The Solomon Adler House - 116 East 60th Street

 

Vines cling to the upper floor facade.

On June 14, 1872, the Adler family placed a notice in the New York Herald that read, "Wanted--A chambermaid; one who is capable of washing and ironing; city references required. Call at 116 East 60th st."  The successful candidate would be working within a newly built, high-stooped house, one of a row of identical homes along the south side of the block between Lexington and Park Avenues.  Twenty-feet wide and clad in brownstone, its openings sat within molded architrave frames.  Its bracketed cornice was typical of the Italianate style.

Solomon Adler was born in Bohemia in 1816 and immigrated to New York in 1843.  Five years later, the stalwart newcomer traveled to Milwaukee, a settlement with a population of a few thousand--mostly German immigrants--and established a men's store.  In 1852 he partnered with his brother David to form A. & D. Adler Co., which would become one of the largest wholesale clothing firms in the country (the Adler Clothing Company).  While in Milwaukee, Adler was secretary of the town's first Jewish congregation and secretary of its first Jewish cemetery organization.

After retiring, Solomon Adler brought his family back to New York.  He and his wife, Charlotte, had five children--Caroline, I. Richard, Millard, William F., and Leon Nathan.  The youngest, Leon Nathan, entered Columbia College in 1875 to study chemistry.

In the meantime, his brothers quickly established themselves in New York activities.  On June 30, 1874, The Evening Telegram reported, "Quite a number of the most intelligent and influential young men in the Nineteenth ward congregated at the residence, No. 116 East Sixtieth street, for the purposes of organizing an association for the advancement of literature and learning."  The Cicero Literary Association was established that evening and Millard F. Adler was selected its treasurer.

William F. Adler was listed as a "merchant" when he endorsed Civil Justice John B. McKean's reelection in November 1890; and I. Richard Adler was president of Cassidy & Adler, a plumbing supply firm.  The New York Times described I. Richard Adler as being "fairly well known among racing men, having owned a stable of horses."

Solomon Adler died on March 14, 1890 at the age of 74 after what The Weekly Wisconsin described as "a lingering illness."  His funeral was held in the 60th Street house on March 17.  

Solomon Adler left, according to The New York Times, "a large property."  His will left bequests to several Jewish causes, including the Hebrew Orphan Asylum, the Mt. Sinai Hospital, the Montefiore Home for Chronic Invalids, the Home for Aged and Infirm Hebrews and the Hebrew Sheltering Guardian Society of the New York Asylum.  It also provided a trust estate for Charlotte, "and also remembered his children and other relatives."

I. Richard Adler was appointed executor, with Leon and Caroline (now married to Samuel M. Schwab, Jr.) as co-executors.  Problems quickly developed and on May 25, 1895 I. Richard Adler was removed as executor by the courts.  His siblings charged that "he had misappropriated and lost a large portion of the estate of their father" and that he "spent most of his time in poolrooms and at the race track."  Charlotte accused her son of failing "to account to her for moneys which she was entitled to."  The judge agreed, saying, " I am convinced [of] his unfitness to continue as trusted agent of the testator."

The Adler estate sold 116 East 60th Street in March 1901.  By then, commerce had infiltrated the formerly refined residential district.  The dwelling became a rooming house, home to respectable tenants like S. Meyenberg, who offered "expert individual instruction" in shorthand in 1901.

The high-stooped brownstone eventually relented to the changes to the neighborhood.  On August 13, 1927, The New York Times reported that James F. Meehan had leased the house, saying, "The lessee will alter the building for stores and small apartments."

Meehan hired architect Arthur Weiser to design the renovations.  He removed the stoop and installed a two-story, Art Deco storefront.  The upper three floors were converted to "non-housekeeping apartments," meaning that they had no kitchens."

The house to the right, albeit sans stoop, was a match to the Adler house.  via the NYC Dept of Records & Information Services.

The ground floor space was leased by automobile dealer A. J. Miranda, Jr., Inc. as its showroom.  On September 2, 1928, the Dupont Motors, Inc. announced "a new eight-cylinder car."  It was available as a "convertible sedan, five-passenger sport phaeton, seven-passenger limousine, five-passenger club sedan, seven-passenger touring, sport roadster, convertible coupe, [and] five-passenger victoria."  The prices ranged from $4,500 to $5,900 (the most expensive equal to about $108,000 in 2025).  The New York Times reported, "The cars will go on display next Wednesday at the show rooms of A. J. Miranda, Jr., Inc., 116 East Sixtieth Street."

The New Yorker, January 5, 1929

In 1929, E. A. Van Trump, Jr., Inc. took over the showroom.  They continued to represent Dupont Motors, Inc.

In the meantime, the small apartments above were home to middle-class tenants.  Among them in 1931 was 29-year-old Florence Brown.  The actress was obviously deeply troubled, and when she visited her sister at the Hotel San Jacinto on October 22 that year, she decided to end her life.  Mrs. William Trask-Clark told police that she struggled with Florence "to prevent her from jumping" from her rooms on the sixth floor.  She was unsuccessful and Florence fell to her death.

In January 1932, Arthur H. Gauss leased the second floor of 116 East 60th Street.  He converted it to a "physical culture studio"--essentially what today would be called a gym.

Around 1960, Robert H. Zessman opened Lloyds, a high-end antiques and accessories shop here.  The New York Times described him as "an authority on 18th and 19th century antiques," and said he "sold unusual estate furniture, antiques and well-done copies."  The shop would remain here into the 1970s.

Richard C. Kester was described by The New York Times as "the son of a Florida millionaire."  His father was chairman of the board of the Pompano Beach Bank and Trust Company.  The 28-year-old, who worked at the National Association of Broadcasters, occupied an apartment here in 1969 when he was the victim of a gruesome crime.  On March 4, according to the newspaper, his body "was found bound and gagged and wrapped in a rug in his walkup apartment at 116 East 60th Street.  He had apparently been dead for several days."  It would not be until May 25, 1973 that two men were arrested and charged for the murder.

The Dumas Patisserie opened in the ground floor space in 1973.  Operated by pastry chef Michel Dumas, it offered delicacies like French cheese cake with a bottom of raspberry puree and "something called fraisia (strawberry shortcake with a hint of kirsch)," according to New York Magazine on October 15 that year.  The shop remained at least through 1979.

A renovation completed in 1986 converted the lower floors to a restaurant.  In 2015, Blu on the Park occupied the space, followed by Jade Sixty in 2017, and Maison Vivienne the following year.  Eateries continued to come and go.  In 2019 Ivy Lane opened, replaced by T-Bar Steak & Lounge in 2022.

The Adler house is the last 19th century survivor on the block

In 2021, in anticipation of T-Bar's occupancy, Arthur Weiser's Art Deco storefront was replaced by flush panels and sleek, grouped windows.  The upper floors, however, are virtually unchanged since the Adler family moved in around 1871.  It is completely obscured in the summer months by years-old vines that cling to the facade.

photographs by the author

An Unlikely Holdout - 770 West End Avenue

 

In 1890, developer Edward Kilpatrick filled the eastern blockfront of West End Avenue between West 97th and 98th Street with eleven upscale rowhouses.  Designed by Boring & Tilton, they were three stories tall above English basements.

The house at the middle of the row, 770 West End Avenue, became home to George Eugene Poole and his wife, the former Florence Britton Ballou.  Eugene was born in January 1848 and Florence in November 1856.  Both came from colonial Connecticut families.  Eugene was the great-grandson of John Poole, a corporal in the Connecticut militia; and three of Florence's ancestors played prominent roles in the Revolution.

The affluence of the Pooles was evidenced in 1895 when they commissioned George F. Pelham to design a six-story brick stable on West 87th Street.  The cost of the commodious carriage house was $40,000, or about $1.5 million in 2024.

On February 24, 1898, as "the Spanish crisis" intensified, reporters from The World were sent throughout the city to interview women "as to whether or not they regarded war with Spain as probable and if, should hostilities occur, they would or would not be willing to let their male relatives and friends go to the front."  Florence Poole rendered a split decision:

Should war come I would be willing myself to make any sacrifice, to nurse the wounded and work as I could for my country's good, but to yield my husband--No!  He is all I have in the world.

In June 1900, Frank Lugar and his wife Harriet purchased the Poole house for $17,400 (about $641,000 today).  He leased it to Rev. Henry Van Arsdale Parsell, Jr. and his wife, the former Maud Collins.  The couple was married on January 31, 1893. 

In addition to his clerical work, Reverend Parsell was an electrical genius.  In 1899, he partnered with Arthur J. Weed to form Parsell & Weed, which manufactured inventors' and experimenters' models.  The firm designed and built the Franklyn Model Dynamo, which received a diploma at the 1901 Pan-American Exposition.  Parsell was, additionally, president of the Baldwin Calculating Machine Co., treasurer of the New Amsterdam Eye and Ear Hospital, and a director in the Taylor House Association and the photolithographic firm Norris-Peters Co.  

Reverend Parsell had grown up in his parent's "old-fashioned brownstone house at 31 East Twenty-first street," as described by The Sun.  His father, Henry Sr., had been adopted as a boy by his uncle, John Van Arsdale, a shipping magnate.  Upon Van Arsdale's death, Henry Sr. received his fortune.  Henry Sr. never worked, instead he "spent most of his lifetime looking after his property holdings," said the newspaper, and giving away money to assist young men in achieving success.  Henry Van Arsdale Parsell Sr. died in 1901.

Henry's mother, Hannah Parsell, raised eyebrows across the city on June 21, 1905, when the 70-year-old married John M. Hardy.  She had met her 35-year-old groom in Plainfield, New Jersey, where her summer home was located.  The Sun reported, "At first the gossips thought Hardy was a relative, but it was not long before they agreed that he was courting the elderly woman."  Reverend Parsell did not comment on his mother's unexpected marriage.

Parsell would be consecrated a bishop in the Anglican University Church on September 19, 1920.  But by then, he and Maud had been gone from West End Avenue for a decade.  In 1910, the Lugars leased 770 West End Avenue to Dr. Henry E. Hale, Jr. and his wife.  He had graduated from the Columbia School of Medicine in 1896.  Like the previous occupants of the house, the couple was listed in Dau's Bluebook of New York Society.

The Lugar estate sold 770 West End Avenue in July 1920.  It was briefly operated as a rooming house.  The tenants, ironically, worked for families like those who had previously lived here.  In 1920 and '21, three occupants sought work as a chauffeur, a butler, and a masseur.

In 1923, Solomon and Elizabeth Riley purchased 770 West End Avenue for $35,000 (about $625,000 today).  Controversy  soon ensued.  The couple hired architect Rudolf Ludwig to renovate the interiors for a club--an idea that did not sit well with their well-to-do neighbors.  On June 12, 1926, The New York Age reported:

Solomon Riley, said to be one of the wealthiest Negroes in New York City, has stirred the white people of the exclusive West End avenue section...by announcing that he plans to form a cultural club for Negro youth, devoted to Negro music and dances for philanthropic and religious purposes, using his three-story and basement brownstone residence at 770 West End avenue as the club house.

Neighbors were tipped off when the Rileys put up a large sign on the front of the house.  They filed "a protest against the proposed club house" with the Board of Estimate.  The New York Age reported that the Board, "has declared that a Zoning law will prevent Riley from turning his private home into a dancing school, club or any other enterprise."

The Rileys were involved in another battle at the time.  The same year they purchased 770 West End Avenue, the couple bought seven acres of land on the east shore of Hart's Island as the site of a resort.  The New York Evening Post reported they, "erected ten buildings and a dance hall.  They acquired three motorboats to give access to the mainland and intended to establish a bungalow colony and summer resort for negroes."

It would never open.  The city seized the land "by condemnation" on April 1, 1926.  The New York Evening Post explained, "the authorities feared that the project might facilitate the escape of prisoners" from the nearby New York City Reformatory.  (The Rileys, no doubt, suspected other, more discriminatory reasons.)  The couple sued and on November 25, 1927, were awarded $144,015 for the lost property.

Five months later, Solomon and Elizabeth Riley sold 770 West End Avenue to Dr. Max Soletsky.  On March 14, 1928, The New York Times reported that he intended to replace the vintage house with "a twelve story building containing bachelor apartments."  He had already hired architects Goldner & Goldner to prepare the plans, "which call for an unusual building owing to the fact that [the] plot is only 18 feet wide," said the article.  "The two lower floors will be used by Dr. Soletsky for his offices."

The doctor soon scaled back his plans.  Instead of a new, 12-story building, he had the architects remodel the existing building.  The stoop and brownstone facade were removed, and another floor added.  

image via the NYC Dept of Records & Information Services.

The renovations resulted in a 1920s take on Italian Renaissance architecture.  Faced in brown-red brick, its details--like the square-headed drip molding above the grouped windows of the second floor--were executed in brick.  A brick parapet rose above a trio of fully arched windows at the fourth floor.

By now, the ten other brownstone houses of the 1890 row had been replaced with tall apartment buildings, the 15-story structure to the south completed in 1925, and the 12-story building on the other side completed in 1912.

There are still two apartments per floor through the fourth, and one on the fifth floor.

photographs by the author

no permission to reuse the content of this blog has been granted to LaptrinhX.com

The Beleaguered Holdout at 471 West End Avenue

Hints of the original appearance--the striped brickwork and shells over the top floor windows--suggest the former upscale nature of the house.

In 1885 builder George W. Rogers commissioned the architectural firm of McKim, Mead & White to design six houses that would wrap the southwest corner of West End Avenue and 83rd Street.  West End Avenue was developing as an exclusive residential thoroughfare lined with grand mansions.  Completed in 1886, four of the homes faced 83rd Street and two, including the showstopper at the corner, faced West End Avenue.  That house was separated from what seems to have been the step-sister of the group by a walled garden.  Without the Flemish gables, turrets and balconies that distinguished the others, 471 West End Avenue was, at best, the least showiest.

 

Unlike its Flemish Renaissance influenced step-sisters, 471 West End Avenue (left) was almost purely inspired by the Florentine Renaissance.  from the collection of the Library of Congress

In 1887 Rogers sold the houses to real estate operator Edmund Dodge, who resold 471 West End Avenue to Cora A. Slocomb for $32,000, or about $898,000 by today's conversion.  Slocomb, who lived in New Orleans, Louisiana, purchased the house as an investment property.

Perhaps her first tenants were author and historian John Clark Ridpath and his wife, who lived here by the mid-1890's.  Born in 1840, he had taught at De Pauw University until resigning to devote himself entirely to writing.  His 1882 History of the World, which filled four octavo volumes, sold more than 150,000 copies.  While living here he was editor of The Arena magazine, and completed his Life and Times of Gladstone and a supplement to the History of All Nations.

John Clark Ridpath, The Ridpath Library of Universal Literation (1900) copyright expired

Ridpath was taken to the Presbyterian Hospital on April 26, 1900 with typhoid fever.  His condition worsened when he contracted pneumonia, and he died on September 30 at the age of 60.  

By now Cora Slocomb had married Count Detalmo di Brazza Savorgnan.   While Ridpath was still in the hospital, on September 1, 1900, The Sun reported that "Countess di Brazza-Savorgnan of Friuli, Italy," had sold the 23-foot-wide house to Charles E. Willcox.

The house saw a quick succession of owners until 1906 when it was purchased by wealthy real estate operator Henry Hellman and his wife, Marguerite Dacy.  The Hellmans owned the Junction Realty Co.  They leased the house to Walter C. Adams in August 1906 for three years.   It was the start of a very colorful chapter in the history of 471 West End Avenue.

Walter Adams was the youngest son of "Policy King" Albert J. Adams.  Known nationwide as "Al" Adams, the New York Herald called him "the millionaire policy sharp, the released convict [and] more recently backer of bucket shops."  (Policy games were illegal lotteries, later known as the numbers game; and bucket shops were establishments operating under the pretense of a brokerage firms; but which in reality took “bets, or wagers…on the rise or fall of the prices of stocks,” as defined by the Supreme Court.)

Adams's wife, Isabella V. Adams moved into the West End Avenue house with Walter, another son, Louis B., daughter Ida, and Isabella's half-sister, Celia M. Thatcher.  (Two other sons, Albert Jr. and Lawrence P. were both married and lived elsewhere.)  

A very troubled Al Adams had chosen to live apart from his family, and moved onto the 15th Floor of the Ansonia Hotel.  The New York Herald explained, "Adams had convinced himself that the future which he had dedicated to his family would be best conserved if he dropped out of it."

On August 29, 1906, one week after Isabella and her two children moved into 471 West End Avenue, Al Adams shot himself in his Ansonia suite.  The New York Herald estimated his personal fortune at $8 million--closer to $227 million in today's money.  His funeral was held in "the fine residence at 471 West End Avenue," as described by the New York Herald.  The article noted, "A burglar proof case was provided for the interment of the body in Woodlawn cemetery."  It was a precaution against the stealing of corpses of the wealthy and holding them for ransom.

Other than small bequests to friends and family, like Celia Thatcher, Isabella received one-third of the massive estate, the rest being divided among her children.  It seemed like a routine probate of the will.  But an astonishing twist arose two years later.

In May 1908, Thomas Bertiero sued Isabella for his help in convincing Al Adams to treat her so liberally in his will.  Saying that Bertiero "is on terms of intimacy with the inhabitants of the spirit world," The Evening World explained that he "sets up the extraordinary claim that he set a trained troupe of spirits upon Adams and that the said troupe of spirits influenced the policy king to leave his wife $2,000,000."

According to him, Isabella was concerned that she would be cut out of her husband's will.  Bertiero's lawyer explained that "some time before Al Adams committed suicide...Mrs. Adams summoned Bertiero to her home."  There, he continued, "she asked Bertiero to place Al Adams under spirit influence and soften his heart toward her."  His client now sought payment for "psychological and special services."

The attorney was having problems serving a summons on Isabella.  The Evening World she "left the city with her son and unmarried daughter just before Easter and has not communicated with her servants."  In the end, it made little difference, as Bertiero lost his case.

Trouble of a much different sort occurred on January 27, 1909.  Isabella was ill, and her lady's maid, Sylvia Thorne, called down the dumbwaiter and asked the cook, Eliza Devereaux, to send up a pot of tea.  A few minutes after the tea arrived, Sylvia called for "some toast--three slices."  The Evening World reported, "In a minute the toast came down again and Sylvia Thorne ordered that it be buttered."

Cooks were the most highly-paid servants in a household and they maintained an air of self-importance.  The newspaper said, "Doubtless it is an insult to ask a cook to butter toast.  Mrs. Devereaux said she had been cooking for the best families for twenty-five years and had never been so ordered before.  She refused to butter the toast."

Quite annoyed, Sylvia Thorne descended to the kitchen and buttered the toast herself.  "While so doing she expressed her opinion of Mrs. Devereaux quite freely, whereupon Mrs. Devereaux picked up a panful of spinach and spilled it over her head."  It triggered a heated food fight between cook and maid.

Sylvia picked up a pound of butter, "frozen hard from the ice box."  She hurled it at Eliza Devereaux (described by the article as "aged forty-five, well equipped as to flesh and rubicund of countenance as a cook should be), hitting her in the throat.  Eliza picked up "that favorite weapon of cooks--a rolling pin.  With this she drove Sylvia Thorne from the lower regions of the mansion."

Having vanquished her foe, Eliza Devereaux "gave her notice and left."  She went directly to the police station and filed a complaint of assault.  In court, Magistrate Breen dismissed the charges, deciding that Sylvia Thorne "had been sufficiently aggrieved by a shampoo of spinach to warrant her in propelling the butter at Mrs. Deveraux."

The Adamses' lease on the house expired that year and the family left.  In December 1909, the Hellmans upgraded the house by having electricity installed by the Power Engineering & Contracting Co.  Rather than continue to rent it, they moved in.  The couple improved the house again in 1912 by hiring architects Comyns & Todaro to add a one-story addition to the rear.

The Hellmans were at their country house in the summer of 1913, but Marguerite came home for a few days to check on "some renovating," as worded by The Sun.  She was out on the afternoon of July 23, 1913 when a workman appeared at the door.  The Syracuse Herald reported, "The negro butler admitted a man who said he had been sent to finish some plastering and painting in the bathroom.  The stranger spent a little time puttering about with some tools in the bathroom and then left the house, saying that he had to get more material for his work."  He never returned.

When Marguerite came home, she found her trunks had been opened and jewelry and cash stolen.  Police reported the burglar had gotten away with $5,000 in valuables and money, but had "missed $40,000 worth of jewelry in a pasteboard box in the tray of the trunk."

Around 1916, the Hellmans sold the house to Elizabeth S. Rothschild, the widow of Martin Rothschild.  She made significant renovations by adding a fourth floor in the form of a slate-shingled mansard with a large, centered dormer; and removing the stoop and lowering the entrance to below sidewalk level.  The New York Herald reported, "the two top floors have been converted into a large studio," adding, "the house contains an electric elevator."

The changes are evident in this photo, taken not longer after the renovations.  photo by Wurts Bros., from the collection of the Museum of the city of New York.

Rothschild sold the house to vocal instructor Dudley Buck in 1922 for $75,000--around $1.16 million today.  In its October issue that year, The Musical Observer wrote, "Dudley Buck, the well-known New York singing teacher, has moved into new quarters, principally owing to the fact that his former studios proved inadequate to the growing demands of his classes."  The article explained that now "his assistants could have studios under the same roof with him and...he could provide the necessary personal touch to every student whether studying with him directly or not."

The Musical Observer, October 1922 (copyright expired)

Buck offered rooms not only to his associates.  An advertisement in the New York Herald in September 1922 offered, "Luxurious bachelor quarters in private house equipped with automatic elevator; one or two rooms, private bath, handsomely furnished." 

Buck was almost assuredly approached in 1923 by the developers who demolished the rest of the McKim, Mead & White grouping.  But for some reason, he held out.  Because of the garden between 471 West End Avenue and the corner house, the razing of the house next door had no structural effects.

In 1941 the lower floors were either painted or stuccoed.  via the NYC Dept of Records & Information Services.

Among his Dudley's tenants in 1923 was rare book collector and dealer Gabriel Wells.  He had come to America from his native Hungary in 1894, "penniless and ignorant of English," according to the Watertown Daily Standard.  By the time he moved into 471 West End Avenue he had come a long way.  He was in Paris in the summer of 1925 when he heard of the impending demolition of the house in which Balzac had lived and worked from 1842 to 1848.  It had been maintained as a house museum, the Muse Balzac, by the Societe Honore de Balzac.  But the society had run out of funds.  The Watertown Daily Standard reported that Wells "learned of the danger to the house and subscribed 50,000 francs to buy the building, at the same time informing the society that it could draw upon him for a larger sum if necessary."

Dudley Buck sold the house in November 1929 to Harold A. Foster, who resold it seven years later to the Esjol Realty Corporation.  The New York Times reported, "changes planned by the new owner include the construction of a physician's apartment with private street entrance.  The house will have one and two room apartments with kitchenettes, new baths and a three-room suite with roof terrace."

Tenants throughout the succeeding decades continued to be middle- and upper-middle class, like David E. Glasser, a graduate of Columbia University's School of Architecture, who lived here in 1961.

A few years later, 471 West End Avenue was home to the Agudas Israel World Organization.  On January 8, 1967 it held an open house of its newly renovated apartments.  The notice for the event was entitled "Apartments for Victims of Nazi Persecution."  Applicants could sign up for 1-1/2 and 2-1/2 room spaces.

In 1999 the house was purchased by real estate investor Rod Hickey, who initiated façade repair in 2003.  On November 9, The New York Times columnist Christopher Gray remarked, "Now the building excites little curiosity from the street, and looks like any old raggle-taggle converted row house with rental apartments."  A fire in 2013 tore through the interior of the vintage residence, greatly damaging the gable.  It was placed on the market in 2016 for just under $10 million.

The original, ornately-grilled service door survives.

Squeezed in between two apartment houses, the once-proud relic looks rather forlorn and out of place, today.

photograph by the author

no permission to reuse the content of this blog has been granted to LaptrinhX.com

From Grocery to "Dive Saloon" to Pita Shop -- 441 Third Avenue

 

The horsewalk, or passage between buildings to the rear yard, survives to the right of the building.

Nicholas Betjeman lived above his grocery store at 505 Third Avenue until 1855, when he moved his business to the new building at 441 Third Avenue.  The four-story structure was faced in brownstone above the store level, and featured expected elements of the Italianate style--elliptically arched windows with molded eyebrows and a handsome cast metal bracketed cornice.  A small house sat in the rear yard, accessed by a narrow horsewalk at the southern side.

Working in Betjeman's grocery store was John C. Betjeman and Henry Hachman.  Nicholas Betjeman was about 38-years old in 1855, and so John was most likely his brother.

The upper floors were operated as a middle-class boarding house.  Living here in 1860 were the families of piano dealer Frederick W. Beans; engineer Edward Toon; Joseph Luster, who ran a liquor business (possibly a saloon); and Andrew McMullien, a smith.

In 1863 the boarding house was being run by Susan Nichols, a widow.  That year John W. Addicks took over the grocery store, now sharing the space (most likely front and back) with Phyfe & Co., tin merchants, run by Alfred W. Phillips and Albert Phyfe.   Among Susan Nichols's boarders were Edward and Jane Granger, whose 14-month old daughter, Margaret Wineferd died on August 3, 1863.  The little girl's funeral was held in the parlor.

The building was purchased by Herman and Lewis Davis around 1872.  Herman, and his wife, Bertha, moved in.  He ran two clothing stores, one on Church Street and the other on the Bowery.  Also now residing in the building were Abraham and Jacob Levy.  They were possibly relatives, since they were both involved in Davis's business.  The other boarders were Leopold Abraham, who operated a china store, and August Langbein, an upholsterer.  Living in the rear house that year was John Smith, a clerk.  The grocery store had been run by Robert P. B. Shear since 1868.

Bertha Davis died on October 16, 1873 at the age of 44.  Her funeral was held in the parlor three days later.

The Davises leased the property to Alexander B. Barnard in June 1876.  He not only operated the boarding house, but moved his pawn shop into the former grocery store as well.  In 1877 he hired a servant, Kate Close, who disappeared along with "gentlemen's clothing, jewelry, trinkets [and] books belonging to A. B. Barnard," according to The Evening Post on May 8.  

Kate had a formula.  She took jobs as a chambermaid, worked a few days, then made off with valuables.  Her downfall came when she was caught in the act in the home of Mrs. Magdalen Reichtman on East 22nd Street.  A search of her room found a box of pawn tickets, which led to the recovery of silverware, jewelry, bedding, watches, and other various stolen articles, including Barnard's.

That summer Barnard received permission from the Board of Aldermen to "erect a pole and place sign thereon" in front of the building.  It was apparently a substantial improvement, costing him the equivalent of $13,600 today.

The following decade would see significant changes along the stretch of Third Avenue.  The building was purchased by Margaret Bewing, who installed a saloon in the ground floor.  She described the premises in 1888, saying "The saloon was well fitted up [with] a handsome bar, fixtures, etc."  Upstairs were accommodations for sixteen residents.

She became the victim of a slick scam artist that summer.  H. B. Bender, described by The Evening Post as a "German, forty-one years old," offered her ten lots of ground on Staten Island in trade for the Third Avenue property.  The newspaper said, "On June 14 she went to see the land.  She was satisfied with it, and a deed was executed, she says, by Bender and his wife, which she agreed to accept for the saloon."

After transferring the title, Margaret Bewing discovered that the land she now owned was not the property she had been shown.   Those lots belonged to George Alter and her deed "represented ten very inferior lots, worth not more than $10 each, which Bender had purchased...at a tax sale for $2.92."

By the time Bewer took Bender to court, he had already sold 441 Third Avenue, valued at $4,000, to "a Mr. Ziller for $2,650,"--about $75,000 today.

The days of a respectable boarding house were in the past.  The building was now known as the Columbia Hotel, run by John Camlin, while the ground floor saloon was operated by James Irving, described by The Sun as "the notorious dive keeper."  Irving had been a Tammany Hall alderman and assemblyman.  He was now known for his infamous saloon, populated by gamblers, rowdies, and "degraded women."  The Press noted in 1891 that he had been "a central figure in many a disreputable incident."

On March 12, 1891, trouble ensued outside the tavern when Annie Tucker began tossing rocks through the plate glass window.  The Sun entitled an article, "Jimmy Irving Again," and reported he had the woman arrested.  In the Yorkville Police Court she claimed she had married Irving in 1867, they had lived together 31 years, and had two grown children.  According to her, when she attempted to retrieve some furniture that belonged to her, "he had attacked her and ejected her forcibly."

Irving's story was far different.  He said she had been employed as a servant and he had fired her three weeks earlier.  (The Sun was skeptical, saying, "For a servant she was very well dressed, having on a black silk dress and a well-fitting sealskin sack.")  Fine clothes or not, Annie's lack of refinement went beyond rock tossing.  The Sun reported, "as the discussion went on, ugly language was used so freely that the court officers were aghast."  The judge cautioned the two, "Be a little more chaste in your language, if possible."  In the end, Justice Murray dismissed the case, warning Annie "not to annoy Irving any more."

In March 1894, James Camlin was arrested on the complaint of "two fashionably dressed women," for running a brothel.  In the Yorkville Court on he insisted the hotel was "entirely respectable."  There to substantiate his story was Police Captain Martens, who said he "has often visited" the place and found it "free from objectionable persons."

But a month later, it was Martens who was being investigated.  In April, Police Commissioner MacLean charged Captain Martens with "neglect of duty" for "failing to suppress disorderly houses" within his district.  Specifically listed was was the Columbia Hotel.  During his hearing before the Police Commissioners, Martens produced witnesses who vouched for the respectability of the places and, with a vote of 3 to 1, his charges were dismissed.  Ironically, the name of the Columbia Hotel was changed the following year to the Hotel Martens.

The appointment of Theodore Roosevelt as Police Commissioner in 1894 changed things within the corrupt department.  He walked the streets late at night to ensure that officers were on duty, and reformed the system, including the closing down of "corrupt police hostelries."  At the turn of the century an ice cream shop occupied the store where Jim Irving's "dive saloon" had been.

By 1920, Ernest de Cuti's upholstery store was in the ground floor, while working-class citizens rented rooms in the upper portion of the building.  For several years the Italian-American extortion group La Mano Nera, or the Black Hand, had menaced New York City businessman, using bombs and beatings.  De Cuti was terrified when he received threats on his life.

In the spring of 1920, he purchased a handgun for protection.  He then took it to the East 35th Street police station asking how he could get a permit to carry it.  Instead, he was cited for violating the Sullivan Act, a law against carrying an unlicensed gun.  His fears became even more evident when he appeared in court on April 15.  The New-York Tribune reported that an attendant noticed a "bulge in De Cuti's clothing."  Underneath, it was found he was wearing "a coat of mail made of two layers of wood with a tin surface to protect himself from the Black Handers," said the newspaper.  Now, instead of deciding on his revolver-carrying case, the justices sent him to Bellevue Hospital for observation.

Living in the building in 1922 was Stamatis Gallis, who was involved in a bootlegging operation on East 58th Street.  The plant, in a former stable, distributed about 400 quarts of denatured alcohol daily.  Prohibition agents who raided it on February 21 seized alcohol worth $100,000 in street value--about $1.54 million today.  Officials deemed it "one of the biggest sources of dangerous liquor in the city," and a government chemist said the alcohol was "probably not fit for consumption."

In 1950, the building was converted to a total of five apartments above the store.  It was most likely at this time that the Victorian details were shaved off.  The rear building was renovated to a single family dwelling.  Living in the main building throughout the 1950's were several employees of the Consulate of Norway.

The stubborn 19th century holdout is a bit beleaguered today, but its pre-Civil War appearance is still evident.  And the ancient horsewalk still provides access to the area to the rear.

photographs by Ted Leather (who suggested this post)

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The Augustus L. Nosser House - 178 East 72nd Street

August Ludwig Nosser was born in 1819 in Germany.  His wife, the former Johanna Caroline Buchelman, was born in Bradenburg, Germany in 1830.  The couple had three sons when they moved into the skinny neo-Grec style rowhouse at No. 178 East 72nd Street.  Henry Nosser was born on August 7, 1854, Charles on January 3, 1862, and August Louis, Jr. arrived on August 20, 1873.

At just two bays and 16-feet wide, the brownstone-faced house was intended for a merchant-class family.  One of a long row of identical homes, its neo-Grec design included architrave windows with molded cornices and brackets, a projecting, columned portico above the stoop with its stone railings and newels, and a stylish metal cornice.

No. 178 is at the left.  The middle house, No. 176, had already lost its stoop when this photo was taken. photo by Wurts Bros. from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York

August and Johanna worked as partners in real estate, buying and selling properties throughout the city.  But August took time from wheeling and dealing to try his luck at a newspaper contest in 1888.   In October The Evening World challenged readers to predict the three coldest days of the coming winter.  The winner would receive $100--a significant $2,700 today.  August was confident in his prediction:

To the Editor of the Evening World:
     I am quite certain that the coldest three days of the approaching Winter will be Dec. 26, 1888; Jan. 19, 1889, and Feb. 3, 1889.

Whether he won the grand prize or not is unknown.

Henry Nosser had died in 1876.  His brothers remained in the East 72nd Street house with their parents.  As they matured Charles joined the real estate business while August focused on music, at one point studying the violin in Belgium.

Early on the morning of May 16, 1894 the house was thrown into turmoil.  Shortly before 7:00 a servant, Annie Bennett, went out to get milk, leaving the basement door open.  That did not go unnoticed by John Smith who was standing on the opposite side of the street.  When Annie was out of sight, Smith bolted across the street and into the house.  On the hat rack in the entrance hall were three expensive overcoats.  Smith put them on over his own and headed out.

But as he reached the basement door he came face-to-face with Annie.  "The girl gave a scream that could be heard a block away," reported The Evening World.  Charles had just arisen.  His bedroom was on the second floor and, upon hearing Annie's cries, "jumped down the stairs in an improvised costume."

Smith was already headed towards Madison Avenue with Annie right behind yelling "for all she was worth."  Charles, said the newspaper, "shouted 'Stop thief!' and every one who appeared on the street took up the hue and cry."  Neighbors, roused from their beds by the commotion, saw a remarkable sight.  "It was a picturesque chase, too, for the pursued wore three stolen coats, besides one of his own, and the pursuer wore only a night-shirt and a pair of trousers."  The coat-thieving culprit was captured by Policeman John H. Wagner three blocks from the Nosser house.

On October 29, 1895 Johanna Nosser died in the house at the age of 65.  Her funeral was held there two days later.   August survived her by only five months, dying on March 25, 1896.  Rather surprisingly, given the expected Victorian mourning protocol, Charles was married before the year was out.  

The title to the house remained in the Nosser Estate and the brothers leased it late that year to millionaire Lazarus Morgenthau.  He was a cigar manufacturer, "compounder" of patent medicines, and philantropist.  Morgenthau intended to use No. 178 both as his home and as the headquarters of his newly-founded and exhaustingly-named New York German-American Non-Sectarian Orphan Dowry Society.

On January 4, 1897 the New York Herald reported that the society's rooms "were opened to the public for inspection last evening."  Morgenthau explained the creative concept behind the society.  Orphans "of any creed" who passed a careful vetting process, would receive a wedding ceremony, $100 at the time of the marriage, and, "at the end of five years, if the couple are found worthy and live happily together, a sum of money amounting to about $400 shall be paid to the wife, or in case of her death to her children."

Lazarus Morgenthau New York journal and Advertiser, August 21, 1897 (copyright expired)

The cost of the weddings and the dowries was paid for by donations.  The New York Herald said "The list of subscribers is to be kept in what is called the 'Golden Book of Life.'"

Two rooms on the parlor floor were transformed into what Morgenthau called "The Temple of Humanity."  On the evening of February 13 the first of the weddings was held here.  Bertha Horowitz was married to Isaac Hoffman in the presence of about 25 or 30 people.  Alderman John Jeroloman, who performed the ceremony, placed a $100 gold piece in the bride's hand.

But six months later Morgenthau's name appeared in newsprint for much less altruistic reasons.  In May 1897 he hired a married couple as his housekeeper and gardener.   Regina Greenberger was 24 years old.  According to her, by July Morgenthau had "become very affectionate toward her."  At one point he told her "that his physician had informed him that if he wished to bring back his youth he should seek the love of some young woman."  

Rita, whom the New York Journal and Advertiser described as "a woman of 300 pounds" went to the Legal Aid Society, saying that Morgenthau "was so importunate that she felt insulted."  The millionaire was summoned to court on July 15, charged by his housekeeper with "making love to her," according to The Sun.

Morgenthau's attorney used Rita's physicality against her.  "You see, Judge," he said, "this woman might properly be classed as a heavy weight and could easily pick up this feeble old man and throw him out of the window if he attempted to insult her."  Rita, who spoke only German, answered through an interpreter that she was afraid she might hurt him.  And when asked why she did not simply call her husband she said she "was afraid he might kill Morgenthau."

The judge did not deem Rita Greenberger's story plausible and he dismissed the case.  The Greenbergers had to find new jobs.

In the meantime, Morgenthau was experiencing financial troubles.  The New York Journal and Advertiser explained on August 21, 1897 "Various ventures in which he was deeply interested have failed of late, and he could not stand the accumulated pressure."  With his fortune suddenly depleted, his health failed.  He was forced to leave East 72nd Street and move into a boarding house.  And the activities of the Orphan Dowry Society came to an end.  The New York Journal and Advertiser lamented "Husbandless orphan women have lost a friend."

A sheriff's sale of Morgenthau's furniture took place in the house on August 24, 1897.  A newspaper commented "His collection of crayon drawings, including pictures of some twoscore famous men, ancient and modern, will be sold."  Listed among the fallen mogul's creditors was Charles Nosser, to whom he owed $262.95 in back rent (just over $8,000 today).

It appears that August and Charles played tug-of-war concerning who had control of their parents' home.   On July 25, 1898 the Record & Guide said "August L. 'otherwise Louis'" had given Eleanor M. Hall a three-year, $10,000 mortgage on the property.  But three months later, on November 5, Charles gave Benjamin P. Ducas a $3,000 mortgage.   The dispute seems to have been settled when neither Hall nor Ducas took possession and, instead, Charles and his wife, Lillian Emiline, moved back into the house.

By now the couple had a child, Henry.  In 1899 Antonette was born, followed by twins Gertrude and Gladys in 1900, and Charles Joseph in 1902.

As many families did, the couple rented spare rooms.  In 1899 Frank Knapp lived here.  He was appointed a commissioner of deeds that year, a position similar to a notary public today.   Knapp and another boarder, Milton Lamburger, became heroes on February 27, 1900.  The two heard screams for help and discovered the house next door at No. 180, now being operated as a rooming house, was in flames.  

The top floor was occupied by the family of Berthold Bernheim.  The Morning Telegraph reported "Bernheim has a large family, but the children were at school at his wife was out shopping.  No one was at home but his aged and feeble mother and himself."  When he discovered his kitchen ablaze, "Bernheim rushed for the front windows and called loudly for help."  Knapp and Lamburger ran up the stairs and carried the elderly woman to safety.

Like all financially comfortable couples, the Nossers held dinner parties and receptions.  On February 11, shortly before the frightening incident next door, the New York Herald had reported "Mr. and Mrs. Charles Nosser entertained Wednesday evening at their residence, No. 178 East Seventy-second street."

Charles sold the 72nd Street house in 1904.  The new owner was the well-known Jewish actor Jacob P. Adler and his wife, Sarah.

Yiddish theater star Jacob P. Adler from the Harvard Theater Collection, Harvard University

In the meantime, August's musical career had faltered.  He was married in 1901 to Eva Haines.  At the time, according to the New York Sun, "He made fairly good money playing with orchestras in this city, and he and his wife were happy."  But trouble came.  The newspaper went on, "In the course of time, Nosser developed a passion for gambling, and this caused him to desert his violin, especially from a wage earning point of view.  He became what might be termed a successful gambler, and soon had a well patronized poker 'club' on one of the side streets of the Tenderloin."  His gambling house on West 13th Street was known as the Wall Street Club.

The Minneapolis Journal described Nosser as "a handsome man, dressed in faultless style, and...a sort of Beau Brummel of the Tenderloin, which knew him as 'Cupid'...Gambling was his only source of income."  But things went wrong.  Nosser lost his fortune--at one point estimated at $500,000 (in the neighborhood of $15 million today)--and in 1905 he declared bankruptcy.  The Sun reported "Mrs. Nosser, shortly after her husband went into bankruptcy, was shocked to learn that he was addicted to the use of opium."  The costly habit had contributed to the collapse of his finances.

August had another secret, as well: chorus girl Estelle Young.   Eva and August were living at the Pierrepont Hotel in March 1906 when Eva learned that August planned to sail to Europe taking Estelle with him.  She sent a note pleading with her to leave her husband alone.  Estelle, who had not known August was married, was enraged.  The 26-year old stormed off to the Pierrepont Hotel on the afternoon of March 14 with a rawhide dog whip in her jacket and with every intention of using it.

But when she arrived at the Nosser apartment, she changed her mind.  She berated August for his deceit and begged Eva for forgiveness.  While she explained how she was lured into the affair, Nosser paced back and forth, then walked into the bathroom.  The women heard a thump and found him on the floor with an empty laudanum bottle by his side.

Nosser had not taken enough of the poison to kill him.  A doctor advised the two former rivals to stay up with him overnight, walking him to keep him from falling asleep.  At 4:00, with Nosser apparently out of danger, Estelle said she was exhausted.  Eva prepared her a bed in the front room where Estelle fell asleep.

Around 8:00 a.m. Eva stepped into the bathroom to splash cold water on her face to keep herself alert.  Suddenly the door was shut and she heard the lock click.  While she struggled with the doorknob, she her a loud bang.  And then another.

Escaping through the hall door, she beat on the apartment door until a porter used his pass key.  Inside they found the bodies of Estelle and August.  He had shot himself in the head after murdering Estelle.

It is unclear how long the Adlers remained in No. 178.  In 1910 it was leased to the Church of the Holy Communion, located far downtown at Sixth Avenue and 20th Street.  The three-year lease came with a total rent of $22,000.

The house was sold to Thomas Crimmins in 1919 and given a renovation, completed in 1920.  It may have been at this time that the stoop was removed and the entrance lowered to street level.  Interestingly, Crimmins lived next door at No. 176.  His sister, Mercedes, and her husband David Challinor moved into the updated house.  

Like most socialites, Mercedes was active in charitable causes.  On December 17, 1925 The New York Times reported "Mrs. David Challinor gave a tea yesterday afternoon at her home, 178 East Seventy-second Street, for the young women who will sell programs at the music festival in aid of the Reconstruction Hospital."  

Living in the Crimmins house next door was Herbert Lloyd, the son of Thomas's wife by a former marriage.  On November 19, 1928 Herbert was married to Josephine Munroe.  The Chicago wedding was deemed by the New York Evening Post "One of the most important of the several out-of-town weddings of the new year."

The stoop had been removed by 1941.  via the NYC Dept of Records & Information Services.

When the Challinors moved out of No. 178 East 72nd Street, Herbert Lloyd and his family moved in.  The couple had two daughters, Joan Herbert and Josephine Logan.  

On December 15, 1950 Joan's parents announced her engagement to Peter de Lancey Wallace.  The prospective groom's social pedigree was impressive.  The New York Times noted that he was "a descendant of Isaac Shelby, first Governor of Kentucky; Maj. Gen. William Alexander, and Lord Stirling, he is related also to the de Lancey, Van Cortlandt and Livingston families of New York."  The wedding took place on January 27, 1951 in the Madison Avenue Presbyterian Church with the bride's sister serving as the maid of honor.

It was most likely the alteration completed in 1975 that shaved off what was left of the Victorian detailing and removed the cornice.  A commercial space was created in the former basement and a two-family home above.  The Livingstone-Learmonth Gallery would operate from the lower space for several years.

In 1981 the restoration architectural firm of Beyer-Binder-Belle recreated the lost brownstone details in stucco and reproduced the lost cornice.  Today the narrow Nosser house looks a bit lonely, the last surviving relic of the 1870's row.

photographs by the author
many thanks to reader Holly Tooker for prompting this post