Slade & Colby's 1868 281 Church Street

In the first years following the Civil War wealthy dry goods merchant Jarvis Slade turned his focus to transforming the Tribeca district from one of old brick and wooden structures to modern loft buildings.  Years later, on January 29, 1881, The Real Estate Record & Builders' Guide credited him with creating the dry goods district. "This gentleman was a pioneer in this district, and besides acquiring a large interest himself, it was mainly due to his influence that it was so rapidly covered with first-class buildings." 

Among his earliest projects was the five story loft and store building at the southeast corner of Church and White Streets.  He partnered with Gardner R. Colby to purchase the two old buildings on the site in October 1865.  
The transaction involving the wooden house at No. 35 White Street would cause headaches for the seller, Samuel Keyser, before long.

But in the meantime, Colby and Slade commenced construction on their new building in 1866.  Faced in light-colored sandstone, it was completed the following year.  Although the storefronts opened onto Church Street, giving the building its address of No. 281 Church; the 75-foot long White Street elevation was architecturally treated as the front.

Stone piers embraced the cast iron storefront sections where free-standing Corinthian columns upheld the entablature.  Each of the nearly identical upper stories was clearly defined by crisp sill courses.  Corinthian pilasters separated the segmentally-arched openings and rusticated piers ran up the corners.  A handsome French Second Empire cornice, supported on brackets, was capped by a pyramidal pediment.

Soon after the construction had begun, Samuel Keyser found himself in court.  On the abutting Church Street property was a boarding house.  For years the owners had a legal agreement with Keyser allowing them to share his rear yard--and most importantly his privy.  In April 1866 they sued; their complaint saying in part, "when Slade and Colby were building they undermined the yard so that the fence all caved in; and the privy building was carried away by the boys of the neighborhood."

While the two parties fought over the lost privy privileges, Colby and Slade filled No. 281 Church Street with, for the most part, dry goods merchants.  An exception was the silversmith firm of S. D. Johnson, here by the early 1870's.

On August 24, 1876 two burglars broke into Johnson's shop and made off with silverware valued at about $36,000 in today's money.  Police were certain they knew who the perpetrators were--William Heany and Thomas Macaveny, the "well-known Fourteenth ward thieves," as described by The Evening Telegram.  The pair was picked up on Hester Street the following day.  "The prisoners, who are young men, denied any knowledge of the burglary," said the article.  Despite the fact that the arresting officers apparently had no hard evidence against them they were held in default of bail.

In the first years of the 1890's a sixth floor, nearly hidden by the cornice and pediment, was added to the building which continued to house mostly dry goods businesses, like Letson & Hashagen.  

Just the the roofline of the new top floor can be seen above the original cornice.

But there were still exceptions to that rule as well.  By 1894 New York branch of Mulhens & Kropff was in the building and would remain through the turn of the century.  The firm imported colognes, soaps, and "extracts" from its Cologne, Germany laboratories.

On December 1, 1895 Merck's Market Report said "a particularly excellent business is being done in the transparent glycerin soaps.  Mr. Kropff speaks in the highest terms of the White-Rose soap, which is a star among the glycerin varieties."  The article added that Mulhens & Kropff's "'Eau de Cologne' has held its own in the United States against all competitors for the last sixty years."

The Puritan, February 1899 (copyright expired)

The Eau de Cologne was somewhat pricey.  A two-ounce sample bottle could be had by mail order in 1899 for 30 cents; nearly $10 in today's dollars.

Frederick Hashagen, a partner in Letson & Hashagen, was troubled that year.  He left his Brooklyn house as usual on November 19, but instead of going to his office here he checked into the Grand Union Hotel under the name of J. S. Harrison.  At around noon he was found dead in his room with a bullet wound in his chest.  "The man is believed to have committed suicide," said the Brooklyn Daily Eagle."

It was possibly serious business problems that prompted Hashagen's desperate action.  Within months Letson & Hashagen declared bankruptcy.

Sharing the building with Mulhens & Kropff in the first years of the 20th century were linen merchants R. Lindner and George P. Boyce & Co., and Cawley & Weixelbaum, makers of handles for canes and umbrellas.   The latter moved into second floor in 1905.

In reporting on the firm's move Trunks, Leather Goods and Umbrellas described the new space as a "spacious and well lighted loft" and added "They will not confine the business to high class novelties, but make a specialty of good values in popular priced handles of European manufacture."

Trunks, Leather Goods & Umbrellas, April 1906 (copyright expired)

In 1908 cotton goods merchants R. E. Walsh & Co. and Thos. J. Conroy leased space in the building.  They were joined in 1916 by M. Gardner & Co., linen importers.   

The Colby family still owned a portion of the property at the time.  Henry F. Colby, who lived in Dayton, Ohio, died in 1916 leaving the holding to his wife.

In the first years following World War I Weissfeld Bros. & Gross was in the building.  The firm manufactured hospital, restaurant and hotel items like lab coats, aprons, caps, "luggers," and such.  In its May 1919 issue, American Druggist reported "This firm manufactures clothing and uniforms of every description and their many years' standing in this industry is ample evidence of the quality of the product."  To bring home its point, the article said "A neat and clean looking, dapper druggist will attract new customers to his store apart from his regular trade which will recommend him for his appearance."

In September that year the National Retail Tea and Coffee Merchants' Association held its annual convention in St. Louis.  It was a major affair, lasting three days.  An important feature was a exhibition of goods by industry-related manufacturers and dealers.  Two exhibitors came from the Church Street building.

In October Simmons' Spice Mill reported that Gardner Textile Co. had exhibited "table clothes, table sets consisting of a table cloth and six napkins, (boxed), napkins towels and other kindred articles used in the household."  Rendrag Co., Inc. had also staged a display, theirs consisting of "various kinds of ladies' handkerchiefs, embroidered, packed in ornate boxes, three to a box."

Weissfeld Bros. & Gross and Gardner Textile Co. were still here in 1922, along with hospital linens manufacturer Geo. P. Boyce & Co.

The Modern Hospital, February 1922 (copyright expired)

The Colby family still retained ownership of the building in 1938--more than seven decades after its construction.  On February 1, 1938.  Lincoln Fabrics, Inc. occupied the store and basement levels and the long-established dry goods firm Henry Glass & Co. was on the top floor.  The second and fourth floors were vacant.   Fire broke out in the building that morning, destroying the store of Lincoln Fabrics.  Smoke rose throughout the entire building.  It was intense enough to damage the stock of Henry Glass & Co.

The last quarter of the century saw profound changes in the old dry goods district, now known as Tribeca.  Where Lincoln Fabrics, Inc. had operated its store the trendy restaurant Arqua opened in 1987.  On May 4 New York Magazine reported "The newest good place to eat Italian food, according to Italian-cooking expert Giuliano Bugialli, is Arqua."

A conversion completed in 2002 resulted in one sprawling apartment per floor above the storefront.  Matteo Boglione opened his restaurant, White & Church, with partner Gian Perugini here in the summer of 2011.  Through it all Slade & Colby's striking 1868 sideways-facing structure has remained remarkably intact.

photographs by the author

The David Irwin House - 204 West 21st Street

By the mid-1850's the 21st Street block between Seventh and Eighth Avenues in Chelsea was lined with handsome brick and brownstone-faced homes.  Among them was that of David Irwin at No. 204.  The 23-foot wide Greek Revival residence was similar to the others along the block, all home to merchant class families.

Born in 1802, Irwin was an officer of the Association for Improving the Condition of the Poor.  He and his wife, the former Jane Warnock, had three daughters, Elizabeth J., Adeline M. and Sarah Anne.   

The Association for Improving the Condition of the Poor was founded in 1843 with the best intentions.  But the organization was flawed in its precepts.  Its directors firmly believed that poverty, unsanitary living conditions, and overcrowding were not the result of socioeconomic circumstances, but of immorality.  Charity, like soup kitchens, was vocally opposed and only efforts related to moral reform were approved.  The best cure for the problem, they believed, was to encourage the poor to move to the country.

Elizabeth married Hugh R. Jackson on May 21, 1857.  Only Sarah remained in the house with her parents following Adeline's wedding to Stephen E. Garretson some years later.

It seems that Jane's brother, Joseph Warnock, lived with the Irwin family by the mid-1860's.  He was the head of Warnock & Co. at No. 519 Broadway, makers of gentlemen's hats.  He died in the house after a short illness on February 12, 1866 and his funeral was held there two days later.

Nearly two decades later, on Friday November 30, 1883, David Irwin died at the age of 81.  His funeral was held in the parlor on December 3 at 10 a.m.

Within only a few weeks of her husband's death, on January 14, 1884, Jane transferred title of the house to Sarah.  The rapid change-over in ownership may have been in anticipation of Sarah's upcoming marriage to William Boggs.  And despite the family's being in mourning the wedding took place later that year.

There were no doubt some who felt that the 50-year old groom was rushing into marriage.  His first wife, Sarah E. Tucker Boggs, had died the same week as David Irwin.  

Boggs's daughter, Hattie, moved into No. 204 with the newlyweds.  The marriage would be very short lived.  On August 20, 1884 Sarah died.  Once again a funeral was held in the 21st Street house.  William Boggs obtained the title to the property.

The financial and social status of Boggs was evidenced in Hattie's wedding in the fashionable Fifth Avenue Presbyterian Church on May 18, 1887.  The Evening Telegram noted "The bride wore a rich gown of white satin, trimmed with flounces of point lace...Her ornaments were of diamonds, and a tulle veil was worn."  Following the ceremony a reception was held at No. 204 West 21st Street.  "The parlors were elaborately decorated with flowers and palms," said the article, adding "Clark served a wedding supper."  (Clark was one of the premier society caterers, along with Pinard and Delmonico.)

It seems Boggs initially stayed on at No. 204 following Hattie's marriage.  In March 1889 an advertisement offered "Elegant furnished rooms in private house with all conveniences."  The term "private house" meant it was not being operated as a boarding house.  Yet.

But within four years that was not the case.   Although he retained possession of No. 204, Boggs moved to Peekskill and leased it as a "room-house."  The term was significant, differentiating it from a boarding house where tenants would receive meals and the amenities of a home.

In December 1892 William B. Curry and his wife (whom the Evening Telegram called "a handsome young Southern woman) lived in rooms here.  Curry was a "shoe blacking" (i.e. shoe polish) salesman for Bixby's Blacking Company.  The couple had been married for six years.

On Christmas night that year they attended the Tammany Hall ball, where Curry was introduced to 23-year old Frederica Prinzing.  The Evening Telegram said she was "quite comely [and] Curry was remarkably attentive to her."   Curry found Frederica so enchanting that he failed to mention that he was already married.

He continued to see her on the sly and on January 13, 1893 they were married.  Curry told the minister that his name was John P. Roberts.  He explained to his bride that they would see each other only now and then, as he routinely had to travel on business "in another part of the country."

After a month of seeing her husband only occasionally, Frederica complained to her brother-in-law, Alexander G. Murray, who launched his own investigation.  It did not take long for Curry's subterfuge to be uncovered.  

Murray went to No. 204 West 21st Street and laid out the story to Curry's wife.  The Sun reported on February 14, 1893, "Mrs. Curry proved to be a smart, attractive woman, who would not believe that her husband had married another."  So Murray devised a scheme.  "Mr. Murray invited Mrs. Curry to call at his house on Sunday night and bring her husband along."

When the couple arrived, Frederica was there.  So was a policeman.  Curry was taken to jail by Policeman Brady where he was held at $2,500 bail.

Everyone faced the judge on February 13.  The Evening Telegram reported "In court to-day wife number one pleaded with wife number two to be lenient for the reason, as she said, that their husband was intoxicated when he married a month ago.  The mournful bride, however, was not in a forgiving mood, and pressed a charge of bigamy."  Curry was found guilty and sent to prison for three years.  

Frederica had been traumatized by the events and what to a Victorian woman was the ruination of her life.  "As Curry turned from the bar Miss Prinzing threw up her arms and screamed.  She sobbed loudly as she was carried out by court officers," reported The Sun.

Another tenant who brought unwanted publicity to the address was Richard Fleming, who lived here in 1896.  On Saturday night February 22 he and two friends got drunk on the Lower East Side.  They wandered into a candy store on Delancy Street and told Jennie Suchers, "We want to buy out the whole place."  The Press reported on the ugly turn the situation took.  "They were not waited on as quickly as they thought they should be, and one of them struck Mrs. Suchers in the face.  After that the other two started to demolish the shop."

When Mr. Suchers, along with a store boy, rushed to his wife's defense both were knocked to the ground.  The trio then robbed the cash drawer.  Fleming and one of his cohorts were arrested.  The other escaped.

In the meantime, William Boggs was investing in Peekskill real estate upstate.  On September 12, 1897 the New-York Tribune reported that he had purchased the Mount Vernon Opera House.  He was also now had a third wife, named Elizabeth.  

Boggs had remortgaged the 21st Street property several times since he took title and it appears he had fallen behind on payments in the summer of 1900.  On August 3 a petition was filed by attorney W. S. Bronk against William and Elizabeth L. Boggs "to declare deeds void."  They managed to retain possession, but sold the house three years later to Kate B. Happel and Frederick Bruner.  Their exact relationship is unclear; but in December 1905 Kate transferred her one-half share to Bruner.

The house continued to be operated as a rooming house.  Among the tenants in 1904 was Vina Goff who bred large dogs.  In January that year her Newfoundland dog gave birth to a litter of 14 puppies.  The Sun reported "This brood was too much for the mother to care for, and Mrs. Goff decided she would have to supply a foster mother."  And so she rented the services a nursing collie named Bonnie.

Then, around the first of March, Bonnie disappeared.  Vina had to pay her owner $20--about $580 today.  Two weeks later Vina and her married daughter were walking along Broadway when they spotted a messenger boy with Bonnie on a leash.  Vina called the dog which "made a frantic effort to get to her."  Harry Carr insisted he had purchased the dog for $25 two weeks earlier--about the time of her disappearance--from a man he met on Broadway.  Vina and the boy agreed to walk together to the Tenderloin police station.  

The police captain suggested that Vina take the dog overnight and everyone come back the following day, along with the dog's owner, to settle the matter.  It all ended happily in the end with Bonnie going back to her rightful home.

Vina was apparently not discouraged by the incident.  Six months later an advertisement appeared in the Evening Telegram:

St. Bernard dog, 15 months old, beautifully marked, fine disposition, prize winner; also litter of puppies; perfect markings.  204 West 21st.

Middle class renters continued to take rooms here.  In 1907 Edgar Selden was appointed a commissioner of deeds, a position similar to a notary public today.  In September 1921 a tenant named Smith sought work as a plumber's helper.  He asked for $3.50 per day; about $50 in today's terms.

In January 1931 scandal caused the resignation of Magistrate Goodman, appointed by Mayor James Walker in July 1929.  The resignation did not preclude hearings concerning his graft and corruption.  Among the witnesses called was Angelina Colloneas, who lived at No. 204 West 21st Street.

Angelina Colloneas testified about police corruption in 1931.  The New York Sun, January 6, 1931 

Angelina was a waitress who had fallen victim to a vice squad scam in which Goodman was involved.  She testified that she met a man who said he was the son of a wealthy cigar manufacturer.  He was, in fact, "Harry the Greek, a vice squad stool pigeon," reported The New York Sun.  He was "attentive" to Angelina and after a time she hoped he would marry her.

"One evening, she said, they went to her home and sat in the parlor a few minutes, talking and smoking cigarettes, when the police burst in and arrested her on a vice charge.  Harry the Greek vanished" reported The Sun.  At the Jefferson Market Court she said she had $1,200 in the bank.  She "gave up $800 of it and the case against her was dropped."  But that was not the end of it.

Angelina said the police and Goodman were aware that she still had $400 in her bank account.  Two months later a policeman arrived at No. 204 West 21st Street, "pretended to be searching for something, and finally extracted from a shoe under her bed a small paper of what he claimed was a narcotic."  The Sun said "She was arrested on that charge and it cost her the remaining $400 to get free."

A renovation completed in 1956 resulted in two apartments on each floor.  The stoop was removed and the entrance moved to the former basement level.  That and the former parlor level were faced in an unattractive material imitating stone blocks.

The mid-century renovation was gruesome.  photo via cityrealty.com

In May 2013 real estate broker Herve Senequier paid $2.7 million for the property.  He announced that he would convert the bottom two floors to a duplex unit for himself.  But real change came soon thereafter.  A massive restoration, completed in 2019, brought the Irwin house back to a single-family residence.  The startling make-over included a rebuilt stoop, the refacing of the parlor floor in brick, and refabricated sills and entrance.  The seamless, period-perfect restoration could fool the most erudite preservationist.

photographs by the author

The F. N. Collins House - 323 West 88th Street

When Theodore E. Thomson designed the five 20-foot wide rowhouses along West 88th Street for James Carlew late in 1895, he chose a single plan for all of them.  When completed, the homes between West End Avenue and Riverside Drive would be nearly identical--their differences appearing only in the carvings that decorated the stoop newels, the panels between the parlor floor windows, and the bases of the two story bays.

The Real Estate Record & Builders' Guide noted on December 28 that the cost to construct each house would be approximately $20,000--or about $617,000 today.  The journal noted "specifications will call for all conveniences."

Because James Carlew was in Europe when the plans were completed, the project stalled until his return.  Ground was broken in March 1896 and the row was completed in the summer of 1897.  Like its neighbors, No. 323 rose four stories above a tall English basement.  Clad in brownstone, its double-doored entrance was flanked by fluted Corinthian pilasters which helped uphold a bracketed cornice that ran the width of the house.

The same pilasters appeared in reduced versions along the rounded bay of the second and third floors.  The underside of the bay was decorated with extraordinary carvings of overlapping leaves and berries.  The fluted pilasters made their appearance one more time at the top floor, flanking each window.  The remarkable pressed metal cornice was upheld by a series of small engaged columns; a highly unusual detail.

A stone worker exerted hours of careful labor on the complex carvings below the bowed bay.

On September 16, 1897 The New York Times reported that Carlew had sold No. 323, adding "This is the second house sold by Mr Carlew of the row of five which were completed about three months ago."

The house became home to the Frederick Norris Collins family.  Collins was president of the shipping concern, James Ward & Co.  He and his wife, the former Emily Augusta Cooper, had one daughter, Lydia.  Their summer residence was near Summit, New Jersey where they were members of the Canoe Brook Country Club and the Baltusrol Country Club nearby.  Living with them was Emily's widowed mother.

Emily was visible both in New York society and in political issues during the winter season.  She was a member of the Women's Republican Club and the Women's Auxiliary of Calvary Episcopal Church.  Her name appeared in social columns, as on December 15, 1907 when The New York Times announced that she "has sent out cards for the first Monday of each month during the season."  Another newspaper called those Mondays a "series of informal afternoons."

Earlier that year the family name appeared in newsprint for a less happy reason.  On the morning of May 28 Emily's mother noticed that a desk in her room had been jimmied open.  Investigation revealed that a bar brooch, a pair of earrings and six rings were missing.  The total value was $2,000--more than $55,000 today.  She notified Frederick who quickly suspected the butler.

The following day The Evening Post reported that "John Martin, the negro butler," had been arrested.  "Mr. Collins said that before going on an errand the butler had gone upstairs, and a few minutes after he left the house the robbery was discovered.  None of the other servants had been near the room."

Frederick's cousin, Mildred Louise Collins, was married on February 13, 1915 in the Church of the Transfiguration.  It was, perhaps, a surprising location for the friends of the couple.  Mildred lived in New Haven, Connecticut and the groom, I. Leland Hewes, was from Springfield, Massachusetts.  The reception, therefore, was held in the West 88th Street house.

In 1920 the Federal Government issued an indictment against specific shipping concerns, charging them with price fixing.  Among the executives and agents individually charged was Frederick N. Collins.

As was most often the case with well-heeled couples, the title to No. 323 was in Emily's name.   She sold the house in July 1921 to Lillian B. Smith.

Smith leased the house to operatic coach Florence Mendelson.   A year after moving in she was involved in the formation of the Music Students' League, "sponsored by prominent musicians," according to The Musician in July 1922.  The purpose was to hold "occasional meetings...in consideration of such problems as every music student must have."  The announcement noted "The secretary is Florence Mendelson, who may be addressed at 323 West Eighty-eighth Street, New York."

During the Depression years No. 323 was being operated as a rooming house.  Among the occupants in 1934 was 31-year old taxicab owner Oscar Kates.  At 3:00 a.m. on the day after Christmas that year he pulled his cab into a filling station on West 60th Street.  When the tank was filled, he found he could not shut off the pump.  While he struggled with the pump, the gasoline spilled out and onto the ground.  Somehow it ignited, engulfing Kates in flames.

Taken to The Roosevelt Hospital by another cabbie, his burns were severe enough to require his hospitalization until January 20, 1935.   Upon paying his $197 bill (around $3,600 today), he hired a lawyer and sued.  The jury granted him a $5,000 settlement.

Somewhat surprisingly, the Collins house was never divided into apartments--the fate of so many large Victorian rowhouses.  In 2008 a penthouse level, invisible from the street, was added.  

photographs by the author

The Lost University Building - Washington Square East and Waverly Place

from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York

In February 1830 a group of esteemed New Yorkers including Morgan Lewis, John Delafield and Myndert Van Schaick, proposed the organization of a university, "the great object" of which, according to the New York Spectator, "shall be to extend the benefits of education in greater abundance and variety, and at a cheaper rate, than at present they are enjoyed."  The Sun later remarked that it was intended "to far overshadow Harvard, Yale, and Princeton."  The University of the City of New York was founded that fall and incorporated by an act of the state legislature in April 1831.

Classes were temporarily held in Clinton Hall at Beekman and Nassau Streets.  The building committee appointed to plan for a permanent home for the school selected the eminent architectural firm of Town and Davis to design the structure.  The Sun said it was meant to be "the most splendid building in New York."

George Rogers had began construction of the first mansion on Washington Square in 1828 and within the next few years other elegant homes were rising along its borders.  The University of the City of New York acquired the southeast corner of Washington Square East and Waverly Place as the site for its home.  According to Julia M. Truettner in her 2003 Aspirations for Excellence Alexander Jackson Davis submitted the first design in the classic revival style.  "This design, however, was rejected by the university in favor of one of the newly emerging Gothic Revival style."

Construction began in the summer of 1833.  Marble quarried at Sing Sing, New York created a gleaming white presence amid the red brick mansions.  Completed in 1836 it featured a castellated roof line, turrets and corner towers.  A three-story Gothic window flooded the chapel, which doubled as the lecture room, with natural light.

A column of a portico of one of the Washington Square North mansions was included in this 1850 print.  To the right are the towers of the 1840 Reformed Dutch Church.  from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York

The northern portion of the University Building contained housing for students.  They could expect a no-frills existence.  Decades later, in 1887, the New-York Tribune explained "The rooms...were fair for those days.  All of them had thick walls and high ceilings, with broad windows encrusted in heavy stone sills and cornices.  There was no running water, it is true, and steam-heaters and hot-air registers were alike unknown.  The rooms were warmed partly by the sun, partly by open grate fires or stoves.  Coal and gas were extras of course.  So was all but the minimum of service."

The New Yorkers gave the institution the popular name of New York University.  The expansive lecture room of its marble building was used not only for class instruction, but for public lectures.  On January 30, 1836, for example, The Herald reported:

Professor Bush last evening at the New York University, explained the Egyptian Hieroglyphics.  He read distinctly the inscription on the Rosetta stone, and explained every character on the Pyramids.  What prodigious learning!

Dr. Sleigh gave a weekly lecture on Saturday evenings at the time.  On February 24 The Herald reported on his latest talk, saying "The lecture room was crowded to excess with the fashionable world, ladies and gentlemen."  The women in the audience were warned against the physically constricting fashion trend--the corset.  He reminded them that "figure did not constitute beauty" and was sure that by evening's end "he would bring conviction home to the heart of every female of the destructive and pernicious effects of the corset."

drawing by John Disturnell, from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York

The Financial Panic of 1837 erased the institution's endowment, and finances worsened following Dr. Morgan Lewis's death in 1844.  He had headed the trustees of the university since its inception.  An article in The New York Times entitled "A Financial Explosion" on February 8, 1849 lamented "Dr. Matthews was one of its most efficient founders; but unfortunately, of late years, it has fallen into quite different hands, and has been diverted from its original broad character, to a narrow and puritanical course.  Its prayers and piety, as far as lip service goes, the New York University is a perfect pattern; but in solid learning, sound sense, and flourishing funds, it has been as bad as it well could be."  The writer bemoaned "Is there no mode of resuscitating such a noble institution as this ought to be, and so useful in promoting the intellect and learning of this great metropolis?"

With enrollment falling off, a decision had been made to convert some of the dormitory rooms into bachelor apartments in 1840.  The New-York Tribune remarked in 1887 "The big, square marble building with its shortened towers, was long ago found too large for all its students, and, to help the college treasury along, nearly half of its living rooms were let out to bachelor tenants.  The Waverly Place wing was shut off as far as possible from the main hall, doors were cut at convenience through the inner walls to make suits, or barred up again to please tenants who took only single rooms."

Bachelors fitted up the apartments to their liking, like this artist's studio.  The Sun, March 6, 1892 (copyright expired)

While the accommodations needed the tenants' dressing up, the Washington Square location was fashionable and convenient.  "Rooms were taken bare of everything except the paper left by the last tenant on the wall, and were furnished to suit the taste or pocket-book of the owner."  It was a favorite among journalists and artists.  In 1892 The Sun recalled "they find in its cloister air and in the fine views from its windows a sympathetic place for their labor."  

In the years following the Civil War men paid from $300 a year for a single room, to $700 for a large suite--or about $1,450 per month for the most expensive in today's dollars.

In another move to augment the struggling university's coffers classrooms were leased to outside groups.  An announcement in The New York Herald on October 20, 1867 touted "A Ladies' Class, for the Study of the various stages of the English Language and Early English Literature is now being formed...This course is under the patronage of several ladies."  

Others who rented space were J. Jay Watson who advertised "Private lessons, piano, organ, violin, guitar, singing, languages, University Building, 36 Waverley place" on April 1, 1877; and his apparent competition, "Miss Watson's Select Music School for ladies and children.  Piano, Organ, Guitar, Singing, Languages."

Mrs. Henrietta A. Matthews and her husband occupied an apartment in the building where she held the position of "janitress"--more like a manager or superintendent in today's terms.  On Wednesday evening, March 27, 1878 three burglars broke into the third floor rooms of F. S. Comstock.  They loaded a bag with $250 worth of clothing and jewelry and were on their way out when they were frightened.  As they fled they left the bag on the staircase landing.

The Sun, March 6, 1892 (copyright expired)

The cause of their alarm was the approach of Mrs. Matthews who had been informed of the break-in.  The feisty, no-nonsense women had no intentions of allowing a burglary on her watch.  As the thief who dropped the bag scrambled to get away, "Mrs. Matthews caught him at the main door, grasped him by the arm and dragged him, notwithstanding his efforts to escape, to her room, where her husband assisted her in holding him until the arrival of Officer Kenny."

Part of the problem was that there was no security in the building as is expected today.  There were no guards to question anyone who wandered in or out, and because a long corridor ran from one end of the building to the other, crooks found it an inviting spot.  On November 24, 1889 The New York Times wrote "'Dead beats' and petty swindlers have discovered that the arrangement of the first floor of the building is specially well adapted for their thieving needs."

One scam was to order merchandise to be delivered to the University Building, then wait for the messenger.  The thief would ask him to wait while he hurried upstairs to get the payment, only to exit out the opposite side of the building.

Around 1877 the soaring chapel space, "which was one of the wonders of New York," according to The Sun, was floored over and divided into additional bachelor apartments.  While the lower two floors were much like the other rooms in the building, the article described:

...the top rooms have the vaulted roof of the chapel for a ceiling.  Turning from the windows one sees an interior like that of some mediaeval palace.  There are queer corners.  The pendants, massive and reaching nearly to the floors, make odd nooks and unexpected partitions.

Huge stars of gold glitter in the elaborate carving of the stone ceiling.  Gargoyles peer and grin.  there are Latin inscriptions half effaced.  In several of the rooms colossal figures, flowing and mysterious, rise from the floor to grow ghastly in evening shadows.

One of the upper apartments in the former chapel.  The Sun, March 6, 1892 (copyright expired)

In 1891 the university considered opening a northern campus.  On May 5 The New York Times reported that a committee meeting "took place last evening at the University Building, in Washington Square.  Plans for enlarging the scope of the university were discussed."  

The resident who had lived in the building the longest at the time was also its most eccentric.  Henry T. Gamage, known as the "University Building hermit," had moved into his room on the top floor around 1842.  During his half-century residency, according to The Evening World, "not more than two persons besides himself had been admitted there."  He cooked his own meals and "waited upon himself in every respect."  The newspaper said "The other tenants had become accustomed to his peculiarities, but the oldest of them had no more than a nodding acquaintance with him."

On February 13 1892 a servant passing by his room smelled a suspicious odor and pushed open the door, which was ajar.  Gamage had died in his chair and his head had fallen onto a small stove.  "He found that the old man's head was burned to the bone on the right side."

from the collection of the New York Public Library

There were more than fifty oil paintings stacked throughout the room.  Five days later The Sun reported that those who had called "the University building hermit [a miser] did the dead man a great injustice."  His will revealed that he had saved up his fortune as well as the accumulated paintings to pay the debts "incurred many years ago by his father."

The University Building--the symbol of the school--was included in the ambitious plan of the uptown campus.  The firm of McKim, Mead & White provided general plans to the university in April 1893 "for removing the historic building on Washington Square and reconstructing it" at University Heights.  The architects placed the cost of the project at $200,000--more than $5.75 million today.

The University Building took center stage in the original uptown plans.  The New York Times, April 29, 1893 (copyright expired)

The problem was that while the university did not want to see the venerable structure razed, it did not intend to pay for the expensive undertaking of moving it.  The New York Times explained that the trustees "feel unwilling to adopt plans which will obliterate the old edifice until they have invited citizens to assist them in preserving this notable structure."

The private donations did not come in.  And without the upgrades it would have received in the rebuilding, University Hall was unusable for the Washington Square campus (which would be officially named New York University in 1896).  It was demolished in 1894 to be replaced by the Main Building, designed by Alfred Zucker (renamed the Silver Center of Arts & Science in 2002).

photo by Wurts Bros. from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York

The 1904 Blennerhasset Apartments - 507-511 West 111th Street

In 1903 the opening of the IRT subway, which would make the neighborhood near the rising Cathedral Church of St. John the Divine more easily accessible, was just a year away.  Among the developers who scrambled to take advantage of the opportunity was Max Liebeskind who hired architect George Fred Pelham to design an apartment building at Nos. 507-511 West 111th Street.  On May 30 that year the Real Estate Record & Guide reported that the proposed building would house "four families on a floor" and listed the construction costs at $70,000--or just over $2 million today.

The Blennerhasset was ready for occupancy the following spring.  Pelham's six-story structure borrowed from a variety of styles--Beaux Arts, Baroque and Italian Renaissance.  A columned entrance portico crowned by a balustraded balcony more than made up for the otherwise sparsely decorated two-story base.  The building's name was prominently carved into the entablature.

Delicate stone garlands drape the door and window frames within the portico and a remarkable foliate carving with a face supports the sill.

The red brick, three-story midsection was richly decorated with arched Renaissance style pediments, ornate keystones and carved spandrels.  Below a bracketed cornice, the top floor alternating courses of brick and stone, splayed lintels and decorative keystones.

An advertisement in The Sun on April 10, 1904 boasted that the apartments were "Handsomely appointed and contain every new and modern device; mail chute.  All-night elevator service."  Potential residents could choose from apartments of four to seven "large light rooms with shower baths."  Rents ranged from $480 to $900 per year, or around $2,200 a month for the most expensive apartments.

Photographed in 1908, the building wore a distinctive rooftop balustrade and parapet.  Apartment Houses of the Metropolis (copyright expired)

Perhaps the first tenant to move into his new building was Max Liebeskind, himself.   And like him, the other residents would be for the most part well educated professionals.  There was one family, however, which was less upstanding.

On May 12, 1905 the New York Morning Telegraph exposed a scam, saying "Up at 507 West 111th street, in the fashionable Blennerhasset, Superintendent William Meyer five months ago leased a $75 seven-room flat to Miss J. A. Sturgis."  According to the article, when Meyer asked the young woman for references, she replied, "We are very high class folk.  My brother is former Fire Commissioner Sturgis.  He is coming here to live with us; also his son.  Reference!  The very idea!  I should say that we need no further reference than the fact that my brother was the Commissioner."

Indeed former Fire Commissioner Thomas Sturgis held a sterling reputation.  Meyer apologized and before long the woman's family moved in--two sisters, an elderly woman, a "gray-haired, slender man of 50" who was introduced as Commissioner Sturgis, and his son.

After the second month of not paying rent, Miss Sturgis explained "Since my brother got out of the Fire Department his affairs have been badly tangled, and we are waiting for a settlement from his lawyer."  But three months later Meyer began to become nervous as the past due rent now topped $6,000 in today's money.  Word somehow got to Commissioner Sturgis who was indignant.  Saying that the tenants were not related to him he told reporters "Well, I would like to get hold of that chap and make an example of him...I feel very sorry for the poor janitor who stood good for my name.  He deserves a better fate."

There were four apartments per floor, of various sizes.  Apartment Houses of the Metropolis (copyright expired)

The more respectable tenants at the time included Aaron L. Dotey, a teacher in the Dewitt Clinton High School on West 102nd Street; and Dr. Jesse Fleet Sammis, who graduated from Princeton in 1902 and the College of Physicians and Surgeons in 1906.

Walter F. Goodnough, president of the American Wire Form Company, lived in The Blennerhasset in 1909.  On April 19 that year the city was pummeled by a violent thunderstorm which caused damage to buildings and injuries to pedestrians.  One of them was Goodnough who attempted to cross Broadway at 111th Street when he was hit by a streetcar.  The New York Press explained "He could not see the car approaching in the rain.  He was knocked down and severely bruised."

In the fall of 1913 the neighborhood was plagued with a rash of daytime burglaries.  The New-York Tribune said the crooks "have been making higher the present high cost of living for apartment house dwellers, and incidentally reaping a rich harvest in furs, jewelry and women's clothing for themselves."  Among those victimized were Hazel Mora and Gertrude Ott who lived in The Blennerhasset.  They were among the lucky few who got their stolen jewelry back.

Sometime before World War I the balustrade was removed from the cornice.  photo by Wurts Bros. from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York

On November 18 "the small, undersized person of Harry Bloom, a seventeen-year-old errand boy," was arrested at the cleaners where he worked.  Elevator boys in the various apartment buildings had placed him at the scene of each burglary.  

Bloom's scheme was ingenious.  When he was sent to an apartment building to pick up laundry, he took along an accomplice who would take the stairs to the basement.  Bloom then asked the elevator boy to let him off on a particular floor, would ring all the bells until he was sure he found one that was unoccupied, and use a jimmy to break in.  Once inside, he gathered jewelry and other valuables into a bundle and sent it to the basement on the dumbwaiter.   With that task done, he proceeded to pick up the laundry.

In the early years after World War I cigar maker Louis Cohen leased an apartment on the sixth floor.  It appears that the bulk of his income did not come from the cigar business, however.  According to the New-York Tribune a letter arrived at the desk of Police Inspector Cornelius Cahalane early in 1921 "saying that gambling was going on in the apartment of Cohen."   On the night of January 5 he launched a raid.  

The officers broke in the door where Cohen, "two other men and six fashionably gowned women" were "sitting around a table upon which were a large number of racing charts and other papers relating to horseraces."  The Long Island Daily Press reported, "The women began screaming as the door broke and when the detectives rushed in they rushed, shrieking, for the windows.  The women were intercepted but were not consoled.  They begged the detectives not to 'tell their husbands.'"

Cohen and his cohorts did not go easily.  "Several pieces of furniture were smashed in the fight," said the detectives, and according to the Long Island Daily Press "So much noise was made, in fact, that when the patrol wagon arrived almost 300 persons were gathered outside the house, including many of the apartment house tenants."  The group was charged with "maintaining a gambling house, vagrancy and disorderly conduct."

When Beatrice Dale separated from her husband, she and her nine-year old daughter, Beatrice, moved into the apartment of her mother, Fannie Kenny.  Beatrice, who was 29, seems to have been moving on with her life and in 1925 was romantically involved with another man.

But when she went to a nightclub on Saturday night November 7, 1925 with a different suitor, her boyfriend found out and was enraged.  Two days later he "upbraided" her for her infidelity, according to The New York Sun, "and she grieved over it."  So upset was she that she drank poison.

Little Beatrice was just arriving home from school when the ambulance crew were examining her mother's body.  "The child was led aside and not told of Mrs. Dale's death until later," said The Sun.

In November 1934 Bessie Scheffer's name appeared in newspapers for gambling on the horses.  But, unlike Louis Cohen, her betting was legitimate.  She had bought a ticket in the Army and Navy Veterans Sweepstakes, which was run in Manchester, England.  Her ticket was on Pip Emma, an outside contender.  On November 24 she received word that she had won the $30,000 first prize, worth more than half a million in today's dollars.  It was an enormous windfall for the stenographer, who told reporters at a luncheon for winners on December 2 that she would use the money "to send her son and daughter through college."

By the 1960's the neighborhood around The Blennerhasset had sorely declined.  On September 30, 1964 The New York Times architecture columnist Ada Louise Huxtable referred to Morningside Heights as "600 acres of trouble, ranging from the deteriorating surroundings of a galaxy of educational institutions long known as the Acropolis of America, to the most sordid slums."  The following year the Morningside General Neighborhood Renewal Plan was approved by the city, which would displace 8,000 families and raze scores of residential structures, including The Blennerhasset.

In 1967 a Certificate of Eviction was filed by the landlord.  But the residents banded together to fight.  After a long and difficult battle, they won and The Blennerhasset survived.

Prominent in the fight were residents Bruce Bailey and his wife, Nellie Hester.  By the early 1970's he was working with residents in Harlem and Washington Heights as well.  Bailey's work in organizing tenants was not appreciated by developers and landlords.  According to his wife, he "received threats over the years" and once had been beaten by two thugs.

On June 21, 1989 he left The Blennerhasset to drive to a tenants' meeting on West 125th Street.  He did not return home that night and Nellie filed a missing persons report.  The following evening at 5:30 a passerby discovered four large plastic bags.  Inside were the decapitated torso, two arms without hands and two legs without feet.  Nellie Hester identified her husband by a birthmark and a scar on his right knee.  Detectives had a broad field from which to find suspects.  Times journalist H. Eric Semler commented on June 21, "As head of the Columbia Tenants Union he assisted thousands of tenants and often drew the wrath of landlords, drug dealers and even some of his closest colleagues."

In the years since that tragedy The Blennerhasset has been renovated and in 1999 facade repairs were made.  Today it is as dignified as it was in 1908 when Apartment Houses of the Metropolis called it one of New York's "high-class houses."

photographs by the author