Evening Star Newspaper, April 28, 1940, Page 34

C—4 Griffith Stadium Occupies THE . SUNDAY - STAR, WASHINGTO 1 Police precinct No. 2, prior to 1875, Georgia avenue near the ¢ ball park. Removed a few years ago when V street was opened up from Ninth street to Georgia Beyer’s Park Had Fame As Great Sports Center Reedy Branch Flowed There And Old No. 2 Police Station Was Among City Landmarks By John Clagett Proctor. To many a Washington resident the Oldest Inhabitants Association, .the section of the city where is| located the American League Baseball Park, is one of the most interesting | in the District, especially from an early amusement standpoint. | Griffith’s Stadium, or Beyer's Park, as it was known before it became avenue. who could qualify for admission to & ball park, during the Civil War was a part of the grounds of Campbell | Hospital. who do not recall the Civil War, but | who do remember some of the old hospital buildings which stood on W | street close to the park. This | thoroughfare being formerly known | as Pomeroy street. Gen. O. O. How- ard, a veteran of the War of 1861- 1865, who was always doing some- | thing nice for the colored people— | who really needed a friend at that | time—conceived the idea, after the | war was over, of turning some of | have had the same name—was no | verted into it. This sewer wa: these buildings into a hospital for | Paradise for policemen, and Lt. in 1879 and, when finished, Indeed. there are many - Board of Public Works decided to | remedy this by building a sewer around Florida avenue. | Some distance above Grant avenue | (now Barry place) were Quinlan's| and Dutrow’s slaughter houses, and here Reedy Branch was open until the 80s. Cowtown—the real and only Cow- town, though other localities may At top: Griffith Stadium, packed for a big game. Above: Old second police precinct, 2042 Georgia avenue. C, APRIL 28, 1940—PART TWO. 4 * Lt. James Johnson (center, front row) with other officers and privates. Photo made in 1875. was the | colored people, and through his|Johnson’s men were frequently called | largest cylindrical sewer in the world. | efforts these two-story shacks be-|upon to quell disturbances there.'.At its starting point at E street, be- | direction of Maj. Hoxie. The cutting through of V street, from Florida avenue to Georgia came the beginning of what is nowiThe late Sam Einstein, the pound-,tween Seventeenth and Eighteenth | avenue, some time ago. caused the Freedmen's Hospital, with its hand- | master, never visited there without | streets northeast, it is 22 feet in|removal of an old frame building some, up-to-date equipment, As early, at least, as 1865, Louis | Beyer was conducting Bever's Park | buildings and | police protection, and even then his | diameter, inside measurement. ‘vislts,met with strenuous resistance | extends along Florida avenue from | for the second police precinct, before from the population. When the Boundary sewer was!Eighth street northwest. It was one | building still at the southwest cor- | It | its northeast starting point to about | that once had served as the station it moved next door to the brick | precinct patrolled more \than did the officers of any other precinct. During the exciting years of the Civil War period, the area it looked after embraced all of the District of Columbia beyond Boun- dary street (now Florida avenue) and west of the Anacostia River to| Rock Creek, and the writer feels in connection with the hotel at-|completed, Reedy Branch was di- of ‘Washingon's greatest engineering ' ner of Georgia avenue and V street. | satisfied that at one time a large tached to the grounds of which he | also proprietor, and the city direc- | tory of the date given, contains | in his advertisement the following bit of information: “Park Hotel, situated near the terminus of the Seventh street rail- | road, surrounded by a beautiful park. The proprietor takes great pleasure in announcing to his old | friends and the public generally, | that he is prepared to accommodate permanent and transient boarders, having thoroughly refitted the above hotel.” Dates Back to Dairy. | | s begun | feats and was constructed under the | For many years the men of this|part of the northern part of the ) territory | city south of Florida avenue was drivers then—just as they have to- also included within its'boundaries. Shortly after the passage of the 2023 grounds. Site Long Connected With Amusement Field . A 0 A e B Georgia avenue, at the entrance to the baseball Early home of James Johnson, police lieutenant. Eastern Branch of the ‘To it were assigned one sergeant and seven men, all mounted, with headquarters at Uniontown (now Anacostia). No. 2 precinct, subsequently the eighth, had one sergeant and nine mounted men, with the station | house “on Seventh street, near the | first tollgate.” | Precinct No. 3 comprised all the territory lying west of Rock Creek, including Analostan Island in the Potomac River, and the city of | Georgetown. | Johnson's Service. | Lt. Johnson, who was in charge of the old second precinct for many vears, was appointed on the force River—of | Potomace. | late in 1861, shortly after the first | jmen were taken on, and was placed in charge of this precinct as early as 1862. | precinct was moved to 2042 Georgia {avenue, and remained there until | again moved to U street between | Ninth street and Vermont avenue. Boundary street (now Florida ave- nue) was macadamized in the early 70s and was one of the best stretches of road within the District. They had their speeders and their speed regulations then, just as they have today, and they had their crazy day. The man with a fast trotter | or pacer, before the advent of the About 1875, the police | or on any street, avenue or alley of this city at a pace faster than a moderate trot or gallop, or to make | any attempt or trial of speed be- tween two or more horses.” If any one was injured during a violation of this law the driver was subject to a fine of $20 and incarceration in the workhouse for not less than 30 nor more than 90 days. Florida avenue proved a great | temptation to a man with a good stepper, and many a driver con- tributed to the city's exchequer for trying to lower the record of Maud S. Georgia avenue is one of the oldest théroughfares leading out of Washe | ington. Many will recall it as Brighte wood avenue, and even before this it was known as the Seventh street turnpike. It has always extended, as it does today, from Florida avenue north to the District line. From here it runs into the Brookville turn- « pike, but before reaching Brookville, where it orginally terminated, it is intersected by a number of delight- ful roads which lead to Rockville, Baltimore, and points North and | West. | It is not one of the early roads found here in 1800, when Congress |and the Government departments | moved to the Capital City. Some time between 1808 and 1810 its con- struction was authorized, but the Columbia Turnpike Co., chartered act of Congress, approved August 6, utomobile, was just as reckless and | to build this and other roads, delayed 1861, providing for the Metropolitan police force, the District of Colum- bia was formed into 10 police pre- cincts. | Precinct No. 1 comprised all the | territory east of the Anacostia needed just as much watching as | the careless and inconsiderate auto- mobile driver does at present. Traffic Regulations. | It was then against the law “to ! drive any herse, mare or gelding in | Marines to Lose Louis Cukela, Most Decorated Officer, Through His Retirement By Frank H. Rentfrow. | slogan of a Marine Corps recruiting The United States Marine Corps| poster caught his eye; and shortly is losing a great warrior. A man | thereafter Louis Cukela, erstwhile | corporal in the 13th Infantry, was whose fighting heart carried him‘ltrylnz to explain to an officious’| from the enlisted ranks to the bars of a captain. One who wears on his breast the Medaille Militaire, first sergeant of marines that the | “N. U. S. A” on his service| | record signified “naturalized citizen” | | instead of “not citizen of the United | | the Legion of Honor, the French States,” as was interpreted by the The earliest history of this old Croix de Guerre with three palms, | Fecruiter. | park dates back to the days when Mrs. Barbara Johnson, widow of Jacob Johnson, ran a dairy about where the hotel stood. She was the | mother of Lt. James Johnson, long connected with the Metropolitan Police Force and a member of the the Italian Croix de Guerre, five battle clasps on his Victory Medal, | and many lesser recognitions. But above these decorations, at his throat, he is privileged to wear th&s’ On June 26, 1917, one Louis Cukela ’, with the globe and anchor emblem | of the Marine Corps transfixed in | his campaign hat, debarked with | the other leathernecks at St. Nazaire, France. The days rolled by in & rapid Association of Oldest Inhabitants, COURMY'S highest award, not one, cycle of training periods. On March Barbara Johnson is said to have | Put two Congressional Medals of 18 the outfit moved into a quiet once owned all the land from the hotel south to Florida avenue. Beyer conducted this hotel and | operated the park as a picnic grounds up to about 1884, at which time it became known as the Mary- | land House. Subsequent to this date | it was conducted by a Mr. Wylie, a | Mr. Talks, a Mr. Frayley, and from | 1898 to 1914, by Mr. and Mrs. E. W. | Charlton. After it ceased to be a| hotel it was used as a place where | were sold lime, plaster and other | building materials. | The entrance to Beyer’s Park was | about 150 feet north of the ball park | entrance. The trees in the park were | of the original stock, and on the! grounds there were a dance pavilion | and an assortment of attractions | such as go with a picnic place or a summer garden. And, of course, lager beer was served with the cus- | tomary collar on the top. Foot | racing was an occasional attraction | and prize waltzing was not uncom- mon. At an early date here was one of the first board tracks upon which to operate the old wooden bicycle. The triangular lot bounded by T street, Florida avenue and Seventh street was occupied for a long time by the car stables of the Seventh | street line of the Washington & | Georgetown Railway Co., now the | Capital Transit Co. Later this loca- tion was abandoned when the cable method was given a tryout. and for this purpose buildings at the river front were erected. Soon afterward, residences were erected on the Seventh street and Florida avenue site of the barn, and it was probably on the T street side of the square, between Sixth and Seventh streets, that the famous ‘Washington actress, Miss Helen Hayes, was born and spent her childhood days. | Another very interesting thing in this neighborhood was Reedy Branch, which crossed Florida ave- nue at Eighth street on its way to| Join the Tiber. As the writer first knew it as a wee tot, back in 1871, it was considerable of a stream at this point, and had to be crossed by a small footbridge. Teams were| able to ford it under ordinary con- ditions. Shortly after 1871, this stream at first, from Florida avenue south- ward, was inclosed in a large sewer, which seemed to take in all of Eighth street. After this, however, there was not sufficient capacity to carry off the water running down from the hills to the north, and the ) (AN Honor. And Capt. Louis Cukela, U. S. M. C, has, since the retire- ment of Gen. Smedley Butler, re- mained the only person in active service entitled to ‘wear two such medals. In the entire history of our country only 17 men have won two medals of honor. Louis Cukela nearly broke all records when he was recommended for still another. But the award was disapproved. Capt. Cukela is not unknown to Washingtonians. = He served with the marine guard at the navy yard for two years; his glittering medals, his 6 feet of military figure commanding favorable attention on the frequent occasions when the mlr_ines paraded down Pennsylvania avenue. Now he will be seen no more, for the romantic, fiction-like warrior sheaths his sword in re- tirement, the sword that has carried him into many distant lands on great adventures. 3 Louis Cukela was born in Split, Serbia, on May 1, 1888, and early in his youth took up the profession of arms in his own country. In 1916 we find him serving as a corporal with the 13th United States Infantry in the Philippine Islands. Those were grim days of norror for the allies. Tiny Serbia, ever the butt of warring nations, was being smashed to pieces. The Austrians had struck time and again, only to be flung back across the frontier. Then the combined forces of the central powers ripped their way in, tore the Serblan defenses up by the roots and trampled them under foot. The tiny, resolute army was scattered, and Louis Cukela’s father was held prisoner in the fort of Maribor. In his far-away Philippine station Corpl. Cukela read a pathetic appeal from home. “We are fight- ing,” it said briefly. “Where are you?” The young corporal didn’t hesitate. He bought his way out of the Army and was soon aboard the S. 8. Thomas, bound for the States. Considered Canada. His first intention. was to enlist in the Canadian service; but by now it was apparent to every one that the United States would soon be in the conflict. “The first to fight!” N sector just south of Verdun. Before a month had passed, Sergt. Cukela was cited and awarded a Croix de Guerre by the French; and cited in divisional orders by the commanding general of the 2d Di- vision, A. E. F. On May 27 some 40 divisions of German soldiery torrented down from the north and rolled like a tidal wave toward the Marne. The French defenses were swept aside, as a rotten breakwater goes with the flood. Frenzied poilus scurried back, leaving a small and persecuted rear guard to die at the bridgeheads. . The 2d Division of the American Army was hurriedly assembled at what was supposed to have been a rest area. In camions and on foot they raced toward the front. There was no time to be lost. The enemy was coming fast. Thirty-five kilo- meters in three days! The marines were flung into a tangled forest known as Belleau Woods. Nearly a month later, when | they came out again, those who did, the woods were theirs; eternally theirs, for the grateful French had renamed the field Bois de la Brigade de Marine. Louis Cukela led his platoon through those woods, their bayonets flashing. His individual fearlessness was recognized, and Sergt. Cukela was recommended for the Con- gressional Medal of Honor; but it was not forthcoming—this time. On the March Again. On July 9, their mission accom= plished, the marines were with- drawn, a well-mauled outfit. A week later they were on;the march again. Soissons! Long after the bloody horrors of Belleau Woods are forgotten, the survivors of Soissons will remember that fight! The marines moved out of their billets on the evening of July 16, converged at the rendezvous, and presently the entire brigade, bat- talion by battalion, was marching down the broad, white highway. Sergt. Louis Cukela was close to the head of the column. His dark eyes, protected by the ramparts of high, weather-beaten cheeks, glinted like cold gun-metal. He knew they were marching to battle, for he had interpreted all the little, intri- cate signs that indicated another engagement. Cukela’s hob-nails drummed out the cadence on the hard-surfaced road. Presently the column came to a line of waiting camions. The pack- ladened marines climbed into the vehicles. Soon they were lurching A along like some hideous, disjointed reptile. Cukela sat beside a wizened Annamite driver, silent and thought- ful as they snsked they way through lonely, shattered villages and passed French columns moving wearily in the same direction. Darkness fell. Under the red face of the moon the cavalcade rolled onward. Dawn came, and still they rumbled forward. The sun was directly over- head when at last they halted. The dust-powdered leathernecks debark- ed and marched off, hungry and thirsty. Once more Cukela felt the road under his feet. It was a good road, rolling like a white ribbon toward heavy woods in the distance. Clouds pressed down suddenly and it began to rain, a fetid, sultry shower. Then the marines reached the woods. It was shiveringly damp. Cukela’s trained mind realized something gi- gantic was happening, for the woods to his platoon. The men stripped to combat packs and then went on again in the face of the reddening dawn. Halted by Barbed Wire. Barbed wire halted the advance and they cut their way through it. The woods were beginning to thin out before the company commander made the signal every one was wait- ing for. Cukela circled his arms, and then extended them out from his sides. His platoon obediently deployed as skirmishers, as taught on the fields of Parris Island and Quantico. They were part of the 66th Company, holding the extreme right of the line. ‘With an abrupt roar the batteries in the rear opened up, drenching the German lines in & torrent of shell fire. Cukela and his marines leaned close up against the barrage. ‘You lose men that way from friendly fire, but not so many as when you CAPT. LOUIS CUKELA, Twice awarded the Congressional Medal of Honor. concealed a network of roads, crowd- ed with horses, guns, infantry and even sullen, clanging tanks. At 6 o'clock they pulled to the side of the road and rested until darkness changed definable figures into shapeless distortions of jumbled silhouettes. Then they were on the march again. It grew miserably dark. Cukela breasted the rain and watched the lightning play against the back sky. Finally the rain stopped. Dawn came and the sky looked like greasy, fat bacon with a few red streaks of lean running through it. The marines had the road to themselves now, for the artillery had gone into position some distance back, and the other units had disappeared to transact their own grim business. They halted in the woods and Sergt. Cukela transmitted the order - Vb ] hang back and give the enemy a chance to recover before you are on them. The American gunners stopped firing and the German artil- lery began. But most of the big stuff passed over the marines; rip- px\ng into the cannoneers in retalia- tion., As the friendly barrage lifted the marines suddenly realized they were confronted by the cold stuttering of Maxim guns. Then rifie fire [began whipping into the advancing skirmishers. Cukela shouted a warn- ing and pointed to a saffron mist of mustard gas curling up. Here and there men were falling. The rest continued, slowly, casually. Step by step they advanced, en- gulfing the German outposts -like some _ leisurely, incomprehensibly large monster. The hostile lines dinned furiously. ‘Then abruptly the thread of san- | ity snapped. One of the leather- necks whose grang-daa had charged with Pickett, skriekea the Rebel vell—the battle cry that half a cen- tury before had resounded through the Virginian hills. Other marines | echoed the cry and swept forward in & mad assault. Ail the training of Parris Island and Quantico van- | ished with that scream. It was each { man for himself now. They clawed forward, stabbing theif®way to the Boche rifle pits. Their only thought was to close in, hand-to-hand. Ma- chine guns and rifles splattered death among them. ‘The 66th Company panted for- ward. With them went Louis Cukela biting savagely into the leather strap of his helmet, his eyes nar- rowed to brilliant points. Suddenly his platoon halted, the foremost melting away under a spray of machine gun fire. The rest wavered. Louis Cukela, flat on the ground, peered intently ahead. His keen eyes searched for faint, tell-tale wisps of steam. He got to his knees. “I know where they are. Come on, some of you birds, let's get 'em!” One Chance jn Thousand. It seemed impossible to move in that enfiladed area. It was suicide. thousand! fighting sergeant asked. Stealthily he slid forward. Two of his men started with him, but they died within the first few feet. Cukela went on alone. He couldn’t see the hostile guns now, but he could hear them and he crawled toward the sound, with struggled forward an inch at a time, restraining a desire to leap to his feet and surge ahead in one wild dash. Then abruptly he saw them: Three nests, the center one well forward, the flanking two echeloned back for mutual protection. The flaming muzzles snarled from the emplacements. Carefully the big marine worked closer. Time and again the hostile guns disappeared, only to show up once more in some rift in the under- brush. Pulling his body along by his elbows, Cukela circled around, coming up on the flank of the first gun. Now a new and deadly men- ace presented itself. Bullets from his own platoon snarled about his ears. Off in the distance German snipers observed his movements and tried desperately to kill him. Closer and closer he wormed his way toward the unsuspecting gunners. Only a few feet separated them now. Any further movement must surely be detected. For a moment Cukela lay studying the situation. Then he pulled the pin on a grenade and tossed it, not into the pit, but well to one side. As he expected them to do, the Germans swiveled their guns away from him to point toward the ex- plosion. He leaped to his feet and sprang toward the pit. They saw him! Before they could move he was upon them, his bayonet licking in and out like a serpent’s tongue. A gunner fired his pistol full in the marine’s face—and missed. The Y There was only one chance in a| But that was all the| bullets clattering about him. He| of eight machine guns/ | steel-shod rifle swept forward. Such fury could not be withstood. | The survivors fled to the other em- | | placements and opened fire with insane rage. Cukela wiped the sweat from his eyes. | still much work to be done. grenades from the pit and hopped | out to complete his job. A stream | of bullets blazed forth, and Cukela moved straight forward into the face of fire. Now he was close enough! | bombs, and before the gunners re- | covered from the blasts, Cukela’s bayonet was at their throats. Those eager surrender. Then Cukela's ?phmon came up and stamped out | the other nest. ‘The sergeant and his platoon, a %much leaner, smaller platoon, toiled objective. The brigade suffered some 3,000 casualties that day, and Cukela’s men furnished their share. Obtained Relief. The night of the 19th saw the relief of what was left of the marines. They tottered out, across the fields they had bought with their blood. And with them went Louis Cukela, content with the knowledge that he had performed his task well. How well, he was to learn later at Coblenz when generals, colonels, majors and marines were being decorated for various deeds of valor. Louis Cukela was at the right of the line, second to none in position of honor. He hung about his neck not one, but two Congressional Medals of Honor. One was awarded by the Army, the other by the Navy. Only five men have ever received this decoration from both services; and only three of those men ever lived to wear them. There was still plenty of fighting to be done. There was bloody work in the Marbache sector in August; the St. Mihiel offensive a month later; then Blanc Mont in the Champagne, and the Meuse Argonne affair which ended hostilities. Throughout these en- gagements went Cukela, piling up traditions of reckless courage, dis- tinguishing himself above the rest in an outfit where courage was a collective quality. The marines dwindled, were hacked to pieces, until only a corpal's gufrd of the original regiments was left. Most of Cukela’s pals were gone; but he remained. They took his sergeant’s chevrons and gave him the bars of a lieutenant to replace them. Nearly a quarter of a century has passed since Sergt. Louis Cukela got into that nest of German machine gunners and cleaned them out with bombs and bayonet. But what adventures those intervening years have brought him; Nicaragua, Haiti, San Domingo and China. Turbulent years of jungle warfares —and more medals. Well and faithfully has he served his adopted country. Now he stands on the threshold of retirement. the most highly decorated marine of his day. In generations to come, many a young leatherneck will preface his story with: “Once thers was & marine named Louls Cukels 4 There was | He gathered a couple of German | | In quick succession he threw theI who lived flung up their hands in | on through the woods to the day’s | stood at rigid attention while they | | beginning the work, and the project | was finally taken up by the Wash- ington & Rockville Turnpike Co., of which Benjamin Ogie Tayloe was president and John Carroll Brent, secretary. Mr. Brent was later the first secretary of the Association of Oldest Imhabitants. 2 | Sessford, in his “Annals” for the | year 1822, says: “The Turnpike road leading from Seventh street to | Rockville has already become a great utility to this ward and the city generally,” and from this state- | ment it might well be assumed that | it was a new road at that date, but | it was certainly not completed to Rockville until 1829, when toll gates were erected. It must have been a mud hole in wet weather, and exe tremely dusty when it dry, for it remained unimproved for | many years. Made Plank Roads. About 1850 the Maryland portion was improved with a plank road, and in 1852 the District part was covered with hemlock planks three | to four inches thick, with & width of eight feet. Just what two teams did when they met can only be surmised. Undoubtedly some one had to step aside in the mud. It was a narrow road, even within the memory of many, and has teen widened at least twice within the last 40 years. As might be expected, the plank road did not last long, and for that reason it remained in bad shape for a long while, until graded and ma- | cadamized by the Board of Public | Works during Gov. Shepherd's ad- | ministration, and it so happened te | be one of those improvements which | were questioned by the committee which tried to find something wrong with everything that Mr. Shepherd did. However, in its improved con- dition, it made a fine road for driv- ing, and in later years, when bi- cycling became a craze, it was much | used by enthusiastic wheelmen, | - As the writer first recalls this road, it was similar to any other country road around Washington— lined with overhanging trees of vari- ous native species, and with holes in it large enough to make a driver stop every once in awhile in order | not to break a wagon spring. Oc- casionally there was a spring to the side of the road, around which a half barrel had been placed, and & cocoanut dipper or a rusty tin can with which the weary traveler on & warm summer's day refreshed himself with genuine aqua pura. One of these natural fountains— known as James White's Spring— is recalled, in particular, since it was the most copious along this pike. Incidentally it now empties into & sewer, though a few of the trees which once surrounded it are still standing, recognized only by a few whose memories wander back into the distant past, and in their mind's eye they can see this old road in all its rustic beauty as it appeared to them in their childhood days. Along both sides of Georgia ave- nue, up to the period of the Civil ‘War, was practically nothing but farms. Between 1857 and 1860 put few persons lived and owned prop- erty on what was then, and even for years later, a turnpike road. On the east side, near Florida ave- nue—at No. Georgia avenue, in a house still standing at the entrance to the baseball park—Ilived %:'.’ ;gl:n;on. tg;‘xlt:l his death a ago, was the home of Frank T. De Neale, Lt. Johnson's son-in-law, end it is probable some of the De Neale family still reside L