William Jose's 1873 5 Spring Street

 

image via apartments.com

On June 17, 1873, the "brick house in front and small brick building in rear" at 5 Spring Street were auctioned.  Their sale would doom the two buildings, which, like nearly all the vintage structures in the neighborhood, were falling victim to the drastically changing demographics in what a century later would be called Nolita.

On month later, architect William Jose filed plans for a 25-foot-wide, "five-story brown stone store and tenement" for developer F. Herlein.  His Italianate design was typical of the ubiquitous tenement buildings being erected throughout the Lower East Side.  Sheet metal lintels with molded cornices sat atop the upper floor windows and an arched pediment crowned with a Greek-inspired antefix sat atop the building's pressed metal terminal cornice. 

photograph by Ted Leather

What was not typical was the cast iron storefront.  Between two entrances--one accessing the upper floors and the other the store--was a triple arcade.  The paneled piers between the windows contributed to a handsome presence, but restricted the ability to display wares.  The lack of a vast show window did not deter Joseph Hugo to open his bakery in the space.

The 1873 storefront survived in 1940.  via the NYC Dept of Records & Information Services.

No. 5 Spring Street filled with blue collar and middle-class tenants.  Living here in 1877 were three clerks, two carpenters, a shoemaker, a hatter, a laborer, a cigarmaker, a butcher, a maker of awnings, two widows, and an ostler (or stable worker). 

Many of the tenants were Irish-born, like Michael J. Riley, who worked as a letter carrier, and his wife and five children.  One afternoon in October 1884 he delivered mail to a Bond Street machine shop.  He placed a package of 125 letters on the counter.  They were addressed to Bond Street businesses that had already closed for the day.  The New York Herald explained, "In such cases the mail is taken back to the station and stamped with an explanation of its non-delivery."  Riley, perhaps distracted, "picked up his pouch and went out of the shop, leaving the package."

On October 8, the New York Herald reported that Michael Riley had been arrested, "on a charge of unlawfully detaining the mails."  Riley stressed that he "forgot all about it."  Perhaps coming to his defense, the article concluded, "Riley had a sunstroke last summer."

Sam Erwin Ryan, born in 1828, was described by the New York Herald as "one of the oldest Irish comedians on the American stage."  The widowed entertained died here on November 15, 1891 at the age of 63.  In reporting his death, the New York Herald remarked, "He had been forty years on the stage, and had been a conspicuous actor in his day."

Unthinkable today, working class parents often sent their small children on errands, even at night.  On Saturday night January 9, 1897, Detectives Summers and Lynch noticed five-year-old Lee Collins, whose family lived at 5 Spring Street, "walking along that thoroughfare...with a can."  They asked the boy where he was going and he said he was off to get some beer.

The policeman followed him to Henry Barr's saloon at 14 Spring Street, "and saw the bartender, Clement Kirschner, sell him a pint of beer."  Although Kirschner was arrested, Lee Collins' parents were not accused of any wrongdoing (and apparently Lee Collins went on his way home unaccompanied with the pail of beer).  When the bartender faced Magistrate Deuel in the Centre Street Police Court, he received "a severe lecture."  Deuel "told him he ought to be ashamed of himself to sell beer to a child" and placed his bail at $1,000 (a stunning $40,000 in 2026 terms).

The Commerford family lived here in 1898.  The New York Journal and Advertiser said that Patrick Commerford "is accustomed to putting a little whiskey in his black coffee at breakfast."  On September 4, however, there was no whiskey in the apartment, so Maggie Commerford was sent to the apartment of her aunt, Kate White, at 239 Mulberry Street to get some.  The New York Journal and Advertiser said Maggie was three-and-a-half years old.  The New York Herald placed her age at nine.  Either way, the newspapers' reporting on the events that followed, however, were consistent.

Maggie went to her aunt's home and, according to Kate White, she filled Maggie's pint bottle with whiskey "and told the little girl to carry it home to her father," as reported by the New York Herald.  On the way, "Little Maggie evidently became thirsty," said the newspaper.  The girl drank the entire pint bottle of whiskey.  The New York Herald said she "was picked up from the sidewalk in Mulberry street yesterday in an unconscious state and carried to St. Vincent's Hospital."

Maggie told officials, "It felt just like I had played too much 'ring-around-a-rosy.'"  And asked why she drank it, she replied, "Oh, I just tasted it, and it seemed to taste good, and I tasted it all up."  Mrs. Commerford took the girl home and Patrick Commerford was arrested.

By the turn of the century, Mary Seibert ran the bakery.  The workspace and ovens were in the basement and Mary lived in an apartment above the bakery.  The business was apparently successful, because Mary could afford a live-in servant.  

The neighborhood was, by now, greatly filled with Italian immigrants.  In 1899 Paolo Lecestra arrived from Italy, "leaving his wife, Luigia, behind until he could get money enough to buy her passage with," explained The New York Sun.  He was not here very long before he found a job as a pressor in a tailor shop.  Just as quickly, he fell in love with a co-worker, Rosina Ignelia.  

Lecestra married Rosina in November 1899 and they moved into 5 Spring Street.  In the meantime, Luigia Lecestra was also working towards her passage.  On April 4, 1901, The Sun reported, "Six months ago Luigia, the first wife, scraped together enough money to come to this country."  Paolo Lecestra met Luigia at the pier, "but gave her an angry reception," reported The Sun.  What followed was remarkable.  The article recounted:

Then he took her to his home at 5 Spring street and introduced her to Rosina, who he said was his lawful wife under the laws of the United States.  Lecestra told Luigia that she might remain if she did as she was told.  Her duties were to keep house for her husband and Rosina, who worked together in the tailor shop.

Luigia later described the arrangement.  The Sun recounted, "Lecestra maintained wifely relations only with Rosina who is younger and prettier than Luigia," adding, "Luigia was the household drudge."  The heartbroken Luigia spilled out her woeful condition in a letter to her uncle in Italy, who was an attorney.  He forwarded it to the Italian Consul, which turned it over to the New York District Attorney.  On April 3, 1901, Paolo Lecestra was arrested for bigamy.  The New York Sun reported, "Rosina kissed him and wept when Lecestra was taken away."

The Pavone and Versa families lived here in 1906 when their mischievous sons went on a rampage.  On August 29, they and three other Italian boys boarded a subway "loaded down with apples," as worded by the New-York Tribune.  The article said they "amused themselves by throwing apples at everybody in the rear car."  The motorman stopped the train "and blew the train whistle repeatedly."  Two officers responded and the "boys resisted arrest, but were subdued."  The five were "locked up charged with disorderly conduct," said the article.

Joseph Marino, who lived here in 1935, was doing well enough financially to afford an automobile.  In September that year, the car was stolen and the thieves removed the license plates.  Although the vehicle was not readily recovered, the plates showed up the following month as part of a grisly discovery.  

On September 30, gangster Joseph "Pretty" Amberg and his chauffeur, Morris Kessler "were lined up against the wall in a Brownsville garage, after the fashion of  the celebrated St. Valentine's Day massacres in Chicago, and were riddled with bullets," reported The New York Times.  On October 24, the newspaper revealed, "'Pretty' Amberg's body was found early yesterday morning in a blazing automobile which had been left in front of 131 North Elliot Place, Brooklyn."  The plates on the car belonged to Joseph Marino.

image via the NYC Dept of Records & Information Services

Joseph Bianco was discharged from the Army in October 1945.  The veteran returned to New York, got a job driving a milk wagon, and moved into 5 Spring Street.  His heroism ended at the end of the war.  

In March 1946, five teenaged boys were arrested "as juvenile delinquents," explained The New York Times.  The boys confessed in a string of tenement building burglaries and arsons.  One of the fires nearly resulted in the death of a sleeping girl.  In interrogating the teens, police discovered that 22-year-old Joseph Bianco was a modern day Fagan.

On March 11, 1946, The New York Times reported that he "looked defiantly yesterday in Felony Court as the prosecutor related...that Bianco trained five boys, all under 16 years old, not alone to be burglars but to set fire to three lower East Side tenement apartments to conceal their crimes."  Bianco pleaded ignorance of the crimes, saying he had accepted the loot from the youths, but insisted, "I didn't know they had stolen that stuff."

When Bianco got out of prison, he remained friends with a resident of 5 Spring Street, Joseph Trulio.  On December 26, 1950, The New York Times reported that the two men confessed to "holding up thirty hotels in the last two weeks, nine of them on Christmas morning."  In court, Magistrate Brenner asked Bianco, "Why pick hotels?"  He replied, "Hotels are easier.  They have big lobbies and you can make a quick getaway."

photograph by Ted Leather

Changes in the neighborhood were reflected by Sweet and Vicious, a night club, occupying the ground floor space in the early 2000s.  A renovation completed in 2016 modernized the storefront, home to The Tavern today.  Although the paneled piers remain, the arched openings are either squared off or covered by signage today.

many thanks to reader Ted Leather for suggesting this post

The 1929 Tree-Mark Shoe Building (Bowery Ballroom) - 6 Delancey Street

 

photograph by Corey W. Schneider

By the 1890s, many of the Federal-style houses along Delancey Street near the Bowery had been razed or remodeled for commerce.  One that survived in 1898 was 6 Delancey Street.  That year Carl Werner was arrested for operating a "disorderly house" (a brothel) in the premises.  The vintage building would survive nearly two more decades.

On January 17, 1914, the Record & Guide reported that Monroe & Landseidel, "will complete plans for a 2-story brick theatre...to be erected at 6-8 Delancey st. for Earnest Plath."  Variety noted the building would cost $10,000, or about about $315,000 in 2025.  Something went awry, however, and the architects withdrew the plans.  

The project was taken up by the Meyer & Schneider chain of theaters, which hired Lorenz Weiher to design the motion picture house.  Completed that year, the Art Theatre held 500 seats and cost $25,000--more than double that of the earlier design.  It would be renamed twice--to the M. & S. Theatre around 1918 and later The Delancey.

The motion picture theater would not survive especially long.  It was demolished in 1928 to make way for a "one-story brick store" for the Marbitz Realty Corp.  It was designed by Henry Creighton Ingalls for the owner's lessee, the Tree-Mark Shoe Co., Inc.  His plans projected the cost at $30,000 (about $534,000 today).

Founded in 1918, the Tree-Mark Shoe Co., Inc. specialized in orthopedic shoes, custom-made for specific customers with special needs.  The firm staffed its showroom with "podiatrist-salesmen."  

Ingalls had designed several theaters, including the Henry Miller Theatre and The Neighborhood Playhouse.  Completed in 1929, his symmetrical Italian Renaissance design for the Tree-Mark Shoe building smacked of a theater--its entrance placed within a dramatic, double-height arch.  The facade was faced in rusticated limestone, and octagonal openings floated above the show windows.  The frieze below the denticulated cornice was ornamented with stylized fleurs-de-lis.  Tree-Mark Shoes was incised into the stone parapet.

Although it appeared to be a two-story structure from the street, the showroom was technically one.  A mezzanine ran along the sides at what otherwise would be the second floor.  The offices were tucked into alcoves at this level, lighted by the octagonal windows.

Hundreds of boxes lined the walls and a magnificent chandelier hangs above the marble-tiled floor.  photo by Wurts Bros. from the Museum of the City of New York

Although Tree-Mark Shoes was well-known for its orthopedic footwear, it also did a brisk business with ready-made stock.  Aware that the population of the district was heavily Jewish, the firm routinely ran advertisements in Yiddish language magazines and newspapers.

The Jewish Journal, May 20, 1949.

An advertisement in the Brooklyn Jewish Center Review in January 1934 addressed patrons' struggles during the Great Depression. 

For 18 years Tree-Mark has made shoes that sold from $8.50 to $13.50.  And for 18 years people from every part of the city bought them at these prices because they were satisfied Tree-Mark Shoes were scientifically created to serve the cause of healthy feet, without sacrificing style.

But today we are living in a new period, one that requires financial adjustment.  Tree-Mark has therefore made a new model of its famous shoes that is priced at $6.95.

  

Brooklyn Jewish Center Review, October 1934

Tree-Mark Shoes, Inc. prospered here for more than half a century.  The title of an advertisement in The New York Times on October 23, 1979 revealed that the firm still focused on orthopedic problems.  "Hammer-toes?...get a Ghillie!"  The Ghillie model was designed to correct the foot issue and cost $55 (about $230 today).

After being home to a carpeting and a lighting store in the late 1980s through the mid-1990s, in 1997 the property was acquired by the Bowery Ballroom, founded by Michael and Brian Swier with Michael Winsch.  While much of Henry C. Ingalls's interior detailing was lost in renovating it to an performance venue, others were preserved.  The Bowery Ballroom website mentions, "the brass rails, the brass and iron exterior metalwork, the mahogany lined VIP rooms and the coffer-vaulted plaster ceiling of the mezzanine bar" remain.

Among the earliest groups to play here was John Lurie and The Lounge Lizards.  On June 5, 1998, The New York Times reported, "Film-noir rakishness, rippling minimalism and a touch of late-night blues merge in John Lurie's music for the Lounge Lizards."

Wurts Bros. took this photograph in 1930.  from the collection of the New York Public Library

The venue continues to be operated by its founders.  Over the years, Bowery Ballroom audiences heard the likes of Patti Smith, Kanye West, the Red Hot Chili Peppers, Tony Bennett, Radiohead, and, most recently, Paul McCartney.

The March 2003 Environmental Impact Statement by the Federal Transit Administration's Second Avenue Subway Evaluation praised the Tree-Mark Shoe Building as, "a distinguished example of Italian Renaissance inspired commercial architecture."

Old St. Patrick's Convent and Girls' School - 32-36 Prince Street

 

During British rule, Roman Catholic worship was illegal in New York City.  And although anti-Catholic sentiments were still strong after the Revolution, the Roman Catholic population was such that on April 8, 1808 the sprawling diocese of New York was created--covering all of New York State, New Jersey, and several Long Island counties.  On May 14, 1815, the first Catholic cathedral in America, St. Patrick's, was dedicated at Mulberry and Spring Streets.

Two years later, Bishop John Connolly reached out to Elizabeth Seton, the founder of the Sisters of Charity in Emmitsburg, Maryland.  Hers was the first religious community of women in the United States, and in 1810 she opened St. Joseph Academy Emmitsburg.  In 1814, she sent sisters to establish an orphanage in Philadelphia.

In his 1877 A Popular History of the Catholic Church in the United States, John O'Kane Murray writes:

In 1817, Bishop Connolly, of New York...applied to the Superior-General of the Sisters of Charity, at Emmittsburg [sic], for some Sisters to take charge of an orphan asylum in his episcopal city.  The new mission was confided to the pious and zealous Sister Rose White, and two companions.  On the 13th of September they took charge of St. Patrick's Asylum, corner of Prince and Mott [sic] streets. 

Murray was mistaken regarding the original site.  The "humble" structure, as he worded, sat at Prince and Mulberry Street.  When the nuns arrived in 1817, they cared for 30 Catholic orphans.  (The purpose of a Catholic orphanage was to prevent the foundlings and orphans from "being lost to the faith" in a Protestant institution.)

In 1824, land at the corner of Prince and Mott Streets, overlooking the churchyard of St. Patrick's Cathedral, was donated by C. Heeney as a site for a permanent structure.  When Bishop John Connolly died on February 6, 1825, construction had already begun.  On October 14, The Evening Post reported on the "charity sermon" to be preached by Rev. Mr. Power two days later at St. Peter's Church on Barclay Street.  The article said, "a collection [will be] taken up, the proceeds of which will be appropriated towards building the Orphan Asylum now erecting at the corner of Prince and Mott streets."

Completed in 1826, the dignified, Federal-style structure was impressive.  The architect, whose name is lost, configured the Prince Street elevation into three sections--the end pavilions projecting forward from the five-bay section.  The three-story-and-attic structure sat upon a brick basement level trimmed with brownstone quoins.  The attic levels of the end wings were designed as triangular pediments with round windows, while the center portion sprouted three tall, handsome dormers.  

The building was faced in red Flemish bond brick.  Its brownstone-framed entrance above a wide stoop was equal to that of the finest mansions in the city.  Below an elegant, leaded fanlight, Ionic columns flanked the paneled door against wood carved to imitate stone blocks.  On either side of the leaded sidelights, half-columns disappeared into the wall. 

On the Mott Street side, two prominent chimneys flanked the central gable, which incorporated an arched window.  At the base of the chimneys at this level were two blind quarter-round openings.

On Thanksgiving day 1828, the diocese published a plea in The Evening Post that said in part, "the wants of the Asylum are very pressing; during the coming winter there will be nearly ninety orphans to provide for, and when it is remembered that those are both fatherless and motherless, and have no friends on earth to look to, it is hoped this appeal in their behalf will be favourably [sic] received."

The article said that the Managers of the Orphan Asylum would open the building to the public the following day as "an opportunity of judging of its merit...At the same time, they will have an opportunity to examine the establishment throughout, and to obtain every information respecting the economy and regularity thereof."

The needs for the Orphan Asylum grew rapidly.  The sisters who cared and housed 30 orphans in 1817 were the wards of 140 children by January 1833.  

Four years later, the 11-year-old structure was threatened with demolition.  The aldermen considered a serious proposal in November 1837 that would extend Centre Street northward to meet the Bowery at the intersection of Bleecker Street.  The Street Committee favored the plan, saying it "would affect property less disadvantageously" than other proposals.  Nevertheless, one property that would be disadvantageously affected was the Orphan Asylum, which sat directedly in the path of the project.

At the meeting of the Board of Assistant Aldermen on November 20, 1837, it was decided that the Asylum was more valuable than the Centre Street project.  The minutes noted that the plot that C. Heeney had donated was "for the purposes of an Orphan Asylum, so long as it shall be so applied."  So, were the building demolished, the property would revert to Heeney, "and prove a total loss to the Asylum."  The committee declined the proposition.

And still the population of the Orphan Asylum continued to grow.  On March 9, 1838, the institution's treasurer, John B. Lasala, announced in the Morning Herald, "The public is respectfully informed that there are at present in this Asylum nearly two hundred orphan children, depending entirely on the generosity of our fellow citizens."

By 1845, Archbishop John Hughes recognized the need for two separate facilities--a boys' and a girls' orphanage.  The Roman Catholic Orphan Asylum for boys was completed in 1851 on Fifth Avenue and 51st Street.  The Prince Street Asylum was now a girls-only facility.  On June 15, 1859, a visitor from The New York Times described his visit, saying in part:

There are four apartments used as school-rooms, one of which, for the larger girls, has been newly furnished within two weeks, and is very neat and convenient.  There are two dormitories, capable of lodging fifty children each; they were scrupulously neat, and well ventilated.  The Infirmary, happily, has not, at present, one patient in it.  The Chapel, which is on the Mott-street side of the house, is well adapted for the use of the inmates.  Mass is performed every morning, at which all the children attend.  There are now three hundred and twenty little girls here between the ages of four and thirteen, whose cheerful faces and neatly clothed persons indicate that they are very happy in the care of the sisters of Charity.

The 69th Regiment of the New York State Militia, known as the "Fighting Irish," marched past the Prince Street Asylum (left) in 1861 as they departed to fight in the Civil War.  (At the right is the graveyard of St. Patrick's Cathedral.)  from D. T. Valentine's Manuel, 1862 (copyright expired)

A horrific accident occurred here on April 9, 1868.  Margaret Brown, who was 14 years old, was alone in the refectory that morning.  Somehow, her clothes caught fire from a candle.  Before help could arrive, she was burned to death.

On May 10, 1884, two girls, Teresa Flanigan and Lizzie Girr, 15 and 19 years old respectively, "escaped," as worded by The New York Times.  They made their way to Harlem to find Teresa's aunt, but were unsuccessful.  They gave up and decided to return to the orphanage.  On the way, they coincidentally encountered Thomas Flanigan.  The 40-year-old had previously worked at the orphanage as an engineer (i.e., the worker who tends the furnace and similar tasks.)  The New York Times reported, "He dissuaded them, saying that they would be beaten, and offered to get them situations."

His intentions for the naïve girls, however, were despicable.  He took the teens to the Mount Morris Hotel at 113rd Street and Third Avenue, registering as "Callahan and daughters."  There he sexually assaulted Teresa.  Astoundingly, two days later two relentless police officers tracked down the girls.  Flanigan was arrested and brought to the Essex Market Police Court on June 18.  There, Lizzie testified, "that Flanigan had assaulted her too, but failed," according to The New York Times.  The predator was jailed without bail and the two girls were sent to the House of Refuge.

In 1886, the orphanage was renovated to the St. Patrick's Convent and Girls' School.  Two years later, on August 31, 1888, the New-York Tribune reminded readers, "The property at Prince and Mott sts., known formerly as the Orphan Asylum, is now used by the children of the female department of St. Patrick's parochial school."

The unflappable Sisters of Charity, accustomed to handling orphans and school children, were not shaken by a mere explosion early on the morning of September 7, 1896.  The New York Times reported, "There were fourteen nuns in the building at the time, but they were in no way frightened by the incident and remained in the house."

The explosion happened in the kitchen when a pipe burst, "tearing a hole in the ceiling and half flooding the apartment with water," and igniting a fire, said the article.  A policeman on the street heard the blast and rushed in, then sent an alarm to the fire department.  Before the fire fighters arrived, the fire "was put out with pails of water."  The Times said, "The sisters in the house were all aroused from their sleep, but only the Superior left her room."

By the early decades of the 20th century, the school admitted boys, as well.  Among the students at mid-century was future filmmaker Martin Scorsese.  As the demographics of the neighborhood changed, the student body included students whose language at home included English, Spanish and Chinese.  Reportedly, as the turn of the century approached, more than 90 percent of the students came from families below the national poverty level.

By 1966, the building had been painted white.  Higgins Quasebarth and Partners LLC via The New York Times.

In 2009, the enrollment of what was now known as Saint Patrick's Old Cathedral School had dropped to just 129 students.  In June the following year, the Archdiocese closed the venerable facility.  

The Archdiocese of New York placed the landmarked structure on the market on December 24, 2013 for $29 million.  On September 4, 2014, Diane Pham, writing in 6sqft, reported that Time Equities had purchased the property for $32 million. "Plans to turn the school into condos have been in the works since October 2013," she wrote.  A second developer, said the article, had joined Time Equities to renovate the building "into two single-family homes and eight luxury condos."

Surviving Federal and later Victorian period interior details were ripped out in the gut renovation.  (Although the building was designated an individual New York City landmark in 1966, its interiors were not similarly protected.)  A four- and six-story addition was erected in the rear.  In the building that once housed indigent orphans are now luxury residences with four or five bedrooms, one of which has 23-foot ceilings in some rooms.

photographs by the author

The Empire Wagon Works Building - 194 Elizabeth Street

 

In the first years after the Civil War, the enterprising Jonas Stoltz had two diverse professions.  He was an undertaker at 237 Bowery and ran a stables at 194 Elizabeth Street.  The Elizabeth Street property was leased from Catharine L. Van Rensselaer.  The vernacular style building was faced in red brick above the ground floor where a central carriage bay was flanked by two openings.  Four stories tall, the building terminated in a dentiled brick cornice more expected in a much earlier structure. 

John Green, who listed himself as a "shoer," leased the stable portion of the building from Stoltz in 1871 and 1872.  On March 31, 1872 he advertised, "Truck, team and harness for sale--Inquire at stable, 194 Elizabeth street."

On February 27, 1874, Catherine L. Van Rensselaer transferred title of 194 and 196 Elizabeth Street to Jonas Stoltz.  He converted the stable to a bakery, but would not be in business here for long.  On June 18, 1875, he advertised, "A bakery for sale in one of the best neighborhoods in the city, baking over 15 barrels per week; all cash over the counter; must be sold on account of sickness."

The building was purchased by Michael Murray and the bakery became Ward's Bakery.  It advertised on July 1, 1875, "Baker wanted--A good second hand on bread.  Apply at 194 Elizabeth st."

Among the bakery's employees in 1876 were James Kellner and and Max Hoppe.  While the two men were talking on December 28 that year, as reported by the New York Herald, Kellner "produced a bottle and invited Hoppe to take a drink, stating that the fluid was whiskey."  Hoppe took a swig, and quickly passed out.  When he awoke, he discovered his gold watch and $40 were gone, and so was Kellner.

The next day, Kellner appeared at the 57th Street Police Court and complained that Simon Lanigan, "in whose company he had been the night previous," had stolen his watch and some clothing.  Lanigan was arrested and the clothing and a pawn ticket for the watch was found in his rooms.  Kellner identified the watch as his.

Informed that Kellner had been robbed, Hoppe gave police a detailed description of his missing watch, including the letters "F. V. D." inscribed in the case, "the initials of the gentleman who had presented him with it while in Germany."  He described perfectly the watch which Lanigan had stolen from Kellner.  Now Kellner, too, was arrested.

In court, Henry Kiel testified that Kellner had bragged to him about stealing Hoppe's watch, "but that it did not do him much good, as it had been stolen from him."  Kellner testified that the watch was his and the initials were those of his mother.  Despite the overwhelming evidence, Kellner insisted the watch was his and he deserved to keep it.  The New York Herald reported,

The Recorder, in passing sentence, severely rebuked the prisoner for his unblushing audacity, adding that the law might have thrown over him the mantle of mercy had he availed himself of his privilege to enter a plea of guilty, instead of which he supplemented the larceny which he committed by the crime of perjury.

He was sentenced to four years and six months of hard labor at the State Prison.

In the meantime, the upper floors of 194 Elizabeth Street were home to mostly immigrant, Irish-born tenants.  In 1876, eleven families were listed here, with professions like laborer, tailor, soap-maker, and painter.  Around 1879, the bakery was run by Dominick Fralliciardi.

Irish-born Maurice Flynn lived here in 1880.  He had become an American citizen in 1868 when he was a teen.  When he headed off to vote on October 12, 1880, he took along his naturalization papers with him to avoid any problems.  Instead, he was confronted by one of the election supervisors, George Connell, who not only refused to allow him to vote, but confiscated his paperwork and refused to return it.  Flynn made a complaint and the United States Commissioner issued a warrant for the arrest of Connell.  (Whether Flynn ever cast his vote is unclear.)

A month later, another Irish tenant was in the news.  John Bryce was a waiter in a Brooklyn restaurant.  Early in the morning of November 7, Thomas Lovitt came into the restaurant "and began to act in a disorderly manner," according to the Brooklyn Daily Eagle.  He ordered a plate of pork and beans from Bryce, who refused to serve him.  Lovitt responding by stabbing Bryce in the back with a pocket knife.  The New York Times reported that Lovitt was arrested and Bryce was brought home to Elizabeth Street.

At the time, Irish immigrants were being supplanted by Italians in the district.  On December 12, 1881, The Sun said, "A small colony of natives of Salerno is clustered in the neighborhood of Elizabeth and Spring streets.  Nearly all are tailors and shoemakers."  Two of those shoemakers, Augustiro Ispeni and Amidio Cusitare, were old friends and both lived at 194 Elizabeth Street.

On the afternoon of December 11, 1881, the two became embroiled in a quarrel "as to which was the better workman," according to The Sun.  The dispute became heated and other occupants of the room fled from what promised to be violence.  They told a reporter later, "the men were then confronting each other, each with the left hand on the other's shoulder.  Ispeni's right had held a knife, and in Cusitare's was a pistol."  A pistol shot was heard and Cusitare ran out of the room and down the stairs.  Ispeni was found in the room with two bullet wounds, one in the chest and another in the groin.  A policeman tracked down Cusitare in a Spring Street house.  "He was suffering from stab wounds," said The Sun.

Both men were taken to St. Vincent's Hospital as prisoners.  One of Cusitare's wounds, which caused massive internal bleeding, was fatal.

image via the NYC Dept of Records & Information Services.

Around 1885, the building was leased and converted for the Philip Happersberger & Son wagon business, run by Philip and Francis (known as Fred) Happersberger.  It was now described as a "four-story brick factory" by the Record & Guide.  In March 1893, Philip Happersberger purchased the building for $20,000 (just under $700,000 in 2025 terms).  It appears he retired that year, and Fred renamed the business the Empire Wagon Works.

Purchasers' Guide and Commercial Register, 1893 (copyright expired)

Happersberger employed ten men who worked 59 hours per week at the turn of the century.  On October 15, 1903, the American Carbonator and American Bottler wrote,

The Empire Wagon Works, 194 Elizabeth street, New York, are making the finest wagons we know of for the bottling trade...Bottlers wagons always on hand, as well as made to order on short notice.  They also do repairing, painting, lettering and ornamenting.  Mr. Fred Happersberger, the gentlemanly proprietor, will be pleased to quote prices and give full particulars.

American Carbonator & American Bottler, July 15, 1903 (copyright expired)

Happersberger repeatedly updated the facility, renovating the building in 1911, 1913 and 1914.  

The Empire Wagon Works was replaced in the building in the post-World War I years by the Anchor Manufacturing Company, a glass firm.  In its December 16, 1920 issue, The Potter, Glass & Brass Salesman reported on the firm's new line, saying, "The items include compotes, sandwich trays, cracker-and-cheese dishes, candy jars, cake plates, as well as vases and boudoir pieces."  The article praised the hand-decorated items as "most attractive and original."

Crockery & Glass Journal, December 16, 1920 (copyright expired)

The Depression years were unkind to the business, and the building was lost in foreclosure in 1930.  The ground floor was converted to a "non-storage garage" in 1964, with factory space on the upper floors.

The third quarter of the 20th century saw change in the Nolita neighborhood.  In 1999, the ground floor was converted for an Italian restaurant, Peasant.  In his A Man and His Meatballs, John LaFemina tells of leaving his job in the New York Jewelry Exchange to open a restaurant with friend and chef Frank DeCarlo.

Less than one year after our first conversation about opening a restaurant, Frank and I walked into an old garage at 194 Elizabeth Street in downtown New York City, a place where locals went for oil changes and used parts.  I immediately turned to him and said, "This is home."

 

The venerable building received another renovation in 2009-2010.  While Peasant still occupies the ground floor, an office is on the second floor and there are two apartments on the third, and one apartment on the fourth floor.

 

photographs by the author

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The Henry Rehwinkel House - 288 Mulberry Street

 

Mulberry Street, which got its name from an 18th century grove of mulberry trees, appeared on maps as early as 1767.  But it would not be until the first decades of the 18th century that the expanding city brought Federal style dwellings to the little thoroughfare.  Around 1830, one appeared at 288 Mulberry Street, steps from Houston Street.  Faced in Flemish bond brick, the house was two-and-a-half stories tall above a basement and 21-feet wide.  One or two dormers originally pierced the peaked roof.

It appears the residence was originally operated as a boarding house.  Living here in 1832 were carpenter Isaac M. Washburn; James Velderan, who was a furrier; grocer Nehemiah Mead; and Richard B. Fletcher, who did not list an occupation, suggesting he may have been retired.

The house and lot were offered for sale in December 1849.  It continued as a boarding house under the new owner.  Mary T. Whitney lived here the following year.  A dressmaker, she would remain at least through 1854.  Also boarding in the house in 1850 were John Lynch, a clerk; George Donelly, who was in the carriage business; and harness maker John Dempsey.

In 1853, Henry Schmale and his family moved in.  The industrious entrepreneur listed his profession as "coal & grocer."  By 1856 (when he now lived at 579 Washington Street), the owner had converted the basement level for Schmale's coal office.  He had another on Washington Street and a piano business at 100 Centre Street.

A gruesome incident occurred here on June 9, 1855.  The New-York Dispatch reported, "A Frenchman named Alfred Dumont, suffocated himself with the flames of charcoal at 288 Mulberry street."  The article attributed his desperation to jealousy.  "He had been living with a woman for some years," it said, "to whom he was not married, although she had had two children by him."  The woman recently left him for another man and "he sought relief from all his worldly troubles by acting as stated."

The boarders were working class throughout the 1860's.  They included John and James Cunningham, presumably brothers, a carpenter and laborer, respectively.  Also living here in 1860 were Conrad Farner, a tailor; Louis Jackson a smith; and laborer Francis McCormick.

In 1871, the family of Hugh O'Brien occupied the house.  He was an assistant alderman and he and his wife had a son, William J.  Also living in the house were Hugh O'Brien's brother, Martin; his widowed mother; and an orphaned nephew, Thomas Francis Jones.  Boarding with the the family were Henry Rehwinkel, a barber, and his family.  

It was around this time that the attic floor was raised to a full story.  Somewhat surprisingly, instead of a bracketed cornice, the contractor finished the facade with a simple, dentiled brick cornice more appropriate to the original 1830 structure.

Rehwinkel converted the former H. Schmale & Co. office in the basement to his barbershop.  He and his wife, Wilhelmina, had four sons, Ferdinand, Andrew, Frederick, and Christopher.  

A year after they established themselves here, tragedy struck.  On August 15, 1872, The New York Times reported, "Christopher Rehwinkel, aged three years, fell out of the third-story window" of the house.  The article erroneously said he, "was fatally injured."  Although Christopher survived the fall, he lost the use of his right arm for life.

The parlor was the scene of Thomas Francis Jones's funeral on December 13, 1874.  The 26-year-old had died two days earlier.  Interestingly, the New York Herald said the funeral would take place, "from the resident of his grandmother, Mrs. John O'Brien," and mentioned "ex-alderman Hugh O'Brien" merely as an uncle.

New Yorkers were outraged when they read in the New York Herald on June 16, 1876, "Frederick Rehwinkel, a youth of sixteen years...is in such a critical condition from a clubbing received five weeks ago at the hands of Officer Thomas Mitchell, of the Fourteenth precinct, that the doctors fear he may not recover."

The article said that on May 7, Rehwinkel, "who is employed in his father's barber shop," stopped at the corner of Mulberry and Jersey Streets to watch a group of boys "pitching pennies and playing marbles."  When Officer Mitchell appeared, the other boys scattered.  He unleashed his rage on Rehwinkel, beating him repeatedly with his nightstick.  Because his father had told him to avoid the location, Frederick did not tell his parents what had happened.  Instead, said the New York Herald, he "staggered home and washed the blood from his face and clothes."  He was then confined to bed for three days.

It was not until Wilhemina Rehwinkel called in Dr. Wolfkin Smith that Frederick told his story.  Henry Rehwinkel preferred a complaint against the officer and a trial was set for June 24.

On the stand, Frederick's story began to unravel.  On June 25, the New York Dispatch reported, "The case from its inception had the flavor of a 'put-up' job,' and one of the morning papers was foolish enough to herald it forth as a terrible police outrage."  When confronted on the stand by Officer Mitchell, Frederick changed his story.  Police Surgeon Fluhrer testified that he had examined the teen and found he was suffering from pneumonia, not a beating.  He said he, "did not discover any marks of clubbing on his person."  Finally, Frederick admitted that "a man named Mahon, whom he knew as 'the man with the big foot,'" according to the New York Dispatch, had convinced him to concoct the story.

Martin O'Brien died of Bright's disease at the age of 39 on April 8, 1879.  His funeral was held in the house the following day.

Two years later, on August 23, 1881, the Rehwinkels purchased the house for $8,500 (about $261,000 in 2024).  They took in a boarder by 1886.  Thomas Carroll was a park keeper with the city and remained with the family at least through 1887.

Despite the injury he received in the 1872 fall, Christopher Rehwinkel got a job with a watchmaker on Houston Street by the time he was 18.  On the evening of February 1887, he left the house with jewelry he had taken to sell on commission.  The following day, the New-York Tribune reported, "A young German whose right arm is paralyzed [reported] that he had been knocked down, choked and robbed in Mulberry-st., within a block of [his house]."  The article explained when Christopher crossed the street at 8:00, he noticed a gang of boys, one of whom, Edward Collins, he recognized.  The newspaper said they, "had not been on good terms."

Collins, said the Brooklyn Daily Eagle, "knocked him down and held him by the throat."  His comrades then "kicked and cuffed him and then ran away."  They made off with the four gold rings Rehwinkel was supposed to sell.  Collins was arrested.  While he admitted striking Rehwinkel, he denied having helped rob him.  

By 1900, Wilhelmina and Henry were empty nesters and Henry had retired.  Rocco Nardiello was leasing the barbershop.  If neighbors viewed them as a kindly old German couple, a scandal that year would change their opinions.

Andrew Rehwinkel, who was a painter, and his wife, Minnie, a servant, lived in Sheepshead Bay, Brooklyn.  The couple had two sons, 11-year-old Harry and 5-year-old Charlie.  In March 1900, Andrew and Minnie separated.  Andrew placed the boys with a family on East 17th Street, paying their board.  But when he lost his job early in July and could no longer afford the cost, he took them to his brother Ferdinand's home.  It worked out for two weeks until Ferdinand, too, lost his job.

Ferdinand was unable to find his brother, so he told the boys that his grandparents would take care of them for awhile.  It appears that Ferdinand was not so certain his parents would be so welcoming to the idea.  He took Harry and Charlie to 288 Mulberry Street on the evening of July 17, rang the doorbell, then left.  Little Charlie later said, "When grandpop came to the door he was mad and said he didn't have no home for us.  Then grandma came along and said for us to go away.  They shut the door, and Harry took me for a walk."

After wandering the neighborhood, the boys returned to 288 Mulberry, "'cause grandpop is the only man we know," Charlie later explained.  The following morning, according to The Sun, "Two little boys with tear-stained faces lay sound asleep, clasped in each other's arms. on the front stoop of the house at 288 Mulberry street, early yesterday morning."  When a passerby roused them and asked why they did not not go home, Charlie answered, "Ain't got no home, mister."

"Well, what are you doing here?"

"This is grandpop's.  He don't want Harry and me and we don't know where to go."

The man went to the Mulberry Police Station and reported the situation.  Policeman McMahon arrived and Charlie repeated the story.  McMahon climbed the stoop and rang the bell.  When he got no answer, he, "planted his department shoe on one of the panels of the door.  He repeated this until an old man opened the door," said The Sun.

An enraged Henry Rehwinkel demanded, "What do you mean waking respectable folks..." but was interrupted by the cop.

"Respectable folks, eh?  Do you call yourselves respectable folks, leaving a couple of kids like these out on the stoop all night?"

Rehwinkel slammed the door and refused to open it again.  McMahon took the boys to the police station, then "made right for the Mulberry street house, and there was wrath in his eye," said The Sun.  "He rang the bell, kicked the door a few times, and finally got a response from a window."  McMahon ordered, "Come down here, you!"

This time Wilhelmina opened the door.  When McMahon began lecturing her on the treatment of little boys, she said, "Well, they shan't come here and you can go and tell the family that, too."

The following day, Officer McMahon appeared in court with the boys, who were temporarily turned over to the Gerry Association (the common term for the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Children) until a hearing could be held.  The Sun reported, "McMahon said that the grandfather was a retired barber named Henry Rehwinkle [sic], and was well-to-do."  The magistrate issued a summons for Rehwinkel to appear.  "As for the children they went away happy in the assurance of something to eat and a bed to sleep in," said the article.

The following day, all parties were in court, including the boys' mother, who had been tracked down in Sheepshead Bay.  She promised that she was able to support the boys on her income as a servant.  "The boys went away with their mother rejoicing," reported The Sun, which added, "The grandparents, who had been summoned to explain why they left their grandchildren to sleep in the street, were in the Centre street court when the boys were arraigned, but had nothing to say."

By the post-World War I years, the former Rehwinkel residence was operated as a rooming house.  The neighborhood was now sketchy at best.

In 1924, Police Captain Albert L. Youmans of Schenectady, New York initiated what the Ballston Spa Daily Journal called a "vice war" against organized crime.  On the night of November 28, he and Patrolman John Flynn were in "the resort section of Schenectady" when they were gunned down by five "New York gunman [who] had been imported by dive keepers to kill Youmans," said the article.  Among them was Russo Marmore, who lived at 288 Mulberry Street.  The 22-year-old listed his profession as "chauffeur."

In 1929, Alberto Nicoletti operated a linotype business from the commercial space.  On July 11 that year, James Cozza, alias Vincent Cozza, was arrested for stealing printing and office equipment from several printing firms.  The Brooklyn Daily Star reported, "Magistrate Simpson also held a man who described himself as Alberto Nicolette [sic], 288 Mulberry street, Manhattan, in $3,000 on a charge of receiving the stolen property."

Albert (he dropped the "o" from his first name) Nicoletti still ran his printing business here in 1941.  image via the NYC Dept of Records & Information Services.

In 1932, architect Emil Koeppel was hired to convert the house to apartments above the basement store.  The configuration of one apartment on the parlor level and two each on the upper floors survives today.

In the 1990s, the basement was home to the 288 Bar.  It was described by New York Magazine on October 17, 1994:

The waif thing never died at this conspicuously fabulous watering hole, and the ratio of women to men is an unheard of 3:2.  The wine offering is insincere, but Joe's Jukebox provides the full range from Pavarotti to Luscious Jackson...and just don't ask about the stoneware.

Appropriately, given the history of the property, a barbershop once again operates from the lower level.

photograph by the author