Saturday, January 20, 2018

The One-Time 1840s Twins at 32 and 34 King Street




As early as the 1820s Richmond Hill, once the country estate of British officer Major Mortier and then Aaron Burr, was being developed John Jacob Astor.   In the early 1840s fine brick-faced homes rose along the block of King Street, between Sixth Avenue and Varick Street.  Among these were Nos. 32 and 34, two upscale, mirror-image residences.

At 25-feet wide and three stories tall above and English basement, they were intended for well-to-do families.  Their connected brownstone stoops were separated by handsome ironwork which terminated in three basket newels which sat on substantial stone drums.

The Italianate style railing glimpsed at lower left came later.

The properties sat on land owned by Trinity Church.  By the mid-1850s No. 32 was home to real estate operator J. B. Archer.  He coupled domestic life with business in March 1855 when he advertised a house for rent at No. 564 Broome Street.  While he offered to show the property between 11:00 and 5:00, the ad noted "for particulars" he could be seen at home after 6:00 p.m.

Archer was apparently already renting rooms in the King Street house at the time.  Samuel Phillips, his wife and his brother lived here that year.

Victorian Fourth of July celebrations were dangerous to anyone who ventured outside because young boys traditionally fired pistols into the air.  It was a situation that continued until outraged reformers demanded an end to the reckless practice in the early 20th century.   On Independence Day 1855 the Phillips family felt safe in the backyard of No. 32.  But they were not.

The following morning The New York Times reported "Mrs. Phillips, wife of Samuel Phillips, residing at No 32 King-street, while setting at the back stoop of her house, was shot through the thigh with a ball from a pistol or a gun discharged from the rear of the house No. 19 Charlton-street."   Her brother-in-law rushed to her aid and was nearly injured as well.  "At the same time the brother of Mr. Phillips had a narrow escape; a ball passed through his pantaloons and lodged in the ground."

Less than a year later the Phillips family had moved on and on March 25, 1856 Archer advertised "A gentleman and wife, and two single gentlemen, can be accommodated with board, and furnished or unfurnished rooms in a private family; children no objection."

In the meantime, William Clark leased the house next door.  He was the son of Revolutionary War hero Captain Peter Clark who, according to the Therapeutic Gazette in 1884, "was with Stark at Bennington, and also at the surrender of [General John] Burgoyne."  Clark could trace his American lineage to Hugh Clark, who who settled in Massachusetts in the 17th century.

Clark owned an "oyster saloon" at No. 484 Third Avenue, at the corner of 35th Street.  Also known as oyster bars, the highly popular restaurant-taverns specialized in serving oysters buffet-style.  Clark's business was highly successful and provided him a satisfying personal fortune.

His affluence was evidenced when he became a victim of a brash crime in the fall of 1859.  While he was walking along West Broadway, a nimble-fingered sneak thief robbed him of his gold watch and chain, valued at $75--more than $2,000 in today's dollars.    The crook was not all that adept, however, and did not get far.  On November 21 The New York Herald announced "An Alleged Pickpocket in Trouble" and reported "William Curtis, a West India negro, was charged before Justice Connolly" and held for trial.

Like their neighbors, the Clarks were renting rooms by 1861.  That year, on August 30, an advertisement offered "To let, in a private house, two neatly furnished front Rooms, suitable for two young gentlemen or a gentleman and wife, and where home comforts can be enjoyed; house has all the modern improvements, and is convenient to cars and stages."   The "cars" referred to were the Sixth Avenue street cars.

Clark was looking for an employee for his business early in 1864, and was willing to interview in his King Street house.  He advertised on March 16 "Wanted --A girl in an oyster saloon; one who understands cooking oysters or waiting on tables.  Apply at 484 3d av., corner of 35th st, or 34 King st."

Eight months later Clark was dead.  He died in the house on November 15 at just 48 year old.  His funeral was held in the parlor three days later at 1:00.

The Clark family continued to rent rooms and among the boarders in 1865 were Andrew L. and Eliza Osborn and their teen aged daughter Mary Elizabeth; and a piano teacher who advertised "an accomplished young lady would like to teach music to a few scholars at their residences."

Less than a year after William Clark's funeral, the house would be the scene of another.  On September 5, after being sick for only a few days, Mary Elizabeth Osborn died just two months short of her 20th birthday.

In March 1866 the Trinity Church offered No. 34 for sale, saying it "contains all modern improvements."  The new owners continued to operate it as a boarding house.  When they advertised for a "girl to do general housework" in December 1868, they added "American or German preferred."

By now the boarders in the once-upscale home included blue collar immigrants.  One was Michael Gorman who lived here in 1869.  A native of Ireland, his profession was listed simply as "laborer."  In May 1869 he suffered a severe fall, most likely at a construction site.   His skull was fractured and he was taken to Bellevue Hospital where he lingered for several days before dying on May 9.  The next day The New York Times reported "Coroner Keenan granted permission for the removal of the remains to the late residence of the deceased, where an inquest will be held to-day."

Both residences continued to be boarding houses in the mid-1870s.  When the lease of No. 32 was offered in February 20, 1876 it was described a "three story high stoop House; contains all the modern improvements."   John Strobel signed the lease to operate the boarding house.

The owners next door moved away the following year.  On February 24, 1877 an advertisement appeared in The New York Herald that read "A rare chance for a newly married couple.  On account of leaving the city I will sell my entire Household Furniture for $300; this needs to be seen to be appreciated."

The buyers would soon be faced with a serious decision.  In 1878 John Strobel transferred his lease of No. 32 to Ferdinand Ehrhard.   The owner of an East Side plumbing business, he lived at No. 232 East 15th Street, and was active in politics.  The same year he took over the lease of No. 32 King Street he was elected to be a delegate to the State Convention of New-York Republicans in Saratoga, New York.

It was almost assuredly Ehrhart who was responsible for updating the house.  It received a stylish facelift, including the addition of a fourth floor in the form of a fashionable mansard roof.  But the shared stoops and entrance elements most certainly resulted in serious discussions with the owners of No. 34.  An obvious compromise resulted with both parties making concessions.

The sills and lintels of No. 32 received a modern, Eastlake-style update.  A new entrance with double doors in the same style replaced the Greek Revival original.   The owners of No. 34 did not agree to remodel those elements and apparently insisted on keeping the vintage stoop ironwork.  A trade-off was the Eastlake remodel of the entablature that stretched across both entrances.


A notable resident of No. 32 at the turn of the century was builder John F. Walsh, Jr.  In 1901 he was appointed Superintendent of Buildings for the boroughs of Manhattan an the Bronx.  The position came with a $5,000 a year salary--almost $138,000 today.  Living with him here was his father, who was no less well known.

The modern remake included tiny sill brackets and Eastlake-style lintels.

John F. Walsh, Sr. had been appointed by then governor Grover Cleveland as New York's Harbor Master.  Now, despite his advanced age, he was Inspector of Hulls in the Steamboat Service.  He died in the King Street house on July 5, 1905 at the age of 84, and still holding that job.  In reporting on his death The New York Times called him "one of the oldest an best-known residents of old Greenwich Village."

At the time of Walsh's death, the King Street neighborhood was becoming home, for the most part, to Italian immigrant families.  Three months before his funeral, another was held in the house next door.   Francis and Maddalena Cavagnaro's nine year old son, Arthur, died after being sick just five days.  His funeral was held in No. 34 King Street on April 6.


Ferdinand Ehrst's daughter, Louisa, was married to John Kreuser.   Following Ehrst's death, his estate transferred the lease of No. 34 in October 1908 to Kreuser.   Like Ehrst, he would be an off-site landlord; he and Louisa lived in Mount Vernon, New York.

Somewhat surprisingly, nine months later the Record & Guide reported that "The Rector, etc. of Trinity Church" had sold the house to John Kreusser for $15,000 (just under $390,000 today).   Among the Kreusser's upgrades was the installation of plumbing in 1916.

John Kreusser died on September 1, 1917 and Louise sold No. 32 on May 11, 1920 to sisters Marie T. and Amelia Sylvester for $22,500.  In reporting on the sale the Record & Guide described the property as a "four-story brick tenement."


Throughout the rest of the century both houses contained rented rooms.  In the 1960s the basement of No. 32 was home to theatrical production manager Jose Vega and his wife, Vicky.   In the 1840s the below-ground space held the kitchen and laundry areas as well as the family dining room.  Now in 1965 the Vegas' $168 per month rent provided them with vintage pine floors, three fireplaces, "refinished old wainscoting in the kitchen," and a built-in bar, as described by Lawrence O'Kane in The New York Times that year.

But $168 a month rents in vintage homes do not last forever in Manhattan.  In 2000 a renovation of No. 32 resulted in one apartment per floor in the basement through second floors; with a duplex on the third and fourth.   In 2013 plans were filed to reconvert No. 34 to a single family home.

When No. 32 was updated in the 1870s, the parlor got a new mantel (above).  The handsome black marble mantel below is original.  photos via zillow. com

Although the Landmarks Preservation Commissions neighborhood designation report laments that the 1870s updating of No. 32 "upsets the relationship" of the two houses; the pair is nonetheless charming and reminds us that changes in architectural taste forever evolve.

photographs by the author

Friday, January 19, 2018

The Edward Rubin House - 22 East 93rd Street




In 1892 developer Walter Reid started construction on a row of upscale homes stretching from No. 14 through 24 East 93rd Street.  He did not have to look far to find his architect.  The residences were designed by his son, Walter Reid, Jr.

Completed the following year, the Romanesque Revival row was deftly designed to include the expected beefy elements of the style--like rough cut stone and fortress-worthy arches--tempered with delicate carvings and decorations.  Although each of the houses was slightly different; Reid left no question that this was a unified row.

His treatment of No. 22 was unusual.  The planar walls of the upper floors created an unusually finished look for the Romanesque style; in stark contrast to the parlor level.  The windows of the second floor were grouped within a carved picture frame-type molding, more expected in commercial buildings.  And the sparse decoration of the third floor gave the impression that something was missing.

In the meantime Edward Rubin had been building an appreciable personal fortune.  He and his wife, the former Celia Cohen, were married in their native Russia.  After arriving in New York City, Rubin went into the fur business, eventually forming the Edward Rubin & Co., makers of "fur garments and novelties."  Around the turn of the century the young couple moved into No. 22 East 93rd Street.

An unusual foliate Romanesque panel at the third floor gives way to neo-Classical elements on the fourth.  The cast metal cornice with its swirling frieze was identical to those on each of the other houses.

Edward was 28 and Celia just 23 when son Harold was born on October 13, 1900.  The family would eventually grow to nine, with three more sons, Edwin, Milton, and Arthur, and daughters Bertha, Miriam, and Rita.

Russia was the source of many of the sought-after pelts for turn-of-the-century fashions, including the "Crown" sable worn by the tsar.   The early training Rubin received in his homeland made his business a success.

In November 1903 Cloaks and Furs gushed "Edward Rubin & Co., the furriers...have on hand one of the most complete lines of scarfs, boas, clusters, neckpieces, pelerines, etc., that the writer has been seen anywhere.  The fur pieces are all in the most fashionable furs, and at the most moderate prices.  Such a handsome outlay is rarely seen in a furrier's showrooms.  Throughout the whole stock there is a richness of tone that bespeaks volumes for Mr. Rubin as a judge of furs."

But two years later Rubin made a bold move by stepping out of his comfort zone and founding the American Silk Mills, Inc. with factories in Paterson, New Jersey.   Before long his fur business would be dissolved as he focused entirely on silk production.   The change turned out to be both wise and significantly profitable.

He added to his fortune by dabbling in Upper West Side real estate.  It resulted in his diversifying again, in 1911, when he formed the Nibur Realty Company, Inc. with his brother, Jacob and another investor.

The family rarely entertained and their names never appeared in mainstream society columns.  Only events like the announcement of Harold's bar mitzvah in October 1913 and the subsequent "at home" for receiving well-wishers made the newspapers.

Instead Edward Rubin focused on religious and charitable causes.  He supported several philanthropic organizations, most notably Beth Israel Hospital which counted him among its major benefactors for decades.

During the Depression years, heart problems caused Rubin to spend less time at the office.  Son Milton took over much of the management of the American Silk Mills, Inc.  Rubin fell into a comfortable habit of receiving his breakfast and newspaper each morning in his bedroom--delivered conveniently by a dumbwaiter from the kitchen.  It was a custom that resulted in a highly bizarre accident on September 28, 1939.

Around 8:00 that morning servants were stunned when the 64-year old plunged headfirst down the dumbwaiter shaft from his second story bedroom, landing in the basement.   He suffered a possible fractured skull and internal injuries.

A full-grown man getting his body into the shaft far enough to fall seems highly difficult, if not nearly impossible.  Yet Milton explained "that his father apparently became dizzy when he leaned into the shaft to get his morning newspaper and breakfast," reported The New York Times.  That, too, seemed unlikely, since the dumbwaiter, still empty, was at the bottom of the shaft at the time.

Nevertheless, the police deemed the fall an accident.  Rubin was taken to Mount Sinai Hospital by private ambulance.   He died there five days later.

The variety of carvings included bold, foliate designs at the parlor level, and delicate ropes framing the second story openings.

The following year Rubin's children sold the family house of more than three decades to the 22 East Ninety-third Street Company.  While the details were kept quiet, the firm's $20,000 mortgage (in the neighborhood of $330,000 today) hinted at the sale price.

The new owner had no intentions of leasing No. 22 as a private home.  Within the year renovations were completed that resulted in two apartments and "two furnished rooms" per floor.

Among the tenants in the 1960s was gold dealer Elizabeth Meiler, whose shop was in the Diamond District, at No. 10 West 47th Street.   She found herself unexpectedly pulled into a murder investigation in the summer of 1963.

Jeweler Antonin Eisler also had a store at the 47th Street address and on Friday July 26 Elizabeth happened to notice him having lunch with a "young brunette" in a restaurant in the building.   Late that night, at around 11:00, Eisler's wife reported him missing.

Three days later his mutilated body was found face down at the base of a steep embankment in Alpine, New Jersey.  He had been shot twice through the heart at close range, prompting detectives to suspect a professional hit.  The New York Times reported "An odd aspect of the mystery was that the entire face of the victim had turned black, but not the rest of the body."

Eisler had left his 47th Street shop with $156,000 in gems, which were missing.  Although she was not considered in anyway connected to the crime, the police were still questioning Elizabeth Meiler and other friends and associated into the night three days later.

The bullet-like newels of the stoop are beautifully decorated with vining leaves.
Although the exterior of the Rubin house survives essentially unchanged; there is nothing left of Walter Reid's 1893 interiors.  Exposed brick and flat drywall replace the Victorian details so familiar to Celia Rubin.  And one assumes that the dumbwaiter that resulted in her husband's death is gone as well.

photographs by the author

Thursday, January 18, 2018

Isaac Duckworth's 1869 Cast iron 49 Walker Street




In 1859, when publishers W. R. C. Clark & Meeker occupied the old building at No. 49 Walker Street, Daniel D. Badger's innovative concept of prefabricated cast iron facades was just taking hold.  Within the decade it would transform the face of New York City's commercial structures--especially in the districts that would be later called Soho and Tribeca where commercial buildings were rapidly taking the place of three-story brick houses.

But for now the publishing firm made do within its vintage structure, releasing The History of the City of New York that year.  Two other publisher, Doolady's and M. Gauntt, and book jobber David Davidson shared the building.

M. Doolady advertised its newly published book in The Bookseller's Medium in 1861 (copyright expired)

Change was about to come on March 15, 1869 when Superintendent James M. MacGregor approved plans for an "iron store, situated No. 49 Walker-street; five stories and basement; owned by R. H. L. Towndsend."

Richard H. L. Townsend, a well-to-do silk merchant who was turning his attention to real estate investments, had commissioned Isaac F. Duckworth to design his new loft building.  Prolific in the downtown area, the architect had enthusiastically embraced the concept of cast iron facades.

Construction was completed before the end of the year.   The five-story building was a commercial take on the newly-popular French Second Empire style.  The four identical floors above the storefront featured flat-arched openings recessed within square enframements, stylized Corinthian pilasters, and prominent cornices between each floor.

Stealing the show was the impressive upper cornice, its arched pediment upheld by hefty brackets.  Molded into the frieze was the construction date.


The area was becoming the dry goods district and Townsend's new building would fill with apparel and textile-related firms.   In 1888 Meyer Gans, cloak manufacturer, was here as was the Morris Brothers suspender factory.

On Thursday night, April 26 that year a fire broke out in the building.  It was quickly extinguished and there was little damage either by fire or water.  But Morris Brothers quickly realized they had suffered a different type of loss.

Unscrupulous firefighters sometimes took advantage of the chaos of blazes to help themselves to goods.  In the worst cases some rogues were convicted for setting the fires in order to gain access to the booty.  On  April 28, 1888 The Evening World reported "No new light has been thrown upon the alleged theft of suspenders in the store of Morris Brothers...during the fire."

There was no question as to who the perpetrators were in the mind of Abram Morris.  The World said "he has no doubt that the robbery was committed by a member of the Fire Department, for there were no outsiders in the building."  According to the article the brothers explained "their money loss is comparatively trifling, but they are indignant that it should become necessary to keep a watch on those who are paid to protect their property."

Morris Brothers remained in the building until October 1897 when the firm moved to No. 575 Broadway.  By then Morris Mikola, waist manufacturer was in the building, employing 13 factory workers--three men, seven women and three girls.

L. H. Rice & Co moved in soon after.  The company was formed on Walker Street in 1865, "as a manufacturer of bosoms only," according to The Clothier and Furnisher years later.   Now it was the well-known maker of the "Palmetto" brand shirt. 

The Clothiers' and Haberdashers' Weekly announced the firm's new spring line in 1899, noting "The assortment contains many novelties and striking effects."  The high quality of the shirts was evidenced in the cost.  Retailers were offered "novelties" (stripes, for instance) at from $4.50 to $18 a dozen; and the "fine line of white shirts" at $4.75 to $9 a dozen.  The wholesale cost of the most expensive styles would be equal to about $537 a dozen today, or $44.75 each.

After the turn of the century the building had a significant turnover in tenants.  By 1905 L. H. Rice & Co.had moved to No. 618 Broadway.  New occupants included Saul Bros. & Co., "general line of dry goods;" Diamond & Co., makers of "overalls and duck clothing:' and children's dress manufacturer L. Feldstein & Co.

One tenant engaged in a far different industry was the Bent Glass Novelty Company, here by 1909.  Run by Oliver C. and Robert O. Brown, the firm had been established in 1894 and was listed as a "manufacturer of illuminating glassware."  In other words, it created the highly-popular leaded glass lamp shades.

This leaded shade, offered on Ebay in 2017, was made by the Bent Glass Novelty Company, most likely in the Walker Street factory.

Many of its skilled workers and artists were Italian.  Three of them were brothers, Giuseppe, Francesco and Vincenzo Gambaro who came from Sicily.  The New-York Tribune described Francesco as "a cripple" and Giuseppe as "a skilled designer."  Vincenzo was their foreman.

Things went well until Giuseppe, who made an admirable salary of $50 a week (more than $1,300 today) was fired early in 1909.  He blamed Vincenzo for his firing, and then, according to The Sun, "was made angry by the praise his father and mother gave Vincent [sic] for supporting them."  The newspaper editorialized by adding "Giuseppe is the ne'er do well of the Gambaro family."

Giuseppe's anger turned into a simmering vendetta.  On February 8 he appeared at the factory and told Vincenzo "come and see what I've got."  He pulled out a revolver and fired.

A terrifying scene unfolded as Vincenzo tried to escape with his life.   He "ran the length of the store and Giuseppe pursued, firing as he ran.  The pursued doubled and twisted among the shop fixtures, but his brother was close behind and kept up the fire until Vincent [sic] dropped dead."


The New-York Tribune reported he had fired five shots into his brother.  In the meantime, Francesco had attempted to stop the murder, "but was thrown aside during the chase about the store," according to The Sun.

Francesco found his own life threatened when he appeared as the principal witness against his brother on May 18.  As he left the courtroom, a voice among the crowd whispered in Italian "You won't live to see this day out."  He was given a police escort home.

Giuseppe was convicted and the artist-turned-murderer was sent to the electric chair in Sing Sing prison on July 26, 1910.


The year of the murder, on November 3, Robert O. Brown was notified that some of his employees had joined a union.  Two days later a strike was declared.  Thinking he could arrange a compromise, Brown called the union's committee into his office.  But its president, named Provenzano, "made absurd demands."

Among them was reducing by work week by five and a half hours with no reduction of pay.  Moreover, Provenzano then insisted that after that demand was met, Brown would employ only union members.

"I was to let him run my business, that is.  Not much!" exclaimed Brown.  "I'd rather go to New Jersey and raise potatoes than let Mr. Provenzano run my business."

 The Sun, calling the Bent Glass Novelty Company "the leading house in the bent glass industry," interviewed Brown who expressed his frustration and anger on November 18 .

"We complained to the police only after our place of business had been surrounded by strikers on picket duty, as it is called, and after those pickets had by force and intimidation deprived us of the services of several employees not members of the union who were eager to remain at work."


Things then got ugly.  Labor unions often resorted to violence to obtain their goals and Brown related that "There have been some street brawls and fistfights as part of the strikers' method, but even worse than that was been the threats, which have so frightened some of our employees that they are afraid to come to work."

One of the Bent Glass Novelty designers assumed he was not involved in the conflict, since he was a leaded glass artist and not a worker as such.  He arrived one morning and told his bosses he had been threatened outside, but that he would continue working.  Brown said "That day he went out to lunch and they 'got him.'"

Like Giuseppe Gambaro, the skilled artist was an Italian immigrant.  Most of the strikers were Italian-born and they made it explicitly clear in their native language that "if he did not quit it would go ill with him."  Brown said "He seemed to understand what was meant."

The Bent Glass and Brass Workers Union had set up a headquarters of sort--a tent made from tarpaulins--at the corner of Walker and Cortlandt Streets where they could watch the comings and goings from No. 49.

The Bent Glass Novelty Company and 11 others (there was a total of 15 companies in the city making art bent glass at the time) formed an association to hold out against the union until their demands were more reasonable.

In February 1916 Richard H. L. Townsend's son, J. Allen Townsend, sold the building to Daniel P. Morse, president of the Parmelee Realty Corporation.  The aging building needed upgrading and the Record & Guide announced that architect James S. Maher would be doing improvements.  Included were "new store front, fireproof stairways, steel ceilings and other modern details."  The building was vacated so the renovations could be done.

By the time work was completed in October all four of the upper floors had been leased to Teijeiro & Co., cigar manufacturers.   The cigar business seems to have lagged by the end of the five-year lease, because in 1921 the firm took only the second floor.  The upper floors were taken over by The Irish World, publishers of the magazine by the same name.

Patrick Ford had come to America from Ireland in 1847 was a highly active in the Irish Freedom movement.  He founded The Irish World in 1870 and headed it until his death in 1913.  His son, Austin J Ford, then took over the reins.

The editorial offices were located on the third floor of No. 49, with the printing operations above.  On July 23, 1928 Ford and an editor, Francis P. Jones, went to lunch at around 4:00 then returned to work.  Later that evening Jones entered his boss's office to find him asleep at his desk.  The New York Times reported "it was when he attempted to awaken him by shaking his arm that he discovered the publisher had died."  The 58-year old executive's death was attributed to a heart attack.

For decades soon after the building was home to the Atlantic Sponge and Chamois Co., Inc.  But the Tribeca renaissance arrived in 1981 when owner Elihu Lipkis completed a three-year renovation that resulted in a store at street level and one apartment on each of the upper floors.  Department of Buildings records noted that each apartment included a "fine arts studio."

The relationship between Lipkis and his tenants was no love affair from the start.  On April 5, 1982 the State Court of Appeals upheld their eviction following a long-lasting rent strike.   Lipkis started eviction proceedings for nonpayment of rent.  The tenants said they withheld rent because he "refused to provide them with heat and other essential building services," as reported by The Times.

The lavish renovated interiors give no hint that once leaded glass lampshades and sponges were manufactured here.  photos via www.elliman.com

Landlord-tenants relations eventually smoothed over.  And while residents enjoyed luxurious interiors spaces; Isaac Duckworth's cast iron facade remained sadly neglected.  Hopefully the sidewalk bridges that appeared in 2017 hint at coming restoration.

Surviving elements of the 1869 storefront can be glimpsed below the sidewalk bridges.

photographs by the author

Wednesday, January 17, 2018

The Marble "Doll House" - 12 West 45th Street




In the decade before the outbreak of World War I the old houses along the block of West 45th Street, between Fifth and Sixth Avenues, were disappearing one by one.  In December 1910 developer James A. Farley bought Mary G. Duffy's four-story house at No. 12.  The Real Estate Record & Builders' Guide commented "Mr. Farley will erect on the site a 2-sty building, which is to be leased to one tenant for a term of years."

The New York Times announced that Farley's projected building would have "a roof and facade entirely of glass."  While that would have been remarkable, what developed instead was no less striking.

Farley commissioned the architectural firm of Pollard & Steinam to design the diminutive structure.  Undaunted by the minute proportions--just 16.5 feet wide and two-and-a-half stories tall--the architects set to work designing a memorable edifice.

Costing $15,000--about $375,000 today--the building made up for size in dignified elegance.  Clad entirely in polished white marble, its storefront featured a large eliptical arch; the only ornamentation being two roundels.  Above a carved wave crest band was a classically-inspired temple front, the pediment of which dictated the shapes of the unadorned openings of the top floor,  The marble cornice was, somewhat surprisingly, starkly unadorned.  The New York Times commented "It is a typical reminder of the small-shop facades on the best thoroughfares of Paris."

The little building took only about three months to build.  Farley most likely had his tenant lined up before construction even began.  On April 15, 1911 the Record & Guide announced he had leased his "2-1/2 sty marble 'doll house'" to "Moulton & Ricketts, art dealers, of Chicago and Milwaukee."

Two months later the Fine Arts Journal reported on the dealers' new home.  "It is a handsomely fitted place and the situation, a few steps from the Fifth Avenue, is in the midst of the group of art stores kept by widely known experts.  The Waldorf-Astoria, where rich people gather, stands but a few steps away.  The Chicago dealers are certainly very much alive."

The Sun, January 7, 1912 (copyright expired)

James A. Farley was most likely annoyed when his tenant purchased the American business of Arthur Tooth & Sons in 1913.  The International Studio called the deal "one of the important business changes of the season in New York" and added "The New York galleries of Moulton & Ricketts have now been transferred to the premises previously occupied by Arthur Tooth & Sons at 537 Fifth Avenue."

No. 12 was leased next to Harris & Harrington, clock manufacturers and importers, who had been doing business far downtown at No. 12 Barclay Street.  The New York Times called the move "significant" and said "This is another illustration of the northward trend of all mercantile business now in the lower section of the city."

The Fifth Avenue neighborhood had been a center of art dealers for years; but would soon see the arrival of piano and organ showrooms.  Among the first to arrive would be the Vermont-based Estey Company, makers of pianos and organs.  The firm signed a lease with Farley in July 1916 and The Times noted it "will remodel the building and use it as showrooms."

As Christmas approached in 1917 the Vermont factory sent a shipment of discontinued styles to the 45th Street showroom.  An advertisement announced "They have just sent us 21 instruments which we are able to offer at reduced prices."  While the sale offered reduced prices, the instruments were still by no means inexpensive.  The lowest price for a grand piano was $550--more than $10,500 today.

Another sale took place seven months later after The Estey Company apparently rethought the advisability of managing its own showroom.   In July the firm turned over the distribution of its stock to the Frederick Loeser & Co. music stores.  The entire stock of pianos in the 45th Street store was liquidated.

Estey still held a long-term lease on the building; but it found a sub-tenant in March 1919.  An announcement in The Record & Guide entitled ""Doll House' for Restaurant" explained that Paul Fischer had leased the building from Estey Piano.  "He will alter it into a high-class restaurant and French pastry shop, to be known as 'La Maisonnette."

In reporting on the lease the journal reminded readers "The building, which was erected by James A. Farley in 1910, is one of the most unique in the midtown section.  It has a white marble facade in Colonial design and is only 16.5 feet wide.  Upon completion the builder named it the Doll House."

In 1927 at the end of Fischer's lease, George W. Gittens, president of the Estey Piano Co., purchased No. 12.  A fourth floor, set back from the cornice line, was added which became the firm's executive offices.   Then, in 1927, the building was once again converted to the Estey showrooms.  Music Trade Review announced that "A complete line of Estey pianos, including the new period models, which are very much in demand, are displayed on the three floors."

Once again, however, the Estey showrooms would be short-lived at the address.  Within a year another piano dealer, Henry J. Eilers, was operating here.  He found himself before a judge in January 1922, charged with "misrepresenting the age of a piano."

The trouble started when Mrs. Ida Littauer of Coney Island responded to an advertisement for second-hand piano.   She sent a friend, a piano teacher, to see the instrument.  According to Mrs. Littauer, the salesman told the woman that the piano was eight years old.  Mrs. Littauer put $200 down on the $750 instrument and accepted delivery.  Then a friend told her the piano was at least 41 years old.

Eilers was enraged that at what he called "repudiation."  He insisted, first, that his salesman would not have given the age as eight years "because he did not even know the serial number."  Then he pointed out "As a matter of fact, we could prove that a good piano is good for satisfactory service for, not merely a lifetime, but, with care and attention, would serve well the purchaser's grandchildren.  On the other hand a piano, even though only eight years of age, might have suffered abuse and injury from improper care and use so as to be entirely worthless."  Therefore, he said, age was not a marker of worth.

The judge agreed and dismissed Eilers's bail, saying there was insufficient evidence against him.

The victory was not enough to keep Eilers in business however.  He declared bankruptcy in 1930.  He was followed in No. 12 by the music publishing firm of G. Ricordi & Co.   The firm was founded by Giovanni Ricordi in Italy in 1808.  It opened its first branch in America in 1897 a block away at No. 14 East 43rd Street.  It was still there when it signed the lease for No. 12 West 45th Street.  The rent, $14,000 per year, would be in the neighborhood of a quarter million today.

In April 1951 the building was vacant.  After 40 years the ground floor was still intact.  photo by Wurts Bros. from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York

When the building became available in 1951, it was taken by the country's oldest theatrical costuming house, Louis Guttenberg's Sons.  The firm filled all three floors with costumes which were available both for rental or sale to theatrical companies.

Established in Greenwich Village in 1869, the company moved about 100,000 costumes into the building.  Over the decades Louis Guttenberg's Sons had provided costumes for  illustrious thespians like Mary Pickford, the Barrymores, and John Drew.  So well-known was the company that in stage lingo a "Guttenberg" was any rented costume.

On August 5, 1953 The New York Times noted "It was in the Guttenberg establishment that Mack Sennett and Mr. Guttenberg devised the costuming for the Keystone cops who became identifying characters in most Sennett comedies."

Samuel Guttenberg had taken over the company with his brother William, in 1885.   Samuel retired in 1943 and William died in 1949.  Samuel's son, Harry, now ran the operation.

Samuel Guttenberg's Sons was still in the building in 1959 when costumer Ed Wittstein began work on a new off-Broadway musical, The Fantasticks.   According to authors Donald C. Farber and Robert Viagas in their 1991 The Amazing Story of The Fantasticks, Wittstein headed off to Louis Guttenbeg's Sons, which he dubbed a "wonderful attic of ancient costumes."


Perhaps not unexpectedly Pollard & Steinam's storefront, where artwork and pianos were once displayed, has been obliterated.  Today a bar and grill operates from the ground floor.  But not so expected is the slathering of gray and maroon paint over the marble facade above--a decision that prompts the often-heard exclamation "What were they thinking?"

photographs by the author

Tuesday, January 16, 2018

The Unexpected Relic at 33 West 63rd Street



A sidewalk bridge obscures the ground floor as renovations continue in January 2018.

Richard Everett was a member of the real estate firm Everett & Murphy; but he and his wife, Margaret, sometimes struck out on their own.  Such was the case on May 16, 1890 when they purchased the three old frame buildings at Nos. 31 through 35 West 63rd Street from Eugene A. Philbin, paying $16,000, about $414,000 in today's dollars.

No 31 was 37.5 feet wide, twice the width of the other two buildings.  On September 11 that year Richard Everett sold the property to Robert Carey for a satisfying $19,500.  The Everetts and Carey now laid plans for matching apartment houses on the sites of the wooden structures.

George Fred Pelham had learned his trade in the architectural office of his father, George Brown Pelham.  He had just opened his own practice and the twin apartment houses for Carey and the Everetts was among his earliest, if not his first, commissions.

Decades later Pelham would become well-known for his neo-Tudor apartment buildings and homes.  But for now he was content to work in the same historic styles being used by any number of New York architects.  For the 63rd Street project he turned to Romanesque Revival.

His plans called for "two double five-story brown stone front flats."  The Record & Guide noted "They will have steam heat, cabinet trim servants' stairs, etc., and will cost about $75,000."  The inclusion of hardwoods, servants' stairs and the significant cost--nearly $2 million each today--are evidence that the apartments were intended for upper-middle-class families.

Indeed, the $2,200 invoice submitted for both buildings by the Hardwood Decorative Co. would equal about $30,000 each today.   Each of the apartments contained eight rooms, making them the size of a small private house, and included space for a live-in servant.

Completed in 1891, the matching buildings had centered entrances within a two-story brownstone base.  Chunky, rough-cut quoins flanked the second story and framed all the openings.   The upper three floors were clad in red brick, the brownstone trim here including swirling carved panels between the third and fourth floor windows.   A cast metal cornice originally ran above the arched openings of the top floor.


Among the earliest tenants of No. 33 was George S. Adams and his family.  A director and treasurer of the Bidwell-Tinkham Cycle Company on West 59th Street, he was called to jury duty in 1893 and was chosen to sit on a shocking murder case.

Dr. Robert W. Buchanan was charged with having killed his wife, Anne.   Buchanan had been served with divorce papers on June 14, 1890.   Anne had apparently discovered he was having an affair with his first wife.  Soon afterwards she became sick and suffered a prolonged death.  It was not long before Buchanan and his first wife remarried.

Suspicious, authorities had Anne's body disinterred.  The New York Times reported "and the discovery was made that she had died of an overdose of morphine."  The case made nationwide headlines, the North Dakota newspaper The Washburn Leader saying he was charged "with killing his second wife with slow poison in order to obtain her fortune."

Jury selection was a slow process, with many potential jurors admitting they had already decided on the doctor's guilt.  George S. Adams, however, was among the first accepted.  The trial lasted until August 25 and ended with a conviction.  The Washburn Leader reported "Dr. Robert W. Buchanan is sentenced in New York to die in the electric chair in the week beginning Oct. 2."

Another early tenant was William Scott, listed merely as "a clerk."  He and his wife, the former Emma Douglas, had a baby girl, Cora, the year the apartment building was completed.   He, too, would see jury duty; albeit his case was not a life-threatening as Adams's had been.

In April 1895 Scott was chosen to serve in the case of Police Inspector William W. McLaughlin, who had been arrested and charged with extortion.  He was accused of squeezing Francis J. Seagrist, Jr. for $50 years earlier while he was captain of the First Precinct.

McLaughlin walked free when the jurors could not arrive at a verdict.  Amazingly, The New York Times listed each juror by name, along with his address, and published his vote.  William Scott had considered McLaughlin guilty.

Ade Stephens appeared in a courtroom in 1901; but as a witness rather than a juror.   John H. Shults, Jr.'s German-born father was a millionaire whose Brooklyn bakery was one of the largest in the world.  He married Caroline C. "Daisy" Beard on December 3, 1890.  His bride, too, came from immense wealth.  Her father, William Beard, made his fortune in streetcar and railroad construction.

But Daisy reached the end of her patience only three years later when she left her philandering husband.  She and their two children moved into her parents' home.  Finally she filed for divorce in June 1901 charging that John was "guilty of misconduct with one Sylvia Thorne in the latter part of 1897 and the early part of 1898, and in November, 1900, with one Eva Richards, in an apartment house on Fifth Avenue, Manhattan."

Testifying for Daisy was Ade Stephens and her maid, Fanny Fox.  The New York Times reported that they "gave confirmative evidence."  How exactly Mrs. Stephens and her maid knew that Daisy's husband was carrying on sexual affairs was not revealed.

By around now Emma Scott's father, Franklin Douglas, had moved in with the family.  He became ill in the spring of 1902 and died in the apartment on April 15 of pneumonia.  He was 75 years old.

Three years later the family would be devastated again, when Cora, now 14 years old, died on March 2, 1905 of spinal meningitis.  She had been sick only a short time.  Her funeral, like her grandfather's had been, was held at the Thirty-fourth Street Reformed Church just west of Eighth Avenue.

A terrifying tragedy occurred in the second floor apartment of Charles Baker on the night of June 16, 1907.  Living with Baker and his wife was his 76 year old mother-in-law, Mary J. Odell.  The Bakers left the apartment early that evening to visit friends.   Sunlight still lit the room where Mary sat knitting when they departed.  But as twilight fell, she struck a match to light a kerosene lamp for more light.

The Sun reported "The match fell from her hand and ignited the table cloth.  The fire spread to some lace curtains near by."  Mary's screams were heard by Mrs. Jacob Plass, who lived on the third floor.  She rushed to inform the janitor, Thomas Hannan.

Meanwhile, the situation in the Baker apartment worsened.  "The room had filled with smoke in the meantime and Mrs. Odell fell onto the table.  Her clothes caught fire."  Hannan tried to break in the locked door, but it was no use.  More time was lost as he ran to the third floor and lowered himself down to the Baker's window ledge.  He kicked in the window and stumbled over Mary Odell in the smoke.

"Hannan smothered the fire in the woman's clothes, which had burned her about the head and body," reported The Sun.  Residents lowered a pail of water from the upper floor which he used to put out the fire.   The elderly woman was taken to Roosevelt Hospital with severe burns where her condition was listed as critical.

Broker Arthur Edmund Kramer was living in the building in 1910.  The 22-year old was the son of Arthur Booth Chase, brother of Salmon P. Chase, former Supreme Court Chief Justice.  He had an impressive pedigree, earning him membership in the Sons of the Revolution, the Society of Colonial Wars, and the Sons of the American Revolution.  He was also a member of the Seventh Regiment of the National Guard, often referred to as the Silk Stocking Regiment or the "Dandy Seventh" because of its long tradition of being composed of sons of Manhattan's wealthiest families.

When he was still young, his father died and his mother remarried Edward G. Kramer, who adopted him.  Now, on December 15, 1910, he appeared in New York Supreme Court to get his birth name back.  He told Justice Seabury that he was the last surviving male descendant of his branch of the Chase family.  The Times added "He gave as his reason for making the application for the change of name his desire to perpetuate the honorable name of Chase."  The judge agreed and granted the application.

Margaret Everett still owned No. 33 at the time, extending her $35,000 mortgage until March 1915 that year.  (It was a significant mortgage, equal to about $875,000 today, especially considering that the Everetts had owned the parcel for two decades.)

At least through the World War I years the building continued to house financially comfortable residents, like Augustin B. Healy, who was here in 1911.  He was a director in the Central Leather Co.  But by 1925 the aging structure saw a less affluent population as modern apartment buildings lured away the moneyed tenants.

The widowed Hannah Forgeiase lived in a top floor apartment by 1925, sharing it with her two sons Alexander the Theodore.  Both men were steeplejacks and neither of the blue collar workers was about to allow anyone to threaten their mother.

Hannah was infuriated that the lock to one one of her windows had been removed by the building superintendent.   When Perry Frucht, a manager, knocked on her door on Saturday night, March 7 that year to collect the rent, she told him she was withholding the rent until the lock was reinstalled.

Frucht explained that the window opened onto a fire escape and that fire laws demanded there be no locks.  The discussion became heated, drawing the attention of Alexander and Theodore.  Frucht was punched in the face and sent back down the stairs.

Frucht went to the building's super, Percy Wilkins and asked for his help in collecting the rent.  The New York Times reported "Wilkins went up to the top floor and a short time later came down with a cut on his eye and no rent."

Now the battered pair enlisted the help of Policeman Zessna whom they found outside.  The officer had no sooner walked into the apartment than Theodore threw a heavy flat iron at him, hitting him on the ear.  The policeman responded by pulling out his pistol and firing.  The bullet lodged in the ceiling and he fired again.

Just as he pulled the trigger, Hanna ran into the hall.  The bullet hit her in the hand, resulting, naturally, in screams and more chaos.  "In the meantime," said the newspaper, "the neighborhood had become excited by the noise and rumors that a policeman had been killed."

Word soon reached the West 68th Street precinct house and No. 33 West 63rd Street was besieged by cops intent on aiding their fallen comrade.  The Forgeiase brothers were arrested for felonious assault and their mother was was treated by an ambulance doctor on the scene.

The Times ended its account of the affray saying "Frucht left without the rent."

The Depression was not kind to the old building,  It was lost in foreclosure to the Emigrant Industrial Savings Bank early in 1938.  The bank resold it in October that year to 40-year old real estate operator Jehiel R. Elyachar.  He quickly hired architects Voorhis, Walker & Foley to make changes, among them was the installation of an elevator and reconfiguring the eight-room apartments to "suites of one and one-half, two and three rooms," as announced on October 20.

The alterations were completed the following year, resulting in five apartments per floor.  The architects explained in August 1939 that the "modernization consisted of simplifying the facade by removing the old cornices and substituting [a] decorative parapet flush with the front of the building, modernizing the entrance...providing fireproof stairways, new floors, plumbing, tile bathrooms and tile or terrazzo floors in the hallways, and rearranging the apartments to meet present-day demands."

As seen in 2010, the renovations stripped the ground floor and left a blank scar in place of the cast cornice.  photo by "Marjorie" via http://marjorie-digest.blogspot.com/2010/10/lonely-little-red-building.html

The modernization stripped the ground floor of nearly all its architectural details.  And while the architects boasted that the loss of the 1890 cornice resulted in a "decorative parapet," it looked more like an ugly scar where a handsome cornice once hung.

Jehiel R. Elyachar was a colorful character.  Born in Jerusalem, he had immigrated to the United States in 1928 and founded the Straight Construction Corporation.  Despite his age, he joined the Army at the outbreak of World War II.  He rose to the rank of colonel, in charge of military intelligence under General Dwight D. Eisenhower.

Upon his return to Manhattan, he continued using his rank of colonel before his name.  He added about a dozen more rental properties to No 33 West 63rd Street by the mid 1950s when he stopped buying, "content to collect the rents and supervise the maintenance," as explained by Albert Scardino in The New York Times years later.  With holdings worth more than $100 million, he turned to philanthropy, giving generously to American and Israeli causes.

By then the neighborhood around No 33 was seedy at best.  Under the initiative of John D. Rockefeller III and civic leaders, an urban renewal project, the Lincoln Center Renewal Project, was initiated.  It was well under way when developer Paul Milstein got into the act in 1968 when he began planning his Lincoln Square steps away.

Elyachar was by now a founder and president of the American Society for Technion, which raised money for scholarships and financial support for the Israel's primary technical education institution, was influential in Sephardic studies at Yeshiva University, and owned the largest collection of Ladino and Sephardic literature in the Western Hemisphere.  He was 70 years old when Milstein approached him, wanting to buy No. 33 West 63rd Street.

But Elyachar did not need Milstein's money.

The developer was eyeing the 63rd Street property as part of the site for a 43-story mixed-use tower.  Every other owner, including the owners of the matching building next door at No. 31, agreed to sell.  But Elyachar seemed to enjoy taunting Milstein.  Repeatedly the two would agree on a price, then the old man would change his mind; at one time adding the condition that Milstein donate around $100,000 to one of his charities.

Finally, according to Milstein's son Howard, "My father said, 'You know what, you're going to keep your building.'"

The Milstein family forged ahead with the complex, named One Lincoln Plaza, working around the 1890 flat building.  Unexpected problems arose for Elyachar and his tenants when the abutting buildings were taken down.  On May 11, 1891 Richard and Margaret Everett and de facto partner, Robert Cary, had signed a "party wall agreement" for the two buildings.  That wall was never intended to be an exterior partition and, therefore, was not built to withstand weather.   Now with No, 31 gone, ice formed on living room walls of some tenants.

photo by "Marjorie" via http://marjorie-digest.blogspot.com/2010/10/lonely-little-red-building.html

The unconventional, generous and often feisty Jehiel R. Elyachar died in Bellevue Hospital Center following a heart attack on March 29, 1989.  He was 90 years old.

After a lifetime of amazing accomplishments, perhaps his most visible legacy is the out-of-place Victorian apartment building sitting awkwardly in the plaza of One Lincoln Plaza.


In 2001 an ongoing apartment-by-apartment renovation was begun.  Among the improvements was the welcomed installation of a reproduction cornice in keeping with the building's architecture.

photographs by the author

Monday, January 15, 2018

The Lost 1854 Madison Square Presbyterian Church - Madison Ave and 24th St


By the time this somewhat ghostly photograph was taken, the Metropolitan Life Insurance Company's headquarters had edged up to the brownstone church.  To the left, on the opposite corner of 24th Street, the mansion of Catharine Lorillard Wolfe can be partially seen.  from the collection of the New York Public Library

In the winter of 1852-53 the congregations of the Pearl Street Church, at the corner of Elm and Pearl Street, and the Central Presbyterian Church on Broome Street faced a problem.  As described by the Rev. Dr. Charles Henry Parkhurst half a century later, because of "the large exodus of the people up-town...the down-town churches became greatly weakened."

Meetings were held and "after mature deliberation," according to Parkhurst, the two congregations agreed to merge and find a new site uptown in an upscale neighborhood.   That site was secured in February 1853 and could not have been more fashionable--a large plot on the southeast corner of Madison Avenue and 24th Street overlooking Madison Square.  Miller's Stranger's Guide to New York would mentioned in 1866 "The houses surrounding this park include some of the most elegant of this city."

The eastern edge of Madison Square at around the time the church purchased property.  Booth's History of New York, from the collection of the New York Public Library


The Rev. Dr. William Adams, the pastor, explained "The site which had been selected must strike all as peculiarly pleasant and favorable.  It was at once conspicuous and retired; it was accessible, central, and yet removed from general disturbance."

On March 3, 1853 the new congregation's trustees met and resolved, among other things, "that the said church be designated as the Madison Square Presbyterian Church of the City of New York."

Adams leased Hope Chapel on Broadway for twelve months while construction of the church was underway.  On May 2, 1853 he oversaw the sale of pews for the next year.  The New York Herald noted "there was a large number of persons present, anxious to procure seats in this commodious place of worship."  Pews were offered at a fixed price, and then congregants bid up the cost on "choice" pews.

Names in the group bidding that evening included Sheppard, Stebbings, Livingston, Hudson, and Blanchford; among the most prominent families in New York.  The sale that night brought in about a quarter of a million in today's dollars.

The cornerstone was laid two months later, on July 12.   The New York Times described what would be a substantial structure.  "The entire length outside, including tower and lecture-room, will be 146 feet; breadth, 74 feet 4 inches; space inside, 62 by 85, with a pulpit recess of 5 feet, making the entire length 90 feet."  The soaring tower would rise 208 feet, and the stone walls would be three feet thick with buttresses of matching width.

"The edifice will be entirely built of Jersey free-stone, similar to that of Trinity Church," said the article.   Interestingly, the architect of that church, Richard Upjohn, was the father of Richard M. Upjohn, hired to design Madison Square Presbyterian. 

And in his remarks, Rev. Adams made it clear that he had aggressively steered Upjohn toward Gothic Revival.   The Times reported "Dr. Adams said that he confessed a long cherished attachment to the spire of a Christian church.  This, though sometimes added to the Grecian style of architecture, belong altogether to the Gothic style.  He would never have this form superseded, which made the churches distinct throughout a metropolis."

The completed edifice cost $175,000--more than $4.8 million today and the first service was held in the church on Christmas Eve, 1854.  The black walnut pews could seat 1,200 worshipers.

(top) Looking east toward the pulpit.  (below) Looking west toward the entrance and organ loft.  Note the lacy Gothic struts that upheld the roof and made obstructing columns unnecessary.  from "A Brief History of the Madison Square Presbyterian Church" 1906 (copyright expired)

The Rev. William Adams would lead his congregation for decades; sometimes speaking out on social ills with a frankness that no doubt made his Victorian congregants squirm.  On May 8, 1870, for instance, he addressed prostitution and laid the blame directly on the men who patronized them.  His sermon was entitled "God's Legislation Concerning Marriage, Divorce, and Moral Purity" and referenced specifically the Home for Fallen Women.  A special collection was taken up at the close of services for that institution.

Before beginning, he effectively warned his audience of what was to come.  The New York Times reported "He said that he was not ignorant of the difficulties which pertained to an ample and public discussion of the topic," and noted "He entered upon the discussion with the fullest sense of the sensitiveness with which a pure mind shrank from its announcement."

Adams said that in talking about "the fallen and friendless of a particular class, he thought the best way would be to lay the ax at the root of the tree."   The root, he insisted, was marital infidelity.  The rector drove his point home in terms no man in the audience could have mistaken.

He then went on to other sinful problems which might induce a man to stray.  The Times wrote "Dr. Adams then spoke of the evil effects of light reading, immoral plays, &c., on the imagination."

Rev. William Adams, from Encyclopaedia of the Presbyterian Church, 1884 (copyright expired)

The Madison Square Presbyterian Church was, of course, the scene of marriages and funerals of some of Manhattan's wealthiest and most distinguished citizens.  Theodore and Martha Roosevelt attended with their four children, including Theodore, Jr. who would become U.S. President, for instance. 

Another prominent family was that of Horace Francis Clark.  Clark had married Maria Louisa Vanderbilt, daughter of Cornelius Vanderbilt in 1848.  That resulted in his becoming a director of the New York and Harlem Railroad and eventually president of the Union Pacific Railroad, the Michigan Southern Railroad and others.  He was elected to the U.S. House of Representatives in 1857.

Horace Clark died on June 19, 1873 and his funeral in Madison Square Presbyterian Church was a notable affair.   Following the 4:30 service on June 21, a line of black carriages followed the hearse to Grand Central Depot.   There a special train carried the casket to Woodlawn Cemetery, followed by another private train for the mourners.

After a pastorate of more than 20 years, Rev. Adams tendered his resignation on November 19, 1873.  He was convinced to remain five more months, but on Sunday, April 19, 1874 he gave his farewell sermon.  The following day The Times reported that the church "was crowded to its utmost capacity yesterday morning, and many were obliged to stand in the aisles and passages of the floor and gallery."

Adams was back on May 12 the following year to install the new pastor, Rev. William J. Tucker.  Tucker would address social problems through his coming pastorate, like the miserable conditions of tenement houses; but he never achieved the prominence of his predecessor.  And he would most definitely be overshadowed by his successor.

Tucker was offered the position of chairing the Sacred Rhetoric in Andover Theological Seminary in the summer of 1879.  In reporting on his acceptance, The New York Times hinted at the difficulties he had dealt with in filling the shoes of Rev. Adams.  "It was not an easy matter to follow one so beloved and respected, and who had for so may years been over the church."

Tucker's leaving meant a significant cut in pay.  He had been earning $10,000 a year at Madison Square Presbyterian--a comfortable $275,000 by today's standards.  He would now be grossing $3,000.

But if Adams had been a force within the church, perhaps no minister in the history of New York City would be more colorful and impactful than Tucker's successor, the Rev. Charles Henry Parkhurst.

Parkhurst was installed on March 9, 1880.  Among his first socially-notable functions was marrying Norman W. Dodge, the son of millionaire William E. Dodge, and Emma Hartley on May 6.   He officiated at the funerals of the celebrated Dr. J. Marion Sims in November 1883 and that of Civil War General George B. McClellan two years later, on November 2, 1885.  The services for McClellan required more than 250 policemen to control the crowds, 10 carriages just for the family member, and streets being shut down for the funeral procession afterward.


But it was not society weddings or the funerals of war heroes and titans of industry for which Parkhurst would be most remembered.  As the 1890s dawned, Parkhurst became obsessed with social reform.

After being elected president of the New York Society for the Prevention of Crime, he turned his attention to the police department, challenging its methods and targeting corrupt officers like Capt. Alexander "Clubber" Williams of the 29th Precinct in the Tenderloin district.  Williams had become a millionaire from payoffs and bribes.

In 1892 Parkhurst openly attacked the Tammany regime from the pulpit, and then personally set off to collect evidence of government corruption and graft.  Not only did he hire a private detective, he and a friend went into the streets in disguise to collect proof.  His sermon on March 13, 1892, peppered with documented instances of government crimes, led to the formation of the Senate's famous Lexow Committee in 1894 to investigate police corruption.

from the collection of the New York Public Library

But it was his personal interest in prostitution that raised some eyebrows.  On April 11, 1892 The New York Times reported on "many rumors, among which was one that certain members of the Board of Trustees of the church had made objections to Dr. Parkhurst's preaching any more sermons on municipal affairs."  The article added that some members of the Board of Trustees were reported to be dissatisfied "with the doctor's choice of subjects for sermons and with his recent personal investigations as to the breaking of the excise law and the existence of disorderly houses."

By now the New York Society for the Prevention of Crime was best known as the "Parkhurst Society" the goal of which had broadened to the shutting down of places of vice like gambling dens, "houses of disrepute," and illegal saloons.   The Society had a staff of agents who not only supplemented official police investigators, but superseded them in many cases.

It was the reverend's personal visitations to brothels that most likely concerned many of his conservative congregants.  Parkhurst routinely put aside his clerical attire and went undercover to these "vile dens."

On March 11, 1892, for instance, two of Parkhurst's agents, John L. Erving and a man named Gardner, went to the brothel run by Hattie Adams.  Convinced of what was taking place there, they arranged to come back with a "friend who was seeing the town."

That alleged friend was Rev. Parkhurst.  The three returned and according to Erving's testimony recounted in The Times, "They drank beer supplied by Mrs. Adams, staid in the house from a half to three-quarters of an hour, and witnessed dances and other disorderly performances.  Gardner held up his hat as high as he could and the girls, who were disrobed, kicked at it.  The played 'leap frog' with Gardner, and the witness waltzed around the parlor with one of the women."

Hattie Adams's attorney tried his best to fluster the minister or discredit him.

Did you tell Mrs. Adams that you were a minister of the Gospel?
No. I did not.
Did you remind those poor creatures that they were misbehaving?
No, Sir.
Did you tell them to put on their clothes?
No, Sir.
Did you see them undress?
I did not.  I turned my gaze away.
Did you play 'leap-frog'?
No.
But you drank beer?
Yes.
And you are a minister?
Yes.

Despite the attack, The Times was impressed on Parkhurst's ability to remain calm and unwavering in his testimony against Adams.

Parkhurst's general views on women were traditional, Bible-based and most today would say backwards and offensive.  In his sermon on the suffrage movement entitled "The Biblical Definition of Women" on May 13, 1894, he said in part, "If you women want to preserve your individuality you will do so by remaining womanly and not in trying to become mannish."

He went on to say that some women believed "If a man undertakes a certain business, why should not a woman?  If a man votes, why should not a woman?"  He called that tendency "manhoodmania" and instructed that women needed to "choose to fully understand what is the peculiar mission they have before them."   There was to be no arguing with his logic.  He concluded saying "if the congregation did not understand him it was their fault."

A turn of the century postcard labeled the structure "Dr. Parkhurst's Church." (copyright expired)

At the turn of the century Madison Square was no longer the quiet and exclusive neighborhood it had been have a century earlier.  The Metropolitan Life Insurance  Company had begun construction of its new headquarters next to the church in the spring of 1890 and one by one the residences around the park were either demolished or converted for business purposes.

According to Rev. Parkhurst in his A Brief History of the Madison Square Presbyterian Church in 1906, "As early as 1896, the question began to be considered whether...it would not be to our interest as a church to build elsewhere if a suitable site could be found on Madison Square or in its neighborhood."   A meeting was held on May 14, 1894 during which it was unanimously agreed that the church would not move uptown.

Nevertheless, the Metropolitan Life Insurance Company coveted the church's property as it anticipated enlarging its headquarters.  Finally, on January 6, 1903 The Evening World reported "The congregation of the Madison Square Presbyterian Church that since 1865 has worshipped in Dr. Parkhurst's Church at Madison avenue and Twenty-fourth street, will soon move across the street, the Metropolitan Life Insurance Company having finally purchased the present site to complete the great building planned for the entire block."

The insurance firm had paid Catharine Lorillard Wolfe $700,000 for her mansion, one of the last private homes on the Square.   It gave the church that plot and additional $300,000.  The Evening World reported that the church had raised another $200,000 "to insure the imposing new structure for the church home."

The two Madison Square Presbyterian Churches sat briefly side-by-side as construction continued on the new structure.  (copyright expired)
Imposing it would be.  Stanford White designed a Roman basilica to replace the Wolfe mansion.  Completed in 1906, the new Madison Square Presbyterian Church was one of the architects greatest works. 

The venerable brownstone Upjohn-designed church was demolished that year to be replaced by the Metropolitan Life Insurance Company's "tower building," designed by Napoleon Le Brun & Sons which survives.

A circa 1907 postcard pictured the new tower.  (copyright expired)

Saturday, January 13, 2018

The 1848 P. H. Williams House - 349 West 21st Street



On Thursday August 10, 1843 the Board of Aldermen met.  Among the petitions it reviewed and approved was "Of P. H. Williams and others, for a Hose Company and Carriage, to be located in Twenty-sixth or Twenty-seventh street, near the Ninth avenue."  The reason Williams was eager to have a firehouse established in the rapidly developing Chelsea neighborhood became apparent four years later.

In 1847 he started construction on a three-bay wide brick house at No. 349 West 21st Street.  He was not the only Williams erecting a residence on the block at the time; so his confidence in the new neighborhood may have been shared by family members.  Completed the following year, his home was designed in the recent Greek Revival style.  Three stories tall, it featured understated brownstone trim and a high stone stoop over the English basement.  The double-doored entrance forewent the stone pilasters and entablature of the grander Greek Revival homes in the area.

Financially comfortable and apparently well respected, Williams was a director in the Brooklyn Fire Insurance Company, with offices in the Merchants Exchange Building on Wall Street.  His professional stature earned him entrance to a grisly scene on October 28, 1858.

That morning The New York Herald ran the dramatic headlines "Terrible and Appalling Tragedy / Murder Most Foul and Unnatural / Parricide, Fratricide and Suicide / A Night of Horrors."  The article began "One of the most horrible and bloody tragedies ever enacted occurred at the dwelling house No. 217 West Thirtieth street on Tuesday night.  A father, mother, two children and two female domestics, were butchered by a revengeful son, who subsequently retired to his bedroom and there ended his earthly career by blowing his brains out with a pistol."

The house was home to the family of wealthy retired lumber merchant, Francis Gouldy.  He and his wife Jane had three sons and three daughters, the eldest, Francis Jr. being 19 and the youngest, Catherine, just an infant.  The Herald called Francis "a young man of unsteady habits [who] often caused his father much annoyance in consequence of his wild and extravagant course of living."

After the teen quarreled with his father over money that night, the boy began a blood bath in the house with a large axe and a knife.  As the servants rushed to help the family, they, too, were bludgeoned to death.  Only 16-year old Mary Elizabeth survived.  Because she believed the house was invaded by burglars, she had locked her bedrooms door and screamed out the window "Murder! Murder!" catching the attention of two policemen.

They broke in the front door to find the horrific scene of dead or dying victims.  Francis, realizing he was trapped, fled to his bedroom and shot himself.

By the time the coroners arrived the following morning, word had spread throughout the city.  The Herald reported "the street in front of the house was crowded to suffocation with an eager and exited throng...All sorts of means were resorted to by the spectators with a view of gaining admittance to the house, but as a general rule few persons were admitted who had not some legitimate business within."

Among those allowed in was P. H. Williams, who along with six other men, were appointed on the spot as the on-site coroner's jury.  The inquest was held in the basement and the men heard the testimonies of the surviving victim (Jane), doctors and neighbors.

By 1868 No. 349 was home to the Curry family.  Young and unmarried, Sarah Curry was a teacher in the boys' department of School No. 35, on 13th Street near Sixth Avenue.

The block continued to be fashionable enough that most families employed, if not a small staff of servants, at least one girl.  The owners of No. 349 were seeking help in January 1873.  An advertisement in The New York Herald read "Wanted--In a small private family a girl about 14 years of age, to make herself generally useful; wages moderate and an excellent home; must come well recommended."

Most of the girls who answered that ad were, quite likely, immigrants from Ireland.  Mary O'Malley landed a job with the family not long after; but her unfortunate circumstances spiraled out of control.

On August 15, 1879 The Times reported "Mary O'Malley, a servant employed at No. 349 West Twenty-first-street, who has been drinking to excess of late, attempted to commit suicide yesterday by taking Paris green."  The highly-toxic powder was used to kill rats and mice.  She was taken to New-York Hospital, but her chances of recovery were not good.

As the turn of the century neared, the house was owned by James T. and Eleanor S. Wright.  Off-site landlords, they leased the house to respectable occupants for years.  In 1898 James A. Trowbridge signed a 1 year lease at $1,200, or a little over $2700 per month today.

In 1915 No. 349 was home to the architect Hugh J. Campbell.   He established his office in the house as well.  Because Campbell's expertise was in engineering he did not design structures, but focused on alterations and improvements of existing buildings.

Change to the 21st Street block was evident in the Depression years.  In 1939 No. 349 was no longer a private home, but a warren of furnished rooms.   It would be decades before things got better on the Chelsea block.

In 1952 the Mendez family lived at No. 349.  Their son, 17-year old Pedro, worked as a machine operator.  On the afternoon of July 1 that year he was playing dice with four other teens outside a bar and grill at No. 294 Eighth Avenue, near 25th Street.  They were making so much noise that one of the owners, Harry Oransky, sent a janitor out to disperse them.

The confrontation resulted in a shouting match, prompting Oransky went out to take matters into his own hands.  Mendez responded by producing a screwdriver and attacking the 54-year old, plunging the instrument into his temple.  Mendez then escaped on his bicycle.

Ironically, Oransky and his family, who lived in the Chelsea Hotel nearby, had been under police protection.  His daughter was married to gangster Harry Gross, recently convicted of bookmaking.  While he lived in fear of a mob hit, it was the teen-aged Puerto Rican who ended his life.

Pedro Mendez was apprehended and stood trial for first-degree manslaughter in January 1954.  He was convicted by an all-male jury and on February 10 was sentenced to "an indefinite term in Elmira Reformatory."  The New York Times noted "Mendez could be kept in prison up to twenty years."


Change came to No. 349 West 21st Street in 1969 when a renovation resulted in one apartment per story, with a duplex in the third and newly-added fourth floor.  The architect laudably copied the vintage openings in the addition.  Nevertheless its high visibility from street level upsets the proportions of the structure and appears as an awkward add-on.

photographs by the author