The Lost Tribe of Coney Island

by Claire Prentice

  To the surprise of the American men and women who came to Luna Park later that day, they were greeted by a large sign in front of the Filipinos’ deserted enclosure, which read, “The Igorrote Village has been closed by Messrs Thompson & Dundy because they would not permit the Igorrotes exhibiting some objectionable features.”6 It was a gesture designed to save face. The owners of Luna Park didn’t want anyone to know that their biggest attraction had pulled up stakes and would soon be on display at Dreamland. But there was an irony in their choice of words; after all, it was the tribe’s “objectionable features”—the near nudity, the dog slaughtering, and relative sexual freedom—that had made the Igorrotes such a hit.

  Truman delivered a parting gift for Thompson and Dundy. After the tribe’s departure, he sent a note to a reporter friend of his at the New York Times in which he quoted the tribal leader saying the dispute with the owners of Luna Park began as a labor strike in protest against the Americanization of their diet. According to the note, the Igorrotes had pleaded with Thompson and Dundy to allow them to return to a more authentic diet and a simpler life like the one they enjoyed back in the north Luzon wilds, and had “refused to dance a single step or utter one note of Igorrote music until their demands were recognized.”7 When Thompson and Dundy had refused, the Igorrotes had upped and left.

  Though the Igorrotes were nervous about uprooting their lives again so soon, many of them were relieved to have left Luna Park. They had been complaining for weeks about their food and about some aspects of the show that they felt demeaned their customs. Truman had seemed sympathetic, but he was a busy man and in recent weeks he had been increasingly absent from Coney Island. Julio had heard good things said about Gumpertz, and with all this talk about a return to a more “authentic” way of life, the Igorrotes were hopeful that finally their complaints were going to be addressed.

  Gumpertz was a balding, kind-looking man whose tiny spectacles gave him a scholarly air. The son of a lawyer, at the age of nine he’d run off to join the circus, working as an acrobat until a crash landing on his head from the top of the human pyramid abruptly ended his circus career. Undeterred, he went on to work with Buffalo Bill as one of his Congress of Rough Riders and later managed Harry Houdini. By 1905 he was regarded as one of the best men in the business and he knew his well-earned reputation was riding on this summer season. Eager to generate some publicity for his Igorrote Village, Gumpertz planned to transport his new arrivals back across the Brooklyn Bridge to Manhattan. Then they would return to Coney Island, where they would be presented to the press and the public as if they had just arrived direct from the Philippine Islands. Dreamland’s press agent, a former journalist by the name of George Wotherspoon, had come up with the scheme and had invited a bunch of his newspaper friends to come along and meet the tribe. If anyone saw through the stunt, Gumpertz would simply say some of the Luna Park Igorrotes had joined his own group fresh off the boat from Manila.

  Aware that the tribal chief and the translator might be recognized, Gumpertz told them to wait behind at Dreamland. Reporters, not remembering the faces of the Igorrotes they had already met, greeted the “new arrivals,” who described the excitement they felt on seeing the New York skyline up close. The Brooklyn Daily Eagle recounted the moment when one of the tribesmen first clapped eyes on the Brooklyn Bridge and exclaimed, “The American man, he is god; he can do anything.”8 Gumpertz congratulated himself on pulling off his trick. Only the New York Times appeared to notice that the “new” Igorrotes at Dreamland had been living at Coney all summer, but no one else seemed to care.

  Gumpertz had once managed a chain of seventeen theaters for Col. Hopkins and the two remained friendly. Hopkins happened to be in New York on business when Gumpertz took delivery of the Igorrotes and the colonel had suggested another stunt to intrigue the press: what if they invited a dentist along to inspect the teeth of Dreamland’s newest residents?9

  The Igorrotes had never seen a dentist in their lives and the public who turned out to witness the spectacle wondered whether their teeth would pass muster. The dentist arrived promptly, dressed in black trousers and a white cotton dental jacket, and proceeded to rig up a chair in the Igorrotes’ enclosure, with a rope on each side. He selected two Igorrote helpers, whom he instructed to pull gently on the ropes whenever he raised his hand, thereby tipping the chair back so he could see inside his patients’ mouths. The tribespeople were instructed to line up, roughly in order of age. Few of the Filipinos knew their real ages, though it mattered little—it was all just part of the show. The dentist then called each of the tribespeople forward individually and invited them to lie back while he peered into their mouths. Every now and again, he would reach for one of his instruments and poke around inside as if investigating some potentially troublesome discovery. When the last of the Igorrotes had been summoned to the chair and the inspection was complete, the dentist declared, to everyone’s surprise, that the tribe’s teeth were by and large in excellent condition.

  After the show, Gumpertz encouraged the visitors to mill around inside the Igorrote Village and talk to the tribespeople. He wanted his exhibit to be more interactive than the village had been over at Luna. The Filipinos invited their visitors to come inside their half-built homes for a tour. The younger Igorrotes typically spoke better English than the older members of their tribe, having picked a bit up since they arrived in the country. They felt relaxed about Gumpertz’s request that they mix with the Americans. They tried on their hats and gave them spears and shields in return.

  By now the Igorrotes were utterly unselfconscious in front of their visitors. They invited them to dance and make music with them and praised those who joined in with the English words they’d picked up. “Good boys,” they cried as besuited American men danced around their campfire. The Igorrotes performed with renewed energy and vigor. For the first time in a while, they felt optimistic about what the future held. Their happiness would be short-lived.

  Standing on a platform at the entrance to the village, Gumpertz announced that the Filipino tribespeople were about to celebrate their arrival at Dreamland with a dog feast, “the first they have had in several days as it was impossible to allow them the privilege while crossing the continent.”10 Feloa looked at Dengay. What was the meaning of this? Julio looked over at them. It must be a one-off, he thought. Truman had given them his word.

  Crowds swarmed into the tribe’s enclosure, eager to see the bizarre Igorrote custom. Gumpertz nodded to Callahan to bring in the dogs. The Igorrotes could see they had no choice: the show must go on.

  The week after their move to Dreamland, Truman took twelve Igorrotes for a short trip to Atlantic City. There he led them on to the beach and instructed them to throw off their American clothes and run into the sea. The vacationers relaxing on the golden sand couldn’t believe their eyes. Many got up from where they’d been sitting and rushed toward the ocean for a closer look. Women shielded their eyes. A murmur of unease passed through the crowd. A few teenage boys began to scoop up fistfuls of sand and throw it in the direction of the nearly naked tribespeople, who were gaily splashing in the surf. Soon the Filipinos were being pelted with stinging wet sand and the younger tribesmen started to square up for a fight. Lifeguards came running. Someone was sent to fetch the police and the mayor.11

  The spectacle was the talk of the town. “Their attire was shocking,” read the report on page one of the next day’s Atlantic City Daily Press. “These Filipinos, in their native garb, would not be permitted to attend any function where scrutinizing eyes would glance them over. Their sole wearing apparel would not fill a trunk larger than a snuff box. At home, the laws of the wilds and woods, in which they live, do not call for full dress suits or overcoats. They simply roam around with the least possible amount of clothing. When they came to Atlantic City this week they did not take the trouble to go to the tailor and order new suits but held to their native dress. So when they appeared on the beach front yesterday, in their rather shocking g
arbs, the life crew found it necessary to order them off, or to don full-fledged American bathing suits. The crowd in that vicinity was hilarious for a time.”12 On the boat back to Coney, Truman praised the tribe for what he viewed as yet another publicity coup.

  Coincidentally, and more soberly, that same week Secretary Taft gave a major speech in Manila about the future of the Philippines. “His frank declaration that while the United States want to give the people of the islands self-government this could not be done until they become capable of it will perhaps increase the dissatisfaction in a certain restless contingent. Among the American residents, as well as among the more substantial and intelligent Filipinos, however, this frank declaration that existing conditions are not to be disturbed will inspire a feeling of confidence that will stimulate material progress,” concluded the New York Herald.13

  In late August Truman appeared at the Dreamland Igorrote Village and announced he had some exciting news. That day they would be receiving two very special visitors. Ever since the Igorrotes had first arrived on American soil, Truman had seized on every opportunity to play up their anthropological and educational appeal. Now two well-known amateur anthropologists and photographers, Elizabeth and Sarah Metcalf, were coming to spend a week in the Igorrote Village. The spinster sisters, both in their late forties, had a long-held fascination with the Filipino tribes and would soon leave America to travel to the Philippines. There they planned to live among the tribespeople, photographing them at work and at play. At Coney they decided they would make a record of a different kind.14

  “I have read and heard so much about the Igorrotes that I fully made up my mind to visit Dreamland and endeavor to have an interview with this peculiar race, and study their ways and language, the latter I am most anxious to learn,” explained Sarah Metcalf, a graduate from the school of languages in Boston.15

  The sisters brought a phonograph with them from their Massachusetts home. A crowd began to gather in the Igorrotes’ enclosure as the sisters set up the machine. Truman looked on eagerly. He was delighted to see a large audience had turned out to witness the encounter for themselves. First, the Metcalfs played Filipino tribal folk tunes. To the Americans they sounded baleful and wailing, but the Igorrotes looked on with evident pleasure. When the recording reached an end, one of the sisters carefully removed the cylinder and replaced it with another, featuring popular American tunes. The crowd sang along, while one or two Igorrote children entertained them by dancing a jig. When the music finished, the sisters carefully placed a blank cylinder in the machine.16

  Before they had set out for Coney, they had thought how marvelous it would be if they could make a recording of the Igorrotes’ voices. It would be, they believed, the first time anyone had made an audio recording of Igorrote speech. Truman had given his permission. At the sisters’ request, Gatonan,17 one of the tribal elders, took up a position beside the phonograph and began to recite the Igorrote “headhunter’s challenge,” not realizing that he was being recorded. Truman explained to the crowd that this was a semisacred oath that preceded the decapitation of their enemies. At the showman’s insistence, it had been worked into their daily displays at Coney. Gatonan finished speaking, and Elizabeth Metcalf wound up the phonograph so it would play the recording back. No one, not even Truman, could have anticipated what happened next.

  The Igorrotes, upon hearing the headhunter’s challenge emanate from a wooden box and not recognizing the voice, reacted with alarm, kicking the machine over into the Coney dirt. The public gasped. Several took fright and ran for the exit. Truman explained that the tribe had been afraid, assuming that the phonograph had been possessed by an evil spirit. The showman helped the sisters to pick up their machine, and reflected that he couldn’t have dreamed up a better stunt himself. He was delighted to have an incident of such ethnological significance to report in case the authorities wrote requesting an update on the tribe’s progress.

  The appeal of the Igorrotes was anything but short-lived. Their famous fans included the popular Irish film actor Cyril Scott and the Broadway and vaudeville star Blanche Deyo, who gave Truman a generous cash donation that she told him to use toward sending the Filipino children to school.18 Scott brought a string of frankfurters, which he distributed to the tribe, quipping that he had considered bringing a dog but thought such a gift might get him into trouble.19 He visited the Igorrotes so often that rumors began to circulate that he was set to play the role of a dusky Igorrote in his new play, The Prince Chap, at the Madison Square Theater the following month. For once, Truman wasn’t behind the story.

  By the height of the 1905 summer season, the Igorrotes were bringing in twenty thousand dollars a week (around five hundred and twenty-five thousand dollars in today’s money), unimaginable riches at a time when an apartment could be rented on 42nd Street for four dollars a week and a mink coat sold on Fifth Avenue for around sixty dollars. If he had been careful, Truman could have lived off his earnings for years. But it wasn’t in the showman’s nature to save. He’d grown accustomed to the high life, living it up with Sallie in New York’s finest restaurants and most exclusive clubs. And he had no intention of giving it up any time soon.

  The showman’s celebrations were rudely interrupted, however, when he got word that a rival promoter, Richard Schneidewind, had arrived in America with his own group of Igorrotes. Schneidewind had gotten his first booking at the Lewis and Clark Exposition in Portland, filling the gap left after Truman pulled out. Truman knew Schneidewind from the Philippines and St. Louis. From what he heard, he was working with Edmund Felder, the man who had left Truman stranded in Manila without any money to transport the tribe to America.

  Truman had no desire to share his lucrative trade with anyone else. He would do whatever it took to put a stop to Schneidewind’s business venture before it got off the ground. If Coney was anything to go by, Truman could soon have an Igorrote group in fairs and sideshows in every state in the union. He resolved to make this happen. Grabbing his hat, he made his way to the telegraph office. He had some pressing business to attend to.

  11

  Unexpected Arrivals

  DREAMLAND, LATE AUGUST 1905

  The Coney Island emergency hospital ambulance, c. 1905

  SQUATTING ON THE dirt floor of her bamboo hut, Castro Mordez grimaced. As another stabbing pain shot through her pelvis, the young Filipina let out a shuddering moan. Reaching up with one hand, she clutched her swollen belly and inhaled deeply. The child wasn’t due for weeks yet, but her body told her it was on its way. Luckily, the Igorrote women were accustomed to delivering babies. One tribeswoman stood rubbing Castro’s back, two more positioned themselves on either side of her, and the eldest, most experienced woman in the tribe knelt on the ground between the woman’s legs. Fairgoers milled around outside enjoying the sweltering summer’s day, oblivious to the fact that a few feet away Coney’s first-ever Igorrote baby was about to be born.

  Arriving breathless at the door of Truman’s bungalow, Julio banged loudly and shouted to his boss to come quickly. Castro was having a baby. The showman ran after Julio. They arrived at the hut where Castro lay just in time to hear an unmistakable squalling sound. It’s a boy, shouted one of the women.

  The minute Truman laid eyes on the boy, cradled in his mother’s arms, he knew he would need help if he was going to thrive. The baby had a thick mop of black hair but was as tiny and fragile as a rabbit taken out of a trap. At the turn of the twentieth century, a baby born prematurely faced dismal chances of survival. “Weaklings,” as babies born before thirty-seven weeks’ gestation were known, were in most cases expected to die.

  Ironically, the Igorrote baby had been born in the one place that offered the best chance of its survival—not a hospital, but Coney Island itself. Alongside the freak shows and the exotic people and animals, Coney was home to Dr. Couney’s Infant Incubators attraction.

  Truman begged the new mother to put her baby in one of the incubators. Born in Alsace, France, and traine
d in Berlin, Dr. Couney was a heavyset man with a pronounced stoop and a graying mustache who had “the firm but gentle grasp that a man might have after a life of handling canary birds.”1 He wore spats and a suit of dark broadcloth and never went out without his derby and crook-handled cane.

  The doctor began his work at a time when incubators were catching on in European hospitals, but America had been slow to embrace the new technology. He took in premature babies from New York hospitals that lacked the facilities to care for them. Others were brought to him directly by their desperate parents. All were placed in tiny incubators where a thermostat-controlled system blew filtered air over hot-water pipes to maintain the proper incubator temperature. The doctor employed fifteen trained nurses and medical technicians to look after the babies along with five wet nurses who fed the babies with breast milk. For twenty-five cents, the public could peer through the glass at the incubator babies, boys tied with blue ribbons and girls with pink. In 1905, each baby cost around fifteen dollars a day to care for. The parents weren’t charged a penny by the doctor, who recouped all the costs from the entrance fees.

  Dr. Couney’s groundbreaking exhibit was credited with saving six and a half thousand tiny lives before he finally retired in 1943.2 His patients included his own daughter, Hildegarde, who was born weighing less than three pounds, but who, on graduating from the incubators, went on to become one of his nurses.

  Truman crouched down beside Castro and asked if he could hold the baby. She nodded and Truman scooped him from her hands. He could feel the boy’s heart fluttering in his tiny rib cage. They would go to see Dr. Couney now. The sooner the child was put in an incubator, the greater his chance of survival. Castro shook her head; the best place for him was with her, not in a glass box. She would trust his fate to Lumawig, the Igorrotes’ god. The other tribespeople standing around her agreed.