The Address to One of America’s Biggest “What Ifs”

Finding something previously lost in Albany history really isn’t that rare when you think about it. With 400 years of European history stomping around these streets, there are bound to be little nuggets that fall through the cracks of those old granite setts. When one of those little morsels is a piece of one of Albany’s most popular and ironic tales, then you know you’re sailing in strange waters. The story I’m referring to is, of course, the tale of Abraham Lincoln and John Wilkes Booth walking our familiar Albany downtown on the very same day.

As the story goes, Lincoln arrived in Albany on the afternoon of February 18, 1861, while John Wilkes Booth was preparing to return to the Gayety Theatre on Green Street. Six nights earlier, he accidentally injured himself with a prop dagger that was in his coat’s inner right pocket. It’s odd to think that while Booth was bleeding profusely on a small Albany stage, Abraham Lincoln was celebrating his 52^nd birthday in Cincinnati, Ohio.

The Gayety Theatre first opened two years earlier, in the spring of 1859. When we say the place was small, we’re not kidding. A packed house held 600 people and that was probably breaking every fire code in the book.

There’s always been one little caveat when it came to the Gayety. Where exactly was it located? Well, it’s complicated and we didn’t really know for sure – until now.

Why would finding the address of an old Green Street theatre be that hard? For starters, there was another theatre on Green Street named the old Green Street Theatre that ran for a number of years in the early 19th century before converting to a Baptist Church and again some years later in the mid-1850s. After the Green Street Theatre closed in the 1860s, it was later reopened and renamed the Gaiety Theatre at 61 Green Street. Yeah, same name, different spelling. Over a number of years, this has led to a bunch of misconceptions as to where the actual Gayety Theatre, where John Wilkes Booth performed, is located. To make matters worse, another stage called the New Gayety Theatre opened in the early-mid 20^th century on that same street (and in a different location than the Gayety and Gaiety Theatres at 74 Green St). That’s a lot of Gai(y)ety for one narrow little street.

Through the process of elimination and the power of the 21^st century internet, the location of the Gayety Theatre has been found. How did we get there? In the 1880 book “Players of a Century: A Record of the Albany Stage,” it states the Gayety Theatre sat on “the east side of Green Street, two or three doors south of Beaver.” Excellent start. The hunt was immediately chopped down to one side of one block: Green Street’s even numbered buildings between Beaver Street and Hudson Avenue.

Now that the exact block is known, it’s time to dig up the Albany City Atlas of 1876. This atlas goes in depth on where each numbered lot sits. Between Beaver Street and Hudson Avenue are the addresses that range from 26 – 44 Green St.

Next up – combing through the 1866 Albany City Directory and searching each individual address. No hits came up for 26, 28 or 30 Green St. A little firework goes off for 32. It states it’s a carpeting and upholstering business. Interesting. Prior to opening as a theatre, the building was, in fact, a carpet store. Let’s dog-ear it and keep looking. 34 Green Street is next on the list and a search turns up it was the home of the American Theatre, which also served as a saloon. Could it be? The name was gone but the service is there. A man named Samuel Fitzpatrick was the proprietor. No further searches were found stating an American Theatre ever existed on Green Street. The trail went cold for the building, but Samuel Fitzpatrick opened a whole other method of hunting. According to an 1862 edition of the “Albany Morning Express,” Fitzpatrick was a proprietor of the Gayety Music Hall (home of the “late Gayety Theatre.”)

Fitzpatrick is now tied to the former Gayety Theatre (we have no address) and an American Theatre (we do have an address). More searches would show Samuel Fitzpatrick was tied to the Gayety Music Hall all the way through 1864, when one article from the “New York Clipper” stated the Gayety Music Hall was being “thoroughly renovated, painted and upholstered,” and hoped to reopen in August of that year.

It must have reopened at some point, at least for a little while, because according to the 1865 Albany City Directory, Sam Fitzpatrick worked for the Gayety Theatre on 34 Green Street. There you have it, the long lost spot of the Gayety is 34 Green Street (currently slated to become a portion of the Tower on the Hudson.)

Its exact location has no fanfare and is merely a parking lot and parking garage. This chunk of blacktop and brick is the site where our American history could have been completely altered. This is the site where John Wilkes Booth’s blade could have gone an inch deeper into his right armpit, causing him to completely bleed out and die on that little Albany stage on Lincoln’s birthday. Instead, it’s nothing more than a tragic side note in local theatre lore. Had that happened, Abraham Lincoln would have never been assassinated, he could have completed his second term and ridden off into the sunset. James Garfield would have become the first U.S. president to be murdered and labeled the country’s martyr. You can go on and on with all of the “what ifs.” We’ll never know because that blade landed where it did. But what we do know now is where it all happened. 34 Green Street, the site of one of America’s largest “what ifs.”

Armistice Day in Albany

The following is a lengthy excerpt from the 1919 book, “Albany’s Part in the World War,” by Harry Cohen describes how Albanians found out about the end of World War I and how they celebrated. On a personal note, while originally reading the author’s yarns, it was difficult not to imagine his voice being similar to Chevy Chase’s character, Andy Farmer, from the film “Funny Farm.” Soothing, yet with a hint of restrained craziness. While much of Cohen’s description sounds a bit embellished, the pictures certainly back up much of his story. November 11, 1918 certainly looked to be a raucous, jubilant day in Albany history.

Armistice Day, State Street between Pearl and Broadway.
Courtesy: Albany Public Library History Collection

A seething, leaping fire of joy, consuming alike all ages and both sexes, burst forth in Albany, burning away the fetters of doubt, sorrow and sacrifice that held it in check for 19 months.

Conditions never before experienced gripped Albany as news of the Kaiser’s surrender spread with lightning speed. Mercantile and industrial activities stopped for the day; street car and trolley service was demoralized for nearly twenty-four hours, every business agency in the community except the railroads, telephone service and newspapers, were crippled too seriously to even make a pretense of normal activity.

Even the Albany post office “close up shop” for the day. No deliveries were made and Postmaster William A. Murray gave out orders early in the morning that the inside work should be handled with the least possible number of men.

The day was in every way the greatest in the history of the community. Locomotive and shop whistles screeched out the news to the thunderous accompaniment of bells and the undertone of torpedoes, clappers, cow bells, rattling metal cans and horns. Parades organized and spontaneous, marched through the streets, while crowd records were shattered everywhere.

Notwithstanding the fact that thousands of men, women and children took part in the demonstrations in Albany. the entire day passed without disorder.

The few bulletins announcing that the armistice had been signed kindled a flame which swept through the city, lightening the hearts of its thousands with a warmth of thanksgiving that has not yet grown cold. The first tongues of the flame to reach the city came in the crackling sparks of the telegraph at 2:55 o’clock in the morning.

A panorama of the city would have revealed, at 4 o’clock, a vast stretch of buildings, dimly illuminated in the hazy lights of a thousand twinkling bonfires, and sparkling and glowing far into the distance with a myriad of flashing lights, as the news spread to the sleeping thousands, waking them to the glorious day.

The sun rose clear and bright, looking down on the wildest, noisiest, most joyous and most historic day in the history of Albany and the world.

One style of Liberty Loan poster from Albany, NY

Demonstrations Begin
Shortly after 3 o’clock the din of a score of locomotive whistles sounded from the Rensselaer railroad yards, A few seconds later the tremendous scream of hundreds of locomotive and shop whistles rent the air, as the West Albany yards and shops joined the chorus. Again church and other bells leaped into brazen, crashing accompaniment.

A bonfire leaped into a crimson glow and, rising higher, threw huge shadows along the Ten Eyck Building and far up State and Pearl streets. The blended paean of triumph from bells, whistles, voices and every noise-producing agency, continued with a rising note of delirious joy.

Crowds Collect
In miraculously short time, beginning with a few running figures, scores of men and women began to pour into the streets, then hundreds – and then thousands lent their voices and beings to the common feeling. Figures clad in humble garb, and figures clad in fur coats, danced arm in arm around the bonfires and shouted, screamed.

Up Central avenue, Washington avenue, Madison avenue – in almost every street, avenue and lane in the city, there sounded the short, staccato bark of torpedoes, the impudent blast of horns and the ever-increasing roar from human throats. Homes, factories, shops, railroad yards, and hotels speeded forth their thousands into the streets, the whole leaping, running, shouting mob heading with a common impulse for State street and Pearl street.

The crowd, pouring like a huge waterfall into a main stream of business, presented the most variegated gathering ever assembled in Albany. Old couples, their eyes dim with tears, plodded along in the crush, solicitous only for the safety of the sacred flags they carried, children running half dressed and with eyes staring, skirted the crowds in the street, dashing along; men and women of all classes, creeds and color were migled in the throngs that swept irresistibly along the streets.

Albany Mayor James R. Watt (1918-1921), the last Republican mayor elected in the city of Albany

Crews Abandoned Trolley Cars
At 4 o’clock in the morning, there were more than 20,000 men, women and children united in a laughing, crying, shouting, delirious crush near State and Pearl streets. Automobiles crowded to the running boards, darted through the street, miraculously escaping pedestrians. A few trolley cars, in the early morning, clanged along, vainly tempting to make up time lost. At 7 o’clock there was not a trolley car in operation, the crews having joined the throngs.

A beautiful, Indian summer day, which ordinarily would have drowned along in peaceful content, was transformed into one of great tumult.

At 7 o’clock, 50,000 persons were in the streets, and at 8 o’clock the down town district was a sight without parallel. It seemed that every man, woman and child in Albany was taking part in the demonstration, assisted by thousands of vistors.

Sight Without Parallel
As far as the eye could reach, great crowds filled the streets. A sea of flags, bunting, everything bearing the National Colors, met the eye on all sides. A score of spontaneous parades were twisting, dodging and plowing their way through all the down-town thoroughfares.

The greatest carnival could not excel the demonstration. The crowds surged aimlessly at great speed, brushing aside policemen and order within realization. A storm of confetti, paper torn into bits, yards of streamers, waste and cards, fluttered like a deluge of vividly-colored snow upon the throng from the windows and roofs of buildings.

The West Albany shops of the New York Central, the Delaware & Hudson Shops, every industrial plant, and almost every store, shop and business house, with the exception of hotels and restaurants, drug stores and cafes, were closed tight throughout the day. A few made half-hearted attempts to open, but the sweep of the celebration, which knew not eating hours, business or social or commercial appointments, was not to be gainsaid. Employees simply would not report for work, or if they did, would not work.

Armistice Day, State Street between Eagle and Pearl Streets

Din Increases
Like tiny midgets, boys ran wildly about, dragging tin cans and bells attached to ropes. The crowds tooted horns, rang bells, whistled, buzzed clappers, shouted – anything to drown the student rasp of countless automobile sirens.

Far down South Pearl street there was a greater tumult, and looking down the thoroughfare some saw the glint of the early sun flashed on bayonets. A closer look revealed the khaki garb of soldiers, as they swung along to the crashing march of a band. This was the first organized attempt at a parade. At noon the greatest procession of triumph ever formed in Albany, though disorganized, assembled at State and Eagle streets.

Arranged by Mayor Watt, this demonstration for victory swung into a semblance of a parade shortly before 1 o’clock. There were more than 25,000 marchers, Colonel Charles E. Walsh, marshal, declared. Impressive it was, though lacking in the perfect order and trimness of the usual procession.

City officials and Chamber of Commerce men with the Tenth Battalion of the New York State Guard, led the procession. Following came the Elks, the Training Detachment of Soldiers at the State College for Teachers, Boy Scouts, Red Cross units, units of the Albany Defense Corps, workers of the West Albany and the Delaware and Hudson railroad shops, the Ludlum Steel Plant, girl employees from scores of stores, the A. P. W. Paper Company and many industrial plants.

Impulsive Enthusiasm
The huge column passed through lanes of humanity so densely packed, movement was almost impossible. Down State street to Broadway they went, up Broadway to Clinton avenue, to Pearl street to Hudson avenue, through cheering thousands to the Plaza, where they disbanded. It was a procession born of common impulse and lead the enthusiasm of such a gathering.

Three hours were required for the parade to pass a given point. Fluttering flags and making noise with every conceivable device, the marchers swung proudly along to the lilt of music by seven bands and drum corps. Through streets an inch deep with paper and debris of every sort, they trudged, none faltering with the effort. Their arrival at each crowded point was accompanied by a roar that could be heard for a score of blocks.

The greatest crowd ever assembled in the Plaza filled every square foot when the column swung into the square. The assembled thousands were unable to extricate themselves from the crowd tangle for more than an hour.

Large and Small Demonstrations
Mayor James R. Watt, President Edmund N. Huyck and Charles M. Winchester, of the Chamber of Commerce, with Colonel Walsh and a staff of the New York Guard, promoted and conducted the procession of victory. After the disbanding of the parade the main column broke into scores of small parades and continued the spectacle until hours later.

In the smaller demonstrations were trucks of the Montgomery Coal Company, carrying the effigies of the Kaiser, John Bull, Liberty and Uncle Sam; wagons of the American Railway Express system, crowded to the roofs with cheering men; telephone operators riding on a truck from which a figure representing the Kaiser was hung; four men carrying a coffin representative of the Kaiser as a corpse. The workers of the North Albany shops were out in hundreds, taking a prominent part in the celebrations day and night.

Night brought a greater pandemonium than the day. Lights flashed in every sign and home window, gay crowds of thousands surged and wound through every street in the down-town section. Restaurants, theatres and every place of entertainment were crowded with gay revelers, and restaurants and cabarets were crowded until late in the morning.

The celebration attained its greatest intensity in the down-town section, but in every part of the city there were smaller demonstrations. Red fire glowed in all of the principal streets and hundreds of persons gathered at the corners in different parts of the city. Brightly colored electric lights were festooned on the porches of many homes in the western residential sections, and service flags, Liberty Loan and other war posters were displayed. Pictures of Wilson, Foch, Pershing, Diaz and Haig were displayed all over the city.

Very much in evidence, too, were burlesque imitations of ex-Kaiser Bill, trundled along in baby carriages, hung from poles and burned in bonfires. The Kaiser was much battered up throughout the city, being hung, burned, shot, dragged and assaulted in effigy at least a thousand times.

Nearly every theater crowd saw some sort of demonstration. In the Grand Theater war films and the news weekly, showing soldiers, were greeted with wild enthusiasm. In Harmanus Bleecker Hall, the Empire and in the other theaters and movie houses similar scenes were enacted.

Churches Join in Observance
The churches conducted services of thanksgiving. The more notable of these services were conducted in the Cathedral of All Saints and in St. Peter’s Church, where patriotic music and prayer took place. In almost every Catholic church services of thanksgiving were conducted.

Who was the Hotel DeWitt Clinton’s First Guest?

The corner of State and Eagle St, before and after the construction of the DeWitt Clinton

The corner of Eagle and State Street has always held a place in Albany’s history. It was the home of Albany’s 37th mayor, John Townsend, one of the city’s finest mayors, until his death in 1854. President Abraham Lincoln dined there in February of 1861 while it served as the home of New York Governor Edwin Morgan*. In 1926, Morgan’s old home, now a drugstore would be knocked down. Just a year later, the Hotel DeWitt Clinton rose from the ashes and has become an anchor  of Albany’s unique skyline ever since. The city’s anticipation grew as each brick was laid and its opening neared. Meanwhile, questions and speculation of just who would be honored as the first guests to stay in the fledgling hotel swirled around the city.

Shortly after noon on Friday, August 26, 1927, a man carrying no luggage and wearing a three-piece suit walked through the ornate doors of the Hotel DeWitt Clinton. At the front desk he opened the pristine guest book and on its blank pages he registered his name: Governor Alfred E. Smith. The popular New York Governor and United States Presidential candidate became the first guest in the Hotel DeWitt Clinton. That historic scene itself makes for a great story; the man that vied to be the leader of the free world would be first in the glorious new hotel across the street from the Capitol building where he had been governor for five and a half years. Yes, it makes for a great story, only there was one problem. Al Smith never stayed the night at the new hotel. He only signed the guest book.

Smith would later make the Hotel DeWitt Clinton his Democratic National Committee Headquarters in 1928

Later in the afternoon of that same day, 73 years to the day of Mayor Townsend’s death, the first paying guests would arrive at the hotel hoping that they would have the privilege of being the actual “first guest.” Among them were Mr. and Mrs. L. W. Cooper of Orange, NJ; The Benson Family who already lived in the city of Albany; Mrs. D. N. M. Pickett of New York City; Dr. Hans Schmidt who was visiting from Holland; and possibly the most interesting name in the group, Patrick McCabe. McCabe, the former Albany County Democratic leader was instrumental in the impeachment of his nemesis, Governor William Sulzer, while serving as the Clerk of the New York State Senate in 1913. The group was only permitted to use the rooms on the first two floors of the hotel, as the rest of the floors were still under construction.

McCabe as New York State Senate Clerk in 1913

So the question is, who among the group would be forever known as the first guest to stay in the Hotel DeWitt Clinton? Turns out that it wasn’t anyone who signed the guest book that day. Two floors above them, in a room on the unfinished fourth floor, slept a kitten fondly named, DeWitt Clinton, Jr. Shortly after Governor Al Smith left the hotel, the black and white cat wandered up to the front doors. Edward Hardy, a bell-boy for the hotel was given the job of waiting on their furry guest. DeWitt enjoyed breakfasting in bed, and sleeping the day away curled up on a fine down pillow.

Three nights later, the fourth floor was finished, and DeWitt Clinton, Jr. had to give up his room for paying guests. He was moved to a blanket-lined basket under the clerk’s desk in the lobby. Being used to a queen sized bed by now, this new arrangement for the pampered, little cat just wouldn’t do. DeWitt Clinton, Jr. left as mysteriously as he arrived. The Hotel DeWitt Clinton’s manager, Sherman Hill, said it best, “I’m afraid he may have gone to another hotel.” It’s possible that little DeWitt took up residence at the Wellington Hotel down the street where feral cats had been living for years after the hotel was boarded up.

In the end, the very first guest in one of Albany’s famous hotels was not the governor, or a democratic boss, a doctor, or even a housewife. It was a cat. A cat who was affectionately named after three meaningful things to Albany; one of New York’s finest governors, a steam locomotive**, and a young hotel on the historic corner of Eagle and State Street.

(*) The current Executive Mansion did not become the governor’s official residence until 1877. Prior to that, New York Governors would live in a home of their choosing.
(**) A six-foot model of the DeWitt Clinton steam locomotive was in the lobby of the hotel for its official opening in 1928.