The Church of the Transfiguration - 1 East 29th Street

An early 20th century postcard captures the rural charm of the urban refuge.

In his 1882 New York by Sunlight and Gaslight, James Dabney McCabe described the Church of the Transfiguration on 29th Street, just east of Fifth Avenue.  "It is popularly known as 'The Little Church Around the Corner.'  It is a pretty, rambling sort of structure, built of brownstone, beautifully ornamented and decorated within, and of a size that by no means merits the popular title given it.  A pretty churchyard shaded by fine trees and laid off with green sward lies between the church and the street, and luxuriant vines clamber over the edifice, giving to the place a charming rural aspect."  McCabe had painted a vivid, accurate word picture of the complex which had begun thirty-four years earlier.  

George Headric Houghton was admitted to the Episcopal ministry around 1846.  He was made assistant to the Rev. Dr. Muhlenbach in the Church of the Holy Communion, but he remained only one year.  In 1848 at the age of 28, he organized the Church of the Transfiguration in the still developing Murray Hill neighborhood.  

The Rev. Lawson Carter owned a house on East 24th Street which he offered to the fledgling congregation to use for sixteen months rent-free.  There the first service was held on the first Sunday in October 1848.  The Sun later recalled "the room was furnished with a few benches, a lectern made of pine wood, and a small parlor organ, which bore the marks of long and severe service."  When the sixteen months were up, a small building was acquired at No. 1 East 29th Street.  "When Dr. Houghton moved his congregation to the building in East Twenty-ninth street, there was not another building on the block, and the view was unobstructed from Madison square to Murray Hill."

A new structure, the eastern most part of the present church, was opened on March 10, 1850.  Despite its shaky start (Rev. Houghton was forced to find various outside jobs to provide the finances to keep the church afloat), by the time of the Civil War years the congregation of the Church of the Transfiguration had grown to "a very fashionable one," as described by James McCabe.  

Among its prominent members was Dr. Valentine Mott, an internationally renowned surgeon whose mansion was at No. 1 Gramercy Park.  A close friend and adviser to Abraham Lincoln, Mott was so disturbed by his assassination that the incident hastened his own death.  He died a week after the President.  On April 30, 1865, in reporting that his funeral would be held in the Church of the Transfiguration that day, The New York Herald noted "It will be attended by the most eminent medical men in the country, and also by distinguished persons in every profession."

By now the church complex had grown with the addition of a handsome rectory in the French Second Empire style--the only section of eventual string of additions to take on a sophisticated, urban personality.   

The rectory (left) strays from the Gothic Revival motif of the rest of the complex.  photo by Beyond My Ken

Although not nearly so socially-important as Dr. Mott's, the funeral of George Holland in December 1870 would change the course of the Church of the Transfiguration forever.  Holland was a well-known actor and when The New York Times eulogized him on December 22, two days after his death, there was no hint of the controversy that had surrounded the arranging of his funeral.

He lived to a great age--hard upon eighty--without a stain on his name, or the performance of any part in the drama of life over the memory of which those who loved him need blush.  He died at last in his sleep.

But once the actor had been respectably buried, the newspaper felt no need to restrain its indignation.  In an article entitled "Pharisaical Delicacy" on December 29, it told how Joseph Jefferson, an equally famous actor, had gone to the Church of the Atonement on Madison Avenue and 28th Street, on the suggestion of one of Holland's female relatives.  The Rev. W. T. Sabine was in the course of making the arrangements when Jefferson happened to mention that Holland had been an actor.

"On hearing this announcement, Rev. Mr. Sabine immediately exclaimed that he strongly objected to officiating at the funeral if such was the case.  Instead of complying with the request he referred his visitor to the Episcopal Church of the Transfiguration in East Twenty-ninth-street, near Fifth-avenue, which he spoke of 'the little church around the corner,' telling him at the same time that they might 'do it' (meaning the funeral service)."  The Times said Jefferson left "with his feelings greatly shocked."

Forever more the Church of the Transfiguration would be popularly known as The Little Church Around the Corner--so much so, in fact, that many people forgot the true name--and became the unofficial church of the theatrical community.  Ironically, Rev. Houghton himself had only been in a theater once in his life, at the age of 15 on his first visit to the city.  The New York Times recalled on November 18, 1897, "He went with a cousin to the old Chatham Street Theatre.  But the horror and grief of his mother at the time forever took away from him the desire to attend again."

The list of actors' funerals held within the Church of the Transfiguration over the next decade alone was impressive.  Among them were services for George Belmore, B. O. Porter, and John Brougham.  And there were weddings, as well.  On January 8, 1882 William G. C. Seymour and May Caroline Davenport, "both members of the theatrical profession," according to The New York Times, were married here.

photograph by Bestbudbrian

All the while enlargements to the church continued.  In the September 6, 1873 issue of Appletons' Journal, Rodolphe E. Garczynski wrote an article entitled "Church Architecture In New York" in which he fondly called it "the Church of the Holy Cucumber-vine" and commented "Few persons pass it without feeling inspired with an affectionate regard for the straggling mass of buildings cropping up out of a beautiful garden."  In 1888 King's Handbook of Notable Episcopal Churches in the United States added "The peculiarity of this structure is, that it represents stages of the growth of the parish; part being added to part as it was needed, and could be paid for."

Brownstone residences lined the street at the time this postcard photo was taken.

Among the most notable of the funerals held in the church was that of Shakespearean actor Edwin Booth on June 9, 1893.  The New York Times said it "will pass into history as among the most remarkable ever held in New York City.

Encaustic tile and wooden parquet flooring, and vibrant stenciling decorate the choir.  photograph by Bestbudbrian

Among those in the procession from The Players on Gramercy Park where Booth had lived to the 29th Street church were not only actors like Joseph Jefferson, but figures well-known in architecture, business and finance, art and politics.  Among them were John T. Sullivan, Stanford White, Robert S. Minturn, Augustus St. Gaudens, Joseph Holland, Stuart Robson, and Daniel Frohman to name a few.

The Times remarked "The scene in and about the 'Little Church Around the Corner' was even more remarkable than that in front of The Players.  Men prominent in business and professional circles, and women who figure as leaders in the social world, crowded the sidewalks and were so eager to obtain a view of the coffin and the mourners that it required all the skill of Capt. Richard O'Connor of the Nineteenth Precinct to preserve order."

The intimate, magnificent Lady Chapel.  photo by Bestbudbrian

At around 4:00 on November 17, 1897, after having performed two services, the Rev. Dr. George H. Houghton "seemed much distressed," as reported in The New York Times.  A physician was called who found him suffering from rapidly worsening congestion of the lungs.  Houghton died within an hour and a half of showing symptoms.  He had been the only rector of the church he had founded, having served 49 years.

Houghton's body laid in state in the chapel on November 19.  Nearly 2,000 people filed past the oaken casket that day.  The funeral was held the following day.  Not unexpectedly, among the tributes from around the city were those from the Actor's National Protective Union, the Lambs Club, The Players and the Twelfth Night Club.

Construction continued on the holy cucumber vine.  On October 15, 1898 the Record & Guide reported that the vestry "has decided to erect a tower and spire on the church in East 29th street" as a memorial to Rev. Dr. George H. Houghton; and on July 15, 1904 architect John H. Knubel filed plans for a "brick porch" to cost $2,000 (about $59,200 today).  On November 8, 1908 The New York Times reported "Probably the most beautiful mortuary chapel in this city will soon be consecrated by The Church of the Transfiguration, better known as the 'Little Church Around the Corner.'"  The chapel was dedicated on November 17 to the memory of Dr. Houghton.

The Rev. Dr. George Clarke Houghton, had become rector upon his uncle's death.  In reporting on his twenty-fifth anniversary on November 20, 1922, The Times commented, "Aside from its distinctive location and architecture, 'The Little Church Around the Corner' is best known as a magnet for Cupid.  Ten weddings a day in 'the season' are nothing unusual."  Indeed, the Works Progress Administration's 1939 New York City Guide said "More marriage ceremonies are performed here, perhaps, than in any other church in the city."

That fact was substantiated when Mary C. Hanlon, the parish secretary, retired in April 1948 after serving thirty-two years.  "She estimated that she probably had arrange 50,000 weddings at the 'Little Church,'" reported The New York Times.

The expansion of the church complex continued into the second half of the 20th century.  In October 1964 a new parish house, designed by Holden, Egan, Wilson & Corser, was completed.  

photo by Beyond My Ken

Through it all, the tranquil garden has been a place of respite for 170 years, the rambling architecture a relief from the city's pressures, and the art-filled interior a place of magnificence.

Rose Hill - 203 East 29th Street

photo by Beyond My Ken

Like many British Loyalists following to the Revolution, John Watts lost everything except his life.   After he was forced to leave New York, the 131-acre Rose Hill Farm that he established in 1747 was auctioned off by the Committee of Forfeiture. The property stretched from what today would approximately be East 21st Street to East 30th Street on the eastern side of Manhattan.

Nicholas Cruger spent 144 pounds in 1786 for a parcel of Watts’s farm.  Born in 1743, by 1770 Cruger had become the largest merchant in New York City.  Dealing primarily in the West Indian trade, he spent much of his time in St. Croix where, years before the Revolution, a young Alexander Hamilton had worked for him.  Around four years after he bought the former Watts property, a sturdy post-and-beam, clapboard country house appeared with a prominent Dutch-style hipped roof.


Cruger died in St. Croix on March 11, 1800.  Already the city was inching northward toward his summer estate.  In 1811 the Commissioners’ Plan laid out the street grid of midtown Manhattan.  The plan dissected Rose Hill with 29th Street edging up to the residence and Third Avenue running just behind.  Within a few years they would become actual thoroughfares, with the house Nicholas Cruger built now sitting awkwardly with its side facing 29th Street.


By 1830 Joseph Haskett, a saddler, owned the property.  And then during the Civil War the family of George McDonald lived here.  George died in the house on October 22, 1868 at the age of 56.  His funeral was held here the following Sunday afternoon.

As the city moved ever northward, eventually engulfing the wooden home, the character of the neighborhood changed.   Five years after McDonald's death No. 203 was being operated as a rooming house. On February 9, 1873 an advertisement in The New York Herald offered "Handsomely furnished rooms to let--to gentlemen, without board."

Among the tenants in 1893 were William Sutton and his sister, Mary.  It would appear that the families living in the 29th Street house were struggling, for a day or two after Christmas that year Sutton stole a blanket belonging to a truckman, Richard Barry. 

It was Mary, however, who was accused of the crime.  She was arrested on December 27 and held in jail over night.  The following morning her brother surrendered.  The Evening World ran the headline "Innocent Girl Arrested."

In 1905 at least four tenants were living here: a coach driver, Charles Barshfeld, truck driver Harry Jarvis, and Mary Decker, who was a bookbinder, and 68-year old Elizabeth Lamoureaux.

Years earlier, in France, Elizabeth had been a member of Sarah Bernhardt's company.  When she came to America she acted with the Ravel troupe, and also played the role of Pocahontas.  She retired from the state in 1885.  When Elizabeth discovered in December 1905 that Sarah Bernhardt would be appearing at the Lyric Theatre, she was determined to obtain a ticket. 

The elderly woman showed up at the Lyric Theatre at 10:00 on the cold night of December 6 carrying a camp stool.    The New-York Tribune explained "She did not wish to ask Bernhardt for free seats, and fearing that she could not buy seats near the stage unless she was first at the box office, she came last night to the theatre, prepared to sit out the dull hours between 10 in the evening and 9 o'clock the next morning."

Lee Shubert opened the lobby so she could stay out of the cold.  At midnight he sent a boy for sandwiches and coffee.  (Apparently the thought of selling her a seat before the ticket booth opened did not occur to him.)

A mere five years later the house's population had doubled.  Among the blue collar tenants were a janitor, an elevated railroad guard and an upholsterer. A junk shop took over the street level around 1912.

In 1915 a tall staircase led to the rooming house.  A ground level is the junk store. 

The house as it appeared on July 23, 1934.  photos from the collection of the New York Public Library

The wooden structure sat incongruously among its brick-and-stone urban neighbors until 1979 when Patrick and Linda Lyons purchased it for $80,000.  Intent on making the well-worn house a home again, they initiated a three-year renovation. Rather than restore the venerable old structure, they gutted it.  Everything other than the timbered frame was dismantled and discarded – the clapboard siding, the interior walls, the original six-over-six paned windows.

The reproduction elements, however, are faithful to the original structure.  The renovation resulted in a single family home in the upper portion with an apartment at street level.

The unexpected wooden farmhouse at No. 203 East 29th Street has changed hands a few times since its renovation. Because of the 1866 law prohibiting construction of frame structures in Manhattan, there are only a handful of wooden buildings to be found and stumbling upon this one is a delight.

The Lost Gothic Cottage at No. 16 E. 29th Street



photo from the collection of the New York Public Library

In 1874 the Jeffreys house at No. 16 East 29^th Street stood out among its neighbors.   In the years before the outbreak of the Civil War the block had seen rapid development and the erection of high-stooped Greek Revival rowhouses.  But the Jeffreys house predated these.  The charming two-and-a-half story Gothic Revival structure looked as if could been have as easily been constructed of gingerbread as brick.

Now the little house was squeezed in between tall townhouses.  Just before 4:00 on November 10, 1874 Mrs. Jeffreys and “a lady friend” were riding in her carriage on Fifth Avenue.  As they reached 47^th Street, the horses were spooked and Arthur Thomas, the driver, was unable to control them.   The carriage began careening down a crowded Fifth Avenue at what The New York Times deemed “a fearful rate,” terrorizing the women inside.

Mrs. Jeffreys and her friend, “becoming alarmed, jumped out of the carriage, and were very severely injured about the head, face and body.”  The Times said “At the time of the accident the avenue was thronged with vehicles, and before the career of the frightened horses could be checked, they had come into collision with three phaetons and a light wagon, which were overturned and the occupants thrown out and injured.”

The Jeffreys carriage was stopped by a courageous Patrolman Gannon who “put spurs to his horse, and started in full pursuit of the runaway team.  He succeeded in heading them off when they reached Forty-third street, and by dexterous manipulations of the bridle soon brought them to a halt.”  The newspaper praised “But for the prompt appearance and action of Patrolman Gannon a serious loss of life would doubtless have been occasioned.”

The little house would later become home to the Irish-born physician James E. Kelly.   Highly esteemed in both the medical and the Irish communities, Kelly was the guest of honor at a dinner given in January 1887.  But tensions among the New York Irish ran high at the time, with factions taking opposite sides on patriotic, political and religious issues.

Father Edward McGlynn, was to speak that night.  He had infuriated conservative Irish Catholics when, among other radical ideas, he proposed that Catholics should send their children to the public schools.  High-stationed citizens, including Major P. M. Haverty, wrote letters announcing their refusal to attend the dinner.  The New-York Tribune reported that the letters prompted “a good deal of animated talk in Irish-Catholic circles.”

Eugene Kelly’s, in part, read “I perceive the name of a gentleman whose articles in The Standard are derogatory to the welfare of our grand old Church and unjust and insulting to our venerated Archbishop.  I therefore beg to withdraw my name from the committee.”

Dr. Kelly’s dinner went on and the controversy was eventually forgotten.   In 1893 he labored over a long paper on physiology.  On Wednesday evening, October 18 Dr. H. R. Heydecker stopped by and Dr. Kelly gave him 40 typewritten pages to proofread and edit.

Heydecker boarded the elevated train nearby at 28^th Street and poured over the manuscript until he reached 59^th Street.  He then rolled up the papers and put them in his overcoat pocket.  After exiting the train at 72^nd Street he realized the manuscript was gone.

He quickly took the next train to the final stop on the line, in Harlem.  No trace of Dr. Kelly’s paper could be found.  “Dr. Heydecker thinks the manuscript is held for a reward,” reported The Sun four days later.  The newspaper added, “One has been offered.”

When James E. Kelly was appointed Coroner’s Physician in December 1894, The Evening World glowed in reporting on his background.  It said he “is one of the few Fellows of the Royal College of Surgeons, Ireland, who is practicing in this country.  He received the highest mark ever given by that college in anatomy.”  In somewhat graphic terms the newspaper added “In the Jervis Street Hospital he was known as a successful operator, one who could cut closer to large vessels with safety than any surgeon in Dublin.”

Kelly’s stint as Coroner’s Physician would be very short-lived.  Three weeks after his appointment, on January 2, 1895, George Cook was found dead on 12^th Street near Greenwich Street.  Dr. Kelly conducted the autopsy which confirmed that “death was caused by fatty degeneration of the heart, acute gastritis, and tuberculosis.”

Despite his expert opinion, about a dozen policemen from the Charles Street Station arrested Owen Brady, the bartender of the nearby Reilly’s saloon, and two other men, Samuel Connolly and Bob Smith.  The men were charged with the murder and robbery of Cook.

On January 5 The Sun ran the headline “Doctor’s Certificate Ignored” and reported that Justice Taintor had spent hours questioning the policemen in what was now considered a murder case.  The judge told reporters it “was one of the most important cases that had come before the court.”

Dr. Kelly did not take the insult lying down.  The following day the same newspaper reported that Dr. James E. Kelley had resigned “because there was too much work.”  Newspaper readers knew the real reason, which was only slightly veiled by his polite explanation.

At 9:10 on the night of Sunday January 5, 1896 fire broke out in Kelly’s 29^th Street house.  Damages were estimated at $1,500—a significant $37,000 in today’s terms.  

Almost directly behind the house was St. Leo’s Roman Catholic Church.   The rectory was next door to Kelly’s house, at No. 18.  Now No. 16 was repaired and became the church’s parsonage, home to St. Leo’s renowned pastor, Reverend Thomas James Ducey.  Crosses were erected on the points of the central gable and the dormers and it was most likely at this time that the open Gothic-style porch was enclosed as a solarium.

Like Kelly, Ducey was born in Ireland.  He came to New York in 1848 at the age of five.  His mother obtained a position as housekeeper in the mansion of millionaire bachelor James T. Brady.  Just three years after the family arrived, both Ducey’s parents died.  Brady adopted the orphaned boy and the eight-year-old’s life took a remarkable change, of course.  Historian Lately Thomas mentions in his 1967 book Delmonico’s, A Century of Splendor, “This early association had given Ducey a tenuous connection with the world of wealthy, and as a priest he had devoted himself to the spiritual welfare of that class.”

In fact, Brady had hoped that Ducey would follow him in the legal profession; but as the New-York Tribune later explained, “the call to the priesthood persisted.”  But even after he was ordained, Ducey lived in Brady mansion and when the lawyer died in 1869, the priest inherited a fortune.

Now Rev. Ducey moved into the quaint Gothic cottage behind St. Leo’s.  He maintained a 15-acre country estate and rubbed shoulders with the wealthy businessmen, doctors and attorneys at Delmonico’s and other upscale restaurants and clubs. 

photo from King's Notable New Yorkers 1896-1899 (copyright expired)

When he died at his country estate on August 22, 1909, he left his entire estate, valued at about $1.5 million by today’s standards, to St. Leo’s.

A year earlier a group of 14 French nuns had arrived at St. Leo’s Church.  They made up the only branch of the Society of Marie Reparatrice in America.  While 12 of the nuns were teaching parish children, two prayed at the altar rail.  There was never a time of the day when two of the devoted nuns were not at prayer.  “Their prayers are never for definite, concrete things not even for the success of their mission and settlement work or the repose of the souls of the dead,” explained The New York Times a few years later.  “They pray always that mankind may be saved from the burden of its sins; that reparation may be made for the world’s evil; that men and women may become better and gentler and more spiritual, and life a holier thing.”

By 1913 the parsonage had been converted to the Convent of Marie Repartrice.  The order now owned Nos. 12 and 14 as well.  On May 17 that year the Real Estate Record and Builders’ Guide noted that the Convent had commissioned work on all three structures, including new stairs and repaired masonry at a cost of $150.

In 1932 the Gothic cottage sat among former brownstone mansions and, further down the block, commercial buildings. photo from the collection of the New York Public Library

Two weeks after 48-year old Alfredo Morotti was ordained to the priesthood on June 11, 1938, he celebrated his first mass in St. Leo’s Roman Catholic Church.  In celebration of the middle-aged priest’s first service, the nuns of Marie Reparatrice opened their doors.  The New York Times reported “After the mass the officers and singers will have a breakfast in the parlor of the Convent of Mary Reparatrix, 16 East Twenty-ninth Street, of which St. Leo’s is the public chapel.”

The architecturally-diverse group of buildings, including the little house at No. 16, survived until 1962 when the order demolished them to build a six-story structure that extended through to 28^th Street.  That building was replaced in 1999 by a 48-story residential high-rise.

photo http://streeteasy.com/building/instrata-nomad

The Wooden Pringle House -- No. 36 East 29th St.

In 1871 the Pringle family purchased the property at No. 36 East 29^th Street.   The block between Madison and Park Avenues was lined with brick-faced Greek Revival style homes constructed in the years just before the outbreak of the Civil War.  But the Pringle house was decidedly different.

Four stories tall over an English basement, its Italianate style set it apart from its neighbors.  But its clapboard cladding made it even more conspicuous.  Wooden residences, once rather common, could no longer be built.  The entire city of New York had twice nearly been destroyed by fire.  A law enacted in 1866 prohibited the further construction of wooden buildings. 

If the Pringles lived in the rather charming house at all; by 1895 it was being operated as a rooming house.  The elderly Dr. J. Whitney Barstow was here that year.  He had graduated from Dartmouth in 1846 and was still a member of the New York County Medical Association.  Also boarding in the house at the time was J. Penny.  On September 5 that year Penny complained (along with several other residents of the block) that the Republicans had fraudulently used his name on election enrollments.

Once a fashionable neighborhood, the 29^th Street block was changing by the turn of the century.  It still housed respectable boarders—in 1903 wholesale wallpaper merchant C. R. Hanlon lived here, as did David Mulholland, a mining operator, in 1909—but commerce would soon take over the neighborhood.

Hester A. Booth purchased the house early in 1919.  The Real Estate Record & Builders’ Guide referred to it as “the old Pringle residence” and reminded readers “it had been in the Pringle family since 1871.”  She quickly leased it to D. Wortmann, who announced his plans to alter the house “into bachelor apartments, with stores on the first floor.”  Wortman estimated the cost of conversion at $15,000 (about $202,000 in today’s dollars).

The metamorphosis of the block was evidenced in the Record & Guide’s comment on Hester’s real estate agent’s recent business.  “This is the fifth house in this block disposed of and improved by Mr. Turner in the past year.”

Bachelor apartments had been an increasing trend since about 1879.  Respectable unmarried men had difficulty finding appropriate housing.  Many boarding houses refused to accept bachelors and the bachelor hotel or bachelor apartment house solved the problem.

Within three months the conversation was completed.   The stoop was removed and a projecting two-story wooden storefront installed.   A store and related offices were now in the lower floors with bachelor apartments on the upper floors.

The Edwardian storefront survives at the second floor.  

The Atlas Label Co. took the store and office space.  Its catchy slogan was “If it’s worth labeling at all, it’s worth labeling well.”  In 1920 the firm proudly announced it had imported “a new seal and label press which prints in one and two colors, embosses, and dye cuts all in one operation.”  An article in The American Perfumer said “This, the company announces, is the only machine of its kind in this country.”

East 29^th Street was in the center of the Silk District and by 1922 the Atlas Label Co. had moved to No. 119 Lafayette Street and in its place was silk dealer Adolph Meirowitz.  His employees were terrorized on January 16, 1925 when three men burst into the shop.

At 6:30 that night there were eight workers in the store.  The three bandits tied them to chairs with wire, then rifled through the stock.  As the frightened employees looked on, the men loaded $5,000 worth of silk into a large touring car as a look-out kept watch.

In 1929 I. S. Rossiter had an office in the building.  He administered the A-BAR-A Ranch in Wyoming from here.  Advertisements called it “unique among ranches, beautifully located in the Heart of the Cool Rockies.”  The amenities of the ranch were obviously upscale.  “Cabins with private baths; electricity; exceptional food.”  Guests could participate in swimming, trout fishing, horseback riding, tennis, and hunting.  References were required and  modern readers might be taken aback by the ads' admonishment that only Christians could apply.

The Ranch also offered a “separately conducted” month-long pack trip for boys aged 14 to 18. 

In 1935 “The New Student Theatre” briefly operated from the building.

Although the street level has been eradicated, the 1919 storefront at the second floor is remarkably intact.  Above, the wooden house with its handsome cornice with scrolled brackets, is a delightful surprise.

photographs taken by the author

The 1916 Silk Exchange Cafe -- No. 47 E 29th Street

The Arts & Crafts architectural details were obliterated in a 2014 makeover.

When the esteemed dentist, Dr. Elbert Todd, died in his handsome four-story home at No. 47 East 29^th Street on January 8, 1902, the neighborhood was in flux.  Fifteen years after beginning his practice, Todd had purchased the house in 1876.  Sitting between Madison and Park Avenues, it was just a few blocks removed from the Fifth Avenue and Murray Hill mansion districts.

Dr. Todd’s first wife had died in 1881; but he remarried.  A grown son, Ezra Washburn Todd, was also a dentist.  At the time of his death, Todd’s 14- and 17-year old daughters lived in the house with him and his wife, Caroline.  Friends and family who pulled up to the East 29^th Street house for the doctor’s funeral in stylish black carriages would have noticed that the private homes on the block were being converted for business purposes.

By now even Fifth Avenue had changed below 34^th Street.  Not only had upscale shops like art galleries and dressmakers taken over the brownstone mansions; but many had been replaced by commercial structures.  Only four months after Dr. Todd’s funeral an advertisement appeared in the New-York Tribune seeking bachelor tenants for the house.  “Large rooms, newly furnished; bath on each floor; gentlemen only; house in charge of caretaker.”

For the next decade the Todd family continued to lease the house as a boarding house for respectable single men.  Then in October 1912 the Real Estate Builders’ Record & Guide announced that it had been leased to the Proudman Realty Co. “for business purposes.”

The altered building served as offices for tenants like John Arschagouni, a homoeopathic doctor.  But the upper-most rooms were apparently still being rented as living quarters.  Matylda Neiman, called “a pretty Russian girl” by The New York Times, was living here in 1913.  Although she was employed at the Martha Washington Hotel, she heavily augmented her salary by picking pockets.  When she was arrested on January 11 that year, the newspaper’s headline announced “Detectives Flock to See Pretty Girl.”

Matylda was an expert at her craft.  One detective estimated that her daily take was around $605—in the neighborhood of over $13,000 today.  Matylda answered flatly, “You don’t know that.”

But soon neither the pick-pocketing Neiman nor Dr. Arschagouni would be listing No. 47 East 29^th Street as their address.  While the millinery and garment districts had inched north of 23^rd Street on the West side of Fifth Avenue; the silk district was engulfing the neighborhood around the Todd house.  Silk merchants and jobbers bustled along the once-placid streets, hurrying to their offices and showrooms.

On May 20, 1916 the Record & Guide reported that Caroline M. Todd had commissioned architects Gross & Kleinberger to replace the old brownstone with a “two-story brick restaurant building.”  Before the first brick was laid, she had leased the property to the Silk Exchange Café.

The architects produced a no-nonsense commercial building clad in variegated brick.  A cast iron-framed storefront nestled within the brick piers.  The charm of the structure was in its creative brickwork, most notably the herringbone pattern between floors, and the grouped set of windows at the second story.

The herringbone pattern of the brickwork, the inset stone panels and the grouped upper openings created the charm -- Google Maps, May 2009

Perhaps it was limited funds that caused Caroline Todd to erect a two-story building rather than a modern loft and store structure.  Her restaurant would cost her just $12,000 to build; significantly less than a large commercial structure (nevertheless a substantial quarter of a million dollars today for the widow).  Or she may have simply been a shrewd businesswoman.  The Silk Exchange Café would thrive in the little building for years.

If the second floor was originally intended as part of the restaurant; that plan quickly fell through.  In March 1917 silk dealer Seville & Jonas leased that space for its offices.  Three years later Arrow Silk Mills, silk jobbers, was doing business there. 

Apparently the silk business was not all work and no play.  In 1921 Max E. Klein, principal of Arrow Silk Mills, was sued by William J. Smith Silk Company.  At the trial on February 6, 1922 Philip Getzoff was called as a witness for the defendant.

Getzoff was asked if he had visited Klein’s place of business on Saturday, January 31, 1920.  He testified that he had, and that along with Max Klein, there were six other men in there.  The attorney then asked Getzoff what the men were doing when he arrived.

“They were shooting a game of crap dice.”

In the 1920s journalist O. O. McIntyre fascinated readers with his syndicated column “New York Day by Day” in which he chronicled his observations about everyday Manhattan.  On January 1, 1926 he turned his attention to the Silk District, clearly describing the sweeping changes since Elbert Todd purchased his home exactly 50 years earlier.

“The silk district is in the upper East Twenties.  I notice a Silk Exchange café, a pool parlor and a shoe shine stand catering exclusively to the men who deal in silks.”

But by mid-century the silk district had essentially disappeared from the east side of Fifth Avenue.  The Silk Exchange Café became home to Design Techniques by 1954; a home furnishings retail store where fabrics and wallcoverings could be purchased.

Then in 1989 the little building returned to its original purpose.  Just around the block on Park Avenue was Park Bistro, described by The New York Times in November that year as an “immensely popular French restaurant.”  The owners branched out, taking over No. 47 (which it preferred to call a “townhouse”) and opening Park Avenue Gourmandises.  Where silk jobbers had lunched on corned beef  and crap games went on in the second floor, now trendier New Yorkers purchased “pastries, croissants, cheese and prepared imported foods.”

The gourmet store would remain in the building for years; replaced after the turn of the 21^st century by Red Sky, a sports bar and restaurant popular for its roof deck.  But that, too, of course, would not last.  It closed sometime around 2013.

Through it all the tiny little café building had survived remarkably intact.  Then the overlooked relic of the Silk District received a cosmetic updating that effectively obliterated all of the structure's Arts and Crafts charm.

non-credited photographs by the author