William Jose's 1873 5 Spring Street

 

image via apartments.com

On June 17, 1873, the "brick house in front and small brick building in rear" at 5 Spring Street were auctioned.  Their sale would doom the two buildings, which, like nearly all the vintage structures in the neighborhood, were falling victim to the drastically changing demographics in what a century later would be called Nolita.

On month later, architect William Jose filed plans for a 25-foot-wide, "five-story brown stone store and tenement" for developer F. Herlein.  His Italianate design was was typical of the ubiquitous tenement buildings being erected throughout the Lower East Side.  Sheet metal lintels with molded cornices sat atop the upper floor windows and an arched pediment crowned with a Greek-inspired antefix sat atop the building's pressed metal terminal cornice. 

photograph by Ted Leather

What was not typical was the cast iron storefront.  Between two entrances--one accessing the upper floors and the other the store--was a triple arcade.  The paneled piers between the windows contributed to a handsome presence, but restricted the ability to display wares.  The lack of a vast show window did not deter Joseph Hugo to open his bakery in the space.

The 1873 storefront survived in 1940.  via the NYC Dept of Records & Information Services.

No. 5 Spring Street filled with blue collar and middle-class tenants.  Living here in 1877 were three clerks, two carpenters, a shoemaker, a hatter, a laborer, a cigarmaker, a butcher, a maker of awnings, two widows, and an ostler (or stable worker). 

Many of the tenants were Irish-born, like Michael J. Riley, who worked as a letter carrier, and his wife and five children.  One afternoon in October 1884 he delivered mail to a Bond Street machine shop.  He placed a package of 125 letters on the counter.  They were addressed to Bond Street businesses that had already closed for the day.  The New York Herald explained, "In such cases the mail is taken back to the station and stamped with an explanation of its non-delivery."  Riley, perhaps distracted, "picked up his pouch and went out of the shop, leaving the package."

On October 8, the New York Herald reported that Michael Riley had been arrested, "on a charge of unlawfully detaining the mails."  Riley stressed that he "forgot all about it."  Perhaps coming to his defense, the article concluded, "Riley had a sunstroke last summer."

Sam Erwin Ryan, born in 1858, was described by the New York Herald as "one of the oldest Irish comedians on the American stage."  The widowed entertained died here on November 15, 1891 at the age of 63.  In reporting his death, the New York Herald remarked, "He had been forty years on the stage, and had been a conspicuous actor in his day."

Unthinkable today, working class parents often sent their small children on errands, even at night.  On Saturday night January 9, 1897, Detectives Summers and Lynch noticed five-year-old Lee Collins, whose family lived at 5 Spring Street, "walking along that thoroughfare...with a can."  They asked the boy where he was going and he said he was off to get some beer.

The policeman followed him to Henry Barr's saloon at 14 Spring Street, "and saw the bartender, Clement Kirschner, sell him a pint of beer."  Although Kirschner was arrested, Lee Collins' parents were not accused of any wrongdoing (and apparently Lee Collins went on his way home unaccompanied with the pail of beer).  When the bartender faced Magistrate Deuel in the Centre Street Police Court, he received "a severe lecture."  Deuel "told him he ought to be ashamed of himself to sell beer to a child" and placed his bail at $1,000 (a stunning $40,000 in 2026 terms).

The Commerford family lived here in 1898.  The New York Journal and Advertiser said that Patrick Commerford "is accustomed to putting a little whiskey in his black coffee at breakfast."  On September 4, however, there was no whiskey in the apartment, so Maggie Commerford was sent to the apartment of her aunt, Kate White, at 239 Mulberry Street to get some.  The New York Journal and Advertiser said Maggie was three-and-a-half years old.  The New York Herald placed her age at nine.  Either way, the newspapers' reporting on the events that followed, however, were consistent.

Maggie went to her aunt's home and, according to Kate White, she filled Maggie's pint bottle with whiskey "and told the little girl to carry it home to her father," as reported by the New York Herald.  On the way, "Little Maggie evidently became thirsty," said the newspaper.  The girl drank the entire pint bottle of whiskey.  The New York Herald said she "was picked up from the sidewalk in Mulberry street yesterday in an unconscious state and carried to St. Vincent's Hospital."

Maggie told officials, "It felt just like I had played too much 'ring-around-a-rosy.'"  And asked why she drank it, she replied, "Oh, I just tasted it, and it seemed to taste good, and I tasted it all up."  Mrs. Commerford took the girl home and Patrick Commerford was arrested.

By the turn of the century, Mary Seibert ran the bakery.  The workspace and ovens were in the basement and Mary lived in an apartment above the bakery.  The business was apparently successful, because Mary could afford a live-in servant.  

The neighborhood was, by now, greatly filled with Italian immigrants.  In 1899 Paolo Lecestra arrived from Italy, "leaving his wife, Luigia, behind until he could get money enough to buy her passage with," explained The New York Sun.  He was not here very long before he found a job as a pressor in a tailor shop.  Just as quickly, he fell in love with a co-worker, Rosina Ignelia.  

Lecestra married Rosina in November 1899 and they moved into 5 Spring Street.  In the meantime, Luigia Lecestra was also working towards her passage.  On April 4, 1901, The Sun reported, "Six months ago Luigia, the first wife, scraped together enough money to come to this country."  Paolo Lecestra met Luigia at the pier, "but gave her an angry reception," reported The Sun.  What followed was remarkable.  The article recounted:

Then he took her to his home at 5 Spring street and introduced her to Rosina, who he said was his lawful wife under the laws of the United States.  Lecestra told Luigia that she might remain if she did as she was told.  Her duties were to keep house for her husband and Rosina, who worked together in the tailor shop.

Luigia later described the arrangement.  The Sun recounted, "Lecestra maintained wifely relations only with Rosina who is younger and prettier than Luigia," adding, "Louigia was the household drudge."  The heartbroken Luigia spilled out her woeful condition in a letter to her uncle in Italy, who was an attorney.  He forwarded it to the Italian Consul, which turned it over to the New York District Attorney.  On April 3, 1901, Paolo Lecestra was arrested for bigamy.  The New York Sun reported, "Rosina kissed him and wept when Lecestra was taken away."

The Pavone and Versa families lived here in 1906 when their mischievous sons went on a rampage.  On August 29, they and three other Italian boys boarded a subway "loaded down with apples," as worded by the New-York Tribune.  The article said they "amused themselves by throwing apples at everybody in the rear car."  The motorman stopped the train "and blew the train whistle repeatedly."  Two officers responded and the "boys resisted arrest, but were subdued."  The five were "locked up charged with disorderly conduct," said the article.

Joseph Marino, who lived here in 1935, was doing well enough financially to afford an automobile.  In September that year, the car was stolen and the thieves removed the license plates.  Although the vehicle was not readily recovered, the plates showed up the following month as part of a grisly discovery.  

On September 30, gangster Joseph "Pretty" Amberg and his chauffeur, Morris Kessler "were lined up against the wall in a Brownsville garage, after the fashion of  the celebrated St. Valentine's Day massacres in Chicago, and were riddled with bullets," reported The New York Times.  On October 24, the newspaper revealed, "'Pretty' Amberg's body was found early yesterday morning in a blazing automobile which had been left in front of 131 North Elliot Place, Brooklyn."  The plates on the car belonged to Joseph Marine.

image via the NYC Dept of Records & Information Services

Joseph Bianco was discharged from the Army in October 1945.  The veteran returned to New York, got a job driving a milk wagon, and moved into 5 Spring Street.  His heroism ended at the end of the war.  

In March 1946, five teenaged boys were arrested "as juvenile delinquents," explained The New York Times.  The boys confessed in a string of tenement building burglaries and arsons.  One of the fires nearly resulted in the death of a sleeping girl.  In interrogating the teens, police discovered that 22-year-old Joseph Bianco was a modern day Fagan.

On March 11, 1946, The New York Times reported that he "looked defiantly yesterday in Felony Court as the prosecutor related...that Bianco trained five boys, all under 16 years old, not alone to be burglars but to set fire to three lower East Side tenement apartments to conceal their crimes."  Bianco pleaded ignorance of the crimes, saying he had accepted the loot from the youths, but insisted, "I didn't know they had stolen that stuff."

When Bianco got out of prison, he remained friends with a resident of 5 Spring Street, Joseph Trulio.  On December 26, 1950, The New York Times reported that the two men confessed to "holding up thirty hotels in the last two weeks, nine of them on Christmas morning."  In court, Magistrate Brenner asked Bianco, "Why pick hotels?"  He replied, "Hotels are easier.  They have big lobbies and you can make a quick getaway."

photograph by Ted Leather

Changes in the neighborhood were reflected by Sweet and Vicious, a night club, occupying the ground floor space in the early 2000s.  A renovation completed in 2016 modernized the storefront, home to The Tavern today.  Although the paneled piers remain, the arched openings are either squared off or covered by signage today.

many thanks to reader Ted Leather for suggesting this post

The Charles G. Dean House - 214 East 31st Street

 

In 1867 real estate agent Charles E. Pierce moved his family into the recently built house at 214 East 31st Street.  Three stories of red brick sat upon a rusticated brownstone basement.  A rather spartan version of Italianate, its double-doored entrance had no ornamentation other than a simple lintel.  The 20-foot-wide home featured floor-to-ceiling parlor windows and a bracketed cornice with a paneled fascia.

Charles E. and Esther A. Pierce, born in 1831 and 1825 respectively, had an adult daughter, Lillias Adelaide, known as Lilly.  Lily had an unspecified disability.  In explaining why she could not appear in court in person to testify in 1869, she said, "I am quite lame."

Like many families, the Pierces rented extra rooms in their home.  An advertisement in the New York Herald on July 24, 1869 offered:

Front room and Bedroom, second story, nicely furnished, closets, gas and water, with partial Board, or for light house-keeping at a low price; hall room $2.50; pleasant location.

The $2.50 room rate would translate to $60 in 2026.

The Pierces had bad luck with roomers.  On August 7, Charles Allen died in his room.  Unlike some landlords, the Pierces apparently did not offer their parlor for his funeral.  The 56-year-old was buried from the Church of the Transfiguration.

The following year, on October 22, 1871, 77-year-old roomer Ann Irwin died.  This time the funeral was held in the house.

Following the Pierces was the family of Charles G. Dean, another real estate operator, who moved in in 1874.  Dean and his wife, the former Eliza Reed, had five children: William Matthews, Charles Jr., Hamilton F., Edward B., and Eliza Reed.

Born in 1813, Charles G. Dean was the son of book publisher William E. Dean.  In addition to his real estate business, Charles was an alderman.  

William M. Dean operated a harness business on Third Avenue as early as 1879.  His brother, Charles Jr., however, was listed as a "gentleman," meaning he had no profession.  Charles explained when being interviewed as a juror in 1890, that he "had no business, but was engaged in looking after his own affairs."

Charles G. Dean, Sr. died of pneumonia at the age of 68 on February 11, 1881.  Interestingly, his funeral was not held in the house, but at Rutgers Church.

Shortly afterward, the Dean family tepidly updated the house.  Fashionable wrought iron stoop railings and newels were installed, the parlor windows shortened, and sheet metal cornices applied to the openings.

The original appearance of the windows matched those of the homes on either side in this 1940 photo.  via the NYC Dept of Records & Information Services.

Following the death of her husband, Noel B. Stanton, daughter Eliza moved back to the East 31st Street house with her mother and unmarried brothers.

William Matthew Dean died on February 12, 1896 and Charles G. Dean on September 8, 1905.  Both funerals were held in the parlor.

The year 1918 was a morose one for the Deans.  Eliza Reed Stanton died on January 21 and Eliza Reed Dean died at the age of 96 on November 3.  Both funerals were held in the Madison Avenue Baptist Church.  

Hamilton F. Dean, who was highly involved in real estate operations, continued to live in the house until his death in 1937.  In August that year, his estate sold 214 East 31st Street to Richard N. Cotter.

Living here in 1942 was the Meyer family: Anna, Catherine, Harvey, John, Louise and Thelma.  All of them were listed by the Congressional Special Committee on Un-American Activities that year as being registered Communist Party voters.

A renovation completed in 1955 resulted in an office in the basement, a doctor's office on the parlor floor, and one apartment each on the upper stories.  More recently, the offices were converted to apartments, resulting in a total of four.

photographs by the author

Kurtzer & Rohl's 1892 338 East 5th Street

 photograph by Carole Teller

Born in Germany, August Ruff was responsible for erecting dozens of apartment buildings before his death in 1921, often hiring two countrymen--Frederick William Kurtzer and Richard O. L. Rohl--to design the structures.  On October 29, 1891, Ruff purchased the five-story mineral water factory at 338 and 340 East 5th Street for $42,000.  Within a month, Kurtzer & Rohl filed plans for two "five-story brick flats" on the site.  The construction cost of each would be $18,000, bringing Ruff's total outlay for the project to about $2.85 million in 2026 terms.

The architects drew from a grab bag of styles in designing 338 East 5th Street (which was a close match to 340).  The undressed brownstone bands that alternated with planar stone at the first floor were Romanesque Revival inspired; but the skillfully carved square, engaged Corinthian columns that flanked the entrance were purely Renaissance Revival in style.  The latter style made an encore in the carved panels between the first and second floors, the Corinthian capitals of the double-height piers of the third and fourth floors, and in the terminal cornice.

Decades of paint have obscured the once-crisp, expertly executed carvings.  photograph by Carole Teller

The brick-faced upper floors were trimmed in terra cotta and brownstone.  A blend of neo-Grec and Queen Anne, the latter appeared in honeycomb brick panels.  Ornate terra cotta tympana decorated the top floor windows. 

The four apartments per floor--two in the front and two in the rear--were rented to working class families.  While wealthy families uptown feted their daughters with debutante dances and sent their sons off to Columbia or Harvard University, the families of 338 East 5th Street sent their children to work.

Among the early residents was the Levy family.  Fanny Levy, like hundreds of young women in the neighborhood, worked in a clothing factory.  In the fall of 1895, the cloakmakers' union went on strike.  On November 8, Fanny joined "a mob of women and girls" who assembled in front of A. F. Hochstaders' cloak factory at 84 Greene Street to protest non-union workers.

According to the New York Herald, this protest was one of several that were made up mostly of women.  The article said, "It is now believed that their participation is encouraged by the leaders of the strike, on the supposition that the police will deal more gently with women rioters than with men."  Several of the protests devolved to "riots," including the one on Greene Street.  The New York Herald reported that the strikers "made a furious attack on both non-union men and women when they came to work," adding, "Some of the women tore the whiskers of the men and others made a rush for the non-union girls and tore their clothes and pulled their hair."  Four women were arrested, including Fanny Levy, who was fined $10 (about $386 today).

Living here as early as 1895 were Gustave Hammer and his wife, Louisa.  That spring, according to Hammer, Stanley Glass visited their apartment "and told him of a wonderful secret a friend of his possessed," recounted the New-York Tribune on September 19, 1895.  Glass told the couple that his friend was an alchemist, "and with a little brass, some copper, a few platinum filings and the wonderful secret could procure any amount of gold."  The problem, of course, was funding the process.  The New-York Tribune reported, "Hammer and his wife became interested and consented to go into the business."

Glass took Hammer to meet M. Pearlman, who not only "claimed to be able to turn common metals into pure gold, but said they could make gold swell itself until ounces of it grew into pounds."  The gullible Gustave Hammer invested $250 in the venture.  And, not surprisingly, the gold was not manifested.

In September, Gustave had Stanley Glass arrested "for swindling."  According to Louisa Hammer, "Mary Pearlman, wife of the alchemist, had sought to have the case dropped by offering various sums of money, beginning with $50 and getting up to $100," reported the New-York Tribune.  In the meantime, the "alchemist" had skipped town.

The following year, another resident, Mamie Roberts, was scammed.  Starting in September 1896, William Doyle placed advertisements searching for "chorus girls to take out on the road in two theatrical companies which he said he was forming," reported the New York Herald.  They said that successful applicants would receive "good pay and steady employment."  Hundreds of young women, including Mamie Roberts, answered the ads.  As it turned out, William Doyle was both a scammer and a molester.  The "interviews" were held at Doyle's office--his bedroom in a Sixth Avenue house.

The New York Herald reported on November 15:

Many of them went there and upon his demand, they say, allowed themselves to be measured for costumes.  Doyle had samples of tights in his room and undertook, they say, to furnish costumes.

In each case, after the applicants had tried on the tights, they were hired.  Doyle told them he would order their costumes.  The women were charged $2 each for "registration on the books of the company" and $10 for a pair of tights.  He promised to deliver the costumes at the first rehearsal. 

An excited Mamie Roberts and around 100 others crowded into an Eighth Avenue music hall for rehearsal at 8:00 on the night of November 14.  The New York Herald reported, "Doyle did not appear, and as new squads of women kept arriving during the evening some of the would-be chorus girls became suspicious."  At 10:00 a few women went to the manager who told them that Doyle had not paid for the hall.

Doyle and his "clerk" were arrested on Eighth Avenue later that night.  The next morning Mamie Roberts was one of the throng of women who appeared to testify against Doyle in the Jefferson Market Police Court.

The Ginging family lived in a rear apartment on the fourth floor as early as 1902.  The Gingings had two young adult children, a son (who had served in the Spanish-American War) and a daughter.  Annie Ginging worked in a Lower East Side necktie factory "from ten to fourteen hours every day," according to The Evening World.  Annie's parents were rigidly strict, the newspaper saying, "Her mother kept close watch over her and refused to allow her to join the diversions of the other girls of the neighborhood."

On Saturday February 7, 1903, Annie went to Harlem to visit her aunt.  The Evening World said, "There was dancing and it was late when Annie reached her home."  Waiting up for her was Annie's mother, who "reproved her in no gentle language.  The father added his protests."

All day long on Sunday, according to the newspaper, Annie's parents berated her behavior.  When Annie got up to go to work on Monday, her mother started in again.  Annie had already put on her coat to leave when she finally snapped, "If you don't quit talking about this I'll kill myself."

Annie's mother replied that her daughter would be better "dead than going to dances," and walked out of the room.

Annie Ginging climbed out of the kitchen window onto the fire escape and then waited for her mother to return.  When she did, Annie said, "Come here.  I am going to kill myself."  As her mother rushed to the window, Annie flung herself from the fire escape.

The Evening World reported, "Mrs. Ginging, peering through the fire escape, saw the flight of her daughter through the air and heard the sound of the body striking."  After striking several clothes lines, Annie hit the pavement on her head and was instantly killed.

On June 15, 1904, Kate Metteer and her six children boarded The General Slocum, a 235-foot steam sidewheeler chartered by St. Mark's Evangelical Lutheran Church for a day trip up the East River.  Around 10:00, as the vessel entered the treacherous Hell Gate section of the East River, fire broke out below deck, quickly reaching a locker filled with gasoline and other flammable liquids.  Panic ensued as the flames broke through the deck.  The life boats were stuck to the side, having been painted in place.  Pandemonium broke out as children jumped or were tossed into the river, some sucked under in the turbulent Hells Gate eddies, others pulled into the side wheels and beaten to death. 

Kate Metteer and her six children were among the throngs on the General Slocum, seen here just after setting off from the East River pier.  New York's Awful Excursion Boat Horror, 1904 (copyright expired)

Kate Metteer later told investigators:

I was sitting on the upper deck with the two smaller children and the others were playing around the boat.  When I heard the cry of "fire!" I yelled for my children.  They ran to me, and I told them to stay near me and they would be saved.  I climbed over the railing, holding the baby tight in my arm.  Somebody loosened my hold on the stanchion.  At that time a tug came alongside and I fell right on its deck with the baby in my arms.  The other children called after me, but when I looked up they had disappeared.  I was taken to North Brother Island and from there came home.  I got word William was in the Lebanon Hospital.  I can only hope my other children are saved.

The "baby" that Kate Metteer had held onto was three-year-old George.  William, who was four years old, was, indeed, in the Lebanon Hospital, as was his sister, 15-year-old Elsie.  Tragically, Albert, Robert and Frederick, 11, 10, and 8 years old respectively, were lost.

image via the NYC Dept of Records & Information Services.

Not all of the tenants, of course, were hard-working and respectable.  Living here in 1911 were John Palismo and Morris Horowitz.  In the early hours of April 1 that year, they and three other men came across Charles Herman, who was a baker and lived across the street.  The New York Press reported, "Two of them beat him while the others were robbing him."  (The five thugs would have had a difficult task in dividing their spoils.  Herman only had a single dollar bill and some change on him.)

Herman's cries attracted Detectives Hooker and Ransberg.  They ran down and arrested four of the men, including Palismo and Morris.  The other culprit escaped.

By the end of the century, the East 5th Street neighborhood was seeing change.  Trendy shops and cafes opened on the avenues and in 2001, Jason Tang and Maki Kawasaki opened the tang kawasaki studio in 338 East 5th Street.  

Jason Tang and Maki Kawasaki were both born in 1977, Tang in Vancouver, Canada and Kawasaki in Kobe, Japan.  They met while studying architecture at Cornell University.  In their studio, they worked together on interior design, furniture design, and architectural commissions.

Even the heavily-carved entrance doors, painted today, with their interesting basket-weave panels survive after nearly 135 years.  photograph by Carole Teller  

Other than replacement windows and layers of paint on the basement and first floor masonry, Kurtzer & Rohl's tenement design survives remarkably intact.

many thanks to artist Carole Teller for suggesting this post

The Theodore and Florence Sutro House - 320 West 102nd Street

 

image via streeteasy.com

Alonzo B. Kight began his career in 1891, acting as both real estate developer and architect.  The 1898 A History of Real Estate, Building and Architecture in New York City said that, perhaps, no other architect had "accomplished so much for the general appearance" of the Upper West Side.  The article noted that he worked "generally west of West End avenue."

In 1896, Kight filed plans for a trio of limestone-faced dwellings on West 102nd Street between Riverside and West End Avenues.  Like his other projects, the speculative homes would be targeted at wealthy owners.  The cost to construct each was projected at $25,000, or just under $990,000 in 2026.

The homes were completed in 1897.  Kight designed the 20-foot-wide American basement residences in the Renaissance Revival style.  (American basement plans forewent the high stoops of the waning English basement plan.)  Like its architectural siblings, the westernmost house, 320 West 102nd Street, was five stories tall.  A faceted, three-story bay provided a balcony to the fourth floor.  Balustraded faux balconies clung to the corners of the second floor and another fronted the center windows of the third.  The grouped and paired windows of the top two floors sat within molded surrounds.

When the Real Estate Record & Guide published this rendering on April 10, 1897, it noted that 320 West 102nd Street was "recently sold."  (copyright expired)

Attorney and financier Theodore B. Sutro and his wife, the former Florence Edith Clinton, purchased 320 West 102nd Street in March 1897.  The price, according to The New York Times, was "about $40,000."  (The figure would translate to about $1.6 million today.)  Born in Germany, Sutro was brought to America by his parents at the age of five.  He graduated from Harvard College in 1871 and from the Columbia Law School in 1873.  

Theodore Sutro, Schlegel's German-American Families in the United States, 1917 (copyright expired)

Florence Clinton Sutro, born in England in 1865, was (astonishingly for the period) also a lawyer, as well as an artist and accomplished musician.  A prodigy, she had won the $1,000 first prize for her piano playing of Franz Liszt's Hungarian Rhapsody No. 2 at the age of 12, and was the first woman to graduate with a doctorate of music from the Grand Conservatory of New York.  Her paintings were regularly exhibited at the National Academy of Design.  She graduated valedictorian of the 1891 class of the City College of New York where she received her law degree.  Two years prior to the Sutros' purchasing 320 West 102nd Street, she wrote Women in Music and Law.

Florence Clinton Sutro,  Schlegel's German-American Families in the United States, 1917 (copyright expired)

Florence Sutro's involvement with art and music interfered with her decorating of the new mansion.  On June 20, 1897, the New-York Tribune reported that the Music Teachers' National Association had established its first woman's department.  The association's president, Herbert Wilber Greene, asked Florence "to take charge of the new department."  The article said:

Mrs. Sutro, who was preparing to move into her beautiful new house at No. 320 West One-hundred-and-second-st., at first thought it would be impossible for her to undertake the work; but the request was repeated with such urgency that she consented, and is putting off the furnishing of her house as much as possible until afterward.

Of course, Florence did get around to furnishing the home.  It was soon filled with costly furniture and an impressive collection of art, including historic marine paintings by Edward Moran.

Two views of the foyer with its marble floor and groined ceiling.  images via Byron Company from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York.

Entertainments in the Sutro residence were frequent.  One early gathering was especially important for the couple.  On October 3, 1899, The New York Times reported, "Mr. and Mrs. Theodore Sutro celebrated their crystal wedding Sunday by giving an afternoon and evening reception."  The article said, "The gifts were numerous, and several hundred friends called to pay their respects to the couple."  

An article in The New York Times on April 22, 1900 announced that Florence had given her last "at home" for the winter season.  It gave a hint of the couple's recurrent entertaining.  "For the past seven months Mr. and Mrs. Sutro have been entertaining on Wednesdays.  Mrs. Sutro has given several small dances, and the young people of the upper west side have enjoyed these occasions."

The dining room (top) and breakfast room.   images via Byron Company from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York.

Florence's last at home (the days on which a socialite was available for receiving calls) that was mentioned in The New York Times article had everything to do with the end of the winter social season.  Like all wealthy New Yorkers, the Sutros left the city in the warm months.  At the end of the summer social season of 1901, for instance, The New York Press announced:

Mr. and Mrs. Theodore Sutro, after a sojourn in the maritime provinces of Canada, Bar Harbor, Rangeley Lakes, Poland Springs, Maine and Lenox, have returned to their city residence, No. 320 West 102d street, for the winter.

The Sutros were active patrons of the arts and every social gathering in their home had elaborate music.  On March 23, 1902, for instance, the New-York Tribune reported on Florence's recent at home, saying she "was assisted in a delightful musical programme by Giuseppe Aldo Randegger, Miss Tilden, Miss Beatrice Eberhard, Mrs. Ernest L. Thibault, Edard J. Calthrop, F. Howard Warner, John P. Boruff, Mrs. Silas G. Pratt and Lewis Williams."  The article was quick to point out, "This was not a special at home, but was one of Mrs. Sutro's regular days."

An informal sitting room.  Notice the handsome arched pocket doors in the background and the interesting wicker furniture.  The upright piano was one of several pianos throughout the house, including one in a guest room.   image via Byron Company from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York.

As early as 1905, Theodore's unmarried niece, Edyth Martyn, lived with the Sutros.  In reporting on Florence's recent "delightful Washington's Birthday reception," the New-York Tribune remarked on February 26, 1905, "Mrs. Sutro was assisted in receiving by her husband and Miss Edyth Martyn."

The drawing room had a painted and stenciled ceiling.   image via Byron Company from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York.

In September 1905, Florence became ill.  In January, Theodore took her to Hot Springs, Virginia "for the baths," according to The Evening World.  On February 12, the newspaper reported that she "lies dangerously ill in the John Hopkins Hospital, Baltimore, to which she was taken...by Mr. Sutro yesterday to be operated upon for violent pleurisy."  Astonishingly, said the newspaper, "She has been operated upon four times to relieve her lungs of the accumulation of water, and is now very nearly exhausted."

Somewhat off topic, The Evening World noted, "Mr. and Mrs. Sutro have an ideal home...where Mrs. Sutro has entertained the famous men and women of two hemispheres."

Florence was brought back to 320 West 102nd Street where she died "of pleurisy and a complication of diseases" on April 27, 1906.  Newspapers filled columns with her achievements, her talents, and her numerous positions.

The funeral was held in the mansion on April 30.  The details had been planned by Florence herself five years earlier prior to an operation.  She had written in part, "it would be pleasant if I could contemplate a string orchestra, with an organ and a harp to play for the last obsequies, and that some living woman should sing a solo."  Her body was dressed in the "the gown Mrs. Sutro had worn as a bride," said the New-York Tribune.  Florence Sutro would be posthumously disappointed in one detail.  The New York Times reported, "Mrs. Sutro had desired that Miss Adele Rafter and Miss Emma Thursby should sing at her funeral, but they were unable to be present."

Edyth Martyn took over the duties of the mistress of her uncle's residence.  She became a heroine, as well, on the night of February 18, 1908.  The Evening World reported that a fire from an overturned lamp in Theodore Sutro's bedroom quickly grew.  When the flames "spread to the bedclothing, Miss Martin [sic] ran in, smothered the flaming sheets with blankets and carried water with which to completely extinguish the fire."

In 1912, Theodore Sutro was ready to walk away from his mansion and the magnificent artworks and furnishings he had accumulated with his wife.  The New York Times reported on March 17 that he intended to sell the house, giving "the purchaser the privilege of buying any part or all of the furnishings."

image via the NYC Dept of Records & Information Services.

Instead, Sutro moved to 416 West 118th Street and leased the West 102nd Street mansion.  Franklin Haines and his family were his first tenants.  Born in 1862, Haines married Frances Way in 1885 and they had three children, Dallas Way, Marion, and Margaret Dallas.  Dallas Way Haines graduated from Columbia University in 1913.

The family was still here in October 1919 when Franklin and Frances announced Marion's engagement to Hewitt White Rundle.

Theodore Sutro continued to lease 320 West 102nd Street until his death at the age of 82 on August 28, 1927.  In reporting his demise, The New York Times described him as "one of the leading German-born citizens of New York."

The Alpearl Realty Company purchased 320 West 102nd Street in 1928 and leased it to Ladislaus Rogasky in 1929.  The house was sold a few times before Arthur Holland sold it in December 1946.  The New York Times remarked, "The new owner is altering the building into small apartments."

photograph by Deansfa

The first and second floors were converted to the Barbara Smith Nursery School, and the upper floors to one apartment each.  The configuration lasted until 2012 when 320 West 102nd Street was reconverted to a single family home.

The Lost Prisco State Bank - 73 Mulberry Street

 

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

Born in Italy in 1876, Raffaele Prisco arrived in New York City in 1901, "a penniless immigrant," as recalled by The New York Times decades later.  He and his wife had three sons, Henry, George W., and Joseph.

Prisco found success in his new homeland and on July 13, 1914 he founded the Prisco Bank, a private institution.  His work within the Italian immigrant community had led the Government of Italy to make him a Chevalier of the Crown of Italy and he proudly signed the state's paperwork, "C. R. Prisco," or Chevalier Raffaele Prisco.  George W. and Joseph W. Prisco became vice-presidents of the Prisco Bank, while Henry pursued a law career.

Prisco gained additional popularity within the community by conspicuous acts.  That was the case on November 4, 1926 when he "created a small riot in Mulberry Street by throwing handfuls of new dimes to hundreds of children who had gathered in the street outside his bank," reported The New York Times.  The article said it was Prisco's way of celebrating Alfred E. Smith's re-election as Governor.

In the meantime, in their private lives Prisco and his sons exhibited much less attractive attributes.  Raffaele was closely allied to Tammany Hall and became a close ally of Benito Mussolini.  It was George, however, who first showed a dark side.  In 1918 he was tried twice for assaulting a 16-year-old girl and acquitted both times.  Her mother, Elizabeth Schroeder, won a $5,132.10 decision in a civil suit two years later.  (It was a major win for the girl, equal to more than $82,000 today.)

George married his wife, Grace, on June 2, 1920.  The bride quickly discovered that she was in an abusive relationship.  Charging "cruel and inhuman treatment," she filed for separation  seven months later, on January 25, 1921.  She told the judge in part:

I was compelled to wear two old skirts previously worn by my mother-in-law.  I had to wear my husband's socks.  I had no coat, so I wore one given to me by my mother-in-law.  It was thirteen years old.

My husband left me alone at night to take other girls on motor trips.  He refused to take me with him to Cuba when he went on November 20, 1920.  He ordered me not to laugh.  He refused to speak English in my presence.  

George, additionally, told Grace that he had a girlfriend and once woke her up simply to tell her that he was in love with that woman.

Joseph Prisco was in the news three months later.  He and his chauffeur, James Whitcroft, offered a ride to two school teachers, Marjorie Foster and Leonore Nornelle.  The women testified that Whitcroft drove them "to a lonely neighborhood in Flatlands" and the two men made physical advances.  "The young women jumped out of the auto," reported The Evening World on April 27, 1921.  Prisco and Whitcroft were arrested.  "Prisco put up bail for himself and the chauffeur," said the article.

In 1923, Raffaele Prisco commissioned the architectural firm of Koch & Wagner to design an impressive bank building at 73 Mulberry Street.  Costing $40,000 to erect (about $753,000 in 2026 terms), the marble-faced, neo-Classical-style edifice  was completed in 1924.  It featured a bronze entranceway within a column-flanked arch that echoed Classical Roman triumphal arches.  (The building was strikingly similar to C. P. H. Gilbert's Italian Savings Bank on East 116th Street, erected the previous year.)

Koch & Wagner's design was remarkably similar to C.P.H. Gilbert's Italian Savings Bank (above), erected a year earlier.  photograph by Wurts Bros. from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York

On February 20, 1924, The New York Times reported on the bank's formal opening.  "Raffaele Prisco escorted [Police] Commissioner Richard E. Enright and the other newly elected directors through the premises," said the article.

Suspiciously, the day after the Prisco Bank building opened, "a rumor whispered over the telephone," as reported by The New York Times, caused a run on the Italian Savings Bank on East 116th Street.  "Throughout the afternoon the bank officials were kept busy explaining that the bank was solvent and that there was no reason for the report of failure," said the article.  The panicked depositors withdrew their savings and rushed downtown to 73 Mulberry Street.

The New York Times reported on February 22, "police of the Oak Street Station were called to restrain would-be depositors who wanted to put their money in the Prisco Bank...About 2,000 depositors were added to the bank's clients yesterday.  Many were peddlers.  The deposits ranged from $50 to $1,000."  

The article noted, "The bank is soon to be organized as a State bank."  That took place in August 1924 and bronze letters announcing "Prisco State Bank" were installed under the "Prisco Bank" name carved into the marble parapet.

On June 14, 1925, Raffaele Prisco sailed to Italy, "to establish a branch bank  in Naples," said The New York Times.  His wife and son George accompanied him on the voyage.  Standing on the pier to send them off was a group of officials that included Richard Enright, Congressman Fiorello La Guardia, and at least two judges, Rueben Haskell and John P. Cohalan.

The article mentioned, "Mr. Prisco expects to meet Premier Mussolini, whom he has known for many years," adding, "He plans to erect a monument at Giuseppe, his native village, near Naples, to the soldiers who died in the war."

Workers clean Mulberry Street in front of the bank in 1927.  from the collection of the New York Public Library

George Prisco's disturbing treatment of his first wife paled in comparison to the abuse his second wife, Marie, suffered.  George married the 20-year-old in October 1925.  Three months later, at 2:00 on the morning of November 10, Prisco telephoned the night clerk of the Hotel St. George in Brooklyn, "asking him to send a physician to Room 593, where his wife had been injured in an accident."  The house physician rushed up to find Marie bleeding from a gunshot in the abdomen.

A terrified Marie told police that George had been in the bathroom and his pistol was on the dresser.  She said, "in moving it to one side it had slipped to the floor and gone off."  It was not long before officials debunked the couple's story.  Three weeks later, District Attorney Charles J. Dodd asserted that medical examinations proved that the injury "could not have been self-inflicted and that Mrs. Prisco's dress was scorched, indicating that the pistol must have been fired at close range."

George Prisco had disappeared and the family "professed ignorance" as to his whereabouts, reported The New York Times on November 17.  Marie Prisco told reporters, "I'm so sorry I made the mistake of marrying him.  He's not worth talking about."

On August 28, 1931, Superintendent of Banks Joseph A. Broderick closed the Prisco State Bank upon the discovery of "embezzlements totaling about $130,000," reported The New York Times.  The defalcation would turn out to be slightly more.

Joseph W. Prisco fled Manhattan.  He was arrested in Ocean Grove, New Jersey on August 7.  The New York Times reported that he faced "three indictments [that] accuse him of taking $133,000."  Raffaele Prisco had already been arrested for the embezzlement and "in connection with the disappearance of $17,000 in Italian Government bonds placed in the bank for safe-keeping."  Little by little, additional fraudulent dealings and missing funds were discovered by investigators.

Push cart vendors lined the curb in front of the bank.  from the collection of the New York Public Library

On August 3, 1931, a reader of the Daily Worker vented his wrath in a letter to the editor.  It started saying, "Just a few lines to expose the capitalist crooks."  He noted, "The majority of the poorest Italian people had money in this bank" and went on to say, in part:

Three months ago a friend of mine sent $29 to his sick father in Tauroso, Italy, through this bank, but no money has been received as yet.  A month after the depositing of this money in the Prisco Bank, my friend went to the bank to protest against the money not being forwarded.  The officials of the bank told my friend that a mistake had been made, but that the money would be sent at once by telegram.  Three months have passed now and no money has been received by the sick father.  How many people have lost their money in the same way would be hard to say, but we can safely say that there have been many.

On February 17, 1932, Raffaele Prisco was sentenced to no less than three years in the penitentiary and Joseph W. Prisco to up to five years.  Henry Prisco was in the courtroom during the sentencing.  He stood up, pointed toward a group of lawyers standing near the judge and blurted, "I'll get you fellows!"  As Henry was being hustled out of the courtroom, he turned to his brother's and father's attorney, Caesar B. F. Barra, and shouted, "I'll get you, too, Barra!"

The marble bank building sat vacant for another eight years.  It was demolished in 1940--just 16 years after opening--to be replaced by a two-story brick store-and-apartment building.

photograph via traveladvisor.com