The other day I walked up Guernsey Street, took a left on Calyer Street, and then another left down Clifford Place, toward Nassau Avenue. Within a minute of walking I realized that I had somehow ended up on Dobbin Street — that for one of its three blocks, Dobbin is Clifford. Or maybe, for two of its three blocks, Clifford is Dobbin?
My initial googling once I got home was unhelpful. The only early result with any historical detail was within this 1982 Landmarks Preservation Commission report on the soon-to-be-designated Greenpoint Historical District:
Clifford Place, a short block extending between Meserole Avenue and Calyer Street, is the northern end of Dobbin Street, which was opened in 1852. This one-block section was renamed and after whom is unknown.
I turned to maps to focus my search. The New York Public Library’s collection suggested that no beclifforded place existed until the late 19th century. This gave me roughly four decades of ancient municipal history to search within, and encouraged me not one bit.
The area in 1886, according to cartographer Elisha Robinson.
Luckily, more strategic searching brought me closer, via newspapers dot com.
Brooklyn Daily Union, Thursday, March 24, 1881.
Monday, March 21, 1881: Alderman William H. Waters of the 17th ward called to his colleagues’ attention a constituent’s petition. And so it was that the Brooklyn Daily Eagle could report on April 5 that Brooklyn’s Board of Alderman had adopted “a resolution in favor of changing the name of Dobbin Street . . . to Clifford place, the property owners having asked for the change.”
Brooklyn Daily Eagle, April 21, 1881.
It took only two weeks for this petitioner, Francis J. Barrett, to rechristen 350 feet of Brooklyn. Was he a machine man? A 17th ward crony? An up-and-coming baron? Perhaps an industry middle-manager with cash to burn on bribes?
No. He was an organist, employed at the time by Greenpoint’s Reformed Church on Kent Street. Since I imagined the backrooms in a reformer’s house of god were only smoky with incense, his being a political animal seemed unlikely. He was an active Freemason, though, leading me to wonder whether “Clifford” was a Knights Templar symbol (and whether the Big Red Dog was somehow illuminati). As much as I hoped so, I widened my search beyond Barrett.
That’s when the internet’s super spooky search engines found me a Dec. 17, 1894 Brooklyn Times Union obituary for builder, contractor, and politically-active Greenpointer, Daniel W. L. Moore. The Times Union listed a single heir:
I assume that the Times Union meant “Seventeenth Ward,” not “Seventh.”
During the 1870s, Daniel W. L. Moore directed the building of at least a dozen homes at the intersection of Dobbin and Calyer, hiring the prolific Frederick Weber as his architect. By 1880 he, his wife Lucy, and two-year-old Jonathan Clifford were living at 131 Calyer, facing down Dobbin.
The Moores’ home, highlighted, shown in an 1887 Sanborn Map Co map. (The map is upside down, yes.)
Moore must have considered Dobbin a direct line to his doorstep, to his intersection, and he must have thought that something ought to show it. Calyer Street, after Peter Calyer, might have seemed out-of-bounds. But Dobbin Street — who and/or what was a “Dobbin”?
Thus he had City Hall install new street signs bearing his toddler son’s middle name.
He did so with the help of his friend and neighbor (then living at 177 Calyer St, near Manhattan Ave), Alderman William H. Waters. In 1881, Waters was in the first of three terms in City Hall, at the outset of a political career that would include more losses that victories.
He and Moore were both active in the local Republican party politics, frequently siding with each other during intra-party disputes. Moore was a significant figure in the local business community; Waters must have relished their friendship.
Brooklyn Times Union, October 25, 1895.
The Brooklyn Daily Union on March 24, 1881 attributed the Dobbin Street name-change petition to Francis J. Barrett, the organist who lived at 6 Clifford Place. I don’t presume that this was solely Barrett’s doing, that he requested the renaming as an early Easter gift to his neighbors, Daniel, Lucy, and wee J. Clifford. I do presume that Alderman William H. Waters — longing for a political future brighter than his ended up being — knew who this petition really came from. He knew what it would mean to his ally if he gave him this renaming.
And I picture Moore imagining his grown son staring down his namesake stretch of road and thinking, “This is my place. I do and I get what I want.”
P.S. Readers may remember e&c announcing a momentary hiatus last year. That was and is an understatement. Do not consider today’s newsletter a return to regular publishing. (It is no swan song, either.)
Thus concludes this May 27, 2020 edition of East & Creek, the VERY OCCASIONAL newsletter about Greenpoint, Brooklyn. Read the full archives here.
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See ya around the neighb,
Jon Hanrahan
Author, e&c