Francis A. Minuth's 1889 19 Bedford Street

 

Cast iron piers on each side of the ground floor are all that remain of the 19th century storefront.

When Bedford Street was laid out in 1799, the Greenwich Village neighborhood around it was still rural.  Why the road was named for a London street, given the recent war with England, is a puzzle.  Bedford Street was lined with prim, Federal Style homes in the 1820s.  But by the third quarter of the century, the neighborhood saw an influx of immigrants, sparking a flurry of construction of apartment buildings.

Julius Ritter purchased the vintage house at 19 Bedford Street, between Downing and Hancock Street, in 1888.  (Hancock Street would later be eradicated by the extension of Sixth Avenue.)  He commissioned German-born architect Francis A. Minuth to design a five-story store-and-flat building on the site.  Completed the following year, the structure cost $14,000 to build, or just under half a million in 2025 dollars.

Minuth designed 19 Bedford Street in the Renaissance Revival style, cladding the four upper floors in red brick.  The brownstone trim included Renaissance-inspired architraves.  Those of the second floor wore molded cornices, the center of which was capped with a classical triangular pediment.  At the fourth floor, a pretty Juliette balcony supported by a single foliate bracket decorated the center opening.  Terra cotta shells filled the arches above the top floor windows, and a bracketed cornice with a paneled and swagged fascia completed the design.

The residents of 19 Bedford Street and the neighborhood in general witnessed an thrilling incident on April 29, 1915.  Police Sergeant Camille Pierne and Policeman Dennis Mitchell were on patrol at the corner of Houston and Hancock Streets that night when they heard a gunshot.  They pursued a man  who ran from Hancock onto Bedford Street, and then into 19 Bedford.  Before entering the building, Sergeant Pierne instructed Mitchell to enter 21 Bedford Street and then cross to No. 19 on the roof.

As Pierne started up the staircase, he dropped down as a bullet whizzed by his head.  The New York Evening Telegram said, "Pierne answered the shot from his revolver and plunged on upstairs."  At the top floor, the sergeant saw his query disappear up the ladder and through the scuttle to the roof.  Pierne reached the rooftop just in time to see the man "climb over a barb wire fence separating the roof from that of 21, " reported The New York Times.

When Officer Mitchell emerged from the scuttle of No. 21, he faced the "man running toward him pistol in hand," according to The New York Times.  Mitchell fired once, missing his assailant.  In the meantime, Sergeant Pierne had gotten tangled in the barbed wire, slowing down his progress.  Mitchel and the man got into a wrestling match.  The New York Times said, "In the street below a crowd which had seen the chase start shouted and yelled with excitement as each moment the men seemed about to fall into the street."  

Finally, Pierne got free of the barbed wire and "threw himself upon the man," said The Times.  "Between them the policemen dragged him back from the roof's edge and finally got him down to the street."  As it turned out, the gunman was 21-year-old Benjamin Lotta, who ran a barbershop at 18 Cornelia Street.  The target of Lotta's original shooting was never found.

Edward Neary, who lived here in 1923, maintained pigeon coops on the roof.  On the evening of May 25, he was "flying pigeons," as reported by the New York Evening Telegram, when he noticed smoke pouring out of the apartment building at 40 Downing Street.  Minutes earlier, a fire had broken out in the kitchen of Mrs. Louis Sibi on the second floor of that building.

By the time Neary arrived at the scene, Mrs. Sibi and her two children, Albert and Arthur, one and two years old respectively, were at the window.  She was screaming for help.  Neary rushed into the burning building and grabbed the boys.  He carried them down the rear fire escape, while Nicoli Pepetti, who owned the building, carried Mrs. Sibi down.  

Neary was hailed a hero, credited with saving the boys' lives.  The New York Evening Telegram reported, "the flames had swept up the stairways, 'mushrooming' on each floor."

A renovation completed in 1940 replaced Francis A. Minuth's 1889 cast iron storefront.  A plate glass show window flooded the interior with natural light, and rather unattractive concrete blocks took the place of the original storefront's cornice.

The 1940 ground floor renovation resulted in an ugly scar between the first and second floors.  via the NYC Dept of Records & Information Services.

Living in the building at the time was Mary Young, a widow.  Four years earlier, in February 1936, she had to be hospitalized.  Her attorney, Michael J. Horan, persuaded her to give him power of attorney.  Over the next four years, Horan "drew $10,000 from her bank accounts," reported the New York Evening Post.  The attorney was indicted on grand larceny in February 1941.  He was summoned to the prosecutor's office where he "suffered nervous prostration."  His condition prevented his being immediately jailed, and he quickly disappeared.   On September 25, the New York Evening Post reported, "An eight-state alarm has been sent out for Horan, missing since he walked out of his home at 106 Washington Pl. on Feb. 18."

When Mary Young died in her apartment here at the age of 93 in 1949, Horan was still on the lam.  Ten years after he first disappeared, on July 18, 1951, The New York Times reported, "Michael J. Horan, 78-year-old disbarred attorney, appeared yesterday in General Sessions and eloquently defended himself against an accusation that he had mulcted a widow of her life savings."  

In 1953, the city condemned 19 Bedford Street as well as several other neighboring buildings.  The move was the part of the plan first proposed by Parks Commissioner Robert Moses in 1928.  He envisioned an eight-lane highway, the Lower Manhattan Expressway, that would run from the Holland Tunnel to the Manhattan and Williamsburg Bridges.

Robert Mose's plan would have created Verrazano Street and eliminated the Bedford Street block.  from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York.

Moses's vision would include the creation of Verrazano Street, which would run through the Bedford and Downing Street neighborhood.  In 1957, a demolition permit for 19 Bedford Street was issued.  But Moses's grand project stalled.  Residents of 19 Bedford Street remained in their apartments, unsure of their futures here.

Twenty-nine years after the building was condemned, on November 13, 1980, The Villager reported on the city's plan of "demapping" of Verrazano Street--in other words, erasing the never-built thoroughfare from the map.  The tenants, who had been renting month-to-month from the city, were nervous.  Two months later, the newspaper reported, "Most of the rents in the buildings are very low and a large number of tenants are low-income or elderly people.  If the street is demapped, the buildings could be sold and the tenants evicted."

Of course, Verrazano Street was demapped and, happily, Robert Moses's extraordinary Lower Manhattan Expressway was scrapped.  No. 19 Bedford Street was sold by the city and the purchaser converted the building to five co-operative apartments, one per floor including the former storefront.  In eliminating the ground floor shop, a veneer of brick covered the unsightly concrete blocks of the 1940 renovation.

photographs by the author

James M. Farnworth's 1886 95 East 10th Street

 

photo by Ted Leather

During the trial over purported damages to properties caused by the New York Elevated Railroad Company's erection of the Third Avenue elevated, on May 24, 1899 engineer John E. Connelly testified as an expert witness.  He said in part that between East 8th and 14th Streets along the avenue, there were no "substantial" buildings except one.  Among the old, low buildings was 48 Third Avenue.  "That is a good substantial building of modern construction, five-story, brick building, flats, entrance to the flats on 10th street."

That structure had been erected in 1886 by S. F. Jackson and Samuel Thorne, acting as trustees of the estate of Eliza L. White, and designed by 39-year-old James M. Farnsworth.  Farnsworth and his former partner, Benjamin Silliman, Jr., had recently designed two skyscrapers, the Morse Building and the Temple Court.  

The plans were filed on March 19, 1886 with construction costs projected at $15,000 (about $516,000 in 2025 terms).  There were two commercial spaces on the ground floor, one each on the avenue and the side street.  Farnsworth leaned into the long, narrow plot (it was one building lot wide on the avenue and covered five lots on 10th Street).  By using multiple intermediate cornices and string courses, he streamlined his horizontal design.  Overall Renaissance Revival in style, its residential entrance at 95 East 10th Street was framed in stone where two elongated fluted brackets upheld a narrow entablature and molded cornice.

Striking bowed fire escapes appear on the side elevation.  photo by Ted Leather

The openings on the second through fourth floors wore splayed brick lentils.  The top floor windows were fully arched and decorated with brick eyebrows and scrolled terra cotta keystones.  A pressed metal cornice designed as a stylized fasces under a row of acanthus leaves completed the design.

John Hoops moved his grocery store into the Third Avenue space.  On October 15, 1888, The Evening World published a lengthy article about the rising prices of staples like bread.  The reporter interviewed John Hoops who pointed out the current condition--what today we would call "shrinkflation."  He said, "I sell Shuts's and Droste's bread.  I do not know what they weigh, but the loaves are getting smaller."

Occupying an apartment as early as 1894 were John and Mary Moriarty.  Moriarty was born in County Kerry, Ireland in 1850 and his parents brought him to New York City the following year.  As a teen he worked as a salesman for the Brooklyn Furniture Company and in 1880 opened his own furniture store on Fourth Avenue.  Its tagline was "John Moriarty, at No. 1 Avenue Four."  By the time he and Mary moved into 95 East 10th Street he was highly successful, known as "the furniture man."

John and Mary's domestic relationship was rocky at best.  On the morning of April 12, 1894 Mary had John arrested on "a charge of habitual drunkenness," as reported by The Evening World.  Moriarty was highly emotional about the arrest, causing Court Officer Hagan to tell the judge he was "all broken up."  He was so upset that Justice Koch left the courtroom to handle the arraignment on the street.  The Evening World said Koch, "did not arraign his prisoner before the bar, but kept him in a carriage in front of the court-house...This was done to prevent the prisoner from making a scene in court."

The respected furniture dealer was committed to the Kings County Inebriate's Home.  The article said, "His wife refused to talk about the case."

Upon his release, John returned to the East 10th Street apartment and his tense marriage.  In June 1896, he fell ill and eight weeks later, on August 6 he died.  The New York Herald said he succumbed to "a complication resulting from an attack of lung trouble."   His estate included several real estate holdings in Washington Heights and "some property in Twenty-third street," as reported by the New York Herald.  Moriarty got the last word in concerning his and Mary's discord through his will.  The newspaper said, "The only mention of the testator's wife was that she lived at 95 East Tenth street, where he died.  No provision was made for her in the will."

photograph by Ted Leather

Living here in 1898 was Mrs. Rosina Staiber, a midwife.  She appeared in court on November 5 that year for "the alleged abduction of Ellen Kelly's baby," as reported by the New York Journal & Advertiser.  Rosina had been pulled into a maelstrom created when Ellen Kelly, a prostitute, gave birth to a baby girl and had no interest in the infant.  Another midwife, Mary Landis tried to explain to the court what followed.  The article recounted:

"Mrs. Landis said the baby was taken to her house from Mrs. Wagner's, where it was born; that Miss Kelly owed Mrs. Wagner $15 for her care while in her house; that Miss Kelly agreed to pay her $2 a week and did not.  The baby was taken to the house of a Mrs. Rickets...then back to Mrs. Landis, and then to Mrs. Rickets's house again, where Miss Kelly urged that it should stay, as she expected that it was soon to be adopted."

Mary Landis testified, "Miss Kelly was actually angry because the baby had not been disposed of before it was."  The infant ended up in the care of Rosina Staiber.  When Ellen Kelly could not give the baby's whereabouts to an agent from the Gerry Society (the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Children) she said it was kidnapped.  The New York Journal & Advertiser reported, "The examination revealed the fact that Miss Kelly was as much to blame for the disappearance of the child as any one" and Rosina Staiber was exonerated.

Living with the Weiss family here in 1903 was Johanna Weiss's bachelor uncle, Barthol Boehler.  The 66-year-old was a jeweler.  On the chilly night of March 3, Boehler attached a rubber tube from the lighting fixture to what today we would call a space heater and went to bed.  Later members of the family detected the odor of gas.  Johanna Weiss found her uncle unconscious and gas escaping from the faulty connection.  A doctor arrived and "labored for two hours to resuscitate him," according to The Evening World.  Unfortunately, said the article, he died the victim of "a cold room and defective gas stove."

Lt. Henry G. Firneisen and his family lived here at the time.  Born in Germany on May 18, 1862, he joined the New York City Police Department and in 1896 was appointed to the Central Office Detective Bureau.  He and his partner, Detective Walter S. Granville, "made pickpockets their specialty," according to The New York Times, "and Firneisen gained a reputation by running down a number of well-known crooks."  

On June 15, 1904, Firneisen's wife took their three children on a church outing on the steamboat the General Slocum.  The horrific disaster that followed a fast-moving fire aboard left more than 1,000 women and children dead.  Amazingly, all four of the Firneisens were rescued.  The detective's gratitude was inestimable.  The New York Times reported, "Firneisen started a search for their rescuers and much of the money he had saved went to reward them."

Resident William Henry Maximillian Grevel was described by The New York Times as "wealthy and eccentric."  He and his wife, Wilhelmina, maintained a country home, The Nook, at Atlantic Highlands, New Jersey, where he died on August 17, 1909.  His will was anything but commonplace.

The New York Herald reported, "The will covers about thirty pages and nearly half of it is taken up with directions regarding the disposition of Grevel's body."  Wilhelmina inherited the "large stable of horses at his country estate," said the article, but the will demanded "that no one but her coachman or her friend Adele Heuel or herself drives any of them."  The will said that if any "reputable citizen of Monmouth county" witnessed anyone else drive the horses, they would revert to the estate and sold at public auction "with the provision that they are not to be driven in the county."

His grandson's inheritance was dependent on his leading "a respectable life, indulges in no excesses and doesn't smoke paper cigarettes."  Adele Heuel's bequest was contingent on her "being married respectably, being respectable if single or being in a respectable business."  Grevel left invitations to his funeral, leaving the date to be filled in and sent after his death.

Lt. Henry G. Firneisen and his family were still living here at the time.  Early in 1910, he was diagnosed with liver cancer and he died here on October 20 at the age of 48.

The Third Avenue El ran down the avenue and the Stuyvesant Curiosity Shop occupied the avenue store in 1933.  photo by P. L. Sperr, from the collection of the New York Public Library

As early as 1922, a second-hand shop called the Stuyvesant Curiosity Shop occupied the Third Avenue store.  Early in March that year, a man walked in with two gilt bronze vases.  The shop owner paid $5 for them.  What seemed to be a good deal turned out to cost him his $5.  On March 29, Detectives George Trojan and Edward Fitzgerald came in and identified them as the valuable vases "which were stolen from a chapel of the Cathedral of St. John the Divine two weeks ago," reported The Evening World.  The article said, "The vases were in memory of William Reed Huntington and cost $500."  They were returned to the Cathedral.

image via the NYC Dept of Records & Information Services.

The neighborhood around 95 East 10th Street was transforming into an arts center at mid-century as galleries opened and artists moved into the affordable apartments.   In 1956, a year after marrying, painter Raymond P. Spillenger and his wife, the former Marion Dennison Katz, moved in.  Their son, Paul, had just been born.  A second son, Clyde, would be born in the apartment in 1960.

Spillenger was born in Brooklyn in 1924 and studied with Josef Albers and Willem de Kooning (whose studio was across the street at 88 East 10th Street).  

On March 19, 1957, The New York Times reported, "With the addition of the new March Gallery, Tenth Street is developing into a downtown haven for the younger artists."  Spillenger was one of the founders of the gallery, which occupied the store space at 95 East 10th Street.  The gallery's name, reportedly, came from the month it opened.  The article said it "opens with a group show that augurs well for this gallery's future."  Among the artists represented in the inaugural exhibition were Francine Felsenthal, Tom Young, David Lund and Boris Lurie.

Considered a significant outlet for experimental art, the March Gallery remained here through 1962.

The space in which the works of emerging artists were first seen became Sundaes & Cones in June 2006.  The New York Times food critic Florence Fabricant commented on June 14, "An array of homemade ice creams in flavors as diverse as green tea, strawberry, tiramisu and chocolate sorbet are served in this industrial-looking shop."

Upstairs, Raymond P. Spillenger still lived and worked in the apartment he and Marian first leased in 1956.  Marian died in 1997 and Raymond died at the age of 89 on November 20, 2013.  The New York Times called him, "among the very last of the first- and second-generation Abstract Expressionists."  By then, his paintings were exhibited at the Walter Art Center in Minneapolis, the Contemporary Arts Museum in Houston, and the Hirshhorn Museum in Washington D.C.

On June 8, 2014, The New York Times reported, "When Mr. Spillenger's two sons, Paul and Clyde, started cleaning out his apartment a few months ago, they found the remnants of a career even they hadn't fully comprehended: hundreds of paintings and drawings stacked against the wall or stuffed under the bed, works that probably no one except their father had ever looked at."

photograph by Ted Leather

A rare example of a James M. Farnworth apartment building and an important page of New York City's art history, 95 East 10th Street (48 Third Avenue) does not have landmark status or protection.  

many thanks to reader Ted Leather for suggesting this post

The Edwin and Carolyn Islee House - 49 West 92nd Street

 

photograph by Anthony Bellov

Sidney C. Genin was among the first of the developers to recognize the potential of what was called the West End--the rural land west of the still uncompleted Central Park.  In 1870, just five years after the end of the Civil War, he began construction of a long row of high-stooped brownstones on the north side of 92nd Street between Eighth and Ninth Avenues (renamed Central Park West and Columbus Avenue in 1883 and 1890, respectively).  

Genin's choice of location is somewhat surprising.  The transformation of the Upper West Side from rocky terrain to streets and avenues, on the most part, started at 59th Street and moved northward.  Sidney Genin, however, leap-frogged far north.  It would be at least a decade before sewers and other infrastructures would reach this far.

Construction of the ambitious row would not be completed until 1872.  Builder John Barry most likely used style books to design the identical homes.  Architects working on the Upper West Side during the frenzy of development during the 1880s and '90s would fill the district with fanciful and exotic structures.  But this early on, Barry followed the ubiquitous Italianate style seen throughout the city.  Ironically, the homes, which would be rather commonplace elsewhere, today are surprising and unusual in the Upper West Side.

Like its neighbors, 49 West 92nd Street was faced in brownstone.  Three stories tall above a rusticated English basement, its windows sat within molded architraves.  Above the double-doored, arched entrance, an arched pediment sat upon richly carved foliate brackets.  The residence was crowned with a pressed metal, bracketed and paneled cornice.  

Sidney C. Genin leased 49 West 92nd Street until his death in 1890.  In March, his estate sold the house to Edwin Wright Inslee and his wife, the former Clara Gamble.  The couple was married on October 21, 1875 and had a daughter, Grace Baker, born in 1879.  The Inslees paid $17,000 for the house--about $605,000 in 2025.

The Inslees would make major interior improvements.  The New York Times would later say, "$10,000 has been spent on the house by the present owner."  (The figure would translate to $245,000 today.)  The renovations included a "tiled bath," four toilets, or water closets, and electricity.  It was most likely during the renovations that the striking Aesthetic-style stoop and areaway ironwork were installed.

By the time the Inslees moved in, the Upper West Side was nearly fully developed.  Like her neighbors, Clara had domestic help.  On May 1, 1891, she advertised in the New York Herald, "Wanted--A young girl for general housework; small private family; no fine washing.  49 West Ninety-second st.,"  And on May 11, 1897, she posted, "Wanted--Competent young colored girl to cook, wash and iron; references required."

In 1897, Inslee visited Dr. Edward Livingston Trudeau for which the physician deemed, "a trifling illness."  During their conversation, Trudeau described his Adirondack Cottage Sanitarium, a tuberculosis facility at Saranac, New York.  In his autobiography, Trudeau writes that Inslee, "was a successful business man, with a big heart, ready to help all about him."  Edwin Inslee donated the Inslee Cottage at the facility, which housed four patients.  Trudeau said, "the Inslee Cottage was the first cottage to be provided with hot water heat and a bathroom."

The octagonal Inslee Cottage was donated in 1897. from the Historic Saranac Lake Collection.

Once Grace debuted, her name was included in the society pages.  On February 4, 1900, the New York Herald announced, "Mrs. Edward [sic] W. Inslee, of No. 49 West Ninety-second street, will give a reception on Wednesday evening next from seven until ten o'clock.  She will be assisted in receiving by her daughter, Miss Inslee."

The parlor was the scene of Grace's wedding to Leonard Ferris Hepburn on November 25, 1902.  A more somber ceremony was held there the following year.  Clara Gamble Inslee died on October 21, 1903 at the age of 55.  Her funeral was held on the morning of October 24.

Edwin now lived by himself, with two live-in servants.  He placed an advertisement in The New York Times on October 4, 1911 that read:

Cook--An experienced white woman, to do cooking and part of laundry work, (no collars, cuffs, or shirts) for gentleman living alone in private house; second girl kept; wages $25; must have recent references.

His solitary life ended on July 26, 1913 when he married Carolyn Elizabeth McKemie, known as Callie.  Born in 1860, she was a descendant of Bishop Francis McKemie, "said to have been the first Presbyterian minister in the United States," according to The New York Times.   Born in Georgia, Callie was president of the Dixie Club.

In 1917, the Inslees leased the house to George W. and Alice M. Hanley.  Theirs was a rocky relationship.  On August 26 that year, The Sun reported that Alice had filed for separation, charging that George "abused her at 49 West Ninety-second street...both verbally and physically."  She further alleged, "On May 26, in the presence of a large number of persons" in a restaurant, "he said to her: 'You are nothing but a rat.'"  Alice said he also called her a "tattletale," and tried to choke her.

Edwin transferred title to 49 West 92nd Street to Callie as "a gift," according to The New York Times on November 20, 1918.  The couple, who now lived at 40 East 54th Street, continued to lease the house.  In March 1919, Callie leased it to John H. Bensen.  Finally, in September 1922, she sold 49 West 92nd Street to Samuel and Mary A. Sargeant.

(Interestingly, the Inslees would both live to the age of 92.  Edwin would die on January 21, 1942 and Carolyn Elizabeth McKemie Inslee on November 23, 1952.)

The Sargeants were guardians of their orphaned grandson, George S. Earle.  Their daughter, and the boy's mother, died two months before they purchased the house, and his father had died in July 1915.  Only a month after the family moved in, trouble ensued.

On November 23, 1922, The Evening World reported, "Stories of hilarious parties at the home of Mrs. Mary A. Sargeant of No. 49 West 92d Street, maternal grandmother of George S. Earle 2d, eight years old, at which beer, wines, gin, absinthe and whiskey were consumed, were told to-day in the Bronx County Supreme Court."  The accusations were filed by George's paternal grandfather, George S. Earle, Sr.

Justice Tierney interrupted the testimony of a witness, Edna V. Conroy, saying, "You must be telling of parties that occurred prior to the adoption of the Prohibition Amendment."

"Oh, no, your Honor," she replied.  "One of these parties of which I speak occurred this year."

It may have been the humiliating press that prompted the Sargeants to sell 49 West 92nd Street two months after they purchased it.  On December 21, 1922, The New York Times reported that Samuel and Mary A. Sargeant had sold the house to a purchaser who "will occupy."

The Devine family lived here in 1927.  On June 18 that year, 15-year-old James Devine became a hero of sorts.  That afternoon he and two friends were standing in front of a jewelry store at the corner of Columbus Avenue and 92nd Street when suddenly two robbers ran out, heading in separate directions.  

The three teens pursued one of them, James Wilson.  He ran to Central Park and vaulted the stone wall with the boys right behind.  Unable to outrun them, Wilson jumped the wall again and boarded a southbound Eighth Avenue street car.  The New York Times reported, "Devine jumped on the car after the man and the other boys ran to a near-by patrolman who commandeered a passing taxi and, accompanied by the boys, chased the street car to Ninetieth Street."  James Devine had managed to hold the crook, who was then arrested.

image via the NYC Dept of Records & Information Services.

Photographers Phyllis and Robert Massar owned the house as early as 1949.  Phyllis Dearborn Massar was born in 1917 and graduated from the University of Washington.  Included in her studies of photography was a series of courses at the Museum of Modern Art taught by Ansel Adams.  She focused on architectural photography.

Like Phyllis, Robert Massar graduated from the University of Washington.  He earned his degree in architecture in 1940.  The couple's photographic business was named Dearborn-Massar.

The Massars rented rooms to, mostly, artistic figures.  In 1949, dancer Janet Collins arrived in New York City and moved into the Massars' house.  According to Yaël Tamar Lewin in her 2011 Night's Dancer, the Life of Janet Collins, "their paths had first crossed years before when the troupe performed in Seattle, Phyllis's hometown."  She writes, "living above the kitchen were a composer and his wife, on the [parlor] floor."  The Massars occupied the second floor, and Collins moved into the top floor.

This portrait of Janet Collins was taken in 1951, while she lived at 49 West 92nd Street.  from the collection of the Library of Congress

Janet Collins, who remained here at least through 1951, was a pioneer in black ballet and would perform on Broadway, in films and on television.

The Massars owned and lived here through the 1960s.  A renovation begun in 2019 returned 49 West 92nd Street to a single family residence.

many thanks to historian Anthony Bellov for suggesting this post

The Lost Church of the Holy Trinity - Madison Avenue and 42nd Street

 

from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York

A succinct announcement in the New-York Daily Tribune on August 20, 1864 read, "A New Episcopal Church--Divine Service will be held by the Church of the Holy Trinity in Rutger's Institute, 5th Av. between 41st and 42d Streets, on Sunday at 5 P.M."  The New York Times explained that the previous January "a proposition was made to the young pastor" Rev. Stephen H. Tyng, Jr., who was then Rector of the Church of the Mediator, "to unite with the Church of the Ascension in establishing a new Episcopal Church on Murray Hill."

As mentioned in the announcement, the congregation would temporarily use the chapel of the Rutger's Female Institute.  Organizers, said The New York Times, predicted "that five years at least would be required to establish the enterprise in an edifice of its own."  Those founders would be happily astonished.  The project went forward at a dizzying speed.

Four months after organizing, on April 4, the new parish of the Church of the Holy Trinity was formed; on May 1, Rev. Tyng was appointed rector; and on September 8 the cornerstone of a permanent church building was laid.  

The parish had acquired the large corner plot at the northeast corner of Madison Avenue and 42nd street.  The cornerstone laying was, according to The New York Times, done "with appropriate exercises.  Rev. Dr. Tyng officiated on the occasion."  With the Civil War raging, the New York Herald said that the ceremony took place "in the dark hour of our nation's struggle."  Tyng placed a tin box into the stone that contained "a copy of the Bible, a copy of the Constitution of the United States, and other documents wrapped around with a small American flag," as reported by The New York Times.  The New York Herald said the flag, "with thirteen stripes and thirty-four stars," reflected "confidence in the restoration of our government over every State of the Union."

The New York Times mentioned, "Jacob W. Mould is the architect."  Jacob Wrey Mould had arrived in New York City from England in 1852 to design details of the New York Crystal Palace.  He brought with him a passion for bold ornament, vivid color and patterning.  His polychromed design for the Church of the Holy Trinity included a palette of red, yellow, blue and black.   The New York Times reported, "The building is to be blue and Ohio yellow stone and brick laid in black mortar."  

As the building took shape on May 6, 1865, The New York Times said that passersby may have been "puzzled" by the "walls being so low and the roof crowned with a ventilating turret so cut up with gables and valleys."  Saying that the cruciform plan would accommodate "over nine hundred persons," the article explained that the building would be just one story tall,

...but on entering the interior proves sufficiently lofty, the roof trusses being framed so as to show.  There is a ventilating spire for light and air at the intersection of the nave and transept roofs, forming an elevated central feature to the whole composition.  The organ  and choir screen form the sole decorative features of the interior, and are situated behind the chancel and altar--the radiating pipes of the organ being decorated and illuminated, and so disposed as to show the rich stained-glass windows in the extreme rear wall.

The article explained, "Mr. Mould has not assumed to embody any features of the so-called Gothic, Byzantine, Italian or Renaissance styles, but simply such a combination of architectural elements as are best adapted to produce a temporary, economical and yet commodious church building."  The critic praised the "charming novelty of effect" and the "cheerfulness of interior," saying, "we know of no ecclesiastical edifice in the city at all comparable to it."  He congratulated the trustees, as well.  "They had the good sense to go right straight to Mr. Mould and place the commission in his hands, without beating about the bush."

Mould designed the brick-and-stone structure in a rustic, Victorian Gothic style.  The gables were supported with open trusses that, combined with the building's low profile and the roof's many angles, created a charming, country church feel.  Mould used differing colors of materials to enliven the facade and gave the slate singled roof polychromatic designs.  

Although, "many of the details were yet incomplete," according to the New York Herald, the first service in the building was held on Easter Sunday 1865.  Just two days after the assassination of Abraham Lincoln, the nation was grieving.  "The chancel was draped in mourning for our deceased President," said the article.  

Four months later, the church was the target of irreverent vandalism.  On an afternoon in August 1865, a little girl named Mary McCarty saw a group of boys hurling stones at the stained glass windows.  She recognized one of them as 14-year-old Thomas Dowd.  The New York Times said, "She had known Dowd for years and saw him, and could not be mistaken."  Mary told a police officer who arrested the teen.

Thomas Dowd faced a judge on August 30.  Mary McCarty testified that she saw him break two windows.  Dowd produced another 14-year-old, John Keefe, as a witness.  The Times reported that he, "undertook to prove an alibi and tried to account for every hour Dowd had spent with him that day in another part of the city."  His story fell apart upon questioning and "he admitted he was among the boys who demolished the church windows, but denied having had any hand in it himself."  The article said, "Mrs. Dowd perjured herself by trying to prove the witness McCarty had committed perjury."  The policeman, however, supported Mary McCarty's story "in every particular."  Dowd was found guilty.

Calling the church "a very handsome structure," The New York Times reported on its consecration on December 22, 1865.  The service was celebrated by the Right Rev. Bishop Henry C. Potter.  The New-York Tribune said he gave "an eloquent address; in the course of which he strongly condemned the use of music of an operatic character in Divine Service."  He did not find fault with hymns and organ music, here, however.

Like all church buildings, this one was often the venue for public gatherings.  On November 26, 1868, for instance, the New-York Tribune reported, "An illustrated Lecture of Travel, by B. P. Worcester, of a Tour to Bible Lands, will be given this evening at the Church of the Holy Trinity."  The announcement noted it would be "illustrated by stereoscopic views, taken by the photographer of the Quaker City excursion party of the Holy Land."

In the background can be see the Vanderbilt Avenue side of the Grand Central Depot. from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York

A convention called The Evangelical Anniversaries of the Protestant Episcopal Church of America was held here starting on October 18, 1870.  The New-York Tribune said, "The proceedings were entirely harmonious, and a vigorous hostility to High Churchism was manifested throughout."

At the time, the growing congregation was straining the picturesque structure.  On March 3, 1873, the New York Herald remarked on the last service in the building.  "The elegant and well-known Church of the Holy Trinity...was filled to overflowing yesterday morning by parishioners and strangers to take part in the farewell services of this house of worship, as around the present structure there is already being laid the foundation of a more commodious and grander building."

Leopold Eidlitz's striking Church of the Holy Trinity replaced Mould's original.  from the collection of the New-York Historical Society.

Jacob Wrey Mould's striking Victorian Gothic-style Church of the Holy Trinity was demolished after standing less than a decade.  In its place rose the Ruskinian Gothic church designed by Leopold Eidlitz.  That edifice, too, was short-lived, demolished in 1896.

The James L. Laird House - 576 Sixth Avenue

 

The windows originally wore molded lintels.

Around 1851, a brownstone-faced four-story house-and-store was erected at 252 Sixth Avenue, just north of West 16th Street.  (The address would be renumbered 567 Sixth Avenue in 1925.)  Its Italianate design included a handsome cast metal cornice and elliptically arched windows that sat upon bracketed sills.

The original commercial tenant was the Peck & Morrison grocery store.  It was quickly replaced by the J. Reeves & Co. butcher shop, run by James Reeves.  Reeves had a second store at 636 Hudson Street.

In the meantime, the upper floors were home to several renters.  One of them sought work in May 1861, announcing in the New York Herald:

Wanted--By a respectable girl, a situation in a small private family; is a good washer and ironer and an excellent baker.  Can be seen for two days if not engaged.  Call at 252 6th avenue.

Around 1865, James H. Laird purchased the building and installed his fish and oyster business in the store.  Living with him and his wife, Mary C., was his widowed mother, Mary Ann Laird.  The Lairds took in roomers, as well.

On November 3, 1868, Laird advertised for help in the New York Herald.  His ad sought, "A young man who understands the fish and oyster business; also, an errand boy.  Inquire at 252 6th av."

Oysters were an important and inexpensive staple in New Yorkers' diets in the mid-19th century.  Found on the tables of the city's mansions and in the "oyster saloons" of the Bowery, New Yorkers consumed more than 12 million oysters a year.  Almost assuredly, Laird's shop included an oyster bar or cafe.

Mary Ann Laird died on September 15, 1873 and her funeral was held in the house two days later.

The Lairds took in only a few roomers at a time.  In 1876, they were Margaret Berrian, a widow; and dressmaker Delia Madigan.  Delia would remain with the Lairds at least through 1880.

In 1881, James H. Laird hired a celebrated oyster shucker, John J. Gillen.  Born in 1849, he started at the age of 12 and had been shucking oysters on the riverfront for two decades.  On October 9 that year, the New York Herald described him as a "champion," extolling that he "has opened 7,000 oysters a day."  

That article caught the attention of another shucker, Joseph Sketchley, who worked on Oyster Boat No. 9, which docked at the foot of Charles Street.  Sketchley was offended and fired off a letter to the editor of the New York Herald that said in part:

J. J. Gilon [sic] says he has opened 7,000 oysters in one day.  I have opened 7,750 in a day, and have uncovered 38,650 in six days; which has never been equalled [sic] by any one in this country.  I will bet $250 that I can beat J. J. Gilon [sic] or J. H. Devonney in a match for six days, or any other living man.

The letter was signed, "Joseph Sketchley, Champion."

John Gillen explained that he had taken the job in Laird's shop to escape the spotlight.  He told a reporter, "I left the river because I wanted to get away from that crowd.  I'm not anxious to be dragged into a contest, though I believe I could hold my end up."  And he said he had already proven his superiority.  "I had a match with Sketchley last September year of a day's length.  I beat him.  My score was 7,000, his 6,750 in twelve hours."  He concluded, "Still, I've no desire to go back to those men."  

Living with the Lairds in 1882 was 21-year-old Herbert Winthrop Spink.  His father, Benjamin F. Spink, "keeps a number of jewelry stores in this City and Brooklyn," according to The New York Times.  Two years earlier, when Herbert was 19, his father opened a jewelry store at Eighth Avenue and 26th Street and put him in charge.

Because Christmas was just two days away, on Saturday night, December 23, Spink kept the store open until nearly midnight.  After counting the day's receipts and locking the money in the safe, Spink and his two clerks went "to a neighboring restaurant, where they partook of an oyster supper."  The three separated at 1:00 a.m., but he never made it home.

The clerks were surprised to find the store locked when they arrived Monday morning.  They opened the store and ran the business without their boss.  The New York Times reported on December 27, "one of the clerks went to the house No. 252 Sixth-avenue, where he occupied a furnished room and learned that he had not been seen there since Saturday."  Mary C. Laird allowed him to see the room, where he found the bed had not been slept in.

The store's safe was opened.  The cash--more than $37,500 in 2025 terms--was gone, but all the jewelry, diamonds and watches were intact.  Spink's disappearance was confounding.  The New York Times said, "Spink is a tall, robust young man, and not one who could have been easily spirited away, unless he was drugged or rendered insensible in some other manner."

The following day, The New York Times followed up.  Surprisingly, neither the police nor the Spinks were overly concerned.  The article said the police "do not appear to think that the circumstances of his disappearance warrant them in taking extraordinary steps to discover where he is.  His family does not appear to be very anxious about him."  And indeed, before long the wayward young man returned home in fine fettle.

In 1884, David Morrison opened his Fountaine Pin Manufacturing Company at 55 West 16th Street, directly behind the Lairds' building.  It created a tense and confrontational relationship.

On August 7, the New York Herald reported that Mary C. Laird, "who owns the premises No. 252 Sixth avenue," had sued Morrison for what today would be called noise pollution.  The factory's "steam engines and machines," which operated from 7:00 a.m. to 5:00 p.m., "make a loud, harsh, deafening, grinding and grating noise which is incessant and intolerable," according to Mary.  James H. Laird testified that, "the noise is so loud during the day as to prevent people from conversing in the rear rooms of plaintiff's house in an ordinary tone of voice, and that at such times parties cannot make themselves heard without shouting."  Mary claimed that the noise had affected her health, her comfort and convenience, and that "her family, friends, servants and tenants have already suffered great damage."

Morrison had his own complaints.  The New York Herald said, "He says that for a long time past she has carried on a fish market in her house and that the odors and smells from decayed fish and offal kept about her premises are at times very unhealthful." 

Unfortunately for the Lairds, Judge Ingraham decided that the factory sat within a business district and that the noise was not so great to "justify such an injunction." 

John J. Gillen was still working in Laird's store in 1885.  That year he finally relented to a shucking challenge.  His letter to the editor of the New York Herald published on April 14 read:

Sir: Please allow me to say in your valuable paper that I, John Gillen, accept John Hilland's challenge of $50 to open 1,000 clams, match to take place any time or place he names.  

                                    John Gillen, 252 Sixth avenue.

The Lairds had left 252 Sixth Avenue by the mid-1890s when John N. Oakford rented a room here.  A widower, he was born in New York City in 1825 and had been connected in the city courts since the 1860s.  When he died of consumption (or tuberculosis) in his "lodgings" here on June 19, 1898, The New York Times remarked, "He was one of the oldest members of the Tammany Society."  

In 1899, owner Henry Nassorf hired architect E. W. Gries to make $800 worth of renovations to the building.  It resulted in a commercial space on the second floor and one apartment each on the third and fourth floors.

Occupying the third floor apartment in 1901 was Mrs. Annie Cunningham, and living upstairs were Mrs. Courtney H. Cornell and her daughter, Boyd.  On the night of April 19, a fire broke out in the Cornells' apartment.  The New York Times reported that the occupants "were routed from their beds."

The Report of the Fire Department of the City of New York detailed that when Engine Company 14 arrived, Courtney and Boyd Cornell were "standing at a front window on that floor calling for help."  It said that firefighters George J. Fox and Eugene J. Rable,

...at once made their way by stairway to the floor on fire, and creeping along the hallway, through heavy smoke and intense heat, to the front room, dragged Mrs. Cornell and her daughter along the hallway, past [the] room from which the flames were bursting forth through [the] transom, and brought them by stairway in safety to the street.

The New York Times said, "The fire burned through to Mrs. Annie Cunningham's place, on the third floor, and drove her out.  The total damage was $2,500."  

By 1904, the Lincoln Jewelry Company operated from the second floor.  Among the sales staff that year was Sidney Ash.  On March 14, diamond rings valued at the equivalent of $21,800 today disappeared.  Sidney Ash fingered Alexander Hill, described by The New York Times as "a colored porter."  Ash told police that Hill had stolen and pawned the rings.

Alexander Hill was arrested for grand larceny.  His trial began on the morning of December 4.  Sidney Ash was in the courtroom to testify.  Shockingly, after repeating his accusations to the court, Ash suddenly changed from witness to suspect.

On the stand, Alexander Hill said that Ash had given him the rings and told him to pawn them.  He added that Ash, "had sent a man along to bring back the money."  Next to testify was Caroline Eckard, the cashier.  She told the court, according to the New York Herald, "that she saw Ash give the rings to Hill and tell him to pawn them."

Alexander Hill's attorney had summoned the staff of the pawn shop.  The New York Herald reported, "The pawnbroker and his clerks testified that Ash had called at the pawnshop before the rings were pawned and said he would send some jewelry there by the porter."  The pawnbroker further testified that after the transaction was completed, Ash had called again, "to learn if Hill had pawned it."

Sidney Ash was recalled to the stand, but he stuck to his story.  Nevertheless, according to The New York Times, Judge Cowing "committed Ash to the Tombs Prison on a charge of perjury and acquitted Hill on the larceny charge."

At the time, the ground floor commercial space was occupied by the men's furnishing store of L. D. Wildman.  Its window display in March 1905 "drew especial attention," according to Men's Wear.  "Something new was offered in the shape of green lights, which at night especially attracted the attention of people for several blocks," said the article.  Small Irish flags announced "special St. Patrick's Day prices" and "small shamrocks were given away, which were mounted on [advertising] cards."  A subsequent issue of Men's Wear reported, "At the close of this sale, which will last for several weeks, extensive alterations will be made on the store, which will include a new front and windows of modern design."

Quite surprisingly, the following year Benjamin F. Spink--the father of Herbert Winthrop Spink, who had so notoriously disappeared in 1882--purchased 252 Sixth Avenue.  Ironically, upon Benjamin Spink's death in the summer of 1915, Herbert inherited the property.  He almost immediately sold it.

In the post World War I years, M. Brokaw's men's hat store and Harry Hilenbrand's "suits and cloaks" business occupied the commercial spaces.  On March 6, 1919, Brokaw complained to the New-York Tribune about consumers' attitudes to hat prices.  "The customers are kicking about the raising of prices.  As a matter of fact, they do not want to pay as much as last year.  They want hats cheaper," he grumbled.

Herbert Winthrop Spink reappeared in the first years of the Great Depression, buying back the property.  It was a short investment, as it turned out.  On December 6, 1931, The New York Times reported that he had sold the building to an investor, saying, "Mr. Spink repurchased the plot a short time ago."

A modern storefront was in place by May 17, 1939 when P. L. Sperr took this photograph.  from the collection of the New York Public Library

In 1933 Max Morris signed a lease for what was now 576 Sixth Avenue.  The New York Times reported that he would convert the ground floor to "a restaurant and beer garden."  The space became Lollipop Fashions in 1948, and Lampland, a lighting store, in the early 1950s.  The following decade, Riog Spanish Bookstore was in the space, and as early as 1979 The Wine Gallery moved in.  By then, the entire facade had been covered with shingles.

The front was covered with wooden shingles for decades starting in the 1970s.

Nearly half a century after The Wine Gallery moved in, the store remains at 576 Sixth Avenue.  Recently, it received updated signage in a renovation that included the removal of facade shingles.

photographs by the author