http://www.nydailynews.com/city_life/big_town/v-pfriendly/story/70069p-65206 c.html
In 1880, one Senor Angel Fernandez decided to make a killing in New York's bull market. His big mistake was doing it at 116th St. and Sixth Ave. instead of in the lush financial meadows of Wall Street. The result was more a bovine burlesque than an exhibition of courage and skill. Fernandez herded Angel Valdemoro, said to be the favorite torero of the King of Spain, and seven other bullfighters into Manhattan, rented a plot of Harlem land for $333.33 a month and proceeded to build a roofless amphitheater accommodating some 5,000. He then rounded up 11 Texas steers, easily obtained in a town that had a major appetite for beef. Finally, he plastered the town with posters announcing: 3 GRAND BULL-FIGHT PERFORMANCES ONLY The first fight was scheduled for July 31. The others were slated for Aug. 3 and Aug. 6. While the advertising did not cause a fever of interest in the teeming downtown part of the city, it did win the attention of Henry Bergh of the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals. Bergh was not placated by the Spanish impresario's claim that his bullfights would be bloodless and cultural. He showed with half a dozen officers of the animal-hugging society. On hand also was a troupe of nearly 60 uniformed police. Since the arena was in a "remote" area of the city, reported the New York Tribune, "situated on a rural-looking plain," the crowd began showing up early for the 5 p.m. exhibition. But Fernandez had neglected to hire enough ticket sellers, and by the time of the fight more than half the seats in the shaky arena were empty and the street near the ticket booth was jammed with an unhappy crowd. Finally, with nearly 5,000 people paying $1.50 for a spot on the rough board seats, the show began, more than a half-hour late. The festivities commenced with the eight bullfighters parading into the 80-foot-wide ring to a brass band accompaniment. The crowd expected real action, because Texas steers were a familiar hazard of the late 19th century urban landscape, often breaking free on their way to becoming steaks. They were disappointed. "Texas steers have created many exciting scenes in the streets of New York by tossing women and children on their sharp horns and becoming traveling targets for harmless fusillades from the pistols of policemen," said the Herald. "But in the bull ring, among grandly dressed Spanish toreros, caudillas and caudillos, the Texas steer is a mild and comparatively inoffensive animal." Sharp horns had been blunted with rubber balls, and the toreros would not use swords or darts. Instead, they would mark the bulls with red rosettes stuck on with mucilage. After the toreros in their velvet knee pants strutted around the ring for two or three minutes, Bull No. l was released. The animal made a "reluctant appearance" until the band struck up "Hail Columbia" and the Spaniards began waving their capes. He then charged, sending the bullfighters jumping out of the ring to a protected alley in front of the grandstands. As the crowd roared with laughter, the bull took "a leap worthy of a greyhound" and followed his tormentors. He was finally driven back into the ring with the help of spectators who used canes and umbrellas. Bull No. 2 was less energetic and the crowd bellowed that Valdemoro should "try and milk it." Bull No. 3 came out, paused to size up the situation and then charged at every human in his view, clearing the ring in "about three seconds," according to the Tribune, and bringing the crowd to its feet cheering, "Go Texas!" The fighting went downhill from there. The next four bulls were not in the least pugnacious and the crowd surrendered itself to raillery interspersed with hissing. Pretty soon, a chant of "Get your money back at the box office" was taken up by the unhappy ticket holders. The stands were emptying long before the last steer was let loose into the ring, and the few spectators remaining turned their anger on the toreros who couldn't seem even to annoy the animals, who generally just stood and watched them or headed back to the stalls whence they came. The only happy person in the arena was Bergh of the SPCA, who told reporters that bullfighting was something that New York did not need. By the time of the second scheduled bullfight, Fernandez found himself gored by creditors and his arena in possession of a deputy sheriff. He owed everybody, including the printer of his posters. His enterprise ended ignominiously when three of the Texas steers busted out of the arena, stampeded into Central Park and splashed around in the lake at 110th St. A large crowd gathered and watched as cops moved in on the jumping beasts. The chase went on all night. By morning, two of the steers had been shot dead. The third disappeared into the park's woods and was never seen again. Fernandez's property was seized, including the remaining cattle, which were sold to a butcher. He quietly left town, and it was a long time before anybody again suggested staging a bullfight in New York City. xponent Storytime Maru rob I awoke this morning Love laid me down by the river Drifting I turned on up stream Bound for my forgiver In the giving of my eyes to see your face Sound did silence me Leaving no trace I beg to leave, to hear your wonderous stories _______________________________________________ http://www.mccmedia.com/mailman/listinfo/brin-l
