The 1890 The Lincoln - 84 Madison Street

 

Alexandre I. Finkle was born in New Orleans, the son of Polish immigrants.  He studied painting and architecture in Paris at the National and Imperial Academy of Fine Arts.  His background in architecture and art was reflected in the many Lower East Side tenement buildings he designed.  His dramatic style incorporated effusive decorations. 

Real estate developer Albert Stake, who lived on Staten Island, was also busy in the tenement district.  On November 20, 1889, he purchased the two 25-foot-wide buildings at 84 and 86 Madison Street from Samuel Weil.  The Real Estate Record & Guide remarked, "new tenements projected."

Stake commissioned Finkle to design the replacement buildings.  The plans described two "five-story and basement brick and stone flats," each to cost $19,000 (about $650,000 in 2025).  Finkle's design for 84 Madison Street, called the Lincoln, was a splashy blend of Queen Anne and Renaissance Revival styles.

The centered stoop separated two stores at the basement level.  The entrance sat within a portico upheld by polished granite columns.  Finke decorated the top half of the first floor with a checkerboard of Queen Anne tiles above a foliate terra cotta band.  The upper four floors, overall Renaissance Revival in style, were clad in red brick and trimmed in limestone and pressed metal.  

Embossed metal panels filled the tympana of the arched openings of the second floor.  They were separated by paired Corinthian pilasters supported by rather clumsily carved winged heads.  Terra cotta tiles reappeared at this level.

Three-story piers at the third through fifth floors sat upon intricately carved bases and terminated in Corinthian capitals.  Foliate, pressed metal spandrel panels eliminated the cost of carved stone.  Finke's vigorous cornice incorporated a swan's neck pediment and a banner announcing the building's name under a crest of stars and stripes.

The building was completed in 1890 and Albert Stake was obviously pleased with the results.  He immediately hired Finke to reproduce the design at the Garfield at 104 Forsyth Street, merely replacing the name of one assassinated President with another.

Among the initial residents was Dr. A. T. Joyce, who described the neighborhood in dark terms in The World on August 21, 1890.  In urging for a playground, he said in part,

In treating children in this locality, the first thing that I am compelled to do is send them away from the fearful atmosphere.  Those who are unable to go often die in consequence.

Children in the crowded neighborhood were threatened not only by the unhealthful conditions that concerned Dr. Joyce, but by violence and crime.  On May 13, 1895, The Press reported on four 17-year-old boys that were caught in the act of burglarizing 202 South Street.  As two teens were ransacking inside, William Coleman, who lived here, and another boy stood as lookouts.  They called out when police neared.  All four perpetrators were arrested.

Coleman would be arrested again just eight months later.  On January 24, 1896, The World titled an article, "Police At Fever Heat" and reported about a crackdown on gang activities.  Among the targets was the Pelican Club, "a political and social organization of great importance," said the article.  The club was, more accurately, a criminal gang.  A search of the clubrooms found stolen items.  Among those arrested, in addition to Coleman, was James Murphy, who also lived in the Lincoln.  

Tenement residents lived dismal existences and many found respite in the Lower East Side opium dens.  One nearly took the life of 32-year-old Mary Bergen on November 26, 1896.  The Sun said she was removed from 25 Hamilton Street shortly before midnight, "suffering from poisoning caused by smoking opium."

John Nolan, a laborer, lived in the Lincoln at the time.  On the night of July 18, 1897, Officer Keefe witnessed him kick a stray cat at Catherine and South Streets.  He appeared before a judge on August 19 and declared, "the animal was mad and had attacked him, and that he kicked it in self-defense," according to The Sun.  Keefe, on the other hand, said Nolan "was drunk and had kicked the cat in a spirit of wantonness."  The judge found the officer's story more believable.  Nolan was fined, but The New York Herald reported that he "could not pay a $25 fine and will spend ten days in the Tombs."

Like William Coleman, Morris Pope was involved in criminal activities at an early age.  On the night of August 20, 1897, the 16-year-old entered the vacant house at 521 Pearl Street.  It had been condemned by the city to make way for the widening of Elm Street (which subsequently became Lafayette Street).  Pope stole "all the lead pipe on three floors," reported The Sun.  The water had not been turned off in the building, and "the house was flooded."  As Pope lugged the heavy piping out of the building, he was arrested.

Louis Glassen and his parents appeared in the Essex Market Court on February 26, 1898 to answer for the 12-year-old's charge of disorderly conduct.  The previous afternoon, Policeman Lues was on the block when a group of boys got into a fight, throwing stones at one another.  Glassen approached the cop and said, "Officer, go over there and stop those boys."

Lues told him, "I'm watching them."

The feisty and, perhaps, impertinent boy replied, "Say, you big stuff, is that what you are paid for?"  When he called Lues a name, the policeman arrested him.

It may have been Louis Glassen's tears in the courtroom that softened Magistrate Meade's heart.  The Sun reported that the judge declared, "Little boy, you must not bother the police force.  You are too young yet, beside you might get hurt.  I will discharge you this time."

Not all residents, of course, appeared in newsprint because of  their crimes.  Frank Thomas was hard working and respectable.  The 32-year-old worked for the Brooklyn Warehouse and Transfer Company.  On November 29, 1898, he and five co-workers were struggling to replace a derailed freight car onto the tracks.  Tragically, the jack they were using suddenly slipped, crashing the car onto Thomas and fatally crushing him.

As late as the 1940s, the portico and original stoop ironwork survived.  via the NYC Dept. of Records & Information Services.

Kate Mellen went to Coney Island on the hot afternoon of July 24, 1910.  The 28-year-old was frolicking in the ocean when about 5:30 she was "carried out by the undertow," according to The New York Times.  David Stark heard her cries.  The firefighter was on his day off and had gone to Coney Island with friends "for a dip in the surf."  

Stark looked around for a lifeguard, but there was none in sight.  He plunged into the water and towards the arm he had seen flailing above the surface.  About 100 yards from the shore, he dived, but did not find her.  He gasped a breath and went down again.  This time he felt Mellen's unconscious body and pulled her to the surface by her hair.  The firefighter struggled with "a dead weight" towards the shore.  The article said, "Battling against the tide, the fireman finally reached the beach with his burden, where he collapsed from exhaustion."

Harry Smith, who lived here in the early 1920s, worked as a truck driver for the trucking firm of Jacob Lipschitz.  On June 7, 1922, the 21-year-old picked up a shipment of army trousers at a Hudson River pier consigned to the Triad Corporation on Lafayette Street.  The New York Herald reported, "After the goods had been loaded on the truck both Smith and the truck disappeared."  The trousers were valued at $10,000, or about $182,000 today.  The empty truck was later found abandoned in Jersey City.  On June 30, detectives from the West 13th Street station recognized Smith on the street and arrested him.

A bizarre and horrifying accident befell resident Jean Manghise on July 14, 1946.  The 28-year-old was riding in the car of Joseph Casaro on Hylan Boulevard in Staten Island that night.  Her two-year-old son, Andrew, was in the rear seat.  The Staten Island Advance reported that around 8:00, "in some undetermined manner, the rear door suddenly opened."  In a instance, Jean's maternal reflex vaulted her over the seat to save her son.  She and Andrew flew out of the moving automobile.  The toddler landed on his mother's body, saving him from injury.  Jean, however, was taken to St. Vincent's Hospital with "what might be a fractured skull," said the article.

The basement and first floor of the 135-year-old building have been abused.  The portico was removed and the 1890 ironwork replaced.  A covering of gray paint obscures the brownstone and the polychromed tiles, and a jail-worthy security gate replaces the door.  Above, however, Alexandre I. Finkle's showstopping design remains intact.

photographs by the author