The Empire Wagon Works Building - 194 Elizabeth Street

 

In the first years after the Civil War, the enterprising Jonas Stoltz had two diverse professions.  He was an undertaker at 237 Bowery and ran a stables at 194 Elizabeth Street.  The Elizabeth Street property was leased from Catharine L. Van Rensselaer.  The vernacular style building was faced in red brick above the ground floor where a central carriage bay was flanked by two openings.  Four stories tall, the building terminated in a dentiled brick cornice more expected in a much earlier structure. 

John Green, who listed himself as a "shoer," leased the stable portion of the building from Stoltz in 1871 and 1872.  On March 31, 1872 he advertised, "Truck, team and harness for sale--Inquire at stable, 194 Elizabeth street."

On February 27, 1874, Catherine L. Van Rensselaer transferred title of 194 and 196 Elizabeth Street to Jonas Stoltz.  He converted the stable to a bakery, but would not be in business here for long.  On June 18, 1875, he advertised, "A bakery for sale in one of the best neighborhoods in the city, baking over 15 barrels per week; all cash over the counter; must be sold on account of sickness."

The building was purchased by Michael Murray and the bakery became Ward's Bakery.  It advertised on July 1, 1875, "Baker wanted--A good second hand on bread.  Apply at 194 Elizabeth st."

Among the bakery's employees in 1876 were James Kellner and and Max Hoppe.  While the two men were talking on December 28 that year, as reported by the New York Herald, Kellner "produced a bottle and invited Hoppe to take a drink, stating that the fluid was whiskey."  Hoppe took a swig, and quickly passed out.  When he awoke, he discovered his gold watch and $40 were gone, and so was Kellner.

The next day, Kellner appeared at the 57th Street Police Court and complained that Simon Lanigan, "in whose company he had been the night previous," had stolen his watch and some clothing.  Lanigan was arrested and the clothing and a pawn ticket for the watch was found in his rooms.  Kellner identified the watch as his.

Informed that Kellner had been robbed, Hoppe gave police a detailed description of his missing watch, including the letters "F. V. D." inscribed in the case, "the initials of the gentleman who had presented him with it while in Germany."  He described perfectly the watch which Lanigan had stolen from Kellner.  Now Kellner, too, was arrested.

In court, Henry Kiel testified that Kellner had bragged to him about stealing Hoppe's watch, "but that it did not do him much good, as it had been stolen from him."  Kellner testified that the watch was his and the initials were those of his mother.  Despite the overwhelming evidence, Kellner insisted the watch was his and he deserved to keep it.  The New York Herald reported,

The Recorder, in passing sentence, severely rebuked the prisoner for his unblushing audacity, adding that the law might have thrown over him the mantle of mercy had he availed himself of his privilege to enter a plea of guilty, instead of which he supplemented the larceny which he committed by the crime of perjury.

He was sentenced to four years and six months of hard labor at the State Prison.

In the meantime, the upper floors of 194 Elizabeth Street were home to mostly immigrant, Irish-born tenants.  In 1876, eleven families were listed here, with professions like laborer, tailor, soap-maker, and painter.  Around 1879, the bakery was run by Dominick Fralliciardi.

Irish-born Maurice Flynn lived here in 1880.  He had become an American citizen in 1868 when he was a teen.  When he headed off to vote on October 12, 1880, he took along his naturalization papers with him to avoid any problems.  Instead, he was confronted by one of the election supervisors, George Connell, who not only refused to allow him to vote, but confiscated his paperwork and refused to return it.  Flynn made a complaint and the United States Commissioner issued a warrant for the arrest of Connell.  (Whether Flynn ever cast his vote is unclear.)

A month later, another Irish tenant was in the news.  John Bryce was a waiter in a Brooklyn restaurant.  Early in the morning of November 7, Thomas Lovitt came into the restaurant "and began to act in a disorderly manner," according to the Brooklyn Daily Eagle.  He ordered a plate of pork and beans from Bryce, who refused to serve him.  Lovitt responding by stabbing Bryce in the back with a pocket knife.  The New York Times reported that Lovitt was arrested and Bryce was brought home to Elizabeth Street.

At the time, Irish immigrants were being supplanted by Italians in the district.  On December 12, 1881, The Sun said, "A small colony of natives of Salerno is clustered in the neighborhood of Elizabeth and Spring streets.  Nearly all are tailors and shoemakers."  Two of those shoemakers, Augustiro Ispeni and Amidio Cusitare, were old friends and both lived at 194 Elizabeth Street.

On the afternoon of December 11, 1881, the two became embroiled in a quarrel "as to which was the better workman," according to The Sun.  The dispute became heated and other occupants of the room fled from what promised to be violence.  They told a reporter later, "the men were then confronting each other, each with the left hand on the other's shoulder.  Ispeni's right had held a knife, and in Cusitare's was a pistol."  A pistol shot was heard and Cusitare ran out of the room and down the stairs.  Ispeni was found in the room with two bullet wounds, one in the chest and another in the groin.  A policeman tracked down Cusitare in a Spring Street house.  "He was suffering from stab wounds," said The Sun.

Both men were taken to St. Vincent's Hospital as prisoners.  One of Cusitare's wounds, which caused massive internal bleeding, was fatal.

image via the NYC Dept of Records & Information Services.

Around 1885, the building was leased and converted for the Philip Happersberger & Son wagon business, run by Philip and Francis (known as Fred) Happersberger.  It was now described as a "four-story brick factory" by the Record & Guide.  In March 1893, Philip Happersberger purchased the building for $20,000 (just under $700,000 in 2025 terms).  It appears he retired that year, and Fred renamed the business the Empire Wagon Works.

Purchasers' Guide and Commercial Register, 1893 (copyright expired)

Happersberger employed ten men who worked 59 hours per week at the turn of the century.  On October 15, 1903, the American Carbonator and American Bottler wrote,

The Empire Wagon Works, 194 Elizabeth street, New York, are making the finest wagons we know of for the bottling trade...Bottlers wagons always on hand, as well as made to order on short notice.  They also do repairing, painting, lettering and ornamenting.  Mr. Fred Happersberger, the gentlemanly proprietor, will be pleased to quote prices and give full particulars.

American Carbonator & American Bottler, July 15, 1903 (copyright expired)

Happersberger repeatedly updated the facility, renovating the building in 1911, 1913 and 1914.  

The Empire Wagon Works was replaced in the building in the post-World War I years by the Anchor Manufacturing Company, a glass firm.  In its December 16, 1920 issue, The Potter, Glass & Brass Salesman reported on the firm's new line, saying, "The items include compotes, sandwich trays, cracker-and-cheese dishes, candy jars, cake plates, as well as vases and boudoir pieces."  The article praised the hand-decorated items as "most attractive and original."

Crockery & Glass Journal, December 16, 1920 (copyright expired)

The Depression years were unkind to the business, and the building was lost in foreclosure in 1930.  The ground floor was converted to a "non-storage garage" in 1964, with factory space on the upper floors.

The third quarter of the 20th century saw change in the Nolita neighborhood.  In 1999, the ground floor was converted for an Italian restaurant, Peasant.  In his A Man and His Meatballs, John LaFemina tells of leaving his job in the New York Jewelry Exchange to open a restaurant with friend and chef Frank DeCarlo.

Less than one year after our first conversation about opening a restaurant, Frank and I walked into an old garage at 194 Elizabeth Street in downtown New York City, a place where locals went for oil changes and used parts.  I immediately turned to him and said, "This is home."

 

The venerable building received another renovation in 2009-2010.  While Peasant still occupies the ground floor, an office is on the second floor and there are two apartments on the third, and one apartment on the fourth floor.

 

photographs by the author

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The Antonio Di Giovanni Bakery Building - 228 Elizabeth Street

 

As early as 1827, Timothy Kennedy lived in the Federal style house at 208 Elizabeth Street (later renumbered 228).  Within a decade, the ground floor had been converted to a grocery, run by another Irishman, Michael McDermott; while Patrick Farrell, a carter (of delivery driver), and his family lived upstairs.  The Farrells would be replaced by the family of James Kelly, also a carter, by 1840.

John Doud ran the grocery store in 1845.  Living upstairs was the family of John Egan, a tailor.  The population increased in 1853, when the families of John Downs, a smith; painter Thomas Fleming; and Peter Kennedy, a keeper (or jailer), lived here.  (It is probable that one or more of the tenants lived in the smaller house in the rear yard.)

Around 1872, the the front building was raised to four floors.  John McCabe now ran the grocery store, while the upper floors were crammed with immigrant families, most of them Irish.  Seventeen families were listed at the address.  They included four shoemakers, three tailors, a plumber and several laborers.  Three female occupants listed their occupations as dressmakers.

In November 1880, Charles W. Voltz purchased 228 and 185 Elizabeth Street simultaneously, spending $20,000 for the two properties (about $615,000 in 2024).  The grocery store at 228 Elizabeth was slightly renovated to accommodate a butcher shop run by Verando Luigi.  (The proprietor's surname reflected the rapidly changing demographics of the neighborhood, from Irish to Italian.)  

The butcher shop was converted to a bakery within a few years.  It was run by Antonio di Giovanni.  Among his workers in 1893 was Marino Giardino.

The residents of the block were plagued by gang violence in the last decade of the century.  On March 19, 1893, The Sun noted, "What the police call 'The Leather Shoe Gang' hangs out in Elizabeth street, between Prince and Houston."  A day later, The New York World, said, "The gang has lately been successful in its thieving exploits, it is believed, for the hoodlums who compose it have been unusually aggressive for the last three days, attacking many Italians in the neighborhood."

The World reported, "Marino Giardino, a baker, of No. 228 Elizabeth street, having tired of buying immunity from the beating by giving up dimes for the Leather Shoe loafers to rush [to] the growler [i.e., beer mug] resisted late Saturday night their demands for money."  Giardino paid the price for his resistance.  "Thereupon he was set upon by the gang in front of his own door," said the article.  The Sun added that he "was beaten by the gang, and one of them stabbed him in the left shoulder because he would not give them beer money."  Two of the members were caught and arrested, but not before the gang stabbed Pietro Venio in the leg shortly after the assault on Giardino.

As with all bakeries, the employees had to be on the job in the early morning hours to get the day's bread and rolls baked.  Once that was accomplished, Antonio di Giovanni's staff went downstairs to sleep for about an hour.  On February 4, 1896, The Journal reported, "Several bakers were taking a nap yesterday morning in their basement workroom, No. 228 Elizabeth street.  One of them waked up and saw a man climbing out of a rear window."  The bakers were all soon awake and running down Elizabeth Street after the burglar.  When they captured John Brown at the corner of Prince and Mott Streets, they found a silver watch belonging to one of the men in his pocket.

Among the tenants in 1897 was the family of Antonio Dannanzio.  When his 18-year-old daughter Pepina did not come home in July that year, he accused Monelli Illusi, a 24-year-old stonecutter, of "enticing" her away from home.  Illusi was arrested for abduction.  The Sun reported on July 26, "The girl was found locked in Illusi's room."

Another tenant, Emma Martin, died a mysterious death on May 23, 1898.  The Sun reported, "the woman had been complaining of heart trouble for some time past."  She went to a neighborhood drugstore and bought some medicine.  Shortly after taking it, the 38-year-old died.  Her husband requested that the coroner perform an autopsy.  (The results were never published.)

On August 1, 1900, Antonio di Giovanni leased the entire building.  He, perhaps, knew the property was for sale and did not want to lose his bakery.  The following month, Bullowa & Bullowa (interestingly, a law firm) purchased 228 Elizabeth Street.  Startlingly, the 1900 census shows 81 people living at the address, 75 of whom were Italian immigrants.

Among the new owners' first acts was to request "an inspection of bakery, No. 228 Elizabeth Street," from the Department of Buildings.  Then, in August 1903, the architectural firm of Kurtzer & Rentz was hired to remodel the building.  The results were striking.

Above the storefront, a dramatic balustraded balcony with two pineapple finials fronted paired French windows.  The window configuration--with arched, cast metal surrounds decorated with palmettes and twining vines in the tympana and cherubic faces in the keystones--was copied at the third and fourth floor.  The flanking French windows were protected by iron Juliette balconies, their lintels decorated with classical urns.  A stepped parapet terminated in a sunburst.

The upper openings were originally romantic, French windows.  Image from the NYC Dept of Records & Information Services.

Allio Salvatore, who lived here in 1904, was admitted to the Columbus Hospital in November that year with consumption.  He had been involved in a feud with another Italian immigrant, Giuseppe Alizea, who lived at 68 Baxter Street.  Alizea, fearing that Salvatore might die before he could exact revenge, "deliberately feigned dementia in order to get into the hospital," according to The New York Times on November 20.

The two men ended up in the same ward and another patient, Pino Amelio, told police later "that during the day they had been muttering threats at each other."  Alizea found his opportunity when the Sisters of the Sacred Heart of Jesus were at evening prayer.  The New York Times reported,

The attention of the lone attendant was first called to the tragedy when he heard loud cries ringing through the corridor.  He hurried out to find Salvatore crouching beneath a statue of the Blessed Virgin with his eyes raised appealingly.  Above him, with a knife in his hand and uttering fierce maledictions, stood Alizea.  Salvatore's face was cut and bleeding, and he was holding his hand over a wound near the heart.

When the attendant rushed to the scene, Alizea walked calmly back to his cot.  He brandished his knife at anyone who approached.  It was only after a detective knocked the knife from his hand with his nightstick that Alizea could be arrested.  "The police, putting two and two together, said that it was the climax of a vendetta," said the article.

The bakery was modernized in December 1909 after architect A. Vendrasco was hired to install a new oven.  It was apparently a significant upgrade, costing the equivalent of $19,000 today.

The history of violence for residents of 228 Elizabeth Street continued into the Depression years.  On July 28, 1931, The New York Sun reported, "Gondolfo Avisno, 22 years old, of 228 Elizabeth street, was shot twice about 1:30 A.M. today by gunfire from a moving automobile in Mulberry street, near Prince street."  The two men who were walking with Avisno were not hit and they took him to St. Vincent's Hospital in a taxi cab.  Avisno was apparently the target of a gang hit.  The article said his companions, who obviously did not want to become involved, "rang the bell, and disappeared."

Twenty-five-year-old Joseph Dimaggio (not to be confused with the famous ballplayer) lived here in 1973.  The construction worker was at an urban renewal project at West Street and Harrison Street on December 6 that year when his luck seemed to take a miraculous turn for the better.  As a Brink's armored truck rumbled by the site, a bag "jolted out of the unlatched door," according to The New York Times.  Dimaggio and three co-workers grabbed it.  Inside was $16,200 in one-dollar bills.

The Times reported, "The money was reportedly divided up and, at least for a while, no one was the wiser.  Brink's knew only that a bag of money and either been lost or stolen from the truck."  Dimaggio and his cronies were temporarily richer.  But that night, "an anonymous caller tipped the company off."

On Friday morning, before leaving for work, Dimaggio opened his door to detectives.  He and the three others were arrested on charges of grand larceny.  All the money was recovered.

The former bakery space was home to Kremer Pigments in the 1990s and early 2000s, run by a German chemist, Dr. Georg Kremer.  New York magazine said on October 1994, "Forgotten colors are Dr. Georg Kremer's obsession."  He created his artists' pigments from natural materials.  The magazine described his shop, saying, "Though bare bones and no bigger than a cubbyhole, it's ablaze with color."

Today an eyewear store occupies the ground floor.  There are nine rental units in the upper floors.

photographs by the author

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From Wagon Works to Mafia Den - 265 Elizabeth Street

 

As the city inched upward in the first decades following the Revolution, in 1816 Elizabeth Street was extended north to Bleecker Street.  Testifying to the increased development in the recently rural area, Houston Street was extended east, intersecting Elizabeth Street in 1833.  A year later, two three-story brick houses appeared at 263 and 265 Elizabeth Street.  The pair was advertised for sale on July 27, 1834 at $7,600 each, or about $140,000 in 2024 terms.

No. 265 seems to have been operated as a boarding house from the beginning.  Among the residents in 1842 was Mrs. Willis, who advertised in the New-York Daily Tribune on September 5, "A Lady, learned in Astrology, will give Ladies private conversations on this science at her Rooms, at No. 265 Elizabeth-st."  The following year, on July 18, 1843, she advertised:

Mrs. Willis, lady of information of future events and what has passed, learned in astrology and astronomy, gives ladies private lectures on this science at her rooms, 265 Elizabeth st...and has constantly on hand corn and cancer salve and a sure cure for the agues, and if any of her medicines is purchased gives information gratis.

Malvina Harris lived here from 1845 through 1847.  The unmarried woman taught in the Girls Department of School No. 14 on Houston Street near Essex.

As was common, in the rear yard of 265 Elizabeth Street was a smaller house.  The Rickets family occupied it in 1851 when a horrific accident occurred.  On Sunday morning, November 9, daughter Henrietta was preparing to attend Sunday school when her clothes "caught fire from a red hot stove," as reported by The New York Times.  Before anyone could reach her, she was horrifyingly burned.  The article said, "Death speedily released the unfortunate child from her sufferings."

The ground floor of the house was remodeled around 1852.  It was almost assuredly at this time that an Italianate cornice and handsome pressed metal lintels were introduced.  A carriage bay was installed and the residential entrance moved to the southern end.  In 1853, Matthias M. Danser operated his wheelwright business here, building and repairing carriage wheels, while his family lived upstairs.  Sharing the upper portion was the family of William Lewers, an undertaker.

image via the NYC Dept of Records & Information Services

Danser lived and ran his business here through 1873, his family continuing to take in one or two working class boarders.  In 1856, for instance, they were Francis Egbert, a painter; and James A Hopper, a "brassfinisher."

The property was purchased by Jacob Weeks around 1875.  It was one of several Manhattan properties he owned.  Weeks leased the building, the upper floors of which continued to house boarders.  Living here in 1876 was the Campbell family.  Both John H. and William Campbell were blacksmiths.  Interestingly, they did not work in the ground floor shop, but at 311 Mulberry Street.  Also living in the house were two widows, Alice McAvoy and Catherine O'Melia.

John Tuorney was a "stock cutter," a job which either entailed cutting wooden molding strips to size, or cutting fabric in an apparel shop.  The 30-year-old lived here in 1882 when he purchased a new hat on July 3 and went to what The New York Times called, "'Tommy' Stanton's groggery, No. 27 Spring-street, which has a side entrance in Mott street."  Several young men drinking at the bar made "pleasantries at his expense" over the hat.  Tuorney became angry, invited the men to step outside, and they all left by the Mott Street entrance.

A fight followed, during which Tuorney either fell or was knocked down, hitting his head on the curbstone.  He was taken unconscious to the Mulberry Street police station.  Since his wound did not appear to be serious, the sergeant was preparing to lock him up on a charge of intoxication, when Tuorney's brother interceded.  He convinced the sergeant to have John taken to St. Vincent's Hospital.  He died there the following morning.  The bartender, Thomas Sullivan, was arrested after he admitted "that he threw Tuorney down in a scuffle."

Jacob Weeks died in 1881.  His estate continued to manage the property and George W. Weeks moved into 265 Elizabeth that year, supervising several of the Weeks estate holdings from the address.

In 1887, John and George J. Stier purchased the building and installed their Central Wagon Works in the ground floor.  The operation was reflected in the help-wanted ads they placed.  One, in November 1897, for instance, read, "Wagon Painter Wanted to sandpaper & prime."  In June 1899, an advertisement read, "Helper wanted in smith and wagon shop," and two months later an ad sought a "Good smith helper."

By 1901, George J. Stier ran the business alone.  He employed nine men that year, who worked 59 hours a week.  In the meantime, the upper floors were now occupied by Italian immigrants.  Living here in 1903 were the families of Prilijo Emanuel, Marco Micali, Salvatore Nuccio, and Rizzo Salvatore.  

In 1903, Stier converted the basement level to a social hall.  It doubled as the headquarters of the Rockmen and Excavators' Union and was the scene of lively meetings that year when the union went on strike during the excavation of the subway.  The overwhelming percentage of the workers were Italian.  On May 24, 1903, The New York Times commented, "It was stated that over 8,000 Italian laborers are engaged in picket duty."

Perhaps the first hint that not all the residents of 265 Elizabeth Street were law-abiding came on August 29, 1909.  The New York Times reported that detectives had arrested "three young Italians upon the charge of having robbed the loft of S. Berkowitz."  Among them was 19-year-old Frank Lovello, who lived here.

Antonio Polvino and his wife were residents in 1911.  The 26-year-old opened a grocery store at 248 Elizabeth Street.  The property was described by Fire Marshall Baera as a "crowded tenement" housing 160 persons.  Polvino stocked the store with $500 worth of merchandise, then took out a $2,500 fire insurance policy.  At 11:40 on the night of October 8, 1911, fire broke out in the grocery.

Inspectors later discovered the floor and counters of the store were soaked in kerosene.  The New York Evening World reported, "A fire had been started by a timed candle in a pile of excelsior, over which had been suspended two beef bladders filled with kerosene."  By the time firefighters responded, the blaze had cut off the stairway and the residents were crowded onto the fire escapes.   Thankfully, all 0f them were rescued.

The fire marshal went to 265 Elizabeth Street, where Mrs. Polvino said her husband was not at home, "he had gone to a ball."  Police looked for Antonio Polvino for four days before finding him attempting to sneak into his father's home by a back door.

George Stier leased the social hall to Corregio Emma around this time.  He opened a billiard parlor, but soon ran into serious trouble.  He later told officials he was "building up a good trade" when members of the notorious and dangerous Black Hand began congregating there.  On October 13, 1913, The Daily Argus reported, "The paying patrons left.  Members of the gang began to borrow money from Emma, he says, and he was afraid to refuse them or to keep them out of the place."

When Emma's finances suffered, the gang "suggested to him that they put a bomb in front of the rival billiard room to terrorize the owner."  The bomb exploded on September 28, 1913.  Emma was "drawn into another job" at 108th Street and Third Avenue.  He found himself trapped.  "Fear impelled him to join them, he says, and he went with them and picked out likely spots to place the bomb."  Corregio Emma's predicament was soon ended. On October 13, The New York Times reported that seven gang members had been arrested, including Emma.  They were accused of setting 68 "bomb jobs."

At some point after the end of World War I, Sebastiano Nuccio, whose family had lived here since 1903, purchased the building.  His sons would become well known to police in the succeeding decades.

Perhaps the first time New Yorkers read John Nuccio's name was on April 2, 1932 when the Brooklyn Daily Eagle reported that he, Mario Nuccio and Frank Fatteriso were charged with the abduction of Betty Encke.  The article said she was discovered in a "thug lair" and noted, "John Nuccio was also charged with receiving stolen goods and violation of the Sullivan law."  (The Sullivan Act required gun owners to have licenses.)

On the night of August 16, 1945, John Nuccio and his cousin, Peter Simonetti, went to Club 78 on Broadway.  (Simonetti had been questioned by police three times about the murder of Vincent Zaccaro a year earlier.)  The men met Evelyn Delany, a nightclub hostess, there.  The Evening Post said Evelyn "was on the scene when Alvin Karpis, gangster, shot his way out of an Atlantic City hotel in 1938."  The three "were parked in the deserted quiet of Elizabeth St.," according to the newspaper.  (The license plates on the car, police later learned, were stolen.)  

Suddenly, a man appeared at the driver's side window.  The Evening Post reported he, "slipped the muzzle of a double-barreled shot gun through the left front window and fired both barrels through the driver's head."  Simonetti was killed instantly.  Evelyn was slightly injured, while John Nuccio was unharmed.

On November 17, 1948, the Peekskill, New York Evening Star reported that five men, "two of them brothers" were arrested "in a raid on a 500-gallon whiskey still."  The article said, "Vincent Nuccio, thirty-six, and his brother, Frank, twenty-six, both of 265 Elizabeth Street, New York...had leased the farm" on which the still was discovered.  If police thought the arrests would end the operation, they were mistaken.

Two years later, on November 7, 1950, The Daily Freeman of Kingston, New York reported that Frank and Vincent Nuccio were among six indicted for "operating an alleged illegal still" on the Josephine Galente property, "Villa Galente," in New Paltz, New York.  Federal officials said they, "found 18,000 gallons of mash, 600 gallons of alcohol, a large quantity of sugar, two automobiles and a truck" on the property. 

The brothers' names continued to appear in newspapers for their illegal activities.  On January 8, 1966, the Nassau, New York newspaper Newsday reported that John S. Nuccio, "a reputed Cosa Nostra member," was arrested "at a rural hideout near Newburgh, New York."  State police said he "had been wanted on a Federal warrant for conspiracy to smuggle heroin since Dec. 1 when an international smuggling ring was smashed in New York and New Jersey."  It was John Nuccio's last arrest.  He died in prison while serving a 15-year sentence.

The Nuccio family was still living at 265 Elizabeth Street in 1982 when Vincent Peter Nuccio, now 71, was listed by Congress as a member of the Luchese Organized Crime Network.  At the time, the facade of 265 Elizabeth Street was painted white and the cornice was gone.

A fuzzy tax photo from 1983 shows a painted facade and missing cornice.  image via the NYC Dept of Records & Information Services.

Change came in 1998 when the ground floor was converted to a restaurant, Rialto.  Inside New York commented in 2008, "First time visitors are consistently wowed by the understated ambience and first-rate Italian/Continental food at this gastrono9mically ambitious NoLIta eatery."  Rialto made way for Elizabeth in 2008.  That restaurant was replaced by The Musket Room in 2013.

A renovation completed sometime after 2008 removed the paint from the brick and added a period-appropriate cornice.  Today there are two apartments per floor in the building.

photograph by the author

E. Sniffen's 1883 219-221 Grand Street

Until 1767 the wide drive that ran east-west through the country estate of James de Lancey Jr. was called the Road to Crown Point.  That year de Lancey renamed it Grand Street.  Following the Revolutionary War and his banishment as a Loyalist, de Lancey’s property was confiscated and the building lots were auctioned.  By the 1810's and ‘20's, Grand Street saw the rise of brick-faced homes, including No. 221, home to John Lovett in 1823.

The house, described as a "three story brick front house" was the home and office of dentist Thomas Paine in the 1840's.  By 1874 the ground floor had been converted for business and housed a variety of shops over the next decade, including Henry Birn's crockery and glass store, J. McGivern's tea shop, and finally J. F. Manken's saloon.  Manken had just paid his $75 fee for his excise (or liquor) license in July 1883 when he received bad news.

Simultaneously Daniel D. Brickenhoff had purchased the property.  He was the principal in the construction firm D. Brickhoff & Co.  On July 27, 1883 his architect, E. Sniffen, filed plans for a "five-story brick store" on the site of the old house at a cost $22,000, or just under $580,000 today.

Although Sniffen produced several tenement buildings in Manhattan and Brooklyn, little is known about him.  For Brickenhoff he produced an especially handsome blend of Italianate and neo-Grec styles.  The cast iron storefront had a chamfered entrance behind a free-standing cast iron column.   
The upper floors were faced in red brick and trimmed in sandstone.  Quoins ran up the sides while the openings sat on scalloped sills and wore robust lintels with incised designs.   The projecting chimney backs at the fourth and fifth floors sat upon chunky carved supports.  They took the form of heavy pilasters at the fourth floor and paired, engaged Corinthian columns at the fifth.  The handsome metal cornice was distinguished by a triangular pediment.

The building was only 23 feet deep along Elizabeth Street.  That all changed a year later when Brickenhoff brought E. Sniffen back to essentially double its size.  On February 16, 1884 The American Architect & Building News reported that he had filed plans for an extension along Elizabeth Street to cost $25,000--more than the original building.  The resulting addition, four bays side, was architecturally seamless.

The store was home to one of several W. L. Douglas shoe stores in the city.  William Lewis Douglas had founded the firm in 1876 and reinvented how the shoe industry worked.  Rather than wholesale the shoes he manufactured, he opened his own retail shops.  Taking a page from P. T. Barnum's book, he stamped his image on the leather soles, making his shoes easily recognized.  By the turn of the century W. L. Douglas was the largest shoe maker in the world.

The $3 cost of this shoe would equal $85 today.  The Sun, December 5, 1886 (copyright expired)

The building's residents were working class--at least those who worked.  One who found other means of making a living was 34-year old August Palmer, who was living here in September 1887 when he was once again arrested.

He and three cohorts, August Bergman, alias 'Dutch Gus;' Henry Frey, alias 'Little Henry;' and Frank Clark set their plan to rob the store of Michael Borchardt on Canal Street into motion on the evening of September 9.  They hid in a loft directly above the store and after hours packed up silverware and silk goods valued at $180,000 in today's money.  The following morning they returned, dressed as janitors.  An express wagon had been hired to transport the neatly-packaged heist to the house of merchant Joseph Snow on East 76th Street.  (Police later said Snow "has been closely watched for a number of years, but has so far managed to keep out of prison.")

Their scheme fell apart because of a vigilant watchman who was suspicious of the Saturday morning activity and took down the license number of the wagon.   After following the trail to the destination supplied by the driver, the police learned from a woman living nearby that she had seen four men carrying bolts of silk into the house.

On September 15 The Evening Post entitled a front page article "A Good Haul" and reported on the arrest of the thieves along with Joseph Snow.  "The four burglars have spent most of their lives in prison," it said.  August Palmer, who had already spent three terms in State Prison, would not be returning to his Grand Street apartment.

The author of a situation-wanted ad in February 1888 was typical of the residents in the building.  "Bartender's Position Wanted by a single young man; five years' best recommendations from last employer.  Address BARTENDER 221 Grand st."  

As the century drew to a close tenants included Joseph McManus, who volunteered with the 108th Regiment in 1898 following the outbreak of the Spanish-American War.  Vincent Cristalli lived here at the same time.  As an attendance officer with the New York Public Schools, his lurking presence on the streets was a constant threat to hooky-playing schoolboys.

In the first years of the 20th century John McBride worked as a "laborer" for the Department of Docks.  He earned 31.25¢ per hour in 1905, or about $9.50 an hour today.  At the time Vincenzo Benincasa was trying hard to elevate himself from his humble immigrant beginnings.  That year he was enrolled as a junior at Columbia University's College of Pharmacy.

The names of McManus, McBride, Cristalli and Benincasa reflected the mixed Irish and Italian demographics of the neighborhood at the time.  There were those among those immigrant communities who took advantage of their own countrymen's naivete, however.  Among them was Dr. Salvatore Magnoni who lived and ran his private practice at No. 219-221 Grand Street.

On May 25, 1907 the New-York Tribune reported on an investigation into "irregularities" within the medical community which it said "may develop into trouble of considerable magnitude."  The article pointed out the case of "an Italian" who had paid exorbitant fees to Dr. Magnoni and to Bellevue Hospital.

"Dr. Salvatore Magnoni, of No. 219 Grand street, said the man had been under his treatment, and for a month's services he had charged him $50."  That initial fee would be equal to $1,400 today.  The New-York Tribune reported "As the case was an aggravated one, he said he told him to go to Bellvue."  The patient was charged another $50 for admission, and "agreed to pay $50 more for treatment."  Dr. Magnoni was called in on the case, and he again charged $50.  The immigrant patient's medical bill had now climbed to the equivalent of $5,610 today.

Dr. Magnoni was unapologetic.  "So far as I am concerned the proposition was one between patient and private physician, and I deem every act of mine proper."

The doctor's unscrupulous treatment of his neighbors finally went too far.  In 1913 he began receiving anonymous threatening letters.  And then on November 2 Louis Guadaza ran up to Patrolman Moffett and told him there was a suspicious looking cigar box in the hallway of No. 221 Grand Street.  "The patrolman found the infernal machine lying just outside the door to Dr. S. Magnoni's flat," reported the New-York Tribune.

A protruding fuse had burned to within half an inch of the box.  "Moffett grasped the sputtering thing and snuffed out the sparks.  When he opened the box he found four sticks of dynamite."  It was taken to the Bureau of Combustibles where it was deemed "of a particularly dangerous nature."

The chamfered entrance to the store was still evident in this tax photograph taken around 1941.  photo via NYC Dept of Records & Information Services

In 1917 the store was home to Alexander & Littlefield Company where housewives could buy the "Sovereign" vacuum cleaner.  At a time when few tenement buildings had electricity, the clever device did not need it.  "The 'Sovereign' Vacuum Cleaner is of the piston plunger type," explained the New-York Tribune on July 22.  "The pumping motion produces a suction, which draws the embedded dirt up through the nozzle and deposits it in a chamber inside the cylinder."  The labor-intensive device weighed six pounds and could be purchased for the equivalent of $70 in today's dollars.

The Carlino family lived in No. 221 in 1922 when 17-year old John Carlino got himself into serious trouble.  He and three friends, James Cusano, Anthony Masceto, and Jasper Scalofano decided to break into the olive oil and cheese store of Sabella Brothers around the corner on Elizabeth Street.  Cusano, who was 18-years old, led the gang and his plan was to saw through the iron bars of the cellar window to gain access.

Patrolman Michael Healy noticed the four youths loitering around the store and approached.  James Cusano assumed that cops could be bought and asked him "Will you stand for a little job?"  

"What kind?" asked Healy.

Cusano explained the plan.  "Sure, at your own risk," said the officer and he walked to the corner to stand lookout.  When out of eyesight he went to the police signal box and asked for reinforcements.  As the boys were herded into a police vehicle, one of the detectives could not hold back his astonishment at Cusano's impertinence: "Were you ever in a lunatic asylum or hit over the head?"

As the decades passed, the Grand Street neighborhood declined.  Already suffering neglect, No. 221 was devastated by a fire in March 1963.  The tenants of the twelve apartments went to the homes of friends and neighbors.  The New York Times reported "Five months later they were still homeless.  The building had no water, gas or electricity."

The tenants sued the landlord to force him to make repairs, but with no success.  It was seized by the city, which spent $39,350 on repairs.  But while the tenants now could return to their three- and four-room apartments, they faced a rent increase of up to 62 percent.  The lowest rent, which had been $25.30 a month, rose to $40.82 (or, in today's terms, from $211 to $314).

In 1970 the city auctioned the property with a minimum bid of $18,000.  It received a renovation in 2013 which resulted in offices on the second floor, three apartments each on upper floors.  E. Sniffen's handsome 1883 building once again attracts attention for the right reasons.

photographs by the author

The George Warner House -- No. 300 Elizabeth Street

As wealthy New Yorkers built elegant mansions on Bond and Lafayette Streets in the 1820s and ‘30s, developers erected merchant class homes nearby.   Around 1828 George Warner erected a two-and-a-half story residence at 300 Elizabeth Street with the architectural bells and whistles to lift it a step above the norm.

The two stories of Flemish bond red brick sat upon a rusticated brownstone basement.  The entrance featured fluted columns, a generous transom, and a paneled door.  Most eye-catching of the Federal style appointments were the unusual carved, paneled brownstone lintels.  Geometric lines running either way from the centered panel terminated in a stylized Greek key motif--foreshadowing the architectural rage on the horizon.

In 1841 banker and politician Richard F. Carman was doing well for himself.  That year he ran for Assemblyman as a Democratic Whig.  He owned a summer estate north of the city in the Fort Washington area where two years later, in October, he discovered he was missing a horse.

Carman posted an advertisement in the New-York Daily Tribune that announced his “dark bay Mare” had strayed or was stolen from his pasture.  He offered a $25 reward (a significant $825 today) for any information “where she may be found.”

In 1845 Richard F. Carman had a new town home—300 Elizabeth Street.  The high regard with which he was held within the community was reflected in Doctor Kellinger’s 1848 horse liniment advertisement.   The ad touted that 700,000 bottles of the “wonderful Liniment have been sold without a murmur.  It heals all manner of galls and bruises upon the horse, also strains and callosities of every description, and work the animal every day.”  Kellinger said his “mild, fragrant and agreeable” liniment had caused “thousands of the best and most skillful men in the country to lay down all other remedies used by many of them from 30 to 40 years.”  Among those, he said, was Hon. Richard F. Carman.

Carman was President of the North American Mutual Loan & Accumulating Fund Association, a sort of home loan organization.  In 1852 he added another presidency to his resume—that of committee organized to fight the proposed railroad line up the middle of Broadway.   On August 3 the group--which included high-powered names like Cutting, Whitting, Mortimer, and Munn—met and drafted resolutions to be presented to the Common Council.

The high-end tone of the neighborhood was reflected in one of the clauses.  It complained that the train tracks would deprive “the citizens of the use of that fine promenade now so much sought after, and enjoyed with so much zest.”

In 1855 Carman sold his country estate.  Realtor Rosewell G. Pierce described “the Country Seat formerly belonging to Richard F. Carman” as “consisting of 46 Acres, with abundance of Fruit and ornamental Trees, Spacious Mansion, Green-House, Coach-House, Ice-House filled, &c.  The location is unrivaled for a summer residence.”

The historic, paneled door from around 1828 was replaced in the early 21st century.

Carman died in 1863 and the house became home to John R. Hamilton and his wife Martha.  They lived here until 1890.  Following the Hamiltons was the family of 49-year old millinery salesman Charles F. Taylor.  The patriotic man joined the thousands who traveled uptown for the cornerstone laying of Grant’s Tomb on April 27, 1892. 

The enthusiasm for the event was understandable.  The New York Times reported “President Harrison handled the gold trowel with which this office was performed.  The ceremony was witnessed by an immense gathering of people.  Several members of he Cabinet, diplomats, officers of the army and navy, and a company of special guests distinguished in civil and social life took part in the event.”

When the ceremonies were over, the crush of the crowd trying to leave caused part of a grandstand to collapse, trapping Taylor.  The New York Times reported “In the movement of the crowd, one of the ground seats gave way, pinioning Charles H. Taylor of 300 Elizabeth Street under it.”  An ambulance from Manhattan Hospital arrived and a surgeon found that Taylor had sustained “what is known as Pott’s fracture, but he thought no serious result need be feared.”  (The same ankle injury is often seen in athletes today.)

Taylor and his wife, Harriet, had a daughter, Mabel.  She enrolled in New York University in 1905; it was the planting of the seed of a most unusual professional life for an early 20th century female . 

Harriet A. Taylor died on Thursday, May 31, 1917.  The door to 300 Elizabeth Street would have been hung in black crepe for the funeral services here on Saturday, June 2 at 1:30 p.m.

The following year Mabel was listed in the American Physical Education Review as a member.  She would never marry and eventually rose to the position of Head of the Department of Physical Education at the Bronx Campus of Hunter College.

In 1921 another funeral was held in the house.  Charles F. Taylor died at the age of 80 on Sunday, January 9.  His friends and neighbors arrived for the funeral the following Wednesday at 1:30 p.m.

The following year, on September 10, the New-York Tribune reported that Mabel had sold the house which had been home to the family for over three decades.  The buyer, Egidio Pelletieri had plans for the antiquated residence.

He commissioned architect Ferdinand Savignano to raise the attic to a full floor.  Interior renovations resulted in a “club room” in the cellar; a doctor’s office on the parlor level; and “dwelling” above.   It was most likely at this time that the stoop railings were removed and brick-and-concrete wing walls installed.  Amazingly, while Savignano capped the house with a sleek curved parapet consistent with 1920s taste; he carefully copied the dimensions of the lower windows and reproduced the paneled lintels.

The Pelletieri family remained in the house through 1960, finally selling it in 1966 to Rose Cianci.   She retained possession for over a decade. After China Mott Associates purchased the house in 1977, it was converted to an artist studio in the basement and one apartment on each of the upper floors.

The august dwelling, now surrounded by industrial lofts, was renovated again in 1988.  The upper two floors contain a duplex apartment, the parlor level is a single residence, and the basement is now office space.   Sometime after 2003 the historic Federal door was removed.   Although the red brick and brownstone are covered in gray paint; 300 Elizabeth Street looks much as it did following its 1922 make-over.

photographs by the author