Sing Shady

Treetop choir loft fosters German folksong in Brewerytown, circa 1900s. 

This month’s Philadelphia Story features the tale of a shoemaker in the late 1800s who emigrated from a tiny German village to a North Philly rowhome, where he created a high-up haven for music and community in the boughs of a towering shade tree.

Carl Albert was born in 1853, in a small village in an ancient and densely-forested part of Middle Germany known today as Thuringia – the “green heart” of the country, famous for great hiking and winter sports. Carl was raised by a single mother with his grandparents and four uncles in their shared home.

The Alberts were a musical family! They spent many evenings singing folk songs together, harmonizing their voices to perfection. Carl also learned to play the Alpine zither, a popular stringed instrument in the late 1800’s and early 1900s. But Carl wasn’t just a performer, he was also a go-getter who had apprenticed early with a local cobbler to become a trained shoemaker with entrepreneurial dreams.

He was 34 when he left Germany for Philadelphia in 1887, setting up shop near 8^th and Fairmount. In addition to serving customers, he negotiated contracts with manufacturing companies, and quickly built a name for himself as an expert shoe fitter and cutter.

At age 45, Carl finally found his bride: 53-year-old Pauline Koringer from Baden. The couple settled into a two-bedroom brick rowhouse on Cecil B. Moore Avenue in Brewerytown. This was 1898, when they paid $2,300 for it at the time – it still stands today, btw, Zillow’s estimate is $90,700.

Of all the reasons they loved their neighborhood, the Alberts enjoyed how close it was to the lovely East Park Reservoir, where they’d take long evening strolls along the many paths in this part of Fairmount Park (now the site of the Discovery Center). For Carl, the lush greenery and nearby Schuylkill river reminded him of his happy childhood in Germany.

Though he had begun the naturalization process soon after arriving in the US, he remained deeply connected to the culture he grew up in. At the turn of the 20^th century, Philadelphia had the country’s third largest German-born population after New York and Chicago. German social clubs and organizations flourished, and Carl belonged to several, including Arbeiter Maennerchor – a “workingmen’s” chorus with some of the neighborhood’s finest voices.

Carl was one of the group’s best performers, gifted with a remarkable voice and a real passion for music that inspired greatness. The men kept a rigorous rehearsal schedule, focused on an annual competition with other local choirs to represent the city in a national German singing festival that was very prestigious. The Arbeiter’s all-stars met unfailingly every week to nail down that year’s winning arrangement.

With no formal concert hall to practice in, members took turns hosting in spare rooms, barns, and storage buildings where the men often felt cramped and uncomfortable. Summers were especially brutal in these days before air-conditioning.

Carl knew extreme heat and humidity affects a person’s sinuses and breath control, making it hard sing and harmonize. So when it was his turn to host in July 1902, he resolved to create a shaded outdoor space with fresh air and natural cooling.

Carl had been eyeing the tall, sturdy tulip poplar tree in his backyard. A stately beauty four-stories high — straight and symmetrical — with four large limbs about 30 feet up that looked perfectly spaced for a platform. 🌳👀🔨🪚

Ever the handy guy, Carl built a stage large enough for all 16 choir members plus a separate conductor’s podium. For access, he built a ladder up one side of the tree trunk, and also a dumbwaiter to deliver snacks and beverages from his kitchen. The leafy canopy was decorated in patriotic colors, and illuminated by hundreds of Japanese lanterns.

When the gang arrived for rehearsal that Tuesday evening, they were delighted by the sweet oasis Carl had created high above the city rooftops. They sang for more than an hour, their proud songs echoing over the block, drawing neighbors from their homes to see what the hubbub was. That first night drew a crowd of hundreds, and word spread about Carl’s special treehouse.

Over the years, Carl added a roof and a second floor that allowed the space to accommodate three dozen performers. It was heaven! 🎶💕🍻

But he and Pauline still pined for their homeland. Unfortunately, a WWI ban on overseas travel blocked their return until 1920 —  too late for Pauline who by then was 75 years old, and ailing.

She would settle for being buried in German soil, her last wish as she passed from cervical cancer in 1922. As promised, Carl immediately delivered her ashes to the country of their birth, where he remained with family until Hitler’s radical politics drove him back to Philadelphia in late 1924.

Carl’s health soon began to fail, and by 1930 he checked himself into the Little Sisters of the Poor home at 18^th and Jefferson. He was 81 when he died from a gangrenous limb in April 1934; he is buried at Holy Cross Catholic Cemetery in Yeadon.

Researched and written by Bob McNulty on August 5, 2018

🌳🪓 EPILOGUE: Until June 2024, a tulip poplar tree still stood in the backyard of Carl and Pauline’s red brick rowhouse on Cecil B. Moore (the day we stopped to photograph it, a truck was busy cutting it down).

READ MORE! 👀 Get the full story in Bob McNulty’s original narrative that brings his history to life with names, addresses and backstory (printed in July’s LOCAL newspaper).

For more great history, follow @PhiladelphiaStoriesbyBobMcNulty on Facebook. And check out Bob’s previous Local column HERE that traces the fascinating story of a favorite family felon.