The 1890 Rosemont - 210 West 105th Street

photo by Anthony Bellov

Architect John C. Burne designed two identical apartment buildings in 1889 at 210 and 212 West 105th Street between Amsterdam Avenue and The Boulevard (renamed Broadway in 1899).  Each would cost the developer, Diedrich Tragman, $20,000 to construct, or about $631,000 in 2026.  The outlay was too much for Tragman's resources and on May 10, 1890 was forced to abandon the project.  The buildings were described in court papers as, "two five-story unfinished double flats in process of erection, requiring for the purpose of their completion an expenditure of about six thousand dollars."  (The term "double flat" referred to the configuration of two apartments per floor, east and west.)

The eastern building, 210 West 105th Street, was dubbed the Rosemont.  It and its counterpart were a happy marriage of Romanesque Revival and neo-Grec styles (the former appearing at the first and fifth floors).  The brownstone-framed entrances above short stoops were flanked by paired windows engulfed by vast arches.  Intricate swirling carvings filled the spandrels of the entrances.

Faced in red brick and trimmed in brownstone and terra cotta, the three-story midsections featured neo-Grec-style stone lintels and foliate terra cotta bandcourses and decorative panels.  The elements of the top floors included a dramatic brick arch above two fully arched openings.  It was supported by paired brick pilasters with terra cotta capitals.  A highly unusual pressed cornice with geometric horizontal and vertical lines completed the design.

An early advertisement in the New York Herald described, "Six fine rooms and bath; halls heated; select, small family; every room light; most attractive residence portion in the city.  Rent $23."  The monthly rent would translate to about $820 today.

The tenants were middle class, including Augustus Johnson, a locomotive engineer with The New York Central & Hudson River Railroad; Samuel Hamilton, an engineer with the Consolidated Gas Company, and inspector of buildings and retired police officer Michael Tully.  

Samuel Hamilton was born in 1840 and joined the Consolidated Gas Company in 1877.  He and his wife, Mary Ann, had a son and two daughters.  On the morning of June 3, 1900, he was inspecting the powerful machinery in the company's engine room on West 44th Street when something went terribly wrong.  The New York Times reported, "he was seen to stagger and fall into a pit in which a five-foot fly wheel was making 150 revolutions a minute."  The New York Herald added, "His body was whirled around by the wheel and when the machinery was stopped, he was dead."  Samuel Hamilton's funeral was held in his Rosemont apartment on July 5.

Following his retirement from the Police Department, Michael Tully had turned to construction.  (Incidentally, he received an annual police pension of $600, equal to about $23,500 today.)   In addition to that work, he was appointed an inspector of buildings in 1895.  He was still living here in July 1901 when he broke ground for a six-story brick tenement and store on West 26th Street.

Mary Ann Sullivan was also still occupying her Rosemont apartment that year.  She died on December 2, 1901 and, as had been the case with Samuel, her funeral was held in the apartment two days later.

Like Michael Tully, Daniel Brady was a contractor.  On September 28, 1910, he, his wife and their three children attended a funeral.  Just as their carriage crossed the plaza at Fifth Avenue and 59th Street, it collided with an automobile.  The New York Times reported, "The horses took fright and started south, running straight for the Vanderbilt mansion at Fifty-eighth Street."  

Three carriage drivers--Paul Anderson and George and Joseph Nathan--bolted into action.  The Nathans jumped on either side of the team and Anderson bravely darted "directly in front of the plunging horses to seize the bridle."  Happily for the Brady family, the team was eventually subdued and no one was injured.

Helen Wall Stevenson, who was known to audiences at Helen Cayvan, was described by The Evening World as "a prominent show girl."  She moved into the Rosemont with her two-year-old daughter, Muriel, in 1910.  

Helen Wall Stevenson, The Evening World, January 13, 1911 (copyright expired)

Helen was estranged from her husband, Clarence A. Stevenson, whom she married in 1907.  The Evening World reported, "Young Stevenson created a stir...by marrying Helen Wall Cayvan."  The "stir" had to do with Stevenson's being the step-son of wealthy Dr. Francis J. De Giers, owner of the Hotel Collingwood.  The couple's domestic problems started in May 1910 when, according to Helen, Clarence "deserted her."  Their troubles worsened that autumn when Helen "was found in the company of Kenneth E. Blair, a college student," in a Philadelphia hotel, according to The Evening World.

On the afternoon of January 8, 1911, Helen dropped Muriel off with a Mrs. Cunningham.  When she returned to pick her up, Mrs. Cunningham explained that Clarence Stevenson, his mother and stepfather, had appeared with a "legal-looking document" that purported to be a court order.  They took Muriel with them.  Helen, "evidently in deep distress," said The New York Times, rushed to Police Headquarters and reported that Muriel had been kidnapped by her father.  She was told that the police could not interfere, "as it was the father who was alleged to have aided in the removal of the girl," explained The Times.  Helen was advised "to take the matter to court."

Six months later, on July 11, 1911, The Evening World began an article saying, "There was a new ripple on the choppy matrimonial sea of young Clarence A. Stevenson and his chorus girl wife."  Earlier, newspaperman George Flannery had accompanied Helen to the De Giers' summer home near Sea Gate to serve Stevenson with a subpoena.  He subsequently sued the entire Stevenson-De Giers family for assault.  He testified in court that "after she had served the subpoena, Dr. De Giers, his wife and young Stevenson had assaulted him."  The Evening World reported, "The two men, he said, had struck him in the face and Mrs. De Giers had scratched him."  Dr. Francis De Giers counter-sued, charging that Flannery had "struck him with a cane."

Astoundingly--given the times and Helen's profession and her reported cavorting with a college man--on June 29, 1911, The New York Times reported that the jury had ruled in her favor.  The article added that since her separation, she "had been a member of the Prince of Pilsen company, and had appeared in other Broadway attractions."

image via the NYC Dept of Records & Information Services.

A prominent resident was politician and secretary of the Knights of Columbus, Charles J. Stuart.  When America entered World War I, he went to France as a representative of the Knights of Columbus to boost the morale of the 82nd and 89th Divisions.  His good will trip turned into deadly combat.  The Evening World reported, 

In the Argonne forest, Stewart [sic] said, he went forward with cigarettes, candy and paper for the troops, exhausted his supply, and, as the hand to hand fighting caused his life to be endangered, he secured a gun and fought through the engagement.

Unfortunately, said the newspaper, "he was gassed and sent home."

Charles J. Stuart, The Evening World, February 18, 1919 (copyright expired)

Sadly, shortly after returning to 210 West 105th Street, he and his wife suffered grief.  On December 1, 1919, their daughter Anna Agnes died.  Her funeral was held in the apartment on December 5.

The following year Stuart ran unsuccessfully for assemblyman on the Tammany Hall ticket.

Patrick J. Hurley lived here at the time.  Known as Paddy, he and Daniel and Connie Hurley had opened the Hurley Brothers & Daly saloon at 1240 Sixth Avenue in 1892.  When the Volstead Act was enacted, the headstrong Irishmen simply moved the bar to the rear of their building with an unmarked entrance and installed a florist shop in the front.  They did not fool two especially clever Federal agents, Izzy Einstein and Moe Smith, however.  On May 8, 1922, The New York Times said that the agents "with many disguises" had "unequaled records for trapping violators."  The previous day they had discovered the clandestine bar and slapped a fine on Patrick J. Hurley.

Artist Charles F. Beck lived here in 1924 and within the decade Ben Benn moved in.  Born in Russia in 1884 as Benjamin Rosenberg, he studied drawing and painting at the National Academy of Design from 1904 to 1908.  According to his biography by the Smithsonian Institution, Benn was "best known as a modern painter who assimilated in his early style the influences of Matisse, Picasso, and Kandinsky."  He was living here in 1925 when his first one-man show was held at the J. B. Neumann Gallery.

At midcentury, the neighborhood around 210 West 105th Street had become heavily Hispanic.  Soto Canedo, who worked as a stevedore, lived here in 1949.  On April 22 that year, the Staten Island Advance reported that the 34-year-old "suffered an internal injury yesterday when he fell about 12 feet into a hatch while working...aboard the SS Athenia."  Canedo recovered in Staten Island Hospital.

Vincent Magraner, who lived here in 1960, attended the United Puerto Rican-Hispano Parade on May 15 that year.  The 44-year-old was among 18 persons arrested for "disturbances," as reported by The New York Times.

image via apartments.com

As was the case in 1890, there are still just 10 units in the building.

many thanks to historian Anthony Bellov for suggesting this post

The 1890 Elmhurst Apartments - 212 West 105th Street

 

photo by Anthony Bellov

In 1889, Diedrich Tragman hired architect John C. Burne to design two identical apartment buildings at 210 and 212 West 105th Street between Amsterdam Avenue and The Boulevard (renamed Broadway in 1899).  

Each of the buildings cost Tragman $20,000 (or about $631,000 in 2026) to erect.  Unfortunately, he overextended himself and on May 10, 1890 he was forced to sell the "two five-story unfinished double flats in process of erection, requiring for the purpose of their completion an expenditure of about six thousand dollars," according to court papers later.  The buyer, Frederick M. Littlefield, completed the buildings.  (The term "double flat" referred to the configuration of two apartments per floor, east and west.)

The western building, 212 West 105th Street, was called the Elmhurst Apartments.  Like its architectural sibling, it was a happy marriage of Romanesque Revival and neo-Grec styles (the former appearing at the first and fifth floors). Paired windows on the first floor were engulfed by vast arches.  They flanked the brownstone-framed entrance above a short stoop.  Intricate swirling carvings filled its spandrels.

Faced in red brick and trimmed in brownstone and terra cotta, the three-story midsection featured neo-Grec-style stone lintels, foliate terra cotta bandcourses and decorative panels.  The elements of the top floor included a dramatic brick arch above two fully arched openings.  It was supported by paired brick pilasters with terra cotta capitals.  A highly unusual pressed cornice with geometric horizontal and vertical lines completed the design.

photograph by Anthony Bellov

Each apartment held "six large, light rooms," according to an advertisement.  They rented for $25 a month, or about $1,000 today.  Among the initial tenants were builder and contractor Ernest Wetterer, and New York Life Insurance Company agent Silas E. Pearsall.

The middle-class residents were affluent enough to afford domestic help.  An advertisement in the New York Herald on January 18, 1893, read: "Housework--a girl, 16 to 17, to help with housework and washing; wages $5 or $6.  Mrs. Garrison, 212 West 105th st."  The higher figure would translate to about $215 today.  

Mary and H. D. Hubener purchased 212 West 105th Street in August 1906.  Two months later, "a heap of kerosene-soaked rags was found in the cellar," reported The New York Times, which said the "attempt to burn the building was reported to the police, but they were unable to get a clew to the firebug."  Mary Hubener had her suspicions, though.  She and her husband had previously owned an apartment house where they were harassed by a "woman firebug."  

The vengeful arsonist had only started, however.  A few months later, The Brooklyn Citizen reported, "The tenants of the house...had about forgotten this fire when on Dec. 1 another blaze was discovered among some furniture in the cellar.  Three days later this was discovered ablaze again, and the terror began to seize upon the tenants."

At 8:45 on the night of December 6, 1906, another rubbish fire was discovered in the cellar of the building and four nights later another was set in the hallway.  On January 7, 1907, the New York Herald reported on yet another fire, saying, "This was the fifth fire of undoubted incendiary origin that had been discovered in the house within two weeks."  On the same day, The Brooklyn Citizen reported that police "got information to-day that a woman firebug" was bent on destroying "the handsome ten-family apartment house."  Mary Hubener told the police the woman's name.  

The New York Herald added, "the place has a reputation of being a hoodoo house."  (The term meant it was cursed.)  Mary Hubener told a reporter from The Brooklyn Citizen, "These fires have about ruined me.  Nobody will live in the house."  The New York Herald reported that the repeated attempts to burn the building resulted in its being "almost deserted by its tenants.  Three of ten families were left and these had given notice of their intention to take an early departure."

The Hubeners apparently gave up.  On April 30, 1907, The New York Times reported that they had sold the building.  The fires ceased.

212 West 105th Street (right) is identical to its neighbor at 210.  via the NYC Dept of Records & Information Services.

Somewhat shockingly for the times, 26-year-old Florence Sohmer lived here on her own in 1911.  On the evening of August 6 that year, three teenaged males knocked on her door "with a letter purporting to come from a friend," as reported by The Evening World.  While she started reading the letter, one of them pulled out a revolver, "while another hit her over the head with a blackjack," said the article.  Florence Sohmer screamed, frightening her assailants and causing them to flee.  Florence's shrieks had alerted passersby.  The Evening World said the men "ran, with a crowd following into Morningside Park."  The trio, whose ages ranged from 17 to 19, were later captured.

Living here around the time was French-born Marie Escande and her daughter, Charlotte.  Marie worked as the companion of wealthy widow Dorcas Knox Braisted, who lived in the Hotel Gotham on Fifth Avenue.  Mrs. Braisted died at her summer home in White Plains on March 24, 1925.  The New York Times reported, "Mme. Marie Escande of 212 West 105th Street...will receive an annuity of $1,800."  The annual windfall would equal more than $32,000 today.

A tenant named Thylstrup also worked for himself.  Moving in around 1915, he remained here into the 1920s.  His advertisements over the years never changed: "Painter, paperhanger, kalsominer, first class; has tools; reasonable."  (A skilled craftsman, a kalsominer applied kalsomine to ceilings, resulting in a matte finish.)

A replacement door sits within the carved brownstone frame.  photo by Anthony Bellov

There are still just two apartments per floor in the building that lost its name decades ago.  Other than a shocking coat of bright turquoise paint on the cornice, little has changed externally to the 135 year old building.

many thanks to historian Anthony Bellov for suggesting this post

John C. Burne's 1884 107 and 109 East 89th Street

 

In December 1883, developer William Henderson hired architect John C. Burne to design two identical flat buildings at 107 and 109 East 89th Street just east of Fourth Avenue (renamed Park Avenue in 1888).  Completed in August 1884, each had cost Henderson $21,000 to construct (about $659,000 in 2024 terms).

Burne faced the neo-Grec style buildings in red brick above a stone base.  The lintels of the second, fourth and fifth floors held hands by a continuous stone bandcourse.  The earred lintels of the third floor were decorated with incised vines and rosettes, typical of the style.  Burne added interest with dog-tooth brick panels between the fourth and fifth floor windows.  The handsome neo-Grec cornices included raised fascia panels.  (Interestingly, the Italianate style cast iron balcony-fire escapes are a stark contrast to the geometric, neo-Grec architecture.)

With years to go before the Carnegie Hill district would become fashionable, the buildings were home to working class families.  Among the earliest in 107 East 89th Street was the Murphy family.  They panicked when their small son, John, showed symptoms of smallpox.

The highly contagious disease was battled by the city with an aggressive vaccination campaign.  When a case was discovered, the house or apartment was disinfected and the family members quarantined.  Many immigrant families, ill-educated on the reasons behind the procedures and their effects, attempted to hide the illness.  Fearful, the Murphys fled with their boy.  The New York Times reported on January 26, 1887, "The child, John Murphy, who was spirited away from No. 107 East Eighty-ninth-street, was taken to Anthony Dunn's, on the King's Bridge road."

The little boy died of the disease in the friends' Bronx home.  The New York Times said, "His father reported the case yesterday, and the necessary scarifying [i.e., vaccination] was performed on him and members of the Dunn family, and the body was treated with corrosive sublimate and put into a hermetically sealed coffin."

Among the Murphys' neighbors were John O. Lind, his wife Hilda, and their two-year-old daughter Ida.  A son, Charlie, was born in May 1888.  The Linds had immigrated from Sweden in 1884.  In August 1888, Hilda took her two children aboard the Danish liner Geiser headed to Sweden.  The New York Times explained, "She was on the way to Carlshamn, Sweden, to visit her mother, whom she had not seen since she left home."  It would also be the first meeting of the Lind children and their grandmother.  What was to be a joyful reunion turned into terror and grief.

At 4:00 on the morning of August 9, the Geiser collided with another Danish steamship, the Thingvalla.  The New York Times reported that Hilda, who was 28 years old, and the children were "all sound asleep when the crash came, little Ida in an upper berth and the mother and her babe just below."  Hilda peered into the corridor, asking the panicked passengers what had happened.  "One of the stewards told her to fly for the deck, that the ship was sinking," said the article.

Hilda asked him to carry one of the children to the deck, but he did not answer and moved on.  The New York Times said, "Several other men were in the passage, and to them she also appealed for help, but they paid no attention to her, all hurrying past to the companion way, up which they disappeared."  Hilda picked up her three-month-0ld son, took Ida by the hand, and headed out.  A man rushing past knocked Ida to the floor, ignoring Hilda's pleas for him to help.  Carrying the baby in one arm and Ida by the waist in the other, Hilda attempted to climb up to the deck.

The ship was quickly filling with water.  "At the companionway a steward appeared," recounted the article, "and the almost frantic woman asked him to carry the little girl up stairs.  He did not heed her, but scrambled up stairs."  Somehow, Hilda managed to reach the deck with her children.  All around was chaos with women screaming and some passengers jumping from the ship's railings.  A week later, The New York Times would report the ship "went down in a few minutes with 105 persons, 72 being passengers, including several children."

Hilda's brother-in-law, Olaf Lind, told reporters that Hilda, "had been on deck but a few moments when the water swept over it, and she remembers no more until she was picked up and taken on board the Thingvalla.  She thought at first that the children were also saved, but soon afterward learned they were lost."

Living next door were the well-known newspaper man John Edward Parker Doyle (known by his first initials, "Jep") and his wife.  Born in Williamsville, New York in 1837, he started his journalistic career at the age of 13.  During the Civil War he had the dangerous job of war correspondent.  According to the New York Herald, "In the campaign against [Joseph] Shelby and [John T.] Coffee, who, in 1863, invaded Mississippi, he was wounded by the guerillas and was captured by them."

His "narrative of Sherman's March to the Sea," according to the New York Herald, "occupied nearly two pages of that newspaper on December 22, 1865.  He worked for the newspaper until his retirement in 1885.  On February 5, 1888, The New York Times reported that the venerable reporter had died of gastritis in his apartment here.

John and Martha Dittmeyer were married in 1897 and lived at 109 East 89th Street.  John was a wagon driver and he and Martha had a baby boy in September 1899.  Dittmeyer's sister lived directly across the hall from the couple.

On February 23, 1900, Martha asked her sister-in-law to watch the baby, and went out.  She was not home when John came home from work, and did not return until around midnight.  John accused her of being unfaithful.  He locked her out of the bedroom, "telling her to go where she came from," said the Times Union.  "She pleaded for a look at the baby but Dittmeyer shut the door in her face."  A few minutes later, Dittmeyer heard screams and found his 20-year-old wife on the kitchen floor.  The Democrat & Chronicle reported, "Martha Dittmeyer took carbolic acid with suicidal intent at 2 o'clock this morning and died an hour later at the Presbyterian hospital."

Another tragic suicide occurred next door the following year.  Sadie Goldstein had experienced more than her share of grief.  At 48 years old, she was a widow and, according to the New York Sun, "her father was killed by robbers in Russia years ago."  She lived here with her 12-year-old daughter and 16-year-old son.  Sadie had been ill for some time and "the family depended entirely on the small earnings of the son," said the newspaper.

In the summer of 1901, Sadie told neighbors in the building "that her husband's spirit had appeared to her in dreams and told her that he was happy in the other world and desired her to join him."  She told them, "she felt as if she might."  On July 11, while her son was at work and her daughter was away, Sadie Goldstein committed suicide by inhaling gas in her apartment.

Thomas Ivory, who lived in 107 East 89th Street in 1905, was a street car conductor.  On the afternoon of July 23 that year, he got into an altercation with another conductor, Matthew Lawlor.  The New York Times reported, "They left the rear end of a Columbus Avenue car to settle a dispute with fists."  Policeman White watched them for a few minutes, according to the article, "and then interfered."  He quickly regretted it.

The two conductors forgot their differences and turned on the policeman, knocking him down and taking his club.  Luckily for White, Captain Cooney happened upon the scene.  With his help, the two conductors were overpowered and arrested.  Nevertheless, White was the loser in the affray.  The New York Times reported he "had to report sick after his wounds had been dressed at Roosevelt Hospital."

In 1911, apartments in 107 were being rented furnished by the week.  An advertisement in the New York Evening Telegram listed the rent at "$6.50 weekly" with "gas, bedding."  (The weekly rent would translate to about $215 today.)

While the majority of the tenants in both buildings were blue collar, that was not the case with Charles Pratt Huntington who lived at 109 West 89th Street by 1912.  Born in Logansport, Indiana in 1871 and educated at Harvard and the Ecole des Beaux Arts in Paris, Huntington was an architect.  His most notable work was the monumental Audubon Terrace complex, the first stage of which was designed in 1904.

While living here, Huntington was selected as a jury member on the sensational murder trial of "the four gunmen, 'Dago' Frank Cirofici, 'Lefty' Louie Rosenberg, 'Whitey' Lewis and 'Gyp' the Blood Horowitz," as reported by the New-York Tribune on November 12, 1912.  Selecting a jury for the dangerous gangsters had not been easy.  It required hours of interviewing 122 prospective jurors before 12 were chosen.  "Dago" Frank Cirofici sniffed at the panel, saying "We'll all be eating Thanksgiving turkey at home."

Thirty-eight-year-old Joseph Golway, who lived in 107 East 89th Street in 1933, was a chauffeur.  And he came to his current employer, Grace Wilson of 3 East 63rd Street, with a sterling resume.  He had been chauffeur for Franklin D. Roosevelt when he was Governor of New York, for Governor Nathan Lewis Miller, and for millionaire J. P. Morgan.

But Golway and Grace Wilson had a serious disagreement on the evening of September 2, 1933.  He was driving Wilson home from Katonah, New York that evening.  He told the court, "I wanted something to eat.  I was hungry."  Grace Wilson wanted to proceed directly to Manhattan.  Golway explained, "We had a dispute.  I admit I had one drink."

According to Grace, Golway "used abusive language and threatened to strike her."  She called a policeman, who confirmed that Golway called her a bum.  In court, Golway argued, "There are several meanings for the word.  What is yours, your honor?"

Magistrate Greenspan replied, "You'll find out where I'm going to send you."  

image via the NYC Dept of Records & Information Services

Joseph Fearon was the superintendent of 109 East 89th Street in 1973 and lived in a first floor apartment.  Born in Ireland, he was a semi-retired estate lawyer.  Although he was 75 years old, Fearon was a formidable protector of the tenants.  A tenant told The New York Times there had been "quite a few muggings right in this building," and the doorman next door said, "I once saw him throw some fellow out of his building because he was trouble and didn't belong there."

On December 15, 1973, Fearon left the building to buy groceries.  Around 2:50, a tenant discovered his body in the lobby, his groceries spilled on the floor around him.  He had been shot in the head.  Police suspected he was the victim of an attempted mugging.

Surrounded by swanky 20th century apartment buildings, John C. Burne's Victorian flat buildings look a bit out of place--reminders of a time when the 89th Street block east of Park Avenue was home to working class families.

photographs by the author

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

John C. Burne's 1890 260 West 17th Street

On August 1, 1889 William C. Burne purchased the two two-story wooden houses at Nos. 258 and 260 West 17th Street from Newman Cowen, paying $18,000 for both properties.  He had big plans for the site.  His architect, John C. Burne (possibly a relative) filed plans for a five story "brick flat" to cost $37,500.  The total expense of the project including property would equal $1.58 million today.

Burne produced an exuberant blend of materials and styles.  Clad in yellow brick, it was lavishly ornamented with brownstone and terra cotta.  The architect's recipe of Queen Anne, Renaissance Revival and Romanesque Revival styles resulted in a striking architectural concoction.

Creative brickwork appeared in the faux fluting of the upper piers and remarkable stepped corbels below the cornice (now sadly lost).  But terra cotta stole the show in foliate bands and panels, chain motifs, Corinthian capitals and the sumptuous spandrel of the top floor arch.   Here a central portrait of Mercury was flanked by roses, cornucopia and swirling vines.

Impressive now, the upper section must have been more so when the cornice was in place.

Although its tenants were respectably middle-class, the building quickly appeared in news articles for less than favorable reasons.  It started with one of the original residents, 34-year old William H. Buttner, a lawyer.

Buttner moved into No. 260 in August 1890, just after its completion.  He opened his law office at No. 322 Broadway with partner William D. Hughes in January 14, 1888.  The firm specialized in divorce cases.  The Press noted "They advertised extensively that they were able to secure 'divorces without publicity,' and were soon overrun with clients."  The partnership fell apart before the year was out.

Buttner was at Koster & Bial's music hall on Christmas Eve 1890 "in a full dress suit" when officers arrested him.  He spent Christmas in jail, thus attired, and appeared in the Jefferson Market Police Court on December 26.  Also there was his former partner, William D. Hughes, who testified against him in damning detail.  The scandalous story was covered across the country.

The Fort Worth Daily Gazette reported on December 27 that "William H. Buttner, manufacturer of bogus divorces, has been entangled by the statements of his former partner."  Hughes told the court about taking money from clients who never received a divorce.  The Press added "The pair did not devote all their time to divorce cases, but also presented civil suits and by deceit and forgery robbed their poor clients."

Buttner was so enraged by his former partner's testimony that he snarled at him "I ought to go to the state prison for something else besides being associated with you--I'd rather go there for homicide."  Both he and Hughes were sentenced to terms of five to seven years in state prison.

While Mr. and Mrs. Bucklow were in Europe during the summer of 1891, Mrs. Bucklow's brother occupied their flat.  On his birthday, a group of friends surprised him with a party.

Living directly below was Mrs. Myra Stevens.  There had already been problems between her and her upstairs neighbors.  She long suspected Mrs. Bucklow of purposely tossing dirty dish water out her window onto her drying clothes.  The birthday party was apparently the last straw.  When the Bucklows returned home, Mrs. Stevens took them to court.

On September 4 the New York Herald reported that Myra, "a tall, expensively dressed blonde, in Jefferson Market police Court, yesterday afternoon, complained that Mrs. Bucklow, who lives in the same apartment house at No. 260 West Seventeenth street, was constantly throwing dirty water on her rugs and clothing."  Myra Stevens was dressed to impress the judge.  She "wore a quantity of valuable diamonds.  A magnificent crescent glistened at her neck and she wore a pair of brilliant eardrops."

She testified that when she had complained about the ruined laundry, "Mrs. Bucklow told her the dirty water was only a sample of what she might expect."  And she threw in the party, embellishing a bit.  The New York Herald reported that she accused Mrs. Bucklow's brother of "entertaining ladies and gentlemen and made sleep to the other tenants impossible by the noise.  They made a practice of hoisting beer up on the fire escape by means of a rope."

Mrs. Bucklow denied the charges, although she admitted that perhaps dirt from her flower pots might have fallen onto her neighbor's laundry.  "She said the complainant made trouble continually for the tenants, that the house did not seem to be good enough for her."  The exasperated judge "advised the ladies to settle their grievances out of court," concluded the article.

Elizabeth M. Styles was living in the building at about the same time.  A devote Roman Catholic, she worshiped at the Church of the Blessed Sacrament, far north on Broadway at 71st Street.  But as 1894 drew to an end, Elizabeth began showing signs of mental instability.  She began going to the church in the morning, and spending the day there without eating or drinking anything.  Friends and parishioners tried to discourage her but, according to The Evening Telegram, "She listened to no remonstrances and declared that it was necessary for her religious well being that she spend most of her time in the sanctuary."

Elizabeth's obsession worsened and on the night of February 5, 1895 when it came time to close the church, the 50-year old woman refused to leave.  After being "turned out," as worded by the newspaper, "instead of going to her home, she went to the West Sixty-eighth street [police] station and declared that she must remain there."  Captain Gallagher sent for her nephew, Gilbert Jackson, who explained that his aunt "was well connected, but had long acted strangely and her friends could do nothing with her."  Elizabeth was held in the station overnight and then taken to the Yorkville Police Court "to be examined as to her sanity."

Terra cotta details include leafy bands and exotic panel decorations.

In the summer of 1906 two Boston lovebirds, George Forsythe, a bellboy, and May McCormack, a telephone operator, ran away and took an apartment in the 17th Street building.  They were both 22-years old, so were not legally answerable to their parents.  The problem was that they took "cash and clothes belonging to the girl's mother," as reported by The Sun on August 6.  "All told, the mother said, she was a loser to the amount of $350."  That would amount to about $10,300 today.

Boston police sent a telegram to New York with a description of the culprits.  Detectives tracked them down to West 17th Street.  The Sun reported "The youngsters said they came down here to get work, and that after they got settled they intended to get married."

Teen-aged Joseph Collins continued the string of unflattering press in 1924.  At around 9:30 on the night of May 15 Patrolman Daily noticed 15-year old Arthur Klebbe walking along West 14th Street.  There was nothing suspicious about the boy, but two hours later he passed the cop again, this time "carrying a huge bundle," according to The Sun.  Daily stopped him and asked what he was carrying.  Inside the bundle were five fur coats.

At the station house Collins confessed everything.  The coats were part of the total heist of ten stolen from the Arnold Cloak Company on Sixth Avenue.  Collins quickly identified his two accomplices, 17-year old Joseph Collins and 18-year old Edward Murphy.  When police checked arrested Collins at No. 260 West 17th Street, they found the other five coats under his bed.

A renovation completed in 1936 resulted in two apartments per floor.  Among the new residents were William and Jean Shockley, who paid $60 per month rent for the two-bedroom apartment (about $1,100 today).  The couple had married in August 1933 and had a baby daughter, Alison, born in March the following year.

William Bradford Shockley, Jr.'s biographer, Joel N. Shurkin, in his 2008 Broken Genius, described the apartment:

The house was attractive and well kept; the kitchen and bath tiled and as modern as any apartment they visited; and high ceilings and tall windows let in a warm stream of diffuse light.  Visitors entered into a central hall.  The living room was on the left and the bedrooms were in the back of the apartment, behind a dining area.

William Bradford Shockley, Jr. photo by Chuck Painter, Stanford News Service

Shockley was a physicist and inventor.  He would go on to research radar at Bell Labs in Manhattan during World War II and worked on Columbia University's Anti-Submarine Warfare Operations Group.  In 1956 he an two other scientists were awarded the Nobel Prize in Physics and work in developing the transistor resulted in the formation of California's Silicon Valley.

Perhaps the most shocking news story to come out of the building happened in March 1954 when Federal agents arrested 47-year old Mrs. Joan Kaufmann, an unemployed cosmetician.  Joan's neighbors most likely could not have suspected she was part of a major narcotics ring.  She had been under continuous surveillance by investigators for months before her arrested in her apartment on March 5.  Her accomplice, Saul Gelb, was arrested at an apartment on East 56th Street which "he had rented for the purpose of processing narcotics."  Agents also seized more than $2 million in drugs.

There are still just two apartments per floor in the building.  Sadly the cornice was lost during the 20th century; but overall John C. Burne's eye-catching design is little changed.

photographs by the author

The Wm. W. Dashiell House - 848 St. Nicholas Avenue

The glass in the bowed bay was originally curved, to conform to the shape.

Architect John C. Burne had worked with developer Frederick Aldous several times before the spring of 1893.   The employee-employer relationship would be slightly changed now, with the Real Estate Record & Guide reporting on April 22 that year "A company of capitalists has been formed under the name of Aldous Taylor Building Co., with Frederick Aldous as president, for the purpose of building a large number of first class cut stone private dwelling houses."  Partnering with Aldous in the new firm was another prolific developer, William H. Taylor.  The article noted that John C. Burne was already "engaged on the drawings" for several of those houses, "on St. Nicholas avenue, north of 152d street."

The Sugar Hill neighborhood was already developing into one of impressive rowhouses and splendid free-standing residences.  The Aldous Taylor Building Co.'s project would slip seamlessly into the upscale district.

Completed in 1894, the 21-foot wide homes were identical; their only differences found in the elaborate Renaissance-inspired carvings and the stained glass transoms.  Like the others, No 848 rose three stories above a high English basement.  Clad entirely in brownstone, it featured a rounded, full-height three-window bay.  The parlor level, including the entrance flanked by fluted, engaged columns which supported a prominent hood, bore a profusion of ornate carvings.

What the upper floors lost in somewhat diminished carvings, they made up for with striking neo-Renaissance pediments, and a half-bowl element beneath a third-floor opening.  The pressed metal cornice featured diminutive brackets and a decorative frieze. 

No. 848 was purchased by the estate of Philip Detar, apparently as an investment property.  Administered by Susie T. Lyons, it initially leased the home to druggist John Ewing, a member of the American Pharmaceutical Association.

John and his wife, Grace, had two daughters, Eleanor and Katharine.  Grace was highly involved in the Burnham Farm, an independent facility where delinquent New York City boys were sent in lieu of a reformatory.  The socialites with whom she worked came from the top levels of society, with names like Townsend, Goodridge, Oothout and Choate.

The Ewings were possibly given the opportunity to purchase the house in 1897; but if so they declined.  Instead Susie T. Lyons sold it on October 5 to William Wailes Dashiell and his wife, the former Katherine Townsend Keynton (who was known as Kittie).  

Born in 1856 in Maryland, Dashiell earned his engineering degree in 1879 from the Stevens Institute of Technology in Hoboken, New Jersey.  He had held a series of important engineering positions--including mechanical engineer on the Croton Aqueduct--before becoming president and general manager of the New York Lubricating Oil Company.  By the time he purchased No. 848, he was also vice-president of the Bayway Refining Company and a director of the Manhattan Rubber Manufacturing Company.

The couple had four children, 10-year old Marie Fielding; 8-year old William Allair; Katherine Keynton, who was four; and two-year old John Jay.  The Dashiell's 44-acre country estate, Croftleigh, was in Greenwich, Connecticut.  The New-York Tribune described Croftleigh as consisting of "a residence, a model concrete stable, included in which is a ballroom with musicians' gallery, a large garage with extensive servants' quarters and the usual other outbuildings.  Among the features of this place is a lake of about one acre, fed by springs on the property."  

Kitty Dashiell, of course, had a domestic staff to maintain the household.  Chambermaids took care of the dusting, sweeping and polishing.  But the cleaning of the Oriental rugs in the days before efficient vacuum cleaners required outside help.  And so Kitty hired rug beater Christopher Robertson to come by on February 6, 1903.  

Robertson had not gotten very far along before a neighbor peered out her window and witnessed a crime.  February 6th was a Friday and city laws specifically outlawed carpet beating on Fridays.  She ventured onto the street and found Policeman Minogue and had Robertson arrested.

The tranquil St. Nicholas Avenue block was nearly traffic-free around 1910.  photo by Thaddeus Wilkerson from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York

The culprit was taken before Magistrate Crane in the Harlem Court.  The judge found the entire affair exasperating and confessed that, technically, he was guilty of the violation as well.  He announced, "I have my carpets beaten every Friday.  There are lots of laws that can't be enforced and this is one of them.  It would cost the city millions of dollars to enforce it.  What's a person to do if he can't beat his carpets?  He can't leave them on the floor until they are filled with dust and then throw them away."  He turned to Robertson and declared "You are discharged."

By 1914 well-heeled citizens were replacing their horse-drawn carriages with automobiles.  That year William Dashiell registered a new Lozier.  His purchase was not inexpensive.  The list price of a Lozier touring car that year was $2,800, or about $72,600 today.

The Dashiell family rode about in a touring car similar to this 1914 Lozier model. (copyright expired)

Growing older and with their children all grown, in 1919 William and Kittie apparently rethought the need for their sumptuous summer estate.  Following the summer season that year the Dashiells sold Croftleight.  The New-York Tribune reported on November 13, 1919 that "The buyer, who is from Texas, withholds his name for the present."

It may have also been Kitty's health that prompted the decision.  Three months later, on February 25, 1920, she died in the St. Nicholas Avenue house.  Her funeral was held in the drawing room three days later.  

William Dashiell remained at No. 848 at least through 1922.  He died on August 2, 1947.  By then the St. Nicholas Avenue neighborhood had noticeably changed and No. 848 was being operated as a rooming house.

The Dashiell house is second from the right in the row.

Among the tenants in 1940 was 27-year old Gordon Osborne.  On the night of November 14 he was passing the home of Harold Furchein at No. 141 West 150th Street when Furchein's automobile caught his eye.  And so he drove off with it.

Osborn picked up some friends and took them on a ride.  But when he ran two red lights on Broadway, he was arrested.   He admitted stealing the car and his friends were released after he vouched that they were unaware it was a stolen car.

Leroy Frederic Florant took a room here around 1943.  Born in 1920 he had graduated cum laude from Howard University's School of Engineering and Architecture.  He went on to study at the graduate level at Columbia University.  While living here he was working for the Government on the now-famous Manhattan Project, which developed the United States' first nuclear weapons.

In 1946 Florant left New York to work at the Rocket Research Laboratory at Ohio State University.  While there he developed the first successful hydrogen-liquid oxygen rocket fuel pump.

By 1964 the basement level of No. 848 had been converted to Ann's Beauty Salon.  Ann Johnson advertised her shop as being air-conditioned and in a "choice location."

In the meantime attorney Isaac G. McNatt operated his office in the former parlor level.   Born in North Carolina in 1916, he had graduated from the Hampton Institute and St. John's Law School, and served in the Navy in World War II.  

The multi-faceted lawyer, who lived in Teaneck, New Jersey, used his office space for a myriad of other activities.  It was the headquarters of the New York Hampton Alumni Club, for instance.  He was, as well, a leader in the Martin Luther King, Jr., Association.  The N.Y. Amsterdam News noted on July 12, 1969 that those interested in membership should write Mr. Isaac McNatt, 848 St. Nicholas Avenue.

That year the house was officially converted to an apartment house and business.  The completed renovations resulted in the now-legitimate beauty salon in the basement, McNutt's legal office on the first floor, two apartments on the second, and one apartment and three furnished rooms on the third floor.

The indefatigable Isaac G. McNatt maintained his office here into the 1980's.  In the meantime, in 1962 he was one of a group of Black attorneys who formed "The Barristers," the goal of which was "to address how to project a positive image of the African American attorney in the community, as well as expanding and building their practices."  McNatt was that group's first president.  Its name was changed to the Garden State Bar Association in 1975.

McNatt's dizzying career continued when, in 1966, he became the first Black Teaneck City Councilman, was elected that city's deputy major in 1970, and in 1982 was appointed by Governor Brendon Byrne to serve as a judge in the Worker's Compensation Court.

Isaac McNatt's former office was offered for rent in March 1985.  An advertisement in the N.Y. Amsterdam News described it as a "Beautiful spacious office space, ideal [for] lawyer."  It was not an attorney who signed the lease, but Gordon R. Watkins, president of Root Sights & Sounds, Ltd, a private foundation.  

That firm soon moved to Flushing, Queens, and the space became home to the headquarters of The Renaissance Concert Series.

Through it all, other than replacement windows, the exterior of the Dashiell house has survived nearly unchanged since the time when wealthy families hired professional rug beaters--occasionally to the annoyance of nosy neighbors.

photographs by the author