The 1836 Hubbard Mansion -- 22 Washington Square

Among the speculative investors who quickly recognized the potential of Washington Square as an elegant residential enclave was wealthy attorney Edmund Wilkes.  In 1835 he began construction on three brick-faced mansions at 21 through 23 Washington Square North.  Completed a year later, they were stately Greek Revival homes with high brownstone stoops, columned porticoes and floor-to-ceiling parlor windows which opened onto handsome cast iron balconies.

The land on which the houses were built was leased, not owned, by Wilkes.  The practice of signing a “leasehold” on the land was not uncommon—as a matter of fact all the houses being built along Washington Square North east of Fifth Avenue were on leased land.  That property was owned by the Sailors’ Snug Harbor. 

Wilkes signed a lease on the vacant lots on January 10, 1835 for a term of 19 and a half years.  The contract demanded that he construct a building within two years and that “there shall not at any time…be erected, permitted or suffered upon the said hereby demised premises more than one dwelling house.”  Wilkes complied with the terms of the lease which said the homes “be constructed of brick or stone and covered with slate or metal, and be three or more stories high above the basement.”

It all seemed very simple at the time.  But that leasehold would prove to be more than problematic a century later.

In May 1837, 22 Washington Square became home to wealthy commission merchant Nathaniel T. Hubbard whose office was at 27 Front Street.  Well educated, he would be best remembered for his Autobiography of N. T. Hubbard, With Personal Reminiscences of New York City From 1789 to 1875.  Hubbard was a great lover of the opera and became close friends with several singers.  In his memoirs he mentioned “the musical entertainments I so often gave at my own house on Washington Square.”

When the celebrated Caradori Allan arrived in New York with her husband, they were introduced to Hubbard.  He wrote of them, “Her husband was a Scotchman by birth, and very much of a gentleman, and very fond of money, it was said.  She was no actress, but made up for that defect in the beauty and splendor of her voice…I gave a musical entertainment at my house on Washington Square in her honor.  During the evening she sang three or four of her English songs.”

Among Hubbard’s close friends was the prominent Boston banker and merchant, Colonel William Parsons Winchester.  When Winchester died in 1850, Hubbard boarded a train to attend his funeral.   He had scarcely left New York when his son suffered a tragic accident.

On the afternoon of August 7, the young man attempted to board a moving Hudson River Railroad car at the corner of Canal and Greenwich Streets.  The New-York Daily Tribune reported the following day that he, “accidentally fell under the wheel and had his leg crushed to pieces, so that amputation was necessary.”

Within a few years of the accident Hubbard would update his home.  He replaced the Greek Revival ironwork, including the balcony, with more contemporary Italianate style examples.  It was possibly at this time that the striking arched doorway was installed.

On November 9^th, 1861, the mansion was the scene of the Hubbards’ 50^th wedding anniversary celebration.  The couple was surrounded by “all my children and a large number of grand-children,” as Nathaniel Hubbard later remembered.  But that year would also be the beginning of problems.

According to Hubbard’s autobiography, his “fortunes began to wane.”  He managed to stay on in the Washington Square house until 1866 where he had “resided twenty-nine years—twenty-five years in great prosperity.”

By the 1870s, the family of John Jay moved into the house.  A grandson of John Jay, president of the First Congress and first Chief Justice; Jay had been appointed Minister to Austria in 1869.  An ardent and early abolitionist, he had became a manager of the New-York Young Men’s Anti-Slavery Society in 1834, two years before graduating from Columbia College.  He argued several slavery cases and during the Civil War frequently advised Abraham Lincoln and his cabinet.

On April 13, 1869, the New-York Tribune said of him, “Apart from his professional and public career, Mr. Jay has succeeded in earning for himself a far-famed renown, and has nobly maintained the traditional reputation of his distinguished family, by the publication of numerous literary productions, which have more particularly been devoted to the discussion of questions of public interest.”

John Jay II -- Massachusetts Historical Society Photo Archives.

On February 28, 1878, Jay’s wife, the former Eleanor Kingland Field, hosted the first meeting of the Thursday Evening Club.  Its first president, she intended the social club to “maintain its standard, and to make it increasingly a centre of intellectual intercourse and recreation, by resisting every tendency to ostentation or extravagance in its entertainments and by welcoming to its fellowship those whose credentials are to be found in cultivated tastes and literary or artistic accomplishments.”

The dues were set a $2 and membership limited to 160.  Meetings were to be held on the first and third Thursday of each month, beginning in December and ending in April, “with no meetings during the Lenten season.”

Eleanor and her co-founders were specific in how the meetings would be run.  They would start “precisely 8:30 o’clock.”  All addresses and entertainments were to “begin punctually at 9 o’clock and last no more than forty-five minutes.”  The hostess at whose home the meeting was held was responsible for providing the entertainment.

Refreshments at the meetings of the club are to be very simple, and the wines limited to claret, hock, sherry, and punch.  The light refreshments may be placed on a buffet or passed around on waiters, but no regular supper tables shall be set and no champagne shall be allowed.

For the first meeting, Eleanor arranged for Bishop Potter to address the women.  He chose “Clubs” as his topic.  Eleanor Jay had succeeded in forming one of the first women’s clubs in New York and admittance to the exclusive Thursday Evening Club was highly coveted.

Eleanor took an afternoon drive up Fifth Avenue each day.  As The New York Times later pointed out, such an outing was then “a part of the day’s fashionable program.”  The newspaper said, “A commanding figure always, her bonnet and coiffure strictly Victorian, she sat erect in her somewhat outmoded high C-spring barouche, drawn by high-stepping horses, with coachman and footman in cockaded liveries.”

John Jay’s public celebrity and his wife’s social status notwithstanding, the Washington Square house would be just as socially important in the 1880s when Louisa Aspinwall Minturn moved in.  Recently widowed, her husband, shipping mogul John W. Minturn, had shockingly committed suicide in his office in 1881.  When Louisa altered the house, she expectedly turned to architects Renwick & Aspinwall to handle the project.

Fabulously wealthy, Louisa Minturn’s dances and receptions were glittering affairs.  The Evening World mentioned on December 19, 1887 that Mrs. Minturn’s dance that evening “will start the festivities of the week’s gaieties.”

The newspaper was prompted to print an apology to Louisa Minturn a few days later after it seems the dowager had voiced her displeasure.  “The dance given on Monday evening by Mrs. John W. Minturn, of 22 Washington Square, was not in honor of her daughter, as has been announced, but for her niece, Miss Appleton.”

Among the happiest events in the house was a wedding reception on April 14, 1894, following the marriage of Katherine M. Minturn to Edward A. Le Roy, Jr. in the nearby Church of the Ascension.  The New York Times noted that the ceremony was “attended by a large number of fashionable people.”

The following year Louisa turned her attention to an admirable cause—the erection of a new hospital for contagious diseases.  She donated $25,000 to start the building fund and, according to The Sun on May 2, 1895, “is devoting all her energies toward the completion of her scheme.”  The project would result in the construction of The Louisa Minturn Hospital.

Louisa was, of course, a member of the Thursday Evening Club and on January 16, 1896 she scored a coup when adventurer Lieutenant Robert Peary spoke to the group on his recent trip to the Arctic.  The New-York Tribune reported, “The lecture was illustrated with a number of stereopticon views.”  If the club had started out as a women-only group, Peary’s presence ended that.  A number of the socialites were accompanied by their husbands that night.

Louisa Minturn summered in Tuxedo.  Summer homes required a staff as large, and sometimes more so, than city mansions.  On October 31, 1900, she advertised in the New-York Tribune for, “BUTLER—First class butler wanted for Tuxedo.  Apply, bringing references, Wednesday at 10:30.”

The Minturn Hospital continued, understandably, to be Louisa’s pet charity.  She repeatedly opened her Washington Square home to bolster funding, such as the Christmas sale she held in December 1901.

On December 23, 1904, the 60-year old socialite attended a dinner at the Waldorf-Astoria.  At 10:45, she climbed into her electric hansom and instructed her chauffeur, John Riley, to take her home.  As Riley drove down Fifth Avenue “at a moderate rate of speed” towards 31^st Street, an electric cab was coming the opposite direction.  “In the north-bound hansom was a very pretty and fashionably gowned young woman,” reported The New York Times the following day.

 Suddenly the cab swerved diagonally across the avenue “with no lessening of speed,” according to The Times.  “The two cabs came together with a crash.”

Louisa Minturn was thrown through the windshield and onto the running board of the other vehicle.  The cab driver, Charles C. King, “was jolted forward and fell into the wreckage.”  His passenger received cuts to her face.  When an ambulance arrived, both Louisa Minturn and the cabbie were unconscious.

“Dr. Lanthrop, who responded, found that Mrs. Minturn’s head, face, and shoulders were lacerated, and, possibly, that her nose was fractured," said the article.  “King’s injuries were more serious.  His left leg was crushed and the bones were broken in several places.  The heel of his left foot was nearly torn off.”  He was arrested, charged with reckless driving.

Each of the owners of the Washington Square mansion had renewed the leasehold on the land below it.  So far, it had not been an issue.  Before long that would all change.

On June 7, 1919, the New-York Tribune reported, “Sir Edgar Speyer has purchased the dwelling and Hamersley estate leasehold at 22 Washington Square North.”  Speyer paid $22,000 for the property, about $300,000 in today’s dollars.

The former London banker had given up his title as a British baron, resigned as a member of the British Privy Council, and moved to New York in 1915.  This followed the British Home Secretary’s charge that he “has shown himself by act and speech to be disaffected and disloyal to his majesty, and had, during the war in which his majesty was engaged, unlawfully communicated with the subjects of an enemy state and associated with a business which was to his knowledge carried on in such a manner as to assist the enemy in such war.”

A member of one of the oldest families in Germany, Speyer had been reared there, although he was born in New York City.  He lived in England for 30 years and the baronetcy was conferred on him in 1906 by King Edward for his services as the Chairman of the underground railroad system in London.  His wife, Leonora, was the daughter of Count Ferdinand von Stosch.  An accomplished violinist and poet, she would go on to win the 1927 Pulitzer Prize for poetry for her Fiddler’s Farewell.

Two months later, after moving into the Washington Square mansion, the Speyers announced the engagement of Leonora’s daughter from a previous marriage, Enid Virginia Howland, to J. Robert Hewitt.  “Miss Howland attended school in Europe and has been in this country five years,” reported The Sun.  “She is now with her mother in their country place at Lake George, N.Y.”   

Newspapers at the time referred to the Speyers and “Sir Edgar and Lady Speyer.”  But by the time Enid’s sister, Pamela, married Count Hugo Charles Moy in St. Patrick’s Cathedral in 1926, The New York Times noted, “The bride’s father is Sir Edgar Speyer, although he prefers to call himself Mr. Edgar Speyer.”

Edgar and Leonora Speyer in 1921.  Illustrated London News, 24 December 1921 (copyright expired)

On December 11, 1922, upon arriving at Pennsylvania Station, Leonora Speyer discovered that one of her suitcases was missing.   It came at a time when police were puzzled by the robberies of “several fashionable women in Pullman trains and in prominent hotels by removing suitcases packed with jewelry and wearing apparel,” as reported by The Evening World.

Police staked out pawn shops and Detective Gunita’s suspicions were raised when Emily Armstrong pawned a pearl necklace for $20 in a shop at the corner of Third Avenue and 34^th Street.  “She was shadowed by Detective Gunita…to two department stores, where he said he saw her steal several articles.  Then he followed her to her furnished rooms, where he arrested her.”

The Evening World described the “ladylike thief” as “about thirty-five years old and of evident refinement.”  The necklace she had pawned for $20 belonged to Leonora Speyer and was valued at $4,000—in the neighborhood of $55,600 today.

Armstrong confessed, admitting that “she stood around the Pennsylvania Station and Grand Central Terminal until she spied a fashionable woman with a traveling bag, and then she would follow her to her Pullman compartment and await her chance to walk off with the bag.”  The Evening World said, “Those at the Speyer home refused today to discuss the case.”

The wedding of another daughter, Vivien Claire Speyer, took place in St. Mark’s in the Bowery on April 8, 1927.  Afterward, guests arrived at the Washington Square mansion for a wedding breakfast.  Vivien married Herbert Goldschmidt-Hergenhahn, who was related to the Rothschilds and Merton families of Germany.  That evening the newlyweds set sail on the Homeric, headed for their new home in Hamburg.

Finally, in 1929, the last of the Speyer daughters, Leonora married--she, too, to a German, Dr. G. Von Wolff a Berlin surgeon.

In January 1932, Edgar Speyer traveled to Berlin for a nasal operation.  Doctors said he was “apparently fit.”  But his condition deteriorated and on February 16 he died of a hemorrhage at the age of 69.  For a few years, Leonora stayed in the house which she and her husband had filled with antiques and art.  Then, in 1935, she entered negotiations with sculptor Robert Aiken to remodel the house for the use “solely for his studio and private dwelling.”  The architectural firm of Lenygon & Morant provided a proposal for $20,000 in significant alterations to the interiors and “possible remodeling of the front.”

But Leonora soon ran up against a legal wall—the leasehold.   A letter from her attorneys, Guggenheimer & Untermyer, on April 3, 1935 noted in part, “Under the terms of Mrs. Speyer’s lease she cannot assign same without the consent of Mr. Hamersley.  Further, since the present lease expires in 1938, Mr. Aitken is not willing to purchase unless he can come to some satisfactory arrangement with Mr. Hamersley with respect to the terms of the renewal.”

Leonra Speyer finally gave up.  In 1939, the mansion was acquired by New York University to house a new Faculty Club.  The school commissioned architect William S. Gregory to design the interior alterations.   

In 2008, Morris Adjmi Architects began restoration and conversion efforts to serve the needs of NYU’s School of Law.  Although, as explained in the firm’s website, “the north and south facades were meticulously restored,” the grand interior spaces were less fortunate.

photo http://www.ma.com/project/22-washington-square-north/

non-credited photographs taken by the author

Alfred Zucker's No. 18 Waverly Place

 
A single block of Waverley Place, near Washington Square kept architect Alfred Zucker busy in the first years of the 1890s.   Within a two year period between 1891 and 1893 he would design Nos. 12, 18, 24-26, and 28-30 Waverley Place, and the massive stone structure at the corner of Waverley Place and Greene Street, No. 246 Greene.  Elegant brick-faced residences, once the homes of some of New York’s most influential citizens, were being razed at a dizzying pace to be replaced by his modern commercial structures. 

Wealthy merchant John Dowley owned one such house, No. 18, in the decades before the Civil War.   Four stories tall and 33-feet wide, it was an impressive residence.  Following Dowley, it became home to Joel Browne Post and his wife, the former Abby Mauran Church.  Here their son, George Browne Post grew up to become one of America’s premier architects.  But by 1891 Post’s boyhood neighborhood was doomed.

On February 7, 1891 the Real Estate Record and Builders’ Guide reported that Post had sold the house.  “It is understood that the purchaser will tear down the house and erect a warehouse on the site.”  The purchasers were brothers Samuel and Henry Corn, who were grabbing up several other properties on the block.  Their architect of choice was Alfred Zucker and it was this relationship that resulted in Zucker’s unusual string of commissions on the street.

A month later the Record and Guide reported that Zucker had filed plans for “a six-story basement and sub-cellar warehouse.”  The paper noted “This building will be of brick, iron and stone construction, furnished with all modern conveniences and is estimated to cost $75,000.”  That figure would translate to just under $2 million today.  Interestingly, when the Corns took out their $75,000 mortgage from the Title Guarantee Trust Co. in September that year, the paperwork included “and wives.”

George Post’s home was demolished, construction begun, and the building completed within a year.  Zucker managed to produce a Romanesque-inspired design without the use of arched openings—other than those at the sixth floor, where paired windows formed a near arcade behind thin columns with fanned capitals.  Two story stone piers with carved medieval capitals continued upward as brick.  The central section was, for the most part, cast iron; allowing for vast expanses of glass.  The spandrels at the fourth and fifth floors were filled with creatively-laid brick, creating waffle-like panels.

The rapid redevelopment of the neighborhood was due, in part, by the encroachment of the millinery and garment districts.    The ground floor retail space became home to the “hats and caps” store of Crofut & White before long.  The Clothiers’ and Haberdashers’ Weekly reported on December 27, 1895 that Crofut & White "will shortly move their New York office from 24 West Fourth street into the store at 18 Waverly Place."

The Empire Cloak and Suit Company moved its manufacturing operation into the building.  Abraham Moses worked here in 1897 as a cloth cutter.  Moses commuted daily from Newark, New Jersey; but his daily routine would end suddenly and tragically on September 11 that year.

That day the cutting crew was running low on material and Abraham Moses went to the elevator, leaned into the open shaft and yelled down for the operator to bring up more cloth.  The New York Times reported the following day “The elevator was coming down with a load of freight and it struck Moses on the back of the head, breaking his spine and inflicting injuries from which he died two hours later in St Vincent’s Hospital.”

At the time of the accident, the labor movement was taking root in the United States.  It would bring the Empire Cloak and Suit Company to a halt three years later.  In 1899 about 200 of Empire’s employees joined the Cloakmakers’ Union.   Not only did the owners, brothers M. and J. Silverman, refuse to recognize the union; they adamantly refused to hire new union workers.

When the unionized workers arrived at No. 18 Waverley Place on January 10, 1900 they found themselves locked out.  Now officially on strike, they told reporters two days later that they “still remain firm and declare that they will not acceded to the demands of M. and J. Silverman.”

Hat manufacturer Lanchick Bros. were not immune to labor problems, either.  In 1905 its employees, members of the cap makers’ union, went on strike.

Van Orden & Bickner sold hats for men and boys here in 1907 -- The American Hatter, August 1907 (copyright expired)

Among the other millinery and clothing firms in the building were Van Orden & Bickner, wholesale hat dealers in 1907; The Queen Waist Company in 1908 and the Fiberloid Company in 1909.  Fiberloid produced men’s collars and cuffs, and aggressively marketed its Litholin brand.  Made of waterproofed linen, it was guaranteed to “hold its shape, cleanliness, neatness, and has the regulation dull white surface of ordinary, well-laundered linen…if the sun shines or the rain pours.”

Scandal visited No. 18 in 1912 when burglars broke into a garment manufacturer.   The owner was disgraced with his son, Bernard Levy, was arrested for the crime.   After working to clear his son of the charges, the owner committed suicide.

By the 1940s the garment and millinery industries had moved north of 34^th Street.  In 1944 No. 18 was sold, assessed at the time at $29,000.   The building was taken over by a vastly different trade—chocolate.

On May 8 that year Jane Holt of The New York Times wrote “The appetizing aroma of chocolate that is being melted pervades the factory of the Kopper Company at 18 Waverly Place, where candies in the European style are manufactured for sale in retail stores in many sections of the country.  The confections…are of twenty varieties that the firm used to make in Germany before its establishment in this country in 1938.”

The “appetizing aroma of chocolate” would waft out of No. 18 Waverly Place for more than four decades.  Kopper’s Chocolate factory left the building in 1986.   The building was acquired by New York University, which initiated a restoration and renovation in 2008.  Today it remains a handsome element in Alfred Zucker’s eclectic string of 1890s structures.

 photographs by the author

Alfred Zucker's 1892 No. 12 Waverly Place

As the last decade of the 19^th century dawned, the once fashionable block of Waverley Place saw the rapid demolition of brick-faced homes and the construction of modern loft buildings.  The garment and millinery districts were encroaching on the area and families like that of Henry Maillard and his wife, who lived at No. 12 Waverley Place, were fleeing northward.

Maillard, called by The New York Times “of chocolate and bonbon fame,” was owner of the candy company Henry, Maillard, Inc. and operated a confectionery store in the Fifth Avenue Hotel.  His sugary delicacies earned him a membership in the Chamber of Commerce as well as a substantial fortune.  In November 1890 he too would leave Waverley Place, selling the old 25-foot wide residence to Samuel and Henry Corn.  In reporting the sale The Real Estate Record & Builders’ Guide noted “A six-story warehouse will be erected on the lot.”

The Corns were among the most aggressive and active real estate developers in Manhattan at the time; and they often worked with Alfred Zucker in the designing of their modern loft structures.  The German-born architect was prolific, producing office buildings, lofts and department stores in New York City.  Now the developers simultaneously gave Zucker two more projects—an 8-story warehouse at Nos. 36 to 38 East 12^th Street; and the 6-story structure at No. 12 Waverley Place.

On December 6, 1890 Zucker’s plans were completed for the “brick, stone and terra cotta warehouse…with all improvements, to cost $45,000,” according to The Record & Guide.   The cost would amount to about $1.2 million today.  If Samuel and Henry Corn originally intended their new building to be a “warehouse,” the plan did not survive long.   Instead Zucker designed a striking Romanesque loft and store of cast iron, brownstone and brick with terra cotta touches.

The wonderfully asymmetrical upper floors sat on a cast iron storefront base.  Zucker kept the visual weight of the structure low by his use of color and size of material.   Two floors of chunky stone above the street level gave way to lighter-colored brick.  Fantastic oversized eyebrows flared like wings above the paired arched openings of the top three floors.

But that would all have to wait until labor problems were solved.   On February 23, 1891 contractor K. N. Smith & Co. was given the general construction contract—covering all masonry, ironwork and carpentry.  Samuel and Henry Corn stipulated in the $32,700 contract that work had to be completed by November 15, 1891.

Arguments between the contractor and the owners and architect worsened when the deadline came and went.  Finally in December the Corns stopped issuing payments.  When the money stopped, so did the construction.  What followed was a standoff described by the Real Estate Record & Builders’ Guide as “amusing.”  The Corns, no doubt, found it much less so.

K. N. Smith & Co. refused to allow the owners entry into their own building.  “The owners employed a body of Pinkerton men and sought to take the building by force,” said The Guide a year later.    The irate Samuel and Henry Corn, who expected to see their building opened early in 1892, instead were tied up in court for a year and the uncompleted structure sat idle when Smith sued for payment.

On May 8, 1893 the Superior Court decided that the contractor had been guilty of “a great lack of diligence” and dismissed the case.

Finally No. 12 Waverley Place opened in towards the end of 1893 and among its first occupants were Samuel and Henry Corn themselves.  The tenant list showed a large representation from the millinery and garment trade, including Hirschberg & Co., a “headwear” factory.   Hirschberg took advantage of available child labor.  Of Hirschberg’s workforce of 32 males and 27 females, 9 of the women were under 21 years old and two of the boys were under 18 (one less than 14 years old).  An inspection by the State that year documented “hours of labor of minors, 53; hours of Saturday, 8.”

Quirky cast iron coexists with chunky stone, beige brick and ornamental terra cotta.  The asymmetry of the design carries over to the off-balanced ornaments on either side of the dentiled sill.

A firm that would put a young boy to work for 53 hours a week was not likely to look favorably on unionizing.  Not long after moving in, Hirschberg’s crew of capmakers was locked out “for being union men” and non-union men were hired to take their place. 

But in the 1890s overworked laborers were beginning to stand up to autocratic factory owners.  It appears that Hirschberg & Co., now faced with a general walk-out, capitulated.  On July 4, 1894 The Evening World reported that the union capmakers “have resumed work at their own terms, and the non-union men, by whom they had been replaced, were discharged.”

Sixty-five year old fire insurance broker Julius Burrow took an office in the new building.  Born in Germany, he had suffered poor health for a decade.  In 1892 the family moved from Brooklyn to Montclair, New Jersey in hopes that a change of air and scenery would be beneficial.   Possibly because of his health, Burrow suffered business problems shortly after taking the new offices.  On January 9, 1894 The New York Times said rather bluntly, “Recently he met with business reverses, which rendered him temporarily insane.”

Neighbors and colleagues could never have known that the seemingly-wealthy Burrows was in financial trouble.  The Times said “The family are well known in Montclair society, but led a quiet life.”

Despite his bouts of “melancholy,” Burrows appeared in “exceptionally good spirits” on the night of January 8, 1894.  The family was still asleep at 6:00 the next morning when the report of a gunshot broke the silence.  The Sun reported “It was thought at first that burglars were in the house, and one of Mr. Burrow’s sons opened his window and discharged his revolver to arouse the neighbors.”

The family then realized that Julius Burrows was missing and the bathroom door was locked.  Julius Jr. climbed out on top of the bay windows and broke the bathroom window.  There on the floor was his father “stretched out dead upon the floor with a 22-calibre revolver by his side,” said The Evening World.

The New York Times reported “On the floor beside the suicide’s body was found a letter, unsealed, which was taken charge of by one of the sons.  On the envelope was written: ‘Let no stranger see this.’”

If, indeed, Julius Burrow had wanted “no stranger” to see the letter, he was confounded in death.  The Evening World spilled its contents to the world:

I have tried to tide over my business troubles by borrowing money.  I find to-day that I am unable to obtain any from my friends and so there is nothing for me to do but die.”

The building continued to house apparel firms, like Max Driesen who took space in February 1896; and Sidney Beller, “a well-to-do young cloak manufacturer,” as described by The Times.   About a year earlier Beller had married Sophie Manworth, “a very pretty Harlem maid.”  But, according to the newspaper on October 2, 1896, “disagreements arose between them.”

The upset Beller placed advertisements in all the morning newspapers on October 1 notifying all persons “that he would pay no bills hereafter contracted by his wife, Sophie Beller.“  He then marched off to the office of his lawyers, C. R. & C. U. Caruth.

As he discussed his marital problems with his attorney, suddenly Sophie walked in.  The sight of his lovely wife melted Beller’s heart.  The Times reported “Beller saw her, and, walking over to her, whispered: ‘Wife, forgive me; I was wrong.  Let us try again.’  A reconciliation was quickly effected, and last night they had a dinner together in its honor.”

One wonders if Mr. and Mrs. Beller appreciated their marital laundry being aired in the newspapers.

In the building at the same time was S. Brett & Sons, trousers manufacturers.  In July 1897 Lebowitz & Burros announced the establishment of its new firm in Cloaks and Furs.  The fledgling firm promised “we will manufacture the finest Cloaks and Tailor-made Suits.”  Another hat manufacturer, McChesney & Fischer, was another tenant at the time.

In May 1901 the building was offered for sale, advertised as a “bargain” by realtor E. D. Cordts.  Later that year, in December, the ground floor retail space was vacant.  A long-running advertisement offered “a nice large store and basement.”

In the meantime the upper floors continued to house garment firms.  In 1903 Cloaks and Furs reported that Seifert & Rosner, furriers, had moved in.  (Unfortunately, the firm filed for involuntary bankruptcy two years later.)   And in 1904 J. Cypres & Co. “manufacturers of seal caps and gloves” signed a lease.

Abramson & Werblin, another clothing manufacturer, started business on July 15, 1905.  The company was destined for bad luck.  On August 18 the following year they were “burnt out,” as reported by The Sun.  Although the company had $1,800 in insurance, the broker was slow in paying out.   On September 8, 1906 The Sun reported that “as they have not received their insurance money yet they could not meet their bills.  Yesterday a petition in bankruptcy was filed against them.”

Maxim Hat confessed its $2 hat was not the best.  Men's Wear, August 7, 1907 (copyright expired)

The pre-World War I factories here included W. Stomel & Son, makers of “boys’ and juvenile clothing;” the Maxim Hat Works; and the Peruvian Panama Hat Co.  The latter company rode the wave of the popular Panama hat craze and in 1914 enlarged its offices and showrooms by taking the entire lower floor.  “In 1915 we added additional lofts at our premises at 12 Waverly Place in order to give us sufficient room for our manufactured advance orders and shipping department,” boasted an advertisement.  The following year Peruvian Panama Hat Co. bragged “we have surpassed all previous efforts, and have produced the largest and best line of Panamas ever offered to the trade.”

As the garment and millinery district moved north of 34^th Street by mid century; a variety of new businesses and offices moved into the building.  In 1963 the former showroom space was converted to a “luncheonette” while the upper floors were still described in Department of Building documents as “factories.”

No. 12 was involved in a murder mystery in 1974.  Aspiring actress Karen Schlegel was 22 years old when she left Cresskill, New Jersey a year earlier.  She took an apartment at No. 9 Minetta Street, just four blocks from the Waverly Place building and landed a job as a program analyst for the McGraw-Hill Publishing Company.  The New York Times described her apartment as being “a block from the honkytonk atmosphere of Macdougal Street.”

On Tuesday, August 20, 1974 a pocketbook was found in a trashcan near City Hall.  It was given to police, who then called Karen’s parents.   They had not heard from her since Sunday and unsuccessfully tried to reach her at her apartment.

Later that night Karen Schlegel’s body was found on the roof of No. 12 Waverly Place.  She had been dead for about 24 hours.  “Bruises on the upper parts of the body initially prompted speculation that the victim had been murdered elsewhere and that the body was later dragged to the spot where neighbors found it,” said The Times.  An autopsy gave the cause of death as strangulation.  There was no evidence of sexual assault.

A New Jersey friend blamed New York City for her death.  “She was lovely, tall, blond and slim—she was very quiet and sweet, not a tramp or a girl on drugs.  Girls like that are lambs thrown to the wolves of New York.”

By the end of the first decade of the 21^st century, the former factory building was taken over by New York University as its Center for Geonics and Systems Biology.  Converted to laboratories, conference rooms and offices; it was joined internally with Nos. 14 and 16 Waverly Place.

Not everything in the new Center was tedious science.  On December 15, 2010 the meeting of the Experimental Cuisine Collective took place in Room 108.  “It will cover the ‘science’ of chocolate chip cookies, including subjects like gluten formation, the behavior of chocolate, and chewy versus crispy,” reported the New York Times on December 7.

The University has tenderly maintained and restored Alfred Zucker’s wonderful 1892 façade.  Its quirky balanced off-balance design with its blend of materials, colors and shapes is a gem on an architecturally fascinating block.

photographs by the author