Just as there are thousands who still live to recall the days and nights of the old volunteer fire department system, so there are hundreds of old citizens who finally tell yarns of the old market times; and I have been so much interested in certain reminiscences of the old Jefferson Market that I can cannot help relatin’ ‘em.
General Winfield Scott used to be a regular visitor and patron of old Jefferson Market. His tall, handsome, military figure was as familiar almost as the clerk of the market. He was a queer mixture of pride and condescension–aristocracy and democracy. Personally, as a man among men, or a man to women, he was like all other men, and put on no airs or frills. But on his official or military side he was oh he always talked and acted as if he was the one greatest military man livin’–as he thought he was.
He was very particular about official etiquette and about bein’ called by his titles. He was willin’ enough in his off-duty moments to take liberties with other people, but other people must never on any account, at any moment, take liberties with him. It was a game that could only be played by one–a case that did not have two sides. And he kept up a good deal of style. Whenever he came to the market he would take two men servants along, who would follow him at a respectful distance, and who would do all his marketing for him, the General never condescendin’ to order anything himself. He would chat freely enough with the market people, but only about general matters. When it came down to business, to mere tradin’, then the General wasn’t there. He left all that to his people.
His favorite place in old Jefferson Market was between old Col. DeVoe’s and Mrs. Mingay’s stands. This Mrs. Mingay was a buxom, jolly, short little widow, and was proud of her title of “The Queen of the Market.” Col. Devoe was one of the oldest and best known market men in New York, and had quite a literary turn. He was quite a successful author, too, for he only wrote about what he thoroughly understood, the market, and so he wrote what was worth readin’.
Well, Col. Devoe and Queen Mingay were great friends as well as close neighbors in the market, and Scott liked ‘em both, so his valet or attendant would carry a big cane-bottomed chair along with him, and would put it down right between the two stands. Then the General would seat himself on his stool and would have a half hour or so chattin’, first with the Colonel and then with the Queen. The Colonel was a plain, direct sort of chap, would talk to the General without any flummery, just as one man to another. But the Queen, of course, bein’ a woman, didn’t do any direct talkin’, but would pretend to be, oh, so busy with other customers that she had only time to cast sheep eyes at the old General who, in his own way, enjoyed a little flirtation with a pretty woman. But after awhile, whenever it suited her whim, the Queen would get through her other customers and then turnin’ to the General, with a half blush and a sweet smile, would say with a loud, cheery voice, “Now, General, what can I do for you?” This little bit of actin’ got to be looked upon and expected as a matter of course, and Scott himself got to be regarded as one of the “free shows” of the market.
There used to be a large fire bell tower of wood in the old Jefferson Market, which was one of the landmarks of the district. This tower got on fire one day and was utterly destroyed, and the great bell, then the largest fire bell in the city, weighing over 9,000 pounds, fell to the ground and was destroyed with the buildin’. The fire tower was afterward rebuilt in much better shape. There were two well-known volunteer fire companies in the vicinity of old Jefferson Market–Guardian Engine Co. No. 29 and Gulick Hose Co. No. 11.
But perhaps the most interestin’ reminiscences of old Jefferson Market cluster around an individual who, for many years, kept a stand on the Sixth avenue side, and who was known as “the blind man of Jefferson Market.” Bright and early every mornin’ but Sunday this blind man was to be seen approachin’ the market rapidly, led by a bright little girl, his daughter. This child, only eight or nine years of age, was as “pretty as a picture,” and as smart as she was pretty, devoted to two things–her father and her school. When not with her father she was always at school; when not at school she was always with her father. Her books and her papa were her were inseparable companions. At the same time there was nothin’ of the usual and unusually unnatural Sunday school scholar (the want-to-die-early and-be-a-first-class-angel) style of a creature about her. On the contrary, she was rather inclined to romp and be roguish, and dearly enjoyed a bit of chaff and a joke with the good market people, who all loved her, and did what they could for her and her father.
Right after her frugal sic o’clock breakfast the little girl would start from her humble home to lead her father to his stand. Then she would kiss her papa–kiss him half a dozen times, run back to kiss him two more or three times more, and then run home again before she started off to school. Then, after school, she would trip back to the market, where she would study her lessons, talk to her father, and now and then play with the other children, or do chores round the market till it was time to take her father home for the night.
As for the blind man, between this dependence on his little daughter and his dependence on himself, on his senses of hearin’ and of touch, which were extraordinarily perfect, he got along much better than could have been expected. He opened and closed his little stand himself–was very sensitive on this point, didn’t like even his daughter to help him do this–and spread out his little stock very tastefully, so as to make a very pretty display.
Nobody seein’ this stand laid out, or lookin’ at the man standin’ by it, would suppose that the owner was stone blind. And he never talked about his misfortune, or placarded it, or paraded it, or tried to make capital of it.
Henry McNearney, such was the name of the blind man, had been an assistant clerk of the Navy Department, under James K. Paulding. He came of a good family, had received a fair education, was paid a fair salary, did his work conscientiously, and was in the direct line of promotion when, all of a sudden, he went blind, nobody knew why. He consulted a doctor, who did him good; but slowly. Then, in a hurry to get his sight restored, he went to a quack who promised quick relief. The quack took all his money, kept him waitin’ in agony six months, and then destroyed his eyesight and all hope of ever restorin’ it altogether. He burned the nerve of the eye with caustic and affected the nerves of the brain also–permanently injured the mind of the man he had robbed and ruined.
His superiors in the Navy Department kept him on the pay-roll as long as they could. Then Paulding dismissed him, but with a sum of money from his own and associate officials’ pockets. The poor blinded and disappointed man drifted to new New York, found occupation as a stall-keeper at the market, and was happier as a blind man with a good wife and a precious daughter than many a man who has seen all his days, but has never seen the love of a daughter or a wife.
[Editor’s notes: The column above was adapted from a section of Thomas F. Devoe’s The Market Book; a History of the Public Markets of the City of New York. Devoe gave the blind man’s name as Henry McNerney.]
