam Avenue between 185th Street and 187th Street. Click here for a more detailed look at Washington Heights in 1891.

Grace Devide described the home to the reporter:

“We’ve got the finest place in the world for the poor cats… It’s got a couple of barns upon it, which we’ll fix up for the cats to sleep in, you know. I’ll live in the house, and Mrs. Edwards’ niece, who loves cats just as much as I do, will be there with me, and help care for the poor maltreated things.

Oh, we’re going to have a regular little heaven for the cats up there, you know. We’ll have the place all fenced in with wire, so they can’t get out, and they will have the run of the house during the day.”

When asked if she was willing to give up her lovely home and husband to move into the cat asylum, Mrs. Devide replied, “My husband refuses to follow me there. He is a professor of music, and he thinks this is craziness on my part. But never mind. I will give my life to help the friendless outcasts of the city, against whom every other human hand is turned.”

The Home for Friendless Cats, Washington Heights

As one New York paper reported, the old farmhouse was “on the verge of dissolution” and its surroundings were “of the most dismal description.” A signboard outside the door was painted in white letters: “We speak for those who cannot speak for themselves. Home for friendless domestic animals. Compassion.” There were also holes cut in the door so the animals could come and go.

The Barney Bowers Tract

Two hundred years before Grace and Sarah established their cat home at 185th Street on Washington Heights, the range of hills on ridge overlooking the Muscoota (Harlem River) was a hunting place of the Weckquaesgeek tribe, whose largest village was Nipinisicken on the Spuyten Duyvil hill.

In 1673, the first road was cut through this woodland then known as Jochem Pieter’s Hill or the Long Hill, probably following an old hunting trail along the present line of Broadway (the locals called it Breakneck Hill).

Open Parlor E Car

The Tenth Avenue cable road from 125th to 187th opened on December 1, 1886. Passengers paid 25 cents to ride on the open parlor cars on this route, like the “E” car shown here. In 1890, Superintendent Edward Lyon made plans to allow passengers to take unwanted cats and dogs on the cable cars on designated days of the week, so that they could bring them to the cat home.

Sometime around the late 1690s, a magistrate by the name of Joost Van Oblinus acquired a large tract of cleared land called the Indian Field or Great Maize Land, which extended along the new road from about 165th to 181st Street. In 1769, his grandson Johannes sold about 100 acres of this land to Blazius Moore.

James Gordon Bennett estate

The Barney Bowers’ tract also abutted the residence of James Gordon Bennett, proprietor of the New York Herald and The Evening Telegram, who owned land north of 181st Street from Broadway to the Hudson River. This 1859 wood engraving shows Bennett’s estate on the Hudson River, which was later donated to the city for the development of Bennett Park.

Blazius Moore was a well-known tobacco merchant who had a business at Broadway and John Street. Blazius Moore also had two sisters. His sister Catherine married Pierre Lorillard of the Lorillard Tobacco Company (their son founded the Tuxedo Club at Tuxedo Park, New York).

His sister Rosannah married John Bernard Bauer (aka Barney Bowers), a preacher from Frankfort, Germany. Barney Bowers and his new bride purchased farm land from the Bussing family, which was adjacent to the Moore property.

1868 farms of Washington Heights

In 1874, David Dudley Field paid $80,000 for 18 acres of land from the Barney Bowers tract, which was once part of a much larger farm belonging to Barney and Rosannah Bowers. Click here for a more detailed look of the old farms in Washington Heights in 1868. New York Public Library

Sometime around 1780, Barney died of injuries sustained during the Revolutionary War while lifting guns at Fort Washington. Following Rosannah’s death, the property passed on to the Lorillard family.

The next mention of the farm was in an in the New York Post in 1869 announcing the sale of 200 city lots on the old Bowers Farm. In 1874, David Dudley Field, a prominent New York attorney, paid $80,000 for 18 acres of the Bowers tract bounded by Eleventh Avenue, the Harlem River, 185th and 188th Street.

It is quite probably that it was on this land that the Midnight Band of Mercy operated their home for friendless cats in the early 1890s.

Julia Marlowe

Julia Marlowe, a leading Broadway actress of Shakespeare and former resident of the River Mansion at 337 Riverside Drive, paid 50 cents a week for her cat Princeton to stay at the cat home in Washington Heights.

Open for Business

The home for wayward animals in Washington Heights opened for business in October 1890 with 14 cats and seven dogs. Grace backed out of her plans to live at the house, so Sarah moved in and hired a paralyzed woman for $5 a month to watch after the cats at night when she went home to her apartment downtown.

By April 1891, there were 125 cats and 10 dogs at the house, including a few boarders whose transient owners paid for their stay while they were out of town. The ladies encouraged people to adopt the stray cats, as long as they promised to treat them kindly and return them to the home if they got tired of caring for their pet.

Koch's Mount St Vincent Hotel

Each day, the cats and dogs would eat up to 25 pounds of meat and 10 quarts of milk. Luckily, a few hotels and restaurants, such as Koch’s New Mount St. Vincent Hotel at 178th Street (shown here), were willing to help out by providing a daily allowance of food. Museum of the City of New York

The Midnight Band of Mercy

In addition to caring for all the cats in the home, the SBDA also organized a band of about 25 women to feed the stray cats at night. This feeding crew would eventually come to be known as the Midnight Band of Mercy.
As the New York Herald reported on May 7, 1893:

“Several women compose the band, and three times a week they issue forth at the unearthly hour of two in the morning and prowl around until four looking for stray cats, in highways and byways, in alleyways and in cellars, on fences and under stoops and other haunts affected by the New York cat about town.

They claim to feed two thousand cats a week in this manner, and they carry the food in tin pails and baskets. Meat the first night, catnip the second and fish on Friday nights.”

Amsterdam Avenue looking north at 176 Street?

This dilapidated home on Tenth Avenue (Amsterdam Avenue) looks like the perfect house for crazy cat ladies, but it was actually closer to 176th Street. New York Public Library

In 1893, the women had to abandon their home for cats in Washington Heights (apparently, too many young boys had found out about the home and were tossing poisoned meat to the cats). Determined to save all city cats from starvation and horrible lives, the ladies were now forced to take other measures to control the feline population.

As more and more dead cats began appearing on the streets, the crazy plot of the Midnight Band of Mercy began to thicken.

In Part II of this Crazy Cat Lady tale of Old New York, I’ll tell you what happened to Sarah and Grace when the ladies of the Midnight Band of Mercy were finally caught in the cat-killing act.  

1916: Wang, the King of the Pirate Cats of West 80th Street

Posted: 22nd June 2014 by The Hatching Cat in Cat Stories
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Wang and His Pirate Cats Crew

This pirate cats tale of Old New York begins on June 6, 1916, when 10-month-old John Pamaris of 53 Garfield Place and 2-year-old Armanda Schuccjio of 5014 7th Avenue — two children in the Italian community just east of the Gowanus Canal in Brooklyn — were reported to the New York City Health Department as having symptoms of polio (then called “infantile paralysis”).

These two reported cases, along with four more cases reported on June 8, served as a warning of the impending polio epidemic.

53 Garfield Place, Brooklyn
The first reported case of polio in 1916 was 10-month-old John Pamaris, who lived in this 1901 apartment at 53 Garfield Place.

Within a few weeks, there were 24 cases in Brooklyn, most of them in the area bounded by 7th Avenue and Third, Degraw, and Nevins streets. By the end of June there were 646 reported cases of polio in that borough, plus about 150 cases throughout the other boroughs.

At the time, there was no good theory for how polio was spread. Since the outbreak began in the Italian community, some, including New York City’s health commissioner, Dr Haven Emerson (a great-nephew of Ralph Waldo Emerson), thought that the disease had been brought to America by Italian immigrants.

First reported cases of polio in Brooklyn, 1916
This map shows the locations of the first reported cases of polio in Brooklyn, just east of the Gowanus Canal, in 1916.

Others in the health community speculated that it was spread by insects, while some early reports suggested that domestic cats and dogs were to blame. For example, in an article in The New York Times on July 30, 1916, people were advised to wash their pet cats and dogs in a two percent solution of carbolic acid (that must have gone over well with the pets).

The 1916 epidemic caused widespread panic. Movie theaters and libraries were closed, meetings were canceled, public gatherings were almost nonexistent, and children were told to avoid water fountains, amusement parks, swimming pools, and beaches. Thousands of the well-to-do fled the city or sent their children to live with relatives in other states.

Polio in Brooklyn 1916
One of the first steps the city took was to publish the names and addresses of individuals with confirmed polio cases in the press on a daily basis. The city’s health department also placed placards on the houses identified, as shown in this picture of a Brooklyn apartment, and quarantined the families living there.

Many more people released their pets to the streets, where they were rounded up and put down. On July 26, the Times reported that the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals (SPCA) was sending up to 450 animals to the lethal chamber every day.

Despite all this killing of innocent animals, some domestic pets were able to dodge the bullet for an extended period.

Wang and His Gang of Pirate Cats

Although he had probably been a domestic cat, Wang was a street-smart feline who knew how to survive. Described as a “mauve cat” with pink eyes, white feet, and no tail, Wang was the leader of a pack of up to 100 stray cats that haunted West 80th Street between Columbus and Amsterdam avenues during the brutal spring and summer of 1916. The press called them the pirate cats.

For three months, Wang and his posse defied the police, the SPCA, and the stray dogs. According to a policeman, the stray cats made their lair in a cellar on West 81st Street, where they spent the daylight hours in hiding (they also had a second escape home in a cellar near Amsterdam and 79th Street).

At night they kept all the residents awake with their howling as they moved from one janitors’ apartment to the other to steal food. The policeman suggested that the pirate cats howled so loud because of a new law that required residents to place tight lids on garbage cans.

80th Street and Columbus Avenue. Orleans Apartment Hotel. Wang and his gang of pirate cats terrorized the residents on West 80th Street near Columbus Avenue, shown here in 1915. Wurts Bros., Museum of the City of New York Collections
Wang and his gang of pirate cats terrorized the residents on West 80th Street near Columbus Avenue, shown here in 1915. Wurts Bros., Museum of the City of New York Collections

Piotr Besanovitch, a janitor near Amsterdam Avenue, said Wang and six other pirate cats had entered his kitchen one night and stole a leg of mutton off the table. As the cats devoured the meat off the bone, Wang and a large black cat with yellow eyes and clipped ears stood guard outside the cellar door. Piotr said he tried using a few dogs to keep the cats away, but the dogs would only hide under the bed once the cats started howling.

A day after The New York Times did a story about Wang, the king of pirate cats took his gang to Central Park West, where residents and guests at the Hotel Majestic reported that the cats were creating a nuisance in the area. Timothy Ebbitt, night house detective at the hotel, formed a search team of bell boys, night clerks, kitchen men, and a few scrub women with mops.

Near the 72nd entrance to Central Park, they saw Wang surrounded by about 30 other pirate cats. Wang arched his back in attack mode and then scurried away when Ebbitt threw some rocks his way. They were last seen by a policeman heading toward Broadway. I have a bad feeling, though, that they were really last seen at the SPCA animal shelter.

Hotel Majestic and Central Park West, New York
Built in 1894, the Hotel Majestic featured private bowling alleys and a rooftop garden, and was home to Dorothy Parker, Gustav Mahler, and other celebrities of the Gilded Age. It was replaced by the Majestic, a twin-towered housing complex, in 1930. Museum of the City of New York Collections.

According to Thomas F. Freel, superintendent of the SPCA, more than 80,000 cats and dogs were collected off the city streets and disposed of in the lethal chamber by the end of July.

The epidemic also took a large toll on human life, with over 27,000 reported cases and more than 6,000 deaths in the United States — over 2,400 deaths were reported in New York City.

Thomas F. Freel, superintendent of the SPCA
Thomas F. Freel, superintendent of the SPCA, tried to convince people that cats and dogs were not spreading polio. He also insisted that it was the mice and rats that were carrying the germs that caused the disease.

The Monkeys at Rockefeller Institute

One modern-day theory is that the 1916 epidemic was caused by a “mixed virus” (MV strain) of polio that had escaped from the Rockefeller Institute, which was then located just three miles from the epicenter of the outbreak at 63rd Street and York Avenue in Manhattan.

It was here that Dr. Simon Flexner, the first director of the Rockefeller Institute for Medical Research, was conducting studies by transferring spinal cord tissue containing the
poliovirus from one Rhesus monkey’s spinal cord to another.

Although Dr. Flexner’s research led him to conclude, falsely, that poliovirus entered the body through the nose, the “germicidal substances” that were present in the blood of the monkeys and which had survived polio were later discovered to be antibodies for the disease.

Dr. Simon Flexner
Dr. Simon Flexner, the first director of the Rockefeller Institute, didn’t find a cure for polio but he did develop a novel delivery system for an anti-meningitis serum.



The Rockefeller Institute

In the early 1800s, Peter Schermerhorn, a merchant and shipbuilder, bought property bounded by 63rd and 68th streets and Third Avenue and the East River.

Following his death, the Schermerhorn farm was turned over to his son William, who lived there until 1860, when he bought his mansion at 49 West 23rd Street.

Schermerhorn Farm, 1800s
The Schermerhorn farm was already out of place in the late 1800s when this photo was taken.

Forty years later, in 1901, John D. Rockefeller’s first grandchild, John Rockefeller McCormick, died of scarlet fever. In reaction to his grandson’s death, the senior Rockefeller decided to found an institute devoted to research in medicine.

In 1903, when William Schermerhorn died, Rockefeller paid $700,000 for the old farm, which comprised three full lots of unimproved land. Here, in 1906, he opened the Rockefeller Institute for Medical Research, the first biomedical research center in the United States.

Rockefeller Institute for Medical Research
The Rockefeller Institute for Medical Research opened in 1906 at York Avenue (then called Avenue A) and 66th Street.

In 1955, the Rockefeller Institute expanded its mission to include education. Ten years later, the institute changed its name to Rockefeller University. Today, the university is a world-renowned center for research and graduate education in the biomedical sciences, chemistry, bioinformatics, and physics.

Newspaper headlines about the polio vaccine on April 13, 1955.
Newspaper headlines about the polio vaccine on April 13, 1955.

On April 12, 1955, Dr. Thomas Francis, Jr., declared to the world that Jonas Salk’s polio vaccine was “safe and effective.”

The announcement was made at the University of Michigan, exactly 10 years to the day after the death of President Franklin D. Roosevelt, who was diagnosed with polio in 1921 at the age of 39.

Although the vaccine arrived 40 years too late for thousands of people, cats, and dogs, today naturally occurring polio is nonexistent in the United States and has been nearly eradicated from the world.

1915: Lady Eglantine, the Hen That Received a Royal Roost at New York’s Imperial Hotel

Posted: 12th June 2014 by The Hatching Cat in Animal Attractions, Birds and Pigeons
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Today, we have ticker-tape parades to honor our favorite sports teams when they win the World Series or the Super Bowl. In 1915, New Yorkers had a welcoming parade to honor a chicken. A white single-comb leghorn hen named Lady Eglantine, to be exact.

Lady Eglantine, Hotel Imperial, Willard D. Rockefeller
Lady Eglantine “signs” the register at the Hotel Imperial with some help from head manager Willard D. Rockefeller.

Mind you, this was not an ordinary hen. This was Addison A. Christian’s $100,000 hen, aka, “The Wonder of the 20th Century.”

This was the hen that laid 314 eggs in 365 days as part of an egg-laying competition at the Delaware Agricultural Experiment Station – no ordinary feat, considering the average hen at the time laid about 70 eggs a year.

Lady Eglantine was hatched on April 15, 1914, at Eglantine Farms in Greensboro, Maryland. She was the chick prodigy of the son of a 218-egg hen, who was mated with a 260-egg hen. Her eggs sold for up to $50 each, which was a fairly good price, considering the good odds of her offspring being good egg layers.

The champion hen was a small bird, only 14 inches high and just under 4 pounds. But unlike normal hens, which took about 100 days off from the job to rest and molt, Lady Eglantine was a team player and took only 51 days. Perhaps her special diet of whole and cracked grains, ground grain mash, beef, oyster shells, grit, charcoal, and greens provided the extra stamina.

Hotel Imperial
The Hotel Imperial, designed by the renowned McKim, Mead & White, was the first of the big hotels in the upper Broadway section – and one of the first fireproof buildings in New York — when it opened in 1891. The buildings and land were owned by real estate mogul Robert Goelet, and later, by his heirs. Ironically, in 1947 the 500-room hotel was marked for demolition because it was a fire trap.

Lady Eglantine and Her Flock Come to New York

In December 1915, Lady Eglantine appeared at the eighth annual show of the Empire Poultry Association, which was taking place in conjunction with the Empire Cat Club and Empire Cage-Bird Association shows at Grand Central Plaza in New York. (I wonder who thought it was a good idea to show cats and birds in the same place at the same time?)

The night before the show began, Mr. Christian treated his prize hen to a going-away party at the Hotel Walton in Philadelphia. He then traveled with her and her entourage (reportedly 21 various and sundry men, including some security guards and her very own “chef”) in their own special sleeper Pullman parlor car to New York’s Pennsylvania Station.

Upon their arrival at Pennsylvania Station that morning, there was a large crowd waiting for Lady Gaga (oops, I mean Lady Eglantine) in the waiting room, including poultry fanciers, Mr. Willard D. Rockefeller of the Hotel Imperial, and her New York press agent, Cromwell Childe. Mayor John Purroy Mitchel, who was recovering from a recent operation, sent his regrets.

Kitty Gordon, 1913
Kitty Gordon often posed with animals for publicity. Here she is holding a Pekingese dog in her lap in a publicity shot for her April 1913 vaudeville appearance at B.F. Keith’s Colonial Theatre in New York.

During this welcome reception, some of the men in her traveling party blew bugles and worked to protect Lady Eglantine from everyone’s clutches. Apparently one of the hen’s feathers dropped to the floor during the commotion (she was finally taking a break for molting), and the crowd made a mad rush it. A man grabbed it and tucked the valuable memento into his hat.

From Pennsylvania Station, Lady Eglantine was driven to the Hotel Imperial, just one block away on Broadway. She rode in a fancy car belonging to vaudeville actress Kitty Gordon, which was followed by a second car for the welcoming committee as well as a sightseeing bus for the men who traveled with her from Philadelphia. A few “moving picture operators” filmed the small parade from the railroad station to the hotel.

The whole flock arrived at the Hotel Imperial at 11 a.m., where they were greeted by a large sign in the lobby that read: Welcome Lady Eglantine, the Wonder of the 20th Century. 314 Eggs in 365 Days, the World’s Record.

Hotel Imperial Lobby
To celebrate Lady Eglantine’s arrival, the lobby of the Imperial Hotel, shown here in 1904, featured a dozen show cages with a barnyard rooster and four hens in each. The birds were put on display for a week – I wonder how the guests enjoyed the morning wake-up calls? Museum of the City of New York

Mr. Rockefeller, the head manager of the Imperial Hotel (no relation to the Rockefellers) attached a pen to one of her claws and had her “sign” the register. She also posed for photos with Miss Gordon, who was appearing in “A World of Pleasure” at the Winter Garden and apparently looking for some extra publicity. (Miss Gordon insisted that this was not the case; she said she grew up on a farm and just loved chickens.)

After taking a brief rest in the “Imperial Suite” (where she was to spend each night), Lady Eglantine was transferred to the Grand Central Palace in a flag-bedecked automobile with, as The New York Times reported, “more factitious fuss than is customarily accorded the prima donna of a royal opera company traveling in state.” At the Palace, she was placed in a pen in a position of honor on the mezzanine floor, surrounded by a dozen of her brothers and sisters in another coop.

Lady Eglantine in her coop
Lady Eglantine had her own coop, complete with flowers and American flags, at the Grand Central Plaza.

Rumors quickly spread that her champion eggs were worth $50 a piece, to which one attendant remarked, “That’s more than they charge for a soft-boiled one at the Ritz-Carlton, so there ain’t no such thing.” Some people were willing, though, to pay up to $100 for a clutch of eggs, while others paid $50 for each of her siblings.

As the Syracuse Herald noted: “New York, like every other large city, wants plenty of fresh eggs for breakfast, at a reasonable price, and since a hen that lays 314 eggs in a year is a mighty step in that direction, New York has taken Lady Eglantine into its arms.

Lady Eglantine and her entourage returned to Maryland on December 11 in an ordinary freight car. According to news reports, her egg-laying was going to be put on hold, as she was scheduled to appear in several other poultry shows across the country.

Grand Central Palace
Lady Eglantine was just one of the 6,000 fowls, pets, birds, and other beasts appearing at the Grand Central Palace show in December 1915. The 13-story Palace was erected in 1911, and occupied the air rights over the railroad tracks leading into Grand Central Terminal. It was demolished in 1964 to make way for the 48-story office building at 245 Park Avenue.

On Valentine’s Day 1916, Lady Eglantine was married to a rooster “of the highest lineage,” whose mother also had a record of 272 eggs in one year. The Washington Post reported that Lady Eglantine was presented a diamond studded gold anklet from the Philadelphia Poultry Association, which they used as the wedding ring at the marriage ceremony.

I’m not sure if all the previous egg-laying finally got to her, or if it was too much excitement for such a small hen, but poor Lady Eglantine did not live much longer after she wed. She passed in September 1916, as reported in The New York Times and other newspapers. An autopsy report attributed her early death to an enlarged and overworked heart.

According to the Greensboro Historical Society, Mr. Christian took her body to a Philadelphia taxidermist, where was “restored to nearly life-like appearance.” He then gave her a resting place on his library table, which is where she stayed until he died in 1926. It is believed the diamonds were removed from the anklet and set in custom-made rings for Christian’s two daughters.

Lady Eglantine, Greensboro Historical Society
Lady Eglantine remains on permanent display at the museum of the Greensboro Historical Society.

Lady Eglantine’s stuffed form remained at the Christian house, although she was reportedly relegated to a cardboard box under a desk in the farm office.

Over the years, several of the children who lived at the farm played with her, and a few brought her to school for special projects. Today, she makes her final roost at the museum of the Greensboro Historical Society in Maryland.

1900: Sir Oliver the Parrot, the Mascot of The Lambs

Posted: 8th June 2014 by The Hatching Cat in Animal Stories, Birds and Pigeons
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Sir Oliver was a handsome twentieth-century matinée idol who had a habit of going off script and speaking out of line. Perhaps this was because Sir Oliver was not a man of royalty, but a female cockatoo that had the gift of gab. Or maybe it was because Sir Oliver spent many of her down-time hours with the loquacious, merry pranksters of America’s first professional theatrical club, The Lambs.

Sir Oliver, Foxy Quiller, New York
Although Sir Oliver sometimes performed on an open perch, she was relegated to her cage for a few weeks after she snatched the hat of Jerome Sykes (right) and flew off with it. Even Adolph Zink (holding cage) couldn’t catch her as she made her way to the top of the highest scenery on the stage.

Sir Oliver was the pet of Jerome H. Sykes, a comic actor and opera singer. Sykes, who rose to fame with the Bostonians, was best known for his portrayal of Constable Foxy Quiller, a bumbling, overweight detective who first appeared in “The Highwayman” in 1897 (Sykes created the character for the comic opera). In 1900, Reginald De Koven (music) and Harry B. Smith (lyrics) wrote a new operetta based on the character called “Foxy Quiller.”

Broadway Theatre
The Broadway Theatre, designed by J.B. McElfatrick & Co., was constructed in 1887. “Foxy Quiller,” the comic opera in three acts, opened in New York City at the Broadway Theatre on November 5, 1900.

Sir Oliver was reportedly from Australia, and had beautiful blue and red feathers and green wings. Sykes bought the parrot from a street vendor, and carried her around with him while he was performing with the Klaw & Erlander Opera Company in “Foxy Quiller.” Not only was Sir Oliver a pet; she was also one of Sykes’ co-stars, appearing as Polly in the comic opera.

According to news reports, Sir Oliver was trained by a French animal and bird trainer in New York to follow cues and speak several lines in “Foxy Quiller.” In the operetta, Sykes has a conversation with Polly, who is supposedly the only witness to a crime.

During the conversation, Polly gives him a clue to the whereabouts of a “Japanese dwarf” named Kimono who has just robbed a sailor.

Jerome Sykes, Foxy Quiller
Jerome Sykes as Foxy Quiller, the quintessence of all human intelligence, featured in de Koven and Smith’s opera “Foxy Quiller” at the Broadway Theatre in 1900. Museum of the City of New York Collection

Polly Want a Cracker?

One of the songs from the opera was called Polly Want a Cracker?, which you can hear (instrumental only) by clicking here.

Polly Want A Cracker? Pretty Polly, witty Polly, instinct with the critter was sublime. He was full of rhyme and reason, always had a word in season, coming in just at the proper time. Polly, Pretty Polly! Fond of youth and fond of folly, full of conversation all the day. He was up to snuff, that parrot, and his brain was eighteen carat, for he knew the thing to say? Knew the proper thing to say.

Two months after “Foxy Quiller” opened in New York, the Klaw & Erlander Opera Company took the show to Chicago. Sir Oliver was placed in a baggage compartment on the train and left there overnight.

When Sykes went to get the bird the next day, his water bowl was frozen but the tropical bird was somehow still alive. As Sykes told the press, “Lor’ bless you, that bird had kept so much tropical warmth in his body and replenished it from the snow that we thawed him out without the slightest difficulty.”

When Sir Oliver wasn’t performing or traveling with the opera company, she spent time in a bird store on Broadway. There, she would sit in a window and attract much attention by repeating lines from her conversation with Foxy. One day an Irish laborer reportedly took offense when she spoke, “The red’s above the green. Streak of yellow, eh?”

Jerome Sykes
Jerome Sykes was born in Washington, DC, in 1867. He grew up in a house where the Library of Congress now stands.

When Jerome Sykes wasn’t performing, he spent time with his second wife, the actress Jessie Wood, at their city home at 200 West 80th Street (his first wife, Agnes Sherwood, was a light opera singer who died in 1896).

During the off-season, they enjoyed spending time with their horses, dogs, and cats on their 65-acre country estate that overlooked the Stony Brook Harbor on Three Sisters Road in St. James, Long Island. There, despite his size (he weighed over 300 pounds) Sykes enjoyed playing baseball, swimming, rowing, fishing, and attending balls and social affairs with the many other New York actors that gathered at the actors’ colony in St. James.

The Silence of The Lambs

Jerome Sykes was also a member of The Lambs’ Club, which bills itself as America’s first professional theatrical club. This club was formed during the Christmas week of 1874 at Delmonico’s restaurant on 14th Street by matinée star Henry Montague. The club was named after a London club–of which Montague was a member–that honored the essayist Charles Lamb. Its president was called the Shepherd and its members were the Flock.

Henry_James_Montague
Montague was the stage name used by Henry James Mann, a founding member of The Lambs of London and the first Shepherd of The Lambs in New York.

After Montague passed in 1878, the newly incorporated Lambs Club met every other week for dinner at the Union Square Hotel to glorify the late idol. They moved into a four-story brownstone at 34 West 26th Street in 1880, which served as their headquarters until about 1892. The brownstone had a large back yard with a marquee that was illuminated with Chinese lanterns, where some of the younger members would have boisterous parties in the summer months.

Apparently, the neighbors were not very fond of these late-night summer gatherings. Although the parties quieted down after Washington Irving Bishop, a mind reader, died at the club in 1888, the noise levels picked up within a year of his death.

In 1890, several neighbors, including Dr. William R. Chichester at #36 West 26th Street and Miss M.L. Thomas at #32, complained that The Lambs were carrying “their bleatings so far into the early morning hours that they became intolerable.”

Miss Thomas and her 90-year-old mother told police of the Nineteenth Police Precinct that the bleating was more like bellowing. Another neighbor, Mr. J.L. Reed, who lived on the third floor of #34, threatened to turn a water hose on The Lambs when they were outside in the yard making noise.

The neighbors were finally successful in silencing The Lambs when the club moved out and the New York Press Club moved in.

Sir Oliver Joins The Lambs

Lambs Club, 70 West 36th Street
The Lambs moved to 70 West 36th Street in the Herald Square Theater District in 1897, and stayed there until 1905. It was here that Jerome Sykes and other members inducted Sir Oliver as its mascot.

For the next few years, The Lambs moved around a bit, trying their luck at 8 West 29th Street until a neighbor complained about the bleating (apparently they made quite a ruckus playing pool), and later, at 26 West 31st Street. They finally settled in for a few years at 70 West 36th Street, which is where Sir Oliver joined the Flock.

The decision to make Sir Oliver a mascot was inspired by playwright Augustus Thomas sometime around 1900, during the tenure of Shepherd William DeWolf Hopper. According to the story, Thomas and Sykes were smoking and chatting one afternoon at the club when Sykes began talking about Sir Oliver.

“Do you know that that bird is a regular mischief-maker, and yet he brings me good luck,” Sykes said. “I don’t know what to make of him.”

“Why not a mascot of The Lambs?” Thomas asked. Sykes agreed it was a good idea, as long as the members approved.

Sir Oliver was welcomed to The Lambs, and he spent the next few years “sitting in the window and making life interesting” for those who passed by whenever he wasn’t performing on stage.

Augustus Thomas
Augustus Thomas was a St. Louis playwright who joined The Lambs in 1889 and served as Shepherd from 1907-1910.


The Tragic Death of Jerome Sykes

In June 1902, The Lambs purchased a 37 x 100 foot lot at 128-130 West 44th Street from Minnie Lespinasse. They approached architects McKim, Mead and White, all of whom were members of the club, to design the new clubhouse.

The six-story marble Georgian building was completed in 1905; unfortunately, that was two years too late for Jerome Sykes.

Lambs' Club, West 44th Street, 1905
The new clubhouse on 44th Street featured a lobby, billiard room, and grill room on the first floor; a banquet hall on the second floor; a private theater on the third floor; and offices and sleeping rooms for the members on the top floor.

On Christmas Eve, 1903, Jerome Sykes became overheated while performing “The Billionaire” in Chicago. He sat near a window to cool down, and the rest, as they say, is history. Jerome was simply not as strong as Sir Oliver, and the frigid air brought on a cold that lead to pneumonia.

Lamb's Club, West 44th Street, 1918
In 1915, The Lambs clubhouse was doubled in size by architect George A. Freeman, who added a mirror-image addition. The building was designated a New York City Landmark in 1974 and was added to the National Register of Historic Places in 1982. Today it is home to The Chatwal, which operates a restaurant called the Lambs Club.

On December 29 at 4:30 p.m., he succumbed to his illness at the Hotel Stratford. Sadly, most of Jerome’s family members were trapped in St. James by a winter storm on the day of his funeral in New York City, and were unable to attend.

A few years after Jerome’s death, his family sold part of the estate in St. James to the sugar beet magnate James Guerreo Oxnard and his wife, Caroline Moss Thornton Oxnard. The Oxnard estate remained in the family until 1955, when it was demolished for construction of the Harbour Close housing development.

As for Sir Oliver, I trust he had a good life in the company of The Lambs. (Then again, maybe he escaped to Madison Square Park…)

Oxnard Overlook Mansion
Overlook, the Oxnard summer mansion in St. James, in 1910.

1916: The Feline Silent Film Stars of Richmond Hill, Queens

Posted: 31st May 2014 by The Hatching Cat in Featured Felines
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Mary Pickford and cat, 1916
America’s Sweetheart, Mary Pickford, was just one of many silent movie stars who appeared on the silver screen with silver tabbies and other ordinary “movie cats” in the early 1900s.

A century before there was Grumpy Cat, Lil Bub, Street Cat Bob, and all the countless felines inducted into the Internet Hall of Fame, there were the “movie cats” that rose to stardom during the silent film era.

I’m not talking about Felix the Cat, the cartoon cat that made his first appearance in 1919 in a short silent film called Feline Follies.

Nor am I referring to Krazy Cat, another cartoon cat that first appeared in 1913 in the New York Evening Journal and later in several short silent films produced by William Randolph Hearst and others beginning in 1916.

The “movie cats” of the early twentieth century were ordinary cats that had a knack for performing with minimal or no theatrical training. They usually made only cameo walk-on appearances, but still, they shared the screen with silent film stars like Charlie Chaplin, Greta Garbo, Douglas Fairbanks, Mary Pickford, Lillian Gish, and Rudolph Valentino.

A few of these cats, like the famous Pepper of Keystone Studios, appeared in close to 17 credited movie roles. Many other feline stars never received screen credit, although a few did earn wages for their owners.

Pepper the movie cat
The famous Pepper the cat of Keystone Studios appeared in her first film in 1913. Pepper was often paired with Teddy the dog, Charlie Chaplin, and the Keystone Cops.

Two movie cats that were certainly entitled to a Screen Actors Guild (SAG) card were Queen Hatto and Baby Silverette of Richmond Hill, Queens. The two silver tabbies were the pride of Miss Elizabeth Kingston, who ran a cattery called “Kingston Kattery” at 1812 Lambert Street (now 122nd St.) She rented the cats to film studios whenever they needed a cat to play a prominent or important part in the movie.

As the New York Sun reported in 1916:
“These cats have been in more motion picture shows than most of the actors, and their acting reaps a nice harvest for their owner. They don’t get rattled when the camera man begins to grind, and seem to enjoy posing.” According to Miss Kingston, her tabbies “registered very well” (showed well on the screen), the photographed beautifully when it came to close-ups, and “they never turn a hair in the most thrilling of scenes and stunts.”

Miss Kingston was no stranger to the stage herself, having served as the financial secretary and then as manager of the Actors’ Child League of New York City. This organization, which was located at 773 East 180th Street in the Bronx (near today’s Mapes ball field and pool), cared for and provided temporary housing for children whose actor parents were away on national tours. Miss Kingston no doubt used this connection to learn about upcoming cat roles in the silent films.

The First Feline of Silent Film

In all fairness, Queen Hatto and Baby Silverette were not the first real cats to appear on film. That honor goes to the “Falling Cat,” which was filmed on one take by Etienne-Jules Marey in 1894 as an experiment to show if cats really do always land on all four feet at the same time. Marey used a chronophotographic gun that was capable of taking 12 consecutive frames a second — and all the frames were recorded on the same picture.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XqL9siGDeBA

The Movie Cats Go to Grand Central Palace

In December 1916, Miss Kingston’s “movie cats” made their debut at the Empire Cat Club Show at the Grand Central Palace, an exhibition hall on Lexington Avenue at 46th Street. The news that Queen Hatto and Baby Silverette were going to compete at the show caused quite a stir among cat fanciers, as it was feared the screen stars would steal the scene from the more commonplace $400 and $500 prize cats that, up to then, had been the monarchs of the feline society.

Grand Central Palace
The 13-story Grand Central Palace was built in 1911, and occupied the air rights over the railroad tracks leading into Grand Central Terminal. The Palace was New York’s main exposition hall until it closed in 1953. It was demolished in 1964 to make way for the 48-story office building at 245 Park Ave.

Despite all the hullabaloo, it doesn’t appear that the movie cats walked away with any prizes at the show that year. Most of the big prizes went to Mrs. I.J. Ketchen of New Rochelle, who also earned the position of president of the Empire Cat Club that year.

A Catastrophe at the Kattery

In 1919, Miss Kingston purchased a large house and grounds in Brentwood, Long Island, in order to expand her cattery business and increase her feline stock. She ran a standing classified ad in the Brooklyn Daily Eagle, which brought in customers from all over the country.

Smoke Persian cats
Miss Kingston bred Angoras and Smoke Persians, like those shown here, at her Brentwood cattery.

Tragedy struck the cattery on January 9, 1921, when a careless attendant made an adjustment to an oil stove that caused fumes and smoke. All 24 of her prize-winning Persian cats suffocated and died, including several female cats that were pregnant with kittens already on order for Easter.

Miss Kingston did not let the tragic incident let her down. Sometime that same year, she married Alfred N. List, a jeweler from Manhattan. According to the 1930 Census, the couple resided in an apartment at 143 West 4th Street in Manhattan.

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