Author Archives: Susannah Broyles

The “Forgotten” Father of Greater New York: Andrew Haswell Green

November 13, 1903. An 83 year old man leaves his office at 214 Broadway and gets on the Fourth Avenue street car by City Hall to join his nieces for lunch at his home. At 38th Street and Park Avenue, he disembarks the car and walks toward his house at 91 Park Avenue, a mere three houses away from the station. At his front gate, a man rushes at him, accusing the older man of turning a woman’s affection against him. (For a highly dramatic take on the confrontation read the opening of this Daily News article.) A passer-by hears the older man shout, “Who are you anyway? I don’t know you! Get away from me!” Five shots are fired, and the older man falls dead, right inside of the gate to his property. The shooter stands over the body with his revolver, his shoulders heaving, but his feet rooted in place. When the police arrive, he finally turns and blurts out: “He deserved it, —- him! He forced me to do it!” (New York Times.)

Funeral of Andrew H. Green. 1903. Museum of the City of New York. 2011.5.15.

Funeral of Andrew H. Green. 1903. Museum of the City of New York. 2011.5.15.

So begins the strange tale of the life — and death — of Andrew Haswell Green. Never heard of him? That’s completely understandable. Despite doing so much for New York City, and helping make it into the city we know today, his name faded into obscurity. However, it just takes a cursory glance around the five boroughs to see that the legacy of A.H. Green never faded at all. In fact, it thrives: Consolidation of the five boroughs? Green did that. Central Park? A.H. Green. The American Museum of Natural History, Metropolitan Museum of Art, the Bronx Zoo, Washington Bridge in Harlem, and New York Public Library? They all owe their existence to this one man. Green could perhaps be compared to the other great master builder of New York City, Robert Moses, just without the controversy. He is also one of the first preservationists, and was praised by nearly everyone for his single-minded, constant effort to improve his adopted city.

Stacy. Andrew Haswell Green. ca. 1868. Museum of the City of New York. X2011.5.10.

Stacy. Andrew Haswell Green. ca. 1868. Museum of the City of New York. 2011.5.10.

Andrew Haswell Green was born in Worcester, Massachusetts in 1820. He moved to New York City at the age of 15, where he worked as an errand boy, before eventually making his way through law school to became a partner in Samuel J. Tilden’s law firm. Perhaps inspired by Tilden, it was during this time that he began his lifelong quest for the betterment of New York City with a position on the Board of Education in 1855; three years later he was the president of the Board. He had found his passion.

Certificate from  New York Board of Education Honoring Andrew Haswell Green. 1857. 2011.5.12

Certificate from New York Board of Education Honoring Andrew Haswell Green. 1857. 2011.5.12.

Public parks and green spaces were not part of the 19th century idea of a city. Due to the rapidly growing population of Manhattan, however, city officials began looking for an area in the wilderness above 42nd Street to locate a park, and Green was elected to the Board formed to oversee its creation. When the landscape architects Calvert Vaux and Frederick Law Olmsted presented their plans for the urban oasis, Green was so taken and inspired by their proposal that he had the board create the position of comptroller for him, ensuring his close involvement. As with many public building projects, the park was already over budget and behind schedule. But in short order, Green managed the finances and even stepped into controlling the daily operations of the park building, from the construction schedule to the deciding of materials — much to the dismay of Vaux and Olmsted. Green drove the architects crazy with his own ideas about everything in the park, while also keeping them on a tight financial leash.  Despite their personal difficulties, the three men managed to fund and create one of the world’s most beautiful and recognizable urban open spaces: Central Park.

Sarony, Major & Knapp Lith. Map showing the original Topography of the site of Central Park with a Diagram of Roads and Walks now under construction. Museum of the City of New York. 50.358.60

Sarony, Major & Knapp Lith. Map showing the original Topography of the site of Central Park with a Diagram of Roads and Walks now under construction. Museum of the City of New York. 50.358.60

In 1871, the Tweed Ring, the corrupt political organization that controlled the city’s finances, was ousted and its leader, Boss Tweed, thrown in jail by Green’s old friend and mentor Samuel J. Tilden. The city reeled from the sudden loss of leadership, and was nearly left in financial ruin. Andrew Haswell Green came to the rescue again. He was elected Acting-Comptroller and went to work balancing the budget and doing whatever else it took: things were so bad, an apocryphal story tells of him paying the police force out of his own pocket. He stayed on as the city’s Comptroller for the next five years, leaving the city’s coffers in much better shape than he found them.

Green was discussed as a candidate in nearly every mayoral election from 1876 to 1896. The closest he came to actually running was in 1876 when the Independent Citizens Committee nominated him on a Reform Ticket. For once, he was unsuccessful.

Reform Ticket, Independent Citizen's Committee, Mayor, Andrew H. Green. 1875-1876. Museum of the City of New York. 2011.5.13.

Reform Ticket, Independent Citizen’s Committee, Mayor, Andrew H. Green. 1875-1876. Museum of the City of New York. 2011.5.13.

However amazing all of these contributions are, they are overshadowed by what the press dubbed “Green’s hobby.” In a word: consolidation. Green wanted to see all the competing towns, villages, and settlements in Manhattan, Richmond, Kings, The Bronx, and Queens counties under one government. As early at 1868 he was the sole voice championing consolidation. For over 20 years he lobbied hard for this, despite bitter opposition from entire cities (namely Brooklyn) and various political hurdles. He helped draft the Consolidation Law in 1895 which was passed in 1897. On January 1, 1898 Greater New York was a reality.

Colton, Ohman & Co. Map of the City of New York. 1901. Museum of the City of New York. 53.191.8.

Colton, Ohman & Co. Map of the City of New York. 1901. Museum of the City of New York. 53.191.8.

One explanation for why Green’s legacy faded into obscurity, other than just New York being fickle, might be related to his shocking death. His murderer, Cornelius M. Williams, was in love with a woman who had moved her affections on to an older gentleman with the last name of Green. Williams was so jealous that he consulted the city directory and found the first Green listed, Andrew H. Green, and laid in wait for an opportunity to show his displeasure. That opportunity presented itself on November 3, 1903 when he murdered a man for having a common last name. For a more detailed overview, read this New York Times article.

Right after Green’s death, there was a plan to name a road running along the edge of Manhattan after him, but plans floundered and for years, the only public monument dedicated to Green was a bench in a remote area of Central Park. In 2011, thanks to the tireless efforts of Manhattan Borough Historian Michael Miscione, Andrew Haswell Green Park on the bank of the East River between 59th and 63rd Streets opened to the public. Hopefully this will be the first step in remembering the forgotten father of Greater New York.

Rockwood. Andrew Haswell Green. 1895. Museum of the City of New York. 2011.5.4.

Rockwood. Andrew Haswell Green. 1895. Museum of the City of New York. 2011.5.4.

A Century of Grand Central Terminal

There’s no place like Grand Central. The sheer scale and elegance of the main concourse transforms the daily commute into a complex choreography as commuters and tourists negotiate through the hallways, overheard conversations turn into mysterious plots of other people’s dramas, and what can be mundane becomes a unique experience. Grand Central has seen a steady tide of humanity for the past 100 years,  becoming  a beloved  New York landmark.

The first Grand Station Station on 42nd Street was Grand Central Depot, a beautiful but almost immediately obsolete building that was shared by the Harlem,  New Haven, and Vanderbilt’s New York Central Railroads. Its glass topped train yard, seen below, was based on St. Pancras in London and was the largest train station in the States at the time. Yet each railroad had its individual waiting rooms and tracks making it “ill-arranged, dark and repelling”. (For more of this fantastically in-depth complaint of the old station in the New York Times, click here   and here.)

Unknown. Grand Central Terminal. ca. 1885. Museum of the City of New York. X2010.11.2776.

Unknown. Grand Central Terminal. ca. 1885. Museum of the City of New York. X2010.11.2776.

What was even worse than the interior was the jumble of tracks and belching of steam engines that rumbled down Fourth Avenue from Harlem. The streets from 42nd to 59th were intersected by train tracks which meant that merely crossing the street was so dangerous that for a while, Fourth Avenue was called “Death Avenue. (Read the fabulous 1913 article about the opening of the station.)  This was more or less fine when the surrounding areas were still relatively rural, but as the population of New York increased and respectable classes moved farther uptown, it made the area less than desirable.  Thankfully, a shift in technology came at just the right time. In 1900 trains were switching to electric power, which eliminated the unsightly steam, the omnipresent cinders, and noise.  By 1903  steam engines were banned in the city, and with new tunnels effectively hiding all hints of the railroads, Fourth (or Death) Avenue completed its transformation into Park Avenue.

Unknown. Grand Central Terminal. 1906. Museum of the City of New York. X2010.11.2820.

Unknown. Grand Central Terminal. 1906. Museum of the City of New York. X2010.11.2820.

In 1903,  as the plans for Penn Station were nearing completion, it was clear that a new Grand Central needed to be built if New York Central Railroad wanted to remain relevant.  So the heads of New York Central had a contest for the new station that reads almost like a Who’s Who of Gilded Age architecture – even McKim, Mead and White submitted a proposal: Stanford White’s fanciful  concept of a 60-story building topped by a tower of steam 300 feet tall and illuminated red at night.

McKim, Mead & White. Grand Central Terminal proposal. ca. 1903. museum of the City of New York. 90.44.1.486

McKim, Mead & White. Grand Central Terminal proposal. ca. 1903. museum of the City of New York. 90.44.1.486.

But it was St. Louis architectural firm Reed & Stern that eventually got the commission.  The New York firm of  Warren & Wetmore became consulting architects mostly due to Whitney Warren being the cousin of William Vanderbilt. However tumultuous the relationship between the architects may have been, the resulting building was a perfect marriage of their ideals. Reed & Stern were responsible for the effortless blending of engineering and design, but  it was Warren who elevated the building into art with Beaux-Arts details.

Unknown. Grand Central Terminal. ca. 1910. Museum of the City of New York. X2010.11.2818.

Unknown. Grand Central Terminal. ca. 1910. Museum of the City of New York. X2010.11.2818.

The construction of Grand Central was one of the biggest projects at that point in the history of Manhattan.  10 years passed; $65 million was spent; and  3.2 million cubic yards of earth and rock were removed. “The daily detritus, coupled with debris from the demolition of the old station, amounted to 1,000 cubic yards and filled nearly 300 railway dump cars…At peak periods, 10,000 workers were assigned to the site and work progressed around the clock.” (New York Times)  The scope of the project is astounding: Grand Central was built on 70 acres with 31.8 miles of tracks and 30 platforms totally eclipsing its nearest competitor, Penn Station, which was built on 23 acres and boasted 16 miles of tracks and 11 platforms.  Grand Central opened to the public on February 2, 1913 and New York has never been the same.

Unknown. Grand Central Terminal construction. ca. 1905. Museum of the City of New York. X2010.11.2804

Unknown. Grand Central Terminal construction. ca. 1905. Museum of the City of New York. X2010.11.2804.

Dr. Percy Fridenberg. Construction of Grand Central Terminal. ca. 1911. Museum of the City of New York. X2010.11.5467.

Dr. Percy Fridenberg. Construction of Grand Central Terminal. ca. 1911. Museum of the City of New York. X2010.11.5467.

The New York Times reported that in its first day 150,000 people visited Grand Central and were immediately in awe. Some of the more incredible features that have since fallen the wayside, such as women-only shoe polishing rooms safe from men catching a glimpse of ankle, and of course a separate hair parlor just in case the commute made her curls limp. What is really amazing is that for a mere 25 cents a woman could hire a private dressing room complete with a maid to make sure she would be ready for any social function. Men were not left out of these kinds of perks. They had private barber shops which offered shaves by a team of barbers who could speak up to 30 languages. A man could also rent a valet to make sure he was flawlessly fashionable.  And if tragedy were to strike either sex, the station doctor would be there within moments to treat them. It was the epitome of luxury.

Unknown. Grand Central Station. ca. 1918. Museum of the City of New York. X2010.11.2827.

Unknown. Grand Central Station. ca. 1918. Museum of the City of New York. X2010.11.2827.

Unknown. Interior, Grand Central. ca. 1918. Museum of the City of New York. X2010.11.2798.

Unknown. Interior, Grand Central. ca. 1918. Museum of the City of New York. X2010.11.2798.

Irving Underhill (d. 1960). Grand Central Depot, 42nd St. 1914. Museum of the City of New York. X2010.28.297.

Irving Underhill (d. 1960). Grand Central Depot, 42nd St. 1914. Museum of the City of New York. X2010.28.297.

For the next 50 years Grand Central was the epicenter of New York. Everyone passed through the terminal.  However, the decline of train travel affected Grand Central as much as it did the less fortunate Penn Station. During World War II the once grand skylights were painted over. By the 1950s, decades of nicotine tar coated the once blue constellation-adorned ceiling, and the east balcony had been covered with a giant Kodak advertisement. During the 1970s and 1980s it became the center of  one of largest homeless populations in New York.

John Harry Lufbery. Kodachrome Ad, Grand Central Station, #2. 1947. Museum of the City of New York. 2004.18.5

John Harry Lufbery. Kodachrome Ad, Grand Central Station, #2. 1947. Museum of the City of New York. 2004.18.5.

Save Grand Central. ca. 1968. Museum of the City of New York. 97.102.29

Save Grand Central. ca. 1968. Museum of the City of New York. 97.102.29.

In 1963, Pennsylvania Station was demolished (read our previous blog about its destruction here)  and by 1975  it looked like Grand Central would be next on the chopping block. But thanks to the recently created Landmark Preservation Board and supporters like Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis, it was spared from becoming an office building.

Starting in 1993, Grand Central underwent a badly needed restoration and has now returned to its previous glory. Sunlight is again streaming in, the constellations twinkle on the ceiling, and the mere act of traveling is once again elegant.

Wurts Bros. (New York, N.Y.) Museum of the City of New York. X2010.7.1.1695.

Wurts Bros. (New York, N.Y.) Interior of Grand Central. Museum of the City of New York. X2010.7.1.16795.

 

Click here for more images of Grand Central from the Museum’s collection.

Winter in the City

In case you missed it, winter descended on New York City last week. Freezing temperatures (the coldest in two years), snow, and wind made many New Yorkers remember why they love the summer.  To observe the late arrival of winter, and the snow that’s falling as this is being written, here are some of our favorite winter images.

There is something undeniably magical about New York in the winter. The fall of snow on skyscrapers muffles the usual street noises until you can almost believe you’re walking in an earlier time. Blankets of snow transform the hard geometries of familiar sights like Herald Square and the Flatiron Building with the soft brush-like strokes of impressionist art.

Byron Company (New York, N.Y.) Broadway North from 34th Street. 1899. Museum of the City of New York. 93.1.1.17918

Byron Company (New York, N.Y.). Broadway North from 34th Street. 1899. Museum of the City of New York. 93.1.1.17918.

Jessie Tarbox Beals. Flatiron Building. ca. 1905. Museum of the City of New York. 91.53.38.

Jessie Tarbox Beals. Flatiron Building. ca. 1905. Museum of the City of New York. 91.53.38.

Central Park has been the place to enjoy winter in Manhattan since it opened in 1857. Generations of New Yorkers have skated, sledded, had snowball fight,s and simply enjoyed nature in its 843 acres. (If you want to see an amazing 1898 short film by Edison depicting the splendor of Central Park in the winter, especially sleighing, go here.)

Currier & Ives. Central Park in Winter. ca. 1885. Museum of the City of New York. 57.100.5.2

Currier & Ives. Central Park in Winter. ca. 1885. Museum of the City of New York. 57.100.5.2.

While this Currier and Ives print has sleighing in the forefront, New Yorkers have found ways many ways to enjoy the snow throughout the boroughs.

The ever popular sledding in Central Park:

Unknown. Sleigh riding in Central Park. 1897. Museum of the City of New York. X2010.11.1313.

Skating with friends:

Wurts Bros. (New York, N.Y.). Brooklyn Friends Seminary – ice skating. 1940. Museum of the City of New York. X2010.7.1.12630.

And proving that New Yorkers are nothing, if not intrepid:

Unknown. Bicycle in the snow, C. W. Hadley at the handlebars. 1898. Museum of the City of New York. X2010.11.13336

Unknown. Bicycle in the snow, C. W. Hadley at the handlebars. 1898. Museum of the City of New York. X2010.11.13336.

In all the five boroughs, during winter, you can feel like you’re in the depths of nature and not in one of the largest cities in the world.

Irving Underhill (d. 1960). Central Park Snow Scene. 1923.Muiseum of the City of New York. X2010.28.362

Irving Underhill (d. 1960). Central Park Snow Scene. 1923.Museum of the City of New York. X2010.28.362.

George Miller, Jr. When Winter Comes - Riverdale - N.Y. City. ca. 1930. Museum of the City of New York. X2010.12.152

George Miller, Jr. When Winter Comes – Riverdale – N.Y. City. ca. 1930. Museum of the City of New York. X2010.12.152.

Enjoy the rest of the of winter, whatever it might bring!

Click here to view more images of winter and New Yorkers having fun in the snow from the Museum’s collection.

The Broadway-Lafayette Transfer and the Evolution of the City’s Subway

By the time you read this, there will have been a major improvement in the subways of New York City. If you don’t  ride the B, D, F, or M subway lines daily you might not be aware of an amazing addition to the Broadway-Lafayette subway station that’s opening today. For the first time since the station opened it will now be possible to transfer from the B, D, F, or M train to the uptown 6 at Bleecker Street without having to leave the station and pay for another ride on your Metrocard.

While transferring to the downtown 6 was a breeze, transferring uptown meant going above ground, where one could often find commuters wandering aimlessly in the triangle between Bleecker, Lafayette, and Houston, desperately looking for the entrance to the uptown 6.  According to the New York Times, the Broadway-Lafayette station is the sole example of a one-way transfer, making it unique amongst the 468 stations in MTA’s system. For examples of other transfer oddities and issues in the NYC subway system go  here.

MTA New York City Subway Map via http://www.mta.info.

In this map, you can see the small hump between Spring and Bleecker, indicating that the subway tracks did not connect. The exact reason for this is unknown, but there were many contributing factors including the fact that the Broadway-Lafayette and Bleecker Street stations were under control of the competing Interborough Rapid Transit Company (IRT) and the Independent Subway (IND). The city consolidated the IRT, IND, and the Brooklyn-Manhattan Transit (BMT) subway companies  in 1940 and constructed the downtown transfer shortly thereafter in 1947. The uptown transfer was further delayed because the platforms for the 6 train did not face each other. (The New York Times has a lovely graphic of the construction here.)  The project to ameliorate this problem began in 2005; after seven years and  a lot of money the humps and oddities have been smoothed over to make a more streamlined system…at least at this station. For the approximately 11,000 people who transfer here daily, it’s a long time coming.

In celebration of the opening we  put together a collection of images that show the construction and evolution of the  New York City subways.

The groundbreaking ceremony near the Broadway-Lafayette station:

First actual work at Bleecker and Greene Streets. ca. 1900. Museum of the City of New York.

Workers in the tunnels:

Engineers in tunnel during construction of present IRT at City Hall Station. ca. 1900. Museum of the City of New York. 46.245.2.

Mayor George B. McClellan taking the first ceremonial trip (the New York Times gives a very detailed account here):

Edward Levick. Mayor McClellan on first subway trip. 1904. Museum of the City of New York. X2010.11.13549.

The first PATH trains to New Jersey opened in 1908:

Byron Company (New York, N.Y.). Subway, Hudson Tubes. ca. 1908. Museum of the City of New York. 93.1.1.14608.

The underground construction process has remained haunting  and intriguing through the years:

Pierre P. Pullis | G. W. Pullis. Subway tunnel construction at Lexington Avenue and 97th Street. 1913. Museum of the City of New York. 2000.52.51.

Byron Company (New York, N.Y.). Subways, Fourteenth Street Cut for Subway, #1. 1921. Museum of the City of New York. 93.1.1.17085.

A worker doing above-ground work on the B, D, F, and M line. Even though the clothes, equipment and backdrop have radically changed from the earlier images of the first subway workers , the work remains much the same:

Andrew Herman. Federal Arts Project. 6th Avenue Subway Construction, 26th Street. ca. 1937. Museum of the City of New York. 43.131.13.14.

From the elegance of the very first, and now abandoned, City Hall station to the comfort of the El station and finally to the utilitarian designs of the present Canal Street station the evolution of subways stations is a topic in and of itself:

Ed Spiro. Change booth area, City Hall Station. 1972. Museum of the City of New York. X2010.11.13576.

Arnold Eagle. Interior of an unidentified station of the Third Avenue El. 1948. Museum of the City of New York. X2010.11.9042.

Subway station. ca. 1980. Museum of the City of New York. X2010.11.13587.

We’re intrigued to see what happens next to our subways.

Child between two subway cars. ca. 1965. Museum of the City of New York. X2010.11.14313.

Click on this links to view more images of subway scenes and tunnels from the Museum’s collections. These images are all available in various sizes as museum quality archival prints. If you see something you want to hang on your wall, email us at reproductions@mcny.org

The Curse of the Roeblings? The Construction of the Brooklyn Bridge

Samuel H. (Samuel Herman) Gottscho (1875-1971). Lower New York from foot of Manhattan Bridge. ca. 1930. museum of the City of New York. 88.1.5.12.

The Brooklyn Bridge is one of the most iconic symbols of New York. Try imagining the skyline without the looming Gothic towers. Now try to imagine no bridges over the East River to connect the separate cities of Brooklyn and Manhattan and having to rely on overcrowded, unreliable, and generally unsafe ferries. This was the reality of 1850s New York.  Yet the Brooklyn Bridge almost didn’t happen. Amid rumors of curses on the designer’s family, corruption, and death came amazing technological innovations and people doing incredible things.

The idea of putting a bridge across the East River wasn’t a new idea even in 1850. Plans were discussed, made, and scrapped regularly with strident opposition on basically every element, including the very big question of whether it was even possible to traverse the East River.  And, if it was, then at 1,600 feet across, it’d be the longest span of bridge in the world at that time.

To say that German immigrant John A. Roebling was born to meet this challenge would be a gross overstatement and cliche, but in this case it seems to work. He had created new forms of steel cables that aided his designs of technically brilliant bridges in Cincinnati and Niagara Falls.  In 1867, his plans for the “East River and Brooklyn Bridge” (its previous official name) were accepted by the Tammany Hall-controlled New York Bridge Company and he was named Chief Engineer.

John M. August Will (1834-1910). Sketch of View of Bridge from Sand St. Brooklyn. 1873. Museum of the City of New York. 29.100.1986.

But, on June 28, 1869, as John A. Roebling was measuring possible locations for the towers of the bridge near the Fulton Ferry, a boat hit his foot and crushed his toes. Within a month, he died of tetanus.  His son and partner, 32 year-old Washington Roebling, overcame his grief and took over his father’s position as the Chief Engineer, determined to finish what they had started. This would not be the last tragedy or death that would befall the Roebling family, or the construction of the bridge.

Under Washington Roebling’s supervision the construction began in earnest on January 2, 1870. The first step was building caissons, which are watertight structures with a series of airlocks to provide dry underwater space for workers to dig the foundation into solid rock.  Roebling and his men worked in conditions described by Master Mechanic E.F. Farrington: ” The temperature in the caissons was about 80 [degrees], and the workmen, with half-naked bodies, seen in dim, uncertain light brought vividly to life Dante’s ‘Inferno’.”  But beyond bringing to life poetic masterpieces, there were far more real problems to contend with – fires and explosions plagued the caissons as did the deadly “caisson disease” now known as “the bends” or more technically, decompression sickness.  During the construction of the bridge, over one hundred men contracted and were killed or severely debilitated by caisson disease, including Washington Roebling.

S. A. (Silas A.) Holmes (1819 or 20-1886). New York Caisson nearly down. 1872. Museum of the City of New York. 57.15.4.

In early 1872,  after working 12 straight hours in the caisson, Roebling rose to the surface from the compressed air too quickly and according to some reports, promptly passed out. This began his lifelong battle with the disease that would cause him pain, partial paralysis, temporary loss of his voice and sight, and all sorts of other terrible symptoms that led him to be an invalid for rest of the construction of the bridge and most of his life, forcing him to become bedridden, threatening his position as Chief Engineer.

However, all was not lost.  Using a telescope from the bedroom window of his house on 106 Columbia Street in Brooklyn, Washington would give notes and directions to his wife Emily to take to the engineers on the bridge. Emily had taught herself the math and science to help her husband throughout the project, and now she was using her knowledge to oversee construction while also speaking to distributors, politicians, and all levels of workers, making so many important decisions that it was not long before some begin to think of her as the de facto Chief Engineer, going so far as to believe she was the true intelligence behind the bridge’s design and completion. Indeed, even the New York Times gave her credit right after the bridge opened (and keep in mind, this was at the height of the Gilded Age, when it was still debated if women could even actually learn).

But another 11 years passed as the bridge inched  slowly toward completion. There was fraud with sub par material, political and public outcry about the bridge being constantly delayed, and constant newspaper columns complaining about it going over budget. (For an 1878 article titled “Are We Wasting Money?”  that suggests that destroying the towers of the bridge would really be, in fact, the best way to proceed, click here.).  Adding to the drama was a last minute move by Mayor Seth Low to dismiss Washington Roebling from his position as Chief Engineer, due to his inability to personally oversee the construction. The motion came to down to narrow vote, 10-7, keeping Roebling as Chief Engineer.  The construction continued, under supervision of Roebling and his wife.

Unknown. Brooklyn Bridge under Construction. 1875. Museum of the City of New York. X2010.11.8424.

C.W. Pach. 1878. Showing Foot Bridge [of East River Bridge] and Anchor Bars (in part). Museum of the City of the New York. 57.15.16.

Unknown. Brooklyn Bridge under construction. ca. 1880. Museum of the City of New York. X2010.11.8384

S. A. (Silas A.) Holmes (1819 or 20-1886). New York and Brooklyn Bridge. ca. 1883. Museum of the City of New York. X2010.11.14280.

J. A. LeRoy. Construction of the Brooklyn Bridge. ca. 1880. Museum of the City of New York. X2010.11.8439.

Unknown. 1881. Men walking on cables during the construction of the Brooklyn Bridge. Museum of the City of New York. X2010.11.8463.

Unknown. Construction of the Brooklyn Bridge. ca. 1880. Museum of the City of New York. X2010.11.8412

16 years after the first plans were drawn, 15 million dollars ($340,000,000 in today’s money) spent, and 27 lives lost, the Brooklyn Bridge finally and officially opened on May 24th, 1883. On the first day alone, over 50,000 people crossed the bridge on foot. Emily Roebling was the first person to cross the bridge in a carriage, carrying a rooster, symbolizing victory,  in her lap. Washington Roebling reportedly never set foot on the bridge he created.

View more images of the Brooklyn Bridge from the Museum’s collections by clicking here. These images are all available in various sizes as museum quality archival prints. If you see something you want to hang on your wall, email us at reproductions@mcny.org.

Bird’s-Eye View of the Great New York and Brooklyn Bridge and Grand Display of Fireworks on the Opening Night. 1883. Museum of the City of New York. 29.100.1752.

The Bowery

Walk the Bowery under the El at night and all you feel is a sort of cold guilt. Touched for a dime, you try to drop the coin and not touch the hand, because the hand is dirty; you try to avoid the glance, because the glance accuses. This is not so much personal menace as universal — the cold menace of unresolved human suffering and poverty and the advanced stages of the disease alcoholism. On a summer night the drunks sleep in the open. The sidewalk is a free bed, and there are no lice. Pedestrians step along and over and around the still forms as though walking on a battlefield among the dead. Standing sentinel at each sleeper’s head is the empty bottle from which he drained his release  . . . The glib barker on the sightseeing bus tells his passengers that this is the ‘street of lost souls,’ but the Bowery does not think of itself as lost; it meets its peculiar problem in its own way — plenty of gin mills, plenty of flophouses, plenty of indifference and always, at the end of the line, Bellevue.

E. B. White “Here is New York” 1948

From the early days of Manhattan, a path used by the Lenape tribe meandered the length of the island. When the Dutch settled here, the path, called Bowerij Road, became the main access point to the wilds beyond a small collection of farms. (The word bowery is an anglicized form of the Dutch word bowerij meaning farm.) For the next hundred years or so famous families like the Stuyvesants, DeLanceys, and Beekmans were connected by the road.  As the print below shows the area was remembered as an idyllic countryside.

George P. Hall and Son. Broadway & the Bowery. 1831. Museum of the City of New York. 29.100.1948.

Yet by the 1880′s the upper class had migrated  further uptown to the more fashionable districts. Instead of bucolic farmlands the area was now full of tenements, vaudeville theaters, and brothels. The Bowery’s reputation as the center of sin and vice in New York City had been cemented.  Bars like The Slide, McGurk’s Suicide Hall, and Columbia Hall (more commonly referred to as Paresis Hall after the mental illness that comes during the late stages of syphilis) plied customers with cheap booze and a wide  selection of willing participants for every kind of debauchery imaginable. For three cents you could get whiskey, for seven cents a bed in a cramped flophouse of questionable sanitation and for as little as 50 cents you could buy some time with a prostitute a few blocks over on Eldridge Street.  As early as the 1890′s tourists and wealthy adventurers from uptown would go slumming to see how the other half lived.

Jacob A. (Jacob August) Riis (1849-1914) | Richard Hoe Lawrence | Henry G. (Henry Granger) Piffard (1842-1910). A Seven-cent Lodging House in the Bowery. ca. 1895. Museum of the City of New York. 90.13.2.143.

By the 1930′s and 1940′s the Bowery had faded into missions to help the overwhelming homeless population which swelled due to the Depression. A New York Times article from 1935 claimed there were “…10,000  of them (bums), one estimate has it, and 90 percent of them from out of town. The bums are the chief sight of the Bowery now.” More than ever, the Bowery was seen as the Skid Row of New York City.

Berenice Abbott (1898-1991). “El,” Second and Third Avenue Lines. April 24, 1936. 43.131.1.145.

Yet some things did not change, such as bars offering copious amounts of alcohol to both the “bums” that lived in the area and wealthy patrons from uptown. When Sammy’s Bowery Follies opened in 1934, photographer Erika Stone captured a series of images now immortalized in public memory as the Bowery. For a really good article about why Sammy’s Bowery Follies matters historically read this tribute written on its closing in 1970.

Erika Stone. Bowery Bums, NYC, 1942. 1942. Museum of the City of New York. 2012.3.7.

Erika Stone. Ethel, the Bowery Queen, Sammy’s, NYC, 1946. 1946. Museum of the City of New York. 2012.3.8

Erika Stone. Bowery Beauty, Sammy’s on the Bowery, NYC, 1946. 1946. Museum of the City of New York. 2012.3.3.

Erika Stone. Test of Strength, Sammy’s on the Bowery, NYC, 1946. 1946. Museum of the City of New York. 2012.3.4.

By the 1970′s the Bowery was full of decaying buildings and had become a mecca for artists and musicians drawn by cheap rent. The punk scene thrived with bands like the Ramones and Bad Brains playing CBGB’s.

Walking along the Bowery now, there is little to suggest its history. The streets are full of high-end fashion boutiques, luxury apartments,  and perhaps most incongruously a 7-11. These changes are the latest in the cycle of gentrification of the Bowery. Even as early as 1905,  the New York Times was lamenting the death of the Bowery, it’s intriguing to think of what will be the next step of the cycle.

Prizefighters

If anyone had asked my opinion on boxing a few weeks ago, my response would have been tepid at best. I’d never really given the sport much thought. And yet I now find myself staying up way too late watching grainy videos of boxing matches and old ESPN documentaries about  famous boxers, discovering everything I can about New York’s  boxing world in the late 1940s through the 1950s. What caused this rapid change of heart?  Two words: Stanley Kubrick.

During Stanley Kubrick’s time at LOOK Magazine he photographed two stories about the daily life of boxers.  The first featured Walter Cartier in 1949 and the second Rocky Graziano in 1950. These boxers couldn’t have been more different, and tracing the careers of both highlights the spectrum of men who were lured to this sport.

Walter Cartier was born in the Bronx in 1922. He started boxing with his brothers at an early age (his twin brother Vincent would later be his trainer) and after World War II gained prominence  in boxing circles in New York City.  At the time that Kubrick shot the LOOK story, Cartier was a 24-year old rising fighter, known for being a precise, smart, intense middleweight boxer.  The article accompanying the photographs says that if, “the big purses elude him another year, he plans to quit the ring and attend law school.”  But the big fights came and for years he was constantly on the cusp of becoming the middleweight champion.  As an obituary reads, “Cartier was that handsome Bronx knockout kid who sold tickets. Here was a special kind of a fighter–clean living, loved being a boxer and always kept himself in shape.”

Below you can see the transformation from Walter Cartier, a typical young man living in Greenwich Village who goes on dates and plays with kids, to Walter Cartier the prizefighter.

Stanley Kubrick (1928-1999). Walter Cartier – Prizefighter of Greenwich Village . Walter Cartier eating in a restaurant. 1948. Museum of the City of New York. X2011.4.11122.88D.

Stanley Kubrick (1928-1999). Walter Cartier – Prizefighter of Greenwich Village Walter Cartier and Dolores Germaine playing on a beach.1948. Museum of the City of New York. X2011.4.11122.110E.

Stanley Kubrick (1928-1999) Walter Cartier – Prizefighter of Greenwich Village Girl holding a toy gun to Walter Cartier’s head.1948. Museum of the City of New York. X2011.4.11122.155F.

Stanley Kubrick (1928-1999). Walter Cartier – Prizefighter of Greenwich Village Walter Cartier at a punching bag as Vincent Cartier and two other men watch.1948. Museum of the City of New York. X2011.4.11122.51A.

Stanley Kubrick (1928-1999). Walter Cartier – Prizefighter of Greenwich Village Walter Cartier during a fight.1948. Museum of the City of New York. X2011.4.11122.236.

Where Cartier was dedicated, focused, and meticulous, Kubrick’s next boxing subject was a knockout king – tough and brutal.

Rocky Graziano (born Thomas Rocco Barbella)  grew up in the East Village (10th Street and First Avenue to be exact) and was a complete product of the rough neighborhood.  By the time he was six years old, he had a reputation of being a good fighter.  Or as he put it, “I was the best street fighter in history when I was growing up on the Lower East Side. Hell, I never lost a street fight. Never.  I thought I could lick Jack Dempsey or Joe Louis or anybody.  I was fantastic.”  With a nasty habit of stealing, as he described it,  “everything that began with an  ‘a’ — a piece of fruit, a radio, a car, anything that wasn’t nailed down,”  it’s perhaps unsurprising that Graziano had stints in reform schools and later, in prison.  (For more fantastic quotes, see his New York Times obituary here.) After a dishonorable discharge from the Army for punching a supervising officer, he found himself back in New York City.  A friend,  hoping to find an outlet for Graziano’s aggression, took him to boxing mecca Stillman’s Gym.

Graziano originally viewed boxing as an easy source of cash – he notoriously hawked his first medal for $15 – but his natural talent led him to become the middleweight champion in 1946.  If this sounds familiar, it’s because Graziano’s life story was made into the 1956 film, Someone Up There Likes Me, starring a young Paul Newman.

As with  Walter Cartier, Kubrick’s focus is on the transformation of Rocky Graziano from loving family man to boxer. It should be noted, however, that this story came out after Graziano’s two-year suspension from professional boxing due to failure to report an attempted $100,000 bribe.

Stanley Kubrick(1928-1999).Rocky Graziano, He’s a Good Boy Now. Rocky Graziano eating breakfast with his family. 1949-1950. Museum of the City of New York. X2011.4.12284.71B.

Stanley Kubrick (1928-1999). Rocky Graziano, He’s a Good Boy Now. Rocky Graziano playing cards with friends. Museum of the City of New York. X2011.4.12284.16A.

Stanley Kubrick (1928-1999) Rocky Graziano, He’s a Good Boy Now. Rocky Graziano exercising. Museum of the City of New York. X2011.4.12284.46C.

Stanley Kubrick (1928-1999).Rocky Graziano, He’s a Good Boy Now. Rocky Graziano. 1949-1950. Museum of the City of New York. X2011.4.12284.35B.

Stanley Kubrick (1928-1999).Rocky Graziano, He’s a Good Boy Now. Man applying petroleum jelly to Rocky Graziano.1949-1950. Museum of the City of New York. X2011.4.12284.18B.

To see more of Walter Cartier, check out Stanley Kubrick’s first movie, the 16-minute Day of the Fight, which was inspired by the LOOK magazine story.

Both Cartier and Graziano continued to box through the mid-1950′s, after which they both tried their hands at acting, both securing steady roles in television shows. Walter Cartier performed in the Phil Silvers Show and Rocky Graziano co-starred in the Martha Raye Show.

Penn Station and the Rise of Historic Preservation

After reading Lauren Robinson’s fantastic blog post about the return of Mad Men, I found myself haunted by the destruction of the original Penn Station. And as I dug deeper, I discovered that this was a drama of almost mythic proportions; a classic tale of David and Goliath; big corporations against a rag-tag group of underdogs; and art versus profit.

But first, the backstory: the original Pennsylvania Station was designed by Charles F. McKim, of McKim, Mead & White fame, the preeminent East Coast architectural firm of the Gilded Age. McKim’s designs drew heavily on classical architecture like the Roman Baths of Caracalla and the Brandenburg Gate in Berlin that elevated the mere activity of entering and leaving the city into a  momentous occasion.

McKim, Mead & White. Pennsylvania Station. 1905. Museum of the City of New York. 90.44.1.593.

Penn Station was opened on September 8th, 1910, and its sheer scale immediately evoked a sense of awe. At the time it was completed, it was the largest building ever built (with the qualifier of “at one time”), and boasted the biggest waiting room in history. With 150-foot ceilings and natural light streaming through an iron and glass roof — how could one not think that they were somewhere magical?

George P. Hall and Son. Interior of Pennsylvania Station. 1911. Museum of the City of New York. X2010.11.5113.

Berenice Abbott (1898-1991). Pennsylvania Station. 1936. Museum of the City of New York. 43.131.1.216.

Wide World Photos, Inc. Crowds in Pennsylvania Station. ca. 1920. Museum of the City of New York. X2010.11.5088.

Yet only 50 years after it was opened, Penn Station was in trouble. The owners of the station, Pennsylvania Railroad, were broke. The station was falling into disrepair. Airplanes and automobiles had begun to eclipse rail travel. With all this, the nine-acre lot between 7th and 8th Avenues from 31st to 33rd Street was just far too valuable not to sell.  Even the architecture had gone out of style. The opulence and grandeur that were so popular in the Gilded Age were seen as an ungainly relic compared to the modern architecture of the 1960s.

At the same time, Madison Square Garden was outgrowing its location on 8th Avenue and 50th Street and its owners were eying possible building sites for a new, completely modernized sports arena. Suddenly there appeared an answer for both Pennsylvania Railroad’s financial problems and the continuation of Madison Square Garden. On July 25, 1961, the New York Times published the first mention of the relocation of Madison Square Garden to the site of Penn Station. What’s intriguing about this article is that the developers meant to keep the original station waiting room as part of the new facility. Two days later it became apparent that this was not going to happen, and on July 27, 1961 the front page of the New York Times ran the headline “’62 Start is Set for New Garden — Penn Station to Be Razed to Street Level in Project.” The planned $75 million complex included a hotel and a 34-story office building, along with a 25,000 seat arena and a smaller 4,000 seat arena, which the article described as “a huge, sagging pancake.” But, Irving Felt, the president of the company that owned Madison Square Garden, believed “that the gain from the new buildings and sports center would more than offset any aesthetic loss.”

This galvanized a group of five twenty-something architects calling themselves the Action Group for Better Architecture in New York, shortened to AGBANY, to organize a public protest against the demolition on August 21, 1962.  From 5 to 7 P.M, they picketed in front of Penn Station carrying signs reading “Shame” and “Don’t Amputate — Renovate.”  Reports vary that at least 150 people participated and soon organizations like the Municipal Arts Council joined the fight to save Penn Station. For the next year, the battle continued. Larger protests from city residents, however, didn’t come until it was too late.

On October 28, 1963 at 9 A.M., as a light rain fell and picketers wearing black armbands watched silently, electric jackhammers began to destroy Penn Station. For the next three years, Penn Station was slowly demolished.  The destruction was brutal and total; the station’s monumental ornamentation – 16-ton decorative eagles and the 84 Doric columns that made up the Seventh Avenue facade – were dumped unceremoniously into the marshlands of Secaucus, New Jersey.

Aaron Rose. The demolition of Pennsylvania Station, 1964-1965. Museum of the City of New York. 01.30.82

Aaron Rose. The demolition of Pennsylvania Station, 1964-1965. Museum of the City of New York. 01.30.2

Aaron Rose. The demolition of Pennsylvania Station, 1964-1965. Museum of the City of New York. 01.30.79.

Aaron Rose. The demolition of Pennsylvania Station, 1964-1965. Museum of the City of New York. 01.30.95.

Aaron Rose. The demolition of Pennsylvania Station, 1964-1965. Museum of the City of New York. 01.30.117.

As a direct result, on April 15, 1965, Mayor Robert Wagner signed the Landmark Law, which created the Landmarks Preservation Commission. For the first time there was an agency with government power to designate and even save historical buildings and neighborhoods. The legal ramification didn’t end there though. A year later, after growing countrywide preservation efforts, the National Historic Preservation Act was enacted, ensuring that other cities wouldn’t also have to lose a landmark to realize the importance of its preservation.

Below are some of the strikingly emotional reactions to the destruction of Penn Station from the New York Times:

“Farewell to Penn Station” on October 30, 1963 “Until the first blow fell, no one was convinced that Penn Station really would be demolished, or that New York would permit this monumental act of vandalism against one of the largest and finest landmarks of its age of Roman elegance. Any city gets what it admires, will pay for, and, ultimately, deserves. Even when we had Penn Station, we couldn’t afford to keep it clean. We want and deserve tin-can architecture in a tinhorn culture. And we will probably be judged not by the monuments we build but by those we have destroyed”

Ada Louise Huxtable wrote the following on July 16, 1966:  “Pennsylvania Station succumbed to progress this week at the age of 56, after a lingering decline.  The building’s one remaining facade was shorn of eagles and ornament yesterday, preparatory to leveling the last wall.  It went not with a bang, or a whimper, but to the rustle of real estate stock shares.  The passing of Penn Station is more than the end of a landmark.  It makes the priority of real estate values over preservation conclusively clear.  It confirms the demise of an age of opulent elegance, of conspicuous, magnificent spaces, rich and enduring materials, the monumental civic gesture, and extravagant expenditure for esthetic ends.”

Vincent Scully, Jr., as quoted in the New York Times on February 12, 2012 about the differences in the Penn Station:  “One entered the city like a god; one scuttles in now like a rat.”

For a detailed  study of the demolition of Penn Station,  check out The Fall and Rise of Pennsylvania Station. Changing Attitudes Toward Historic Preservation in New York City by Eric J. Plosky, found here.

During the month of May, we’ll be posting more entries on historic preservation in the city. The Museum of the City of New York is competing for a $250,000 grant from Partners in Preservation, a joint program sponsored by American Express and the National Trust for Historic Preservation. The winner is determined by popular vote, and individuals may vote once a day through May 21st. Please help us by going to http://www.helpmcny.com/ and voting today.

The digital team reflects on Valentine’s Day

We here in the digital lab have conflicted feelings about today’s holiday.  So we’ve pulled images from our collection that express a variety of  viewpoints about romance and Valentine’s Day. Valentine’s cards in the mid-19th century and Stanley Kubrick’s  images of teenagers canoodling on a fire escape  in the 1940′s show that New York is the place to be in love. (But just in case you don’t agree with that last sentence, we have images for you too.)

Our collection of vintage Valentine’s Day cards  runs the gamut from the sweetly violent….

Comic Valentine card. ca. 1920. Museum of the City of New York. 03.49.1

to the quad-lingual (what a lucky girl Miss Louise Horn was)…..

Valentine: Eternal Love. 1847. Museum of the City of New York. 31.18.19.

to the faintly seductive.

Greeting card. ca. 1880. Museum of the City of New York. 38.8.262.

Moving beyond greeting cards to real people,  here are some more  images of love, from Bohemians to Bobby Soxers.

Jessie Tarbox Beals. Couple standing near fountain in Greenwich Village. ca. 1915. Museum of the City of New York. 94.104.862

Stanley Kubrick (1928-1999). Park Benches - Love is Everywhere.1946. Museum of the City of New York. X2011.4.10347.11.

And if you don’t find anything to love about Valentine’s Day, these could be more your speed.

Advice to Girls About to Marry - get used to this language when you tell him you want a new hat. ca. 1905. Museum of the City of New York. X2011.34.582.

James Henderson (Firm). Single One, Married One - "Lucky Dog". ca. 1895. Museum of the City of New York. X2011.34.560.

Currier & Ives. "No One to Love Me." 1880. Museum of the City of New York. 56.300.603.

100 Years Ago – The Equitable Building Fire

January 9th, 1912, just after 5 A.M. The wind is howling at nearly 40 miles per hour–with gusts of up to 68 miles per hour–making the already below freezing temperatures even colder. Philip O’Brien, the timekeeper of the swanky Cafe Savarin on the first floor of the Equitable Life Assurance Building, starts his day by lighting the gas in his small office and distractedly throws the  still-lit match into the garbage. By 5:18  A.M. the office is engulfed in flames. The flames spread to the elevators and dumbwaiter systems and within minutes the entire  Equitable Building is on fire.

The Equitable Building opened in 1870  at 120 Broadway and was considered the first skyscraper at an impressive seven stories and with the  first public elevators in the city. It was the home of  some of the most well established banking and law offices of the Gilded Age, along with the Cafe Savarin and the exclusive Lawyer’s Club.  The basement housed safes and vaults filled with several billions (yes, billions in 1870) of securities, stocks, and bonds. In short, this was the epicenter of most of the wealth of the Financial District.

At 5:34 A.M the first fire alarm was rung at the corner of Pine and Nassau Streets and within minutes the first firefighters arrived. Within half an hour the majority of Manhattan’s firefighters were at the scene, containing the fires within the building and spraying the exterior from neighboring buildings.  And yet the fire burned on.  For the first time in the history of the fire department, Brooklyn fire companies were called in to help with a Manhattan fire. The Brooklyn Bridge was even closed to traffic to allow the fire engines to get to the Equitable Building as quickly as possible.

Aftermath of the Equitable Building Fire. 1912. Museum of the City of New York. X2010.11.9172.

The first casualties of the fire occurred at 6 A.M.,  just as reinforcements were arriving.  Three employees of Cafe Savarin were trapped on the roof. Fire fighters tried to rescue them, but the ladders were three stories too short and by the time the fire fighters went up to a neighboring building, the roof had begun to collapse.  In desperation, the trapped men jumped to their deaths onto Cedar Street.

At the same time nearly thirty blocks uptown, William Giblin, the president of the Mercantile Deposit Company–whose offices were in the building–was informed of the fire.  He dashed down to the Financial District and, with a watchman, went to retrieve important documents from his company’s offices in the burning building. They were unaware the outer doors of the building locked behind them. While they were  searching for his papers in a massive vault, a heavy safe fell to the ground floor spreading the fire even more completely. Various rescue missions tried  fruitlessly to  save them, but instead resulted in the death of respected Fire Battalion Chief William Walsh. Nearly two hours later Giblin and the watchman were freed only after fire fighters used hacksaws to get through the bars of the basement windows.  The post card below shows the aftermath.

Rescue of Wm. Giblin, Pres. Mercantile Deposit Co., Equitable Life Building fire Jan. 9th, 1912. 1912. Museum of the City of New York. X2011.34.652.

As the morning wore on, the temperatures dropped even more and the wind speeds picked up causing the water to freeze where it was sprayed. Soon Broadway was coated with layers of ice, hoses were frozen solid, and  fire apparatuses were jammed – but the firemen had it the worst. According to the  New York Times, “At 9 o’clock Fire Chief Kenlon, who worked like a Trojan at this – his first great fire – was actually weighted down with icicles.  They had formed on his eyebrows and hung from his mustache like dumbbells.  From his shoulders and arms the men on the lines had to chop away the coat of ice.  He looked like a man from another world.  It was so with all the firemen whose work took them into the zone of the shifting spray, and it was soon found necessary to open relief stations in the entrances to the various office buildings which faced the building that was in flames.  Here police and men detailed from the Fire Department bent over the half frozen men, pressing their stiff gloves onto the radiators, cutting, scraping, and chopping the ice from their helmets and hair and shoulders.”

Equitable Building Fire. 1912. Museum of the City of New York. X2010.11.14289.

Firefighting equipment covered in ice at the Equitable Building fire. 1912. Museum of the City of New York. X2010.34.656.

The fire was contained at 9:30 A.M. and by that time the Equitable Building was in ruins. Six people had lost their lives, including the Battalion Fire Chief William Walsh and two night watchmen who had been trapped inside the building.

This disaster, along with the Triangle Shirtwaist Company fire, made it clear that new laws were needed to maintain safety in a rapidly changing cityscape.

Wurts Bros. (New York, N.Y.).1912. Aftermath of the Equitable Fire. Museum of the City of New York. X2010.11.9141.

Firemen at the Equitable Building fire. 1912. Museum of the City of New York. X2011.34.604.

Irving Underhill (d. 1960). Equitable Fire Ruins, B'way & Cedar. 1912. Museum of the City of New York. X2010.28.632.

Aftermath of the Equitable Fire. 1912. Museum of the City of New York. X2010.11.9507.

Aftermath of the Equitable Fire. 1912. Museum of the City of New York. X2010.11.9506.

For more information, the official report of the fire is digitized on Google Books.