Document text
404 11',0% 7244:11-‘1 '4741C,
Forms to be, Filled out for Each Interview
FORM A
Circumstances of Interview
STATE New York
NAME OF WORIMR Wayne Walden
ADDRESS 51 Bank Street, New York City.
DATE November 28, 1938
SMUT A MYSTERIOUS VINE "CAPTAIN" JOHNS' STORY
1. Date and time o' interview
November 23, 1938
2. Place of interview Clason Point Inn
3. Name and address of informant
FOLKLORE
NEW YORK
"Captain" J. Johns
Clason Point Inn, Bronx, N. Y. C.
4. Name and address of person, if any, who put you in
toucn with informant.
5. Name and address of person, if any, accompanying you
6. Description of room, house, surroundings, etc.
(referred to in text)
(Use as many additional sheets as necessary, for any of the forms, each
bearing the proper heading and the number to which the material refers.)
STATE
New York
FORIV
Personal History of Informant
NAME OF WORKER Wayne Walden
ADDRESS 51 Bank Si. New York City
DATE November 28, 1938
SU6JECT A MYSTERIOUS VINE --"CAPTAIN" JOHNS! STORY
1. Ancestry
English -American
2. Place and date of birth
About 70 years of age
3. Family
FOLKLORE
NEW YORK
Has a son who is a Captain in N. Y. Police force
4. Places lived in, with dates
Lived in Clason Point district 25 years
5. Education, with dates
Seems well-educated
6. Occupations and accomplishments, with dates
Was formerly a sea captain. Now the keeper
f
7. Special skills and interesto the old Clason Point Inn. s
8. Community and religious activities
9. Description of informant
Well preserved man of about 70 --weighs about 175 pounds around
5 ft 8" tall --blue eyes ruddy complexion, gray eyes, rather stout
v). Other Points gained in interview speaks fairly well --rather prejudicial
in viewpoints.
STATE
New York
FORM C
Text of Interview (Unedited)
NAME OF WORKER WAYNE WALDEN
ADDRESS
DATE
SUBJECT
51 Bank S. New York City
November 28, 1938
A MYSTERIOUS VINE —"CAPTAIN" JOHNS' STORY
FOLKLORE
NEW YORK
Captain Johns, for twenty-five years keeper of Clason Point
Ian and dealer in the now antique contents of the historic old building,
led me into what had once been the saloon. Presumably, he regarded
me as one who might be interested in his antique wares.
"This here", said he, is a battle-ax that Chief Geronomo
used to own. Feel the handle no one seems to know what that wood
is. It ain't mahogany and it ain't any wood anybody guesses it to
be." "I ventured that it might be teak, but my guess also seemed
incorrect. No, it ain't that either", he demurred, "It seems to be
a mystery lust what it is. No one knows."
The hatchet, allegedly once the property of the famous
Indian Chieftain, was indeed a formidable looking weapon, and might
have, when brandished by that intrepid warrior, despatched many a
grave man to the happy hunting ground. But as I had no murderous
inclinations, nor desire to try my hand at scalping, I made no
offer to buy it. I would, however, have bought a drink at the bar
of the old inn but, alas, the vast array of bottles were empty.
"Those bottles", the Captain informed me, interpreting my fiance, "were
all drunk up several years ago when were were running full blast.
Sometimes, when Jimmie Walker would bring his outfit up here, we had
as high as 2500 people here at one time. But when prohibition ended
and Mr. La Guardia slapped on the present taxes, it ---Oh, well, there
is a lot of changes come over the country. I try not to be pessimistic
but I guess the old times are done for.
I joined the old gentleman in a sigh as we emerged from the
bar room out upon the porch where, from the East River below us, came
smells as of something also dead and done for. "Come around to the
back of the house, and I'll show you a part of the original structure",
the Captain said, as he led the way through the long neglected grass,
succumbing to a rank growth of weeds. He showed me the original
stone work of the building and pronounced it original, with the
/1
accent on the first syllable. "A cave is downb elow here", he
continued, "I was down in it once, but the monoxide gas is too strong
to stay in it long enough to conduct much of a search. It is about
150 feet deep and runs out a couple of miles. There seems to be a
lot of old relics of the revolutionary war and Indian relics too, I
guess, but the gas won't let a person look around long."
'Night not the cave have been used by smugglers at some time?
I asked.
"4,g11, Commodore Vanderbilt used to live here, and they say
he used to do a lot of smuggling," the Captain answered, nand Anna Held
also lived here. So did Lillian Langtree and different ones. The
famous Judge Cohen used to operate here." I surmised that neither
the ladies mentioned, nor the famous Judge, were implicated in any
smuggling activities, but my informant did not make it clear. This
was once the Clinton Stevens estate, he went on, it's area is
thirty-five acres."
-3
We had returned to the front porch of the building, and the
Captain appearing to have ;wearied of his information, seemed to have
concluded that I was not an antique buyer after all. Ab/ut to reenter
A
the house, he paused to inspect a vine which, now withered, still
clung tenaciously to the stone wall.
"Here's something that got 'em all wondering what it is,"
he said, "but no one knows much about it. It's a perennial; it dies
out completely when winter comes and reappears in full force with the
spring. No one knows when it started to grow here, nor why, but
they say the cause of it was one of the massacres they've had here
in old days." (My informant used the expression massacree.) "The
vine has four fingers and a thumb, he continued, "and uses those four
fingers and thumb just like you would to climb up these rocks. Notice
how it sticks to this niggerhead." The Captain pulled some of the
vine loose and bid me see for myself its fingers and thumb. I couldn't
be sure that the resemblance was so remarkable, but admired nevertheless
the poor plant's ability to maintain its hold upon a smooth "nigger
head" rock.
"It don't need no water, and you don't need to give it any
attention", he declared, "and if you hold one of the leaves up where
the light strikes it, you'll notice blood running through it, sort of
transmigrating through the veins. Sometimes, when you break off a
stem, blood will ooze out of the stem. I don't know why, but as I
said, it seems to be connected somehow, or be a reminder of some of
those massacrees they used to have here."
The Captain again seemed disinclined to further pursue the
subject. As corroboration of the "massacrees", the blood of which may
still be coursing through the mysterious perennial vine, he pointed to
-4-
a legend above the door and reentered the house. The legend, not
too skillfully printed, reads:
"IN THE YEAR 1643
THOMAS CORNELL BOUGHT THIS POINT OF THE INDIAND HIS TITLE WAS
CONFIRMED BY ThE DUTCH GOVERNOR KIEFT SETTLED HERE. PART OF
THIS BUILDING IS THE ORIGINAL HOUSE CONSTRUCTED BY CORNELL. IT
WAS BURNED BY THE INDIANDS THE FIRST YEAR HE CAME, SOME OF HIS
FAMILY KILLED, HE HIS CATTLE DRIVEN AWAY, ANN HUTCHINSON
HER FAMILY 15 PERSONS IN ALL WERE MURDERED AT THE SAME TIME
AT PELHAM BAY.
SEE RECORDS AT ALBANY N.
Having read this legend, as the gesture of the Captain bade
me do, I was still at a loss to account for blood flowijtin the vine.
4
441-11.************************#
Staff Reporter's note:
(I fear that this is a none too adequate contribution to
folkore, but it is about all I can do with the paucity of material
I was able to obtain on this visit to Clason Point.
The Captain seems rather saturated with prejudices which I
believe have no relevancy to our purpose, and I have refrained from
giving expression to them. He indicates a dislike of W. P. A., and
more obviously dislikes the "Jews and Eyetalians".)