{"id":75,"date":"2023-07-11T00:18:07","date_gmt":"2023-07-11T00:18:07","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/jerrykuntz.org\/harryhill\/?p=75"},"modified":"2023-07-11T10:14:15","modified_gmt":"2023-07-11T10:14:15","slug":"brooklyns-abbey-chop-house","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/jerrykuntz.org\/harryhill\/brooklyns-abbey-chop-house\/","title":{"rendered":"Brooklyn’s Abbey Chop-House [published Apr. 12, 1885]"},"content":{"rendered":"\n
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      Twenty years ago there was no more popular institution in Brooklyn than \u201cthe Abbey,\u201d the proprietor of which was a Scotchman by the name of McEntee, a most jovial and popular fellow.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

      He had a good voice, too, for a song, and often entertained his customers with a jolly stave. He was, above all, a good judge of liquors, kept the best, wouldn’t keep anythin\u2019 else, and was also a capital cook. And for makin\u2019 a peculiar soothin\u2019ly seductive and dreamily delicious Scotch whiskey punch, the jolly Scotchman had no livin\u2019 rival in Brooklyn. People would come from far and near to get one of the \u201cAbbey punches.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

      Among the men who were attracted and got attached to the Abbey were the members of the Long Island Gun Club, the first idea of which the once famous association was conceived over the tables of the Abbey. For a long while the weekly meetin\u2019s of the Long Island Gun Club were held here, and were all scrupulously well attended. The Brooklyn Whist Club also met at the Abbey nightly and kept in session pretty nearly all night. And then that merry gang of \u201crounders\u201d known as \u201cThe Friars of Order Gray,\u201d or \u201cThe Friars\u201d for short, met regularly at the Abbey. These \u201cfriars\u201d used to make Brooklyn howl.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

      Patrick Campbell, afterwards superintendent of the Brooklyn police, was in his younger days a \u201cfriar,\u201d and one of the noisiest of the lot. Sheriff Riley, before he was Sheriff, was a \u201cfriar.\u201d He was a leader of the merry monks, and abbott for a while, I believe. The same remarks apply to Billy Sweet, the contractor and local politician. A once noted butcher in Court Street was the getter-up and mainstay of the organization, which fulfilled the purpose of its existence, the havin\u2019 of a good time.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

      Among the regular patrons of the place were the were two rival hatters of Brooklyn, each well-known in their day named, Trumbull and Clinton. Trumbull was a jolly chap, and an odd kind of a fellow; he was always talkin\u2019 shop; to him the world only contained two classes of objects, heads and hats. The heads bein\u2019 looked upon as secondary to the hats; a head being evidently created only for the purpose of wearin\u2019 a hat. Now most people who talk shop are unmitigated nuisances, but there was so much geniality and oddity about Trumbull that his society was sought for, not shunned.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

      He hit upon one very odd, yet simple, way of settin\u2019 the fashion in hats, or at least of \u201ccallin\u2019 in\u201d hats when they got out of fashion and it was time to get a new chapeau at Trumbull\u2019s. He had a little bell-gong made, attached to his store outside, which instrument made a loud noise, so as to attract the attention of passersby. Whenever he saw from his store window any of his customers, or anybody he knew, or for that matter didn’t know, passin\u2019 his place with an old hat or a hat out of fashion, he would give this gong-bell a pull, just as the wearer of the hat passed his door. The bell-gong would make a noise, the people who were in the secret of the thing would look around and laugh and the wearer of the old hat would thus get a significant hint that it was time to get a new one. Often the wearer of the old hat would take the laugh and the hint, and step in and buy the hat. But sometimes he would get mad. In that case Trumbull would keep on pullin\u2019 the gong-bell, and raise a deuce of a racket and cause a general laugh. By this arrangement he was bound to get either his hat or his fun. Sometimes he would get both.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

      Once he offered a splendid hat\u2013a specially made prize hat\u2013for the man who would guess the really best answer to a riddle or conundrum he proposed. The conundrum was \u201cWhy does a man wear a white hat?\u201d and the answer was required to be such as to admit of no possible quibble or dispute. It must be a reason\u2013an answer that would apply to every man who wore a white hat\u2013beyond quibble or dispute. The answers to this conundrum were to be sent to him by letter; and on an appointed night at The Abbey these letters were to be opened by Colonel Johnson, a well-known sportin\u2019 gentleman, a lawyer of Brooklyn.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

      The appointed night came and a big crowd came with it to The Abbey and Colonel Johnson opened letters. There were nearly a hundred of \u2018em, but not one of the hundred contained the previously agreed upon answer to the conundrum, which was the very simple and truthful one, \u201cto keep his head warm.\u201d All the people who sent answers had forgotten all about the \u201chat\u201d part of the puzzle and had thought only about the \u201cwhite\u201d part of it. They had forgotten all about the thing in its color, which was precisely what the ingenious Trumbull had calculated on.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

      Since then this \u201cgag\u201d has become familiar by bein\u2019 a adopted by minstrels, but at that time it was quite new and caused a good deal of amusement and served as a tip-top advertisement.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

      Trumbull\u2019s rival, Clinton, had a shop near him, and had placed, by paid-for permission, on the houses of each side of the store, two signs, one of which read: \u201cEyes to the right,\u201d the other \u201ceyes to the left,\u201d left and right of course pointin\u2019 to Clinton\u2019s store. On several occasions, by some mysterious hand the signs were changed, \u201cleft\u201d became \u201cright\u201d and \u201cright left,\u201d and the meanin\u2019 of the advertisement was destroyed. Clinton was much annoyed by this, and often stayed up all night to see if he could catch the perpetrator of this \u201coutrage,\u201d but he never succeeded. He naturally blamed Trumbull, but Trumbull strenuously denied any participation in the joke. The matter caused a good deal of bad blood on Clinton’s side, and he on several occasions carried his quarrels to The Abbey, and thus made things unpleasant there. McEntee put his foot down and vowed that neither man should enter his place at all unless they met on a friendly footin\u2019–at least within The Abbey walls.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

      One of the odd characters that used to haunt the old Abbey was a harmless, curious \u201ccrank,\u201d who was known all over his section of Brooklyn as \u201cthe flyin\u2019 pieman.\u201d He was devoted heart and soul, body and breeches pocket, to two objects in life\u2013pies and politics. His pies were good, the best made in Brooklyn in his day probably. A good pie is very difficult to make, but somehow he made \u2018em all the time and without any trouble or slip-up. Housewives from far and near used to try and get the secret of his pie bakin\u2019, but never succeeded. His place was near Fulton and Sands streets and has been wiped out by the Brooklyn Bridge, but it was quite a place of resort, and he made money by it. But all the money he made in pies he sunk in politics. He was always goin\u2019 in for \u201creform\u201d of some kind or other, and was always gettin\u2019 bled by \u201creformers.\u201d But strange to say (and yet natural enough it is the rule with such \u201ccranks\u201d) he was never discouraged by his failures. He never learned wisdom. He was always hoping for success next year. He was always expectin\u2019 to be elected Alderman next year. He was going to be the head of a big reform movement next year.He was, to sum up, a \u201cnext year\u201d politician, but an everyday pie baker. And yet he despised what he was really good at, and sighed for what he was never could get at.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

      There are a good many left like him! He was death on speechmakin\u2019, and would dilate on politics at the Abbey by the hour, and as he would stand treat to those who would listen to him, he had lots of auditors. He had a quick nervous way with him, and always walked rapidly, almost flew along, from which circumstance he received his cant name of the \u201cflying pieman.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

      \u201cPrince Charley\u201d was another \u201ccharacter\u201d who patronized The Abbey in his and its prime. Charley was the boss barkeeper of Brooklyn in his day; so claimed to be by his hosts of friends and customers. He held forth and mixed drinks at the old Franklin house, opposite the Fulton ferry, and whenever he had a day or a night \u201coff,\u201d off he went direct to The Abbey, where he became the center of attraction, as he could tell a story better and sing a song better than ninety-nine men out of a hundred. He had a peculiarity of \u201csingin\u2019 a song backwards,\u201d or \u201csingin\u2019 it crooked,\u201d that is distortin\u2019 the words and disarrangin\u2019 the lines of the song so as to make it very curious and very comic. This was a peculiar art with \u201cPrince Charley\u201d and if he had applied himself to it and made it a specialty, he could have made money by it on the public stage.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

      Still another character who was one of the familiars of the old Abbey was Tim Millison, long a fixture of the City Hall, Brooklyn, and at one time clerk to Judge McCue. Millison was, like \u201cMonty\u201d Isaacs, a very clever sleight of hand performer and was very popular on this account. It was considered quite a treat to see him in his favorite tricks, and he never had to pay for a drink, though he was always perfectly willin\u2019 and able to do so.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

      He was a practical joker, too, of some ingenuity, and his famous \u201cumbrella trick\u201d joke was long remembered.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

      He promised the boys at The Abbey, one night, that the very next he would perform a really wonderful achievement with an umbrella, somethin\u2019 that no one but himself had ever to his knowledge or anybody else’s successfully accomplished. Of course this got wind and the next night The Abbey was full of men of all sorts and sizes and stations, some from New York, all anxious to witness this umbrella trick. Tim had promised to make his appearance with his umbrella punctually at eight, but eight o\u2019clock came and no umbrella and no Tim. This delay only made the crowd more hungry and thirsty for his appearance, and when at last he came at about a quarter before nine he was received with a round of cheers and of the famous Abbey punch.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

      Tim had brought with him an umbrella, the very best and finest kind of a silk umbrella, with a costly handle. The affair must have been worth say twenty-five dollars at the least. It had been a present to Tim from some politicians and Tim had brought it with him tonight because, as he said, \u201cthe more the umbrella is worth the more the trick will be the worth, as you will see,\u201d and as they did see.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

      Tim quietly laid his fine umbrella down on the tables carelessly, and then said mysteriously to the crowd: \u201cNow I want you all to watch that umbrella. Don’t take your eyes off of it,\u201d and they didn’t.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

      For over two mortal hours over two hundred people or so must have kept their eyes fixed on that umbrella. At no one moment could there have been less than say forty pairs of eyes fixed on that umbrella. Meanwhile Tim walked around the Abbey’s parlors, chatted with his friends in the crowd, took drinks and cigars with \u2018em, and so forth and so on, till the old Abbey clock in the barroom struck eleven. Then he walked up to his umbrella, took hold of it, said \u201cGood night, gentlemen,\u201d and made for the door.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

      \u201cHold on, Tim,\u201d they cried in the crowd, \u201chow about that trick?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

      \u201cWhy, I have done it already,\u201d replied Tim, blandly.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

      \u201cDone it already! The devil! What do you mean?\u201d growled someone, beginnin\u2019 to scent a sell.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

      \u201cWhy, this is the trick,\u201d blandly explained Tim, pointin\u2019 to the umbrella in his in his hand. \u201c I have laid a twenty-five dollar umbrella down in the midst of a mixed crowd, in a barroom; I haven’t touched it or looked after it or bothered about it myself; and yet after the lapse of two hours I find my umbrella just where I left it. Nobody has attempted to steal it, or tried even to borrow it. Nobody has taken it away by mistake, for his own fifty cent umbrella. I got back the very umbrella I left. Certainly this is doin\u2019 what none of you gentleman would have dreamed of undertakin\u2019 to do with any such umbrella as this. I don’t believe it has ever been successfully done before with any similar umbrella. Good night, again, gentlemen,\u201d and with a bow and a laugh Tim Millison departed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

      Ah! there were good old times in the good old days of the good old Abbey; but they are all over now; though a few of those who once participated in \u2018em may live them over again as they peruse this chapter.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

[Editor’s notes: The Abbey was indeed an old Brooklyn landmark. The Mar. 26, 1892 edition of the Brooklyn Times Union<\/em> discusses its origins:<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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