The Thomas L. Camerden House - 69 West 83rd Street

 

John Jardine was a partner with his brother David in the architectural firm D. & J. Jardine.  The firm was prolific in designing rows of speculative homes in the late 19th century, especially on the Upper West Side.  On March 31, 1884 John opted to sidestep the real estate developers who normally commissioned the firm, and purchased the 50-foot-wide vacant lot at 65 through 69 West 83rd Street from Charles H. Holt for $14,500--more than $410,000 in 2023 terms.

Jardine divided the parcel into three 16-foot-wide building plots rather than the perhaps more expected two.  In June, D. & J. Jardine filed plans the three "four-story brown stone dwellings," each to cost $12,000.  John Jardine's investment now topped 1.4 million in 2023 dollars.

The Jardines tweaked their plans before ground was broken and the houses were faced in red brick rather than the more expensive stone.  Completed in 1885, the westernmost dwelling, 69 West 83rd Street, stood out with its three-story angled bay that added square footage, light and ventilation to the interior.  Like its fraternal siblings, its openings were framed in brownstone, and the fourth floor took the form of a Flemish Renaissance Revival gable fronting a slate-shingled mansard.

John Jardine sold 69 West 83rd Street to George Valliant in 1885.  A real estate operator, it does not appear he ever lived in the home, but leased it.  By 1898 the Thomas Camerden family occupied the house.

Camerden was associated with the express firm Van Oppen & Co.  He and his wife, Alice, had two children, Beatrice and Henry B.  Henry was studying medicine when the family moved in.  

The Camerdens' country estate, Treason Hill, was a historic property.  The house on the property was built around 1770 by Thomas Smith.  His son, Joshua Hett Smith, was an acquaintance of General Benedict Arnold and in September 1780 the Smith estate was the scene of a meeting between Arnold and Major John André, which later earned the estate its name.  The following year, from August 20 to 25, 1781, George Washington used it as his headquarters.

Treason Hill, The Picturesque Hudson 1915 (copyright expired)

Beatrice was married to Gustav A. Recknagel in the West End Collegiate Church on October 3, 1900.  The Daily Standard Union called it "one of the large weddings of the early fall," and noted that the Camerdens had issued "over 700 invitations" to the reception.  Following their honeymoon, the newlyweds moved into the West 83rd Street house.

On April 15, 1900, Camerden advertised Treason Hill for sale "at great sacrifice."  Noting the six-acre estate included a "lodge, carriage house, bowling alley, [and] hennery," the ad suggested it was an "ideal place for private school or sanitarium."  The decision to sell was possibly a hint of financial problems within the family.

The family seems to have rented summer accommodations after that.  On July 5, 1902, the New York Herald announced, "Mr. and Mrs. Thomas L. Camderden, of No. 69 West Eighty-third street, and their son-in-law and daughter, Mr. and Mrs. Gustave A. Recknagel, will spend the summer at Greenport, L.I."

Henry did not come along, possibly because he had graduated dental school that year.  He opened his office in his parents' house, presumably in the basement level.  

At the end of the summer social season, Alice and Beatrice busied themselves with social activities.  On December 16, 1902, for instance, Beatrice assisted her mother in receiving at a "large progressive euchre party," as described by the New York Herald.  The article said it "proved a delightful affair."

Camerden's financial problems came to a climax when he lost his job in 1904.  Saying that he "was formerly in the express business," on November 20, The New York Times reported that he had declared bankruptcy.

The West 83rd Street house was purchased by real estate operators N. & L. Ottinger.  The family who rented it from the Ottingers took in a boarder in 1906.  Charles B. Poor was an agent for the Alcom Publishing Company.  He was separated from his wife and child, a situation that apparently weighed heavily on him.

At dusk on January 6, 1907 Poor went to the pier on the Harlem Canal at 221st Street.  The New York Times reported that three men on a stone scow "were smoking their after-dinner pipes when Poor came to the canal out of the gathering darkness and jumped into the water."  The three workmen jumped in after him, but "as soon as they reached him he put up a fight." He pleaded with them to simply "Let me go!"

They were able to pull him out of the water, but he died on the shore.  In his pockets were a gold watch and chain, two diamond rings and a bundle of letters.  The New York Times said, "Coroner Schwanneke said the contents of the letters made it clear that the man had premeditated suicide."

The Ottingers sold the house in August 1907 to Edward and Flora E. Wessel for $40,000 (nearly $1.2 million today).  They, too, took in a boarder, offering "Two rooms, dressing room and bath" in April 1908.

Edward Wessel was president of the Mansel Realty Co.  Flora was secretary and director of the firm.  Edward was an amateur artist, as well, and a long-standing member of the Arts-in-Trades Club.  

The Wessels remained at 69 West 83rd Street until 1926, when they sold it to John Marchian.  It was possibly Marchian who began operating it as a rooming house.  Living here in 1928 was Alfred de la Lank.  The 23-year-old lost his job as a butler in the Flanagan home upstate that year, and he seems to have become desperate.  On June 7 The Niagara Falls Gazette reported that he "was in the lineup at police headquarters today on a charge of forging the name of Mrs. A. Flanagan of Purchase, N.Y., to a check for $183 which he had attempted to cash at a Fifth avenue bank."

A "Mrs. Boudreau" and her husband purchased the house in 1944 for $14,000, but the bank foreclosed that same year.  It was purchased by Alfred Nelson, who continued to operate it as a rooming house.  Among his tenants in 1950 was Patricia Shay, who got a happy surprise on November 6 that year.

Patricia Shay seems surprised to be pulled from the entrance of the racetrack by an usher.  The Herald Statesman, November 7, 1950.

The unmarried woman, whom The Herald Statesman described as "an attractive red-head," was fond of horse racing.  A self-described "regular" at Yonkers Raceway, she was pulled from the line of attendees on the night of November 6 as she walked through the turnstile.  As it turned out, she was the racetrack's one-millionth patron.  She received various gifts donated by local merchants and a 1951 season pass.

Things declined for the once-proud house.  In 1968 it was converted to furnished rooms--a total of 15.  The New York Times journalist Blake Fleetwood described the situation in the ensuing years on December 26, 1976, saying in part, "No. 69 was one of the worst-run houses on the block.  Superintendents would come and go.  Roomers wouldn't pay the rent.  The turnover in the building was tremendous."

As the Upper West Side neighborhood experienced an upturn, in 1974 Francis Fleetwood purchased 69 West 83rd Street.  He converted the building to seven apartments.  But real change came in 2005 when Dr. Richard Kaul paid $3.6 million for the property and began a two-year renovation to return it to a private home.  

The British-born Kaul had been given the unflattering moniker "Dental Death Doctor" by the BBC after he administered anesthesia to a patient in 1999 who died.  Banned from practicing medicine in the U.K., he moved to the United States.   

In 2009 Kaul put the house on the market for $14 million.  He moved to Pompton Lakes, New Jersey where he opened a one-room office called the New Jersey Spine & Rehabilitation Center.  On May 9, 2012 CBS News reported "State officials said an anesthesiologist who was convicted of manslaughter in a patient's death in England is performing major back surgery in northern New jersey without proper training."  Kaul's attorney told reporters he had "agreed to stop doing certain procedures pending a full hearing of the State Medical Board."

Back in New York, the four-bedroom house at 69 West 83rd Street was sold in February 2013 for $8.9 million.  While little of the 1885 interiors survive, the exterior looks much as it did when the Camerden family moved in.

photographs by the author

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

D & J Jardine's 1883 No. 51 East 80th Street

The block of East 80th Street, between Madison and Park Avenues, saw an explosion of construction in 1883.  Among the upscale homes erected that year was No 51, a 23-foot wide brownstone fronted residence with a rather surprising personality.

Builder-developer Edward Kilpatrick sometimes acted as his own architect; but for this house he hired brothers David and John Jardine.  The partners were responsible for the design of scores of dwellings on the Upper East Side and this one would be what Victorian critics sometimes referred to as "a happy marriage of styles."

The high brownstone stoop led to the parlor level above the rusticated English basement.  Here aggressive stone brackets overwhelmed the delicate spandrel carvings of the arched openings.  The brackets upheld what at a glance appeared to be a sturdy balcony; but in fact functioned only as a platform for the angled bay.

The crisp spandrel carvings are overshadowed by the chunky scrolled brackets.

The third floor windows were separated by Doric pilasters and capped with swan-necked pediments, each graced with a carved garland.  The top floor openings received the same treatment, sans pediments.  The design was completed by a handsome cast metal cornice.

In March 1884 Kilpatrick sold the new house to Isaac Blum for $19,000--in the neighborhood of $475,000 today.  Blum, a wealthy milliner with a store at No. 287 Fifth Avenue, seems to have been downsizing.  He simultaneously sold his former home at No. 110 East 70th Street for $30,000.

The Blum family remained in the house for nearly 14 years, selling it to real estate operator Bernard J. Ludwig in February 1898 for $49,000. 

Mrs. Ludwig was active in Jewish social and philanthropic affairs.  None, of course, were more important to the family than daughter Hermina's debut and her subsequent marriage.  On January 23, 1910 The New York Times society column reported that her engagement to Jerome Bernheim had been announced.   On Thursday, April 21 about 250 guests were present at the ceremony in Delmonico's

In May 1915 the house was leased to Arabella Lewis, the widow of Walter Herron Lewis who had died in 1910.   Lewis, who had been a member of the drygoods firm H. & W. H. Lewis, had also been a trustee of the New-York Life Insurance Company, a director of the Home Insurance Company and a warden of Trinity Church.  He and Arabella B. Dash were married on Valentine's Day 1856.

Arabella's two daughters were married--Mabel to Stoughton Bell and Madeline to broker Frederic Foster Carey.  At 86, Arabella's social activity had significantly slowed and it was Madeline who overtook the spotlight in society pages.  The Careys' city home was at No. 53 East 64th Street and, like Arabella, their summer house was in Tuxedo Park.

Most likely because of Arabella's advancing age, the Careys moved into the 80th Street house by 1917 when they announced the engagement of daughter Madeleine Marie to Lt. Charles Reed of the Aero Corps.   Reed had recently returned from the French battle front.

Madeleine Marie Carey lived at No. 51 East 80th Street when this photograph was taken in 1917.  The Evening World, June 4, 1917 (copyright expired)

Arabella Dash Lewis died in the house on January 29, 1918 at the age of 89 after a brief battle with pneumonia.  The Carey family soon moved out, and in April 1919 No. 51 was leased to the 59-year old Eugenius Harvey Outerbridge and his family.

Outerbridge had married Ethel Boyd in 1891 and the couple had two children, Ethel, born in 1892, and Kenneth, born in 1904.  "Eugene," as he was familiarly known, was the President of the Chamber of Commerce and founder of the Agasote Milling Company, makers of a fiberboard composed of recycled cellulose.

In 1921 Outerbridge was made the first chairman of the New York and New Jersey Port Authority.  It may have been the new and weighty responsibility that kept him home that summer.  On June 16 The New York Herald noted that "Mrs. Eugene H. Outerbridge of 51 East Eightieth street has gone to Maple Ridge Farm, her country place in Litchfield Conn."  Ethel would have to tough it out alone, it seems.  "Her daughter, Miss Ethel Outerbridge, is serving with the American Committee for Devastated France in Soissons."

Outerbridge quickly discovered that organizing and running the Port Authority was a major challenge.  He was dealing with two states, two governors and two mayors, all of whom it seemed were reticent to share control.  On November 29, 1921 he told the Chamber of Commerce that the port district "should be unified under a single administration that there should be a consolidation of shipments at proper classification points...[and] that all terminal stations should be union stations."

Eugenius H. Outerbridge from the collection of the Library of Congress

When New York City's mayor, John F. Hylan, proved obstinate, Outerbridge erupted.  He issued a statement on January 3, 1922 that said in part "it is unthinkable that any municipality or other unit within the port district can long refuse to cooperate and join in a movement so essential and so beneficial to the interests of all combined."

Eugene Outerbridge turned to modern technology to get his message to the public.  It prompted a request in the newspapers that sounds nearly comical today.  On April 25, 1922 the Port Authority issued "a request to radio amateurs to refrain from transmitting while the address of Eugenius H. Outerbridge of the Port Authority is broadcasting an address to-night."   The New York Herald explained that the reason for the request is that the Port Authority hoped that the message would reach Oakland, California, "where it will be amplified and sent all over the West."

Ethel received a serious scare the following April when she and a friend, Eleanor Butler, were riding along 72nd Street in the Outerbridge car.  The chauffeur, Thomas Davies, turned onto Lexington Avenue just as the Lexington street car approached the intersection.    As the limo crossed the tracks, the street car slammed into it.  Eleanor Butler was thrown from the car, Ethel was "pitched against a seat," and Davies received cuts on his forehead.

The chauffeur drove the banged-up car to the Presbyterian Hospital where Butler was treated and released.  Ethel was more seriously injured.  She was admitted with two broken ribs and cuts over the eye.

Eugene's vision of unifying New Jersey and New York was somewhat symbolized by the opening of the more than 10,000-foot long steel cantilevered bridge in June 1928 that connects Staten Island with Perth Amboy.  Although many residents of New York and New Jersey today assume that it is named because it is the southernmost bridge in New York State, or the most remote in New York City; the Outerbridge Crossing was in fact named for Eugenius H. Outerbridge.

By the time Eugene died on November 10, 1932 he and Ethel had moved to No. 950 Park Avenue.  The 80th Street house was home to Dr. Walter E. Halfman and his wife, Anna, in the 1940s.  Professor of Anatomy at the New York Medical College of Flower-Fifth Avenue Hospital, he died in the house on June 10, 1950.

The lower level was converted for the Bayer Art Gallery in 1959; but was returned to a single family residence in 1964.  For many years it was home to advertising executive Willard B. Gordon, who died in 2001.

photo via Curbed New York

The architectural firm of Vail Associates restored the facade and updated the interiors, simultaneously preserving much of D. & J. Jardine's period detailing while providing modern amenities for a 21st century family.

Outside, No. 51 East 80th Street survives remarkably unchanged among its 1883 contemporaries.  The house that Isaac Blum paid $19,000 for sold in 2014 for $24 million.

non-credited photographs by the author

The Delafield-Bloomberg Mansion - No. 17 East 79th Street

In 1880 speculative builder J. Bentley Squier completed a row of nine brownstone-fronted houses on East 79^th Street, just off Fifth Avenue.  Designed in the neo-Grec style by prolific architects David and John Jardine, they were four stories tall with high stoops above English basements.

Among the row was No. 17, which the Real Estate Record reported on October 22, 1881 was sold “to Mrs. McCullom for $41,000.”  The journal got the buyer’s name slightly wrong—it was Robert Kennedy McCullough who paid the equivalent of more than $980,000 in today’s dollars.  As was the tendency, the title of the house was put in Mrs. McCullough’s name.

Most wealthy New Yorkers spent their summers at country estates or fashionable resorts.  But a few, like the McCulloughs, maintained European residences.  Theirs was in France, prompting society directories to list their addresses as “New York and Paris.”  The arrangement made Robert’s commute from the office to the summer residence less frequent; while the female McCulloughs whiled away the warm months abroad.  On June 21 1894, for instance, The New York Times reported “Mrs. Robert Kennedy McCullough and her daughter, Miss Isabelle McCullough, of 17 East Seventy-ninth Street, who sailed for Europe on the steamship Paris on June 6, will not return to this country until October.”

While the McCullough women were sailing off to Paris that year, young John Ross Delafield was studying law at Princeton.  The third son of Maturin Livingston Delafield and the former Mary Coleman Livingston, he was born in the family’s New York City mansion “Fieldston” on May 8, 1874.  After receiving his Bachelor's and Master’s degrees from Princeton, he graduated from Harvard Law School in 1899.

On June 14, 1904 Delafield married Violetta Susan Elizabeth White in the Church of the Heavenly Rest.  His bride, who was born in Florence, Italy in 1875, was the daughter of John Jay White and Louise Lawrence Wetmore White.  That same year he started construction on a country home, appropriately named Fieldston, in Riverdale-on-Hudson, New York.

That project accomplished, there was now the matter of a city home.  On March 23, 1907 the Record and Guide noted that Delafield intended to do “$25,000 worth of improvements to the 4-sty dwelling 17 East 79^th St.”  Architect Francis G. Stewart had already been commissioned to draw the plans which originally called for “new plumbing, rear extension, and interior changes.”

In fact, the alterations would go much farther—completely remodeling the old brownstone into a modern, neo-Classic style American basement mansion.   When the renovations were completed, there was no hint of the former McCullough brownstone.  Faced in gleaming white limestone, its first three floors bowed out, creating a balustrade balcony at the fourth floor.  An especially pleasing frieze of carved garlands ran below the cornice, above which the mansard roof was fronted by copper-framed dormers.  Inside were fifteen rooms and five bathrooms.

By the time the Delafields moved into their new home, their first son, John White Ross Delafield, was already two years old.  On January 9, 1909, their second child, Richard Montgomery Delafield, was born.  In 1913 Genealogies of the State of New York pointed out that Fieldston “remains his residence, but he occupies his town house, No. 17 East Seventy-ninth street, during the winter months.”

John Ross Delafield was an imposing figure.  Geneaologist Tunis Garrett Bergen described him, writing “He is about six feet and five inches in height, weights about two hundred pounds, and has dark brown hair and eyes.”

The Delafield boys were too young for military service when America entered World War I; but their father was not.   During the war he was Chairman of the Board of Contract Adjustment of the War Department and was awarded the Distinguished Service Medal.   He rose to the rank of Brigadier-General.  After the war, as reported in the Princeton Alumni Weekly on March 19, 1924, “he interested himself in the industrial preparedness of the country and his intimate knowledge of this subject, as well as the general subject of service of supply of the army, has prompted the War Department to use this qualification of one of its most efficient officers on several occasions.”

Delafield was highly active “in the preparation for national defense,” and spoke throughout the nation on the subject and appeared before the Congressional subcommittee on War Department Appropriations.  On January 25, 1924 the French Government conferred the Legion of Honor Cross on him for his ongoing work.

Richard Delafield graduated from Princeton in 1930 and was married to Margaret Durbin Gade in a fashionable St. Bartholomew’s Church ceremony on December 29 that same year.  An attorney like his father, he would become Assistant United States Attorney.  Despite the ongoing Great Depression, the wedding hinted that Delafield family was suffering little.  

John was interested in farming as a hobby and the orchard upstate produced about 16,000 bushels of apples each year.  An outdoorsman, he went on hunting trips to the Northwest.   Violetta had her own interests, as well.  The Princeton Alumni Weekly noted “As a young woman she traveled widely in Europe.  She spoke several languages and was a student of botany, particularly that branch of the science which deals with fungi.”  She maintained greenhouses at the country estate where she propagated succulents and orchids.

But in 1935 Delafield's focus turned closer to home—a proposed motion picture theater at the eastern end of the block at Madison Avenue and 79^th Street.

Residents of the block retained attorney Nathaniel Phillips to represent them in court.  The lawyer told Justice John F. Crew that a commercial project like this would be “an opening wedge” for other developers.  John Ross Delafield filed an affidavit saying that he “has been a resident of the neighborhood for twenty-five years, during which time its character has improved but is now being threatened by the proposed movie house.”  He added that it would depreciate the property values of the upscale homes on the block.

The Delafield boys who had been too young for service in World War I followed their father’s footsteps when the country was pulled into the Second World War.  On November 24, 1944 the Princeton Alumni Weekly reported “John Delafield…has two sons in the service, one, Maj. John White Delafeld ’27, now somewhere beyond the continental limits of the U.S.; and the other, Lt. Richard Delafield, an air combat intelligence officer on duty in the South Pacific.”

John and Violetta did their part from home.  The Weekly said that John “in fact is the ‘spark plug’ of ‘Bundles for America Inc.,’ which is rendering a great service in furnishing clothing and various comforts for service men and their families.”

By now Richard and Margaret had six children.  His service overseas was remarkable, The New York Times reporting that he was “cited for his services as air combat intelligence officer during the period of the expulsion of the Japanese from the Aleutian Islands.”   But on March 14, 1945 John and Violetta received heart-breaking news.  The following day The Times reported “Lieut. Richard Delafield, USNR, has been killed in action, according to word received by his parents, Brig. Gen. and Mrs. John Ross Delafield.”

Violetta had already begun suffering from emphysema and Richard’s death no doubt increased her stress and medical frailty.    She died in the 79^th Street house on May 1, 1949.   John donated her collection of plants to the New York Botanical Gardens.

For a few years he remained in the house that he and Violetta had so drastically remodeled four decades earlier.  On February 15, 1951 John White Delafield was married to Anita Renee Reilly in a Plaza Hotel ceremony.  Three years later John Ross Delafield sold the house to real estate operator Fred H. Hill.   On April 29, 1954 The New York Times announced his plans to alter it “into doctor’s offices and two duplex apartments.”

Throughout the next few decades the converted mansion was home to celebrated residents like Broadway producer Leonard Sillman (according to Steven Suskin in his Broadway Yearbook 2000-2001, the living room of Roger Debris in The Producers was based on Sillman’s residence here); and famed portrait artist Rene Robert Bouche.  He was living here when he died of a heart attack at the age of 57 in 1963.

Then, in 1986, Michael Bloomberg purchased the house for $3.5 million and re-converted it to a single family home.  He commissioned decorator Jamie Drake to renovate the interiors—installing an Adams-style plaster ceiling in the bedroom, for instance.  The foyer was paved with a rare Egyptian marble and, according to Allen Salkin, writing in New York magazine, “Artworks include a sketch by Fragonard, hunting-dog oil paintings, and black stone busts.”  When elected Mayor, Bloomberg preferred to stay in the East 79^th Street house as opposed to Gracie Mansion.

Although the residence contained what The Times, on February 24, 2009, called “7,500 square feet of exquisite living space,” the newspaper said Bloomberg felt, “it seems, the house has been a bit cramped.”  He had been quietly buying up apartments in the house next door at No. 19 (also one of D. & J. Jardine’s original row) for years.  Now he broke through, combining certain rooms of the two mansions, like the dining room.

Michael M. Grynbaum, writing in The New York Times, said “The additions have made his home far roomier, giving him an estimated 12,500 square feet of living space; it would probably fetch more than $30 million.”

When No. 19 (right) was renovated, the Jardine neo-Grec design of the upper floors was left untouched.

Bloomberg has still not acquired all of No. 19; but neighbors suggest it is only a matter of time.  In the meantime the handsome exterior of the Delafield mansion has been lovingly preserved.

photographs by the author

The Baumann Bros. Bldg.- No. 22-26 East 14th Street

In 1880 the Union Square neighborhood bore no resemblance to the farmland it had been 70 years earlier.  Henry Spingler died in 1814 in his country home that sat approximately where the Square is today.  Not far away to the south, roads were already being laid and houses and shops constructed.  Spingler’s farmland would soon be engulfed by development.

In 1832 Union Square was laid out and by 1845 fine brick residences were appearing along its borders.  That year $116,000 was spent on paving the surrounding streets and landscaping the square.  And simultaneously Spingler’s old house was taken by the city through condemnation proceedings.  It spelled the end of that chapter.

The second chapter—that of refined mansions and wealthy residents—was a short one and would come to an end shortly after the end of the Civil War.   The business community rapidly moved in, taking over upscale homes or razing them for commercial structures.  As always, the moneyed homeowners fled northward.

In 1880 successful textile merchant James McCreery commissioned brothers David and John Jardine, also Scottish immigrants, to design a commercial building to replace the Arlington Building at Nos. 22 through 26 East 14^th Street.   Construction began in December 1880 and, simultaneously, Joseph J. Little began work on a structure next door at No 28 and another developer started construction on No. 30.

These men approached the Board of Aldermen, separately, requesting permission to include projecting shop windows.   The requests were denied because “of the refusal of Mr. McCreery to assent to the erection of bay-windows by them,” as recorded in the Proceedings of the Board of Aldermen.   The developers were understandably upset when, in May 1881, McCreery applied to the Board “to place bay-windows on stores Nos. 22, 24, and 26 East Fourteenth street.”

Mayor W. R. Grace returned the resolution “without my approval” on May 28, saying “The owners of the buildings No. 28 and No. 30 East Fourteenth street object strongly to the proposed bay-windows on the ground that they would injure their stores, which have been built with plain fronts” because of McCreery’s complaints.

Even without the protruding bays, the Jardines’ building was an eye-catcher.  Completed in September that year the $75,000 structure was faced in cast iron.   But architects who had worked with the material in the decades before had, mostly, followed one or two standard motifs.  The Jardines moved away from the pack, drawing on a collection of popular styles to create a powerful up-to-the-minute statement of current taste in architecture and art.  Seemingly incongruous styles—neo-Grec-influenced openings married with neo-Classical swags and pilasters—were splashed with surprising Aesthetic Movement panels of sunflowers.

Beautiful Aesthetic-Movement panels joined the various styles used by the architects.

The building stretched through to 13^th Street and was quickly filled.   E. D. Bassford, “dealer in crockery and house-furnishing goods,” moved in.  The store was run by the son of E. D. Bassford who had died in 1873.  He had founded the firm in 1838 and since 1856 had been located in the Cooper Union.  His widow attempted to run the business until her death in 1881.  The younger Bassford moved the store into the new 14^th Street building on November 13, just a month after its completion.

Flint & Warren, dealers in dry goods, “Paris costumes,” and women’s apparel was another retailer here.  But McCreery’s major tenant was Baumann Brothers furniture and carpet store which opened on September 1.  The expansive showrooms offered customers a wide-range of furniture and styles.

Neither Flint & Warren nor E. D. Bassford would survive in the new location.  On May 15, 1883 The New York Times explained Bassford’s business failure, blaming the high rents charged by McCreery.  “The stand did not prove as eligible as was anticipated, the rent was $12,000 a year, and this Spring’s business was particularly bad.”

Baumann Brothers, however, was much more successful.  On October 15, 1891 The New York Times commented on the variety of pieces available.  Those mentioned were all historic European styles; but since they were made in America, the newspaper deemed them examples of “practical patriotism.”

It said Baumann Brothers “have opened at their show rooms an exhibition of artistic furniture of the Renaissance and Empire periods, deftly and cunningly copied from the Old World models by skillful American handicraft.  On the ground floor there is a massive sideboard of antique oak, a perfect reproduction of an old Tudor piece of furniture found in one of the manors of England.  The carving on this is an artistic revelation.  Further on there is a varied collection of desks in brass and rosewood, perfect copies of those now on exhibition at Versailles at the Little Trianon.  The prices of these range from $20 to $200.” Shopping at Baumann Brothers could get pricey—a $200 French-style desk in 1891 was the equivalent of about $5,000 today.

In 1894 this 4-piece "Chamber Suit" could be had for $100; "the greatest value for the price asked ever offered."   the New-York Tribune, September, 22, 1894 (copyright expired)

The journalist walked the reader through each department, including the carpet and bedroom sections.  There was also a parlor department.  “Here are gorgeous arm chairs in yellow, shrimp pink, and celeste blue satin damasks.  Parlor sets in all shades about in every imaginable style. Vernis Martin tables, Empire bric-a-brac cabinets, and many other dainty trifles for the drawing room are here in profusion.”

Baumann Brothers remained in the 14^th Street store until 1897, when they moved to Sixth Avenue.  McCreery briefly broke up the ground floor into separate shops.  In October 1886 he leased the first floor store and basement to M. Freedman, dry goods.  Another space was taken by the Austin-Remsen Co. bicycle shop.

Then in June 1900 James McCreery leased the entire round floor to Frank W. Woolworth.  The New York Times noted “The lease is for a long term of years.”   Indeed, the 5-and-10-cent store would stay here until 1928.

The upper floors now became manufacturing rather than retail space.  In 1901 Julius Deyfus & Co., an embroidery firm, operated here.  The impressive factory employed 35 men and 45 women.  Also in the building around the same time were Laird & Bonwit, “cloaks and suits;” and Hornthal, Benjamin & Riem, another apparel firm.  A large concern, it employed as many as 136 men and 71 women at any given time, with an office staff of eight.

Many teen-aged boys in 1904 worked to help their families rather than attend school.  One of them, Albert Greenwall, who worked in the 14^th Street building, was persuaded by his friend, 14-year old John Ell, to join him along with his mother and brother and another friend on a river excursion.   Albert did not go to work on Wednesday, June 15, 1904; instead he and about 1300 other passengers boarded the General Slocum headed to a picnic grove north on the East River.

John Ell told investigators later “As we neared Hell Gate children were called down to the lower deck where ice cream and soda were served…With my mother and my little brother Paul I went to the engine room to watch he machinery.  I was standing there with John Gray, Albert Greenwall, Otto Hans and a number of children.

“Suddenly and without the least note of warning there was a burst of flame from the furnace room that rushed up through the engine-room and flashed out about us.  The flames spread with the rapidity of an explosion, setting fire to the clothing of the women and children who were grouped about the engine-room watching the machinery.”

Within 15 minutes the General Slocum had burned to the water line.  Of the more than 1,300 souls on board, only 321 survived—the greatest loss of life in New York City until the World Trade Center murders of 9/11.  Albert Greenwall, who played hooky from work for a day of recreation, would never return.

Hornthal, Benjamin & Reim was still in the building in 1913.  Eugene S. Benjamin was President of the New York Clothing Trade Association, a leader in the opposition to union demands in a long-standing apparel worker strike.   The non-union workers employed by Hornthal, Benjamin & Reim were threatened by union thugs, causing the firm to offer sleeping accommodations so the workers did not have to go into the streets at night.

The New York Times reported “Some told of being followed to their homes at night and having glistening knives shown to them.  Others said that their families at home had received death threats.”

The threats were not taken lightly.   Shortly after midnight on February 28, 1913 a bomb exploded on the street directly below the sleeping quarters of another apparel firm, Fruhauf Brothers & Co. at No. 54 West 15^th Street.  Around 150 men and women were inside, but were unhurt.

Then, around 2:00 a.m. a foot-long pipe smashed through a window on the second floor where Hornthal, Benjamin & Reim workers were sleeping.  “When the heavy missile thumped on the floor there was such consternation that the police of the Mercer Street Station had to be called to quiet the frightened workers,” reported The Times later that morning.

A policeman dropped the pipe into a bucket of water, and then assured the workers that it was a fake.   Reporters were told that “the act was attributed to garment strikers desiring to ‘get even’ with Hornthal, Benjamin & Reim.”

But the loyal workers refused to be intimidated.  The New York Times interviewed one employee who said “When I was sick last Winter, my boss sent me my wages every week.  Now I have a chance to prove my appreciation and I am going to continue working in spite of death threats.  I want to say that I am prepared to meet any one who attacks me, and when I strike it will be to kill.”

Other apparel firms would come and go here.  In 1912 Sohn, Oppenheim & Co., “makers of ‘Sailor-waist’ brand trousers,” moved from West 20^th Street to the building.  The Clothier and Furnisher reported in August that year that “the new premises on Fourteenth Street have been very handsomely fitted up.  The loft is an unusually light one, and it is entirely finished in white, making a very pleasing appearance.”

When F. W. Woolworth moved out, the store was taken over by another five-and-ten-cent store, F. & W. Grant.   Like Woolworth, it operated a soda fountain here.  But it did not come without problems.

In September 1932 a pipe leading to the refrigeration unit broke, leaking ammonia gas.   Seven young women were overcome by the dangerous fumes.  Newspapers reported that an ambulance surgeon from St. Vincent’s Hospital treated them and they were sent home.

A worse incident occurred on June 5, 1936 when 20 employees collapsed around 5:30 in the afternoon.  Sulphur dioxide fumes were escaping from an ice cream cooler in the basement.  No one smelled the gas as it seeped up to the first floor until, after about 45 minutes, it became concentrated enough to overtake the employees.

“The store, which employs 150 persons, was filled with rush-hour customers and a near catastrophe was averted when James Evans, a Negro porter, ran to the basement and shut off the cooling plant.  Evans himself was overcome as he struggled back to the street floor,” reported The Times.

Seventeen girls and three men were dragged to the sidewalk and the store’s manager ordered the 14^th Street door closed.   Three ambulances and three emergency squads responded. Part of the second floor was vacant and was turned into a triage space.   Although the condition of the victims was not considered serious, Evans and five of the girls were taken to Columbus Hospital for observation.  “The fourteen others were sent home in taxicabs by the store management.”

In the meantime the Delehanty Institute had moved into 15,000 square feet of the building in 1930.  The organization trained candidates for both the Police and Fire Departments.  When the Institute renewed its lease in January 1941, a running track was installed on the roof.

Among the other tenants that year was the Kramer Tie Company.   Like its predecessors, the firm was sometimes plagued with union problems, and that year 40 girls walked out on strike, halting production of a $25,000 Government order for 100,000 black neckties for the United States Army.   Samuel Kramer, head of the firm, insisted he was caught “in the middle” between the Amalgamated Clothing Workers, which which he had a contract, and the A F. L. which called the strike.  Fortunately for Kramer (and the Army), the girls came back to work the next day.

Bon Marche, deemed by The New York Times as “a store known for its well-styled, inexpensive furniture, took over the building in 1955.   In 1960 the newspaper said that “while it is geared to young budget-minded people, it is attracting their parents, too.

“Customers of all ages can be seen toting anything from a collapsible Fiberglas screen to a small children’s chest out of this shop at 26 East Fourteenth Street.  Although furniture has to be hauled down a whole flight of stairs, taking a purchase home saves pennies.”

Bon Marche remained at the location until 1963; however retained space in the building for warehousing.   Then in 1990 the building was converted to a day care center on the ground floor, classrooms, gymnasium and locker rooms on floors two and three, and offices on the top floors.

In 1999 it became a condominium, with the New School acquiring the upper floors as the Parsons School of Design annex.  Following a 2014 cleaning and repainting of the façade, a health club took over the sidewalk level.  After having survived a period of rust and neglect, D. & J. Jardine’s remarkable cast iron façade is pristine once again.

photographs by the author