Is there a Green Street in Rochester? Once upon a time, there was! The name never made it past the 19th century, but the thoroughfare technically still exists: over the decades, it morphed into South Clinton Avenue south of Howell Street. But to start, it was a simple street laid out between Jackson Street [Capron Street, partially] and Wadsworth Street [Griffith Street].

And that’s not the only Green Street that’s ever graced the maps of Rochester. I will touch on those other Green Streets after this one.

The earliest evidence of Green Street is from 1827, both on the below map and in the 1827 directory:

Only a small handful of people lived along Green Street at the time, and their occupations suggest a working man’s neighborhood. They were laborers, sawyers, carpenters and masons. Due to the early date and lack of a high public profile, I found myself unable to identify most of them with any certainty–except, ironically, Thomas Coats who died of typhoid in the county poor house. Though an ignominious death to be certain, it at least got his name on the death records.

After the completion of the Erie Canal in 1825, the neighborhood became an attractive one for boatmen. By 1847, multiple boatmen lived on Green Street: David McSweeney, who boarded at No. 1 Green Street; Jacob Mason, who lived at No. 10 Green Street; the Cunninghams, John, Robert, and William, who lived at No. 5 Green Street.

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The Cunninghams

The Cunningham family were long-time residents of No. 5 Green Street. Progeny of the Irish immigrants Patrick “Patt” Cunningham and his wife, Mary, their living was made mainly through boats; three brothers, John, Robert, and William all appear as boatmen in the 1845 directory, and as boat captains by the 1851 directory.

By the time of the 1875 Atlas, John and Robert have died, and William has only one year left to live. John’s widow, Rosanna, was now the owner of the property on Green Street.

On February 10th, 1879, a small stove fire occurred in the Cunningham house; Rosanna Cunningham and her son, Thomas, were upstairs while the ground floor was a boarding home for a family named Roth.

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Green Street Counterfeiters

In 1879, No. 1 Green Street was home to a coin counterfeiting operation. Passing off counterfeit currency was known in slang as “shoving the queer”, which is a phrase that has aged quite poorly.

On the evening of Thursday, July 17th, a lady entered Thomas P. Duffy‘s grocery and set down a silver quarter dollar to pay for a single lemon. The discerning clerk, Cornelius J. Duffy, recognized the coin as counterfeit and alerted his brother.

Highly suspicious, Thomas P. Duffy ducked out the back door and kept a watch on the exits.

Duffy’s misgivings proved correct; on South Avenue the accomplices of the lemon-buying lady lurked, awaiting the completion of her mission. When the citrus grifter returned to the pack, they left down Alexander Street.

Duffy followed.

The article goes on to relate a very low-key game of cat-and-mouse. Duffy meets a man, James F. O’Neil, and invites him to stalk the counterfeiters with him. They both follow the trio west along Alexander Street; there are a number of maneuvers described at length, wherein Duffy runs along side-streets, staking out shops further along the way and engaging others to join in the campaign.

Duffy makes a successful ambush at the grocery of Peter Reinhard, southeast corner of Mount Hope Avenue and Hickory Street. Duffy waited in the back room while the counterfeiter asked Reinhard’s wife Louisa for stove polish. She attempted to pay with the bad quarters once again, at which point Duffy slipped in and interrogated her.

The counterfeiter lady spun a constantly-changing tale about the source of the bad quarters, claiming they were from her grocer then changing it to being from her milkman. Duffy confronted the counterfeiter’s associates, and proclaimed that they were under arrest, compelling them to go to police headquarters.

Of course, Duffy quite obviously did not have power of arrest. The crew of counterfeiters got wise to this fact around Hickory street; the man left, then returned and told one of the women–apparently, his wife–to just walk away. They did, and left along Hickory back towards South Avenue. Duffy maintained pursuit, despite being threatened by the man.

Duffy’s partner in stalking, O’Neil, had meanwhile gone and found Constable John Dart, who lived at No. 280 South Avenue. Dart came to the scene and arrested the counterfeiters.

The article goes on a bit about the circumstances of the arrest, but suffice to say $4.50 in counterfeit quarters and a “spurious” silver dollar were handed over by the arrested man. The arrested party were extremely reticent to give over any identifying information, the man saying only that his name was “Mac”, but a Captain Sullivan arrived during the interrogation, wearing plain clothes and no badge. The arrested wife of “Mac” began to talk to Sullivan, for some reason letting slip that they live at No. 1 Green Street. It seems fairly logical to me that one should keep the address of their counterfeiting operation well schtum while inside a police station, but this was apparently the clue that cracked it.

No. 1 Green Street was the home of the Kuttruff family; Alois “Lewis” Kuttruff [who had died in 1873] and sons Wilhelm, Albert, and Pius W. According to testimony given by Pius W. Kuttruff during the trial, a portion of the house was rented out by them to the alleged counterfeiters:

Sure enough, counterfeiting supplies were discovered within No. 1 Green Street: metal ores and dies for making quarters and ten-cent pieces. Presented with this evidence, the woman gave up a full confession.

Her name was Elizabeth Hamilton. She was twenty-three and had recently been married to John McIlvean/McIlvaine/McEleano [the papers couldn’t decide] of Stratford, Ontario. She had been counterfeiting “from girlhood”. Her husband was a hard-working painter, and he had no part in her crime except knowing of it.

If not for the purposes of counterfeiting currency to which her skills had been put to use, she could well have been a master silversmith. All who examined the molds made by Elizabeth Hamilton agreed they were of the finest, most convincing manufacture.

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The Notorious Anson Godwin

Green Street was home to a man who, though he died at the young age of 25, made an outsize name for himself. Rochester native Anson “Ance” Godwin, sometimes known as “Bull Dog Ance” was well-known for petty thieving, break-ins and burglaries, and assault. His fistwork was widely feared; belligerent and strong, he’d knock out friend and foe alike over minor disagreements, or even for no reason at all. When arrested, he’d make the trip to police headquarters kicking and biting the whole way.

On Thursday, November 16th, 1871, a bar brawl occurred in Margaret Duffy’s saloon at No. 68 Exchange Street between Ance and Joseph “Little Smithy” Smith, an Englishman who arrived in Rochester in 1869.

It seems that Ance Godwin and Joseph “Little Smithy” Smith both entered the saloon around seven in the evening. By Godwin’s account the men shook hands, and then started to wrestle. Godwin claims he was the victor in this match, a fact which Little Smithy took poorly. Little Smithy stabbed Ance Godwin in the chest, producing a minor wound. Godwin took to the street and found Dr. Moore, who patched him up and sent him home to Green Street.

Though Little Smithy claimed there was a more material disagreement at the root of their altercation, Ance Godwin’s account was backed up by patrons who had been present at the time.

Though this wound would trouble him for the next four years, Godwin refused to allow it to dull his life of riley. One day in 1874, with his also-notorious comrade William “Buck” Elwood, Godwin engaged in a brutal three-hour-long, no-holds-barred prize fight in the slaughterhouse yard of Thomas Peart.

The notorious pair also broke into School #14 to see what they could steal.

At one point, Ance Godwin assaulted three policemen and helped a friend escape arrest. His propensity for biting is highlighted here: Godwin bit the hand of two patrolmen, Robert Burns and Michael Wolf. He also brutally kicked another, Thomas Dukelow.

A combination of Anson Godwin’s acts of hubris led to his sudden demise in 1875. One of Godwin’s favorite shows of strength was the lifting of a beer keg filled with water, which he would do quite often to show off. On this particular day, the show of strength would aggravate a long-dormant weakness: his old wound from Little Smithy’s sneak blade. Ance’s wounded artery ruptured suddenly upon lifting the keg a third time. Dropping the keg with a mighty thundering crash, the pale Ance Godwin muttered a request for water. When he was unable to drink, the water was splashed in his face to revive him; Godwin took the hands of someone named Joseph Carie and cried out, “The Bible, Joe! Good-bye!” then perished.

On November 1st of that year, Little Smithy was murdered by Harry Ghaul in a saloon at No. 84 Exchange Street, in an area once held in ill repute as “Murderer’s Row”. An apt name, it seems.

As for Ance’s partner in pugilism, Buck, he lived on for nearly seven more years, continuing along the path he’d taken thus far. A four-year-stint in Auburn Prison for burglary made up a sizeable fraction of his short remaining years. Despite all, he was kindly remembered and well-regarded by his friends, if not his victims.

Decades later, in 1927, police captain John Patrick McDonald was celebrating forty years on the police force. The veteran officer, who lived at the cobblestone home of H. V. B. Schanck on the corner of East Main and Culver, reminisced about Anson “Ance” Godwin [who he calls “Nance Goodwin”] and William “Buck” Elwood:

That’s only a fraction of the interesting events connected to old Green Street, but I can’t include everything. (Although clearly I’ve given it a running start.) History moved on, and the character of Green Street continued to develop along with it.

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Everchanging Green

By 1875, an alley would extend from the southern end of Green Street south to the canal.

Note that the 1875 Atlas somehow manages to spell the same street as both “Green” and “Greene” Street.

South Clinton Street would itself be extended south, landing on the north side of Jackson Street, across from the foot of Green Street:

The combo of the southern extension of South Clinton Street and the alley south from Green Street to the canal would serve as the seeds to Green Street’s demise as an independent street. The continuity of traffic from South Clinton would eventually lead to Green Street being renamed Clinton Park, a stepping stone towards its complete annexation by South Clinton Avenue.

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Clinton Park

Green Street was renamed to Clinton Park in January of 1885.

As one can see, Clinton Park has extended through what was formerly the alley to the south of Green Street, and a bridge has been constructed to bring the roadway across the canal to Pinnacle Street.

Other changes took place as well during this period. In 1887, the name of Jackson Street was changed to Monroe Place. In 1899, this would change again, to Capron Street.

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South Clinton Avenue

By 1900, the entire stretch has been subsumed by the identity of Clinton Avenue South. The bridge over the canal removed the geographic barrier which once separated Green Street from the streets south of it, and streetcar tracks were installed along the route all the way to Field Street. The simplification of street names would follow shortly thereafter, and many of the unique streets that once made up the way were now solidly, South Clinton.

The expansion of the old Armory into the new Convention Hall during 1907-1908 cut a chunk out of Capron Street. A new bit of road would be paved south of the Convention Hall some time before 1918, creating a “jogged” version of Capron Street.

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Green Alley

That was not the only thoroughfare to ever bear the appellation “Green”. Another Green existed on the west side, between Jay and Smith Streets. Like its fellow Green Street, this was laid out sometime around 1827.

It wasn’t certain what Green actually was; throughout its existence, Green vacillated between “Alley” and “Street”.

Oddly, the above 1875 map labels Green Alley as “Green Street” even as the 1875 Directory lists it as “Green Alley”. There was no sort of consistency here.

The Copeland-Durgin Company began its existence as the H. O. Hall Company in 1874; it would become the Copeland, Hall & Company shortly after. During such time, my great-great-grandfather Charles R. Zeiner worked at the plant, before taking leave to found his own cigar box company in the City Mills building.

The Copeland-Durgin Company proper would incorporate in 1889.

In 1906, Copeland & Durgin sold this tract of land to the Langslow, Fowler Co. furniture factory.

Langslow, Fowler Co. went out of business in August of 1927. The buildings would become property of the Board of Education, and serve as a repair shop for school assets.

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Green Street, Brighton

Here’s a curiosity I discovered during my research: another Green Street existed–or, more precisely, didn’t exist–in the town of Brighton. It was one of several streets for a planned development between Red Creek and the Lehigh Valley railroad tracks which never came to fruition.

The name of Green Street is in multiple directories and maps of Brighton, but it appears to have only been a “paper street“, or a street which exists on maps but has not been built.

Even maps as late as 1950 have these streets inscribed:

Green Street and the other unbuilt streets of the development appear to have been meant for the Anna L. Pope and Morris Kaplan properties south of the Bastian/Helen/Norman neighborhood.

Unfortunately, I was unable to find much more information than that. Which is probably good, because I need to end this article at some point and it’s grown exponentially.

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Green’s Day

I hope you enjoyed this little survey of Green Streets past, both real or imagined. I’ve always had a sort of superstitious belief that streets remember their former names, and their character will always remain somehow informed by those appellations. What that means exactly, I can’t say for sure, but from here on out if I’m travelling along South Clinton between I will know in my heart I am on Green Street.

Although, most of that section is elevated roadway now, so I can’t decide if that still counts as the same street. Something for the philosophers to argue about.

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