George Fred Pelham's 1893 332 West 51st Street

 

In September 1890, real estate operator William Ramsey purchased the three, three-story brick houses at 330 through 334 West 51st Street.  Each of them was 20-feet wide, giving Ramsey a 60-foot wide parcel upon which to build.  He would replace the three structures with two flat buildings.

Ramsey commissioned George Frederick Pelham to design the the structures.  In doing so, he was, perhaps, taking a risk.  The 23-year-old architect had just opened his office that year.  Born in 1867 in Ottawa, Ontario, he was the son of architect George Brown Pelham, who brought his family to New York City in 1875.  George had entered his father's firm as a draftsman.  Ramsey's commission was among the earliest--if not the first--he received.

Construction on the identical, Romanesque Revival-style buildings was completed in 1891.  The first and second floors were faced in brownstone and the upper three in orange brick.  The arched entrance, which sat above a four-step stoop, and the panels below the windows were carved with intricate Romanesque-style carvings.  Above a molded cornice, the second floor was faced in planar stone, its openings framed in undressed brownstone and capped with dramatic, flaring voussoirs.  

The third and fourth floors sat between molded intermediate cornices.  Double-height brick piers between the openings were capped with carved medieval-style capitals.  They were connected by layered stone arches, the single spandrel of which was filled with elaborate foliate carvings.  The arched windows of the top floor wore brownstone voussoirs capped with stone eyebrows.  

Described as "double flats," the buildings had two apartments per floor.  An advertisement for both buildings in April 1893 offered, "Elegantly decorated apartments of 7 rooms and bath, all light; steam heat, &c.; rent $45 and upward."  Given the location on the eastern edge of Hell's Kitchen, the rent was somewhat pricey.  The base rent would translate to $1,625 in 2026.

Among the initial residents of 332 West 51st Street were Dr. William S. McMurdy and his wife, Fannie, who were married in 1890.  Born in 1858, McMurdy was an 1881 graduate of Princeton University and earned his medical degree at the College of Physicians and Surgeons. He started his practice in 1889.

Like almost all doctors, McMurdy was called upon day and night.  On April 13, 1895, The Evening World began an article saying, "A small epidemic of insanity swept over Manhattan Island during last night."  Among the "several cases of a more or less violent nature," was that of John Kane, a driver for Hook and Ladder Truck 21.  Two years earlier, he suffered a head injury while fighting a fire and "since that time he has been acting queerly," explained The Evening World.  In January 1895, his condition became so severe that he was put on sick leave.

At 1:00 on the morning of April 13, Kane told his wife that "he was going out to find the captain of his company and kill him."  Alarmed, Mrs. Kane summoned Dr. McMurdy.  When he arrived, Kane told him that he knew that he was insane, but could not stop his murderous impulses.  "He asked, for the safety of his wife and child, that he be taken to a hospital," reported The Evening World.  Kane was taken by ambulance to Roosevelt Hospital and later removed to Bellevue Hospital.

Mrs. E. Lambert, who lived here as early as 1898, was the guardian of her 19-year-old nephew, George Austin.  He left their apartment on August 23 and did not come home.  Five days later Mrs. Lambert was frantic.  The New York Herald reported, "She said she had made a round of all the hospitals of the city and had caused an alarm to be sent out by the police, but has received no tidings of the missing youth."  It is unclear whether Austin was ever found.

The unmarried Marie Quinn was pulled into a bizarre incident involving one of New York City's wealthiest bachelors, Robert Goelet, in November 1903.  Eleanor Anderson, who lived next door at 330 West 51st Street, asked Marie to go to St. Patrick's Cathedral and "vouch for her character" to Father Lavelle.  Marie did so.  (Eleanor was a telegraph operator, the daughter of a Sixth Avenue restaurant owner, and the sister of "the champion oyster opener of Sixth avenue," as described by the New York Herald.)

On November 3, Robert Goelet left his Newport mansion to travel to New York City, "wondering who had put into circulation a story published yesterday afternoon that he had married a Miss Eleanor Anderson of 330 West Fifty-first street," reported the New York Herald.  Goelet told reporters, "I have not the pleasure of the lady's acquaintance.  I never even heard of her existence until the newspaper story of my marriage to her appeared."  Additionally, said the Episcopalian millionaire, "Only once in my life have I been in the Cathedral, and then I only went to look at the place."

Marie Quinn could not help in the mystery.  She told a reporter that Eleanor had not told her the groom's name.  Father Lavelle was equally unhelpful, saying, "Miss Anderson's matrimonial arrangements...were none of the public's business."  What was certain, however, is that Robert Goelet was not Eleanor Anderson's new husband.

Although the residents of 332 West 51st Street were middle class, they were affluent enough to afford domestic help.  Albert Hartog and his wife employed a maid, Mable Lewis, in 1905.  On September 5, the New York Herald reported, "she disappeared after she had been at work a few days, taking a watch and pin worth $240."  (The value of the items would equal more than $8,800 today.)

As it turned out, this was not Mabel's first offense.  Young women often practiced what police called the "service game," taking domestic jobs just to steal valuables.  "When police looked up the woman's record they found that her picture is in the rogues' gallery and that she has served time for similar thefts," reported the New York Herald.

On September 3, Hartog was walking along Eighth Avenue when he saw Mable at 54th Street.  The New York Herald reported that he, "took her by the back of the neck and marched her to the West Forty-seventh street station, where she confessed."  The pin was recovered, but the watch had apparently been pawned. 

Albert Wilcox and his wife lived here in November 1934, when they had a young houseguest, Private John G. McFadden, a soldier stationed at the Military Academy at West Point.  Among McFadden's extracurricular duties was the "custodianship of the mule that is the Army mascot."  The soldier was on his way to Pennsylvania where the Army-Navy football game was scheduled to be played on December 1 at Franklin Field.  (The New York Times explained, "When the Army team plays out of town...the regular mascot stays at home and a substitute is hired at the place where the game is played.)

McFadden had met the Wilcoxes on a previous visit to New York City.  When he arrived at the train station, they were there to meet him and took him to their apartment for a night's rest.  The visit ended up very badly.

When he awoke, McFadden realized his watch was gone.  He accused Albert Wilcox of theft and had him arrested.  Wilcox denied stealing the watch, but was held without bail on a grand larceny charge.  The New York Times reported on December 3, that McFadden, "missed the Army-Navy football game on Saturday and lost his watch as well."  Private McFadden grumbled, "I wish I had stayed with my mule."

Another resident, elevator operator Al Jenkins, found himself behind bars two years later.  He and his union members were on strike in 1936.  Just before noon on March 4, he and another striker went to the 20th floor of 135 West 26th Street to confront two strikebreakers.  Concealed under their coats  were "heavy axe-handles," as described by The New York Times.  Jenkins and James Caffrey were arrested for felonious assault.

image via the NYC Dept of Records & Information Services.

Charles Schwartz occupied an apartment here in 1944.  He and Floyd Markowitz operated a shady business in the vacant storefront of 254 West 49th Street.  Detectives told reporters "they had been watching the store for some time, after learning that illegal liquor was being distributed somewhere in the neighborhood."  On March 3, the Police Commissioner's "confidential squad" raided the space.  The New York Times reported that they "seized fourteen cases of what they declared was bootleg whisky, with counterfeit labels and revenue stamps."  Schwartz and Markowitz were arrested, charged with "possessing untaxed liquors."

By mid-century, 332 West 51st Street was being operated as a furnished rooming house run by Mrs. Frank Davis.  Among her tenants in 1951 was 28-year-old Tillie Goldstein.  Patrons of the Radio City Music Hall in the summer of 1951 might have encountered Tillie carrying a container labeled "Give for Mt. Ebenezer Baptist Church."  On June 4, The New York Times said she had been arrested for "soliciting without a permit."  Tillie admitted she had collected "maybe $300 or $400" for the church.  The Rev. Lafayette W. Rogers, rector of Mt. Ebenezer Baptist Church, said she had donated $8.

Also living at 332 West 51st Street at the time was a celebrity of sorts, Alvin A. Kelly, known nationwide as Shipwreck Kelly.  Born on May 13, 1893 and a World War I Navy veteran, he became famous as "the redoubtable flagpole sitter and stuntman in the Roaring Twenties," as described by The New York Times.  The newspaper recalled:

His greatest feat was his stay on top of a flagpole on the Steel Pier at Atlantic City for 1,177 hours, or more than forty-nine days, in the summer of 1930.  The vogue for flagpole-sitting and goldfish-swallowing dwindled about that time, and it is believed that the record still stands.

Alvin A. "Shipwreck" Kelly as he appeared in 1939.  Associated Press, October 12, 1952

Mrs. Frank Davis told reporters that Shipwreck Kelly "suffered from an asthmatic heart and hardening of the arteries."  At 7:00 on the night of October 11, 1952, he fell onto the sidewalk "a few doors from the furnished flat at 332 West Fifty-first Street where he had been living alone on home relief," reported The New York Times.  He died on the scene, "with a scrapbook full of old newspaper clippings under his arm," said the article.

In the early 2000s, the cornice was missing.  image via google streetview.

Several residents of the rooming house continued to be on the wrong side of the law.  On December 2, 1960, Eric Larson was arrested for attempting "to extort $3,000 from James Muro, a Corona, Queens tow-truck operator," as described by The New York Times.  And in August 1966, 21-year-old Lanny Arbucci was arrested for selling "pep pills and capsules."  Charged with what was perhaps the most disturbing crime was resident Carlos Antrades.  The 33-year-old was arrested in August 1986 with promoting the prostitution of boys as young as 14 years old.

By the early 2000s, the building and its next door twin were seriously neglected.  On December 17, 2014, Manhattan Community Board Four reported complaints of "vermin infestation, lack of building services, non-working bathrooms and sporadic hot water."  Lantern Group purchased both properties for conversion to single-room-occupancy units.  

A full-gut renovation resulted in one-person apartments "available to single persons," according to 6sqft on August 23, 2017.  The article noted the building offered, "24-hour security, an on-site resident manager, community room, backyard, laundry room, and on-site social services for low-income or formerly homeless households with special needs."  Including in the renovation was the reproduction of the lost cornice.

photographs by the author

George F. Pelham's 1931 121 East 31st Street

 

After learning his trade in the architectural office of his father, George Brown Pelham, George Fred Pelham opened his own office in 1890.  Having earned a solid reputation as a designer of apartment buildings and hotels, in 1930 developers Psaty & Fuhrman commissioned him to design an apartment building at 119 through 125 East 31st Street.

Pelham routinely drew from historic styles and for 121 East 31st Street he turned to the English Regency period.  Completed in 1931, the 12-story-and-penthouse structure was faced in red brick, its setbacks starting at the tenth floor perfectly symmetrical.  Pelham was perhaps inspired by the elegant 18th century designs of Robert Adam in the tracery above the doorway, the double-height fluted pilasters with lotus capitals that flanked it, and the delicate swagged frieze above the second floor.

George Fred Pelham released this rendering in 1930.  The New York Sun, May 3, 1930.

Among the initial residents were Dr. Harrison I. Cook, who leased the penthouse on March 22, 1931, and Marcus Meltzer.  Cook graduated from Bellevue Medical College in 1911 and Meltzer was the chief statistician of the National Bureau of Casualty and Surety Underwriters.

Born in 1883, Meltzer was born in Russia and was brought to America by his parents at the age of eight.  The New York Times said, "He was widely known for his work, not only in his field but among societies and associations, and was a writer and lecturer on his subject."  Meltzer's passion for statistical work spilled into his private life.  While other male residents in the building may have been members of social, political or athletic organizations, he belonged to the American Statistical Association, the Casualty Actuarial Society and the Association of Casualty and Surety Accountants and Statisticians.  He was one of the founders and the secretary of the latter society.

Meltzer was a bachelor and apparently shared his apartment with a roommate.  His enjoyment of his new home would be extremely brief.  He left his office on March 17, 1931 at around 8:00 "in apparently good health," according to The New York Times.  A doctor was called to the apartment around 2 a.m., presumably by Meltzer's roommate, who found the 48-year-old dead.  He had suffered a fatal heart attack.

photograph by Lowell Cochrane

Crawford Blagden and his wife, the former Mary Hopkins, were also initial residents.  The couple was married on October 7, 1911 and had one son, Crawford, Jr., who was born in 1912.  For some reason, the younger Blagden went to live with his father's brother, Francis Meredith Blagden, and his wife, the former Lydia Lawrence Mason Jones, at Sloatsburg, New York shortly after the family moved into 121 East 31st Street.

Francis and Lydia were married on August 22, 1917.  Lydia was previously married to Francis's and Crawford's older brother, Albert Campbell Blagden, who died in 1915.  Crawford Jr. was living with them when his engagement to Mary Kernochan, daughter of Chief Justice Frederic Kernochan was announced on April 18, 1933.

Benjamin S. and Carolyn Pulitzer moved into the building that year.  Pulitzer was president of Mayfair Cravats, Inc. a men's neckwear company.  Apparently the couple over-indulged on the night of April 28 that year.  At 8:30 the following evening, she went to the office of Dr. Frank H. Russell, her regular physician, "suffering from the after-effects of intoxication," according to The New York Times.  

Russell administered what the newspaper described as "an overdose of morphine."  Carolyn Pulitzer fell unconscious and the next morning, at 4:30, Dr. Russell took her home in a cab.  Carolyn later testified that "a hallboy in the apartment house had helped the doctor get her to her apartment."  She said Russell tipped the hallboy from change from her purse.  That was not the only thing the doctor slipped from her bag.  

When Carolyn awoke later, she discovered $12,000 worth of Mayfair Cravats, Inc. stock was missing.  In court, Russell admitted he took the stock, "but was holding it until she completed payment for treatments."  Carolyn Pulitzer, "said she thought she owed about $40 or $50, but that he maintained the bill was $200."  (None of those amounts would necessitate a $12,000 guarantee.)  The startling case was dismissed when Carolyn, somewhat surprisingly, agreed to drop charges if Russell returned the stocks upon her paying his bill.

William Russell and Walter Kaufman shared an apartment here in the summer of 1937.  They, along with Augusta Merten, took the train to Silver Point at East Rockaway on July 28 to enjoy the beach.  They had dinner later, then "decided to go bathing again," reported The Rockaway News.  Augusta was a few yards ahead of Russell and Kaufman in the water when she was swept up by the undertow and carried out.  As Russell and Kaufman swam to rescue her, an off-duty patrolman Joseph Lynch, "who was bathing nearby," joined the effort.

Lynch and Kaufman were able to pull the woman to the beach, but quickly realized that Russell was missing.  The Rockaway News reported, "Life Guard Roy Bower of Woodmere found Russell's body floating in the water a few hundred feet from where he had gone down."  Surprisingly, the 48-year-old had not drowned--an autopsy showed no water in his lungs.  The doctor deemed his death, "from a heart attack resulting from the excitement of attempting to rescue Mrs. Merten."

Dr. Harrison I. Cook was still living here on November 6, 1941 when he hosted a glittering dinner party in the Trianon Room of the Ambassador Hotel in honor of the engagement of Mildred L. Martens and Lt. George De Metropolis of the U.S. Navy.  Among the 40 guests listed in The New York Times, understandably, were several military officers and their wives.

Living here at the time were Lewis E. and Florence G. Birdseye, born in 1873 and 1874 respectively.  Until 1931, when Lewis was appointed the general agent for the St. John's Guild, a charitable institution established in the 1890s, he was superintendent of the Jewish Hospital in Brooklyn.  Lewis was at his desk in his office at 1 East 42nd Street on the afternoon of Christmas Eve, 1942, when he collapsed with a fatal heart attack.

A month later, another resident, Marc MacCollum, laid plans to find a weekend retreat.  His ad in The Rhinebeck Gazette on January 28, 1943, read: "Wanted--I would like to hear from someone who would like to have a paying guest over weekends.  I have simple but clean tastes and like to saw wood."

Ray W. Thompson and his wife did not need to rely on someone else's country home for respite.  On October 5, at the end of the summer social season of 1950, The East Hampton Star announced, "Mr. and Mrs. Ray W. Thompson have left Amagansett for their New York home, 121 East 31st Street."

An interesting resident was Dr. Tibor Eckhardt.  His wife, the former Judy Dwyer, died in 1966.  Born in Makó, Hungary in 1888, he studied at the Universities of Budapest, Paris and Berlin, earning a Doctor of Jurisprudence degree.  He served in the Hungarian Ministry of the Interior, the Hungarian Ministry of Foreign Affairs, and in 1920 served in the Premier's office.  He was elected to the Hungarian Parliament in 1922.

Dr. Tibor Eckhardt in 1931.  (original source unknown)

At the time, Hungary was experiencing what was known as the "White Terror"--a period when leftist intellectuals, especially Jews, were being purged.  In 1923, Eckhart joined the Smallholders Party, the leading faction of the Hungarian Opposition. He became its president in 1934 and was Hungary's chief delegate to the League of Nations in 1935.  

That year he joined the Democratic Opposition, which was fighting against the growing Nazi movement.  When Hungary sided with Germany during the war, Eckhardt escaped to the United States in 1941.

Here he initiated a movement for the restoration of Hungarian independence that would spread world-wide.  He helped organize the Hungarian National Council in 1948 and was a member of its executive committee.  He sat on the Assembly of Captive European Nations in 1954.  While living here in 1972, he published, From Yalta to Potsdam.

In 1975 the residents of 121 East 31st Street lost what some might have seen as a nostalgic reminder of the 1931 era--the elevator operator.  On March 30, The New York Times reported that the new owners, Teitelbaum Holdings, "plans to automate the elevators in the 96-unit apartment house, but not to make other major changes."

photograph by Lowell Cochrane

Outwardly, George Fred Pelham's dignified design survives essentially intact.

many thanks to reader Lowell Cochrane for suggesting this post

Holdouts - 242 and 244 West 103rd Street

 

Real estate developer Robert Wallace began construction of a row of six upscale homes on the south side of West 103rd Street, between Broadway and West End Avenue, in 1899.  Architect George Fred Pelham designed the residences in the Renaissance Revival style--embellishing them with elaborately carved panels and keystones, wreaths and heraldic-style shields.

The basement and parlor levels were faced in dressed limestone, while the upper floors were faced in tan Roman brick.  A continuous pressed metal cornice united the row. As construction neared completion in April 1900, Wallace sold the entire row to William W. Brower.

Brower briefly leased the houses, selling 244 in 1904 and 242 the following year.  The latter became home to Manuel J. and Lilien P. Suarez.  The well-heeled Suarez was a member of the Atlantic Yacht Club and the exclusive Metropolitan Club.

On October 30, 1910, the New York Herald reported, "In the drawing room of her parents' home, Miss Josephine Madeleine Suarez, daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Manuel J. Suarez of No. 242 West 103d street, was married to Mr. Alfred Pach by the Rev. Father Barry on Wednesday."  The 25-year-old groom was well known in New York City.  He was a partner in the photographic firm of Pach Bros..  In its studio in the Mortimer Building on Broadway socialites and celebrities sat for their portraits.

The title to 242 West 103rd Street was still in the name of Lilien Suarez in 1915, when the property was appraised for tax purposes at $32,000--around $890,000 in 2023.  At the time the Barton family had been leasing the house for about a year.

Daughter Nellie Barton received a new 30-horsepower automobile towards the end of May 1914.  The family's chauffeur, George MacAdam, gave her four days of driving lessons, and on June 1 Nellie felt she was adept enough to take the wheel.  MacAdam sat in the front passenger seat and Nellie's friend, Jeannette Prindega was in the back.  The outing did not end well.

Nellie successfully drove to Westchester County, then headed home.  At around 5:30 she initiated a turn south from St. Nicholas Avenue onto 181st Street.  At first she attempted to beat a streetcar, "but when she saw the car approaching rapidly she changed her mind and turned the steering wheel sharply," said The New York Times.  Nellie became "bewildered" and lost control.  The automobile hit the curb and drove onto the  crowded sidewalk, at which point Nellie fainted.

MacAdam grabbed the steering wheel, but could not stop the vehicle before it had plowed into several pedestrians.  One victim, Joseph Cassidy, suffered a fractured skull, which proved fatal.  Other injuries included broken ribs, a concussion, and several cuts.  The New York Times reported, "After Miss Barton had recovered consciousness she was driven to her home in her auto by MacAdam.  No arrests were made."

Living next door at 244 West 103rd Street at the time was Samuel Camerson.  In an unbelievable case of déjà vu, his 22-year-old daughter, Juanita took the family car out on September 11, 1915.  She lost control and hit an elderly woman, breaking her hip.  At the station house, Lieutenant W. P. Meehan took the call from the beat cop, and telephoned the hospital.  "Woman struck by automobile.  Send Ambulance to Webster avenue and 188th Street."  The New York Herald commented, "He did not know that his mother was the victim until the policeman made his report."

In 1916 four houses of the row--246 through 252--were demolished to be replaced by Alexandria House, a Rouse & Goldstone-designed residential hotel.  Their razing upset George Fred Pelham's architectural balance, with the rounded corner of the upper floors of 242--formerly balanced by a mirror-image design at 252--now looking somewhat odd.

In 1917 real estate operator Herbert Du Puy purchased 242 and 244 West 103rd Street.  Both were leased to moneyed families, who regularly appeared in society columns.  On November 27, 1919. for instance, the New York Herald announced, "Mr. and Mrs. Spencer B. Driggs will be at home next Sunday afternoon from three to six, at No. 242 West 103d street."  Following the Driggses, James Hardie Proctor and his wife rented the house.  

Mrs. Proctor was active in several clubs, including the Daughters of Ohio, the National Craftsmen, and the City Federation.  She hosted a card party in April 1921 for members of the Daughters of Ohio to benefit the Blind Fund.  The Proctors were still at 242 West 103rd Street in 1923 when Mrs. Proctor lost her "blue fox neckpiece" on June 19 and offered a reward for its return.

In 1918 Cornelia Bedell Phelps, widow of Abel Mix Phelps, and her daughter Eleanor Mix Phelps moved into 244 West 103rd Street.  Eleanor was educated at Barnard College and Columbia University.  She would later write scholarly books, including Trends in Infant and Childhood Mortality, Mortality of White and Nonwhite Infants in Major U.S. Cities, and Recent Demographic Trends and Their Effects on Maternal and Child Health Needs and Services.

On October 22, 1922 The New York Times reported, "Henry T. Hunt, predecessor of Chairman Hooper on the Railroad Labor Board, has entered the practice of law in New York City.  Mr. Hunt is a graduate of Yale and a former Mayor of Cincinnati."  Known as the "Boy Mayor," Henry Thomas Hunt had served in the Ohio State House of Representatives.  He was Cincinnati's mayor in 1912 and 1913.

On September 22, 1925 Hunt and Eleanor Mix Phelps were married in a civil ceremony in the chambers of Supreme Court Justice Charles L. Guy.  The newlyweds moved to 22 East 89th Street, and most likely brought Cornelia Bedell Phelps with them.

Seven months earlier, Herbert Du Puy had sold 242 and 244 West 103rd Street to real estate operator Samuel Brener.  A renovation to both houses, completed in 1927, turned them into boarding houses.  Nevermore would residents be mentioned in society columns for weddings, summer homes and receptions.

In 1936 David and Jean Ehl Phillips lived in 244 West 103rd.  The couple were married in September 1935.  On March 21, 1936, the New York Post reported, "Their wedded life suffered a setback early this month when Mrs. Gladys Phillips walked into the picture."  David had married Gladys in June 1929.  "This so upset Jean that she decided to bring her husband into court."

The two wives, whom the article said "are pretty blondes," went to court together.  "The girls are on friendly terms," wrote the journalist.  While the judge held the 26-year-old bigamist on bail, his sexist remarks would have caused him trouble today.  "He's all right," Magistrate Aurello said of Phillips.  "He's consistent.  He sticks to blondes."

Domestic problems were not restricted to 244.  On April 10, 1940 Mary V. K. Lorey, who lived next door, sued her husband William Boynton Lorey for divorce, claiming he had "been intimate with 'Ruth Beardsley'" several times and in several locations.

Both buildings were converted to apartments, two per floor, in 1961-62.  Sandwiched between apartment buildings, the two holdouts look much as they did in 1899 when the block was peopled by wealthy residents.

photographs by the author

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George F. Pelham's 1930 Gramercy Square Apartments - 81 Irving Place

 

The upscale tenor of Gramercy Square (later Gramercy Park) spilled down the side streets.  In 1852 Richard S. Fellowes and his wife, Emma, lived in the commodious house at 81 Irving Place, on the northwest corner of East 19th Street.  By the first months of 1929, however, it was being operated as a rooming house.  That year developer Louis Cowan demolished it and the two abutting houses at 83 and 85 Irving Place, and hired architect George Fred(erick) Pelham to design an apartment building on the site.

The 58 year old Pelham was the son of architect George Brown Pelham.  His design for the Gramercy Square Apartments would be heavily influenced by Cowan, who had just returned from Europe.  On March 2, 1930, The Brooklyn Daily Times explained, "Mr. Gowan [sic] visited Italy last summer, bringing with him on his return a number of examples of Italian architecture, many of which were incorporated in the design of the structure."

Pelham's design was also partially governed by building laws.  Upon its completion, The New York Sun noted, "The structure is the first multi-family building to be finished in accordance with the provisions of the new multiple dwelling law," which demanded set-backs above a certain height.

The resultant 15-floor and penthouse edifice was a 1920's fantasy inspire by Northern Italian architecture.  Faced in variegated brown brick, the three-story base was lavishly decorated with terra cotta in the form of Renaissance style creatures, twisted engaged columns, shields and panels.  Creative brickwork created dimension, while small, leaded panes in the casement windows gave the impression of antiquity.  The upper floors featured romantic terra cotta balconies, and prominent gargoyles projected from the roofline.

The facade holds a wealth of whimsical terra cotta ornamentation.  photo by Beyond My Ken

The Gramercy Square Apartments opened in October 1930.   The Brooklyn Daily Times said it met "the demand for medium sized housekeeping apartments" with its apartments of one to five rooms each.  The article noted that the set-back law created a positive.  "An advantage follows by allowing for garden and terrace treatment, the terraces conforming with dignity and good taste."  It added, "The building contains nine terrace suites with log burning fireplaces."

from the collection of the New York Public Library

Pelham's interior design included "Byzantine columns separating the foyer from the living room.  Safe and sane casement windows and built-in bookcases are also features."  The lobby and elevators were also described by the newspaper as "Byzantine."

Among the early residents was burlesque queen, actress, author and playwright Gypsy Rose Lee, who moved into the Gramercy Square Apartments in 1933.   In her 2010 book American Rose, Karen Abbott writes:

She decorated the apartment herself, with just the slightest assistance from the antique dealers on Third Avenue.  It was an ebullient mix of periods and styles: blackamoors guarding the front door; a Chippendale sofa; a few chairs covered with her own needlework; Victorian settees upholstered in a muted salmon; crimson satin draperies held back by brass angels in flight.  Metal and plaster cherubs kept watch in every corner, and on the walls she hung a smattering of Charles Dana Gibson plates, a collage of her programs and press clippings, a series of Marcel Vertes watercolors (including several portraits of herself), a white elephant from Florenz Ziegfeld, and a hodgepodge of Victorian tattoo designs, all elaborately framed with colored velvet mattings and a wreath of gold leaf.

Author Carolyn Quinn suggests in her 2013 Mama Rose's Turn that Lee had a motive for finding her own apartment that year, separate from her mother.  She had met a married man, Eddie Bruns.  "The time had come for Gypsy to have a place entirely her own where she could entertain Eddie," she explains.  "She and Eddie would have plenty of privacy."

Gypsy Rose Lee, from the collection of the Library of Congress

Rent in the building at the time Lee moved in was "$50 up," according to an advertisement.  The cheapest rent would translate to about $966 per month today.

On March 13, 1938, another celebrity of sorts moved in.  Painter and author Wyndham Lewis was well known internationally both for his "Vorticism" art, and for his writings.  The year before moving into the Gramercy Square Apartments he published The Revenge for Love, regarded by many as his best novel.  He and his wife, the former Gladys Anne Hoskins, had married in 1930.

(Percy) Wyndham Lewis, from the collection of the Library of Congress

Lewis's biographer, Paul O'Keeffe, in his Some Sort of Genius, said apartment E-5 "would be recalled nostalgically from the austerity of postwar London as being just round the corner from Esposito's on Third Avenue where 'melons and things' could be bought."

More typical of the residents of the Gramercy Square Apartments were dentist Louis M. Goldschlag and his wife.  But while Dr. Goldschlag and his wife were financially comfortable, he was harboring perilous demons.  Mrs. Goldschlag was away from the apartment on January 29, 1939 and in her absence, Dr. Goldschlag snapped.  The Daily News reported, "After slashing his wrists in his fifth-floor apartment, Dr. Louis M. Goldschlag, 35...ran nude upstairs to the fourteenth floor and jumped to his death." 

from the Gramercy Square Apartments brochure, 1930

On November 9, 1939, The New York Times reported, "Thorton Wilder, author, has taken residential quarters in 81 Irving Place."  A week later, on November 18, 1939, Wilder wrote a letter to Gertrude Stein and Alice Toklas, noting at the top, "My new apartment is: 81 Irving Place, New York City."  It said in part, "I've lived five days in my New York home and am already flooded with a new overwhelming feeling about New York."

When Louis Cowan sold the Gramercy Square Apartments in march 1942, The New York Times noted it "contains 207 rooms, divided into 108 apartments."

A unexpected touch of scandal visited the Gramercy Square Apartments in 1952.  Cedric Janien had earned the Navy Cross and Silver Star during World War II.   The 30-year-old, who was in the scrap metal business, was arrested by Government officials on June 6 along with mining engineer Guy Vincent, "charged with conspiring to transport and export gold bullion without a license," according to Newsday.  A Customs official had checked "two heavy boxes labeled 'costume jewelry and tie clips," to find gold bars worth a quarter of a million in today's dollars headed to Holland.

photo by Beyond my Ken

It would be five years before the smugglers--now totaling four--would be sentenced.  It appears that, in fact, Janien had been duped by the ring leaders, including Guy Vincent Chastenet de la Maisoneuve, the husband of actress Betsy von Furstenberg.  While the others received prison sentences, the Daily News reported on March 23, 1957 "Janien received a suspended six months sentence and was placed on probation for two years."

Resident Edward S. Wetherbee was arrested on October 22, 1958 for an even more surprising crime.  He and Joseph H. Grillo were charged with "running [a] 500-gallon-a-day still," according to the Daily News.  Their massive and clever operation ran from the basement of a building, accessed through a secret Prohibition-Era-type door disguised as a locker.

A Revenue agent enters the "locker" that led to the subterranean liquor operation.  The Daily News, October 23, 1958

By the 1960's Mabel E. Palmer was a resident here.  She had broken barriers as a young woman by becoming an attorney, and an associate in the law firm of Stickles, Hayden, Kennedy, Hort & Van Steenburgh.  She died at the age of 84 on November 15, 1971.

Another impressive resident was Eva Beraud Joly, the widow of Colonel Charles L. Joly, an Army engineer.  In the post World War I years she had been a fur designer and the chief buyer in New York and Paris for Revillon Frerers, a major fur retailer.  She remained here until her death in January 1974.

George Fred Pelham's picturesque 1930 building is essentially unchanged from the exterior.  Thankfully the casement windows have not been replaced, a move that would have seriously damaged the design.

photographs by the author

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The 1904 Blennerhasset Apartments - 507-511 West 111th Street

In 1903 the opening of the IRT subway, which would make the neighborhood near the rising Cathedral Church of St. John the Divine more easily accessible, was just a year away.  Among the developers who scrambled to take advantage of the opportunity was Max Liebeskind who hired architect George Fred Pelham to design an apartment building at Nos. 507-511 West 111th Street.  On May 30 that year the Real Estate Record & Guide reported that the proposed building would house "four families on a floor" and listed the construction costs at $70,000--or just over $2 million today.

The Blennerhasset was ready for occupancy the following spring.  Pelham's six-story structure borrowed from a variety of styles--Beaux Arts, Baroque and Italian Renaissance.  A columned entrance portico crowned by a balustraded balcony more than made up for the otherwise sparsely decorated two-story base.  The building's name was prominently carved into the entablature.

Delicate stone garlands drape the door and window frames within the portico and a remarkable foliate carving with a face supports the sill.

The red brick, three-story midsection was richly decorated with arched Renaissance style pediments, ornate keystones and carved spandrels.  Below a bracketed cornice, the top floor alternating courses of brick and stone, splayed lintels and decorative keystones.

An advertisement in The Sun on April 10, 1904 boasted that the apartments were "Handsomely appointed and contain every new and modern device; mail chute.  All-night elevator service."  Potential residents could choose from apartments of four to seven "large light rooms with shower baths."  Rents ranged from $480 to $900 per year, or around $2,200 a month for the most expensive apartments.

Photographed in 1908, the building wore a distinctive rooftop balustrade and parapet.  Apartment Houses of the Metropolis (copyright expired)

Perhaps the first tenant to move into his new building was Max Liebeskind, himself.   And like him, the other residents would be for the most part well educated professionals.  There was one family, however, which was less upstanding.

On May 12, 1905 the New York Morning Telegraph exposed a scam, saying "Up at 507 West 111th street, in the fashionable Blennerhasset, Superintendent William Meyer five months ago leased a $75 seven-room flat to Miss J. A. Sturgis."  According to the article, when Meyer asked the young woman for references, she replied, "We are very high class folk.  My brother is former Fire Commissioner Sturgis.  He is coming here to live with us; also his son.  Reference!  The very idea!  I should say that we need no further reference than the fact that my brother was the Commissioner."

Indeed former Fire Commissioner Thomas Sturgis held a sterling reputation.  Meyer apologized and before long the woman's family moved in--two sisters, an elderly woman, a "gray-haired, slender man of 50" who was introduced as Commissioner Sturgis, and his son.

After the second month of not paying rent, Miss Sturgis explained "Since my brother got out of the Fire Department his affairs have been badly tangled, and we are waiting for a settlement from his lawyer."  But three months later Meyer began to become nervous as the past due rent now topped $6,000 in today's money.  Word somehow got to Commissioner Sturgis who was indignant.  Saying that the tenants were not related to him he told reporters "Well, I would like to get hold of that chap and make an example of him...I feel very sorry for the poor janitor who stood good for my name.  He deserves a better fate."

There were four apartments per floor, of various sizes.  Apartment Houses of the Metropolis (copyright expired)

The more respectable tenants at the time included Aaron L. Dotey, a teacher in the Dewitt Clinton High School on West 102nd Street; and Dr. Jesse Fleet Sammis, who graduated from Princeton in 1902 and the College of Physicians and Surgeons in 1906.

Walter F. Goodnough, president of the American Wire Form Company, lived in The Blennerhasset in 1909.  On April 19 that year the city was pummeled by a violent thunderstorm which caused damage to buildings and injuries to pedestrians.  One of them was Goodnough who attempted to cross Broadway at 111th Street when he was hit by a streetcar.  The New York Press explained "He could not see the car approaching in the rain.  He was knocked down and severely bruised."

In the fall of 1913 the neighborhood was plagued with a rash of daytime burglaries.  The New-York Tribune said the crooks "have been making higher the present high cost of living for apartment house dwellers, and incidentally reaping a rich harvest in furs, jewelry and women's clothing for themselves."  Among those victimized were Hazel Mora and Gertrude Ott who lived in The Blennerhasset.  They were among the lucky few who got their stolen jewelry back.

Sometime before World War I the balustrade was removed from the cornice.  photo by Wurts Bros. from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York

On November 18 "the small, undersized person of Harry Bloom, a seventeen-year-old errand boy," was arrested at the cleaners where he worked.  Elevator boys in the various apartment buildings had placed him at the scene of each burglary.  

Bloom's scheme was ingenious.  When he was sent to an apartment building to pick up laundry, he took along an accomplice who would take the stairs to the basement.  Bloom then asked the elevator boy to let him off on a particular floor, would ring all the bells until he was sure he found one that was unoccupied, and use a jimmy to break in.  Once inside, he gathered jewelry and other valuables into a bundle and sent it to the basement on the dumbwaiter.   With that task done, he proceeded to pick up the laundry.

In the early years after World War I cigar maker Louis Cohen leased an apartment on the sixth floor.  It appears that the bulk of his income did not come from the cigar business, however.  According to the New-York Tribune a letter arrived at the desk of Police Inspector Cornelius Cahalane early in 1921 "saying that gambling was going on in the apartment of Cohen."   On the night of January 5 he launched a raid.  

The officers broke in the door where Cohen, "two other men and six fashionably gowned women" were "sitting around a table upon which were a large number of racing charts and other papers relating to horseraces."  The Long Island Daily Press reported, "The women began screaming as the door broke and when the detectives rushed in they rushed, shrieking, for the windows.  The women were intercepted but were not consoled.  They begged the detectives not to 'tell their husbands.'"

Cohen and his cohorts did not go easily.  "Several pieces of furniture were smashed in the fight," said the detectives, and according to the Long Island Daily Press "So much noise was made, in fact, that when the patrol wagon arrived almost 300 persons were gathered outside the house, including many of the apartment house tenants."  The group was charged with "maintaining a gambling house, vagrancy and disorderly conduct."

When Beatrice Dale separated from her husband, she and her nine-year old daughter, Beatrice, moved into the apartment of her mother, Fannie Kenny.  Beatrice, who was 29, seems to have been moving on with her life and in 1925 was romantically involved with another man.

But when she went to a nightclub on Saturday night November 7, 1925 with a different suitor, her boyfriend found out and was enraged.  Two days later he "upbraided" her for her infidelity, according to The New York Sun, "and she grieved over it."  So upset was she that she drank poison.

Little Beatrice was just arriving home from school when the ambulance crew were examining her mother's body.  "The child was led aside and not told of Mrs. Dale's death until later," said The Sun.

In November 1934 Bessie Scheffer's name appeared in newspapers for gambling on the horses.  But, unlike Louis Cohen, her betting was legitimate.  She had bought a ticket in the Army and Navy Veterans Sweepstakes, which was run in Manchester, England.  Her ticket was on Pip Emma, an outside contender.  On November 24 she received word that she had won the $30,000 first prize, worth more than half a million in today's dollars.  It was an enormous windfall for the stenographer, who told reporters at a luncheon for winners on December 2 that she would use the money "to send her son and daughter through college."

By the 1960's the neighborhood around The Blennerhasset had sorely declined.  On September 30, 1964 The New York Times architecture columnist Ada Louise Huxtable referred to Morningside Heights as "600 acres of trouble, ranging from the deteriorating surroundings of a galaxy of educational institutions long known as the Acropolis of America, to the most sordid slums."  The following year the Morningside General Neighborhood Renewal Plan was approved by the city, which would displace 8,000 families and raze scores of residential structures, including The Blennerhasset.

In 1967 a Certificate of Eviction was filed by the landlord.  But the residents banded together to fight.  After a long and difficult battle, they won and The Blennerhasset survived.

Prominent in the fight were residents Bruce Bailey and his wife, Nellie Hester.  By the early 1970's he was working with residents in Harlem and Washington Heights as well.  Bailey's work in organizing tenants was not appreciated by developers and landlords.  According to his wife, he "received threats over the years" and once had been beaten by two thugs.

On June 21, 1989 he left The Blennerhasset to drive to a tenants' meeting on West 125th Street.  He did not return home that night and Nellie filed a missing persons report.  The following evening at 5:30 a passerby discovered four large plastic bags.  Inside were the decapitated torso, two arms without hands and two legs without feet.  Nellie Hester identified her husband by a birthmark and a scar on his right knee.  Detectives had a broad field from which to find suspects.  Times journalist H. Eric Semler commented on June 21, "As head of the Columbia Tenants Union he assisted thousands of tenants and often drew the wrath of landlords, drug dealers and even some of his closest colleagues."

In the years since that tragedy The Blennerhasset has been renovated and in 1999 facade repairs were made.  Today it is as dignified as it was in 1908 when Apartment Houses of the Metropolis called it one of New York's "high-class houses."

photographs by the author