The Emanuel Kaplan House - 67 East 77th Street

 

John McNerney completed construction of eight four-story-and-basement homes on East 77th Street between Park and Madison Avenues in 1877.  Designed by Thomas S. Godwin, they were three bays wide and faced in brownstone.  Godwin likely designed the row in the Italianate or neo-Grec design.

67 East 77th Street would have been similar to this house, across the street.  from the collection of the New York Public Library.

John Owen Mott and his wife, the former Caroline E. Mors, purchased 67 East 77th Street.  The couple had three young children, Augusta, Joshua Mors, and Nellie.

An attorney, Mott was born in Half Moon, New York on October 18, 1829.  After serving in the Civil War, he was elected Assistant United State District Attorney for the Southern District of New York.  

John O. Mott gained a reputation for his unbending discipline and harsh sentences.  In 1882, he charged that New York Police Captain Gunner was negligent.  The New-York Tribune explained, "The charges were that the police had allowed dirt to be dumped in the streets, in front of private residences, in violation of the city ordinances."  Gunner retaliated, telling the Police Board on June 2:

For the most of the last week the roadway in front of No. 67 East Seventy-seventh-st. was strewn with about three cart-loads of old plaster and other rubbish taken from Mr. Mott's house, while it was being repaired.  To my surprise, on visiting that house today, I found nine empty lime barrels and some old lumber in the street immediately in front of it.

In 1891, 17-year-old Joshua Mors Mott contracted "consumption"--the 19th century term for tuberculosis.  Rather than send him to a sanitarium, which were often grim, his parents opted to have him treated at home.  Three years later, on November 27, 1894, the New-York Tribune reported, "Joshua M. Mott, only son of Assistant United States District-Attorney John O. Mott, died yesterday at his home, No. 67 East Seventy-seventh-st."  His funeral was held in the parlor on the 28th.

The following year was much more positive for the family.  In 1895, John O. Mott was appointed a city magistrate, and on December 8, The New York World reported, "One of the big home weddings of the week will be that of Miss Nellie Mott and Mr. Stephen K. Watts."  The article said that the house would be "trimmed with a profusion of choice flowers and exotics" and noted, "There will be as many as five hundred guests."  On December 13, the day after the ceremony, the New-York Tribune reported it was, "followed by a large reception."

By the turn of the century, John Mott was experiencing health problems.  On June 27, 1901, The New York Times reported, "City Magistrate John O. Mott who has been ill at his home, 67 East Seventy-seventh Street, from a heart affection, was improved last evening, and it was said he would probably go to the country today."  Caroline's health, too, was failing.

On August 25, 1902, Mott did not attend court, "owing to the serious illness of his wife," according to The New York Times.  The article said, "Mrs. Mott has been ill for some time, but on Thursday night her condition took a turn for the worse, and last evening it was said at the house that she was not expected to recover."  Caroline died on August 30 at the age of 62.  The New York Times reported, "Magistrate Mott, who has been ill for some time, was reported yesterday to be much improved, and it is expected that he will be well enough to attend his wife's funeral."

Now only he and Augusta remained in the house.  Mott's continuing health problems became untenable for some of his colleagues.  On June 23, 1903, attorney Charles P. Blaney filed papers seeking Mott's removal from the bench.  They charged that he had "been for eight months past physically and mentally incapable of attending [his] duties."  Three months later, on September 25, The New York Times reported, "Magistrate Mott, who entered a sanitarium in Darien [Connecticut] several weeks ago almost a total wreck physically and mentally, has been gaining wonderfully in mental and physical vigor."  Nevertheless, the respected jurist would never leave the facility.  He died on August 11, 1905 and his body was returned to the East 77th Street house for his funeral.  

John O. Mott's estate sold 67 East 77th Street in April 1906 to Julia K. Benjamin.  In May 1908, she hired architect Charles A. Rich, whose plans called for "enlarging and partly remodelling [sic]" the house.  (The "enlarging" most likely was an addition to the rear.)  Benjamin leased the remodeled residence to attorney Dudley Davis and his wife, the former Alice M. Grosvenor."

The couple maintained a home in Newport.  While living here, their three children were born--Dudley in 1909, Rose Grosvenor in 1912, and William Grosvenor in 1914.

Emanuel Kaplan purchased 67 East 77th Street in August 1922.  A month later, on September 16, the Record & Guide reported that he had hired George and Edward Blum to "alter" the architecturally outdated house.  The architects removed the stoop and the brownstone front and gave it a neo-Colonial remake.  The centered entrance sat within the understated, limestone-faced ground floor.  The upper floors were clad in red brick and trimmed in limestone.  At the second floor, a triple arcade of French windows opened onto a faux balcony.  The third and fourth floor windows wore splayed lintels with layered keystones.  The renovations cost Kaplan the equivalent of $281,000 in 2025.

via the NYC Dept of Records & Information Services.

Kaplan's residency would be short-lived.  In May 1926 he sold it to Rembrandt Peale, Jr.  Born on July 18, 1895, Peale was the grandson of the famous artist Rembrandt Peale.  He and his wife, the former Helena Daly, had two children.  It does not appear that the family ever resided here, but leased it.  Living here in 1927 was lawyer and author Eliot Norton and his wife, the former Margaret P. Meyer.  A writer of broad interests, among his works were On Sales of Securities Through a Stock Broker and Lincoln, Lover of Men.

Adrienne Fogg purchased the house around 1941.  He sold it in 1951 to Manfred Landers who converted the basement to an apartment.  Industrialist, film producer, poet and philanthropist Hyman J. Sobiloff and his wife, Adelaide, lived in the main portion in the 1960s.  Sobiloff's first film,  the 1959 Montauk, was nominated for an Academy Award; and his second, the 1960 Central Park, was selected as a United States entry in the International Film Festival in Venice.

A colorful chapter in the history of the house began in 1981 when Morris Levy purchased it for $525,000, according to Richard Carlin's Godfather of the Music Business.  Levy was a co-founder of Roulette Records and of the Birdland jazz club.  According to the Philadelphia Inquirer on June 25, 1987, Levy eventually owned more than 90 businesses with 900 employees.

Also highly involved in Levy's businesses was gangland boss Vincent "the Chin" Gigante, head of the Genovese crime family.  Gigante lived in Greenwich Village with his wife, Olympia Grippa, whom he married in 1950.  His long-term mistress, Olympia Esposito, was listed as a vice president of Roulette Records.  (FBI agents referred to Gigante's wife as "Olympia 1" and Esposito as "Olympia 2.")  In 1982, a year after purchasing 67 East 77th Street, Levy sold it to Olympia Esposito.  The real estate records reflected that she paid  $490,000, although a later investigation by The Village Voice revealed the price was actually $16,000.

Richard Carlin writes,

After she moved in, Gigante visited the apartment secretly each night after midnight to sleep with Esposito and stage private meetings with his cohorts.  However, after discovering a small pile of plaster dust on the dining room floor, Gigante realized the house was not secure; the FBI had rented an apartment next door and had attempted to plant a bug by drilling through Esposito's ceiling.

Gigante and his wife had five children, Andrew, Salvatore, Yolanda, Roseanne and Rita; and he and Olympia Esposito had three children, Vincent, Lucia and Carmella.  

Vincent Gigante's 1960 mugshot.  via the United States Department of Justice.

Olympia Esposito died in June 1985.  Despite her death, the mobster continued to use 67 East 77th Street.  In reporting on Gigante's sanity hearings on December 29, 1989, The New York Times reported, "Detectives say he has often spent evenings in a white-brick, four-story town house at 67 East 77th Street, near Park Avenue.  City real-estate records list the owner of the building as Olympia Esposito."  

Vincent Louis Gigante was convicted of racketeering and conspiracy in 2003.  He died in the United States Medical Center for Federal Prisoners on December 19, 2005.  His and Olympia's son, Vincent, had inherited the East 77th Street house.  He sold it in 2002 to Nantasit Chitpredakon for $420,000.

Regrettably painted today, the house still has an apartment in the basement level.

photographs by the author

Latona Hall - 851 West End Avenue

 

photograph by Anthony Bellov

At the turn of last century, the mansions that lined West End Avenue were being rapidly demolished and replaced with apartment buildings.  While most developers accumulated several properties to accommodate their projects, in 1904 James H. Havens settled for just one plot--at 851 West End Avenue between 101st and 102nd Streets.  He hired the architectural firm of Neville & Bagge to design a six-story apartment building on the site.  

Completed in January 1905, the architects' Colonial Revival design was faced in beige Roman brick above a limestone base.  The double-doored entrance sat above a short stoop.  On either side were fluted pilasters that upheld an entablature that boldly announced "Latona Hall."  The scrolled design of the charming wrought iron railings on either side of the porch were reflected in the handsome, hand-wrought fire escapes above.  Splayed limestone lintels decorated the windows of the second through fifth floors.  Neville & Bagge strayed from the Colonial motif with the fussy, French-inspired terminal cornice.

photograph by Anthony Bellov

An advertisement for Latona Hall in the New York Herald on January 25, 1905 said, "Leases are now being made for these attractive five room and bath Apartments; private phone and hall service."  (Hall service referred to the uniformed hall boys on hand to help with packages, deliver mail, and execute other errands.)  Rents ranged from $38 to $43--the most expensive translating to $1,580 per month in 2025.

Among the initial residents were George Gallagher and his wife.  On the afternoon of March 18, 1905, Mrs. Gallagher left to see the matinee of The College Widow at the Garden Theatre.  On her way there, she visited a friend, who gave her a Maltese cat as a gift.  The Sun reported, "Rather than make another trip to the friend's house she took the cat to the matinee and had it checked at the cloakroom."  The attendant put the cat in a box, cutting slits on the side so it could breathe.  The Sun said flatly, "The cat didn't like it."

Following the play, Mrs. Gallagher attempted to claim her cat.  The article said, "the cover was off the box and the cat was gone."  On March 23, Mrs. Gallagher demanded the price of the lost feline.  "She says the cat is valuable," said The Sun, which continued, "If the cat doesn't come back she demands its cash value."  The reporter ended the story saying, "The cat has not come back."

Other white collar residents at the time were B. Sterling Bottome, who worked as a court stenographer; dentist Walter B. Douglas; and Mrs. Elmer Hassan, who operated a "girl's nature camp" in New Hampshire during the summer months.

The St. Nicholas Magazine, December 1907 (copyright expired)

The very respectable Dr. Walter B. Douglas was the subject of awkward press coverage in the summer of 1907.  Like hundreds of Manhattanites, on June 13, he went to Coney Island to enjoy a day at the beach.  That evening, he was dining in Feltman's restaurant on Surf Avenue when something went very wrong.  The next morning The New York Times reported that he and the head waiter of Feltman's were "both prisoners."

According to Dr. Douglas, William Kennedy "struck him."  The waiter was arrested and charged with felonious assault.  The dentist, too, was arrested, charged with disorderly conduct.  The New York Times reporter was somewhat perplexed, saying that while Kennedy, who had been charged with a felony, "was allowed to remain out of a cell."  On the other hand, "The dentist, who says the waiter struck him, and against whom was made only the charge of disorderly conduct, was locked up."

William H. and Cecilia Gilmore were married in London, England, on July 25, 1903.  Their daughter, Ruth, was born on October 19, 1906, and in 1908 the family moved to New York City and into Latona Hall.  Three years later, the Gilmores' domestic bliss crumbled.  According to Cecilia, at the beginning of 1911 William started treating her "in a cruel and inhuman manner."  On July 25, she asked him what had made him change, and he replied, "that he was tired of living with her and wanted her to give him a divorce, and that she would be 'bloody mean' if she did not."

When Cecilia asked why he wanted a divorce he would not respond, saying only "that if she did not hold her 'rotten jaw' he would hit her with the heaviest thing he could lay his hands on."  According to Cecilia, little Ruth, who was now five years old, cried, "You must not talk that way to mama."

Finally, on August 11, 1911, William told Cecilia that he was having an affair and that if she did not divorce him, "he was going to make a scandal by living under the same roof" with his mistress.  Cecilia responded by fainting "for the first time of her life," according to court papers.

The divorce was granted.  William was directed to pay Cecilia a token of $1.00 a year alimony, and $720 each year in child support.

Actress Nellie Morgan lived here at the time.  The Evening World explained that she "is employed by a moving picture concern as an actress in the film plays."  On December 14, 1912, she was on a crowded subway car that pulled into the Time Square Station.  Also in the car was undercover Detective Finn, who witnessed a man open her handbag and take out a small purse.  As passengers filed out of the car, Finn pursued the pickpocket, telling the conductor to hold the train.

When Finn caught up with the man, he was still holding Nellie Morgan's pocketbook.  "The detective brought his prisoner back to the train and found the woman," said The New York Times.  Nellie identified her pocketbook, which contained two diamond rings valued at $300.  As Finn started away with his prisoner, the man fell to his knees and "pleaded with Miss Morgan and the detective to let him go."

Nellie told Finn, "This is Christmas time, and I am willing to be lenient if you are."

Less sympathetic were the other passengers, whose train had been held up for nearly 20 minutes, already.  "The crowd insisted that the woman press the charge against the prisoner," said the newspaper.  When Finn refused to release the man, "Miss Morgan became hysterical and then fainted."  Happily for her (and the impatient passengers) there was a doctor in the car who revived her.  In the meantime, "Finn took the pocketbook, the rings, and the prisoner to the West Forty-seventh Street Station, where he was locked up, charged with grand larceny."

Two months later, Nellie Morgan was in court as a witness in Charles Winters's hearing.  On February 11, 1913, The Evening World said she, "seemed in a very sympathetic and forgiving mood and even temporized to the extent of saying she was not sure Winters had opened her handbag."  Her unusual compassion led Judge Swann to question her.  She admitted that Winter's mother, sister "and other relatives had visited her in her home at No. 851 West End avenue, and had begged her not to testify against the young man," said The Evening World.  Despite Nellie Morgan's protests, the detective's testimony convicted the purse snatcher.

Latona Hall continued to attract middle class, professional tenants.  Living here in 1925 were newlyweds Sherman and Dorothy Anne Skinker Hooker.  Dorothy graduated from Barnard College in 1915 and worked as a high school teacher.  In 1926, a Dr. Raboniwitsch moved into the building.

photograph by Anthony Bellov

Much less respectable were Harold Worthington Doman and Louis Zeno, who shared an apartment here.  In 1923, Vivian Gordon was arrested for prostitution by vice officer Andrew B. McLaughlin.  Years later, McLaughlin was investigated for corruption and was accused of "framing" Vivian Gordon.  His trial was scheduled for March 5, 1931.  Vivian Gordon would not appear in the courtroom.  Eight days before the trial, her brutalized body was discovered dumped in Van Cortland Park.

A search of her apartment discovered Vivian's diary, which revealed her involvement with gamblers, gangsters and prostitutes, prompting the New York Mirror to call her the "queen of the underworld."  The contents quickly turned attention to the Doman-Zeno apartment at 851 West End Avenue.  

The New York Sun reported on March 4, 1931, "Doman and Zeno were picked up late yesterday after an all-day search for the former...This address and the occupants were mentioned frequently in the diary."  The Albany Evening News reported that the pair "admitted they had lived at 851 West End avenue, an address described in the diary as 'a terrible place.'"

An entry on February 28, 1931 told of Vivian's visit to a girl's apartment in the Palace Hotel.  "I was nearly killed.  Went down fire escape to escape more," she said.  "I went to 851 West End.  Zeno [arrived] about 10:15 Saturday a.m.  Doctor came.  Ye gods, concussion of brain, two broken ribs, bruises from head to foot.  851 West End terrible place."  Although Doman and Zeno were held for questioning, they were not arrested.

image via the NYC Dept of Records & Information Services

The following year, Latona Hall appeared in the news for another underworld-related incident.  On February 13, 1932, The Yonkers Statesman reported on a gang slaying in Riverdale.  A suspicious car had previously been seen where the body was found, "on the cliff overlooking the Spuyten Duyvil Station of the New York Central," said the article.  "Police said the machine, which is owned by Joseph Gsainsky of 851 West End Avenue, might have been used in the shooting of a detective downtown."

The Georgiaes family lived here around mid-century.  Helen Georgiaes was 17 years old in 1957, when she met 22-year-old John Antonacci.  He telephoned her in January and sweet talked her into living with him.  The Long Island Star Journal said he lured her "from her home on a promise he would marry her when she became 18."  Helen met Antonacci in front of a Jackson Heights theater.  "They rented a room in Woodside and remained there for 21 days," said the article.

Back at Latona Hall, Helen's father, Sonofronios Georgiaes, "took a dim view of the proceeding and ordered Antonacci...arrested on abduction charges."  The lothario was arraigned on February 24.

photograph by Anthony Bellov

Latona Hall is little changed after 120 years.  Even its graceful, hand-wrought stoop railings have survived intact.

many thanks to historian Anthony Bellov for suggesting this post

John C. Watson's "The Avenue" -- 239-253 East 5th Street

 

photograph via David Mulkins

Real estate developer Isaac Sohnger completed construction of the six-story, brick-faced apartment building at the northwest corner of Second Avenue and East 5th Street in 1910.  Designed by John C. Watson, its residential entrance opened onto East Fifth Street.  Five stores, two on the side street and three on the avenue, lined the ground floor.  Called The Avenue, the Colonial Revival design of its mid-section featured stone quoins at the corners, and splayed limestone lintels with scrolled keystones.  The exception to the latter were the wider, tripartite windows on both elevations which wore stepped lintels.  In keeping with the Colonial motif, the upper sashes of the double-hung windows contained nine panes.  The openings of the top section were separated by blank stone panels.  Atop the deeply overhanging, bracketed cornice was a handsome stone balustrade.

Among the initial residents was 30-year-old Samuel Shor, who left early each morning to work in Brooklyn.  But his profession was much different from most residents.  During rush hour on May 8, 1911, he caught the attention of Detective Evans on the Brooklyn side of the Williamsburg Bridge where throngs were attempting to board streetcars to Manhattan.  The Brooklyn Eagle explained, "The police of the bridge station have received so many complaints of pickpockets operating during the morning and evening rush hours...that there is always a detective there."

As Evans watched, Shor jostled among the crowds "in the scramble for a car, elbowing people right and left, but he never got on," said the newspaper.  After 15 cars left without Shor making "an honest attempt to board one," Evans approached him.  Samuel Shor bolted.  Someone in the crowd cried, "pickpocket!" and, according to The Brooklyn Eagle, "the 3,000 persons on the plaza forgot they were waiting for cars, and joined the chase."  Happily for Shor, Detective Evans got to him first.  

At the station house, police recognized him as a man recently arrested for loitering around a streetcar stop without attempting to board.  Shor's profession was highly profitable.  He astonished police "by displaying several bank books, in which he was credited with a total of $30,000 in deposits," said the article.  (The figure would top $1 million in 2025 terms.)

The rooftop balustrade is evident in this 1934 photograph by P. L. Sperr.  (He noted, "The building on the N.W. corner is an old apartment house called 'The Avenue.'")  from the collection of the New York Public Library

Among Shor's neighbors in the building were Rosie Fischer and her 18-year-old daughter Paula.  The teen worked as a stenographer in a Hungarian bank on Second Avenue.  She caught the eye of Alexander Baehr, described by the New York Herald as the "son of a wealthy, retired merchant of Budapest, Hungary," and noted that he had one glass eye.  He arrived in America in 1910 and he, too, worked in the bank as a stenographer.

Despite their age difference (Baehr was 30), the two became engaged and the wedding was set for autumn in 1911.  In preparation, Baehr wrote to his father for money.  The New York Herald said on September 28, 1911, "Two weeks ago an answer came, but he appeared disappointed in the check which he received."  On the evening of September 16--one week before the wedding day--Baehr visited the Fischer apartment.  Disturbingly, he told Paula of his "burning his other eye with a cigarette the previous night," and said "if he should ever become totally blind he would take his life."

Paula and Rosie walked Baehr home.  Paula later told reporters that "she and her mother tried to get him to take a less gloomier view of what they thought was a slight injury."  He left his rooming house the next morning but never arrived at the bank.  On September 28, the New York Herald said, "Since that time he has not been heard from."  All of his personal effects were still in his room.  Police were notified and a search of the hospitals was made, but no trace of him could be found.

Then, on October 7, Paula received a telegram from San Francisco.  It read, "Do you want me to come back?"  Paula responded with what was, perhaps, a rare example of Edwardian feminine independence.  "As there was no explanation of his mysterious disappearance in the despatch [sic] Miss Fisher [sic] returned a negative answer," reported the New York Herald.  Rosie added, "My daughter considered her engagement with Mr. Baehr ended when he left her without explanation...We have no desire to receive any further communication from him."

The Margolies family lived in The Avenue in 1917.  Their son, Samuel, who was 16 years old, was a member of the Junior Police Department.  On March 5, 1917, he and schoolmate Edward Hirsch were riding home from school on the subway when, according to The New York Times, Samuel watched as a man "sidled mysteriously up to Edward and whispered mysteriously into his ear and then mysteriously shuffled away."  When the man left the car, Edward told Samuel, "He told me not to ride in the subway on Tuesday, for they are going to blow it up."

That night, Samuel told his father about the incident.  His father "hustled him around to the East Fifth street station," said the newspaper, "where he repeated his story."  Before long, Edward was in the station house as well, corroborating the facts.  It sparked a massive hunt within the subway system the following day, with police "looking sharply at every person who carried a bundle."  The New York Times said the search was ended at midnight confident that any "bomb plotters" had given up their "dastardly deed," as worded by the article.

In 1921, two of the Second Avenue stores were occupied by a Lofts candy shop and Isaac Rosenthal's men's clothing shop.  Lofts would remain for decades.  Sharing the avenue side in 1941 were I. Thaller's jewelry shop and the ABC's dairy store.  Four decades later, in 1981, The Last Word, a greeting card, stationery and gift store; and the Binibon Café operated from two of the spaces.

image via the NYC Dept of Records & Information Services.

On July 19, 1981, Jack Henry Abbott had breakfast at the Binibon Café.  Throughout his life he had been convicted for murder and other felonious crimes and had recently been released from prison.  (Interestingly, while incarcerated in 1978 he formed a close relationship with author Norman Mailer, who was researching his The Executioner's Song.)  

Richard Adan, who was 22 years old, worked in the cafe.  That morning, Abbott asked him where the restroom was.  According to Eric Ferrara in his A Guide to Gangsters, Murderers and Weirdos of New York City's Lower East Side, "Unfortunately for Adan, the Binibon either did not have a restroom or it was under construction."  It was not the answer Abbot was looking for.  He pulled out a knife and fatally stabbed Adan multiple times.  According to Ferrara, Abbot "was spotted and caught a few weeks later while hiding out in Louisiana."

By 1985, the Prometheus Theater occupied one of the East 5th Street spaces, and in October 1987, Tri Video opened in the other.  As early as 1989, the name of that shop was changed to Finyl Vinyl.  Writing in The New York Times on March 29, 1991, Eric Asimov quoted Finyl Vinyl's owner Rob Cohen saying, "Vinyl's in my blood," noting, "And vinyl's about all you will find in his store."

The commercial spaces have been home to a variety of restaurants and shops throughout the succeeding decades.  Through it all, other than the loss of the rooftop balustrade, the building retains its 1910 appearance, including the handsome entranceway and (rather astoundingly) most of the nine-paned sashes.

many thanks to historian Anthony Bellov for suggesting this post.

The 1910 R. Tassi & Sons Garage - 45-47 Downing Street

 

Automobiles were changing the streets of New York City in the first years of the 20th century, but only the wealthy could afford them.  Then, in 1908, Henry Ford introduced the Model T, priced for the middle class at $825 (about $29,000 in 2025).  By 1910, there were approximately 400,000 motorcars in America.  Joseph Tassi recognized the need of a "car stable" in Greenwich Village.

On May 26, 1910, Tassi purchased the one-story frame building at 45 Bedford Street and the vacant lot next door at No. 47 for $16,000.  He hired architect George Provot to design a three-story garage on the site.  His plans, filed on August 30, set the construction cost at $30,000; bringing Tassi's total outlay to $1.57 million in today's terms.

Something delayed the project and in 1915, when the garage was finally completed, the architect of record was Eugene De Rosa.  Which architect is responsible for the design--or if it was a combination of both--is unclear.

The completed building was an industrial take on the Colonial Revival style.  The two broad automobile bays and pedestrian entrances were flanked with paneled cast iron piers.  The upper floors were faced in running-bond brick.  The grouped, multi-paned openings sat within a shallow recess (one-brick deep) capped with a faux lintel of brick with a terra cotta keystone.  The frieze of the pressed metal cornice read: "Tassi Garage."

The Downing Stables next door marked the old and new means of transportation. When this photo was taken in 1941, the garage was the Downing Street Garage. via the NYC Dept of Records & Information Services.

Joseph Tassi was born about 1886 to Raffaelle and Marianna Tassi.  In 1919, title to the property was transferred to Raffaelle.  When the garage opened, the business was listed as R. Tassi Sons.  

As had been the case with livery stables, which assisted patrons with selling their horses or carriages, the R. Tassi Sons garage advertised for their clients.  An advertisement in The New York Evening Telegram on March 16, 1915, for instance, read, "Ford taxicab for sale cheap; passed inspection; sell on account need the money.  R. Tassi Sons, 45 Downing st."  And on June 21, 1919, a notice in the New York Herald offered, "Pierce Arrow raceabout body, good condition.  Apply Tassi's Garage, 45 Downing st."

In 1924, the Tassi family leased the property to the Downing Garage Co., which operated the garage through 1940.  It was then occupied as a warehouse and garage by Express Service, Inc.

Raffaelle Tassi died on April 23, 1934 at the age of 76, leaving an estate of $85,173 (just under $2 million today).  Included in his assets was, of course, 45 Downing Street, valued at $30,000.  The family retained possession of the property until 1971.

The new owners initiated a significant renovation in 1971, transforming the garage to a single-family home.  A dramatic ad in The New York Times on November 30, 1979 read:

Unique singular townhouse.  Presently occupied by Royalty.  Must dispose of immediately & willing to give away at an unbelievably incredibly low sacrifice of $100,000.  Only one of its kind in NYC.  Must be seen to be believed.

(Who the "royalty" was who reportedly occupied the former garage is unclear.)  The new owner converted the lower two floors to an event venue.  In her column in the N.Y. Amsterdam News on July 9, 1988, Cathy Connors reported, "Wall St.'s upper strata descended from ivoried citadels of power/money/influence to a SoHo [sic] hot spot, 45 Downing St.  Senator John Glenn and Geraldine Ferraro hosted this pricey reception tagged from four to five figures or more to be admitted."

And on August 19, 1990, The New York Times reported on the wedding of Sandra M. Wall and Christopher J. Walton "at 45 Downing Street, a Manhattan caterer."

By 1995, the venue was known as the Alger Mansion.  On May 14 that year, The New York Times reported, "The Dessoff Choirs will celebrate 70 years of musical performances at a benefit in the Alger Mansion, 45 Downing Street."  Interestingly, not every event was a happy one.  On January 1, 2002, The Times reported on the memorial service for artist Peter Fraenkel, at "Downing St. Mansion, 45 Downing Street."

Although the Department of Buildings still describes the property as a "one family residence," the lower floors continue to house an event venue now known as 45 Downing.  Its website describes a "spacious ballroom and beautiful garden room with fireplace."  And other than the sympathetic remodeling of the ground floor bays, the Tassi Garage is essentially unchanged.

photographs by the author

The John Langdon Erving House - 62 East 80th Street

 

John Langdon Erving was 38 years old when he was "very quietly" married to Alice H. Rutherford on November 4, 1904.  The wedding had originally been planned to take place in Newport, The New York Times predicting that it would be "the leading social event of the season."  But the death of Alice's mother, Emma Hanchett Rutherford Crocker, on July 26, 1904, changed things.  The understated ceremony was held in the mansion of the bride's step-father at 1 East 64th Street.

Erving had an illustrious pedigree.  On his father's side was John Erving, who was born in 1692, settled in Boston and made a fortune in that city.  His mother, Cornelia Paterson Van Rensselaer, came from one of the oldest and most prestigious families in New York.  A businessman, Erving was perhaps better known to New Yorkers for his connections to Dr. Charles H. Parkhurst's civic reforms.  

A year after his marriage, on November 11, 1905, the Record & Guide reported that J. Langdon Erving had purchased  the "4-story high stoop dwelling" at 62 East 80th Street for $50,000 (the price would translate to about $1.84 million in 2025).  The article said, "Mr. Erving will alter the house this spring to a white stone American basement dwelling."

Built in 1883 by Terence Farley and designed by Thom & Wilson, the brownstone-fronted house was architecturally outdated.  Erving hired the architectural firm of Albro & Lindeberg to bring it into the Edwardian Era.  Their plans, filed in March 1906, would result in what was essentially a new, five-story residence.  The "extensive alterations," as described in the plans, would cost the Ervings $16,000 (about $576,000 today).

Albro & Lindeberg removed the brownstone front and stoop, and pulled the facade forward to the property line.  The Colonial Revival design was faced in rough (or "common"), variegated brick above a limestone base.  French windows at the second floor, or piano nobile, sat below stone tympana inset with veined stone rondels.  The openings of the third and fourth floors were grouped, and the fifth story took the form of a dormered mansard behind a stone balustrade.

American Architect and Building News, May 6, 1908 (copyright expired)

In an article titled "The Passing of the Brownstone Front" in the April 1910 issue of The International Studio mentioned,

One method of giving the servants direct access from the kitchen to the street by independent passage is to cut off part of the space from the entrance hall and provide a narrow corridor on the same level, as has been done in the case of the house for Mr. Erving.

Servants entered into a long passageway that circumvented the family area.  The International Studio, April 1910 (copyright expired)

Albro & Lindeberg's Colonial motif was carried into the interiors.  The Ervings enhanced the early American design with antiques and high-end reproductions.

The Ervings' entrance hall (above) and drawing room reflected the home's Colonial Revival architecture.  The American Architect and Building News, May 6, 1908 (copyright expired)

Somewhat surprisingly, J. Langdon and Alice Erving did not enjoy their new home for especially long.  In 1912, they relocated to Santa Barbara, California.  Perhaps anticipating that they would eventually return, they retained possession of the East 80th Street house.

The couple leased it to Ethel Kingsland in March 1912.  Born in 1886, Ethel was the great-niece of Caroline Schermerhorn Astor.  The Kingsland family arrived in America in the 17th century.  Ethel's father, railroad tycoon George Lovett Kingsland, died when she was six years old.  Her mother, the former Helen Schermerhorn Welles, died in the family's mansion at 62 Fifth Avenue on February 14, 1911.  

Propriety required that the 26-year-old unmarried woman did not live alone.  Her bachelor brother, George L. Kingsland, Jr., initially moved into the house with her.  The arrangement would change three years later.

On June 19, 1915, Ethel's sister, Helen Schermerhorn Kingsland Morris, announced Ethel's engagement to Dr. Walter P. Anderton.  The prospective groom graduated from Harvard in 1908 and then from the College of Physicians and Surgeons.  The wedding took place in the East 80th Street house just five days later.  The Sun reported, "It was a simple wedding and there were present about twenty relatives and intimate friends."  Saying that after the newlyweds' honeymoon "automobile trip of several weeks," they would live at 62 East 80th Street.

Presumably with the permission of their landlords, in April 1916, Ethel and Walter Anderton hired architect S. Edson Gage to make $15,000 worth of interior alterations to the house.  But, then again, perhaps the Ervings had not permitted the alterations.  Just three months later, on July 22, 1916, The New York Times reported, "Mrs. J. Langdon Erving [leased] the four-story [sic] dwelling at 62 East Eightieth Street to W. C. Breed."

William Constable Breed was born in 1870.  A member of the law firm Breed, Abbott & Morgan, he married Eugenie Stiles in 1896.  They had two sons, William, Jr., who was 12 when they moved in; and Alan Ryder, who was six.  (Two other children had died in infancy.)  The couple's summer home was in Brookhaven, Long Island.

William Constable Breed's portrait was painted by David Berney.  (private collection)

While Eugenie busied herself with social activities (she was a member of the Daughters of Indiana, for instance), William was highly involved in civic affairs.  When America entered World War I, he became chairman of the Greater New York's American Red Cross Second War Fund drive, and chairman of the Red Cross Disaster Relief Committee for Greater New York.  

On July 13, 1921, the Long Island Daily Press reported, "A drive will be made at the anti-Hyland conferences...to name William Constable Breed, a Manhattan lawyer, for the Republican Mayoralty designation."  The article noted that in addition to his various other positions, he was "president of the Merchants' Association of New York."  (As it turned out, Breed was not nominated.)

After renting their home for a decade, the Ervings sold 62 East 80th Street in July 1922 to Joaquin Enrique Zanetti for $80,000 (about $1.5 million today).  Born in the Dominican Republic on January 20, 1885, Zanetti graduated from Harvard College magna cum laude in 1906 and received his Ph.D. in chemistry from Harvard University in 1909.  

During World War I, Zanetti served in the Chemical Warfare Service, attaining a rank of lieutenant colonel.  Following the war, he served as a Chemical Officer in the army reserves and was a consulting expert on chemical warfare for the League of Nations.

Joaquin Enrique Zanetti, via home.army.mil 

When the family moved in, Zanetti was an associate professor at Columbia University.  (He would become a full professor in 1929.)  

He and his wife had at least one son, Enrique Carlos.  His engagement to George Pearson was announced on May 8, 1933.  (The bride-to-be shared her unusual first name with her father.)

By the late 1930s, 62 East 80th Street was home to science writer Walter Seager Sullivan, Jr. and his wife, Mary.  Sullivan was the science editor of The New York Times, which said:

His reports stretched the minds of newspaper readers, as he told of the marvels of the restless earth and violent universe and the audacity of the people trying to understand them.

The Sullivans were followed by the family of Walter Neale, here by the early 1950s.   The residence was sold in 1954 to A. K. Rubin.

Still a single-family home, 62 East 80th Street externally is little changed since the newly wedded Ervings transformed the outdated brownstone.

photographs by the author

C. P. H. Gilbert's 1890 Romantic Trio at 456-460 West 152nd Street

 

Gilbert cleverly designed the three entrances without upsetting symmetry.  photo by Mark Satlof.

On September 6, 1890, the Record & Guide reported, "On the south side of 152d street...east of 10th avenue, the three-story and basement dwellings are nearing completion, from plans of C. P. H. Gilbert.  They are ready for the trimwork, and are being built by J. H. McKenney."  The esteemed architect had filed the plans six months earlier, projecting the construction costs of each house at $9,834 (about $340,000 in 2024).

Gilbert disguised the three residences as a single structure.  The homogenous design was a surprising and successful blending of Romanesque Revival and Colonial Revival styles.  Faced in yellow brick and trimmed in brownstone, the former style exhibited in the rough cut voussoirs of the five-part arcade at the parlor level, the faceted bay and rounded tower on the end homes, and the romantic third floor's arched openings, charming dormers and conical cap.  The Colonial was most evident in the second floor with the delicate fanlight over the central grouping and spider web leading of the oval windows.

The project was personal for real estate developer James H. McKenney.  He had purchased the vacant property on November 28, 1881 and immediately transferred the title to his wife, Sarah A. McKenney.  The couple's plan was to occupy the easternmost house, No. 456, with their daughter, Susan, and to lease the others as rental income.  

Construction was completed before the end of 1890.  Each of the residences had 10 rooms and "1 bath and 2 toilets," according to an advertisement.  The still somewhat rural district was reflected in an advertisement for 460 West 152nd Street in 1891:  

The handsome three-story and basement brick residence; hardwood finish; sanitary plumbing; fruit trees.

As the neighborhood developed, the city struggled to keep pace with services.  On March 31, 1891, for instance, the New York Herald reported, "Residents of Washington Heights and Carmansville wish to have transportation facilities accorded them throughout the night," adding, "They do not look upon the running of the cable cars on Amsterdam avenue all night in the light of a luxury, but as a necessity."  Among the residents interviewed was James H. McKenney.  He said, "houses were standing vacant on account of the poor night service given by the cable road."  The article noted, "Night after night he had been compelled to walk from 125th and 145th streets, having missed the last car."

James H. McKenney died shortly after that interview.  Then, on February 8, 1894, Sarah A. McKenney died.  Her funeral, as her husband's had been, was held in the parlor on February 11.

After living alone for years at 456 West 152nd Street, on November 11, 1900 The New York Times reported that Susan, "daughter of the late James McKenney, long a well-known resident of Washington Heights, was quietly married on October 22."  She and Bostonian Frederick Sylvester Coburn had married in Port Jervis, New York.  The article noted, "Mr. and Mrs. Coburn will be at home at 456 West One Hundred and Fifty-second Street."

At the time of the wedding, Susan's tenants at 458 West 152nd Street were Daniel Van Wagenen, a ship chandler, and his family.  

The initial occupants of No. 460 had been Reverend E. Spruille Burford and his second wife, the former Josephine Finley Hynson.  (His first wife, Rosa Petite, died in 1873.)  The house was convenient to his work.  Burford was the rector of the Church of the Intercession at 158th Street and Broadway.  While Spruille was attending a funeral in Indianapolis in March 1894, a carbuncle developed on his neck.  Back at home, it worsened to blood poison and he died at the age of 54 on April 15.

 photo by Mark Satlof

Attorney John Baldwin Hand next occupied 460 West 152nd Street.  Born on February 28, 1856 in Canada, he married Elizabeth A. Sheppard in 1885.  The couple had two sons, Richard Bertram and John, Jr.  In addition to his law practice, Hand, Sr. was involved in the Washington Heights Savings and Loan Association. 

In May 1911, Susan McKenney sold all three properties at auction.  No. 456 became home to Angus P. Thorne, the Superintendent of Dependent Adults of the Charities Department.  In 1916, as war was raging in Europe, Angus, Jr. was deployed to the Plattsburgh Military Training Camp in Plattsburgh, New York.

George E. Hill purchased 458 West 152nd Street at the 1911 auction.  He and his wife, Margaret Marie, had a son, George F.  Like his next door neighbor, George F. Hill was inducted into the Army.  His address was still listed with his parents in 1923 when he held the rank of captain.

In July 1929, George E. Hill was promoted to the position of chief mechanical engineer of the Bronx Terminal Market.  His civil service job would bring welcome security when the stock market crashed later that year.  His raise brought his salary to $7,500--equal to about $133,000 a year today.

Less upstanding was Edith Stevens who occupied 456 West 152nd Street in 1922.  The 19-year-old, according to the Brooklyn Times Union, "is also known as Stevenson, nee Schneider, and whose true name is said to be Mrs. Hirsh."  On August 26, 1922, she was arrested as the conspirator of Anthony Cassese, "millionaire tobacco merchant of Ozone Park, owner of a fleet of alleged rum-running vessels, and Joseph Bartolin, his chauffeur, charged with conspiracy of smuggling liquor into this country."  The Long Island newspaper, The Daily Review, headlined an article, "Woman 'Pal' Of Bootlegger Under Arrest."

By the third quarter of the 20th century, the former McKenney house held the Wilson Major Morris Community Center.  The facility provided help to local residents.  On June 23, 1989, for instance, Newsday reported, "State Sen. David Patterson will speak on 'Budget Cuts/Freeze Efforts on Senior Citizens.'"  

At the turn of the century, at least one of the residences was tottering on dereliction.   In 2002, 460 West 152nd Street was vacant and shuttered.

All three were renovated within the decade.  In 2008, 460 West 152nd Street was remodeled to a duplex on the first and second floors with one apartment on the third.  Two years later, 456 West 152nd Street was converted to the identical configuration; and 458 West 152nd Street was remodeled in 2010 to a basement apartment and a single family home on the upper floors.

 photo by Mark Satlof

C. P. H. Gilbert's especially eye-catching trio of 1890 residences have happily survived greatly intact.

thanks to reader Mark Satlof for prompting this post