Mission on Railroad Street
(The First Decade)

And that's not surprising, because in its early days, Syracuse was a rough, tough town.

Henry Bogardus built the crude wooden structure in 1806 on the site of what is now the Syracuse Newspapers, which led to the initial name for the village, Bogardus Corners.

The bar was said to have been short on polish. But with a never-ending supply of spirits, it soon became a rallying place for those seeking diversion and a chance to temporarily blot out the harsh realities of life. Harsh it was.

The early inhabitants were salt boilers, men and boys who in the late 1790's faced up to 30 percent annual death rates from fever and accident.

They were followed by the immigrants who dug the canal, who laid the rails for the railroad, and the hardy men who drove cattle and stages over boulder-strewn turnpikes and bone-shattering log roads.

Their play was as rough as their work: horse racing, all forms of gambling, bare knuckle prize fighting, prostitution and always, the penchant for the bottle.

By 1827, Bogardus Corners had become the thriving village of Syracuse, population 1,000 and an increasingly important stop on the young and lively Erie Canal.

H. W. Dunford was hired by the trustees to solve the problem of wayward villagers and the growing number of disorderly transients heading west along the canal. He was officially designated "constable" and paid $25 a year to keep the peace. He was armed with his fists and the security of knowing the community had a law prohibiting gambling.

By 1838, the force had been increased to six, as the village's population expanded to 11,000. Included was an underworld population of a thousand "loose characters" and a settlement of 75 establishments engaged in the sale of liquor, centered around the canal's banks and the right-of-way of the new railroad which chugged down what is now Washington Street.

That was only the start. Syracuse became the Saturday Night town for farmers, a way station for "drummers" selling their wares throughout Upstate, and a transportation hub. Many visitors came specifically to burgle and rob.

Besides the waterfront salt boiler society, there was another section of town. Living there were those who established Syracuse as a trade, manufacturing and financial center. They founded the churches and schools, launched Syracuse University in 1871, and supported morality plays, the arts, and more genteel recreational activities.

But they seldom wandered into the other world to reach those in need along the canal banks. It was as though those who inhabited canal society were already lost beyond redemption; that the evils of the blocks of sporting houses, gambling dens and saloons could reach out and irrevocably latch on to anyone who tried to lend a helping hand.

The tide was turned by a little band of courageous folks inspired by an idea imported from overseas. The year was 1884, about the time that the great evangelist, Dwight L. Moody, was attracting a huge crowd to the State Armory in downtown Syracuse, and converting hundreds to Christ.

Those courageous folks were the first soldiers of the Salvation Army who landed from England in 1882. They arrived in New York City where they commenced their unique brand of street corner evangelism.

Two years later several members, or "Scouts" came to Syracuse. By late summer they had enough recruits for regular street meetings. The Army came out of their "barracks" at Seager's Hall, marching behind a tiny brass band. Crowds followed and the curbside meetings were jammed with curiosity seekers.

At the beginning, the innkeepers were amused. . .until they noticed their business was down. Crowds of hooligans then broke up the street gatherings and actually forced their way into halls to interfere with the Army's meetings. It was impossible to discover whether they were paid by the saloon keepers.

The police, enforcing ordinances against parading or holding street meetings without a license (which were, naturally, unavailable to the Army), soon arrested those who were "marching for the Lord."

A full scale confrontation broke out in Hanover Square when a group of converts blocked the police efforts. The reinforced cops soon arrested every Salvation Army soldier in sight. And every member of the Army demanded trial.

The community took sides. Salvation Army men, women, and children came into town on every train. A general arrived from New York to oversee operations. The city jail was filled to overflowing. Even the penitentiary became overcrowded.

Then Supreme Court Justice George Kennedy came up with a solution.

He declared the arrests illegal and the Army took its respected place within the community.

Theirs was but one approach.

Despite the Army's efforts, there was room for other evangelistic outreach to the downtrodden on and around Washington Street, considered by many the worst district in Central New York.

Jerry McAuley's Vision

To properly focus on what occurred next, we must flash back to New York City's lower East Side in the shadow of the then-new Brooklyn Bridge. The year was 1872.

Jerry McAuley, a felon who served his time in Sing-Sing Prison, was led to Christ while still behind bars. He had a vision for others; to offer the down-and-out a chance to receive the same blessings he had.

Since his salvation came through his acceptance of John 3:16, "For God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son that whosoever believeth in Him shall have everlasting life," he located his meeting hall at 3-16 Water Street in New York's Bowery District. It was to become known throughout the world as The Water Street Mission.

Invited were the drunkard, the criminal, the homeless man.... those who no one else wanted. They were fed and given a place to stay, recognizing that man's extremity is often God's opportunity.

Other institutions in this mold soon followed, including the Florence Crittenden Mission on New York's Baxter Street, founded by Henry Burton Gibbud.

Henry Burton Gibbud

This dedicated, sensitive man was born in Waterbury, Connecticut, and attended the Lay College of the Rev. Dr. T. DeWitt Talmage in Brooklyn. Converted to Christ in 1876, he became a member of the South Second Street Methodist Church.

He organized street urchins into a Mission Sunday School and began preaching in the streets and on the docks.

In 1880 he was a missionary in the slums of Baxter Street. By 1883 he founded the Cittenden Mission with the generous financial backing of Charles N. Gittenden.

An acquaintance, S. H. Hadley, said of Mr. Gibbud during this period that while on the Bowery, "He would go out by night, and all night long into the streets of New York working for God. He took his life in his hands. There was not a place where he was not familiar. How many times have I seen him kneeling in prayer by the side of a dying girl, telling her of Jesus! Many times have I met him, the coldest nights, with a large can of hot coffee strapped to his side... He would go among the lost ones, into rooms, hallways, cellars and serve them hot coffee. . .every hospital, every police station, every jail knew him."

Another friend, the Rev. C. O. Thatcher, recalls walking with Mr. Gibbud when they were approached by seven young men he called the "perfect kings of evil " One took Henry by the hand and not only by the hand but by the elbow and gave him a hearty greeting; another inquired about his work; all manifested their interest in him. He gave them some words of advice. "We believe in you," they said. "We'll come and see you!"

The word of the mission field was not lost on Syracusans, who recognized the continuing problems of their wayward sons and daughters. A number of Christian workers in the area were influenced by the efforts of the McAuley Mission and subscribed to its literature.

Invitation to Syracuse

While reading one issue of the Mission's newspaper, a Syracusan by the name of C. T. Rose came across an article by Mr. Gibbud. Mr. Rose met with several friends and shared the piece. The outcome was an invitation to Syracuse for Mr. Gibbud and his wife.

They arrived in June of 1887 for a series of public and private talks, and agreed to return in September for a month of evangelizing.

With them came John E. Hendsey as a "helper."

They wasted no time. By September 4th, a store front operation had begun at 56 East Railroad Street near Mulberry, with saloons, gambling dens, and houses of ill-repute within a stone's throw in every direction. The location was perfect for the Missions purpose.

A committee of seven was formed to encourage the Mission's activities.

Membership included M. A. Hudson, S. H. Starin, H. D. Rose, Mrs. H. H. Gurley, Mr. Pettit, Mr. Crandle and Miss Olive Wood, as secretary.

The committee reported it felt "very weak and ignorant . . . but the work was the Father's and He once again chose to use weak things to achieve His purposes."

Gibbud himself vividly recalled the night. "In one of the saloons an orchestration is playing an accompaniment for a clog dancer. From a concert saloon comes the sound of a piano, sadly out of tune, and the voice of a young man singing a sentimental ballad. Elsewhere is heard the 'scraping off' of heart-rending chords from a Chinese fiddle."

The denizens of the area, then known as the Flatiron Block, were suddenly startled to hear a new sound. Heads popped out of every window. A movement was made toward "No. 349" from which came the old gospel music:

"Take the name of Jesus with you,
Child of sorrow and of woe,
It will joy and comfort bring you.
Take it then where'er you go."

In the storefront window was a word of invitation:

RESCUE MISSION
Everybody's Meeting
Every Night the Year Round
Don't Fix Up. Come in Your Working Clothes
Man or Woman, Boy or Girl
Rich or Poor, Black or White
Large or Small, Short or Tall
Come One. . .Come All.

The name "Rescue" is said to have come to Gibbud's mind during an early walk through Syracuse streets. As he passed a particular structure, he was told of its history. It was the Jerry Rescue Building, where an escaped slave by that name was rescued from a U.S. Marshall and sent to freedom in Canada.

Thus the Syracuse Rescue Mission is said to have originated the forerunner name for similar organizations around the world.

Some concept of the neighborhood which housed the Mission in its earliest days can be gained from the chart developed by the Missions staff for its 1892 report.

Of buildings in a six-block area, 25 were respectable business establishments or homes; 14 were saloons; 24 were houses of "ill-fame,' and 14 others combined the services of both saloon and sporting house.

On one Saturday night, Mission personnel counted 2,011 persons, mostly young men, going into one bar in four hours. At another saloon, 976 men, 196 women, and 72 children went in. On one block where four houses of ill repute were located, 214 men were seen to enter during the course of an evening.

Gibbud pointed out, "We have no controversy with the keepers of these places, never trying to bring the law to bear on them, but trying to win them by the Gospel. We are welcomed at almost all of these places and treated with courtesy. Some of the keepers and inmates of these places were once members of respectable homes, of the Sabbath School and even of church. They may yet be led to right living...."

On the opening evening, a rough, drunken fellow pushed his way though, saying, "What in hell is this?"

"This is to keep people out of hell," said a young man at the door, extending him an invitation: Come in and have a song."

Come in and Have a Song

This welcome was extended to dozens of others. Before long, the hall was filled with a motley crowd—drunk, dirty, some without coats or vests, some curious and eager to hear, but others determined to Break things up."

As the disturbing element began to get the upper hand, the leader stood up.

"Boys, we are going to hold a meeting here every night the year round. Everybody is invited, without regard to nationality, creed or condition. Drunk or sober you will be welcomed. We are here to do good, not tear down anybody's business or find fault with anyone's creed, but simply to hold up Christ and get men to quit their sins by coming to Him."

Then he continued, "Here are hands to give you a hearty shake of welcome and they will be stretched out to aid you whenever they can. BUT these same hands are here to take you by the nape of the neck and put you out if you try to disturb or break up this meeting."

A big fellow who was especially intoxicated, took issue. He climbed a chair and began to shout.

But before he'd gotten out more than a couple of phrases, he was landing in a chair across the aisles. He looked up in amazement at the young man who had put him there.

At that time and occasion "muscular Christianity," as it was known, had its place. Quiet ensued for the rest of the evening.

On that fist night, an old Scottish sailor who'd drifted into town on the fumes of alcohol, said, "Pray for me." In the "after-meeting" he gave himself to Christ.

The second night a young ruffian had to be put out. He resumed on the fifth night, earnestly seeking Christ. On the third night a young woman, who had resisted the pleadings of her parents for years, became a convert. In less than a year she was to pass away in peace.

In all, during the first three months, 22 professed conversions occurred, 14 of them among the drinking men. Five years later, a follow-up revealed 11 had become sober, solid citizens. Only three had relapsed. Two actually went to work in the mission field in another city.

The doors never closed

And since that night on September 4, a gospel service was held every night, without exception. The doors were never closed.

At the end of the first month, no one dared to say, "Let the work cease."

During October, when the Gibbuds had returned to New York, H. D. Rose was in charge of the meetings, while Mrs. Gurley took over Mrs. Gibbud's role as organist and song leader. Still, the Mission committee longed for the experienced workers.

Their prayers were answered when the Gibbuds and John Hendsey returned to Syracuse in November. At a meeting in the YMCA parlors, it was agreed that Gibbud would be paid $100 per month, with Hendsey receiving $35.

Plans were soon established for a permanent Mission organization with representatives from these local churches involved: The First Methodist, First Baptist, Central Methodist, Park Presbyterian, Central Baptist, University Methodist, Forman Street Methodist, and the Memorial Presbyterian Church.

A meeting was held March 19,1888 at the Plymouth Congregational Church to perfect the organization and establish a constitution.

The name, “The Rescue Mission Alliance of Syracuse” was officially adopted, with the objective of carrying out the Gospel Mission in Syracuse.

A 17-member board of managers, not more than five from any one denomination, was formed to elect the officers and executive board and to establish policy.

Professor W. A. Brownell was elected the first president, with Miss Olive Wood the secretary and H. D. Rose, treasurer.

The executive committee included F. F. Kent, C. T. Rose, David Milne, Mrs. H. H. Gurley and Miss Wood.

From the very beginning, the Mission's evening meeting format seldom varied. Promptly at 7 p.m., Mr. Hendsey stationed himself at the door to offer a word of invitation to passersby. Then, at precisely 7:30, the meeting was opened with a song service. Drunk and sober, the voices filled the room and reached into the street.

The singing was followed by short prayers and the reading of the scriptures. The story of the Cross was told night after night; the meeting was open for testimonies from those who told what Christ had done for them. Then an invitation was given.

Within five years some 243,451 persons had attended the evening services; 2,910 had requested prayer; 200,000 tracts, invitations and testaments were given away; and most importantly, hundreds had been truly converted, 140 of whom were active with some church.

To take them by the Hand

A continuing thread of concern for follow-up on those who were conversed was voiced by board members, with the need expressed for helpers "to take the converts by the hand and lead them into the churches."

It was obvious after the first year that the Mission's original quarters weren't nearly large enough to handle the overflow crowds. Time and again the room would be packed to suffocation and several hundred persons turned away. After much prayer, a new site was selected.

So, in 1890 the Mission moved to 115 Mulberry Street between Railroad and Water Streets, a location which boasted a hall which could seat 500 persons.

The work continued.

It reached persons in unusual circumstances with unusual results. Many, like the following, were especially rewarding to the Gibbuds and their helpers. A woman in the neighborhood was passing by carrying a pitcher of beer. Mr. Hendsey gave her one of the printed invitations. As she entered her house, she thought, "This is queer, the word of God in one hand and a pitcher of beer in the other." She said to her companions: "How's this, the word of God and beer?" They laughed, but not the woman. Just then she was convicted of her sin; she could not shake it off. That night she went out on a spree, but was drawn back to the Mission. There, the singing of the gospel hymn, "Brother, Art Thou Worn and Weary," struck a chord with her. She was led "to Christ, where she found rest." "Her husband, a railroad man, did not think one in his business could be a Christian, but was so impressed by his wife's new life that he gave up drinking and swearing. After a few weeks he felt the need of Christ, and at one of the meetings, he came forward and accepted the Lord, and has since then stood among his godless companions, witnessing for Christ."

Another, a man of 77, a Christian for just over a year, said, "I got elected to my throne when President Harrison got elected to his chair." The man had been a drinker since the age of eight.

As with any organization that moves ahead, there were growing pains. It wasn't long before the expenses of the Mission were outdistancing the income, and an emergency meeting was held to overcome the difficulty.

A special program outlining the needs was held at one of the churches and was well received by a large audience. The messages stirred attendees to the point where Mission board members anticipated a good collection. Only, for some inexplicable reason, no one called for the plate to be passed.

Fortunately, a similar meeting held at a later date, with a "stirring" address by Mr. Packard, testimonies by several converts and encouraging words by pastors of area churches, was better organized.

Several young men went down the aisles encouraging the timid to give, according to one witness. Pledges totaled $1,881.25, while cash received was $76.72.

The Gibbuds and the board found themselves on opposite ends of the question of whether day and night services should be conducted.

It was the contention of the Gibbuds that first priority should be reaching people in the evening. The board, however, "after a great deal of discussion took the view that day work was of such vital importance to effective night work that it can't be omitted."

A special meeting was held to study the day work requirement. Henry Gibbud, however, was unwilling to pledge himself to daytime work because he said, He was not always in the mood. . ."

The board nevertheless passed a resolution "that it is the profound conviction of this meeting that the day work should be prosecuted with the vigor consistent with the health of the workers. It is not, however, the intent of the board to impose any restriction upon the utmost freedom of the workers to do as the Lord shall lead."

The Gibbuds graciously accepted the resolution.

By April of 1893 nearly 4,000 successive Gospel services had been held at the Mission without missing a single evening meeting.

An outpost of the churches

The Mission continued as an outpost of the churches of the community, sustained by them and managed by a committee from the different denominations. Among the churches represented were: University Avenue Methodist; First Presbyterian; Centenary Methodist; First Methodist; Reformed; Park Presbyterian; Plymouth Congregational; First Baptist; St. Paul's Episcopal; Immanuel Baptist; Delaware Baptist; the Reformed Dutch and the Central Baptist Church.

The Mission continued to reach everyone. The non-churchgoer, the abandoned, and the drinker were all extended an invitation: "Come in. Don't fix up. Come in your work clothes."

Mothers were encouraged to bring their babies, being assured that the meetings wouldn't be disturbed if a baby cried.

Drinking men and women were especially invited. "No need to sober up. Drunk or sober, you are welcome."

The Mission moved ahead in other areas, as well. A Sunday School for the Mission was warmly accepted.

The use of the Mission room for "an hour or two each day, for a free medical dispensary was also approved.

Framed notices of Mission services were placed in hotels throughout the city.

Gospel wagon services were inaugurated and continued during the summers of 1888 and 1889 on Sunday afternoons, with song services held in hospitals and other public and private institutions.

Missionary visits were conducted in saloons, meetings held on canal boats and on street comers. Tracts and other gospel literature were distributed at fairs, circus shows, parades, and conventions. Or, as GibLud once reported, "at FAIRS, FIRES, FIGHTS"

The wagon operation began on a limited scale with the Mission hiring a large conveyance each Sunday afternoon for $3.

A small organ was loaded on and 20 workers clambered aboard, the team heading for an open square where the workers would commence singing.

After a crowd had gathered, a short gospel talk would be given and invitations extended to the downtown meetings at the Mission hall.

Crowds of up to 800 would gather, with a typical Sunday afternoon including several such sessions held throughout the city.

In the first summer, 39 meetings were conducted, with 11,572 persons hearing the Word.

Within several years the wagon ministry had reached 65,927 Central New Yorkers.

One Sunday a wagon meeting was held at the New York Central Railroad Depot when a strike was in progress and 500 excursionists had been detained. A huge crowd of 2,000, many of them strikers, gathered to hear the wagon's missionaries.

A month later one result of this meeting came to the Mission's attention.

A commercial traveler called on a businessman who had been to the meeting and shared this story. "A month ago I was detained. With some of my friends, I had spent the entire Sabbath drinking and playing cards. We heard singing. We saw the gospel wagon and were about to make fun when I saw you. I said to my friends, 'There is Mr. X. He is a prominent businessman and has plenty of money; what's he out here for? He ain't after money' I thought it over and came to the conclusion if religion was good for you, a businessman, and you were not ashamed to be identified with Christians, then I ought not to be. I have been a hard drinker, have spent thousands of dollars for rum, have lost place after place on account of drink, but I determined to be a man and serve God and I haven't touched a drop since."

On the Road

Eventually two wagons were built and were soon journeying as far as the Madison County hop fields during harvesting season.

One of the vehicles, a seventeen-by-seven-and-a-half-foot wagon on which a "petrified woman, unearthed in Arizona," had once been exhibited, was presented to the Mission by Harlow B. Andrews, an area grocer. Painted black and olive green, it contained on its siding scriptural texts in gold. The wagon seated 40 people and was hauled by a three horse team from the Andrew's stable.

Even more spectacular was the famous Good News Lifeboat, the former Sawtelle Brothers Circus boat, the Kitty, out of Utica. Andrews purchased and outfitted it for the Mission.

Manned for canal cruises to Utica, Oswego, Buffalo, Jordan, and points in between, it wintered in Clinton Square. There, meetings were held each morning for public market attendees and in the evening hours for the "night shift."

At midnight on May 10, 1894 the boat was moored at C. H. Baker's Lumber Yard on the Oswego Canal at Willow Street. Three Mission workers were on board as preparations were being made for the 1894 cruising season.

Fire broke out in the yard. Within moments the little boat was engulfed. The three workers, who were cut off from shore, leaped into the canal. Mrs. Robert Wilson and Alonzo Deland drowned. The third worker swam to safety. The Good News burned to the water line.