The 1817 Lorillard House -- No. 7 Bleecker Street

The sorely-abused house had stood for two centuries.

 Jacobus Roosevelt (who went by the Anglicized name James) not only had a fortune in 1780, he had a college education—having graduated from Princeton that year.  The Roosevelt family traced their American heritage to Claes van Rosenvelt who arrived in New Amsterdam sometime between 1638 and 1649.

Like all wealthy New Yorkers at the turn of the 19^th century, James Roosevelt owned an estate north of the city.  His property in what is now Harlem was the equivalent of 120 city blocks.  But he was also snatching up real estate closer to town, in the still rural areas around Broadway north of Houstoun Street (later renamed Houston Street).   Among his holdings was the plot of land that would be numbered No. 7 Bleecker Street.

In 1813 the first house in the area appeared at Nos. 4 to 8 Bleecker Street.  It was followed in 1816 by a brick-faced residence at No. 7.   It is unclear whether Roosevelt constructed the house, or whether tobacconist George Lorillard did—in either case Lorillard owned the property by the following year.

Clad in Flemish bond brick, the house was an ample three bays wide.  It is doubtful that Lorillard lived in the middle-class home.  In 1821 Jared E. Barite signed a lease on the house; and by 1834 it was home to the Townsends—Phebe, a widow, and her son Daniel who was listed in directories as a clerk.  Two years later the Townsends were still in residence; however they had apparently taken a boarder.   Henry Hayes, a plasterer, was living also here in 1836.

It appears that No. 7 Bleecker would never again be a single family home.  By 1841 Dr. Peter F. Clark shared the house with George W. Tillou, a broker with an office on Wall Street.  The following year two additional tenants were here: William Fero and William H. Albro.  Albro ran a grocery at No. 237 Bowery.

Residents came and went throughout the years, although Peter F. Clark remained at least until 1846.  It is possibly a relative, Harriet L. Clark, who was living here in 1850.  She taught school and earned a salary of $75 a year.

Catherine and George W. Coster had purchased the house in 1840 and in 1854 they increased the revenue-producing space by raising the attic to a full third floor.   The arched openings on this level forewent the more expensive stone lintels in favor of brick; and an up-to-date Italianate cornice was included in the renovations.  Dr. A. W. Jones, a dentist, lived here throughout the construction, which was completed in 1855. 

As the Civil War came to an end, the once-respectable neighborhood was experiencing unwanted change.  In 1865 F. Brill, “segar dealer,” and tailor John Richard were living in No. 7.   But only two doors away at No. 3 Bleecker Street William Sherman ran the Sherman Cottage.  Sherman described his operation as a saloon and “a public place for people to go in and out, to eat and drink.”

Police and neighbors disagreed.  On July 25, 1865 Sherman found himself in court, charged with keeping a disorderly house—the polite Victorian term for a house of prostitution.  The New York Times reported on the trial, saying “It was shown that there were lounges in the rooms; that women would stop men in the street, and after some talk they would retire to the supper rooms, remaining but a short time, not long enough to have a supper cooked, and come out again.”

John Richards was called as a witness.  He testified “to the annoyance the house caused him by women cruising before his door and negotiating with men, and then taking them down to these ‘private supper rooms.’”

Richards would be  back on the stand in another case just a month later.  One of the supervisors of Kings County had been charged with misuse and embezzlement of funds.  On August 9 The Times lamented “Kings County is in tribulation.  Brooklyn has come to grief.  Williamsburgh sits in sackcloth and ashes.  Mr. Charels W. Cheshire, one of the Supervisors of the county—a man of unstained repute, of unblemished character, of political power and social distinction—has been tried by court-martial, convicted of malfeasance in office, sentenced to six months’ imprisonment in the Albany Penitentiary, and mulcted in the sum of $2,000.”

Among the list of merchants called to testify regarding expensive items purchased by Cheshire with ill-gotten money was John Richard.  The suit of clothes he provided to the politician cost $30—in the neighborhood of $450 today.

With its additional story the house accommodated an increased number of boarders, nearly all of German descent.  In 1877 directories listed Edward B. Versfelt, “newsdealer;” Philip Horr, bootmaker; and Jacob Cohen and Isaac M. Pearlstein who not only lived here, but ran their pawnbroker business, Pearlstein & Cohen, in the building.

In 1889 Annie Weinberg and her husband rented rooms in the house.  Annie gave birth to twins on December 10 that year.  Tragically one was stillborn and the other, according to The Evening World, “apparently died a few hours later.”

The newspaper was unexpectedly light-hearted in its reporting, running the sub-headline “Baby Weinberg’s Peculiar Experience With the Grim Conqueror.”   On reporting the second infant’s death, it said “But it revived again for a few moments and then once more life apparently became extinct.”

Deputy Coroner Weston arrived, pronounced the baby alive, and “resuscitated it back to vigorous life again.”    But when a reporter arrived at the house the following morning, he was told that the infant had died.  The Evening World began its report on the tragedy saying “Alas for Coroner Weston’s reputation as a saver of infants’ lives.”

As the turn of the century neared, the area became the center of Manhattan’s fur trade.  In 1898 a Chinese laundry operated out of the first floor of No. 7 Bleecker Street and the first of the building’s furriers, Max Schwartz, had taken space as well.

In 1901 the Fur Trade Review noted that J. & L. Feldman “have located at 7 Bleecker street, where they manufacture fur tails.”   The building was the scene of a fur robbery on December 19, 1903.  By then the building was replete with fur dealers, including Feldman, W. Hecht, I. Wittleman, Davis Wootner, and Joseph Farden.

The former house continued to lease to furriers—as many as eight different firms in 1917—into the 1920s.  A chunky storefront was installed in 1925, designed by Jacob Fisher.  It would be home to a variety of stores for decades, including the Albert Kendell Stationery store.

After decades of use as factory space, the upper floors were returned to residential use in the second half of the 20^th century.  Here New Yorker cartoonist Arnie Levin lived for a time; followed by American photographer Robert Frank.   His photograph entitled New York City, 7 Bleecker Street, September is in the collection of the Metropolitan Museum of Art.

Frank's New York City, 7 Bleecker Street, September -- http://www.metmuseum.org/collection/the-collection-online/search/267188

The historic two-century-old house is more than a bit bedraggled and commands little, if any, attention from passersby.  It is difficult to envision it when it was built, with only one other house on this block in what was essentially still a field.

photographs by the author

The James Roosevelt House -- No. 56 Bleecker Street

The block of Bleecker Street between Broadway and Lafayette Street was on the border of one of Manhattan’s most exclusive neighborhoods in the 1830s—the Bond Street district.  Holding its own with the mansions one block away was No. 64 Bleecker Street.  Completed in 1823, it would be home to Jacobus "James" Roosevelt II, great-grandfather of Franklin D. Roosevelt.  Clad in Flemish bond red brick the house rose three stories below a dormered attic, and handsome paneled lintels of brownstone capped the openings.

Roosevelt was the son of Isaac Roosevelt and the former Cornelia Hoffman.  His great-great-grandfather, Claes Maartenszen Van Rosenvelt was the first of the Roosevelts in the new world.  After graduating from Princeton in 1780, he went into the sugar refining business (his father's occupation) and banking.

He moved into the new house with his third wife, the former Harriet Howland.  His first and second wives had both died.  He and Harriet were married on January 29, 1821.  Although the couple had no children, he had produced 13 from his former marriages.

The Roosevelts remained in their elegant home for decades.  James died on February 6, 1847 and Harriet nine years later, on April 18, 1856.   The following the house was acquired by Dr. Elizabeth Blackwell, the first female physician in the United States.  The ground-breaking woman had begun treating patients in New York in 1851; and in 1854 established the New York Dispensary for Indigent Women and Children on East 15th Street.

Now with the larger accommodations of the former Roosevelt house, she established the first women's hospital in the country, entirely staffed by females.  It was customary for facilities like this to raise money through "fairs" or bazaars.  On December 15, 1857 the "Ladies' Hospital Fair" was opened in the building.  It lasted the entire week.

On February 1, 1859 The New York Herald announced "The trustees of the New York Infirmary for Indigent Women and Children held their fifth annual meeting last night at 64 Bleecker street."  During the previous year 3,072 patients had been treated.  The article reminded readers "Females are taught the practice of medicine in the Infirmary."

Two personal advertisements that year hinted that not all infants survived childbirth.  On September 5, 1859 one read "Wanted--A situation by a very respectable young married woman, with a fresh breast of milk as nurse."  Another appeared in The New York Herald: "Wanted--A situation as wet nurse by a healthy young woman."  Both ads said they could be temporarily seen at 64 Bleecker Street.

In 1860 the trustees of the New-York Infirmary for Indigent Women and Children purchased No. 126 Second Avenue.  The New York Times explained on May 7 that year, "The Dispensary and Infirmary patients are constantly increasing."  The "large and commodious" 25-foot wide home, according to the trustees, was "well adapted for the accommodation of patients."  The hospital moved to that new location the following year.

Bleecker Street was renumbered in 1859, earning the house the new address of 56.  By now the once-elegant Bleecker Street block was far less so.  Wealthy citizens moved northward into Murray Hill and onto Fifth Avenue.  By 1862 the house had been converted to a store on ground level and rented rooms upstairs.

Madame Flora Pinchon ran her upscale ladies’ apparel and accessories shop in the former parlor level.   She was understandably upset when she realized that a black silk mantilla was missing in June 1862.  Its price tag was $55—nearly $1,500 today.

On Monday night, June 9, Madame Pinchon attended the Cremorne Gardens and was stunned when Mary Murray walked in wearing the high-priced mantilla.  Mary was arrested and police warned other shopkeepers that she was just one of a gang.

“It is alleged that there is a large class of cloak and mantilla thieves, who have recently plied their trade with great success in the neighborhood of Canal and Bleecker streets.”

Irish immigrant John Farell was living upstairs at the time.  In 1863 his name was pulled in the Draft Lottery, instituted to increase the numbers of Union soldiers.

By the end of the war Madame Pinchon’s shop was gone, replaced by Edington B. Decker’s piano shop.  But a far more exciting tenant would take over much of the upper floor space in 1874:  The United States Secret Service.

The Secret Service, originally formed to battle counterfeiting, had been in existence since around 1865.  Now it opened a New York City office.  On April 11, 1874 The New York Times wrote “Of the thousands who daily traverse Broadway in the vicinity of Bleecker Street, few, if any, are aware of the close vicinity of an institution whose ramifications, extending from Maine to California, and from Minnesota to Texas, carry terror and defeat into the ranks of outlaws, whose secret haunts no other organization in the land could reach or break up.”

That same year, on July 20, a Times reporter “called on Col. Whitely, at his office, No. 56 Bleecker street.”  The interviewer was interested in a sensational safe burglary at the Office of the United States Attorney General in Washington D. C.; and about rumors that Solicitor Wilson “had recommended that the Secret Service Division should be entirely abolished, on the ground that it was managed with reckless extravagance, and did not, by its results, satisfy the expectations of the Treasury Department.”

H. C. Whitely, who headed up the New York office, was quick to defend his organization.  “Aside from the matters connected with the safe burglary, Mr. Wilson had not made even a superficial examination of either the papers or records of the Secret Service Division; that the examination he had made was certainly not such as would enable him to come to any conclusion in regard to its efficiency, and the amount of the work done, or the character of its disbursements," he told the newspaper.

The safe burglary of the Attorney General’s office was the major case Colonel Whitely and his agents worked on that entire year.  In the meantime, the Secret Service shared the upper floors of No. 56 Bleecker with Porter & Schraidt’s detective agency.

Taxes were levied on alcohol products and to ensure that only the goods for which the taxes had been paid made it to the saloons and liquor stores, revenue stamps were affixed to the bottles.  They sealed the caps so that when the bottles were opened, the stamp was damaged.  A brewer who could get his hands on pristine beer stamps could avoid paying taxes and save himself thousands of dollars.

Early in September 1875 an informant told the private detectives that barber William Pakulski, who lived at No. 154 West Houston Street, “was in possession of a large amount of stolen United States beer stamps.”  The detectives moved in.

They informed the police of their case, then Schraidt became friendly with Pakulski at his shop at No. 529 Broadway.   He hinted to the barber that he was interested in purchasing the stamps, and The New York Times later explained “it was arranged that the stamps should be brought to a wine saloon in the Bowery.”

On September 16 Pakulski went to the saloon.  He called in a boy named Henry Myers who gave the barber a large case.  Outside of the rear entrance on Chrystie Street, Detectives Sullivan of the 10^th Precinct and Schraidt were waiting.   When Henry Myers walked out, he was arrested.  The detectives then nabbed Pakuski inside.

“The valise on being opened was found to contain $4,360 worth of stolen beer stamps,” reported The Times.  The haul would translate to about $95,500 today.

Within the decade the investigative offices would be gone and low-income roomers would occupy the upper floors.   The class of tenant was exemplified by two girls, Jennie Walsh and Maud Mack, who both worked at Kinney’s cigarette factory.  On August 14, 1887 the company organized an employee picnic which both girls attended.  Unfortunately, they were not the paragons of ladylike Victorian demeanor.

Their trouble began when they were arrested on the way home for intoxication and disorderly conduct.  While they sat in the Jefferson Market Court awaiting arraignment, Nellie Tracey approached Jennie.  The woman had been released from the Blackwell’s Island workhouse and celebrated her freedom by getting drunk.  She asked Jennie if she had any snuff.

When Jennie said she did not, Nellie Tracey pulled out a penknife and stabbed Jennie in the right hip, “inflicting a severe wound,” reported a newspaper.  The other women in the holding cell “raised an outcry” and officers disarmed Nellie—who now faced charges of felonious assault.

The incident did not lighten the fates of Maud nor Jennie, however.  The New York Times reported on August 15 “After Jennie’s wound had been dressed she was sent to the House of Detention.  Maud Mack was sentenced to 10 days for intoxication.”

As the turn of the century approached, the garment and millinery district was engulfing the neighborhood and the owner of No. 56 Bleecker Street ceased renting rooms; leasing space instead to small businesses.  In 1890 the ground floor was occupied by S. Meuer & Co., “dealers in artificial flowers.”  Charles Welsker Co. was listed in the building by 1896.  The firm sold feathers—“fancy and military”—to adorn the headwear of fashionable women and the ceremonial hats of military officers.

At the same time the Household Publishing and Printing Company was headquartered here.  But in 1897 the firm was in trouble.  The first signs appeared in April when United States Deputy Marshall Walter Stafford entered the office and arrested Carrington Thompson “on the charge of using the mails for swindling purposes.”  Thompson, it was alleged, sent letters through the mail offering to send a bicycle worth $100 to anyone sending him $45.”   The duped would-be bicyclists complained to authorities when the bikes were never received.

Things only got worse two months later.  The American Stationer reported on June 3 that year that its secretary, John Maclay “charges that the company’s president, Carrington Thomson, has misappropriated some $20,000 worth of the company’s funds and has wrecked the concern.”

Two days later The New York Times reported on a “meeting of the creditors of the Household Publishing and Printing Company, publisher of The Household Magazine…to see if anything could be saved out of the wreck of the concern.”  The newspaper said bluntly “The affairs of the company are in a deplorable condition.”

The building would continue to house garment companies throughout two decades. Ban Shecket “manufacturer of fur lined coats” was here in the 1910s into the 1920s.  On October 31, 1917 the firm purchased 3,250 “muskrat rats” which would be transformed into ladies’ apparel.

By now No. 56 was the last remnant of the elegant residential neighborhood of the 1830s.  The building was overshadowed by hulking factory buildings.  As the 20^th century forgot the Noho neighborhood, the brick house fell into neglect.

The color change at the side is the result of a coat of red paint.

But eventually, as is always the case in Manhattan, the neighborhood changed.  Artists rediscovered the area in the last quarter of the century. The Bleecker Gallery opened in No. 56, lasting here until 1987.  In 1990 the ground floor where Madame Flora Pinchon sold mantillas and cloaks to moneyed female shoppers, became the Bleecker Street Bar which still operates today.

photos by the author