The 1911 Riverside Mansions Apts. - 410 Riverside Drive

image via apartments.com

In 1888, the mansion of George Noakes was erected at the northeast corner of Riverside Drive and 113th Street.  The lavish private homes facing Riverside Park were being replaced by luxury apartment buildings by the first years of the 20th century, however, and on January 1, 1910, just 22 years after the Noakes family moved into their mansion, the Real Estate Record & Guide reported, "The Einsworth Construction Co. will soon begin work on the new 12-story elevator apartment house on the north corner of Riverside drive and 113th st."  The article noted that construction, "is estimated to cost $750,000."  The figure would translate to $25.5 million in 2026.

Two months later, on March 6, the New York Herald said The Riverside Mansions building "will be ready for occupancy, according to the builders, next October."  Interestingly, the article explained that of the 35 apartments, 14 would be cooperative.  They would be priced from $16,000 to $20,000, or approximately $545,000 to $680,000 today.  The remaining 21 apartments would be rentals.

Architects Neville & Bagge designed the 13-story-and-attic structure in the Chateauesque style.  The three-story base was clad in undressed granite.  The seven-story midsection, which sat between scalloped intermediate cornices, was clad in beige Roman brick.  Stone-and-iron balconies at the fourth, sixth and eleventh floors sat on corbel tables that matched the intermediate cornices.  Neville & Bagge embellished the top floor and attic with Loire Valley inspired gables and crockets and a steep mansard.

The World's New York Apartment House Album, 1910 (copyright expired)

There were three apartments per floor with either eight or nine rooms with three baths.  The well-heeled residents would enjoy "uniformed hall and elevator service day and night," according to The World's New York Apartment House Album, and there were a "separate entrance and elevator for service."

The irregular footprint presented the architects a challenge in laying out the apartments.  The World's New York Apartment House Album, 1910 (copyright expired)

Among the initial residents were the families of Henry Field, Edward A. Mays, Hugo Schweitzer, and Harry McDonald.  The Mays' and McDonalds' apartments were on the ground floor and only months after moving in that caused a problem.

On the evening of February 25, 1911, Edward A. Mays and his wife were hosting a dinner party.  The guests' coats and purses were placed in a bedroom.  While the group was at dinner, a burglar entered a window in that room.  He fled with a $300 fur overcoat and a silver toilet set.  The New York Times reported, "The thief overlooked a wallet containing $1,500 in cash, which was in one of the bureau drawers."

About the time that Mays and his guests discovered the theft, Harry McDonald arrived home.  His wife and daughter had been out all afternoon.  He told a reporter from The New York Times, "his apartment had been stripped."  Among the items stolen were "$600 worth of clothing, silverware, and decorations."

Henry and Mary Fields had two daughters, Rosalynd and Sylvia.  All the residents of The Riverside Mansions employed at least one servant and the Fields family employed 23-year-old Lydia Johnson, whom they said had "long been a faithful employee."  On August 31, 1911, The Evening World said, "For several days the servant had been acting queerly."  But the family "decided to humor her and kept her at her usual duties."

In fact, Lydia Johnson was having a mental breakdown.  On the afternoon of August 30, when Mary Field entered the kitchen, Lydia attacked her.  Mary screamed and her 18-year-old daughter, Rosalynd, rushed in.  "She pulled her mother from the servant's grasp, blocked several wild rushes and succeeded in getting Mrs. Fields into the hallway," reported The Evening World.  Then Rosalynd grappled with Lydia until she could get safely into the hallway and slammed the door.

The women's loud commotion had attracted "two painters at work in the building, two bellboys, two expressmen and the superintendent."  Policeman Best also ran into the building and "all made a rush for the raving negress," as worded by the article.  Lydia Johnson had been worked up into a frenzy, and she took Best's night stick from him and tore his uniform.  The painters came to Johnson's aid, but "the combined strength of the three was no match for that of the woman."  She was overpowered only when all eight men "made a concerted rush and dragged her to the floor."

Lydia Johnson was placed in an improvised straitjacket and taken to J. Hood Wright Hospital.  The day after the incident, The Evening World reported that Mary Fields, "is under the care of a physician to-day from the shock."

More typical of events within The Riverside Mansions were glittering dinner parties, teas and receptions.  On the evening of September 6, 1912, for instance, Dr. and Mrs. Hugo Schweitzer hosted a dinner "for forty, in honor of the official delegates of Germany, France, and Great Britain," as reported by The New York Times.  (The men were attending the Eighth International Congress of Applied Chemistry.)  

Dr. Hugo Schweitzer was born in Pitschen, Silesia in 1861 and came to America around 1885.  He married Adela Hammerslough in 1892 and the couple had one son, Edward Stephen.  Hugo Schweitzer studied chemistry in four German universities and was a member of the Society for Chemical Industry, the American Chemical Society, Engineers' Club of Boston, Cosmos Club of Washington and was president of the Chemists' Club of New York.

The international harmony seen at the Schweitzer's dinner table that September evening in 1912 was about to be shattered world-wide.  Following the outbreak of world war in 1914 and several years before America became involved, Schweitzer ardently sided with Germany.  He was a delegate of the German-American Alliance meeting in Utica in 1915, and that autumn announced that he would publish "a New-York daily newspaper of pro-German proclivities, to be used in propaganda," according to The Evening Post.

Dr. Schweitzer died of pneumonia in the apartment on December 22, 1917 at the age of 56.  In reporting his death, The Evening Post commented that in the early days of the war he "had been the centre of much attention because of his pro-German sympathies."

In the meantime, the Fields family appeared in society columns.  On June 22, 1914, for instance, The New York Times announced that Mary and Rosalynd "who sailed on the Vaterland last Tuesday, are to visit Germany, France, Switzerland, Italy, and Holland."  The article added, "Mr. Fields, who is a brother of Lew Fields, with his youngest daughter, Miss Sylvia Fields, will join his family abroad in August."

The following year, on October 21, 1915, Mary and Henry announced the engagements of both of their daughters.  More surprising was that the sisters would be marrying brothers.  The New York Times reported that Rosalynd and Sylvia were engaged to Meyer and Jacques Ginsberg, respectively.

On January 21, 1916, the newspaper reported on Rosalynd's and Meyer's wedding in The Riverside Mansions apartment.  The article said the newlyweds left for their honeymoon, "but will return on Sunday to act as attendants at the wedding of Miss Sylvia Fields and Jacques Ginsberg."

In the meantime, the family of Farron S. Betts occupied an apartment here.  He was the president of F. L. Schafuss Co., maker of greeting cards and postcards.  Living with the family was Betts' widowed mother-in-law, Alma E. Byxbee.  

When Betts sailed to Europe on business in July 1914, he took along his chauffeur, Ernst Theodor Edward Fischer.  The young man was the son of Brigadier General Carl Heinz Fischer of the German Army.  They were in England when war was declared and Fischer "was promptly taken into custody by agents of the British Secret Service," reported The New York Times.  He was held in prison for several weeks before Betts could get him released.  The article said the chauffeur pledged, "not to try to get back to Germany, but to return to the United States."  Betts and Fischer returned to New York.  However, like Hugo Schweitzer, the chauffeur "admits that he is anxious for the kaiser to win," reported The New York Times.

Nine months after the Fields sisters' weddings, on October 19, 1916 Jenesse Alma Betts was married to Ernst Theodor Eduard Fischer.  Alma E. Byxbee died in the Betts apartment at the age of 89 on February 18, 1918.  Her funeral was held in the parlor the following afternoon.

Once America entered World War I, Ernst Fischer's outspoken favoritism to the German cause could not be ignored.   On July 4, 1918, The New York Times reported that he had been arrested by agents of the Department of Justice.  Although he had not committed a crime, the Department said his family "is one of the best known fighting families in Germany."  Ernst Fischer was imprisoned as an enemy alien, "for the period of the war," said the article.

A war of a different type was playing out in the apartment of Edwin Clifford and Louise McCullough.  McCullough was the head of E. C. McCullough & Co., which imported cigars and tobacco from the Philippines.  He had a personal fortune of $2 million according to Louise (or about $23.7 million today).  Louise was, according to the New York Herald, "a musician of ability and a linguist, speaking German, French and Spanish, as well as English."

Clifford met Louise at her dancing school when she was 15 years old and he was 25.  They eloped on April 23, 1893 and had a son and daughter.  According to Louise, their marriage was happy until McCullough "began to tell her of his affairs with other women, wives of his social and business friends."  When he began coming home early in the morning three or four days at week, according to Louise, he said "he was entitled to live his life in his own way."

On June 27, 1920, Louise, her 15-year-old daughter, also named Louise, and a cousin, Edwin Elser, were riding in the McCullough's large touring car in Westchester County, driven by their chauffeur, Pietro Holanda.  The teen badgered her mother to allow her to drive and finally, after luncheon, she let Louise get behind the wheel.  The girl slammed the car into a tree on Pelham Parkway.  The crash killed the young driver and severely injured her mother and the other occupants.

Ten days after the accident, Louise was back home, incapacitated with two broken legs and other injuries.  Edwin walked out, telling her that she "could communicate with his stenographer."  He took their son with him.

The following year, on March 26, 1921, Louise began separation proceedings, charging Edwin with abandonment and "poisoning her son's mind" against her.  Edwin denied the charges, saying that his wife was "temperamental."  Louise was awarded alimony the following year.

On Christmas Eve 1921, Farron S. Betts was in his automobile in the Bronx (driven by his new chauffeur).  The New York Herald reported that Betts "felt a bump in the West Drive, and getting out to investigate found an unconscious man."  The victim was Edward McConnell, who lived at 54 West 98th Street.  Betts and his chauffeur lifted him into the automobile and took him to Reconstruction Hospital, "where it was said he had a fractured skull."  Both Betts and his driver insisted that they had not originally struck McCullough, but merely ran over him.

At the time, rents at 410 Riverside Drive ranged from $3,100 and $3,500 a year--equal to $4,000 to $4,500 per month today.

Among the residents during the Depression years were prominent attorney and railroad man Walter J. Bartnett and his wife, the former Frances G. Vaux.  Married in 1895, they had three daughters, one of whom, Joanne, who was unmarried, lived with them.  Born in California, Bartnett received his law degree from Hastings College of Law in 1890.  

Walter J. Bartnett in his younger years.  from the collection of the Western Pacific Railroad.

He organized the Western Pacific Railroad Company in 1903 and became its first president.  He organized the Central California Traction Company and built an interurban system between Sacramento and Stockton, California.  He was, as well, a founder of the World Federation League.

In 1941, the roof cresting had been removed.  Cast iron sconces with milk glass globes still illuminated the entrance area and the balconies were intact.  via the NYC Dept of Records & Information Services.

An interesting resident at the time was Dr. Raphael Constantin, who lived here with his wife, Florence M.  Born in Armenia, Constantin received his medical degree in 1893 from the University of Edinburgh.  He came to America in 1902 and turned his focus from medicine to industry.  He became the president of the Obelisk Waterproofing Company, which waterproofed structures like the obelisk in Central Park, St. Paul's Chapel, and the Soldiers and Sailors Monument in Riverside Park.  He was also highly involved in Armenian-American affairs and was president of the Armenia-American Society and the Constantinople Armenian Relief Society.

Millionaire Ida M. Valentine was a resident in the second half of the century.  Never married, like many wealthy employers, she developed a close connection with her loyal servants.  Upon her death on July 28, 1962, she bequeathed the bulk of her large estate to three charitable institutions.  But she did not forget her chauffeur of 23 years, Louis Reale.  Mr. Reale, who lived on West 191st Street, received "a tax-free bequest of $200,000," according to The New York Times, as well as "jewelry and personal property."  The cash inheritance would equal $2 million today.

image via streeteasy.com

By the mid-1980s, Columbia University had acquired 410 Riverside Drive as apartments for "postdocs, faculty and staff."  In 1999 the school restored the upper portion of the building, including the eye-catching gables.  Nina Siegal, writing in The New York Times on November 21, 1999, said, "The structure had needed repairs badly, and instead of just patching it up, the university hired a respected preservation firm, Wiss, Janney, Elstner Associates."  The architects used extant details to copy missing ornaments "and restore the roof to its original grandeur," according to Siegal.  It may have been during this renovation that the balconies were removed.

The Lost City Prison "The Tombs" 101 Centre Street

 

from the collection of the Library of Congress

In 1838 the gray granite Halls of Justice and House of Detention was completed.  Designed by John Lloyd Stephens, the massive Egyptian Revival prison and courts complex was modeled after a monumental Egyptian tomb.  Facing Centre Street, the building engulfed the block back to Elm Street (Lafayette Street today), and from Franklin to Leonard Streets.  The ancient, brooding appearance of the structure gave it the nickname, The Tombs.

The New York Times deemed The Tombs "the finest specimen of purely Egyptian architecture to be found in the United States."  from the collection of the New York Public Library

On March 7, 1897 The New York Times reported, "Arrangements for the erection of a new City Prison to take the place of the Tombs are fast nearing completion.  Plans and specifications have already been drawn, and are merely waiting to be approved before the contracts for the building are given out' and the historic structure so closely associated with New York Criminal annals will soon sink into oblivion."  

On one hand the journalist lamented the coming loss of an architectural treasure, but on the other accepted the pragmatism of the decision.  The Tombs, said the article, "is inadequate to meet the demands of the criminals of the city.  It was built for a prison and not for architectural interest, and in consequence it must be torn down."

Withers & Dickson's design drew from French 16th century architecture, melded with Gothic and Renaissance elements.  from the collection of the New York Public Library

Construction on the replacement structure would take five years.  The city had approved the Chateauesque style plans of the architectural firm of Withers & Dickson in 1896.  But, said the New-York Tribune on July 15, 1900, "when Tammany last came into power it desired to have the spending of the appropriation in its own hands, and so appointed Mr. [Richard] Croker's favorite grandstand builders, Horgan & Slattery, to supersede Withers & Dickson."

The writer explained, "so the consequence is that the building is like a ship with two captains, each with different ideas of what should be done, each giving orders that contradict the other's, the usurping architects pulling down and altering the work of the original architects, and thus prolonging the job and vastly increasing the expense."

Withers & Dickson's plans projected costs at $460,000.  The New-York Tribune averred that after Horgan & Slattery became involved, "it was seen that about $500,000 more would be needed, and this was appropriated in 1898."  Now, in 1900, "a third appropriation of $350,000 has been demanded."

The new City Prison rises on Centre Street while on Elm Street (i.e., Lafayette Street) the remnants of the old Tombs still stand.  original source unknown.

In September 1902 architect Frederick Clarke Withers described the nearly-completed structure saying, "The building is a prison, and there has been no attempt to conceal the fact by giving it the appearance of something else.  No one who sees it will have any doubt as to the character of the structure.  But it is a modern prison, and the men who go to it from the place where they are now confined will appreciate its superiority."

The prison held 320 cells arranged in two four-tier corridors.  The New-York Tribune reported on the improved conditions.  "The cells are large, and the walls are light in color.  The prisoner can walk erect through the massive doorway of a new cell, and need not stoop, as he must now to enter a City Prison cell."  Each cell had a cot, a hinged, table, a wash basin and toilet, and a single light bulb.  Prisoners were required to take two baths per week either in the shower at the end of the corridors, or in the "plunge bath."  Criminals just arriving were often filthy or ridden with fleas or lice.  The article said "the newcomers are compelled to undergo the process of scrubbing" in the plunge bath.

A typical cell.  New-York Tribune, September 28, 1902 (copyright expired)

The administrative section of the building held counsels' offices, hospital cells, a "search room," and "roomy and well arranged offices."  There were also a library on the third floor, a Protestant chapel on the fourth, and a Catholic chapel on the fifth.  On the roof was an exercise space.  But despite the modern amenities, the new building inherited the old nickname, The Tombs.

Thomas W. Hynes, the Commissioner of Correction, had modern ideas about incarceration, especially concerning young prisoners.  He initiated programs aimed at rehabilitation rather than mere imprisonment.  On January 28, 1903, soon after the new facility opened, the New-York Tribune reported that he "expected within a week or two to open a school for the boys temporarily confined in the City Prison."

Because the Board of Education could not spare a teacher for the prison, Hynes had requested an appropriation for the hiring of one.  He explained that among the 40 young prisoners between the ages of 26 and 21, "Some of them are appallingly ignorant."  But, he stressed, "Many of these boys are naturally bright, but they are absolutely unlettered."  He felt that a "faithful teacher" would be able to "drive the rudiments of learning into some of their minds during their temporary detention."

By the end of the year David Willard had the title of "principal of the school in the Tombs."  A journalist who visited the schoolroom "where the prisoners sat on wooden benches" in December that year wrote:

One would hardly realize that every member of the class was charged with crime.  The majority looked more dirty than wicked.  Many seemed to have just tumbled out of bed and had not bothered even to wash their faces nor brush their hair.  And yet on either side of one frowsy looking lad sat two prisoners who had been bank clerks.  Their clothes fitted well.  their linen was clean, and one wore a stickpin, which the frowsy headed lad squinted at with a grin.

The boys had good reason to behave and learn.  David Willard's assessment of the prisoners--good or bad--was taken into account when the possibility of their release neared.

Prisoners were taken from The Tombs to the Criminal Courts Building (right) across Franklin Street on the elevated "The Bridge of Sighs."

Less than a decade after the model prison had opened, there were troubles.  On November 17, 1911 The Evening World began an article saying, "Some relief is promised from the scandalous overcrowding of the Tombs."  The current Commissioner of Corrections, Patrick H. Whitney, assured "I'm doing my best to remedy the overcrowding," while admitting, "There are two prisoners in each cell in the Tombs...but every prisoner should be alone as the law requires."

Two years later nothing had been done.  In 1913 a well-spoken prisoner, Julian Hawthorne, wrote a detailed description of his time here.  He said in part:

It is a unique place, a devil's ante-chamber, where almost anything except what is decent and orderly may happen.  It is not so much a prison or penitentiary as a human pound, where every variety of waif and stray turns up and sojourns for a while; murderers, pickpockets, political scapegoats, confidence men, old professionals, first time offenders, even suspects afterward to be proved innocent.

Despite the challenges, the Department of Corrections continued to focus on rehabilitating youthful offenders.  On February 26, 1928 The New York Times reported on the work of the Committee on Boys in the City Prison of the Public Education Association.  It said that of the 2,290 boys incarcerated in The Tombs in 1927, 916 had been "advised and aided" by the group.  "Many of these boys, who had reached only the border land of crime, are now leading useful lives," said the article.  The Committee on Boys investigated the prisoners' background and focused on "cases where abnormal home conditions or unemployment, rather than inherent viciousness, seem to be responsible for the boy's plight."

In the meantime, proposals to correct the overcrowding continued.  In 1930 the State Commission of Corrections "condemned the practice of confining more than one prisoner in a cell in the Tombs and declared that New York City should lose no time in correcting conditions there," according to The New York Times on February 22.  There were 419 cells and 669 prisoners at the time.  The Commission urged the construction of a supplementary uptown jail.

Still nothing had happened four years later when, on June 17, 1934, The New York Times reported, "If Mayor LaGuardia has his way, the gray, dingy Tombs, or City Prison, and its dull-red neighbor, the Criminal Courts Building, will be torn down to make room for a skyscraper combining the functions of both."  The article mentioned, "The Tombs prison...is connected with the Criminal Courts Building by the Bridge of Sighs over Franklin Street."

While the debate went on, the fact that the prisoners in the overcrowded facility were, in fact, not mere statistics but human beings was illustrated by a heart-rending incident on August 7, 1934.  A patrol wagon containing five prisoners pulled up to the Lafayette Street entrance that afternoon.  The driver had been, most likely, unaware that a dog had been trotting alongside the vehicle.  The New York Times reported, "The prisoners filed into the entrance, under the watchful supervision of two policemen."  The dog, described by the newspaper as "mostly black, two-thirds chow, one third spaniel," scurried up, looking for his owner.

"The dog tried to follow the last prisoner, but the policemen, who could think of no reason why such a bright-eyed, scrappy little dog should be jailed, interfered."  Locked out of the jail, the dog refused to budge, instead it sat by the doors and continuing "its mournful plaint."

An attorney took charge of the dog, taking her to the New York Women's League for Animals.  The group agreed to hold her until her owner's release.  "Pending the claim, the league said, the dog would be called Nancy, after the lady in 'Oliver Twist,'" said The New York Times.

Finally, after more than 25 years of debate, in January 1937 Mayor Fiorello La Guardia sent a bill to Albany requesting $15 million to erect and equip a replacement for the City Prison and the Criminal Courts Building.  Construction of the massive Criminal Courts Building and Men's House of Detention, designed by Wiley Corbett and Charles B. Meyers, at 100 Centre Street, directly across the street from The Tombs, began in 1938.

The new Criminal Courts complex looms behind the still standing old Criminal Courts Building (left) and The Tombs in 1941.  The New York Times, June 29, 1941

Today an urban oasis, the Collect Pond Park, occupies the site of The Tombs.

photo via nycgovparks.org

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Faded Glory -- Nos. 6 and 8 West 87th Street

Little is known of the partnership of Norman & Farber, now essentially forgotten.    What is certain is that they handled every step of the speculative real estate operation other than construction--from purchasing the plot, developing the site, designing the structure, and acting as their own agents. 

In 1897 the firm purchased four vacant building lots on West 87^th Street, just off Central Park, stretching from No. 2 through 8.  The Real Estate Record & Builders’ Guide vaguely noted that Norman & Farber “will improve” the plots.   Shortly afterward, on July 1, Engineering News reported that the firm would erect four four-story “brick dwellings” at a cost  of $97,000.

Completed the following year, the residences were actually five stories tall, including the full-height mansard roof levels.  Norman & Farber had turned to the Francis I Revival style, sometimes called Chateauesque.   Taking inspiration from the 15^th and early 16^th century estates of France’s Loire Valley, the style was most evident in America in Richard Morris Hunt’s lavish Vanderbilt palaces—like Biltmore in Asheville, North Carolina.   The 87^th Street houses would be a bit more scaled down.

Norman & Farber placed the houses on limestone bases.  Designed in the “American basement” plan, their entrances were just a few steps above the sidewalk.  The service entrances to the basements were nestled below the porch.  Above, three stories of buff brick featured restrained stone decoration; while the mansard levels exploded with decorated dormers—those at No. 6 framed in carved stone and at No. 8 in copper.  Stepped gables separated the rooftops.  Now lost, Nos. 2 and 4 were most likely mirror images, the group designed in an A-B B-A pattern; although with no photographs other documentation, we can only speculate.

Rather fearsome horned figures holding shields project from the cornice of No. 6.

Norman & Farber had taken out a substantial mortgage on the project from Nathan Mayer; and so when Horatio Page purchased No. 6 in August 1898 for $52,000 the partners were no doubt elated.  The amount Page paid would amount to a little more than $1.5 million in 2016.

                                 .

Page was just 29 years old when he purchased No. 6.  The successful advertising agent and his wife had barely settled into their new home when he was called to serve on the jury of the sensational William A. E. Moore case.  Moore, who had just been appointed by President McKinley as U.S. Consul to Durban, South Africa, was married to Fayne Moore, the daughter of the Chief Justice of the Supreme Court of Oregon.   The couple was arrested on November 6, 1898 on charges of extortion and blackmail.

An intricate, openwork carved frieze of vines is matched in smaller scale as a border around the bay and upper openings at No. 8.

In the meantime, the other three houses sat unsold.   A year later, Nathan Mayer began foreclosure action against Norman & Farber.  On October 26, 1899 the homes were sold in foreclosure; Mayer purchasing Nos. 2 and 8 for $30,000 and $36,000 respectively.  T. J. O’Connor purchased No. 4 for an equally bargain price of $34,250.

Mayer resold No. 8 to James H. Peterson.  It was sold and resold several times until Mrs. C. G. Shepard purchased it around 1901 as an investment property.  She leased it as a private home to well-heeled tenants.

In the meantime, Joseph and Frances Hein purchased No. 6 in 1902.  The couple had nine grown children: Louis, Harry, Theodore, Isa, Charles, Jessie, Ernst, Hyman, and Leonora.  Jessie, who was still unmarried, lived with her parents.

As was the case with many well-to-do but not overly-wealthy families; Joseph Hein was apparently sometimes left at home to attend to business while the female family members sailed off to Europe or summer resorts. 

On May 17, 1908 The New York Times reported on the popular German “watering places” among Americans.  The article noted that Berlin was used by Americans as “a half-way station” to resorts like Weisbaden, Carlsbad, Marienbad, and Baden Baden.  “Berlin’s American season is in full blast, and the steamers arriving at Hamburg and Bremen are bringing scores of transatlantic visitors,” remarked the newspaper.  “Among the week’s arrivals at the leading hotels were…Mrs. Frances Hein [and] Jessie Hein.”

On February 25, 1910, Joseph L. Hein died at the age of 68.   His funeral was held in the 87^th Street house two days later.   Frances stayed on in the house.  

Leonora was married to wealthy auctioneer Benjamin S. Wise.  They had lived at No. 19 West 125^th Street for years; but around the time of Joseph’s death had moved closer to Frances at No. 315 Central Park West.  On January 12, 1913 the Wises announced the engagement of their daughter to Gustav Frank.  The New York Times noted “A reception will be given in their home some time in the near future.”  Instead, the reception was held in Frances’s house on Sunday, February 16.  It would be one of the rare elaborate entertainments in the Hein house.

Frances Hein died at the age of 74 on December 6, 1921, after nearly two decades at No. 6 West 87^th Street.  Unlike her husband’s, her funeral was not held in the house, but at Synagogue B’nai Jeshurun on West 88^th Street.

The house next door at No. 8 had seen several residents come and go by now.  In 1907 L. M. Mooney leased it from Mrs. C. G. Shepard.  Mooney, active in the American-Irish Historical Society, lived here for several years.  By 1912 it was home to Norman W. Dodge and his wife.  Dodge was the son of William Earle Dodge, known as a “merchant prince” of Wall Street, and the brother of Anson Phelps Green Dodge.

Twelve years later the Dodges were gone and William Steiner and his family lived at No. 8.  Steiner was the captain of waiters at the Ritz-Carlton Hotel and his position required that he take good care of the hotel’s upscale patrons.  And so when well-dressed gentlemen visited the Roof Garden a few times in the summer of 1924 he secretly let them know he could supply them with champagne for “$20 a quart.”

Unfortunately for Steiner, the seemingly classy gentlemen were Federal Prohibition agents.  On the evening of July 11 agents raided the Ritz-Carlton Roof Garden.  The New York Times reported “The sudden appearance of the agents caused excitement among the 400 diners, many of whom objected to the action of the agents as they went from table to table in search of forbidden drinks.

According to the agents, many of the diners tipped over their glasses and spilled the evidence and others drank the evidence they were seeking.  While the search was in progress the orchestra played ‘What’ll We Do?’”

Arrested waiters, still wearing their evening clothes, were marched through the hotel.  William Steiner was not on duty that evening, but an arrest summons was left behind for him.

The former Hein house was being leased, still as an upscale private home, at the time.  One tenant was internationally known. 

When Julia Gertrude Lyle married British lawyer and speaker Alexander Samuel in 1916, the newlyweds compromised on their married names.  They each took the surname Lyle-Samuel.   Julia had raised social eyebrows in 1910 when she married former Lord & Taylor partner John S. Lyle.  The young nurse had been hired to take care of the feeble man.   When they shocked his family by marrying, he was 92 years old.  One month after changing his will, giving the bulk of his estate to Julia, he died at the age of 94 in 1912.  She inherited a reported $5 million.

Far wealthier than her new husband, Julia financed Alexander’s campaign for election to Parliament.  He served five years in the House of Commons.  Although living in England, she continued to conduct a fresh air farm for poor children at her Tenafly, New Jersey estate.

On March 17, 1930 Julia received a Reno divorce from her husband, claiming cruelty.  Newspapers said “She will resume her former name, and will make Reno her permanent home.”

But instead, two years later, Julia leased No. 6 West 87^th Street from Mrs. H. Short.  The New York Times noted that she “intends to occupy.”  Not only did she occupy the house, she soon purchased it.   She remained here until her death at the age of 62 on December 11, 1939.  Three decades had not fogged social memory and in reporting her death The New York Times reminded readers that her “marriage twenty-nine years ago precipitated a sensation in Northern New Jersey.”

Julia Lyle’s estate maintained the house as a private home, leasing it until 1946.  That year the house was sold and a year later was converted to apartments, with a doctor’s office on the first floor.

No. 8 also managed to survive as a single family home—at least on paper—for the first half of the century.  In actuality, by 1938 it was being operated as an unofficial rooming house.  That year its owners received a “multiple dwelling violation” from the Department of Buildings. 

Far different from the Dodge or Mooney families who had lived in the house early in the century, 50-year old Enrique Sauzet had an apartment in No. 8 in 1953.  He was better known by his alias, Henry the Butcher.  In April 1953 he and three cohorts were arrested by Federal Narcotics agents after a six-month investigation.  The men were said to be “members of a huge narcotics ring that sold $250,000 worth of pure heroin in the last six months.”

The men were held in $25,000 bail each; the agents saying that they had about 175 pounds of heroin—worth more than $100 million—among them.

Despite their rather unkind treatment throughout the rest of the century and into the 21^st; the two surviving houses of Norman & Farber’s 1898 row maintain their imperious architectural personalities—two dowagers in faded finery.

photographs by the author