photo by Alice Lum |
By the middle of the 19th century brick homes
lined Bank Street near the riverfront.
Like its neighbors, the vernacular architecture of No. 105 reflected the
middle-class status of its owners. Trimmed
in brownstone, it quietly stood three stories tall over an English basement and
called no attention to itself.
As the century drew to a close, paper box manufacturer Louis
Nolte lived here. If the former residents
of No. 105 Bank Street had lived in quiet anonymity for half a century, things
were about to change.
In 1891 Nolte’s brother, Frederick, died. As a member of the Ancient Order of United Workmen, Frederick was entitled to a $2000 life insurance policy. It was a considerable sum, worth over $40,000 today. Shortly after his death, however, Louis and his other brother, Frank, broke the news to the widow that Frederick had dropped his membership. The insurance money she had counted on to support herself and her child would not be forthcoming.
That being taken care of, Louis and Frank then amended the
policy making themselves beneficiaries, and set off to the A.O.U.W.—of which
Frederick was most definitely still a member at the time of his death. The change in beneficiaries, the pair
asserted, had been executed by Frederick in Louis’s office.
The brothers neglected to take into consideration that the date
of the assignment was at a time when Frederick was seriously ill at home, unable to
leave his bed, and was clumsily done in three different inks.
It took her three years, but Catherine V. Nolte uncovered
the plot and on June 7, 1894 a grand jury “rendered a verdict for plaintiff…without
leaving their seats.” The widowed Mrs. Nolte had recovered her
insurance money; now Louis Nolte had to face justice.
On September 27 Nolte was arrested by Detective Sergeant
Reilly, charged with forgery and perjury.
The two separate trials—one for each offense—dragged on into 1897 and
Louis Nolte’s name became synonymous with cold-hearted greed and deceit in the
press. Justice Patterson of the Supreme
Court said “I think this is one of the most flagrant pieces of forgery ever
perpetrated.”
The house was sold in 1903 at an executor’s sale, and again
one year later. Although much of
Greenwich Village was home to Manhattan’s Bohemian arts community in the
early 20th century; the neighborhood around Bank and Washington
Streets near the river remained decidedly industrial. In
1920 the house was renovated to accommodate an office and workshop in the
basement, with one apartment on each of the upper floors. The brownstone stoop was removed, erasing the
last remnant of the single-family home.
But by the middle of the century the arts had reached Bank
Street and in 1955 No. 105 was converted again.
Now an “office and art studio” occupied the basement and the upper
floors were divided into two apartments each.
With a revival of American folk music sweeping America in
the early 1960s, a new group called the Lovin’ Spoonful made Greenwich Village its
base in 1964. Among the four members of
the group was drummer-vocalist Joe Butler.
The Spoonful signed with Kama Sutra Records in 1965 and immediately
began producing original hit songs like “Do You Believe in Magic,” and “Did You
Ever Have to Make Up Your Mind?”
Painted white and with its cornice replaced by a brick parapet, the house is barely recognizable. Lennon and Ono lived on the top floor. -- photo by Alice Lum |
The singers moved in on October 16 that year. They had been staying at the St. Regis Hotel
on 5th Avenue as John’s second solo album, Imagine, was released. Lennon had fallen in love with New York,
introduced to its streets and neighborhoods by Ono; but the visibility of the hotel's 5th
Avenue and 55th Street location made exploring and simply living like New
Yorkers impossible.
The Bank Street apartment with its spiral iron staircase to
the roof “garden” provided the anonymity the couple desired. In the Village the celebrated couple was able to
walk the streets and enjoy their privacy relatively unbothered.
But life at No. 105
Bank Street was not all perfect.
While here John’s drug use deepened and he would spend days in the
mostly-darkened rooms.
At the same time, the Immigration
and Naturalization Service had ordered his deportation based on alleged
Communist ties. FBI head J. Edgar Hoover
ordered the New York office to “promptly initiate discreet efforts to locate
subject.” The FBI, however, somehow
listed his address as the St. Regis Hotel at 150 Bank Street. Confused agents scoured the small Village
street for an upscale hotel.
Lennon and Ono watch tv in one of their two rooms. The iron, winding staircase to the roof can be see at left. photo http://tittenhurstlennon.blogspot.com/ |
While John and Yoko were at home one night in 1972, a former
tenant burst through the door with accomplices and began robbing the apartment
of artwork, the color television, Lennon’s wallet and his address book. While Lennon grieved for his television set,
he most wanted his irreplaceable address book back. He let it be known that if it were not
returned, the Black Panthers would be put on the case.
The address book was returned.
The robbery unnerved the couple and in February 1973
John Lennon and Yoko Ono moved to more secure accommodations--their apartment
in The Dakota. The upscale apartment in the venerable building on Central Park West was a stark contrast to their two-bedroom walk-up in the Village. Here, in 1980, Lennon was
murdered by Mark David Chapman.
With John Lennon and Yoko Ono gone, No. 105 Bank Street
returned to its former obscurity. The
much-altered house has blended back into the streetscape; a relatively
forgotten and unlikely page of musical history.
many thanks to reader Don Cole for requesting this post.
many thanks to reader Don Cole for requesting this post.
a former tenant broke in? WRF so who was that?
ReplyDeleteThat building was robbed all the time. My uncle, Joseph Wigglesworth lived there for years, including when he got his famous neighbors. He was on the top floor, so I know that John and Yoko didn't actually live on the top floor. They were in an annex in the back. My uncle had to have speakers build inside his apt. big enough so they couldn't be stolen out a window or doorway. They even broke in through a skylight once. He said John and Yoko were fine neighbors.
DeleteInteresting anecdote... Thanks!
ReplyDeleteJust a small correction. The old photo with the elevated tracks in the foreground was not a freight line, it was the 9th avenue El which ceased operation in 1940 and was torn down sometime after that. The freight line which became the High Lines was located a block west on Washington Street. I grew up there and played on the old freight line tracks when I was a kid.
ReplyDeleteThanks for the clarification.
DeleteThe building is shown as 107 Bank St as of November 10,2022.
ReplyDeleteWhoever is showing it at 107 Bank is mistaken. 107 Bank Street is the beautifully restored Greek Revival house next door.
Delete