James Ware & Son's 1909 29 West 21st Street

In March 1853 an advertisement offered a "small house" at No. 29 West 21st Street to let.  The block, between Fifth and Sixth Avenues, was just seeing the arrival of substantial homes, triggered by the upward tide of mansions along Fifth Avenue.  That the block was changing was evidenced two years later when a similar advertisement described it as a "cottage house," clearly indicating it was not a rowhouse and, instead, sat within a small yard.

But fashion outweighed charm and after the little house was sold in 1859 it was demolished to be replaced by a 25-foot wide, four-story brownstone.  The increasing property values were reflected in the price Abraham Lawrence paid for the house in 1876.  The $30,475 price tag would be about $720,000 today.

By the time Agnes H. Poirier took title to the house around the turn of the century, the block was becoming increasingly commercial.  The elevated train ran up the middle of Sixth Avenue which was now lined with massive retail emporiums.  But Agnes had no intention of living at No. 29 West 21st Street.

She and her husband, Alfred E. Poirier, ran the firm of A. Barnes.  In July 1908 Agnes leased the property to Nathan Houtman "for a long term of years."  The total rent amounted to $60,000, or about $1.65 million today.  Houtman announced his plans to convert the old house into "a store and loft structure."

Before that came to pass something seems to have gone awry.  Houtman dropped out of the picture and the following year, on May 26, 1909, The Sun reported that "Plans have been filed for a six story loft and store building to be erected for Mrs. Agnes H. Poirier from designs by James E. Ware & Son."  The cost of the proposed structure was estimated at about $834,000 in today's money.

Construction was completed within only six months, in November.  The architects had produced an industrial building heavily influenced by the recently popular Arts & Crafts style.  It was faced in variegated rough-faced brick laid in Flemish bond.  The otherwise no-nonsense storefront included large transoms of multiple amber-tinted panes of textured glass.  The top lintel took the form of an Arts & Crafts style iron strap.

Like a massive strap hinge, the massive iron storefront lintel is eye-catching.

The identical upper floors featured sets of three windows, each floor separated by a hefty spandrel panel containing two decorative brackets.  Substantial consoles upheld the deeply-overhanging cornice.

The building filled with apparel-related firms.  The upper floors became home to David Fraitag, manufacturer of cloaks and suits; Loveman, Golemb & Cohen, dress manufacturers; and the Louis Walther Mfg. Co.  The Sterling Button Co. moved into the street level store.

David Fraitag was overly-optimistic about things when he signed the lease.   Only four months after the  building opened he filed for bankruptcy, no longer having enough funds to pay his workers.  When the staff heard that he was shutting the doors, they revolted.  On March 26, 1910 The New York Times ran a headline "Unpaid Workmen In A Riot."  If they could not get paid, the men at least wanted to obtain salable goods.

The article explained "at 9 o'clock yesterday morning the place was crowded with workmen and creditors struggling for possession of some of the goods.  The twenty-five workmen had not been paid, and they were attempting to remove goods, but were prevented by the creditors, about fifteen in number."

By 1915 Golemb & Cohen had lost the "Loveman" portion of the business.  The company, located on the top floor, employed 15 men and eight women.  Manufacturing came to an abrupt halt following a significant fire on February 25 that year.

The fire broke out around 11:00 that night on the third floor of a cloak and suit manufacturer.  Fire fighters who responded to the alarm of fire scoured the block trying to find it.  Meanwhile the heat of the smoldering fabrics built up within the enclosed space.  The Evening World reported "Policemen and firemen had been searching for the fire for an hour when it burst from the front of the building."

The sudden influx of oxygen fed the flames, which traveled up the elevator shaft to the fourth floor.  Fire fighters from Engine No. 72 went inside the inferno.  At around 1:00 a.m. a section of the floor collapsed, hurling John Middlestadt down to the second floor.  The injured man was taken to New York Hospital.  Ironically, he had just been released from the hospital after spending several weeks there recuperating from injuries in an earlier blaze.  Damages estimates were placed at $25,000, or around $629,000 today.

Golemb & Cohen moved on, replaced in 1916 by the National Garment Co.  Arnold Kamps, trimmings, took the renovated third floor.  Otherwise, Agnes Poirier seems to have had trouble filling the building.  In September 1917 she hired architect Edward L. Angell, perhaps best known for his whimsical Queen Anne houses on the Upper West Side, to make additional interior renovations.  They included new doors, reconfigured floor plans, and new windows.

The scheme worked.  A flurry of leases were signed by the beginning of 1918.  When Kopp Dress Co. took the fifth floor and Paul Puttman the fourth on the same day, the Real Estate Record & Builders' Guide commented on February 9, 1918 "the two leases complete the renting of the building."

Only one of the many-paned transoms survives.  Note the different textures of the glass panels.

Agnes H. Poirier retained ownership of the building for decades, leasing floors to similar tenants well into the Depression years.  The Rainbow Children's Dress Co. and the Goodyear Knitting Co. were here in the early 1920's, for instance, and in February 1932 she leased the second floor to the State Button Company; while the cotton textile firm of Alvin John Schafer was an upper floor.

But as the garment district moved north of 34th Street around the same time, a new type of tenant arrived.  Sharing the building in the 1940's and early '50's was J. Sweet & G. Leving, Inc. general contractors.  And in October 1957 Placematters signed a lease.  The firm produced children's place mats decorated with popular television and cartoon characters.

Placematters created colorful plastic place mats for kids.

The last quarter of the 20th century saw the formerly industrial neighborhood taken over by trendy shops and restaurants.  By the mid-1970's the sixth floor, where workers once sewed dresses, was home to Rima Sculptures, a combination art gallery and shop for one-of-a-kind pieces like jewelry.

By 1983 Video D Studios, a performance arts and video studio space, was on the top floor.  It remained here into the 21st century.

In 1988 J. P. Lofland's New York Grill opened in the ground floor.  A renovation completed in 1992 resulted in offices on the second, an artist studio on the third, one apartment each on the fourth and fifth, and the video-dance studio on the top floor. 

J. P. Lofland's New York Grill was a familiar spot in the neighborhood, lasting until 2006 when the space was taken over by the Lonesome Dove Western Bistro.  It was the New York version of chef Tim Love's Fort Worth restaurant and featured items like "roast garlic-stuffed beef tenderloin and New Zealand red deer with macaroni and cheese," according to the opening announcement.

The restaurant, which opened in September that year, featured much more exotic fare than New Zealand deer.  On the menu at various times were kangaroo, antelope ribs, buffalo, and quesadillas stuffed with quail.  It prompted New York Times food critic Frank Bruni on November 15, 2006 to refer to the menu as "a Noah's ark of birdies and beasties."

But even the most adventurous of Manhattan foodies did not rush for a table.  On August 8 the following year The New York Times announced "After the quick exit of the Lonesome Dove Western Bistro, Jay Shaffer, who owns Shaffer City Oyster Bar and Grill down the block, bought the lease and is turning it into a casual restaurant."  Named Flatiron Joe's there was no kangaroo on its menu.  Instead the eatery offered bar food like nachos, sliders and pizza.

Another renovation, completed in 2010, did away with the restaurant space altogether   Above were now one apartment per floor below a duplex on the sixth and new seventh floor, invisible from street level.  Today the store is home to a dry cleaner.   James Ware & Son's handsome turn-of-the-century design survives undiminished by the larger loft buildings that crowd in around it.

photographs by the author

Remarkable History - 112 Waverly Place

No hint of the prim 1826 appearance remains after the overwhelming 1920 re-make.

In 1826 Mayor Philip Hone transformed the former execution grounds and potter's field at the base of what would be Fifth Avenue into a parade and drill grounds, called Washington Square.   Greenwich Village was experiencing a population explosion as thousands of New Yorkers fled northward to escape the terrifying cholera epidemic which began a year earlier.

Well-heeled businessman and former politician Thomas R. Mercein recognized the potential.  In 1826, two years before the first mansion would appear on Washington Square, he erected a row of nine upscale brick-faced homes on West Sixth Street, between the park and Sixth Avenue.

Three bays wide and three-and-a-half stories tall, the Federal-style houses sat above shallow English basements.  Handsome paneled stone lintels adorned the openings and two tall dormers pierced the peaked roofs.

No. 112 is second from right in this photograph, the last of the row unchanged since 1826.  from the collection of the New-York Historical Society

In 1814 Sir Walter Scott had published his highly-popular novel Waverley.  His large following in Greenwich Village petitioned the city to honor him with a street and in 1834 Longworth's American Almanac explained "Sixth-street led from Grove until about the year 1832, when it was named Waverley Place from Broadway west."

Livingston Livingston received a new address with the name change: No. 112 Waverley Place.   A well-to-do attorney, his name made his illustrious pedigree remarkably clear.  In addition to his legal practice, he was a Commissioner of Deeds and would be appointed Chairman of the Board of County Canvassers of the City and County of New York in 1846.  And he had a remarkable hobby--he raised silkworms and then had their silk converted to fabric.

While living here in 1837 he submitted finished goods to the Tenth Annual Fair of the American Institute.   He was up against other New Yorkers with the same preoccupation.  Martha Marvin, who was just 14 years old, submitted "fine specimens of cocoons, reeled and sewing silk," and as did Eliza Evans.  David Ruggles presented "superior specimens of cocoons, from worms fed on the leaves of the Brussa mulberry."  Livingston's hard work paid off, however.  He was awarded a certificate "for beautiful specimens of silk, second crop."

By 1846 importer Stephen Moulton was living in the house.  He did business at No. 86 Cedar Street.  It is unclear if he was married.  His name routinely appeared on the passenger manifests of steamships heading to England, but always alone.

By 1849 two rooms were being leased in No. 112.   Eliza Collins, "widow of George," was listed in city directories as living here that year.  And by 1851 the well-known physician, musician, vocal coach and composer, Dr. Clare W. Beames was here.

Beames, who would remain for at least two years, was less know for his medical practice that his musical profession.  He was the organist of Grace Chapel and a prolific song writer.  Because of his androgynous first name, he often preferred to be listed as "Mr. Clare W. Beames" rather than as "Dr."  

Much of Beames's work was the translation and adaption of the operatic arias to popular songs, like "Life We Saw First in This Valley," which started life in Donizetti's Linda Di Chamounix.   But he wrote lighter fare as well.  His "Merry Sleigh, Jingle Jingle Clear the Way" was marketed as being "Composed expressly for and dedicated to his Pupil, Miss Jane A. Andrews, The Popular Vocalist, by Clare W. Beames."

Beames had moved on in June 1852 when an advertisement in The New York Herald announced "A small private family will accommodate one or two gentlemen with two furnished Rooms, with or without breakfast.  No other boarders."

Boarders came and went.  Walter K. Ritch, a teacher at School No. 26 stayed perhaps the longest.  He was here at least from 1854 through 1866.  His salary in 1854 was $350 per year.  Abner Barlett was here in 1855 when the City embarrassed him by publishing his name in the list of those owing personal taxes.  He was behind $21.56.  A decade later C. R. Reed was living here when he was inducted into the Union Army.

The first real notable owner of No. 112 came in 1878 when The Churchman announced "The Rev. J. S. Atwell's address is No. 112 Waverley place, New York city."  Joseph Sandford Atwell already had a remarkable career.

Born on July 1, 1831 in Barbados, he was educated at Codrington College and moved to the United States in 1863; a bold move for a black man while the Civil War was still raging.  He attended Divinity Hall (later the Philadelphia Divinity School), graduating in 1866.

With 4 million people released from slavery, he went south to help organize the Episcopal Church's efforts to evangelize blacks.  While in Louisville, Kentucky he met and married Cordelia A. Jennings, a graduate of the Institute for Colored Youth in Philadelphia.  The couple would have three sons, Joseph, Robert and Ernest.

Joseph Atwell was ordained the first black deacon in the Diocese of Kentucky by Bishop Benjamin Smith; and in 1867 Atwell's parish of Saint Mark's was recognized by the Episcopal Church as the first black congregation in the state.

He continued to move about the South, earning acclaim for bringing advancing some of the first black Episcopal churches "from infancy to maturity," and for pioneering acceptance of black clergyman in the South.

In 1875 he moved his family to New York City to become rector of Saint Philip's Church, one of the oldest African American Episcopal congregations in America.  The Churchman later divulged that in doing so he exchanged what was, in fact, a relative easy job as pastor of Saint Stephen's Church in Savannah for a much more difficult one.  "He wished, among other things, to give his children those advantages which they could scarcely hope for amid the peculiar environments of the South."

Atwell worked tirelessly for his congregation.  The Churchman said "When he took a half-holiday at times he showed all the liveliness of a school-boy, but he was chiefly known as the grave, care-worn rector, going soberly and conscientiously from duty to duty, praying with the sick, advising with the perplexed, and attending to the wants of the poor."

Joseph S. Atwell spent much of his time at the sickbeds of the poor.  But in the fall of 1881 it was he who was bedridden, having contracted typhoid fever.  He died in the Waverley Place house on October 8, 1881.

A memorial service was held in St. Philip's Church on February 5 1882.  Two bishops presided, aided by three ministers.  The Churchman reported "The congregation was very large, completely filling the church.  Part of a colored regiment occupied the front seats in the middle aisle, while a band of brass instruments accompanied the organ, adding much to the music, which was remarkably fine."

Letters from around the country, "highly complimentary of the deceased," were read.  One, from the Reverend Dr. De Costa said that if the policy at the time of Atwell's invitation to move to New York had allowed the "appointing a bishop of the African race," he would no doubt have been given the honor.

Cordelia and the children were now without income; a terrifying situation for any mother, let alone a minority woman.  Before taking up the offertory, "an earnest appeal [was made] to the people in view of the fund about to be raised for the widow and children.  The Churchman said "The speaker made an especial plea for his children, that all their father would have secured to them, had he lived, might be assured to them now that he was dead."  The congregation responded with $235, more than $5,800 today.

Cordelia and the children, of course, necessarily moved on before long.  In the mid-1890's the new owner of No. 112 was once again renting rooms.  Salesman Daniel Dooling lived here in 1895, and bookkeeper Charles W. Bang was here the following year.

The house received its second notable resident around 1899 when artist Everett Shinn and his illustrator wife, Florence Scovel Shinn leased it from Catherine de Anglemont.  

Shinn was born in Woodstown, New York and studied at the Pennsylvania Academy of Fine Arts where he met Florence.  They graduated in 1897 and were married the following year.  While her husband was known for more serious painting, Florence illustrated magazines and books--like Mrs. Wiggs of the Cabbage Patch, and The Autobiography of a Tomboy.

Their choice of the Waverly Place location was not surprising.  Greenwich Village had become the enter of Manhattan's artistic community, luring artists, musicians, poets, and writers to its winding streets and subterranean tearooms.

A member of the Ashcan School of painters, Everell used Washington Square as the subject of at least 20 paintings, including this 1910 example.  in the collection of the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston

Everett was interested in the theater, as well.  On December 15, 1907 the New-York Tribune reported that he would erect "a one story studio" in the rear to cost nearly $27,000 in today's money.   The addition would not be merely an art studio, as it turned out.  In 1912 he had a stage installed, creating a theater for his newly-organized Waverley Place Players.

On March 21 The Sun wrote "Mr. Everett Shinn, known to the continent for years as an admirable mural painter, a facile worker in pastel and an illustrator, recently, as has been told, decided to give a theatre-less New York still one more playhouse, and so last night he threw open the doors of the Littlest Theatre.  Mr. Shinn's Littlest Theatre is out in the back yard of the Shinn house at 112 Waverley place.  By daylight it is used as the Shinn studio."

Everett wrote many of the plays presented here, including the tongue-in-cheek Lucy Moore or the Prune Hater's Daughter."  The New York Times noted on March 21 "This is the second production of the Waverley Place Players, and they do it just for the fun of the thing.  A regular performance is to be given to-morrow night, and perhaps there will be another on Saturday, and then, when they get around to it, they will produce another play."

Another well-known artist, Ben Ali Haggin, was in the cast that night.  Everett Shinn played two parts and Florence had the title role.  The Times began its review saying "If you were a writer like Owen Johnson or an illustrator like May Wilson Preston, or a painter like Paul Doughtery, and if you had had an invitation you would gave gone to Waverley Place last evening and gained admission to Everett Shinn's house at 112."

But what apparently few knew was that there was serious trouble within the Shinn household.  Florence's brother, broker Alden Cortlandt Scovel lived in the house with the couple.  Suspicious of Everett, he had hired private detectives to follow him in July and August that year.   The artist repeatedly went to the Hotel Cadillac.  According to The Sun on March 11, 1913, "on one occasion when they forced an entrance into the room occupied by Shinn" they found him in bed with an actress.  "They heard the woman cry, 'Oh, my God!' while Shinn turned pale and his lips twitched nervously."

The Sun reported on March 11, 1913 that Florence had received a final decree of divorce.  The judge awarded her $4,800 a year in alimony.  Twelve days later The New York Times announced that Everett had married Corinne Baldwin, of Brooklyn.

As it turned out, Shinn's marital road would never end in bliss.  His marriage to Corinne ended in divorce, as did his next marriage to Gertrude McManus Chase.  In April 1933 he secretly married the 21-year-old Paula Downing behind the backs of her parents.  He was 59 at the time.

In the meantime, Waverly Place (by now Villagers had seemingly forgotten the name's origin and dropped the second "e.") had drastically changed in appearance.  On August 5, 1916 the Real Estate Record & Builders' Guide ran an article entitled "Washington Square Section Reclaimed Through Modernized Buildings."  It explained that more than more old houses were being converted to artists' studio buildings.  "Owners of real estate have realized that in order to obtain the desirable class of tenants, old buildings must be remodeled artistically and efficiently in order to meet the requirements of the 'artist colony' which has been firmly established in the district."

The article noted "Douglas Robinson, Charles F. Brown Company, is going to alter 112 Waverly Place into studio apartments."  Plans were filed by architect Adolph E. Nast in October for renovations to cost $8,000, or about $153,000 today.

The completed alterations left no trace of the Federal-style house.  Heavily influenced by the current Arts & Crafts trend, its asymmetrical brick facade was both severe and picturesque.  Vast expanses of glass admitted floods of northern light so sought by artists.  The topmost studio was additionally lit by a skylight.  

The 1826 row now was completely transformed.

The ever-progressive Village was known for tearooms where women smoked openly and where unmarried women lived on their own.  Olive L. Creelnan took an apartment in the renovated building in April 1919, and Miss Marion Downer leased another in October 1922.  It would have been shocking almost anywhere else in the city.    (In truth, Olive did not live entirely alone.  She moved in with her gray striped Angora cat.  When it disappeared on June 25, 1920, she described it as having "seven toes on each forefoot.")

The next outstanding resident of No. 112 came after mid-century.  Lorraine Hansberry was living on Bleecker Street when she won the New York Drama Critics Circle award for the best American play of the season in April 1959.  Starting out as an artist (she termed herself "a lousy painter") she had turned to writing.

On April 9 The New York Times noted the several "not onlys" necessary to describe her. "Not only is she just 28 years old; not only is she a Negro; not only is she the first Negro woman ever to have a play on Broadway, let alone to win an award; but also 'A Raisin in the Sun' was her first produced play."

Born in Chicago, she came to New York in 1950 and married to music publisher Robert Nemiroff in 1953.  Her commitment to civil rights had its roots in her childhood.  Her father, Carl A. Hansberry, was a well-to-do real estate broker and banker.  When she was eight he purchased a house in a white neighborhood.

She later remarked "He died in 1945 at the age of 51--of a cerebral hemorrhage, supposedly, but American racism helped kill him."

With the profits of A Raisin in the Sun Hansberry purchased No. 112 Waverly Place.   She always stressed that the play was not "a Negro play but one about people who happen to be Negroes."  She continued to write, her themes most often embracing prejudice.  On August 2, 1963 The New York Times reported on her newest play The Sign in Sidney Brustein's Window."  Through it Hansberry now shed light on religious bias.  "In a Greenwich Village setting, the plot deals with a young Jewish intellectual, his actress wife and their search, both comic and tragic, for values and ideas."  

Sadly, Lorraine Hansberry would not be involved in the staging of that play.  She was diagnosed with cancer and for two years was in and out of hospitals.  She was released to attend opening night on October 15, 1964; but returned two days later never to leave.  She died in University Hospital on January 12, 1965 at the age of 34.

Five years later a renovation of No. 112 resulted in a doctor's office in the cellar, one apartment each on the first and second floors, and a duplex above.  Everett Shinn's studio and theater building in the rear was renovated as a private home.  It was occupied by supermodel Kate Moss in the late 1990's, when she was engaged to Johnny Depp.  When she moved out in 2014, it was offered with a monthly rent of $19,000.

One of a row of delightful and eclectic architectural tidbits on the block, No. 112 boasts more than its share of history.

photographs by the author

The Manheimer Building - No. 369 7th Avenue

On Thursday, November 7, 1918 the “4-story substantially constructed brick loft building with store” at No. 369 Seventh Avenue was sold at auction.  The owner had made certain that the advertisement clarified this was a “voluntary sale,” and not a foreclosure action.  It also made note of the desirable commercial location “opposite Pennsylvania Station.”

The purchaser was 39-year old Joseph Manheimer, head of Manheimer Bros., Inc.  Like his father, Manheimer was a real estate operator and agent.   The “substantially constructed” building prompted its new owner to do renovations rather than to demolish and rebuild.  On July 25, 1919 architect John H. Knubel filed plans for “new stairs, partitions, roof, windows, plumbing, front and lower beams.”  The renovations would cost Manheimer $10,000—about $137,000 in 2016 terms.

Knubel gave the old building an up-to-date Arts and Crafts façade of yellow brick trimmed in terra cotta.  The broad openings at each floor were influenced by the Chicago School.  Above the top story Joseph Manheimer branded the building with his name in terra cotta tiles.  It was flanked by two slightly-projecting terra cotta shields and topped by a peaked parapet.

The alterations were completed by mid-September 1919 when the store and basement were leased.  Manheimer moved his own offices into the building as well.  The immediate neighborhood had comprised the fur district for several years and so the renovated building was a wise choice for furriers Meiselman & Peto.  They remained here until their bankruptcy in August 1921.

As the fur and apparel district moved north of 34^th Street, No. 369 filled with a variety of tenants.  In 1945 it was home to M. Hollander’s podiatrist office.  Because Hollander did not use the title of doctor, his “foot correction appliances” might be viewed with some suspicion.  Nevertheless, he boasted 30 years of “successful experience” and his advertisement in Billboard magazine on February 10, 1945 tempted “Visit my office and let me show you by scientific application of appliances I can eliminate your foot trouble.”

photo courtesy of Terry Lavin

A hold-out from the apparel trade at the time was A. & F. Embroidery, which remained a tenant until at least 1947.  Joseph Manheimer kept his personal office here (Manheimer Bros. had moved its headquarters next door at No. 365 in 1933, a property Joseph purchased in 1924) until his death at the age of 71 when his widow took title to the building.  

After mid-century the camera district was centered within the Penn Station neighborhood.  Spiratone had its retail store in the building by 1957.  In 1964 it offered a specialized fixed-lens camera which could take photographs through a microscope. 

Mrs. Manheimer died on December 23, 1983 at the age of 89.  The Manheimer properties at No. 369 and Nos. 365-367 were purchased later by Nan Su Kim.

In March 2011 the properties were sold in a joint sale by real estate agent Hook Hee Nam for $6.5 million.  He happily accepted a down payment of $1.66 million from the buyer, Jae Kun Jeung.

The problem was that Nan Su Kim was unaware that his buildings were being sold. 

Hook Hee Nam handed over paperwork with Mr. Kim’s signature—except Nam had signed them himself.  He was arrested and “arraigned on charges of first-degree grand larceny, among other things, in connection with the fraud,” according to the Queens District Attorney’s Office.

Although the shop front has been brutalized with a tawdry tourist gift shop, and window air conditioners poke through the upper story windows; John H. Knubel’s striking Arts and Crafts building survives as a delightful surprise on this frenzied section of Seventh Avenue.

photographs by the author

The Lost George Leary Mansion -- No. 1053 Fifth Avenue

Architects' and Builders' Magazine, September 1904 (copyright expired)

As Manhattan’s millionaires continued the northward migration along Central Park in the first years of the 20^th century their mansions vied with one another for attention.  Many of them replaced rowhouses constructed in the 1870s; like the brownstone residence of D. B. Freeman at No. 1053 Fifth Avenue between 86^th and 87^th Streets.

In 1902 wealthy coffee merchant Philip S. Henry purchased the vintage house and commissioned the architectural firm of Herts & Tallant to drastically remodel it.  Henry B. Herts and Hugh Tallant had met while studying at the Ecole des Beaux-Arts in Paris and formed a partnership in 1897.  The same year that they took on the Henry project, they began designing the New Amsterdam Theatre with its lavish Art Nouveau interiors.  Its cutting-edge design would find its residential counterpart in the Henry mansion.

Philip S. Henry’s wife, Florine, was the daughter of millionaire banker Henry Lewisohn.  They had married in the Lewisohn mansion in April 1900.  As construction began on their new home, the couple leased No. 54 East 54^th Street; squarely within the mansion district of Rockefellers and Vanderbilts now being engulfed by commerce.  They had an infant daughter, Leonore Gladys, and a toddler, Rosalie Violet, who was two years old.

Around 6:00 on the frigid morning of January 11, 1903 Florine Henry was awakened by what she thought was the noise of “crackling tissue paper.”  When she investigated, she found the hallway on fire.  The flames had already engulfed the first floor had had traveled up the stairway to the second.

She roused her husband, who rushed to the third floor where the children and servants slept.  He ran into the nurse, Minnie Ruidge, who already had both girls in her arms.  Philip grabbed Rosalie and ordered Minnie to follow him with the baby.  Once they got them safely to the street, he rushed back into the burning building.

By now the flames and smoke were too great and he was grabbed on the staircase by Policeman Frank Buesser who pulled him back to the street.  Two other servants, Margaret Mayer and Mary Quinn had made it out and joined the children and nurse.

Philip repeatedly tried to break away from the officers, crying “My God, my wife’s inside!”

Also inside were Elberta Erickson, a maid who had just come to America from Sweden, and the cook, Ida Shaeffer.   The women desperately sought an escape route from the burning mansion.

Ida Schaeffer opened a window and climbed out onto the top of the bay window.  She tried to crawl along the ledge; but eventually could go no further.  With policemen calling to her, urging her not to jump, she clung to the ledge. 

Suddenly Elberta Erickson was seen at an open fourth floor window.  She screamed for help as she climbed out, with the flames closing in behind her.  She hung by her fingers from the window sill.

Fire trucks arrived about 6:15 and immediately began raising ladders to the two trapped servants.  But before they could reach the Swedish girl, she “fell, head foremost, and turning over several times, pitched onto the sidewalk dying,” reported The New York Times.

The cook was much more fortunate.  Ida Schaeffer was carried down a ladder by fire fighters.  She rushed over to her employer, half assuring him of Florine’s safety.  Unconvinced, Henry repeated cried “What will become of me, what will become of me?”

The Times said “Shut off from entrance, he rushed from person to person in the crowd, imploring them to help him rescue his wife, crying and wringing his hands.”

Philip Henry, along with his children and servants, were taken to the house of Alfred Lewisohn, a block away.   In the meantime, firefighters searched for Florine in the still-burning mansion.  The 24-year old woman was found around 6:30, just half an hour after she had first heard the flames.

The men “entered the library in front, from the bay window of which Ida Schaeffer had been rescued.  There on the floor with arms outstretched and not more than three feet from the window, access to which would have meant life, was the body of Mrs. Henry, clad in a night robe.  The position was such as to indicate that she had been creeping along the floor on her hands and knees trying to reach the window.”

Devastated, Philip S. Henry would never move into the mansion he was building for his family.

The house was completed in 1904.   Architects' and Builders' Magazine called it "a masterpiece of the American Craftsman" and American Architect and Architecture wrote “the whole structure is unconventional.”  And indeed it was—especially on the east side of Central Park.

There would be nothing like the Henry mansion on Fifth Avenue, nor in all of Manhattan.  The exterior was a nearly-confusing mélange of styles—Flemish Renaissance, Arts and Crafts, and Gothic Revival.  Faced in variegated brick and trimmed in limestone, Gothic openings with diamond-paned windows co-existed with bronze Arts and Crafts railings.  The brick dog-legged stoop featured a stunning wrought iron inset railing of full-figured sunflowers; an important motif of the Aesthetic Movement.  The attic floor, distinguished by diamond-pattern brick diapering, rose to a stepped Dutch gable.   Other details of the American Craftsman style were present in custom tiles,

The porch railing consisted of full-figure iron sunflowers.  American Architect and Architecture, September 10, 1913 (copyright expired)

Inside, however, there was no compromise in styles.  Herts & Tallants had brought the American Craftsman, or Arts and Crafts, style to Fifth Avenue.  The style rebelled against the overblown ornamentation of the Victorian era and embraced natural forms and handicraft.

The balusters of the entrance staircase exemplified the Arts and Crafts movement. Architectural Record June 1904 (copyright expired)

Architects’ and Builders’ Magazine found the interiors refreshing.  “The rooms all differ in motive of decoration but still blend and harmonize perfectly  The grandiose is everywhere absent and simplicity is the keynote, with the result that an air of comfort and homeliness pervades the whole residence.”

Abundant use of wood expressed the natural features of the style.  Architectural Record June 1904 (copyright expired)

The critic hoped the Henry house signaled a trend. “That such charming results can be produced in a house as yet unoccupied and only partly furnished, leads us to hope for better things and that the old attempt at Louis XIV salons in a city residence may be things of the past, superseded by the vigorous, original and constantly varying designs of the American art craftsman.”

The rooms were photographed without furniture because Philip Henry did not move in.  Architectural Record June 1904 (copyright expired)

In August 1906 Frederick Lewisohn sold the house for his brother-in-law to J. Mitchell Clark for $125,000.  The Clarks, whose Newport cottage “Gray Craig Point” was formerly owned by Oliver H. P. Belmont, would not stay long.  They resold the house at a tidy profit in 1908 to George Leary.  He paid $150,000 for the mansion; about $4 million in 2016 dollars.  In reporting the sale, The New York Times noted “the house has many unusual features.”

When George Leary purchased the house in 1908 the lots to the south were still vacant. New-York Tribune November 29, 1908 (copyright expired)

Among his other ventures, Leary was the head of the Columbia Light, Heat & Power Company.  He and his wife, the former Julia May Crofton, had two sons, George, Jr. and James D. Leary.  Their entertainments in the Fifth Avenue mansion were often and varied—the Secretary of War, Lindley Miller Garrison and his wife were often guests of honor here, the Thomas A. Edisons were frequent guests, and Julia’s devout Catholicism resulted in receptions and dinners for high-ranking church officials.  It was perhaps the demands of lavish entertaining that prompted George to hire architect James E. Brooks to add a $3,500 extension to the rear of the first floor in 1909.

The Library (above) and "Den" --Architects' and Builders' Magazine, September 1904 (copyright expired)

In February 1916 Lindley Garrison resigned as Secretary of War when his view of “preparedness” for war clashed with Wilson’s initial isolationist stance.   He and his wife were house guests of the Learys as they reorganized their personal lives.  On February 11, just one day after entering private life, journalists interviewed Garrison in the hall of the Fifth Avenue house. 

When asked if he intended to fight the President’s policies, “he became serious,” according to The Sun the following day.  “Under no conceivable set of circumstances will I campaign against Mr. Wilson either on preparedness or any other issue.  I have written and spoken my views on preparedness and those views can be found in a thousand difference places.  I shall not continue to make them vocal.”

Julia Leary’s devotion to the Catholic Church was evidenced the following year when a reproduction of the Nestorian Stone was displayed in the Metropolitan Museum of Art.  The original, erected in 781 A.D. in Shenshi, China, recorded 150 years of early Christianity in China.  Julia purchased the two-ton monolith from its owners and had it shipped to Pope Benedict XV.  The Pope, in 1919, conferred the title of Papal Countess on the benefactress.

And when the Learys hosted an afternoon tea on March 4, 1919, among the exulted guests were the Papal Envoy, Archbishop Cerretti; Apostolic Delegate to the United States, Archbishop Giovanni Bonzano; and  New York Archbishop Patrick Joseph Hayes. (Both Bonzano and Hayes would later be elevated to Cardinal.)

A narrow conservatory was located at the rear of the mansion -- Architects' and Builders' Magazine, September 1904 (copyright expired)

By now the Leary sons were grown.  James D. Leary had been serving in Belgium in the consular service at the time, and in August 1919 he was offered a post in Russian consulate office.  Julia and George lived in the Fifth Avenue house surrounded by servants. 

Things continued smoothly for the couple—as least for now.  On May 30, 1920 the New York Herald reported on the upcoming social season in fashionable Southhampton, Long Island.  “Among the new homes to be opened this year the most prominent and attractive architecturally will be the residence now nearing completion for Mr. and Mrs. George D. Leary of 1053 Fifth avenue,” it noted.

Entertaining, like the luncheon for 14 on April 20, 1922, continued on in the Fifth Avenue mansion; and newspapers reported later that year that Mr. and Mrs. Leary “passed the Christmas holidays in Cannes, France.”  But the idyllic domestic life for George and Julia was drawing to an end.

In 1911 the area was still partly undeveloped.  The Leary mansion is at far right, while the magnificent Phipps house occupies the corner of 87th Street.  photo by Wells & Co. from the collection of the New York Public Libary

The couple attended the theater in 1923 where, coincidentally, the beautiful actress was named Gilda Leary.   Later George sent her a letter, asking if they might be relatives, since both their surnames were missing the customary “O’” in O’Leary.  Gilda replied saying she thought perhaps they were, and later they discovered they had the same coat of arms.

George began visiting Gilda at her apartment.  He later denied “that he had ever had anything but proper relations with the actress.”  He would have to admit, however, that he had never mentioned the visits nor introduced her to his wife.

The relationship, whether innocent or not, was discovered by Julia and behind the doors of No. 1053 Fifth Avenue tempers flared.   New Yorkers may have gotten their first hint of trouble when, on April 20, 1927, The New York Times reported “Another costly residence on the east side changed hands yesterday.”  George Leary had sold the mansion for $200,000.

The dirty laundry was aired in June when the couple began a very public fight over the art and furniture in the Fifth Avenue house.  When George tried to empty the mansion, Julia’s lawyers stepped in.  “Mr. Leary was informed that he would have to give $40,000 bond for indemnity before he could take the goods away,” reported The Times on June 9.

Deputy Sheriffs had the contents of the house removed to a storage house until the matter could be resolved.  “Since then,” said The Times, “Mrs. Leary sought to remove the furniture without success.”  Julia insisted that the furniture and $20,000 in artwork belonged to her.  George disagreed.

The fight played out in court on November 23, 1927, during which the scandal merely intensified.  Julia blamed Gilda Leary for her domestic problems and intimated an improper affair.  George testified that Julia had threatened him with a gun.

“Did you ever pull a gun on your husband?” she was asked.

“That report is absolutely untrue.  I loved him too well,” she answered.

In the meantime, the remarkable house continued as a single family mansion through mid-century.  Next door, No. 1051 on the corner, had been erected in 1916 for Morton Plant and his young bride, Mae Caldwell Manwaring.  Now the Leary house became home to their son, Philip Plant and his wife, motion picture star Constance Bennett.

After the couple divorced in 1929, Philip remained in the house until his death in 1941.  Like a page from Great Expectations, Mae Plant locked the door on her son’s home and it sat boarded up for the next 16 years, until her death in 1956.

On January 16, 1957 Meyer Berger, writing in The New York Times, said “Dust lies on the rich furnishings to one-inch depth.  The stained-glass windows at the back have broken with time and weather.

“Pigeons have used the upper floors for years for nocturnal nesting.  The top floors are littered with dusky feathers that stir in the winds that come through the dusty panes.  Torn pictures of Miss Bennett lie on the floors and on the piano.”

Not long after, Irving Brodsky purchased the architecturally unique No. 1053 and the Plant mansion, along with the 19^th century rowhouses at Nos. 1 and 3 East 86^th Street.   Within the year the 19-floor apartment building designed by Wechsler & Schimenti was completed; ending the remarkable history of this corner of Fifth Avenue.

photo StreetEasy