The 1883 236 East Sixth Street

photograph by Carole Teller

On January 5, 1882, Joseph Schwarzschild and Ferdinand Sulzberger sold the four "five-story stone front tenements" at 230 to 236 East Sixth Street to architects and builders William P. and Ambrose M. Parsons for $48,500 (about $1.48 million in 2026 terms).  The brothers replaced the buildings with four identical structures.  Completed within the year, they were faced in brownstone.  Their neo-Grec design included centered entrances above short stoops.  The windows sat within prominent architraves upheld by scrolled brackets and their molded cornices sat upon corbeled piers.  Cast metal cornices, more in keeping with the earlier Italianate style, crowned the buildings.  The Parsons brothers sold the completed row on November 29, 1882.

Like the others in the row, 236 East Sixth Street was a "double flat," meaning there were two apartments per floor--one each on either side of the centered hallway.  They became home to a variety of tenants.  Living here in 1895 was William Bader, who worked for the city as "assistant to deputy sheriff."  He earned $1,000 a year, or about $40,000 today.  And Dr. Leopold Hibbe and his wife, Anna, and their child lived here as early as 1897.  Sharing the apartment was Leopold's brother, Dr. Henry Hibbe, and their widowed mother.

Leopold Hibbe was born in 1866 and graduated from the Medical Department of the University of the City of New York (where he had been an athlete) in 1891.  On the morning of March 2, 1897, he sat at his desk writing.  The New York Journal reported that he "struck a match to light his pipe."  It broke and the burning portion fell into a waste basket filled with papers.  Hibbe panicked and, rather than rushing the flaming basket into the street, he ran outside to get help.  The New York Journal said that in doing so, he forgot that his little child was asleep on the sofa in the room.  The article continued, "When he remembered it he could not get back."  Happily, Patrolman Wichman courageously rushed into the flaming room and rescued the child.

Dr. Hibbe had his wits together seven months later.  On October 25, 1897, The New York Times said reported that the Hibbe apartment "served as the theatre for a scene in which a night marauder and a physician were the chief actors, and which had a ludicrous as well as a dangerous side."  In the middle of the night, Hibbe awakened to footsteps in the hall.  He discovered an intruder shoving "a few odds and ends into his trousers pockets."  The article said that Dr. Hibbe "caught the man he had been following unceremoniously by the throat and threw him to the floor."  The "rough-and-tumble scuffle" aroused Henry Hibbe who entered the affray.  Finally two policemen arrived and took into custody the "submissive and badly battered prisoner."

Within five years, the extended Hibbe family had moved to 23 Stuyvesant Street.  (There the two physicians were arrested, charged with performing an abortion.)  Another doctor, Albert S. Gombar moved into 236 East Sixth Street in 1909.

In the meantime, John Graham and his wife occupied an apartment at the turn of the century.  The 25-year-old was waiting for an elevated train at Second Avenue and 23rd Street on the afternoon of February 11, 1900 when he tumbled down the two-story tall staircase to the pavement below.  A witness said, "He was a laboring man, evidently, as he wore overalls and jumper, and his hands were soiled and calloused."

A doctor was summoned.  Before he arrived, two priests happened by and noticed the growing crowed.  One of them noticed "a little brown ribbon which came just over the edge of the injured man's shirt," reported The New York Times.  "He's a Catholic, Father," said the priest to his companion.  "See, he wears a scapular."  The priests knelt beside Graham, who was unconscious.  "The crowd fell back reverently, the Catholic ones uncovering and joining silently in prayer," said the article.

Dr. Graham Roberts transported John Graham to a hospital.  He told reporters that the young man's skull was fractured.  Tragically, he was given little hope of surviving.  Graham, who had just a nickel in his pocket, had not been drinking.  Doctors opined "that when near the top of the stairs he was attacked by heart disease and fell."

image via the NYC Dept of Records & Information Services

Minnie Wagner lived here in 1911.  She worked as a sewing machine operator on the eighth floor in the Triangle Waist Company at 23-29 Washington Place.  On Saturday morning, March 11, that year, she went to work as always.  The day would end tragically, however.  At around 4:45, just 15 minutes before the workday ended, fire broke out.  Minnie testified later:

[I] was near my machine when I heard the cry of "Fire!"  I rushed to the Washington Place door, and there saw Eva Harris...and she rushed by me and shouted to me, "My, God, the door is locked!"  After that I saw Louis Brown, who was wiping his hand, drop the towel and come to where we were standing, and, he said, "Wait a minute, girls, and don't get excited.  I will open the door for you."  He reached in his pocket and took out a key and turned the lock.  The door would not open, and he smashed another lock.  It then opened and we went out.

Minnie Wagner was one of the fortunate women in the building that day.  Trapped inside on two floors, 146 female workers perished, having either jumped to their deaths or burned. 

Emily Davisson was convalescing from an operation on April 26, 1915, and her 21-year-old son, Benjamin, was suffering from pneumonia.  They occupied a fifth-floor apartment.  Both were in their beds that day and were unaware of "the shout of fire which drove the other ten families from the building," according to the New-York Tribune.  Someone ran to a fire alarm box, but it was stuck.  The newspaper said that Ladder Company 3 was "late in responding to the blaze because the alarm box refused to open until after a fire-minute struggle."

It was only when smoke and flames entered their apartment did Emily and Benjamin Davisson realize they were in danger.  Policeman Healy saw the panicked pair as they clung to their windowsill.  "They intended to jump," said the article, but Healy "warned them to stay where they were."  Minutes later, fire fighters arrived.  A ladder was raised and the Davissons were rescued.  The newspaper said that the damage to the building was estimated at about $331,000 in today's money.

At least two more physicians would live and work here.  Dr. Michael Shander was listed at the address in 1916, and Dr. William Steinhauser was here in 1927.  Among Dr. Steinhauser's neighbors in the building at the time was Rabbi Julius Boloker of the Congregation First Mihailener and the Independent Burdujener.

By the third quarter of the century, the East Village neighborhood had a more avant-garde demographic.  Head shops occupied former deli spaces and Mod Art posters hung in store windows.  In 1970, 22-year-old Bruce McKeithen, a Bernard B. Baruch College student, occupied an apartment here.

On May 21 that year, Narcotics Division detectives arrested a Barnard College co-ed, Andrea Rosenberg in her West End Avenue apartment.  Police called her "a major supplier of drugs" at Columbia University.  They discovered $100,000 worth of illegal drugs in her apartment.  Unfortunately for Bruce McKeithen, he and two young Columbia students were in the apartment at the time of the raid.  They were arrested for drug possession.

photograph by Carole Teller

At some point, the brownstone was painted cream and white.  The original stoop ironwork and entrance doors survive.

many thanks to artist Carole Teller for suggesting this post