The Lost Harrigan's Theatre -- No. 67 West 35th Street

The Greater New York Album pictured the theatre in 1895, just before the name was changed.  (copyright expired)

In 1890 Edward Harrigan could do it all when it came to the theater.  He had earned his reputation as an actor, vaudevillian, playwright, composer and theater manager.  Born in New York of Irish parents, he traveled to San Francisco just after the Civil War.  Here the 22-year old began his stage career, singing comic songs in a saloon.  Within a few years, in Chicago, he formed a stage partnership with Anthony J. Cannon, whose stage name was Tony Hart.

Edward Harrigan

As Harrigan & Hart their blackface and tenement class German and Irish characters comically depicted everyday street life of New York City.  In 1872 Harrigan developed an ongoing act that became the pair’s staple—The Mulligan Guard.  Harrigan & Hart’s overwhelming popularity was due to the duo’s ability to depict real life issues of common people in the city—interracial and class differences, gang terrorism, political and police corruption—in a comical presentation.

In 1881 Harrigan hired Francis H. Kimball to renovate the Church of the Messiah at No. 728 Broadway as the Theatre Comique.  Only three years later it burned to the ground.  Shortly thereafter the team of Harrigan & Hart dissolved with Tony Hart retiring. 

The break-up came at a time when theater audiences were changing.  As the 1880s drew to a close, the younger generation of theater-goers did not identify with the characters Harrigan & Hart had depicted.   

By the time Harrigan and his acting company returned from a tour in California in 1889, the entertainment district was gradually inching northward from 23^rd Street; eventually to settle around Times Square.

Edward Harrigan embarked on a project to build a new, lavish theater for his company.  He came across a vacant African American Methodist church at 35^th Street and Sixth Avenue.  In its place Harrigan once again commissioned Francis H. Kimball to design a lavish new theater.   As Kimball’s new structure neared completion in November 1890, the Real Estate Record and Builders’ Guide made note of the Italian Renaissance-inspired design.   “For a long time past the favorite copy-book to which [American architects] have turned for inspiration or something in default of it has been the Romanesque, and it must be acknowledged that though a considerable amount of very credible work has been done in that style; there has been, however, very little vitality in the work.” 

On the other hand, the Guide recognized in the new Harrigan Theatre a fresh trend.  “We may see how rapidly we are running towards the rusticated, pedimented, corniced, festooned, balustrade, pilastered, columned style of building.”

On December 5, 1890 The New York Times said “This house promises to be one of the coziest and prettiest places of amusement in the city.  It is necessarily small, as it is constructed on a lot 75 by 100 feet, but all the space has been so admirably utilized that there will be ample room for as many people as Mr. Harrigan cares to have at one of his performances.”

Edward Harrigan preferred small auditoriums, feeling that “the spectators are brought into closer and more sympathetic connection with the players,” creating a more effective delivery of the play.  Nevertheless, the new theater would accommodate a substantial audience of 915.

Kimball clad the theater in red brick abundantly ornamented with terra cotta.  The New York Times said “This terra cotta has the effect of white marble, and this is the first instance of its use for such a purpose in America.”   Various theatrical motifs were molded into the terra cotta and a large panel announced “HARRIGAN’S THEATRE.”  Two stained glass windows depicted the figures of Mulligan and Pete, two of Harrigan’s most famous roles; and in the frieze were 80 heads representing difference facial expressions. 

On January 28, 1893, when the Real Estate Record & Builders' Guide published this photograph, West 35th Street around the theater was still lined with brownstone homes (copyright expired)

The interior was as lavishly ornamented as the façade.  “Panels and fluted pilasters with carved capitals are abundant,” reported The New York Times.  “The floor of the vestibule will be in mosaics.  All the lobby woodwork and plaster will be in an ivory tone except that the walls will be in soft blues and dull reds with stencil work in silver and gold.”  Two stairways led off either end of the lobby to the balcony.

The balcony and the galleries were ornamented with heavy molded plasterwork.  “Around the upper portion of the walls will be a frieze with panels and fluted pilasters, the panels to bear ornaments and stencils in gold and silver.  Above this frieze the ceiling starts with a succession of groins, enriched with figures and ornaments in relief.  The figures are of women upholding festoons and garlands.”

The Real Estate Record & Builders' Guide published sketches of the façade and interior on February 21, 1891.  Spanish tiles protected the roof and electric lights illuminated the interior (copyright expired)

Frescoes depicting Poetry, History, Comedy, Music, Tragedy and other allegories of the theater decorated the spaces between the groins.  Above the audience the domed ceiling was encrusted with plaster festoons of fruits and flowers and from the center hung a 40-light chandelier.  In 1890 the reliability of electricity was iffy at best and the chandelier was “surrounded by a circle of gas jets to be used in case of necessity,” advised The New York Times.

According to the newspaper, the architect was happy with his completed structure.  “Mr. Kimball is satisfied with his work.  He is the architect of the Madison Square Theatre, the Casino, the Harrigan and Hart’s old Theatre Comique.  He feels that the fruits of his experience in building these theatres have been fully utilized in his latest structure.  Mr. Harrigan will open the theatre with a new play written by himself.”

Two weeks later, on December 22, Harrigan’s Theatre opened.  In his opening day advertisement in The Sun, Harrigan called it “The most exquisite play house in America.”  The ad said “Mr. Edward Harrigan will inaugurate his New and Beautiful Theatre with his latest work Reilly And The 400.”

“The 400” was a reference to Ward McAllister’s newly published book Society as I Found It in which he estimated the number of Manhattan’s most socially elite at 400.  Edward Harrigan played the title role of Willy Reilly, an Irish pawnbroker attempting to elbow his way into society.

The play and the theater were a success.  On July 7, 1891, The New York Times noted “At Harrigan’s, “Reilly and the 400” is still drawing excellent business, and Manager Hanley has not yet found it necessary to announce the close of his season.  The play is now in its sixth month.”

For the next five years theater in New York struggled, due mostly to the Financial Panic of 1893 and 1896.  Harrigan dredged up tried-and-true plays including the Mulligan series; although he peppered the fare with a few new productions like The Woolen Stockings.

In 1894, when Harrigan advertised in The New York Clipper Annual, he still called the theater America's "most exquisite."  (copyright expired)

On March 21, 1893 The New York Times reviewed one of the revived Mulligan plays, Cordelia’s Aspirations.  The critic deftly avoided overly-criticizing the production, saying that a Mulligan play would not be a success without Harrigan in it.  “But there is no need to criticise or analyze a ‘Mulligan’ play.  They are all amusing and they are different from anything else put on the stage in their time.”

Directly below the review was an unrelated article noting that popular actor Richard Mansfield had returned to New York “after a long absence.”  Mansfield and Harrigan would soon cross paths at Harrigan’s Theatre.

In 1895 Mansfield took over the theater, renaming it the Garrick.  Harrigan went back to his roots, performing vaudeville at Proctor’s Twenty-Third Street Theatre, Tony Pastor’s, and Koster & Bials.  He would go on writing and performing until March 16, 1910 when he made his final bow at the age of 66.  He died the following year.

The new Garrick Theatre opened on April 23, 1895 with what The New York Times called “the presentation of a work by an Irishman of slightly different ilk—‘Arms and the Man, by Bernard Shaw.”  A year later Mansfield hired the well-known theatrical producer Charles Frohman to manage the Garrick.  Frohman, despite his many other endeavors, maintained control of the Garrick until 1915.  Among the greatest successes during this time was Sherlock Holmes, starring William Gillette.  The play opened in 1899 and ran for over a year.  On January 28, 1900 the New-York Tribune wrote of the nightly audiences “at the Garrick Theatre where William Gillette is still playing ‘Sherlock Holmes,’ with the house as full at every performance as it was the first week—that is to say, as full as it could be.”

The same newspaper wrote a florid review of The Sign of the Rose on October 12, 1911.  “Melodrama, whose death has been taken for granted for some time, although, it is true, it has never  been officially announced, arose phoenixlike from the ashes last night at the Garrick Theatre in George Beban’s semi-Italian play, ‘The Sign of the Rose,’ in which the author undertook the leading character.  It is one of those dramas in which ‘local color’ plays the star part, and in ‘The Sign of the Rose’ local color is so thick you could not scrape it off with a palette knife.”

Another highly successful and memorable production was that of The Little Minister with famous stage actress Maude Adams.

When Frohman left the Garrick, the Shuberts purchased the theater.  They leased it to millionaire Otto Kahn who had visions of a grand French theater in Manhattan.  He renamed it the Theatre du Vieux-Colombier.  On February 8, 1918 the New-York Tribune, in reviewing La Traverse, offered its own opinion of the French fare offered here.

“The management of the Theatre du Vieux-Columbier departed from its honored practice of giving bizarre and exotic plays taken from the repertory of the realist theatres of Paris by giving its habitués a real ‘premiere’ never before presented either at the Grand Guignol or the Theatre de l’Oeuvre and by an author of as yet obscure name, Auguste Villery.”

By now the theater district was firmly planted ten blocks to the north in Times Square.  The popularity of the theater declined around the time of World War I.  In 1919 Kahn donated the aging theater to the newly-formed Theatre Guild “just fresh from the workshops of Washington Square,” as noted in The New York Times.

The Guild opened its first season on April 14, 1919 with Bonds of Interest by Jacinto Benaventa.  For the next seven years the Theatre Guild called the old Harrigan Theatre home.  It produced nearly the entire repertory of Bernard Shaw’s plays, along with works by Molnar, Milne, Strindberg and others.

Although the Provincetown Playhouse company also presented several plays in the old house; it was had become outdated, drafty and dingy.  Around 1930 the theater was taken over by the Columbia Burlesque Company “and thenceforth the once dignified stage was a platform for dancing girls and slap-stick comedians,” said The New York Times.

In 1931 even the burlesque company abandoned the old Harrigan’s Theatre and it sat vacant, dark, and neglected on the corner of Herald Square.

The end came on Valentine’s Day 1932 at 3:00 in the morning.  Fire broke out in the deserted building which quickly spread to two alarms.  Despite the early hour, hundreds crowded along Broadway and Sixth Avenue to watch the venerable old theater burn.

When morning dawned, Edward Harrigan’s once-proud theater was a smoldering shell.  It was demolished to be replaced by a 16-story bank and office building.

photograph by the author

The 1890 Hudson Building -- No. 342 West 14th Street

The imposing mass of the building is, technically, the backside -- Nicolas Lemery Nantel / salokin.com

Industry was no stranger to West 14^th Street near the Hudson River in 1890.   For years the Astor family had built markets, warehouses, and related business buildings on its large land holdings throughout the area.   But the six-story structure planned by real estate developer John Pettit would be something out of the ordinary.

Pettit’s speculative building would not merely provide lofts for warehousing and manufacturing; it would offer office space as well.   The concept was nearly unheard of in the area that would become known as the Gansevoort Market; but Pettit sensed change in the air.

Commercial architect James Farnsworth designed the building which would have a surprising footprint and three addresses.   Originally called the Hudson Building, it filled the 111-foot Hudson Street block from 14^th to 13^th Street (Nos. 666-670 Hudson Street); stretched 150 feet east along West 13^th Street (No. 339 West 13^th); and elbowed a 25-foot sliver of a presence among the buildings on West 14^th Street (No. 342).

The 14th Street elevation (and main address) is just 25-feet wide -- Nicolas Lemery Nantel / salokin.com

Farnsworth’s buff-brick façade featured grand expanses of glass—made possible by the relatively new construction technique of load-bearing masonry walls and iron beams.   Cast, decorative panels between floors contained graceful foliate shapes that repeated their rolling design like breaking waves.

Nicolas Lemery Nantel / salokin.com

Despite the elegant lines and decorative cornice and panels, Pettit and Farnsworth did not forget that this was also a utilitarian structure.  Hudson and 13^th Street sides were lined with loading docks protected by deep overhanging permanent awnings.   The Hudson Building announced that the days of small buildings for individual businesses in the area were coming to a close.

Among the first tenants was The American Type Telegraph; a manufacturer of “printing telegraph instruments.”  The firm would stay on in the building through the turn of the century.   The company hired a 17-year old electrician, Edward Clauschmidt, who lived with his widowed mother.

The teenager got around the city on a bicycle and, although city ordinances required that the vehicles be outfitted with “a lamp;” he did not have one.  It proved to be a tragic oversight in May 1893.

Mrs. Mary McGlynn and her 9-year old daughter, Katie, stepped off the street car on 67^th Street the night of May 31.  As they started across the street they heard a shout and the frantic ringing of a small bell.   Philadelphia’s The Sporting Life reported that “Mother and daughter stopped and looked around in afright.  The next moment they saw a bicycle only a few feet away.”

In the darkness and with no light on Clauschmidt’s bicycle, they were unable to react quickly enough.  “The mother tried to drag the little girl over to her, but as she did so the swift-running machine struck Katie and knocked her down, the back of her head striking the hard roadbed.”

Edward Clauschmidt was knocked off the bicycle by the collision.  He helped the little girl up and the three walked together to the 68^th Street Precinct.  Although little Katie had initially appeared not seriously hurt; she now complained that her head hurt and she began to vomit.

Police Office Jose took the girl in his arms, boarded a horse car and took her to Roosevelt Hospital.  She soon lost consciousness and died around 1:00 in the morning.  The teen-aged bicyclist was charged with homicide.

On May 11, 1894 John Pettit sold his building to “a Western capitalist” for $300,000—approximately $7 million today.  Rent revenues that year amounted to $34,900.

Nicolas Lemery Nantel / salokin.com

In the Hudson Building at the time was the Zinn family – Simon, Arthur and Martin.  The brothers manufactured metal goods, such as their “pocketbook frames” and safety razors.   Martin Zinn was called away from work on May 12, 1896 when he was summoned to appear as a potential jurist in a murder case.

On August 30, 1895 Mary Alice Almont Livingston Fleming had, so prosecutors alleged, poisoned her mother to death.   Now lawyers grappled with a substantial problem—finding a jury of men willing to hang a woman for murder.  When Martin Zinn was called nearly 200 men had already been interviewed and dismissed.

“Are you opposed to capital punishment,” he was asked by Assistant District Attorney McIntire.

“I am opposed to capital punishment as far as regards women,” Zinn replied.

Martin Zinn's frank reply freed him to resume his work in his metal goods factory.

Other metal making companies filled the lofts.  In 1901 Paul E. Carbaret’s brass and bronze goods factory was here; as was the Gem Cutlery Company, makers of the “Gem safety razor.”

In 1908 a small fire broke out in the Zinn factory on the third floor.   The Sun reported on July 17 that “The firemen found a little blaze and put it out quickly.”  The problem now was not the fire; it was the new-fangled automatic fire sprinklers.

Although the flames were quickly extinguished, they had set off the sprinklers which continued pouring water that flooded down through the three floors.  “The water was shut off at the tank on the roof, but there were gallons in the pipes which had to keep running,” explained the newspaper.  “While little damage was done by the fire three firms lost $20,000 by water.”

In addition to Zinn, the three water-soaked firms included its competitor Paul E. Carbaret & Co., and the H. C. Miner Lithographing Company.  Two years after the incident, the Zinn brothers built their own factory building and left.

By now the paper box companies were moving into the area.  Hefter & Co. was one of these and in the summer of 1911 the firm ran into severe labor troubles.  The company’s contract with the union workers expired on June 15 but, according to The New York Call, “no action was taken toward a renewal because the union had other troubles on its hands.”

The newspaper was unsympathetic with the paper box company’s management.  “However Hefter was not long in seizing the opportunity to lay off seventy-five workers on the excuse that business was dull.  Heftner followed up this move by making a cut of 10 per cent in the price of one style of box.”

The union protested, Heftner stood firm and a strike loomed.  “A committee then went to see Hefter with a view of arriving at a settlement, but when the employer refused to meet with them, the 500 workers were called out.”

Fixed awnings originally sheltered the loading docks that wrapped the Hudson and 13th Street sides -- photograph from the collection of the New York Public Library

Another firm having problems that year was the Anchor Novelty Company, which went into involuntary bankruptcy in October 1911.  Hard hit was the newly-elected president James O’Neill who had recently put about $30,000 into the business.

Most interesting to readers of The New York Times was that O’Neill was involved in the company at all.  He was a well-known actor “who for two generations has played the part of Monte Cristo,” reminded The Times.  “James O’Neill is now in his sixtieth year and has played the role of Monte Cristo more than 6,000 times.”

By the following April Heftner & Co.’s workers were all back at their jobs; however the firm told The Paper Box Maker and American Bookbinder “trade is slow at present, but bears signs of an improvement.”

The store on the West 14^th Street side was taken by the Atlantic Hotel Supply Company in 1917.

As the 1920’s dawned the name Hudson Building was dropped (a new Hudson Building was erected further uptown).   New firms in the building now would include the Mendosa Fur Dyeing Works, Inc.; American Paper Box Company; the Glass Products Company; and the Linen Shrinking Company. 

photograph from the collection of the New York Public Library

In a surprisingly early effort at air pollution reduction the Health Department established a “Smoke Abatement Commission” in 1931; the goal of which was to clean the air of furnace output.   It was a positive move for the city and its residents; not such a welcomed turn of events for the former Hudson Building.    On November 30 building management appeared before the Health Departments trial board for smoke ordinance violations.

For a large part of the 20^th century the entire building was home to a printing firm.  Then, in 1998 construction began on a renovation that converted the old factory and office building to luxury condominiums.  An additional story was added for seven penthouse duplexes, each having a private terrace.

The first floor loading docks were nearly seamlessly removed, as seen here on the Hudson Street side -- Nicolas Lemery Nantel / salokin.com

The conversion was completed in 2000, bringing the dingy façade back to its handsome 1890’s appearance—except for the rows of freight docks were deftly melded into the façade.  James Farnworth’s clean, industrial building is a reminder of a time when the neighborhood rattled with delivery trucks.  And the $9 million price tag placed on a 3-bedroom apartment in the building in 2011 is a reminder that times have changed.

The 1879 St. Anthony Club -- No. 29 East 28th Street

An unfortunate street level renovation destroyed much of Renwick's structure.

In 1862, when Manhattan’s exclusive gentlemen’s clubs buzzed with the talk of civil war, a new sort of club was established.  The Red Room Club was organized “for the promotion of literature and art, by establishing and maintaining a library, reading-room, and gallery of art, and by such other means as shall be expedient and proper for such purposes.”  There were already several literary and artistic clubs in the city; but this one required that its prospective members have something more than money.  They had to have a college diploma.   In 1865 the organization was incorporated as the University Club and a distinctive new genre of men’s club had been realized.

At the time, the Delta Psi fraternity, founded at Columbia University, was 19 years old.  Before long the Delta Psi Society was formed, a clandestine society of rites and mystery.  As the second half of the century progressed, the growing number of university-based clubs—among them the Princeton, Hamilton, Yale and Dartmouth Clubs—was supplemented by purely fraternity-related clubs. 

Later, in 1893, James Grant Wilson in his The Memorial History of the City of New-York would explain “One peculiarity of these [fraternity-based] societies is that the number of resident and non-resident members is nearly equal, the out-of-town representation being perhaps the greater.  Members of the Greek-letter societies throughout the country join the clubs in the metropolis as a matter of pride, and these thus become the national headquarters of the fraternities.”-

According to the New-York Tribune, it was Delta Psi which was the first “of the Greek letter societies to establish in New-York a club which presents many of the features of the other social clubs in the city.”  James Grant Wilson described it as a “secret order.”

In 1879 the highly-regarded architect James Renwick, Jr. would design the Delta Psi Society’s clubhouse at No. 29 East 28^th Street.  The organization chose the location well.  Just a block and a half from Fifth Avenue, the site was firmly in a neighborhood of fashionable residences.  The new clubhouse would replace the former home of the wealthy Simon DeWitt Bloodgood.

The completed clubhouse, clad in red and cream-colored brick with terra cotta trim, stood full three stories high over an English basement.  A mansard roofed fourth floor, tiled in slate, was punctuated by two cast metal dormers.  Bandcourses of terra cotta or brick separated the floors, and brick quoins ran up the sides and around the openings.  A dramatic cluster of three windows surmounted by a grand terra cotta arch created a focal point.  Between the third floor windows a shield was carved with the Greek letters of Delta Psi.

The fraternity's Greek letters were originally carved in the stone shield.

The expanse of windows at the second floor were there for architectural purposes only.  They were non-functional inside.  The Sun’s Guide to New York noted that “This is the oldest and probably the wealthiest of the college fraternity clubs in this city…Not only is membership restricted to members of the Delta Psi fraternity, but no non-member is even allowed to pass the threshold of the club-house.  The club rooms are on the first floor, and the windowless floor above is the chapter-room of the Columbia College chapter to the Delta Psi fraternity.”

The New-York Tribune side-stepped criticism and called the building “a house unique in appearance and in style of architecture.”   The Real Estate Record and Builders’ Guide was more direct.  Five years after the structure’s completion the Guide wrote that the Delta Psi lodge “is composed of red and yellow brick, and is not without good points of design.  But the color treatment is exactly and exquisitely wrong, the two colors being transposed, so that it is the negative of a much better building than itself.”

A high stoop originally led to the first floor entrance, above today's especially unattractive restaurant marquee.

By 1889 the Delta Psi Society had renamed itself the St. Anthony Club.  On March 31 of that year the New-York Tribune reported on what little was known of the arcane interiors of the clubhouse.  “Those who are not permitted to wear the mystic St. Anthony cross, with its shield of blue enamel, its Hebrew letters and its skull and bones, know little of the interior of the heavily bolted club-house of Delta Psi.  Its members say that it contains many of the comforts and conveniences of an ordinary club, but that it lacks restaurant and dining-room facilities.  The large meeting-room is furnished in Egyptian style.  The lodge-rooms of the Columbia chapter of Delta Psi are in the building.  They are handsomely decorated in pure Egyptian from designs imported from Thebes.”

At the time of the Tribune’s report, the St. Anthony Club had about 300 members.  On the roster were some of the most prestigious names in Manhattan—Cyrus W. Field, Jr., Stuyvesant Fish, Nicholas Fish, Schuyler Hamilton, Jr., Mark Hopkins, Edward De Peyster Livingston, Valentine Mott, Gouverneur W. Morris, and  James W. Roosevelt among them.

By 1894 the St. Anthony Club had outgrown its 15-year old clubhouse.  On June 16 of that year the architectural firm of Heins & LaFarge submitted plans for “a three-story brick and stone extension.”  The rear addition cost the organization $15,000—around $400,000 today.

The secretive and high-toned club stayed out of the headlines—good or bad—for decades.  But in 1904 it was pulled into a shocking scandal that rocked New York society.  Wealthy wine merchant Frank de Peyster Hall had been a member since 1878.  He was President of the F. de Peyster Hall Company and lived nearby at No. 113 West 28^th Street in what The Evening World called “luxurious surroundings.”   Hall held memberships in other exclusive men’s clubs including the New York Yacht and the Calumet Club.

The unmarried millionaire sometimes stayed overnight at the Calumet Club and nighttime activities resulted in his being asked to resign.  Like all men’s clubs, young boys were employed as bellboys to handle messages and tend to the incidental needs of the members.   When club officers heard of the “gossip of bellboys” the youths were questioned.  Club attendants said that “over a long period of time” the “boys were afraid to go to Hall’s room while he was living in the club.”

This led to an investigation by discreet private detectives.  A young detective was placed in the Calumet Club as a bellboy.  “On the strength of his evidence the manager of the detective agency, according to the club officials, went to Mr. Hall, handed him a resignation blank and asked him to fill it in,” reported The Evening World some months later.

The sensational facts of Hall's “disgraceful practices” were kept from the public and Hall’s resignation was reported to be due to his unhappiness with the way the club was managed.  But little by little rumors leaked out.  By September 1904 his business partners heard the story and he was forced to resign.  Several members of the Calumet were also members of the St. Anthony Club and the scandalous tale was repeated in the hushed halls of No. 29 East 28^th Street.

On October 5, in an effort to control the “ostracism both socially and in business circles” he was enduring, Frank De Peyster Hall sued Alfred H. Bond, president of the Calumet Club, and George A. Carmack, secretary of the New York Yacht Club. Charging the men with slander, he sued each for $50,000.

Hall’s attempt to save face backfired.  As attorneys prepared their cases, newspapers were told that at least “seven witnesses, all of whom are boys” would testify.  To make matters worse, Bond sent a message to Hall’s lawyers saying, according to The Evening World, “that he desired no further publicity, but that if the suit were pressed he would lay the evidence in his possession before the District-Attorney, which the object of beginning criminal proceedings.”

Frank De Peyster Hall, once eminently successful and respected, had his back to the wall.  Pederasty in 1904 was not only a despicable crime; it was damning.  If his case went to trial, Hall would be shamed and ruined.

On October 10 The Evening World reported “It was Hall’s custom to take his breakfast in his room every morning at 8.45 o’clock.  Malvina Morse, the negro maid, took the breakfast to the room at the usual hour to-day.  The door was slightly ajar.  She knocked, but receiving no reply she entered.

“The sight that greeted her eyes caused her to drop the tray and rush into the passage with a scream of horror.  Hall was lying dead on the floor alongside the bed.  There was a bullet wound in his head and a pistol clasped in his right hand.”

The disgraced club member had taken the only way out he could conceive of.

After a quarter of a century in the clubhouse, the St. Anthony Association looked to move northward.  On July 4, 1912 the club purchased the mansion of Edith S. Logan, widow of John A. Logan, at No. 17 West 56^th Street.  Edith Logan accepted the 28^th Street clubhouse as partial payment.

With few alterations, Edith Logan converted the clubhouse to commercial space.  On May 27, 1915 The Times noted that she had leased the building to W. E. Morgan.  Two years later she was ready to sell.

On May 13, 1917 The Times said “the realty market closed yesterday with a few scattering sales, interesting among which was the sale of the old four-story and basement dwelling at 29 East Twenty-eighth Street.”  The newspaper reported that Edith Andrews Logan’s buyer “will make extensive alterations and occupy the structure for his own business.”

In 1921 the house was headquarters for a possibly naughty operation.  On July 2 that year an advertisement appeared in Publishers’ Weekly:  “WANTED—Salesmen, thoroughly acquainted with French publications.”

By the 1940s the building had been converted, informally, to apartments and it appears that in October 1940 a young artist who signed his name “M. Rothkowitz” first took an apartment here.   He would go on to be better known as Mark Rothko.

By 1945 the Federal World Government, Inc., a “non-profit membership organization,” had its headquarters in the building.  Also known as the World Federalists, USA, in September 1945 it released to the press a letter sent to President Truman.  The message, signed by former Supreme Court Justice Owen J. Roberts and 38 leaders in the business, labor, education, literary and education fields, stressed “the establishment of a democratic ‘world government’ as the best means of controlling the atomic bomb.”

The Federal World Government, Inc. would stay in the house for just one more year.  In June 1946 it purchased the brownstone house at No. 31 East 74^th Street which it dubbed World Government House.”

When Theodore Stuart Weshner and his wife moved into their second floor apartment in the building in the 1950s, the brownstone stoop had probably already been removed.  Known familiarly as Skip, Weshner was a stereo enthusiast.  He installed 46 loudspeakers in his living room—the once-sedate space which in the 1880s was Delta Psi’s top secret meeting room.  But his obsession with musical purity went further.

Meyer Berger, reporting in The New York Times on November 18, 1956, “The quest for pure music from recordings has led men into odd designs and compelled them to the use of all manner of gadgetry, but Theodore Stuart Weshner…has opened a seemingly fantastic new approach.  He manipulates his living room walls.”

In the 12-foot high space Weshner installed pivoting seven-foot panels, one foot wide; thus creating false walls.  “One side of each board in this giant louver is surfaced with celotex, to act as an absorbent of speaker sound waves; that’s the front wall’s soft side,” explained Berger.  “If Skip wants to add brilliance to high-range notes from the speakers, he pivots all the boards so their hard, or painted sides, face into the room in an unbroken wall.  If he wants light, rather than music, he pivots the louver units so that they face end in.”

Today James Renwick’s late Victorian clubhouse, squashed between two soaring commercial towers, is a bit grimy.  A Chinese restaurant operates from the former English basement.  But the integrity of the design above shines through—“unique in appearance and in style of architecture.”

photographs taken by the author

The 1890 West End Presbyterian Church -- Amsterdam Ave and 105th Street

On February 7, 1888, a small group of Presbyterian men gathered in the Marshall mansion at Columbus Avenue and 104^th Street to discuss the prospects of a new congregation.   Nearly a year earlier, in May, a Presbyterian Sunday school had been organized which originally met in the Marshall house and then moved to a ramshackle building nearby.

Now, with the Upper West Side exploding with new homes, businesses and residences, the need for a formal Presbyterian presence was brought to the table.  When the men left the Marshall mansion they had organized the West End Presbyterian Church with 69 members, “three of whom joined on the confession of their faith,” said The Westminster, a religious publication.

A small chapel was erected on “the Boulevard,” later renamed Broadway.  But, according to The New York Times, it “was not completed before it was found to be too small.”   In January 1889 the corner plot at Amsterdam Avenue and 105^th Street was purchased and a second, larger chapel was built.  The new congregation commissioned the architectural firm of Carrere & Hastings to design the $40,000 structure.  The cornerstone was laid on June 22, 1889 and the new building, which The Westminster deemed “a remarkably beautiful piece of work with its loggia of stairway columns and its Romanesque filigrees,” was dedicated on October 20 the following year.

A few years later The New York Times printed a grainy photograph of the chapel -- (copyright expired)

The New York Times later remarked that the new chapel “was thought to be large enough for a growth of at least ten years.  In less than one year, however, it was overcrowded.”   Another writer agreed, “No sooner, however, had the second chapel been completed than it was seen that the congregation was destined soon to outgrow even that.”

The congregation called back Carrere & Hastings who designed a church structure that nestled up its chapel.  But the architects proved a little too pricey for the start-up congregation despite its growing numbers.  “These plans, however, called for so large an outlay that it was necessary to modify them, and at the same time increase the capacity of the church,” explained The New York Times.

Kilburn's sketch was published in Architecture and Building News on May 7, 1892 (copyright expired)

The Carrere & Hastings drawings were scrapped and architect Henry F. Kilburn was consulted for a less costly structure.   The cornerstone was laid on June 22, 1891 and Kilburn’s striking Romanesque Revival structure was dedicated in April 1892.  American Architect and Architecture described the church on January 7, 1893.  “This church, built of buff brick, relieved with terra-cotta of slightly lighter tone, is a very good example of rapid building as it is now carried on in this country.”  By not mentioning Carrere & Hastings, the publication deftly skirted the possibility of insulting the esteemed firm.  “While the church proper was building, the society worshiped in the chapel annexed to the present structure designed in a similar style but by other architects.”

The newly-completed church sat in the midst of still-undeveloped lots -- The American Architect and Building News, January 3, 1893 (copyright expired)

Indeed, Kilburn had produced a church “in a similar style.”  He continued Carrere & Hastings’ peaked gable, grouped arches, and bandcourses.  The small pinnacles on either side of the chapel’s gable were copies on the Amsterdam Avenue elevation.  Anchoring it all was a tall Italian bell tower with pseudo-balconies on each side.

The American Architect and Building News, January 3, 1893 (copyright expired)

In its new building, West End Presbyterian continued to flourish.  By 1898, upon the 10^th Anniversary of the congregation, it was the third largest Presbyterian church in New York and one of the largest in the country.  The New York Times noted on January 22, 1898, “One church in this city labors under the unique difficulty of having so many members and Sunday school scholars that it is seriously embarrassed to know what to do for the future…The church, large and handsome, has been in use only about six yeas, and now is as much too small as the old chapel was, and pews are not to be had at any price.”  The newspaper noted that on every communion Sunday between 20 and 50 new members were waiting to be admitted.

By now the congregation which had started with 69 members had exploded to 1,400.   The New York Times noted that “No more land can be acquired adjoining the present buildings.  Estimates have been secured on the cost of remodeling the present buildings, and discussion has been had about the erection of a chapel in a near-by street.”

The Westminster attributed the tremendous growth on the church’s location and welcoming atmosphere.  “This personal touch coupled with the fact that the church is located in the very heart of the upper West Side has had much to do with the remarkable growth of the West End Church…It is said that during the last few years more people have got on and off the elevated station at One Hundred and Fourth street than at any other station.”

Coupled with those factors was the church’s innovative and open-minded approach.  In April 1902 the church purchased the house at 166 West 105^th Street for $14,000 as a meeting place for the various social organizations of the church.  But the new facility sparked a pioneering concept—a nursery school.  The New-York Tribune reported on April 21, “This house will also be used as a kindergarten Sunday school, and on Sundays room will be set aside for the care of babies.  Mothers who have no one at home to care for their babies, and who cannot attend church service owing to this fact, may leave them at the house, where they will be cared for by women of the auxiliary society of the church until the services are over.”

The innovation was necessary in part because of the large tenement community that had grown up around the church.   The New York Times noted that “Four-fifths of its membership are residents of tenements and flathouses,” and the New-York Tribune said, “In these are a large number of mothers who desire to attend service at the church, but cannot unless they can get some woman to stay with the children at home while they go to church.”

By 1904, West End Presbyterian was taking in an additional 112 members per year.   At the time, fashionable New Yorkers closed their homes and traveled off to summer resorts for the three-month season when heat and humidity made city living uncomfortable at best.  With members gone, churches around the city closed their doors, too.   Then West End Presbyterian rethought the tradition.

On July 2, 1904, the New-York Tribune noted, “Practically all of the Protestant churches here are closed for the summer…One of the notable exceptions to the general rule is the West End Presbyterian Church…which has no hesitation in throwing open its doors all summer long.”

The assistant pastor, Rev. William Bishop Gates, told the newspaper “a church which fails to furnish, in the hardest time of the year, for those who are toiling and sweating in a sweltering city, that cool and calm that its open doors could give, that rest and relief to the physically overborne, and the spiritually depleted which communion with God can afford, is failing in its duty.”

With the resignation of the Rev. Dr. John Balcom Shaw in 1905, West End Presbyterian saw its first new minister since its inception.  When the young Rev. A. Edwin Keigwin took the pulpit, every pew in the church was rented.  Another innovation was put in place: a gymnasium, or “athletic association.”  The New York Observer said it “occupies a fine club building and half a city block fully equipped for its purposes, and owned and operated under the direction of members of the church.”

The New-York Tribune published a photograph of the church and Rev. Keigwin as he took the post of pastor on February 11, 1905 (copyright expired)

A reflection of the open-minded attitude of West End Presbyterian is perhaps seen in the June 8, 1913 discussion held here on the topic of eugenic marriage.  A spirited debate among pastors and civic leaders addressed the pros and cons of what, to the 21^st century mind, is somewhat shocking.

The concept of improving the human race by restricting marriages to genetically-stronger individuals was just a part of the eugenics movement that would culminate in the Nazi Party’s experiments a few decades later.  In the meantime, speakers expressed somewhat surprising attitudes in the 104^th Street church that night.

The New York Times reported the following day on the opinions of former Congressman William S. Bennet, in charge of the Presbyterian Church’s meeting.  “He called attention to the fact that literature and art had their beginnings in the Church which now was called upon to do pioneer work for morality and a stronger, healthier race of men and women.”

Perhaps equally shocking to certain Edwardian women were the 35 young ladies from the church “in bloomers and middy blouses” who filed into the 71^st Regiment Armory on the night of March 4, 1915.  There they “watched white and colored pugilists pummel each other ‘for the benefit of the deserving unemployed of New York City',” said The Evening World.

“The girls, from the West End Presbyterian Church, didn’t appear shocked, but manifested their approval by applauding the fistic efforts of Freddy Welsh, lightweight champion of the world; Young Ahearn, middleweight champion of Europe; Battling Levinsky, Jack Britton, Joe Jeannette and other fighters.”

The newspaper quickly added that the girls were properly attended.  “The young women were chaperoned, however, dignity being added by the presence of Louis H. Junod, Swiss Consul in this city; Djelal Munif Bey, Consul General of Turkey; Paul D. Cravath, Cabot Ward, Elihu Root jr., Mrs. J. V. Bouvior jr., Mrs. Alphous Geer and many other prominent men and women.”  Following the boxing matches, “The girls also contributed more than a fair share of pleasure by performing remarkable Swedish calisthenics under the direction of Charles A. Palmer.”

The church continued its outreach and adaptation to change.  In 1918 the neighborhood saw the arrival of female streetcar conductors—something not only unheard of a few years earlier, but inconceivable.  Called “conductorettes,” they suffered a distinct disadvantage.  Their male counterparts could disembark from the street car at nearly any stop and run into a saloon to use the rest room.  There were no such accommodations for a woman.  Citizens were shocked in December that year when conductorettes “were seen entering the back room of a saloon at 106^th Street and Amsterdam Avenue, owned by James P. Droogan,” reported the New-York Tribune.

Rev. Keigwin came to the rescue, offering the parish house.  “This parish house is within a stone’s throw of the 106^th Street junction, where these cars make a fairly long stop, and the girls will be able to drop into the house for a few minutes’ relaxation, a cup of hot tea, a chat, or—where their wait is long enough—the privilege of reading magazines which Dr. Keigwin will provide,” said the New-York Tribune. 

The newspaper added “The parish house is, of course, equipped with dressing room accommodations, and is warm and cosey.  The girls will be made just as welcome as are the soldiers and sailors.”

The following year the church hit upon another ground-breaking way to keep congregants engaged—motion picture night.  Every Monday a screen was hung across the chancel and seven reels of motion pictures were shown.  The Sun reported, “Music is furnished by the pipe organ.”  Included in the weekly program was The World To-day, a compilation of world-wide newsreels.

Although no admission was charged, a collection was taken which rarely fell below $100.  The church was able to pay for the film rentals and often added to its treasury.  An unexpected by-product was outreach to other religious communities.  “Christians, Jews and Catholics come to community nights and none leave without having seen something worth while,” said The Sun. 

In retrospect, the programs were a bit propagandist.  “The films shown have as an essential idea patriotism, respect for one’s neighbor, the folly of Bolshevism or some present day principle.”

If New Yorkers thought Dr. Keigwin’s idea of movie night was revolutionary, they were more impressed when in 1924 he instituted live radio broadcasts of the services.   “We are living in a radio age and the radio has opened an entirely new book of opportunity to the Church,” Keigwin explained after the first broadcast service on April 18.  The pastor was ready to “take any criticism” that his fellow ministers would heap upon him—one of them had already told him the idea was “a dangerous thing.”

Instead, according to The New York Times, “hardly was the service over last evening when Dr. Keigwin’s telephone began to ring with messages of gratitude from radio communicants.”

One caller said “I am a cold-blooded woman and it is a long time since I have been to a Holy Communion service.  But I listened in tonight and I am uplifted and have determined to come back to the fold.”

On March 8, 1929, the Rev. Dr. A. Edwin Keigwin’s wife died suddenly at their home at 340 Riverside Drive.  Before her memorial service three days later the pastor had donated and had installed a new set of chimes.   The first time they were rung was at the conclusion of her memorial service.

When the church celebrated its golden jubilee in February 1938, Dr. Keigwin was still at the pulpit after 33 years.  The congregation that had started life with 69 souls now numbered 2,499 members.

Today West End Presbyterian Church continues the tradition of inclusion and outreach begun by Rev. Shaw in 1889.  The congregation shares its striking Romanesque building with a synagogue.  Congregation Kehilat Romenu is run by an equally-progressive rabbi, David Ingber.

non-historic photographs taken by the author