Distilled History

A Drinking Blog with a History Problem

Archive for the ‘The Manhattan’ Category

April 18th, 2013 by Cameron

The Southside Brewing Heritage Tour

Andrew Veety

In about two weeks, Distilled History is going to celebrate its first anniversary. Looking back over the past year, I am amazed at how this project has enriched my life. I’ve won an award, I’ve scored free meals, and people tell me all the time that I’m good at what I’m trying to do. I’ve had bike crashes, I’ve been chased, and I’ve even been tickled. I’ve met great teachers, librarians, historians, bicyclists, and mixologists who have helped me find the answers I needed. Perhaps most importantly, I’ve become much more aware of the city I know call home. Wrap it all up and it’s been a fun and amazing year.

It all started when a guy named Andrew Veety told me that I should be writing a blog. A freelance writer himself, Andrew has made a name for himself in St. Louis as a person who can tell you where you can find good food in this town. His articles are often published in local magazines such as St. Louis and Feast. With several other “foodies”, he’s also involved in a podcast named StewedSTL that will tell listeners (in a very colorful way) where to find the best (and worst) places in St. Louis to get food and drink. Three years ago, he thought up a project named “The Church of Burger“. For twelve months, he toured St. Louis eateries to find out where the best burger was being served. Like my history posts, it wasn’t done for any sort of reward or pay. He simply wanted to know where it was and let other people know what he found.

Andrew is a great writer. He’s witty, intelligent, and an insufferable smart-ass. I thought I could curse with the best of them until I met this guy. Still, maybe he saw a diamond in the rough when he first tried to convince me to put my opinions to page. At the very least, I’m sure he was growing sick and tired of me complaining about the lack of places in St. Louis that do a Manhattan cocktail right.

1706 Washington Avenue

As I approach the one-year mark of Distilled History, this post will be a bit different. For this one, I don’t have a history topic and tasty drink to write about. Instead, I’m making a fun announcement (keep reading) and offer my thanks to that goofball Veety. I ask my readers to go check out his work, because it’s very good.

The last post, the Bygone Ballparks of St. Louis, was my most ambitious one yet. With all the research, biking, and artwork that went into it, I needed a nap after it was done. And two days after it was published, the company I worked at for the last sixteen years suddenly closed. I’ve tried to keep topics coming out on a regular basis since starting this blog, but Distilled History had to go on hiatus while I looked for a new job.

After working (and biking) to the same job for sixteen years, my daily routine was flipped upside-down. Instead of biking the back streets of St. Louis city, I found myself wearing suits and driving far into the forests (or as most people call it “the County”). Worst of all, I had to cut back on the good gin. As anyone who has been out of work can tell you, unemployment doesn’t pay the liquor bills. However, I did find some time to get out on the bike and create an appropriate new bike-a-sketch.

Bike-a-sketch: Hire Me

Fortunately, things turned around quickly. In an interview, I was actually recognized and asked “Are you the guy that writes the St. Louis history blog?”. After a twenty-minute discussion about it, I was rewarded with a job offer the next day. With that in my back pocket, I started talking up Distilled History in other interviews. Remarkably, two more job offers soon followed. I’m sure it’s just a funny coincidence, but I’ll take it. Suddenly, I had my choice of places to work. I accepted a great position back in downtown St. Louis and things are now getting back to normal. I’ve also started research for the next Distilled History topic and lining up an ambitious drink plan. It should be ready for publication by early next week. So along with blowing up Mr. Veety’s ego, I’ll use this brief post to make an announcement that I’m really excited about.

(Upate: As of May 1, 2013, the tour has been sold-out. However, we’ll have another one scheduled in the near future. I’ll post on this blog when we have a date.)

The Southside Brewing Heritage Tour

Here’s the skinny: Due to popular demand, Landmarks Association of St. Louis has decided to reprise their popular South Side Brewing Heritage tour. They last offered it in 2010, but this time they’ve asked Distilled History (me) to help them out. The tour will travel past a wide array of brewing-related sites in St. Louis including remaining brewery buildings, the sites of former breweries, the homes of beer barons and former “tied houses” (brewery-owned/operated taverns). We’ll even offer snacks and tasty beer from a local microbrewery on the bus. The tour will make stops at several brewery-related buildings including the Malt House of Schnaider’s Brewery (now Vin de Set) and the stock house and cellars of the former Cherokee Brewery. Andrew Weil from Landmarks Association and yours truly from Distilled History will provide riveting and enlightening commentary along the way.

Landmarks Association of St. Louis

Tickets are $45.00 for members of Landmarks Association and $55.00 for non-members. Call Landmarks Association at (314) 421-6474 or email Andrew Weil (aweil@landmarks-stl.org) at Landmarks to purchase tickets. Seats are limited and additional bar tabs at tour stops are not included. Participants must be 21 or older.

Since 1959, Landmarks Association of St. Louis has been a dedicated advocate for the architectural heritage of St. Louis City and the surrounding region. The organization is an independent non-profit that works to protect St. Louis’ unique architectural heritage and to educate the public about the economic and social values of unique historic buildings and neighborhoods. Through the years, the organization has played pivotal roles in the protection of iconic St. Louis buildings such as the Chatillon-DeMenil House, the Bissell Mansion, the Wainwright Building, and the Old Post Office. It has also helped to protect thousands of neighborhood buildings throughout the city and create incentives for their redevelopment through the creation of National Register Historic Districts. Landmarks Association of St. Louis is dedicated to the preservation and promotion of our amazing historic buildings and works hard to create opportunities for people to explore and learn about the places where we live.

When I decided to write this blog, I made a decision to avoid making controversial statements. Not a fan of debate (especially on the Internet), my goal has been to relay interesting information about topics that interest me. I know I ruffled a few Cardinal feathers in the baseball post (some of you people need to lighten up), but other than that, my intent is to simply inform and amuse. But here’s an opininion I will never back down from: St. Louis is better because of Landmarks Association. I would not be able to write this blog at the level I can if that organization did not exist.

Landsmarks Association

With that said, lets review a few more opinions that I will cage fight you over:

The Del Taco Flying Saucer

  • Stop shaking the Manhattan cocktail. It should be stirred. Although I am grudgingly accepting that many people insist on drinking it on the rocks, I’ll never buy into the shake
  • You need to see the Campbell House Museum. It’s one of the most amazing places in St. Louis. Go there and take a tour. Seriously, the things you’ll see and the story you’ll hear in that house are worth well more than the seven dollars you’ll pay to get in
  • A martini is made with gin. If you want vodka instead of gin in your martini (something that confuses me) you should say “I’d like a vodka martini”. If you ask for it shaken, then you are an extraterrestrial
  • Get on a bike and ride around St. Louis. Even better, get involved with Trailnet and take any one of their fantastic bike tours. It’s a great way to see our city

In closing, please join Landmarks and myself for a beer tour on Sunday, May 19. It will be fun to meet Distilled History fans as we travel through the brewing history of St. Louis. We’ll drink good beer and hear some good stories.

(Update: Again, as of May 1, 2013, the tour has been sold-out. However, we’ll have another one scheduled in the near future. I’ll post on this blog when we have a date.)

Most importantly, proceeds will help Landmarks continue their efforts in historic preservation and educate St. Louisans about the history of our great city.

 

February 15th, 2013 by Cameron

Elijah Parish Lovejoy, Part I

American Experience

One of my favorite television programs is American Experience on PBS. Known for their well-produced and in-depth historical documentaries, American Experience has been simply killing it lately. “Death and the Civil War aired back in November, a film based on the fantastic book This Republic of Suffering by Drew Gilpin Faust. Recently, they aired another exceptional film titled  “The Abolitionists. A student of Civil War history, I couldn’t wait to see it. I’ve always been fascinated by the abolitionists and the significant role they played in the conflict.

Elijah Parish Lovejoy

I was especially excited because the St. Louis area has ties to one of the earliest and most noteworthy abolitionists, Elijah Parish Lovejoy. Although familiar with his tragic murder in 1837, I didn’t know much about the rest of his life. I looked forward to learning more in the documentary.

I was disappointed to discover that he’s barely mentioned.  Actually, the film could have been titled “The John Brown and Frederick Douglass Show”, since those two eat up most of the airtime (with a bit of William Lloyd Garrison and Harriet Beecher Stowe sprinkled in). Primary contributors to the movement for sure, but I think Lovejoy deserved more attention. In three hours of programming, his name is mentioned just once.

I think that’s a significant oversight. One of the earliest voices in the abolitionist movement, it was Lovejoy’s murder in that compelled the then-unknown John Brown to stand up in an Ohio church and dedicate his life to the abolition of slavery.

In fact, I think Lovejoy had such an impact, his story is a too good for just one blog post. For that reason, I’m splitting it into two. This week, I’ll discuss Lovejoy’s early years and his life as a newspaper editor in St. Louis. Next week, I’ll pick up the story when he moves north and meets his ultimate fate in Alton, Illinois.

lovejoy_bplace

Elijah Parish Lovejoy was born in Albion, Maine on November 9, 1802. The eldest of nine children, he was simply called “Parish” by members of his family. His upbringing was profoundly religious. Well educated and a gifted student, Lovejoy graduated at the top of his class at Waterville College in Maine (now Colby College).

He began his career as a teacher in Maine, but didn’t find the occupation satisfying. The lure of the frontier appealed to him, and he decided to move west. He came to St. Louis in 1827 at the age of 25. Incorporated as a city just five years earlier, St. Louis at the time had a population of about 5,000 people. It was the wild west, and Lovejoy was about to become one of its most controversial residents.

While in St. Louis, he decided to try his hand at journalism. In 1830, he purchased one-half interest in a newspaper named the St. Louis Times. He spent the next two years working as its editor.

The Old Meeting House

At this stage of his life, there were few signs that Lovejoy would become a leading voice in the growing abolitionist movement. Letters home focus more on religion and his difficulty fully embracing the fervent doctrine espoused by his parents. His early editorials in the St. Louis Times seldom mention the institution of slavery. Privately, he thought the institution was evil, but he believed that emancipation should be gradual, not immediate.

That would change in 1832, when Lovejoy attended a service at the 1st Presbyterian Church in St. Louis. On that day, an abolitionist named Reverend David Nelson addressed the congregation. His words made a significant impact on Elijah Lovejoy.

Nelson openly condemned the institution of slavery as evil. He attacked the selling of human beings as a sin as great as adultery and murder. As a result of Nelson’s speech, Lovejoy found his religious awakening and was soon converted. Befriending the fiery speaker, Nelson recognized Lovejoy’s abilities and counseled him to enter the ministry. Lovejoy took his advice, heading east to attend the Princeton Theological Seminary in New Jersey. Again finishing at the top of his class, Lovejoy returned to St. Louis and resumed his career as an editor, albeit with a far different voice.

He sold his stake in the St. Louis Times and started a new paper named the St. Louis Observer. It was to be a religious publication, dedicated to attacking frontier vices such as alcohol, tobacco, and “moral laxity”. In the early months of publication, only occasional references were made to slavery. Now a Presbyterian minister, he used the paper mainly as a platform for his religious beliefs. Displaying a defiant personality, Lovejoy was completely intolerant of any faith other than his own. He frequently attacked Baptists, Episcopalians, most of all, Roman Catholics. Referring to the faith as “Popery”, he condemned anyone remotely associated with the Roman Catholic Church.

The St. Louis Observer

In 1834, the language of Lovejoy’s editorials begins to shift. The discussion of slavery becomes more common and confrontational.  Although insisting that he was not an abolitionist, Lovejoy begins to demand for an immediate end to slavery. In an 1835 editorial, he writes: “The atmosphere of slavery is an unnatural one for Americans to live in. The institution is repugnant to the very first principles of liberty.”

Slavery Quote

In the slave state of Missouri, the majority of the population wanted nothing to do with any form of emancipation, gradual or immediate. With each editorial, Lovejoy was increasingly viewed as a troublemaker and a destabilizing force in the city. Threats of tar and feathering, physical harm, and destruction of his newspaper operation became common. One local paper even posted handbills around the city calling for mob action to destroy his printing press.

Increasingly worried for his safety, Lovejoy’s friends and colleagues pleaded with him to ease his rhetoric. Lovejoy would have none of it. He responded defiantly that his rights to free speech and free press were constitutionally protected. He also didn’t hesitate to respond to threats by being provocative in return. When pro-slavery voices accused him of favoring interracial marriage, he raised the taboo subject of sexual abuse in a slave society. Claiming the raping of slaves by their masters was even worse than the physical torture of whips and lashes, Lovejoy enraged his detractors even further. Up to that point, nobody had printed anything like that in St. Louis.

Elijah Lovejoy Quote

Despite his defiance, one dramatic event changed everything for Elijah Lovejoy.  In April 1836, a free black man named Francis McIntosh was involved in a scuffle on the St. Louis riverfront. It started when an unruly sailor was attempting to avoid arrest as McIntosh stood nearby. What happened next varies by account. Either McIntosh helped the man escape, or he ignored a request to assist in apprehending him. Either way, McIntosh was himself arrested and taken off to jail. Captured and charged with a crime in a slave state, McIntosh likely determined that his days of freedom were numbered. As two men led him to jail, McIntosh pulled a knife and lunged. One constable was killed and the other was seriously injured.

lovejoy_lynching

Captured again, McIntosh was locked up in jail. News of the event spread quickly through the city, and someone suggested McIntosh should be burned alive. A large mob soon gathered around the jailhouse, with over 2,000 enraged citizens clamoring for justice. Eventually, the mob broke through the door and pulled McIntosh from his cell. Dragged to the edge of town, McIntosh was chained him to a locust tree while wood was piled around him. The pyre was lit and McIntosh slowly started to burn. As the flames engulfed him, McIntosh pleaded for someone in the crowd to shoot him and put him out of his misery.

The Francis McIntosh Lynching

The fire burned for more than twenty minutes before McIntosh succumbed. With their task complete, the crowd quickly dispersed. With his charred remains left chained to the tree, a group of children began throwing rocks at his corpse in a game to see who could break the skull first.

Appalled by the event, Elijah Lovejoy went on the attack. In his next editorial, he harshly condemned the actions of the mob. Lamenting the lack of lawful society in St. Louis, he proclaimed it to be “savage barbarity”. He called for all who participated in the lynching to “seek forgiveness”.

A court was convened to investigate the lynching. Presiding over the grand jury was a judge named Luke Edward Lawless.  A slave-owner himself, Lawless had no problem with the rough culture of his city. He proceeded to make one of the most amazing speeches in the history of our nation’s courts.

As he addressed the grand jury, Lawless stated that the death of Francis McIntosh was unlawful and tragic. However, he instructed the grand jury not to hold anyone guilty of the crime. He stated that since thousands were involved, the case was “beyond the reach of human law”. Lawless then produced copies of the St. Louis Observer and handed them to the jury.  Reading specific anti-slavery quotes from the publication, he stated it was newspapers like the Observer that “fanaticize the negro and excite him against the white man”. By doing so, he laid blame squarely at the feet of Elijah P. Lovejoy. He then asked for action against Lovejoy, asking the grand jury to consider what could be done about press that causes “widespread mischief”.

Judge Lawless

Despite Lovejoy’s scathing rebuttal in the next Observer editorial, the speech by Lawless was welcomed by the people of St. Louis. After alienating almost everyone in town, and for fear of physical violence against his family, Elijah Lovejoy announced that the Observer would be moved across the river to Alton, Illinois. Believing he’d have more support on free soil while being able to maintain St. Louis subscriptions, Lovejoy decided it was time to go.

On the same night his final editorial was published, a group of men gathered in St. Louis. Banging a drum as they marched through the streets, the mob quickly grew to over 200 men. They arrived at the front door of Lovejoy’s newspaper operation just after midnight. The door was broken down and contents of the building were attacked. Lovejoy’s printing press was broken apart and thrown in the Mississippi.

It was the first of Elijah P. Lovejoy’s printing presses to be destroyed and thrown in a river. There would be three more.

The Drink

Paul Simon

In my research for this post, I was pleased to find a biography written by none other than the late bow-tied Senator of Illinois, Paul Simon. His book Freedom’s Champion was a great introduction Lovejoy’s life. Simon should know a thing or two about Lovejoy, since he also worked as a newspaper editor in southern Illinois before entering politics.

As for getting the drink, this was a tough one. Lovejoy didn’t drink, and he didn’t care for drinkers. I couldn’t really go by location, because the Gateway Arch now stands where Lovejoy’s home and newspaper operation existed. The “Old Meeting House” where he preached still stands in St. Louis County, but there isn’t a bar anywhere near it. That left me with the event that ended his time in St. Louis, the Francis McIntosh lynching.

I read several accounts of that tragic event for this post. One claimed it happened “in the center of town”, but the general consensus was that McIntosh was dragged to the western outskirts of the city. What’s remarkable to remember is that in 1836, the outskirts of the city was less than a mile from the riverfront. The exact location is unknown, but a few accounts placed the episode somewhere near the intersection of 7th and Chestnut.

Thinking there must be a place to get a drink around there, I was horrified to find a Hooters at that exact intersection. I could only imagine what kind of hell would arrive in my glass if I ordered a cocktail there.

Just for fun, I decided to see what would happen if I did.  At the very least, I figured it’d make for a good story.

I sat down at the bar and was greeted by the standard Hooters waitress. She was exceptionally friendly, squeezed into a shirt that was far too small, and absolutely clueless about how to make a Manhattan.  She actually called me “Baby”.

The Hooters Manhattan

She ran off to get instructions from her manager. When she returned, I was pleasantly surprised when she asked me if I’d like it up or on the rocks (a good start). I ordered it up with Jack Daniels and she ran off again to make it.

As I waited for her return, I couldn’t get over the environment. First of all, the lighting in Hooters is glaring. It’s so bright in there,  I felt like I was in a police lineup. Maybe that’s the point, but you certainly can’t drink in the shadows at a Hooters. Next to me at the bar was a guy who brought his girlfriend in for Valentines Day. I couldn’t help but smile as they exchanged kisses between bites of chicken wings.

My drink arrived in a rocks glass (cocktail glasses are not an option at Hooters). I think the ratio of whiskey to vermouth was at least five to one. In other words, I had a glass of whiskey. Surprisingly, no cherry was added. What’s weirder is that I watched the waitress shake it vigorously in ice, but the drink was lukewarm when I took a sip. I can offer no plausible explanation.

What a wretched drink snob I am, but I must say that the experience was really amusing. The staff was extremely friendly and fun about it. Even the manager came over and asked me if the drink was any good. I lied and said it was. Finally, he laughed and said “We don’t get that drink order in here very often”. Nope, I bet they sure don’t.

January 5th, 2013 by Cameron

The Langdon Mansion

Greetings from ElmiraI had a one hell of a day last week. While driving from my native upstate New York to my current home in St. Louis, my car hit an ice patch on I-86. I lost control, spun, and was flung off the highway. I was flipped perfectly onto the roof of the car, which is where I stayed as I bobsleighed one-hundred feet down a hill.

It was quite a ride. Lots of snow, glass, and colorful language was bouncing around inside the car as I went. Remarkably, I hit something that caused the car to slowly roll me back upright. I came to a stop, turned off the engine, and realized I was completely uninjured. I was able to walk away like nothing happened. Other than a slight headache from a book (I think it was a book) that hit me in the head during the roll, I was as good as new.

What does this mishap have to do with history and booze? Well, after being collected and driven back to my hometown of Elmira, I had some time on my hands. Instead of sitting around and feeling sorry for myself, I decided to dig up some history in the town where I spent the first eighteen years of my life.

Sweet Wounded Jesus!

For a small city, Elmira has some good stories to tell. With that in mind, please pardon this brief sojourn away from St. Louis. I’ll return to the hidden tales of The Gateway City soon enough.

elmiramap

Elmira, New York is a small city of about 29,000 people in the Southern Tier of New York State. Just south of the Finger Lakes, it sits in a truly beautiful part of the state. Unlike St. Louis, it has rolling hills, voluminous lakes, and cooler summers.  Although I now prefer to live in St. Louis, I’ll never waver from the opinion that it was a great place to grow up.

In fact, I believe Elmira shares many qualities with St. Louis, but on a far smaller scale. Both cities are the population centers of their respective areas. Both cities serve as the regional hub for financial, cultural, and educational institutions. Both cities have a rich and deep history that often gets overlooked by the people who live there.

1972 Flood

On the flip side, both cities have watched their populations plummet in the years following World War II. Both cities are trying to bring people, companies, and jobs back within city limits. Both cities are desperate to revitalize their downtown cores (and both cities have mistakenly believed that building sports arenas is one way to do it).

Both cities have also been severely impacted by flooding. While St. Louis’s history with flooding is well-known, Elmira’s history with rising waters is just as troubled. Many point to the damage caused by Hurricane Agnes in 1972 as the point from which downtown Elmira has never recovered.

And finally, both cities are filled with historic homes, buildings, and structures that are in desperate need of preservation.

Since starting this blog, I’ve become far more aware of the need for historical preservation. This was especially true when Landmarks Association helped me research the blog post about the William B. Ittner schools. I was stunned to see how much work and research they had completed in order to campaign for the survival of those historic buildings.

I can now say for certain that I wish my hometown had its own version of Landmarks seventy-five years ago. That’s because in 1939, the wrecking ball took apart this historically significant house that once sat at the corner of Church and Main streets in downtown Elmira.

The Langdon House

The Langdon House, facing Main Street

This large Victorian home was the home of a wealthy coal merchant named Jervis Langdon. He was an ardent abolitionist, and he served as a “conductor” on the Underground Railroad along with his close friend Thomas K. Beecher. The brother of Harriet Beecher Stowe, Thomas Beecher was the pastor of Park Church located across the street from Langdon’s home. Both men counted Frederick Douglass as a close friend. The famed abolitionist even once visited Langdon at his home in Elmira.

It was Langdon’s daughter, however, that would make the most significant impact upon the Langdon legacy in Elmira.

Olivia Langdon as a young woman

In 1867, Olivia’s brother Charles traveled to the Mediterranean aboard a boat named Quaker City. On the trip, he befriended a reporter writing a story for a California newspaper. That reporter was Samuel Langhorne Clemens, soon to become known as the famous author Mark Twain. One night, Charles showed Clemens a small daguerreotype of his sister Olivia. Upon looking at the portrait of the delicate woman, Clemens admitted to falling in “love at first sight”. Throughout the rest of the trip, he asked Charles to bring out the photograph and allow him to gaze upon it again. When the trip concluded, Twain made a point to visit Langdon and his sister during a trip to New York City. During that visit, Clemens was invited to visit the Langdon home in Elmira. It wasn’t long before Twain found himself knocking on the large door of the Langdon home on the corner Church and Main.

For the next two years, Clemens courted Olivia and visited Elmira often. After an initial rejection, the two became engaged in late 1869. On February 2, 1870, Mark Twain and Olivia Langdon were married by Thomas K. Beecher in the library of the Langdon home.

Over the next twenty years, the Clemens family would make Elmira their summer home. While there, they lived at Quarry Farm, a Langdon vacation home located on a large hill outside of town. In the octagonal study built there for him, Mark Twain found what he called “the quietest of all quiet places.”  Here, he would write the majority of his most famous works, including Adventures of Tom Sawyer, The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, The Prince and the Pauper, and A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s Court.

Mark Twain at Quarry Farm in Elmira

While in Elmira, the Clemens family would spend a large amount of time at the large house in town. Three of the four Clemens children were born in the house. The house was a convenient place for Clemens to entertain visitors or to do business. The house is where Ulysses S. Grant once visited Twain to discuss his memoirs, a work that Twain helped get published. Clemens even stated that since the house was so large, one could “always escape your enemies in Langdon house”.

The Langdon home is also where on a warm day in 1889, a young reporter from British India traveled to Elmira in search of his idol. Detailing the experience in his later work Letters of Travel, Rudyard Kipling recounts his arrival in Elmira:

“I slid on the West Shore line, I slid until midnight, and they dumped me down at the door of a frozy hotel in Elmira. Yes, they knew all about “that man Clemens,” but reckoned he was not in town; had gone East somewhere.”

Kipling then took a carriage to Quarry Farm, but was told Clemens was in town. He traveled back down the hill and found himself at the Langdon house. Kipling continues with his description of the meeting:

“Then things happened somewhat in this order. A big, darkened drawing room; a huge chair; a man with eyes, a mane of grizzled hair, a brown mustache covering a mouth as delicate as a woman’s, a strong square hand shaking mine, and the slowest, calmest, levellest voice in all the world saying: – “Well, you think you owe me something, and you’ve come to tell me so. That’s what I call squaring a debt handsomely.”

“Piff!” from a cob-pipe (I always said that a Missouri meerschaum was the best smoking in the world), and behold! Mark Twain had curled himself up in the big armchair, and I was smoking reverently, as befits one in the presence of his superior.”

Rudyard Kipling & Mark Twain

Kipling was just starting his career and was still unknown. It would be a few years before he’d achieve fame as the author of stories such as “Rikki-Tikki-Tavi” and “The Man Who Would Be King”. But a year after their meeting, Twain recognized a sketch of Kipling in a copy of the London World. The article also mentioned that Kipling had traveled to the United States. Twain took interest in Kipling’s work and began to admire his burgeoning career. In 1895, Twain wrote a letter to Kipling:

“It is reported that you are about to visit India. This has moved me to journey to that far country in order that I may unload from my conscience a debt long due to you. Years ago, you came from India to Elmira to visit me. It has always been my purpose to return that visit and that great compliment some day. I shall arrive next January, and you must be ready. I shall come riding my ayah with his tusks adorned with silver bells and ribbons, and escorted by a troop of native howdahs richly clad and mounted upon a herd of wild bungalows; and you must be on hand with a few bottles of glee, for I shall be thirsty.”

Interior rooms of the Langdon Mansion

Olivia Langdon Clemens died in Italy in 1904. Although buried in Elmira, Clemens returned just once to Elmira after her passing. His last visit was in 1907 for the dedication of a new organ at Park Church. On that visit, he declined an offer to visit Quarry Farm because it would “awaken sorrowful thoughts”. Samuel Clemens died in 1910 and is buried in Woodlawn Cemetery in Elmira along with Olivia and their four children.

Mark Twain's Grave in Elmira

Imagine if the stately Langdon home still stood in Elmira. Located at the busiest downtown intersection, it could have become the symbol of the city. Flanked by the historically significant Park Church, the elegant Trinity Church, and Wisner Park, the entire neighborhood would have become one of the most historic corners in the Southern Tier. Perhaps the house could have been used as the focal point in presenting the legacy of Mark Twain in Elmira. Unlike other cities that claim a legacy to Twain (Hannibal, Hartford), Elmira has no central building from which to tell his story. The octagonal study that was relocated to the campus of Elmira College is too small. His grave in Woodlawn Cemetery is well, perhaps too morbid. Quarry Farm still stands, but it’s far outside of town and isn’t open to the public. It’s even likely that most Elmirans couldn’t find it if they tried.

Mark Twain Study

The ultimate fate of the Langdon home is nothing short of maddening. In the 1930′s, the Langdon family offered to sell the house to the city of Elmira at its assessed value. It was offered as such for the purpose of creating a museum or a place of historical significance. For a price of just under $50,000, the city could have preserved a rare historical jewel that would have been a beacon for the city. City leaders debated, voted, and ultimately concluded that such a large home would be too expensive to maintain. The city declined the offer, so the home was sold home to a private developer. Within months, the home was razed and a shopping center was built. Named “Langdon Plaza”, the shopping center provides visitors to Elmira a place to purchase meatball sandwiches and hair gel.

All that is left of the Langdon home is the fence that surrounded it. Like the octagonal study, it was relocated to the Elmira College campus.

Langdon Plaza

The Drink

After flipping a car, it’s so surprise that I needed a drink. Maybe five. And although completely uninjured, I still had the mind to milk it. To that end, Mom filled me with good bourbon, gin, and plenty of home cooked food over the next few days.

Carl on the rocks

The extended trip also allowed me to spend New Years Eve with my Mother and her close friends. The party was held at the home of two very close friends in Elmira, Carl and Bunny Vallely. This presented a great opportunity because Carl Vallely is also a huge fan of the Manhattan cocktail.

There’s a great story that goes along with Carl and his love of the Manhattan. Years ago, when he first courted Bunny, he showed up at her door to take her on their first date. Tucked under his arm was a thermos. When Bunny answered the door and inquired “What’s in the thermos?”, to which Carl replied “Manhattans, of course!”. I can’t help but admire the guy for that. Taking a thermos of Manhattans on a first date is nothing short of fantastic.

And going forward in my search Manhattan cocktail varieties, I can now the recipe for “The Vallely Manhattan”:

  • 1 Part Canadian Club Whisky
  • 1 Part Sweet Vermouth
  • Stirred and served on the rocks

I asked Carl what the ratio of the ingredients should be, and he simply said “until you get the right color”. I guess I’ll have to work on that. He also omits the cherry, since it “takes up room in the glass needed for more Manhattan”. I certainly can’t argue with that logic. The “on the rocks” aspect of the Vallely is tough for me to get by, but it’s his drink. I was in his house and I was happy to drink them with a fellow fan of my favorite cocktail.

Carl served me a few of his Manhattans that night, but I also took the time to visit Horigan’s in Elmira. Owned by my old high school pal Katie Boland, I am a frequent visitor here when I’m in Elmira. My father used to spend so much time at the bar reading books that they’d actually keep the book there for him. Katie also happens to be Carl’s step-daughter, so when I asked for Carl’s version of the Manhattan, she was happy to oblige.

Horigan's ManhattanAs for my opinion of the drink, I’ll say that it’s very pleasant. Due to the ice and the use of Canadian whisky, it’s a lighter and smoother version what I’m used to. It doesn’t have that bite on the first sip (which I adore). It made me think I could be tricked into drinking more in one sitting than I’m used to. After rolling a car, that’s not the worst idea.

December 19th, 2012 by Cameron

Municipal Bath House #6

Washtub

Just last week, I finished my first year as a volunteer docent at the Campbell House Museum in downtown St. Louis. I’m pleased to say that joining the Campbell “family” was a great decision. I have met some great people who share similar interests. I’ve learned the fascinating story of the Campbell family and the house they lived in for eighty-four years. And now, I actually get to talk about history to people who want to hear it (unlike many of my good friends who are forced to suffer through it).

I’ve also learned how to give tours and be a quality docent. I didn’t expect it, but I quickly learned that all tours are different based on the museum visitors taking them. Now, when I start a tour, I know within three minutes if I’ll have a two-hour tour with tons of questions and interaction, or a half-hour tour filled with nothing but my own voice. In those first three minutes, I’ll know how to adapt the tour to the people in front of me.

In other words, I now know how to deal with people who don’t give a shit.

Avoid this

I learned early on that If there are small children on the tour, get through the house fast. If not, a meltdown could happen by floor three. A  droopy-eyed guy that’s been dragged there by his girlfriend? Skip the chit-chat about intricate carvings on the parlor furniture. I’ve even had a couple of visitors that couldn’t speak English. Since I can’t speak a lick of German, it’s no use trying to explain to Klaus that Robert Campbell made his fortune in the fur trade.

Despite the multitude of differences each tour can bring, there’s one item in the house I never skip. When I bring visitors into the head servant’s bedroom on the second floor, I always stop and point out the small washtub that sits in the corner. Then, I describe the effort it took to use it and take a bath in 1885. When I do, even the most aloof visitor (except maybe Klaus) finds it interesting.

It’s difficult to overstate the malodorous condition of St. Louis in the late 19th century. If you lived in this city 125 years ago, you probably reeked. The people around you reeked. Even the air you breathed and the water you drank reeked. Being one of the largest and most densely populated cities in the country, St. Louis was congested, filthy, and fetid. The air was filled with soot, streets were filled with horse manure, and noxious fumes wafted from inadequate methods of waste disposal.

Photograph of a New York City tenement by Jacob Riis

For the common citizen, the process of getting clean in that environment was difficult and it happened rarely. To use a washtub like the one on display at Campbell House,  several trips to a water source were needed to get it filled.  Water was lukewarm at best, especially if the bather wasn’t first in line. On bath days, families shared the same tub and the same water.

Grime was especially noticeable in the slums and tenements of urban American cities. In St. Louis, a survey taken in 1908 showed that in the poorest neighborhoods, only one bathtub existed for every 200 residents. In the densely populated tenements where more than a quarter of the population lived, one bathtub existed for every 2,479 residents. To make matters worse, bathtubs were not always used for their intended purpose. Due to the limited space in small living quarters, bathtubs often held coal or firewood. Even as late as 1950, only 1/3 of the homes in the poorest neighborhoods of St. Louis had private bath facilities.

"Breaker Boys" by Lewis Hine

Toward the end of the 19th century, social reformers led a movement to improve the quality life of all Americans, not just the wealthy. At the center of this movement was a push to improve the living and working conditions for poor people living in urban slums. Since being dirty and being poor were seen as going hand in hand, promoting cleanliness became a part of that movement.

At the same time, scientists and doctors were figuring out that good personal hygiene could help prevent the spread of disease. This sentiment can be seen in a statement made by the New York Tenement House Committee in 1894:

“Cleanliness is the watchword of sanitary science and the keynote of the modern advice aseptic surgery.  If it apply to the street, the yard, the cellar,the house and the environment of men it most certainly should apply to the individual.”

Already popular in Europe, the movement prompted a few American cities such as New York, Philadelphia, and Baltimore to build public bath houses in the early 1890′s. Encouraged by the initial success and high attendance rates, the public bath movement quickly spread to other American cities. In St. Louis, the progressive mayor Rolla Wells campaigned for several bath houses to be built throughout the city. Despite his support, it would be several years before St. Louis joined the movement. Forty American cities had operational public baths before St. Louis opened its first.

That day came in August 1907, when Public Bath House No. 1 opened near the intersection of Carr and 10th in north St. Louis city. Over the next thirty years, St. Louis would build five more.

St. Louis Public Bath House Locations

Public Bath House No. 1 contained forty-one showers and one tub bath for men. Strictly divided by separate entrances, the women’s side of the bathhouse had fifteen showers and two tubs. Using the baths were free, but soap and a towel could be rented for one cent if a visitor did not bring their own. Modest bathers could even rent a bathing suit if they so desired.

Inside the bathhouse, an attendant sat behind a booth and issued numbered tickets to people as they entered and waited in line. When their number was called, the visitor would walk down a corridor to a cubicle that was divided in two. One side contained a dressing area with clothing storage. The other side contained the shower. Although a time limit existed only during high volume hours, the attendant on duty had full control off water usage and water temperature.

Public Bath House #1

Public Bath House No. 1 was an immediate success. Sixty-nine thousand people visited in the first year alone. By 1915, that number rose to nearly 500,000.  Two years later in 1909, Public Bath House No. 2 opened in the Soulard neighborhood. In No.2′s first year of operation, an astounding 238,000 patrons visited the south city bath. Over the next few years, that number would triple.

Unexpectedly, the bath houses became social centers. While queued to get clean, St. Louisans used the locations as a place to socialize with friends and neighbors. The bath houses were considered safe, clean, and pleasant to use. Due to the cavernous echos created by ceramic tile, local newspapers reported prolific singing and choir boys practicing hymns. However, not everyone considered the constant melodies to be music to their ears. In 1951, bath house attendants bitterly complained that the endless renditions of The Weavers’ popular hit, Goodnight Irene, were driving them crazy.

Saturdays were the busiest days, but the early hours of Sunday is when the bath house lines were longest. Following the sentiment that “Cleanliness was next to Godliness”, many St. Louisans made sure get clean before heading off to church.

Additional bath houses continued to be constructed in densely populated neighborhoods. In 1910, Public Bath House No. 3 opened just twelve blocks west of bath house Bath House No. 1. That same year, Public Bath House No 4 opened at 3600 Lucas. When St. Louis passed a segregation ordinance in 1916, Bath No. 4 had the distinction of becoming the first segregated bath house in St. Louis. In 1932, a second segregated bath, Public Bath House No. 5, opened at the intersection of Jefferson and Adams.

Public Bath House #5

In 1937, the final public bathing facility was built at 1120 St. Louis Avenue in north city. It serviced 170,000 patrons in the first full year of operation. It would be the last public bath house constructed in St. Louis and the last one to remain open. It’s also the only one of the original bath house buildings that still stands today.

As the 20th century progressed, technology continued to make the process of bathing simpler. In the 1920′s, the cast iron bathtub coated with porcelain began to be mass-produced. The end of World War II brought in the housing boom and the mass flight to the suburbs. It became standard for homes to be built and refitted with private bath facilities. By the 1960′s, the need for public bath houses had all been eliminated. The final facility to remain open in St. Louis, Bath House #6, ceased operations in 1965.

Municipal Bath House #6 still stands today at 1120 St. Louis Avenue in north city. It likely goes unnoticed by the vast majority people who drive near it in order to visit a St. Louis landmark just up the street, the famous Crown Candy Kitchen.

Municipal Bath House #1
The Drink
Soulard Restaurant & Bar

Well, here’s a post I really struggled to find a drink for. How does one tie drinking to a bath house? Even with the thousands of bizarre cocktail recipes and names that exist today, few have any sort of reference to getting clean. The best I could do is when a Google search found a cocktail named the “Naked on the Bathroom Floor”.  It includes shots of tequila, Rumple Minze, Jägermeister, Wild Turkey, Goldschlager, and cinnamon schnapps served on the rocks in an old-fashioned glass.  Obviously, this drink is meant for people who plan to end up like its name.

Well, there’s no way in hell I’m going near a potion like that. So, I turned my attention to finding a watering hole located near one of the original bath houses. This turned out to be an easy solution. Sitting at the corner of 7th and Soulard, the same intersection where Public Bath House #2 once stood, is Soulard’s Restaurant and Bar. I’ve been to Soulard’s before to try their bread pudding during the Taste of Soulard event, but I had never ordered a cocktail there.

The interior of Soulard’s is attractive and they have a well stocked bar. I ordered my standard Manhattan cocktail to see what I’d get. I ordered it with Maker’s Mark, but I did not provide any further instruction.

They served it straight up in a cocktail glass with a good 2:1 ratio of bourbon and sweet vermouth (I did not see which brand of vermouth was used). It was shaken (sigh), but no big deal.  I was happy to get it straight up.

NOTES: A big boost to my research for this post was provided by two sources. First, the Central Library in downtown St. Louis finally reopened. After two years, I was finally able to walk back into that wonderful building. The new “St. Louis Room”  simply blew my mind. Writing this blog just got much easier.

Second, the fine people at Landmarks Association of St. Louis again went above and beyond. I called Landmarks for some help, and when I showed up, they had a stack of articles, clippings, and books ready for me to look through. My initial goal was just to find where the original six bath houses were located, but they provided much more. Notably, Landmarks set me up with an article from the Fall 1989 issue of Gateway Heritage magazine titled “The Politics of Public Bathing”. It became the main source of much of the information in this post. If you read this blog regularly, please consider becoming a member of Landmarks or donating to them. They are a wonderful organization that strives for historic preservation in St. Louis.

November 26th, 2012 by Cameron

The Fanciulli & More Tower Grove

Using a Garmin for the Bike-a-Sketch

Recently, a few readers have hinted to me that Distilled History has been a bit heavy on the History. I’ve been told the Distilled side of things needs a bit more love. Looking back at my latest posts, I think my readers have a point. It’s time I get back to drinking.

With that in mind, I’m going to try keep the history to a minimum in this post. Instead, I’ll describe a great drink and add a bit more to the fun I first introduced in the Tower Grove Park & A Fantastic Manhattan post. Since writing that post, I’ve created a few more Tower Grove Park drawings (or “Bike-a-Sketches”, as they have come to be known).

To make these, I plot a drawing out using Tower Grove Park as a canvas. Using a bicycle and a GPS, I ride around the park like a complete fool and track the route. When it’s done, I export the route to Google Earth save the image. The fun of doing this is starting to wear off, but they do make for interesting rides to work.

Flower Bike-a-Sketch: I get a kick out of using the main roundabout in Tower Grove Park for these sketches. Since that’s where most of the traffic is each morning, it’s also where I get most of the curious looks from people trying to figure out what the hell I’m up to.

Bike-a-sketch: Flower

I Heart Mom Bike-a-Sketch: Did this one to celebrate my Mother’s 67th birthday in September. I can’t deny it. I am a Momma’s boy, and I heart my Mom.

Bike-a-Sketch: I Heart Mom

I Love Fried Chicken Bike-a-Sketch: My mother also makes the best fried chicken in the world. I drew this one the week before she came in for a visit. Read between the lines and it says “Mom, you will make me fried chicken when you get to St. Louis”.

Bike-a-Sketch: Chicken Leg

Turkey Bike-a-Sketch: Although I’m told this turkey looks pretty good, it’s not anywhere what I hoped it would be. The head looks awful and the feathers are a bit rough. The turkey on paper was far prettier.

Bike-a-sketch: Happy Turkey Day

The Drink
Olio Cocktail Menu

Another reason I chose to focus on the drink in this post is because I found another place in St. Louis that makes a great one. As I sit here writing this, I’m still elated about the fantastic cocktail I had a few days ago in the McRee Town (er, I mean Botanical Heights) neighborhood. It’s located just a few blocks north of Tower Grove Park.

Before I even get to discussing the drink, it’s important to mention the building. Just a few years ago, if you drove through the intersection of Tower Grove and McRee, you’d see a 1930′s gas station in a severe state of disrepair.

Drive through the intersection today, and you’ll see a fully restored structure housing Olio, a wine bar operated by Ben Poremba.

Olio is actually only one-half of Mr. Poremba’s recently completed project. Behind the restored gas station is Elaia, a restaurant in a restored 1890′s house. Elaia serves Mediterranean cuisine, but I did not dine on my visit. I came for the drink experience at Olio, and it went very well.

Olio

Olio has everything I want in a drinking establishment. First of all, it’s in the city of St. Louis. It sits in a structure that someone took the time to renovate and improve. I fully support projects that preserve historic buildings and neighborhoods in St. Louis. Obviously, it’s even better when I am able to drink in them. Olio has provided that opportunity. Score one point for them.

Second, the staff at Olio is knowledgeable and attentive. John Fausz, the bar keeper who served me, took the time to meticulously prepare the cocktail I ordered. He was extraordinarily friendly and offered additional information about the drink. Olio, you score another point.

Fernet-Branca

I ordered a Fanciulli, which is a close relative to the Manhattan.  The big difference (and I do mean “big”) is that a Fanciulli replaces the bitters ingredient of the Manhattan with fernet. Fernet is an aramo, which is Italian for “bitter”.  It’s made from dozens of herbs, fungi, bark, roots, and spices to create a remarkably sharp and complex taste.

To the uninitiated, it’s said that drinking fernet can be something like taking a blow to the side of the head. It’s so strong that it can easily overwhelm any other ingredients in a drink. In an article for the Atlantic Monthly, Wayne Curtis tells a good story to validate this. In 1960, the Broadway actress Betsy von Furstenberg was suspended from Actor’s Equity Association (the labor union for live theater) because she spiked Tony Randall’s drink with it. He thought he’d been poisoned with iodine.

In many parts of the world, Fernet is used as a digestif and is considered to be an effective remedy for hangovers. It’s extremely popular in Argentina, where it’s considered by many to be the national drink.

At Olio, the Fanciulli is served with rye, Capano Antica vermouth, and Fernet Branca. It’s served neat. And here is where Olio closed the deal. As the bar keeper served my cocktail, I was told the story behind the Fanciulli.

Sorry folks, but it seems I can’t avoid the history side of things after all.

Fanciulli Cocktail at OlioMy new friend John informed me the cocktail is named after Fernando Fanciulli, an Italian immigrant who had success composing martial music. In 1892, Fanciulli was selected to lead the Marine Band in Washington, replacing the legendary John Philip Sousa. For a few years, Fanciulli enjoyed success leading the band and composing his own marches, but he chaffed at the lasting legacy of his predecessor.

Fanciulli's Band

While on parade in 1897, a military officer asked Fanciulli to have his band play a Sousa march so the men could march in “full swing”. Fanciulli didn’t take the request kindly. He sternly replied that he’d play what he saw fit. Taken aback, the Lieutenant responded by issuing a direct order to Fanciulli, demanding he play Sousa’s “El Capitan”. Fanciulli again vehemently denied the request. The Lieutenant responded by issuing an order to have Fanciulli arrested and brought up on charges.

In less than a week, Fernando Fanciulli was court martialed and dishonorably discharged from the military.

Fortunately, Fanciulli had someone in his corner. The Secretary of the Navy at the time, Theodore Roosevelt, ruled the sentence was too harsh. He overturned the ruling and Fanciulli was able to quietly serve out the remainder of his enlistment.

Fanciulli soon moved to New York City to lead the 71st Regiment Band. After daily performances in Central Park, Fanciulli would often spend his evenings at the Waldorf Astoria Hotel on Park Avenue. As Olio’s menu suggests, it was here that the “brooding and bitter” Fanciulli would order the drink that shared these qualities and would soon share his name.

August 30th, 2012 by Cameron

The St. Louis Schools of William B. Ittner

William B. Ittner

In 1897, a man named William B. Ittner became the Commissioner of School Buildings for the Board of Education in St. Louis.  It was a new position, created to oversee an ambitious plan to design and build scores of new public schools in St. Louis city. Before this, school buildings in St. Louis were vastly unappealing structures. Almost resembling prison blocks, school buildings were uniformly dark, dreary, and overcrowded. Simply put, attending public school in 19th century St. Louis was an uncomfortable and unhealthy experience.

Growing up in St. Louis, William Ittner attended city public schools. The experience of learning in a cold box-like building must have made a significant impact on him. After attending Washington University’s Manual Training School, he earned a degree in architecture from Cornell University. Upon returning to St. Louis, he began a successful career working in a few private architecture firms and on his own. When he landed his new job for the Board of Education in 1897, Ittner would apply his experience and knowledge to completely revolutionize school building design.

Ittner introduced what would eventually be called the “open plan”. His new school designs used natural lighting, open spaces, unique classroom designs, attractive exteriors, and improved safety features. Instead of a simple four-sided box, his schools implemented E-, U-, or H- shaped floor plans. Corridors were lined up along large windows, allowing sunlight to spill in and fill open spaces. His schools were the first in St. Louis to have indoor plumbing, heating, and adequate ventilation. Proper fire proofing became a priority for the first time.

School building exteriors became canvases for works of art. His father owned a brick factory, so he knew how to utilize different colors and textures of brick to create appealing designs. He incorporated towers, cupolas, and grand entrances that made schools look like civic monuments instead of plain brick boxes. Most importantly, his schools were designed to create a safe, healthy, and warm environment that fostered learning.

Walnut Park School

Ittner would design over fifty schools in St. Louis over the next eighteen years. At the same time, he built a national reputation. Architects, educators, and tourists from around the country traveled to St. Louis to see his designs in person. Thus, he began designing schools for other cities around the country. As a result, he is credited with the design of over 430 schools nationwide.

Today, forty-eight Ittner school buildings still stand in St. Louis city. Several more can be found in the county (including Maplewood High School and University City High School). His legacy is not limited to school buildings. He is the architect of three of the most notable buildings in St. Louis: The Continental Life Building, the Scottish Rite Cathedral, and the Missouri Athletic Club.

I decided to head out into St. Louis and find his schools. Over the course of a few days, I biked and drove all over St. Louis locating each one of them. The result was one of the most entertaining weekends I’ve had in some time.  It became something like a treasure hunt, sending me into neighborhoods and parts of the city I had never been.  I even met some friendly people who wondered what I was up to.  One particular gentleman walked me around and showed me some interesting features of the school he attended as a child.

I needed help, however. Since Ittner had such an influence on future school architects, many schools built after his tenure look almost identical to his.  To make sure I had the right schools, I went down to Landmarks Association of St. Louis to get some assistance.  The staff at Landmarks went above and beyond what I expected. Not only did they answer any question I threw at them, they let me review their entire survey of William B. Ittner schools. I thought forty-six schools existed, but Landmarks helped me determine two I had missed. After a quick ride to find them, I had pictures and notes for every Ittner school still standing.

Starting with his first school Eliot, and ending with his last school Mullanphy, here are the forty-eight schools still standing in St. Louis city. Each thumbnail is a link to a larger image and a bit more information about the school.

Several of the buildings remain open as functioning schools today (Blow, Clark, McKinley, Farragut, Mann, Sigel, Soldan, Sumner, etc.), while others are empty and for sale (Simmons, Lafayette, Marshall, Shepard). Many have been remodeled and are now apartments or condominiums (Field, Arlington, Emerson, Franklin, Harris Teacher’s College, Monroe), while others are being used for other purposes such as magnet schools or for special purposes (Shaw, Humboldt, Madison). Sadly, a few are in a severe state of disrepair (Rock Springs, Central/Yeatman High, Jackson). Carr School, located just north of downtown, is perennially on Landmarks Association’s list of the most endangered buildings in St. Louis. Just a few blocks away sits Henry School, which looks like it could have opened yesterday.

William B. Ittner Schools
It’s believed Ittner met an artist named Henry Chapman Mercer at the World’s Fair in 1904. Shortly after, beautiful mosaics designed by Mercer began being incorporated into the exterior walls of new Ittner schools. The mosaics at Carr are especially noteworthy. At Farragut Elementary in north city, a gentleman from the neighborhood walked me around and showed me a lion head fountain. It worked when he attended the school as a child, but it’s since been filled with cement.
Ittner School Features
Several of the schools are on the National Register of Historic Places (Carr, Clark, Eliot, Emerson, Field, Jackson, Mann, Rock Spring, Soldan, Sumner, Wyman, etc.). However, many consider Soldan High School on Union Boulevard to be the premier Ittner design. The school features towers, intricately carved stonework, fireplaces, a grand auditorium, and a beautifully tiled cafeteria. At the time of construction, even the lavatories and locker rooms in Soldan were being compared to fine hotels of the day.
Ittner School Features
Getting out to find the Ittner schools will take you to every corner of the city of St. Louis. Most can be identified by a cornerstone chiseled with the schools name, date of construction, and his name, Wm B. Ittner. Here’s a Google Earth map showing the location of each school.

St. Louis Ittner Schools

The Drink
Mosaic Lounge

Initially, I struggled with the drink aspect of this post. At first, I figured I’d just head to a bar or lounge near one of the schools. This idea didn’t seem quite right since a random bar has nothing to do with Ittner or a school it may sit near. Fortunately, the good folks at Landmarks helped me out again (albeit unknowingly).  While at their office, they informed me that the architecture firm that William B. Ittner founded after his job with the city of St. Louis still exists.  I left Landmarks and walked over to the building (it was located just a couple blocks away). To my great delight, the tapas bar Mosaic sits on the ground floor of the building that houses Ittner’s firm. After work, I headed over to Mosaic to see what kind of drink I could get.

I learned a few things at Mosaic. First, I learned that Mosaic makes a pretty good Manhattan. The recipe on their classic cocktail menu calls for Buffalo Trace Bourbon and Cinzano Sweet Vermouth. I ordered it straight-up, but I made no mention of my preference for shaken or stirred. I wasn’t happy with the presentation (they shook it and served it in a rocks glass), but I still liked the taste. Buffalo Trace was new to me, and I’ve always enjoyed Cinzano in my Manhattan.

Mosaic Manhattan

Second, I learned that I need to shut my trap about the topics I’m researching for this blog. The bartender saw me taking notes, so she asked what I was up to. I told her I was writing a post about William B. Ittner (she had never heard the name) and that I needed to find a drink that relates to him somehow.  When I explained that’s how I found myself at her bar, she rolled her eyes and looked at me like I was a complete nerd. She may be right, but I had a shitload of fun nerding out for this post.

This has easily the most enjoyable topic I’ve tackled in the young life of this blog. I enjoy exploring the parts of St. Louis I haven’t seen, and William Ittner took me to dozens of new places. A few of the areas were a bit rough around the edges (to say the least), but I love those parts of St. Louis. It’s why I write this blog. There are stories all over this town.

In conclusion, a few of the Ittner schools are worthy of their own post (Soldan, Sumner, Carr). I assume I’ll be retracing my steps and coming back to William B. Ittner in the future. Stay tuned.

 

August 21st, 2012 by Cameron

Tower Grove Park & A Fantastic Manhattan

Pictorial St. Louis 1875: Tower Grove Park

Most St. Louisans will agree that Forest Park is the flagship park of their city. Bigger than Central Park in New York City, Forest Park has museums, golf courses, restaurants, lakes, fountains, trails, and countless other amenities. It’s a magnificent park.  The site of the 1904 World’s Fair, I’d go as far as saying it’s the most cherished acreage in the entire metropolitan area.

But go to Forest Park on a weekend and it’s like walking into Woodstock during the Summer of Love. It’s bedlam. People are everywhere.  Cars are everywhere. It has a zoo, so wild animals are everywhere. The paths are filled with bratty rollerbladers and cranky runners . Worst of all,  Lance Armstrong wannabes zip around at twenty miles per hour on the most congested bike path in the city.

Catalpa Tree in Tower Grove Park

Tower Grove Park,  on the other hand, is a bit more subdued. It’s much smaller than Forest Park, but at almost 300 acres, it’s still the second largest park in St. Louis by more than 100 acres. It’s more laid-back, quieter, and it’s rarely crowded. The paths are wider and the roads aren’t congested. Tower Grove recreation leagues like softball (where I play) aren’t ultra-competitive (and unlike Forest Park, you can bring your own beer). It’s location reflects the diversity of the neighborhood it sits in. Tower Grove is where you can find the Festival of Nations, the Pagan Picnic, and PrideFest. It also has a great Farmer’s Market that many of my foodie friends make a habit of visiting each Saturday.

This may ruffle some feathers, but in my opinion, Tower Grove Park is also prettier. Tower Grove sits on the southern edge of the Missouri Botanical Garden. The two go hand in hand since Henry Shaw, the founder of the Garden,  was the original owner of Tower Grove. In 1868, Shaw deeded the land to the city of St. Louis for the purpose of creating an urban park for St. Louisans to enjoy. At the time, the largest park in St. Louis was Lafayette Park, at just over 30 acres. Shaw’s plan called for park that spread over 276 acres. The only conditions Shaw imposed on his gift were 1) that it “shall be used as a park forever,” and 2) that an “annual appropriation” be made by the city “for its maintenance”. Today, Tower Grove Park is run by a Board of Commissioners selected by the Missouri Supreme Court. That board makes an annual report to the St. Louis Board of Aldermen, but it is not under the direction of the city of St. Louis.

Henry Shaw

Shaw himself was instrumental in the planning, design, and creation of the park. He oversaw the planting of thousands of trees, plants, and shrubs. Some of the trees Shaw planted are still standing today.  The care Shaw took in designing this open space is still apparent to visitors today. In fact, Tower Grove Park has a greater variety of shrubs and trees than any other urban park in the country. Today, Tower Grove Park holds over 7,500 trees, representing over 325 varieties. Many of the trees standing in Tower Grove are some of the finest specimens native to the state of Missouri.

Tower Grove is also home to a diverse population of wildlife. The park’s bird life list is now well over 200 species, making it a popular place for birders to visit. A couple of years ago, a coyote famously made her home in Tower Grove for a few weeks. Named “Gal” by the local press, someone even created a Facebook page for her. After picking up a few thousand “likes”, Gal moved on to greener pastures.

I bike through Tower Grove Park on my commute to work each day. As I have already mentioned in a previous post, I recently decided to see how many days in row I could bike to work (currently at 113). I love riding to work, but it sometimes gets a bit repetitive. It also takes longer to bike to work, so sometimes my mind wanders. I needed to do something to break up the monotony. As a result, I’ve turned Tower Grove into my own special canvas. A friend of mine dubbed them “Bike-a-Sketches”.

For years, I have used a hand-held GPS to track my ride. A friend gave me an idea that I could actually draw things with these routes, and I saw someone on the Internet do something similar on foot. So, I set out and made my first “Bike-a-Sketch” to celebrate my 100th day of riding to work. I had fun doing it, so I’ve kept it going. Here are all the Bike-a-Sketches I’ve done so far.

Bike-a-sketch: 100 Days

Pencil Bike-a-Sketch: This is the most recent Bike-a-Sketch. I actually do quite a bit of plotting and mapping before I go on the ride. I have also started using markers for certain points. My planning wasn’t so good for this one. I had to get around the Piper House, which makes it look like someone took a bite out of my pencil.

Bike-a-Sketch: Pencil

Zipper Bike-a-Sketch: This was easily the most difficult. I had to go very slow and it wasn’t really very fun to do. No more zippers.

Bike-a-Sketch: Zipper

Manhattan Bike-a-Sketch: I can’t get my head around people drinking a Manhattan on the rocks. I know it happens, I know people like it, I just don’t understand it.

Bike-a-Sketch: Manhattan

Fishing Bike-a-Sketch: This one seems to be the most popular among my friends. Unfortunately, some people have claimed I simply Photoshop these and I’m not really riding them on a bike. I have proof, however: GPS track records and eyewitnesses. You doubters can sod off.

Bike-a-Sketch: Fishing

Finally, here’s one of my favorite photographs taken at Tower Grove Park back early in the 1900′s. The man driving the car is Gus Meyer, a man who worked as a servant at the Campbell House for thirty-seven years. There are a couple good stories about Gus. If any readers are interested in hearing them, head over to the Campbell House in downtown St. Louis for a fun and informative tour.

Gus Meyer in Tower Grove Park

The Drink
Millionaire Manhattan

It’s tough to tie a drink to the history of a park. For this post, I simply went and found the drink I wanted.  After a busy day giving tours at the Campbell House Museum, I wanted a good Manhattan. No need for the “what will I get” game on this day. Recently, a few people (including a reader of this blog) told me that a great Manhattan can be found at Sanctuaria, a tapas restaurant in the Forest Park Southeast neighborhood. Many St. Louisans may know this area by its new trendy name “The Grove”.

For the record, “The Grove” is the name of the business district Sanctuaria sits in. It’s a catchy name that a few of the businesses came up with a few years ago. I think that’s fine, since it’s an area that has been getting better and better in the last few years.  There are some great bars and restaurants to go to in the Grove. However, the name of the neighborhood is “Forest Park Southeast”.  Since I’m kind of snobby about these things, I will henceforth be telling people to drink cocktails at Sanctuaria in Forest Park Southeast. Whatever neighborhood you want to call it, know that you are going to get a damn good cocktail at Sanctuaria.

Millionaire Manhattan

I knew this the minute I walked in. Sometimes you can just tell you are going to get a well-made drink. I saw fresh fruit behind the bar, a diverse liquor selection, and more varieties of bitters than I’ve ever seen in one place.

I sat down and asked for a menu so I could see what sort of special cocktails Sanctuaria offered. Right away, the “Millionaire Manhattan” caught my eye. With high-end ingredients such as Parker’s Heritage Bourbon and Carpano Antica Sweet Vermouth, It had a thirty-two dollar price tag. Since I essentially write a blog about the drink, I don’t think there’s any question here. Game on.

Since ordering this drink, a few people have called me crazy for spending $32 on one drink. I think that is absurd. Ingredients matter. Go to baseball game and you’ll spend ten bucks on warm shitty beer. Go to a movie theater and you’ll spend six bucks on corn syrup and carbonated water. You know what’s crazy? My thirteen year-old niece owns a pair of $200 Air Jordans. Do they even still make those? I’m pretty sure she’s never dribbled a basketball in her life.

For a mere thirty-two bucks, I had one of the greatest Manhattans I’ve ever imbibed. The flavor was fantastic. It had a heavy taste to it, with an array of spices and flavors that you don’t notice in a “regular” drink. The bartender (mixologist, really) who made my drink took the time to talk to me about the drink and the ingredients. He knew his stuff backwards and forwards. He let me sample the Carpano Antica on its own (unbelievably delicious). He mixed it impeccably. I savored the damn thing and I look forward to the next special occasion when I get another.

Sanctuaria's "Millionaire Manhattan"

To top off my great experience at Sanctuaria, I eavesdropped on a group of people discussing drinks to my left. I chimed in and we had it out over the Manhattan rocks vs. straight-up preference. In the end, the guy bought me another Manhattan. Can’t beat that.

There’s far more than just a good Manhattan at Sanctuaria. While there, I joined Sanctuaria’s Cocktail Club that offers 150 recipes of vintage and original cocktails. I’m looking forward to many trips back. I simply can’t recommend this place highly enough for people who enjoy well-made cocktails.

Note: Most of the information about this post was gathered directly from Tower Grove Park’s website. Not much research went into this post since much of it is common knowledge to many St. Louisans. I just wanted to show a bit of appreciation for one of my favorite places in St. Louis.

July 3rd, 2012 by Cameron

Making the Compton & Dry Map

This isn’t really a St. Louis history post. It’s just a description how I created my own version of the Compton & Dry mapped that I detailed in a previous post.  However, there’s some history in the drinking section of this post.  Read (or skip) through an you’ll learn a bit how the Manhattan, my favorite cocktail, came to be.
The Prints Arrive

The plan for my own living room version of the Compton & Dry map was to obviously recreate it on a much smaller scale. To start, I’d have each plate printed on 4×6 photo paper. Next, I’d adhere each print to a painted board that is cut slightly larger than the print itself (I wanted each plate to have a small border). Finally, I’d simply glue all 110 plates to my living room wall, recreating the entire view of St. Louis that Richard Compton and Camille Dry published in book format 137 years ago.

For printing, I needed to get high-res images of all the plates. The map is public domain, so downloading them from the Library of Congress website was an easy first step. I uploaded the images to Snapfish, ordered a 4×6 of each, and waited for the prints to arrive.
When they did arrive, I was really happy with how they came out. My only concern was that some of the prints had a noticeably darker tint. But, my goal was not to create something exact. I wanted to make it look “crafty” (for lack of a better word). I thought the color variations would likely add to that effect.
Compton & Dry Map Key

In the published book, Compton & Dry include a key for how all the plates fit together. This would obviously be my guide. As it shows in the key, there are 16 horizontal rows and 8 vertical columns. If each plate is printed as a 4×6, the map will be about 8 feet long and just under three feet high.

Overlap Example

As mentioned in the original post about this map, a closer look at adjoining plates shows Pictorial St. Louis is really not meant to be viewed as a full map.  Compton and Dry had made the decision to incorporate some overlap to the pages. It’s very noticeable when viewing certain plates that adjoin vertically.

Take note of plate 38, which sits just above plate 28 in the key. Circled white, the same building has been drawn on both plates.  The streets (Russell Ave. and Geyer Ave.) also don’t quite line up.

To help the viewer see the map as a whole, I decided to space all the plates apart by 1/2 inch. With that space, and the small border around each image, I felt the overlap would be less noticeable. I think adding this space also makes the final map look aesthetically better. Butting all the plates up against one another would make it look too cramped.

The next step was the really tedious park of the project: making the wooden boards that the prints would mount on. I started by going to Home Depot and buying some cheap pine shelving boards. I cut 110 boards, each at  a size of 4.5″x6.5″ (giving the finished plate about an 1/8″ border on each side).
Sanding the Boards
After cutting the boards, I had to sand all 110 of them. For a few days, this is where my neighbors had to think something really weird was going on. I’m pretty much already known in my neighborhood as the guy who sits on his porch at all hours reading and drinking cocktails. Adding to the mystery, I was now hauling out stacks of 4×6 boards and sanding the hell out of them for hours on end. It took some time, but I finally had them all sanded smooth. I hauled all the blocks into my basement and set up a spray paint station. I gave each board two coats of black paint with a satin finish.
Gluing the plates

Then it was on to gluing the prints to each board. For this step, I used Mod Podge, a craft glue I had never really used before.  I started with a layer of glue between each board and print. Then, I put two coats on top, covering the entire board.  I used a paintbrush to apply the Mod Podge, so each block has a bit of texture to it. I like the crafty look of it.

It took some time to get through the entire stack of 110 boards, but it was simple process. After a few days, I was ready to get all the boards up on my living room wall.

That is… until I made my first big gaffe.

The Setback

Of course, my setback would be caused by St. Louis weather. I’ve been here sixteen years and I still can’t get used to the heat that hits this town.  It gets hot here… and it’s an angry, “I will make you suffer” kind of hot.

And here’s where it haunted me again. Since I was documenting this  this project with pictures, I decided to stack all the blocks on a table and get a final shot before putting them up on the wall.

Since I still needed to plot out where the boards would actually mount on the wall, the blocks stayed stacked on the table for a few days. While stacked, St. Louis decided to ring in the first humid day of 2012. Not knowing that Mod Podge gets very tacky in humid weather, I soon discovered that many of the plates had glued together. I tried to carefully pull them apart, (and I may have cried a bit as I did ), but I was only able to  salvage a few. About twenty plates needed a new layer of glue, but about thirty prints and blocks needed a complete replacement. Ugh.

So, it was back to the hardware store for more wood, back to the craft store for more Mod Podge, and back to Snapfish for more prints. I cut the new boards, sanded them, painted them, and Mod Podged them again. The enthusiasm for this project was long gone, but I trudged on. To make sure I didn’t make the same mistake twice, I sprayed all of the boards with three coats of acrylic sealant to eliminate any potential tackiness.

Plate Placeholders

The step that I thought was going to be the most difficult actually turned out to be the one of the easiest. I was really concerned about making sure the prints were level when mounted on the wall. I was terrified that I’d have 110 plates mounted on the wall and somebody would walk in, look at my project, and promptly say “It slants to the left”.

To make sure I’d get it right, I mocked everything up with numbered pieces of foam board. I used mounting putty to temporarily hold them all in place.

I snapped a level chalk line on my wall where the first row would mount.  I worked from the center, adding a piece of foam board 1/2″ offset from the left, right, top, and bottom of a previously mounted board. I made a 1/2″ spacer out of wood to help make sure the boards were offset by the same distance on all sides.
Plates Going Up

The next step was to replace the foam boards with the finished boards. Again, worried that I’d create something off-kilter, I used mounting putty to stick the boards to the wall and make sure it all looked level. The whole map went up in this manner before permanently gluing anything.

And here’s where my final setback comes in. As I put the final board up, I had a gaping hole in the middle of my map. Where in hell did plate 51 go?

Where in Hell is Plate 51?

I scoured the house looking for the rogue plate 51 (maybe the cat hid it?). After a couple of days of fruitless searching, I had to go back and make another board. Not tough, but very frustrating being so close to the end of the project.

Finally, the last step was to glue the boards on the wall using Liquid Nails.  I used mounting putty again to secure the bottom of the board, holding it in place for a few minutes while the glue cured. It worked perfectly because as it set, I’d verify it’s place with the spacer and level.

The gluing actually took much longer than I expected, but the project was finally completed on May 25, 2012. It took about two months total to complete. Two days later, I showed it off to everyone at my Memorial Day barbecue.  I’m happy to say that the final result is even better than I hoped for. And nobody told me it slants left. Below is a series of photographs stitched together to show the map in its full glory.

Pictorial St. Louis
The Drink
Since there’s really no history in how I put that map up on my wall, I’ll throw some history into the drink side of things. And there’s no drink better to start with than my personal favorite, the Manhattan cocktail.
Manhattan Cocktail

Today, the martini is often referred to as the “King of Cocktails”, but the Manhattan actually came first. Before discussing  how the Manhattan came to be, it’s important to understand the meaning of the term “cocktail”.  Today, a cocktail is  considered anything with alcohol in it. In truth, the Choco-licious Martini you ordered at Applebee’s is not a real cocktail, nor is the straight shot of tequila you chased with a PBR. The original definition of a cocktail is far more precise: It is a drink that contains a spirit, is sweetened with sugar, is diluted with water, and is spiced with bitters.

People with knowledge of the recipe know that only one more ingredient is needed for a Manhattan cocktail: Vermouth. Originally made in Italy and France, vermouth is a fortified wine that was initially used for medicinal purposes. In the mid 1800′s, people started mixing vermouth into cocktails. In America, the red, sweet, Italian kind became especially popular. That’s where the Manhattan (followed closely by the martini) got its start. Here’s one of the earliest recorded recipes of the Manhattan, taken from the 1884 publication How to Mix Drinks – Barkeeper’s Handbook.
EarlyManhattan Recipe

What’s really interesting to me about this recipe is the type of whiskey is not specified. I had been told the original Manhattan recipe insists on rye whiskey. Actually, David Wondrich, author of the terrific book Imbibe! writes that of the twenty or so pre-prohibition recipes he consulted, only four specify which type of whiskey to use, and two of them call for bourbon. Wondrich elaborates that the type of whiskey is not as important as the proof. In his opinion, 100 proof rye will make an ideal Manhattan, but 100 proof bourbon will make a better Manhattan than 80 proof rye.

Jennie Jerome

The actual origin of the Manhattan is still debated today. A popular story is that the drink was invented for an inaugural banquet held by Jennie Jerome, Winston Churchill’s American mother. According to the story, she asked a bartender to make a special drink in honor of Samuel J. Tilden, the 1876 Democratic Presidential nominee. A good story, but there’s no truth to it. Jennie Jerome was in Oxfordshire giving birth to baby Winston at the time of the inaugural balls in 1876.

What is known is that it’s named for the New York city borough where it was invented. Many sources credit the cocktails origin to a bartender by the name of “Black” at a bar located on Broadway near Houston street.

Today, the Manhattan is still considered one of the classic cocktails. It is often the subject of wide variation, with some bartenders serving it on the rocks in an old-fashioned glass (shudder). Other variations include the Rob Roy, which uses Scotch whiskey, and the Dry Manhattan, which uses dry vermouth instead of sweet.

Many of these variations will be discussed (and debated) in this blog going forward.

Notes:

As mentioned earlier in this post, the book Imbibe! by Davide Wondrich is a great book to learn about the history of specific drinks and cocktails. Focusing more on the craft of making drinks, the Joy of Mixology by Gary Regan is another great resource.

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