1913: Peter, the Pole-Sliding Fire Cat of Bushwick, Brooklyn

Posted: 13th March 2014 by The Hatching Cat in Feline Mascots
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The following story is dedicated to the six firefighters of Squad 252 in Bushwick, Brooklyn, who lost their lives at the World Trade Center on September 11, 2001.

Peter the cat of Engine 152, Bushwick Brooklyn Daily Eagle
Peter was featured in an article titled “Horses, Dogs and Cats Make Good Firemen” in the Brooklyn Daily Eagle on July 20, 1913.

I’ve never known a cat to be very fond of fires and fire trucks – albeit, my cat Boo does love to climb ladders and bake in front of the fireplace — but old New York certainly had its share of feline fire department mascots.

Although cats were generally considered to be poor firefighters, at least a few tried their paws at climbing ladders and sliding down the poles. One special cat in Brooklyn even enjoyed going to fires.

In the old days (1800s and early 1900s), the Fire Department of New York allowed the firemen to keep one dog, one cat, and singing birds in their firehouse (apparently there was no limit on the singing birds). These animals, in addition to the horses that pulled the apparatus, provided companionship for the men, who were often required to stay at their firehouses for more than a week at a time with only a few hours off.

Peter Never Missed a Call 

Sometime around 1905, a little orange tabby cat arrived at the new firehouse of Engine Company No. 152 in the Bushwick section of Brooklyn. No one knows how he arrived at 617 Central Avenue, but by 1913 he was a favorite mascot of the firefighters and a very popular cat in the neighborhood. During his years of active duty, he never missed a call.

When he was an active fire cat, Peter’s greatest skill was sliding down the pole in the firehouse. According to the firefighters who spoke to a reporter from the Brooklyn Daily Eagle on July 30, 1913, he could make the descent from the third-floor sitting room to the ground floor in three seconds. (The following video of another pole-sliding cat in about 1964 will give you a good idea of what Peter did.)

At the first sound of an alarm, Peter would dash from the second-floor sleeping room to the pole, and, with a flying leap, throw his paws about it and slide down. Then with one leap he would land on the driver’s seat of the 1907 Rech-Marbaker hose wagon. The firemen said he always seemed very proud to be the first member ready for action.

Rech-Marbaker Hose Wagon, FDNY, 1907
Peter enjoyed riding shotgun on the company’s hose wagon, which was delivered to Engine 152 in 1907. Here is a picture of a New York City Fire Department hose wagon built by Rech-Marbaker Company (Carriage Monthly, April 1907).

Peter joined the men on every call, and — although I find these hard to believe — would even follow them up the ladder as far as possible, until the smoke and flames drove him back.

One day Peter took a bad fall from the ladder and had to go on sick leave. After that incident, he stopped going on calls. Although Peter would still slide down the pole and leap onto the driver’s seat, he’d jump off the engine before it took off (with consent from Captain Henry B. Burtis, of course).

Since Engine Company No. 152 didn’t switch from a horse-drawn wagon to a motorized American LaFrance pumper until May 26, 1919, Peter spent his retirement years resting with the horses. He also continued to perform his tricks for people who came to the firehouse to visit the legendary fire cat.

1897 ¬– 1998: From Engine 52 to Squad 252

When Peter’s engine company first went into service on April 1, 1897, it was called Engine 52. This new engine company was led by Foreman Edward Eichhorn and Assistant Foreman Louis Hauck. On January 1, 1898, the City of Brooklyn was incorporated into the five boroughs of New York City.

The engine company officially became part of the FDNY on January 28, 1898, and about two years later, was renumbered to Engine 152 to avoid confusion with Engine 52 in the Bronx.

In 1913, the Fire Commissioner added 26 new companies in Brooklyn and Queens. At this time, engine companies in these two boroughs were given the prefix 2, so Engine 152 became Engine 252.

One hundred years after it became part of the FDNY, Engine 252 was reorganized as Squad 252 and assigned to the Special Operations Command, which consists of seven squad companies, five rescue companies, a hazardous materials unit, and three marine companies.

617 Central Avenue Bushwick Brooklyn
The firehouse was built by Leonard Brothers and went into service on April 1, 1897. Today it is home to Squad 252.

The Firehouse at 617 Central Avenue

Before there was a firehouse on Central Avenue in Bushwick, there was a farm owned by William Van Voorhis, and later, when he died, by Augustus Ivins.

In fact, the entire area was divided into a series of relatively small plots owned by farming families, including the Chauncey, Cooper, Covert, Moffat, and Schaeffer lands.

From Real Estate Owned by the City of New York, January 1, 1908. Bushwick Brooklyn lot
From the book Real Estate Owned by the City of New York, January 1, 1908.

On December 20, 1895, the New York Fire Department purchased a 25 x 100 foot lot from Mary L. Mintonge for $2,400.00. (Mrs. Mintonge was superintendent of a small school called the Women’s Christian Temperance Union No. 5 at Hooper and Harrison Avenue.)

The three-story Flemish revival firehouse was designed by the renowned Parfitt Brothers — Walter E., Henry D., and Albert E. The English immigrant brothers designed one of the finest firehouses ever erected in Brooklyn, with a prominent scrolled front gable and stepped end gables that alluded to the 17-century Dutch settlement of Bushwick.

New York Public Library, Image ID: 1517513 Bushwick Brooklyn
This map from 1888-89 shows that the brick firehouse (near #3429) stood alone on its block, surrounded by mostly wooden structures, including some stables. The only other nearby brick buildings were Public School No. 74 and Public School No. 85, both on Evergreen Street. New York Public Library Digital COllections

The brick and Lake Superior red sandstone building featured room for the apparatus and horses on the ground floor, the foreman’s office, a sleeping room for the foreman and his assistant, a sleeping room for the firefighters on the second floor, a sitting room on the third floor with a combination billiard/pool table, and a rooftop garden.

In early days, the firemen could feel breezes from the ocean as they relaxed in the garden. By 1908 their view was obstructed, but the men still enjoyed the garden on hot summer nights. Sometimes they detected fires from atop the roof before the alarm was called in. Knowing cats as well as I do, I’m sure Peter also took many cat naps on the roof during his active and retirement years.

Bushwick Brooklyn firehouse Engine 152
The pièce de résistance of the Bushwick firehouse was a rooftop garden for the firemen’s leisure time between alarms. Brooklyn Daily Eagle, July 26, 1908

SEPTEMBER 11, 2001
On September 11, 2001, Squad 252 responded to the 5th alarm call to the World Trade Center. Six of the squad’s members on duty that morning made the ultimate sacrifice and never returned: Lieutenant Timothy Higgins, Firefighter Tarel Coleman, Firefighter Pete Langone, Firefighter Pat Lyons, Firefighter Tommy Kuveikis and Firefighter Kevin Prior.

1883: Funny, Awkward, and Beastly Portraits of the Gilded Age

Posted: 28th February 2014 by The Hatching Cat in Animal Attractions
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Jose Maria Mora beastly portrait
Mrs. Frederic Rhinelander Jones (Mary Cadwalader Rawle), Mrs. Francis C. Barlow, Miss Kate Fearing Strong, and Miss Sandy[?] pose with a stuffed bear in this 1875 portrait photo by Jose Maria Mora. Museum of the City of New York Collections.

In the past few years, numerous websites and blogs have sprung up featuring some very uncomfortable family moments in awkward and embarrassing holiday and vacation portraits. These sites are definitely great for a good laugh, but there’s nothing really special about any of the people in the photos (other than the fact that they are, um, eccentric).

Mrs. Frederic Rhinelander Jones portrait
This portrait of Mrs. Frederic Rhinelander Jones (Mary Cadwalader Rawle) with a stuffed polar bear was possibly taken at Delmonico’s Ball in 1876, where she was dressed to represent Russia. Museum of the City of New York Collections.

During the Gilded Age of New York City, when cabinet card photographs were in vogue, it was not unusual to find some very awkward portraits in the Victorian parlor.

Oftentimes, these portraits featured members of high society posing in bizarre costumes and stances, or with taxidermic animals at their sides (braces and stands were available to help humans remain motionless for long exposure times, but animals couldn’t be made to stay still that long).

Jose Maria Mora

One of New York’s pioneers in photographic portraits during this time was Jose Maria Mora, a young Cuban refugee who studied painting in England and Paris. Mora came to New York during the Cuban uprising in the 1860s, and began his career as a portrait photographer at Napoleon Sarony’s photography studio at 680 Broadway, which was then the most artistic and respected studio in the city.

Portrait of Jose Maria Mora
Jose Maria Mora, ca. 1885. Museum of the City of New York Collections.

Mora opened his own studio at 707 Broadway in 1870, which he filled with over 150 hand-painted backgrounds and all kinds of props for his clients, including ornate headdresses and hats and papier-mache columns, balustrades, and rocks. By 1878, Mora was making $100,000 a year creating portraits for the aristocrats of the upper class and the stars of opera and stage.

Born into one of the wealthiest planter families of colonial Cuba, Mora was able fit right in with the upper classes of New York. As the photographer of choice among the well-to-do, it was no surprise, then, that Mrs. Vanderbilt chose him to document one of the most memorable social events in the history of New York with some very beastly portraits.

Sarony Studio at 37 Union Square
After Mora opened his own studio on Broadway, Sarony moved his studio to 37 Union Square. Customers rode a small hydraulic elevator up from the street level to Sarony’s reception room located on the fifth floor, shown here.

Mrs. Vanderbilt’s “Fancy Dress Ball” of 1883

In the early spring of 1883, everyone who was anyone in New York City’s high society was summoned to attend a fancy dress ball at Mr. and Mrs. William K. Vanderbilt’s new mansion at 53rd Street and Fifth Avenue. The invitations stipulated that everyone dress in costume — all the guests went above and beyond to comply with Mrs. Vanderbilt’s orders.

The ball, which took place on March 26, 1883, was one of the most incredible parties that New York had ever seen (C.K.G. Billings’ opulent Horseback Dinner was still 20 years away).

Vanderbilt Mansion
The William K. Vanderbilt House, also known as the Petit Chateau, was a Châteauesque mansion at 660 Fifth Avenue (northwest corner of 52nd St. and Fifth Ave.) Next door was the twin mansion of William Henry Vanderbilt, which occupied the entire block between 51st and 52nd streets. The W.K. Vanderbilt house was sold to a real-estate developer in 1926, demolished, and replaced by a commercial building. The site is now occupied by an office building known as 666 Fifth Avenue.

The carriages began arriving at 660 Fifth Avenue around 10:30 p.m., setting the scene for what was probably comparable to today’s world premiere of Tim Burton’s Alice in Wonderland or Lady Gaga arriving at the American Music Awards. As almost a thousand of New York City’s well-to-do emerged from their carriages, crowds of common folk, held back by police, strained to catch glimpses of these Victorian pirates, knights, queens, and fairies.

The Beastly Costumes

Portrait of Alva Vanderbilt
The hostess, Alva Vanderbilt, dressed up as a Venetian princess, and had her photograph taken by Mora with white doves hovering around her.

Although Louis XVI was the most popular costume with the men that year, and fairy-tale characters like Little Bo Peep and Little Red Riding Hood were fashionable with the ladies, many of the female guests chose to dress up as birds, insects, and other creatures.

Mora’s camera captured these critter creations on deluxe cabinet cards, many of which still survive in the vast portrait collections of the Museum of the City of New York.

Mrs. Ada Smith, the sister of Mrs. Vanderbilt, went as a peacock, complete with a waist made of a real peacock’s breast and a train covered in real peacock feathers.

Mr. Vanderbilt’s sister, Mrs. Seward Webb, went to the ball dressed as a hornet, wearing a yellow satin waist with a brown velvet skirt and brown gauze wings (her imported headdress was made of diamonds). Another woman dressed as a wasp with horizontal stripes of black and yellow, and yellow gloves with black stripes.

Portrait of Mrs. William Seward Webb (neé Lila O. Vanderbilt)
Mrs. William Seward Webb (neé Lila O. Vanderbilt) in her hornet costume. Museum of the City of New York Collections.

If you thought my story about the cat farm was offensive, then you’ll agree that one of the most outlandish and disturbing costumes was worn by Miss Kate Fearing Strong, who went to the ball as her nickname, Puss.

This hideous costume featured an overskirt made of seven white cats’ tails sewed on a dark background and a bodice with rows of white cat heads. The headdress was a stiffened white cat’s skin with a taxidermic cat head.

The only nice touch was a blue ribbon inscribed “Puss,” which hung from a bell that she wore on a choker that unfortunately was not tight enough. Check out her portrait below.

Kate Feering Strong
Miss Kate Feering Strong wore the most offensive cat costume at the Vanderbilt Ball. Museum of the City of New York Collections.

In addition to the costumes, the ball also featured six organized quadrilles (a dance for four couples) as follows:

The Hobby-Horse quadrille, the Mother Goose quadrille, the Opera Bouffe, the Star quadrille, the Dresden China quadrille, and the Go-as-You-Please.

The dancers organized in the gymnasium on the third floor (a 50 x 35 foot room that was used as an indoor play area for the Vanderbilt children) and then proceeded down the grand stairway and into the grand dining hall. They danced to the music of Gilmore’s Band.

Of particular interest was the Hobby-Horse quadrille, in which the men and women wore life-size “horses” around his or her waist. The horses, which took workmen two months to construct, had genuine hides, bright eyes and flowing manes and tails. The dancers wore red hunting coats and white satin knee britches or skirts and stockings. False legs hung on the outside of richly embroidered blankets to make it appear as if the dancers were riding the horses.

Delmonico's Ball, Quadrille, Mora portrait
This quadrille–possibly the Folly Quadrille–featuring Mr. Balforn, Mr. W. Duer, Mr. Isaac Bell, Miss Belmont, Miss Edith Fish, and Miss Rutherfurd, was possibly taken by Mora at Delmonico’s in 1872. Museum of the City of New York Collections.
Portrait of Napoleon Sarony
Napoleon Sarony and his wife, Louise Thomas, often dressed in picturesque and attention-getting attire in his portraits, which was a form of advertising for his studio.

1898: Peggy the Pug, Tom, and the Cat Martyrs of the USS Maine

Posted: 22nd February 2014 by The Hatching Cat in Dog Mascots, Feline Mascots
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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.

1930: Tammany, the Democratic Boss Cat of New York’s City Hall

Posted: 15th February 2014 by The Hatching Cat in Featured Felines, Feline Mascots
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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.

1911: The Corona Cat Farm of Queens That Wasn’t

Posted: 8th February 2014 by The Hatching Cat in Featured Felines
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“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.

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