"Lights of New York" -- The First Real "Talkie"

On July 26, 1928 -- eighty-two years ago today -- the first all-talking film, Lights of New York, opened across the country, ushering in the era of sound film and effectively killing the silent movie.*

The film had actually opened in New York at the Strand Theater** on July 6th to lukewarm critical reaction (The New York Times called it "crude in the extreme") but strong box office. Made for $23,000, the film ultimately grossed somewhere between $1.25 and $2 million dollars, thus proving that earlier sound films, like The Jazz Singer, weren't flukes. (Often billed as the first "talkie," The Jazz Singer has only two scenes of ad-libbed dialogue and the sound of Al Jolson singing; the rest of the film is essentially silent.)

The experimental nature of Lights of New York is apparent in its staging: boom mics were not in use, so stationery microphones were hidden throughout the set. The blocking in the film suffers, since characters could only speak when near a microphone, causing odd breaks in the dialogue as people walk from one microphone to another.

 The film itself is a standard gangster movie: a rube from upstate comes to the city and ends up being the stooge for a Broadway speakeasy. However, the film had one notable line of dialogue: "Take him for a ride!" that went on to become a gangster cliche.

* By 1929, sound production was taking over and that year is
considered to be the last of the silent era though some directors -- notably
Charlie Chaplin -- would continue to make silent films well in the 1930s.

** The Strand is now gone; it stood on the site now occupied
by the Hershey's store at the northern end of Times Square.

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Read more about New York in the 1920s in Inside the Apple: A Streetwise History of New York City.

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The Civil War Draft Riots

Today marks the start of the Civil War Draft riots in 1863. Last year, we blogged extensively about each day of the riots. You can read about Day 1 here (or Day 2, 3, or 4).

We also, of course, cover the draft riots and their aftermath in Inside the Apple.

RIP Alexander Hamilton (1757-1804)

Two-hundred-and-six years ago today, at approximately two o'clock in the afternoon, Alexander Hamilton died in Greenwich Village, the victim of a bullet fired by Vice President Aaron Burr.


Hamilton, originally from Nevis in the British West Indies, had come to New York to study at King's College (today's Columbia University). He joined the Continental Army in 1776 and within a year was Washington's aide-de-camp, a role that in many ways he never relinquished. Part of a trio that formed Washington's first cabinet, Hamilton had disproportionate sway as Treasury Secretary--biographer Ron Chernow has called him Washington's de facto Prime Minister.


After leaving Washington's cabinet, Hamilton worked as an attorney in New York; founded the city's oldest paper, the New York Evening Post (as a mouthpiece for his Federalist agenda); and made life difficult for people like Aaron Burr. Burr served as Thomas Jefferson's first Vice President, but in 1804 he discovered he was being left off the ticket in favor of New York Governor George Clinton.


As we write in Inside the Apple:

[When this happened,] Burr chose to run for Governor [of New York] himself. When he lost, he blamed it, in part, on the conniving of people like Alexander Hamilton. While politicians often attacked each other in print, it was done using pseudonyms or by attacking the party rather than the person. However, at a dinner party in Albany in March 1804, Hamilton and other anti-Burr Federalists had a grand time describing why Burr was incapable of being “trusted with the reins of government.” One guest at the dinner, Dr. Charles Cooper, wrote a letter to a friend recounting the event; the letter was leaked, and before long Hamilton’s Evening Post was refuting its contents publicly. This caused Cooper to write a follow-up, published in the Albany Register, in which he declared that everything he’d said was true—and there was more. Had he wished to, Cooper could have recounted Hamilton’s “still more despicable opinion…of Mr. Burr.” It was these words—“despicable opinion,” which were not even Hamilton’s—that would eventually get him killed.

When Hamilton refused to apologize to Burr, the Vice President challenged him to a duel. Since New York City had sensibly banned dueling, they headed across the Hudson to Weehawken, New Jersey, on the morning of July 11, 1804. Much has been written about each man's intentions that morning, but the facts are these: Hamilton missed and Burr shot Hamilton straight through the stomach and liver. Hamilton was rushed back to New York and the next day, July 12, died, soon after his wife Eliza had reached him from their home in Harlem.

Hamilton is buried in the south yard at Trinity Church, Wall Street. If you work in that neighborhood or are visiting today, stop by and you'll see lots of coins on the grave--a memorial to America's first financial wizard.

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Read more about Hamilton, Burr, and Revolutionary New York in

Inside the Apple: A Streetwise History of New York City.

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Should July 9th be Independence Day?

As we mentioned last week, the day we celebrate Independence Day in America, July 4th, isn't actually the day we voted to break away from Great Britain. While July 2 has a strong claim to be Independence Day, we'd also like to put forward today, July 9th, as a good candidate to celebrate America's birthday--at least in New York.

When the Continental Congress met in Philadelphia to vote on ratifying Thomas Jefferson's Declaration of Independence, the delegation from New York balked. This wasn't so much because New Yorkers weren't interested in backing independence, but rather that the colony's delegation (which included such notable citizens as Lewis Morris and Francis Lewis) didn't think that New York's legislature had given them the authority to take such a bold step.

Some time after July 2, the New York delegation left Philadelphia to return home to debate the matter and on July 9 voted to back the independence resolution, making them the thirteenth and final colony to get on board.

Later that same day, the first copies of the Declaration of Independence arrived in New York and, that evening, it was read aloud for the first time to George Washington's troops. In a frenzy, soldiers and members of the Sons of Liberty stormed down Broadway, jumped the fence at Bowling Green park, and toppled the gilded equestrian statue of of George III. (This is a story that we tell in depth in Inside the Apple.)


So, if you are around Lower Manhattan today, here's a couple of places to visit to honor what could have been Independence Day:

• Bowling Green park, site of the George III statue and still surrounded by its British Colonial fence (erected ca. 1771).
  
• Federal Hall National Memorial, on the spot where the New York delegation voted for Independence (and, later, where George Washington was inaugurated and the Bill of Rights passed).
  
• Trinity Church, Wall Street, where Declaration of Independence signer Francis Lewis is buried in the north yard.

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Read more about the colonial and Revolutionary New York in

Inside the Apple: A Streetwise History of New York City.

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A Brief History of Hanover Square

Yesterday, Queen Elizabeth's whirlwind trip to New York included a stop to cut a ribbon at the British Garden at Hanover Square in the Financial District. The garden is a memorial to the British citizens who died in New York on 9/11 and has become a primary destination for British royals in recent years. (See Prince Harry and Prince Charles and the Duchess of Cornwall.)


During New York's British colonial period (1664-1776), many streets of the old city were either named or renamed after the British royal family and by the time of the American Revolution, we had a Queen Street, Duke Street, King Street, and Crown Street. When George I, the Elector of Hanover, ascended to the throne in 1714, this small square was named in his honor.

In 1776, the British captured the city and made it their command center. During the war, George III's son, Prince William Henry, was a midshipman in the British navy and he came to New York in 1782, in part to rally American colonists to the British cause. The Americans, sensing that the 16-year-old prince would make an excellent bargaining chip, approached George Washington with a plan to kidnap William Henry. Though Washington approved the plan, (it "merits applause" in Washington's words), the British soon found out and posted bodyguards around the prince. Though not originally in the line of succession, Prince William Henry became King William IV in 1830 upon the death of George IV, making him the only British monarch to have lived in New York.


After the Revolution, the Americans stripped the streets of Lower Manhattan of their British names: Queen Street and Dock Street both reverted to their Dutch names (Pearl and Stone streets, respectively) and Crown Street became Liberty Street. However, a few British names remained. For example, Thames Street, just south of Pine Street (formerly King) got to keep its name and Hanover Square, though de-mapped, never lost its appellation. The square was officially re-mapped in 1830--the same year as former resident King William IV's accession. Coincidence?


By the 1830s, Hanover Square was known to most people as Printing House Square and it was here in December 1835 that New York's worst fire broke out. You can read more about it in our blog post from last year.

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Read more about the colonial and Revolutionary New York in

Inside the Apple: A Streetwise History of New York City.

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Happy Independence Day!

As we noted on our blog a year ago, today actually marks America's birthday, for it was on July 2, 1776, that the Second Continental Congress voted to become an independent nation.

Actually, only 12 of the original 13 colonies voted for independence. The hold out? New York. The New York delegation didn't think it had been given the power to declare a break from Great Britain and so retreated to New York City to discuss the matter. Meanwhile, on July 4th, the first copies of the Declaration of Independence were printed and that date stuck as the country's birthday.


You can read the entire original blog post here. And tune back in on July 9th, when we'll talk about how New York famously entered the Revolution that day with an act of vandalism.

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Read more about the colonial and Revolutionary New York in

Inside the Apple: A Streetwise History of New York City.

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The Hoboken Pier Fire of 1900

One hundred and ten years ago, on June 30, 1900, one of the worst maritime disasters in New York history took place when a fire broke out at Pier 3 in Hoboken. The blaze, which may have started spontaneously in a bale of cotton, engulfed ships from the North German Lloyd Line, one of the most prestigious passenger ship companies of its day. By the end of the day somewhere between 325 and 400 people had been killed, many of them trapped inside the burning ships.

The fire broke out about 3:55 p.m. and despite the fact that the fire department was notified almost immediately, it was soon burning out of control. Four Lloyd Line ships were docked in Hoboken at the time, the Saale, Bremen, Main, and the line's flagship, the Kaiser Wilhelm der Grosse, then the largest passenger ship in the world. The Saale was scheduled to depart the next morning; the others were busy loading in coal for departures later in the week. The Kaiser Wilhelm also had a number of tourists aboard who had come to see the magnificent ship up close.

Within a few minutes, the fire had leaped from the pier to the Saale and within twenty minutes all four ships were on fire. The blaze was so huge that it could be seen from every office tower in Manhattan as well as from points south on the Jersey Shore. Dozens of ships in the harbor raced to aid of the burning vessels. The Kaiser Wilhelm, which carried the most passengers, was pulled into the Hudson. Though her bow and stern had caught fire, these blazes were soon brought under control and the ship was able to anchor safely in the river near 46th Street. All passengers and crew on the Kaiser Wilhelm were saved.

The same could not be said about the other ships. The Saale and Bremen (the two ships closest to the initial fire) had burned through their mooring lines and were adrift. The Saale floated down toward Governors Island and the Bremen floated toward Pier 18 (at today's South Street Seaport), where it set the pier on fire. In both ship, dozens of people were trapped and while they were able to open the portholes (or the glass had burst in the fire), they could not get out -- portholes in this era were only 11 inches wide.

The Saale was eventually towed to Communipaw, New Jersey, where she sank ten minutes after arrival. The Bremen and Main were tugged to Weehawken. The Kaiser Wilhelm had seen so little damage that she was put back in service almost immediately.* The Bremen and Main needed major repairs, but they, too, soon rejoined the Lloyd Line. But the Saale, the oldest of the four ships, was scrapped. In all over 27 ships were damaged that day in the fire, many of them tugboats that had come to the aid of the burning cruisers.

Just four years later, the General Slocum would catch fire in the East River leading to the death of 1,021 New Yorkers. These two events were instrumental in improving safety regulations on passenger ships in American waters.


* The Kaiser Wilhelm was converted into a military transport during World War I and sank off the coast of Africa.

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Read more about the General Slocum and New York's importance as a shipping city in

Inside the Apple: A Streetwise History of New York City.

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Walking tour of Greenwich Village on Sunday, June 27

On Sunday, June 27, at 4:00 p.m., we will join with Shakespeare & Co. Booksellers in Greenwich Village to offer a free, one-hour walking tour of the heart of this historic neighborhood. We’ll meet at Shakespeare & Company’s store at 716 Broadway and walk west toward Washington Square, highlighting some of the stories featured Inside the Apple. Sunday the 27th is also Pride Day and while we won’t get as far west as Sheridan Square and the Stonewall Inn, we will talk a little bit about the Village’s crucial role in the gay rights movement.

The tour will last about an hour and end back at Shakespeare & Co. for a Q&A. Books will, of course, be available for sale and signing.

Please meet at the Shakespeare & Co. store at 716 Broadway (at Washington Place). In order to start on time, please plan to be there by 3:50PM at the latest.

Stanford White's Madison Square Garden

On June 16, 1890 -- one hundred and twenty years ago today -- the second, and arguably most famous, of the arenas to bear the name Madison Square Garden opened for business. Designed by famed architect Stanford White, it was New York's biggest entertainment venue and is still considered by many to be one of the greatest buildings of the Gilded Age.

The first venue to be called Madison Square Garden opened on Madison Avenue and 26th Street in 1874. Originally named the "Monster Classical and Geological Hippodrome," it was run by P.T. Barnum in a converted railroad freight building. In 1879, William K. Vanderbilt renamed the building Madison Square Garden, using it as a velodrome as well as a site for boxing matches and other sporting events. However, the building was open air and was torn down in 1888 so that an enclosed arena could go up on the spot.

Stanford White's Garden, which opened two years later, essentially contained four theaters: the main amphitheater, with seating for 8,000 (and plenty of additional standing room), a concert hall, a 1,200-seat theater for plays, and a rooftop garden and cabaret. It was this last theater that became most famous when it was the site of the "crime of the century": White's murder in June 1906 during a performance of Mam'zelle Champagne.

The Garden's 32-story Moorish tower was originally topped with an 18-foot statue of Diana by Augustus Saint-Gaudens. Made of bronze and weighing 1800 pounds, the statue was designed to be weather vane that spun in the wind. White and Saint Gaudens soon had second thoughts about this and the statue was removed to be sent to the 1893 Columbian Exposition in Chicago (where it was eventually destroyed in the fire that engulfed the fair grounds). A lighter, fixed, 12-foot version of Diana was then set atop the Garden, where it stood until the building was demolished in 1925. That Diana now resides at the Philadelphia Museum of Art, though a copy is also at the Metropolitan Museum.

When White's Garden had been built, Madison Square was still in the center of the city's entertainment district, with theaters stretching from 14th Street up Broadway to 38th Street. However, with the creation of a new Broadway theater district centered around Times Square in the early 20th century, Madison Square Garden suddenly began to seem too far downtown and in 1925, the Garden moved to Eighth Avenue and 50th Street. That building was, of course, subsequently replaced by the current Garden that was built after the destruction of Charles McKim's Penn Station in 1964 (the other crime of the century).

Interested in more Stanford White architecture? Grab a copy of Inside the Apple and download our walking tour of White's architecture.

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Read more about Stanford White and Madison Square Garden in

Inside the Apple: A Streetwise History of New York City.

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A Look Back at 1 Wall Street

Today marks the 105th anniversary of a record-setting real estate sale in Manhattan -- the purchase of 1 Wall Street for $700,000, or $4 a square inch, on June 7, 1905.

As skyscrapers began to proliferate in the financial district, the owner of 1 Wall Street refused to sell his old cigar store for "personal" reasons. (You can see the cigar store in the drawing, right, in the foreground.) Only upon the owner's death did the land finally change hands. The new owners, the St. Louis-based Mercantile Trust Company, erected a thin 18-story skyscraper on the lot, soon dubbed the "Chimney Corner" due to its  narrow shape. The Chimney Corner, opened in 1908, only lasted about twenty years. In 1928, the Irving Trust Company purchased the lot and the adjoining building at 7 Wall Street to raze them for a gigantic office tower. Though it is not known exactly how much Irving Trust paid for each individual lot, Daniel Abramson notes in Skyscraper Rivals that it would have been "in the range of $15 million....making it possibly the most expensive piece of real estate in the world."


When Irving Trust was preparing the build their new skyscraper, The New Yorker did some due diligence on 1 Wall Street and discovered that the bank was only the fifth owner of the lot since the 1600s. What makes it especially important to us is that the first owner, back in the 1650s, was Johannes Nevius, James's great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great grandfather.

We surmise that Johannes's house was knocked down when the wall that gave its name to the street was built in 1653. Who built on the site next is unclear, but William Dyckman was living at 1 Wall Street in the 1820s. Presumably it was Dyckman's house that was replaced by the cigar store, then the Chimney Corner, and then Irving Trust. When the bank's cornerstone was laid in 1930, two men were invited to participate in the festivities: a descendant of Washington Irving, for whom the bank was named, and a descendant of Johannes Nevius.


Irving Trust still looms over the corner of Wall Street and Broadway today, though it is now known as the Bank of New York. Its original public lobby--now closed to the public--has fantastic mosaics by Hildreth Maier that we'll discuss in a later blog posting.

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Read more about New York's skyscrapers and Wall Street in

Inside the Apple: A Streetwise History of New York City.

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