Lamb & Rich's Nos. 347-349 West End Avenue

Faced in white limestone, Nos. 347 and 359 preferred quiet dignity over the showy nature of their neighbors.

Like several other New York City architects in the late 19^th century, Hugh Lamb and Charles Alonzo Rich realized increased profits by sometimes acting as both designers and developers.  In 1890 they had been in partnership as Lamb & Rich for about a decade and were well-known and respected.  That year they laid plans for an ambitious speculative project on the Upper West Side.

At the time, lavish residences were being constructed that rivaled almost anything on the opposite side of Central Park.   Lamb & Rich procured 14 buildings lots encompassing the entire western block front of West End Avenue, between 76^th and 77^th Street, and wrapping both corners to include three homes on each street.

The eight houses facing West End Avenue were designed in a symmetrical A-B-C-D-D-C-B-A pattern.  As did most Upper West Side architects at the time, Lamb & Rich drew on historical styles while taking the liberty to mix or alter details as they saw fit.   Although the homes flanking Nos. 347 and 349 at the center of the row were showier with their spiky Francois I dormers and details; the more reserved Renaissance-inspired center residences stood out with their white limestone, mirror-image facades.

Nos 347 and 349 sat among a quite impressive row.  photo by Irving Underhill from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York http://collections.mcny.org/C.aspx?VP3=SearchResult&VBID=24UAYWZ9XDO4&SMLS=1&RW=1536&RH=731&PN=5

The perfect balance of the two residences featured a shared limestone stoop, divided by a stone railing which stopped short of reaching the sidewalk—thus preserving the grand width of the lower steps.  Two-story rounded bays flanked the arched entrances, above which a charming stone balcony coupled the arched openings.  The architects added delightful touches like the carved, scalloped aprons that joined the steep gables, the delicate carved eyebrows of the fourth floor windows, and the tongue-in-cheek copper pots with ring handles atop the downspouts.

Scalloped shell-motif supports sprout from the gables and delightful copper pots gather rainwater.

The homes were completed in 1891, but it seems that Lamb & Rich may have slightly over-extended themselves of the project.  On October 17, 1891 an advertisement for “A Creditors’ Sale” appeared in The Sun.  “Because of special circumstances, to be explained, we can offer for much less than its value first-class dwelling, with extension, overlooking Riverside Drive and the Palisades, 347 West End av…price about $26,500.”  That discount price would translate to about $710,000 today.

There were no takers.  By September 25 1892 they had lowered the price on No. 347.  Another ad in The Sun announced, “If you wish to get a $30,000 house for $26,000 on easy payments…look at 347 West End Av.”  It was finally, no doubt to the great relief of Hugh Lamb and Alonzo Rich, sold to George L. Vietor, a real estate operator who was busy that year buying up entire rows of houses in the area.

The matching house next door at No. 349 was also purchased for investment reasons.  Mary E. Walker bought it, then immediately leased it to F. H. Ryder for 8 years at $1,200 a year rent in October 1891.  When the lease was up, George L. Vietor was back to buy this house as well.

Vietor leased No 349 to Charles Frederick Rand and his wife, the former Mary Burnham.   Along with the couple’s four children, Mary’s parents, Ammi and Eliza C. Burnham moved in.  Rand’s fortune came from a wide variety of enterprises. Among his many activities, he was head of an iron manufacturing firm, the financial officer of a railway company in Milwaukee, and owned iron mines in Cuba and elsewhere. 

Vietor sold both houses in 1901—No. 349 in May, and No. 347 in September.  Charles F. Rand bought the house where he had been living with his family; while No. 349 was purchased by Louise M. Powell for $43,500.    Louise's husband, cigar manufacturer Joseph Powell, had died in 1895; leaving her to raise her young daughters alone.

On May 18, 1903 the 81-year old Ammi Burnham died at No. 347 West End Avenue.  A self-made man, he had started out life as a farmer in Vermont.  But he had moved on to the lumber business in Michigan, then into railroads and banking.  At his death he owned the controlling interest in the Bank of Brodhead in Wisconsin.

On June 11, 1904 Louise Powell married physician Walter C. Cramp, who was about 16 years younger than she.   Although he had not practiced for long prior to their marriage, Cramp quickly rose in importance and esteem.   He became a Professor of Surgery at New York Medical College while maintaining his private practice.  The Cramps were familiar faces in Newport and like their next door neighbors were highly visible in Upper West Side society.

Both families entertained in the fashion expected of the wealthy.  When the Cramps gave a dinner party in May 1907 followed by “a game of cards,” The New York Times social columnist gushed about Louise Mason Cramp’s decorations.  “The table was daintily fragrant with Spring flowers, streamers of ribbon in the pastel shades being combined with the ferns and floral decorations with graceful effect.”

Popular actress Maud Harrison was about 51 years old at the time of the Cramp’s dinner party and was living in the Hotel Willard on West 76^th Street.  She had lived there about six months as she planned a comeback to the stage after a five-year hiatus to care for her ailing mother.  A Christian Scientist, she did not seek medical treatment when she became ill in April that year.   A few days later, at around 10:00 on the night of April 28, a maid found her on the floor unconscious.  She was wearing her nightgown and because she had collapsed near the telephone, it was thought that she had attempted to contact the hotel office.

A cabinet card captured Maud Harrison earlier in her career -- from the collection of the New York Public Library

It was Walter Cramp who was summoned to the actress’s apartments.  Despite his efforts, Maud Harrison died at around 3:00 in the morning without having regained consciousness.  Cramp’s opinion in the death was somewhat imprecise.  “The immediate cause of death, according to the physician, was paralysis,” reported The New York Times.

 In 1909 the Cramps hired architect Carl Sotscheck, Jr. to remodel No. 349.  His $7,804 renovations included an additional story to the rear, a new staircase and the altering of walls.

While the Cramps were updating their home, the Rand girls next door were growing up.  In 1910 Marjorie became engaged to Stuart Corlies Adams.  Her sister was already married to the future groom's brother, Newton Adams. 

Following Marjorie’s wedding in the Episcopal Church of the Incarnation on Madison Avenue, a reception was held in the West End Avenue house.  The wealth of Charles F. Rand was evidenced by the couple’s wedding present.  The Sun reported “Mr. and Mrs. Stuart Corlies Adams will live in West Orange in a house presented by the bride’s parents.”

When the Rands announced Florence’s engagement Felix D. Doubleday in May, 1914 The New York Times deemed it “interesting.”  The newspaper noted “Miss Rand has been very popular in society since her debut two seasons ago and has taken active part in the society theatricals for charity.”

Florence Rand posed in a stylish outfit at the time of her 1911 debut.  The Sun, April 16, 1911 (copyright expired)

The following year it was finally daughter Helen’s turn in the spotlight as her mother hosted her debutante entertainments.  Among them was a luncheon at Sherry’s for Helen, whom The Times referred to as “a bud of the season.”

With a much reduced population in the Rand house, Charles leased No. 347 in December 1917 to Harry C. Beidelman.   The end of the line for the spacious home was quickly coming to an end. Louise, now divorced, died in the house in 1942 after a week’s illness.  Her funeral was held in the home on Wednesday, November 24, 1942.

In the meantime the former Rand home had seen a variety of tenants.  In the first years of the 1920s Michigan State alumnus baritone Chase Sikes was living here while he studied music.  Perhaps to further his musical career, Sikes changed his name to Cesare Baromeo, by 1923.  J. D. Bowman lived here in 1922 after having graduated from the Massachusetts Institute of Technology the year before.  He was working for the United Electric Light and Power Co. in New York.  And for at least a decade starting in the late 1930s Dr. Julius J. Fingerhut, a dentist, listed No. 347 as his address.

Both homes were eventually converted to spacious apartments—No. 349 in 1949 and No. 347 in 1959.  The former Cramp residence has just five apartments, including a duplex on the parlor and second floors; and the Rand house has two in the basement, one on the first floor, and two each on the upper floors.

The windows have been unsympathetically replaced, including the wonderful original curved panes of the rounded bays.  But the two limestone residents still haughtily vie for attention among their more show-offish neighbors.

photographs by the author

John Sexton's Nos. 242-244 Lafayette Street

In the last quarter of the 19^th century the rows of Federal style houses along Lafayette Street were quickly disappearing.  In their place modern commercial structures were changing the face of the once-elegant residential street.

In 1881 developer Thomas Wetherbed commissioned architect John Sexton to design a loft building at No. 244 Lafayette Street.  The prolific Sexton had been dividing his time in designing rows of townhouses on the developing Upper East Side and tenement buildings on the Lower East Side.  For Wetherbed he produced a five-story brick factory, completed in 1882, which drew no special attention.

But more than a decade later, in 1897, Wetherbed called Sexton back to double the size of his building.  The extension, at No. 242, perfectly matched the northern side.  But Sexton patched the two sides together with a two-bay section in the Queen Anne style.  Here the cornice formed a peak above the eye-catching center windows of the fifth floor.  Sexton gave them the appearance of arched openings by crowning them with ornate terra cotta tympani framed with vaulting brick eyebrows.  The Queen Anne motif was carried through to the entrance portico where hefty columns supported an entablature and sunburst-filled pediment.

Despite the architectural marriage, the two sections were treated as separate addresses.  Matching retail store fronts flanked the centered entrance.

The building was filled with a wide variety of tenants, from apparel manufacturers to lamp makers.  Nearby was the area which was by now referred to by New Yorkers as the “Italian quarter.”  On the morning of June 18, 1906 about a dozen of the immigrant neighborhood boys brought excitement and misfortune to the Lafayette Street building.

The boys had been playing a few blocks south on Centre Street when they came across a pile of blasting caps that had been left by construction workers.  The Sun reported “There was a good sized armload of the stuff.”

Not realizing the danger the explosives posed, the boys decided they could burn off the rubber insulation and retrieve the copper wires for resale.   On the sidewalk in front of No. 242-244 Lafayette Street they built a fire and, once it got going, dumped the quantity of blasting caps into the flames.  Quickly “there was an explosion that startled the neighborhood and thousands of people ran to the corner from the markets along Mulberry and Spring streets.”

When Policeman Moffatt arrived on the scene, he found five of the boys lying on the street suffering from cuts and burns.  The exploding caps had created copper shrapnel that flew into the faces and bodies of the youths.

The injured boys bore the names of Italian families who came to America for a better life: George Sulivati, Niccolo Garadi, Tommaso Gelesti, Alfonso Grecci, and Alfonso Capola.  Dr. Charles F. Nammack was able to patch up four of the boys.  But 10-year old Alfonso Capola was seriously injured.  The Sun reported that the boy “may die.  His right eye was nearly torn out and a piece of copper was buried deeply in it.  He was cut about the face and head also and burned.”

News quickly spread and frantic mothers, unsure of who the victims were, were hysterical.  “The accident occurred at 4 o’clock when the streets of the Italian quarter are most crowded,” said the newspaper, “and there were 5,000 people in front of the Mulberry street station.  Two of three Italian wives who thought their children were hurt tried to fight their way in and there was a small sized riot for a few minutes.”

The neckwear manufacturing firm owned by Meyer Berse was operating from No. 242 Lafayette Street at the time of the explosion.  A month later Berse would find himself in the midst of a frantic effort to clear his name of ungentlemanly behavior and a resulting strike as well as .

The neckwear union ordered a strike of all the manufacturers on the East Side following an incident in which Berse was accused of manhandling a female employee.  On July 12, 1906 The Sun explained “According to the union, Fanny Tepper’s employer, Meyer Berse of 242 Lafayette street, had an argument with her, in which she admits she answered back very sharply.  Finally, she says, her employer slapped her face and tore her blouse, and then refused to pay a fine of $25 levied by the union on the complaint of the girl.  This refusal to pay the fine led up to the strike.”

As could be expected, management’s version of the story was quite different: Fanny Tepper was a back-talking employee who not only had attitude, but performed poorly.  Berse’s brother explained the story saying, “The girl got fresh about her work and when my brother reprimanded her she got sassier and sassier.”   

Then Fanny went too far.  “She called him an insulting word, which means swine in English.  He got excited and told her to get out.  She refused and he caught her by the arm to put her out.  It was a very warm day and everybody was perspiring and his hand slipped and her [shirt]waist was torn a little at the  shoulder.  My brother did not slap her, as he is too much of a gentleman to slap a woman.”

Fanny’s complaint led to the $25 fine levied by the union.  Meyer Berse refused to pay it, telling the union “only the courts could inflict fines and that the union should go to the courts.”  Meyer’s brother said “Then the trouble began.”

The incident erupted into a violent strike and The Sun noted that “There were several arrests of neckwear makers, all men, yesterday.”

Around the same time the factory of Hampel-Lifmer was here.  In 1910 it was searching for experienced solderers to work on making metal bag frames.  The Union Art Glass and Mfg. Company was in the building until its bankruptcy in 1915.  And in June 1917 the newly-formed Desk Exchange Corp., sellers of “desks and office supplies,” moved in.

Over the next few decades the unusual mix of tenants continued: The Homestead Valve Mfg. headquartered in Homestead, Pennsylvania moved its New York office into the building in August 1920; the Caldwell Paper Co. was here at the same time; as was the Zalon Glove Co.  By 1933 the Manhattan Bookbinder Co. was here and a year later the Lafayette Motive Parts, Inc. moved in.  That firm provided “for ‘dead’ automobile storage.”

In the 1940s the building was home not only to respectable businesses like the Beacon Chemical Corp., which made household cleaning products, and the J. I. Shoe Machinery company; but to at least one not-so-upstanding operation.

Based in Pennsylvania, the Beacon Chemical Corp. marketed its Zero as a cleaner for nearly everything.

Prior to the outbreak of World War II gangster Charles (Lucky) Luciano controlled an illegal lottery ring.   Targeting the working community, the gang sold lottery tickets for drawings held in Italy every Friday.  Results were printed in New York on Saturdays, the “pay-off day.”  But the war interrupted the lottery.  According to police, “During the war, with results unobtainable from Italy, the lottery suspended.”

But in 1947 things were back to normal.  The difference, now, was that Lucky Luciano had been released from prison and deported to Italy.  A new syndicate took over the ring; printing lottery tickets and preying on those who could least afford the gamble.  “As usual it flourished on the earnings of workers in the thickly populated sections of the city,” said officials.  The estimated weekly take was $5 million.

But on April 19, 1947, after weeks of investigation, a massive raid was made by plainclothed officers who “swooped down on earmarked establishments,” as described by The New York Times.  Among those operations was Gri-O Press. 

“Plates, books and records were seized at the Grio-O Press, 242 Lafayette Street, which the police said is owned by Anthony Grio.”  The Times noted the irony of the Grio’s arrest.  “Not only was Grio’s printing established located in the shadow of Police Headquarters, but he is a neighbor of Commissioner Wallander as well.”

Commissioner Arthur W. Wallander did not comment on Grio specifically; but did call the sting “the outstanding series of lottery arrests in the history of the department.”

As the century drew to a close the Soho neighborhood underwent rebirth as artists rediscovered the old loft buildings.  Around 1982 Architectural Sculpture moved into one of the retail stores and in 1984 Bicycle Habitat took the other.  Rather astonishingly, the ground floor had not been modernized—the twin arcade store fronts survived as did the wonderful columned portico.

In 1993 the upper floors, once home to neckwear makers, bookbinders, and a gang-related printing operation, was converted to residential space.  On each floor were now two “joint living-working quarters."  To qualify for a loft here, the Department of Buildings noted the artists must be “certified by the Department of Cultural Affairs.”

Bicycle Habitat eventually took over both ground floor stores.  But the 21^st century’s scourge of exorbitant rents may bring an end to the store’s decades-long history here.   In May 2015 the store faced what its owner deemed “sky high rents” and was considering the need to leave the building.

In the meantime, John Sexton’s handsome two-part building survives beautifully intact.

 photographs by the author

The Last Vestige - No. 20 West 26th Street

As the middle of the 19^th century approached, the recently-rural neighborhood around Madison Square saw rapid change.  In 1847 the park was opened to the public and within only a few years mansions rose along its borders.  In 1856 construction began on the white marble Fifth Avenue Hotel opposite the Park on Fifth Avenue between 23^rd and 24^th Streets.

With the relocation of wealthy Episcopalians northward Trinity Church recognized the need for a “chapel of convenience.”  In 1851 Richard Upjohn designed the brownstone Gothic Revival Trinity Chapel on West 25^th Street, stretching through the block to 26^th Street.  In 1866 Jacob Wrey Mould designed the enchanting Parish House to the rear, and in 1870 the chapel school was erected.  Abutting the picturesque complex was the handsome brownstone-faced residence at No. 20 West 26^th Street.

The New York Times would later say of Trinity Chapel, it was “distinctly fashionable to be married there, it was eminently respectable to be buried from there.”  Indeed, Trinity Chapel was the scene of the Astor weddings and funerals, the marriages of the Rhinelanders and Gardiners, and the funeral of John Jay.  The Italianate-style home at No. 20 reflected the exclusive residential neighborhood.

Four stories tall, above a deep English basement, No. 20 West 26^th Street featured the extras expected in an upscale residence.  The stoop and areaway featured heavy Italianate stone railings and newels, the elliptical arched openings were set within deeply carved frames, and a stone archway supported on foliate brackets hung portiere-like before the double entrance doors.

Hefty stone railings and a decorative entrance arch added to the architectural appeal -- photo by Wurts Bros. from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York http://collections.mcny.org/Collection/West%2026th%20Street.%20Boys%20Club,%20Trinity%20Chapel.-2F3XC5N2OMC.html

It was home in the early 1880s to wealthy builder and real estate operator William S. Wright.  In 1884 he was involved in the development of the Upper East Side, constructing a row of brownstone residences on Madison Avenue near 62^nd Street.  A year later he had moved out of No. 20 West 26^th Street.

The house became home to William Seton and his wife, the former Sarah Redwood Parrish.  As was customary, the title of the house was in Sarah’s name. Born in Philadelphia in 1844, she was the daughter of Dr. Isaac Parrish.   

The openings within the rusticated basement level were beautifullly decorated.

Before Sarah’s death in the house on Sunday, November 3, 1895, changes had come to West 26^th Street.  Directly across the street from the Seton home, at No. 19, was the saloon owned by James Helde.  Sarah and William were no doubt roused from their sleep on January 18 that year when, as reported in The Evening World the following day, “three men were standing in the middle of the street last night raining broken bricks at the windows and doors of Mr. Helde’s place of business,”   Rowdyism of this sort, not to mention a saloon to the rear of Trinity Chapel, would have been unthinkable only a decade earlier.

In March 1898 Sarah’s brother, James Cresson Parrish (whose wife, Emma was, incidentally, the daughter of William K. and Emily Vanderbilt) sold the house on West 26^th Street.   Its last upscale resident would be William Fleischmann. 

On the evening of February 6, 1909 Fleischmann was roused by a frantic telephone call.  His spinster aunt, Bertha Tausky had been on her way to the Metropolitan Opera House when she suddenly felt ill at Broadway and 26^th Street, just steps from the Fleischmann house.  Although it was unusual for a well-dressed lady to step into a bootblack establishment, she was too weak to return to the house.  The 50-year old woman, suffering a heart attack, entered the shoe shine parlor of D. A. Galvano at No. 11 West 26^th Street and asked him to telephone her nephew.

Dr. W. S. Smith, who lived just two doors away at No. 7 West 26^th Street, was also sent for.  By the time William Fleischmann arrived, Bertha was unconscious.  Before the doctor could get there, she had died.

By around 1912 Trinity Chapel had taken over the house for its Boys’ Club.  But that would be a short-lived reprieve.   On January 25, 1914, Dr. William T. Manning, rector of the Chapel, announced that “The population that the chapel served in the past is moving away in great numbers, and it is no longer possible to carry on efficient church work at this point.”  The New York Times chimed in saying “For many years Trinity Chapel was the centre of parish activities and a factor in the development of social New York. But it has long survived its usefulness.”

Although the Chapel managed to plod on for a number of years, by the end of World War I the boys’ club was gone from the 26^th Street house and it had been converted for business.  Benjamin Melnick’s Majects Mfg. Company made women’s clothing here until 1922.   For another two decades it would house clothing makers like Dorfman Bros. Furs, here until its bankruptcy in 1928.

Finally in 1942 Trinity Chapel gave up the fight.  In 1943 the Serbian Orthodox Church purchased the complex, establishing the Cathedral of Saint Sava.  The deal included No. 20 West 26^th Street which, in 1956, was converted to two apartments per floor.

Today the major exterior alterations are, obviously, the loss of the stoop and doorway and the wonderful stone railings.   But otherwise the last vestige of the exclusive residential block survives relatively intact from the days when ladies in sweeping Victorian dresses and waistcoated gentlemen stepped into carriages at the foot of its stoop.

photographs by the author

The 1868 Demarest Stable -- No. 22 Jane Street

In the 1850s John Montgomery and his wife lived in the wide home at No. 22 Jane Street.  In 1851, a full decade before the outbreak of civil war, Mrs. Montgomery flexed her patriotism through her position as manager of the Ladies’ Union Aid Society of the Methodist Episcopal Church.

The Montgomery house was gone in 1868, replaced by Calvin Demarest’s stable.  Built by Charles H. Demarest, assumedly a relative, the two-story structure featured handsome elements like the graceful arched windows and the especially attractive brick corbels that upheld the cornice.  The large number of stalls--there were 31 in the cellar and first floor—suggests that Demarest operated the building as a livery stable rather than a private carriage house.  On the second floor were living quarters for stable hands.

For the rest of the century the red brick structure functioned as intended, bringing little attention to itself.  Modern amateur historians routinely attach Chicago billiards champion Calvin Demarest to the carriage house; however the Midwestern pool sharp was born nearly two decades after the stable was built, and half a continent away.

Following the Greenwich Village Demarest’s death, his estate leased the stable to Dr. P. McInerney, a “veterinary surgeon.”  The doctor renewed his lease in the spring of 1913.  The Demarest family retained possession of the building until June 1919.  Interestingly, as late as 1921 when automobiles had taken over the streets of Manhattan from horses, the property was still referred to as a “two-story stable.”

That changed by 1930 when the Demarest stable was converted to a “storage and shipping” concern with its offices on the upper floor.   Eight years later the ground floor had become a “three-car garage.”  The cellar was used for storage and there was a studio apartment on the second floor.

Throughout the rest of the 20^th century the building was used for decidedly unglamorous purposes—including a plumbing supply shop at one point.  Changes came when artist Jim Dine purchased it in 1997 as his studio.  Then a 2004 make-over resulted in a 3,800 square foot private home.

Calvin Demarest's horses would not recognize their old home.  photographs  http://www.stribling.com/properties/3740878

Happily, the gut-renovation to a luxury residence (it was offered for $9.1 million in 2013) preserved the utilitarian exterior.  Calvin Demarest’s stable—which surely offended the residents of Jane Street in 1868—endures as a delightful architectural gem.

non-credited photographs by the author