Johann Wilhelm Stolting: Former Hastings Resident and Hermit of Irvington

By Benjamin Smith

Introduction

You may have heard of Johann Wilhelm Stolting, also known as “The Hermit of Irvington,” and his eccentricities, such as sleeping in his own coffin and burying his treasure behind the former Hastings Press Building. He was an oddball and a genius, to say the least. Aside from speaking French, Dutch, German, English and a reported three other languages, Stolting lived in our area and worked a variety of jobs. At some point or another, he was a teacher, a scientist, a mailman, and a button maker. 

During his years in Hastings, Stolting resided in the house adjacent to the building on Broadway known to many as the Baker Funeral Home, a familiar place for long-time Hastings residents. The tale of Stolting has become part of the folklore of the Rivertowns. Although often thought of as a figure of Irvington, Stolting has a unique history in Hastings.

Early Life, Birth, and Backstory

To really get a grasp on the character of Stolting, we must go back to his roots in the early part of the 19^th century in a small archipelago in the North Sea. There are conflicting stories regarding his younger years. Of the two most prominent, one includes a tale of love and battles with Spanish pirates, as told by Stolting. The other, bleaker version as told by more reliable sources (such as a February 19, 1885 article in The New York Times) includes Stolting laboring for piano-maker Cornelius Godfrey in Hamburg, Germany and moving to New York strictly on business terms. 

The more fantastical version as told by Stolting goes as follows: Stolting was born 1810 in Heligoland, two islands in the North Sea that are now a municipality in Schleswig-Holstein in Germany. While living in Heligoland as the son of a poor professor, he fell in love with a woman two years older than him. While still in love, he longed to improve his circumstances and decided to seek out a fortune by moving to the city of Amsterdam, nearly 400 miles away. 

Prior to his departure, Stolting vowed to his sweetheart that he would come back for her and would return with the riches he expected to acquire in Amsterdam. Once in Holland, Stolting waited months to hear from his love, but nothing came from her. Much to his dismay, Stolting was forced to give up his business in Amsterdam and return to his home after three years. 

Upon his return to Heligoland, he found his father’s cottage deserted. His neighbors told of a morbid truth. Spanish pirates had descended on the tiny island and left shortly after their arrival under the cover of night. While leaving, pirates took the young woman away. Stolting’s father, burdened by old age, put up a fight with the Spanish to save the woman. His father took a fatal hit from the captain. 

Stolting paid a visit to his father’s grave later and vowed to go after the pirates and avenge the crime. He went straight to the Court of Spain, which granted him a manned ship to attack the pirates and finally hold his sweetheart again. Stolting then found the pirates and brought them to justice, killing the captain with his own hands. When he went to look for his woman, the pirate told him she had died in captivity. Distraught with grief, Stolting used the remainder of his money to move to America.

The reason we can consider a report directly from Stolting as possibly illegitimate is because of his odd tendencies, and the chance of him telling a completely or partially false story to the press should not be ignored. Certain aspects of the story may have been true; however, it overall seems unlikely, to say the least.  Although the legitimacy of this story is questionable, it may provide us valuable insight into the life and thoughts of a man who would later become a well-known local hermit.

Despite the intriguing tale above, the more viable background story is the one related by The New York Times on February 19, 1885: “Stolting was born in Heligoland. As a young child, he was an apprentice to piano-maker Cornelius Godfrey in Hamburg, Germany. In 1834, Godfrey’s brother Joseph opened a manufactory in Hastings in America and took Stolting with him to work in the establishment. In about 1837, Stolting had a disagreement with his employers and quit. This left Stolting living alone in Hastings.”

Regardless of the stories, there is evidence of the presence of a young woman in Stolting’s life, whom he loved. It is also likely that this relationship between Stolting and the woman ended badly – how, we don’t know. Could this be the reason for Stolting’s lifelong hatred for women and [later] eccentric tendencies?

Life in Hastings, Dobbs Ferry, and Greenburgh

Uncovering the truth about Stolting and his life story has been quite a difficult task. Finding the reasoning behind Stolting’s ever-changing personality is perhaps even more challenging. It is tough to find the reason that would compel a relatively well-functioning man to become a recluse. According to many sources, such as the March 18, 1887 Yonkers Daily Statesman, at some point after Stolting arrived in Hastings, he opened a private school. This could perhaps be after Stolting left his employer, Joseph Godfrey (if we choose to follow that story). 

Due to his unusual discipline (or lack thereof), the school was not a success. He was known for granting the children their every wish (“sparing the rod and spoiling the children”), a style of classroom management frowned upon during that era. The school soon closed for this reason.

Around this point in time, he also adopted two boys aged six and seven, a questionable move given his odd lifestyle. Part of Stolting’s routine included a daily dip in the waters of the Hudson River, no matter the temperature or time of year. This, in addition to Stolting’s other eccentricities, prompted the children to run away from him a mere year after their adoption. Stolting was known to be rather fond of children, however hostile to the opposite sex.  

According to an article entitled Hermit Stolting’s Legacy, published by The New York Times on February 19, 1885, Stolting spent time teaching in Dobbs Ferry as well. After the school day, he would take the schoolchildren swimming and boating in the Hudson. One of the children drowned on his watch. Although he was said not to be at fault, Stolting “grew low-spirited and soon gave up teaching.” The New York Times article also mentioned that, at one point, Stolting allowed orphans to reside in his home free of charge. A young boy named Alexander Huntley Smith died while under Stolting’s supervision, and it is said that “…recollection of it was crowded from the old man’s mind.” Yet again, Stolting felt deep remorse about a death for which he felt responsible. Could these too be contributing factors in his becoming a hermit?

Between all the death Stolting witnessed and the guilt he felt for his involvement in them, it would be a possibility that this is what drove him to withdraw from society. This effect was not immediate, though, since Stolting would surround himself with people and continue to be a functioning member of society for decades after. 

According to a deed, Stolting purchased property in Hastings in 1842. He likely intended to purchase the entire plot of land but had insufficient funds to do so all at once. He purchased the second adjoining plot of land in 1848 and lived in a home on the property. The home in which Stolting lived is adjacent to the former Baker Funeral Home and next to the old Hastings Press building at 518 Broadway. It is right next to the Old Croton Aqueduct near the Five Corners intersection. This is the supposed location of his treasure that he buried, a fortune he is said to have derived from selling buttons made from oyster shells found on the banks of the Hudson. It was in this house that Stolting ran his button-making business. Although some sources say he began earlier, it is most likely that Stolting launched this button business in the 1840s when he purchased the property in Hastings.  

During Stolting’s (roughly) 19 years in Hastings, we can assume that he continued to live the same, somewhat unusual lifestyle. It is known that he continued his swims in the Hudson, since many people witnessed his daily dips. 

There is evidence that Stolting left Hastings around 1867 and moved a bit further north within the Town of Greenburgh, for reasons that are unknown. Around this time, Stolting would often be seen near the train station in Dobbs Ferry and would treat the male citizens of that village with respect, although he continued to ignore the women. Because of this, many people in Greenburgh and Dobbs Ferry (at least those that were male) developed positive opinions about Stolting, and he became known as a kind figure. 

During these times, though, it would likely be an accurate assumption to say that Stolting’s mental health was at least somewhat deteriorating, perhaps due to the anguish he suffered from his involvement in the deaths of the children. He lived within established societal norms and did not yet choose to become a hermit. That would soon change.

Greenburgh to Irvington and a Hermetic Life

It is unclear when exactly Stolting began his job of delivering newspapers to the wealthy residents of Dobbs Ferry and Greenburgh, but he almost certainly worked that job while living in Greenburgh and for the rest of his life. His time in Greenburgh was relatively brief, however, because in the November 18, 1929 article entitled “Stolting, Hastings’ Strange Hermit,” published by The Hastings Press, it states “…Stolting apparently chose seclusion to nature when he bought the wild tract of land in the hills in 1873.” 

During the six years Stolting spent in the Town of Greenburgh, his mental health may have worsened further. In any case, he was driven to buy a remote piece of property in Irvington, on which he would live and die as a hermit. This property was located north of Woodlands Lake and was adjacent to the summer home of Cyrus W. Fields, the man who laid the telegraph cable across the Atlantic Ocean in 1858. The two men developed a friendly relationship.

The hut which Stolting built for himself sat in the center of nature, much to the love of the hermit. The walk up to the hut, as described by the March 18, 1887 Yonkers Daily Statesman, looked like this: “Cowslips and other wildflowers grow in abundance on the sides of the hills, and the oak, the maple, and the white birch abound. It is a lovely vista which one gets at this eminence, where nature is arrayed in her lovely dress of foliage.” Stolting must have felt as if he had found a sort of paradise for himself to live out his final years, even if they might have been troubled. Moving here marked the beginning of the hermetic years of his life.

It was also while Stolting was living in the woods that he purchased the coffin he was infamous for sleeping in. In the above-mentioned Yonkers Daily Statesman article, the interior of Stolting’s hut was described as such: “In the opposite corner stood the combination coffin-bed, consisting of a long, square-cornered box, with a sliding cover into which he had climbed nightly for years. Not even a pillow was placed therein.” As if it wasn’t weird enough to sleep in a coffin, Stolting didn’t do anything to bolster the comfort of it; hence, the absence of a pillow. To our sensibilities today (and likely to people even then), his sleeping quarters were exceedingly bizarre.

A New York Times article dated May 13, 1894 described Stolting’s appearance during this period: “He did not wear stockings, hat, outside shirt, waistcoat, or overcoat. Winter and summer he appeared in public attired in blue trousers, resembling overalls, coming down hardly to his ankles, and a flannel undershirt of various colors. His hair was long and white, his form bent, and his face wrinkled.” The account mentions that “…he was an object of wonderment to all strangers.”

We also know that he continued to deliver newspapers because in the 1929 Hastings News article, one section tells of a woman’s memories of Stolting coming to her house during a blizzard. The woman recalls, “One winter morning I was about six years old and in my high-chair in my grandfather’s dining room, watching a driving snowstorm – almost a hurricane – through the window and the faithful Stolting coming along the road with his white head bare to the storm. It was in the winter of 1887 (ed. note: likely the Blizzard of 1888, which paralyzed the Northeast).…He came in at the gate on his way from the Dobbs Ferry post office bringing a local newspaper and other papers,” Given Stolting’s love of nature, it was not surprising that he seemed enthusiastic to be delivering mail in such horrific weather. 

An interesting interaction came about during his time as a hermit. Around 1885, a well-dressed woman arrived at Dobbs Ferry with the intent to speak with Stolting. She began to walk up the path that led to his hut, but was met with opposition from the hermit, who told her to get lost. His dismissive approach was due to the woman’s sex. During her departure from Dobbs Ferry, she told the ticket agent that the reason for her approaching Stolting was to tell him of property in Amsterdam to which he was entitled. 

The ticket agent brought this to the attention of Stolting, who realized his mistake and placed a personal advertisement in the newspaper that read: “Will the lady who called upon Johann William Stolting at Dobbs Ferry, on July 19, kindly forward her address to the above place? A prompt reply will be furnished. -Johann WM. Stolting.” No response was ever given to the newspaper advertisement placed by Stolting. Does this story give some validity to Stolting’s story of his early life, his presence in Amsterdam and entitlement to property there? We may never know, but it is a fascinating story of Stolting’s hatred for women and his lingering ties to that city (and may provide a hint of what happened later).

So strong, in fact, was Stolting’s disdain for females, that in one instance he almost chose death over a brief interaction. In the 1887 Yonkers Statesman article, it mentions “one cold day in the depths of winter, some years ago,” when one man and a few women went to the home of Stolting to provide medical care for him, since they had heard his health had been in decline. When they knocked on the door of his hut and told him of their intentions to provide care, they were met with a hostile response. Stolting told them that “no women could cross the threshold of his hut, be they ever so charitable….” Once an individual man was let in, Stolting was found on the floor of his hut, having crawled to the door to open it because of his weakness. He had suffered from a sickness several days and had not eaten or drank for a few days either. Both men thought it would be the end of Stolting’s life, but he was nursed back to health on that occasion.

Decline, Death and a Will

Just as Stolting’s emotional health deteriorated as time passed, his physical health did as well. The hermit developed a debilitating disease called erysipelas, a bacterial disease that affects the outer layers of the skin.  According to the Town of Greenburgh’s Register of Deaths, on January 10, 1888, Stolting succumbed to his illness and passed away at the age of 78 while in the care of a Dr. Joseph. The odd character’s life came to an end in his tiny little hut, surrounded by nature. 

According to a newspaper article found in the Irvington Historical Society files, the funeral took place on January 11, 1888. While living, Stolting had asked for his funeral to take place in a manner peculiar for that time. George Baker of the Baker Funeral Home in Hastings was chosen to be the undertaker. Among Stolting’s wishes, one was for no religious services to be held for him. He also requested that he be buried in the famous coffin he had slept in for years before. All his requests were carried out. 

Stolting had picked out a spot in which he wished to be buried. If there was inadequate dirt or depth to bury him there, then he was to be buried further west. The article stated that moving the grave further west was necessary, and it required many men to “carry the remains up over the slippery and steep rocks.” When buried, Stolting’s head was placed facing west (at his request). The newspaper also says that “There were about a dozen men present, but there was no ceremony other than throwing the dirt to bury the rough coffin from view.” 

When reading the will of Johann Wilhelm Stolting, available in the Photostats from Alvah P. French Scrapbooks at the Westchester County Historical Society, many intriguing questions arise. The will speaks of newspapers saying that “his place was set afire 18 Mar 1887 – his diary was burned.” How did the fire start – was it Stolting’s carelessness or was it arson? We can only imagine what Stolting transcribed in his personal diary and, from a historical standpoint, the destruction of it is a major loss. In his will, it also says that Stolting’s estate was to be sold and the money was to be divided among numerous friends. Why would a hermit have an estate, one that was large enough to be divided? 

 According to the September 24, 1891, New York Times article entitled “The Dobbs Ferry Hermit,” the sale of Stolting’s estate totaled $3,779.14, which is equivalent to roughly $122,000 today.  This value is an amazing amount, given that the man was a hermit! Perhaps Stolting had stashed away the money from the sale of his property in Hastings all those years ago – or he inherited some property in Amsterdam.

As an interesting aside, one of the benefactors in Stolting’s will was the German-language New York Staats Zeitung newspaper, which received $100 (more than $3,000 in today’s dollars). That establishment was also given “all manuscripts and papers to dispose of to best interests of science, etc.” While it is a relatively small bequest, it shows the value Stolting had for his Germanic roots and his lasting connection to German culture. What happened to his papers is unclear.

Even after the passing of the hermit, his legacy lives on. Stolting remains known as the “Hermit of Irvington,” and his grave – colloquially known as “The Hermit’s Grave” – has become a popular destination for hikers. Believe it or not, Stolting still affects many of us to this day. If you have ever driven on the Saw Mill River Parkway, then that includes you. During the construction of that parkway in the 1920s, the Hermit’s Grave was purposely avoided, altering the eventual course of the highway. 

However Stolting is known, be it as the “Hermit of Irvington,” or the man who lived next to Cyrus W. Fields, or the recluse with a treasure buried somewhere in Hastings, he continues to intrigue people with his unusual life story.

Common Misconceptions and Fun Facts

The coffin Stolting was so famous for sleeping in is often thought of as being made by George Baker, Stolting’s neighbor in Hastings and a prominent furniture maker/funeral undertaker during that time. It was actually not made by Baker, but rather by a Mr. Acker, who lived in the Worthington section of the Town of Greenburgh.

According to the folklore of Hastings, Stolting’s treasure is buried somewhere near his house and the former Hastings Press building at 518 Broadway. The contents of Stolting’s treasure are said to consist of pennies or gold, but it would be more likely that they are just discarded buttons made from oyster shells. We may never know for sure if the treasure exists – or what are its contents. This will likely remain an enduring Hastings mystery.

A commonly held belief regarding the Hermit is that Stolting posed as an inspiration to the famous tale of Rip Van Winkle. This is false, due to the fact that Stolting was not even in America during the time that tale was written, let alone in his reclusive years. Stolting likely came to America around 1834 and Rip Van Winkle was written in 1819. So, for Stolting to serve as an inspiration to Rip Van Winkle is not just far-fetched but impossible, given the timing. 

Some say that Cyrus W. Fields covered the expenses for Stolting’s funeral. This is false though, because in Stolting’s will it states that his debts were to be paid off by the sale of his estate and those expenses included funeral costs. One of the news articles mentions that, while Stolting was alive and living in his hut, Fields told his servants to never let the hermit want for anything. 

And finally, when I am referring to Hastings, I am not referring to the Village of Hastings-on-Hudson (since it wasn’t incorporated until 1879), but rather the land on which the modern village sits.

Benjamin Smith is a 9th grader at Yorktown High School. Benjamin enjoys uncovering unusual historical human-interest stories, especially ones on the local level. He was an intern at the Hastings Historical Society in the summer of 2023, and is looking forward to doing further research at the Society.