This city was shocked when the news came, Saturday evening that Edmund S. Goodale was dead in New York. He died of heart disease at the New York Athletic club about six in the evening. Until one o'clock that day he was in his usual good health. At that hour he complained of illness and five hours later died. The remains were brought here, Monday morning, and the funeral was held from his late residence on Clinton street the following day.
Mr. Goodale was born in this city June 20, 1855, the son of Dr. Charles and Mrs. Mary Sewall Goodale, and spent practically his entire life here. Some yeas after finishing his education, he engaged in the clothing business with the late George W. Wiggins, then conducting the Great Wardrobe clothing store. He showed marked business and executive ability and in the middle '80's, bought out Mr. Wiggins, managing the store alone until 1887, when he sold the business and went to Syracuse, where he engaged in the manufacture of clothing as junior member of the firm of Weeks, Woodhull & Co., now Woodhull, Goodale & Bull.
Although actively engaged in a Syracuse firm, Mr. Goodale has always maintained his residence in this city. He was very popular and made many friends wherever he was known. He was a member of the Union club; the Jefferson County Golf club, Watertown commandery Kinghts Templars and the Royal Arcanum.
At various times he has been interested in several local corporations. He was one of the incorporators, the first secretary and treasurer of the Watertown Street Railway company and one of the founders and first directors of the Excelsior Carriage company. In all of his business undertakings Mr. Goodale manifested a shrewdness and ability which always brought success. He was a staunch republican and for many years an active worker for the party. He was one of the prominent republicans in charge of the Watson M. Rogers campaign and was treasurer of the campaign committee.
Mr. Goodale married Miss May Starbuck, who survives him and has the deepest sympathy of a wide circle of friends. He is also survived by a brother, Henry D. Goodale, and a sister, Miss Mollie Goodale, both of this city.
The Watertown Herald, Watertown, N.Y., Saturday, January 21, 1905
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A rich man from up the State died in a dwelling-house in New York. He was almost a stranger to the people in the house, and they wished to hide the fact that death had occurred there.
A devoted friend chanced to be with him. He summoned another. Between them they supported the dead body as if they were helping home an intoxicated comrade. They made the corpse appear to walk down the high stoop of the dwelling out of the gate, and for more than half the block on which the house is situated until they came to a cab that had been summoned with orders to wait at that spot, which was close to Broadway, and even in site of the new Hotel Astor.
The grim comedy had been carried out so well that the cabman, as they approached, thought what he saw to be only a repetition of a commonplace scene in uptown streets. The two men babbled encouragement to their silent companion, and lifted him into the cab.
They then startled the man on the box with this order: "Cabby drive us to the S. Merritt undertakers, in Eighth avenue."
At that place the presence of a spree was abandoned. Men from the undertakers quickly brought a stretcher and carried the corpse, without pretense that it was anything else, into the refuge of the dead. The cabman's curiosity was put to sleep by a tip that was more than generous.
All this took place just after the evening rush toward the theatres had dwindled to nothing on Saturday, Jan. 14. There were critics of Robert Louis Stevenson who said that the great Scottish romancer of the commonplace nineteenth century tried the impossible when he told Arabian Nights tales of modern London. Yet here, in Manhattan, in the twentieth century, was played an episode that comes close in its parallel to the Story of the Hunchback that Scheherazade told in the Caliph's harem.
Edmund S. Goodale was one of the most prominent citizens of Watertown. He had accumulated so large a fortune in his business of clothing manufacture that he was considered by all his neighbors to be at least a millionaire— perhaps twice a million would measure the local estimate of his wealth.
In middle age—he was fifty years old he was a handsome figure of the capitalist type. He was a partner in the manufacturing firm of Woodhull, Goodale & Ball, of Syracuse, and he devoted his time about equally between Watertown, Syracuse and New York. When in this city he used to make the Waldorf-Astoria his stopping place, until very lately, when he chose the Hotel Astor.
With his partner, Mr. Woodhull, he came to New York on Monday, Jan. 9. Their errand was partly founded on business, partly on pleasure.
On the Saturday afternoon of that week, Mr. Goodale called at the house of a Mrs. Edwards, No. 106 West Forty-seventh street. A man whom he knew intimately was with him. They called up two women friends on the telephone and these women also called on Mrs. Edwards within a short time, and an evening at the theatre and under the lights of Broadway was planned.
It was almost 6 o'clock when Mr. Goodale was seized with an alarming attack. Before his friend, Dr, Henry P. De Forest, who lives at No. 134 West Forty-seventh street, only a few doors away, could reach the house in answer to a hasty telephone call, Mr. Goodale had expired. His friend, in great excitement and distress, called up one one of the coroners with whom he had a slight acquaintance, and asked him to come at once.
Dr. De Forest, on reaching the home of Mrs. Edwards, found nothing to do but pronounce the man dead. Then the Coroner arrived. Mr. Goodale's friend then began to talk about what means should be taken to avoid publicity.
Dr. DeForest said that Mr. Goodale was a patient of his, who had consulted him from time to time. He had, as it happened, seen Mr. Goodale that very day.
The Coroner, hearing this, talked for quite a while in an undertone with Mr. Goodale's friend. Finally he said: "It appears to me that this is not a case that calls for my intervention. Although Mr. Goodale died without having a medical man at his bedside. I am convinced that his physician is legally in a position to issue a death certificate. There is nothing here for me to do, and I may as well bid you good evening."
Mr. Goodale's wife at Watertown was informed of the fact of his sudden taking off and she came to New York. On Monday the body was escorted to Watertown and there was buried.
The New York World, New York, N.Y., Friday, February 3, 1905
Mr. Goodale was born in this city June 20, 1855, the son of Dr. Charles and Mrs. Mary Sewall Goodale, and spent practically his entire life here. Some yeas after finishing his education, he engaged in the clothing business with the late George W. Wiggins, then conducting the Great Wardrobe clothing store. He showed marked business and executive ability and in the middle '80's, bought out Mr. Wiggins, managing the store alone until 1887, when he sold the business and went to Syracuse, where he engaged in the manufacture of clothing as junior member of the firm of Weeks, Woodhull & Co., now Woodhull, Goodale & Bull.
Although actively engaged in a Syracuse firm, Mr. Goodale has always maintained his residence in this city. He was very popular and made many friends wherever he was known. He was a member of the Union club; the Jefferson County Golf club, Watertown commandery Kinghts Templars and the Royal Arcanum.
At various times he has been interested in several local corporations. He was one of the incorporators, the first secretary and treasurer of the Watertown Street Railway company and one of the founders and first directors of the Excelsior Carriage company. In all of his business undertakings Mr. Goodale manifested a shrewdness and ability which always brought success. He was a staunch republican and for many years an active worker for the party. He was one of the prominent republicans in charge of the Watson M. Rogers campaign and was treasurer of the campaign committee.
Mr. Goodale married Miss May Starbuck, who survives him and has the deepest sympathy of a wide circle of friends. He is also survived by a brother, Henry D. Goodale, and a sister, Miss Mollie Goodale, both of this city.
The Watertown Herald, Watertown, N.Y., Saturday, January 21, 1905
________________________________________________________________
A rich man from up the State died in a dwelling-house in New York. He was almost a stranger to the people in the house, and they wished to hide the fact that death had occurred there.
A devoted friend chanced to be with him. He summoned another. Between them they supported the dead body as if they were helping home an intoxicated comrade. They made the corpse appear to walk down the high stoop of the dwelling out of the gate, and for more than half the block on which the house is situated until they came to a cab that had been summoned with orders to wait at that spot, which was close to Broadway, and even in site of the new Hotel Astor.
The grim comedy had been carried out so well that the cabman, as they approached, thought what he saw to be only a repetition of a commonplace scene in uptown streets. The two men babbled encouragement to their silent companion, and lifted him into the cab.
They then startled the man on the box with this order: "Cabby drive us to the S. Merritt undertakers, in Eighth avenue."
At that place the presence of a spree was abandoned. Men from the undertakers quickly brought a stretcher and carried the corpse, without pretense that it was anything else, into the refuge of the dead. The cabman's curiosity was put to sleep by a tip that was more than generous.
All this took place just after the evening rush toward the theatres had dwindled to nothing on Saturday, Jan. 14. There were critics of Robert Louis Stevenson who said that the great Scottish romancer of the commonplace nineteenth century tried the impossible when he told Arabian Nights tales of modern London. Yet here, in Manhattan, in the twentieth century, was played an episode that comes close in its parallel to the Story of the Hunchback that Scheherazade told in the Caliph's harem.
Edmund S. Goodale was one of the most prominent citizens of Watertown. He had accumulated so large a fortune in his business of clothing manufacture that he was considered by all his neighbors to be at least a millionaire— perhaps twice a million would measure the local estimate of his wealth.
In middle age—he was fifty years old he was a handsome figure of the capitalist type. He was a partner in the manufacturing firm of Woodhull, Goodale & Ball, of Syracuse, and he devoted his time about equally between Watertown, Syracuse and New York. When in this city he used to make the Waldorf-Astoria his stopping place, until very lately, when he chose the Hotel Astor.
With his partner, Mr. Woodhull, he came to New York on Monday, Jan. 9. Their errand was partly founded on business, partly on pleasure.
On the Saturday afternoon of that week, Mr. Goodale called at the house of a Mrs. Edwards, No. 106 West Forty-seventh street. A man whom he knew intimately was with him. They called up two women friends on the telephone and these women also called on Mrs. Edwards within a short time, and an evening at the theatre and under the lights of Broadway was planned.
It was almost 6 o'clock when Mr. Goodale was seized with an alarming attack. Before his friend, Dr, Henry P. De Forest, who lives at No. 134 West Forty-seventh street, only a few doors away, could reach the house in answer to a hasty telephone call, Mr. Goodale had expired. His friend, in great excitement and distress, called up one one of the coroners with whom he had a slight acquaintance, and asked him to come at once.
Dr. De Forest, on reaching the home of Mrs. Edwards, found nothing to do but pronounce the man dead. Then the Coroner arrived. Mr. Goodale's friend then began to talk about what means should be taken to avoid publicity.
Dr. DeForest said that Mr. Goodale was a patient of his, who had consulted him from time to time. He had, as it happened, seen Mr. Goodale that very day.
The Coroner, hearing this, talked for quite a while in an undertone with Mr. Goodale's friend. Finally he said: "It appears to me that this is not a case that calls for my intervention. Although Mr. Goodale died without having a medical man at his bedside. I am convinced that his physician is legally in a position to issue a death certificate. There is nothing here for me to do, and I may as well bid you good evening."
Mr. Goodale's wife at Watertown was informed of the fact of his sudden taking off and she came to New York. On Monday the body was escorted to Watertown and there was buried.
The New York World, New York, N.Y., Friday, February 3, 1905
This city was shocked when the news came, Saturday evening that Edmund S. Goodale was dead in New York. He died of heart disease at the New York Athletic club about six in the evening. Until one o'clock that day he was in his usual good health. At that hour he complained of illness and five hours later died. The remains were brought here, Monday morning, and the funeral was held from his late residence on Clinton street the following day.
Mr. Goodale was born in this city June 20, 1855, the son of Dr. Charles and Mrs. Mary Sewall Goodale, and spent practically his entire life here. Some yeas after finishing his education, he engaged in the clothing business with the late George W. Wiggins, then conducting the Great Wardrobe clothing store. He showed marked business and executive ability and in the middle '80's, bought out Mr. Wiggins, managing the store alone until 1887, when he sold the business and went to Syracuse, where he engaged in the manufacture of clothing as junior member of the firm of Weeks, Woodhull & Co., now Woodhull, Goodale & Bull.
Although actively engaged in a Syracuse firm, Mr. Goodale has always maintained his residence in this city. He was very popular and made many friends wherever he was known. He was a member of the Union club; the Jefferson County Golf club, Watertown commandery Kinghts Templars and the Royal Arcanum.
At various times he has been interested in several local corporations. He was one of the incorporators, the first secretary and treasurer of the Watertown Street Railway company and one of the founders and first directors of the Excelsior Carriage company. In all of his business undertakings Mr. Goodale manifested a shrewdness and ability which always brought success. He was a staunch republican and for many years an active worker for the party. He was one of the prominent republicans in charge of the Watson M. Rogers campaign and was treasurer of the campaign committee.
Mr. Goodale married Miss May Starbuck, who survives him and has the deepest sympathy of a wide circle of friends. He is also survived by a brother, Henry D. Goodale, and a sister, Miss Mollie Goodale, both of this city.
The Watertown Herald, Watertown, N.Y., Saturday, January 21, 1905
________________________________________________________________
A rich man from up the State died in a dwelling-house in New York. He was almost a stranger to the people in the house, and they wished to hide the fact that death had occurred there.
A devoted friend chanced to be with him. He summoned another. Between them they supported the dead body as if they were helping home an intoxicated comrade. They made the corpse appear to walk down the high stoop of the dwelling out of the gate, and for more than half the block on which the house is situated until they came to a cab that had been summoned with orders to wait at that spot, which was close to Broadway, and even in site of the new Hotel Astor.
The grim comedy had been carried out so well that the cabman, as they approached, thought what he saw to be only a repetition of a commonplace scene in uptown streets. The two men babbled encouragement to their silent companion, and lifted him into the cab.
They then startled the man on the box with this order: "Cabby drive us to the S. Merritt undertakers, in Eighth avenue."
At that place the presence of a spree was abandoned. Men from the undertakers quickly brought a stretcher and carried the corpse, without pretense that it was anything else, into the refuge of the dead. The cabman's curiosity was put to sleep by a tip that was more than generous.
All this took place just after the evening rush toward the theatres had dwindled to nothing on Saturday, Jan. 14. There were critics of Robert Louis Stevenson who said that the great Scottish romancer of the commonplace nineteenth century tried the impossible when he told Arabian Nights tales of modern London. Yet here, in Manhattan, in the twentieth century, was played an episode that comes close in its parallel to the Story of the Hunchback that Scheherazade told in the Caliph's harem.
Edmund S. Goodale was one of the most prominent citizens of Watertown. He had accumulated so large a fortune in his business of clothing manufacture that he was considered by all his neighbors to be at least a millionaire— perhaps twice a million would measure the local estimate of his wealth.
In middle age—he was fifty years old he was a handsome figure of the capitalist type. He was a partner in the manufacturing firm of Woodhull, Goodale & Ball, of Syracuse, and he devoted his time about equally between Watertown, Syracuse and New York. When in this city he used to make the Waldorf-Astoria his stopping place, until very lately, when he chose the Hotel Astor.
With his partner, Mr. Woodhull, he came to New York on Monday, Jan. 9. Their errand was partly founded on business, partly on pleasure.
On the Saturday afternoon of that week, Mr. Goodale called at the house of a Mrs. Edwards, No. 106 West Forty-seventh street. A man whom he knew intimately was with him. They called up two women friends on the telephone and these women also called on Mrs. Edwards within a short time, and an evening at the theatre and under the lights of Broadway was planned.
It was almost 6 o'clock when Mr. Goodale was seized with an alarming attack. Before his friend, Dr, Henry P. De Forest, who lives at No. 134 West Forty-seventh street, only a few doors away, could reach the house in answer to a hasty telephone call, Mr. Goodale had expired. His friend, in great excitement and distress, called up one one of the coroners with whom he had a slight acquaintance, and asked him to come at once.
Dr. De Forest, on reaching the home of Mrs. Edwards, found nothing to do but pronounce the man dead. Then the Coroner arrived. Mr. Goodale's friend then began to talk about what means should be taken to avoid publicity.
Dr. DeForest said that Mr. Goodale was a patient of his, who had consulted him from time to time. He had, as it happened, seen Mr. Goodale that very day.
The Coroner, hearing this, talked for quite a while in an undertone with Mr. Goodale's friend. Finally he said: "It appears to me that this is not a case that calls for my intervention. Although Mr. Goodale died without having a medical man at his bedside. I am convinced that his physician is legally in a position to issue a death certificate. There is nothing here for me to do, and I may as well bid you good evening."
Mr. Goodale's wife at Watertown was informed of the fact of his sudden taking off and she came to New York. On Monday the body was escorted to Watertown and there was buried.
The New York World, New York, N.Y., Friday, February 3, 1905
Mr. Goodale was born in this city June 20, 1855, the son of Dr. Charles and Mrs. Mary Sewall Goodale, and spent practically his entire life here. Some yeas after finishing his education, he engaged in the clothing business with the late George W. Wiggins, then conducting the Great Wardrobe clothing store. He showed marked business and executive ability and in the middle '80's, bought out Mr. Wiggins, managing the store alone until 1887, when he sold the business and went to Syracuse, where he engaged in the manufacture of clothing as junior member of the firm of Weeks, Woodhull & Co., now Woodhull, Goodale & Bull.
Although actively engaged in a Syracuse firm, Mr. Goodale has always maintained his residence in this city. He was very popular and made many friends wherever he was known. He was a member of the Union club; the Jefferson County Golf club, Watertown commandery Kinghts Templars and the Royal Arcanum.
At various times he has been interested in several local corporations. He was one of the incorporators, the first secretary and treasurer of the Watertown Street Railway company and one of the founders and first directors of the Excelsior Carriage company. In all of his business undertakings Mr. Goodale manifested a shrewdness and ability which always brought success. He was a staunch republican and for many years an active worker for the party. He was one of the prominent republicans in charge of the Watson M. Rogers campaign and was treasurer of the campaign committee.
Mr. Goodale married Miss May Starbuck, who survives him and has the deepest sympathy of a wide circle of friends. He is also survived by a brother, Henry D. Goodale, and a sister, Miss Mollie Goodale, both of this city.
The Watertown Herald, Watertown, N.Y., Saturday, January 21, 1905
________________________________________________________________
A rich man from up the State died in a dwelling-house in New York. He was almost a stranger to the people in the house, and they wished to hide the fact that death had occurred there.
A devoted friend chanced to be with him. He summoned another. Between them they supported the dead body as if they were helping home an intoxicated comrade. They made the corpse appear to walk down the high stoop of the dwelling out of the gate, and for more than half the block on which the house is situated until they came to a cab that had been summoned with orders to wait at that spot, which was close to Broadway, and even in site of the new Hotel Astor.
The grim comedy had been carried out so well that the cabman, as they approached, thought what he saw to be only a repetition of a commonplace scene in uptown streets. The two men babbled encouragement to their silent companion, and lifted him into the cab.
They then startled the man on the box with this order: "Cabby drive us to the S. Merritt undertakers, in Eighth avenue."
At that place the presence of a spree was abandoned. Men from the undertakers quickly brought a stretcher and carried the corpse, without pretense that it was anything else, into the refuge of the dead. The cabman's curiosity was put to sleep by a tip that was more than generous.
All this took place just after the evening rush toward the theatres had dwindled to nothing on Saturday, Jan. 14. There were critics of Robert Louis Stevenson who said that the great Scottish romancer of the commonplace nineteenth century tried the impossible when he told Arabian Nights tales of modern London. Yet here, in Manhattan, in the twentieth century, was played an episode that comes close in its parallel to the Story of the Hunchback that Scheherazade told in the Caliph's harem.
Edmund S. Goodale was one of the most prominent citizens of Watertown. He had accumulated so large a fortune in his business of clothing manufacture that he was considered by all his neighbors to be at least a millionaire— perhaps twice a million would measure the local estimate of his wealth.
In middle age—he was fifty years old he was a handsome figure of the capitalist type. He was a partner in the manufacturing firm of Woodhull, Goodale & Ball, of Syracuse, and he devoted his time about equally between Watertown, Syracuse and New York. When in this city he used to make the Waldorf-Astoria his stopping place, until very lately, when he chose the Hotel Astor.
With his partner, Mr. Woodhull, he came to New York on Monday, Jan. 9. Their errand was partly founded on business, partly on pleasure.
On the Saturday afternoon of that week, Mr. Goodale called at the house of a Mrs. Edwards, No. 106 West Forty-seventh street. A man whom he knew intimately was with him. They called up two women friends on the telephone and these women also called on Mrs. Edwards within a short time, and an evening at the theatre and under the lights of Broadway was planned.
It was almost 6 o'clock when Mr. Goodale was seized with an alarming attack. Before his friend, Dr, Henry P. De Forest, who lives at No. 134 West Forty-seventh street, only a few doors away, could reach the house in answer to a hasty telephone call, Mr. Goodale had expired. His friend, in great excitement and distress, called up one one of the coroners with whom he had a slight acquaintance, and asked him to come at once.
Dr. De Forest, on reaching the home of Mrs. Edwards, found nothing to do but pronounce the man dead. Then the Coroner arrived. Mr. Goodale's friend then began to talk about what means should be taken to avoid publicity.
Dr. DeForest said that Mr. Goodale was a patient of his, who had consulted him from time to time. He had, as it happened, seen Mr. Goodale that very day.
The Coroner, hearing this, talked for quite a while in an undertone with Mr. Goodale's friend. Finally he said: "It appears to me that this is not a case that calls for my intervention. Although Mr. Goodale died without having a medical man at his bedside. I am convinced that his physician is legally in a position to issue a death certificate. There is nothing here for me to do, and I may as well bid you good evening."
Mr. Goodale's wife at Watertown was informed of the fact of his sudden taking off and she came to New York. On Monday the body was escorted to Watertown and there was buried.
The New York World, New York, N.Y., Friday, February 3, 1905
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