“It happened in the early years of the City of Brooklyn that a man called Salzach, a German of Bavarian descent, lost his mind. He was ripping apart old sacks in the yard behind the hostelry when it happened. The innkeeper, who glanced out from the kitchen window a few minutes later, was alarmed to see him shaking his fist and furiously addressing a cat that was sunning itself on the tree stump. Brooklyn Asylum postcard, 1893. Evidently harboring some inkling of suspicion against Herr Salzach already, the innkeeper wasted no time in dispatching the Irish boy, Michael, to the police.” (Run of Play)