The 1903 W. M. Evarts and U. S. Senate - 231 and 235 Second Avenue

 

Largely forgotten today, William Maxwell Evarts was born in Boston in 1818.  He graduated from Yale University in 1837 and from Harvard Law School in 1839.  In 1849 he became Assistant U. S. Attorney, and in 1868 became United States Attorney General.  He would add U.S. Secretary of State and U.S. Senator from New York to his resume before retiring from public service.  He and his wife lived in a refined brick and brownstone mansion at 231 Second Avenue at the northwest corner of East 14th Street.

The Second Empire style Evarts mansion was separated from a similar house facing Stuyvesant Square by a common garden.  from the collection of the New-York Historical Society

On March 1, 1901, The New York Times began an extensive article by reporting, "William Maxwell Evarts, lawyer and statesman, died yesterday morning at his home 231 Second Avenue, corner of Fourteenth Street."

At the time of Evarts's death, his neighborhood was changing.  Mansions on East 14th Street were being razed for commercial buildings, and those on the avenue were rapidly being replaced by apartment or institutional buildings.  Real estate developers Feller & Sherafsky razed the Evarts mansion and hired the architectural firm of Sass & Smallheiser to replace it with two apartment buildings.  As a nod to the esteemed statesman, they would be called the E. M. Evarts and the U.S. Senate.

The six-story, Beaux Arts style structures were completed in 1903 at a cost of $100,000, or about $3.57 million by 2024 terms.  Sitting upon a rusticated limestone base were five floors of dark red brick.  Two porticos with polished granite columns protected the entrances; their entablatures carved with each building's name.  Interestingly, the W. M. Evarts portico had single columns, while the slightly larger U. S. Senate's had paired columns.  The buildings' midsections were dominated by triple-height limestone arches, each crowned with shields and swags.

"W. M. Evarts" and "U.S. Senate" are engraved in the entablatures of  the porticos.  photos by Beyond My Ken.

Both buildings offered apartments of five or six rooms with a bath.  An advertisement in The New York Times on July 26, 1904 boasted, "near Stuyvesant Park; most beautiful location down town; all modern improvements; hall attendants."  (Uniformed hall boys were on duty to carry packages and help with minor errands.)  Rents ranged from $38 to $65--about $2,290 per month for the more expensive apartments.

The W. M. Evarts and U. S. Senate filled with well-heeled, professional tenants.  Among the earliest were Harvey W. Watterson and his wife, the former Alice Burrows.   Born in Louisville, Kentucky in 1878, Watterson was a graduate of Dartmouth College and Columbia University Law School.  He was admitted to the bar in 1902 and in 1904 he and Alice were married.  A junior member of the law firm of Wing, Russell & Watterson, his social and financial positions were reflected in his memberships to the Manhattan Club, the Southern Society and the Kentuckian Society.

Harvey W. Watterson.  New-York Tribune, November 12, 1908 (copyright expired)

Around 5:30 on the afternoon of November 11, 1908, the Watterson maid answered their door.  Harvey was expected home around this time, but it was, instead, the wife of a close friend.  She had been telephoned by Thomas E. Wing, the senior member of the law firm, who asked her to break the news of Harvey Watterson's death to Alice as gently as possible.

At 4:45, Watterson was going over papers with a colleague when he looked at his watch and said, "Well, I must be going home."  The 30-year-old rushed to his private office, put on his overcoat, then noticed an open window.  The New-York Tribune reported, "It is believed Mr. Watterson reached up to pull down the window, tripped over the radiator in his hurry, and plunged headforemost to his death."  His estate, valued at over $1 million in today's money, went to Alice "until she shall die or marry again," as reported by the New-York Tribune.

Anna Snider, a widow, lived in the W. M. Evarts with her teenaged daughter, Mabel in 1914.  For several months, Joseph Zucker "wooed" Mabel, according to The Evening World.  The newspaper described her as a "pretty sixteen-year-old."  Her suitor was 24.  The Evening World explained, "When Mabel took Zucker to her house, Mrs. Snider looked him over and decided right then and there he wasn't the man to marry her daughter."

Anna later told Magistrate Appleton in the Centre Street Court, "I didn't like his looks and told him to make himself scarce."  Although Mabel cried, she promised her mother she would not see Zucker.  Not surprisingly, Anna discovered the two were meeting secretly and went into private investigator mode.  She went to Police Headquarters and discovered he had spent time in prison.

Anna told her daughter, who reacted by becoming angry and insisting the two were in love.  On March 13, 1915, the couple sneaked off to City Hall and were married.  But the tenacious and protective Anna Snider was undeterred.  She had Zucker arrested for abduction, The Evening World explaining, "it being a felony in this State to marry a girl under the age of eighteen years without first obtaining the consent of her guardian."  

In court on March 15, Zucker's prior convictions "as a disorderly person and pickpocket" were revealed.  This  new information was too much for Anna to endure.  The Evening World said, "When Mrs. Snider heard of it she promptly fainted."  Zucker was sent to the Tombs and, as reported by The Evening World, "Mabel cried a bit and then went home with her mother."

The 14th Street side of 231 Second Avenue was lined with stores, one of which was the Dreyfus Drugstore.  On December 6, 1922, The Evening World reported, "Burglars have robbed Druggist Dreyfus of No. 231 Second Avenue twelve times."  Rather sarcastically the article added, "Apparently it's a habit."

More than two decades after being repeatedly robbed, the Dreyfus Drugstore advertised in the Yiddish language The Day on February 11, 1945.

The U. S. Senate was the scene of a tragedy in the summer of 1926.  On August 18, the Brooklyn Daily Eagle reported, "In view of thousands of persons, Hyman Zuckerman, 30, a laundry owner, of 1381 Eastern Parkway, leaped from the roof of a six-story building at 235 2d ave., Manhattan, shortly after 10 o'clock this morning and was impaled on a six-foot picket fence."  (The cast iron fence had to be cut with acetylene torches to extricate the body.)

The article continued, "A tragic scene was enacted a few minutes later when Mrs. Elsie Zuckerman, wife of the laundryman, with her 11-month-old daughter, Marion, drove up in a taxicab in search of her husband.  The cab was forced to stop because of the crowd, and she saw her husband's body on the fence.  She swooned."  Why Zuckerman chose this building for his suicide is unknown.

A fascinating resident of 235 Second Avenue was Dr. Leon M. Pisculli.  A gynecologist, he was the founder and director of the American Nurses' Aviation Service, Inc.  In August 1932, the 53-year-old organized a 4,000 mile, non-stop flight from Floyd Bennett Field on Long Island to Rome, Italy.  Pisculli recruited 31-year-old William Ulbrich, "a veteran barnstorming pilot," according to the New York Evening Post, and Edna Newcomer, a 28-year-old student nurse.  She was one of two trained female nurses in the United States with a pilot's license.

Edna Newcomer and Dr. Pisculli in the monoplane The American Nurse prior to takeoff.  from the collection of the Smithsonian Air and Space Museum.

The Morning Call said they expected their trip in the monoplane to take 25 hours.  It left Floyd Bennett Field shortly after 6 a.m. on September 13.  At 5:50 p.m. it was sighted by the tanker Winnebago in the mid-Atlantic.  That was the last anyone saw of The American Nurse and no trace of it or its crew was ever found.

Living here in the early 1980s were Andrea Rita Dworkin and John Stoltenberg.  (The couple would marry in 1998 because of Dworkin's ill health, despite Stoltenberg's being gay.)  Dworkin was a radical feminist writer and activist, and Stoltenberg was an editor, author, lecturer, playwright, theater critic.  Over his career he would edit Essence, Lear's, Working Woman, and AARP: The Magazine.  

Surprisingly, after more than 120 years the two porticoes have survived.  The W. M. Evarts and the U.S. Senate are the sole reminders that a once-revered statesman once lived on this corner.

photographs by the author

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The George Halladay House - 309 East 14th Street

 

Hard to imagine today, 14th Street was lined with elegant brownstone homes in the first half of the 19th century.  Among them was the 21-foot-wide, four-story home at 157 East 14th Street (renumbered 309 in 1868).  Typical of the Italianate houses rising throughout the city, it boasted floor-to-ceiling parlor windows, molded architrave frames around the elliptically-arched windows, and a cast metal cornice.

In the mid-1850's it was being operated as a boarding house by the widow Elizabeth Edwards.  She had seven boarders, four of whom were tailors, two were in the shoe business, and another, Abraham Maybee, was a builder.  They lived in comfortable surroundings, as noted when an auction of the furnishings was held on April 28, 1866.  Among the items sold were "all the handsome rosewood, walnut and mahogany" furniture.

The house was purchased by wealthy milliner George Hallady and his wife Margaret.  The couple had four daughters, Jeanette, Margaret, Emma B. and Louise S.

In January 1879, Hallady was stopped on the street by his next door neighbor, who asked what had happened in his house, "because from a loud sound he had heard a day or two before he thought the plaster on a ceiling had fallen with a crash to the floor," reported The Sun.  Hallady gave little more thought to it until two weeks later, when, during a rain storm, water began to run down through the house.  An investigation revealed that the scuttle--the hatch-like cover that gave access to the roof--had been forced off and was lying on the roof.  That sound of the heavy scuttle crashing to the metal roof was no doubt what the neighbor had heard.

The scuttle was repaired, and securely bolted.  A week later, on January 29, Halladay left "his handsome brown stone house" at 10:20, according to the New York Herald, leaving Margaret, the girls and a female servant at home.  Margaret was startled by what the newspaper called "a loud crash, almost as sharp as a pistol shot."  The servant had heard the noise, and ran into the rear yard thinking something had fallen.  No one, however, could find the cause and the matter was eventually disregarded.

Dinner was served at noon and afterward, according to The Sun, "one of the girls sat down at a piano and practiced music for an hour.  When she had finished her hour she went up stairs to her room in the third story, but immediately came running down to tell her mother that she had found some sealskin sacques and silk dresses belonging to herself and her sisters laid out upon the floor of her room, and other articles strewn about."  As she headed downstairs, she had heard a hushed man's voice from the fourth floor.

Margaret ran up the stairs saying loudly, "Here come the police!  Open the door and let them in!"  Her ruse worked and the thieves fled up the ladder to the scuttle and out onto the roof.  In the meantime, the servant had, indeed, rushed out to find a policeman.

Unbelievably, while the women had been having lunch, the burglars had brazenly raided the third floor bedrooms.  They carried two large trunks to the fourth floor where they broke them open--one of them causing the pistol-like bang heard earlier.  They had managed to make off with jewelry.  From the trunks they stole "about $450 worth of jewelry, consisting of rings, chains, and gold medals belonging to a young man, a friend of the family...A valuable gold ring belonging to one of the Misses Halliday [sic] was taken from her room in the third story."  The New York Herald reported, "Miss Halladay's apartment had been turned topsy turvy."  The value of the jewelry taken from the trunks would equal about $12,000 today.

Margaret's quick thinking might have prevented further loss.   The Sun wrote, "She thinks they knew that there were none but women in the house, and that if she had not prudently shouted her order to let in the police, as if the robbers' presence had been discovered some tie previously, they would have overpowered her daughters and herself and ransacked the whole house."  On the second floor were the silver and other valuables "worth $3,000 or $4,000."

Even more disturbing was that the police found the scuttle had not been forced open, as before.  This time the bolts had been removed from inside, meaning that one of the thieves had entered the house by the parlor or basement door and sneaked upstairs unseen by the women, then let his accomplices on the roof in.  The Sun said, "Mr. Halliday's [sic] silverware and jewelry, not in daily use, are now stored with a safe deposit company."

Jeanette would be the only daughter to marry, and oddly enough, her marriage to a Mr. Prentice was not reported in the society columns.  She is not listed with the Halladay family in the 14th Street house in 1880, suggesting the ceremony took place not long after the robbery.  With unused space in the house, the Halladay's took in a boarder.  An advertisement on August 28, 1888 in the New York Herald offered, "Rooms to rent in house of owner, with homelike board."

East 14th Street was changing at the time, however.  The Bowery entertainment district was inching ever closer and the Halladays' affluent neighbors were moving northward one-by-one.  By the late-1890's the Halladays, too, moved on, while retaining possession of the property.

Louis Dauffalder and his wife, Ida, leased the house from the Halladays and ran a boarding house.  Their tenants covered a wide range of backgrounds.   Two of the boarders in 1899 could not have been more different.  A respected attorney, Richard H. Smith was a junior assistant counsel within the city's Law Department.  Little Mabel Hazelton had a sketchier if much more colorful story.

She was the illegitimate daughter of married actor and burlesque promoter Sam T Jack, the owner of Sam T. Jack's Theatre on Broadway.  He apparently provided her financial support.  Jack died on April 27, 1899 and his bizarre will gave a measure of security to Mabel, while not giving her a cent of his fortune.

In his will he directed his brother James to marry his widow, Emma, that they "shall become husband and wife."  Things only got more bizarre.  On June 2, 1899, The Morning Telegraph explained that in the document:

...it is related that living among his heirs is an illegitimate child, Mabel Hazelton, the nine-year-old daughter of an actress, residing at No. 309 East Fourteenth street, for whom no provision is made in the testament.  It is stated, however, that shortly Jack's death he told his brother of the existence of the girl and asked that when he died he take the child and bring her up as one of his own children.

Among the boarders in 1904 were the Gray and the Hartmann families.  Jacob Hartmann and his wife, Mary, and four children, Margaret (who went by Margery), Clara, Jacob Jr., and Mary.  On the morning of Wednesday, June 15, 1904 13-year-old George Gray and two friends joined the members of St. Mark's Evangelical Lutheran Church at 323 East 6th Street near 2nd Avenue on their 17th annual summer outing.  Also attending were Mary, Margery, and Clara Hartmann.

For $350 the church group had chartered the 235-foot steam sidewheeler The General Slocum for a day trip up the East River and across the Long Island Sound to a picnic grove on Long Island.   Later George Gray would recount, "The boat was just passing out of Hell Gate and going toward an island, when I smelled fire.  I said to Otto and Albert, 'Hey, boys, there's a fire,' and we jumped up on a seat and tried to pull down some life-preservers."

The preservers would not help.  Most fell apart in the passengers' hands, the canvas fabric having rotted after years of exposure to the elements.  The cork filling in the rest of the life vests had granulated over time, so when mothers  laced their children into the vests and tossed them overboard, they watched in utter horror as the cork absorbed the water and pulled their children under.  Within 15 minutes the General Slocum was burned to the waterline and of the 1,300 people on board, only 321 survived.

Mary Hartmann and her daughters jumped into the river.  Clara later said, "But the moment we got into the water we had to let go of each other to do what we could for ourselves.  Seeming Mamma and Margery struggling nearby, I tried to save them, for they were struggling awfully.  Then a lot of swimmers got around us and we were separated.  I heard Margery say again 'God save us' then she gave a gasp and sank out of sight.  Mamma I didn't see after that."

Clara's body was pulled from the river and taken to a make-shift morgue.  She later recalled,

I heard men tramping on the floor and felt that I was lying on something hard and that my head was covered.  Then there was talk about taking the dead people away and I remembered the fire and the people drowning all around me.  I thought that I was still in the water too.  My stomach got sick--I had swallowed a whole bunch of salty water.  Then it began to gush out of my mouth, and a woman said, 'this little girl ain't dead' and she called 'Doctor! Doctor!' just like that.  They pulled the cover off of my head, and I began to feet much better and the air came to me.

Sadly, Clara's mother and sister did not survive.  George Gray, who was 13 years old, was saved by a tugboat.  He told a reporter, "I jumped onto the boat, and then a whole crowd of people jumped on top of me.  Half of them that jumped on the boat fell into the water between the tug and the steamer."  His young friends, Albert Greenwald and Otto Hands, both perished.

A month later Captain John McAllister of the tugboat Director was presented a gold medal studded with diamonds by the people whose lives he had saved.  Thinking that he was attending a birthday party at the Pilot Social Club, he was totally surprised.  The Brooklyn Daily Eagle reported that George Gray "made the presentation speech and in behalf of the survivors expressed their gratitude to Captain McAllister for saving their lives."

The house continued as a boarding house, with many of its residents being entertainers, like Frank and Pauline Berry, who formed Berry & Berry a "comedy musical duo."  They lived here in 1904.

After having owned the property for half a century, the Hallaway women sold 309 East 14th Street in September 1922.  Harry Wandermann paid $18,000--about $278,000 in today's money.  The neighborhood in which the Halladay girls had grown up was now p0pulated greatly by Italian immigrants.  Wandermann installed a store in the basement level, run by Guiseppe Scalia.

The roomers were less respectable by now.  In 1926 Pietro Stella was convicted of practicing medicine without a license.  In July of the previous year his uncle, Dr. Guiseppe Stella, had gone to Europe and Pietro stepped in to handle his patients.  Among them was Mrs. Rosina Loforte, who came in to have her left eye treated.  Stella told her the treatment would cost $350 and he accepted $50 on account.  It went horribly wrong and, as reported in The New York Medical Week, "Subsequently the eye was removed at one of the city hospitals."

Another roomer, Guiseppi Giordano, was arrested on September 2 that year.  The Newburgh News said he "is known as 'the sheik of Fourteenth Street' and lives up to his sobriquet by wearing sideburns and slicking back his glossy black hair."  He was at a dance hall on 14th Street and Third Avenue when police arrested him for "robbing the apartment of Reginald Sturges, a lawyer, of 12 West Fifty-fifth street."  The article explained that while Giordano "spends his evenings in dance halls," by day he was employed by the Victory Window Cleaning Company.  While washing windows, Giordano was able to enter apartments and steal jewelry.

Rose Ferron lived here in in 1931.  The New York Sun said she was "known as 'Princess Rajah' in vaudeville."  Ferron operated a fortune telling studio at 218 East 14th Street where she hired seers.  Undercover detective Margaret Brennan went there on December 10, 1931 and paid $1 to have her fortune told by Florence de Quatto.  "Using tea leaves as her medium, Miss de Quatto did the actual forecasting, said the policewoman, and Miss Ferron collected the money."  Both women were arrested for fortune telling.

The once-proud residence was remodeled in 1938.  The stoop was removed, the entrance lowered to the basement level, and the molded frames of the openings shaved flat.  

A tax photograph from 1940 shows the architectural vandalism of 1938.  via the NYC Dept of Records & Information Services

The Halladay house would be renovated two more times.  In 1978 it was converted to furnished rooms above the ground level floor.  Then, a restoration-renovation completed in 2017 resulted in one apartment each on the former parlor and second floors, and a duplex apartment on the top two.  Amazingly, the sympathetic remodeling included the refabricating of the molded window surrounds, and the installation of a period appropriate lintel above the entrance.

photographs by the author

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The 1881 Engine Company 5 - 340 East 14th Street

 

photo by Beyond My Ken

With the establishment of the Metropolitan Fire Department in 1865, New York City's network of volunteer companies was abolished.  Engine Company 5 was established on September 25 that year, and moved into the existing volunteer fire station at 340 East 14th Street, between First and Second Avenues.   It had been built about three years earlier.   The new company had a single engine and tender, build by the Amoskeag Manufacturing Company, and a team of spirited horses to draw them.

The volunteer fire fighters, or laddies, had had a reputation as a boisterous, rowdy group.  Organizing a professional department did immediately change old habits.  On July 20, 1870, The New York Times reported.  "Patrick Farrell, of No. 192 First-avenue, who was shot [on July 18] by Wm. Hamilton, a member of Fire Engine Company No. 5 in Fourteenth-street, died yesterday at his residence of the wounds so received."   Firefighter Hamilton had gotten into an argument with Farrell and a man named William Callaghan "about a picnic," that culminating in the gunfire.  On his deathbed, Farrell said he had been shot "without provocation."  Hamilton insisted it was self-defense.

On October 2, 1879 the Fire Department notified the Board of Estimate and Apportionment of the need for a new house for Engine Company No. 5.  It said the station:

...was originally built for the Volunteer Department about 17 years ago; it has a large school-house on one side, adjoining, and a tenement-house has since been erected on the other, which caused it to settle, cracking rear and front walls and ceilings, and disturbing the floors.

The first item on the Board of Fire Commissioners meeting agenda on July 25, 1880 was "the opening of proposals for doing the work and furnishing the materials for the erection of an engine-house for Engine Company No. 5 at No. 340 East Fourteenth street."  There seems to have been a lack of urgency on the part of the commissioners.  The following day the New York Dispatch noted, "All the bids were laid over for future consideration."

Nevertheless, on September 1 that year, the men of Engine Company 5 were temporarily relocated, their fire station demolished, and construction started on a replacement.  

Napoleon LeBrun had been appointed official architect for the Fire Department in 1879.  A year later his son, Pierre joined him in the business, which became Napoleon Lebrun & Son.  Before the turn of the century they would be responsible for the design of 42 fire houses.  The firm would famously create individual, sometimes lavish, designs for their firehouse.  But in 1881 the Fire Department was renovating or building around a dozen structures.  To save both time and money, Napoleon LeBrun & Son reused one design several times, including for Engine Company 5, with only minor differences.

Engine Company 27, at 173 Franklin Street, was one of the nearly identical structures designed at the time.  photograph by the author

Amazingly, construction took less than six months to complete, and on March 1, 1881 Engine Company 5 moved into its new home.  The design followed the traditional firehouse layout.  The centered bay doors sat within the cast iron base.  The two upper floors were faced in red brick and trimmed in terra cotta and stone.  LeBrun & Son’s Queen Anne design was splashed with Neo-Grec elements, most notably the stone lintel that floated above the second story central opening.

The company suffered a grievous loss on February 12, 1895.  In reporting the death of firefighter Peter McKeon, The Press began:

One might suppose that staring death in the face as often as they do, firemen's hearts would become a little hardened.  Such is not the case.  No set of men feel grief more keenly than they, and their sorrow for a mate who dies on duty is touching in its earnestness.  This is why the whole department is grieving over the sudden killing of Peter McKeon, than whom a braver fireman never lived.

Engineer McKeon's death was particularly grisly.  The company was responding to a fire in a tenement building, the Florida Flats, when a wheel came off the truck.  "Before McKeon turned around from his place on the firebox step, the engine tender dashed into him.  The pole of the tender pierced the engineer's back, pinning him to the boiler," explained the article.  The terrified horses reared, tearing the pole from McKeon's back and he fell directly to the street where the horses "trampled him again and again."  He died within a few minutes of being pulled from under the horses' feet.  The 45-year-old left a wife and four children.

As the article said, the dangers of firefighting required the "staring of death in the face," almost constantly.  On December 22, 1897 the company was called to a tenement fire at 436 East 14th Street.  The New York Herald reported, "There was an accumulation of gas in the cellar, and this, combined with the smoke, made it almost impossible to live."   Two firefighters, John McCabe and James E. Davis entered the basement.  When they did not return after a reasonable time, other members followed.  "They were found unconscious and taken out."  

Three other firefighters who took up the battle, were also overcome and had to be rescued.  The last to be pulled out, Martin J. Oakley, was dead.  John McCabe returned to the firehouse, but had to be taken to Bellevue Hospital the following morning, where three of his comrades had been taken the night before.  The New York Herald said he was "in a bad condition."

Despite the change from horse-drawn to motorized fire engines, and the neighborhood from one of tenements to commercial buildings, Engine Company 5 remained in its venerable fire station.  Firefighter Jim Ronayne reflected the changing times in 1974 when he was chosen for a specialized--and surprising--detail.

On February 20, 1974, The New York Times wrote, "Three nights a week, when Manhattan fireman Jim Ronayne is not on duty with Engine Company No. 5 or heading to a fire, he is getting ready for a night at the opera.  Mr. Ronayne puts aside his 'turnouts'--the fireman's uniform of dungarees, denim shirt, rubber boots, canvas coat and helmet--dons a black tuxedo and makes his way to Lincoln Center."

Ronayne was one of nine New York City firefighters who made up the "Tuxedo Squad" for the Metropolitan Opera.  At each performance, three of them were within the crowd of opera-goers "to guard against accidents, fires and thefts."  The men estimated that they needed to summon help from Roosevelt Hospital to deal with accidents and illnesses at least 20 times per season.  Ronayne confided in the reporter that "he likes 'Irish opera' best."

photo by Lars Estrem, firedepartment.net

Perhaps no single group was more devastated by the events of 9/11 than the New York City Fire Department.  After the attack, Engine Company 5 was deployed to pull hose line up 80 floors in the North Tower.  Among the members was Manny Delvalle, Jr. who also carried an oxygen tank.  As his team continued, he paused at the 10th floor to give a woman oxygen.  He was never seen again.  The men of Engine Company 5 had gone up another five floors when the building began to shudder and they were called back.  After the tower collapsed, a search was made for Delvalle, but the 32-year-old could not be found.  A bronze plaque in his honor hangs among those of other lost firefighters affixed to the facade of the fire station.

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The Lost Cornelius Roosevelt House - 849 Broadway

A cropped view of a stereopticon depiction of Lincoln's funeral procession shows the Roosevelt house, its portico columns wrapped.  Two observers perch perilously on the roof.  from the collection of the New York Public Library

By the 1830's the northward expansion of the city was inching toward 14th Street.  A banker, Samuel Ruggles, spearheaded the creation of Union Square in 1832--intended to be an exclusive enclave of upscale homes surrounding a tranquil fenced garden with a central fountain.   Following the park's completion in 1842 the surrounding lots filled with handsome residences of moneyed families.

Among the most distinguished was the Greek Revival brownstone mansion of Cornelius Van Schaack Roosevelt, on the southwest corner of Broadway and 14th Street.  Born on January 30, 1794, Roosevelt descended from an early Dutch settlers.  He married Margaret Barnhill in 1821.   The couple had six sons, Silas, James, Cornelius Jr., Robert, Theodore and William.

According to the New-York Tribune he "was liberally educated."  Following his graduation from Columbia College he joined his father's hardware business.  Upon the death of his father, James Jacobus Roosevelt, on August 13, 1840, Cornelius inherited a large fortune and continued the family's hardware business.

The house Cornelius built for his family was a commodious free-standing structure, four-stories tall above an English basement.  It faced Broadway rather than Union Square.  Roosevelt owned the entire blockfront to 13th Street and the parcel to the side of the mansion originally contained spacious gardens.

In his 1919 The Life of Theodore Roosevelt, William Draper Lewis quoted the President and grandson of Cornelius saying "Inside there was a large hall running up to the roof; there was a tessellated black and white marble floor, and a circular staircase round the sides of the hall, from the top floor down.  We children much admired both the tessellated floor and the circular staircase."

The Roosevelt family was well-established in the house by 1847 when Margaret, as an officer of the Colored Orphan Asylum, listed her address as "Broadway, corner Fourteenth street."  Decades later, in 1921, Corinne Roosevelt Robinson remembered her grandparents in the February issue of Schriber's Magazine.

Cornelius Van Schaack and Margaret Barnhill Roosevelt, whose old home on the corner of 14th Street and Broadway was long a landmark in New York City.  Cornelius Van Schaack Roosevelt was a typical merchant of his day, fine and true and loyal, but ultraconservative in many ways; and his lovely wife, to whom he addressed, later, such exquisite poems that I have always felt that they should have been given more than private circulation, was a Pennsylvanian of Quaker blood.

in 1850 Cornelius brought his son, James A. Roosevelt, into the firm, which was now named Roosevelt & Son.  The New-York Tribune later explained that at that time "the business was changed from hardware to plate glass." 

On January 23, 1861 Margaret Roosevelt died in the brownstone mansion at the age of 61.  According to the New-York Tribune, upon her death Cornelius "withdrew entirely from the business, having amassed a princely fortune."  He continued to share the house with his son, James A. Roosevelt and his family.  (James had married Elizabeth Norris Emien in 1847 and they had four children, Mary, Leila, Alfred and William.)

The two little boys peering at the Lincoln procession from the side window of the second floor are presumed to be the future President, Theodore Roosevelt and his brother Elliot.  from the collection of the Library of Congress

Cornelius Roosevelt's vast fortune was reflected in an article in the Galaxy in May 1868.  It listed the names of "ten men as the owners of one-tenth part of the taxable property of New York."  Among millionaires like William B. Astor, Peter Lorillard and Peter and George Goelet was C. V. S. Roosevelt, who owned the equivalent of $25 million in Manhattan property by today's standards.

On the morning of July 17, 1871 Cornelius V. S. Roosevelt died in his country residence in Oyster Bay, Long Island after an illness of just two days.  He was 78 years old.  By now the Union Square neighborhood was seeing significant change as commercial interests took over many of the mansions.  It did not take Roosevelt's heirs long to abandon the family home.

On September 13, 1872 architect Griffith Thomas filed plans for an eight-story cast iron building on the site for the Domestic Sewing Machine Co.  His striking Second Empire style structure survived until 1928, replaced by the Emory Roth designed 20-story building that survives (albeit significantly altered).

image via rebusinessonline.com

The Lost Tammany Hall - 137-149 East 14th St

The sign for Tony Pastor's Theatre is above the eastern entrance (left)  from the collection of the New-York Historical Society

The Tammany Society was one of several social clubs by that name which arose in Philadelphia and other cities   The New York society elected its first officers in 1789, its members being mostly craftsmen and mechanics along with a few professionals like attorneys and merchants.  They dressed in Native American costumes, were known as braves, and were divided into tribes.  The group first met in a room in Martling's Tavern on Chatham Street.  Originally non-partisan, by 1795 it was solely allied with the Democratic Party.  

Tammany Hall built a new clubhouse at 170 Nassau Street in 1812.  But by the end of the Civil War, the neighborhood was filled with business buildings and on March 20, 1867 the members decided to sell.  The New York Times deemed it a good idea.  "The old house has a famous history and at one time was the seat of the political power of the country," it noted.  But the decision to relocate was "a very proper move."

A year earlier the Academy of Music at the corner of 14th Street and Irving Place had burned.  Architect Thomas R. Jackson had been selected to design the replacement building.  Now he was commissioned by the Tammany Society to design its new clubhouse directly next door, at 137-149 East 14th Street where the New York College of Physicians and Surgeons stood.

The cornerstone was laid on Independence day, 1867.  Placed next to the metal box was the original "casket" from the 1811 cornerstone.  Among the items within the new version were gold and silver coins minted in 1867, a bill for the construction, a History of Tammany Society, and the program and an invitation to the day's ceremonies.

T'he souvenir pamphlet handed out that day included a description of the building.  The 116-foot-wide structure would be three stories tall "and to be built of marble and red brick, the marble extending thirty feet high in the front."  There would be "a fine triple window in the centre twenty-five feet wide, surmounted by a straight pediment."  The the arrangement of the openings of the flanking pavilions created a Palladium effect.  Above the cornice would be "a massive pediment, bearing in large letters the words 'Tammany Society.'"  On either side were the dates 1763 and 1867 and an enormous arched niche held at 12-foot statue of a Native American (presumably Tamanend, leader of the Lenape tribe from whom the society took its name).

Inside were impressive spaces--a capacious library, the "grand hall," and a concert room; as well as the expected clubrooms and committee rooms.  The pamphlet described the concert room as "one of the most beautiful ever constructed in this city."  With seating for 1,000, its frescoed ceiling rose 30 feet above the floor and its stage was 52-feet wide.  The main committee room, 35 x 75 feet, had a "ceiling as heavenly as the concert room."

Females, who would appear only on evenings of concerts and entertainments, were provided for.  "On the second floor the rights of women are to be recognized by a dressing-room thirty-two by forty feet."  Nearby was the gentlemen's dressing room.  The third floor contained the grand hall, reportedly the most spacious in the nation.  It could accommodate 4,000 persons.

Proceedings of the Tammany Society, July 1867 (copyright expired)

There were three entrances on 14th Street.  They not only provided balance, but led to rental spaces.  The entrance to the east, next to the Academy of Music, accessed the concert hall and also led to the public hall.  The basement was set aside for a restaurant which "will answer to all the increased and cultured epicureanism of that section of the city."  

Jackson placed the cost of construction at $300,000--just over $5 million today.

The building would be dedicated exactly one year later, July 4, 1868.  As it neared, the Tammany-loathing New York Herald used a derogatory, roundabout way to announce the date.  "The big Indians of the Tammany ring--men who have grown fat and are growing fatter on the spoils of this Corporation--the grand sachems, little sachems, pappooses [sic], sagamores and whiskeyskinskis, assisted by the representatives of the national democracy from all the States and Territories of the Union, reconstructed and unreconstructed, and aided by the women's rights women, too, will meet on 'the glorious Fourth' to inaugurate this new temple of the 'Tammany Society of the Columbian Order.'"

The article recalled the group's sometimes pugilistic meetings saying, "The history of the old Tammany Hall is a starling record of democratic lovefeasts of the Donnybrook order, fruitful of faction fight, cracked crowns, bloody noses and used up locofocos, and it will be almost a miracle if the new Tammany Hall escapes a similar baptism."

On the day before the ceremony the building was draped in red-white-and-blue bunting and an enormous canopy composed of evergreens called "The Archway of Triumph," stretched from curb to curb.  The New York Herald deemed it "a cheerful and festal piece of ornamentation, odorous as well of the forest atmosphere, so dear and inspiring to the old braves."  The decorations, inside and out, cost Tammany $20,000, according to The New York Times.

The scene during the building's dedication.  Tammany Hall Souvenir of the Inauguration of Cleveland and Stevenson, 1893 ( copyright expired)

The next day was oppressively hot, with temperatures reaching into the 90's.  The New York Herald said the heat played "sad havoc with shirt collars" and described people using any manner of article with which to fan themselves--straw hats, pocket handkerchiefs, newspapers and "old battered wideawakes."  (Wideawakes are the broad-rimmed hats still worn by Quakers.)

"That great big arc de triomphe in front of Tammany, with its huge integument of evergreens, riveted many an eye.  Though not artistic it looked cool, and who cares for art with the thermometer going higher than a kite and his shirt collar wilting like the tender petal of an uprooted flower."

The New York Times was less openly critical, at least about the structure.  The dedication coincided with the Democratic National Convention.  The newspaper said the delegates were welcomed "to one of the most splendid halls in the country.  New-York City is not deeply indebted to Tammany Society for blessings conferred, but it does owe the organization for one of the finest and most imposing building fronts the City can boast."

Turning to the great hall, the article said, "This great space has been finished with the most perfect taste, and exhibits none of that glaring obtrusive art found in to many public buildings.  The frescoing and gilding done by Philip Donnoruma, is especially noticeable for the perfect taste that has dictated every touch of the artist's brush."  Flanking the stage were two enormous bronze figures holding candelabras, each supporting 60 gas jets.

The great hall, decorated for the National Democratic Convention upon the building's dedication.  from the collection of the New York Public Library

As political meetings began within the committee rooms and great hall, Dan Bryant signed a lease for the concert hall.  Bryan was, actually, Dan O'Neill.  He and his brother, Jerry, took the stage name Bryan after they formed Bryant's Minstrels in 1857.  The Civil War had not dampened the group's offerings of plantation-themed comedy, Southern banjo music by Stephen Foster and similar composers, and blatantly racist black-faced comedians.

On March 1, 1868 The New York Times had announced, "Dan Bryant is now in Mobile...In the Fall, when his new theatre over Tammany Hall is opened, Mr. Bryant will reappear in his Congo dress, and play the bones."  Bryant's Minstrels drew crowds in it new space.  It reported gross receipts in May 1870 of $142,000 by today's standards.

Because city government and the Tammany Society were essentially the same, graft and corruption were nearly effortless.  The New York Times exposed a scheme on July 8, 1871.  In the spring of 1870 the city rented space in the building for use as the armory of the Sixth Regiment--the top floor and five or six small rooms on the floor below.  Rent was paid for the empty space for a year before the regiment moved in.  The Times scoffed at the functionality of the space, saying the practical size of the drill room was 100 x 40 feet.

But worse yet, "The entire portion of the building that is used for military purposes could not be let for any legitimate business for $3,000 a year," said the newspaper, "but the municipal Ring pays...the snug little sum of $36,000 per year."

Bryant's Minstrels was replaced by The Germania Theatre by 1876; and then in 1881 actor and manager Antonio "Tony" Pastor moved his troupe in.   A year earlier the brilliant impresario had been approached by a woman who "said she knew a little girl with a lovely voice," as he later recalled.  He met the Helen (Nellie) Louise Leonard in the parlor of the rooming house where she lived and she sang "The Clang of the Wooden Shoes" for him.

He was so struck by her voice that he sat numb.  Helen said "Oh, Mr Pastor, don't you like my singing?"  Once he recovered he hired her on the spot and she appeared at the Tony Pastor Theatre on Broadway under the new stage name he gave her, Lillian Russell.  She was the most famous of the several stage stars discovered by Pastor who would now appear in the new location.

To the left a section of the Academy of Music can be glimpsed.  from the collection of the New York Public Library

An arsonist used the theater to access the building on October 23, 1884, thereby avoiding the doorman at the main entrance.   Between the "green room" of Pastor's and the barroom of the clubhouse was a small closet where the man soaked newspapers and a bundle of rags in kerosene and ignited them.

Just after the performance had ended, patrons of the barroom noticed smoke.  The bartender and a porter searched, and "found a fire burning fiercely upon the floor," according to The New York Times.  The flooring was ripped up and the fire extinguished before substantial damaged could be done.  The following day Chief Shay of the Fire Department "was on hand to look after the safety of the wigwam."

Tammany Hall was essentially omnipotent in New York City operations.  The February 1894 issue of The Atlantic Monthly said:

No one who has not lived in New York can imagine the despotic power which Tammany Hall exercises there.  No citizen is too humble to be beneath its notice; no citizen is too rich or too powerful to be safe from its interference.  There is not a man living in New York, however independent his character, who would not think twice before doing an act likely to offend Tammany, or the city government, for they are one and the same thing.

from the collection of the New York Public Library

Nevertheless, as was the case with that article, newspapers and magazines spoke out.  The following month the Real Estate Record & Builders' Guide railed, "While the leaders of Tammany Hall are...opposing any increase of salaries to the policemen, they are pushing increases of salaries to some of the highly paid Tammany Halls heads."  One example cited was the salary of the Superintendent of the Department of Buildings, proposed to be raised to more than $200,000 a year in today's dollars.

And when Charles F. Murphy was elected head of Tammany Hall in December 1903, the New-York Tribune ran a full-page photo of him, captioned, "PHOTOGRAPH OF THE REAL MAYOR OF NEW-YORK FOR THE NEXT TWO YEARS."

The "Real Mayor."  New-York Tribune December 27, 1903 (copyright expired)

In March 1906, Tony Pastor celebrated the 25th anniversary of his theater within the Tammany building and the 50th anniversary of his "grown-up" career in the theater (he started out as a child actor).  But two years after that stellar performance, Tony Pastor's occupation of the space came to an end.

On August 30, 1908 the New-York Tribune reported, "The Olympic Theatre, formerly Tony Pastor's was opened last night.  The attraction this week will be the Bowery Burlesquers, and they will give two performances daily."

A major fire erupted in Tammany Hall on December 12, 1910.  The New-York Tribune reported, "For two hours yesterday morning the fate of Tammany Hall hung in the balance while several fire companies...fought to save the grim old tiger's historic lair on East 14th Street."  Investigators blamed the blaze on "the cigar of some careless merry maker who had attended the dance there the night before."

The great hall, which had been converted to a ballroom for the previous night's event, was flooded as was the floor below.  The Olympic Theatre was "badly damaged by the deluge," said the newspaper.  The total damage was initially estimated at $25,000.  Happily, none of the historic paintings nor the Society's records were destroyed or seriously damaged.

The New-York Tribune remarked, "The fire revives the talk, prevalent no long ago, of the society deserting this building, erected in 1867, and moving up town to a new wigwam."

An electric blade sign announces the Olympic in this turn of the century photo. The staircases at street level have been removed.  from the collection of the New-York Historical Society

Only three weeks later the building was on fire again.  On January 6, 1911 The Sun reported, "Tammany Hall made another effort to burn up last night."  The fire started, this time, in the theater during a performance, most likely among painters' supplies under the stage.  The patrons were herded out, but they were addressed by Police Captain Burfiend on the street who informed them that the small fire had been put out and they could return to their seats.

The show went on, but not without some difficulties.  "Water poured through the hole over the stage, however.  While the Ginger Girls did their Amazon march in broken ranks, dodging splashes of dirty water and buckets of sawdust placed on the floor to receive it, the firemen were busy just over them pouring on more water, 'washing down' after the fire."

In December 1915, the vaudeville troupe the Broadway Belles opened for a week at the Olympic Theatre.  The Evening World remarked that comedian Joe Marks "long identified with the best known burlesque attractions...kept the large crowd in roars of laughter."  At the time the theater's landlords were considering a move.  Eight months earlier the Tammany Society met to discuss "the project of moving from its historic clubhouse...to large and more modern quarters uptown," according to the Record & Guide on April 24.  "Action was deferred, however, till a later date."

That date would not come until 1927.  On December 6 The New York Times reported "Tammany Hall has been sold."  The price for the property was "believed to be in the neighborhood of $750,000."

Tammany did not move far.  In 1929 its new clubhouse was completed just three blocks north, at 100 East 17th Street.  

A Landmark Lost -- Luchow's German Restaurant, No. 110 E 14th Street

On October 26, 1938 when Berenice Abbott took this photograph, Luchow's was a startling anachronism along busy 14th Street.  from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York

In April 1892 George Huber hired German-born architect Jobst Hoffmann to enlarge his Prospect Garden at Nos. 106 and 108 East 14^th Street.  The old stable behind the property was demolished and the 14^th Street building was extended to the rear.  Hoffman’s $5,000 plans included “interior alterations, being part of a hotel and summer garden.”

Huber’s Prospect Garden was a bit different from the typical Victorian pleasure garden.  The open-air rear area was, in fact, a bier garten, and the music would have been provided by German bands.  The respectable hotel-restaurant-saloon complex catered to the residents of Little Germany.

Next door, at No. 110, was another German restaurant-saloon, known as Luchow’s.  Within a few years August Luchow would expand to the east and the west, absorbing both No. 108 and 112.

No. 110 East 14^th Street had been the small Von Muehlbach Restaurant in 1879 when August Guido Luchow arrived in New York from Hanover, Germany at the age of 23.  The young man found a job with von Muehlbach, and just three years later bought out his employer in 1882.  The New York Times would later recall that he “shortly afterward began enlarging the business…It soon became widely known for German cooking and beer.”

The 14^th Street neighborhood was not only part of the German community; it was New York’s theater district.  Nearby was the Academy of Music—Manhattan’s premier opera venue before the Metropolitan Opera House—the German-language Irving Place Theatre, and several other theaters.  Luchow’s exceptional German cuisine, wines and imported lagers drew some of the most celebrated names of the day.

The Times wrote decades later “many famous singers were patrons of the restaurant.  Anton Dvorak, the Bohemian composer, was one of the many musicians among its clientele.  Caruso was a frequent customer, going there for caviare [sic] of which he was very fond.  Chaliapin, the Russian opera singer, was another.  Colonel Roosevelt often dined there, and German sea Captains whose vessels stopped here were regular visitors.”

Among the staples on the menu were boiled beef with horseradish sauce and roast goose livers, introduced in 1882.  Another was pigs knuckles, which Enrico Caruso always ordered; and “Diamond Jim” Brady’s favorite, sauerbrauten.

Among the dining rooms was the Nibelungen Room -- postcard from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York

A splendid example was the farewell dinner held in a private dining room here on the afternoon of April 17, 1896.   Polish opera stars, brothers Jean and Edouard de Reszke, and Polish pianist Ignacy Paderewski, were feted by noted New York Germans, including the Steinway brothers.

The 24 guests sat down to dinner at 1:00 and the gathering went on into the evening hours.  A newspaper account the following day said “Paderewski not only played solos, but he also accompanied the singing of the de Reszkes, and made an address which proved him to be a raconteur of much merit…William Steinway kept the party in continual laughter with his funny stories and his pleasant sallies at the three guests.”

By the turn of the century Luchow had acquired the flanking properties and in May 1900 he commissioned architects Julius Kastner & Son to make alterations to the “brick and stone restaurant.”  It is possibly at this time that the unified six-bay façade which became an unofficial New York landmark was installed.  The two floors above the restaurant front of plate glass and multi-paned transoms featured ambitious stone window surrounds, bowed balconettes, Ionic pilasters and a neo-Classical frieze.  A balustraded parapet crowned it all.

August Luchow opened a restaurant in the 1901 Pan American Exposition in Buffalo, the Alt Nurenburg; and another in the 1904 St. Louis World’s Fair, named the Tyrolean Alps.  It was at the St. Louis Fair that he purchased the huge painting “The Potato Gatherers” by Swedish artist Auguste Hagborg for the 14th Street restaurant.

A long-time employee would later explain that although Luchow purchased most of the oil paintings in the restaurant, he “wasn’t a great devotee of art.”  As for "The Potato Gatherers," floor manager Ernst Seute pointed out “He bought it because it was just the right size to cover one wall of the restaurant.”

An early 20th century postcard highlighted "The Potato Gatherers."

Patrons at Luchow’s were expected to maintain the demeanor of the high-class establishment.  So when William O’Connor entered the restaurant with a friend around 11:30 on Sunday morning, August 8, 1909 wearing neither a collar nor a tie and “in a generally disheveled condition,” Manager Miller took notice.   He watched closely, not wanting to excite the nearly 100 other patrons at their tables.

O’Connor called a waiter over and ordered two drinks.  He was told that drinks were not served on Sundays without meals and “that, besides, he would not be allowed to serve any one who didn’t have on a collar and necktie.”

O’Connor flew into a fury, yelling “I’ll be served here or I’ll know the reason why.”  He then approached the bar, pulled out a revolver and, waving it in the air, announced “I will have the drinks.”

More than a dozen waiters ran into the street looking for a policeman and well-dressed patrons raced “panic-stricken,” according to a newspaper account, out the door.  Manager Miller later explained “He looked to me as if he had been drinking.  He was undoubtedly in a highly excited state.”

And then O’Connor surprised everyone by revealing he was an off-duty policeman.  “To impress us further he then showed his badge and again, demanded drinks.”

When four policemen responded to the restaurant, O’Connor showed them his badge.  Rather than arresting O’Connor, the cops took in head waiter Charles Kuhner and three other waiters.  O’Connor’s story was that he attempted to arrest the waiters for serving alcohol on Sunday, and they attacked him.

The Lieutenant at the desk was at least slightly suspicious, asking O’Connor why he was attempting to make an arrest out of uniform, off duty, and outside his precinct.  The New York Times reported “O’Connor mumbled something which could not be understood.”

After doing a bit of investigative reporting, The Times noted “O’Connor was formerly a detective attached to Inspector Walsh’s staff.  About three months ago he drew his revolver in a Harlem saloon, and as a result of that episode was reduced to a patrolman and sent to the MacDougal Street Station.”

In the meantime, word of the episode reached August Luchow who was enraged.  “The management of Luchow’s threatened last night to take the case against O’Connor to police Commissioner Baker,” wrote The Times on August 9.

Several weeks later William M. O’Connor received his punishment from Police Headquarters.  The editor of The New York Times was appalled.   On September 17 the newspaper reported “Much surprise was expressed around Police Headquarters yesterday over the announcement that Deputy Commissioner Stoven had let off William M. O’Connor, the policeman who on Aug. 8 was one of the principals in a fight in Luchow’s restaurant, with a mere fine of ten days’ pay, amounting in all to about $38.  The general opinion seemed to be that O’Connor was mighty lucky not to be dismissed from the force.”

At the time August Koehler ran an internationally-known restaurant in southern France.  The Sun called him “a skilled chef and restaurateur” and said “The fame of this caterer to traveling bon vivants spread across the ocean.”  August Luchow offered Koehler a somewhat bizarre business deal in 1909.

Neither Luchow nor his sister, Olga, was married.  According to Koehler, August Luchow wrote him saying “If you will marry my sister, sell out your business in Europe, move to New York and help with your services, knowledge and effort in my business, out of the net profits you will receive 20 per cent.”

Koehler agreed and immigrated to America.  On February 27, 1909 he married Olga in Jersey City.  Things went smoothly—for a time.  Well enough that in 1912 Luchow commissioned architect Frank Wennemer to design a one-story office building for the restaurant’s business operations on the north side of 13^th Street.

Despite the war which erupted in Europe 1914, Luchow continued to import German beer and ale.  One shipment alone, in November 1915, contained 22,492 casks of Pilsner and Wuerzburger Hofbraeu beer.  Luchow’s had been the first American restaurant to import the beer from the Bavarian town of Wuerzberg, where it had been produced for centuries.

But even before America entered the conflict, German-Americans were being viewed with suspicion.  And following the sinking of the RMS Lusitania by a German submarine on May 7, 1915, August Luchow found himself defending his patriotism.

At least one newspaper reported that the patrons of Luchow’s celebrated on hearing the news of the attack.  August Luchow fired back in a letter through his lawyer.  The New-York Tribune reported on May 9, 1915 “In his letter, Mr. Luchow says that his orchestra is instructed to play no foreign national airs, and that no patriotic songs were played, either by the orchestra or sung by any Germans who were present at the time.

“I am an American citizen and have been such for many years, and I resent the inference in the article to the effect that my restaurant is patronized only by German sympathizers, whereas most of my guests are Americans.” 

He strong insisted that he would not “permit a demonstration in favor of any of the belligerents in this most unfortunate war.”

The upward-turned fixtures of the chandeliers in this 1904 postcard were lit by gas.  The down-turned fixtures were electric.

In 1917 a different type of battle broke out on East 14^th Street.  Troubles between Luchow and Koeher boiled over that year and Koeher left New York to open a restaurant in Chicago.  Things were no better between him and Olga, and she remained in New York.

In January 1919 August Koeher sued Luchow for $100,000 (nearly $1.4 million in 2016).  He demanded that the restaurant be put into receivership, that the partnership be dissolved, and the proceeds be divided.  The vitriolic feelings between the brothers-in-law were exemplified by the clause insisting that Luchow should "be restrained from conducting the restaurant which bears his name.”

Once again August Luchow looked out for his sister.  According to Koehler he received “letters, telegrams and telephone messages” from Olga and Luchow, urging him to return home.  Luchow promised him a trust fund of $200,000 from which he and Olga would received $10,000 a year if he came back.  He did.

But two years later, in July 1921, he sued Olga for $30,000.  He alleged that only she received the $10,000 income each year “with no provision for him.”

On January 27, 1923 Olga Luchow Koehler died.  Her brief obituary in The New York Times made no mention of her husband, merely calling her the “dearly beloved sister of August Luchow of New York City.”  Seven months later, on August 21, August Guido Luchow died six days before his 67^th birthday.

Although The New York Times remarked that August Luchow “occupied himself less with handshaking than with careful supervision of his restaurant,” his familial treatment of his employees resulted in many of them staying on for decades.  Victor Eckstein, hired in 1900, was Luchow’s President when he turned 70 in 1950.  His head waiter, Ernst Seute, employed since 1917, would work well past mid-century.

Meanwhile, conflict in Europe came to 14^th Street once again in 1934.  On May 27 one newspaper reported “Nazis made their most daring bid for power in German-American social circles in the history of the American Brown Shirt movement in America on Friday night when they arbitrarily ‘crashed’ a meeting of the German-American Conference.”   That meeting was being held in an upper room of Luchow’s Restaurant.

“Friday night’s meeting is considered the most significant since Hitler’s rise to power,” said the Jewish Telegraphic Agency.  German-born New Yorkers decided that night to discontinue the meetings.  “Leaders are understood to have reasoned that to continue their regular meetings would eventuate an absolute disruption of the Conference, or worse, the surrender of a large part of it to the Nazi control.”

In February 1914 Victor Herbert and eight associates had met at Luchow’s to draft plans for the performing rights organization which became the American Society of Composers, Authors and Publishers.  On June 28, 1951 an all-star dinner of around 200 members were back for a dinner in memory of the composer.

The following year, on May 7, the City of New York presented the restaurant with a bronze plaque.  It read “Presented to Luchow’s Restaurant on its seventieth anniversary by the City of New York in recognition of its service to the people of this city and the nation by preserving the character and atmosphere of old New York.”

Outside, the flavor and atmosphere of old 14^th Street was essentially gone by now.  Department stores and office buildings had long ago replaced the houses and theaters.  Only Luchow’s hung on as a relic of the 1890s.  And that nostalgia, along with the high quality of the restaurant itself, contributed to its survival.

Even as the 20th century progressed, bow-tied waiters still wore the Luchow crest, as this postcard attests.

In April 1954 Helen Hayes gave a party for Jack Benny in a private dining room on the second floor.  During the evening she dedicated the Lillian Russell Museum.  The New York Times explained “During her engagements at Tony Pastor’s Theatre, which was situated across the street from the restaurant, Miss Russell frequently dined there.” 

In the “museum” were “dresses, fans, handkerchiefs and parasols that Miss Russell used on stage and off, as well as autographed pictures, letters she wrote and posters and programs of her productions.”  Present at the ceremony was waiter Hugo Schemke.  The 74-year old was first hired in 1905 and he well remembered serving the famous actress.

Luchow’s continued to be the go-to spot for celebrity athletes, politicians, theatrical types and even explorers.  It was here on June 5, 1960 that Sir Edmund and Lady Hillary hosted a luncheon during which he announced an upcoming expedition to Nepal’s Malaku Peak.  The purpose of the exploration, he told reporters, was in part “to make further efforts to track down the ‘Abominable Snowman.’”

A charming postcard from the 1950s managed to crop away the buildings around the old restaurant.

To the tremendous dismay of New Yorkers, the owners of Luchow’s decided to abandon 14^th Street in 1982 and move uptown.   The Times lamented “Luchow’s, long since deserted by the theater district, is following it uptown to Broadway and 51^st, leaving its once-glamorous block to a Tad’s, an Arby’s and a White Rose bar.”

The restaurant was jammed with former patrons on closing night, July 11.  They reminisced and mourned the loss.  Co-owner Peter Aschkenasy’s commented somewhat bitterly, “If everybody who told me how much they loved Luchow’s had been coming here, we wouldn’t be leaving.”

In August the Buildings Department received an application for a demolition permit on Nos. 108 through 112 East 14^th Street.  A Save-the-Original-Luchow’s rally took place at noon on August 28 as “the drama will be playing itself out in city offices downtown,” according to The Times.

The Buildings Department had asked “for a clarification from the Landmarks Preservation Commission concerning the building’s status.”  The Times noted “The old Luchow’s building is not a designated landmark, although the commission could act on the matter.”  City Council President Carol Bellamy called the situation “a race with the bulldozers.”

Rather surprisingly, the Landmarks Preservation Commission did not move on the famous structure.  The Luchow's building did, however, escape demolition—at least temporarily.    In November it was converted to a disco, The Palace.  The incredibly intact 19^th century interiors--where once no one without a tie could be served--were transformed with sound, strobe lights, and neon.  Three years later it became the New Palladium Night Club, popular with club goers.

But in 1986 the old restaurant building became part of a group of properties assembled by the Glick Organization.  The site of August Guido Luchow’s nationally-celebrated restaurant is now occupied by New York University’s University Hall, a student residential hall.

photo via www.nyu.edu