The 1929 Tree-Mark Shoe Building (Bowery Ballroom) - 6 Delancey Street

 

photograph by Corey W. Schneider

By the 1890s, many of the Federal-style houses along Delancey Street near the Bowery had been razed or remodeled for commerce.  One that survived in 1898 was 6 Delancey Street.  That year Carl Werner was arrested for operating a "disorderly house" (a brothel) in the premises.  The vintage building would survive nearly two more decades.

On January 17, 1914, the Record & Guide reported that Monroe & Landseidel, "will complete plans for a 2-story brick theatre...to be erected at 6-8 Delancey st. for Earnest Plath."  Variety noted the building would cost $10,000, or about about $315,000 in 2025.  Something went awry, however, and the architects withdrew the plans.  

The project was taken up by the Meyer & Schneider chain of theaters, which hired Lorenz Weiher to design the motion picture house.  Completed that year, the Art Theatre held 500 seats and cost $25,000--more than double that of the earlier design.  It would be renamed twice--to the M. & S. Theatre around 1918 and later The Delancey.

The motion picture theater would not survive especially long.  It was demolished in 1928 to make way for a "one-story brick store" for the Marbitz Realty Corp.  It was designed by Henry Creighton Ingalls for the owner's lessee, the Tree-Mark Shoe Co., Inc.  His plans projected the cost at $30,000 (about $534,000 today).

Founded in 1918, the Tree-Mark Shoe Co., Inc. specialized in orthopedic shoes, custom-made for specific customers with special needs.  The firm staffed its showroom with "podiatrist-salesmen."  

Ingalls had designed several theaters, including the Henry Miller Theatre and The Neighborhood Playhouse.  Completed in 1929, his symmetrical Italian Renaissance design for the Tree-Mark Shoe building smacked of a theater--its entrance placed within a dramatic, double-height arch.  The facade was faced in rusticated limestone, and octagonal openings floated above the show windows.  The frieze below the denticulated cornice was ornamented with stylized fleurs-de-lis.  Tree-Mark Shoes was incised into the stone parapet.

Although it appeared to be a two-story structure from the street, the showroom was technically one.  A mezzanine ran along the sides at what otherwise would be the second floor.  The offices were tucked into alcoves at this level, lighted by the octagonal windows.

Hundreds of boxes lined the walls and a magnificent chandelier hangs above the marble-tiled floor.  photo by Wurts Bros. from the Museum of the City of New York

Although Tree-Mark Shoes was well-known for its orthopedic footwear, it also did a brisk business with ready-made stock.  Aware that the population of the district was heavily Jewish, the firm routinely ran advertisements in Yiddish language magazines and newspapers.

The Jewish Journal, May 20, 1949.

An advertisement in the Brooklyn Jewish Center Review in January 1934 addressed patrons' struggles during the Great Depression. 

For 18 years Tree-Mark has made shoes that sold from $8.50 to $13.50.  And for 18 years people from every part of the city bought them at these prices because they were satisfied Tree-Mark Shoes were scientifically created to serve the cause of healthy feet, without sacrificing style.

But today we are living in a new period, one that requires financial adjustment.  Tree-Mark has therefore made a new model of its famous shoes that is priced at $6.95.

  

Brooklyn Jewish Center Review, October 1934

Tree-Mark Shoes, Inc. prospered here for more than half a century.  The title of an advertisement in The New York Times on October 23, 1979 revealed that the firm still focused on orthopedic problems.  "Hammer-toes?...get a Ghillie!"  The Ghillie model was designed to correct the foot issue and cost $55 (about $230 today).

After being home to a carpeting and a lighting store in the late 1980s through the mid-1990s, in 1997 the property was acquired by the Bowery Ballroom, founded by Michael and Brian Swier with Michael Winsch.  While much of Henry C. Ingalls's interior detailing was lost in renovating it to an performance venue, others were preserved.  The Bowery Ballroom website mentions, "the brass rails, the brass and iron exterior metalwork, the mahogany lined VIP rooms and the coffer-vaulted plaster ceiling of the mezzanine bar" remain.

Among the earliest groups to play here was John Lurie and The Lounge Lizards.  On June 5, 1998, The New York Times reported, "Film-noir rakishness, rippling minimalism and a touch of late-night blues merge in John Lurie's music for the Lounge Lizards."

Wurts Bros. took this photograph in 1930.  from the collection of the New York Public Library

The venue continues to be operated by its founders.  Over the years, Bowery Ballroom audiences heard the likes of Patti Smith, Kanye West, the Red Hot Chili Peppers, Tony Bennett, Radiohead, and, most recently, Paul McCartney.

The March 2003 Environmental Impact Statement by the Federal Transit Administration's Second Avenue Subway Evaluation praised the Tree-Mark Shoe Building as, "a distinguished example of Italian Renaissance inspired commercial architecture."

The Dorset - 150 West 79th Street

 

Born in Sherman, Connecticut in 1855, Franklin Henry Giddings joined the faculty of Columbia University in 1891.  Three years later he was appointed the chair of sociology there.  By the early years of the 20th century, the recognized sociologist, journalist and economist lived in an upscale, high-stoop rowhouse at 150 West 79th Street.

At the time, developers on the Upper West Side were replacing private homes with multi-family buildings.  It appears that when the Vadrick Realty Co. approached Franklin Henry Giddings with an offer for his rowhouse in 1910, the educator pushed back.  Almost certainly included in the sale, Giddings would be among the initial residents of the projected building.

On August 20, 1910, the Record & Guide reported that Schwartz & Gross had filed plans for a "12-story brick and stone apartment house."  The building would replace five rowhouses, including the Giddings home.  The article projected the cost of construction at $375,000--a significant $12.4 million in 2025 terms.

The Dorset was completed in September 1911.  An advertisement in The New York Times called it "high class" and offered seven, nine or ten-room apartments with "very large rooms and 3 baths."   Rents ranged from $2,600 to $3,000, or about $8,375 per month today for the most expensive.

Schwartz & Gross's neo-Renaissance tripartite design included a three-story base with a stone balcony supported by massive carved brackets at the third floor.  The seven-story midsection was faced in Flemish bond brown brick and terminated with impressive limestone brackets with floral garlands that upheld the intermediate cornice.  They were echoed with the capitals of the two-level piers on the top section, below the copper cornice.

A massive banner advertised the apartments in 1911.  The five brownstones that sat here were identical to whose on either side of the new building.  photograph by Wurts Bros. from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York.

By the time Franklin Henry Giddings moved into his apartment, he had published several books, including Democracy and Empire, Inductive Sociology, and Descriptive and Historical Sociology.  He is remembered today for the concept of "consciousness of kind," by which persons recognize and associate with like-individuals, establishing "group self-consciousness" as opposed to individual self-consciousness.

Frank Henry Giddings, from the collection of the Library of Union College

While Giddings's name appeared in newspapers for his thoughts about political and social-economic issues, other initial residents regularly appeared in the society columns.  On January 14, 1912, for instance, The New York Times reported, "Mr. and Mrs. Edgar A. Levy, 150 West Seventy-ninth Street, will give a dinner party this evening for Miss Marjorie and Walter Klee, who have just announced their engagement."   A month later, the newspaper announced, "Mrs. L. L. Warshauer of 150 West Seventy-ninth Street will give the second of a series of bridge parties on Friday." 

Among the first entertainments in the building was Mrs. Nathaniel Arnold's "bridge party and tea with music at her home," as noted by the New York Herald on December 21, 1911.  Mrs. Arnold's daughter from her first marriage, Madelaine Ethel Sylvester, lived with the couple.  The family's country home was in Woodmere, Long Island.

Madelaine was a subject of social chatter in 1912 when she was wooed by the internationally famed explorer, photographer and inventor, Russell Hastings Millward.  The handsome 35-year-old would later claim the world record for trekking by foot through "unexplored, uncharted portions of Africa, South and Central America and Mexico."

Socialites were atwitter when newspapers reported that Millward took out a marriage license on December 10.  But almost immediately, puzzling developments ignited a flurry of rumors.  On December 12, The New York Times reported, "No announcement was made yesterday to clear the secrecy which surrounds the plans for the marriage of Russell Hastings Millward, the young American explorer, and Miss Madelaine Ethel Sylvester...although two days have now elapsed since Mr. Millward took out a marriage license."  According to scuttlebutt, the article said, "he had left for British Honduras."  Another rumor said the couple had already been married.  At the Dorset apartment, a family member declined "to confirm or deny the marriage."

The following day, The Syracuse Herald raised doubts that the marriage would happen.  "Deep-dyed mystery surrounds the hasty exit from this city made on Tuesday evening by Russell Hastings Milward [sic], a young explorer and archaeologist, only a few hours after taking out a license to wed Miss Madeline [sic] E. Sylvester."  The article said Madeleine "declares that her fiance has merely 'run out of town' for a few days to attend to business matters."  Millward's friends, however, "say that Millward is now on his way to Central America for a three years' stay."  

A detail in The Syracuse Herald proved a significant hint.  Millward's mother told a reporter that she was "greatly disturbed and puzzled" regarding the engagement.  She was under the impression her son was engaged to Grace Rucker of Washington D.C.  As it turned, neither of the recent debutantes snagged the intrepid explorer.  Millward married Edna Pearl Boyden of Boston on August 27, 1914.

Madeleine E. Sylvester, New York Herald, June 23, 1911 (copyright expired)

Madeleine beat her former fiancé to the altar, however.  On June 25, 1913, she entered the newsroom of the New York Herald and declared she had eloped with Charles Everett Doll.  She explained that while dining at Delmonico's two weeks earlier, "Charlie" dared her to marry him.  "Away we went in an automobile--it must have been after nine o'clock at night--got some one that looks after the marriage licenses, you know, and he promised to keep it a secret.  We were married that night."

Not surprisingly, other wealthy residents at the time were less colorful than Madeleine Ethel Sylvester.  Among the Arnolds' neighbors were Hermann Runkel and his wife, the former Victoria Lopez.  Born in New Orleans in 1853 (where he and Virginia married), Runkel arrived in New York in 1869.  The following year he and his brother, Louis, founded the candy and chocolate manufacturing firm, Runkel Brothers.  Hermann was highly involved in Jewish charities and was a director of the Hebrew Infant Asylum.

Around the outbreak of World War I, Runkel fell ill.  The 65-year-old died here on March 29, 1918 "after a long illness," according to The Evening Post.   Later, the New York Herald reported that Victoria inherited most of Runkel's estate, "estimated at close to one million dollars."

Residents of the Dorset maintained a small staff, as reflected in a help-wanted ad in the New York Herald on January 23, 1921:

Cook--Good cook wanted, cooking and light housework; French butler kept.  Call Monday or Tuesday, 9 to 10 or 5 to 6, at 150 West 79th st., sixth floor.

The mention of "French butler kept" meant that he lived with the family.

Living here at the time was the Frederick Gerken family.  Gerken was a real estate developer, perhaps best remembered for erecting the Gerken Building in 1895 on Chambers and West Broadway, designed by George Edward Harding & Gooch.  Following his father's death in 1920, Frederick Gerken, Jr. remained here with his mother.  Gerken, Jr. had graduated from the Columbia Law School in 1914.  Despite his law degree, in 1918 he was made president of The Derf Manufacturing Company, Inc.  

Harry A. Cohen and his wife suffered an unspeakable tragedy on March 29, 1923.  The couple had a 20-month-old son, Kenneth.  On that afternoon, Mrs. Cohen left the Dorset with Kenneth's "nurse girl," as described by The New York Times.  The article said Mrs. Cohen, "planned to take the bus across town to visit friends, but she walked south on Amsterdam Avenue as far as Seventy-eighth Street, playing with the child."  

Mrs. Cohen waved to her son as she stepped onto the bus.  At that instant, the horse attached to a Sheffield Farms Company at the curb, "became frightened and, despite the chained wheels, started forward," as reported by The New York Times.  It crashed into the wagon of the New York Pie Baking Company.  As Mrs. Cohen looked on, the second horse, "became unmanageable and started for the sidewalk.  The baby still was waving its good-byes when shrieks of others gave warning of the danger."  The nurse tried to swing the baby carriage out of the way, but it was too late.  The article said, "The carriage was overturned, throwing the baby to the street and an instant later the hoof of the horse crushed his skull."  

Among the Cohens' wealthy residents were Maurice W. Levy and his wife, the former Sarah Kohn.  Levy's biography reads like an adventure novel.  Born on September 16, 1845 in Alsace-Lorraine, he came to America at the age of 11.  The New York Times recalled, "He went to California by sailboat and across the Isthmus in the first year the railroad was opened."  He studied at the University of California, and in 1889 moved to Kansas "where he became a pioneer in the Arkansas Valley at Wichita," said the newspaper.  There he became president of the Wichita National Bank and the first president of the Kansas Bankers' Association."  

While in Kansas, Levy was active in politics, partners with Jay Gould in the building of Kansas railroads, and was president of the Wichita School Board.  He relocated to New York City in 1905.  He and Sarah maintained a summer home in West End, New Jersey. 

Kansas was never far from the minds of the Levys.  On March 9, 1923, for instance, The New York Times reported, "A card party for the benefit of the Kansas dormitory in the National Navy Club...will be given by the Kansas Women's Club next Wednesday afternoon at the home of Mrs. M. W. Levy, 150 West Seventy-ninth Street."

The Levys were at the New Jersey residence when Maurice W. Levy died on July 11, 1929.  Living in the Dorset apartment at the time was one of the three sons, Guy W. Levy.  The New York Sun reported that Maurice left Sarah "an estate of $1,022,827."  (The figure would translate to more than $18 million today.)

In the meantime, Herman Plaut was the president of L. Plaut & Co., Inc., which manufactured electric lighting fixtures.  He was a director in numerous other corporations, as well.  His wife was the former Laura Wile.

Laura employed a new maid in the spring of 1924.  The girl arrived on May 31, dropped her suitcase in the maid's room at 8:00, and started to work, not taking time to unpack.  Soon afterward, Herman left for work and the Plaut's daughter went shopping.  Laura walked into the bedroom and immediately noticed that her jewel case was missing from her dressing table.  The New York Times said it contained, "several valuable diamond rings, a lavaliere, bar pins, watches and bracelets."  The article explained, "She had worn some of her jewelry at a dinner the night before and expected to use it again that night." 

Laura rang the bell for the maid, but there was no answer.  "She then called for the cook.  But the cook had not seen the maid either."  After having been in her new position only for an hour, the maid and the jewels "valued at more than $25,000" were missing.  Detectives said, "A black hat, a coat, and a suit case filled with clothes were found in the new maid's room."  The girl, who had no criminal record, had spirited away with jewelry worth $445,000 in today's terms.   Detectives believed that, "the jewels, within easy access, were too great a temptation for the young woman," reported The Times.

In 1937, during the midst of the Great Depression, the esteemed architectural firm Boak & Paris, Inc. was commissioned to remodel the Dorset.  The renovations resulted in six apartments per floor.

One hundred and fifteen years after Franklin Henry Giddings swapped his Victorian brownstone for a luxury apartment, little has changed to the exterior of the Dorset.

many thanks to historian Anthony Bellov for requesting this post.

photographs by the author

The Lost Jenssen Drugstore and McKenna Saloon - 172 Varick Street

 

The sign on the window, Apotheke, reflects the drugstore's German owner.  taken June 13, 1913, from Colonial Architecture In New York City, 1913 (copyright expired)

Around 1824, the two-and-a-half story house and store was erected at the northwest corner of Varick and Charlton Streets.  Unlike the neighboring houses, the Federal architecture of which featured peaked roofs, this building had a gambrel roof that harkened to the Dutch houses that once lined the streets of Lower Manhattan.  Faced in Flemish bond brick on the front and clapboards on the Varick Street side, its attic level had an arched window below the gable that mimicked those in the dormers.

The original occupant of the upper floors seems to have been Catharine Moncrieff, listed here in 1827.  By 1830, William Cornell, a "measurer of grain," and his family lived here.

Around 1840, Lewis Radford moved his family into the upper floor and established his L. & T. Radford grocery in the store.  He and his brother, Thomas, operated another grocery store at 653 Greenwich Street, as well.

The Radford grocery made way to Patrick Boylan's saloon around 1854.  Boylan had another saloon at 68 Broome Street.  By now, the upper portion was operated as a boarding house.  Along with the Boylans in 1854, William Brown, a painter, boarded here and would remain at least through 1857.  

By 1859, William H. Cleary and Charles Stammler owned 172 Varick Street, and around that time, Cleary became a partner in Boylan's saloon.  The boarding house portion was now operated by Mary A. Wallace, whose husband Alexander, was an engineer.  

On October 14, 1861, Mary visited the village of Fort Washington in the northern part of Manhattan.  When she returned, she discovered her small purse was gone.  Her advertisement in the New York Herald the following day read:

Lost--On Monday morning, on the Hudson River Railroad, half-past-nine train leaving Fort Washington, a Portemonnaie, containing about $50, the earnings of a hard working woman.  The finder will be liberally rewarded by leaving it at 172 Varick street, corner of Charlton, with Mrs. Wallace.

Alexander Wallace died at the age of 47 on July 14, 1864.  His funeral was held in the house the following afternoon.  Mary A. Wallace would continue to operate the boarding house for a decade.

The saloon, in the meantime, became P. J. McQueeney & Co. around 1867, run by Edward and Patrick J. McQueeney.  The brothers lived at 55 Charlton and 229 W. Houston Street, respectively.  The saloon changed hands again in 1870 when Patrick McKenna, who had a second saloon at 107 Varick Street, took over the lease.  McKenna and his wife, Catharine, lived at 89 Charlton Street.

An improbable situation began in 1880 when William H. Cleary and Charles Stammler divided the ground floor to two spaces.  While Patrick McKenna continued his saloon here, the owners gave the second lease to Charles F. Jenssen for his drugstore.  It was most likely at this point that the corner entrance was added.

The unconventional bedfellows seem to have coexisted well.  The Irish saloonkeeper and the German pharmacist were well-known in their respective professions.  In 1888, Patrick McKenna was on the committee of the annual ball held by the Wine, Liquor, and Beer Dealers' Central Association at the Metropolitan Opera House in March.

A month earlier, Charles F. Jenssen was involved in the death of the two-year-old daughter of William Seiberg, a shoemaker who lived at 241 Spring Street.  According to the New York Press on February 27, 1888, the girl, "died from the effects of poison put up by mistake by the clerk of Charles F. Jensen [sic], a druggist at 172 Varick street."  Jenssen was exonerated by Deputy coroner William T. Jenkins, who said the toddler died of "diphtheria and scarlet fever" and that the poison "did not in his opinion hasten the child's death," reported the New York Press.

Interestingly, in 1893, the Heath Department distributed "Culture Outfits" to certain pharmacies.  The kits, free of cost, would be used to detect diphtheria in suspected patients.  The Health Department's Annual Report that year noted that the Jenssen pharmacy was one of those "stations."  In 1900, the Jenssen store was officially deemed a "Health Board Station."  Here, said The Medical Directory of New York, New Jersey and Connecticut, physicians could obtain, "culture Outfits, Bottles for Sputa, Antitoxin, etc."

A bizarre incident occurred on July 8, 1905.  The New York Sun explained that Mrs. Annie Shaughnessy, who lived on Charles Street, was on Broadway near Bleecker Street when she, "blew her nose in a handkerchief that contained a pin, then snuffed the pin up her nose."  The 30-year-old realized what she had done, and made it as far as the Jenssen pharmacy, "when she became hysterical."  A police man responded, who took Mrs. Shaughnessy to St. Vincent's Hospital, "where the pin was soon removed," reported the article.

Around the time of Annie Shaughnessy's unfortunate pin incident, George H. Brennan took over the saloon portion of the ground floor.  The family lived upstairs, including his adult sons William and Joseph R.

On the evening of March 15, 1907, George Brennan, described by The New York Times as, "an elderly man, who runs a saloon at 172 Varick Street," went uptown to attend the Hammerstein's Victoria Theatre on Times Square.  As he started across the street, he was knocked down by a wagon.  George told the driver "It wasn't your fault; drive along now."  The article said, "He also tipped a boy who brushed him off and another who picked up his spectacles."

Police Sergeant Archie Taggart, "the giant of the traffic squad, an old friend," according to The Times, rushed over to see if Brennan was all right.  George lamented to him,

It's a shame.  Why couldn't this have happened two days later?  I took out an accident policy only this morning, but if I put in a claim to the company for this they'd say it was a fake.  Such luck!

Later that year, William H. Brennan had a much more serious encounter with the law.  Unlike his brother, who worked in their father's saloon, William worked at Feltman's Pavilion in Coney Island.  When the manager, Jesse F. Sherwood, fired him that summer, he suspected that Brennan, "harbored a grudge."

On the night of August 20, Sherwood was told that Brennan was "hanging around with a gun."  The Brooklyn Standard Union reported, "Believing that a stich in time saves nine, Sherwood didn't wait for Brennan to get 'mussy.'"  He had several waiters seize and frisk him.  They found a loaded revolver.  He was arrested for carrying a concealed weapon, although Brennan pleaded innocent.

William H. Cleary died in the spring of 1914.  His estate noted he still owned "one half interest in equity" of 172 Varick Street.  At the time, the Jenssen pharmacy and the Brennan saloon still occupied the ground floor.  But they--and the venerable building as well--would soon be gone.  

When this photograph was taken in 1912, the relic had less than two years left. from the collection of the New York Public Library.

On February 25, 1912, The Sun had reported on the proposed widening of Varick Street.  "To carry out the proposed improvements the city will have to purchase all or parts of about 265 properties."  By October 1914, 172 Varick Street was gone.

The 1885 112 First Avenue

 

photograph by Ted Leather

In the late 1840s, the neighborhood around Tompkins Square had filled with refined mansions.  But drastic change was on the near horizon.  The post-Civil War years saw thousands of immigrants--first German and then Eastern European--flooding into the district.  Private residences were replaced with tenement buildings to accommodate the exploding population. 

In 1885, developer Bernhard Wertheimer completed a five-story store and tenement building at 112 First Avenue.  Faced in red brick and trimmed in brownstone, its neo-Grec-style design originally featured bracketed, molded sills and hefty, earred lintels embellished with incised decoration.  The ambitious cast metal cornice announced the date of construction in the fascia.  Its triangular pediment contained a sunburst, a frequent motif of the current Queen Anne style.

photograph by Ted Leather (cropped)

The store was leased to Emanuel Berger for his retail and wholesale cigar and tobacco operation.  He had founded his company in 1866 on Second Avenue.  The 1891 History and Commerce of New York said, "At the First Avenue premises an efficient staff of cigar makers is employed, and the proprietor gives his personal attention to its affairs in all departments."

While living here in 1888, Francisco Bona, went to the grocery store of Christian G. Thomas at the corner of Second Avenue and 7th Street.  He purchased five eggs and handed Thomas a $5 bill (equal to about $165 in 2025).  Thomas recognized the bill as a fake, and on July 19, 1888 The Evening World reported that "Francisco Bona, alias Frank Avona" had been arrested for counterfeiting.  "The scheme turned out badly and Francisco was soon before Commissioner Shields, who sent him to Ludlow Street Jail."

In November 1903, two half-sisters, Rosalie Feigelson and Frida Hanover, 22 and 18 years old respectively, arrived in New York City on the steamship La Touraine from Bremen.  The Evening World said, "Their dress was handsome and they seemed to have money."  The young women, who hoped to make a living in America as photographers, took an apartment at 112 First Avenue.

Although reportedly "proficient" in their craft, they struggled to find work.  "Gradually their money ran out," said The Evening World.  Eventually, in January 1904, Frida was forced to pawn their large camera.  "The money was used at once to pay debts," said the article."  She then took a job doing embroidery at $4 a week.  On February 2, The Evening World reported, "Her disappointment was great on Saturday when she received $1.50.  She and her sister could not exist on this."

Mary Levy, who ran the tenement with her husband, offered to help, but the sisters declined.  "That isn't independence," said Rosalie.  On the evening of February 1, they wrote a letter in Russian to the United States Government that explained they had been failures in this country.  The article said, "The girls, after writing the letter, turned on the gas and lay down to die in each other's arms."

Mary Levy upset their plans by detecting the odor of gas.  Officer Frank Muller carried the girls to the open air where they partially revived before being taken to Bellevue Hospital.  Their plight caught the attention of Mrs. Gichner, of the Baroness Clara De Hirsch Home on East 63rd Street.  She appeared in the Yorkville Police Court on February 3 (attempting suicide was a jailable offense) and told the magistrate that "she would give the young women a home until they could find suitable employment."

Another resident faced a judge that year.  John Mason and his friend, Richard Herlihy, who lived at 1,212 First Avenue, went to Central Park on May 29, 1904.  At around 72nd Street, they noticed a robin's nest in one of the trees.  Mason attempted to climb the tree, but it "was not strong enough to bear his weight, and broke, throwing Mason and the nest to the ground."

A passerby, Fred Foss, witnessed the incident and reported it to a policeman.  He "found Herlihy and Mason handling the robins," said The New York Times.  Magistrate Crane fined each man $5 (about $175 today).  The article said, "Mason wept in court, and the Magistrate delivered a lecture to him on the rights of the beasts and birds who are the city's wards when they make their homes in the precincts of the public parks."

The sills and lintels were intact in 1941.  via the NYC Dept of Records & Information Services.

By 1916, the ground floor store was home to Harry Levy's floor covering shop, which offered "carpets, rugs, and linoleums."  In 1988, the Miracle Grill opened in the space.  The southwestern cuisine was the creation of "brat-pack chef Bobby Flay," who was 23 years old at the time, according to New York Magazine on October 10, 1988.   The restaurant would remain into the 1990s.

In the early 2000s, fledgling writer Cat Marnell moved into the building.  Born in 1982, she attended The New School where she studied nonfiction writing.  In her 2017 autobiography, How to Murder Your Life, she described her "alcove studio" here, saying, 

The creaky, dark, small building was above a strange Polish restaurant and a porny video shop; there was also a McDonald's and a combination Dunkin' Donuts/Baskin Robbins on the block.

Marnell soon realized she was not alone--there was a rodent infestation.  Unable to leave ("I'd just moved in; I'd paid a broker"), she resolved to bring nothing edible into the apartment.  "My fear of mice was more powerful than my eating disorder," she wrote.

Marnell became an established journalist and commentator, writing columns for periodicals like Vice, Glamour and Self.  Her autobiography became a New York Times bestseller.

photograph by Ted Leather

The attempt to modernize the building by shaving the brownstone detailing disfigured the 1885 design.  Happily, the bold cornice survives.

many thanks to reader Ted Leather for requesting this post

Carrère & Hastings's Masterful 1911 New York Public Library -- 476 Fifth Avenue

 

photograph by Vallue

A one-sentence article in The New York Times on March 21, 1895 reported that the bill in the Assembly "consolidating the Lenox, Tilden, and Astor Libraries, in New-York City, was passed."  The merger would would create a library of 350,000 items.

Two years later, on August 2, 1897, the trustees published, "Terms of Competition for the Building to be Erected for The New York Public Library."  The lengthy and detailed pamphlet noted, "the building is to stand on the site of the present reservoir, at the east end of Bryant Park."  It said, "The building is to be built for $1,700,000," excluding the furniture, bookstacks, lighting, and such, and stressed, "It is essential that this amount shall not be exceeded."  

Of the eighty-eight plans that were submitted, three architects were selected to refine their designs.  The competing firms selected a three-man jury of architects to select the winning design.  On November 13, 1897, the Record & Guide reported, "The jury of awards in the final competition has selected the plans submitted by Carrere & Hastings...for the projected building of the New York Public Library."  A month later, on December 18, the journal described the commission as "a personal triumph of the first magnitude for the successful architects."

Carrère & Hastings's winning design.  Real Estate Record & Guide, December 18, 1897 (copyright expired)

Before work could begin, there was the matter of the massive granite Croton Reservoir to deal with.  Its demolition was a herculean feat that began in 1897 and continued for three years.  As the colossal walls were dismantled, the granite was salvaged for other projects.  In his July 1, 1898 report, library president John Bigelow mentioned, "the materials composing the reservoir or some part thereof [will be used in] the erection and construction of the new building."  (Granite blocks used for the foundation of the new edifice can be seen in lower levels of the current structure today.)

Finally, in 1900, work on the foundations of the new building began.  The Record & Guide predicted that the city, "is assured of a dignified and notable public building of a very much higher standard than anything municipal effort has yet given to us."  The article said, "The style of the architecture is Renaissance; it is based upon classical principals, but modern in feeling."  While the style is described as Beaux Arts today, at the time, Carrère called it a blend of French and Italian Renaissance styles.  The result was a dignified, monumental presence, enhanced by the block-wide terrace and sweeping staircase.

The exterior plans included sculptural elements.  On either side of the triple-arched entrance would be tiered fountains.  Atop each, within an arched alcove, marble statues of Truth and Beauty, executed by Frederick MacMonnies, would be placed.  Guarding the stairs to the terrace would be two regal lion figures by Edward Clark Potter. 

On November 10, 1902, the cornerstone was laid.  Five years after the first shovel broke ground, on October 1, 1905, The New York Times addressed slow pace of construction.  "Perhaps it is as well that great public buildings of this kind, intended to remain as monuments of an age for all times, should be erected with the upmost care and deliberation."  John M. Carrère, was more direct, explaining the "glacial rate of progress" in The New York Times on June 10, 1906: municipal red tape.  If there were proposed changes, he said, they had to be approved by the Library trustees and four city departments.  The process could take months.  (At the time, said The Times, the cost--originally capped at $1.7 million--had risen to $3 million.

A nagging detail was the three inscriptions to be inscribed on the plaques between Paul Wayland's allegorical sculptures above the main entrance cornice.  A squabble arose between the Mayor's office and the trustees about, "what inscriptions shall appear above the Fifth avenue entrance to the new Public Library Building," according to the New-York Tribune on April 8, 1906.  It was one more thing to annoy John M. Carrère, who snapped, "You must understand that this scheme of inscription on the front of the building was designed and fully worked out seven years ago...Something has got to go in those panels and something has got to go in the frieze."

On January 23, 1916, the New-York Tribune published the models of Paul Wayland's allegorical sculptures installed above the Fifth Avenue entrance cornice.  (copyright expired)

In the meantime, the construction costs grew.  On May 2, 1910, The New York Times began an article saying, "New York's $10,000,000 Public Library at Fifth Avenue and Forty-second Street is really growing to its completion, and ought to be ready for use early next year, if not sooner.  But so many delays have already hindered the growth of the building that it is hazarding to offer any definite forecast."

A cross-section allowed readers to see the several floors beneath the street level for the book stacks.  Scientific American, May 27, 1911 (copyright expired)

Sadly, the many delays resulted in John Merven Carrère's never seeing his masterpiece completed.  The architect died in an automobile accident on March 1, 1911.  Immediately prior to his funeral at Trinity Chapel on March 3, his body, "will lie in state, in the New York Public Library, at Fifth Avenue and Forty-second Street, of which building he was one of the designers," as reported by The New York Times.

Carrère's casket sat in the marble Rotunda prior to his funeral.  Construction magazine, April 1911 (copyright expired)

The space today.  photograph by Carlos Delgado

Two months later, on May 23, 1911, President William Howard Taft traveled from Washington to participate in the dedication.  Perhaps because of the President's presence, the ceremony was held in the third floor boardroom and only 500 invited persons were admitted.  Taft opened his remarks saying, "This day crowns a work of National importance."

Among the invited guests that day was Taylor St. Paul, whose most lasting impression was a grammatical error he found in an inscription in the entrance hall: "Upon the diffusion of education among the people rest the preservation and perpetuation of our institutions."  He wrote to The New York Times on May 27, 1911, to point out the correct word would be "rests."  He ended his letter saying, "Possibly W. J. Lampton wrote it.  I enjoyed the library."  An unnamed trustee replied succinctly to the editor of The Times two days later, "The author of the inscription in the rotunda of the Public Library, which Mr. Taylor St. Paul criticises...was Daniel Webster."

Carrère & Hastings had created a world-class masterpiece, the largest marble building in the country.  In its June 1911 issue, Construction said the New York Public Library, "without question is one of the most remarkable examples in the United States of the typical American aspiration in architecture."  James A. Edgerton, writing in The Daily Tribune of Marysville, Missouri on June 19, 1911 called it, "one of the most beautiful edifices in America."  Edgerton gave a back-handed slap to New York City, saying, "In a city architecturally hideous...the New York Public Library building shines like an oasis in a desert or a temple in a wilderness."

In this early postcard view, none of the sculptural elements, including the lions, had been installed.

The interiors of the Dorset marble structure were as palatial as the exterior.  Visitors entered a marble-lined grand entrance hall, or rotunda.  In the 1897 "Terms of Competition," the trustees said, "ample opportunity will exist for architectural and decorative effect; but it is desired that the Reading Rooms at least should be plainly treated."  Like the budget, that caveat went out the window.  The Main Reading Room, known as the Rose Reading Room today, was reportedly the largest reading room in the world.  It was divided into two spaces by a wooden screen.  The room rose to a magnificent, coffered ceiling with paintings of cloud-filled skies.

The Main Reading Room (today the Rose Reading Room) in 1911.  Construction magazine, April 1911 (copyright expired)

...And today.  photograph by Max Touhey from the collection of the New York Public Library

Other spaces included additional, smaller reading rooms (like the Periodical Reading Room), the Map Division, the Exhibition Room, and the Bible Room--each as sumptuously outfitted as the last.

A portion of the Map Division ceiling.  photograph by Bestbudbrian

Three "important exhibitions" were immediately staged in the new building.  On June 1, 1911, The New York Times reported that the crush of people who crowded in just to see the building made getting to the exhibitions difficult.  The article said, "it is estimated that a quarter of a million persons inspected the building in the first week."

The Trustees' Room (top) and the Exhibition Room.  Construction magazine, April 1911 (copyright expired)

Interestingly, after Thomas Hastings's death in October 1929, it was discovered that he had never been satisfied with the facade of the New York Public Library building.  He left a substantial bequest to the library, explained by The New York Times on November 7, 1929.  "He had drawn up plans for alterations in the facade and expressed the hope in his will that the $100,000 would be used for this purpose."  The plans never went forward.

The Periodical Reading Room as it appeared in 1911.  Construction magazine, April 1911 (copyright expired)

...and today.  photograph by Bestbuddybrian.

The second half of the 20th century did not treat the library building kindly.  During World War II, the panes of the 15 arched windows of the Main Reading Room were painted black; in 1950, the rear of the main hall was partitioned off to create a bursar's office; and the main exhibition room was converted to an accounting office.  According to the Press & Sun-Bulletin of Binghamton, New York, decades of grime eventually obliterated the ceiling paintings in the Main Reading Room.  Rita Reif, writing in The New York Times reported, "Over time, entire tiers of bulbs in the chandeliers short-circuited and lighting fixtures on the book stands and reference shelves burned out, never to be repaired or replaced."  As "garish yellow chairs multiplied" in the space, she said, "the room became dowdy."

In December 1981, the D. S. and R. H. Gottesman Foundation provided $1.25 million for the restoration of the Main Reading Room.  Designed by Davis Brody and Cavaglieri, it reopened the following year.  (It received a second, $12 million restoration in 2014.)  The Periodical Room was restored in 1983 and the Exhibition Hall the following year.

photograph by C. S. Imming.

In designating the New York Public Library building an individual New York City landmark on January 11, 1967, the Landmarks Preservation Commission called it, "a masterpiece of the Beaux-Arts style of architecture" and "a magnificent civic monument."

The John Addoms House - 158 Henry Street

 

Beneath the red casing around the entrance, the fluted stone columns hopefully survive.

Around 1843, John Addoms moved his family into the newly built house at 158 Henry Street.  While the 26-foot-wide, three-story residence was similar to the numerous Greek Revival homes being erected throughout the city, certain details of 158 Henry Street announced that its owner was wealthy.  The double-doored entrance was flanked with engaged, fluted columns that upheld a three-part entablature and cornice.

Addoms and his wife, the former Mary Agnes Clark, were relative newlyweds, having married in 1837.  Living with them were Catherine "Katy" Embury Bininger.  The relationship between the couple and Catherine is unclear, but it was doubtful she was a mere boarder.  She was the widow of the well-known grocer and property owner Abraham Bininger, whom she married around 1761.  She had been instrumental in establishing what The New York Times later called, "the great house" of A. M. Bininger & Co.  (The newspaper recalled that early in the business, Katy Bininger hired a teenaged boy to peddle her "cookies, cakes and tea rusks" from a basket.  "The name of the peddler was John Jacob Astor, who was then of eighteen or twenty years of age, and had not long arrived in this country.")

The fascinating Catherine Embury Bininger died at the age of 92 on July 11, 1848.  Her funeral was held in the parlor two days later.

John Addoms died in August 1850.  Mary Agnes, who was 31 years old at time of John's death, soon left 158 Henry Street.  At an auction on April 10, 1851, the household goods and furniture were sold.  Everything from the impressive items--like the parlor and dining room suites, "large pier glasses," and candelabras--to the mundane, like crockery, glassware, and oil cloths, was sold.

Reverend Daniel C. Van Norman (sometimes written as Vannorman) next occupied the house.  The erudite educator was the principal of the Rutger's Female Institute on Fifth Avenue.  At a time when education for most females ended with the fundamentals of writing, basic math, and such, the institute offered courses that were equivalent to those available to young men.  The Phelps' Strangers and Citizens' Guide to New York City said,

It has a fine library, selected with great care and excellent philosophical apparatus for illustrating the subjects of astronomy, chemistry, and other branches of science.  Its course of instruction embraces history, general philosophy, mathematics, and belles letters, by which young ladies are thoroughly prepared for the pursuit of general knowledge, for the duties of teachers, and for that moral and intellectual power so necessary to be possessed by the mothers of our republic.

Reverend Van Norman remained here through 1854, when the Henry Street house was purchased by Peter Crosby Barnum and his second wife, the former Sarah Ann Baldwin.  The couple had married in 1846 and had two children, Joshua Willets, born in 1847, and Kate Vail, born in 1850.

Peter Crosby Barnum (original source unknown)

Barnum was born in 1815, the eldest son of Dr. Stephen C. Barnum.  In 1851, Peter joined his brother's clothing firm, Horton & Barnum, established two years earlier.  Barnum's massive fortune was reflected in the family's country house in East Meadow, New York, which "covered 2700 hundred acres," described by the Brewster Standard, and held "a sumptuous home."  (The newspaper, undoubtedly, meant 2,700 acres.)

Like Van Norton's, the Barnums' residency would be relatively short.  By 1867, they sold 158 Henry Street to Edmund J. Kelly and his wife, Mary E.  The exclusive residential neighborhood that the Addoms family had enjoyed was quickly changing, as waves of immigrants flooded into the Lower East Side.  Edmund J. Kelly was the proprietor of two saloons, one on 25 New Bowery and the other at 399 Pearl Street.  He and Mary had at least one child, Mary C.

Mary E. Kelly was apparently a self-sufficient woman.  After Edmund's death in 1869, she took over the Pearl Street saloon.  (It appears she sold the other business.)  She augmented her finances by leasing part of her home.  On April 14, 1874, an advertisement in the New York Herald offered, 

The Upper or Lower part of that beautiful brown stone House in that nice block, No. 158 Henry street between Rutgers and Jefferson streets, with all improvements, to a nice family; I will make the rent to suit.

The advertisement was answered by German-born William Hochhausen, who was in the "electric instruments" business on William Street.  The family was with the two Marys at least through 1877.

While her mother ran a saloon, Mary C. Kelly went into a more respectable female profession, a teacher.  By 1881, she was teaching music in several public schools.  Specialized instructors like music and art teachers were not affiliated with a specific school, but moved from one to another.  Because of that, Mary did not have a set salary, but was paid at $1.50 per hour in 1881.

Mary E. Kelly sold 158 Henry Street in April 1885 for $13,250 (about $433,000 in 2025).  It changed hands several times before Simon Scharlin purchased the house around 1893.  Born in Jerusalem in 1849, at some point Scharlin had anglicized his name Sabsai to Simon.  He and his wife, the former Sarah Liebe Silverson, had three sons, Nimon, Jacob and Sidney, and a daughter Rebecca.

Simon Scharlin established his snuff and tobacco business on Division Street in 1876.  He was president of the Jewish Synagogue on Pike Street and, according to The Journal on June 1, 1896, he was "said to be worth a million dollars."

Jacob Scharlin, who was deaf, was educated in a specialized school for the hearing impaired.  The Journal said, "Notwithstanding his affliction, Jacob has been regarded on the East Side as a very good catch, and many a schatchen kept the favor of the young man as a valuable asset to be realized on when Jacob should desire a wife."  (A schatchen is a marriage broker or matchmaker.)

In February 1896, Jacob met Annie Berlinger, who had been a school mate years earlier.  An orphan, she lived with her aunt and uncle.  The Journal described her as, "very beautiful, and her friends call her 'the Rose,' because of her complexion."  The newspaper said, "After the revival of their acquaintance Jacob sent a deaf mute friend named Hanneman, of No. 61 Delancey street, to her as a schatchen and a marriage was arranged."

On February 8, 1896, "the engagement was celebrated, and the big parlors at Papa Scharlin's were filled with guests to wish the young couple happiness and participate in the engagement feast."  The article mentioned, "The splendor of the surroundings was a new sensation for the prospective bride."  As part of the ceremony, Simon, "took a diamond ring from his finger, gave it to Jacob, who placed it upon the finger of his intended and the engagement was acknowledged."  The wedding was set for two weeks later, but was postponed for Passover.

Annie was given a room in the Scharlin house.  Her uncle, Isaac Blumenthal, told a reporter, "They bought her clothes--fine silk!"  But then, according to Blumenthal, everything fell apart.  On June 1, 1896, The Journal quoted him:

One day Annie was helping in the housework with her ring on--the ring he gave her that cost $125, and [Jacob] said: "Why do you work in that ring?  You will lose the stone."  She is a child.  She gave it to him, and then he told his mother that he had the ring back, and to put her out.

What was apparently a misunderstanding ended the engagement.  Annie was sent back to his uncle's home.  Blumenthal said, "Annie got a letter from him, saying that he wanted nothing more to do with her and she fainted."  Through her guardian, "Miss Berlinger sued Jacob for $50,000 for breach of promise," reported The Journal.  (The damages to Annie Berlinger's broken heart would translate to about $1.87 million today.)

At just 16 years old in 1897, Sidney was already a partner in his father's firm, now named Simon Scharlin & Son.  The family's legal problems had increased that year when on March 5 the New York Herald headlined an article, "Twenty-Seven Were Poisoned."  The article begun, 

The alleged adulteration of hundreds of pounds of snuff, which it is said caused at least twenty-seven cases of chronic lead poisoning, was the real cause of the indictment and arrest yesterday of Simon and Simon [sic] H. Scharlin, of the firm of S. Scharlin & Son...on a technical charge of petty larceny.

The Scharlins pleaded non-guilty and their attorney, Abraham Levy, insisted "that his clients were not persons who would steal two cents, or $2,000,000 either."  

Decades later, when Berenice Abbott took this photograph on January 26, 1938, the S. Scharlin & Son shop still occupied at1 113 Division Street.  image from the collection of the New York Public Library

The Scharlins were cleared of the charges.  In the meantime, however, Anna Berlinger was awarded $1,950 in her breach of promise suit (just under $74,000 today).  Despite Simon Scharlin's vast fortune, it appears that Anna would never see any of that award.  On June 20, 1899, The New York Times reported that Jacob Scharlin had "filed a petition in bankruptcy to get rid of a judgment...for breach of promise of marriage."  The article mentioned, "He has no assets."

The family's trouble turned to celebration on June 1, 1898 when Rebecca was married to Dr. Moses Duckman in Vienna Hall on East 58th Street.  Her brother, Nimon, was the groom's best man.  

Nimon was taken to the Mount Sinai Hospital on February 3, 1900, "suffering from kidney trouble," according to the New-York Tribune.  The 27-year-old died within hours and he was buried in Bay Side Cemetery on Long Island the following day.  

Four nights later, Sarah had a vivid dream that Nimon was alive.  The dream was so powerful, that she could not rest.  The New-York Tribune reported on February 10 that Nimon's body had been disinterred.  "She told [officials] yesterday about the dream, that constant thinking about it had made her nervous and that she would not be contented until she gazed upon the body again."  When she saw that the body had not moved since the burial, she reconciled to his death.

Simon and Sarah Scharlin sold 158 Henry Street in June 1915.  It became home to Congregation Shearith Israel in 1920.  Four years later, the congregation Agudat Achim Anshei Drohitchin, which organized in 1899, moved from 101 Monroe Street to the former Scharlin house.  Renovations completed in 1925 resulted in a dining room and kitchen in the basement, the shul's meeting room on the former parlor level, and the rabbi's residence on the second and third floors.  

In 1941, little had outwardly changed from a private residence to a synagogue.  image via the NYC Dept of Records & Information Services.

After the shul operated here for decades, 158 Henry Street was sold in August 2009.  Now home to the World Buddhist Center, the lintels and sill brackets of the windows have been removed and a stucco-like material applied to the facade.  A bright red casing around the entrance somewhat echoes a shrine gateway.  Jeff Wilson's The Buddhist Guide to New York notes, "Despite its grandiose name, this is a fairly typical Chinatown temple...Members sit on pews before the Amitabha Buddha statue for chanting and prayers."

photographs by the photograph