Julius Boekell's 1876 205 Chrystie Street

photograph by Anthony Bellov

 
Born in Germany, architect Julius Boekell built his career around the designing of tenement-and-store buildings.  On April 7, 1876, he filed plans for a "five-story brick store and tenement" at the southwest corner of Chrystie and Stanton Streets.  Its construction cost developer H. Riffel $15,000, or about $465,000 in 2026 terms.

Boekell tucked the residential entrance far to the rear, at 19 Stanton Street.  Overall Italianate in design, the building was faced in red brick above cast iron storefronts.  Typical of Boekell's work, stone quoins outlined the corners.  Striking cast metal lintels blended Italianate and neo-Grec styles--the former reflected in the gently arched molded cornices with their lacy cresting, and the latter in the incised decorations underneath.  The marriage of styles returned in the terminal cornice where the corbels began with geometric neo-Grec lines before sprouting foliate Italianate scrolls.

photograph by Anthony Bellov

H. Riffel (who lived next door at 17 Stanton Street) retained ownership of the building.  It held fifteen apartments and their occupants were, expectedly, working class.  

Riffel was faced with a terrifying incident in the summer of 1879.  On August 25, he rented rooms on the second floor to a woman named Rauch.  She told him that she had two children and, according to The Sun, she "was reticent as to where she came from, but implied that she had last lived in California."

The new tenant was also unforthcoming about her family.  The Sun said she moved in with "seven children, one of whom only reaching to adult age."  (In fact, the eldest was 15.)  One of the children, the next day, implied that they had actually just arrived from Memphis.  Not coincidentally, on August 28, The Evening Post reported that five new cases of yellow fever had been reported in Memphis, Tennessee.

The day after the family moved into 19 Stanton Street, Mrs. Rauch showed symptoms of yellow fever.  The Sun said, "other tenants noticed the pungent smell of what were evidently disinfectants."  A tenant who lived on the same floor, John Sullivan, notified officials.  On August 28, Dr. Taylor of the Board of Health, "hastened to the tenement house."  The Evening Post reported, "He was informed that [the family] had come from Chicago."  When Mrs. Rauch could not remember where they lived there, the eldest daughter said they lived on Noble Street, but could not remember the address.  Mrs. Rauch explained that she was simply suffering from "a cold contracted in traveling."  Satisfied that the rumors of yellow fever were "nothing but the loose talk of the other tenants," Dr. Taylor left.

Less confident was a reporter from The Evening Post, who checked the latest Chicago directory and found no Rauches on Noble Street.  He visited the Rauch rooms and when he spoke to Mrs. Rauch in German, she talked freely, conceding that they had come from Memphis.  And The Sun reported that they, "now admitted that all their clothes and bedding had been burned before starting" for New York.

The Evening Post opined that had Dr. Taylor known the details uncovered by the reporter he, "might have delayed his report or slightly altered its tone."  The newspaper concluded, "It may...be wise to watch these new comers."  Frustratingly, newspaper coverage ended with no follow-up on the Rauch family's fate.

photograph by Anthony Bellov

Julius Freeland lived here in the spring of 1894.  The 24-year-old broke into the house of attorney Thomas E Pearsall on the night of May 4, but he was unprepared for his encounter with a feisty servant.  Ellen Lyborn discovered Freeland on the second floor.  She sneaked up behind him and "caught him around the waist, held him fast and yelled at the top of her voice until help arrived," reported The Evening World.  Freeland "was handed over to the police of the Sixth avenue station," said the article.

On May 2, 1899, resident Samuel Bennett took a day trip to Coney Island.  His pleasant outing ended very badly, however.  The New York Journal and Advertiser said, "Sixty passengers on trolly car No. 855...had a thrilling experience during the storm last evening on the way from Coney Island to Manhattan."  The passengers of the "uncomfortably crowded" car would most likely have chosen a different adjective than "thrilling" to describe their ride.

The article reported that a bolt of lightning struck the trolley pole and "ran into the car.  There was a loud explosion, the fuses were burned out and the car appeared to have been set on fire in several places."  Every passenger received a "severe shock" and several were knocked to the floor.  "There was a wild scramble to get out of the car, and men knocked down and trampled upon women in the effort to reach the street."  Among those who were seriously hurt was Samuel Bennett, who suffered injuries to his chest and head.

Hard working residents living in tenement buildings almost always coexisted with criminals.  A Police Department report of "Suspected Gambling Houses" in January 1899 included the raid on a "poolroom" at 19 Stanton Street.  (Poolrooms were illegal gambling dens.)  The officers got more than they expected in this raid, however.  The report said, "One of those poolrooms is an opium joint, No. 19 Stanton street."

John Segallo lived here in 1904.  The New York Times described him as "an Italian, thirty years old."  The newspaper said he "says that he is a tailor, but the police...say he is 'connected with the Mafia.'"  Police were investigating Segallo as "having been connected with the famous barrel murder," according to The New York Times.  The "barrel murder" was the slaying of Italian immigrant Benedetto Madonia, whose slashed body was discovered stuffed in a sugar barrel on East 11th Street in the spring of 1903.  (The murder was later attributed to the Mafia gang headed by Ignazio Lupo and Giuseppe Morello.)

On June 21, 1904, The New York Times reported that Segallo "was shot twice...He was taken to the Hudson Street Hospital in a dying condition.  The article said, 

 

Through an Italian druggist, in whose place Segallo was treated, the wounded man said that he was taking a walk to get the salt air, and that he saw two Italians whom he did not know quarreling in the street.  One of them he said drew a revolver and fired two shots, both of which struck him in the abdomen.

The pharmacist's story was different from other witness accounts.  Detective McGee said that he "believed that there had been a fight between Segallo and other Italians over the division of spoils from a pocketbook taken from a newly arrived Italian immigrant."  Segallo died in the Hudson Hospital that evening.

image via the NYC Dept of Records & Information Services

Twenty-eight-year-old Antonio Fedele had much in common with John Segallo.  He was described by the New York Herald in 1912 as "an old member of the Lupo counterfeiting gang."  He lived here that year with his widowed mother and eight sisters.  According to the newspaper, Fedele's sisters "thought that their brother was a hard working contractor who made a good deal of money and treated them with unfailing kindness."

Fedele, indeed, made a great deal of money.  But his sisters certainly knew it did not come from working as a laborer.  He had already served two prison terms, one for counterfeiting and another for burglary.  On January 24, 1912, the New York Herald said, "His picture is in the rogues' gallery and he was arrested a few weeks ago in Passaic for trying to steal horses."

As it turned out, Fedele's involvement with the Lupo gang would not be the only thing that he and Segallo had in common.  On January 23, 1912, the New-York Tribune reported, "The body of the man found in a clump of trees in South Orange Township on Saturday morning with a stab wound in the abdomen and three shots in the head was identified tonight as that of Antonio Fedele, a Sicilian."  

Angelo Lagappato was a member of an Italian-American extortion group La Mano Nera, or the Black Hand.  The terrorist organization used violent and often deadly methods.  On April 11, 1913, the New-York Tribune reported on a massive explosion that occurred on the ground floor of a six-story tenement at 152 Mott Street.  People two blocks away were thrown to the pavement by the shock.  The article said, "The hundreds of Italians who live in the tenement above the store poured into the hallways and down the stairs, shouting and firing off their revolvers in the well known Italian style."

A few moments before the bomb went off, detectives arrested Angelo Lagappato and Gusto Corso for suspicious activity.  "Both prisoners were charged with having loaded revolvers in their possession," reported the New-York Tribune.

Construction of Chrystie Street subway connection was evidenced by barricades and decking in 1959.  Tenants used the fire escapes to dry laundry.  image via the Ne York Transit Museum

Several of the building's residents continued to be on the wrong side of the law over the coming years.  On August 5, 1959, for instance, Philip Stazzone was arrested with two others for running an illegal "policy operation," a sort of lottery that targeted low-income residents.  The New York Times reported that the trio was "doing a $50,000-a-day business."  (The amount would translate to about half a million in today's dollars.)

Changes in the neighborhood were reflected in the ground floor tenants.  Where Isey Wolowitz sold soda water in 1902, the 205 Club opened around 1995.  In its April 17 issue that year, New York Magazine described it as "a stylish, glass-fronted social club for hipsters."  

photograph by Anthony Bellov

In September 2012 Cocktail Bodega opened.  Richard Morgan of The New York Times said, "It is, plainly, a juice and smoothie place where you can get whiskey with your flaxseed."  It was a short-lived venture and by November 2013 Leave Rochelle Out of It occupied the space.  (The tongue-in-cheek name referred to a woman both owners had dated at different times.)  It was replaced by the new 205 Club.

many thanks to historian Anthony Bellov for suggesting this post

Julius Boekell's 1877 238 East 6th Street

 

photograph by Anthony Bellov

Although Frederick Pflueger was a partner with his brother Christopher in the real estate development firm C. & F. Pflueger, he and his wife, Annie, often operated on their own.  That was the case in September 1876, when Frederick purchased the one-story store building at the southwest corner of Second Avenue and East 6th Street.

Pflueger hired architect Julius Boekell to design two flat-and-store buildings on the site.  The slightly smaller structure at 238 East 6th Street shared all the decorative elements of the corner building, other than its quoins.  Boekell designed the buildings in the popular neo-Grec style.  But his treatment of the openings was both striking and surprising.

Boekell forewent the paired cornice corbels and stone quoins in the corner building in designing 238 East 6th Street.  image via apartments.com

Typical of the neo-Grec style, the windows at each floor were connected by stone bands.  Their earred lintels were treated differently at each level and, unexpectedly, did not get less striking at each subsequent floor.  Those of the second floor were influenced by ancient Greece, with classical triangular pediments flanked by acroteria.  The third floor lintels were capped by peaked molded cornices with incised decorations.  The third and fourth floor lintels were only slightly less impressive, each having molded cornices and incised designs.

The Greek-inspired treatment of the second floor lintels was highly unusual in the neo-Grec style.  (Note that the original six-over-six wooden sashes survive in the hallway windows.)  photo by Anthony Bellov

Two stores flanked the entrance of 238 East 6th Street.  Although the building sat within Kleindeutschland, or Little Germany, the surnames of the early residents reflected a mix of Irish, German, French and other ethnicities.  Among the first residents were Edward Bucherer, a cabinetmaker; George Clemence, a plumber; Thomas Dougherty, who was a "shoer" in a stable; Mary A. Kiers, Mary Lehner, and Mary Shaw, all widows who made their living by sewing; clerk Christopher Lutchen; publisher John H. Phillipp; and butcher Alexander Zadig and his wife, Minnie.

Not everything was going well within the Zadig apartment.  On August 8, 1879, the New-York Tribune reported that Alexander had committed his wife "to a lunatic asylum yesterday."  Whether Minnie actually had mental problems will never be known, but a common method of discarding a problematic relative or getting control of their money was to have them committed.

A fascinating resident living here as early as 1894 was Dr. C. W. Doehring.  On July 25, that year, the New Haven Morning Journal and Courier reported that the Poppowitsch Electric Company would be moving its factory from Brooklyn to New Haven.  "Dr. Doehring, 238 East Sixth street, New York, is the architect of the new factory," said the article.  And four months later, on November 10, The New York Times reported that he had co-founded the Doehring and Van Fire-proofing Company, "to construct fire-proof work in New-York City."

The General Slocum disaster in June 1904--an excursion steamboat which burned and sank in the East River--wiped out more than 1,000 residents of the neighborhood.  The German community greatly abandoned the Lower East Side.  The neighborhood around 238 East 6th Street increasingly took on an Eastern European flavor.

In the pre-World War I years, a "Russian and Slavish" print shop, as listed in The American Printer, occupied one of the storefronts.  In 1917, the Russian language newspaper Russky Golos (The Russian Voice) was founded.  It was published from the rear of the printing shop.  

Among the newspaper's early editorials warned the world about the new regime in Russia.  Published on November 10, 1917, it said in part, 

The Bolsheviki plotters, harping on the strings of liberty and equality, crying for peace and subjugation to Germany, are not less dangerous than the Black Hundred, "the Bolsheviki from the right," who are attempting to bring Russia back under the yoke of absolutism.

In the early Depression years, the Cosmopolitan Credit Union occupied the other storefront.  Russky Golos moved its operation slightly east to 130 East 6th Street by the mid-1940s.  

The East Village neighborhood had greatly changed by the 1970s.  Baby boomers were now nearing their 30s, but had not totally abandoned their hippie lifestyles of the 1960s.  Living here in 1973 was 27-year-old Vincent Cobb.  On the afternoon of May 13 that year, two Montauk policemen were alerted by "the notes of a flute being played in the nearby woods," reported The East Hampton Star.  They arrested Cobb and three others and "seized packages of marijuana, hashish, LSD, AST and tranquilizers."

In 1977, Leonard Gruen worked "out of a small, unpolished storefront at 238 East Sixth Street," as described by The New York Times.  With assistance from his wife, Gruen used chain links and iron rods to fashion "spidery immobiles" (or window guards) that he custom-made to fit his customers.  The article said, "It's a far cry from New Orleans wrought-iron grillwork, but it seems to do the job for the wrought-up, crime-sensitive resident."  Occupying the other store at the time was the bookstore Howeria.

In the 1980s, O-Zora occupied one of the storefronts.  Run by Japanese-born Jiro Tusji and his wife, it offered Japanese wares and tools, and work clothing.

photograph by Anthony Bellov

The ground floor of Julius Boekell's 1877 structure has been totally altered.  But, happily, the upper floors, with his compelling window treatments, survive intact.

many thanks to historian Anthony Bellov for suggesting this post

The 1874 Michael Puels Building - 285 Bleecker Street

In the spring of 1874 38-year old butcher Michael Puels embarked on an ambitious project.  Born in Bavaria, he had garnered enough money to acquire the 25-foot wide building at No. 285 Bleecker Street.  Now he envisioned a five-story building which would not only accommodate his butcher shop, but provide rental income from the apartments above.  It seems that Puels' American dream was happening.

On March 20, 1874 architect Julius Boekell filed plans for the "five-story brick store and tenement."  Also born in Germany, Boekell is perhaps best remembered for the striking First German Baptist Church on East 14th Street he had designed five years earlier.

Puels always intended that he and his wife, Clara, would live in one of the apartments over his store.  But he would never see his building completed.   A few months after ground was broken, on Wednesday, August 26, Puels died.  His funeral was held in St. John's German Lutheran Church on Christopher Street the following Sunday.

Clara forged ahead with the project.  The completed Italianate-style structure was faced in orange brick above the cast iron storefront.   Boekell added elaborate pre-cast elements which elevated the design above the norm.   The openings sat on molded, cornice-like sills supported by pretty decorated brackets.  Effusive lintels adorned the segmental-arched windows, each wearing a lacy tiara-like ornament called an acroterion.  The over-the-top cast iron cornice included an arched pediment and the large plaque: M. PUELS 1874.  It not only dated the building, but memorialized its owner.

The shop space was leased to butcher J. Andre.  Clara Puels moved into one of the apartments as her building filled with ten blue collar families.  The residents in 1876 were policeman John O'Shea; watchman Thomas McDonough; Edwin Rogers, a porter; cabinetmaker Adolph Sabberton; two clerks, Camille Feniel and Charles E. Blum; Philip Bouton, whose drygoods store was directly across the street at No. 286; "driver" Charles Ryerson; Bertha Magner who dealt in "men's furnishings;" and William H. Fanning, an artist.

After two decades at the location, Andre sold his butcher shop to Louis J. Schwartz on November 1, 1895.  But, somewhat surprisingly, his business was slow to take off.  In an apparent effort to increase sales, he applied to the city for a license to use the sidewalk for a "newsstand or fruit stand."  It was granted on December 3.  But Schwartz's troubles continued.

On December 20 he locked the doors, disconnected the tube to the gas meter, and inhaled the gas.  He was later found dead.  The New York Times remarked "He had occupied the store only two months and had not been successful.  He had been drinking heavily."

Clara Puels leased the store to F. A. Ecks & Co., which listed itself as a delicatessen.  The company operated another shop in Brooklyn.

After owning and living in No. 285 for more than three decades, Clara sold the property on April 3, 1906 to Louis P. Dowdney.   The sale sparked a game of real estate hot potato.  Dowdney held it only three days before selling it to Denis M. Gallo.  Gallo sold it to Camille Sisti and Giacinta Rubino on April 17; and they resold it on Lorenzo Ciaffone and his wife, Lucia, 10 months later on February 21, 1907.  The surnames of the string of owners reflect the heavily Italian population that lived in the Bleecker Street neighborhood at the time.

The Ciaffones, who lived nearby at No. 110 Thompson Street, not only halted the rapid-fire turnover in ownership; but improved the aging structure.  On July 9, 1910 the Real Estate Record & Guide reported that Ciaffone had hired architect Max Muller to make "extensive changes."  Most significant was a new storefront and a fire escape.  The alterations cost Ciaffone $5,000--or about $133,000 today.

When the Ciaffones sold the building in 1918 the store was home to the Royal Tea Co., run by L. Rothman.  The ongoing world war at the time would change the lives of all Americans in one way or another.  It seriously affected the Lagazio family who lived upstairs that year when son Salveni was drafted into what the New-York Tribune called "the New National Army."  On April 2 he was sent to the Camp Upton at Yaphank, Long Island.  (Ironically, in the 1930's Yaphank became a center of Nazi activity and the former training camp was renamed Camp Siegfried.  Nazi uniform-wearing bund members held parades and carried swastika emblazoned banners and flags.)

The heavily Italian personality of Bleecker Street continued throughout the 20th century.  In 1976 the store space became home to the chef Alfredo Viazzi's restaurant Tavola Calda da Alfredo.  The New York Times food critic Mimi Sheraton, on June 4, called Viazzi a "maestro" and described his fare as "lusciously, soul-satisfying."

In 1964 Onofrio Ottomanelli had purchased the building.  His butcher shop, Ottomanelli Brothers had been in business since 1900 and since 1957 had operated a few steps away at No. 281 Bleecker Street.  In 1989 when Viazza's lease ran out, Ottomanelli moved in--returning the space to a butcher shop as Michael Puels intended more than a century earlier.

The city-wide repute of the shop was reflected when The New York Times reported on a murder upstairs on November 5, 1999.  "The victim, who detectives described as a 48-year-old white man, was found at 4:15 p.m. by a tenant of the building at 285 Bleecker Street, also home to O. Ottomanelli & Sons, one of the city's oldest and best-known meat markets."

The man (who was not a resident) had been bludgeoned to death.  His body was discovered by 29-year old film editor Luis Moreno who lived on the top floor.

The handsome 1874 building which Michael Puels tragically never lived to see still houses O. Ottomanelli & Sons meat market.  The brick facade has been painted and some of the delicate cast iron window decorations have broken off; but overall Julius Boekell's lovely Victorian tenement and store survives beautifully.

photographs by the author

The 1822 William Ross House - 58 Lispenard Street

Neglected and abused, the building shows little hint of its impressive history.

In the first decades of the 19th century the area recently known as Lispenard Meadows--a sprawling tract owned by Anthony Lispenard and his wife, the former Alice Rutgers--saw development as handsome brick-faced homes rose on the newly-laid streets.

The little two-block roadway named Lispenard Street was opened in 1809, at which time it turned abruptly north between Church Street and Broadway to meet Canal Street.  In 1821 the street was straightened to intersect with Broadway.  That year William Ross began construction of his home at No. 58 Lispenard.

Completed the following year, at 25-feet wide the Federal-style home reflected its owner's comfortable financial status.  Handsome paneled lintels graced the openings of the two-and-a-half story house.

Ross lived here with his wife, Hanna.  He had made his fortune as a coachmaker to clients who were, quite literally, of the carriage trade.  The quality of his work miraculously survives in the 1797 carriage he designed for Daniel Campbell for his wife, Engeltie Bratt Campbell.   The two-passenger vehicle, known today as The Campbell Chariot, was the epitome of elegance and luxury at the time.

The Campbell Chariot is on display in the Henry Ford Museum.  photo via brhoward.com

In 1827 Hanna Ross was listed in city directories as "widow of William."  When she died is unclear, but by 1836 the Ross heirs were leasing the house.  The widowed Julia Mills lived here that year when she subscribed to The Passion Flower.  The monthly, 96-page magazine included two full-page drawings of flowers.  "The tint leaves are for crayon sketches or desultory thoughts," explained an advertisement.  The $5 yearly subscription Mrs. Mills paid "in advance" would be equal to about $135 today; evidence that she was financially comfortable.

Three years earlier Piero Maroncelli had fled to New York from his native Italy where the poet, musician and journalist had spent time in prison for founding a revolutionary newspaper.  During his 12-year incarceration he developed a tumor on his leg.  The New York Times later reported "The prison barber hacked off the limb, and after months of suffering Maroncelli's life was saved.  His sentence was commuted, and he came to this country."

Listed in directories as "Professor Marconelli," he had moved into the Lispenard Street house by 1841.  In addition to teaching music, he wrote critiques for the New York Sunday Mercury and the New World, wrote several books, and published poems and musical compositions.

Godey's Lady's Book described him as "irritable, frank, generous, chivalrous, warmly attached to his friends, and expecting from them equal devotion.  His love of country is unbounded, and he is quite enthusiastic in his endeavours to circulate in America the literature of Italy."

Maroncelli's sometimes "irritable" nature came to light on December 21, 1843 when fired off a letter to the editor of the New World.  Instead of sending it to that newspaper's office, he ensured it would be made public by directing it instead to the New-York Daily Tribune.   Members of the Philharmonic Society were "very much displeased" with the negative critique attributed to Maroncelli in the New World, one which he had not written.  He clarified the issue and ended his letter saying:

Be pleased, Sir, to make the proper correction in this matter through the columns of the New World, in justice to Your obedient servant, Piero Maroncelli

Maroncelli never truly recovered from his treatment in prison.  In June 1846 Godey's Lady's Book said "Maroncelli is now about fifty years old, and bears on his person the marks of long suffering; he has lost a leg; his hair and beard became gray may years ago; just now he is suffering from severe illness, and from this it can scarcely be expected that he will recover."

Piero Maroncelli is remembered as a composer, educator, author and political martyr.  original photo source unknown

Indeed he did not.  He died in the Lispenard Street house on August 1, 1846.   Exactly one month later the New-York Daily Tribune chastised Italian-born New Yorkers for their lack of a proper display of respect.  "The Italian population of New-Orleans are to celebrate with appropriate solemnities the death of Piero Maroncelli, the Italian martyr, who recently died in this City.  We have heard of nothing of the kind among our Italian citizens."

If the newspaper was disappointed in the public display of respect at the time of Maroncelli's death, it would certainly have approved of the massive ceremonies four decades later.  Maroncelli's casket was disinterred from Greenwood Cemetery in preparation for the return of his body to Italy to be buried with honors.

The New York Times reported on July 21, 1886 "The entire Italian colony of this city was in Broadway last night."  Tammany Hall was packed with Italian-born citizens, many in various uniforms.  "In the centre of the hall stood a large catafalque.  It was nearly 10 feet in height, and consisted of five square platforms, one above the other, and growing small as they went upward."  Atop the black-draped structure sat the white coffin of Maroncelli.  Following the ceremonies, the casket was carried to a hearse drawn by four black horses.  The procession proceeded to the Wall Street Ferry.  The Times noted "The street was literally packed with people."

In 1845, the year before Marconcelli's death, artist Christian Mayr was listed as sharing No. 58 Lispenard Street.   That year he submitted at least two paintings in the exhibit of the National Academy of Design--Death of Abel, and Waiting the Arrival of my Cousin, Who Promised me a Good Situation in Town.

Born in Nuremberg, by 1823 when Mayr enrolled in the Academy of Art in Munich he had established himself as an architectural painter.  He immigrated to the United States in 1833, settling in New York in 1845.  How he came to share the house with Maroncelli that year is unclear.

Mayr's paintings provided an often-humorous glimpse into 19th century life.  This one is titled "Too Tight." image via askart.com

It appears that Mayr's artistic career was earning him a comfortable living.  On November 19, 1846 he placed an advertisement in The New York Herald reporting that a "draft for $1000 has been lost (through the Post Office)" payable to him.  The announcement reported that the draft had been stopped and any information on the lost check, worth about $32,400, would be appreciated.


Around the time of Maroncelli's death the Ross family converted the first floor of No. 58 to a shop.  In 1846 it housed the businesses of tailors John Hawkes and  Isaac L. Cowl, and upholsterer E. C. Gading.   Mayr now shared the upper floors with physician William Nathusius.

"Reading the News" may have included neighborhood figures.  collection of the National Academy Museum

Christian Mayr died in the house in October 1850.  His funeral was held in here on October 21.  As his executors attempted to settle his estate, they placed an advertisement in the New-York Daily Tribune on December 7 that included "Persons in possession of paintings or other articles of art, &c. belonging to the deceased, are requested to return the same without delay."

Dr. Henry G. Cox now moved into No. 58.  He was Professor of Theory and Practice of Medicine and of Clinical Medicine at the New York Medical College and head of the Emigrant Refuge Hospital.  He wrote a compassionate letter of reference from the house on May 12, 1851:

Mrs. Rebecca McGuinness, the bearer of this, is a destitute Scotch woman who followed her husband to this country, where they expected to secure the comforts of a happy home; but he, unfortunately, died in Rochester a few days before she reached this city.  Mrs. McGuinness has herself suffered from severe disease since her arrival, and was under my supervision in the hospital; she is now desirous of ascertaining if she can procure aid from your society to enable her to secure such employment as may preclude the necessity for separation from her young son.

The following decade saw commerce encroaching on the previously upscale neighborhood.  In 1860 the floors above the shop were home to several renters, including Alexander Condy, who listed no profession in directories, and shoe maker Theobald Deitsch.  One resident, named Moone, was inducted into the Union Army in 1863.

Around the end of the Civil War the Ross family sold the property to Jacob Pabst.  In 1867 he hired architect Julius Boekell to convert the residence for business.  The peaked roof was removed and the attic raised to a full third floor.  Interestingly, Boekell copied the original paneled lintels for the new windows.  The architect also converted the former tailor shop to accommodate a restaurant run by Pabst and his wife Christina.  A fashionable, up-to-date Italianate cornice looked as much domestic as commercial.

The renovated building became home to clothing manufacturers, the first being Baudouine & William, owned by Abram Baudouine and William P. Willis, which moved in 1868.  In 1876 two shirtmakers, Ballou & Co. and William Henry Olmstead, shared the upper.

The former Pabst restaurant was the "eatinghouse" run by George Spangenmacher by 1875.  Described in directories as a "wine-and-beer merchant," he also ran a saloon in his home state of New Jersey.

J. R. Haines and Company was in the building by 1885, run by John R. Haines an John K. Halsey.  A tenant not directly involved in making garments was Aaron Waldman, a dealer in buttons.   Things were going better in the button trade than in domestic life for Waldman in 1890.  He was served a judgment of $947 by the sheriff on December 14 that year for Goldina Waldman.

The turnover in tenants was routine; but it seems there were never more than two at any time.  In 1894 Minnie Mosso manufactured children's clothing here.  She employed two men, four women, and two girls.  The staff worked 53 hours per week, plus 8 hours on Saturdays.

As the turn of the century approached, Otto Gottschalk had taken over the saloon formerly run by George Spangenmacher.

The building was sold at public auction to George J. Ponders on March 7, 1900.  He retained ownership for only two years, selling it in 1903 to William Philip Hoffman who announced that "alterations will be made" to the building.  At the time The Parisian had been making shirt waists here for several years.  In 1901 the small shop employed just three men who worked 54 hours a week.

Hoffman's alterations may have included renovations to the former saloon.  It now had a far different tenant, the Physical Culture Restaurant.   It was one of a string of 12 restaurants in Manhattan, Brooklyn, Boston and Philadelphia intended as a means to advance "the Physical Culture work and hygienic living."  Ironically housed in the former saloon space, it was what might today be termed a health food restaurant.   Former patrons who wandered in would be distressed to find that alcohol was markedly absent.

Dry goods and clothing operators continued to lease space upstairs.  In 1908 dry goods jobbers Kleban & Jacobs were here, staying at least through 1910.   Around 1912 Louis Barall & Son began selling men's business attire directly to the consumer here; and in 1914 Jacob R. Gold & Co. was leasing space.  Makers of "hosiery, underwear, shirts and gloves," that firm remained until moving to Crosby Street in 1921.

By 1924 Frank Jacobovitz had run his odd-lots business from the former restaurant space in No. 58 for several years.  He routinely advertised "cash paid for stores stocks and merchants, also job lots."  When he had sufficient inventory, he auctioned the goods to retailers.  Things were slow on the afternoon of February 2 that year so Jacobovitz and five other men were passing time by playing cards.

Suddenly five men walked into the auction room.  With their right hands in their pockets as if holding pistols, they ordered the men "Keep your hands down.  Don't make a move that will attract attention."

Because the thugs never showed their weapons and, according to The New York Times the players "took the matter of arms on faith," the police called it a "mental robbery," the first ever reported in New York.

As scores of workers heading home passed by the large windows, the bandits gathered up cash and jewelry, including Frank Jacobovitz's ring that he valued at $500--more than $7,000 in today's dollars.   The Times noted that anyone glancing inside "from the casual manner in which the valuables changed hands, apparently regarded it as a straight business transaction."   The robbers then hurried to a waiting automobile and disappeared into Broadway traffic.

Amazingly, as tenants upstairs came and went, the one who steadfastly remained was Louis Barall & Son.  They were still in the building during the 1960s and '70s when the firm Plastics offered novelties through mail order.  Among the items offered in magazines like Boys' Life was the miniature, steel framed set of plastic drawers to store screws or hobby collections.

On October 8, 1982 John Duka, writing in The New York Times, tipped off male shoppers to the secret on Lispenard Street where, he said, "Louis Barall & Son have been selling men's clothing for 72 years, primarily to those who work on Wall Street."  He noted "the quality of the goods at Barall is comparable to that offered by such stores as Barney's."  By now the firm had moved into the street level store.

The upper floors were converted to joint living-work quarters in 1984.  When the venerable men's furnishers finally closed its doors on March 10, 1995 the shop space served for several years as an annex to Pearl Paint.  The rear entrance of the main store on Canal Street was almost directly across Lispenard Street. 

Today the brownish-red paint peels from the brick facade, giving the venerable house-turned-business building a lonely look; one that conceals the fascinating history that played out within its walls.

photographs by the author
many thanks to reader Ted Leather for prompting this post

The 1868 First German Baptist Church -- No. 334 East 14th Street

photo by Alice Lum

When John Eschmann arrived in New York from Germany in 1845 there were already over 24,000 German immigrants in the city.  Eschmann quickly adapted to his new home and affiliated himself with the South Baptist Church.  The Home Mission Board appointed him to be a missionary among the German population and within the first year he organized the First German Baptist Church of New-York City.  It proudly boasted a full one-dozen members.

German immigrants flooded into New York over the next two decades.  By the start of the Civil War there were 118,292 Germans living in the city; most of them settling in the Lower East Side.  By 1866 the congregation that Eschmann had founded with just 12 members was ready for a new impressive church structure.  Julius Boekell was commissioned to design the building; an architect who would keep busy producing warehouses, tenements and commercial structures for decades in Manhattan, but who has been mostly forgotten.

On May 20, 1868 The New York Times ran a one-line article that seemingly aroused little interest.  “The corner stone of the First German Baptist Church, in Fourteenth-street, near First-avenue, Rev. H. A. Schaffer, Pastor, was laid yesterday afternoon.”

The lack of fanfare surrounding the cornerstone ceremony would carry on through the building’s completion and dedication.  But Boekell’s finished First German Baptist Church was flourish enough.  If many of the architect’s other, more utilitarian, projects were somewhat bland, the new church was anything but. 

Boekell produced a charming white stone fantasy that engulfed the building lots at Nos. 334 and 336 East 14^th Street.  Generally Romanesque in style, it was outlined with wide corbels along the top, inset with trios of lofty arched windows that were mimicked by the entrance doors, and surmounted by two spiky spires.  The Hansel-and-Gretel-ready design was no doubt a stand-out on the street lined with brick and brownstone clad rowhouses and stores.

The spires were later removed.  photo by Alice Lum

When the congregation celebrated its 40^th anniversary in July 1886 its numbers had risen to 352.  In his sermon on July 11 that year, Rev. George A. Schulte mentioned that the church had produced nearly two dozen German Baptist ministers. 

Later that same year, on the morning following Christmas Day, the reserved congregation was traumatized by a shocking disturbance.  Just as Pastor Schulte had completed the sermon and the last hymn was about to be sung, “a man who had been sitting quietly in one of the side rows of the seats jumped up and began violently hugging a lady who sat next to him,” reported The Sun.  “He was a stranger to her.  She shrieked and tried to get free.”

What had been a normal Sunday service was suddenly thrown into chaos.  The congregation jumped to their feet and about 12 men grappled with the man, dragging him out of the church.  The well-dressed crew helped policemen carry him to the 5^th Street police station.

In the meantime, said the newspaper, “The services at the church were hurriedly concluded.”

The man turned out to be 30-year old Cornelius Hendrickson whom The Sun said was “handcuffed and pretty well tired out.”  Dr. McCurdy of Bellevue Hospital later diagnosed him with “acute mania.”

The First Baptist German Church became involved in a messy and highly-publicized love triangle when Rev. G. A. Guenther married William Reid and Albertina Keefer on July 9, 1898.  The problem was that the bride was already married.

Less than three years earlier, on September 65, 1895, the then-19 year old Albertina had married Otto Wuchner in Hoboken.  When Wuchner, who made his living as a bill poster, found out about the superfluous husband in 1899, Albertina explained that she had been hypnotized by Reid. 

Otto Wuchner stormed off to the Yorkville Court on August 17, 1899 complaining about the outrageous act of hypnotism which “had induced her to leave her home and marry [Reid] without the formality of a divorce.”  Wuchner added that Reid “belongs to a gang of young men in Brooklyn that amuses themselves by throwing policemen in basements.  He sent around word that I had better get off the earth, as he and his friends were going to lay for me and put me out of business.”

When Reid’s employer at the Fulton Market testified that he was a good worker and he had never seen anything wrong with him, Wuchner countered saying “You can see by his eyes that the devil is in him.”

Reid insisted that he was unaware that his wife was already married.  “I didn’t know she was Wuchner’s wife until last February,” he told the judge.  “I was in his house and when I saw his marriage certificate hanging up on the wall I said ‘Great Caesar, Otto!  I’ve married your wife.’  I left her shortly after that.”

While the men battled it out in court, Albertina stuck to her story of being hypnotized.  Wuchner said “I forgave her when she said Reid had hypnotized her.  When I told her I would take her back, she begged me to take her some place where the other man could not find her, as she was afraid of getting under his influence again.”

The magistrate dismissed the strange case after Reid promised to keep his distance from the couple.

By the turn of the century many of the German citizens were leaving the Lower East Side for the less crowded Yorkville neighborhood further north.  According to The New York Times later, the congregation of the First German Baptist Church had fallen to “three or four persons.”  In 1902 the church turned over the deed to the 14^th Street property to the General Missionary Society of the German Baptist Churches of North America for $7,000.  It would later be the seed for a long and uncomfortable court battle between the congregation and the Society.

In the meantime, however, the church building was used temporarily by the Church of God.  In December 1919 the Church of God held “public sessions in former Old First German Baptist Church” relating to the organization’s State Convention.

Storm clouds gathered over the 14^th Street church late in 1927 when the First German Baptist Church found a purchaser.  The Ukrainian Orthodox Autocephalic Church of St. Vladimir had agreed on a price of $80,000 for the building and a contract was signed.

But the General Missionary Society was quick to point out that it had purchased the deed.  “The society asserts that the church signed away its rights to the property when it turned over the deed,” reported The New York Times on November 20, 1927.

While the two factions took the matter to court, St. Vladimir’s Ukrainian Orthodox Church moved in.  It obtained a $50,000 mortgage on the property and everything seemed legitimate.  Then the New York City Baptist Missionary Society promptly sued the new owners with foreclosure.  There was an existing $19,354 mortgage on the property when the First German Baptist Church turned over the deed in 1902 and now the Society wanted the money.

It would be months before the legal entanglements were worked out; but by September 25, 1932 St. Vladimir’s Church was firmly ensconced in the former Baptist building.  On that day the Right Rev. Joseph A. Zuk was installed as Presiding Bishop of the Ukrainian Orthodox Church of North America.  The New York Times described the service as “an impressive ceremony in St. Vladimir’s Church.”

 

In 1936 the spires were still intact -- photo from the collection of the New York Public Library

To reflect the Orthodox Church’s roots, Julius Boekell’s tall, thin spires were chopped off and replaced by copper-clad onion domes.  Although the exotic domes are out of proportion—a bit too small for the steeple stumps on which they sit—they are a surprisingly attractive addition.

The Ukrainian congregation would remain in the church for over three decades.  Then on June 7, 1958, it announced the purchase of the former West End Synagogue on West 82^nd Street.  A spokesman told reporters that the congregation was scattered “over the city and near-by suburbs and that it was moving to acquire larger quarters.”

Interestingly enough, while the Ukrainian church moved into a former synagogue; a synagogue moved into the old church building.  The Town and Village Synagogue, Temple Tifereth Israel, had been formed in 1948.  In the spring of 1962 it purchased the old First German Baptist Church building as its permanent home.

On April 7 that year The New York Times reported that the congregation “will move into its new home at 334 East Fourteenth Street tomorrow afternoon.  A procession will march from the temporary quarters at 225 Avenue B to the opening ceremony at 2 P.M.”  Once again changes to the building had been made to accommodate the new owners.  The Christian iconographies, such as crosses, were removed and a large Star of David incorporated into the central stained glass window.

The replacement stained glass windows were appropriate to the building's new purpose -- photo by Alice Lum

Four years after the synagogue moved in the Landmarks Preservation Commission added the building to its calendar of buildings to be considered for designation.  Forty-seven years passed and the remarkable structure never rose to the top of the list for a Commission hearing.  Then, as 2013 drew to a close the Town and Village Synagogue put the structure on the market for $14 million.

The fate of the wonderful, early relic of German settlement in the Lower East Side still hangs in the balance.