How the Celebration Took Shape.
It is worth while looking into the way the celebration shaped itself. Much was written about it as it occurred. In a general way its story is common property, and its great success is history. The centennial of Robert Fulton’s most notable achievement—the first voyage of his steamboat up the Hudson—fell in the year 1907. It did not pass without notice at the time, but the proposal to make it the central point of a municipal festival at once brought to mind that in another two years (namely, in 1909) would occur the ter-centenary of Henry Hudson’s discovery and navigation of the great river. Here then, was a chance for a dual display. The recent date and comparative failure of the St. Louis Exposition, combined with New York’s distaste for the prolonged inattention to its real business involved in an international exposition, decided against the exposition idea. A commission, to be called after the two men whose memory the celebration was to honor, was formed by Act of the Legislature. It was given a large fund by the State. New York City followed with another large sum, and private local patriotism and civic pride followed with large subscriptions. The commission was well-founded and amply funded. At its head was placed the veteran soldier, lawyer, Congressman, diplomatist and man of affairs, General Stewart L. Woodford, whose courtly presence, gentle bearing, handsome face, white hair and beard gave a pictorial dignity to the office hard to find elsewhere. But the active leadership, the real working headship of this affair great in scope and multifariousness, fell upon Hermann Ridder, a New-York-born German-American of great executive skill, whose resolute uprise in the world of journalism and whose wide acquaintance with the city, social, racial, religious, industrial and financial, bespoke his fitness. To aid him were appointed many men of standing in the city, but while they came and went at his call, and attended this meeting and that, one and all they agreed that since the work had fallen on such competent shoulders there they would carefully allow it to remain. Mr. Ridder took up the burden and carried it, carried it through. He shirked nothing, he directed everything, he organized his staff of helpers, artistic and clerical, and kept them busy. He looked after the formation of the working committees who would work out the enormous detail which the naval, military, police, social, artistic and publicity problems involved. Then he let the committees work, and wisely dealt with results. So, he kept an even keel, if one might put it that way, amid the occasional storms that will arise in such cases. The city surely owes him something for his whole-hearted devotion and unwearying service that did not cost the city a cent, and insured the memorable success of a great festival worthy of the greatest city on the continent, all the sooner for his work, perhaps, to be the greatest city in the world.
The celebration, then, was arranged on a scale more elaborate than anything theretofore undertaken by an American municipality, and in this the Commission was seconded by the wonderful natural setting of the city, fronting the expanse of the harbor and with broad rivers on either side of the long tongue of land—Manhattan—that gently uplifts its serried lines of stately homes and massive buildings, from South to North. One of these rivers, the Hudson, a stream noble in itself and the scene of the great suggestive feats of Henry Hudson and Robert Fulton, invited special attention. It was, therefore, early decided that New York’s tribute to these two great men and grand memories should share its functions between land and water. Accordingly while a section of the Commission planned land decorations, parades, assemblies, illuminations and banquets to fill an entire week, the officers busied themselves first with the Federal government at Washington to invite the naval powers of the world to send warships wreathed in flowers, as it were, and asking for a mighty squadron of our own ocean thunderers to greet the armored Tritons from oversea. Then Holland, in whose service Henry Hudson sailed the blue waters, offered a gift of unique kind, namely a duplicate of the little ship, Half Moon, in which Hudson traversed the Atlantic and ascended the river that has rightly come to bear his name. It was not strange, then, that the Commission should resolve to build a replica of that other historic craft, the Clermont, in which Fulton first went up the same river under steam.
From these starting points it was not so difficult to outline the rest of the water programme. There should be a ceremony of receiving the two historic craft down the bay and conducting them in a mighty parade consisting of all the steam craft plying the nearby waters, ranged in a fair flotilla up Hudson’s River passing the long range of seven miles of warships and, after a ceremony of reception, returning in like order to their berths and piers. There should be on land and water a grand illumination by night with fireworks of the most spectacular kind. There should again be a beautiful water pageant when the Half Moon and the Clermont were escorted up the river that the towns and cities along its banks might partake of the glory of the time. They would let the procession of ships from New York end their pilgrimage at Newburg and there let another flotilla conduct the memorial ships to Albany where the river narrows and shoals. So was the unique water side of the celebration outlined. For the land side the preparations were on an equally grand scale, but here they were dealing with more familiar material. We had had festival parades of like kind before; now we were to have more of them than ever and each one to be more marvellous of its kind than anything before conceived. No less than three great processions were arranged—a grand civic procession illustrating in floats three centuries of New York’s history, and made up of the men of the forty races and nationalities of which our population is compounded; a military parade to display every branch of our army service, state and national, and in which details of sailors and marines from the foreign warships as well as our own, should paradoxically testify to international brotherly love by marching peacefully together armed to the teeth. Lastly was designed a Carnival parade—a night march, devoted to artistic symbols on illuminated floats and conducted by costumed thousands from the German, Austrian and Swiss societies of the City.
It was natural to call on the city to drape and decorate its buildings lavishly, to arrange for general illumination: to design a finely pillared Court of Honor on Fifth Avenue just below 42d St. and hang it with mazes of electric lights, to erect a grand reviewing stand facing the Avenue and with its back to the great Library Building just emerged from its scaffolding.
In such cases, many minor suggestions follow on the heels of the great ones, and the week of wonders threatened to extend indefinitely. A notable loan collection of paintings of the Dutch school was assembled for exhibition at the Museum of Art, a rare collection of Colonial furniture was also secured. Then came a reception with oratory at the Metropolitan Opera House, an Irish concert at Carnegie Hall, an opera house music festival, aquatic sports, an exhibition of flying machines and a beautiful open air fête for 40,000 school children in the parks.
In a retrospect for our particular purpose, it is as well to grasp in some such general way the chief features of the event. For the year in which it had been actually incubating New York heard little and did not care much about it, and wakened very gradually to the great festal proportions it was to take. In fact people were returning to New York from mountain and seaside after the heats of Summer before they clearly understood how much was afoot in the way of civic entertainment. New York’s self-consciousness differs from that of every other American city. There is, for instance, no feeling that its greatness needs proclamation. It is not worried about its growth: it has been always growing. It is imaginatively undisturbed about its future: it is too busy to trouble about its past. Perhaps it has never taken to any civic phrase more kindly than describing itself as “little old New York,” while it knows it is not little, and if it has any municipal thrill it is over its modernity. Here was something coming which might be thought of as an attempt to awaken “the Chicago feeling” in Gotham—that is a somewhat delirious sensation of the bumptious and divinely ordained, the throbbing of the inflamed nerve of Destiny. In a way of its own New York gave way to it. The city began to hum, and when the time came in September’s days of warm colors and genial airs the people were ready to cheer, to march, to sail in line, to celebrate.