The old Knickerbocker Cottage on Sixth avenue has changed owners recently, for the sixth time in its history. It has quite an ancient “history,” too–belonged to the old Varian family, was the headquarters of the Hessians and all that. But comin’ down to my own times, I can remember when “Barney” Rhinelander, a prodigal scion of the rich Rhinelander family, used to “hang around” the old “Knickerbocker.” Barney was a “jolly dog” and a gay “old rounder,” full of fun, could tell a good story and was very popular among his set. He used to make the walls of the old Knickerbocker ring with laughter at his jokes.
A man of a different stamp was “Colonel” Ryan. He was a strange mixture of “society” journalist and filibuster, and failed in both capacities. His “society” journal “busted up,” and his filibusterin’ schemes brought himself and others to grief. He occupied “a furnished room” at the old Knickerbocker, overlooking Sixth avenue, and in it he used to hatch plots for his own glory and the liberation of Cuba. He was equally sincere, I believe, in tryin’ to help Cuba and himself.
Ryan like Jim Kerrigan (who also had for a while the filibuster craze), was of a romantic, rovin’ disposition, and found New York life to tame for him. He hadn’t read dime novels, but he was the stuff out of which dime novelists make their heroes. He was a good talker and was very successful with the female sex, who are always fond of men of the dime novel stamp.
“Steve” Rensselaer also frequented the old Knickerbocker, and was for a period one of its bright and shinin’ lights. He was a pleasant-voiced, amiable fellow.
After a jolly night at the Knickerbocker he took some laudenum to cause sleep and never woke up again. It was hinted that it was a case of suicide, but I don’t believe it was. He had bright prospects and there was no earthly reason why he should have made way with himself. He was very much liked and very much regretted.
The old Knickerbocker was a favorite resort with the Masonic fraternity, and a good many “baby lodges” as they were styled were started in its walls. “Tom” Pittman narrowly escaped the peculiar “baptism” given to “baby” Masons at this place.
Any number of practical jokes have been “played off” in the old Knickerbocker. One of the best came to grief, or at least the laugh was turned by the intended victim against his tormentors, by the coolness, good nature and free and easy disposition of the party upon whom the joke was played.
A chap called Gorragan, a jolly dog, had a theory of his own that the next world was a much more delightful place than was generally imagined, and held that death ought to be regarded as a blessing’, not dreaded at all. It was determined one Saturday night at the Knickerbocker to put this rose-water and sugar theory to the practical test.
So the boys got Gorragan full of champagne (his favorite tipple), then stripped him stark naked and laid him out on the lounge in the private room downstairs, where they had been havin’ their jamboree. They turned out the gas, leaving the room illuminated only by the red glare of a “grate” fire. They fixed up a sheet as a “ghost,” and altogether tried to make the room look “like hell.” Then they hid, and awaited developments, expectin’ to find Gorragan, on “comin’ to,” quite frightened.
But when he “came to” he wasn’t frightened a bit. He found himself naked, it is true, but as the room was warm, he didn’t mind that. He “shied” at “the ghost” at first, but as the ghost didn’t bother him, he didn’t bother it. And then, findin’ a lot of wine, here and there, still left in the bottles, he drank that eagerly. Happenin’ on a box of cigars, he smoked one with avidity, and then, at last, seatin’ himself, stark naked, in one of the roomy, cozy chairs, and toastin’ himself by the grate fire, he soliloquized “thusly:”
“Well, I have died and gone to hell. But I knew I was right. It’s a comfortable place after all, and I only wish some of the boys were here now to see me enjoyin’ myself, and to see that I was always right in my notions about the next world bein’ such a nice place. Why hell here is quite as comfortable as the old Knickerbocker.”
Here the philosopher was interrupted by a burst of laughter from the boys, who rushed from their hidin’ places, owned up they were “sold ‘emselves” instead of sellin’ their intended victim, and wound up the evenin’ jollier than ever.
[Editor’s notes: The Knickerbocker Cottage continued to have a memorable history after the above 1885 column was written, as detailed in one of Tom Miller’s “Daytonian in Manhattan” blog posts.
The “baby Masons” referred to here is the Ancient Arabic Order of the Nobles of the Mystic Shrine, now known as Shriner’s International, which was founded at Knickerbocker Cottage in 1872. One of the founders, William J. Florence, was an actor with access to some exotic costumes, which have long been symbolic of the Shriners.
William A. C. “Whack” Ryan had a colorful life, and was attracted to the liberation of Cuba both as an idealist and for personal glory. During his filibustering time, he formed a camp on Gardiner’s Island.]
