Lights and Shadows of New York Life / or, the Sights and Sensations of the Great City

by James Dabney McCabe

The Station Houses of the city are so arranged as to be central to their respective precincts. The new buildings are models of their kind, and the old ones are being improved as rapidly as possible. Perhaps the best arranged, the handsomest, and most convenient, is that of the Fourth Precinct, located at No. 9 Oak street. The locality is one of the worst in the city, and it is necessary that the police accommodations should be perfect. The building is of red brick, with a fine white granite façade, with massive stone steps leading from the street to the main entrance. The entrance leads directly to the main room, or office. On the right of the entrance is the Sergeant’s desk, of black walnut, massive and handsomely carved. Back of this is a fine book-case of the same material, for the record books and papers of the station. The telegraph instrument is at the side farthest from the windows—a precaution looking to its safety in case of a riot or attack on the station. Speaking-tubes, and boxes for papers, communicate with the other apartments. The walls are adorned with fine photographs of the late Superintendent Jourdan, the present Superintendent Kelso, and the Police Commissioners. Back of the office is the Surgeon’s Room, with every convenience for the performance of the Surgeon’s duties. The office of the Captain in command of the station is to the left of the entrance, and is fitted up with a Brussels carpet, and black walnut furniture. The walls are covered with fine engravings and photographs of prominent men. The Captain is also provided with a bed-room, bathroom, etc., which are elegantly furnished. The Sergeants’

bedrooms are large, airy, and well furnished. Bathrooms for the Sergeants and Patrolmen are located in the basement. The sleeping rooms of the Sergeants and Roundsmen, and four large dormitories for the Patrolmen, are situated on the second and third floors. Each Patrolman has a private closet for his clothing, etc., and each bedstead is stamped with the occupant’s section number. The fourth story is used for store-rooms. On the first floor there is also a large sitting-room for the Patrolmen.

Attached to the Station House, and connected with it by a bridge, is the prison, a brick building three stories in height. It is entered through the Patrolmen’s sitting-room, and is the largest in any city station house. It contains fifty-two cells, all of which are of a good size and are well ventilated. Four of these (Nos. 1, 16, 17, 32) are somewhat larger than the others, and are humorously called by the force “Bridal chambers.” They are reserved for the more respectable prisoners. Over the prison are two large rooms designed for the unfortunates who seek a night’s shelter at the station—one for men and the other for women. They are provided with board platforms to sleep on. These platforms can be removed, and the whole place drenched with water from hydrants conveniently located.

As a matter of course, this model station is in charge of one of the most efficient, experienced, and reliable officers of the force. It is at present commanded by Captain A. J. Allaire, whose personal and official record fairly entitles him to the high and honorable position he holds in the force.

The station houses are kept scrupulously clean. Neatness is required in every department of the police service. The Inspector may enter them at any hour, and he is almost sure to find them in perfect order.

These stations afford a temporary shelter to the outdoor poor. In all of them accommodations are provided for giving a night’s lodging to the poor wretches who seek it. When the snow lies white over the ground, or the frosts have driven them out of the streets, these poor creatures come in crowds to the station houses, and beg for a shelter for the night. You may see them huddling

eagerly around the stove, spreading their thin hands to catch the warmth, or holding some half-frozen child to be thawed by the heat, silent, submissive, and grateful, yet even half afraid that the kind-hearted Sergeant, who tries to hide his sympathy for them by a show of gruffness, will turn them into the freezing streets again. When the rooms devoted to their use are all filled, others still come, begging, ah, so piteously, to be taken in for the night. I think there is no part of the Sergeant’s duties so hard, so painful to him, as to be forced to turn a deaf ear to these appeals. Let us thank God, however, he does not do so often, and even at the risk of being “overhauled” for exceeding his duty, the Sergeant finds, or makes, a place for those who seek his assistance in this way. Many of those who seek shelter here are constant tramps, who have nowhere else to go. Others are strangers in the city—poor people who have come here in search of employment. Failing to find it, and what little money they brought with them being exhausted, they have only the alternative of the station house or the pavement. Many who are simply unfortunate, suffer almost to perishing before seeking the station house, mistakenly supposing that in so doing they place themselves on a par with those who are brought there for offences against the law. But at last the cold and the snow drive them there, and they meet with kindness and consideration. I could not here present a description of the quiet and practical way in which the members of the “Force” relieve such sufferers. No record is kept of such good deeds by the force, and the Sergeant’s book is modestly silent on this subject; but we may be sure it is written in letters of living light on the great book that shall be opened at the last day.

The stations are connected with each other and with the headquarters by telegraph. The telegraph system has been so perfected that by means of a set of numbers struck on a bell, each of which refers to a corresponding number in the book of signals, questions are asked and answered, and messages sent from station to station with the greatest rapidity.