G. Fred. Pelham's 1891 110 Eighth Avenue

Real estate developers Weil & Mayer embarked on an astonishingly ambitious project in 1891, demolishing all the vintage structures on the east side of Eighth Avenue between 15th and 16th Street and hiring architect G. Fred. Pelham to design a sprawling complex of store-and-flat buildings on the site.  Pelham designed the structures, eight on the avenue and one each on the side streets, in the Romanesque Revival style.  Above the storefronts, the openings altered from arched to square-headed floor-by-floor.  Faced in light-colored brick and trimmed in terra cotta and brownstone, their design strayed from pure Romanesque with Renaissance Revival terra cotta plaques on the side streets and occasional Queen Anne sunburst parapets atop the Eighth Avenue cornices.  Most strikingly, perhaps, (and a commission that kept stone carvers busy for months), were the portrait keystones above the arched openings--exactly 100 of them.  Each one carved with its own personality, some grimacing, some smiling, others seemingly crying out.

Painted today, these three keystone exemplify the stone carvers' craft and the variety of their work.

Typical of the buildings was 110 Eighth Avenue, one of the two middle structures.  It, like the others, filled with working class families.  

Among its early tenants was Joseph Garity, born in Ireland in 1858.  On May 21, 1893, he went to Isaac Frankel's second-hand clothing store on Seventh Avenue to buy a coat.  He attempted to haggle with Dora Frankel, who was tending the store, about the price of a coat.  The New York Herald recounted their discussion:

"That's $9," said Mrs. Frankel.

"I'll give you six.  It's only worth five," said Garity.

"It's worth fifteen, but you can have it for nine," returned the proprietress.

Garity put his hand in his pocket and produced $6.50 and a razor.  He opened the razor.

"Now, will you take $6.50, or won't you?" he demanded.

"Get out of my place," ordered Mrs. Frankel.

The Evening World reported that he "slashed at Mrs. Frankel."  Dora Frankel jumped back, and screamed, and ran behind the counter.  Her scream caught the attention of a policeman who was passing by.  The New York Herald said said he, "ran in to find Mrs. Frankel and Garity doing a turn around the counter, the woman being well in the lead."  Rather than buying a coat, Garity ended his day in jail.  The New York Herald commented, "He is a tough character and has done time."

The stupefying row as it appears today.  No. 110 Eighth Avenue is behind the black car.

A tenant named Livingston and his wife, Alice, lived at 110 Eighth Avenue in the mid-1890s.  Livingston was a traveling salesman and the couple took in a boarder, Edith Reed.  Livingston was on the road in upstate New York in June 1896.  

Early on the morning of June 13, Policemen Lane and Culhane were walking their rounds when Alice and Edith hollered at them from the apartment window.  The policemen arrived to find the two women holding a pair of young men hostage.  The incredible story they recounted was a bit hard to believe.

According to Alice Livingston, at 2:30 a.m. she and Edith were "startled by a knock on the door."  Alice opened it and two men, Martin Maroney and David Rosenheim, 27 and 28 years old respectively, pushed their way in.  Alice said she had never seen them before and ordered them out, but they laughed at her.  Rosenheim went into Alice's bedroom.  The New York Times reported, "She followed to eject him, but Maroney, without any warning, threw her down and held her, and with the help of Rosenheim took $50 in five-dollar bills from her clothing."  The men attempted to flee, but Edith locked the door, trapping them inside.  The women then screamed for help from the window.  (Ten five-dollar bills were found in Rosenheim's pocket.)

In the Jefferson Market the next day, Maroney and Rosenheim told a much different story.  They told the magistrate that they frequently called on the women when Livingston was away on business.  The New York Times reported that they testified, "on this occasion earlier in the evening they had displayed the money, and the women had fixed up this story so as to get possession of it."  The men were held in $1,000 bail each awaiting trial.

At the time of the incident, the store in 110 Eighth Avenue was home to William Baum's grocery.

Like the buildings' keystones, the carved faces above the entrance to 110 Eighth Avenue were different.  Their distinctly disparate styles suggest they were carved by different artisans.

A horrific tragedy occurred here on June 4, 1899.  The New York Journal and Advertiser reported, "Kizia Chapman, one year old, fell to the sidewalk from a window on the second floor of No. 110 Eighth avenue, yesterday afternoon, while playing there with her mother."  The little girl's skull was fractured and she died in the New York Hospital shortly afterward.

Tenant Madge Corcoran was 30-years-old and unmarried in 1904.  She was one of the party of five couples who went on what The New York Times termed an "automobile party" on the night of October 6 that year.  Albert Noyes drove the group in his "big Panhard touring automobile," reported The Evening World.

Another member of the party, Thomas Murphy, told investigators later, "We went to Mount Vernon and we stopped at every roadhouse on the way."  The party's revelry turned to tragedy in an instant just past midnight.  The Evening World reported that Noyes drove his car, "in which was a gay party of five women and four men," over the 30-foot embankment at Jerome Avenue and 161st Street.  The big automobile landed on the tracks of the New York Central Railroad.  The article said it, "was struck by a swiftly moving train and reduced to fragments in a twinkling."  Madge Corcoran was one of the passengers who were instantly killed.

William Baum still operated his grocery store on the ground floor on July 21, 1913 when a fire broke out in packing cases in the cellar early that morning.  It was discovered by Patrolman Thomas J. Eagan who, "ran through the house and warned the tenants," as reported by The Evening Post, which said he "led nearly one hundred and fifty tenants to the roof...while fire raged in the basement."  The article said:

Those rescued were Mrs. Bridget Flynn, eighty-six years old, an invalid, and Miss Rose Sazoretti, sixteen years old.  Mrs. Flynn was partly overcome by smoke, and was revived by the other tenants.  Miss Sazoretti, who was in her apartment on the fourth floor, was revived on reaching the roof.

The rescue of Bridget Flynn was more dramatic than the report initially made it sound.  Officer Egan discovered, after he thought everyone was safe, that James Bernie, his wife Edna, and Bridget Flynn (Edna Bernie's aunt) were missing.  He went back into the building to find Egan trying valiantly to carry Bridget Flynn up the stairs.  With the help of the Bernies, he carried the invalid woman to the roof.

William Baum's grocery store was taken over by Ginsberg Brothers, operated by I. Ginsberg, by 1918.  Ginsberg got into trouble with the Federal Government because of World War I price controls.  On January 26, 1918, The New York Times reported that the Federal Food Board heard a case "against a retail grocer who frankly admitted that he had overcharged for sugar."  The New-York Tribune said, "After five hours' examination Ginsberg admitted his offence and turned over to the board his $186.94 excess profit."  

Tenant John Garland, a truck driver, went to the Marlborough Grill on Broadway and 36th Street on Saturday night, October 7, 1922.  Prohibition had been in effect for two years and, unfortunately for him, a plain clothes detective was on duty there, too.  The 22-year-old was caught with a pint bottle of liquor and arrested.  

Garland worked for Denzer & Nathan, which dealt in silk.  Two years after his regrettable encounter with the agent, he was in the news again.  On the night of October 6, 1924, he got behind the wheel of a Denzer & Nathan truck, loaded with $25,000 worth of silk.  (The figure would translate to about $471,000 in 2026.)  His assistant, James McCarthy was in the passenger seat.  They made it as far as West 28th Street near Tenth Avenue when the truck was forced to the curb by six armed men.

Garland and McCarthy were loaded into the crooks' automobile and taken to First Avenue and 81st Street where they were released.  The following day, the New York Evening Post reported, "Police had to little to work on today in their hunt for six armed bandits who held up and escaped" with the trunk.

image via the NYC Dept of Records & Information Services.

Andrew Ventroff lived in 110 Eighth Avenue in 1933.  A registered Communist, he was part of an enormous throng who assembled at a Brooklyn pier on May 25 that year to confront Hass Weidemann.  The New York Times explained that Weidemann was the "representative of Chancellor Hitler" at the Chicag0 Century of Progress Exposition.  German artist, Gotthold Schneider, accompanied him on the voyage.

When the more than 1,000 Communists, carrying placards and banners, mobbed the pier, the two Nazis were spirited away in a tugboat.  The New York Times said, "The disturbance began, when on learning that they had been balked of the object of their attack, the Communists started several fights with persons whose sympathies appeared to be on the side of Hitler."  A melee between 100 policemen and the mass of Communists erupted.  In the end, 43 of the protestors were arrested (including Andrew Ventroff), and four policemen and three Communists were injured.

The storefront was remodeled during the Depression years with a faux stone front.  In the 1970s, it was home to Gilbert's Army & Navy Store.  

image via the NYC Dept of Records & Information Services

The complex of buildings was intact in 1940 (above).  The misguided painting of the masonry and removal of the cornice in the late 20th century greatly impaired the buildings' architectural integrity.

By then, the cornice had been removed from all the buildings and the masonry painted.  Sadly, those modernizations significantly diluted G. Fred. Pelham's personable 1891 design.

photographs by the author 

The Rosenmiller Drugstore Building - 172 Eighth Avenue

 

In 1843, John Hoey and his family lived above his grocery store at 172 Eighth Avenue.  The three-story, brick-faced building was a near match to several Greek Revival-style store-and-house structures recently built on the avenue.  The residential entrance, flanked by narrow sidelights, sat above two steps.  Typical of the style, the upper floors included unassuming brownstone lintels and a modest wooden cornice. 

The Greek Revival entrance to the upper floors was relatively intact as late as 1940.  via the NYC Dept of Records & Information Services.

As early as 1848, Lewis Adolphus Rosenmiller's pharmacy shared the ground floor with Hoey's grocery.  Rosenmiller's family moved into the upper floors and the Hoey family relocated to 187 West 20th Street.

Born on February 14, 1807, Rosenmiller married Ann Grier Barnitz on November 26, 1844.  The couple had five children: Mary K., Charles Louis, Adolphus, Jane, and Mary Cope.

Early 19th century pharmacists were called chemists because they mixed the prescriptions they filled.  But ready-made cures were also available at the Rosenmiller drugstore, like Dr. Caywood's Preparation.  An advertisement on August 26, 1848, touted it as "A never-failing remedy for hard or soft Corns."  And in January 1853, Jones' Italian Chemical Soap and Coral Hair Restorative were offered here.  "One cures every skin disease, chapped or sore flesh, eruptions, scurvy, &c.; the other dresses the hair finely, stops it falling, makes it grow, &c.," said an advertisement.

By the time of the latter ad, John Hoey had moved his grocery slightly northward, to 195 Eighth Avenue.  Lewis Rosenmiller's drugstore had become an important fixture in the Chelsea community, and Rosenmiller was a trustee of the 16th Ward's public schools.

Around 1857, Rosenmiller took in a partner, Alexander Menzies and the new partner moved into the upper floors with the Rosenmiller family for about a year.

The store and two others on Eighth Avenue were the victims of a con artist on March 25, 1857.  That day, Charles Macomber entered each of the drugstores and "asked for a bottle of Kellinger's liniment, and offered in payment at each place, a five dollar bank note on the Buffalo City Bank," explained the New-York Tribune.  He then left with his liniment and $4.50 in change.  The proprietors would later discover that the $5 notes were worthless.  The scam cost the druggists about $200 in today's money.

Rosenmiller's partnership with Menzies was short-lived.  By the early 1860s, the store was again being run solely by Rosenmiller.  It was, as well, a gathering place.  The New York Herald would later recall:

His office was the resort of the literati and medical practitioners of the locality, and it was the scene of many a learned discussion on medical science, politics and questions of the day.

Margaret Rebecca Rosenmiller, obviously a relative, was suffering from consumption in 1866, the mid-19th century term for tuberculosis.  Even Rosenmiller's medical knowledge could not save the 20-year-old and she died on the evening of May 9.  Her funeral was held in the family's parlor the following evening.

At the time, the Rosenmillers' landlady was Janet S. Pound.  She sold the building to Andrew R. Leggat on February 23, 1871 and he continued to rent the property to Rosenmiller.

On his 68th birthday, February 14, 1875, Lewis Adolphus Rosenmiller suffered a fatal stroke.  In reporting his death, the New York Herald praised:

He was one of the original pioneers of the Sixteenth ward, when that locality was known as Chelsea village and all of Manhattan Island above Bleecker street was looked upon as being in the country.

Calling Rosenmiller "a man of irreproachable character," the article said, "on the west side no one was more widely known and respected."  

Eight months later, on October 26, 1875, a succinct advertisement appeared in the New York Herald:  "Drug store for sale--To close an estate.  172 Eighth avenue."

The drugstore was converted to Isaac Westervelt's butcher store.  Widow Ann Burns now operated the upper two floors as a boarding house.  Her residents in 1876 were James Cullan, who was in the furniture business; real estate agent James Gallagher; John McDade, a drover; and engineer John Sims.

Isaac Westervelt got into trouble with Sanitary Inspector Brennan.  On July 10, 1878 he was charged for the second time "in violation of the Sanitary Code."  He was charged with "housing a large number of chickens."

The butcher store soon changed hands.  Max Meyer ran it in 1879, followed by Leon Winkler by the early 1890s.  Winkler moved his business to New Jersey in 1894.  Four years later, his name was involved in a mysterious case.

On July 1, 1898, the New York Herald reported that a young man had stumbled across a metal safety deposit box while "crossing the Hackensack meadows in North Bergen."  Police opened it and found "Italian and French bonds to the face value of $5,000.  There was also a bill of exchange for 100 gulden, payable to Leon Winkler, and a policy of insurance for $1,000, made out in the same name with the address, 172 Eighth avenue, New York."

Presumably, the safety deposit box had been stolen from Winkler, but no report had been filed.  Police went to 172 Eighth Avenue and found that Franz Amb was running his delicatessen in the shop.  The landlady, Mrs. Langtree, told them, according to the New York Herald, that "she remembered Mr. Winkler as a man who had kept a butcher shop there for about three years, but had moved away...She had never heard him speak of having been robbed."  Whether the mystery was ever solved is unclear.

On June 12, 1899, Andrew Leggat transferred title to the building to Jennie Z. Leggat.  Occupying the store at the time was Henry Beck's butcher shop.

Among the tenants of 172 Eighth Avenue in 1920 was Joseph B. Franklin Jr.  On the night of April 23 that year, just three months after Prohibition was enacted, he drove to Brooklyn and met two men who had whisky in their truck.  Unfortunately for all three, Patrolman Harry Cohen had the day off in recognition of his being awarded a medal for bravery.  Cohen celebrated by taking his wife to the theater.

The New-York Tribune reported that as Cohen was purchasing the tickets, "he saw a man take a case of whisky from the tail of a truck, put it into an auto runabout and start away."  The article said that Cohen, "forgetting all about his day off," sprang into action.  He overtook Franklin, then ordered him to follow the truck.  All three men were arrested and the truck, containing $7,000 worth of whisky, was confiscated.

After having been owned by her family for half a century, Eliza Leggat sold 172 Eighth Avenue in August 1921.  The following year, the Great Atlantic & Pacific Tea Co. opened a branch of its grocery store chain here.  It was replaced by 1940 by the Eigen Supply Co., a plumbing and heating supply store.

In the meantime, Edward Falzey, who lived here in 1934, had a shady background.  When a friend was charged with a crime that year, he accompanied him to the Tombs Courthouse on November 28 "to lend him moral support," as reported by The New York Sun.  His friendly deed landed him behind bars, however.

Other than the storefront, in 1940 the building's 1840s architectural elements survived.  via the NYC Dept of Records & Information Services.

Also in the courtroom was Sol Drapkin, the owner of a Ninth Avenue pawnshop.  The Sun reported, "He caught sight of Falzey sitting among the spectators and pointed him out to detectives as one of the men who held him up last March 26 and robbed him of $23,000 worth of jewelry."  Falzey was charged not only with the robbery, but with violating the Sullivan law (an early gun control statute), and felonious assault.

Living here in 1979 was William Alicia, who worked as a taxi driver.  On May 11 that year, the 37-year-old picked up an inebriated customer who refused to pay the $13 fare.  Alicia took him to the 17th Precinct station.  At around 7:45 p.m., while they were talking to Sgt. Harry Fagan at the front desk, a frustrated Alicia "hit the passenger with his hand once in the back of the neck," as reported by The New York Times.  The man fell to the floor unconscious.  He was taken to Bellevue Hospital where he died a short while later.  William Alicia was taken into custody, charged with manslaughter.

A laundromat occupied the store in the newly-remodeled building in 1980.  via the NYC Dept of Records & Information Services. 

A renovation completed in 1973 removed the 1840s Greek Revival entryway and lowered the replacement to grade.  Brick lintels replaced the brownstone, and a faux corbel table of brick substituted the wooden cornice.

Easily ignored today, the diminutive structure belies its rich history of more than 180 years.

photographs by the author

James E. Ware's 1884 67 and 69 Eighth Avenue

 

photograph by Carole Teller

In 1883, developer Pierson S. Halstead demolished the two vintage buildings at 67 and 69 Eighth Avenue, just south of West 14th Street, and hired architect James E. Ware to replace them with two store-and-tenement buildings.  Completed in 1884, they struggled with an architectural dual personality.  Above the residential entrances, flanked by stores, were stone entablatures ornately carved with Renaissance Revival designs.  The style reappeared on the top floor where shallow piers capped with Doric capitals separated the openings.  But sandwiched between, the three-story midsection was purely neo-Grec in style.  Faced in red brick and trimmed in brownstone, the windows wore hefty stone lintels capped with molded cornices.

While most tenants were respectable--like William H. Broderick, who lived in No. 67 and was a commissioner of deeds, similar to a notary public--others found themselves in trouble with the police.  

James F. Hyde, who also lived in No. 67, was a "ticket speculator" (known today as a ticket scalper).  He was working the crowd outside the Fourteenth Street Theatre on the night of November 24, 1887 when another speculator, David Stack, showed up.  Infuriated, Hyde insisted that the interloper leave.  The Sun reported, "They clinched, and Hyde, it is said, struck Stack over the head with the butt end of a revolver after Stack had bit his right thumb."  Neither man would sell any more tickets that night.  They were both arrested.

Hyde was assuredly familiar with another resident of 67 Eighth Avenue.  Martin W. Hanley, who lived there with his family at the time of the affray, was the manager of Harrigan's Park Theatre.

Living next door as early as 1891 was aspiring politician Charles Henry Turner.  Born in 1861, he attended Columbia College from 1886 to 1888.  He went into the ice business while campaigning for State Senate in 1888.  According to The New York Times, he "made speeches from the tailboard of an ice cart."  The newspaper said he would become "known throughout the country as 'Turner, the Ice Man.'"

In 1889, after Democratic U.S. Senator Frank T. Fitzgerald stepped down, Turner was elected to fill his place.  He served from December 9, 1889 to March 3, 1891, retaining the lease to his Eighth Avenue apartment.

Charles Henry Turner, Once a Week newspaper 1890 (copyright expired)

Turner hosted a political meeting in his apartment on February 9, 1891.  The New York Herald said, "The Executive Committee of the County Democracy Organization of the Ninth Assembly district met last night at No. 69 Eighth avenue to decide upon the question of a union with the rival New York democracy."

At the end of his Senate term, in March 1891, Turner was appointed Doorkeeper of the United States House of Representatives.  By the end of the year, it had become apparent that keeping the New York City residence was unworkable.  On December 11, 1891, The Evening World said, "Doorkeeper Turner at his home, 69 Eighth avenue...said that he simply came home to arrange for the removal of his family to Washington."

Burns's Undertaking occupied one of the two shop spaces in 69 Eighth Avenue by 1898.  It was taken over by Richard J. Delaney at the turn of the century.

The Xavier, May 1904 (copyright expired)

On the night of November 20, 1910, Richard J. Delaney was riding in the front seat of his hearse and John H. Koenig was driving.  The hearse struck 12-year-old Genni Damborelli at Eighth Avenue and 16th Street.  The New York Times reported, "The boy had his right eye injured and suffered some contusions."  The article said, "The chauffeur was able to stop before the boy was run over."

Delaney put the boy into the hearse and he was taken to New York Hospital.  There doctors diagnosed the boy's eye injury as serious and advised Delaney to take him to the New York Eye and Ear Hospital on Second Avenue.  The New York Times reported, "After the boy's eye was dressed, he was put in the hearse again, while Mr. Delaney went to the West Twentieth Street Station to report the accident."

At the station house, it was discovered that John Koenig had been driving with a New Jersey license and he was detained.  Richard Delaney now took the reins of the hearse and took Genni Damborelli home.  The Times titled its article, "Boy Spends a Happy Hour in the Vehicle Which Ran Him Down," and said he was "apparently enjoying himself."

The Renaissance Revival carvings above the entrances were intact as late as 1940.  image via the NYC Dept of Records & Information Services.

Richard J. Delaney sometimes handled the funerals of notable New Yorkers.  On August 4, 1911, The New York Times reported on the funeral of John B. McGoldrick, "for thirteen years Secretary to Richard Crocker, and for a short time Secretary of the Tammany General Committee."  And on the evening of May 17, 1916, the funeral of David Healy, "one of the oldest and most esteemed members of the New York Press Club," was held here.  

Delaney handled a sensitive situation in March 1921.  The bodies of Willis McCurdy, personnel manager of the American Surety Company, and his "young woman secretary, Alice Snowden," as described by the New-York Tribune, were discovered in Central Park.  The murder-suicide strongly suggested an extra-marital affair.  On March 10, the New-York Tribune reported, "The home of the McCurdys [in Astoria] remained closed all yesterday."  McCurdy's wife had taken their daughter away from the city and, apparently, wanted nothing to do with a funeral nor press attention.  McCurdy's brother, said the article, "placed the remains in charge of R. Delaney, an undertaker, of 69 Eighth Avenue, with instructions for shipment to the family home in Philadelphia."

image via the NYC Dept of Records & Information Services

The Lenox Laundry occupied one of the store spaces in 67 Eighth Avenue as early as 1908.  That year Charles Goldstein, who lived at 318 West 14th Street and was studying dentistry, began sending his linen to the shop.  In February 1909, nine-year-old Edna Carroll, the daughter of the laundry's owner, was watching a Salvation Army "street meeting" when Goldstein approached her.  The Evening World reported, "He persuaded her to come to his room for a letter he said he wanted delivered and promised to give her 10 cents for carrying it."

Once there, Goldstein assaulted her.  The Evening World reported, "The child said that when she got to the young man's room he had held a knife over her, threatening her life if she made an outcry."  Shockingly, Goldstein was not done.  The article said that Edna "was afraid to go home for several hours and meanwhile Goldstein had enticed [12-year-old Fannie Katz] to his room."  Fannie escaped and ran to her mother.  Edna finally had enough courage go home.  The Evening World reported that just as Fannie Katz and her parents left the Charles Street station, "the parents of Edna Carroll arrived."

News of the outrageous crimes quickly spread throughout the neighborhood.  The World reported, "A great crowd gathered before Goldstein's house.  As he was dragged out by the policemen, several men in the crowd sprang forward and struck him down.  Before the policemen could draw their clubs and fight back the crowd, the young man had been kicked and beaten."

On February 17, Goldstein pleaded guilty.  He told the magistrate that he looked upon himself "with loathing" and said, "I must have been drunk or mad when I committed those horrible acts.  I see myself, now, as I must have been then, a creature only fit to be hanged."

The Delaney Funeral Parlors were still at 69 Eighth Avenue in 1924.  At the time, the other space was home to the florist shop of Alfred D. Sickles.

Patrick Mitchell and his family lived at 67 Eighth Avenue as early as 1922.  He listed his profession as a "trucking foreman," but police knew him as "Link" Mitchell, "a member of the 'Tanner' Smith gang when that organization was terrorizing the mid-west side," according to The New York Times.  Patrick was closely associated with Frank Wallace, described by the police as "a thrice-convicted member of the notorious Hudson Dusters gang," according to the newspaper. 

The two gangsters spent Saturday night, August 12, 1922, "from dusk until Sunday dawn cruising about Broadway and the side streets in an automobile, 'looking for a guy,' who was apparently avoiding him successfully," reported The Evening World.  At 2:00 a.m. they arrived at the Café La Vie on West 48th Street (a dining-dancing café).  

At around dawn, Wallace and Mitchell started to leave.  The New York Times reported, "Two bullets in his head, Wallace pitched from the café to the curb and toppled into the street to die an hour later in Roosevelt Hospital."  Patrick Mitchell was one of seven patrons who were detained as "material witnesses."

The slippery Patrick Mitchell avoided arrest over the coming years.  Then, early on the morning of October 17, 1925, detectives raided the Varsity Club at 48 Sixth Avenue and "seized a flask of gin and whisky," as reported by The New York Times.  Two men, Louis Roth and James Dixson, were arrested.  The article said, "As the detectives were leaving with their prisoners, they said, they saw Joseph King, a negro...hand a revolver to Patrick Mitchell."  Both men and Thomas King, "who was standing next to Mitchell," were arrested and charged with violating the Sullivan Law, an early gun control act.

Half a century after Alfred D. Sickles opened his flower shop in 69 Eighth Avenue, a florist still occupied the space.  On December 18, 1978, The Villager reported, "At 12:15 pm on December 9, two men entered the flower shop at 69 Eighth Avenue, pulled guns and forced the manager to turn over $450 in cash and $1900 worth of jewelry before fleeing north on Eighth Avenue.  The manager gave chase, but lost them at 16th Street." 

Two decades later, the McManus Florist occupied the space.

The Villager, February 7, 1996

There are still four apartments per floor in the buildings.  The cast iron piers of the 1884 storefronts survive, however the Renaissance Revival entablatures over the doorways are gone.  The upper floors are essentially unchanged.

photograph by Carole Teller

many thanks to artist Carole Teller for suggesting this post

The 1931 Rothman's Pawn Shop Building - 149 Eighth Avenue

 

Born in the Chelsea area of New York City on March 6, 1833, Rev. Stephen Merritt Jr. joined his father's undertaking business in the converted house at 149 Eighth Avenue in 1851.  The Federal-style residence was erected around 1828 and would have been a close match to the abutting houses at 145 and 147 Eighth Avenue.  Following his father's death in 1874, Merritt moved the operation to 219 Eighth Avenue.  

At the turn of the century, Samuel Epstein's glass and mirror business occupied the ground floor of the vintage building.  But the post-World War I years saw it sorely neglected.  The city deemed the structure "unsafe" in 1927, 1929 and 1930.

Apparently that third violation was the last straw for city inspectors.  The building was demolished and the 149 Eighth Avenue Corp. hired architect H. Hurwit to replace it with a one-story store.  Hurwit's Art Moderne design included sharply-angled arcade windows that provided ample display space for window-shopping pedestrians.  Above, a high, scalloped parapet gave the diminutive building a false sense of height.

Hurwit's stylish design was visible for only a short time.  The building was leased to Rothman's Pawn Shop.  Its aggressive signage left only the show windows visible.

Steel supports reinforce the abutting buildings in 1940.  via the NYC Dept of Records & Information Services.

The intentional chaos of Rothman's Pawn Shop caught the eye of photographer Berenice Abbott on May 18, 1938.  She snapped photographs of the building as part of her Changing New York, a collection of images funded by the Federal Art Project. 

This image by Berenice Abbott clearly shows the arcade windows sitting on sleek, two-toned Art Moderne bases.  from the collection of the New York Public Library.

The Eighth Avenue neighborhood underwent a renaissance in the third quarter of the century.  After having been home to Rothman's for half a century (during which the billboard-sized sign prevented masonry repairs), in 1983 149 Eighth Avenue was converted to an "eating and drinking establishment," as worded by the Department of Buildings.  H. Hurwit's Art Moderne arcade windows were replaced with a flat facade.  The alterations anticipated the August 5th opening of Pat Rogers's and Bob Barbero's restaurant, Rogers and Barbero. 

Two months later, on October 3, The New York Times restaurant critic Suzanne Daley recalled, "Opening night was a blur of handshakes and congratulations."  The owners, she wrote, "had transformed what used to be a pawn shop into a restaurant, covering the crumbling black-brick facade with pale beige stucco, rebuilding the floors and the walls, spending nearly $350,000."

The partners had signed a 15-year lease on the building.  Their goal, they said, was to establish a neighborhood restaurant serving regional dishes and "some of what the American chefs are coming up with."

There was another change taking place in the Chelsea neighborhood.  By the 1990s, the gay community had greatly moved northward from Greenwich Village and at least two gay bars opened along Eighth Avenue.  In 1993, Pat Rogers and Bob Barbero renovated their restaurant and renamed it Food Bar.  The changes were intended to attract a gay clientele.

On November 10, 1993, Newsday titled an article "Gays and the Restaurant Scene."  Bob Barbero told the journalist, "A lot of people who come in here now know each other and go from table to table during the course of the night.  It is much more of a social scene, more outrageous than our old restaurant."

The popular Food Bar was both "outrageous" and highly successful.  photograph by Gigi Cohen, Newsday, November 10, 1993.

The importance of Food Bar in the Chelsea gay community was reflected in a benefit held here in June 1999.  The New York Times said, "Kathleen Turner, Martha Plimpton and Joan Osborne will speak at a benefit for the Planned Parenthood Federation of America and Planned Parenthood of New York City."  Following the speeches, said the article, would be "a performance of Part 1 of 'The Cider House Rules.'"

A renovation completed in 2010 included a new storefront and a coat of charcoal-colored paint.  Today a Mexican restaurant occupies the space.

photographs by the author

The James Condie Drugstore Building - 166 Eighth Avenue

 

Around 1844, a brick-faced house and store was erected at 166 Eighth Avenue between 18th and 19th Streets.  Three stories tall, its Greek Revival design included a single-doored residential entrance flanked by pilasters and four-paned sidelights.  A commodious transom allowed natural light into the foyer.  The building's six-over-six-paned windows sat upon plain brownstone sills and wore understated stone lintels.

Archibald Donnelly operated a tavern here in 1845, but his venture was short lived.  As early as 1848 James Condie and his family lived in the upper floors.  He was a partner in the Gabaudan & Condie apothecary that now occupied the store.

The drugstore was a vehicle for an enterprising chemist in September 1848.  His ads appeared throughout the Northeast saying:

Messrs. Gabaudan & Condie, Druggists, No. 166 Eighth Avenue, state that this past summer they sold Mr. Lawrence, a Police Officer, six bottles of Dr. Roger's Liverwort and Tar.  His wife afterwards called upon them, and said that her husband had been, for some time time, lying very low with Consumption, and that the Physician and their friends had despaired of his recovery; but by the use of the above six bottles, he was restored to perfect health.  She says she has no doubt but that it was the above Medicine alone which cured him.

James Condie was born in Perthshire, Scotland.  Both he and his wife, the former Sarah Ellen Harrison, were born in 1820.  In addition to running the drugstore, he volunteered as a "laddie" at Laurel Hose Company, No. 30 on West 27th Street.  Five children would be born in the Eighth Avenue house--Sarah Ellen in 1849, Mary Catherine in 1854, Ellen Condie two years later, Samuel Harrison in 1859, and Ella Grace in 1862.

As was common, the Condies rented a room in their home.  In 1851 Jane E. Percy lived here.  She was a teacher in Colored Primary School No. 3 on West 15th Street.  The following year Underwood Montgomery rented the room.  He was a mechanist and a sexton of the West Twenty-Third Street Presbyterian Church.  Montgomery would remain with the Condies at least through 1856.

James and Sarah Ellen would suffer grief while living here.  On December 7, 1857, little Ellen died 21 days after her first birthday.  And Samuel Harrison Condie died at the age of one year and 11 months on February 2, 1861.  The miniature caskets of both children sat in the parlor until their funerals.

In 1866, Condie sold the building and the business to Robert Blackburn.  He commuted from his home in New Jersey while James Whittet, who apparently worked for Blackburn, occupied the upper portion of 166 Eighth Avenue.  Born in 1833, Whittet and his wife, Catherine Loehmert, had four children.  The Whittets' residency would be rather short-lived and by 1864 David J. Hughes, a policeman, lived here.  He was followed by Thomas Ormiston, a native of Skirling, Peebleshire, Scotland, who died in the house at the age of 57 on August 27, 1866.

Beginning about 1873, the Webster family lived above the drugstore.  William Webster was a carpenter and Charles ran a liquor store or saloon next door at 168 Eighth Avenue.  William changed profession and in 1876 was listed as a policeman.

That year Robert Blackburn and two other druggists fell victim to con artist James Nagle.  On April 21, 1876, the New York Herald said, "His trick is an old one."  Nagle would ask for five cents worth of salts and give the druggist a five dollar bill.  "When the change was given he claimed that it was $1 short and demanded $1 extra," explained the article.  Police caught up with Nagle and charged him "of swindling."

Like the Condies had done, the Websters took in a roomer.  Mary Scott House moved in with the family in November 1877.  Described by the New York Evening Express as belonging "to one of the best families in the State," Mary House was in desperate straits.  A few weeks earlier, on October 23, she had married Elijah S. House ("a member of an aristocratic family in Troy," according to the New York Evening Express).  The newlyweds checked into the New York Hotel.  The newspaper reported that House, "left the hotel on November 1st, saying he was going to get some money, and did not return.  Four or five days after she received a letter from him telling her to go back among her friends, and she then found he had abandoned her."

The Websters may have given Mary House a room out of sympathy.  The New York Evening Express said, "All the money [House] gave her since her marriage was fifty cents."  She complained to the police, who finally found and arrested Elijah S. House, who was living with Emma Scott at 186 Thompson Street.

House defended his actions saying, in part, that Mary had told him "she was worth money in her own right," but after their marriage he discovered she was "deeply in debt and wanted him to pay her debts."  Additionally, "her temper became so irritable that he could not live with her."  Surprisingly, Justice Bixby discharged House because he had lost his job and could not support his wife.  He told Mary, "that she could have her husband rearrested whenever she was able to prove he was earning any money."

In February 1878, Robert Blackburn had a more serious concern than swindling to worry about.  His clerk, Edward Wall, filled a prescription for Sophia Brown.  The 20-year-old was pregnant at the time.  Dr. Bremen later said he prescribed ten pills that contained, in total, "one-fifth of a grain of Hyoscyamus."  (Hyoscyamus is a toxic plant used in small doses to treat nervous disorders or problems with sleeping.)  Instead, Wall put one-fifth of a grain of the poisonous ingredient into each pill--ten times the prescribed amount.

Sophia Brown took one of the pills at 7:00 on the evening of February 12 and died within an hour.  Dr. Bremen went to the Blackburn drugstore and discovered Wall's mistake.  Rather astonishingly, on February 19 a coroner's jury decided that Robert Blackburn and Edward Wall were innocent of malpractice.  The New York Times reported that the jury felt that Sophia Brown died "from a miscarriage, and that they knew not whether it had been brought about in an artificial or natural manner."

John Alexander Whittet had lived above the store in 1866 as a five-year-old while his father, James Whittet, worked in the Blackburn pharmacy.  In 1882, now a young man, he purchased the drugstore.  He had inherited $10,000 from his father's estate the previous year.  (The figure would translate to a considerable $325,000 in 2026.)  Whittet was originally successful, but a failed romance led to his downfall.

Four years later, on December 15, 1886, The New York Times reported, "He was paying attentions to a young lady living in Carlton-avenue, Brooklyn, but their engagement was broken off."  According to relatives, Whittet went on a drunken, year-long spree.  The New York Times said, "He did a good business until he contracted habits of intemperance."  Under pressure from relatives, he agreed to "become an inmate of the Christian Home for Intemperate men, but he withdrew his consent." 

In order to "save him from complete destruction," as worded by the newspaper, "his relatives interposed."  On December 14, 1886, police arrested John Alexander Whittet from behind the counter of his drugstore.  His grandmother, Margaret Ormiston, had "charged him with being an habitual drunkard," said the article.

Daniel R. Woollett, a printer, obtained the property shortly afterward.  Born in London in July 1838, he came to America in 1851.  An employer of the printing firm Styles & Cash, Wollett was an active member of the Masonic Tabernacle Lodge No. 598.  He and his family moved into the upper floors of 166 Eighth Avenue.  

At the same time, the Van Valkenburgh & Rickey drugstore took over the ground floor space.  That partnership dissolved in 1889 and August Weber took over the shop for his grocery business.  He moved in with the Wollett family.

Weber was chosen as a jury member in 1899 in one of New York City's most famous murder cases.  Roland Burnham Molineux attempted to eliminate a romantic rival, Harry Seymour Cornish, by poisoning a bottle of Emerson's Bromo-Seltzer with cyanide of mercury.  Instead, Cornish's cousin, Katherine Adams, took the medicine for a headache.  She died within a few minutes.  (The court case resulted in a landmark ruling that restricted prosecutors from presenting evidence of previous crimes.)

August Weber's grocery store was pointed out by The Evening Post in July 1902 as one of the outlets within Manhattan deemed by Dr. R. A. Witthaus of Cornell University Medical College as having, "pure, wholesome, and reliable food products."

Daniel R. Woollett died on October 30, 1904 at the age of 66.  His funeral was held in the parlor of 166 Eighth Avenue two days later.

The former Weber grocery store space was leased to Daniel Reeves, Inc. in April 1915.  The name was familiar to New Yorkers and this store would be one of hundreds of Daniel Reeves groceries throughout the New York City area.

Renting a room here in 1917 was Irish-born Margaret T. J. Curley, who worked as a stenographer.  The fiery-tempered woman attended what the New-York Tribune described as "a soapbox meeting of the Friends of Irish Freedom" at Broadway and 35th Street on August 29 that year.  What started as a peaceful protest ended in anything but that.  The New-York Tribune began an article saying, "Heads were broken, women trampled and eight persons arrested last night in two riots which followed the attempts of the police to disperse a crowd of three thousand persons."

Enraged after three orators were hauled off the platform by police only minutes after starting speaking, Margaret T. J. Curley jumped into action.  The New-York Tribune reported, "A woman, madly shrieking that she was a suffragette, leaped to the platform, tore off her hat and began waving the [Irish] flag."  The article said, "Miss Curley was arrested."

The Daniel Reeves grocery store was the scene of an armed robbery on March 26, 1927.  The New York Times reported that two armed men, "forced the manager, John Cleary and a woman customer, to the rear, rifled the till of $300 and escaped in a waiting automobile."

In 1929, an Art Deco storefront composed of Vitreous enamel panels was installed.  By 1938, Freddy's Food Market had supplanted Daniel Reeves in the store.  With Prohibition repealed, in 1938 the grocery obtained a license to sell beer and wine.  

In 1941, the Greek Revival entrance, the six-over-six windows and the modest cornice were intact.  via the NYC Dept of Records & Information Services.

The second half of the 20th century saw a decline in the Eighth Avenue neighborhood.  But a renaissance at the turn of the century saw trendy shops and restaurants filling the storefronts.  La Chinita Linda, a Cuban-Chinese restaurant, occupied the ground floor of 166 Eighth Avenue.  Richard Laermer's 2002 Native's Guide to New York said it "has fab black beans."

Distressingly mutilated today, only the Flemish bond brickwork and now-painted brownstone lintels and sills of 166 Eighth Avenue survive to testify of the building's venerable history.

photographs by the author