And wind the clock New York 1903-1915

My sister Mary had been after me for a long time to come out to New York. She had left Ireland in 1898, so I hadn't seen her in five years.

Mary and I were very different. Mother told me that she was once asked, "What is wrong with Katie. I don't understand her. She is not like Mary, at all." I liked to be at home. Mary was always flitting here and there. She played the concertina and the melodeon at gatherings always on the go. She worked here and there. Once when Aunt Biddy (my father's sister who was a housekeeper to a farmer in Ardaloo) offered her a job helping her, Mary didn't last a week. She told Mother she wasn't going to work that hard! She even went to America in a hurry. I can almost see her now. She was a great one for having friends. She came home one day and said, so-and-so, a friend of hers had been sent a ticket, and so she was going to New York. There was also a ticket sent to another girl, who wouldn't go. Mary told her friend, not to throw it away, and she came flying home to tell us she was going. Mother knew the family well, and who it was, so off she went.

Mary met me in New York after I had gone through Ellis Island. She had a little apartment with a 41st cousin of ours-- Brigid Healey. Somehow it didn't strike me right. I really wanted to be on my own I saw an ad in the New York Herald for an employment office, and I went down there by myself. I didn't want Mary with me. She would be telling me, do this, do that, and anyway it was easy to get around in New York. All the streets were numbered so you knew where you were going. I gave the lady at the office a list of the places where I had worked in Belgium and Holland and told her I wanted to put my name in with her. After we talked a bit, she said that she thought I would suit a woman who had been in to see her, who wanted someone to be with her young son. He was a very delicate boy so he didn't go to school. She needed someone to be with him and to teach him French. I went to see the lady and I got the job. The boy was eight years old. His name was Hal, Hal Beardsley.

The Beardsley's were very wealthy. They lived on one of the uptown streets-74th, I think, in one of those grand houses with wide stone steps. It was the height of New York. The father, Sterling Beardsley, was a high man in Standard Oil- the head man. He owned a newspaper, too. The Standard or the Senate or something like that. He was a tall, plain, grey- haired fellow very lonely. We seldom saw him. Mrs. Beardsley was a plump nice lady. Her name was Lillian. There were three Beardsley children. Hal, the boy I took care of, was a late arrival. He was much younger than his brother, Sherman, and his sister, Agnes Louise. Sherman worked somewhere or other, and Agnes Louise was away at finishing school. She was soon to be married.

Hal was by himself most of the time. He really needed someone to care for him and to keep him company. I helped him with his little books, but his mother didn't want him to be bothered with much schooling until he was stronger, so we went walking a lot. We would be out before lunch to a big park where there was a fountain with water always flowing. There were small walks all around and seats for everyone. We'd go back to the house for lunch, and then out again at one or two o'clock and back for five. I always ate with Hal, just the two of us. In the evenings we played at his games, or read stories. He was such a nice little fellow.

In the summer the Beardsley's had a place up in the Catskills and I went up with them for two months. We went up by train. Mrs. Beardsley brought her mother with us. She was a nice old lady, not in very good health. The main summer home was a big place. They all stayed there. Agnes Louise, Hal and I had a cottage off by itself on the other side of the hill. Mr. Beardsley only came up once in a while. Sherman came up on weekends in his own car. They all had cars. Often Mrs. Beardsley took her mother for little drives in her car along the narrow roads and through the hills. Hal and I were mostly by ourselves. , He was not allowed to go swimming but we would go out in the water just paddling, We picked flowers, read stories and fooled around. It was a nice summer.

Mother was lonesome in Ireland, and I wanted to be on my own and to bring her out. I heard about another job through Mary and my cousin Brigid. Brigid's mother a fourth cousin or something-was working in the sewing room of the Ansonia Hotel. The Ansonia was an apartment hotel and there was a floor clerk vacancy. I applied to the head housekeeper and got the job. I had three floors to be responsible for in the .ANSONIA. I didn't like that. How could I be on the 2nd floor and know what was happening on the other two floors? There was a kind of a centre room with a table in it. There were tubes for messages, but no desks at all. I didn't like it. It was more of a boy's job.

 I got an apartment and made it ready for mother. It was on the main floor. There was a kitchen- we ate at one end of it- and a living room. A bathroom, of course, and two bedrooms. One of them should have been the dining room, but Mary and I had that one, and Mother had the other. Mother made the trip to New York with a girl from Comer who wanted to come to America.

By degrees everyone from Ireland found Mother in New York and came to her. Pat Ring wanted to stay with us, but I had to say to him, "Where would I put you, Pat?" Mother wanted to be able to say,-" Move in", and it made her unhappy when she couldn't. She was on the go all the time- meals and tea- always someone knocking on the door. One evening Mark Ring came to see us. He looked terrible. Soon after his visit we heard he was in the hospital. Mother said, "Someone has to go to him!" She got in touch with a friend of his, and they went. The nurse told them that there wasn't any hope, that he wouldn't get better and he died soon after. Happenings like that really bothered her. It was all too much. She decided that she should have stayed at home, so she went back to Ireland. That trip cured her loneliness for the old home. She wrote and said it was all different, that she 'would like to come back to America.

I went back to Ireland to get her. I only stayed a couple of weeks, and that was enough. Coming back to America with her was the third time I had crossed the ocean.

Henrietta O'Donnell was a friend of mine at the Ansonia. She had only one floor to look after- the Main floor. It was she who put into my head the idea of going to the Knickerbocker. She heard of the opening of this hotel and put her name in, and so did I. It was a big, grand new hotel. We both got an answer, but then Henrietta got scared. I didn't. I had an interview with Miss Cameron, the head housekeeper, for the job of desk clerk at the Knickerbocker when it would be opened. Miss Cameron was a real old maid. She had been going to be married once, but her boyfriend died of some disease or other, and left her alone. She was from Pennsylvania. She was very nice to me. She asked me why I had left the Beardsley's. I told her it was because I was anxious to have a home of my own, to bring my mother out from Ireland. She thought that was wonderful. So I went from the Ansonia to the Knickerbocker when it opened in 1906. I was the desk clerk on the Sixth Floor. I went on the Sixth, and stayed there until I left.

I met Bessie Brennan at the Knickerbocker. Her sister Margaret was going to give up her apartment, because she had to live in the hotel where she worked. She suggested that we take her apartment. Mary didn't come. She had a string of followers like herself. She had one job after another. If her job interfered with her parties, she quit the job. She also applied and got a job at the Knickerbocker, but when she found out she was forbidden to go out with the guests, she quit.

Bessie and I moved into the Main Floor apartment at 321 West 44th Street. Mother kept house for us. We had mostly a happy life in New York. Mother was contented and had good health. I did, too, except when I had a lot of sore throats and had to have my tonsils out It wasn't then the way it is now, You didn't go to a hospital unless you were dying. My doctor gave me an appointment, and I went down on the subway. He had a chair in his office. I sat on it, and he took my tonsils out then and there. It hurt, especially when I had to come home on the subway. I had to go to work the next day. There was no time off for anything.

 It was a sad time for us when Mother got a telegram from the White Fathers in Texas that my brother Joseph had died. He had joined the Fathers when they came to Ireland, and talked to the boys in the school. He was very young when he became a Brother with them. He could not become a Father because he didn't have enough education or money. They did not say what he died from, and Mother didn't try to find out. What was the point? She just trusted that the Fathers had taken good care of him.  

I was working at the Knickerbocker for the opening. It was a grand hotel. It was a young hotel. Mr. Regan was the figurehead, the manager, but the money for the hotel was really from John Jacob Astor. He was German. Reagan represented him. Regan was a great talker. I think he was drinking all the time. When we needed him, he never could be found. Mrs. Regan, his wife, didn't hold a job but she did all the work. She had bought all the furniture in Paris. The lobby was beautiful. Little tables and bits of china here and there. The floors were shiny. Maybe marble, but more like a delft thing. The lobby was always packed with people coming and going. It was at the very centre of the city. Anyone who was important stayed at the Knickerbocker.

There were four or five room-clerks in a big office in the lobby. It was the Main Office. Guests registered there, then a boy was sent with them to their room, and the key was handed over. Each floor had its own desk right in front of the elevator. No one could go up or down without reporting at the Floor Desk. The desk-clerk had to know. My floor was the Sixth floor. At my desk there was a phone, a place for the mail and the telegrams, and a book for records. Whenever anything was sent to the rooms, I had to know the name of the person who sent it and what was being taken into the room. When anyone visited I had to know their name, in case anything happened. When a guest was leaving, I took his key. Then I had to call to have the room investigated while he was checking out at the Main office downstairs, in case anything was missing. Some people did try to take things- the pretty knickknacks, or towels. It was a lot of work to do, but clean, dry work. Nice work.

Mrs. Regan was always checking on us. She was a haughty type. She was always looking for something to criticize. She would come down through the halls, starting at the top to see that everyone was working; you would have to be at your desk, standing up all the time, busy as a bee. Miss Cameron, the head housekeeper, would always warn us if she knew the Regan was commg, After a while Mr. Regan overdid it. He died in New York but there was hardly a soul at his funeral Poor man.

There were interesting people on my floor, the Sixth. Actors and opera people. Galli Gurchi; Scotti and Geraldine Farrar. They were all famous people.    Mr. Enrico Caruso, the great tenor, was on my floor. His suite was not near the desk, but he used to come out of his room, and sit in a little alcove near the desk behind plants where no one could see him. This day I came in and passed by to my desk, and didn't look at him. I never did, except he spoke to me first. He was in his bath robe, this day.He did not sit for long very often, but this time what bothered me was that he just sat and didn't say anything. I was checking things, and working with the books, and finally thought maybe he wants something. So I turned to him and said: "Mr. Caruso is there anything I could do for you?" "Ho, No tank you." He had a funny accent. "No tank you, Miss." Then after another few minutes he said: "Would you like to have my picture?" I said: "Oh, Mr. Caruso. That would be lovely." And he said: "Wait minoot." He went back to his suite, picked one out, and signed his name. "To Miss Katheryn Tynan. Enrico Caruso, N.Y. 1914". I didn't tell him he spelled my name wrong. Later, when I needed a picture of myself, he sent me to his photographer to get it done. He was a lonely man. His suite was at the end of the hall. He had an apartment for himself, and one for the two boys who worked for him. One did his clothes. He was the valet. Another one did everything for the theatre. His valet was always hanging around the desk. One day, he signed my autograph album, but I didn't pay attention to him. Caruso's wife came in one day. They weren't living together. She had quit him and married another fellow even though they were both Catholics. A bellboy warned me that she was on the way up. She tore past the desk, and down the long hall to try to get money from him. He wouldn't give it to her. She yelled at him: "You are the father of my husband's children!" I remember that. People were always trying to get money from him all the time. I felt sorry for him. Mr. Caruso gave me tickets to the opera once. He had a beautiful voice, but I must admit I fell asleep during the opera. Once he sang from the balcony of the hotel, to a crowd below on the street.

Another opera singer was Scotti. He was a grey-haired man, a real gentleman. Very tall. He had trouble with an actress singer, Geraldine Farrar. He was crazy about her, but she had another fellow on a string. She did lead him on. And oh, they are wicked when they get mad. We had to call the detective that there was trouble. Scotti went into her room and went wild. He tore the curtains off the walls, and broke things. He lost his mind when she told him she was going with the other fellow, but the detective came up and got it all down quietly so that there was no disturbances for the other guests.You see, Scotti had the privilege of coming to visit, and going into her room. If there was a parlor in the apartment, they could have visitors to stay as long as they liked, provided the parlor was paid for.

Geraldine Farrar had a beautiful apartment with a big parlour. There were sixteen floors in the Knickerbocker-- big apartments, suites, and rooms on each floor. Opera singers, actors and actresses lived in the hotel.. Marie Dressler, the famous actress, was not on my floor but I saw her often. She was a kind, plain woman, who went to Mass every morning. Billie Burke had a suite downstairs, but she also had a single on my floor. I would see her when she came in. She usually had her mother with her an older person, very sedate. She also had a very young girl with her. If she forgot anything she would send the girl back for it. The girl was her personal maid, about fifteen or sixteen years old.

Billie Burke married Flo Ziegfield, the famous Broadway producer of the Ziegfield Follies. He had other girls on a string and one of Billie Burke's friends told her he wasn't faithful to her. Billie said: "Are you trying to break up my marriage?" And she never again spoke to her friend.

The Barrymore's didn't live at the Knickerbocker, they lived across the street there were three of them- big Broadway stars.

It was against the rules of the hotel for the staff to hold any of the guests at the desk. Michael Gallivan was in Room 614, very close to the desk. He came from the north somewhere, and was in New York on business- meetings of some kind or other. He would be there for a week sometimes, then gone, and back again. I guess the first time he didn't have the nerve to talk to me, although he told me later that he knew from the first time he saw me that he wanted me. He used to come out in the late evening. That was theatre time when everyone was away working. No one would be walking around in the halls.Manys the time I sent him back to his room. When I said he would get me into trouble, standing there, he would say, "I am waiting for a letter". I would send him away, and then he'd be back again at my elbow.

The first time I went out with him was to Midnight Mass. I didn't have the heart to say 'no'. He wanted to see me home and I said, "No, thank you". "Why?" he said. "Because I am not going home. I am going to Midnight Mass." "I'd love to go," he said. "Can I go?" It petrified me, and I said, "Of course, if you want to go to Mass, you can." So we walked down to 34th Street. Usually when Bessie Brennan and I went, we took the bus down, but this time we walked. We were late and the whole church was packed. We could hardly get in the door. We knelt the whole blessed time in the back of the church and then he walked me home. I never went out with him except to go to Mass.

I told my mother, "Oh, that man. I don't know what to think of him. “She said, "Well now, how do you really find him?" And I said, "Well, he's all right. He seems to be nice. He hasn't done anything I could find fault with at all. “We didn't talk any more about it.

Well, he kept after me. He was coming in and coming out of the hotel, and one time he asked me. I told him, "I am not leaving my mother for anyone." And he said, "Well, take your mother with you. I'd like to have her." So I took him up to the house to meet Mother. And talk about her being independent! He was trying to be so polite and kind, but he said the wrong thing. He had a new house at the time, he was after building. A very nice home. He said: "1 will give you a nice home. “She said, "Thank you very much, but I always had a nice home."

Michael gave me nice gifts. A little gold heart- shaped brooch, set with pretty stones. A pearl necklace. Another brooch set with blue topaz, with a matching lavaliere. They were very nice gifts, although I wasn't much for jewellery. We exchanged photographs. He sent me his picture with his two little boys, and I went and got my picture taken at Mr. Caruso's photographer.

My supervisor, Miss Cameron, was always very good to me. I talked to her about this man who was always kind to me, and asked her advice. I asked her about marrying him. You see, after Astor was drowned in the Titanic, everything began to change at the Knickerbocker.. The Regan's were troubled and no one knew what was going to happen. I was responsible for Mother so I told my worries to Miss Cameron.I told her that Michael Gallivan was a widower, and I would take care of his two sons, and he would take care of mother. You see, I could talk to her but I couldn't talk to Mother. Miss Cameron advised me to marry him.

 I told Michael so, and he went back to his home at Lethbridge in Alberta, Canada. On his way home he bought a diamond engagement ring. He got it at Ryrie-Birks jewelers in Winnipeg, a town on the way to his home. Then he had his range rider, Pat Murphy, ride on horseback from Lethbridge, into Montana, so it could be sent to me by American post.

Michael made plans that we would go by train to meet him in Canada, at Port Arthur, a town about half way between New York and the place where he lived in Lethbridge . He sent me $200.00 for the train fare. I found this insulting and I sent it right back to him. He hurt my dignity. I didn't want his money. I wasn't married to him then.

 "Well now," my mother said. "He will be insulted." I said "1 don't feel right taking that money. 1 have money myself'. We did have money saved.

When everything was settled, I resigned from the Knickerbocker. I knew that it was going to be an entirely different life-- Michael with his two little boys, and me with Mother-- in another strange place. . Mother didn't say much, but she didn't seem to mind leaving New York. She was coming with me.