The Lost 7th Precinct Station House - 247 Madison Street

from the collection of the New York Public Library

On August 2, 1860, the New-York Daily Tribune reported, "A protest was received from various citizens in the Seventh Ward against the purchase by the city of the lots at Nos. 245 and 247 Madison street, for a new Station House in that Ward."  The citizens were not opposed to a new police station in their neighborhood, they were outraged by the cost.  The article said, "the original owner of the property was willing to take $9,000 for the property, but the [city offered] $15,000 for it."  Despite the grievances, the following day the Board of Alderman passed a resolution "to secure the premises Nos. 245 and 247 Madison street...at a price not exceeding $15,000."

The police department's architect produced a stylish Italianate-style station house.  The fully arched openings were, most likely, ornamented with molded lintels or architraves.  Dimension was achieved by slightly projecting the central three-bay wide section.  A corbelled cast metal cornice with a triangular pediment completed the design.  (A separate building in the rear yard housed the holding cells for prisoners.)

from the collection of the New York Public Library

Shortly after ground was broken for the 7th Precinct Station house, the first shot of the Civil War was fired.  The building was completed and fully staffed when one of the darkest periods in New York City history took place--the Draft Riots.  A revolt over the nation's first attempt at a military draft began with a lottery on July 11, 1863.  The first 1,200 names drawn came overwhelmingly from the city's poor and immigrant population.  Wealthy families had bought exemptions to exclude their sons.

At around 6:30 on the morning of July 13, 1863, riots erupted.  The resulting three-day reign of terror and carnage was unlike anything seen in the country before.  Innocent people were murdered, and draft offices, newspaper buildings, and the homes and neighborhoods of the city’s black population were burned.  The 7th Precinct officers were deployed to "sharp fighting," as described by The New York Times, throughout the district.  The newspaper said that on that first day, the officers staged an "attack upon and severe usage of the rioters at Broadway and Amity-street [later Third Street]."  

On the second day, Henry F. O'Brien, the black colonel of the 11th New York Volunteer Infantry Regiment, was spotted on Second Avenue.  He was surrounded by a vicious gang and for more than an hour he was pummeled with rocks and kicked.  He was then carried to a house where he was tortured to death and his body butchered beyond recognition.  Civilians who attempted to intervene were attacked by the mob.

The New York Times reported that Captain Bennett and men of the 7th Precinct were "detailed, with a company of military, to visit Thirty-fourth-street, where Col. O'Brien was so horribly murdered, to recover the body."  

In recapping the mayhem, on August 9, 1863 The New York Times remarked, "The officers and men of this Precinct saw considerable service during the week, and sustained the good repute hitherto attached to them."

In the summer of 1870, three 7th Precinct beat officers--Wild, Shalvey and Jarboe--revealed their sharp focus and concentration.  A year earlier, in April 1869, John Kelly, "alias John Wilson, alias 'Paddy Barry,'" according to The Evening Post, was sentenced to two-and-a-half years in Sing Sing prison.  He escaped six months later.  Kelly managed to blend into the Bowery surroundings for nearly a year.  Then, at around 3:00 on the morning of August 24, 1870, the three officers nabbed him.  The Evening Post reported, "He will be returned to his old quarters to-day."

In 1872, according to the Sunday Mercury, the staff of the 7th Precinct consisted of one captain, four sergeants, 60 patrolmen, and two doormen.  (A "doorman" was the officer who manned the desk just within the front door to address questions and complaints of civilians who walked in.)  

The following year, the country was plunged into a debilitating financial depression--the Panic of 1873.  It would bring dire consequences to the already impoverished residents of the 7th Precinct.  In reporting on the "destitution" that was spreading across the city, on February 9, 1874, the New York Herald quoted Sergeant Oates.  "He thought there ought to be provision made for the wretched poor, fallen from higher estates."  

While the reporter was there, he looked around.  "Their quarters seemed well ventilated, and, not to be too complimentary, considerably the least disgusting of any of those visited."

Members of the 7th Precinct dealt with gangs and "rowdies."  On July 27, 1875, Officer Thomas F. Regan came upon a group of 15 men fighting at the corner of Madison and Scammell Streets.  Rather than call for assistance, he attempted to break up the melee single-handedly.  The mob immediately turned their focus onto the policeman.  The New-York Tribune reported, "he was knocked down, kicked, and left lying insensible on the sidewalk."  He was discovered and taken to the police station.  Regan's injuries were significant and the newspaper said "he was found to be unfit for police duty for some time."

A heart-warming incident took place here in the fall of 1896.  On October 10, a "shabbily dressed man about thirty years old," as described by The New York Times, was found prostrated in the station house doorway.  The man, Andrew Wyzandt, was deemed to be intoxicated and was locked up.

The next morning Detective Mooney escorted him to the Essex Market Police Court.  Wyzandt walked "feebly" and "stopped at garbage barrels along the walk and searched for crusts and apple cores.  When he found any he put them furtively in his pockets," reported The New York Times.

"Look here," Mooney asked, "are you really hungry?"

"I am starved."

Mooney made a detour in their route to the courthouse.  The article said that he "took him into a coffee saloon and ordered for him some chops, potatoes, rolls, and coffee."  Wyzandt merely stared at the plates when they were brought.  The New York Times said, "Losing patience, the detective held a roll under his guest's nose.  The result was magical.  Wyzandt ate the meal furiously."

Less charitably treated by a different precinct was Samuel Levi, who lived at 145 East Broadway.  On June 13, 1897, he rode his bicycle to the Queens County Park, where he fell and broke his leg.  He was taken to the nearest police station but, as reported by The Sun, "they didn't want him, nor did the hospital near by."  Finally, he was transported to the 7th Precinct Station House, arriving at about 7:30 that evening.  The article said that Sergeant MacSweeny sent for an ambulance and Levi was taken to Gouveneur Hospital "several hours after his accident."

An inspection of the brick cell building on December 13, 1911 discovered disturbing conditions.  Saying there were "two rows of cells back to back, eight on one side and seven on the other, with a passageway all around," it noted, "There are no wash-bowls and no shower baths."  The "toilets" used by prisoners were makeshift privies, "in appearance like a megaphone set into a sewer pipe."  The inspectors concluded, "The whole place is inexpressively bad and a disgrace to the city.  It should be abandoned with as little delay as possible and a modern prison built."

That did not happen and following an inspection two years later, State Prisoner Henry Solomon wrote, "This has long been known as the worst police station in the city."  Once again, he stressed that "modern sanitary" water closets should be installed, adding, "wash basins are also needed."  Instead, the rear jail building was simply shut down in 1916 and prisoners were taken to the 13th Precinct on Clinton Street.

On May 20, 1921, the New York Herald reported, "The old Seventh Precinct police station in 247 Madison street, one of the police landmarks of the city, ceased to exist at midnight last night."  The precinct was absorbed into the Oak Street and Clinton Street stations.

Two weeks later, on June 3, John Finck purchased the property "on behalf of a client," as reported by the Proceedings of the Commissioners of the Sinking Fund.  It was acquired "for the purpose of turning it into a public shower bath."  

The extensive renovations (that cost $53,000, or about $975,000 in 2026) took four years to complete.  On April 30, 1925, The New York Times reported that Borough President Julius Miller would officially open the baths the next day.  

It was probably during the bath conversion that the Victorian details were removed from the openings. via the NYC Dept of Records & Information Services.

Saying that the bath was "something very much needed in this densely populated neighborhood, Miller described:

This old police station has been entirely transformed.  The cells in the yard have been torn down, the yard cleared, a pavement laid and it is now a community playground.  There is a waiting room on the first floor, also women's shower room; on the second floor, men's shower room; and on the third floor, men's and women's shower rooms.

The Madison Street Free Baths operated until 1970.  It was demolished for the first section of the Gouverneur Healthcare Services Building.

photographer by Halil Serkan Kutun

The Elijah B. Middlebrook House - 121 East 78th Street

 

photograph by the author

Development of the Upper East and Upper West Sides began in earnest following the Civil War.  Around 1871 Nicholas McCool erected a row of identical Italianate-style homes on the north side of East 78th Street, between Lexington and Fourth Avenues (renamed Park Avenue in 1888).  Three bays wide and three stories tall above high English basements, they were intended for affluent families.

Beefy cast iron railings and newels protected the areaways and stoops.  Like the others, the arched entrance of 121 East 78th Street sat below a prominent triangular pediment upheld by foliate, scrolled corbels.  Smaller versions embellished the parlor windows.  The upper floor windows sat within molded architraves with cornices.

121 East 78th Street was originally identical to No. 127, seen here around 1912.  from the collection of the New York Public Library.

McCool advertised 121 East 78th Street and two others on September 17, 1872:

Three high stoop brown stone houses, 119 and 121 East Seventy-eighth street, also 121 East Seventy-ninth street, within two blocks of Central Park, all of which will be sold cheap to prompt buyers.

The ad was answered by Dr. Elijah B. Middlebrook, who had just relocated to New York City from Connecticut.  Middlebrook owned "large blocks of real estate" in Bridgeport, Connecticut, according to The Evening World, which added that he was "considered a wealthy man."  

Born at "Long Hill," in Trumbull, Connecticut, Middlebrook was a graduate of Yale College.  His resume was not restricted to medicine.  At the age of 36 he owned a carriage factory and a large livery stable in Bridgeport.  He was as well, according to the New York Herald, "a farmer and a dealer in real estate."

Middlebrook was not living in New York by his own choice, however.  Shortly before purchasing 121 East 78th Street, he was embroiled in a court battle in Connecticut.  He assaulted attorney W. K. Seller in the courtroom and openly called him a liar.  Although Middlebrook paid a $600 fine (a significant $16,900 in 2026), the New York Herald reported that he "exiled himself from Bridgeport rather than endure the ignominy of imprisonment."  The Evening World said, "Dr. Middlebrook was compelled to remain out of the State or go to jail to serve out a sentence for contempt of Court."

Moving into the new house with her father was Annie A. Sewell.  It is unclear whether she was a young widow, or if her husband lived here as well.  However, when Annie died a year later on March 16, 1873 at the age of 30, her husband was not mentioned in her obituary.  Her funeral was held in the parlor on March 19.

Interestingly, when Middlebrook moved into 121 East 78th Street, he listed his profession as "physician."  In 1876, he changed it to "veterinarian surgeon."  And in 1879, he listed both: "physician" at 170 East 78th Street and "veterinarian surgeon" at 169 East 77th Street.

Among Middlebrook's servants in 1881 was Mary Lynch.  On the afternoon of January 18, she caught 13-year-old George Leonard slipping out of the house.  She alerted Dr. Middlebrook who had the teen arrested.  The New York Herald reported, "Nothing was stolen from the premises.  In the boy's pocket was found a night key."  Leonard was held in jail until it could be discerned if the key would open the locks of the Middlebrook house.

By 1884, Mary J. Perkins and her adult nephew, Frederick B. Sewell, lived in the house with Elijah Middlebrook.  It is unclear what their relationship, if any, was.  

Interestingly, on May 3, 1884 The American Architect and Building News reported that Middlebrook was erecting a two-story brick stable at 164-170 Eat 78th Street at a cost of $3,000 (just under $100,000 in 2026).  The plans named F. B. Sewell as the architect.

Dr. Elijah B. Middlebrook died in the East 78th Street house on April 1, 1889.  In reporting his death, a Bridgeport newspaper could not restrain from pointing out that he "fled from this city seventeen years ago after assaulting Lawyer W. K. Seeler in the court-room."

Mary J. Perkins inherited 121 East 78th Street.  She maintained a 133-acre country home in Westchester County.  She took in a boarder, Dr. Samuel F. Howland, who was a dentist.  Howland, who was a bachelor, lived here until his death on March 3, 1914.   His will was probated on July 30, and the New York Herald reported that he left $77,026, "of which he gave $50,000 to Mary J. Perkins, who was not related to him."  (The remainder went to the Moody Schools of Northfield, Massachusetts.)

Mary J. Perkins died on April 13, 1918.  She left the equivalent of $2 million today to Frederick B. Sewell and the East 78th Street house.  Sewell was now living in Mount Vernon, New York and exactly a year later, on April 19, 1919, the Real Estate Record & Guide reported that he had leased the house to Dr. William B. Boyd.  Boyd was a vice president of the Columbia University Biochemical Association and a member of the Presbyterian Hospital staff.  

Moving into the house with him was his sister, Virginia.  A self-reliant woman, she was a graduate of Barnard College and during World War I she traveled overseas "with a Y.M.C.A. canteen."  She was originally in charge of "a Barnard unit" there.  Virginia was eventually promoted to inspector in charge of all units in one sector.

The New York Times noted, "Since the war she has been engaged in business management and accountancy."  When she and her brother moved into 121 East 78th Street she was controller of the Kent Place School for Girls in Summit, New Jersey.  Virginia Boyd resigned from the girls' school in June 1925.  Two months later she boarded the Leviathan "for an indefinite stay in France," according to The New York Times.

Virginia's independent and intrepid nature resulted, in part, in a horrifying incident.  On September 22, 1925, Dr. Boyd explained to a reporter that she "had planned to visit friends and to take a walking trip through the chateau region.  One of the points she was to visit was Blois."  Two days earlier, Virginia was on that "walking trip" while between Blois and Chambord when a man attacked her.  A wire from Paris said, "After fighting bravely Miss Boyd was about to be overcome by her assailant, when passing automobilists put him to flight."

French officials took the attack seriously.  The New York Times reported, "Armed posses are scouring the countryside today in a search for the assailant of Miss Boyd."

Frederick B. Sewell, described by The Carpet and Upholstery Trade Review as "a retired interior decorator," died in his Mount Vernon home in 1933.  On May 25, The New York Times reported that his estate had sold 121 East 78th Street to R. Keith Kane.  The article noted it "will be altered at a cost of $10,000."  

The costly renovations (equal to a quarter of a million today) included removing the stoop and lowering the entrance to below grade, converting the original entrance to a window, and adding a new floor.  Astoundingly, the architect deftly matched the former entrance with the existing parlor openings, copied the original architraves for the top floor windows, and reinstalled the 1871 cornice.

Only the unimpressive basement level hinted that renovations had been made.  via the NYC Dept of Records & Information Services.

Born on July 3, 1900, attorney Richmond Keith Kane (who went by his first initial) was a 1926 graduate of Harvard Law School.  He attended Oxford where (as he had been in Harvard) he was on the rowing team.  The year before purchasing 121 East 78th Street, he joined the law firm of Cadwalader, Wickersham & Taft.  He and his wife, the former Amanda Stewart Bryan, had four daughters: Shelah, Anne Tennant, Hope Stewart and Constance H.  Their country home was in Wickford, Rhode Island.

Amanda was highly involved in civic and social affairs.  On March 23, 1936, for instance, The New York Times reported that she hosted the "first in a series of meetings in behalf of the work of the Vocational Service for Juniors."  And on January 18, 1939, the newspaper announced, "Mrs. R. Keith Kane, president of the Smith College Club of New York, will give a luncheon today."

The family moved to Washington D.C. in 1940 after Kane became special assistant to the United States Attorney General "in the enforcement of new foreign-registration laws," according to The New York Times.  In September that year, the newspaper reported that Kane had leased the house furnished to "Viscount Jacques d'Aumale, Minister in charge of the French Consulate General in New York."

The New York Police Department's bomb square responded to 121 East 78th Street on March 3, 1941 "to investigate an explosion," according to The New York Times.  The detectives, however, found only "a slightly damaged tin can with white powder spread over the outside of the street door."  The exploding canister was deemed a prank.

With relations between the French Vichy Government and America strained, the following year the consul left East 78th Street and No. 121 was leased to Frederick S. Bailey and his family.  He told The New York Times on November 11, 1942 that he and his family "were greatly disturbed lest any demonstration intended for [d'Aumale] should be addressed to them."

In the meantime, R. Keith Kane was appointed assistant to the Secretary of the Navy in 1943 and in 1945 was an advisor to the United States delegation to the United Nations Conference on International Organization.

The family was back in the East 78th Street home at midcentury.  Shelah Kane was introduced to society in 1950.  She had graduated from the Brearley School and studied at Smith College.  She was married to Ensign James H. Scott, Jr. of the U.S. Coast Guard in St. Paul's Protestant Episcopal Church in Wickford, Rhode Island on August 18, 1952.

Anne Tennant Kane also attended the Brearly School.  She graduated from the Foxcroft School and Smith College.  Four years after Shelah's wedding, on December 22, 1956, Anne Tennant Kane was married in the Church of the Resurrection to Lockhart Bemiss McGuire.  

Adding to his impressive resume, in 1968 R. Keith Kane was inducted into the Harvard Varsity Club Hall of Fame.  And in 1971 Harvard gave him an honorary law doctorate.

Kane retired in December 1973 and he and Amanda relocated to Charlottesville, Virginia.  He died there five months later, on May 30, 1974, at the age of 73.

Former securities executive Aftab Islam, and his wife, Theresa Havell, lived here as early as 1999 with their six children and a live-in nanny.  The couple was married in 1979.  Theresa was described by The New York Post as "a Wall Street wizard."  She was the founder "of the highly successful Havell Capital Management," according to the newspaper.  Islam, on the other hand, called himself a "house husband" and had not worked since 1990.  

By 1999, things were not going smoothly within the marriage.  According to The New York Post, they slept in separate bedrooms.  Before going to bed on April 21, Theresa told Aftab that she wanted a divorce.  According to The New York Times, "She awoke just before 5 A.M. as Mr. Islam began beating her with a barbell he used to work out in their home at 121 East 78th Street." 

Saying that the attack came after "years of physical and mental abuse," Women's eNews reported, "After Havell's screams brought three of the couple's six children into her room, Islam continued his attack on the wife."  He told them that he had killed their mother, said the article.  Theresa was hospitalized with a fractured skull.  Islam was taken away by the police.

Charged with attempted murder, on August 11, 2000 Aftab Islam faced a judge.  Calling himself a "pacifist," he admitted hitting his wife with the 10-pound dumbbell.  But he explained his actions, saying that after he had sneaked into her room at 5 a.m. and "affectionately stroked her face...She bit my finger."

Islam continued, "I picked up the barbell she uses to exercise with and hit her with it."  He defended himself saying, "I only hit her four or five times and not very hard."

Islam was sentenced to eight years in prison.  While there, he attempted to retain 40 percent of the couple's assets in the divorce proceedings.  That did not happen.  The court (a subsequent appellate judge) ruled that Havell deserved the couple's entire assets, "valued at $17 million," according to Women's eNews.  The Appellate Division of the New York State Supreme Court called his assault on Theresa "so egregious as to shock the conscience."

photograph by the author

New owners had renovations done in 2002.  It was most likely during this remodeling that architectural elements of the ground floor, faithful reproductions of the 1871 versions, and a charming bay window were installed.

Julius Boekell's 1876 205 Chrystie Street

photograph by Anthony Bellov

 
Born in Germany, architect Julius Boekell built his career around the designing of tenement-and-store buildings.  On April 7, 1876, he filed plans for a "five-story brick store and tenement" at the southwest corner of Chrystie and Stanton Streets.  Its construction cost developer H. Riffel $15,000, or about $465,000 in 2026 terms.

Boekell tucked the residential entrance far to the rear, at 19 Stanton Street.  Overall Italianate in design, the building was faced in red brick above cast iron storefronts.  Typical of Boekell's work, stone quoins outlined the corners.  Striking cast metal lintels blended Italianate and neo-Grec styles--the former reflected in the gently arched molded cornices with their lacy cresting, and the latter in the incised decorations underneath.  The marriage of styles returned in the terminal cornice where the corbels began with geometric neo-Grec lines before sprouting foliate Italianate scrolls.

photograph by Anthony Bellov

H. Riffel (who lived next door at 17 Stanton Street) retained ownership of the building.  It held fifteen apartments and their occupants were, expectedly, working class.  

Riffel was faced with a terrifying incident in the summer of 1879.  On August 25, he rented rooms on the second floor to a woman named Rauch.  She told him that she had two children and, according to The Sun, she "was reticent as to where she came from, but implied that she had last lived in California."

The new tenant was also unforthcoming about her family.  The Sun said she moved in with "seven children, one of whom only reaching to adult age."  (In fact, the eldest was 15.)  One of the children, the next day, implied that they had actually just arrived from Memphis.  Not coincidentally, on August 28, The Evening Post reported that five new cases of yellow fever had been reported in Memphis, Tennessee.

The day after the family moved into 19 Stanton Street, Mrs. Rauch showed symptoms of yellow fever.  The Sun said, "other tenants noticed the pungent smell of what were evidently disinfectants."  A tenant who lived on the same floor, John Sullivan, notified officials.  On August 28, Dr. Taylor of the Board of Health, "hastened to the tenement house."  The Evening Post reported, "He was informed that [the family] had come from Chicago."  When Mrs. Rauch could not remember where they lived there, the eldest daughter said they lived on Noble Street, but could not remember the address.  Mrs. Rauch explained that she was simply suffering from "a cold contracted in traveling."  Satisfied that the rumors of yellow fever were "nothing but the loose talk of the other tenants," Dr. Taylor left.

Less confident was a reporter from The Evening Post, who checked the latest Chicago directory and found no Rauches on Noble Street.  He visited the Rauch rooms and when he spoke to Mrs. Rauch in German, she talked freely, conceding that they had come from Memphis.  And The Sun reported that they, "now admitted that all their clothes and bedding had been burned before starting" for New York.

The Evening Post opined that had Dr. Taylor known the details uncovered by the reporter he, "might have delayed his report or slightly altered its tone."  The newspaper concluded, "It may...be wise to watch these new comers."  Frustratingly, newspaper coverage ended with no follow-up on the Rauch family's fate.

photograph by Anthony Bellov

Julius Freeland lived here in the spring of 1894.  The 24-year-old broke into the house of attorney Thomas E Pearsall on the night of May 4, but he was unprepared for his encounter with a feisty servant.  Ellen Lyborn discovered Freeland on the second floor.  She sneaked up behind him and "caught him around the waist, held him fast and yelled at the top of her voice until help arrived," reported The Evening World.  Freeland "was handed over to the police of the Sixth avenue station," said the article.

On May 2, 1899, resident Samuel Bennett took a day trip to Coney Island.  His pleasant outing ended very badly, however.  The New York Journal and Advertiser said, "Sixty passengers on trolly car No. 855...had a thrilling experience during the storm last evening on the way from Coney Island to Manhattan."  The passengers of the "uncomfortably crowded" car would most likely have chosen a different adjective than "thrilling" to describe their ride.

The article reported that a bolt of lightning struck the trolley pole and "ran into the car.  There was a loud explosion, the fuses were burned out and the car appeared to have been set on fire in several places."  Every passenger received a "severe shock" and several were knocked to the floor.  "There was a wild scramble to get out of the car, and men knocked down and trampled upon women in the effort to reach the street."  Among those who were seriously hurt was Samuel Bennett, who suffered injuries to his chest and head.

Hard working residents living in tenement buildings almost always coexisted with criminals.  A Police Department report of "Suspected Gambling Houses" in January 1899 included the raid on a "poolroom" at 19 Stanton Street.  (Poolrooms were illegal gambling dens.)  The officers got more than they expected in this raid, however.  The report said, "One of those poolrooms is an opium joint, No. 19 Stanton street."

John Segallo lived here in 1904.  The New York Times described him as "an Italian, thirty years old."  The newspaper said he "says that he is a tailor, but the police...say he is 'connected with the Mafia.'"  Police were investigating Segallo as "having been connected with the famous barrel murder," according to The New York Times.  The "barrel murder" was the slaying of Italian immigrant Benedetto Madonia, whose slashed body was discovered stuffed in a sugar barrel on East 11th Street in the spring of 1903.  (The murder was later attributed to the Mafia gang headed by Ignazio Lupo and Giuseppe Morello.)

On June 21, 1904, The New York Times reported that Segallo "was shot twice...He was taken to the Hudson Street Hospital in a dying condition.  The article said, 

 

Through an Italian druggist, in whose place Segallo was treated, the wounded man said that he was taking a walk to get the salt air, and that he saw two Italians whom he did not know quarreling in the street.  One of them he said drew a revolver and fired two shots, both of which struck him in the abdomen.

The pharmacist's story was different from other witness accounts.  Detective McGee said that he "believed that there had been a fight between Segallo and other Italians over the division of spoils from a pocketbook taken from a newly arrived Italian immigrant."  Segallo died in the Hudson Hospital that evening.

image via the NYC Dept of Records & Information Services

Twenty-eight-year-old Antonio Fedele had much in common with John Segallo.  He was described by the New York Herald in 1912 as "an old member of the Lupo counterfeiting gang."  He lived here that year with his widowed mother and eight sisters.  According to the newspaper, Fedele's sisters "thought that their brother was a hard working contractor who made a good deal of money and treated them with unfailing kindness."

Fedele, indeed, made a great deal of money.  But his sisters certainly knew it did not come from working as a laborer.  He had already served two prison terms, one for counterfeiting and another for burglary.  On January 24, 1912, the New York Herald said, "His picture is in the rogues' gallery and he was arrested a few weeks ago in Passaic for trying to steal horses."

As it turned out, Fedele's involvement with the Lupo gang would not be the only thing that he and Segallo had in common.  On January 23, 1912, the New-York Tribune reported, "The body of the man found in a clump of trees in South Orange Township on Saturday morning with a stab wound in the abdomen and three shots in the head was identified tonight as that of Antonio Fedele, a Sicilian."  

Angelo Lagappato was a member of an Italian-American extortion group La Mano Nera, or the Black Hand.  The terrorist organization used violent and often deadly methods.  On April 11, 1913, the New-York Tribune reported on a massive explosion that occurred on the ground floor of a six-story tenement at 152 Mott Street.  People two blocks away were thrown to the pavement by the shock.  The article said, "The hundreds of Italians who live in the tenement above the store poured into the hallways and down the stairs, shouting and firing off their revolvers in the well known Italian style."

A few moments before the bomb went off, detectives arrested Angelo Lagappato and Gusto Corso for suspicious activity.  "Both prisoners were charged with having loaded revolvers in their possession," reported the New-York Tribune.

Construction of Chrystie Street subway connection was evidenced by barricades and decking in 1959.  Tenants used the fire escapes to dry laundry.  image via the Ne York Transit Museum

Several of the building's residents continued to be on the wrong side of the law over the coming years.  On August 5, 1959, for instance, Philip Stazzone was arrested with two others for running an illegal "policy operation," a sort of lottery that targeted low-income residents.  The New York Times reported that the trio was "doing a $50,000-a-day business."  (The amount would translate to about half a million in today's dollars.)

Changes in the neighborhood were reflected in the ground floor tenants.  Where Isey Wolowitz sold soda water in 1902, the 205 Club opened around 1995.  In its April 17 issue that year, New York Magazine described it as "a stylish, glass-fronted social club for hipsters."  

photograph by Anthony Bellov

In September 2012 Cocktail Bodega opened.  Richard Morgan of The New York Times said, "It is, plainly, a juice and smoothie place where you can get whiskey with your flaxseed."  It was a short-lived venture and by November 2013 Leave Rochelle Out of It occupied the space.  (The tongue-in-cheek name referred to a woman both owners had dated at different times.)  It was replaced by the new 205 Club.

many thanks to historian Anthony Bellov for suggesting this post

The Langston Hughes House - 20 East 127th Street

 

photograph by Americasroof

Four years after the end of the Civil War, pioneering developers were beginning to transform Harlem from country estates and farms to an attractive suburb.  Two of them, James Meagher and Thomas Hanson, erected two 20-foot-wide, three-story homes on East 127th Street between Madison and Fifth Avenues in 1869.  Designed by Alexander Wilson, their Italianate design was handsome, but unexceptional.  Throughout the city, similar rows of nearly identical homes were being constructed, their monotonous appearance sometimes befuddling inebriated homeowners who could not find their own house.

Like its neighbor, 20 East 127th Street was clad in brownstone.  A high stone stoop rose to the double-doored entrance below an arched pediment supported by elaborately carved corbels.  The segmentally arched openings sat within molded architraves and a bracketed pressed metal cornice crowned the design.

The house became home to the Walter C. Palmer, Jr. family.  A printer, publisher, author and bookseller, he and his wife, Mary G., had at least one child, Mamie, born in 1867.

Palmer's business focused on religious topics.  Several of the works he published were related to the American Holiness Movement, co-founded by his mother, evangelist and author Phoebe Palmer.  (The movement stressed the doctrine of John Wesley, called "Christian perfection.")  He not only published Phoebe Palmer's works, but in 1869-70 he co-edited The Guide to Holiness Magazine with her.

In 1874, Mamie Palmer contracted scarlet fever.  The seven-year-old died on March 25 and her funeral was held in the parlor two days later.

The Palmers left West 127th Street by 1876 and No. 20 became home to Alexander Gaw and his unmarried daughter, Louisa.  Gaw's wife, the former Elizabeth Campbell, had died at the age of 65 on November 9, 1874.  Alexander Gaw was in the paint business and was, additionally, a trustee of the West Side Savings Bank.  

The parlor was the scene of another funeral in 1880.  Louisa Gaw died on October 18 and her funeral held here on the 21st.

In May 1886, an advertisement offered 20 East 127th Street for rent.  It described it as a "Three story brown stone House, good order, to let; nine hundred dollars."  The figure would translate to about $31,800 per year today.

The house was leased by E. Jeanrenaud, who converted it to The Harlem Collegiate School.  The private boys' school accommodated 30 students including six "boarding pupils."

The Nation, September 1, 1887 (copyright expired)

The venture was short lived and on September 14, 1889, an advertisement in the New-York Tribune announced the opening of the Mount Morris School, headed by Frank Clifford Lyman and George B. Towle.  The ad said in part:

In the resolve to have a school of telling merit, the principals rely on the highest standards, enthusiastic interest, liberal recitation methods and advanced methods.  The start in Classics a specialty.

Frank Clifford Lyman and his family occupied space on the upper floors.  The ad said, "A school home of rare advantages is offered to a very few boys in the principals' household."  Only three boys were accepted as boarding students.

Frank Clifford Lyman would continue to operate The Mount Morris School in the house into the mid-1890s.  It became home to the Nussbaum family at the turn of the century, and to Dr. John Staunton Blackmar by 1906.

Born in Connecticut in 1874, Blackmar graduated from the College of Physicians and Surgeons in 1898 and served in the Spanish-American War as a first lieutenant and Assistant Surgeon in the Third Connecticut Voluntary Infantry

Dr. John S. Blackmar in his military uniform.  (original source unknown)

He became associated with Harlem Hospital in June 1900 and by the time he moved into 20 East 127th Street was doing clinical work in the Harlem Hospital Dispensary.  It was likely his marriage to Mildred Martin in 1910 that ended his residency here.

Edward Goldschmidt, who owned 20 East 127th Street, continued to lease the house.  From 1910 to 1914 it was home to Reverend Edward H. Cleveland of the New York Protestant Episcopal City Mission Society.  The American Church Almanac and Year Book said he was "Missionary to Riverside Hospital, North Brother's Island, and Branch Workhouse, Riker's Island."

A major change came when Edward Goldschmidt leased the house to Henry Riddle in August 1914.  He rented rooms in the upper portion and installed "the Funeral Parlors of Henry Riddle" in the lower floors.  Riddle operated the funeral home and chapel through the spring of 1920, when the Goldschmidt estate sold the house.

No. 20 East 127th Street saw a flurry of residents over the subsequent two decades.  Then in 1947, musician William Emerson Harper, his wife, the former Ethel "Toy" Dudley Brown, and poet Langston Hughes co-purchased the house for $12,500 (about $180,000 today).

Trumpeter W. Emerson Harper was known as much for his labor activism as for his music.  He routinely contributed articles to periodicals regarding the financial struggles of musicians.  

He and Ethel, a costume designer and seamstress, had become close friends of Langston Hughes in the 1930s.  At the time, Hughes was emerging as a significant writer and poet.  His first novel, Not Without Laughter, published in 1930, earned him the Harmon Gold Medal for literature.  His close relationship with the Harpers was evidenced by his dedicating his 1940 autobiography, The Big Sea, to them.

Langston Hughes in 1942.  photograph by Cal Varn Vechten from the collection of the Yale University Library.

Hughes occupied the upper portion of the house.  Among the works he produced here were Shakespeare in Harlem in 1942; Montage of a Dream Deferred, published in 1951; a series of humorous books about character Jess B. Simple written from 1950 through 1965; and works about Black culture, like the 1952 The First Book of Negroes; the 1954 Famous American Negroes; and The Book of Negro Folklore, published in 1958.

Langston Hughes entered the Polyclinic Hospital for prostate surgery in the spring of 1967.  The operation was "apparently successful," according to the New York Amsterdam News, but complications developed.  He died on May 22 at the age of 66.  In reporting his death, newspapers nationwide lauded his work.  The San Francisco Chronicle, for instance, wrote:

A versatile and prolific writer, Hughes was equally fluent in the lyric voice of the poet, sharp-humored posturing and rhythms that echoed folk music and jazz, and the plaint of Simple, the Harlem philosopher who was his best known creation.

The Harpers remained in the house, transferring the title to their son, James Emerson Harper in 1980.  He sold it to Dr. Beverly Prince, an ear, nose and throat surgeon at Harlem Hospital, and her husband, Les Rolfe, five years later.

An automobile sits in front of the stoop of 20 East 127th Street in 1940.  via the NYC Dept of Records & Information Services.

By the 2000s, the vintage brownstone house was showing significant deterioration.  In 2019, Brett Leggs, executive director of the African American Cultural Heritage Action Fund of the National Trust of Historic Preservation, first visited the house.  Seven years, later, on March 19, 2026, The New York Times reported that Dr. Beverly C. Price and the National Trust "are undertaking a meticulous restoration of its timeworn exterior."

(In the meantime, the I, Too Arts Collection had occupied the top three floors from 2016 to 2019.  The group offered to buy the house, but, "Dr. Prince did not want to sell," said The New York Times.)

The ivy that covered the facade in this photograph damaged the surface of the brownstone.  photograph via 6sqft.com

The Times article explained that the restoration is also addressing the cast iron fencing and stoop railings, the brownstone (damaged from decades of clinging ivy), and roof repairs.

The Much Altered John Perrine House - 332 Bowery

photograph by Anthony Bellov

 
In May 1817, James Van Zandt advertised for sale two mares and a "gig, with a leather top and a good set of harnesses."  He directed potential buyers to see him at 332 Bowery-road.  Van Zandt was most likely a long-term resident in the district, because Bowery Road had been officially renamed The Bowery four years earlier.

James Van Zandt possibly leased the property.  It was owned by David S. Jones in 1824 when the latter sold it to John Perrine.  It appears that Perrine simultaneously purchased the lot next door at 330 Bowery.  Within three years, Perrine had erected a three-and-a-half story, Federal style house and shop at 332 Bowery.  Its peaked roof would have been pierced with one or two dormers.

The Perrine family originally moved into 330 Bowery and leased No. 332.  In 1830 the Thompson family occupied the upper portion while Samuel Clark, a trunk maker, was in the shop.

John Perrine moved his family into 332 Bowery as early as 1836.  He operated his butcher shop in the ground floor space, while his two sons, George E. and Robert P., ran a brokerage business at 129 Bowery.  The brothers' venture ended by 1845.  That year George was working in his father's butcher shop and Robert had moved to Brooklyn.

In 1848, William H. Ho0ple purchased the property.  He leased the commercial space to R. Cook & Son for its umbrella store, and the upper portion to Sarah Shumway, who operated a boarding house.  Murville Shumway, possibly a brother, also lived here.  Sarah's initial tenants were William H. and Joseph W. Cook, proprietors of the umbrella shop; and Charles S. and Elizabeth A. Burrell.  Charles was a carpenter and Elizabeth made bonnets.

The shop of R. Cook & Son was supplanted in 1853 by the Wright & Bailey carpet store.  The fact that the location was still far north of the established shopping district was reflected in a slightly ungrammatical Wright & Bailey advertisement in April that year.

Up-Town vs. Down-Town--Two great dissideratums [sic] in the purchase of any article is Price and Quality, and those in pursuit of Carpeting will find no place where they will be better pleased with both than at Wright & Bailey's, No. 332 Bowery, near Bond-st.  Their stock is varied and excellent, and from their low rents they are enabled to deal more liberal with their customers than down-town establishments.

The shop changed hands again in 1857.  Michael A. Egan moved his dry goods store, The Linen Hall, in that year and quickly faced problems.  On June 2, the New-York Tribune reported that a fire in Egan & Co. had started at 9:30 the previous night, "a consequence of some light goods in the show-window coming in contact with a lighted gas-burner."  The article mentioned, "The building, owned by W. H. Hoople, was damaged to the amount of $100."  

Three days later, Egan advertised what today would be called a fire sale.  The title read, "Great Sale of wet goods--$67,000 worth of dry goods damaged by fire, selling at The Linen Hall, No. 332 Bowery."  One wonders if Egan was exaggerating in his ad.  The figure he cited would translate to $2.5 million in 2026.  

Not long after moving into 332 Bowery, Michael A. Egan realized that someone was systematically stealing his inventory.  At one point, he confided about the thefts to Thomas R. Finley, a trusted clerk who had been with him for about a year.  The New York Times said on October 3, 1857 that Egan "consulted with him on the best plan for detecting the culprit."  Finley fingered a clerk and the porter and the two were fired.  But the shrinkage continued.  The New York Times said, "at length suspicion fell on Finley."

Police arrested Finley in the shop on October 2.  "When arrested Finley had concealed in his pockets and about his person several articles, valued at $15," said The New York Times.  When police searched his rooms on Allen Street, they discovered, "$2,000 worth of crape shawls, embroideries, laces, silks, linens and other costly goods."  Finley was charged with sealing $2,915 in goods from his employer--about $111,000 today.

Around 1859, Hoople enlarged the building.  He raised the attic to a full fourth floor and added an extension to the rear.  Modern, Italianate-style cast metal lintels were placed over the openings and a corbeled cornice installed.  Most likely, an up-to-date cast iron storefront was included in the renovations.

The cornice introduced a neo-Grec touch to the renovations.  photograph by Anthony Bellov

The store space became home to B. T. Hardy's, a dry goods emporium operated by Benjamin T. Hardy.  He, too, suffered thievery.  On June 7, 1861, The New York Times began an article saying, "Yesterday morning, Mr. B. F. [sic] Hardy, dry goods dealer, at No. 332 Bowery, discovered that his store had been broken into on Wednesday night and robbed of $2,000 worth of silks and laces."

While modern day detectives resort to forensics like fingerprints and surveillance cameras, mid-19th century investigators relied greatly on instinct.  The article said, "From the manner in which the burglary had been effected, the Detectives felt confident that the delinquents were David Bartlett and John Watson, both noted rogues."  Officers Farley and Eustace barged into the rooms occupied by the the pair in a Thompson Street boarding house.  They discovered Bartlett and Watson with another man, John Williams, "engaged in overhauling, assorting and preparing for sale...the entire proceeds of the burglary."

The New-York Dispatch, December 17, 1865 (copyright expired)

In the meantime, Sarah Shumway's tenants continued to be working class.  Living here at the time of the burglary were Hugh Graham and Theron Rykert, both carpenters.  Both would remain through 1863.

On January 22, 1869, Murville Shumway died in the house at the age of 67.  His funeral was held here two days later.  Sarah Shumway continued to lease the upper portion of the building until about 1870.  

William Hoople next leased the building to German-born Henry N. Markert.  He and his family lived upstairs and Henry's bakery occupied the ground floor.  (In 1876, Markert changed the description of his business from baker to "candy.")  Living with the Markerts were four servants and a boarder Julius Willing, who was a clerk.  Willing would live here from 1870 through 1880.  A second boarder, Charles W. See (sometimes spelled Sy) moved in around 1876.  Like Willing, he was a clerk and would remain through 1880.

By the late 1880s, The Bowery had changed.  German beer gardens and music halls lined the thoroughfare and "bawdy houses" were crammed with “degraded women” and drunkards.  The ground floor of 332 Bowery became Charles T. Krauss's saloon around 1888.  By then, the third and fourth floors had been converted to Krauss's "office."  His application for the renewal of the excise (i.e., liquor) license on March 11, 1890 described:

The premises No. 332 Bowery, now occupied as offices, excepting the second floor of the building, at a yearly rent of $720 and on the same conditions as the present lease; Mr. Charles T. Krauss, lessor.

The annual rent would translate to about $2,000 per month today.

The saloon changed hands rather rapidly.  In 1896, Joseph A. and S. W. Weiss operated it as a "concert garden," called The Auditorium.  The partners touted their operation as "high class vaudeville."

New York Journal, November 24, 1896 (copyright expired)

Although the ads described The Auditorium as being family friendly, reformers and police were not so sure.  On December 15, 1896, The New York Times reported that Ignatz Leppel, Henry Montberger and Samuel Margules had been arrested for the unlicensed sale of cigars and soda.  "They are waiters employed by Joseph A. Weiss, who keeps a concert garden at 332 Bowery."

Another waiter, Sam Aronson, was arrested for a much more serious offense the following year.  He and a confederate, Joseph Winthall, attempted to blackmail wealthy stockbroker S. Duncan Leverich, whose wife had recently died.  They sent a letter on April 14, 1897 that intimated that Leverich had murdered his wife.  It said that the sender had evidence that Mrs. Leverich had died "by foul play."  It demanded cash for the information and was signed, "From your friend, D. Corrock, No. 332 Bowery, saloon, city."

After the third letter arrived, Leverich went to police.  He was given marked bills and Leverich met with Aronson and his comrade.  The two were quickly arrested.

If The Auditorium was, indeed, family friendly, that would change in August 1897 when John H. McGurk purchased the building.  The Irish-born saloonkeeper ran the notorious McGurk's Saloon at 295 Bowery, also known as Suicide Hall.  He paid the equivalent of $1.2 million in todays money for 332 Bowery.  

After being repeatedly arrested, John McGurk jumped bail in 1902 and fled to California with his wife and daughter, reportedly taking along half a million in cash.  Two years earlier, he had sold 332 Bowery to Michael J. Adrian for $28,000.  The two men could not possibly have been more different.  In reporting the transaction, the Record & Guide said on June 2, 1900, "Mr. Adrian is president of the German Exchange Bank, but buys [the property] for his own account.  The building will undergo extensive alterations."

The German Exchange Bank sat next door, at 330 Bowery (aka 54 Bond Street).  Adrian's restoring the saloon space to a respectable business would be beneficial to his bank's reputation and certainly would make his female customers more comfortable in doing business in the bank.  Within weeks of the purchase, Adrian hired architects J. Bockell & Son to renovate 332 Bowery with a new storefront.  The building became home to three makers of "caps and cloth hats"--S. Kraviz & Son, Einhorn & Waldman, and H. Meyerowitz.

In 1941, George M. Adrian, presumably Michael J. Adrian's son, was listed as the owner of 332 Bowery.  The family continued to possess the property until 1963, when it was sold to Seymour Finkelstein.

A glass store occupied the ground floor in 1940.  image via the NYC Dept of Records & Information Services.

Steve's Deli occupied the ground floor in the mid-1980s.  By the turn of the century, the ever-changing Bowery saw the rise of modern apartment and store buildings.  The environment was reflected in the opening of Thai restaurant Godunk in 2025, described by The New York Times food critic Florence Fabricant on December 2 that year, "a room done in beige tile and burgundy leather."

Cast iron piers survive on the sides of the much-altered storefront.  The brick above has been painted, but overall the upper floors look much as they did around 1859 when William Hoople made his significant renovations.

many thanks to historian Anthony Bellov for suggesting this post