The 1890 Solomon and Josephine Zeman House - 346 West 122nd Street

Between 1888 and 1890, brothers Joseph W. and A. Alonzo Teets erected 21 brownstone-fronted houses on both sides of West 122nd Street between Morningside and Manhattan Avenues.  Those on the southern side were designed by J. A. Webster and E. H. Hammond in 1889.  (Webster had tackled the northern project alone a year earlier.)

Instead of the arched entrances seen in the two end houses, the double-doored entrances of the eight interior homes, including 346 West 122nd Street, sat below substantial molded cornices.  They sat upon heavy, foliate-carved corbels supported by diminutive paired columns on foliate brackets.

The architects striated the 16-foot-wide facade with narrow bands.  Those of the parlor level were carved with Renaissance motifs, while undressed stone contrasted with the planar brownstone of the upper floors.  The openings mimicked the entrance with carved corbels and cornices.

On October 2, 1890 A. Alonzo Teets sold 346 West 122nd Street to Josephine and Solomon Zeman for $16,750 (about $611,000 in 2026 terms).  The couple had four children, Ida, Isaac, Bertha and Fanny.

The Zemans maintained a small domestic staff.  On August 31, 1892, Josephine placed an advertisement in The World that sought, "Cook--A thoroughly competent cook; no washing; Swede or German preferred; must have references."  Josephine's noting that the cook would not share the chores of a maid or laundress was important.  Cooks who worked for upper-class families refused to do tasks they considered below their station.

The Zemans dealt in real estate.  On January 30, 1895, for instance, they sold 42 West 83rd Street to John H. Henshaw.  Other times, it appears, they operated on a strictly individual basis.  When Solomon transferred title to 112 Broome Street to Josephine in May 1898, he charged her $37,250 for the property.

Solomon Zeman died at the age of 67 on November 29, 1909.  Four years later, in February 1913, Josephine sold 346 West 122nd Street to Arthur Blue, another real estate operator.  It does not appear that Blue ever lived here, but leased the property as a rooming or boarding house.

Among his first tenants was actor Christopher Richards.  He would leave the stage for the motion picture screen early on, appearing in the 1918 silent films His Double Life and A Safe Danger.  Richard's career was successful enough that he was able to afford a motorcar.  His problem was that he had a lead foot.

On April 17, 1914, Christopher Richards stood before Magistrate Kortel to answer a charge of "running his automobile faster than the legal limit."  Motorcycle Policeman Zeh testified that, "when he overtook Richards he was running his machine through a crowded section of upper Broadway at thirty miles an hour," reported The Evening Telegram.  This was Richards's third offense.  He pleaded guilty, but "at his earnest pleadings not to be locked up," was paroled for 24 hours to obtain his $100 fine--a stinging $3,340 today.

Another tenant at the time, Vincenzo Matta, also had an automobile.  In 1914 he registered a Hudson motorcar.

At the end of World War I, Dr. John R. Hillery owned 346 West 122nd Street.  A chiropodist, his office was at 238 West 132nd Street.

Hillery was rejected by the Pedic Society of the State of New York in 1918 because of his race.  He sued on behalf of himself and eight other black doctors, "all reputable chiropodists," according to The New York Age.  His complaint charged, "the applicants were rejected simply and solely by reason of their color."

Dr. John R. Hillery, The New York Age, December 20, 1919 (copyright expired)

In its January 1920 issue, The Crisis reported, "The Supreme Court in New York City has handed down a verdict in the test case brought by Dr. John R. Hillery, a colored chiropodist, compelling the Pedic Society to admit to membership nine colored chiropodists who had been refused admission."

Hillery's civil rights work caught the attention of an unexpected figure--the Pope.  Calling Hillery "a pioneer podiatrist of Harlem and a leader of the professional group," on October 20, 1923, The New York Age reported that he had received "a most unusual honor."  The article said, "He had received the Apostolic Blessing of His Holiness, Pope Pius XI, the communication, under the Papal Seal, having been signed December 13, 1922."

The New York Age stressed, "This blessing is only conferred by the Pope upon recommendation of high ecclesiastics and then only after a rigorous examination into the honoree."  The article went on to say:

Among the doctor's clientele he numbers the great Polish pianist and statesman, Ignace de Paderewski, and the latter, when in Rome in late in May, in a personal audience, thanked the Pope for the honor conferred on his friend, Dr. Hillery.

In 1932, a wealthy patient thanked Dr. Hillery by chartering a private "passenger transport plane, used by one of the New York daily papers in making photographs from the air," as reported by The New York Age on October 7.  The unnamed patient arranged the airplane to "take Dr. Hillery and friends on an aerial trip to Washington and return."  

Hillery invited his niece and a colleague on the trip.  Terrified of flying, his wife went to the airport "and went so far as to enter the plane and be taxied around the field, but could not be prevailed upon to take the air trip," said the article.  The party was given an automobile sightseeing tour of Washington D.C. before returning to New York.

image via the NYC Dept of Records & Information Services

On December 1, 1942, The New York Times reported that the estate of Dr. John R. Hillery had sold 346 West 122nd Street to Bertha Williams "for cash."  By midcentury, the house was occupied by divorcee Elinor Stahl.

On September 21, 1950, the Tarrytown, New York newspaper The Daily News said that Elinor and her former husband, Harlow Curtis Stahl, "were divorced several years ago [and] she received an undisclosed settlement reported to be $1 million and a mansion in Grosse Point Farms [Michigan]."  Why Elinor chose the West 122nd block for her New York City home is puzzling.  By now, most of the homes were converted to rooming houses.

Elinor raised social eyebrows in 1950.  The Daily News reported, "Mrs. Elinor Stahl, heiress in an exclusive Detroit suburb, was married [in Tuckahoe] to her Negro houseman, William Tibbs, on Aug. 26, it was revealed today."  The article said, "The socialite and her houseman took out the marriage license in Yonkers on Aug. 24.  She listed her age as forty-seven, and her address as 346 West 122d Street, New York City."  The groom was 26.  The Daily News reported that they would spend their honeymoon at the Grosse Point Farms mansion.

In the first years of the 2000s, the interior architectural details survived, but significant neglect was apparent.  photos via zillow.com

By the turn of the 21st century, the interior detailing survived--most of which, miraculously, had not been painted.  But decades of neglect was apparent.  The buyer restored the interiors and converted the house to a two-family home.

uncredited photographs by the author

The 1926 New York Furniture Exchange - 200 Lexington Avenue

photograph by Carole Teller

The newly formed Lexington-32nd Street Corporation acquired all the buildings along the western blockfront of Lexington Avenue between 32nd and 33rd Streets in 1925.  The architectural firm of Buchman & Kahn, in association with architect Maximilian Zipkes, was hired to design a 15-story structure that would house the New York Furniture Exchange.  Although the firm's filings do not specify which architect took the reins in the project, Ely Jacques Kahn is routinely given the credit.

Buchman & Kahn released this rendering in 1926.  from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York

Completed in 1926 at a cost of $2.7 million (nearly $50 million in 2026 terms), the monolithic structure was faced in sandy-colored brick and trimmed in terra cotta.  Its Art Deco design included elements influenced by Celtic, Assyrian and other exotic prototypes.  Above the third floor, a terra cotta frieze of an undulating vine snakes below and above trailing bellflowers (every other example defying gravity).  It is interrupted sporadically by octagonal plaques and rosettes.

The panels on either side of the fluted terra cotta tiles between the third-floor windows reflected Celtic motifs.  photograph by Carole Teller

Above the 11th floor was a complex, striated cornice.  Its contrasting layers mixed modern Art Deco motifs with ancient themes.  Rather than a terminal cornice, the three-story setback was crowned simply with a paneled parapet.

The Furniture Exchange was not a new concept.  It was established in 1891 at the Grand Central Palace at 36th Street and Seventh Avenue.  But it had come a long way since then.  An advertisement in The Decorative Furnisher in January 1927 said the New York Furniture Exchange was "where the country's furniture buying power meets."  Furniture makers and dealers nationwide leased space in the building to market their goods.  A listing of the tenants in the June 1927 issue of Furniture Index filled two full pages.  An article in the May 1928 issue of The Furniture Journal said:

Conceived more than a generation ago by a group of broad-visioned manufacturers, as a manufacturers' outlet...the Furniture Exchange in this city has from the start been a lighthouse on the Atlantic coast for the manufacturers of furniture throughout the country--a spot where they could assemble their choicest products, secure in the thought that they would be inspected here by those who ought to see them, and no others.

Only wholesale buyers were admitted into the building.  The Furniture Journal said it was "firmly barred against cowans and eavesdroppers."  The article reported that there were no fewer than "237 categories of merchandise on display in the building."

photograph by Sigurd Fischer from The Architectural Record, July 1926

While buyers could shop throughout the year, the busiest time for tenants were the winter and summer Furniture Expositions.  The two-week events drew retailers from across the nation.  On January 15, 1929, for instance, Furniture Buyer and Decorator commented, "For the past two or three weeks the big New York Furniture Exchange has been a continuous scene of hustle and bustle, getting ready for the January Semi-Annual Furniture Exposition."

The Furniture Journal, May 1928.

One dealer made history of a sort in 1955 when he leased space in the building.  On January 22 that year, The New York Age reported that Al Thompson, whose principal operation was in Brooklyn, was "the only Negro registered with the New York Furniture Exchange."  The article called Thompson a "sterling example of successful enterprise overcoming real or fancied problems of race."  It also pointed out, "More than 90 percent of Thompson's business is white."

A facade restoration was initiated in 1961.  The building was sheathed in steel and wooden scaffolding to accommodate what The New York Times described as "resurfacing work."  On the night of February 25, the city was hit with a vicious gale with wind gusts reaching 60 miles per hour.  At 8:35, Mr. and Mrs. Harris Kanzer stepped out of their car at the curb in front of 200 Lexington Avenue.  The New York Times said that at that moment, "the wind caught at the canvas screening on the two-story scaffolding of tubular steel uprights and horizontal planking."  

In a chain reaction, the scaffolding collapsed, starting at 33rd Street and ending domino-like at 32nd Street.  Eleven cars were damaged and the Kramers were pelted with debris.  Happily, they were only slightly injured.

photos by Sigurd Fischer from The Architectural Record, July 1926

The 73rd New York Winter Furniture Show started on January 14, 1964.  The timing could not have been worse.  That day, what The New York Times called "New York's worst storm of the season" hit.  But despite the blizzard, attendance was only 20 per cent down.  The article said, "Furniture dealers proved themselves a hardy breed yesterday."  More than 3,200 customers battled the blast to examine the 550 manufacturers' offerings.

Over the decades, the furniture manufacturers, of course, adapted with changing tastes.  But perhaps no one was more reflective of that than Quasar Khanh, owner of the Paris-based Quasar Inflatables.  When he arrived in New York in October 1969 with new models, he carried the chairs, poufs and lamps in a suitcase.  The designer's inflatable furniture epitomized 1960s domestic tastes.

Within a decade, the furniture trade gradually moved to Long Island City.  A renovation in 1979 resulted in an adult trade school on the fourth floor.  And in 1981, the building's name was changed to the New York Design Center.  Martin Gottlieb, writing in The New York Times on May 13, 1984, explained, "Several years ago, the 500,000 square foot New York Furniture Exchange at 200 Lexington Avenue decided to convert itself from a wholesale commercial furniture building...to a building that served designers and decorators."

Among the tenants in 1994 was the New York Chapter of the American Institute of Architects.  It was the venue for exhibitions and other events, like the panel that discussed "the impact of empowerment zones and the relationships between public policy, design and planning" on September 19, 1996.  The American Institute of Architects would remain here until 2003.

The New York Design Center established Interior Operations in 1997.  Newsday explained on September 18, "For a one-time fee of $50, clients are paired with designers who either help them complete entire projects with merchandise from the center or merely assist them in selecting a few individual items from some of the 80 showrooms in the building."  The article noted parenthetically, "when it opened in 1926, [it] was the first furniture and design building in New York City."

photograph by Carole Teller

The New York Design Center contains 100 showrooms today.  They exhibit furniture, textiles, lighting and decorative accessories.  Like Interior Operations, the current Access to Design program helps educate consumers "on the value of good design," according to the Center's website.  In the meantime, the upper floors of Buchman & Kahn's striking 1926 building is nearly unchanged a century after its doors opened.

many thanks to artist Carole Teller for suggesting this post

The Devastated Bickford's Building - 459 Lexington Avenue

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

 

Bickford's Restaurants were a familiar presence in the urban New York landscape by the 1920s.  Samuel L. Bickford opened his first cafe in 1902 and within two years he ran a chain of lunchrooms popularized by its affordable prices and quick service.  The firm described its eateries saying they "are of the self-service type and serve a limited bill of fare, which makes possible the maximum use of equipment and a rapid turnover.  Emphasis is placed on serving meals of high quality at moderate cost."

On December 18, 1928, The New York Times reported that Bickford's Lunch Systems had leased the five-story building at 459 Lexington Avenue on the northeast corner of 45th Street from Catalina Paez MacManus.  The deal came with significant stipulations.  MacManus demolished the old building and F. Russell Stuckert was hired to design a replacement structure for the leasee.

F. Russell Stuckert was the son of  J. Franklin Stuckert.  At the turn of the century, the father-and-son partnership landed a lucrative contract with Horn & Hardart to design its automats.  J. F. Stuckert & Son dissolved in 1906, and the younger Stuckert established his own practice.  

Completed in 1930, the three-story Bickford's building was faced in terra cotta.  By chamfering the corner, Stuckert gave additional light to the upper floors.  An Art Deco grill above the restaurant's doorway was mimicked in stained glass above the ground floor windows.

The elaborate Art Deco grill above the doorway was copied in glass over the vast plate glass windows.  image via the NYC Dept of Records & Information Services.

Fluted piers at the upper floors terminated in decorative elements that rose beyond the parapet.  Between them were ornate Art Deco panels.  An octagonal clock was embedded within the corner panel.

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

The Bickford's restaurant occupied the ground floor while the upper two were rented as offices and showrooms.

Two years after opening, a senseless spree forced Bickford's to replace several of the large ground floor plate glass windows.  Between 8:30 a.m. and 4:00 p.m. on December 26, 1932, 24 windows were shot out in restaurants around the city--ten in Horn & Hardart automats and the rest in Bickford's lunchrooms.  Among the targets was the Bickford's location at 459 Lexington Avenue.  The vandalism was thought to be the act of mischievous youths, an expert glazier saying, "a sling-shot with a stout, forked frame and strong rubber bands as the catapulting agency easily might have made any of the holes."

In the meantime, the upper floors were leased to a variety of tenants.  Moe Friedman, retailer of dresses, took space on the third floor in 1936, while Madame Fischer's Beauty Salon, owned by Rose Lowenfeld Fischer, occupied the second floor.  

The New York Times explained that the Hungarian-born Rose Fischer had opened her first shop at 95 Second Avenue in 1905.  "It became popular and was frequented by actresses of the Yiddish theatre," said the newspaper.  By now, she owned nine salons.

image via the NYC Dept of Records & Information Services.

Alexander Klein managed the beauty shop in 1938.  On March 12 that year, a man entered and brandished a pistol.  Instead of turning over the contents of the cash register, Klein fled down the stairs and found two policemen.  By the time they returned, 31-year-old Hal Seften, who had arrived in New York City from Kansas City only a few weeks earlier, had fled.  He did not get far.  Police captured him on Lexington Avenue between 50th and 51st Streets.  The pistol turned out to be a toy.  He was charged with attempted robbery and a violation of the Sullivan Law (an early gun-control statute).

In 1966, Restaurant-Waldorf Associates leased the ground floor of 459 Lexington Avenue.  The New York Times remarked that it operated "the Four Seasons and the Zum-Zum restaurants."  The article noted, "The building is now occupied by a Bickford's Restaurant."  Renovations were made to accommodate a new Zum-Zum branch.

The ground floor was modernized again in 1980.  It now accommodated four shops.  Le Croissant Shop moved into the large corner space.  On May 6, 1981, Moira Hodgson explained in The New York Times that the restaurant, "is a family operation owned by Robert Lamer, former head waiter at Le Cynge.  The baking is done on the premises by a baker who has worked at Dumas, Delices La Cote Basque and Bonte."

The 1980 renovation affected only the ground floor.  via the NYC Dept of Records & Information Services.

F. Russell Stuckert's Art Deco design survived until 1992 when a new facade was installed that erased the building's architectural personality.

image via loopnet.com

Clarence F. True's 1891 161 West 76th Street

 

Clarence Fagan True designed the four upscale rowhouses at 155 through 161 West 76th Street for Duncan C. McKinlay in 1890.  He designed the brownstone-fronted homes in the Renaissance Revival style.  Like the others, the westernmost house, No. 161, was four stories tall above a high English basement.  True was noted for his often eccentric details, and carved onto the dog-legged, box stoop was a fearsome-looking dragon sinking its fangs into a banner.

The stoop detail is patently Clarence F. True.

True striated the parlor level with rough-cut bands upon the otherwise planar surface.  Stylized Corinthian pilasters  carved with vining flowers and a fantastic bird flanked the doorway.  Carved ornaments capped the fully-arched parlor windows and the molded cornice of the entranceway.

The architect treated each of the upper floor openings differently.  The second floor windows wore flush, ornately-carved lintels; those on the third floor sat below large shells; and the fourth-floor windows were embraced by carved panels and lintels.

McKinlay sold 161 West 76th Street to real estate operators Robert P. and Annie G. Martin in 1891.  They advertised:  "To Rent--Handsome new house, No. 161 West 76th st; will be decorated to suit tenant."

Their ownership would be short.  On May 2, 1892 the Martins sold the house to George and Henrietta F. Reid.  It appears that the Reids, like their predecessors, leased it.  

Living here in 1894 was Harriet Hall Valentine Holder, the widow of Charles Hawkes Holder who died in 1892.  Born in 1849, she and Charles had five children.  At least one of them, Suzanne Valentine, lived here.  The parlor was the scene of Suzanne's wedding to Charles Schumacher Jr. on November 28, 1894.

The Reids sold 161 West 76th Street in May 1898.  It became home to the John Paret Jr. family.  Born on September 4, 1835, Paret married Emily Louisa Story in 1859 and the couple had nine children--five sons and four daughters.  The family's country home was in Ellenville, New York.

Paret was the head of the men's clothing firm, John Paret & Co., founded by his father in 1816.

A charming John Paret & Co. trade card.  The reverse would have contained the advertising material.

Rufus Story Paret was the eldest of the sons.  The 35-year-old died here on June 6, 1899 and his funeral was held in the parlor on the 8th.  One month later, on July 27, John Paret died at their summer home.  His body was brought back to Manhattan and his funeral was held in the house on July 29.

At least two sons would continue to live at 161 West 76th Street with their mother.  Walter P. Paret was born in 1872 and was educated at Yale University and Columbia University Law School.  Still unmarried, he was with the law firm of Perkins & Jackson.  His older brother, John, was born in 1867 and graduated from Cornell University in 1893.  He, too, was unmarried.  A banker, he was associated with the Union Trust Company.

The Parets left West 76th Street early in 1902.  As was common at the time, when affluent families relocated they sold everything in their previous home and started over.  An auction of the contents of 161 West 76th Street was held on February 7, 1902.  The announcement listed items like "rich hangings, Gold and Vernis Martin Cabinets, rare and costly Curios."  There were also a "Gold Drawing Room Suite, odd and beautiful Chairs, Turkish Rugs, Oil Paintings by eminent Artists."  A particular Royal Vienna pedestal was valued at $500 and a Royal Dresden vase, described as "one of the largest in the city" was valued at $550.  The combined value of those two items alone would translate to about $40,500 in 2026.

Typical of Clarence True's designs, close inspection of the entrance pilasters reveals a fantastic fowl seemingly plucking at a vine.

The house next became home to Adolph and Sophie Hirsch.  Adolph was a partner in the commodity, fertilizer and chemical commission firm of Heller, Hirsch & Co.  The couple had three children, Herbert Adolph, Ralph Tuska, and Alice M.  

Herbert was attending the Harvard Law School when the family moved in.  He graduated in 1905 and, despite his law degree, he took a job as a clerk with Heller, Hirsch & Company.

Sophie Hirsch died on October 22, 1914.  The following month, on November 27, Adolph transferred title to the house in equal parts to his three children.

The Hirsch family leased 161 West 76th Street to Mary H. Squire in April 1916.  She either shared the house or sub-let it to Florence McMillan, who operated her music studio here.

Musical America September 30, 1916 (copyright expired)

In 1920, Mrs. Lulu Freeth Bosworth occupied the house.  She was active in the Professional Woman's League.

The Hirsch siblings advertised 161 West 76th Street for sale in 1921.  The ad on April 28 in the New York Herald read, "Four story high stoop residence, 15 rooms and 4 baths; 19x100; price $33,000; immediate possession."  Two months later, on June 4, the New-York Tribune reported that the Hirsches had sold it to Thomas S. Keatinge.

Alice Hirsch seems to have had seller's regret.  The 1923 American Art Annual's "Who's Who In Art" section listed Alice as having a studio on Washington Square and living at 161 West 76th Street.  Alice would have been renting rooms in her former home.  Another resident at the time was musician Frederic W. Berryman, who, until 1921, was organist and choirmaster of St. Peter's Church in Chelsea.

image via the NYC Dept of Records & Information Services

Among the tenants here in 1938 was Harriet Brown Nielson.  The 35-year-old was described by her attorney, Bernard H. Sandler, that year as "a member of a well-to-do California family, a writer, a linguist and a former Olympic swimmer."  Despite her rather illustrious background, Harriet was experiencing personal problems.

Nielson occupied two furnished rooms.  On the afternoon of February 7, 1938, she met William King, a saxophone player who worked for the Workers Progress Administration.  (His name, it turned out, was actually William Loftus.)  They went to dinner and, according to Loftus, "Mrs. Nielson had several drinks."  On the way to her apartment, they picked up a pint of gin.  When they finished it, they "took a walk and bought a quart of liquor," according to Loftus, "most of which they drank."

At one point, Loftus, a.k.a. King, allowed Harriet's two kittens to escape the apartment.  She flew into a rage and hit Loftus with an empty gin bottle, cutting his face.  According to him, he slapped her and, later, she fell several times and each time he picked her up.  He eventually passed out and when he awoke the next morning, Harriet was dead on the floor.

An autopsy revealed that Harriet, "former Pacific Coast diving champion," as described by the Syracuse Journal, had died of a "homicidal assault."  Dr. Milton Helpern said that Harriet's death was caused by abdominal hemorrhage, "following a traumatic laceration of the liver."  He explained that the injury "was caused by a blow and could not have resulted from a fall."

William Loftus was arrested for murder.  The following month, on March 19, 1938, The New York Times reported that a grand jury, "after listening to four witnesses," dismissed the charge.  What actually led to the former Olympic swimmer's death will never be known.

Frank J. Patti rented a room here in 1944.  The 26-year-old bus driver boarded a Staten Island Ferry on August 5 that year.  He was on the lower deck and "became angry when ordered behind ropes that had railed off part of the deck," as reported by the Staten Island Advance.  So angry was he, in fact, that he slugged 46-year-old deckhand Thomas Cochan in the jaw.

When the ferry pulled into the St. George terminal at 6:00 p.m., Patti was removed by police.  He was charged with third degree assault.  The case was scheduled for trial, but when Frank Patti agreed to pay Cochan "for any damage that had been done," according to the Staten Island Advance on September 7, Cochan dropped his complaint.  (The amount that Cochan agreed upon to ameliorate his injuries was not revealed.)

Also occupying a room here at the time was Walter L. Rowe.  On April 30, 1944, the 57-year-old stepped off the curb at Amsterdam Avenue and 76th Street and was killed by a hit-and-run driver.  Whether the offender was ever arrested is unclear.

In 1968, 161 West 76th Street was converted to apartments, two per floor.  Two decades later, a penthouse level, unseen from the street, was added.  In doing so, one of the fourth-floor apartments was raised to a duplex.

photographs by the author

The Lost Samuel and Abigail Waterbury House - 34 East 30th Street

 

When this photograph was taken in 1912, buildings had crowded around the property.  from the collection of the New-York Historical Society.

Samuel Waterbury was born on January 25, 1795 and his wife, the former Abigail Williams, was born on March 21, 1806.  By the 1840s, when the couple lived in a vintage house on Beekman Street, Waterbury was a well-established cabinetmaker.  And their once-refined neighborhood was being rapidly transformed by commerce.

The couple were last listed on Beekman Street in 1848.  They had purchased land north of the established city on East 30th Street between Madison and Fourth Avenues.  (The latter would become Park Avenue South in 1959).

The Waterburys erected a 34-foot-wide frame house on the plot.  Two-and-a-half stories tall, its charming semi-rural design straddled the Greek Revival and Italianate styles.  The former was reflected in the sidelights and transom of the paneled door, in the Doric corner pilasters, and in the "end returns" of the gable eaves.  The Italianate style influenced the floor-to-ceiling parlor windows, the exceptionally tall second floor openings, and the wooden decorations atop the porch and roofline.

The house sat back on the property behind an especially tall iron fence and gate.  On the property was an apple orchard and decades later Abigail would tell a guest, "I could see from my windows the sun rise over one river and set over the other."

Samuel was one of four children born to Henry and Margaret Waterbury.  None of his siblings would marry and at some point his only brother, David H. (born 1807), moved into the East 30th Street house.

Samuel Waterbury retired in 1866.  By then, brownstone houses had begun appearing in the neighborhood.  As more and more crowded in around the Waterburys' house, it became a picturesque anachronism on the block.

David H. Waterbury died on January 14, 1873.  His funeral was held in the parlor on the 17th.  Five years later, on July 26, 1878, Samuel Waterbury died.  His funeral was held in the house three days later.

Abigail Williams Waterbury remained in the house, maintaining its pristine flowerbeds and tidy yard.  Gradually, the outbuildings and the orchard were sold off, until Abigail's carefully preserved slice of 1849 countryside was surrounded by modern structures.

On April 20, 1904, Abigail celebrated her 99th birthday by hosting "a dinner party to three of her friends," as reported by the New York Herald.  A week later, on May 29, 1904, the newspaper remarked:

A little white frame house, two stories high, with a pointed attic above them, a narrow piazza, a little stretch of ground in front and a white picket fence [sic] running between its grounds and the sidewalk is an odd thing to find in a great city like New York of to-day.

The article said that Abigail, "except for her servants and a woman companion, lives alone in her quaint abode, which has been her home for half a century."  The newspaper described Abigail as "a neighborhood celebrity" and "a fine looking woman."  She was particularly fond of "all dumb animals," said the article, which said she "often stopped on the street to pat a dog or cat when she was out walking."

The New York Herald went on to describe the house, saying in part:

Passersby can see right through the rooms of the first story.  The shades are drawn high and the old fashioned white lace curtains do not hide from view the masses of beautiful flowers standing in the drawing room, or the green parrot in a big cage before the window of the back parlor.  The flowers are famous in the neighborhood.  Relatives send them in from the country twice a week.

Abigail's birthday dinner would be her last.  On April 22, 1905, one month before her 100th birthday, she died in the house.  In reporting her death, the New York Herald reminded readers, "For over half a century she had lived in the little old fashioned frame house in East Thirtieth street, which with its prim flower beds in front had for many years been a curious landmark among the brick and brownstone houses which line the street on both sides and which had grown to be landmarks themselves."

Abigail's funeral in the drawing room on April 22, 1905 would be the last function in the house.  Seven months later, the Waterburys' furnishings were auctioned.  The announcement gives a hint of the couple's comfortable interiors: "Grandfather's clock, Colonial chairs, tables, old paintings, engravings, miniatures, arms, armor, curios, ivory carvings, draperies, genuine antiques."

For decades, developers and real estate operators had been waiting in the wings for the Waterbury property to become available.  On May 18, 1905, The Evening Post reported, "The most noteworthy [real estate news] was the sale by the Waterbury estate, of the frame thirty-four-foot dwelling at No. 34 East Thirtieth Street, only another evidence, of course, of the insatiable demand for property in the Park Avenue neighborhood."  

The purchase by George Rosenfeld initiated a series of turnovers.  He resold it to the New York Operating Company in April 1908, which sold it two years later.  On March 12, 1910, The New York Times reported, "The purchaser is a builder, who will erect a business structure on the site."

The quaint Waterbury house was demolished.  Its idyllic site was used, temporarily, by baseball teams.  On March 23, 1913, The New York Times remarked, "Pee Wee Park, that now famous baseball lot at 34 East Thirtieth Street, was invaded yesterday by a squad of militiamen from the Twelfth Regiment, looking for baseball action."

Teams would have to find a new venue in 1921.  That year, on May 19, The New York Times reported that George F. Pelham had filed plans for a nine-story office and store building.  That structure survives.

image via the NYC Dept of Records & Information Services

William Waring's 1881 104 West Houston Street

 

In 1881, architect William E. Waring designed two identical tenement-and-store buildings on the northeast corner of West Houston and Thompson Streets for separate owners.  Five stories tall, they were clad in brownstone above cast iron storefronts.  A blend of Italianate and neo-Grec styles, their segmentally arched openings most likely wore molded lintels, typical of the Italianate style.  The crisp geometric lines of the cast metal cornices, however, were neo-Grec.  Waring embellished the cornices with triangular pediments topped with anthemions and classical urns.

No. 104 West Houston Street was built by Louis P. Dexheimer and his wife, Julia.  Louis established his "eatinghouse," or restaurant, in the ground floor and there were eight apartments, two per floor, in the upper portion.  An advertisement touted "latest improvements, rent $25."  (The monthly rent would equal $900 in 2026.)

Dexheimer's venture was short lived.  In January 1882, he offered his "neat oyster and dining room cheap."  When he had not sold the restaurant by April 15, he advertised again, saying it was doing "good business" and adding, "$75 will buy to-day; must close by Monday on account of sickness."  (The term "cheap" was accurate.  The figure would translate to only $2,440 today.)

The former restaurant space became home to Charles Reichert's butcher shop in 1888.  He and his wife moved into an apartment upstairs.  They were affluent enough to afford a live-in servant.

In June 1890, 17-year-old Caroline Henneman arrived in America from Germany.  She found employment as a servant in the Prospect Hotel in Newark, New Jersey.  The World said, "becoming dissatisfied with her situation, [she] wrote to her lover, William Burgess, of No. 410 East Fifth street, asking him to procure her a situation."  Burgess talked to Reichert and Caroline moved into their apartment on September 19.

The New York Herald reported, "When she went to bed she was instructed in the management of the gas, with she said she was already familiar."  (Illuminating gas was among the "latest improvements" boasted in the Dexheimers' ad, and its use was unfamiliar to the less urbane.)  On September 22, 1890, The World reported, "Caroline Henneman...a domestic in the family of Charles Reichert, at No. 104 West Houston street, was found dead in her bed yesterday morning with the gas partially turned on."  The article mentioned, "She was to have been married to Burgess next month."

Charles Reichert kept up with technology within his butcher shop and on December 1, 1897, The Butchers' Advocate reported on the "successful gas engine operated refrigerating plant" he had installed in the cellar.  Its engine also operated "a meat chopper and a number of fans and pumps."  The article said the equipment "has proved in every way an economical and paying investment, and Mr. Reichert expresses himself as much pleased with his acquisition."

Two of the cornice-top urns survived as late as 1940.  via the NYC Dept of Records & Information Services.

Harry Neid and his family occupied an apartment here as early as 1905.  He spent time at the Delmonico Club on Broome Street near the Bowery.  Early in the morning of March 26, Neid was playing cards there when police terrorized him and the other patrons with a violent raid.  The New York Times said, "The raid was made with drawn revolvers, after the doors had been battered down with axes."  Neid and 31 other patrons were arrested.

Otto Rosalsky was hired to defend all of them.  He told reporters he would "show that the raid was a political outrage, the place being a social club where some little games were carried on for fun."  Authorities countered his assertion.  "The police say that craps and stuss were going on, with some money on the tables," reported The New York Times.

Charles Reichert's butcher business was highly successful.  He was affluent enough to purchase a three-story tenement building at 166 Thompson Street by 1908.

Although the apartments within 104 West Houston Street were decidedly dated by World War II, the tenants remained middle-class.  Mario Gennaro and his family lived here in 1945, for instance.  They maintained a "one-story bungalow" on South Beach, Staten Island.  

By the early 1960s, a cafe operated by Arthur Giunta, La Casa Di Arthuro, occupied the ground floor space next door.  The name eventually was honed down to Arturo's, a famous Greenwich Village spot for Italian food and pizza.  As Arturo's success burgeoned, it spread into the space that had been Charles Reichert's butcher shop for decades.

At some point, the masonry of 104 West Houston Street was painted, the lintels shaved, and the urns atop the cornice removed.  

photographs by the author

Abortion, Murder and Kindness--347-351 West 44th Street

 

By the last quarter of the 19th century, the Hell's Kitchen district was "one of the most miserable and crime-polluted neighborhoods in this City," according to The New York Times.  On September 18, 1892, a police sergeant told the newspaper, "You were always on the defensive and carried your life in your hand if you made the streets safe for decent people.  If you chose to skulk and let the hoodlums have their own way, you were a good fellow, and never wanted for a cigar or a drink, and I have heard that some officers profited to a greater extent by being discreetly deaf, dumb, and blind."

But certain developers attempted to upgrade the neighborhood by erecting decent tenement buildings.  Five months before The New York Times article, William F. Rorack purchased the old Eagle Brewery property on West 44th Street between Eighth and Ninth Avenues.  On February 18, 1892, The Real Estate Record & Builders' Guide reported that he would build eight "five-story brown stone flats"--five at 345 to 353 West 44th Street and the three others directly behind them on West 45th Street.

This photograph of the Eagle Brewery complex was taken in 1892, just before William Rorack demolished the buildings.  from the collection of the New-York Historical Society.

The buildings were completed before the year's end.  Faced in brownstone and designed as a blend of R0manesque Revival and Renaissance Revival styles, they were nearly identical--their details varying only in the stone carvers' creativity.  Each entrance was flanked by layered columns, the front panels of which were decorated with elaborate Renaissance Revival carvings.  A single Corinthian capital capped the hybrid columns.

At some point, an Art Deco-style entrance door, in stark contrast to the 19th century architecture, was installed at No. 351.

The second floors were faced in vermiculated, rusticated stone.  The windows at this level were enhanced with bold, carved voussoirs.  The openings of the third and fourth floors were embraced by molded arches, each of the outer examples capped with individual mascarons, or portrait keystones.  The top floor windows were separated by paneled Corinthian piers.

Finely executed mascarons cap the outer windows of the fourth floor.

The buildings filled with working class families, their economic status reflected in position-wanted ads.  On December 4, 1892, for instance, an advertisement in The New York Times read, "Butler--By thoroughly competent, sober, and industrious man in private family; best recommendations from last employer.  Address Galbrun, 347 West 44th St."  

Among Galbrun's neighbors in the building that year was Charles H. Paulding.  The elderly man had an illustrious military background.  A veteran of the War of 1812, his maternal grandfather, Isaac F. Russell, had been aide-de-camp to Major General Morgan Lewis in the Revolutionary War.

A young unmarried woman who found herself pregnant at the time was in serious trouble.  Affluent women often slipped out of town on "pleasure trips" until the birth.  Residents of Hell's Kitchen, on the other hand, did not have that option.

Alice Whitney, who lived at 351 West 44th Street, worked as a stenographer and typist in a downtown lawyer's office.  The Evening World described her as "said to possess remarkable beauty and intelligence."  In January 1893, she sought the services of Dr. Gray-Blinn (who also practiced under the names of Blinn, Gray and Smith).  Two years earlier, in January 1891, he was arrested for performing an abortion.  Out on bail, he and his wife fled to Sweden.  Because the patient recovered, no charges were pressed and Gray-Blinn returned to New York City.

Gray-Blinn botched the abortion on Alice Whitney, leaving her in a precarious condition.  On January 20, the New York Herald reported that the physician "was arrested last Sunday, charged with performing a criminal operation."  He was released on $3,000 bail (about $110,000 in 2026).  The article said, "It is reported that Miss Whitney's condition is steadily improving."

But at a time when infection and internal injuries were less well understood than today, the 22-year-old's condition soon worsened.  On February 7, The Evening World reported that the coroner had been notified that "Miss Alice Whitney was suffering from the results of malpractice at 351 West Forty-fourth street, and would probably die before night."  

The following day, the New-York Tribune reported that Alice had died in her apartment.  The article said she had not revealed the name of "her betrayer" (the man who had impregnated her).  On the same day, The Evening World headlined an article, "Dr. Gray-Blinn Has Fled."

At least three of the residents of the row found a less arduous way of making a living than domestic work or physical labor.  An advertisement in the New York Journal on September 17, 1896 read, "Professor Fred Carlson.  Spiritualist, medium; magnetic treatment; good helper.  351 West 44th st."  Four months later, on January 11, 1897, an advertisement in the same newspaper offered, "New Year well begun by consulting Wanetha; she is the ladies' favorite, 351 West 44th st."  And on October 15, 1899, an ad in the New York Journal and Advertiser read, "Mme. Ross, palmist, seventh daughter; naturally gifted; 25 cents.  347 West 44th st., one flight up, back."

Cora Walters, who had a former husband and two children in Philadelphia, occupied a four-room apartment at 347 West 44th Street as early as 1912.  A waitress, she rented one of her two bedrooms to James Lord and his wife.  The 44-year-old Cora had a drinking problem.  On September 26, 1912, according to The Evening World, she "had been treated for alcoholism."  

Around the same time, Raymond Murphy temporarily moved in.  (It is unclear where he slept, since the apartment had only two bedrooms.)  Now a painter, Murphy had previously been a professional pitcher with the Philadelphia National League.

At around 6:00 on the morning of October 4, 1912, Murphy and Lord told two policemen that they had just found Cora Walters's body in her bedroom.  The officers quickly became suspicious about "the many bruises on the body of the dead woman," as reported by The Evening World.  The Lords explained them, according to The New York Times, by saying that Cora "had been drinking heavily for three weeks, and the bruises were caused by falls."

Coroner Holtzhauser, however, was not so sure.  He told reporters, "The bruises on the body were not more than six hours old and do not look to me as if they could have been caused by fall."  He added that Cora was found on her back with her right hand raised "as if to ward off a blow."  The Brooklyn Daily Eagle noted, "according to the police...several suit cases and the contents, consisting of papers, were found strewn about the room."

Holtzhauser had the Lords and Murphy detained and he ordered an autopsy.  The results were apparently inconclusive and no arrests were made.

Joseph Farrell, who was a laborer, lived at 351 West 44th Street at the time of the incident.  In April 1913, he "was hit with a blackjack," according to the New-York Tribune.  After the incident he started "acting strangely."  Farrell's unusual behavior climaxed on the night of July 11.  At around 6:00, he went on a rampage, "wrecking his own apartment with a sledge hammer," then running through the hallway, smashing the doors of other apartments.  Farrell's next door neighbor, Christopher Bauer, tackled him in the hallway.

The New-York Tribune reported, "Policeman Seiffert found the two struggling, but Farrell wrenched himself free and struck Bauer and Seiffert down, and ran into his apartment and locked the door."  As Seiffert and Bauer broke in the door, they heard a horrific crash.  The article said, "Farrell had jumped through a window without raising the sash."  The frenzied man landed in the rear yard and suffered a fractured skull.

The passing decades did not lessen the problems of residents along the row.  Anita Sobotina and Sophie Pelansky, two members of a Russian ballet troupe, lived at 351 West 44th Street on June 20, 1916 when they were arrested for shoplifting items of silk lingerie in a Broadway store.  

Stephen Moniodes, a busboy in Janssen's Hofbrau restaurant, lived in the building ten years later.  On March 14 1926, he was arrested after he grabbed a carving knife and terrorized a dozen employees in the kitchen, "shouting he would kill everybody present," according to The New York Times.  Several cooks managed to force him into a closet and call the police.  The article said, "He was taken to the psychopathic ward at Bellevue suffering from temporary derangement."

Jack Gentle, who lived in No. 351, worked as a waiter in a restaurant.  Unfortunately for him, it was also a speakeasy.  On February 11, 1927, he was arrested when the basement restaurant was raided by Prohibition agents.  And on March 15, 1935, resident Fred M. Melton was arrested for "stealing government checks" and cashing them.  Secret Service agent Alan G. Straight called him, "one of the cleverest forgers in the country."

Not all the residents of the row were, of course, on the wrong side of the law.  A touching letter arrived at The New York Times's Hundred Neediest Cases Fund on December 15, 1924 from A. Perez, who lived at 349 West 44th Street.  Written in broken English, his note read:

I send.  I have nothing but this money that could save from weekly salary.  My gift will be smallest among the others but best-intentioned.  I have heartbroken for not to any more to cause because I am as poor as they are.

    Yours truly, A. Perez, 349 West Forty-fourth Street.

    Hotel Astor pantryman, this is my job.

image via the NYC Dept of Records & Information Services.

By the turn of the century, 351 West 44th Street was operated as a single room occupancy hotel.  Tenants reported that they paid $150 a week "for small rooms with no kitchens," according to The New York Times.  In 2004, there were several small fires in the building, according to occupants.

Another fire broke out in the fifth-floor room of Lassan Bavo on the night of January 28, 2005.  Bavo told reporters, "I took the bucket I use to wash my socks and started trying to put it out.  Then I just gathered some stuff and ran out the fire escape."

The sprinklers failed to activate and 38-year-old William Tutay, who lived two rooms away from the Bavo's, jumped from a window that opened onto the airshaft.  He landed on a "recessed area level with the basement floor," said The New York Times.  He was dead when fire fighters found him.  The fire chief remarked, "If the sprinklers worked, he would not have had to jump."

The easternmost building was demolished in 1925 and replaced later by a rather startling edifice.

No. 345 West 44th Street was demolished in 1925, and No. 353 was so drastically modernized later that it is nearly unidentifiable as one of the 1892 row.  The passing of time, however, essentially ignored the three middle buildings.  Other than replacement windows and an unexpected Art Deco entrance door at 351 West 44th Street, the exteriors of the historic tenement buildings survive nearly untouched.

many thanks to reader Tony Willging for requesting this post

photographs by the author