In 1853, Robert Kennie operated a grocery store in the Italianate-style building at the southeast corner of Third Avenue and 25th Street. Although storekeepers customarily lived above their shops within buildings like this, the Kennies lived a few blocks north on Third Avenue. Living upstairs at the time was Peter P. Roome, who worked as a watchman (what today we would call a security guard).
No. 337 Third Avenue was three stories tall and faced in running bond brick above the storefront. Trimmed in simple brownstone sills and lintels, the building boasted a handsome bracketed metal cornice.
Around 1858, Patrick Galligan moved his saloon into the former grocery space. Sarah Mason, widow of Jabez Mason, lived in the upper floors by 1861. Hubbard Mason, presumably her son, was working as a carman in 1865.
The Masons had a scare early on the afternoon of July 4, 1865. Celebrations for Independence Day in the 19th century were boisterous and dangerous. Boys routinely fired pistols indiscriminatingly in the air and firecrackers were tossed willy-nilly with no regard to property owners or pedestrians. The New York Times reported:
At about 3 o'clock P. M., the roof of No. 337 Third-avenue took fire from India crackers, and loss was sustained to the amount of $350. The loss is fully covered by insurance in the Stuyvesant Office.
The saloon was taken over by James Goss in 1871. In February 1874, builder James Whyte was hired to add a one-story, 21-foot-long extension to the rear, adding significant square footage to the saloon space.
Thomas Goss, presumably James's son, was arrested for a shocking crime on June 18 that year. The New York Herald reported that he had been charged with felonious assault on Charles Sheridan, "whom he stabbed three times in the neck." Goss was held without bail while Sheridan's fate played out, his "wounds being of a dangerous character."
Eliza Mooney ran a boarding house on the upper floors as early as 1879. Her tenants were respectable, like Richard Tamplin, a shoemaker, who lived here at least from 1876 through 1880; and a young man who kept his identity private in his ad looking for work in May 1877:
Coachman and Groom--By a first-class coachman; single man; thoroughly understands his business; is a good, careful driver; will make himself generally useful; willing and obliging; no objection to the country; best City and country reference. Address Coachman. No. 337 3d-av.
Thirty-nine-year-old Joseph Buneo, a barber, lived here in the spring of 1881 when he was involved in a disturbing incident. At around 10:00 on April 3, he and 17-year-old Biencio Angelo were walking along First Avenue when the teen stopped at Mullen's fruit stand at First Avenue and East 2nd Street and purchased 5 cents of apples. The Sun reported, "While the two Italians started off Mullen saw Buneo take an apple from the stand. He demanded payment for it, and when it was refused, he attempted to forcibly take it from Buneo."
While Mullen and Buneo struggled, Angelo drew a knife and stabbed Mullen five times. The fruit dealer fell to the pavement and cried for help as Mullen and Buneo fled. Right behind them were two detectives, who quickly arrested them.
At the time of the incident, the saloon was now operated by Miles A. Gibbons. He placed an advertisement in The Sun on May 13, 1881 that read, "Boy wanted about 17 to work in liquor store; reference required. Miles A. Gibbons, 337 3d av."
Operating the upper floors in 1882 was M. Luther, who advertised in September, "A girl, about 15 years old, to mind baby and assist in light housework."
An employee took over the saloon for Miles Gibbons in the summer of 1883 when Gibbons was called for jury duty. He sat on the murder case of James English, who had shot and killed James Ward on June 28 in McGlory's saloon. The verdict was reached on July 6. The courtroom was packed with "frequenters of Billy McGlory's dance hall," said The Sun. The afternoon was favorable to the defendant and relatively tragic for Gibbons. The article said, "The jury found a verdict of accidental shooting, and the audience dispersed. The audience stole the new Panama hat of Juror Michael [sic] Gibbons."
By the mid-1880s, the building was part of the vast real estate holdings of a consortium of relatives including Nicholas Fish and his wife, and several Bryce family members, including Joseph S. and Elizabeth S. Bryce. In 1891, Joseph Bryce signed a three-year lease on the building to John J. Dooley. Almost immediately, Dooley gave the "saloon lease" to Peter Doelger. At the time it was common for large breweries like the Peter Doelger Brewery to operate saloons that sold only their products.
A tragedy occurred in 1893. Annie Melzen arrived in New York from Germany on September 29 and moved into a room here. The 15-year-old quickly found a job as a servant and her prospects in her new country seemed good. But Annie Melzen was unaccustomed to illuminating gas and seven days after moving in, she went to bed and blew out the flame, as she would with a candle. She was found dead in the morning.
The Peter Doelger saloon repeatedly ran afoul of the excise (or liquor board) authorities. On June 11, 1894, bartender Henry Bohmeeche was arrested for selling alcohol on Sunday. The New York Times said he told Justice Voorhis, "he was merely closing up his place." Voorhis responded, "What's the use of lying?" and held him for trial.
Three months later, on September 26, 1894, The Evening World reported, "Supt. Byrnes has thrown down the gauntlet to the Police Commissioners and declared open war." Thomas Byrnes declared, "No more Sunday saloons."
Among the saloon workers arrested in the massive city-wide raids ordered by Byrnes on September 23 was Thomas Connor, who was bartending here that afternoon.
In May 1896, William and Emma Tucker "engaged a room," as reported by The World, at 337 Third Avenue. Tucker and his wife were "theatrical people." Theirs were snug conditions. The Tuckers, who were "in hard luck," according to The World, shared the room with their daughter and son, eight and three years old respectively; and Nora Purcell, Tucker's 21-year-old step-daughter, who minded the children.
William Tucker had appeared recently in In a Big City, but was now out of work. The World reported, "Impoverished but hopeful, Tucker, his wife and step-daughter bent their energies to a search for employment. The wife alone succeeded, securing an engagement in a Bowery concert hall." A few days after the family moved into their room, Tucker "worn out with exertion and anxiety," entered the Union Square Theatre.
The performance ended at 6:00, "but the quiet figure in the balcony remained motionless," said The World. Two hours later, an usher saw William Tucker "sway slightly and then bend forward, his head falling gently upon the cushioned balcony rail." The New York Times reported that he was carried unconscious out of the theater and was dead by the time a doctor arrived.
Nora Purcell identified the body at the Mercer Street Police Station. She then rushed to the Palace Theatre where her mother was appearing. She told The World, "At the theatre, I told my story to the manager, but he refused to allow me behind the scenes. 'Don't tell her now,' he insisted. 'Wait till after the show. Do you want to break her all up?'"
Nora sat, crying, backstage throughout the show. Afterward, she asked a company member to break the news to Emma Tucker. "Mrs. Tucker fell in a faint, and it was an hour before she revived sufficiently to leave the theatre and be driven to the Morgue," said The World.
The Bryce-Fish families sold numerous properties in June 1889, including 337 Third Avenue, which was purchased by Ellen Dooley. She renewed the saloon lease to Peter Doelger the following year, and leased the upper floors to Ellen Snyder, who named it the Rockland Hotel. (It would later be revealed that Snyder and the Doelger proprietor were working in concert.)
In November 1900, Isaac Gilbert took a room here. He arrived in New York City from Bridgeport, Connecticut seeking work and "had enough money to last him a few days," according to The New York Times. Unfortunately, the former gardener was unsuccessful in finding a job and "grew despondent." On December 17, 1900, The New York Times reported that Gilbert, "tried to end his life yesterday in the Rockland Hotel, 337 Third Avenue, by inhaling illuminating gas." He was unsuccessful, however, and at Bellevue Hospital, "it is said that he will recover," said the newspaper.
The Rockland Hotel was what was known as a "Raines Law hotel." The 1896 law was intended to curb the consumption of alcohol by imposing regulations. An exemption to the Sunday liquor laws was that hotels could still serve alcohol to guests, if it accompanied a meal or was served in the guests’ rooms. The result was that saloons, like the one at 337 Third Avenue, took over the upper floors as a “Raines Law hotel” to circumvent the excise laws. When detectives raided the Rockland in February 1902, they discovered more than they expected.
On February 22, The New York Times reported that a group of officers "at a late hour raided a Raines law hotel at 337 Third Avenue, capturing six prisoners. Ellen Snyder, the alleged proprietress of the hotel, was arrested as were three other women and Ernest Myers, a bartender. They were charged with disorderly conduct." (The term referred to a brothel.)
The incident ended the Peter Doelger saloon. The property was turned over to a receiver, John M. Bowers, and four months later, the lease was given to Bernheimer & Schmid, owners of the Lion Brewery. They operated the saloon until Prohibition closed it.
image via the NYC Dept of Records & Information Services.
The space became a restaurant. It was the scene of a spectacular gunfight at 2:00 on the morning of December 22, 1933. Someone rushed up to Patrolman Harry Kroll and told him there was a holdup taking place in the restaurant. Kroll drew his revolver and entered the premises, "where he fearlessly exchanged shots with the bandit and fatally wounded him," according to Kroll's citation for bravery the following year. In the exchange, Kroll was wounded and was hospitalized for nearly two weeks.
The Kips Bay neighborhood saw change in the third quarter of the century. In 1978, Mr. Lee's restaurant opened here. The New York Times food critic Mimi Sheraton noted on March 3 that the "nondescript neighborhood" belied the interior that "summons up images of an enclosed, Spanish garden." The restaurant, which served a Continental menu, remained for more than a decade.
The space returned to its long tradition of housing a tavern in the 21st century when it became The Hairy Monk. By 2014 it was the Rose Hill Tavern, and most recently AWOL Bar and Grill.
photographs by the author
.png)
No comments:
Post a Comment