Walkabout: Brooklyn’s Hotel St. George, Part 4

Read Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 5, Part 6, and Part 7 of this story.

In the 1980’s, a television show called “Hotel”, aired for about seven years, which chronicled the goings on in a large, swanky hotel in San Francisco called the “St. Gregory”. Guests and staff interacted; love, larceny, and everything in between took place in her corridors and rooms, all under the watch of the hotel manager, played by James Brolin.

A hundred years before, that could have been the Hotel St. George, in Brooklyn Heights. James Brolin would have played Captain William Tumbridge, not the manager, but the proprietor of the St. George, Brooklyn’s largest and most elegant hotel. He probably would have done a great job, too, as Tumbridge was rather larger than life, although unlike Brolin, slight of stature.

The Captain had been a real sea captain, a veteran of the Civil War, master of his own ships, even a shipwreck or two, as well as a Wall Street wordsmith. Part One of our story is the sea tale of that part of his life.

In Part Two, we learn about his building of a hotel empire, the St. George growing every year since its founding in 1885, to become, by the 1890’s, a 1,000 room residential and traveler’s hotel. In Part Three, the hotel continues to grow, becoming more and more luxurious, catering more than ever to its residential clientele, with elegant amenities and architectural splendor.

We also learn a bit more about the rather contentious Captain, a man who was quick to throw anyone out of his hotel that he didn’t approve of, and also quick to throw a punch, when needed. Today, we’ll wrap up the Tumbridge years, filled with more fights, litigation, police action, and sadly, tragedy.

In the years following the 1890’s Montrose Morris-designed addition to the hotel, which faced out on Clark Street, the St. George found itself expanding yet again, with Morris, or perhaps others, the records aren’t very clear, adding more rooms.

The Brooklyn Eagle, which seemed to have a reporter living at the hotel’s front desk, dutifully related the ever changing guest list of the hotel, as well as every conference, special event, society wedding, and organizational dinner the hotel had.

Tumbridge barely needed to run the ad he had in every edition of the paper. The publicity was free. Of course, sometimes, this reporting could be embarrassing, either to the hotel, Tumbridge himself, or to guests, because the Tumbridge’s didn’t play.

In 1896, one of the hotel’s tragedies took place, when a member of the staff committed suicide. William Swansboro was an Englishman, an Oxford graduate, and a noted scholar and teacher of Latin. He had worked in New York City hotels for over 25 years and had been at the St. George for over ten years, employed as a cashier.

He was much beloved by both staff and guests. Mr. Swansboro was now 72 years old, and was not in good health. Captain Tumbridge had just made him a superintendent, in order to make his duties less strenuous.

At 5pm on July 31st, he announced he didn’t feel well, went up to his room, and a short time later, a shot was heard. No one thought it was an actual gunshot, but when friends came to check on Mr. Swansboro, they found him dead of a self-inflicted gunshot wound to the temple.

A note was found, in which Swansboro thanked Captain Tumbridge for his employment and kindness, and asked that Tumbridge arrange for his cremation. He was getting sicker and didn’t want to be a burden on his elderly wife, or his friends and employers. Captain Tumbridge honored his final request.

The next year, in 1897, another highly ranked guest tried to avoid paying his hotel bill, and once again, William Tumbridge was in legal trouble. At 11pm in March, the local precinct got a phone call from the Captain, asking an officer to come to the hotel to arrest someone.

When he arrived, Tumbridge called for the arrest of a middle-aged man who was staying at the hotel with his wife and infant son. They owed the hotel $25 in board, and when Tumbridge had come to collect, the man said he had no money. He was waiting for an allowance to come through, and if the Captain could be patient, he would be paid. The Captain was not patient, and had the man arrested, where he spent the night at the local police station.

There, it was learned, he was 65 year old Frederick Kalbfleisch, the son of the late ex-Brooklyn mayor, Martin Kalbfleisch, who had been mayor of Brooklyn in 1869, and had also been a very wealthy industrialist, with chemical factories in the Eastern District.

He had been staying at the hotel for over a week, in the company of his family, and another friend. When all of the parties appeared before the magistrate the next day, Tumbridge refused to press charges, saying that the bill had been paid, and the incident, as far as he was concerned, was over.

Well, maybe for him. Frederick Kalbfleisch filed suit against Captain Tumbridge and the hotel two months later, charging false imprisonment and malicious prosecution. Another case, another day, for Tumbridge’s team of lawyers. Kalbfleisch lost, by the way.

By 1902, it had happened again. Tumbridge threw out pie wholesale distributer Adolph Bopp and his wife for not paying their bill. The Bopp’s were staying at the St. George, and were rudely escorted from the hotel, and not allowed to take their luggage, according to the suit inevitably filed.

They wanted $15,000 in damages, for public outrage, abuse of character and public disgrace. The case went to a speedy trial, and the Captain was once again the victor. I could not find a single case of this kind that Tumbridge and the hotel did not win.

The Captain was the figurehead of the hotel, but in actuality, it was owned by a corporation consisting of himself, his wife, Lucinda, and two business associates, Harry Webster Dowd, and Silvanus T. Cozzeus, his first hotel manager.

By the time the hotel was sold, in 1922, sons Stanley and John were also on record as corporation co-owners. Lucinda died in 1913. A middle child, Guy, doesn’t appear very often, and seems to have been the ne’er-do-well son. He is on record for his bicycling adventures, in his youth, and also seems to have moved to California by the mid-1890s.

Stanley S. and John W. were very active in their father’s hotel. John was also in the National Guard, achieving the rank of Major. He was also a civil engineer, educated at Rensselaer Polytechnic, in Troy, and had studied naval engineering at Cornell.

Eldest son John and his father were very close, both in company and in temperament. In 1901, both were arrested for disorderly conduct on the Gates Avenue trolley. According to the newspapers, they had been riding in a crowded car in the evening, when someone started a fight. Policeman John Lass reached into the car and grabbed those he thought were swinging their fists, and he got Major John and his father, and pulled them off the car.

The Major thought the policeman was manhandling his father, and took a swing at him, at which time, the policeman hit him in the head with his club, and arrested both of them. They appeared in court before a judge, with Officer Lass and several witnesses. The witnesses testified that the Tumbridge’s were not involved in the actual fight, and that the officer was mistaken. They were released and refused to press charges against Officer Lass for the clubbing.

Stanley Tumbridge, the younger son, stayed in Brooklyn for many years, living with his wife and children on Willow Street, in Brooklyn Heights. He would have a successful career in of all things, the invention of a new kind of automatic coffee maker, which he and his partner had patented.

He is listed in several journals, and was active in Brooklyn society and charity events, along with his wife. They shared their interests with John Tumbridge and his wife, and the entire extended family appeared to be very close.

In March of 1907, the worst tragedy of all would rock the Tumbridge family. John and his wife, 32 year old Mary Judd Tumbridge, had been married for five years. She was the daughter of a wealthy Waterbury, Connecticut manufacturer.

The couple, with the Captain, along for the ride, were riding in their tonneau style, open touring car across the Brooklyn Bridge. John and Mary were in the back seat, while the Captain and the chauffeur, Walter Owens, rode in the front. They were headed to Manhattan for a leisurely ride through Central Park and on to Riverside Drive. When they reached the Brooklyn Bridge, traffic was backed up, and they ended up behind a horse drawn truck.

As they inched along across the bridge, the chauffeur attempted to pass the truck, and finally finding an opening, lurched ahead. In the process, he may have turned too quickly, or frightened the horses, causing them to bolt and knock the truck into the car.

From the back seat, Mrs. Tumbridge saw the impending collision and rose out of her seat just as the car hit the truck. The impact threw her out of the cab, into the middle of the road, right into the path of an oncoming trolley car. The trolley operator tried to stop, but it was too late, and the trolley car ran over her, crushing her skull and killing her instantly.

Her husband could only scream and bury his face in his hands, exclaiming “My God, Owens, look at my wife.” The police immediately removed her body, taking it first to the hospital, then back to the St. George.

They arrested the chauffeur and the trolley driver for homicide, but they were soon bailed out, and charges were later dismissed. “No one was to blame,” Major Tumbridge would say, “It couldn’t be helped.” The funeral for Mrs. Tumbridge was held at First Presbyterian Church on Henry Street, in Brooklyn Heights.

The horrific death of Mary Tumbridge seemed to take the wind out of the old sea captain’s sails. He was getting older, and was not as enthusiastic to take on all comers, as he used to. His son, Major John, would become the Superintendent of Highways in New York City, in 1912.

Several years later, on May 4th, 1921, a sudden gale, with hurricane force winds and a driving rain, pounded the city, causing damage to buildings, down trees and power lines, and injuries to people caught in the storm.

The 70 year old Captain and his son were riding in their car on Clinton Street, near Congress, when a tree fell on top of their car. John Tumbridge was not touched, but the Captain suffered broken ribs and a bruised shoulder. He did not lose consciousness, and was taken to the nearby hospital. A few months later, he was dead. The Captain of the St. George was buried at Green-Wood Cemetery, with his beloved wife, Lucinda.

The remaining family members sold the St. George the next year to Bing and Bing, a real estate development group. B & B paid three million dollars for the hotel. In the coming years, they would add another tower and create the largest hotel in New York City, complete with its famous salt water pool, ballroom and restaurants. There is much more tale to tell.