The Mary Dawson House - 218 Avenue A

 

The offset door (right) was originally the access to the rear house and yard.

By 1853 Mary Dawson ran the boarding house at No. 218 Avenue A.  It was a respectable way of making a living since the death of her husband, Patrick.  A mix of the popular Greek Revival and Italianate styles, the architectural detailing of her 25-foot wide house was modest--molded lintels and a dentiled cornice.  In the yard behind was a second, smaller house for additional rental income.

Two of Mary's tenants were Irish immigrants.  Andrew Bray worked as a laborer and Mary McBride was the widow of Owen McBride.   Her other tenant was German--reflecting the increasing German population in the neighborhood.  Diederich Ahrens and his wife Mary not only lived in the house, but he ran his grocery store from the ground floor.

The tenant list in front and back buildings continued to be exclusively Irish (with the exception of Ahrens) for years.  Along with Andrew Bray and Mary McBride three years later were William Daley, Hugh Fitzpatrick, John McGovern and Bridget Walsh.  Girls whose families fled the Great Famine in Ireland most often found domestic work.  On November 1, 1854 an advertisement appeared in the New York Herald that read "Wanted--A situation by a respectable young woman, as chambermaid and seamstress; has no objections to do the housework of a small family; has good city reference.  Can be seen at 218 Avenue A."

On June 15, 1860 Dietrich and Mary Ahrens had a baby girl.  Tragically the baby died a year later on July 20.  The following day The New York Herald announced simply, "The remains will be taken from the residence of her parents, No. 218 avenue A...to the Lutheran Cemetery for interment, this afternoon, at half-past two o'clock."

Among the other tenants at the time was Michael Mulvany, who was a "driver"--most likely driving a delivery dray for a factory or railroad.  Three years later, with the Civil War raging in the South, the Government enacted a conscription act which called for all males between 20 and 45 years old (including aliens who intended to become citizens) to register for a draft.  A loophole was created whereby an exception could be purchased for $300--around $6,300 in today's money.

Working class immigrants like Michael Mulvany, of course, had no way to raise that amount of money.  When the city directories were issued later that year Mulvany was still listed at No. 218 Avenue A, but his profession was now "United States Army."

By the end of the war horse-drawn streetcars ran up and down Avenue A.  The Hyland family lived in No. 218 in 1870.  On the afternoon of February 13 Andrew Hyland, who was nine-years old, was coming home from Sunday school with two friends.  They saw a streetcar approaching but, according to the New York Herald, "attempted to cross the track ahead of the horses."  Andrew was "nearly opposite his father's residence" when he "fell on the rail track and was run over."  The newspaper reported "The remains were taken up and removed to the house, where Coroner Flynn was requested to hold an inquest."  The driver was arrested pending an investigation.

By 1872 the house was owned by the Radley family.  Joseph Radley operated his leather goods business in the store.  He and his wife, Eliza, had a daughter, Mary.  His father, Ignatius, who was retired, lived with the family.

Interestingly, the tenant list, which so recently had been almost exclusively Irish, was now almost totally German.  The names of Radley's roomers included, Gauss, Schmeder, Schuhknecht, Hinkel, Eberwein, Zittel and Kamper, for instance.

Eliza Radley died "suddenly" on January 7, 1873.  The funeral of the 44-year old was held in the house two days later.  Another funeral was held here on December 4, 1875.  Ignatius died at the age of 84 two days earlier.

By 1878 Mary Radley was helping her father with his business.  On March 13 that year she walked to the German Exchange Bank at the corner of Bowery and Stanton Street to make a deposit of $299--a considerable $7,900 in cash today.  No doubt for her safety, an acquaintance, Frank Wedel, accompanied her.

When they arrived at the bank they found it crowded and, as reported by The New York Times, "Wedel told Miss Radley that if it were inconvenient or unpleasant for her to push her way through the crowd, he would go up and deposit the money for her and save her the annoyance."  Mary agreed and Wedel took the money, disappeared into the crowd, and fled the city.

Investigators quickly tracked him down in Baltimore.  He was arrested nine days later and on the evening of March 22 Detective George H. Dilks returned on the train with Frank Wedel in tow.  He was taken to the Tombs awaiting trial.

Joseph Radley's tenants continued to be nearly all German into the 1880's.  The residents of the rear house in 1880 included painter Joseph Ferber; Conrad Flohr, Mary Sadler, a widow; and carpenter Henry Schell.  An exception was James Reed, who made his living as a stencil cutter.

Tenant Margaret Miller worked as a domestic.  The 60-year old had finished the laundry at her employer's flat at No. 48 Avenue A on March 20, 1882 and began hanging it out to dry.  The rear courtyards of apartment buildings were crisscrossed with clotheslines on pulleys.  As she stretched out to hang an article of clothing, she lost her balance and fell four stories to the yard below.  She was killed instantly.

The rather primitive conditions for the residents was evidenced in August 1906 when the property was offered for sale.  An advertisement in The New York Times described the buildings as "4-story tenements, toilets in yard."

Although the majority of the German population moved north to the Yorkville neighborhood before World War I, the area around No. 218 continued to be a mix of ethnicities.  Joseph Kuhn lived here in January 1926 when he submitted his name to a raffle hosted by radio station WRNY.  An article in The Sun's "Radio Section" on January 23 began "Number 13 disproved its reputation for Joseph Kuhn, 50 year old blind man, who lives at 218 Avenue A, for on Sunday night his name was the thirteenth to be drawn in the Listeners-In-Contest."

The article said, "Joseph Kuhn has been blind since the age of 6, when the ravages of scarlet fever deprived him of his sight.  He lives in a little drab two room flat on Avenue A and manages to eke out a sustenance with what he earns playing the piano and the little support the State gives him."  Kuhn's win earned him a "five tube radio set."

The building as it appeared around 1941.  image via the NYC Dept of Records & Information Services

George Siglar lived in the building in the Great Depression years.  At around 1:30 on the morning of October 21, 1932 he was riding in the automobile of Edward Fauer who was apparently bringing him home.  They had almost made it when Fauer noticed a friend at East 13th Street and Avenue A and pulled the car over to talk.  Just as Fauer was about to drive off again, two men appeared and demanded money.

In the affray that followed Siglar was stabbed in the chest, suffered a broken nose and was robbed of $31.  The Brooklyn Daily Eagle reported "The two robbers then threw Siglar and Fauer from the machine."  One of the thugs jumped in and drove off, leaving his accomplice on his own.

Fauer's and Siglar's shouts were heard by a patrolman who caught Tony Fasulo, the one who had stabbed Siglar.  He had an interesting alibi at police headquarters.  "In the lineup Fasulo insisted he was drunk and did not know what happened."

The gritty East Village neighborhood changed in the third quarter of 20th century as artists and musicians moved in.  Today the apartments in both the front and back buildings at No. 218 Avenue A are outfitted with modern amenities like stainless steel appliances--and indoor plumbing.  Realtors romantically and incorrectly market the rear apartments as being in "the carriage house."  But other than a coat of paint, a 20th century fire escape, and a reconfiguration of the residential entrance, little has changed outwardly to the widow Mary Dawson's house.

photograph by the author

The 1899 St. Anthony Hall - 434 Riverside Drive

 

Delta Psi Fraternity was founded at Columbia University in 1847.  Because it was the fraternity's first chapter, it was given the name Alpha.   In the second half of the century, as exclusive university-based clubs were formed--the University Club, Princeton, Yale and Dartmouth Clubs among them--the St. Anthony Club (sometimes called the Alpha Club) was organized.  Its announced purpose was "to promote social intercourse among members of the Delta Psi Fraternity."

The New-York Tribune pointed out that Delta Psi was the first "of the Greek letter societies to establish in New-York a club which presents many of the features of the other society clubs in the city."

The Delta Phi Society erected a handsome clubhouse designed by James Renwick, Jr. on East 28th Street in 1879.  The Sun's Guide to New York later noted "This is the oldest and probably the wealthiest of the college fraternity clubs in this city...Not only is membership restricted to members of the Delta Psi fraternity, but no non-member is even allowed to pass the threshold of the club-house."

In the spring of 1895 Columbia University began erecting buildings far north of the city in Morningside Heights.  A year later the school relocated to the remote campus, leaving the club in its wake.  In response, on March 23, 1897 the Alpha Club acquired a 36-foot wide plot on Riverside Drive between 115th and 116th Street from Harriet B. Hale.

The site was conveniently close to Columbia's new campus and afforded breathtaking views of the Hudson River and New Jersey palisades.  The club hired the architectural firm of Wood, Palmer & Hornbuster to design its new clubhouse.  The commission was influenced, no doubt, by the fact that George Carnegie Palmer was a Delta Psi brother.  The plans, filed on August 26, 1898, called for a "5-story brick and stone club house" to cost $45,000--or around $1.43 million in today's money.  The final cost was reportedly nearly twice that amount.

The architects blended the Beaux Arts and neo-French Renaissance Revival styles to create a stately red brick structure liberally trimmed in limestone.  The entrance, which was placed discretely back from the property line, was accessed by a covered porch which provided a balcony to the second floor.  (Openings in the stone porch gave sweeping north views before a 20th century apartment building snuggled up against it.)

The center openings of the second through fourth floors held French doors that opened onto balconies.  The stone cornice was broken by a false stone dormer which embraced a carved cartouche with the fraternity's symbols.  The fifth floor took the form of a hip roof with copper- and stone-clad dormers.

Known as St. Anthony Hall, the clubhouse, like the exclusive men's clubs downtown, had a dining, billiard, meeting and reception rooms, a library designed in the emerging Arts & Crafts style, and sleeping rooms for 20 resident members.  Fraternity historian  Edward Fermor Hall wrote in 1906 that it was "beautifully decorated and finished in marble at a large expense." 

That the members of the Alpha Club came from some of the country's wealthiest families was pointedly evidenced in 1905 by one resident of the Hall, Rutherfurd Stuyvesant Pierrepont.  A senior that year, he came from the millionaire Pierrepont family of Brooklyn.  His brother, Seth Low Pierrepont, was a sophomore.  Rutherford was known on campus as "a good athlete and wears the varsity 'C' for rowing," according to The Sun.  But the newspaper was not reporting on his athletic abilities.  It was announcing that the 23-year old had paid for the erection of Hamilton Hall--a $500,000 gift to Columbia University (the amount would be three times that much today).

Hermann Oelrichs, Jr. lived in St. Anthony Hall in 1913.  He had grown up in the marble-clad mansion on Fifth Avenue at 57th Street and the family's opulent summer estate, Rosecliff in Newport.   When his father died in 1906 he left the then 15-year old boy a massive fortune in trust equal to $1.5 billion today.

The American Architect and Building News, 1899, copyright expired

Having millions of dollars does not change the fact that college boys are college boys.  On September 30, 1913 Hermann took possession of a new automobile.  That evening the telephone in St. Anthony Hall rang and, as fate would have it, Hermann answered it.  Lucille Singleton asked to speak to D. M. "Billy" Claghorn.  He was not in (as a matter of fact he was in Washington State) and it became evident that Lucille and he had never met, The Knickerbocker Press saying "she sought an introduction."

Oelrichs apparently recognized an opportunity to meet a young woman and did not disclose the fact that he was not Claghorn.  "After some talk he agreed to take her for an automobile ride."   Lucille, described by The Evening World as "a beautiful young girl with a mass of tawny hair," lived nearby on West 115th Street.  Oelrichs picked her up in his brand new car.  But, according to Lucille, he "became insanely jealous when she asked him to bring their automobile ride to a close that she might keep another engagement at her home."

A subsequent argument resulted in Oelrichs smashing his car into a tree at Broadway and 120th Street.  Both he and Lucille suffered lacerations from broken glass.  But in her hysteria Lucille was positive that she had been stabbed--and she still thought she was with Billy Claghorn.  The following day she filed a complaint that he had inflicted ten stab wounds "in the right arm, breast, neck and side."

The car was quickly identified as belonging to Oelrichs, but when questioned Lucille said she did not know him.  A reporter from The Evening News spoke to Oelrichs on the phone, who explained:

I loaned my car to Claghorn last night...I don't know what he did with it.  I haven't seen him since he drove away early last evening.  I didn't know anything about the accident until I heard of it this morning, but it's ridiculous to say that Claghorn stabbed anybody.  Why, such a thing is impossible.

Word of the incident reached Claghorn that morning.  A report from Tacoma, Washington said, "D. M. Cleghorn [sic], former Columbia student, was indignant to-day when told that his name had been mentioned in connection with the accident to Miss Lucille Singleton in New York last night...he believes that some New York man is masquerading as Cleghorn [sic]."

Oelrichs's story soon fell apart as witnesses to the accident identified him.  But Columbia students rallied behind him, nevertheless.  One told a reporter from The Evening World, "It's all that girl's fault.  If she'd kept her mouth shut Hermann would never have been mixed up in this."  The matter was closed when Lucille apparently accepted a $5,000 settlement--just under $135,000 today.

St. Anthony Hall was the scene of tragedy two years later.  Daniel Le Roy Dresser was a well-known financier whose sisters had all married well.  Edith Dresser had married George Washington Vanderbilt and lived in the massive 250-room Biltmore estate in North Carolina.  His others sisters were Mrs. George C. Merrill, Mrs. John Nicholas Brown, and the Countess d'Osmay of Paris.

On the afternoon of July 10, 1915 Dresser's wife of six months, Marcia, was just preparing to leave their home to meet him and head to their Newport estate when the telephone rang.  Dresser's attorney C. W. Gould, told her not to come.  The reason was devastating.

Earlier Dresser had gone to St. Anthony Hall.  The Sun reported that around 3:00 "William Bainbridge, a steward at the chapter house, left for a few minutes."  Dresser, who was in the library reading, was left alone in the house.  Just as Bainbridge returned, C. W. Gould arrived in a taxi.  He had received a registered letter sent by Dresser earlier in the day saying that "the nervous strain" was more than he could endure.

The Sun reported, "The steward was unaware that anything untoward had occurred until Mr. Gould bounded up the steps and demanded to know where Mr. Dresser was.  Bainbridge told him he had last seen him on the third floor in the library, and without further ado Mr. Gould went up stairs.  Dresser lay dead on the floor, a .38 calibre revolver in his right hand."

The striking fireplace in the main room is dedicated to member Joseph Wild Mackay who, like Hermann Oelrichs, was a member of the varsity rowing team.  

A rather unexpected resident of St. Anthony Hall was Charles Christopher Trowbridge.  He was not a student, but a well-respected professor of physics at Columbia since 1892.  The Sun said of him, "Besides his extensive laboratory investigation in modern physics he contributed toward the knowledge of meteors and the mechanics of bird flight."  He was still living in the clubhouse on June 2, 1918 when the 48-year old bachelor died.

As members came and went over the decades, protocol was slightly relaxed.  By the third quarter of the century fewer resident members wore jackets and ties on a day-to-day basis.  Yet many of the generations-old traditions remained.  In the 19th century James Grant Wilson had described the Alpha Club as a "secret order" and on March 31, 1889 the New-York Tribune had said of the old clubhouse, "Those who are not permitted to wear the mystic St. Anthony cross, with its shield of blue enamel, its Hebrew letters and its skull and bones, know little of the interior of the heavily bolted club-house of Delta Psi."  And as late as October 7, 2013 Kaitlin Phillips, writing in the Columbia Spectator, said, "St. A's is one of three secret societies at Columbia."

Above -- The Arts and Crafts style dining room as it appears today.  Below--one of the delicately-leaded dining room windows.

But the modern St. Anthony Hall was not always so "heavily bolted."  In April 1975, for instance, it was opened to scores of decidedly non-members.  The New York Times reported "A dozen Vietnamese and Vietnamese-American children romped through a bazaar at a fraternity house at Columbia University over the weekend, under photographs of crippled Vietnamese youngsters their own age  begging in the streets of Saigon."   The 200 guests were new to America, many of them wives of former American servicemen.  The bazaar was held to raise funds for war refugees in Vietnam.

The loyalty and fervor for St. Anthony Hall held by its members was typified by William Irvine when he read an article in The New York Times on May 11, 1988 which called the fraternity system "self-selecting and discriminatory."  He fired back a letter to the editor which said in part:

My own college fraternity, St. Anthony Hall, was founded at Columbia before the Civil War as a literary society, which it remains.  It is coeducational and has many undergraduate members involved in academic, political and athletic pursuits on campus.

He accused the article's writer of being "uninformed."

The aristocratic facade of St. Anthony Hall is remarkably unchanged.  The past few decades have not been kind to areas of the interior, however, with seeping water causing noticeable damage in the lower areas.  A $100,000 drive for restoration funds is ongoing.  

photographs by the author

many thanks to Will Barker for his help and guided tour.

many thanks, too, to Tad Tharp, Board of Trustees member who prompted the post and shared his vast knowledge.

John C. Burne's 1890 260 West 17th Street

On August 1, 1889 William C. Burne purchased the two two-story wooden houses at Nos. 258 and 260 West 17th Street from Newman Cowen, paying $18,000 for both properties.  He had big plans for the site.  His architect, John C. Burne (possibly a relative) filed plans for a five story "brick flat" to cost $37,500.  The total expense of the project including property would equal $1.58 million today.

Burne produced an exuberant blend of materials and styles.  Clad in yellow brick, it was lavishly ornamented with brownstone and terra cotta.  The architect's recipe of Queen Anne, Renaissance Revival and Romanesque Revival styles resulted in a striking architectural concoction.

Creative brickwork appeared in the faux fluting of the upper piers and remarkable stepped corbels below the cornice (now sadly lost).  But terra cotta stole the show in foliate bands and panels, chain motifs, Corinthian capitals and the sumptuous spandrel of the top floor arch.   Here a central portrait of Mercury was flanked by roses, cornucopia and swirling vines.

Impressive now, the upper section must have been more so when the cornice was in place.

Although its tenants were respectably middle-class, the building quickly appeared in news articles for less than favorable reasons.  It started with one of the original residents, 34-year old William H. Buttner, a lawyer.

Buttner moved into No. 260 in August 1890, just after its completion.  He opened his law office at No. 322 Broadway with partner William D. Hughes in January 14, 1888.  The firm specialized in divorce cases.  The Press noted "They advertised extensively that they were able to secure 'divorces without publicity,' and were soon overrun with clients."  The partnership fell apart before the year was out.

Buttner was at Koster & Bial's music hall on Christmas Eve 1890 "in a full dress suit" when officers arrested him.  He spent Christmas in jail, thus attired, and appeared in the Jefferson Market Police Court on December 26.  Also there was his former partner, William D. Hughes, who testified against him in damning detail.  The scandalous story was covered across the country.

The Fort Worth Daily Gazette reported on December 27 that "William H. Buttner, manufacturer of bogus divorces, has been entangled by the statements of his former partner."  Hughes told the court about taking money from clients who never received a divorce.  The Press added "The pair did not devote all their time to divorce cases, but also presented civil suits and by deceit and forgery robbed their poor clients."

Buttner was so enraged by his former partner's testimony that he snarled at him "I ought to go to the state prison for something else besides being associated with you--I'd rather go there for homicide."  Both he and Hughes were sentenced to terms of five to seven years in state prison.

While Mr. and Mrs. Bucklow were in Europe during the summer of 1891, Mrs. Bucklow's brother occupied their flat.  On his birthday, a group of friends surprised him with a party.

Living directly below was Mrs. Myra Stevens.  There had already been problems between her and her upstairs neighbors.  She long suspected Mrs. Bucklow of purposely tossing dirty dish water out her window onto her drying clothes.  The birthday party was apparently the last straw.  When the Bucklows returned home, Mrs. Stevens took them to court.

On September 4 the New York Herald reported that Myra, "a tall, expensively dressed blonde, in Jefferson Market police Court, yesterday afternoon, complained that Mrs. Bucklow, who lives in the same apartment house at No. 260 West Seventeenth street, was constantly throwing dirty water on her rugs and clothing."  Myra Stevens was dressed to impress the judge.  She "wore a quantity of valuable diamonds.  A magnificent crescent glistened at her neck and she wore a pair of brilliant eardrops."

She testified that when she had complained about the ruined laundry, "Mrs. Bucklow told her the dirty water was only a sample of what she might expect."  And she threw in the party, embellishing a bit.  The New York Herald reported that she accused Mrs. Bucklow's brother of "entertaining ladies and gentlemen and made sleep to the other tenants impossible by the noise.  They made a practice of hoisting beer up on the fire escape by means of a rope."

Mrs. Bucklow denied the charges, although she admitted that perhaps dirt from her flower pots might have fallen onto her neighbor's laundry.  "She said the complainant made trouble continually for the tenants, that the house did not seem to be good enough for her."  The exasperated judge "advised the ladies to settle their grievances out of court," concluded the article.

Elizabeth M. Styles was living in the building at about the same time.  A devote Roman Catholic, she worshiped at the Church of the Blessed Sacrament, far north on Broadway at 71st Street.  But as 1894 drew to an end, Elizabeth began showing signs of mental instability.  She began going to the church in the morning, and spending the day there without eating or drinking anything.  Friends and parishioners tried to discourage her but, according to The Evening Telegram, "She listened to no remonstrances and declared that it was necessary for her religious well being that she spend most of her time in the sanctuary."

Elizabeth's obsession worsened and on the night of February 5, 1895 when it came time to close the church, the 50-year old woman refused to leave.  After being "turned out," as worded by the newspaper, "instead of going to her home, she went to the West Sixty-eighth street [police] station and declared that she must remain there."  Captain Gallagher sent for her nephew, Gilbert Jackson, who explained that his aunt "was well connected, but had long acted strangely and her friends could do nothing with her."  Elizabeth was held in the station overnight and then taken to the Yorkville Police Court "to be examined as to her sanity."

Terra cotta details include leafy bands and exotic panel decorations.

In the summer of 1906 two Boston lovebirds, George Forsythe, a bellboy, and May McCormack, a telephone operator, ran away and took an apartment in the 17th Street building.  They were both 22-years old, so were not legally answerable to their parents.  The problem was that they took "cash and clothes belonging to the girl's mother," as reported by The Sun on August 6.  "All told, the mother said, she was a loser to the amount of $350."  That would amount to about $10,300 today.

Boston police sent a telegram to New York with a description of the culprits.  Detectives tracked them down to West 17th Street.  The Sun reported "The youngsters said they came down here to get work, and that after they got settled they intended to get married."

Teen-aged Joseph Collins continued the string of unflattering press in 1924.  At around 9:30 on the night of May 15 Patrolman Daily noticed 15-year old Arthur Klebbe walking along West 14th Street.  There was nothing suspicious about the boy, but two hours later he passed the cop again, this time "carrying a huge bundle," according to The Sun.  Daily stopped him and asked what he was carrying.  Inside the bundle were five fur coats.

At the station house Collins confessed everything.  The coats were part of the total heist of ten stolen from the Arnold Cloak Company on Sixth Avenue.  Collins quickly identified his two accomplices, 17-year old Joseph Collins and 18-year old Edward Murphy.  When police checked arrested Collins at No. 260 West 17th Street, they found the other five coats under his bed.

A renovation completed in 1936 resulted in two apartments per floor.  Among the new residents were William and Jean Shockley, who paid $60 per month rent for the two-bedroom apartment (about $1,100 today).  The couple had married in August 1933 and had a baby daughter, Alison, born in March the following year.

William Bradford Shockley, Jr.'s biographer, Joel N. Shurkin, in his 2008 Broken Genius, described the apartment:

The house was attractive and well kept; the kitchen and bath tiled and as modern as any apartment they visited; and high ceilings and tall windows let in a warm stream of diffuse light.  Visitors entered into a central hall.  The living room was on the left and the bedrooms were in the back of the apartment, behind a dining area.

William Bradford Shockley, Jr. photo by Chuck Painter, Stanford News Service

Shockley was a physicist and inventor.  He would go on to research radar at Bell Labs in Manhattan during World War II and worked on Columbia University's Anti-Submarine Warfare Operations Group.  In 1956 he an two other scientists were awarded the Nobel Prize in Physics and work in developing the transistor resulted in the formation of California's Silicon Valley.

Perhaps the most shocking news story to come out of the building happened in March 1954 when Federal agents arrested 47-year old Mrs. Joan Kaufmann, an unemployed cosmetician.  Joan's neighbors most likely could not have suspected she was part of a major narcotics ring.  She had been under continuous surveillance by investigators for months before her arrested in her apartment on March 5.  Her accomplice, Saul Gelb, was arrested at an apartment on East 56th Street which "he had rented for the purpose of processing narcotics."  Agents also seized more than $2 million in drugs.

There are still just two apartments per floor in the building.  Sadly the cornice was lost during the 20th century; but overall John C. Burne's eye-catching design is little changed.

photographs by the author

The 1868 Marble-Faced 114 Franklin Street

photo via streeteasy.com

On April 18, 1868 a notice appeared in The New York Herald that read simply "For Sale--The Valuable Lot, 114 Franklin street."  An old house had stood on the lot for decades and had been operated as a rooming house in the 1850's.  Next door, at No. 112, a new loft and store building had just been completed for Max Weil.  It was designed by architect Samuel A. Warner. 

The empty lot was purchased by Elliot C. Cowdin.  He was simultaneously erecting two buildings at Nos. 96-98 and 100-102 Grand Street designed by Benjamin W. Warner, who shared an office with his architect brother Samuel.  He now gave Warner the commission to design No. 114 Franklin Street.  The resultant building would be identical to No. 112; and although the design clearly came from the drawing board of Samuel A. Warner, Benjamin gets the credit as architect of record.  

Completed in 1868, like its twin No. 114 it rose five-stories and was faced in marble above the cast iron storefront.  A handsome blend of Italianate and French Second Empire styles, it featured segmentally-arched openings flanked by Doric pilasters.  A pronounced still course separated each floor.

Cowdin was a man of broad interests.  The New York Times would later say he "made his name equally familiar in business, politics and commercial and agricultural literature."  He was the principal in Elliot C. Cowdin & Co., importers and dealers of "French fancy goods."  But his business did not move into the new Franklin Street building which he had erected as an investment only.

Among Cowdin's early tenants was Louis Weddigen & Co., dry goods importers and commission merchants.  Customs records reveal that the goods the firm brought into the country included "Italian cloths and worsted dress goods" along with velvet, satin and silk.

Although technically listed as being designed by different architects, No. 114 (left) and No. 112 are identical.

Another dry goods merchant, Mackintosh, Green & Co., was unintentionally involved in a scam which cost citizens thousands in tax dollars.  In 1873 the Department of Charities and Correction forewent the bidding process and granted a contract for dry goods to "a person named Sternback."  Suspicious, the New York Herald launched an investigation.  It discovered that Sternback did not appear in the City Directory, he had no known place of business, and there was no evidence that he was a dry goods merchant.  What was known was that he purchased goods at a discount and sold them to the city at an inflated price.

Among its evidence, the newspaper pointed out that he "purchased of Mackintosh, Green & Co., of No. 114 Franklin street, 9,000 yards of woollen stuff at 35 cents per yard, with 5 per cent off, and sold it to the city at 45 cents per hard, with 5 per cent off, making nearly $1,000 out of the taxpayers by the one transaction."

The building continued to house garment-related merchants, like Oberndorff & Co., here in the 1880's; and Freeman D. Marckwald, an importer of whalebone, "horn strips, polished dress bones and toothbrushes," the following decade.  Whalebone was an important component in the manufacture of corsets.

As had been the case with Mackintosh, Green & Co., in February 1897 Freeman & Marckwald was also involved in a scam and it appears the firm was an innocent pawn.  Ferdinand May was arrested for fraud, having negotiated the sale of $222,310 in bills of exchange to the firm of Weil, Auerbacher & Co.  The bills were drawn on Freeman & Marckwald.

According to The Sun on February 21, May told Weil, Auerbacher & Co. "that his firm had sent Marckwald large consignments of whalebone and that Marckwald had about half a million dollars' worth of the whalebone in storage."  None of that was true.  But May had cashed in the bills before the scam was discovered.

Marckwald was called in to testify.  He "said that there never was any [whalebone] in storage with him," reported the Evening Telegram on March 3.  May was sent off to prison and there was no indication of Marckwald's involvement at all.

And yet, soon afterward Freeman D. Marckwald mysteriously packed his things and sailed for Europe.  A year later Deputy Sheriff Carrahar took control of the business.  The Sun reported on October 2, 1898 "The attachment was obtained on the ground that Mr. Marckwald had been absent from his place of business here for more than a year and was supposed to be in Europe."

In 1886 the firm of Switzer & Schussel was formed to import and manufacturer handles for umbrellas and parasols next door at No. 112.  Then late in 1911 business had grown to the point that Switzer & Schussel continued the manufacturing, while a newly-formed office, Schussel & Manly, handled the import and sales.  Interestingly considering the period, Edward Max Schussel's partner was a female, Gertrude A. Manly.  Their new offices opened in No. 114 Franklin St. 

In its January 1912 issue Luggage and Leather Goods commented that Schussel & Manly would be showing its "large domestic line, consisting of novelties in fancy woods, horn and Ivorine, a very large and attractive line of import handles, unique in styles and prices, during the month of February.  Also a full line of imported umbrella frames, handles, mounts, etc."

But like so many German-based businesses throughout the United States, World War I dealt a crushing blow.  In February 1918 Trunks, Leather Goods and Umbrellas reported "Schussel & Manly, manufacturers and importers of umbrella handles and canes, are retiring from business."  It was not so simple as that.

The anti-German sentiment which swept the country resulted in the Trading With The Enemy Act of 1917.  It gave the Government broad rights to confiscate the properties of German-born businessmen whether or not they were American citizens.

The Alien Custodian Report listed the "enemy interest" in Schussel & Manly Manufacturing Co. at 100 percent.  Edward Max Schussel and Gertrude Manly had not truly retired.  Instead, as reported in the Report of the Alien Property Custodian, "The business was liquidated under enemy trade license."  All assets of Schussel & Manly were confiscated by the Alien Property Custodian.  Max Schussel moved his family back to Germany, as did Gertrude Manly.

While dry goods related firms remained in No. 114 for decades years following the war, a variation in the tenant list began appearing in 1921.  That year Ace Specialties Corp. was listed here.  It dealt in goods like paper goods, like cups, doilies, napkins, as well as "sanitary spoons," tin kitchen utensils, and toilet paper.

The last quarter of the century saw the rediscovery of Tribeca arrive on Franklin Street.  By 1977 the Bromm Gallery was in the building, and in 1999 Grace Bar and Restaurant opened.  It was described by The New York Times food critic Florence Fabricant as "a sleek, Art Deco-inspired place, with tapas-style food at the bar."

As was happening with so many 19th century loft buildings throughout the district, a renovation completed in 2008 resulted in one apartment per floor above the store.  Two years later, in March 2010, Albert Trummer told Florence Fabricant of his plans for the ground floor.  He said his Theater Bar "will be inspired by Vienna and the nightlife of the 1930s and '40s."  The theatrically-themed venue opened in April 2011.

Both No. 114 and its twin sister survive remarkably intact after more than 140 years.

photographs by the author

The Rutgers Club - 314 West 91st Street

 

In June 1892 mansion architect C. P. H. Gilbert filed plans for a four-story brick and stone residence for attorney Charles DeHart Brower.  Completed within the year, the 39-foot wide house cost Brower the equivalent of $580,000 in today's money.  A period photograph of an abutting structure gives tantalizing clues to its appearance--a red Roman brick facing and grouped stone-framed windows with colorful stained glass transoms.

Born on December 13, 1856 Charles had married Mary Holly Bailey on October 12, 1880.  The couple had three children, 8-year old Charles Ferguson, 7-year old Fannie, and Bailey, who was born in the new house on May 2, 1893.

Brower had been a member of Ye Olde Settlers' Association of Ye West Side since 1884, a social club for area residents.  He was also highly involved in the West End Association, a more activist group, staunchly defensive of the developing suburb which lobbied for improvements like sewers and mass transportation, and against "nuisances" like the city's proposal to use land below Riverside Drive for incinerating garbage.  He was, as well, a director and treasurer of the Ocean Trading Co., and a trustee of the Metropolitan Museum of Art.

The Brower country home was in Quogue, Long Island.  There Charles berthed his yacht, the Frontenac.  The craft was annually entered in the Westhampton Country Club regatta.   And by the time the younger Charles reached his 18th birthday, he too had a boat.  Father and son did very well in the regatta of 1902.   On August 10 the Brooklyn Daily Eagle reported "In class Q. sloop Frontenac, Charles Dehart Brower, was an easy winner, beating Winnabust over nine minutes, with Wampnissie third.  In class U. sloops, Lass, Charles Dehart Brower, jr., finished first and Atmaq, second."

In 1901 the West End Association began fighting with the Forty-second Street, Manhattanville & St. Nicholas Avenue Railway Company "against the maintenance of four tracks in Amsterdam Avenue, on the ground that the unused tracks are a nuisance as well as a menace to the public," as reported by The New York Times.  When nothing happened after five years, Charles DeHart Brower took the matter in to his own hands, suing the firm and seeking the forfeiture of its charter.

The younger Charles had graduated from Princeton in 1904 with a degree in electrical engineering.  The family was spending the holidays in Quogue in 1907 while Marian Childs was visiting the William E. Barnes family nearby.  The Sun mentioned that both Charles and Marian "are well known in New York society."  

It appears that the two were well-known to themselves as well, for on New Year's Eve Charles proposed that they elope.  The Sun explained it saying he "asked Miss Child's why they couldn't get married then and dispense with the marriage license and a lot of bother and fuss."  Within hours the two were married.  The article said "They and a few relatives got into Mr. Brower's automobile and the trip to Riverhead was made in a hurry."

Fanny's marriage to Harvey C. McClintock on November 11, 1911 was a more traditional affair.  It took place in the Quogue residence with the expected announcement, invitations, and guests.  The newlyweds moved into the West 91st Street house.

In the meantime, Mary Brower was involved in Upper West Side causes.  She was an officer in the Bloomingdale Day Nursery and a member of the Ladies' Association of the Sheltering Arms.  The Sheltering Arms was an institution founded to care for children six to twelve years old "for whom no other institution provides."  The children were not orphans, but placed there by parents or guardians who could not afford to care for them.

Around 1917 Charles Brower fell ill.  His condition worsened over a period of months and he died in the house on May 2, 1918 at the age of 62.

Two years later the Browers offered the residence for sale at $65,000--just under $830,000 in today's money.  The Real Estate Record & Builders' Guide reported that it sold for a startlingly higher amount, $85,000 and that "after extensive alterations will be occupied by the purchaser."

That purchaser was motion picture producer William Fox, founder in 1915 of the Fox Film Corporation.  He was also a director in the Motion Picture Producers and Distributors of America.  Born in Hungary as Vilmos Fuchs, his parents brought him to the United States when he was nine-months old.   His name is best remembered today in 20th Century Fox, Fox Broadcasting and similar firms.

Possibly because the motion picture industry was rapidly moving west to California, Fox's residency in the house was short lived.  In 1923 it was purchased by the Rutgers Club which hired architect Samuel Sass to do interior renovations.  Five years later the architectural firm of Gronenberg & Leuchtag completely remodeled the building, giving it a new neo-Romanesque facade.  Stone medieval-inspired corbels over the entrance and below the cornice, and inset heraldic shields provided contrast to the brown-red brick.  The center shield below the gable holds the club's monogram, RC.

From the beginning the Rutgers Club was used by Jewish groups, most notably Ivriah, a women's group which ran a Jewish education center in the building.  On February 15, 1923 the New York Post reported "One of the most unique collections of dolls in the world--representing dolls of twenty-five countries stretching from the inner-most sections of the Orient to the nations of Eastern and Central Europe--will be displayed by...the West Side Division of Ivriah at the Rutgers Club, 314 West Ninety-first Street."

And on April 22, 1934 the Jewish Telegraphic Agency reported on Ivriah's upcoming weekly meeting.  Leo Schwartz was to discuss "Jewish Problems and their solution" and Selma Start would speak on "Creative Listening to Music."

International Jewish issues continued to be addressed in lectures and meetings here.  On November 4, 1937 The New York Sun reported "A symposium on the proposed establishment of a Jewish State in Palestine has been arranged by the West Side Zionist District for next Monday evening at the Rutgers Club."

Little has changed to the exterior of the building since this photograph was shot around 1941.  via the NYC Dept of Records & Information Services

On August 2, 1943 The New York Sun announced that the Herzliah Hebrew Academy had purchased the building.  The article noted "the purchaser plans to extensively alter the building and occupy it for education purposes with a curriculum similar to that of a junior college."  The renovations, completed in 1944, resulted in an auditorium on the first floor, class rooms in the second and third, and offices on the top floor.

The Herzliah Hebrew Academy remained for more than two decades.  By the early 1970's the building had become the Walden School, a private school for grades 8 through 12, and in 1974 was home to the Center for Change, "a revolutionary health care and educational service organization," according to WorkForce magazine.

In 2005 The Ideal School of Manhattan was founded and moved into No. 314 West 91st Street.  The independent elementary school remains in the space.  And despite its many incarnations, the exterior is little changed since the Rutgers Club gave it a facelift in 1928.

photographs by the author

The Lost William B. Astor Sr. House - 32 Lafayette Place

 

from Magazine of American History, edited by Mrs. Martha J. Lamb, 1886 (copyright expired)

Born in 1792, William Backhouse Astor's life began much differently than it would end.  His father, John Jacob Astor I, had originally come to America to join his brother, Henry, in his butcher shop.  After working there a short time he left to make money in the fur trade, buying raw hides from Native Americans.  He opened his own fur shop in New York in the late 1780's.

William was educated in public schools while simultaneously working in his father's store.  By the time he was 16 his father's financial status was such that William was sent to Germany for further education.  Upon his return in 1815 he entered his father's firm, although at least one source scoffed that he was in truth merely "an industrious and faithful head clerk."

John Jacob Astor was "on terms of intimacy," as worded by The Sun later, with General John Armstrong.  Armstrong had been, as well, a delegate to the Continental Congress, a U.S. Senator and President James Madison's Secretary of War.  

Three years after William's return to New York, in 1818, he married Armstrong's daughter, Margaret Alida Rebecca Armstrong.  She was decidedly above his social class.  Margaret's mother was the former Alida Livingston.  The Livingston family was prominent in society as was the family of Alida's mother, Margaret Beekman.

According to The Sun later, "at the time of William B. Astor's courtship the young man was poor.  His father was actively attending to his business; but his uncle, Henry Astor, who had long been a celebrated butcher in the Bowery, assisted him."

William and Margaret would have seven children, Emily, John Jacob III, Mary Alida, Laura Eugenia, William Backhouse, Jr., Henry III, and Sarah Todd.

When Henry Astor died childless in 1833 he left his $500,000 estate to William--about $15.7 million in today's money.  It afforded him the means to erect a fine home in the fashionable Lafayette Place neighborhood.  His father had begun buying up property in the district in 1804 and by now the marble-fronted LaGrange Terrace, an elegant grouping of nine mansions, had been completed directly across the street from William's plot.

Four bays wide, the Greek Revival style house at No. 32 Lafayette Place sat above an English basement.  The entrance sat within a columned portico and French windows at the parlor level opened onto cast iron balconies.  The family enjoyed a walled garden to the side.

The neighborhood filled with Astors.  John Jacob Astor I's house was located less than a block away on Art Street (later Astor Place), and William's brother John Jacob Astor, Jr., moved into LaGrange Terrace.  (John Jr. was mentally challenged and sickly.  Deemed by The Troy Daily Times as the "idiot son," he was never involved in the family businesses.)  William's sister Dorothea's mansion, Langdon House, would be completed at the corner of Lafayette Place and Art Street within the decade.  

Former New York Mayor Philip Hone spoke of his many visits to the William Astor house in his journal.  Historian Martha J. Lamb quoted a passage in 1886:

His dinner parties were very recherché, and on special occasions a display of gold and silver plate glittered beneath the gas-lights; but not a sign of vulgar pretention marred the refinement of the entertainment.

One of those brilliant affairs preceded the marriage of the Astors' eldest son, John Jacob III, to Augusta Gibbs.  Again it was Philip Hone who memorialized the evening of December 15, 1846:

Last evening my daughter and son went to a party at Mr. Astor's, and I was tempted to mix in the splendid crowd of charming women, pretty girls, and well-dressed beaux.  The spacious mansion in Lafayette place was open from cellar to garret, blazing with a thousand lights.  The crowd was excessive, and the display of rich jewelry enough to pay one day's expense of the Mexican War.

The mansion was the scene of a much more solemn event two years later.  On April 5, 1848 the Troy Daily Whig reported "the funeral of the late John Jacob Astor took place on Saturday afternoon, from the residence of his son, No. 32 Lafayette Place.  The procession passed from thence to St. Thomas Church."

The procession was led by the heads of six important churches--St. Thomas's, St. John's, St. Bartholomew's, St. Mark's, the Church of the Ascension, and Grace Church.  "Then came the corpse, borne on the shoulders of six men."  Among the honorary pall bearers were Washington Irving, David B. Ogden, Thomas J. Oakley, Philip Hone and James Gallatin.

At the time of his death John Jacob Astor was the wealthiest man in America, leaving an estate estimated at approximately $20 million--around $668 million today.  The bulk of his fortune went to William.

The Astors' eldest daughter, Emily, had married politician and author Samuel Ward in 1838.  Later that year their daughter Margaret Astor Ward was born.  Emily died in childbirth in 1841, as did the baby.  Little Margaret, affectionately known as Maddie, became "a favorite of Mr. William B. Astor's family," according to The Sun, later.

William Backhouse Astor, Sr. from the collection of the National Trust, Cliveden

On January 23, 1862 the New York Daily Herald reported that Maddie's wedding to John Winthrop Chandler had taken place in the Astors' Lafayette Place mansion.  The bride was 23 years old and the groom 35.  Maddie's close relationship with her grandparents was evidenced when the newlyweds moved into the mansion.  Their son, Archie, was born in the house before the year's end.

The refined neighborhood had been rocked by the Astor Place Riots in May 1849 (when Dorothea's house across the street was left looking "as if it had withstood a siege," according to Philip Hone).   Upheaval came again in July 1863 when the three-day long Draft Riots broke out.  Astor's house was apparently targeted in one incident and on July 22 The New York Times reported "A laborer named John Murphy was arrested by the Tenth Precinct Police yesterday, charged on the complaint of Wm. B. Astor, of No. 32 Lafayette-place...with riotous conduct."

Margaret Armstrong Astor in 1865.  from the collection of the National Trust, Cliveden

Margaret Astor died on February 15, 1872 at the age of 73.  In reporting her death The Sun described said, "A woman of culture and refinement, her society was sought by the more select circles of fashionable people in this city, but she seldom left her mansion expect on errands of charity."

Her funeral was held in Grace Church, rather than the Lafayette Place mansion as might have been expected.  The New York Times listed among the many mourners names like Schuyler, Van Buren, Van Rensselaer, Cruger, Gallatin, the Alexander Tunney Stewarts, Governor Edwin D. Morgan, "and many other leading citizens."

At the time of Margaret's death the once-exclusive neighborhood was becoming increasingly commercial.  Maddie Ward (whom The Sun reported "will inherit her mother's fortune, which, it is said, will amount to $10,000,000") had moved uptown two years earlier.  Nevertheless, William refused to leave his beloved mansion.

He fell ill on November 20, 1875 and died four days later in the Lafayette Place mansion at the age of 83.  The New York Times reported, "Mr. Astor was in his usual good health, except for a slight cold, until Saturday last week."

His will left the Lafayette Place mansion to his daughter Alida.  The New York Times placed the value of the property at $250,000--more than $6 million today.  She inherited, as well, "the contents of the Lafayette place house" as well as other real estate and outright cash.

Alida was quick to convert the family mansion for commerce purposes.  Within the year it was operated as Sieghortner's Restaurant, which became a popular venue for testimonial dinners and social gatherings.  The property was sold in April 1890 and soon replaced by an eight-story commercial building which survives.

photo via 42floors.com