Passin’ by an engine house the other day and seein’ the fireman seated around chattin’, I got thinkin’ of the times when the engine houses used to be the clubs–the almost homes–of the bunkin’ boys of the old Volunteer Fire Department.
It is true the law distinctly forbade bunkin’ or sleepin’ or livin’ in the engine houses, and Joe Hoxie, when he became alderman, made himself very notorious and very unpopular by tryin’ to enforce this law. A new broom and a new alderman swept clean, and Alderman Hoxie made a very clean sweep indeed. One night he ordered a sort of grand raid on all the engine houses and cleaned them out. This made a big stir for awhile, but the fireman were too much for the alderman, and the raid only made a short-lived sensation, and the boys bunked on more than ever.
One of the kind-hearted clergymen of the time offered the use of his “sacred edifice” as a “temporary home” for No. 33’s boys, who accepted the offer, and not only “went to church” every Sunday, but stayed at church all the week, and made ‘emselves so thoroughly at “home,” smokin’ and drinkin’ and tellin’ yarns and playin’ euchre in church that they were obliged to vamoose.
One of the East Side engine companies hired a house in Scammell street, payin’ the rent out of the company treasury. They fitted up two big rooms in this house as sleepin’ or bunkin’ rooms, arrangin’ the berths or beds or bunks around the walls in three rows, one on top of another, just like the cabins in river steamboats.
They had a good deal of fun among ‘emselves in these two rooms, more fun than sleep sometimes. They played all sorts of pranks upon each other.
Once two wags waited until the boys were asleep, and then had a circus. They took the signal lantern, which hung by the door ready for use, and got some lampblack from it. With this lampblack they proceeded to decorate the faces of the sleepers, giving ‘em extempore beards and mustaches, applyin’ the lampblack cautiously, of course, and only on the soundest sleepers. This lampblack was easy to put on, but very hard to get off. It would stick like Peter Cooper’s glue, or a creditor, and when the boys woke up at a fire alarm and saw how they were daubed, they would try to wipe their bogus beards and false mustaches off, but generally failed, succeedin’ only in makin’ ‘emselves more “dirty-faced” than they found ‘emselves at first. It was no use gettin’ mad, and though everybody lampblacked vowed vengeance, of course, nothin’ ever came of it but a good wash as soon as possible and a good laugh.
Some of the fire engineers were decidedly in favor of the boys usin’ the engine houses freely. Harry Howard made himself very popular in encouragin’ this sort of thing, and so did Bill Tweed. Tweed carried his big ideas even into fire matters, and was the first to turn the engine house into a first-class club house. When he was foreman of Big Six he carried through a scheme for puttin’ up expressly for this purpose a big, three-story buildin’ which soon became a sort of political headquarters, and in this way soon paid Tweed for his time, trouble and expense in the matter, for he took all three.
Talkin’ about the old time firemen, perhaps the best managed benevolent institution ever started in New York, doin’ the most good with the least fuss and the least expense, was and is the Volunteer Fire Department Benefit Fund. The idea of this fund occurred as a sort of accident at a jolly party some of the fire laddies held at a tavern in Nassau street not far from Fulton. I don’t know who started the idea, but whoever he was, there are thousands of people who have blessed him for it. At any rate Engine No. 12 and Hose Company No. 4 took up the matter in a practical shape and got nearly $30,000 subscribed for it in a few months, though New York then was small and the times were bad. But the old Volunteer Fire Department was always popular with the people, and the people and the merchants subscribed to the fund heartily and liberally.
Big events in the history of this Fireman’s Fund were the annual balls for its benefit. The first of these was held at the Bowery Theatre–the first Bowery Theatre–then the finest theater in the country. There is one old man, hale and hearty yet, whom I see every now and then, who was just of age when this great Fireman’s Fund ball took place. The price of the tickets was two dollars. The old fellow has seen ten dollars paid for ball tickets since then, but he is willing to swear he then had more fun for two dollars than was ever had at one of the more pretentious balls of the period.
Just a little while after this first ball the first Bowery Theatre was burned down. Celeste was drawin’ big houses then, assisted by Madame Achilles and Madame Hutin, the first French dancers that were ever imported into this country. They made a bigger sensation than the “Black Crook” did, and were even more vigorously denounced.
The first Bowery Theatre took fire from the sparks from a burnin’ stable in Bayard street. Unlike most theatre fires, this began at the roof of the theatre and burned down into the auditorium. The Bowery Theatre was a prime favorite, and the whole town almost turned out in response to a “general alarm” to save it. Every one of the forty-seven engines, every one of the nine trucks belonging to the Fire Department, were soon hard at work, nearly two thousand men, most of ‘em skilled firemen, and yet this fire defied ‘em for hours, and kept on burnin’ fiercely till it stopped from sheer lack of anythin’ to to burn.
The fault was not with the engines or the firemen, but with the water. There wasn’t enough of that, and it was very hard to get. Although the fire was on the Bowery, the water had to be got direct from the East River. That was the trouble. A line had to be formed of seventeen engines, extendin’ from the foot of Catherine street to the theatre. The first engine of these seventeen pumped up the water from the East River; the second engine in the line pumped it on to the third, the third to the fourth, and so on, till at last, after hard work and a fearful delay, it got to the theatre. It took over six hundred men to attend to this line, and under the circumstances it is not only no wonder that the theatre was destroyed, but it was a wonder that a big fire wasn’t started that might have consumed the city.
After the burnin’ of the theatre the annual Fire Department balls were held at the Park Theatre and then at the Opera House, old Clinton Hall. Some were also given at Niblo’s. The very last entertainment given by “the fireman’s ball Committee of the old Volunteer Fire Department” was held in the Academy of Music not more than six or seven years ago, and was held for the benefit of the yellow fever sufferers, and brought in over $6,000. The fireman’s ball died and as it had lived, in successful charity.
Peace be to its memory. It is one of the good things “gone and forever.”
[Editor’s notes: The above column was adapted from the two-part article: Sheldon, George William. “The Old New York Volunteer Fire Department” Harper’s New Monthly Magazine Jan-Feb 1881.]
