The 1886 St. Anthony of Padua Friary - 149-153 Thompson Street

The Italian-language parish of St. Anthony of Padua was established in 1866 by Franciscan priests, originally sharing the Free Congregational Church at 149-151 Sullivan Street.  By 1882, the Italian population of Greenwich Village had swelled as immigrants continued to settle in the neighborhood.  The blockfront of West Houston Street between Thompson and Sullivan was sold at auction on January 31 that year.  Despite a raging blizzard, Father Anacletus De Angeles attended the sale.  Happily for the parish, no one else did.  He purchased the property, which held three tenements and a portion of an ale brewery for $27,000 (or about $855,000 in 2025 terms).

Although the property was a bargain, the price depleted the parish's coffers.  A year later, on December 15, 1883, the Record & Guide reported, "The Rev. Father Anacletus De Angeles states that the new church will not be erected for his congregation for some two years, owing to the lack of funds."

Indeed, it would be three more years before the cornerstone of the church proper was laid on June 13, 1886.  The architect, Arthur Crook, personally placed a tin box holding copies of New York City newspapers and other documents into the stone.  The Evening Post reported that the church would front Sullivan Street and, "The monastery will cover the remainder of the lot to Thompson Street."

Appropriate to the parish's roots, Arthur Crook designed the Church of St. Anthony of Padua in the Sicilian Romanesque style.  For inspiration for the friary, however, he turned to Paris.  Faced in rough-cut granite and trimmed in limestone, the four-story-and-basement structure was designed in the French Second Empire style.  The lower three floors were delineated by molded cornices, and the fourth took the form of a slate shingled mansard, interrupted at the center by a stone section capped with a four-sided dome.  A copper fleche crowned the structure.

The first ceremony in the still-unfinished church was held on April 3, 1887.  After vespers, reported The New York Times, priests, led by Archbishop Michael Corrigan, "went in procession to the new monastery at 151 Thompson-street, back of the church, and blessed it."  The Sun said, "Fully 1,000 people gathered in the basement of the new Franciscan monastery in Thompson street" for the ceremony, adding, "The monastery is not yet completed.  It will be dedicated in about six months."  The article explained why the blessing had been done so soon.  "A Catholic church or monastery is usually blessed before it is dedicated, in order that mass can be said in it."

The priests and friars had barely moved into the new building before the seed of a scandal germinated.  In June 1887, Bishop Stephen Vincent Ryan excommunicated one of its priests, Father Dent, for what might be called unpriestly behavior.  The issue might have been forgotten had not, five years later, Dent sued the bishop for $100,000 for slander.  The church and the priests within the Thompson Street building initiated what today would be termed a cover-up.

Among the witnesses called to the stand on May 31, 1892 was Rev. Father Julian D'Arpino, "an Italian priest, of 151 Thompson street," according to The Evening World.  The article said that he, "protested against being sworn as he had not been subpoenaed."  Father D'Arpino's protest was fruitless and Justice Barlett ruled that since he was in court he could testify and he was subsequently sworn.

The following day a young woman who lived on MacDougal Street, Maggie Kenny, "created a sensation," as worded by the New-York Tribune, "by asserting that she had been ordered in confessional by a priest not to testify in the case, and also by suddenly saying that three of the priests at St. Anthony's Church were married."  When further pressed, Kenny identified the priests by name.

More positive press was generated with the visit of Monsignor Satolli, the first Apostolic Delegate to the United States, in June 1895.  A priest traveled to Washington D.C. to accompany Satolli to New York.  They arrived on June 12 and were driven "immediately to the monastery of the Franciscan order, at 151 Thompson street," said The Sun.  The next morning, Monsignor Satolli celebrated the Pontifical high mass in the Sullivan Street church, the first of several services he would conduct.

The monastery was a hive of high-powered church officials over the next few days.  The Sun wrote on June 13, "Archbishop Corrigan called on Mgr. Satolli at the monastery soon after his arrival.  Vicar-General Farley paid his respects later."

On June 4, 1896, The World commented, "In the middle of the block in Thompson street, just below Houston, is the Franciscan Monastery.  The work of the monks there quietly reaches out in every direction among the faithful, and they are always busy doing works of mercy among the poor and afflicted."  An important element in that work was what was perhaps the most cherished possession within the monastery--a relic of St. Francis.  The article said, 

During the past two years the monks have become famous through the wonders attributed to the relic of St. Anthony of Padua.  The blind have had sight restored, the crippled have cast aside their crutches, and even those whom physicians counted as beyond relief have recovered suddenly, so it is said, from illness which science could not fathom of cure.

The World asserted, "Hundreds throng the chapel every Tuesday.  They come from all over the country and from every station in life."

Among the parishioners at the time was Terrence H. Forrest, who lived at 73 Bedford Street.  For years he had suffered from dropsy (known today as edema).  It eventually waned his strength until in the spring of 1896 his condition was dire.  Father McCabe of the Church of St. Anthony of Padua arrived at the house to administer last rites.  He also brought the relic of St. Anthony.  On June 4, The World reported, "He anointed the sick man's body with it while all around prayed, with heads bowed."  

The article recounted, "Almost immediately, it is said, the man rallied, and from that moment grew stronger and stronger until now, his family declare, he enjoys his former health."  Neither Father McCabe nor Terrence Forrest would discuss the matter.  "In the neighborhood, however, the case is much talked about, and Mr. Forrest is looked upon by many as one saved from the grave," said the article.

Nearly two decades later and after being handled thousands of times, the gold case that held the relic was in bad shape.  On June 15, 1914, The New York Times explained, "The receptacle which contained the relic became worn out through much handling."  But now, said the article, the "fathers of the Franciscan Monastery at 151 Thompson Street are exhibiting with a great deal of pride a solid gold receptacle which was made to contain the sacred relic of the bones of St. Anthony."  

Italian-born parishioners had donated "gold rings, bracelets, brooches, pins and coins" to be melted to create the box.  The Times said, "Many of them gave the fathers all of their jewelry...The receptacle is 16-1/2 inches high, and is studded with emeralds, rubies, and pearls."

image via the NYC Dept of Records & Information Services

The monastery was the scene of a horrifying tragedy on November 4, 1938.  At 4:00 that morning Louis Adduci, the 26-year-old doorman, smelled smoke.  He ran throughout the halls shouting, "Fire!"  As he headed back down, he was blocked by flames and was forced to jump to the rear yard.  As the fire roared up the wooden staircase, the priests were trapped on the upper floors.  The New York Times reported that they, "had to jump out windows to an adjoining building or cling to ledges."

Brother John Chiazza was a 27-year-old missionary worker who had arrived in America from Italy the previous year.  His room was on the top floor at the rear.  The Times explained, "The flames kept him from the other end of the hall, where a staircase led to the roof."  His charred body was found kneeling by the bed, "with his hands clasped as if in prayer."

Rev. Luige Vitale rushed to a fourth floor window.  "When flames began licking at his feet," according to The New York Times, the 65-year-old "smashed a window with his hand and leaped about fifteen feet to the second-story roof of the settlement house next door."  He fractured a leg in the fall.

The New York Times, November 5, 1938

Firefighters made a "spectacular" rescue of 40-year-old Rev. Virgil Liucci.  Wakened by Adduci's warnings, he tried to get to the hallway, but was forced back by the flames.  After kneeling to recite a short prayer before a picture of St. Anthony, he tied his bed sheet to his cassock and a radiator and started to lower himself to the street.  "The flames were shooting out of the window when he was about to jump," recounted The Times, when he heard the fire engines approaching.  

Like Brother Chiazza, Julius Tappero, the monastery's 65-year-old cook, did not escape the blaze.  His body, too, was found in a kneeling position in his room on the third floor.

The following day, The New York Times reported, "Three of the priests were injured, one burned so badly he was still on the serious list in Columbus Hospital last night."  The priests temporarily moved into the parish's settlement house during the renovations.

A subsequent renovation, completed in 1953, created classrooms and a bowling alley in the basement, and an auditorium on the first floor.  Called Memorial Hall, it became the venue for various meetings, festivities and events, like the St. Anthony's Playgroup's rummage sale in December 1979.

Arthur Crook's imposing granite building continues to play an important part of the parish's outreach as well as an architectural ornament within the district.

photographs by the author

The Lost Helmcke & Von Glahn Grocery - 182 Spring Street

 

image via the Landmarks Preservation Commission

Around 1824, three three-and-a-half story houses were erected at the southwest corner of Thompson and Spring Streets.  Clad in red brick and trimmed in brownstone, their Federal architecture featured tall dormers at the peaked attic level.  The corner house-and-store, at 162 Spring (renumbered 182 in 1847), had a nearly-windowless facade on Thompson Street.  The single centered openings at each floor culminated in a high, arched window in the gable, below dramatic joined chimneys.

The store in 162 Spring Street was home to the shop of Blavet & Boyce, chairmakers, in 1827.  It was replaced by John Read's locksmith business by 1836, and in 1840 James Gibson's bakery occupied the space.  He remained here until about 1850.

In February 1845, all three houses were sold at auction.  Included with 162 Spring Street was the wooden stable in the rear yard.  The announcement mentioned, "The house is 19 feet 10 inches in width, by 25 feet 11 inches in depth; the stable is 23 feet 6 inches by 13 feet 3 inches, more or less."

In 1851, the family of Henry Helmcke lived in the upper portion while he and partner Christopher Vonglahn ran the Helmcke & Von Glahn grocery store downstairs.  (Why Vonglahn used a space in his surname professionally is puzzling.)

Henry Helmcke was no longer associated with the store in 1859 and the family of Christopher Vonglahn now occupied the upper floors.  Unlike the Helmckes, Christopher and his wife, Gesine Margarethe, took in boarders--all of them Germans.  In 1858, they included William Stadtler, who ran a saloon at 178 Spring Street; Henry L. Schrader, a cabinetmaker; Gustav Hoeltje, who was a crimper (i.e., a navy recruiter); and tailor Frederick Breitwieser.

On September 12, 1859, Christopher and Gesine had a son, Christopher Henry.  The little boy died four years later, on November 22 and his funeral was held in the house the following afternoon.

The couple had a second son, John, on September 22, 1864.  In a tragic case of deja vu, the boy died at the age of five on September 30, 1869.  Once again, a funeral was held in the parlor.

Christopher Vonglahn rented the building from Ann Marshall for years, and operated his grocery store here at least through 1880.  Ann Marshall conveyed the property to her daughters, Caroline E. Marshall and Mary L. Van Ness as a gift in February 1886.  It was around this time that James E. Rosasco took over the grocery store.

Among the upstairs tenants in 1891 was Frank Jenkins, a partner in the embroidery firm Jenkins Brothers.  He was invited to join "a party of pleasure seekers," as worded by The Sun, on the 46-foot yacht, the Amelia, owned by Dr. William Bahn.  The newspaper called the craft, "handsomely finished and furnished."  The party left on the morning of June 14 for an excursion to Nyack.

After their day trip and dinner at Nyack, the Amelia headed back at 5:00.  The Sun reported that the return trip "was made with light and more or less unfavorable winds, and it was nearly 1 A.M. when the Amelia found herself off 111th street."  Frank Jenkins and another passenger had gone below to sleep.  It was a fatal decision.

A tugboat, not seeing the luxury yacht, crashed into it.  "The bow of the tug struck the Amelia amidships, cutting her nearly in two.  She sank almost instantly, leaving her passengers struggling in the water."  All those who had been on deck were rescued, but Jenkins and 16-year-old William Bahn, Jr. were drowned.

By the turn of the century, Caroline Marshall had sole ownership of the building, which was deemed unsafe on March 13, 1903.   Two weeks later, The Bureau of Buildings took over the title, citing "violation of Building Laws."  Caroline apparently did the required repairs and regained the title before the end of the year.  James E. Rosasco was still operating the store, and his license "to sell and deliver milk" was renewed that year.

Caroline Marshall also owned 184 Spring Street, next door.  She made significant updates in May 1911 when she hired architects Harrison & Sackheim to install "toilets, partitions [and] skylights" to the two buildings at a cost of $2,000 (about $66,200 in 2024 terms).

Since the 1880s, Caroline Marshall had lived in the Barrett House on Broadway and 43rd Street (renamed the Hotel Wallick in 1910).  She died there in 1915, The New York Times headlining an article on April 24, "Miss Marshall Hid Cash / Executors Find Envelope Containing $50,000 in Money."  The stashed cash alone would equal about $1.56 million today.  Her will listed significant real estate holdings, and The Times reported that her brother Edmund "is given the property at 182 Spring Street."

Edmund Marshall quickly sold the property to Angelo Frasinetto.  On April 7, 1917, the Record & Guide reported that he had hired architect George J. Casazza to replace it with "a 3-story brick and stone store and lodge room building."  For some reason, the plans were scrapped.  In April 1920 architect Frank E. Vitalo submitted plans for a "3-story tenement" which, too, were never realized.  

image via the NYC Dept of Records & Information Services.

The following year, the properties at 182 and 184 Spring Street were demolished for a two-story Arts & Crafts style structure designed by Louis A. Sheinart.  It survived until 2020 when it was demolished for a mixed-use building.

many thanks to Jeff Charles Goolsby for suggesting this post

From Lodging House to Sushi - 113 Thompson St

Erected in 1833, the Second Associate Presbyterian Church sat at the corner of Prince and Thompson Streets.  The congregation sold an unused lot behind the church to Henry S. Richards in 1842.  He set to work constructing a brick-faced house on the 19-foot wide plot.

Richards was well-to-do and cultured, a member of the American Art-Union, for instance.  His new project was purely an investment.  As the three-story Greek Revival style house neared completion in 1843 he advertised it for rent.

The first tenant of the 14-room house seems to have been James C. Hoe, a partner with his father in the construction firm of William Hoe & Son.   James was living here in 1849 when his father died.  He took his brother Richard into the business, renaming it Richard & James C. Hoe.

On July 29, 1849 James lost his pocketbook in the neighborhood.  He pinpointed the loss at being either on Varick or Charlton Street, about two blocks away from the house.   The pocketbook contained some cash, but it also held a check for $100 and a contract for lumber.  Hoe advertised that "The finder, by returning it to J. C. Hoe...will be satisfactorily and liberally rewarded."

Richard died in 1856, passing ownership of No. 113 Thompson Street to his son, James N. Richards.  In 1859 the family living here, possibly still the Hoes, advertised for a servant.  The upscale tenor of the residents was reflected in the mention of "fine clothing."   The pay offered would be equal to about $60 per week today.

WANTED-An American girl, who is a good cook and capable of washing and ironing fine clothing.  Apply at 113 Thompson st.  Wages $8 per month.  None but Americans need apply; colored person preferred.

By 1863 rooms were being rented in the house.  (James Hoe and his brother later moved into matching mansions at Nos. 325 and 327 West 14th Street.)  On July 28, 1863 an advertisement offered "A Lady or Gentleman, or two ladies with quiet habits, can be accommodated with neatly furnished rooms--board for ladies only."

The wording made it clear that disreputable women would not be tolerated and that men could find their meals elsewhere.

The house remained in the Richards family, owned by Robert G. Richards by the end of the decade.  The first years after the end of the Civil War saw the neighborhood change.  New York City's black population had been centered around Minetta Lane, roughly two blocks to the north.  Now freed slaves came north, expanding that district's borders.  Thompson Street filled with African American residents as well as indigent immigrants from Europe.

Richards placed an ad in The New York Herald on December 18, 1869 offering "To Let--with possession, the handsome three story high stoop brick House, 113 Thompson street, near Prince.  Will let to a respectable colored family."  A few weeks later, in January 1870, he re-ran the advertisement, adding "will let very low to responsible tenant."

Richards's tenants were not a black family, as he apparently expected, but that of 36-year old Polish-born physician Jacob Rosenzweig.  With him in the house was his 33-year old wife, Leonora, their 13 year old daughter Rosa, and sons George and Seymour, 7 and 2 years old.   1870 census records reveal that they rented a room to a 19-year old "English-woman."

Rosenzweig's reason for leaving Thompson Street in 1871, in favor of basement rooms at No. 687 Second Avenue, may have been connected with a grisly affair involving a patient, Alice Augusta Bowlsby.   The pretty seamstress from Patterson, New Jersey was considered "virtuous" by friends.  But her virtue was compromised by Walter Conklin, son a wealthy silk mill operator.

Late in August a steamer trunk was delivered to the baggage room at the Hudson River train depot.  It sat unclaimed until a baggage agent noticed a putrid stench.  When police pried it open, they found the naked corpse of Alice Bowlsby.  One journalist described the rotting body in idealistic Victorian prose, "A tangled mass of the most beautiful golden hair fell in waves over her shoulders, which must have been white as Parian marble, and eyes of blue, that even death's horrors cannot pale."

Less poetic was the Cornoner's report, which noted her "lower parts" were "swollen," and that a placenta was discovered.  It was a sure sign that Bowlsby was the victim of a botched abortion.  But perhaps most disturbing was the conclusion that she had been stuffed in the trunk still alive.

Rosenzweig's arrest was depicted in the 1871 pamphlet "The Great 'Trunk Mystery of New York City'" (copyright expired)

Detectives pieced together the evidence, which pointed to the doctor whom The New York Times called on September 3, "the monster Rosenzweig."

The house changed hands among the Richards family again in 1873, when Robert transferred title to Edward C. Richards.  Edward did some remodeling then advertised it for rent on January 18 1874, noting "all modern improvements and in complete order; painted, papered, &c."

With apparently no takers for the entire house, Richards then offered floor-through suites.  In May he advertised five rooms in the parlor level, three rooms on the second floor and five on the third.  But the Thompson Street neighborhood continued to decline.  By 1885 the once respectable house was being leased by Thomas Taylor, who operated it as a lodging house, the lowest form of accommodations.

Unlike rooming houses (which were a step below a boarding house), lodging houses offered no amenities.  Instead, for a much cheaper fee the lodgers received an over-night bed with (hopefully) fresh sheets.  Patrons of lodging houses were commonly low-class petty thieves or alcoholics.

On December 22, 1885 Thomas Taylor was attacked and robbed by three of his lodgers.  One, James McGrath, was arrested.  He was sentenced to 10 years in Sing Sing on February 16, 1886.

Another lodger, Thomas Digney, was briefly a suspect in a murder investigation the following month.   Just over a block to the south, at No. 162 Spring Street, was Edward J. Hernon's saloon.  Around 8:30 on the morning of March 9, his bartender, Thomas John Molloy, stumbled onto the street, a whiskey glass still in his hand, crying "Murder! Murder!"   Passersby carried him back into the saloon, where he died of a pistol shot in the heart.

There were only a few patrons in the bar at the time, one of which was Digney.   Another threw suspicion on him.  The New York Times reported "Thomas Digney, a tramp truck driver, who lodged at No. 113 Thompson-street, was pressing around the dead man and tying up his jaw and legs."  George W. Raynor told detectives he "considered his action suspicious," and when he questioned him, Digney replied "If you're so smart, why don't you get me arrested?"  He did.

After being questioned at the Prince Street station house, Digney was released.

The house accommodated 40 lodgers per night in 1886.  The men paid between 10 and 15 cents for their beds.  The highest rate would be around $4 today.   The often pitiable lives of the lodgers was exemplified in a single line entry in the Coronor's Book on New Year's Day, 1888:  "Unknown man, age forty years, died suddenly at the lodging-house, 113 Thompson street at 8.15 P. M."

The end of the line for the lodging house came in 1893 when the Episcopal City Mission Society paid $15,170.09 for the house and property.  Architects Harney & Purdy were hired to convert it to the Mission of St. Barnabas's Chapel, including a kindergarten.   The congregation of St. Ambrose Church used the meeting space.

By the turn of the century the kindergarten was being operated by the West Side Italian Settlement.  On December 19, 1902 the New-York Daily Tribune warned its readers that the "sixty-five little tots that five mornings in the week fill the big, bare hall at No. 113 Thompson-st." were in danger of being forgotten by Santa Claus, yet again.

Many of the children spoke no English and some barely understood the holiday.  The newspaper explained "There are almost all nationalities represented, but the Italian predominates, and the bright cards and worsted in the 'busy play' are a source of never ending delight to these color loving tots."

The reporter interviewed Annie Tomasso, who said that last Christmas her father had promised her a dolly, "but he went to sleep on the floor all day and forgot."   A teacher told of finding five-year old Freddie in the corner of his family's one-room apartment eating "bread and jelly."  She knew his mother could barely afford bread, and when she said "Jelly, why, how very nice," he admitted "I'm just makin' believe it's jelly."

The article was a thinly-veiled plea for donations of toys for the underprivileged kindergartners.  "But despite the assurance to little Annie Tomasso that Santa Claus would 'surely not forget,' the 'overflow' teacher fears that unless some proxy Santa Clauses with big hearts and helping hands find time to do the the Christmas Saint's bidding in the next week, it will be a pathetically poor little remembrance that comes the way of the 'overflow' folk in Thompson-st."

The ploy worked.  On January 5, 1903 a letter from teacher S. Elvira Hodges appeared in the Tribune, thanking contributors.   She ended it saying "Little Annie is now the happy possessor of a doll and Freddie eats 'really, truly jelly' on his bread."

The following year real estate operators Pepe Brother and D. Gallo sold the building for $15,000.  Charles Friedman commissioned architects Bernstein & Bernstein to renovate it to a store and tenement.  A cast iron storefront was installed, distinctive metal pediments were added to the second floor windows and a classically-inspired swag frieze below the cornice.

Crime and poverty were still problems in the area in the first decades of the 20th century.  The store space was a saloon during the World War I years.  It was the scene of violence on December 5, 1918.  The Evening World reported "Murder--By five patrons in a saloon and eating place at No. 113 Thompson Street, a 3 P.M., in which Giuseppe Luso, of No. 180 Prince Street, fell dead, shot through the heart.  No arrests reported."

The name of the victim reflected the increasing Italian population; and by the Depression No. 113 Thompson Street sat firmly within New York's Little Italy.  In 1938 the building was purchased by Allesandro Rinaldi.   The saloon was no longer and the lives of the hard-working, blue collar Italian residents drew little attention for the next few decades.

But the neighborhood would see change once again by the last quarter of the century.  Sitting on the edge of the Soho artists' district, No. 113 was suddenly trendy by the spring of 1977.  Writing in The New York Times on April 22, Anna Quindlen said "Further west, at 113 Thompson Street, is the OG dining room, which should be singled out for an outstanding contribution to the weekend streetscene--a pushcart full of chocolate chip cookies that is habitually parked on the corner of Prince street and West Broadway."  That restaurant was replaced in 1982 with Omen-Azen, which features "casual Kyoto-style Japanese cuisine."

Through it all, No. 113 Thompson Street retains its charming 1904 appearance--a delightful slice of Little Italy at the turn of the last century.

photographs by the author