Albert Wagner's 134-136 Spring Street

In October 1894 architect and developer Albert Wagner purchased the "old buildings" at Nos. 134 and 136 Spring Street, and at Nos. 84 through 88 Wooster Street.  The properties, which formed an L, cost Wagner nearly $200,000; and the Real Estate Record & Guide predicted he "will improve the property at an early date by the erection of a seven or ten-story semi-fire-proof business structure."

Wagner wasted little time in designing his new loft and store building.  Plans were filed on January 19, 1895 with projected construction costs at $150,000--nearly $4.4 million today.  His aggressive Renaissance Revival design included massive two-story piers of chunky rough-cut stone at street level.  Above the second story, two vast four story arches were framed zipper-like by terra cotta blocks decorated with oak leaves.  Wagner's additional use of terra cotta included full relief rosettes, spandrel panels of wreaths and ribbons, and three massive immense growling lion heads below the sixth floor cornice.  A deeply overhanging cornice supported by ambitious brackets rose above the top floor arcade.

Oak leaves fill the terra cotta quoins.  The brackets of the overhanging cornice, restored in the late 20th century, are especially interesting.

The Wooster Street elevation was slightly less grand, with alternating brick and stone layers replacing the hefty base piers, and with the terra cotta embellishments pulled back to rosettes tracing the fifth and sixth floor openings, smaller versions of the lions' heads serving as brackets, and decorative cast iron masonry supports adding interest to the piers at the third floor.

Even as the building was being constructed tenants began lining up.  On June 14 Franklin & Mirsky leased the third, fourth and seventh floors at an annual rental of $10,000 (about $24,250 per month today).   The firm, which had been operating from nearby on Greene Street, manufactured wrappers and tea gowns--the ornate dressing gowns made to be worn over petticoats.  Tailor to fit like a dress, women arising in the morning might even wear them to the breakfast table without risking her respectability.

Decades earlier, in the 1850s, Godey's Magazine depicted a women in her wrapper (left).  Franklin & Mirsky's models would have been much less voluminous.  (copyright expired)

Within the week B. Doulton took the second floor and B. Steinberg & Co. rented the fifth and sixth.  That firm made ladies underwear.  The New York Times remarked "The building is now being erected by Albert Wagner, and is thoroughly rented months in advance of its completion."

By the time the building was completed on May 27, 1896 Wagner had sold it.   Its three tenants all manufactured apparel.   Franklin & Mirsky employed 15 men, 17 women and 8 girls under 21 years old.  The male and female workers most likely worked on separate floors.  The firm reported to the State that in 1896 its teen-aged employees worked a 60-hour work week.

It would not be long before Franklin & Mirsky felt the effects of the dawning laborer rights movement.  The Annual Report of the State's Mediation and Arbitration Board for 1899 noted "On February 10th, 15 garment cutters employed at the shop of Franklin & Mirsky, 134 Spring street, New York city, went on strike because of the discharge of one of their number for an infraction of the shop rules, which they considered too trivial to warrant the discharge."

The very concept of workers challenging the autocratic decisions of management would have been unthinkable a generation earlier.  Now the factory workers held sway.  "They remained out a week, when the matter was adjusted satisfactorily to all and they returned to work."

By the turn of the century M. L. Getten & Bros. was manufacturing its "Guarantee" brand skirts here.  The high-end "dress and walking skirts," sold at emporiums like Siegel-Cooper, retailed for up to $15 in 1905--more than $400 in today's dollars.  A description of a Voile Dress Skirt in January that year helped explain the high price.  "Silk lined and trimmed with tailor stitched taffeta and peau de soie strapping in new designs.  These skirts of taffeta silk drops finished with a dust ruffle."

Although also involved in the textile industry, William M. Poz was not involved in clothing.  Instead he focused on the rapidly emerging automobile industry.  Many of the vehicles required cloth roofs which could be folded down in good weather.  Poz acted as sales agent for fabrics designed specifically for that purpose.

In June 1908 the Automobile Trade Journal announced "Wm. M. Poz, 134-136 Spring street, New York, sole agent for the well-known 'Rubba-silk' is now offering a new fabric known as 'Lohengrin,' which is composed of all silk in the fabric, and is coated with the best Para gum.  It is a most serviceable fabric, and beings being rich in appearance as well as very strong and durable, it is also water repellent."

Vehicles like this 1907 touring car required water-proof fabrics like those offered by William Poz.  Automobile Trade Journal June 1908 (copyright expired)

Poz tantalized manufacturers by promising that in the Spring of 1909 he would be "getting out a new cloth, called the 'Cloth of Gold."  This fabric, he said, "is also silk [and] is water-proof and water repellent."

In the meantime, cloak makers Philip and Max Weinstein were also dealing with the labor problems.  A Weinstein Brothers employee, Harry Briskman, tried to unionize the factory in the spring of 1907; but one employee went to felonious lengths.

Thirteen factory workers were arrested and appeared before Magistrate Sweetser in Jefferson Market Court on March 28.  All but Philip Hanken were released "with warnings."  But Hanken had gone too far.  He was charged "with trying to cripple the firm's business by removing three clamps from machinery." He was held for trial on $1,000 bail.

The loft building that the Record & Guide had described as "semi-fire-proof" received a forward-thinking improvement in January 1909.  Two years before the devastating Triangle Shirtwaist fire that claimed the lives of 146 garment workers, the New-York Tribune reported that plans had been filed "for equipping the seven story loft building at Nos. 134 and 136 Spring street with an auxiliary fire extinguisher sprinkler plant."

The sprinklers no doubt eased concerns of workers; but conditions in apparel shops continued to border on intolerable.  On November 23 that year The Sun reported that a general strike of 40,000 shirtwaist makers had been ordered by the union.  Among the first to walk off the job were the 200 employees of Joseph Rosenberg & Co. in the Spring Street building.

By the spring of 1910 things had returned to normal in Joseph Rosenberg & Co.'s shirt factory.  But tragedy occurred on May 20 when 17-year old Charles Kessler was ordered to repair several leaky fire buckets.  The teen was apparently not well-versed in soldering.  In an attempt to thin the molten lead he poured water into the crucible.  The explosive reaction sent boiling water and searing lead into the boy's face.

The New-York Tribune reported he "was severely burned about the face and hands.  His screams of pain frightened the two hundred girls in the factory, and they made a rush for the street."

Two years later, on April 27, 1912, Gertrude Huberman was carrying cash, possibly payroll, belonging to Joseph Rosenberg & Co.  Near the corner of Broadway and 12th Street, she was attacked by Henry Kirschner.  The 23-year old attempted to wrest the package containing $319 from her.

Gertrude's white knight did not charge in on a stallion, but in a delivery truck.  James Clinton saw the assault, jumped from his truck and, according to The Sun, "gave him a beating."  Kirschner was arrested and Gertrude filed a complaint of assault and robbery.  The Sun reported that when he appeared before Magistrate Barlow "a pair of black eyes and a pleas of not guilty adorned [his] face."

Kirschner's alibi was that he was simply trying to be a gentleman when he saw Gertrude drop the package.  He told the judge that "he saw the young woman stooping down with the bag some distance away from her."  Just then, he said, Clinton "pounced upon him" and beat him up.

The judge not only did not believe the defense, he found it highly amusing.  "Magistrate Barlow after laughing at his story held Kirschner without bail for the Grand Jury."

Weinstein Brothers was still in the building at the time, now described by one journal as "one of the largest manufacturers of cloaks and suits."  That year it employed 150 men, 50 women, and four office staff.

In 1916 the building's owners, Germania Life Insurance Co., hired architects George and Henry Boehm to design renovations.  The updating included new stairs and, possibly, the electric elevator.

A new elevator operator was hired on August 14.  Veteran operator Joseph Rossi started training the young man, and soon he was doing well enough to try it himself.  But the novice pushed the lever "so hard that the cable flew off the drum."  The elevator began shooting "upward at express speed," according to The Evening World.

Rossi timed his escape and when the runaway car reached the fifth floor he leaped through the open doors.  Panicked, the new employee tried to follow; but the elapsed seconds proved fatal.  His body was caught between the car roof and the fifth floor.  The Evening World reported "His cries caused a panic among the 200 girls in a waist factory and they broke for the exits, thinking a fire had started."

A doctor arrived only minutes after the accident.  He found the man alive, but pinned between the elevator and the wall of the fifth floor.  There was no way to extricate him.  Two hours later firemen were called.  The World reported "Hook and Ladder Company No. 20 cut out a section of the wall to rescue him, but the victim, whose name could not be learned, was dead."  The young man had been employed only two hours before he died.

Apparel companies were still in the building in 1920.  That year the textile firm of Weinberg & Halperin was burglarized.  The New York Times reported on March 28 that the thieves "cut their way into the rooms of Weinberg & Walperin...They avoided burglar alarm wires and stole $9000 worth of silk."

But the garment district was already migrating north of 34th Street.  By mid century a new type of tenant had filled the building.  Advertising specialists Dan Newman Company took space in 1956; and wholesale paper dealers Elkins Company, Inc. was here in the early 1960s.

As the Soho district transformed to an arts center, the Spring Street building became home to the Persicol Gallery in 1980, and within a few years Downtown, dealers in vintage American furniture from the 1930s, operated from street level.  Later in the decade Jaap Rietman, a specialty bookstore devoted to art books, opened here.

Albert Wagner's elaborate sheet metal cornice had, by now, suffered severe deterioration.  At one point it had to be wrapped to prevent pieces from falling to the sidewalk below.  Architect Shael Shapiro was commissioned to restore the cornice and make other repairs which cost the owners about $750,000.

Today the lofts where hundreds of young women worked over sewing machines in nearly insufferable conditions have been converted to modern office space and upscale shops operate from street level.  Wagner's aggressive and handsome design, however, is little changed other than expected modernization like the replacement windows.

photographs by the author

Prostitutes, Sewing Machines and Performance Art -- No. 53 Wooster

When Samuel Dobbin erected his 18-foot wide house at No. 53 Wooster Street (just off the southwest corner of Broome Street) around 1825 the neighborhood was filling with similar middle class homes.  Faced in brick, it was two and a half stories tall; its peaked roof was no doubt punctured by one or two dormers.   Although a relatively modest home, it boasted extras like a marble stoop and, most likely, marble trim.

By 1842 James B. Phillips lived in the house.  That year on June 25 he and several other businessmen were given a demonstration of Warren's Patent Improved Horse Power and Threshing Machine.  He was duly impressed and added his name to the list of those endorsing it as one of "the most perfect inventions of the character, that have ever fallen under their observation."

Phillips and his family may have been the last respectable occupants of No. 53 Wooster Street.  In the decade prior to the outbreak of Civil War Greene Street, one block to the east, became the center of Manhattan's red light district.  It spread west to the Wooster Street address by 1857.

Just as it is today, prostitution in 1850s could be a dangerous business.  Francis Timbrook was a ruffian who left Harriet Rue battered in the summer of 1857.  When he faced Judge Osborne on assault charges on August 3, Harriet failed to appear.  Osborne may have held typical Victorian views against prostitutes; but he apparently had similar views about thugs.  Just as the bailiffs were prepared to release Timbook, the judge stepped in.

"Hold on," he ordered.  "It would be too bad to let him go.  It seems he broke her nose.  Remand the prisoner."

If Harriet Rue was still working in the house a year later, she found herself behind bars.  On September 6, 1858 The New York Times ran the headline: Disorderly Houses Broken Up.  The article noted that on Saturday night, two days earlier, "Captain Turnbull, of the Eighth Ward, made a descent on No. 53 Wooster-street, and had all the inmates locked up and committed to answer."

The house was still being run as a brothel in 1865.  Philip H. Hart was visiting the city in June that year from his home in Elmira, New York, when he dropped into No. 53 Wooster.   Like so many bordello patrons, he soon discovered that the women made their money not only through prostitution, but through theft.  It seems Anne Reid ran the house, and while her clients were undressed and preoccupied, she went through their clothing.

Most victims accepted their losses, unwilling to face the shame and publicity.  Perhaps because he was from out of town and essentially unknown, Hart went to the police.  Anne Reid was arrested on Hart's charges "that while he was at her abode with another female she picked his pockets, taking $30 therefrom."

By the time of her arrest, the district that would become known as Soho was becoming commercialized.  Loft buildings would quickly replace the modest brick or wooden houses.  But the owner of No. 53 Wooster Street took a less ambitious, less expensive route.

In 1870 the attic floor was extended to full height, a cast iron storefront was installed, and the openings updated with attractive cornices and bracketed sills.  The simple shop front was distinguished by fluted pilasters with stylized capitals.  Its neo-Grec style cornice was mimicked at the roof line.

The 1870 renovations left the marble stoop intact.

Apparently the upper floors were rented to roomers.  On October 21, 1874 F. Emrurd placed an advertisement in The New York Herald:  "A young Frenchman wishes a situation in a hotel; speaks English."  When he apparently had no offers after more than two months, his ad sounded a bit desperate.  On December 1 it read:  "Situation Wanted--By a Frenchman (speaks some English); not afraid of any kind of work; strictly honest; can be useful anywhere he may be placed."

In the meantime the store space was being rented by D. Muller for his sewing machine shop.  But by 1880 Andrew Soria's dye shop was in the building.  Founded as J. Soria & Co. before 1859 it described itself as a "French dyeing establishment."

The company remained in the Wooster Street building until the mid 1880s when it moved to Commerce Street.  In its place was Kingsberg & Strauss's "Globe Manufacturing Co."  Despite its name, the firm had nothing to do either with manufacturing nor globes.  It was a commercial printing firm.

Globe Manufacturing was gone by 1894.  American Packing Co. moved in by that year, sellers of
"American lubricating compound, boiler cleaning compound, and metal polishing paste."  The company's logo featured a rooster and the tag line "While I Live I'll Crow."

When Peter F. Meyer sold the building at auction in 1897 it was described as a "factory property."  George Bliss purchased it for $19,200 (about $575,000 today).  When he sold it at auction two years later he took a substantial loss; Thomas Monahan paid only $18,250.

Surrounded mostly by modern factory structures, the little building continued to see a relatively rapid turnover in tenants.  In the first years of the 20th century the Union Sample Card Co. printed cards used by fabrics dealers.

Monahan toyed with replacing what the New-York Tribune called "an old three story store and loft building."  He went so far as to hire architect and builder John A. Dooner to design and file plans for a "7-story brick storage building" on the site in November 1902.

The plans obviously fizzled and in 1905 he sold the building to William H. Klinker.  The building finally found a long-term tenant in the United Steel Frame Co., makers of suit case frames.  When the company was taken over by suit case manufacturer U. Prever in 1911, Luggage and Leather Goods announced it would keep the old name and remain on Wooster Street.  Prever first made changes to the factory space  "He has improved and increased the facilities for turning out first class goods and can handle all orders to the satisfaction of the trade," said the article.

United Steel Frame Co. was still here in 1920 was offered for sale.  An advertisement in The Sun offered a "Three-story substantial business building...Price $18,000."  The relative price had fallen by half since it sold in 1897.

The following year United Steel Frame built a new building in Brooklyn.  Plymouth Marine Contractors had been leasing the building in 1945 when it purchased it from the estate of Thomas E. Crimmins in an all-cash deal.  The firm, which listed itself merely as "painting," remained here until 1950 when it sold the property for $22,500.

As the last quarter of the century approached, Soho would see a drastic transformation to Manhattan's center of the arts.  In 1971 Trisha Brown's performance work "Roof Piece" included No. 53 Wooster Street.  A troupe of dancers were stationed on roof tops from this building to No. 381 Lafayette Street; each mimicking the others' choreographed movements.

Within a few years the store space where 1871 sewing machines were displayed had become an art gallery; and by 1992 was home to Giuliano Bugialli's "Cooking School in Florence."  Today the second floor is a "loft apartment," and the third is living/work space.  Throughout the district's stark changes and the building's many industrial tenants, the utterly charming storefront is little altered--including the wonderful 19th century doors.

The little building that struggled with property values in the early 20th century was offered for $12.3 million in 2016.

photographs by the author

"The Birthplace of Soho" -- 80-82 Wooster Street

For decades the old house at No. 80 Wooster Street presented problems.  Called by The New York Times a "tramp lodging house" and a "ten-cent house," it was repeatedly the scene of violent fights (several fatal), crime and disease.   The disreputable history of the property would come to an end in 1894.

In May that year developers Abraham Boehm and Lewis Coon purchased it and the building next door at No. 82 for $75,000.  The hefty price--in the neighborhood of $2 million today--reflected the commercial potential of the site among modern loft buildings.  Two weeks after the transaction, the Record & Guide reported that Boehm & Coon would "build a seven-story business building on the site, to cost about $95,000."

Architect Gilbert A. Schellenger had just completed a ten-story skyscraper for Boehm & Coon at No. 14 Maiden Lane.  He was now called back to design the loft building on Wooster Street.

The old buildings were demolished and ground broken on July 14, 1894.  The new structure rose with lightning speed, completed in only five months.  Schellenger had created a rather monumental seven story structure in the Academic Classicism style--a melding of Beaux Arts and Renaissance Revival.

The first and second floors, both distinguished by cast iron framed openings and brick piers broken by stone bands, were separated by an aggressive cornice more expected at roof level.  The upper portion of building was dominated by two massive arches, adorned with elaborate terra cotta capitals and foliate molding.  A series of arched openings connected by continuous terra cotta egg-and-dart molding dignified the top floor.   A decorative shield in heavy relief bore the initials of Boehm & Coon.

Even before the first brick had been laid "a large manufacturing firm" had leased the building.  That company was Boehm, Levine & Co., "rufflings and novelties" manufacturers.  Whether Alexander Boehm, one of the principals, was related to Abraham Boehm is unclear; but highly probable.  The firm took the upper five floors.  

The fussy fashions of the 1890s demanded intricate pleats and "ruchings."  Somewhat surprisingly, the Brotherhood of Locomotive Engineers' Monthly Journal included a column titled "Our Fashion Letter."  Its January 1892 article explained that ruchings, a series of tight pleats, "are now largely taking the place of Medici and other styles of flaring collars, both on cloth and silk dresses and on wraps."

Boehm, Levine & Co. was up to date on their styles.  An advertisement in The Journal on July 13, 1896 sought "Experienced hand pressers on ruchings; also fluters and crimpers."

In 1899 the firm still occupied the top five floors.  The ground floor now housed paper box maker Gerbereux, Flynn & Co., and Heller & Kaufmann, ladies' neckwear manufacturers occupied the second floor.

On May 7 that year fire broke out in the paper box store and factory at around 9 in the morning.  The New York Times reported "The nature of the material caused the flames to spread rapidly, accompanied by a dense smoke."  Two firefighters were overcome by the thick smoke and Acting Chief Croker, known as "Smokey Joe," was cut by broken glass.

The stalwart firemen bounced back.  The Sun reported "Fire Chaplain Smith examined the men and decided that they needed a doctor rather than a priest. He gave them medicine which he got at a nearby drug store and they resumed work in a short time."

When the blazed was extinguished, the companies on the upper floors had suffered $1,000 in smoke and water damage.  Gerbereux, Flynn & Co. was less fortunate.  It sustained losses of $4,000, nearly $120,000 in 2017 dollars.

The cast iron piers of the store front incorporate Renaissance Revival style decorations.

In 1902 Boehm & Coon sold "the modern buildings" to the Providence Life Realty Company.  In 1910 the owners advertised the store and basement, and one of the upper lofts for rent.  The ad noted "horsepower furnished."

Tenants within the next few years included Banner Knee Pants and Kotch Brothers, another paper box manufacturer.  In 1916 the paper box union struck several firms in the immediate neighborhood.  Labor disputes often included violence in the first decades of the century, and this one was no different.

Perhaps surprising to 21st century readers, one of the leaders of the strike was 15-year old Sarah Dubrowitz.  The feisty teen led workers as they marched up and down Wooster Street on August 30, 1916.   Management could be as rough as the unions; and a group of paid anti-strikers assembled in front of Kotch Brothers.  The presence of the thugs kept the demonstrators away from the entrance to the building.

When an automobile pulled up in front of No. 82 Wooster Street with a suspected striker inside, "a gang of strikebreakers surrounded" it, according to The Times.  The terrified driver was fortunately rescued.  The newspaper added "The police, however, released the auto from the crowd."

Before long the last of the apparel firms left the Wooster Street building.  In 1917 the Gold Seal Battery & Electric Co. took space.  And in 1918 Frank P. Kruger, dealer in "dried fruits, nuts, etc." leased the entire building.  The firm subleased floors to other tenants like the J. Z. Tool Co., which moved in in 1918; and the Quartin Manufacturing Company.

Frank P. Kruger eventually moved from dried fruits to candy making.  The smell of chocolate wafted out onto Wooster Street even after the company, probably a victim of the Depression, declared bankruptcy in 1930.  The Waldes Chocolate Company was making candy in the building at least through 1933.

The newly-founded Miller Paper Company became the building's main tenant.  In 1931 Mark Miller founded the company on a single floor here.  He added another floor in 1934, and in 1938 expanded into the store space.  The following year Miller Paper Company took yet another floor.  Finally, in 1946, the firm purchased the building.

When Mark Miller died in November 1963, the Soho neighborhood was just seeing the seeds of change.  The loft buildings built in the second half of the 19th century were neglected and, in many cases, largely vacant.  Artist George Maciunas saw potential in their vast spaces.  According to Roslyn Bernstein and Shael Shapiro in their 2010 Illegal Living: 80 Wooster Street and the Evolution of SoHo," Maciunas wrote "Normally the artist requires long unbroken spaces with high ceilings and adequate illumination and these needs can only be met by commercial lofts."

The Times described Maciunus as "a young ex-Lithuanian who calls himself an agitator by profession."  In 1967 he purchased Nos. 80-82 Wooster from the Miller family and created Soho's first artists' co-op on the upper floors--despite its use as residential space being illegal.  Downstairs, Jonas Mekus, filmmaker and critic, laid plans for a 260-seat theater of the Film Culture Non-Profit Corporation.

On May 26, 1968 The Ford Foundation announced a $40,000 grand "to renovate the Filmmakers Cinematheque at 80 Wooster Street.  The funds will be used to convert the building into a 225-seat theater for the showing of experimental and avant-garde films, add space for archives and for the uses of the Film Culture magazine staff."  The New York Times reported that additional space would be used "to facilitate activities of the experimental film-making group" headed by well-known artists like Mekas, Stan Brakhage and Andy Warhol.

By now George Maciunas, through his Fluxhouse Cooperatives, Inc., had set up three more co-ops in Soho.  On June 16, 1968 The Times explained "Fluxhouse obtains mortgages, performs legal and architectural services, does renovation work and (if members want) manages the buildings."

In 1974 the Filmmakers Cinematheque space became home to Anthology Film Archives.  Weekly screenings were offered from the group's extensive collection of "the venerable great and the experimental new in the world of film."  The Anthology Film Archives also held live performance art, like Joan Jonas's Mirage dance work in September 1977.

In the meantime, the difficult Maciunas went head-to-head with the artist owners until he finally stormed away from Soho and Manhattan in general.  He died at the age of 47 in 1978.  The following year the residential spaces at Nos. 80-82 Wooster Street became legal.

As the century wound down, the ground floor space became Gallery Henoch.  And as is the case with so many of the district's loft buildings, today it houses an upscale boutique.   Rather hidden away on Wooster Street, the building that some call the birthplace of Soho is often ignored overlooked.

photographs by the author

From Horses to Grace Jones and Andy Warhol--76 Wooster Street

It is possible that the house at No. 76 Wooster Street, between Spring and Broome Streets, always had a shop on the first floor.  As early as 1844 the "provisions," or grocery business of John Field & Co. shared the building with carpenter Isaac Ward, who lived at 192-1/2 Varick Street.

Shortly following the end of the Civil War the entire neighborhood around the converted house was transforming into a vibrant commercial district.  Highly instrumental in replacing old dwellings with modern business structures was M. & S. Sternberger.  On February 9, 1894 The Record & Guide mentioned "M. & S. Sternberger are great believers in the future of New York realty, and specifically business property."

By the time of that article the developers had produced several structures in the neighborhood, often using the services of architect Henry Fernbach.  Among their first collaborations had been the remake of No. 76 Wooster Street, in 1871.

The small-scale project would pale in comparison to other Fernbach buildings like his lavish Temple Emanu-El on Fifth Avenue, co-designed with Leopold Eidlitz and completed in 1868; his Central Synagogue on Lexington Avenue, finished just a year after the Wooster Street building; or the cast iron faced New York Mutual Life Insurance Building in Philadelphia, completed in 1873.

The contract for the work was given to builder Sam Cochran.  Construction began on June 5, 1871 and was completed less than three months later.  Fernbach did little to disguise the building's residential beginnings.  A scar of header bricks above the second floor windows suggests an earlier cornice and the raising of the former attic floor to a full story.  M. & S. Sternberger wasted no money on the no-nonsense conversion.  While other downtown buildings at the time featured cast iron bases; early photographs reveal the first floor piers were of brick.  A simple wooden cornice graced the eave line.

By 1880 Solomon Jessurun and two of his five sons (both of whom still lived in the family home at No. 335 West 50th Street) leased the building.  Jessurun, who had arrived in New York from London in 1848, listed his business as "agent."  He dealt in real estate and managed the properties of wealthy owners like the Van Ness family.

His sons' businesses could not have been more different.  Albert Jessurun was listed in directories as an "olive" dealer in 1880 (changed to "produce" in 1883); and Elias dealt in "rags."

In 1871, the year that No. 76 was renovated, Daniel Tyrrel was living at No. 41 Bedford Street.  He was listed as a "carpenter and builder of office cabinet-work" with his shop located at No. 57 Elm Street.  In 1886 he leased the Wooster Street building and spent $150 on "new openings, beams."  It was possibly at this time that the enlarged second floor window with its heavy block and tackle was installed. 

Advertisements for William A. Dawson's sign shop cover the upper floor of the building in 1898.  A note on the back of the photo reads "showing an old three-story house made over for business." photo from the collection of the New York Public Library

Tyrell sublet the ground floor to William Markle, who operated an "express" company.  Horses and drays--delivery wagons designed to transport heavy loads--would had been housed here.  Upstairs William A. Dawson took space.  Having started his business in 1873, he advertised it as "makers of signs of all kinds" as well as "house, store and office painting."

Decades earlier, in 1860, Daniel Tyrrel had hired John Sweeney to work in his carpentery shop.  When the Civil War erupted, Sweeney left to serve.  When he returned in 1866 Tyrrel rehired him; although Sweeney's military service had left its scars.  Court papers later noted he was "somewhat injured from the happenings in the battlefield; his eyesight was seriously affected, and he had a painful wound in one leg."

He stayed with for Tyrrel for eight years until his failing eyesight made work impossible.   With no income and rapidly going blind, Sweeney took to peddling pencils on the streets.  Tyrrel never forgot his former employee and, later The New York Times remarked "Whenever Sweeney would go into the carpenter's shop he was sure of several dollars for a few pencils."

Someone realized that blind veteran was most likely eligible for a soldier's pension and urged him to apply.  He was approved and received a check with back pay.  Oddly enough, as the payments came, he deposited them into the Seaman's Bank for Savings, refusing to use the money and relying only on his pencils for income.

On October 31, 1891 he came to Tyrrel's carpenter shop on Wooster Street and asked for a $10 loan (about $270 today).  For security he handed Tyrrel his two bank books, which showed savings of nearly $1,000.   He left with Tyrrel's son, who accompanied him to a nearby saloon for a drink.  Nearly a decade later, on October 4, 1900, The New York Times reported "Sweeney left the saloon then, and from that day to this not another trace of him has been found."

For nine years Daniel Tyrrel held the bank books in safe keeping.  Now, at the turn of the century, the aging carpenter's once-thriving cabinet making business was struggling.  But in order to access Sweeney's bank account, he would have to prove the man was dead.

A court case began in April 1901 during which Tyrrel described the condition of his business.  "I do not employ any men now," he said.  Instead, he handled the commissions personally.  "The last man I was working for was Baxter, who keeps [a store] at Wooster Street, between Broome and Grand streets.  He is a drygoods man.  I worked about a day for him...He paid me five or six dollars for two men's work."

Tragically for Tyrrel, who was deeply in debt, the courts ruled in favor of the bank in 1903; saying that there was no proof that John Sweeney was deceased.

The little brick building would be a component of another court case two years later.  Tyrrel had leased the building from millionaire Pierre Lorillard Ronalds, who owned vast amounts of Manhattan real estate.  The Evening World described the elderly man saying "in his days [he was] a noted club and sporting man."

Ronalds and his wife had been separated for years.  She lived in London where she was close friends with the royal family.  In 1886 good friend, Gustavus A. Blake, died while visiting Ronalds in his country home in Bartow, New York.   Ronalds took Blake's daughter, Elizabeth, into his home.  She never left.

When the 71-year old died in 1905 The Evening World noted "It appears that beside the servants in the Thirty-fifth street household Miss Blake and Mr. Ronalds were the only members."  She told reporters that their relationship was "nineteen years of daughterly devotion."

That devotion was profitable.  Between November 1901 and December 1904 Ronalds transferred the deeds of multiple properties--including No. 76 Wooster Street-- amounting to about $1 million in value to Elizabeth (more in the neighborhood of $27.5 million today). 

Pierre Lorillard Ronalds  The Evening World, October 26, 1905 (copyright expired)

Only when their father died did his two children, Reginald Pierre Lorillard Ronalds and Mrs. Fannie T. Ritchie, discover the transfers and they were quick to respond.  They suspected that Elizabeth's dabbling into Spirituality was partially behind the transactions.

Before the will could be probated the siblings sued.  Reginald claimed his father "was mentally incompetent to understand their meaning" and that "he was forced into the transaction by coercion of a psychic nature on the part of Mrs. [sic] Blake."  The Evening World wrote "Sensational as it may seem, Ronalds asserts that Miss Blake terrorized his father by representing this gift to her as the distinct command of his deceased relatives."

Elizabeth feigned shock.  When a reporter visited her on October 25, 1905, she exclaimed "The man who was supposed to have felt toward me as a brother has caused me the cruelest sorrow a woman can bear."  She explained "The property that Mr. Ronalds deeded me was his gift in recognition of my filial affection."  The World said "Here Miss Blake was so disturbed that she buried her face in the Oriental pillows and sobbed hysterically."

Elizabeth N. Blake -- The Evening World, October 26, 1905 (copyright expired)

The case was solved when ownership of the properties were returned to Reginald and Fannie, with a lump sum payment of $2,350 to Elizabeth and a trust fund of $200,000 "the income of which was to be paid to her during life."  After Elizabeth Blake's death in 1925, the remainder of the fund reverted to Reginald and Fannie.

It was Fannie F. Ritchie, who lived in London, who received ownership of the Wooster Street property.  Following her death it was sold in 1941 to the Anthony-Mary Corporation.  Assessed at the time at $9,500 (about $153,000 in 2017), it was described as "a three-story converted stable."

As the Soho neighborhood changed from industrial to trendy, the ground floor of No. 76 Wooster became Wings restaurant in the early 1980s.  The space where horses and wagons were housed now served Nouvelle-American cuisine like breast of duck with honey, and tenderloin of beef with truffles.

Wings was followed by singer Grace Jones's restaurant La Vie en Rose.  The minimalist interior included just one wall decoration--Andy Warhol's portrait of Jones.  As the restaurant prepared to open in September 1986, her partner Jean-Yves Lascombes promised "It will be a chic underground."

Twelve years later, as Manhattan reeled under the onslaught of the AIDS epidemic, the Babylon restaurant prepared to open in the space.  A pre-opening benefit dinner was held on May 12, 1998 for the Irvington Institute for Immunological Research.

The term Soho was, by now, synonymous with contemporary art.  And so it was not surprising that No. 76 Wooster Street became home to an art space, frequented by the likes of Andy Warhol, Keith Haring, Jean-Michel Basquiat, and Julian Schnabel.  In October 2011 Yoko Ono borrowed it to stage "Gimme Some Truth, The Artwork of John Lennon," an exhibition of Lennon's artworks and songs. 

In 2015 the newly-formed Soho Arts Club took over the space with intentions of recreating an artist space like the one Warhol and Haring had enjoyed.  The wooden cornice is gone, the windows are replaced, and little remains to remind the passerby of the little building's non-glamorous history.

photographs by the author

George Pelham's 1897 No. 97 Wooster Street

In the years following the Civil War the block of modest brick-faced homes on Wooster Street between Prince and Spring Street had seen significant change.  One block to the east, Greene Street was a notorious red light district; and the Wooster street houses were now being used for a variety of purposes.

In 1867 No. 97 Wooster Street was converted to a Young Men’s Christian Association branch.  But this was like no other Y.M.C.A. club in the city.  It was for “colored” boys only.  The New York Times would later recall that “It was an organization independent of the New York City YMCA, although the two cooperated.’

The club remained in the building at least until 1889.  But by now the area was undergoing change once again.  The former homes were rapidly being razed for tall factory and store buildings as the dry goods district overtook the blocks.

Husband and wife team Louisa and Samuel A. Friedline got in on the lucrative trend.  Friedline was a builder, and his wife bought and sold real estate.  In 1893, for instance, they commissioned architect George F. Pelham to design a $20,000 factory building on North Moore Street.  Three years later they would work together again, on Wooster Street.

The end of the line for the old Young Men’s Christian Association building at No. 97 Wooster was near when Edmond J. Sause purchased it for $22,000 in August 1895.  He resold it to the inexhaustible loft developer Max S. Korn, in February the following year.

It appears that Max and his brother, Isaac S. Korn, initially intended to develop the property; for when they sold it to Louisa Friedline two months later it was described as a “lot” with no building mentioned.  On April 11, 1896 the Real Estate Record & Builders’ Guide noted that the Friedlines purchased the 25-foot wide property “for immediate improvement by the erection of a seven-story warehouse.”

George F. Pelham was brought back for the project and, of course, Samuel Friedline handled the construction.   Ground was broken on May 11, 1896 and completed in November 1897.   A commercial take on Romanesque Revival, the brick, stone and cast iron building offered five upper floors of factory, or “loft,” space above two retail floors.

The carved entablature and cornice above the second floor are highly unusual.

The two-story cast iron store front was framed in beige brick with rough-cut stone courses providing dimensional interest.  A highly-interesting entablature resembled an unrolled fluted column, below a textured cornice of regimented nubs.  The upper floors were decorated with medieval carvings; most notably at the fifth floor where carved faces upheld engaged columns.  Their capitals, carved with spiraling ferns, were connected by an ornate frieze. 

The heads and columns were reintroduced at the top floor, where they melded into the complex cast metal cornice.  Eye-catching were the twisted column extensions and the nubby cornice detail that mimicked the stone version below.

As was the case with most other loft buildings in the area, the Friedline’s new building filled with tenants in the textile or apparel trade.  Michael Abrahams, manufacturer of petticoats; and The Baker Underwear Co. were among the earliest. 

Baker Underwear also had a small factory in Peekskill, New York where it manufactured muslin underwear.  A seductive advertisement in The Sun on June 27, 1901 was cleverly worded to entice young workers there.

“A chance for a pleasant country vacation.  Fifty operators on Singer machines are wanted at Peekskill in a clean, cool factory.”   The ad promised “Good pay; pleasant workrooms; country air; healthful surroundings.”

The excited young women reading the tempting advertisement might have overlooked the fact that they were responsible for expenses, including the $3.50 per week “board in private families.”  It was briefly mentioned in “This is a splendid chance for good operators to get away from the hot city, and besides paying all expenses, have the benefit of the country.”

On the top floor in 1903 was the petticoat and women’s underwear factory of Benjamin Lustgarten.    On May 11 that year, the manufacturer would be highly grateful that next door, at No. 99 Wooster Street, was the firehouse of Engine Company No. 13.

Lustgarten and two employees, Max Weissner and Benjamin Lerner, were working late on Monday night, May 11.  There were no other workers in the building so no one noticed when fire broke out on the fifth floor.  Several firefighters were standing around in front of the firehouse and Lt. George J. Irving was looking out of the station’s top floor window when, according to the New-York Tribune the following day, “a window was blown out of the fifth floor, and smoke followed.”

Lustgarten and his employees were trapped on the seventh floor of No. 97 and, were it not for the proximity of the firefighters, most likely would have perished.  Lt. Irving rushed to the roof of the firehouse, three floors below the trapped men.  He dropped a rope to the firemen below, who tied a scaling ladder to it, which the lieutenant hoisted up.

As he climbed upwards, the other firefighters reached the roof with additional ladders.  When Irving reached the seventh floor Lustgarten was already partially overcome by smoke inhalation.  The Tribune reported “Irving handed the men down to the firemen, who took them to the roof of the firehouse and to the street.”

Commission merchant Herman Sudgen was also a tenant about this time.   Why, on June 3, 1905, he was carrying $290 in his pocket (more than $8,000 today) is unclear; but on his way home to Brooklyn that night he nearly lost it.

Pickpockets were a constant worry at the turn of the last century; and while riding on a Bushwick Avenue streetcar Sudgen felt a hand in his pocket.  The crowded car was in the middle of the Williamsburg Bridge and “in an instant the car was in an uproar,” related The New York Times.

The crook tried to get away and dropped the cash.  But the resolute Herman Sudgen refused to release his tight grip on the 26-year old.  When the car reached the Brooklyn Plaza stop, Policeman Washington Irving arrested Henry Meyer, who was still in the clutches of his would-be victim.

Neckwear manufacturer George M. Batt was called for jury duty in 1907.  He sat on the case of Frederick Schoneland who was arrested on criminal assault charges.   Batt and the other jurors infuriated Judge Rosalsky when they attempted to force his ruling.

After hearing the evidence, they told Rosalsky that if he would impose a sentence of no more than two years in prison, they would find Schoneland guilty.  Otherwise, they would find him not guilty, resulting in his release.   Refusing to be intimidated or bullied, the judge sent George Batt and his co-jurors home and called for a new trial.

Abraham Wittcover’s Swiss Embroidery and Novelty Company, once a thriving concern, was doing poorly around the time of Batt’s expulsion from the case.   Finally, as the summer of 1908 approached, he declared bankruptcy and closed the firm.

No longer able to afford his home, he moved his wife and little girl to a Williamsburg flat on Thursday, June 11.  He then disappeared.  Mrs. Wittcover, according to newspaper reports, tried to find him in Manhattan.  And, ironically, Wittcover showed up at the Williamsburg apartment on Saturday while she was searching for him and, “finding the flat locked up, went back to Manhattan.” 

The desperately broken man had taken a room in a hotel on Third Avenue at 24^th street.  On Sunday morning hotel employees smelled gas.  “When they broke in the door they found Wittcover dead in bed, with a tube attached to an open gas jet in his mouth,” reported The New York Times.

The tragedy continued when Mrs. Wittcover identified the body in the morgue.  After throwing herself on her husband’s body in despair, she rushed to the East River where she attempted suicide.

William Diamondstein’s firm, The Carlyle Hem-stitching and Button Company, and apparel company Weinstein & Regoff would have to start over elsewhere after a devastating fire tore through the building early in 1917.   On May 15, 1917 agents William A. White announced they had fully leased the factory spaces of No. 97, “which has been extensively altered since it was partially destroyed by fire.”

Maxine Mfg. Co. had taken the third floor, Langer & Co. the fourth, H. Bernstein & Sons the fifth, Miller Bros. Co. leased the sixth floor, and Gustav Abrahams Co. was now on the top floor.   In December Frank & Lambert Co. filled the last vacancy when it leased the store and basement.

For the next few decades the building would continue to house garment companies.  But in the 1920s there were hints that the apparel district was abandoning the neighborhood.  The Iron Pipe and Specialty Co., Inc. was in the building through the late ‘20s, for instance.  And the Security Hand Bag Co. and the Cup Craft Paper Corp. added to the non-apparel tenant list.

By mid-century the neighborhood's loft buildings were neglected and abused—and many of them stood vacant.  But the area, now known as Soho, caught the attention of artists.  In an article about loft art shows on April 19, 1968 The New York Times noted “And last month, a group of artists who work in a building at 97 Wooster Street—Sue Aitkin, Tony Balzano, Rudolph Baranik, George Gillson, Bob Pittenger and May Stevens—staged a three-weekend group show in an empty studio lent them by the landlord.”

Where women’s muslin underwear had been manufactured, artists now lived and worked.  In 1971 artist Ruth Vodicka’s had her home and studio here, for instance.  And on September 16, 1972 A. I. R. Gallery opened in the building.  A cooperative run by and for women artists, it was deemed by The Times to be “the first women’s independent gallery.”   It would remain in the space at least until 1980.

A formal conversion of No. 97 Wooster was completed in 1986, resulting in “joint living-work quarters for artists” on the upper floors and a clothing store at ground level.   Yet, despite two fires and several remodelings, even the cast iron storefront survives intact.

The artists who lived here in the 1970s did not have the amenities offered today.  photo Corcoran Group

Although the loft spaces are still mostly open, the $8,000 per month rental fees for one apartment in 2016 suggest that the artists living here are no longer struggling.

photographs by the author

Engine Company No. 13 -- No. 99 Wooster Street

Before 1865 New York City’s fire fighting was done by a disorganized collection of volunteer companies.  When a fire broke out, young men from the neighborhood called “laddies” would scramble to the fire house.  Nearby fire houses would often vie with one another to arrive at the fire first, or to become more skilled at extinguishing it.  The volunteer groups gained a reputation as rowdy, boisterous gangs whose fire houses were essentially social clubs.

In the 1840s the Ward family lived in the house at No. 99 Wooster Street.  Brothers James and Samuel shared an office at No. 270 Spring Street—James was a doctor and Samuel a druggist.  Their widowed mother, Sarah, rented out a room in the house to carpenter Asher Clapp.

But in 1853 the house was gone, replaced by the firehouse of the volunteer Oceanus Engine Company No. 11.   An 1859 roster reflected the blue-collar occupations of its men—including butcher, coach-maker, hackman, carpenter, oysterman, housesmith, hatter, cartman and stair-builder among them.

Fire department historian George W. Sheldon described the company’s elaborately-decorated Victorian engine in his 1888 The Story of the Volunteer Fire Department of the City of New York.  “Painted dark blue, black, and gold; the back represented the burning of Troy and death of Achilles; drawn by 37 men, in same uniform.”

The devastating fire that destroyed Barnum’s Museum in 1865, along with pressure on the State Assembly by reformers, resulted in the Act of 1865 that coupled Brooklyn and New York with a paid, united “Metropolitan District” fire department.  On November 2 that year it was announced that the Metropolitan Steam Engine Company No. 13 “with horses” had taken over the old Oceanus firehouse.  W. H. Wilson was appointed foreman, earning him a salary of $800 a year.  The company received a new engine and tender the following year.

By 1881 the old Oceanus house was both outdated and inadequate.  The city opted to update the old structure.  Two years earlier Napoleon LeBrun became the official architect of the New York City fire houses.  In 1880 his son Pierre joined him in the business, creating the firm N. LeBrun & Son.

Now, in March 1881 the firm filed plans for a $10,500 make-over, including “interior alterations” and a one-story brick extension to the rear.  Two months later the project was expanded with another $7,500 added to the plans.  On June 25 the Fire Department requested proposals “for doing the work and furnishing the materials required in the demolishing and rebuilding of the front and two gable walls of the house of Engine Company No. 13, No. 99 Wooster Street.”

LeBrun & Son followed the typical firehouse pattern in what was essentially the rebuilding of the old structure.  Its cast iron base was dominated by the centered truck bay.   The upper stories were clad in red brick, trimmed in stone and terra cotta.  At the second floor a wide floor-to-ceiling opening allowed hay and other supplies to be hoisted up and inside.   While some of Napoleon LeBrun’s firehouses would border on the opulent; No. 99 Wooster Street was more utilitarian in design—its most striking feature being the quilt of floral terra cotta squares below the cornice.

Firefighters of Engine Company No. 13 pose with their well-shined equipment.  The ground floor would house at least six horses, the tender and the engine.  from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York

While Engine Company No. 13 may have had a relatively undistinguished firehouse, the crew itself stood out.  On November 12, 1887 the Mayor himself decorated Captain Daniel Lawler with the Stephenson gold medal in Union Square.  The award was “for having the best disciplined and most efficient company in the department.”  The Sun reported that the firemen’s “wives, daughters and sweethearts” were on hand; and that “Their nickel buttons shone like new silver quarters, and their gloves were white as snow.  Back of them were the ‘machines’ with which they run, burnished to the highest attainable degree of brightness.”

Terra cotta tiles, interrupted by by a splayed brick lintel, were the highlight of the design.

Those machines and fire fighters would see terrifying blazes over the years.  And the bravery of the men of Engine Company 13 would often entail their risking their lives.  On January 20, 1893 an enormous fire destroyed the Rowland Storey & Sons’ storage warehouse at Washington and King Streets.

The following day The Evening World reported “The smoke was fearfully dense, although the fire had not ascended above the first floor, and the men had learned that there was oil stored in the warehouse, but they pressed on undismayed.”

Assistant Foreman Van Horne recounted “We were just about to cut a hole in the roof when we heard a dull thud and felt a trembling something like an earthquake.  The boys knew what that means and scooted.  The next second the west wall began to bulge and everybody yelled.”

Injured in the building collapse were Captain Daniel Lawler and firefighter Michael Wall.

The Washington Street collapse was depicted in The Evening World the following day (copyright expired)

Lawler would be back in the hospital following another conflagration on November 5, 1895.  The fire destroyed two bank buildings at Bleecker Street and Broadway and damaged others.  The intense heat drove firefighters back and some were overcome by the smoke and heat.  Cable cars on Broadway were stopped. 

The New-York Tribune reported “The firemen inside the building had barely got to work when a stairway which was above them and had been weakened by the fire fell suddenly.  Several of the men were caught under the falling stairway and were hurt.”

Among those injured was Fireman George Coleman, of Engine Company No. 13; but 38-year old Lawler “required more attention than any of the other patients last night on account of the multiplicity of his wounds,” said the newspaper.

On the night of May 11, 1903 Lieutenant George J. Irving was looking out of a top floor window at the firehouse when suddenly a window on the fifth floor of the factory building next door, at No. 97, blew out.  Several other fire fighters were standing in front of the firehouse as thick smoke poured out of the building.

Upstairs, on the seventh floor, petticoat manufacturer Benjamin Lustgarten and two of his employees, Max Weissner and Benjamin Lerner, were still at work and were trapped.  Lieutenant Irving ran to the roof of the firehouse and dropped a rope to the firefighters on the sidewalk, who tied a scaling ladder to it.

Irving hoisted it up and, floor by floor, ran the ladder up to the men who were gasping for fresh air.   Soon other firefighters were on the roof with ladders and “Irving handed the men down to the firemen, who took them to the roof of the firehouse and to the street.”  Although Lustgarten was partially overcome by smoke inhalation, he was revived.

Fire fighters here discovered another blaze on the block just after midnight on April 10, 1920.  Fire had started on the second floor of the large factory building at Nos. 116-118 Wooster.   As a “rescue party” led by Lieutenant Kilbride started up the fire escape in the rear of the building, windows on the upper floors blew out from the intense heat.  Sharp shards of glass showered down on the men, all of whom were injured, most seriously Fireman John Millward whose left wrist was slashed.

He was attended to in the engine house by the Department physician who “stopped the flow of blood from severed veins by means of a tourniquet,” reported the New-York Tribune.  As the other injured firemen were treated, their fellow fire fighters continued to fight the blaze—requiring a second and then a third alarm.

When the last sparks were extinguished, the damages to the building were estimated at around $50,000—around $600,000 today.

Prohibition was the indirect cause of a nearby fire on December 6, 1921.  A private watchman saw flames coming from a grocery store in the ground floor of a tenement two blocks away at No. 101-103 Thompson Street at 4:30 a.m. and ran to the firehouse.

According to The Evening World the following day, when the men got there, they found “several members of the twenty-four families in the six-story building on the front fire escapes, insisting on going to the street by the ladder route”  The fire had not blocked any of the hallways or stairs, but the residents refused to leave by any means other than ladders.  So a separate unit, Truck No. 20, was summoned to run up ladders and those firemen assisted “to the street all who felt the necessity of being rescued.”

When fire fighters entered the cellar below the grocery store they found several liquor stills, and “three barrels of what appears to be hooch.”  The Evening World said “A policeman was left at the store to get an explanation from the owner who, according to the sign, is G. Del Guidice.”

The newspaper took the opportunity to express its frustration with the residents.  “There was no reason for anyone leaving, as a few gallons of water extinguished the fire before it had done much damage.”

One of the men at the fire that night was Lieutenant John J. Schoppmeyer, who had already had a brave and colorful past.  He was a veteran of both the Spanish-American and Boxer Wars, and had served as a member of the New York City Police Department for a year before becoming a firefighter.

Six months after the Thompson Street fire, he was with Engine Company No. 13 at a dangerous blaze at No. 10 Jane Street on July 17, 1922.  Inside the warehouse were not only shipments of German toys and “much rubber;” but large quantities of the chemicals used to make the flash powder used by photographers.

As firefighters battled the blaze, the chemicals ignited, causing an explosion that blew the roof off the building.   At least 30 persons—firefighters, police and spectators—were injured.  The body of John Schoppmeyer was found crushed under the debris.

Before the lieutenant’s casket was removed from his home on West 175th Street, 115 members of the Fire Department band filed past to pay their respects.  Schoppmeyer had helped organize the group a few years earlier.   As the coffin was taken into the Church of the Incarnation on St. Nicholas Avenue, more than 500 policemen and firefighters lined the way.   Lt. John J Schoppmeyer received full military and department honors.

The Victorian firehouse on Wooster Street could not accommodate modern motorized vehicles and was decommissioned.  In 1971 it was altered to accommodate the Gay Activist Alliance and a gay community center.  The group named the building “The Firehouse.”

Founded by dissident members of the Gay Liberation Front two years earlier, the Gay Activist Alliance sought to “secure basic human rights, dignity and freedom for all gay people.”  Its means to achieve that goal were highly controversial.  Using loud, disrupting demonstrations called “zaps,” it disrupted public events and political speeches.  Certain public dissatisfaction with the group culminated on October 15, 1974 when the Wooster Street headquarters was destroyed by an arsonist.

In 1988 the old firehouse was renovated to retail space throughout.  N. LeBrun & Son’s startling makeover of 1881 survives surprisingly intact—a relic of a time when horse-drawn steam engines clattered through the Soho streets.

photographs by the author