spend the Fourth at neighboring points. Some, wrote Bryant, would go
to shady retreats in the country; some would refresh themselves by
excursions to the seashore on Staten Island or the river front at
Hoboken. “If the public authorities, who expend so much of our money
in laying out the city, would do what is in their power, they might
give our vast population an extensive pleasure ground for shade and
recreation in these sultry afternoons, which we might reach without
going out of town.” Where? He answered:
On the road to Harlem, between Sixty-eighth Street on the south,
and Seventy-seventh on the north, and extending from Third
Avenue to the East River, is a tract of beautiful woodland,
comprising sixty or seventy acres, thickly covered with old trees,
intermingled with a variety of shrubs. The surface is varied in a
very striking and picturesque manner, with craggy eminences, and
hollows, and a little stream runs through the midst. The swift
tides of the East River sweep its rocky shores, and the fresh
breeze of the bay comes in, on every warm summer afternoon, over
the restless waters. The trees are of almost every species that
grows in our woods--the different varieties of ash, the birch, the
beech, the linden, the mulberry, the tulip tree, and others; the
azalea, the kalmia, and other flowering shrubs are in bloom here in
their season, and the ground in spring is gay with flowers. There
never was a finer situation for the public garden of a great city.
Nothing is wanting but to cut winding paths through it, leaving the
woods as they now are, and introducing here and there a jet from
the Croton aqueduct, the streams from which would make their own
waterfalls over the rocks, and keep the brooks running through the
place always fresh and full....
If any of our brethren of the public press should see fit to
support this project, we are ready to resign in their favor any
claim to the credit of originally suggesting it.
Bryant referred to the beauty and utility of Regent’s Park in London,
the Alameda in Madrid, the Champs Elysées in Paris, and the Prater in
Vienna. By the official plan for New York, drawn up in 1807, an area of
two hundred and forty acres had been reserved between Twenty-third and
Thirty-fourth Streets, and Third and Seventh Avenues, to be called the
Parade; this, however, had been reduced by degrees to the six or seven
acres of Madison Square. At the beginning of the century any one had
been able to walk in a half hour from his home to the open fields, but
it now seemed that all Manhattan would soon be covered with brick and
mortar.
The editor’s proposal was not for the area now included in Central
Park, and was for a comparatively small tract, though Bryant had
understated its size--it contained about one hundred and sixty acres,
against eight hundred and forty-three in Central Park to-day. But it
would be a magnificent park compared with any then existing, and the
suggestion was sufficient to open a discussion. Jones’s Wood, as the
tract was called, was the last remnant of the primeval forest on the
East River, as wild as when the Dutch had settled on the island. It
was the subject of many a tale and tradition connected with the infant
days of the colony, and was reputed to have been the favorite resort of
pirates who descended through Hell Gate and landed there to bury their
treasure and hold their revels. The first John Jones purchased it when
it was called the “Louvre Farm,” in 1803, and a son by the same name
succeeded him. In time it became a favorite nutting and fishing ground.
Anglers would sit in the shade of its rocky bluffs and overhanging elms
and cast their lines into the deep waters of the East River, while in
autumn boys would wander through its recesses clubbing the branches
above. “What a place of delight Jones’s Wood used to be in the olden
days!” exclaimed “Felix Oldboy” in the eighties.
Nor was it long until Bryant himself suggested the alternative scheme
for a central park. From time to time he recurred editorially to the
subject, now expatiating upon the ever-increasing need for a city
breathing place, now pointing to what European cities had done. In 1845
he was in England. From London he wrote (June 24) a glowing description
of the fresh and verdurous expanse of Hyde Park, St. James’ Park,
Kensington Gardens, and Regent’s Park, and in this letter he spoke of a
“central” reservation in New York:
These parks have been called the lungs of London, and so important
are they regarded to the public health and the happiness of the
people, that I believe a proposal to dispense with some part of
their extent, and cover it with streets and houses, would be
regarded in much the same manner as a proposal to hang every tenth
man in London....
The population of your city, increasing with such prodigious
rapidity; your sultry summers, and the corrupt atmosphere generated
in hot and crowded streets, make it a cause of regret that in
laying out New York, no preparation was made, while it was yet
practicable, for a range of parks and public gardens along the
central part of the island or elsewhere, to remain perpetually for
the refreshment and recreation of the citizens during the torrid
heats of the warm season. There are yet unoccupied lands on the
island which might, I suppose, be procured for the purpose, and
which, on account of their rocky and uneven surface, might be laid
out into surpassingly beautiful pleasure-grounds; but while we are
discussing the subject the advancing population of the city is
sweeping over them and covering them from our reach.
The _Evening Post_ repeatedly pressed the park project. Its editors
had the more faith in it, they said, because while New Yorkers were
somewhat slow in adopting plain and homely reforms, they were likely
to engage eagerly in any scheme which wore an air of magnificence.
They wouldn’t take the trouble to keep the streets clean, but they
would spend millions to bring a river into the city through the Croton
aqueduct, forty miles long. They wouldn’t sweep Broadway, but they
would cover Blackwell’s Island with stately buildings, some of them not
needed. Bryant had in this way prepared the ground when Downing, in
1849, also writing from London and using many of Bryant’s arguments,
published his appeal in the _Horticulturist_. Downing, like the poet,
had no clear or fixed idea of the limits that should be assigned the
new park. The fundamental requirements, he said, were that it should be
just above the limits of building, should be spacious, and should be
reserved while the land was yet easily obtainable. Downing’s letter,
followed in 1850 by an admirable series of articles, attracted much
attention. But thanks chiefly to Bryant, the subject was now familiar
to all interested in city improvement. In 1850 Fernando Wood ran for
Mayor against Ambrose C. Kingsland, and both warmly advocated the
establishment of a park. Kingsland, who was supported by the _Evening
Post_, was elected, and on May 5, 1851, sent the Common Council a
message recommending “the purchase and laying out of a park on a scale
which will be worthy of the city,” but not indicating a definite site.
The fight was now well begun; and when opposition appeared to the park
project _in toto_, the _Evening Post_ naturally felt that upon it lay
the chief responsibility for defending the campaign. The _Journal of
Commerce_ attacked the scheme, declaring that the cost to the taxpayer
would be tremendous, that New York city already owned park lands worth
$8,386,000, and that the cool waters and green country surrounding the
city made more unnecessary. The _Post’s_ answer was contemptuous. As
for the cost, the money spent would, like that laid out upon the Croton
water system, be an economy in the end. “Every investment of capital
that renders the city more healthy, convenient, and beautiful, attracts
both strangers and residents, and leads to a liberal patronage of every
department of trade.” The fact that the city already had eight million
dollars worth of park area had nothing to do with the question. The
argument was as absurd as it would be to compute the area covered by
the city streets, estimate their value, and make that a reason for
narrowing the Bowery or Broadway. London and Paris, like New York,
had waters and a green surrounding country within easy reach, but no
Londoner or Parisian would dispense with his parks.
Mayor Kingsland’s message was referred to a committee of the Council,
which recommended that Jones’s Wood be selected, and the Council,
adopting this recommendation, applied to the Legislature for a law to
authorize the establishment of the park. In July, 1851, the Legislature
responded by passing a measure to allow the city to take possession of
Jones’s Wood.
But by this time it was believed by many citizens that the 160-acre
stretch upon the East River would be insufficient, and that the “range
of parks and public gardens along the central part of the island” which
Bryant had suggested in 1845 would be preferable. Downing deserves
great credit for his insistence that Jones’s Wood would be “only a
child’s playground.” London, he pointed out, already possessed parks
aggregating 6,000 acres, and New York should now acquire at least
500. Such a tract “may be selected between Thirty-ninth street and
the Harlem River, including a varied surface of land, a good deal of
which is yet waste area.... In that area there would be space enough to
have broad reaches of park and pleasure-ground, with a real feeling of
the beauty and breadth of green fields, the perfume and freshness of
nature.” The Common Council was impressed, and in August appointed a
committee to ascertain whether “some other site” was best.
By the autumn of 1851 three main parties had taken shape upon the
question. A large and influential body of business men wanted no park
whatever; a considerable group of citizens would be satisfied with
Jones’s Wood alone; and a growing number wished a great central park.
The _Evening Post_ was for taking both sites. “There is now ample
room and verge enough upon the island for two parks,” wrote Bryant,
“whereas, if the matter is delayed for a few years, there will hardly
be a space left for one.” Having again and again expressed its hopes
with regard to Jones’s Woods, it now published glowing descriptions of
the Central Park area. There was no part of the island, it said, better
adapted to the purpose. “The elevation in some parts rising to the
height of one hundred and forty feet above tidewater, and the valleys
in other parts being some forty feet below the grading of the streets,
a richly diversified surface is presented, to which a great variety of
ornamental and picturesque effects may easily be given.” The valleys
abounded in springs and streams, which could quickly be converted into
artificial lakes, while the Croton aqueduct could supply water for
fountains.
By the efforts of leading citizens, City Hall, and the friendly
part of the press, the Legislature in the summer of 1853 was induced
to sanction the creation of both parks, passing two separate bills.
This filled those who opposed any park at all with rage. Admit the
possibility of two huge pleasure grounds, aggregating perhaps more
than a thousand acres? “What is it, in effect,” demanded the _Journal
of Commerce_, “but a law or laws to drive our population more and more
over to Brooklyn, Williamsburgh, Staten Island, Jersey City, etc., by
creating a barrier half a mile to two miles wide, north and south,
and occupying half the island east and west, over which population
cannot conveniently pass? If ever these projects should be carried into
effect, they will cost our citizens millions of dollars.... Small parks
would be a public blessing; and might be as numerous as the health
and comfort of our citizens would require, but a perpetual edict of
desolation against two and one half square miles of this small island,
might better come from the bitterest enemies of our city than from its
friends.” On the contrary, replied the _Evening Post_, the park would
dissuade residents of Manhattan, made desperate by the congestion,
dirt, and noise of the streets, from removing to greener and more
spacious districts like Brooklyn and New Brighton. Even after the parks
were created, the island would offer room for four or five million
people. The same sort of skeptics had assailed the Croton project.
Nor did the _Journal of Commerce_ lack help. In 1854 Mayor Jacob
Westervelt spoke with hostility in his annual message of the two
park projects. The Central Park enactment, he said, reserved six
hundred acres in the center of the island, “toward which the flood of
population is rapidly pouring”; while its limits embraced “an area
vastly more extensive than is required for the purpose, and deprives
the citizens of the use of land for building purposes, much of which
cannot be judiciously spared.” As for Jones’s Wood, it ought not to be
taken at all. “The shore on the margin of this park is generally bold,
affording a depth of water invaluable for commercial purposes.” The
_Evening Post_ denied that the tide of population was setting toward
the center of the island, saying that it moved fastest up the Hudson
and East Rivers--an historical fact. The waterfront of Jones’s Wood was
probably not more than one two-hundredth of the island’s whole margin.
“Can we have no fresh air, no green trees, no agreeable walks and
drives, that Smith may have more houses to let, and Brown and Co. have
less distance to go to their warehouses and ships?”
The endeavor to save Jones’s Wood failed in 1854, and for a time it
seemed likely that the proposed area of Central Park would be decidedly
reduced. A member of the State Senate that year introduced a bill for
slicing one-sixth off each side of the park on Fifth Avenue and Eighth
Avenue, for shortening it at both ends, and for “interspersing the
park into suitable squares connecting with each other but on which,
or parts of which, family edifices may be erected.” This, as the
_Evening Post_ said, was simply a scheme to destroy the park. It could
understand “that the eye accustomed to look upon the dollar as the
only attractive object in this world, would not find the beauty of a
park ‘materially lessened’ when beholding it covered with rent-paying
brick and mortar; but the idea of ‘public recreation’ among dwelling
houses, in open spaces like Union and Washington Squares ... is too
absurd.” When hearings were held this same month (January, 1854), upon
Mayor Westervelt’s proposals for curtailing Central Park, the advocates
of the original limits seemed to be weakening. The Mayor’s supporters
desired a park of about one-third the area originally proposed, and
presented a petition with several thousand signatures. The chief
spokesman for the opposite side, Samuel B. Ruggles, indicated his
willingness to consent to a less drastic reduction, making the park
extend from Sixth Avenue to Eighth, or from Fifth to Seventh, instead
of from Fifth to Eighth. But against any weakening whatever of the plan
as it stood the _Evening Post_ protested energetically. In the heart
of London were more than 1,500 acres of park, it said, which would
command high prices for building lots, yet New York jobbers grumbled
over sparing 700. The people owed it “to the thousands coming after
them, who will before many years make this city the first in the world
in point of size, to bequeath them pleasure grounds commensurate with
its greatness.”
The struggle continued until, in February, 1856, following a favorable
court decision, Bryant could congratulate the city that it had been
won, and that the landscaping of Central Park might begin within a few
months. This was eleven years after his original proposal. He, more
than any one else, deserves to be called the father of the idea; though
Downing’s labors in promoting it were quite as great as his.
II
These were years in which much had to be said of the defects of the
municipal services, and especially of the police. When the forties
began there was no force for the prevention of crime, and only a
small, underpaid watch for making arrests. Theodore Sedgwick, Jr.,
remarked in the _Evening Post_ of September, 1841, upon “the frequency
of atrocious crimes”; why was it “that brutal crimes, murders, and
rapes have suddenly become so common?” The answer, he thought, was
that New Yorkers elected their city administrations for their views
upon national questions, not because they would furnish efficient
government. It was then held shocking that in less than two years,
1838–9, there had been six murders in the city and no convictions. On
the Fourth of July in 1842 a German named Rosseler, who kept a quiet
beer garden on Twenty-first Street, ejected some ruffians from it; and
two days later they returned, burnt his house, destroyed his property,
and almost killed a neighbor whom they mistook for him. The _Evening
Post_ was moved to demand “a police which has eyes and ears for all
these enormities, and hands to seize the offenders.” Just a week before
Mayor Morris called upon the Legislature (May 29, 1843) in his annual
message to provide an adequate police, Bryant penned another protest:
We maintain a body of watchmen, but they are of no earthly use,
except here and there to put an end to a street brawl, and
sometimes to pick up a drunken man and take him to the watch house.
In some cases, they have been suspected of being in a league with
the robbers. At present, we hear of a new case of housebreaking
about as often as every other day. Within a few days past, in one
neighborhood in the upper part of town, two houses have been broken
into and plundered, and an attempt has been made to set fire to
another.
Of course there will be no end to this evil, until there is
a reform in the police regulations--until a police of better
organization and more efficiency shall be introduced. Our city
swarms with daring and ingenious rogues, many of whom have been
driven from the Old World, and who find no difficulty in exercising
their vocation here with perfect impunity.
“Our city, with its great population and vast extent, can hardly
be said to have a police,” wrote the editor again in the following
February. But immediately after the election of James Harper, the
publisher, as Mayor, a force of 200 patrolmen was organized, a number
soon increased to 800. When Mayor William V. Brady in 1847 proposed
abolishing them and restoring the watch system, the newspaper was
amazed. The night watchmen had never arrested any one when it was
avoidable, for every arrest meant that the officer lost half of the
next day from his usual work testifying at the trial. The watch had
never stopped a public disturbance--the abolition and flour riots had
destroyed property that would have supported a police force several
years; but the police had quelled several incipient outbreaks. The
_Evening Post_ was not for abolishing, but for improving the new force.
One of the reforms it sought was the clothing of the men in distinctive
uniforms. As it explained again and again, a uniformed policeman could
be seen from a distance and accosted for information or help; he
would be obeyed by rowdies when a policeman out of uniform would lack
authority; and he could not loiter in corner groggeries. This salutary
improvement was finally effected in the fall of 1853.
As for the fire department, New York depended upon the volunteer system
from the time the _Evening Post_ was founded until 1865, and at no
date after Bryant’s return from Europe in 1836 had his journal any
patience with it. There was never any difficulty in making the force
large enough; when abolished, it consisted of 125 different hose,
engine, and ladder companies. The objection was to its personnel. Gangs
of desperate young blackguards, said the _Post_ at the beginning of
1840, assembled nightly near the engine-houses, devoted themselves to
ribaldry, drinking, fighting, and buffoonery, and not infrequently
were guilty of riots, robbery, and assaults upon women. They levied
forced contributions upon storekeepers to buy liquor and pay their
fines whenever they were jailed. At conflagrations they carried off
whatever movables were spared by the flames. The volunteer system,
collecting these ruffians in various capacities, gave them the
opportunity to gratify their restless love of excitement, destroyed
their fitness for regular employment, and rapidly made them confirmed
drunkards. The clanship engendered by the hostility of the different
companies led to bloody street fights. What should be done? The
_Evening Post_ recommended “the prohibition of the volunteer system by
penal enactments”; and if the city could not support a paid force, the
abandonment of the field to the insurance companies.
In September, 1841, the _Evening Post_ was again vigorously denouncing
“the desperate scoundrels nourished by the fire department.” These
denunciations it had ample opportunity to keep up month by month, for
the frequency of incendiarism and of street affrays among the volunteer
companies was appalling. The best companies were ill-equipped, since
not until 1856, after obstinate opposition, were really powerful
fire engines introduced from Cincinnati. The regular firemen were
accompanied by a swarm of “runners” and irregular assistants, many
of them known to be guilty of arson. Whenever two rival companies
wished a trial of skill, a fire was sure to break out in a convenient
place. The subscriptions for funds circulated among shopkeepers and
householders were little better than blackmail, for it was well known
that those who withheld contributions were peculiarly liable to fires.
In their deadly feuds the companies, fighting with hammers, axes,
knives, and pistols, furnished the morgue and the hospitals with dozens
of subjects a year. Thieves frequently started conflagrations. We read
in the _Evening Post_ just after the destruction of Metropolitan Hall
(1854):
At the fire on Saturday night, about half of the goods that were
thrown out of the windows of the La Farge Hotel, it has been
estimated, were carried away by thieves. The inmates of the Bond
Street House, who were obliged suddenly to decamp, found afterwards
that their rooms had been rifled, and all the valuables which they
left behind carried away....
There is no city in the world where the thefts committed at fires
are so many and so considerable as with us. The rogues have an
organization which brings them in an instant to the spot, the goods
are passed rapidly from hand to hand, and disappear forever. A
large fire is a windfall to the whole tribe.
Cincinnati the previous year, as the _Post_ said, had substituted a
paid fire department for the volunteer system. It was disgraceful for
New York to depend on a violent, licentious body which was educating
the city’s youth in turbulence and rowdiness and was often worse than
useless when the firebell sounded. The insurance companies at this time
kept eighty men, at a cost of $30,000, to guard against fires, and many
merchants and families employed private watchmen. But relief did not
come for more than a decade.