The Abused 1880 Engine Co. 17 - 91 Ludlow Street

 

photograph by Carole Teller

In the first half of the 19th century, New Yorkers were protected by volunteer fire companies.  Among them was Elephant Company, organized prior to Evacuation Day in 1783.  In 1831, according to George William Sheldon in his 1882 The Story of the Volunteer Fire Department of the City of New York, it "moved to the vicinity of Essex Market and stationed at 91 Ludlow Street."

An act by the New York State Assembly in 1865 coupled Brooklyn and New York with a professional fire organization, the Metropolitan Fire Department.  The volunteer companies were disbanded and, in many cases, the new companies took over the old firehouses.  The house at 91 Ludlow Street became home to Engine Company 17.  It would not be long, however, before the city realized that state-of-the-art facilities were necessary.

Napoleon LeBrun was appointed architect for the Metropolitan Fire Department in 1879.  His son, Pierre, joined him in 1880 to form Napoleon LeBrun & Son.  They went to work designing dozens of firehouses--42 of them before the turn of the century.  Among the first would be Engine Company 17.  On August 9, 1879, the Real Estate Record & Builders' Guide reported that the city would erect "two three-story brick engine houses at No. 91 Ludlow street and 604 East Eleventh street."  

The LeBruns created a single design for the structures, which followed the traditional firehouse layout.  The centered bay doors sat within a cast iron base.  The two upper floors were faced in red brick and trimmed in terra cotta and stone.  LeBrun & Son’s Queen Anne design was splashed with neo-Grec elements, most notably the stone lintel that floated above the central second-story opening.

image via the NYC Dept of Records & Information Services.

(Not surprisingly, given the number of firehouses on their drafting tables, LeBrun & Son repurposed the design, only slightly tweaking it in other houses, like Engine Company 27 on Franklin Street, and Engine Company 5 on East 14th Street.)

Construction cost the city $9,024, or just under $300,000 in 2026, and it proceeded with lightning speed.  Seven months after the announcement, on March 21, 1880, the New York Dispatch reported, "The new building for Engine Company No. 17, located at No. 91 Ludlow street, is completed and the company a few days since took formal possession of the same."  The facility was on the cutting edge of firefighting technology.  The article noted, "They have all the new appliances and improvements, such as the patent swinging harness, etc., etc."

The transition from volunteer to professional status did not entirely change the laddies' rough edged reputations.  John Carney was attached to Engine Company 17 in 1881.  He and his brother, Bernard, were drinking in Fay's saloon on East 14th Street on Friday night, November 18, when, according to John, they "had a falling out about a family matter."  As he lay dying at Bellevue Hospital later, he explained, "My brother was abusive, and I shoved him away from me.  He then plunged a knife into my abdomen on the left side."  

The Evening World described the dormitory on the second floor of Engine Company 17 on December 31, 1889:

It is a long room, about twenty feet above the street, the walls on either side being lined with iron cots, whereon the firemen sleep.  Each man turns in wearing his flannel underclothes.  His boots stand at his bedside with the trousers so disposed about them that he can jump from the cot into both without losing a moment.  In order to get quickly to the floor below the men slide down a polished slender brass pole.

Charles H. Morris had been a firefighter with Engine Company 17 for several years at the time of that article.  The other members were acutely aware that he was a sleepwalker.  In the summer of 1887, for instance, "he dreamed there was an alarm and jumped from his cot to the pole, and, still asleep, slid down carelessly and broke four toes on his right foot," reported The Evening World.  "I dreamed there was an alarm," he said upon wakening.

And around December 14, 1889, Assistant Foreman Charles J. Autenreith awoke to see Morris carrying his street clothes from beside his bed to his locker on the third floor, and then return to bed.  Autenreith woke Morris, who thought the other men were playing a trick on him by taking his clothes upstairs and then telling him he had done it.

At 12:40 a.m. on December 30, 1889, Engineer Maguire and Fireman Smith were on duty when they heard a crash.  Thinking that a horse had fallen, they rushed to the rear and found Morris unconscious and bleeding at the base of the brass pole.  Whether he had dreamed of an alarm, of simply sleep-walked accidentally into the hole could not be determined.  "It is certain that he came down head first, for his skull is fractured at the forehead," reported The Evening World.  The article said doctors in Gouverneur Hospital said "he has but one chance in a hundred for recovery," and noted that should he die his widow and four children would receive a pension of $300 a year (about $10,600 today).

A surprising, unofficial member of Engine Company 17 lived and worked briefly with the men in 1894--a female journalist.  In recording the interesting events of the past year, in January 1895 The World Almanac and Encyclopedia recounted:

Meg Merrilies spent a week with Engine Company No. 17, in their quarters at No. 91 Ludlow Street, dressed in boy's clothes, for convenience, with rubber boots and rubber coat.  She lived the life of one of the fire-laddies, attending regularly to her duties, jumping from sleep at the alarm, sliding half-awake down the pole, swinging on the engine as it left the house, dashing into smoke and fire, and in every way sharing the hardships, the dangers, and the glory.

The entry described a woman who was equal to the tasks of any veteran firefighter.  "She drove engine horses back from fires, carried a choking bay through dense smoke to a place of safety at the risk of her own life, and wound up the week of remarkable activity by helping her associates fight the big fire at Broadway and Leonard street."

By the turn of the century, the crowded Lower East Side neighborhood kept Engine Company 17 more than busy.  The New York Herald reported that in 1906, it had responded to 1,062 calls.  "In other words," said the article, "the men...had to answer an alarm before sitting down to breakfast, dinner or supper, and then some."

The following year, the city hired architect Alexander Stevens to update the house with "iron stairs, skylights, walls and windows."  The renovations cost $12,000.  As the work proceeded, on October 23, 1908, The Sun explained the temporary arrangements.  "The horses and engines are camping in the street opposite their quarters in a temporary wooden house...The harness is attached to the ceiling, ready to drop in case of alarm."  The article noted, "The engine company is in the centre of the Ghetto and has to answer more alarms than any other on the lower East Side."

Fire companies were famous for their mascots--dogs that ran to fires along side the engines and provided comfort and company to the members during quiet times.  At the turn of the century, Topsy was Engine Company 17's mascot.  When he was accidentally killed by the horses, Topsy's son, Bunk, who was still a puppy, took his place.  On March 31, 1908, The New York Times called Bunk "the smoke-eating mascot of Engine Company 17" and said he "never lets the men of No. 17 get put out of his sight."

Bunk, of course, was with the company when it responded to a fire on the Joy Line Steamship Company pier on March 30, 1908.  Constructed of heavy logs covered with pitch and soaked in creosote, the pier burned slowly and spewed poisonous smoke.  The firefighters of the several companies on the scene were blinded by the thick smoke and staggered "with pain to the open as fast as they got into it," said The New York Times.  More than 50 firefighters had to be treated and 17 others were hospitalized.  The beloved Bunk did not survive.

Another remarkable mascot came in the form of Rex, "a black and white bulldog," as described by the New-York Tribune.  Fireman Tom Foley found him on a cold winter day and brought him to the station house "more dead than alive."  Like his predecessors, Rex became a member of the company.  On June 14, 1912, The Evening World described him as "no pretty dog, either.  He was a bull, with heavy jowls and legs which spoke strength and not beauty, but for four years he had guarded the fire house night and day when he was not on duty at some blaze or sniffing about in search of fire."

It was Rex's "sniffing about" that made him stand out among all the fire station mascots throughout the city, however.  He not only ran along with the fire engines to the blazes, he had the ability to detect the odor of fires and alert the crew.

In March 1912, Rex was awarded a firemen's helmet after he smelled a fire on the roof of a Ludlow Street tenement.  The Evening World reported, "He called the firemen and what would have been a bad blaze was averted."  Shortly afterward, reported the newspaper, "Rex discovered a blaze in Essex street and put up such barking and howling that a man who was passing investigated and then sent in the alarm."  The New-York Tribune said that during the time Rex had been with Engine Company 17 he "had been instrumental in saving seven lives."

On the night of June 13, 1912, Engine Company 17 responded to a fire.  On the way, according to the New-York Tribune, Rex was kicked by one of the horses.  The article said he was so badly hurt, "that a patrolman was summoned from the Clinton street station to put him out of misery."  When the firefighters returned that night, they "laid him on a litter of straw and placed his collar, with four medals, about his neck."

On the night of July 26, 1920, firefighters from Engine Company 17 witnessed an automobile swerve and fatally hit a pedestrian.  Almost immediately, a mob formed among the "hundreds of persons" who saw the accident, yelling, "Lynch him!"  The New York Times reported, "the firemen were able to get the driver into the engine house after he had been slightly bruised and cut."  But the ordeal was not over.

The firefighters barricaded the bay doors and called for police backup.  The New York Times said, "When the reserve policemen arrived the mob began to pummel them."  Fire Lieutenant Poggi and some of his men slipped out of one of the smaller doors with axe handles to help the police disperse the mob.  The article said, "Stones and bricks were hurled at the uniformed men, but few were injured."  Finally, after about half an hour, the firefighters and policemen were able to scatter the rabble.  The driver, Charles Gersowitz, said that Frank Bloomberg had walked directly into his path.  He was charged with homicide.

Napoleon LeBrun & Son used identical ironwork for the ground floor bays of several other firehouses.  The layered piers are a handsome touch. photograph by Carole Teller

The passing decades had not lessened the company's relentless schedule.  On November 25, 1925, Municipal Reference Library Notes reported, "According to the New York Times the busiest fire company in New York City is Engine Company No. 17 located at 91 Ludlow Street.  During 1924 Engine No. 17 responded to a total of 1,288 alarms."  The article noted that it sat within "the most congested district in the world, where humanity is so densely packed together that there is scarcely elbow room."  It added, "Members of Engine 17 scarcely know what it means to be idle for they are kept on the run day and night."

After occupying its firehouse for just under six decades, on May 1, 1939 Engine Company 17 was relocated to 185 Broom Street.  The firehouse was briefly used by the city's Sanitation Department.  Then, on March 21, 1941, The New York Times reported, "Last Friday the firehouse at 91 Ludlow Street was sold at public auction to Louis Keehn, a jobber in toys and stationery, for $18,000."  Not only did the city turn over the deed to Keehn, it provided him the mortgage on the property.

In January 1951, Keehn hired the architectural firm of S. Gardstein & Son to renovate the building at a cost of about $60,500 in today's money.  The truck bay was expanded and the southern openings of the second and third floors were bricked up.  The remodeling resulted in a store on the ground floor, an office on the mezzanine, and storage in the upper floors.

photograph by Carole Teller

Louis Keehn & Brother remained in the building at least into the 1960s.  The sorely disfigured structure, designed by one of the period's most influential firehouse architects, gives little hint of its original appearance and or fascinating history.

many thanks to artist Carole Teller for suggesting this post

The Quondam Building - 450-460 Park Avenue South

 

On July 2, 1910, the Real Estate Record & Guide reported that the De Forest Estate Corporation had leased the southwest corner of Fourth Avenue and 31st Street to the Quondam Realty Co.  The article said, "Work is to be started on or about Aug. 1 for the new-story office structure."  The Bridgemen's Magazine noted that the architectural firm of Herts & Tallant had designed the plans.  "The building will be known as the Quondam Building, and will be in the gothic style of architecture, and is estimated to cost $200,000."

Real Estate Record & Builders' Guide, July 2, 1910 (copyright expired)

Those plans were soon expanded.  Construction was delayed as negotiations with Robert Goelet, who owned the abutting property, played out.  Goelet leased his plot at 450-454 Fourth Avenue to the Quondam Leasing Company, now giving the developers a parcel twice the width of the original.

Herts & Tallant filed the revised plans on March 28, 1911.  The Engineering Record noted that the "12-story brick and terra cotta commercial building" would now cost $450,000 to erect (about $15.3 million in 2026).  

Completed in 1912, Herts & Tallant had designed two buildings that successfully pretended to be one.  Faced in white terra cotta, the architects' design was a 1911 take on late Gothic and Tudor.  The two-story base included elaborate arched entrances below niches with intricate Gothic hoods.  Quatrafoil panels created spandrels within the eight-story midsection.  Above a molded bandcourse, the two-story top section drew inspiration from Tudor-style residences, like the Dalmeny House near Edinburg, Scotland, with its crenellated parapet and Tudor pinnacles.

Although they were two buildings, some floors were cut through to create full-width spaces for tenants like silk manufacturers Collins, Doorly & Franc.  When the firm moved into the building in 1912, they had already named two silk colors in honor of Presidential daughters--Alice Blue, for Alice Roosevelt, and Helen Pink, for Helen Herron Taft.  Now, on November 8, 1912, The New York Times reported, "Collins, Doorly & Franc, 450 Fourth Avenue, have obtained permission from Miss Eleanor Randolph Wilson, daughter of the President-elect, to name a new color 'Nell Rose,' in her honor."

Silk magazine, November 1912 (copyright expired)

Tenants in the buildings were highly varied.  Among them were Valentine Brothers, makers of oils and varnishes; Atlas Advertising Agency; the International Souvenir Spoon Company; and Wireless Age magazine.

Among the sales staff of Valentine Brothers in 1913 was George Pettit.  The 34-year-old was dealing with serious personal problems.  He was separated from his wife and living in a Brooklyn boarding house.  Additionally, despite his relative youth, he was suffering from rheumatism.  He remarked to his landlady, Annie Magno, "that he intended to jump from the Brooklyn Bridge," according to The New York Times.  Annie brushed it off.  But a few nights later, on September 10, 1913, she was standing outside Pettit's door and heard him exclaim, "I did it!  I did it all right!"

Pettit had swallowed poison.  Annie Magno first called a policeman and then telephoned the Swedish Hospital, but it was too late.  The newspaper said Pettit's name "was added last night to the long list of those who have committed suicide by taking Bichloride of mercury tablets."

Another fabric dealer to occupy a full floor was A. Wimpfheimer & Brother, dealers in "velvets, plushes and other pile fabrics," as explained by Dry Goods Economist in December 1916.  Other tenants in the building at the time were Cerag Company, makers of a "delicious food rich" laxative; Motorcycle & Bicycle Illustrated magazine; and the National Amateur Wireless Association.  (On January 14, 1916, The New York Times reported, "The President of the association is Guglielmo Marconi.")

The American Clock & Suit Review, June 1915 (copyright expired)

In 1917, The Merchants' Association embarked on an "Anti-Litter" campaign within the commercial district of 14th Street to 42nd Street.  As a part of the program, "block captains" were selected from one business per block.  On December 10, Greater New York reported, "The American Velvet Company, 450-460 Fourth Avenue, has appointed Mr. Michael Robertori, Block Captain."  In one of his reports, Robertori disclosed:

I have made a thorough examination of this street and found conditions very good with the exception of a coal and wood establishment that has a habit of leaving cakes of ice on the sidewalk.  I have notified him this day to refrain from doing this as the sidewalk must be absolutely free from all obstructions.  He promises to remedy this and I shall watch him closely.

Among the broad spectrum of tenants in the building at the time were the Corrective Eating Society and the American Trapshooting Association.  

The Hammondsport Products Company was occuping space when Prohibition was enacted.  The firm held a permit "for manufacturing and selling wine for sacramental purposes," according to Federal agents.  But it seems that the firm's clients were not merely synagogues and churches.

In October 1922, agents Izzy Einstein and Moe Smith, disguised as cigar clerks in a small store in Grand Street, made inquiries about how they could obtain alcohol.  They were told that "wine could be bought from the Hammondsport Products Company, Inc. 450 Fourth Avenue, by using a password."  

According to the New-York Tribune on October 13, "They said that they telephoned to N. Rosenblum, secretary of the Rabbinical Bureau...who is also said to be a salesman for the Hammondsport company, and arranged for the purchase of the ten cases of assorted wine."  When the cases were delivered to the Grand Street address, the agents paid the trucker with marked bills.  They then seized, "the wine, the bills and the truck."  There were another 20 cases of wine in the vehicle.

Advertising agency Winemiller and Miller, Inc. had occupied space as early as 1919.  They employed what were called "illustrative photographers," and a representative told Studio Light, "We prepared to meet every demand, from a convincing and dramatic scene of fireman rescuing patients from a burning hospital...to the most advantageous display of a box of hairpins."  

In the spring of 1925, Winemiller and Miller, Inc. initiated an ad campaign for the Glen Falls Insurance Company.  For publicity, the firm launched a nationwide contest for the best fire prevention slogans.  It received more than 150,000 entries and the 100 best were awarded prizes--from $5 to $500--in the firm's offices on March 28.  (The winning slogan was, "Answer the Burning Question with Fire Prevention.")

The offices of the Westminster Kennel Club were in the building as early as 1929.  The distinguished dog show was scheduled to take place in Madison Square Garden beginning February 11 that year, and on January 27 The New York Times reported that entries "are still pouring into the offices of the club."  The article said, "Up to last night more than 2,000 dogs had been listed, with a large pile of entry blanks still to be tabulated."

Mid-century saw a new type of tenant, beginning with Leo H. Spivack, Inc. which opened its furniture showroom in May 1959.  An advertisement in Interiors that month described the showrooms as, "Newly hatched...and fairly bursting with the freshest, finest, most comprehensive collection of Scandinavian imports you ever saw!"

The original first- and second-floor detailing survived in 1940.  via the NYC Dept of Records & Information Services.

Furniture dealer William L. Marshall, Ltd. followed in 1961.  On August 8, The New York Times said that Marshall "has been channeling his cargoes of Asian, African and South American timber into banks, a law school, restaurants, hotel lobbies, club, libraries, executive offices of major corporations."

In 1959, Fourth Avenue was renamed Park Avenue South.  The following year, according to The New York Times, "Iranians began to move into the rug-importing trade in the city in large numbers."  Now, in 1976, 450-460 Park Avenue South had become a center for rug importers, part of what was deemed the "Oriental rug district."

The district lasted through 1983, when, according to Jon S. Ansari, president of the Amiran Corporation here, rug dealers were exasperated by the rising rents.  Other tenants quickly moved in.  Ogilvy & Mather leased "several floors," as described by Newsday on May 23, 1984 for its corporate headquarters.  Subsequent tenants included Facts on File publishing, the Montserrat Tourist Board, and Franklin Spier, Inc., which leased 21,300 square feet in 1997.

On the ground floor, the cabaret Arci's Place opened in 1999.  In 2005, PS450 opened, a restaurant with "a menu of comfort food," according to The New York Times food critic Florence Fabricant on March 23.  And in September 2018, a Felix Roasting Co. coffee bar and cafe moved in.

Renovations to the first and second floors were initiated in 2017.  Sadly, the stripped-down modernization erased what was left of Herts & Tallant's wonderful terra cotta decorations.

The entrance of No. 460 in 2011 (from Google Streetviews)

...and in 2026

photographs by the author

The 1889 Wickliffe - 226 West 78th Street

 

image via apartments.com

In 1899, builder W. G. Horgan acquired the two rowhouses at 226 and 228 West 78th Street.  He hired architect George F. Pelham to design a six-story apartment building on the site.  Pelham had learned his trade in the architectural office of his father, George Brown Pelham.  He opened his own office in 1890 and would focus on apartment buildings, hotels and commercial structures, drawing from a variety of historic styles.

For the six-story Wickliffe apartments, completed the following year, Pelham drew on Renaissance prototypes while giving it a decidedly 19th century flair.  He created three vertical parts by rounding and projecting the two-bay-wide end sections.  Verticality was softened by intermediate cornices at the second, third and sixth floors, and by decorating the turret-like bays with intricately carved bands at the fourth and fifth.  Classical Renaissance-style pediments crowned the center windows at the third and fourth floors.  The building wore an ornate bracketed cornice crowned with alternating stylized anthemions and fleurs-de-lis.  

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

An advertisement in The New York Times touted, "Elegant light, large 8-room apartments, all improvements, near Subway and all cars.  Rents $1,200 to $1,350."  The monthly rents would translate to $3,500 to $4,000 in 2026.

The tenants were, expectedly, professional.  Among the initial residents were Dr. James J. Phillips, a graduate of North Carolina University; and Prince and Princess Auersperg.  The Austrian Prince had recently relocated to New York City.  His wife was what newspapers called at the time, "a penny princess."

Earlier, The New York Times reported, "Miss Florence E. Hazard...created a sensation by her marriage on June 14, 1899, to Prince Francis Joseph von Auersperg," and the Morning Call said that when the engagement was announced, "much surprise was manifested on account of her youth.  She was then but sixteen years old."  Florence's father, Edward C. Hazard, was described by The New York Times as "the wealthy wholesale grocer."  

Florence Ellsworth Hazard was young, beautiful and wealthy when she met the prince.  from the collection of the Library of Congress

Prince Francis Joseph von Auersperg was 30 years old when he married Florence.  (original source unknown)

Prince Auersperg desperately needed a wealthy wife.  His title "dates back to Charlemagne," said the Paterson, New Jersey newspaper The Morning Call.  But, said the article, "Adventures in Vienna and in other European cities took much of the prince's money."  The New York Evening News was more direct saying, "the Prince came to America in 1896 having exhausted his patrimony and run half a million dollars in debt."  He entered the Long Island College Hospital to study medicine and it was shortly after that he met his future wife.

At the time of their marriage, the groom's older brother sent Florence "several rings, and a valuable diamond necklace," said The Morning Call, and her "father settled a fortune upon her."  But the titled newlyweds would not be living in the prince's homeland.  The newspaper explained, "in spite of her immense dowry, the princess would not be received by the Austrian nobility."  And so, they secured an apartment in the Wickliffe and, like Dr. Phillips, the prince opened a medical office.

The road for the titled couple was rocky nearly from the start.  On April 18, 1900, The New York Times reported that Princess Auersperg, "was robbed of jewels to the value of nearly $10,000 yesterday by an unknown man."  Those jewels included the wedding gifts from Florence's brother-in-law.  A workman was in the apartment because "all the electric bells in the house were out of order."  When Florence was called to the telephone, the workman grabbed her "heart-shaped silver box on the bureau" and left.

Less than a month later, on May 9, 1901, The New York Times reported that Prince Francis Auersperg had declared bankruptcy.  The article explained that his problems arose "out of a real estate transaction which took place in Austria, in which the Prince obtained possession and ownership of an old ancestral estate belonging to [Count Ernest and Countess Gabrielle Coreth] and never paid them for it."  The couple sued him for $40,000 (about $1.5 million today).  The New York Times said, "His visible assets he enumerated as twelve pairs of silk stockings."  Luckily, Edward Hazard had wisely put his wedding present into Florence's sole control.

Then, on March 30, 1903, The World titled an article, "Doctor Of Royal Birth Is Sued."  Prince Auersperg had borrowed $1,000 from Theodore Marburg in 1901 and failed to repay it.

The couple's relationship finally faltered following the death of Florence's father in 1905.  He left her a large inheritance and her husband insisted that she transfer it into his name.  Well aware of his financial history, Florence refused.  It resulted in her leaving him and moving into her mother's home in  Seabright, New Jersey.  She obtained a divorce in 1915 and married businessman John J. Murphy on May 1 that year.

In the meantime, The Wickliffe attracted several artistic residents.  Living here in 1903 was photographer Julius Ludovici.  He catered to well-heeled patrons and produced informal portraits with hand-colored tints.  He had a "photographic and crayon studio" on Fifth Avenue and, during the summer social season, a studio in Newport.

This charming portrait of a child--so unlike the stiff, posed images of most photographers--was typical of Ludovici's work.  from the Getty Museum Collection.

Also living here at the time were H. R. Humphries and Henry A. Ferguson.  Humphries advertised in the New-York Tribune on November 24, 1907 that he, "teaches singing, from rudiments of voice placing to artistic finishing for concerts, oratorio and church work, at his studio, No. 226 West 78th street."

Landscape artist Henry Augustus Ferguson, who lived here with his wife, Eleanor, and daughter, was born in Glen Falls, New York around 1842.  (The New York Times said, "his exact age was not known, as he never confided it even to his most intimate associates.)  He started painting in his teens and, according to The Times, "first gained recognition following a world tour in which he painted many pictures in Mexico, Italy, and Egypt."

This portrait of Henry August Ferguson may have been posed in his Wickliffe apartment.  via Seraphin Gallery.

In January 1911, he gave a private exhibition of American landscapes at the Century Association.  Two months later, on March 20, he became ill.  Pneumonia developed and he died in his apartment two days later.

A prominent resident at the time was author, artist and explorer Frederick Samuel Dellenbaugh.  Born in McConnelsville, Ohio on September 13, 1853, he began exploring as a youth and was part of the expedition that found the Escalante River, the last unknown river in the United States, and discovered the Henry Mountains.

Frederick Samuel Dellenbaugh, Touring Topics, November 1929 

In 1904 Dellenbaugh co-founded the Explorers Club.  While living here, in 1909 he was appointed librarian of the American Geographical Society.  Among his books are Breaking the Wilderness, published in 1905; the 1908 In the Amazon Jungle; and Fremont and '49, first published in 1913.

Dellenbaugh joined another expedition in 1923.  On November 11, The New York Times poetically reported, "The roaring, rapid-strewn reaches of the Colorado River, plunging down to the Gulf of California between the towering cliffs of the Grand Canyon, once more have been conquered."  Dellenbaugh was a member of the Geological Survey expedition headed by Colonel C. H. Birdseye.

Another writer living here by 1914 was journalist and author John Walker Harrington.  Born on July 8, 1868 in Plattsburgh, Missouri, he was on the staff of the New York Herald.  Among his works was the 1900 children's book The Jumping Kangaroo and the Apple Butter Cat. 

Illustrator Paul Goold returned to 226 West 78th Street and to his wife, the former Edith Chapman, after serving on the front in World War I.  He served as a captain with the First National Army and was celebrated with his comrades on October 16, 1918 as the members of the "Lost Battalion" of the Battle of Argonne.  Born in 1875, Goold began his career as an illustrator on the Portland [Maine] Sunday Press and Sunday Times after high school.  In 1899 he joined the art staff of The New York Times, leaving four years later to work as a magazine illustrator.  

Now back home, he opened a studio in Carnegie Hall.  He and Edith were still living in The Wickliffe on December 7, 1925 when he "jumped or fell from his studio on the twelfth floor of Carnegie Hall through a skylight into a hallway four floors below," as reported by The New York Times.  The article said, "The crash of the body plunging through the skylight aroused artists and musicians in near-by studios."  Goold had left a letter for Edith in the studio.  He was taken to Roosevelt Hospital with a fractured skull and died a few hours later.  Goold's private funeral was held in the apartment on December 10.

image via the NYC Dept of Records & Information Services.

The press coverage of residents became less positive in the Depression years.  On November 28, 1931, for instance, Stephen A. Tillinghast and Joseph D. Kogan, presumably roommates, were arrested with 15 others as "a group of alleged racketeers who are said to have smuggled aliens into the United States," according to The New York Times.

Five years later, on May 14, 1936, 26-year-old dancer Margaret Rand was arrested for operating a "questionable 'studio'," as described by The New York Times.  Rand hired young women to provide "private dancing instructions."  Police highly suspected that dancing was not the only activity being practiced there.

In 1961, the once-proud apartment building was converted to a single-room-occupancy hotel.  Expectedly, not all of the residents were upstanding.  At 5:30 on the morning of October 5, 1968, two patrolmen saw smoke billowing out of an apartment window.  They rushed in and broke down the door of Antonio Cartagena who was semiconscious on the burning bed.  They extinguished the fire themselves, then discovered "three pistols, .22- and .25-caliber automatics and a .33-caliber revolver, on a night table next to the bed," reported The New York Times.  Cartagena was treated for smoke inhalation and then taken into custody.

image via apartments.com

A renovation completed in 1973 returned 226 West 78th Street to apartments, seven per floor.  Although nothing survives of George F. Pelham's 1899 interiors, the exterior survives remarkable intact.

The Lost Manhattan Congregational Church -- 2168 Broadway

A vintage postcard shows the church on an otherwise vacant Broadway block.  The parish house is seen on West 76th street.  (copyright expired)

The feverish development of the Upper West Side in the last quarter of the 19th century necessitated schools, police stations, churches and other supporting infrastructure.  A meeting in Leslie Hall on 83rd Street and Broadway in June 1896 resulted in the formation of the Manhattan Congregational Church, headed by Reverend Dr. Henry A. Stimson.  (Stimson had been pastor of the Broadway Tabernacle since 1893.)  The congregation grew as rapidly as the district's population and in January 1900 it purchased an L-shaped lot on Broadway and West 76th Street.  (The 20-foot-wide corner lot was not included in the sale).

The Broadway portion of the vacant plot was 80 feet wide.  The church purchased the parcel for $80,000 (just over $3 million in 2026).  The Treasury noted in its April 1902 issue, "This property has proved to be very valuable.  It is in the centre of a dense population and on a main artery."

Brothers Arthur A. and Charles W. Stoughton formed the architectural firm of Stoughton & Stoughton.  When the church purchased the Broadway plot, the Stoughtons had just put the finishing touches on their design for the Soldiers & Sailors Monument in Riverside Park.  They now were given the commission for the church building. 

Stoughton & Stoughton's plans, filed on May 4, 1900, called for a 76-foot-wide "stone church" at a cost of $70,000.  It would bring the total cost, including land, to $5.7 million today.  The architects called the style "Louis XII Gothic."  The New York Times architectural columnist Christopher Gray would deem it a century later, "a broad, lacy Parisian-style house of worship."  

Stoughton & Stoughton released this water colored rendering.  American Architect & Building News, August 8, 1903 (copyright expired)

On June 24, 1900, the New-York Tribune addressed the oddly shaped plot:

The problem has been to erect an adequate, modern church building on inside lots.  The church owns four lots, with a small L in the rear opening in Seventy-sixth-st.  Members say that the building will be a return to the original idea of a house of God, as being something more than merely a place for formal public worship.

The article predicted, "The main front will be a somewhat elaborate facade."  The New York Times, on November 10, remarked, "Many architectural novelties are to be introduced in the Manhattan Congregational Church, about to be erected at Broadway and Seventy-sixth Street," adding, "The material will be of red brick, and the face, with its deeply recessed windows, will be richly ornamented in stone and terra cotta."

The main entrance "will open directly upon the social rooms of the church, which will open freely into one another, and together will constitute a large and hospitable foyer for the church property, which will be in the rear," said the New-York Tribune.  On the second floor were a hall, meeting rooms for Sunday school and similar uses, and a library.  The New-York Tribune predicted they would be "a rallying place for the neighborhood for all sorts of meetings."

The church auditorium would be 72-by-72 feet and could accommodate as many as 900 worshipers.  Decades before air conditioning, the article said the church would have "ample provision for air from from large wells in the four corners and from the west front through the secular hall as well as through its own roof."  The parish house on 76th Street would hold a choir room, a "sunny kindergarten," and committee rooms.  

The cornerstone was laid on April 19, 1901 with "appropriate ceremonies," according to The New York Times.  In reporting on the event, the newspaper said, "The Manhattan Church promises to be one of the most notable buildings of the upper west side, as it differs radically from the usual church edifice, particular in interior arrangements."  The article was referring to the church proper in the rear.

The single Broadway entrance sat within a projecting pavilion decorated with Gothic crockets.  Three double-height stained-glass windows sat below a parapet, which was interrupted by an acute gable holding a small rose window.  The building's hipped roof was pierced by two diminutive dormers and frosted with lacy iron cresting and pinnacles.  From its center rose a stone, Gothic fleche that sprouted gargoyles.  It prompted comment from The New York Times.  "A bronze spire towering above the structure to a height nearly equal to that of the roof line from the street will make the church a notable feature of that part of the city."  (The fleche was, in fact, not merely decorative, but part of the ventilation system and provided a release of hot air in the summer months.)

As the dedication neared, the New-York Tribune published a photo of the church and Rev. Henry Stimson on January 6, 1902 (copyright expired)

With construction completed, on January 6, 1902, the New-York Tribune reported that "the building had cost $139,000, of which $132,000 had already been subscribed."  Rev. Stimson was asking the congregation to make up the difference before the next Sunday "so that the church might be dedicated...free from debt."

Born in New York City in 1844, Reverend Dr. Henry A. Stimson had a fascinating background.  The New York Sun said, "in his early career [he] was a frontiersman and Indian fighter with Col. William F. Cody.  He carried the Christian religion into the Indian camps."  Stimson served in the Civil War and "after the close of hostilities" in the West, resumed his missionary work with Native American tribes.

Rev. Stimson was outspoken in his views, not only from the pulpit but in his letters to the editors of local newspapers.  On November 5, 1906, for instance, he wrote to The New York Times to rail against concerts, like those of the Philharmonic on Sunday nights.  He said in part, "'Sunday Concert' has long been the Mother Hubbard garment which is made to cover all kinds of naked uncleanness."

And he used the Titanic tragedy to attempt to derail women's demands for equal rights.  He wrote in a letter to the editor of The New York Times on April 22, 1912, "If some of the women who are seeking to lead public opinion had a little broader view they would talk very differently about 'the women first.'"  He said if women had equal rights and were not given first access to life boats, "What a cry of shame and horror would have gone up everywhere!"  

P. L. Sperr shot this photograph on December 21, 1927.  from the collection of the New York Public Library

World War I changed attitudes and traditions throughout the world.  On January 19, 1917, The New York Sun reported that Stimson had resigned after 21 years in the pulpit of the Manhattan Congregational Church.  The article said, "Dr. Stimson said the ending of the war would bring new and vital problems to the churches of America and that the churches must have men of strength and health to lead them in that critical time."

Stimson was replaced by the Rev. William T. McElveen, who came from Evanston, Illinois.  His would be a short pastorship.  On September 29, 1919, the New-York Tribune reported that he had resigned.  Disgruntled with the metropolitan lifestyle of New Yorkers, he complained, "New York is the most difficult field for a church in all America, I believe.  Members are here today and gone tomorrow...What will be done with Manhattan Church?  I am almost too discouraged with New York to care."

The electric lighting fixtures were as novel as was the building's exterior architecture.  catalog of Lyon & Healy, edition II. (copyright expired)

Taking McElveen's place was Reverend Edward H. Emmett, whose forward thinking views were in stark contrast to those of his predecessor.  On November 29, 1919, for instance, the New-York Tribune reported, "An unusual union service will take place at Manhattan Congregational Church...at 11 a.m., when the congregation of that church and of the New Synagogue will join in worship."

And in response to the ebb and flow of membership that had so troubled Rev. McElveen, Emmett took a very modern approach.  On October 6, 1921, The Evening World reported, "It pays to advertise even the church, figures from the Manhattan Congregational at Broadway and 76th Street show."  During a four-month period of public advertisement, said the article, the church "got 10,000 lines of publicity and received 189 new regular attendants."  The newspaper said, "Advertising sells religion, is the verdict of the Manhattan Congregational Church."

from the collection of the New York Public Library

Rev. Emmett's modern thinking soon turned to real estate.  So-called "skyscraper churches" were appearing throughout American's largest cities.  Vintage church buildings were being demolished to be replaced by hotels or apartment buildings which retained space for the church.  The congregations therefore reaped rental income from the residential and commercial spaces.  

In 1927, Emmett announced that the Manhattan Congregational Church would be replaced by a hotel and church structure.  Demolition of Stoughton & Stoughton's unique and masterful building began in May 1928.  It was replaced by the 24-story Manhattan Towers Hotel designed by Tillion & Tillion.

The replacement building follows the original L-shape plot.  photograph by the author

The Henry Wannemacher House and Store - 217 East 3rd Street

 

photograph by Carole Teller

The family of Henry Wannemacher covered a broad swath of interests in 1855.  Henry Wannemacher was a musician and composer.  (His sons, interestingly, spelled their surname both as "Wannemacher" and "Wannemaker.")  While Henry Jr. ran a feed store at 229 Third Street, he, too, was a musician and would eventually become a musical director in New York theaters.  In 1855, Charles was already listed as a "music director," while Jacob Wannemaker was a tailor.

The family lived in the recently built four-story house-and-store at 217 Third Street (the "East" would be added later).  The three floors above the storefront were clad in red brick.  The hefty stone lintels of the openings harkened to the Greek Revival style, while the handsome pressed metal cornice with its scrolled corbels and paneled fascia was purely Italianate.

In the rear yard was a secondary house.  Music seems not to have provided the income necessary to maintain the property.  In 1857, the family was living in the rear house and the upper floors of the main building were operated as a boarding house.  Charles had put his musical career on hold and opened a saloon in the store space.  Henry Jr. was now supplementing his income as a tailor, no doubt working with Jacob.

Among Henry Jr.'s compositions in the latter part of the century was this march, composed for piano.  from the collection of the Library of Congress.

Living above the saloon in 1859 were the families of Frederick Koch, Louis Mabriein and Christian Loetterle (all tailors); Jacob Becker, a tinsmith; Jacob Orth, who listed his profession as "segars;" and Joseph Weber, who dealt in portefeuilles (or wallets).

The Wannemachers left East 3rd Street in 1864.  That year Jacob Graf moved his family into the upper floors and installed his grocery store in the former saloon space.  Among the other residents upstairs that year was the John Blessinger family, who would remain for years.  John Blessinger was a tailor (he would change his profession to waiter in 1868).  His wife's name was Eva.  Andrew Bessinger worked as a laborer, and Louis was a peddler.  Eva Bessinger remained in their rooms following John's death in 1872.

The grocery store was taken over by John Kraft in 1876.  Several of the residents had been here for years, like Casper Stumpf, a tailor who first moved into the main building in 1873, and Christopher Lock, a carman, who had been in the rear house as early as 1867.

Around 1880, Ignatz Martin leased the buildings.  While he listed his profession as "boarding house," newspapers were less kind, calling 217 East 3rd Street a lodging house.  Lodging houses were the lowest level of accommodations--rented by the day and offering no amenities other than a bed or cot.  

On May 15, 1881, Jacob Ammann, described by the New-York Tribune as being "twenty-eight, a German," came to New York from Hoboken, where he lived.  His revelry went late into the night and rather than go back to New Jersey, "he went at a late hour to the lodging-house at No. 217 East Third-st.," reported the newspaper.  Early in the morning, he went to the 11th Precinct Police Station, "suffering from three severe scalp wounds, and said he had been assaulted by Ignatz Martin, the proprietor of the lodging-house, and several other men who were at the place."  When police arrived at 217 East 3rd Street, said the article, "the men had made their escape." 

In September 1881, the interestingly-named Woolf Woolf and his wife, Sarah, purchased 217 East 3rd Street.  The change in ownership did not elevate the conditions here.

Small pox was commonly called "the speckled monster" in the 19th century.  In the early 1880s, an epidemic broke out in New York City, with the Eastern Dispensary treating more than 21,000 cases per year.  Uneducated and suspicious immigrant families avoided immunization.  Additionally, knowing that patients were quarantined on North Brother Island, they hid cases from authorities.  It sometimes resulted in tragedy.

On March 21, 1882, the New-York Tribune reported, "A sanitary inspector learned that Joseph Kranck, a baby four months old, had died from the disease in the tenement house, No. 217 East Third-st.  The parents of the child had neglected to call in a physician."

Sarah and Woolf Woolf transferred title to the building to Samuel Woolf, presumably their son, in February 1883.  It triggered a rapid turnover in ownership.  Woolf sold it seven months later to Myer and Rosa Elsas, who sold it to Kate Offner for $18,100 on August 22, 1884.  Offner hired architect Charles Sturtzkober to add a one-story extension to the rear.

In the meantime, Joseph Rubatsky's saloon occupied the ground floor.  It was operated by Paul Zambory by 1891.  That year, he and five other men sent a petition to the Governor of Pennsylvania "asking him not to pardon the three Slovaks who are under sentence of death for taking part in the Edgar Thompson Steel-Works riot at Pittsburg," reported The Evening World.  The petition resulted in Joseph Santandrassy's suing all six for what today we would call a hate crime.  The article said, "Santandrassy says that the circulating of the petition was actuated by nationality hatred prevailing for centuries among Hungarians and Slovaks."

In October 1895, Kate Offner leased the ground floor to Elizabeth and Paul Zamborg, who took over the saloon.  

The back room in the new extension was used for meetings.  On November 5, 1898, The Sun reported on the many appearances that Colonel Theodore Roosevelt would be making.  Among the venues listed was "Paul Zambory's [sic], 217 East Third street."  The change in demographics in the neighborhood from German to Hungarian at the turn of the century was reflected in the Hungarian Democratic League's establishing its headquarters in the rear room in 1900.

In the summer months, tenement residents had no refuge from the heat.  Each day newspapers listed the previous day's victims.  Among the deaths from the heat on July 1, 1901 was 71-year-old Mabline Zahulke, who succumbed in her room here.

The property was purchased by Welz Zerweck Brewing Co. in December 1904.  Breweries often owned buildings like this one so they could monopolize the products sold in the saloons.  The following year, the firm made major improvements, hiring architect H. E. Funk to install indoor plumbing, toilets and new windows.

Despite the improvements, the conditions of the residents were miserable.  On April 5, 1914, the New York Herald reported on the 2,200 loaves of bread that the The New York Sun distributed within the Lower East Side.  "It was the longest line yet," said the article.  "At the end of the first hour, 1,700 loaves had been given away."  It profiled a few of the people who waited for bread, saying in part:

A middle aged, haggard looking woman with a baby in her arms came in.  After she had received four loaves she was willing to tell something about herself.  She said she had come all the way from 217 East Third street, which is near Avenue B about a mile away from the depot the shortest way you can walk.  The baby in her arms, she said, is 11 months old and she has an eight-year-old boy at home.

Julia Witkawsky's plight was even more dire.  Born in Poland, her husband had abandoned her three months earlier and she had used all the money she had.  The New York Herald reporter accompanied her to 217 East 3rd Street.  He wrote, "The landlord said he had served a dispossess order on her last month, but out of sympathy had allowed her to stay.  Her rent was due again yesterday, he said, and he could not wait longer."  Julia Witkawsky was desperate. 

"I can live on bread and milk," she said, "working at the wash tubs, but I've got to have a roof over the children."

It is unclear what happened to Julia Witkawsky and her children.

After decades of being home to a saloon, Prohibition caused a major change to the ground floor of 217 East 3rd Street--it became a restaurant.

image via the NYC Dept of Records & Information Services.

As soon as Prohibition was repealed, however, Waskel Bakalo got a liquor license for his restaurant in 1932.

At the time, the upper floors were crammed with indigent families.  Several homeless men got access to a vacant third-floor apartment in 1934.  On the night of September 1, they accidentally started a fire.  The New York Times reported that it "drove sixteen families...from a four-story tenement."  One firefighter was injured "when a fourth floor stairway collapsed under him," said the article.  "The tenants escaped without difficulty, part of them reaching the street by the stairway of the building, and the rest crossing over the roof to an adjoining tenement."

The repairs to the fire damage resulted in one apartment per floor above the store.  Around 1984, the St. Philip African Methodist Church opened here.  It was most likely at that time that the storefront was divided into two, and a second doorway installed.

In April 1999, Michael Mendez and Casey Torres opened the restaurant Latin here.  The New York Times reported that customers could find, "a dance lesson, a radish-and-spinach empanada, [and] pork chops with rice and beans."  The article said, "Latin jazz, merengue and salsa are played, paella ($17) can be ordered at tables, and dance instructions will be offered."

By 2002, Plant, a jazz club, occupied one of the spaces.  On November 15 that year, The New York Times said the owner "has honed a less exotic style, using bits of jazz and soul music to create smooth grooves."

photograph by Carole Teller

Where once 16 families crowded into rooms, there are now just four apartments in the building.  

many thanks to artist Carole Teller for suggesting this post