The 1893 Michael Hughes House - 240 West 101st Street

 

By the last decade of the 19th century, development had extended to the upper reaches of the Upper West Side.  In 1892, the Wide Construction Company contracted architect Gilbert A. Schellenger to design a row of six upper-class townhouses on the south side of West 101st Street between Broadway and West End Avenue.  Completed in 1893, the high-stooped homes were three stories tall and faced in brownstone.  Five of them were nearly identical, with only subtle changes at the parlor floors.

No. 240 West 101st Street became home to the Michael Hughes family.  Hughes and his wife, Alice, were born in Ireland.  They had one son and four daughters:  George H., Anna E. (known as Annie), Mary C., Alice Loretta, and Lydia C.

On May 2, 1900, seven years after the family moved in, Alice Hughes died.  Her funeral was held in the parlor three days later followed by a solemn requiem mass at the Church of the Holy Name of Jesus at Amsterdam Avenue and 96th Street.  A month later, Michael Hughes transferred the deed to the house in equal shares to his children, none of whom was married.

Following their father's death, the five children--now adults--continued to occupy the house.  As early as 1903, Annie was teaching in Public School 184 on West 116th Street.  George, proud of his parent's heritage, was a member of the American-Irish Historical Society.

The family had at least one live-in servant.  On February 25, 1912, the siblings advertised for a "General houseworker in American family; must be good cook and laundress; good home for right party.  240 West 101st st."

Alice Loretta died here on August 25, 1912.  As had been the case with her parents, her funeral was held in the house followed by a solemn requiem mass at the Church of the Holy Name of Jesus.

The four siblings, still unmarried, continued to share the house.  (In 1920, they ranged in age from Marie, who was 32, to George, who was 48.)  But in 1927, they leased the house to William Dieckmann for five years.  The family would never return.

image via the NYC Dept of Records & Information Services

By 1944 the house was occupied by three families, including the Martoccio family.  Domenico and Joan Martoccio's son, Anthony R., was serving in the U.S. Navy Construction Battalion.  They were still here the following year when John J. Cole's family moved in.  Cole was the general manager of the Ellwood Ordnance Plant of Sanderson & Porter.

No. 240 West 101st Street was returned a single-family home around 1955 when architect William Fontaine Jones and his family moved in.  A member of the American Institute of Architects, Jones had had "a distinguished career in the Army," according to The Villager, before opening his architectural practice in 1953.  Among his works are the striking 1964 blue brick-faced Cinema Village Theater and the West Thirteenth Street Theater.  Jones died in December 1969.

Although the building was never officially converted to apartments, realtors list three units in the building today.  Home to the Hughes family for decades, little has changed to the exterior.  The original interior shutters still hang in the second floor windows.

photographs by the author

The 1893 Frank and Emma Wise House - 236 West 101st Street

 

Born in Sussex, England in 1852, Frank Eugene Wise entered his father's construction firm, the Nathaniel Wise Company as a young man.  On July 15, 1880, he married Emma Palmatier and the couple had two children, Florence Isabel and Frank Lounsbury.

Following his father's death, Wise took the reins of the firm, renaming it the Wise Construction Company.  Decades later, The New York Times would remark, "He built extensively on the West Side as a speculative builder in the Nineties."  Among those speculative projects was a row of upscale rowhouses along West 101st Street between Broadway and West End Avenue in 1892.

Completed the following year, the homes were designed by Gilbert A. Schellenger.  Each a variation of the other, they were three stories tall above a high English basement.  Only 236 West 101st Street had fully arched openings at the parlor level.  Like its architectural siblings, its second and third floors were bowed.  Panels below the parlor and third floor windows were filled with Renaissance inspired foliate carvings.

Frank Wise retained 236 West 101st Street for his family.  Also moving into the house was Emma's widowed mother, Julia A. Palmatier.  She died here on April 13, 1900 and her funeral was held in the drawing room two days later.

Florence's engagement to Lewis Burton Hall, Jr. was announced late in 1903.  On January 9, 1904, Emma held a luncheon in her honor.  The New York Herald commented, "Covers were laid for fourteen."  The wedding took place in the 101st Street house on January 17.  The Brooklyn Standard Union mentioned, "There were nearly 400 guests at the reception after the ceremony."

Emma became involved in the Girls' Social and Industrial Club of St. Michael's Parish upon its formation in 1901.  On March 11, 1905, the New-York Tribune reported that it had "not been a formal organization," but now had adopted a constitution and elected members.  "The reorganization took place at the home of Mrs. Frank Eugene Wise, No. 236 West 101st-st.," said the article, which noted, "It also changed its name to the Neighborhood Social and Industrial Club."

Emma became its president and would hold the title for decades.  Club Women of New York explained, "The object of the club is to provide a safe place of amusement for girls between the ages of 12 and 20 who live in the crowded tenement houses.  The majority of the 225 members are girls employed in shops or as maids in families."  In addition to holding classes in sewing, cooking, embroidery, calisthenics and dancing, the group hosted a monthly social for the girls.

Frank Lounsbury Wise joined his father's firm upon his graduation from Cornell University's College of Engineering.  The firm was renamed Frank E. Wise & Son.  It appears that the son and father were too busy erecting buildings to take extended vacations.  For years, the society columns reported only on Emma's summer movements.  On October 6, 1907, for instance, The New York Times reported, "Mrs. Frank E. Wise...has come home from Palenville, Green County, N.Y.," and on May 28, 1911, the newspaper announced, "Mrs. Frank E. Wise, 236 West 101st Street, has returned from the Catskills."

By the time of that article, Frank E. Wise was a former president of the General Society of Mechanics and Tradesmen and a trustee of the Harlem Savings Bank.  He was president of the Mechanic's Institute School.  It provided, "evening classes to furnish free instruction to young men in freehand drawing, elementary and advances; in mechanical and architectural drawing and mathematics; also classes in physics and industrial electricity," according to the New York Charities Directory in 1919.

World War I took Frank L. Wise away from his father's firm.  He was still on active duty in the 570th Field Artillery on April 29, 1922 when he was promoted to 1st Lieutenant.

Frank Eugene Wise retired in 1928.  Forty-three years after he erected his home, he died in 236 West 101st Street at the age of 84 on August 14, 1936.  In reporting his death, The New York Times mentioned that he "had been active in the building materials and building industry for fifty years."  His entire estate, equal to $3 million in 2025, went to Emma.

Emma and Frank L. Wise remained here.  Emma acquired a 21-acre country home in Croton Falls, New York by the late 1930s and was active in the social activities there.  On October 14, 1941, for instance, the Daily Argus reported on plans for "an evening bridge" on October 25.  The article said, "Reservations must be made before Nov. 14 with Mrs. Frank Wise, 236 West 101st Street, New York City."

Emma Wise apparently insisted that the window shades were kept at a regimentally-even level when this photograph was taken in 1941.  image via the NYC Dept of Records & Information Services.

Emma Wise died on June 21, 1943 at the age of 85.  Her $186,849 estate (equal to about $3.4 million today) was divided equally between Frank and Florence.  

Frank, who was 58 years old at the time of his mother's death, was still unmarried.  That would soon change.  On December 4, 1943, the Burlington Daily News reported that Cecelia Marguerite Bliss was engaged to Frank L. Wise.  The article noted that he had been "for many years a partner in the Wise Construction Company," adding, "He is a dog fancier and owns the Amawalk kennels."

It may have been Wise's passion for breeding beagles that prompted him and Cecelia to purchase a home in Carmel, New York.  His Amawalk Si, according to The Reporter Dispatch in 1950, was the "only dual championship beagle hound at stud in the country."  

Frank Lounsbury Wise contracted an illness in the late 1940s and died at the Carmel property on March 3, 1950 at the age of 64.

Unlike almost all the houses along the row erected by his father, 236 West 101st Street was never converted to apartments.  When the five-bedroom house was sold in 2015, much of Gilbert A. Schellenger's 1893 interior details were intact.

photographs by the author

The 1901 Edwin J. and Clausine M. Benson House - 255 West 101st Street

 

Developers Egan & Hallecy erected numerous Manhattan rowhouses at the turn of the last century.  The architectural firm of Neville & Bagge designed several of their projects, including the six upscale homes at 245 through 255 West 101st Street in 1900.  Completed in 1901, they were a balanced row of three designs in an A-B-C-C-B-A plan.  Nos. 245 and 255, at either end, were mirror images and by far the most fanciful of the row.  The entrances within the rusticated stone bases sat above shallow porches.  Their formal, elegant porticoes, upheld by classical columns with Scamozzi capitals, would have been at home in London's Mayfair district.

While the houses in between were rigidly symmetrical, these had romantic personalities.  A full-height bay projected forward from the rest of the row.  It featured paired windows with a elegant fan light under an ornate Renaissance style eyebrow at the second floor.  At the third floor was a tripartite window with bracketed cornice and sill.  Most eye-catching were the storybook elements to the side--stone-framed oculi in the staircase hall and a Rapunzel-ready quarter-round oriel.

An advertisement in the New York Herald on January 31, 1901 touted: "Six of the best American basement houses yet constructed, having all modern improvements; artistically designed and built in the most completed and thorough manner, under personal supervision of the owners, Egan & Hallecy."

It would not be until October 1902 that Edwin J. Benson and  his wife, the former Clausine M. Doscher, purchased 255 West 101st Street.  The couple had two sons, Reynolds and Claus.  Moving into the house with the family was William C. Doscher, presumably Clausine's unmarried brother.

Edwin Benson was a visible figure within the sports community.  He sat on the Board of Governors of the New York Athletic Club, and on January 11, 1910 was elected its vice-president.

William C. Doscher was also athletic.  Born in 1853, he was described by The New York Times as "a noted oarsman."  He joined the Atalanta Boat Club on May 10, 1880 and served as captain of the crew from 1884 to 1886, and was elected president in 1906.  Doscher died in the house at the age of 59 on April 30, 1912.  His funeral was held in the parlor on May 2.

Both Reynolds and Claus were enrolled in Columbia University at the time.  Following his family's tradition, Reynolds was described by The New York Times as "a star of Columbia's basketball and baseball teams" from 1912 to 1916.  

America's entry into World War I changed the brothers' lives.  In 1917, Reynolds enlisted in the Aviation Section of the Signal Corps.  He would serve with the French Army at Verdun, St. Mihiel, and the Argonne and rise to the rank of captain.  Claus, too, enlisted in the Army and fought in France.  In January 1918 he was promoted to first lieutenant.  Both brothers were awarded the Croix de Guerre.

Sadly, in their absence, their mother died.  Clausine M. Benson died on May 12, 1918 and her funeral was held in the home three days later.

Following the declaration of peace, Reynolds returned home in 1918 and his brother early in 1919.  Claus made it back just in time for Reynolds's wedding.  On January 26, 1919, the New York Herald reported that "Capt. Reynolds Benson, Air Service, U.S.A." had been married the previous evening to Sarah Redway Smith.  "Claus Docher [sic] Benson acted as best man for his brother.  Capt. Benson recently returned from France."  The article mentioned, "After their wedding trip [Reynolds] and his bride will live at 255 West 101st street."

Later that year, in September, Benson sold 255 West 101st Street to Samuel Copeland for $25,375 (about $447,000 in 2025).

image via the NYC Dept of Records & Information Services

Claus Doscher Benson would marry Maxime Harrison-Berlitz in 1921, and his brother would become athletics manager of Columbia University in 1924.  Reynolds would serve his country again when America entered World War II as an officer of the 45th Combat Bomb Wing, earning a Distinguished Flying Cross.

In the meantime, the Copeland family appeared in social columns rather than on the sports pages.  On May 21, 1920, for instance, The American Hebrew reported, "Miss Josephine Copeland, of 255 West 101st street, has just returned from a trip West, where she attended the Kentucky Derby and visited at French Lick Springs."

As early as 1932, Dr. Albert J. Decker occupied the house and operated his private practice here.  But the end of the line for 255 West 101st Street as a single family residence was near.  In 1936 it was converted to apartments, one each through the first through third floor and two on the fourth.  A subsequent renovation completed in 1962 resulted in two apartments per floor above the first story.  In a questionable choice, at some point the brick was painted lavender.

photographs by the author

The 1901 Laura B. and H. B. Anthony House - 247 West 101st Street

 

The real estate development firm Egan & Hallecy worked with architects Neville & Bagge several times.  Among their speculative projects were six rowhouses on the north side of West 101st Street between Broadway and West End Avenue.   Neville & Bagge created a balanced row of three designs in an A-B-C-C-B-A plan.  Begun in 1900, the homes were completed the following year.

Among the B models was 247 West 101st Street.  Its formal Renaissance Revival design included a columned portico above a three-step stoop.  Above the rusticated limestone base were three floors of sandy-colored Roman brick (painted white today).  An ornamental railing fronted the second floor windows, and a bowed oriel at the third floor gave dimension.

The initial occupants of 247 West 101st Street were H. B. and Laura B. Anthony.  Anthony was an 1879 graduate of Brown University.  Their residency was relatively short, and the George Herbert Clarke family moved in sometime after 1905.

Clarke married Elizabeth Drummond on November 12, 1902.  Born in 1874, Clarke was two years older than Elizabeth.  They had two sons, George Cheever Clarke II, born in 1903; and John Drummond Clarke, born in 1908.  Moving into the 101st Street house with the family were George's widowed father, George Cheever Clarke, and Mina Dodds Drummond, Elizabeth's widowed mother.  

George Cheever Clarke was born in 1844.  In 1861, he joined the drygoods firm E. T. Tefft & Co..  It was later renamed Tefft, Weller Company and Clarke became its president in 1901.  He was, as well, the chairman of the advisory committee of American Lloyd's, vice-president of the Colonial Assurance Company, and was involved in other insurance firms.  He died at 247 West 101st Street on January 11, 1911 at the age of 67.

One year later, almost to the day, Mina Drummond died on January 10, 1912.  There would be one more Clarke family funeral in the parlor.  Five-year-old John Drummond Clarke died on May 17, 1913.

The Clarkes sold 247 West 101st Street to Joseph (born Giuseppe) and Annetta Gatto Villari in March 1916.  The couple was born in Sicily in 1882 and 1887 respectively and were married in San Filippo Superiore in 1905.  The couple had eight children.  

In 1918, an earthquake severely damaged the 1835 Cathedral of Ponce in Puerto Rico.  Despite no apparent ties to the Sicilian-born Annetta and Puerto Rico, she stepped up to help the restoration efforts.  On February 8, 1919, The Sun reported, "Mrs. Joseph Villari, 247 West 101st street, will give a dance at the Hotel Plaza next Tuesday evening for the benefit of the Cathedral of Ponce."  

The house was photographed by Wurts Bros. on May 28, 1944.  from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York

It is unclear why Villari went to Des Moines, Iowa for an extended trip that following winter.  He died there on July 2, 1920.

The Villari children were well educated.  One of them sought a summer job in 1923, placing an ad in The New York Times that read: "Tutor-Companion to boy during Summer; going country; former Columbia student; Christian, congenial, pleasing personality, commands French, Spanish fluently; highest references.  Write Villari, 247 West 101st St."

In the fall of 1928, Annetta moved to Pelham Manor and leased the 101st Street house in September to Mrs. A. Cummings.  The lease was for five years.  

A year later, on September 30, 1929, Annetta was operated on for acute appendicitis.  She died three days later.

By the outbreak of World War II, 247 West 101st Street was operated as rented rooms.  Among the residents in 1940 was Sylvia Keanfeld, whose name appeared on the list of members of the Communist Party compiled by Government's Special Committee on Un-American Activities.

A renovation completed in 1972 resulted in apartments.  A subsequent remodeling in 1996 returned the main portion of the house to a single-family residence, with a basement apartment.

photographs by the author

The 1907 Chepstow - 215-217 West 101st Street

 

photo by Anthony Bellov

In February 1906, the Central Realty Co. announced plans to erect “a 10-story elevator apartment house” on the northeast corner of Broadway and 101st Street.  The firm promised, “The building will have the very latest improvements, and apartments will be arranged in suites for housekeeping purposes.”  (The term “housekeeping” meant the apartments would have kitchens, unlike those in the popular residential hotels.)

The Chepstow, as it was called, was completed in 1907.  The architectural firm of Mulliken & Moeller had produced a handsome brick and stone structure in the Renaissance Revival style.  A two-story base of white limestone supported eight floors of red brick.  The architects placed the regal, Renaissance-inspired residential entrance on the side street.  Its wide, arched doorway sat deeply recessed behind polished granite columns that upheld an ornate balcony with Corinthian columns and a carved heraldic panel. A faux balcony directly above carried on the motif, with intricate Renaissance Revival carvings and a large panel of a crown surrounded by foliate decorations.

image via the NYC Municipal Archive

On the Broadway side were a large store on the corner, occupied by the upscale grocery firm of Park & Tilford, and a smaller shop at 2668 which was leased by florist Charles Haberman.  On September 7, 1907, The American Florist noted that Haberman “is now in a fine store in the new building 2668 Broadway.”

The sprawling apartments contained eight or nine rooms with three baths.  They filled with well-to-do white-collar residents.  Among the original occupants was John James Stevenson, a professor of Geology at New York University and a member of the Geological Society of American and the exclusive Century Club.  Professor Stevenson would remain in the Chepstow into the 1920’s.

Mitchell Harrison, his wife, and their six-year-old son were also early tenants.  Harrison was a former newspaper advertising agent and, according to The New York Times, “a man of independent means.”   The couple lived in St. Louis until 1908 when, said the newspaper, Harrison “gave up his advertising business… because of ill health.”  His medical condition seems to have been more psychological than physical.  In January 1909, Harrison took to his bed and never got out.  He was diagnosed with “nervous prostration.”

On March 21, Harrison’s brother-in-law, Louis M. Lifter stopped by.  The New York Times reported that Mrs. Harrison “joined them, and the three read and talked together.  Harrison seemed to be very cheerful, yet he had at the time a note in his bed addressed to his wife asking her forgiveness for his suicide.”  After a while, he said he wanted to sleep and the two left the bedroom.

They had barely sat down in the living room when a loud report was heard.  Mrs. Harrison ran to the bedroom and “saw a little cloud of smoke floating upward from the bed.”  She threw open a window and screamed to the street for help.  “Get a doctor!”  Harrison was still alive when the doctor arrived but died before the ambulance got to the building.  The coroner’s physician found Harrison’s letter to his wife in the bed, which read:

I did what seemed to be best under the circumstances.  Please forgive me and bear up under your trouble for baby’s sake.  It breaks my heart to leave you—I so dearly love you and our darling boy. 

        God bless you both.  Your Loving Husband

Artist Mabel R. Ward lived in the Chepstow in 1912, as did Robert Adamson and his wife, the former Ethel McClintock.  Adamson had been a newspaper editor and political writer until January 1, 1910 when he became secretary to Mayor William Jay Gaynor.

The mayor and his son set sail for Europe on the RMS Baltic on September 4, 1913.  Seven days later a telegram from Rufus Gaynor arrived at the Chepstow for Robert Adamson.  It read, “Father died Wednesday at 1 o’clock.  Death due to heart failure.  Notify mother.”  Gaynor’s successor, Mayor Ardolph L. Klein, kept Adamson on as his secretary.  Then, after managing his campaign in 1913, on January 1, 1914, Mayor John Purroy Mitchel appointed Adamson Fire Commissioner.

A heart-warming incident played out in the Adamson apartment on Thanksgiving Day 1916.  Firefighter Jack Walsh had earlier “scaled a seven story building and rescued a young lady at the risk of his life,” according to The Advocate.  The 32-year-old was on duty that day, when his captain informed him that he was to report to the Commissioner’s apartment.  He later told a reporter, “As I entered the Commissioner’s house I was greeted by Mrs. Adamson, and still I wondered what the urgent call was all about.  A minute later the ‘Big Boss’ appeared and said, ‘Fireman, glad to see you.  Did you have your turkey yet?”  The young hero not only shared Thanksgiving dinner with the Fire Commissioner and his wife, but was handed $100 in appreciation for his bravery, donated by a citizen.

Augustus C. Corby, the vice-president of the Metropolitan Bank lived here in 1921.  He had just returned home on the night of June 15 when he had to rush back to the bank.  Frederick J. Schweer, Jr., a young clerk had taken a pile of bank books and records into a large vault when the heavy door slammed shut.  Schweer was now trapped inside an airtight vault and the bank’s employees had all gone home.

Around an hour later, at 7:00 the night watchman, John Connolly, was making his rounds and heard a steady tapping on the door of the vault.  He first thought someone was trying to break in, then realized an employee was trapped inside.  Connolly rushed to the telephone and called Corby, who had the combination.  Before leaving his apartment, Corby notified police.  The Massachusetts newspaper, the Greenfield Daily Recorder reported, “His automobile was outside and he broke all traffic regulations getting to the bank.”  Once there, and with policemen standing by, he opened the vault.  The article said, “The boy was unconscious when lifted out.  An ambulance surgeon from Bellevue hospital, who had been waiting more than an hour with a pulmotor, began work on him.”  Schweer had been rescued with only moments to spare.

At the time of the nerve-wracking rescue, tenants paid the equivalent today of $3,900 per month for an eight-room apartment, and $4,400 for nine rooms.  The Broadway stores had been divided into three shops that year.  Morris Burnstein’s cigar store was in the corner space, the Buckingham Haberdashers moved into the middle store, and the northernmost space was a lingerie shop.

Expectedly, families living in the Chepstow employed servants, at least a maid and a cook.  The Jordan Lamberts’ maid was Viola Smith.  Although the building, of course, had electricity, the 25-year-old was using an alcohol lamp on the night of November 15, 1925.  Her choice nearly ended her life.  The Daily News reported, that while carrying the lamp, she tripped and fell.

“Her clothes and the pantry caught fire.  Mrs. Lambert rushed to the screaming maid and beat out the flames with her hands, suffering slight burns as she did so.”  Viola Smith was taken to Knickerbocker Hospital, where her condition was deemed serious.

The days of expansive suites and affluent residents came to an end in the World War II years.  In 1945, the Chepstow was converted to a warren of single occupancy units.  Living in a room here in 1955 was Frank “Frisco” McBride, a 31-year-old portrait artist in the Times Amusement Corp. Arcade on Broadway near 52nd Street.

Around 3:00 on the morning of September 16 that year, an inebriated McBride was on Broadway, just north of Times Square.  A man, possibly accidentally, knocked him to the sidewalk.  The Herald Statesman reported, “McBride got up, clutching a beer can opener, and ‘proceeded to terrorize about 150 people in the vicinity,’ police said.”  When Detectives Ury and Massello attempted to apprehend him, McBride lunged at Massello with the opener.  In the affray that followed, Detective Ury’s right index finger was broken.  At the station house McBride explained his actions saying, “I must have been crazy drunk.”

A renovation completed in 1965 resulted in nine apartments per floor.  Whether Edward McBride was a relative of Frisco McBride is unclear, but he was living here in 1973 when he was arrested on May 10 with two other men.  They were charged with robbing a man named Larry Grant of his 1971 Chrysler and cash, as well as with gun possession.  As the police van was transporting them to the 24th Precinct Station on West 100th Street the following morning, the rear doors swung open.  All five prisoners, including McBride, jumped out—two of them handcuffed together—and fled without the policemen in the front of the van realizing what had happened.

But eluding police while in handcuffs proved both difficult and awkward.  McBride walked into the Criminal Court Building on Centre Street a day later to give himself up.  He told officials that “he had spent most of Friday riding subways around town and had gone to see ‘Fists of Fury’ that evening at the National Theater in Times Square, sitting through it four times.”

photo by Anthony Bellov

As the 20th century drew to a close, Oscar and Toni’s bar occupied the corner store.  The 1994 New York: The Rough Guide called it “a neighborhood bar that’s popular with locals, especially students from nearby Columbia University.”  It made way for the Broadway Dive in 1999.  Fodor’s Travel Guide said, “It may be called a dive, but this dimly lit, wood-clad bar, covered with various animal busts, is more like a craft beer emporium.”  

many thanks to historian Anthony Bellov for suggesting this post

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The Charles H. Bush House - 245 West 101st Street

The district once known as Bloomingdale had changed from a quiet village surrounded by farms at the time of the Revolution to a developing urban suburb a century later.  In 1900 builders and developers Egan & Hallecy were a part of that transformation.  They had commissioned the architectural firm of Neville & Bagge several times for speculative projects.  Now they hired the architects to design six upscale townhouses on the north side of West 101st Street, between Broadway and West End Avenue.

Completed in 1901, they were a balanced row of three designs in an A-B-C-C-B-A plan.  Nos. 245 and 255, at either end, were mirror images and by far the most fanciful of the row.  The entrances within the rusticated stone bases sat above a shallow porch.  The formal, elegant porticoes, upheld by classical columns with Scamozzi capitals, would have been at home in London's Mayfair district.

While the houses in between were rigidly symmetrical, the architects gave the end residences romantic personalities.  A full-height bay projected forward from the rest of the row and featured a wide, arched opening at the second floor with an ornate Renaissance style eyebrow and delicate fanlight; a tripartite, and an angled bay at the third floor with bracketed cornice and sill.  Most eye-catching were the storybook elements to the side--stone-framed oculi in the staircase hall and a Rapunzel-ready quarter-round oriel.

The elaborate cornice included lions' heads staring down at passersby.

Although they were a mere 16 feet wide, the new homes attracted well-to-do owners.  No. 245 was purchased on July 3, 1901 by Charles H. and Julie L. F. Bush.  Their $20,000 mortgage--more than $580,000 today--reflected the upscale tone of the neighborhood.

The couple summered in Long Branch, New Jersey.  Their entertaining was not grand and their names rarely appeared in the newspapers.  Not until 1909.

Bush was an insurance agent for the New York Life Insurance Company.  He and his fellow agents were required to sell $50,000 per year in policies in order to retain his membership in NYLIC, the association of New York Life agents.  As 1908 drew to a close, Bush needed $7,000 to meet his quota.  The $25,000 policy he presented to his boss in December, along with a certified check for the premium, more than satisfied that.

But, according to the New-York Tribune, "the company refused to accept this business on the ground that it had written in that year all the insurance business it legally could."  (The "Armstrong Law" limited insurance companies to sell more than $150,000,000 in any given calendar year.)   Therefore, Bush failed to meet his quota and lost his membership in NYLIC.

Bush sued and the shock waves traveled across the nation.  The case went to the highest courts in New York State.  Eventually Governor Charles Evans Hughes and Attorney General Edward R. O'Malley got involved.   Bush's suit resulted in insurance law reforms.

Nevertheless, the damaged may have been done.  In April 1910 the Bushes sold No. 245 to Walter Thomas Kohn and his wife, the former Elsie Bloch.  The couple had been married just three years earlier, and would have three children: Peter, Walter Arnold and Marjorie.

An attorney and member of Weschler & Kohn, he was also an officer in the Regal Drug Co. and the Dean Holding Co., and a director in several corporations and banks.  When his father, Arnold Kohn, founded the North American Bank in 1911, he added one more directorship to his resume.

The winter season of 1911-12 was the year of Dorothy Kohn's debut into society.  Walter's niece, she had been a bridesmaid at his and Elsie's wedding.  On February 9, 1912 the Kohns gave "a dinner dance for young people" in the house for her.

Walter was one of New York's most visible attorneys, defending highly publicized cases.  One of these involved Nicholas Riabouchinsky, described by The Sun on May 19, 1916 as "a member of one of the oldest and wealthiest families in Russia."

Riabouchinsky arrived in New York on October 28, 1915, sent by the Russian Government to negotiate the construction of munitions plants at home.  He was authorized to spend $20 million.  But not all his spending had to do with the military project.

Described as "a stalwart, heavily bearded man with the mannerisms of a Frenchman," he was well known internationally as a connoisseur and collector of old masters.  He brought with him 30 paintings from his collection to sell in New York.  One, Sodoma's "Holy Family With St. John," sold for $31,850.


But trouble came when the Russian nobleman got involved with Timothy J. McKenna, who operated a gambling den.  Riabouchinsky's luck was not as strong as his love of the roulette and he racked up a debt of $45,000--more than $1 million in today's dollars.   McKenna sued, and Riabouchinsky hired Kohn to defend him.

Both men were understandably reticent to provide self-incriminating details.  The Sun noted that McKenna's "name, habitat and business are not revealed in the papers" and that Riabouchinsky denied any debts.

Kohn declared in court that "We don't...deny that there was a game;" but defended his client on an early version of diplomatic immunity.   The Sun reported "The sum and substance of Riabouchinsky's answer is that he does not owe McKenna any money in the first place, and that even if he does he is not obliged to pay it."

(In an interesting side note, Riabouchinsky and his 21-year old wife defected to New York City just before the Russian Revolution, a move that might explain the 15 trunks of artwork he had liquidated earlier.  The nightlife-loving millionaire spent his time on Broadway, lavishing showgirls with gifts and flowers.  Eventually his wife, who was "lavishly entertained by society," according to The Daily Missouilian, and deemed by artist Arnold Genthe "the most beautiful woman in the world," had enough.  They were divorced in 1917.)

The Kohns enjoyed the lifestyle of the upper middle class.  On January 5, 1920 they advertised for two servants, a "chambermaid-waitress" and a "laundress-chambermaid."  The combination of duties implied in the job titles separated the Kohn household from the wealthier upper class, where servants' responsibilities were more specific.

Around the time of the Stock Market crash the Kohns sold No. 245 to Dr. John Block and his wife, the former Rose Boorstein.  The couple had two children, Arnold (who also became a doctor) and Helen.   John converted a portion of the ground floor to his office. 

Following his death in the house on October 29, 1937, the upper floors were converted to one apartment per floor.

Helen was by now married to Naphtali Lewis.  Both educators, they had recently returned from several years in Europe and moved into the 101st Street house. She was an instructor in psychology at Brooklyn College and he taught classical language at the City University of New York.   When their first child was born in 1942 Helen stopped teaching.  But her attendance at union meetings before then caught the attention of Senator Joseph McCarthy in 1953.

When the Bush family lived here, the house would have been tightly closed in the summer.  In 1944, when this shot was taken, the windows are all opened for relief from the heat.  photo by Wurts Bros. from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York

Both Helen and Naphtali were summoned to testify at the McCarthy Senate hearings on un-American activities.  Helen refused to testify, invoking her Fifth Amendment rights.  Naphtali was grilled in two public sessions, on June 10 and 19, 1953.  Earlier that year he had received a Fulbright scholarship to study ancient manuscripts in Florence, Italy.   But McCarthy was displeased with Helen's refusal to cooperate.

When Naphtali took the stand McCarthy announced "Dr. Lewis, we have just been notified by the State Department that your job in Italy has been canceled; that you are not being sent there.  I think that is an excellent idea."

In a written response, Lewis said in part "This inquisition, if it has its way, establishes a novel and singularly un-American principle; namely that before a man is permitted to pursue a career of research--even in ancient manuscripts--he must have the stamp of approval of a congressional subcommittee on himself and his family."

Dr. Naphtali Lewis would go on to become an internationally-recognized expert in papyrus manuscripts, an author of several important texts, and sought-after lecturer.   Helen, who also held a doctorate, was a distinguished psychologist and psychoanalyst.

In the meantime, in 1946 the doctor's office installed by John Block was eliminated and converted to an apartment.  The building now had one apartment per floor, as it does today.

No. 245's mirror image at the far end of the row wears a regrettable coat of lavender paint.

The 1901 row of handsome homes has suffered some abuse as the days of chambermaids and laundresses gave way to apartments and furnished rooms.  But No. 245, under its unnecessary coat of red paint, retains its fanciful charm and remarkable history.

photographs by the author

The 1901 "The Ackerly" Apartments - 241-243 West 101st Street

Henry Acker was a prolific developer and builder at the turn of the last century.  He focused much of his work in the Upper West Side.  In January 1901 he embarked on a new project--an upscale apartment house on 101st Street just west of Broadway.

He hired George Keister to design his building.  Somewhat overlooked today, Keister had designed several apartment buildings by now and was responsible for the exotic First Baptist Church at Broadway and 73rd Street.  His career would take a decided turn in 1904 when he designed the Yorkville Theatre.  Today he is best remembered for the string of theaters that followed.

 Construction of the seven-story apartment building (which Henry Acker unapologetically named after himself) was completed in less than ten months.  Well-to-do New Yorkers had accepted apartment living by now; but they expected that their flats include the luxuries of a private house without the bother of maintenance.   The $90,000 cost of construction--more than $2.6 million today--reflected Acker's understanding of his targeted residents.

Keister's brick and stone Beaux Arts style design looked little different from the scores of transient and residential hotels rising throughout the city.  The entrance was centered within the two-story base of rusticated stone.  It was adorned with carved panels below the flanking openings, blind cartouches that dripped fruit, and a tightly-packed carved garland pressed within entrance frame and a concave hood.  Directly above the doorway two swirling console brackets acted like bookends for a wavy stone ribbon that announced the building's name.

The Parisian motif was carried on throughout the facade with French-style iron balconettes, a handsome balustraded balcony at the third floor, an iron balcony at the sixth, and a mansard roof with shallow dormers.

Acker began advertising the apartments in October 1901.  Calling the building "magnificent," he described the architecture as "pure French Renaissance," and boasted of the expensive interior details.  The ad noted "entrance hall finished in imported marbles, with reception rooms furnished in the style of [the] building, at once creating a pleasing impression."  Acker had spared no expense and pointed out the "windows of delicately stained glass, especially designed for this building by Tiffany."

Each floor had two apartments of eight rooms with two baths.   "Each apartment is equal to a private house, 25 feet in width."  The list of amenities included a warmer in the butler's pantry, separate servants' bathroom, private storerooms elsewhere in the building, a manned elevator that operated all night, and "extra rooms for servants."  The building staff was uniformed (or "liveried" as the advertisements described it).  The parlors were "finished in Louis XVI style," while the dining rooms were paneled in "massive antique oak."

The sparse development in the immediate neighborhoods was evidenced by the ad's mention of the view over the Hudson and Palisades, a full two blocks away.   Rent ranged, depending on the floor, from $1,100 to $1,600 a year; nearly $3,900 a month for the highest rent in today's dollars.

Before industrial-looking 20th century fire escapes necessitated their removal, iron balconettes graced each of the second, third floor and top floor windows.  An iron balcony stretched the width of the building above the sixth floor cornice and lamp posts flanked the shallow stoop.  photo New-York Tribune, October 22, 1911 (copyright expired)

As intended, The Ackerly filled with respectable and moneyed residents.  Among the earliest was Francis Guy Saltonstall and his wife, the former Ella B. Hawkin.  His impressive American pedigree stretched back to the 17th century and included ancestors such as Gurdon Saltonstall the governor of the Colony of Connecticut from 1708 until his death in 1724, and Governor John Winthrop of the Massachusetts Bay Colony.

Saltonstall was 73 years old when The Ackerly was opened.  A broker for 40 years, he did not retire until 1903.  His wealth and respectability were evidenced by his acceptance into the severely exclusive Union Leaque Club in 1865, the second year of its existence.

Other residents prior to World War I were H. Frank Chase, a member of the American-Irish Historical Society; Ralph. J. F. Gerstle, vice president of the Dazie Manufacturing & Supply Co.; and architect Geroge Schwegler.  Two residents held the position of Commissioner of Deeds--Edgar Williams, appointed in 1905, and Harry Crone in 1915.

Harry was the son of Max and Sarah Crone.  Max was an executive with the Arbuckle Coffee Company.  Also living in the Crone apartment were son Edward and daughter Ethel.  The Crone family would remain in The Ackerly for years.  The family's comfortable financial position was evidenced in 1918 when Max purchased $5,000 in Liberty Bonds--an aid to the war effort worth about $80,000 today.

Things were going well for the Crone family in 1920.  Society columns reported on Ethel's engagement to Max Michel, president of the Monroe Clothing Company, in December and made note of her "at home" dates to receive well-wishers.  Her parents hosted a reception in the apartment on December 19.

Harry Crone had married, moved out, and was doing very well for himself by now.  A corporate lawyer with a degree from Columbia University, he and his wife, Edith, were living in White Plains, New York.  The couple came back to The Ackersly on April 7, 1922 for a family dinner hosted by Max and Sarah.  Also there that night were Ethel and Max, and Edward.  The event may have been sparked by the soon-to-be-announced engagement of Edward to Julia Goldberg.   The happy get-together would have a tragic ending.

When the party broke up, Ethel headed directly to Grand Central Terminal while Harry made a stop at the Bar Association to pick up some papers he needed for a trial.  When he did not arrive at the terminal by 11:00, Ethel waited nervously for half an hour.  Her anxiety increased when people passing by talked excitedly about a man being shot by bandits nearby.

Finally, after she ran into a friend from White Plains, the two women went to the East 51st Street police station. The New York Herald reported "At the police station she learned that the dead man was her husband."

Harry had been walking along 43rd Street between Madison and Fifth Avenues on the way to Grand Central.  A gunfight between police and "bandits" in an automobile broke out.  The Times reported "A pistol bullet lodged in his head and he fell unconscious."  A private automobile "capable of high speed" was flagged down and police had the chauffeur rush Crone to Bellevue Hospital."  The 41-year old attorney died a few minutes after arriving at the hospital.

Police telephoned the Crone apartment and Edward went to the police station to care for Ethel.  The New York Times wrote "The father and mother were prostrated at news of their son's sudden death."  The Ackerly apartment where the family had enjoyed a joyful dinner was the scene of Harry's funeral two days later.

Among the most celebrated of The Ackerly's residents were George S. Kaufman and Beatrice Bakrow, members of the famous Algonquin Round Table, a group of theatrical and literary figures that met daily at the Algonquin Hotel.  A playwright, director, screenwriter and essayist, Kaufman had moved into the building in 1903 after being fired from the Washington Times and moving to Manhattan.

He was making $36 a week as the backup drama critic for The New York Times in 1916 when he met Beatrice at a party given by his older sister, Ruth who had recently married.  George and Beatrice married in March 1917.  Behind the scenes theirs was a peculiar marriage.   Beatrice suffered a miscarriage shortly after the wedding and George never recovered from the trauma.  According to Kevin C. Fitzpatrick in his 2015 The Algonquin Round Table New York: A Historical Guide, "He couldn't bear to have a sexual relationship with his wife, and never did again.  From then on, they had an open marriage while maintaining the outward appearance of a normally married couple."

By the time they moved out around 1920, rents in The Ackerly had doubled to between $2,400 and $3,000.   The wealth of its residents was obvious when Isaac Dreyfus lost a piece of jewelry in 1922.   On October 13 he dropped a "platinum diamond barpin" somewhere along Broadway between 78th and 88th Streets.  He offered a $100 reward to the finder, a significant $1,430 by today's standards.

But the days of receptions and dinners within sprawling apartments would soon come to and end.  The Great Depression was not the only cause of The Ackerly's decline, although it was no doubt a contributing factor.  Apartment dwellers who could afford servants and upscale appointments looked to the modern Art Deco buildings on Park Avenue or Central Park West.  The Ackerly and other such Beaux Arts apartment houses had fallen out of favor.

One by one the grand apartments were broken up.  In the summer of 1933 three men--20-year old Henry Simon, 24-year old Walter Johnson and Max Adelstein, 23 years old--shared a furnished room in the building.  They exemplified the change that had taken place at The Ardsley.

On June 13 they broke into the Alfred Dunhill of London shop on Fifth Avenue at 43rd Street and made off with $25,000 in merchandise.  Police were close on their trail and the following day they were arrested as they were about to enter a cab in front of The Ackerly.  Simon was carrying a bag "containing all the Dunhill loot," reported The Times.

Henry Simon was already well-known to police and was out on probation on another burglary charge.  Investigators may have suspected him because of his diminutive proportions and the size of the opening used to get into the store.  The Times sub-headline read "Tiny Burglar is Captured With Loot" and the article noted "he is barely 5 feet tall and weighs 120 pounds."

Howard Rockney lived in the building at the time.  The author of 12 novels and many short stories, magazine articles and screenplays, he was down on his luck and living in a furnished room.  Separated from his wife, Ethel, who lived in Pennsylvania, he was found on the floor of his apartment on May 27, 1934.  The 47-year old had suffered a heart attack.  His right hand was, according to a newspaper, "clutching a copy of his last novel, 'Love, Honor and Deceive,'" which had just been published.

Where once there had been just two apartments, in 1948 The Ackersly had 16 single room occupancy rooms on each floor.  Sharing one of those rooms in 1950 were 22-year old actor Bruce Colt and his father, Philip Corvus.   The pair got into a serious disagreement during which Cole, a former marine, pummeled his father.  The police said he "struck him with lamp and his fists during an argument."  Corvus, 43-years old, died at the Knickerbocker Hospital on June 7, several days after the altercation.

Colt was arrested and charged with homicide.  But despite what seemed to be overwhelming evidence, a grand jury refused to indict him and the charges were dropped on June 28.

In 1960 the City Housing Authority initiated a program to seize and refurbish "deteriorating tenement houses in which desperately poor families are packed into squalid single rooms."  Owners, members of the United Rooming House Operators, Inc. challenged the city's rights in court.  Included was the owner of The Ackerly.  Their attorney contended "that the city should not condemn such tenements without first giving the owners a chance to make their own repairs."

The general manager of the Housing Authority, Gerald J. Carey, did not hold back in describing The Ackerly to Supreme Court Justice George M. Carney.  The New York Times, on May 5, 1960, reported "Mr. Carey described the tenement at 241 West 101st Street as 'a cancer in the area.'  During his career, he said, he had developed 'a pretty strong stomach, but I couldn't complete the inspection of this building."

The subsequent renovations, completed in 1962, resulted in four apartments on the first floor and six each above.  While the Louis XVI parlors and oak-paneled dining rooms are gone the way of the butler's pantries and servants' bathrooms, The Ackerly is once again a respectable apartment building.   And while the zig-zagging fire escapes obscure George Keister's French-inspired facade; the elaborate entrance announcing The Ackerly hints at its former glory.

photographs by the author