The Lost Bonheur Studios - 132 and 132-A West 79th Street

 

The Architectural Record captioned this photograph "An Amusing Street Front."  Note the free-standing porch newels with no apparent purpose.  January, 1903 (copyright expired)

Real estate developers Leon Marie and Richard G. Platt purchased the vacant parcel at 132 West 79th Street, between Columbus and Amsterdam Avenues, from the William B. Trowbridge estate on June 28, 1894.  They paid $5,000, or around $155,000 in today's money, for the plot.  Its 25-foot-width was perfect for an upscale dwelling--the type that was filling the streets of the Upper West Side at the time.

But Marine & Platt had a startling plan in mind--two skinny, 12.5-foot-wide studio buildings.  In splitting the lot, they would give one the address of 132-A.  And if erecting such narrow structures was startling, their architecture would be even more so.

It is unclear who designed the buildings.  The Architectural Record said that viewers "are apt to agree...in finding it 'Philadelphia.'"  The article added, "Without doubt the name of Mr. [Wilson] Eyre or Mr. [Frank Miles] Day will occur to the experienced New York observer of this New York street front more readily than that of any local architect."  (The architects were well known for their rather eccentric domestic designs in Philadelphia.)  And in 1897, two years after construction was completed, the New-York Tribune attributed the work to Eyre & Day.

Decades later, writing in The New York Times on August 26, 2011, Christopher Gray disagreed, saying "The building permit and published architectural literature offer no evidence that the project was anything other than the work of [Clarence] True."  But the bizarre mish-mash of styles--diplomatically called "eccentric"--have no similarities to Clarence True's sophisticated designs.

Whoever designed them, they drew attention.  The New York Times described the style as "Turko-Venetian-Renaissance" and hinted that the mysterious architect was "an American who had spent many years among the Turks."  Critic Montgomery Schuler said, "Nobody can pass it without looking at it.  Nobody can look at it without promptly making up some sort of notion about its merit."

The mirror-image buildings were five stories tall, their side-by-side entrances capped by a stone panel and with a mosaic arch in red, green, blue and gold tiles.  On either side were storybook oriels with pointed-arch, stained glass transoms.  The architect laid the six-over-six double hung panes of the second floor on their sides--for no apparent reason other than effect.  The top floor was designed in the emerging Arts & Crafts style under a deeply-overhanging tiled cornice atop projecting wooden beams.

Montgomery Schuyler, writing in The Architectural Record in January 1903, said, "But it is evident that a skilled and practised designer has been having a great deal of fun," adding, "It is really the 'refined vaudeville' of architecture."  The New-York Tribune approved, saying, "The artistic medievalism" of the structures "present a striking contrast to the sombre modern conventionalism of the brownstone dwellings by which they are flanked." 

Mrs. Olive Allen Dexter leased both buildings, operating 132-A as an upscale boarding house, and establishing the Bonheur Studio next door.  Five artists lived in the Bonheur Studio (along with her), and art classes were taught by day.  She explained to a reporter from the New-York Tribune in April 1897, "Here we have lessons in the history of art and in French and Italian."  There was also a "studio life class," one in illustration and another in landscape painting.  The journalist wrote, "The main studio is a charming room at the top of the house, off which opens a little Italian loge, the like of which is not often seen in New-York."

Mrs. Dexter hosted a sale of artworks for the benefit of The Daisy Fields Home for Crippled Children on April 2, 1897.  The New-York Tribune said, "One has a right to expect that something unusual will come out of a house like that.  The expectants yesterday were not disappointed."

The article noted, "The walls of the little parlor and dining-room were hung with the sketches that are offered for sale.  There were several small landscapes in oil by William Merritt Post, done with the artist's characteristic touch."  Among the other artists represented were Bruce Crane, Frank Russell Green, Walter Satterlee and Carroll Beckwith.

Patrons browse among the artworks in a charity sale in the Bonheur Studios in April 1, 1897.  The New-York World, April 2, 1897 (copyright expired)

Although the name remained, the days of artists and art classes were over at the turn of the century.  An advertisement in The New York Times on March, 8, 1901 offered, "Rare Opportunity.  Physician or Dentist--First-floor bachelor apartment house, high class; elaborately furnished; private street entrance; other suites.  Bonheur Studios. 132 West 79th St."

The week after that advertisement appeared, on March 17, the "handsome apartment house," at 132-A was raided.  The New York Times reported that along with the five men arrested, "A large quantity of chips and a faro layout were seized in the place."  In court, Justice Jerome charged, "These men were playing with forty-dollar and fifty-dollar chips as if they were millionaires."

Olive Allen Dexter was quick to react.  On April 3, 1901, she sued the newspapers who ran the story for publishing "false and defamatory matter."  Her defense insisted that her boarding houses "were of unquestioned repute and standing as a first-class establishment, and her said premises were known as the 'Bonheur Studio.'"

Despite the scandalous publicity, the two buildings continued to attract respectable residents.  On November 13, 1911, for instance, the New York Herald reported, "Mmes. Betty Brooks and H. Webster-Marshall gave the first of a series of at homes on Wednesday evening, at No. 132 West Seventy-ninth street.  Both women were residents of New Zealand, and are about to organize a club of those who have lived in New Zealand and Australia."

Rev. Henry Frank and his wife, Roberta, purchased 132-A around 1909.  Frank was the rector of the Metropolitan Independent Church, which met in the Berkeley Theatre on Fifth Avenue at 44th Street.  He was better known, however, as an author and lecturer.

Twentieth Century Magazine, September 1910 (copyright expired)

When the United States entered World War I, Jane Bolard Sutherland, who lived in 132 West 79th Street, tendered unusual support.  On June 29, 1917 the New York Tribune reported, "The navy yesterday began to hunt for the young men who have passed their examinations for the service but have failed to return and sign up.  A car was volunteered for this purpose by Miss Jane Boland Sutherland...She and Lieutenant Commander Taylor, in charge of navy recruiting headquarters at 34 East Twenty-third Street, and two blue jackets comprised the search party."

That was not the extent of her support.  The Sun reported that on June 12 she "donated her two touring cars for ambulance work in France and volunteered her services...at the same time offering to recruit a regiment of American women to go to France and drive their own cars."

Mrs. Gladdens Goddard lived at 132 West 79th Street until April 15, 1919, when she moved to 104 East 81st Street.  She carried her jewelry box to the new address, not trusting it with the movers.  That was understandable, considering that it held items given to her by operatic tenor Enrico Caruso, said to be worth $1,000--about 15 times that much today.

Just as she walked in the door of her new apartment, the telephone rang.  The New York Herald reported, "dropping the jewel box on the stairs, Mrs. Goodard hastened to answer it.  When she had finished her conversation the jewels were gone."  Her distrust of the movers was well founded.  When police found the jewelry in the possession of Julius Berg, he explained he had bought them from George Grossman--the man in charge of the moving van.  Grossman insisted he had found the box and did not know who it belonged to.  Mrs. Goddard, now once again in possession of her valuables, did not press charges.

The twin buildings survived until 1927, when they were demolished to be replaced with Unity Synagogue, designed by Walter S. Schneider.  

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

That structure was replaced in 1988 by a 19-story apartment building, The Austin.

image via cityrealty.com

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The 1903 Pi Upsilon Fraternity House - 627 West 115th Street

 

The relocation of Columbia University's campus from Midtown to Morningside Heights left fraternity houses far to the south.  Among the first to begin construction of a new, geographically convenient house was the Lambda Chapter of the Psi Upsilon Society.  In July 1900, the architectural firm of Little & O'Connor filed plans for a 25-foot-wide "brick club house" to cost $40,000 to erect.  The site was the undeveloped block of West 115th Street, between Riverside Drive and Broadway.

Two years into construction, the New-York Tribune reported on the fraternity's "enterprising departure," saying it was erecting "an imposing building to be utilized as a lodgeroom and clubhouse."

Construction was ongoing when this photograph was taken in 1902.  In the left and right tympana of the second floor are the dates 1833 (the year of Psi Upsilon's founding) and 1842 (the year the Lambda Chapter was organized).  The middle plaque displays the fraternity's Greek letters).  New-York Tribune, June 23, 1901 (copyright expired)

Just inside the entrance was a spacious reception hall which led to the grand staircase.  Behind the staircase were coatrooms and "a large bicycle room," which had its own entrance.  Sharing the cellar with the separate boiler room was the chapter room, which the New-York Tribune said, "it is presumed, will be luxuriously Oriental in its decorations."

On the second floor were the large reading room, the dining room and the butler's pantry.  The third floor held "a billiard room large enough for two tables, [and] a meeting room, with a quaint and large brick alcove fireplace."  The walls of the meeting room were half-timbered and its ceiling beamed to give a "peculiarly homelike and comfortable aspect," as worded by the New-York Tribune.  The top two floors held a dozen bedrooms and "ample rooms and baths for the servants."  The article noted, "The owl, the emblem of the fraternity, is used freely in the interior decorations, and is shown in bronze in heroic size on the front of the building."

The undeveloped neighborhood is evident in this photo taken around 1905.  Behind the Chinese Chippendale railing above the dormers was a roof garden.  photograph by Wurts Bros. from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York.

The residents of the house were both students and alumni.  In both cases they were affluent and accustomed to the best, including cuisine.  In the post-World War I years, the chef was the French-trained Charles Wilberoth, who had an apartment on the first floor near the kitchens.  Wilberoth had previously worked for European nobility.

On the night of October 17, 1920, three men rang the service entrance bell.  Wilberoth opened the door and one of the men spoke to him in French.  Once inside, they attacked.  The armed thugs "slugged" the 60-year-old "and then robbed him of a $300 diamond and a gold watch and chain valued at $150," according to the New-York Tribune.  The value of the jewelry they escaped with would top $5,800 today, but it could have been much worse.

The New-York Tribune reported, "The robbers, according to the chef, overlooked a $500 watch which was presented to him by the late Czar Nicholas of Russia and many other jewels which Wilberoth says were given to him by notables."

Among the alumni residents here in 1930 was Stephens Kerkoff, a pilot and salesman for Curtiss-Wright airplane firm.  At 10:00 on the night of October 6, he took off from the Curtiss-Wright airport, acting as co-pilot for Navy Lieutenant J. P. Whitney who, according to The New York Times, "was doing a bit of commercial flying while on leave."  The men were flying 2,000 pounds of advertising pamphlets for the Kool Motor Oil Company to a convention of oil dealers in Oklahoma City.  The New York Times explained, "The job was received at the last minute and the owners did not have time to reach their regular pilots."

The intended flight path was south to Richmond, then west to St. Louis and then Oklahoma City.  One week later, on October 13, The New York Times reported, "Officials at the Curtiss-Wright airport at Valley Stream today revealed that they were making a search for a missing Bellanca cabin monoplane."  The airplane had made it to Richmond, "but has not been heard from since.  It never reached Oklahoma City," said the article.

Happily, the following day the airplane's owner received a telegram  from Tulsa, Oklahoma from Kerkoff.  The Standard Union said, "He said that the ship had been delayed by unfavorable flying conditions and that he did not arrive in Tulsa until yesterday."  Why the two pilots had waited a full week to notify the owners was not included in the message.

In 1940 the building was converted to apartments and furnished rooms.  In October 1944, poet and writer Allen Ginsberg took an apartment here while attending Columbia University.  While here he contributed to the Columbia Review and the humor magazine Jester.  

In 1943, his first year at Columbia, he had became close friends with undergraduate student Lucien Carr.  In his journal Ginsberg described Carr as his first love and "sweet vision."

Carr introduced Ginsberg to future Beat Generation writers Jack Kerouac, William S. Burroughs and John Clellon Holmes.  The "Beats" would define a generation in American literature.  Ironically, two months before Ginsberg moved into 627 West 115th Street, Lucien Carr had murdered his former St. Louis Boy Scout leader (and stalker), David Kammerer in Riverside Park, just steps away from the building.

The 1960's saw the structure returned to a fraternity house, home to the Alpha Chapter of Tau Epsilon Phi.

Barnard Bulletin, February 14, 1963

A renovation completed in 1977 resulted in a Columbia University residence hall with just three apartments per floor.  Outwardly, the Colonial Revival structure is little changed.

photograph by the author

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Ritch & Griffiths's 1861 27 Mercer Street

 

image via premierequities.com

In 1866 the trustees of the estate of Charlotte Gomez contracted the architectural firm of Ritch & Griffiths to design a commercial building at 27 Mercer Street, between Canal and Grand Streets.  The neighborhood, only a generation earlier, had been residential, but it was quickly transforming into one of factories and stores.

The architects, who were recently responsible for designing elaborate buildings like the Emigrant Hospital on Ward's Island, and the Labor Exchange at Castle Garden, would now produce a much humbler structure.  Completed in 1867, the  three-story building was faced in granite above the cast iron storefront.  Twenty-four feet wide, its simple Italianate design looked as much like a converted house as a new loft and store building.

Unlike the large, cast iron-fronted structures rising throughout the district, 27 Mercer Street could accommodate only a handful of tenants.  Among the early occupants was Martin V. B. Travis, who operated a "notion business."  Notions merchants offered a variety of goods, many of which were related to sewing, like ribbons, buttons, and buttons.  But other small items, like collar stays, pocket knives and mirrors were also offered.  

By the mid-1870's silk fabrics dealer George B. Skinner & Co. had its salesroom  here.  The firm's mills were in Yonkers, New York where it made textiles, the names of which are alien to today's seamstresses: "tram, organzine, fringe silk, sewing silk, and machine twist."

The company shared the building with Patterson Dyeing & Finishing Co., run by Claude Greppo.  It dyed piece goods at its dyeworks in Patterson, New Jersey.

The first years of the 1890's saw Jackson Brothers, makers of furs and fur trimmings, here.  Julius and Moritz Jackson employed ten men, four women, and three teens--one boy and two girls--in 1892.  They worked 58 hours per week and eight hours on Saturdays.

In the summer of 1893, Joseph Stiner & Bros. pressured the brothers for an outstanding debt of $2,375.  The Evening World said, "The Jacksons begged for time," and explained that they had just shipped more than $4,000 of goods to various clients.  And an inventory showed the firm had more than a third of a million in today's dollars worth of furs in stock.

Suspicious, however, the creditors wrote to one of the supposed customers and "were informed the firm had not bought the amount of goods represented, and did not owe Jackson Brothers what appeared on the books," according to Fur Trade Review.  When Steiner & Bros. filed for an attachment of the Jackson Brothers inventory early in September, according to The Evening World, "the Jacksons represented that they would settle with Steiner & Bros. if given until after the celebration of the Hebrew New Year, which began the next day.  They represented that as orthodox Hebrews they could do no business during that sacred festival."

Steiner & Bros. should have been wary of the excuse, given that the brothers' factory operated on the sabbath every week.  When the sheriff visited the Mercer Street premises early in September, he found that the Jacksons had fled in the night, taking the furs and leaving an empty loft.  On September 15, The Evening World reported, "The Sheriff has closed up the place of business of Jackson Brothers, manufacturers of furs at 27 Mercer street...on allegations that they had disposed of their property."  A manhunt for the fugitives was launched across several states.

Four days later the brothers were under arrest in Boston.  They were charged with fraud and extradited to New York City.

Following the disgraced Jackson Brothers in the building was Frank & Co., cloak manufacturers.  The tiny firm of Louis Emanuel, which made curtains, was here at the turn of the century.  Emanuel's staff of just three men worked 59 hours per week.

A major change came in 1916 when the Nicholas Doddato Company leased the building.  The Waste Trade Journal announced that the firm, "now occupy a three-story building, thoroughly equipped for the handling of their business."  That business was the scrap business.  The Doddato family dealt in "rags, bagging, cotton and wool waste, paper stock, [and] strings."

That tradition continued after 1925 when the building was sold to Rose Tuzio and her daughter, Victoria Mastronardi.  Victoria's husband, Andrew, took over the first floor for his waste paper business, while their existing tenants used the top two floors for theirs.

A horrific accident occurred on January 31, 1939.  Two years earlier Morris Dell 'Olio and his son had moved their waste paper business into the rear half of the upper floors.  The front half was occupied by a tenant named Derico, who was in the same business.

That morning Dell 'Olio and his son were unloading materials from a truck and hoisting them to the third floor.  Court papers later explained, "The hoist was operated by pulling a rope and it was necessary for the person operating the hoist to continue pulling the rope until such time as he desired to stop the hoist."  Dell 'Olio was unloading about seven or eight bags of heavy waste material into a sling, which he would then send up to his son.

For about five or six months, Dell 'Olio had complained to Andrew Mastronardi that the rope was in bad condition.  His concerns were warranted.  As bags, weighing about 700 pounds, were nearly at the third floor, the rope broke, sending them crashing directly onto Dell 'Olio.

While Dell 'Olio was not killed, he was seriously injured and sued the landlords.  In court, Andrew Mastronardi said that since Dell 'Olio knew the rope was in bad condition, he could have stood away from the spot directly underneath the load.  The jury did not agree and awarded Dell 'Olio $1,000 (about $18,600 today).

The Mastronardis' bad luck continued.  Late on the night of June 9 that year, fire broke out.  It developed into a two-alarm blaze, and by the time it was extinguished, according to The New York Sun, "the place was wrecked" and one firefighter injured.

The discovery of what is now known as the Soho district by artists in the third quarter of the 20th century changed the personality of 27 Mercer Street.  In 2006 Fringe Central was in the building, where tickets to the New York International Fringe Festival could be purchased.   Started in 1996, it is the largest multi-arts festival in North America, attracting world-wide companies.

The store space became home to Surface to Air in 2011.  It was the first store for the sportswear line that had been available in stores like Barneys New York and Bloomingdale's for years.

image via dxastudio.com

The little building that had stood in the shadows of its neighbors for 160 years was converted to a residential triplex in 2016-17, designed by the architectural firm GDSNY.

The days of waste paper and rags were over in 2016.  image via gdsny.com

Curbed New York called 27 Mercer Street "very Soho-glamorous" and described the five-bedroom space as having "wide white oak hardwood floors, imported natural stone, and marble; fancy appliances; an excess of slightly; and 'dueling terraces."  The unfinished residence went on the market in 2016 for $16.5 million.

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The 1846 Benjamin F. Wheelwright House - 29 West 8th Street

 

In January 1832, "sundry persons" petitioned the Board of Aldermen to change the name of the Bowery above 6th Street to Clinton Place, in honor of Governor De Witt Clinton who had died four years earlier.  But instead, the section of 8th Street between Fourth and Sixth Avenues was given the name.

On Washington Square, one block to the south, elegant mansions had already begun rising as Manhattan's wealthy inched northward toward Fifth Avenue.  In 1834, plots along Clinton Place were being sold, one advertisement touting, "The number of fashionable houses already built, and now building in the vicinity, the purity of the air, the goodness of the water, and the respectability of the neighborhood, render this one of the most desirable situations for private dwelling on the Island."

It would not be until 1845 that William Wagstaff began construction of seven upscale Greek Revival style residences on the north side of the street.  Among them was 101 Clinton Place (renumbered 29 West 8th Street in 1900), completed in 1846.  Like its neighbors, the 25-foot-wide house was four stories tall above a brownstone-clad English basement.  The eared doorway above the high stoop was purely Greek Revival, and the full-height parlor windows were almost undoubtedly fronted by a cast iron balcony.  As was common at the time, a small dwelling sat in the rear yard.

The residence became home to banker and former merchant Benjamin F. Wheelwright.  He and his wife, Elizabeth, had five children: Washington S., Anne G., Caroline M., Elizabeth G., and Benjamin, Jr.

Born in Boston, Massachusetts on October 18, 1803, he was, according to The New York Times, "descended from the family of Wheelwrights which  flourished in the days of Oliver Cromwell, and one of his ancestors, Rev. John Wheelwright was a friend of that historical personage."  He had arrived in New York City in 1825, gone into the mercantile business, and retired in 1837 "with a handsome fortune," according to the newspaper.

Wheelwright had been elected president of the Greenwich Bank in 1838.  He was, as well, a trustee of the Northern Dispensary, and of the United States Trust Company; and sat on the boards of several other corporations.

The Wheelwrights leased the rear house to respectable, if less affluent, families.  In 1847, Francis Wagner, a shoemaker lived there, and in the early 1850's Thomas Harthorne, a saddler was the tenant.  (As the name suggests, a saddler fashioned and sold saddles and other furnishings for horses.)

On January 26, 1853, an advertisement appeared in the Morning Courier and New-York Enquirer announcing that the "splendid first class dwelling house" at 101 Clinton Place was for sale.  The Wheelwrights moved slightly north, to 12 West 17th Street, and James Clinch and his wife, the former Anna Taylor, purchased their former home.

Clinch was a partner in the tea importing firm of S. T. Nicholl & Co.  The firm's extensive business--like its 1847 contract to supply tea to the United States Navy--garnered each of the partners significant fortunes.  He and Anna had a grown daughter, Sarah Nicholl, who was married to Judge John Lawrence Smith.  

As the Wheelwrights had done, the Clinches rented the rear building, now taking in more than one family at a time.  Among the five renters in 1853 were a "segarmaker," a carman, a locksmith, a mason, and a mariner.  The latter, Anthony Francis, was clearly noted "colored" in city directories.

James Clinch died in the house on October 5, 1872 at the age of 78.  Somewhat surprisingly, his funeral did not take place in the drawing room here, but in St. Mark's Church far in the East Village.  

Anna remained in her Clinton Place home for two years.  She now rented rooms in the main house, as well.  In 1873 and '74 she had three tenants in the rear building, and two boarders in her home--Robert Whitaker, a clerk, and David N. Hanson, a carpenter.

When Anna Clinch sold 101 Clinton Place in 1875, it signaled its end as a private dwelling.  Deborah Case, the widow of Walter H. Case, operated a boarding house for the next two years, before it was sold to Thomas M. Costello.

Costello now advertised the rooms as "French flats" with "all modern improvements."  Living in the house with him and his family in 1879 were seven tenants, all professionals.  Among them were three clerks; a teacher (Angelo Torriani would remain through 1891); Ithiel Veitelle, an editor; one widow, Anne Brown; and carriage maker Francis Snyder.

It was almost assuredly Costello who, in making the interior improvements, updated the exterior with cast metal sills and lintels, gave the entrance new double doors and a triangular metal pediment, and replaced the cornice with a modern neo-Grec model.

The property was purchased by Emil and Adelaide Gutmann in 1882.  They inherited at least two of the Costello's tenants.  Among the improvements made by either Costello or Gutmann was the installation of indoor plumbing.  And that was the source of a major scare on February 21, 1886.  

The Evening Post reported, "The occupants of the four-story dwelling-house, No. 101 Clinton Place, were roused from their sleep shortly before 1 o'clock this morning by a fire which broke out in the bath-room on the third floor."  The occupants rushed from their rooms to find the hallways full of smoke.  A passerby on the street had sent in an alarm, and the firefighters who arrived shortly "promptly assured the occupants that the fire was a slight affair."  The Evening Post said, "It was soon put out."

As the turn of the century neared, the once-residential street was seeing change.  It came to 101 Clinton Place in 1889 with William Kaul converting the basement and first floor for business purposes.  He established his barber shop in the former parlor level and leased to basement to E. Weite, who opened a "billiard saloon."  

When Adolfe Parentini leased the building in 1892, Kaul's barber shop space became home to Bartholomew and Catherine Reves's cloak and suit manufacturing shop.  They employed eight men, five women, and four children (one boy and three girls) who worked a grueling 60 hours per week plus 10 hours on Saturday.

Parentini's lease was up in 1897.  It was taken over by Mario Menardi.  He operated his saloon in the basement level and his wife ran the boarding house.  The Reveses moved out and the parlor floor became the Menardi family's living quarters, along with a dining room for the residents.  It was not long before that space became the center of what threatened to become major scandal.

At 9:00 on the night of November 20, 1897, three agents of the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty "swooped down upon Menardi's establishment," according to The World.  There, in the parlor floor dining room, they found six little girls "in evil society."  In what they described as "a dance-house raid," they arrested the girls, telling the judge that "there was waltzing in Menardi's place," and when they made their raid, "drinks were being served and full-grown men were carousing beside the little prisoners."  Menardi was also arrested, charged with "violating the law in permitting minors to enter the saloon and dance."

A sobbing Mendardi was interviewed by a reporter from The World the following day.  Because he spoke little English, he gave up and allowed his wife to explain.  The journalist said, "Mrs. Menardi, a stout motherly looking woman, did the talking with trembling lips."

She explained, "I have two daughters, both school-girls, and both fond of company.  The youngest has a army of school friends and her great happiness is to entertain them.  Almost every evening we give up one dining-room to the little ones.  My daughter's music teacher, an old Italian, kindly contributes the music, and the children dance."  The men whom the agents observed, she said, were simply boarders who sometimes dropped in to see the Menardi girls and their friends perform.

The six little girls were held until a court session three days later.  The World reported, "All were nicely dressed, suggesting good homes and fond mothers.  Each of the six little faces was tear-stained, while the blue eyes of the two youngest, tiny maids barely ten years old, were wide with fear."

Happily, when all the testimonies were taken, Magistrate Mott decided in the Menardis' favor.  The World reported on November 24, "The alleged 'dance house' was shown by the evidence to be a hotel dining-room, while the scene of the raid resolved itself into an innocent children's party."  The article noted, "Mario Menardi, proprietor of the little saloon and hotel at No. 101 Clinton place...was honorably discharged, and the six little girls, after three days' incarceration, were released."

Living with the Menardis the following year was engineer Robert Weatherbee.  He was heading up the stoop on February 23, 1899 when a commotion caused him to pause.  A short time earlier, William Brown had snatched a pair of shoes from the store of Harris Bernstein on Sixth Avenue.  The shop employees who chased him were soon joined by what The Morning Telegraph called "a large crowd."  They attracted the attention of off-duty Police Officer Benning, who was on a streetcar heading to work.

Benning jumped off the car and joined the chase.  The thief and his pursuers turned onto Clinton Place, where Benning "drew his revolver and fired a shot in the air as a warning.  Brown only ran faster, so Benning fired a second time."  No doubt Robert Weatherbee was transfixed on the riotous scene.  As he watched, that second bullet struck the pavement and ricocheted into his thigh.

When Brown still refused to stop, Benning shot him in the shoulder.  The Morning Telegraph reported, "Weatherbee and Brown were taken to the Mercer street station."  There an ambulance surgeon dressed Weatherbee's wound and he was sent home.  Brown was less fortunate.  The article said that he "lies dangerously wounded in St. Vincent's Hospital."

A devastating story unfolded here in 1901.  A young couple named Feuling had a baby on April 13.  Mrs. Fueling's mother, a Mrs. Meyer who lived with the couple, was there to help with the newborn.  The Morning Telegraph said she "was in anxious attendance, relieving the nervousness of the father and the worry of the mother with cheerful stories of other affairs of the sort she had known."

Although the new parents had hired a nurse, Mrs. Meyer rebuffed her.  The Morning Telegraph explained, "There was a trained nurse in attendance, but the grandmother jealously guarded all her traditional prerogatives and personally served the young Feuling."  It resulted in a tragic accident.

Because the day-old infant was crying, Mrs. Meyer gave it a spoonful of castor oil.  But in her haste--possibly because she wanted to take care of the problem before the nurse became involved--she "reached the carbolic acid from the shelf instead of the more innocent castor oil."  On April 15, The Morning Telegraph began an article saying, "There is deep sadness and gloom in the Feuling household in West Eighth Street, as the neighbors group about in their doorways and comment upon the cost of the little white casket that is being borne toward sepulture."

The two commercial spaces saw a variety of tenants as West Eighth Street became increasingly commercialized.  In 1904 wigmaker L. C. Wilson occupied one, and L. Small, a ladies' tailor, was in the other.  From 1911 to 1916 the Annett-Mahnken Realty Company's office was here, and in 1914 Alfred Motola ran his "human hair goods" business in one of the spaces.

A long-term residential and commercial tenant came in 1942 when Sam Kramer moved in.  Born in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania in 1913, he studied jewelry making at the University of Southern California in the 1930's, and then studied gemology at New York University in 1939.  That year he opened his jewelry-making shop in Greenwich Village.  He moved three years later to 29 West 8th Street.

Kramer's work was unquestionably avant garde, prompting The New York Times to call his jewelry "off beat," and The New Yorker, on December 26, 1942, to say, "Mr. Kramer makes jewelry for people who are slightly mad."

from the collection of the Museum of Arts & Design

Indeed, his modernist, silver designs often included unexpected items like taxidermy eyes, porcupine quills, vintage buttons, and moose teeth.  And if his clients were "slightly mad," there were plenty of them.  A 1955 article in The Saturday Evening Post said the shop's income had reached $25,000 per year--nearly a quarter of a million in today's dollars.  It noted Kramer's shop had become "a rendezvous for personalities of the artistic and beatnik worlds."

His second floor studio/shop was described by Jeannine Falino in The Magazine Antiques later as "his artful wreck of a studio."  He attracted off-beat customers with his facetious promise, "Under no circumstances will names of our customers be divulged to any investigating committee."  

Sam Kramer at work in his West 8th Street studio.  image via thejewelryloupe.com

In reporting on the Fantasmagoria Ball, held at the Village Gate on June 14, 1961 and hosted by Kramer, the New York Item called him, "the premier surrealist jeweler," adding that his shop "is a landmark in the Village."

That fascinating era came to an end on June 9, 1964 when Sam Kramer died in Trafalgar Hospital at the age of 50.  He and his estranged wife, Carol Enners Kramer, had just recently reconciled.  The New York Times said she, "is expected to carry on his work."  But no one could truly continue Kramer's unique creativeness.

In 1975 Media Galleries, Ltd. occupied by former Kramer space, offering "quality values on original works by some of the world's major artists;" and in 1976 Bassett's Ice Cream store  opened at ground level.  Today Atelier, a high-end men's clothing store occupies both commercial levels. 

Almost miraculously, other than the late 19th century storefront, the appearance of the vintage house survives barely changed since it was gently updated around 1879.

photograph by the author

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The Mary C. Canty House - 239 East 31st Street

Completed around 1854, 151 East 31st Street was one of a long row of identical, brick-faced houses between Second and Third Avenues.  Three bays wide and four stories tall, its Italianate design featured molded lintels, full-length parlor windows, and a bracketed cornice.  Somewhat unusual was the entrance.  Above the paneled double doors, instead of a more expected pediment, the architect placed a molded cornice atop scrolled brackets.

The residence seems to have been operated as a boarding house from the beginning.  Rosanna, the widow of Patrick Moylan, who lived here in the 1850's was most likely the proprietor.  Boarding houses were a respectable way for widows to earn a living.  Her tenants were all working class.  In 1859 they included William H. Andrews, a house painter; tailor Henry Blair; Bridget Gallaher, who took in washing; Lawrence McGivney, a moulder (or woodworker); butcher Charles Norman; John Riley, mason; and James and Patrick Smith (possibly brothers), a laborer and waiter respectively.

An advertisement in the New York Herald on May 26, 1861 was potentially eyebrow-raising.  It read:

One or Two Ladies, or Lady and Gentleman, can be accommodated with good Board with a widow lady; terms reasonable.

Because of the threat of scandal, single women rarely found rooms in respectable boarding houses.  And so, openly advertising for them was surprising.  Rosanna Moylan was obviously cautious in her selection, however.  Listed here that year were "Catherine Doughtery, widow of Alexander," and "Caroline King, widow of William."

Mary Canty lived here at the outbreak of the Civil War.  Her husband, Dennis, had ran a fruit business in Washington Market, but when he went off to fight, she took over the operation.  As newspapers did every day during the war, on September 30, 1862, the New-York Daily Tribune listed those New Yorkers killed or wounded in battle.  On the list was Dennis Canty, shot in the thigh.  Tragically, what did not seem like a serious wound from the newspaper account, ended in Canty's death.

Directories now listed Mary C. Canty as "merchant" in the Washington Market.  She was successful in running the business--so much so, that in 1863 she purchased the East 31st Street house.  While she kept on three boarders (one of them being Catherine Doughtery), she did not have time to run a boarding house.  Living with her was her son, William H. Canty, who joined her in the produce business, and daughter Annie.

Mary lived in the house for years, taking in occasional boarders, never more than two at a time.  Unlike Rosanna Moylan's tenants, hers held office jobs.  In 1870, for instance, they were Thomas Quinn, a clerk, and James L. Baron, who was listed as "agent," most likely in real estate.  (By then the address had been renumbered 239 East 31st Street.)

On February 3, 1873, the Evening Telegram reported, "Between six and seven o'clock in the evening, the residence of Mary C. Conley [sic], at 239 East Thirty-first street, was entered by sneak thieves through the front door."  Interestingly, they passed over the silverware, clocks and other items most commonly pilfered during a burglary, and took only clothing.  But the haul was significant.  The $1,240 value Mary put on the items like silk dresses and velvet cloaks would approach $29,000 today.

The house was one of a row of once-identical homes.

The Canty family, while retaining possession, seems to have left the East 31st Street house around soon after the burglary.  An advertisement on April 9, 1874 offered:

To Let--Second and Third floors, four rooms on each floor, bath and separate meter on each floor, all conveniences, to a family of adults.

One of the renters was Thomas Lamb, who had a bit too much to drink in the "liquor saloon" at the corner of 31st Street and Second Avenue on May 6, 1877.  The bartender tried to oust him, but, according to The New York Times, "Lamb thereupon drew a knife, and attempted to stab McKeon, but a watch fortunately prevented the knife from entering the flesh."  Lamb was sent to prison for a year.

An advertisement in 1890 offered the parlor and basement levels for rent.  The house was now essentially a two-family residence.  On April 10 the following year, Annie Canty sold it for the equivalent of $500,000 today.  

The buyer, Henry J. Padden, was a "well-known sport," according to The Sun, in reference to his managing boxers.  He was the brother of Michael E. Padden, known as "The Secretary of War" for Tammany boss "Big Tim" Sullivan. 

On December 27, 1897, Padden was appointed a firefighter.  But the city fired him three years later, accusing him of having a side job (most likely his boxing management).  Unwilling to concede, Padden sued the city.  The long-fought battle ended with Supreme Court Justice Garretson reinstating him as a firefighter on June 2, 1903.  A year later, he won his second case that forced the city to pay him lost wages of $6,276.91--almost $190,000 today.  

In 1906 he switched city jobs, becoming an "inspector of pipe laying" for the Department of Water Supply.  The change came, almost assuredly, through his brother Michael's appointment to Water Register that year.

Living with Padden and his wife, the former Katherine G. Holland, was Katherine's grandmother, Ann O'Brien.  The family took in one boarder at the time, like the young German-born butcher, Joseph H. Groh.  Groh's term with the Paddens ended on August 28, 1918 when he was inducted into the United States Army and sent to Europe to fight.

Shortly after that, on November 11, 1918, Ann O'Brien died at the age of 89.  Her funeral was held in the parlor two days later.

The wake of another family member would be held there in March 1925.  "Colonel" Michael C. Padden, once called "the best dressed man on the Bowery," according to the New York Evening Post, and "for many years a city official," had died "a pauper" in Havana, Cuba.  He had been working at a race track there for about 15 years.  Former Tammany bigwigs pooled money to bring his body back to New York.  Former and current city officials escorted the coffin to the East 31st Street house where it lay until his funeral in St. Stephen's Church on March 21. 

A slight variation in the brick color testifies to the original full-length proportions of the parlor floor windows.

The house remained a single family house until 1969, when a renovation resulted in a duplex in the basement and parlor levels, and one apartment per floor above.  It was possibly at this time that the parlor windows were shortened, the double doors replaced with one, and the cornice above the entrance altered.  

photographs by the author

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Ralph S. Townsend's 1900 303-305 West 80th Street

 

Architect Herbert Spencer Styne-Harde (who most often dropped the "Styne" from his surname, professionally) would partner with Richard Thomas Short in 1901 to form the firm of Harde & Short.  They would be responsible for lavish apartment buildings, like the Alwyn Court and Red House.  

But three years before that partnership began, in the summer of 1898, Harde began a significant project with Charles H. Lowen to erect two apartment buildings at the northwest corner of West End Avenue and 80th Street.  Surprisingly, the men hired Ralph S. Townsend to design the structures, with the plans listing Styne-Harde merely as "associate architect."

Completed in 1900, 303-305 West 80th Street was the little brother of the larger corner structure.  Narrower and one story shorter, it was architecturally harmonious with an identical enclosed portico, Roman brick and limestone facade, and rounded bays.  Townsend flexed the Italian Renaissance motif with heavily carved classical pediments at the third floor a romantic stone balcony at the fourth. 

There were two apartments per floor in the new building, containing either seven or eight rooms.  They filled with well-to-do residents.  Among the first was Peter Gilsey, the grandson of hotelier Peter Gilsey.  Although only 22 years old when the building opened, Gilsey was a highly-successful real estate operator and partner in Gilsey Brothers.  In 1903 The Finance and Commerce of New York and United States said, "Among the properties the firm controls are a number of large hotels, office buildings and apartment houses in the city, most of them situated along Broadway."

Peter Gilsey.  from The Finance and Commerce of New York and United States, 1903 (copyright expired)

In 1873 the British Consul to the United States, Thomas Henry Whitney, married Lucy Williams Hallam.  He had co-founded the firm of Suzarte & Whitney in 1877.  The wealthy importer died in their home on West End Avenue in February 26, 1907.  Lucy almost immediately moved into 305-305 West 80th Street.

Somewhat surprisingly, mourning did not get in the way of Lucy's many social activities.  On April 3, only five weeks after Whitney's death, she headed what The Indian's Friend described as "a Programme Meeting of the New York State Chapter of the Colorado Cliff Dwellings Association" at Duryea's restaurant.  The group had been founded in 1900 with the sole purpose of preserving the cliff dwellings of the Mesa Verde area.  That afternoon, the new song The Breath of the Forest was performed, and the article advised, "This beautiful song can be obtained from Mrs. Thomas Henry Whitney, 303 West Eightieth Street, New York City.  Price 75 cents."

Lucy was proud of her deep American roots and was a member of the Colonial Dames, the Daughters of the American Revolution, and the Society of Mayflower Descendants (she descended, in fact, from three Mayflower passengers).

Equally visible in club and charity work was Mary Farrell Lerscher, the wife of John N. Lerscher.  Lerscher had been a clerk in the Supreme Court since 1890.  Mary was treasurer of the Guild of the Infant Savior on East 22nd Street, the object of which was "to support, care for or maintain destitute mothers and infants."

Neither Lucy Whitney nor Mary Lerscher outshone the colorful Adelaide Dorn Wallerstein.  She and her husband, Henry (known as Harry), moved into the building in 1907.  On October 29 the New York Herald announced, "Beginning with the first Monday of next month, Mrs. Harry Wallerstein, formerly of No. 121 West Eighty-sixth street, and now of No. 305 West Eightieth street, will be informally at home after four o'clock."

Adelaide was an intriguing woman.  She balanced her role as socialite with attorney and physician.  She had earned her law degree from New York University in 1898, and her medical degree from the New York Medical College in 1905.  That year she founded the East Side Clinic for Children and would head it for 25 years.

Dr. Adelaide Wallerstein approved of high-necked garments for women.  Marsh's Magazine, October 1908 (copyright expired)

While it would appear that Adelaide Wallerstein was a thoroughly modern Edwardian woman, she had one foot firmly planted in the Victorian era.   On November 16, 1907, The New York Times reported that she and 23 other women had founded the Philocalian Club, "to wage a crusade against girls who ride from the theatre in hansom cabs, drink highballs, and wear décolletée gowns and openwork waists."  (The plunging décolletée, or décolletage, neckline was made famous in John Singer Sergeant's portrait, Madam X.)

While insisting she was not a reformer, Adelaide told the reporter in part:

We have all pledged ourselves not to wear décolletée gowns--that is, so décolletée that the neck will be cut lower than the collarbone...Then, we have pledged ourselves not to drink highballs or cocktails.  And about hansom cabs.  It is wrong for two young people to ride about in hansom cabs at night.  A couple should go straight home from the theatre, instead of seeking the bright lights of a restaurant.

New York socialites were shocked on December 3, 1910 when they picked up their morning newspapers.  An article on the front page of The Post-Standard began, "Dr. Adelaide Wallerstein of No. 305 West Eightieth street, who is said to hold membership in more clubs than any other New York woman and who is a prominent society woman of independent wealth, has been a divorcee for six weeks."  The proceedings had been conducted "with extreme secrecy," and when Adelaide's attorney was asked about grounds, he replied, "the doctor had a naughty husband and that is all there is to it."

Adelaide would not remain single for long.  Six months later, on June 28, 1911, she married Noble McConnell and left West 80th Street.  

In the meantime, Lucy Whitney had died in her apartment on April 27, 1910 at the age of 68.  The Evening Post remembered her as being "active in church and charitable work."

Architect Max G. Heidelberg of Heidelberg & Levy, lived here in 1915.  That year he attended a conference at City Hall "on 'the boy problem,'" as reported by The Sun on November 23.  He was one of 100 "prominent men" who had received invitations from Acting Mayor George McAneny regarding a campaign to raise a fund of $200,000 for the Boy Scouts of America.

Considering conditions in Europe at the time, Heidelberg was suspicious of the group, founded five years earlier.  The Sun said he "startled" the assembly "by demanding to know whether or not the Boy Scout organization, concerning which many fine things were being said, was a military body."  The New York Herald added, "The speaker said he knew the State and city heads of the schools were opposed to militarism in the schools."  Heidelberg was advised that the "movement was military only in its outward appearance."

The days of society teas and charity gatherings along the block had passed by the World War II era.  In 1941, 303-305 West 80th Street was converted to a warren of single room occupancy spaces--16 per floor.  As the building became seedier with the passage of decades, the down-and-out residents were sometimes violent.

On October 27, 1973, The New York Times reported that 32-year-old Dianne Brown, who had been arrested for robbing an elderly man three weeks earlier, had snatched a woman's purse on Broadway between 82nd and 83rd Streets.  Brown was armed with a razor.  "A bystander tried to intercede and was slashed across the face," said the article.  "Another man then tried to intercede and was slashed on the hand."  Police officers who pursued Brown caught her in the hallway of a building at 312 West 80th Street.

Six years later John West and Lester Prather lived in the building, when they were arrested on April 21, 1979.  They had beaten a homeless man to death with a pipe just around the block on West End Avenue between 80th and 81st Street.

In the early 1980's the ground floor windows and doorway were bricked up.  photo by the Landmarks Preservation Commission

That year Arthur Leeds and Morton Corwin contracted to buy the building, but litigation tied up the transaction until 1982.  The partners laid plans to convert the beleaguered building into 30 rental apartments.  But a sequence of circumstances changed their plans, and in 1983 they began a renovation to condominium apartments, including wood burning fireplaces.

Although the limestone base has been painted gray, and the once-rounded window panes in the curved bays are now flat, Ralph S. Townsend's building has regained the prim appearance that attracted affluent residents in 1900.

photographs by the author

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