All's Well That Ends Well

Twin Pumps Helped Downtown Buffalo Keep Cool Up To 1891

View is Looking N.E. Across Main St. - Mansion House is White Building on
Right at Main St. Corner of Exchange - NYC & Hudson River RR tracks in Forerground

    A familiar  early photo of Buffalo shows the Twin Pumps that stood at Main Street and The Terrace near what was the entrance to Memorial Auditorium.  The two pumps standing side by side, were operated manually by two slim, curved pump handles made of wrought iron, about 4 feet long, with a ball at the end of each handle about the size of a small orange.  The pumps stood on a stone slab about 4 feet wide, 6 feet long and about 10 inches high.  On each corner of the plot reserved for the pumps was a stout oaken post to fend off wagons that might be inclined to drive too close.

  In the 1860's the public wells numbered well over a hundred in the city.  The well of the twin pumps must have been of great capacity, because it supplied cool, sparkling water for the whole Terrace area, and it was greatly esteemed by factory and office workers in the district during the hot summer months. Men, women and children with buckets could be seen coming from all directions for the water.

  Among the regular patrons of the Twin Pumps, were the editors, compositors and  pressmen of the various newspapers, who kept apprentices busy all day long carrying water. These papers comprised The News, Times, Courier and Express, all grouped in the downtown area.  In those days cartmen, with small stake wagons used to stand at the street intersections waiting call to take ones trunk to the depot or do what was called "general carting." The one horse wagons were all over town on street corners, much as taxi cabs occupy those spots today.

Twin Pumps on far Left of Picture - Main & Terrace 1866 -
Liberty Pole in Center, Spaulding's Exchange on Left

  A particularly large assembly of carters occupied the spot on the Terrace near the Twin Pumps, and the cart stand was seldom vacant, day or night. At noon day meal time the popular method of feeding the horses was to hang feed bags on their noses, and follow it up with generous pails of well water.  Along in the early 1890's the well patrons began to complain about the water; it seemed to have changed in color and taste--too much iron or sulphur or something. One patron, more curious than the rest, took a bottle of the water over to the City Health Office and had Bacteriologist Bissel make a chemical analysis of it.

   Dr. Bissels report had a startling effect on drinkers of the well water, and the few remaining pumps throughout the city were ordered sealed by the Health Department.  It seemed that too many carts and horses had surrounded the Twin Pumps and turned the spot into an outdoor livery stable, and it was suspected that the seepage from the horse stand was getting into the water through the cobblestone pavement, which the health department said was not conducive to health.  Although there was no record of anyone getting ill by drinking the water, that was the end of well water pumps on street corners throughout the city.

The Niagara Portage Railway

The British Built a Railway Up the Escarpment at Lewiston in 1764 -- Often Called the First Railway on the North American Continent

  Before the English captured  Fort Niagara from the French in 1759, all shipments of furs, munitions and trade goods were packed over the Lewiston escarpment by Indians hired by the French. About 200 Indians from the local Seneca tribe were employed. At the top of the escarpment ran the portage, then only an Indian trail. The English under practical Sir William Johnson built the first portage road in 1763, widening the indian trail into a wagon road.  A railway was designed and built by British Captain John Montresor up the face of the cliff, so boats could come up the river to the head of navigation at Lewiston.  Indian labor was no longer needed on the portage. In retaliation, the Indians waylaid the first wagon train at what is now Devils Hole Park in what is called the Devils Hole Massacre.

  The railway was of enormous strength, built of crude piers up the steep bank from the wharf to the summit, where it connected with the portage road. Two sets of parallel logs formed the railway.  Two cars attached to ropes connected with a drum at the top of the rail, ran up and down the rail by counterbalanced weight. As one car went up, another came down the other track.  After the Devils Hole Massecre, the portage road was heavily fortified for it's entire length, and was the best guarded highway on the continent at that time.
  The incline in it's days was a marvelous engineering feat. From 1764 till the end of the "hold over period," about 1795, this incline was in constant use and many hundreds of thousands of tons in weight, boats, cannon, military stores, provisions and traders merchandise going West and boats and furs coming East, were  raise or lowered over it. Over it's narrow path passed the traffic of the Northwest, the vast trade of nearly half a continent. It was still in use when the Erie Canal made it obsolete in 1825.

Editors Note:  This railway was located near where Art Park is today.

Happy New Year! - January 1st MCMXI

ADVENT OF NEW YEAR HAILED BY MANY NOISES

Father Time of 1910 Passed His Last Moments Amid Tooting of Sirens, 

Screaming of Whistles and Multitude of Sounds 

Great Parties Bade Old Year Farewell

Everybody Was Happy And Annual Jollification Was Most Orderly In Years, 

Streets Filled With Noisy, Joyous Throng.

Buffalo Express January 1st. 1911

  Tottering painfully up the street with one foot dragging heavily after the other as if each step was his last, an old grey haired man made his way up Main Street a few moments before midnight.  His shoulders were bent beneath the cares an wary that were reflected upon his pallid, wrinkled face.  His emaciated form shook and swayed and collapsed in a heap.  A sympathetic crowd gathered around the old man and a cop pushed his way through the crowd to administer his wants.  The lights were dimmed and a transformation took place. There where the old man had lain was a bright little cherub, smiling optimistic.  It was the departure of the old Father Time of 1910 as the chimes rang, whistles blew and horns tooted.  His cycle was completed and in his place came the new baby, MCMXI. His arrival was the signal for an outburst of noise.  The Waterfront shrieked with sirens. Factory watchmen opened the whistles and they bellowed for the grand tidings of a new year.

  The crowds on the street did their utmost to create pandemonium. Every noise making implement was employed. Horns, clappers, metal spiders and countless other devices were used by the great throng. The streets were alive with people parading up and down the street on their noise-making trip.  They saw the old year out and the new year in, and it was an orderly crowd.  Here and there was a policman who gently tapped the boisterous ones on the shoulder and forced them to be quiet, while others who tried to use ticklers were warned the doors of the lockup would close behind them.  It was the most orderly departure of an old year ever recorded here. 

  In hotels there were gay parties that took part in the "Farewell to Nineteen-Ten." It was estimated that several thousand saw the old year go away over their dinner plates while they tooted horns or rang bells. Out in the street a detachment of soldiers from the 29th Infantry blew the bugle call during the evening and at midnight taps were sounded on 1910.  Mayor Fuhrmann was enjoying a dish of ice cream at the Iroquois as the year departed.

   Owing to New Years Day falling on the Sabbath, celebration of the holiday will be extended to tomorrow. Monday in fact will find many social events on the calendar, while cafes and hotels will offer to their guests specially prepared menu's. At all charitable and penal institutions an effort will be made to cheer the inmates with dinner, literary and musical entertainments.  The Salvation Army has made plans for an extensive celebration of the holiday. The success of the Boozers' convention was so pronounced last year that a new campaign was inaugurated at 10:30 o'clock last night at the Army headquarters, No. 13 East Mohawk Street.  At the Saturn Club, University Club, Twenty Century Club and Country Club open houses will prevail. The St. Patrick's Club will celebrate New Years Day as usual with "open house" tomorrow afternoon. There will be vocal and instrumental music during the afternoon. In the evening the annual New Years Dance will be held at St. Patrick's Hall.

Publication  by The Buffalo Express for New Years 1911

From The Roof of The Lenox Hotel - 140 North Street

From The Roof of The Lenox Hotel - 140 North Street

From The Roof of The Lenox Hotel - 140 North Street

Delaware Park Lake From the Porch of the Historical Society's Building

The Heart of Buffalo, Where Delaware, Genesee and Niagara Streets Cross

Gates Circle on a Sunday Morning: at the Head of Chapin Parkway

Autumn In Cazenovia Park: Church of Saint John The Evangelist in the Distance

Humboldt Park, Where Countless Picknickers
Gather in Summer and Skaters in Winter

Bidwell Parkway: One of The Miles of Shaded Approaches To Delaware Park

Near the Eastern Entrance to Delaware Park:  Jewett Avenue, Looking Toward Main Street

One of  the Interesting Sights at The Buffalo Zoo in
Delaware Park is the Herd of Buffalo

One of the Newer Homes of Buffalo: At The Corner Of Delaware and Summer Street

One of The Mansions That Decorate The Circle
(at the Head of Richmond Ave.)

In a Home Section of The West Side: Landscape Gardening in Dorchester Road

Humboldt Parkway: The Connecting Link between the Upper East Side and The West

Buffalo is a City of Homes: A View Across the Roofs Near St. Stanislaus Church

The Crowd Off For a Jolly Half Holiday Sailing Across Lake Erie To Crystal Beach

The Beauty of Labor--Some of The Workers on The City Potato Patches

The Harbor of Buffalo, Where You See Lake and River Craft of Every Kind

Watching Water Sports In The Outer Harbor: Spectators on the Sea Wall

The Buffalo History Gazette wishes all my readers a Happy, Healthy and Safe New Year in 2021! Thank you so much for your readership.

Jerry M. Malloy - Editor

See:  Drying Up the New Year

My Christmas Miracle - Taylor Caldwell

Janet Reback
(Taylor Caldwell)

A True Christmas Story by Buffalo’s 
Taylor Caldwell in the 1920’s 

So famous and renowned is Taylor Caldwell, that it is difficult to visualize her as a wan, depressed, and frightened young mother; alone, jobless, nearly destitute, and having to face the bleakest Christmas of her life.  She had almost lost faith in God Himself.  

And then...

"My Christmas Miracle"

By Taylor Caldwell

For many of us, one Christmas stands out from all the others, the one when the meaning of the day shone clearest. Although I did not guess it, my own "truest" Christmas began on a rainy spring day in the bleakest year of my life. Recently divorced, I was in my 20s, had no job, and was on my way downtown to go the rounds of the employment offices. I had no umbrella, for my old one had fallen apart, and I could not afford another one. I sat down in the streetcar, and there against the seat was a beautiful silk umbrella with a silver handle inlaid with gold and flecks of bright enamel. I had never seen anything so lovely.

  I examined the handle and saw a name engraved among the golden scrolls. The usual procedure would have been to turn in the umbrella to the conductor, but on impulse, I decided to take it with me and find the owner myself. I got off the streetcar in a downpour and thankfully opened the umbrella to protect myself. Then I searched a telephone book for the name on the umbrella and found it. I called, and a lady answered. Yes, she said in surprise, that was her umbrella, which her parents, now dead, had given her for a birthday present. But, she added, it had been stolen from her locker at school (she was a teacher) more than a year before. She was so excited that I forgot I was looking for a job and went directly to her small house. She took the umbrella, and her eyes filled with tears.

  The teacher wanted to give me a reward, but--though $20 was all I had in the world--her happiness at retrieving this special possession was such that to have accepted money would have spoiled something. We talked for a while, and I must have given her my address. I don't remember.

   The next six months were wretched. I was able to obtain only temporary employment here and there, for a small salary, though this was what they now call the Roaring Twenties. But I put aside 25 or 50 cents when I could afford it for my little girl's Christmas presents. (It took me six months to save $8.) My last job ended the day before Christmas, my $30 rent was soon due, and I had $15 to my name--which Peggy and I would need for food. She was home from her convent boarding school and was excitedly looking forward to her gifts the next day, which I had already purchased. I had bought her a small tree, and we were going to decorate it that night.

   The stormy air was full of the sound of Christmas merriment as I walked from the streetcar to my small apartment. Bells rang and children shouted in the bitter dusk of the evening, and windows were lighted and everyone was running and laughing. But there would be no Christmas for me, I knew, no gifts, no remembrance whatsoever. As I struggled through the snowdrifts, I just about reached the lowest point in my life. Unless a miracle happened I would be homeless in January, foodless, jobless. I had prayed steadily for weeks, and there had been no answer but this coldness and darkness, this harsh air, this abandonment. God and men had completely forgotten me. I felt old as death, and as lonely. What was to become of us?

  I looked in my mailbox. There were only bills in it, a sheaf of them, and two white envelopes which I was sure contained more bills. I went up three dusty flights of stairs, and I cried, shivering in my thin coat. But I made myself smile so I could greet my little daughter with a pretense of happiness. She opened the door for me and threw herself in my arms, screaming joyously and demanding that we decorate the tree immediately.

  Peggy was not yet 6 years old, and had been alone all day while I worked. She had set our kitchen table for our evening meal, proudly, and put pans out and the three cans of food which would be our dinner. For some reason, when I looked at those pans and cans, I felt brokenhearted. We would have only hamburgers for our Christmas dinner tomorrow, and gelatin. I stood in the cold little kitchen, and misery overwhelmed me. For the first time in my life, I doubted the existence of God and His mercy, and the coldness in my heart was colder than ice.

  The doorbell rang, and Peggy ran fleetly to answer it, calling that it must be Santa Claus. Then I heard a man talking heartily to her and went to the door. He was a delivery man, and his arms were full of big parcels, and he was laughing at my child's frenzied joy and her dancing. "This is a mistake," I said, but he read the name on the parcels, and they were for me. When he had gone I could only stare at the boxes. Peggy and I sat on the floor and opened them. A huge doll, three times the size of the one I had bought for her. Gloves. Candy. A beautiful leather purse. Incredible! I looked for the name of the sender. It was the teacher, the address simply "California," where she had moved.
  Our dinner that night was the most delicious I had ever eaten. I could only pray in myself, "Thank you, Father." I forgot I had no money for the rent and only $15 in my purse and no job. My child and I ate and laughed together in happiness. Then we decorated the little tree and marveled at it. I put Peggy to bed and set up her gifts around the tree, and a sweet peace flooded me like a benediction. I had some hope again. I could even examine the sheaf of bills without cringing. Then I opened the two white envelopes. One contained a check for $30 from a company I had worked for briefly in the summer. It was, said a note, my "Christmas bonus." My rent!

The other envelope was an offer of a permanent position with the government--to begin two days after Christmas. I sat with the letter in my hand and the check on the table before me, and I think that was the most joyful moment of my life up to that time.
  The church bells began to ring. I hurriedly looked at my child, who was sleeping blissfully, and ran down to the street. Everywhere people were walking to church to celebrate the birth of the Savior. People smiled at me and I smiled back. The storm had stopped, the sky was pure and glittering with stars.
  "The Lord is born!" sang the bells to the crystal night and the laughing darkness. Someone began to sing, "Come, all ye faithful!" I joined in and sang with the strangers all about me.

I am not alone at all, I thought. I was never alone at all!

Taylor Caldwell (Janet Reback)

And that, of course, is the message of Christmas. We are never alone. Not when the night is darkest, the wind coldest, the world seemingly most indifferent. For this is still the time God chooses.

Editors Note:  Janet Caldwell at the time this Christmas Story took place, lived at 86 Brayton St. in Buffalo. At later times in her life she lived at 782 Potomac Ave. and then later 129 Greenaway Rd. in Eggertsville to name a few.

Merry Christmas
Jerry Malloy

Also See:
"Yes Virginia, There is a Santa Claus"