In 1788, decades before the building boom of the 1820s would extend the boundaries of Greenwich Village into the farms and estates that surrounded it, the Bayard family hired Theodore Goerck to map out streets and building plots on their land. The western boundary between their estate and Richmond Hill (the house on which would become the vice-presidential mansion the following year) was called MacDougal Street. It was named for patriot Alexander MacDougal (who at some point dropped the second L from his family's surname, MacDougall). Fervently anti-British, he was a founder of the Sons of Liberty along with activists like Samuel Adams, Benedict Arnold, Patrick Henry and Paul Revere. During the war, he rose to the rank of major general and succeeded Benedict Arnold in commanding West Point.
In the 1840s, a row of neat Greek Revival homes was erected in the center of the MacDougal Street block between Houston and King Streets. Around 1846, a substantial store-and-house was completed on the northwest corner of Macdougal and King Streets. It was likely constructed by the same builder as the houses, given their matching, scrolled bracketed cornices--a nod to the rising Italianate style.
The building, faced in red brick and trimmed in brownstone, rose three stories to a squat attic level, typical of the Greek Revival style. The residential entrance was placed around the corner.
The family of William S. Bancroft lived in the upper floors while he ran his grocery from the store. It seems the Bancroft business was as much liquor store as grocery. In 1851, he listed his profession as "grocer, wines, ale, cider, porter, &c." Living with the Bancrofts that year was Spencer Heacock, who worked in the store.
In 1853, Bancroft opened a second store at the northwest corner of Houston and MacDougal Streets. He moved his family to the new location, while Spencer Heacock took over the operation of the grocery at 43 MacDougal. Now sharing the upper portion of the house with him were two widows, Mary Brower and Ann Pray, and a boarder named Michael Riley who did not list a profession.
William S. Bancroft owned the store here through 1857, after which time it became the Tunis & Hopper grocery. It was run by Joseph L. Tunis and James V. Hopper, neither of whom lived upstairs. Instead, the families of Henry Williams and Peter Vandyke, Jr. shared the upper portion.
A block to the north was crooked little Minetta Street. Known as Little Africa, it had been the center of Manhattan's black community since slavery was abolished in New York in 1827. Both Williams and Vandyke were listed in directories as "(colored) waiter."
Tunis & Hopper remained in the space until 1866, when it was advertised for lease. It became home to the H. Bock & Co. grocery store. Henry Bock and his wife moved into the upper floors. They took in a boarder, Henry Behning, in 1868. He ran two piano stores, one on Bleecker Street and one on West Houston.
In September 1868, the Bocks had a baby boy, Edward William. Sadly, he died the following year on December 16. His funeral was held in the Bock residence two days later.
The Bocks moved to New Jersey by 1872, and put 24-year-old August Finke in charge of the H. Bock & Co. store. He and his wife, Doretta, lived upstairs with at least one other tenant at a time.
Things went well for the young couple. By 1876, August took over proprietorship of the grocery. Boarding with them that year was Finke's clerk, John M. Gaffnkin. In 1874, daughter Matilda Finke was born and another, Lena Augusta, came two years later.
Lena was 14 years old when she died on January 7, 1890. As had been the case with Edward William Bock's, her funeral was held in the second floor parlor.
The grocery was briefly run by Charles Bockelmann in 1895 and '96, then by John Tewers the following year. By then the upper floors were operated as a boarding house. Living here that year were firefighter Thomas Lally; Antoinette Kermann, who was the widow of Nicholas Kermann; and William J. Hooper, a "packer."
Interesting, given that the neighborhood was filling with mostly Italian immigrants at the time, an advertisement for a clerk in the grocery store appeared in the New York Journal and Advertiser on January 30, 1899 that specified that the applicant speak English and French.
Among the Italian residents of 43 MacDougal Street that year was R. Boccasavia. The out-of-work chef was looking for work, and placed two back-to-back advertisements in the New-York Tribune. Calling himself a "first class cook (15 years chef)," one of his ads sought work as a caterer in a "furnished house, club, or respectable family." The second ad looked for a position as chef "in hotel, restaurant, club or private family," noting that he was versed in "American, French and Italian style."
By October 1910, the commercial space at 43 MacDougal was listed as a restaurant. (It was temporarily used as a voter registration space that November). It was most likely more of a neighborhood social club for the local Italians. The Clearfield, Pennsylvania newspaper Progress went so far to call it a "pool room."
The Italian community was plagued by a terroristic group called La Mano Nera, or the Black Hand, at the time. The Italian-American group used violence, including assassinations and bombings, to extort money from well-to-do Italians.
On September 25, 1913, The Evening World reported, "Last night a bomb went off--bang!--in the territory of the Fifth street station." Minutes before the explosion, 19-year-old Max Goldstein was approaching a barbershop on Second Avenue. Two men stood on the stoop of the building. As Max neared, one of them handed the other a package. They flipped a coin, which bounced down the steps to the sidewalk. The article said, "At the foot of the stairs, the small man lighted a match, as Max presumed, to look for the lost coin."
A few seconds after Max passed, the bomb went off. The newspaper said, "the crowds on the corner were in a flutter. Not so Max. He set out instantly to trail the coin tossing pair."
Max tailed the two for eight or ten blocks, "lurking close behind, darting into doorways, keeping out of sight, never losing the scent," said The Evening World. Finally, they ducked into the restaurant at 43 MacDougal Street. Max sauntered in, saw that they had placed an order--meaning that they would be there for a while--then ran to the Fifth Street police station. An enormous response followed.
The amateur sleuth was hailed as a hero. The Evening World, September 25, 1913 (copyright expired)
The article described the scene. "The restaurant was surrounded. Eighteen customers were lined up against the wall and Max was told to enter and pick out the men he had trailed." Despite one of the bombers having removed his fake moustache and goatee (The Evening World said his lip and chin were "'gummy,' as though false whiskers had recently been glued there"), Max identified Giuseppe Donnaruna and Louis Lameri.
The story was picked up by newspapers across the country and Max Goldstein became an instantaneous hero. On October 14, the Nebraska newspaper The Beatrice Daily Express began an article saying, "The East Side, always producing some 'eighth wonder,' now has a real boy detective. Max Goldstein is his name, and he actually ran down and caused the arrest of two bomb throwers."
Much less admirable was Jerry Perella, who lived here in 1922. On March 10 that year, police raided the house at 18 Charlton Street, "on suspicion of bootlegging activities," according to the New York Herald. It resulted in a shoot-out with one detective shot and at least one wounded "booze runner" escaping. One man and two women were arrested and 1,000 bottles of whisky transported from Canada were confiscated.
Later that night, Detective Lavendar went to St. Vincent's Hospital to interview 18-year-old Jerry Perella, who checked himself in with a bullet wound to the chest. He said he had accidentally shot himself while deciding whether to buy the firearm. The New-York Tribune said simply, "He was arrested."
In 1926, John J. Garibaldi, Americo B. Friscia and John F. Matteo opened the Baccus Bottle Company here. That year Garibaldi received a patent for his "bottle-capping machine." As it turned out, it was what was inside the bottles that was making the trio its money. On March 4, 1931, The Sun reported that they had pleaded nolo contendere "to indictments charging conspiracy to violate the national prohibition act."
By 1977, John "Happy" Ferri operated the Citizens for a Better Village in the commercial space. An Italian-American social club, it worked within the community. On April 14, 1977, The Villager reported that it "runs a summer lunch program," and the following year in March the newspaper reported on its Arts and Crafts Workshop for children 6 to 12. In 1978, Borough President Andrew Stein's office shared the ground floor space with the Citizens for a Better Village.
At around 6:10 on the night of January 31, 1986, "law enforcement officials, some with NYPD badges and others with jackets bearing FBI emblems," according to John Ferri, barged into the club without a search warrant and began wrecking the place. He told The Villager, "the group took a sledge hammer to flower pots and glassware, broke the toilet in the bathroom and overturned tables and chairs." After ten minutes of vandalism, the group left.
photo by Alan Raia, Newsday, February 1, 1986
The raid was one of 31 made on Italian-American social clubs that night that drew the ire of state and city groups and officials. Commissioner Douglas H. White of the New York State Division of Human Rights said, "What happened here proves that you don't have to be black or brown to be victimized by discrimination of violence or vandalism."
Shortly after the raid, the Citizens for a Better Village moved out, the storefront was boarded up, and the upper floors vacated. The building sat empty and neglected for two decades, eventually becoming graffiti-covered and described by neighbors as "a blight, a menace," according to Caroline H. Dworin, writing in The New York Times on October 27, 2008. According to her article, the building, owned by brothers Abraham and Arthur Blasof, was infested by rats, and the hatch on the roof had been left open for months, allowing rain to flood the interior. The Fire Department spray-painted yellow X's on the facade, indicating to firefighters that it was potentially dangerous to enter.
Eight years later a remarkable renovation was completed. The façade was restored, the commercial space remodeled, and the upper floors converted to one apartment each. In 2019, the restaurant Niche Niche opened, which remains.
photographs by the author
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