The Eastern District of Brooklyn

There is, in the Municipal Library, a charming tome titled The Eastern District of Brooklyn with Illustrations and Maps. Published on May 7, 1912, its author, Eugene L. Armbruster, was a preservationist long before that was a recognized field. An immigrant from Germany to the United States, he devoted years to documenting Long Island (which included Brooklyn and Queens) with photographs, pamphlets and other publications. Thousands of his photos are in collections at the New York Historical Society, the Brooklyn Public Library and the Queens Public Library.

Ferry Landing, Grand Street, Williamsburgh, 1835. Illustration from The Eastern District of Brooklyn with Illustrations and Maps, 1912. NYC Municipal Library.

Armbruster frequently answered questions posed by readers of The Brooklyn Eagle in a section of the paper titled “Questions Answered by the Eagle.” This idiosyncratic feature contained a hodge-podge of information in response to inquiries such as, “Is there a Shenandoah in New York?” submitted by BLANK…. Yes, in Dutchess County.  “What is meant by the seven ages of man and who was the author?” posed by Mrs. D.H. … It’s from As You Like It by William Shakespeare spoken by the Duke in Act 2 (although the better-known portion of that speech is “all the world’s a stage and all the men and women merely players”). Labeled “the local expert on Brooklyn history,” Armbruster fielded questions related to events and places in Brooklyn, such as the original location of Litchfield Mansion. Right where it remains at 5th and 9th Ave., also known as Prospect Park West.

The book itself is tiny, about the size of a box of notecards but it contains a host of information in its series of brief sketches, appendices and hand-drawn illustrations and maps. The titles themselves are beguiling: a settlement named Cripplebush, one appendix titled, “The Solid Men of Williamsburg, 1847,” and the illustration listed as Literary Emporium. Is there such flora as a cripplebush and if so, what does it look like? Were the Williamsburg men particularly chunky? Was the emporium a bookstore or early library?  The answers lie ahead.

Junction of Broadway, Flushing and Graham Avenues. Illustration from The Eastern District of Brooklyn with Illustrations and Maps, 1912. NYC Municipal Library.

Written shortly after the consolidation of the Greater City in 1898, the author intended to provide an overview of the Eastern District of Brooklyn to assist future historians. “If a history of the City of New York will ever be written, its compiler will look around for historical matter relating to the old towns, now forming parts of the metropolis, and this book was written that the Eastern District of Brooklyn may be represented then. But, what exactly is this Eastern District? Armbruster explained that during an earlier Kings County consolidation, the towns of Williamsburg, Bushwick and North Brooklyn were combined into the Eastern District. There also was a Western District that “included the remainder of the enlarged city” which was the portion of Kings County that comprised the City of Brooklyn. But that’s not all. There was a “sparsely settled” 9th ward between the two districts and a 26th ward that “was never a part of the Western District, but a town by itself until annexed in 1886 by the late City of Brooklyn.” Clear as mud!  

Suffice it to say that the book is about a series of settlements that became villages, towns and cities between 1638 and 1910. These include what are now Ridgewood and Long Island City (now in Queens), Bushwick, Greenpoint, Williamsburg and East New York. The boundaries of the settlements shifted based on grants issued by the West India Company, colonial governments and eventually through Acts of the State Legislature.   

Armbruster appears not to have accessed primary source documents and instead relied on several historical analyses. Mostly but not entirely written in the mid-to late 19th  century, the authors include Henry R. Stiles, a physician and historian who penned the multi-volumed The Civil, political, professional and ecclesiastical history, and commercial and industrial record of the County of Kings and the City of Brooklyn, N.Y. from 1683 to 1884, and E.B. O’Callaghan who is best known for his (flawed) translation of original Dutch government and West India Company records.

Burr & Waterman’s Block Factory, Kent Avenue and South 8th Streets, 1852. This factory made “patent blocks” bricks of patented designs that were stamped with a company logo. Illustration from The Eastern District of Brooklyn with Illustrations and Maps, 1912. NYC Municipal Library.

One issue with the writing is the description of Native Americans in derogatory terms that are based on a versioning of history in which the European settlers were beneficent and the original residents of the land somehow miscreants. For example: “Over the morass led narrow trails, known to the redskins and the wild beasts, but treacherous to strangers.”  Even when reporting on the murder of Native American families ordered by the Director General Willem Kieft, Armbruster maintains this form.  

“In an evil hour Kieft ordered some of his men to the tobacco-pipe-land and another band to the Indian village, Rechtauk, situated two miles north of the fort on the East River (the present Corlear’s Hook), while both places were occupied by some fugitive Wesquaesgeek Indians, and had them cruelly slaughtered, men women and children, under cover of night. When the savages found out that  the white men had committed the outrage, which they had first believed to be the work of an hostile Indian tribe about a dozen of the neighboring tribes of River Indians rose up against them and attacked the several plantations.” Who, one asks, should be more appropriately termed savage?

He devotes a brief chapter to the town records of Bushwick (Boswijck from “bos,” meaning a collection of small things packed close together, and from “wijk”—retreat, refuge, guard, defend from danger). This topic interests researchers and staff at the Municipal Archives. “When Bushwick became part of the City of Brooklyn the records were, in accordance with an article of the charter of the enlarged city, deposited in the City Hall. They were sent there in a movable bookcase, which was coveted by some municipal officer, who turned its contents upon the floor, whence the janitor transferred them to the papermill.”

Not all went to the papermill.  The Municipal Archives collections includes the Old Town records which includes 60 volumes from the towns and villages in Kings County during the Dutch and English colonial periods.

In one beautifully written paragraph, Armbruster describes the rise and fall of the four mile stretch of Nassau River, known at the time of publication and today as Newtown Creek. “In the background were the hills covered with trees…  At that time the creek, with the several gristmills, and the farms bordering thereon, differed in no way from the rural scenes, which are often seen as typical of Holland, except for the hills in the background. But since then the mills have vanished and factories and coal yards have taken their places and commercialism in general, with no eye for landscape beauty has taken hold of the territory. The water of the creek has been polluted to such a degree that the name of Newtown Creek has come into ill-repute, and it is well that the waterway, when cleansed and improved, will be known by the euphonious name of Nassau River.

Williamsburgh Gas Works Office, 93 South 7th Street, 1852. Illustration from The Eastern District of Brooklyn with Illustrations and Maps, 1912. NYC Municipal Library.

Phoenix Iron Works, 230 Grand Street, 1852. Illustration from The Eastern District of Brooklyn with Illustrations and Maps, 1912. NYC Municipal Library.

On the list of federal Superfund sites for the past decade, perhaps when the Environmental Protection Agency does undertake cleaning up the toxic waste, Newtown Creek will be again named Nassau River.

Map of the area north of Newtown Creek. Illustration from The Eastern District of Brooklyn with Illustrations and Maps, 1912. NYC Municipal Library.

The appendices include three sections providing census information. Number 9 from the Census of Kings County circa 1698, lists the names of freeholders, and enumerates their family members, apprentices and enslaved people within Kings County “on Nassauw Island.” There were 51 freeholders, including four women. Eleven were of French ancestry; one was English and the remaining 39 were Dutch. In addition to the freeholders there were 49 women (presumed wives) 141 children, 8 apprentices and 52 enslaved people.

Appendix Number 12 provides the number of all inhabitants in the Township of  Bushwyck, male and female; black and white, in 1738. The total of 325 “Ziele” (souls) listed 41 freeholders, including six women. There were 119 white males; 130 white females, 42 black males and 36 black females.

Appendix 13 offers a list of householders in one district of Bushwick. The 22 householders enslaved 20 men and 21 women.

A list of all the Inhabitants of the Township of Bushwick-Both White and Black-Males and Females, in 1738. An illustration from The Eastern District of Brooklyn with Illustrations and Maps, 1912. Appendix XII. NYC Municipal Library.

This data shows that the colonial households and economy of Bushwick grew increasingly reliant on slave labor. The 1698 census shows that 21 households included enslaved people and five of the 30 remaining households listed  apprentices. By 1738, 25 of the 41 households in the census listed black residents, who we presume were enslaved.

And now, to our initial questions.

Cripplebush was an area of land that stretched from Wallabout Bay to Newtown Creek and so named because of the thick scrub oak that flourished there, which the Dutch called kreupelbosch meaning thicket. The actual hamlet, which received a patent in 1654 was located around what today is South Williamsburg, just north of the Marcy Houses operated by NYCHA.

In 1847, a publication was issued listing the men of  Williamsburgh and City of Brooklyn who owned $10,000 or more in personal property or real estate. The Solid Men of Williamsburgh refers to the 44 men living in that town who met this economic threshold.

As for the Literary Emporium—who knows.  The illustration does not offer a clue as to its purpose.

Literary Emporium, corner of 5th and Grand Streets, 1852. Illustration from The Eastern District of Brooklyn with Illustrations and Maps, 1912. NYC Municipal Library.

Building Histories, part 2

In our continuing series of blogs focused on the Manhattan Building Plan project, this week Alexandra Hilton highlights three architecturally significant buildings documented in the collection – the New York Fire Department Shore Station” the Margaret Louisa Home on East 16th Street, and the “Little” Singer Building. 

Shore Quarters for Fireboat New Yorker

Fireboat “New Yorker,” tied up at the Station House, c. 1910. Department of Docks and Ferries Collection.  NYC Municipal Archives

In 1891, the fireboat “New Yorker” became the first floating engine, as they called them, to have its own permanent shore station. No longer standing, the building was located near Pier A and Castle Garden in Battery Park.

Shore Quarters No. 57 for Fireboat New Yorker, façade elevation, blueprint, 1891. Manhattan Building Plan Collection, NYC Municipal Archives.

The New Yorker was in service from 1891-1931. It was constructed by Julius Jonson from plans by Charles H. Haswell. Fireboats were part of engine companies until the Fire Department’s Marine Division was organized in 1959 and the New Yorker was part of Engine 57. It was 125 feet long and around 350 tons and could pump 13,000 gallons of water a minute. It was the most powerful fireboat of its day.

An ocean liner passes along Battery Park; shore quarters building at left; Pier A at right, ca. 1939. WPA Federal Writers’ Project Collection, NYC Municipal Archives.

Shore Quarters No. 57 for Fireboat New Yorker, balcony, blueprint, 1891. Manhattan Building Plan Collection, NYC Municipal Archives.

The building was similar to other engine houses and was intended to serve as housing for the company. There was a bunkroom upstairs, sliding poles to the ground floor and a complete set of telegraph instruments for informing the company of all alarms throughout the city. The company also responded to fires that occurred on the water. Boat disasters weren’t uncommon, the General Slocum steamboat tragedy took place not long after the New Yorker went into service.

Shore Quarters No. 57 for Fireboat New Yorker, door and window plan, blueprint, 1891. Manhattan Building Plan Collection, NYC Municipal Archives.

The New Yorker responded to many such tragedies. One well-known event is the 1900 Hoboken Docks fire that happened in and around a German shipping company’s piers at Hoboken, New Jersey. Cotton bales stored on the company’s southernmost wharf caught fire and winds carried the fire to nearby barrels filled with turpentine and oil, causing them to explode. The fire destroyed the piers up to the Hudson River waterline, as well as nearby warehouses, three transatlantic liners and almost two dozen smaller boats. When canal boats, barges and other debris caught on fire and started drifting toward the New York City side of the river, the New Yorker and other fireboats were dispatched to help contain the fire. More than 326 people lost their lives in the accident, mostly seamen and other workers, but also women who had been visiting one of the destroyed ships.

The New Yorker also responded to the 1911 Dreamland Park fire in Coney Island. The park was only open for seven years before it burned to the ground. On the night before opening day of the 1911 season, a water ride named Hell Gate developed a leak. A contractor from a roofing company was repairing the ride, using tar to plug up the leak. For reasons probably having to do with an electrical malfunction, the lightbulbs illuminating the man’s space as he worked exploded, and in his surprise, he kicked over a bucket of hot tar. The ride was immediately on fire. Most of the park was made of wood lath covered by a mixture of plaster of Paris and hemp fiber, a wildly flammable combination. Many Coney Island amusement parks used this dangerous combination in construction and often experienced fires. A high-pressure water pumping station had been installed a few years earlier as a preventive measure. That night it failed. Chaos ensued, lions were on the loose, an NYPD sergeant heroically rescued babies from the incubator exhibit. Dreamland was completely destroyed and never rebuilt.

Fireboat, The New Yorker, 1903, Department of Docks and Ferries Photograph Collection, NYC Municipal Archives.

After this storied career, the New Yorker was taken out of service in 1931.  It was auctioned in 1932 and replaced by the John J. Harvey fireboat. The firehouse was reaching the end of its days and Battery Park was about to be closed for several years while the Brooklyn-Battery Tunnel was built. Engine 57 was moved to then Pier 1 in 1941.


Margaret Louisa Home YWCA 

1894 Annual report of the Young Women’s Christian Association of the City of New York,  internet archive.

1894 Annual report of the Young Women’s Christian Association of the City of New York, internet archive.

The Margaret Louisa Home located at 14-16 East 16th Street is part of the Ladies’ Mile Historic District. It was commissioned by YWCA-benefactor Margaret Louisa Shepard, daughter of William H. Vanderbilt. It was built in connection with the YWCA to serve as a temporary home for Protestant women seeking employment. Robert Henderson Robertson designed the six-story home to accommodate 100 female residents. Construction was completed in 1891.

Young Women’s Lodging House, front elevation, 1889. Manhattan Building Plan Collection.  NYC Municipal Archives.

The building façade is rock-face brownstone interspersed with brick in the Romanesque Revival style. The letters “YWCA” are inscribed on the exterior at the top of the second story, originally a mezzanine level. The midsection is punctuated with foliate designs and rows of dentils ending in carved lion masks. Alternating Romanesque columns run along the top, terminated by a cornice with block modillions and supported by decorative panels. Capping the facade is an arcaded parapet between higher end piers with carved panels. A seventh story under a peaked roof had been designed by Robertson but scrapped due to building regulations governing lodging houses.

Young Women’s Lodging House, plan of 2nd, 3rd, 4th and 5th floor, 1889. Manhattan Building Plan Collection, NYC Municipal Archives.

The building included 78 bedrooms, a parlor and reception rooms, private dining areas, a public restroom and laundry. Bedrooms were furnished with a white-painted iron bed, small oak table, a rocker and washstand with toilet set.

Young Women’s Lodging House, Longitudinal Section, Annex, 1889. Manhattan Building Plan Collection, NYC Municipal Archives

A one-story building originally meant to be a studio or meeting rooms was built as an annex at the rear of the lot. It also housed the boiler in the basement. 

The home was very successful. Boarders could stay for four weeks. Rooms rented for 60 cents a day with an extra 85 cents for meals. Most women seeking employment were teachers, milliners, dressmakers and stenographers, but there were also physicians, lecturers, actresses, nurses, photographers, and all sorts of other jobs represented. Plus, the home had its own employment bureau to assist residents in finding work.

14-16 East 16th Street, Manhattan, Block 843, Lot 39, 1940 Tax Photograph Collection. NYC Municipal Archives.

Parallel to the home, on a lot facing 15th Street, was the Young Women’s Christian Association, or YWCA, building, where women could take specialized training courses. It was built before the home, in 1887, also thanks to funds from Margaret Louisa and John Jacob Astor and other wealthy patrons. Robertson designed this building, in the Romanesque Revival style as well, with a mix of red brick and brownstone. An enclosed corridor and intervening garden space connected the building with the home on 16th Street. 

Both buildings are still standing today, although altered in use. The 16th Street YWCA was sold to the Society of the Commonwealth in 1917, where it became known as The People’s House. Organizations such as the National Women’s Suffrage Party, Margaret Sanger’s Birth Control League of New York and The Rand School, formed by members of the Socialist Party of America, took offices in the building.

The Margaret Louisa Home lasted longer and was operating until 1946. In 1951, it became the Sidney Hillman Health Center. The first floor was completely renovated, and the facade was modernized at this time. Most recently, plans have been approved by the Landmarks Preservation Commission to convert the building into a hotel, which would include demolishing most of the structure but preserving the facade. As of 2020, developers planned to rebuild the first floor facade to match the original, as well as adding the never-built  gabled roof from Robertson’s original designs.


Little Singer Building 

Little Singer Building, Ernest Flagg, elevation, 1903, blueprint. Manhattan Building Plan Collection, NYC Municipal Archives.

The twelve-story Little Singer Building was designed by Ernest Flagg for the Singer sewing machine company in 1903.­­ It is located in Soho at 561-563 Broadway between Spring and Prince Streets. The intricate iron tracery on the exterior makes this one very distinctive and you’d be hard-pressed to miss it if you walked past; it’s a style unique to the time period.

Little Singer Building, Ernest Flagg, Prince Street and Broadway elevation, 1908, blueprint.  Manhattan Building Plan Collection.  NYC Municipal Archives.

Flagg, who was known for designs in the Beaux-Arts style, built the iron structure to be fireproofed with brick and terra cotta, a relatively new innovation at the time, with a rusty red and green color scheme. An abundance of recessed glass on the front of the building along with the delicate wrought-iron tracery gave it a lighter appearance. Bolted iron plates make vertical pilasters that mark the end bays. Five central bays join vertically with curled iron tracery at the top of the 11th story, where the cornice is also supported by wrought-iron brackets. A top story, simple in comparison, is set above it. More of this same look can be seen around the bottom two stories. Tracery continues around the window bases and lacy strip balconies across each story. It’s all very ornamental.

“The Little Singer Building,” 561 Broadway, ca. 1980. NYC Municipal Archives Collection.

“The Little Singer Building,” 561 Broadway, ca. 1980. NYC Municipal Archives Collection.

The building is L-shaped; the Prince Street facade is essentially a narrower version of the Broadway side with the addition of a sign that reads “The Singer Manufacturing Company.”

A few years after completing the building in 1904, Flagg was retained to build a larger structure for the Singer Company on Broadway at Liberty Street. When the new structure was completed, the first building became known as the “Little” Singer Building. The second Singer building was finished in 1908 and was briefly the tallest building in the world. It was demolished in 1968.

Manhattan Block 500, Lot 20, 1940 Tax Photograph Collection, NYC Municipal Archives.

Manhattan Block 500, Lot 20, 1940 Tax Photograph Collection, NYC Municipal Archives.

In 1979, the Little Singer building was converted to a co-op with offices and joint living and work quarters. In 2008, it received a much-needed restoration, which included a re-creation of the original glass and ironwork sidewalk canopy on the Broadway side.

Hudson River Sloop Clearwater as Covered by WNYC-TV

During the last decade, whale sightings in New York Harbor and the Hudson River have risen dramatically, from five in 2011 to more than 300 in 2019, with the most recent sighting of a humpback whale as far north as Manhattan’s Pier 84 on December 9, 2020. Most experts believe that the surge in whale sightings is the result of decades of work to clean up industrial pollution in the Hudson River spurred by environmental activists. One of the most prominent activists dedicated to this cause was famed folk singer and songwriter Pete Seeger. In 1969, Seeger sailed his boat the sloop Clearwater up the Hudson to raise awareness of the dire state of the river.

For decades, General Electric, General Motors and Monsanto factories dumped thousands of tons of industrial waste directly into the Hudson River. Pollutants such as PCBs (polychlorinated biphenyls), lead, mercury, sewage waste and pesticides, to name just a few, were being discharged into the Hudson every day, harming the ecosystems dependent on the river, as well as anyone fishing from or swimming in the river. Some of the known health effects of PCBs include cancer, hormonal imbalance, memory loss, birth defects, diabetes and many more.

In 1966, Pete and Toshi Seeger founded Hudson River Sloop Clearwater Incorporated and began building an 18th century sloop replica named Clearwater to sail up the Hudson. Seeger hoped that the sight of the ship would help people appreciate the beauty of the river and rally popular sentiment to clean up the pollution. Seeger’s hopes paid off three years later on August 1st, 1969, when the sloop sailed into New York harbor. Mayor John Lindsay, a gaggle of reporters, and a camera crew from WNYC-TV joined Seeger aboard the ship. With the Statue of Liberty behind them, the crew of the Clearwater treated their guests to music, a trip around the harbor and a demonstration of traditional sailing techniques used at the beginning of New York’s modern history.

Sloop Clearwater maiden voyage to New York City, August 1, 1969. NYC Municipal Archives, WNYC-TV Collection, REC0047_01_2088. Selected footage from WNYC has been recently digitized and made available in the DORIS website gallery.

The following year, the United States celebrated its first Earth Day on April 22, 1970, and established the Environmental Protection Agency (EPA) on December 2. Although the EPA started with limited authority, Congress soon passed a number of laws such as the 1972 Clean Water Act, expanding the Agency’s ability to enforce regulations and induce corporations like General Electric to pay for cleaning up toxic waste in the Hudson River. The Clean Water Act made it a criminal offense to dump any pollutants into navigable water ways without a permit from the government. But it wasn’t only corporations that came under the new Federal agency’s scrutiny.

On July 18, 1972, the Federal government sued the City of New York and several New Jersey organizations. The suits aimed to force the City into preventing the discharge of industrial waste into its sewer systems, and to treat sewage emptied into the harbor and its adjacent waters. Three days later, Mayor John Lindsay held a combative press conference covered by WNYC-TV. He announced the City would invest $61 million to upgrade the Hunts Point Water Pollution Control Plant to treat the City’s wastewater. Although the suits by the Federal government had earlier been ridiculed by Lindsay’s cabinet as absurd and political, they admitted at the press conference that the Hunts Point upgrades would do nothing to curb the presence of industrial waste in New York Harbor.

Mayor Lindsay Press Conference on wastewater discharge, July 21, 1972. WNYC-TV Collection, NYC Municipal Archives, REC0047_01_2708. Selected footage from WNYC has been recently digitized and made available in the DORIS website gallery.

Led by the Seegers, Hudson River Sloop Clearwater Inc. continued to advocate for the cleanup of the river for decades. In 1977, 180,000 cubic yards of the riverbed polluted with PCBS were removed from the Hudson, the first of many such efforts. In 1984, the EPA designated 200 miles of the river as an environmental Superfund site, one of the largest in the country. Since then, there have been repeated attempts to lower the PCB levels and other toxic pollutants by dredging the river. This has most often been paid for by General Electric, one of the worst polluters. As of today, over 5 million cubic yards of polluted riverbed have been dredged and removed, but the EPA still advises against swimming in or eating any fish caught from the Hudson.

Although progress has been slow, activists like Seeger were able to effect change due to sustained pressure on the government and the corporate bodies that polluted the river in the first place. Pushback from General Electric was also sustained, but the popular sentiment Seeger hoped to foster has overcome that opposition time and time again. Due to those efforts, songs like Seeger’s 1966 ‘My Dirty Stream (Hudson River Song)’ are slowly being replaced by a new Hudson River song, this time sung by a chorus of hundreds of humpback whales.

Building Histories, The Bellevue Psychopathic Hospital and the Rivington Street Bath

In last week’s blog, Amy Stecher adapted her “Lunch and Learn” presentation about the Manhattan Building Plan collection project. This week, co-presenter Alexandra Hilton highlights two architecturally significant buildings documented in the collection – the Bellevue Psychopathic Hospital and the Rivington Street Bath. Future blogs will feature the plans of other unique buildings that have been identified in the processing project.


Bellevue Psychopathic Hospital

Psychopathic Building, Bellevue and Allied Hospitals, architects’ rendering, 1927. Department of Public Charities and Hospitals Collection, NYC Municipal Archives.

The Bellevue Psychopathic Hospital, as it was called at the time, was built in 1931 by Charles B. Meyers in the Italian Renaissance style. The building is still standing alongside the East River on First Avenue between 29th and 30th Streets, occupying an entire city block. When constructed, it joined the growing Bellevue hospital complex, and was intended to match the existing buildings, which were designed by architects McKim, Mead & White – same color brick, embellished with granite base course, limestone and terra cotta trimmings. By then, McKim, Mead & White was barely active; Meyers had just designed the Tammany Hall building and was a favorite of then-Mayor Jimmy Walker.

Manhattan Block 958. Bromley Atlas, 1955. New York Public Library.

Prior to its construction, Bellevue’s mental-health facilities were part of the main hospital and included an 1879 “pavilion for the insane,” and an alcoholic ward was added in 1892. Dr. Menas Gregory, a well-known psychiatrist who spent his career working in Bellevue’s psychiatric division, is credited with the idea for a psychiatric building after a trip to inspect similar institutions in Europe – a “Temple of Mental Health,” as he called it. Wanting to create a very clean and stately environment for the new hospital was right on brand for Dr. Gregory. In his position, he had already changed the terminology – preferring “psychopathic” to the word “insane,” thinking this would help make the patients seem curable. He had also removed the iron bars from the old pavilion’s windows and had lessened the use of narcotics and physical restraints on the patients. Dr. Gregory was seen as a good guy in the field, at a time when most medical professionals were largely ignorant about mental illness.

Psychopathic Hospital, Department of Hospitals, Charles B. Meyers, elevation, 1929, blueprint. Manhattan Building Plan Collection, NYC Municipal Archives.

Before the hospital was built, The New York Times said it would be “one of the finest hospitals in the world for the treatment of mental disorders” and “thoroughly modern” at a cost of $3,000,000. (Unsurprisingly, by the time it was finished, the cost would be $4,300,000 ($66,000,000 today). It was designed as a single building with three separate units: 1) 10-stories to house administrative services, doctors’ offices, labs and a library; 2) 8-stories, for mild cases; 3) 8-stories, for more advanced cases. There were facilities for recreation and occupational therapy; physio-, electro- and hydro-therapy; an out-patient clinic; teaching facilities for medical students, and a special research clinic for the study and treatment of delinquency, crime and behavior problems, in collaboration with the Department of Correction, Criminal Courts and Probation Bureau.

Bellevue Hospital complex with new psychopathic building at right, October 31, 1934. Borough President Manhattan Collection, NYC Municipal Archives.

Rooms were designed to house either one, two or three patients at a time. In a Mental Hygiene Bulletin, it was written that “special consideration has been given in the plans to incorporate within the building the appearance and aspect of home or normal living conditions with simple decorations and color tones believed to have the most soothing effect upon the patient.” One hundred of the six hundred beds were dedicated for the study and treatment of children, under the supervision of the Department of Education. 

Completing the building was nothing short of dramatic and filled with accusations of corruption and mismanagement. Its lavish exterior juxtaposed against the great depression couldn’t have been more tone deaf to the city’s residents. When ground was broken on June 18, 1930, it was thought the building would be completed at the end of 1931. Almost a year later, in February 1931, the cornerstone was just being laid. Delays were plentiful. It reportedly took a year to choose the architect and another year to draw the plans, and then, according to the Acting Commissioner of Hospitals, “after the contractor had collected all the funds he could get, he left for Europe.” 

Psychopathic Hospital, Department of Hospitals, Charles B. Meyers, first floor plan, 1929, blueprint. Manhattan Building Plan Collection, NYC Municipal Archives.

Bellevue Psychopathic Hospital, Manhattan Block 958, Lot 1, 1940. Tax Photograph Collection, NYC Municipal Archives.

The hospital partially opened in May 1933 with the 600-bed facility only ready for 375 patients. A formal dedication occurred later that year in November, where tribute was paid to Dr. Gregory for his vision. Dr. Gregory resigned from his post in 1934, amid an investigation of his division by the Commissioner of Hospitals, Dr. S. S. Goldwater. This formed a spectacular tit-for-tat-type relationship between Dr. Gregory and Dr. Goldwater, which The New York Times covered extensively. Dr. Gregory died in 1941.

Over the years, the building went from temple of health to a scary place you didn’t want to go, and was the subject of many films, novels and exposes. The hospital saw many celebrity patients. Norman Mailer was sent there after stabbing his wife in a drunken rage. William Burroughs after he chopped off his own finger to impress someone. Eugene O’Neill had several stays in the alcoholic ward. Sylvia Plath came after a nervous breakdown. And infamous criminals like George Metesky the “Mad Bomber,” and John Lennon’s assassin, Mark David Chapman, were briefly committed to the hospital. 

In 1984, the city began transitioning the building into a homeless shelter and intake center, but much of it was left empty. Around 2008, a proposal to turn the building into a hotel surfaced. To developers, the building was naturally suited to such a use, given the H-shaped layout with long hallways and small rooms.


Rivington Baths

The Rivington Street Bath House at 326 Rivington Street, later renamed the Baruch Bath House, was the first in the city to be built with public funds. The ground-breaking for the bathhouse took place in December 1897; it opened on March 23, 1901. 

Public Bath Building, Rivington Street, Cady, Berg & See, South Elevation, 1897, ink on linen. Manhattan Building Plan Collection, NYC Municipal Archives.

Architects Cady, Berg & See designed the large, neoclassical building. They had become the go-to designers for municipal bath houses after the success of the People’s Bath, a public bath that had been privately funded by the New York Association for Improving the Condition of the Poor (the AICP). The People’s Bath opened in 1891 at 9 Centre Market Place, near Broome Street, on the block where the old Police Headquarters building still stands. The architects and Dr. Simon Baruch, regarded as the “father of the public bath movement in the United States,” were keen on German design and their widespread use of showers – which, at the time, were referred to as rain baths or ring showers because of the circular shower head, designed to keep hair dry. The Germans were using showers for mass bathing situations, such as in military barracks. Showers were cheaper to build, easier to keep clean, used less water and could get people in and out faster, and became the staple of bathhouses.

Dr. Simon Baruch, who the Rivington Street Bathhouse was eventually named after, emigrated from Germany to South Carolina when he was a teenager. He studied medicine and joined the Civil War as a surgeon on the confederate side. Captured at the Battle of Gettysburg, he was held as a prisoner of war for the duration of the conflict. He made his way to New York City in 1881, served as a physician on the Lower East Side, and achieved prominence in the New York medical field.

Manhattan Block 324, 1891, Bromley Atlas, New York Public Library

Dr. Baruch began advocating for public bathhouses in 1889. He was big on hydrotherapy, at the time a new concept in the United States, and this guided many of his endeavors. Municipal officials weren’t as sold on this concept that poor sanitation would equal poor physical health, but Baruch was tireless in promoting the utility of water and importance of a public bath system. For some reason, he was in the minority – even though in 1894, only 306 out of 255,000 tenements in New York City had bathtubs. “The people won’t bathe,” said then-Mayor Hugh Grant. But by 1895, Baruch finally convinced the State Legislature to pass a law that mandated cities with a population greater than 50,000 to establish and maintain free bath facilities.

Logistics around the new bath law and facilitation of public bathhouses caused some lag. One of the hiccups concerned their locations. Tompkins Square Park on the Lower East Side, then a predominantly German and Irish neighborhood, had been chosen as the location for the first bath. The residents couldn’t have been less thrilled by this prospect.  They did not want to be living in the community thought to be so poor that they needed a public bath. Essentially, they said it should go to the newer Jewish and Italian immigrant communities, located further south. And they did not want the bathhouse to take away from their already too-little park space. Their opposition was heard; Tompkins Square was no longer a contender. There was also a question of whether public baths even had to be located in parks; the mayor and his committee on public baths thought it did; Baruch said they did not. Somehow, they came over to Baruch’s side and the spot on Rivington Street, already owned by the city, was chosen.

Public Bath Building, Rivington Street, Cady, Berg & See, First floor plan; showers and waiting area for men and women, 1897, ink on linen. Manhattan Building Plan Collection, NYC Municipal Archives.

Public Bath Building, Rivington Street, Cady, Berg & See, Longitudinal section, baths on upper floors, 1897, ink on linen.  Manhattan Building Plan Collection, NYC Municipal Archives. 

The style of the Rivington Street Bathhouse influenced the style of subsequently built baths in the city. William Paul Gerhard, author of Modern Baths and Bath Houses (1908), said that the exterior of a people’s bath – or public bath – should be easily recognizable so it would be easily found. But he also warned that it shouldn’t be so lavish that the poor wouldn’t want to come. The Rivington Street bath design wasn’t exactly modest and met criticism for its extravagance and cost—eventually totaling more than $95,000 ($2,995,000 in today’s dollars). Of course, after its immediate success, the AICP recommended that another 16 bathhouses be built to the same specifications, saying it was actually more economical to build (cost less per shower compartment) and to maintain for the long haul. They aimed for the ancient Roman public bath-look with classical pilasters, columns, arches and cornices, constructed with hefty materials like brick, terra cotta, stone marble and copper, and with ornamental iron work. Whatever its appearance, the bathing experience was pretty much the same throughout the city’s bathhouses. 

Public Bath Building, Rivington Street, Cady, Berg & See, Plumbing plan, 1897, ink on linen. Manhattan Building Plan Collection, NYC Municipal Archives.

Public Bath Building, Rivington Street, Cady, Berg & See, Longitudinal section, 1897, ink on linen. Manhattan Building Plan Collection, NYC Municipal Archives.

At Rivington Street, the three-and-a-half story building was divided into two spaces for a dedicated men’s and women’s area, each with a waiting room. The men’s area was about 2/3 of the building with 45 rain baths, or, showers; the women had 22. A handful of bathtubs were on the upper floors. Each bath cubicle was divided into two parts – a dressing area and a shower, separated by a curtain. When a patron entered the bathhouse, they were given a number, and then they would wait for their number to be called for the next available cubicle. They usually had 20 minutes to undress, bathe and redress – Rivington had the capacity to accommodate 3,000 bathers per day on this timetable. Attendants controlled the water temperature, which ranged between 73 to 105 degrees F, and the duration of the shower – I’m sure it will come to no surprise to learn that the attendants soon began running a scheme, where patrons could sneak them five cents for a limitless bath time. Eventually they got caught and were fired. Pools were later added to the complex in 1917.

Rivington Street Bath, Manhattan Block 324, Lot 36, 1940 Tax Photograph Collection, NYC Municipal Archives.

Rivington Street Bath, Manhattan Block 324, Lot 36, 1940 Tax Photograph Collection, NYC Municipal Archives.

In 1939, Bernard Baruch, Dr. Baruch’s son, donated the land around the bathhouse to the city, and jurisdiction of the building went to the Parks Department. They renovated the bathhouse as a recreation center and added Baruch Playground. In the 1950s, the New York City Housing Authority built Baruch Houses, Manhattan’s largest public housing complex adjacent to the bathhouse. By 1975, the city’s fiscal crisis forced the facility to close, and has pretty much sat unused

Inside the Manhattan Building Plan Collection

On March 30, 2021, archivists Amy Stecher and Alexandra Hilton conducted a virtual “behind the scenes” look at the Manhattan Building Plans project for DORIS’s “Lunch and Learn” program. In this week’s blog Amy Stecher has adapted her presentation which focused on the challenges and complexities in preserving and digitizing the architectural plans. Next week, Alexandra Hilton will discuss some of the architectural gems that have been identified in the collection. 

Fire of 1776. Library of Congress Collection.

Fire of 1776. Library of Congress Collection.

The collection consists of architectural plans for most buildings on the 958 blocks of Manhattan below 34th Street. They date from establishment of the Department of Buildings (DOB) in 1866 through 1978.  The plans had been submitted to the DOB by builders, architects, plumbers, electricians, etc., as part of the process to receive a permit to build or alter any structure. 

Regulations concerning buildings pre-date the DOB.  In 1625, the Dutch West India Company imposed rules for the locations and types of houses that could be built in the colony.  Among the edicts were prohibitions on roofs made of reeds, and wooden or plaster chimneys.  Throughout the next 200 years, city leaders enacted an array of building regulations, mostly related to sanitation and public safety, particularly from the hazard of fire. There was good reason for this.  Fires devastated the city in 1776, 1835, and 1845.  The 1845 fire destroyed 345 buildings in the financial district and killed 40 people.  In 1816, the city banned new construction of  wood-frame structures below Canal Street and in 1849 the ban was extended to 32nd Street. By 1882, no wood-frame buildings were allowed below 155th Street.

Evolution of a tenement, from single-to-multiple-family structures, an illustration from the Tenement House Commission Report of 1895. NYC Municipal Library.

Evolution of a tenement, from single-to-multiple-family structures, an illustration from the Tenement House Commission Report of 1895. NYC Municipal Library.

In addition to fire, the exponential growth of the city necessitated additional building regulations. The city’s population increased from 60,000 people in 1800, to 800,000 in 1860.  To accommodate this expansion, single-family homes were sub-divided, additional floors were added, and extensions were built into their already small yards, leaving little open space for light or ventilation. By 1865, more than 15,000 tenement-style houses had already been built.

During the 18th and 19th century the city experienced cholera, yellow fever, and typhoid epidemics. Overcrowding and close quarters with little ventilation and unsanitary conditions contributed to the spread of disease.

Caption:  The introduction of new technologies such as the elevator and steel-frame construction allowed ever-larger and taller buildings to rise in Lower Manhattan.  The collection includes an elaborate fire-escape for the building on Was…

Caption:  The introduction of new technologies such as the elevator and steel-frame construction allowed ever-larger and taller buildings to rise in Lower Manhattan.  The collection includes an elaborate fire-escape for the building on Washington Place where the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory fire occurred.  DOB Collection.  NYC Municipal Archives.

In 1860 the New York State Legislature passed “An Act to provide against unsafe buildings in the City of New York…,” calling for the appointment of a Superintendent of Buildings and a staff of inspectors. Over the next 40 years, the city and state enacted new regulations, including establishment of the Bureau of Fire Escapes and Iron Work in 1874, and the Bureaus of Plumbing, Light, and Heat in 1892.

Other laws passed in 1867 and 1879 mandated fire escapes but failed to adequately address issues of light and ventilation.  This resulted in the Tenement Act of 1901, which imposed many more regulations, such as requiring new buildings to have outward-facing windows, indoor bathrooms, proper ventilation, and increased fire safeguards.  Population growth also meant that the City’s economy grew and became more complex, creating the need for larger and more versatile spaces.

Advances in the water supply system, sanitary engineering, access to gas and electricity for illumination and cooking, and central heating systems added to the complexity of building construction and to the variety of types of plans that needed to b…

Advances in the water supply system, sanitary engineering, access to gas and electricity for illumination and cooking, and central heating systems added to the complexity of building construction and to the variety of types of plans that needed to be filed.  New lighting fixtures in the District Attorney’s office on Centre Street.  DOB Collection.  NYC Municipal Archives.

Of the thousands of plumbing drawings, one of our favorites is a very artistic sink and toilet drawing for the Manhattan House of Detention.  DOB Collection.  NYC Municipal Archives.

Of the thousands of plumbing drawings, one of our favorites is a very artistic sink and toilet drawing for the Manhattan House of Detention.  DOB Collection.  NYC Municipal Archives.

Permit and application correspondence in block and lot folders, DOB Collection.  NYC Municipal Archives.

Permit and application correspondence in block and lot folders, DOB Collection.  NYC Municipal Archives.

Permit applications and filed plans are arranged according to the Block and Lot number, a system that provides every city parcel of land with a unique identifying number.  Insurance atlases are a helpful tool in identifying historical block and…

Permit applications and filed plans are arranged according to the Block and Lot number, a system that provides every city parcel of land with a unique identifying number.  Insurance atlases are a helpful tool in identifying historical block and lot numbers. 1897 Bromley Atlas. New York Public Library online resource.

Increasingly, trained architects and engineers, rather than tradespeople and builders, were needed to navigate the complexities of the system and to submit plans and application forms. The DOB retained the bulk of these materials until the early 1970s when it initiated a pilot project to save space by microfilming the building plans that had accumulated over the previous century. They employed an outside vendor for the microfilming, intending to dispose of the original materials after filming. The idea of disposing of the original material raised alarms among the city’s community of historians, architects, and preservationists, including the Landmarks Preservation Commission. They monitored the quality of the microfilm and it was determined that the film did not meet accepted standards. The project was discontinued after filming the surviving plans for all buildings on the 958 blocks of Lower Manhattan below 34th Street. At that point they transferred the plans to Municipal Archives.

Roll plans from the DOB in storage. NYC Municipal Archives.

Roll plans from the DOB in storage. NYC Municipal Archives.

In 1979, an initial group of 1,000 rolls of blueprints and plans were transferred to the Municipal Archives, and more kept coming. By 1984, the archives conducted an inventory of the accumulated rolled plans and concluded that they had acquired a total of 5,738 rolls of plans. Until 2018, these plans were in storage in the same state they arrived in, occasionally being pulled by archives staff for use by researchers if they knew they existed.

In 2018, the Municipal Archives received support from the New York State Library Conservation/Preservation Discretionary Grant Program to process and re-house a subset of the Manhattan Building plans that pertained to the neighborhoods of Tribeca and Soho. This allowed staff to be hired to begin to process the plans. After the approximately 140 blocks encompassing those two neighborhoods were completed in the fall of 2019, the archivists started working on the lowest blocks in Manhattan.

Poor storage conditions and improper handling during the microfilming process resulted in damage to the plans.  DOB Collection.  NYC Municipal Archives.

Poor storage conditions and improper handling during the microfilming process resulted in damage to the plans.  DOB Collection.  NYC Municipal Archives.

Less than ideal storage conditions have led to some daunting issues in processing the collection. The microfilm vendor haphazardly and messily rewrapped the plans in acidic wrapping paper tightly tied with damaging twine and labelled the “bundle” with minimal, and often insufficient, information. 

It’s a big task for our rolled plans processing team to process and rehouse these plans to reestablish intellectual control over the material and to create more optimal retrieval and storage conditions. Here is a look at some of the tasks we perform on each roll.

Plans separated by mylar and re-rolled.  DOB Collection.  NYC Municipal Archives.

Plans separated by mylar and re-rolled.  DOB Collection.  NYC Municipal Archives.

The re-rolled plans are stored in archival containers. DOB Collection. NYC Municipal Archives. 

The re-rolled plans are stored in archival containers. DOB Collection. NYC Municipal Archives. 

First, the dusty bundles are un-rolled and the plans are identified, sorted, flattened, repaired if damaged, counted and cataloged, and carefully and neatly re-rolled onto acid-free tubes, wrapped with protective Mylar, and stored in acid-free boxes. The method for organizing the plans is according to the building’s block and lot number; all the plans for all the buildings or structures built on a particular city lot, and all the changes and alterations made to an already existing building on that lot, are stored together. When sorting the plans, we verify the block and lot information and record it in a spreadsheet, as well as addresses, quantity of plans, dates, and notes on architects, important features, and major condition concerns that are passed on to our conservation department. 

A block can contain up to 70 or 80 lots, sometimes all rolled together. Over time, when buildings are expanded or torn down, and new larger buildings are built, or buildings are combined, the lot number can change. The lot numbers written on these plans (often written very boldly in horrifying black magic marker!!!!) are essentially only accurate for the location identification as it was in the 1970s. This mean that we do not know the contents of a bundle until it is unrolled.   

When we identify the plans, we record the block and lot number from when the plan was filed as well as the current identifying information listed in the DOB BIS (Building Information System). Our concern is that researchers might request materials based on numbers from the DOB BIS, or from insurance atlases, or old block and lot maps, which may not match up with 1970s labeling. Our goal is to provide multiple entry points.  

After unrolling, plans are under boards and light weights. DOB Collection.  NYC Municipal Archives.

After unrolling, plans are under boards and light weights. DOB Collection.  NYC Municipal Archives.

The drawings span more than 100 years and many print types created by many different processes are represented in the collection. During processing they are sorted according to print type and separated by sheets of Mylar to avoid chemical migration between the different types of plans.

Plan types. Blueprint. DOB Collection. NYC Municipal Archives.

Plan types. Blueprint. DOB Collection. NYC Municipal Archives.

Plan types: Aniline print. DOB Collection. NYC Municipal Archives.

Plan types: Aniline print. DOB Collection. NYC Municipal Archives.

Plan types. Drawing on drafting linen. DOB Collection. NYC Municipal Archives. 

Plan types. Drawing on drafting linen. DOB Collection. NYC Municipal Archives. 

After processing, the containers and re-shelved. DOB Collection. NYC Municipal Archives. 

After processing, the containers and re-shelved. DOB Collection. NYC Municipal Archives. 

We have processed almost 30,000 drawings but there’s a lot more work to be done! Clearly, it is a really big, multi-year project, but it’s very worth it. Now, when we receive inquiries about plans from researchers, we can tell immediately whether we do or do not hold plans for a particular address or block and lot number, and can supply quantity and date information simply by checking the spreadsheet. Retrieval of the actual plans once they are processed takes minutes instead of hours and almost everything that has been processed is in a state that is now ready for scanning because the flattening and repair has already been performed. As of now we are scanning on demand for researchers as well as digitizing particularly interesting or beautiful plans so they can be part of our online gallery. 

It’s also worth doing the work because the collection has so much to offer that is now becoming more accessible to the public.  

Look for next week’s blog where we highlight some of the amazing plans that have been identified in the collection. 

New York Life Insurance Building, , elevation, McKim Mead & White, 1903.  Manhattan Building Plan collection. NYC Municipal Archives.

New York Life Insurance Building, , elevation, McKim Mead & White, 1903.  Manhattan Building Plan collection. NYC Municipal Archives.

Victory Gardens

As we pass the one-year mark of the pandemic, and head into another Spring season, our thoughts turn again to the outdoors and the natural world. For many, New York City parks are an oasis. But for some, gardens—in the backyard, or in a shared community plot—provide a refuge.

The Brooklyn Botanic Garden, Spring Courses, 1942.  Mayor LaGuardia Collection, NYC Municipal Archives.

A recent New York Times article about the unexpected popularity of a British television gardening show observed that “...with restaurants, bars and theaters shut down, and socializing at home (or anywhere else) risky, gardening was one of the few leisure activities the pandemic didn’t take away. Both Britain and the United Sates experienced a garden boom last year, with sales of seeds way up and nurseries overrun on weekends.” (New York Times, “Finding Refuge in Dirty Hands and Comfort TV,” March 14, 2021.)  The March 2021 issue of Gardner News similarly reported “Containers were purchased. Planting mediums were purchased. Annuals and perennials were purchased to fill the containers. Home Victory Gardens filled with vegetable, fruit, and herbs served as a successful means of easing stress and safeguarding against food shortages.” (Gardner News, “March Madness,” March 2021.)  

Victory Gardens? Wasn’t that a World War II phenomenon? Were there Victory Gardens in dense, paved-over New York City? The answer is yes, and yes—during World War II, thousands of New Yorkers planted “Victory Gardens” not so much for mental health but as a food source.

Do the collections of the Municipal Archives serve to document Victory Gardens in New York? The answer is again yes, and we turn to the always rewarding Mayor Fiorello LaGuardia collection (1934-1945) to tell the story. Searching the inventory brings up results in two series, the subject files, and the civil defense volunteer office records.   

The Brooklyn Botanic Garden, Spring Radio Programs, 1942.  Mayor LaGuardia Collection, NYC Municipal Archives.

The New York Botanical Garden Spring Course Brochure. Mayor LaGuardia Collection, NYC Municipal Archives.

“We must be out of it for the present.”

In February 1942, two months after President Franklin D. Roosevelt declared war against the Axis powers, Mayor LaGuardia wrote Claude R. Wickard, Secretary of the United States Department of Agriculture.  He asked “...whether the Department was designing a program for large cities with respect to the establishment of Victory Gardens for the purpose of raising vegetables.”

Wickhard’s reply was discouraging. He explained that fertilizer would be scarce as the chemicals would be needed for munitions. He added that the supply of vegetable seeds, often imported from Europe, would be cut off. And finally, he stated, “It is ill-advised to plant a garden on poor soil such as will be found in many city back yards.” In forwarding a copy of Wickard’s letter to other City officials, LaGuardia concluded, “…as a general city proposition, we must be out of it for the present.

Mayor LaGuardia to Secretary of Agriculture, Postal Telegraph, January 28, 1943. Mayor LaGuardia Collection, NYC Municipal Archives.

“Little do they realize the amount of labor involved.”

One year later, correspondence in the subject file tells a different story. By 1943, there had been escalating calls for a Victory Garden program in the city. LaGuardia again contacted Agriculture Secretary Wickard. The reply, from Assistant Secretary Grover B. Hill, was much more promising: “The Department recommends that everyone who has access to open sunny garden space with fertile soil should have a Victory Garden. By doing this many families will be assured of a more adequate supply of vegetables near their homes, relieving the strain on transportation and making it possible to increase the supplies for our armed forces, our allies, and the civilian population.” Hill pointed to the example of Chicago where residents had planted 12,000 gardens within the city limits. He recommended that LaGuardia form a committee of people interested in gardening in New York City and develop a program. He helpfully enclosed a copy of the Department’s brochure “The Victory Gardens Campaign.”   

Victory Gardens Leaflet No. 4 Garden Care, Cooperative Extension Work in Agriculture and Home Economics, State of New York. Mayor LaGuardia Collection, NYC Municipal Archives.

LaGuardia still had reservations, however. In a letter dated February 5, 1943, Mary A. Smith, of Forest Hills, Queens, wrote to the Mayor, “...hearing rumors to the effect that Victory Gardens would be leased by the City to interested gardeners.” She added, “I live in Queens; am a good gardener; and can devote late afternoons and weekends to the task.”  LaGuardia replied “…the greater percentage of city-owned property, particularly in highly developed portions of our boroughs would not be suitable for gardening.” He also took the opportunity to comment that “…a great many people get the idea that all that is required to have a garden is a piece of land, make some furrows, plant some seeds, and nature will do the rest.  Little do they realize the amount of labor involved.”

Victory Gardens Leaflet No. 1, Selecting and Ordering Seed, Cooperative Extension Work in Agriculture and Home Economics, State of New York.  Mayor LaGuardia Collection, NYC Municipal Archives.

Soon, LaGuardia rallied to the idea. The files include transcripts of his popular Sunday Radio Broadcasts where he spoke about the growing demand for and interest in Victory Gardens. According to the transcript of his March 19, 1943 program on radio station WEAF, LaGuardia remarked that “Planting a Victory Garden and caring for it properly requires a lot of hard work. I’m glad that there are so many New Yorkers who realize this but who are still willing, nevertheless, to devote themselves to this job.” He also announced that potential gardeners could visit designated Parks Department offices to request a soil analysis and receive advice on its suitability for gardening.

Which brings us to Parks Commissioner Robert Moses. Needless to say, he had an opinion on the Victory Garden program. His correspondence with LaGuardia made it clear that City park land would not be offered for “...conversion... [to] farm purposes.” In typical Moses fashion, he nipped the idea in the bud: “...it would just not work.”  

Victory Garden Issue, Journal of the New York Botanical Garden, March 1943. Mayor LaGuardia Collection, NYC Municipal Archives.

“A splendid contribution.”

The victory garden subject files include many fine examples of LaGuardia’s legendary attention to all matters of City administration, large and small. On March 27, 1943, Hazel Mac Dougall, from the Civilian Defense Volunteer Office (CDVO) in Queens wrote to LaGuardia informing him that there were many vacant lots in her Borough suitable for Victory Gardens, but determining ownership was difficult. She asked if he would intercede with the City Register to waive fees charged to search for the name of the property owner. LaGuardia promptly contacted the City Register who agreed to reduce the fee to fifty cents, and to assign a clerk in each Borough to assist with the process. The Register also took the opportunity to lecture the mayor about how much work was involved in searching property records.

Victory Garden Leaflet No. 1, United States Department of Agriculture, Extension Service, 1942.  Mayor LaGuardia Collection, NYC Municipal Archives.

Then there was Frank R. Whipple, of Chicago. He wrote to Mayor LaGuardia on September 4, 1943. He explained that he grew up on a farm and “…never lost interest in the farm or in farm products. It seemed appropriate, therefore, to have corn as a hobby and to feature it in an exhibit in my store.” He went on to explain he was expanding his exhibit to include a special section devoted to samples of corn gown in Victory Gardens, and wouldn’t Mayor LaGuardia like to ship a sample from New York City? Sure, why not. LaGuardia contacted the Commissioner of the Department of Markets who procured an ear of corn from the garden of one Mr. Brown at 5609 Clarendon Road, Brooklyn. In sending the corn to the Mayor, the Commissioner had to admit that “corn is on its way out,” and the sample was “not a very husky product,” but “the kernels are not too bad looking.” LaGuardia’s secretary duly posted the product to Chicago.

In September of 1944, five self-described teen-aged boys wrote to the Mayor and asked if they could use a vacant lot on Midwood Street, Brooklyn, “...for the purpose of a victory garden. We have had success in gardens of our own, and wish to put our experience and labors into a larger garden.” They wanted “written permission to use this land” from the Mayor. LaGuardia dispatched the letter to the Bureau of Real Estate who advised the mayor to refer the boys to their local CDVO for assistance. LaGuardia replied to the boys with that information but took the time to add “…while I know you have had fun, I also know that you are making a splendid contribution to insure Victory to our beloved Country. I might also add that the knowledge you have gained could not be learned in any classroom, and the reward for your efforts [is] something invaluable that can never be taken from you.” 

Seed Annual for 1945, Victory Garden Issue, Stumpp & Walter Co.  Mayor LaGuardia Collection, NYC Municipal Archives.

“An amazing job.”

By 1945, the correspondence mostly concerned measuring the success of the Victory Garden program. In a letter dated March 13, 1945, Albert Hoefer, State 4-H Club Leader boasted: “One would never suspect that the territory embraced by Manhattan, the Bronx, Kings, Queens and Richmond Counties has very much suitable land for food production purposes, yet the people of these areas somehow contrived to find sufficient space for over 400,000 Victory Gardens in 1944.” In another March 1945 letter, C. F. Wedell, Victory Garden Specialist of the Cooperative Extension in the State of New York, urged LaGuardia to “speak to your great radio audience” on behalf of continuing the Victory Garden work through the 1945 growing season. “Since you with your accustomed vigor and understanding formally opened the Victory Garden Program in 1943, the gardeners of Greater New York have done an amazing job,” he concluded.

The Victory Garden story once again vividly demonstrates Mayor LaGuardia’s devotion and attention to the people and affairs of his city. His collection is one of the most engaging, entertaining, and informative of all the mayoral series in the Municipal Archives and we look forward to welcoming back researchers to explore this unique treasure in the coming months.