In today's Media Monday post, former Hudson River Maritime Museum intern and current DEC educator Audrey Trossen tells us all about the geology of the Mid-Hudson Valley, including deposits that enabled the limestone and brickmaking industry.

Audrey wrote about the brick industry and the Haverstraw Clay Pit Disaster here on our blog during her internship. Read her article here! And then watch Audrey in the video below. 

For an even deeper look at the impact of glaciers and the Ice Age on the Hudson Valley, check out our virtual lecture with scientists and authors Bob and Johanna Titus:

​If you enjoyed this post and would like to support more history blog content, please make a donation to the Hudson River Maritime Museum or become a member today!​

Today's Featured Artifact is one of the larger pieces in our collection! This steam engine is from the Merritt-Chapman & Scott crane barge Monarch. One of four that powered the hoisting apparatus, the Monarch was built in 1894 and could lift 250 tons. 

This particular engine is one of a pair that worked to swing the crane boom from side to side. The two other engines did most of the heavy lifting, raising the boom and the hook. This engine is a compound steam engine and is in working order. The engine is on loan from Gerald Weinstein. 

Merritt-Chapman & Scott was a noted marine salvage corporation with history that dated back to the 1860s and the Monarch was just one of their many vessels. Technically an A-frame floating derrick, the Monarch was used to lift heavy items such as railroad cars and engines, turbines, and other heavy cargoes onto and off of ships and docks, as well as raise sunken vessels such as barges, tugboats, and even large steamboats. 

In the above photo, you can clearly see how the Monarch's A-frame steam derrick crane worked. Here, the hoisting engine on display at the museum is working in tandem with its partner to move the crane arm to the side in order to create safe conditions to raise (or lower) the equipment off or on the deck of the Champion. By tilting far to the right or starboard side of the barge, the crane arm is able to lift and lower straight up and down, dramatically reducing the danger that the cargo will swing and wreck either of the barges or their hoisting apparatuses. 

In this photo you can see how far over the Monarch would tilt when hoisting something heavy! The barge would often heel over like that, sometimes submerging the edge of her decks in the water. 

Merritt-Chapman & Scott went on to be involved in a number of large marine construction projects over the years, including the construction of the Kingston-Rhinecliff Bridge in 1957 and the Throgs Neck Bridge in 1961. It is unclear if the Monarch was used on either project.

The Monarch retired in the 1980s after 90 years of service. She outlasted Merritt-Chapman & Scott itself, as the company was dissolved in the 1970s. 

You can find out more about Merritt-Chapman & Scott and see more images of the Monarch by visiting the Mystic Seaport Archives, where the corporate records are held. And if you'd like to see a piece of the Monarch in person, be sure to visit the Hudson River Maritime Museum and swing by the big green machine, tucked in the corner of the East Gallery.

Editor's Note: The following text is a verbatim transcription of an article written by George W. Murdock, for the Kingston (NY) Daily Freeman newspaper in the 1930s. Murdock, a veteran marine engineer, wrote a regular column. Articles transcribed by HRMM volunteer Adam Kaplan. 

The steamboat whose history is recorded today was the third and last vessel built and named in honor of its builder- Thomas Collyer. She served on various routes for 51 years and was finally dismantled at Staten Island.

The wooden hull of the Thomas Collyer was constructed at New York in 1863. She was 196 feet long, breadth of beam 29 feet, depth of hold eight feet six inches. Her tonnage was listed at 596 gross and 410 net tons, and she was powered with a vertical beam engine with a cylinder diameter of 50 inches, with a 12 foot stroke.

Thomas Collyer, for whom the steamboat was named, had the reputation of building some of the fastest inland steamboats in America. The launching of the “Thomas Collyer” marked the completion of 37 years of steamboat construction for the builder and was also the last vessel which he built. It was the third steamboat launched under the name “Thomas Collyer.”

Soon after her appearance in New York harbor and on the Hudson river, the “Thomas Collyer” gained the reputation of being an exceptionally fast vessel. It was claimed that she could attain a speed of 21 miles per hour and this brought her the title of “Queen of the One-pipe Steamboats.” The first regular run of the “Thomas Collyer” was between New York and Newburgh in opposition to the famous “Mary Powell,” “Queen of The Hudson.” The “Thomas Collyer” left the north side of Jay street pier in New York at the same hour as the “Mary Powell,” but her term of service in opposition to the famous “Queen of The Hudson” did not last long.

The excursion business on the Hudson river and Long Island Sound was next invaded by the “Thomas Collyer,” and in 1869 she was purchased by John H. Starin and placed in service on the North Shore Staten Island and New York ferry route in line with the steamboat “Black Bird.” The “Thomas Collyer” continued on this route until 1879, when the ferry franchise was purchased by the Baltimore and Ohio Railroad Company, which consolidated the ferries at St. George and built modern ferryboats.

About this period John H. Starin built a museum at Glen Island, and the “Thomas Collyer” was placed on the Glen Island route with the rest of the Starin fleet. In 1882, the “Thomas Collyer” was rebuilt at Noank, Connecticut, renamed the “Sam Sloan,” and returned to service on the Glen Island route, where she remained until 1904. The following year found the former “Thomas Collyer” again in the excursion business on the Hudson river and Long Island Sound.

About 1910 the Starin fleet was purchased by the McAllister Steamboat Company of New York, and the “Sam Sloan,” renamed the “Atlas,” was placed in service on the Glen Island route.
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The former “Thomas Collyer” was in service until 1914, when she was found to be of no further use. She was taken to Port Richmond, Staten Island, and dismanteled. Her boiler and engine were removed and the hull sold to a yacht club in Greenville, New Jersey, for use as a club house.

​If you enjoyed this post and would like to support more history blog content, please make a donation to the Hudson River Maritime Museum or become a member today!​

Today's Media Monday post is a fun one! In 1962, "News of the Day" with Peter Roberts issued this short newsreel about Theresa Scozzafava of Jones Point, NY, who was suing the federal government for rent for the Hudson River Reserve Fleet, also known as the "mothball fleet." Check out the newsreel below, then keep reading for the whole story!

Theresa Scozzafava did, indeed sue the federal government and her court case was featured in the New York Times and the Kingston Daily Freeman. Here's what the Times had to say on March 14, 1962:

“U.S. Is Sued Over a Fleet in ‘Front Yard’ – Grandmother Seeks $10,000 Rent for Mothball Ships”

A 77-year-old grandmother will have her day in court soon in an effort to collection $10,000 from the Federal Government. She contends the Government has been parking a fleet of ships in her front yard on the Hudson River.

Mrs. Theresa Scozzafava, who lives in a gray, wood-shingled house in Jones Point, a hamlet in Rockland County, N.Y., says the Government owes the money for anchoring its mothball fleet in the Hudson in front of her property.

In her suit, filed in the Federal court for the Southern District of New York, Mrs. Scozzafava claims underwater rights extending 250 feet into the Hudson along 365 feet of the shoreline.

The suit, filed in February, 1960, contends that Mrs. Scozzafava, who is the mother of ten children, all of whom are living, acquired the underwater rights by becoming the successor of grants made by the State of New York dating back to 1814.

In May, 1960, the Government entered a challenge against the suit, arguing that the court had no jurisdiction in the matter and that the ships, known formally as the Hudson River Reserve Fleet, were in a navigable river. The Government’s challenge was denied by Judge William B. Herlands, who said the issue would have to be settled in court.

The reserve fleet numbers about 190 ships, of which about fifty are used for the storage of grain. The number of ships varies because periodically tugboats pull the grain ships down to New York Harbor, where the grain is transferred to elevators or blown into barges for eventual export. When the grain ships are emptied, they are tugged back to the reserve fleet.

The spry, white-haired grandmother has been collecting $25 a month rent from the Government since March 20, 1946. The rent was for the use of a dock and for parking privileges for Government workers’ automobiles.

Rent Increase Sought
When the Government’s lease expired in 1960, Mrs. Scozzafava, who had by then acquired additional property when her husband, Bernardo, died in 1950, sought to increase the rent.

“They offered me $25 a month and told me to ‘take it or leave it,’” she said yesterday. “I told them to take their ships away.”

In late June of 1960, Mrs. Scozzafava said, several tugboats were used to pull the ships away from her underwater property. “That proves,” she said, “they knew I was right.”

However, she contends, the ships are still infringing on her property.

Mrs. Scozzafava was joined in the suit by her daughter, Mary Springstead, and her daughter’s husband, Wesley, who also owns property along the Hudson River.

Mrs. Springstead, 53, describes her mother as a “very active woman.”

“She did the Twist last New Year’s Eve and she has a few scotches every once in a while,” the daughter said.

Sadly, Mrs. Scozzafava and her daughter did not get their day in court. According to a New York Times article published April 14, 1962, the case was dismissed by mutual consent. Mrs. Scozzafava and Mary Springstead did not want to engage in a long, drawn out court case, and so dropped the suit due to health reasons.

The Hudson River Reserve Fleet was removed from Jones Point less than a decade later. Most of the fleet was moved to the James River Reserve Fleet in Virginia, in close proximity to the Naval base at Norfolk, VA. The last of the ships left in the Hudson River were towed away for scrap on July 8, 1971. 

​​If you enjoyed this post and would like to support more history blog content, please make a donation to the Hudson River Maritime Museum or become a member today!​

Editor’s Note: The following text is a verbatim transcription of an article featuring stories by Captain William O. Benson (1911-1986). Beginning in 1971, Benson, a retired tugboat captain, reminisced about his 40 years on the Hudson River in a regular column for the Kingston (NY) Freeman’s Sunday Tempo magazine. Captain Benson's articles were compiled and transcribed by HRMM volunteer Carl Mayer. See more of Captain Benson’s articles here. This article was originally published July 17, 1977.

​In the long ago days of Hudson River steamboating, almost every city and larger village along the river had its own steamboat line to New York. Each line would have at least two boats to maintain daily service — each boat going down one day and back the next. 

The steamers of the lines north of Newburgh were known as night boats, since they usually departed in the late afternoon or early evening and arrived at their destination in the early morning. All would carry freight on their main decks, and on the deck above were staterooms which offered sleeping accommodations for passengers. 

Generally, travelling on the night boats was an extremely pleasant way to make a journey to or from New York. The river was always attractive in the evening and almost always one could count on a good night’s sleep. The exceptions were when the steamer ran into fog and the pilot had to blow the boat’s whistle, or if one had a stateroom right next to the paddle wheels. 

Saugerties was one of those towns that had its own steamboat service. The company’s name was the Saugerties and New York Steamboat Company and it was operated by mostly hometown men. During its last 20 years or so of service it was promoted (and known) to the travelling public as the Saugerties Evening Line. 
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Shortly after World War I, the outfit had two small, smart sidewheelers named “Ulster” and “Ida.” On one particular trip the Ulster left Pier 43, North river, in New York at her regular time. She had freight for all her landings, which in those days were at Hyde Park, Rhinecliff, Barrytown, Ulster Landing and Tivoli. She ended her journey at Saugerties. Most of her staterooms were also occupied.  

She made very good time until she reached Crum Elbow, just south of Hyde Park, when it started to get foggy. At the time, she was overtaking the Catskill Line freighter Storm King. Of course, the fog signals had to be sounded on both steamers. A Cornell tow was also on its way down the river, blowing the one-long-and-two-short whistle signal - indicating they had a tow underway. The helper tug back on the tow, as a matter of courtesy, was also blowing its whistle, since it was back a good 500 feet from the towing tug. 

What a racket of steam whistles that must have been in those early morning hours off Hyde Park! I suppose Franklin D. Roosevelt, if he was at home, the Vanderbilts and the great naturalist John Burroughs were awakened by all those steamboat whistles. Then, on top of all that, the big night boats out of Albany and Troy came along, sounding their whistles in the fog. 

The passengers on the Ulster sure had a tough time trying to sleep. Some were up complaining about all the whistling. Others just stayed in their staterooms and put up with it. Then, a short while later after things got reasonably quiet again, came the landing at Rhinecliff with the organized confusion of unloading freight. There would be the sound of the hand freight trucks going on and off the gangplank, and the mate sounding off to the freight handlers to get the freight off so they could get out on time. 

After leaving Rhinecliff, all was serene for a few moments except for the periodic blowing of the fog signal. However, off Astor’s tunnel they met a canal tow which was crossways in the channel and this caused more whistle blowing. After the tow was cleared came the landing at Barrytown with the noise of the freight trucks and an argument between two freight handlers, which was brought to a stop by the authoritarian voice of the mate. 

The Ulster then headed across the river to Ulster Landing. As was the custom on the night boats, a hallman would knock on the door of the stateroom of a passenger getting off at a particular landing about 10 minutes before docking, and announce the landing. Sometimes, a passenger would have to listen pretty closely, for some of the hallmen were like some of the conductors on the old West Shore Railroad — they had an odd way of pronouncing the names of the stations or landings. 

In any event, the hallman knocked on the door of the stateroom of an Ulster Landing passenger and called out, “Ulster Landing, Ulster Landing.” A lady passenger bound for Saugerties, in a stateroom or two away, also heard the knocking and the announcement “Ulster Landing.” After all the whistle blowing since Hyde Park and the noise at Rhinecliff and Barrytown, she in all probability had been sleeping fitfully and in her half-awake state thought the knock was at her door. 

When the lady heard the announcement “Ulster Landing," she may have reasoned that she was on the Ulster, and if the steamer was landing it was time to get off. In any event, she got up, got dressed and when the steamer ghosted through the fog into the dock at Ulster Landing, she was at the gangway. As soon as the gangplank was put out, she walked ashore. 

There was very little freight for Ulster Landing, so the gangplank was taken in and the Ulster was on her way for Tivoli in but a few moments. As the steamer disappeared into the fog, it must have come as a rude shock to the lady to find herself virtually alone:on a-river dock before dawn. It sure wasn’t Saugerties!

After the Ulster left the dock, there was only one kerosene lantern for light and everything was so dark and still. The only other person around was the dockmaster who was an elderly man and very hard of hearing. He got all shook up with this well dressed lady alone in the freight shed. Finally, she got him to understand the mistake she had made. The dockmaster then got a chair for her to sit in until daylight, when he got a friend of his with a horse and wagon to take her on to Saugerties. 
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I often wondered if she ever made the trip to Saugerties again by steamboat.

On Saturday we looked at a birchbark canoe in the Hudson River Maritime Museum's collection. So today we thought we'd share a couple of documentary films about traditional birchbark canoe building. 

The first is called "How Indians Build Canoes" and was published in 1946 by the International Film Bureau. It was produced by Crawley Films in collaboration with the Canadian Geographic Society. Filmed in eastern Canada (possibly Ontario) this short film, together with another called "Trappers and Traders," was originally shown as a longer film known as "Portage" (1946), which described the Canadian fur trade. The film was digitized by the American Indian Film Gallery, a project of the University of Arizona. 

The second film is an hour-long documentary about reconstructing a historic 1860s Ojibwe birchbark canoe and was produced by Lakeland PBS, a public television station in central Minnesota. 

Today's Featured Artifact is this beautiful birchbark canoe. The museum was recently notified of a project to catalog birchbark canoes in museum collections across North America into one comprehensive online resource. Of course, knowing about this one, we had to add our canoe to the digital collection!

Like many objects that get donated to museums, we don't know much about its history, except that it was built by Indigenous Algonquian people in Canada, sometime in the 1930s. It was donated to the Hudson River Maritime Museum in 1998 and is currently on display in the museum's East Gallery - you just have to look up to see it! 

Because it is currently being displayed on top of an exhibit case, we took these photos so you could see some of the beautiful interior details. Click on the images below to make them larger and click through the gallery.

This canoe is listed in the digital collection created by The Museum of Underwater Archaeology and Georgia Southern University’s spring 2021 American Indian History class, which includes over 30 museums, parks, and historical societies across North America that have traditionally built birch-bark canoes in their collections.

This digital storymap currently includes 54 bark canoes from Canada’s Northwest Territory to Savannah, Georgia.  Each organization provided photos of their canoes and information about their origins, cultural affiliations, age, and physical characteristics.  In addition, researchers visiting the storymap can download a spreadsheet containing the canoe data for analysis. The website also hosts videos on canoe construction and an interview with a traditional bark canoe builder. ​

​Theodore J. Cornu was born in New Jersey to a Swiss mother and father, the latter of whom soon abandoned Cornu, his mother and siblings. The young Cornu demonstrated an affinity for art early on and eventually found his way to a Manhattan engrossing studio, where he soon became employed as an “engrosser” hand lettering diplomas and other commemorative documents. Canoeing was popular amongst his engrossing colleagues, which led him to the boating community in Ft. Washington. His love for canoeing seems to have catalyzed his interest in both the Hudson River and Native American customs.

Driven by his passion for canoeing, he forged his way up the Hudson to explore the Croton River. Soon thereafter he made the acquaintance of Anne Van Cortlandt. The two hit it off and he was able to rent The Ferry House on the shore adjacent to The Van Cortlandt Manor House. With the passage of a few years, he become adept in the process of building canoes and typically had several in various stages of assembly on the premises.

​His activism seem to have emerged after years of enduring the oil slicks washing up the Croton River from nearby The New York Central Railroad facility, where the untreated waste from its cleaning procedures was discharged into the mouth of the Croton River. By 1933 Cornu had had enough. The fish caught in the river were said to smell and taste like oil, and Cornu was, thus, able to enlist the support of some fishermen in Crotonville who implored the State to pressure the railroad to clean up its act. They won.

​By the late thirties, Cornu was a member of four different canoeing associations and was clearly wedded to the rivers. In 1936 he joined forces with other likeminded individuals  and was involved in the founding of the  Hudson River Conservation Society. From this pulpit he preferred his own interpretation of native inspired environmental care wisdom.

Cornu was closely associated with another Croton river lover, Egon Ottinger whose wife was involved with a host of gardening associations and  often presented him to their adherents as a lecturer on “the ecology."

By the early 50’s Cornu had stepped up his profile and had formulated the basics of his Hudson Valley Echoes environmental activist group. It had no rules or dues. Members simply pledged to safeguard the rivers each according to their own skills and resources.

​By 1956, Cornu’s proximity to Croton Point gave rise to another grievance. Westchester County’s use of the point as a dump troubled him to no end. Aside from the obvious and unavoidable stench, Cornu had, since 1926 observed the loss of vital wetland bird habitat, as the county filled in marshland with garbage. His visionary leadership caused him to issue the initial salvo against the county, which persisted in using Croton Point as a disposal site until dumping was curtailed 30 years later, in 1986 by order of the courts. 

In the 1987 ”Complete Revival Program” published by Clearwater, on a page captioned “The Art River Saving,” the organization wrote that Cornu, who has passed away a year earlier  at the age of 101 “had perhaps the longest association with the Hudson River of any conservationist."

Most accounts place the start of the Modern Environmental Movement with the 1962 publication of Rachel Carson’s “Silent Spring”, or alternatively with the pitched battle against Con Edison’s “Rube Goldberg-esque” Storm King power proposal. 

The first Earth Day was celebrated on April 22, 1970, roughly a year after Cornu’s demise. By that time time Cornu had been making “good trouble” protesting and advocating for the environment over 35 years. Cornu’s unrelenting environmental activism seems to have pre-dated the “Movement” by decades. For this reason, it would seem prudent to re-examine his place in environmental history.