Centenarian

In 1829 Andrew Jackson was U. S. President. All good people were worried about the rise of Mormonism. Manhattan Island had streets as far uptown as Fourteenth. New York elected its first mayor by popular vote. Frances Wright, "that bold blasphemer and voluptuous preacher of licentiousness" stirred audiences with her free talk, caused the defeat of a Tammany candidate for the legislature. Washington Square had just been changed from Potter's Field to a public park. Imprisonment for debt was abolished that year.

That year at Pompton Plains, N. J., was born John Richard Voorhis, scion of an old Dutch family. At the age of one he was taken to Manhattan, to the village that was Greenwich Village. He sat on his great-grandfather's knee, heard eyewitness stories of the Revolution. He became a carpenter, built a mahogany stairway for Citizen A. T. Stewart's store (now Wanamakers).

Last week John Richard Voorhis, president of the New York City Board of Elections, Grand Sachem of the Society of St. Tammany, celebrated his 100th birthday. It was a three-day festival, including a boat trip around Manhattan, dinners, speeches galore. A Democrat since he voted for Franklin Pierce in 1852, Mr. Voorhis fought William Marcy Tweed and the "Old Tammany," received his first office, Commissioner of Excise, in 1873 under the reform administration of Mayor Havemeyer. He was long the city's Police Commissioner. Continuously in public service since, his jobs have always been appointive.

His birthday party was held in his office in the Municipal Building. He arrived wearing a sky-blue necktie. Seven hundred people called to wish him well. Alfred Emanuel Smith dropped in. Commissioner Voorhis gave him a cigar marked "John R. Voorhis." To other guests went other presents: To the men, pencils, to the women, fans, all marked in gilt: "1829-- JOHN R. VOORHIS--1929." There was a birthday cake, two poems, 100 roses from Pompton Plains. Commissioner Voorhis was elected a member of the young Democrats club. For the first time in his life he cried in public. Police Commissioner Whalen joshed him because the police department had no Voorhis fingerprints, added: "I thought that in 100 years, any man would stub his toe at least once."

At 100, Commissioner Voorhis' eyes are a little dim, his ears a little deaf, his walk a little shaky, but otherwise he is well-preserved. Strong of will, sharp of speech, he still lives in Greenwich Village, takes a ham sandwich to work with him for luncheon. He advises young men to stay out of politics, is "for the women-strong," opposes Prohibition, would like to see New York City made a separate state.