The 1923 Bowery Savings Bank Building - 110 East 42nd Street

 

photo by Epicgenius

Chartered in 1834, the Bowery Savings Bank was named after the street upon which its building stood.  As the turn of the century approached, the bank was highly successful and in 1893-95 erected a grand Roman-inspired building at 130 Bowery designed by McKim, Mead & White.  Its jaw-dropping banking room was based on the Basilica of Constantine in Rome.

When the new bank building opened, the Grand Union Hotel had stood on 42nd Street across from Grand Central Depot since 1869.  The hotel was torn down in 1916 and the massive lot sat vacant until 1920, when York & Sawyer filled the southwest corner of 42nd Street and Park Avenue with the Pershing Square Building.  The following year, the firm would be hired by the Bowery Savings Bank to design its new headquarters next door.

On March 12, 1922, The New York Times reported, "Work on the new fourteen-story building which the Bowery Savings Bank is erecting on part of the old Grand Union Hotel plot at Forty-second Street and Park Avenue, to be used as an uptown branch of the bank, is progressing."  York & Sawyer had put W. Louis Ayres in charge of the design.  The Times said, "The exterior of the building is of Italian Romanesque style and built of variegated Ohio sandstone."  The New York City Guide would later note, "Among the symbols represented in the rich architectural detail of the building are the bull and bear of Wall Street, the lion for power, rooster for punctuality, and the squirrel for thrift." 

The Architect, October, 1923 (copyright expired)

The New York Times reported, "The banking room will be one of the largest used by a savings bank in New York."  Indeed, it soared 44 feet upward, and (like the 130 Bowery banking room) was basilica-like.  In its July 1923 issue, The Savings Bank Journal called it, "easily the most sumptuous of its kind in the country."  Twenty-five-foot tall polished marble columns, depending on their colors, were imported from France, Italy, Greece, and Belgium.  The intricate marble mosaic floors and beamed ceiling were illuminated by six bronze chandeliers inspired, according to architectural critic William P. Comstock, by "the hanging lamps of S. Sophia which are somewhat similar in general effect."

Two views of the banking room.  Architecture & Building, January 1923 (copyright expired)

William P. Comstock, the editor of The Architect, felt Ayres may have gone a step too far, however.  In the magazine's December 1923 issue, he called the banking room "sumptuous," but said, "I kept experiencing a strange feeling that I was not properly dressed.  I kept expecting to hear a blare of trumpets and see Charlemagne borne in on a portable throne."

Architecture & Building, January 1923 (copyright expired)

The glass mosaic ceiling in the office corridor was created by Heinighe & Smith.  Ayres's chandeliers (top) have been replaced.  bottom photograph by Elisa.rolle.

The building was completed early in the summer of 1923.  Moving the bank's assets would be a tricky maneuver.  On June 24, The New York Times reported, "Fourteen armored motor cars, with portholes bristling with sub-machine guns, followed each other in rapid succession yesterday afternoon through the crowded streets of Manhattan, transferring $202,000,000 in negotiable securities from the old to the new home of the Bowery Savings Bank."  More than 100 police were used to clear the route as the armored cars--timed at five minute intervals--moved uptown.

William E. Knox had much to be proud of in the new building.  Hired as a clerk in 1887, he was elected president of the bank in March 1922.  He had pushed hard for an uptown branch and in reporting on his new position on March 14, 1922, The New York Times said he "is about to see his efforts realized."

Knox's vision proved a shrewd one.  On April 4, 1924, The New York Times reported that in the nine months the 42nd Street branch had been opened, deposits had increased by $25 million.

Two years later, three bank tellers were arrested for embezzling about $45,000 "over a considerable period," according to The New York Times.  The amount would translate to three quarters of a million dollars in 2024.  The trio used the money for betting on horse racing over a period of months, assuming that they would win enough to replace the funds and enjoy their winnings.  When they realized they were in too deep, one teller, 31-year-old C. Russell Morton, fled to Canada.  But then, stricken with remorse, he returned to New York and confessed to William Knox.

On November 8, Morton recounted his story to the district attorney in his eighth-floor office on Centre Street.  Morton then rushed to a window, crashing through it.  He was caught around the ankles by detectives.  The New York Times reported, "His watch and other things that he had in his pocket fell with the broken window glass to the sidewalk.  The gathering crowd below, attracted by the fall of glass, saw Morton's body nearly three-quarters out of the window."  He was pulled back in and the following day he and his cohorts were indicted.

Although the incident was embarrassing to the bank, no damage was done to its reputation and depositors were not affected.  Nonetheless, it weighed heavily on William E. Knox's mind.  Three months later, on February 4, 1927, Knox went about his business seemingly as usual.  That evening he was to be the guest of honor at a dinner at the Union League Club.

On the third floor was a "resting room" where executives slept when working late at night.  At around 1:30 that afternoon, Knox said he was going there to take an hour's rest and that he did not want to be disturbed.  About 20 minutes later, Walter E. Frew, president of the Corn Exchange Bank telephoned for Knox.  An attendant went upstairs, knocked on the door and told Knox about the call.  "I'll come immediately," was the response.  When he did not come down, the bank's secretary Percy G. Delamater, went up.  He found Knox dead with a bullet wound through his heart.

In August 1931, the Bowery Savings Bank brought York & Sawyer back to design a five-story addition to the east.  The New York Times reported, "The cost was estimated at $650,000."  

The New York Times published York & Sawyer's rendering of the addition on August 16, 1931.

Called "the chapel," the four-story addition followed Ayres's original design with matching stone and Italian Romanesque arcades.

In 1946, the Bowery Savings Bank made a step forward in gender equality.  On November 14, The New York Times reported, "The Bowery Savings Bank, for the first time in its 112-year history, has promoted two women to officers' posts...Miss Hilda M. Hoffman and Miss Myrtle M. Hunt, both principal executive assistants, were named assistant secretaries."

Joan Dugan was 23-years-old in 1968 and worked as a teller here.  On April 30, a young man "wearing a black fedora with a red feather in the band," walked up to Dugan's window and passed a note:

This is a stickup.  Don't be a hero or I'll start shooting.  Put all your hundreds, fifties, twenties and tens in an envelope quickly and quietly.

Dugan did as the note demanded, but she also pressed an alarm button.  Douglas DeWitt Boyce ran out of the bank and down the subway stairs with two bank guards on his heels.  The guards yelled at two Transit Authority detectives, "Stop that man!"  Boyce (who, incidentally, did not have a gun) was apprehended and taken back to the bank for identification.  He told Joan Dugan, "I'm sorry I did this.  I didn't mean to scare you."

photo by Jim Henderson

A much less heroic guard was Charles Harper, hired in 1969.  For two and a half years, he "had a reputation for going out of his way to assist blind customers with their deposit and withdrawal slips," according to The New York Times on October 13, 1972.  Among those customers was Juliette Silvers.  On October 3, she made a deposit and Harper confirmed that her balance was $2,857.  She wrote the figure down in Braille. 

A week later she returned.  Harper was not working that day so another guard helped her.  He told her her balance was $169.65.  An investigation revealed that Harper had been withdrawing funds from the accounts of blind customers.  He was arrested on October 12.

In 1990, the Bowery Savings Bank was acquired by H. F. Ahmanson & Co.  The Greenpoint Bank moved into the banking spaces in 1995, and in March 1998 S. L. Greene purchased the building.  Speaking of the banking room, which the Greenpoint Savings Bank would be vacating later that year, he was quoted by The New York Times journalist John Holusha on March 29, "The place has an old world charm; there is nothing like it in New York."

The space was purchased (the building was now operated as a condominium) by Arrigo Cipriani, whose family already operated several restaurants, including the one in the Sherry-Netherlands hotel and the Rainbow Room in Rockefeller Center.  In reporting on Cipriani's plans, The New York Times architectural columnist David W. Dunlap commented, 

Lofty as the ceiling may be, it is almost impossible to take one's eyes off the floor, a mosaic expanse of marble that looks as if dozens of carpets had been laid edge to edge, with vivid, interwoven patterns of diamonds, circles, hexagons and stars.

image via cipriani.com

Because both the banking room and the exterior of the Bowery Savings Bank building were designated individual New York City Landmarks in 1993, the building that the Works Progress Administration's 1939 New York City Guide described as "the masterpiece of York and Sawyer," survives wonderfully intact.

no permission to reuse the content of this blog has been granted to LaptrinhX.com

The Lost West Presbyterian Church - 29 West 42nd Street

from Valentine's Manual of Old New York, No.4, 1920 (copyright expired)

The West Presbyterian Church was organized in 1829 and incorporated in 1831, an outgrowth of the former North Church.  That year construction began on its handsome Greek Revival style building on Carmine Street, designed by Town & Davis.  Three decades of growth forced the congregation out of that structure, and in 1860 pastor Rev. Thomas S. Hastings moved the congregation into the chapel of the Rutgers Female Institute on West 42nd Street, between Fifth and Sixth Avenues.

The trustees hired British-born architect Jacob Wrey Mould to design a replacement structure on the site facing Bryant Park.  (Interestingly, Mould was simultaneously designing the Church of the Holy Trinity, just one block to the east.)  Credited with introducing the Victorian Gothic style to New York City, the architect had a full plate at the time.  He was also working with Calvert Vaux and Frederick Law Olmstead in designing elements of Central Park, and in 1857 had been appointed assistant city architect.

The new church was dedicated on April 30, 1865.  The New York Times described it as "a noteworthy addition to the church architecture of this city."  Patently Mould, the brick and stone structure erupted in shapes and angles.  The centered Gothic arched, story-and-a-half portico sat upon Victorian Gothic columns.  A six-sided steeple sat upon the tower to the west of the entrance, and a pyramidal roof over the sanctuary sat above stained glass panels that admitted extra light to the interior.

On December 11, 1865 the church was "the scene of an interesting musical entertainment; the occasion being the exhibition of a new and very beautiful organ, just completed for the edifice by Mr. L. U. Stuart," according to The New York Times.  Jacob Wrey Mould's design presented a challenge for Stuart.  "The instrument has been built on a novel plan, necessitated by the architectural requirements of the building...the great organ and swell divided by a space of some 60 feet, and manual in the center between the two."

from the collection of the New-York Historical Society

After serving West Presbyterian for a quarter of a century, in 1881 Rev. Thomas Samuel Hastings stepped down to join the faculty of the Union Theological Seminary.  A hint of things to come appeared in The New York Times on January 23, 1882, when an article reported, "The Rev. John R. Paxton, of Washington D. C., delivered a sermon in the West Presbyterian Church, yesterday morning.  The church was crowded.  He spoke with fervor and in an impassioned manner."

Paxton was being wooed by the congregation to replace Hastings.  On February 13 The New York Times reported that his Washington congregation had begrudgingly withdrawn its refusal to accept his resignation.  The fiery preacher officially accepted the position as West Presbyterian Church's new pastor.

In 1884, Jacob Wrey Mould's interiors were given a massive redecoration by architect J. C. Cady.  On May 24 The Real Estate Record & Guide reported that the "extensive changes and improvements" would be completed by October.  

In the balcony will be placed a number of boxes, each of which will be provided with seats for eight persons, something after the style of the boxes in the Madison Square Theatre.  The choir, which now occupies a gallery above the pulpit, will be brought down to a level with the platform.  The church will be entirely-reupholstered and other minor changes will be made.

The renovations did not come cheaply, costing the congregation $60,000--more than $1.6 million today.  Near the end of Rev. Paxton's Thanksgiving Day sermon that year, he turned to "the evil of church debts."  If congregants expected that he was about to press them for donations, they would be happily surprised.  He read a letter from the treasurer which said the entire $60,000 debt had been paid anonymously.  "I do not know whether the sum was paid by one man or by several," he said, "but we can thank God that we have such generous, modest, and noble manhood among us.  I could propose three rousing cheers, but I mustn't.  I can only say, thank God."

The wealthy congregants earned West Presbyterian Church the nickname, the "Millionaire's Gate to Heaven."  The Record & Guide would later comment, "The wealth of its members was said to be $750,000,000."  

Among them were the Jay Goulds.  Unlike her financier husband, frequently decried as unscrupulous at best, Helen Miller Gould was known only for her philanthropies and kindness.  In 1887 she suffered a massive stroke, which left her paralyzed and unable to speak.  On January 15, 1889 The Patterson Morning Call began an article saying, "Mrs. Jay Gould, beloved by the large circle of friends in which she moved for her kindly manners and benevolences of heart, has at least found relief from the living death which she has endured so long."

Although her funeral was not held in the church, as some expected, but in the Gould mansion at 579 Fifth Avenue, it was officiated by Rev. Paxton, and a quartet from the church's choir sang.

An impressive funeral that did take place in the church was that of Civil War General Henry A. Barnum on February 1, 1892.  A military procession accompanied the casket from the Barnum home to the church.  "The coffin was placed on a caisson drawn by four horses," reported The New York Times.  "It was covered with the Stars and Stripes and on it were the hat and sword belonging to the dead officer."

The church was filled with millionaire mourners, like John D. Crimmins, Daniel Appleton, H. W. Dodge, Elliott F. Shepard and Lispenard Stewart, as well scores of high ranking officers and veterans.  Among the honorary pallbearers were Generals Fitz John Porter, Daniel E. Sickles, M. T. McMahon, Daniel Butterfield, and W. D. Whipple.

At the time of the funeral, storm clouds were about to form within the West Presbyterian Church.   The devastating Financial Panic of 1893 caused Rev. Paxton, never afraid to speak his mind from the pulpit, to become more outspoken about massive personal wealth.  It was a dangerous stance for the pastor of a millionaire congregation.

The Call, December 4, 1893

On December 2, 1893 The New York Times wrote, "Unless the white-winged dove of peace performs some extraordinary serial maneuver, there is a lively time ahead for the Paxtonites and the anti-Paxtonites in the West Presbyterian Church."  The faction the newspaper called the anti-Paxtonites was headed by Russell Sage and E. C. Van Glahn.  The article explained:

They say that although Mr. Sage has been sitting quietly in a front pew in the West Presbyterian church for many years with a look of rapt and benevolent interest on his countenance, drinking in with seeming unctuous approval the vigorous sermons of Dr. Paxton against miserly rich men, he has, in realty, been storing up a choice lot of opinions about vigorous sermons in general and about Dr. Paxton's in particular.

Rev. John R. Paxton resigned and promptly disappeared.  Then, on December 4 The Call reported, "Rev. John R. Paxton, pastor of the wealthy and aristocratic West church congregation of New York, who was reported missing for several days, was found by a representative of the Pittsburgh Dispatch last night at the residence of his wife's sister."  Paxton's interview with the reporter revealed his acrimony.  He said in part, "there never was and never will be any shame connected with 'Johnnie' Paxton's name...And now this young little kid of a clerk--this Van Glahn--he stands up in the West Presbyterian church and couples my name with 'shame.'"

The newspaper then quoted him as making an outrageous and shocking pronouncement.  "If I ever do go back to New York, it will be to kill one or two people.  Young Van Glahn--as for him, I'll cut his ears off."  And as for Russell Sage, who had said his sermons were not as good as they had been, Paxton said, "Now, what does he know about it?  With his deafness he couldn't have hard them.  I doubt if he could hear Gabriel's trumpet.  I know he will not want to hear it."

Reaction, as would be expected, was momentous.  The following day The New York Times reported, "The sensational statements accredited to Dr. John R. Paxton of New-York by a Pittsburg Sunday paper, and copied by this morning's papers, are absolutely without foundation."  A nephew of Paxton (who said the minister was too ill to leave his room) explained, "The main points of the interview are substantially correct, but the language is distorted and exaggerated.  My uncle never said that if he went back to New-York it would only be to kill somebody."  He also refuted the "epithets" against Van Glahn and Sage.

The ugly severance of the pastor and congregation most likely contributed to the difficulty in finding a replacement.  On March 18, 1894 The New York Times reported that a committee that included Russell Sage had twice offered the position to the Rev. Dr. Maltbie D. Babcock with a salary of $10,000 (about $310,000 today).  The minister told the reporter, "on both occasions when such overtures were made I thought proper, after careful and prayerful consideration of the matter, to decline."

A year later the situation was the same.  On June 3, 1895 a Springfield, Massachusetts newspaper reported, "A letter from Dr. [Philip] Moxom stating that he had declined the call to the West Presbyterian Church in New-York City was read in the South Church pulpit this morning."

Finally, in October 1895 the church found a new pastor in Rev. Anthony Harrison Evans.  The New York Times declared that after being "practically without a pastor of its own for nearly two years," West Presbyterian Church "has entered upon a new chapter of its existence."

The New York Times, October 3, 1895 (copyright expired)

But the relationship between the 33-year-old Evans, whom The New York Times described as "quiet, unassuming, and a trifle nervous," and his new congregation would be a rocky one.  Four years later, on March 14, 1899, The New York Times reported he "made no attempt at theatrical delivery.  He did not 'set off fireworks,' in the pulpit.  His sermons, though earnest and enthusiastic, well-delivered and thoroughly pleasing to many of this congregation, were apparently not showy enough to suit many of those who held expensive pews."  Among the dissatisfied was, once again, Russell Sage (who held the $45,000 mortgage on the building).

Evans tendered his resignation in March, 1899, but then was convinced to stay.  The decision did not sit well with Russell Sage and he and the entire Board of Trustees, with the exception of two, resigned within two months.  If Sage expected the congregation to beg him to return, it was not going to happen.

By the beginning of October that year, the church's debts had been paid and things were going well.  On October 9 an article in The New York Times quoted a new trustee who said, "I do not know whether Russell Sage has left us for good; he hasn't attended the services so far this Fall.  Under the new management everything is progressing satisfactorily, and the greatest harmony and good feeling prevail."

Commerce had begun creeping onto the block when this photograph was taken at the last of the 19th century.  from the collection of the New-York Historical Society

The first decade of the 20th century saw great change in the 42nd Street neighborhood.  West Presbyterian Church merged with the Park Presbyterian church early in 1911.  On April 1, the Record & Guide reported that West Presbyterian Church had sold its property to Frederick G. Bourne, a director in the Aeolian Co. for $1.1 million--more than 30 times that much in today's money.  "A 16-story building is to take its place, at a cost of $1,500,000," said the article.  The Evening World recalled that over the years the church's members had included millionaires "Russell Sage, Jay Gould, J. Hood Wright, Alfred H. Smith, E. Francis Hyde, Seth Thomas, H. M. Flagler, Robert Jaffray, and a score of other wealthy men."

photo by Wurts Bros. from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York

The new Aeolian Building, designed by Warren & Wetmore was completed in 1920.  It survives as The State University of New York's College of Optometry.

LaptrinhX.com has no authorization to reuse the content of this blog

The Lost Murray Hill Baths - 113 West 42nd Street

Russian and Turkish "vapor baths" had been fashionable for several decades by 1890.  Unlike the city-owned Free Public Baths which teemed with tenement dwellers who had no means of bathing at home, the Russian and Turkish baths catered to middle- and upper-class patrons.   The Murray Hill Bath Co. was organized that year to create another lavish facility and a site was procured on West 42nd Street, between Broadway and Sixth Avenue.

In January 1891 architect Thomas H. Poole filed plans for the five-story iron-fronted structure.  The cost of constructing the 24-foot-wide building was projected at $85,000--about $2.45 million today.  He designed the facade in a fanciful combination of Tudor Revival and Flemish Renaissance Revival.  The windows contained "cathedral stained-glass in well-blended colors."

Real Estate Record & Guide, December 30, 1890 (copyright expired)

Upon its completion in the spring of 1892, the Record & Guide said "it is doubtful whether these baths are surpassed not only in this country but in Europe."  In order to attract "first-class patronage," the proprietors used only the best materials inside--fine hardwoods, inlaid marble mosaic floors, and Turkish rugs.

The Real Estate Record & Guide, June 11, 1892 (copyright expired)

Patrons entered into the Reception Room, outfitted as a sort of reading room.  Newspapers, railway guides, and paper and pens for writing were supplied, and in one corner was a stock indicator.  Beyond that was the Hot Room, a "gem of richness and elegance," according to the Record & Guide.  It said, "In its appointments it has not its peer in New York City.  The floors are tiled.  Magnificent Turkish rugs of brilliant colors are spread under the feet of the bathers, and luxurious reclining chairs are provided."

The Real Estate Record & Guide, June 11, 1892 (copyright expired)

After a period in the Hot Room, the patrons moved on to the Plunge Room.  Here a 51-foot long swimming pool sat within luxurious surroundings--mosaic floors and walls, and a "decorated in relief in a design of wreaths and festoons."  Off the Plunge Room were the several shampooing rooms.  There were, as well, cooling and drying rooms, a toilet-room, and "needle and spray showers."

Because the patrons were all well-to-do businessmen, the Record & Guide noted, "A novel feature of value is the long and short distance telephone, which can be used by bathers during the bath, thus enabling them to communicate with their offices, homes and business connections, while telegraph and messenger services are also at hand."

The Dressing Rooms were on the second floor, with wood paneling, two lighting fixtures in the form of full-size Venetian figures holding lamps, and "resting-couches."  Also on this floor were the café and barber shop ("with chiropodist and manicure on hand when desired"), and the Divan Rooms.  The private Divan Rooms contained couches "luxuriously upholstered in rich velvets."  The Record & Guide explained, "They are intended to be used for those who desire privacy, and are laid out to suit one, two or three persons."

The Hot Room  Real Estate Record & Guide, June 11, 1892 (copyright expired)

The third floor contained 24 "sleeping rooms" which could be rented by bathers who desired a few hours rest; or by transients for longer periods.  The top floor was the "summer room" where bathers, "after being thoroughly restored to a normal heat," could cool off on a hot summer's day.

A horrific accident occurred in the plunge room on July 6, 1893.  Alpheus R. Geer and his wife lived in Garfield, New Jersey.  He had a business there, and was also involved in Van Vorst & Co., hay and grain dealers on West 34th Street.  He and a friend, Frederick Schemmerhorn, walked into the plunge room at around 2:00 that morning.  The Sun reported, "Mr. Geer, who was a fine athlete, poised himself upon the edge of the bath and turned a double somersault into the water, which was above five feet in depth."  The 29-year-old struck his head on the bottom of the pool and he did not resurface.

Attendants and Schemmerhorn all dived in.  He was still conscious when he was removed from the pool, but was paralyzed from the waist down.  The Geer family physician was called, who diagnosed severe spinal cord injuries.  He had the young man moved to the St. James Hotel where his condition deteriorated and he died three days later.

Not surprisingly, given the times, the Murray Hill Baths and similar establishments were all-white domains.  On June  16, 1895, in an early example of peaceful equal rights demonstrations, three Blacks tested the bill Governor Levi P. Morton had signed the day before which said in part, "the discrimination against any person in the matter of service at a hotel, restaurant, theatre, barber shop, or Turkish bath renders the waiter or attendant guilty of a misdemeanor."  

The trio, described by The Sun as "good-looking, well-dressed, gentlemanly and reputable citizens," went from one high-end establishment to another, simply to test the waters.  The article said, "Delmonico's, the Bartholdi, and other first-class hotels were not too good to obey the law, and the men got what they ordered, well-cooked and well-served.  Shanley's and O'Neill's restaurants were more particular, and refused to serve the colored visitors, and if Mr. Anderson and his friends choose to push the matter, this policy may prove a costly one to them."

They were not well-received at the Turkish baths.  The Sun reported, "'All full' was the word passed out at Everard's baths and at the Murray Hill baths after a consultation.  

Upscale establishments sought to avoid bad press, but that became unavoidable for the Murray Hill Baths in 1897.  On staff was a "rubber," or masseur, named William Guldensuppe.   He was called by one newspaper, "a true Knight of the Bath, and best known among the army of rubbers."

On a Friday morning in June he left the baths and headed home to the boarding house at 439 Ninth Avenue where he had lived for a year and a half.   He never returned to work.

The boarding house was run by Mrs. Augusta Nack, "a German housewife and a married woman," according to The Evening Times.  She and her husband, Hermann, had separated two years earlier.   

Augusta Nack and William Guldensuppe had "made no attempt to conceal their illicit association," said The Evening Times.  But problems first came when Hermann Nack "threatened one day to have revenge upon Guldensuppe for winning the woman away from him."  The handsome masseur's worries were increased when a new boarder, Martin Thorn, vied for Augusta's attentions.

Guldensuppe told other masseurs that in February 1897 Thorn had drawn a pistol and tried to kill him.  Guldensuppe overpowered him and wrested the gun away.  They could not help but notice that "his body bore many black and blue marks, which told of blows of savage force."

On Monday morning, two days after Guldensuppe had left the Murray Hill Baths for the last time, Augusta Nack showed up.   She said she had received a telegram from him, asking her to tell the manager he had gone away and would not be back.  She said she assumed he "wants to go with that other woman of his."

On June 23 a trunk was discovered in the East River.  Inside were dismembered sections of a body wrapped in oilcloth.  Later, a pair of legs, similarly wrapped, were found near the Cob Dock in the Navy Yard.  Five employees of the Murray Hill Baths were called to the morgue to attempt to identify the corpse.   

"By lamplight they studied long and carefully what was left of what had been a man," said The Evening Times.  Based on "the ugly scar and the distorted nail upon the forefinger of the left hand," each one of them identified the body as that of Guldensuppe.  The murderer had taken pains to hide his identity.  Not only had he been decapitated, but a large section of flesh had been cut from the chest.  Guldensuppe had had a large tattoo there from his sailor days.

In the meantime, Augusta Nack was hurriedly packing up her things, preparing for a trip to Germany to see her mother.  She would not make the voyage.  Investigators put the pieces of the puzzle together.  When all the facts came to light, it was discovered that Mrs. Nack and Martin Thorn had murdered and dismembered Guldensuppe in a cottage in Woodside, Long Island, on June 23.

The Sun reported, "Mrs. Nack was arrested a week after the murder and Thorn was caught in Harlem about a week later."  Augusta turned State's evidence, explaining that after Guldensuppe had "beaten Thorn," the latter determined to kill him.  Thorn was sent to the electric chair and August Nack was sent to the woman's prison at Auburn, New York for ten years.

In the summer of 1910 42nd Street from Park Avenue to Eighth Avenue was widened.  The Record & Guide reported "Seven and a half feet will be cut off the sidewalk on each curb."  The project resulted in the Murray Hill Baths losing its impressive box stoop which the journal had described in 1892 as "of red sandstone, profusely carved, and surmounted by two wrought-iron lamps of unique design."

The elaborate cast iron fronted building survived until 1925.  On December 30 the Tennessee newspaper The Chattanooga Times reported, "Gotham's most famous citadel of the hangover is no more.  The Murray Hill baths on Forty-second street have been ravaged, looted and knocked down under the auctioneer's hammer, even to the nude statue that stood in the foyer."

The article recalled:

It was a soothing haven for the back wash of endurance poker siestas, farewell bachelor dinners and sundry high flings of social clubs.  Men, bloated and unsteady, retired to the marble slabbed depths and were pummeled and sweated into pink of first class respectability.

The writer explained how patrons who walked through its doors had been guaranteed perfect privacy.  "No one was ever paged at the Murray Hill baths nor for an inquirer was anyone ever there.  Once one left his clothes behind he might disappear as magically as a wraith of steam in one of the cubicle parlors of perspiration."

On December 7, 1925, Time magazine reported, "Down on 42nd Street, workmen dug up the cornerstone of the old Murray Hill Baths, once known as 'The House of a Thousand Hangovers,' another landmark of a Manhattan that is vanishing.  Underneath it they found a pint of champagne, two pieces of script, old-fashioned paper money...four copper coins, and letters of patent issued to one Dwight Berry Brown in 1814 for the invention of a waterloom."  (What the patent papers had to do with the Murray Hill Baths is uncertain.)

Today a massive 55-floor Bank of America Tower building occupies the site.

photo by Chris6d

many thanks to Sean Khorsandi for prompting this post

no permission to reuse the content of this blog has been granted to LaptrinhX.com

The Lost Harmonie Club - 43-45 West 42nd Street

The garden to the right would be filled with an extension of the club, for its members' wives.  King's Handbook of New York City 1893 (copyright expired)

Wealth could not buy Jewish New Yorkers membership into the exclusive social clubs in the mid-19th century.  And so they formed their own.  The Harmonie Club was established on Grand Street on the Lower East Side in 1852.  A few years later it moved to No. 141 8th Street; and then in 1865 began construction of its lavish clubhouse on 42nd Street between Fifth and Sixth Avenues.  The site looked upon the large park behind the Croton Reservoir where the Crystal Palace had stood only a few years earlier.

The 104-foot wide plot was leased for 21-years from Robert J. Livingston with the option for two renewals of the same length.  Henry Fernbach was commissioned to design the clubhouse.  A Prussian Jew, he had trained at the Bauakademie in Berlin and was best known for his synagogue designs.

His massive stone structure took inspiration from the French Second Empire style sweeping Paris.  A high, wide stone staircase flanked by cast iron lamp posts rose to the porticoed entrance.   Italian Renaissance pediments capped the openings of the second floor and the fourth floor took the form of a tall mansard roof.  The New-York Tribune said "It is entered by a broad staircase, and is of solid construction, as well as offering a general appearance of comfort and repose."

Fernbach did not use the entire plot, leaving 2o feet to the side for a garden.  "A high stone wall, with gate in the centre, guards this space.  Looking from the street over the wall one may see the top of a tent.  This is the roof of the summer-garden which the club has established here, and where the members, their families and friends may find recreation on warm summer nights," explained the Tribune.

The membership of the club (described by the New-York Tribune as "one of the most select Hebrew clubs here") was capped at 400.  The initiation fee was $100 (a little more than $1,500 today) and the annual dues the same amount.

As with other men's clubs, the Harmonie Club was a male-only domain.  But women got a glimpse inside the lavish interiors four times a year.  

On November 25, 1886 The New York Times reported "The Harmonie Club threw open the doors of its capacious and handsome clubhouse, Nos. 43 and 45 West Forty-second-street, last evening to the wives, sisters, cousins, aunts, and other feminine relatives of its members, for the first of the customary four entertainments which are annually given to them."

This one took the form of an art exhibition followed by a supper and dance.  "The Harmonie Club possesses a remarkably roomy house, one of its apartments being a spacious ballroom.  It is in this that the unusually interesting loan collection is exhibited," said the article.

A potential member's acceptance into the best clubs required voting on the part of the members.  In some clubs it was done semi-anonymously but dropping either a white or a black ball into a ballot box.  The Harmonie Club's procedure was much more public.

On October 7, 1888 the members discussed the possible membership of Otto J. Lang.  Henry Newman made his opposition clear, calling Lang "a thief and a scoundrel."  Lang was not made a member and three days later his lawyers slapped Newman with a civil suit for $25,000 damages for slander--nearly three quarters of a million dollars today.

Newman's defense was interesting.  The New York Times on January 25, 1889 reported "He admits that he used the words alleged in the complaint, but denies that they were spoken maliciously."  He explained "it is the duty of members to express opinions to fellow-members of the character of candidates, so as to exclude such persons as they think ought not to be admitted."  He said he used the words "thief" and "scoundrel" without malice; but because he knew them to be true and important information for the other members.  The court now had to weight freedom of speech against slander.

In 1892 King's Handbook of New York City described the Harmonie Club as "the most homelike in jealous regard for privacy of clubs.  An ancient and honored institution of the German colony of New York, an aristocratic club, with the characteristic that the members attend it with their wives, if they please, reputed to be very wealthy, and one of the most delightful of social circles, it seldom permits itself to appear in the printed newspapers."

The description overstated women's access to the club.  And there was a growing problem with space.  Since the opening of the new clubhouse there had been three increases of membership--each of 50--so that now there were 550 members.  The situation seemed to have reached the breaking point when in 1896 The Menorah: A Monthly Magazine for the Jewish Home reported "The Harmonie Club, which for thirty years and more has had its home at 45 West Forty-second Street, new York City, is getting ready to remove to a site further uptown."

The New-York Tribune, on May 4, explained "the leading members say that it is not so much the inroads of business interests into the street that has influenced them in their determination to go elsewhere as it is the need of more commodious quarters.  Where these are to be chosen is not yet known."

But then a less costly solution was hit upon: extending the structure into the garden plot.  It was a plan that would cause much less upheaval and could now include women as well.  On July 8, 1897 Engineering News reported that "The Harmonie Club, 45 West 42d St., expects to erect a woman's club-house as an addition to its present building, on an adjoining lot."  Extension renovations of the main clubhouse were planned as well.

The following month the New-York Tribune reported that plans had been filed by Herts, Tallant & Newton.  "A three-story stone addition...is to be built on the side of the house," it said, costing $1.25 million in today's dollars.

The addition and the renovations to the original building were completed in June 1898.  By then the construction costs had risen to $85,000, more than twice the original estimate.  The newspaper described the improvements in an article that engulfed nearly a full page.  

Where the garden had been was now "an annex for the use of women and a conservatory of unique design."  On the first floor were a reception room, coat and reading rooms.  The women had their own dining room, of course.  It was one-and-a-half stories tall and included a music gallery.  A staircase led to the conservatory above.

The remodeled main building now contained a German-style grillroom with heavy wooden tables and antique chairs.  The Tribune said "on the same floor are a bicycle-room and dressing-rooms."   At the head of the staircase on the second floor was a "lofty room" that stretched the width of the building.  It contained six billiard tables.  That floor also housed the dining room and a lounging room.  They were configured so they could be opened into one large space.

A beamed ceiling, green leather upholstery and antique furniture gave the Grillroom an air of an old German space. New-York Tribune, June 19, 1898 (copyright expired) 

"The most pretentious part of the club is the third floor with its large ballroom and music-room, forty feet high, sixty feet wide and eighty feet long."  The stage was outfitted with the latest in "mechanical contrivances."  The musician's gallery in the Renaissance-style ballroom was supported by four caryatids representing characters from Wagnerian operas.  The wall frescoes represented the arts:  Painting, Sculpture, Architecture, Harmony, Counterpoint, Comedy, Drama, Farce, and others.  The two expansive ceiling paintings depicted Morning and Evening and the central dome painting was the "Genius of Harmony."

The chair on the floor gives perspective to the size of the musicians gallery and a supporting caryatid in the ballroom.  New-York Tribune, June 19, 1898 (copyright expired)

The conservatory could be accessed from the ballroom, as well.  It was designed so it could be joined with the ballroom when occasions demanded.  A fascinating aspect of the conservatory, with its vast expanses of glass, was the cooling system.

The glass ceiling of the conservatory was water-cooled.   The doorway to the left opened onto the ballroom.  The stairway at right leads down to the ladies' dining room.  Munsey's Magazine, October 1899 (copyright expired)

Large tanks held water which was forced over the glass roof.  "The water from the sprays runs over the roof and down into the tanks at the sides, then the water is forced up from the cellar to the roof;  the same water, after being cooled, is used over and over again, thus cooling the atmosphere of the conservatory," explained the Tribune.

A postcard depicted the renovations including the addition with its striking rooftop conservatory.  Note that the entrance staircase has been removed.  

But now with a membership of 600 the expanded clubhouse would not suffice for long.  In its October 1902 issue the Building Trades Association Bulletin announced "The Building Committee of the Harmonie Club, of No. 45 West Forty-second street, will meet soon to consider the matter of getting a new home."  Three months later, on January 31, 1903, the Real Estate Record & Builders' Guide announced "The Harmonie Club...will erect a 7-sty clubhouse to cost about $400,000...on the south side of 60th st." just east of Fifth Avenue.

In the summer of 1899 canvas awnings shielded the interiors from the heat of the sun, including a massive awning over the conservatory. Munsey's Magazine, October 1899 (copyright expired) 

McKim, Mead & White designed the new building, construction of which was well under way in the fall of 1904.  The Harmonie Club abandoned its home of four decades in December the following year.

The venerable 42nd Street clubhouse was converted for business purposes.  For several years James Fay ran his upscale antique furniture shop here, selling early American pieces and artworks.

New-York Tribune, January 10, 1909 (copyright expired)

Then in March 1912 Stern Bros. department store announced plans to erect its massive new $1.5 million store engulfing Nos. 29 through 45 West 42nd Street, through the block to 43rd Street.   Today the site of the Harmonie Club is occupied by the 1974 W. R. Grace Building, designed principally by Gordon Bunshaft.

  photo by WestportWiki

The Samuel McMillan House - 327 West 42nd Street

On August 20, 1881 the New-York Tribune reported that four young children had been "rescued from a place called 'Hell's Kitchen'" at No. 551 West 39th Street.  Calling the wooden building a "shanty," the article went on to say "The block in which this place is situated is considered one of the lowest and most dangerous localities in New York; across the street from 'Hell's Kitchen' is 'Battle Row,' and not far distant is 'Sebastopol,' two notorious resorts for criminals.  It is made up of miserable huts and shanties built among the rocks."

While many of the ramshackle wooden buildings were given such monikers by the locals, it was Hell's Kitchen that would lend its name to the entire crime-ridden district from approximately 34th Street to 59th, and Eighth Avenue to the Hudson River.

But even as the Tribune printed its disturbing article, an effort to upgrade the living conditions of the poverty-stricken residents was underway.  Among those involved in the charge was builder and developer Samuel McMillan.  He was the president of the New York Building and Land Appraisement Co., a vice-president in the Mutual Bank, and the owner of his own construction firm, Samuel McMillan & Co.

McMillan not only purchased old structures throughout the district and replaced them with brick tenement buildings--a major step up for the residents--but in 1882 he made a move that no doubt astonished other well-to-do businessmen.  He proved his confidence in the potential of the gritty area by deciding to move his family to Hell's Kitchen.

The block of West 42nd Street between Eighth and Ninth Avenues was marginal at best.  A few blocks to the east were banks and businesses; but here only the brick Holy Cross Church offered visual relief from the squalor.  Peter F. Crouch owned the wooden house and store at No. 327 West 42nd Street in 1882.  But the following year, on November 3, the Real Estate Record & Builders' Guide announced that Samuel McMillan "is about to tear own the frame dwelling at No. 327 West Forty-second street...and to erect on the site a five-story brick and brown stone dwelling and store."  The article added "Mr. McMillan will occupy the new building, both as a residence and for business purposes."

For his architects McMillan chose the firm of Thom & Wilson, who were currently busy producing rows of houses on the Upper East and West Sides.  For McMillan's structure, projected to cost $25,000 (more than $580,000 today), they turned to the highly popular Queen Anne style.  Ignoring the sordid surroundings, they produced a handsome structure that would have comfortably fit into any other Manhattan neighborhood.

Above the two-story commercial front, where McMillan would install his business offices, the building was faced in red brick and trimmed in brownstone and terra cotta tiles.  Each of the windows was provided a balcony--a means of relief on sticky summer nights.  Thom & Wilson crowned it with a triangular pressed metal parapet and cornice containing a geometric sunburst, a common Queen Anne motif.

If McMillan intended the upper portion of the building to be his private residence as the Record & Guide suggested, he changed his mind.  His wife's sister and her husband, Leon E. Baily, appear to have been living in an apartment here when Mrs. Baily died on Friday, August 24, 1888 (newspapers announced that she died "at the residence of her brother-in-law").   Leon E. Baily was a funeral director.  His wife's funeral was held in the apartments on August 27 before proceeding to Holy Cross Church nearly next door.

By the mid-1890s Patrick F. Trainor and his wife were living in an apartment here.  An American success story, he was born in Scotland in 1863 and brought to America as a child.  After his public school education he worked for the American District Telegraph Company, later becoming manager of the Baltimore and Ohio Telegraph Company in Baltimore, then assistant general manager for that company in Washington.

Patrick F. Trainor was an Assemblyman when he lived here.  New-York Tribune December 26, 1902 (copyright expired)

When he returned to New York in 1888 he turned to politics.  He was elected in 1893 to the 17th Assembly District and was repeatedly reelected.  He was well-known in political circles while living in the building.  Later, in 1900, he would be elected State Senator.  He died in Albany on Christmas Day 1902 at just 38 years old.

In the meantime there was trouble at ground level at No. 327.  Samuel McMillan had two partners in Samuel McMillan & Co.--James W. Pacey and William Young.  Pacey also ran Pacey & Whipple from the address, a finish carpentry firm that manufactured interior trim, window frames, sashes and doors.  It may have been that perceived conflict of interest which resulted in what appears to have been a messy parting of the ways.

On July 29, 1899 the Record & Guide reported that not only had Samuel McMillan & Co. been dissolved, but "the 42d street property has been sold by Mr. McMillan."   James Pacey and William Young partnered to form the general contracting firm of Wm. Young Co.  Seemingly ignoring McMillan, the Record & Guide concluded, "Mr. Pacey has a host of friends, and his long experience and successful work are sure to secure him numerous contracts and success."

McMillan had sold the building to his brother-in-law, Leon W. Baily, who moved his funeral parlor into the ground floor.  It was a short-lived arrangement and when Baily sold the building to William D. Grant in 1905, he moved his funeral parlor to No. 671 Eighth Avenue.

The apartments were rented to families of modest means in the first years of the 20th century.  At least two of them sought secure city jobs.  In 1907 Peter J. Smith passed the Civil Service test for "office boy," with a grade of 81.2, placing him 188th on the list of eligible applicants.  And William R. McAuley, who was here at least by 1914, had been a Civil Service clerk since January 1, 1898.  He was making the equivalent salary in 1914 of around $50,000 today.

William Melligan lived here in 1910 when he became a hero of sorts.  He was far north at 131st Street and Third Avenue on the afternoon of May 29.  Three men were in a runabout (a light, open buggy) when the driver lost control of the spirited horse.  All three were thrown out, one seriously injured.

Melligan, described by newspapers as "a youth," was apparently as physically fit as the horse.  He chased the rig to 157th Street, where it grazed and nearly overturned another vehicle containing three women.  The New York Times reported "The horse continued to 164th Street and Washington Avenue, where Melligan overtook it and seized the animal by the bridle."

If the young man was winded by the long chase, he did not show it.  "He threw it to the ground and sat upon its head until several policemen arrived."

In 1920 the building was purchased by the Zanesville, Ohio based Mosaic Tile Co.  In reporting the sale, the Record & Guide announced "The structure will be remodeled and made into a permanent sample and show room for the company's exclusive use...The interior will be arranged in a manner to display the company's line of ceramic specialties to the best possible advantage."

Architect John H. Knubel remodeled the storefront with a two-story arch faced in Faience tiles.  Its arcade show windows displayed the firm's ceramic tiles and drew the passerby in.   Mosaic Tile Co. used the ground floor as its showroom, the second floor as its offices, while the top floors were listed as a "tenement."

Mosaic Tile Co.'s remodeled ground floor space can be seen at the far right of this 1931 photo.  from the collection of the New York Public Library.

Mosaic Tile Co. remained in the building for 25 years, selling it in 1945 to the Schliftman Real Estate Corporation.  For decades, at least until 1990, the store would be home to the Eagle Supply Co., dealers in art supplies.

In the meantime, the building's most interesting occupant since Patrick F. Trainor was Edward P. May.  Better known as "Teddy," he had been Manhattan's Superintendent of Sewers and in 1903 he made the first comprehensive Manhattan sewer survey.  One columnist said of him "A small man, Mr. May could get into a small pipe.  He got to know every foot of the sewer network, even of the amazing brick sewers put down before 1850."

Throughout his more than 50 years in the position, he had helped the police repeatedly in retrieving guns and loot stashed in the sewers by gangsters and murderers.   The New York Times purported on April 24, 1960 "Once Mr. May led a squad in clearing the sewers of a number of live alligators that, discarded in the sewers as tiny pets, had survived and grown large."

May retired in 1954 and was still living at No. 327 when he died at the age of 85 in April 1960.

As the end of the 20th century approached the 42nd Street block had greatly changed.  The Port Authority Bus Terminal had opened directly across the street in 1950; and by the 1990s the neon-fronted restaurants and clubs of Time Square were spilling west.  In 1999 a conversion of the lower floors commenced.  The second floor was ripped out to create a mezzanine for a restaurant.  The tiled storefront installed by Mosaic Tile Co. in 1920 was annihilated.

The ground floor space became home to a Burger King franchise, which added its own questionable storefront in 2015.   A glance above reveals Thom & Wilson's handsome Queen Anne design that must have seemed so out of place in 1883.

photographs by the author