Lights and Shadows of New York Life

J >> James D. McCabe >> Lights and Shadows of New York Life

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"Every mother's son of them had his fists anchored in his breeches
pockets, and swaggered about, nudging each other's ribs with their sharp
little elbows. They were not many minutes together before a battle took
place. Some one had tripped 'Gums,' and one of his old shoes flew into
the air. I think he of the white coat was the rascal, but being dubbed a
philosopher, he did his best to look very wise, but a slap on the side of
the ridge of his white collar upset his dignity, and 'Horace' 'went in,'
and his bony fists rattled away on the close-shaven pate of 'Gums.'

"The doors are now unbarred, and this ragged 'pent up little Utica' rends
itself, but not without much more scratching and much swearing. O, the
cold-blooded oaths that rang from those young lips! As the passage to
the pit is by a sort of cellar door, I lost sight of the young scamps as
the last one pitched down its gloomy passage.

"In the human stream--in a whirlpool of fellow-beings--nudging their way
to the boxes and the upper tiers, I now found myself. It was a terrible
struggle; females screaming, were eddied around and around until their
very faces were in a wire cage of their own 'skeletons.'

"'Look out for pickpockets,' shouted a Metropolitan. Every body then
tried to button his coat over his breast, and every body gave it up as a
bad job. In at last, but with the heat of that exertion--the smell of
the hot gas--the fetid breath of two thousand souls, not particular,
many, as to the quality of their gin--what a sweltering bath follows!
The usher sees a ticket clutched before him, and a breathless individual
saying wildly, 'Where?' He points to a distant part of the house, and
the way to it is through a sea of humanity. A sort of a Dead Sea, for
one can walk on it easier than he can dive through it. I shall never
know how I got there at last; all I remember now are the low curses, the
angry growls and a road over corns and bunions.

"The prompter's bell tingles and then tingles again. The bearded Germans
of the orchestra hush their music, and the big field of green baize
shoots to the cob-web arch.

"Now is the time to scan the scene--that teeming house--that instant when
all faces are turned eagerly to the foot-lights, waiting breathlessly the
first sound of the actor's voice. The restlessness of that tossing sea
of humanity is at a dead calm now. Every nook and cranny is
occupied--none too young--none too old to be there at the rise of the
curtain. The suckling infant 'mewling and puking in its mother's arms.'
The youngster rubbing his sleepy eyes. The timid Miss, half frightened
with the great mob and longing for the fairy world to be created. Elder
boys and elder sisters. Mothers, fathers, and the wrinkled old
grand-sire. Many of these men sit in their shirt-sleeves, sweating in
the humid atmosphere. Women are giving suck to fat infants.
Blue-shirted sailors encircle their black-eyed Susans, with brawny arms
(they make no 'bones' of showing their honest love in this democratic
temple of Thespis). Division street milliners, black-eyed, rosy-cheeked,
and flashy dressed sit close to their jealous-eyed lovers. Little Jew
boys, with glossy ringlets and beady black eyes, with teeth and noses
like their fat mammas and avaricious-looking papas, are yawning
everywhere. Then there is a great crowd of roughs, prentice boys and
pale, German tailors--the latter with their legs uncrossed for a
relaxation. Emaciated German and Italian barbers, you know them from
their dirty linen, their clean-shaven cheeks and their locks redolent
with bear's grease.

"Through this mass, wandering from pit to gallery, go the red-shirted
peanut-venders, and almost every jaw in the vast concern is crushing
nut-shells. You fancy you hear it in the lulls of the play like a low
unbroken growl.

"In the boxes sit some very handsome females--rather loudly dressed,--but
beauty will beam and flash from any setting.

"Lean over the balcony, and behold in the depths below the famous pit,
now crowded by that gang of little outlaws we parted with a short time
ago.

"Of old times--of a bygone age--is this institution. In no other theatre
in the whole town is that choice spot yielded to the unwashed. But this
is the 'Bowery,' and those squally little spectators so busy scratching
their close-mown polls, so vigorously pummeling each other, so
unmercifully rattaned by despotic ushers--they are its best patrons.

"And are they not, in their light, great critics, too? Don't they know
when to laugh, when to blubber, and when to applaud, and don't they know
when to _hiss_, though! What a _fiat_ is their withering hiss! What
poor actor dare brave it? It has gone deep, deep into many a poor
player's heart and crushed him forever.

"The royal road to a news-boy's heart is to rant in style.

"Versatile Eddy and vigorous Boniface are the lads, in our day, for the
news-boys' stamps.

"Ranting is out of the female line, but Bowery actresses have a
substitute for it.

"At the proper moment, they draw themselves up in a rigid statue, they
flash their big eyes, they dash about wildly their dishevelled hair, with
out-stretched arms and protruding chins they then shriek out,
V-i-l-l-a-i-n!

"O, Fannie Herring! what a tumult you have stirred up in the roused pit!
No help for it, my dear lady. See, there's 'Horace,' standing on his
seat and swinging his big blue cap in a cloud of other caps--encore!
encore! And the pretty actress bows to the pit, and there is more joy in
her heart from the yells of those skinny little throats than from all the
flowers that ladies and gents from above may pelt her with.

"The bill of fare for an evening's entertainment at the Old Bowery is as
long as your cane, and the last piece takes us far into the night--yet
the big house sits it out, and the little ones sleep it out, and the
tired actor well earns his pay.

"I'll not criticise the acting--a great part of the community thinks it's
beyond the pale of criticism--this peculiarity of tearing things to
pieces, and tossing around 'supes' promiscuously.

"And another thing, those little ungodly imps down there have a great
appreciation of virtue and pathos. They dash their dirty fists into
their peepers at the childish treble of a little Eva--and they cheer, O,
so lustily, when Chastity sets her heavy foot upon the villain's heart
and points her sharp sword at his rascal throat. They are very fickle in
their bestowal of approbation, and their little fires die out or swell
into a hot volcano according to the vehemence of the actor. 'Wake me up
when Kirby dies,' said a veteran little denizen of the pit to his
companions, and he laid down on the bench to snooze.

"'Mind yer eye, Porgie,' said his companion, before Porgie had got a
dozen winks. 'I think ther's somthen goen to bust now.' Porgie's friend
had a keen scent for sensation.

"As I came out, at the end of the performance, I again saw 'Horace.' He
had just rescued a 'butt' from a watery grave in the gutter. 'Jeminy!
don't chaps about town smoke 'em awful short now'days!' was the
observation of the young philosopher.

"The theatre is almost the only amusement that the ragged newsboy has,
apart from those of the senses. The Newsboys' Lodging House, which has
been the agent of so much good among this neglected class of our
population, find the late hours of the theatre a serious obstacle to
their usefulness. It is safe to say that if the managers of the two
Bowery Theatres would close at an earlier hour, say eleven o'clock, they
would prosper as greatly as at present, and the boys who patronize their
establishments would be much better off in body and mind. An effort is
about to be made to obtain this reform from the managers
voluntarily--instead of seeking legislative aid. We are quite sure it
will be for the interest of all to close the theatres early."

The Stadt Theatre, just across the street from the Old Bowery, is
exclusively a German establishment. It is a plain old-fashioned
building, without and within, but is worth a fortune to its proprietors.
The performances are given in the German language, and the company is
usually good. The prices are high and the audiences are large.
Occasionally a season of German opera is given. I doubt that a more
appreciative audience is to be found than that which assembles within the
walls of the Stadt on opera nights. They are to a man good judges and
dear lovers of music, and their applause, when it breaks forth, is a
spontaneous outburst which shakes the house to its foundations. It is
generously given, too, and must be particularly grateful to the
performers.

It is said that the members of the dramatic profession and the various
attaches of the theatres number 5000 persons. They constitute a class,
or rather a world of their own. We shall have more to say of some
portions of them in other chapters, and can only speak of them in a
general way here. As a rule they are poor, and are compelled to work
hard. Wallack's and a few other establishments pay good salaries and
have many "off nights," but of the majority of performers constant labor
is required, at poor pay. It is said that Forrest and Booth have
received as much as $500 per night, and that Jefferson and Owens are paid
at very near the same rate. The "stars," however, can make their own
terms, but the rank and file of the profession have to take what they can
get. The pay of these ranges from $15 to $50 per week. Some of the
leading ladies and gentlemen receive from $100 to $200 per week, but
these can be counted on the fingers of one hand. Considering the work,
the pay is poor, for an actor's life requires an immense amount of study
and preparation, and is terribly trying to the nervous system. At some
of the theatres three performances are sometimes given in a single day,
the same members of the company appearing each time.

"Ballet girls," says Olive Logan, "get from $8 to $15 per week; the
prompter $25 to $30; the call boy $15; the property man's salary ranges
from $15 to $30. Then there are men up in the rigging loft, who attend
to the flies and the curtain wheel, and various assistants, at salaries
of $20 and $10. There are from two to three scene painters at salaries
of from $60 to $100. The back door keeper has $10, and two women to
clean the theatre every day at $6 each. The orchestra consists of a
leader, at $100, and from twelve to sixteen musicians, whose salaries
range from $30 to $18 a week. The gasman and fireman get from $6 to $25
a week; costumer or wardrobe keeper $20 to $40; dressers $5 to $6; ushers
$4 to $6; doorkeepers $12; policeman $5; treasurer $25 to $40."

One of the most important positions in the establishment is the ticket
clerk. The receipts of the house pass through his hands, and as a
constant effort is made to pass off bad money in this way, it is
necessary to have some one in this position who is a good judge of money.
In some of the theatres a broker's clerk or bank clerk is employed in
this capacity.

With the exception of Wallack's, the Fifth Avenue, and perhaps Booth's,
the theatres generally change their companies every season. The houses
named retain the favorites, and there are among these companies many
whose loss would be loudly deplored by the theatre-going people of the
city. Many of the best actors, having distinguished themselves here,
assume the rank of stars, and play engagements throughout the States. A
metropolitan reputation will carry them successfully over the whole
Union.

II. MINOR AMUSEMENTS.

Next in popularity to the theatres are the performances of the Negro
Minstrels. Some of these companies have permanent halls which they
occupy during the winter. The summer and early autumn are spent in
travelling through the country. The principal companies are Bryant's and
the San Francisco Minstrels.

Dan Bryant is now the proprietor of a beautiful little theatre in
Twenty-third street, just west of the Sixth avenue. It is one of the
cosiest and most comfortable places in the city, and is usually filled
with an audience of city people of the better class. The music is good,
the singing excellent, and the mirth unrestrained and hearty. Dan
Bryant, himself one of the most irresistibly humorous delineators of the
"burnt cork opera," has collected a band of genuine artists, and has
fairly won his success. He has raised Negro Minstrelsy to the dignity of
a fashionable amusement, and has banished from it all that is coarse and
offensive. Men worn out with business cares go there to laugh, and they
do laugh most heartily. I think that even the king who "never smiled
again," would have been forced to hold his sides here. Families come by
the score to laugh at the vagaries of the sable minstrels, and the mirth
of the little folks is one of the heartiest and healthiest sounds to be
heard in the great city.

Next in order are the concerts. These are well patronized when the
performers are well known. There are several fine halls used for
concerts and lectures. The principal are Steinway Hall, in Fourteenth
street, and Irving Hall, in Irving Place.

Lectures also draw largely. The principal halls used for this purpose
are Steinway Hall, and the Halls of the Young Men's Christian Association
and the Cooper Institute.

Last, but not least in the estimation of New Yorkers, is the Circus.
This is a permanent entertainment during the fall and winter. The
performances are given in a handsome iron building located on Fourteenth
street, opposite Irving Place. The building is in the form of a circus
tent, and is lighted with gas, and warmed by steam coils. The audiences
are large, and consist to a great extent of children. The little folks
are very fond of the sports of the ring, and are among Mr. Lent's best
patrons.

XXXVI. THE MARKETS.

The principal markets of New York are the Fulton, Washington, Jefferson,
Catharine, Union, Clinton, Franklin, Centre, and Tompkins Markets. With
the exception of Tompkins Market, they are, as far as the houses are
concerned, unmitigated nuisances to the city. They are in the last
stages of dilapidation, and from without present the most ungainly
spectacles to be witnessed in New York. The streets around them are
always dirty and crowded, and in the hot days of the summer the air is
loaded with foul smells which arise from them.

Within, however, the scene is very different. The rickety old buildings
are crammed to repletion with everything edible the season affords. In
the summer the display of fruit is often magnificent. The products of
every section of the Union are piled up here in the greatest profusion.
The country for miles around the city has been stripped of its choicest
luxuries, and even the distant West, and the far-off South have sent
their contributions to the bountiful store. Meats, fish, and fowl also
abound, of every species and description. Indeed, one who has the means
can purchase here almost everything the heart can desire. The demand is
great, and the prices are high. The stock seems immense, but it
disappears rapidly. Fruits command high prices in New York, but sell
readily. The market is very rarely overstocked. The same may be said of
vegetables. Good vegetables are always in demand. Those who furnish
pure, fresh vegetables and meats are sure of a prosperous trade, but the
amount of tainted wares of this kind disposed of daily is surprising.
Nothing is lost here. Everything finds a purchaser.

[Picture: WASHINGTON MARKET.]

Two-thirds of the people of the city, to save time and trouble, deal with
the "corner groceries," and "provision stores," and never see the
markets, but still the number of persons patronizing these establishments
is very large. The sales begin between four and five o'clock in the
morning. The first comers are the caterers for the hotels, the
restaurants, the fashionable boarding houses and the mansions of the
rich, and the proprietors of the aforesaid "corner groceries" and
"provision stores." These latter charge their own customers an advance
of from twenty-five to fifty per cent. on the market rates. Prices are
high at this hour, and the best the market affords is quickly disposed
of. The hotels and restaurants leave standing orders with the dealers,
but always send their caterers to see that these orders are faithfully
executed. "Market-men have to be watched," say the caterers.

As the morning advances, prices decline. The dealers have reaped their
harvest, and can afford to "fall" on what is left. Now come those whose
means compel them to be content with indifferent fare. With them is seen
a perfect torrent of boarding-house keepers, who are too smart to come
when the prices are high and the articles good and fresh. Others, too,
the dealers will tell you, are independently wealthy, some are said to be
millionaires. They are niggardly as to their tables, though they make
great show in other respects, and they will haggle over the last penny.
Last of all, towards ten o'clock, and later, come the poor, to purchase
what is left. God help them! It is no wonder the death rate is large in
this class.

The best known markets are the Fulton, at the end of Fulton street, on
East River, and the Washington, at the western end of the same street, on
North River. Almost anything can be found in the Fulton market. There
are all kinds of provisions here; eating stands abound; bar rooms are
located in the cellars; cheap finery is offered by the bushel in some of
the stalls; books, newspapers, and periodicals are to be found in others,
at prices lower than those of the regular stores; and ice creams,
confections, and even hardware and dry goods are sold here. The oysters
of this market have a worldwide reputation. _Dorlan's_ oyster house is
the best known. It is a plain, rough-looking room, but it is patronized
by the best people in the city, for nowhere else on the island are such
delicious oysters to be had. Ladies in full street dress, young bloods
in all their finery, statesmen, distinguished soldiers, those whom you
will meet in the most exclusive drawing rooms of the avenue, come here to
partake of the proprietor's splendid "stews."

It is more than thirty years since Dorlan began business here, and he has
amassed a handsome fortune. He has done so by providing the best oysters
in the market. He is well known throughout the city, and is deservedly
popular. He is conscientious, upright in the minutest particular, and
gives his personal attention to every detail of his business. Although
very wealthy, he may still be seen at his stand, in his shirt sleeves, as
of old, superintending the operations of his establishment, and setting
an excellent example to younger men who are seeking to rise in the world.

The Washington market is more of a wholesale than a retail establishment.
Supplies of meat, fish, vegetables, etc., are usually sent to the
wholesale dealers here, to be sold on commission. These dealers will
frequently go into the country, and engage a truckman's entire crop of
vegetables and fruits, and then retail them to city dealers at their own
prices.

XXXVII. THE CHURCHES.

I. THE SACRED EDIFICES.

In some respects New York may be called "the City of Churches." It
contains 430 Protestant churches and chapels, with "sittings" for nearly
400,000 persons. Exclusive of endowments, the church property of the
Protestant denominations is estimated at over $30,000,000. The annual
expenses of these churches make an aggregate of about $1,500,000, and
they pay out in charities about $5,000,000 more. The Roman Catholics
have forty churches, each with a large and rapidly increasing
congregation. Their church property is estimated at about $4,000,000,
and their other property used for religious and educational purposes is
exceedingly valuable. The Greek Church has one congregation, now
worshipping in a temporary chapel. The Jews have twenty-seven
synagogues, some of which are very handsome. In all, there are nearly
500 edifices in New York used for the public worship of God.

The first churches built in the city were those of the Dutch. Their
church records are uninterrupted as far back as the year 1639. Their
successors are now known as the Reformed Dutch, and are now in possession
of twenty-five churches and chapels in the city. Some of these are very
handsome. The new Collegiate Church, at the northwest corner of the
Fifth avenue and Forty-eighth street, is to be built of brown stone, with
light stone trimmings. It is nearly completed, and when finished will be
one of the most massive and imposing church edifices in America.

The Protestant Episcopal Church was introduced into the city at the
advent of the English. The conquerors seized and appropriated to their
own use the old Dutch Church in the fort, and introduced the service of
the Church of England, which was continued there until the completion of
the first Trinity Church in 1697. This denomination now possesses
ninety-four churches and chapels in the city, and a number of benevolent
and charitable institutions. Its churches outnumber those of any other
denomination, and its membership is the wealthiest. The General
Theological Seminary of the Protestant Episcopal Church is located in New
York. Trinity, mentioned elsewhere in this work, is the principal
church. Grace, St. Thomas's, St. George's, Ascension, Calvary, the new
St. Bartholomew's, St. John's, Trinity Chapel, St. Paul's, St. Peter's,
the Transfiguration, and the Heavenly Rest, are among the most beautiful
in the city.

The Lutherans were the third in the order of their appearance in New
York. They were to be found here before the capture of the city by the
English, but their first church was not erected until 1702. It was a
small stone edifice, and was located at the corner of Broadway and Rector
street. They have now fifteen flourishing churches, and are very strong
in members and wealth.

The Presbyterians now constitute one of the largest and most flourishing
denominations of the city. Owing to the intolerance of the Established
Church and the Civil Government, they had considerable difficulty in
introducing their faith here. They at first met in private houses. In
1707, one of their ministers was heavily fined, and condemned to pay the
costs of the suit for preaching and baptizing a child in a private house.
In 1716 they organized their first society, and connected it with the
Philadelphia Presbytery. The city authorities now granted them
toleration, and allowed them to worship in the City Hall until 1719. In
the latter year they opened their first church in Wall street, near
Broadway. The Presbyterian churches and mission chapels of New York are
now as follows: Presbyterian proper, 70; United Presbyterian, 8; Reformed
Presbyterian, 7; Congregationalists, 9; making a total of 94. The
denomination is extremely wealthy, and many of its churches are noted for
their beauty and magnificence. The Presbyterians also support a number
of noble benevolent and charitable enterprises.

The Baptists, like the Presbyterians, had considerable difficulty in
establishing themselves here. In 1709, a Baptist minister was sentenced
to three months' imprisonment for preaching in New York without the
permission of the city authorities. For some time the Baptists were
subjected to considerable hostility, and were often obliged to immerse
their proselytes by night to avoid interruption. Their first church was
erected on Golden Hill, now known as Gold street, about 1725. The
various branches of this denomination have now about fifty churches and
chapels in the city. The First and the Fifth Avenue Churches are among
the wealthiest corporations in the city, and their sacred edifices are
noted for their beauty and elegance.

The Methodists appeared here soon after their church had become strong in
Great Britain. In 1766, Philip Embury, an Irishman, and a local preacher
in the Wesleyan Church, began to hold religious services in his own
house, in Barrack Row, now Park Place, to a congregation of half a dozen
persons. The church growing greatly in numbers, a large room was rented
for public worship on what is now William street, between Fulton and John
streets, and was used by them until the completion of their first church
in John street, in 1768. The Methodists now have sixty churches and
chapels in the city. They claim a membership of 13,000, and estimate the
value of their church property at over $2,000,000. Some of their
churches are very handsome. St. Paul's, at the northeast corner of
Fourth avenue and Twenty-second street, is a beautiful structure. It is
built of white marble, in the Romanesque style. The Rectory, adjoining
it, is of the same material. It is the gift of Daniel Drew to the
congregation. The spire is 210 feet high, and the church will seat 1300
persons.

The Jews are said to have come into New York with its early settlers, and
there seems to be good authority for this statement. Finding tolerance
and protection here, they have increased and multiplied rapidly, and are
now very numerous. They are immensely wealthy as a class, and make a
liberal provision for the unfortunate of their own creed. They have
twenty-seven synagogues, several of which are among the most prominent
buildings in the city. The Temple Emanuel, Fifth avenue and Forty-third
street, is one of the costliest and most beautiful religious edifices in
America. It is built of a light colored stone, with an elaborately
carved front, and from the north and south ends rise slender and graceful
towers, which give an air of lightness to the whole structure. The
Temple is said to have cost, including the site, about one million of
dollars.