The Lost 7th Precinct Station House - 247 Madison Street

from the collection of the New York Public Library

On August 2, 1860, the New-York Daily Tribune reported, "A protest was received from various citizens in the Seventh Ward against the purchase by the city of the lots at Nos. 245 and 247 Madison street, for a new Station House in that Ward."  The citizens were not opposed to a new police station in their neighborhood, they were outraged by the cost.  The article said, "the original owner of the property was willing to take $9,000 for the property, but the [city offered] $15,000 for it."  Despite the grievances, the following day the Board of Alderman passed a resolution "to secure the premises Nos. 245 and 247 Madison street...at a price not exceeding $15,000."

The police department's architect produced a stylish Italianate-style station house.  The fully arched openings were, most likely, ornamented with molded lintels or architraves.  Dimension was achieved by slightly projecting the central three-bay wide section.  A corbelled cast metal cornice with a triangular pediment completed the design.  (A separate building in the rear yard housed the holding cells for prisoners.)

from the collection of the New York Public Library

Shortly after ground was broken for the 7th Precinct Station house, the first shot of the Civil War was fired.  The building was completed and fully staffed when one of the darkest periods in New York City history took place--the Draft Riots.  A revolt over the nation's first attempt at a military draft began with a lottery on July 11, 1863.  The first 1,200 names drawn came overwhelmingly from the city's poor and immigrant population.  Wealthy families had bought exemptions to exclude their sons.

At around 6:30 on the morning of July 13, 1863, riots erupted.  The resulting three-day reign of terror and carnage was unlike anything seen in the country before.  Innocent people were murdered, and draft offices, newspaper buildings, and the homes and neighborhoods of the city’s black population were burned.  The 7th Precinct officers were deployed to "sharp fighting," as described by The New York Times, throughout the district.  The newspaper said that on that first day, the officers staged an "attack upon and severe usage of the rioters at Broadway and Amity-street [later Third Street]."  

On the second day, Henry F. O'Brien, the black colonel of the 11th New York Volunteer Infantry Regiment, was spotted on Second Avenue.  He was surrounded by a vicious gang and for more than an hour he was pummeled with rocks and kicked.  He was then carried to a house where he was tortured to death and his body butchered beyond recognition.  Civilians who attempted to intervene were attacked by the mob.

The New York Times reported that Captain Bennett and men of the 7th Precinct were "detailed, with a company of military, to visit Thirty-fourth-street, where Col. O'Brien was so horribly murdered, to recover the body."  

In recapping the mayhem, on August 9, 1863 The New York Times remarked, "The officers and men of this Precinct saw considerable service during the week, and sustained the good repute hitherto attached to them."

In the summer of 1870, three 7th Precinct beat officers--Wild, Shalvey and Jarboe--revealed their sharp focus and concentration.  A year earlier, in April 1869, John Kelly, "alias John Wilson, alias 'Paddy Barry,'" according to The Evening Post, was sentenced to two-and-a-half years in Sing Sing prison.  He escaped six months later.  Kelly managed to blend into the Bowery surroundings for nearly a year.  Then, at around 3:00 on the morning of August 24, 1870, the three officers nabbed him.  The Evening Post reported, "He will be returned to his old quarters to-day."

In 1872, according to the Sunday Mercury, the staff of the 7th Precinct consisted of one captain, four sergeants, 60 patrolmen, and two doormen.  (A "doorman" was the officer who manned the desk just within the front door to address questions and complaints of civilians who walked in.)  

The following year, the country was plunged into a debilitating financial depression--the Panic of 1873.  It would bring dire consequences to the already impoverished residents of the 7th Precinct.  In reporting on the "destitution" that was spreading across the city, on February 9, 1874, the New York Herald quoted Sergeant Oates.  "He thought there ought to be provision made for the wretched poor, fallen from higher estates."  

While the reporter was there, he looked around.  "Their quarters seemed well ventilated, and, not to be too complimentary, considerably the least disgusting of any of those visited."

Members of the 7th Precinct dealt with gangs and "rowdies."  On July 27, 1875, Officer Thomas F. Regan came a group of 15 men fighting at the corner of Madison and Scammell Streets.  Rather than call for assistance, he attempted to break up the melee single-handedly.  The mob immediately turned their focus onto the policeman.  The New-York Tribune reported, "he was knocked down, kicked, and left lying insensible on the sidewalk."  He was discovered and taken to the police station.  Regan's injuries were significant and the newspaper said "he was found to be unfit for police duty for some time."

A heart-warming incident took place here in the fall of 1896.  On October 10, a "shabbily dressed man about thirty years old," as described by The New York Times, was found prostrated in the station house doorway.  The man, Andrew Wyzandt, was deemed to be intoxicated and was locked up.

The next morning Detective Mooney escorted him to the Essex Market Police Court.  Wyzandt walked "feebly" and "stopped at garbage barrels along the walk and searched for crusts and apple cores.  When he found any he put them furtively in his pockets," reported The New York Times.

"Look here," Mooney asked, "are you really hungry?"

"I am starved."

Mooney made a detour in their route to the courthouse.  The article said that he "took him into a coffee saloon and ordered for him some chops, potatoes, rolls, and coffee."  Wyzandt merely stared at the plates when they were brought.  The New York Times said, "Losing patience, the detective held a roll under his guest's nose.  The result was magical.  Wyzandt ate the meal furiously."

Less charitably treated by a different precinct was Samuel Levi, who lived at 145 East Broadway.  On June 13, 1897, he rode his bicycle to the Queens County Park, where he fell and broke his leg.  He was taken to the nearest police station but, as reported by The Sun, "they didn't want him, nor did the hospital near by."  Finally, he was transported to the 7th Precinct Station House, arriving at about 7:30 that evening.  The article said that Sergeant MacSweeny sent for an ambulance and Levi was taken to Gouveneur Hospital "several hours after his accident."

An inspection of the brick cell building on December 13, 1911 discovered disturbing conditions.  Saying there were "two rows of cells back to back, eight on one side and seven on the other, with a passageway all around," it noted, "There are no wash-bowls and no shower baths."  The "toilets" used by prisoners were makeshift privies, "in appearance like a megaphone set into a sewer pipe."  The inspectors concluded, "The whole place is inexpressively bad and a disgrace to the city.  It should be abandoned with as little delay as possible and a modern prison built."

That did not happen and following an inspection two years later, State Prisoner Henry Solomon wrote, "This has long been known as the worst police station in the city."  Once again, he stressed that "modern sanitary" water closets should be installed, adding, "wash basins are also needed."  Instead, the rear jail building was simply shut down in 1916 and prisoners were taken to the 13th Precinct on Clinton Street.

On May 20, 1921, the New York Herald reported, "The old Seventh Precinct police station in 247 Madison street, one of the police landmarks of the city, ceased to exist at midnight last night."  The precinct was absorbed into the Oak Street and Clinton Street stations.

Two weeks later, on June 3, John Finck purchased the property "on behalf of a client," as reported by the Proceedings of the Commissioners of the Sinking Fund.  It was acquired "for the purpose of turning it into a public shower bath."  

The extensive renovations (that cost $53,000, or about $975,000 in 2026) took four years to complete.  On April 30, 1925, The New York Times reported that Borough President Julius Miller would officially open the baths the next day.  

It was probably during the bath conversion that the Victorian details were removed from the openings. via the NYC Dept of Records & Information Services.

Saying that the bath was "something very much needed in this densely populated neighborhood, Miller described:

This old police station has been entirely transformed.  The cells in the yard have been torn down, the yard cleared, a pavement laid and it is now a community playground.  There is a waiting room on the first floor, also women's shower room; on the second floor, men's shower room; and on the third floor, men's and women's shower rooms.

The Madison Street Free Baths operated until 1970.  It was demolished for the first section of the Gouverneur Healthcare Services Building.

photographer by Halil Serkan Kutun