from the collection of the New York Public Library
James Voley, a drygoods merchant, and his wife, Martha, moved into the new brick-faced house at 27 Carmine Street around 1835. Over the past decade, scores of Federal-style houses had been erected in the district as the population of Greenwich Village exploded. But the 25-foot wide Voley house was a step above those built for working class families. Handsome wrought iron basket newels most likely perched upon the brownstone drums on either side of the stone stoop. The doorway, flanked with columns and sidelights and surmounted by an elegant fanlight, sat within an arched stone frame with a layered keystone. Tall dormers with rounded hoods pierced the peaked roof.
Merchant class couples like the Voleys maintained a small domestic staff. Something went very wrong within the Voley household on July 1, 1845. The following day, the New York Morning Courier reported, "A person named James Voley, of No. 27 Carmine street, was arrested for violently assaulting his servant girl. He was discharged on paying $35." (Voley's punishment would equal about $1,500 in 2025 terms.)
27 Carmine Street can be seen at the left of the frame. from the collection of the New York Public Library
James Voley retired that year. After living at 27 Carmine Street for nearly two decades, he and Martha sold it at auction on March 15, 1854. It was purchased by Jedediah S. and Georgiana Ryno for $9,100 (about $351,000 today).
Born on December 7, 1824, Ryno ran a butcher stall in the Washington Market. He and Georgiana had one child, George Henry, born in November 1850. Sadly, the year after the family moved into 27 Carmine, George Henry contracted what the New York Herald said was "congestion of the brain." He died in the house on January 3, 1855 at the age of 4.
Jedediah Ryno's grief continued when his 26-year-old wife died on February 23, 1856. Georgiana's funeral was held in the parlor two days later.
Ryno's brother, Anson, who worked as a carman, and his family moved into the house shortly afterward. Anson was two years younger than Jedediah. He and his wife, the former Nancy Lynch, had five children when they moved in, including an infant born on February 29, 1856. Named Jedediah, his parents appear to have named him after his uncle.
Despite the already large population in the Ryno household, Jedediah took in a boarder in 1859. Clara Hagney was the widow of Cornelius Hagney and she worked as a huckster at the Centre Market. (Hucksters sold a variety of small items, unlike the more pervasive provision merchants or butchers in the market.)
Also living in the house was Edward Fitzgerald, whose relationship is unclear. (He was almost assuredly not a boarder). Fitzgerald died on January 13, 1859, "after a long and painful illness," according to the New York Herald. His death notice on January 16 said, "His friends, those of the family, and of J. Ryno, Esq., are respectfully invited to attend the funeral this afternoon, at two o'clock, from the residence of J. Ryno, Esq, No. 27 Carmine street."
On February 26, 1860, Jedediah Ryno married Elisa A. Brainerd. Anson and his family moved to 3 Minetta Lane shortly afterward. Elisa's maternal grandfather, John May, was living with the couple by 1863. He died on October 1 that year at the age of 77 and his funeral was held here two days later.
A peculiar and distressing incident occurred here later that year. On November 24, 70-year-old James Gillegan was delivering coal to the Rynos. The Sun reported that he, "fell dead while carrying coal into the house."
In 1870, the Greenwich Village neighborhood around 27 Carmine Street was filling with Italian, German and Irish immigrants. Although they retained possession of the property, Jedediah and Elisa Ryno left that spring. An auction of the furnishings was held on April 14.
The house was operated as rented rooms. Among the tenants in the spring of 1879 was Nellie Gorman, alias Kate Raymond. She and Jane Wildey, alias Mary Wilson, were arrested on March 9 that year, "charged with picking the pockets of ladies who visited the exhibition of the 'Midgets,'" according to The New York Times.
The Rynos advertised the house in 1880, describing it as a "Two story, basement and attic, extra wide Dwelling, fine large yard." It was sold to Georgianna G. R. Wendel for $10,000 (about $317,000 today). She continued to lease it to a proprietor who ran it as a rooming house.
The "fine yard" of which Jedediah Ryno had boasted was a wasteland in 1926. The back porch, or piazza, as they were known in the 19th century, survived. from the collection of the New York Public Library
Among the early tenants was Tessie McCune, the wife of Robert McCune. The New York Dispatch said on July 24, 1881, that they "had been separated some time." Their relationship, however, was deemed by the newspaper as "queer." Although still married to one another, they had a client-prostitute arrangement. Robert "visited her, as would a stranger, [and] she received him as such and took his money for the evening's entertainment."
On July 23, 1881, the two appeared in court after Robert accused his wife of robbing him. According to his complaint, said the New York Dispatch, "in the course of the dallying the diamond came out of the finger ring, and he had his wife, mistress or whatever you might call it, arrested for stealing the diamond." The judge uttered his disdain of both parties. The article recounted, "The Judge said he thought the husband would be under arrest before a great while himself."
Tessie McCune was back in court the following month. On August 20 The Evening Telegram reported, "Mrs. Mary [sic] McCune, a well dressed woman of No. 27 Carmine street," had been arrested for "stealing a breastpin from Joseph Deane." The article noted, "Mrs. McCune was arrested some time ago on a charge of taking a diamond pin from her husband...Justice Bixby discharged her then. To-day she was not quite so fortunate." Although Tessie insisted that "she took the pin in play, not meaning to keep it," Justice Morgan held her for trial.
In 1885, the basement level of 27 Carmine Street was converted to a store. Frederick J. Schmidt, whose family lived in rooms upstairs, opened a shoe business in the space. The following year, on March 9, 1885, he advertised, "Wanted--First-Rate hand buttonhole maker on ladies' fine shoes."
Schmidt and his son, Frederick, Jr., changed course in 1897, now listing their professions as "fitter." (The term could refer to a pipe fitter or to a coal broker.) On October 10, 1898, an advertisement in the New York Journal and Advertiser offered: "A fine basement store, 16x41, in good business locality (wholesale or retail). 27 Carmine st." Despite the change of proprietors, the shop continued to make and sell ladies' shoes.
By the early years of the 20th century, the former store had been converted to a meeting hall. On March 28, 1907, The New York Age reported, "a number of Afro-American printers assembled for the purpose of forming an association for business, social and mutual welfare." An early form of a labor union, it was named "The Negro Printers' Association."
In the meantime, several of the tenants in the upper floors continued to be less than respectable. On August 25, 1922, the New York Herald reported that Samuel Petix, "a butcher of 27 Carmine street," had been arrested in a raid of a speakeasy on Seventh Avenue.
Within a few years, Petix would not have had to go that far to patronize an illegal drinking establishment. On March 19, 1930 a hold-up took place in Charlie's Triangle Club here, described by The New York Times as "a restaurant and alleged speakeasy." Thomas Reggione, who was 21 years old; Pasquale De Palo, 26; and 21-year-old Alfred Marino, charged into the place with guns drawn. They had not anticipated the resistance the patrons exhibited. Customers--men and women alike--fought back and chaos ensued.
The New York Times reported that Reggione was "caught and beaten by the patrons of the restaurant." Alfred Marino, who was an ex-convict, engaged in a gunfight outside as he tried to escape. He was shot dead by Patrolman James F. Rogers. De Palo was arrested at his home several hours later. Two patrons, Mrs. Carrie Schumacher and Frank Borgiano, who were wounded in the fray, were taken to St. Vincent's Hospital.
Living here in 1940 was 34-year-old Bernard Giacolone, who listed his profession as a chauffeur. (The title ranged from a driver for a private family to a cabbie.) He was arrested along with seven cohorts for "the alleged theft of about $50,000 of liquor" from the Equitable Trading Corporation on Hudson Street during the past four years.
A show window had replaced the two parlor openings in 1941 when this photo was taken. image via the NYC Dept of Records & Information Services.
After the city told the Church of Our Lady of Pompeii in 1923 that their structure at 214 Bleecker Street stood directly in the path of the upcoming extension of Sixth Avenue, the congregation laid plans for a new church on the corner of Carmine Street and Bleecker, slightly northwest from its current location. The buildings at 17 through 25 Carmine Street were purchased and demolished and in 1926 ground was broken. The new Our Lady of Pompeii was completed in 1928.
27 Carmine Street sat snugly next to the completed church and related building. from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York.
On August 19, 1941, The Sun reported that the Wendel Foundation had sold 27 Carmine Street to the Church of Our Lady of Pompeii. The trustees used the former house as offices and church-related activities.
Then, on August 4, 1965, The New York Times reported, "Plans for a new five-story headquarters of the society of St. Charles, which aids Italian immigrants, were filed yesterday." The $200,000 structure, said the article, would replace 27 Carmine Street. The venerable structure, with its elegant 1830s design and extraordinary history, was replaced with a decidedly less interesting building.



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What a beautiful line of Federal-style houses they must have been when 1st built, and how much more valuable the streetscape would be today if they remained today.
ReplyDeleteall that history in one place just gone. I would have liked to see it still standing. great post!
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