In the middle of the 19th century, thousands of immigrants poured into the Lower East Side and Kips Bay districts. Tenement buildings replaced private homes to house the burgeoning population. In 1888, Philip Koplowsky began construction of three 26-foot-wide tenement buildings. He seems to have worn three hats--that of developer, builder and architect--for the project. Completed in 1889, their exuberant design was a blend of Queen Anne and Renaissance Revival styles. Each was five stories tall above a deep basement.
The center building, at 212 East 25th Street, was called The Centennial, in honor of the 100-year anniversary of the establishment of the country. Its first floor, clad in brownstone, drew inspiration from the Italian Renaissance with fluted columns upholding smaller pylons that upheld an ambitious, bracketed cornice. Renaissance-style carvings and grotesque keystones carried on the Renaissance motif. The upper floors were a happy marriage of Queen Anne and Renaissance Revival with classical brownstone pediments above windows at the third floor that mingled with a terra cotta band of angels.
Each structure wore a bold, pressed metal cornice that set them apart from contemporary tenement buildings. At 212 East 25th Street, the name "Centennial" was cast between the central brackets. The substantial cornice was crowned with a decorative parapet that sprouted a square tower.
There were four apartments per floor. (The two families in the rear had the unfortunate view--and odor--of a large livery stable on East 24th Street. It was reflected in their cheaper rents.) Phillip Koplowsky later explained the complicated rent schedule he devised upon opening the Centennial:
The basement was $13. The first floor front was $19 and $15. The second floor front was $21 and the rear $15. The second floor front was $21 and the rear $15, the same as on the first floor. The next floor up was $20 in front and $14 in the rear. The fourth floor was $18 in front and the rear was $14. The top floor was $17 in the front and the rear was $14.
The cheapest and most expensive rents would translate to $444 and $683 per month in 2025.
By 1893, Koplowsky sold the building to Edward Ohl, whose extended family already lived here. Louis Ohl took care of managing the building and John Ohl worked in his father's butcher business on Broome Street. Another son, David, also lived here.
While most of the tenants were respectable, like Elizabeth Kohlisch, an initial resident who taught in the boys' department of Grammar School No. 19 on East 14th Street; certain others were not. On October 26, 1893, The Evening World reported that Annie Spencer had been arrested for running "a disorderly house," or brothel.
Annie's arrest brought consequences to her landlord. On October 28, the New York Press reported that Edward Ohl had been arrested as part of Captain Gallagher of the East 22nd Street Station's "war on the owners of questionable houses." It is unclear whether Ohl was aware of Annie Spencer's operation, but he was, nevertheless, jailed for at least two days.
The Ohls were politically connected with Republican figures. During his campaign for reelection in 1894, Alderman Christian Goetz was arrested on a shocking accusation by a former maid. On November 5, The Evening World reported that Louisa Zeirer not only sued him for breach of promise, but "of being the father of her unborn child." The article mentioned that David Ohl had furnished Goetz's $300 bail.
Henry J. Coffee and Herbert Jackson both lived in the Centennial at the time. On the night of May 17, 1894, police arrested Jackson at his apartment and, simultaneously, Coffee was arrested at the bedside of a dying friend, Henry Holt. The men were suspected of causing Holt's fractured skull.
Six days earlier, on Saturday night May 11, Holt and Jackson were together when (according to Jackson) a man made an insulting remark at 27th Street and Third Avenue. When Holt replied, the man "assaulted him." Henry Coffee, who knew Jackson, helped take the injured man to Bellevue Hospital. Doctors there told the two that "Holt was more intoxicated than injured," according to The Evening World, and advised them to take him home. Not satisfied, once they got Holt to his apartment, they called another doctor who discovered the skull fracture.
When the doctor reported Holt's condition, Jackson and Coffee were hauled in as suspects. Both of their stories matched, and, as reported by The Evening World, after they "said they would assist the detective to capture the assailant," they were released.
In September 1897, Clemens Hubbard and his bride moved into the Centennial. Clemens worked as a waiter in the upscale Hotel Savoy.
Clemens Hubbard and his new bride. The World, February 16, 1898 (copyright expired).
On the evening of February 15, 1898, the newlyweds attended a ball held by the Hotel Savoy for its employees at Maennerchor Hall. The World reported, "Through all the night, Mrs. Hubbard danced gayly. Hubbard, however, kept with friends in the cafe below." At around 4:00, Hubbard went to the second floor, saying "he wanted a smoke before he went home." He lighted a cigar and sat on the railing above the dancefloor while his wife went to gather her things preparing to leave.
The New York Times reported that Hubbard, "lost his balance and plunged headlong to the floor below, striking in a group of dancers." The World said, "The dancers ran shrieking into the hallway...His friends clustered around him, helpless to aid him."
The World rather callously depicted the accident. February 16, 1898 (copyright expired)
Hearing the commotion below, Mrs. Hubbard rushed downstairs to find her husband dead. The New York Times said, "His wife, to whom he had been married only six months, became hysterical upon learning that the accident had proved fatal, and was taken to her home prostrated." Adding the obvious, The World said, "The ball ended with the accident."
In 1899, following Edward Ohl's death, David Ohl took possession of the Centennial. Among his tenants at the time was German-born Mrs. G. Wolfram. (That was, it turned out, merely the name by which she was known by her neighbors in the building.) In fact, the 23-year-old was Gertie Beier, described by The New York Times as "very large and blonde." Gertie had been seeing a 25-year-old barber, Charles Meisgrave, for nearly five years. They made an unlikely couple--The New York Times saying that Gertie "weighs nearly 180 pounds," while Meisgrave was "almost a dwarf, weighing 90 pounds."
On the evening of November 26, 1900, Charles promised Gertie to take her to dinner and the theater the night before he was to sail to Europe. But, instead, stood her up. He appeared at her apartment the next morning, "and I told him what I thought of him for not keeping the date," she told a reporter. "Then he got mad, and we had a hot quarrel, during which he demanded that I sail for Europe with him."
The New York World reported, "Miss Beier frigidly assured him that he would not only be forgiven but forgotten. Meisgrave got on his knees at this juncture, and after eloquently enumerating the dinners, flowers and bon-bons of his wooing, begged her at least accompany him to the steamer." When Gertie laughed at him, his begging for forgiveness turned to rage. He pulled out a revolver and fired. "The shot glanced from the woman's head, tearing away a portion of the scalp and spattering her face with blood," said The World.
Meisgrave shot again, grazing the top of Gertie's head, and then a third time, once again only brushing her scalp. When she recovered from the shock of being attacked, Gertie reacted, and Meisgrave was no match. She wrested the gun from him and he fled down the stairs. Gertie, bleeding from her three wounds, was right behind, emerging on the sidewalk in her nightgown. She was taken to the hospital where her wounds were deemed, "not dangerous."
Officials presumed that Meisgrave had escaped on the steamer on which he had already booked passage and would never be apprehended. More than two years later, however, on January 3, 1903, Detective Corr received a tip that Meisgrave was in a 14th Street saloon. He was arrested and appeared in Yorkville Court the following day. Gertie, by now, was married and once again went by another name, Annie Schmidt. Meisgrave's lawyer questioned her and "tried to impeach her credibility by asking her if she had not been a street-walker," reported The New York Sun. The "heated argument" that followed was so chaotic that the magistrate's gavel broke, the head of it flying across the room and striking Meisgrave's lawyer in the right eye. Meisgrave was held in $1,000 bail.
The Centennial was sold in the liquidation of Daniel's Ohl's estate on June 4, 1911. Living here at the time was Prince Albene, a vaudeville magician, described by The Linking Ring in March 1928 as, "a typical dime-museum 'spirit-cabinet' worker." He and his assistant, Mae LaBrant, appeared as Albene and LaBrant. His popularity was such that trade journals reported on his illness in 1912. On October 25, The Player reported, "Prince Albene, of Albene & LaBrant, is able to be about again after having been confined to his apartment at No. 212 East Twenty-fifth street, New York, for the past five weeks of illness."
Emily Fester experienced a terrifying incident on December 18, 1915. She left the Centennial to go shopping with Elsie Schultz that day. Elsie was a newlywed, 24 years old and lived at 196 Third Avenue. She had known William Schmeiden back home in Germany, and six weeks before Emily's and Elsie's shopping trip, he had appeared in New York. The New-York Tribune reported, "He asked Mrs. Schultz to elope with him and she refused."
In 1941, all three rooftop towers were intact. via the NYC Dept of Records & Information Services.
After shopping, the two women went to Elsie's apartment. They entered the building and Schmeiden appeared in the hallway. The New-York Tribune reported that Elsie, "fell to the floor at the first shot from his revolver. The next three bullets went wild...Two more shots directed at his own head ended his life."
Julius Bussinger, who worked as a steward at the Biltmore Hotel, died in mysterious circumstances on November 9, 1921. His body was found in the areaway of 301 East 44th Street and it was several hours before officials could identify him. Although there was a wound to his head, his death was deemed accidental.
There are still four apartments per floor in the building. The 1889 structure is a striking example of Victorian tenement design, with an unsurpassed cornice and top knot.
photographs by the author
.png)
No comments:
Post a Comment