New York City Audio Tour: Brooklyn History

Up ahead on your left, look for the towering white marble figure standing atop a tall, fluted limestone column decorated with carved stone ropes near its base. This is the Christopher Columbus Memorial, standing right outside the New York State Supreme Court in Columbus Park. If you check your screen, you can see how it commands the plaza. This piece was a tag-team effort. The pioneering sculptor Emma Stebbins carved the statue itself out of Italian marble, while architect Aymar Embury II designed that impressive limestone pedestal. A wealthy merchant named Marshal O. Roberts donated the whole thing, which was mighty generous considering shipping a giant block of Italian marble across the Atlantic is no small feat. Stebbins was actually one of the first notable American female sculptors, bringing a unique flair to public monuments in a field that was largely dominated by men. The park area around the statue is open daily from six in the morning until one in the morning if you ever want to come back. Take your time admiring the intricate stonework. Whenever you are ready, we will head over to our next stop.

Look for the towering bronze statue of a man on a square granite base, flanked by a bronze woman on one side and two children on the other. This is Henry Ward Beecher, a progressive 19th-century preacher and orator, a highly skilled public speaker who pushed for social reform. Sculptor John Quincy Adams Ward cast this bronze in 1890, using photographs and a plaster cast of Beecher's face made right after he died, known as a death mask. Take a look at your device for a close-up of those intense bronze details.

Why build such a grand monument? It was a deliberate public relations move. Beecher's pristine image masks one of the wildest scandals of the 1800s. We will dive into the wild details of that infamous trial later on, a spectacle that generated more headlines than the Civil War. For now, just know that his wealthy supporters funded this heroic statue specifically to scrub his reputation clean.

They originally lobbied to place him in Prospect Park but settled for this spot, where 15,000 people attended the 1891 unveiling. It is fascinating to look at the before-and-after picture on your device to see how more than a century of urban development has risen up around the monument since that dedication day.

At that dedication, a striking irony unfolded. The figures below Beecher symbolize his abolitionist work. He famously held reverse slave auctions, aggressively raising money from his congregation to purchase the freedom of enslaved individuals. The Black woman laying a palm branch at his feet is speculated to be Rose Ward, a woman freed this way. Yet, unveiling speakers completely ignored the emancipation of enslaved people, a glaring omission driven by New York City's lingering financial ties to the cotton trade.

Today, the layout draws sharp criticism for reinforcing a white savior narrative, placing the formerly enslaved woman in a subservient position below the clergyman. In 2007, conceptual artist David Hammons protested this dynamic. During a harsh winter storm, Hammons wrapped a physical scarf around the bronze woman's neck, an empathetic gesture symbolically protecting her while highlighting the indignity of her permanent placement.

The monument has drawn eccentric fans too, like a pioneer who drove an ox-drawn wagon from Washington State to Brooklyn in 1907 just to get his photo taken here, remembering his youth delivering newspapers to Beecher. You can visit this park from 6:00 AM to 1:00 AM any day of the week to ponder his complicated legacy. Take your time here, and we will catch up at the next spot.

On your left, look for the stately brick building featuring a wide arched entrance and a distinct stone cross mounted high on the facade.

Welcome to the headquarters of the Diocese of Brooklyn. Now, in the Catholic Church, a diocese is basically a geographical district under the pastoral care of a bishop. And this one is pretty special. It encompasses just Brooklyn and Queens, making it one of the very few dioceses in the entire United States that is one hundred percent urban territory. If you glance at the map on your app, you can see just how uniquely densely packed this jurisdiction really is.

Back in 1801, Catholic immigrants from Northern Ireland started pouring into the area to work at the Brooklyn Navy Yard. There were no Catholic parishes here at the time, so folks actually rowed or ferried across the East River to Manhattan just to attend Sunday Mass. Finally, in 1853, the Pope established Brooklyn as its own diocese and appointed John Loughlin as the first bishop. You can see a historical photo of Bishop Loughlin on your screen. Loughlin was a remarkably busy guy. During his thirty eight years in charge, the Catholic population here exploded from around fifteen thousand to nearly four hundred thousand. He started building a massive, glorious new cathedral in 1868, but he actually halted the construction halfway through so he could funnel all those funds into orphanages, hospitals, and local charities instead.

Today, the Diocese of Brooklyn operates nearly two hundred parishes serving one and a half million Catholic residents. And with a flock that large, they have definitely seen their fair share of modern drama. For instance, in May 2020, a burglar broke into Saint Augustine Church in nearby Park Slope and managed to steal a solid gold tabernacle. A tabernacle is the ornate, highly secure box resting on the altar where the consecrated communion bread is safely kept. The thief completely emptied the sacred contents onto the floor and made off with the box, a two million dollar piece of history.

But wait, there is more. In late 2023, the diocese made international pop culture headlines thanks to singer Sabrina Carpenter. She filmed a music video for her song Feather inside the Annunciation of the Blessed Virgin Mary Church right here in Brooklyn. The video featured Carpenter dancing around the sacred sanctuary with various provocative items placed right on top of the altar, all while appearing to wear no pants. The local bishop was absolutely shocked when the video dropped. The church pastor who had approved the filming had to issue a very public apology to the parish and was promptly disciplined by the diocese. You really never know what is going to happen in this borough.

From pioneers rowing across the East River for Sunday Mass to international pop star controversies, this local institution has truly seen it all. Whenever you are ready, let us keep moving.

Look right in front of the courthouse for Beacon, featuring two towering, abstract cast-bronze sculptures with sweeping, curved shapes that look almost like twisting metallic flames. This eye-catching art installation is the brilliant work of artist Lisa Scheer. She created these twin pieces to sit right outside Brooklyn's Theodore Roosevelt United States Courthouse. Now, cast-bronze means the artist actually poured super-heated molten metal into a mold to create these massive, heavy forms. It is quite a dramatic process! I always love the irony here. Inside that courthouse, everything is about rigid rules, strict federal laws, and serious legal drama. But right outside, Scheer gives us this fluid, dancing, free-flowing metal. It acts as a literal beacon, drawing folks toward the heavy doors of justice with a touch of theatrical flair. If you want to hang around the plaza or find an inexpensive bite nearby, spots around here are generally open until eight in the evening. Take a moment to soak in the metallic curves against the serious stone building. When you are ready, we will set a course for the Atlantic Yacht Club.

On your left is the legacy of the Atlantic Yacht Club. Founded in 1866 by a breakaway group of rebels from the Brooklyn Yacht Club, they started humbly. Their first clubhouse was literally a moored barge in Gowanus Creek. From there, they rapidly built a reputation for corinthian sailing, meaning they raced purely for the love of the sport rather than for professional prize money.

They soon upgraded to a waterfront farm in an area that member James Weir, a highly successful Scottish florist, renamed Bay Ridge. Weir was a dedicated yachtsman whose love for the sea framed his end. He tragically dropped dead of a heart attack while sailing off Shelter Island in 1906.

By 1898, the club moved to a spectacular clubhouse in Seagate, driven by the prominent financier George Jay Gould. Take a glance at your screen to see what this grand, temple-faced beauty looked like back in the day. While officially credited to Frank Tallman Cornell, many attribute the design to Stanford White. White was a regular here, bringing an undercurrent of scandal to the ultra-wealthy crowd. His extravagant lifestyle and affair with Evelyn Nesbit ended violently when he was notoriously murdered by a jealous husband named Harry Thaw.

This club hosted titans like J.P. Morgan and Sir Thomas Lipton. In fact, behind the scenes of the famous 1905 Kaiser's Cup transatlantic race lay a delicate diplomatic crisis. When the race was proposed, Lipton eagerly offered a silver cup as the prize. Shortly after, a representative for German Emperor Wilhelm II offered an imperial cup. Commodore Robert E. Tod, caught between a beloved club regular and a volatile world leader, had to use intense diplomacy to convince Lipton to gracefully withdraw his offer so as not to offend the Emperor.

It was not all high society and silver cups, though. The waters directly surrounding the clubhouse hid a deadly menace known as the Potato Patch. This one-mile stretch of twisting currents and jagged rocks earned a dark reputation. The treacherous tides ruined a 1910 club swim meet when competitors found it impossible to cross the churning water. In 1914, two men vanished completely when their canoe was pulled into the disturbance. The most heartbreaking tragedy happened in October 1912 when two schoolboys playfully rowed an abandoned boat into the violent seas of the Patch. The boat was instantly smashed. One boy washed ashore unconscious and survived, but the other, Clinton Fox, and his dog were swept into the twisting waves and never seen again.

The club also had legendary staff, most notably Charlie the launchman. Famous for his handlebar mustache, Charlie ferried members to their yachts in an old naphtha launch, a small boat powered by a highly flammable vapor engine, which ironically caught fire quite often itself. When he eventually passed away, his loss was felt so deeply that yacht clubs all across the bay flew their flags at half-mast in his honor.

That magnificent Seagate clubhouse burned to the ground in a devastating 1933 fire, delivering a massive blow during the Great Depression. The club soldiered on, and today, it operates right here on Gravesend Bay, carrying the torch of its wild maritime past.

Catch your breath here, and we will see you at the next landmark.

Look for the massive red brick building with the grand arched roofline and the classic white pillared porch right over the entrance doors.

Remember that monument of Henry Ward Beecher we saw earlier on our walk? Well, this is his home turf. Plymouth Church was built in 1849, and Beecher served as its very first pastor. He was a fierce abolitionist, and under his leadership, this church became a massive hub for the Underground Railroad. They hid fugitives right down in the basement, moving so many people to safety that locals started calling the church the Grand Central Depot. Beecher was incredibly proud of this secret network, later bragging to his stenographer that he personally opened the doors to hide runaways and point them toward the North Star.

Beecher was also a master showman who knew how to work a crowd. To raise money to buy the freedom of enslaved people, he staged incredibly dramatic mock slave auctions right inside. If you glance at your app, you can see a photo of the main sanctuary. Notice how it looks less like a traditional church and more like a theater, with those curved pews facing a central stage. It was the perfect setup for his emotional performances. The most famous auction happened in 1860, when Beecher brought an enslaved child named Sally Maria Diggs before a crowd of three thousand people. The congregation threw cash into the collection plates, raising nine hundred dollars, which is over thirty thousand dollars today. Someone even tossed in a gold ring. Beecher slipped the ring onto the little girl's finger and declared, With this ring I do wed thee to freedom. Sixty-seven years later, she actually came back to the church and returned that very ring, which is still kept here as a prized artifact.

But Beecher's flair for drama eventually caught up with him in a massive, nationally publicized scandal. In 1872, a women's rights advocate named Victoria Woodhull publicly accused Beecher of having an affair with a parishioner, Elizabeth Tilton. Elizabeth's husband Theodore sued Beecher for criminal conversation, which was an old legal term that allowed a husband to seek financial damages from his wife's lover. Theodore demanded one hundred thousand dollars, a staggering sum equal to about three million dollars today. The trial was an absolute circus. While Theodore used five lawyers, Beecher hired an astonishing sixty-seven attorneys. Scalpers sold black market tickets to the courtroom for five dollars, roughly one hundred and thirty-five dollars today. Spectators routinely fainted from the overpowering perfume of massive floral displays sent by Beecher's adoring fans. After six months of madness, the jury deadlocked and could not reach a verdict. Beecher was cleared by the church, but Elizabeth was eventually excommunicated, and her disgraced husband fled to Paris.

Take a moment to soak up the history of this legendary brick facade. Whenever you are ready to keep exploring, we can stroll over to our final stop.

Look to your left and you will spot the massive red brick facade of the Eagle Warehouse, defined by its towering flat rectangular shape, a grand arched entranceway at the bottom, and a large clock embedded at the very top. This architectural masterpiece was designed by Frank Freeman and completed in 1894 for three hundred thousand dollars, roughly ten million bucks today. The name comes from the Brooklyn Eagle, a famous local newspaper that stood on this exact spot. The legendary poet Walt Whitman was actually the editor there in the 1840s. When Freeman built this warehouse, he constructed it right around the old newspaper pressroom.

He designed the place to look like a medieval fortress. Check your screen to see an early illustration showing off its imposing original design. Notice the top of the building features a crenellated parapet, which is just an architectural term for a roofline with tooth-like gaps, exactly like a classic castle wall. Down at street level, that giant arch entrance leads into a magnificent barrel vault, basically a long, continuous curved ceiling like a tunnel. Back then, wealthy Brooklynites used this fireproof fortress to store their fancy furniture, keeping their silverware locked in massive basement vaults.

But the wildest thing stored here was not silver. In 1905, newspaper magnate William Randolph Hearst lost the mayoral election to George McClellan Jr. Hearst furiously cried fraud. The contested ballot boxes were locked up inside this very warehouse pending a recount. Hearst even posted his own private guards outside to protect the boxes while the legal battle dragged on for years. Eventually, the courts ruled, and Hearst still lost the election.

By 1980, the warehouse was converted into luxury condominiums. They demolished the center of the building to create an atrium to let sunlight reach the inner apartments. That entire renovation cost three million dollars. To put that real estate shift into perspective, just one single apartment here sold for two and a half million dollars in 2021. Whoever lives in the penthouse gets to use that giant clock face on the roof as their window. Now that is a truly timeless Brooklyn view, and the perfect note to conclude our journey.