The 1886 Mary Howe Nolen House - 349 West 123rd Street

 

Architect M. Louis Ungrich was busy in the spring of 1885.  On May 30, the Record & Guide reported that he was "preparing the sketches" for six apartment buildings for Henry Muhlker, ten rowhouses for F. K. Keller and Frank Tilford, and a tenement for Augustus Eichele.  

The houses for Keller and Tilford, on the north side of West 123rd Street between Morningside Avenue and Manhattan Avenue, were intended for middle-class residents.  Just 16-feet-wide, they were completed in 1886.  Three stories tall above stone basements, they were faced in red brick and trimmed in brownstone and terra cotta.  Ungrich designed the Queen Anne-style homes in five mirror-image pairs in an A-B-C-D-A-B-C-D-A-B configuration.

Among the D models was 349 West 123rd Street.  Slightly more understated than the A and B models, Ungrich gave it a splash of Renaissance Revival with terra cotta lintels over the doorway and parlor window.  The parlor level openings sat within quoined stone frames.  Interestingly, the proportions of the window nearly matched that of the doorway and the two lintels were nearly identical.  The openings of the second and third floors shared single stone lintels, and a sloped shingled roof covered the attic level.

Keller and Tilford initially leased 349 West 123rd Street.  An advertisement in the New York Herald on March 29, 1887, offered: 

Handsome New House, 349 West 123d St., near Morningside Park, decorated, ten rooms and bath; three years' lease.

The new occupants seem to have been adherents of the Temperance movement.  The restriction of alcohol in the household may have been too much to bear for their cook.  The well-trained culinarian was specific in looking for a new position.  On February 1, 1888 she advertised in The New York Times:

$40--Cook; Professional from Ems. (Imperial Medal of Merit); in first-class family; no children; no abstainers.  Call at 349 West 123d-st.

The salary she required (presumably monthly) would translate to about $1,360 in 2025.

The house and the one next door at 351 were sold in May 1890 to Annie B. Wakefield.  She resold No. 349 four months later to Mariam Howe Nolen, the widow of George H. Nolen.  She had three children, George Jr., Spencer, and Mary Howe.  

Mariam Nolen worked as what today would be called a real estate agent.  She took in a boarder to augment finances.  Living with the family in 1894 was John L. Florence, a commissioner of deeds.  (The civil service position was similar to today's notary public.)

Spencer Nolen died at the age of 28 on March 21, 1896.  His funeral was held in the house three days later.

It was almost assuredly through Mariam's real estate work that she became acquainted with "Mrs. D. H. Nellis, known as Mrs. Blakely" as described by The Sun.  Mrs. Blakely was a member of the Real Estate Exchange and she rented houses owned by W. E. D. Stokes and collected his rents.  On February 4, 1898, she appeared in court to answer a complaint from the owner of a livery stable for an outstanding bill of $75.  During the proceedings it was revealed that she had several other outstanding financial obligations.  The Sun quoted her testimony:

My mother lent me $1,500, which I used for personal expenses.  I borrowed $900 from Mrs. Nolan [sic] of 349 West 123d street; $400 from Mr. F. Barnes, a stock broker, last October; $400 from Mrs. Duke of 255 West Seventy-second street.  I used all for expenses.

The amount Mariam Nolen loaned her would translate to about $35,100 today.  Whether she ever recouped the loan is unclear.

Sarah Hortense Herrington boarded with the Nolen family at the time.  She died on May 8, 1898 and her funeral was held in the parlor two days later.

By then, Mary Howe Nolen was a force among the kindergarten movement.  A graduate of Hunter College, she worked with the Department of Education overseeing kindergarten classes.  Her diplomatic but stern oversight was reflected in a letter the 28-year-old wrote to a teacher, Adele Miln, in 1899, that said:

Please be prepared next Wednesday morning to show the teachers how you adapted "Marching to Jerusalem" to the playground without chairs.  You had chalk circles on the floor.  I shall have to trouble you to bring your own chalk and any other portable equipment necessary.  Also please bring a list of playground games that are especially successful with small boys.  If you do not err, yours is a boys' playground so you will have need to plan these carefully for yourself.  I do not want to put any extra labor upon you, but you are always helpful and willing, so don't fail me.

In 1902, Mariam transferred title of 349 West 123rd Street to Mary.  She held the title of Supervisor of Kindergarten at the time.

The Nolens continued to take in a boarder.  In 1902 Andrew J. Smith lived here, and in 1912 Ernest A. Needham boarded with the family.  Needham was a retired commission merchant and in failing health.  

On the night of September 3, 1912, he walked into the dining room and poured carbolic acid into a glass and drank it.  The act was witnessed by Mariam Nolan, who "ran to the street and summoned policeman Singer," as reported by The Sun.  Singer "found Mr. Needham on a couch in the dining room."  He was transported to the J. Hood Wright Hospital where he was deemed to be "in a serious condition."  It was so serious, in fact, that a priest was called.  Mariam told reporters, "He has been in poor health and seemed much discouraged about it."

Ernest A. Needham survived the attempt.  He died in the house a year later, on November 12, 1913.  The New York Times mentioned, "funeral private."

image via the NYC Dept of Records & Information Services.

There would be two other funerals in the parlor in rapid succession.  Three months later, on January 22, 1914, George H. Nolen died; and the following year, on June 25, 1915, Mariam Howe Nolen died.  Her funeral was held in the house on June 27. 

By the post-World War I years, Mary Howe Nolen was president of the Parents' Kindergarten Association of the Model School.  The group was founded in 1889 "to establish some model kindergartens in districts where the children were in greatest need of them," as explained by The Outlook in 1912.  Mary would head that organization into the mid-1920s.

Mary Howe Nolen died on March 25, 1948 at the age of 77.  

The Nolen house became home to Alonzo B. Morris, a real estate operator.  By the second half of the 20th century, it had been converted to a two-family home and it continues as such today.

Although the stone and terra cotta have been painted, the exterior of the Nolen house is virtually intact.  And, somewhat surprisingly, the original interior shutters still hang in the upper floor windows.

photographs by the author

The 1907 Chepstow - 215-217 West 101st Street

 

photo by Anthony Bellov

In February 1906, the Central Realty Co. announced plans to erect “a 10-story elevator apartment house” on the northeast corner of Broadway and 101st Street.  The firm promised, “The building will have the very latest improvements, and apartments will be arranged in suites for housekeeping purposes.”  (The term “housekeeping” meant the apartments would have kitchens, unlike those in the popular residential hotels.)

The Chepstow, as it was called, was completed in 1907.  The architectural firm of Mulliken & Moeller had produced a handsome brick and stone structure in the Renaissance Revival style.  A two-story base of white limestone supported eight floors of red brick.  The architects placed the regal, Renaissance-inspired residential entrance on the side street.  Its wide, arched doorway sat deeply recessed behind polished granite columns that upheld an ornate balcony with Corinthian columns and a carved heraldic panel. A faux balcony directly above carried on the motif, with intricate Renaissance Revival carvings and a large panel of a crown surrounded by foliate decorations.

image via the NYC Municipal Archive

On the Broadway side were a large store on the corner, occupied by the upscale grocery firm of Park & Tilford, and a smaller shop at 2668 which was leased by florist Charles Haberman.  On September 7, 1907, The American Florist noted that Haberman “is now in a fine store in the new building 2668 Broadway.”

The sprawling apartments contained eight or nine rooms with three baths.  They filled with well-to-do white-collar residents.  Among the original occupants was John James Stevenson, a professor of Geology at New York University and a member of the Geological Society of American and the exclusive Century Club.  Professor Stevenson would remain in the Chepstow into the 1920’s.

Mitchell Harrison, his wife, and their six-year-old son were also early tenants.  Harrison was a former newspaper advertising agent and, according to The New York Times, “a man of independent means.”   The couple lived in St. Louis until 1908 when, said the newspaper, Harrison “gave up his advertising business… because of ill health.”  His medical condition seems to have been more psychological than physical.  In January 1909, Harrison took to his bed and never got out.  He was diagnosed with “nervous prostration.”

On March 21, Harrison’s brother-in-law, Louis M. Lifter stopped by.  The New York Times reported that Mrs. Harrison “joined them, and the three read and talked together.  Harrison seemed to be very cheerful, yet he had at the time a note in his bed addressed to his wife asking her forgiveness for his suicide.”  After a while, he said he wanted to sleep and the two left the bedroom.

They had barely sat down in the living room when a loud report was heard.  Mrs. Harrison ran to the bedroom and “saw a little cloud of smoke floating upward from the bed.”  She threw open a window and screamed to the street for help.  “Get a doctor!”  Harrison was still alive when the doctor arrived but died before the ambulance got to the building.  The coroner’s physician found Harrison’s letter to his wife in the bed, which read:

I did what seemed to be best under the circumstances.  Please forgive me and bear up under your trouble for baby’s sake.  It breaks my heart to leave you—I so dearly love you and our darling boy. 

        God bless you both.  Your Loving Husband

Artist Mabel R. Ward lived in the Chepstow in 1912, as did Robert Adamson and his wife, the former Ethel McClintock.  Adamson had been a newspaper editor and political writer until January 1, 1910 when he became secretary to Mayor William Jay Gaynor.

The mayor and his son set sail for Europe on the RMS Baltic on September 4, 1913.  Seven days later a telegram from Rufus Gaynor arrived at the Chepstow for Robert Adamson.  It read, “Father died Wednesday at 1 o’clock.  Death due to heart failure.  Notify mother.”  Gaynor’s successor, Mayor Ardolph L. Klein, kept Adamson on as his secretary.  Then, after managing his campaign in 1913, on January 1, 1914, Mayor John Purroy Mitchel appointed Adamson Fire Commissioner.

A heart-warming incident played out in the Adamson apartment on Thanksgiving Day 1916.  Firefighter Jack Walsh had earlier “scaled a seven story building and rescued a young lady at the risk of his life,” according to The Advocate.  The 32-year-old was on duty that day, when his captain informed him that he was to report to the Commissioner’s apartment.  He later told a reporter, “As I entered the Commissioner’s house I was greeted by Mrs. Adamson, and still I wondered what the urgent call was all about.  A minute later the ‘Big Boss’ appeared and said, ‘Fireman, glad to see you.  Did you have your turkey yet?”  The young hero not only shared Thanksgiving dinner with the Fire Commissioner and his wife, but was handed $100 in appreciation for his bravery, donated by a citizen.

Augustus C. Corby, the vice-president of the Metropolitan Bank lived here in 1921.  He had just returned home on the night of June 15 when he had to rush back to the bank.  Frederick J. Schweer, Jr., a young clerk had taken a pile of bank books and records into a large vault when the heavy door slammed shut.  Schweer was now trapped inside an airtight vault and the bank’s employees had all gone home.

Around an hour later, at 7:00 the night watchman, John Connolly, was making his rounds and heard a steady tapping on the door of the vault.  He first thought someone was trying to break in, then realized an employee was trapped inside.  Connolly rushed to the telephone and called Corby, who had the combination.  Before leaving his apartment, Corby notified police.  The Massachusetts newspaper, the Greenfield Daily Recorder reported, “His automobile was outside and he broke all traffic regulations getting to the bank.”  Once there, and with policemen standing by, he opened the vault.  The article said, “The boy was unconscious when lifted out.  An ambulance surgeon from Bellevue hospital, who had been waiting more than an hour with a pulmotor, began work on him.”  Schweer had been rescued with only moments to spare.

At the time of the nerve-wracking rescue, tenants paid the equivalent today of $3,900 per month for an eight-room apartment, and $4,400 for nine rooms.  The Broadway stores had been divided into three shops that year.  Morris Burnstein’s cigar store was in the corner space, the Buckingham Haberdashers moved into the middle store, and the northernmost space was a lingerie shop.

Expectedly, families living in the Chepstow employed servants, at least a maid and a cook.  The Jordan Lamberts’ maid was Viola Smith.  Although the building, of course, had electricity, the 25-year-old was using an alcohol lamp on the night of November 15, 1925.  Her choice nearly ended her life.  The Daily News reported, that while carrying the lamp, she tripped and fell.

“Her clothes and the pantry caught fire.  Mrs. Lambert rushed to the screaming maid and beat out the flames with her hands, suffering slight burns as she did so.”  Viola Smith was taken to Knickerbocker Hospital, where her condition was deemed serious.

The days of expansive suites and affluent residents came to an end in the World War II years.  In 1945, the Chepstow was converted to a warren of single occupancy units.  Living in a room here in 1955 was Frank “Frisco” McBride, a 31-year-old portrait artist in the Times Amusement Corp. Arcade on Broadway near 52nd Street.

Around 3:00 on the morning of September 16 that year, an inebriated McBride was on Broadway, just north of Times Square.  A man, possibly accidentally, knocked him to the sidewalk.  The Herald Statesman reported, “McBride got up, clutching a beer can opener, and ‘proceeded to terrorize about 150 people in the vicinity,’ police said.”  When Detectives Ury and Massello attempted to apprehend him, McBride lunged at Massello with the opener.  In the affray that followed, Detective Ury’s right index finger was broken.  At the station house McBride explained his actions saying, “I must have been crazy drunk.”

A renovation completed in 1965 resulted in nine apartments per floor.  Whether Edward McBride was a relative of Frisco McBride is unclear, but he was living here in 1973 when he was arrested on May 10 with two other men.  They were charged with robbing a man named Larry Grant of his 1971 Chrysler and cash, as well as with gun possession.  As the police van was transporting them to the 24th Precinct Station on West 100th Street the following morning, the rear doors swung open.  All five prisoners, including McBride, jumped out—two of them handcuffed together—and fled without the policemen in the front of the van realizing what had happened.

But eluding police while in handcuffs proved both difficult and awkward.  McBride walked into the Criminal Court Building on Centre Street a day later to give himself up.  He told officials that “he had spent most of Friday riding subways around town and had gone to see ‘Fists of Fury’ that evening at the National Theater in Times Square, sitting through it four times.”

photo by Anthony Bellov

As the 20th century drew to a close, Oscar and Toni’s bar occupied the corner store.  The 1994 New York: The Rough Guide called it “a neighborhood bar that’s popular with locals, especially students from nearby Columbia University.”  It made way for the Broadway Dive in 1999.  Fodor’s Travel Guide said, “It may be called a dive, but this dimly lit, wood-clad bar, covered with various animal busts, is more like a craft beer emporium.”  

many thanks to historian Anthony Bellov for suggesting this post

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

The Matthew P. Bogert House - 224 West 10th Street

Although city directories listed Levi Onderdonk as "carpenter," he was in fact an established builder, or contractor, and well-respected citizen.  By 1843 he was a manager of the New-York City Tract Society, a position he would hold for at least a decade; and was repeatedly re-elected as Assessor of the 9th Ward.  In 1847, the same year he began construction on his own residence on Charles Street, he joined with two other carpenter builders, Abraham Demarest and Stephen C. Stephens, in a speculative project.

The men purchased property on Amos Street, between Bleecker and Hudson Streets from former New York City Mayor William Paulding Jr. and began construction on three brick-faced homes.  Three stories tall above deep brownstone-clad basements and 20-feet  wide, they were intended for financially-comfortable families.   No. 126, like its two identical neighbors at 128 and 130, had a handsome Greek Revival doorway with sidelights, stylized Corinthian pilasters and an especially ample transom.  There was nothing especially out of the ordinary about the architecture until one's eyes rose to the cornices. where each of the unique brackets took the form of a stylized flowers.

By the early 1850's the house was home to the family of Matthew P. Bogert.  He and his wife, Matilda, had been married in in 1843.  The couple would eventually have seven children.   In 1854 one, a 3-year-old named Warren, came down with "consumption," a dreaded condition which today would most often be diagnosed as pulmonary tuberculosis.  The toddler died at 9:00 on the night of May 2.  His funeral was held in the house at 8:00 in the morning two days later.

In 1857 Amos Street was renamed, resulting in the house receiving the new address of No 224 West 10th Street.

Bogert served on the jury of a highly-publicized court case in 1861.  The Union Navy had captured a commercial ship, the Savannah, working on behalf of the Confederate government.  The crew of the private vessel, which was attempting to run blockades and supply aid to the Confederates, were charged with privateering.  On October 23, 1861 the trial began.  The New York Times headline read "The Savannah Privateer / Trial for Piracy / Great Throng in Court."

The same year that Matthew Bogert sat on that jury, 35-year old John R. Hill was appointed to the New York Police force.  Although the fighting was far to the south, like Bogert, the Civil War would personally affect him.  On July 11, 1863 the nation’s first attempt at a military draft played out in New York with a lottery.  When the 1,200 chosen names were published, it was obvious that only the city’s poor and immigrant population was included—the wealthy had bought exemptions or used their political power to circumvent the draft.  The result was the Draft Riots—a three-day reign of terror and carnage unlike anything seen in the country before.  Innocent people were murdered; and draft offices, newspaper buildings, and the homes and neighborhoods of the city’s black population were burned. 

Among the policemen wounded in the conflicts was John R. Hill.  In August a city committee distributed a fund "for the relief of Police and others suffering from the riots."  Hill received $100, or just over $2,000 today.

Abuse to police officers routinely came from far less dramatic circumstances.  On September 6, 1867 Officer Hill was on West Street when a man asked him what was "the proper charge for a hack to go up town," according to The New York Herald.  After Hill informed him of the correct fare, the driver, Patrick Kelly, who had tried to overcharge the man, "commenced abusing the officer and called him by several vile names."  Hill arrested Kelly, who received a "scathing reprimand" from Justice Dowling at the Tombs Police Court and fined $10.

It is unclear when Hill and his wife, Sinia, moved into No. 224, but they were here certainly by the early 1870's.  The couple had four children.

In 1875 Hill was moved from patrol duty to the First District Police Court. His salary increased to $1,200 with the promotion, in the neighborhood of $28,300 per year today.  Well respected within the law enforcement community, he became Treasurer of the Police Mutual Aid Fund of the "Tombs squad."

Hill fell ill in June 1881 with what most likely did not initially seem serious.  But on Wednesday, June 29 the condition developed into pneumonia.  It worsened and on July 4 he lost consciousness.   The following day he died at the age of 56.  The New York Herald reported "He was a member of Atlas Lodge and a regular attendant of the Jane Street Methodist Church.  He leaves a wife and children, two of whom are grown to manhood."

Newspapers across the city lauded his service.  The New York Times reminded readers of his injuries during the Draft Riots, and the New York Evening Express remarked that he "leaves behind him an enviable record."

Now without an income Sinia Hill applied to the city for a police widow's death pension.  She began receiving an annual stipend of $300 within the month.

Sinia remained in the 10th Street house until the 1890's.  But with much reduced finances (her annual pension would equal about $7,600 today) she took in boarders.  One of them, Alexander Senter, brought scandal to her home.

On August 30, 1890 The Brooklyn Daily Eagle reported "Mabel Palmer, 13 years of age, made a charge of criminal assault against Alexander Senter, 38 years old, of 224 West 10th street, New York, at his house while she was there on a visit."  Senter was held without bail.  The newspaper entitled its article "Assaulted His Little Guest."

Around the mid-1890's the house was purchased by the Richardson family.  Elizabeth C. Richardson was just 24 years old when she died here on January 20, 1899.  Like Sinia Hill had done, the family took in a boarder.  On January 4, 1905 an advertisement in The Evening Telegram offered "a handsomely furnished three, four room apartment, modern improvements, hot water."

Sarah S. Richardson died in the house on July 23, 1907.  Her funeral, like Elizabeth's, was held in St. Luke's Chapel.

The Richardson family maintained possession of the house for several more years.  Their boarder in 1910 was Charles C. Polk, a tailor, who found himself in the wrong place at the wrong time on November 10.  

Labor disputes between unions and management were often violent and, at times, deadly.  A city-wide teamster strike resulted in armed guards riding on the horse-drawn wagons driven by non-union men.  That did not always stop union men, armed with iron bars or worse, from attacking them.   The situation boiled over on November 10, when The Evening Post reported "Shooting of the non-combatant passerby, apparently inevitable in all long-continued strikes in which there is rioting marked to-day's violence of the union drivers and the non-union strike-breakers."

Charles C. Polk was the unfortunate non-combatant passerby.  James Black had pulled a wagon owned by grocers Park & Tilford out of the company's West 15th Street stables.  With no guards to protect him, Black was armed.  As the wagon emerged, he was stoned by a mob, but, according to The Evening Post, "he dodged and used his whip so effectively that the horse got into a gallop quickly and the outpost of the mob was distanced as it ran after the wagon, cursing the driver."

But at Sixth Avenue a massive gang of union men swarmed over the wagon.  When Black pulled out his revolver, the men backed down; but his luck ran out at 49th Street where, in an unlucky turn of fate, Charles C. Polk was walking down the sidewalk.  A new mob surrounded the wagon, one of the men grabbing the horses reins and attempting to unhitch it.

The article went on, "Black fired his pistol this time, aiming at the man at the horse's head, but the one that hit the pavement rebounded and struck Charles C. Polk of No. 224 Wet Tenth Street in the side."  At the sight of the innocent man lying bleeding on the pavement, the strikers dispersed.  Polk was taken to Flower Hospital where he later recovered.

George H. Richardson was appointed a Commissioner of Deeds in June 1915.  It was a civil service job similar to that of a Notary Public; but it was secure city position and a foot in the door.  The following year he was promoted to Deputy of Elections with a salary of $1,000 per year, or about $23,600 today.  In 1918 he received a substantial raise to $1,200.

In 1926 No. 224 was sold to a real estate firm which, according to The New York Sun on August 25, "will remodel the property."  The renovations were not significant enough to warrant documentation with the Department of Buildings as apartments; however the property was clearly being operated as a rooming house.

Lena Moody lived here in 1931 when she and a friend were involved in a fatal automobile accident on a road trip to Philadelphia.  Journalists of the period felt an obligation to designate the race of Blacks and that was the case on August 26 when The Philadelphia Inquirer reported "Mrs. Sarah Clark, 39, negro, of Seventh avenue, New York, and Mrs. Lena Moody, 42, negro, of 224 West 10th street, New York, were killed when an automobile in which they were riding collided at C street and Roosevelt boulevard, early yesterday morning, with the car of John Sokel."  Sokel was apparently white, since the article did not bother to say so.

In 1967 the house was converted to a duplex in the basement and first floor, and two apartments on each floor above.   Among the residents in the 1990's was female playwright, author, screenwriter and educator Michael Angel Johnson.

Major change came in 2013 when a one-year renovation was initiated.  In 2014 a listing boasted that the house was "newly gut renovated."  The single-family structure now held six bedrooms, four-and-a-half baths and a 1,000 bottle wine cellars among the other upscale amenities.

photo via scottparksrealty.com

Marketed at $13.5 million, it was purchased by actor Bradley Cooper in May 2018.

photographs by the author

The 1874 Acker, Merrill & Condit Stable -- 134-136 West 10th Street

At noon on April 16, 1873 the "Valuable Plot of Ground with buildings" at Nos. 134 and 136 West 10th Street was sold at auction.  There was only one dwelling on the 40-foot wide property.  It was a commodious 25-foot wide brick house which appears by the description (two story, attic and basement) to have been a Federal style structure.  In the rear was a two-story brick stable.

The free-standing house with its grassy yard had been at one time home to a well-to-do family.  That was in evidence when the furnishings were auctioned 12 days later.  The listing included "Rich double and single Parlor Suits, Carpets, Mirrors, Paintings, Engravings, carved black walnut Bedsteads and Bureaus, best hair Mattresses," and such.

At the time Acker, Merrill & Condit Co. owned and operated several high-end grocery stores.  The term "grocery" had little to do with the word we commonly use today.  Acker, Merrill & Co. catered to the carriage trade and stocked a dizzying array of goods--wines, confectioneries, gourmet foods and delicacies, cigars, and personal items.  Founded in 1820, its main competitor now was the equally well-known Park & Tilford.

Nearly a year to the day after the furnishings of No. 136 West 10th Street were removed, Acker, Merrill & Co.'s architect, Charles Wright, filed plans for a three-story brick stable on the site.  Before construction was completed later that year the plans were reworked to include a fourth floor.  Wright's handsome Italianate stable was faced in red brick and trimmed in stone.  The architect distinguished the openings with scalloped lintels with dropped ends and placed delicate brackets below their sills.  The bracketed cornice upheld a triangular pediment which announced the construction date.

The symmetry of the design--upset only by the double-wide hay loft opening at the third floor--was carried on to the street level where two wide carriage bays and two doorways were in perfect balance.

The capacious facility housed Acker, Merrill & Condit Co.'s delivery trucks and horses.  Life for the work animals was hard, occasionally requiring them be placed a discounted prices.  On July 19, 1877, an advertisement appeared in The New York Herald that read "For Sale Cheap--Three horses.  Apply at 134 West 10th st., New York."

Nearly 35 years after building the stable, Acker, Merrill & Co. sold it to Charles F. Hickey of Brooklyn.  Or at least they attempted to.  The firm gave Hickey a $30,000 three-year mortgage on the property--in the neighborhood of $825,000 today.   A year before the term was up, Hickey renewed the entire amount.

Eventually, Acker, Merrill & Co. seems to have given up on Hickey and on December 27, 1918 The Sun reported that it leased the building to the Peerless Trucking Company.   At the time motorized trucks were slowly replacing horse-driven drays on the streets of New York.   By the summer of 1922 Peerless Trucking & Transfer Co. was ready for a total change-over.  At "10 a.m. sharp" an auction was held in the 10th Street stable to liquidate the outdated equipment and the horses.

The auction announcement listed 27 "good work horses," 28 trucks of different types, 22 sets of single and double harnesses, 32 blankets and "all stable utensils."  The auctioneers guaranteed "These horses are young and acclimated and used to all kinds of hard work.  Anyone in need of a first-class work horse should not miss this opportunity."

The old stable continued life as a trucking depot and then as a garage by the late 1960's.  Then, in 2006 it received a remarkable makeover.  The ground floor was converted to a "community facility" while the upper floors became a total of seven apartments.  Among the building's high-profile residents were actor Kiefer Sutherland.

Half of the street level space became home to the Village Preschool Center.  According to its website the facility, for children between 2 to 5 years of age, offers daily French lessons, science, music, and "reading readiness" activities.   "Our graduates are extremely prepared, academically and socially," the website says, "to move on to kindergarten."

The sympathetic remodeling and restoration of the 145-year old livery stable preserved an important component of the historic fabric of this charming section of the Village.

photographs by the author

The Park & Tilford Bldg - 100 West 72nd Street

In 1835 John M. Tilford, then 20 years old, left the family farm and came to New York City where he obtained a job as a grocery store clerk.  After saving his wages, he joined another clerk, Joseph Park, in 1840 to form "in a small way," as described by Men of the Century in 1896, to form Park & Tilford.   The little store on Carmine Street was the seed of what would be New York City's finest grocery retailer.

The Carmine Street store was in a converted Federal-style house.  King's Views of New York (copyright expired)

By 1886 Park & Tilford had four New York stores as well as a branch in Paris (used mainly for merchandising and exporting).  The term "grocery" had little to do with the word we commonly use today.  Park & Tilford catered to the carriage trade and stocked a dizzying array of goods--wines, confectioneries, gourmet foods and delicacies, cigars, and personal items.  The New York Times deemed Park & Tilford "The very beau ideal of what a first class grocery store should be."

Following John Tilford's death in January 1891, his son, Frank, was elected to succeed him.  A year later he recognized the developing Upper West Side as a prime location for yet another store.    In March 1892 the firm purchased the one-story business building at the southwest corner of Columbus Avenue and 72nd Street.  The Real Estate Record & Builders' Guide reported "Park & Tilford will shortly commence the erection of the fire-proof building...to be used entirely for their business."

McKim, Mead & White received the commission to design the new structure.  The firm filed plans on April 22 for a "six-story brick, stone and terra cotta building" to cost $85.000 (more than $2.25 million today).

The Renaissance Revival style building was completed in September 1893.  Vast show windows at street level sat between heavy granite piers that supported an entablature announcing the store's name.  The entrance was flanked by fluted Scamozzi columns and embellished with a large circular window embraced by elaborate carving.

The rusticated, brick-faced upper floors were divided into three sections by wide terra cotta bands.  Early photographs show the terra cotta picked out in vividly contrasting colors.  A neo-Classical frieze ran below the pointy, crown-like pressed metal cornice.

King's Photographic Views of New York 1911 (copyright expired)

The New York Times remarked "The building was erected for west side partronage, and it is the firm's intention to make it an establishment of which the people of the west side may well be proud.  Their reputation for dealing only in reliable and first-class groceries has already won for them a warm welcome and a generous number of customers."

The building opened on September 23 and, according to The Times, "was attended by hundreds, who admired the building and the artistic display of goods."  The article added "There is no business building more handsome on the west side" and the New-York Tribune called it "a decided architectural ornament to the neighborhood."

The Tribune noted that the "best class of trade" on the Upper West Side had "suffered much inconvenience by being obliged to order their groceries and household provisions from down-town houses."   They could now rest easy.  "This inconvenience will be no longer felt, for the new store of Park & Tilford...is as complete and perfect in every detail as the most exacting buyers can demand."

Park & Tilford's vast array of merchandise was hinted at in the Tribune's reporting that the new store "is completely stocked with the best quality of standard articles, including a most desirable and extensive assortment of superior perfumery and toilet requisites."  The newspaper said "The ground floor of the building has been decorated and stocked in such a manner that it is no exaggeration to say that it is a work of art."

Frank Tilford was apparently pleased with the location, for he almost immediately began construction of his mansion across the street from the store.  The Real Estate Record called it "palatial" in December 1895.  And The Heroes of the American Revolution and Their Descendants, described it as "one of the handsomest edifices in that particularly handsome part of the city."

At No. 119 W. 72nd St, Tilford's home was almost directly across 72nd Street from the store. Real Estate Record & Guide, Dec 1895 (copyright expired) 

Below the Park & Tilford store were a basement and sub-basement.  Here behind-the-scenes work went on, like the candy-making shop.  In July 1909 the Cold Storage and Ice Trade Journal reported that the firm had improved its "candy factory" with a "10-ton Vesterdahl direct expansion refrigeration machine."  The up-to-the-minute addition would have nearly-deadly consequences later.

On the afternoon of December 17, 1916 six men working in the sub-cellar discovered a fire and pulled the alarm; but before they could reach the exits an ammonia tank to the refrigeration system exploded.

The New-York Tribune reported "All managed to crawl to the stairs or elevators before collapsing.  They were found by volunteers among their fellow employes and dragged to the street."

As fire fighters responded, more ammonia tanks exploded.  The first group of seven reached the sub-cellar with a line of hose, and then tried to retreat.  "All dropped before reaching the elevator," said the article.  A second wave, from Hook & Ladder 40, headed towards the fire and came across them.  But, "by the time they were hauled to the street most of their rescuers were overcome."

Fire fighters worked in shifts, covering their faces with wet towels--half fighting the fire and the other half pulling stricken firemen to the street.  Deputy Chief Burns finally refused to allow any more men to enter the building.  It was new fire-fighting technology that saved the building.  "Captain McElligott and his oxygen helmeted men worked their way into the smoke and fumes filled cellar with a line of hose, but it was a half hour before they had cleared the air sufficiently to permit the other firemen to enter."

In the meantime, the Tribune praised Park & Tilford's emergency preparation and the discipline of the employees.  "Almost 300 employes of Park & Tilford, scattered over six floors, gave an excellent demonstration of the fire drill system.  Summoned by a series of signals, the employes, most of them women, formed in line and marched through the smoke and fumes without disorder to the street."

Park & Tilford sold the building in 1920.  In 1925 architect Bernard Hersbrun was hired to renovated it to what became known as the Papae Building.  There was now a bowling alley in the basement, stores on the first floor, and offices and meeting rooms above.

The meeting rooms were routinely leased by clubs and union groups.  In December 1932, for instance, the election of officers of the Boston Terrier Club of New York was held here; and the following July the New York State Association or Retail Meat Dealers met to discuss a 48-hour work week and minimum wages.

On February 13, 1934, two months after Prohibition was repealed, The New York Times reported that the Retail Druggists Association of New York and the Pharmacy Owners Association had met in the Papae Building.  Surprisingly today, the reason for the meeting was to compose a letter to Governor Herbert Lehman "with a plea that he permit the sale of liquor in the drug stores."  The group, representing 5,000 pharmacies, said they were in "imminent peril" unless "drug stores were permitted to sell alcoholic beverages under the same license system that now governs the liquor dealers."

Considering all the union meetings being held in the building, it was not surprising that Cafeteria Local Union 460 of the I. W. W. leased an office in 1933.  What was surprising was that the "union" had only one member, 22-year old Arthur Fried.

The artful con artist studied up on labor unions in the library, printed letterheads and rented the office.  Then, according to police in January 1934, "he called on cafeteria owners, commanded them to pay their help 'union' rates and when they refused, hired sandwich men at $1 a day to picket their places."  For a $25 payment Fried would call off the business-deflating picketers.

Fried's scheme actually worked.  Until Nathan Brandwine called the police.  It was the end of the one-man Cafeteria Local Union 460.  Fried was arrested and charged with attempted extortion.

The Socialists of the Seventh and Ninth Assembly Districts held its meetings in the Papae Building in the early 1930s.   But a far different type of assemblage drew police attention in the spring of 1935.

To gain entrance to a large, private space on the sixth floor, a visitor needed an admission card.  One was obtained by a plainclothes patrolman in March, and he was shocked by what he uncovered.  At 10:45 on the night of March 12 the place was raided.   The audience, the management and the performers--150 people in total--were arrested for "participating in or attending an indecent performance."

The New York Times explained "the performance consisted of indecent motion pictures, after which performers started an improper presentation."   It required several back-and-forth trips by patrol wagons to transport the arrested throng.   All but one of the girls performing were in their teens, the oldest being 20.   Three of them, who were waiting to take part in the performance, escaped.

By the last quarter of the 20th century the neighborhood of Columbus Avenue and West 72nd Street had severely declined.   But on October 28, 1973 Robert E. Tomasson, writing for The New York Times, called West 72nd Street "a major commercial thoroughfare that has undergone a marked rejuvenation in the last few years."  Part of that rejuvenation was the 1972 renovation of the Park & Tilford building to apartments.

The chamfered corner provided additional light to the selling floors.

McKim, Mead & White's ground floor had been obliterated by now.  Most passersby likely assume that the architecturally sympathetic fluted pilasters that today grace the storefront are original.  The terra cotta now longer wears a colorful palette, and the exuberant cornice cresting was long ago lost.  But the Park & Tilford building, where well-to-do shoppers browsed among champagne and imported French delicacies, still commands a dignified presence.

photographs by the author

The Hotel Hargrave -- 106-112 West 72nd Street

On January 6, 1903 Walter Stabler delivered an address to the Real Estate Class of the Y.M.C.A. on "The Development of the West Side."  In it he outlined the rather stumbling progress of developers in what was, in the mid-19th century, "one vast stretch of farm land."   It was not until the early 1880s, he pointed out, that real development took hold.   Only a few years after those rows of houses were erected many of them along the avenues and major streets were demolished as a new trend arose: residential hotels.

In George L. Felt commissioned architect Frederick C. Browne to design a 12-story hotel at Nos. 106 through 112 West 72nd Street.  The property ran through the block where four brownstones, completed in 1884, faced 71st Street.  Most likely inspired by the Parisian-type structures that had earlier begun arising along Broadway, Browne turned to the popular Beaux Arts style.

West 72nd Street retained its residential nature when the Hotel Hargrave was completed.  On Columbus Avenue the elevated railroad can be seen.  from the collection of the New York Historical Society.

Completed in 1902, the Hotel Hargrave was a bit more restrained than its larger and grander Broadway counterparts--there were no heroic sculptures nor fruit-burdened garlands, for instance.  Its brick and stone facade, however, did not disappoint.  The rusticated stone base rose three stories to an iron-railed stone balcony supported by pairs of ambitious stone brackets.  The six-story central section featured two curved copper-clad bays that culminated in frothy, carved cartouches.  Another full-width balcony introduced the upper section, dominated by a double-height copper mansard.

The Hotel Hargrave extended, partly, through to 71st Street.  When Henry L. Felt leased the new building to the Hargrave Hotel Company in March 1902, the paperwork noted that it included "the 16-foot house in the rear."  The management company, which agreed to pay $730,000 in total during its 21-year lease, had been organized specifically to run the hotel.  The New-York Tribune noted the group "is controlled by a number of wealthy club men and one of the largest wholesale manufacturers of furniture in the city.  It is to be fitted up elaborate, and will be rented as a high grade hotel.  It will be managed by a man who at present runs one of the most prominent clubs in New-York."

That manager was George Brown, who advertised the Hotel Hargrave as "New York's most accessible hotel," boasting the "six lines of transit, including Elevated and Subway express stations" nearby.  Unlike the residential hotels which were essentially high-end apartment houses without individual kitchens, the Hargrave was a "modern, high class family and transient hotel with superior appointments."  The distinction made it clear that travelers were welcomed as well.

The least expensive accommodations cost $2 per day--about $57 in today's dollars.  Brown marketed the hotel's amenities saying it offered "superior appointments," the restaurant service was "excellent," and "fine music a feature."

Thefts in turn of the century hotels were a constant problem and Brown apparently tried diligently to screen his potential employees.  When 18-year old Louis Messier applied for a bellboy position early in 1903, he seemed the perfect fit.  The young man came from a good Massachusetts family and he had graduated from a college in Montreal.  The New-York Tribune noted that he "presented good recommendations."

It was not long before police were searching for a hotel thief.  Among the guests robbed was George H. Pursur, who discovered $1,050 in jewelry missing from his room.  On February 23, 1903 two detectives entered Messier's rooms at No. 248 West 45th Street.  With Messier was 22-year old telephone operator John Cullen.  The officers found $3,400 in stolen jewelry in Messier's pockets and dresser drawer along with pawn tickets for almost that much more.

With Cullen's arrest his telephone operator position became available.  It may have been Rene Depierre, working in that position the following year, who filled the spot.  It was a job that nearly took Depierre's life on August 26, 1904.

At around 3:00 that afternoon, after connecting two rooms, he placed his hand on the metal portion of the transmitter.  According to the New-York Tribune, he "instantly fell to the floor, writhing in pain."  George Brown rushed to aid him, while bellboys ran for doctors. 

The Sun reported that Brown and other employees "saw that his arms were burned and swollen and that his face was purple."   The New-York Tribune added, "While waiting for the ambulance Depierre had an acute nervous attack, in which he constantly bit his finger nails, and the combined strength of the manager and a guest could not keep him from doing so."

All the while he was unable to speak and contorted his body as if in great pain.  His condition became more exaggerated at the hospital.  After a long period of continuous "massage treatment" he finally returned to normal.  Depierre remembered that after making the connection he felt a "terrific shock" and felt "as if red hot irons" were being thrust through his body.  After that he remembered nothing.

The hotel electrician searched for the cause, but could find nothing wrong with the switchboard.  His theory was a bit bizarre.  He told a reporter that "the telephone wires, which run underground to the hotel, may have become crossed with the Columbus avenue trolley wires, also underground."

An early postcard shows the original glass marquee and shallow stoop.  To the west, four-story brownstone homes still stand.

The Hotel Hargrave contributed in part to the women's movement in 1905 when it was the scene of the organization of the Women's Eastern Golf Association on December 13.  The club continued to meet in the hotel for years.

The success of the Hotel Hargrave prompted Frederick C. Browne to be called back in 1905 to enlarge the building.  The extension, completed in 1907, filled the entire 71st Street property.  There were now 300 guest rooms, 200 baths, a restaurant, four electric elevators and its own electric and ice making plants.


Burglaries continued to be a problem; but one guest handled an incident with amazing calm.  Samuel Fessenden was State Attorney of Connecticut and his family home was in Stamford.   The family closed the house for the winter of 1906-07 and moved into the Hargrave. 

While the family was at dinner on the evening of Saturday, February 16, the telephone rang.  Fessenden's daughter, Helen ("well known in Connecticut society," according to the New-York Tribune) left the table to answer it.  Just as she entered the darkened room a dark figure holding a revolver stepped out of a corner and ordered her not to make a noise.  He demanded that she turn over her jewelry.

Helen calmly explained that the family was in mourning and there were no jewels.  But she walked to a dresser and took two dollars from her purse, saying she was sorry that was all she had.

"Confound it, that's just my luck!" growled the burglar in hushed tones.  "This place looked good to me, and just because I am up against it and need the money there's nothing doing.  I won't fall for two bones, so here's your money back, and now, show me the way out."

Helen led him to the fire escape but before he left she "remonstrated with him on the error of his ways," according to the New-York Tribune.  When she was sure he was gone, she returned to the dining room and informed the family.  With the danger behind her, the reality of what had just transpired hit the feisty socialite.  "Miss Fessenden was much unnerved by the incident, but soon regained her composure," said the newspaper.

To the east of the hotel was Park & Tilford's high-end grocery building.  photo by Wurts Bros. from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York

Living in the Hargrave at the time was Gustav J. Fleischmann, president of the Fleischmann Realty and Construction Company.  Their mansion at No. 18 West 86th Street, which the would share his Gustav's partner and brother and their parents, was being completed.

Only a month after Helen Fessenden's incident, on March 25, Mrs. Fleischmann noticed that a blue velvet jewelry box in her dresser had been tampered with.   Missing were two diamond festoons valued at $6,000--more than $155,000 today.

The couple had hosted a dinner party for 12 guests the evening before.  Mrs. Fleischmann became indignant when police asked about them.  "Please do not refer to that.  They were all friends, just a little party of friends, and they enter in no way into this affair.  So say no more about them."

Police knew for sure that whoever the thief was, he was in a hurry.  He left behind $20,000 worth of diamonds pearls and other gems in the same drawer; including a $15,000 diamond necklace which had been only a few inches away from the lost festoons.

Suspicion fell on the Fleishmanns' two maids and the three hotel servants who had been in the apartment to clean.  The police were confident it was "an inside job," and noted that Mrs. J. Floyd Jones had recently been robbed of a $500 pearl necklace.

Annie Cronin, a 25-year old Hotel Hargrove maid, who had been hired in October, was arrested on what today would be considered rather flimsy grounds.  One of the Fleischmann maids told Detective Price "she saw the Cronin woman standing near Mrs. Fleischmann's dressing table Sunday morning."  The New York Times admitted "This is the only evidence so far against Annie."

If indeed Annie Cronin was responsible for the robbery, she was far less professional than the burglar who made off with $5,000 worth of Martha H. Armitage's jewelry in January 6, 1908.  Called by police the Rope Ladder Hotel Thief, 21-year old James Lakin was arrested on February 24.  The daring robber was wanted for robberies and burglaries both in New York and Boston for his four-month crime spree.  He entered hotel rooms by dropping a rope ladder from the roofs.

Lakin confessed to the Armitage theft.  In reporting on the arrest, The Sun mentioned "Mrs. Robert Tainer of the Hotel Hargrave was robbed of a quantity of valuables on February 16, but Lakin said he had no hand in it."

Terror filled the hotel on November 22, 1911 when a massive explosion occurred on the corner of 72nd Street and Columbus Avenue, just feet away.  A shanty had been erected there by sewer workers to hold dynamite.  Because the sticks had become partially frozen, they were being "toasted" to thaw them out.  The resultant explosion rocked the neighborhood, killed one man and injured several more.

The New York Times reported that the Hargrave "was the scene of intense excitement...Manager McGrath was in the lobby when he saw his windows go to pieces."  Almost all of the windows were blown out.

The telephone operator, Agnes Costello, "plugged every room in the house and gave a hasty assurance...that no one in the building was in danger," wrote The Evening World.  But guests were nonetheless shaken.  Rubber manufacturer E. L. Goodlove was shaving at the time.  "The shock threw his razor blade against his throat and inflicted a slight cut," the World said.

And John A. McCarthy, here from Albany, was blown into his bathtub by the force of the blast.  The New York Times lightened the mood by reporting "He was not hurt and showed his appreciation of the help accorded him by turning on the water and finishing his bath.  It was the first time, it was said in the hotel, that a guest had been assisted at his bath by an explosion of dynamite."

Perhaps the most infamous guest of the Hotel Hargrave was the former President of Nicaragua, General Jose Santos Zelaya.  In November 1913 when he arrived in New York he was wanted by the Nicaraguan government for the murders of Sixto Pineda and Domingo Toribio.

According to officials, Zelaya was "plotting to return to power in Nicaragua."  He and his son, Macias, went to the Hotel Victoria, then slipped away to the Waldorf-Astoria.  Discovering that he was being followed, he quietly checked into the Hotel Hargrave on November 20.

The New-York Tribune reported on November 25 "The Secret Service men followed the party to the Hotel Hargrave, and it was thought that the former dictator was trapped.  But Zelaya has friends in New York."

After staking out the hotel for some time, officials saw no trace of the fugitive.  The Tribune reported "At the hotel desk it was learned that General Zelaya had not been seen about the hotel since Saturday night.  It was though that he might have left the place on Sunday.  The baggage, the clerk said, was still in the house, but the hotel was being closely watched by Secret Service agents."

It was later discovered that Zelaya had been spirited out of the hotel in a trunk.  He was finally arrested in a friend's apartment on West End Avenue.   The Nicaraguan Government dropped its charges and allowed him to be released from The Tombs as long as he went to Spain.

In the years just prior to World War I the Hotel Hargrave was still upscale.  An advertisement in October 1916 noted that it catered "only to a Discriminating Clientele."   A two-person suite of parlor, bath and bedroom cost $3.00 per night, or about $67 today.  The same size apartment, rented full time in 1922, cost the equivalent of $2,475 per month today.

Prohibition brought frustration to many, if not most, Americans.  One of those was Hotel Hargrave resident Harry Schloss, who attempted to take matters into his own hands.  On July 10, 1924 The New York Times reported "The blockage against rum-runners in the estuary of the Shrewsbury River resulted yesterday in the seizure of 144 bottles of liquor found in a trunk and packing case that were being loaded on a truck from a steamboat, the Mary Patton."  Customs Inspectors told reporters that the trunk was consigned to H. Schloss, Hotel Hargrave."  Harry could not be found when agents followed up at the hotel.

For years the widow Evelyn A. Mossman and her son, John, had lived a secluded life in the Hargrave.  An invalid, she never left the apartment and spent no money.  Reportedly she had no jewelry and only $25 worth of clothing.  But the eccentric recluse was by no means indigent.

After she died in her apartment on November 19, 1925 a counsel for her estate discovered that banks and corporations had been searching for her for years.  "Mrs. Mossman's securities were so widely scattered and so neglected that many stocks had been called in long before her death and dividends on them had ceased," reported The Times.  "Many bonds had unclipped coupons which had matured far back."  Because she never turned in retired stocks or collected interest on bonds, institutions had been trying to find her.

After two years of unraveling Evelyn's tangled affairs, her estate included more than $1.1 million in securities, nearly $200,000 in bank accounts, and almost $67,000 in mortgages.  It was estimated that son John would inherit approximately $1.35 million--about 18 times that much today.

The Great Depression and changing taste negatively affected the Hotel Hargrave.  Fussy Beaux Arts hotels had lost favor to modern Art Deco structures.   Instead of the upscale suites of two decades earlier, a 1937 advertisement touted wicker-furnished rooms as "comfortable living at reasonable rates."

A faded star living here at the time was Helen Lackaye.  Born in 1883, she was known for her roles in such plays as Neal of the Navy in 1915, and The Knife in 1918.  She appeared as late as 1928 in Revolt at the Vanderbilt Theater.

Helen Lackaye -- from the collection of the New York Public Library

Helen was in private life Mrs. Agnes Helene Ridings.  On October 19, 1940 she was returning home from Pennsylvania on a Baltimore & Ohio train.  She became ill and was given first aid from a train attendant; but just as the train approached the Jersey City Terminal Helen died.

Helen Lackaye would not be the last of memorable names from the theater to live in the Hotel Hargrave.    In the fall of 1951 actor James Dean arrived in New York.  According to his biographer Peter Winkler in the 2016 The Real James Dean, "Sometime later after meeting and beginning an intimate relationship with dancer Elizabeth 'Dizzy' Sheridan, they rented a tiny, dilapidated room at the Hargrave Hotel."

By the time of this mid-century postcard, a shop had been carved into the former lobby.

As the Columbus Avenue-72nd Street area underwent a renaissance in the 1970s, the bleak hotel got a make-over.  On October 28, 1973 Robert E. Tomasson, writing for The New York Times, said "West 72d Street, a major commercial thoroughfare that has undergone a marked rejuvenation in the last few years is losing its last major eyesore, the 12-story former Hotel Hargrave near Columbus Avenue."

Purchased a year earlier by Sackman Enterprises, it was undergoing a conversion to 183 apartments, ranging from studios to two bedrooms.  A subsequent renovation, completed in 1989 converted the building to 66 condominiums.

While the ground floor has been somewhat altered and a beauty and hair care shop glaringly insults the once-proud French structure, the intact upper floors of the Hotel Hargrave are reminders of a time when the jewels of monied residents were constant temptations for robbers.

photograph by the author