George Fred Pelham's 1893 332 West 51st Street

 

In September 1890, real estate operator William Ramsey purchased the three, three-story brick houses at 330 through 334 West 51st Street.  Each of them was 20-feet wide, giving Ramsey a 60-foot wide parcel upon which to build.  He would replace the three structures with two flat buildings.

Ramsey commissioned George Frederick Pelham to design the the structures.  In doing so, he was, perhaps, taking a risk.  The 23-year-old architect had just opened his office that year.  Born in 1867 in Ottawa, Ontario, he was the son of architect George Brown Pelham, who brought his family to New York City in 1875.  George had entered his father's firm as a draftsman.  Ramsey's commission was among the earliest--if not the first--he received.

Construction on the identical, Romanesque Revival-style buildings was completed in 1891.  The first and second floors were faced in brownstone and the upper three in orange brick.  The arched entrance, which sat above a four-step stoop, and the panels below the windows were carved with intricate Romanesque-style carvings.  Above a molded cornice, the second floor was faced in planar stone, its openings framed in undressed brownstone and capped with dramatic, flaring voussoirs.  

The third and fourth floors sat between molded intermediate cornices.  Double-height brick piers between the openings were capped with carved medieval-style capitals.  They were connected by layered stone arches, the single spandrel of which was filled with elaborate foliate carvings.  The arched windows of the top floor wore brownstone voussoirs capped with stone eyebrows.  

Described as "double flats," the buildings had two apartments per floor.  An advertisement for both buildings in April 1893 offered, "Elegantly decorated apartments of 7 rooms and bath, all light; steam heat, &c.; rent $45 and upward."  Given the location on the eastern edge of Hell's Kitchen, the rent was somewhat pricey.  The base rent would translate to $1,625 in 2026.

Among the initial residents of 332 West 51st Street were Dr. William S. McMurdy and his wife, Fannie, who were married in 1890.  Born in 1858, McMurdy was an 1881 graduate of Princeton University and earned his medical degree at the College of Physicians and Surgeons. He started his practice in 1889.

Like almost all doctors, McMurdy was called upon day and night.  On April 13, 1895, The Evening World began an article saying, "A small epidemic of insanity swept over Manhattan Island during last night."  Among the "several cases of a more or less violent nature," was that of John Kane, a driver for Hook and Ladder Truck 21.  Two years earlier, he suffered a head injury while fighting a fire and "since that time he has been acting queerly," explained The Evening World.  In January 1895, his condition became so severe that he was put on sick leave.

At 1:00 on the morning of April 13, Kane told his wife that "he was going out to find the captain of his company and kill him."  Alarmed, Mrs. Kane summoned Dr. McMurdy.  When he arrived, Kane told him that he knew that he was insane, but could not stop his murderous impulses.  "He asked, for the safety of his wife and child, that he be taken to a hospital," reported The Evening World.  Kane was taken by ambulance to Roosevelt Hospital and later removed to Bellevue Hospital.

Mrs. E. Lambert, who lived here as early as 1898, was the guardian of her 19-year-old nephew, George Austin.  He left their apartment on August 23 and did not come home.  Five days later Mrs. Lambert was frantic.  The New York Herald reported, "She said she had made a round of all the hospitals of the city and had caused an alarm to be sent out by the police, but has received no tidings of the missing youth."  It is unclear whether Austin was ever found.

The unmarried Marie Quinn was pulled into a bizarre incident involving one of New York City's wealthiest bachelors, Robert Goelet, in November 1903.  Eleanor Anderson, who lived next door at 330 West 51st Street, asked Marie to go to St. Patrick's Cathedral and "vouch for her character" to Father Lavelle.  Marie did so.  (Eleanor was a telegraph operator, the daughter of a Sixth Avenue restaurant owner, and the sister of "the champion oyster opener of Sixth avenue," as described by the New York Herald.)

On November 3, Robert Goelet left his Newport mansion to travel to New York City, "wondering who had put into circulation a story published yesterday afternoon that he had married a Miss Eleanor Anderson of 330 West Fifty-first street," reported the New York Herald.  Goelet told reporters, "I have not the pleasure of the lady's acquaintance.  I never even heard of her existence until the newspaper story of my marriage to her appeared."  Additionally, said the Episcopalian millionaire, "Only once in my life have I been in the Cathedral, and then I only went to look at the place."

Marie Quinn could not help in the mystery.  She told a reporter that Eleanor had not told her the groom's name.  Father Lavelle was equally unhelpful, saying, "Miss Anderson's matrimonial arrangements...were none of the public's business."  What was certain, however, is that Robert Goelet was not Eleanor Anderson's new husband.

Although the residents of 332 West 51st Street were middle class, they were affluent enough to afford domestic help.  Albert Hartog and his wife employed a maid, Mable Lewis, in 1905.  On September 5, the New York Herald reported, "she disappeared after she had been at work a few days, taking a watch and pin worth $240."  (The value of the items would equal more than $8,800 today.)

As it turned out, this was not Mabel's first offense.  Young women often practiced what police called the "service game," taking domestic jobs just to steal valuables.  "When police looked up the woman's record they found that her picture is in the rogues' gallery and that she has served time for similar thefts," reported the New York Herald.

On September 3, Hartog was walking along Eighth Avenue when he saw Mable at 54th Street.  The New York Herald reported that he, "took her by the back of the neck and marched her to the West Forty-seventh street station, where she confessed."  The pin was recovered, but the watch had apparently been pawned. 

Albert Wilcox and his wife lived here in November 1934, when they had a young houseguest, Private John G. McFadden, a soldier stationed at the Military Academy at West Point.  Among McFadden's extracurricular duties was the "custodianship of the mule that is the Army mascot."  The soldier was on his way to Pennsylvania where the Army-Navy football game was scheduled to be played on December 1 at Franklin Field.  (The New York Times explained, "When the Army team plays out of town...the regular mascot stays at home and a substitute is hired at the place where the game is played.)

McFadden had met the Wilcoxes on a previous visit to New York City.  When he arrived at the train station, they were there to meet him and took him to their apartment for a night's rest.  The visit ended up very badly.

When he awoke, McFadden realized his watch was gone.  He accused Albert Wilcox of theft and had him arrested.  Wilcox denied stealing the watch, but was held without bail on a grand larceny charge.  The New York Times reported on December 3, that McFadden, "missed the Army-Navy football game on Saturday and lost his watch as well."  Private McFadden grumbled, "I wish I had stayed with my mule."

Another resident, elevator operator Al Jenkins, found himself behind bars two years later.  He and his union members were on strike in 1936.  Just before noon on March 4, he and another striker went to the 20th floor of 135 West 26th Street to confront two strikebreakers.  Concealed under their coats  were "heavy axe-handles," as described by The New York Times.  Jenkins and James Caffrey were arrested for felonious assault.

image via the NYC Dept of Records & Information Services.

Charles Schwartz occupied an apartment here in 1944.  He and Floyd Markowitz operated a shady business in the vacant storefront of 254 West 49th Street.  Detectives told reporters "they had been watching the store for some time, after learning that illegal liquor was being distributed somewhere in the neighborhood."  On March 3, the Police Commissioner's "confidential squad" raided the space.  The New York Times reported that they "seized fourteen cases of what they declared was bootleg whisky, with counterfeit labels and revenue stamps."  Schwartz and Markowitz were arrested, charged with "possessing untaxed liquors."

By mid-century, 332 West 51st Street was being operated as a furnished rooming house run by Mrs. Frank Davis.  Among her tenants in 1951 was 28-year-old Tillie Goldstein.  Patrons of the Radio City Music Hall in the summer of 1951 might have encountered Tillie carrying a container labeled "Give for Mt. Ebenezer Baptist Church."  On June 4, The New York Times said she had been arrested for "soliciting without a permit."  Tillie admitted she had collected "maybe $300 or $400" for the church.  The Rev. Lafayette W. Rogers, rector of Mt. Ebenezer Baptist Church, said she had donated $8.

Also living at 332 West 51st Street at the time was a celebrity of sorts, Alvin A. Kelly, known nationwide as Shipwreck Kelly.  Born on May 13, 1893 and a World War I Navy veteran, he became famous as "the redoubtable flagpole sitter and stuntman in the Roaring Twenties," as described by The New York Times.  The newspaper recalled:

His greatest feat was his stay on top of a flagpole on the Steel Pier at Atlantic City for 1,177 hours, or more than forty-nine days, in the summer of 1930.  The vogue for flagpole-sitting and goldfish-swallowing dwindled about that time, and it is believed that the record still stands.

Alvin A. "Shipwreck" Kelly as he appeared in 1939.  Associated Press, October 12, 1952

Mrs. Frank Davis told reporters that Shipwreck Kelly "suffered from an asthmatic heart and hardening of the arteries."  At 7:00 on the night of October 11, 1952, he fell onto the sidewalk "a few doors from the furnished flat at 332 West Fifty-first Street where he had been living alone on home relief," reported The New York Times.  He died on the scene, "with a scrapbook full of old newspaper clippings under his arm," said the article.

In the early 2000s, the cornice was missing.  image via google streetview.

Several residents of the rooming house continued to be on the wrong side of the law.  On December 2, 1960, Eric Larson was arrested for attempting "to extort $3,000 from James Muro, a Corona, Queens tow-truck operator," as described by The New York Times.  And in August 1966, 21-year-old Lanny Arbucci was arrested for selling "pep pills and capsules."  Charged with what was perhaps the most disturbing crime was resident Carlos Antrades.  The 33-year-old was arrested in August 1986 with promoting the prostitution of boys as young as 14 years old.

By the early 2000s, the building and its next door twin were seriously neglected.  On December 17, 2014, Manhattan Community Board Four reported complaints of "vermin infestation, lack of building services, non-working bathrooms and sporadic hot water."  Lantern Group purchased both properties for conversion to single-room-occupancy units.  

A full-gut renovation resulted in one-person apartments "available to single persons," according to 6sqft on August 23, 2017.  The article noted the building offered, "24-hour security, an on-site resident manager, community room, backyard, laundry room, and on-site social services for low-income or formerly homeless households with special needs."  Including in the renovation was the reproduction of the lost cornice.

photographs by the author

The 1893 314 West 51st Street

 

The entrance framework, now gone, originally matched that of its next-door neighbor.

In 1892 Henry Aplington sold the four-story brick house at 314 West 51st Street to builder Alexander Moore, the principal in Alexander Moore & Son.  Within a year he replaced the vintage structure with a modern flat building.  Sitting on a brownstone base, the upper floors of 314 West 51st Street were clad in yellow Roman brick and trimmed in warm terra cotta.  Half of a mirror image pair with 316 West 51st Street, its exuberant Renaissance Revival design featured elaborate carvings, paneled Corinthian pilasters, and an ambitious pressed metal cornice with scrolled brackets and a foliate-decorated frieze.

There were two apartments per floor (front and back) in the five-story building.  Moore was a builder, not a landlord, and in March 1893 he sold his newly-completed structure to James R. Corbitt for $40,000, approximately $1.24 million in 2023.

Despite its close proximity to the notorious Hell's Kitchen neighborhood, the building filled with respectable upper middle class tenants, all of them affluent enough to afford at least one servant.  On September 19, 1897, Mrs. John Halzderber advertised, "A girl wanted, German preferred, for general housework," and a month later the Corbitt family was looking for a "Girl, to do general housework and assist with children."

A servant of Dr. Turner, 20-year-old Amelia Merlath, suffered a horrific accident on December 5, 1898.  The Turners' apartment was in the rear of the third floor.  While cleaning the windows Amelia lost her grip and fell to the yard, fracturing her skull.  She was taken to Roosevelt Hospital where, according to The World, "it is said she is in a critical condition and may not survive."

Lillian Knight lived here at the turn of the century.  The young unmarried woman was riding in an open street car on June 1, 1903 when it crashed violently with another at 53rd Street and Eighth Avenue.  So forcible was the collision that "passengers were thrown in the street in a confused heap," as reported by The New York Times.  One of them was Lillian Knight, who later realized she had dropped her green bag.  She searched frantically for the purse, which held the equivalent of $950 in cash in today's money, two railway tickets to Chicago, and valuable papers.  It appears that a sharp-eyed thief saw Lillian's purse first.  The article said, "The bag and its treasures were not found."

It was a resident of 314 West 51st Street who found a bag, rather than lost it, two years later.  Tom Jolly had been a partner in the upscale Manhattan Club in Saratoga, New York.  Jolly was "sauntering past the Hotel Cadillac," according to The Daily Saratogian on June 17, when near the curb he "espied a well-worn purse, evidently that of a woman."

Inside was a small, silver watch and 56 cents.  The newspaper said, "It was evidently the property of some poor working girl."  Unlike the cad who had made off with Lillian Knight's purse, Jolly notified the newspapers of his find.  The New York Telegraph reported he was holding the purse at 314 West 51st Street awaiting word of its owner.  "Those who know the generous Tom will not be surprised to hear of a poor girl getting back her purse with a $5 bill stuffed in one corner," said the New York Telegraph.

In 1905 James R. Corbitt sold the building to Samuel Huston, who moved into an apartment with his wife Elizabeth.  She died in the apartment on February 14, 1912, while Huston would live on there for decades.

Two of the well-respected residents were pharmacist George F. Phillips, who operated a drugstore at 839 Eighth Avenue, and well-known attorney Owen W. Bohan.  Described by The Morning Telegraph as an "adherent of Tammany," Bohan was appointed "county tax appraiser" for the city in January 1914.

George F. Phillips suffered intense humiliation on August 18, 1917 when he was removed by police from his store and charged with selling narcotics.  At least one customer had brought him a prescription written by Dr. Howard James for the substance.

Phillips spent that Saturday night in jail, and when allowed to make a telephone call in the morning, the irate pharmacist did not waste it.  He phoned his neighbor, former State Senator George Washington Plunkitt, who lived at 323 West 51st Street.  Plunkitt, in turn, called United States Commissioner Hitchcock.  The Sun reported, "the Commissioner and United States Attorney Edwin M. Stanton went to the police station, where the three fixed up the papers for the druggist's release."  Senator Plunkitt provided the $5,000 bail, offering his residence as security.  (The incident seems to have affected Dr. James even more severely.  On the day Phillips was released, he was committed to Bellevue Hospital for the insane.)

Intricate Renaissance inspired carvings surround the ground floor window.

George F. Phillips might as easily have called his neighbor Owen W. Bohan.  A year before the incident, Bohan had been appointed Assistant District Attorney.  (He earned $4,000 per year in that position, or about $102,000 today.)  

Born in Ireland, he was as well-known in Irish-American circles as in the legal community.  In 1916, his apartment became the "headquarters" for the west side's campaign for raising funds for the Irish Republic.  When Sinn Fein president Eamon de Valera slipped out of New York in 1920, according to the Irish-American newspaper The Advocate, "It was at Mr. Bohan's house he put on his disguise of clothes."

In fact, Bohan and his wife were abroad at the time and in their absence had offered their apartment to "Harry Boland, Lian Mellows and others interested in the Irish movement," according to The Advocate.  

Bohan's trip to Italy was strictly for business, not pleasure.  On February 13, 1917, 18-year-old Ruth Cruger had gone missing.  Her body was found buried in the cellar of Alfred Cocci's shop where she had taken her ice skates for sharpening.  Cocci fled to his native Italy, but to no avail.  While he was not extradited to the United States, he was tried in Italy with Owen W. Bohan assisting in the prosecution and conviction.  On December 20, 1920, the New-York Tribune reported that Bohan, "returned on the White Star liner in company with Mrs. Bohan.  Paying high tribute to Italian justice, he said that the verdict against Cocci was unanimous."

In March 1923, Bohan was promoted.  The Morning Telegraph reported he "has been advanced to the top by District Attorney Joab H. Banton.  He will receive a salary of $10,000."  (That pay would translate to about $160,000 in 2023.)  The Bohans were still living at 314 West 51st Street a decade later when, on September 4, 1933, The Advocate reported he was nominated for office of Judge of the Court of General Sessions.  The newspaper said, "Owen W. Bohan is an ornament to the Celtic branch of the American family.  He will grace the bench with his dignity and erudition and his humane viewpoint on life."

Samuel Huston died in his apartment here in 1936, after having owned the building for more than three decades.  His estate sold the property to Rose Lauter in July that year.  By now the West 51st Street neighborhood was in decline.

Among the tenants in 1938 was 28-year-old Patrick Pico.  He was the mastermind of a two-man burglary scheme tagged by police as a "dollar-deposit" racket.  He and 27-year-old Ruben Tormey would go to rooming houses, pay $1 deposit on a room saying they expected to get money that day, and obtain a set of keys.  When the landlord left, "they would fill their suitcases with jewelry, furs, cameras, binoculars, clothing and anything else they could lay their hands on, and flee," as reported by the New York Post on May 17, 1938.  By the time Ruben Tormey was caught, they had victimized at least 25 rooming houses.  The newspaper said Tormey took police to 314 West 51st Street "where they found Pico--as well as six leather bags full of alleged loot and thirty-five gown tickets."

In 1941 the ground floor was still unpainted and the entranceway intact.  image via the NYC Dept of Records & Information Services.

In 1942 the once-respectable building was converted to single-room-occupancy, with seven and eight rooms per floor.  Markos Maviudis took over as proprietor in February 1943, and among the first things he did was to clear out the basement.  There he found two trunks, one of which held an old mattress.  He closed the trunks and forgot about them.

But then, two years later on August 2, 1945 Maviudis returned to the basement, prompted by tenants' complaints of an odor.  He opened the trunk, removed the mattress, and made a shocking discovery.  The Associated Press reported, "The body of a man, clad in tan trousers, tan belt, lumber jacket and green overcoat was found in a trunk yesterday in the cellar of a five-story rooming house at 314 West Fifty-first street."  The body had been stuffed in a canvas bag and hidden underneath the mattress.

Living here in 1953 was 25-year-old actor William Canty.  Homosexuality was not something to be openly displayed at mid-century, something that Canty and his date, 45-year-old Stanley McGreary painfully discovered in March that year.  The couple took in a show at Radio City Music Hall, but their affection got the better of their discretion.  They were arrested on technical charges of loitering.  The Herald Statesman reported that Detective Mary Shanley told the court, "McGreary and Canty were seated in the theatre with their arms around each other and their heads on each other's shoulders."  Each was released on $500 bail awaiting their hearing for the crime.

A renovation completed in 1980 brought the building back to two apartments per floor.  The brownstone base has been painted and, sadly, the Corinthian columns and entablature of the entrance have been removed.

photos by the author

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The Women's National Republican Club - 3-5 West 51st Street

photo by Dmadeo

When William P. Clyde, head of the Clyde Steamship Line, died in his five-story mansion--formerly the home of Andrew and Louise Carnegie--at No. 3-5 West 51st Street in 1926 he left an estate of more than $11.6 million.   The once exclusive neighborhood was much changed; now one of business buildings, hotels and shops.  Nevertheless, his widow lived on in the imposing mansion which snuggled up against the rear wall of the former Vanderbilt triplex facing Fifth Avenue.

Mrs. Clyde's fatal heart attack in the house on February 3, 1931 sounded the death knell for one of the last private mansions in Midtown.  Within five months it was sold to the newly-formed 3 West Fifty-first Street Corporation for $295,000--a considerable amount considering the ongoing Great Depression, equaling about $4.75 million today.

Seen from across the rubble of other former mansions, razed to make way for Rockefeller Center, the Clyde mansion still stood in November 1932.  photo from the collection of the New York Public Library

At the time the The Women's National Republic Club had its headquarters No. 8 East 37th Street.  Founded by Henrietta Wells Livermore in 1921, the club was based on the idea that women--who had earned the right to vote just a year earlier--should fully comprehend the issues and the candidates.  Mrs. Livermore's ideals were not entirely without bias, as reflected in the club's name.

Members of the New York Women's Republican Club posed with President Calvin Coolidge on the White House lawn on December 1, 1924.  from the collection of the Library of Congress

The Women's National Republican Club sold $300,000 in bonds to pay for a new clubhouse.  On February 1, 1933 The New York Times reported that the goal had been reached and construction on the site of the Clyde mansion would be commenced "as soon as permits have been granted by the city."  Society architect Frederic Rhinelander King had already submitted his plans.

Three months later the mansion was no more and on May 25, 1933 the cornerstone of the new structure was laid by former club president Maude K. Wetmore.  The speakers were Republican National Committeeman Charles D. Hilles, and former Representative Ruth Pratt.  Among the items placed within the stone were a copy of the United States Constitution, and an American flag.

The New York Times took the opportunity to hint at what was to come.  "The new building will be eleven stories high and will include thirty bedrooms, an assembly room, to be called the George Washington room, and a library dedicated to the memory of Calvin Coolidge."

The Women's Republican Club was completed in March 1934.  King had produced a severe neo-Classical structure faced in stone.  Sparse Georgian detailing hinted at the 18th century-styled interiors.  Despite its otherwise patrician facade, two shops were incorporated at street level to add income to the club.

The second floor featured three sets of dramatic floor-to-ceiling French doors, unified by a shallow cast iron balcony.  Above the center opening a bas relief disc flanked by eagles announced the club's name and date of founding.  A setback at the fifth floor partially hid the uppermost floors from street level, giving the clubhouse a more domestic aura and preventing a detached skyscraper feeling.

A postcard revealed the former mansions on either side of the newly-completed complex which would be soon demolished.

On March 25, 1934 The New York Times remarked on the prominent figures who would be attending the formal opening--former Secretary of the Treasury Ogden L. Mills; former Secretary of State Henry L. Stimson; Theodore Roosevelt, Jr., son of the deceased President; Senator George R. Fearon; Speaker of the State Assembly Joseph A McGinnies; and others.

The article mentioned the 18th century furnishings which had been transferred from the former clubhouse saying "they are valued at more than $60,000."  There were three floors of bedrooms ("each with a private bath"), dressing rooms for out-of-town members, a main dining room and two smaller private dining rooms.  The Washington Assembly Room occupied the full width of the second floor.  Here, said The Times, "will be held the club's School of Politics, which attracts hundreds of women each Monday morning."  In the Calvin Coolidge Memorial Library on the fourth floor was hung a portrait painted by Wayman Adams a year before Coolidge's death.  An amenity for members was the solarium "with red, white and blue wicker furniture."

The Calvin Coolidge Library as it appears today.  photo via wnrc.org

The opening was attended by "several thousand persons," according to newspaper accounts.  In her address that evening Mrs. George A. Wyeth proclaimed "The opening of the club marks the rebirth of the Republican party."

The Women's National Republican Club was never intended to be a social club; however its well-to-do members sometimes achieved their goals through social activities.  Such was the case on September 20, 1934.  The Times reported "An advertising supper dance entitled 'The Taxpayer's Temptation in Wonderland' will be held at the Women's National Republican Club...to raise money for the Republican Educational League."   Debutantes appeared in costumes advertising American products and New York shops.

The following summer the club initiated a novel class.  On July 22, 1935 the Rockland County Journal-News reported "In New York a class in political speaking has been opened at 3 West Fifty-first street, the home of the Women's National Republican Club and Mrs. Caraway is confident that before the Autumn is well under way, the other 26 States represented on the national council of the club will follow suit."

Mrs. Henry R. Caraway was president of the club at the time.  A resident of Carmel, New York she was no stranger to club leadership.  During World War I she was president of the Women's University Club and had been president of the University of Chicago Alumnae Association for ten years.   As reported by the Bronxville Press on February 21, 1936, she not only gave "fortnightly talks at the club's headquarters" and held "classes for the Republican Business and Professional Women," she "has campaigned extensively throughout the country and is also a lecturer on current political events."

Speakers who appeared before the Women's National Republican Club were often fiery and at times more than a bit overzealous in their partisanship.  Representative James W. Wadsworth addressed the club on March 26, 1936 to denounce the Democratic administrations's "heavy expenditures and resultant tax program."  He shockingly accused Franklin D. Roosevelt of attempting to "establish a dictatorship fashioned after those set up by Hitler and Mussolini."

William M. Chadbourne, president of the National Republican Club, was no less dire in his warning to 250 club members on July 16, 1940.  He called the current political situation "more perilous than any since the foundation of the Republic--more perilous even than in 1860," referring to the then-impending Civil War.  He urged the women to "bend every effort" to put Wendell L. Willkie into office.

"If we fail," he warned, "no one knows what will happen."

His prediction of doom was echoed by Supreme Court Justice Joseph M. Proskauer, who spoke at a rally in the building on October 29 that same year.  Roosevelt, he said, was bent on absolute dictatorship.  "There is a pattern by which democracies decay, and dictators, whether conscious or unconscious, good or bad, ride in.  I indict the New Deal of using that pattern."

Vicious party politics was put aside when the nation was drawn into World War.  A month after the attack on Pearl Harbor, Marion Martin, director of the club's women's activities, addressed a group of 150 members.  She told the women to cease worrying "about candidates" and begin working for the country as a whole.

"The one thing that should be uppermost in our minds is to prove our patriotism by cooperating in the sale of defense bonds and stamps, by cooperating with the Office of Civilian Defense and by doing everything we can to aid the Red Cross and other recognized agencies."

Later that spring a dance for servicemen on leave was held in the clubhouse.  On the evening of March 27 the Furlough Frolic gave officers of the Army, Navy and Marine Corps. a break from the war.

In the post-war years The Women's National Republican Club continued to host lectures, sponsor educational seminars, and classes.  Then, in 1974, The Lambs lost its lavish clubhouse at No. 128 West 44th Street to foreclosure.  The group of theatrically-involved members moved into Nos. 3-5 West 51st Street with The Women's National Republican Club.  More of the building was shared when the top floors--once the bedrooms for members--were converted to the 3 West Club, a boutique hotel.

Despite the mostly shuffling inside, the exterior of Frederic Rhinelander King's stoic limestone clubhouse remains unchanged--worthy of inclusion on the National Register of Historic Places in 2012.

R. S. Townsend's 1882 Hell's Kitchen Flats at 360 West 51st Street

Ralph Samuel Townsend was just 27 years old when he received the commission to design a flat building for Joseph S. Pruden in 1881.  Townsend was the son of a builder, also named Ralph Townsend, and he had only recently opened his architectural office.

The project was an interesting one.  The Hell's Kitchen neighborhood where the site was located was notoriously crime-ridden and dangerous.  But developers (most significantly the Striker family which had owned much of the land since the 17th century) were currently replacing scores of dilapidated wooden "shanties" with brick tenements.

On September 11, 1880 Pruden had purchased the two two-story wooden houses at Nos. 360 and 362 West 51st Street.  He paid Elizabeth Solomon the equivalent of $216,000 today.  He widened the plot by purchasing three more feet of land, a "portion of two-story frame stable," as described in the title, on December 4.

Townsend filed the plans in February 1881.  Despite the gritty neighborhood, the five story flat building would be targeted to middle-class families, with just two apartments per floor--one on either side of the central stair hall.  The architect faced the five-story structure in red brick and trimmed it in beige sandstone.  Its neo-Grec design played out in prim symmetry and, originally, the lintels which held hands by thin bandcourses were adorned with incised carvings.  

The carved decorations were shaved flat in the 20th century; but one example somehow survived (lower center).

Townsend gave the facade a splash of color with Queen Anne style terra cotta tiles at the second and third floors.  A cast iron cornice ran along the roofline.  The completed structure cost Pruden $28,000--a surprising $645,000 in today's dollars given the marginal neighborhood.

While some of their neighbors may have led lives of crime, the residents of No. 360 seem to have been law-abiding and respectable.  John J. Finn, for instance, was appointed a City Surveyor on November 14, 1899.   Finn was well-known by now throughout the city.

When a young man he enlisted in Company K, 11th New York Volunteers on April 19, 1861 "in response to President Lincoln's first call for troops," according to The Evening World.  He participated in the battles of Bull Run, McCloud's Mill, Blackburn's Ford and Brick House.  He was also involved in the defense of Newport News against the Confederate fleet, headed by the ironclad Merrimac.

Following the war he returned to the printing business, while also giving much time to the volunteer fire department.   He was a force within organized labor, a fact that most likely resulted in his City Surveyor position.  When he died on November 18, 1900 The Evening World called him "one of the best known of the men identified with the active life of New York during the past forty years."

Another tenant visible in the labor movement was William J. Matthews.  He lived here in 1901 when he was elected to the Citizens' Union Party.

It was about that time that Dr Warren Chamberlain McFarland and his wife moved in.   The physician was financially comfortable enough to be one of the original founders of the Sanitary Engineering Company in 1904; but he was perhaps best known for being related to Abby and Daniel McFarland.

Daniel, Dr. McFarland's uncle, had duped Abby Sage into marrying him in 1857 when she was just 19 years old.  Abby was well educated and an aspiring writer.  Daniel, who was 38, told her he was a well-to-do, prominent lawyer.  He was not.  Instead he was a violent drunk who immediately began pawning Abby's jewelry.

It came to a head in 1867 when Abby left McFarland.  She took a room on West Washington Place, as did Albert Deane Richardson, who had lived in the same boarding house as the McFarlands.   Abby was seen publicly with Richardson and rumors of their romantic involvement infuriated McFarland.  The month after Abby obtained a divorced on the grounds of "drunkenness, extreme cruelty, and failure to support a wife," Daniel McFarland walked into Richardon's office on November 25, 1869 and shot him.

Richardson lingered, mortally wounded, as Abby rushed to his side.  On November 30 the Rev. Henry Ward Beecher visited his deathbed where he married the couple.  Richardson died two days later.

Dr. McFarland was called to the witness stand at least twice during the lurid, five-week long trial proceedings.  His testimonies were published across the country.  While there was no question that Daniel McFarland had murdered Richardson, the Victorian press greatly focused on Abby's indiscretions.

On April 15, 1870 the Memphis Daily Appeal reported on Dr. McFarland's testimony.  He said that he had gone to the West Washington Place boarding house where his aunt "occupied a room connecting with one occupied by Richardson," and that he had "remonstrated with her."  He testified that in another conversation "she said she only wanted money to make her an elegant woman" and "all she wanted was money to gather around her the literary elite of New York."

Newspapers nationwide, religious leaders and society at large blamed Abby's adultery for driving her husband mad.   The jury deliberated for less than two hours before proclaiming Daniel McFarland not guilty.

The first decades of the 20th century continued to see the tenant list filled with mostly Irish names.  Like John J. Finn and William Matthews, Joseph H. Byrne was involved in the labor movement and interested in politics.  He was here in 1908 when he was elected Vice President of the Independence League Party.

Three decades after its completion, the estate of Joseph S. Pruden sold the building on May 11, 1912.  The change in ownership did not affect its operation and No. 360 continued to be home to hard-working, middle class families.

In 1925 Harry Moore narrowly escaped death in while performing his work as a longshoreman.  On February 27 Moore was the foreman of the gang of eight men loading freight onto the steamer Lenape at the Hudson River Pier 36.  He was on deck, directing the men as barrels of chemicals were lowered on a sling to the hold.

Suddenly he heard his men "coughing and calling for aid," and smelled noxious fumes rising from the cargo hold.  He called seven other laborers and led them below deck.  By now the shouts of the men had become moans.

Somehow one of the drums of deadly cyanide acid had broken, releasing deadly gases into the compartment.  Moore and the other men tried valiantly to pull the men out, but they too were quickly overcome.  Another gang was sent in and, according to The New York Times the following day, "After some work they succeeded in bringing all the stricken men to the deck."  Harry Moore one of the two most seriously affected.  He and another man were taken to St. Vincent's Hospital where "hope was held out for their recovery."

The carvings of the entranceway hint at the lost overall ornamentation.

Another tenant to experience a narrow escape was 23-year old James Lee who lived here during the Depression years.  On September 5, 1934 he and six friends, including Arnold Kramer, crammed into Kramer's automobile of Arnold Kramer and headed off on a drive in the country.   The outing would end in tragedy.

In Port Chester, New York, the car was involved in a horrific crash with a truck driven by Fred Bosies.  All six of the passengers were injured; Lee suffering a broken leg and cut.  But Arnold Kramer did not survive the accident.  Bosies was arrested on a technical charge of homicide.

The Hell's Kitchen neighborhood still retained its tainted reputation at mid-century.  But the residents of No. 360 brought no bad press to the address.  Not, that is, until January 4, 1952.

Eugene Conden was 21 years old when, "swaggering and cursing," according to police, he entered the Economy Sandwich Shop on Seventh Avenue between 40th and 41st Street at around 4:30 in the morning.  He pulled out a pistol and ordered the customers, the night manager and the counterman to line up against the wall.   Just then 62-year old Sam Klein strode in and, unaware of what was happening, called to the kitchen "Give me a Western on white."

Conden turned to Klein and said "This is a stick-up."

The man was incredulous.  "Are you kidding?"

To prove that he was not kidding, Conden shot him in the foot and demanded his wallet.  When Klein did not move fast enough, Conden fired another shot at his foot.  He then gathered the $41.50 in the cash register and ran out.

Klein was removed to St. Clare's Hospital.  And that's where karma took over.

Patrolman John D. Ritchie came across a man sprawled on the sidewalk at 46th Street and Broadway and, unable to arouse the apparent drunk, called an ambulance.   Ritchie accompanied him to St. Clare's Hospital where he was placed in the bed next to Sam Klein.

Klein was answering the questions of three detectives when his attention was suddenly drawn to the bed next to him.  He heard the patient mumble to Officer Ritchie, "I shot a man in the foot."  It took Ritchie and the three detectives to restrain Klein when he realized that his assailant was feet away from him.   Conden was arrested on charges of robbery and illegal possession of a weapon.

A typical floor plan today.  The "railroad" layout originally had three bedrooms.  The front bedroom, next to the living room, was no doubt the dining room in 1882.  via streeteasy.com

Surprisingly, the spacious apartments were never broken up.  They retain their 1882 layouts, with understandable tweaks for 21st century residents.  And other than the regrettable loss of the 19th century incised decorations, Townsend's handsome flat building--constructed when development in Hell's Kitchen was a risky gamble--is essentially intact.

photographs by the author

The Anton Mohren House - 405 West 51st Street

The neighborhood around Ninth Avenue and 51st Street had earned the unflattering nickname Hell's Kitchen by 1877.  Notorious as a center of poverty, crime and violence, its streets were lined with dilapidated wooden structures.  Newspapers reported that even some police officers were fearful to walk its streets; and many of those who did "profited to a greater extent by being discreetly deaf, dumb, and blind" to the criminal activities around them.

Mary Ann O'Brien was a widow who owned the two-story wooden building at No. 405 West 51st Street.  On the first floor was a store, and while upstairs portion was probably intended for one family, it is likely she shared it with roomers.  On October 25, 1877 she sold the property to Anton Mohren for $3,400--just under $82,000 today.

Mohren ran his "horse and wagon" business from the store and rented the upper portion of the building.  The conditions of the neighborhood and the structure itself are evident in a report from the Health Department the following year.  On October 22 the Disinfecting Corps offered to give Mohren a few months to correct problems.  The Health Board resolved that orders against the building "be hereby suspended until May 3 1879."

Anton Mohren was successful enough that he made major renovations to the building in 1884.  On April 11 he filed plans to add a third story, and remove and replace the front facade.  His $2,000 make-over (nearly $50,000 today), cost him about two-thirds of his original purchase price.  But he now had an up-to-date, if modest, brick-faced edifice with a metal cornice and cast iron storefront.  It was a marked improvement to the old wooden structure.

It seems that Mohren had borrowed the money from his son-in-law, William Blatt.  In turn he transferred title to Blatt.  In what appears to have been a warm gesture, Blatt returned the title to Mohren "during life" on September 16, 1886.  The deed directed that after Mohren's death, it would pass to his two children, Annie Blatt and Anton, Jr.

At the time George F. Liginger and his partner, M. Siebert, ran the butcher shop around the corner at No. 765 Ninth Avenue.   Their business was large enough that they owned a delivery wagon and horse.  By the turn of the century Liginger invested in real estate as well by purchasing No. 405 West 51st Street.

Hell's Kitchen was not the best area for real estate investment.  The building was "sold" four times from 1915 to 1921, but like the proverbial bad penny, it always ended up back in Liginger's name.  Finally in December 1921 it was purchased by John and Patrick Mullen.  At the time the property was assessed at between $8,500 and $9,000.

The Mullen brothers had owned properties in the immediate area since the 1880s.  Their office was nearby at No. 761 Ninth Avenue.  Within weeks they hired architects Ross & McNeil to do $2,000 in upgrading--removing an interior wall and installing new beams and columns.

The Hell's Kitchen neighborhood remained gritty through most of the 20th century; so it is surprising that at mid-century the former store space was home to the Artists Opera Guild.  In reporting on "Programs of the Week" on June 4 1950, The New York Times noted that Madama Butterfly would be performed here that night at 8:15.

Gentrification and change eventually did come to the area; perhaps no where more evident that at No. 405 West 51st Street.  In 2000 Posh opened in the ground floor space--calling itself today "the first and original gay bar in Hell's Kitchen."

Still stubbornly resisting change, No. 405 is among the last survivors on the block from a dismal period.  Despite the colorful awning and alterations to the cast iron storefront, the building's rusting cornice and 1884 facade stand out as a picturesque relic.

photographs by the author

The Church of the Sacred Heart of Jesus -- West 51st Street

photo by Alice Lum

In 1876 the West Side of Manhattan north of 42^nd Street was rapidly developing.  Cardinal McCloskey recognized that “a parochial district was demanded by the growth of the city in that direction,” as explained by The Evening World twelve years later.  The Plymouth Baptist Church on West 51^st Street between Ninth and Tenth Avenues was available, and the Catholic Church purchased it for $24,500.  Another $1,000 was spent “in fitting it up for the Catholic worship,” said The Evening World, and on June 25, 1876 the Church of the Sacred Heart of Jesus was dedicated.

Before the first service was concluded, it was obvious that the current structure would not be sufficient.  The church building was relatively new; but it accommodated only about 900 worshipers.  In his remarks during the dedication, Vicar-General Quinn “urged the people of the parish to build a larger structure, for it was easily seen that the church he had opened would soon be too small for the growing demands of the parish,” reported The Evening World.

Father Martin J. Brophy was selected by the Cardinal to head the parish.  He immediately started fund raising efforts and purchased land along the 51^st Street block in anticipation of upcoming building projects.  In October 1880 construction on the pastoral residence was begun on the plot abutting the church.

Three years later Brophy was ready to tackle the larger task—the building of a new church.  Two days before Christmas in 1883 The New York Times reported “The Rev. Martin J. Brophy, Rector of the Church of the Sacred Heart of Jesus, in West Fifty-first-street, has perfected his arrangements to build an edifice of sufficient size for the wants of his congregation.  This work will be commenced at an early day.”

Brophy had put together a building plot 81 feet along 51^st Street, extending back 100 feet.  Architects Napoleon Le Brun & Sons were commissioned to design the new structure. Having moved to New York from Philadelphia around 1861, Le Brun busied himself not only with designing several other churches but with the fire houses of the New York Fire Department for which he had been official architect since 1879.

The architects were tasked with designing a space capable of seating a congregation which, at the time. Father Brophy estimated at about 11,000.  The Times reported that the church would be “constructed of stone and brick, with seats for 1,500 persons…For the greater accommodation of the people, the old church will be used as long as possible.”  The fund-raising had been successful and the estimated cost of $100,000 was already in the bank.

On Sunday, March 30, 1884, Father Brophy celebrated the final mass in the old building and the following morning demolition began.  By July 13 the walls were up.  That afternoon a “very large crowd,” as described by The New York Times, assembled for the cornerstone laying ceremonies.  Flags “of all the nations” decorated the church walls and the platform as 30 priests and 20 altar boys took part in the impressive service.  The Archbishop sprinkled the walls with holy water, the normal psalms and prayers were recited, and the lead box was placed into the cornerstone and sealed.

Construction continued for another year.  On May 16, 1885, as the building neared completion, Archbishop Corrigan was back to consecrate the “three magnificent marble altars,” as described by The New York Times.  The custom-built organ, which along cost $10,000 (about $234,000 today), was also nearly completed.

The day following the consecration of the altars, the new Church of the Sacred Heart of Jesus was dedicated and blessed.  According to The Sun on May 18, 1885, “Two thousand persons were present.”  The choir consisted of a double quartet with a chorus of 150 voices.  The newspaper reported that the completed structure had come in just above budget at $125,000.

The Evening World reported that “the appointments throughout are elegant and artistic, the interior of the church itself being one of the handsomest and most imposing in the city.” 

photograph from "The Catholic Church in the United States of America", 1914 (copyright expired)

Napoleon LeBrun & Sons had produced a red brick beauty touted by architectural critics as vaguely “Venetian.”  The architects trimmed the hefty structure with limestone and terra cotta; a Romanesque Revival show stopper with touches of Gothic and Moorish.

Large areas of terra cotta, like textile, create a visually-tactile contrast to the brick and the carved stone trim -- photo by Alice Lum

Father Brophy continued on with his expansion projects.  In May 1887 he purchased four houses on 51^st Street near the church for $72,000 in preparation for the erection of a large parochial school.  On January 31, 1888 The Evening World remarked “Father Brophy is famous for his executive ability and business tact, and it is worthy of note that during the past year, besides meeting all the running expenses and paying interest on mortgages, he has reduced the debt of the church $30,000.”

The mostly Irish and German congregation of the Church of the Sacred Heart of Jesus was one of the largest in the city.  The combined political power of such a large group did not escape the notice of the clergy and in 1894 eyebrows were raised city-wide when news leaked out that the priests were using the pulpit to sway voters.

The pastor was now Father Joseph Mooney, Vicar General of the Diocese of New York, and he diplomatically avoided celebrating mass on November 4, 1894, while the other priests stumped from the pulpit.  The next day The New York Times reported that political speeches were made by the priests at all masses except the one for children.

“The remarks made by the officiating clergymen created a sensation among the members of the congregation, most of whom live in the Eighteenth Assembly District, because all Catholics, of whatever political faith, were entreated, almost commanded, to vote the straight Democratic ticket.”  The newspaper went on to say “it was at first understood by those who were present or who heard of the action taken by the Sacred Heart clergy that the whole power of the Catholic Church throughout the city had been thrown to the side of the ticket supported by Tammany Hall.”

Republican candidate for State Assembly Lawrence P. Mingey was outraged.  On the Saturday before Election Day he had strong support among voters.  He told reporters that the priests, by “advising the voters in the congregation to vote for the protection of their religion against all candidates but those on the Democratic ticket,” cost him fully 1,000 votes.  He lost the election. 

The disgruntled politician fired a strong, but respectful, letter of complaint to Archbishop M. A. Corrigan, who had denied affiliation with Tammany Hall.  In part Mingey’s letter said:

You indignantly repudiated such a scandalous imputation upon the honor of the Church. Surely the same righteous indignation will be stirred at the established fact that one of the churches in your diocese and under your control has prostituted its holy services in assistance to the organization from the touch of which you gather your robes lest their purity be sullied.

Whether it was the church’s close proximity to the notoriously gritty Hell’s Kitchen area, or simply a case of boys-will-be-boys; but on February 27, 1906 the building was shamefully vandalized.  Father Mooney telephoned the West 47^th Street police station that night, reporting burglars in the church.  When police arrived, they found that there were no burglars; but “small boys who had got on the roof of the church and were throwing stones at the windows.”  The delinquents escaped when the police arrived, but not before breaking several windows.

Prior to the turn of the century the reputation of theatrical types often prevented their being married in tight-laced churches.  By the time the boys were breaking windows in the church the situation had relaxed.  On November 30 that year two high-profile people from the entertainment world were wed in the Church of the Sacred Heart of Jesus.

Frederic Thompson had become famous along with his partner Skip Dundy through their over-the-top entertainment projects.  They had created the massive Hippodrome on Sixth Avenue; conceived and built Luna Park; and, as described by The Sun, designed and built “similar wonders at the Chicago, Atlanta and Buffalo expositions.”

At 19-years old, actress Mabel Taliaferro was markedly younger than her 32-year old fiancé of two weeks.  She was raised in a stage family and was known as a child actress.  At the time of her quiet wedding here, she was playing in Pippa Passes at the Majestic Theatre.  New York audiences had previously seen her in Mrs. Wiggs of the Cabbage Patch and The Little Princess.

It was not the grandeur of the ceremony—the only witnesses to the wedding were Thompson’s brother-in-law and his chauffeur—but the fact that it involved two celebrities that earned it a spot in the newspapers.

photo by Alice Lum

Joseph F. Mooney was eagerly anticipating the visit of Archbishop Giovanni Bonzano, the new Papal Delegate, to New York who was scheduled to arrive on May 3, 1912.  Now elevated to Monsignor, Mooney still held his position as Vicar-General and would play an important part in the Archbishop’s reception.

Three days before the arrival, on April 30, Monsignor Mooney was riding in a taxi when it skidded into a parked automobile.  Shards of flying glass struck the priest’s head, inflicting a two-inch gash over his right temple.  The Sun reported “This wound has been dressed, but the doctors have insisted that Mgr. Mooney remain absolutely quiet.  Mgr. Mooney will not be able to take part in the reception of Archbishop Bonzano.”

If Mooney was dejected over his bad luck; perhaps he was less so when Bonzano, along with Cardinal Farley, Monsignor Ceretti of Washington and Monsignor Lewis arrived at the Sacred Heart of Jesus Rectory to pay a personal visit on May 4.

When Cardinal John Murphy Farley died on September 17, the 70-year old Monsignor Mooney became temporary head of the archdiocese, in addition to his role as pastor of Sacred Heart.  The Evening World reported the following day, “With the death of Cardinal Farley, Mgr. Joseph F. Mooney automatically becomes administrator of the archdiocese of New York.”  The newspaper added that he “has the title of prothonotory apostolic from the Vatican.”

To show their respect for Mooney, more than 3,000 Catholic men filed into the church on the morning of March 9, 1919 to attend Holy Communion.  “The service is in connection with a testimonial being offered the Monsignor on the occasion of this twenty-fifth anniversary as spiritual director of the Archdiocesan Union of the Holy Name Society,” explained The Sun.

A more worldly token of appreciation came to Mooney in June 1921.  The monsignor had been hospitalized since November 7, 1920; however he had improved to the point that doctors felt he could attend mass at Sacred Heart of Jesus for his golden jubilee as a priest.  Mooney had been rector of the church since 1890.

On June 3, 1921 the New-York Tribune reported that “as a mark of the high esteem in which he is held,” he was being presented with a gift of $10,000 (about 12 times that much in today’s dollars).  The newspaper added “He also will be presented with an automobile.  The car will be the gift of the clergy of the Catholic archdiocese of New York.”

An unspeakable tragedy occurred on April 22, 1922.  Nine-year old Vincent Jennings received his Confirmation in the church that morning.  Less than an hour after the service, he was struck by a delivery truck a block away at the corner of Tenth Avenue and 52^nd Street.  The truck driver rushed the boy to Roosevelt Hospital where he was pronounced dead on arrival.

Just before 11:00 on the night of May 13, 1923, the Right Rev. Monsignor Joseph F. Mooney died in the rectory.  He had suffered a succession of paralytic stroke which left him wheel chair bound.  The 83-year old priest’s passing would trigger the most impressive ceremonies to take place in the Church of the Sacred Heart of Jesus.

His body was laid in state in the church the next day and The New York Times reported that it “was viewed by thousands of the venerable pastor’s parishioners.”  On May 16 a solemn pontifical mass of requiem was celebrated by Archbishop Patrick J. Hayes.  There was not enough space within the church to accommodate the crowd, estimated at between 10,000 and 15,000.  In addition “thirty-one hundred boys and girls of the Sacred Heart parochial School lined Fifty-first Street, from Ninth Avenue to Tenth Avenue, in accordance with Mgr. Mooney’s dying wish,” reported The New York Times.

Flags throughout the parish were flown at half-staff and American flags were flown from hospitals, tenement and apartment house windows, and other facilities.  More than 300 priests were in attendance, along with three bishops and more than two dozen monsignors.

Several times Monsignor Mooney had refused elevation to Bishop due to, according to newspapers, “his modesty and humility.”  Nevertheless, he was dressed in the vestments of a bishop in his coffin.

In 1930, as now, the church posed an imposing presence on the block -- photograph from the collection of the New York Public Library

A disturbing set of events started during the 10:00 mass on July 22, 1934.  About 500 worshipers were in the church when smoke wafted into the sanctuary.  Rev. Cletus McCarthy sent an altar boy to investigate.  The boy found fire fighters tackling a blaze in the Sacred Heart School.  When Father McCarthy realized that the congregants were not in danger, he continued services.  Fire fighters estimated the damage to the school building at about $1,500.  “The blaze was believed to have been of incendiary origin,” reported The New York Times.

Exactly one week later another fire started, this time in the church basement directly under the altar.  While priests groped through the dense black smoke to rescue the Blessed Sacrament and sacred vessels, firemen flooded the basement with three inches of water.  Once again the fire marshal deemed the fire “of suspicious origin.”

More damaging to the interior of the church than any fire were the ramifications of the 1965 Vatican Council.  Witnesses reported that the marble altars were smashed with sledgehammers.  The Stations of the Cross were demolished and the Victorian LeBrun interiors were savagely modernized.  It was most likely at this time that the great rose window was bricked up.  The entrance doors at some point were discarded, to be replaced with unsympathetic glass panels with modern etched designs more expected in a restaurant than a church.

The replacements to LeBrun's Victorian entrance doors could best be described as hideous -- photo by Alice Lum

Today the neighborhood is ethnically diverse and one Sunday Mass is celebrated in Spanish.  The Church of the Sacred Heart of Jesus continues its important role in the community, participating in the Feeding Our Neighbors project that replenishes food pantries.

The exuberant 1885 structure is no less imposing on the quiet 51^st Street block today than it was 130 years ago.  Despite the regrettable attempts at improving its unimprovable design, it remains a fantastic treasure.

photo by Alice Lum

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