Gouveneur Hospital - 621 Water Street

The riverfront neighborhood of Water Street and Gouveneur's Slip was among the seediest in New York City in the 1870s and '80s.  Brothels, saloons and gambling dens lured sailors and miscreants.   Stabbings, shootings, and beatings were common.  So Charity Commissioner Thomas S. Brennan's proposal of an "emergency hospital"--a branch of Bellevue Hospital--at Gouveneur's Slip made sense.

The free-standing, three-story brick building was completed in October 1885 at a cost of $14,000.  Because, as the New-York Tribune pointed out, it was "simply a reception hospital" intended only for emergency treatment before patients were transferred to Bellevue, there were just 30 beds.  On October 3, 1885, about two weeks before the hospital opened, The New York Times reminded readers of the character of the neighborhood.

"The site occupied was formerly a police station, then a market place, and afterward a resort for thieves and low characters.  Its regeneration into a hospital grieves the river border gang, but is hailed as a great improvement by respectable neighbors."

Before long, the hospital took on the name of the nearby slip.  And a decade after its opening, it was clear that Gouveneur Hospital could not adequately meet the needs of the gritty neighborhood.  A full-service institution was needed.

In April 1897, The Sinking Fund Commission took bids for constructing a new hospital.  The lowest bid, of $116,000 from the Mapes-Reeve Construction Company, was rejected because of "a technical error."  The next lowest bit was from Mahoney Bros. at $129,400.  The total cost, including furnishings and equipment, would eventually rise to $200,000; around $5.75 million today.

The cornerstone was laid in 1898, some months after construction began.

Designed by John R. Thomas, the building was completed late in October 1900.  But a public spat between Charities Commissioner John W. Keller and Public Buildings Commissioner Henry S. Kearny delayed opening until January 5, 1901.  In reporting the opening, The New York Times took a jab at the men, saying, "Mr. Keller and Public Buildings Commissioner Kearny have been at odds for some months."

Four stories of red brick trimmed in terra cotta, the new facility could accommodate 104 patients.  The New York Times deemed it, "the most perfectly equipped in the Charities Department."   The intention was always that two wings would stretch back from the main administration building, but only the north wing was included in the first stage of construction.

The original hospital (center) was still in use as the modern structure rose around it.  from the collection of Harvard Art Museums/Fogg Museum

Running alongside the old hospital, the end of the wing was rounded, thereby doing away with interior corners where dirt and germs could accumulate.

The New York Times reported, "The doctors' and nurses' quarters and the dining rooms are all that could be desired.  The laboratory and operating room are filled with up-to-date apparatus, including an X-ray machine, the only one in the Charities Department."

The case of one of the hospital's first patients, 24-year-old John Bellinette, reflected not only the type of injuries the facility would receive, but the character of the neighborhood.  Bellinette lived at 44 Oliver Street, but he was found just before midnight on Saturday, January 12, 1901 in the yard of 22 Hamilton Street.  He had been thrown from the fourth-floor window.

Two neighbors informed Patrolman Edward J. O'Rourke that they had seen the crime from their rooms.  "While they were still at the window they saw a man stoop over the body of the injured man and take his overcoat and hat," reported The New York Times.

O'Rourke went to the apartment and arrested Salvatore Adriate, his wife, Theresa, and another woman, Philamina Perchaine.  Bellinette's overcoat and hat were on the bed.  The three "denied that there was any quarrel in their rooms, and said they did not know who the injured man was."

An investigation, however, revealed that Raphael Cresanzo and Francisco Rimardo had also been in the room at the time of the "accident."  Bellinette, it was revealed, was accused by Cresanzo of cheating him out of money.  Fearing for his life, Bellinette tried to escape onto the fire escape and was pushed to the ground.  Two days later he was still in critical condition in Gouverneur Hospital with a fractured skull.

By spring 1903, the city was ready to erect the southern wing.  The Real Estate Record & Builders' Guide reported on April 18, "Probabilities point to the speedy completion of Gouverneur Hospital...The new administration building with one wing was opened in 1901, and now it is desired that the other wing be built."  Architect Raymond Almirall was give the commission, but he closely followed Thomas's design, resulting in a visually-balanced structure.

It was not until July 1909, however, that the City contracted for what would become perhaps the hospital's iconic feature.  Bids were taken for "railings, supports and all other work for inclosing the balconies and balcony stairways."  The wonderful iron, rounded balconies were outfitted with curtains for privacy and protection from direct midday heat.

The treatment for some diseases, notably tuberculosis, included fresh and and sunshine.  Beds and wheelchairs could be rolled out onto the balconies to provide both.

Close inspection reveals the curtains (one set closed on the second floor in the north wing).  At least one iron bed is visible.  By now the old hospital had been replaced with an ambulance garage with dormers that matched the main building.  photo from the collection of the New York Public Library

By now, the Lower East Side was filled with filthy tenements crammed with indigent immigrant families.  At the turn of the century, there were 330,000 residents per square mile, tasking the staff at Gouveneur Hospital with another type of patient--children.  Infants and toddlers in poor families suffered from malnutrition, measles, whooping-cough, heat prostration and pneumonia.  Infectious diseases spread within the hospital since there was no "detention room."  Three times during the winter of 1913 the children's ward had to be quarantined.

The waiting room, in 1907, provided a crowded and piteous scene.  photo by Byron Company, from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York

In 1917, the Department of Health recommended "that a salary sufficient to retain a nurse specifically trained in the care of children be provided."  The investigating committee deemed $600 a year appropriate.

In the meantime, rampant crime and gang activity continued.  A peculiar case was that of Mrs. Branaslaw Kucharsky, a 41-year-old washwoman.  Around 9:00 on the morning of July 14, 1919, two strangers were seen entering the tenement building where she lived at 113 Stanton Street.  About an hour later a neighbor entered her flat and found her on the floor.

An ambulance from Gouveneur Hospital found her already dead.  The New-York Tribune reported that she "was either murdered or died of fright when attacked during the robbery of her home."

Gangster violence repeatedly resulted in injuries, often fatal.  On the night of June 13, 1920, Angelo De Rocco waited in ambush outside a Rivington Street movie theater.  When Rosario Demario exited, the "bushwacker," as described by the Tribune, opened fire.  Demario was struck in the back and the panicked crowd scattered.

Two policemen nearby chased De Rocco, who fired his revolver at them as he fled.  Detective Anthony J. Fater returned fire, hitting the fugitive once in the back, and then in the leg.  Both men were taken to Gouveneur Hospital.  But the night was not over yet.

Half an hour later, Salvatore Campo was found unconscious in his room on the second floor of 217 Bowery with five knife wounds in his body and scalp.  The New-York Tribune reported, "One of the wounds had nearly severed his right ear."  He, too, was taken to Gouveneur Hospital.

Police later discovered that all three lived in the building--De Rocco on the first floor, Campo on the second, and Demario on the third.  Neighbors said that there had been "a long standing quarrel among the boarders."

On the night of March 1, 1921, Patrolman Shoemaker was passing 46 Pitt Street just after 11:00 when a man holding a "smoking pistol" staggered backwards out of the doorway and collided with a lamppost.  Rocco Franko was holding his bloodied right hand to his chest.  Shoemaker called an ambulance for the 27-year-old, then entered the building.

On the first landing he found Charles Vito, who also held a pistol.  The New-York Tribune reported that he "had his right eye shot away.  Again an ambulance was called from Gouverneur Hospital."  Both men were arrested in the hospital, but refused to give any information.

The eye-catching balconies survive--grabbing the attention of drivers on the FDR Drive feet away.

Street violence and gangster activity continued to result in emergency cases.  In spring 1922, 17-year-old Samuel Licht had only recently been released from the State Reformatory.   On March 26 he stopped a young woman outside a store on Madison Street.  Whatever he said to the girl, she apparently took offense.  She walked away and Licht loitered around in front of the store.

The New-York Tribune reported, "Children who were playing in the street nearby saw a taxicab draw up to the curb and stop.  Two men got out, stood side by side while they leveled revolvers, and fired simultaneously."  One of the bullets lodged in the door of the store, but the other struck Licht in the back of the head.  "The two men re-entered the taxicab and were driven off."

A patrolman who heard the shots called an ambulance from Gouveneur Hospital, but Liche died on the way.

During the Great Depression, the Works Progress Administration provided work to artists who, among other projects, decorated civic buildings with murals.  In 1936, artist Abram Champanier began a ambitious series of 15 Alice in New York Wonderland murals for the children's ward of Gouveneur Hospital.  The oil-on-canvas works colorfully depicted a very modern Alice in settings like the Central Park Zoo, at the Coney Island Playground, at the New York Public Library and flying over the East River bridges.

Gouveneur Hospital could boast a few firsts.  Dr. Emily Dunning Barringer graduated from the Cornell Medical School in 1897 and was accepted on the Gouveneur Hospital Staff.  The Cornell Alumni News later pointed out she was the first female doctor in a New York City hospital, "thereby establishing the precedent of admitting women physicians to general hospital service."  Even more shocking at the time, Dr. Barringer was the first female ambulance driver in the world.

And in 1940 Dr. George A. Baehr organized a prepaid medical plan for tenants of the nearby housing projects, the Vladeck Houses.  Residents paid 25 cents per person per month.  The plan evolved into what we know today as HIP.

By mid-century the old facility was decidedly out-of-date.  The hospital lost its accreditation in 1957, and on November 21, 1960 locals held a nighttime protest around the building.  The New York Times reported, "About fifty residents of the area used flashlights to accent their demand for 'a ray of hope' for getting a new hospital to serve the section.  Placards complained about service and facilities in the 200-bed hospital."

The building was abandoned in 1961 and in June 1963 Mayor Robert F. Wagner announced plans for a new $14 million Gouveneur Hospital.  The new facility was opened at 227 Madison Street on September 21, 1972.

In the meantime, the old building sat empty and neglected.  Broken windows allowed weather into the wards, including those where Champanier's wonderful seven-foot tall murals once brightened the mood of sick children.

In 1980, the City offered the property for sale, and demolition was threatened.   Hearing of the W.P.A. murals, Andrew Scott Dolkart and Eddie Friedman of the Landmarks Preservation Commission alerted art conservator Allan Farancz in hopes of saving the artworks.

According to Dolkart later, "we were unable to interest any city, state or Federal agency in either paying for their removal and restoration or agreeing to hang the murals once they were removed.

"On the night before the bulldozers were to destroy the children's ward, with its murals, Mr. Farancz heroically went in and removed the artwork at his own expense."

Alice Flies Over the East River now hangs in the Cumberland Diagnostic & Treatment Center in Brooklyn.

Farancz stored the murals, which one-by-one were eventually conserved.  One of them, appropriately, was installed in the new Gouveneur Hospital.

In 1992 a nonprofit group, Community Access, Inc., began renovations of what was now essentially a gutted shell.  Under direction of architect Peter L. Woll, the venerable building was renovated for housing for the elderly, mentally ill and AIDS sufferers.

The a splash of Romanesque Revival blends with the overall Renaissance Revival style in the striking terra cotta entrance.

Known today as Gouveneur Court, the building provides assisted living housing for low income and special needs residents.

photographs by the author
many thanks to reader Pete Alsen for suggesting this post

2nd Collegiate Reformed Church - Lenox Avenue and 123rd St

In 1660, just 35 years after the Dutch West India Company erected the fort that would become New Amsterdam, Dutch pioneers built a small church far to the north.  It served a tiny settlement that would become the village of Haarlem, named after the old town in their homeland.

The Reformed Low Dutch Church's little building sat at what would become 125th Street near the Harlem River.  More than two centuries later, in May 1888, The Treasury; a Magazine of Religious and Current Thought supposed, "it was most likely of split logs.  The contributions were in planks, nails, schepels of wheat, day's work."  Twenty years later a stone church was built, but it was destroyed by the British during the Revolution.

By the time of the article, the congregation was in its fourth building.  Harlem (the town's spelling had lost one of its a's) was no longer a remote village, but was quickly blossoming into a vibrant northern suburb.  A committee was formed on April 11, 1884 "to consider the expediency of erecting a new church."

That new church would not be the fifth structure the the group, but the first for a newly-formed congregation.  A History of the Reformed Low Dutch Church of Harlem, published in 1910, explained that original plan was that the new structure would replace the old.  But then, "it was decided to continue work in the old field.  The two churches were, therefore, joined into one corporation and thus became collegiate."

Therefore, the original took the name of The First Collegiate Reformed Church of Harlem, while The Second Collegiate Reformed Church of Harlem was organized to additionally serve the burgeoning population.  On December 20, 1884, ten lots on the corner of Sixth Avenue (renamed Lenox Avenue in 1887) and 123rd Street were purchased for $65,000--about $1.6 million today.

Things moved rapidly.  Ground was broken on April 26, 1885 and the cornerstone laid on June 24.  The structure was completed in September 1886.  Although architect John R. Thomas's plans projected the construction costs at $60,000, The Treasury quoted the final cost at a staggering $215,000.

John Rochester Thomas was also drawing plans for the Harlem Methodist Episcopal Church on West 136th Street while working on Second Collegiate.  For the Lenox Avenue congregation he produced a Gothic Revival structure of undressed Ohio sandstone.  Massive gables faced the avenue and the side street, dominated by Gothic arches.  The slate-tiled roof changed directions and angles creating a mountainscape of gables.  The entrances were flanked by engaged towers that pointed upward, minaret-like, on either side of the gable.  But it was the corner bell tower that monopolized attention.

The tower rose to a carillon that sat just above highest point of the roof line.  A slender stone steeple continued until the feature was twice the height of the church proper.  The needle-like steeple was topped by a Gothic crocket.

A vintage postcard reveals a very quiet Lenox Avenue. (copyright expired)

The membership of 150 and their first minister, the Rev. George Hutchington Smyth, were transplanted from First Collegiate.  The Low Dutch Reformed Church, however, had greater expectations.  The new building had a seating capacity of 1,100.

The Lenox Avenue edifice was dedicated on September 30, 1886, two hundred years to the day after the stone building that had replaced the log cabin was dedicated.  The Reformed Low Dutch Church History called it in 1910, "a striking coincidence."

By 1891, the congregation was deemed by The Sun as "one of the richest congregations in Harlem."  But all was not tranquil within.  That spring Rev. Smyth was disturbed by reports that his members were displeased with him.  He asked a group of pastors of the Reformed churches to "examine into the differences between himself and his people."

Their findings were astonishing.  Members were questioned, and they said "he was a great caller and visited three times a year members of the church, and that his views were broad, so that the young people could not complain.  Socially he was all that could be wished for."  And the membership had not fallen off.  So what was the problem?

The New York Times reported, "His preaching did not please all, and as he is over fifty years old members of the church began to think that a younger man might be more efficient in strengthening the church in the growing field on the west side of Harlem."  But no one could point out a specific problem.  "The church had simply felt that it was better to have a new pastor."

Rev. Smyth was considered too old.  The Reformed Low Dutch Church History, 1910 (copyright expired)

On September 28, 1891, The Sun reported, "The Rev. G Hutchington Smyth, D. D., of the Second Reformed Collegiate Church...preached his farewell sermon yesterday."

Smyth was replaced by the Rev. Dr. William Justin Harsha who was lured from Omaha, Nebraska.  His installation was held on October 20, 1892.  The New York Times remarked, "A pleasant feature of the services was the singing of a hymn the words of which were written by Dr. Harsha."  The congregation's claims that they needed a younger preacher did not hold water, considering that Harsha was 68 years old--13 years older than Smyth.

During those pleasant ceremonies no one could predict that, like his predecessor, the congregation's love affair with Harsha would not last.

Rev. Dr. William Justin Harsha - The Reformed Low Dutch Church History, 1910 (copyright expired)

Although the building was just eight years old, John R. Thomas was called back in June 1894 to remodel his Second Collegiate Reformed Church.  And these were no small changes.  His plans--costing $35,000--called for new "slate roofing, stained glass, concrete and pine floors, hardwood finish, structure ironwork and church furniture."

The expensive renovations came at a surprising time.  The Financial Panic of 1893 was a devastating depression and unemployment had reached 12 percent nationwide.  Although his congregation seems to have been financially more secure than the average New Yorkers, Rev. Harsha addressed the gloomy conditions in his sermon on September 20, 1896.

"We should be in an attitude of hope," he said in part.  "Things are bound to improve.  I have faith in the soundness at heart of the American people."  He concluded "Storm always clears the sky."

A sermon on March 21, 1897, was a bit more controversial, at least by a 21st century viewpoint.  A theological movement had emerged that suggested some stories in the Old Testament were allegorical--Jonah and the whale, and the Garden of Eden, for instance.  Harsha asserted that "Jesus regarded the whole Old Testament as the Word of His Father."  Therefore, the stories were true.

"Eden is presented as a real garden, the first pair as genuine flesh and blood, and the whole account claims to be sober history.  The only fair and safe course is to take the record just as it stands, and not try to explain it away as an allegory."

Rev. Harsha's earlier sermon which promised that "Storm always clears the sky" did not, as it developed, apply to him personally.  Before coming to New York, he had invested in a religious publishing house.  Around 1896, the business failed, leaving the minister with a crippling debt of $40,000.

The Second Collegiate Reformed Church paid its pastor $5,000 per year, a satisfying $147,000 today.  He arranged to have $2,000 of that turned over to a receiver to pay down the debt.  By the end of 1899, he had managed to pay off about $12,000.

When the embarrassing situation reached the newspapers, the congregation of the Second Collegiate Reformed Church, seemingly forgetting their Christian teachings, forced the 76-year old to resign.  On December 18, 1899, the New-York Tribune reported that the disgraced Dr. Harsha was "in Texas or the Indian Territory, preparing to engage in missionary work among the Indians, and that his family are visiting relatives in Massachusetts."

Rev. William Harsha's replacement, the Rev. Edgar Tilton, Jr., was installed on February 4, 1900.  The New-York Tribune described him as "a young man" who was "well-known to his new charge."  Tilton received a significant honor later that year, in November, when he was selected as chaplain of the 71st Regiment.

The congregation finally got its young pastor in Rev. Edgar Tilton Jr. New-York Tribune, November 18, 1900 (copyright expired)

As Rev. Harsha had done, Tilton embarked on massive renovations to the church building.  On June 8, 1901, the renowned architectural firm of Renwick, Aspinwall & Owen filed plans to "raise walls and general alterations."  The brief description hardly explained the massive scope of the project.

The organ was removed and the sanctuary closed for the summer (a good time for construction since well-to-do families were off to their country homes or resorts).  The Reformed Low Dutch Church of Harlem said, "The wall back of the pulpit was removed, an arch constructed, and iron pillars placed in the small chapel to support a gallery for the organ...and the whole interior decorated.  The cost of this improvement was about $12,000."

The remodeled church was opened and rededicated on November 3, 1901.  The New-York Tribune reported, "New exits at the west end of the galleries have been put in, and the whole interior has been decorated and refurnished.  The seating capacity has been increased about one-eighth."

The 1901 renovations included, among other things, the large arch and the organ loft.  The Reformed Low Dutch Church History, 1910 (copyright expired)

The remodeling was quickly followed by a series of gifts in the form of new stained glass.  Windows honoring the memory of children were installed over the south gallery, given by the Kindergarten department of the Bible School.  The were soon followed by two more windows in memory of deceased children, these over the east gallery.  Unveiled on June 8, 1902 (Children's Day), one, The Boy Jesus in the Temple, was donated by Mr. and Mrs. Benjamin F. Mills in memory of their 13 year old son Samuel Fairchild Mills, who died in June 1900.  The other, Christ Blessing the Children, was given by Mr. and Mrs. Eugene S. Hand in memory of Lilian May Hand, who died in August 1894 at the age of 15.

One by one other windows were donated and installed, until the final two, the Walk to Emmaus and The Light of the World, were unveiled on Easter Sunday, 1910.  That year was momentous for another reason.  The Low Dutch Reformed Church celebrated its 250th anniversary in November the events would continue for weeks.

Christian Intelligence described the sanctuary decorations on November 30, when Dr. Tilton "gave a historical address."  The magazine said, "The old Dutch flags emblematic of our ancestry, the Stars and Stripes, significant of preservation in the past and continued protection in the future, and the glowing figures 1660 and 1910, blazing forth from the pulpit of the Lenox avenue Church, which was flanked with palms, the presence of the old bell cast in Holland in 1734 especially for the old Dutch Church of Harlem--all being so suggestive of a gala time resulting from a glorious history, added to the impressiveness of the services."
 

The 18th century bell sits in the flag-draped chancel for the 1910 anniversary services.  The Reformed Low Dutch Church History, 1910 (copyright expired)

At the time, the demographics of Harlem were changing as black residents relocated from downtown.  The Second Collegiate Reformed Church remained in the Lenox Avenue building until 1929, when it somewhat surprisingly moved downtown to East 89th Street.

The congregation leased the church to the Second Harlem Seventh-Day Adventist congregation, lead by Michael C. Strachan who was called from Florida to be pastor of the 108-member congregation.  Formed in 1924, it changed its name to the Ephesus Seventh-Day Adventist Church in 1930 when it moved into the Lenox Avenue building.  Nine years later the congregation purchased the structure from the Reformed Low Dutch Church of Harlem.

Among the congregants were civil rights activist John Byard and his wife.  When Lucille Byard became ill in 1944 John thought it best to take her by train to Washington DC for treatment at the Washington Sanitarium (now the Washington Adventist Hospital).  He phoned ahead to ensure that arrangements would be made.

When the couple arrived, the staff was shocked to see that their patient was black.  John was pulled aside and told that the Sanitarium was for whites only.  His wife could not receive treatment.

By the time Byard could find another hospital that would admit Lucille, it was too late.  She died in Freedman's Hospital a few days later.

News of Lucille Byard's death traveled nationwide among black Adventists and civil rights advocates, evoking well-deserved outrage.  Hundreds of mourners crammed Ephesus Seventh-Day Adventist Church for her funeral and 13 ministers delivered eulogies.

By 1945, the membership had swollen to more than 1,000.   Disaster struck on January 9, 1969 when fire broke out in the upper portions of the Youth Chapel.  The sanctuary was gutted and, despite the fire captain cautioning his men, "Don't destroy the windows!" several were lost.  The steeple, iconic to the building, was so weakened by the heat that 30 feet had to be removed to prevent collapse.

The nearly decade-long rebuilding cost $2.3 million.  The renovated church was reopened in 1978, with a still-stumpy steeple.

In the meantime, the importance of Ephesus Seventh-Day Adventist Church in the community was somewhat symbolized in 1975 when Walter J. Turnbull organized the church's boys choir.  The group would become known as the Boys Choir of Harlem and would perform in venues throughout Europe and in prestigious American concert spaces like Avery Fisher Hall.

Finally, on December 11, 2006, the steeple regained its full height.  A copper-and-steel replacement, coated in lead, was fitted over the stone stump.  And happily, although the replacement was in metal rather than stone, the decorative crocket was reproduced.

photographs by the author

The Ruins of Squadron A Armory -- Madison Avenue at 94th Street

photo by Alice Lum

What began as a social riding club would evolve into a brave fighting unit vaguely remembered by the romantic ruins of its medieval castle on Madison Avenue.  In 1884 some of the wealthiest and most prominent of New York gentlemen banded together in their love of horsemanship.  They created a private unit—originally a social club—called the First New York Hussars or First Dragoons.  The men drilled at Dickel’s Riding Academy where they had use of an assembly room and lockers.  They created their own dress uniforms based on London’s 10^th Hussars.   

But there was a problem.  Since 1877 New York City’s National Guard had had no mounted unit.

“Since the close of the civil war,” The New York Times later noted on January 23, 1898, ‘the people of the Eastern States had been unused to the sight of cavalry for a generation; the National troops of that arm having been fully employed in subduing the Indians in the far Western Territories.”

When an escort was required for visiting Presidents or other dignitaries, the infantry or artillery made do.  More importantly, military leaders became concerned about the lack of a cavalry in the major urban area.   So in 1889 the 53-man unit became Troop “A,” an official part of the New York National Guard.   The Troop was put under the command of West Point trained Major Charles F. Roe, a veteran of the Civil War and former Indian fighter.

The New York Times described Roe as “no holiday commander of Troop A, and the young aristocrats and millionaires who abounded in the ranks were required to submit to the same stern discipline as the thirteen-dollar-a-month trooper on the plains.”

The elite members, accustomed to smoking rooms and evening clothes, found themselves quickly in less than elegant conditions.  In August 1892 the Troop was sent to Buffalo, New York to quell the riots that erupted during the railroad strike there. 

The Troop was increased by a special act of Legislature in 1893 to 112 men and was divided into two troops, becoming Squadron A.   That year they served as Governor Roswell P. Flower’s escort at the inauguration of President Grover Cleveland.  All this time the men still called Dickel’s Riding Academy home.  It was time for a respectable armory.

Architect John Rochester Thomas knew his way around armory design.  In 1888 he designed the Eighth Regiment Armory and in 1892 he laid the plans for the 71^st Regiment Armory on Park Avenue at 33^rd Street.  In 1894 he was commissioned to design the Squadron A headquarters on Madison Avenue between 94^th and 95^th Streets which would back up against his earlier Eighth Regiment Armory which faced Park Avenue.

Intricate brickwork surmounts a romantic brownstone balcony -- photo by Alice Lum

"The new armory…will be designed in the ancient Norman castellated style and will have a true military appearance,” promised The New York Times.  The cornerstone was laid on July 10, 1894—emblazoned with the unit’s motto “Boutez en Avant” (Push to the Front).   On June 7, 1895 Squadron A took possession of its still uncompleted building which The New York Times said was in “the Scottish Baronial” style.

The cornerstone announced the unit's motto "Push to the Front"  -- photo by Alice Lum

With towers, lancet windows, balconies and monumental arches Thomas created a fantastic castle.  It recalled visions of knights in battle and caldrons of boiling oil being cast over the ramparts onto the invaders below.    There were three main floors, a mezzanine and basement.

Below ground were the stables, saddle room, 200-foot long pistol range, storage and work rooms and waiting rooms.   There were 100 horse stalls in the concrete basement.

The main floor contained a 197-foot long riding and drill ring, 87 feet wide.   The drilling ring soared through the center of the building to a glass-and-iron ceiling.  In the corner towers were winding staircases leading to the upper floors.   The mezzanine consisted of a broad viewing gallery that encircled the drill ring below.

A glimpse of the 95th Street entrance is seen in this 1898 sketch on the menu of a dinner at the exclusive Delmonico's restaurant.  Pictured is Major Roe --NYPL Collection

On the second floor, in addition to administrative rooms, was an 85-foot long hall on the 95^th Street side which was used as a meeting room and “a place for the social gatherings of the organization.”  The top floor housed a gymnasium “complete with all the modern appliances for physical development,” said The New York Times and “a complete plant for the Commissary of Subsistence.”  The impressive term translated into the troop kitchen, pantries, smaller kitchen, dining rooms as well as sleeping rooms.

Major Roe's office -- The New York Tribune, December 15, 1901 (copyright expired)

While the janitor and the armorer had permanent quarters, there were sufficient sleeping accommodations for the entire unit if necessary.

While the armory was being completed Squadron A was called upon again to quell an uprising.  The 1895 Brooklyn Trolley Strike resulted in rioting.  For eight days the men patrolled the Brooklyn streets during a blizzard of an exceptionally cold winter, burning fires in the streets and sleeping on the hard floor of a factory. 

The Brickbuilder, October 10, 1893 (copyright expired)

It prompted Outing to declare in March 1895 “Troop A proved that the cavalry arm is a necessary adjunct to the militia service; their scrupulously kept horses, stable and equipment speak volumes for their veteran commander and their work was splendidly accomplished.”

The quixotic facade creates images of Lancelot (or perhaps Rapunzel) -- photo by Alice Lum

A resplendent ball and reception signaled the formal opening of the armory on January 31, 1896. 

Although Squadron A was fully a part of the National Guard, its high-class roots remained.  “The organization resembles a club in other social customs,” remarked The New York Times on January 23, 1898.  “’Smokers’ and entertainments for various purposes are held from time to time in its assembly room and outside of their homes.  The reading hall is always free to members of the organization.

Squadron A, in full dress uniform, rides in the Fifth Avenue parade for Admiral Dewey -- photo Library of Congress

That year, however, social entertainments would be put on hold as the Squadron was deployed to the Spanish American War and to Puerto Rico.   On April 16, 1900 the Squadron was mobilized again because of a strike.   Workers in disagreement with the contractors had brought construction of the dam at Croton Landing, New York to a standstill.  When word arrived that Squadron A would be marching north, labor leader Angelo Rotella declared “Only a part of our men are armed, but they will all be armed in the morning.  We will resist every attempt by the contractors to renew the work to-morrow with strange men and we will fight, if necessary, until the troops get here.”

 

On April 28 the men—many of them the sons of the leading names of New York society—headed home.  “The men were browned and campaign soiled,” reported The New York Times, “and the horses looked in much better shape than they.  Capt. Howard Badgley made a speech thanking the men for their faithful duty, and they cheered him, and all took a bath.”

Along with the men on their long journey back to the city were two unusual companions.  The New York Times reported that “The men brought down two baggage wagons, an ambulance and two mascots.  One of the mascots is a gander named Antonio…The wagon supply man found a baby carriage along the road, and imprisoned the bird in it and tied the carriage to the back of his wagon.  The other mascot is a yellow dog, nicknamed Croton, weary and worn.”

In 1903 Squadron A petitioned for a new armory; feeling that they had outgrown the present structure.  Instead the Eighth Regiment was moved to a new facility and Squadron A took over the vacated armory facing Park Avenue, combining the two.

photo by Alice Lum

In 1916 the Squadron was deployed again, sent to the Mexican border “where it suffered every kind of discomfort with far less grousing than the regulars,” noted The New York Times.

Only a year later with war raging in Europe, Squadron A found itself headed for France.   At 9:30 am, headed by Sousa’s band, the 538-man unit marched south on Fifth Avenue to the 23^rd Street ferry.  The Squadron leaving for the front was not made up of the social elite, however; those men would stay back.

“The most of the lawyers, bankers and society lights who used to make Squadron A the pet unit of New York’s 400 have graduated into commissions, and their places have since been taken by recruits from less conspicuous stations in life,” said The New York Times.  “Every one of the new men, however, appeared to be a first class soldier, competent, and eager for an opportunity to show his worth.”

While the band played “Auld Lang Syne” the soldiers boarded the ferry.  “They were showered with kits candy, cigars and cigarettes,” the newspaper added.   After seeing battle in Flanders and Ypres under the 105^th Machine Gun Battalion, 80 members of the Squadron would not return home.

Riding in motorcars rather than on horseback, Squadron A passes the New York Public Library in the triumphal 1919 parade for returning troops. -- photo NYPL Collection

After the war and the return of Squadron A the upscale roots of the unit reappeared.  The drilling ring was the scene of animated polo matches year after year and the annual Squadron A Horse Show became an anticipated event.  By the 1950s the armory was as much the home to the Squadron A Polo Club as it was a military installation.   Privately owned polo ponies could be housed in the massive stables below ground with a monthly bill for stabling and feed amounting to $85.  Members who owned one horse paid dues of $135, or $285 for two or more.

It would all come to an end within a decade.  The Squadron was pulled from the old armory and plans to demolish the structure, to be replaced with a 16-story school and apartment building complex, were announced.  

As demolition commenced, The Landmarks Preservation Commission rushed into action with only the Madison Avenue façade left standing.    The Commission’s report noted that “There were four speakers in opposition to designation; they were fearful that the retaining of the Madison Avenue front of the Armory might delay the construction of the new public school on the Park Avenue side of the site.”

Overpowering the opposition was strong community support for salvaging what remained of the armory.  On October 19, 1966 the surviving sliver of the John R. Thomas’ romantic brick and stone castle was landmarked.

The surviving sliver, barely saved from the wrecking ball, gives a hint of the original, massive structure -- photo by Alice Lum

Today the Madison Avenue ruins stand as a wall to the Hunter College High School and its attached elementary school.   Saved at the 11^th hour it is a remarkable example of Victorian military architecture—if a bit out of place in the playground.

The Surrogate's Courthouse / Hall of Records -- 31 Chambers Street

By the second half of the 19th Century the need for a larger, more secure hall of records was evident. The population of Manhattan had grown from 61,000 in 1800 to 942,000 in 1870. Necessarily, as the population burgeoned so did the amount of paper records to be archived. In 1888 the Sinking Fund Commission was formed to erect the new facility.

Concurrently, a plan to demolish the elegant 1803 City Hall was initiated and John R. Thomas won the commission for its replacement with an exuberant Beaux Arts design. Thomas was a prolific architect credited with designing more public and semi-public buildings than any other designer in the country, including armories, the old Stock Exchange and more than 150 churches.

Public outcry against the demolition of City Hall was immediate and strong. Subsequently the State Legislature voted down a new City Hall and, as compensation, the commission for the new Hall of Records was given to Thomas.

photo New York Public Library collection

It would be nearly a decade before the city obtained the land for the new building. The Board of Estimate and Apportionment met on December 16, 1897 to award the building contract to John Pierce, who had bid $1,997,900. The board estimated the total cost to be $2.2 million.

By the time the building was finally completed that figure would rise to $8 million.

Thomas’ plans, a gentle re-do of his City Hall design, were approved by an advisory committee of William E. Ware of Columbia University’s Architectural School, noted architectural critic Montgomery Schuyler, and Metropolitan Museum trustee Henry G. Marquand. It was a grand French Beaux Arts building in keeping with the new City Beautiful Movement.

The theory of the movement held that monumental and classical buildings would not only beautify the urban area, but citizens who were surrounded by civilized structures would behave in a civilized manner. Thomas’ Hall of Records would be monumental beyond imagination.

A lavish mansarded giant constructed of granite from Hallowell, Maine (the same quarry used for the stone of the State Capitol building), it would be embellished with sculptures on three levels. Groupings closest to street level would depict “various races and nations,” the second tier would be portraiture of distinguished city fathers, while the uppermost sculptures would be allegorical.

The Hall of Records 1907

 As sumptuous as his exterior design would be, the interior was doubly-so. Opulence was created with yellow Siena marble, mahogany woodwork, and an intricate arched mosaic ceiling in an Egyptian motif. White marble sculptural groupings of “The Consolidation of Greater New York” and “Recording the Purchase of Manhattan Island” would sit above the east and west doorways.

The inlaid foyer floor would be of pink Tennessee and Blue Beige marble, illuminated by a bronze chandelier and wall sconces; even the radiator covers would be bronze , topped by spread eagles atop globes.

Photo New York Citywide Administrative Services

If the visitor was struck by the foyer, he would be awed by the lobby where a grand baroque split staircase rose two floors to a balustraded level. A century later, author Bill Harris in his “One Thousand New York Buildings” said “Want to see the Paris Opera? Step into the lobby right here.” Thomas’ interior design was one of lavish theatricality.

Ground breaking did not occur until 1899 and the cornerstone was laid in April 13, 1901. Shortly thereafter, on August 28, John R. Thomas died unexpectedly. Reaction on the part of the new Tammany-backed Mayor Robert A. Van Wyck was immediate.

Photo New York Citywide Administrative Services

He gave the job of completing the project to architects Horgan & Slattery, also connected to Tammany Hall. The firm recommended various alterations to the plan, which The New York Times grumbled was “horganizing and slatterifying” the design.

On April 28, 1902 the first of the eight mammoth granite columns was hoisted into position. Carved in a single piece, it was 36 feet high, 4 feet two inches in diameter and weighed 41 tons. Transporting the monolith from Pier 1 took a team of 21 horses.

Construction dragged on for eight years during which time the grandiose plans for the 54 separate sculptures threatened the completion deadline. The Fine Arts Association and then the Municipal Art Society gave their opinions, chiming in on materials (bronze, marble or granite) and subject matter. “The material used is of the greatest importance, very naturally,” reported The Times. “Marble will weather, and is easily broken, but granite also is not proof against the folly and malice of boys and degenerates, of fanatics and drunken men. Bronze will stand the wear and tear of the crowds who will pass the Hall of Records, and will always contain a sprinkling of those imbeciles who knock off a finger or toe in sport or to keep as a souvenir.”

Thomas had given the commissions to two sculptors only, H. K. Bush-Brown for the roof sculptures and Philip Martiny for the rest; far too much work for the allotted time. Martiny did his work at the Hallowell, Maine quarry where the stone for rest of the building was cut. As work progressed, delays were caused when his plaster casts for the statue of former Mayor Hewitt were rejected four times. Finally on December 8, 1905 the finished 12-foot, four ton statue was completed and prepared for hoisting into place on the cornice at the sixth floor. When the sculpture was about two and a half feet from the cornice, the main boom of the rigging snapped, sending the statue plummeting to the sidewalk where it smashed.

Luckily, because of the long construction process, a new mayor took over and most of the changes to Thomas’ original design were reversed. Nevertheless, as city workers began moving in to their offices in 1906 they were shocked to find that the gray and white marble on the upper floors was actually plaster.

The Times explained “The presence of the plaster where the marble ought to be is explained by the fact that the hall was planned in one administration, replanned in another, and finally planned in a third.” No graft was involved, the newspaper said. Nevertheless, “…the imitation work is very poorly done indeed, and, though the hall has been opened but a few weeks, is already beginning to show signs of wear.”

Amid the controversy, Horgan & Slattery publically admitted the substitution of materials was a mistake.

In 1961 when Centre Street was widened, the two sculptures flanking the entrance were removed to the front of the New York County Courthouse at 60 Centre Street. A year later the Hall of Records was renamed The Surrogate’s Courthouse.

The building that the Work Progress Administration’s “New York City Guide” pronounced in 1939 “New York’s best example of eclectic baroque style used in French nineteenth-century municipal buildings,” was deemed a New York City landmark in 1966. A decade later the interiors were also given landmark status.

When opened, the Hall of Records was called “the most Perisian thing in New York” and a century later it could still hold that designation.