The 1894 The Northrup - 74-76 West 103rd Street

 

image via LandmarkWest!

In 1894, developer Charles Buek commissioned George Keister to design two similar apartment buildings on the western blockfront of Manhattan Avenue between 102^nd and 103^rd Streets.  Like its near twin, the northern building was faced in beige brick above an undressed brownstone base.  The rusticated first floor was clad in variegated Roman brick and the entrance was protected by a handsome stone portico.  Keister added touches of Queen Anne to his otherwise Romanesque Revival-style design.  Completed within the year, the Northport cost Buek $52,000 to construct, or about $1.9 million in 2025.
 
The six- and seven-room apartments were described in an advertisement as being “very choice.”  Tenants enjoyed “perfect appointments and hall service,” said an ad, and “extra store rooms.”  (Hall service meant that uniformed “hall boys” were on hand to help with packages, mail, and other errands.) The $50 rent would translate to about $1,890 per month today.
 
The residents were comfortably middle- and upper-middle class.  One, however, found himself in trouble shortly after moving in.  William P. Robinson worked as a collector for Tillotson & Sons, book sellers.  (The term meant that he would collect outstanding amounts from retail customers.)  The 49-year-old was arrested on May 22, 1895.  The Yonkers, New York Statesman explained, “He is charged with having embezzled $10,000” and said, “The defalcation extends over a year.”  The police nabbed him just as he was preparing to leave for Chicago.
 
The Rev. James D. Steele lived here as early as 1900 through 1906.  A Presbyterian minister, while living here he was secretary of the Joint Committee on a Uniform Version of the Metrical Psalms.  The erudite clergyman also held a Ph.D. and made extra money teaching on the side.  In January 1900, he advertised, “Rev. J. D. Steele, PH. D., private tutor at pupils’ homes or at 74 West 103d St.”
 
Although Prohibition had ended in 1933, on March 28, 1938, the Yonkers, New York Statesman reported that resident Aldo Cipallini had been arrested “on a charge of possession of an illegal still.”  The 20-year-old was caught in a raid of a house in Tuckahoe, New York in which a 2,000-gallon still was found in operation.  Cipallini “insisted he was only a watchman.”  He was fined $200.
 

image via the NYC Dept of Records & Information Services.

By 1950, novelist Gordon Friesen and his wife Agnes Sis Cunningham lived here.  The couple had founded Broadside, a political song magazine and during the 1940s were members of the Almanac Singers, a folk singing group based in Greenwich Village.  Friesen’s novel Flamethrowers recalled his childhood in a Russian Mennonite family in Oklahoma.
 
The McCarthy Era was difficult for Gordon and Sis Cunningham.  They were blacklisted and while living here subsisted on welfare.  In the "Afterward" to the couple’s joint autobiography Red Dust and Broadsides, Ronald D. Cohen noted, “The FBI visited Gordon in 1954, who was then living at 74 West 103^rd Street, but he ‘stated he had nothing to say to the interviewing agents.’  Nonetheless, the local agent recommended to J. Edgar Hoover that a Security Index Card be prepared for Gordon, in addition to the ongoing file.”
 
In 1950, emerging artist Andy Warhol moved into a two-bedroom basement apartment with 17 “artists, writers, dancers,” according to Anthony Grudin in his Like a Little Dog.  Warhol’s biographer, Victor Bockris, writes, “It was a transition period, introducing him into the bohemian world of dance and theatre people.  He felt more affinity with them than with intellectuals…and for the first time Andy began, tentatively, exploring the homosexual underground.”  Bockris quotes a visitor who said, “All I remember is Andy sitting there drawing, surrounded by this complete chaos and people doing things that would seem to be disruptive of any concentration.  The food was mixed in with the clothes.”
 
Shortly afterward, the Northrup and its fraternal twin to the south were incorporated into the Douglass Houses.  They were not demolished because, according to a 1959 report by the New York State Division of Housing and Urban Renewal, “They were the best constructed of the older buildings and required the least in major structural repairs.”
 
Living here in 1989 was 29-year-old Marcus Bezear.  That spring he raped two women in the Penta Hotel.  A similar looking man was mistakenly arrested for the crime, but when Bezear raped another woman in the same hotel in August, he confessed to all three crimes.  He was  arrested on October 15 and charged with robbery and sexual abuse and held on $100,000 bail.
 
Once home to affluent, white-collar residents, the Northrup had sorely declined in 2014.  On October 5, television station PIX II reported, “When it rains, it really pours inside an Upper West Side apartment building.  The building, 74-76 West 103^rd Street, is nicknamed the ‘forgotten house,’ part of the Frederick Douglass Houses, operated by the New York City Housing Authority.”
 
Since Hurricane Sandy, the tenants told the reporter, streams of water poured into their apartments every time it rained.  Connie Taylor had lived in the building for half a century.  The reporter said, “The 61-year-old suffers from arthritis and scoliosis and has trouble walking, let along rearranging the buckets to catch all the rain water dripping through her leaky ceilings.”
 
Despite the drastic changes inside, the exterior of the Northrup is relatively unchanged since its completion in 1894.

George Keister's 1899 35-37 East 20th Street

 

John H. E. Whitney was born in New York City on July 30, 1840.  He became an expert engraver but in 1861, as noted decades later by The Printing Art, "the Civil War opening at this time, patriotism took the place of self-interest and we find instead of a wood engraver, a 'Hawkins Zouave.'"  Following the conflict, Whitney returned to New York and to engraving, becoming an expert in his craft.  Whitney lived in a high-stooped brownstone at 37 East 20th Street.  He died there on November 22, 1891.

At the time of his death, Whitney's once-refined residential block was seeing change as commerce inched northward into the neighborhood.  Six years later, in July 1897, the Knickerbocker Realty Improvement Company was formed for "the erection of business buildings which are to be constructed and operated by the company," as reported by Building & Architecture in New York.  Its first project was the demolition of the former Whitney house and its neighbor at 35 East 20th Street, and the erection of an eight-story loft-and-store building.

Only a month into the firm's existence, its architect George Keister filed plans.   Unlike many of the mercantile buildings at the time, which were faced in cast iron, the 50-foot wide structure would be clad in limestone and granite.  Prominent cornices marked the entrances that flanked the vast ground floor show window--one to the upper floors and one to the store.  The rusticated second floor was distinguished by a frieze of interlocking palmettes and a striking, classical caryatid between the show windows.  Bowed balconettes at the fourth floor almost assuredly had stone or iron railings, removed later to accommodate fire escapes.  Two-story arcades at the top section featured elaborate Corinthian capitals and foliate keystones.  A bracketed cornice completed the design.

A sedate caryatid looks out at 20th Street from the second floor.  The two blank spaces on either side of the classical urn in the panel directly below would have held the name of the ground floor store.

The building would have a wide variety of tenants.  As construction neared completion in October 1898, The Jay C. Wemple Company leased the store and basement "for a term of five years," according to The Sun.  The firm's residency would be far longer.

The Drapery Sketch Book, 1914 (copyright expired)

In 1901, E. Haertel & Co., "retailers of high-class fur garments and furs," as described by Cloaks and Furs in May that year, moved into its "handsome new showrooms" here.  Also in the building were H. Curtis, makers of The Curtis Hose Supporter; and the Brooklyn Chair Company.  The latter's factory was, as the name suggested, in Brooklyn.  Among the "high grade goods" offered in 1903 were "office chairs, dining chairs, bedroom chairs, Mission chairs, slipper chairs, and ladies' desk chairs," as well as "a line of good reed rockers."

This 1903 Curtis ad bordered on racy.  Beauty & Health, May 1903 (copyright expired)

Alonzo E. Wemple was secretary of the Jay C. Wemple Company.  He and his wife and two daughters lived in a handsome house at 180 West 59th Street.  The wealthy window shade manufacturer was a member of the Atlantic Yacht, the New York Athletic and Brooklyn Clubs.

At 4:45 on the afternoon of May 17, 1904, Wemple entered Shanley's restaurant at Broadway and 42nd Street.  The New York Sun reported that he "ordered a light luncheon.  He told the waiter that he felt ill and asked that a glass of water be brought to him as soon as possible."

The Evening World said, "The music was playing and about him everywhere was life as it is known on Broadway.”  The carefree atmosphere was about to darken.  The New York Sun reported, "After Mr. Wemple had drunk the water he collapsed in his chair."  A physician who was dining a few tables away ordered Wemple taken to an apartment upstairs.  He died there a short time later.

The wide variety of tenants continued.  Kate E. Tirney ran a purchasing agency in the building at the time of Wemple's unexpected death.  In January 1904 she began publishing Shop Talk, a monthly magazine "on feminine attire and the contents of the shops," according to the New-York Tribune on January 31.

The premier issue of Shop Talk.  (copyright expired)

Oriental carpet merchants and importers Sjun & Tehelram also operated from 35-37 East 20th Street at the time.  In 1904, Hadji Hassonoff, a Turkish-born Brooklynite, brought $250,000 worth of rare rugs into the country and dropped them off with the firm, presumably on consignment.  The value would translate to a staggering $8.9 million in 2024.

On April 1, 1905, Sjun & Tehelram went out of business.  Upon hearing the news, Hassonoff went to 35-37 East 20th Street two days later to retrieve his rugs.  The offices were locked and dark.  Then, two days later, he recognized Frederick Comp, the 40-year-old bookkeeper of Sjun & Tehelram, going into the office of carpet broker Charles H. Climper at 10 East 17th Street.  He followed him and discovered "two beautiful rugs set out for sale" in Climper's office, according to The New York Times.  The newspaper said, "he almost shouted for joy, and he lost no time in claiming them as his own."

Hassonoff found a police officer and returned.  He pointed to one, saying, "This one is 500 years old.  It is made by hand.  It is 16-1/2 feet long and 7 feet wide, and it is worth more than $10,000.  This smaller one is worth over $8,000."  As Policeman Tyndale took Frederick Comp into custody, Hassonoff grabbed him by the shoulders demanding, "Where are my other rugs, you?"

The cornice survived in 1941.  image via the NYC Dept of Records & Information Services.

Comp pleaded that he had not seen his employers in days and that he had he been instructed to sell the two rugs on commission.  He and Climper were arrested for selling and receiving stolen property.  Whether Hassonoff ever regained his other valuable rugs is unclear.

Around 1906, hospital supply firms began taking space in the building.  The first was the Greenpoint Metallic Bed Company, whose Brooklyn factory manufactured "metal bedsteads and furniture; hospital supplies; operating tables; dressing, water and instrument sterilizers; metallic and glass cabinets."

It was soon joined in the building by the Watters Laboratories and the Hospital Supply Co. of New York.  Both firms manufactured medical instruments.  The latter advertised itself as "The largest manufacturers of Hospital Furniture Sterilizers."  

The Post-Graduate, April 1911 (copyright expired)

The building saw an influx of new tenants in 1915.  They included the Gutman Novelty Company; Simon Durlacher; Rosenberg & Rosenberg, makers of "novelties and muslin underwear;" Edwin Horrax, "notions and small wares;" and the Apartment House Decorative Co., which leased the fifth floor in April that year.

Jay C. Wemple died in 1917.  In its June issue that year, The Upholsterer and Interior Decorator announced that Charles Breneman & Co., had purchased "the business, including the good-will, trade-marks, etc." of Jay C. Wemple & Co.--the first tenant of 35-37 East 20th Street.  William T. Haywood, who had been president of Jay C. Wemple & Co., was apparently not offered a position by the new owner.  He opened a competing company in the same building.  The article noted he "has started in business for himself under the name of William T. Haywood, Inc., with general offices and salesrooms at 35-37 East Twentieth Street, New York."

Hand Book of the Upholstery and Allied Trades, 1921 (copyright expired)

The post-World War I years saw apparel manufacturers in the building.  These were not the run-of-the-mill clothing makers, however.  The Universal Dolls Outfitters leased the fourth floor in November 1919.  The following year, in June, it advertised for, "Experienced crocheters and knitters on infants' and doll's sacques, bootees, etc."  The successful applicants (who were required to submit samples of their skills) would work from home making doll clothes.

Similarly, Cupid Knitwear Co., Inc. created knitted outerwear for dolls.  The miniature sweaters and coats were sold to toy wholesalers.

Playthings magazine, June 1926 

All of the building's tenants would have to find new space in 1947.  On January 23 that year, The New York Times reported that the Expert Cloth Sponging Co., had purchased the building.  The article noted that the firm would occupy all eight floors.

As the neighborhood changed once again in the third quarter of the 20th century, Hadler Galleries occupied the former Jay C. Wemple & Co. space.  The New York Times reported on a one-man show of weaver Lewis Knauss's works on September 30, 1975, for instance.

The gallery's existence was indicative of changes to come.  A renovation completed in 1981 resulted in apartments above the ground floor.  It was possibly at this time that the cornice was removed.  Rather than leave a blank scar, as most owners did at the time, the architects fashioned a parapet.  It was a laudable, if wholly unsuccessful, attempt to disguise the architectural loss.

photographs by the author

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George Keister's 1886 428 West 47th Street

 

In 1885, real estate developer William Rankin hired George Keister to design a flat building at 428-430 West 47th Street between Ninth and Tenth Avenues.  The five-story structure was completed the following year, its brick-and-stone façade a medley of currently fashionable styles.  Above the stoop, with its heavy cast iron railings and newels, the first floor was faced in rough-cut brownstone, an element drawn from Romanesque Revival.  The carved brackets, formal entablature and cornice of the entrance, however, were Renaissance Revival in style.  Keister added touches of Queen Anne on the upper stories.  Here the architrave frames of the openings included stone quoins and cornices.  The design was completed with a bracketed cornice with a triangular pediment containing a neo-Classical pressed wreath.

Rankin sold his newly-completed building in April 1886 to Joseph Kucker for $38,000 (about $1.2 million today).  Kucker's advertisement on May 16, 1886 in the New York Herald read:  "Elegant new flats of four large rooms and bath; private halls; carpeted.  No. 428 West 47th st.  Can be seen to-day."

Although middle-class, some of the residents of 428 West 47th Street were affluent enough to afford domestic help.  A family named Martin had a maid when they moved in in 1886.  Two years later, they parted ways.  An advertisement in the Brooklyn Daily Eagle read, "Wanted--Situation--As a lady's maid or invalid's nurse; two years' reference.  Address Miss S. Dugay, care Mrs. Martin, 428 West Forty-seventh st, New York."

It is possible that "Martin" was actually Martini.  In 1890, Frederick J. Martini lived here with his family when he entered the sub-freshman mechanical course at New York City College.

The apartment house was nearly lost on the frigid night of January 14, 1902.  Around 9:30 that night, Elizabeth Bauman, the janitress, smelled smoke.  She sent her daughter Lena to investigate.  The girl followed the scent to the cellar where she discovered the woodbin ablaze and a man fumbling with the door to the outside.  William Gallagher managed to get out with Lena close behind screaming for help.

Two policemen arrested Gallagher and brought him back to the apartment house.  In the meantime, Elizabeth Bauman had extinguished the fire with several buckets of water.  Gallagher protested that he was merely a carpenter and had been doing work in the building.  The New York Herald noted, "He appeared slightly intoxicated."

Louise and Joseph Herbet had a rare interracial marriage at the turn of the century.  Joseph was described by The New York Times as "a Japanese."  In 1901, Louise was diagnosed with epilepsy.  By the summer of 1903, according to The New York Times, she had become "extremely despondent."  On the morning of July 25, Louise went to the roof.  Joseph discovered her just in time to prevent her from jumping.

The Herbets' bedroom opened onto a ventilation shaft.  That afternoon, while Louise was lying on the bed by the window, Joseph remained in the room watching over her.  The New York Times reported, "While his head was turned, Mrs. Herbet crawled from her bed to the open window and was half way out when Herbert saw her."  Joseph ran to the window and caught hold of Louise's kimono.  "The woman had gone too far, however, to be stopped, and the piece of the garment which her husband held tore off in his hands as the woman's body dropped to the bottom of the shaft."

Even middle-class families summered away from the city, and the first-floor residents were all "in the country," according to the newspaper.  For that reason, it took a while to reach Louise.  "Eventually Dr. Whitbeck of Roosevelt Hospital managed to get to her and take her to the hospital," said The New York Times.  There was little hope for her recovery, however, "the doctors saying her skull is, in all probability, fractured."

Austin Goodwin lived here in 1905.  On the night of September 4 that year, he nearly lost his life in Madison Square after he enraged a group of several hundred homeless men.  The men, explained the New York Morning Telegraph, "sleep on benches in the park.  After the sun has been down some time they are left unmolested by the police.  As a rule they mind their own business and want to be let alone."

The 31-year-old Goodwin, however, decided to have fun at their expense.  He "went the rounds, sneaking up and suddenly tipping over each bench and throwing the sleepers sprawling on the sidewalk."  The article said after he refused to stop, the men became enraged.  "Kick his head off, Bill!" one shouted.  "It was the signal, and from all parts of the park ran the crowd, intent on helping Bill to follow the advice of the outraged hobo."

The New York Telegraph said, "There came near being a lynching bee in Madison Square last night."  Goodwin was surrounded when several officers arrived to save him from the mob.  He was taken to the stationhouse, charged with disorderly conduct.  Here he explained, "I am studying the phenomenon of sleep.  It interests me to watch men suddenly aroused from the slumbers that is all."

The sergeant replied, "That won't be all in court tomorrow."

As mid-century neared, the architectural details, including the stoop railings and cornice, were intact.  image via the NYC Dept of Records & Information Services

At the time of Goodwin's arrest, Mrs. Florence Bohart, presumably a widow, shared her apartment with 23-year-old Jennie Camden.  According to Florence, John H. Morgan, who lived in Westfield, New Jersey, "had been forcing his attentions on Miss Camden for some time."  Florence had repeatedly "warned him away."  The situation came to a head on Friday night, November 10, 1905.

Florence told officials that Morgan appeared at the apartment "with a revolver in his hand and declared that he would kill the girl if his love was not returned."  Morgan most likely did not expect the reaction of the headstrong women.  The New York Morning Telegraph reported, "A struggle followed, during which Miss Camden succeeded in getting the weapon away from Morgan."  Amazingly by today's viewpoint, he was charged only with carrying a concealed weapon.

By the end of World War I, the building was owned by Julius and Louise G. Hulle.  The couple owned "considerable West Side property," according to the New York Herald.  Julius, who was a customs agent, died in their apartment on August 20, 1919.  

Louise was a semi-invalid and neighbors routinely looked in on her.  With her husband gone, she sold all her Manhattan properties other than 428 West 47th Street, and planned to move to Cornwall-on-the-Hudson where her in-laws lived.  

Six months after Julius's death, on February 21, 1920, Louise was in the kitchen cooking when, according to the New York Herald, she "tripped over the rubber tube of a lighted stove."  The 62-year-old was so "frightened by the roar of the flame that burst from the open end of the tube," that she was unable to scream.

At around 8:00, a neighbor stopped by to see if Louise needed anything.  When she opened the door, she created a backdraft.  The New York Herald said, "the visitor was almost overcome with the heat."  Other neighbors responded to her cries and formed a bucket brigade.  They managed to extinguish the flames and turn off the gas.  The body of Louise Reiche, who had been unable to flee, was found in the kitchen.

On October 18, 1938, Thomas Davis, who lived in Yonkers, parked his automobile on West 47th Street.  When he returned, he discovered 21-year-old Ira Hayes, who lived here, sitting in the driver's seat.  The Herald Statesman reported, "When [Davis] sought to question the man, he attempted to draw a .38 caliber revolver from an inside pocket of his coat."  Davis yelled for help and two police officers ran to the scene and arrested Hayes.  He was sentenced to seven to fourteen years in the state prison for unlawfully possessing a revolver.

The McCann family lived at 428 West 47th Street in 1942.  On January 5, their 13-year-old daughter Margaret disappeared.  The family was panicked until the night of January 14 when Margaret's uncle, Michael Casey, discovered that her "visit" to his home in Albany was in fact a runaway case.  The New York Sun reported that he "turned her over to the Albany police last night when he learned she had run away from home."  Margaret's mother traveled to Albany that same night and brought her home.

The Sun reported, "Detective John Noenich of the Missing Persons Bureau, who visited the McCann home this morning, said the girl told her mother she boarded a train and managed to reach Albany without being asked for a ticket."  Margaret did not care to share any other details of her adventure.

On May 29, 1953, The Central New Jersey Home News began an article saying, "A siren-screaming, bullet-slinging column of police vehicles raced zig-zag through three miles of Bronx streets yesterday to capture a quartet of bandits."  The four armed robbers had just held up Salomon Salberg, the owner of a Bronx diner, and made off with $5,000.

Their getaway car was pursued by police cars and motorcycles which fired at the car.  "The bandits returned a fusillade themselves during the chase, some of the bullets crashing through the windshield of a police car."  Two of the crooks, Samuel Lepore, who was 27, and 26-year-old Frank E. Curich, lived at 428 West 47th Street.

The driver and mastermind of the holdup was Charles Jetter, who had been employed at the diner.  After he was hit in the head by a bullet, the "bullet-riddled car finally smashed into a parked vehicle."  Another of the gang, James Sanders, was wounded in the right arm.  Neither Curich nor Lepore was injured.  They were booked on charges of "assault, robbery, violation of the anti-weapons law, and grand larceny," said the article.

In the last half of the 20th century, the exterior of the building was modernized.   The cast iron railings and newels were removed, the undressed brownstone and window surrounds of the first floor plastered over, the cornice taken off, and the brick and stone given a two-tone coat of blue paint.

many thanks to reader Des Herlihy for requesting this post

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George Keister's 1906 120 Riverside Drive

 

As their luxurious new apartment building on the northeast corner of Riverside Drive and 84th Street received its finishing touches in June 1906, developers W. R. & J. M. Stewart advertised,

Housekeeping Apartments of 10 and 11 rooms and 3 bathrooms.  Fireproof Building.  Large, light rooms; all conveniences; best possible construction; ready for occupancy summer of 1906.

"Housekeeping apartments" meant that the suites--two per floor--had kitchens, unlike residential hotels.

Designed by George Keister, the nine-story 120 Riverside Drive was faced in beige brick above a two-story limestone base.  The architect's neo-medieval design included Gothic corbels below the fourth- and ninth-floor cornices; four faceted, tower-like bays; and an intricate, pierced parapet.  Keister lavished the entrance with medieval inspired carvings--Gothic tracery, flowers and vines, and a bas relief of a woman surrounded by swirling faces of children and angels within a rondel.

The building's tenants enjoyed amenities like seven-foot-high mahogany wainscoting and beamed ceilings in the dining rooms, built-in pneumatic-tube vacuums, and combination gas-and-electric lighting fixtures.

The first residents were its builders, brothers James M. and William R. Stewart.  Their neighbors would be equally affluent and socially visible.  

Among the earliest were the William Kellogg Tillotsons.  Born in Owosso, Michigan to Norton and Wealthy Ann Tillotson in 1835, William married Helen Beach Brewster on September 8, 1861.   Soon afterward, he left his bride to fight in the Civil War and earned the rank of first lieutenant.  The couple had two sons, Norton Beach, born in 1863, and John Beach, born in 1874.  Daughters Abby Kimball and  Lucy Beach came in 1865 and 1867 respectively.  Abby would never marry, and lived in the Riverside Drive apartment with her parents.

While Helen was active in civic issues, Abbie was more socially visible.  On April 6, 1902, for instance, the New-York Tribune reported, "The Shakespeare Club of New-York City spent a social evening at the home of Miss A. R. [sic] Tillotson, No. 120 Riverside Drive, on Thursday."  The following year, on March 29, the newspaper reported, "An unusual dinner last night varied the monotony of Lent.  Given by the Shakespeare Club, it began at the Beresford and ended at No. 120 Riverside Drive."  Guests started at the home of the John De Witt Warners for cocktails, and moved from place to place until ending the evening with "dessert and coffee provided by Mrs. [sic] Abbie Tillotson...Music finished the evening's entertainment."

In the meantime, Helen was active in the Women's Health Protective and the National Society of the Daughters of the American Revolution.  When the National Arbitration and Peace Congress adjourned in New York City in April 1907, the American flag was lowered and entrusted to Helen.  She presented it to Andrew Carnegie at the National Convention in Washington D.C. "in appreciation of his bountiful services to the holy cause of peace."

A complex parapet originally crowned the structure.  from the collection of the New York Public Library.

Attorney Edward F. Coles and his wife were also early residents.  Mrs. Coles left the apartment on June 22, 1902 and nearly did not return.  She and Arthur Cole, the couple's nephew, were in the Cole carriage when its driver, John Thatcher, attempted to cross the street car tracks at Sixth Avenue and 27th Street.   The New-York Tribune reported that "a south-bound car came along at high speed.  Dennis Curran, the motorman, applied his brake, but the car crashed into the coach, overturning it."  

Astoundingly, no one was seriously injured.  Thatcher, of course, was propelled from his seat.  The article said, "although he landed heavily on the pavement, he escaped with slight injuries."  It continued, "Mrs. Cole and her nephew...were thrown headlong to the ground, but they too, escaped unhurt."

William Robert Stewart and his wife, the former Almira Giffen, had three children, Myra, Irene and William, Jr.  Like Helen Tillotson, Almira was a member of the National Society of the Daughters of the American Revolution.  She was also a regent of the Daughters of the Union.  On November 19, 1914 she hosted a meeting of the latter group, at which artist Leonard M. Davis spoke on "Art and Alaska."  Although there was "a short business meeting," the gathering was mostly social, including piano and musical solos.  The New York Press noted, "A social hour will close the afternoon, the tea table to be presided over by Miss Irene Stewart and Miss Myra Stewart, the charming daughters of the regent."

The 1911 Dau's New York Blue Book of society was replete with residents of 120 Riverside Drive.  Included, were, of course, James M. and Grace Pinney Stewart.  Their son, who was named after his uncle, William Robert Stewart, was eight years old when the family moved into the building.  Living with them were Grace's widowed mother, Elsie Peach Simpson Pinney.  (She died in the apartment at the age of 87 on August 13, 1911.)

Young William Stewart would enjoy a privileged upbringing.  He would eventually attend the Taft School.  Later, the athletic young man would play football, basketball and golf at Yale University, graduating in 1921.

Like her sister-in-law, Grace Stewart was active in civic causes.  On May 18, 1916, for instance, The New York Press reported, "A meeting of the Woman's League for the Protection of Riverside Park will be held in the residence of Mrs. James M. Stewart, No. 120 Riverside Drive, next Thursday."

Montgomery Roosevelt Schuyler, Jr. lived here by 1911.  His father was a cousin of Theodore Roosevelt, and his mother, Lydia Eliza Roosevelt was the daughter of Nicolas James Roosevelt and Lydia Sellon Latrobe.  The Roosevelt-Schuyler connection was strengthened in March 1877 when he married Leila Roosevelt, the daughter of James Alfred Roosevelt and Elizabeth Norris Emlen.  The Times of Philadelphia said "The wedding was a fashionable event."

Domestic bliss was relatively short-lived, however.  Almost unheard of in society, on February 29, 1884, The Times reported that Leila had filed for a divorce.  The article said, "She declares that her husband deserted her at their East Nineteenth street house at Christmas 1881, and has remained away ever since."

Now single, Schuyler was a partner in the "whiskey importing firms of Roosevelt and Schuyler," according to the Asbury Park Evening Press.  His affluent lifestyle was reflected in his club memberships--among them the Holland Society, the Century, Manhattan, the Larchmont Yacht, and the New York Yacht Clubs.  His country home was in Nyack, New York.  The Asbury Park Evening Press said of him, "He owned some of the fastest pleasure yachts in eastern waters and engaged in the breeding of blooded horses."  Schuyler died at the age of 70 at his country home on New Year's Day 1924.

Charles Lacy Craig was a partner in the law firm of Hoadley, Lauterbach & Johnson, an officer in the West End Association, and counsel for the West Side Improvement Association in 1913.  Born on March 9, 1872, he was a 1903 graduate of Columbia University Law School.  The New York Times later said, "He immediately married Miss May Josephine Creiver."  The couple moved into a third-floor apartment at 120 Riverside Drive.  Their country home was in Carmel, New York.

In 1917, Craig's name became a household word after a face-off with Mayor John Purroy Mitchel.  The administration was behind a push "to beautify Riverside Drive Park by covering the New York Central's tracks and extending the park to the water's edge."  Craig testified on February 17 that the "improvement" would involved widening the park by a mere six inches and calling it a playground, while giving the New York Central additional track space.

Charles Lacy Craig, from the collection of the Library of Congress.

The New York Times reported that Mitchel "officially called Craig 'a deliberate, malicious and vicious liar.'"  The attorney responded by inviting the Mayor to "come out into City Hall Park and repeat that."  Charles F. Murphy, the current head of Tammany Hall, was overjoyed at Craig's bravado and asked the attorney to come see him.

In the next election John Francis Hylan became mayor, and Craig was appointed comptroller.  It was beginning of a meteoric public career.  So public was Craig's life, in fact, that on January 22, 1920, the New York Herald ran a headline that read, "Comptroller Craig Has a Cold."

An incident more frightening than a cold had occurred in the Craig apartment three months earlier.  A mysterious package was delivered on October 27, 1919 "bearing foreign stamps and mail labels," according to the New-York Tribune.  The article said May "notified the Bureau of Explosives that it looked suspicious."  Inspector Owen Egan arrived and carefully opened the parcel.  The New-York Tribune reported, "it was found to contain eight fancy plates sent from Austria by a friend of the Craig family serving with the American army."

Shorn of its parapet, in 1941 the building appeared to have a military buzzcut.  image via the NYC Dept of Records & Information Services.

At some point prior to 1941 the unique parapet was removed.  Then, a renovation completed in 1956 slightly reduced the size of the apartments on floors three through six.  There were now three apartments per floor on those levels.

George Keister's 1906 romantic take on medieval design continues to be home to well-to-do residents.  Despite the loss of its parapet, and while an unfortunate iron fire escape detracts from the architecture, 120 Riverside Drive survives greatly intact.

photographs by the author

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George Keister's 1892 222 and 224 West 21st Street

 

Michael H. Gillespie was a prolific real estate operator in the last decade of the 19th century.  Early in 1891 he hired architect George Keister to design two "five story flats" on the south side of West 21st Street, between Seventh and Eighth Avenues.  On April 4, the Real Estate Record & Builders' Guide noted that one would be 27-feet-wide and the other 19-feet-wide.  Construction costs for the project were estimated to be $41,000--or about one and a quarter million in 2023 dollars.

Keister faced the buildings in variegated beige brick above the base of rough-cut stone.  His tripartite Renaissance Revival design borrowed liberally from Romanesque Revival, notably in the arched openings and brick eyebrows of the fourth floor.  Bull-nosed brick softened the edges of the three-story mid-section piers.  The narrower building at 222 West 21st Street was two bays wide, its fraternal sibling three bays wide with a centered entrance.

Elaborate Renaissance-style carvings embellish the entrances.

The tenants were middle-class, like Frederick S. Farrell, an early resident of 224 West 21st Street.  He was a salesman for the Whiting Manufacturing Company on Union Square.  Unfortunately, several of the tenants' names often appeared in newspapers for the wrong reasons.   

Renier Herriger and his wife Annie lived at 222 West 21st Street.  On Saturday night, January 27, 1894 the couple had already been drinking when they arrived at the Park Avenue Hotel.  It is unclear if they were unaware that Duncan Campbell worked there as the night clerk, or if they went there specifically because he was.  What is clear is that a confrontation ensued.

Campbell and Annie Herriger had a past, and before long Annie and Renier were in the Jefferson Market Court on charges of disorderly conduct.  Campbell testified, "Herriger and his wife were drunk, and made a disturbance because they could get no drink."  Annie Herriger defended her actions, saying that she and Campbell had been "good friends in Montreal," but that "He had thrown her over."  The Herrigers were released after they promised "not to trouble Campbell."

A tragic story involved the Denby family, who lived at 224 West 21st Street.  Mrs. Denby's brother, Michael F. Fitzgerald, had run away from home at the outbreak of the Civil War when he was a teenager.  The New York Herald explained, "While connected with a recruiting camp in Massachusetts an accident befell him which affected his head.  The family never knew whether he was hit with a musket or kicked by an animal."  However Fitzgerald sustained his injury, it resulted in brain trauma.   

Fitzgerald occasionally became irrational, at which times his sister committed him to asylums.  He had been released to her custody in September 1896, but three months later, on December 7, the New York Herald reported, "He has been subject to insanity for many years, and a new attack had forced Mrs. Denby to cause his arrest."  

The problem became evident in court.  As Magistrate Simms was speaking, the 53-year-old Fitzgerald spoke up, "Judge, stop your damn noise!"

When the judge continued, he broke in again, "You'll have to talk a little louder, Judge.  I can't hear you."  Magistrate Simms sent Fitzgerald to Bellevue Hospital where "he will be confined again until an improvement sets in," said the article.  

E. A. Raper was also a resident of 224 West 21st Street, here by 1902.  He was an agent of two Scranton, Pennsylvania-based brokerage firms, Murphy & Co. and E. E. Smathers & Co.  On the night of March 10, 1902 two detectives knocked on his apartment door and arrested him for having misappropriated $15,000 in funds from Scranton investors.

Living next door in 1904 was Harry Root, known on the street as Baltimore Harry.  He was arrested in January 1905, charged with being involved in the jewels theft in the Hotel Seville on September 9, 1904.  When arrested on Sixth Avenue, he had an $850 brooch, which was part of the loot, and a lockpick in his possession.  (The value of the pin would be about $27,000 today.)

A month later, another resident of 224 West 21st Street was summoned for jury duty.  William M. Denman was chosen to sit on the case of two youths charged with burglary, one or both of whom were Jewish.  The trial was set to start on the morning of February 23, when suddenly the jury foreman, Abraham Abrams, stood up and addressed the court.

"I fear I cannot sit as a juror in this case, because one of the other jurors when in the jury room on another case declared he would not believe a Hebrew under oath," he declared.

Judge McMahon was taken aback.  "This is most extraordinary.  Has any one of you gentlemen made such a statement?"

When no one admitted to having made the comment, Abrams pushed on.  "The statement was made, and by Juror No. 9 in his box."  Juror No. 9 was William M. Denman.

The New York Herald reported, "Other jurors then arose and corroborated Mr. Abrams, saying they had heard Mr. Denman make the remark.  He made no attempt to deny this."  Denman was excused from the jury for his anti-Semitic remarks "and the trial went on."

The disturbing string of arrests of residents of both buildings continued in May 1911 when George Gebhard was apprehended for "enticing a man to his room in No. 224 West Twenty-first street and robbing him of $40."  It was a costly crime for Gebhard.  He pleaded guilty and was sentenced to 15 years in the penitentiary.

Albert McCass lived at 222 West 21st Street in 1912.  The 22-year-old was a member of the notorious Gopher Gang which, according to The Sun that year, "for years has subjected the lower West Side to terror."  The gang operated out of a second-floor room in a vacant house on West 16th Street.  The Sun explained, "they persisted in entering the house by climbing through the back windows and making the night hideous for the neighbors by carousing until the early morning.  So thoroughly had they intimidated the residents of the district, however, that not even the owner of the house, Dennis J. Keating, a horseshoer, who has his shop on the ground floor, would make a complaint against the gangsters."

Finally, on June 23 1912, a brave neighbor "unable to endure the racket from the house," went to the police, saying if something was not done it "undoubtedly would end in a shooting."  A squad went to the house "and found it in a state of uproar."

An armed standoff ensued.  The Sun reported, "Two of the gangsters, so the police say, brandished revolvers and threatened to shoot 'the gizzard out o' any copper' that dared attempt to get into the house."  Sergeant O'Connor distracted them from 16th Street "by engaging the gangsters in a dispute over their right to be in the house," while two policemen went around the back and entered a window.  They unlocked the door and admitted the rest of the squad "who dashed upstairs and overpowered the young men, not one of them being more than 23 years old."  Among those arrested was Albert McCass.

Spiritualist Helen Moore lived at 222 West 21st Street in 1915 and held seances in her apartment.  The mystical sessions may have proved disruptive to her neighbors, however.  An advertisement in The Spiritualist magazine in November read, "Helen Moore, 222 West 21st St. New York City.  Trumpet séance every Thursday 8 P. M.  Will accept appointments out."

In the early morning hours of October 15, 1922, Robert Cooper was noticeably drunk.  John Fitzgerald, a tenant of 224 West 21st Street, and two friends saw him as an easy target.  At the corner of Eighth Avenue and 21st Street, according to Cooper in court, they "hailed him, compelled him to stand facing a brick wall and robbed him."  His yells attracted Patrolmen Mullin and Flynn who arrested the trio.  Unfortunately for Cooper, he was arrested, too, and held on $1,000 bail "for drunkenness," according to the New-York Tribune.

Without a doubt, however, the worst crime committed by a tenant came in 1964.  Twenty-six-year-old John Driscoll, who was released from prison on a charge of armed robbery that year, moved into the apartment of his mother, Frances Parker in 222 West 21st Street.  While he was incarcerated, his wife had found another love interest and was living with him under her maiden name with the Driscolls' daughter and son in the East Bronx.  John Driscoll found out where they lived and on Christmas Eve set out for revenge.  The New York Times reported the next day that Ann Bescia, Fred Papro, her partner, and her 23-year-old daughter Ann had been stabbed to death.  Anthony, the 19-year-old son was in critical condition.  John Driscoll was arrested after his mother called an ambulance "when she saw his wounds."  

The city's Housing and Development Administration acquired the two buildings in 1970.  The tenants were promised, according to spokespersons, "low-interest loans to buy and renovate their buildings."  When the loans were not actualized, the tenants rebelled.  On October 12, 1971 The New York Times reported, "traffic on Eighth Avenue at 21st Street was blocked for an hour yesterday afternoon as 50 tenants demonstrated against what they called the city's retreat from a promise."  Seven protestors were arrested, after which the group moved to West 20th Street in front of the 10th Precinct station house.

The following year, on June 8, 1972, The New York Times reported, "After turbulent sit-ins at...222-224 West 21st Street, the city's Housing and Development Administration was persuaded to come up with financing plans involving subsidies that reduced the rent of renovated apartments to a level close to what the tenants had been paying before." 

 

There were six apartments per floor in 222 West 21st Street and three each in 224.  That changed in 2015 when a renovation resulted in two apartments per floor in 222 West 21st Street and  and three and four each per floor in 224.  The disturbing decades-long tradition of crimes and arrests in the buildings ended in the last quarter of the 20th century.  Today's tenants live quietly, drawing no unwanted publicity to George Keister's handsome structures.

photographs by the author

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The Fred R. Hamlin House - 305 West 71st Street

Period photographs show the doorway, above a shallow stoop at the right, a centered window, and the service entrance to the left, where the present doorway is located.

In 1896 the husband-and-wife team of Carline and Luther F. Hartwell completed a handsome row of seven rowhouses on the north side of West 71st Street, between West End Avenue and Riverside Drive.  Designed by Frederick Friend, they stretched from No. 305 through No. 317.

The eastern most house, No. 305, was leased to Robert Appleton, a member of D. Appleton & Company, publishers.  The well-known businessman was also a member of the New York Athletic and the University Clubs, and the Yale Alumni Association.

In April 1903 real estate operator James O'Brien purchased the house and waited for the Appleton lease to expire.  As with most other moneyed families, the Appletons left the city that summer.  While most left one or two servants behind to guard their properties, No. 305 was left unoccupied.  It proved to be a tempting target for mischievous youths.

Nine-year old Herbert Shannon lived across the street and one afternoon he and three friends, two of them also 9-years-old and the other 8-years-old, climbed over the basement gate, forced open the door "and then scampered through the house," as reported by The New York Times on August 29.  Had the intruders been professional adults, they would have made a haul; the newspaper noting "there were plenty of valuable things which could have been carried off."  But there was only one item that caught the boys' attention.

"That was a miniature railroad, consisting of trains of cars, stations, tracks, locomotives, &c., and complete in every detail.  This was all that was removed."  Having made off with the toy train set, the boys did not cover their tracks very well.   A foot patrolman later noticed the basement door open and a detective was put on the case.  The four boys were arrested, charged with burglary and locked up.

When the Appleton family returned to the city, they would have to start looking for a new home.  And they did not look far--moving into the house next door at No. 307.  Surprisingly, James O'Brien demolished the eight-year-old house they had called home and began construction of a replacement in January 1904.

The structure was completed before the summer's end.  Designed by George Keister,  it was a blend of Renaissance Revival and Beaux Arts styles, arguably no more attractive or upscale than the house it replaced.  Designed on the American basement plan, the entrance was a few steps above the sidewalk within a limestone-faced base.  Three charming Juliette balconies which perched above a stone cornice fronted French windows.  Ambitious stone pediments above the third story openings were decorated with palm-flanked cartouches and lions' heads.  The Flemish-bond brickwork of the second and third floors gave way to a rusticated pattern at the fourth.  A deeply-overhanging metal cornice finished the design.

Early in August O'Brien sold the 25-foot wide house to Fredrick R. Hamlin, who was better known as Fred.  It had already been a momentous year for the theatrical producer.  Hamlin was born into the industry, the son of John A. Hamlin, manager of Chicago's Grand Opera House.   Only five years before buying the new house, he began his own theatrical career.

His first production, Arizona, was a success.  But nothing could prepare him for the sensation caused by his 1902 staging of The Wizard of Oz.   It was followed by another blockbuster, Babes in Toyland (which was still in production in 1904).  The two triumphs resulted in his partnering with Lew Fields and Julian Mitchell to form Hamlin, Mitchell & Fields.

The Wizard of Oz was a monumental success for Hamlin.  from the collection of the Library of Congress

By the spring of 1904 it must have seemed to Hamlin that his life could not get better.  On April 16 he purchased a summer home in Bellport, Long Island, and two days later he married Mary Burton Cadow, of Chicago.  Now the newlyweds had a fashionable townhouse as well.

Tragically, Hamlin's seemingly perfect life was about to end.  He came down with the grip (influenza) in October.  Although he seemed to have essentially recovered, he was left with a nagging cough.  On the advice of his doctor he and Mary traveled to Virginia Hot Springs at the beginning of November, where he appeared to have improved.  They came back to New York on November 23.

Suddenly Hamlin was attacked with severe stomach pains.  Doctors could find nothing wrong and told Mary he was simply run down.  Then, on Saturday night, November 26 his nose began bleeding, and was not stopped until the following day.  The New York Times reported on Monday, "Physicians were in constant attendance, and had assembled for a consultation in the evening, when Mr. Hamlin became suddenly delirious, and twenty minutes later died."

Hamlin's estate was appraised at more than $4 million by today's standards.  The whirlwind schedule of a marriage and purchase of two properties had not distracted him from making his will.  Mary received one-third of his estate, which was managed by his attorney brother, Herbert W. Hamlin.

Mary was not satisfied and sued the estate for the ownership of the two houses.  In court papers her lawyers claimed "Before the purchase, and during the progress of his negotiations for the purchase, he frequently declared to various persons that he intended to give the properties to his wife, and that he so intended to give them as a wedding present."  The battle dragged on into 1911; but Mary (by then remarried) was unsuccessful.

In the meantime Herbert Hamlin leased No. 305 to moneyed families.  John Stoddard lived here in 1912 when he and two partners incorporated the Eastern Coal & Coke Company.  In 1916 Sophie Louise Stebbins signed a lease; and in 1918 P. V. Giroux, a partner in the Gerrard Wire Typing Machines Co. lived here.

Still owned by the Hamlin estate, No. 305 was being operated as a rooming house in the Depression years.  Among the roomers was 26-year old Richard Nicolai Belling.  One of eight generations of acrobats, the family's long tradition of world-wide travel caused him frustrating troubles in 1932.

Belling's grandfather was born and lived in Philadelphia; but the family was in Paris when Belling's father was born.  Belling's siblings were born in various locations.  He explained to a reporter "Bob was born in Chia, Siberia; Tom was born in Manila; I was born in Hungary; Maude was born in Copenhagen."

Immediately upon Belling's birth his father went to the United States Consul and registered him as a U.S. citizen.  When he was 14-years old, according to Belling, "I came to the United States in 1920 with father and was admitted as an American."  But in 1929 he applied for a passport and was now told he was a Chinese citizen.  Customs officials contended that while his grandfather had the right to "hand down" his citizenship, because he lived in the U.S., his father could not do so.  Despite being an American citizen by birth, he had been born outside of the country.  A 1926 Customs decision held that "children of American citizens who have never resided in the United States are not American citizens.

So Belling went to the Chinese Consulate.  He was denied a passport because he had been registered as an American citizen in 1906, so he was therefore not a Chinese subject.  He thought he had the solution when he made out an application for U.S. citizenship, noting "I renounce my allegiance to the Republic of China."  It was rejected.  The clerk told him, "You can't do that because Chinese are not admitted to citizenship in the United States."  

So Richard Nicolai Belling was left without a country, and unable to travel.  The New York Times quoted him on February 4, 1932:  "I'm not an American, they tell me.  Well, then, I'm a Chinese and have no legal right to be here.  I can't become an American.  I can't get the money to fight this out in Supreme Court and, besides, there's a decision as precedent against me.  What can I do.?"  (Happily, The Chinese Exclusion Act was repealed in 1943 and Belling later received his citizenship and social security card.)

Another roomer, William T. Jobe, had other problems.  The 29-year old was arrested on November 8, 1934 for burglary and suspicion of a separate armed robbery.  The Times reported he was charged with "burglary in the theft Wednesday night of $900 worth of jewelry and clothing from the apartment of Jene Carroll in the Hotel New Weston, Forty-ninth Street and Madison Avenue."  On the same night a Los Angeles manufacturer and his wife were held up in the same hotel and robbed of jewelry valued at $2,500.

On November 26, 1936 Herbert Hamlin announced that he had leased the house for five years.  "The lessee intends to remodel the house into one and two-room apartments," reported The Times.  The renovations, however, appear to have fallen short.  In 1937 the building received a "multiple dwelling violation" from the Department of Buildings.  It may have resulted in the lease being cancelled.  On October 17, 1938 Herbert Hamlin leased the house, "containing eighteen small apartments," to Carroll Woolf.

Woolf made further renovations, which resulted in 1940 in a caretaker's room and two furnished rooms on the first floor, two apartments on the second, three furnished rooms on the third, and six more on the fourth.  It was possibly at this time that the entrance was moved from the right to the left of the ground floor and given an unconvincing neo-Georgian doorway.  

According to the current owner, John Birge, the house was purchased "in the early 1960s by a preservationist named Freedom Ainsworth.  There is little information on the ‘net about him except that he was an engineer and is credited with some industrial inventions."  His conversion, completed in 1966, resulted in one apartment on the ground floor and two each above.  Birge added "Mr. Ainsworth replaced the interior staircase with a steel set and installed new beams so that the house has no interior load bearing walls…unusual for a house of this width."

Much of the 1904 detailing survives in the dining room.  photo via blocksy.com

In 1996, following Miriam and Jon Birge's purchase of the house, a ten-year renovation was begun.  An owner's duplex was created on the second and third floors.   Among their renovations was the replacement of windows, some of which were original to the structure, but, as Birge explains, "could not be restored."

The Birges plan addition work in 2019 which will include "restoring the cornice, [and] rebuilding the irreplaceable windows on the second floor."

photographs by the author