H. & H. Brien's 1871 793 Sixth Avenue

In the summer of 1869 Joseph McEntee's wife was taken to the Charity Hospital on Blackwell's Island.  On August 19, according to The New York Times, a man appeared at McEntee's home at No. 477 Sixth Avenue and "announced the melancholy fact that Mrs. McEntee was dead."  Seeing McEntee's overwhelming grief, the man offered to help him make preparations for the funeral.  The pair visited an undertaker where a coffin was purchased.  As the undertaker wrote out a pass which would give Joseph McEntee access to Blackwell's Island, the helpful man suddenly remembered a business engagement downtown and asked McEntee for $5 which he would repay when they met up again on Blackwell's Island.

When McEntee arrived at the Charity Hospital, he found that his wife was not dead, "but as well as could be expected," and that he had been ingeniously swindled out of around $95 in today's money.

It is probable that McEntee leased rooms in his Sixth Avenue house.  The neighborhood was not affluent and the avenue was lined with converted dwellings that housed second-hand shops and similar businesses.  He and the other roomers would have to find new accommodations within the year.

On May 13, 1870 the building was sold at auction to Henry Brien for $35,000 (just over $700,000 today).  The New York Times commented that "For the price sold, the premises were deemed cheap, being so well located for business purposes."

Brien was a partner with his brother, Hugh, in the grocery business H. & H. Brien at Nos. 480-482 Ninth Avenue.  Theirs was no storefront grocery store and the brothers' comfortable financial positions were reflected in their owning at least one other commercial property, on the Bowery, and in Hugh's owning a thoroughbred race horse, Hudson Boy.

H. & H. Brien erected a flat and store building on the plot.  Twenty-four feet wide on the avenue, it stretched 65 feet along West 27th Street.  Face in red brick and trimmed in stone, it was designed in the up-to-date neo-Grec style.  Each  floor sat upon a slightly-projecting stone course which cleverly doubled as sills to the openings, emphasized by the diminutive brackets below each.  The lintels (each joined to the other by a running bandcourse) were carved with incised decorations.  A robust cast metal cornice ran along the roof line.

The neo-Grec lintels with their incised designs were the latest in decorative trends.

The new ground floor store became home to James W. Lamb's saloon.  Lamb lived nearby at No. 213 West 25th Street.   He found himself in the Jefferson Market Police Court on March 19, 1875 following what The New York Herald called "Another Raid On Liquor Dealers."  Lamb had either allowed his excise license to expire, or had simply not bothered with one.  In either case, he was held in $100 bail awaiting his court appearance, for "selling liquor without license."

The residential entrance was to the rear of the building at No. 100 West 27th Street.  The blue collar tenants in the apartments represented a range of cultures and races.  Among the residents in 1878 were the Burrows family.  Edward was a house painter and Orson made his living as a clerk.  

Robert Hooper was also a clerk.  Catherine Fuchs, the widow of Jacob Fuchs, listed no occupation; while another widow, Julia Garraund, eked a living as a dressmaker from her apartment.  Charles Jacobs ran a tailor store directly across the avenue at No. 448, and William H. P. Smithson, despite his high-sounding name, listed no profession that year.

By 1878 Joseph W. Lamb's saloon had become the fruit and grocery store of Dominick Moglia.  

Winifred Quigley was the landlady 1884.  She and her family lived in the building, including her son Martin who worked in a printing establishment.  Hugo Zellman, one of the head waiters at the Hotel Brunswick, rented a furnished room at the time.

In the early hours of New Year's Day 1885 Zellman returned home from work.  In his absence someone had entered his room using a key and made off with clothing which he valued at $107 (in the neighborhood of $2,880 today).  Zellman reported the burglary to Detective James K. Price who wasted little time in apprehending the culprit.

Martin Quigley was apprehended within hours.  According to The New York Times, "He was wearing a pair of Zellman's trousers when arrested."  The landlady's son pleaded guilty and was jailed.

The tenant list continued to be diverse.  On May 11, 1894 The Waterville Times reported a disturbing story about a Black roomer, George Smith, who had attacked a Black woman with a knife.  She did not survive.  "Eliza Berry, a young colored woman, died in the New York Hospital.  She was stabbed in the back in a saloon at No. 146 West Twenty-seventh Street on Thursday night by a negro named George Smith who lives at No. 100 West Twenty-seventy street."

In November 1895 one resident identified himself as "a German man" in his search for work "As headwaiter or steward in a club or hotel, by a German man."  

The cornice is an especially handsome example of the style.

The grocery was being operated by Italian immigrant Guiseppi Ghiggin by now, while upstairs Lizzie Bick was among the residents.  She was married at City Hall on April 28, 1896 to Frank Wyche, described by the New York Herald as a "Virginia farmer."  The article reported "The Mayor married his first colored couple yesterday."  What appears to be an example of 19th century racism was reflected in the comment "The Mayor neglected to salute the bride."

Guiseppi Ghiggin's grocery store briefly became L. Kaufmann & Co., a tobacco and cigar store.  Louis Kaufmann opened in 1898 and was doing a fine business.  But he had heavily backed the cigar manufacturing business of Kaufman Brothers (with only one "n") of his brothers, Abraham and Herman.  Their firm failed in 1899 resulting in the bankruptcy of Louis.

The Brien brothers leased the store next to a dry goods shop.  It was the target of clever burglars soon after its opening.  On June 29, 1899 The Sun reported "The Tenderloin police are keeping a sharp lookout these days for the gang of burglars who are carrying away the property of Sixth avenue shopkeepers...They have got into every store by cutting holes in the floor and coming up through the cellar.  In this way the dry goods store at 447 Sixth avenue was entered recently and $500 worth of goods carried away."  The heist would be equivalent to about $15,900 today.

Like L. Kaufmann & Co., the dry goods store was short lived, followed by Bernard Gutter's pawn shop.  It was there in the spring of 1902 that detectives found some of the jewelry stolen by 18-year old Frederick Henratty.  The theft was made even more scandalous because he had stolen the diamonds and jewelry, worth about $14,700 in today's money, from his mother.  At Gutter's shop detectives discovered a pair of diamond earrings which the teen had pawned for $115 (more than $3,500 today).

The Brien brothers finally landed a long-term retail tenant later that year in the I. Blyn & Sons shoe store.  The well-known retailer, who had several stores throughout the city, would remain for decades.

This price of this men's shoe would be about $107 today.  The Evening World, May 30, 1902 (copyright expired)

Living upstairs at the time was actress Nellie Simmons.  She landed a role playing in Mr. Blue Beard early in 1903 as one of the famous murderer's six wives.  In February she invited the other five "wives" to her apartment.

On February 18 The Morning Telegraph reported "Mr. Blue Beard's six pretty wives held high revel for two hours yesterday afternoon during the absence of the lugubrious ogre.  In a snug flat at 100 West Twenty-seventh street, they feasted and made merry without thought of possible rage on the part of the terrible husband, which might mean decapitation."

Nelli Simmons and her fellow actresses are listed on the playbill as the "pretty wives."  The Cast, March 9, 1903 (copyright expired)

The young actresses had formed a close camaraderie.  "Miss Simmons suggested that it would be pleasant for them to have a party one afternoon each week, the sextette taking it in turn about acting hostess."

Some tenants worked from their apartments.  One, named Poulsen, advertised in 1906, "Facial and Swedish massage, manicure...over shoe store."  In November 1908 an advertisement appeared in The Evening Telegram:  "French lady teacher, individual instruction; also
German, English."  Mlle. Richelieu was still advertising "lessons by the hour" the following year.

Another French teacher, Mlle. B. Lamboley, lived in the building by 1912; but she was less willing to allow her students into her apartment.  Her ad on November 18 that year read: "French teacher from Paris will give morning or evening lessons at pupil's residence."  She was apparently quite successful, for the exact advertisement was still appearing in The Evening Telegram six years later.

The Evening World, January 29, 1920 (copyright expired)

When Sixth Avenue was renumbered in 1925 the store received the new address of No. 793.

The broad palette of cultures within the building was expanded by the Depression years with Greek tenants.  In 1930 19-year old Nick Manos was living here, trying to eke out a living selling cut flowers to subway passengers.  It ended in his arrest on March 10.  According to The Daily Star he was "charged with annoying passengers and obstructing the passageway."  Patrolman William Gallagher told the court that Manos and 36-year old Charles Willett "were peddling flowers and refused to move when ordered."

Five years later Aristides Thofanis was selling flowers from a push cart for 15 and 25 cents a bunch when he, too, was arrested.  He may have not been aware that New York City had just become the first municipality in America to enact a general sales tax.  He was charged with not collecting sales tax, according to the New York Post on March 28, 1935.  Exactly what the sales tax on a 15 cent bunch of flowers would be is unclear.

Following Prohibition the ground floor that had first been home to James W. Lamb's saloon became the Uneeda Bar & Grill.

The Uneeda Bar & Grill sported a sleek 1930's storefront.  photo via the NYC Dept of Records & Information Services.

By the late 1960's it became home to Jaffer's electric and hardware store, which too would remain for years.  In November 1970 the store advertised the new Sony Trinitron color television with a 12" screen.  The price would be equal to about $1,970 today; but the ad explained that it "gives a sharper, brighter color with a lens that's twice as large as other TV's."

Today the ground floor is occupied by a Korean restaurant.  And although the brick has been painted and the storefront much altered, the stylish 1871 structure is otherwise little changed.

photographs by the author

The Monte Sano Hotel - 26 West 27th Street

Christmas Eve 1855 was not a festive day at No. 26 West 27th Street.  The funeral of Cornelius Concklin was held in the house that afternoon.  He had died two days earlier.  

Concklin and his wife, the former Tamar Leticia Varian, were among the early upscale residents above 23rd Street.  The wealthy couple, who had seven children, lived in a brick-faced, 25-foot-wide residence that reflected the refined new neighborhood around the fashionable Madison Square, opened in 1847.

But by the turn of the century well-heeled residents had moved northward, their homes either converted for business purposes or demolished.  On November 3, 1900 the Real Estate Record & Builders' Guide announced that Lorenz F. J. Weiher, Jr. had purchased the "old building" and "will erect an 8-story bachelor apartment house."

Weiher (who had been married earlier that same year) was a busy young man.  An accomplished architect, he designed scores of structures, eventually becoming best known for his theater designs.  For this project and a few others he acted both as developer and architect.  

The bachelor hotel concept had arisen around 1880 when about 45 percent of Manhattan's male population was unmarried.  By now it had firmly taken root; the The Real Estate Record & Builders Guide noting in 1890 that the bachelor flat “is a product of our modern life. It is not a social fad, ready to disappear directly. It has ceased to be a novelty. It has come to stay, for it filled a gap in the life of every unmarried man who has become weary of the boarding house, the furnished room, or the hotel.”

Weiher filed his plans on November 23, 1900.  They now called for a seven-story structure at a cost of $90,000; more than $2.75 million today.  It was completed in 1901.

The design was a successful marriage of neo-Federal and Beaux Arts styles.  Its two stories of rusticated limestone drew from Federal residential designs with modified Gibbs surrounds at the entrance and ground floor window, and at the second floor.  An ornate cornice separated the two levels, carved with a unique motif of anthemonions (also borrowed from early 19th century designs) stylized into a wave crest pattern.  The doorway was originally situated to the right.

The upper five stories of brick were framed in brick quoins.  The paired openings were each separated by fluted columns.  Their neo-Federal splayed lintels conceded to Beaux Arts with scrolled keystones.  Those gave way to French cartouches above the top floor windows.  The building was crowned with a deeply-overhanging pressed metal cornice with florid consoles.

Weiher sold his building to Jefferson De Mont Thompson, who also moved in.   Well-known among wealthy automobile owners, he was also chairman of racing board of the American Automobile Association.  Thompson had grown up in Huntsville, Alabama,

below the Monte Sano Mountain.  His uncle, John Jefferson Dement, had been instrumental in erecting the

fashionable Monte Sano Hotel there in the 1880's--a destination for wealthy New Yorkers like William Vanderbilt, Jay Gould, and William Waldorf Astor.

No doubt as a nod to his uncle's admittedly more lavish resort, he named his new building the Monte Sano.  It, like other bachelor hotels, offered maid service and a common dining room for meals.  

Among the early residents was Dr. A. H. Swinburne who relocated from Marietta, Ohio in 1904.   His magazine and newspaper advertisements offered no information on his techniques, but promised to cure any stomach problems other than cancer.  (Although he claimed "I have often produced a cure in cases even where diagnosis of cancer had been made by other eminent physicians.")  Swinburne practiced from his apartment in the Monte Sano at least through 1907.

The New-York Tribune, December 10, 1905 (copyright expired)

On October 29, 1906 William K. Vanderbilt, Jr. called a meeting of Long Island estate owners who, according to the New-York Tribune, "are anxious to have the proposed automobile speedway."  Jefferson De Mont Thompson was chosen the committee's treasurer.

Like the moneyed automobile owners with whom he rubbed shoulders, Thompson traveled abroad.  So when he announced that the anticipated Vanderbilt Cup Race for 1907 "had been abandoned," he did so by cable from Paris.

At the time of the announcement, Thompson seems to have changed the policy of renting only to bachelors.  Under the listing "The Mone Sano Apartments" in the society directory the Alcom Blue Book that year was Mrs. A. H. Mudge.  Other well-heeled residents listed were Colonel A. Gross, Judge E. L. Andrews, Dr. W. A. Dickson and G. H. Beverly.

That year another female resident appeared.  Florence Schenck was the daughter of Norfolk, Virginia physician Powhatan Schenck.  She moved into the Monte Sano after returning from England that summer.  The voyage to London had been full of hope for Florence, but it ended in her ruin.

Her troubles had started when she attended the fashionable New York Horse Show at the age of 18 in 1906.  She caught the eye of Charles Wilson, manager of Alfred G. Vanderbilt's stable.  The much older man wooed the teen, never divulging that he was married.

A common method to lure naive girls into bed was to assure them marriage was imminent.  Florence was induced to travel to Washington DC on Vanderbilt's private railroad car, the Wayfarer, when Wilson promised they would be married the next day.  She later explained "When they reached the capital, Wilson asked her to postpone the marriage until they reached New York."  That did not happen either.


Florence agreed to sail to London with Wilson, when he promised to marry her there.  There was a ceremony which the girl believed to be genuine; but when the pair returned to New York she discovered he already had a wife.  Wilson then "abandoned" her.  She was now trying to make ends meet by performing at Weber's Music Hall.

Early in December 1907 Florence came home to her apartment to find it had been entered and ransacked, but only a few articles of clothing were taken.  Two weeks later, on December 19, she was at rehearsals at the music hall when Paul Wurch, a Monte Sano employee, noticed a man trying to pick the lock on her door.

When Wurch asked him what he was doing, the man said he was "waiting for Miss Schenck to return."  Wurch told him that the lobby was where he should wait, at which point the man pulled out a gun.  The New-York Tribune reported "A hand-to-hand battle ensued, in which the clerk and several porters joined in.  After the intruder had beaten the hotel man over the head with the butt of his revolver, he dodged out of the crowd and made good his escape."

Florence Schenck was just coming in when Wurch came down the stairs, blood streaming from his face.   She told police she assumed the would-be thief was the same as the one who committed the earlier break-in.

With little money Florence tried to return home, but was scorned by her family.  It is unclear how long she remained in the Monte Sano, but a friend later testified that repeatedly she was evicted from hotels and boarding houses; one landlady saying "I don't want the refuse of the Vanderbilt stable in my house."

Florence's story ended tragically.  Finally, destitute and her health eroded, she was taken to a sanitarium.  Her father's frigid stance softened when he learned of her pitiable condition.  He came to New York to bring her home.  On January 5, 1914 The New York Times reported "Dr. Edward Teague, who had had charge of her when she lay ill in a New York sanitarium, had warned Dr. Schenck that she could not survive the hardship of a journey from New York to Norfolk, but Dr. Schenck insisted and had his daughter carried to a train on a stretcher Friday night."  She died in the Schenck house two days later.

In the meantime, the attempted burglar of Florence's apartment had been captured.  Three other apartments had been robbed on the same day, December 19, 1907.  Three days later Jefferson De Mont Thompson accused the building's 18-year-old elevator boy, Frank Hennessy.  The Evening Telegram reported "The young man put up a fight and pointed a revolver at Manager Thompson.  This was taken away from him."  Once again, Paul Wursch ended up getting the worst of it all.  "Then he struck Paul Wursch behind the ear with a billy and escaped."

The teen was arrested while attempting to break into an East Side apartment house on Christmas Day.  His sisters traveled from Philadelphia to plead for leniency during his trial on February 9.  They hoped he would be sent to a reformatory, pointing out this was his first arrest.  The judge did not agree.  Hennessy was sentenced to three and a half years in prison.

In November 1909 Thompson made a significant alteration to the Monte Sano.  He hired architect H. T. J. Fuehrmann to alter the ground floor window to an entrance, and installed a storefront where the doorway had been.

The building had another colorful resident that year--Hungarian Baron Richard von Arkovy.  He had reportedly accompanied Lord Decies of London to America.  (Decies would marry Helen Vivien Gould in 1911.)

In November 1908 Arkovy hosted a card party in his apartment here.  One of the guests, Cuban Vice-Consul Julio S. Jarron, came out on the losing end and Arkovy later said that he owed him $280 at the end of the night.  According to him, when he later ran into Jarron at the Waldorf-Astoria later, he mentioned the debt.  Short on cash, according to the baron, Jarron gave him $10 and two platinum crucibles.  Arkovy pawned them in April 1909 for a total of $35.

Jarron's story was different.  If there were, indeed, a card game, it had nothing to do with the valuable crucibles.  According to his lawyer he had shown the objects to Arkovy on February 19, 1909.  "The baron, so the story goes, admired the crucibles and asked Jarron to let him take them to a Hungarian jeweller [sic] of his acquaintance for examination," explained The New York Times.  It was the last Jarron would see of his crucibles, valued at $900 (about $25,600 today).

By the time the incident came to trial in 1911 the now 31-year-old Arkovy was living at the Plaza Hotel.  His troubles were just beginning.  The news of the trial sparked realization in others that they, too, had been duped.  On March 3 The New York Times reported that "When von Arkovy appeared in the Jefferson Market Court there were half a dozen persons awaiting his arrival who were ready to testify that the Hungarian had also obtained money from them under various pretenses which he didn't repay."

In almost every case a wealthy woman had been coaxed to give Arkovy jewelry to take to a Hungarian jeweler for examination.  And in each case the valuables were pawned.  The publicity also exposed Arkovy's fake background.

One prominent Hungarian told reporters "Richard von Arkovy is not a Baron, nor is the family in any way related to nobility.  His father's name was Arnstein, and he is one of the best dentists in Hungary."

The fraudulent baron aside, the Monte Sano still catered to a financially comfortable clientele.  And on August 17, 1912 The Record & Guide reported that Thompson had purchased the property.  He was active within the district and by 1914 was was president of the Broadway Association "composed of property owners and business men" according to the Record & Guide on February 7 that year.

An advertisement on December 14, 1913 in The New York Herald listed just one apartment opening.  "Two rooms and bath; modern in every way; service included."  Thompson leased the store in October that year to jeweler B. Trivoli Jr.

Concern pianist Ethel Newcomb lived in the Monte Sano around the time.  She had made her concert debut with the Vienna Philharmonic Orchestra in 1903 and had performed under the direction of Richard Strauss the following year with the Queens Hall Orchestra.  In 1909 she played at the wedding of Mark Twain's daughter, Clara Clemens, to Russian conductor and pianist Ossip Gabrilowitsch.

On January 2, 1916 The Sun reported "Ethel Newcomb, pianist and teacher, who has a studio at 26 West Twenty-seventh street, will give a recital at Aeolian Hall February 3...Miss Newcomb was for four years assistant to [Theodor] Leschetisky."

Another well-respected resident around the time was Swedish-born Dr. C. A. O. Rosell.  A patent attorney and chemist, he had been with the Patent Office in Washington for several years.  He died in his apartment in the Monte Sano of nephritis in September 1919.

Although the neighborhood was becoming increasingly commercial, the Monte Sano continued to be home to moneyed residents through the 1920's.  In November 1925 The Larchmont Times reported "Mrs. E. A. Chatterton of 14 Magnolia Avenue has gone to 26 West 27th Street, New York, for the winter."  And in 1929 Samuel L. Packet lived here when his automobile was stolen on March 2.  That he could afford to own and keep a car testified to his financial status.

In October 1930 the New York Evening Post reported that the Monte Sano apartments had been sold to The 26 West Twenty-seventh Street Corporation, headed by president Louis Schwebel.  The firm had already been leasing the property.

Commercialization of the block and the advent of the Great Depression led to noticeable change within the Monte Sano.  In February 1937 Marjorie Fobes Gaylord obtained a divorce from Frederick Alan Gaylord.  The Portville Review reported that Gaylord "was guilty of misconduct on or about February 10, 1935, with a woman not named at an apartment at 26 West 27th Street, New York."

In 1950 a renovation resulted in two apartments along with the store on the first floor, and four apartments each on the upper stories.  That configuration remains, and rather surprisingly, not only is the facade remarkably intact, but it is still called the Monte Sano.

photographs by the author

The 1891 Beverwyck Hotel - 39-41 West 27th Street

Interestingly, on June 11, 1892 The Real Estate Record & Guide named the architects of the Beverwyck Hotel, at Nos. 39-41 West 27th Street as Renwick, Aspinwall & Renwick.  But the firm was still listed as Renwick, Aspinwall & Russell at the time and would not officially change its name until around 1895.  The building, construction of which had begun in 1890 and was completed in 1891, seems to have been a family project.  Title was originally in the name of "S. Renwick and others."  (Exactly who S. Renwick was is unclear.)

The concept of the bachelor hotel had taken root in New York City by the last decade of the 19th century.  They provided unmarried men a respectable home with no concerns about housekeeping or meals.  In The Beverwyck Bachelors' Apartments the architects had created a seven-story Renaissance Revival structure of brick and brownstone, embellished with terra cotta.

The alternating bands of planar and undressed stone of the two story base is rather unusual--creating the look of a sheet of corrugated cardboard.  The space between the large arched entrance and its cornice most likely accommodated a hood or marquee.

Above, five brick-clad stories were separated into three sections by projecting stringcourses.   Fenestration was treated separately at each section.   The paired openings of the third and fourth floors shared frames decorated with delicate Renaissance details.  The sixth floor arched openings completed, visually, the two-story arrangement of the windows of the fifth.   At the topmost floor it was the spandrel panels, not the windows, which drew focus with their blind terra cotta frames.  Above was a deeply-overhanging cornice.

The building's super, James Thatcher, was perhaps a surprising choice, given the upscale tenor of the residents.  On June 6, 1894 The Evening World mentioned that Thatcher, "superintendent of the bachelors' apartments at 41 Wesrt Twenty-seventh street...formerly kept a saloon" at 177th Street and Third Avenue.  

Typical of the Berwyck Hotel's residents was stock broker William G. Street, of Street & Norton, who moved in in 1897.  He held memberships to exclusive clubs like the Manhattan, Lambs, Metropolitan, Union, Lotos and Knickerbocker Clubs, among others.  

George B. Hulme, too, reflected the social prominence of the tenants.  A director in the Insurance Exchange, in 1899 The New York Times referred to his "famous string of coach horses."  His thoroughbreds routinely participated in the fashionable New York Horse Show.

On June 17, 1899 the Record & Guide reported that "W[illiam W.] Renwick, late of the firm of Renwick, Aspinwall & Owen, has opened an office at Nos. 39 and 41 West 27th st."  It was possibly at this time that Renwick took over management of the property.

Less visible in society than Street and Hulme, although no less wealthy, was Francis N. Zabriskie.  A graduate of Princeton University, The Times said he "had no profession, but lived the life of a gentleman of leisure."  His family's estate had earlier been purchased by the city to become part of Claremont Park.  Although he had studied medicine at the College of Physicians and Surgeons, "he soon grew tired of serious work and became a man about town."  

The term was a bit unfair.  Zabriskie's brother described him as "a very reticent and quiet young man."  Rather than society dinners and dances, he preferred the theater and athletics.  His Beverwyck apartment was filled with "a lot of fishing rods, a double-barreled shotgun, tennis rackets, and other sporting implements."  He was most often seen with his closest friend, Edward Madden.

In 1901 the 27-year-old somehow met Lillian B. Robinson, the widow of a wealthy Chicago tailor.  She reportedly was in New York to visit relatives and was staying uptown.  Before long Zabriskie became "devoted" to the attractive woman who spurned his attentions.

Lillian Robinson's rejection was nearly too much for the young man to handle.  The New York Times reported that at one point he was "on the verge of killing himself on account of her neglect of him."  His serious depression increased when he read the newspapers on March 23, 1901.  The Times began an article saying "Mystery surrounds the death of a woman, supposed to be Mrs. Lillian B. Robinson, who was found dead in bed yesterday morning."  The 28-year old had poisoned herself.

Zabriskie became, as reported in the New-York Tribune, "sullen and despondent."  And so on Saturday night, March 31, Edward Madden arranged an outing to Koster & Bial's Music Hall with two women to help his friend forget his troubles.  But instead, as the performance went on his mood worsened.  "When he left the party the others noticed that he was in a wildly nervous condition," said the newspaper.

The following afternoon Zabriskie briefly left the Beverwyck, then "hastened to his rooms," on his return.  At 5:15 Madden dropped by to check on him.  "A minute later he rushed out, and the elevator man heard him cry: 'Frank's killed himself.  Get a doctor.'"

The body of Frank Zabriskie was on the bed, fully clothed, with two bullet wounds to his chest.  A .32-calibre revolver was on the floor.

On March 31, 1902 William G. Street rode his saddle horse out of Durland's Riding Academy for a ride on the bridle path in Central Park.  He was joined by Thomas Maddigan and, according to the New-York Tribune, "They were going at a brisk trot and apparently did not make an effort to slacken the speed of their steeds when taking the sharp turn at Sixty-sixth st."  

A few blocks north, at 72nd Street, Policeman Holtzki of the park squad saw a riderless horse cantering long the path and caught its bridle.  Investigating, he discovered Maddigan bent over Street, who had been thrown from the horse.  The New-York Tribune reported "The broker's head was bleeding from a jagged wound, and there were severe bruises about his body."  Street's injuries were more serious than they first appeared.  His skull was fractured at the base of the neck.  "The surgeons gave up all hope."

Also living here at the time was famed society and theatrical photographer Otto Sarony.  The son of equally-famous photographer Napoleon Sarony, he was known popularly as Sarony the Younger.  He was responsible for the portraits of celebrities like Evelyn Nesbit, Richard Bennett, Clara Blandick, and other stage stars.  Sarony, as well, made portraits of popular athletes, which he presented to the Palisade Club House for its walls.  In 1903 he contracted pneumonia while living in the Beverwyck, and died at the age of 53 in St. Joseph's Hospital on September 13.

Sarony captured this image of the beautiful Evelyn Nesbitt in 1901.  image via http://evenesbitworld.tumblr.com/

On November 2, 1904 the New-York Daily Tribune reported that William W. Renwick had leased the Beverwyck Hotel to Barry & McLaughlin.  The ten-year lease amounted to $140,000--more than $4 million today.

The operators soon made renovations.  In August 1906 they hired architect Henry H. Holly to redo interior walls and install a skylight.  It was a convenient relationship, since Holly had his office in the building.  He was, incidentally, the architect of Thomas Edison's New Jersey estate, Glenmont, as well as his West Orange laboratory.

Wealthy men dealing with marital discord often found refuge in their men's clubs or in bachelor hotels.  Such was the case  when, in 1909, wealthy James Nicholson Gallatin moved into the Beverwyck Hotel.

Two years earlier, on February 1, 1907, the Utica Herald-Dispatch had reported that "Jack Gallatin will wed again."  His intended bride was Ida Robinson Adams.

The 28-year old Gallatin was the great-grandson of Albert Gallatin, Secretary of the Treasury under Thomas Jefferson, and founder of the Gallatin National Bank.  But he came with a darker, more recent notoriety.  His father was "Al" Adams, known as the "Policy King," an infamous gangster.

The Utica Herald-Dispatch reminded its readers "He gained much notoriety in 1902 when he proposed marriage to Miss Pauline M. Cory while automobile riding in the rain," said the newspaper.  "The couple quarreled while on their wedding trip in Europe and separated."  They divorced in 1904.

When Elizabeth sued for separation based on non-support, James, known popularly as "Jack," fired off a shocking response.  The Evening Telegram reported "In his answer to his wife's complaint Gallatin...declares that his wife had been an excessive drinker and that many times she had struck and beaten him.  One one occasion, he declares, she forced him to accompany her to the theatre while she was wearing a pink wrapper."  (A "wrapper" was the loose robe-type garment women wore in the mornings before dressing.)

Then, on January 2, 1910, the New-York Daily Tribune reported that Gallatin, whose "answer was quite sensational in its charges," had retracted his response.  "I now realize that my action was hasty and unpardonable...and I wish to withdraw them all absolutely."  The article went on "Mrs. Gallatin said yesterday at her apartments, No. 39 East 27th street, that she separation suit would go on.  Her husband, who lives at No. 39 West 27th street said that so far as he was concerned, Mrs. Gallatin could do as she pleased."

Another married man who took harbor here was Charles T. Nightingale, president of a bottle-making company on Church Street.  Early in 1912 he found romance in another woman and went to extreme measures to prompt his wife, Ella, to divorce him.  She later explained that he did so by "continually flaunting in my face his love for one Nellie Callahan, an actress; burning sulphur in the apartment almost continually undermining my health; refusing to take any meals in the apartment and refusing to speak to me in any way or manner except through servants or by means of cardboard."

Finally it was Nightingale, not his wife who left their West 58th Street home.  Although he wanted to be rid of her, when she involved the courts by filing suit sued for separation he was incensed.

Around June 10 their son, Charles, Jr. warned her "My father sent me to tell you that unless you settle this matter without any court or lawyer he will throw up everything and you won't get a cent."  Ella took preemptive actions.

On June 12 Deputy Sheriff Metzger arrived to take Nightingale away.  Instead, he was met at the apartment door by a "physician" who said his patient was too ill to leave.  The Sun reported, however, that "Just then Metzger, who was standing in the hallway of the apartment, heard a voice down the hall say 'Bring me some strawberry ice cream.'  Metzger trailed the voice and asked the man behind it if he was Nightingale."  Indeed, he was, and instead of ice cream Nightingale got handcuffs.

By the following year there were females living in the Beverwyck Hotel.  A small fire broke out under the basement staircase on May 4, 1913.  It did little damage, but gave fodder to a sarcastic story in The Evening World the following day.

The article said the fire "scared some of the guests, caused a display of the latest styles in night clothes, kept Battalion Chief Ross and the men of his command busy for five minutes, and did practically no property damage."

Residents smelled smoke and, looking out their windows, saw the fire equipment.   They streamed out of the hotel in whatever they were wearing--a singular violation of Edwardian decorum.  "One of them had apparently been bathing; anyway his most important garment was a bathtowel.  The noise the men made as they trooped downstairs woke several women.  Some had time to put on slippers and kimonos and some did not."  When they were told there was no longer any danger, they all rushed back to their apartments.  "They did not scurry so fast, however, but that interested observers had time to learn that the night shirts are now gaining in favor over pajamas."

Henry H. Holly still operated his architectural office from the building in 1914, as did architect Edward Bernard Kinsila.  When the city ordered the owners to remove "encroachments" that year, Holly was hired to make the renovations.

Examples of encroachments at the time included stoops and projecting porticoes, for instance.  It may be that Renwin, Aspenwall & Renwick had originally included bay windows at street level.  Their removal would explain that rather hum-drum appearance of the lower portion of the structure today.

Although the once-fashionable neighborhood was becoming less so as well-to-do citizens moved further northward, the Beverwyck still maintained a high-class tenant list.  Still living here in 1914 was wealthy paper goods manufacturer F. Joseph Vernon.  He had been born on what The Sun called "the old Vernon homestead" in Brooklyn, which engulfed an entire city block.  Another resident was well-respected Dr. Samuel Wesley Smith, formerly the "State Commissioner in Lunacy."

The New York Herald, February 20, 1921 (copyright expired)

On February 20, 1921 The New York Herald reported that the "Apartment Hotel Beverwyck" would be auctioned.  "The house, which was recently renovated, is to be sold furnished, with immediate possession."  The New York Times added "It is a seven-story structure with stores, consisting of eighty-one rooms with a bath in each apartment."

The new owners rechristened it the Hilmont Hotel in 1926.  It was home to muralist Gordon Samstag in the late 1939 when the United States Treasury Department's Fine Arts Section awarded him the commission to execute two 4 x 15-foot murals for the new Scarsdale Post Office.  He had just recently competed a mural for the post office in Reidsville, North Carolina.

On February 27, 1940 The Herald Statesman of Yonkers, New York wrote "Scarsdale of three centuries ago, with its periwigs, Redcoats and feudal customs will be recalled today when two large mural paintings are installed in the Village Postoffice in Chase Road."  One of Samstag's paintings depicted Caleb Heathercost buying the Richbell farm, and the other was "a typical manor court scene in the early days of Scarsdale."

The Hilmont received a renovation in 1953, resulting in 11 apartments per floor, plus one in the new penthouse, unseen from the street.

Unwelcome press came to a young female resident in 1958.  According to her, on January 31 that year she had a date with a man she knew only as "John."  His full name was John Melville.

The following day the Long Island Star-Journal began an article saying "A shapely blonde and a prison record led to the quick arrest early this morning of a 30-year old Jackson Heights ex-convict."  As it turned out, the couple had hailed a cab on the East Side at 3:00 in the morning.  The cabbie dropped "the young and pretty blonde" at the Hilmont Hotel and then drove Melville to Queens.  Once there, Melville pulled out a gun and stole $30 from the driver.

Investigators traced the female back to the Hilmont.  The article noted that her name had been withheld by police "since she was not involved in the crime."  Armed only with the knowledge that the crook's name was John, they scoured records of recently-released convicts in Queens with that name.  It worked.

In 1966 the hotel became the Hotel Senton West.  A remodeling in 1973 converted the penthouse to medical offices.  It may have been at this time that the startling blue paint appeared on the stone base.  Whenever the paint job was done, it was a regrettable decision.

The Hotel Senton continues to operate within the 1891 building, one of the oldest surviving bachelor apartment structures in the city.  Its facade, the peacock blue paint notwithstanding, is remarkably intact.

photographs by the author

Faded Elegance - 17 West 27th Street

The decade before the outbreak of Civil War saw the neighborhood surrounding Madison Square fill with handsome brick-faced homes.  Among the earliest along the block of West 27th Street, between Fifth Avenue and Broadway was No. 17--a 25-foot wide townhouse in the recent Anglo-Italianate style.

The architectural style did away with the high stone stoop so expected in most rowhouses of the period.  Instead, the entrance was placed nearly at sidewalk level.  While the architect sat the window sills on small stone brackets, he cleverly executed the lintels in brick.  Given the upscale tenor of the neighborhood and the commodious size of the residence, this was almost surely a design choice and not a cost-savings step.

It does not appear that the house was ever a private home.   An advertisement on October 9, 1854 announced "No. 17 West Twenty-Seventh street, (One door west of Broadway,) has recently been opened, as a first class boarding house, by a lady who has many years experience in the business.  Rooms, single or in suites, to let, with full or partial board."

Another ad two months later noted "Gentlemen with their families or single gentlemen, can obtain good board and a pleasant home at 17 West Twenty-seventh street.  House contains all the modern improvements."

Bachelors of means depended heavily on "first-class" boarding houses.  Not only would their reputations be secure, but they were provided with home-cooked meals.  No. 17 was the sort of place where a man like the Rev. T. E. Skinner would feel at ease.

Skinner graduated from the Union Theological Seminary on May 9, 1854.  He apparently moved into the 27th Street boarding house soon after.  His comfortable financial situation was evidenced when he lost an unopened letter in October the following year.

Skinner offered a reward for return of the envelope, saying it had been lost "in Broadway, between Eighteenth and Nineteenth streets" and "probably contained a draft or certificate of deposit for one thousand dollars, to my order."  That amount would equal nearly $30,000 today.  He gave a slightly veiled warning to anyone who might consider cashing the note.  "The community are cautioned against receiving the draft or certificate without my endorsement."

The reverend was not the only boarder who had trouble holding on to things.  On October 8, 1859 an unnamed tenant offered a $1 reward for the return of a "pair of gold spectacles in a black moracco case" which he lost on 21st Street near Third Avenue.   And On May 15, 1863 an advertisement in The New York Herald note "Lost--An umbrella, in Broadway, marked Headly.  If returned to 17 West Twenty-seventh street the finder will be properly rewarded."

At the time of the lost umbrella No. 17 was owned and operated by Henry M. Schieffelin, who owned other property, including the large plot next door at the corner of Broadway.   Like all decorous boarding houses, No. 17 had rules and dinner here was served promptly at 6:00.  And like many other proprietors of such homes, the Schieffelins were rigid regarding their staff--including even their religion.  When they were looking for a new cook in 1855 they limited the candidates to "a Protestant."  The job description included "and to do a part of the washing and ironing."

In the spring of 1867 Henry Schieffelin updated No. 17 by redecorating and replacing the dated furnishings.  On Monday, April 22 that year an auction of the costly trapping which had been top of the line in the 1850's and '60's was held.   The auction announcement gave a clue to the lavish surroundings in which the boarders had lived.   Included were "rosewood parlor suits, in brocatel; rosewood marble top centre table, gilt frame mirrors, window curtains, velvet and Brussels carpets; rosewood, black walnut and mahogany bedsteads, bureaus, washstands, chairs."

Twelve days before the auction boarder H. A. Brown despaired over the loss of his dog.  He advertised "$5 reward will be paid for the return of a sleek Black and Tan Terrier, thirteen inches, weighs thirteen pounds; answered to 'Dash.'  The dog strayed or was stolen April 10 9 A.M."

In 1880 Schieffelin constructed the five-story brick building at No. 1158 Broadway, abutting No. 17.   Five years later it became the Technical School for Carriage Draftsmen and Mechanics (up to this time part of the Metropolitan Museum of Art).  Schieffelin leased both properties to the Gilsey family on May 1, 1887.  The Gilseys were well-known hoteliers who operated several hotels in the city.  The rent on the two buildings was a staggering $30,000 per year, about $800,000 today.

Decades of avoiding press coverage came to an end for No. 17 when Thomas M. Turner leased the entire second floor in 1893.  He had first garnered attention two years earlier during a scurrilous and highly publicized divorced trial.  Turner was a wealthy cotton goods merchant and a member of the exclusive Union Club.  The Sun described him as "a distinguished-looking man with a big auburn moustache."

At that time he was married to Emily T. Barnes, "one of the loveliest women in Brooklyn," according to The Sun.  The couple moved to Yonkers where they were "very intimate" friends of James M. Bloomfield and his wife, the former Martha E. Oliver.

But the intimacy of the two couples morphed into a more personal relationship between Turner and Martha.  The Evening World reported "Turner and Mrs. Bloomfield were together to such an extent that gossips began to talk."  Then, on June 7, 1890 Martha left the house, telling her husband to wait for her.  She never returned.

Newspapers were highly critical of her desertion, The Sun saying, for instance, "Mrs. Bloomfield seemed to have lost her affection for her children...and we have evidence that she left Yonkers that evening with this man Turned, and has lived with him ever since."

James Bloomfield filed for divorce.  Before the trial began Emily Turner did the same and fled to Italy to avoid the publicity.  During the proceedings Martha and Turner sat side by side while damning testimonies told of their affair.  (Included was the story of the couple's trip to the Bershire Hills with Martha disguised as a man.)   "Mrs. Bloomfield laughed and chatted with Mr. Turner, who sat at her elbow, and smiled at points in the evidence which were most damaging to her," reported The Sun on March 4, 1891.

Having lost her husband, home and children, Martha lost her paramour as well.   When he moved into No. 17 he did so without her.   And on Wednesday November 15, 1893 The Evening World ran a front-page headline which read "Turner Weds Again" and said his marriage to Maude May "caused something of a sensation among clubmen, men about town, and others."  The article reminded its readers "Mr. Turner is known better as a man about town who attained considerable notoriety a couple of years ago as correspondent in the noted Bloomfield divorce suit."

At the time the neighborhood had changed.  The entertainment district had overtaken 23rd Street and No. 17 sat squarely within what was popularly known as the Tenderloin District.  Vice within its gambling dens and saloons went unchecked as police officials grew wealthy on bribes and graft.  Among those attempting to expose the crime and corruption was investigative reporter Nellie Bly, who exposed, for instance, the illegal saloon nearby at No. 17 West 24th Street in 1891.

But her connection to No. 17 West 27th Street had nothing to do with her own investigations.  In 1895 the 31-year old reporter married the wealthy owner of the Iron Clad Manufacturing Co., Robert Seaman, who was 73.  He soon convinced himself that his young wife was cheating.

Seaman hired private detectives to spy on his wife and her supposed lovers.  One of them was James Metcalfe, who lived at No. 17 West 27th Street.  John M. Hanley's fee for "investigating the actions and conduct of one James Metcalfe" was $250, more than $7,500 in today's dollars.  Perhaps because Hanley was unable to dig up any incriminating evidence, his employer decided not to pay.

In November 1898 Hanley sued for that amount plus the other unpaid fees, amounting to $1,265 over the $1,000 retainer he had received.  Competitors to the New York World, Bly's employer, had a field day.  The Sun ran the headline "He Spied On Nellie Bly / Shadow Says Her Husband Hired Him To Do It."

The changes in the neighborhood were evidenced in 1907 when the ground floor was converted to a saloon for G. Hector Clemes and John H. O'Brien, "for many years associated with the Wilson Distilling Company," according to the New-York Tribune on March 26.  The partners' new venture fell flat, however.  A year later in July Clemes & O'Brien declared bankruptcy.

The space soon became The Old Crow Restaurant.   It was still doing business in February 1918 when restaurant owners Anrig & Agoston made a deal to combine the ground floors of No. 17 and No. 1158 Broadway.  The Sun reported Anrig & Agoston "will make extensive alterations and use the combined premises for their business."

Charles Rubin leased the upper floors of No. 17 in May the following year.  The nature of Rubin's business was not reported at the time; but it became obvious before too much longer.

On November 18, 1918 the Government had passed the temporary Wartime Prohibition Act.  It outlawed the sale of alcoholic beverages with an alcohol content of more than 1.28 percent.  The intention was to control grain consumption for the war effort.  It took effect on June 30, 1919, the month after Rubin signed his lease.

On January 13, 1920 The Sun reported that Charles Rubin and his two sons "were arrested yesterday afternoon and held on a charge of violating the war prohibition law."

The Wartime Prohibition Act was quickly following by the Volstead Act, which established permanent Prohibition.  Rubin found himself in hot water again that year.   On October 21 the New-York Tribune reported he had pleaded guilty "to selling whisky" and was sentenced to ten days' imprisonment.

By mid-century No. 17 was the last relic of the 1850's on the block.  Hemmed in by commercial buildings, it provided little hint of its high-class beginnings.  The space once home to the Old Crow Restaurant was, somewhat ironically, the Old Raven Restaurant in 1973 when it was slapped with Health Code violations.

As the district began to turn around, the ground floor became Mr. Leo's Southern Cuisine soul food restaurant by 1984, a destination spot were patrons could order cream-of-collard soup, crab cakes, spareribs and candied shrimp with macaroni and cheese.

Mr. Leo's was owned and operated by Leo Collins, who also owned a nearby disco, Club Elite, at No. 208 West 23rd Street.   On Christmas night, 1993, Collins closed up and headed to his apartment complex in the Bronx.  He was attacked and shot three times in his hallway at 4:30 a.m. in what appeared to be a botched robbery attempt.  Although he managed to crawl into his apartment and call for help, he died of his injuries.

The tragedy was the beginning of the end of the restaurant.  On March 14, 1994 New York Magazine noted "soul-food zealots made Mr. Leo their midtown haunt, though it's lost its edge, they say, since owner Leo Collins was murdered."

About five years later an unflattering brick veneer covered the old storefront, leaving only the old pressed cornice as a reminder.  Today a discount perfume store operates in the space.  The brick of the upper floors has been painted a barn red with black trim, successfully disguising the august beginnings of the once-proud house.

photographs by the author