New-York Historical Society

New York cyclists and the “Orange Riding District”

"Cycling Map of the Orange Riding District," one of three maps appearing on the foldout accompanying Barkman's Road Book. Road-Book of Long Island , 1886.

It’s National Bike Month again, and it so happens that Albert B. Barkman’s Road-Book of Long Island (1886) recently crossed our path. It’s an unassuming book at best, but like a great deal of our collections, when given a dose of context it turns out to be an interesting little piece of bicycling and mapmaking history.

The Road-Book contains a multitude of information for cycling around New York City, or as its extended title suggests, the “best riding of New York and New Jersey, within fifty miles of New York City.” It comes with helpful advice, routes, advertisements, and maps, all for the benefit of a burgeoning population of riders at the dawn of bicycle’s golden age. An added perk is a foldout with three larger maps showing routes in Brooklyn, Long Island and the Oranges. Yes, that’s right — Oranges — as in Essex County, New Jersey. Geographically, they might seem a stretch as a match for Brooklyn and Long Island, but as it turns out the Oranges served as a starting point for many of the book’s westward routes.

Page from the Road Book showing an example of its descriptions of routes. The Road Book of Long Island, 1886.

Despite a river and some 15 or so miles to cover, the ferry and an existing rail line shrank the length of the trip. As a result, not only had the railroad played a pivotal role in attracting wealthy New Yorkers to build homes in the Oranges, and nearby Montclair, but it would lure New York riders to the area as well. While some cycled the whole way, many simply hopped aboard a train in New York and, via Newark, arrived in Montclair and the Oranges ready to ride. The railroad’s popularity in conveying riders also provided justification for depicting rail lines on bicycle maps.

Bicycling diary entry by Arthur P.S. Hyde, September 2, 1896. BV Hyrde, Arthur P.S. MS 1591.

As a whole, Barkman’s guide itself offers a dizzying number of rides, with extensive information about each step of the way. They record towns (some of which no longer in existence) and landmarks passed through as well as distances, terrains, road conditions, and accommodations for those out for longer than a day excursion. The maps themselves were also significant in a very particular way. Since the condition or type or road is an important detail for any cyclist choosing a route, according to David Yehling Allen, bicycles became a motivating factor in the mapmaking convention of noting what kind of road surfaces riders would encounter — e.g., gravel or loam, block pavement, cobbles or macadam. (The Road Book shows that some Long Island roads were even paved with crushed shells.)

 

Illustration by Harry White of a spill taken by Hyde on Delavan Hill, Amenia, NY, August 1895. BV Hyde, Arthur P.S., MS 1591.

Complementing the Road Book very nicely are the bicycling diaries (1892-1896) of Arthur P. S. Hyde, an army captain and avid cyclist from New York. His entries detail the route of each ride, including the towns through which he passed, noteworthy scenery or landmarks, and on longer trips, the hotels and inns at which he lodged.

As proof of the important relationship between trains and cyclists, many of Hyde’s longer rides begin with a train trip. His notes reveal the impressive extent of his travels as well, taking him as far west as Port Jervis and as far north as Amenia, NY with extensive riding all over the metropolitan area. His tabulated riding distances offer numerical confirmation of his passion for the sport: in May of 1896 he logged a staggering 708 miles!

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The Promise and Loss of the Hindenburg

Post written by Mariam Touba

"Queen of the Skies, Heading for Disaster." New York Evening Journal, May 7, 1937.

This spring we have heard much that commemorates the disaster that befell the ocean liner Titanic, but it is not the only mournful anniversary of the destruction of a beautiful, efficient and luxurious way to cross the Atlantic. Seventy-five years ago, on May 6, 1937, the airship Hindenburg caught fire while landing in Lakehurst, New Jersey and burned in a little over half a minute, killing 36 people. Unlike the Titanic sinking, the horror was witnessed by spectators, captured on film, and, most memorably, recorded as anguished commentary by the radio announcer Herb Morrison.

 

Menu for the reception and dinner held at the Waldorf-Astoria for the Hindenburg's first visit, May 10, 1936. Menu Collection, S98.6.7

The fateful 1937 crossing was not the maiden voyage of the great zeppelin, but rather the promising beginning of its sophomore year. It was the previous May when the Hindenburg embarked on its mission to transform luxury transatlantic travel. The German-made rigid airship was, and still is, among the largest objects ever to fly: More than two football fields in length, it offered speedy travel in roomy comfort, the very features that we veterans of cramped airplane travel increasingly covet. The promise held by these lighter-than-air ships is apparent in this banquet menu feting the officers and crew taken from the Library’s collection of approximately 10,000 dining menus. The specially-dubbed dishes, “Zeppelin Eisbombe,” “Lakehurst Potatoes,” “Cocktail a la Eckener,” display the enthusiasm at the 1,500-guest reception at the Waldorf-Astoria. In the more modest precincts of Manhattan, the German community of Yorkville staged its own welcome for the crew, while the New York Times opined that the voyage was “an event of major historic importance for the simple reason that it inaugurates regular commercial transoceanic service by air between Europe and the United Sates and thus justifies these visions of the future. Far below them, her passengers could see the two fastest liners ever built lunging hugely and cumbrously through waves that must have seemed thick and obstructing compared with the pellucid and unresisting air above.” Indeed, the crew of the Hindenburg, in its normal passage of two and a half days, had graciously refused to “race” the Queen Mary then preparing for her maiden voyage of five days.

The promise was assuredly an upper-class one, as the $400 one-way fare greatly exceeded the cost of first-class ocean passage. A reporter on board noted that the “women passengers appeared as fresh and chic as though they were on an ocean liner,” even though the sleeping cabins were small and without private baths. Nonetheless, the 50 or so passengers could enjoy a lounge with a baby grand piano, a dining and writing room, and viewing windows that opened in flight, the very feature that would provide escape for many of the 62 survivors of the 1937 disaster. Incredibly—given that highly flammable hydrogen gas lifted the ship—the Hindenburg also included a carefully isolated smoking room.

Menu Collection, S98.6.7

But a disturbing undercurrent can be observed on the menu photograph in the form of the swastika on the tail fins. The New York press was pointedly aware that the developer of the Zeppelin program, Hugo Eckener, had been stripped of effective command of the company and the airships when he attempted to resist Nazi pressure to use the Hindenburg for pro-Hitler propaganda in Germany. Eckener protested at the time that the propaganda flights came in place of necessary test runs for the Hindenburg, a claim that was tragically vindicated; Eckener himself would die of burns sustained in the Lakehurst disaster. The looming war haunted the project as the Hindenberg, designed to fly with safer, but heavier, helium, had to be refitted to use flammable hydrogen because the United States controlled the world’s rare helium supplies and withheld it against military use by Adolf Hitler. On the occasion of this optimistic 1936 welcome The New York Times had suggested, “All may not be morally well with the world, but it is not a world utterly lost when a Hindenburg can be built and navigated with such dramatic success,” but in the end, the Nazi menace could not be separated from the disaster and the effective end of this compelling way to travel.

 

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Clarke and Rapuano, Landscape Architects

April — better known as the month of showers, Frederick Law Olmsted’s birthday, and Earth Day — has also been designated National Landscape Architect month.  Aside from Olmsted, however, landscape architects continue to fly largely under the radar.  A case in point:  Clarke and Rapuano, a firm with enormous impact on New York City’s urban landscape, whose name is hardly known outside the profession.

Gilmore D. Clarke (1892-1982) and Michael Rapuano (1904-1975) began their professional partnership in Engineering and Landscape Architecture in 1934.  Their first collaboration was on the design of the Henry Hudson Parkway.

Henry Hudson Parkway, circa 1937. PR 80, Clarke and Rapuano Landscape Architecture Collection.

Encouraged by the success of their pilot project, the two went on to become one of the first multi-discipline landscape architecture firms in the country.  In association with Robert Moses,  the firm was responsible for designing many of New York’s important public spaces, including Bryant Park, the United Nations, the Conservancy Gardens in Central Park,  and the Brooklyn Heights promenade.

Bryant Park. PR80, Clarke and Rapuano Landscape Architecture Collection.

 

In addition to shaping most of the parks, parkways and housing projects of the Moses era, Clarke and Rapuano were also involved in designing both of New York City’s World Fairs.   Most iconically, it was Gilmore Clarke who came up with the design for the recently restored symbol of the 1964 World’s Fair — the Unisphere.

The Unisphere at the 1964 World's Fair. PR80, Clarke and Rapuano Landscape Architecture Collection.

 

While the Unisphere has always been a popular (if not critical) success, Clarke and Rapuano were also involved with some of Moses’ more reviled highway projects,  such as the Major Deegan Expressway in the Bronx, the Van Wyck Expressway in Queens, and the Brooklyn-Queens Expressway.  For controversial projects, at least, anonymity has certain advantages.

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“High class freight”: The Titanic and its cargo

"Steamer Titanic". Postcard Collection, PR 054

With the centennial of its sinking having arrived, the Titanic is a big ticket these days. Fittingly, most commemorations  recognize the terrible loss of life associated with its sinking but there are certainly less somber aspects of this catastrophe too. Aside from its great quantity of passengers, the Titanic also sailed with a modest cargo, and sadly for librarians and book lovers everywhere, that cargo included many shipments of books.

Note from Walford Bros. Booksellers to Robert H. Lyman, circa May 29, 1912. Ships Collection, MS 563

This note and receipt  from the London second-hand booksellers, Walford Brothers, in the N-YHS collections, testify to that unfortunate fact. The note, based on the accompanying copy of the receipt, was written over a month after the tragedy in May 1912. It informs Robert Hunt Lyman, a New York World editor, that the two books he ordered seem to have had the misfortune of being shipped aboard the Titanic.

Frustratingly, the ocean liner’s manifest records many cases of books but does not explicitly name Lyman as a consignee. This isn’t too surprising since he only ordered two books, and, assuming it was indeed on the Titanic, the books were likely handled by a third party firm such as American Express Co. (In case you weren’t aware, now a financial services company, it began in the express mail business.) American Express actually had a number of ill-fated shipments, some of which contained books.

That aside, the manifest is interesting in and of itself. According to a New York Times article from a week after the sinking (which includes a list of the consignees), the cargo was “conservatively” worth $420,000. Using inflation conversions, that is roughly $9.5 million in today’s money. However, its value belies its size. The article explains that the cargo was not all that substantial but its value lay instead in the quality of the goods. As it described it, in the parlance of the day, it was “all high class freight.”

The list of goods is an eclectic one, encompassing everything from feathers and melons to silver and linoleum. But what stands out even more are the consignees. In the ship’s hold was freight destined for the department store B. Altman & Co., sporting goods company A.G. Spalding & Bro., Baring Brothers & Co., Brown Bros. & Co., and Tiffany & Co. and many comparable businesses and firms. And yet all those posh goods simply vanished on April 14, 1912, to live out their existence on the far less luxurious environs of the ocean floor.

Copy of receipt for Robert H. Lyman, Walford Bros. Booksellers, May 29, 1912. Ships Collection, MS 563

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“Aliens” in America: British Citizens during the War of 1812

Letter from Secretary of State James Monroe to Peter Curtenius, Marshal for the District of New York, October 21, 1812. Peter Curtenius Papers, MS 142.

Post written by Rachel Schimke, a spring intern at N-YHS who processed the Peter Curtenius Papers. 

This year marks the bicentennial of the War of 1812, a conflict that is often overshadowed by the more celebrated wars in our nation’s history. The newly processed Peter Curtenius Papers offer invaluable information for researchers interested in this lesser-known war, particularly the role that New York played in the conflict.

Curtenius was appointed U.S. Marshal for the District of New York by Thomas Jefferson in 1806. He served in this position until near the end of the War of 1812, at which time his successor John Smith took over. During their tenures as marshals, much of Curtenius and Smith’s duties involved overseeing British citizens living in New York. They corresponded often with the Department of State (led by James Monroe), receiving frequent instructions regarding these British “aliens.” A letter from James Monroe to Peter Curtenius on October 21, 1812, shortly after the outbreak of the war, requests that Curtenius order the nine British officers living in New York City to “retire forthwith into the country, to such place, not less than forty miles distant from the city… Should they refuse or decline to obey this order, you will take them into custody as prisoners of war.” The same letter also asks Curtenius to pay “very strict attention” to “all other alien enemies.”

Page two of Monroe's letter to Curtenius, with Monroe's signature. Peter Curtenius Papers, MS 142.

What did this “very strict attention” entail? As marshals, Curtenius and Smith were in charge of maintaining registers of the approximately 1,500 British citizens living in New York (about half of whom lived in New York City) during the War of 1812. Even British heads of households who had been living in New York for many years or had applied for naturalization were required to report to the marshal. One British resident, a 58-year-old man who was a weaver by trade, had lived in the United States for 35 years when he reported to Curtenius in September 1812. These registers, located in the Peter Curtenius Papers and the New-York Historical Society’s other War of 1812 manuscript collections, are rich in sociological information, as they list the names of the British “aliens,” their age, occupation, place of residence, length of time in the United States, their family/marital status, and whether they had applied for naturalization.

"Return to the Department of State of enemy aliens who have reported themselves to the Marshall of the District of New York", MS 2049

Less than three decades after the United States became independent, our young nation once again found itself doing battle with Great Britain. As we acknowledge the 200th anniversary of the War of 1812, it is interesting to reflect back on how the conflict affected not just Americans on the home front, but their British neighbors, as well.

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Elephants in the (Reading) Room

Written by Joseph Ditta, Reference Librarian.

Apropos of nothing, here are two elephant “firsts” from the library collections.

The Elephant (Newburyport, Mass.: William Barrett, 1797) Broadside SY1797 no. 26.

Although most accounts refer to it in the masculine, the first elephant brought to the United States (through New York, of course!), was actually female. Some sources call her “Old Bet,” and she arrived on 13 April 1796 aboard the ship America, commanded by Jacob Crowninshield of Salem, Massachusetts. Crowninshield bought the elephant in Bengal then promptly sold her to showmen who exhibited her along the eastern seaboard (she was later owned by Hachaliah Bailey of Ringling Bros., Barnum & Bailey Circus fame). Advertisements like this 1797 broadside from Newburyport, Massachusetts, appeared wherever Old Bet did, describing her skill at uncorking bottles of “spirituous liquors” with her trunk. The circumstances of her demise are vague: she died sometime between 1816 and 1827 in either Maine, North Carolina, or Rhode Island, most likely from unnatural causes. A monument to Old Bet stands outside the Elephant Hotel in Somers, New York.

Thomas Nast, “The Third-Term Panic,” Harper’s Weekly, 7 November 1874.

The image of an elephant as the symbol for the Republican Party was by no means fixed in American minds before 1874, when Harper’s Weekly ran this Thomas Nast cartoon. “The Third-Term Panic” was Nast’s response to editorials in the New York Herald that raised fears Republican President Ulysses Grant might seek an unprecedented third consecutive term (he did not pursue the Republican nomination in 1876, but was again a candidate, albeit an unsuccessful one, in 1880). The ass in lion’s clothing (i.e., the New York Herald) is frightening all the animals of the forest (the other newspapers and states of the Union), including the not-so-staid elephant (the Republican Party), some of whose followers were led to vote Democrat. Nast’s elephant gained recognition as later political cartoonists followed suit. In 1966 the Republican Congressional Committee sponsored a contest to name what had by then become the universal symbol for the Grand Old Party. The winning entry? “Republic Ann.” (Get it? “Republic Ann” = “Republican.”)

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Henry Bergh: Angel in Top Hat or the Great Meddler?

Written by Tammy Kiter, Manuscript Reference Assistant.

Henry Bergh. AHMC - Bergh, Henry

Many of us are familiar with the American Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals, or ASPCA. But lesser-known and truly inspiring, is Henry Bergh, its founder and the man who worked so diligently to maintain it. A native New Yorker, Bergh was born in 1813 and raised on the Lower East Side. His father, Christian Bergh, was a prominent ship builder who, upon his death, left his fortune to his sons. The wealth bestowed upon Bergh allowed him to live a very affluent lifestyle. Involved in government, he had also been assigned an American diplomatic position with the Czar of Russia under President Lincoln’s administration.

At home and while traveling extensively, Bergh was struck by the horrific abuse he witnessed toward animals. In Russia, he saw peasants beating horses that had fallen and were unable to continue pulling carts and was appalled by the violent nature of bullfighting in Spain. During a trip to England, Bergh consulted with his friend, the Earl of Harrowby, regarding the Royal Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals, founded in 1840. Motivated by this suffering and injustice, Bergh resigned from his position in Russia and moved back to the states. Believing it was his mission to work on behalf of these “mute servants of mankind”, Bergh drafted a Declaration of the Rights of Animals, proposed a society to protect these creatures, and presented his case at Clinton Hall. On April 10, 1866, a charter incorporating the American Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals was signed and the following week, an anti-cruelty law was passed granting ASPCA the power to enforce such laws. The ASPCA agents were often referred to as “Berghsmen”.

"Working Force" of the ASPCA, January 5, 1905. Annual Report -- American Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals, 1905.

Initially, the ASPCA focused their efforts on the welfare of horses and livestock. The organization operated its first ambulance for sick and injured horses in 1867, even developing a derrick with which to pull animals from ditches and excavations by 1875. Concerned about the lack of proper hydration working horses received, Bergh began installing drinking fountains in public areas. With

Drinking fountain erected by the ASPCA. Annual Report -- American Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals, 1870

Bergh as President, ASPCA continued to work on behalf of dogs, cats, and other animals. Bergh fought tirelessly to put an end to dog fighting and cock fights. He designed an alternative to shooting live pigeons at sporting events, was an early proponent of anti-vivisection, and encouraged owners to purchase licenses for their dogs. Bergh believed that “Mercy to animals means mercy to mankind”. He was also instrumental in the founding of the New York Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Children (NYSPCC), in 1874.

Often putting himself in harm’s way, Bergh was known to physically and verbally intervene when he spotted a case of animal abuse. A prolific writer, Bergh penned countless letters to those he felt were involved in mishandling animals as well as individuals supporting the ASPCA. The organization published annual reports beginning in 1867, wherein details were provided regarding the progress being made as well as the criminals who were convicted. He was the recipient of death threats, physical attacks, and public ridicule. Newspaper articles sometimes

Letter from Henry Bergh describing the care of snakes Barnum's Museum, December 11, 1866. AHMC - Bergh, Henry

referred to him as “The Great Meddler”. Bergh had an ongoing conflict with P.T. Barnum, whom he accused of exploiting animals, pointing out the cruel method by which reptiles were fed live rodents in a public spectacle. To the many who joined the plight of ASPCA, he was thought of as “An Angel in Top Hat”. Among his supporters were a number of well-known literary figures, including Louisa May Alcott (alluding to him in her short story, Rosa’s Tale), Ralph Waldo Emerson, and Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, who presented Bergh’s eulogy in 1888. Ironically, Barnum was one of the pall bearers at Bergh’s funeral.

The founding of the ASPCA crossed party lines and class boundaries. As Bergh stated, “This is a matter purely of conscience, it has no perplexing side issues. It is a moral question in all its aspects”. Almost a century and a half later, the society continues to rescue animals in need, pass humane laws and share resources with other shelters across the world. Just around the corner is April — Prevention of Cruelty to Animals Month — so let’s tip our hat to Henry Bergh.

 

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American Eagle and Irish Harp: The Story of the New-York Hibernian Volunteers

First page of the minute book of the New-York Hibernian Volunteers with the names of those present, 12 January, 1796. New-York Hibernian Volunteers Minute Book, January - March 1796, MS 1528.

A great deal of the work done on the Irish immigrant experience focuses on the refugees of Ireland’s potato blight in the late 1840s. However, the epic story of the Irish in America, and the challenges it encountered, did not begin there. One obscure chapter of this story is captured in the tale of the short-lived New-York Hibernian Volunteers.

While Irish immigration was on a far smaller scale in the late eighteenth century, by the 1790s there was an established population in New York. In January 1796, a group of these men came together to form “a Military Corps to assist in the defence and Protection of the United States its Constitution & Laws against all Enemies whither Foreign or Domestic.” It’s likely that they drew some inspiration from Ireland’s volunteer militias, out of which emerged the United Irishmen in 1792, a radical republican political organization that would be at the heart of the island’s 1798 Rebellion. In contrast, the New-York Hibernian Volunteers would never build such momentum, and the slender volume of minutes in the N-YHS collections reflects the group’s stunted existence.

Ostensibly, it was their uniforms that caused their downfall. According to a narrative in the volume of minutes, John Jay (New York Governor, founding father and Huguenot) witnessed them on a “Deputation” of Volunteers at the Friendly Sons of St. Patrick’s 1796 St. Patrick’s Day celebration. He took issue with their uniforms, and the next day met with their captain, Robert Cox, to inform him that no commissions would be forthcoming for their officers. It seems their choice of color was not in line with the regulation “Dark blue coats” prescribed in An act to regulate the militia passed by the State of New York in 1786. Since the Constitution gave states the power to train militia and appoint officers, they could withhold commissions, as Jay intimated, effectively relegating the Volunteers to nothing more than a social club.

Portrait of John Jay. Portrait File, PR-052.

Despite the apparent transgression, it’s debatable whether Jay’s adherence to military regulation was the sole reason for his denial of commissions. While the Volunteers wore a black cockade, representing support of the federal government, the other trappings — among them a “Grass Green short coat”, “shamrock on the shirt” and the “Irish Harp” (to accompany the “American Eagle” on their helmet) — hinted at republican and anti-British views. As a Federalist, Governor Jay would hardly have been sympathetic to such republican leanings, and was, like many of his compatriots, wary of the potentially disruptive influence of Europeans in America, particularly from revolutionary-minded Irish.

It would be rash to ascribe Jay’s actions explicitly to either political or ethnic bias; however, evidence at least suggests the possibility. The Volunteers’ chairman, Thomas T. Gaston, while disdainfully giving notice of the disbanding of the militia in the June 15, 1797 issue of  The Diary or Loudon’s Register, noted that the militia had “received no induglence” though the Legislature had led them to believe this might occur. He went on to point out “the partiality which has tolerated others”, including one militia that “has been formed long since ours, in violation of that law to which this company has been sacrificed.”

This 1798 political cartoon documents the acrimonious relationship between Federalists and Republicans by depicting an altercation in Congress pitting Republican and Irish-born, Matthew Lyon against Federalist, Roger Griswold. "Congressional Pugilists", 1798. Caricature and Cartoon File, PR-010.

If we take Gaston’s remarks at face value, it seems the law may have presented a convenient tool for Jay, sparking doubts concerning the objectivity if his enforcement. It further suggests that the New-York Hibernian Volunteers’ demise is representative of America’s evolving anti-Irish sentiment that would grow into the well-documented bigotry of the nineteenth century.

 

 

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Happy Birthday Yellowstone!

"The Grand Cañon of the Yellowstone". Plate 8, The Yellowstone National Park, and the mountain regions of portions of Idaho, Nevada, Colorado and Utah. Boston: L. Prang and Company,1876.

Last Thursday (March 1), Yellowstone National Park marked its 140th year of existence. It’s also a perfect excuse to remind everyone that, despite our name, the New-York Historical Society’s collections document the history of the entire United States, not just of New York and its neighbors.

Thomas Moran (middle) and William Henry Jackson (right) in Piute country. Early Americn West Photograph Collection, PR 266

In his 2008 television series documenting his tour of the United States, English actor Stephen Fry mused “It’s the curse of tourism to destroy what it most desires”, an observation that would certainly have resonated among conservation-minded Americans in the second half of the nineteenth century. By then, the pristine grandeur of a national treasure such as Niagara Falls had devolved into a disturbing example of what overzealous tourism could do to  nature’s sublime landscapes.

Niagara’s folly set the backdrop for those who sought to preserve the Yellowstone region from similar desecration. Among the developments which helped solidify support for the preservation of Yellowstone were the fruits of the 1871 geological survey led by Ferdinand V. Hayden. With the support of railroad financier Jay Cooke (who hoped to drum up interest in his own project, the Northern Pacific Railway), Hayden brought along photographer William Henry Jackson and artist Thomas Moran.

"The Towers of Tower Falls." Plate 9, The Yellowstone National Park...1876.

This decision would prove influential as the exhibition of their Yellowstone scenes helped sway the debate in favor of preserving Yellowstone. While Congress had entrusted Yosemite to California as a state park, Yellowstone, not yet within the borders of an established state or states, became a national park. As a result, when Ulysses Grant signed the act into law on March 1, 1872 he inaugurated what is believed to be the first national park in the world and simultaneously created the first National Park Service to serve as its custodian.

Being reproduced in a multitude of later works, the now iconic depictions of Yellowstone by Jackson, Moran and other artists would also serve to introduce the park’s extraordinary beauty to the wider public.

"Mammoth Hot Springs on Gardiner's River." Plate 14, Photographs of the Yellowstone National Park and views in Montana and Wyoming Territories. Washington D.C.: Government Printing Office,1873.

 

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Ladies, Get Ready: Its a Leap Year!

A "Bloomer" (in Leap Year). -- "oh say, dearest, will you be mine?" Harper's New Monthly Magazine, No. XX-- January, 1852 -- Vol. IV

Ever since the idea of an extra day every four years was implemented as a corrective measure for the calendar, it has been filled with traditions and superstitions.  One of these is the (shocking!) idea that a woman may propose to a man on February 29th (or anytime during a Leap Month or even the whole Leap Year), instead of the other way around.

Postcard. PR279, Marilynn Gelfman Karp Collection of Ephemera.

The origin of this tradition is murky.  There is an Irish legend that states that St. Brigid asked St. Patrick to allow women to propose to men.  He agreed that this would be okay on Leap Year.  This was supposed to keep a balance between men and women in the same way that a Leap Year keeps a balance in the calendar.

The right of a woman to propose is also said to derive from early English law, which did not recognize the Leap Day as a real day.  Because it was not a “real” day, many traditions were also ignored.

Still another legend has it that in 1288, Scotland made it legal for women to propose to men not only on Leap Day, but anytime in a Leap Year.  If the man said no, then he was supposed to buy her presents ranging from dresses to gloves.

Whatever the origin, the legend naturally led to some fun.  Leap Year parties and dances in which the women could ask the men out flourished. It was also an opportunity for humorists to poke fun at  single women and the power they suddenly held in a proposal.

 

 

 

 

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