The Summer Stage at Rorick’s Glen

By Rachel Dworkin, archivist

In 1900, the newly consolidated Elmira Water, Light & Railroad Company got the brilliant idea to drum up ridership by opening an amusement park at the end of their Water Street line. Such parks had been a popular tactic of trolley and railroad companies since shortly after World War I. Check out our old blog Tourist Traps and Other Summer Pitfalls for details. Rorick’s was all set to be another fairly generic park until W. Charles Smith, the manager of Elmira’s Lyceum Theatre of Lake Street, suggested the addition of a theater. It proved a fateful suggestion and, from 1901 to the start of World War I, Rorick’s Glen was one of the preeminent places for summer theater in the country.

Glen Theater program, 1913

 

The initial season wasn’t all that promising. The first performance was by William Josh Daly’s Minstrels presented by Mr. & Mrs. Harry Dixie. Most of the shows in that first season were vaudeville variety acts and the audiences were underwhelmed. In 1901, they decided to change things up by bringing in the Manhattan Opera Company. The troupe specialized in operettas and musicals, primarily those by Gilbert & Sullivan. They were a big hit and spent the next 17 years as the theater’s resident summer troupe. In fact, from 1904 to 1916, they were widely regarded as the best summer stock company in the country. In addition to performances by the Manhattan Opera Company, the Glen Theater featured performances by some of the biggest names in vaudeville. They also regularly hosted the Elmira Free Academy’s annual senior play.

The Manhattan Opera Company in the Mikado, 1909

 

The original theater was a large, lovely building with a seating capacity of 1,500. It burned on the night of June 24, 1904, but was not completely destroyed. The roof was gone, but much of the stage and seating area remained intact. By July 4 of that year, it was back open for business, sheltered by a large tent instead of a proper roof.

They built an entirely new theater in time for the 1905 season. It was roughly the same size, but had been redesigned. The lobby was now a giant wrap-around porch accessed via a flight of stairs and decorated with hanging plants Elmira Water, Light & Railroad Company and beautifully carved railings. It had canvas coverings which could be rolled up or pulled down over the large windows depending on the weather. Several improvements were made to the structure over the years, including the addition of box seating. 600 seats on the ground floor were free, with box and other reserved seating costing between 10 and 15 cents depending on the location. Tickets could afford to be so cheap because, unlike the downtown theaters, the goal was to generate ridership and revenue for the trolley, not the theater itself. 

Picture postcard of the second theater

 

After World War I, Elmira Water, Light & Railroad Company ridership fell as more people began acquiring cars. Unable to properly maintain the park and theater, the company let them both slowly fall apart throughout the 1920s. The building was finally destroyed in a fire in March 1932.

 

Murder at the Glen

by Erin Doane, Curator

Sometime ago, I came across a tale of murder told by Ausburn Towner in his history, Our County and Its People. While Towner was writing in the early 1890s, the story was from some 50 or 60 years earlier. The incident took place in a pretty glen that was later the site of the Rorick’s Glen amusement park from 1901 to 1918. In the 1830s and 1840s, people would go to the glen for picnics. Brewster Tuthill ran a big flat scow on the river bringing stone from a nearby quarry into the town. He would also transport parties of picnickers to the glen.

Towner tells the story of one of those parties. Rather than retelling it in my own less-lyrical way, I will share what he wrote:

A picnic there one summer day is indelibly impressed on the minds of more than one now elderly person in the city. Just as the scow was ready to start an Italian with his hand-organ and monkey hove in sight, and was instantly engaged to furnish the music for the occasion. Many of those, both young ladies and gentlemen, belonging to the best families in the village were among the picnickers, and everything was conducted in the most decorous manner, but in some way the monkey was shot dead. The exhibition of grief displayed by the Italian was something very pitiable. He moaned and wept, and embraced the dying dumb creature with a display of as much emotion as a mother would manifest over a wounded child. It ruined the picnic, cutting it short by many hours, and although a purse of nearly $50 was made up for the Italian it didn’t soothe nor console him in the least, and he quitted the party with the little dead body in his arms.

This story just brings up so many questions: What happened that someone felt the need to shoot the monkey? Why was a young gentleman, or lady, from one of the best families in the village carrying a gun at a picnic? Did the picnickers honestly think that $50 would take away the man’s grief after they had murdered his pet/business partner?

Stuffed monkey toy, early 20^th century

I searched and searched for more information about the story but came up emptyhanded. I have no way of proving if Towner’s story is entirely true or if it is just one of those stories based on a real event that got change and exaggerated over time. I did, however, find some information from the 1890s that might help me try to answer some of the questions the story brought up.

Let’s start with why the man was still upset by the death of the monkey even after being given $50. Well, obviously, his pet had just been shot in front of him and died in his arms. I imagine that would be thoroughly upsetting to anyone and not easy to shrug off. On a more practical level, the monkey was likely not just an animal on a leash; it was his means of earning a living. The man would have spent countless hours training the monkey to dance and do tricks. An article that appeared in the August 27, 1898 Elmira Telegram describes how a fantastically-dressed monkey would dance to hand-organ music, turn summersaults, take coins and put them into its pocket, take off his hat and bow, and shake hands with people. The picnickers’ offer of $50 would have been the equivalent of about $1,400 today. A tame, perfectly docile monkey cost around $15 (or about $390 today) according to an 1890 ad in the Elmira Telegram. The cost of a new monkey (not wild but not trained) plus the time and effort that would go into training it may have been much greater than the money offered.

From the Elmira Telegram, September 28, 1890

Next, why would someone have brought a gun on the picnic? Now, this answer is pure speculation on my part. This story took place sometime in the 1830s or 1840s when Elmira was much smaller. The town’s population was between 3,000 and 5,000 in those years. The glen would have been out in the countryside, in the wilderness. It sort of makes sense that someone might choose to carry a gun in that case.

And finally the big question, why would someone shoot the monkey? Well, monkeys are wild animals. They obviously can be trained to wear cute little outfits and dance around but they have also been known to attack people. I found several newspaper reports of trained monkeys injuring people. On June 30, 1894, the Star-Gazette reported on Leland Smith, a ten-year-old boy whose hand was bitten by such a monkey.  On July 21, 1910, the newspaper reported that an organ grinder’s monkey, while in an ugly mood, leapt at the young daughter of Mrs. Miller of Corning and inflicted painful scratches. The musician and his monkey were ordered out of town. It is entirely possible that the monkey at the picnic in the glen fell into a bad mood and was thus shot. There is no way to know for sure without finding other reports of the incident, but it seems like a reasonable guess.

From the Elmira Star-Gazette, May 5, 1894

The Donkeys of Rorick’s Glen

By Kelli Huggins, Education Coordinator

When we talk about Rorick’s Glen, we mostly remember it for its amusement rides, theater that hosted the Manhattan Opera Company every summer, and its connections to the trolley lines (having been founded to give people an excuse to ride more often). My favorite story about Rorick’s Glen, however, is about the donkeys.

In June 1902, W. Charles Smith brought 12 Angora goats and a few donkeys to Rorick’s Glen. The management intended to have them pull carts carrying visitors over the park’s new walking trails. The animals were outfitted with little yellow and red carts and the paying public were invited to take a ride. There was one problem: no one seemed to have anticipated just how stubborn goats and donkeys are. On what was supposed to be the inaugural run, not a single animal would move. The animals were whipped and still would not budge. Customers watching on suggested a gentler method, and that too failed. Customers were refunded their money and the stables were shut down for business until they could “teach the animals how to walk.” Smith was particularly upset since the man he purchased them from claimed they were “high steppers and willing workers.”

Rorick's trail showing a donkey and a goat hitched to a cart, c. 1902.

A month later, Smith and his assistants were reportedly making progress and the animals were now demonstrating “agility and submission." The animals, now “acting for all the world like park donkeys and goats should act,” took passengers around the paths at the Glen. The animals lived in a small cabin that was converted into a makeshift stable on the side of the hill.

It’s unclear how long these donkeys and goats were employed at Rorick’s. In 1910, however, new donkeys were brought in. Possibly the first donkeys and goats had died, or perhaps they were only ever used for that 1902 season. Either way, on June 1, 1910, Colorado cowboy George “Blinky” James arrived via train in Elmira with a new shipment of donkeys. The donkeys came with fantastical, most likely totally invented, back stories. Hailing from the Ratoon Mountains of the Rockies, the donkeys were reportedly descended from the mules of Cortez’s Spanish Army which conquered the Aztecs. One of the donkeys was also said to have made its original owner’s family rich by discovering a gold mine by kicking dirt. The owner died on that expedition before the discovery and a court supposedly granted 1/3 of the profits to the deceased’s family because the burro was the discoverer.

Some of the Colorado donkeys, 1910

Blinky James left Colorado with 20 donkeys and arrived in Elmira with 21. Somewhere on the train between Chicago and Elmira, a donkey was born. Upon arrival in Elmira, this made for an instant marketing campaign. The Elmira Water, Light & Railroad Company, owners of the donkeys and the Glen, partnered with the Star-Gazette to hold a contest for children to name the new foal. Helen Turnbull  of 514 Lake Street had her submission selected and the donkey was named Roricka. Helen won a free pass to ride the burros until the 4^th of July. Helen wrote “I think Roricka (Ro-ree-ka) would be a pretty name.” Other names suggested included: Nobino, Jacko, Cute, Teddy, Comet, Sanco Pansy, Free-n-Equal, and Billy Bunco.

These donkeys, likely due to their training by Blinky and his staff, seemed to adjust better to their tasks than the 1902 donkeys and goats. They did however suffer some effects of the change in climate and elevation from the Rockies to the Southern Tier. Some were off duty for a couple of weeks before recovering or acclimating.

By July 1910, the newspapers were proclaiming that the donkeys were a must-see for everyone.  One article said: “Moonlight burro parties have become all the rage at Rorick’s Glen. The sport is being enjoyed every evening by Elmirans who have tired of the usual forms of entertainment and are looking for something out of the ordinary.”

Burro party, 1910. Blinky James is front and center. From newspaper on Fultonhistory.com

Another proclaimed: “Had the officials of the Elmira Water, Light & Railroad Company dreamed how popular the little burros at Rorick’s Glen were to become, doubtless they would have purchased a greater number….They are kept busy nearly every hour of the day carrying the children about the pretty Glen upon their backs.”

A July 24, 1910 article discussed the donkey-riding experience of prima donna Mrs. Horace Wright, better known by her stage name Rene Dietrich. She exclaimed, “Well, this burro ride has climbing Pike’s peak or a ramble in the Alps crowded right off the map.” Along with Blinky, Mrs. Wright and her husband decided that they wanted to off-road it, after already riding the short and long trails. The group went from Rorick’s across the Rorick’s bridge (the burros were not happy about that and “one burro was partly carried and partly shoved” across). They then went east down Water Street before going back to Fitch’s Bridge. Another donkey had to be carried over the bridge so the others would follow. When they got back to the paths on the hill, Mr. Wright’s burro sat down and was forced up with a fence rail. Mrs. Wright’s burro tried to jump over a barricade, and since “a burro can’t jump any more than a camel,” she was thrown off. The donkey remained halfway over the fence, “prepared to stay there indefinitely” until more “shoving and heaving” got it to move.

Of the trip, Blinky said “Cute little things, them burros. Never run away or go fast. Patient little things, they’re well trained.” “They’re well trained all right, not to exceed any speed limit,” said Mr. Wright, “you’re wise to charge by the hour, and not by the mile.” The Wrights were so enamored  with the donkey riding that they came back every day. Baby Roricka was also rubbing elbows and hooves with the opera company stars; she was brought on stage for “Family Affairs,” a farce at the theater.

The Wrights enjoying their donkey riding

Blinky James' authentic cowboy charm proved very popular with visitors …perhaps even too popular. From September to November 1910, the divorce proceedings of Fred M. Schmidt and Minnie Kinner Schmidt were published in the local newspapers. Mr. Schmidt filed for divorce from his wife alleging that she had abandoned him and had been having extramarital affairs. Mr. Schmidt claimed that Mrs. Schmidt has spent the night at the Lackawanna Hotel with Blinky on September 8.  Then on September 10, she allegedly stayed at the hotel with Arthur Parker, a one-armed burro assistant. She admitted guilt of adultery and was sent to the Albion home for wayward girls. Blinky James denied any involvement in the Schmidt affair.

By the end of November 1910, Blinky James headed back to Padroni, Colorado. Reportedly, “eastern life was not for George James.” It was the end of the season and there was no mention of him leaving because of the adultery scandal. There were reports that he would come back the next season, but it seems that he may have left Elmira for good.

The donkeys wintered at the Maple Avenue Park, but were back in action in 1911, ready to carry “youngsters over the picturesque paths through the glen, from the theater to the top of the Indian Steps.” That June a new ½-mile burro path opened. In the off-season of January 1913 the highly-decorated donkeys marched in the parade for the opening of the F.C. Lewis company.

In April 1913, four new burros added and it was noted that these “long-eared hill climbers” were “as frisky as kittens and as comical as monkies [sic].” While they weren’t yet ready to ride, children would be able to come and see them.

The donkeys were so popular they became fodder for cultural commentary. A joke in the news used the donkeys to take a jab at suffragettes: “Brownie, Rorick’s glen burro, carried a 250-pound suffragette around the long trail. Brownie is now known as the suffering yet burro.”

The donkeys remained popular for the next several years. The E.W.L.&R.R. Co. gave away a baby burro to the person who correctly guessed the number of people coming into the Utilities Company booth at the Elmira Industrial Exposition. It seems like a strange and high-maintenance prize, but suggests the continued popularity of the donkeys.

The last reference I’ve seen to the donkeys was from September 1917 when a donkey escaped from the Glen and was found by Patrolman John Drolesky. While he “was phoning to headquarters, the animal became overly affectionate and proceeded to butt him in the stern.”