Sixto Escobar (left) and Lou Salica fight in the Dyckman Oval, 14th round, August 26,1935. (Collection of Cole Thompson)

On a summer evening in 1935 some fifteen thousand boxing fans gathered under the floodlights of the Dyckman Oval to witness Puerto Rican Sixto Escobar and Coney Island kid Lou Salica battle for the world bantamweight championship title.  The two fighters, at the peak of their careers, each weighed 117-½ pounds—one half pound less than the 118-pound bantamweight limit.

The fifteen-round bout was described by one sportswriter as one “of the most savagely fought battles ever staged by little men in the New York area.” (Pittsburgh Post Gazette August 27, 1935)

The judge’s verdict, amid hisses and boos, would become one of the most contested decisions in the history of the Oval.

El Gallito

Sixto “El Gallito” Escobar.

Sixto Escobar, nicknamed “El Gallito” (The Rooster), was born in Barceloneta, on the northern coast of Puerto Rico, in 1913.  Escobar was seventeen when he fought his first professional bout in 1931—defeating Luis “Kid Dominican” Pérez with a knockout.

The teenager would spend the early part of his fighting career in Venezuela due to a lack of talented opponents at home.  After honing his skills in Caracas he moved to New York.

On August 8, 1935 he met Pete Sanstol in a twelve round National Boxing Association World Bantamweight Championship fight in Montreal.

The epic battle secured Sixto’s place in boxing history.

Escobar v Sanstol, Montreal Daily Star, August 7, 1935.

“The two dressing rooms, after the fight, told the story,” wrote Elmer Ferguson of the savage battle in Montreal.  ”On the east end of the Forum, Escobar sat on the edge of the table, unmarked, his legs swinging, a broad grin on his face. ‘He tough,’ was his laconic tribute to his beaten Norse foeman. Sixto didn’t have any souvenirs of the fight. He came out without a scratch, without even a swollen hand despite the crashing attack he rained on Sanstol’s face and head. Across the big Forum, on the west side, it was different. A swollen, flattened nose, puffed and swollen lips—these were all that was visible of a figure that lay prone on the table, covered with blankets and towels. Cubes of ice were being passed across the fevered lips to fight off further swelling. That was Sanstol, after his gallant stand.”

The 1935 fight was the first boxing World Championship ever won by a Puerto Rican. When he returned to Puerto Rico after the fight the Governor ordered that all government buildings be closed so that employees could attend a parade held to welcome home their native son.

Lou Salica

Lou Salica

Lou Salica was born a contractor’s son in Brooklyn in 1912.  He was one of fourteen children and had a sixth grade education.

In the late 1920’s he won dozens of fights on the amateur circuit before going professional in 1932.  That year Salica won a bronze medal in the flyweight division in the summer Olympics.

The Venue

Dyckman Oval, Nagel Avenue & Academy Street, 1937.

When the Dyckman Oval first appeared in the sports pages in January of 1920 it was a modest affair located at 204th Street and Nagle Avenue. That first year the Oval was used primarily for ice skating competitions.

Soon boxing was added to the roster. Pugilism would become a staple of the Oval for the decades that followed.

By 1929 years of lawsuits and mismanagement had left the once thriving facility on life support.

It was not until 1935 that investor Alejandro Pompez turned the green cathedral of upper Manhattan around. A Harlem numbers broker, Pompez gave the ailing Dyckman Oval a sixty thousand dollar shot in the arm to showcase for his prized baseball team, The New York Cubans. Under his renovations the Dyckman Oval was transformed into a shining new arena with modern conveniences like floodlights for playing well into the night.

A master showman, Pompez knew how to fill the house. If Babe Ruth didn’t dazzle them then perhaps a boxing exhibition with Joe Louis, a new car raffle—whatever it took.  That summer evening organizers draped a ring over home plate so the two bantamweights could slug it before a sell-out crowd.

The Fight

Escobar and Salica battled over the course of fifteen grueling rounds.  Arriving at the wooden stadium most in attendance rooted for Salica.  He was after all the hometown fighter.

The first round, by all accounts, was dead even.  By the second round Sixto’s technical superiority became evident.

Sixto Escobar

Escobar “is a good boxer, schooled in most tricks of the ring,” wrote Ed Hughes in the Brooklyn Daily Eagle.  “He was much more the rapid hitter, mixing up his jabbing with whizzing right shots that must have made Lou’s teeth rattle. The Puerto Rican was especially effective in close.  Here he seemed to smother Salica’s best efforts, the while dealing considerable damage himself.  He had the knack of keeping his arms disentangled, shifting position to shoot uppercuts or rake Salica’s ribs with his short hooks. Round after round Salica made the mistake of trying to box with his slippery foe.  The Coney Island youth is a nimble performer himself, but in deft glove play he was several notches below his opponent.  He couldn’t keep his face out of the Escobar jabs and although he nailed the brown-skinned boy with some hard shots to the chin, the wallops didn’t seem to slow up Sixto.”

The seasoned sportswriter estimated that Escobar outpunched his Coney Island opponent three or four to one in their many exchanges.

Lou Salica

“The Salica corner pleaded with its gladiator to cut out the boxing and ‘go hit him,’”  wrote Hughes.  “In the eighth round the Coney Island scrapper did this.  He went after the pestiferous little Puerto Rican with a sort of desperate ambition, forcing Escobar back with the sheer fury of the attack.  Salica looked good in this session.  He shot a stinging right over Sixto’s guard that took effect on the jaw.”

Sixto quickly regained control of the fight “and he out walloped his rival in several other spiteful exchanges. Although Salica tried hard enough he never did look as good in any succeeding round.  Escobar steadied himself.  He boxed neatly, made Salica pay for his misses with sharply driven punches to the head or body and generally held an upper hand.”

Midway through the fight Salica’s manager, Hymie Caplan, seemed to sense the young Puerto Rican’s technical superiority.  Caplan urged his boxer to “get natural.”  Caplan, who favored cigars and fedoras, couldn’t believe the punishment doled out by Escobar.  This kid “musta had a lot of fights” he muttered from Salica’s corner. “Relax,” he shouted to Salica.

Late in the fight Salica did “get natural.”

“He slugged with no little abandon in the 13^th,” wrote the Brooklyn Eagle sportswriter.   “And he went all out in the final round, which I thought he won.”

By the end of the fifteenth round it was clear to nearly everyone in the Dyckman Oval that Sixto Escobar was the champion.

“Escobar, in my mind, was clearly the master, winning almost every round,” Hughes concluded.   “My count gave the Puerto Rican 12 out of the 15, the first being even and only the eighth and the fifteenth being awarded to Salica.  Several rounds were close and might have been given either way, but it seemed to me Sixto was the superior party, even in the doubtful ones.”

But the world bantamweight belt did not go to Escobar.

Brooklyn Daily Eagle, August 27, 1935.

Leaning over the ropes referee Artie Donovan told boxing commissioner Bill Brown that he and the other two judges had decided to give the decision to Salica.  He explained that while Escobar landed many more blows they felt that Salica had “hit harder” than his opponent.

Sixto looked bewildered as Salica stood center ring holding the world championship belt above his head.  The Oval thundered with boos that drowned out the cheers for the newly belted Salica.

Sportswriter Hughes was bewildered as well.

“How the officials doped it out that Salica won a majority of the rounds or inflicted the heavier punishment is too much for me,” Hughes pondered.   “Perhaps there have been some changes in the rules that have escaped me.  It must be that a boxer is penalized the round for unloading left jabs in the other fellow’s face and belting him about the body.  If so, I could understand Salica’s winning.  Sixto was mighty liberal with both of these types of punishment.”

New York Post, August 27, 1935.

“There were tears in Escobar’s eyes as he protested the decision,” wrote the New York Post.

“I think I win fight,” Escobar told reporters in broken English.   “I win eight rounds.  He no hurt with punches.  I want to fight him again.”

The Post reporter caught up with Salica at his father’s Coney Island restaurant later that evening.  The boxer, his face puffy from the fight, was enjoying a spaghetti dinner with his thirteen siblings.

“Sure he can have a return fight,” Salica stated between bites of pasta.  “Any time he wants it,” added manager Hymie Caplan.

Rematch

Less than three months later the two foes met again at Madison Square Garden.

Escobar again dominated the fifteen round fight.  For good measure, Sixto dropped his rival to the floor for a nine count in the third round.

The 22-year-old Puerto Rican won the rematch by unanimous decision.

No longer the victim of a hometown verdict, Sixto finally received his well-deserved laurels.

Sixto Escobar Stadium

Estadio Sixto Escobar (Sixto Escobar Stadium) was dedicated in San Juan, Puerto Rico the following year.

Postscript

Sixto Escobar (standing) vs Tony Marino , 1936.

Sixto would lose his championship belt to Harry Jeffra in September of 1937.   Undeterred, “El Gallito” would continue to fight before sell-out crowds until he was drafted into military service in World War II.   In sixty-four fights he was never knocked down.

Unable to meet the weight restrictions after his discharge, Escobar returned to Puerto Rico where he became a liquor spokesman and salesperson. After his death in 1979 at the age of sixty-six Barceloneta erected a statue to honor their hometown hero.

During an illustrious boxing career Escobar was never knocked down in a fight.

Sixto Escobar mailing cover.

In 2002 Escobar was inducted into the International Boxing Hall of Fame.

In 1944 Lou Salica was arrested on conspiracy charges for his alleged role in a salary kickback racket that was enforced with threats and beatings. He later worked at the Fulton Street fish market. He died on Jan. 30, 2002, at the age of 89.

Dogs Playing Poker by former Park Terrace Gardens resident Arthur Sarnoff.

In the spring of 1940 Federal Census taker Katherine Lee began knocking on doors in Park Terrace Gardens.   The sprawling five-building brick apartment complex sat on a hilltop in the Inwood section of northern Manhattan.

Park Terrace Gardens apartment advertisement, August 31, 1939, New York Times.

The rental complex designed by architect Albert Goldhammer had been constructed the previous year.  The apartments and occupying tenants were all brand new.  The rent on the deco-style apartments ranged in price from sixty-five to seventy-eight dollars a month.

Park Terrace Gardens in 1940′s

During Lee’s visits to the four hundred units in the eight-story complex she met undertakers, lawyers, policemen, peddlers and professors.  The residents were a mix of nationalities and included Russians, Finns, Austrians, Germans, Poles, as well as a great many native New Yorkers who had escaped more cramped quarters downtown.

Among them were two graphic artists: Martin Baumhofer and Arthur Sarnoff.

Walter Baumhofer: 70 Park Terrace West

When Lee, the census taker, visited Baumhofer’s apartment inside 70 Park Terrace West she found the thirty-five-year-old graphic artist living with his wife, Alureda.

Walter Martin Baumhofer was born in Brooklyn on November 1, 1904.  His father, German immigrant Henry Baumhofer, was a clerk at a coffee company.  During his early childhood, Baumhofer’s father would accept a janitorial position that included a rent-free apartment on Bushwick Avenue.

In 1919 young Walter blew three fingers off his left hand while playing with a round of live ammunition.  Realizing the injury would rule out a career involving manual labor he focused on becoming an artist.

After graduating from high school in 1922 Baumhofer was offered a scholarship to the Pratt institute where he studied under H. Winfield Scott and Dean Cornwell.

In 1925, while working as an illustrator for Adventure Magazine, his Pratt painting teacher, H. Winfield Scott, suggested he submit his works for use as cover art in the popular pulp fiction trade.   His first published pulp art appeared on the cover of Danger Trail.

Walter M. Baumhofer, Gangland Stories, 1945.

Walter M. Baumhofer, Spy Stories, 1929.

Walter M. Baumhofer, Quick Trigger Western, 1929.

Walter M. Baumhofer, Doc Savage, 1936.

Walter M. Baumhofer, Doc Savage, 1933.

Walter M. Baumhofer, American Magazine, 1945

Walter M. Baumhofer, Adventure Magazine.

Walter Baumhofer, 1933, The Spider.

For the next decade his works would appear on the covers of publications including:  Gangland Stories, Doc Savage and Dime Mystery.

In 1937, after joining the American Artists agency, he began illustrating for higher end publications including Collier’s, Cosmopolitan, Esquire and Redbook.

His childhood injury left him unfit for military service in World War II.

Walter and his wife, Alureda, relocated to Long Island n 1945 where he continued to design magazine covers.  After his retirement he painted landscapes, primarily Western scenes, and portraits.

Baumhofer photographed before his death.

He died in 1987 at the age of 82.

Arthur Sarnoff: 75 Park Terrace East

Another artist, twenty-seven-year-old Arthur Saron Sarnoff, lived next door in 75 Park Terrace East—known as the “D” building to residents.  He and his wife, Lillian, had two daughters, Susan and Linda.

Sarnoff, like his neighbor, Walter Baumhofer, had also been born in Brooklyn.  Sarnoff, also an illustrator, had studied at the Industrial School and Grand Central School of Art in New York City.

Arthur Sarnoff illustration.

Arthur Sarnoff, Listerine, 1943.

Arthur Sarnoff, Fruit of the Loom, 1954.

Arthur Sarnoff, Corby’s, 1947.

Arthur Sarnoff, American Weekly, 1958.

Arthur Sarnoff illustration.

Sarnoff specialized in commercial art for magazine advertising campaigns that included: Lucky Strike, Coors, Karo Syrup, Listerine and Vicks Vapo Rub.  He also illustrated for some of the same magazines as his pulp fiction neighbor in the building next door.  He was regularly featured in Collier’s, American Weekly, Redbook, Esquire, Cosmopolitan and Good Housekeeping.

Arthur Sarnoff, Jack the Ripper.

Arthur Sarnoff, The Hustler.

Of course his most enduring works were depictions of dogs shooting pool and playing poker.  His painting titled “The Hustler” was one of the best-selling prints of the 1950’s.

Sarnoff died in Boca Raton in 2000.

As early as 1940 drummer Antonio Sparbaro lived inside 35 Thayer Street in the Inwood section of Manhattan.  The 43-year-old  likely stood out in the blue collar building a block south of Dyckman Street.  He was an Italian-American whereas most neighboring apartments were occupied by Irish. He wore tuxedos to work while most in the building wore uniforms or coveralls.  But, once the barriers were broken down, neighbors  like construction worker Lawrence Farrell and mechanic Edward Sullivan saw a regular fella.  The working musician,  supporting two boys, 10 and 16, a wife and mother-in-law, likely struggled just to pay the rent.

But twenty years earlier Sbarbaro and his Original Dixieland Jazz Band were an international sensation.  Could his neighbors have known the incredible role Sbarbaro played in the creation of the music now known as Jazz?

Anthony Sbarbaro, 1916, Hogan Jazz Archive, Tulane University.

A Jazz Pioneer

Antonio Sparbaro born in New Orleans in 1897. His father, Peter, a first generation Italian immigrant, worked as a stevedore. He played drums with several New Orleans bands before joining Original Dixieland Jazz Band in 1917.

That year the band travelled to New York City to record a single titled Livery Stable Blues.  The recording session would result in the first jazz single ever issued.

Original Dixieland Jazz Band, (Sbarbaro center on drums), 1936, Hogan Jazz Archive, Tulane University.

Billed as “The Creators of Jazz,” the five musicians included Tony Sbarbaro on drums, cornetist Dominick James “Nick” LaRocca, clarinetist Larry Shields, trombonist Edwin “Daddy” Edwards and pianist Henry Ragas.

Antonio Sparbaro on far left with ODJB, 1916.

The wildly popular group toured the world and exposed a generation to a new sound they called “Jass”—the music was soon renamed “Jazz.”

Reisenweber’s Cafe, circa 1910, MCNY.

Soon after their 1917 recording the Original Dixieland Jazz Band began series of regular appearances at Reisenweber’s Café on West 58^th Street near Columbus Circle.

O.D.J.B. on stage with stuffed bear and monkey 1920, Hogan Jazz Archive, Tulane University.

The band was famous for it’s on stage antics.  Often the band wore top hats that together spelled out the word “DIXIE.”  The trombonist sometimes played the slide with his foot.  Sbarbaro often added cowbells and symbols to his drum kit.  He was known to have a special fondness for kazoos.  He sometimes played a modified clarinet he called a “ZOBO.” The band had, after all, come of age in the Roaring Twenties and tried to make their performances as wild as possible.

O.D.J.B. at Palais de Danse 1919, Hogan Jazz Archive, Tulane University.

“He was a master of an early percussion technique known as double-drumming, in which the player uses the butt of the drum stick to strike the bass drum,” wrote Sbarbaro biographer Eugene Chadbourne.  “This form of playing of course predates the use of the notoriously squeaky bass drum pedal. Sbarbaro’s set was typical of what a ragtime drummer would use, with bass drum offset by Chinese tom-toms, a pair of cymbals, wood blocks, cowbells, and a large kazoo that was used for novelty effects. The slang “traps” to describe drums is said to have originated with some of this drummer’s zany shenanigans influenced by vaudeville, sometimes utilizing stuffed animals inside the drums.”

Barnyard Blues, Hogan Jazz Archive, Tulane University.

The band’s chaotic sound—their slogan “untuneful harmonists playing peppery melodies”—had its critics, but they also had a global following.  Louis Armstrong, according to biographer Joshua Berrett, “remembered them as one of his favorites when he started buying records around 1917 or 1918.”

O.D.J.B. 1922, Hogan Jazz Archive, Tulane University.

Sbarbaro, who sometimes toured under the name Tony Spargo, would eventually make New York his home.

As early at 1940 he lived in a rented apartment at 35 Thayer Street in the Inwood section of northern Manhattan with his wife, Cecilia, and sons, Anthony Jr. and Peter, and 70-year-old mother-in-law, Magdeline Warren.  The apartment building must have been a good fit for the jazz musician and his young family.  The neighborhood offered large, inexpensive apartments with nearby public transportation. With the Dyckman Street subway station just a block away he could make the trip to downtown engagements in less than thirty minutes.

35 Thayer Street in the Inwood section of Manhattan. Former home of Jazz legend Tony Sbarbaro.

From his home base in New York he would tour with the band for more than fifty years.

Sparbaro walked away from the music scene when rock and roll became popular in the 1960’s.  In retirement, he and Cecilia lived the Forest Hills section of Queens.  He died in 1969 at the age of 72.

For more than a century artists have visited Manhattan’s northern end to sketch, paint and photograph. Today artistic interpretations of Inwood Hill Park, the Spuyten Duyvil, the Harlem River, and the ever-popular Dyckman Farmhouse, grace the walls of museums throughout the world. Remarkably, in an ever-changing Manhattan, many of these spectacular views can still be seen today by those visiting the Inwood region.

Spuyten Duyvil Creek, Valentine’s Manual, 1866.

Dykeman’s Farm, Valentine’s Manual, 1866.

Spuyten Duyvil Creek, King’s Bridge, Harper’s Weekly, 1873.

Arnule Bandel sketch, Circa 1835, Collection of the Dyckman Farmhouse Museum. (This is the earliest known sketch of the Dyckman Farmhouse)

Spuyten Duyvil, 1840′s, Lossing.

Spyt Den Duyvel Creek, Benson Lossing.

Spiten Devil’s Creek, Jacques Milbert, 1825.

Harper’s Weekly Illustration by Al. Hencke, 1895 The New Ship Canal at Kingsbridge Connecting the Harlem and Hudson.

Dyckman House, James Preston Moore, 1915.

High Bridge bookplate, Artist Joseph Pennell, 1909.

Alfred Wordsworth Thompson, Halt at the Outpost, 1881. (The building on the right is thought to have been inspired by the Dyckman Farmhouse.)

John Ward Dunsmore (1856 – 1945) Hut Camp of the 17th Regiment on Inwood Hill, NYC. (A restored Hessian Hut can today be visited on the grounds of the Dyckman Farmhouse)

Residence of Isaac M. Dyckman, artist unknown, 1884. (This later Dyckman residence once sat on the land today occupied by Columbia University’s Christie Field House on West 218th Street)

William H. Hurst House, artist unknown, 1920′s. (This once magnificent home survives, bricked up and neglected, on the corner of West 215th Street and Park Terrace East)

Dyckman House, Norman Rockwell, 1912. (This view of the Dyckman Farmhouse kitchen remains nearly the same more than a century later)

Summer Afternoon, circa 1908, Ernest Lawson. (The spot where this famed Inwood Tulip Tree once stood is now marked by a plaque on the Shorakkopoch Rock in Inwood Hill Park)

The Hudson At Inwood. Ernest Lawson (1873-1939). Oil On Canvas Laid Down On Panel. (Depiction of Tubby Hook where Dyckman Street meets the Hudson River. The old Magdalene asylum sits above the road)

Dyckman House, Ernest Lawson, 1913.

Boathouse in Winter on Harlem River, 1918 , Ernest Lawson. (View is east across the Harlem River. The Hall of Fame for Great Americans sits on the hill in the background)

Ernest Lawson, The Old Tulip Tree.

University Heights, New York, circa 1905, Ernest Lawson.

Spuyten Duyvil Creek, Ernest Lawson, 1914. (Depiction of the old Johnson Ironworks that once occupied the peninsula in Spuyten Duyvil Creek)

Shadows, Spuyten Duyvil Hill, Ernest Lawson, 1910. (Another view of the Johnson Ironworks)

Boathouse, Winter, Harlem River, Ernest Lawson, 1916.

Ernest Lawson, “Graveyard,” circa 1912. (Barnes Collection, Philadelphia) (This ancient Inwood graveyard was once located east of Broadway near 212th Street)

Robert L. Dickinson, Indian Caves on Manhattan, 1923. (These caves still draw visitors in Inwood Hill Park)

Charlotte Livingston, 1932.  (Scene shows a peaceful marina in Inwood Hill Park with the Inwood Pottery Works to the right. The marina was covered with landfill in the late 1930′s to create the Gaelic field)

Columbia Boathouse, Vernon Howe Bailey, 1935.

Aaron Douglas, Inwood Power Plant, 1936. (Shows the old coal-fired Co-Ed plant on Sherman Creek)

Spuyten Duyvil Bridge, HA Weiss, 1936.

Vera Abdrus watercolor, Harlem River Bridge Construction at Spuyten Duyvil, 1936.

Harold Faye, Railroad Station, 1938.

Jack Lorimer Gray, Spuyten Duyvil, 1940.

Ludwig Bemelmans, Dyckman Street Ferry, 1959.

Wladyslaw Brzosko, Sherman Creek Generating Station (Con. Edison) on Harlem River, New York, 1963

Photo by William Davis Hassler, circa 1912-1914, NYHS. (Isham home in background)

Turn of the century photograph by Robert Veitch, courtesy Jason Covert. (Veitch ran a general store on Dyckman Street East of Broadway. View shows the then undeveloped confluence of Dyckman, Riverside and Broadway)

Dracula (1931) Edward van Sloan (l) with Bela Lugosi.

If current Inwood residents were transported back to the 1930’s they might find the area a bit strange, if not spooky.  Ramshackle homes and ancient mansions stood next to newly constructed apartment houses.  An “Indian Princess” held court beneath a dying tulip tree in Inwood Hill Park.   The hulking remains of long abandoned asylums still lined the ridge of Inwood Hill.  Children, lacking playgrounds, found entertainment in condemned cemeteries.

But 1930′s resident, Edward van Sloan, who lived on the corner of West 215^th Street and Seaman Avenue, likely enjoyed the oddities of this strange transitional era.  He was, after all, a “monster hunter“—a horror actor still remembered for his roles in Dracula, Frankenstein and The Mummy.

Edward van Sloan

230 Seaman Avenue, Inwood, NYC.

In 1930, Federal Census taker Elizabeth Johnson found the 45-year-old van Sloan, his wife, the former Myra Jackson and 19-year-old son, Paul, living in a rented apartment inside 230 Seaman Avenue.  When asked to describe his occupation, he told the census taker that he was a “stage actor.”  A year later the world would know him as Bela Lugosi’s nemesis on the silver screen.

Dracula (1931) Edward van Sloan (l) with Bela Lugosi

Edward van Sloan was born in Minnesota in 1882.  For the first half of his life he was employed as a largely unnoticed stage actor.

Dracula Theater Playbill, 1926

Then, in 1924, producer Horace Liveright chose van Sloan for the role of Professor Abraham Van Helsing in a Broadway stage adaptation of Dracula.  Six years later director Tod Browning invited van Sloan to act in a motion picture.  The resulting work, the 1931 film adaptation of Dracula, is still considered a masterpiece of the horror genre.

The Mummy, 1932.

Frankenstein, 1931.

The role of “monster hunter” came to define van Sloan’s acting career.  He played similar parts in Frankenstein (1931), The Mummy (1932) and Dracula’s Daughter (1936).

Appearing out of character van Sloan recorded a disclaimer warning theater 1931 audiences that the film Frankenstein film was not for the faint of heart. (Above)

He died in 1964 at the age of 81.

Johnson Ironworks on the Spuyten Duyvil in 1918, photo by William Hassler, NYHS.

Passing through the lush parks and tree-lined streets of Inwood it is hard to imagine that the area was once home to heavy industry. But, for most of Inwood’s modern history, the air was choked with smoke and soot. Huge coal burning furnaces once powered foundries, generated electricity and incinerated garbage.

“I well remember the cinders in the air,” recalls former Inwood resident John Stone. “The collars of my white shirts would be black by the end of a hot summer’s day. I can still picture my mother scrubbing my shirt collars with a brush and a paste of Rinso and water. Of course, apartment buildings burned their trash and that also contributed to the problem.”

Let’s take a look back at the industry of Inwood’s past:

Johnson Ironworks, 1918, photo by William Hassler, NYHS.

The Johnson Ironworks: (Spuyten Duyvil Creek)

Long before the familiar Henry Hudson Bridge guarded the entrance to the Spuyten Duyvil a giant, belching behemoth of the industrial era dominated the landscape. For Inwood and points immediately north the Johnson Ironworks represented, at its peak, a paycheck for some 1,600 employees and a polluting eyesore for others. Read More

Looking north towards the Kingsbridge powerhouse, 1928. (NYHS)

Kingsbridge Powerhouse: (East of Broadway between 216th and 218th Streets)

On this spot once stood a  transportation marvel–a trolley barn and  massive brick powerhouse—the largest the world had ever seen. The giant power generating station, with it’s roaring engines, once powered a transportation system for a new era—A vast trolley network that ran from City Hall to Westchester.  Read More

 

Sherman Creek power plant. (Source: Generating Stations: Hell Gate and Sherman Creek, The United Electric Lights & Power Company, 1926, collection of Cole Thompson)

Sherman Creek Power Generating Station: (Sherman Creek & Harlem River) Now an uptown treasure, Swindler Cove once sat in the shadow an eight-story, 62,000 square-foot, coal-burning power station whose roar could be heard throughout the neighborhood. The powerhouse was massive–built with some eight million bricks; the plant had a framework that contained sixteen thousand tons of structural steel. Four brick-lined steel smokestacks measured 325 feet in height. Read More

 

215th Street Incinerator.

Department of Sanitation Destructor Plant: (215th Street, East of Broadway)

The smokestacks, part of a decommissioned Department of Sanitation “destructor plant,” once incinerated some 7,500 tons of New York City garbage daily. The fires of the incinerator burned trash round-the-clock and coughed up so much smoke, soot and other horrifying vapors that residents of one apartment building on nearby Park Terrace East felt compelled to file a lawsuit against the city just years after the $1.5 million facility went on-line. Read more

“I was near Inwood-on-the-Hudson when I noticed a tiny speck in the air far up the Hudson. It was coming like the Twentieth Century Limited, and I knew right away that it was Curtiss. On it came, all the time getting bigger and bigger, and off Riverdale I begun to hear the whirring of propellers. I just stood there on the bluff and looked and wondered. I could not move.” -Description of Isham Park landing. (New York Times, May 30, 1910)

Aviator Glenn Hammond Curtiss shattered the long distance flight record when he landed on the current site of Isham Park in northern Manhattan in 1910. (New York Times, May 30, 1910).

On December 17, 1903 Orville Wright took to the skies above the sand dunes of Kitty Hawk, North Carolina. He and his brother Wilbur conducted their experimental flight tests in total secrecy.  While obsessed with flight, the Brothers Wright were equally concerned with securing their patents. The Wright brothers had true cause for concern.

Fast on their heels was another American inventor and business competitor named Glenn Hammond Curtiss.

Glenn Curtiss, Library of Congress photo.

A true modern hero, Curtiss blazed into the 20th century atop a roaring motorcycle. Traveling 136-miles per hour on a bike of his own design, Curtiss not only set a world record but earned the title, “the fastest man alive.”

Once Curtiss took to the skies no one could keep him on the ground–not the Wright Brothers and their army of lawyers, not the nay-sayers, not even the laws of physics.

Treated like a crown prince in Europe, Curtiss couldn’t sell a single airplane in the United States without paying royalties to the Wrights who owned every conceivable copyright concerning manned flight.

But while Orville and Wilbur had the courts on their side, Curtiss’ airplanes could out fly and out maneuver any machine the Wrights put in the air.  In fact, the Wright’s planes were quickly becoming obsolete.

Aviation pioneer Glenn Curtiss and his Albany Flyer.

Then, in the spring of 1910, Curtiss showed the Wrights and the rest of the world who really owned the skies.

Incredibly, Inwood would play a starring role in the early history of aviation…

The Pulitzer Challenge

In the early morning hours of May 29th, 1910, Curtiss set out to do the unthinkable.  For a purse of $10,000, offered by New York World publisher Joseph Pulitzer, Curtiss would attempt to fly from Albany to Manhattan.

Pulitzer’s rules were simple if not insane:  Curtiss was allowed two stops to refuel and the entire distance of more than 150 miles had to be completed in less than twenty-four hours.

Curtiss was the only pilot in the world to agree to Pulitzer’s terms.

That morning more than 100,000 spectators gathered along Curtiss’ Hudson River flight path to witness one of the greatest spectacles of their day.

Pulitzer’s rival, the New York Times, even chartered a special train filled with reporters and cameramen to record every leg of the flight for eager readers.

At 7:02 am  Curtiss and his Albany Flyer were airborne.

Donning goggles, a cork life vest and rubberized waders,  Curtiss kept pace with the news train. On-board the locomotive, his wife Lena hung out a window cheering her husband on while waiving a handkerchief.  “It was like a real race and I enjoyed the contest more than anything else during the flight,” Curtiss later recalled.

Eighty-seven miles into his trip, Curtiss landed his Albany Flyer in an open field near Poughkeepsie where he borrowed oil and gas from curious motorists before taking back to the air.

Shortly after his second takeoff dangerous wind currents just south of Storm King Mountain nearly tossed the aviator from his plane. “My heart was in my mouth.  I thought it was all over,” Curtiss recalled.

Regaining control of the airplane, Curtiss found himself in the homestretch.  The Manhattan skyline was just visible on the horizon.

Then disaster struck.

Curtiss’ aircraft was leaking oil. He needed to put down before his engine froze up.  But where?

The Albany Flyer

Scanning the ground below, Curtiss looked for a large patch of green in northern Manhattan he had scouted out while planning his flight.  Veering east from the Hudson, Curtiss put down in Inwood, on a stretch of land owned by the family of the late financier and leather merchant William B. Isham.

Isham mansion in 1934 photograph.

At 10:42 am, Isham’s daughter Flora and her husband, Minturn Post Collins, were reading about the flight in the Sunday paper when they heard a motor running behind the house.

Heading out back to investigate, Collins immediately realized he was standing face to face with the aviator he had read so much about in the morning news.

“I am certainly delighted to be the first to congratulate you on arriving in city limits, and am glad you picked our backyard as a place to land,” Collins told Curtiss.

All business, Curtiss responded, “Thank you, but what’s worrying me now is oil and gasoline.  Have you any that you can spare?”

Aviator Glenn Curtiss.

“It was grand,” Collins later told reporters.  “…And that’s the best word I can think of to describe it.  Imagine yourself seated on your veranda with no thought of an airship in your mind, and then suddenly wake up and see one of the finest machines in the world coming down in your backyard.  It was simply perfect in every respect, and although it was all over in less than a minute it was a sight that I shall never forget.  Curtiss was so modest about it all, too, and when I congratulated him he did not seem to realize that he had accomplished one of the greatest aerial feats in the world’s history.”

Isham Estate, the Isham home is located at the rear center of the lawn. (Circa 1905 photo courtesy of Don Rice.)

Collins gave Curtiss some gas and sent a servant down the hill to a nearby boathouse to fetch some oil.  While this was being done, Curtiss phoned the newspapers to let them know that while he had landed within city limits, he still planned on flying to his final destination on Governor’s Island as planned.

When Curtiss returned an enormous crowd surrounded his plane.  It seemed that the whole world had descended on Inwood to catch a glimpse of the great aviation pioneer and his magnificent contraption.

The Kingsbridge police station quickly dispatched a horse drawn wagon full of officers to the Isham estate to help maintain order.

Current site of Isham park. Photo by William Gray Hassler, circa 1912-1914, NYHS. (Isham home in background)

Sergeant Edsall, who witnessed Curtiss’ plane pass the Spuyten Duyvil said, “It was the finest sight I have ever seen.  No bird ever flew with more grace than did Curtiss as he came down.  I was near Inwood-on-the-Hudson when I noticed a tiny speck in the air far up the Hudson.  It was coming like the Twentieth Century Limited, and I knew right away that it was Curtiss.  On it came, all the time getting bigger and bigger, and off Riverdale I begun to hear the whirring of propellers.  I just stood there on the bluff and looked and wondered.  I could not move.”

Realizing Curtiss was going in for a landing, Sergeant Edsall sprinted up the hill to the Isham property.

“As I reached the top of the hill I saw Curtiss jump out of the machine and shake hands with Mr. Collins,” Edsall later told the New York Times.  “I knew that people from everywhere would head for the Isham place, and I sent in a call for reserves from Kingsbridge, and, say, did you ever see people spring up from everywhere as they did here in this, one of the most sparsely settled parts of New York?”

Another takeoff was going to prove tricky business.  In addition to the crowd of onlookers, Curtiss realized he had flown into a cul-de-sac.  His only option, a dangerous one, was to roll down the hill then steer his airplane past the unforgiving walls of the Spuyten Duyvil as he gained altitude.

Technically he didn’t have to continue at all.  Pulitzer’s rules only specified he land in city limits.  For this sportsmanlike act he would earn the respect and admiration of New Yorkers for years to come.

Photo of Glenn Curtiss’ breathtaking takeoff from a hill on the Isham property in northern Manhattan.

At 11:42 Curtiss took off from the Isham lawn and once again headed west for the Hudson River.  A fleet of automobiles attempted to chase the plane down Riverside Drive, but could not keep up.

Curtiss Landing at Governor’s Island

All along the west side spectators took to the shoreline, piers and ferries struggling to catch a glimpse of Curtiss as he ventured south, circled the Statue of Liberty, then landed on Governor’s Island at almost exactly the stroke of noon.  Total flying time: Two hours and fifty-one minutes.  Average speed: Fifty-two miles per hour.

While he would become an international hero, opening the door for commercial flight, air-mail and a host of other modern applications, Curtiss provided a sober insight into the future of aviation.  He told reporters that during his flight two thoughts had occupied his mind.  One was the need for landing fields and the second was the airplane’s potential as a weapon of war.

“All the great battles of the future will be fought in the air,” Curtiss stated.   “I have demonstrated that it is easy to fly over cities and fortifications. It would be perfectly practical to drop enough dynamite or picric acid down on West Point or a city like New York and destroy it utterly.”

At a later award ceremony, presenter/publisher Charles Mann said, “Three names will always be associated with the history of the river—that of Hudson, the explorer; that of Robert Fulton, the introducer of river navigation; and that of Glenn H. Curtiss, the birdman.”

Glenn Curtiss in 1909 photo.

Curtiss died in Buffalo, New York in 1930 following complications from an appendectomy.

His company, the Curtiss Aeroplane and Motor Company, later merged with that of the Wright brothers to become the Cyrtiss-Wright Corporation. The company exists to this very day.

As for the $10,000 check… Curtiss gave it to his wife who told reporters she’d likely spend the money on an automobile.

Back in Inwood, Flora and Julia Isham wound up preserving a piece of aviation history, though likely not for that reason.  In 1912 the Isham women donated their land, the site of Curtiss’ landing, to the City of New York for the creation of Isham Park.

Sign in Albany describing historic flight. (Anyone for a similar sign in Isham Park?)

Click here for more Inwood history.

New York Velodrome, Spuyten Duyvil near 225th Street, circa 1920′s.

On 225th Street near the Harlem River, roughly where the Target department store sits today, once stood one of the great Gotham sporting venues of the 1920′s, the New York Velodrome.

When the Velodrome opened May 30th, 1922 the quarter-million-dollar bike track, built to hold 16,000 fan, was packed.

New York Velodrome, New York Evening Post, June 10, 1922.

The rabid fans were out in force to witness a no holes barred cycling competition featuring international star athletes. Competitive cycling first gained popularity in the 1880′s and by the 1920′s the Velodrome was the hottest ticket in town.

Essentially a huge wooden saucer, the Velodrome had steep banks designed to send racers flying past one another in a dizzy blur of spokes, sweat and pain. Gaining speed, riders were often involved in violent collisions which left the track slick with blood.

New York Velodrome, 1927.

Notorious six-day races, free for all amateur events, sprints and motor-paced racing would become regular events, but that opening night the organzizers had a special surprise for everyone.

After several races, including a devastating upset for veteran favorite Percy Lawrence at the hands of Italian rider Georges Columbatto, the baseball legend Babe Ruth took to the track.

Babe Ruth poses with a 1926 Nash.

Starter pistol in hand, crowd going wild, Ruth fired the shot that sent legs pumping in a sprint race that featured rivals Ray Eaton, Alf  Goullet and Orlando Piani.

While a jazz band played in the background, Eaton, of East Orange, New Jersey captured best time in two out of three heats.

New York Velodrome on 1921 map.

Designed primarily for cycling, the Velodrome was became a multi-purpose facility.  Used for a variety of sporting events,  the Velodrome was also host to a World Welterweight title bout shrouded in controversy.

Boxer Jack Britton.

On June 26, 1922, for twelve fast and furious rounds, Jack Britton, aka “The Boxing Marvel,” out boxed, crowded and even bloodied opponent Benny Leonard.

Benny Leonard in 1923 photo.

Then in round thirteen, Leonard, a Jewish boxer dubbed “The Ghetto Wizard” for his Lower East Side neighborhood,  threw a blow to Britton’s midsection. Britton doubled over and fell to his knees. While rising to one knee, Leonard swooped in and  stuck Britton with a light blow to the face. As famed sports writer Damon Runyon looked on in disbelief, referee Pat Haley disqualified comeback kid Benny Leonard. For years it was rumored Leonard had bet heavily against himself and intentionally fouled his opponent in a last ditch effort to throw the fight.

For eight glorious years the Velodrome was the scene of awe and excitement, before a suspicious fire burned the fabled venue to the ground.

Cyclist Philip Eiler (standing), photo from granddaughter Lisa Nelson.

Velodrome medal won by Philip Eiler from granddaughter Lisa Nelson.

Velodrome medal won by Philip Eiler from granddaughter Lisa Nelson.

In the early morning hours of August 4th, 1930 garage workers reported seeing smoke rising from the wooden structure. By the time fire units were dispatched, the smoldering fire had become a three-alarm inferno. Firemen helplessly pulled back and focused their attention on keeping the fire from spreading to the surrounding neighborhood. By 4:00 am, flames could be seen as far away as Washington Heights. By dawn, the Velodrome was a smoldering ash heap, never to be rebuilt.

Despite the late hour, police would later learn that Velodrome supervisor Jack Neville and two other employees were in the facility when the fire broke out. While an arson investigation never materialized, those close to the case couldn’t help but note the fire occurred just weeks after a competing Velodrome opened on nearby Coney Island.

1927 Velodrome program.

Dyckman House, The Pittsburgh Press, July 2, 1916, sketch by Herb Roth.

In 1916 popular newspaper illustrator Herb Roth visited the Inwood region.  While there he sketched the Dyckman farmhouse and other familiar landmarks.

Below are the sketches from Roth’s visit as well as the accompanying text.

The Pittsburgh Press
The Sunday Illustrated Magazine
July 2, 1916

Manhattan As It WAS—and Still IS

“How many, even native New Yorkers, know that part of their tremendous city is as quaint and as “bewitched” a region as it was in the days of Wilhelm Kieft?  That even on the Island of Manhattan ghosts still walk abroad, people still dig for hidden treasure, old legends are yet extant, and spots and houses related to Revolutionary times may still be pointed out to a sightseer in exactly the same state as they were a century ago.  While by far the greater part of Manhattan Island has gone ahead, has been settled, and has become a roaring city, there is one section of it, at its extreme northwestern end, that has stood quite still and is as quaint and old-fashioned today as it was one hundred years ago.

House near 197th Street and Broadway, The Pittsburgh Press, July 2, 1916, sketch by Herb Roth.

At One Hundred and Ninety-seventh Street, and somewhat west of Broadway, there stands, under the shoulder of a great hill, an old house that must date from some time near the Revolution; and, an observer, seeing that only, would never guess from it, or its surroundings, that it was in the great city of New York.  But a few blocks north of that, on the other side of Broadway, is a truck farm covering at least an acre. 

Old Inwood farm, The Pittsburgh Press, July 2, 1916, sketch by Herb Roth.

Here are the same tumbledown stables peculiar to all farms, the same pungent smell of horses and cattle, the same rolling ground, green with growing things, and before the door of the little, rickety wooden farmhouse a spreading locust tree. 

The cold spring of old Inwood, The Pittsburgh Press, July 2, 1916, sketch by Herb Roth.

House west of Bolton Road, The Pittsburgh Press, July 2, 1916, sketch by Herb Roth.

Bolton Road from Dyckman Street north is bordered with gigantic, solid trees; and from behind this leafy screen an occasional red mansion looks out; very substantial houses these were once but they are deserted now for the greater part, and in a sad state of disrepair and decay. 

Spuyten Duyvil, The Pittsburgh Press, July 2, 1916, sketch by Herb Roth.

Looking southwest from this ridge one sees nothing but a thickly wooded valley, and beyond that a thickly wooded hill; and hears no sound but the whirring whistle of the song sparrow, or the knocking of a woodpecker in the glen.

Inwood Hill tulip tree, The Pittsburgh Press, July 2, 1916, sketch by Herb Roth.

At the foot of a rapid slope, where the island itself terminates, is the great tulip tree, growing through the very center of an old Indian shell heap. 

Cottage next to tulip tree in current Inwood Hill Park, The Pittsburgh Press, July 2, 1916, sketch by Herb Roth.

Not far from these are the remains of the Hessian camp, and the spot where the Indians held their pow-wows; and standing in the midst of a grassy slope, an old, forbidding looking frame house, in which a rich oysterman ‘did himself in.’ His ghost still roams all over this region—some say guarding his treasure; for which he had a vast deal of it. 

Cooper Street rock snake, The Pittsburgh Press, July 2, 1916, sketch by Herb Roth.

To the east of the house is the ‘great snake,’ imbedded in solid rock.  It was discovered in the rock when the roadway at Two Hundred and Seventh and Cooper Streets was cut through.”

Niagra Falls Gazette, March 26, 1925.

In warm weather the Dyckman Strip is a lively scene replete with music, the clink of cocktail glasses, laughter and animated conversation.  As brunch winds down, the crowd migrates west to the marina, on the banks of the Hudson River, to marvel at the view—a nearly unblemished vista that has changed little since Henry Hudson and his Half Moon sailed past Tubby Hook and the Spuyten Duyvil some four hundred years ago.

But skip back in time some 15,000 years and the vibrant locale is a very different place.   Gone are the trendy new bars and cafes, replaced by the salt meadows that proliferated after the retreat of the glaciers thousands of years before.

Baby Mastodon roaming down Dyckman Street.

Lumbering down what will, one day, be Dyckman Street, near Seaman Avenue, appears what would be an astonishing sight to modern city inhabitants—a baby mastodon, brunching on the tall grass and enjoying his day in the sun.

“Bones!”

On March 25, 1925 construction workers toiled 22 feet below ground, digging out the foundation for #2 Seaman Avenue.  The extension of the subway system, today’s A line, would arrive in Inwood within the year and West of Broadway was being hurriedly developed.

Deep in the pit, worker Mangillo Domenico’s shovel struck an object in the soft, wet clay.   According to a news report,  “when his shovel cut through chunks which resembled rotten planks.  He examined them and shouted ‘Bones!’” (New York Times, March 26, 1925).

The commotion attracted Domenico’s boss, contractor Ambrose Conforti, who also took a look at the curious discovery. Soon a small crowd had gathered around the find.

According to the Times, “The men picked up the chunks, which resembled the fragments of ship timbers and crumbled between thumb and finger.”

“They must be elephant bones,” said Conforti.  “We’ll have to give them to the museum.”

Mastodon Found on Dyckman Street, The Sun, March 25, 1925.

Conforti quickly marshaled a small gang of workers to see if other parts of the skeleton might be uncovered.  In quick time the men filled a large box.  The find included fourteen giant teeth with “massive irregular cusps and long roots.”

Soon, it seemed, all of Inwood had descended on the site as word spread that the bones of an ancient beast had been found on Dyckman Street.

Could the skeletal remains of a mastodon remain buried beneath this building located on Dyckman and Seaman Avenue, now the home to the popular restaurant Mamajuanas?

Leary of the crowd, Conforti posted an overnight watchman to keep an eye on the dig site, but by morning the crowd had become impatient.

Conforti, apparently, allowed the crowd to have a look inside the box.  Then the trouble began.

A milkman, of all people, pulled one of the giant teeth from the wooden box and announced to the crowd, “I want this for Hazel. It’ll be a corking thing for whatnot.”

Before Conforti could utter a word, the crowd, who managed to abscond with all but three of the precious teeth, set upon him.

Dr. C.C. Mook, standing, Cass City Michigan Chronicle, September 30, 1927.

Shortly after this regrettable incident, a representative from the American Museum, Dr. C.C. Mook, arrived to examine what remained of the discovery.

One can only imagine the scene as the dismayed contractor handed the plundered box containing the three remaining teeth to Dr. Mook, an expert on mastodons who must have been quite excited about the discovery.

“These and the bones were presented to the museum by Conforti,” the New York Times reported, “but before Dr. Mook could carry them to an automobile, two of the teeth had been stolen, so that the museum got but one.  As atrocious luck is supposed to attach to such relics in private hands, it is possible some of the others will be given to the museum later. 

The lot where the remains were found is in a gully, which runs between the old Billings estate and the proposed Inwood Park from Broadway to the Hudson River.  Just north is a thirty-foot cliff.  After a superficial examination of the site, Dr. Mook said that the remains came from Pleistocene clay, which was laid down about 10,000 years ago.  The mastodon, because of its weight, might have been mired in the marsh.”

A Baby Mastodon

It would seem that some guilty soul must have returned one of the teeth, because the following month the New York Times updated their original story stating, “The bones of the prehistoric mammal which were recently unearthed near Broadway and Dyckman Street, have been identified as a young mastodon.  Two molars, which are described as “milk teeth” by scientists of the Museum of Natural History, furnish the basis for belief that it was a baby of the species…”

The remaining teeth and bones were put on display inside the museum where they were  “viewed with interest as the first remains of a Mastodon to be found on Manhattan Island. “ (New York Times, April 16, 1925).

But, in fact, they were not the first.

The Ring Garden Discovery

Forty Years earlier, in 1885, a grammar school principal, Elisha A. Howland, made a similar discovery, on what today is a community Garden, the Ring Garden, practically across the street from the 1925 find.

Of this discovery, Professor R. P. Whitfield would write, “In April 1885, Elisha A. Howland, then principal of grammar school No. 68, at 128^th Street, between Sixth and Seventh Avenues, brought and donated to the museum the lower extremity of a mastodon tusk, nearly 15 inches long by 4 in its greatest diameter, which had been found shortly before at Inwood, N.Y., while cutting a ditch through a peat bed near the Presbyterian Church at that place.  The fragment shows fresh breaking at the upper end, and was undoubtedly much longer when first found.” (The Mastodons, Mammoths and Other Pleistocene Mammals of New York State, Chris Andrew Hartnagel and Sherman Chauncey Bishop, University of the State of New York, 1922)

The Spuyten Duyvil Find

In 1891 workers widening the Harlem River Ship Canal found the remains of another Mastodon.   According to one account, “While laborers were working in the Harlem Canal, near Dyckman’s Creek, King’s Bridge, recently, they uncovered a mastodon’s tusk.  Assistant Engineer Doerflinger had it removed with great care, and it was found to be in a great state of preservation. It was four feet long and six inches in diameter at the larger end.  The tusk was sent to the curator of the geological department of the Museum of Natural History, New York.” (The Highland Democrat, December 19, 1891)

Timeline of finds

1885: Ring Garden
1891: Harlem River Ship Canal
1925: 2 Seaman Avenue