The Lost Hotel Navarre - 514 Seventh Avenue

 

from the collection of the Frank M. Ingalls collection of the New-York Historical Society.

In May 1899, the architectural firm of Barney & Chapman filed plans for a "10-story brick hotel" at the southwest corner of Seventh Avenue and 38th Street.  The project would cost developer Eliza White $300,000 to construct--nearly $11.5 million in 2024 terms.  

Completed in 1900, the Hotel Navarre's tripartite, neo-French Renaissance design included a two-story base, rusticated mid-section, and a show-stopping two-story top section girded by a balustraded balcony.  The arched entrance sat within a four-story frame elaborately decorated with carved caryatids and life-size reclining figures.  The two-story mansard exploded in dormers crowned with tall, crocketed finials.

Life-size caryatids and sculptures graced the third, fourth and fifth floors over the entrance.  photo by Wurts Bros. from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York

The Hotel Navarre catered to both permanent and transient guests.  According to an advertisement, the accommodations were laid out in "single rooms and family suites."  In its October 1900 issue, The Hotel Monthly reported, "The three hundred and thirty five guest rooms are all furnished in a substantial and tasteful manner consistent with a first class hotel.  The rooms are en suite and a noticeable feature is that there are 200 private baths, each with outside air."

The article noted, "There is a palm garden on the roof.  A telephone is in every room."  A single room and bath cost $2 per night (about $75 today).  In addition to the palm garden, there were a Dutch Grill and "family dining rooms."

A series of mysterious thefts began in the spring of 1902.  On May 26, The Evening World reported that to date guests had lost $1,000 in jewelry.  Detectives thought they had traced the robberies to a servant, Kate Mackay, but when they raided her home at 318 East 37th Street, they found hotel linens valued at $10, but no trace of any jewelry.

Seven months later, the burglaries continued.  On December 3, actor and song-writer William Jerome and his actress wife, Maud Nugent, were asleep in their fifth floor room.  At some point Jerome "was awakened by a draft from the open window," as reported by The Evening World.  He got up, closed the window, and went back to bed.

Dooley did not reawaken until 3:30 the following afternoon.  He had a severe headache and nausea.  His wife was still sound asleep, her breathing labored.  The newspaper said, "he had difficulty in arousing her."  An odor of chloroform in the room led to the couple's realizing that brazen burglars had held chloroform soaked rags over their faces while they slept.  The bandits had made off with a $500 check, two gold watches and chains, and $50 in cash.

from the collection of the New-York Historical Society

Detectives concluded the robbery, like the others, had to be an  inside job.  They explained, "access to the fire-escape, by which Mr. Jerome's room was entered, could only have been made from the second story court."  To get there, the thieves would have had to pass the hotel detective, the bellboy and the watchman.

As it turned out, the investigators were wrong.  House Detective Thomas Maxwell and a night porter, William McNulty, set themselves up in a fifth-floor room overlooking the rear courtyard and waited.  At 4:00 in the morning, four days after the Jerome robbery, Maxwell saw two men scale the fence surrounding the vacant lot on the corner of Seventh Avenue and 37th Street.  They carried long planks.  The Evening World reported that they clambered to the top of the two-story laundry portion of the hotel.  From there, "they used another plank to reach the fire-escape, which extends up the twelve [sic] stories and communicates with the rooms of many patrons."

Maxwell waited as he watched the men go in and out of rooms on the third, fourth and fifth floors.  Finally, when one exited a sixth floor window, Maxwell, "leaned out of his window and fired."  A gun battle ensued, joined by a sixth-floor patron who "raised his window and commenced firing at the two negroes on the fire-escape."  Then, according to The Evening World, "Others did the same, and for a few moments a brisk skirmish was maintained."

The Evening World, December 8, 1902 (copyright expired)

Against all odds, the robbers made it down the fire escape, across the plank, and over the fence.  One of them, William Murray, was caught shortly afterward.  "In one pocket was found a bottle containing chloroform and a rag which had been saturated with the drug," said the article.

On April 30, 1903, Mr. and Mrs. J. B. Walker took rooms here.  They were, in fact, not husband and wife, but John B. Walker, a newspaper artist, and Claudia Guernsey.  The two had met in March 1902.  Claudia, described by The Evening World as "beautiful, attractive, a widow and wealthy," owned large amounts of Manhattan real estate, including the block of houses on Seventh Avenue between 56th and 57th Streets.

Shortly after the two met, they began living together.  Walker left his wife and children, who lived at 9 East 22nd Street.  Things were going smoothly for Walker and Guernsey until around May 6, 1903, when they ran into Walker's wife on the street.  The Evening World reported that Mrs. Walker "horsewhipped the woman, whom she accused of having such an influence on Walker, that he could not free himself from her."

In the decades before air conditioning, roof gardens like the Hotel Navarre's, offered a cooling respite.

The incident greatly affected Walker and on the evening of May 12, he went to the East 22nd Street house and talked with his wife.  Mrs. Walker later said, "we arranged it that he was to leave this woman and return to me."  Walker told her "he thought he would be able to get away" that night and promised he would move back in the following day.

Walker returned to the Hotel Navarre.  He would later tell investigators that he told Claudia, "that I considered it my duty to my wife and her family to return to her."  Claudia's reaction was severe.  She went into the bathroom and drank a bottle of carbolic acid.  She was still alive when the house physicians had her sent to Roosevelt Hospital, but died shortly after arriving there.

The drama of the affair was not over.  Walker's wife, according to The Evening World on May 29, "insisted upon her husband going to the funeral of the woman who had broken up her home."  Following the burial, Walker started off with Claudia's mother to the Coroner's Office to make necessary arrangements for the inquest.  But that did not happen.  John B. Walker, who had been drinking heavily since the incident, died before they arrived there.  The Evening World said, "Exposure and dissipation brought on the attack that killed Walker."

The Hotel Navarre was the scene of another extramarital affair at the time--that of Stanford White and showgirl Evelyn Nesbit.  Although Nesbit was unmarried, the famous architect most definitely was.  Throughout her days-long testimony during the 1908 case of Harry Kendall Thaw, who shot and killed White, Nesbit repeatedly recalled her lover White and her suitor Thaw separately visiting her in her suite at the Hotel Navarre.

from the collection of the New-York Historical Society

Yet another case of marital infidelity played out here beginning on April 26, 1907--the night Karl von Geissenhainer and Lillian Cornwall Knight were married.  The couple moved into the Hotel Navarre, and Lillian soon felt neglected.  According to The Sun, her attorney husband "spent most of his time elsewhere."

Her lawyer tracked Geissenhainer (who was the son of Congressman Jacob A. Geissnhainer) to the Wyoming apartments on West 57th Street.  Shockingly, a woman answered the door.  She told him, "you wished to speak to Mr. Geissenhainer about an important matter concerning his wife.  I am his wife.  What have you to say?"

As it turned out, Elsie C. Irwin and Geissenhainer had been married in March 1906.  When told by the attorney that he represented the other Mrs. Geissenhainer, Elsie ran to the bedroom and wakened her husband.  "He denied the allegations she made and tried to explain," reported The Sun.

The next day, Elsie Geissenhainer went to the Hotel Navarre and met with Lillian Geissenhainer.  Each revealed the details of their marriages to the other.  But what seemed to be a clear-cut case of bigamy turned out not to be.  On February 9, 1909, The Sun reported that Gessenhainer's defense would be "that the first Mrs. Geissenhainer was already a wife when Geissenhainer married her, and that therefore the marriage was not a legal one."

Another guest to register under an assumed name was R. J. Young of Chicago, who checked in on June 20, 1917.  He was, in fact, Jay Willard Robinson, a Sinn Fein agitator and German agent.  While living here, he received packages of white handkerchiefs and white collars.  The New-York Tribune reported on January 21, 1919, "These articles, which were to be given to Robinson, contained a supply of a new invisible writing fluid used [by] the German secret service."  A naturalized American citizen living in Stockholm, Benjamin E. Benson, discovered the plot and notified American authorities.

Robinson was indicted as a spy for Germany.  The Department of Justice's charge said, "German agents communicated with Robinson in code and by the use of invisible ink urging and instructing him to do many things that might obstruct the war preparations in the United States."  The New-York Tribune explained on January 21, 1919, "The punishment, on conviction, is death by hanging."

Nurse Katherine McDermott lived here in 1922, two years after enactment of Prohibition.  Like many others, the 32-year-old turned to patent medicines to circumvent the law.  On September 20, 1922, The Evening World reported that she had been taken from the hotel to Bellevue Hospital, "suffering from what physicians said was alcoholism.  She has been drinking Jamaica ginger for several days, according to police."  (Jamaica ginger was an over-the-counter remedy for a variety of disorders like headache and gas.  It contained up to 80 percent ethanol.)

On September 19, 1928, The New York Times reported, "The Hotel Navarre...will close its doors at 6 o'clock this evening to make way for a forty-three-story structure, the Navarre Mercantile Building."  The article reminisced, "Thirty years ago the Navarre was one of the popular hotels in the Times Square district.  Its architecture was considered one of the finest examples of French Renaissance type in this country."

A "farewell dinner" was held in the dining room just prior to the start of demolition.  On October 7, The New York Times reported, "At the closing ceremonies which marked the final passing of the place last night Jefferson de Angelis mentioned many of the well-known stars who lived at the hotel for various periods, among them being the great tenor, Caruso; Lillian Russell and Frank Daniels."

Engineering News-Record, September 21, 1929

The Art Deco style Navarre Mercantile Building, designed by Sugarman & Berger, survives on the site.

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Jobst Hoffman's 1888 253 East 10th Street

 

On February 2, 1886, Ernest Von Au purchased the three-story brick house at 253 East 10th Street from Philip Krieger for $16,000.  The old residence was a vestige of a time when refined homes filled the East Village neighborhood that was now seeing the rise of flat houses.  It may have been the several tenement buildings in the Lower East Side that Von Au was currently erecting that prompted him to wait until the spring of 1888 to commission architect Jobst Hoffman to design a flat building on the site.

Like Von Au, Hoffman specialized in tenement buildings.  His plans, filed in May, called for a "five-story brick, stone and terra cotta flat" to cost $18,000.  The construction costs brought Von Au's total outlay to $1.14 million in 2024 terms.

Construction was completed within seven months.  Hoffman's Renaissance Revival design was faced in brick and trimmed in brownstone.  Profuse renaissance style carvings decorated the pilasters and spandrels of the entrance way.  Similarly, upper floor panels and tympana were filled with medieval faces and swirling leaves and vines.  The complex cast metal cornice included a half-bowl, a triangular pediment, and a multi-leveled tower.

Von Au sold his new building on December 1, 1888 to Conrad Schmidt for $38,500, turning a tidy profit.  Schmidt's working class tenants would, for the most part, be immigrants.

In 1893, George Griffith, a traveling salesman for a New Jersey lithographing firm, and his young wife Frances, moved in.  About a year later, around 5:00 on the afternoon of January 12, the janitor noticed a strong smell of gas.  The Evening World reported, "He burst open the doors" and found Frances "dead upon the floor with the end of a gas tube in her mouth."

The New York Times said, "From an album on the centre [sic] table the woman had torn out all the portraits and had destroyed them.  The stove in the front room was half filled with the ashes of papers and photographs which the woman had burned."  Saying she was about 25 years old, the article described her as "a brunette of the Jewish type," adding, "she did not cultivate the acquaintance of her neighbors, and the people in the house knew very little about her or her husband."

The mystery was cleared up the following day.  The Evening World began an article saying, "The beautiful young suicide at 253 East Tenth street, was not Mrs. Frances Griffith.  She was Miss Frances Simon, a wayward girl who deserted her home and family two and one-half years ago."  About an hour after Frances's body was discovered, "a young, richly dressed and pretty young woman called at the flat," said the article.  She was Frances's sister, Mattie, who came from the family's home in Brooklyn where their father, Michael Simon, was described as "wealthy."

Mattie identified the body as Frances Simon.  Her family members refused to come, but Mattie "spent the night by the dead body of her erring sister."  After George Griffith was notified of Frances's death, the reasons for her suicide became clear.

Suspecting that Frances was being unfaithful, on January 10, he sent her a telegram saying he would be home late the following night.  Instead, he arrived a few hours later and, confirming his suspicions, he "found a strange man in Frances's company," according to The Evening World.  "A quarrel followed, and that night Griffith left the flat vowing that he would never return."  The "strange man" returned the next day, according to neighbors, and stayed until around 4:00.  An hour later the janitor discovered Frances's body.  In her pocketbook, said the article, was $8.81, "of which $8.40, she wrote, was to pay a doctor's bill."

The Byrnes family lived here at the time.  Thirty-five-year-old Joseph Brynes was a truck driver for the wholesale grocers Austin, Nichols & Co.  Nine months after Frances's suicide, he experienced a horrible tragedy.  Byrnes was driving along East 44th Street on September 14 as a group of little children exited a candy store.  According to the New York Herald, "The horses were walking leisurely toward Third avenue."

Among the group of children was four-year-old Gertrude Coyle, who lived directly across the street.  The newspaper reported, "Gertrude, hugging her package of sweetmeats, started for home.  She did not see the heavily ladened truck and ran directly between the front wheels."  Joseph Byrne had not seen the little girl and, "in a moment she had been knocked down and the hind wheel passed over her head and the upper portion of her body, killing her instantly."  The newspaper rather callously added, "Her head was literally cleft in twain."

Byrne stopped the team and walked to the back of the truck.  Frozen by shock, the article said he was "apparently unable to remove his eyes from it, until Policeman Hilbert tapped him on the shoulder and placed him under arrest."  Byrne tearfully pleaded that he "knew nothing of the accident until it was over."  He was held on a charge of homicide.

The working conditions of the factory workers who lived here was evidenced in a letter published in the New York Journal and Advertiser on February 26, 1899.  Chris Ferman, who was 32 years old, wrote in part:

I work in a large leather factory, where I am shut up indoors all day long, and fresh air is very scarce, which makes me feel drowsy, so when I get home at night I generally have one of those sick headaches and have no appetite, and my supper would have to be thrown away.

Although Abraham Greenberg, who lived here by 1902, listed no occupation, he owned a tenement building at 189 Rivington Street.  It provided him enough income to provide bail to Lena Todenberg that year.  Lena ostensibly ran a cigar store, however she was arrested on  February 17, 1902 on charges of "keeping a disorderly house."  (The term "disorderly house" referred to a brothel.)  Greenberg supplied her $5,000 bail, a hefty $183,000 today.

Not all the residents of 253 East 10th Street were hard working and respectable.  On January 28, 1911, The Evening Telegram reported that 16-year-old Isidor Hammer had been arrested "upon the charges of larceny of money from passengers upon the platform of the Forty-second street subway during the rush hour."  A motor inspector, George M. Morton, witnessed Hammer removing the a woman's pocketbook from her coat.  Morton rushed forward and grabbed Hammer's hand holding the purse.  The teen's theft was not worth the price he paid.  When he faced Magistrate O'Connor in the Yorkville Police Court, it was revealed that the stolen purse contained one cent.

More industrious was young David M. Goldberg, who was hired on November 1, 1915 as a page for the New York State Industrial Commission.  His starting salary was $360 a year--about $11,300 today.  Within three years, he had been promoted to junior clerk and his salary had exactly doubled.

The brick and brownstone have been painted, and an industrial type door installed, defacing Jobst Hoffman's 1888 design.

The Smilex and Famulara families occupied apartments in 1922.  One afternoon that November, the two Smilex children were playing on the sidewalk in front of the building.  Saro Famulara, who was 12 years old, went to the roof and poured water down on them.  Their mother, Catherine Smilex, did not think the prank was at all funny.  Outraged, she stormed upstairs and pushed the Famulara boy off the roof to his death.  Police originally thought his death was accidental, but neighbors "asserted that the boy had been deliberately pushed off the roof."  An investigation led to Catherine's arrest on November 6.

Because of the high concentration of working class residents, the East Village was a hot spot for Communism and Socialism in the early 20th century.  In 1940, residents Frank Maskiewicz and John Morov were listed by the Government as voters for the Communist Party.  Things had not greatly changed three decades later when, in October 1974,  resident Samuel W. Manuel ran for State Comptroller on the Socialist Worker Party ticket.

Although a bit beleaguered today, Jobst Hoffman's striking building still draws attention.

photographs by the author

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The Gilliam S. Bogert House - 33 Charlton Street

 

Having turned from fur trading to real estate, John Jacob Astor I purchased Richmond Hill, the country estate of Aaron Burr near Greenwich Village, following the latter's fatal duel with Alexander Hamilton.  He took over Burr's long-term land lease of the sprawling estate from Trinity Church and by 1817 had leveled the property and laid out streets, including Charlton Street, named for Dr. John Charlton, president of the New York Medical Society.

Beginning in the mid-1820s, Astor erected scores of neat Federal style homes on the property.  Similar to its neighbors, 33 Charlton Street was two-and-a-half stories tall with two prim dormers punching through the peaked roof.  The single-doored entrance sat above a short stoop.

It appears that 33 Charlton Street was the victim of arsonists with a grudge against Astor.  When two unfinished houses at 32 and 35 Charlton Street were burned at 6:00 on the morning of October 13, 1828, The Daily Advertiser noted, "A few months ago, several houses were destroyed by fire at the same place."  Gilliam S. Bogert was already living at 33 Charlton Street, and decades later the Year Book of the Holland Society explained that he "had just established his home in Charlton Street, the old Richmond Hill site, but a disastrous fire soon afterward destroyed the house and most of the family records."

Bogert rebuilt the brick-faced house.  A flour merchant whose business was on Dey Street, Gilliam S. Bogert traced his Dutch ancestry to New Amsterdam.  He and his wife, the former Maria Moore, had at least four children, Philip E., Stephen Gilliam, Abram H., and Anna, the youngest, born in 1838.

Boarding with the Bogert family at least from 1839 through 1841 was lumber merchant Jabez E. Safford.  In 1845 the Weir family boarded with the Bogerts.  Edward and George R. Weir ran a stable down the block at 14 Charlton Street.

Maria Bogert died on April 9, 1845 at the age of 40.  Her funeral was held in the parlor two days later.  Three years later, Gilliam fell ill.  On November 29, 1848, The Evening Post reported he had died "after a protracted illness" at the age of 48.  His funeral, too, was held in the house.

Considering that the children were young--Anna was only ten at the time of her father's death--it is possible that extended family helped rear them since they continued living here.  Living next door at 31 Charlton Street were Mary Bogert, the widow of John A., and her son Henry, who was a bookkeeper.  The Weir family, too, was still boarding in the house and Mrs. Weir most likely lent a hand.

In April 1849, a young man "calling himself William H. Hunter, alias, Smith, alias Post," according to the New York Herald, entered the Weir stable and hired a horse to go to Harlem.  Instead, however, he sold the horse to a Mr. Banfield on Third Street for $40.  George R. Weir valued the horse at $100 (just over $4,000 in 2024 terms).  Weir later identified Hunter, who was arrested for horse theft.  The New York Herald commented, "There are several charges of grand larceny against him, from different boarding-houses about the city, where he has taken board, and in the night he robbed the boarders and cleared out."

In 1851, cabinetmaker Francis Moore and his family replaced the Weirs as boarders.  By then, Philip E. Bogert was working as a salesman.  His brother Stephen Gilliam was soon involved in the lumber and shipping business, a partner in Bogert & Morgan.  According to the Year Book of the Holland Society in 1907, the firm had "contracts for supplying ships for the Government during the Civil War."  Stephen would later become involved in railroads, as well.

But none of that would happen while Stephen was living at 33 Charlton Street.  In 1852, the house and the 13 years left on the land lease were sold at auction for $3,050 (about $124,000 today).  Interestingly, it was purchased by the Bogerts' boarder, Francis Moore.

Living with the Moores was Francis's widowed mother, Fanny.  She died at the age of 79 on October 8, 1853.  Once again there was a funeral in the parlor.

Boarding with the Moores in February 1855 were Peter Brunor and his wife.  On the afternoon of February 22, both families were away when burglars broke into the basement door with a jimmy.  The Evening Post reported, "Finding no person to hinder them, they commenced ransacking the house from top to bottom.  They broke open all the drawers throughout the house, and scattered the various articles about the floors.  The rascals escaped with five hundred dollars' worth of property."

The Moores's dining room was looted of silverware worth about $3,000 in today's money, and "a number of small things valued at about $25" (about $900 today).  But it was the Brunors who were hit the hardest.  The thieves found the couple's jewelry, making off with Mrs. Brunor's diamond rings and her husband's watch, rings, "sleeve-buttons," and other items.  Brunor's gold watch alone was valued at the equivalent of $5,820 today.

Around 1868, the Moores moved to Hudson Street.  That year William J. Bancker, listed as a carpenter, occupied the house.  The Bancker family would retain possession for nearly two decades and it was almost assuredly William Bancker who raised the attic floor to full height and replaced the areaway fencing with fashionable Italianate ironwork.  Interestingly, the Flemish bond brickwork was carried on into the new third floor, an added cost that was not structurally necessary, but was cosmetically pleasing.

Around the same time, one of the houses directly across the street replaced the parlor windows with a bay window.  The same might have been done here.  At some point, an iron beam was installed above the parlor level, possibly to accommodate the large window.  It was filled in in the early 20th century, the running bond brick a stark testimony to the mysterious alterations.

The supporting beam can be readily seen in this 1941 photograph.  Image via the NYC Dept of Records & Information Services.

Although they retained ownership of the property, it appears the Banckers left around 1874.  The house was occupied by three Irish families--the Eggans, Keenans and McGinns.  John M. Eggan was a hatter, John Keenan a real estate agent, and John McGinn a printer.

Tragically, John McGinn and his wife lost their infant son, Edmund Meade McGinn, on August 13, 1876.  The funeral of the four-month-old boy was held in the house on August 15.

On May 19, 1878, John Keenan placed a classified ad in the New York Herald that read, "Lost--On Thursday, in Carmine St., a brown Spaniel Bitch.  Liberal reward for recovery."  

The resourceful Keenan seems to have continually reinvented himself.  Listed as a real estate agent in 1875, he was a teacher in 1879-80, and a city marshal in 1881.  That year in March, David C. Bancker sold 33 Charlton Street to John and Ellen McDonald for $8,000 (about $246,000 today).

The McDonalds remained in the house for a decade, selling it to Richard Hennessy on May 7, 1891 for $14,250.  It was a handsome profit for the couple, earning them about double what they paid.

It does not appear that Hennessy ever lived at 33 Charlton Street, but rented rooms to Italian-born immigrants.  Among his first tenants was Negi Gaetano, who found himself before a judge on September 19, 1891.  The Press said he "was held for trial at the Tombs yesterday for refusing to pay horse car fare and assaulting the conductor."

G. Siri and his wife, Mamie, lived here in 1896.  Siri was politically involved and presumably obtained permission from Hennessy to use the basement or the parlor for meetings.  On August 21, 1896, the New York Press reported, "One of the popular clubs in the lower part of the city is the Italian Republican Club of the Third Assembly district.  Its quarters are at No. 33 Charlton street.  Nearly all the Italians of the better class in the district, and some from other districts, are members of the organization.  The club wants all the members it can get.  Any one who desires to join may send his application to G. Siri, No. 33 Charlton street."

The residents of the rooming house continued to have Italian surnames through the turn of the century.  Living here in 1897 and 1898 were Ignatius Canale, a contractor, and his son Peter; Peter Bacigalupo, a clerk at Ellis Island; and Alfred Rossi.

Decidedly not Italian was John W. Casey, who rented rooms here by 1903 with his family.  Born in Ireland in 1856, he had been brought to New York by his parents when he was nine years old.  Casey was a "master iron molder."  He and his wife Charlotte, had five children, John J., James, William, Lottie and Ella.  John J. Casey died "after a short illness" on May 14, 1904.

By 1908, Casey's sons were grown and lived elsewhere.  Early that year, John W. Casey was summoned for jury duty.  The New York Times reported that he had never, in his 43 years in New York, served on a jury.  His wife and daughters, said the article, "saw him off early one morning in the latter part of February to take his seat in the jury box.  At night the iron molder returned rather proud of himself."

"'It's a fine juryman I'll make in time,' he told the family and then he recounted the experiences of the day."

Casey sat on the case of Thomas Dickson who sued for damages for the death of his four year old daughter Lili.  He enjoyed his jury duty until February 25, when he returned home "silent and depressed."  He refused to tell his wife or daughters what had transpired in the courtroom, but went to bed early.  The following day, he confided in his sons.

The jury had deliberated for a day and a half, at which point one of the jurors complained he had a business deal to finalize, and further delay would cost him dearly.  He convinced the other jurors to come to their decision by a flip of the coin.  Casey told his sons,

I couldn't tell the wife and the girls.  But, oh, the scoring that Justice Guy gave us!  I cannot bear to think of it.  And he fined us each $50. You boys must break it to mother and the girls.  They'll see in in the papers, if you don't, that I am a disgraced man.

Casey's sons attempted to console him, telling him he was unfamiliar with jury duty and had acted innocently.  Their father was not convinced, although admitted he was, indeed, ignorant and that the other jurors told him cases were often settled that way.

"But I know better now.  You boys didn't hear the Judge.  If you had you might understand.  I don't mind the fine, but I am discredited and disgraced, and I cannot bear to meet my former friends," he said.

The entire family tried to raise his spirits.  But his depression continued to grow.  He ate little, telling his wife that "shame had driven away his appetite."  The priests from St. Agnes's Church came to the house, one by one, attempting to cheer him up.  They were followed by members of the Society of St. Vincent DePaul, of which Casey was secretary; of the Holy Name Society, of which he was also an officer; and of the Knights of Columbus.  No one could get through to him.

Casey stopped going to work.  His weight dropped from 296 to 200 pounds within a month.  Finally, around March 24 he took to his bed.

The New York Times reported, "News of Mr. Casey's illness spread rapidly through the district in which he had lived for forty-three years.  He had been a Sergeant at Arms of the Democratic State Committee, and he had been a delegate to several Democratic National Conventions."  Tammany officials came to the house, including "Little Tim" Sullivan, State Senator Dominick Mullaney, and Borough President John F. Ahearn.  The New York Times said, "Their well-meant efforts to console and cheer him failed utterly."

Newspapers across the country reported on Casey's death at 4:10 on the morning of March 30.  The New York Times titled its article, "Grieved To Death Over Court Rebuke / Went Home to Waste Away."

No. 33 Charlton Street was owned by Mary and Dominick di Milta by 1919.  Described as a "three story brick tenement" by the Department of Buildings, it received a $1,500 renovation by the Di Miltas that year.  It may have been at this time that the parlor level was restored with the running bond infill.

The couple did interior renovations three years later, hiring architect Ferdinand Savignano to create a "new store room, bathroom, [and] laundry."  The alterations cost the Di Miltas the equivalent of nearly $91,000 today.

Among the tenants around this time was the political leader Antonio Dalessandro.  Born in 1875, he had been the leader of the "westerly half of the Second Assembly District" for around 20 years.  He was also Chief Deputy Internal Revenue Collector.  The New York Times noted he "was chief clerk under Timothy D. Healy in the old Coroner's office."  Dalessandro died in the house on March 20, 1925.

Another well-known tenant around the same time was Dr. Carlo Pascarelli.  He remained here at least through 1931.

In 1969 the house was converted to apartments, one per floor.  A three-year renovation begun in 2007 returned the house to a single-family home.  The five bedroom, six bath property sold in 2011 for $8.5 million.  While nothing remains of the 1820s Federal interiors, outwardly it looks much as it did when the attic was raised in the 1870s.

photographs by the author

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The John B. Simpson, Jr. House - 12 West 129th Street

 

Scaffolding for exterior restoration was going up in 2014 when this photograph was taken.  by Beyond My Ken.

In 1862, William Paul, a carpenter, purchased three 75-foot-wide vacant plots on West 129th Street.  They were part of what was once the 127-acre patent of Arent Harmanse Bussing who died in 1718.  Two years after William Paul bought the property, a two-and-a-half-story clapboard house sat upon it.  

William Paul's business partner was Thomas Wilson.  Their shop was far downtown at 86 West 24th Street.  Almost assuredly, they erected the 129th Street residence together.  William Paul and his wife Frances are first listed at "129th off Fifth."  In 1864, they shared the house with Thomas Wilson's family.  The following year, William and Frances Paul sold the property to Thomas Wilson.

Born in Maine in 1820, Wilson changed his professional listing from "carpenter" to "builder" in 1871.  Apparently a widower, he lived here with two daughters, two sons, and one live-in servant.  

One of Wilson's sons was, apparently, an inventor.  An advertisement in Scientific American in 1866 read, "For Sale--State Rights for Murphy's Improved Burglar Alarm, Patented Jan. 12, 1866.  Address O. E. Wilson, 12 West 129th street, New York."

In 1872, the Wilsons moved to East 128th Street and sold the house to Martin England and his wife Anna Sophia.  Born in Newfoundland, Canada, England was a printer.  Living with him and Anna Sophia were their five children--three sons and two daughters--and two servants.

Two years after moving in, on February 8, 1874, the Wilsons' eldest son, John W., died at the age of 15.  Tragedy visited the house again on September 25, 1879 when their next eldest son, Howie, died at 10 years old.  The intense grief of the parents was evidenced in the fact that both the boys' funerals were private.

Martin England died on March 19, 1881 at the age of 46.  His funeral was held at St. Jerome's Church three days later.  Although she retained ownership of the 129th Street house, Anna Sophia leased it the following year to John Boulton Simpson, Jr.

Born in 1846, Simpson was a piano merchant, associated with the Arion Piano Company.  He and his wife, the former Frances Collins Shilton, had two daughters, Fanny and Helen.  Although he was only renting the house, in 1882 (the year the family moved in) Simpson hired builder Edward Gustaveson to enlarge it with a two-story brick extension to the west and a two-story wooden extension to the east.  The renderings submitted with the plans depicted a two-and-a-half story, peaked roof dwelling.  A romantic balcony fronted the attic window and a decorative, scrolled bargeboard ornamented the gable.

The renovations resulted in a central entrance hall with a parlor at the front, a library to the east and a dining room to the west.  To the rear were the kitchen and a conservatory.  Although a porch does not appear in the plans, before 1883 a wooden "piazza" appeared.  Its complex Moorish design was achieved by scroll saws, an invention that first appeared in the United States in the 1860s.

photo by Beyond My Ken

In April 1883, Simpson brought Gustaveson back to erect a copy of the porch on the rear of the house.  The plans specified that it be constructed of locust wood.

The Simpson family left 12 West 129th Street in 1893, and on December 11, 1895, the property was sold at auction to W. B. McVickars for the International Congregation of the Sacred Heart.  According to The Press, he paid $20,000, or about $750,000 in 2024 terms.

The Missionary Sisters of the Third Order of St. Francis occupied the house as a convent and a "reception home" for needy children who would be transferred to St. Joseph's Home for Destitute Children upstate in Peekskill.  

Before moving in, the order hired Peekskill architect Asbury Barker to renovate the house.  The attic and the two 1882 extensions were raised to a full floor with a flat roof.  Given the new use of the building, a wrought-iron fire escape was installed.

Barker also designed a "summer house or pavillion [sic]" in the garden.  His application for a building permit said in part:

The structure is designed for the benefit of the children who may be living on the premises in care of the Sisters...The children in question are destitute children committed to the care of the Sisters by City Magistrates or other officials.  The fresh air enjoyed in...this covered pavilion will be most beneficial to the children's health; and this is the sole motive for its erection.

The remodeled house as it appeared around the turn of the last century.  A portion of the summer house can be glimpsed at left.  from the collection of the Franciscan Sisters Archives.

The nuns quickly were faced with difficult cases.  On October 13, 1896, the New York Journal reported that Patrick Murphy and his wife were arrested and charged "with giving whiskey to little Tommy Murphy, three years old, and making him drunk and deathly sick."  According to a witness, "the Murphys had been in the habit of giving the child liquor, and that this was not the first time he had been drunk."

Edward Gerrity, who was in the Murphy home that night, testified:

Mrs. Murphy made it a practice to leave a quantity of whiskey in her glass, which she gave to Tommy. The latter drank the stuff, and became drunk.  He staggered and shouted and ultimately was extremely sick.

Gerrity left the Murphy house when the whiskey was gone, Tommy was ill, and "Mrs. Murphy was unable to stand, and had fallen to the floor in a heap," according to the New York Journal.  The article said, "Little Terry [sic] was sent to the Mission of the Sisters of the Third Order of St. Francis, 12 West 129th Street."

The nine sisters who lived in the house in 1920 struggled with wards who did not always want to be there.  In the pre-dawn hours of October 28 that year, five children stole away.  They were Adelina and John Amendela, 12 and 10 years old respectively; Elizabeth and Matilda Smith, 11 and 5 years old; and ten-year-old Joseph Amisegger.  Elizabeth Smith, according to the New-York Tribune, had hatched the plot.  Adelina Amendela later said Elizabeth, "suggested they put their nightgowns on over their street clothes."

The great escape was short lived for the Amendela siblings.  They made it to their home in the Bronx at 1:30 in the morning.  Their father brought them back to the home by noon.  The siblings could not account for the other runaways.  They told officials, "They met a man who said he would put the Smith children on a car for home.  That was the last they saw of any of the rest of the party," reported The Evening World on October 28.

The next day the Smith children were returned, but on October 30, Joseph Amisegger was still missing.  His parents were separated and both lived in Yonkers.  The New-York Tribune said, "it is believed that the boy may be trying to find his way, unaided, to the home of his father or mother."

In the meantime, the other escapees were in deep trouble.  The New-York Tribune reported, "Elizabeth Smith, eleven, who is charged with planning the expedition, would not be permitted to return.  She will remain with her grandmother."  The fate of the others had not yet been determined.  The article said they "may be returned to their parents because of their escapade, it was said."  (It is unclear whether Joseph Amisegger was ever found.)

At some point, possibly in the 1920s, the order gave the facade a coating of stucco, and added quoins to the corners.

Asbury Barker's summer house can be seen in this 1932 photo by Charles Von Urban, as well as a chicken coop.  from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York.

In 1941 The Missionary Sisters of the Third Order of St. Francis sold the property to the Nazareth Mission/Peace Center.  According to Kenneth E. Burnham in his God Comes to America--Father Divine and the Peace Mission Movement, it was operated by Father Divine, leader of the cult called the Kingdom of Peace.  It held, according to Burnham, the "brothers' quarters, peace center and Nazareth Missions' home and church."

The property was sold to the Christ Temple Church of the Apostolic Faith in 1979.  In 1990, the Landmarks Preservation Commission considered 12 West 129th Street for individual landmark status.  In May 1991, a church trustee, Mercedes Herbert, "said the church would definitely oppose designation because of its plans for the building," according to The New York Times columnist Christopher Gray.

The house as it appeared in 1941.  image via the NYC Dept of Records & Information Services.

It was unclear what those plans were, but, according to Gray, "Now the house looks just short of being abandoned.  A huge yellow school bus crowds its unkempt front yard, windows are broken and the brightly painted stucco is now dingy."

Despite the opposition of the Christ Temple Church of the Apostolic Faith, 129 West 129th Street was designated an individual landmark on July 26, 1994.  The exterior has been restored and the porch and garden house (the latter now sitting in a parking lot), which have somehow miraculously survived since 1882, are intact.

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Sylvan Bien's 1938 4 East 70th Street

 

image via cityrealty.com

Following her high-profile divorce from millionaire Marshall Field, in 1937 Evelyn Field sold their massive mansion at 4-8 East 70th Street, running through the block to east 69th Street.  The original plans to convert it to a club never materialized, and Watford Estates, Inc. demolished the magnificent home as the site of two apartment buildings--at 4 East 70th and 3 East 69th Street.

Both buildings were designed by Sylvan Bien.  The New York Sun explained they were "similar in construction and are separated at the back by a garden...Each building is topped with a penthouse apartment occupying the entire roof space.  There are also terrace duplex apartments and a number of two-room, three-room and six-room duplexes, as well as three-room simplexes."

Bien's design for 4 East 70th Street was an Art Deco take on neo-Classical architecture. The entrance was flanked by black composite tiles under a jazzy gold-tone Art Deco cornice.  The central portion of the eight-story midsection featured full-height, fluted pilasters.

image via cityrealty.com

On July 16, 1938, The New York Sun reported that the two buildings "are practically completed, almost fully rented, and will be ready for occupancy in exactly a month."  Sylvan Bien told the journalist, "Every apartment will be an ideal little house.  What the decorators often strive to do afterwards we've done before."  The article said,

And he mentioned winding stairways, round foyers, rotundas with niches, fireplaces, oversized dressing rooms off baths, powder rooms, high clothes poles in fitted closets from which to hang evening gowns without dragging, highly styled kitchens designed for more or less servantless housekeeping.

At the time of the article, the low relief lobby murals by Pierre Bourdell were on exhibition at the Jacques Seligmann galleries.  The five murals paid homage to Manhattan life:  Fulton Fish Market, Circus on Broadway, Central Park Zoo, Library Steps, and Chinatown Festival.

The kitchens and kitchenettes included "enormous iceboxes."  The article noted, "Most of the gas ranges have two ovens, two broilers, six burners with a covering plate for every two."

Rent for the six-room duplexes ranged from $2,900 to $3,800 a year, "depending on the height of the floor"--about $6,850 per month for the most expensive in 2024 terms.  The penthouses, of course, were pricier, renting for as much as $6,000 a year ($10,800 per month today).  The Sun noted that they came with "wood-burning fireplaces and surrounding terraces with splendid view."

Among those who had signed leases at the time of the article was Russell Herts, whose six-room duplex on the fourth and fifth floors had already been decorated.  The Sun described it, saying:

Done in shades of green, turquoise, burgundy, yellow, with touches of silver, it accents the combination of painted walls and papered walls.  Living room and dining room are large and feature eighteenth century English furnishings.  The bedrooms above, are eighteenth century French.

Other tenants who had signed leases during construction were George R. Kantzler, Charles C. Wright and his wife Elizabeth, and Margaret Olcott.  Kantzler was a partner in the banking and brokerage firm J. E. Swan & Co.  

Margaret O'Donovan Olcott was the widow of actor, singer and songwriter Chauncey Olcott (the composer of, among other popular songs, When Irish Eyes Are Smiling and My Wild Irish Rose).  Described by the Troy Record as "wealthy in her own right," she would be moving here from 17 Sutton Place.  Her summer estate was Inniscarra in Saratoga Springs, New York.  On September 7, 1938, a society journalist with The Saratogian reported, "Mrs. Chauncey Olcott has returned from a visit in New York city, where, I understand, she inspected the penthouse she has leased at 4 East 70th St...Mrs. Olcott, I hear, is much pleased with her new apartment which is in a beautiful location.  She plans to pass September in Inniscarra."

Two postcards from the 1920s illustrated the Olcott summer home.

Margaret Olcott (known as Rita to her friends) was an author and playwright.  Among her plays were Lussmore and Ragged Robin.  In 1939, a few months after moving into 4 East 70th Street, she published a biography of her late husband, A Song in His Heart.  

Before then, however, she married Ralph Stuyvesant-Brown, "a descendant of Peter Stuyvesant," according to The New York Times, on December 23, 1938 in St. Vincent Ferrer's Church on Lexington Avenue.   The newspaper said that after the ceremony, "the couple will visit Ireland, England and France.  They plan to return to Inniscarra, Mrs. Olcott's Saratoga home, in time for the racing season there."

David M. Fruedenthal, his wife, Dorothy Fuld, and their daughter Rhoda were early residents.  Fruedenthal had joined Bloomingdale's in 1927 as controller, and was named vice-president in 1939.  Rhoda's engagement to Albert Carroll was announced on April 2, 1942.

In 1948, Fruedenthal resigned from Bloomingdales.  He and Dorothy moved to Rome where he served as deputy administrator of the Economic Cooperation Administration, the U.S. Government agency set up to administer the Marshall Plan.

Other well-heeled residents at the time included Howard Franklin Beebe, the former president of the American Investment Bankers Association, and his wife, the former Clara Belle Mitchell; and Nathan E. Handler and his wife, the former Gertrude Wolf.  Handler was a graduate of Columbia University and the founder of the Shepherd Knit-Wear Company.  The Handlers were lovers of music.  Their summer home in Lenox, Massachusetts was near Tanglewood and they counted among their friends, according to The New York Times, many musicians.

Chase H. and Charlotte R. Davis were married in Paris in 1921.  Charlotte had two children from her former marriage to the late Edward Mailer Radway--John Symonds and Frances Radway.  The family had two other residences, one in Cincinnati and a summer home in East Hampton.  John enlisted in the United States Marine Corps in 1942, and served with the Fourth Division in the Pacific theater.  The family was still here in 1946 when John became engaged to Judith Ann Lawson of Cincinnati.

Another resident to fight in World War II was William D. Lamborn, the son of Ody H. and Louise Davant Lamborn.  After attending Phillips Academy and Yale University, he fought with the Naval Air Arm.  He was discharged in 1946 with the rank of ensign, having been awarded the Distinguished Flying Cross and the Air Medal with five clusters.

Ody H. Lamborn was the president of Lamborn & Co., sugar brokers.  He was described by The New York Times as "a longtime leader in the sugar industry."  Indeed, he had joined the family concern at the age of 15.  In 1943 he was a founder and the first executive director of the sugar Research Foundation.  The following year, he became president of the New York Coffee and Sugar Exchange and was made the first president of the National Association of Commodity Exchanges and Allied Trades.

In 1950, Alfred A. Scheffer designed the Lamborn's summer home in Beach Hampton--a Cape Cod style cottage with shingled and 18th century inspired windows.  Ody and Louse Lamborn were still living here when Ody died at the age of 74 on September 27, 1971.

The Lamborn's charming summer home in Beach Hampton.  image from Robert Hefner's "Alfred A. Scheffer's Beach Hampton Houses, 1941 to 1965."

By the late 1950s, Jacques Kaplan and his wife Claude Puiforcat lived here.  Born in Paris in 1924, Kaplan came from a family of furriers.  When the Nazis invaded France, the family fled to Antibes where Jacques joined the resistance.  The family relocated to New York City in 1942 and Jacque's father established a fur business on Fifth Avenue.  (Jacques immediately returned to Europe, fighting with the Fifth Armed Division in North Africa and earning the Croix de Guerre.)

Back in New York after the war, Jacques joined his father's firm, but brought his love of modern art to his fur fashions.  The New York Times later said, "Art and fur marched hand in hand...he experimented with novelties like shirred mink, from which he made raincoats.  Inspired by geometric art, he created a square mink coat."  But by the 1960s, he swore off the use of endangered species, like leopard and cheetah, earning praise from the World Wildlife Fund.

Jacques Kaplan, The David Gahr Archives

Jacques and Claude divorced in 1956, after which Jacques made his apartment a social and artistic center.  Francois Baschet writes in his The Sound Sculptures of Bernard and Francois Baschet, "Kaplan lived in a ground floor apartment at 4 East Seventieth Street that was as well-known as the Museum of Modern Art.  It was the gathering place of the movers and shakers of art and fashion of the 1960s."

Jacques Kaplan sold his fur business in 1969, and in the 1980s he and his second wife, Violaine Bachelier purchased a home in Kent, Connecticut, where Kaplan opened an art gallery.

Other than replacement windows, there are no substantial exterior changes to Sylvan Bien's 1938 design.

many thanks to reader Lowell Cochrane for suggesting this post

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