The empty fields behind Metcalfe Street, between William and Howard streets, were my stomping grounds. There was a whole new world to be discovered there for those with inquisitive minds. There were rocks and minerals that needed to be studied and kites that needed to test their wings. Meanwhile, praying mantis camouflaged themselves amid the tall goldenrod, lying in wait for the unwary grasshopper who crossed its path. On one particular excursion, the fields yielded a horse hoof. Greatly treasured, it was carefully stored in Uncle Bronislaus’ cigar box. Years later, that fond memory was recalled with the discovery that the little eden in the city was once the site of the Crandall Horse Company. That’s where the horse hoof must have come from! 

Crandall Horse Company, located at William and Newell streets, was often touted as the largest horse auction house in the world. Established in 1884 by A.D. Cronk and A.B. Crandall, it could accommodate up to 2,000 horses at a time. In a single year, over 100,000 horses were shipped from East Buffalo to cities all over the world. In 1906, Crandall once auctioned off 60 horses in an hour, setting a horse-a-minute record.  In operation for over 50 years, a conflagration razed most of the barns in August 1941. Moving that much livestock through the often-inclement Buffalo weather resulted in both injury and illness to the equines. Fortunately, a well-respected veterinarian, Dr. John Thomas Claris, had established a veterinary hospital just over a mile away at Clinton and Adams streets. The horse barns provided the veterinarian with a lucrative client for his growing business enterprise.

Born in London, Ontario, in 1861, John Claris moved to Buffalo with his family when he was only a year old. He eventually attended Bryant & Stratton Business School and later graduated with a veterinary surgeon’s degree with honors from the Ontario Veterinary College in Toronto in 1882. Upon graduation, he moved back to Buffalo and immediately established a practice on Clinton Street near Watson. Riding the tide of prosperity two years later, he built a much larger practice at Clinton and Adams streets, just a few blocks west of the William Simon Brewery and four blocks north of the Larkin Soap Company. His new establishment was state-of-the-art, with horse stalls heated by steam in the winter and well-ventilated to keep cool in the summer. This location was three times the size of his original one, and the largest of its kind in the U.S. There were accommodations for 100 horses on the first floor. 

The second floor contained a comparative anatomy museum, surgical suites and doctors’ offices. The museum contained many strange and interesting oddities of nature. Designed to show anatomy and pathology, it demonstrated the growth and location of many animal diseases. Collections included complete articulated skeletons of a cow, dog, deer horse and human. The museum also contained a rare collection of exostoses, showing the growth of many forms of disease in the bones which interfere with movement that can lead to lameness in horses. Another eclectic collection featured calculi found in the horse’s digestive tract. The largest specimen weighed 80 pounds!

One of the oddities among the collection was a colt with one large eye instead of two. This eye contained two pupils located in the center of the forehead. The mouth and nostril were completely covered with skin and would inflate like a bladder each time the colt breathed. Another noticeable anomaly was a two-headed calf, which the hospital was willing to show clients at any time.

The third floor was dedicated to the manufacturing of veterinary medicines and horse elixirs, which was managed by Claris’ brother-in-law, William Twitty, M.D., who was actually a doctor for humans. Additionally, the third floor contained two laboratories and rooms for shipping and labeling. 

Despite this larger hospital, Dr. Claris was unable to handle the growing demand for his services and started his East Buffalo branch hospital in 1893 to accommodate the overflow. This facility contained an additional 30 box stalls that included a hot water apparatus. The ability to regulate temperature in cold weather and was essential in the treatment of lung and throat ailments so prevalent among horses exposed to storms during shipment from distant points. By 1899, he had once again expanded the second facility.

During this time, Claris’ expertise was also called on as an inspector for the meatpacking industry. When an outbreak of Texas cattle fever occurred in 1891, he inspected both the cattle at the Jacob Dold Meatpacking Company and subsequently the contaminated meat at the Broadway Market. It was discovered that two cattle had died and three more were infected. While Dr. Claris stated that a normal temperature for cattle was 98˚F, one he examined had a fever of 107!

Dr. Claris prided himself on his ambulance service. A news article stated, “One feature of the institution that commends itself to lovers of horses and to humane people in general is its ambulance service which conveys to the hospital at all possible speed horses that are stricken with illness or that fall victims of accident. Very often this service results in the saving of valuable horses as it permits them to receive proper treatment without delay.”

The horses that pulled the ambulance were purchased from a circus and were appropriately named Forepaugh and Barnum after famous circus owners at the time. Occasionally, Forepaugh would be overcome with the desire to perform circus tricks to amuse his grass-eating fellows. If the herd of horses wasn’t amused, the antics certainly attracted the attention of passing farmers. When ridden in parades, neither skyrockets, roman candles nor bursting bombs could ruffle Forepaugh’s equanimity. So beloved was the horse by Buffalonians, that when it passed, the Buffalo Enquirer declared, “Famous circus horse goes to equine heaven, performs now in Pearl and Jasper Ring.”

Dr. Claris’ establishment became a one-stop-shop for all horse needs. Part of the business included a horseshoe shop at 624 Clinton Street. He first opened it in 1891 after noticing the great amount of foot disease caused by poor and careless shoeing. No horseman questions the truth of the aphorism, “No foot, no horse.” The original shop contained one fire and two farriers, but his expanding business forced him to expand the facility to twice its original size in 1893, installing three fires. Business demand soon resulted in a second expansion in 1896 when he introduced four fires in the shop.

The late 19th century was a booming time for purveyors of elixirs and liniments. Not to be left behind, Dr. Claris joined the ranks of other proprietary medicine dealers in manufacturing and promoting his own brands. These remedies were led by the medicine he called “Kronkine,” which was billed as the great fever cure. It would stimulate the heart and nourish a sick horse. One tablespoon would stop a chill, relieve congestion and prevent inflammation. It was available in powder or liquid and in quantities of up to five gallons. Similarly, Dr. Claris’ White Liniment was a cure all for fevers associated with lung and throat ailments in horses and cattle. Its ingredients included camphor, tincture of capsicum, aromatic spirits of ammonia, tincture of opium, oil of turpentine and alcohol. 

Often touted as a panacea for horses and cattle, Dr. Claris was determined to prove his veterinary medicines could be used for treating human ailments as well. On his way to attend a sick horse, he was notified that a friend had swallowed a union label from a loaf of bread. Claris pumped him with epizootic medicine—an elixir commonly used to treat widespread disease in animals—which prompted the human patient to promptly cough up the label. From this on-the-spot experiment, John now joined the ranks of other proprietary medicine dealers, who capitalized on the market by selling products as suitable “For Man or Beast.” 

Advertisements for the doctor’s Family Liniment claimed it “penetrates quickly, relieves painful neuralgia, lumbago rheumatism, and all kinds of muscular soreness. It has few equals among like preparations and practically no superiors.” Furthermore, a testimonial by a well-known Buffalo physician stated that, “I find it invaluable in a climate like Buffalo where the cold raw air from the lake and humidity caused by the presence of the great body of water at certain times of the year make the residents susceptible to rheumatism. I always advise my patients to use this liniment as soon as the first twinge of pain appears. When they do this they often ward off severe attacks and save themselves a great deal of suffering and money.” A shrewd businessman, the vet capitalized on the monikers he chose for his products. Naming his baseball team White Liniment and his racehorse Elixir, he was able to advertise his veterinary medicines outside of the immediate horse community.

Civically, John Claris was a very active man and was listed as being a member of the Ismailia Shriners Temple, the Buffalo Elks, the Free Masons, the Fraternal Order Orioles, Mayor Schwab’s advisory committee and the Republican Party. Standing 6’ 7” and weighing 300 pounds, he was frequently the grand marshal of the annual Republican parade and often dressed as Uncle Sam. His unusual physical stature also made him the occasional brunt of cartoons. In 1916, when the Ismailia Shriners held their convention, he was the shrine chief and wore garments that made him look like an exotic high priest from a far-away land.

John also added the title of author to his list of accomplishments and enterprises. His book, The Horse: Disease and Treatment, described the proper treatment of various forms of equine ailments. The lengthy testimonials contained within were from companies in which Dr. Claris was either a shareholder or part owner. They included the Crandall Horse Barns and Magnus Beck’s Brewing Company. In addition to his private veterinary practice, he was appointed as the chief veterinary inspector for the Bureau of Animal Industry for Buffalo and Suspension Bridge. In this guise, he was tasked with preventing the introduction and spread of contagious diseases by quarantining or euthanizing infected animals. He was also a veterinary surgeon for the U.S. Bureau of Animal Industry, appointed the inspector of livestock at the East Buffalo Stockyards and worked for 30 years at the New York State Department of Agriculture.

Well-known for representing the principles of bossism, he was considered an anti-union man, and subsequently was defeated thrice when running for sheriff. An avid hunter and fisherman, hunting buddies often included prominent members of the Republican Party. He also got himself into a bit of trouble with the U.S. Veterinary Medical Association in 1891 for a violation of that body’s code of ethics. Charged with manufacturing proprietary and brevet medicine and unprofessional methods of advertising, his certificate was withheld and he resigned his membership.

Surviving a stroke in 1921, Dr. John Claris passed away suddenly in Albany two years later while on a work-related visit. Leaving behind a wife, Ottilie Hager Claris, and a son, John Woodward Claris, he was buried in Forest Lawn Cemetery. Eulogizers compared him to a mighty oak that towered above its fellows, and when it fell, left a space that could not be filled. Dr. Claris left an indelible mark on the citizens of Buffalo, not just due to his gigantic size and the horses he rescued, but due also to his gentle spirit, which he shared with all those whose paths he crossed.

Peter Jablonski is a science teacher for Orleans Niagara BOCES. He serves as president of the Greater Buffalo Bottle Collectors Association and gives lectures on local history topics. He resides with his wife Heather in Akron, NY, where they are preparing their residence for the arrival of two horses.