Gouveneur Hospital - 621 Water Street

The riverfront neighborhood of Water Street and Gouveneur's Slip was among the seediest in New York City in the 1870s and '80s.  Brothels, saloons and gambling dens lured sailors and miscreants.   Stabbings, shootings, and beatings were common.  So Charity Commissioner Thomas S. Brennan's proposal of an "emergency hospital"--a branch of Bellevue Hospital--at Gouveneur's Slip made sense.

The free-standing, three-story brick building was completed in October 1885 at a cost of $14,000.  Because, as the New-York Tribune pointed out, it was "simply a reception hospital" intended only for emergency treatment before patients were transferred to Bellevue, there were just 30 beds.  On October 3, 1885, about two weeks before the hospital opened, The New York Times reminded readers of the character of the neighborhood.

"The site occupied was formerly a police station, then a market place, and afterward a resort for thieves and low characters.  Its regeneration into a hospital grieves the river border gang, but is hailed as a great improvement by respectable neighbors."

Before long, the hospital took on the name of the nearby slip.  And a decade after its opening, it was clear that Gouveneur Hospital could not adequately meet the needs of the gritty neighborhood.  A full-service institution was needed.

In April 1897, The Sinking Fund Commission took bids for constructing a new hospital.  The lowest bid, of $116,000 from the Mapes-Reeve Construction Company, was rejected because of "a technical error."  The next lowest bit was from Mahoney Bros. at $129,400.  The total cost, including furnishings and equipment, would eventually rise to $200,000; around $5.75 million today.

The cornerstone was laid in 1898, some months after construction began.

Designed by John R. Thomas, the building was completed late in October 1900.  But a public spat between Charities Commissioner John W. Keller and Public Buildings Commissioner Henry S. Kearny delayed opening until January 5, 1901.  In reporting the opening, The New York Times took a jab at the men, saying, "Mr. Keller and Public Buildings Commissioner Kearny have been at odds for some months."

Four stories of red brick trimmed in terra cotta, the new facility could accommodate 104 patients.  The New York Times deemed it, "the most perfectly equipped in the Charities Department."   The intention was always that two wings would stretch back from the main administration building, but only the north wing was included in the first stage of construction.

The original hospital (center) was still in use as the modern structure rose around it.  from the collection of Harvard Art Museums/Fogg Museum

Running alongside the old hospital, the end of the wing was rounded, thereby doing away with interior corners where dirt and germs could accumulate.

The New York Times reported, "The doctors' and nurses' quarters and the dining rooms are all that could be desired.  The laboratory and operating room are filled with up-to-date apparatus, including an X-ray machine, the only one in the Charities Department."

The case of one of the hospital's first patients, 24-year-old John Bellinette, reflected not only the type of injuries the facility would receive, but the character of the neighborhood.  Bellinette lived at 44 Oliver Street, but he was found just before midnight on Saturday, January 12, 1901 in the yard of 22 Hamilton Street.  He had been thrown from the fourth-floor window.

Two neighbors informed Patrolman Edward J. O'Rourke that they had seen the crime from their rooms.  "While they were still at the window they saw a man stoop over the body of the injured man and take his overcoat and hat," reported The New York Times.

O'Rourke went to the apartment and arrested Salvatore Adriate, his wife, Theresa, and another woman, Philamina Perchaine.  Bellinette's overcoat and hat were on the bed.  The three "denied that there was any quarrel in their rooms, and said they did not know who the injured man was."

An investigation, however, revealed that Raphael Cresanzo and Francisco Rimardo had also been in the room at the time of the "accident."  Bellinette, it was revealed, was accused by Cresanzo of cheating him out of money.  Fearing for his life, Bellinette tried to escape onto the fire escape and was pushed to the ground.  Two days later he was still in critical condition in Gouverneur Hospital with a fractured skull.

By spring 1903, the city was ready to erect the southern wing.  The Real Estate Record & Builders' Guide reported on April 18, "Probabilities point to the speedy completion of Gouverneur Hospital...The new administration building with one wing was opened in 1901, and now it is desired that the other wing be built."  Architect Raymond Almirall was give the commission, but he closely followed Thomas's design, resulting in a visually-balanced structure.

It was not until July 1909, however, that the City contracted for what would become perhaps the hospital's iconic feature.  Bids were taken for "railings, supports and all other work for inclosing the balconies and balcony stairways."  The wonderful iron, rounded balconies were outfitted with curtains for privacy and protection from direct midday heat.

The treatment for some diseases, notably tuberculosis, included fresh and and sunshine.  Beds and wheelchairs could be rolled out onto the balconies to provide both.

Close inspection reveals the curtains (one set closed on the second floor in the north wing).  At least one iron bed is visible.  By now the old hospital had been replaced with an ambulance garage with dormers that matched the main building.  photo from the collection of the New York Public Library

By now, the Lower East Side was filled with filthy tenements crammed with indigent immigrant families.  At the turn of the century, there were 330,000 residents per square mile, tasking the staff at Gouveneur Hospital with another type of patient--children.  Infants and toddlers in poor families suffered from malnutrition, measles, whooping-cough, heat prostration and pneumonia.  Infectious diseases spread within the hospital since there was no "detention room."  Three times during the winter of 1913 the children's ward had to be quarantined.

The waiting room, in 1907, provided a crowded and piteous scene.  photo by Byron Company, from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York

In 1917, the Department of Health recommended "that a salary sufficient to retain a nurse specifically trained in the care of children be provided."  The investigating committee deemed $600 a year appropriate.

In the meantime, rampant crime and gang activity continued.  A peculiar case was that of Mrs. Branaslaw Kucharsky, a 41-year-old washwoman.  Around 9:00 on the morning of July 14, 1919, two strangers were seen entering the tenement building where she lived at 113 Stanton Street.  About an hour later a neighbor entered her flat and found her on the floor.

An ambulance from Gouveneur Hospital found her already dead.  The New-York Tribune reported that she "was either murdered or died of fright when attacked during the robbery of her home."

Gangster violence repeatedly resulted in injuries, often fatal.  On the night of June 13, 1920, Angelo De Rocco waited in ambush outside a Rivington Street movie theater.  When Rosario Demario exited, the "bushwacker," as described by the Tribune, opened fire.  Demario was struck in the back and the panicked crowd scattered.

Two policemen nearby chased De Rocco, who fired his revolver at them as he fled.  Detective Anthony J. Fater returned fire, hitting the fugitive once in the back, and then in the leg.  Both men were taken to Gouveneur Hospital.  But the night was not over yet.

Half an hour later, Salvatore Campo was found unconscious in his room on the second floor of 217 Bowery with five knife wounds in his body and scalp.  The New-York Tribune reported, "One of the wounds had nearly severed his right ear."  He, too, was taken to Gouveneur Hospital.

Police later discovered that all three lived in the building--De Rocco on the first floor, Campo on the second, and Demario on the third.  Neighbors said that there had been "a long standing quarrel among the boarders."

On the night of March 1, 1921, Patrolman Shoemaker was passing 46 Pitt Street just after 11:00 when a man holding a "smoking pistol" staggered backwards out of the doorway and collided with a lamppost.  Rocco Franko was holding his bloodied right hand to his chest.  Shoemaker called an ambulance for the 27-year-old, then entered the building.

On the first landing he found Charles Vito, who also held a pistol.  The New-York Tribune reported that he "had his right eye shot away.  Again an ambulance was called from Gouverneur Hospital."  Both men were arrested in the hospital, but refused to give any information.

The eye-catching balconies survive--grabbing the attention of drivers on the FDR Drive feet away.

Street violence and gangster activity continued to result in emergency cases.  In spring 1922, 17-year-old Samuel Licht had only recently been released from the State Reformatory.   On March 26 he stopped a young woman outside a store on Madison Street.  Whatever he said to the girl, she apparently took offense.  She walked away and Licht loitered around in front of the store.

The New-York Tribune reported, "Children who were playing in the street nearby saw a taxicab draw up to the curb and stop.  Two men got out, stood side by side while they leveled revolvers, and fired simultaneously."  One of the bullets lodged in the door of the store, but the other struck Licht in the back of the head.  "The two men re-entered the taxicab and were driven off."

A patrolman who heard the shots called an ambulance from Gouveneur Hospital, but Liche died on the way.

During the Great Depression, the Works Progress Administration provided work to artists who, among other projects, decorated civic buildings with murals.  In 1936, artist Abram Champanier began a ambitious series of 15 Alice in New York Wonderland murals for the children's ward of Gouveneur Hospital.  The oil-on-canvas works colorfully depicted a very modern Alice in settings like the Central Park Zoo, at the Coney Island Playground, at the New York Public Library and flying over the East River bridges.

Gouveneur Hospital could boast a few firsts.  Dr. Emily Dunning Barringer graduated from the Cornell Medical School in 1897 and was accepted on the Gouveneur Hospital Staff.  The Cornell Alumni News later pointed out she was the first female doctor in a New York City hospital, "thereby establishing the precedent of admitting women physicians to general hospital service."  Even more shocking at the time, Dr. Barringer was the first female ambulance driver in the world.

And in 1940 Dr. George A. Baehr organized a prepaid medical plan for tenants of the nearby housing projects, the Vladeck Houses.  Residents paid 25 cents per person per month.  The plan evolved into what we know today as HIP.

By mid-century the old facility was decidedly out-of-date.  The hospital lost its accreditation in 1957, and on November 21, 1960 locals held a nighttime protest around the building.  The New York Times reported, "About fifty residents of the area used flashlights to accent their demand for 'a ray of hope' for getting a new hospital to serve the section.  Placards complained about service and facilities in the 200-bed hospital."

The building was abandoned in 1961 and in June 1963 Mayor Robert F. Wagner announced plans for a new $14 million Gouveneur Hospital.  The new facility was opened at 227 Madison Street on September 21, 1972.

In the meantime, the old building sat empty and neglected.  Broken windows allowed weather into the wards, including those where Champanier's wonderful seven-foot tall murals once brightened the mood of sick children.

In 1980, the City offered the property for sale, and demolition was threatened.   Hearing of the W.P.A. murals, Andrew Scott Dolkart and Eddie Friedman of the Landmarks Preservation Commission alerted art conservator Allan Farancz in hopes of saving the artworks.

According to Dolkart later, "we were unable to interest any city, state or Federal agency in either paying for their removal and restoration or agreeing to hang the murals once they were removed.

"On the night before the bulldozers were to destroy the children's ward, with its murals, Mr. Farancz heroically went in and removed the artwork at his own expense."

Alice Flies Over the East River now hangs in the Cumberland Diagnostic & Treatment Center in Brooklyn.

Farancz stored the murals, which one-by-one were eventually conserved.  One of them, appropriately, was installed in the new Gouveneur Hospital.

In 1992 a nonprofit group, Community Access, Inc., began renovations of what was now essentially a gutted shell.  Under direction of architect Peter L. Woll, the venerable building was renovated for housing for the elderly, mentally ill and AIDS sufferers.

The a splash of Romanesque Revival blends with the overall Renaissance Revival style in the striking terra cotta entrance.

Known today as Gouveneur Court, the building provides assisted living housing for low income and special needs residents.

photographs by the author
many thanks to reader Pete Alsen for suggesting this post

An Elegant Sore Thumb - No. 24 Water Street

By the first years of the 18th century the Fighting Cocks tavern operated at No. 24 Water Street--the street so named because the river bank was so close the road flooded at high tide.  Seamen and shopkeepers would drink ale here for decades before the building burned in 1776.

A commercial building replaced the tavern, and in 1844 Thomas Eaton operated his business here.  Patrick Austin helped himself to $50 in bills that summer, landing him in court.  The jury found him guilty on September 17 and he was sentenced to two years in the State Prison.

By 1862 Stephen D. Herrick and John Wakeman ran their produce business from No. 28 Water Street.  Their business was apparently successful enough that in 1862 Herrick began construction of a modern, cast iron-fronted building two doors away at No. 24.  Completed the following year, it had nothing in common with its brick-faced neighbors, most constructed in the 1820s and '30s.  It wore its refined neo-Classical elements--swags and wreaths, and paneled pilasters, for instance--like a tuxedo among the work clothes of longshoremen.

It appears Herrick constructed the building for investment purposes.  As late as 1870 Herrick & Wakeman was still listed at No. 28 Water Street.  It would house firms related to the shipping or grocer industry for decades; with one possible exception of The New-York Hollowware Company which called No. 24 home in the 1890s.

That firm narrowly skirted financial disaster when Paul Brigham was arrested on January 10, 1896.  The Indianapolis Journal reported that Brigham, "alias George Watson, alias Charles J. Bartlett, alias David Coleman, alias 'the General,'" was "one of the oldest and most notorious swindlers in the United States."

Brigham's modus operandi was to approach a successful firm and express interest in investing $50,000.  The con man relied on his victims' greed--his offer would equal about $1.46 million today--to blind them to his intentions.  And because, as the Journal pointed out, "he was well dressed, had plenty of money, and presented excellent letters of recommendation," he seemed to be on the level.  But his slick talking eventually ended with his making off with money, rather than giving up any of his own.

He simultaneously worked his scheme late in 1895 on four New York City companies--the carpet and rug firm of White & Spate, jewelers Theodore Kohn & Son, the legal firm of Hadley, Lauterbach & Johnson, and the New-York Hollowware Company.  He had already collected "considerable sums" from some of his victims when one of the principals of White & Spate became suspicious and caused prompted the investigation which brought Brigham down.

In 1913 the building was owned by James O'Donnell.  He leased it that year to The Aspell Co., wholesale grocers and ship chandlers.  Headed by J. Whalen Aspell and Louis E. Field, it would remain for several years.

Five years earlier a rather remarkable restoration of the building behind No. 24 had taken place.  American interest in historic sites was almost entirely limited to battlefields or, in some cases, the homes of important military or political figures--like Mount Vernon.   But in 1894 Fraunces Tavern, caught the attention of the Daughters of the American Revolution.

George Washington had made his farewell address to his troops in the building, and it was that connection that sparked interest.  By the turn of the century the Sons of the Revolution had joined the effort to restore and preserve the property, which was dedicated with great fanfare on December 4, 1907.

But the Sons of the Revolution were not done yet.  Not only did the group announce that it intended "to undertake the preservation of the place" in 1920, it had already begun accumulating surrounding property to prevent incongruous development.   The Sons of the Revolution had already purchased the building at Broad and Pearl Streets.  On February 14 the New-York Tribune reported that the group intended "to acquire additional property adjacent to Fraunces' Tavern" and "have made a contract for the acquisition of 24 Water Street for $45,000."

The new ownership brought no immediate effect.  The building continued to be leased to various waterfront companies.  In 1922 the Irish-American Line moved its new passenger offices in; and in 1926 ship chandlers James W. Cunningham & Co. was here.

The Depression years saw a change in the tenant list.   Although Turret Products Co. sold marine-related items--like the "Ship's Speaker" offered in 1930 ("a distinctly nautical radio loud speaker in polished brass" that "combines quality and charm"); Savoy Distilleries opened a liquor store in 1933, while Art Studio Warehouse had space upstairs--a decidedly seedy operation.

Joseph Smith, his brother Vincent, and Maxim Montgomery ran the Art Studio Warehouse, along with the Treat 'Em Right Publishing Company nearby at No. 2 Stone Street.  Their operation drew the attention of the Society for the Prevention of Vice and the New York Police Department in the spring of 1934.

The three were arrested and "two tons of alleged obscene literature were seized with 400 copper plates" in a raid on the two locations on April 9.  The New York Times reported "The confiscated matter consisted of 4,600 books selling form $5 to $25" and that the trio was charged with vending obscene literature.  Two days later the men were held on $500 bail awaiting their court date.

Mostly because of the foresight of the Sons of the Revolution, the block defined by Water Street, Pearl Street, Broad Street and Coenties Slip escaped further development.  And when the Uris Corporation began illegal demolition of five properties in 1974 for a parking lot, the Sons of the Revolution partnered with the New York Landmarks Conservancy to take the first steps in the creation of the full-block Fraunces Tavern Historic District.

A missing capital at street level (above) received a cast iron reproduction in 2015 as part of the restoration.  photo via Frances Tavern Museum

No. 24 Water Street is now the Porterhouse Restaurant, part of the Fraunces Tavern Museum complex.  In 2015 the Sons of the Revolution undertook a restoration of the deteriorating cast iron facade.  Rather than cut corners by reproducing lost or damaged elements in fiberglass, contractor JEPOL Construction commissioned Catskills Castings to create molds from surviving details and make new cast iron elements.

The restored structure, with its gleaming coat of white paint, is once again just a little haughtier that its red and brown brick neighbors.

photographs by the author

The 1828 No. 30 Water Street

At high tide during the 18^th century, the East River washed over the roadway that ran along its banks; earning Water Street its name.  Subsequent land fill would push the riverfront more than a block away.  But in 1747 when Hendrick Remsen purchased most of the block front from  Broad Street to Coenties Slip from the Van Horne family, he was buying waterfront property.

In 1828 Edward Remsen, Hendrick’s great grandson, partnered with Obadiah Holmes to construct three matching Federal style buildings at Nos. 26 through 30 Water Street.  The four-story commercial structures were faced in Flemish bond red brick with brownstone trim.  The plain fascia boards and cornices of Federal buildings were commonly made of wood.  Here, however, they were executed in brick.  Before not very long, most likely in the 1840s, a granite Greek Revival storefront was added. 

Michael Viola was doing business from No. 30 Water Street around that time.  The river front neighborhood was a rough one.  When Viola was walking past the corner of Dover Street, a few blocks north of his business, on Sunday November 3, 1845, he ran into serious trouble.

The New York Herald reported later that day that “about noon today, he was grossly insulted by some boys who made use of the most abusive language to him, and on taking hold of one of them, the young rowdy immediately drew and knife and stabbed Viola in the lower part of the left groin, severing an artery.” 

The street toughs escaped while Michael Viola lay bleeding profusely on the sidewalk.  Deputy Coroner “Mr. Milliken” was summoned and he had Viola transported to the City Hospital.  The Herald reported “His life however is despaired of, in consequent of the great loss of blood which he sustained before he was taken to the Hospital.”

The following day, however, the New-York Tribune reported heartening news.  “We learned yesterday afternoon by inquiring at the Hospital that Michael Viola, who was stabbed Sunday in a quarrel with some boys in Water-street and who was reported to have died yesterday morning, is still alive with every prospect of recovery.”  By the time of the Tribune’s report, Frederick May, who went by the street name “Flukes,” had been arrested as an accessory to the assault.

In 1869 James McCombie ran his wholesale produce business at No. 30.  He had full trust in his bookkeeper, David F. Wright.  But in the spring of that year he discovered his trust had been ill-advised.  It all started on March 12 when he left two signed, blank checks with Wright.  One was to pay a cartman’s bill of $10, and the other to pay supplier Van Bokkelsen’s open invoice of $56.  David Wright, instead, made the first check out payable to “cash” in the amount of $1,100; and the next day did the same with the second check, this time in the amount of $363.  The total amount of the fraudulent checks the bookkeeper cashed would amount to more than $26,000 in 2016.

But he was not done yet.  The following day, March 14, James McCombie was absent from the office.  He complained in court that while he was gone Wright “procured a cartman and took and stole from him 106 packages of butter, valued at $3,000, which he secreted in a store, on West and Washington streets.”

Wright was arrested at his home and “denied each and every general allegation.”  Nevertheless, he was able to pay his $7,500 bail, around $135,000 today, supposedly on his bookkeeper’s salary.

Hardware dealers Reilly & Guy Company were listed in the building at least by 1894.  Various tenants in the upper floors through the coming years included architect John V. Knoth whose office was here by 1910.

Reilly & Guy Company moved to White Hall Street in the first years of the 20^th century; but the firm would be back in 1921 when it shared a lease on the entire building with the recently-formed W. D. Blood & Co.  Incorporated in 1918, W. D. Blood & Co. was formed to export “American manufactures in foreign fields, especially automotive and hardware manufactures,” as reported by Automotive Industries on May 22, 1919.

Wilfred D. Blood in 1919.  Automotive Journal, June 1919 (copyright expired)

W. D. Blood & Co. was still at No. 30 Water Street in 1931, when it took over the export business of the Motor Wheel Corporation.  In the 1930s the firm was no longer exporting merely automotive hardware, but “automotive vehicles,” as mentioned by The New York Times in 1938.  The increased growth had forced the company to move to larger quarters on Whitehall Street by then.

In 1943 ship chandlers I. K. General Marine Contracting Corporation took over the building.  But change was coming to Water Street in the second half of the century as the Financial District edged closer to the waterfront.  The gritty blocks around the docks slowly became the lunchtime haunts of tie-wearing brokers rather than merchant mariners.  In 1969 No. 30 was converted to an “eating and drinking” establishment on the first through third floors.  City documents noted “fourth and attic floors to remain vacant.”

Despite the noticeable change to Water Street, and to the other two of Remsen’s and Holmes’s 1828 buildings, No. 30 retains much of its original flavor.

photograph by the author