The R. J. Horner Factory -- Nos. 109-111 West 24th Street

In 1886 Robert J. Horner opened his new furniture store at Nos. 61-65 West 23^rd Street.  The block between Fifth and Sixth Avenues would include several of the leading furniture dealers by the end of the century, including George C. Flint and Geiger & Braverman.  Horner, who targeted both middle- and upper-class buyers, launched an innovative technique to attract customers: he installed bedrooms, dining rooms and parlors in the upper floors where furniture could be displayed in room settings.

Despite the Financial Panic of 1893, Horner’s success continued.  In the fall of 1899 he purchased two old buildings on the north side of West 24^th Street between Seventh and Eighth Avenues from “a Mr. Barber.”  On November 5 the Real Estate Record & Builders’ Guide reported that “R. J. Horner & Co., the furniture firm…will built a 6-story storage house for their own use.”  The Guide pointed out that the firm had paid “$50,000 cash” for the 50-foot wide property at Nos. 109-111—in the neighborhood of $1.47 million in 2016.

R. J. Horner commissioned the architectural firm of George Edward Harding & Gooch (which often went simply by “Harding & Gooch”) to design its new building.  By the time that a contractor was hired six months later in May 1900, the plans had changed to seven stories.

The completed edifice smacked of a greatly expanded commercial stables building.  The extra-high two story base was clad in stone and featured wide truck bays.  Harding & Gooch used buff-colored brick on the upper floors, laid to resemble rusticated stone.  Here the five-story pilasters, the splayed lintels with their double keystones, and the stepped brackets of the sills were executed in brick.  Above it all a peaked pediment, similar to those routinely found on stables, completed the design.

Horner’s fleet of vehicles was stored and maintained on the lower section, while the upper floors were used both for storing the latest in furniture models and for manufacturing them.  During the day the building would have been a hive of activity as horse-drawn drays came and went, clattering along West 24^th Street with their heavy deliveries of bedroom suites and dining room furniture.

There were about 48 workers in the building on Saturday, morning March 19, 1904; all but four of them working in the factory and warehouse portions on the upper floors.  Suddenly, at around 10:30 a “loud report” was heard on the second floor.  A container of benzine had exploded. 

American Cabinet Maker and Upholsterer reported “Within a few moments great tongues of flame were licking the inflammable material stored on every floor, roaring up the stairs and shafts, and dense smoke rose on every side.”  Most of the employees were able to rush down the stairs before being cut off by flames; but about a dozen fled by jumping to the roofs of neighboring buildings.  One, however, had to be rescued after being paralyzed with fear.  “A young woman who had become hysterical when she saw that the stairs were blazing was dropped about ten feet by rescuers.”

Although firefighters responded quickly, the water pressure from the hydrants was nearly useless.  The trade journal explained “It was fully twenty minutes after the arrival of the first engines before a stream of any size could be sent into the building, and even then the pressure was not great enough to be effective.”

The water shortage resulted in four fire alarms.  The situation was compounded when two responding companies, Engines No. 18 and No. 72, collided at Sixth Avenue and 12^th Street.  “There was a terrific shock, and all the horses were thrown.  Both of the poles of No. 18 snapped short, one of them piercing one of the horses of No. 72 and cutting him so that he had to be killed.”  Only Engine 72 could continue on to fight the blaze.

For two hours traffic on Sixth Avenue was held up and crowds of female shoppers—estimated in the thousands--poured from the emporiums on “The Ladies’ Mile” south of 23^rd Street to witness the firefight.   American Cabinet Maker reported “The police had some difficulty in handling the crowds and in keeping them back until five mounted men were obtained from Fifth avenue.  Those who would pay no attention to the policemen afoot promptly retreated before the horses and kept at proper distance.”

The Police Department gained an important lesson in crowd control that day.  “It was the first time that mounted police were used at a fire in the heart of the city, and they demonstrated their usefulness.”

Although the upper floors were devastated, Harding & Gooch’s “fireproof” structure withstood the conflagration.  The trade journal announced “The upper portion of the building was gutted, but the structure proved most substantial, and remained almost intact from the outside aspect.”

Robert J. Horner estimated the damage at $50,000.  The building was repaired and operations continued until 1912.  That year, in February, the firm moved to No. 22 West 36^th Street.  Robert J. Horner, Sr. explained to the Record & Guide that because of “the general tendency of all business to move farther uptown on account of the greater transportation facilities the firm decided upon the move.”

Furniture like this elaborately-carved sideboard was constructed and stored in the 24th Street building.  New-York Tribune, December 12, 1909 (copyright expired)

The former furniture warehouse and factory was taken over by a most unexpected tenant:  The Boyertown Chapel.  For six years it would be the scene of funerals and wakes amid the factories that had cropped up along the block.

On March 2, 1918 R. J. Horner & Co. leased the entire building to the Kimberly & Clark Co.  The Wisconsin paper manufacturers would store its goods here for years, getting a new landlord when the Robert J. Horner estate sold the building to Emil A. Stumpf on August 6, 1922.  The buyer made a quick profit when he resold it two months later to Clara P. Trunk for $105,000.

In 1945 Robert L Marx took the top three floors for his pipe manufacturing factory.  A printing firm was on the 4^th floor and the lower three floors were used as storage.  The following year, with soldiers returning home from war, Marx became active in promoting the hiring of veterans.  He told a reporter “With the boys coming back today there is just as big a job to do as ever, and something should be done to bring attention to those companies that are making the real effort to give the veteran a job and make him a functioning part of our national economy.”

His proposal to “bring attention” to firms that hired veterans was a special flag.  His idea went all the way to the War Department where a design was approved by Secretary of War Robert P. Patterson.  The flag was unveiled in Robert Marx’s office in the 24^th Street building on June 7, 1946, with members of the American Veterans Committee and the United States Employment Service present.

Joseph B. O’Connor, Regional Director of the United States Employment Service commended Marx’s idea.  The New York Times reported “Foreseeing support of the flag both on a local and national scale by his organization, Mr. O’Connell added: ‘Something like this is needed to stir up employers.  Also it would act as an incentive for them to do more than they are doing at the present time.’”

At mid century the ground floor was converted to the showroom of the Montauk Rug & Carpet company.  The upper floors were home to firms like the Continental Corp., manufacturers of wooden novelties; and the Frances Yarn Company.

Little has changed to the upper floors of the handsome warehouse building.  An ill-advised coat of chocolate-colored paint covers the limestone base; but the Montauk Rug & Carpet showroom still calls the ground floor home after more than half a century.  

photographs by the author

The "Modern French" Nos. 49-51 West 23rd Street

The newly-constructed building was still vacant when this photograph was shot -- from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York

Of the mansions of the wealthy families who lived on the West 23^rd Street block between 5^th and 6^th Avenues in the late 19^th century—stockbroker Benjamin Nathan, the Joneses (whose daughter, Edith, would become famous as Edith Wharton), and Dr. John Gardner Ambler among them—perhaps none was so attention-grabbing as that of William C. Schermerhorn.

The Schermerhorns were one of the oldest and most respected of the old “patroon” families of Manhattan.  Jacob Janse Schermerhorn was among the first settlers of New Netherland, arriving in 1636.  Following the Revolutionary War, the family lived in a country home, north of the city, on an estate that stretched from what is now Third Avenue to the East River, from about 63^rd to 68^th Streets, which  was built by Peter Schermerhorn, better known in New York history as “Peter the Younger.”   

By 1860 William Colford Schermerhorn, an attorney, was patriarch of the family.  That year he erected a city mansion straddling two building lots on West 23^rd Street at Nos. 49 and 51.   As the century progressed and the city’s entertainment district established itself along 23^rd Street, many of the wealthy residents moved on.  But William Schermerhorn resiliently stayed put in his brick and stone mansion, even as the Eden Musee Theatre was built directly next door.

Then on New Year’s Day in 1903 Schermerhorn died in the mansion on 23^rd Street at the age of 82.   His estate, about $35 million today, included two summer mansions—one in Newport and another in Lenox, Massachusetts.   His widow, Anne E. H. Schermerhorn, his daughter Fannie Bridgham and her husband Samuel, lived on in the 23^rd Street house which The New York Times said, on February 10, “now stands as a relic of a past generation.”

The Schermerhorn mansion survived until 1911.  To the left a portion of the Eden Musee can be seen.  photo NYPL Collection

Annie Schermerhorn did not survive much longer than her husband, but despite the fact that there were no other homes left on West 23^rd Street, she made sure the family house would not be razed while a Schermerhorn was still breathing. “In her will she left the injunction that the old house be occupied as a residence until the last of the family died,” reported The Sun on June 2, 1907, “so Mrs. Samuel Bridgham, one of her daughters, resides there with her husband during the part of the year she does not spend at her farm in East Greenwich, R.I.”

A year later Fannie died, relieving Samuel Bridgham of Mrs. Schermerhorn’s injunction.  Now alone in the anachronistic mansion, he looked for a home in a more residential and fashionable neighborhood.  On March 19, 1908 The New York Times noted that “The old Schermerhorn residence, in Twenty-third Street…has long been one of the most conspicuous landmarks in the central park of the city.  Flanked on one side by the Eden Musee and on the other by an eight-story business building, its dignified brownstone front is a striking reminder of the days when business was all below Fourteenth Street and when the fashionable residential section was along Fifth Avenue south of Madison Square.

“For several years it has been the only remaining residence on either side of Twenty-third Street, in the busy block between Fifth and Sixth Avenues.”

Within a few days of The Times article, Bridgman had purchased a new home at No. 954 Fifth Avenue and “the old Schermerhorn mansion at 49 West twenty-third Street will probably be abandoned and a new business structure erected on the site,” reported The New York Times.

In the meantime furniture manufacturers and dealers Geiger & Braverman were expanding into real estate.  In 1905 they opened a “general real estate and building business” office, according to the Real Estate Record and Builders’ Guide, at 198 Broadway.   “These gentlemen are well known in the real estate field and furniture business,” said the Guide, and were already completing two apartment houses on 120^th Street near 7^th Avenue.

It was the Nameloc Company, however, that acquired the Schermerhorn mansion and in its place erected a 12-story store and loft building designed by Schwartz & Gross.   But it would be home to the Geiger & Braverman’s retail furniture business—a location that made perfect sense.  By now other furniture manufacturers had established themselves on the block—Robert J. Horner had erected his handsome limestone store next door at Nos. 61-65 and just to the west was the George C. Flint furniture store at No. 43.

Designed in what has been termed the “Modern French” style, the understated lower three floors were clad in limestone and featured a central section of expansive show windows.  The retail entrance was deeply recessed within arcade show windows—a recent innovation.   Above, nine floors of brick and terra cotta melded Art Nouveau and neo-Gothic in an unexpected, unabashedly 20^th century composition.   A marvelous parapet capped a gentle arch that harbored colorful terra cotta shields.

Up-to-the-minute Art Nouveau panels coexist with more traditional architectural details.

The upper lofts filled with various small manufacturers like S. Khoury & Co., Charles Iger, shirtwaist manufacturer, United Novelty Company, and Cohen & Feinberg while Geiger & Braverman sold furniture in the lower three floors.   A writer for the New-York Tribune was impressed with the modern furniture offered in June 1915.

“A nest of four tables for afternoon tea, fitting one beneath the other, is a good arrangement for the verandah,” the writer noted.  “Finished in mahogany these are priced at $10.  Another useful item for the summer cottage is the bookrack with extra shelf beneath for magazines of papers.”

A month later the writer was back and reported that “Here I saw a truly luxurious chaise longue upholstered in gay cretonne or pretty denim.  It may be had now at the special price of $22.50.  An upholstered davenport, with deep springs and loose cushions, is specially priced at $49.  Good looking lamps in either the ivory or mahogany finish, have pretty silk shades and cost $3.75.”

On the building's side wall, above the Eden Musee, ad painted signs advertise tenants in the upper lofts --NYPL Collection

L. Bernardaud, china and glass dealer, was here as was the Seymour Cravat Company, run by Hyman and Hertz, who were manufacturers of silk ties.   For a year, in 1918, the silk lofts of Manhattan had been plagued with “an abnormal number of burglaries,” according to the New-York Tribune and District Attorney Swann was convinced they “could not have been possible without the connivance of the police.”

On January 8, 1918 the robbers hit Seymour Cravat Company.  Unfortunately for the thieves and for Detective Edward C. Burgess, the D.A.’s office had the place staked out.  On the day prior to the robbery Burgess had entered the Seymour’s and purchased some times.   On the day of the robbery, according to the witness, Burgess “watched outside while the burglars operated and arranged to rap on the door twice if he saw a policeman or prying pedestrian approaching.”

Burgess was charged with accepting $184 as his share of the take.

The Bravermans continued to branch out and opened an upholstery firm in the building in 1919, Braverman & Weiss, Inc.   Brothers Charles and Solomon Braverman partnered with Joseph Weiss in the logical adjunct to their furniture business.

Other small firms like Rosenbaum & Lipner, makers of men’s neckwear; Michael Kolber; Bernard, Bernard & Co.; and Michael Addison, corset and underwear manufacturers, filled the building in the first decades of the century.  

Throughout the 20^th century the building saw various stores and offices come and go; however little changed outwardly.  Today a mattress store fills the street level retail space where Geiger & Braverman sold teacarts and wicker plant stands.  The out-of-the-ordinary early 20^th century structure is worth a pause and an upward glance.

non-historic photographs taken by the author

The 1886 Robert J. Horner Building - 61-65 West 23rd Street

By 1886 ornate cast iron facades were lining lower Broadway and filling the blocks south of Houston Streets. Above 14th Street most merchants and developers still opted for brick and stone, with a few noticeable exceptions.

One of those exceptions was the Robert J. Horner & Co. Building at 61-65 West 23rd Street. Just east of 6th Avenue, the Ladies’ Mile, the location was ideal. Designed by John B. Snook, the building rose seven stories in a restrained Italian Renaissance style. Snook’s design imitated stone, with rusticated piers flanking either side for five stories. Large, expansive windows separated by understated Corinthian columns -- formed by wrapped sheet metal rather than being cast in iron -- provided ample natural light to the upper showrooms. Above a bracketed cornice, the smaller windows of the factory level unified the top two floors as the rectangular sixth floor windows visually joined the arched seventh floor windows.

Five sets of double tall doors, serving either as delivery , workshop, or showroom entrances were spaced along the street level.

Robert Horner started his furniture business from the new building, initially manufacturing and designing all of his goods. Horner had a keen business sense, keeping up with changes in furniture trends. While other Manhattan cabinet makers like Herter Brothers targeted only the wealthy, Horner manufactured furniture in price ranges for the middle to the upper class shoppers.

Six months after opening The New York Times wrote of the firm, “They are constantly seeking new ideas in furniture, and when they secure one do not rest content with it or push it too long, but are instantly on the alert for a newer and better design. They manufacture all their own goods, and reproduce here all the European novelties.”

The first season Horner was showing a line of Louis XVI sets “for drawing room or country house,” and heavily carved dining room furniture in oak. The fourth floor, 75 by 100 feet, was devoted entirely to bedroom sets, touted by The Times as “the finest exhibit of the kind in the country.”

Horner’s ground-breaking concept in furniture marketing was to build in the upper floors furnished rooms to “show young married couples how they should set about furnishing their houses.” A drawing room, dining room, bedroom, library, billiard room and two halls were staged; initiating the standard of furniture showing used universally today.

The R. J. Horner store became the mainstay for new couples or for those redecorating their homes as styles progressed. By the early 1890s Horner no longer exclusively manufactured his designs, but glowingly advertised his imported furniture made expressly for Horner abroad. Venetian sideboard, Louis XV writing desks and trendy “Persian” divans and upholstered pieces filled the store. “In fact,” said The New York Times in 1891, “there is nothing lacking, in variety or elegance or workmanship, in the display of imported novelties.”

Business slowed in 1893 when the Financial Panic struck. Mired in the depression, customers cut back on unnecessary expenses – like refurnishing. In a cunning marketing scheme to draw customers, R. J. Horner & Co. installed the Princess Metternich salon when the Chicago Exposition was dismantled. “This is doubtless one of the richest collections of furniture in existence,” reported The Times, “and New-York people are fortunate in having an opportunity to inspect the beautiful salon. It is shown as it appeared in Chicago, when it elicited the greatest admiration.

The side walls and ceilings are of painted tapestry panels, finished off in white ad gold. The room is a reproduction of the salon of the Princess.”

Despite the many gawkers who were enticed by the display, Horner still felt the financial pinch of the depression. “There has been no perceptible improvement in our business,” he told a reporter, “because furniture is very much a luxury. But as soon as business in other lines picks up we shall feel it, and we think business will revive very soon.”

As the economy recovered, business did resume and R. J. Horner continued successfully in its 23rd Street factory and showroom. As the turn of the century arrived, however, the neighborhood was changing. One by one the ladies’ dry goods emporiums were abandoning 6th Avenue to move north of 34th Street. The many theatres that once dotted the thoroughfare were closing down, as well, as the Broadway theatre district expanded.

On March 19, 1904 a catastrophic fire nearly ended the Horner business as well as its 24th Street warehouse and factory. At 10:30 in the morning an explosion of benzene was so powerful it was heard “for a considerable distance and was immediately followed by a sheet of flame that burst through the windows on Twenty-fourth Street,” reported The Times.

Although the fire department reacted quickly, water pressure was so weak that they were unable to get the conflagration under control. By the time fire headquarters could arrange for the Water Department to increase pressure, the entire factory section of the building had been destroyed, a loss of between $50,000 to $75,000.

Nine years after Horner repaired the burnt building, the company moved to 36th Street near Fifth Avenue, following the movement of the shopping district. A year later, in 1914, the building was remodeled by Strobel & Wilken Company, a large toy importing firm. The move came at a time when the choicest toys were made in Germany and Austria and when those countries were entering dark political days with the assassination of the Archduke Franz Ferdinand that year.

In 1915 England set up a blockade that prohibited German and Austrian shipments from leaving Europe. Emil L. Strobel complained bitterly. “We have thousands of dollars worth of German toys ready for shipment at Rotterdam and elsewhere. Notwithstanding the face that these goods have in any instances been paid for, we cannot get them. Besides the monetary loss to American merchants involved in the non-delivery of goods, the holiday trade will suffer severely if shipments of toys are not forthcoming in the immediately future.”

With the United States’ entry into the war, Strobel found himself standing alone in his arguments. In 1918 The United States Association of Toy Manufacturers met in the Hotel McAlpin and resolved to push Congress to enact a law against importing German-made goods.

In reaction to Strobel’s continued patronage of German manufacturers, the American Defense Society sent him a telegram reading “To demonstrate your 100 percent Americanism and to show Germany that goods made by her bloody-handed baby killers will not be tolerated in America, we request you to refuse shipment of German toys consigned to you on Nieuw Amsterdam as has already been done by Butler Brothers.”

Walter Strobel responded, instead, that “I would be unable to stand the $50,000 loss this would involve. I am willing, however, to sell the goods at cost for any one to dispose of as they think best.”

After the war business returned to normal. By 1937 the building was home to the National Silver Company, a distributor of cutlery. Like its predecessors, things did not always go smoothly. In February of that year the Federal Trade Commission took exception to National Silver’s use of the words “stainpruf” and “stainless.” The Commission felt the knives, forks and spoons were, indeed, stainable and issued a cease and desist order again the firm.

Twenty-third street today is nearly unrecognizable as the street where Robert Horner’s furniture store set up business. Yet his cast iron building is in a remarkable state of preservation with even the first floor remaining unaltered. Even the slim Victorian double street doors are intact, a rare example of architectural survival.  It is, as the AIA Guide to New York City, said "a simple, elegant façade.”

non-credited photographs were taken by the author