The Lost 7th Precinct Station House - 247 Madison Street

from the collection of the New York Public Library

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

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

from the collection of the New York Public Library

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I am starved."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

photographer by Halil Serkan Kutun

The Lost Hoffstatter & Revillon Frères Bldg - 668-670 Fifth Avenue

To the left of the new building is the William K. Vanderbilt Jr mansion.  The Brickbuilder, November 11, 1916 (copyright expired)

On March 23, 1913, The New York Times began an article saying, "The business invasion of Fifth Avenue north of Forty-second Street goes on ruthlessly."  Sumptuous mansions were rapidly being replaced by commercial buildings.  The article reported, "Workmen last week began tearing down the big Gallatin house on the southwest corner of Fifty-third Street, purchased a short time ago by Michael Dreicer for over $1,000,000.  Two six-story business buildings are to be erected on the 50-foot Fifth Avenue frontage."  

Michael Dreicer was the son of Jacob Dreicer, who opened his jewelry business in 1868.  They are credited for bringing cut gems into fashion, surpassing pearls.  The younger Dreicer had now branched into real estate development with the Dreicer Realty Company.   He hired Henry Otis Chapman to design the side-by-side buildings.  Construction would cost $130,000 to erect, or about $4.4 million in 2026 terms.

Chapman's Francois I Revival design was intended to harmoniously co-exist on the block with the magnificent Petite Chateau, erected for William K. and Alva Vanderbilt, and 666 Fifth Avenue, the Willie K. and "Birdie" Oelrichs Vanderbilt mansion.  The Real Estate Record & Builders' Guide approved, calling 668-670 Fifth Avenue "one of the most attractive on the avenue, built in the Francois Premier style of architecture."

Like the two surviving mansions on the block, the buildings were faced in limestone.  The first and second floors of 668 Fifth Avenue were dominated by a vast, double-height show window capped by a French Gothic header and crocket.  Grouped windows at the third and fourth floors sat below square-headed drip moldings.  The steep mansard was fronted by a French Gothic dormer and crowned with lacy cast iron cresting.

The corner building continued many of those motifs--the double-height show window and the grouped openings at the third and fourth floors, for instance.  A row of ornate dormers lined the mansard on the 53rd Street side, and identical  rooftop cresting visually unified the structures.

No. 668 had been leased before the first shovel broke ground.  Nearly two weeks before The New York Times article, on March 10, 1913, The Furniture Trade Review reported that Theodore Hofstatter & Co. had "closed negotiations" for leasing the building "for a term of twenty-one years."  The article noted, "Hofstatter & Co., are in the interior decorating and furniture business, are now located at 589 Fifth avenue."

The buildings were completed in 1914 and very quickly the Hofstatter Building was the center of excitement.  On May 19, 1914, an alarm "brought the firemen to the home of Mrs. William K. Vanderbilt, Jr., at 666 Fifth Avenue," reported The New York Times.  The Vanderbilts were at their summer estate and heavy smoke was seen pouring out of one of the chimneys.

The Vanderbilts' caretaker notified the responding firefighters that there was no fire.  "About ten minutes later the blaze was discovered in the building occupied by Hofstatter & Co.," said the article.  "Decorators had been working on the fifth floor, and in some manner, a curtain became ignited."  Happily, the fire was extinguished before it could spread.  The New York Times said, "More than $500,000 worth of art treasures are in the building."

It would be nearly a year before the corner building was leased.  On February 6, 1915, the Record & Guide reported that Revillon Frères had leased "the new six-story building" for 21 years.  Revillon Brothers established its fur company in 1723.  Now known as Revillon Frères, it was a leading retailer and manufacturer of luxury furs and accessories.

The New York Times, September 26, 1915 (copyright expired)

Both firms sublet space in their buildings, with most of the tenants being in the arts or decorating business.  One notable exception was the Sonora Phonograph Corp.  On July 25, 1915, the New York Herald reported that the firm "has leased salons at 668 Fifth Avenue adjoining the Vanderbilt residence, for demonstration rooms."  

A Sonora Phonograph ad in December 1915 depicted the entire blockfront. The Pharmaceutical Era (copyright expired)

Also in 668 Fifth Avenue at the time was the Kent-Shmayon Galleries.  The firm dealt in imported art and antiques, like Persian faience, rare manuscripts, Chinese porcelains, and Spanish, Italian and English antique furniture.  Not long after its opening, it was the target of two slick thieves.  On December 1, 1914, Joseph Hess and "another well-dressed man" entered the Kent-Shmayon Galleries "to look at some antiques," reported The New York Times, "and carried off jewelry valued at $7,900."  (The heist would equal $261,000 today.)  Hess, who was known to police as "the man with many aliases," was captured in Indianapolis on January 6, 1915.

Unfortunately, the war in Europe disrupted the firm's ability to import goods.  On February 27, 1915, The Evening Post reported, "The Kent-Shmavon Galleries, 668 Fifth Avenue, have been forced by present conditions, due to the war, to close their galleries."  A six-day liquidation auction began on March 1.  The article said, "Altogether there are nearly fourteen hundred items now on exhibition."

via the NYC Dept of Records & Information Services.

On March 2, the New-York Tribune reported on the first day's sales, saying, "Lovers and students of Eastern art filled the large ground floor salon."  The article noted, "Lillian Russell was an interested and liberal buyer.  She obtained, among other things, an Asia Minor silk rug."  Other items that were sold that day was a "Persian carpet of Kerman weave" which sold for the equivalent of $19,500 today, and a "Persian Goerevan carpet with a camel's hair field" that brought nearly the same amount.

The Bourgeois Galleries replaced the Kent-Shmavon Galleries in the building.  The art dealers catered to wealthy patrons.  Somewhat ironically, one of its first exhibitions was the private collection of Albert Eugene Gallatin's paintings and graphic art.  Certainly many of the artworks had hung in his family's mansion on the site.

The gallery's firm reputation did not require anything other than a dignified, understated ad.  The Arts, August-September 1921 (copyright expired)

Other tenants in the buildings in the 1920s, along with Hoffstatter and Revillon Frères, of course, were Stair & Andrew and the Kingore art gallery.  Stair & Company, which occupied space on the fourth floor of 668 Fifth Avenue, specialized in old English furniture, paneling, tapestries, and antique mantelpieces. 

By the mid-1920s, John D. Rockefeller Jr. owned 668 and 670 Fifth Avenue.  On February 16, 1928, The New York Times reported that he was erecting a six-story building on the southwest corner of Fifth Avenue and 54th Street and that it "will be occupied under lease by Revillon Frères, furriers."  The firm was replaced by Raymond & Whitcomb, Inc., which made "extensive alterations," according to The New York Times on June 6, 1929.

Raymond & Whitcomb, Inc. was a travel agency.  In 1934, the Museum of the University of Pennsylvania loaned the firm eight items from its collection of Central American relics to display.  It did not end well.  Three items, a gold sacrificial cup, two Zapotec funerary urns, and a solid gold breastplate, were displayed in the show window.  On June 5, The New York Times reported, "A stone hurled through the show window of Raymond-Whitcomb, Inc...at some time early yesterday morning, enabled a thief to obtain a rare Mayan relic worth $5,000."  The stolen relic was the sacrificial gold cup.  The stone that smashed the window also broke one of the urns.

from the collection of the New York Public Library

In October 1938, John D. Rockefeller Jr. filed plans to replace the buildings with "a new nine-story office building," as reported by The New York Times.  Something derailed those plans, however.  Two years later, Theodore Hoffstatter & Co. moved to its own newly built structure at 9 East 56th Street.  Lanz Inc., took over the lease of 668 Fifth Avenue for its clothing store.

In June 1945, Doubleday, Doran, Inc. opened a bookstore in the basement, first and second floors of 670 Fifth Avenue.  The following year, Russell Stover Candies took over the first and second floors next door.  

The Doubleday book shop was the scene of a raid on August 8, 1946.  Responding to a complaint by the New York Society for the Suppression of Vice, four plainclothes detectives entered and "removed 130 copies of Edmund Wilson's book of short stores, 'Memoirs of Hecate County,'" as reported by The New York Times.  Blotter entries at the West 54th and East 51st Street station houses called the books, "salacious and lascivious literature."  While the Society called the book "obscene," The New York Times said, "virtually all reviewers regarded it as a serious literary work."

Just before demolition in 1955, the Russell Stover signage covered the 2nd-floor show window of No. 688 and the iron cresting was gone.  Supreme Court evidence photo May 1957.

In 1955, Russell Stover Candies announced it would be moving into the Gotham Hotel.  The move was no doubt prompted by the sale of 668 and 670 Fifth Avenue for redevelopment.  On February 13, The New York Times reported that a 36-story office building designed by Carson & Lundin would replace the buildings from 52nd to 53rd Street.  Demolition of the structures began that April.  

many thanks to reader Doug Wheeler for prompting this post

The Lost William Fox House - 316 West 91st Street

This photograph of 316 West 91st Street and its mirror-image next door (left) was photographed in 1914.  from the collection of the New York Public Library.

Charles P. H. Gilbert (known professionally as C. P. H. Gilbert) began his career as an architect in 1886 at just 25 years old.  Within a few years his upscale residential designs were in high demand and several developers commissioned him to design sumptuous homes in the Riverside Drive district.  In 1892, C. De H. Brower hired him to design two 20-foot-wide residences at 314 and 316 West 91st Street, just steps from Riverside Drive.

Gilbert produced two mirror-image, four-story houses in the Renaissance Revival style.  Their American basement plan placed each entrance atop a three-step stoop.  (The basement entrances were nestled under the stoops.)  Above a rusticated stone base, the upper floors were clad in light-colored brick and trimmed in sandstone.  The second floor windows were flanked by shallow pilasters and capped with Renaissance-style pediments.  Openings on the third floor sat within stone architraves capped with molded cornices, and those on the top floor were fully arched.

The purchaser of No. 316, a man named Ward, leased the house to stockbroker Alfred N. Benjamin and his bride, the former Eugenie S. Joyce.  The couple were married in December 1892.  Alfred had been a Wall Street broker since 1874 and his wife was described by The New York Sun as "a belle of Baltimore."  

The couple's romance had begun unexpectedly.  In 1891, Eugenie was spending the summer at Long Branch.  Although she was a competent swimmer, she ventured too far out and was caught in the undertow.  The New York Sun said, "Mr. Benjamin went to her rescue and brought her to the shore."  

The Benjamins filled the West 91st Street house with opulent furnishings and artworks.  An inventory included 72 "paintings by American and Continental artists" including George Inness and Jules Breton.  

Jules Breton's Le Repos hung in the Benjamin house.

The inventory also included "Louis XV gold drawing room furniture," a dinner service made by Cauldon China of England that The Sun said was "made to order at great cost," and "the largest Royal Sevres vase in this country."  That vase, said The Sun, was "formerly the property of the Comtesse de Kisleff of Homburg."  

The couple, who maintained a summer home in Short Hills, New Jersey, had a young son when they moved into 316 West 91st Street. 

The Benjamins' marital bliss was short-lived.  In 1895, the couple separated and Alfred moved into the Short Hills house.  He sent $60 to his wife each month (about $2,370 in 2026).

Eugenie soon showed a bitter and vengeful side.  When she saw Alfred's advertisement for a "good laundress," she hatched a scheme.  Agnes Trainor applied for the job and was hired.  The New York Press reported, 

She remained in his employ only one day and went away after leaving his linen hanging up to dry in the yard.  The cook had to go out and bring it in, and then the discovery was made that his five white shirts had been cut and slashed, most of them having the tails cut off, and his six collars and four nightgowns also had been made unfit for wear.

A search for Agnes Trainer found her in the basement of 316 West 91st Street.  Agnes was tried, but the judge decided there was not enough evidence to convict her.  The New York Press said that Eugenie, who had "been an interested witness of the trial," warmly congratulated Agnes upon the decision.

Eugenie obtained a divorce in July 1898 and took back her maiden name.  But she was not done with Alfred.  In May 1901, she sued him for $20,000 which she claimed he had borrowed and never repaid.  She won the suit.

Alfred and Eugenie as they faced off in court in May 1901.  The World, May 15, 1901 (copyright expired)

And, yet, Eugenie was still not done.  On June 25, 1902, The Press reported, "Alfred N. Benjamin's divorced wife, Eugenie S. Joyce, who has been seeking revenge on the Wall Street broker ever since she obtained her decree in July [sic] 1898, has scored heavily against him."  The article said she recently "learned that he was depositing $30,000 a year in trust for her son."  She sued again and won.  Eugenie successfully ruined her former husband.  Two years later, on October 21, 1904, The New York Sun reported that Alfred N. Benjamin had filed for bankruptcy.

In the meantime, Eugenie left 316 West 91st Street in September 1902.  Everything in the "Colonial Mansion," as described by the auctioneer--the paintings, the made-to-order china, the "massive silver chest, containing over 200 pieces of the designer's art sterling silver tea sets, &c.," bronze and marble sculptors, and such--was sold.

The Ward estate sold 316 West 91st Street in June 1906.  It was purchased by Dr. George La Breche Smith and his wife, the former Madeline O'Neill.  The couple had three children.

Born in Ottawa, Canada in 1865, Smith studied medicine at McGill and Lavelle Universities.  In 1893 he established his practice in New York City and was by now a noted eye, ear and nose specialist.  He was attached to the Polyclinic Medical School and Hospital of New York and was a visiting surgeon at St. Vincent's Hospital.

Early in 1908, Smith became "afflicted with stomach trouble of a serious nature," as described by The New York Sun.  He died in the house on June 13, 1908.  Interestingly, his funeral was not held in the residence, but, according to the New York Herald, "from Holy Trinity Church" on 82nd Street and Amsterdam Avenue.

Shortly afterward, Madeline Smith left 316 West 91st Street.  She first leased the mansion in October and continued to do so until selling it in March 1914 to General E. P. Meaney and his wife, Rosalie Behr.  The price was $40,000, or about $1.3 million today.  

Meaney was the general counsel for the New York Telephone Company.  The New York Times noted that he already owned the adjoining property, saying that he "will probably improve the site at some future date."  

Instead, the Meaneys leased the house to William Fox.  Born in January 1879 in Tolcsva, Zemplén, Hungary, Fox came to America in 1880 and married Eva Leo on December 31, 1899. They had two daughters, Caroline Leah and Isabella, known as Belle.

Fox had purchased a nickelodeon in 1904 and grew that business into a chain of motion picture theaters.  Two years after moving his family into 316 West 91st Street, he shocked old time society by converting the New York Academy of Music into a movie theater.  In 1914, he formed the Fox Film Corporation and began producing his own films.

The following year Fox hired what would be Fox Film's first major star--Theda Bara.  Her role in the 1915 A Fool There Was earned her the name "The Vamp" for audiences throughout the country.

On Christmas night 1916, Colonel Louis Annin Ames and his family, who lived a block away at 622 West End Avenue, went out for dinner.  When they returned, they saw a light inside.  Ames told his family to wait outside while he investigated.  Inside, he discovered a "short, heavily-built stranger with a candle in his hand," reported The New York Times.  The intruder dropped the candle and a "furious struggle" started in the dark.  At one point they wrestled to the top of the stairs and tumbled down.  The burglar ran down the stoop and disappeared.

Police arrived and "a passerby told them that he had seen a man hiding in the basement of 316 West Ninety-first Street," said The New York Times.  The Fox household was awakened to the sounds of a frenzied struggle.  Outnumbered, John Smoley was eventually overpowered and arrested.

In 1917, Fox signed another actor who would become a household name, Tom Mix.  The cowboy actor would star in Westerns for years.  By now, William Fox had amassed  a personal fortune estimated into the millions.

Fox was living at 316 West 91st Street when this photograph was taken in 1921.  Wid's Year Book 1921 (copyright expired)

On May 17, 1923, The New York Times reported, "The wedding of Miss Carolyn Leah Fox, daughter of William Fox, motion picture producer, to Douglas Nicholas Tauzig...will take place on Sunday, May 27 at the home of the bride, 316 West Ninety-first Street."  Tauzig was president of the Tauzig-Klingenstein Company.  Belle was her sister's maid of honor.  The next day, The Times reported, "A dinner for the families followed at the home of Mr. Fox."

The Fox family would have to leave 316 West 91st Street before long.  In 1927 it and the properties at the corner of Riverside Drive and two on the drive were demolished.  In 1928 a high-rise apartment building replaced the sites.

image via the NYC Dept of Records & Information Services.

The Lost Bowery Village M. E. Church - 24-28 E. 7th Street

 

from the collection of the New York Public Library

Founded in 1794, the name of the Two-Mile-Stone Methodist Episcopal Church was derived from the stone marker that told travelers that the nearby house in which the congregation worshipped was two miles north of Federal Hall.  A later pastor, Reverend F. Bottome, would recall the location in his 1864 Bowery Village M. E. Church: A Discourse, saying it "was a rugged belt of land, with here and there a garden and a solitary house to diversify the barrenness of the stunted pasture lots with their dilapidated fences."  

Its rural origins resulted in the makeup of the church's leadership to be slightly different from those in more populated areas.  Kyle B. Roberts writes in his Evangelical Gotham, that because it was located within a "plebeian belt" at the northern boundary of the city, "tradesmen, rather than merchants, served as trustees, class leaders and elders."

Despite its remoteness, the fledgling congregation grew and moved in 1810 from the house to a small building.  (At that time of the move, the name was changed to the Bowery Village Church.)  It moved again in 1818, into a wooden church structure.  Then, in 1835, it began construction of a brick and stone church on the south side of Seventh Street (later East 7th Street) between Second Avenue and the one-block-long Hall Place.  (Hall Place was renamed Taras Shevchenko Place in the late 20th century.)

Completed in 1836, the edifice was an early and striking example of the Greek Revival design.  Its entrance sat within a recessed portico above a broad flight of stairs.  Two monumental, fluted Doric columns flanked by Doric pilasters supported the entablature and Greek temple inspired triangular pediment.  

By then, the city had expanded northward and engulfed the neighborhood.  The New York Times would recall in 1885, "It was at this time one of the wealthiest and strongest churches of the city."  The changes to the formerly rural district were reflected in January 1851 when the city's Committee on Lamps and Gas approved the "placing of two Gas Lamps in front of the Bowery Village Methodist Church in Seventh-st."

The congregation was scandalized in the winter of 1870.  On Friday afternoon, January 7, its married pastor, Reverend Horace Cook, went to a local school and "made arrangements" for him to remove 16-year-old Mattie Johnson.  The cleric and the teen "eloped."

A week later, Mattie's father received an anonymous tip that she was in Philadelphia.  He and his son rushed there and "instituted a diligent search and succeeded in finding her at one of the leading uptown establishments," reported the New York Herald.  Mr. Johnson brought his "prodigal daughter" home.

The family attempted to repair Mattie's ravished reputation.  Rev. Cook, they told reporters, had not shared the room with the teen.  The New York Herald was convinced, writing...

there is not the slightest reason to suppose that Miss Johnson is not as chaste a young lady as when she left her parents' home last week; on the contrary it is asserted that she is in no wise harmed save in the matter of unenviable and unfortunate notoriety.

In the meantime, Reverend Cook's whereabouts was unknown until 10:00 on the night of January 12 when, "as the reporters of the World were closing up their reports, a violent kick was heard at the editorial room door," reported the newspaper.  It was Horace Cook, who slammed his fist on a desk and demanded: "I come here to get satisfaction for the slanderous article published in your paper this morning concerning me."

Rather than succeeding in getting a retraction from The New York World, the editor called for a policeman.  Reverend Cook was arrested.  The Johnson family did not press charges, maintaining that the trip to Philadelphia was innocent, and so Cook was later released.  The following Sunday, the church was jammed with members and outsiders.  They were disappointed to find that a substitute minister, Rev. Dr. Browning, would be giving the sermon.  The New York Daily Herald explained on January 17, "The Rev. Mr. Cook has gone to his family in Williamsburg."  The article said that he would soon return "so that before long the last sensation will have been buried and forgotten."

Four months later, nothing had changed.  A temporary pastor was appointed and on April 7, 1870, the New York Herald said, "Mr. Cook is now in the bosom of his family, over in Williamsburg, restored to the affections of his wife and extremely penitent for his past and wayward conduct."  The newspaper's earlier prediction that Cook would soon--or ever--return did not come to pass.

On October 21, 1872, the New York Herald reported that the church had reopened after "extensive repairs" had been made.  It was most likely at this time that a Georgian Revival style cupola, oddly crowned with onion domes, was installed.

from the collection of the New York Public Library

Around 1880, the name of the congregation was changed to the Seventh-Street Methodist Episcopal Church.  The demographics of the neighborhood had also changed.  It was starkly evidenced in 1882 when the Manual of the Methodist Episcopal Church reported that the Chinese Sunday-School in New York City, established in 1879, had "lately been transferred to the Seventh-street Methodist Episcopal Church."  And the following year, on July 21, 1893, the New-York Tribune reported that Reverend J. V. Saunders, "has begun afternoon services at 4 o'clock in the German language."  The article noted, "The music is good, the seats are free."

By the turn of the century, the East Village district was one of tenement buildings and working class immigrants.  In 1905 the Little Missionary Day Nursery operated from the church, and as early as 1910, physical examinations of underprivileged children who hoped to be sent to the Fresh Air Fund's summer camp were held.  On June 28 that year, the New-York Tribune remarked, "The pitiful thing about these physical examinations is that so small a proportion of the applicants pass."  Most, said the article, suffered with "eye and throat afflictions" and were not "up to the standard of cleanliness."

The following year, the Seventh Street Methodist Episcopal Church melded with the Hedding Methodist Episcopal Church.  The congregation moved into that group's structure on East 17th Street.  On March 26, 1911, The New York Times reported that the Seventh Street church building had been sold.  The buyer was the Ukrainian Greek Catholic Church for the parish of St. George Ukrainian Church.

In 1976 the congregation broke ground for a substantial new church building on the abutting corner property.  Designed by Apollinaire Osadca, it was completed in 1978.  

The old church was dwarfed by the new St. George Ukrainian Cathlic Church building.  photograph by Edmund Vincent Gillon from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York.

With the congregation now in its new home, it demolished the historic 1836 building, replacing it with a modern brick building.  

image via the NYC Dept of Records & Information Services.

That was supplanted in 1992 with a 12-story apartment building.

image via cityrealty.com

The Lost 1826 Masonic Hall - 316 Broadway

 

from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York

On April 18, 1826, the Masonic Hall Association announced in the New-York Evening Post its intention "to commence building a Masonic Hall, for the accommodation of all the lodges and other masonic bodies in this city, in the ensuing month."  The article offered "subscriptions to the stock of said association" for $10 each--about $330 in 2026 terms. 

The cornerstone was laid on June 24, 1826.  The Evening Post remarked that New Yorkers had witnessed, "for the first time, we believe, in twenty years, the novel and interesting spectacle of a Masonic Procession."  The article mentioned that inscribed on the stone, along with names of the trustees and builders, was, "Brother Hugh Reinagle, Architect."  The New York Times added, "Many thousands of our citizens were present to witness the ceremony."

The $10 stock certificates depicted Reinagle's rendering.  from the collection of the New York Masonic Library.

Reinagle was not an architect, but a well-known landscape painter.  Nonetheless, his Masonic Hall was one of the first Gothic Revival structures in America.  The New York Times would recall in 1856, "At the time of its erection, it was looked upon as a prodigy of American architecture." 

Sitting on Broadway between Duane and Worth Streets, the building was completed in 1827 at a cost of $50,000, or about $1.7 million today.  It was faced in "eastern gray granite," according to The New York Times.  Two triple Gothic-arched arcades flanked the main entrance, which was ornamented with Gothic crockets.  A row of stone quatrefoils introduced the second floor, which was dominated by a central arched window 22 feet high and 10 feet wide.  The New York Times described it as being, "divided into small diamond-shaped window panes in leaden frames."  The third floor sat between an intermediate cornice and slightly projecting band course.  A rose window distinguished the fourth floor and the crenelated roofline sprouted crocketed pinnacles.

Geo. P. Hall & Son depicted the residential neighborhood around Masonic Hall in 1830.  from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York.

Historian Rufus Rockwell Wilson would recall in his 1903 New York: Old & New, "A costly Gothic structure, its first floor was given up to a single spacious apartment, intended for public meetings, concerts, and balls, while its third story was arranged for the meetings of the fraternity from which it borrowed its name."  Visitors entered a long hall that extended through the length of the building.  The Grand Saloon--95 feet long, 20 feet high and 47 feet wide--on the second floor was described by The New York Times as "the most splendid apartment of the kind in the United States."  According to the newspaper, Reinagle had based its design on the Chapel of Henry VII in Westminster Abbey, saying:

The ceiling was beautifully ornamented, and fancifully divided into light arches with numerous decorations...Open-work columns supported arches which projected from the side walls, between which were false windows wreathed with flowers cut in stone, and carved corbels, and other architectural adornments.

There were historic-themed spaces.  The New-York Tribune (which described the Grand Saloon as a "splendid memorial of feudal age, and venerated relic of the early arts,") said that the Great Doric Hall was "equally distinguished for its simplicity, its beauty, and commanding size."  Another of the semi-public spaces, according to the article, was the Reading-Room Library.

New Yorkers had an opportunity to see selected spaces on November 30, 1827.  An announcement in the New-York Evening Post said:  

The public is informed that the Gothic Saloon in that splendid edifice, the Masonic Hall, will be opened for inspection on Wednesday...at which time the whole of the decorations, Grand Lodge furniture, hangings, &c., used at the dedication, can be seen.  The Chapter Lodge and Banqueting rooms can be viewed at the same time.

Tickets to tour the three areas cost 25 cents, or about $8 today.

Certain meeting rooms were available for rent.  On October 30, 1828, for instance, the Republican Electors of the Sixth Ward held a meeting for promoting the nomination of "the election of General Andrew Jackson" for President.  The following year, a meeting of the Friends of the American System backed Henry Clay for the U.S. Senate here.

The Grand Saloon was the scene of the Scottish themed Thistle Ball on March  18, 1829.  The New-York Evening Post reported, "Two Bag Pipers, and a number of Gentlemen in Highland Costume, will promenade the room before the commencement of the Ball."  This was a benefit event for John Graham, "as a mark of respect for his genius, the emanations of which have so frequently enlivened of public festivals; and also, an alleviation of his affliction, he being entire deprived of sight."

from the collection of the New York Masonic Library

Later that year, in October, a less expected function took place.  The New-York Evening Post reported that a boa constrictor was on exhibition.  "Although but about five years of age, it already measures some seventeen or eighteen feet in length," said the article.  Another snake, an anaconda, had been removed from the exhibition because, "it is now torpid from the process which it is undergoing of changing its skin."  The article proposed, however, "When the shedding shall be completed, an opportunity will probably be afforded to the public of seeing this animal destroy and swallow its quarterly meal."

In 1827, the body of anti-Mason William Morgan washed up on the shore of Lake Ontario.  Shortly after, David Cade Miller published a book that strongly suggested that he had been murdered by Masons.  The book eventually affected Masonic Hall.  Rufus Rockwell Wilson recalled in 1903, "But following the blow given to Masonry by the disappearance of William Morgan, its name was changed to Gothic Hall."

Gothic Hall continued to be the venue of political rallies, temperance meetings, and exhibitions.  On July 26, 1841, for instance, the New-York Tribune reported on the "grand opening fete" of the temperance movement.  Among the activities, said the article, was "an elegant supper, upon Temperance principles, served up in the Doric Hall with the same splendor and magnificent that was displayed in London at the Great Temperance Festival at the Coloseum [sic]."

from the collection of the New York Public Library

On November 29, 1854, an advertisement in the New-York Tribune read: "On Friday, Dec. 1., the marvelous Hybrid, or Bear-Woman, will be exhibited--pronounced by naturalists as a mysterious link combining the Human Species with the Brute Creation."

At the time of the Bear-Woman's appearance here, the end of the magnificent structure was near.  On May 26, 1856, The New York Times reported, "They are tearing down Gothic Hall, in Broadway."  After reminiscing about the building's history and mentioning that it had held the "largest bowling alley in the world," the article said, "The workmen are busily engaged in tearing down the walls of the edifice, and in a few days nothing will remain on the spot but dust and ruins."

Today the Jacob K. Javits Federal Building sits on the site.

image by Ajay Suresh