The Much-Altered John Just House - 34 West 37th Street

 

In 1846 John Just's home was among the few fine residences north of 23rd Street.  A description of the property a few years later hinted that it originally resembled a country home, saying the "well-built four-story brick house" sat within an "inclosed piazza."  Just's carriage driver would have paused to drop the family off under the porte cochere (noted in another ad) before continuing to the stable in the rear.   The house was plumbed for gas, but there was no mention of "Croton water," or indoor plumbing.

A decade later the area was seeing development--enough that 34 West 37th Street was not too remote for boarders.  On September 12, 1859 an advertisement in the New York Herald read:

A private family, residing at No. 34 West Thirty-seventh street, can accommodate one or two young gentlemen desirous of having a comfortable residence for the fall and winter months.  Breakfast and tea if desired.  They can also have the use of a carriage house and stable.

John A. McLean was apparently one of the Just family's servants.  Born in Scotland, the 36-year-old died on October 29, 1860.  An announcement in The New York Times  the following day said, "His friends are invited to attend his funeral, from the residence of John Just, No. 34 West 37th-st., this afternoon."

The Justs remained in the house until February 1863, when it was sold to Joseph A. Levy.  He was a broker with offices at 8 Pine Street.  

Levy seems to have soon leased the stable to Ellis Gotthold for his business.  On June 6, 1867 The Evening Post reported, "This morning, at half-past one o'clock, a fire was discovered in the rectifying distillery of Ellis Gotthold."  Investigators suspected spontaneous combustion.  "In his efforts to extinguish the fire, Mr. Gotthold was severely burned about the neck and hands."

By 1874 the neighborhood had greatly changed as houses increasingly lined the blocks between Fifth and Sixth Avenues.   That year 34 West 37th Street was offered for sale or lease.  The advertisement highlighted the amenity of a private stable, saying the house was "suitable for a physician or a persons desirous of having their horse under their own supervision."

It became the home of the Dr. Charles Phelps family.  Born in 1834, Phelps had begun his medical practice in 1859 and was connected with Bellevue Hospital.  He and his wife, the former Isabel Marguerite James, had one son, Luis James Phelps, born in 1864.

Dr. Phelps enjoyed a spotless reputation, but it was nearly ruined by one of his prominent private patients--James Gordon Bennett, Jr.--in 1877.   The wealthy and eccentric publisher of the New York Herald had attended a New Year's Day reception in the home of his fiancée, Caroline May.  The engagement was abruptly ended after Bennett became intoxicated and urinated in the drawing room fireplace.  The following day Caroline's brother, Frederick, struck him with a horsewhip and challenged him to a duel.

Bennett agreed and, as a precaution, brought Dr. Phelps along.   Although duels were long out of fashion (and illegal), the men met at dawn.  Luckily, although May received a minor flesh wound, neither was seriously hurt.  The New York Times said on January 11, "the failure of the combatants to puncture each other more effectually was due to the novelty of their position and the unusual distance--20 paces--between them."

On January 9 Dr. Phelps was called before a grand jury.  He was asked a series of questions like, "Do you know if any hostile meeting has occurred between Mr. Bennett and Mr. May?" and "After leaving New York on Sunday last, when and where did you see Mr. Bennett."  The New York Times reported, "Dr. Phelps declined to answer any of these questions."  Judge Gildersleeve demanded that he answer, while Phelps's attorney said he "should not be compelled to answer any questions that might criminate himself."  Gildersleeve eventually lost patience and committed Phelps for 30 days for contempt of court.

In 1893 Luis James, now an attorney, was made a commissioner of deeds, a position similar to a notary public today.  That year his father was appointed to the Board of Police Surgeons.  It was a role that would once again put him in an unfavorable light in the press.

On May 25, 1894, The Evening World entitled an article "Used Corpses For Targets / Ghastly Experiments Made by Dr. Phelps at the Morgue."  The article explained, "Dr. Phelps is a member of the Anatomical Committee of Bellevue Hospital, and conceived the idea that it would be beneficial from a scientific point of view to test the effects of wounds produced by firearms shot at different distances into the brain and with bullets of varying calibre.  The result was a shooting match in the rear room of the Morgue."

That room was normally used for autopsies, but now was Phelps's text lab where unclaimed bodies were shot.  The article described the procedure:

An unclaimed body, said to be that of a gray-haired old man, was taken from the ice chest and stood up in the corner.  The doctor stood a few feet off, and taking deliberate aim, sent a large bullet crashing through the brain.  Experiments were then made at shorter range.  The second body into which lead was poured is said to have been that of one of the many unfortunate creatures who seek oblivion from trouble in death.

Although the newspaper attempted to rouse public indignation, authorities supported Phelps.  The morgue keeper, A. N. White, said the tests were done "with the consent of Warden O'Rourke, who claimed that the experiments were made for the benefit of science."  Members of the medical staff at Bellevue Hospital told a reporter that they regarded "the affair as perfectly proper."

On March 2, 1901 Brooklyn Life said, "Miss Marie Christina Nichols's engagement...is of especial Brooklyn interest on account of the family's prominent identification with this borough.  Her fiancé is Mr. Luis James Phelps, an attorney, residing at 34 West Thirty-seventh street, Manhattan." 

The following year, in April 1902, Isabel and Charles Phelps sold their home of nearly three decades to another physician, Dr. Daniel H. Smith and his wife Ella.  The price--$70,500--reflected the soaring property values in the neighborhood.  It would equal about $2.16 million today.

Smith and Phelps may have known one another through their mutual positions on the Board of Police Surgeons.  Born on April 12, 1852, Smith had graduated from the College of Physicians and Surgeons in 1873 after which he studied further at Glasgow University.

Dr. Smith died on July 10, 1912 at the age of 60.  Ella remained for three more years.  Then, on November 30, 1915 an auction was held of "all the household and personal effects and presentation pieces from the art centres of the world."  Special focus was placed on the "collection of oil paintings."

Ella sold the house the following month to "a buyer who will alter [it] for business purposes," according to the Real Estate Record & Guide.  It seemed, however, that the end was on the horizon for the vintage residence when the Record & Guide reported three months later that architect William H. Gompert "is preparing plans for a 16-story brick and limestone store, office and loft building...for Walters, Inc."

But instead, the property was resold to the Altman Estates, Inc.  The firm hired architect Eugene De Roge to make "alterations and additions" to the former house at a cost of $5,000 (about $120,000 today).

De Roge's renovations were substantial.  A two-story commercial extension as erected at the property line.   The cornice was replaced with a parapet and fanciful Flemish Renaissance Revival stepped gable.  And terra cotta tiles, more in keeping with the Queen Anne trend of a generation earlier, decorated the upper portion of the facade.

Whimsical metal scrollwork, imitating volutes, flanks the stepped gable.

The first and second floors contained separate store spaces, and the upper floors held apartments.  The Altman Estate quickly marketed the second floor in April 1917 saying it had "attractive show windows...suitable [for] retail specialty business or high-class wholesale."

The ground floor was leased to Lewis Hessler.  In its June 1917 edition The Upholsterer and Interior Decorator reported he "has opened a new showroom at 34 West Thirty-seventh Street, and will carry a complete line of period furniture."  The term "period furniture" was a bit misleading.  An advertisement on February 17, 1918 pictured suites of reproduction furniture in 18th century styles.  It was high-end merchandise, a 10-piece "Mahogany William & Mary" dining room suite retailing at the equivalent of $10,200 today.

The second floor was home to B. Paul's hair salon.  

The New York Times, December 23, 1917 (copyright expired)

The apartments were leased to well-to-do tenants.  On March 18, 1919 The Sun reported that "Capt. Lambert of the Lambs Club," had rented and apartment, and two months later Thornton W. Allen moved in.  

A prolific arranger and composer, Allen was responsible for several American university alma maters and football fight songs.  He was the managing editor of The Musical Courier and in 1910 had established the music publishing firm, the Thornton W. Allen Company.  Among his songs were "Vanderbilt Forever," "Maryland Victory Song," and "Let's Go Trojan."

Lewis Hessler's furniture store did not last long in the space.  It was home to the Laun-Dry-Ette Co. by the end of 1918.  The firm sold a wide variety of household appliances.  An advertisement in October 1920 pictured a Mermaid Electric Dishwasher, a Capitol Ironer, a Hoover Suction Cleaner, a Ruttenber Electric Range and the Laun-Dry-Ette electric washing machine.  The ad promised:

With these five servants fatigue is a stranger in the house, and the daily tasks are pleasures.  Think of dishwashing and clothes washing without putting your hands in water!  Think of ironing without lifting heavy irons!  Sweeping without dust!  Cooking minus a super-heated kitchen!

A model demonstrates the Mermaid Electric Dishwasher.  New-York Tribune, October 3, 1920 (copyright expired)

By 1925 the Gregory Cafeteria was in the ground floor.  A renovation by architect Richard Shutkind, completed in 1937, converted the former apartments to "offices and showrooms."  Among the tenants in the 1940's were the Paris Feather Factory and Remotrol Co.  

In December 1946 the latter entitled an advertisement "Sail the Seas by Remote Control."  The "seas" were, in fact, a 19" by 10-1/4" tank of "sea blue aluminum" in which toy boats were operated.  The ad said, "By the magic of remote control, the little ships, sail from port to port, past the island lighthouse to enter distant docks.  A simple magnetic control held in the child's hand, under the tank, produces this mysterious motion of ships floating in only 1/2" of water."

A subsequent remodeling to the building was completed in 1970.  It resulted in one apartment each on the two top floors.  John Just's once elegant home is successfully disguised by numerous make-0vers.  Eugene De Roge's eccentric 1916 design, now painted beige and brown, still captures attention above the rather gruesomely-altered two-story storefront.

photographs by the author

many thanks to reader Ted Leather for suggesting this post

no permission to reuse the content of this blog has been granted to LaptrinhX.com

Engine Company No. 26 - 220 West 37th Street

 

The volunteer Protection Engine Company No. 7 occupied the firehouse at 220 West 37th Street until 1865 when the Metropolitan Fire Department was organized.  The house then became home to the Metropolitan Engine Company, No. 26.  In 1870, the Fire Department's Annual Report showed a roster of 10 fire fighters.  Housed within the station was a "steamer second size, built in 1867" and a "two-wheeled tender, improved pattern, with seats."

The city invested invested $4,200 (about $132,000 today) in  1895 to rebuild and modernize the firehouse.  It was at that time that the building acquired most of its present appearance.   It followed the tried-and-true configuration of fire houses--a cast iron base with a centered truck bay supporting, in this case, two stories faced in brick and trimmed in stone.  A tidy Italianate metal cornice--somewhat past its prime in architectural favor--finished the design.

Nineteenth century firefighters faced significant problems--lax building codes, stables filled with combustible materials like hay, and the volatile illuminating gas plumbed into almost every building in the city.   It was the latter that put the members of Engine Company 26 in peril on May 25, 1894.  The men were called to a smoke condition at 217 West 35th Street--a four story tenement with a grocery store at street level.

The tenants all made it out of the building, which had filled with black smoke.  Yet initially there was no other sign of fire.  The Evening World reported, "The members of Engine Company No. 26 finally found a fire smouldering among a lot of coal and wood in the cellar.  They had only been in the cellar two minutes, throwing a stream in the direction the fire seemed to be, when one of the men crept up the stairs on his hands and knees."

That man was Captain Andrew Gaffney.  He made it to the first floor before losing consciousness.   Right behind him was another man who, too, was overcome.  Eventually five fire fighters were carried unconscious to the street.  All were taken back to the station house to recover.

A later investigation found gas had been leaking from a meter in the basement of the baker's shop next door.  The Evening World reported, "In some manner, it is thought, the gas caught fire, and that the combination of gas and smoke was too much for the fire fighters."  That there was not an explosion is nearly miraculous.

Keeping his men in line was not always easy for the foreman of any fire house.  On October 14, 1896 The Evening Post reported, "Patrick J. Brennan of Engine Company No. 26 was fined five days' pay for intoxication, as was also John F. Fitzgerald of the same company, on the same charge."  Simultaneously, James W. Kelly was AWOL.  On October 1 he had been granted a five-day leave of absence, but never returned.  His wife said he went to Boston on October 8, and she had not heard from him since.  "The foreman thought Kelly had debts he was unable to meet," reported The Evening Post.  "The Commissioner decided to dismiss him."

The station got another update in 1906 when the city commissioned architect Alexander Stevens to extend the building to the rear, add skylights, and new toilets.  It was a major interior renovation, amounting to more than a quarter of a million in today's dollars.

It was not lighting gas, but ammonia fumes, which proved dangerous in a fire at the five-story Volunteer Meat Market at 573 Eighth Avenue on February 26, 1907.   The refrigeration plant in the cellar used the gas and when fire broke out there, the lines were broken.  This time the fire fighters were in even greater peril than at the 1895 fire.

Engine Company 26 was the first to arrive at the scene.  Captain Carlocks "broke his way through a huge door into the cellar," reported the New-York Tribune.  "Fireman [Albert] Dann went in after him.  He was overcome at once by ammonia fumes and died a few minutes later in a streetcar which had been turned into a temporary hospital."

One-by-one the other fire fighters were overcome.   And yet, the stalwart men managed to extinguish the fire before it could spread above the cellar.   Nine other fire fighters were transported to hospitals gravely ill, one barely clinging to life.  The article said, "At Bellevue Hospital it was said that Baker could not live much longer."

Motorized fire trucks required upgrading station houses across the city.  In March 1908 architect Edward L. Middleton filed plans for improving Engine Company No. 26, "including the installation of steel and concrete floors to support the apparatus and the building of a new hose loft," reported The Sun.

All fire companies, it seems, had a mascot and Engine Company No. 26 had Kid, "a large coach dog," as described by the New-York Tribune, which came along in 1898.  In 1904 the company's engine driver, Samuel Chapman, was the only member of the company to travel to Baltimore to help fight what would be known as the Great Baltimore Fire.  When he was asked to return to lead the city's parade, he took Kid along.

The New-York Tribune reported, "Before the procession ended Kid fled."  Unbelievably, three days later Kid appeared at Chapman's doorstep in the Bronx.  He never returned to the 37th Street station house, the New-York Tribune opining, "The life of a fire mascot evidently became too strenuous for the old monarch."

The void was filled on May 25, 1913.  The newspaper reported, "Another coach dog, younger and smaller, but otherwise much like Kid, walked into the engine company's home yesterday and acted as if he would like to stay.  In a few hours he was unanimously accepted as mascot, being dubbed Deacy, after one of the men to whom he seemed to take a special fancy."

By the 1920's the neighborhood around Engine Company No. 26 was seeing the rise of business buildings, creating another challenge for fighting fires.   On July 6, 1921 fire broke out in the McCall Company building, almost directly across the street at 232-234 West 37th Street.  It took three companies an hour to extinguish the blaze, during which 15 fire fighters were overcome, four of whom were rescued unconscious.

Similarly, when the men of Engine Company 26 rushed to the eighth floor of a West 39th Street building the following  year in September, they discovered 20 fire fighters from Hook and Ladder Company 21 "stretched out on the floor of the room."  They were all carried unconscious to the seventh floor where doctors from Bellevue and New York Hospitals worked on them, despite the burning conditions above.

New York City's Garment District was fully ensconced in the neighborhood by the second half of the 20th century.  The men of Engine Company No. 26 now had a much different problem with which to contend--traffic.  On May 26, 1983 David W. Dunlap, writing in The New York Times, reported on the worrying issue.  "Fire officials said that, for example, it was not unusual for the members of Engine Company 26, 220 West 37th Street, to go out on foot to avoid garment-center traffic."

The July 16, 1990 Empire State Building blaze was the most notable high-rise fire the company responded to to date .  The four-alarm fire broke out around 6:30 that evening.  While it was confined to the 51st floor, smoke and water affected at least 10 others.  Lt. George Lonergan of Engine Company No. 26 told a reporter, "We are very fortunate this was after business house.  It was a very difficult fire and could have been a real tragedy."  Nevertheless, before it was extinguished, 38 people, including 31 firefighters, were injured.

Of course, the World Trade Center attacks on September 11, 2001 were the most significant event the company would respond to.  Among them that morning were Captain Thomas Farino and 29-year-old Firefighter Dana Hannon.  Tragically neither would return.

In the spring of 2011 the Bloomberg administration was trying to find ways to fill a $600 million budget gap.  A list of 20 fire companies "it is considering closing" was published on May 5.  Included was Engine Company 26.  In a statement the Mayor said, "It will be great to have a firehouse or company on every corner, but that's not the real world."

Engine Company 26 squeaked through the elimination process and survives today, a Victorian anachronism among soaring commercial business.

photographs by the author

no permission to reuse the content of this blog has been granted to LaptrinhX.com

The 1870 Church of the Holy Innocents - 128 West 37th Street

By the 1850s urban pioneers had ventured north of 34th Street along Sixth Avenue and Broadway where they lived in modest three-story brick-faced houses, some with shops at street level.   Among them was a small group of Episcopalians who formed the Church of the Holy Innocents in 1854.

The congregation worshiped from a small wooden building on West 37th Street between Broadway and 7th Avenues.  There is no clear description of the church.  In 1864 The Church of the People announced:

Free Church of the Holy Innocents--Sunday next, the 1st Sunday after Trinity, is the tenth anniversary of the opening of this church, in West Thirty-seventh-street, near Broadway, and of the Rector's Institution.  The anniversary sermon will be preached in the morning.

By the time of that announcement, the district was seeing significant development.  In 1866 Archbishop John McCloskey recognized the need for a new Roman Catholic parish to serve the growing population.   He appointed Rev. John Larkin to establish the parish and, interestingly, he not only set his sights on the building of the Church of the Holy Innocents, but on its name.

According to The Evening World later, Father Larkin purchased the "small frame structure which had been occupied by a Protestant Episcopal congregation.  The cost of this and several adjacent lots, which Father Larkin purchased at the same time, was about $130,000."  The Episcopal parish moved slightly north to Sixth Avenue and 41st Street.

Archbishop McCloskey officiated at the dedication services on December 16, 1866.  The New York Herald noted "Forty days' indulgence was granted by the Right Reverend Bishop to all persons assisting at the ceremonies."

The most common form of church fund raising was a bazaar, or fair, where homemade goods like needlework and baked goods were sold.   The Church of the Holy Innocents was no different.  On April 24, 1867 The New York Herald reported on one of the events.  The "grand fair and festival to aid in the funds" of the church was held in the "large hall on the corner of Thirty-fourth street and Eighth avenue."    The article noted "The rooms were handsomely decorated and the display of articles to be disposed of was arranged with that degree of taste and neatness which always distinguish the handiwork of the gentler sex."

Archbishop McCloskey was back on June 20, 1869 for the laying of the cornerstone of the new building "in the presence of a vast concourse of people," as reported by The New York Times.   The pomp and ceremony of the ritual--the procession of priests and acolytes, and the blessing of the stone by the Archbishop ("vested in cope and mitre, and bearing his crosier")--were abruptly ended by a cloudburst.

The church had hired Irish-born architect Patrick Charles Keely to design its new structure.  He worked almost exclusively for the Roman Catholic Church and would eventually design more than 600 of its churches.  Similar to several of his Gothic Revival designs, The Church of the Holy Innocents was clad in brick trimmed in New Jersey brownstone and light-colored sandstone from Ohio.  The alternating use of the two stones created a colorful effect.

Keely used modern technology inside, creating the gallery columns from cast iron.  "From the caps of these will spring arches of wood to support the roof," said The New York Times.  "It is estimated that the church, when finished, will comfortably seat 1,500 people."

The dedication was held on February 13, 1870.  After pointing out that "the altar is of white marble," and that the nave "is lighted by seventy-six beautiful stained glass windows," The New York Times simply opined "The general appearance of the church is extremely pretty."

The cost of the construction was about $100,000; bringing the total project to more than $3.6 million in 2018.   Part of the expense was the superb fresco mural of the Crucifixion above the white marble altar.  It was executed by Constantino Brumidi, who was simultaneously working on the decoration of the United States Capitol Building.

image via The Monuments Conservancy

Not in the budget, apparently, was a new organ.  A month later, on March 28, The New York Herald reported "In spite of the weather a large number of sinners assembled at the Church of the Holy Innocents, where the sermon and singing were fine, but where, we sincerely regret to record it, the organ, being afflicted with the asthma, with difficulty contributed its quota of wind."

A charming detail is the design of the brass door pulls, now worn with decades of use, in the form of praying medieval monks.

Although the church was considered, according to The Evening World, "one of the largest and handsomest of its kind in the city," its congregation was composed mostly of working-class Irish who clung tightly to their roots.   And so when Irish-born boxer John C. Hennan died in October 1873 it was not surprising that his funeral was held here.

Heenan died in Green River, in the Wyoming Territory, on his way to fight in San Francisco.  His body was transported by train on the long journey back to New York.  When it arrived at Grand Central Depot on November 1, The New York Herald remarked "although the face was somewhat discolored, it was readily recognizable."   The newspaper said the Church of the Holy Innocents was "decorated last evening with flowers" including "massive floral contributions in the shape of anchors and harps."

Meanwhile the church continued to undergo improvements.  Three weeks after Heenan's funeral a new alter was dedicated, and on November 9, 1879 a "remarkably fine" new organ, as described by The New York Times, replaced its asthmatic predecessor.   Built by George Jardine & Sons, the instrument cost $15,000--about a third of a million dollars today.    That evening a concert was held with several of the well-known organists of New York and Brooklyn taking part.

The heavily Irish personality of the Church of the Holy Innocents played out even in its own organist.   Rosa d'Erina not only played the organ, she was a popular singer, known as the "prima donna of Erin" and "The Irish Song Bird."  Born in Armagh, Ireland, she made her debut as a singer in October 1869 in London, before coming to New York in 1870.

Father Larkin's own pro-Irish temperament was revealed on Sunday March 2, 1884 when he denounced Dion Boucicault's play, The Shaughraun from the pulpit.  He told his congregants that the play "lowered the Irish church and was a disgrace to the Irish people."  Specifically, he said, "the play represented the Irish priests as so depraved in taste as not to know the difference between whisky and the milk in their tea," and that in a scene depicting a wake, "the Irish people are represented as dancing and having a good time."

A much more sobering protest by Father Larkin and his parish was staged on June 21, 1887.  For seven years, between 1845 and 1852, the people of Ireland suffered mass starvation and disease, known then as The Great Famine or the Great Hunger--better known today as the Irish Potato Famine.  Upwards of a quarter of the Irish population died--estimated by modern statisticians at between 1,000,000 and 1,500,000 people.  Irish-Americans watched in disbelief as it appeared that the British Government refused to step in with aid.

Queen Victoria's Jubilee was celebrated on June 21, 1887.  Newspapers world-wide were filled with descriptions of the fireworks, parades, and festivities.  On June 22 The Salt Lake Herald printed a full page covering the events.  It included the paragraph:

New York, June 21--A solemn requiem mass was celebrated in the Church of the Holy Innocents this morning, for the repose of the souls of 150,000 Irish, who died of starvation during the reign of Queen Victoria.  Rev. Dr. John Larkin acted as celebrant.

Four days later the Illinois newspaper The Ottawa Free Trader chimed in.  "In New York while the Englishmen and their friends were drinking toasts with the liveliest felicitations, at the Church of the Holy Innocents a 'mass for the repose of the souls of Irish victims of Victoria's reign' was held; and while the jubilee anthem pealed forth at Metropolitan Opera House, the Dies irae, dies illa was sung in the church!"

That same year an $8,000 renovation was done.  The facade was remodeled and the interior updated, including painting the cast iron columns to resemble marble.  On January 24 The Evening World reported "During the past year the interior of the church has been redecorated, the walls and ceiling having been repainted and frescoed.  The ceiling has been ornamented with a double row of handsomely executed panels representing different saints.  In addition to this the stonework of the entire front of the church has been rechiselled, the result being that the whole building has been renovated and within and without it has the appearance of a new structure."

A turn of the century post card depicted the remodeled facade.  A veneer of brownstone had been applied to the original brick facing.  To the right is the church school and rectory.

The church was once again the scene of the funeral of a famous Irish boxer, Joe Coburn, on December 8, 1890.  The Evening World reported "The assemblage that crowded the Church of the Holy Innocents this morning was like none that had ever filled it.  Long before 10 o'clock, the hour set for the funeral services, athletic looking men in twos and threes turned into Thirty-seventh street from Broadway or Seventh avenue, and reverently entered the sacred edifice."

The article admitted that many of the pugilistic mourners were not especially devout.  "The place seemed strange to them and they to the place...They were rather hard-faced men [who] wore expensive but too massive jewelry, and their garments were of louder tone than fashion would permit, but they were earnest and had come to pay their last call on all that remained of their old-time friend and companion, Joe Coburn."

Less then three weeks later there would be another funeral, equally crowded, but this one would have no flashy suits.  After serving as pastor for 29 years, Rev. John Larkin died of pneumonia at the age of 69 on December 20.  His funeral was held the following Tuesday, just two days before Christmas Day.

Father Larkin's replacement was another Irish priest, Michael C. O'Farrell.  While its congregants were mostly working class, the Church of the Holy Innocents brushed with the upper class after a messenger boy knocked on the door of the rectory just before midnight on April 25, 1897.  In his mansion at No. 244 Madison Avenue, the massively-wealthy Theodore Havemeyer was dying.

Although his wife, Emily, was a practicing Catholic and their children had been brought up in the faith, Havemeyer had never embraced religion.  Now on his deathbed he had second thoughts.  It may have been that no other priest would perform the last-minute conversion, but for whatever reason the unlikely choice of the Church of the Holy Innocents and Father O'Farrell was made.

O'Farrell traveled to the Murray Hill mansion and baptized the millionaire just in time.  Now a confirmed Catholic, his funeral was held in St. Patrick's Cathedral.  The gesture was not lost on the Havemeyer family.  When Theodore's son, Charles F. Havemeyer died the following year at his Long Island summer estate, a funeral was performed there, then a second service was held in the Church of the Holy Innocents.  The church would also be the scene of Frederick Christian Havemeyer's wedding to Lillie Travers on July 21, 1906.

Until the church was debt-free it could not, by Roman Catholic law, be consecrated.  That finally came to pass on February 12, 1901.  Archbishop Michael Corrigan officiated at the pontifical mass.  The elaborate ceremony included a string orchestra, a double quartet and chorus.

This photo, most likely taken at the time of the consecration, reveals the brass and art glass electric and gas chandeliers and the vividly-colored encaustic floor tiles.  photo by Byron Company from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York

By the time of the consecration the residential neighborhood around the church was becoming more and more commercial.  In 1895 James Gordon Bennett had moved his New York Herald into its stunning new building on Herald Square nearby.   In July 1901 Roland H. Macy announced he would commence construction of his massive Macy's department store engulfing the block between 34th and 35th Streets, from Broadway to Seventh Avenue.  As entire blocks of rowhouses were destroyed, the congregants of the Church of the Holy Innocents were displaced.

By 1910 there were not enough students to fill the church's school.  On October 1 the Real Estate Record & Builders' Guide noted that the church had leased the five-story building at No. 130 West 37th Street "formerly used as the school house" to Philip Levey "who will alter the same for mercantile purposes."

With stores, factories and the theater district engulfing the church, Holy Innocents slowly became more important for workers than residents.  It eventually became known as The Actor's Church.  It was the scene of thespian weddings, such as that of vaudeville player Earl J. Riegler and Agnes E. Lynch on February 3, 1913.

Office and factory workers routinely filed into the church for communion at lunch time.  Ironically, one of those who arrived at noon on January 19, 1921 was a fireman.  As Harry K. Ness knelt at the chancel rail, smoke seeped into the sanctuary.

A fire, believed to have been caused by defective wiring, had broken out in the basement and spread to the vestry room.  Ness rushed out of the church and called in an alarm.  His company, Engine No. 26, was just around the corner and soon had the blaze under control, although there was considerable damage to the vestry room.  "Also a quantity of religious vestments were scorched," reported The Evening World.

On August 1, 1932 fire broke out in the 41-story Ritz Tower at No. 113 East 57th Street.  While firefighters from several companies battled the blaze, fumes from the paint shop in the basement caused a massive explosion.  As their comrades rushed in to remove the injured, a second explosion occurred within three minutes of the first.  Eight firemen were killed either immediately or as a result of injuries later.   For years afterward an annual memorial mass was held in the Church of the Holy Innocents for the lost fire fighters.

The once free-standing mid-Victorian church was crowded in by commercial structures in the 20th century.  The parish continued to serve the Garment District workers and to offer community relief.  Following the devastating 1970 typhoon that struck the Philippines, the Church of the Holy Innocents held a traditional Filipino midnight folk mass on Christmas Eve to raise funds for the victims. 

In 2007 Pope Benedict XVI rolled back some of the restrictions of the Second Vatican Council.  Once again Catholics had the right to celebrate the Latin Mass.   Rev. Thomas Kallumady, then pastor of the Church of the Holy Innocents, responded by offering one Latin Mass per week.  It was so well received that by 2010 Latin Mass was being offered daily.

By now decades of candle and incense smoke and clumsy restorations had left Constantino Brumidi's magnificent altar fresco damaged and dirt-covered.  Conservator Christiana Cunningham-Adams, a specialist in Brumidi work, began the first phase of restoration, which included stopping the painting's disintegration.  Then in February 2011 the firm of Parma Conservation was brought in to work with Cunningham-Adams to remove varnish, grime, and over-painting.  A five-member team and a full laboratory was established on site to restore the mural.

photo via Conservation & Design

In 2014 the Church of the Holy Innocents was the only New York City church to offer a daily traditional Latin Mass.   But that seemed to be coming to a close when that spring an archdiocesan panel recommended that the church be closed.  It triggered an unexpected act of defiance and retaliation.

In May a visiting priest, Rev. Justin Wylie, addressed the congregation, saying they should "be obedient," but to also speak their minds rather than being "turned out like squatters."  Within two weeks the New York Archdiocese removed him from his job at the Mission of the Holy See at the United Nations.

Congregants of the Church of the Holy Innocents waited, concerned that their parish church would be shuttered.   Then, on October 26, Cardinal Timothy M. Dolan announced the names of the 31 churches which would be closed.  The Church of the Holy Innocents was not on the list--it was, as worded by The New York Times, "spared."

The Church of the Holy Innocents, once a comforting refuge for struggling Irish immigrants, is now a quiet oasis in the gritty, bustling Garment District where the devout and art lovers alike can view a recently-restored American art treasure.

photographs by the author