Happy Days at the St. Charles

Leland was a magic name to conjure with in the hotel business when the nephew of his nationally famous uncle came from Ohio and began business at the St. Charles Hotel, 648 Broadway, just above Bleecker Street. (22) Unlike the other landlord Lelands, the young farmer was not able to begin at the top with a large house on the American plan but had to be content with a European hostelry with a restaurant as the main stay of profit. The only thing in favor of the venture was the location, the very center of the theatrical Rialto and the busy axis of day and night life in the metropolis. Nearby was the Olympic Theatre, Niblo’s, the San Francisco Minstrels (afterward Tony Pastor’s), and further down the street the Theatre Comique; up the street Lina Edwin’s Theatre and the old church property of A. T. Stewart, transformed into a theatre and occupied by “Sandy” Spencer, Augustin Daly and others. Close by were the immense hotels in the heyday of their popularity and profit. The Metropolitan, conducted by the great Lelands and the resort of the Tweed Tammanyites; and the famous American Club, the St. Nicholas Hotel, the Grand Central, and the New York Hotel, patronized almost exclusively by Southerners and famous during the Civil War as headquarters of conspirators and agents of the Confederacy. (23)

Union Square was looked upon as “up town” and it was years before it became the Rialto. (24) New York life, red hot or at a white heat, glowed about the St. Charles‘ location and the rival Revere House at Houston Street, a block below. Frequenters of the St. Charles rarely visited the Revere except on business.

The “Flatfoot“ party of circus managers long maintained a room [during] the resting season at the Revere; and there [they] could be found regularly - Avery Smith, John J. Nathans, Lew June, Elain Quick, George F. Bailey and such of their staff of representatives who happened to be wintering in New York or vicinity. (25) Avery Smith was the only “Flatfoot“ who made a habit of visiting the St. Charles and he was as free in his intercourse with high and humble as he was generous in his distribution of cigars and liquid refreshments.

The St. Charles in Leland‘s day had no regular bar, only a caged-in sideboard to the left of the restaurant. The favorite resort for the foaming lager and stronger stimulants was at Harry and Billy Cunningham‘s at the sign of “Daddy Rice,” 636 Broadway. This wooden figure was carved by the pioneer star minstrel and represented himself in his inimitable character of “Jim Crow.”

The Cunninghams were famous professionals. Harry had been with the Barnum Museum stock. He was also a member of a Bowery company and was a “heavy” man of considerable ability. Billy had been a clog dancer. Neither drank a drop of liquor and were absolute teetotalers, although their business card advertised them as “Dealers in Poison.” Through their former connections, the brothers’ place became the Broadway resort of the Bowery actors, the sojourning players and the resting Thespians.

Charlie Collins had the cafe of the Olympic Theatre and enjoyed a liberal patronage. The De Sotto was around the corner on Bleecker Street. It was an English chop house largely visited by the plainclothes men and headquarter officers of the police department. Harry Hill was coining money on Houston Street, and Broadway was lined with free concert saloons, down in the cellars and upstairs for blocks. (26) That section of the city was the hottest spot on earth with the low life but held well in check by the commander of the precinct, Captain Byrnes, afterward the best superintendent of police New York ever had. (27)

How Leland managed to popularize the St. Charles and make it the headquarters of the circus people and folks engaged in other lines of the amusement business is not so readily explained. About everything except the location was against the success of the project. The building had been condemned and was an unsafe, ramshackle affair that threatened to fall down at any time from its own weight and weakness. Illy furnished, it was not attractive. The attraction was the landlord and the society of the patrons. And you certainly met goodly company, day and night, at the old St. Charles in the hey-day of its popularity. (28)

Perhaps E. D. Colvin was responsible to some extent in attracting the circus patronage held by Leland. Colvin toured with circuses summers and acted as cashier in the St. Charles restaurant winters. It could be truly said that he knew everybody in the business, all the managers, performers, working bosses and show printers. Besides, Colvin had the correct idea about life; and when the reckless and careless sons of the sawdust were paying a meal check or having it charged up, he read a little homily about the advisability of putting by something for a rainy day. E. Darwin practiced what he preached. He was always employed, saved and saved, only to lose and lose with every investment until he was quite advanced in life. Then he began to gather coin which stuck by him, a final reward of industry and perseverance.

Leland was an early and late worker. At three o’clock every morning except Sunday he was up and off to the markets to buy the supplies and provisions for the restaurant, selecting every article in person and paying spot cash for the same.

Coley was granted the title of steward because he drove the horse and also relieved the day clerk for meals or held the office down for an afternoon. Coley was a clever fellow with Saratoga and prided himself on his resemblance to Col. Jim Fiske; but the second edition was a miniature, [although] as loudly dressed.

Once during the Leland regime, the St. Charles came near closing its doors. Coley resigned. And the shock of the resignation almost shook the foundations of the unstable structure. Wily Coley! A petition was at once framed and circulated for signatures, begging that the resignation be withdrawn. No one refused to sign the plea and the hotel was saved. So was the landlord, who smiled without remark. Coley did retire at a later period and embarked in the restaurant business.

Room No. 1 of the hotel was on the office floor, next to the clerk’s cage and opposite the parlor. It was held sacred for the use of the great lights of the sawdust ring in management, [as well as] their business and literary representatives. Whoever registered for it always kept open house to all comers in the business and jollity and good nature reigned supreme. Even if some of the parties had been antagonized during the heat and passions of the summer’s campaigns, they forgot the wounds and bruises of battle [and] made no exhibition of scars; but, [rather], rang the bell (there was no button to touch) and summoned John Keegan, the porter, from time to time as the night sped, to keep the wellspring of joy from running dry. Room No. 1 and other ones remunerated Keegan with tips to the extent that he [too] became a restaurant owner in due season.

It was an education for a young circus manager or agent to listen to the relation of the many experiences of the seniors. Two of the most entertaining characters were Captain Francis M. Kelsh of Philadelphia and Charles H. Castle of Syracuse, known to their friends as “The Two Orphans” and between whom existed a lifelong friendship of genuine Damon and Pythias sincerity. Castle possessed a most wonderful vocabulary and an eloquence of description that was remarkable. When he began to talk he began to walk and [he] held the floor and his audiences. It was Castle who named Martinho Lowande “The Hurricane Horseman,” a most apt application. The veteran who had piloted Col. Dan Rice in the days of his greatest favor expressed himself quaintly. He spoke of himself invariably as Rucker. Syracuse was Salt Point and his home Piety Ridge. The manager who employed him was Master. For years he was the advance manager for John O’Brien and dubbed the show he heralded “The Irish Brigade.” John O’Brien, by the way, always lodged at the St. Charles when in town but he did not register. He slept on a sofa and thereby saved a dollar. Mr. O’Brien was never known to ring for Keegan under any circumstances.

The story of many memorable nights in Room No. 1 would fill a big book. While Kelley, Hyatt Frost, Henry Barnum, O. J. Ferguson and other tent showmen of Putnam County affected the Putnam House on Fourth Avenue near the old 27th Street depot, after the exclusive manner of the “Flatfoots“ at the Revere, the majority of the owners of shows and privileges turned up at Room No. 1 and, where the Master centered, came the talent and the understrappers.

As Room No. 1 got the benefit of the din from the kitchen of the restaurant, there was a rattling of dishes of the heavy and unbreakable sort that forbade easy slumber, except to the unusually fatigued. And one morning, in coming down to breakfast, the man from Piety Ridge, Salt Point, was greeted by the landlord with the query:

“Well, Mr. Castle, how did you rest last night?”

“Rest! Sleep!” exclaimed Rucker, “George, how can a man sleep when they wash dishes with a crowbar?”

In spite of all its disadvantages, there might have been seen of a winter’s night in the star chamber such representative leaders in the circus world and its contributory callings, exchanging views and swapping experiences, as Adam Forepaugh, Doctor Spalding, W. W. Cole, Burr Robbins, Joel E. Warner, Andy Springer, Andrew Haight, George W. DeHaven, John B. Doris, George Batcheller, James Melville, Ben Maginley, James Cooke (the clown), Col. Joe Cushing, John H. Murray, Den Stone, Lewis B. Lent, Frank Gardner, Levi J. North, Piclo Russell, Bob Morgan and the ever-present too-numerous-to-be-mentioned.

When George S. Leland first came to New York, the prosperous uncles did not wish to greet the enterprising nephew. On the other hand, when they had occasion to go up Broadway, they passed on the other side to escape the odor of the St. Charles‘ hash. But the small concern coined money and was a mill that ground to the good, night and day, year in and year out. The St. Charles was alive nights. As Billy Burke, the clown, remarked:

“What a dreadful thing it would be if the St. Charles caught fire in the daytime.”

There was too much fun going in the St. Charles by gaslight for the regulars to retire until after breakfast. While the mighty men of the circus select circle discussed the arenic affairs of the past and prognosticated the future with interludes of reminiscence and anecdote, a merry party held a session in the front office and pursued the clock points with stories until the arrival of Warner, the day clerk. Wicked wags they proved when a new visitor or stranger dropped in and was “reminded” [of a story] and attempted to relate [it]. If he made a mess of a good yarn badly told, the throng dropped to their knees in silent prayer and remained at their devotion until the unsatisfactory tale teller abandoned the subject.

One night in the front office was Ghost Night. Apparition after apparition was invoked until the midnight hour arrived. At that unseemly time a “stranger in the midst” opened out with a blood curdler of depth and length, a perfect horror of a yarn. Harry Stanwood, the banjoist and Ethiopian comedian, (29) stole to his room and returned wearing a fright wig and seated himself directly opposite the spook-spelling last registered. The man invoking the shade was a master at the art of yarn-spinning and his audience was rapt with attention and eye-extending interest. As the awful tale approached its climax, Stanwood removed his hat and gave the wig a gentle lift. Horrible and more horrible grew the story and the more the hair on Stanwood’s head lifted. The relater of the adventure of departed spirits arrived at the climax and way up went the fright wig as the comedian shrieked with assured terror and rushed upstairs as if pursued by all the demons let loose from the bottomless pit.

“You’ve scared the man to death,” screamed Dick Fitzgerald. “He will commit suicide sure!”

Dick pursued the escaping Stanwood and the man who told the ghost story slid downstairs and disappeared, never to return.

Great big, generous-hearted, pernicious, fearless Richard Fitzgerald, “The Irish Lord,” was at one time associated with Tom Riggs, the comedian, in conducting a variety agency. The business between partners was transacted upon a perfectly equitable basis. The first man in the office in the morning opened the mail and appropriated the receipts. If Dick was the first man in, he did not return while the money lasted, thereby giving Tom an opportunity to even up. In the long run, both partners got their own. In the course of time, Fitzgerald put in a winter as night clerk of the St. Charles and it is a matter of fact that during the hours that Richard was on duty he never had to call on anyone to assist in preserving order. If you heard anyone bumping and thumping down stairs and made inquiry in regard to the noise, you were certain to be informed:

“That’s only Dick firing a fellow for getting too gay.”

Many of the roomers at the St. Charles were not professionals and the list included several unique characters. Among them [was] a tea-taster who was never busy except when the ships were in. The husband of one of New York’s favorite actresses who had gone before and for whom there was no forgetting stalked the house, a pathetic figure of woebegone misery. There was a bevy of elderly beaux who sought favor in the eyes of the lady guests and never secured and never despaired. Also, there was Captain Geer of Col. Fiske’s line of Sound steamers. He wore a uniform which would have become Admiral Dewey. Harry Stanwood always called Fiske’s officer “Captain Jeer” because his official duties never extended beyond the pier.

The St. Charles also boasted of its chaplain, a retired Scotch clergyman and royal good man who married couples while they waited in the parlor. The preacher was highly esteemed by the boys and although they played pranks on his reverence at times he rather enjoyed than condemned the skylarking. The Reverend Doctor, who on occasion filled a pulpit, had an excellent library and was a man of deep learning and was often [the] deciding arbitrator in settling knotty questions of office discussion. Dick Fitzgerald suggested that the Doctor put up a sign in the office announcing: OFF-HAND FUNERALS AND SUDDEN MARRIAGES A SPECIALTY.

Generally, the divine spent his leisure hours in his room with his books but one night a newly registered was describing a wonderful machine for opening oysters. The Doctor paused at the office while getting his key and became interested. The gang tried to freeze the relater but the stranger was both fly and fluent, to the discomfiture of the madcaps and the enjoyment of the chaplain.

One of the permanent women residents was the forewoman of a factory, to whom, without affront, was given the title of “Corsets” by Harry Stanwood. During the estimable woman’s stay, she proved an angel to the sick. But one day Dick carried her away and she became Mrs. Fitzgerald.

One winter this writer and Harry Stanwood roomed on Landlord’s Row of the office floor. Harry Stanwood would bring his banjo into No. 1. Proprietor Leland would join in the festivities and help along the fun by ringing up Keegan. Of a night, other instrumentalists and vocalists would join in the free concert for the edification of the man who kept the place. As everybody that inhabited the St. Charles kept hours from choice, no one was disturbed to complain except the housekeeper, who reported to the head of the house, “I don’t like the noise in No. 1.”

“I do,” responded the man who went to market at three o’clock in the morning.

One night, in going to his room, Leland met with a surprise; and so did the man who was in it and, also, inside the landlord’s overcoat. George S. rang for Keegan, the porter, whom he sent on the run for a policemen; and, until the officer arrived, Leland drummed the thief good and hard.

Leland was a sturdy man and an admirer of Jim Mace, the Gypsy pugilist, who was so clever with his hands. On the other hand, he detested Joe Coburn, who was a lowbred ruffian [and] who for years made himself a terror in public places. When Mace and Coburn met in the ring, Leland hoped that the brutal bully would get a good drubbing. But, as “one was afraid and the other dassent,” the pugilists fought the air to the disgust of their backers. Before the fight, Jim Mace was a welcome caller at the St. Charles but the first time he turned up after the fiasco Leland gave him the icy stare and cold shoulder of unconcealed contempt. (30)

From the time that William W. Durand came to New York, accompanying Andrew Haight and George W. DeHaven after their remarkable season with the Great Eastern Circus and Menagerie, he ever afterward quartered at Bleecker and Broadway. The circus ship, Great Eastern, was practically launched on wind for lack of capital and sailed to success on a light I.O.U. It was one of the most audacious ventures ever attempted by a management. (31) And much of its astonishing prosperity was freely attributed to the writer and newspaper advertiser, Bill Durand, the typical Southerner, who smoked like a chimney and chewed plug tobacco and wrote with the sledgehammer of conviction. His was a forceful and original pen.

George J. Guilford, another scribe, wintered at the St. Charles and breakfasted late. When the delegate from Cincinnati [sat] at the table, he always found himself in hot water and soap and suds because the floor-scrubber received the paid tip to “drown Guilford out.”

Footnotes

22. Day is referring to the Leland brothers, proprietors of the Metropolitan Hotel at Broadway and Spring Street. They were the first to set up a hotel chain in the United States. The Metropolitan was one of nineteen luxury hotels built within a five year period from 1850 to 1854. Unlike the St. Charles, the Metropolitan had accommodations for 600 guests, including 100 suites of “family apartments.” Rates ranged from $15 to $100 a week. The hotel was demolished in 1895.
23. The famous marble and brown stone St. Nicholas Hotel was between Broome and Spring Streets. It had opened in 1852, built at a cost of over a million dollars. At that time it boasted of a novel central heating plant which piped hot air to every room. A block further up, at 550 Broadway, was Tiffany’s; and on the corner of Prince Street, another jewelry establishment, Ball, Black & Co. Diagonally opposite was the Metropolitan Hotel, in the rear of which was Niblo’s Garden. Passing on, one could observe the Olympic Theatre, 442 Broadway; between Howard and Grand Streets; the Southern Hotel, the New York Hotel, and Goupil’s famous art gallery. Stewart’s retail outlet was located on the corner of Tenth, above which was the beautiful Grace Church. Wallack’s Theatre dominated the corner of Thirteenth Street. In 1865, the San Francisco Minstrels were located at 585 Broadway; opposite the St. Nicholas Hotel. By 1872, they had moved uptown to Broadway and Twenty-eighth Street. During that same year, the old location was occupied by Charles White’s minstrel company and the place was called White’s Athenaeum.
24. Progressing up Broadway from the lower tip of Manhattan, one encountered Herald Square, Longacre Square, Union Square, and Madison Square, each of which in their time, were the centers of New York’s theatrical world as the busy houses of commence worked their way uptown. At Fourteenth Street was Union Square, originally called Union Place and formerly an area of fashionable residences but now encircled with hotels and places of business.
25. The management team of John J. June, Lewis B. Titus, Sutton Angevine and Jerry Crane were given the name of “Flatfoots“ when they openly threatened their opposition with the statement: “We put our foot down flat and shall play New York. So watch out!” The title was to stay with them for years. See Reference Roster for individual identification.
26. By 1860, the concert saloons were sharing a sizeable part of Broadway night life. Variety entertainments were per formed in converted theatres and basements amid a barroom atmosphere, where the patrons were attended by “pretty waiter girls” who dispensed drinks and engaged them in conversation and, in the less desirable places, made private arrangements with those who had money to squander on illicit meetings. The entertainment offered was of a varied and somewhat pleasing character, with each act on the program lasting about ten minutes; so that one could drop in, while away an hour or so, and leave. Prices ranged from six to fifteen cents for seats. Harry Hill’s place was one of the most notorious of the lot. Located in a run-down two-story frame building on Houston Street, just off Broadway, it was a popular hangout for both the low and the high elements of society. Hill had been a bare-knuckle prize fighter in his earlier days. He was short and stockily built, yet well dressed and handsome, with immaculately parted black hair and a carefully barbered mustache. His quiet, gentlemanly manner was in sharp contrast to the raucous atmosphere of his establishment.
27. Thomas Byrnes was born in Ireleand in 1842. After coming to America as a boy, he served in the Union Army. In 1863 he joined the New York City police department. By 1870 he was a captain. In 1879 he solved a multi-million dollar bank burglary, for which feat he was made commanding officer of the Detective Bureau. In 1888 he was elevated to the number two post in the department and a short time later to Superintendent.
28. The St. Charles Hotel carried the following advertisement at this time in the Clipper: ST. CHARLES HOTEL, ON THE EUROPEAN PLAN, CORNER OF BROADWAY AND BLEECKER STREET. HEADQUARTERS OF SHOWMEN AND MEMBERS OF ALL PROFESSIONS. ONE HUNDRED GOOD ROOMS AT $1 PER DAY. HOTEL THOROUGHLY RENOVATED AND MEALS SERVED AT ALL HOURS. GEORGE S. LELAND, PROPRIETOR.
29. Harry Stanwood was an end man for Sam Sharpley’s minstrel company in 1868-69. He was also with Newcomb & Arlington in 1871 when Charles Day was serving as press agent for that organization.
30. Jim (or Jem Mace, 1831-1910), a native of Norfolk, England, was the first world heavyweight champion, 1866-82. His scientific approach to the sport made him one of the “cleverest men who ever climbed inside the ropes.” Because he was thought to have a Romany bloodline, he was often referred to as the Gypsy. Joe Coburn, an Irishman, was said to be “a man of the highest form of physical development.” He had come to the United States as a child and grew up on New York’s tough East Side. After claiming the American championship, Coburn went to England in 1864 to fight Mace but the bout was called off when he insisted on using one of his friends as referee. The two finally met on May 11, 1871, at Port Dover, Canada, but seemed in no mood for fighting. They stalked each other for an hour and seventeen minutes before the sheriff and militia intervened. A rematch was held at Bay St. Louis, MS, November 30, 1871. Again, the two showed no inclination to mix it up. They stalled for twelve rounds to the jeers of the crowd until the referee stepped in and called the fight a draw. The unsavory event led to charges of fraud.
31. Andrew Haight was advance manager for the Great Eastern Menagerie, Museum, Aviary, Circus and Balloon Show, 1872-74, said to be the consolidation of Haight & Co.‘s, Agnes Lake‘s, and George W. DeHaven‘s circuses and Col. C. T. Ames‘ menagerie. The show was one of the most extensively advertised on the road at that time. Meeting with enormous competition from other circuses, Haight and his agent, W. W. Durand, erected large stands of lithos and bought broadsides of newspaper space. With three bands featured in the parade and performances in two rings simultaneously, the show ran a continuous season of over two years. It was said to have cleared $100,000 the first year.


Top

Copyright © 2005
William L. Slout and Circus Historical Society, Inc.