The S. Van Rensselaer Cruger House - 113 East 35th Street

Sadly, most of the architectural detailing was shaved off around the time of the Great Depression

In 1857 developer Daniel Hayden completed construction of a pair of near mirror-image homes at Nos. 113 and 115 East 36th Street, between Lexington and Park Avenues.   Faced in brownstone and four stories tall, they were astoundingly narrow, sharing a 25-foot wide plot which a few years later would assuredly have accommodated a single house.

While the style was overall Italianate, the unknown architect added a touch of the far less common Egyptian Revival in the shape and lotus motif of the capitals of the first floor pilasters.  Two sets of French doors at the second floor most likely opened onto a cast iron balcony.   The houses shared a handsome wooden cornice.

The attractive leaded glass window was most likely added in the last 19th century.  The faceted keystones and interesting pilasters add to the engaging design.

Hayden initially retained ownership of both houses, leasing them as rental income.  His tenants in No. 113 were looking for household help in February 1861:  

Wanted--A French girl to take care of a child and sew; must be a neat sewer and accustomed to the care of children; her pronounciation must be good; must also speak English.

In 1863 Hayden sold the house to Raffaele Molini.  The artist was a prominent muralist who adorned the ceilings and walls of Manhattan mansions and hotels with "Raphaelesque style" frescoes.  Among his most celebrated work was the dining room ceiling of the exclusive Fifth Avenue Hotel.  But he, too, used No. 113 for rental income while living nearby on Lexington Avenue.  

The affluence of his tenants was evidenced when the furnishings of the house were auctioned on April 29, 1872.  The furniture was made by three of America's foremost cabinetmakers: Pottier & Stymus, Alexander Roux, and Herter Brothers.  Also listed in the offering were a "rosewood French grand Piano by H. Worcester; heavy Lace Curtains, Oil Paintings, Statuary, &c., &c."

Molini sold No. 113 in 1878 to Thomas Reed.  The well-to-do merchant was a member of the Chamber of Commerce, a coveted distinction.  The Reeds had barely moved in when they had a celebrated house guest.

On July 7, 1878 The New York Times reported that actress Genevieve Ward had returned home after a five-year European tour.  The article said that while appearing at the Drury Lane theater in London "she made a sensation as Queen Katharine in 'Henry VIII.'"  (The newspaper informed its readers that the actress "is of medium size, with a smiling, bright, vivacious face, blue eyes and the whitest of teeth.")

A crowd of admirers were at the pier to meet the steamship.  "On her arrival she was immediately driven to the residence of her friend, Mrs. Thomas Reed, at No. 113 East Thirty-fifth-street, where she spent the night."

It seems that expansive width was not a factor in the Reeds' choice of homes.  The newly-build No. 11 East 73rd Street which the couple purchased in May 1882 was only four feet wider than the East 35th Street house.

No. 113 became home to Stephen Van Rensselaer Cruger and his wife, the former Julie Grinnell Storrow.  
Born on May 9, 1844, he had been sent to Europe at the age of 14 to be further educated.  When he heard of the fall of Fort Sumter he sailed home and entered the Union Army.  Cruger served valiantly.  He was seriously wounded at the Battle of Resaca and attained the rank of Colonel.  

His wife (a grandniece of Washington Irving), was a prolific author who used the professional pseudonym Julien Gordon.

A contemporary biographer noted "the handsome features and polished manners of the best-born man-of-the world."  from The University Magazine, January 1894 (copyright expired)

Although he was educated as an attorney, Cruger went into the real estate business.  He was, as well, a director in corporations like the Mutual Life Insurance Company, the New York Life and Trust, the Illinois Central Railroad and the Dubuque & Sioux City Railroad Company; and was controller of Trinity Church Corporation.  

The University Magazine said of him, "With a talented wife, a beautiful country-seat, 'Idlesse,' at Bayville, L. I., and a winter home in New York, he is unassuming...He belongs to the ten best social clubs of the city and suburbs."  The New York Times called him "one of the best known business and club men of this city."

Artist Fernand Paillet created this miniature on ivory of Julie Cruger in 1893.  from the collection of the New-York Historical Society

If the Reeds had not felt confined in the narrow house, it seems the Crugers did.  In July 1884 they hired architect W. A. Potter to enlarge the house by extending it 23 feet to the rear.  The alterations cost about $57,000 by today's standards.

The Crugers were considered among the topmost echelon of Manhattan society, included in Ward McAllister's list of "The Four Hundred."  The 35th Street house was the scene of refined dinner parties and receptions.

Cruger was suffering from what newspapers called a "liver complaint" and a "tendency to consumption" in the last years of the 1890's.  It was not serious enough to keep him from his office every day, however.   When Julie went to Paris for an extended period in the spring of 1898, he closed up the 35th Street house and took a room at the Metropolitan Club on Fifth Avenue.  (Exclusive men's social clubs kept comfortable sleeping rooms for members who often were in town only on and off during the summer months.)

On June 22 he traveled to the Idlesse in seemingly perfect health.  He died there the following day at the age of 54.  His funeral, "amidst so many remarks of respect," according to the Record & Guide, took place in Trinity Church and his body was placed in the family vault below the choir.

No. 113 next became home to sportsman James Wadsworth Ritchie and his wife, the former Emily Montague Tooker.  The pair had been well-known in high society separately before their 1895 marriage.  Ritchie was a part owner of a large cattle ranch in Texas (inherited from his stepfather).   But basically he and his wife lived on their significant inherited wealth, spending their summers in Newport and circulating among society in Manhattan.

What was most likely a family connection resulted in Pierre Lorillard Ronalds living in No. 113 by 1905.  He and his wife, the former Mary Frances "Fanny" Carter, had three children, Pierre, Jr., Reginald, and Fannette Florence.  Fannette married Thomas Ritchie.

Ronalds was immensely wealthy, and had been known in Manhattan, Newport and throughout Europe for his impressive four-in-hand coaches.  His country estate, Castle Ronalds, at Newtown, Connecticut was described by The New York Times as containing "a magnificent mansion, surrounded by a park of forty-five acres."  

His wife, however, had been out of the picture for decades.  On October 13, 1860 the couple had attended the social event of the season--a glittering ball at the Academy of Music in honor of the Prince of Wales.  Mary Frances caught the prince's eye and, according to Town Talk decades later, "Afterward she and her husband separated and she went to live abroad, and she has been a favorite in London fashionable and artistic society ever since...They are not divorced.  They simply live apart."

Ronalds was not alone, however.  In 1886 his good friend, Gustavus A. Blake, had died while visiting Ronalds at his country estate.   Ronalds took Blake's daughter, Elizabeth, into his home.  She never left.

On October 18, 1905 Ronalds arrived at No. 113 from Castle Ronalds, complaining of illness.  Physicians were summoned who decided a kidney operation was necessary.  Within 24 hours the 71-year-old was dead.  

Later The Evening World noted ""It appears that beside the servants in the Thirty-fifth street household Miss Blake and Mr. Ronalds were the only members."  Elizabeth told reporters that their relationship was "nineteen years of daughterly devotion."

That devotion was profitable.  Between November 1901 and December 1904 Ronalds had transferred the deeds of multiple properties amounting to about $1 million in value to Elizabeth (more in the neighborhood of $28.5 million today).  

Elizabeth N. Blake -- The Evening World, October 26, 1905 (copyright expired)

Fannie T. Ritchie and her brother, Reginald were unaware of the changes to their father's will until now.  Before the will could be probated the siblings sued.  Reginald claimed his father "was mentally incompetent to understand their meaning" and that "he was forced into the transaction by coercion of a psychic nature on the part of Mrs. [sic] Blake."  The Evening World wrote "Sensational as it may seem, Ronalds asserts that Miss Blake terrorized his father by representing this gift to her as the distinct command of his deceased relatives."

Elizabeth feigned shock.  When a reporter visited her at No. 113 East 35th Street on October 25, 1905, she exclaimed "The man who was supposed to have felt toward me as a brother has caused me the cruelest sorrow a woman can bear."  She explained "The property that Mr. Ronalds deeded me was his gift in recognition of my filial affection."  The World said "Here Miss Blake was so disturbed that she buried her face in the Oriental pillows and sobbed hysterically." 

The court case was settled with Elizabeth receiving a lump sum payment of $2,350 and a trust fund of $200,000.  Title to Pierre Lorillard Ronalds's extensive real estate holdings were transferred to Reginald Ronalds and Fannie Ritchie.

Mrs. Anna A. Roberts purchased No. 113 in January 1906.  Once again the house was enlarged to the rear after she commissioned architect William S. Miller to add a 10-foot extension in July that year.

Anna Roberts leased the house to a string of well-to-do residents including Dr. C. J. Colles in 1909; Stephen H. P. Pell and his wife in 1915, and the Walter Eyre Lamberts until 1918.

Trouble ensued after sisters Mary A. J. Hayes and Helen Augusta Hayes signed their lease in September 1921.  Mary was a manuscript editor who worked from home, and Helen was a vocal coach.  Decades before air conditioning, her pupils' scales and arias filled the quiet 35th Street block.  It did not sit well with next-door neighbor John H. Tonnele.

A lawyer, he filed suit to have the clamor squelched.  His affidavit, filed on February 18, 1922, recalled an 1847 restrictive covenant "forbidding the sale or use of any property for business purposes" in Murray Hill.  He claimed he had purchased his residence because of that restriction "in one of the most exclusive residential districts in the city," but "Miss Hayes is conducting her business on the premises adjoining his home in such a manner as to allow loud and continuing noises and disturbances."   Because of the operatic singing, he said, "the health of his wife is imperiled, while the health of himself and members of his household is threatened."

It may have been the uneasy relationship with her neighbors that prompted Helen to leave on a singing tour of Germany within a few months.

Another concert singer, Anne Drouillard, lived here in January 1937 when her private life was made shockingly public.  Four years earlier she had been indiscreet, checking into an Atlantic City hotel as the wife of a violinist, Peter Aria.  The couple spent the night.

Two weeks later she was the target of extortionists.  Not wanting her career tainted with the scandal, she paid.  It would have remained a secret had the same man, Max D. Krone, not been charged with blackmailing Alfred E. Smith Jr.  Anne courageously took the stand to testify on the politician's behalf.  On January 21, 1937 The New York Post ran the shocking headline "Woman Singer Bares Episode In Hotel Room / Pre-Marital Romance Is Brought To Light in Blackmail Trial."

In 1957 the house was converted to two apartments, a duplex in the basement and first floors and a triplex above.  The most celebrated tenants would be theatrical royalty, Jessica Tandy and Hume Cronyn.  In August 2018 a plaque commemorating their residency here was attached to the facade.

photographs by the author

The Manhattan Towers Hotel - 2162-2168 Broadway

The tower wraps around the former Jones Speedometer Building, built in 1907.  

The burgeoning population of Upper West Side desperately needed churches, police stations and fire houses by the mid-1890's.  In June 1896 a meeting was held in Leslie Hall, on 83rd Street and Broadway, which resulted in the formation of the Manhattan Congregational Church.  In November it was organized with 110 members.  The religious-themed magazine The Treasury noted in April 1902 "Three years later, or in January, 1900, the church purchased eighty feet of land on Broadway near the corner of 76th Street, 134 feet deep with an L extending through to 76th Street."  The congregation had chosen its site wisely.  The article continued, "This property has proved to be very valuable.  It is in the centre of a dense population and on the main artery."

The architectural firm of Soughton & Soughton was commissioned to design what would be an highly-unusual ecclesiastical structure.  Foregoing the expected Gothic Revival, the architects created what they termed a "Louis XIII Gothic" building.  There were few pointed arches, no bell tower, and instead of a steeple, the church sprouted an over-sized fleche.

The Manhattan Congregational Church in 1927.  from the collection of the New York Public Library

Broadway had become a bustling, commercial thoroughfare by the mid-1920's.  A new concept in church design and finances, first seen on the West Coast, was catching on in America's largest cities--the "skyscraper church."  Vintage church buildings were being demolished to be replaced by hotels or apartment buildings which retained space for the church.  The congregations therefore reaped rental income from the residential and commercial spaces.  Not everyone warmed to the idea.  In 1926, after several such skyscraper churches had appeared in Manhattan, The New York Times lamented "Must we visualize a New York in which no spire points heavenward?"

To deal with the heavily changed personality of its location, the Manhattan Congregational Church joined the trend.  In 1927 pastor Rev. Edward H. Emmett announced that the 1901 building would be razed and replaced by a hotel.  Architects Tillion & Tillion were put to work designing a 24-story structure.

Before the first brick was laid The Manhattan Congregational Church leased the hotel and commercial portions to the 2168 Broadway Corporation.  Strict covenants were written into the lease, including the incorporation of certain elements of the old building into the new.  To be removed and reinstalled were the "gates, cornerstone, leaded windows, wood-work, mantela, medallions, figures from the Church spire, chandeliers, signs, organ, pews, choir stalls, seats, cushions, carpets and other furniture."  In short, the old church was essentially being reproduced within the hotel building.  Another restriction was that the shops at street level could be rented only to businesses which closed on Sundays.

Demolition began in May 1928 and the 23-story Manhattan Towers Hotel was completed two years later.  Construction had cost $2.1 million--about $31.6 million today.  Timing could not have been worse since the Stock Market had crashed just months earlier.

Five lower floors were dedicated to church use.  The auditorium accommodated 800 worshipers and there were a gymnasium, Sunday School rooms, offices and meeting rooms.  The Manhattan Towers Hotel held 626 rooms plus two penthouse apartments.

Tillion & Tillion tied the sleeker upper stories to the neo-Gothic lower floors with details like openwork quatrefoils.

While Tillion & Tillion designed the brown brick upper stories of the hotel in an understated Art Deco style, the stone-clad base reflected the church inside with traditional Gothic Revival.

The second story would comfortably meld into Gothic Revival Grace Church complex on Broadway.

Despite the best intentions of the Manhattan Congregational Church the Manhattan Towers Hotel was from the beginning a nest of scandal, crime and tragedy, and a favorite haunt of gangsters.

On December 17, 1931, for instance, The New York Sun reported on the arrests of tenant Charles Smilowe on charges of swindling.  He offered customers expensive goods and delivered cheap initiations instead.  He was nabbed after he charged a wary John Fluckiger $1,200 for five oriental rugs.  Fluckiger arranged for a detective to accompany him to Broadway and 70th Street where a taxicab was to drop off the rugs.  The Sun reported "When it arrived it was found to contain a large package and a boy who said a man had given him $2 to deliver the package and receive an envelope."  The detective and Fluckiger climbed in the cab and the boy took them to Smilowe.

Two suicides were connected with the hotel that year.  The Depression had dealt a hard blow to Albert E. Oberfelder's chiffon business.  The 50-year old checked into the hotel in October and hanged himself from a closet door.  He left a note saying that he was driven to kill himself by "business losses."

Two months later Broadway dancer Jack Thompson committed suicide.  He had had a successful career on stage, but in 1930 tore a tendon.  It appeared now that he would never dance again.  He threw a party on November 3 in his room in the Manhattan Towers.  Late in the night he told his guests he was going to throw himself into the river.  His friend kidded him, saying the water was too cold this time of year, never presuming he was serious.  The body of the 32-year old was not identified until December 13.

The new hotel soared above its neighbors.  original source unknown

In the meantime the Manhattan Congregational Church had other problems.  The hotel floundered and could not meet its $20,000 per year rent.  In turn the church was unable to pay its annual $25,000 mortgage payment.  On October 5, 1931 the Bank of Manhattan Trust Company began foreclosure proceedings.

While the bank and the church negotiated, the hotel continued to be the scene of trouble.  Federal Prohibition agent, Sebastian J. LaScola rented a room here in the spring of 1932.  At around 2 a.m. on March 24 he was awakened to knocking at his door.  When he opened it he was rushed by two thugs.  The Brooklyn Daily Eagle reported that they "tied him down to his bed and helped themselves to what they could find."  And what they found was $65 in cash, two gold watches, his agent's badge, a blackjack, a .38-caliber revolver and .45-caliber automatic pistol.

Unfortunately for the crooks, they were too obvious in their exit from the building and into a waiting car.  Two cops, Matthew White and Harry Mullett "thought there was something suspicious in the swift departure and pursued them in a police car."  The thieves were arrested a block away.

The following spring another tenant, 32-year-old Simon Haines was arrested for swindling downtown businessmen.  He was picked out of a line-up, on April 11, but, according to The New York Sun, "refused to answer questions."

No petty swindler was notorious gangster Joseph "Spot" Leahy who lived here at the time.  He had been known to police since he was involved in the West Side Gopher Gang as a youth.  Since 1916 he had been arrested 21 times and was a suspect in a dozen murders.  Twice he had escaped from jail.

On October 1, 1933 he headed up the staircase to the second-floor speakeasy, the Tonawanda Social Club, nearby at No. 2744 Broadway.  He never came out.  He was caught off guard in the dark staircase and his throat slit.  When police searched the body, according to The New York Times, they found "a key to a $12-a-week room at the Manhattan Towers Hotel, 2,166 Broadway, where he was registered under the name of J. S. Boyer."

The patience of bank officials ran out that year.  Two days before Christmas the Brooklyn Daily Eagle reported "Failure to make good on its bonds has resulted in the Manhattan Congregational Church...foregoing its Christmas service.  The church was sold at auction to the Commonwealth Bond Corporation for $200,000 by the Bank of Manhattan Trust Company."  The new owners locked the church doors.   Before long they leased the sanctuary to the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day-Saints, commonly called the Mormons.

New ownership did not improve the reputation of the hotel, which continued to house criminals and be the scene of suicides.  

Like Albert E. Oberfelder, the Depression ruined 40-year-old Martin E. Reis.  In March 1934 he closed his office at No. 220 Fifth Avenue for good, and on the 5th of that month rented a room on the 18th floor of the Manhattan Towers.  On June 12 he opened his window and jumped.

An employee noticed an open hall window on the top floor on April 4, 1938.  Leaning out he saw the body of Reginald West on the roof of the 76th Street garage next door.  West did not live in the hotel, but came here only to end his life.

The pattern continued the following year.  Desk clerk William Radd answered the phone just before 10 a.m. on May 13, 1939.  A tenant, 60-year old retired dress salesman Cyril Hart, said "I'm sorry for what I'm going to do.  I'm going to jump out of the window.  I don't see any way out and I left some notes for my friends."  Before Hart could rush upstairs to stop him, Hart had plunged to his death.

The Commonwealth Bond Corporation was unable to keep up with taxes and in 1943 the building was taken by the city.  It was sold at auction on December 30 to Detroit-based hotelier Isadore Kowal.

With the United States now embroiled in World War II, the owner devised an inventive way to use the property.  On the same day of the sale, according to the Oswego Palladium-Times, "The Navy is seriously considering the leasing of the Manhattan Towers Hotel, 2166 Broadway, near Seventy-sixth street, for Waves on duty in the metropolitan area."

Just over four months later, on May 1, 1944 the same newspaper reported "The WAVES today took over the 24-story Manhattan Towers hotel...as a barracks receiving station."  The barracks would accommodate 950 female sailors.  The sleeping rooms (which had been "washed and painted in light blue, light yellow, peach and ivory") were shared by two women each, who slept in bunk beds.  The Waves were permitted to choose their roommates.  

The conversion did away with the church space, forcing the Church of Latter-Day Saints to find new accommodations.  The renovated hotel now included two lounges, an auditorium, a gymnasium and a library.   

Carvings above the openings on the side still announce "Service Entry for Manhattan Church & Towers" and "Church Janitor & Choir Entry"  

Military duty did not prevent the Waves from finding romance in the big city.  One of the love-struck women was 23-year-old Evelyn Zita Reppucci.  In January 1945 she met a handsome six-foot, two-inch tall Marine, Howard Geier.  His uniform was adorned with not only two stars, an American Defense Medal and an Asiatic-Pacific campaign ribbon, but a Purple Heart.

Evelyn listened to his stories of service from Guadalcanal to Saipan.  The New York Sun said they "had a whirlwind courtship, with the soft whispers of love interspersed here and there by tales of heroism."  Only a month later, on February 13, later Geier obtained a marriage license at City Hall.  He then waited for his fiancee in front of Wave headquarters at No. 90 Church Street.  But the wartime romance was about to come to an abrupt end.

The uniform and the impressive decorations on the youthful-looking Geier raised suspicions of Navy shore patrol officers.  They detained him while his background was checked.  It turned out that the would-be Marine was just 16-years old and lived in Brooklyn.  He had obtained the marriage license by saying he was 24 and used the name Howard Leblane.

The uniform was gone when Geier appeared in court a month later.  Nevertheless The New York Sun described him as "handsomer than many a movie star."  A humiliated Evelyn admitted she had fallen for his story, saying "he sure had a wonderful line," but she was "all washed up now."  Magistrate Ramsgate decried the prisoner as "a Broadway commando."  Nevertheless, because of his age, he was discharged.  His attorney said he was waiting for his 17th birthday so he could join the Marine Corps for real.

As that drama was playing out in court another romance had a happier ending.  Yeoman Third Class Luella Crosble was married to Navy Fireman First Class Ronald Rhude in the chapel of the U. S. Naval Barracks, on March 6.  The Post-Star of Glens Falls, New York, noted that it was "the first formal wedding performed there since the Navy took over Manhattan Towers as Waves' quarters."

Following the war the Manhattan Towers was once again a hotel.  It was the scene of chaos and panic on February 1, 1970 following an explosion of leaking gas in the basement.  The Bellevue Hospital Disaster Unit rushed to the scene where about 50 persons were injured.  The police sped 15 injured firefighters to hospitals in police cars.

By now the Manhattan Towers was being run as a single-room-occupancy hotel and was a hotbed of criminal activity.  On December 6, 1972 Deputy Mayor Edaward K. Hamilton announced the city's plans to start evening and late-night inspections of similar facilities.  He mentioned the Manhattan Towers, saying that security was "inadequate, since too many people had free access to the hotel and the attitude of the tenants toward management was negative."

A month earlier Sgt. Joseph A. Burns of the 20th Precinct told reporters that "15 per cent of all robberies in the precinct take place in the Manhattan Towers Hotel."  At the time the city housed 186 welfare recipients there.

Things did not improve.  On November 15, 1974 police reported that two Upper West Side hotels, the Manhattan Towers and the West Side Towers had accounted for 207 crimes in the first nine and a half months of the year.  "That figure includes only crimes occurring on the premises," explained The New York Times.  "Unreported crimes in the buildings and crimes committed by the hotels tenants in the neighborhood would swell the totals."

Almost unbelievably, given the sordid state of the hotel above, the basement level was converted to a children's theater in 1969.  In the Promenade Theater the Meri Mini Players staged plays like Pinocchio for juvenile audiences and their parents for years.

Meanwhile, the situation in the hotel only worsened.  In 1976 two men, 21-year old Hector Senidy lived in a room here (now known as the Opera Hotel).  In June he and an accomplice, Slavio Golletta, kidnapped and beat a young man, John Boeggeman, whom they held in Golletta's room in the Capitol Hotel on West 87th Street.

The thugs demanded $10,000 ransom from Boeggeman's father.  Undercover detectives were watching as he handed over an envelope of $100 bills.  Fifteen minutes later they followed Golletta and Senidy to Room 407 of the Capitol Hotel where they found Boeggeman bound to a chair and bleeding from the face.  Both men were charged with kidnapping and grand larceny by extortion.

Two years later gangster Harold "Whitey" Whitehead was found murdered in the basement of the hotel.  He had called a member of another gang a "rat."  When Whitehead walked into the basement room, that member's brother retaliated by shooting him dead.  His body was left on the basement floor to be discovered later.

One of the storefronts (ironically, which the Manhattan Metropolitan Church had insisted be closed on Sundays in 1930) was now home to the Plaka Bar.  On November 22, 1978 two men walked up to the bar and shot the bartender, Harold Whitehead, point blank in the head.  One of the slayers, Francis T. Featherstone, had earlier been accused of murdering Michael J. Spillane.  The New York Times said Spillane "has been described as a rival of Mr. Featherstone's for the leadership of the mob."

Salvatore Giannini lived in the hotel in 1980 when the 24-year-old was convicted of robbery.  He pleaded guilty and was sentenced to between three to nine years in state prison.  His would be the last of the unsavory goings-on in the Opera Hotel.  

On April 11 that year The New York Times reported that the 530-room Opera Hotel would be converted into 113 cooperative apartments.  The article noted that "it acquired notoriety as a crime center in the early 1970's."  Now, developer Lewis Futterman, who paid $1.8 million for the property, hired architect Bernard Rothzeid to transform it.  The apartments would range from one- to three-bedroom units.

The real estate brochure cover for the renovated building.  from the collection of the Columbia University Libraries.

The renovations were completed in 1983.  Although the real estate brochure got the building's history woefully wrong ("Originally built in 1929 by the Mormon Church as both a home and place of worship for many of its local adherents"), it was correct in saying "Now the Upper West Side is in the midst of a renaissance."  There was a commercial gym in the basement and the theater space now engulfed three floors.  The theater became home to Second Stage in 1982.

photographs by the author

The Lost Abby S. Thompson Mansion - 297 Madison Avenue

A high iron fence with an elaborate gate guarded the property.  The Architectural Record, January 1900 (copyright expired)

In 1866 banker Samuel C. Thompson and his wife, the former Abigale E. Sherman, moved into their new 23-foot wide brownstone-fronted residence at the southeast corner of Madison Avenue and 41st Street.  The first president of the Chase National Bank, Princeton Alumni Weekly would later call him "a man of unusual prominence."  


The couple's only child, Ferris Sherman Thompson, was 17-years-old when Samuel died in No. 297 on April 10, 1884.  The amount of Thompson's large estate was suggested in his bequest of $100,000 to his mother--more than $2.6 million today.

Abigale, who was better known as Abby, reentered the social whirl following her period of mourning.  On January 29, 1888, for instance, The World reported on the dinner she hosted in the Madison Avenue house.

Abby's Italianate brownstone was decidedly out of date by the early 1890's.  By now the millionaires of Fifth and Madison Avenues were moving further northward and erecting limestone or marble palaces near Central Park.  Abby followed suit only in part.  She opted not to relocate, but to demolished her old home and replace it with an up-to-date mansion.

Her choice of Brooklyn-based architect Montrose W. Morris was somewhat surprising.  Although well-established, he was best known for designing apartment buildings, most of them in Brooklyn.  His design for the Thompson mansion, however, would hold its own with the those of the best Manhattan architects.  His plans, filed in May 1894, estimated the cost of construction at $100,000--or about $3 million today.

There was one feature of the design which needed City approval.  The bay window on the 41st Street side technically projected "beyond the house-line."  On May 23, 1894 the Department of Parks resolved to allow the bay, as long as it did not project more than two feet, four inches from the facade.  Abby was charged $200 "for the privilege."

Her completed granite and marble Italian palazzo rose five floors.  The understated entrance within the rusticated ground level sat behind grand iron gates.   Abby's controversial bay window upheld one of four balustraded stone balconies at the third floor.  The openings on Madison Avenue at the second through fourth floors were arranged in framed groups of three, separated by engaged columns at the second and pilasters at the third and fourth.  A regal stone balustrade crowned the cornice.

The New York Herald later described the interiors of what it called "one of the most distinctive dwellings in Manhattan.  "Rare teakwoods, brought from India, went to embellish the living and drawing rooms.  The marble staircase with balustrades of solid bronze, it is said, cost $125,000.  Italy was scoured for its costly stained glass and massive fireplace marbles.  The lighting fixtures were in keeping with the other embellishments."

Abby Thompson would enjoy her new home for about a dozen years.   She was in Paris on November 20, 1907 when she died at the age of 66.  Her body was brought home and a special train from Grand Central Station took mourners to Woodlawn Cemetery on December 7.

Abby may have been visiting her son at the time of her death.  Ferris was living permanently in Paris at the time.  Nevertheless, he did not sell the Madison Avenue mansion, but leased it furnished in October of the following year to wealthy pharmacist and "perfumer" Richard Hudnut and his wife.

The Hudnuts would be forced to find new accommodations following Ferris Thompson's death in Paris on February 18, 1913.  The Madison Avenue house, valued at $5.4 million in today's money, was part of the bequest to his wife, Louise.  It was quickly purchased by Ferris's aunt, Mary Lee Clark Thompson. Her husband Frederick Ferris Thompson, who was Samuel C. Thompson's brother, had died in 1899.  (She was, incidentally, the daughter of former New York State Governor Myron Holley Clark.)  The purchase was an investment only.  That same year she leased the mansion to the Aero Club of America.

Among the club's first events was a dinner and reception for Orville Wright on December 17, 1913.  That evening he told reporters that he had "nearly perfected" an innovation "which, he says, will make flying as easy as driving an automobile," reported The Sun. 

After war broke out in Europe, the Aero Club of America was outspoken in its criticism of the military's lack of preparedness.  A meeting in the Madison Avenue headquarters on June 3, 1915 brought together representatives from "all the organizations interested in national defence."  Among the long list of attendees was Theodore Roosevelt, Jr., representing the American Legion; and S. Stanwood Menkin, president of the National Security League.  The Sun reported the following day "It was the consensus that one of the most essential needs to meet the grave condition of unpreparedness in this country is a council for national defence established by Congress."

With the country now involved in the conflict, the Aero Club of America hosted aviators "of the special Italian aeronautic mission" on September 3, 1917.  The commission was in the U.S. in part to negotiate the construction of Italian warplanes (called the Caproni) here.  The Sun reported that Italian Major R. Perfetti "expressed the hope that a group of patriotic Americans or the American Government might undertake to construct the machines here."

The Aero Club of America was frustrated that the American Government seemed to undervalue the importance of the airplane in battle.  On March 19, 1918 the club issued a statement that said in part "Lack of an adequate financial appropriation is crippling the United States aero service and rendering impossible the development of an aviation programme such as is required for the proper prosecution of the war."   To the defense of Congress, it had appropriated $640 million for aircraft work.  The Aero Club of America argued that three billion in 1918 dollars was necessary.

Following the war the Aero Club of America returned to more peaceful gatherings.  Captain Rene Fonck, leading French military aviator was feted here in February 1919, and three months later noted French aviator Lieutlenant E. C. Parsons visited the club.

Back in 1913, when the Aero Club of America first moved into the former Thompson mansion, it had won for the fourth time the international balloon trophy, first offered in 1906 by James Gordon Bennett.  When World War I broke out, of course, the competitions had ceased and the Bennett Air Trophy was still proudly displayed in the Madison Avenue clubhouse.  Now, in February 1920, Belgium sent a telegram challenging the Aero Club of America.  And it was not the only country with the trophy in its sights.  The New York Herald reported on February 29 "France, Great Britain, Italy and Switzerland are expected to compete this year, an elimination preliminaries will probably be held among America aero clubs for the right to defend."

The Aero Club of America was dealing with another threat at the time.  Its landlord, Mary C. Thompson, had been buying up the other properties along the Madison Avenue block.  Four days before the New York Herald's article about the balloon challenge, the New-York Tribune had reported that Mary Thompson "now owns all of the Madison Avenue frontage from Fortieth to Forty-first Street, with the exception of a four-story building at 295 Madison Avenue...It is reported that negotiations are in progress for a lease of the entire property for an important commercial improvement."

Rather amazingly, in 1922 most vintage brownstones on the Madison Avenue block survived.  Fox & Co. has hung a large sign on the 41st Street elevation.  from the collection of the New York Public Library

While Mary Thompson negotiated for No. 295 next door, she leased the mansion to Frederick Fox & Co., a realty firm, as its headquarters.  On January 23, 1921 The New York Herald reported that the organization "is utilizing two floors for its business.  The ground floor is being used by the bookkeeping, management and insurance departments.  The private offices of the members of the firm and brokerage staff are on the second floor."  The third floor, part of which was originally Abby Thompson's library, was to be rented.  "Negotiations are well advanced for the leasing of the two upper floors to one tenant," said the article.

Frederick Fox & Co.'s relocation announcement appeared in the New-York Tribune on January 2, 1921 (copyright expired)

Interestingly, Mary C. Thompson lived just a block to the south, at No. 283 Madison Avenue.  She died in her summer home, Sonnenberg, at Canandagua, New York on July 29, 1923.  If she had planned to fill the Madison Avenue blockfront where the Thompson mansion stood with a single commercial building, her death derailed the project.  No. 297 was acquired by the American Trust Company and New York Title and Mortgage Company in January 1924.  Before moving in the firms updated the structure, slicing off Abby Thompson's bay window and moving the entrance from the south to the north.  Large show windows were carved into the first floor stonework and the rooftop balustrade was removed.

The 1924 alterations simplified the design and did away with the impressive fencing.  from the collection of the New York Public Library

The renovations were completed by the fall of 1924 and on November 10 The New York Telegram announced the building's opening.  The two companies "will occupy the entire building," said the article.  "The American Trust Company occupies the first floor and mezzanine, and offices of the New York Title and Mortgage Company are on the next floor; conference and closing rooms for real estate titles occupy the other floors."

The Sun, January 6, 1925 

The two firms would not remain in the renovated structure for long.  Abraham E. Lefcourt did what Mary C. Thompson had been unable to do--he purchased No. 295 Madison Avenue and in 1927 demolished both buildings.  The 45-story replacement Leftcourt Colonial Building designed by Charles F Moyer Comopany and Bank & Djorup was competed in 1930.

photo by Wurts Bros. from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York

The G. Ebbinghousen & Co. Buildings - 191-199 Seventh Avenue

Appearing as one sprawling structure, the buildings started life as five houses, then were remodeled as two commercial buildings.

In 1870 the eastern blockfront of Seventh Avenue between 21st and 22nd Streets was lined with four-story rowhouses.  The immediate neighborhood had already begun changing as stores and businesses invaded the avenue.  And that change was about to make its mark on five of the houses, Nos. 191 through 199 Seventh Avenues.

Brothers William and George Youngs operated as G. & W. Youngs.  Acting as both builders and architects, they had been in business at least since 1846 when they were hired by the city to build a "Tower for a Fire-alarm Bell."  In February 1870 they filed plans to convert Nos. 197 and 199 Seventh Avenue to "one brick factory."  The plans to renovate the former houses included "one story to be added, and front and rear walls taken down and rebuilt, extension also in rear."

Exactly one year later, on February 14, 1871, an advertisement in the New York Herald offered: "To Let--The Five Story Building 197 and 199 Seventh avenue, suitable for manufacturing purposes."  With that project completed, the Youngs brothers set their sights on Nos. 191 to 195.  That work could not commence until the lease on the corner store was taken care of.  An agreement had been completed by the following summer and on August 27, 1872 the owner of the "first class butcher and fish shop" offered his "horse, wagon and all the fixtures appertaining thereto" for sale.

The resulting alterations to the three high-stooped residences resulted a five-story loft and store building that perfectly matched Nos. 197-199.  The two structures were unified by single cast metal cornice with the date 1870 painted within the centered pediment.

Both buildings were leased to furniture manufacturer and dealer G. Ebbinghousen & Co., operated by George Ebbinghousen, George A. Widmayer and John Bauman.  Their lease cost them the equivalent of $53,200 per year in today's money.  The firm used the northern section as its showroom and offices, and Nos. 191-195 for its factory.

Commercial Register, 1872 (copyright expired)

G. Ebbinghousen & Co. manufactured office furniture as well as residential.  In November 1875 the firm billed the Postmaster General "for furniture for the office of the stamp-agent at New York."  The total cost was $245, or about $5,870 today.

On May 4, 1878 the Real Estate Record reported that Henry Widmayer had bought out his partners.  He apparently thought it best to retain George Ebbinghousen's name which was synonymous with the business.  Renamed Ebbinghousen & Widmayer, the firm relocated to No. 609 Sixth Avenue in 1879.

The buildings now filled with several tenants.  W. Nelson, Jr. moved his furniture showroom into Nos. 197-199; and hat maker R. Dunlap took space in Nos 191-195.  Many of the materials used in making millinery--like straw and glue--were highly flammable, and not long after moving in the new Dunlap factory caught fire.  On April 21, 1880 the New York Herald reported "The hat manufactory of R. Dunlap, No. 191 to 195 Seventh avenue, took fire last night, and $50,000 worth of stock was destroyed...Hugh Golden, one of the firemen fell from a second story window, but, although picked up in an unconscious condition, his injuries are not considered serious."

The street level of Nos. 191-195 housed three separate storefronts.  In 1881 No. 195 became the saloon of G. Dahl.  While the saloon remained here for years, it would see a rapid turnover of proprietors.  By 1883 it was run by Robert W. Murphy, whose attempt at helping an intoxicated patron was met with violence that year.

On August 9, 1883 a painter, Henry Collins, wandered into the saloon.  The Evening Post claimed that he "had been drunk for three weeks."  Collins had already been drinking when he arrived and, after a few more drinks, was severely drunk.  Murphy took him to the basement "to sleep off his drunk," as he later explained.  He settled Collins on the floor and was heading up the stairs when the inebriated customer pulled out a pistol and fired.  The bullet hit Murphy in the jaw.

Bleeding, Murphy rushed upstairs and another patron ran into the street where he found police officer Morgan Thomas.  The Evening Post reported "Securing a light, Officer Thomas went down in the basement, when the drunken man fired at him, wounding him severely in the left leg, below the knee."  Despite the wound, Thomas overpowered Collins and held him until other officers arrived from the 20th Street station house.

Whether the incident had anything to do with Murphy's selling the saloon is uncertain; but a year later it was run by John Kurstenier.  Burglars found the liquor stored in the basement a tempting target on the night of April 7, 1884; but they were foiled by a beat cop.  Policeman McDermott noticed a man loitering around the entrance to the saloon.  The man, Eugene O'Hara, spotted the officer and ran.  "A moment later Thomas Henderson, whose real name is said to be McGibney...emerged from the cellar," reported The Evening Telegram.   He was arrested for burglary.  "An attempt had been made to steal $75 worth of property from the saloon."

But the determined McDermott was not finished.  After locking up Henderson he demanded the address of his accomplice.  (Police tactics in the 19th century could be quite persuasive.)  But when he arrived at Eugene O'Hara's apartment on West 17th Street he was attacked.  The Evening World explained "He says that Eugene's brother James tried to stab him with a fork, and he therefore arrested James as well as Eugene."

The saloon changed hands at least once more.  In 1888 it was run by Adam Neumiller.

In the meantime, R. Dunlap & Co. continued making hats upstairs.  The mostly-female staff celebrated the inauguration of President Benjamin Harrison in the factory on March 4, 1889.  The following day The Press reported on the observances.  "The female employes of R. Dunlap & Co.'s straw hat sewing department celebrated inauguration day at a meeting held at 191 Seventh avenue yesterday.  The hall occupied by the ladies was tastefully decorated.  Superintendent Elmore M. Clark delivered an oration on 'Our Country,' after which national airs were sung by the company."  At the end of the meeting "three cheers for President Harrison were given with a hearty good will."

The saloon at No. 195 was replaced by Adolph Behnke's grocery store in 1893.  And space on the upper floors was taken around the same time by paper box manufacturer Andrew W. Schlichte.

That entrepreneur was called for jury duty in the high-profile case against Police Inspector William W. McLaughlin in May 1895.  McLaughlin was charged with extortion by a State investigative committee.   He had forced shopkeepers and other businessmen to pay bribes to avoid being given fines for violations like blocking the sidewalk. 

When interviewed by the attorneys, Schlichte was frank in his opinions of law enforcement.  The Evening Telegram reported that he "said he had a prejudice against the Police Department as a whole, but he thought he could make a fair and impartial juror in this case."

Later that year Nos. 191-195 once again became a furniture factory and showroom, home to J. E. Pearce & Co.   By 1898 the grocery store in No. 195 was run by Frederick Tonyes and at the turn of the century the store in No, 199 held Otto F. Klemmpt's barber shop.

American Cabinet Marker & Upholsterer, January 23, 1904 (copyright expired)

J. E. Pearce & Co. made better household furniture.  On December 12, 1903 the American Cabinet Marker & Upholsterer announced "J. E. Pearce & Co are preparing to make their midwinter exhibit at their own showrooms, 191 Seventh avenue, and will have the goods in line about the middle of January.  Everything goes well, the season has been a good one and Mr. Pearce looks cheerful when asked concerning the future."

Among the furniture firm's employees was Civil War veteran Major Frank E. Lowe.  He was a boy when he enlisted in the Union Army and served throughout the war.  When he fought at the Battle of Gettysburg he was just 16-years-old.  He was twice wounded, once nearly fatally.  One bullet entered his thigh; but another struck him in the stomach, passed through the liver and exited his back near his spine.  He later posed for the statue atop a monument in Gettysburg.

Lowe refused to accept a military pension, opting instead to work as a salesman for J. E. Pearce & Co.  Ironically, given his miraculous survival on the battlefield, Lowe's end came at the hands of a hit-and-run driver.   He was struck in Brooklyn on May 9, 1903 and lingered for seven months before succumbing.  On December 16, 1903 The Brooklyn Daily Eagle reported on the incident with virulent prose.

The cold-blooded carelessness of the man in the vehicle, whose identity was never discovered, was a singular feature of the case  After the major was struck down the automobile did not stop or slow up an instant, but continued on its course, while the laughter of its occupants, who considered the affair a great joke, rang in the ears of the victim, who lay upon the pavement with three ribs broke.

J. E. Pearce & Co. remained in the building for decades.  Then, on January 13, 1932, The Evening Post reported that "Pearce Upholster Shops, which have occupied the building at 191 Seventh Avenue for thirty-seven years" had leaded space on West 30th Street.

The building as it appeared in 1931, just before Pearce moved out.  In the foreground work is commencing on a modern apartment building.  from the collection of the New York Public Library

Nos. 197-199 was the first of the two buildings to be converted to apartments.  A 1938 renovation resulted in four apartments per floor above the ground floor stores.  The southern building continued to house businesses and was home to the Presto Paper Company, Inc. in the early 1970's.  The tradition of furniture continued at ground level with Allen Office Furniture's second-hand shop here in the 1980's.

Among the tenants in No. 197 in the 1970's was Edward Rodriguez whose job was conveniently close by.  He was the manager of the Borinquener Cafe directly across the street at No. 200 Seventh Avenue.  On November 21, 1976 he confronted a disorderly patron.  As he attempted to eject the man Rodriguez was fatally stabbed in the doorway of the bar.

Nos. 191-195 continued to house small businesses and offices.  The Fil & Video Production Co. was here in the mid-1980's, and a decade later the Young Socialist Alliance had its headquarters in the building.  Finally a renovation in 2000 resulted in apartments in the upper floors.

The first years of the new century saw sprawling restaurants in the ground floors (although the longtime locksmith shop at No. 197 stubbornly hangs on as a reminder of less trendy times).  In June 2005 Il Bastardo, described by The New York Times as "a Manhattan steakhouse," opened, joined by Bar Baresco in April 2008.  The southern space is home to Arte Cafe today.

Above the shop level, the Youngs brothers' 1870's transformation of five brownstone-faced houses into a handsome factory building is little changed.  And over the second and third story windows of Nos 191-195 the ghosts of Pearce's signage are almost legible, a faint reminder of the time nearly a century and a half ago when parlor furniture was made here.

photographs by the author