Abortion, Murder and Kindness--347-351 West 44th Street

 

By the last quarter of the 19th century, the Hell's Kitchen district was "one of the most miserable and crime-polluted neighborhoods in this City," according to The New York Times.  On September 18, 1892, a police sergeant told the newspaper, "You were always on the defensive and carried your life in your hand if you made the streets safe for decent people.  If you chose to skulk and let the hoodlums have their own way, you were a good fellow, and never wanted for a cigar or a drink, and I have heard that some officers profited to a greater extent by being discreetly deaf, dumb, and blind."

But certain developers attempted to upgrade the neighborhood by erecting decent tenement buildings.  Five months before The New York Times article, William F. Rorack purchased the old Eagle Brewery property on West 44th Street between Eighth and Ninth Avenues.  On February 18, 1892, The Real Estate Record & Builders' Guide reported that he would build eight "five-story brown stone flats"--five at 345 to 353 West 44th Street and the three others directly behind them on West 45th Street.

This photograph of the Eagle Brewery complex was taken in 1892, just before William Rorack demolished the buildings.  from the collection of the New-York Historical Society.

The buildings were completed before the year's end.  Faced in brownstone and designed as a blend of R0manesque Revival and Renaissance Revival styles, they were nearly identical--their details varying only in the stone carvers' creativity.  Each entrance was flanked by layered columns, the front panels of which were decorated with elaborate Renaissance Revival carvings.  A single Corinthian capital capped the hybrid columns.

At some point, an Art Deco-style entrance door, in stark contrast to the 19th century architecture, was installed at No. 351.

The second floors were faced in vermiculated, rusticated stone.  The windows at this level were enhanced with bold, carved voussoirs.  The openings of the third and fourth floors were embraced by molded arches, each of the outer examples capped with individual mascarons, or portrait keystones.  The top floor windows were separated by paneled Corinthian piers.

Finely executed mascarons cap the outer windows of the fourth floor.

The buildings filled with working class families, their economic status reflected in position-wanted ads.  On December 4, 1892, for instance, an advertisement in The New York Times read, "Butler--By thoroughly competent, sober, and industrious man in private family; best recommendations from last employer.  Address Galbrun, 347 West 44th St."  

Among Galbrun's neighbors in the building that year was Charles H. Paulding.  The elderly man had an illustrious military background.  A veteran of the War of 1812, his maternal grandfather, Isaac F. Russell, had been aide-de-camp to Major General Morgan Lewis in the Revolutionary War.

A young unmarried woman who found herself pregnant at the time was in serious trouble.  Affluent women often slipped out of town on "pleasure trips" until the birth.  Residents of Hell's Kitchen, on the other hand, did not have that option.

Alice Whitney, who lived at 351 West 44th Street, worked as a stenographer and typist in a downtown lawyer's office.  The Evening World described her as "said to possess remarkable beauty and intelligence."  In January 1893, she sought the services of Dr. Gray-Blinn (who also practiced under the names of Blinn, Gray and Smith).  Two years earlier, in January 1891, he was arrested for performing an abortion.  Out on bail, he and his wife fled to Sweden.  Because the patient recovered, no charges were pressed and Gray-Blinn returned to New York City.

Gray-Blinn botched the abortion on Alice Whitney, leaving her in a precarious condition.  On January 20, the New York Herald reported that the physician "was arrested last Sunday, charged with performing a criminal operation."  He was released on $3,000 bail (about $110,000 in 2026).  The article said, "It is reported that Miss Whitney's condition is steadily improving."

But at a time when infection and internal injuries were less well understood than today, the 22-year-old's condition soon worsened.  On February 7, The Evening World reported that the coroner had been notified that "Miss Alice Whitney was suffering from the results of malpractice at 351 West Forty-fourth street, and would probably die before night."  

The following day, the New-York Tribune reported that Alice had died in her apartment.  The article said she had not revealed the name of "her betrayer" (the man who had impregnated her).  On the same day, The Evening World headlined an article, "Dr. Gray-Blinn Has Fled."

At least three of the residents of the row found a less arduous way of making a living than domestic work or physical labor.  An advertisement in the New York Journal on September 17, 1896 read, "Professor Fred Carlson.  Spiritualist, medium; magnetic treatment; good helper.  351 West 44th st."  Four months later, on January 11, 1897, an advertisement in the same newspaper offered, "New Year well begun by consulting Wanetha; she is the ladies' favorite, 351 West 44th st."  And on October 15, 1899, an ad in the New York Journal and Advertiser read, "Mme. Ross, palmist, seventh daughter; naturally gifted; 25 cents.  347 West 44th st., one flight up, back."

Cora Walters, who had a former husband and two children in Philadelphia, occupied a four-room apartment at 347 West 44th Street as early as 1912.  A waitress, she rented one of her two bedrooms to James Lord and his wife.  The 44-year-old Cora had a drinking problem.  On September 26, 1912, according to The Evening World, she "had been treated for alcoholism."  

Around the same time, Raymond Murphy temporarily moved in.  (It is unclear where he slept, since the apartment had only two bedrooms.)  Now a painter, Murphy had previously been a professional pitcher with the Philadelphia National League.

At around 6:00 on the morning of October 4, 1912, Murphy and Lord told two policemen that they had just found Cora Walters's body in her bedroom.  The officers quickly became suspicious about "the many bruises on the body of the dead woman," as reported by The Evening World.  The Lords explained them, according to The New York Times, by saying that Cora "had been drinking heavily for three weeks, and the bruises were caused by falls."

Coroner Holtzhauser, however, was not so sure.  He told reporters, "The bruises on the body were not more than six hours old and do not look to me as if they could have been caused by fall."  He added that Cora was found on her back with her right hand raised "as if to ward off a blow."  The Brooklyn Daily Eagle noted, "according to the police...several suit cases and the contents, consisting of papers, were found strewn about the room."

Holtzhauser had the Lords and Murphy detained and he ordered an autopsy.  The results were apparently inconclusive and no arrests were made.

Joseph Farrell, who was a laborer, lived at 351 West 44th Street at the time of the incident.  In April 1913, he "was hit with a blackjack," according to the New-York Tribune.  After the incident he started "acting strangely."  Farrell's unusual behavior climaxed on the night of July 11.  At around 6:00, he went on a rampage, "wrecking his own apartment with a sledge hammer," then running through the hallway, smashing the doors of other apartments.  Farrell's next door neighbor, Christopher Bauer, tackled him in the hallway.

The New-York Tribune reported, "Policeman Seiffert found the two struggling, but Farrell wrenched himself free and struck Bauer and Seiffert down, and ran into his apartment and locked the door."  As Seiffert and Bauer broke in the door, they heard a horrific crash.  The article said, "Farrell had jumped through a window without raising the sash."  The frenzied man landed in the rear yard and suffered a fractured skull.

The passing decades did not lessen the problems of residents along the row.  Anita Sobotina and Sophie Pelansky, two members of a Russian ballet troupe, lived at 351 West 44th Street on June 20, 1916 when they were arrested for shoplifting items of silk lingerie in a Broadway store.  

Stephen Moniodes, a busboy in Janssen's Hofbrau restaurant, lived in the building ten years later.  On March 14 1926, he was arrested after he grabbed a carving knife and terrorized a dozen employees in the kitchen, "shouting he would kill everybody present," according to The New York Times.  Several cooks managed to force him into a closet and call the police.  The article said, "He was taken to the psychopathic ward at Bellevue suffering from temporary derangement."

Jack Gentle, who lived in No. 351, worked as a waiter in a restaurant.  Unfortunately for him, it was also a speakeasy.  On February 11, 1927, he was arrested when the basement restaurant was raided by Prohibition agents.  And on March 15, 1935, resident Fred M. Melton was arrested for "stealing government checks" and cashing them.  Secret Service agent Alan G. Straight called him, "one of the cleverest forgers in the country."

Not all the residents of the row were, of course, on the wrong side of the law.  A touching letter arrived at The New York Times's Hundred Neediest Cases Fund on December 15, 1924 from A. Perez, who lived at 349 West 44th Street.  Written in broken English, his note read:

I send.  I have nothing but this money that could save from weekly salary.  My gift will be smallest among the others but best-intentioned.  I have heartbroken for not to any more to cause because I am as poor as they are.

    Yours truly, A. Perez, 349 West Forty-fourth Street.

    Hotel Astor pantryman, this is my job.

image via the NYC Dept of Records & Information Services.

By the turn of the century, 351 West 44th Street was operated as a single room occupancy hotel.  Tenants reported that they paid $150 a week "for small rooms with no kitchens," according to The New York Times.  In 2004, there were several small fires in the building, according to occupants.

Another fire broke out in the fifth-floor room of Lassan Bavo on the night of January 28, 2005.  Bavo told reporters, "I took the bucket I use to wash my socks and started trying to put it out.  Then I just gathered some stuff and ran out the fire escape."

The sprinklers failed to activate and 38-year-old William Tutay, who lived two rooms away from the Bavo's, jumped from a window that opened onto the airshaft.  He landed on a "recessed area level with the basement floor," said The New York Times.  He was dead when fire fighters found him.  The fire chief remarked, "If the sprinklers worked, he would not have had to jump."

The easternmost building was demolished in 1925 and replaced later by a rather startling edifice.

No. 345 West 44th Street was demolished in 1925, and No. 353 was so drastically modernized later that it is nearly unidentifiable as one of the 1892 row.  The passing of time, however, essentially ignored the three middle buildings.  Other than replacement windows and an unexpected Art Deco entrance door at 351 West 44th Street, the exteriors of the historic tenement buildings survive nearly untouched.

many thanks to reader Tony Willging for requesting this post

photographs by the author

G. Fred. Pelham's 1891 110 Eighth Avenue

Real estate developers Weil & Mayer embarked on an astonishingly ambitious project in 1891, demolishing all the vintage structures on the east side of Eighth Avenue between 15th and 16th Street and hiring architect G. Fred. Pelham to design a sprawling complex of store-and-flat buildings on the site.  Pelham designed the structures, eight on the avenue and one each on the side streets, in the Romanesque Revival style.  Above the storefronts, the openings altered from arched to square-headed floor-by-floor.  Faced in light-colored brick and trimmed in terra cotta and brownstone, their design strayed from pure Romanesque with Renaissance Revival terra cotta plaques on the side streets and occasional Queen Anne sunburst parapets atop the Eighth Avenue cornices.  Most strikingly, perhaps, (and a commission that kept stone carvers busy for months), were the portrait keystones above the arched openings--exactly 100 of them.  Each one carved with its own personality, some grimacing, some smiling, others seemingly crying out.

Painted today, these three keystone exemplify the stone carvers' craft and the variety of their work.

Typical of the buildings was 110 Eighth Avenue, one of the two middle structures.  It, like the others, filled with working class families.  

Among its early tenants was Joseph Garity, born in Ireland in 1858.  On May 21, 1893, he went to Isaac Frankel's second-hand clothing store on Seventh Avenue to buy a coat.  He attempted to haggle with Dora Frankel, who was tending the store, about the price of a coat.  The New York Herald recounted their discussion:

"That's $9," said Mrs. Frankel.

"I'll give you six.  It's only worth five," said Garity.

"It's worth fifteen, but you can have it for nine," returned the proprietress.

Garity put his hand in his pocket and produced $6.50 and a razor.  He opened the razor.

"Now, will you take $6.50, or won't you?" he demanded.

"Get out of my place," ordered Mrs. Frankel.

The Evening World reported that he "slashed at Mrs. Frankel."  Dora Frankel jumped back, and screamed, and ran behind the counter.  Her scream caught the attention of a policeman who was passing by.  The New York Herald said said he, "ran in to find Mrs. Frankel and Garity doing a turn around the counter, the woman being well in the lead."  Rather than buying a coat, Garity ended his day in jail.  The New York Herald commented, "He is a tough character and has done time."

The stupefying row as it appears today.  No. 110 Eighth Avenue is behind the black car.

A tenant named Livingston and his wife, Alice, lived at 110 Eighth Avenue in the mid-1890s.  Livingston was a traveling salesman and the couple took in a boarder, Edith Reed.  Livingston was on the road in upstate New York in June 1896.  

Early on the morning of June 13, Policemen Lane and Culhane were walking their rounds when Alice and Edith hollered at them from the apartment window.  The policemen arrived to find the two women holding a pair of young men hostage.  The incredible story they recounted was a bit hard to believe.

According to Alice Livingston, at 2:30 a.m. she and Edith were "startled by a knock on the door."  Alice opened it and two men, Martin Maroney and David Rosenheim, 27 and 28 years old respectively, pushed their way in.  Alice said she had never seen them before and ordered them out, but they laughed at her.  Rosenheim went into Alice's bedroom.  The New York Times reported, "She followed to eject him, but Maroney, without any warning, threw her down and held her, and with the help of Rosenheim took $50 in five-dollar bills from her clothing."  The men attempted to flee, but Edith locked the door, trapping them inside.  The women then screamed for help from the window.  (Ten five-dollar bills were found in Rosenheim's pocket.)

In the Jefferson Market the next day, Maroney and Rosenheim told a much different story.  They told the magistrate that they frequently called on the women when Livingston was away on business.  The New York Times reported that they testified, "on this occasion earlier in the evening they had displayed the money, and the women had fixed up this story so as to get possession of it."  The men were held in $1,000 bail each awaiting trial.

At the time of the incident, the store in 110 Eighth Avenue was home to William Baum's grocery.

Like the buildings' keystones, the carved faces above the entrance to 110 Eighth Avenue were different.  Their distinctly disparate styles suggest they were carved by different artisans.

A horrific tragedy occurred here on June 4, 1899.  The New York Journal and Advertiser reported, "Kizia Chapman, one year old, fell to the sidewalk from a window on the second floor of No. 110 Eighth avenue, yesterday afternoon, while playing there with her mother."  The little girl's skull was fractured and she died in the New York Hospital shortly afterward.

Tenant Madge Corcoran was 30-years-old and unmarried in 1904.  She was one of the party of five couples who went on what The New York Times termed an "automobile party" on the night of October 6 that year.  Albert Noyes drove the group in his "big Panhard touring automobile," reported The Evening World.

Another member of the party, Thomas Murphy, told investigators later, "We went to Mount Vernon and we stopped at every roadhouse on the way."  The party's revelry turned to tragedy in an instant just past midnight.  The Evening World reported that Noyes drove his car, "in which was a gay party of five women and four men," over the 30-foot embankment at Jerome Avenue and 161st Street.  The big automobile landed on the tracks of the New York Central Railroad.  The article said it, "was struck by a swiftly moving train and reduced to fragments in a twinkling."  Madge Corcoran was one of the passengers who were instantly killed.

William Baum still operated his grocery store on the ground floor on July 21, 1913 when a fire broke out in packing cases in the cellar early that morning.  It was discovered by Patrolman Thomas J. Eagan who, "ran through the house and warned the tenants," as reported by The Evening Post, which said he "led nearly one hundred and fifty tenants to the roof...while fire raged in the basement."  The article said:

Those rescued were Mrs. Bridget Flynn, eighty-six years old, an invalid, and Miss Rose Sazoretti, sixteen years old.  Mrs. Flynn was partly overcome by smoke, and was revived by the other tenants.  Miss Sazoretti, who was in her apartment on the fourth floor, was revived on reaching the roof.

The rescue of Bridget Flynn was more dramatic than the report initially made it sound.  Officer Egan discovered, after he thought everyone was safe, that James Bernie, his wife Edna, and Bridget Flynn (Edna Bernie's aunt) were missing.  He went back into the building to find Egan trying valiantly to carry Bridget Flynn up the stairs.  With the help of the Bernies, he carried the invalid woman to the roof.

William Baum's grocery store was taken over by Ginsberg Brothers, operated by I. Ginsberg, by 1918.  Ginsberg got into trouble with the Federal Government because of World War I price controls.  On January 26, 1918, The New York Times reported that the Federal Food Board heard a case "against a retail grocer who frankly admitted that he had overcharged for sugar."  The New-York Tribune said, "After five hours' examination Ginsberg admitted his offence and turned over to the board his $186.94 excess profit."  

Tenant John Garland, a truck driver, went to the Marlborough Grill on Broadway and 36th Street on Saturday night, October 7, 1922.  Prohibition had been in effect for two years and, unfortunately for him, a plain clothes detective was on duty there, too.  The 22-year-old was caught with a pint bottle of liquor and arrested.  

Garland worked for Denzer & Nathan, which dealt in silk.  Two years after his regrettable encounter with the agent, he was in the news again.  On the night of October 6, 1924, he got behind the wheel of a Denzer & Nathan truck, loaded with $25,000 worth of silk.  (The figure would translate to about $471,000 in 2026.)  His assistant, James McCarthy was in the passenger seat.  They made it as far as West 28th Street near Tenth Avenue when the truck was forced to the curb by six armed men.

Garland and McCarthy were loaded into the crooks' automobile and taken to First Avenue and 81st Street where they were released.  The following day, the New York Evening Post reported, "Police had to little to work on today in their hunt for six armed bandits who held up and escaped" with the trunk.

image via the NYC Dept of Records & Information Services.

Andrew Ventroff lived in 110 Eighth Avenue in 1933.  A registered Communist, he was part of an enormous throng who assembled at a Brooklyn pier on May 25 that year to confront Hass Weidemann.  The New York Times explained that Weidemann was the "representative of Chancellor Hitler" at the Chicag0 Century of Progress Exposition.  German artist, Gotthold Schneider, accompanied him on the voyage.

When the more than 1,000 Communists, carrying placards and banners, mobbed the pier, the two Nazis were spirited away in a tugboat.  The New York Times said, "The disturbance began, when on learning that they had been balked of the object of their attack, the Communists started several fights with persons whose sympathies appeared to be on the side of Hitler."  A melee between 100 policemen and the mass of Communists erupted.  In the end, 43 of the protestors were arrested (including Andrew Ventroff), and four policemen and three Communists were injured.

The storefront was remodeled during the Depression years with a faux stone front.  In the 1970s, it was home to Gilbert's Army & Navy Store.  

image via the NYC Dept of Records & Information Services

The complex of buildings was intact in 1940 (above).  The misguided painting of the masonry and removal of the cornice in the late 20th century greatly impaired the buildings' architectural integrity.

By then, the cornice had been removed from all the buildings and the masonry painted.  Sadly, those modernizations significantly diluted G. Fred. Pelham's personable 1891 design.

photographs by the author 

Louis Entzer Jr.'s 1892 121 East 95th Street

 

In two phases, real estate operator Francis Joseph Schnugg nearly filled the north blockfront of East 95th Street between Lexington and Park Avenues with 17 rowhouses.  The second group, completed in 1892, was designed by Louis Entzer, Jr.  (The first was the work of architect Fran Wennemer.)  Included in Entzer's row were 119 and 121 West 95th Street, which he designed as a mirror-image pair.

Faced in brownstone, the three-story-and-basement homes were just 16-feet wide.  A broad, shared stoop divided by an iron railing disguised their narrowness, as did the wide arched parlor windows.  Entzer further united the pair by placing the round-arched doorways into a single frame.  Pilasters with elaborately carved capitals flanked the entrances from which a molding rose to embrace a shared carved rondel.

Even more eye-catching were the sheet metal oriels at the second floor.  They were decorated with fluted pilasters, neo-Classical swags, and a triangular pediment.

When three of the group--Nos. 113, 119 and 121--had not sold by October 25, 1892, Schnugg apparently dropped the price.  He advertised:

Positively the Cheapest private houses in New-York, three-story and basement, brownstone; all private block; high ground...for only $17,000.

The price would translate to about $621,000 in 2026, and the reference to an "all private block" meant that there were deed restrictions that prohibited commerce on the block.

For some reason, 121 West 95th Street still did not sell.  Schnugg leased the house and each time the lease expired, he advertised the 14-room house for sale again.  In 1893, he upped the price to $17,250, stressing it was "worth $21,000" and he would include the gas fixtures.  He tried again in April 1895, and finally found a buyer in the Pilgrim family.

The Pilgrims apparently purchased the house as an investment and, like Schnugg, continued to lease it.  Living here in the post-World War I years was Julia Pabst Bader, the widow of Henry Bader, who died in 1922.  Julia was the daughter of the German-born dry goods merchant Martin Pabst.  She and Henry had one daughter, Laura.  Julia Bader died here on December 5, 1929 at the age of 76.

When Linda Pilgrim sold the house in June 1945, The New York Times remarked that it "had been in the same family for more than fifty years."

Small panes, a touch of the Queen Anne style, still outlined the upper sashes of the oriel in 1940.  via the NYC Dept of Records & Information Services.

No. 121 East 95th Street became home to the Dr. Theodore Burg Russell family.  Born in Queens, New York in 1903, Russell graduated from Princeton University in 1928 and Columbia University's College of Physicians and Surgeons in 1930.  His wife, the former Rhoda Reddig, was a nurse and his second wife.  He had three daughters, Mary, Katherine and Phoebe, from his first wife, Mary Learned Peltz (who was also a nurse).

Russell was apparently suffering from intense stress in the early months of 1951.  At 4:45 on the afternoon of February 7, he boarded the Staten Island ferry President Roosevelt during a snowstorm.  A few minutes before the vessel would have docked at St. George Terminal, Dr. Russell "walked out of the cabin and plunged over the port rail," reported The New York Times.  The ferry was stopped and, as reported by The Staten Island Advance, "Three ferrymen had to put out in a lifeboat on choppy, rain-swept waters."  The New York Times said, "When he was pulled from the water, he shouted, 'I want to die.'"  As the lifeboat returned to the ferry, a deckhand had to restrain Russell from jumping back into the water. 

Dr. Russell had chosen the most inconvenient time--rush hour--to attempt suicide.  The Staten Island Advance reported, "The incident created a flurry of excitement in the harbor when three police boats, a Coast Guard cutter and a fireboat were rushed to the scene under the impression the ferry was in distress."  And The New York Times added that the incident "delayed the craft more than a half-house and interrupted rush-hour ferry service from Manhattan and Staten Island."

Dr. Theodore Burg Russell and Rhoda Reddig Russell relocated to Ann Arbor, Michigan by the early 1960s.  Rhoda became dean of the School of Nursing at the University of Michigan there.  Surprisingly, 121 East 95th Street became home to Russell's previous wife, Mary Learned Peltz, and their two unmarried daughters, Katherine and Phoebe.

On June 19, 1963, The New York Times reported on Katherine Eveleen Russell's marriage to Benno Charles Schmidt Jr. in the Brick Presbyterian Church.  Her sisters, Mary White and Phoebe, were matron and maid of honor, respectively.  The article mentioned that Katherine had graduated from the Nightingale-Bamford School and Bennett College.

Two years later, nearly to the day, The New York Times reported on Mary Peltz Russell's marriage to Lewis Perry Jr.  The erudite groom was headmaster of the Fountain Valley School in Colorado Springs, and had attended Milton Academy, Phillips Exeter Academy, Harvard College and Oxford University.

Still a single-family home, 121 East 95th Street has undergone few exterior renovations and remains an integral part of the charming streetscape along this block.

photographs by the author

The Lost Scotch Presbyterian Church - 360 Central Park West

 

from the collection of the New-York Historical Society

On July 23, 1892, the Real Estate Record & Builders' Guide reported that the Scotch Presbyterian Church "will shortly commence the erection of a handsome church edifice...on the southwest corner of Central Park West and 96th street."  Simultaneously, said the article, a "lecture room" would be constructed on the north side of 95th Street, just west of Central Park West.  "The church will cost $150,000 and the lecture room $50,000," it said.  The total figure would translate to about $7.3 million in 2026.

The Scotch Presbyterian Church originated following a schism within the First Presbyterian Church in 1756.  After worshipping in several locations, the congregation erected a Sicilian Gothic-style church at 53 West 14th Street in 1852.  Now (despite Dr. Charles Henry Parkhurst saying that the trustees "exhibited cowardice" by abandoning the increasingly commercial West 14th Street), the trustees planned another move.

William H. Hume & Son was commissioned to design what The New York Times promised would be "an imposing Romanesque pile."  Construction on both buildings began in 1892 and by late summer of 1893 the West 95th Street structure was completed.  

The West 95th Street building, like the church, was Romanesque in style.  New-York Tribune, May 31, 1894 (copyright expired)

On September 18, the New-York Tribune reported that the "handsome new Sunday-school room of the Scotch Presbyterian Church...was formally opened yesterday afternoon."  The article noted, "On October 1 the church congregation will begin to worship in the Sunday-school room, which it will use till the completion of its new church...in Ninth-sixth-st., behind the Sunday-school."

On March 31, 1894, The New York Times reported on the cornerstone laying ceremony.  "W. H. Hume, the architect of the church building, spoke briefly, congratulating the officers of the church on the successful beginning of the work."  The newspaper described Hume's plans:

The foundation is of bluestone and the rest of the structure will be of Indiana limestone.  The iron-trussed roof will be covered with Spanish tiles.  The main entrance, on Ninety-sixth Street, will be under three romanesque [sic] arches, above which there is to be a large rose window.  At the northeast corner will be a high square tower.

Nine months later, the structure neared completion.  On December 30, 1894, The New York Times remarked, "The new building of the Scotch Presbyterian Church, Ninety-sixth Street and Central Park West, attracts and rewards the visitor by its solid, impressive architecture and the display of art in the adornments."  The artistic "adornments" included the Scotch thistle motif, which appeared "from the cornerstone to the cornice, over the organ, in the pew ends, and elsewhere."

The article vividly described the 52 stained-glass windows, executed by William Gibson's Sons.  In the center of the "great wheel window over the main entrance," said the article, was "an open Bible with the text, 'Thy word is truth.'"  It was surrounded by seven small round windows.

Completed in 1895, William H. Hume & Son had, indeed, created an "imposing Romanesque pile."  Turning its shoulder to Central Park West, the building faced West 96th Street.  Above a wide set of stone stairs, three arched entrances sat below the complex rose window within a yawning arch.  On the western side of the peaked roof was a romantic turret with a conical cap.  On the eastern side, a formidable bell tower rose high above Central Park West, terminating in a pyramidal cap.

Among the first social functions held by the church was a fund-raising event.  On September 22, 1895, the New-York Tribune said it "has hit upon a novel scheme to raise funds."  Congregants received "the oddest invitation they ever received."  The cards, "printed on coarse wrapping paper of the cheapest quality," invited them to a "Povertie Partie."  Written in Shakespearean-style prose like, "Ye women must wear ye cotton gowne and apron or equally befitting apparel," the invitations explained that the party was inspired by the "hard times which do now prevail."  A list of fines, ranging from 1 to 25 cents, would be levied on guests who violated the dress code, like wearing a scarfpin or silk dress.

Two years later, the rector, David G. Wylie, and his family moved into the new "manse" next door to the church on West 96th Street.  It was designed by Jardine, Kent & Jardine.

A sliver of the new rectory can be glimpsed at the right.  from the collection of the New York Public Library

The Scotch Presbyterian Church, deeply rooted in the British Isles, was the scene of two mourning services for world leaders in 1901.  In his sermon on January 27, Reverend Wylie memorialized Queen Victoria and pointed out the late monarch's viewpoint on women.  He said in part, "she was interested in everything which tended to elevate woman.  She was a queen in her home, and believed that home was pre-eminently woman's real sphere, where she should shine as a queen."

Eight months later, on September 16, The New York Times reported on Wylie's sermon following the assassination of President William McKinley.  He said that the name of the fallen President would "be closely associated with those of Washington and Lincoln--an immortal triumvirate."

The Central Park West elevation.  Streetcar tracks run down the middle of the stone-paved avenue.  from the collection of the New-York Historical Society.

Earlier that year, on July 28, the decorum of Sunday service was shattered.  During Reverend Wylie's sermon, a woman suddenly stood up.  The New-York Tribune reported, "Tearing her collar from around her neck, she placed it around her head and exclaimed: 'I am going to be married to Mr. Rockwell.'"

Wylie stopped speaking, the congregants turned to face the disturbance, and an usher rushed over to the woman.  The New-York Tribune described her as "tall, black haired and neatly attired in a white waist and a black skirt."  When the usher attempted to restrain her, she "fought desperately, and succeeded in tearing the lining entirely out of the man's coat."  She was finally carried to the vestry room where she continued to attempt to "get at the usher, especially after the unfortunate man, in his efforts to quiet the woman, told her that he was Mr. Rockwell."

An ambulance took Pearl Rockwell to the Harlem Hospital.  She was later transferred to Bellevue Hospital and placed in the "insane pavilion."  There it was learned that the 40-year-old and her husband were estranged.  "It is thought that grief over the separation unbalanced her mind," explained the New-York Tribune.

Rev. Dr. David G. Wylie, New-York Tribune, September 17, 1904 (copyright expired)

Reverend Wylie, like other pastors throughout the city, was highly opinionated and announced his views from the pulpit.  On July 3, 1904, for instance, he laid out the evils that threatened the United States.  He said in part:

One of our National evils is Mormonism.  Another is divorce.  The next menace is that of the saloon.  Corporate greed offers a menace not to be forgotten...There ought to be a greater regard for human life in this country than there is at present.  Our street railways are a source of danger because of the gross carelessness often exhibited.  The automobile threatens the lives of children, women, and old people.

In 1907 the Scotch Presbyterian Church merged with the First Reformed Presbyterian Church.  That congregation moved into the West 96th Street edifice and on March 16, the New York Herald confirmed that the consolidated congregations would operate "under the name of the Scotch Presbyterian Church."

David G. Wylie had married Jennie McWilliam in 1884.  The couple had four sons, Howard M., David R., John McWilliam, and Robert Sterling, and one daughter, Jennie D.  The family found themselves in the national spotlight when John went missing.

On April 26, John Wylie, who was 15 at the time, and his best friend, 16-year-old Buster Gutelius, sold their bicycles and took the $25 they obtained to buy train tickets to Port Jervis, New York.  The duo later explained that they "were in search of some needed outdoor recreation."

When the boys failed to come home from school that Friday afternoon, their parents had reported them missing.   By Tuesday the New York newspapers reached the Mill Rift Post Office near the Pennsylvania border.  The boys, who had established a camp within a cave, purchased an axe, some eggs, and other rations, from the general store that shared space with the post office.  

When Wylie and Gutelius returned, Postmaster Maloney compared their faces with the photographs.  Rather than confronting them and risking scaring them away, he quietly mailed off a letter to Rev. David G. Wylie.  On the morning of May 3, Dr. Wylie and another son arrived at the post office while the Gutelius family waited nervously on Central Park West for word.

Maloney sent a neighbor, Samuel Wilson, to the mountain cave with word that the postmaster needed to see him.  Leaving Buster cooking bacon and flapjacks, John Wylie rushed to town.  When he entered Maloney’s store, he was confronted with his father and brother.  The quixotic adventure was over.

The New York Times wrote, “Dr. Wylie was much impressed by the natural habitation, and was delighted to find that the boys had been living in a comfortable manner.  However, they had but $2 left.”

The following morning the New-York Tribune ran a headline reading “Cave Boys Come Home.”  The newspaper advised “The erstwhile cave men, or cave boys, did not willingly leave their subterranean retreat in a mountainside near Millville, Penn., but they came back at the earnest persuasion of Dr. Wylie.”

Reverend David G. Wiley would suffer unspeakable tragedy  in 1910.  On October 8, he conducted the funeral of John McWilliam Wylie, whose adventure had captured America's attention three years earlier.  The New York Times remarked, "members of the [United Boy's Brigade of America], his classmates in public, high, and Sunday schools will be present."

Jennie McWilliam Wylie fell sick upon his son's death.  Less than a month later, on November 4, she died.  The New-York Tribune said that it was thought that the loss of her son had "hastened Mrs. Wylie's death."

After occupying the pulpit of the Scotch Presbyterian Church for 23 years, on February 23, 1914, The New York Times reported that Wylie had resigned to take the position of Secretary of the Board of Church Erection of the Presbyterian Church in the United States.  (On October 1 that year, the newspaper reported on his engagement to Martha Richter Thomas.)

The Reverend Dr. Robert Watson was installed as the new pastor on January 10, 1915.  Two years later, the congregation's name was changed to the Second Presbyterian Church.

In the post-World War I years, congregations nation-wide began embracing a new concept: the skyscraper church.  Parishes replaced their church edifices with office or apartment buildings that incorporated worship space within the lower floors.  On January 17, 1928, The New York Times reported that the Second Presbyterian Church would lease its property "to the Vinross Realties Company, Inc."  The article explained that the developer would replace the church with "a fifteen-story apartment building, which will house and support the church and its various activities."

Demolition of the 33-year-old church structure began in 1928.  It was replaced by 360 Central Park West, designed by Rosario Candela.

image via streeteasy.com

The James and Euphemia Russell House - 44 West 87th Street

 

Having trained in the architectural firm of Duggin & Crossman, Charles Buek established Charles Buek & Co. in 1880.  The development-construction firm doubled as its own architect.  Within a decade, Charles Buek & Co. was one of the most well-known firms in the industry.  On February 21, 1891, the Real Estate Record & Builders' Guide reported that the firm "will shortly commence the erection of six four-story brick and limestone front dwellings on the south side of 87th street, 100 feet east of Columbus Avenue."

Completed in 1892, Nos. 40 through 50 West 87th Street were designed in a refined version of Romanesque Revival.  No. 44 West 87th Street was twenty-three-feet wide, and its basement and parlor levels were clad in rough cut limestone.  A dog-legged box stoop mirrored that of its next door at No. 46.  The two-story midsection was faced in brick.  Grouped windows at the second floor were framed in limestone, distinguished by pilasters with ornate Corinthian capitals.  The fourth floor sat atop an intricately carved cornice.  Its slightly projecting center section held paired openings.  Their limestone frame was anchored by large, swirling volutes.  Directly above was a triangular pediment with a charming daisy rondel.

James and Euphemia Russell purchased the mansion from Charles Buek in February 1893 for $44,500, or about $1.4 million in 2026 terms.  Born in 1827 and 1841 respectively, the couple had four children, Marguerite, George Dunlap, May Isabelle, and Rachel (known as Ray) MacMaster.  The family's country home, Sunny Side, was near Mount Vernon, New York.

George, who had married the previous year, was the only sibling who did not move into the West 87th Street house.  May and Ray were single, and Margaruerite was married to her father's business partner, Charles S. Rees.  The men composed James Rees & Sons, Co., "boiler, engine and steamboat builders," and Russell & Rees, which operated the Continental Brewery.  

Charles S. Rees was born in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania on December 5, 1860.  He graduated from Western University of Pennsylvania. 

Described by The New York Times later as the Russells' "palatial residence," 44 West 87th Street was filled with valuable artwork and antiques.  An inventory held in 1906 described "a valuable collection of Oil Paintings, comprising about one hundred canvases, many by prominent American and Foreign artists."  The parlor, or "salon," was furnished in "Marie Antoinette and Louis Seize," and the music room in Louis XVI.

The Russell women were highly involved in the Woman's Wards of the New York Post-Graduate Hospital.  Margaruerite Rees was president, Ray MacMaster Russell was secretary and treasurer, and Euphemia was an associate member.

Just two years after purchasing 44 West 87th Street, James Russell died.  

Isabelle married Isaac Hallam Jenney in 1898.  (The bride was 17 and the groom 26.)  The couple moved into the West 87th Street mansion.  Isaac Jenney was born in 1871 "in the American consular residence at Bogata, Columbia," as explained by the New York Herald, and graduated from Yale in 1892.  When he married May, he was working as an importer.  Two years later, on February 24, 1900, Marie Jenney was born.  

Society was abuzz in the spring of 1902 when Ray MacMaster Russell's engagement to millionaire Hector H. Havemeyer was announced.  The ceremony was to be held in the Madison Avenue Reformed Church and The New York Times said it "will be a large wedding."  And, indeed, on April 17 the New York Herald headlined an article, "Miss Ray Russell Becomes A Bride / Throng at Church to See Ceremony Which Made her Mrs. Havemeyer."  A who's-who of high society attended the ceremony, including Goulds, Gilseys, Ballards and Mackays.

Before long, Havemeyer, his friend, Peter Gilsey, and Isaac Hallam Jenney formed the real estate company, Gilsey, Havemeyer & Jenney.  

The extended family left 44 West 87th Street in 1902, although Euphemia retained possession.  She leased the house for the winter social season of 1902 to author and playwright Frances Hodgson Burnett.  In her 1927 biography, The Romantick Lady (Frances Hodgson Burnett), Vivian Burnett writes, "Situated in the middle of the block, it was far enough from heavy traffic to give Mrs. Burnett something of the quiet she needed."

Frances Burnett posed for photographer Herbert Rose Barraud in 1886 (copyright expired)

Born in 1848, Burnett had written the children's novel Little Lord Fauntleroy in 1886.  She would later produce two other popular children's works, the 1905 A Little Princess and The Secret Garden, released in 1911.  

The following year, Euphemia leased 44 West 87th Street to Ernest Benjamin Fahnestock and his wife, the former Abby Caroline Rhodes.  Fahnestock was the vice-president and general manager of the Fahnestock Transmitter Co.

Not surprisingly, when Euphemia Russell placed the house for sale in 1906, it was handled by Gilsey, Havemeyer & Jenney.  The property was sold to Dr. Abram Richard Stern and his wife, the former Stella Lichtenstein, in May.

Born on July 21, 1874, Stern was a graduate of Columbia University's College of Physicians and Surgeons.  He additionally studied in Berlin and Vienna.  At the time of the purchase, he was Adjunct Assistant Attending Physician at Mt. Sinai Hospital.  He and Stella had two children, Richard and Stella Benita. 

Stern's patients ranged from theatrical to society figures.  In December 1907, for instance, he was called to the home of actress Julia Sanderson (who was in private life Mrs. Tod Sloan).  Sanderson had been appearing in The Dairy Maids even though she was feeling unwell.  Finally, she could not continue.  On December 3, The New York Times reported that Stern "diagnosed the case as typhoid."  And when the young and wealthy socialite Mrs. George A. Oppenheimer committed suicide on October 19, 1913, it was Dr. Stern who was called to the scene.

image via the NYC Dept of Records & Information Services

Among the Sterns' domestic staff in 1919 was their governess, 60-year-old Clarice Deckwis.  She left the house on the evening of October 7 and did not return.  At the corner of 106th Street and Fifth Avenue, Clarice had been hit by an automobile and seriously injured.  She was still unconscious in Mt. Sinai Hospital the following night when Dr. Stern identified her.  She had suffered a fractured skull and three broken ribs.

The Sterns remained at 44 West 87th Street until September 1940, when they sold the house to Joseph Kamert for $40,000 (about $894,000 today).  

It appears that Kamert rented rooms in the former mansion, and among his first tenant was Paul Bante.  The 44-year-old iron worker was born in Germany, but was a naturalized American citizen.  Bante brought nationwide attention to 44 West 87th Street when The New York Times reported on July 1, 1941 that he had been arrested as a member of a German spy ring.  He and 32 others were indicted 15 days later, accused "of having acted as agents" for the Nazi Government.   The New York Sun reported on January 2, 1942, that he had been sentenced to 18 months in a Federal penitentiary and a fine of $1,000.

A renovation completed in 2011 resulted in an office in the basement level and eight apartments in the upper floors.

photographs by the author