William Jose's 1873 Re-do of 167 Rivington Street

 

photograph by Carole Teller

United States Customs inspector William H. Randall and his family lived at 167 Rivington Street as early as 1836.  They suffered grief on the morning of December 27, 1837 when four-month-old Ann Rebecca Randall died.  The Randall home was, likely, a recently-built Federal-style structure.  

Just before the outbreak of civil war, the house was replaced with Benedict Kraus's three-story hotel.  The enterprising Kraus also operated a meat business in the Essex Market.  The war affected at least one of Kraus's tenants.  On August 28, 1863, S. Adler was drafted into the Union Army.

Edward Gottlieb took over the hotel by 1865.  Like Kraus, he had a second job and operated his real estate business from the building.  The barroom here was the venue of political meetings, and on November 21, 1865 an announcement in the New York Herald reported that the 13th Ward Gunther Club "will hold regular meetings every Wednesday and Saturday night at Gottlieb's Hotel, 167 Rivington street."

On December 14, 1866, the New-York Tribune reported, "Shortly after 4 o'clock yesterday morning a fire was discovered in the premises No. 167 Rivington-st., occupied as a German hotel."  The article said, "the building and furniture were considerably damaged by fire and water."

Following repairs, 167 Rivington Street emerged as Urania Hall, a combination "concert saloon" and hotel.  (Concert saloons were the American version of English music halls and provided live entertainment.)  On January 4, 1867, an advertisement read, "Wanted--Some young waiter girls, for a concert saloon.  Apply at Urania Hall, 167 Rivington street."  And an announcement in the New York Herald on January 13 touted: "Concert every night; handsome girls attending, with choice wines, beer, &c."

The venture did not survive.  Only six months later, on June 28, 1867, an auction was held of "the entire Furniture of Urania Hotel," as well as the remaining three years' lease on the property.

The lease was taken by David Gans and Henry Schwartz, who opened the Schwartz & Gans beer saloon in the ground floor.  It, too, was a meeting spot for German political groups.  On June 26, 1872, The New York Times reported, "The German Republican Organization of the Thirteenth Ward held a meeting at No. 167 Rivington-street last night, indorsing the nomination of Gen. Grant and Senator Wilson for the Presidency and Vice-Presidency."

Change came the following year when owner Paul Hoffman hired architect William Jose to remodel and enlarge the building.  The renovations, which included an additional story, cost Hoffman the equivalent of $208,000 in 2026.

William Jose was best known for designing tenement buildings in the Bowery neighborhood.  He transformed 167 Rivington Street to a four-story-and-basement, store-and-tenement building faced in red brick above the storefronts.  A centered stoop lead to the first floor where two shops flanked the residential entrance.  Jose's neo-Grec design included molded cast metal sills supported by decorated brackets, and paneled lintels topped by molded cornices with a decorative ornament.

photograph by Carole Teller

The complex cornice was comprised of a paneled and dentiled fascia, ornate paired corbels and matching smaller brackets.

The new apartments filled with middle class tenants.  Among those living here in 1879 were two real estate agents, a lithographer, a tailor, one "merchant," and a porter.  That year Jacob Grossmann's shirt business occupied one of the stores.

By the turn of the century, the residents were more working class.  Caroline Rosenthal lived here by the early 1890s with her two grandsons.  George W. and Ernest Schultze were two of the three sons of Dr. Reinbold Schultze who died in 1890.  The boys were eight and six years old at the time.  Their mother "soon afterward went to live with one Courtney, alias Harrison," reported the New York Herald.  Courtney had a wife and three children in Brooklyn.  The couple disappeared, taking the four-year-old Reinbold with them and leaving George and Ernest with their grandmother.

Unfortunately, the care of two young boys was too much for Caroline Rosenthal, and around 1892 she placed them in St. John's Home for Boys in Brooklyn.  Then, a remarkable turn of events occurred.  A Frau Krummhauer died in Magdeburg, Prussia in 1892.  She was the aunt of the three Schultze boys and left them a fortune of $375,000, equal to about $13.7 million today.  William Schwickardi began looking for the three young heirs in December 1892.  He was unable to track down the boys' mother, young Reinbold, or Courtney.  (Mrs. Courtney told him she had not heard from her husband and had no idea where he was.)  

He was more successful in finding George and Ernest.  Caroline Rosenthal appeared in Brooklyn Supreme Court with her grandsons on April 11, 1893.  The boys--who one day earlier were living as orphans in a less-than-comfortable institution--were suddenly wealthy.  Selflessly, Caroline Rosenthal requested the court to appoint Julia Schwickardi, William's wife, the boys' legal guardian.

Living in the building at the time of the boys' windfall were junk dealer Saul Deutsch and Dr. Simon Rappaport.  Max Marks ran a dry goods business in one of the stores.

In April 1893, a large quantity of cloth began disappearing from the clothing manufacturer Marks & Co. on Broadway.  On May 5, police officers witnessed two employees, Nathan Schnapper and Solomon Tischler, lowering a bag of rags to Saul Deutsch.  Suspicious, they investigated the bundle.  "Among the rags the detectives found a roll of cloth valued at $27," reported The Evening Post.  Deutsch was arrested and held at $1,000 bail.

Dr. Simon Rappaport faced an even more serious charge two years later.  On December 3, 1895, the New York Herald reported that he and Joseph Stern had been arrested for an "operation performed upon Mrs. Jennie Fourgang, who is very ill in Bellevue Hospital."  The newspaper delicately danced around naming the offense--an abortion.

The charges were elevated three weeks later.  On December 24, The Evening Post reported that Rappaport and Stern had been charged "in connection with the death of Mrs. Jennie Fortgang, of No. 5 Norfolk Street."  The article said she had died "from malpractice," and had named the two men from her deathbed.

Paul Hoffman made improvements to the building again in 1898.  He hired the architectural firm of Kurtzer & Rohl to install a "new fireproof vent shaft [and] new skylight," as described in the plans.  The alterations cost Hoffman the equivalent of $48,000 today.

Austrian-born Leon Stand (known familiarly as Leo) and his family lived here as early as 1901.  He operated his real estate office from one of the commercial spaces.  In 1901 he rallied other businessmen on the block to protest about the garbage and resultant odors that littered the street.  On August 8, The New York Times reported that he had initiated a petition to the Commissioner of Street Cleaning.  "Unable to endure the stench from the streets, they have [been] buying snuff-snuff by the half-pound which the women as well as the men have been using," said the article.  Stand and his neighbors charged that they were being discriminated against.  The petition said in part:

We...protest against the unjust discrimination and partiality shown to the lower east side in the matter of removing garbage and cleaning streets of our neighborhood.  The garbage and filth have been lying in front of the tenements for the past three days, and the drivers and employes [sic] of your department have absolutely refused to remove it.

Leon Stand told a reporter, "We simply can't stand it here any longer.  I took a walk up Fifth Avenue on purpose on Saturday.  Do you think I saw any ash cans or ill-smelling garbage cans there?  Not on your life."

A substantial renovation came in March 1904 when architect Max Muller redesigned the lower floors.  The Real Estate Record & Builders' Guide explained that he "rearranged front wall," installed new store fronts and a cast iron staircase.

Max Muller's 1904 storefronts and iron steps can be seen in this 1940 tax photograph.  via the NYC Dept of Records & Information Services.

Leon Stand and his family would remain here for years.  In August 1911, he arranged a testimonial dinner for Charles F. Hartman, the 71-year-old principal of Public School 106 at Rivington and Suffolk Streets.  On the night of September 12, 250 former pupils gathered at the Café Boulevard to celebrate his retirement and honor his half-century of "pedagogy," as worded by The New York Times.

The following year, Leon's son, Murray, made news on his own.  On September 19, 1912, The New York Times said he "has won prizes for oratory at the De Witt Clinton High School, and is President of the Young Boys Democratic Club."  An admirer of Mayor William Jay Gaynor, Murray Stand was offended when he read the speech delivered by Rabbi Wise at Carnegie Hall, "in which the Rabbi suggested that the Mayor had better resign."  The teen wrote to the mayor, saying in part, "Keep up your good work, dear Mr. Mayor, and when your term as Mayor shall expire, 'one good term shall then deserve another.'"

Mayor Gaynor responded to Murray Stand's letter, writing that he had no ill feelings for Rabbi Wise, however he said he "seems to be without charity or truthfulness."  He went on, "He is a mere rhetorician, and you know what rhetoricians from the beginning of time have been designated as persons 'with the crooked mouth.'"  Murray Stand declined to be interviewed, although he said that "he believed politics should be kept out of religion and the public schools" and deemed Rabbi Wise's attack "in bad taste."

Murray Stand's name was again in newsprint the following year on November 17, 1913 when The New York Times reported on the upcoming testimonial dinner for Justice Aaron J. Levy.  "Murray W. Stand, Secretary of the Neighborhood Dinner Committee, 167 Rivington Street, is in charge of the arrangements," said the article.

By 1917, Murray W. Stand was an Internal Revenue Service collector and alderman.  He would go on to serve in the Army in World War I, be elected alderman 14 successive times, and appointed New York City Commissioner to the World's Fair, and Inspector General of Defense for New York City and City Clerk in 1946.  

His brother, Bert Stand, would become secretary of the New York State Athletic Commission in 1925 and Tammany Hall's first Jewish secretary, according to the Jewish Telegraphic Agency, on July 29, 1934.  

Leon Stand, in the meantime, founded the Lemberger Congregation, a synagogue on East Fourth Street, in 1925.

Among the tenants of 167 Rivington Street in the 1920s was Sam Kirschner.  He and his family occupied an apartment while he ran his dressmaking store downstairs.  Attorney I. Schleider's office was here at least from 1922 through 1925.

The vintage building suffered significant neglect by the third quarter of the century.  On March 7, 1973, 13 tenants lived here, but not for long.  Around 5 a.m., police rushed into the building and roused them "when the walls and roof of the brick structure began to sag," as reported by The New York Times.  Moments later, a partial collapse occurred.  

A blurry 1980 tax photograph shows the building boarded up.  via the NYC Dept of Records & Information Services.

The building appears to have sat vacant until a "gut rehabilitation" by Harden-Van Arnam Architects completed in 1993 resulted in stores in the basement and first floor and apartments above.

photograph by Carole Teller

many thanks to artist Carole Teller for suggesting this post

The 1883 236 East Sixth Street

photograph by Carole Teller

On January 5, 1882, Joseph Schwarzschild and Ferdinand Sulzberger sold the four "five-story stone front tenements" at 230 to 236 East Sixth Street to architects and builders William P. and Ambrose M. Parsons for $48,500 (about $1.48 million in 2026 terms).  The brothers replaced the buildings with four identical structures.  Completed within the year, they were faced in brownstone.  Their neo-Grec design included centered entrances above short stoops.  The windows sat within prominent architraves upheld by scrolled brackets and their molded cornices sat upon corbeled piers.  Cast metal cornices, more in keeping with the earlier Italianate style, crowned the buildings.  The Parsons brothers sold the completed row on November 29, 1882.

Like the others in the row, 236 East Sixth Street was a "double flat," meaning there were two apartments per floor--one each on either side of the centered hallway.  They became home to a variety of tenants.  Living here in 1895 was William Bader, who worked for the city as "assistant to deputy sheriff."  He earned $1,000 a year, or about $40,000 today.  And Dr. Leopold Hibbe and his wife, Anna, and their child lived here as early as 1897.  Sharing the apartment was Leopold's brother, Dr. Henry Hibbe, and their widowed mother.

Leopold Hibbe was born in 1866 and graduated from the Medical Department of the University of the City of New York (where he had been an athlete) in 1891.  On the morning of March 2, 1897, he sat at his desk writing.  The New York Journal reported that he "struck a match to light his pipe."  It broke and the burning portion fell into a waste basket filled with papers.  Hibbe panicked and, rather than rushing the flaming basket into the street, he ran outside to get help.  The New York Journal said that in doing so, he forgot that his little child was asleep on the sofa in the room.  The article continued, "When he remembered it he could not get back."  Happily, Patrolman Wichman courageously rushed into the flaming room and rescued the child.

Dr. Hibbe had his wits together seven months later.  On October 25, 1897, The New York Times reported that the Hibbe apartment "served as the theatre for a scene in which a night marauder and a physician were the chief actors, and which had a ludicrous as well as a dangerous side."  In the middle of the night, Hibbe awakened to footsteps in the hall.  He discovered an intruder shoving "a few odds and ends into his trousers pockets."  The article said that Dr. Hibbe "caught the man he had been following unceremoniously by the throat and threw him to the floor."  The "rough-and-tumble scuffle" aroused Henry Hibbe who entered the affray.  Finally two policemen arrived and took into custody the "submissive and badly battered prisoner."

Within five years, the extended Hibbe family had moved to 23 Stuyvesant Street.  (There the two physicians were arrested, charged with performing an abortion.)  Another doctor, Albert S. Gombar moved into 236 East Sixth Street in 1909.

In the meantime, John Graham and his wife occupied an apartment at the turn of the century.  The 25-year-old was waiting for an elevated train at Second Avenue and 23rd Street on the afternoon of February 11, 1900 when he tumbled down the two-story tall staircase to the pavement below.  A witness said, "He was a laboring man, evidently, as he wore overalls and jumper, and his hands were soiled and calloused."

A doctor was summoned.  Before he arrived, two priests happened by and noticed the growing crowed.  One of them noticed "a little brown ribbon which came just over the edge of the injured man's shirt," reported The New York Times.  "He's a Catholic, Father," said the priest to his companion.  "See, he wears a scapular."  The priests knelt beside Graham, who was unconscious.  "The crowd fell back reverently, the Catholic ones uncovering and joining silently in prayer," said the article.

Dr. Graham Roberts transported John Graham to a hospital.  He told reporters that the young man's skull was fractured.  Tragically, he was given little hope of surviving.  Graham, who had just a nickel in his pocket, had not been drinking.  Doctors opined "that when near the top of the stairs he was attacked by heart disease and fell."

image via the NYC Dept of Records & Information Services

Minnie Wagner lived here in 1911.  She worked as a sewing machine operator on the eighth floor in the Triangle Waist Company at 23-29 Washington Place.  On Saturday morning, March 11, that year, she went to work as always.  The day would end tragically, however.  At around 4:45, just 15 minutes before the workday ended, fire broke out.  Minnie testified later:

[I] was near my machine when I heard the cry of "Fire!"  I rushed to the Washington Place door, and there saw Eva Harris...and she rushed by me and shouted to me, "My, God, the door is locked!"  After that I saw Louis Brown, who was wiping his hand, drop the towel and come to where we were standing, and, he said, "Wait a minute, girls, and don't get excited.  I will open the door for you."  He reached in his pocket and took out a key and turned the lock.  The door would not open, and he smashed another lock.  It then opened and we went out.

Minnie Wagner was one of the fortunate women in the building that day.  Trapped inside on two floors, 146 female workers perished, having either jumped to their deaths or burned. 

Emily Davisson was convalescing from an operation on April 26, 1915, and her 21-year-old son, Benjamin, was suffering from pneumonia.  They occupied a fifth-floor apartment.  Both were in their beds that day and were unaware of "the shout of fire which drove the other ten families from the building," according to the New-York Tribune.  Someone ran to a fire alarm box, but it was stuck.  The newspaper said that Ladder Company 3 was "late in responding to the blaze because the alarm box refused to open until after a five-minute struggle."

It was only when smoke and flames entered their apartment did Emily and Benjamin Davisson realize they were in danger.  Policeman Healy saw the panicked pair as they clung to their windowsill.  "They intended to jump," said the article, but Healy "warned them to stay where they were."  Minutes later, fire fighters arrived.  A ladder was raised and the Davissons were rescued.  The newspaper said that the damage to the building was estimated at about $331,000 in today's money.

At least two more physicians would live and work here.  Dr. Michael Shander was listed at the address in 1916, and Dr. William Steinhauser was here in 1927.  Among Dr. Steinhauser's neighbors in the building at the time was Rabbi Julius Boloker of the Congregation First Mihailener and the Independent Burdujener.

By the third quarter of the century, the East Village neighborhood had a more avant-garde demographic.  Head shops occupied former deli spaces and Mod Art posters hung in store windows.  In 1970, 22-year-old Bruce McKeithen, a Bernard B. Baruch College student, occupied an apartment here.

On May 21 that year, Narcotics Division detectives arrested a Barnard College co-ed, Andrea Rosenberg, in her West End Avenue apartment.  Police called her "a major supplier of drugs" at Columbia University.  They discovered $100,000 worth of illegal drugs in her apartment.  Unfortunately for Bruce McKeithen, he and two young Columbia students were in the apartment at the time of the raid.  They were arrested for drug possession.

photograph by Carole Teller

At some point, the brownstone was painted cream and white.  The original stoop ironwork and entrance doors survive.

many thanks to artist Carole Teller for suggesting this post

The 1878 237 East 79th Street

Following the end of the Civil War, development crept northward into the Yorkville district.  Access to the neighborhood was greatly enhanced when the IRT Third Avenue Line opened in 1878.  That year, a four-story double flat (meaning there were two apartments per floor) was erected at 237 East 79th Street.  

Faced in brownstone, it's up-to-the-minute neo-Grec design included a rusticated first floor above a short stoop.  The centered entrance was crowned with a triangular pediment.  At the upper floors, French windows were framed by elaborate architraves that sat upon bracketed sills.  Scalloped lintels with incised decorations upheld prominent molded cornices.   An ornate pressed metal cornice completed the design.

In 1940, nearly nothing had changed to the neo-Grec design, including the charming French windows.  via the NYC Dept of Records & Information Services. 

An advertisement described, "six light rooms and bath, modern improvements."  Among those "improvements" would have been running hot and cold water.  The eight families in the building were middle class.  Among the residents in 1879 were three clerks, Thomas D. Barton Jr., Ashley W. Cole, and George A. French.  

The families were affluent enough to afford at least one servant.  An advertisement appeared in The New York Herald on December 30, 1879, for instance, that read: "Wanted--A girl for housework; two in family; wages, $7 per month."  (The wages were not overly generous.  They would equal $233 in 2026.)

The Lehn family moved to New York City from Easton, Pennsylvania in 1880 and took an apartment here.  Their 19-year-old son, George W., found a job as an "extra gateman" at the 18th Street station of the Third Avenue elevated railroad.  (Gatemen controlled the wooden gates that protected passengers on the platforms.  Gatemen opened them when the trains arrived and closed them before the trains pulled out.)

George had had the job only a short time when his inexperience and the brashness of youth caused his horrific death.  Half an hour after appearing for work on the night of September 7, 1880, he "attempted to cross from one station to the other" by trotting over the tracks rather than cross at street level.  The New York Herald reported, "His foot became caught, and before he could extricate it he was struck by Engine No. 11."  The newspaper graphically recounted, "The whole train passed over him, and his body was shockingly torn and mangled."

At the time of the tragedy, Amos K. Hadley, the former Attorney General of New York State, and his family occupied an apartment here.  Early in October 1880, Hadley notified the landlord, J. P. Huyerman, who lived on Bank Street, that he would be moving out.  The New York Evening Telegram reported, "He, however, was indebted to Mr. Huyerman for a small balance of rent and Mr. Huyerman refused to allow him to move until the amount due was paid."  Hadley told him he was "about to collect some bills" and he would pay the outstanding money when he received the necessary cash.

On moving day, October 18, Hadley went downtown.  When he returned home he found his family and a guest of his wife imprisoned in the apartment.  The New York Evening Telegram reported that Huyerman had locked the doors and refused "to allow them to leave or to remove any of their baggage until the balance of rent was paid."  Hadley rushed to a police station and had Huyerman arrested for disorderly conduct.

The landlord's obsessive behavior over the outstanding rent cost him.  Justice Smith fined him $10 (about $325 today) and "required him to furnish $500 bail for his good behavior for six months" or serve three months in the Workhouse.  The judge announced, "it was about time that landlords learned that they do not own their tenants, body and soul."  According to the article, as Huyerman was led out of the courtroom he muttered, "We'll see about that."

On September 16, 1889, The Press titled an article, "Very Old And Very Wicked."  The headline referred to 73-year-old resident Joseph P. Snow, whom Police Inspector Thomas F. Byrnes described as "one of the most notorious 'fences' in the country."  Snow was a slippery fellow.  The Press explained, "He has been arrested dozens of times, and although stolen property has frequently been found in his possession he has thus far escaped punishment, with the exception of a term of five years which he served in Moyamensing Prison."

Snow's luck finally ran out.  On September 9, 1889, George Storms, alias Dick Short; William G. Cole, and ex-convict Charles Gardner broke into the J. C. Hecker leather goods factory and stole "several thousands dollars' worth of fancy pocketbooks, bags, etc.," according to The Press.  Most of the booty was stashed at Snow's apartment from which he intended to "dispose of" it.  A week later, after the thieves were nabbed, detectives closed in on 237 East 79th Street.  When Snow saw the detectives entering the building, he "ran into the yard, and, despite his weakness, tried to climb the fence."  Once again, Snow attempted to slip out of his dilemma.  The Press reported, "He is a bland old fellow, and told the Inspector that he did not know the goods were stolen, and promised that all would be returned if he was liberated."  This time the ploy did not work.

Four years later another resident was arrested, this time for a much more white collar crime.  Alexander Eisberg was the general bookkeeper of the State Bank of New York.  On July 21, 1893, the 27-year-old and the bank's paying teller, Carl Abresch, conspired to commit embezzlement.  They manipulated the books by creating false entries to cover up the $1,200 they stole.  When the books were audited on December 7, the discrepancy was discovered.  "Eisberg, upon being accused, made a confession," reported The Evening World on December 15.

John Schwandtner and his family lived here in 1904.  He was the senior partner in Pole & Schwandtner, structural iron contractors.  Paul Pole was essentially a silent partner.  The Evening World explained, "Mr. Pole is a man who saved a little money and put it into [the business] with Schwandtner."  The article said that Schwandtner ran the business and Pole knew almost nothing about how it operated.

That business relationship came into serious play during the construction of the Hotel Darlington.  On March 2, 1904, the building collapsed.  The next day, The Brooklyn Citizen reported that 15 bodies had been recovered from the debris, but grimly added, "The corpses are buried under many tons of structural metal and the work of getting them out necessarily is very slow."

On March 5, The Evening World reported, "The man most wanted just now by the officials who are endeavoring to place the responsibility for the Hotel Darlington disaster is John Schwandtner."  A server had taken a warrant to 237 East 79th Street on the previous morning.  Coroner Scholer, who was heading the investigation, told reporters:

He didn't find Mr. Schwandtner, but he learned that he left the house at midnight with a dress suit case and was evidently going on a journey.  We have not given up the chase, but it looks as though he had deliberately left town to avoid testifying in the inquest into these deaths.

By the time of that article, the body count had risen to 18.  Two days later, the New York Herald reported that Schwandtner had not yet been found, but "his house is being watched."

John Schwandtner was eventually tracked down and returned to New York.  Then, on March 29, 1904, The Evening World reported that a grand jury had indicted Eugene C. Allison, the managing owner of the collapsed building with manslaughter.  The article said, "To the great surprise of everybody, no indictments were found against Paul Pole and John Schwandtner."  

On November 3, 1912, the New-York Tribune ran a column titled, "At Music Studios," and reported, "Richard Loewy, violinist and teacher, whose studio is at 237 East 79th street, is establishing himself as a successful teacher."  The article noted that he "gives his pupils the benefit of his many years of study, and practical experience."  Loewy also coached singers, among whom were sopranos Mathilde Mallinger and Praxede Marcelline Proschansky.

Franklin Lacy Sheldon was "a member of a prominent family," according to The New York Sun.  He was the son of Dr. William Hills Sheldon, an assistant professor of medicine at Cornell University.  Following his graduation from Yale in 1936, Franklin Sheldon moved into 237 East 79th Street.  He found an accounting job, but then lost it in February 1938.

Sheldon's mother, who lived in a duplex apartment on East 86th Street, maintained a summer home in Bethlehem, Connecticut.  She was there on September 10, 1938 when the 26-year-old entered her apartment and committed suicide.  A handyman in that building forced his way into the kitchen, "the door of which had been propped shut with a chair," reported The New York Times.  "He found gas escaping from all the jets of the kitchen rage.  Sheldon was lying on the floor, dead."  Ironically, according to his sister, he was expected to start a new job the next morning.

No. 237 East 79th Street survives as the last remnant of the 19th century on the northern side of the block.

In 1936 the building was updated, however the exterior was left almost entirely untouched.  Then, a renovation in 1970 cut the apartments in half--now four per floor--and the 1878 neo-Grec exterior elements were removed.  The brownstone was slathered with stucco, successfully eliminating almost every hint of the original design other than the cornice.

photographs by the author

William Waring's 1881 104 West Houston Street

 

In 1881, architect William E. Waring designed two identical tenement-and-store buildings on the northeast corner of West Houston and Thompson Streets for separate owners.  Five stories tall, they were clad in brownstone above cast iron storefronts.  A blend of Italianate and neo-Grec styles, their segmentally arched openings most likely wore molded lintels, typical of the Italianate style.  The crisp geometric lines of the cast metal cornices, however, were neo-Grec.  Waring embellished the cornices with triangular pediments topped with anthemions and classical urns.

No. 104 West Houston Street was built by Louis P. Dexheimer and his wife, Julia.  Louis established his "eatinghouse," or restaurant, in the ground floor and there were eight apartments, two per floor, in the upper portion.  An advertisement touted "latest improvements, rent $25."  (The monthly rent would equal $900 in 2026.)

Dexheimer's venture was short lived.  In January 1882, he offered his "neat oyster and dining room cheap."  When he had not sold the restaurant by April 15, he advertised again, saying it was doing "good business" and adding, "$75 will buy to-day; must close by Monday on account of sickness."  (The term "cheap" was accurate.  The figure would translate to only $2,440 today.)

The former restaurant space became home to Charles Reichert's butcher shop in 1888.  He and his wife moved into an apartment upstairs.  They were affluent enough to afford a live-in servant.

In June 1890, 17-year-old Caroline Henneman arrived in America from Germany.  She found employment as a servant in the Prospect Hotel in Newark, New Jersey.  The World said, "becoming dissatisfied with her situation, [she] wrote to her lover, William Burgess, of No. 410 East Fifth street, asking him to procure her a situation."  Burgess talked to Reichert and Caroline moved into their apartment on September 19.

The New York Herald reported, "When she went to bed she was instructed in the management of the gas, with she said she was already familiar."  (Illuminating gas was among the "latest improvements" boasted in the Dexheimers' ad, and its use was unfamiliar to the less urbane.)  On September 22, 1890, The World reported, "Caroline Henneman...a domestic in the family of Charles Reichert, at No. 104 West Houston street, was found dead in her bed yesterday morning with the gas partially turned on."  The article mentioned, "She was to have been married to Burgess next month."

Charles Reichert kept up with technology within his butcher shop and on December 1, 1897, The Butchers' Advocate reported on the "successful gas engine operated refrigerating plant" he had installed in the cellar.  Its engine also operated "a meat chopper and a number of fans and pumps."  The article said the equipment "has proved in every way an economical and paying investment, and Mr. Reichert expresses himself as much pleased with his acquisition."

Two of the cornice-top urns survived as late as 1940.  via the NYC Dept of Records & Information Services.

Harry Neid and his family occupied an apartment here as early as 1905.  He spent time at the Delmonico Club on Broome Street near the Bowery.  Early in the morning of March 26, Neid was playing cards there when police terrorized him and the other patrons with a violent raid.  The New York Times said, "The raid was made with drawn revolvers, after the doors had been battered down with axes."  Neid and 31 other patrons were arrested.

Otto Rosalsky was hired to defend all of them.  He told reporters he would "show that the raid was a political outrage, the place being a social club where some little games were carried on for fun."  Authorities countered his assertion.  "The police say that craps and stuss were going on, with some money on the tables," reported The New York Times.

Charles Reichert's butcher business was highly successful.  He was affluent enough to purchase a three-story tenement building at 166 Thompson Street by 1908.

Although the apartments within 104 West Houston Street were decidedly dated by World War II, the tenants remained middle-class.  Mario Gennaro and his family lived here in 1945, for instance.  They maintained a "one-story bungalow" on South Beach, Staten Island.  

By the early 1960s, a cafe operated by Arthur Giunta, La Casa Di Arthuro, occupied the ground floor space next door.  The name eventually was honed down to Arturo's, a famous Greenwich Village spot for Italian food and pizza.  As Arturo's success burgeoned, it spread into the space that had been Charles Reichert's butcher shop for decades.

At some point, the masonry of 104 West Houston Street was painted, the lintels shaved, and the urns atop the cornice removed.  

photographs by the author

Thom & Wilson's 1884 142 East 79th Street

 

James A. Frame was a prolific real estate developer in the later decades of the 19th century.  On December 1, 1883, the Real Estate Record & Builders' Guide reported that he would be erecting 18 houses on East 79th Street, 13 at the southeast corner of Fourth Avenue (today's Park Avenue) and five at the southwest corner of Lexington Avenue.  The architectural firm of Thom & Wilson would be designing the two projects.

Completed in 1884, the eastern-most structure, 142 East 79th Street, was clad in brownstone.  Its stone stoop was offset to the west.  Thom & Wilson's neo-Grec design included ornate window frames on the 79th Street side.  They sat on bracketed sills and wore molded cornices supported by corbeled piers.  Below the pressed metal terminal cornice was a frieze of rosette-decorated panels.

An advertisement described:

Southwest Corner of Lexington Ave.; handsome four story high-stoop, brown-stone dwelling, two-story extension, beautifully decorated, hard-wood trimmed; all improvements; on cable road, street 100 feet wide, size of lot 20x102.

James A. Frame sold 142 East 79th Street to John W. Haaren in April 1885 for $35,000 (about $1.2 million in 2026).  Haaren was a partner in the importing firm of Haaren & Meinken, founded in 1865 with Henry Meinken.  Both men dealt in real estate, as well.  Haaren and his wife, Marie, had four children, John William, Henry F., Mamy M., and Lena W.  

On the afternoon of March 11, 1891, John and Marie went for a drive.  The New York Herald reported, "He drove a spirited team hitched to a light side-bar buggy."  At around 6:30, they stopped at the house of a friend on 57th Street near Ninth Avenue.  John ran in "to speak to his friend," while Marie waited in the buggy.  Just as he was leaving, a Ninth Avenue elevated train passed.  The New York Herald reported, "The noise of the train frightened the horses, and they started on the run through Fifty-seventh street."  John ran after them, but fell.  Getting to his feet, he continued the chase.

The panicked horses crashed into a truck at 57th Street and Third avenue.  Two policeman caught the horses and calmed them.  Inside the buggy, Marie Haaren was unconscious.  By the time John arrived (no doubt breathless from his marathon), a neighborhood doctor had diagnosed Marie with "nervous shock."  Based on that, when the ambulance arrived John asked them to take her to their home, rather than a hospital.

It was an understandable decision, but a fatal one.  Marie regained consciousness on the way home, but fainted again.  The New York Herald reported, "On reaching her home she was taken to her room, and almost immediately died."  The 56-year-old had a history of heart problems and, according to the newspaper, "it is thought the fright caused by the runaway brought on an attack of the disease."

Marie's funeral was held in the parlor of 142 East 79th Street on March 15, followed by a service at Immanuel Lutheran Church on Lexington Avenue and 88th Street.

John Haaren sold 142 East 79th Street in 1896.  John L. Jordan converted the basement to a commercial space and the upper floors into three sprawling apartments, including one duplex.  

The store, with the address of 1140 Lexington Avenue, became home to S. Blumberg's drug store while the apartments were rented to well-to-do tenants.  A mysterious woman who moved into the building in June 1903 was Jane Leroy.  The "jewel-bedecked woman" was arrested for shoplifting in a Broadway department store on August 27, caught "stealing doilies worth $23.10," as reported by The Evening Post.  (The value of the lacy heist would translate to about $868 today.)

As it turned out, Jane Leroy was, in fact, the wife of jeweler Henry R. Levi.  They originally lived in Washington D.C., but according to The Evening World, now lived in a luxurious home at 315 East 46th Street.  The couple, it appears, were having domestic problems.  Levi arrived at the stationhouse that evening and furnished his wife's staggering $19,000 bail.

The next day, a lawyer's clerk told the magistrate that "the woman was too ill to appear."  Magistrate Ommen would not have it.  "That's no good.  I'll give you until 11 o'clock to produce the defendant, otherwise her bond will be forfeited," he demanded.  The New York Herald reported, "A little later Mrs. Levi came to court in a carriage.  She persisted in saying she was Jane Leroy, a housekeeper living at 142 East Seventy-ninth."  

As early as 1913, the store space was home to Frederick Bahr's grocery store.  It would become the Planodome Market within a decade.

"St. Peter's" magazine, September 1913 (copyright expired)

In the meantime, William J. Baird occupied an apartment here as early as 1919.  The bachelor was an "athletic instructor," according to the New-York Tribune.  On March 20, he took his  fiancé, Alice Whitman of Brooklyn, to the Palace Theatre.  The night ended badly.  William briefly excused himself during intermission.  When he returned to his seat, Alice told him that Dr. Albert L. Roth, who sat nearby, "had annoyed her during his absence."  The New-York Tribune reported that Baird left his seat "and punched the face of Dr. Albert L. Roth."  He and Alice then started out of the theater.  

Dr. Roth called out to a sailor nearby to stop him.  The sailor held Baird until a policeman responded and arrested him.  In night court, Baird explained his actions, saying, "I lost my temper, but I am willing to apologize."  The New-York Tribune reported, "Dr. Roth, who had lost a tooth, would have none of his apology, and Baird was fined $10, which he paid."

In 1929, architect Lafayette A. Goldstone was hired to renovate the building.  The stoop was removed and a triangular pediment placed over the new, sidewalk-level residential entrance.  There were now offices on the second floor, one apartment each on the third and fourth floors, and two "non-housekeeping" apartments on the fifth.  (The term meant that they had no kitchens.)

The ground-floor entrance to the apartments can be seen in this 1940 tax photo.  via the NYC Dept of Records & Information Services.

The tenants continued to be well-to-do.  The widow of Dwight Morgan Platt and her daughter, Miriam Dwight, lived here in 1929 when Miriam was married to John Merrill Congdon in Sherry's on October 21 that year.  The engagement and the wedding were heavily covered in society pages for weeks.

Wealthy widow Eila Haggin McKee, daughter of millionaire James B. Haggin, moved into an apartment building next door in 1928.  The structures were owned by the same firm.  The New York Times reported, "she missed the flowers that were her hobby on her Summer estate, Blue Blinds, at Smithtown Branch, L. I., so she rented the roof space on the adjoining building at 142 East Seventy-ninth...at a cost of $800 annually."  The article said, "The roof was only a step down from her apartment next door, and she sealed the stairway in the apartment at No. 142 which led to the roof."

The last remnant of James A. Frame's ambitious row, 142 East 79th Street is dwarfed by its neighbors today.

Problems came in 1936 when Eila McKee died.  The New York Times explained that the executors canceled the lease on the apartment, "presuming that the cancellation agreement also covered the garden space."  It did not.  By then, the buildings were separately owned.  The estate was in court for at least three years trying to untangle the complicated issue, which not only dealt with the rent, but the restoration of the internal staircase and access to the roof in 142 East 79th Street.

As early as 1940, Ruth Forster's florist shop occupied the ground floor.  In 1955, it was known as Betty Forster, Inc., the name presumably that of Ruth's daughter.  In the late 1980s, a florist shop, now the Strakes Florists, still occupied the space.

During a renovation in 1974, the residential entrance was moved to the Lexington Avenue side (although retaining the East 79th Street address).  The 79th Street entrance now accessed the store.  The remodeling resulted in offices on the second floor and one apartment each on the upper stories.

photographs by the author

James E. Ware's 1884 67 and 69 Eighth Avenue

 

photograph by Carole Teller

In 1883, developer Pierson S. Halstead demolished the two vintage buildings at 67 and 69 Eighth Avenue, just south of West 14th Street, and hired architect James E. Ware to replace them with two store-and-tenement buildings.  Completed in 1884, they struggled with an architectural dual personality.  Above the residential entrances, flanked by stores, were stone entablatures ornately carved with Renaissance Revival designs.  The style reappeared on the top floor where shallow piers capped with Doric capitals separated the openings.  But sandwiched between, the three-story midsection was purely neo-Grec in style.  Faced in red brick and trimmed in brownstone, the windows wore hefty stone lintels capped with molded cornices.

While most tenants were respectable--like William H. Broderick, who lived in No. 67 and was a commissioner of deeds, similar to a notary public--others found themselves in trouble with the police.  

James F. Hyde, who also lived in No. 67, was a "ticket speculator" (known today as a ticket scalper).  He was working the crowd outside the Fourteenth Street Theatre on the night of November 24, 1887 when another speculator, David Stack, showed up.  Infuriated, Hyde insisted that the interloper leave.  The Sun reported, "They clinched, and Hyde, it is said, struck Stack over the head with the butt end of a revolver after Stack had bit his right thumb."  Neither man would sell any more tickets that night.  They were both arrested.

Hyde was assuredly familiar with another resident of 67 Eighth Avenue.  Martin W. Hanley, who lived there with his family at the time of the affray, was the manager of Harrigan's Park Theatre.

Living next door as early as 1891 was aspiring politician Charles Henry Turner.  Born in 1861, he attended Columbia College from 1886 to 1888.  He went into the ice business while campaigning for State Senate in 1888.  According to The New York Times, he "made speeches from the tailboard of an ice cart."  The newspaper said he would become "known throughout the country as 'Turner, the Ice Man.'"

In 1889, after Democratic U.S. Senator Frank T. Fitzgerald stepped down, Turner was elected to fill his place.  He served from December 9, 1889 to March 3, 1891, retaining the lease to his Eighth Avenue apartment.

Charles Henry Turner, Once a Week newspaper 1890 (copyright expired)

Turner hosted a political meeting in his apartment on February 9, 1891.  The New York Herald said, "The Executive Committee of the County Democracy Organization of the Ninth Assembly district met last night at No. 69 Eighth avenue to decide upon the question of a union with the rival New York democracy."

At the end of his Senate term, in March 1891, Turner was appointed Doorkeeper of the United States House of Representatives.  By the end of the year, it had become apparent that keeping the New York City residence was unworkable.  On December 11, 1891, The Evening World said, "Doorkeeper Turner at his home, 69 Eighth avenue...said that he simply came home to arrange for the removal of his family to Washington."

Burns's Undertaking occupied one of the two shop spaces in 69 Eighth Avenue by 1898.  It was taken over by Richard J. Delaney at the turn of the century.

The Xavier, May 1904 (copyright expired)

On the night of November 20, 1910, Richard J. Delaney was riding in the front seat of his hearse and John H. Koenig was driving.  The hearse struck 12-year-old Genni Damborelli at Eighth Avenue and 16th Street.  The New York Times reported, "The boy had his right eye injured and suffered some contusions."  The article said, "The chauffeur was able to stop before the boy was run over."

Delaney put the boy into the hearse and he was taken to New York Hospital.  There doctors diagnosed the boy's eye injury as serious and advised Delaney to take him to the New York Eye and Ear Hospital on Second Avenue.  The New York Times reported, "After the boy's eye was dressed, he was put in the hearse again, while Mr. Delaney went to the West Twentieth Street Station to report the accident."

At the station house, it was discovered that John Koenig had been driving with a New Jersey license and he was detained.  Richard Delaney now took the reins of the hearse and took Genni Damborelli home.  The Times titled its article, "Boy Spends a Happy Hour in the Vehicle Which Ran Him Down," and said he was "apparently enjoying himself."

The Renaissance Revival carvings above the entrances were intact as late as 1940.  image via the NYC Dept of Records & Information Services.

Richard J. Delaney sometimes handled the funerals of notable New Yorkers.  On August 4, 1911, The New York Times reported on the funeral of John B. McGoldrick, "for thirteen years Secretary to Richard Crocker, and for a short time Secretary of the Tammany General Committee."  And on the evening of May 17, 1916, the funeral of David Healy, "one of the oldest and most esteemed members of the New York Press Club," was held here.  

Delaney handled a sensitive situation in March 1921.  The bodies of Willis McCurdy, personnel manager of the American Surety Company, and his "young woman secretary, Alice Snowden," as described by the New-York Tribune, were discovered in Central Park.  The murder-suicide strongly suggested an extra-marital affair.  On March 10, the New-York Tribune reported, "The home of the McCurdys [in Astoria] remained closed all yesterday."  McCurdy's wife had taken their daughter away from the city and, apparently, wanted nothing to do with a funeral nor press attention.  McCurdy's brother, said the article, "placed the remains in charge of R. Delaney, an undertaker, of 69 Eighth Avenue, with instructions for shipment to the family home in Philadelphia."

image via the NYC Dept of Records & Information Services

The Lenox Laundry occupied one of the store spaces in 67 Eighth Avenue as early as 1908.  That year Charles Goldstein, who lived at 318 West 14th Street and was studying dentistry, began sending his linen to the shop.  In February 1909, nine-year-old Edna Carroll, the daughter of the laundry's owner, was watching a Salvation Army "street meeting" when Goldstein approached her.  The Evening World reported, "He persuaded her to come to his room for a letter he said he wanted delivered and promised to give her 10 cents for carrying it."

Once there, Goldstein assaulted her.  The Evening World reported, "The child said that when she got to the young man's room he had held a knife over her, threatening her life if she made an outcry."  Shockingly, Goldstein was not done.  The article said that Edna "was afraid to go home for several hours and meanwhile Goldstein had enticed [12-year-old Fannie Katz] to his room."  Fannie escaped and ran to her mother.  Edna finally had enough courage go home.  The Evening World reported that just as Fannie Katz and her parents left the Charles Street station, "the parents of Edna Carroll arrived."

News of the outrageous crimes quickly spread throughout the neighborhood.  The World reported, "A great crowd gathered before Goldstein's house.  As he was dragged out by the policemen, several men in the crowd sprang forward and struck him down.  Before the policemen could draw their clubs and fight back the crowd, the young man had been kicked and beaten."

On February 17, Goldstein pleaded guilty.  He told the magistrate that he looked upon himself "with loathing" and said, "I must have been drunk or mad when I committed those horrible acts.  I see myself, now, as I must have been then, a creature only fit to be hanged."

The Delaney Funeral Parlors were still at 69 Eighth Avenue in 1924.  At the time, the other space was home to the florist shop of Alfred D. Sickles.

Patrick Mitchell and his family lived at 67 Eighth Avenue as early as 1922.  He listed his profession as a "trucking foreman," but police knew him as "Link" Mitchell, "a member of the 'Tanner' Smith gang when that organization was terrorizing the mid-west side," according to The New York Times.  Patrick was closely associated with Frank Wallace, described by the police as "a thrice-convicted member of the notorious Hudson Dusters gang," according to the newspaper. 

The two gangsters spent Saturday night, August 12, 1922, "from dusk until Sunday dawn cruising about Broadway and the side streets in an automobile, 'looking for a guy,' who was apparently avoiding him successfully," reported The Evening World.  At 2:00 a.m. they arrived at the Café La Vie on West 48th Street (a dining-dancing café).  

At around dawn, Wallace and Mitchell started to leave.  The New York Times reported, "Two bullets in his head, Wallace pitched from the café to the curb and toppled into the street to die an hour later in Roosevelt Hospital."  Patrick Mitchell was one of seven patrons who were detained as "material witnesses."

The slippery Patrick Mitchell avoided arrest over the coming years.  Then, early on the morning of October 17, 1925, detectives raided the Varsity Club at 48 Sixth Avenue and "seized a flask of gin and whisky," as reported by The New York Times.  Two men, Louis Roth and James Dixson, were arrested.  The article said, "As the detectives were leaving with their prisoners, they said, they saw Joseph King, a negro...hand a revolver to Patrick Mitchell."  Both men and Thomas King, "who was standing next to Mitchell," were arrested and charged with violating the Sullivan Law, an early gun control act.

Half a century after Alfred D. Sickles opened his flower shop in 69 Eighth Avenue, a florist still occupied the space.  On December 18, 1978, The Villager reported, "At 12:15 pm on December 9, two men entered the flower shop at 69 Eighth Avenue, pulled guns and forced the manager to turn over $450 in cash and $1900 worth of jewelry before fleeing north on Eighth Avenue.  The manager gave chase, but lost them at 16th Street." 

Two decades later, the McManus Florist occupied the space.

The Villager, February 7, 1996

There are still four apartments per floor in the buildings.  The cast iron piers of the 1884 storefronts survive, however the Renaissance Revival entablatures over the doorways are gone.  The upper floors are essentially unchanged.

photograph by Carole Teller

many thanks to artist Carole Teller for suggesting this post