When Nicholas Gilbert purchased the property at No. 121
Chambers Street in 1835, the area was still a respectable, residential one. At the same time, he bought the three lots
directly behind, at Nos. 103 through 107 Reade Street. Gilbert and his family moved into the
Chambers Street house; but would not stay appreciably long.
By Gilbert’s death in 1851 his former home was being run as
a boarding house, and the three Reade Street houses were rented to blue collar
workers and servants. By 1860 the area
was seeing the rise of handsome commercial buildings and lofts. That year Gilbert’s two sons divided up the
property and set about to replace the old houses with modern money-making
business buildings.
Frederick Gilbert, who was a ship chandler by trade, took
the family home and the house directly behind it at No. 103 Reade. James took Nos. 105 and 107 Reade
Street. They hired an architect whose
name has been lost, to design two matching stone buildings—Frederick’s running
through the Chambers Street-Reade Street lot; and James’ lining up next door.
Frederick Gilbert’s No. 121 Chambers Street was completed in
1860, several months before the Reade Street structures. Like his brother’s double-wide building, it was an
Italianate beauty. Sandstone cornices
defined the second and third stories and the openings sat within carved frames,
all but the topmost story ornamented with heavy scrolled keystones. The middle bay of the second floor was
highlighted by a temple-like projection of engaged Corinthian columns and a
classical pediment.
A trio of graceful arches separated by engaged Corinthian
columns and pilasters created the cast iron storefront. The Reade Street façade was slightly subdued,
treated as the one-third of the design that included James Gilbert’s building.
Storrs Brothers had been doing business in the ground floor
of the former Gilbert house in 1859. Now
with the new building completed, the firm moved back in. Royal, Augustus and Charles Storrs all listed
themselves at the address as selling “fancy goods,” including watches and
jewelry. But Joseph W. Storrs focused on
the sale of “pistols.”
Among the other tenants listed upon the building’s opening
were dry goods merchants Casherie & Davis, and at least four other dry
goods dealers: William H. Davis, John C. Dickinson, Aaron D. Fenton and Hiram S.
Francis. Casherie & Davis had
hardly moved in before they signed their names to a letter to the Mayor
recommending the city consider “Mr. Smith’s” new street cleaning process. It called the present method “inefficient and
extravagant,” and suggested Smith’s “street-sweeping machines” would “add
largely to the health, comfort and prosperity of our metropolis, and eventually
prove a saving to tax-payers.”
On February 27, 1860 Irving J. Cook, a slippery salesman from Arcade,
New York, sold Storrs Brothers $267.50 in merchandise,
apparently jewelry. After he returned
to the sleepy village, the men realized they had been hoodwinked. It took a detective a full year to find Cook,
and on Saturday February 16, 1861 he was brought back to New York City by
Detective Slowy, to answer charges of fraud “by means of false
representations.”
Irving J. Cook vigorously proclaimed his innocence and
reminded the justice that Nathaniel G. Holton, a clerk of Storrs Brothers, had
first ascertained “his standing as a businessman.” He explained to the court that in the period
since the sale “he had been unfortunate” and was compelled to declare
bankruptcy.
Two months later the first shot was fired in the Civil
War. Storrs Brothers got involved in the
war effort as Manhattan businesses helped with the donations of food and
supplies to the troops. In 1864 a
massive incentive was underway to send Thanksgiving dinners to the front, including
50,000 turkeys. Storrs Brothers focused
on apples and invited donations at their store.
The Times, on November 3, announced “We learn that a movement has been
inaugurated to send one thousand barrels of apples to the army on Thanksgiving. Such a scheme is worthy of the liberal and
loyal merchants of New-York, and should certainly be successful.”
By 1875 George Place & Co. was in the building,
a manufacturer and seller of drilling machines, lathes, planers, and other
equipment. The firm drew the wrath of The Sun in 1883 when the newspaper sought to uncover
bureaucratic waste. An investigative
journalist was sent to the Norfolk Navy Yards and on July 6 the newspaper
reported on his findings in a front page article.
“Hundreds of thousands of dollars have been invested in
machines that are never used, and never will be.” The article mentioned specifically “one
eight-foot radial drill, for which the Government paid $4,430; one ten-foot
radial drill, $5,680; one set of flange clamps, $825; and one iron flange bending
machine, $2,175; the total cost was $13,110.”
The equivalent amount in 2015 dollars would be about $320,000.
The newspaper complained that navy yards slated for
decommissioning “are full of” similar unused machines; and now were to be sold
as junk. “The new machines were
purchased of George Place, at 121 Chambers street, New York.”
At about the same time the cigar manufacturer Howard Ives was
doing business in No. 121 Chambers Street.
On Friday, August 21, 1885 his bookkeeper, Duncan S. Wylie, stopped by
his broker on Wall Street and purchased 1,500 shares of Boston, Hartford and
Erie Railroad Company stock. As he left
the office, he slipped the envelope with the stock certificate into the pocket
of his cut-away coat. Or so he
thought. The envelope fell out of his
coat somewhere between Wall Street and the Chambers Street office. Panicked, Wylie placed an advertisement in The New York Times the following day on the slim chance that the
finder would be honest.
His hopes were answered.
A messenger boy, William Dunn, had found the envelope and turned
returned it to Ives. “Mr. Wylie rewarded
Dunn,” reported the newspaper.
George Place was still in the building in 1888. By now other machinery and hardware concerns
were moving in. Bayles Brothers,
commission dealers in hardware, operated its offices here; and C. J. Stebbins,
listed as “nail merchant” was in the Reade Street side of the building by 1892.
In the first weeks of 1893 the signs of a serious impending
financial depression were looming. John
W. Lauterbach, a 54-year old German immigrant, had been doing a
highly-successful import business of baskets and willowware for 30 years. His business took up the entire top three
floors from Chambers Street through to Reade Street.
Those associated with Lauterbach said his business had sometimes
amounted to $200,000 a year and “he accumulated a handsome competence.” The New
York Times noted “He lived with his wife and four children, the youngest a lad
eleven years old, in a comfortably-furnished house, which he owned, at 99
Webster Avenue, Jersey City.”
But in the past few years he had told his wife often that
his business was decreasing. It changed
his personality, which grew “morose and melancholy.” It all came to a head on the morning of
February 4, 1893.
Upon arriving at his office he asked the bookkeeper, Water
Daberautz, for the balance sheet for 1891 and 1892. It reflected a loss of $5,026. He sat in his third floor office for a while,
and then suddenly stood up, remarking to Daberautz “I’ll make a change in this
soon.” He went to the top floor where
his private office was located.
When the only clerk working on the 5th Floor went
downstairs at around 11:30, Lauterbach was sitting by a window smoking a
cigar. A few minutes later John J. Curran,
an inspector with the Street Cleaning Department, looked up to see Lauterbach
standing on the narrow sill. A crowd
quickly gathered and the people shouted “Don’t jump!”
The New York Times, the following day, reported that
Lauterbach paid no attention to the shouts, but partly closed the window, stood
for a few moments on the sill “with his right hand clenched above his head and
his left holding on to the window sash, and then they saw him jump.”
The newspaper related “He struck the sidewalk all in a heap,
rolled over, and lay quiet. Death was
undoubtedly instantaneous.” Lauterbach
left his wife an estate of approximately $25,000 (a little more than $675,000 in 2015).
It may have been that downturn in the economics that prompted
Charles J. Stebbins to diversify. By
1895 he had branched out, deciding to get into the rabidly popular bicycle
craze that was sweeping the nation.
Before the turn of the century his nail business would be totally
eclipsed by bicycles. In February 1896
The New York Times noted that Stebbins, who was already the agent for the
Syracuse, Empire, Montauk, Silver King and Silver Queen brand cycles, “has
taken the general Eastern agency for the sale of the Anchor automatic-locking
bicycle stand.”
By March 1 that year Stebbins had two branch bicycle
shops—one in the Bronx and another in Brooklyn.
He also distributed the weekly newsletter War Paint, published for cycling enthusiasts by the Syracuse Cycle
Company.
That spring the Syracuse Bicycle Company released a new
model bike with the alluring name “Crimson Rims.” The Times alerted the buying public “Mr.
Stebbins is getting the ‘Crimson Rims’ well before the riding public of the
metropolitan district.”
The street level space that had housed the Storrs Brothers
fancy goods emporium had been converted to a saloon in the last decade of the
19th century. In June of 1901 it was leased to the Otto Huber Brewery.
“Tied” saloons were a popular experiment at the turn of the last century. By running the taverns themselves, breweries
were able to narket only their own brands.
The saloon at No. 121 Chambers Street was here at least through 1903.
In 1931 a restaurant occupied the former saloon space -- from the collection of the New York Public Library |
After suffering abuse and neglect through most of the 20th
century, the buildings of the Tribeca area drew attention as the neighborhood
was reborn. Trendy shops and cafes
sprouted in former factory spaces and vast warehouse and commercial lofts were
renovated as residences.
In 1992 the top three floors of No. 121 Chambers Street were
converted to apartments. The storefront
of the Chambers Street side has been brutally altered; however the ground floor
of the Reade Street buildings is relatively, and surprisingly, intact. The handsome grouping is a vivid reminder of
the days when Chambers and Reade Streets were changing from residential to
business interests.
photographs by the author
photographs by the author
thank you for the detailed history. apparently, the building has been sold.
ReplyDeletehttps://commercialobserver.com/2016/08/hubb-nyc-properties-picks-up-tribeca-mixed-use-building-for-16m/
Great article! Joseph W. Storrs is an important figure in firearms history; he was among the first big commercial "sales agents" for firearms, and was one of the reasons that Smith & Wesson became as successful as they were. Sales agents handled the wholesaling and distribution of products (back when you couldn't throw something in a box and mail it across the country), and his experience in the railroads was undoubtedly instrumental in helping him send product far and wide. He was also something of an advertising pioneer; his obituary claimed that he was the first to use actual product engravings in advertising. This claim seems a bit far fetched, but one cannot doubt that his efforts were instrumental in helping Smith & Wesson become a Civil War enterprise.
ReplyDeleteI believe that Storrs did most of his business at 252 Broadway, but the 121 Chambers address does pop up in some of the period advertising, including what I think was his best add—in the April 2, 1859 issue of Frank Leslie's Illustrated Newspaper, in which he featured a testament from Cassius Clay.