The Beleaguered 1856 Emanuel Augustus Thouron House - 46 West 36th St

 

photo by Ted Leather

On October 1, 1856 an advertisement appeared in the New York Herald titled "Houses On Murray Hill, Near Fifth Avenue."  It touted, "Just finished, and for sale, Nos. 42 and 46 West Thirty-sixth street, between Fifth and Sixth Avenues.  They are first class houses, with brown stone fronts, and built in the very best manner throughout."  Although just 16-feet-wide, they were, indeed, first class houses.  The block was filling with handsome residences as the fashionable tenor of Fifth Avenue spilled down the side streets.  No. 46 (which was most likely a twin to 42) was designed in the popular Italianate style.  A high brownstone stoop led to the entrance, and handsome Renaissance style pediments sat above the upper windows.

Surprisingly, the developer could not find a buyer for 46 West 36th Street.  A year later in September the advertisements were still appearing.  It seems he leased the house for two years, then tried again.  This time the advertisement was slightly reworded:

For Sale--The handsome four story brown stone English basement House 46 West Thirty-sixth street, Murray Hill.  The house is elegantly finished, frescoed throughout and ready for immediate occupancy.  A large amount of the purchase money may remain on mortgage.

A buyer was finally found in Emanuel Augustus Thouron and his wife, the former Hannah Neilson Borrowe.  The couple had been living at 68 Bond Street, once among the most fashionable streets in Manhattan, but now becoming severely commercialized.

Thouron was a well-respected merchant and a member of the Chamber of Commerce.  He and his brother, Elisha Henry, were partners in Thouron Brothers & Despres at 62 Reade Street and in Philadelphia.

The childless couple remained in the house through 1866, after which it was sold to John Wentworth and his wife Mary.  John was the principal in the furniture firm of Wentworth & Sons, which he ran with his two sons, Mitchell E. and Joseph W.  Joseph was living in New Jersey at the time, while Mitchell and his family moved into the house next door to his parents, at 44 West 36th Street.  

The wives of well-to-do businessmen were expected to involve themselves in a least one charitable organization.  Mary E. Wentworth's choice was the Morning Star Union Mission Sunday School.  Interestingly, it was an interdenominational institution, the New York Herald noting, "The officers and teachers are volunteers from the various churches."  Mary was in elevated company.   Heading the committee for a fund-raising fair in 1874 was Melissa Phelps Dodge, wife of millionaire William E. Dodge.

The uncomfortable commute from New Jersey to Wentworth & Sons at 109 Bowery may have proved too much for Joseph.  By the time of that fair, his parents had moved to 150 East 38th Street and Joseph and his family were living at 46 West 36th Street.  Presumably Joseph paid rent, since the title remained in John Wentworth's name.

By the late 1870's the once-fashionable block was becoming increasingly commercial.  Although Mitchell and his family remained at 44 West 36th Street several more years, in 1878 the Joseph Wentworth family left No. 46.  His parents leased lower floor rooms in the house to doctors.  It became a sort 19th century version of a medical building. 

Among the initial tenants were Dr. Pilcher and Dr. M. J. De Rosset.  The apparently busy De Rosset was, according to the American Journal of the Medical Sciences in 1878, "Ophthalmic Surgeon to Dispensary Holy Trinity, Assistant Surgeon New York Eye and Ear Infirmary, etc. etc."  Both physicians were published that year, Pilcher's "letter" on "Colles Fracture--Urethral Stricture and Diluting Urethrotomy--Obscure Abscess of the Liver, their Association with Hypochondria, &c." appeared in the North Carolina Medical Journal.

The 1890's saw the offices of Drs. Caleb J. Wood, Thomas M. Dillingham, Ernest W. Auzal, and Ellsworth Eliot, J. in the former house.  Dillingham was joined in his practice by Dr. Arthur G. Allan in 1895.  

Dr. Caleb J. Wood was in Madison Square park on November 18, 1891 when a woman named Addie Davis "held him in conversation," according to the New York Herald two weeks later.  He had no way of knowing that the woman was "one of the 'badger' girls of the East Twenty-sixth street gang."  While Addie had Dr. Wood distracted, Maggie Jones snatched his gold watch and chain.  The entire gang was arrested and brought before a judge on November 29.  Wood was there to identify his robbers.

Dr. Dillingham took on a heart-wrenching case on April 4, 1892.  For about a week Elizabeth Beale's friends "noticed she was depressed," according to The World.  The newspaper described the unmarried 48-year-old as belonging "to an old New York family and for a number of years [she] taught the higher branches to young women of wealthy families."  Dr. Dillingham prescribed a "much-needed rest," and called upon Rev. S. S. Seward, who invited Elizabeth to stay at his house on Lexington Avenue with his family for a while.  A professional nurse was engaged to watch over her.

The next night Elizabeth was "very excited" and "walked the floor until 4 o'clock...but was closely watched by the nurse."  Unable to get any sleep herself, the nurse began to prepare coffee at 6:00 on Wednesday morning while Elizabeth was in bed.  When she returned to Elizabeth's room, she found her 

gone.

She ran downstairs to a horrible discovery.  "A servant girl informed her that Miss Beale lay on the flagging outside."  Mrs. Seward, had heard the ghastly thump of Elizabeth's body hitting the stone paving of the areaway where it landed headfirst.  Dr. Dillingham was summoned, but he said that taking her to the hospital was "useless, as Miss Beale could live only a few hours."  She died at 9:00.

Dr. Dillingham appeared in court during the trial of Herman Clarke on November 12, 1894.  Clarke was a member of the stock brokerage firm of Hunter, Clarke & Jacob and had been arrested for forgery and falsifying the firm's books.  His embezzlement caused the firm to fail.  Dillingham testified that Clarke's actions were prompted by a drug addiction.  The Sun reported, "Dr. Dillingham said that he knew Clarke to be a user of drugs which made him entirely irresponsible mentally and morally."  He petitioned the judge to send Clarke to an asylum for the insane, rather than to a prison.  (It was the rather ineffective 19th century equivalent of a drug rehabilitation center.)  Dillingham's efforts were only partially successful.  Rather than send Clarke to State prison for five years, the judge sentenced him to two years and four months.

Around November 1, 1897, Dentist William Kenzel took an office here.  But, according to the other tenants, he "spent very little time there."  In fact, he would never see a patient in his new space.  His worried sister came to his office looking for him several times.  Kenzel checked into the Warwick Hotel on November 5 where his physical condition alarmed the staff.  The New York Herald reported that he was taken to New York  Hospital that afternoon.  His condition worsened and he was transferred to Bellevue Hospital.  Three days later the New York Herald he was "dangerously ill with phthisis," known today as pulmonary tuberculosis.

While physicians and dentists operated from the basement and parlor floors, the top two were rented as upscale bachelor apartments.  Ironically, given the nature of the building's professional tenants, among the residents in 1899 was 19-year-old Henry Caney, a Christian Scientist.  Described by the New York Journal and Advertiser as "well dressed and of good appearance," on August 17 Caney "was found in Fifth avenue near Fortieth street...uttering injunctions to a number of persons and a policeman about the ethics and physics of Christian Science."

Caney was incoherent and a crowd began to collect around him.  When a policeman arrived, according to The New York Times, a "handsomely dressed girl" told him, "He's ill.  Why don't you call an ambulance?"

The comment caught Caney's attention.  "Ill, madam?  No, indeed.  I am never ill.  Nor are you ever ill, Madam.  If you think you are ill all you have to do  is to pray, and you will be cured.  Just pray."

Canney was, however, ill.  He was taken to New York Hospital where he was diagnosed with epilepsy.  He was given medicine, which he surprisingly took, and then the attending doctor accompanied him home.  Equally surprisingly, The New York Times reported, "At 46 West Thirty-sixth Street last night the servant refused to admit callers, saying that Henry Caney was ill."

Living on the top floor in 1901 was Julian Potter.  The Morning Telegraph explained, "Mr. Potter is a nephew of Bishop [Henry C.] Potter and lives at 46 West thirty-sixth street, a fashionable neighborhood."  Potter, said the newspaper on May 18, "loves to burn the midnight oil and linger over his favorite magazines.  His aversion to early rising is equally pronounced."  But the continuing changes in the "fashionable neighborhood" were disturbing Potter's routine.  Behind the house, on West 35th Street, a new commercial building was being constructed.

Potter went to the West 30th Street police station on May 17, 1901, telling the desk sergeant, "These men come there early in the morning and wake me up with the noise they make.  Why, they come right under my window, in the rear of my house, where they are leveling a building.  Really, I am nearly dead for sleep."

His complaints went further.  "At night these workmen keep a bonfire going continually.  The glare is reflected on my bedroom windows and this keeps me awake all night."  Sergeant Norton promised Potter "he would do all in his power as a police official to remedy the evil."  In the meantime, a journalist went to 46 West 36th Street to ask the landlady "as to Mr. Potter's means of livelihood."  She replied, "He is a gentleman of leisure, sir."

In 1914 the Wentworth estate sold house to the Collingwood Realty Co. for $55,000--just over $1.5 million in today's money.  The firm hired architect Adolph Mertin to alter the building "into store and residence purposes," reported the Real Estate Record & Builders' Guide on February 26, 1915.

Mertin removed the stoop and installed a two-story storefront that projected forward to the property line.  Faced in gray brick, its no-nonsense design was vaguely Arts & Crafts in style.  The facade of the two upper floors, which now held furnished rooms, was left unscathed.

photo by Ted Leather

The commercial spaces were home to a variety of small businesses, like the Select Hat Frame Co. which moved in during the summer of 1922.  

The Millinery Trade Review, July, 1922

Living in one of the rooms on the third floor that year was 32-year-old Marc Connelly, who had reportedly begun writing plays at the age of five.  In 1921 he had teamed up with the drama critic for The New York Times, George S. Kaufman, to write comedies, two of which were staged in 1922: To the Ladies and Merton of the Movies.  Connelly was a member of the famed Algonquin Round Table and would receive the Pulitzer Prize for his 1930 drama The Green Pastures.

Moving into a fourth floor room in 1922 was 20-year-old Ellen Miriam Hopkins, who had come to New York with her sister Ruby and was working as a chorus girl, sometimes getting small parts in plays.  According to Allan R. Ellenberger in his Miriam Hopkins, Life and Films of a Hollywood Rebel, "She moved into a boarding house at 46 West Thirty-Sixth Street, a small dark cell on the fourth floor that delighted her because it was utterly shabby.  Struggling artists and authors lived there."

Like Marc Connelly, Miriam Hopkins would rise far higher than her humble start.  She landed a role in the 1926 staging of An American Tragedy, and by 1933 was a leading lady, starring in the Broadway production of Jezebel.   By then she had been on contract with Paramount Pictures for three years.

Little changed to the building for half a century as soaring office towers rose around it.  A renovation completed in 1970 resulted in a restaurant on the ground floor, offices on the second and third, and two apartments on the fourth, a configuration that lasts today.

photo by Ted Leather

Squeezed in between modern structures, the former Thouron house looks sadly beleaguered.  Yet a hint of its once-proud history is evident on the upper two floors.

Many thanks to reader Ted Leather for suggesting this post

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The 1916 Barbour House -- No. 322 W 36th Street

The fashionable Brick Presbyterian Church had a tradition of helping the poor.  In the 19^th century it established a Sunday school in the wretched Hell’s Kitchen neighborhood which, in 1888, became Christ Church.   In 1905 Brick Church erected a new church building on West 36^th Street with an adjoining parish house that provided the tenement dwellers recreation and, more importantly, instruction in sewing, carpentry, and other areas that would help to improve their lives.

On the opposite side of the church building at No. 322 West 36^th Street was a tenement building.   Apparently to save rent, at least in once instance several unrelated people shared a single apartment.  The lifestyles of the struggling residents was evidenced here on November 15, 1914 when Alexander Evanoff, a Bulgarian immigrant, showed up at the door of that flat.

Evanoff had shared the apartment with Rosie King and her sister, Mary Kenniker, and an Italian Rocco Postorino.  When he left, his place was taken by a Greek immigrant, Mickle Stronnglous.  Somewhat smitten with Rosie King, Evanoff now envisioned the Greek as a rival for her affections.

The following morning The New York Times reported “Sounds of quarreling, followed by four pistol shots, brought the people of the tenement at 332 West Thirty-six Street to their doors at 6 o’clock last night in time to see a man dash downstairs from the third floor, brandishing a revolver.”

The man was Alexander Evanoff and as he bolted down the stairs, men and boys from the tenement ran after him.  By the time he reached Ninth Avenue “a small army was at his heels.”  He turned the corner towards 35^th Street where “he was downed by Policeman Allen of the West Thirty-seventh Street Station.”

Back at the overcrowded apartment, Mickle Stronnglous lay dead on the floor with a bullet wound in the head.  Rocco Postorino was bleeding from the wrist and the two terrified women cowered in another room.

They were able to tell police that Evanoff stood in the doorway and fired directly at Stronnglous.  As he fell to the floor the Bulgarian aimed at the two women; but Postorino grabbed his arm and the shot went wild.  As the two men grappled on the floor, Rosie and Mary fled screaming into another room.  “For more than a minute the two men wrestled.  Then Evanoff succeeded in tearing himself free, but not until two more shots had been fired, one bullet wounding Postorino in the wrist, the other piercing Evanoff in the hand.”

Evanoff denied that he had started the fight.  He said he was out of work and stopped by to borrow money.  He insisted the others had opened fire on him the moment he entered the room.  Police were not so sure.  He was held on murder charges.

At the time another social problem concerned New Yorkers—that of safe and respectable housing for single working girls.  The West 36^th Street neighborhood was not far from the developing retail area of Herald Square where massive stores like Gimbels and Macy’s hired hundreds of “shop girls.”   With the opening of Pennsylvania Station two blocks to the south of Christ Church in 1910, businesses flooded the area.  Every unmarried girl who moved to New York for a job needed a place to stay.  But meager wages made finding respectable housing difficult.  The solution was the hotel for working girls.

William Sloane Coffin controlled the properties at Nos. 330 and 332 West 36^th Street in December 1915 when The Real Estate Record & Builders’ Guide reported that Christ Church intended to erect a “7-story dormitory” on the site.  The projected $95,000 project was to be designed by Hill & Stout.

Frederick P. Hill and Edmund C. Stout had recently completed the skinny Gothic-inspired office building at No. 299 Madison Avenue, and the triangular German-American Insurance Co. building on Liberty Street.  For the “Barbour Dormitory” they would again turn to the Gothic motif, handsomely blending with the Christ Church and Parish House next door.

A month after the announcement, on January 17, 1916, the Brick Church announced that “Nearly the entire $150,000 Barbour Memorial Fund has been subscribed.  It is for the erection of a dormitory on the west side.”   The figure would translate to about $3.25 million today.

The working girl hotel would be named in memory of William D. Barbour who, as recorded in the 1943 Brick Church History “for over fifty years was the teacher and devoted friend of the children of the West Side.” 

The book would remind its readers that Barbour House (as it was quickly renamed) was erected “through the enthusiasm of William Sloane Coffin.”  Indeed, on August 23, 1916 The Times reported that Coffin had “conveyed as a gift to the corporation of Brick Presbyterian Church title in the two properties at 330 and 332 West Thirty-sixth Street.”

On January 23, 1916 The New York Times reported “One of the most interesting and what will doubtless prove to be one of the most beneficial improvements in the rapidly growing industrial centre immediately adjacent to the Pennsylvania Station is the home for wage-earning girls now under construction…in the centre of the biggest retail district in the country.”

The design of the Barbour House complimented Christ Church, center, and the parish house to the right -- The New York Times, January 23, 1916 (copyright expired)

The newspaper pointed out the lack of housing for the enormous population of working girls in the area.  William S. Coffin further explained “A large number of employes of these stores and lofts are girls whose wages range from $6 a week up.  Now, if a girl can walk to her work six days a week instead of taking a car, this is equal to an increase of 10 percent in her wages.  If one hour each day in the subway be counted as a working hour, which it certainly it, living near the store makes an eight-hour instead of a nine-hour day.  A dormitory for these girls is certainly one of the greatest needs of the district.”

A balcony over the entrance was planted with shrubs -- Architecture & Building  April 1917 (copyright expired)

The Times described the “attractive” façade as “of red brick and white terra cotta, relieved by an artistic balcony for flowering plants over the main entrance.  It will be seven stories in height with a roof garden.”

The term “dormitory” was perhaps more appropriate than “hotel.”  The architects lined up single rooms—most of them 7.5 by 12 feet--to accommodate 120 regular female lodgers.  But life in the building was not intended to be Spartan.  In the basement was a large kitchen and a “clubroom” for entertainments.  The main floor contained a large entrance hall, two reception rooms “where young men and other visitors may be put at ease,” and a large lounge with an open fire place.  The main dining room, also on this floor, could accommodate 130 at a time.  The Times mentioned that the dining room “will be one of the great features of the building, for it is intended to establish a girls’ lunch club which will be restricted under certain conditions for the benefit of girls working in the neighborhood.”

A lunch club would further reduce the girls’ expenses.

Rooms lined up along the hallways with a central communal restroom in the center -- http://nyre.cul.columbia.edu/images/view/60546

All six of the upper floors were relegated to sleeping rooms; along with scattered trunk rooms.  On the roof was a glass-enclosed conservatory and an open roof section.

Girls staying at the Barbour House could expect to pay $4.75 a week on average.  Considering that most of them made about $6 a week, they would still be strapped for spending money.

Two years after the building opened, New-York Tribune writer Elene Foster made a tour of working girl hotels.    She wrote on January 20, 1918 “It’s a problem which dates back to the time that the first shy little country maid descended from the old Bouwerie stagecoach, carpet bag in hand, to seek her fortune in the great city—this problem of the housing of the working girl!”  Foster said that while times and girls had changed, “the problem is there just the same…the problem of the safe and proper housing of the thousands and thousands of young women who come each year to live and work in the  biggest city in the world.”

Foster started out at the Barbour House “one of the newest and most attractive of the organized houses for girls, over in West Thirty-sixth Street.  The applicant with whom I went was a salesgirl in a department store, earning $10 per week.  She had been ill in the hospital for several weeks, and she had her doctor’s bill still to pay, so that she couldn’t afford to pay $6 per week for her room and two meals (breakfast and dinner) in the boarding house where she was living.”

So the girl was desperate to find a room in the Barbour House.  Foster recounted the girl’s description of the place, including her vernacular and less-than-refined diction.

“I’m just crazy to get into Barbour House.  I’ve got lots of friends there.  It’s perfectly elegant.  They treat you white, too; course they have rules, but ain’t what you’d call ‘nosey’ about your affairs so long as they know you’re respectable.  And they don’t mind your gentleman friend comin’ to see you neither.  They’ve got reg-lar ‘Beau Parlors’ fixed up real class, where you can see him without a lot of other girls buttin in.”

Apparently the reporter showed confusion for the girl continued, “You ain’t never heard of a ‘Beau Parlor’?  Some call ‘em ‘spoon-holders.’  All the new houses have them.  Wait till you see them.  They’re grand!”

Foster agreed that the Barbour House was “perfectly elegant.”  She described the long reception room with chintz draperies and “big chintz covered chairs, books and lamps and a hue fireplace with a broad leather covered fender.”  The reporter was impressed that there was nothing “institutional” about the hotel.

The women rode the elevator to look at the vacant room.  “It was a large room, with two big windows hung with white curtains, and in it were three comfortable cots with brown covers, three chests of drawers with mirrors, three rocking chairs, and along one side three clothes closets fitted with poles and hangers, and with doors that could be locked.  The applicant’s face fell when she saw the three cots.”

The girl had hoped for a single room rather than a shared one.  But by sharing she would be paying only $3.75 a week including breakfast and dinner.   In the basement the women were shown the laundry, “a room equipped with ironing boards, electric irons and a row of porcelain tubs.”   For the use of the room girls paid 5 cents an hour.

Next came a trip to the sun parlor on the roof where girls could seek relief on hot summer nights.  “Here were wicker chairs with bright cushions, tall, shaded lamps and gate-legged tables and a phonograph.  A conservatory with tropical plants and a big tank of goldfish opened from this sun parlor.”  Also on the roof was a kitchenette where girls could make tea or light meals.

Adding to the attraction of Barbour House at the time were the dances for sailors hosted every Wednesday night by Christ Church next door.  Sailors, either returning from war or headed overseas, were told they “may bring their dancing partners with them or attend singly and be introduced to some of the girls of the neighborhood who will be there.”

There is little doubt that a great number of the “girls of the neighborhood” walked over from the Barbour House.

Girls who could barely make rent could definitely not afford to spend money on vacations; but in 1922 the Barbour House leased a summer house at Far Rockaway, Long Island, for the girls.  On October 10 the girls opened a two-day bazaar in the building “to raise funds to replenish the sums spend for their summer house,” reported The Times.

The residents need not have collected huge amounts, however.  The congregation of Brick Church was wealthy and Brick Church History mentioned “The gifts and contributions of the people rose to unprecedented figures.  Until the depression of 1929, the annual budget was in the neighborhood of $130,000, the larger proportion being devoted to missions and benevolences.”  A significant supporter of the hotel was the wealthy and unmarried Eleanor Cuyler.  Not only did she single-handedly pay the salary of a foreign missionary, but she was nicknamed by Brick Church members “the fairy godmother of Barbour House.”

The Depression obviously worsened the lot of working girls, many of whom lost their jobs.   The Association to Promote Proper Housing for Girls opened its two-day conference at the Hotel Pennsylvania on November 18, 1930.  The organization intended to address “problems of unemployment among girls, consideration of mental adjustments in the allocation of positions, and the social trends of modern times.”   The first night’s session was an oratorical contest in which girls spoke on “What I Know of Unemployment.” 

Barbour House did well for itself.  Resident Dorothy Barry received the first prize, a gold medal; and the House received a silver cup “which will become the permanent property of the club whose representatives attain first place for three years,” reported The Times.

Interestingly, unlike most hotels for women, Barbour House accepted older single women as well.  Former European opera singer Marie Van Gelder was 55-years old when she checked into the House in July 1935 with her two sisters.  A native of The Netherlands, Marie was a naturalized American citizen.

Marie Van Gelder now made her living as a private vocal coach.  She sprang from a musical family—her father Gerardus M. Van Gelder was a prominent Dutch musicial and her brother, Dr. Martius Van Gelder, was a pianist, violinist and composer living in Philadelphia.   Marie had been first dramatic soprano at the Royal Opera House in Amsterdam, and sang with the Berne, Zurich and Metz opera houses.  She gave command concerts for Queen Wilhelmina and Kaiser Wilhelm II; and wrote the book Artistic Singing.

On October 13, three months after she moved into the Barbour House, Marie Van Gelder attended the 11:00 mass at St. Patrick’s Cathedral.  She was seated in a pew about half-way toward the front and just as Rev. T. Lester Graham started to preach, she collapsed.  Ushers carried the women to the vestibule where she died 10 minutes later of a heart attack.

In July 1943 the Brick Presbyterian Church sold Barbour House to Benjamin Winter.  In reporting the sale The New York Times noted that the building “provides living quarters for working women of modest income.  It contains 100 rooms and will continue under its present management.”

The new owner made one major change.  As noted in Brick Church History it now “extended its privileges to young men also.”  The book admitted however “It still renders a most important service in providing a home-like atmosphere for young people whom study or business has brought to the city.”

Changes in society more than neighborhood eliminated the need for hotels like the Barbour House.  Surrounded by Garment Center factory buildings on a still-gritty street, Barbour House became the Barbour Hotel when it was taken over by Praxis Housing Initiatives in the late 20th century.  Under contract with the city’s Division of AIDS Services and Income Support, the “transitional housing facility” serves people with HIV/AIDS.   According to its website, the hotel “provides services on site, including harm reduction, counseling, and programs for substance abusers and the mentally ill.”

In 2015 plans to demolish Christ Church and its parish house were announced.  When the high-rise hotel is completed on the site, The Barbour house will be the lone survivor of the charming Gothic Revival complex.

photographs by the author

The 1905 Christ Church Bldgs-- 344 W. 36th Street

Grimy and mostly overlooked, the stately Gothic complex is slated for demolition -- photo by Beyond My Ken

In 1900 Rev. Dr. Maltbie Daveport Babcock was brought as pastor to Manhattan’s fashionable Brick Presbyterian Church.   Babcock was well known for his stirring oratorical powers and outstanding intellect.  His wide-ranging talents included music and he composed several hymns including the popular “This Is My Father’s World.”   His popularity was reflected not only in packed pews, but in his salary of $30,000—about $860,000 today.

photo "The Critic: An Illustrated Monthly Review of Literature, Art and Life" (1901, copyright expired)

Babcock may have preached to Manhattan’s wealthiest citizens; but he was intensely interested in the plights of the less fortunate.  Some attributed his death at the age of 42 just a year later, on May 18, 1901, to overwork.

Soon after Babcock’s death an anonymous donor presented Brick Church with a gift of $50,000 for a memorial “whatever might be decided on.”   The congregation decided to further Babock’s work by erecting a church and  parish house in the impoverished Hell’s Kitchen area.

The Church had decades earlier established a Sunday school on West 35^th Street to minister to the area.  It grew into Christ Church and in 1888 became an independent church.  By now, however, the church and facility were inadequate.  Brick Presbyterian Church members soon amassed $250,000 to start construction of the new Christ Presbyterian Church, Babcock Memorial.

On May 4, 1903 The New York Times reported that the site had been established—“in Thirty-sixth Street, between Eighth and Ninth Avenues.”  The paper added “Title to the site is to be taken in July.”

A competition resulted in architects Parish & Schroeder receiving the commission to design the buildings in December 1903.  Although a sketch was released that month, plans would not be filed until May 14, 1904.  The Real Estate Record & Builders’ Guide reported that the site would cover “Nos. 334 to 344 West 36^th st, and to be known as the Christ Church Memorial Buildings.”  

The architects dealt with the long but comparatively shallow building plot by placing the church building sideways.  “The edifice will measure 75 feet in height, with a façade of granite and brick with Indiana limestone trimmings.  The second-story plans call for a large gallery, with a library arrangement.  The parish house will harmonize with the general Gothic style of the church and will contain a 2-sty Sunday school hall, a gymnasium, club rooms for girls and boys, and a roof garden adjoining," said The Guide.

The architects released a sketch in December 1903 The Architectural Review, Dec. 1906 (copyright expired)

What might have appeared as amenities—the library and gymnasium, for instance—were necessary in the church’s outreach to the crime-ridden and impoverished community.  Christ Church, even before the first brick was laid, intended to educate its neighbors and provide training and recreation for the youth who faced the temptations of vice at every corner.

The cornerstone was laid on October 26, 1904 and the Rev. Dr. Henry Van Dyke of Princeton University made the differences between Fifth Avenue and Hell’s Kitchen churches quite clear.  The Epworth Herald said “A strong word was uttered by Dr. Henry van Dyke at the laying of the corner store of the Christ Church memorial buildings in New York the other day.”

Van Dyke told the crowd that we need “churches that can get close to the life of the people; churches that will know how to help a man when he gets into difficulties without making a botch of the matter; churches that understand how the people live; churches that are neither side tables for poor relations, nor mere gloomy praying closets; churches that can assist a man to round out his life splendidly.”

The $350,000 project, including land, opened on October 27, 1905.  The Christian Work and Evangelist said “The architecture is simple English Gothic, and an innovation in Presbyterian churches has been introduced in the arrangement for the ministry and choir.  Altogether the arrangement is like that in an Episcopal church.  The choir of men and women wear long black gowns and enter in procession.”

The Parish House, right, appeared to be part of the church, the entrance to which is at the far left.  photo by Byron Company from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York http://collections.mcny.org/C.aspx?VP3=SearchResult&VBID=24UP1GIU4Q17&SMLS=1&RW=1280&RH=894

The parish house was L-shaped, wrapping behind the church which was “architecturally the most important feature,” according to The Brickbuilder.   The parish house included a “men’s club” with a bowling alley in the basement.  Upstairs were a Sunday school hall, about 100 feet by 50 feet and capable of seating 1,000, six Bible-class rooms and two large galleries that seated 200 children each (these were used for infants and the “intermediate” departments).  The Sunday school floor included the large library.

The girls’ club rooms were on the fourth floor, as were children’s or kindergarten rooms, the two-story gymnasium with lockers and baths, and quarters for workers who lived in the building.

The gymnasium provided a space for recreation.  Here basketball players share the floor with a band while onlookers gather on the gallery.  photo by Byron Company from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York http://collections.mcny.org/C.aspx?VP3=SearchResult&VBID=24UP1GIU4Q17&SMLS=1&RW=1280&RH=894

The interior of the church reflected its no-nonsense mission.  Nearly Spartan, its stucco-covered walls relied almost entirely on the northern stained glass windows for decoration.  The Journal of Presbyterian History said “The church is kept for worship.  It has a simple and stately interior, with plain brick walls.”

The interior of the church proper was modestly decorated -- The Brickbuilder, December 1906 (copyright expired)

The Journal added, “The Christ Church Buildings are surrounded for the most part by the homes of people of most modest means.  Some of them are very poor.  It was to minister to these that the institutional work was started in connection with the church when it was in the old building on Thirty-fifth Street.”

Men relieved workday stress by a game of bowling in the basement -- photo by Byron Company from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York http://collections.mcny.org/C.aspx?VP3=SearchResult&VBID=24UP1GIU4Q17&SMLS=1&RW=1280&RH=894

At the time of the opening of Christ Church the city was terrorized by tuberculosis—especially in the crowded and filthy tenement districts like Hell’s Kitchen.   Among the church’s first efforts was the establishment of Tuberculosis Classes.  Dr. Walter L. Niles reported on the classes to the National Tuberculosis Association in 1906.  Explaining that the church was “in the heart of the crowded west-side tenement district, where the population is largely German and Irish,” he said “All of our original patients lived in the immediate vicinity of the church, and we have since restricted the membership to within a radius of about one-half mile.”

Niles and his staff tried to educate the community on the need for fresh air; but they were frustrated with the inability of the ill-educated residents to grasp their concepts.  “Most of our members have been comparatively ignorant, one or two stupid, and all have been very poor, requiring considerable financial aid in every instance.  We not only direct them what to get and what to do, but see that they have and do everything necessary.”

Classes were not merely for the children.  Here women participate in a sewing class.  photo by Byron Company from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York http://collections.mcny.org/C.aspx?VP3=SearchResult&VBID=24UP1GIU4Q17&SMLS=1&RW=1280&RH=894

Christ Church also operated the Sick Children’s Aid Society and was highly involved with the Fresh Air Fund.  The Fund collected donated money which enabled tenement children to spend time in the country during summer months.  Dr. John Bancroft Devine managed the Fund in 1910 and meetings of “missionaries, settlement workers, hospital nurses and visitors for charitable agencies,” met at the Parish House, as described by the New-York Tribune.

That year 26-year old Rev. Norman Metton Thomas was assistant pastor of the Brick Presbyterian Church; but he was more interested in the Hell’s Kitchen residents than his Fifth Avenue congregation.  The New York Times on September 2 said he “has always been identified with charity work” and “his work for the Summer Garden, at the foot of Thirty-fourth Street, endeared him to the people of the district.” 

Thomas was slated to move to Christ Church as assistant pastor in 1911.  But before that happened he married Frances Violet Stewart on September 1, 1910.  The young woman lived in the fine residence of her parents at No. 27 East 38^th Street but had spent much of her time in the slums, working with Rev. Thomas.   The Times noted that she “has often helped him in his work, and besides taking charge of the Sunday school has financially helped the church work.  She has been known as ‘the Angel of Hell’s Kitchen,’ and is much beloved by those in the poor districts for her untiring devotion.”

The bride would give up her fashionable address for the tenement district.  “Mr. and Mrs. Thomas will make their home at 351 West Forty-second Street, which is in the district of Mr. Thomas’s work,” said the newspaper.

The church offered classes to improve the lots of the impoverished community.  Top: Girls are instructed in the art of cooking.  Middle:  Boys learn carpentry.  Bottom:  girls clustered on pews bend over their needlework.  photos by Byron Company from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York http://collections.mcny.org/C.aspx?VP3=SearchResult&VBID=24UP1GIU4Q17&SMLS=1&RW=1280&RH=894

By 1915, with Europe gripped by world war, the Mayor’s Workshop was established in the Parish House.  “Several hundred men are employed at this place making bandages for the American Red Cross,” reported The Times on March 7.  “The pay for this work is 50 cents a day” and the men were given a free lunch.

But George McAneny, President of the Board of Aldermen, had an innovative idea.  He personally knew a few hotel and restaurant managers and convinced them to donate soup.  Suddenly what we would today term “celebrity chefs” were preparing meals for the poor.  By the time the program got off the ground chefs from high-end hotel restaurants like the Waldorf-Astoria, Holland House, and Ritz-Carolton were involved.

The Times remarked that the men working at Christ Church Parish House “are given a meal at noon, and now, as a result of the aid given by the hotels and restaurants, those that have families bring pails and carry them home at night filled with steaming soup.”

The kindergarten class poses with the teachers in 1908 -- photo by Byron Company from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York http://collections.mcny.org/C.aspx?VP3=SearchResult&VBID=24UP1GIU4Q17&SMLS=1&RW=1280&RH=894

Somewhat surprisingly, a performance of King Lear was staged in the Parish House on April 25, 1916.  How many tenement dwellers showed up for the Shakespearean production is unclear; however it was the foreshadowing of drama in the building in years to come.

When the United States entered World War I the focus of Christ Church turned from the making of bandages to the accommodation of soldiers and sailors.  On July 29, 1917 The Sun reported that “Special dances for sailors are to be given every Wednesday night in the auditorium of Christ Church.”  Laura Johnson Moore who ran the program “said the sailors may bring their dancing partners with them or attend singly and be introduced to some of the girls of the neighborhood who will be there.”

The newspaper pointed out the success of the dances.  “Heretofore dances to which the sailors have been specially invited have been held on Thursday, but the crowds were so great it was found necessary to give the sailor boys a special exclusive night.”

In December the following year New York braced for the arrival of 15,000 military men on leave in for the holidays.  Christ Church opened its doors to provide sleeping arrangements for some of them.

Even worse than the war in terms of fatalities was the 1918 influenza pandemic that broke out just a month later.  An estimated 50 to 100 million people died worldwide.  As it had done since 1905, Christ Church offered what assistance it could.  On October 21, 1918 the New-York Tribune reported that the Christ Church House had been made a relief station “where any person needing help may obtain it.”  The station was overseen by the Emergency Advisory Committee of the Health Commission.

Christ Church’s outreach continued as times changed.  In 1932 the Maternal Aid Association opened in the building.  By now the city’s Garment District had engulfed the area and the buildings of Christ Church were surrounded by fewer tenements and more garment factory buildings.  In 1935 Christ Church became the strike headquarters of the Ladies’ Apparel Shipping Clerks Union.  Thousands of strikers assembled here on August 27, 1935 to parade through the garment district.  Instead, they had to give up their plans when police refused to grant a permit fearing “possible disorder.” 

Nevertheless, the women (who demanded “a thirty-five hour, five-day week with time and a half for over-time, six legal holidays, equal distribution of work in the dull season, a closed shop and a minimum wage ranging from $23 to $40 a week, as against the present reported average wage of $15 a week”) crippled the industry for days.

The church’s affiliation with labor continued and in 1939 it was the meeting place for the American Labor Party Women’s Division.

A new Manhattan congregation, the Greek Evangelical Church, was established in October 1946 and shared the building with Christ Church.   Then, in 1950, signs of change appeared.  On May 6 The New York Times noted “The Circle Theatre company will offer a fourteen-week season of centrally staged presentations in the Christ Memorial Church building, 344 West Thirty-sixth Street, beginning July 17.”

What at first seemed like a temporary arrangement was not.  Three weeks later the newspaper noted “The construction of the Circle Theatre’s theatre-in-the-round is scheduled to begin today at 344 West Thirty-sixth Street, the gymnasium of Christ Memorial Church, which is being converted into the new playhouse.”

The theater opened with a combination of Moliere’s The Physician in Spite of Himself and The Man Who Married a Dumb Wife.  It was the beginning of a decades-long residency.  The church would hold on until 1970.

In 1975 the Christ Church Memorial buildings were taken over by the Postgraduate Center for Mental Health.  The facility, staffed by social workers and psychologists, offered clinical services to both children and adults.   Outwardly, the Gothic structure was grime covered and dreary.

Then in 2014 the complex was sold to Sam Chang’s McSam Hotel Group for $50.75 million.  Chang immediately made his intentions for the property known, saying through a representative “it is well-positioned for hotel or residential conversion.”

By January 2015 the choice was made.  Parish & Schroeder’s Gothic memorial buildings, where impoverished Hell’s Kitchen residents were helped for decades, was slated for demolition to be replaced with a hotel.

many thanks to Elissa Desani for requesting this post

The Ludwig Baumann Bldg -- Nos. 260-266 West 36th St

The soaring structure was merely an annex to the block-long furniture store around the corner.

Ludwig Baumann arrived in New York City from Bohemia while still a very young man.  He got a job as a clerk in a grocery store; then established his own grocery store at 34^th Street and Third Avenue. 

1862 was a risky year to venture into an unknown endeavor.  The Civil War was only months old and the entire nation was in upheaval.  Nevertheless Baumann joined his brother, Albert, in the furniture business, creating Ludwig Baumann & Company.  Starting out in a small store, just 25 by 50 feet in area, the brothers managed to slowly prosper.

Around 1877 they made a dicey move.   Upscale furniture showrooms would establish themselves on 23^rd Street at the northern fringe of the retail district known as the Ladies’ Mile.  But, prompted by their newly-hired junior partner, David Froehlich, Ludwig Baumann & Company procured properties at Nos. 512 and 514 Eighth Avenue in the block between 35^th and 36^th Streets.  The new store was far to the north of the shopping district.

In the 20^th century the neighborhood would become home to Manhattan’s Garment Center.  But for now its streets were lined with brick or brownstone-fronted rowhouses.  The furniture dealer elbowed in among the houses, selling affordable furniture to middle-class families.

David Froehlich revolutionized furniture sales -- New-York Tribune, November 21, 1897 (copyright expired)

Froehlich was ambitious, aggressive, and a visionary.  The New-York Tribune would later call him “the leading spirit of the firm of Ludwig Baumann & Company.”  One-by-one the company absorbed the brownstone structures around it, within a decade, it had consumed the entire block front.  Froehlich’s ground-breaking business strategies were responsible for the extraordinary growth.

He devised the unheard of installment plan and instituted mail order for the firm.  On February 2, 1896, while the country was still reeling from the Financial Panic of 1893, the New-York Tribune remarked that the depression had little or no effect on Ludwig Baumann & Company.  “The credit for this uncommonly successful growth from small beginnings is largely due to the energy and keen business sense of David Froehlich, the junior member of the firm…With him originated the credit system upon which much of the firm’s business is done.  Under this system of payment in small installments many people furnish their homes comfortably and cosily, who without it would be unable to do so.”

The newspaper noted that many retail firms were laying off their staff.  But, “Ludwig Baumann & Co. has no such experience.  On the contrary, its sales show a marked increase, and instead of discharging numbers of salesmen, this large firm of household providers has been compelled to employ new ones.”

As a matter of fact, Ludwig Baumann & Company had, by now, turned the corner onto West 36^th Street and a year earlier, filed plans for a modern, eight-story annex at Nos. 260 to 266 West 35^th Street.  On November 23, 1895 the Real Estate Record & Builders’ Guide reported that architect Albert Wagner had designed the building, “Renaissance in treatment,” with a “Tiffany brick, iron and Indiana limestone front.”  The cost was projected at $175,000—a staggering $4.7 million by today’s measure.

Wagner included all the modern conveniences: two passenger and one freight elevator, steam heat, a pneumatic tube system, and “sanitary plumbing” that included “tiled toilet rooms.”  Because electricity was still only marginally reliable, plans called for “combination gas and electric light fixtures.”

As the building rose, Ludwig Baumann & Company offered the latest in Victorian furniture styles around the corner.  The New-York Tribune noted in February 1896, “Perhaps the most popular of the spring goods already arrived, however, are the cradles.  These are manufactured from various woods, are tastefully made in every particular, and are sold at the low price of 75 cents apiece.”

 By the time the annex on West 35^th Street was completed in November 1897 it had grown to 10 floors. In describing the “magnificent new structure” the New-York Tribune, on November 21, was less taken by the architecture than by the construction.  It mentioned the steel framing and steel beams supporting the floors; the waterproofed sub-basement that assured “a perfectly dry floor, excluding all dampness from the building; and the light and power plant in the basement that supplied electricity to not only the annex, but the entire row of buildings on Eighth Avenue.

An 1897 sketch showed the new building (far left) and the string of 8th Avenue structures that made up the mammoth store -- New-York Tribune, November 21, 1897 (copyright expired)

Wagner’s façade was, nevertheless, worth note.  His tripartite design included a two-story base with large show windows separated by piers of rough-cut blocks.  The Tribune noted “The show-windows are brilliantly illuminated by a multitude of incandescent lamps imbedded in the ceiling, producing a gorgeous effect.”  The four-story middle section was comprised of three sets of angled bays nestled within soaring arches; while the brick-faced uppermost section was more delicate.  Here three sets of narrow three-story arches were grouped in threes and separated by simple brick piers.

The cornice has sadly been lost, leaving a blank scar.

The grand opening was held on November 20, 1897.  “Suffice it to say that everything conceivable in the household furnishing line will be found on its floors,” promised the New-York Tribune.   The old conglomeration of buildings on the Eight Avenue side (which were connected in the rear to the new building) would not display “housefurnishings,” like crockery, glass and lamps.  The new building was outfitted with showrooms for furniture.

“On one floor will be found bedroom suits of all descriptions, newest designs and most perfect finish.  Another floor contains some of the most beautiful furnishings in the house.  Another floor is completely given over to hall furniture of all varieties, while on still another is arranged a bewildering array of odd and fancy chairs.  Other floors are devoted to beds, desks and similar varied attractions, to dainty furnishings of all kinds of beds, and to a vast number of other marvels of household furniture in style and manufacture.  The carpet department on the second floor is fully stocked with the finest makes upon the market.”

Only one floor of the 36^th Street structure was not filled with furniture.  “The firm’s private sanctum is on the eight floor of the new building,” remarked the newspaper.

A week after opening the new building, the firm advertised the vast array of items available  New-York Tribune, November 28, 1897 (copyright expired)  

Ludwig Baumann & Company’s now massive store continued to draw middle class customers.  In the year of the new building's opening the firm had 100,000 credit customers on file.  Five years later a newspaper article listed some of the items on display just in the new building, including “bedroom sets in the mission type, of Antwerp oak, camp chairs, villa suits, veranda chairs, enameled iron beds, mattresses, rockers and armchairs, with a full line of carpets, mattings, screens, shades, awnings, cots, swings hammock chairs and gas tubing.”

On February 20, 1904 Ludwig Baumann left the Eighth Avenue store around 4:00 and traveled to his home on Long Island.  “While sitting in a chair he was suddenly seized with what appeared to be a fainting spell, and died before anything could be done for him,” reported The New York Times the following day.

The building was sold at auction among Ludwig Baumann’s other properties on December 12, 1912.   It was purchased by Max Marx for $302,000.  Although it no longer owned its building, the furniture firm remained as a tenant.  By now it was run by brothers Sidney and C. Ludwig Baumann.

Ludwig Baumann & Company kept its employees happy in part by organizing The Google Club.  The social club’s members were all company associates and they met once a month in “Google Hall” in the 36^th Street building.  On Thursday, October 2, 1919 Furniture World reported on a recent event.

On September 23 the club had hosted a “dance and entertainment” here in honor of senior co-workers.  “From the appearance of the program sent us this must have been a real show night.  The guests of honor were twenty-two in number, and on the list of entertainers we read of the ‘world’s greatest ventriloquist’ (too modest to let his name appear) the ‘operatic mocking bird’ rendered by Mrs. James, special dancers and recitations, all of which must have made the evening a most eventful and never to be forgotten occasion.”

In 1922 Ludwig Baumann & Company began construction of a new building on Eighth Avenue.  The structure, which would replace the long row of converted buildings, included the entire block front except the 36^th Street corner.  As the building rose, another furniture manufacturer, Maurice Greenstein, leased Nos. 260-266 West 36^th Street from the Baumann firm.  His 21-year lease came at a yearly rental of about $37,000 and The New York Times reported on July 29, 1922 that “He will alter the structure for general business uses.”

By now New York’s Garment District was rapidly engulfing the area.  Nearly all of the old houses had been torn down and replaced with looming loft buildings.  While Greenstein was in the furniture business, his tenants were noticeably from the garment industry; like Skonick Goldberg which took a full floor in 1926.

The former Baumann Building continued to house garment firms throughout the 20^th century and into the 21^st.  On January 31, 2000 there were eight garment shops in the building, described by The New York Times as employing “mostly immigrant workers.”  Tragedy struck the building that day.

Around 10:15 a.m. fire broke out in the basement where firefighters later found rubbish and piles of cloth.  As the thick smoke rose throughout the building panic erupted.  Firefighters rushed to rescue trapped workers on the upper floors, including a group huddled on the roof.  One worker, 41-year old Benvenito Hernandez, tried to escape the 10^th floor just before 11:00 by tying one end of a bolt of red cloth to a windowsill then sliding down.  He lost his grip and fell to his death.

Two other victims were injured and taken to the hospital for treatment.   Employees of a leather manufacturer, H & R, were terrified when they rushed to a window to the fire escape, but, as reported by one woman, “it wasn’t there.”

On the 8^th floor a woman in a dress manufacturing shop tied a bolt of white silk around a column, then around her waist.  She then climbed out the window and slid down to the roof of an adjacent building two floors below and hurried down its fire escape.  Her co-workers, however, saw Hernandez plunge to his death and opted to stay where they were.

On a block of hulking loft buildings constructed for apparel firms, No. 260-266 West 36^th Street is the last vestige of the once-gargantuan Ludwig Baumann & Company furniture complex, now long forgotten.

photos taken by the author