Folk Art on Fire
2004 Loan Exhibit

Philadelphians living in the second half of the eighteenth century were accustomed to a life fraught with physical dangers. Infant mortality approached 30%. Skeletal injuries carried a high rate of amputation and, before anesthesia or antibiotics, a 25% risk of death. Yellow fever regularly killed hundreds of urban dwellers and drove survivors to outlying areas. Indeed, the average life expectancy was 46 years for males and 51 years for females.

Yet even these grim statistics paled before the communal and individual fear of fire. Whether from chimneys, carelessness, arson, or “acts of God and Nature,” domestic and commercial conflagrations were daily events in the life of a colonial Philadelphian. Because of adjoining rowhouses, roofing materials, central fireplaces, and the lack of a communal plumbing system, major fires were often unstoppable until they reached either the Delaware or Schuylkill Rivers.

William Penn, perhaps scarred by the great London fire of 1666, had spoken of creating “…a great country towne, built for the promotion of health and comfort, and free from the dangers of fire.” ¹ Lacking a cure, prevention was the order of the day. When chimneys were recognized as the most common threat, the City Council of 1696 decreed a heavy forty shilling fine for cleaning a chimney by firing it, the money to be used to purchase fire buckets. By 1700, laws prohibiting public smoking, bonfires, piles of hay or reeds, and a home supply of more than six pounds of gunpowder were passed. Fireworks were outlawed in 1710; and in 1718, funds were found to develop a system of cisterns or public pumps. Finally, a major city conflagration at Fishbourne's Wharf in 1730 (costing £500 or $25,000, a huge sum at the time) prompted the City to purchase 3 English handtub fire engines, 200 leather buckets, 20 ladders, and 25 hooks and axes. This was financed by a 2 pence per £1 property tax and an eight shilling per capita tax. The era of organized communal firefighting had begun.

Although Philadelphia never experienced a truly devastating fire – like those that leveled London in 1212 and 1666, decimated Boston in 1711 and 1872 and New York in 1835 – her losses were sufficiently frequent and fearsome to encourage a move beyond the early 18th century approach to firefighting. These fires were fought by every able-bodied citizen running at once to the cries of “fire” and joining a primitive bucket brigade. Pandemonium was always the order of the day and the results were disastrous. It was time for a change.

To no one's great surprise, it was Benjamin Franklin who, on December 7, 1736, organized the first truly volunteer fire company in Philadelphia and, arguably, in America. As usual, there are some Bostonian claims to a “fire society” in 1717, but the Union Fire Company founded by Franklin and 23 other men including Philip Syng, Jr., Edward Shippen, Samuel Powel, Jr., Thomas Lloyd, and George Emlen became the prototype for a local and then national system that lasted for a century. Based on the militia concept of the day, local groups of men joined together to form companies and purchased fire equipment at their own expense. Standard equipment would have included six buckets and two cloth bags. They met regularly, established offices and rules, and voted in new members on a selective basis. Other companies soon followed: Friendship Fire Co. at 2nd & Market in 1738, Hand-in-Hand at 6th & Walnut and Fellowship in 1742, Star Fire Company and Britannia Fire Company in 1750, Hibernia Fire Company in 1752 and Franklin Fire Company in 1792. By the end of the American Revolution, there were more than two dozen functioning volunteer fire companies in Philadelphia.

The allure of the volunteer fire company was irresistible. Firemen were instant heroes, performing a laudable community service in a very manly role, respected and thanked by all, and – not insignificantly – exempted from military service. Their companies, initially founded on a geographic basis, were true democracies composed of a mixture of professionals, tradesmen, and laborers. It was the quintessential New World melting pot in which the nobility of the cause and the merit of the mission outweighed the rank or ancestry of the individual. While the membership was “controlled,” many men were needed in each company to pull the pumpers, pass the buckets, or man the “brakes” to propel the water. In what has been called the “era of the common man,” fire company membership grew exponentially and enjoyed universal endorsement. Soon their area of responsibility extended beyond their local neighborhood to the Philadelphia community at large.

The duties of the volunteer fireman were clearly defined in the 1742 Articles of Agreement of the Union Fire Company minutes: “That we will all of us, upon hearing of fire breaking out, immediately repair to the same with our Buckets, Bags, and Fire Hooks and there employ our best Endeavors to preserve the Good and Effects of such of us as shall be in Danger, by packing the same in our Bags; and if more than one of us shall be in danger at the same time, we shall divide ourselves as near as may be equally helpful; and such of us as may be spared shall assist others. And to prevent as much as in us lies, suspicious persons from coming into or carrying out any Goods out of such Houses as may be in Danger; Two of our Number shall consistently attend at the Doors, until all the goods and effects that can be saved, are packed up and carried to some safe place…where one or more of us shall attend them until they can be conveniently delivered to or secured for the owner. And upon our first hearing the Cry of Fire in the Night-time we will immediately cause two or more lights to be set up in our windows; and such of our Company whose houses may be thought in Danger shall likewise place Candles in every Room, to prevent Confusion, and that their friends may be able to give them more speedy and effectual Assistance. And, moreover, as this Association is intended for the general Benefit we do further agree, that when a Fire breaks out in our part of this City, though none of our Houses, Goods, or Effects may be in any apparent Danger, we will nevertheless repair thither with our Buckets, Bags, and Fire Hooks, and give our utmost Assistance to such of our Fellow Citizens as may stand in need of it, in the same Manner as if they belonged to this Company.” ²

Buckets, hooks and ladders, while abundant in pre-revolutionary Philadelphia, were obviously no match for the growing population, buildings, businesses and their attendant risk of fire. The equipment and techniques of fighting fires were to undergo an enormous change over the next hundred years. All this paraphernalia and the brave men who used it were an ample source of legends and folk art artifacts.

To the simple bucket brigade was added a small English “hand tub,” purchased from Philadelphian Adam Brinkley in 1718. Water poured into the tub from the buckets was pumped onto the blaze with maximal effort and minimal effect. Three new pumpers purchased after the disastrous 1730 Fishbourne's Wharf fire were made by Richard Newsome in London and were only modest improvements. The first American engine, made by Anthony Nichols in 1730, was not powerful enough to throw water any distance. It was not until 1768 that Richard Mason created a much improved design whose distinctive feature, the end handles or ‘brakes,’ allowed more men to work in tandem. Several other local engine works, such as Agnew, Neafie & Levy, Sellers, and Bates, established Philadelphia as an early center for engine manufacture. As these fire engines grew in size and power, it took more men to pull and operate them, which necessitated increasing the number of members in the volunteer fire companies.

The available water supply from wells, streams, and random cisterns was woefully inadequate. However, in 1801, Benjamin Henry Latrobe completed the Centre Square Waterworks to supply water from the Schuylkill River throughout the city in underground wooden water mains made from hollowed pine logs. Firefighters had to dig down to a main, cut a hole, then fill their engines to fight the fire. Later, they stopped the hole with a wooden plug, hence the name “fireplug” that we still use today. Water pressure from two steam pumps that ran from the Centre Square Waterworks was unreliable, and the system was radically improved by the creation of the Fair Mount Water Works by Frederick Graff in 1817-1822. He also designed the first post-type hydrant in the shape of a “T” with a drinking fountain on one side and a 4-1/2” water main on the other. These were a huge success; and in 1802, many more were ordered from Foxall & Richards, the local ironworks that had cast the cannon barrels for our Revolutionary Army.

As capabilities increased, leather buckets partially gave way to leather hose, which had changed little since 1672 when first made in Amsterdam, Holland. Reuben Haines, a member of Philadelphia's Fellowship Engine Company, formed America's first hose company, aptly named Philadelphia Hose No. 1, in 1803. They engaged the well-known blacksmith and artisan Patrick Lyon to build the first hose carriage; and by 1823, there were nineteen hose companies in the city alone.

Leather hose reduced the manpower needs of the old bucket brigades. Indeed, it was estimated that now 110 men could perform the work of 1000. Put another way, the time required to fill an engine dropped from 15 minutes to ninety seconds, a reduction of 90%! Nonetheless, leather hose required tremendous maintenance to prevent rotting and cracking. The Diligent Hose Company washed its hose in a coffin, and Humane Hose Company stored theirs in pickle barrels. Most companies used codfish oil, whale oil, or warm beef tallow with neatsfoot oil. The aroma and mess were considerable.

Stitched leather hose leaked abundantly and could not withstand the increasing water pressure of new pumper designs. In 1807, two of Reuben Haines’ fellow company men, James Sellers and Abraham Pennock, invented a riveted leather hose that revolutionized the design and again put Philadelphia in the forefront of firefighting ingenuity. Rubber hose, with greater flexibility and far less maintenance, would not be available until 1839, when Charles Goodyear discovered vulcanization. Nonetheless, the riveted Sellers & Pennock hose worked well enough to allow suction engines to be created, changing forever the design and power of pumpers, which could be linked in tandem to bring water from a distance and without a bucket brigade. The specialized hose companies and their marvelous carriages added another facet to the art and legend of firefighting.

Interestingly, the firefighters themselves were often slow to embrace the technological innovations that distinguished Philadelphia’s craftsmen and inventors, as these novelties changed dramatically the numbers and the culture of the volunteer fire company. While resistance to horsedrawn carriages was short-lived, the delayed introduction and acceptance of steam-powered fire engines by the firemen were a perfect example of the general fears brought on by the Industrial Revolution. Despite a dramatic victory by the hand-powered “Old Diligent” over the steam powered “Young America” from Cincinnati – the former throwing its water stream 133 feet into the air versus 120 feet for the latter – steam power soon prevailed and began in Philadelphia in 1855.While this intrusion of technology into the life of the fireman was blamed for coming changes, it was in reality the social and demographic issues of the time that were the real cause.

The volunteer fire companies of Philadelphia grew in number, size, competence and confidence over the passage of the century. In 1752 Philadelphia had 6 companies of 225 men, 8 engines, 1055 buckets and 36 ladders. By 1831, there were 27 engine companies and 19 hose companies, all with a full complement of men and equipment and servicing the entire community. By all accounts the firemen did an excellent job and were universally respected and idolized by the community. As Robert T. Conrad, a future mayor of Philadelphia, wrote in 1835: “ Who will save thee? Yes, there is one Remains to save, when hope itself is gone: When all have fled, when all but he would fly, The Fireman comes to rescue, or to die." ³

Firemen of this era were strong, virile, and courageous men selected by their companies for these very characteristics. They were every bit the equivalents of sailors in the maritime world, where it was often said that the men were made of steel and their ships of wood, as opposed to subsequent softer times. In an era almost lacking in social contests and athletic events, the activities of firefighting were a major attraction for the firemen. While at first they simply strove to extinguish a fire, they soon began to compete to do so before other companies. Some of this friendly rivalry was abetted by the insurance companies, who offered – as in Boston as early as 1740 – a £5 award to the company whose engine “shall first be brought to work,” ⁴ at each fire. It was resolved by the Mutual Fire Insurance Company of Germantown, Pennsylvania, “…that $3 be paid to the Engine Company that shall be first in operation at any fire in which the company is interested.” ⁵

Soon the spirit of friendly competition began to change from mischievous to criminal. False alarms were sounded to fatigue and mislead the competition. Engines were run on the smoother sidewalks to the peril of pedestrians. Barrels were placed over fire plugs to obscure their location, and relay teams were established to appear to overtake another company’s engine and confer the disgrace of being “passed” on the way to a fire. Later, false fires were set, and street scuffles were condoned or even celebrated by the firemen themselves.

A particular cause for rivalry occurred when multiple engines were required to pump in tandem to bring water from a distant source to a fire. If one company could consume more water in its pumper than its rival could pump into it, the latter company was said to have been “sucked.” A worse disgrace was the reverse, to have more water pumped into your engine than you could expel, resulting in being “washed.” An engine or company that had never been “washed” was known as an “old maid,” with obvious sexual connotations.

A healthier outlet for these energies was required, and pumping contests became popular events at picnics, holiday parades, county fairs, or militia musters. A famous fire engine contest at 5th & Market Streets in 1850 is memorialized in a rare contemporary lithograph. Some of this activity was good practice for real fires, some a good outlet for competitive urges, and somethe conscious self-promotion that so characterized the volunteer fire companies.

Parades were also popular events for firemen, then and now. While the Fourth of July parade has become traditional, almost any event prompted a major display by the volunteers. Major national events that warranted celebrations were the return of Lafayette in 1823; the completion of the Erie Canal in 1825; the celebration of the French Revolution in 1830; the placing of the cornerstone of the Washington Monument in 1848, and the laying of the Atlantic cable in 1858. Indeed, in 1832, Philadelphia firemen paraded on the birthday of the most famous volunteer, George Washington, with a display by thirty-seven fire companies that was applauded by a crowd of over 100,000 people.

It was a glorious time to be a volunteer fireman, and the fraternity and loyalty of a fire company membership offered associations that would enhance and facilitate any career. Long application lists prompted apprenticeships and even initiation tests and chores. An Englishman visiting Philadelphia in 1819 wrote home: “ You have no idea of the consequence of a fire company. It is the summit of the hopes and wishes of one-half of the clerks, counterhoppers and quill drivers in the city. A trumpet in one hand, a spanner wrench in the other and a lantern affixed to his leather belt and he is in the zenith of his glory, more especially if the night be dark when the effect of the various lights is more striking.” ⁶

Fire itself is an elemental force, not easily tamed or contained, and carrying with it the duality of both destruction and rebirth. So it was with the volunteer fire companies, whose very success and subsequent excess fanned the flames of their own undoing. The twin threats of the Industrial Revolution and immigration – particularly the Irish and German influx in the 1840's–changed the face of the volunteers and of America as well. Friendly competition deteriorated into daily skirmishes and riots. In 1853, a Philadelphia pamphlet reported:

“Having occasion to walk out on Walnut Street yesterday, about noon, when about half way between Fourth and Fifth Streets, two of our independent fire companies, on their road home, came in collision. The weather being exceedingly raw and disagreeable, and with the cold, doubtless the members felt it a fine opportunity to indulge in their almost daily sport, and at the same time promote respiration and keep up their very honorable character. The battle raged for a time with terrible fury…Every combatable missile was put in requisition, and every effort was made for a glorious victory.” ⁷

The once democratic and disciplined volunteer fire companies devolved into gangs of dandies and rowdies. As the city grew and industry flourished, the number of alarms increased and many of the “better sort” withdrew from membership to run their businesses and professions. They were replaced by younger, more ethnically diverse, often economically marginal or unemployed newcomers who were chosen for their strength to pull the heavy rigs through the streets or their ability to fight - or both. Young toughs from the streets of industrial Philadelphia were welcomed into many of the fire companies, bringing with them their flamboyant dress and penchant for fighting. A gang known as the Killers ran with the Moyamensing Hose Company, which also incorporated battle-hardened veterans from the Mexican American War. The leader of the Moyas, William “Squire” McMullin, encouraged these elements and used them to fight both fires and rival companies, to keep a rough order on the streets of his turf, and to exert no small amount of political influence. In Philadelphia, like most other big cities, the volunteer fire companies became a political force, guaranteeing votes and squelching opposition. Perhaps the most famous example was William “Boss” Tweed of New York, who used his Americus Company as a political base and eventually became both the mayor of the city and leader of the notoriously corrupt Tammany Hall political machine, whose symbol was the tiger from Tweed’s fire engine.

The entire City Corporation of Philadelphia belonged to the Hand-in-Hand Company in 1771, and six early mayors were volunteer firemen. Seven New York mayors, eighteen St. Louis mayors, and two presidents, (James Buchanan of the Lancaster Union Company and Millard Fillmore of the Buffalo Eagle Hose) were volunteer firemen.

As jealousies and feuds between companies escalated, fixed rivalries and turf struggles developed. The brickmakers who comprised most of the Goodwill Engine Company were bitter enemies of the butchers who dominated the Fairmount Engine Company. A triangular feud evolved involving the Moyamensing, Franklin, and Shiffler Hose companies led to many fights and even murders. The Shiffler Company's symbol was an image of George Shiffler, a fireman who was shot in 1844 while participating in an anti-immigrant or “nativist” riot. Shiffler companies both in Philadelphia and throughout the region thus showed their anti-immigrant prejudices quite publicly.

At some point, the Philadelphia community finally decided that the once heroic volunteer fire system was out of control and in need of reform. Too politically potent to be antagonized directly, the fire companies had passed into corrupt and even menacing hands. In 1854, a group of insurers, merchants, politicians, and even a few firemen formed a so-called “Citizens Committee” to institute a professional fire force and to disband the volunteer system. Although a great public debate ensued – with obvious resistance from the volunteer firemen – a Chief Engineer and a supporting police force began to restore discipline and order to the fire system.

By 1860, there were 27 steam engines, 47 hand engines, 114 hose carriages, 76,338 feet of hose, 1,595 feet of ladders, and 3000 men in the Department, organized into 90 companies. Many of the firemen were soon off to fight the Civil War, either volunteering or conscripted for the Union Army. By the time of their return, the concept of a professional fire force was generally accepted. On December 29, 1870, the City Council passed an ordinance to establish officially the paid fire department. In Philadelphia at least, the glorious and tumultuous era of the volunteer fire company was over.

Philadelphia’s pre-eminence in the history of American firefighting is secure, both for the primacy of her original contributions and the fascination of her individuals and events during the first century of firefighting. If William Penn never accomplished his vision of a “City of Brotherly Love,” that “…it may be a green country town, which will never be burnt and always be wholesome,” ⁸ there at least remains a large body of art and artifacts emblazoned with imagery and decoration appropriate to the vitality and rich legacy of the times.

Whether these materials are truly folk art begs that troublesome definition, which no sensible author would ever attempt. Certainly, in the pre-photographic era, many painted images are the documentation of, as well as commentary on, fires and firemen of the time. Many have become familiar icons and images that serve to remind us of both the horror of fire and the heroism of its combatants. They are symbols of another era, rendered with varying proportions of artistic naturalism and license by both accomplished and untutored hands. They are rarely art for its own sake, but more commonly enrichments of everyday utilitarian objects, such as hats, buckets and trade signs. These items are very much rooted in the people who created them and the subjects that inspired them, yet with an element of whimsy and individuality that relieves the seriousness of their common theme. They represent man’s attempt for unity with others, while still striving for personal uniqueness. If these be some of the tenets of true folk art, then Philadelphia’s and America’s fire materials are comfortably at home in that category.

Despite their fragility, Philadelphia-style parade hats seem to have survived in significant numbers and are avidly collected. Prior to 1788, fire fighters did not necessarily wear specific clothing, but at a convention that year it was recommended that hats with the name of the fireman and his company be worn at fires. Some companies elected oil cloth hat bands tied around regular hats. Jacobus Turk, a caretaker of New York’s first fire engines, probably originated the first leather fire hats around 1740. He modeled his hats on the “stovepipe” hat worn by Revolutionary bucketmen and firemen. The earliest hats were made of pressed felt, water-repellent wool, papier maché, or painted “oyl cloth.” They were usually black, red, green, or blue; but some yellow, purple and cream hats are known. The hat carried the name of the engine or hose company, an image or symbol of the fire company, and often the initials of the owners. Occasionally companies that were members of the Fire Assurance Association would have the Association’s hydrant and hose logo on the back or top of the hat.

The company symbol or image on the front of the fire hats followed several different themes, often defined by religious, ethnic, geographical, or occupational prejudices. If the company– after much debate and discussion – reached an impasse, the design of the hat was left up to the artist. The artwork was commissioned from local artists of varying skill, but many were serious or “formal” artists such as John Archibald Woodside or David Bustill Bowser, who were members of, or friendly to, the fire company. Some of the themes were borrowed from popular lithographs or from the work of famous painters like John Neagle or Rembrandt Peale.

The choice of a symbol or theme spoke volumes about the volunteer fire company, and resonated loudly in the minds of their observers. Heroic personages abounded, such as William Penn, Ben Franklin, George Washington, Stephen Decatur, Thomas Jefferson, etc. Secular heroes, like Pat Lyons at the Forge, borrowed from John Neagle, celebrate the duality of artisan and gentlemen that characterized many of the individual firemen. Fire equipment itself might reflect seriousness of purpose (The Rescue Company) or pride in a particular pumper (The Diligent Engine Company). Eagles in many forms spoke of the courage of the new Republic as well as its firemen. Harps and angels were appropriate for the Irish Hibernians, while George Shiffler’s dying moments aptly symbolized the contrary anti-immigrant perspective. Indians or Native Americans emphasized the “nativist” movement, as well as the nobility and indomitability of America’s first inhabitants.

Greek legends and classical imagery created a visual link to heroic citizens and civilizations of the past. They also allowed some risqué postures and clothing intended to titillate the crowds at parades. Elemental references – such as the Phoenix – spoke to the cleansing and regenerative power of fire, while water imagery – such as the Torrent Company waterfall or the Philadelphia Waterworks – called up the great innovation and comfort that a public water system provided in the beginning of the 19th century. One of the most common figures, seen in many various iterations, was the Liberty figure who represented the triumph of our new democracy and our civic freedoms. Liberty had political as much as fire significance, and her many forms characterize the diversity of our citizenry at that time.

Lastly, there are occasional risqué variants of these symbols, chosen not merely to excite the crowd but also to allude to the sexuality of fire fighting. After all,“ throwing,” contests to see whose hose can shoot the highest was a thinly veiled metaphor that served the virile firemen well.

The artists who painted these hats – and indeed the fire paintings and engine panels of the day – usually did not sign their work. We know from other records, however, that serious artists such as Woodside and Bowser did many fire paintings; but others such as Charles Peale Polk, Thomas Sully, and John Blunt dabbled in this world as well.

Firemen also wore “oyl cloth” capes, similarly decorated, to cover their shoulders when fighting fires. Few of these survive today, and those with images as well as text are particularly rare. It is possible that the next generation of fire hats, “working hats” with a long extended posterior brim, represent the fusion of the stovepipe and cape of the earliest firefighters. Even after working hats replaced the stovepipes, the latter were still produced and worn for parades and celebratory events. Indeed, the most prolific maker of Philadelphia tall hats appears to have been James Hill, who worked late into the volunteer period between 1857 and 1873 at 531 Callowhill Street in Philadelphia. His labels are often found inside surviving examples.

The most famous and industrious fire hat maker of all, however, was Henry T. Gratacap of New York’s Columbia Engine Company No. 14. He started his own factory in 1836, making a larger leather hat with extended rear brim, a vertical leather frontpiece displaying the company symbol and name, and a brass edge or head front holding the badge. The rounded crown was composed of various seams or “combs”, and very elaborate and paint decorated versions of these hats were made for presentation or display. Gratacap produced more than 100 hats per week, and was the nation’s primary source of fire hats until he was succeeded by Cairns & Brother. Variant caps with multiple combs and leather or cloth animal forms holding the frontpiece are quite rare.

The most lavish and imaginative decorations were reserved for the fire engines, whose condenser sides were slotted to receive oil-onboard painted panels. These were often applied for parades and removed for work, affording some a better state of preservation today than one might expect. The same artists who painted the fire hats were involved, but the portraiture and classical scenes were even more formally executed. The old saying “all dressed up like a fire engine” was once common in America.

Sculptural forms such as trade stimulators and weathervanes were popular art forms of the same period as the volunteer fire companies, and a few survive today. They were generally not large, as the volunteer fire house was a small neighborhood building–compared to the multi-engine professional firehouse of today–and could not accommodate a very large weathervane or sculpture.

Firebuckets from the 18th and 19th centuries remain something of a mystery. Obviously, there were thousands upon thousands of them in Philadelphia, but few remain today. Early laws required each citizen to have two, to be thrown into the street at the cry of “fire” and later reclaimed. Some areas had a different formula: one bucket per house, per chimney, or per hearth. For businesses, buckets were required in proportion to the hazard – perhaps four for a bakehouse and nine for a brewhouse.

Buckets were generally made by the local shoemakers, and they were by law to hold 2-1/2 to 3 gallons. Handles had to be especially strong so that they could be carried on long poles or thrown about with vigor. Philadelphia buckets are often earlier and sturdier than their New England counterparts, with a thick applied rolled rim, a more tapered side, a heavy flared foot or base, and riveted rather than sewn seams.

Fire buckets were often purchased in pairs and hung on either side of the fireplace. As a result of this tradition, #1 buckets often have more heat damage on their right side, and #2 buckets have more on the left. The owner’s name and symbol were more common on New England buckets than Philadelphia, and the beauty of these images – much like those on the fire hats–may explain why more New England buckets seem to be available today.

The artwork and decoration of the New England buckets is unsurpassed, however, and ranges from formal and elaborate fire and liberty scenes to the folksier and more traditional burning buildings. The latter, hanging in pairs by the hearth or door in case of fire, probably served additionally as a subliminal reminder of the constant hazard of fire in early America.

Whatever the ultimate place of these firefighting artifacts in the spectrum of American folk art, it is important to remember that legions of our ancestors paraded proudly beneath these hats and truly treasured their buckets. That some survive to this day should remind us of the unselfish courage and personal valor of our firefighters, then and now.

Robert and Katharine Booth

Bibliography

1. The Romance of Firefighting, Robert S. Holzman, Bonanza Books, NY. 1969, p. 14.
2. Union Fire Company Minutes, Vol. 1, The Library Co. of Philadelphia, p. 41.
3. The Mercer Museum, Corey Amsler, p. 15.
4. The Romance of Firefighting, p. 61.
5. The Romance of Firefighting, p. 61.
6. Fire Engines, Fire Fighters; Paul C. Ditzel, Crown Publishers, NY. 1976, p. 76.
7. The Romance of Firefighting, p. 67.
8. William Penn & City Planning, William S. Lingelbach, Penna. Magazine of History & Biography. 68, 1944, p.403.

Acknowledgements

Lenders to the Exhibit

• Atwater Kent Museum – HSP Artifact Collection
• John Blessing
• Robert and Katharine Booth
• CIGNA Museum and Art Collection
• Niel DeMarino
• George Dittmar III
• Trudy Dittmar
• Fenimore Art Museum, Cooperstown, New York
• Mr. and Mrs. Edward Fernberger, Jr.
• Laurence and Lori Fink
• Fireman's Hall
• Frankford Historical Society
• James and Nancy Glazer
• The Greentree Collection
• David Howe
• Joseph and Betsy Kaminski
• Kelly Kinzle
• The Mercer Museum of the Bucks County Historical Society
• Brian O'Neill
• The Philadelphia Contributionship for the Insurance of Houses
  from Loss by Fire
• Neil Rossman
• Dr. and Mrs. Arun Singh
• David Wheatcroft
• Anonymous Lenders

Loan Exhibit Committee

• Joan Johnson, Chairman
• Robert and Katharine Booth, Curators/Co-Chairmen
• Courtney E. Booth
• Elisabeth C. Booth

Technical Assistance

• Tom and Joanne Gavin
• Paul Klaver

Photography

• Don Roman

The 2004 Loan Exhibit was generously underwritten by Booth, Bartolozzi, Balderston Orthopaedics.