The Lost 1825 St. Thomas's Church - Broadway and Houston Street

 

image from The New York Mirror, 1829 (copyright expired)

On October 12, 1823, as the city expanded ever northward, members of three Episcopal congregations--Trinity, Grace and St. George's--joined to form a new parish that would be known as St. Thomas's.  Among the founders, who included some of the wealthiest men in the city, were Charles King, William Beach Lawrence, and William Backhouse Astor.

Saint Thomas's Church was incorporated on January 9, 1824.  The trustees quickly acquired an 80-foot wide plot of land within the former Herrick farm.  Located at the corner of Broadway and Houston Street, it extended through to Mercer Street.  According to The New York Times, the congregation paid $14,000 for the land (equal to about $456,000 in 2024).  Six months later, on July 27, the cornerstone was laid.

The trustees had chosen one of the preeminent architects of the day, Alexander Jackson Davis.  His Gothic Revival design for St. Thomas's Church would be patently Davis with two octagonal towers flanking a massive Gothic arched window below a stepped gable.  The eaves along the sides were crenellated, another David hallmark.

Charles Burton's 1831 print reveals the handsome mansions that lined Broadway.   from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York.

The Mercer Street property behind the church was plotted into 58 burial vaults.  An advertisement in the New-York Evening Post on April 12, 1824 offered,

Private Vaults

The Vestry of St. Thomas' Church offer to build Vaults for families, on their property the corner of Broadway and Houston streets.  The terms may be known by applying to

        CHAS. KING, No. William-st.

        MURRAY HOFFMAN, 25 Pine-st. or

        RICHARD OAKLEY, 108 Front-st.

St. Thomas's Church, which stretched 118 feet along Houston Street, was completed in 1826.  Saying it was "built of rough stones," Miller's Stranger's Guide to New York would describe it in 1866 as, "one of the earliest and best specimens of the Gothic."  The Evening Post described the interior as being "chiefly of oak" including the "rich and finely carved oak furniture."  The organ, according to the newspaper, was "one of the finest in the city."

Alexander Jackson Davis's rendering depicts a rather simple interior with an oak ceiling.  from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York.

The church would be the venue of notable marriages and funerals, but perhaps none drew as much attention as the funeral of John Jacob Astor I on April 1, 1848.  The Evening Post reported, "The procession left the house of his son, in Lafayette place, on Saturday afternoon, and passed on foot to St. Thomas's church."  Astor's pall bearers were among the most influential men in New York City, including Washington Irving, Philip Hone, James G. King, James Gallatin and Judge Thomas J. Oakley.

"The coffin was of the richest mahogany, lined with lead," said the article, "and that lined with white satin, there being a square of plate glass over the face so as to allow those who wished to view the face of the deceased."  Following the service, Astor's coffin was temporarily interred in William B. Astor's vault behind the church until "a suitable mausoleum should be provided" in Greenwood Cemetery.

George Harvey titled his watercolor of St. Thomas's Church "Night-Fall"  from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York.

As he did every Saturday evening in the colder months, on March 1, 1851 the sexton lit the cast iron stove so the church would be warm for the morning's services.  The New-York Tribune reported, "About 1 o'clock on Sunday morning, a fire was discovered in St. Thomas' Church, on the corner of Broadway and Houston-st.  Before the firemen could reach the spot, the whole interior was in flames, and there is now nothing left of the time honored edifice but the bare walls."

The Evening Post said, "The alarm was immediately given, but too late to save the building...The walls, being of a massive structure, were but slightly impaired in their strength, with the exception of the tower on the north side, which has been considerably cracked by the intense heat."  

By the time of the disaster, the district around St. Thomas's Church was no longer bucolic and residential.  The New-York Tribune presumed that the church would not rebuild, but sell the property "and the proceeds applied to the erection of a new edifice further up town."

As the vestry considered its options, The Evening Post, sensing a public danger, demanded that the surviving portions of the building be demolished.  An article on April 2, 1851 said in part, "The proper authorities should see at once to the removal of these ruins, before any damage is done to life and property."

Instead, however, the structure underwent a massive reconstruction.  But the decision came with tragedy.  Seven months after the fire, on October 7, 1851, The Evening Post reported that at about 11:00 that morning, a scaffolding on which four men were "at work in re-laying the wall of that edifice" collapsed.  The workers plunged about 30 feet.  "One man was instantly killed, and most shockingly mangled," said the article.  "Another was so badly injured as to die before he could be removed to a place for treatment."  The other two were less seriously injured and taken to a hospital in stable condition.

Miller's Strangers Guide to New York credited the blaze that gutted the interior with improving it.  Its 1866 edition said the renovations resulted in "its present commodious and elegant internal appointments."

Despite the expense of restoration, less than nine years later, on April 21, 1860, The New York Times reported that the rector and vestrymen of St. Thomas's Church had applied to the courts to sell the property.  Saying that the building was too small, the petitioners said it "will seat only about one thousand persons."  A significant impetus, no doubt, was the increasingly commercial and rowdy neighborhood. 

Already, however, there was a conflict within the congregation.  "A number of the property-holders and vault-owners," said the article, "oppose the movement, alleging that more than half of the congregation reside below Fourteenth street."

In 1865, St. Thomas's Church (left) sat amid a bustling, congested Broadway neighborhood.  from the collection of the New York Public Library

The discussion went on for five years.  Then, on August 2, 1865, The New York Times reported that the property "has been sold to a large clothing-house in Broadway for the sum of $175,000."  The deal included the caveat that the building "is not to be removed until May 1866, when the site will be occupied as a store."  The transaction did not entirely solve the problem of the vaults, however, which were not included in the sale.  "The remains of the Astors were, at a comparatively recent date, removed and laid in Trinity Cemetery; and it appears that similar action has been taken by many vault-holders," said The Times.  Nevertheless, six stubbornly refused to move their families' remains.

A month later, the vestry announced it had purchased the northwest corner of 53rd Street and Fifth Avenue as the site of its new structure.  The New York Times said, "It is supposed...that Upjohn & Co. will be employed as architects."  The supposition was correct.  The cornerstone to the new St. Thomas's Church designed by Richard Upjohn and his son, Richard Mitchell Upjohn, was laid on October 14, 1868.

By then, Alexander Jackson Davis's solid stone structure had been gone for two years as the congregation shared space in another church.  On June 12, 1866, The New York Times had reported, "The demolition of St. Thomas' Church, at the corner of Broadway and Houston-street, which was commenced a few weeks ago, is now nearly completed, and scarcely one stone of the edifice remains upon another."  (The six families who had held out on removing the remains in their vaults, had eventually capitulated.)

The Lost Libbey Castle (Woodcliff) - 196th Street and Fort Washington Avenue

 

from the collection of the New-York Historical Society

Augustus C. Richards's vast wealth was reflected in the $25,000 in personal taxes he paid in 1857, according to the New York City Tax-Book.  That year his spectacular country home was completed far north of the city west of the Kingsbridge Road (later Broadway) near what today is 196th Street.  He had purchased the land two years earlier from the estate of Lucius Chittenden.  Designed by architect Alexander Jackson Davis, the New York Herald later described Woodcliff as "a four story stone mansion, massive and costly in construction."  Davis typically worked in historic styles, and Woodcliff mimicked a Norman castle with an imposing tower and crenellated battlements.  The World later wrote, "This mansion was built from the rock quarried away for its foundation...It is a veritable castle, turreted and picturesque."

It was undoubtedly Richards who commissioned this unsigned painting of Woodcliff, completed prior to 1869.  from the collection of the New-York Historical Society.

Like many other affluent businessmen, Richards became involved in relief efforts during the Civil War.  His interest was highly focused on loyal American refugees from the South who were arriving in New York City.  He was an active member of the Committee In Aid of the Union Refugees from Florida.  The New York Times described the refugees as having been "stripped of large portions of their property by forced levies for the support of a cause which they heartily abhorred."

Simultaneously, he lobbied for a project much closer to home.  On March 5, 1863 he was appointed a vice-president of a group of residents and property owners of the Manhattanville, Carmansville, Fort Washington, and Tubby Hook districts "to advocate the construction of a distributing reservoir for the upper end of the City," according to The New York Times.

Richards added oil wells to his business interests around 1863.  He was president of the California Petroleum Company, an 18,000-acre property of "natural oil wells of the largest size," according to an article in The New York Times on March 4, 1865.  The San Francisco Mercantile Gazette placed the output of the wells in 1863 at $14 million--just under $300 million in today's money.

Richards sold Woodcliff on February 26, 1869 to Civil War General Daniel Butterfield for $275,000 (about $5.4 million today).  Butterfield had just resigned as Assistant Treasurer of the United States following a scandal that connected him with Jay Gould and James Fisk in the scheme that resulted in the panic of collapsing gold prices known as Black Friday, on September 24, 1869.

General Daniel Butterfield, from the collection of the Library of Congress

Butterfield's ownership would be extremely short-lived.  Only weeks after taking title, he sold it to Tammany Hall leader William Magear Tweed.   His residency, too, was brief.  According to The World later, "Tweed never inhabited this beautiful home, but sold it to his son."  The New York Herald had a slightly different slant to the story, saying, "When William M. Tweed jumped his bail it was from this house that he escaped."

Whichever version is true, "Boss" Tweed's downfall began in 1871.  Influential publications like the New York Times and Harper's Weekly relentlessly attacked Tweed Ring corruption, and Tweed was arrested in October for fraud.  Released on $1 million bail, he fled to Europe.  (He was later tracked down, and returned to New York.  He died in jail in April 1878.)

Tweed's son sold Woodcliff to millionaire drygoods merchant Alexander Turney Stewart, whose magnificent marble city house sat across 34th Street from the brownstone mansion of William Backhouse Astor, Jr.   But, like Butterfield and Tweed, he and his wife, the former Cornelius M. Clinch, would enjoy their country estate only briefly.  Around the first of April 1876, Stewart contracted a cold which progressed to what the The New York Herald indiscreetly described as an "inflammation of the bowels."  On April 10 the newspaper reported that "the great merchant millionaire" was critically ill in his Fifth Avenue mansion.   Later that same day the tycoon died.

Cornelia Stewart sold Woodcliff to her husband's business partner, William Libbey.  Born on March 7, 1820, Libbey and his wife, the former Elizabeth Marsh, had three sons, William Jr., Jonas and Frederick.  Libbey's family had been in America since 1630 when John Libbey first came from England.

Reputedly Libbey brought back Alexander Jackson Davis to modernize and enlarge the mansion.  It was used as William's and Elizabeth's year-round home following William's retirement in 1883.  Only Jonas was still unmarried at the time.  He was the editor and owner of The Princeton Review.  William Jr. was a professor in the College of New Jersey, and Frederick was associated with his father "in looking after various investments," according to America's Successful Men in 1895.

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

By the end of the 19th century, as the city swelled northward and engulfed the former country estates, the house now known as the Libbey Castle, had become a landmark.  On July 8, 1894 the New York Herald remarked, "Mr. and Mrs. William Libbey occupy the most conspicuous residence on the ridge.  It is known as Libbey Castle and is situated on Fort Washington avenue at what would be about 194th street."

The article addressed the many urban legends surrounding the house.  "All sorts of questions are asked and as many different answers are given with regard to the castle.  It is often taken for an old fort as anything else.  It looks cold and uninviting, but its surroundings, with its granite walls covered with ivy, are very beautiful."  A writer for the New York Herald four years earlier had said, "A chance acquaintance...once told me it was used during the late war as a prison for Confederal captives...The first driver who ever took me over the road gave me still another version of the old mansion's history.  It was built in Revolutionary times and rebuilt many years ago."

Local myths aside, Libbey Castle was a comfortable and luxurious home.  In 1895 America's Successful Men said, "Mr. Libbey spends his leisure time in the enjoyment of his beautiful home on Washington Heights on the upper part of this island overlooking the Hudson."  Ironically, that same year on November 7, The Sentinel reported, "William Libbey, A. T. Stewart's partner, died Tuesday of apoplexy at his home, the Libbey Castle, New York."

Nine years later Frederick A. Libbey sold the portion of property on which the mansion stood to former New York City Mayor Hugh J. Grant for a reported $300,000 ($9 million today).  On December 8, 1904 the New York Herald reported, "He is to make his home in the castle, which is a celebrated structure, occupying an imposing site."  The article noted, "Besides the mansion the grounds contain a stable and some fine hothouses."  The New-York Tribune reported on the size of the property the Libbeys had sold:

It is on a plot of more than 750 feet in depth, running from Broadway to Fort Washington-ave., with a frontage of 320 feet in Fort Washington-ave. and 510 feet in Broadway.  As the streets have not yet been cut through the tract, it is difficult to say just what would be the street boundaries of the parcel.

In 1917, John D. Rockefeller began buying up large parcels in the Fort Tryon district with the intention of developing a majestic park with sweeping views of the Hudson.  Among the first of his acquisitions was Libbey Castle.  While he worked on amassing an adequate amount of land, he leased the mansion to the Paulist Choristers and Father Finn's Paulist Choir School.  The house accommodated 50 live-in students as well as faculty.  

Musical American, June 18, 1921 (copyright expired)

On June 15, 1930 The New York Times reported on the progress of Rockefeller's plan, including additional land from the Libbey heirs.  "His first offer was made in June, 1917, to Mayor Purroy Mitchel.  The present offer includes four or five additional acres in the southern section, acquired by Mr. Rockefeller in 1922 from the estate of James M. Libbey, and it exempts four acres on the site of the Revolutionary Fort Tryon."

The mansion looked a bit beleaguered not long before its destruction.  from the collection of the Library of Congress.

Rockefeller commissioned the landscaping firm of Olmsted Brothers to design what would become Fort Tryon Park in 1931, the year he donated the land to the City of New York.  Construction began that year and was the park was dedicated in 1935 by Rockefeller and Robert Moses.   Although The New York Times had earlier reported that Libbey Castle would be used as a museum, it was demolished.

A photograph dated 1931 documented the demolition Libbey Castle.  image via the Metropolitan Museum of Art

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The Lost Church of the Nativity -- 46-48 Second Avenue

A 19th century stereopticon view with the original steeple intact was reproduced in Valentine's Manual of the City of New York, 1919 (copyright expired)

When the congregation of the Second Avenue Presbyterian Church erected its new building on Second Avenue between 2nd and 3rd Streets, it chose the best in New York City architects.  Completed in 1832, the Greek Revival structure is attributed to the firm of Town, Davis & Dakin.  Ithiel Town and Andrew Jackson Davis had joined forces in 1829 and by now had brought James H. Dakin in to the firm; however Town is not credited with this project.  It appears that Davis and Dakin worked with James H. Gallier on this structure.

Their Greek temple design was a century later described by the Historic American Buildings Survey, which said that the firm "introduced the facade pattern, widely copied but usually imperfectly; here presented as intended, with columns and antae (six instead of the usual four) regularly spaced."  The authors deemed the facade "a fine and very significant example of Greek Revival distyle-in-antis church type."

The neighborhood, just a block east of the exclusive Bond Street  district, was lined with elegant homes.  Next door at 44 Second Avenue was the rectory building.  The members of the Second Presbyterian Church included millionaires like William E. Dodge.

On April 17, 1841, the Second Presbyterian Church's pastor delivered a moving sermon about the death of President William Henry Harrison exactly one month after his taking office.  It was so impelling that the Morning Courier and New-York Enquirer announced on April 24, "By request the Rev. Chas. S. Porter will repeat, on next Sabbath (to-morrow) evening, in the Second Avenue Presbyterian Church, the sermon delivered by him last Sabbath evening, on the death of the President."

In 1847 the Second Avenue Presbyterian Church merged with the Braynard Presbyterian Church and erected a new structure on 14th Street.  The Second Avenue church and rectory were leased to the Nativity of Our Lord, a Roman Catholic parish established five years earlier and better known as the Church of the Nativity.

An early focus of the congregation in its new building was the ongoing Irish famine.  A collection taken on Sunday morning, February 28, 1847 raised $2,005 ($65,000 today).  The New-York Tribune commented, "It is delightful, grieve as we must at the wretchedness which prevails there, to witness this unanimity and to find an occasion of action about which there is no dispute."

In 1848 an announcement appeared in the Morning Courier and New-York Enquirer of a chancery sale of the "lots of ground with the buildings thereon, known as the Second Avenue Presbyterian Church," to be held on February 14, 1848.  It was purchased by the Church of the Nativity, which paid the equivalent of $422,000 in today's money for the property.

Among the cautious remodeling the congregation made to the building was the installation of stained glass.  In a letter to the editor of the New-York Tribune on February 18, 1851, the church's treasurer, James de Vose wrote:

These windows were obtained with great exertion, through the liberality of some friends who, admiring the interior construction of the church, did not wish to see common plain glass windows, which would have been in keeping with the limited means of the congregation, but not in accordance with the style of architecture.  We were thus enabled to procure windows with stained glass, which have been generally admired for their simplicity and neatness.

 

from the collection of the Library of Congress

As De Vose's letter had hinted, by the 1850's the once-affluent neighborhood had greatly changed.  The influx of indigent, immigrant families was reflected in an article in The New York Times on January 14, 1857.  It said in part, "Rev. Dr. Manahan delivered a lecture last night in Hope Chapel for the benefit of the poor children of the Church of the Nativity, in Second-avenue."

On June 28, 1857, Henry Beers (described by The New York Times as "a young, good looking Irishman) was married to Ann Hanbury here.  But when Ann's brother found out that Henry "had another wife living," he had him arrested.  As it turned out, Henry had married Phebe Tully on September 30, 1855 in the Church of St. Francis Xavier, on West 21st Street.

In a case of déjà vu, on December 13, 1861 Rev. George W. McClosky married Irish-born William Griffin (alias McDonald) and Anne Cannon.  Just a month later, on January 22, 1862, Griffin was convicted of bigamy.  He had initially been married in Brooklyn in June 1860.

Before long Rev. McClosky would have more serious issues to consider.  On July 11, 1863 the nation's first draft lottery was held.  Newspapers published the long lists of those drafted after each proceeding.  On August 26 The New York Times reported, "Father McCloskey, the well-known pastor of the Church of the Nativity was drawn, as was also his Sexton, Mr. McGovern." 

The interiors were restored after a devastating fire in 1912.  from the collection of the Library of Congress

By the turn of the century any of the surviving rowhouses along Second Avenue had been converted to business and rooming houses.  Most had been demolished to be replaced with tenements.

Tragedy occurred on January 20, 1912.  Fire and Water Engineering reported, "Fire partly destroyed the Roman Catholic church of the Nativity, 44 and 46 Second avenue, this city.  The flames were confined to the church, which is one of the land-marks on the East Side, the damage being estimated at $20,000."  That amount would top half a million in today's dollars.  "The organ, the balcony over the entrance, the choir stalls and portions of the roof were burned."

Patrolman Koschau had run into the rectory and awakened Rev. Father Bernard J. Reilly, the pastor, and his assistant, Rev. William S. Creedon.  Fire and Water Engineering reported, "The priests, partly clothed, rushed into the burning building by a side entrance, and, despite the heat and smoke, took the sacrament of the altar and saved the communion vessels."

The ruins of the interior following the fire.  Fire and Water Engineering, February 14, 1912 (copyright expired)

The magazine noted, "The Church of the Nativity is one of the oldest on the East Side.  It was built nearly a century ago and its stately Roman architecture contrasted so distinctly with that of the huge tenements surrounding it that its aged appearance was emphasized all the more."  A photograph taken just after the fire showed that the stately steeple was gone.

original source unknown

Rev. Reilly, who had so bravely entered the blazing sanctuary, had an interesting history.  He was admitted to the priesthood in 1889 and spent his first two years in Nassau, the Bahamas.  The New York Times later reported that he was one of the priests who "sailed from the Bahamas to San Salvador, where they donned vestments and celebrated the first mass held on the island since its discovery by Columbus."  He arrived in New York in 1891 as assistant in the Church of the Nativity, and was made its pastor in 1900.  He died on July 7, 1928.

At some point the congregation modernized the venerable structure with a stepped parapet and a short spired.  Large bronze lettering reading "Ad Majorem Dei Gloriam"--For the Greater Glory of God--were installed on the entablature.

from the collection of the Library of Congress

A second fire occurred in 1968 and a demolition permit was issued that year.  The magnificent Greek Revival building, described by the Historic American Buildings Survey as "probably the earliest extant example of its type," was demolished.  A new structure designed by Genovese & Maddalene was erected, described by architectural historian David W. Dunlap in his From Abyssinian to Zion as looking "more like a firehouse than a house of worship."

photo by Beyond My Ken

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The Lost 1827 Merchants' Exchange Building - Wall Street near Exchange Street

 

The frame buildling next to the Merchants' Exchange belonged to Jacobus Roosevelt in 1735.  It was one of the oldest buildings on Wall Street.  from Early new York Houses 1750 - 1900, (copyright expired)

In 1900 historian William S. Pelletreau wrote, "In the early days of New York, there stood at the foot of Broad street, a large building with its lower story entirely open to the weather.  This was the 'Exchange' of that day, and the street adjoining took the name of 'Exchange street.'"  The Exchange was an important center of business.  Merchants held meetings, transacted business, and auctioned properties and goods within its walls.

In 1824 a group of prominent businessmen organized the Merchants' Exchange Company and laid plans for a substantial new structure.  Thomas Buchanan had purchased what was then 37 through 41 Wall Street, between Hanover and William Streets, in 1809.  On June 1, 1824 his heirs sold that 112-foot-wide property to the new organization.  With the site secured, the Merchants' Exchange Company commissioned one of the most esteemed architects of the day, Alexander Jackson Davis, to design a magnificent edifice.

Alexander Jackson Davis's watercolor rendering of the facade survives.  from the collection of the Metropolitan Museum of Art.

Davis's plans were completed that summer.  On August 21, an notice the New-York Evening Post announced:

Sealed proposals will be received at No. 45 Wall street...for the delivery of marble for the Merchant's Exchange.  It is expected that the proposals will be accompanied with specimens of the marble to be furnished...Plans of the building may be seen and specifications of the marble to be furnished may be hand, and any further information obtains on application to H. I. Wyckoff, Chairman of the Building Committee.

The great expense of the structure seems to have caused debate within the Merchants' Exchange Company.  An announcement in The Evening Post a month later noted in part, "As it is in contemplation to substitute Brown Free Stone in place of marble, except for the flagging in the portico and basement, estimates are required for that artical [sic] to be of the best quality."

Four columns upheld the rotunda, as seen in Alexander Jackson Davis's first floor plan.  The architect's own office sat directly off the entrance, to the right.  from the collection of the Metropolitan Museum of Art.

In the end marble won out.  Davis's awe-inspiring Merchants' Exchange Building opened on May 1, 1827.  William S. Pelletreau would call it "by far the most important business building in the city."  A broad staircase rose from the sidewalk to the portico.  Patently Davis, it was recessed into the structure, its two-story Ionic columns flush with the façade.  An imposing cupula and spire capped the interior rotunda, where a bronze status of Alexander Hamilton stood.

The Merchants' Exchange Building held meeting rooms, auction rooms, and offices.  The flurry of activity within the building was evidenced on January 12, 1829, when seven different announcements for real estate auctions to be held on a single day appeared in the New-York Evening Post. 

Various tenants occupied the office spaces.  Decades later, in 1908, The Architectural Record recalled, "In 1829, 'A. J. Davis, Ithiel Town and Thompson,' had their offices in the building and were noteworthy as the only firm of architects in New York."  Also occupying space in the building were several insurance companies.  

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

As the city prospered and expanded, fire became a significant concern for insurance firms.  While the city erected additional watch towers, there remained the problem of enough available water to fight large fires.  On the night of December 14, 1835, two large fires broke out, destroying 13 buildings.  They left the city's fire cisterns nearly empty.

Two nights later a gas pipe, ignited by a coal stove, exploded in a five-story warehouse on Merchant Street (today's Beaver Street) and Hanover Street.  The resultant blaze was fanned and spread by gale force winds.  The inferno became so massive the glow could be seen 80 miles away in Philadelphia.

Newspapers reported the temperature at 17 degrees below zero.  The East River and the Hudson River were frozen over, forcing fire fighters to drill holes in the thick ice to access water.   A detachment of marines from the Navy Yard was brought in to dynamite buildings, in hopes of stopping the spread of fire.

As the fire raged, architect Nicolino Calyo sketched the scene for this painting.  The dome and cupola of the Merchants' Exchange had already collapsed.  from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York

The following day the fire still roared out of control.  At 2:30 on the afternoon of December 17,  Samuel Swartwout, Collector of the City of New York, wrote a startling letter to a member of the Senate Ways and Means Committee.  It began:

Dear Sir--Last night, between eight and nine o'clock, a fire broke out near the Merchants' Exchange, and is still raging most violently...By this disastrous visitation, between four and five hundred buildings have been destroyed, and goods and other effects, to the amount of fifteen to twenty millions of dollars.  This calamity falls principally upon the heavy importing merchants; and they must unquestionably become greatly embarrassed, and many of them ruined.

The magnificent Merchants' Exchange Building was gutted.  On December 18, The Evening Post reported, "The lower part of this city is thronged this morning by thousands of men, women and children eager to view the scene of destruction.  Hughes' fine statue of Alexander Hamilton is among the valuable articles buried deep beneath the ruins of the Exchange."  (The statue, sadly, could not be salvaged.)

from the collection of the New York Public Library

The importance of the Merchants' Exchange was evident when, that same day while the ruins were still smoking, the Board of Assistants resolved, "that the north-western Chamber of the city Hall, known as the Superiour Court Room, be placed at the disposal of the city for their use as a Merchants' Exchange Room."

Isaiah Rogers's design included a cast iron dome.  from the collection of the New York Public Library

Within months, architect Isaiah Rogers was at work on plans for a splendid replacement on the site.  His Greek Revival Merchants' Exchange Building survives at 55 Wall Street, albeit altered.

photo via realtor.com

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The Lost 1849 London Terrace - 23rd Street from 9th to 10th Avenues

 

from the collection of the New-York Historical Society 

In 1833 Clement Clarke Moore was offered $40,000 for his family's country estate, Chelsea, which extended from 19th Street to 24th, and from Eighth Avenue to the Hudson River.  He was posed to accept the offer until a friend, James N. Wells convinced him to sell the building plots separately, managed by Wells.  The houses that soon began to rise on Moore's former land were upscale, as dictated in the deed restrictions he wrote.

On May 1, 1845 speculators Cyrus Mason and William Torrey embarked on an ambitious project.  They leased the entire block between 23rd and 24th Streets, from Ninth to Tenth Avenues, from Moore as the site of handsome, upscale residences.

Prominent architect Alexander Jackson Davis was commissioned to design the back-to-back rows.  The 23rd Street side would be called London Terrace, (the concept of "terraces," or elegant rowhouses designed to appear as a single structure had arisen in England in the 18th century), and the similar but less pretentious group on 24th Street were to be deemed the Chelsea Cottages.

The London Terrace houses sat back from the street behind gardens and iron fences.   Each three bays wide, they were faced in stone.  Their somewhat stark design featured three-story Doric piers and oversized Greek key designs in the spandrel panels between the second and third floors.  The fourth floor pretended to be a paneled parapet above the cornice, pierced with windows.

Because Clement Moore had leased the land, not sold it, Cyrus Mason and William Torrey sold the leaseholds of the completed houses, technically not the buildings themselves.  As construction continued on March 24, 1848 an advertisement appeared in the New-York Daily Tribune which read in part:

Will be sold...Nos. 3, 5, 7, 9, 11, 13, 15 and 17 London Terrace...The leases in themselves are very valuable, and the foundations of the houses are laid and a portion of the superstructure raised.

The residences filled with well-to-do merchant class families who, of course, required staff.  An advertisement on December 11, 1850 sought "Two women as cook and waiter.  No one need apply but those who can bring satisfactory recommendations.  To such persons good wages will be paid."  (A waiter was the maid who served meals, poured tea, and carried out similar duties.)  

Among the residents in 1853 were Catharine Underhill, the widow of Thomas S. Underhill and her son, George L. Underhill who lived in the house directly next door to hers.  George was in the pocketbook manufacturing business.  Others were merchants John G. Plimpton, John P. Brown and Richard Douglas.  John H. Dunnell was a manufacturers of furnaces and James Harner was the head of the hardware firm, James Harner & Co.  Not coincidentally, an executive of his firm, Maurice Hilger, also lived in London Terrace.

photo by Ralph Spearman Myers from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York

Azariah Cutting Flagg lived  at No. 3 London Terrace with his wife, the former Phoebe Maria Cole.  The couple had three children, Martha Maria, Elizabeth, and Henry Franklin.

Born in Orwell, Vermont in 1790 Flagg had entered the printing trade at the age of 11 as an apprentice in his uncle's shop.  He had served two terms as Secretary of the State of New York (elected in 1826 and re-elected in 1829) and two terms as New York State Comptroller.  

Azariah C. Flagg Family Records of the Descendants of Gershom Flagg, 1907 (copyright expired)

When the family moved into the London Terrace home he was New York City Comptroller, the president of the Hudson River Railroad Company, and treasurer of the Chicago and Rock Island Railroad.   A family history written in 1907, Family Records of the Descendants of Gershom Flagg, said of him "Azariah C. Flagg amassed a large fortune in spite of his being a politician, and an honest one at that."

None of the Flagg children married, and all lived in the commodious London Terrace home with their parents.  On May 26, 1854 Henry Franklin died at the age of 31.  His funeral was held in the house two days later.  It was the first of three.

Elizabeth died at the age of 48 on June 8, 1866, and Azariah died in the house on November 24, 1873 four days before his 83rd birthday.  The New York Times reported on the funeral in the drawing room, saying "The remains, which were encased in a rose-wood casket with silver mountings, with the face of the deceased exposed to view, were viewed by a large number of friends and former associates of the late Mr. Flagg."  His social and political importance was evidenced by the names of his pall bearers: Thurlow Weed, Samuel J. Tilden, Charles Butler, William B. Ogden, Archibald Campbell, Samuel C. Ruggles, James H. Titus, and John Bigelow.

Scandal rarely tainted the reputation of London Terrace.  Nevertheless, publisher Richard R. Montgomery was arrested on September 28, 1861 on charges pressed by an actress, Alice G. Wood.  The New York Times reported that she accused him of "having defrauded her by means of false representations, out of property valued at the sum of $1,400."  It was a significant amount, more in the neighborhood of $42,000 today."

The fair complainant," said the article "states that about eighteen months ago she arrived in this City, from Texas, having come here with the intention of attaching herself to one of our theatres."  She soon became acquainted with Montgomery who promised to "become responsible for her board" and "induced her to take rooms at the St. Denis Hotel."  The devious publisher, moreover, "represented himself to her as a single man."

When her money eventually ran out, according to Wood, he convinced her to "part with her jewelry, from time to time, until, at length, she learned to her surprise, that it had all been pawned under a fictitious name, he keeping the money received on it."  It was only then that she realized she had been conned and that Montgomery had a wife and child.  The previously seemingly respectable publisher was jailed awaiting trial.

The deep yards were a noticeable feature.  from the collection of the New York Public Library

Among Montgomery's neighbors were Charles S. Spencer and his wife, the former Celia Adelaide Loomis.   Born in Ithica, New York, in 1824, The New York Times called him "almost the pioneer among the criminal lawyers of New-York."  Twice he served on the State Assembly and was nominated for Congress two times, but defeated both times.  The Spencers had an adopted daughter.

Spencer was the Colonel of the Fifth Regiment of the New York State National Guard.  An event related to that post drew the attention of The Sun on March 19, 1873.  "At precisely 6:27 last evening," began the article, "a magnificent black charger, heavily laden with military trappings, was led into London Terrace by a stable groom."  Exactly two minutes later, "there emerged from 49 London Terrace a military figure of gorgeous magnificence.  Mounting quickly, without the aid of the stirrup, which was obsequiously held by the stable groom, the military figure road up Twenty-third street at a rapid pace, giving to the casual observer...a fair idea of the traditional solitary horseman 'who might have been seen.'"

The horseman was Colonel Spencer, who rode in full dress uniform with a diamond-studded saber, a white plumed helmet and "a pair of calfskin boots attached to silver spurs."  He was on the way to the Fifth Regiment Armory where he mustered his troops and then marched them to the 22nd Regiment Armory on 14th Street where the State Inspector-General was to hold a review and inspection.  A military band accompanied the procession.

Following the inspection and maneuvers, the band "marched to the residence of Col. Spencer in full uniform (the Colonel, not the residence), where they played several operatic selections to the intense gratification of Mrs. Gen. Morris, Mrs. Col. Spencer, several other ladies, Col. Spencer...and all the officers of the regiment."  Poking fun at the grandiosity of the event, the article said "Col Spencer made a little speech in full uniform, and Gen. Morris replied, after which a bugle solo was blown by the chief bugler (who blew all the dishes off the table, and did other damage to the crockery and plate of Col. Spencer in full uniform), and London Terrace was left in peace."

Residents of London Terrace tended to stay on for years, if not decades.  On August 11, 1887 Spencer had "an unusually hearty dinner at 1 o'clock," according to The New York Times, after which he complained to Celia that "his stomach troubled him."  He sat in a chair and told her that he thought he must be dying.  And he was.  The New York Times said "The end came suddenly."  

His funeral was held in the drawing room on August 13.  Although the services were "extremely simple," as described by The New York Times, it was attended by powerful figures, including the former governor Alonzo B. Cornell, well-known politicians Roscoe Conkling, Thomas S. Murphy and James N. Byrne, as well as military figures like Major A. P. Greene, Colonel William E. Van Wyck and General Franz Sigel.

On June 3, 1887 two homeless men went door-to-door along the block asking for handouts.  When one resident's donation was considered too small, a confrontation ensued.  It happened at an inopportune time for the men.  The New York Times reported "Police Commissioner John McClave, while on the way to his place of business yesterday morning saw a tramp mounting guard at a gate in the part of Twenty-third-street known as London Terrace, and heard another inside the inclosure abusing, in the vilest of tomato-can vernacular, a lady who had seen fit to give him only a few cents."  Unaware of who the interloper was, when McClave got involved, "the fellows turned their abuse on him."  The were sent to Blackwell's Island for six months.

By the turn of the century most of the once-elegant mansions were being operated as boarding houses or rooming houses.  They lost their exclusive London Terrace addresses and were now known by West 23rd Street numbers.  Benjamin R. Rose, a silk salesman, took a room at No. 411 West 23rd Street, in April 1909.  It was described by The New York Times as "an old-fashioned building which stands back from the street, and one of the block composing the once exclusive London Terrace."

When Benjamin Rose lived in London Terrace, the Ninth Avenue Elevated train station was at the corner.  from the collection of the New-York Historical Society

The house was run by Mrs. Catherine Sutherland who said Rose "had been a mystery to the other boarders."  The New York Times explained "He was the most fastidious man in the household, it was said, wearing a different suit of clothes almost every day, while his cravats were a source of admiration to the other boarders...Mrs. Sutherland and her boarders had thought it strange that so many of of Rose's friends were young men, and it was said that often in the early hours of the morning sounds of revelry had been heard from the silk salesman's rooms."

That all came to a shocking end on Sunday night, September 5, 1909.  The following morning Rose did not appear for breakfast, and at noon a porter, George Mohr, knocked on his door.   Getting no answer he used a passkey.  "He yelled and ran downstairs, his cries of alarm bringing Mrs. Sutherland and the maids."  They found a brutal murder scene.

Rose was on the floor in his nightclothes.  He had been stabbed to death and his throat cut "his head being nearly severed, and his right hand had been pierced by the knife blade, he evidently having fought hard for his life."  The murderer left evidence in the form of a bloody hand print on the wall and fingerprints in blood on a rifled trunk.  Rose, according to his landlady, often wore diamond rings and other jewelry, but none were found in the room.

Ironically, the boarders who lived directly under his room, Mr. and Mrs. Stuart Fredericks had been playing pinochle with friends that night.  At around 11:00 they heard "the sound of a scuffle in Rose's room."  Fredericks told police "It sounded as though someone was jumping on the floor, or that something had been thrown down hard."  But previous sounds of "revelry" from upstairs caused them to disregard the noises.

An article in The New York Herald on March 12, 1922 reminisced about the former glories of Chelsea.  "In the palmy days of its construction a goodly number of what are called 'nice people' had their homes in this vicinity.  London Terrace, for instance, composed a rather pretentious collection of houses with well known names on the plates."  But those days were long past.  Several of the homes had been altered, with additions, and six of them were being used by the New School for Social Science.

from the collection of the New York Public Library

The end of the line for the venerable London Terrace was announced in The New York Times on March 10, 1929.  The article reported that Henry Mandel Associates had leased "on a long term from the Moore estate" the entire block.  "The Mandel project, involving as it does the wiping out of some of the oldest and most interesting private dwellings on Manhattan Island" would cause a great "change in the character of its locality combined with more sentimental features."  The article went on "Set well back from the street and with their dignified pillars, these houses have recalled for many years reminiscences of old New York days when everyone lived in his own individual home and conditions were simpler if not happier."

Henry Mandel demolished the block and erected the massive apartment complex named after its predecessor, London Terrace.  Designed by the firm of Farrar & Watmough, its Tuscan-influenced design has become as much a landmark as was the original London Terrace.

from the collection of the New York Public Library