The Lost Dept. of Charities and Corrections Building - 66-72 Third Avenue

 

The one-story stable to the rear was used to house ambulances.  image from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York.

The arm of the New York City government that would become the Department of Charities and Corrections and eventually the Department of Public Welfare began in 1734 when the Common Council recognized the need to care for the indigent.  Gradually the Workhouse, the Almshouse, and Bellevue Hospital were erected.  The city purchased Blackwell's Island in 1828 as the site of a penitentiary and lunatic asylum.  Ward's Island, acquired in 1850, provided a "poor farm," where impoverished New Yorkers worked off their sentences for the crime of being poor.

In 1860, with a tidal wave of immigrants pouring into New York Harbor, the Department of Charities and Corrections was formed.  It oversaw the operations of the institutions on the three islands that now included the almshouse, a children's and an adult hospital, an enlarged lunatic asylum, a workhouse, and an infants hospital and nurseries.  The Department was also in charge of the Soldier's Home, several trade schools, the Inebriate Asylum, hospitals for "incurables" and epileptics, and a penitentiary.

On June 2, 1867, the New York Dispatch reported that the city had appropriated $100,000 "for purchasing a site and erecting a building for the use of the Department of Public Charities and Correction."  The figure would translate to $2 million in 2023.  The northwest corner of Third Avenue and 11th Street was acquired and the architectural firm of Renwick & Sands was commissioned to design an administration building on the site.  The project was handled directly by James Renwick, Jr., who had designed the city's Charity Hospital on Roosevelt Island in 1858.

Construction was begun in 1868 and completed in 1869.  Designed in the relatively new Second Empire style, the two-story structure was entered both on Third Avenue and on East 11th Street.  (The side entrance was used by the poor applying for public assistance.)  The first floor, faced in "patent building blocks in two tints" according to the building permit, featured Corinthian pilasters and elliptically arched windows under substantial lintels.  The top floor took the form of a steep, elaborate mansard straight from Paris, with ornate volutes at the sides of the openings, and intricately carved pediments.  Lacy iron cresting finished the design.

from the collection of the New York Public Library

Not everyone was pleased with Renwick's design.  The New York Times decried "the cumbrous style of the roof," and advised, "with one or two more stories it would be a handsome structure instead of the costly looking barn one might mistake it for at first sight."

The interiors were trimmed in black walnut, and boasted handsome details like polished granite columns.  Meeting rooms and the offices of the various sub-departments engulfed most of the building.  The wide scope of the organization's responsibilities was hinted at in the minutes of the Commissioners' meeting of November 12, 1868 that included:

It was ordered that proposals be obtained for furnishing 1,500 tons of coal for the out-door poor during the coming winter.

It was ordered that Keepers on duty at the Tombs Prison shall not leave the prison without the consent previously obtained of the Warden, or, in his absence, of the Clerk.

And on July 18, 1873, The City Record reported that the Department was taking bids for supplying "about 120 Hogs on Blackwell's Island," and for 600 barrels of flour.

Behind the headquarters building was a stable for housing its "sick wagons."  The Department came under fire after Theodore Schimper suffered an accident at the public baths on East Third Street in September 1879.  The New York Herald called the case "of a peculiarly distressing character."  The article said word was received at

...the Charities and Correction Building, at Eleventh street and Third avenue, to send a sick wagon.  Mr. Blake, who was presiding, did so, but the vehicle had to call for two sick women.  When the driver reached the bath, he found that it would not be safe to put Mr. Schimper with them, so he drove to the hospital, where he reported the case, and the Warden at once despatched [sic] one of his ambulances.

Four hours after his accident, Theodore Schimper finally arrived at Bellevue Hospital, where he soon died.

from Illustrated Guide to New York City, 1889 (copyright expired)

As Thanksgiving neared in 1889, The New York Times reported on the startling increase in citizens living on public charity.  "Ten years ago the number was about 10,000, and it has grown with the population of the city," said the article.  "Many people unable to secure work cause themselves to be committed [to the almshouse] and afterward escape."  Despite the numbers, the Department of Charities and Corrections was prepared to supply the poor with Thanksgiving poultry.  That year it purchased and distributed 14,485 pounds of chicken and 3,975 pounds of turkey.

A reporter from The Evening World spent the morning of May 3, 1888 with Superintendent Blake in the cavernous interviewing room where applicants sought relief.  He noted the room was "remarkable particularly for its height."  Around the room were benches, filled with an array of people.

The settees about the room were occupied by men, women and children, clean and unclean, respectable and otherwise, sick, lame, blind, in tears or smiles, of various nationalities and of all degrees of poverty.  They were waiting their turn to be brought before the Superintendent to make known their wants.

The reporter described one-by-one the long line of applicants, starting with "an aged tramp."  He explained, "There was no mistaking the fact that he was a tramp.  His hair and beard were almost white, and his rags hung about his thin form...A torn and soiled broad-brimmed hat sat on his head and his extensive feet were inclosed [sic] in apologies for shoes."

"I want to go to the island," he told the superintendent, referring to the almshouse.

"Have you any home or friends?"

"No."

"Any money?"

"Um-er-no."

"He thanked the Superintendent when he was told that he was a fitting candidate for the almshouse," said the article.

Several of the requests were heart-rending.  A woman with an 18-year-old son suffering with "brain fever" asked that he be admitted to a hospital.  "Her request is granted."  Another woman explained, "My husband, sir, has deserted me.  I have no friends or a home, and what's worse, no money.  I have a boy seven years old and a baby girl.  Can't we get a place to sleep and something to eat?"

After asking a few details about he husband, the superintendent said, "Don't you worry one bit, madam, you and your children will be taken care of."

The desperate condition of some indigent New Yorkers was evidenced in one man's plea on January 26, 1895 to be sent back to his native Colorado.  The New-York Tribune quoted him, "I can starve to death easier and with more comfort in Colorado than in New-York.  Send me there, and I won't bother you again."  The article said, "The board sent the pauper alien home," adding somewhat coldly, "New-York has enough resident paupers of its own without calling in the poor of other lands, and the act of returning the impoverished Westerner was purely one of economy."

The fact was, however, that the Department of Charities and Corrections, was over-stretched.  Each day 700 applicants "representing every hue and shade of poverty and distress" arrived at the East 11th Street door.  The New-York Tribune said, "This winter has brought some 30,000 or 40,000 men, women and children face to face with starvation."

In 1902 renovations were made to the building to accommodate the Children's Court.  But the aging structure was already over-taxed.  On June 4, 1909 a letter of protest "against the inadequate surroundings" was sent to Mayor George B. McClellan by the president of the Children's Society.  John D. Linsday said in part that the atmosphere was at times "almost unbearable," and called the conditions "shameful."

The city sold 66-72 Third Avenue in 1917.  The mansard roof was lopped off, the interiors gutted, and James Renwick, Jr.'s once-proud structure converted to a garage, with yawning vehicle bays installed where the entrances had been.

image via the NYC Dept of Records & Information Services.

The vandalized Department of Charities and Corrections Building survived until 1989 when owner Charles Re leased the property to Loew's Theater Management.  On September 17, The New York Times reported, "A Loew's spokesman said demolition will begin this month to replace the building with a seven-screen movie complex."

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The Lost D. Willis James Mansion - 40 East 39th Street

 

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

Daniel Willis James was born in Liverpool, England in 1832, the grandson of Andon Green Phelps of Phelps, Dodge, and Company.  Immigrating to Baltimore and finally relocating to New York, James amassed a fortune not only by heading up his grandfather's company, but by obtaining seats on the boards of major American firms like the Ansonia Clock Company, the Northern Pacific Railway, and several mining companies in the west.

With his cousin William E. Dodge, Jr., he transformed Phelps, Dodge, and Co. from a comfortable business to one of the world's largest mining companies, making himself one of the wealthiest men in the country in the process.   

In 1870 James hired the esteemed architectural firm of Renwick & Sands to design a mansion at the southwest corner of Park Avenue and 39th Street, in the fashionable Murray Hill neighborhood.  Completed two years later, the sumptuous home was designed in the Victorian Gothic style, sometimes called Ruskinian Gothic.  Typical of the style, the arched openings wore variegated voussoirs.  The entrance sat within a nearly ecclesiastical style portico above a short stoop, and the fourth floor took the form of a steep mansard crowned with intricate iron cresting.

James had married Ellen Stebbins Curtiss in 1854.  Their son, Arthur Curtiss, was five years old when they moved into the new residence.   The little boy's hobby was far different than those of less privileged children.  In May 1878, when he was 11, he exhibited his greyhound Fairy in the exclusive New-York Bench Show at Gilmore's Garden.

This photograph of James was quite possibly taken in the 39th Street house.  from the collection of the Museum of Early Trades and Crafts.

The family servants were duped by a clever thief during the summer of 1882.  On June 21, The Sun reported, "A man who told the servants that he was a workman sent to make repairs, and who dressed the part and carried a kit of tools," gained entrance to mansion.  When he left, so did a $400 clock, its value equivalent to nearly $11,000 in 2022 money.

D. Willis James hosted an important political meeting here on October 11 that year.  Around 150 prominent gentlemen from both political parties filed into the mansion to nominate a candidate for mayor.  It was an attempt to unseat the corrupt Tammany organization.  In reporting on the meeting, the New York Herald said, "The question as to whether or not there shall be a union of the democracy of this city on the behalf of a surrender to Boss Kelly and Tammany Hall has assumed much proportions as to cause the politicians to pause."  The article said the men warned that the outcome of the election would have "considerable influence on the future political history of the city."

More typical of the gatherings in the house was the dinner party given two months later, described by The Sun as "elaborate."  The article said, "The table was covered with a white satin and lace cloth and was handsomely decorated with Catharine Mermet roses.  A superb gold dessert service was on this occasion used for the first time."  The journalist went on to describe the gold service as "one of the choicest bits of table furniture in this country."

In 1885 James initiated two construction projects, a handsome private carriage house at 144 East 49th Street, and a magnificent Tudor style summer residence, Onunda, in Madison, New Jersey, designed by Clinton & Russell.  

The main house at Onuda and a portion of the grounds.  (original source unknown)

Both the townhouse and country estate were the scenes of lavish entertaining.  On April 10, 1889, for instance, The Evening Telegraph reported, "One of the handsomest dinners of the season was given to ex-President and Mrs. Grover Cleveland by Mr. and Mrs. D. Willis James, at their spacious house, No. 40 East Thirty-ninth street, last evening."  The article described the table being decorated with "spring flowers and beds of roses," and silver candelabra with pink shades.  "During the entire evening there was music by Lander's Orchestra and after dinner some professionals sang."

In 1890 Arthur, who had graduated from Amherst College the previous year, married Harriet Eddy Parsons.  The newlyweds initially made their home in the 39th Street mansion.

Keeping society informed of Daniel's and Ellen's whereabouts may have been a challenge at times.  On February 15, 1901, for instance, The Evening Telegram wrote, "Mr. and Mrs. D. Willis James of No. 40 East Thirty-ninth street, have left New York for California."  And seven months later, The New York Press reported, "Mr. and Mrs. D. Willis James...have returned from Bar Harbor and are in their country place in Madison, N. J."

In July 1907, Daniel and Ellen left Onuda to spend the rest of the summer season at the Mount Washington Hotel in Bretton Woods, New Hampshire.  There, on an afternoon in early September, reported the New-York Tribune, "While seated and chatting with friends on the piazza of the hotel, without previous warning [James] fell back into his chair, gasping for breath."  A local physician initially treated the millionaire, while Dr. Stephen D. White rushed northward from New York City.  James lingered until September 13 when he died.  The Sun reported, "Mrs. James was along with her husband when he died.  Their son, Arthur Curtiss James, is cruising along the coast of Labrador in his yacht Aloha."

James's body was transported to New York and his funeral was held in the 39th Street mansion.  The New York Press called him "many times a millionaire, his yearly income being reported at $2,000,000."  Because he had already provided liberally to various philanthropies throughout his lifetime, the bulk of his massive estate was left to Ellen.

He had given Madison, New Jersey a park, a library, an opera house and several other structures; donated the exquisite bronze James Fountain in Union Square to the city; and provided extensive funding to Amherst College, the Children's Aid Society and other organizations.

Following her mourning period, Ellen resumed her social schedule.  On August 26, 1914, for example, The New York Press reported that she "is spending the summer at Upper St. Regis, N. Y. [and] will leave there about the middle of next month and go to her country home, Onunda, in Madison, N. J. for the fall and early winter."

Like her husband, she was generous to worthy causes.  In 1910 she gave $180,000 to the First Presbyterian Church on Fifth Avenue and 11th Street, donated the Italian school to the Children's Aid Society in 1913, and in 1915 gave $2,000 for Belgian relief.

Ellen Stebbins Curtiss James contracted pneumonia in the spring of 1916.  She died in the 39th Street mansion at the age of 82 on April 28.  The size of her estate may have astonished most New Yorkers.  The New York Herald reported that she left "a total estate of $36,450, 175," or about $770 million in 2022.  About $3 million was left to charity.

The article noted that among Arthur's inheritances was the Murray Hill mansion.  He and his wife lived in an opulent residence at the northwest corner of Park Avenue and 69th Street, and so he leased his childhood home to James Marshall Stuart in October 1916.  

Stuart and his wife Jesse Coe were married on October 18, 1887.  The couple had three children, James Jr., Harold Coe, and Ellen.  

Ellen had married Robert M. Russell four months before the family moved into 40 East 39th Street.  Howard had graduated from Princeton in 1914.  On December 21, 1917 he was married to Agnes Mildred Brown in the Madison Avenue Presbyterian Church.  

In 1928 motorcars had replaced carriages along Park Avenue and 39th Street.  from the collection of the New York Public Library

James Marshall Stuart, whom The New York Times called "a member of an old New York family," died in the mansion on January 4, 1925 at the age of 68.  James Jr., still unmarried, remained in the house with his mother.  

Rather shockingly, Stuart's death does not seem to have interfered with Ellen's or James Jr.'s movements within society.  Only a month after his funeral, on February 26, The Sun reported that Ellen and James were at the Ritz-Carlton in Atlantic City.  And on May 12, The New York Times announced, "J. Marshall Stuart of 40 East Thirty-ninth Street has gone to the Briarcliff Lodge for a short stay."

In the first years of the Great Depression, the Park Avenue district had changed from one of sumptuous mansions to commerce.  In 1933 Arthur Curtiss James accumulated the properties surrounding his childhood home, and in September demolished them to make way for a business building.

The corner in September 1933.  from the collection of the New York Public Library

The Lost North-Western Dispensary - 9th Avenue at 36th Street

from Nineteenth Annual Report of the North-Western Dispensary, January 11, 1872 (copyright expired)

In the first decades after the Revolution contagious disease was a threat as some New York City neighborhoods grew crowded and unsanitary.  In 1791, the first of the public dispensaries opened—more or less the precursors of today’s urgent care walk-in clinics.  As the city expanded northward, additional dispensaries were established in poor neighborhoods.

The North-Western Dispensary was founded in 1852 under the supervision of the New York Association for Improving the Condition of the Poor.  It operated from rented rooms above a store on the corner of Eight Avenue and 36th Street within the notorious Hell's Kitchen neighborhood, infamous for crime and devastating poverty.  But the area it covered was even larger--from 23rd Street north to 86th Street, and from Fifth Avenue to the Hudson River.

While the engraver did show a ramshackle awning over the storefront, he put a happy face on the blighted district with gentile appearing pedestrians.  Valentine's Manual of the Corporation of the City of New York, 1868 (copyright expired)

Robert Ray, president of the dispensary, traveled to Albany in 1858.  His petition for incorporation explained the purpose of the facility, saying in part it was founded...

for the purpose of providing and furnishing medicines, and medical and surgical aid gratuitously to the sick poor...General and gratuitous vaccination, and the collection of pure vaccine matter are made a prominent feature...which is distributed free of charge.

Ray pointed out that while the dispensary was "a public work," it was operated almost entirely by private donations.

Seven years after the dispensary's founding, Robert M. Hartley, secretary of the Association for Improving the Condition of the Poor, pleaded with New Yorkers in a letter to the editor of The New York Times for funds for "an appropriate edifice."  In it, published on August 25, 1859, he noted that the North-Western Dispensary had become "one of the most useful charities in the City."  But he pointed out "the constant burden of rent and the risk of being dislodged," and warned the institution's "very existence is insecure until it has a building in fee under a charter, which will render the property legally inalienable to any other purpose."

Harley appealed to the emotions of his readers.  "The two words, the 'Sick poor,' imply the whole design, and express its charitable character.  Whoever may be neglected, the indigent sick should not be."  Towards the end of his rather lengthy entreaty, he named the figure needed for the land and building: $20,000--or just under $650,000 today.

It would be nearly a decade before the money was raised.  On December 13, 1868, the New York Herald reported, "It is gratifying to state...that they have accomplished the raising of a sufficient fund for putting up a new building.  The ground has already been broken for this new structure, which is to be erected near the corner of Thirty-sixth street and Ninth avenue, and which will be modelled after the latest most approved styles."  

The site was one block to the west of the existing facility.  The esteemed architectural firm of Renwick & Sands had been commissioned for the project.  The resultant Victorian Gothic style building would be trademark Renwick & Sands.  The plans, filed in May 1869, succinctly called for a "brick dispensary" of four stories.  Work proceeded at a rapid pace and by December, although construction was not completed, the facility was unofficially operating from the new building.  

On December 12, 1869 the New York Dispatch commented on scope of the dispensary's work.  "Last year, 10,824 patients were treated, and 17,908 prescriptions were dispensed from the apothecary's department...The medical staff of this dispensary consists of five visiting physicians, twelve attending physicians, four consulting physicians, one house physician, and one apothecary."  During the year 1,862 patients were treated at home, while 8,962 came into the facility.

On January 20, 1870, The New York Times reported on the official opening.  The cost of the project, originally expected to be $20,000, had risen to $83,000--around $1.7 million in today's money.  "The new building is of brick, faced with stone, four stories in height, and admirably designed for its purpose," said the article.  

Renwick & Sands's tripartite design included two stores on the ground floor, which provided extra funds for operating the dispensary.  The windows of the midsection sat upon a wide stone band, their Gothic-arched lintels connected by a continuous stone bandcourse.  Narrower bands of stone  contrasted with the red brick, creating a striped effect between the openings.  The windows of the top section sat within double-height arches, their lintels (as was the case at the second floor) composed of alternating dark and light stone.

The dispensary operated from the second and third floors.  The top floor was designed as a vast meeting hall, which also provided rental income.  The New York Times said it "is already leased to the Broadway Tabernacle Church for a Sunday School and other purposes, and the rents received from this hall and the stores beneath will aid considerably in the support of the institution."

The article noted, "The Dispensary proper is divided into reception rooms for patients, operating and consultation rooms for the various classes of diseases, apothecary shop, office and room for the house physician and a room for the Board of Managers.  Everything has been done which skill could suggest to add to the convenience of the institution and to make it a model of its kind for the use for which it was erected."  

Doctors at the North-Western Dispensary dealt, of course, not only with diseases and afflictions that arose from poverty and unsanitary living conditions, but from the lifestyles of many of the Hell's Kitchen residents.  Two months after the new building opened, on March 9, 1870, 50-year-old James Creighton was brought in.  The New-York Daily Tribune said, "He was apparently suffering from general debility, and was in a very low state."  The attending physician "pronounced it a case of delirium tremens," or what today is known as alcohol withdraw.  The article said, "The usual remedies in such cases were given, and the patient died on the following day."  An autopsy showed death was caused "by corrosive poison."

The Dispensary's annual report that year gave a somewhat startling picture of its work.  It said in part:

The wasting diseases of children, usually so common and fatal during the hot months, were much less so during last summer.  Scarlet fever and measles, only, of a mild and manageable form prevailed.  The gastric diseases of adults, with cholera-morbus and dysentery, heading the list, corresponded in character and frequency with those of children above alluded to...Small pox has prevailed considerably during the year, though I think not to such an extent in this district as to justify the excitement about it, that exists.

A particularly tragic patient was Christine Albertson, a Swedish immigrant who arrived on the ship Sunshine in 1876.  On the voyage, she met another Swede, named Johansen.  The New York Dispatch said, "The friendship soon ripened into love, and especially was this love sincere on the part of the girl.  She loved Johansen with 'a love that the angels in Heaven might envy.'"  Johansen took advantage of Christine's infatuation to seduce her, a situation that did not go unnoticed by the ship's captain.

Captain Simmons called the two into his cabin and asked Johansen if he intended to marry Christine, "for if you do not, you must cease to keep her company."  Johansen said he certainly intended to marry her when they reached New York.  Simmons then asked Christine if she would be willing to marry Johansen.  She "burst into tears," according to the New York Dispatch, and said, "she loved him, and had no other alternative.  'For,' said she, 'I have been a wife to him in all but name nearly ever since the bark left Bremen.'"

When the ship arrived in New York, Simmons refused to let the couple disembark.  He sent for a minister and they were married on board.  It was not the beginning of a happy life for Christine.  Only a few days later, Johansen "began to show his true character, he drank, and abused her, and her life was miserable."  The article said, "He then made her go to a concert saloon in Broadway, and work to make money for him to recklessly spend for rum."  And then, when Christine became pregnant and had to quit her job, Johansen deserted her.

Now penniless and alone, Christine came to the North-Western dispensary for medicine.  When she went into labor in January 1877, a doctor went to the tenement where she was staying to deliver the little girl.  The New York Dispatch reported that "some kind-hearted people" had taken an interest in Christine's case and had paid her rent.  Her medical care, of course, was free.  The newspaper added, "and if Johansen can be found, he will be held responsible for the future welfare of the wife he so cruelly betrayed and deserted."

Because the North-Western Dispensary relied almost entirely on donations, benefits were often held to raise funds.  On November 23, 1902, for instance, the New-York Tribune announced, "The next of the series of dances given in the interest of the Northwestern Dispensary...will be held at the Manhattan, Nos. 113 and 115 West Seventy-ninth-st., on the evening of December 9," and two months later, on January 25, 1903, the newspaper reported, "The musical donation tea given at the home of Mrs. Loton Horton, of No. 117 West Seventy-second-st., last week for the benefit of the North-western Dispensary was a social and financial success."

The store fronts were significantly altered when this photo was taken on October 6, 1927.  from the collection of the New York Public Library

The venerable institution continued in the Ninth Avenue building until 1954.  When the North-Western Dispensary was formally merged with the Judson Health Center in March 1957, The New York Times recalled, "The North-western Dispensary, formerly at 403 West Thirty-sixth Street, was closed to make room for the Port of New York Authority administration building."

That structure was later demolished to make way for the approach to the Lincoln Tunnel.  The Hudson Crossing Apartments, erected in 2002, now occupies part of the site.

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The Lost St. Bartholomew's Church - Madison Avenue and 44th Street

 

To the left of the church is the rectory, also designed by Renwick & Sands.  from the collection of the New-York Historical Society

St. Bartholomew's Protestant Episcopal Church was founded in 1835.  Its congregation initially worshiped in a simple structure at the corner of Great Jones Street and Lafayette Place.  In the first years following the end of the Civil War, however, society was moving further northward and plans were laid for a new building on the southwest corner of Madison and 44th Street.  The well-known architectural firm of Renwick & Sands was hired to design the new structure, and as construction neared completion, the Real Estate Record & Builders' Guide gave its hearty approval on October 19, 1872.

"Since the erection of the splendid synagogue of El Emanuel, on Fifth avenue, no place of public worship has been constructed in this city more pleasing and satisfactory, as a specimen of ecclesiastical architecture, than the new Episcopal church of Saint Bartholomew," said the article.  With the exception of the soaring Byzantine-inspired bell tower, the style would be termed Sicilian Romanesque today.  But the Record & Guide's critic had trouble putting a finger on it:

The design is in what might, in general terms, be called the Byzantine style of architecture, but the architects have so closely adhere to the peculiar branch of it illustrated by the Cathedral of Pisa and other works of that character, that it may more properly be classified as Pisan Romanesque.

Renwick & Sands incorporated five different types of stone into the façade to provide a variation of color and visual texture.  The Record & Guide found fault only in the tower.  "In St. Bartholomew's church, the whole frontage may be pronounced absolutely perfect, tower and all, until we reach that stage of the latter where an open octagonal turret, formed of a wooden and slated dome resting on slender columns, is placed upon the square portion of the tower, sloping away at the angles to receive it."  The critic felt that the slope of the dome was "very defective."

The cost of construction was reported at $240,000.  When the costs of the organ, the furnishings and decorations were added in, the price rose to $400,000, according to The New York Times--or just under $8.75 million today.  On the evening of October 31 the still uncompleted church was "open to the inspection of the public," as reported by The New York Times, which called it "a magnificent specimen of the most chaste and ornate architecture."

Workmen were paving East 44th Street when this photograph was taken in 1895.  photo by Byron Company, from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York

The article noted, "Rich music was discoursed from the organ, which is one of the finest in the City, and cost $12,000.  A new and splendid altar is being completed, and will soon be in position.  A font of white Carrara marble, the gift of a lady, has been ordered, and is now being executed in London."  Another member had donated a silver communion service produced by Starr & Marcus.

The Record & Guide wrote, "The effect, on entering, is gorgeous and imposing.  Beautiful polished columns, of Aberdeen and Peterhead granite imported from Scotland, separate the lofty nave from the aisles on either side, surmounted by richly carved and gilded floriated capitals, while the whole vaulted roof and surface walls are ablaze with polychromatic decoration of well-contrasted colors mingled with gold."  Memorial stained glass donated by congregants had been installed, leaving only two plain glass windows to be replaced later.  The critic of the Record & Guide was especially pleased with their magnificence, saying they were:

...utterly devoid of that vulgar transparent green and yellow and orange glare so common in our churches, but executed by various New York artists in such fitting designs and brilliant but subdued rubies and other rich colors, that some might pass for the works of the famed [Thomas] Willement or [William] Wailes of England.

As with almost all wealthy churches, pews could be rented or purchased.  Only those in the back or least favorable positions, (if any) were free to use.  On November 7, 1872 a pew auction was held.  The New York Times reported that the church "was crowded last evening, by the fashionable residents of the neighborhood interested in obtaining good pews."

It proved economically wise to buy rather than rent.  The annual rental fee for Pew No. 12, for instance, was $2,500.  James A. Roosevelt purchased it "at a premium of $900."  Similarly, William Henry Vanderbilt purchased a double pew, No. 15, for $1,100.  The proposed rent was $2,500.  He also purchased pew No. 17 for $1,500.  Nevertheless, others preferred to sign leases and at the end of the night the rentals amounted to $150,000--more than $3.25 million in today's money.

While St. Bartholomew's counted among its members some of the wealthiest and most influential citizens of Manhattan, perhaps none was more active in its affairs than the extended Vanderbilt family.  Most notable was the clan's matriarch, Maria Louisa Kissam Vanderbilt, who was involved in many of the activities and charities of the church.

On November 22, 1877 The New York Times entitled an article "A Vanderbilt Married."  Florence Adele, the daughter of William Henry and Maria Kissam Vanderbilt, had been married to Hamilton McKown Twombly in St. Bartholomew's church the previous evening.  The article noted, "Several thousand invitations on oblong tinted paper...had been issued."  They included a small card that granted admission to the church.

But society weddings and funerals often attracted mobs of what the newspapers termed "gawkers," those who wanted to get a glimpse of the celebrities of the day--the millionaires.  Outside the Vanderbilt-Twombly wedding, things got out of control.  The canopy erected from the curb to the entrance for the guests became the epicenter of near riotous behavior.

"Just inside the outer edge of the canopy stood two rough individuals shouting 'Tickets,' like at a circus," reported The New York Times.  "The uninvited crowd, composed of several thousand persons, the majority of them women, pressed against the canopy on both sides, and defied the efforts of the Police to keep them in order."  Several times the crowd rushed the canopy, threatening to topple it.  "In these rushes guests were roughly handled.  Men and women in evening attire were squeezed and jostled, their costumes disarranged, and their persons bruised."

The behavior of the crowd, which The New York Times reporter called "simply disgraceful," nearly resulted in a fatality.  "One lady in a low-necked dress was thrown under the feet of a pair of carriage horses that had just driven up, and placed in imminent danger of her life."

Even inside, the decorum of the church was threatened.  Eight prominent gentlemen acted as ushers, including Frederick Vanderbilt, Florence's brother, and Henry Sloane, husband of her sister Emily.  "The ushers had their hands full," said the article.  "Several times they were obliged to drive the mob back."

The newly-wed Hamilton and Florence Twombly recess from the altar, followed by the bride's parents.  Leslie's Monthly Magazine, December 1877 (copyright expired)  

Once the guests were seated and the church doors closed, calm finally reigned and the ceremony was conducted without incident.  The reception was held in the Vanderbilt mansion at Fifth Avenue and 40th Street, where the gawkers were waiting.  "Here, too, a large crowd of curiosity seekers had assembled, and the presence of a squad of Police was necessary to keep them in order," reported The New York Times.

Despite the wealth of its congregants, the construction debts were not paid off until the beginning of 1878.  On February 21, St. Bartholomew's Church was consecrated by Bishop Henry C. Potter.  The impressive ceremony began with a procession of 60 clergymen, which was joined at the main entrance by the wardens and vestrymen.  Those men's names alone signified the wealth of the congregation:  Jacob Reese, James A. Roosevelt, William H. Vanderbilt, George G. Kellogg, Alfred M. Hoyt, and Henry A. Taylor amount them.

At 2:00 on December 8, 1885 William Henry Vanderbilt was in his private study talking with railroad executive Robert Garrett.  The New York Times reported, "Mr. Vanderbilt was speaking, when suddenly Mr. Garrett perceived indistinctness in his speech.  The next instant the muscles around his mouth began to twitch slightly.  Then they were violently convulsed.  In another moment the great millionaire’s arms bent under his body, he toppled forward, and pitched headlong toward the floor.” 

In a moment bells were ringing and feet were flying in every part of the house.  The butler, the footman, and the other servants were hastening breathless from the basement.  Mrs. Vanderbilt and George W. Vanderbilt, her youngest son, were hurrying, pale with terror, from above.  In a minute all were in the study, where Mr. Garrett was bending over his host’s body.  The ruddy firelight did not light up the pallid features now.  The ghastliness of death was upon them.

On December 11 a private service was held in the Vanderbilt mansion on Fifth Avenue.  Afterward a hearse carried the casket to St. Bartholomew's Church, followed by the various Vanderbilt carriages.  Maria Louisa was so overcome with grief that she could not attend her husband's church service.  Upon its completion, a cortege of 60 coaches accompanied the hearse to the Vanderbilt vault at New Dorp, Staten Island.

The second major Vanderbilt funeral was held in the church 11 years later.  As had been the case with her husband, a private service was held in the Fifth Avenue mansion for Maria Louisa Kissam Vanderbilt on November 10, 1896, prior to the St. Bartholomew's funeral.  The New York Times reported, "The ceremonies will be simple, in recognition of the modesty and disapproval of all forms of display which distinguished the late Mrs. Vanderbilt's character."

The article noted, "The death of Mrs. Vanderbilt is nowhere more deeply lamented than among the parishioners of St. Bartholomew's Church...To her more than to any other person, with the possible exception of [Rev.] Dr. Greer, is due the growth of that great institutional church.  The crowds that crammed the streets were now far more respectful.  "Outside the church, on Madison Avenue and Forty-fourth Street," said The New York Times, "hundreds were gathered who were unable to gain entrance.  As the cortege passed many of these uncovered their heads."

William Henry and Maria Louisa's eldest son, Cornelius Vanderbilt II, died unexpectedly of a brain hemorrhage on September 12, 1899.  Two days later The World headlined an article "Funeral To Be To-Morrow / Services Will Be Held in the Vanderbilts' Church."  The "Vanderbilt's Church" was, of course, St. Bartholomew's.

Cornelius's wife, Alice, had taken over the position as the Vanderbilt matriarch, as well as her mother-in-law's former standing within the congregation.  In October 1902, she announced "that a new façade would be erected for St. Bartholomew's church as a memorial to Cornelius Vanderbilt."  According to the New-York Tribune later, "The original plan included only memorial bronze doors, but as the work advanced it became evident that the architectural surroundings of these doors and tympana would not be harmonious.  Mrs. Vanderbilt and her children then decided to erect an entire new porch, extending across the whole Madison-ave. front."

The work was a collaboration of the architectural firm McKim, Mead & White, and sculptors Daniel C. French and Andrew O'Connor.  The magnificent bronze doors were designed by Philip Martiny and Herbert Adams.  Typical of so many McKim, Mead & White works, it drew inspiration from an existing antique building--in this case the Abbey of Saint-Gilles in southern France.

A vintage postcard depicts the Abbey of Saint-Gilles, which inspired the Vanderbilt Porch.

Completed in January 1903, the Vanderbilt Porch, as it became known, was in perfect harmony with Renwick & Sands's original design.  

from the collection of the New-York Historical Society

At the same time the Vanderbilt Porch was being installed, the spire section of the bell tower was removed.  The residual stump would have most likely have been more pleasing to the Record & Guide critic who was so harsh in 1872, but left it devoid of its former exotic character.

The topmost section has been removed in this photo taken by McKim, Mead & White...

...and lower portion was gone in 1903 when the firm took this one.  photos from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York

Serving as rector of a church like St. Bartholomew's was rewarding.  Rev. Dr. David Hummell Greer had been head of the congregation since 1885.   His salary, according to The Sun in 1903, was around $12,000--or $385,000 today.  He and his family maintained a summer home in Easthampton and, according to the newspaper, "His two daughters are in society and his sons are members of New York clubs."

Greer had turned down three bishoprics over his years at St. Bartholomew's.  But in the fall of 1903 he accepted the position as Bishop Coadjutor to Bishop Potter.  It meant that the congregation, quite accustomed to the status quo, would get a new rector.  He came in the form of Rev. Leighton Parks, formerly of Boston, who had some new ideas.

The choir of St. Bartholomew's Church, led by organist and choirmaster Richard Henry Warren, was renowned.  But Emmanuel Church in Boston, from which Rev. Parks had come, had always had a boy choir.  He arrived at St. Bartholomew's in January 1904 and, according to The New York Times, "It is said that he at once began to agitate the abolition of the adult choir of forty voices, which is considered one of the finest in the country."

Under pressure to disband his choir, Richard Henry Warren submitted his resignation in February 1905.  The New York Times reported, "Mr. Warren's resignation is said to have been perfectly acceptable to the rector, who at once began to organize through the organist of Emmanuel Church, Boston, a choir composed of trained boy singers."  And Rev. Parks did not back down.  In place of Richard Henry Warren he hired Polish choirmaster and organist Leopold Stokowski, who would later earn renown as a symphonic conductor.

As early as 1909 the trustees of St. Bartholomew's were considering a move.  On April 21, 1909 The Sun noted, "St. Bartholomew's Church is in the middle of a large hotel and apartment district, with the entire rapid transit system centering at its door.   Five years later property was acquired on the east side of Park Avenue between 50th and 51st Streets  and architect Bertram Grosvenor Goodhue was hired to design the new St. Bartholomew's Church.

On June 13, 1914 the Record & Guide reported, "Many of the works of art now standing in the old building will be incorporated and erected in the new scheme.  The beautiful bronze doors, the gift of Mrs. Vanderbilt as a memorial to her husband, the late Cornelius Vanderbilt, will be reset in the new building."  Other artifacts slated to be installed in the new building were the altar painting Christ in Glory, the statuary and stone tablets, and other memorials.

The new St. Bartholomew's Church was formerly opened on October 20, 1918.  Nine months later, on July 5, 1919, the Record & Guide reported that the "old St. Bartholomew's Church" had been sold for $1.5 million."  The purchaser was the Fifth Church of Christ Scientist.  Two weeks later the Record & Guide reported, "A combination church and office building is planned for the site."

Demolition was underway when Byron Company took this photograph in 1919.  from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York

An alteration to that building, completed in 1993, resulted in a glass and steel facade.

photo via emporis.com

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Renwick & Sands' 1868 29 Howard Street

In 1859 the block of Howard Street between Broadway and Lafayette Street was lined with brothels, saloons and low-end rooming houses.  The two-story building at No. 29 was home to John Hanselman's "lager beer saloon and dwelling."   But change was on the horizon.

The following decades saw the old brick and frame buildings converted or demolished as the neighborhood transformed from residential to commercial.  In 1868 Edward Mathews purchased No. 29 and commissioned the architectural firm of Renwick & Sands to design a modern loft building on the site.

Completed within the year, a two-story cast iron base upheld three floor faced in gleaming white marble.  James Renwick, Jr. and Joseph Sands had created a striking structure which, while holding on to mid-Victorian decorative details like dripping garlands of fruits, was highly influenced by the new neo-Grec style.  Incised rosettes and geometric designs adorned the pilasters.   The extraordinary stylized capitals of the fifth floor were nearly whimsical, and the paired brackets joined by a single capital which upheld the cornice were equally unique.

Among the earliest tenants was Finlay, Gourlay & Finch, shirt makers.   Working conditions within the lofts were gruesome, especially in the summer months.  The finished shirts were sometimes soiled by the sweat of the workers and by the dust and grime that entered through the open windows.  Before they could be shipped to the retail stores, they were sent to the compahy's laundry in Jamesburg, New Jersey.  On August 12, 1872 the firm advertised for "Ironers on White Shirts--Laundry a short distance in the country."

Work in the steamy, hot atmosphere of a laundry was no less harsh than the in loft.  It appears that ironers quickly came and went, for nine months later in May 1873 the company advertised "Wanted At Once--six first class ironers, for Jamesburg Shirt Factory.  Apply to Finlay, Gourlay & Finch, 29 Howard st."

The two-story cast iron base is unique even in Soho.

Within the year the firm was reorganized and renamed Downs, Gourlay & Finch.  The new partner, Daniel H. Downs, wrote a check to himself in August 1873 for $1,000 (about $22,000 today).  But when he arrived at the Bowery National Bank he realized he had dropped it somewhere along the way.  He offered a $5 reward for its return in the newspapers; although the chances of that happening were most likely slim.

It happened again in February 1876.   The bookkeeper had earlier drawn a note payable to the firm, due six months later.  But when the date came no one could find it.  The firm placed an announcement in newspapers warning "All persons are hereby cautioned against negotiating a note drawn by Downs, Gourlay & Finch, payable to their own order six months after date; amount $1,200.22; dated August 23, 1875; mislaid, lost or stolen from their office."

The monetary hit could not have come at a worse time.  The Financial Panic of 1873 ruining banks and businesses and wiping out the personal fortunes of millionaires.  The firm reorganized again, now becoming simply George Gourlay.  But none of the efforts were enough.  On April 21 1878 the New York Herald reported that Gourlay was on the brink of bankruptcy.  "The family and friends of Mr. Gourlay have given him financial aid in order that he may make a settlement of fifty cents on the dollars in secured notes."

Trailing fruits and vegetables--even including ears of corn--adorn the cast iron columns.

The 1880's saw Gilbert Isaacs, clothing manufacturer; Stewart, Warren & Co., "manufacturing stationers;" and Wilken & Black, dealers in tailors' trimmings in the building.  

In 1888 Stewart, Warren & Co. became "unpleasantly familiar," as worded by The Evening Telegram, with a gang of forgers.  The article explained that the firm "does a very large check manufacturing business and have to be constantly on guard against these rogues."  A nicely dressed member of the gang would appear at an office and present a letter written on Stewart, Warren & Co. letterhead.  It "requested the loan of one of their blank checks as an order had come from another customer for just such checks on the same kind of paper, and the firm were entirely out of samples."  

Suspicions were raised in September when the bookkeeper of Heissenbottle, Nearing & Co. noticed that the firm's name was misspelled and refused to supply the check other than by mail.  "The fraud came out at once when inquiry was made," said The Telegram.  Stewart, Warren & Co. notified police headquarters that "check raisers were apparently planning a raid on some of their customers."  The article warned businessmen "Indications point to the existence of a gang of check forgers and raisers in this city who are laying in a stock of blanks as the first step toward getting ready for business."  The newspaper also warned the crooks.  "The police are prepared to deal with them."

Ely C. Carter, maker of lace curtains, was in the building in the mid-1890's.  It employed an all female staff.  Of its 29 workers, 10 were under 21-years old and one under 16.  They worked a 54-hour week.

The last of the apparel companies in No. 29 was forced to find new accommodations when the entire building was leased by the S. Orchman Trunk Co. in September 1915.   The Great Depression years saw John Reiner & Co., dealers in industrial and construction equipment, here from 1933 through 1937.

Other tenants included the envelope maker Anca Printing Co., here by 1950; and the Empire Belt & Novelty Co. in 1955.

The upper floors were converted to "joint living/working quarters for artists" in 2003, one per floor.  The storefront became home to the Ralo Tibet Carpet store, which remained until around 2014.  In 2018 the art gallery BDDW opened here.

photographs by the author