Many writers have chronicled the origin of the name of the St. Louis community Dogtown. Speculation and confusion still abound, however, and the line between truth and rumor seems finer that ever. Let us lay the facts out straight.
There are stories of two distinct Dogtowns in St. Louis---one extinct, the other extant. Accounts of what is probably the original Dogtown are found in old newspapers at the central public library. The Sept. 7, 1911, edition of the St. Louis Times tells us, “There is gloom in Ragtown and Dogtown, two dilapidated settlements along the railroad track of the Mill Creek Valley between Vandeventer Ave. And Sarah St., for the police had presented an ultimatum that the places must by abandoned.”
Another reference to the mass eviction is in the September 5, 1961, edition of the St. Louis Globe-Democrat, under the heading “50 Years Ago Today: Ragtown and Dogtown, two groups of shacks and shanties, which had flourished for many years on the border of St. Louis’ West End, to be torn down by police and inhabitants dispersed.”
The given location of this Dogtown is “on the north side of the Wabash tracks, between Taylor and Newstead” --- slightly west of the location described in the Times story. Still, we may be certain it is the same Dogtown.
There is no connection between this bygone squatter village and the present-day Dogtown, roughly bounded by McCausland to the west, Manchester to the south, Oakland to the north and Hampton to the east. This Dogtown is a solid working-class neighborhood of predominantly Irish extraction --- though it is widely believed the area was once the hunting grounds for dog-eating pygmies.
Pat’s Bar, formerly McDermott’s at Tamm and Oakland is the place to research such legends. It was there some time ago that I encountered Tom Connally, who came to Dogtown from Ireland in 1927. Dogtown, hmm. Whence the name, Tom?
“Likely because every family had a couple of dogs for protection,” he replied in an old-sod brogue. “This was country then. There wasn’t even real streets --- you had to walk on planks. They called it Dogtown long before I was born. Nobody’s really sure of the name, Lad.”
Now, most people who know anything about Dogtown will tell you that it got its name from certain nefarious goings-on during the 1904 World’s Fair. They will say that during the fair a band of pygmies was encamped and exhibited somewhere in Forest Park. Unfortunately, the meals provided by the World’s Fair caterers did not include that pygmy delicacy, dog. Craving canines, the pygmies began to hunt by night, ranging southward until they located prospects in what is now Dogtown. There they found a bounty of meat on the paw – shepherds and terriers, perhaps, in addition to the ubiquitous mongrel.
Historical record shows that five aboriginal tribes from the Philippines, known as the Igorot, were present at the 1904 World’s Fair. Their 47 – acre village was situated in what is now Wydown Terrace, to the west of Skinker Boulevard in Clayton. The scantily clad Igorot, who did inde3ed enjoy a good leg of dog, outgrossed every other attraction at the fair.
A feature article in the summer 1980 issue of the long-defunct Clayton Magazine claims to have the real story behind the dog days of the 1904 world’s fair: “Certainly dog feasts dominate all 1904 accounts of the Igorot and have given rise to the speculation that Clayton may have supplied the dogs,” the story goes. “Others, such as World’s Fair lecturer Robert W. Mersch, note that the Igorot were reputed to have a dog dinner every Friday noon, but with the viands supposedly supplied by the residents in the neighborhood of McCausland and Tamm Avenues.”
And in her book The World Came to St. Louis, Dorothy Daniel Birk states that a Dr. Hunt had asked the city dog pound to supply dogs to the Igorot. This in turn, outraged the Women’s Humane Society, which called an emergency meeting to decide on a course of action. Battle lines were drawn.
“In the face of the ladies’ opposition,” Birk writes, “Chief Antonio, the leader of the Igorots, took matters in his own hands. He petitioned William Howard Taft [former governor of the Philippines and later U. S. president], who approved a voucher for 20 dogs a week.”
Aspiring etymologists soon learn that the origins of some words must forever remain ambiguous. Such is the case when oral history conflicts with written accounts. Did hungry pygmies –actually diminutive Philippine aborigines – really pilfer dogs from Dogtown, or were they satisfied with weekly provisions courtesy of the city dog pound? At some point the question becomes moot and the charm of the legend, veritable or not, is all that matters.
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