Blog - For The Record — NYC Department of Records & Information Services

Alexandra Hilton

Launching ArchivesSpace

On October 25, 2021, the New York City Municipal Archives launched ArchivesSpace, a web-based tool that enables researchers to easily identify records pertaining to people, places, and subjects in the collections. Put succinctly, this is a very big deal!    

Opening Page. Municipal Archives Collection Guides.  NYC Municipal Archives.

The Municipal Archives has been described as one of the largest repositories of government records in North America. The world-class collections span four centuries and include historical records of all three branches of municipal government—executive, legislative, and judicial.  The Municipal Archives holdings total more than 185,000 cubic feet and 350 terabytes of historical City records, photographs, and recordings. That’s the good news. The on-going challenge is how to provide various levels of access to help patrons know what exists in the collections and identify materials relevant for their research. ArchivesSpace takes us a long-way toward meeting that challenge.   

Before implementation of this tool, patrons needed to know, or guess, which collections might contain material relevant to their research. Then, it would be necessary to examine available inventories, etc., individually. Even with Archives staff assistance, it was not always possible to identify every collection that might be pertinent.    

Now, users can search and browse descriptions of the archival holdings using a variety of parameters—keyword, creator agency, subject and name. Search results will also indicate when digitized material is available in the online gallery.   

Launching ArchivesSpace didn’t take quite the resources needed for a moon landing, but at times, it felt like it. To make it work, we had to gain intellectual and physical control over the collections, establish record groups, clean up legacy data, and identify record creators and their functional relationships to one another.  Essentially, we had to remediate and standardize vast quantities of metadata—an immense task given size and complexity of the  collections.    

Illustration - Collection Data Sources. NYC Municipal Archives.

City archivists have been describing municipal government records since the establishment of the Municipal Archives in 1952. There are more than 3,800 appraisal and accession reports, plus thousands of inventories, indexes and finding aids in many formats—paper, Excel, Access and pdf. Often there are multiple versions describing a collection.  

We began the work in 2014. First, we assembled all 3,812 accession records. They were very useful, of course, but we discovered that over the 70+years of their creation, consistent descriptive standards had not been used. Here’s an example: “Parks Department” is listed on a 2010 accession.  Unfortunately, “Parks Department” is not the name of the agency, past or present.  Depending on the time period, the creating agency could have been:

•       Board of the Commissioners of the Central Park (1857-1870)

•       Department of Public Parks (1870-1898)

•       Department of Parks (1898-1968)

•       Department of Parks, Recreation and Cultural Affairs (1968-1976)

•       Department of Parks and Recreation (1976-present).

There were incomplete appraisal and accession records for some of the holdings, particularly those dating from lean budget years when there was only enough Archives staff to bring important records into the building, but not to describe or inventory the material.  

We also found that names of city officials and their titles had been spelled and listed in a myriad of ways. For example, is it Mayor Fiorello LaGuardia or Mayor Fiorello La Guardia?  In total there are more than 1,800 “agents” in the collection, i.e. people, places, entities, etc. Only 900 had Library of Congress-established designations—the rest we had to create.      

An indispensable resource: The Guide to the Municipal Government of the City of New York, by Thelma E. Smith, 1960. NYC Municipal Library

We had to develop an ontology, i.e. figure out who are the record creators and what is their relationship to one another. Researching and creating these agency histories proved to be one of the most time-consuming but important tasks we accomplished. 

Illustration: Sample Record Group: Commission on Human Rights. NYC Municipal Archives

We also created record groups. They are the “buckets” to index functionality, not the records themselves. We decided to use the current agencies as the record groups; they are like umbrellas with the names of all the other related agencies listed underneath them. For example, if a researcher does not know that there was a previous iteration of the agency with a different title, they can search in the tool to learn all the other associated and predecessor entities, and relevant holdings in the Archives.  

The ultimate goal of implementing ArchivesSpace is to make the entirety of the collections open and accessible to researchers. It also serves as a tool for Archives staff to manage the material. It is worth noting that in some ways the pandemic and resulting closure of the Municipal Archives offices helped speed up the implementation. Much of the work that was required to make ArchivesSpace a reality was suitable for staff working remotely. 

In launching ArchivesSpace, Municipal Archives Director Sylvia Kollar said: “The Archives has reimagined ways in which we provide access to the City's historical records. The site enables researchers to understand the constant evolution of City government agencies, and reflects the Archives’ role in providing intellectual access points to a dynamic, ever- growing collection.”

Take a moment to explore our NYCMA Collection Guides. We look forward to helping explore the wide range of New York City government collections.

Users can submit research requests directly to Municipal Archives reference staff using the Contact Us tab or email research@records.nyc.gov.

Alexandra Hilton is Head of Collections Management at the Municipal Archives. She joined the Archives 2012 and has been working on ArchivesSpace since 2014.   

Building Histories, part 2

In our continuing series of blogs focused on the Manhattan Building Plan project, this week Alexandra Hilton highlights three architecturally significant buildings documented in the collection – the New York Fire Department Shore Station” the Margaret Louisa Home on East 16th Street, and the “Little” Singer Building. 

Shore Quarters for Fireboat New Yorker

Fireboat “New Yorker,” tied up at the Station House, c. 1910. Department of Docks and Ferries Collection.  NYC Municipal Archives

In 1891, the fireboat “New Yorker” became the first floating engine, as they called them, to have its own permanent shore station. No longer standing, the building was located near Pier A and Castle Garden in Battery Park.

Shore Quarters No. 57 for Fireboat New Yorker, façade elevation, blueprint, 1891. Manhattan Building Plan Collection, NYC Municipal Archives.

The New Yorker was in service from 1891-1931. It was constructed by Julius Jonson from plans by Charles H. Haswell. Fireboats were part of engine companies until the Fire Department’s Marine Division was organized in 1959 and the New Yorker was part of Engine 57. It was 125 feet long and around 350 tons and could pump 13,000 gallons of water a minute. It was the most powerful fireboat of its day.

An ocean liner passes along Battery Park; shore quarters building at left; Pier A at right, ca. 1939. WPA Federal Writers’ Project Collection, NYC Municipal Archives.

Shore Quarters No. 57 for Fireboat New Yorker, balcony, blueprint, 1891. Manhattan Building Plan Collection, NYC Municipal Archives.

The building was similar to other engine houses and was intended to serve as housing for the company. There was a bunkroom upstairs, sliding poles to the ground floor and a complete set of telegraph instruments for informing the company of all alarms throughout the city. The company also responded to fires that occurred on the water. Boat disasters weren’t uncommon, the General Slocum steamboat tragedy took place not long after the New Yorker went into service.

Shore Quarters No. 57 for Fireboat New Yorker, door and window plan, blueprint, 1891. Manhattan Building Plan Collection, NYC Municipal Archives.

The New Yorker responded to many such tragedies. One well-known event is the 1900 Hoboken Docks fire that happened in and around a German shipping company’s piers at Hoboken, New Jersey. Cotton bales stored on the company’s southernmost wharf caught fire and winds carried the fire to nearby barrels filled with turpentine and oil, causing them to explode. The fire destroyed the piers up to the Hudson River waterline, as well as nearby warehouses, three transatlantic liners and almost two dozen smaller boats. When canal boats, barges and other debris caught on fire and started drifting toward the New York City side of the river, the New Yorker and other fireboats were dispatched to help contain the fire. More than 326 people lost their lives in the accident, mostly seamen and other workers, but also women who had been visiting one of the destroyed ships.

The New Yorker also responded to the 1911 Dreamland Park fire in Coney Island. The park was only open for seven years before it burned to the ground. On the night before opening day of the 1911 season, a water ride named Hell Gate developed a leak. A contractor from a roofing company was repairing the ride, using tar to plug up the leak. For reasons probably having to do with an electrical malfunction, the lightbulbs illuminating the man’s space as he worked exploded, and in his surprise, he kicked over a bucket of hot tar. The ride was immediately on fire. Most of the park was made of wood lath covered by a mixture of plaster of Paris and hemp fiber, a wildly flammable combination. Many Coney Island amusement parks used this dangerous combination in construction and often experienced fires. A high-pressure water pumping station had been installed a few years earlier as a preventive measure. That night it failed. Chaos ensued, lions were on the loose, an NYPD sergeant heroically rescued babies from the incubator exhibit. Dreamland was completely destroyed and never rebuilt.

Fireboat, The New Yorker, 1903, Department of Docks and Ferries Photograph Collection, NYC Municipal Archives.

After this storied career, the New Yorker was taken out of service in 1931.  It was auctioned in 1932 and replaced by the John J. Harvey fireboat. The firehouse was reaching the end of its days and Battery Park was about to be closed for several years while the Brooklyn-Battery Tunnel was built. Engine 57 was moved to then Pier 1 in 1941.

Margaret Louisa Home YWCA 

1894 Annual report of the Young Women’s Christian Association of the City of New York, internet archive.

1894 Annual report of the Young Women’s Christian Association of the City of New York, internet archive.

The Margaret Louisa Home located at 14-16 East 16th Street is part of the Ladies’ Mile Historic District. It was commissioned by YWCA-benefactor Margaret Louisa Shepard, daughter of William H. Vanderbilt. It was built in connection with the YWCA to serve as a temporary home for Protestant women seeking employment. Robert Henderson Robertson designed the six-story home to accommodate 100 female residents. Construction was completed in 1891.

Young Women’s Lodging House, front elevation, 1889. Manhattan Building Plan Collection.  NYC Municipal Archives.

The building façade is rock-face brownstone interspersed with brick in the Romanesque Revival style. The letters “YWCA” are inscribed on the exterior at the top of the second story, originally a mezzanine level. The midsection is punctuated with foliate designs and rows of dentils ending in carved lion masks. Alternating Romanesque columns run along the top, terminated by a cornice with block modillions and supported by decorative panels. Capping the facade is an arcaded parapet between higher end piers with carved panels. A seventh story under a peaked roof had been designed by Robertson but scrapped due to building regulations governing lodging houses.

Young Women’s Lodging House, plan of 2nd, 3rd, 4th and 5th floor, 1889. Manhattan Building Plan Collection, NYC Municipal Archives.

The building included 78 bedrooms, a parlor and reception rooms, private dining areas, a public restroom and laundry. Bedrooms were furnished with a white-painted iron bed, small oak table, a rocker and washstand with toilet set.

Young Women’s Lodging House, Longitudinal Section, Annex, 1889. Manhattan Building Plan Collection, NYC Municipal Archives

A one-story building originally meant to be a studio or meeting rooms was built as an annex at the rear of the lot. It also housed the boiler in the basement. 

The home was very successful. Boarders could stay for four weeks. Rooms rented for 60 cents a day with an extra 85 cents for meals. Most women seeking employment were teachers, milliners, dressmakers and stenographers, but there were also physicians, lecturers, actresses, nurses, photographers, and all sorts of other jobs represented. Plus, the home had its own employment bureau to assist residents in finding work.

14-16 East 16th Street, Manhattan, Block 843, Lot 39, 1940 Tax Photograph Collection. NYC Municipal Archives.

Parallel to the home, on a lot facing 15th Street, was the Young Women’s Christian Association, or YWCA, building, where women could take specialized training courses. It was built before the home, in 1887, also thanks to funds from Margaret Louisa and John Jacob Astor and other wealthy patrons. Robertson designed this building, in the Romanesque Revival style as well, with a mix of red brick and brownstone. An enclosed corridor and intervening garden space connected the building with the home on 16th Street. 

Both buildings are still standing today, although altered in use. The 16th Street YWCA was sold to the Society of the Commonwealth in 1917, where it became known as The People’s House. Organizations such as the National Women’s Suffrage Party, Margaret Sanger’s Birth Control League of New York and The Rand School, formed by members of the Socialist Party of America, took offices in the building.

The Margaret Louisa Home lasted longer and was operating until 1946. In 1951, it became the Sidney Hillman Health Center. The first floor was completely renovated, and the facade was modernized at this time. Most recently, plans have been approved by the Landmarks Preservation Commission to convert the building into a hotel, which would include demolishing most of the structure but preserving the facade. As of 2020, developers planned to rebuild the first floor facade to match the original, as well as adding the never-built  gabled roof from Robertson’s original designs.

Little Singer Building 

Little Singer Building, Ernest Flagg, elevation, 1903, blueprint. Manhattan Building Plan Collection, NYC Municipal Archives.

The twelve-story Little Singer Building was designed by Ernest Flagg for the Singer sewing machine company in 1903.­­ It is located in Soho at 561-563 Broadway between Spring and Prince Streets. The intricate iron tracery on the exterior makes this one very distinctive and you’d be hard-pressed to miss it if you walked past; it’s a style unique to the time period.

Little Singer Building, Ernest Flagg, Prince Street and Broadway elevation, 1908, blueprint.  Manhattan Building Plan Collection.  NYC Municipal Archives.

Flagg, who was known for designs in the Beaux-Arts style, built the iron structure to be fireproofed with brick and terra cotta, a relatively new innovation at the time, with a rusty red and green color scheme. An abundance of recessed glass on the front of the building along with the delicate wrought-iron tracery gave it a lighter appearance. Bolted iron plates make vertical pilasters that mark the end bays. Five central bays join vertically with curled iron tracery at the top of the 11th story, where the cornice is also supported by wrought-iron brackets. A top story, simple in comparison, is set above it. More of this same look can be seen around the bottom two stories. Tracery continues around the window bases and lacy strip balconies across each story. It’s all very ornamental.

“The Little Singer Building,” 561 Broadway, ca. 1980. NYC Municipal Archives Collection.

“The Little Singer Building,” 561 Broadway, ca. 1980. NYC Municipal Archives Collection.

The building is L-shaped; the Prince Street facade is essentially a narrower version of the Broadway side with the addition of a sign that reads “The Singer Manufacturing Company.”

A few years after completing the building in 1904, Flagg was retained to build a larger structure for the Singer Company on Broadway at Liberty Street. When the new structure was completed, the first building became known as the “Little” Singer Building. The second Singer building was finished in 1908 and was briefly the tallest building in the world. It was demolished in 1968.

Manhattan Block 500, Lot 20, 1940 Tax Photograph Collection, NYC Municipal Archives.

Manhattan Block 500, Lot 20, 1940 Tax Photograph Collection, NYC Municipal Archives.

In 1979, the Little Singer building was converted to a co-op with offices and joint living and work quarters. In 2008, it received a much-needed restoration, which included a re-creation of the original glass and ironwork sidewalk canopy on the Broadway side.

Building Histories, The Bellevue Psychopathic Hospital and the Rivington Street Bath

In last week’s blog, Amy Stecher adapted her “Lunch and Learn” presentation about the Manhattan Building Plan collection project. This week, co-presenter Alexandra Hilton highlights two architecturally significant buildings documented in the collection – the Bellevue Psychopathic Hospital and the Rivington Street Bath. Future blogs will feature the plans of other unique buildings that have been identified in the processing project.

Bellevue Psychopathic Hospital

Psychopathic Building, Bellevue and Allied Hospitals, architects’ rendering, 1927. Department of Public Charities and Hospitals Collection, NYC Municipal Archives.

The Bellevue Psychopathic Hospital, as it was called at the time, was built in 1931 by Charles B. Meyers in the Italian Renaissance style. The building is still standing alongside the East River on First Avenue between 29th and 30th Streets, occupying an entire city block. When constructed, it joined the growing Bellevue hospital complex, and was intended to match the existing buildings, which were designed by architects McKim, Mead & White – same color brick, embellished with granite base course, limestone and terra cotta trimmings. By then, McKim, Mead & White was barely active; Meyers had just designed the Tammany Hall building and was a favorite of then-Mayor Jimmy Walker.

Manhattan Block 958. Bromley Atlas, 1955. New York Public Library.

Prior to its construction, Bellevue’s mental-health facilities were part of the main hospital and included an 1879 “pavilion for the insane,” and an alcoholic ward was added in 1892. Dr. Menas Gregory, a well-known psychiatrist who spent his career working in Bellevue’s psychiatric division, is credited with the idea for a psychiatric building after a trip to inspect similar institutions in Europe – a “Temple of Mental Health,” as he called it. Wanting to create a very clean and stately environment for the new hospital was right on brand for Dr. Gregory. In his position, he had already changed the terminology – preferring “psychopathic” to the word “insane,” thinking this would help make the patients seem curable. He had also removed the iron bars from the old pavilion’s windows and had lessened the use of narcotics and physical restraints on the patients. Dr. Gregory was seen as a good guy in the field, at a time when most medical professionals were largely ignorant about mental illness.

Psychopathic Hospital, Department of Hospitals, Charles B. Meyers, elevation, 1929, blueprint. Manhattan Building Plan Collection, NYC Municipal Archives.

Before the hospital was built, The New York Times said it would be “one of the finest hospitals in the world for the treatment of mental disorders” and “thoroughly modern” at a cost of $3,000,000. (Unsurprisingly, by the time it was finished, the cost would be $4,300,000 ($66,000,000 today). It was designed as a single building with three separate units: 1) 10-stories to house administrative services, doctors’ offices, labs and a library; 2) 8-stories, for mild cases; 3) 8-stories, for more advanced cases. There were facilities for recreation and occupational therapy; physio-, electro- and hydro-therapy; an out-patient clinic; teaching facilities for medical students, and a special research clinic for the study and treatment of delinquency, crime and behavior problems, in collaboration with the Department of Correction, Criminal Courts and Probation Bureau.

Bellevue Hospital complex with new psychopathic building at right, October 31, 1934. Borough President Manhattan Collection, NYC Municipal Archives.

Rooms were designed to house either one, two or three patients at a time. In a Mental Hygiene Bulletin, it was written that “special consideration has been given in the plans to incorporate within the building the appearance and aspect of home or normal living conditions with simple decorations and color tones believed to have the most soothing effect upon the patient.” One hundred of the six hundred beds were dedicated for the study and treatment of children, under the supervision of the Department of Education. 

Completing the building was nothing short of dramatic and filled with accusations of corruption and mismanagement. Its lavish exterior juxtaposed against the great depression couldn’t have been more tone deaf to the city’s residents. When ground was broken on June 18, 1930, it was thought the building would be completed at the end of 1931. Almost a year later, in February 1931, the cornerstone was just being laid. Delays were plentiful. It reportedly took a year to choose the architect and another year to draw the plans, and then, according to the Acting Commissioner of Hospitals, “after the contractor had collected all the funds he could get, he left for Europe.” 

Psychopathic Hospital, Department of Hospitals, Charles B. Meyers, first floor plan, 1929, blueprint. Manhattan Building Plan Collection, NYC Municipal Archives.

Bellevue Psychopathic Hospital, Manhattan Block 958, Lot 1, 1940. Tax Photograph Collection, NYC Municipal Archives.

The hospital partially opened in May 1933 with the 600-bed facility only ready for 375 patients. A formal dedication occurred later that year in November, where tribute was paid to Dr. Gregory for his vision. Dr. Gregory resigned from his post in 1934, amid an investigation of his division by the Commissioner of Hospitals, Dr. S. S. Goldwater. This formed a spectacular tit-for-tat-type relationship between Dr. Gregory and Dr. Goldwater, which The New York Times covered extensively. Dr. Gregory died in 1941.

Over the years, the building went from temple of health to a scary place you didn’t want to go, and was the subject of many films, novels and exposes. The hospital saw many celebrity patients. Norman Mailer was sent there after stabbing his wife in a drunken rage. William Burroughs after he chopped off his own finger to impress someone. Eugene O’Neill had several stays in the alcoholic ward. Sylvia Plath came after a nervous breakdown. And infamous criminals like George Metesky the “Mad Bomber,” and John Lennon’s assassin, Mark David Chapman, were briefly committed to the hospital. 

In 1984, the city began transitioning the building into a homeless shelter and intake center, but much of it was left empty. Around 2008, a proposal to turn the building into a hotel surfaced. To developers, the building was naturally suited to such a use, given the H-shaped layout with long hallways and small rooms.

Rivington Baths

The Rivington Street Bath House at 326 Rivington Street, later renamed the Baruch Bath House, was the first in the city to be built with public funds. The ground-breaking for the bathhouse took place in December 1897; it opened on March 23, 1901. 

Public Bath Building, Rivington Street, Cady, Berg & See, South Elevation, 1897, ink on linen. Manhattan Building Plan Collection, NYC Municipal Archives.

Architects Cady, Berg & See designed the large, neoclassical building. They had become the go-to designers for municipal bath houses after the success of the People’s Bath, a public bath that had been privately funded by the New York Association for Improving the Condition of the Poor (the AICP). The People’s Bath opened in 1891 at 9 Centre Market Place, near Broome Street, on the block where the old Police Headquarters building still stands. The architects and Dr. Simon Baruch, regarded as the “father of the public bath movement in the United States,” were keen on German design and their widespread use of showers – which, at the time, were referred to as rain baths or ring showers because of the circular shower head, designed to keep hair dry. The Germans were using showers for mass bathing situations, such as in military barracks. Showers were cheaper to build, easier to keep clean, used less water and could get people in and out faster, and became the staple of bathhouses.

Dr. Simon Baruch, who the Rivington Street Bathhouse was eventually named after, emigrated from Germany to South Carolina when he was a teenager. He studied medicine and joined the Civil War as a surgeon on the confederate side. Captured at the Battle of Gettysburg, he was held as a prisoner of war for the duration of the conflict. He made his way to New York City in 1881, served as a physician on the Lower East Side, and achieved prominence in the New York medical field.

Manhattan Block 324, 1891, Bromley Atlas, New York Public Library

Dr. Baruch began advocating for public bathhouses in 1889. He was big on hydrotherapy, at the time a new concept in the United States, and this guided many of his endeavors. Municipal officials weren’t as sold on this concept that poor sanitation would equal poor physical health, but Baruch was tireless in promoting the utility of water and importance of a public bath system. For some reason, he was in the minority – even though in 1894, only 306 out of 255,000 tenements in New York City had bathtubs. “The people won’t bathe,” said then-Mayor Hugh Grant. But by 1895, Baruch finally convinced the State Legislature to pass a law that mandated cities with a population greater than 50,000 to establish and maintain free bath facilities.

Logistics around the new bath law and facilitation of public bathhouses caused some lag. One of the hiccups concerned their locations. Tompkins Square Park on the Lower East Side, then a predominantly German and Irish neighborhood, had been chosen as the location for the first bath. The residents couldn’t have been less thrilled by this prospect.  They did not want to be living in the community thought to be so poor that they needed a public bath. Essentially, they said it should go to the newer Jewish and Italian immigrant communities, located further south. And they did not want the bathhouse to take away from their already too-little park space. Their opposition was heard; Tompkins Square was no longer a contender. There was also a question of whether public baths even had to be located in parks; the mayor and his committee on public baths thought it did; Baruch said they did not. Somehow, they came over to Baruch’s side and the spot on Rivington Street, already owned by the city, was chosen.

Public Bath Building, Rivington Street, Cady, Berg & See, First floor plan; showers and waiting area for men and women, 1897, ink on linen. Manhattan Building Plan Collection, NYC Municipal Archives.

Public Bath Building, Rivington Street, Cady, Berg & See, Longitudinal section, baths on upper floors, 1897, ink on linen.  Manhattan Building Plan Collection, NYC Municipal Archives. 

The style of the Rivington Street Bathhouse influenced the style of subsequently built baths in the city. William Paul Gerhard, author of Modern Baths and Bath Houses (1908), said that the exterior of a people’s bath – or public bath – should be easily recognizable so it would be easily found. But he also warned that it shouldn’t be so lavish that the poor wouldn’t want to come. The Rivington Street bath design wasn’t exactly modest and met criticism for its extravagance and cost—eventually totaling more than $95,000 ($2,995,000 in today’s dollars). Of course, after its immediate success, the AICP recommended that another 16 bathhouses be built to the same specifications, saying it was actually more economical to build (cost less per shower compartment) and to maintain for the long haul. They aimed for the ancient Roman public bath-look with classical pilasters, columns, arches and cornices, constructed with hefty materials like brick, terra cotta, stone marble and copper, and with ornamental iron work. Whatever its appearance, the bathing experience was pretty much the same throughout the city’s bathhouses. 

Public Bath Building, Rivington Street, Cady, Berg & See, Plumbing plan, 1897, ink on linen. Manhattan Building Plan Collection, NYC Municipal Archives.

Public Bath Building, Rivington Street, Cady, Berg & See, Longitudinal section, 1897, ink on linen. Manhattan Building Plan Collection, NYC Municipal Archives.

At Rivington Street, the three-and-a-half story building was divided into two spaces for a dedicated men’s and women’s area, each with a waiting room. The men’s area was about 2/3 of the building with 45 rain baths, or, showers; the women had 22. A handful of bathtubs were on the upper floors. Each bath cubicle was divided into two parts – a dressing area and a shower, separated by a curtain. When a patron entered the bathhouse, they were given a number, and then they would wait for their number to be called for the next available cubicle. They usually had 20 minutes to undress, bathe and redress – Rivington had the capacity to accommodate 3,000 bathers per day on this timetable. Attendants controlled the water temperature, which ranged between 73 to 105 degrees F, and the duration of the shower – I’m sure it will come to no surprise to learn that the attendants soon began running a scheme, where patrons could sneak them five cents for a limitless bath time. Eventually they got caught and were fired. Pools were later added to the complex in 1917.

Rivington Street Bath, Manhattan Block 324, Lot 36, 1940 Tax Photograph Collection, NYC Municipal Archives.

Rivington Street Bath, Manhattan Block 324, Lot 36, 1940 Tax Photograph Collection, NYC Municipal Archives.

In 1939, Bernard Baruch, Dr. Baruch’s son, donated the land around the bathhouse to the city, and jurisdiction of the building went to the Parks Department. They renovated the bathhouse as a recreation center and added Baruch Playground. In the 1950s, the New York City Housing Authority built Baruch Houses, Manhattan’s largest public housing complex adjacent to the bathhouse. By 1975, the city’s fiscal crisis forced the facility to close, and has pretty much sat unused

Jury Census Records Digitized

The Municipal Archives recently received a request for research assistance from Craig LaBan, Restaurant Critic and Drink Columnist for The Philadelphia Inquirer. His story concerned “Hercules,” George Washington’s enslaved master chef. Sold as a teenager to Washington, Hercules became renowned for his culinary skills. He escaped from Mount Vernon in 1797 and was never captured. Following-up on a lead, LaBan asked if we could confirm the death of one Hercules Posey in New York City in 1812. The archivists searched the 1812 death records, and reported to LaBan that they had indeed found Hercules Posey, age 64, a “black,” born in Virginia and residing at Orange Street. He died of consumption on May 15, 1812 and was buried at the Second African Burial Ground in lower Manhattan. The information matched known facts about Posey including the name of the slaveowner preceding George Washington: John Posey. An 1812 City Directory provided a more precise address for Hercules Posey—33 Orange Street.

Cover of the 6th Ward Jury Census from 1819. NYC Municipal Archives.

Mr. LaBan then asked if the Archives had records that could help him learn the names of the other residents of 33 Orange Street and further information about the house and neighborhood. And that is when the recently digitized jury census series came to the rescue. Although the earliest jury census dates from 1816, four years after Hercules Posey died, the archivists suggested that the census records might contain information relevant to LaBan’s inquiry.

The jury census collection consists of 21 bound volumes containing tally sheets of returns for the City and County of New York, organized by ward. There are tallies for 1816, 1819, and 1821. The tallies were taken to determine if residents were eligible for jury duty and include varying degrees of descriptive detail. For example, for 1816 and 1819 the returns are given in a double-page tabular format with column headings for the following categories: names of inhabitants, number of houses, name of street, occupation, freeholds of $150, age, reason for exemption from jury, total number of jurors, the number of male and female white inhabitants, aliens, colored inhabitants not slaves, slaves, freeholders of £100 and upwards, freeholds of £20 and under £100, tenants renting $5 per annum, total number of inhabitants, plus a column for remarks. For the 1821 census, the returns, in similar format, include data in these categories: name of the head of each family, number and street of residence, number of male inhabitants of the same family age 21 or upwards in four classifications according to value of freeholds and debts, military service and tax exemption or commutation. Other data includes: number of acres of improved land occupied by each person, as well as tallies of cattle, horses, sheep, and yards of various types of cloth manufactured by each family, and a count of mills, factories, distilleries, asheries (a place where potash is made), and machinery. Each tally is identified with this description: “RETURN, made pursuant to the Act, entitled, ‘An Act to provide for taking a Census, and for other purposes,’ passed March 16, 1821, from the City and County of New-York.”

Using a ward atlas, the archivists determined that 33 Orange Street had been located in the Sixth Ward of the City. [Orange Street was re-named Baxter Street in 1854]. Unfortunately, one of the few ledgers missing from the collection is the Sixth Ward tally for 1816. However, the 1819 ledger survived. With an index by street name on the first page, the archivists quickly located the entry for 33 Orange Street.

Spread from the 6th Ward Census showing residents on Orange Street in 1819. New York County Jury Census, NYC Municipal Archives.

According to the 1819 jury census, Jacob Hudson, a laborer, lived at 33 Orange Street along with six other male and five female “coloured inhabitants, not slaves.” Varying numbers of “coloured inhabitants not slaves” also occupied nos. 35, 37, 39, 41, and 43 Orange Street. Their occupations included tobacconist, laborer, waiter and coachman. “Coloured” persons lived on the other side of Orange Street, at nos. 40, 42 and 44 with occupations of sailor, mason, sawyer, laborer, waiter and boot cleaner. Given the specific mention of “boarding house” at no. 40, the implication is that 33 had not been a boarding establishment, but with 11 inhabitants, it was either one very large family or multiple families lived in the house.

Several aspects of the census records make them a valuable research resource. At the very least, they provide a fascinating glimpse of life in New York City in the early 19th century. Of particular demographic interest is the inclusion of women with identification by name, residence, age, and occupation or social status, during a time when women were ineligible to serve as jurors. Other reasons that could exempt a person from jury service included age (over 60), clergy member, alien (i.e. not a citizen), and speaking only the Dutch language.

Another feature of New York City life that quickly becomes apparent in reviewing the census records is the wide variety of occupations. On just one page, in a series of houses along Water Street in the First Ward tally of 1816, the occupation list includes: mariner, teacher, printer, musical instrument maker, boat man, watch maker, auctioneer, grocer, brush maker, merchant, saddler, attorney, shoemaker, book store, tobacconist, and copper smith. Scanning ahead a few more pages reveals a baker, hairdresser, sail maker cartman, auctioneer, and wood sawyer.

The census records also show that slavery was still a fact of life in New York City during the early years of the new republic. Although legislation passed in 1799 called for the gradual emancipation of slaves in the State, it was not until 1827 that slavery was completely abolished. The census of the first ward in 1816 is illustrative: several of the households along lower Broadway, then as now, the center of finance in the City, included one or two enslaved people. Among them was John Delafield, a broker, residing at 10 Broadway, had one male slave in his household.

The 1st Ward Census of 1816 shows downtown households with slaves. New York County Jury Census, NYC Municipal Archives.

Journalist LaBan appreciated the assistance provided by the archivists. Thanks to the amazing resources in the Archives, we can say that in the early 19th century, the Orange Street neighborhood was the home to a number African-Americans—quite possibly including George Washington’s master chef “Hercules.”

Researchers are welcome to explore the newly digitized census here: New York County Jury Census

 

Bodies in Transit

The information in the ledgers about deceased persons whose bodies were transported through Manhattan prior to burial is a rich resource for genealogists and historians researching diverse topics in American urban history including public health, mortality and the Civil War.

The origins of this record arise from the City’s efforts to protect the health of its rapidly growing population. In 1804, the New York State Legislature authorized the New York City Common Council to enact sanitary ordinances and appoint a City Inspector. The first Board of Health was established the following year and oversaw the City Inspector’s Department.

Stumbled Upon in the Archives: The Great Tulip Tree

For almost three centuries “the great tulip tree” stood on a knoll on the east side of Inwood Hill and west shore of Spuyten Duyvil Creek. The park itself was purchased from private owners in 1916, but concern over the tree’s declining health led the Parks Department to intervene before then.  In 1912, Parks Commissioner Charles Stover secured private donations to have the Forestry Bureau perform surgery on the then-estimated 225 year old tree. Dead wood was cut out of the tree, cavities were filled “with cement according to modern methods of tree surgery,” and an iron fence was erected under the perimeter. These activities, as reported in the 18th Annual Report of the American Scenic and Historic Preservation Society (1913), were performed “in the hope that this ancient tree may stand for centuries to come.”

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