James M. Farnworth's 1886 95 East 10th Street

 

photo by Ted Leather

During the trial over purported damages to properties caused by the New York Elevated Railroad Company's erection of the Third Avenue elevated, on May 24, 1899 engineer John E. Connelly testified as an expert witness.  He said in part that between East 8th and 14th Streets along the avenue, there were no "substantial" buildings except one.  Among the old, low buildings was 48 Third Avenue.  "That is a good substantial building of modern construction, five-story, brick building, flats, entrance to the flats on 10th street."

That structure had been erected in 1886 by S. F. Jackson and Samuel Thorne, acting as trustees of the estate of Eliza L. White, and designed by 39-year-old James M. Farnsworth.  Farnsworth and his former partner, Benjamin Silliman, Jr., had recently designed two skyscrapers, the Morse Building and the Temple Court.  

The plans were filed on March 19, 1886 with construction costs projected at $15,000 (about $516,000 in 2025 terms).  There were two commercial spaces on the ground floor, one each on the avenue and the side street.  Farnsworth leaned into the long, narrow plot (it was one building lot wide on the avenue and covered five lots on 10th Street).  By using multiple intermediate cornices and string courses, he streamlined his horizontal design.  Overall Renaissance Revival in style, its residential entrance at 95 East 10th Street was framed in stone where two elongated fluted brackets upheld a narrow entablature and molded cornice.

Striking bowed fire escapes appear on the side elevation.  photo by Ted Leather

The openings on the second through fourth floors wore splayed brick lentils.  The top floor windows were fully arched and decorated with brick eyebrows and scrolled terra cotta keystones.  A pressed metal cornice designed as a stylized fasces under a row of acanthus leaves completed the design.

John Hoops moved his grocery store into the Third Avenue space.  On October 15, 1888, The Evening World published a lengthy article about the rising prices of staples like bread.  The reporter interviewed John Hoops who pointed out the current condition--what today we would call "shrinkflation."  He said, "I sell Shuts's and Droste's bread.  I do not know what they weigh, but the loaves are getting smaller."

Occupying an apartment as early as 1894 were John and Mary Moriarty.  Moriarty was born in County Kerry, Ireland in 1850 and his parents brought him to New York City the following year.  As a teen he worked as a salesman for the Brooklyn Furniture Company and in 1880 opened his own furniture store on Fourth Avenue.  Its tagline was "John Moriarty, at No. 1 Avenue Four."  By the time he and Mary moved into 95 East 10th Street he was highly successful, known as "the furniture man."

John and Mary's domestic relationship was rocky at best.  On the morning of April 12, 1894 Mary had John arrested on "a charge of habitual drunkenness," as reported by The Evening World.  Moriarty was highly emotional about the arrest, causing Court Officer Hagan to tell the judge he was "all broken up."  He was so upset that Justice Koch left the courtroom to handle the arraignment on the street.  The Evening World said Koch, "did not arraign his prisoner before the bar, but kept him in a carriage in front of the court-house...This was done to prevent the prisoner from making a scene in court."

The respected furniture dealer was committed to the Kings County Inebriate's Home.  The article said, "His wife refused to talk about the case."

Upon his release, John returned to the East 10th Street apartment and his tense marriage.  In June 1896, he fell ill and eight weeks later, on August 6 he died.  The New York Herald said he succumbed to "a complication resulting from an attack of lung trouble."   His estate included several real estate holdings in Washington Heights and "some property in Twenty-third street," as reported by the New York Herald.  Moriarty got the last word in concerning his and Mary's discord through his will.  The newspaper said, "The only mention of the testator's wife was that she lived at 95 East Tenth street, where he died.  No provision was made for her in the will."

photograph by Ted Leather

Living here in 1898 was Mrs. Rosina Staiber, a midwife.  She appeared in court on November 5 that year for "the alleged abduction of Ellen Kelly's baby," as reported by the New York Journal & Advertiser.  Rosina had been pulled into a maelstrom created when Ellen Kelly, a prostitute, gave birth to a baby girl and had no interest in the infant.  Another midwife, Mary Landis tried to explain to the court what followed.  The article recounted:

"Mrs. Landis said the baby was taken to her house from Mrs. Wagner's, where it was born; that Miss Kelly owed Mrs. Wagner $15 for her care while in her house; that Miss Kelly agreed to pay her $2 a week and did not.  The baby was taken to the house of a Mrs. Rickets...then back to Mrs. Landis, and then to Mrs. Rickets's house again, where Miss Kelly urged that it should stay, as she expected that it was soon to be adopted."

Mary Landis testified, "Miss Kelly was actually angry because the baby had not been disposed of before it was."  The infant ended up in the care of Rosina Staiber.  When Ellen Kelly could not give the baby's whereabouts to an agent from the Gerry Society (the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Children) she said it was kidnapped.  The New York Journal & Advertiser reported, "The examination revealed the fact that Miss Kelly was as much to blame for the disappearance of the child as any one" and Rosina Staiber was exonerated.

Living with the Weiss family here in 1903 was Johanna Weiss's bachelor uncle, Barthol Boehler.  The 66-year-old was a jeweler.  On the chilly night of March 3, Boehler attached a rubber tube from the lighting fixture to what today we would call a space heater and went to bed.  Later members of the family detected the odor of gas.  Johanna Weiss found her uncle unconscious and gas escaping from the faulty connection.  A doctor arrived and "labored for two hours to resuscitate him," according to The Evening World.  Unfortunately, said the article, he died the victim of "a cold room and defective gas stove."

Lt. Henry G. Firneisen and his family lived here at the time.  Born in Germany on May 18, 1862, he joined the New York City Police Department and in 1896 was appointed to the Central Office Detective Bureau.  He and his partner, Detective Walter S. Granville, "made pickpockets their specialty," according to The New York Times, "and Firneisen gained a reputation by running down a number of well-known crooks."  

On June 15, 1904, Firneisen's wife took their three children on a church outing on the steamboat the General Slocum.  The horrific disaster that followed a fast-moving fire aboard left more than 1,000 women and children dead.  Amazingly, all four of the Firneisens were rescued.  The detective's gratitude was inestimable.  The New York Times reported, "Firneisen started a search for their rescuers and much of the money he had saved went to reward them."

Resident William Henry Maximillian Grevel was described by The New York Times as "wealthy and eccentric."  He and his wife, Wilhelmina, maintained a country home, The Nook, at Atlantic Highlands, New Jersey, where he died on August 17, 1909.  His will was anything but commonplace.

The New York Herald reported, "The will covers about thirty pages and nearly half of it is taken up with directions regarding the disposition of Grevel's body."  Wilhelmina inherited the "large stable of horses at his country estate," said the article, but the will demanded "that no one but her coachman or her friend Adele Heuel or herself drives any of them."  The will said that if any "reputable citizen of Monmouth county" witnessed anyone else drive the horses, they would revert to the estate and sold at public auction "with the provision that they are not to be driven in the county."

His grandson's inheritance was dependent on his leading "a respectable life, indulges in no excesses and doesn't smoke paper cigarettes."  Adele Heuel's bequest was contingent on her "being married respectably, being respectable if single or being in a respectable business."  Grevel left invitations to his funeral, leaving the date to be filled in and sent after his death.

Lt. Henry G. Firneisen and his family were still living here at the time.  Early in 1910, he was diagnosed with liver cancer and he died here on October 20 at the age of 48.

The Third Avenue El ran down the avenue and the Stuyvesant Curiosity Shop occupied the avenue store in 1933.  photo by P. L. Sperr, from the collection of the New York Public Library

As early as 1922, a second-hand shop called the Stuyvesant Curiosity Shop occupied the Third Avenue store.  Early in March that year, a man walked in with two gilt bronze vases.  The shop owner paid $5 for them.  What seemed to be a good deal turned out to cost him his $5.  On March 29, Detectives George Trojan and Edward Fitzgerald came in and identified them as the valuable vases "which were stolen from a chapel of the Cathedral of St. John the Divine two weeks ago," reported The Evening World.  The article said, "The vases were in memory of William Reed Huntington and cost $500."  They were returned to the Cathedral.

image via the NYC Dept of Records & Information Services.

The neighborhood around 95 East 10th Street was transforming into an arts center at mid-century as galleries opened and artists moved into the affordable apartments.   In 1956, a year after marrying, painter Raymond P. Spillenger and his wife, the former Marion Dennison Katz, moved in.  Their son, Paul, had just been born.  A second son, Clyde, would be born in the apartment in 1960.

Spillenger was born in Brooklyn in 1924 and studied with Josef Albers and Willem de Kooning (whose studio was across the street at 88 East 10th Street).  

On March 19, 1957, The New York Times reported, "With the addition of the new March Gallery, Tenth Street is developing into a downtown haven for the younger artists."  Spillenger was one of the founders of the gallery, which occupied the store space at 95 East 10th Street.  The gallery's name, reportedly, came from the month it opened.  The article said it "opens with a group show that augurs well for this gallery's future."  Among the artists represented in the inaugural exhibition were Francine Felsenthal, Tom Young, David Lund and Boris Lurie.

Considered a significant outlet for experimental art, the March Gallery remained here through 1962.

The space in which the works of emerging artists were first seen became Sundaes & Cones in June 2006.  The New York Times food critic Florence Fabricant commented on June 14, "An array of homemade ice creams in flavors as diverse as green tea, strawberry, tiramisu and chocolate sorbet are served in this industrial-looking shop."

Upstairs, Raymond P. Spillenger still lived and worked in the apartment he and Marian first leased in 1956.  Marian died in 1997 and Raymond died at the age of 89 on November 20, 2013.  The New York Times called him, "among the very last of the first- and second-generation Abstract Expressionists."  By then, his paintings were exhibited at the Walter Art Center in Minneapolis, the Contemporary Arts Museum in Houston, and the Hirshhorn Museum in Washington D.C.

On June 8, 2014, The New York Times reported, "When Mr. Spillenger's two sons, Paul and Clyde, started cleaning out his apartment a few months ago, they found the remnants of a career even they hadn't fully comprehended: hundreds of paintings and drawings stacked against the wall or stuffed under the bed, works that probably no one except their father had ever looked at."

photograph by Ted Leather

A rare example of a James M. Farnworth apartment building and an important page of New York City's art history, 95 East 10th Street (48 Third Avenue) does not have landmark status or protection.  

many thanks to reader Ted Leather for suggesting this post

George H. Griebel's 1891 201 East 16th Street

 

Born into a wealthy and influential Berlin family in 1846, George Henry Griebel immigrated to Washington D.C.  After working as an architect for the government, including designing the magnificent Great Hall of the Library of Congress, he relocated his practice to New York City in 1880.  He received a commission from Alfred Corning Clark to design a substantial office-and-store building at the northeast corner of Third Avenue and 16th Street in 1890.  In a landscape of refined 19th century rowhouses and the Gothic Revival structures of the St. George's Episcopal Church complex, Griebel's design would stand out.

Completed in 1891, the six-story structure towered over its neighbors.  Griebel configured the windows in groups of three.  The sturdy piers of the two-story base, composed of alternating brick and stone, were capped with intricately carved capitals.  They supported a sandstone level embellished with delightful cast iron ornaments and carved portrait keystones.  The mid-section featured three-story piers, their brick laid to suggest fluting.  The windows of the top floor were arranged in arcades, somewhat mirroring the arched corbel table below the cornice.

The building attracted a variety of tenants.  Among the first was the Illuminating Engineering Co., which designed elements for the developing electrical lighting industry.  

Among Illuminating Engineering Co.'s products were fluted glass shades.  The Central Station, May 1903 (copyright expired)

The structure's proximity to the St. George's Church complex resulted in the St. George's Men's Club taking space.  It was the venue of a chess tournament in the spring of 1897.  On April 6, The Evening Post reported, "A match, five games up draws not counting, is in progress at the St. George's Men's Club, No. 201 East Sixteenth Street."  The previous evening, the competition had been interrupted by an unexpected visit by an illustrious player.  "Last night C[harles] Devidi paid a visit in the club, and gave an impromptu simultaneous performance, conducting six games, all of which he won."

George Letchworth English was born in 1864 and graduated from Friends' Central School in Philadelphia in 1881.  He was described by Who's Who in New York City and State in 1905 as an "expert on monazite and the rare earth minerals."  He established Geo. L. English & Co., "dealers in choice scientific minerals."  In February 1903, the firm announced in The Mineral Collector, "Our office and salesrooms were removed during January to the modern building 201 East Sixteenth Street, northeast corner of Third Avenue, where we have leased the entire third floor."  The announcement noted that the space was "splendidly lighted by fifteen large windows on two sides."

The filaments inside lightbulbs at the turn of the last century worked only within a vacuum.  Two tenants of 201 East 16th Street in 1907 were Pulsometer Pumps and Fahn & McJunkin.  The competitors manufactured "pumps for exhausting incandescent lamp bulbs," as explained in Electrical Review on August 24 that year.  Fahn & McJunkin had just signed a contract with the Linolite Company to manufacture its products here.  With that deal, reported Electrical Review, "The company is now working on the equipment for four large lamp factories."

The New York offices of the Wheeling Mold & Foundry Co. were here in 1908.  Two years later, the English-based Thermal Syndicate, Ltd. established its New York office here.  The Mining World reported on June 25, 1910, "The company manufactures silica ware in large and small sizes, suitable for metallurgical and chemical plants."

The St. George's Men's Club was still in the building in 1916, when the St. George's Lunch Room was opened.  The New York Charities Directory described it as, "A lunch room for respectable working women," saying it served, "simple, inexpensive lunches."

The first, and possibly the only, garment firm in the building signed a lease in 1920.  On March 5, The Corset and Underwear Review reported that Bessie Damsey "is now settled in enlarged quarters at 201 East Sixteenth Street."  The article described Bessie Damsey as "one which makes an all-around line of the exclusively fine in undergarments."

Dry Goods Economist, December 4, 1920 (copyright expired)

Geo. L. English & Co. remained in the building well into the 1920s.  In 1922, the Sun Press, Inc. took a floor, and renewed its lease in 1931 for an annual rental of $2,100 (about $43,300 by 2025 terms).  Another tenant in the 1920s was the Capitol Paper Company.

Isidore Rosenthal worked as a truck driver for Capitol Paper Company in 1926.  On May 24, he was driving on Essex Street where a group of little boys were playing tag.  Suddenly, six-year-old William Lucher darted out in front of Rosenthal's truck and was struck.  Rosenthal picked up the boy and drove to Gouverneur Hospital but when he arrived, Lucher was dead.  Doctors said his skull had been fractured.  Although Rosenthal was arrested "on a technical charge of homicide," according to The New York Times, "Persons who witnessed the accident declared him blameless."

As early as 1940, an Atlantic & Pacific grocery store occupied the commercial space.  Renamed A & P after mid-century, it still occupied the ground floor into the 1960s.

The Atlantic & Pacific food market occupied the ground floor in 1941.  The Third Avenue elevated ran in front of the building.  via the NYC Dept of Records & Information Services.

A peculiar detail was affixed to the 16th Street facade between the early 1940s and 1975.  Around 1910, Grosvenor Atterbury designed whimsical lanterns for the residential complex at Forest Hills Gardens.  Unique to that project, one of them mysteriously appeared here.  In 1997, The New York Times journalist Christopher Gray attempted to solve the enigma with no success.

Poorly treated today, the standard of this example depicts trees sprouting from flower boxes.

In the meantime, the tenant list--once filled with mineralogic labs and technical electrical workrooms--now included firms like Merlite Industries, Inc. which advertised in The Popular Science Monthly in 1953, "You too can make good money showing 'Science's New Midget Miracle' to owners of homes, cars, boats, farms, etc."  The device was a hand-held fire extinguisher.

The commercial space has been split into two businesses, and George H. Griebel's storefront was long ago vandalized beyond recognition.  Otherwise, other than needing a cleaning, the handsome structure survives wonderfully intact after 134 years.

photographs by the author

The Patrick Galligan Saloon -- 337 Third Avenue

 

In 1853, Robert Kennie operated a grocery store in the Italianate-style building at the southeast corner of Third Avenue and 25th Street.  Although storekeepers customarily lived above their shops within buildings like this, the Kennies lived a few blocks north on Third Avenue.  Living upstairs at the time was Peter P. Roome, who worked as a watchman (what today we would call a security guard).

No. 337 Third Avenue was three stories tall and faced in running bond brick above the storefront.  Trimmed in simple brownstone sills and lintels, the building boasted a handsome bracketed metal cornice.

Around 1858, Patrick Galligan moved his saloon into the former grocery space.  Sarah Mason, widow of Jabez Mason, lived in the upper floors by 1861.  Hubbard Mason, presumably her son, was working as a carman in 1865.

The Masons had a scare early on the afternoon of July 4, 1865.  Celebrations for Independence Day in the 19th century were boisterous and dangerous.  Boys routinely fired pistols indiscriminatingly in the air and firecrackers were tossed willy-nilly with no regard to property owners or pedestrians.  The New York Times reported:

At about 3 o'clock P. M., the roof of No. 337 Third-avenue took fire from India crackers, and loss was sustained to the amount of $350.  The loss is fully covered by insurance in the Stuyvesant Office.

The saloon was taken over by James Goss in 1871.  In February 1874, builder James Whyte was hired to add a one-story, 21-foot-long extension to the rear, adding significant square footage to the saloon space.

Thomas Goss, presumably James's son, was arrested for a shocking crime on June 18 that year.  The New York Herald reported that he had been charged with felonious assault on Charles Sheridan, "whom he stabbed three times in the neck."  Goss was held without bail while Sheridan's fate played out, his "wounds being of a dangerous character."

Eliza Mooney ran a boarding house on the upper floors as early as 1879.  Her tenants were respectable, like Richard Tamplin, a shoemaker, who lived here at least from 1876 through 1880; and a young man who kept his identity private in his ad looking for work in May 1877:

Coachman and Groom--By a first-class coachman; single man; thoroughly understands his business; is a good, careful driver; will make himself generally useful; willing and obliging; no objection to the country; best City and country reference.  Address Coachman. No. 337 3d-av.

Thirty-nine-year-old Joseph Buneo, a barber, lived here in the spring of 1881 when he was involved in a disturbing incident.  At around 10:00 on April 3, he and 17-year-old Biencio Angelo were walking along First Avenue when the teen stopped at Mullen's fruit stand at First Avenue and East 2nd Street and purchased 5 cents of apples.  The Sun reported, "While the two Italians started off Mullen saw Buneo take an apple from the stand.  He demanded payment for it, and when it was refused, he attempted to forcibly take it from Buneo."

While Mullen and Buneo struggled, Angelo drew a knife and stabbed Mullen five times.  The fruit dealer fell to the pavement and cried for help as Mullen and Buneo fled.  Right behind them were two detectives, who quickly arrested them.

At the time of the incident, the saloon was now operated by Miles A. Gibbons.  He placed an advertisement in The Sun on May 13, 1881 that read, "Boy wanted about 17 to work in liquor store; reference required.  Miles A. Gibbons, 337 3d av."

Operating the upper floors in 1882 was M. Luther, who advertised in September, "A girl, about 15 years old, to mind baby and assist in light housework."

An employee took over the saloon for Miles Gibbons in the summer of 1883 when Gibbons was called for jury duty.  He sat on the murder case of James English, who had shot and killed James Ward on June 28 in McGlory's saloon.  The verdict was reached on July 6.  The courtroom was packed with "frequenters of Billy McGlory's dance hall," said The Sun.  The afternoon was favorable to the defendant and relatively tragic for Gibbons.  The article said, "The jury found a verdict of accidental shooting, and the audience dispersed.  The audience stole the new Panama hat of Juror Michael [sic] Gibbons."

By the mid-1880s, the building was part of the vast real estate holdings of a consortium of relatives including Nicholas Fish and his wife, and several Bryce family members, including Joseph S. and Elizabeth S. Bryce.  In 1891, Joseph Bryce signed a three-year lease on the building to John J. Dooley.  Almost immediately, Dooley gave the "saloon lease" to Peter Doelger.  At the time it was common for large breweries like the Peter Doelger Brewery to operate saloons that sold only their products.  

A tragedy occurred in 1893.  Annie Melzen arrived in New York from Germany on September 29 and moved into a room here.  The 15-year-old quickly found a job as a servant and her prospects in her new country seemed good.  But Annie Melzen was unaccustomed to illuminating gas and seven days after moving in, she went to bed and blew out the flame, as she would with a candle.  She was found dead in the morning.

The Peter Doelger saloon repeatedly ran afoul of the excise (or liquor board) authorities.  On June 11, 1894, bartender Henry Bohmeeche was arrested for selling alcohol on Sunday.  The New York Times said he told Justice Voorhis, "he was merely closing up his place."  Voorhis responded, "What's the use of lying?" and held him for trial.

Three months later, on September 26, 1894, The Evening World reported, "Supt. Byrnes has thrown down the gauntlet to the Police Commissioners and declared open war."  Thomas Byrnes declared, "No more Sunday saloons."

Among the saloon workers arrested in the massive city-wide raids ordered by Byrnes on September 23 was Thomas Connor, who was bartending here that afternoon.

In May 1896, William and Emma Tucker "engaged a room," as reported by The World, at 337 Third Avenue.  Tucker and his wife were "theatrical people."  Theirs were snug conditions.  The Tuckers, who were "in hard luck," according to The World, shared the room with their daughter and son, eight and three years old respectively; and Nora Purcell, Tucker's 21-year-old step-daughter, who minded the children.

William Tucker had appeared recently in In a Big City, but was now out of work.  The World reported, "Impoverished but hopeful, Tucker, his wife and step-daughter bent their energies to a search for employment.  The wife alone succeeded, securing an engagement in a Bowery concert hall."  A few days after the family moved into their room, Tucker "worn out with exertion and anxiety," entered the Union Square Theatre.

The performance ended at 6:00, "but the quiet figure in the balcony remained motionless," said The World.  Two hours later, an usher saw William Tucker "sway slightly and then bend forward, his head falling gently upon the cushioned balcony rail."  The New York Times reported that he was carried unconscious out of the theater and was dead by the time a doctor arrived.

Nora Purcell identified the body at the Mercer Street Police Station.  She then rushed to the Palace Theatre where her mother was appearing.  She told The World, "At the theatre, I told my story to the manager, but he refused to allow me behind the scenes.  'Don't tell her now,' he insisted.  'Wait till after the show.  Do you want to break her all up?'"

Nora sat, crying, backstage throughout the show.  Afterward, she asked a company member to break the news to Emma Tucker.  "Mrs. Tucker fell in a faint, and it was an hour before she revived sufficiently to leave the theatre and be driven to the Morgue," said The World.

The Bryce-Fish families sold numerous properties in June 1889, including 337 Third Avenue, which was purchased by Ellen Dooley.  She renewed the saloon lease to Peter Doelger the following year, and leased the upper floors to Ellen Snyder, who named it the Rockland Hotel.  (It would later be revealed that Snyder and the Doelger proprietor were working in concert.)

In November 1900, Isaac Gilbert took a room here.  He arrived in New York City from Bridgeport, Connecticut seeking work and "had enough money to last him a few days," according to The New York Times.  Unfortunately, the former gardener was unsuccessful in finding a job and "grew despondent."  On December 17, 1900, The New York Times reported that Gilbert, "tried to end his life yesterday in the Rockland Hotel, 337 Third Avenue, by inhaling illuminating gas."  He was unsuccessful, however, and at Bellevue Hospital, "it is said that he will recover," said the newspaper.

The Rockland Hotel was what was known as a "Raines Law hotel."  The 1896 law was intended to curb the consumption of alcohol by imposing regulations.  An exemption to the Sunday liquor laws was that hotels could still serve alcohol to guests, if it accompanied a meal or was served in the guests’ rooms.  The result was that saloons, like the one at 337 Third Avenue, took over the upper floors as a “Raines Law hotel” to circumvent the excise laws.  When detectives raided the Rockland in February 1902, they discovered more than they expected.

On February 22, The New York Times reported that a group of officers "at a late hour raided a Raines law hotel at 337 Third Avenue, capturing six prisoners.  Ellen Snyder, the alleged proprietress of the hotel, was arrested as were three other women and Ernest Myers, a bartender.  They were charged with disorderly conduct."  (The term referred to a brothel.)

The incident ended the Peter Doelger saloon.  The property was turned over to a receiver, John M. Bowers, and four months later, the lease was given to Bernheimer & Schmid, owners of the Lion Brewery.  They operated the saloon until Prohibition closed it.

image via the NYC Dept of Records & Information Services.

The space became a restaurant.  It was the scene of a spectacular gunfight at 2:00 on the morning of December 22, 1933.  Someone rushed up to Patrolman Harry Kroll and told him there was a holdup taking place in the restaurant.  Kroll drew his revolver and entered the premises, "where he fearlessly exchanged shots with the bandit and fatally wounded him," according to Kroll's citation for bravery the following year.  In the exchange, Kroll was wounded and was hospitalized for nearly two weeks.  

The Kips Bay neighborhood saw change in the third quarter of the century.  In 1978, Mr. Lee's restaurant opened here.  The New York Times food critic Mimi Sheraton noted on March 3 that the "nondescript neighborhood" belied the interior that "summons up images of an enclosed, Spanish garden."  The  restaurant, which served a Continental menu, remained for more than a decade.

The space returned to its long tradition of housing a tavern in the 21st century when it became The Hairy Monk.  By 2014 it was the Rose Hill Tavern, and most recently AWOL Bar and Grill.

photographs by the author

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."

image via absre.com

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From Grocery to "Dive Saloon" to Pita Shop -- 441 Third Avenue

 

The horsewalk, or passage between buildings to the rear yard, survives to the right of the building.

Nicholas Betjeman lived above his grocery store at 505 Third Avenue until 1855, when he moved his business to the new building at 441 Third Avenue.  The four-story structure was faced in brownstone above the store level, and featured expected elements of the Italianate style--elliptically arched windows with molded eyebrows and a handsome cast metal bracketed cornice.  A small house sat in the rear yard, accessed by a narrow horsewalk at the southern side.

Working in Betjeman's grocery store was John C. Betjeman and Henry Hachman.  Nicholas Betjeman was about 38-years old in 1855, and so John was most likely his brother.

The upper floors were operated as a middle-class boarding house.  Living here in 1860 were the families of piano dealer Frederick W. Beans; engineer Edward Toon; Joseph Luster, who ran a liquor business (possibly a saloon); and Andrew McMullien, a smith.

In 1863 the boarding house was being run by Susan Nichols, a widow.  That year John W. Addicks took over the grocery store, now sharing the space (most likely front and back) with Phyfe & Co., tin merchants, run by Alfred W. Phillips and Albert Phyfe.   Among Susan Nichols's boarders were Edward and Jane Granger, whose 14-month old daughter, Margaret Wineferd died on August 3, 1863.  The little girl's funeral was held in the parlor.

The building was purchased by Herman and Lewis Davis around 1872.  Herman, and his wife, Bertha, moved in.  He ran two clothing stores, one on Church Street and the other on the Bowery.  Also now residing in the building were Abraham and Jacob Levy.  They were possibly relatives, since they were both involved in Davis's business.  The other boarders were Leopold Abraham, who operated a china store, and August Langbein, an upholsterer.  Living in the rear house that year was John Smith, a clerk.  The grocery store had been run by Robert P. B. Shear since 1868.

Bertha Davis died on October 16, 1873 at the age of 44.  Her funeral was held in the parlor three days later.

The Davises leased the property to Alexander B. Barnard in June 1876.  He not only operated the boarding house, but moved his pawn shop into the former grocery store as well.  In 1877 he hired a servant, Kate Close, who disappeared along with "gentlemen's clothing, jewelry, trinkets [and] books belonging to A. B. Barnard," according to The Evening Post on May 8.  

Kate had a formula.  She took jobs as a chambermaid, worked a few days, then made off with valuables.  Her downfall came when she was caught in the act in the home of Mrs. Magdalen Reichtman on East 22nd Street.  A search of her room found a box of pawn tickets, which led to the recovery of silverware, jewelry, bedding, watches, and other various stolen articles, including Barnard's.

That summer Barnard received permission from the Board of Aldermen to "erect a pole and place sign thereon" in front of the building.  It was apparently a substantial improvement, costing him the equivalent of $13,600 today.

The following decade would see significant changes along the stretch of Third Avenue.  The building was purchased by Margaret Bewing, who installed a saloon in the ground floor.  She described the premises in 1888, saying "The saloon was well fitted up [with] a handsome bar, fixtures, etc."  Upstairs were accommodations for sixteen residents.

She became the victim of a slick scam artist that summer.  H. B. Bender, described by The Evening Post as a "German, forty-one years old," offered her ten lots of ground on Staten Island in trade for the Third Avenue property.  The newspaper said, "On June 14 she went to see the land.  She was satisfied with it, and a deed was executed, she says, by Bender and his wife, which she agreed to accept for the saloon."

After transferring the title, Margaret Bewing discovered that the land she now owned was not the property she had been shown.   Those lots belonged to George Alter and her deed "represented ten very inferior lots, worth not more than $10 each, which Bender had purchased...at a tax sale for $2.92."

By the time Bewer took Bender to court, he had already sold 441 Third Avenue, valued at $4,000, to "a Mr. Ziller for $2,650,"--about $75,000 today.

The days of a respectable boarding house were in the past.  The building was now known as the Columbia Hotel, run by John Camlin, while the ground floor saloon was operated by James Irving, described by The Sun as "the notorious dive keeper."  Irving had been a Tammany Hall alderman and assemblyman.  He was now known for his infamous saloon, populated by gamblers, rowdies, and "degraded women."  The Press noted in 1891 that he had been "a central figure in many a disreputable incident."

On March 12, 1891, trouble ensued outside the tavern when Annie Tucker began tossing rocks through the plate glass window.  The Sun entitled an article, "Jimmy Irving Again," and reported he had the woman arrested.  In the Yorkville Police Court she claimed she had married Irving in 1867, they had lived together 31 years, and had two grown children.  According to her, when she attempted to retrieve some furniture that belonged to her, "he had attacked her and ejected her forcibly."

Irving's story was far different.  He said she had been employed as a servant and he had fired her three weeks earlier.  (The Sun was skeptical, saying, "For a servant she was very well dressed, having on a black silk dress and a well-fitting sealskin sack.")  Fine clothes or not, Annie's lack of refinement went beyond rock tossing.  The Sun reported, "as the discussion went on, ugly language was used so freely that the court officers were aghast."  The judge cautioned the two, "Be a little more chaste in your language, if possible."  In the end, Justice Murray dismissed the case, warning Annie "not to annoy Irving any more."

In March 1894, James Camlin was arrested on the complaint of "two fashionably dressed women," for running a brothel.  In the Yorkville Court on he insisted the hotel was "entirely respectable."  There to substantiate his story was Police Captain Martens, who said he "has often visited" the place and found it "free from objectionable persons."

But a month later, it was Martens who was being investigated.  In April, Police Commissioner MacLean charged Captain Martens with "neglect of duty" for "failing to suppress disorderly houses" within his district.  Specifically listed was was the Columbia Hotel.  During his hearing before the Police Commissioners, Martens produced witnesses who vouched for the respectability of the places and, with a vote of 3 to 1, his charges were dismissed.  Ironically, the name of the Columbia Hotel was changed the following year to the Hotel Martens.

The appointment of Theodore Roosevelt as Police Commissioner in 1894 changed things within the corrupt department.  He walked the streets late at night to ensure that officers were on duty, and reformed the system, including the closing down of "corrupt police hostelries."  At the turn of the century an ice cream shop occupied the store where Jim Irving's "dive saloon" had been.

By 1920, Ernest de Cuti's upholstery store was in the ground floor, while working-class citizens rented rooms in the upper portion of the building.  For several years the Italian-American extortion group La Mano Nera, or the Black Hand, had menaced New York City businessman, using bombs and beatings.  De Cuti was terrified when he received threats on his life.

In the spring of 1920, he purchased a handgun for protection.  He then took it to the East 35th Street police station asking how he could get a permit to carry it.  Instead, he was cited for violating the Sullivan Act, a law against carrying an unlicensed gun.  His fears became even more evident when he appeared in court on April 15.  The New-York Tribune reported that an attendant noticed a "bulge in De Cuti's clothing."  Underneath, it was found he was wearing "a coat of mail made of two layers of wood with a tin surface to protect himself from the Black Handers," said the newspaper.  Now, instead of deciding on his revolver-carrying case, the justices sent him to Bellevue Hospital for observation.

Living in the building in 1922 was Stamatis Gallis, who was involved in a bootlegging operation on East 58th Street.  The plant, in a former stable, distributed about 400 quarts of denatured alcohol daily.  Prohibition agents who raided it on February 21 seized alcohol worth $100,000 in street value--about $1.54 million today.  Officials deemed it "one of the biggest sources of dangerous liquor in the city," and a government chemist said the alcohol was "probably not fit for consumption."

In 1950, the building was converted to a total of five apartments above the store.  It was most likely at this time that the Victorian details were shaved off.  The rear building was renovated to a single family dwelling.  Living in the main building throughout the 1950's were several employees of the Consulate of Norway.

The stubborn 19th century holdout is a bit beleaguered today, but its pre-Civil War appearance is still evident.  And the ancient horsewalk still provides access to the area to the rear.

photographs by Ted Leather (who suggested this post)

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