Mulberry Street, which got its name from an 18th century grove of mulberry trees, appeared on maps as early as 1767. But it would not be until the first decades of the 18th century that the expanding city brought Federal style dwellings to the little thoroughfare. Around 1830, one appeared at 288 Mulberry Street, steps from Houston Street. Faced in Flemish bond brick, the house was two-and-a-half stories tall above a basement and 21-feet wide. One or two dormers originally pierced the peaked roof.
It appears the residence was originally operated as a boarding house. Living here in 1832 were carpenter Isaac M. Washburn; James Velderan, who was a furrier; grocer Nehemiah Mead; and Richard B. Fletcher, who did not list an occupation, suggesting he may have been retired.
The house and lot were offered for sale in December 1849. It continued as a boarding house under the new owner. Mary T. Whitney lived here the following year. A dressmaker, she would remain at least through 1854. Also boarding in the house in 1850 were John Lynch, a clerk; George Donelly, who was in the carriage business; and harness maker John Dempsey.
In 1853, Henry Schmale and his family moved in. The industrious entrepreneur listed his profession as "coal & grocer." By 1856 (when he now lived at 579 Washington Street), the owner had converted the basement level for Schmale's coal office. He had another on Washington Street and a piano business at 100 Centre Street.
A gruesome incident occurred here on June 9, 1855. The New-York Dispatch reported, "A Frenchman named Alfred Dumont, suffocated himself with the flames of charcoal at 288 Mulberry street." The article attributed his desperation to jealousy. "He had been living with a woman for some years," it said, "to whom he was not married, although she had had two children by him." The woman recently left him for another man and "he sought relief from all his worldly troubles by acting as stated."
The boarders were working class throughout the 1860's. They included John and James Cunningham, presumably brothers, a carpenter and laborer, respectively. Also living here in 1860 were Conrad Farner, a tailor; Louis Jackson a smith; and laborer Francis McCormick.
In 1871, the family of Hugh O'Brien occupied the house. He was an assistant alderman and he and his wife had a son, William J. Also living in the house were Hugh O'Brien's brother, Martin; his widowed mother; and an orphaned nephew, Thomas Francis Jones. Boarding with the the family were Henry Rehwinkel, a barber, and his family.
It was around this time that the attic floor was raised to a full story. Somewhat surprisingly, instead of a bracketed cornice, the contractor finished the facade with a simple, dentiled brick cornice more appropriate to the original 1830 structure.
Rehwinkel converted the former H. Schmale & Co. office in the basement to his barbershop. He and his wife, Wilhelmina, had four sons, Ferdinand, Andrew, Frederick, and Christopher.
A year after they established themselves here, tragedy struck. On August 15, 1872, The New York Times reported, "Christopher Rehwinkel, aged three years, fell out of the third-story window" of the house. The article erroneously said he, "was fatally injured." Although Christopher survived the fall, he lost the use of his right arm for life.
The parlor was the scene of Thomas Francis Jones's funeral on December 13, 1874. The 26-year-old had died two days earlier. Interestingly, the New York Herald said the funeral would take place, "from the resident of his grandmother, Mrs. John O'Brien," and mentioned "ex-alderman Hugh O'Brien" merely as an uncle.
New Yorkers were outraged when they read in the New York Herald on June 16, 1876, "Frederick Rehwinkel, a youth of sixteen years...is in such a critical condition from a clubbing received five weeks ago at the hands of Officer Thomas Mitchell, of the Fourteenth precinct, that the doctors fear he may not recover."
The article said that on May 7, Rehwinkel, "who is employed in his father's barber shop," stopped at the corner of Mulberry and Jersey Streets to watch a group of boys "pitching pennies and playing marbles." When Officer Mitchell appeared, the other boys scattered. He unleashed his rage on Rehwinkel, beating him repeatedly with his nightstick. Because his father had told him to avoid the location, Frederick did not tell his parents what had happened. Instead, said the New York Herald, he "staggered home and washed the blood from his face and clothes." He was then confined to bed for three days.
It was not until Wilhemina Rehwinkel called in Dr. Wolfkin Smith that Frederick told his story. Henry Rehwinkel preferred a complaint against the officer and a trial was set for June 24.
On the stand, Frederick's story began to unravel. On June 25, the New York Dispatch reported, "The case from its inception had the flavor of a 'put-up' job,' and one of the morning papers was foolish enough to herald it forth as a terrible police outrage." When confronted on the stand by Officer Mitchell, Frederick changed his story. Police Surgeon Fluhrer testified that he had examined the teen and found he was suffering from pneumonia, not a beating. He said he, "did not discover any marks of clubbing on his person." Finally, Frederick admitted that "a man named Mahon, whom he knew as 'the man with the big foot,'" according to the New York Dispatch, had convinced him to concoct the story.
Martin O'Brien died of Bright's disease at the age of 39 on April 8, 1879. His funeral was held in the house the following day.
Two years later, on August 23, 1881, the Rehwinkels purchased the house for $8,500 (about $261,000 in 2024). They took in a boarder by 1886. Thomas Carroll was a park keeper with the city and remained with the family at least through 1887.
Despite the injury he received in the 1872 fall, Christopher Rehwinkel got a job with a watchmaker on Houston Street by the time he was 18. On the evening of February 1887, he left the house with jewelry he had taken to sell on commission. The following day, the New-York Tribune reported, "A young German whose right arm is paralyzed [reported] that he had been knocked down, choked and robbed in Mulberry-st., within a block of [his house]." The article explained when Christopher crossed the street at 8:00, he noticed a gang of boys, one of whom, Edward Collins, he recognized. The newspaper said they, "had not been on good terms."
Collins, said the Brooklyn Daily Eagle, "knocked him down and held him by the throat." His comrades then "kicked and cuffed him and then ran away." They made off with the four gold rings Rehwinkel was supposed to sell. Collins was arrested. While he admitted striking Rehwinkel, he denied having helped rob him.
By 1900, Wilhelmina and Henry were empty nesters and Henry had retired. Rocco Nardiello was leasing the barbershop. If neighbors viewed them as a kindly old German couple, a scandal that year would change their opinions.
Andrew Rehwinkel, who was a painter, and his wife, Minnie, a servant, lived in Sheepshead Bay, Brooklyn. The couple had two sons, 11-year-old Harry and 5-year-old Charlie. In March 1900, Andrew and Minnie separated. Andrew placed the boys with a family on East 17th Street, paying their board. But when he lost his job early in July and could no longer afford the cost, he took them to his brother Ferdinand's home. It worked out for two weeks until Ferdinand, too, lost his job.
Ferdinand was unable to find his brother, so he told the boys that his grandparents would take care of them for awhile. It appears that Ferdinand was not so certain his parents would be so welcoming to the idea. He took Harry and Charlie to 288 Mulberry Street on the evening of July 17, rang the doorbell, then left. Little Charlie later said, "When grandpop came to the door he was mad and said he didn't have no home for us. Then grandma came along and said for us to go away. They shut the door, and Harry took me for a walk."
After wandering the neighborhood, the boys returned to 288 Mulberry, "'cause grandpop is the only man we know," Charlie later explained. The following morning, according to The Sun, "Two little boys with tear-stained faces lay sound asleep, clasped in each other's arms. on the front stoop of the house at 288 Mulberry street, early yesterday morning." When a passerby roused them and asked why they did not not go home, Charlie answered, "Ain't got no home, mister."
"Well, what are you doing here?"
"This is grandpop's. He don't want Harry and me and we don't know where to go."
The man went to the Mulberry Police Station and reported the situation. Policeman McMahon arrived and Charlie repeated the story. McMahon climbed the stoop and rang the bell. When he got no answer, he, "planted his department shoe on one of the panels of the door. He repeated this until an old man opened the door," said The Sun.
An enraged Henry Rehwinkel demanded, "What do you mean waking respectable folks..." but was interrupted by the cop.
"Respectable folks, eh? Do you call yourselves respectable folks, leaving a couple of kids like these out on the stoop all night?"
Rehwinkel slammed the door and refused to open it again. McMahon took the boys to the police station, then "made right for the Mulberry street house, and there was wrath in his eye," said The Sun. "He rang the bell, kicked the door a few times, and finally got a response from a window." McMahon ordered, "Come down here, you!"
This time Wilhelmina opened the door. When McMahon began lecturing her on the treatment of little boys, she said, "Well, they shan't come here and you can go and tell the family that, too."
The following day, Officer McMahon appeared in court with the boys, who were temporarily turned over to the Gerry Association (the common term for the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Children) until a hearing could be held. The Sun reported, "McMahon said that the grandfather was a retired barber named Henry Rehwinkle [sic], and was well-to-do." The magistrate issued a summons for Rehwinkel to appear. "As for the children they went away happy in the assurance of something to eat and a bed to sleep in," said the article.
The following day, all parties were in court, including the boys' mother, who had been tracked down in Sheepshead Bay. She promised that she was able to support the boys on her income as a servant. "The boys went away with their mother rejoicing," reported The Sun, which added, "The grandparents, who had been summoned to explain why they left their grandchildren to sleep in the street, were in the Centre street court when the boys were arraigned, but had nothing to say."
By the post-World War I years, the former Rehwinkel residence was operated as a rooming house. The neighborhood was now sketchy at best.
In 1924, Police Captain Albert L. Youmans of Schenectady, New York initiated what the Ballston Spa Daily Journal called a "vice war" against organized crime. On the night of November 28, he and Patrolman John Flynn were in "the resort section of Schenectady" when they were gunned down by five "New York gunman [who] had been imported by dive keepers to kill Youmans," said the article. Among them was Russo Marmore, who lived at 288 Mulberry Street. The 22-year-old listed his profession as "chauffeur."
In 1929, Alberto Nicoletti operated a linotype business from the commercial space. On July 11 that year, James Cozza, alias Vincent Cozza, was arrested for stealing printing and office equipment from several printing firms. The Brooklyn Daily Star reported, "Magistrate Simpson also held a man who described himself as Alberto Nicolette [sic], 288 Mulberry street, Manhattan, in $3,000 on a charge of receiving the stolen property."
Albert (he dropped the "o" from his first name) Nicoletti still ran his printing business here in 1941. image via the NYC Dept of Records & Information Services.
In 1932, architect Emil Koeppel was hired to convert the house to apartments above the basement store. The configuration of one apartment on the parlor level and two each on the upper floors survives today.
In the 1990s, the basement was home to the 288 Bar. It was described by New York Magazine on October 17, 1994:
The waif thing never died at this conspicuously fabulous watering hole, and the ratio of women to men is an unheard of 3:2. The wine offering is insincere, but Joe's Jukebox provides the full range from Pavarotti to Luscious Jackson...and just don't ask about the stoneware.
Appropriately, given the history of the property, a barbershop once again operates from the lower level.
photograph by the author
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