New-York tribune. [volume], January 04, 1920, Page 3, Image 69

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The Fire Horse, First Aid to Melodrama,
:_?_ Will SoonRespond to His Last Alarm.
I
By Arnold D. Prince
DOES this remind you of any?
thing?
The great city is asleep,
even the policemen, seeming?
ly, but devilry is afoot. The villain
has stolen the papers and is seeking
to carry his base designs still fur?
ther by throwing suspicion on an in?
nocent person. Suddenly there is a
lurid glare in the sky. v
Good heavens! The house in
which the heroine is asleep, or im?
prisoned, or something, is on fire,
and the, as well as the papers, is in
danger of being incinerated.
WiQ so one save her?
Of course some one will. Scarcely
has the first tongue of flame cast its
ani-ter glow across the footlights
than hoofs are heard. - Out, out upon
the stage thunders the fire engine, a
real one, smoke belching from its
funnel; the three gallant horses,
?OQ-trils flaring, strain madly at their
collars; our hero, our brave hero
finwelf-'-wasn't his name Leslie??
leans far out of the driver's seat,
encouraging, coaxing, exhorting the
brave steeds to still greater efforts;
there is a veritable pandemonium of
sound; men in the audience yank
hysterically at the arms of their
leata; women shriek, or scream, or
?b, according to their inclination
or temperament, and then-?out of
fi? falling cinders and burning
d?bris stumbles our hero, with the
heroine safe in his arms, and all is
well
Bemember it? "The Still Alarm"!
Of coarse. The first American play,
*> far as the oldest dramatic critic
?a recall, in which real fire-fighting
apparatus was shqwn on the stage
??d the drama of saving life from a
bmung structure was vividly por?
trayed.
J And how the memory of that an?
den* bit of stage realism, produced
fo'the first time in the late '80s,
Pwakts through the years! What
**? it that Omar wrote?
* Mentent'? Halt-?a momentary taste
WBelaj from the Well amid the Waste;
**?? Lo! the phantom Caravan has
rwch'd
v*k? Nothing It set ont from."
"?U? he was wrong. Memory out
*?*? the clock every time, and all
***. those of us who are graying a
** ?t the temples and taking exer- J
*? daily to fight off the "octopus" |
J< middle-aged flesh need to do to !
?nag back that memorable fire scene I
to close our eyes, and instantly |
*? ?hole thing comes back?the {
?*We of the burning timbers,;
*? ??Id cries, the flames, the rattle
** <*a?h of whirling wheels, the
T^Nf of the siren and the
^???--??pecially the horses. .
Y*? h Waa Great
J*** was "some scene," if it be
J^ttod to say so, and although it
"** t* safe to burlesque it now, it
?j* k*v? been considered rank
*"?* fey many people to have done
*k?. and mainly for the reason
?afta thing was not so much "act
2j? It waa a bit of real life,
?? the stage what actually
might take place any day or night
in any city which boasted of a paid
fire department and real "up-to
date" horse-drawn, fire-fighting ap?
paratus.
Among the thousands who saw and
>
were thrilled by that " memorable
scene how many had not witnessed
almost identical episodes in the
streets of the city itself? How many,
at the clang of the bell and the sum?
mons of the siren, had jumped quak?
ing from their beds in the night and
had watched from their windows the
same kind of horses go sweeping
past, straining desperately at their
collars, on some such desperate mis?
sion as", divested of melodramatic
features, was shown on the stage?
Surely the call that sent the fire
horses to the fatal Windsor Hotel
fire in Fifth Avenue in 1899 was
equally tragic. Hundreds of similar
occurrences' were taking place yearly
throughout the country, and blue
shirted heroes, riding behind gallant
steeds, constantly were performing
deeds which far eclipsed in valor
that which won such tumultuous ap?
plause in "The Still Alarm." Why,
one of the chief groups on the great
Firemen's Monument on Riverside
Drive is a "triple hitch" of New York
horses, reproduced in stone from a
photograph, responding to a disas?
trous fire in this city. The picture is
even more graphic than the one
shown in the play, as only one hoof
of the three "flying" animals was on
the ground when the camera caught
them.
Now, however, the last bit of that
life which was shown on the stage,
and is so enduringly retained in the
Firemen's Monument, is to disappear
forever from the City of New York.
The last of the fire horses are to go.
Those still in service are to be sold
at auction and the entire department
is to be motorized. The few horses
remaining in Manhattan are to be
the first to go, possibly next month.
Efficiency is the slogan of the day.
and by the end of the present year
the Fire Cqmmissioner says not a
single horse-drawn vehicle will re?
main in the department.
Well, of course, he is right; even
the firemen who loved the horses ae
much as themselves say so. The city
has grown great; the distances to be
covered are long; speed is an essen?
tial factor in saving lives and prop?
erty and fire horses no longer are
equal to the task.
But tradition and custom die hard
no matter how closely pressed by
progress, and there isn't a firehoust
in the city but retains with jealouf
prido its quota of stories of the serv?
ices that were performed by the
courageous old quadrupeds.
Always Ready
Faithful and intelligent, they di*
played a degree of understanding ol
their work that was always excitinj
astonishment. Trained in their dutiei
as carefully as the firemen them
?elves, they were always ready to d<
their bit. A "coward" or a "slack
cr" was rare in the department
They would face all kinds of danger
many remaining faithfully at thai)
posts even when the flames ap?
proached so close as to scorch their
hides and burning embers fell all
about them. In summer ajnd winter,
in sunshine or storm* when the pave?
ments were icy or the mud up to their
fetlocks, they were always the same,
and at the signal would go swinging
out of the stalls, ready to share with
their masters whatever emergency
might oe awaiting them.
Stories of heroism among the ani?
mals are as numerous as those which
dealt with their "almost human"
qualities, and this one, among tne
many, will illustrate their ever
ready willingness to even lay down
their lives at the call of duty:
One Christmas morning, several
years ago, the alarm struck in one of
the downtown engine houses in a
quarter where the narrow streets
were constantly crowded with men,
women and children. Out dashed
the big "triple hitcb?' hoofs flying'
and necks outstretched in their
eagerness to be the first at the blaze.
Around a corner two children play?
ing in the street paid no heed to the
alarm and the big animals were al?
most on top of them before the driver
saw them.
What followed was such a fre?
quent occurrence in the life of the
department as almost to be a com?
monplace.
The driver, although realizing that
death for him and his horses might
be the alternative to striking the
children, did not hesitate, and at his
touch on the reins the big anipials
swung directly across the sidewalk
into the wall of a building. Taking
into account the general intelligence
displayed by the horses in all other
matters, it is not unreasonable to
suppose that they understood the
character of the obstruction into
which they were heading, but if they
did they did not falter any more
than the man in the driver's seat,
and in an instant they, as well
as the reinsman, were dying on the
sidewalk.
Probably no man in New York
City knows more about the New
York Fire Department than Dr.
Harry M. Archer, of 72 West
Eighty-second Street, for more than
thirty-four years a volunteer worker
at fires. He was recently made an
honorary deputy fire chief in recog?
nition of his services, and will tell
you countless stories about the hero?
ism of the old fire horses. There
are a host of similar stories in the
book written by Alfred M. Downs.
"Once during a fire in Hudson
Street I saw about two hundred feet
of blazing roof fall fifteen feet from
some horses, but they never budged,"
Dr. Archer said. "Loyalty and
courage were two of the predomi?
nant qualities among the beasts, and
they rarely flinched when called to
the test.
"Because of these and other quali?
ties the* animals almost invariably
became great pets, loved alike by the
firemen and by the children in the
neighborhood.
"I do not know if it is true, but
there were' many horsff in the de*
-^
partaient that were credited with
knowing the signals. Of course, you
know that each station house had
its own call,, although every alarm
that was turned in from anywhere
in the city was heard in every sta?
tion house. These horses, it was
claimed, always seemed to kijow
whether they were among those to
respond, or, ip other words, that it
was to be 'a go,' and when their sig?
nal sounded always responded more
quickly than on other occasions."
Dr. Archer's house in West
Eighty-second Street is filled with
V
pictures of famous fire horses, old
time equipment and records of the
companies, which made great pets of
the animals.
No horses in the world received
better treatment than did those in
the Fire Department. The men took
great pride in their accomplishments
and became so attached to them that
they and their officers frequently
risked reprimand by neglecting to
report those which became unfit for
duty. Rigid rules .were made to pro?
tect their health, and any violation
resulted in swift punishment.
When the horses became unfit for
duty they were sold at auction, but
very frequently it happened that
they were ultimately "knocked
down" to some officer of the com?
pany or a friend of the department,
who sent them to pasture at some
place where they could pass the re?
mainder of their lives in peace and
comfort. One man in New York
made it a regular practice to send a
representative to the auction sales
to buy up horses and then sent them
to a large farm near Troy, where
they remained until they died. ^
The Call of Duty
The fire horses that found their
way into the hands of private own?
ers never forgot their ancient call?
ing, and it was no infrequent occur
rence in New York to see one of the
veterans, now hauling some huck?
ster's wagon, go dashing off in the
direction of a fire when his succes?
sors in service went sweeping past.
Some of the animals won special
fame because of peculiar character?
istics, and stories about these still
survive, although they have long
since gone the way of the car horse
and other obsolete things.
One of these horses, named Big
Jim, a splendid type, pure white in
color, was attached to Hook and
Ladder Company 23. Big Jim, like
every other horse, occupied a stall
across the front of which was a sin?
gle chain which, when the alarm
sounded, was released by a trip con?
necting with the shank of his halter.
Early in his career Jim learned that
by dropping his hoof gently he could
release himself without waiting for
the electric signal, and he quickly
made use of this. Whenever he felt
like having a drink of water he
would touch the trip and march slow?
ly to the sink at the rear of the
house, where he would take his fill!
Being a kindly and a generous
beast, he "decided not to be selfish
about it," as Mr. Downs writes in
his book, "and the next day the men
found him releasing himself and
then going to the next stall and per
s
In the upper left hand
corner is Jerry, one
of the few remaining
fire horses; next is a
movie reproduction of
the famous scene from
"The Still Alarm"; the
recumbent horses are
Jerry and Tom just
before an alarm; be?
low are shown a big
New York blaze and a
water tower just leaving
its station
.>_-_
forming the same office for Jerry,
his mate.
"The two horses," Mr. Downs goes
on, "would stand together as though
in actual consultation until Jim got
ready to retire to his stall or was or?
dered back."
Equally famous was Baby, a steel
gray horse attached to Engine Com?
pany 2. Baby was one of those
earnest and conscientious workers
who would go to unusual lengths to
perform his duty, and the firemen al?
ways insisted that when at any time
the chain in front of his stall failed
to trip he would "crouch down on
his stomach" and crawl under the
barrier.
Baby, it would appear, was also a
great handshaker and would willing?
ly offer his hoof to any person, young
or old, who invited him to do so.
Many of the horses in .the depart?
ment were noted for their fondness
for sugar, but there was one animal,
Roger, named after Roger Connor,
the famous first baseman of the old
New York Baseball Club, who devel?
oped an astonishing appetite for soft
shell crabs. Roger was on duty with
Engine Company 21 and acquired the
habit when a peddler sold two of the
shellfish to one of the firemen. This
individual seasoned the crabs nicely
with sauce, pepper and salt, but, be?
ing suddenly summoned to the back
of the house, incautiously laid the
edibles on the footboard of the en?
gine. On his return he was amazed,
and somewhat exasperated, to dis?
cover that Roger had eaten his
lunch, and from that time the animal
became incurably addicted to the
food, which had to be provided for
him at regular intervals. Moreover?
? . ? -J.'
having thrown off all restraint, as it
were, JRoger also developed a fond?
ness for all sorts of meat sandwiches,
as well as for hot tea? onions, scal?
lops and vegetables, and after-dining
would always show his appreciation
by offering to shake hands with any
one who happened to be near his
stall.
/ Roger won a great deal of fame
because of these gastronomic ac?
complishments, but the time came
when his courage also was called to
the test, and then be proved that his
weakness for strange viands had had
\\o effect whatever upon his dependa?
bility. A call coming from a fire on
the East Side, Roger and his two'
mates soon found themselves in the
| midst of dense clouds of smoke and
j steam which even the most seasoned
| of the men found almost impossible
to endure. Generally at fires of
considerable duration one of the first
acts of the firemen was to unhitch
the horses and lead them to a place
of safety, but on this occasion the
flames made such rapid headway
that all their efforts had to be de?
voted to curbing the conflagration.
Giant tongues of flame came so
close they bit into Roger's hide, but
although his mates, who were also
burned, reared and plunged in
agony, he held his ground until
finally the firemen had'time to re?
lease him. Back at the station house
he was found to have received sev?
eral terrible burns, but endured the
pain as stoically as. might any of
the men, who would have considered
it a sign of weakness to complain of
their suffering.
In consequence of this heroism
...... ...
Roger thereafter enjoyed special
privileges, and would be permitted
to walk up and down the street alone
whenever there was an opportunity,
Roger seemed to appreciate these
outings greatly and never took ad?
vantage of them. He never strayec
off the block in which the firehous?
was situated, and if an alarm cam?
in he would promptly dash back tx
his quarters and take his place with
out loss of time as the center hor__
of the hitch.
Disciplining Old Jim
Another famous hotte was Ob
Jim of No. 38, a strawberry roan
who was a tower of strength am
reliability at a fire, but who. ha
a bad habit of kicking his post ata]
at meal, times. H? would .keep bat
taring away until he got his fob.
and it was feared that he might d
'''??-?.?.
himself some injury unless the habit
was checked. So a horse trainer
was consulted and he advised that
the men tie a clothesline around the
forefoot with which Old Jim did not
do his kicking. The moment-he be?
gan to strike with the other foot the
. line was to be jerked, thus throwing
the horse to his knees. The thing
worked as planned, and although
Old Jim was very much surprised
he was not to be cured so easily.
Thereafter he did not do any kick?
ing until he had first carefully ex?
amined the ground to see that the
hobble was not there, after which he
would hammer the post as_ lustily as ,
before.
This went on for some time, to the
despair of the men, until one of them
finally hit on the scheme of hiding
, at one side of the stall until Old
Jim had finished his examination and
then quietly adjusting the hobble.
Once again was Old Jim jerked off
his feet, and evidently he came to
the conclusion that there was no use
in combating such devilish ingenuity
as this, for after rising to his feet
he never again rapped on the stall
post at meal time.
. Books could be filled with similar
1-_-L
stories about other famous horses
which st one time or another were
in the service of the Fire Depart?
ment of New York City. Engine
Company 39 had a dapple roan called
Bull who was not only a marvelous
animal in the harness, but also
such a stickler for procedure and
precedence that he would not allow
any man to board the wagon until
his collar had been properly snapped
on, and the captain of the company
told of one instance when the ani?
mal deliberately turned and tore the
coat off a man who attempted to
vary this routine.
At Engine Company 14 you wi??
hear many stories about old Major,
who would "cough to show that he
was ill," dance at a moment's invi?
tation, shake hands, or do several
other tricks which made him a great
favorite with the children in the
neighborhood. And they will tell
you an entirely different crop of
stories at Hook and Ladder 15,
where "Nigger, the Devil of the
Fire Department," was stationed,
and where, despite an unlovely
predilection for biting, he won gen?
eral admiration because of his giant
strength and speed when going to
fires.
Jerry One of the Last
Other famous horses could be
mentioned, but as the city kept get?
ting bigger and bigger even their
powers, great as they were, began
to prove unequal to the task, and
finally, about ten years ago, the city
began to motorize the department, a
work now being carried on by Hubert
J. Treacy, head of the Bureau of Re?
pairs and Supplies.
Now ?only a few of the fire horses
remain in Manhattan, the oldest be?
ing Jerry, at Engine Company 53,
whose running mate, of course, is
named Tom. Jerry is a great favo?
rite among the men, and Jim Robin?
son, one of the firemen stationed
there, has announced his intention
of trying to buy him when the
auction takes place.
"If I get him, 111 ?send him to my
brother's farm in Dutchess County,"
where he can get all the feed he
wants and live the rest of his life
in peace," said Robinson.
Two of the other horses still on
duty in Manhattan are at Engine
Company 47, and four others are at
Engine Company 76.
Some others are scattered about
the outlying districts of Manhattan
and the other boroughs, and when
these are gone the end of the chap?
ter of horse-drawn equipment in this
?city will have been reached.
The age which produced "The Still
Alarm" and the thrills that went
with it will have been brought to a
close.
Vale, old fire horse! Pax vobis
?euml May there be no fires to cover
where you go toff rom here, j - ..*>
^ o*