By the turn of the last century Hook & Ladder Company No. 1 and Engine Company No. 7 had had an unusually close relationship for decades. The separate companies had been located nearby one another since the organization of the professional fire department in 1865 when they were housed steps away at Nos. 22 and 26 Chambers Street. Hook & Ladder No. 1, for instance, had a telegraph receiver at No. 22, while Engine Company No. 7 did not. Messages were run back and forth by fire fighters between the two companies to solve the problem.
But the histories of the companies went much further back. Hook & Ladder Company No. 1 was
established during British rule, on July 10, 1772. After many of its volunteer members marched
off to fight in the Revolution, it was reorganized in 1784 and given the name “Mutual
Hook & Ladder No. 1.” It was Mutual
Hook & Ladder No. 1’s foreman who designed the fireman’s helmet with the
high crown and broad rear brim in the late 1820s. It is still used today with some variations.
Around 1830, not long after John W. Towt designed the helmet, the
Protector Engine Company No. 22 was formed.
Fire fighting at the time relied
on a disorganized collection of volunteer companies manned by neighborhood men
called “laddies.” Many of the companies
earned a reputation as rowdy, boisterous groups; and nearby fire houses would
compete with one another to arrive at a fire first, or to become the more
skilled at extinguishing it.
The devastating fire that destroyed Barnum’s Museum in 1865 along
with pressure on the State Assembly by reformers resulted in the Act of 1865
that coupled Brooklyn and New York with a paid, united “Metropolitan District”
fire department. Hook & Ladder No. 1
was unique among all the city’s companies.
It not only was allowed to keep its name and number; but according to firefighter
and department historian Paul Porcello, it “continued with the same truck, same
helmets, same location, and nine of the new twelve members had served in the
old volunteer company.”
Protector Engine Company No. 22 was reorganized as the professional
Engine Company No. 7 and was installed at No. 26 Chambers Street close to Hook
& Ladder No. 1. The companies would
be relocated several times; always remaining together or close by.
As the turn of the century neared, a new challenge faced the Fire
Department—the ever-growing height of downtown buildings. The steam pumper engines could shoot water no
higher than a few stories; a problem that was made clear on December 4,
1898. Engine Company No. 7 and Hook
& Ladder No. 1 both responded to a massive blaze in the five-story Rogers
Peet menswear store at Broadway and Warren Street. The devastating fire sparked serious
discussion about the how to more successfully battle high-rise fires. Among Chief Edward F. Croker’s solutions was
to double-up the apparatus of engine companies.
By adding a second truck the linked engines could achieve more
thrust. His plan was initiated in 1904.
To accommodate its second engine, a new fire house was necessary
for Engine Company No. 7. Three lots
were acquired at Nos. 100 through 104 Duane Street and the old commercial buildings
demolished.
From 1879 to 1895 Napoleon LeBrun & Sons had the enviable
position as official architects to the New York City Fire Department and
created sometimes opulent fire houses throughout the city. Now the Tammany Hall awarded commissions to
various architectural firms. The
esteemed firm of Trowbridge & Livingston was commissioned to design the new
joint station of Engine Company 7 and Hook & Ladder Company No. 1.
Construction was completed a year later and the companies moved in
on New Year’s Eve 1905. Trowbridge &
Livingston had produced an especially handsome French Renaissance structure of
red brick with heavy stone banding above a rusticated limestone base. The 75-foot wide structure featured three bay
doors—two for Engine Company 7’s apparatus; and the other for Hook &
Ladder No. 1. The second floor housed
the two companies; while the uppermost story was reserved for municipal use,
including a courthouse.
Within a week of the impressive building’s opening, on January 5, 1906, The Sun explained “Engine 7 has been made a double company, in order to afford
better service in case of a fire in the dry goods district.”
Another of Chief Crocker’s solutions to high-rise fires was the “salt
water high pressure system” which provided an average of 125 pounds pressure to
designated hydrants and could be raised to as high as 300 pounds. The area south of 14th Street was
deemed the “high pressure district.” The
system was fully operational by 1908—just in time for one of the two Duane
Street companies’ worst nights.
January 7, 1909 was called by the New-York Tribune “a night of
fires, twelve alarms being turned in in a little more than an hour.” The first alarm came at 7:22 when fire broke
out in the Lipton Tea building at Hudson and Franklin Streets. According to the newspaper there were several
explosions and “the neighborhood was aroused.”
By the time the firefighters arrived, the entire building was engulfed.
Thirty-five minutes after Engine Company 7 began battling the
blaze, the six-story wall of the Leonard Street side of the building collapsed “with
a crash that could be heard for many blocks.”
Eight firefighters from Engine Company 7 narrowly escaped with their
lives.
In the meantime, a heavy north wind carried “sparks and three-inch
cinders” as far south as Fulton Street, setting other buildings on fire. The firefighters contended not only with the
winds, but with the bitter cold and problems with the high-pressure hoses.
The Tribune reported “It was a bad night for the firemen. The intense cold coated their clothing with a
layer of ice, and icicles formed on their helmets and hair. A number of fire fighters were overcome by
the combination of cold and heat and were attended by ambulance and department doctors.”
At the Lipton Tea fire the high-pressure hose broke free of the
hydrant twice, “bowling men over.” The
Tribune said “Many narrowly escaped serious injury.”
By the time the several fires were extinguished 18 companies had
responded. The new high-pressure system was
applauded. “For the first time since the
installation of the high pressure system its efficiency was fully tested,”
reported the Tribune. “Not one engine
was used in fighting the fire, and the high pressure system again proved its efficiency.”
New York City was the center of the silent film industry at the
time. The American Vitagraph Company
occupied the second floor of the 12-story triangular Morton Building at Nassau
and Ann Streets, where it stored around 1600 reels of highly-flammable
celluloid film. The material was
notorious for self-igniting in certain conditions—such as when it was near the
hot bulbs of the motion picture projectors.
On Sunday afternoon, July 3, 1910, Charles A. Burton was working
in the office when, around 5:15, he glanced into the storage room. The New-York Tribune reported the following
day “Just as he did so, one of the hundred inflammable reels in the lot blazed
up. He sprang for it and rushed with it
to the window, throwing it out into Ann Street.
Then, with his front hair, eyebrows and mustache singed to the skin, he
turned back to look at the other films.
They were a mass of flames where a moment before not a spark had
appeared.”
The blaze rapidly spread upwards in the building. By the time Engine Company 7 and Hook &
Ladder No. 1 responded to the narrow streets around the Morton Building workers
were trapped. The Tribune noted that among
them were five lawyers working for the Federal Investigation Bureau on the top
floor. “When they poked their heads out
of the windows they could see crawling swiftly up the airshaft toward them little
tongues of flames, which crackled on the window casements.”
William T. Beck of Hook & Ladder No 1 and Joseph Wood, the
driver of Engine Company 7, were already on the way up the stairs to the
men. “When they got to the twelfth floor
these firemen had to crawl on their hands and knees, the smoke was so dense,”
said the newspaper. When the lawyers
were told to follow them down the burning staircase, they were at first
reticent. “But firemen can be very
persuasive at times, and the five were guided in safety to the open air,” assured
the article.
A “spectacular blaze” earlier that year did not end so
happily. Fire erupted in the “bookbinder
and paper ruler” operation of S. Wainkratz on the fourth floor of No. 70 Duane
Street, just a block from the fire station, on April 23. The New-York Tribune reported “By the time
the firemen arrived the fourth and fifth floors…were a mass of flames.”
Engine Company 7 was the first to arrive and put up its extension
ladder to the fourth floor. Seven firefighters
entered the building at street level; heading upwards “to open all the iron
shutters they could get to,” according to The New York Times the following
day. Suddenly they were overwhelmed by a
back draft. The Tribune wrote “In an
effort to get away [John] Fischer [sic] was lost. Somehow he succeeded in bursting open the
iron shutters on the Manhattan alley side.”
The Times described the firefighter’s struggle in dramatic
terms. “As for Fisher, his run for life
was full of agonizing pain. Everything
around him on the third floor was blazing, and smoke closed in around him,
slowly benumbing his senses. He shouted
for help, but there was no one to hear him.
No one will ever know how many times he fell, then struggled up, and
staggered on toward a window.”
Firefighters on the ground saw Fisher at the window, his clothing
on fire. They yelled to hang on just for
a moment and they would turn the water on him.
But the desperate man threw himself out the window to the pavement
below. His skull was fractured along
with several other bones.
In the crowd was Father Gilroy of St. Andrew’s Church. He pushed through and administered last
rites to the dying man who everyone thought was the building’s watchman. He was so burned that not even his fellow firefighters
realized it was him. At the hospital his
clothing was removed. “There they found
his badge and learned from that who he was,” reported The Times.
Six other firefighters of Engine Company No. 7 were treated for
injuries in what the New-York Tribune called “one of the most spectacular fires
in the downtown districts for some time.”
By 1913 New York City was plagued with anarchist groups like the Black
Hand which used terrorism to further their causes. As is the case today, certain firefighters
were trained in anti-terrorism procedures, including the detection of explosive
devices. Fireman William Scofield of
Engine Company 7 was responsible for inspections of public venues in the
downtown district.
Around 10:30 on the night of April 11, 1913 he began his
inspection of the new Jefferson Theatre at No. 214 East 14th
Street. About 1,500 patrons were enjoying
a “motion picture love story,” according to The Times, while a man played a “soft
accompaniment” to the silent movie on the piano.
Scofield was below the auditorium. He heard a “whispering, sputtering sound”
which he recognized as something burning.
Searching in the shadowy basement, he found a bomb, the fuse of which
was sparking and rapidly burning toward the device. There was about a six inch length of fuse left
before the explosion would take place.
The Times reported “Without making any outcry Scofield dropped to
one knee, picked the bomb up in his hands, and put the fuse to his mouth. His teeth closed over the short stretch of
fuse left and he bit it off clean. By
doing so he checked the advance of the fire upon the explosive within and
thereby probably saved the theatre from destruction and those within it from
death or injury.”
Scofield’s method of disarming the bomb was, perhaps, unorthodox,
but effective. While the movie goers
continued to enjoy the film unaware, police arrived on the scene, including Detective
Carrao, a specialist in bombs. An examination
of the device made the intentions of its maker clear. On the plain brown paper in which it was
wrapped was written Morte, the
Italian word for “death.”
The Times noted that Scofield “makes such rounds every half-hour,
being one of the firemen regularly detailed to theatres.” He advised the reporter that he “bit off the
fuse as a surer and safer way than tearing at it, or attempting to put it out
with his fingers, for it might have been dangerous for him to have tugged at
the bomb in any way.”
The members of Engine Company No. 7 and Hook & Ladder No 1
were regularly recognized for their courage and action. On June 24, 1914 Captain Patrick Walsh was
awarded a medal for saving Lieutenant Schoener from “the midst of several hundred
barrels of flaming gasoline,” for instance, and on May 24, 1948 Lieutenant Henry
J. Hermann was cited for his “extreme bravery in risking your own life to carry
from a burning and smoke-filled building an aged woman who had been overcome.”
By 1927 the companies on Duane Street were sharing the fire
station with First Division Headquarters, commanded by Deputy Chief James W.
Hefferman. Hefferman was not only a
veteran firefighter but an engineer and inventor whose improvements to
firefighting equipment were in general use.
In May 1927 he received the Fire Department’s Administration Medal for
yet another invention.
Fire Commissioner Dorman described it to reporters as “a powerful
new revolving nozzle, composed of six small nozzles, for use in ships or
cellars where smoke or flames prevent firemen from entering with their hose.” The innovative device could be lowered into
the burning space and the revolving nozzle would douse the entire area without
the need for firefighters entering the space.
Following the Pearl Harbor attack and the United States entrance
into World War II, a new threat existed for Manhattan. On February 8, 1942 Fire Commissioner Patrick
Walsh (the same Walsh who had been cited for courageous performance when here in
1914) announced that “a new type of fire apparatus…developed for wartime
emergencies” had been developed. “It
will be known as hose Relay Apparatus 1 and will have its headquarters at
Engine 7, at 100 Duane Street.”
The “hose relay wagon” was a converted aerial ladder truck. The racks and ladders had been removed,
providing space for more than a half mile of three and a half inch hose. The new apparatus had seven times the
capacity of the standard hose wagon.
Should water mains be disabled by enemy attack, the modified wagon would
be used to relay water pumped by fireboats.
In 1956 the First Division Headquarters moved to No. 243 Lafayette
Street and in May 1957 the Hook
& Ladder No. 1 moved to the center bay to make way for the Fire Department Museum. As a group of firefighters
pushed an old engine pumper into the building on April 30, an “irreverent passerby,”
according to The Times, yelled “Get a horse!”
The pumper was one of 11 pieces of antique apparatus moved into the
space, including an 1810 “gooseneck” fire engine. The museum was opened here on June 17 that
year and remained until 1987 when it moved to No. 278 Spring Street.
 |
| Trowbridge & Livingston took inspiration from 17th century French architects who, in turn, had borrowed from Italian Renaissance designers. |
Hook & Ladder 1 and Engine Company 7 continued to coexist in
the building throughout the rest of the 20th century. In 2001 a French filmmaker, Jules
Naudet, stationed himself at No. 100 Duane Street in order to create a
documentary which followed the routine of a new firefighter, known as a “probie,”
during his probationary period.
On the morning of September 11 Naudet was taping Battalion Chief Joe
Pfeifer as he responded to a report of a gas leak. The sound of an airliner could be heard in
the background. Naudet panned his camera
upward just as the plane collided with the north tower of the World Trade
Center.
The subsequent footage included the only known filmed documentation
from inside the Trade Centers. The raw
videotape was described by Times journalist Alan Feurer who said in part “It
captures the radio transmissions ordering everyone down to the lobby after the
second plane hits. It shows the gout of dust and rubble as the buildings
suddenly collapse. It shows the booted foot of a Fire Department chaplain who
is being carried through smoke and the din of screaming. It shows the faces of
anxious men only minutes before they die.”
Later author David Friend in his 2006 book Watching the World
Change: The Stories Behind the Images of 9/11 said “Many would come to refer to
Engine 7 as Lucky 7. In fire Department
parlance, 100 Duane Street became the Miracle house: every one of its
fifty-five firefighters—including the thirteen on duty that morning and the
forty-two who rushed to assist them—escaped alive, thanks in no small measure
to Joseph Pfeifer’s decisiveness.”
Pfeifer, the man whom Jules Naudet was filming with the
catastrophe began, ordered fire fighters to the cleared C staircase of the north
tower, saving them critical minutes in their descent and most likely saving
their lives. Tragically, Pfeifer’s firefighter
brother, Kevin, was lost that day.
Times reporter David W. Dunlap later noted “Everyone in the Fire
Department lost incalculably on Sept. 11, 2001.
The men of Engine Company 10 and Ladder Company 10 lost one thing more:
their home.”
While their firehouse on Liberty Street was rebuilt, Engine 10
moved into No. 100 Duane Street where they remained until October 2003.
While many other companies were relocated throughout their existence,
Ladder Company 1 and Engine Company 7 still remain in their striking 1905
firehouse. According to Paul Porcello, “Engine
7 is known as ‘The Magnificent Seven’, a reference to the western movie of the
same name, based on the idea that at the time, the inside of the firehouse
looked like the old west from when the department used horses to draw the
apparatus. Ladder 1 is known as, "The Original One", for both being
one of the first fire companies in the city, but for also being the first Tower
Ladder in the FDNY in 1964.” He adds, “Together,
the entire house is known as the ‘Stately Duane Manor,’ a play on the phrase ‘stately
Wayne Manor’ from the old Batman TV show.”
 |
| The bronze letters 1 LADDER 1 were added to the central bay when the company moved from the western (right) bay to make way for the Fire Museum. |
Trowbridge & Livingston’s exceptional design earned the
structure landmark designation in 1993, and prompted the AIA Guide to New York
City to call it “among the most impressive small-scale civic structures of the
period.”
many thanks to Paul Porcello for his comprehensive knowledge and his suggestion for this post
photographs by the author
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