August 17, 1806: Lewis & Clark “Settle Up” with Sacagawea

On August 17, 1806 as Lewis and Clark prepared to return to St. Louis, they “settled up” with Toussaint Charbonneau, the independent trader who had signed on as an interpreter, not so much because of his abilities, but because his wife Sacagawea could speak Shoshone as well as Hidatsa, as well as a little French.sacagawea-obverse

Charbonneau received approximately $500 for his horse, his tepee, and his services; Sacagawea received nothing.

Clark noted in a letter to Charbonneau: “Your woman who accompanied you that long dangerous and fatiguing rout to the Pacific Ocean and back disserved a greater reward for her attention and services on that route than we had in our power to offer her.”

She was a teenage Indian girl, a member of the Shoshone tribe who had been taken prisoner by members of the Hidatsa, and then traded to the 40 year old French Charbonneau, had won Sacagawea in a wager.

She soon found herself pregnant and accompanying a band of white men on an 8,000-mile expedition for 28 months into some of America’s most treacherous territories. Fortunately for the explorers, Sacagawea could read the rivers and the valleys. She had a sense of what the landscapes said about direction, where they were, and where they were going. She also had a sense of what could be eaten along the way, and she knew how to find food.

Her interpreting skills proved invaluable when she negotiated with the Shoshone for horses. Without those horses, who knows what would have happened to the expedition…

The last recorded glimpses of Sacagawea came in 1811 from a traveler who described a young Indian woman, in her early twenties, wearing the cast off clothing of white women, drifting through St. Louis, seemingly alone, having given up her children to the care of William Clark.

It appears that she died the following year.

August 14, 1937: Hemingway Slaps Eastman In Face

It was headline news in the New York Times.

Max Eastman was sitting with his editor Max Perkins in the Scribner’s Fifth Avenue publishing offices one summer day, when Ernest Hemingway barged in. hemingway460

Eastman had recently written an essay (“Bull in the Afternoon”) which challenged Papa Hemingway’s macho posturing, “Come out from behind that false hair on your chest, Ernest. We all know you.”

The volume containing the essay happened to be lying on Perkins’s crowded desk just then, “and when I saw that,” says Mr. Hemingway, “I began to get sore.” Using a few “Death in the Afternoon” phrases, Hemingway made some kidding remarks about the essay, and then he bared his chest to Mr. Eastman and asked him to look at the hair and say whether it was false.

He then pulled opened Eastman’s shirt to reveal the older man’s considerably less hairy one. Perkins, trying to keep things light, then exposed his own.

Then, Hemingway to Eastman: “Look here, what did you say I was sexually impotent for?”

“We were just fooling around, in a way,” Mr. Hemingway said yesterday. “But when I looked at him and I thought about the book, I got sore. I tried to get him to read to me, in person, some of the stuff he had written about me. He wouldn’t do it. So that’s when I socked him with the book.”

“He was standing over there,” pointing to a window with a window seat in Mr. Perkins’s office. “I didn’t really sock him. If I had I might have knocked him through that window and out into Fifth Avenue. That would be fine, wouldn’t it? That would have got me in wrong with my boss, and he might have had me arrested. So, though I was sore, I just slapped him. That knocked him down. He fell back there on the window seat.”

“But how about throwing you over the desk?” Mr. Hemingway was asked, “and standing you on your head in a corner?”

“He didn’t throw anybody anywhere. He jumped at me like a woman–clawing, you know, with his open hands. I just held him off. I didn’t want to hurt him. He’s ten years older than I am.”

“How about books and papers being knocked off the desk?” Mr. Hemingway was asked. “Mr. Eastman says–”

“Sure, some books were knocked off. He jumped at me. I held him off, there was a little, a little wrestle.”

“The man didn’t have a bit of fight. He just croaked, you know, at Max Perkins. ‘Who’s calling on you? Ernest or me?’ So I got out. But he didn’t do any throwing around. He just sat and took it.

I felt sorry for him. Max Perkins told me, he said ‘no one has any right to humiliate a man the way you have.’ And I guess he’s right. I feel kind of sorry, but he shouldn’t go around telling these lies.”

Mr. Hemingway had a large swelling over his left eye, high up on his forehead. Asked if this was a result of the battle of Thursday he grinned and shook his head.

He pulled off his coat and showed a deep scar in the biceps of his right arm.

“Max Eastman didn’t do that to me, either,” he said. He showed another scar. “Or that.”

Mr. Hemingway is sailing for Spain today. It is understood that Mr. Eastman left yesterday to spend a week-end at Marthas Vineyard.

Mr. Perkins and other members of the Scribner staff refused to do more than verify the fact that the affair had taken place, taking the stand that “this is a personal matter between the two gentlemen in question.”

August 13, 1919: A Horse Named “Upset” Beats Man o’ War

SARATOGA, N.Y.- Special to the NY Times –
The Glen Riddle Farm’s great two-year-old, Man o’ War, met with his first defeat here today in the running of the Sanford Memorial. He was forced to bow to Harry Payne Whitney’s Upset in a neck-and-neck finish in this six-furlong dash. Though defeated, Man o’ War was not discredited. On the contrary, the manner in which he ran this race stamped him, in the opinion of horsemen, as the best of his division without question. Though failing to get his nose in front, he stood out as the best horse in the race by a large margin, for he had all the worst of the racing luck.
Upset Man o War
Beginning with a very bad start, he came on to give battle to a horse which had a start of three to four lengths on him. There was scarcely a witness of this race who did not believe after it was all over that Man o’ War would have walked home, with anything like a fair chance. For those who had hoped for a pretty race without anything to mar it, it was unfortunate that the acting starter, C.H. Pettingill, one of the placing judges, spent several minutes trying to get the horses lined up and then sent them away with only those near the rail ready for the start. The start was responsible for the defeat of Man o’ War, it turned out.

Off almost last, Man o’ War gained his speed in a few strides and then started to pass horses all along the back stretch. Steadily Man o’ War drew up on Upset. On the last part of the turn into the stretch, Man o’ War took third position, about two lengths back of Upset. A few strides down the stretch Golden Broom suddenly gave up, and Upset ran past him. In another instant Man o’ War had dashed by his chestnut rival and it became a question whether Upset could last to win. Steadily Man o’ War drew up on Upset. A hundred feet from the wire he was three-fourths of a length away. At the wire he was a scant neck out of the first position and in another twenty feet he would have passed the Whitney horse.

What made the race of Man o’ War so impressive was the fact that he came from so far behind and that also he conceded fifteen pounds to Upset. On the very performance of the two today the Whitney horse would not appear to have a chance to win under an even break. The Sanford Memorial, for which John Sanford donated a cup on this occasion because of the presence of Man o’ War and the widely heralded Golden Broom, who finished third, was by far the most interesting event that has been held during the Saratoga meeting. One of the largest crowds of the meeting, about 20,000 persons, saw the running of the race.

Man o’ War, who beat Upset in their six previous meetings, never lost another race. He was retired to stud in 1920 and foaled 64 stakes winners, including the 1937 Triple Crown winner, War Admiral.

August 12, 1958: A Great Day in Harlem

One evening early in August 1958, Nat Hentoff rushed into the Hickory House jazz club in Midtown Manhattan and told Marian McPartland  “You’ve got this date to have this picture taken at 10 o’clock.”


Marian didn’t particularly want to get up that early the next morning, but she did. So did a lot of other cool cats. On Aug. 12, 1958, at the ungodly hour of 10 a.m, fifty-seven of the hippest jazz musicians of the be-bop era gathered on East 126th Street to have their picture taken for Esquire magazine.

As the neighborhood gathered and gawked, the hipsters met and joked with friends, family, scatted about, and even blew a few jazz riffs. Freelance photographer Art Kane bunched them together in front of the steps of two brownstones. Some neighborhood kids plunked down on the curb alongside pianist-bandleader Count Basie who had grown tired of standing, waiting for the shoot to begin.

Dizzy Gillespie, Thelonious Monk, Charles Mingus, Gene Krupa, Gerry Mulligan, Sonny Rollins were there.  So were Red Allen, Buster Bailey, Emmett Berry, Art Blakey, Lawrence Brown, Scoville Browne, Buck Clayton, Bill Crump, Vic Dickenson, Roy Eldridge, Art Farmer, Bud Freeman, Tyree Glenn, Benny Golson, Sonny Greer, Johnny Griffin, Gigi Gryce, Coleman Hawkins, J.C. Heard, Jay C. Higginbotham, Milt Hinton, Chubby Jackson, Hilton Jefferson, Osie Johnson, Hank Jones, Jo Jones, Jimmy Jones, Taft Jordan, Max Kaminsky, Eddie Locke, Marian McPartland, Oscar Pettiford, Rudy Powell, Luckey Roberts, Jimmy Rushing, Pee Wee Russell, Sahib Shihab, Horace Silver, Zutty Singleton, Stuff Smith, Rex Stewart, Maxine Sullivan, Joe Thomas, Wilbur Ware, Dickie Wells, George Wettling, Ernie Wilkins, Mary Lou Williams, and Lester Young.

At the sight of this august gathering, even the angel Gabriel must have been blowing his trumpet in heaven.

August 21, 1790: George Washington’s Letter to the Hebrew Congregation at Newport

While I received with much satisfaction your address replete with expressions of esteem, I rejoice in the opportunity of assuring you that I shall always retain grateful remembrance of the cordial welcome I experienced on my visit to Newport from all classes of citizens.Touro_Synagogue_National_Historic_Site

The reflection on the days of difficulty and danger which are past is rendered the more sweet from a consciousness that they are succeeded by days of uncommon prosperity and security.

If we have wisdom to make the best use of the advantages with which we are now favored, we cannot fail, under the just administration of a good government, to become a great and happy people.

The citizens of the United States of America have a right to applaud themselves for having given to mankind examples of an enlarged and liberal policy — a policy worthy of imitation. All possess alike liberty of conscience and immunities of citizenship.

It is now no more that toleration is spoken of as if it were the indulgence of one class of people that another enjoyed the exercise of their inherent natural rights, for, happily, the Government of the United States, which gives to bigotry no sanction, to persecution no assistance, requires only that they who live under its protection should demean themselves as good citizens in giving it on all occasions their effectual support.
It would be inconsistent with the frankness of my character not to avow that I am pleased with your favorable opinion of my administration and fervent wishes for my felicity.

May the children of the stock of Abraham who dwell in this land continue to merit and enjoy the good will of the other inhabitants — while every one shall sit in safety under his own vine and fig tree and there shall be none to make him afraid.

May the father of all mercies scatter light, and not darkness, upon our paths, and make us all in our several vocations useful here, and in His own due time and way everlastingly happy.

G. Washington

August 11, 1934: Alcatraz Island opens as a Federal Prison

Alcatraz was created as a “super prison” for kidnapers, racketeers, and predatory criminals such as Al Capone and “Machine-Gun” Kelly. “The Rock” in the middle of San Francisco Bay was considered escape proof – but convicts kept attempting to flee:

April 27, 1936 — While working at the trash incinerator, Joe Bowers began climbing the chain link fence at the island’salcatraz.1 edge. Refusing orders to stop, he was shot by an officer from the guard tower. Bowers fell 100 feet to the shore below, dead.

December 16, 1937 — Theodore Cole and Ralph Roe filed through the flat iron bars on a window in the model industries building. They disappeared into the waters of San Francisco Bay during a storm when the Bay’s currents were especially fast and strong, and were swept out to sea.

May 23, 1938 — James Limerick, Jimmy Lucas, and Rufus Franklin attacked correctional officer Royal Cline in the woodworking shop and killed him with a hammer. They then climbed to the roof, where a guard in the tower shot them. Limerick died; Lucas and Franklin received life sentences.

January 13, 1939 — “Doc” Barker, Dale Stamphill, William Martin, Henry Young, and Rufus McCain sawed through iron cell bars. Guards found the men at the shoreline. Martin, Young, and McCain surrendered; Barker and Stamphill were shot; Barker died.

May 21, 1941 — Joe Cretzer, Sam Shockley, Arnold Kyle, and Lloyd Barkdoll took several guards hostage while in the industries area. The officers managed to convince the four that they could not escape and they surrendered.

September 15, 1941 — While on garbage detail, John Bayless attempted to flee. He gave up shortly after entering the cold water of San Francisco Bay.

April 14, 1943 — James Boarman, Harold Brest, Floyd Hamilton, and Fred Hunter took two officers hostage. They climbed out a window and made their way to the water. Guards fired shots as they started swimming away. Boarman sank below the water; Hunter and Brest were apprehended; Hamilton hid out for two days in a small cave before he was discovered.

August 7, 1943 — Huron “Ted” Walters disappeared from the laundry building. He was caught at the shoreline.

July 31, 1945 — John Giles worked unloading army laundry sent to the island to be cleaned. Over time, he stole an entire army uniform. Dressed in uniform, Giles calmly walked aboard an army launch. When it arrived at Angel Island Giles was met by correctional officers who returned him to “the Rock”.

May 2, 1946 — Bernard Coy, Joe Cretzer, Marvin Hubbard, Sam Shockley, Miran Thompson, and Clarence Carnes overpowered officers, seized guns and keys, and took control of the cellhouse. Unable to unlock the yard door, the six decided to fight. Two hostages were shot point-blank, 18 officers were injured, and the Marines were called in. Coy, Cretzer, and Hubbard wound up dead. Shockley and Thompson received the death penalty and were executed in the gas chamber at San Quentin.

July 23, 1956 — Floyd Wilson disappeared from his job at the dock. After hiding for several hours among large rocks along the shore, he was discovered.

September 29, 1958 — While working on the garbage detail, Aaron Burgett and Clyde Johnson overpowered a guard and attempted to swim from the island. Johnson was caught in the water; Burgett’s body was found floating in the Bay two weeks later.

June 11, 1962 — Frank Morris and John and Clarence Anglin drilled through vent holes, climbed to the top of the cellblock and escaped to the roof. They then climbed down a drainpipe and made their way to the water. A water search found two crude life vests and a raft fabricated out of prison-issue raincoats, but no sign of the men. Several weeks later, a badly deteriorated body washed up a short distance up the coast from San Francisco.

December 16, 1962 — John Paul Scott and Darl Parker bent bars in the cellhouse basement, climbed out, and plunged into the water. Parker was discovered on a small outcropping of rock a short distance offshore; Scott was found on the rocks beneath the Golden Gate Bridge suffering from shock and hypothermia. Both were returned to Alcatraz.

August 10, 1846: The Smithsonian Institute is created

James Smithson was interested in almost everything: the venom of snakes, the chemistry of volcanoes, the constituents of a lady’s tear, the fundamental nature of electricity… He published papers on an improved method of making coffee, an analysis of the mineral calamine, substances used in traditional Indian medicines . . .Smithsonian

He was the illegitimate son of the first Duke of Northumberland and a wealthy widow who was a cousin of the Duchess. His exact birthday remains unknown because he was born in secret in Paris, where his mother had gone to hide her pregnancy.

Smithson never married; he had no children. He traveled widely in Europe, was in Paris during the French Revolution, and was later imprisoned during the Napoleonic Wars. Friends with many of the great scientific minds of his age, he believed that the scientific pursuit of knowledge was the key to prosperity for all of society: “It is in his knowledge that man has found his greatness and his happiness. . . . No ignorance is probably without loss to him.”

Smithson died in 1829, at approximately 64 years old while living in Genoa, Italy. His considerable wealth was left to his nephew Henry James Hungerford. However, in a curious codicil, the will indicated that if Hungerford should die leaving no heirs—legitimate or illegitimate— the money was to go to the people of the United States of America, a place Smithson had never visited, to create something to be called “the Smithsonian Institution” for the “increase and diffusion of knowledge” among men.

The will was so extraordinary that it was printed in the Times of London, and the potential windfall for the United States caught the eye of an American editor who reprinted it in The New York American. However, it was unlikely that anything would come of the potential bequest.  Smithson’s nephew and heir was only in his early 20s, and seemed quite adept at spending down his inheritance.

Six years later, however, Hungerford died of unknown causes in Pisa, Italy, leaving no heirs.

The executor of the estate contacted the American Chargé d’Affaires in London and set in motion the transfer of the estate, and President Andrew Jackson soon announced the bequest to Congress. In September 1838, Smithson’s legacy, which amounted to more than 100,000 gold sovereigns, was delivered to the mint at Philadelphia. Recoined in U.S. currency, the gift amounted to more than $500,000.

For the next eight years, Congress debated what to do with the estate. Finally President James K. Polk signed the legislation Aug. 10, 1846, that established the Smithsonian Institution.

Since its founding the Smithsonian has grown to become the world’s largest museum and research complex, comprised of 19 museums, the National Zoo and nine research facilities.

August 7, 1794: George Washington Quenches the Whiskey Rebellion

In 1790, the Federal government of the United States assumed the debts incurred by the colonies during the Revolution, and the new government was deep ($54 million) in debt. Alexander Hamilton, the enterprising Secretary of the Treasury, proposed a bill which Congress approved in 1791 that established an excise tax on all distilled spirits.whiskey

The large distillers on the east coast, who produced alcohol as a full …time business venture could make a flat annual tax payment which whiskeyworked out to about six cents per gallon. The smaller producers inland however, who only made whiskey occasionally, had to make payments of almost twice that amount each time they distilled a barrel. The government insisted that payment be made in cash – but for many farmers, whiskey WAS cash, as they operated in a barter economy and it was much easier to trade distilled spirits to the eastern markets than raw grain.

Pretty soon, when excise officers arrived in towns west of the Alleghenies to set up shop, they learned to not stay long unless they were looking to be tarred and feathered. Things came to an ugly head in 1794 when a large mob in western Pennsylvania marched on collector John Neville’s house in Washington County, had a shoot-out with him and his slaves, and burned his home to the ground. Neville escaped, but then the locals started talking about breaking away from the Union.

On August 7, George Washington invoked the Militia Acts and called out the troops. He personally led a militia force of 12,950 men towards Western Pennsylvania, warning locals “not to abet, aid, or comfort the Insurgents aforesaid, as they will answer the contrary at their peril.” By the time the militia reached Pittsburgh, the rebels had dispersed and could not be found.

The Whiskey Rebellion was over.

Three years later George Washington hired a Scottish plantation manager, James Anderson, and with his advice and assistance the Father of Our Country built his own whiskey distillery at Mt. Vernon, next to the gristmill. Five copper pot stills were erected, which soon produced a fine mash whiskey using Washington’s own recipe of rye (60%), corn (35%) and malted barley (5%).

By 1799, the distillery produced almost 11,000 gallons of whiskey. It had become the largest operation of its kind in America and the most successful business enterprise Washington undertook at Mount Vernon.

August 6, 1849: Catherine Havens begins her Diary in old New York

I am ten years old today, and I am going to begin to keep a diary. My sister says it is a good plan, and when I am old, and in a remembering mood, I can take out my diary and read about what I did when I was a little girl.catherine

catherineI can remember as far back as when I was only four years old, but I was too young then to keep a diary, but …I will begin mine by telling what I can recall of that far-away time.

The first thing I remember is going with my sister in a sloop to visit my aunts, Mrs. Dering and Mrs. L’Hommedieu, on Shelter Island. We had to sleep two nights on the sloop, and had to wash in a tin basin, and the water felt gritty.

These aunts live in a very old house. It was built in 1733 and is called the Manor House, and some of the floors and doors in it were in a house built in 1635 of wood brought from England.

The next thing I remember is going with my nurse to the Vauxhall Gardens, and riding in a merry-go-round. These Gardens were in Lafayette Place, near our house, and there was a gate on the Lafayette Place side, and another on the Bowery side.

Back of our house was an alley that ran through to the Bowery, and there was a livery stable on the Bowery, and one time my brother, who was full of fun and mischief, got a pony from the stable and rode it right down into our kitchen and galloped it around the table and frightened our cook almost to death.

Another time he jumped onto a new barrel of flour and went right in, boots and all. He was so mischievous that our nurse kept a suit of his old clothes done up in a bundle, and threatened to put them on him and give him to the old-clothes man when he came along.

The beggar girls bother us dreadfully. They always have the same story to tell, that “my father is dead and my mother is sick, and there’s five small children of us, and nary a hapo.” The hapo means money.

They come down the steps to the kitchen door and ring the bell and ask for cold victuals; and sometimes they peek through the window into the basement, which is my nursery. And one day my brother said to one of them, “My dear, I am very sorry, but our victuals are all hot now, but if you will call in about an hour they will be cold.” And she went away awfully angry.

We moved from Lafayette Place to Brooklyn when I was four years old, but only lived there one year. My brother liked Brooklyn because he could go crabbing on the river, but I was afraid of the goats, which chased one of my friends one day. So we came back to New York, and my father bought a house in Ninth Street. He bought it of a gentleman who lived next door to us, and who had but one lung, and he lived on raw turnips and sugar. Perhaps that is why he had only one lung. I don’t know.

I am still living in our Ninth Street house. It is a beautiful house and has glass sliding doors with birds of Paradise sitting on palm trees painted on them. And back of our dining room is a piazza, and a grape vine, and we have lots of Isabella grapes every fall. It has a parlor in front and the library in the middle and the dining room at the back. On the mantelpiece in the library is a very old clock that my father brought from France in one of his ships. It has a gilt head of Virgil on the top, and it is all gilt, and stands under a big glass case, and sometimes I watch my father when he takes off the case to wind the clock, and he has to lift it up so high and his hands tremble so, I am afraid he will break it.

Sometimes I think we shall never move again. I think it is delightful to move. I think it is so nice to shut my eyes at night and not to know where anything will be in the morning, and to have to hunt for my brush and comb and my books and my et ceteras, but my mother and my nurse do not feel that way at all.

August 5, 1837, The First Ascent of Mt. Marcy

Ebenezer Emmons was a doctor from the Berkshires with a particular interest in geology. After graduating from Williams College and the Albany College of Medicine, he studied geology at the Rensselaer School in Troy. He was fascinated with Paleozoic stratigraphy, and was the first discoverer of primordial fauna in any country.…

Orson Phelps was not a great guide. His neighbors considered him lazy and shiftless. He delighted in bushwacking up atwo guides.1 trail, but didn’t care much about preparing camp…

Dr. Emmons was leading the Geological Survey of New York State, looking for the headwaters of the Hudson River in the high country of northern New York. The survey party found the river’s source at “Lake Tear of the Clouds” on the southwest slope of the highest mountain (5,343 feet) of the range. Continuing to the summit, Dr. Emmons named the mountain “Mount Marcy” after New York’s Governor, William L. Marcy.

Orson Phelps always called it “Mt. Mercy”. He turned climbing mountains into a remunerative specialty by carefully cultivated his image. He wore a woolen shirt, patched up butternut trousers, and a limp, light-brown felt hat, frayed away at the top so that his tangled yellow hair grew out of it like a fern. “Soap is a thing,” he said, “that I hain’t no kinder use for.”

Emmons named the mountains the “Adirondacks”, from the Mohawk “ratirontaks”, meaning “they eat trees”, which is how the Mohawk referred to their Algonquian neighbors who would eat buds and bark off trees when food was scarce.

Phelps called the mountains his home, where he lived with the “honkinflappers” (geese), “croakers” (frogs), “bumble-buzzers” (bees), “peelicks” (blue jays), “hooters” (owls), “skitterypups” (chipmunks and squirrels), and “porkypetes” (porcupines).

Emmons survey of New York State became the standard for stratigraphic surveys of the United States. He published the Manual of Mineralogy and Geology (1826), Report on the Second Geological District of New York (1842), Natural History of New York (1848), and Textbook of Geology (1860). He became embroiled in a nasty dispute with his student James Hall (the chief invertebrate paleontologist of his era) who claimed the rocks east of the Hudson River were younger, whereas Emmons claimed them to be older. The dispute went to court – suit led to counter suit. Ultimately a court decision favoring Hall forced Emmons to leave New York. (Geologists today side with Emmons).

Phelps stayed on the mountain. In 1849 he blazed the first trail to its summit from the east, going in from Lower Ausable Lake and then passing Haystack and the head of Panther Gorge. Later he cut the Bartlett Mountain trail. About 1850 he guided the first two ladies to make the complete ascent, to the summit of Marcy. He took care of the fancy summer people – to a point – he balked when offered lobster after soup and salad at the St. Huberts Inn, saying, “I drank yer dishwater an’ I ate yer grass, but I’ll be derned if I’ll eat yer bug!”

He became known as “Old Mountain Phelps”. When asked to lead the way up some unfamiliar trail, he would often say: “So you want Old Mountain Phelps to show you the way, do you. Well, I caller late he kin do it.”

Dr. Emmons saw the work of geologic history in the mountains; Old Mountain Phelps saw God in every sunrise and in every sunset. Where Dr. Emmons listened to a clear mountain stream and heard the force of erosion at work, Phelps heard a symphony.

Dr. Emmons passed away in 1866 in his exile in North Carolina. His remains were returned to Albany, where he was laid to rest next to his old rival, the invertebrate paleontologist of his era, James Hall.

Old Mountain Phelps lived to the age of eighty-eight in Keene Valley. He went to his eternal rest in 1905, and to the end expressed the hope and expectation that his next sight would be more beautiful sunrises and sunsets among other ranges of mountains which he would learn to love as much as he loved his own Adirondacks.

Mount Emmons (4,039 feet), the westernmost of the 46 High Peaks, bears Dr. Ebenezer Emmons’s name.

Phelps Mountain (4,160 feet) lies east of Marcy Dam and north of Mount Marcy.

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