Evening Star Newspaper, January 20, 1929, Page 83

ILLUSTRATED FEATURES Part 7—8 Pages MAGAZINE SECTION he Sunday Star, " FICTION AND HUMOR WASHINGTON, SUNDAY D. C, MORNING, JANUARY 20, 1929, Washington’s Changing Waterfront H “The oyster shells are a by-product, selling to fertilizer manufacturers for 2.cents a bushel. Federal Hill, the largest oyster ton. She mrg:s about 2,000 bushels of oysters each trip. One of the auction’ sales: . of fish, :held ‘at - the “Potomac wharf on . Friday mornings. - In the old days.. A scene before the model fish wharf was constructed, or even BY DON GLASSMAN. F it swims chances are rosy that it came from Water street. Nay, one Water street habitue will have it that “if it swims, flies, crawlsy or eats, we have it.” That, it seems, is like carrying Wall street to the Sahara. But there is no gainsaying that all pisces Washington eats derive from that odorous sector called Water street, be- tween the Bureau of Engraving and | Printing and the War College barracks. Along Water street one smells a sea. going scent that has lingered along the ‘Washington Channel for not less than & century, and probably some years longer. In fact, there are salted gentle- men whose shoes have left footprints along that waterfront for more than! 60 years. Water street—how the name trickles off the tongue!—has far more than a halcyon past. It boasts a picturesque present and an auspicious future. Soon Water street will be the center of the city. Besides the fish food | 60 y thought of. A sight to conjure with. Walt Whit- man used to come down Water street frequently. He dressed like the dock- men, and must have courted compan- jonship with herring sailors who cruised the feeding grounds, Across the channel is the Speedway, where the “dumps”: have been turned into golf links and smooth drivewa: A level line of trees, straight and even spaced, face the fish wharves. iy Below lthe fish market are passenger and excursion docks. ‘They tell along the wharves that since the new municipal market building wos erected, after the war, the aspect and outlook have changed tremendously. | The recent brick structure replaced large number of wooden, privately- owned shacks where fish merchants drove a trade in sea foods. spectors? Never heard of 'em. A man made his own sanitary laws. Usually, he did his own fishing, transporting and merchandising, too. ve lived on this whar{ more than ears,” said Capt. Jack Faunce, & former oyster boat owner, and remem- market, all manners of food dispensa-| per the time when 50 and 60 oyster nes will shortly hie themselves to this | poats anchored off this wharf at one Guarter, which has been segregated by city planners as the ideal spot for re- . ceiving, handling and selling daily ra- tions to the busy half-million. Water street, from the War College to the printery, will reek and wallow in such odors as to inspire a symphony in smells. Last week, the Potomac Freight Ter- minals Co. awarded a $500,000 contract for constructing ‘a 700-foot building to house commission merchants now driv- | ing business along the Mall. This, along with other developments, will make Water street one of the most cos- mopolitan food _foundries south of Rivington street, East Side of New York. | “ e WWHERE in the city does the air taste more savory than along the wharves on a Thursday and Friday, with half a dozen oyster sailors broad- casting odors to the Capital? What more picturesque than an oyster boat tacking to the wind> Or a weather- beaten crew climbing the ratlines and reefing sails? Or a bay captain bawl- time. Yes, sir, and they were loaded to the gunwales, too. Around about April and May one could see 20 to 25 ships freighted with herring and shad. “Those days fish were plentiful and labor cheap. When the stuff was un- loaded on the docks, farmers and store- Kkeepers from nearby towns used to come in with their wagons and buy at auction { whateyer they could resell. < | “As I was saying, back in '75 and ed off this dock, These were called | market boats and they bought oysters from dredgemen on the lower bay. know that between 600 and 700 vessels were engaged in oyster dredging at one time. Today, 90 per cent of them have quit the business. Oyster beds have petered out and the demand is not so great. L “THE oyster prices at that time weren't exactly high. I remem- ber buying and selling oysters for 30 cents a bushel. Today. fetch any- ing orders as he fingers the whesl and @kxes Lis vessel into her berth. where from $2 to $2.5088 bushel. Of course, their scarcity is the main rei Health in- ! '80 as many as 50 oyster boats anchor- | son for the increase. They can be gotten out of the bav pretty cheaply. “Thirty years ago we had a lot of drunks on the wharves. They weren't exactly what you'd ‘call wharf rats— they were too gentle and harmless for that. Every morning, as I'd come down to work, I would see them lying about like so many stranded fish. “But as far back as I can remember, \ this waterfront has been peaceful. I can't remember any outstanding | crimes, nor other things you'd write home about. No, they didn’'t do much shanghai-ing here, either. Most of that was done around Baltimore. rom being kidnaped and made to | work on an oyster boat. They used to have a hard time to recruit hands, because pay was low and the work full | of hardships. “Yes, the fish business has fallen off tremendously. The present volume { can’t compare. I might be stretching {1t a point when I say the oyster fleet iat present does not number even 12 j boats. On account of high prices, they manage to make ends meet; however, I can foresee the time when even these ( will_disappear. ! “The trucking business has sounded | | the death knell for river shipping. Over good roads autos can bring perishable | fish to marke: in a fraction of the time it takes a boat to sail' up the river. A good part of the catch is pre- | pared for consumption close to the | place the fish are caught. This does away with transporting much waste. i For instance, oysters are put up - in cans and jars for family use. There's | no need of freighting tons and tons of i only a by-product of the industry. ! “The piles of shells that accumu- t late around here are sold for two cents | a bushel. They are ground and sold to + farmers as fertilizer. Down South they use these shells in road construction work. “Nothing is wasted today. Pearl t buttons are made out of fish scales; i fertilizer out of offal, and chicken meal ! out of bones.” heavy oyster shells that are, after all, ! Now, take Seventh street. Emerging | from the Mall, it dives straight for the ! heart of the channel. For long, the city fathers have sought to do away “Who remembers”—when Washington’s fish wharf looked like this- photograph? Model Wharves and Fish Market Now Replace Unsightly Shacks of Other Days—Railroads and Trucking Sounded Death Knell of Former River Trade—City Planners to Make Water Approach Most Beautiful Marine Gateway in America. with the cobblestoneseand lay down smooth asphalt, But what is Seventh street without cobblestones? Horse- hoofs make a merry clatter, and heavy trucks sound coarse thunder as they roll over this granite pavement. Stay with this street as far as it will take you. There, you will find the car barn. What a place is the Seventh street car barn! The end of the car line here seems to mark the brink of another world. Should you be rash and fail to stop at the last station, you will find yourself swynming in the frigid water of Washington channel. All night long lights in the car barn can be seen blinking across the water. A funny place, all those flat-faced ding dongs lined up, row upon row. In ths barn are lighted pits where mechanics pry under wheels and explore the inner works of the city’s common carriers. * oK Kok O out at night and overhaul the neighborhood of the Seventh street car barn. Bgware of the harbor patrol, ! lest they take you for a prying thief. Sit down on a piling and listen to sounds that come out of this barn. On | an inky night they are wierd. Grind- 11"\'5 wheels, humming - motors. Then, “Whoa!” “Turn off the lights, Bil A frog switch clicks. From across the channel comes the faint purr of motors. Car bell clangs. Grinding wheels throw out bright sparks. On the street, lights are scarce and dim. Bang! Clang! Riveters at work. Then silence. Silence such as can only be found along the old wharf, where mem- ories cling to the streets like shadows on a moonlight night. Nondescrict people walk in the ditsance, mere black forms. A breeze from the bay. By night the water front is & polished | mirror, wherein die the reflections of houses and gaunt ships. Here on this corner stood a saloon in days when firewater ran_along the river front. One saloon? Nay, the water front was well spotted with saloons. And the street was ablaze with their light. And drinking songs were wafted across the channel by the night air. These memories lie buried beneath the cobblestones. Few horses play “click-clack-clickety-clack” now. And few sails catch the wind that hums a tune through salty canvas, The harbor i here for identifi | long cruises. is_almost free of graceful brigs and schooners. In those days they stripped the decks of spare ropes and parapher- nalia and held sprees under the ship's lantern. The vessels were piled in the harbor nose to nose, and going ashore was merely a matter of being agile in hopping from prow to prow. Hard by the car barn are three other institutions that serve the public. Al- most Qush with each other are the morgueNire department and police sta- tion. heir buildings are part of the harbor scenery as much as towering masts. The morgue, with its cupola, resembles an innocent village church; the fire department next door is a! sleepy-looking place that becomes alive on a moment’s notice, and the police station—the harbor police—stands for law along the water front. Now, the city’s business morgue’s, Rich and poor, ignorant and brilliant, old and young are brought ation. And if no one calls for a iff,” it goes the way of all flesh, back to the soil, via some medical school. for the dead, and not such an outland- ish spot to hold last services for the de- parted. Like the car barn and police station, the morgue remains open throughout the night. more msplring than a morgue along a water front by night. The harbor's haze always hangs around it. The gar- ment is a cloak of death. And the harbor police. These gentle- men are as much seamen as land lub- bers. They must know how to steer the police boat through snow, fog and night. Harbor policemen enjoy a great variety of duties. They hobnob with sea-going men who come into port from ‘They patrol the municipal fish wharf and pilot the police boat along the shaded shore. Recently the water police installed a powerful search- light beam on the prow of their boat. Night or day, they are prepared to curb lawlessness. When last Summer Col. U. S. Grant ruled that lovers shall not spoon in public parks, his decision applied to the Potomac shores as well. And now the harbor police slink quietly along the bank and suddenly throw a vivid light beam on a spot where lawlessness is suspected. But one of the important duties of the river front police is to drag is the | This morgue is a pious place | Find a place | arbors Washington’s model and modern fish wharf, down along the Potomac. A modern fish stall along the Potomac. for drowned people. In this they fre- quently co-operate with the morgue. Bodies. are fished out by the police and refrigerated in the morgue. Dredging the bottom for bodies is what might be. called.a strenuous business. In fact, at its present stage of development, it is a fine technigue. . - One of the bluecoats who .has.en- gaged in dredging for some years said that grappling for the drawned person is_a slow ordeal, save In instances where the exact spot of drowning is known. At times it is necessary to drag the bottom for a week before the search is given up. One man is as- signed to row the boat, while the other takes care of the grappling irons. Day in and out, they drag and row. “If the drowned person wore clothes, he usually is easy to find,” said the policeman. “Even a bathing suit is enough for the hooks to grapple. But if the victim has drowned wearing only his bare skin, then there is nothing to grip and we have a hard time getting the body. “This Spring we expect to have our usual crop of floaters. . You see, all Winter people disappear out of the city and no one knows where they go. In some cases these missing people commit suicide or fall into the river by acci- dent, or some one throws them in. ‘They stay down all Winter because the water is cold and gases don't form that 1 cause them to float. “But in Spring all the floaters come to life. Strange? Yes, they blow up and come to the surface. We find 'em floating down the river as if nothing | had happened to 'em. With grappling hooks, we pull the bodies on board and | hand ‘them over to the morgue. Some- times they can be identified as people before. “I wouldn't be surprised if the float- ers this Spring numbered about three | every -week. Of “course, during the ; Summer heat, a drowned body stays | below the surface only about three i days, then it comes up and floats with the current. We pick them up all Sum- mer. | “Boys swimming around the wharves i frequently fall in the water and drown. | We get rush calls on these cases and | dash to the scene and begin dragging immediately with the hope of saving a | life before it is too far gone. Oh, we pull 'em out in all stages of drowning, some one-tenth drowned, some half drowned and others all drowned.” It .is a dull place the most of the | week, the fish wharf. On cold morn- ings- a bonfire is started near ths loading platform. Expressmen, deck { hands and longshoremen gather about {and rub the chill out of their hands. What do they talk about? The new delivery truck Sam bought, and the | rising - cost of oysters, predictions on | the coming shad season; why herring don't swim up the Potomac and the unusual auction price paid last week for Spanish mackerel from Florida. Thursday morning marketers and deck hands come charged with the pros- pect of doing business and getting excited. Beginning with daylight, dealers begin buying and selling their stock for the day. Daybreak, Priday, prospective buyers gather in the auction room where cases, boxes and barrels of fish are weighed in a monstrous fish pan and offered to the highest bidder by the auctioneer. “Sixty pgunds of yellow perch, men!” he shoul “The Best catch this month. @ixty pounds of live, jumpin’, fat yellow perch. What am I offered? who had been reported missing months ; Make me- an offer. . What? Ten—ten cents! - I'm offered ten! Who'll make it eleven—even—even? Who? Hey! Look at thése fish,” bawls the auctioneer, picking up one. “Ever see such fish this year? Offered eleven: Twelve! Twww- ee-e-e-lvee! Once more! Come on, Jake. Take a hand in here. Seen bet- ter perch this stason? " Twelve! " Sold to Mike for twelve.” All about the auctioneer are heavy- coated men, some dressed in aprons, some in pea-jackets. Slick-skinned. moon-eyed fish eayort on the floor and in baskets. The cément floor is drenched with ice water. Cold to walk on. * K % X ITHOUT stands the shucking shack where oysters are taken out of calcareous shells and canned for the market. The shucker stands on a little pavilion, whose front covers him like an apron. He jabs his knife into the oyster's suture line and with a turn of the wrist pries open the valves. The jelly-like animal lies within, imbedded on a pearly couch. The shells are thrown on the ground, while the oyster goes into a bucket with other oysters. ‘The upper end of the Washington channel offers anchorage for private craft, motor boats, skiffs, yachts and outboard runners. Few of these are used during Winter months. When the waters turn warm many pleasure parties start here. In recent years the water front has gone through many changes. The model fish market was once the scene of mot- ley-colored wooden shacks which were an eyesore to city fathers and the cause of much agitation. Notwithstanding, (the wharves have been the scene of as little crime as any spot in the city. One old resident asserts that a stranger may walk Water street or adjoining thor- oughfares any hour of the night and he will never suffer harm. It always was peaceful. Back in 1889 terrapin sold for $12 a dozen. Today they fetch five times a: much. It wagn't unusual to see 150 barrels of crabs on the docks at one time. And they sold for $1 a barrel. ‘The wharves had its renowned men, great traders and fishermen. Old timers remember Jerry Gibson, Frank Raussell, Joe Trader, Bill Chaseltine and Joe Birdsall. Along the river front. they rated as high with those who watched the daily business in river and sea foods. They were men to con- Jjure with, because their annual volume amounted to about 3,000,000 clams. To give an idea of the past trade of Washington's harbor, one has onl, to hark back to old District records. There he finds that in the year 1886, thousands of vessels docked ‘at Wash-~ ington channel and discharged “every conceivable kind of freight. To wit: 110 sailing schooners brought 29,000 tons of coal; 588 schooners brought 332,000 bushels of oysters; 88 vessels unloaded 188400 watermelons; 748 vessels brought 21,000 cords of wood from the lower bay, and 186 vessels brought 16,000,000 feet of lumber. Railroads and trucking over smooth roads has spelled death to all this traffic in heavy freight. Passengers that now throng our Union Station formerly came to the city by way of the river. Besides, travelers from other cities, there -were thousands. of Capitalites who made merry on river excursion boats, The privately-owned automobile has cut out much of the excursion traffic. Early records tell that the water- front between M street and Ninth street overlookéd ‘the river from a Pt blaff about 30 feet high. A century ago a wharf stood at the intersection of Seventh and I stréeis. Travel to the heart- of the city was by way of a dirt road cut through the biuff at M- street. N About 1840 Kelly ‘Lambell's marine railway and shipyard was the foot of Ninth street. Ten years later the river front was improved to accommodate a new passenger line 'to Alexandria and the establishment of Page's ship- yard. All during the nineteenth cen- tury wharves were built and rebuilt. Construction was mostly out of wood, and ‘the natural decay of timbers in water made it necessary to renew the docks frequently. * THE bluffs stood in the way of harbor development, but to residents near- by they were a floon on a hot Summer Evenings lamily groups would sit jon the grass @nd eat lunches while | children ran up and down the inclines |in pursuit of each other. Also they | served spectators as a grandstand for viewing the many river regattas and boat races that ran on the Potomat The oarsmen, dressed in loud-colored shirts, could be seen a long way off. Although young, all of them cultivated mustaches and even sideburns. In 1850, when George Page laid the runways of his shipyard. pedestriaas made their way to and from the wharves by way of a long flight of steps on the face of the bluff east of Seventh street. “The necessity of widening the carriageway and laying a better foote path was an 1ssue of municipal cam=~ paign of '5: Which side of Seventh street shall have the path? voters asked themsel for it was certain that the city would not be so liberal as to construct side- walks on both sides of the street. Two nominees for the board of aldermen stcod on platforms diametrically oppo- site. One, Mr. Page, harangued for a idewalk on the east side of Seven:h street, while his opponent, Mattingly, fought for a sidewalk on the west sid: Page lost, and on that account, Se | enth street's first sidewalk was bullt cn | the west side. ! . Notley Young built. the first houss hereabouts, .a presumptious A mansioa that rose in 1754. It stood on what is now G street between Ninth and Tenth. Of two stories brick, the house com- manded a splendid view of the river in both directions.. About the house wcre small log cabins for the white farm hands, and hard by, stood a tiny coun- try graveyard. Almost until the middle {of the nineteenth century, corh, rye and potatoes were cultivated along the ‘waterfront. For a long time the waterfront had uncertain -definition. The tide rose and fell .over what is now. Water stree About 1820, practically all of the ci mail arrived at this wharf via steam- ers of the Southern Mail Line. Boats made about five .trips a' day to Al andria, while large vessels plied daily between Norfolk, Baltimore and i@ points on' the bay. ! Facing the river were taverns and hotels to accommodate travelers. At the northwest corner of Eleventh and ‘Water street, John Foy and E. F. Val- entine were hosts to tourists. In the early years of the century, a number ©of other buildings went up that still may be é"n' i » v’n ongress and city planners in. ten®to make of Water street and its, environs somsthing oid-tims (Continued on Fourth