The Lost Irving Place Theatre - 11-13 Irving Place

 

from the collection of the New York Public Library

On December 20, 1860 Irving Hall opened with a grand ball.  Situated on the southwest corner of Irving Place and East 15th Street, one block east of fashionable Union Square, it would be the scene of concerts and balls for years.  But despite the famous performers who appeared here--George Christy's Minstrels, Madame Parepa-Rosa and Artemus Ward among them--the opening of Steinway Hall a block away in 1864 brought unwanted and intense competition.   In his 1903 A History of the New York Stage, historian T. Allston Brown wrote, "As a concert hall this place lost caste as soon as Steinway Hall was opened, and Irving Hall gradually fell into disuse."

On January 22, 1887, The Real Estate Record & Guide reported, "Gustav Amberg, manager of the Thalia Theatre on the Bowery, has leased Irving Hall" and an adjoining house, and "will so alter and remodel both buildings as to convert them into an opera house."  The article noted that architect G. B. Pelham was drawing the plans, which placed the cost at $65,000 (about $1.8 million in today's money).

"Mr. Amberg says he was induced to take hold of this project by the very general wish expressed by the better class of the German population for some up-town theatre where opera might be rendered in German," said the article.  Prominent German citizens had financially backed Amberg's project, guaranteeing him $45,000 to stage 120 performances.

Irving Hall was not remodeled, but demolished in July 1888.  The new structure was completed before the end of the year.  It was, perhaps, G. B. Pelham's last work.  He died of a stroke on May 2, 1889.

The three-story Amberg Theatre was Pelham's take on Spanish Moorish architecture.  The Evening World called it "one of the handsomest houses in the city."  Patrons passed through two grand arches framed in carved stone.  A romantic cast iron balcony at the third floor was roofed in Spanish tiles, and two picturesque faux bell towers perched upon the corners.  Capable of seating 1,528 people, the Amberg Theatre boasted "thirty proscenium boxes," according to the Record & Guide, and was electrically lighted.  The curtain had been designed by artist Karl Geiger of Vienna, Austria.

The venue opened on December 1, 1888 with the operetta Fortunio's Lied.  The Evening World reported, "The new house is said to be absolutely fireproof.  The staircases are of iron and stone, and the walls of fireproof brick.  Then there are fire-escapes on each side of the house, and twenty-one exits.  Mr. Amberg says that an audience can leave the building in from three to five minutes."

The Sun anticipated success for Amberg.  "The large company has been carefully picked, and the repertory of plays embraces the best German things to be had in this country."   But the newspaper was wrong.

Less than three years later, on June 4, 1891, a "stormy" meeting of Amberg's backers was held.  Three, William Steinway, William H. Jackson and John Weber, were infuriated about the net losses of $75,000 since the opening.  The Sun reported that a "new syndicate of prominent and public-spirited German-American citizens" had been formed to run the theater, including wealthy Germans like Steinway, Theodore A. Havemeyer, Jacob  H. Schiff and George Ehret.  At least for now, Gustav Amberg was retained as the salaried manager.  The Sun said, "The house will open in September, and there will be no lowering of its old standard of meritorious and diversified performances of operas and plays in the German language."

Under Amberg's management the venue continued to flounder financially.  So, in 1892 William Steinway met with Austrian-born theater manager Heinrich Conried, and convinced him to take control.  The following year, on May 1, the name of the venue was changed to the Irving Place Theatre.

Under Conreid's management, things turned around.  Julius Cahn's Official Theatrical Guide of 1897 called the Irving Place Theatre, "the most prominent German theatre that the city boasts of...where the best German company in the United States can be seen."  Ticket prices ranged from 35 cents general admission, to $1.50 orchestra seats (the most expensive being about $50 today).

Along with classic plays, Conreid staged works of playwrights unknown in America.  Years later The Argonaut would recall, "He was ever vigilant in search for new material.  The new playwrights--Sudermann, Fulda, Bleihtren and Hauptmann--were made familiar at the Irving Place Theatre before they known to the English stage."  It was here where several of Henrik Ibsen's plays were first staged in America.  On April 12, 1896, for instance, his The Doll House opened here.

The Argonaut said:

From the very outset, therefore, the Irving Place Theatre became unique and synonymous with all that was artistic.  People knew that they could depend on seeing really noteworthy plays.  An evening spent there was in the way of an intellectual treat.  And more than that, Conried succeeded in unifying his German audiences.  Night after night they came, until they began to regard themselves as one big family.  They visited each other between the acts, and when the play was over they went to Luchow's for supper and to exchange opinions.  Over the beer, of an evening, one could see the critic, the actor, and those interested in the welfare of the German Theatre.  It was as near the Continental idea as one could get in New York.

In 1903 Heinrich Conried was recruited to succeed Maurice Grau as the manager of the Metropolitan Opera.  Otto Weil took over as manager of the Irving Place Theatre.  His views could not have been more different than those of his predecessor.  Sweeping changes soon came.  In its September 1908 issue, The Theatre noted, "Realizing that the German-speaking public in this city is more keenly interested in the lighter forms of art than in the works of the more tragic and classic repertory, Mr. Weill has announced his intention of confining his productions to comedy and farce."  The article added, "He has completely reorganized the Irving Place company.

Famed Art Nouveau artist Mucha designed the cover of this 1907 playbill.  

Real trouble came with America's entry into World War I.  Anti-German sentiment swept over the country and German businesses and citizens with German surnames became targets of vitriol.   On June 6, 1918, the New-York Tribune reported, "Preliminary steps to stop the production of plays in German theatres of New York were taken yesterday by members of the Intimate Committee for the Severance of Enemy relationship."  A letter had been sent to the Irving Place Theatre "to cease further productions in the enemy tongue."

Two months later, on August 21, the New-York Tribune reported, "The Irving Place Theatre, once the home of German drama, has been leased by Maurice Schwartz, and will be devoted hereafter to Yiddish plays."  Some of the most recognized names in the Yiddish theater appeared on its stage over the next few years.  In October 1920 the play Hard To Be a Jew by humorist Scholem Aleichem, called the "Jewish Mark Twain," was staged here, for instance.

A stark change came in 1922 when the Irving Place Theatre was converted to a burlesque venue, although Yiddish plays were still staged at least through 1927 (Dostoyevsky's The Idiot opened on March 25 that year in Yiddish, for instance).

Reginald Marsh depicted a scene titled Irving Place Burlesque in 1930.  from the collection of the Whitney Museum.

By 1934, motion pictures were being screened here along with live performances.  That summer a strike of the "film employees" of the Theatrical Protective Union was held.  Then, on April 16, 1938, The New York Times reported that owner Judge Thomas C. T. Crain had leased the building to a new tenant, mentioning "it has been in the Crain family for more than a century and one time was one of the finest legitimate houses in the city."  The article noted that the renters "intend to modernize the building for motion pictures and stage shows."

The theater in 1938.  photograph by Berenice Abbott, from the collection of the New York Public Library

Almost a year to the day later, on April 11, 1939, The New York Times reported on the screening of Il Grande Appello (The Last Roll-Call), "with which the old Irving Place Theatre is beginning what Clemente Giglio hopes will be a series of first-run Italian films."  His hopes were not to be.  In 1940 the venue was converted to the New Irving Place Theatre, a cooperative theater.  The venture by the Merely Players, described by The New York Times as "a group of youthful actors," drew the wrath of unions, who picketed outside.  In response, a placard was posted that read:

We are a young cooperative group, pro-labor to a man, anxious to create jobs for ourselves and the union.  Because our ideas and talent are worthy, we are working on a cooperative basis to get your support.  By helping us you will make jobs for the union as well as for all of us.

By the onset of World War II the Irving Place Theatre was exclusively a motion picture theater.  Many of the films were war-related propaganda.  On January 3, 1942, for instance, The New York Times reported, "Revivals of Wings of Victory and Edge of the World, have started a week's engagement at the Irving Place Theatre."  And on September 12, the newspaper reviewed Scorched Earth, saying "it gives a harrowing impression of Japanese depredations in China."

Renovations that transformed the theater into a warehouse made in 1962 included the boxing-in of the towers.  photo by Edmund Vincent Gillon

On January 21, 1962, The New York Times reported, "The Irving Place Theatre, where Ibsen's plays were introduced to New York, will become an adjunct of S. Klein on the Square."  The article explained, "It is being converted into a warehouse."  The auditorium, "which until recently had been nearly intact, is being stripped of its boxes, balcony, gallery, ornate plasterwork and ornamental molded metal ceiling."  Architect Fred L. Liebmann was responsible for the renovations, which included 

dissecting the auditorium to three floors.

photo by Jim Henderson

The structure survived until 1984, demolished for the block-engulfing Zeckendorf Towers, completed in 1987.

LaptrinhX.com has no authorization to reuse the content of this blog

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

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

from the collection of the New York Public Library

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

from the Gramercy Square Apartments brochure, 1930

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

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

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

photo by Beyond my Ken

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

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

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

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

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

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

photographs by the author

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

The Michael Magrath House - 74 Irving Place

As early as 1846 Benjamin L. Blonk lived in the 26-foot wide house at No. 74 Irving Place between 18th and 19th Street.  City directories annually placed his business and residential address here, listing his occupation as "painter."  Blonk operated a substantial house painting business, advertising on May 3, 1854, "Wanted, at 74 Irving Place, six or eight good house painters; also a boy to learn the trade."

Around 1859 builder Michael McGrath purchased the Blonk home.  The wealthy contractor routinely worked with esteemed architects and it was almost doubtlessly he who updated No. 74 with an up-to-date French Second Empire style remodeling in keeping with the elegant tone being set by Gramercy Park a block to the north.

A high stone stoop led to the parlor floor where a cast iron balcony fronted the floor-to-ceiling windows.  The high mansard roof, punctured by full-height dormers with broken pediments, was clad in bands of rectangular and hexagonal slate shingles.

The shortest building on the block in this 1909 photograph, No. 74 still retained its 1860's appearance. At the near corner is Tom and John Healy's saloon, later named Pete's Tavern. from the collection of the New York Public Library

Magrath and his wife, the former Catherine Wall, had three sons, John A., Thomas and Cornelius.  The family's wealth was reflected in Magrath's purchase of a pair of mares and a "four-seat wagon" shortly after moving in.  He mentioned the price in 1862 as $1,175, about $30,800 in today's money.  

The Magraths parted ways with their laundress that year, but it seems to have been an amicable decision.  Her advertisement on September 30 read "Wanted--By a respectable girl, a situation as laundress; lived two years in her last place.  Call at 74 Irving place."

Griffith Thomas was among the most sought-after architects of the period.  In 1908 the American Institute of Architects would call him "the most fashionable architect of his generation."  And so one can only imagine the panic Michael Magrath experienced when he realized he had lost a set of Thomas's plans.  His announcement in The New York Herald on February 17, 1872 read:

$25 Reward--Lost, at corner of William and Cedar streets, a set of Plans and Specifications, drawn by Mssrs. Griffith Thomas & Son, architects, Broadway; return to M. Magrath, 74 Irving place.  No questions asked.

The following year Magrath weighed in on the most talked-about court case of the period, known popularly as The Car-Hook Tragedy.  Living about two blocks away from the Magrath home at the time was John Foster family.  His son, William, killed a man on a street car in May 1871 using an iron bar called a car hook.  Foster lamented from his jail cell "Drink had crazed my brain, and to the cursed demon, which steals into society of all kinds, and works its damning deeds, may I render thanks for the position I now occupy.”

William Foster receives word that the Governor had upheld his death sentence. The Car-Hook Tragedy, 1873 (copyright expired)

Foster was sentenced to death, but appeals dragged the case on for two years.  John Magrath joined with 27 other businessmen, most of them involved in the construction industry, in a written plea to Governor John A. Dix seeking clemency.  They said, in part, "Foster is naturally of an amiable and inoffensive temper; has never been in the habit of intoxication, has never been the associate of idle, disorderly or disreputable persons...We solemnly declare our belief that he never intended or contemplated the death of the stranger."  Next to their name each of the men wrote his suggested sentence.  Magrath wrote "12 years."  Their efforts were for naught.  Foster was hanged on March 21, 1873.

In an ironic side note, the State was nearly unable to carry out the sentence.  When the matron brought Foster a cup of coffee at 3:00 that morning, she found that he had swallowed poison.  She forced him to vomit and he was walked up and down the corridors until 10:00, the hour of his execution.  He was carried to the gallows and as the preacher performed his religious service, the prison physician warned the Sheriff that if Dr. Tyng did not speed things up, Foster would die from the poison before he could be executed.

That fall the Magrath family leased a full floor of their home.  Their advertisement on September 30 described "To Let--For One Year, in a private house, a third story Flat; parlor, dining room, three bedrooms, kitchen, water closet and hot and cold water; rent $800."  (The monthly rent would equal just under $1,500 today.)

The Hecksher family moved in.  Six months later a maid walked out never to return, taking with her a trove of valuables.  On April 30, 1874 the New-York Daily Tribune reported "Louisa Winters, a servant, employed in the family of R. Hecksher at No. 74 Irving-place, recently disappeared, taking with her six diamond rings, two gold watches, a seal-skin jacket, a black cashmere polonaise, and other articles, in all valued at $4,000."  Louisa's haul would be in the neighborhood of $92,600 today.

Michael Magrath received a handsome commission from the Department of Public Parts in November 1884.  The Record & Guide announced he "has been awarded the contract for the erection of a skate building in the Central Park."

Following Michael Magrath's death around 1891 Catherine leased a few rooms in the house.   Her three sons still lived in the house with her in 1893 when the City Directory also listed Thomas O'Brien, a carpenter; Agnes Savage, the widow of John A. Savage; and bartender Eugene Spear.

In 1898 the wife of Martin Mahon, rented rooms here.  Her husband, Martin Mahon, was the proprietor of the New-Amsterdam Hotel.  The couple had been married for 19 years and had three children.   But Mahon was embroiled in a scandalous court case that prompted their living apart.

In court on December 15, 1898 he "denied that he had separated from his wife, but admitted that he had not conversed with her since the incidents in connection with the present case became public property.  He said that prior to the last two weeks had had been home to see his wife, at No. 74 Irving Place, two or three times each day."

The "incidents" that had become public property were the details of his dalliance with Fayne Moore, wife of William A. E. Moore.  The Moores had set a trap for the wealthy hotelier and when Fayne lured him to a room in the Grenoble Hotel on November 4, 1893, William stole a diamond pin.  No doubt much to Mrs. Mahon's mortification, the much publicized case dragged on for months.

The last Magrath listed at the address was John, a member of the Real Estate Exchange, who was still here in 1899.  The family, however, would retain ownership for decades.  That same year the house received a major alteration when a commercial space was carved into the former basement level.  C. & J. Bloomingdale, cabinet makers, moved in.

Dr. Daniel Di Bol was a tenant in the Irving Place house in 1905 when he ran up against a powerful adversary, Anthony Comstock, the founder and head of the Society for the Suppression of Vice.  Comstock, who once deemed himself "the weeder of God's garden," considered himself the arbiter of what was and was not moral.  And he considered Dr. Di Boi's Museum of Anatomy on 14th Street immoral.

On February 8 The Sun described the 35-year old Dr. Di Boi as "the scholarly gentleman with the cane and vocabulary, who stands outside and invites a wondering world to enter."  He hawked the exhibitions inside as "scientific, instructive and interesting, teaching you the wonders of life and the terrors of disease."  But his life-like wax figures of unclothed humans were so anatomically accurate as to raise Puritanical eyebrows.

Months earlier Police Captain Steve McDermott had investigated and warned Di Boi that it could be seen as offensive.  Di Boi dismissed him, saying the exhibition was "strictly scientific."  "So the Captain left after warning the managers not to admit boys under 18," said The Sun.  That was not sufficient for Anthony Comstock.  At 4:00 on February 7, 1905 he "took a running glance" at the figures "and ordered the whole lot to the station house."  Not only were Di Boi and his staff arrested, but the figures were carted off.   The warmth of the station house disfigured the models.  "Tears were running down the leper's nose.  Then it occurred to [Sergeant Carson] that waxen things would melt, and they were carted down cellar to harden in strange poses."

In spite of the assault to the lower floors, the mansard level, minus its iron cresting, is remarkably intact.

At the same time architect D. W. Davis lived in the house and would remain into the 1920's.  By 1908 china painter Anna B. Leonard lived and operated her studio here.  An ad in Pallette and Bench that year offered classes in "Porcelain Decoration and Design for all Handicrafts.  Gold in Power Form excelled for the decoration of Tableware."

On September 29, 1912 The Sun commented "That the manners and customs generally of the ateliers of the Quartier Latin should have taken such a hold in New York, where the Beaux Arts men are most numerous, is not surprising."  Among the "more important of the New York ateliers," it said, was Atelier Wynkoop at No. 74 Irving Place.

Under the directorship of artist J. Wynkoop, the studio produced artists like A. C. Webb, F. A. Elsasser, and J. Regan.  Wynkoop remained at the address until around 1918.

In September 1920 the Magrath family hired the architectural firm Philip Bardes Co. to convert the old house to bachelor apartments.  Included in the project were new walls and staircase, a bathroom, and the removal of the show window.  The renovations to what was now officially described as an apartment house cost the equivalent of $115,000 today.

The renovation lowered the columned entrance to street level.  via the NYC Dept of Records & Information Services.

There were now fifteen "sleeping rooms" in the house.  Bachelor apartments did not have kitchens and the Department of Buildings warned that "cooking in more than two apartments" would render the building "liable to immediate vacation."

The New York Herald, February 4, 1921 (copyright expired)

Catherine Wall Magrath died on May 17, 1922 at the age of 89.  After having been in the family for more than 60 years, the house was sold to George Glandening.  Glendening was the principal in the real estate firm Geo. Glendening & Co.

The building continued to house middle-class renters, like Hollis Mitchell, a copy editor and proofreader who lived here in the 1950's.  Then in 1973 a renovation resulted in two apartments per floor.  Among the first of the new tenants was artist and photographer A. Burton Carnes.  He had started his career with Esquire Publishing as a sales promotional director where he also created advertisements for Gentleman's Quarterly.  He left Esquire in 1952 to work on his own, focusing much of his time on the development of animated films.

Sadly denuded of its early Victorian decoration, the Magrath house nevertheless manages to hint at its former beauty--mostly because of the incredibly intact mansard level.

photographs by the author 

Lyndon P Smith's 1898 76 Irving Place

Born in 1815, Francis Ferdinand Marbury married Elizabeth McCoun in 1843, three years after being admitted to the New York Bar.  His success was rapid and by 1850 he had purchased a fine 26-foot wide home a block south of fashionable Gramercy Park, No. 76 Irving Place.  They had two children at the time and three more would be born in the new house, including their second daughter, Elisabeth Marbury, on June 19, 1856.  Elisabeth would go on to become one of the most influential women in New York social and theatrical circles, a noted and respected producer and literary agent.  She was, as well, a pioneer in same sex equality, later living openly in a relationship with actress and interior designer Elsie de Wolfe.

On March 9, 1895 The Evening Post reported "Francis F. Marbury, one of the oldest lawyers in the city, died yesterday at his home, No. 76 Irving Place."  A month later, almost to the day, an advertisement appeared in The Evening Post announcing the auction of "The handsome 4-story high-stoop and basement brick house."

The property was purchased by Pauline Scheible for $35,750, or just over $1 million in today's money.   It was not until February 5, 1897 that her architect, Lyndon P. Smith, would file plans to replace the old dwelling with a six-story brick and stone apartment building to cost $40,000--in the neighborhood of $1.27 million today.

Scheible's choice of architects is interesting.  Born in 1862, he had partnered with the architect John H. Edelmann to form the firm Edelmann & Smith in 1887.  That partnership dissolved in 1890 after the completion of their sole project together, the Riverside Baptist Church.   

Two years after being hired to design Pauline Scheible's flat house he would receive the commission to design the Bayard Building on Bleecker Street.  Smith collaborated with Chicago architect Louis Sullivan who designed the building's masterful facade.  After that Smith's name fades away.

For Scheible's project Smith faced the upper floors in beige Roman brick.  The openings--two per floor--were flanked by stylized Corinthian stone columns decorated with swirling bands.  Sinuous iron French style grills prevented flower pots or children from tumbling to the sidewalk.  The entrance sat within a limestone base above a short stoop, and it was at this level that Smith lavished his attention.  Drawing from the emerging Art Nouveau movement, he placed a portrait head above the window and embellished the entrance with flowing ribbons and meandering shapes flanked by two chubby youths (which were decidedly not in the Art Nouveau style).

The building was intended for well-to-do residents in keeping with the upscale neighborhood.  There was just one apartment per floor, each having eight rooms and two baths (one for the servants).  An advertisement in 1899 touted "Every known improvement.  Exceptionally fine decorations and fixtures."   Enjoying the location and amenities did not come cheaply.  Monthly rent in 1899 was the equivalent of about $4,250 a month today.

After her marriage to Floyd E. Baker in 1901 Pauline Scheible Baker sold the building to another female real estate operator, Lucy A. Knight.

At the time Joseph Harrington worked as the building's elevator boy.  Following a rash of burglaries in January and February he repeatedly took detectives to various apartments to interview residents who reported missing items.  Among the victims was artist Benjamin West Clinedinst whose gold watch was gone.

The tenants were no doubt shocked when Harrington was arrested on February 15 for the theft of Clinedinst's watch.  The Evening Post reported "he admitted that he had stolen the watch.  He had duplicate keys made for all the flats in the house."  The young man's motive was an old one: infatuation.  "He had stolen in order to give presents to a girl he was in love with, he said."

Clinedinst presumably got his watch back.  He had already achieved artistic success, having attended the Ecole des Beaus Arts in Paris and studied in the studios of Alexandre Cabanel and Léon Bonnat.  In 1900 he had won the Evans Prize of the American Water Color Society.  Specializing in battle pictures and portraits, his sitters included Mark Twain, Theodore Roosevelt, Bret Harte and Admiral Robert Peary.

Clindenst was known for his depictions of wartime scene.  image via lotsearch.net

Mary Hurley left her apartment at around 4:00 on March 26, 1901 to go shopping.  When she reached 20th Street around 4:00 "she was suddenly seized from behind, her hands pinioned, and her pocketbook pulled from her hand," according to The Evening Post.   Twenty-five-year old Joseph Lyman's getaway lasted only a few feet.

A passerby, Hubert Kelly saw the assault and seized Lyman, who tossed Mary's pocketbook, wrenched himself free and ran.  At 23rd Street Policeman Ringler nabbed him.  Mary regained her purse and justice prevailed.

The hair atop the sculptured head above the ground floor window mimics a day lily, an important motif in the Art Nouveau movement; and the hair at her shoulders resembles swirling ribbons more than tresses.

As G. A. Fuller prepared to leave for Europe in 1903, he gave a splendid description of his apartment which he hoped to lease.  His ad in the New-York Tribune on April 26 described his "elegantly appointed apartment" as "consisting of two parlors, four bedrooms, two baths, kitchen, private telephone, laundry, etc.; all modern conveniences; electric lights; elevator, night and day; party, on account of illness, going abroad at once; an opportunity for one wishing a First Class Apartment."

Mrs. Alexander Stewart, who lived in the third floor apartment, suffered a fright in December 1904.  A nephew, five-year old Finley Stewart, had been visiting for several days on December 9 when at around 2:00 that afternoon he was permitted to play with the niece of the building's janitor.  What Mrs. Stewart did not know was that soon afterword little May Wagner offered "to show the boy where Santa Claus held forth," according to The Sun.  They set out into the streets only to become hopelessly lost.

At 7:00 that evening Mrs. Stewart rushed to the second floor apartment of Third Deputy Police Commissioner Harris Lindsley.  He called Police Headquarters and set officers scrambling.

"By the time the alarm had been sent over the police wires," said The Sun, "the sergeant at the Charles Street station was listening to a tot with tear stained cheeks, who said he was 
Finley Gregg Auld Stewart.  With him was a six-year-old girl, who knew she was May Wagner and that her uncle was the janitor of an apartment house on Irving place, but just where she did not know."  Two policemen escorted the children back to No. 76 Irving Place where "There was great rejoicing in the home of Mrs. Stewart, on the third floor, and in the quarters of the janitor, in the basement."  The article noted that Commissioner Lindsley "was thanked by both."

Born in Nashville, Tennessee in 1870, Lindsley was the son of esteemed physician Dr. Van Sinderen Lindsley.  The Lindsley family had been in American since 1650.  Educated as an attorney, he had seen action in the Spanish-American War, then came to New York City in 1899 to practice law.  His career path changed the following year when he was appointed Third Deputy Police Commissioner.   The Memorial Cyclopedia of the Twentieth Century said of him, "He was very fond of athletics and devoted considerable of his leisure time to outdoor exercises, having played football while in college and afterwards polo, tennis, golf, etc."

Lindsley shared the apartment with his brother, Van Sinderen Lindsley.  A few months after the incident with little Finley Stewart, Commissioner Lindsley's engagement to Evelyn Pierrepont Willing was announced.   The couple traveled to Burlington, Vermont that summer where they were to be married.  

A week before the wedding, on August 14, they and Evelyn's young nephew, Ambrose Cramer, were in an automobile driven by chauffeur J. Adamson.   At about 4:00 the "big touring machine," as described by The New York Times, climbed a steep embankment leading to a railroad track.  The newspaper reported "There was a curve near the crossing.  Adamson says he did not see the train until it was upon them."

The powerful collision of automobile and locomotive threw the train off the rails, tore up the tracks for about 100 feet, and tossed the heavy vehicle into the air.  Upon impact the car rolled over and over for ten or fifteen feet.  The New York Press reported Miss Willing and Mr. Lindsley were hurled beside the track.  Their bodies were pierced by jagged fragments of the wooden sides of the car...Miss Willing's head was found resting on the maimed hand of her finance."  The New York Times added "The automobile was smashed to pieces and afterward destroyed by fire."

A policeman was sent from headquarters to No. 76 Irving Place to notify Van Sinderen Lindsley.  Told by a maid that he was out, the policeman waited uneasily in the parlor for his arrival.

Lindsley's body was returned to New York on August 16.  He lay in state in the 12th Regiment Armory under a guard of honor until his funeral on August 18.  The Memorial Cyclopedia of the Twentieth Century recounted "the bier was placed upon a gun carriage and escorted by the entire 12th Regiment and one thousand five hundred members of the Police Department to the Brick Presbyterian Church."

Free-standing stone columns flank the deeply-recessed windows of the upper floors.

In August 1919 the building was sold for $55,000 (about $815,000 today).  The Record & Guide reported "The purchaser is to alter the building, providing two apartments on a floor instead of one as of present."

Although now only half as large, the apartments continued to be home to well-heeled residents.  Among them was engineer and financier Frank B. Robinson, a widower, who shared an apartment with his daughter, Elsie Gertrude Robinson.  Robinson had been president of the Carbon Steel Company of Pittsburgh, which supplied the steel for the Manhattan Bridge.  He retired in 1910, but retained a large portion of the stock.  The New York Sun said that Robinson was "credited with being among the first to make professional baseball pay in this city.  He succeeded in making fans out of Richard (Boss) Croker, the Tammany leader, and Andrew Freedman, who later became one of the owners of the old New York Giants."  

On December 17, 1931 Robinson went to the Engineers' Club to celebrate his 78th birthday.  He had just walked through the doors when he suffered a fatal heart attack.

In the 1940's educator Elsie Clapp spent time in the apartment of her sister, Marjorie, who was married to James Myers.  Clapp, whose innovative ideas on education are credited with the development of modern schools, was the author of Community Schools in Action and The Use of Resources in Education.

Three of the French style window grills are still in place in 1941.  photo via NYC Dept of Records & Information Services.

The building underwent another renovation, completed in 1958, which resulted in four apartments on each floor.  One of those was briefly home to novelist and short story writer Patricia Highsmith in the 1960's.  Two of her works, Strangers on a Train and The Talented Mr. Ripley, were adapted for film, stage and television.  She was as well the author of the first lesbian novel with a happy ending, The Price of Salt, written under the pen name Clare Morgan.

A heinous crime which took place in one of the apartments in 1961 was solved by clever forensic work.   On October 5 28-year old Mack Jenkins broke into the apartment of a 28-year old electronics engineer.  He not only robbed, but raped her.  In fleeing he dropped his glasses.

The glasses were stamped with the optometrist's name.  The doctor identified the owner as Jenkins, described him, and mentioned that he had "a penchant for Village spots."  Detectives were detailed to watch coffee shops.  It did not take long for their patience to pay off.  On October 18 The New York Press reported "A Greenwich Village coffee house patron was held today on rape and robbery charges after police traced him through a pair of eyeglasses."  Jenkins received a sentence of 35 to 50 years in state prison.

Although the cornice has been lost and the entrance given regrettable replacement doors, this rare extant work of Lyndon P. Smith survives well intact, including those remarkable carvings on the ground floor.

photographs by the author