The Several Faces of 1 Broadway

Nothing of the current facade hints at its appearance in 1884. photograph by Gryffindor

Cyrus Field’s rise from an errand boy in A. T. Stewart’s dry goods emporium to one of the city’s wealthiest men was meteoric.  Years later the Daily Alta California would remind readers “His brother, David Dudley, was given a collegiate education; instead of a classical education Cyrus received $25 in cash and his father’s blessing.”

After working three years for $2 a week at Stewart’s, he took a job as a salesman for a paper manufacturer.  Before long he started his own business.  The California newspaper said “on the first day that he took possession of his new office he made the sanguine remark: ‘I shall make a fortune here in twenty years.’  Better than his word, he made his fortune in twelve years and retired, still in the prime of life, to enjoy the rest which he had never known since his boyhood.”  

The “prime of his life” was age 33 and Field left with a comfortable fortune of $250,000—between $6 and $10 million today.  But his retirement did not necessarily include "the rest" which the California journalist referred to.  He traveled with artist Frederick Church through Bogota, Guayaquil and Ecuador.   But he is best remembered for being the force behind the laying of the Transatlantic Cable in 1866.

Field was also the owner of the Evening Mail newspaper.  In 1881 he embarked on a project to erect a new headquarters building which would include additional floors of leased office space.   One by one he purchased the properties that composed the block front on Battery Place, between Broadway and Greenwich Street (today Trinity Place).  Included was the historic Washington Hotel at No. 1 Broadway, built in 1745 as the mansion of British Captain Archibald Kennedy. 

On November 17, 1881 The New York Times explained that Field "decided that six of the foremost architects of this City should enter into a competition in the drawing of plans for the immense office building which it is his intention to have erected on that ground."   The mere submission of a design would reap the architects $500; the winning architect would be awarded $5,000 (plus an additional $500 for relinquishing ownership of the designs to Field).

The designs were to be submitted anonymously, marked with a "motto," accompanied by a letter containing the architects' names which would be opened only after the choice had been made.  On November 1, the deadline, Field gathered up the plans, took this to his country home at Irvington-on-Hudson, and reviewed them with his wife.  The couple decided on Edward H. Kendall.

"Mr. Kendall's plan is to constructor a building that will in many of its details be a reminder of the old colonial days, and which will, to some extent, memorialize the building there standing and known to have been the head-quarters of Gen. Washington," said The Times.  "The architect has, therefore, produced plans for a building, the style of which he is pleased to distinguish as colonial."

The Broadway entrance, seen above, was mirrored on the Greenwich Street corner.  Real Estate Record & Builders' Guide, June 25, 1898 (copyright expired)

While Kendall's design did include Colonial Revival elements, it also drew substantially from the new Queen Anne style.  Faced in "Milwaukee brick," its brownstone trim was, according to The Times, "the same kind of stone used in the construction of Trinity Church."   From the two main entrances at the chamfered corners rounded stone staircases spilled to the sidewalk like cascades.  Both corners included five-story "turreted oriels."  

Even after Kendall filed his plans on June 23, 1882 it seems that he and Fields were still working out significant details.  Although Field had initially put a $500,000 cap on construction costs, Kendall's plans came to $900,000--nearly $20.5 million today.  And although the plans called for an 11-story building, The New York Times described 10 stories.

Even at that height it would be a marvel.  (In 1896 one writer called the building "the pioneer of the "Sky Scrapers.)  The Times called it "an artistic effort" and predicted it "cannot fail to attract the eye, and it is believed that the building will be one of the handsomest in the City."   

The entire tenth floor, said the newspaper, would be used by the Evening Mail for its "editorial, reportorial, and composing rooms," and, of course, Cyrus Fields's office.  The press rooms were located in the cellar, with windows at sidewalk level, at the western end of the building.  The Broadway side cellar space would hold the safe deposit vaults of the banking firm which had already signed a lease for the first floor space on that side.  Floors three through nine contained 19 rented offices each, which measured 17 by 18 feet.  The Times commented "The offices on the Battery-place front will command an unsurpassed view of the Battery Park and the harbor."

Named the Washington Building in homage to its venerable predecessor, it was in fact more popularly called the Field Building.  It was completed in 1884 and, as The Times predicted, stopped at 10 floors.  Also missing from the original plans was a "cupola, with a flag-staff and electric light," resulting in a blunt roofline,

Among the first tenants were the Manhattan Hay and Produce Exchange, as well as D'Orville's restaurant, which would be the scene of business meetings and dinners.  One example was the annual dinner and election of the Telegrapher' Mutual Benefit Association on November 19, 1884.   The millionaires in evening clothes had come from as far away as Chicago, Baltimore and Philadelphia.

The offices of the committee for erecting the Statue of Liberty moved in shortly after the building's completion.  The frustrating task of erecting a base and assembling the monument had been dragging on since 1876 when the arm was first displayed in Madison Square Park.  Part of the problem was that the United States had to pay for the pedestal.  Americans were still reeling from the Financial Panic of 1873 and there was tepid interest in donating to the project.

Periodicals were not quick to get behind it, either.  Harper's Weekly declared that France should have paid for the entire gift; and The New York Times said "no true patriot can countenance any such expenditures for bronze females in the present state of our finances."

But now the goal seemed within sight.  In August 1884 the Broadway entrance of the Washington Building was draped in French and American flags in anticipation of the cornerstone laying ceremonies of Richard Morris Hunt's pedestal on August 5.  A reception was held that morning from 10:00 to 1:00 and 3,000 invitations had been sent out for the ceremony.

Only a year after the Washington Building was completed, Edward H. Kendall got his way.  On July 18, 1885 The Record & Guide reported "Cyrus W. Field intends to add three stories to the Washington Building next year, to cost about $250,000.  The addition will contain a tower and other features, and will be a continuation of the original design, which was to make it an eleven-story building.  The architect will, of course, be E. H. Kendall."

Kendall eventually got his cupola and flagpole.  Piles of bricks sit in front of the remodeled building as workers pave Battery Place in 1886.  King's Handbook of New York 1890 (copyright expired)

The Record & Guide called the remodeled structure "undoubtedly one of the handsomest office structures in the world."  Not only did were the building's electric lights powered by its own dynamos in the basement, it had its own artesian well.  The Guide concluded "It is probably the first building to attract the foreigner who comes to our shores, and it stands out prominently, both on land and water, as one of the noblest buildings at the extreme southern boundary of Manhattan Island."

The Statue of Liberty Committee would not need offices after October 1886.  But the group went out with a bang--literally.   Previous to the monument's dedication on the afternoon of October 28, a procession came down Broadway to the Battery.  That night fireworks were set off from the Washington Building.

Cyrus Field had known Wall Street speculator James H. Hunting casually for years.  A wealthy jeweler in the 1850s, he had lost his business through bad investments.   By now he was considered "to be in moderate circumstances," as described by The New York Times.   His marriage had ended in divorce and "after this Hunting seemed to grow less and less prosperous."

Hunting routinely dropped into the offices of friends to ask for small loans.  Among those was Cyrus Field and on May 4, 1888 he was back.  He walked into Field's  office in the Washington Building asking him to lend him a few dollars.

Field reportedly replied, "Why, Jim, you know how this thing is; I have calls every day or two for money, and I can't lend you any to-day."  Hunting laughed at the good natured rejection, handed Fields a note and said, "Read this tonight."

The Times reported "Still laughing and in a perfectly cheerful manner, Mr. Hunting left the office.  His steps sounded along the hall for a moment, and then the report of a pistol was heard.  People rushed out of their offices and found Mr. Hunting dead."

Field opened the note which read:

Dear Will:  It seems almost impossible to succeed.  As a last favor, will you send my body to Madison, N. J., for burial as cheaply as possible, as I have no other friend but you.  Yours, Jim.

A string of tragedies would personally visit Cyrus Field beginning in 1891.  His beloved wife, Mary, died in their country home in November.  Only weeks later his son, Edward, went insane.  He not only brought about the failure of his brokerage firm, Field, Lindley, Weichers & Co., but "raided the strong box in which his father, Cyrus W. Field, kept his securities and left it empty of valuables," as reported by The Times on December 2.   The two events seriously affected Field, who was reported bedridden and while "not unconscious" all efforts "to arouse him were not successful."

And things got worse.  A partner in the ruined Field, Lindley, Weichers & Co. was Daniel Lindley, the husband of Cyrus's daughter Grace.  Now, stricken with "nervous prostration," Grace was taken to the Field mansion on Gramercy Park.  She died there on January 11 and her funeral was held in the mansion.  It was all too much for the 72 year old millionaire to handle.  He never recovered and died in the Irvington-on-Hudson house in July 1892.

The Broadway building was purchased by the Washington Building Co.   In January 1908 the firm hired Harry E. Donnell to so "extensive improvements."  Although the plans are vague, the updates were internal and most likely involved issues like plumbing and elevators.

Far more serious renovations would come after the International Mercantile Marine purchased by Washington Building in November 1919.  The organization paid $3 million--more in the neighborhood of $42.5 million today.  Only one week later it announced the structure "is to be transformed into a great white stone structure of classic dignity and proportion."

Architect Walter B. Chambers told reporters "The cupola and the side turret windows of the present structure will be removed, simplifying and strengthening the outline of the new elevation.  The interior will also be entirely remodeled in accordance with the most modern ideas."

The remarkable make-over was completed in August of 1922.  Astoundingly, the massive reconstruction of the building was executed without dispossessing the existing tenants--they were simply moved around as construction took place floor-by-floor.  

The entire first floor became the "great booking office" of the steamship company, as described by the Record & Guide.  "This office was designed to represent the latest idea in practical utility, with extensive counter space, a large waiting room for customers, a department devoted to the issuing of travelers' checks and an information bureau."  The Guide deemed the remodeled building "a beautiful harmonious structure, which few would recognize as the old Washington Building, known for two generations as the first skyscraper in Manhattan."

The Real Estate Record & Builders' Guide, August 19, 1922 (copyright expired)

The design won the The Downtown League's "first [place] award for an altered building" in January 1922.  In announcing the award, the League said it "covered their beautiful building at 1 Broadway, formerly known as the 'Washington Building.'"

The International Mercantile Marine Company had barely opened its offices at 1 Broadway when it became involved in a sticky international problem--Prohibition.   Passengers on elegant steamships heading to New York from Europe expected wine with dinner and, perhaps, a cocktail in the evenings.  But Attorney General Daughtery ruled in October 1922 that "no ships may enter American waters with liquor aboard."

The ruling was immediately protested by the Cunard Line, the Anchor Lines, the United American Line and Red Star Line.  On October 12 the International Mercantile Marine Company joined the others in challenging the ruling.

The day before the ruling became effective passengers of the United American steamship Resolute "entered port singing lugubriously 'How Dry I Am,' the ship's bar having been closed at sea," reported the New-York Tribune. on October 13.  The Government was given a temporary restraining order by Judge Learned Hand until the United States Supreme Court could rule on the scope of the 18th Amendment with relation to international ships.

In 1992 Allstate T. F. I. acquired No. 1 Broadway in foreclosure.  Over the decades the stone facade had weathered and fragments have fallen away.  The firm initiated a $2.2 million facade restoration by architect Stephen Cohan, executed by C. & D. Restoration.  Interestingly, as damaged stone was removed, the original brick and brownstone facade was revealed underneath.  

Above the base, colorful terra cotta shield representing ports of call adorn the facade.  Elsewhere, limestone decorations carry on a marine theme--starfish and shells, for instance.   photograph by Gryffindor

Completed in 1995, the project was awarded the Lucy G. Moses Preservation Award by the New York Landmarks Conservancy.

The Lost Government House -- Broadway at Bowling Green

from the collection of the New York Public Library

On November 25 1783 the last British troops left Manhattan.   Americans set to work establishing their new government and on April 30, 1789 General George Washington took the oath of office as its first President.

That same year Fort Amsterdam, which had stood at the tip of the island since around 1625, was demolished.  The publicly-owned land with its harbor views and cooling breezes, presented a perfect site for the presidential residence. 

Because the Governor’s, or Mansion House, within the fort had been destroyed by fire on December 29, 1773, George Washington lived in a series of borrowed homes along Broadway and on Cherry Street.  And he repeatedly spoke of establishing a new city as the nation’s capital.  City fathers hoped that an appropriate executive mansion might help persuade him to keep the capital in New York.

A design competition was held in April 1790 and architect James Robinson was awarded the commission.   In 1792 he was listed in The New-York Directory and Register as a “house carpenter and master builder.”  (In 1795 New-York Magazine attributed the mansion to “those who had the direction of it, Mssrs. Robinson, Moore, & Smith.”) 

His design was one of which the wealthiest and most sophisticated of the ousted British would have approved.  Elegant and majestic, the Georgian-style home was constructed of red brick with white stone trim.   The two-story portico above the rusticated basement level was accessed by two sweeping curved staircases.  An American eagle was carved into the pediment.

from the collection of the Library of Congress

A century later, in 1898, Daniel Van Pelt in his Leslie’s History of the Greater New York opined that “When the patriots first retook their own in 1783, the aspects of the city must have been dreary in the extreme, with a deplorable ‘Canvastown’ and blacked ruins right in its center.”  But, he wrote, “Among the first efforts at architectural beauty and grandeur, after the Federal Hall must be reckoned the Government House…Upon this advantageously located space was reared an imposing structure, with pillared and pedimented front porch facing the Bowling Green, and making a fine close for the vista from Broadway.”

The cornerstone was laid on May 21, 1790.  But the city fathers’ hopes seemed dashed when, only four months after construction began, Congress voted to move the capital to Philadelphia.  Nevertheless, they pushed ahead—there was always the hope that Philadelphia would prove inadequate.

The magnificent mansion, called the Government House, was completed in 1790.  And now the city had to find a purpose for it. 

Samuel Hollyer's 1905 engraving, depicting the mansion in 1790, includes two cows lounging on the entrance drive.  from the collection of the New York Public Library

The Federal Capital may have abandoned New York; but the city remained the State Capital.  What was intended as the executive mansion became the Governor’s Mansion.   Governor George Clinton, elected 13 years earlier, moved in.  He was followed in the mansion by Governor John Jay in 1795.

Then in 1797 the state capital was relocated to Albany.  New York City was once again presented with the problem of what to do with the Government House.  A road block to some suggestions was the act passed on Mach 16, 1790 which “reserves the property for publick uses solely.”

Apparently officials turned their heads to that fact briefly. For a year prior to May 1, 1799, according historian Isaac N. Phelps in his 1915 book The Iconography of Manhattan Island, the mansion was “leased as a tavern to John Avery.”

Avery’s tenancy came to an end following the passage of the Customs Administration Act in 1799.  The Government House now became the Custom House. 

But the new function would in no way ensure the future for the stately Georgian structure.  While the lower floors operated as the Customs House, the upper floors were leased by the city to the Academy of Arts.   Another organization moved into the building in 1809—the fledgling New York Historical Society.

In 1841 the Society published a small book, Collections of the New-York Historical Society which explained “In 1809, a communication was received from the Academy of Arts, inviting the society to occupy a room in the Government House; the invitation was promptly accepted, and in September of the same year the first meeting was held there.  The north-west room in the second story of that building was appropriated to the society.  The books which had been previously kept in the ‘City Library,’ were removed to the same place.”

But before long the Society, the Academy, and the Customs House would have to find new homes.  In 1811 the Government House was declared “in a ruinous and disreputable appearance.”  On December 18 that year City Surveyor Peter Mesier sent a letter to the Governor which said in part “It is very certain that it will not be advantageous to the state to repair the Government House in New York, and it is equally true that without very extensive repair it will soon be a reproach to the city.”

Mesier pointed out that New York City “did once, I think, offer the state 50,000 Dollars for it, which was thought, by the Surveyor General and others here, to be an inadequate price.” He felt $62,000 was a fair price and “in case that offer shall be made, I shall use my influence to induce [the Legislature] to accept it.”

In May 1812 the State offered the property to New York City; but the interest was gone.  The stipulation that the land could not be resold for private purpose ruined the deal.  With its back to the wall and stuck with what had become a white elephant; the State amended its offer.    The City purchased the decaying mansion and, as quickly as the public lease expired, placed the property at auction.

On May 25, 1815 The Evening Post reported that the entire block on which the Government House stood had been sold at auction for a total of $158,000.  The following day the mansion itself was offered.

Jacob Barker placed the winning bid of $5,050.  Since he had not purchased the land the day before, it seems obvious that he was interested only in the materials that could be reclaimed.

The Government House—only 25 years old—was demolished.  The new Custom House erected on the site lasted only until 1825.  In 1899 the magnificent U.S. Custom House, designed by Cass Gilbert, rose on what was essentially the site of the Government House.  It survives today.

from the collection of the New York Public Library

Castle Clinton -- the Battery

photograph National Parks Service

Since the 17^th century the lowest point in Manhattan, then known as Schreyer’s Hook, had contained a fortification of one kind or another.  But around 1788 it was resolved to demolish the badly damaged old stone Fort and build a residence for the President of the United States on the site.  Known as the Government House, its foundation stones came from the old fort.  For nearly 20 years New York City’s southern tip would be without protection.

In 1806 Congress dedicated 400 feet of ground off shore for the erection of a national fortress.  Planned by Lt. Joseph G. Totten of the United States Engineers, the project relied on a stone mole constructed below the water line.  The South West Battery would be connected to Manhattan by a long drawbridge.  Completed around 1811, the large oval-shaped fort, capable of mounting 28 heavy cannon, was built of red sandstone with walls thick enough to withstand a cannon barrage.  Inside were cisterns, two large magazines for the storage of weapons, explosives and provisions, and barracks for the soldiers and officers.

An early night-time view clearly shows the drawbridge.  The flagpole rising from the circular upper section prompted Washington Irving to liken it to a butter churn.  (copyright expired)

The port of New York was now securely defended by the Battery and Castle Williams, on Governor’s Island.  The new fort would keep its name only a few years.  Immediately after the War of 1812 the South West Battery was renamed Castle Clinton, in honor of DeWitt Clinton.    The military purpose of the fort was abandoned after only ten years.  In November 1822 the Government gave the property to the Corporation of the City of New York.  The garrison was dismantled and removed to Governor’s Island.

The City leased the relatively new fortress for five years at an annual rent of $1,400 dollars—in the neighborhood of $29,000 today.  Victorian amusements often centered around “pleasure gardens”— indoor-outdoor spaces with restaurants and entertainment.   The ambitious men who leased the space recognized the immense potential and installed a roof, stage and seating.  In doing so they created what was believed to be the largest audience space in the world.  There was a promenade where finely-dressed ladies and gentlemen could enjoy the sea breezes.  William Loring Andrews, in 1901, said it “immediately became a fashionable resort.”

A charming watercolor of about 1841 captured Castle Garden from the harbor -- from the collection of the Library of Congress

Renamed Castle Garden, it became the venue for New York’s most important celebrations.  When Lafayette was honored by the City in September 1824, a “Fete and Gala” was staged here.  About 6,000 persons attended and a newspaper said it “far transcended in splendor any pageant ever before witnessed in the United States.”

In his Picture of New York in 1828 author Goodrich commented on the relief that the Garden’s water setting provided in the summer.  “The felicitous situation of this spot and the combination of objects that are here presented to the eye, caused a rush of genteel company during the warm season that was quite unprecedented in the City.”

Welcoming receptions like that for Lafayette were repeated in 1938 for President Jackson, in 1843 for President Tyler and for Hungarian hero Louis Kossuth in 1851.  But as important to the public were the spectacles staged here.  On July 29, 1841 the New-York Tribune reported “Castle Garden is not only the grand centre of attraction, but is to be, this evening, according to the bill in another column, the scene of a grand and terrific explosion.  Old Mount Vesuvius will emit her fires and cover herself and the surrounding hills with burning lava.  The scene is thrilling beyond imagining and the proprietors deserve credit for the industry and perseverance which they have displayed ever since they came into possession of the garden.” 

The success of the outdoor show was such that it demanded a second performance.  “In consequence of the unbounded approbation bestowed on Thursday evening, and the great success on the first representation of the Eruption of Mount Vesuvius it will be repeated on Monday evening, August 2^nd,” reported the New-York Tribune on August 2.

The newspaper described the scene, which covered 20,000 square feet, “extending over the entire front of the Garden, including the whole of the lower Grand Promenade, on both sides of the Garden.”  The eruption had been designed by Henry J. S. Hall, “long and favorably known to this community as a Pyrotechnist.”  Working with him was Mr. Grand “one of the oldest and most celebrated Scene Painters in this city,” and Mr. Johnson and Mr. Speyer, who operated “the machinery.”

The evening began with the New-York Brass Band performing “many of the new and favorite pieces, for which the Band is so celebrated.”  Immediately at sundown single rockets were fired, continuing until 9:00 “when the exhibition will commence with brilliant bengola lights, Marine Signal Rockets with gold rain, the Chaplet of Flora, rockets with colored meteors, illuminated yew tree [and] Pride of Aurora.”

The crowd, filled with anticipation, now took a 30-minute intermission “for Promenade and Refreshments,” after which was the Grand Eruption of Mount Vesuvius.  Tickets for the extravaganza cost 50 cents (about $14 today).

An advertisement in the New-York Daily Tribune on May 27, 1846 provides a glimpse into the lives of Castle Garden’s mid-Victorian patrons.  Neither sea breezes nor wealth and status could not eradicate the smells of city life.  Cultured women protected themselves from the offending odors of human sweat, rotting garbage, and horse droppings by carrying pomanders or perfume-filled bottles.  The ad that morning read “Lost—At Castle Garden on Wednesday evening last, at the Philharmonic Concert, a cut glass, garnet-colored Smelling Bottle.  The finder will confer a favor, and receive a suitable reward, by returning the same to No. 25 Waverly-place.”

The description of the item and the lady’s enviable address reflected the wealth and refinement of the citizens who attended Castle Garden events.  But no occasion would evidence this more than the appearance of Jenny Lind in 1850.

Impresario and marketing genius P. T. Barnum leased Castle Garden for the Swedish Nightingale’s debut in the United States.   Anticipation of the internationally-famous soprano’s concerts grew to obsession and near riot to obtain tickets.  To increase the audience capacity, the stage and orchestra were demolished “to make way for the improvements contemplated by Mr. Barnum,” reported the New-York Daily Tribune on September 10, 1850.  But while workers sawed and hammered inside, ticket buyers swarmed the grounds in near panic.

“The narrow entrances were taken possession of at an early hour, and were not again freed till after noon; the mass of people standing wedged in, somewhat after the California fashion upon the arrival of a steamer.”  Barnum sold the tickets at auction, limiting the number of tickets to a single purchaser to 50.  Hotels snapped up blocks of seats and while the average price hovered at $5, single tickets brought as much as $225—nearly $7,000 in today’s dollars.

As opening night neared, regulations were put in place regarding the “government of carriages and hacks” in order to prevent confusion and chaos.  Excitement increased and on September 11 the New-York Daily Tribune wrote “To-night will be a new Avatar in our musical history—the first appearance of another divinity in the world of Song.”  The newspaper said “The power of a name that, without actual performance, can bring together six of seven thousand people at a cost of some $35,000 for tickets alone, must rest on a marvelous gift indeed, to retain its spell on the public mind.  Nevertheless we have no fear that the spell will be broken or the gift grow dim.”

Jenny Lind sings to a crowd of over 8,000 on September 11, 1850.  Lithograph by Nathaniel Currier (copyright expired)

Following the sixth and final concert on September 24, the Tribune estimated its attendance at between 8,000 to 9,000 persons.  “Sure it is, at least, that Castle Garden never before held so many mortal men and women with its wide circle.”  The newspaper summed up the series of concerts saying they were “unequalled in moral grandeur, and we doubt much whether they have ever been surpassed in Europe in brilliancy and magnitude.”  Following her last encore, Jenny Lind “received a bushel, at least, of splendid bouquets.”

A tiny article at the bottom of the page noted “We understand that Friday and Saturday next will be receiving days at Castle Garden for the approaching Fair of the American Institute.”

Organized in 1828, annual Fair exhibited the marvels of American engineering.  On reporting on the opening of the 24^th Fair the following year, in October 1851, The New York Times pointed out some of the attractions.  Visitors could see Cyrus McCormick’s reaping machine “to harvest cereal grains.”  The patriotic newspaper boasted Yankee ingenuity by poking “Yes, fellow-citizens, in Old England, where they pride themselves as having made the greatest advance in the science of agriculture, we have carried off the palm.”  Here too was Samuel Colt’s repeating firearms, and B. F. Palmer’s artificial leg. 

The Fair also included “specimens of pianos, tapestry, carpeting, clothing, shawls, hardware, silver ware and glass,” as noted by Vice President Livingston Livingston. 

While the American Institute was displaying article of Yankee ingenuity, New York Harbor was seeing an unprecedented influx of immigrants.  New York City recognized an immediate need for a processing depot and Castle Garden, sitting in the harbor away from the mainland, presented a viable option.

A hearing was held on May 28, 1855 during which Quarantine physician Carl G. Rota testified “that good would arise if emigrants were prevented from spreading themselves over low, unhealthy neighborhoods, where for the first few days they mostly congregate, spending their money in drunkenness, and every form of excitement tending to produce disease.”

A Committee later took a different approach, arguing that utilizing Castle Garden as an Emigrant Depot would be to the best interest of the immigrants.  “No laws could protect emigrants from imposition and fraud if landed promiscuously on the docks.”  The men said that “runners, hotel keepers, &c., could be excluded” and that was “essential for their protection.

“Runners” were the men who awaited at the docks for naïve arrivals.  Working with hotel keepers or railroad ticket agents, they convinced the immigrants that they could provide cheap, clean lodging or inexpensive passage to the West.  In fact, the newcomers were most often fleeced.

On August 1, 1855 Castle Garden opened as an immigrant processing station.   The New York Times said “Bob Murray got out his brand new books, all ruled and labeled, to keep the record of the new comers, his assistants were ready for service in ascertaining their wants; the bathtubs were full of Croton for anticipated ablutions, and Captain Cruttenden was duly prepared to give the aliens all needful dispatch by railroad or steamboat to their Western homes.”

The Committee that insisted that the Castle Garden location would prevent the immigrants from being ill-used apparently did not consider rogue workers.  On July 7, 1857 the New-York Daily Tribune printed a letter to the editor that complained “It is a fact too well known, that the Castle Garden establishment, beneficial as it may be to the immigrants, generally speaking, is still very far from being perfect—very far from preventing all abuses.  Again it is a matter of notoriety that a considerable number of immigrants (almost all of them Germans) have lost their luggage at the Castle Garden depot, after having been compelled to intrust [sic] it to the safe keeping of the establishment, and have never been compensated for such losses.”

The Castle Garden commissioners held a monopoly on railroad tickets and hotel bookings for the immigrants.  If a runner were found offering lodging even at an approved boarding house, that establishment would lose its ability to house immigrants.  The penalty often spelled the end of the small businesses.  The Evening World complained on October 14, 1887 that “the pool” (the authorized railroad tickets) overcharged the newcomers.  A runner was able to offer tickets to Omaha, for instance, at $23.75 each.  “The rate charged by the pool in the Garden is $26,” said the newspaper.

Frank Leslie's Illustrated Newspaper depicted immigrants arriving on January 20, 1866 (copyright expired)

Victorian periodicals and novels portrayed the Castle Garden arrivals, perhaps a bit melodramatically, as poor and desperate.  A writer for The Evening World was disgusted by the depictions and made an argument at the extreme opposite end of the spectrum. 

“Campaign orators are wont to picture the ‘poor, down-trodden emigrants’ as coming to this country in rags.  One thing that forcibly strikes the visitor to Castle Garden is that the 2,000 emigrants there are all well dressed.  They wear durable, all-wool clothes.  There isn’t a patch to be seen in the Garden.  Not on emigrant comes to Castle Garden in a shoddy suit of clothes, though he may wear shoddy before he has been in American very long.”  No doubt many of the passengers disembarking would have an argument with his assessment.

Not all of the hopeful arrivers were received with open arms.  On March 24, 1890 “pretty Elizabeth Ellen Hewitt” arrived with her husband Henry Becket on the Germanic.  Becket, whom The Evening World described as “grizzled and gray” and “will never celebrate his sixtieth anniversary again” had married the 17-year old Elizabeth in Ireland.  Despite the protestations of the journalist for The Evening World the year before, the couple was raggedly dressed.

“Her jacket was cheap, her fustian gown of black still cheaper.  Her shoes were brogans and her hat was a fifteen-cent black straw, with an impossible yellow crow impaled upon it,” reported The World.  “They have a tin trunk with 75 cents worth of extra clothing in it, and Henry has a nickel watch and chain.”

The couple was detained because “he hadn’t a farthing in his old gray trousers.”  Henry Becket told authorities that he owned “three acres and a little house” in Toronto.  But he could provide no contacts or proof.  Immigration officials did not admit the indigent, and after the couple’s long and arduous sea journey Henry and Elizabeth were refused entry.

“He will probably have to return to old Ireland with his youthful bride, for he is set down as a monumental liar by the Castle Garden authorities.”

A year later authorities were considering new uses for Castle Garden.  Having processed approximately 7.5 million immigrants, the old building was no longer able to accommodate the ever-increasing flood of arrivals.  A magnificent new station was being constructed on Ellis Island in 1891.  On April 14 that year a movement was considered “for the conversation of Castle Garden into an aquarium and a music hall,” as reported in The New York Times that day.  Another consideration was using the structure for the Naval Reserve Association of the State of New-York as an armory.

The debate lasted until 1896 when the aquarium argument won out.  McKim, Mead and White was commissioned by the city to convert the old fort.    The upper floors were removed, bringing the structure back—nearly—to its fort-like appearance.  After the interiors were gutted and tanks and pools installed, The New York Times remarked “When empty, its huge barbaric pillars and great groined roof remind one strongly of the pictured temples of Karnak, fringed with sparkling pools and massive reservoirs whose green waters intensify the filtered sunshine that reflects back from the cool, white-tiled flooring.”

McKim, Mead & White's conversion included mosaic floors and ornate railings along the pools -- Guide to the New York Aquarium, 1919 (copyright expired)

The Aquarium not only exhibited fish and shellfish; but alligators, a crocodile, sea lions, manatees, turtles and other water life.  The New-York Tribune described it on April 4, 1915 as “the largest institution of the kind in the world, having numerous large floor pools, at least one hundred large wall tanks, thirty smaller tanks and thirty-six reserved tanks.”

Guide to the New York Aquarium, 1919 (copyright expired)

The Aquarium acquired both rare and common examples of sea life; but two unexpected acquisitions came in October 1920.  In celebration of Jenny Lind’s 100^th birthday a “centennial exhibit” was held in the building where she sang 70 years earlier.  “Many of Jenny Lind’s personal belongings and interesting relics associated with her tour here will be shown,” reported the New-York Tribune on August 21.  On the afternoon of October 6 the Park Commissioners presented the Aquarium with a marble bust of the singer and a portrait—both made during her 1850 appearance.

By 1900, when this postcard was printed, Manhattan landfill had engulfed the structure.

In 1940 construction began on the Brooklyn Battery Tunnel.  The decade-long project was directed by Triborough Bridge and Tunnel Authority Chairman Robert Moses—not well known for his preservationist stance.  The approaches to the Tunnel as designed would require the demolition of the Aquarium building and in 1941 the building was vacated.

The Government stepped in, however, and in 1946 designated the historic building a National Monument and renamed it Castle Clinton.  Now under the jurisdiction of the National Park Service it was protected and Robert Moses’ roadway had to be redirected.

While the red stone structure retains only the basics of its original appearance; it clearly represents the many manifestations of its two-century history--an historic survivor snatched from almost sure annihilation.