Having a secondary structure in one's rear yard in the early 19th century was common. It might be a workshop--carpenter or blacksmith shop, for instance--or a small stable or house for rental income. But by mid-century the demographics of the neighborhood around Suffolk and East Houston Streets was teeming with newly-arrived immigrants, resulting in the rear building at 169 Suffolk Street to be much different that those early examples.
The brick-faced house at 169 Suffolk Street was erected around 1853. It was 23-feet wide and three stories tall above an English basement. The tenement building in the rear was two stories taller. The sharing of a building lot with a house and a tenement seems to have been unusual, bordering on unique. A horsewalk at sidewalk level that tunneled through the front house provided access to the rear building.
The horsewalk can been clearly seen in this 1941 photograph. via the NYC Dept of Records & Information Services.
The main house was shared by at least two working-class German families in 1853. Henry Keofman was listed as a "pedler," and Louis Rosenberg was a tinsmith. While not affluent, the occupants were not impoverished, as was reflected in an advertisement in the New York Herald on November 8, 1855:
Dog Lost--A large white poodle, with black ears and black round spot on back. A liberal reward will be paid on returning him to 169 Suffolk street, third floor.
Among the residents that year was Charles Hoffman, who listed his profession broadly as "music." He would remain here at least through 1859. At least eight families, all German, occupied the rear building that year. Three were shoe or boot makers--Christien Brenck, Frederick Hein, and Reinhard Vogel. Two, Nicolas Gering and Peter Ruffer, were cabinetmakers. The others were Andrew Buhring, a cigar maker; Conrad Groh, a tailor; and Antoine Shultz, a smith.
A major tenement fire on Elm Street in 1860 initiated a law that required buildings that housed eight or more families to have fire escapes. The rear building at 169 Suffolk Street received a violation in 1863 and a subsequent visit by the inspector noted, "fire-escapes in course of construction."
At the time of the inspection, Conrad Groh had occupied his rooms in the tenement for at least five years and, surprisingly, would remain for decades. His rooms were held for him, apparently, when he left the next year to fight in the Civil War. Groh was not the only resident to serve. In 1864, William Herwig, Phillip Buehler, William Dieterlich, Casper Hoffman and John Ehrhard joined him in enlisting in the Union Army.
Nine families were crowded into the front house in 1861. Among them was Joseph Becherer, a turner (a person who made wooden spindles and such on a lathe). Two others, turner John Ehrhard and Leonard Pfaff, who listed his profession as "sawing," worked with Becherer at 171 Suffolk Street.
The three men assuredly knew Paul Kratt and Andrew Schwarzwalder. Kratt ran a beer saloon at 171 Suffolk Street and Schwarzwalder made fishing rods at the address. By 1864, Paul Kratt had moved his saloon to the basement of 169 Suffolk Street and he and his wife, Eva, moved into the main house. By 1867 Andrew Schwarzwalder and his family were also living here.
Paul Kratt had problems in keeping on the right side of the law, at least initially. On April 23, 1867, The New York Times reported that he had been arrested for keeping his saloon open on election day, and on June 16 the following year, the newspaper reported that he had been arrested for having the bar open on Sunday.
The two buildings continued to house mostly German-born working class tenants. In 1880, Conrad Groh (who happily had survived the war) was still listed in the rear building after more than two decades. Among his neighbors in the building were three carpenters, a framer, a shoemaker, and a tailor. Similarly, sharing the front house with the Kratts were another saloon owner, Bernard Neuberger, two shoemakers and a tailor.
Emma Wilkenson and her husband had a baby in February that year, whom they named William. Emma worked as a servant at 445 West 56th Street. She was arrested there on September 12, 1880. The previous evening, seven-month-old William "died suddenly and under suspicious circumstances," as reported by The Evening Post. Emma was arrested "on suspicion of having caused the child's death."
Emma's employer promised that if she were released, he would make certain that she would be present at the coroner's inquest. Happily for the young mother, The Evening Post reported, "An examination made by the Coroner satisfied him that the child died from natural causes."
Paul Kratt died in 1881 and his intrepid widow took over the business. Eva Kratt was listed as the owner of the saloon as late as 1892.
The conditions within the rear tenement were not necessarily as wretched as so many others at the time. When the wife of one family had their fifth baby in 1888, the Society of the Lying-In Hospital visited their rooms, supplied help, and reported the situation:
Rooms clean and tidy. Husband a tailor out of work; was taking care of his wife and four small children. No one to attend to patient. Nurse will visit her every day and bathe the baby. Scrub-woman to scrub and wash. Have baby clothes, diet ticket and 25 cents for soup. Second visit, scrub-woman busy. All clean and the clothes washed.
Boys of tenement families went to work by, at least, their teen years. Joseph Rauch, who was 16 in 1894, worked as an apprentice for a printer on Worth Street. On January 18 that year, his employer sent him to purchase a "large can full of turpentine, to be used in the office," as reported by The Evening World. Rauch was "lugging" the can back to the office when he was surrounded by 12 teens "who guyed him because he had to work while they could play," said the article.
One boy snatched his hat and ran away and another put a chunk of ice down the back of his shirt. A third tried to wrest the can of turpentine from him. In the struggle, the cork few off and Rauch's coat sleeve was saturated with the turpentine. Despite the attacks, Joseph Rauch continued on his way, until Frank Mania sneaked up from behind and dropped a lighted match into the open can.
The Evening World reported, "Immediately there was an explosion that frightened the boys so that they all ran away." Rauch's turpentine-soaked coat sleeve ignited. The newspaper titled its article, "Rauch Was A Human Torch" and said he screamed, dropped the can and ran with a "stream of fire flaring in the air." Fortunately, a cool-headed passerby put out the fire, but not before Rauch's arm and hand were badly burned. Frank Mania was tracked down and arrested, but he was released the following morning for lack of evidence.
The Suffolk Street property was sold in April 1898 to Morgan J. O'Brien, who owned several tenement buildings. The Kratt saloon became home to a tie manufacturer. The following year, on August 24, a help-wanted advertisement in the New York Journal and Advertiser sought, "Operators on ties. Friedman, 169 Suffolk st."
John Huttner lived here in 1904 with his wife and four children. The 40-year-old worked as a driver at the coal yard of Muhlenberg & Co. on South Street. He suffered a horrific accident on July 12 that year. The New York Times said he was taking a load of coal from the yard when he was somehow thrown from the wagon to the ground. The article said, "the wheels of the cart passed over him, killing him instantly."
Following Morgan J. O'Brien's death, his properties were sold at auction on February 14, 1907. The announcement described 169 Suffolk Street as "the three-story and basement front and five-story rear brick tenements."
Among the tenants in 1910 were Nathan Hyman, a buttonhole maker, and his family. A string of incidents that year caused Hyman excruciating misery. It started with a city-wide cloakmakers strike that put him out of work and he fell behind in his rent. Then, in August his wife died and a few days later Katherine K. Phelan, his landlady, summoned him to court on a eviction notice.
Hyman appeared in court on September 1. He faced the judge weeping. Justice Snitkin asked, "What's the matter?" The New York Times recounted, "While he remained in his house mourning the seven days that is required by Jewish law he was summoned to court. He was weeping because he had been forced to break this law, he said."
In 1915, Julius Bleiberg moved his plumbing business into the basement level. His occupancy would be short lived. He moved in 1917. Assuredly it was because the property had been sold the previous year to Anshei Polen Talmud Torah congregation. While the rear building continued to be rented as a tenement, the house was converted to a synagogue and yeshiva.
In 1918, the yeshiva had 100 boy students and three teachers. Described by The Jewish Communal Register of New York City as a "communal weekday school," its pupils studied from 4:00 to 7:00 on weekday evenings, and from 10 a.m. to 1:30 p.m. on Sundays.
The congregation added a new cornice crowned with Stars of David. image via the NYC Dept. of Records & Information Services.
The president of Anshei Polen Talmud Torah at the time was Henry Michael Greenberg, who was born in Russia in 1852. He immigrated to the United States in 1872 and became president in 1914.
Among the residents of the rear building in 1936 were Sam Katz, who was annually listed by Government as a Communist Party sympathizer, and Steve Czoney. The 53-year-old Czoney invited two friends over, William Chma and Samuel Womowsky, on September 7 that year when things got out of hand. The following day, The New York Times reported that Chma and Czoney were "in critical condition today at Gouverneur Hospital from stab wounds allegedly inflicted by Samuel Womowsky." (Womowsky was arrested and how his victims fared is unclear.)
By the Depression years, the synagogue was home to the Ottynier Society and the Society of Gwozelte. The building was threatened on June 6, 1938 during Shavuoth services. The Evening Post reported that during the Ottynier Society's services in the basement, "Burning wax set fire to a newly painted candelabrum, and the flames spread to a wall." The New York Times said, "While six prayer-shawled members carried out the Torah scrolls, about forty other worshipers fled to the street."
Firefighters extinguished the blaze, which left "slight damage," according to The Evening Post. The New York Times added, "In rooms directly above the basement, seventy five members of the Society of Gwozelte continued a similar service undisturbed."
The synagogue left in the second half of the century and in 1972 the building was converted to one apartment and a "fine art studio" on each floor, according to Department of Buildings records. It was most likely during the renovations that the cornice was removed. (The rear building was demolished in 1940.)
photographs by the author
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