The Lost Miner's Eighth Avenue Theatre - 312 Eighth Avenue

 

from the collection of the New-York Historical Society 

Henry C. Miner had one of the most varied resumes of his day.  After graduating from the American Institute School he became a pharmacist.  The New-York Tribune would say of him, “He grew tired of the drug business and studied medicine under his brother, Dr. Edward Miner.”  When the Civil War broke out he enlisted as a pharmacist in the Mechanics and Artisans’ Regiment.

A string of careers followed the war: a stint as manager for magician and bird trainer Signor Blitz; manager of the Thayer & Noyes Circus; secretary of the Crystal Palace in 1868; and a policeman stationed at the Mercer Street Stationhouse.  (The last profession was Miner's lease favorite.  “This was even more unpleasant than being a drug clerk and Mr. Miner decided to get into something else,” said the New-York Tribune.)  He then turned to theater management, building and operating a series of theaters including the London Theatre in the Bowery, the Fifth Avenue Theatre, and Miner’s Bowery Theatre.

On May 7, 1881, The Real Estate Record reported, "A new variety theatre, capable of seating 3,000 persons, is soon to be built on the west side of Eighth avenue, between Twenty-fifth and Twenty-sixth streets.  It will be T shaped, and be known as Harry [sic] Miner's Eighth Avenue Theatre.  Thomas Canary is connected with Mr. Miner."

The partners, in fact, did not erect a new building, but substantially renovated the existing structure.  Architect William Graul filed plans a month later that included modifications like new girders and posts, roof, and "interior alterations, front repaired, new iron cornice."   It was a significant savings, the total project costing the equivalent of $65,300 by today's standards.

Miner's Eighth Avenue Theatre building included a café, entered south of the main entrance.  Graul reserved most of the ornamentation for the ground floor, where stained glass fan lights lined up below signage, also in stained glass, that read "Vaudeville" and "Burlesque."  A half-circle, cast metal pediment directly above the entrance announced the theater's name.  The three stories of cream-colored brick above were sparsely adorned with classical cast iron garlands and a wreath-enclosed cartouche with Miner's initial.  The openings were embellished with ancient Roman style lattice work.

The seating capacity upon completion was slightly smaller  than originally anticipated, at 2,300.  Opened on November 21, 1881, Miner's Eighth Avenue was, indeed, a variety house.  Patrons would enjoy a diversity of entertainments including boxing contests, minstrel shows, political rallies and debates, burlesque shows and vaudeville.  King's Handbook of New York put it succinctly, saying that it "furnishes variety entertainment for the West Side of the City."

Thomas Canary and Henry Miner went their separate ways in July 1893 with Miner buying out Canary's portion.  The Sun reported, "Mr. Miner is having improvements made to the theatre in the way of decorating and is also having a complete electric plant put in."

The wide mix of programs was evidenced on October 30, 1894 when The Evening World reported that champion middle-weight boxer had appeared the previous evening.  "He gave exhibitions of his fistic skill with Ike Williams."  The bout was followed by vaudeville skits.  "The specialty company included the Fitzgibbons family, Joe Hardman, John R. Harty, Miss Nellie Franklyn, Gordon and Lick, Barron and Forrest, the Tremonts, William E. Whittle, and Hawley and Doyle."

Vaudeville theaters too often attracted rowdy patrons, one of whom a month earlier, had provided more excitement in the balcony than was presented on the stage.  Robert Jones, described by The Evening World as "a six-foot youth of twenty," bought a ticket for the matinee on September 25.  The newspaper said, "He had more liquor aboard than was good for him."

Jones took his seat in the front row of the balcony, and just as the curtain rose, he jumped to his feet and "fired a volley of oaths at the stage and shouted that he could lick any man in the house."  Special Officer Carroll, one of the New York Police Department's "theatre force," tried to take control of Jones.  As the two struggled at the railing high above the orchestra pit, Jones tried to wrestle his opponent over the railing.

"The women in the balcony had fled to the rear, while the occupants of the orchestra chairs had risen en masse and rushed into the aisle to escape the expected downpour of arms and legs that were seen wildly flying in the upper regions," said the article.  Twice Jones managed to get one of Carroll's legs over the railing, but two audience members helped pull him back.  In the meantime, Carroll had managed to land a "dazing blow on Jones's nose," causing blood to pour forth that added to the excitement," according to the writer.

Finally, "With much cursing and howling on the part of the captive, Jones was got outdoors by Policemen Riley and Carroll."  He was sent to prison for ten days.

Among the political meetings held here that same year was a Tammany Hall rally on November 4, 1894.  The New-York Tribune did not disguise its contempt for the group, saying "John A. Grow, a renegade Republican, presided, and an ill-smelling mob of blear-eyed, besotted thugs, tramps, toughs and vagabonds, whose Democratic enthusiasm had been wrought up to a high pitch by a liberal distribution of free rum, howled and shouted for Hill and other candidates on the Democratic and Tammany tickets."

The Evening World reported on a typical evening's fare on November 6, 1894.  "Robert Manchester's French Folly Company supplied the entertainment at Miner's Eighth Avenue Theatre, yesterday...The after-piece, entitled 'The King's Daughter,' caused much laughter."

A broadside, or announcement, of the acts presented the week of February 5, 1894 (copyright expired)

A notable incident took place on stage on September 10, 1896.  The Colored Sports, an all-Black song and dance troupe, was performing that week.  The New York Times reported, "David Barton, a mulatto comedian, and Edith Hughes, a singer and dancer and an exceedingly pretty octoroon, were married last night, with great theatrical effect, on the stage of Miner's Eighth Avenue Theatre."

The theater was crowded with an audience eager to witness the marriage of two performers.  "The event had been well advertised, and the 'cream of society' of Thompson Street, Seventh Avenue, and other centres of the colored population was well represented," said the article.

After "a long variety bill," the stage manager stepped on stage and announced that "just before the cakewalk, a marriage between two members of the company would take place."  Then, led by the "champion cake walkers, Mr. and Mrs. George Weston," fifteen couples in evening dress processed onto the stage and formed an aisle.

Edith Hughes was the daughter of Elizabeth Taylor Greenfield, known internationally as the Black Swan.  "Then down the centre of the stage marched the bride, leaning upon the arm of the bridegroom.  She was clad in white silk, with a long train, and her head was covered with a long, white veil."

After rings were exchanged and David Barton "implanted a kiss upon her lips," the show went on.  The New York Times reported, "the cakewalk then proceeded.  Of course, the bridal couple carried off the honors, according to the judgment of the spectators...There was a wedding banquet on the stage after the theatre had been closed."

On New Year's Eve 1901, the Merry Maidens burlesque troupe closed the night.  Shortly afterward, disaster struck.  The following morning the New-York Tribune reported, "the audience had been out of the building only about fifteen minutes when the fire started.  It was caused by a lighted cigarette which one of the chorus girls dropped while smoking in a dressing room on the Twenty-sixth-st. side of the building."

The fire spread rapidly, causing the chorus girls and other employees to flee into the street in panic.  "Many of the girls were only half clad when they reached the street," said the New-York Tribune.  "They wept hysterically."  The thousands of people celebrating New Year's Eve in the neighborhood soon crowded around the burning building.  The Sun reported, "At 3 A. M. only the walls remained and the front wall, facing Eighth avenue, was in danger of falling.  Men were summoned from the Building Department to shore it up."

By now Henry Miner's sons operated the theater.  Just two days after the blaze, Edward Miner told reporters "the theater would be rebuilt at once."  Architect George M. McCabe was hired to renovate the burned out shell.  He encountered problems with the Department of Buildings when his plans called for repairing a building that predated the current fire laws.  The Department of Buildings rejected his plans, saying that "the reparation necessary to restore it to its original condition is equivalent to the 'erection' of a theatre."  An agreement was finally reached, and McCabe's altered plans went forward.

The restored structure gave little hint of the inferno that had gutted it.  photograph by Byron Company, from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York

The remodeled theater opened in 1903.  In April that year the fireman who had been detailed to the building on December 31, 1901 was found guilty for not enforcing the theater fire laws.  Fire Commissioner Sturgis found that he should have prevented the chorus girls from smoking in the theater and, especially, discarding their still-smoldering cigarettes.

On September 1, 1917 the Estate of Henry C. Miner leased the building to the Criterion Theatre Company for a term of five years.  The Real Estate Record & Guide commented, "The theatre will be used for motion pictures."

Now a movie theater, by the end of World War I the building had been renamed the Chelsea Motion Picture Theatre.  On April 26, 1925, The New York Times entitled an article, "Famous Old Theatre Swept By Flames," and reported that a porter had discovered smoke coming from a dressing room and turned in an alarm.  When firefighters arrived, the blaze had spread from the rear of the building, and "flames were sweeping across the balcony which surrounded the centre part of the building and leaping toward the gallery."  Interestingly Fire Chief Joseph B. Martin had also responded to the 1901 fire.  The New York Times reported that most of the seats in the balcony and gallery were destroyed, and "The dressing room in which the fire started was burned out."

image via cinematreasures.org

As had been the case a quarter of a century earlier, the damage was repaired and the theater reopened.  It survived another quarter century.  Demolition permits were issued in 1959 and the venerable building was razed in 1960.

image via compass.com

The Chelsea Park apartment building, completed in 2013, occupies the site today.

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

An 1890 Re-do - 165 Avenue B

 

J. G. Thomas lived in the house at No. 165 Avenue B in 1852.  But the neighborhood was begun changing.  In the 1840's German immigrants began pouring into Manhattan, settling mostly on the Lower East Side.  Within the next decade 800,000 Germans entered New York Harbor and by 1855 only Vienna and Berlin had a larger German population than did New York City.  The following year Thomas's house was gone, replaced by a five-story tenement building.

Not only the residents of the 23-foot wide building, but its owners were German.  Christian and Dorothea Hieber owned it until 1872, when they sold to Frederick Graf.  The shop on the ground floor was Albert Kessler's hardware store at the time.  

Upstairs the tenants included Knobloch family.  George M. Knobloch was a tailor and his son, Jacob, worked as a clerk.  The other tenants were another tailor, Martin Bollmann; "trimming maker" Herman Fuss; Jacob Meupfarth, a carpenter; Herman Neisner who worked in a dyeing works; and two widows, Francesca Maier and Elisa Stahl.  Elisa took in sewing to scratch out a living.

In the late 1870's three Irish immigrants lived among the otherwise German tenants.  Andrew Gallagher and Andrew Daley were both machinists, and Patrick Ryan was a bartender in Edward Hare's saloon at No. 104 Avenue C.   By the very nature of their jobs bartenders overheard conversations and that resulted in Patrick Ryan being involved in a bank robbery case in 1879.

Eight months earlier, on October 27, 1878, the Manhattan Savings Bank had been robbed in what was discovered to be an inside job.  The bank watchman, Patrick Shevelin, and policeman John Nugent were arrested, while Patrick Ryan and a bank teller, Joseph Bird, were locked in cells as witnesses.

It was Ryan who had identified Nugent to investigators during a clandestine walk-through of police headquarters.  Then, on June 14, 1879 he testified, recounting the conversations Nugent and Shevelin had had in the saloon over a matter of weeks.

By now the hardware store had been converted to an oyster saloon, run by George Hamber.  Oysters were a major part of 19th century New Yorkers' diets.  Oyster peddlers sold the shellfish from push carts and oyster restaurants and saloons were popular throughout the city.  (At least one, the famous Oyster Bar in Grand Central Terminal, survives.)  It was still in the space at No. 165 Avenue B as late as 1886 when it was being run by Henry Kiefer.

In 1890 Abraham Katz purchased the aging building for $15,500--around $450,000 in today's money.  He hired the German-born architect William Graul to make massive renovations, including a new façade and "interior alterations."  Now faced in warm orange brick, the openings were capped by pressed metal cornices.  A handsome bracketed metal cornice included a Queen Anne sunburst below which was Katz's name and the date of the work.

The building continued to house tenants with German and Irish surnames.  But their financial and professional standings had improved--possibly reflecting higher rents in the updated building.  An example was William H. Lorch whose family moved in when the alterations were completed.

Active in politics, he was a candidate for the New York Assembly in 1890, running for the Prohibition Party.  He won and would retain his seat for decades.   On March 18, 1892 he ran an advertisement in the Sullivan County Record announcing "Farm For Sale."  Formerly the property of Adam Lorch, the Youngsville, New York farm engulfed 43 acres and had "good buildings and good orchard."

The tenants at the turn of the century included auctioneer Louis Sachs, and Amelia Hansen and her teen-aged daughter, Valdburga.  In 1903 Valdburga was 18 years old and worked in a shop on Broadway--until she was wooed away.

According to the New York Herald, in September Amelia told authorities that Valdburga "left her home some weeks ago after meeting a wholesale merchant, who is credited by Mrs. Hansen with being a millionaire, but whose name she does now know."

The article explained that, according to Amelia, the man "took the girl to Long Island.  He afterward called on the mother and said he was interested in the girl and wished to take her to Europe to improve her education."   When Amelia refused, he promised he would take along an older woman as an escort.  She still objected.

Six weeks after Valburga left the apartment her mother flew into a panic.  She read in the newspapers that information had been leaked to the police than an "heiress" was going to be kidnapped and taken to Europe because her family disapproved of her suitor.  Amelia thought that perhaps the facts had gotten twisted and the girl was actually her daughter.  She rushed to the Hoboken police with her story in an frenzied attempt to find Valburga.

On September 13, 1903 the New-York Daily Tribune reported that she told Chief Hayes "that a policeman had told her that her daughter, Valdburga, was about to be kidnapped and taken to Europe on board the Pretoria."  The case fizzled out, the New York Herald saying "No fair heiress was kidnapped in Hoboken yesterday to prevent her marriage to a man of low degree, but the city had a thrill of genuine excitement over a chase for the elusive heiress and the resulting rumors."

Apparently disillusioned, Amelia seems to have given up.  "At the headquarters in Mulberry street in this city," said the New York Herald, "it was said that Mrs. Hansen had not called."

Joseph Jacoby was 22 years old in 1914 and worked as a salesman.  On Tuesday, September 22 he left the family's apartment for an afternoon on Flushing Bay where he hired a rowboat at Simpson's boathouse.  A while later witnesses saw him out in the bay, "stepping into the trunks of a bathing suit," according to the Daily Star.  They later said they saw him jump into the water.

That he would do so was puzzling, since he had earlier told a boathouse attendant that he could not swim.  The Daily Star reported "He was seen struggling in the water, holding on to the side of his rowboat.  Before would-be rescuers could reach him, he was drowned."

The currents of the bay swept the body under.  Two days the Daily Star reported "The police have so far been unable to recover the body."  It was not found until Friday when a yacht saw it floating atop the water.

The police had a theory as to why Jacoby had apparently killed himself.  "A red-covered book on Socialism was found in the empty rowboat the police later picked up.  Jacoby is thought to have been a deep student of the theories of Marx and his deep reading may have unbalanced his mind," explained the Daily Star.

The post-World War I years saw more Italian immigrants in the neighborhood than German.  In 1920 Pietro Fardellone, who worked for the Department of Docks, purchased No. 165 and moved his family into one of the apartments.  

Most likely unknown to him, two of his residents, Jacob Ackerman and his wife, were running a business from their apartment--one that displeased Federal authorities.  On April 23, 1925, working on a tip that bootleg alcohol could be purchased there, four undercover Prohibition agents showed up at the Ackerman apartment and bought liquor.  Inside they found the still that produced the illegal alcohol.  Not surprisingly the Ackermans were arrested.

During the Great Depression years the store was home to Burger Brothers, a hardware and housewares store where housewives could buy items like the Wear-Ever stew pan.

In the last quarter of the 20th century the space held Bossanova, listed in The New York Times's "A Guide to the Area's Hot Spots" as an "interesting home furnishing shop."

The storefront was remodeled in 2009 and the upper floors renovated in 2013 to three-bedroom apartments.  It was purchased by Aksum Investors L.L.C. in 2017 for $7.2 million.  Other than the modern storefront, it is little changed since Abraham Katz remodeled it in 1890, adding his name for passersby today to wonder about.

photographs by the author

many thanks to reader Matt Kay for prompting this post

 

The Max Ams Building - 399 Washington Street

Born in Baden, Germany in 1844, Max Ams came to New York in 1866.  Two years later he organized a fruit canning and packing firm, the Max Ams Preserving Company.  By the early 1880's he was highly successful and operated what J. P. Zavalla in his 1916 The Canning of Fruits and Vegetables called "a very large export business of American food products."

On January 4, 1882 he purchased the 25 by 80 foot property at No. 399 Washington Street for $7,800.  Six years later he erected a five-story structure on the site, designed by William Graul.  Although a few early documents described the finished building as a stable, the loading platform which raised the first floor above street level, creating a loading dock, proves it was always  a loft and store building.

The cast iron base was simple yet attractive.  Rosettes covered the bolt heads along the otherwise unadorned exposed lintel.  Graul's neo-Grec design for the red brick upper stories included bricks standing on end to suggest capitals to the piers and rough-cut granite lintels and bandcourses.  The complex corbel table and cornice were executed entirely in brick.

It appears that Ams erected the building originally as an investment--one that did not work out.  On January 4, 1890 he bought back the "five-story brick factory" building in foreclosure for $21,000 (nearly $585,000 today).  It is unclear exactly what Ams used the Washington Street building for; although it was most likely for warehousing and shipping.  His operation was spread among several buildings in the neighborhood by now, including his Greenwich Street headquarters and two five-story buildings on North Moore Street.

Among the products most likely warehoused in the Washington Street building were crates of jam and canned vegetables.  Ams' son, Charles, was a chemist and in 1888 had taken up the problem of hermetically sealing cans.  Up to now cans were hand-sealed with solder.  J. P. Zavalla wrote "There were almost as many leaky cans as there were perfect ones and the loss through these was enormous."

Charles perfected the metal can still used today, which he called "the sanitary can."  He and his father established another company, the Max Ams Machine Company, to manufacture the cans as well as the canning equipment.

The same year that Charles started work on the sealing problem, his father helped form the American Fruit Preserving Association with six other jam makers.  Within the decade it controlled 80 percent of the business and had earned the nickname "The Jam Trust."  It was brought down by a young boy.

On March 3, 1892 four complainants, including one very youthful investor, filed a petition saying they had bought stock "without compete knowledge of the nature of the concern."  That prompted an investigation.  The following year, on June 15, The Evening World reported "The small boy has won a great victory.  A Chicago Judge on Tuesday decided that the American Fruit Preserving Association, commonly known as the 'Jam Trust,' is as unconstitutional as some of its preserves."

By the turn of the century Max Ams had a vast personal fortune and lived in an upscale home in Westchester County.  His broad-flung interests included the presidency of the Mauser Manufacturing Company (a silver company headquarters in Mount Vernon near his home), the Max Ams Beef and Fish Company, and directorships in the American Encaustic Tiling Company and the Riverside Bank.

With failing health Ams retired in 1907.  The New-York Tribune explained "his physicians [had] told him that he could not recover."  Charles took over control of the Max Ams Machine Company and the Max Ams Preserving Company.  A year later, on September 5, 1908, Max Ams died.

Charles' aggressive business sense prompted him to purchase the entire town of Turnerville, Connecticut in October 1912.  The Sun reported it had been bought "outright by Max Ams, who makes jams at Mount Vernon, N.Y.  Turnerville is not much of a place except that included within its boundaries are about 2,000 acres of land."  Charles, according to the article, had not announced his plans, "but it has been stated that he may remove his manufacturing establishment there."

And so he did.  He changed the town's name to Amston and erected two factories, a large house and 50 tenements for the factory workers.

An advertisement hints at the broad variety of goods stored and shipped from the Washington Street warehouse.  The New-York Tribune, May 25, 1913 (copyright expired)

With the operations having moved upstate, the Ams properties in Manhattan were sold off beginning in 1916.  Manufacturing jewelers Arnold & Co. took over No. 399 Washington Street in 1919.  In March 1933 the building would get a long-term tenant, Steinhardt & Kelly; one with an amazing background.

Joseph H. Steinhardt was born in 1854 in Tauberbischopsheim, Germany where his parents ran a small shoe and leather store.  The New York Times reported decades later, "Wonderful tales reached the family of the fortunes to be gathered in the United States, and at 13 the boy crossed the ocean to obtain his share."

The teen, however, was obstinate and strong-willed.  That resulted in his being kicked out of the house of the relative where he was living.  With no money and little command of English he worked briefly as a newsboy, then was hired by a newspaper editor as a night time messenger on the condition that he would go to school during the day.  He didn't.

Eventually a truckman asked him to roll barrels of apples on the fruit pier.  When he was finished Joseph was given a bag of apples as payment.  He ate five during the day while he went door-to-door selling the others, netting 50 cents.  He suddenly realized how he could make money.

Before too long he advanced to bananas and by the time he was a young man had saved enough to buy a pushcart.  But he encroached upon the territory of a young Irish vendor and daily the two battled.  The Times said "Day after day the German and the Irishman abused each other until the former suddenly suggested: 'Let's cut this out and be partners.'  Thus was created the firm of Steinway & Kelly."

The newspaper said "The partners started their joint business with a horse and wagon, developed a house-to-house trade with families, added hotels, and finally a step of great important--gained entraince to the business of supplying ships.  The firm was among the chief operators in opening up the farm regions of the West and Northwest.  In 1924 Steinhardt told an interviewer "Each year, to some two hundred-odd new fruit growers I advance $4,000,000 and pay the railroads $2,500,000 in freight charges and the telegraph companies $60,000 in tolls."

A colorful Steinhardt & Kelly fruit crate label. from the collection of the Smithsonian Institution

Kelly died in the early 1920's, followed by Steinhardt's death on December 10, 1926.  Steinhardt & Kelly, Inc. was doing more than $15 million in business a year at the time.  Steinhardt's step-son, Norman D. Frank received controlling interest in the firm.

The company operated from No. 399 Washington Street through the 1970's.  In 1988 it was converted to apartments, one per floor above the commercial first floor.  While the cast iron piers and lintel of the old storefront survive, the industrial in-fill is regrettable.  Despite the mismatched brick repairs, the early 20th century fire escape and 120 years of grime (making the granite lintels appear black), William Graul's interesting neo-Grec design survives nicely.

photographs by the author
many thanks to reader Richard Pacheco for requesting this post

The 1892 Louis Kessel House - 21 East 93rd Street

Four years after developer Philip Braender hired William Graul to design a group of speculative row houses on the south side of East 93rd Street, between Fifth and Madison Avenues, he brought the architect back to the same block.

In 1891 construction began on four four-story houses on the north side, at Nos. 15 through 21.  Completed the following year, they were designed basically as two mirror-image pairs.  Each home, nevertheless, was given its own unique elements.

The four houses were designed as matching pairs. Subtle individuality was expressed in the arched openings of No. 19 and the tiny triangular pediment over the angled bay of No. 21 (right).

The eastern-most, No. 21, featured carved Renaissance Revival panels beneath the parlor and bay windows.  A miniature, engaged column supported the angled bay, the elaborately carved base of which morphed into more formal, classical temple-like design.  The stair hall window of the second floor wore a sumptuously-carved bib of vines and flowers.

On June 18, 1892 Braender advertised "17, 19, 21 East 93d st, near 5th av--Beautiful four-story private houses; low prices; cabinet trim throughout; butler's pantry extension; strictly private neighborhood; must be examined to be appreciated."   The reason he did not include No. 15 in the offering was because he had already moved his family into that house.

No. 21 became the home of Louis Kesssel and his family.  The senior partner in the banking firm Louis Kessel & Brother, he and his wife, Josephine had one daughter, Tessie.  The family routinely summered at Long Branch, New Jersey.

While the Kessels' comfortable wealth and the enviable location of their home just steps away from the mansions of Fifth Avenue were not enough to gain them admittance into the highest strata of Manhattan society; their movements were still noticed by society columnists.   Such was the case in January 1897 when Tessie's engagement announcement shared space on the same pages that told of the lavish upcoming ball in the newly-completed Henry Sloan mansion.

Tessie's marriage to George J. August took place in the fashionable Delmonico's restaurant on January 20.  Her parents remained in the 93rd Street house for two more years, selling it in January 1899 for $33,000 (around $930,000 today) to real estate dealer Harris Levy.

Despite his advanced age, Levy had just married his third wife.  Described by The New York Times as "elderly and wealthy," his bride was portrayed as "a young woman."   But Levy's hopes of domestic bliss had not clouded his candid awareness that the intentions of his more youthful mate may not have been entirely romantic.

Before the wedding, in November 1898, he went to the office of his lawyer, Moses H. Grossman and had a pre-nuptial agreement drawn up.   It provided his fiancée, Leah, with $1,000 at the time of the wedding, gave her ownership of all the household furnishings, and another $1,000 on his death.  She signed the contract, thereby giving up any other claims to his substantial estate.

The New York Times said "The wedding ceremony took place with gay festivities accompanying."  Things started off well enough.  The Levis had one live-in servant girl and Leah later said "He gave me twelve dollars a week for eatables for the table.  The amount that was paid the servant girl was ten dollars a month."  The two summered in upscale resorts like Saratoga.

But then their domestic bliss soured.  According to Leah, Levy became jealous, calling her a "tramp" when she would go out and not return quickly enough.  And his frequent temper outbursts worsened after she sued on December 13, 1901 to negate the pre-nuptial agreement.  Her complaint said "the prospective bride did not understand what she was doing when she relinquished her rights to her husband's property, also that Mr. Levy knowingly and fraudulently concealed from her the contents of the agreement."

In one especially terrifying incident, he picked up a table knife and threatened "If you don't get out of my house, I will put a knife into you."  According to Leah, "the [servant] girl was afraid and she took me by the body and she pushed me in a near-by room."

Recognizing that the servant's loyalties were with Leah, Levi fired her.  Leah stayed in the house for about two weeks, until finally her husband took away all the keys and ordered her out of the house.  She sued for divorce in October 1903 "alleging cruel and inhuman treatment."  The New York Times added "She also says that her husband was stingy in money matters."

The next residents were far less dramatic.  Ehler Osterhold and his wife, the former Augusta Iden, had one daughter, Marie.   Census records show two servants living in the house with the family.  By 1914 the change from carriages to automobiles was well underway and Ehler purchased a shiny new Cadillac.

The following year Marie graduated from the exclusive Miss Spence's School and Augusta's focus turned to the introduction of her daughter to society.   On March 3, 1916 she gave what The New York Times deemed "a small dance" in the St. Regis Hotel  for Augusta.   The newspaper reported "Mrs. Osterholt and Miss Osterholt received in the Louis XVI reception room, and the dancing was in the marble ballroom.  A seated supper was served at 12:30 o'clock in the Oak Room."  The article estimated the number of guests at between 150 and 200.

Unlike most debutantes, Marie would not marry for another seven years.  Her understated wedding to Edward S. Gregory, who had served in World War I as a captain in the 55th Infantry, took place in the 93rd Street house on June 2, 1923.

Augusta's sisters Emma and Marie had never married.  In August 1932 Emma's funeral was held in the house; and six years later, in February 1938, the funeral of Marie was held here.  The final funeral to be conducted in the drawing room was that of Ehler Osterholt, who died at the age of 84 on January 2, 1944.

Augusta sold the home she had shared with him for decades and in 1945 it was converted to nine apartments--two per floor except for the parlor floor, which was a single apartment.   A 1982 alteration resulted in three apartments.

Other than replacement windows and the accompanying loss of stained glass panels, little has changed to the outward appearance of No. 21 since the Kessel family moved in in 1892.

photographs by the author