The Lost Wetzel Building - 2-4 East 44th Street

American Architect & Building News, December 30, 1905 (copyright expired)

In the first years of the 20th century well-heeled gentlemen purchased their clothing from custom makers, each specializing in an item--hats, shirts, gloves or suits, for instance.  The quality of their products was reflected in high prices--prices which amassed fortunes for the manufacturers and enabled them to erect handsome buildings.  In 1902, for instance, the Beaux Arts style Knox Hat Building was completed on Fifth Avenue and 40th Street, and the same year shirt makers Kaskel & Kaskel erected its marble retail palace on the Fifth Avenue corner of 32nd Street.

Preeminent among the men's tailors was Wetzel (whose labels announced "Wetzel of New York"), founded in 1874.   Charles F. Wetzel was described by Advanced Fashions in 1911 as "a merchant with a reputation world wide" and "an advanced thinker in the tailoring world."  

Advance Fashion, June 1911 (copyright expired)

Wetzel, too, was located on Fifth Avenue.  At the time of the construction of the Knox and Kaskel & Kaskel structures he was leasing the building at the eastern corner of 34th Street.  But that was about to change.

The increasingly valuable corner was eyed by department store owner Benjamin Altman.  But in order to demolish the structure for his monumental new emporium, he had to buy out Wetzel's lease.  The New York Times explained the process clearly:

A big mercantile firm wanted to put up a department store there and it had to let Wetzel name his price, he named it and the firm paid it.

Charles Wetzel sold his lease for $200,000--nearly $5.7 million today.  The Times went on, "With the proceeds together with the considerable wealth he had already accumulated, the tailor was able to buy the Forty-fourth Street plot."

That plot engulfed Nos. 2 and 4 East 44th Street, steps from Fifth Avenue and across the street from the fashionable Delmonico's.  Wetzel put the architectural firm of Hill & Stout to work designing a building for his business, including showrooms appropriate for his millionaire patrons.  They did not disappoint.

Plans were filed in December 1904 for a five-story "loft and office building" to cost $100,000.  Construction began in February 1905 and the 45-foot wide building was completed within the year.  Normally architects published renderings of their structures early on in the process; but Charles F. Wetzel seems to have had a sense of drama.  During most of the construction the building was kept hidden behind a high wooden fence.  When it was taken down, enough of the structure was already completed to create an impact on the press.

On August 3, 1905 The New York Times reported "Wetzel, the tailor, unveiled his new Venetian building on Forty-fourth Street yesterday...The structure is a distinctly artistic addition to the neighborhood.  There is nothing else in New York quite like it, the soft mingling of rich colors presenting a pleasant contrast to the solid stone buildings near by."

Hill & Stout's hand-colored rendering gives a sense of the rich interplay of materials and colors. American Architect & Building News, December 30, 1905 (copyright expired) 

On the same day The Real Estate Record & Builders' Guide said "When the facade of the new Wetzel building...was uncovered by the workmen this week one of the prettiest pieces of architecture in the city was disclosed."  The article called it "the first real example of the true Venetian we have yet obtained."  

Indeed, Hill & Stout had drawn inspiration from the 14th and 15th century palazzi that lined the Grand Canal of Venice--most notably the Palazzo Contarini Fasa, traditionally the home of Shakespeare's Desdemona.  

A postcard depicting the Venetian Palazzo Contarini Fasa published at about the same time of the Wentzel Building's construction reveals marked similarities.  

Clad in brick, granite and terra cotta, the facade's design elements included lancet arches, Juliette balconies, and arcades.  Expert masons had executed a tapestry of diamond-pattern brick.  A deeply overhanging cornice upheld by carved wooden supports introduced the vivid blue-tiled roof.

The Record & Guide's writer applauded Wetzel, saying he was "evidently a gentleman of both fine taste and wealth;" while crediting Frederick P. Hill for the polychromatic design.  "Mr. Hill is evidently a colorist.  His modeling is rugged and simple, as the character has been put into the masses rather than into the detail...In this Wetzel building, old chromes and soft reds are enlivened by old greens and blues, and taken with the graceful forms employed there is presented a very characteristic Venetian building."

Hill & Stout set the commercial building apart from almost all others by designing it to appear entirely residential.  There were no show windows, no signage (as a matter of fact, the Record & Guide stressed "It certainly will not be disfigured by a signboard.")  Men with the money to shop at Wetzel did not need a sign--they knew where they were going.

The interiors were no less striking.  Wetzel's customers entered a reception room deserving of a doge's palace.  Under a groined ceiling antique Italian furniture sat on a tiled floor.  A massive wood-burning fireplace and mantelpiece dominated one wall.

Gentlemen with surnames like Belmont, Astor or Vanderbilt were ushered into this reception room.  American Architect & Building News, December 30, 1905 (copyright expired)

If they were impressed by the reception room, customers would be awed by the salesroom.  The elaborate plaster ceiling hinted at fan-vaulting and dripped electric light bulbs.   Offices at the mezzanine level faced a gallery with a wooden filigree railing that included a carved coat of arms.  Here, surrounded by polished chestnut woodwork, the wealthy customer met with Charles Wetzel.  Well-dressed clerks brought in bolts of the best fabrics from which to choose.  Otherwise, there was no hint that this was a clothing establishment.

Like the best millinery, modiste or shirt maker establishments, there was no trace of product in Wetzel's salesroom.  American Architect & Building News, December 30, 1905 (copyright expired)

Hill & Stout took enormous effort to create the illusion that the client was in antique surroundings.  The Record & Guide described the paneling of the salesroom:  "In the beautifully carved panels is the prized color tones of the good old wood, the time-softened outlines, wrinkled surfaces, and worn edges, as if Father Time, sythe [sic] in hand, had gone over the work when the modern artisan had laid down his tools."

The effect was produced by sand-blasting the panels after carving.  The article explained "The architect of the building personally directed the unique operation in the Wetzel Building, which put, so to speak, three hundred years into a day's time."

Around 30 expert tailors worked in the upper floors.  Wetzel's advertisements boasted that he satisfied the tastes of "the best-dressed male in the world."   Like his moneyed customers he disdained fads and for decades purveying only British-approved fashions and slight variances on tradition.

Wetzel's advertisements did not need illustrations of well-dressed models.  The name was sufficient. This 1912 ad promised "The London tendencies in fashion find first expression in America at Wetzel's.   The Literary Digest, April 20, 1912 (copyright expired)

Charles Wetzel leased space in the upper floors.  In 1913 F. E. Bebus moved in his optician's office; and by 1914 Hanson Studios was in the building.  

The settlement movement had began in the mid 1880's; an effort to provide instruction, daycare, and medical attention to the impoverished neighborhoods.  Among the earliest in New York City was the Union Settlement.  In 1915 Hanson Studios staged a benefit for the facility.

The American Architect, October 11, 1922 (copyright expired)

On December 19 the New-York Tribune reported "A special exhibition and sale of baskets, rugs and other articles made in the Union Settlement workrooms will be continued through the week at Hanson Studios, 4 East Forty-fourth Street.  Through the workrooms families in the settlement neighborhood formerly dependent have been helped to self-support.  Much of the work has been done by Italians."

By the time of that sale the majority of Wetzel's millionaire patrons had moved northward along Central Park.  The formerly exclusive residential neighborhood was becoming increasingly commercial.   Wetzel and Hanson Studios would both leave the building in 1917.

In September that year the Harriman National Bank, which adjoined the building on the southeast corner of Fifth Avenue, leased the ground floor.  Hill & Stout's magnificent Venetian Gothic interiors made way for bank offices.

In 1929 the masterful Venetian Gothic Wetzel Building was demolished.  Today its site is included in the late 1950's, 19-story 529 Fifth Avenue building.

photo via citibizlist.com

Hill & Stout's 1909 Nos. 49-51 West 24th Street

At the turn of the last century the crime-ridden neighborhood known as the Tenderloin, roughly between 23^rd and 42^nd streets from Fifth to Seventh Avenues, was being cleaned up by reformers like Anthony Comstock and Police Commissioner Theodore Roosevelt.  One by one saloons, gambling dens and brothels were replaced by loft buildings as the area earned the new moniker, the Mercantile District.

On March 7, 1908 developer Edmund Coffin purchased the “four story business building” at No. 51 West 24^th Street.  In reporting the sale, The New York Times mentioned “Mr. Coffin owns the adjoining property, No. 49, and now controls a plot 45 by 98.9.” 

Coffin had plans for the site and wasted no time in implementing them.   One month later, on April 11, The Record & Guide reported that architects Stout & Hill had completed the plans an the 11-story loft building of terra cotta and brick.  The report listed all the latest technology—steam heat, electric elevators and “skeleton construction.”  It mentioned that “two buildings will be demolished.”

Well-known contractors Thompson-Starrett Co. was awarded to contract to construct the building.  Founded in 1899, the firm was a pioneer in skyscraper construction and within the next two decades would build the Woolworth Building, the American Stock Exchange, the Equitable Building, and Chicago’s Sears, Roebuck and Company Complex, as well as other important structures.

While construction was underway, Coffin leased the building to real estate manager Lee Holstein “for a long term of years” in August 1908.  Holstein realized the potential in the area and the modern factory.  In November, as construction continued, he leased 20,000 square feet in the building to the United Manufacturing Trimming Company, Louis Barnett & Son, and Jacob Isaacson.  The future tenants were all engaged in apparel-related businesses.

Stout & Hill’s factory and store building was completed in 1909.  A two-story cast iron base of geometric designs, thin rope twist colunettes and leaded transoms, was framed in colorful terra cotta.  Most striking were the two Vienna Succession-inspired plaques on either side which announced the two addresses.

The architects created interest in the severely unadorned seven-story midsection by the use of starkly variegated stone.  Terra cotta joined brick at the top level to reintroduce the colorful decoration.  Here the façade leaned slightly back from the piers, catching the northern light much like an artist’s studio.

Among the building’s first tenants was Thalheimer Brothers., a button manufacturer.  Harry Jonas ran the firm, and his was a Horatio Algier-worthy success story.  Jonas had been hired around 1890 as an errand boy.  Over the next two decades he slowly worked his way up until, in 1909 he was made head of the firm.

On the afternoon of Saturday, June 10, 1911 Harry Jonas left his office and boarded the Sixth Avenue street car heading uptown.  Before going home to East Orange, New Jersey to his ailing wife, he intended to stop by the Turkish bath at Sixth Avenue and 42^nd Street first.  He took a seat on the street car and began reading his newspaper.

Sitting next to Jonas was a “fashionably dressed woman about 35 years old,” as described by The New York Times later.  Next to her was Thomas E. D. Ritchie, a traveling salesman for the Fred Lee Company.  The streetcar had gone about 10 blocks when suddenly Ritchie jumped to his feet, searched his pockets frantically and exclaimed that his money was missing.

The salesman told Jonas he had lost a $20 gold piece and a $10 gold piece.  The woman and Jonas both stood up so the seats and floor could be searched; but the coins were not there. 

At 42^nd Street Jonas got off the car.  Suddenly a policeman grabbed his shoulder.  Ritchie had jumped off the car before Jonas and told the first officer he found that Jonas had picked his pocket.  “I charge this man with taking my money!” he said.

Shocked, Harry Jonas consented to be searched.  The Sun reported “He had $300 in bills and silver in his pockets, but no gold.”  (The cash Jonas was carrying was evidence of the affluence he had achieved.  It would be equal to more than $7,700 in 2016.)

The two men were taken to the East 51^st Street station house, where Captain Raynor explained to Ritchie that he was “taking a risk in making a complaint.”  The salesman persisted and pressed charges of grand larceny against Jonas, despite there being no evidence at all.

Harry Jonas’s stature in the business community resulted in the story being followed for two days by various newspapers.  He was held in jail for nine hours, all the while insisting, according to The Times that “the complainant was making a grave mistake.”

When his case was brought before the magistrate in the Yorkville police court on June 11, the courtroom was filled with friends and businessmen who came to “testify to his good character,” according to The Sun.

Jonas told the judge “I have never had any imputation made against my honesty since I have been in business…The accusation of picking pockets almost knocked me flat.”  As he finished his testimony regarding the events of that afternoon, he added “The humiliation and the mental agony that I underwent was more than I would voluntarily suffer for a million dollars.”

Happily for Jonas, the magistrate declared “You have been grievously wronged, but I can do no more than honorably discharge you, which I do with great pleasure.”  He suggested that Jonas “get redress in the courts against the man who caused your arrest.”

Along with the many businessmen in the front row of seats was Jonas’s sister.  The wave of relief and emotion caused him to break down and he wept on her shoulder.  But he well intended to take the judge’s advice regarding Ritchie.

“Your Honor,” he said, “this is the saddest day of my life.  I fear I shall never get over the humiliation of this day.  But I will make my accuser pay well for it.  My wife is ill and I am afraid she knows of this awful occurrence.” 

One of the many-paned transoms which survive within the elaborate cast iron base.

At the time the building was filled with other apparel firms, including Spitzer & Harris Co, makers of “waists and dresses;” Jacob Aaron Herman, manufacturers of “dresses, skirts, and petticoats for woman and children;” and W. Schwartz & Sons, “cloaks.”  Ellner, Edelstein Co., which also made cloaks, occupied the entire 9^th Floor and renewed the lease in 1915.

J. A. Herman patented this "maternity gown" in 1912.  (copyright expired)

While we often think only of young women bent over the sewing machines in early 20^th century garment factories; the majority of employees in several of the firms here were men.  In 1913 Jacob Guttentag employed 33 men and 12 women making cloaks; in 1915 Goldfinger & Katz, makers of “cloaks and suits,” employed 30 men and just six women.

In December 1919 Edmund Coffin sold Nos. 49-51 West 24^th Street to the Manport Realty Company.  The Real Estate Record and Guide pointed out that the leases on five lofts would expire within two months, and the others in 1921; hinting that the buyer had plans for the building.  Instead Manport Realty sold it in January 1920 to Julius Tischman & Son.

The Tischmans continued leasing the lofts to apparel firms.  Kramer & Schott “ladies coats” was here in 1920; in 1922 Franco-American Dress Co., Inc. took the top floor; and by 1925 William J. Klein was manufacturing buttons here.

When this photograph was taken around 1940 low-rise vintage buildings still survived on West 24th Street.  from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York

By mid-century the tenants list had slightly changed.  Instead of trimmings and women’s apparel the tenants were involved in the leather accessories trade.  In 1952 Fortuna Machine Co. moved in.  The firm manufactured “leathering machinery.”  And by 1957 the Amber Belt Company was here.

New York City artist Sharon Florin captured the terra cotta detailing in this 2016 painting.

Somehow, as the 20^th century became the 21^st, the building escaped being converted to high-end residential space and still houses small factories.  Somewhat amazingly, the cast iron and terra cotta of the lower two floors have survived almost entirely intact.  Except for the trendy pizza café at street level, the building looks little different than it did on that summer afternoon when Harry Jonas left work only to face public humiliation.

many thanks to Sharon Florin for suggesting this post.
photographs by the author 

The 1916 Barbour House -- No. 322 W 36th Street

The fashionable Brick Presbyterian Church had a tradition of helping the poor.  In the 19^th century it established a Sunday school in the wretched Hell’s Kitchen neighborhood which, in 1888, became Christ Church.   In 1905 Brick Church erected a new church building on West 36^th Street with an adjoining parish house that provided the tenement dwellers recreation and, more importantly, instruction in sewing, carpentry, and other areas that would help to improve their lives.

On the opposite side of the church building at No. 322 West 36^th Street was a tenement building.   Apparently to save rent, at least in once instance several unrelated people shared a single apartment.  The lifestyles of the struggling residents was evidenced here on November 15, 1914 when Alexander Evanoff, a Bulgarian immigrant, showed up at the door of that flat.

Evanoff had shared the apartment with Rosie King and her sister, Mary Kenniker, and an Italian Rocco Postorino.  When he left, his place was taken by a Greek immigrant, Mickle Stronnglous.  Somewhat smitten with Rosie King, Evanoff now envisioned the Greek as a rival for her affections.

The following morning The New York Times reported “Sounds of quarreling, followed by four pistol shots, brought the people of the tenement at 332 West Thirty-six Street to their doors at 6 o’clock last night in time to see a man dash downstairs from the third floor, brandishing a revolver.”

The man was Alexander Evanoff and as he bolted down the stairs, men and boys from the tenement ran after him.  By the time he reached Ninth Avenue “a small army was at his heels.”  He turned the corner towards 35^th Street where “he was downed by Policeman Allen of the West Thirty-seventh Street Station.”

Back at the overcrowded apartment, Mickle Stronnglous lay dead on the floor with a bullet wound in the head.  Rocco Postorino was bleeding from the wrist and the two terrified women cowered in another room.

They were able to tell police that Evanoff stood in the doorway and fired directly at Stronnglous.  As he fell to the floor the Bulgarian aimed at the two women; but Postorino grabbed his arm and the shot went wild.  As the two men grappled on the floor, Rosie and Mary fled screaming into another room.  “For more than a minute the two men wrestled.  Then Evanoff succeeded in tearing himself free, but not until two more shots had been fired, one bullet wounding Postorino in the wrist, the other piercing Evanoff in the hand.”

Evanoff denied that he had started the fight.  He said he was out of work and stopped by to borrow money.  He insisted the others had opened fire on him the moment he entered the room.  Police were not so sure.  He was held on murder charges.

At the time another social problem concerned New Yorkers—that of safe and respectable housing for single working girls.  The West 36^th Street neighborhood was not far from the developing retail area of Herald Square where massive stores like Gimbels and Macy’s hired hundreds of “shop girls.”   With the opening of Pennsylvania Station two blocks to the south of Christ Church in 1910, businesses flooded the area.  Every unmarried girl who moved to New York for a job needed a place to stay.  But meager wages made finding respectable housing difficult.  The solution was the hotel for working girls.

William Sloane Coffin controlled the properties at Nos. 330 and 332 West 36^th Street in December 1915 when The Real Estate Record & Builders’ Guide reported that Christ Church intended to erect a “7-story dormitory” on the site.  The projected $95,000 project was to be designed by Hill & Stout.

Frederick P. Hill and Edmund C. Stout had recently completed the skinny Gothic-inspired office building at No. 299 Madison Avenue, and the triangular German-American Insurance Co. building on Liberty Street.  For the “Barbour Dormitory” they would again turn to the Gothic motif, handsomely blending with the Christ Church and Parish House next door.

A month after the announcement, on January 17, 1916, the Brick Church announced that “Nearly the entire $150,000 Barbour Memorial Fund has been subscribed.  It is for the erection of a dormitory on the west side.”   The figure would translate to about $3.25 million today.

The working girl hotel would be named in memory of William D. Barbour who, as recorded in the 1943 Brick Church History “for over fifty years was the teacher and devoted friend of the children of the West Side.” 

The book would remind its readers that Barbour House (as it was quickly renamed) was erected “through the enthusiasm of William Sloane Coffin.”  Indeed, on August 23, 1916 The Times reported that Coffin had “conveyed as a gift to the corporation of Brick Presbyterian Church title in the two properties at 330 and 332 West Thirty-sixth Street.”

On January 23, 1916 The New York Times reported “One of the most interesting and what will doubtless prove to be one of the most beneficial improvements in the rapidly growing industrial centre immediately adjacent to the Pennsylvania Station is the home for wage-earning girls now under construction…in the centre of the biggest retail district in the country.”

The design of the Barbour House complimented Christ Church, center, and the parish house to the right -- The New York Times, January 23, 1916 (copyright expired)

The newspaper pointed out the lack of housing for the enormous population of working girls in the area.  William S. Coffin further explained “A large number of employes of these stores and lofts are girls whose wages range from $6 a week up.  Now, if a girl can walk to her work six days a week instead of taking a car, this is equal to an increase of 10 percent in her wages.  If one hour each day in the subway be counted as a working hour, which it certainly it, living near the store makes an eight-hour instead of a nine-hour day.  A dormitory for these girls is certainly one of the greatest needs of the district.”

A balcony over the entrance was planted with shrubs -- Architecture & Building  April 1917 (copyright expired)

The Times described the “attractive” façade as “of red brick and white terra cotta, relieved by an artistic balcony for flowering plants over the main entrance.  It will be seven stories in height with a roof garden.”

The term “dormitory” was perhaps more appropriate than “hotel.”  The architects lined up single rooms—most of them 7.5 by 12 feet--to accommodate 120 regular female lodgers.  But life in the building was not intended to be Spartan.  In the basement was a large kitchen and a “clubroom” for entertainments.  The main floor contained a large entrance hall, two reception rooms “where young men and other visitors may be put at ease,” and a large lounge with an open fire place.  The main dining room, also on this floor, could accommodate 130 at a time.  The Times mentioned that the dining room “will be one of the great features of the building, for it is intended to establish a girls’ lunch club which will be restricted under certain conditions for the benefit of girls working in the neighborhood.”

A lunch club would further reduce the girls’ expenses.

Rooms lined up along the hallways with a central communal restroom in the center -- http://nyre.cul.columbia.edu/images/view/60546

All six of the upper floors were relegated to sleeping rooms; along with scattered trunk rooms.  On the roof was a glass-enclosed conservatory and an open roof section.

Girls staying at the Barbour House could expect to pay $4.75 a week on average.  Considering that most of them made about $6 a week, they would still be strapped for spending money.

Two years after the building opened, New-York Tribune writer Elene Foster made a tour of working girl hotels.    She wrote on January 20, 1918 “It’s a problem which dates back to the time that the first shy little country maid descended from the old Bouwerie stagecoach, carpet bag in hand, to seek her fortune in the great city—this problem of the housing of the working girl!”  Foster said that while times and girls had changed, “the problem is there just the same…the problem of the safe and proper housing of the thousands and thousands of young women who come each year to live and work in the  biggest city in the world.”

Foster started out at the Barbour House “one of the newest and most attractive of the organized houses for girls, over in West Thirty-sixth Street.  The applicant with whom I went was a salesgirl in a department store, earning $10 per week.  She had been ill in the hospital for several weeks, and she had her doctor’s bill still to pay, so that she couldn’t afford to pay $6 per week for her room and two meals (breakfast and dinner) in the boarding house where she was living.”

So the girl was desperate to find a room in the Barbour House.  Foster recounted the girl’s description of the place, including her vernacular and less-than-refined diction.

“I’m just crazy to get into Barbour House.  I’ve got lots of friends there.  It’s perfectly elegant.  They treat you white, too; course they have rules, but ain’t what you’d call ‘nosey’ about your affairs so long as they know you’re respectable.  And they don’t mind your gentleman friend comin’ to see you neither.  They’ve got reg-lar ‘Beau Parlors’ fixed up real class, where you can see him without a lot of other girls buttin in.”

Apparently the reporter showed confusion for the girl continued, “You ain’t never heard of a ‘Beau Parlor’?  Some call ‘em ‘spoon-holders.’  All the new houses have them.  Wait till you see them.  They’re grand!”

Foster agreed that the Barbour House was “perfectly elegant.”  She described the long reception room with chintz draperies and “big chintz covered chairs, books and lamps and a hue fireplace with a broad leather covered fender.”  The reporter was impressed that there was nothing “institutional” about the hotel.

The women rode the elevator to look at the vacant room.  “It was a large room, with two big windows hung with white curtains, and in it were three comfortable cots with brown covers, three chests of drawers with mirrors, three rocking chairs, and along one side three clothes closets fitted with poles and hangers, and with doors that could be locked.  The applicant’s face fell when she saw the three cots.”

The girl had hoped for a single room rather than a shared one.  But by sharing she would be paying only $3.75 a week including breakfast and dinner.   In the basement the women were shown the laundry, “a room equipped with ironing boards, electric irons and a row of porcelain tubs.”   For the use of the room girls paid 5 cents an hour.

Next came a trip to the sun parlor on the roof where girls could seek relief on hot summer nights.  “Here were wicker chairs with bright cushions, tall, shaded lamps and gate-legged tables and a phonograph.  A conservatory with tropical plants and a big tank of goldfish opened from this sun parlor.”  Also on the roof was a kitchenette where girls could make tea or light meals.

Adding to the attraction of Barbour House at the time were the dances for sailors hosted every Wednesday night by Christ Church next door.  Sailors, either returning from war or headed overseas, were told they “may bring their dancing partners with them or attend singly and be introduced to some of the girls of the neighborhood who will be there.”

There is little doubt that a great number of the “girls of the neighborhood” walked over from the Barbour House.

Girls who could barely make rent could definitely not afford to spend money on vacations; but in 1922 the Barbour House leased a summer house at Far Rockaway, Long Island, for the girls.  On October 10 the girls opened a two-day bazaar in the building “to raise funds to replenish the sums spend for their summer house,” reported The Times.

The residents need not have collected huge amounts, however.  The congregation of Brick Church was wealthy and Brick Church History mentioned “The gifts and contributions of the people rose to unprecedented figures.  Until the depression of 1929, the annual budget was in the neighborhood of $130,000, the larger proportion being devoted to missions and benevolences.”  A significant supporter of the hotel was the wealthy and unmarried Eleanor Cuyler.  Not only did she single-handedly pay the salary of a foreign missionary, but she was nicknamed by Brick Church members “the fairy godmother of Barbour House.”

The Depression obviously worsened the lot of working girls, many of whom lost their jobs.   The Association to Promote Proper Housing for Girls opened its two-day conference at the Hotel Pennsylvania on November 18, 1930.  The organization intended to address “problems of unemployment among girls, consideration of mental adjustments in the allocation of positions, and the social trends of modern times.”   The first night’s session was an oratorical contest in which girls spoke on “What I Know of Unemployment.” 

Barbour House did well for itself.  Resident Dorothy Barry received the first prize, a gold medal; and the House received a silver cup “which will become the permanent property of the club whose representatives attain first place for three years,” reported The Times.

Interestingly, unlike most hotels for women, Barbour House accepted older single women as well.  Former European opera singer Marie Van Gelder was 55-years old when she checked into the House in July 1935 with her two sisters.  A native of The Netherlands, Marie was a naturalized American citizen.

Marie Van Gelder now made her living as a private vocal coach.  She sprang from a musical family—her father Gerardus M. Van Gelder was a prominent Dutch musicial and her brother, Dr. Martius Van Gelder, was a pianist, violinist and composer living in Philadelphia.   Marie had been first dramatic soprano at the Royal Opera House in Amsterdam, and sang with the Berne, Zurich and Metz opera houses.  She gave command concerts for Queen Wilhelmina and Kaiser Wilhelm II; and wrote the book Artistic Singing.

On October 13, three months after she moved into the Barbour House, Marie Van Gelder attended the 11:00 mass at St. Patrick’s Cathedral.  She was seated in a pew about half-way toward the front and just as Rev. T. Lester Graham started to preach, she collapsed.  Ushers carried the women to the vestibule where she died 10 minutes later of a heart attack.

In July 1943 the Brick Presbyterian Church sold Barbour House to Benjamin Winter.  In reporting the sale The New York Times noted that the building “provides living quarters for working women of modest income.  It contains 100 rooms and will continue under its present management.”

The new owner made one major change.  As noted in Brick Church History it now “extended its privileges to young men also.”  The book admitted however “It still renders a most important service in providing a home-like atmosphere for young people whom study or business has brought to the city.”

Changes in society more than neighborhood eliminated the need for hotels like the Barbour House.  Surrounded by Garment Center factory buildings on a still-gritty street, Barbour House became the Barbour Hotel when it was taken over by Praxis Housing Initiatives in the late 20th century.  Under contract with the city’s Division of AIDS Services and Income Support, the “transitional housing facility” serves people with HIV/AIDS.   According to its website, the hotel “provides services on site, including harm reduction, counseling, and programs for substance abusers and the mentally ill.”

In 2015 plans to demolish Christ Church and its parish house were announced.  When the high-rise hotel is completed on the site, The Barbour house will be the lone survivor of the charming Gothic Revival complex.

photographs by the author