The Lost James Kearney House and Saloon - 81 Hudson Street

The ground floor was an outstanding example of a 19th century saloon front.  photograph by Edward Loomis Davenport Seymour from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York.

George Harrison owned a sprawling estate on the west side of Manhattan Island in the 18th century.  In 1797, two roads--Harrison Street and Hudson Street--appeared on city maps on his property.  In the first half of the 19th century, houses first began appearing in the area.  

One of the earliest was 1 Harrison Street at the southwest corner of Hudson Street.  A substantial, three-and-a-half story building, it was faced in brick and trimmed in stone.  A early example of Federal architecture, its windows on Hudson Street displayed layered keystones.  The peaked attic had three windows on the Harrison Street elevation--an arched window flanked by two quarter-round openings.  A double-wide dormer pierced the roof to the front.

The first occupant was "Mr. Whale," who listed himself as "Professor of Dancing."  Whale operated a dancing school in the City Hotel.  His four instructors included "Mr. Degville, ballet master at the Opera House in London," and "Mr. Nouvarre, principal dancer at the Grand Opera in Paris."  A November 1818 advertisement said that Mr. Whale's students would learn "new Dances and a variety of Cotillion Steps, as is now danced by the fashionable circles in London and Paris."  Each Tuesday, "practicing balls" were held, where young society people learned the proper steps and the accompanying, expected decorum.

On November 20, 1818, Mr. Whale announced he had "commenced at his residence No. 1 Harrison Street, corner of Hudson, for the reception of those young ladies and gentlemen who may consider his public school at the City Hotel too great a distance to attend."  The classes were segregated by gender--young ladies being instructed on Mondays and Friday from 3 to 5, and gentlemen the same days from 5 until 7.

Mr. Whale staged his "grand annual ball" at the City Hotel.  An announcement in The Evening Post on March 22, 1819 listed the locations where the $1 tickets could be obtained, including "Mr. Whale's residence No. 1 Harrison street, corner of Hudson street."

Mr. Whale was followed by Miss Squires in the house.  On October 26, 1822, an advertisement in The Evening Post read: "Miss Squires informs her friends, that she will re-open her Seminary on Monday the 28th of October, at No. 1 Harrison street, corner of Hudson street."

By 1830, the ground floor of the house had been converted to business.  The residential address remained 1 Harrison Street and the store became 81 Hudson Street.  Thomas L. Jackson operated his grocery store in the space that year.  John Adams ran the store from 1836 through 1841, followed by Bruce C. Smith.  Smith and his family lived above the grocery store.

Henry Meyer took over the grocery around 1850.  He and his family shared the upper floors with boarders.  Living with the Meyers in 1853 were Patrick Crenan, a carman; Michael Garaty, a coachman; civil engineer David C. Nodwell; and Simon Strahlheim, an importer.

In 1859, Patrick Kehoe converted the long-time grocery space to a saloon.  (He operated a second saloon at 322 Greenwich Street where he and his family lived.)  By then, the neighborhood was bustling and the following year, on September 3, 1860, the Board of Aldermen approved the resolution "to flag and set curb and gutter stones in front of No. 81 Hudson street, and No. 1 Harrison street."

Robert G. Stevenson and Walter Taylor moved their Taylor & Stevenson saloon into the space in 1861.  They were the first to list the commercial space at 81 Hudson Street.  Neither of the proprietors lived upstairs.  Stevenson lived at 13 Harrison Street and Taylor at 3 Harrison Street.

Stevenson also operated a produce business at 395 West Washington Market.  In 1864, Benjamin Emerson, who lived upstairs at 1 Harrison Street, was also in the produce business at 395 West Washington Market, possibly a partner.  That year the two men partnered in the saloon, changing its name to Stevenson & Emerson.

Most substantial saloons had rear rooms for meetings.  On August 3, 1864, The Sun reported that the Dry Goods Porters and Packers, an early version of a labor union, had met here.  The article said, "It was decided that it was necessary, in order to have justice done them, to organize into a permanent Protective Association."

In 1867, James Kearney took over the saloon and moved his family into the upper floors.  He and his wife, Elizabeth, would eventually have three children in the house: Cornelius P., born in 1869; , Mary A., born in 1870; and Katherine, who arrived in 1871.

Sadly, Cornelius died at the age of four on February 25, 1873.  His funeral was held in the house the following day.

The Kearneys were Roman Catholics and the girls attended St. Peter's Academy rather than a public school.  Mary graduated in 1887, when Katherine was a junior.

Elizabeth and the girls were at Spring Valley, New York that summer.  Families who could afford to spent the hot months in the country.  In many cases, the fathers of the families remained in the city to attend to business, and traveled back and forth on the weekends.  On the evening of July 27, 1887, James Kearney was met at the train station at Spring Valley by devastating news.

That afternoon, Mary and Katherine, who were now 17 and 16 years old respectively, "went with a party of girls of about their age to bathe at Distillery Lake," reported The Sun.  The article said,

They could not swim.  Mary slipped from a small raft into 15 feet of water, and her frightened sister plunged in to save her.  Both girls sank together.

The screams of the other girls attracted workmen in a nearby field, but their attempts were futile.  The Sun reported, "Their bodies were recovered two hours later, still locked together in their last embrace."  On July 29, the newspaper reported that the teens' bodies had been brought to the city and a mass at St. Peter's Church would be held that morning after the funeral at 1 Harrison Street.

In the 1880s, the Temperance Movement began lobbying for public drinking fountains.  Proponents believed that by making healthful, clean water available to the working classes, the temptations of alcohol could be thwarted.  It was most likely that pressure that resulted in the Commissioners of Public Works to install a "free drinking-hydrant" at 81 Hudson Street in 1891.

By 1894, Henry Steinhardt, who also ran a saloon at 315 Bowery, had taken over Kearney's operation.  In February that year, he made $2,500 in alterations to the building.  The cost would translate to about $94,000 in 2025.  The renovations involved the installation of a superb saloon front with four double-doored entrances with stained and wheel-cut glass.  They projected away from the facade under curved metal hoods.

The neighborhood continued to change, and at the turn of the century the Hudson-Harrison Street corner sat amid the "egg and butter" district.  On March 19, 1908, an auction was held "of bar and back bar, and all other goods then on said premises," at 81 Hudson Street.  After having housed a saloon for nearly 80 years, the ground floor became home to the Wisconsin Condensed Milk Co.

When this photograph was taken in 1919, demolition of the venerable building had been begun.  from the collection of the New York Public Library

An advertisement appeared in The Evening World on June 17, 1918 that read simply, "81 Hudson Street, Corner Harrison St.  We offer this desirable corner for sale."  It was purchased by Henry Mason Day, Jr.  On March 1, 1919, the Record & Guide reported that he would replace it with "a new 3-story building" for his export and import food supply business.  Designed by Schwartz & Gross, the terra cotta-clad Henry M. Day Building was completed within the year.  

photograph by the author

Julius Kaster's 1886 46 East 7th Street

 

photo by Anthony Bellov

Unlike some architects, Julius Kastner did not necessarily specialize.  Instead, his works ranged from warehouses to upscale apartment buildings, and from commercial structures to tenements.  In 1886, developer Jacob H. Miller demolished the vintage house at 46 East 7th Street and commissioned Kastner to design a replacement tenement building on the site.  

The former structure was one of the elegant private homes erected in the early part of the century.  By the Civil War, however, the neighborhood had changed as thousands of immigrants flooded the district.  Tenement buildings like this one would relieve the resultant housing problem.  Five stories tall, it was faced with red brick and trimmed in sandstone and terra cotta.  Kastner created a potpourri of currently popular styles.  Renaissance Revival appeared in the ornate terra cotta plaques and bandcourses; while the neo-Grec style was reflected in the stone lintels, connected to one another by stone bands.  The two-step stoop was flanked by beefy cast iron newels and railings, while handsome Aesthetic style fencing protected the areaways.

Called a "double-flat," 46 East 7th Street had two apartments per floor.  Among the early tenants were a German-born woman, who was struggling to make an income.  She placed an advertisement in The Sun in September 16, 1892 that read, "A young lady as cashier in a cafe saloon, Walter, 46 East 7th st., ground floor, left," and seven days later advertised, "A young German lady gives piano lessons at home."  She tried another tack in October, when a new ad read: "A young German widow wants place as housekeeper. 46 East 7th st. ground floor left.  Walter."

Four years later, another female tenant was creatively looking for work.  She placed two advertisements in the New York Herald on Christmas Eve 1896.  The first read, "Respectable young lady as housekeeper. Mrs. Schach, 46 East 7th st., ground floor," and the second read, "Lady manicure wishes more customers, home or out.  Mrs. Schach 46 East 7th, ground floor."

The Cook family lived here in 1909.  On July 5 that year, 18-year-old Florence Cook went to Pelham Bay Park in the Bronx with two other teen girls.  The Sun reported that they were "crossing [Eastern Boulevard] on their way home...when they heard an automobile horn close upon them.  The other two jumped aside, but Miss Cook was thrown several feet."  The driver sped off but Florence's astute friends were able to remember the license plate number.

Florence was taken to Fordham Hospital with a fractured skull.  She died there two days later without having regained consciousness.  On July 10, The New York Times reported that the hit-and-run driver, "a merchant, now living in Troy," had been tracked down.

Isaac Swimer, his wife and their 12-year-old daughter, lived here as early as 1913.  A marine engineer, Swimer had served in the Spanish-American War.  On April 23, 1913, he was robbed by three holdup men at Sixth Avenue and 14th Street.  They took a ring valued at $150 (nearly $5,000 in 2025).  The three men were arrested, but the Grand Jury refused to indict them "upon their plea that the ring had been taken as a gambling debt in a crap game," reported The New York Times.

Swimer regained his ring, but he was soon back in court over the incident.  The New York Times said, "Later he was fined $10 for beating one of the witnesses who had testified against him."  Because of the holdup, Swimer began carrying a revolver for his protection.

Things were looking well for the family and Swimer opened his own machine shop at 501 East Houston Street early in 1914.  On March 19, he went to Fensterheim's Turkish Baths on Third Street.  He was wearing the ring that was involved in the earlier robbery and another one valued at $60 (about $1,960 today).  He fell asleep in the "cot room" and awakened to discover his rings had been taken from his fingers.  The New York Times reported, "Swimer glared angrily at the two men who had been sleeping at either side of him and asserted that he would have back his rings."

Swimer sent another patron, Arthur Cohen, to report the theft as "he kept his eyes on his nearest neighbors, Sam Connors, alias 'Whitey,' alias 'Spunky'...and Louis Baumgarten."  The newspaper said that both men "had unsavory reputations in the neighborhood."  Cohen returned with a detective but when Swimer could not produce proof of their guilt, the policeman could not pursue the charge and left.

With the officer gone, according to other patrons, Connors "announced that Swimer would never have another chance to 'squeal.'"  The detective had just reached the ground floor when he heard shots coming from above and "a dozen men, most of them clad only in bath towels and sheets, piled pell-mell downstairs."  He returned upstairs to find Swimer "flourishing a revolver."  Swimer said to the officer, "I couldn't help it.  I had to do it."

Swimer had shot Connors through the left temple and Baumgarten just above the heart.  Both were unconscious.  Connors died a few hours later and the following day Baumgarten had little hopes of survival.  Despite the statements by witnesses, Swimer was held in The Tombs charged with homicide.

On August 16, 1924, Herman Tubb, who lived at 247-09 Jamaica Avenue in Queens, walked out of his house to discover that his $500 Chevrolet sedan was gone.  Police found it at Jamaica Avenue and 178th Street being driven by Charles Hammasher, who lived at 46 East 7th Street.  He was charged with grand larceny.

The original stoop ironwork survived in 1941.  image via the NYC Dept of Records & Information Services.

The Lower East Side was the epicenter of Socialist and Communist activities in the first half of the 20th century.  Residents Mike Holvowitz, Ann Segen, and Sophie Semchyn voted for the Communist Party in the 1936 general election (and their names were quickly documented by the Congressional Special Committee on Un-American Activities).

By the Depression years, the first floor apartments were converted to business.  In the 1970s, the film company Parnasses Productions and Contract Aftercare, an abuse treatment center, were located in the building.

Among the residents by the early 1980s was sculptor Michi Raphael.  Born in 1925, she studied with Bruno Luccesi and Manuel Pasquel.  In reporting on her exhibition at the Lowe-Levinson Art Gallery in Miami Beach, The Miami News noted on December 17, 1980, "The artist sculpts most of her works in bronze and stainless steel."

Michi Raphael's La Valse.  image via mutualart.com

At some point in the second half of the 20th century, the brawny stoop ironwork was replaced with modern, much less charismatic railings.  Otherwise, Julius Kastner's 1886 design is essentially intact.

photograph by Anthony Bellov

many thanks to historian Anthony Bellov for suggesting this post

James Renwick Jr.'s 1859 23 Stuyvesant Street

On August 1, 1858, Hamilton Fish conveyed a portion of the triangular-shaped property he inherited from his mother, Elizabeth Stuyvesant Fish, to Matthias Banta for $35,000 ($1.38 million by 2025 terms).  It abutted the eastern side of his own home, 21 Stuyvesant Street, and wrapped the acute point of the parcel and back westerly along East 10th Street.  Matthias had the property surveyed to create seven building plots.

Architectural historians generally agree that James Renwick, Jr. was responsible for the resultant rowhouses.  The Anglo-Italianate, five-story-and-basement houses ranged from 16- to 32-feet-wide (because of the irregular, triangular parcel), their depths ranging from 16- to 48-feet.  Despite the varied sizes, Renwick so skillfully designed the homes as a unit that it is difficult at a glance to distinguish each residence.

Among the narrowest was 23 Stuyvesant Street.  Like its architectural siblings, its rusticated brownstone basement and first floors sat below four stories of red brick trimmed in brownstone.  The tall, fully-arched windows of the second floor held hands by means of a stone bandcourse.  Each of the architrave frames of the upper openings were treated slightly differently--those of the top floor resembling Victorian picture frames.

The houses were completed over a three-year period--23 Stuyvesant Street being one of the first.  Banta and his wife, Eliza, rented it.  Their first tenants placed an advertisement in the New York Herald on September 5, 1859:

A small private family would like to rent two rooms to gentlemen, or a gentleman and wife, with or without board.  House contains all improvements.  Apply at No. 23 Stuyvesant street, first new house east of Third avenue, and between Ninth and Tenth streets.

The ad was almost assuredly placed by Emily Eytinge.  The widow of Samuel D. Eytinge, she was living here in 1861 when she placed a verbatim advertisement in the same newspaper.

The Bantas' tenants, like Emily Eytinge, rarely remained more than one or two years.  The house was often shared with two families.  In 1863, for instance, the Gerard Banker and George I. Prime families were listed here.  Prime was a stockbroker.

In 1870, attorney Lester Newell moved in.  Possibly a bachelor, he rented "furnished rooms."  Although some families provided their renters with breakfast, Newell apparently offered no meals.  He most likely relied heavily on word-of-mouth as advertising, since two of his three renters in 1872 were also lawyers.  The other was Julias Knoedler, "pictures."  He was no doubt associated with M. Knoedler & Co., which dealt in Old Masters.  Lester Newell rented the house through 1880.

Leo Gartner lived here in 1889.  The 25-year-old worked as a bookkeeper at Morris, Marks & Wolf, tailors.  That year, he traveled to Washington D.C. to attend the inauguration of Benjamin Harrison on March 4.  He returned to 23 Stuyvesant Street the following night and was met by Detectives Reap and Connor, who arrested him.  In his absence, Morris, Marks & Wolf charged him with "the larceny of $125."  The Evening World explained, "The firm said that Gartner collected the money and appropriated it to pay his expenses of a trip to Washington."

By the first years of the 20th century, Annie Wilson operated 23 Stuyvesant Street as a "furnished room house."  Among her tenants were Leopold Hibbe, a physician, and his real estate agent brother, Henry C. Hibbe.  The brothers found themselves in serious trouble in the fall of 1902.

On September 8, Agnes Lynch, a chorus girl known on the stage as "Laughing Fay" Ransom, "died in the arms of a Roman Catholic priest," as reported by The Evening Post, "after making a confession."  That confession was that she had had an abortion.  Three days later The Evening World reported that Dr. Leopold Hibbe had been arrested.  "Dr. Hibbe denies absolutely any malpractice," said the article.

The next day, The Daily Globe reported, "police are looking for his brother, Dr. Henry C. Hibbe."  The article said the dying girl implicated "the Drs. Hibbes."  (If Agnes thought Henry C. Hibbes was a physician, or if he posed as one, it was not true.) 

The brothers were tried separately.  On April 29, 1903, The New York Times reported that Dr. Leopold Hibbe had been acquitted.  Hibbe's attorney said only, "that he could not be convicted, as the principal in the case already had been found guilty."  That person, of course, was Henry C. Hibbe.  He was convicted of manslaughter in the first degree and received a ten-year sentence a week later.  Henry's attorney had attempted to get a new trial, saying that the evidence in the two brothers' trials was exactly the same and, therefore, the verdict "could not have been in accordance with the testimony."

The judge dismissed the motion, saying, "The only comment I wish to make on your argument is that the verdict in your client's case was a just verdict, and the other a miscarriage of justice."

At the time of the Hibbes' legal problems, the neighborhood in general was being scrutinized by authorities.  In the spring of 1902, an "anonymous communication" was received at police headquarters.  It complained that disorderly houses (i.e., brothels) were operating in six East 9th Street houses and in three on Stuyvesant Street, including No. 23.  The complaint alleged that the houses were "destroying the morals of school children of the neighborhood."  Police were deployed to investigate each of the residences.

A report by First Deputy Commissioner of Police Nathaniel B. Thurston on March 13 detailed the results.  It said in part:

No. 23 Stuyvesant Street is a five-story and basement brick building...This house is run as a furnished house for men only, by Mrs. Annie Wilson and so far as could be ascertained, is thoroughly respectable.

While the house passed inspection, the renters (like the Hibbes) were not always on the right side of the law.  An example was Charles Clayton, who lived here in 1909.  On October 18 that year, he and Harry Isaac Taber "of nowhere in particular" were arrested.  The Brooklyn Daily Eagle noted, "Clayton's picture is in the Rogue's Gallery in Manhattan as a short change artist."  The two raised the suspicions of two detectives because of their "scattering loaves of bread about with amazing prodigality."

The detectives watched as they "would go into a small shop and stay a while; then emerge with a loaf tucked under the arm of one or the other, or a 'duchess cake,' the 15 cent goody which is to be found in almost any bakery."  The policemen then went into the stores and discovered that Clayton and Taber would make the small purchases, then "dispute about the correctness of the change."  The pair was arrested as "flim-flamming."  In each case they had profited from $1 to $2.

John McClaren operated the rooming house in 1910.  He was involved in a feud with Ernest G. Hamilton who ran a livery stable uptown at 2530 Amsterdam Avenue.  McClaren had housed a horse or a vehicle there until 1909 when Hamilton "put him out."  According to McClaren, Hamilton owed him $10 for prepaid fees.  When he was unable to get his money back, he went to the police headquarters.  The New York Times reported, "a detective investigated his story, but the matter was dropped."  McClaren then filed a complaint against the detective, but that, too, was dismissed.

On October 22, 1910, McClaren took the matter into his own hands.  He appeared at Hamilton's stable and finding the owner outside, said, "I want you to fix up that matter.  If you don't I will fix you."

Hamilton ordered him to leave.  Instead, McClaren pulled out a revolver and fired.  The stable owner rushed into the building, shutting the door behind him.  He waited a few minutes and, hearing nothing more, stepped out to find a policeman.  McClaren was still there and "fired more shots at him and then ran," said The New York Times.

A crowd pursued McClaren until he turned on them and fired.  One man, Max Keppel, fell to the sidewalk.  McClaren shot again and the crowed "sought shelter."  But while he was distracted by the crowd, another pedestrian sneaked up from behind.  Hamilton, who was among the throng, "grabbed the revolver and the crowd set upon McClaren."  The New York Times said that Policeman Siegnener "arrived just in time to rescue him."  

Both Keppell and McClaren were hospitalized.  Keppell was shot in the side and was "in a very serious condition," said The Times, and McClaren was "suffering from the effects of a beating he received at the hands of the crowd."

In 1910, Eliza A. Banta, widow of Matthias, died.  In December, her estate sold the building he had erected half a century earlier.  It was purchased by Elois J. Mosser who resold it a month later to Antonie and Ludwig Lievendag, who lived next door at 25 Stuyvesant Street.

In 1913, released convict Michael Murphy took a room here.  He had been held in Dannemora Prison.  Before his incarceration he had committed the unthinkable among crooks--he informed on another man who, as a result, was sent to Sing Sing.  Now free, Murphy tried to smooth things over in the underworld.

On January 20, 1914, he was in a Bowery saloon "known for many years as 'The Tub of Blood,'" according to the New-York Tribune.  The 38-year-old "was trying to make his peace and shake hands with a man who had quarreled with him for informing on a pal," said the article.  The man, according to the 19-year-old bartender Joseph Mera, was known only as "Gyp the Blood the Second."  Instead of shaking Murphy's hand, Gyp the Blood II shot him dead.  The New-York Tribune said Murphy had "paid the crook's price for informing."

The renters in 23 Stuyvesant Street continued to be blue collar throughout the subsequent decades.  In 1935 through 1939, for instance, Henry Hegemeier lived here.  He worked as a bartender.

image via the NYC Dept of Records & Information Services.

Then, on July 7, 1960, The Villager reported, "The five-story rooming house at 23 Stuyvesant St. has been sold to Mr. and Mrs. R. S. Flusser...Mr. and Mrs. Flusser will occupy a triplex apartment after 'extensive alterations' to the building."

Richard S. Flusser and his wife, Beth, converted the house into two triplex apartments.  The renovations were completed in 1961.  Their apartment became headquarters to Flusser's After Dinner Opera Company.  

A director and music teacher, Flusser founded the After Dinner Opera Company in 1949.  Earlier that summer, while studying at Queens College, he went to Tanglewood where, according to The New York Times, "Leonard Bernstein and Aaron Copland encouraged him to start a company devoted to contemporary American opera."  He founded the company that fall.  Its name came from its first performances, which were held in private homes.

In 1969, Flusser became a professor of music at Queensborough Community College.  He also taught opera workshops at the New School.  He and Beth had a daughter, Jennifer-Jo and a son, Matthew.

On January 3, 1975, The Villager reported that the company "will perform a kaleidoscope of early American opera" on January 6 at Fraunces Tavern.  The article mentioned, "The production has been staged by Richard Flusser, who lives at 23 Stuyvesant St, home base for the opera company."

The company was by now a "mainstay in the margins of the opera world," as worded by The New York Times.  On September 22, 1984, The Amsterdam News reported on the opening program of the After Dinner Opera Company's "Meet The Composers Series."  The article said the series "is dedicated to bringing new operas and their composers to New York City audiences in free performances."

Richard Flusser died here at the age of 75 on July 1, 2002, and Beth Flusser died on November 20, 2021 at the age of 87.

Today there are still two apartments in the building.

photographs by the author

The 1825 Drake Crane House - 85 Sullivan Street

 

In 1819 a wooden building was erected at 23-25 Sullivan Street by carpenter David Mulford, who purchased the lot in 1807.  It was one of the first structures built in the district.  Within five years, the neighborhood was considerably developed.  On December 15, 1825, The Evening Post reported on a conflagration, the story of which anticipated the legend of Mrs. O'Leary's cow in Chicago nearly half a century later.  "It commenced in a stable where a carman had gone with a candle to feed his horse," said the article.  The newspaper estimated that 35 buildings were destroyed, including 23-25 Sullivan Street.

Mulford sold half the plot to another carpenter, Drake Crane.  The two men erected near mirror-image, brick-faced houses on the property, each having a smaller structure in the rear yard.  Two-and-a-half stories tall above shallow brownstone basements, Mulford's house was slightly wider, because it included the horse walk--a shared passage to the back lots.  Because of its necessarily narrower width, Drake Crane's entrance lacked the elegant columns seen in the doorway of its next door neighbor.

Born in 1781, Drake Crane married Elizabeth Woodruff in 1808.  The couple had two sons, David and John, and a daughter, Jane L.  As was common, the Cranes took in boarders.  In 1827, for instance, John Combs and John Demarest, two smiths, lived in the rear house.  Living with the Cranes in the main house were Joseph Conklin and Hezekiah Thorp, a carpenter and blind-maker respectively.

Following her husband's death in 1833, Elizabeth Crane continued to accept boarders.  Living in the main house with her and Jane in 1836 were Clark Hall and Joseph Jenkins, both painters, while William McDougall, who listed his profession as "glassmender," occupied the rear house.

As it turns out, McDougall not only mended glassware.  At the Fair of the American Institute in 1836, he was awarded a "diploma" for "a specimen of repairing china or earthenware."

Elias F. Crane, Elizabeth's brother-in-law, lived here in the early 1840s.  He ran a drygoods store at 243 Greenwich Street and was flabbergasted in 1842 when he received his "bill of taxes" on his Greenwich Street property.  He complained to the Committee on Assessments that he had "been assessed on personal property to the amount of two thousands dollars, which he alleges is one thousands dollars more than he posses[ses]."  The Committee admitted the error, which had overtaxed Elias F. Crane by the equivalent of $38,600 in 2025 conversion.  Elias Crane made a bold move in 1846, relocating to the Midwest and opening a general store in Mount Sterling, Illinois.

Elizabeth Marshall, known to friends as Eliza, was the widow of William Marshall.  She moved into 85 Sullivan Street in 1851.  Elizabeth Crane died on January 11, 1858 at the age of 74.  Whether the two Elizabeths were related is unclear, but Eliza Marshall would remain here for more than a decade longer.

Jane L. Crane, still unmarried, continued to take in boarders.  In 1860 Anne Morris, a widow, and Humphrey Richards, a tailor, occupied the rear house and Maximillian Zinner, who ran a shoe store, lived in the main house.  Zinner would board here at least through 1865.

The parlor was the scene of the funeral of Eliza's daughter, Jane H. Stevens, who died on August 16, 1863.  She was the wife of James A. Stevens.  The New York Times announced, "Her friends, and those of the family, are invited to attend the funeral, on Tuesday afternoon, at 3 o'clock, from the residence of her mother, Mrs. Eliza Marshall, No. 85 Sullivan-st."

Jane L. Crane's sister-in-law, Eliza Crane, who was the widow of John Crane, was living here by 1867.  Eliza Marshall remained with the women through around 1873 when the house was sold to Edward Elliott.

In February 1874, Elliott hired architect A. C. Crouter to raise the attic to a full third floor.  The renovations cost him the equivalent of $69,000 today.  Crouter was a partner with R. Watts in the construction company that executed the project.  The sympathetic addition is seen in the slight change in brick color and from Flemish bond to running bond.  The builders added a modest bracketed cornice.  (Edward Elliot would own 83 Sullivan Street by 1880, when he raised the attic of that house to a third floor.)

image via the NYC Dept of Records & Information Services.

Elliott leased the house to John J. Foster, a clerk.  The Fosters, as its predecessors had done, took in boarders.  Listed with the family in 1879, for instance, were clerks William Brown and William Cadwell; Carl Christian, a postal carrier; and carpenter John Demarest.

On July 4 that year, 18-year-old William Brown took his handgun into the back yard and set up a target for practice.  Living at 83 Sullivan street next door was Michael Tafore, who happened to be in his backyard, too.  The New York Times reported, "One of the bullets missed its intended mark and lodged in the right arm of Michael Tarfore."  Brown was arrested and the two faced off in court on July 22.  The defendant and the plaintiff offered two very different versions of the story.

Brown admitted that he accidentally wounded his neighbor and insisted he "was positive that it was a gun."  He stressed the point because Tafore testified he had been hit buy "a cannon on two wheels."  The New York Times concluded, "The court decided that Brown was guilty of carelessly using fire-arms, and sentenced him to pay a fine of $25."  (Brown's negligence cost him the equivalent of $788 today.)

John Mangfred lived here the following year on April 11 when he was mugged.  He was walking along Mulberry Street at around 2:30 in the morning when he encountered four men on a corner.  One of them asked the time.  When Mangfred took out his watch, "the four men suddenly rushed upon him, and lifting him off the sidewalk by his head and feet, carried him into an alleyway at No. 51 Mulberry street," reported The New York Times.  The thugs rifled Mangfred's clothing, and ran off with his watch, money, and other valuables.  Mangfred's cries were heard by the beat cop, Officer Dugan, who quickly captured three of the muggers.  It appears that Mangfred's possessions were retrieved.

Among those living here in 1891 was the William Banbrick family.  Unthinkable today, on the night of April 30, William sent his four-year-old son, John, with a quarter to a butcher shop to buy a steak.  The Sun reported, "He returned without the steak and said a black man had boxed his ears and taken the money from him."  An 11-year-old boy, Millet Desconi, backed up the boy's story, and "said he had seen the robber go into a saloon on the corner of Broome street."  

Determined to have justice, Banbrick found Policeman Cohen and stormed into the saloon.  He accused Charles Wilson of stealing the quarter.  (He was a likely-looking crook.  The Sun described him as "about six feet tall, weighs over 200 pounds, and has only one eye.")  Things quickly deteriorated.  "A friend of Wilson, Nathan Salter, interfered and pulled a knife," said the article.  Cohen disarmed Salter and arrested both men.

The burly Wilson turned the tables on his four-year-old accuser in the Jefferson Market Courthouse the following day.  He testified that he was president of the Republican Club in the Eighth Ward and had had the same job for seven years.  Then, reported The Times, "As proof of the absurdity of the charge he pulled out a large roll of notes and asked if it was likely that he would rob a 4-year-old boy of twenty-five cents."  

Little John Banbrick clearly appeared to have stolen his father's quarter.  And yet, in what appears to have been a case of the prevailing racism of the time, the judge was reticent to clear Charles Wilson.  "Justice McMahon said he was not thoroughly convinced of Wilson's innocence, but would give the accused the benefit of the doubt."

Louis Fugazy and his wife were occupants here in 1903--or at least they lived together for part of that time.  Fugazy faced a judge on January 26, 1904, "asking to be freed from Rosie Barberie Fugazy," reported The Evening World.  He told the court that she "had left him and was known as Mrs. Borey in Waverly place and at Navesink Highlands where 'Mr. and Mrs. Borey' spend last summer."

In 1963, the house was converted to apartments, one per floor.  That configuration survives.  While none of the original interior details appear to have survived the house's 200 year old history, the exterior of 85 Sullivan Street is little changed since Edward Elliott raised its height in 1874.

photographs by the author

The Joseph Peabody House - 125 East 26th Street

 

Merchant Joseph Peabody and his family moved into the newly completed house at 77 East 26th Street in 1859.  (The address would be changed to 125 in 1865.)  One of a row of identical brownstone-faced homes, each was just 14-feet-wide and rose three stories above a high English basement.  Their Italianate design included understated molded entrance frames and handsome cast metal cornices.  Early photographs reveal fashionable Italianate-style iron balconies at the parlor level.

In the rear yard was a small house which the Peabodys rented to the William D. Robinson family.  Robinson was a clerk in the Custom House and his son, Edmund R., was an attorney.  The Robinsons' pet strayed off shortly after moving in.  An advertisement in the New York Daily Herald on November 12, 1859 read, "$5 Reward--Lost, a small white Scotch Terrier.  Whoever will return him to No. 77 East Twenty-sixth street, or to the cashier's office Custom House, will receive the above reward."  (The reward would equal $195 in 2025.)

Although the Peabodys' home was not grand, they sometimes moved within fashionable circles.  When the 19-year-old Prince of Wales visited New York City in 1860, a "Grand Ball" was held in the Academy of Music.  Among those invited were Joseph Peabody and his wife.

It appears that William D. Robinson purchased the property in 1866.  Edmund now occupied the main house and William the rear.  When Edmund moved to 258 Fourth Avenue in 1868, William and his wife moved into the primary house.  That same year Charles E. Strong, an attorney, listed his address here, occupying the rear building.  

The Robinsons, like their neighbors, maintained a small domestic staff.  On September 17, 1878, they advertised, "Wanted--An excellent cook; Must do the washing for a small private family.  125 East 26th st."  That their cook did double-duty as a laundress reflected the Robinsons' social and financial status.  Cooks in the mansions closer to Fifth Avenue were often the most highly paid among the staff and asking them to do anything other than prepare meals would be insulting.

William D. Robinson died in 1880.  Shortly afterward, the Collector of the Port of New York, Chester A. Arthur (later President of the United States), discovered $5,000 in gold coin missing from the office of the cashier of the Custom House.  In March 3, the Congressional Record noted that the missing funds were "without the default or negligence of the collector or of the late William D. Robinson, cashier."

Following the Robinson family, the house was occupied by Marco Leon Stevens y Voisin, "or plain Stevens Voisin," as described by The New York Times.  An exporter, importer and commission merchant, Voison arrived in New York in 1877.  The newspaper said, "Mr. Voisin was chiefly engaged in the export trade with Mexico," and noted:

Mr. Voisin's residence at No. 125 East Twenty-sixth-street is a stone-front, three-story dwelling.  As a bachelor he would have no need for so extensive an establishment were it not that it was his habit when the Mexican trade was booming to entertain his customers there, frequently having half a dozen of them at his house at a time.

The 45-year-old began experiencing business difficulties in 1885.  The New York Times explained that because of the "high rate of exchange, his Mexican customers [were] displaying not only no inclination to purchase American goods, but a very decided repugnance to paying the $25,000 or $30,000 which they owed him on old accounts."  The past due amounts that his Mexican customers owed him would top $1 million today.

Voisin's diminished cash flow crippled his ability to pay his creditors.  Then, in the fall of 1886 he gave Brown, Wood & Co. two checks amounting to $5,634.57.  When the firm deposited them on October 6, they bounced.  The bank notified Detective C. B. McDougal and the next day he visited Voisin's office at 45 Leonard Street.  He was told that Voisin had left for lunch.  McDougal waited, but Voisin did not return.  A week later, on October 12, The New York Times reported, "although a watch has been kept since then on his warehouse and his residence at No. 125 East Twenty-sixth-street, he has not been seen."

Detectives entered the house only to find that the former "richly furnished" rooms had been stripped bare.  Also missing was "a French actress" who had been living with Voisin.  The New York Times reported, "several of his creditors still have faith that he is only suffering from 'panic' and will turn up and straighten out his affairs in a day or two."  That did not happen.

(Interestingly, lawyer Charles E. Strong was still occupying the rear house at the time.)

Anna P. O'Connor lived here in 1890 when she was shopping in the White, Stokes & Allen store at 185 Fifth Avenue on October 16.  She suddenly felt a hand in her pocket and turned to see a "shabbily dressed man at her side," as reported by The Sun.  Bernard St. John Gisbey was arrested as a pickpocket and he, Anna O'Connor, and the salesman who had been waiting on her appeared in court on October 29.

The Sun described Gisbey as being "of slight figure, with an intelligent face.  His curling hair and moustache are brown."  Under questioning, the 35-year-old explained he was English and had had a good education.  He was ordained as a minister of the Congregational Church, but after a few years, "I resigned my charged because my religious views had undergone a change."

Gisbey thought that he could start anew in the United States, "believing that a man of my education could readily find employment."  That proved illusive and after a while, Gisbey was moneyless and homeless.  He tearfully told the court, "I did steal this purse, and I am overcome with sorry and shame.  I was driven to theft by actual hunger...I was not always as I am."  Gisbey was convicted and The Sun said he, "may be sentenced to State prison for five years."

As late as 1941, the original two-over-two windows survived.  image via the NYC Dept of Records & Information Services.

The house was sold in July 1893 and it became home to Augustus Porter Barnard.  An engineer, he graduated from the School of Mines of Columbia University in 1868.  He remained here until the turn of the century, at which time the neighborhood was seeing an incursion of commerce.

That change first came to 125 East 26th Street in the spring of 1905.  On March 19, an announcement appeared in the New York Herald:

Mrs. Hudson, formerly 1 West 100th st., is now located at 125 East 26th st., and is prepared to give her personal attention and thorough instruction in manicuring, hairdressing.  Marcel wave, facial, scalp, neck and general massage; anatomy taught; diplomas; addresses furnished of my graduates, who average $35 weekly; their success proves their ability; start now, start right and YOU will be successful.  Mrs. Hudson, 125 East 26th.

The post-World War I years saw several offices within the house.  In 1921, the architectural offices of Maynicke & Frank were here, and the following year the headquarters of the engineering firm Dwight P. Robinson & Co., occupied space.

Through it all, little changed to the exterior of 125 East 26th Street, other than the removal of the balcony.  In 1941, it was returned to residential use.  A renovation resulted in two duplexes--in the basement and parlor floors, and another in the top two.  That configuration survives.

photographs by the author

The 1893 Frank and Emma Wise House - 236 West 101st Street

 

Born in Sussex, England in 1852, Frank Eugene Wise entered his father's construction firm, the Nathaniel Wise Company as a young man.  On July 15, 1880, he married Emma Palmatier and the couple had two children, Florence Isabel and Frank Lounsbury.

Following his father's death, Wise took the reins of the firm, renaming it the Wise Construction Company.  Decades later, The New York Times would remark, "He built extensively on the West Side as a speculative builder in the Nineties."  Among those speculative projects was a row of upscale rowhouses along West 101st Street between Broadway and West End Avenue in 1892.

Completed the following year, the homes were designed by Gilbert A. Schellenger.  Each a variation of the other, they were three stories tall above a high English basement.  Only 236 West 101st Street had fully arched openings at the parlor level.  Like its architectural siblings, its second and third floors were bowed.  Panels below the parlor and third floor windows were filled with Renaissance inspired foliate carvings.

Frank Wise retained 236 West 101st Street for his family.  Also moving into the house was Emma's widowed mother, Julia A. Palmatier.  She died here on April 13, 1900 and her funeral was held in the drawing room two days later.

Florence's engagement to Lewis Burton Hall, Jr. was announced late in 1903.  On January 9, 1904, Emma held a luncheon in her honor.  The New York Herald commented, "Covers were laid for fourteen."  The wedding took place in the 101st Street house on January 17.  The Brooklyn Standard Union mentioned, "There were nearly 400 guests at the reception after the ceremony."

Emma became involved in the Girls' Social and Industrial Club of St. Michael's Parish upon its formation in 1901.  On March 11, 1905, the New-York Tribune reported that it had "not been a formal organization," but now had adopted a constitution and elected members.  "The reorganization took place at the home of Mrs. Frank Eugene Wise, No. 236 West 101st-st.," said the article, which noted, "It also changed its name to the Neighborhood Social and Industrial Club."

Emma became its president and would hold the title for decades.  Club Women of New York explained, "The object of the club is to provide a safe place of amusement for girls between the ages of 12 and 20 who live in the crowded tenement houses.  The majority of the 225 members are girls employed in shops or as maids in families."  In addition to holding classes in sewing, cooking, embroidery, calisthenics and dancing, the group hosted a monthly social for the girls.

Frank Lounsbury Wise joined his father's firm upon his graduation from Cornell University's College of Engineering.  The firm was renamed Frank E. Wise & Son.  It appears that the son and father were too busy erecting buildings to take extended vacations.  For years, the society columns reported only on Emma's summer movements.  On October 6, 1907, for instance, The New York Times reported, "Mrs. Frank E. Wise...has come home from Palenville, Green County, N.Y.," and on May 28, 1911, the newspaper announced, "Mrs. Frank E. Wise, 236 West 101st Street, has returned from the Catskills."

By the time of that article, Frank E. Wise was a former president of the General Society of Mechanics and Tradesmen and a trustee of the Harlem Savings Bank.  He was president of the Mechanic's Institute School.  It provided, "evening classes to furnish free instruction to young men in freehand drawing, elementary and advances; in mechanical and architectural drawing and mathematics; also classes in physics and industrial electricity," according to the New York Charities Directory in 1919.

World War I took Frank L. Wise away from his father's firm.  He was still on active duty in the 570th Field Artillery on April 29, 1922 when he was promoted to 1st Lieutenant.

Frank Eugene Wise retired in 1928.  Forty-three years after he erected his home, he died in 236 West 101st Street at the age of 84 on August 14, 1936.  In reporting his death, The New York Times mentioned that he "had been active in the building materials and building industry for fifty years."  His entire estate, equal to $3 million in 2025, went to Emma.

Emma and Frank L. Wise remained here.  Emma acquired a 21-acre country home in Croton Falls, New York by the late 1930s and was active in the social activities there.  On October 14, 1941, for instance, the Daily Argus reported on plans for "an evening bridge" on October 25.  The article said, "Reservations must be made before Nov. 14 with Mrs. Frank Wise, 236 West 101st Street, New York City."

Emma Wise apparently insisted that the window shades were kept at a regimentally-even level when this photograph was taken in 1941.  image via the NYC Dept of Records & Information Services.

Emma Wise died on June 21, 1943 at the age of 85.  Her $186,849 estate (equal to about $3.4 million today) was divided equally between Frank and Florence.  

Frank, who was 58 years old at the time of his mother's death, was still unmarried.  That would soon change.  On December 4, 1943, the Burlington Daily News reported that Cecelia Marguerite Bliss was engaged to Frank L. Wise.  The article noted that he had been "for many years a partner in the Wise Construction Company," adding, "He is a dog fancier and owns the Amawalk kennels."

It may have been Wise's passion for breeding beagles that prompted him and Cecelia to purchase a home in Carmel, New York.  His Amawalk Si, according to The Reporter Dispatch in 1950, was the "only dual championship beagle hound at stud in the country."  

Frank Lounsbury Wise contracted an illness in the late 1940s and died at the Carmel property on March 3, 1950 at the age of 64.

Unlike almost all the houses along the row erected by his father, 236 West 101st Street was never converted to apartments.  When the five-bedroom house was sold in 2015, much of Gilbert A. Schellenger's 1893 interior details were intact.

photographs by the author

The Lost Joseph and Edward Conway Houses - 220 and 222 East 45th Street

from the collection of the New York Public Library 

Actor, playwright and dramatist Henry J. Conway opened his version of Harriet Beecher Stowe's Uncle Tom's Cabin, or Life Among the Lowly in Boston in November 1852.  Exactly one year later, in November 1853, P. T. Barnum brought Conway's play to his American Museum on Broadway.

Shortly afterward, Conway moved his family to 150 East 45th Street (renumbered 222 in 1867)--one of two identical frame houses erected in 1854.  Two bays wide and three stories tall, their builder forewent the stoop seen in early Italianate style houses going up in the lower parts of Manhattan.  The earred frames of the entrances were carry-overs from the earlier Greek Revival style, but the molded window cornices and bracketed wooden terminal cornices were pure Italianate.

Conway and his wife Hetty J., had two sons, Joseph and Edward.  Hetty Conway was also an actor and appeared on the stage as Mrs. Conway.  Among the first plays Conway wrote while living in the East 45th Street house was his 1856 Dred: A Tale of the Great Dismal Swamp.  Other works attributed to him are The Haunted House, Modern Aristocrats, and Marie Antoinette.

The family briefly leased the house in 1857.  An advertisement in the New York Herald offered: "House to Let--To let, to a gentleman and wife, a small, neat, convenient and well furnished house; gas and Croton."  ("Croton" referred to indoor water, supplied by the Croton Reservoir.  Having both lighting gas and indoor plumbing would have been on the cutting edge of domestic conveniences.)

Henry J. Conway died around 1860.  By the following year, Joseph S. Conway operated his dental office in the house.  An advertisement in 1861 read:

Artificial teeth inserted for the lowest possible price; teeth filled with gold; $1; bone filling, 50 cts; silver 50 cts, and upwards; teeth extracted without pain, 25c, by Dr. J. S. Conway, 150 East 45th st, bet 2d and 3d aves.

The cost of having one's tooth pulled would convert to about $10 in 2025. 

In the meantime, the house next door had seen a series of occupants.  In the early 1860s, Thomas Gillis, a drover, and his family lived here.  They were followed by Elizabeth (sometimes known as Betti) Kronberger, the widow of David.  She listed her profession as "sewing."  Betti lived in the house through  the 1870s, when the Sherman family moved in.  Daniel Sherman was a bricklayer and Isaac M. Sherman was a watchman.

Hetty J. Conway disappeared from the city directories after 1877, strongly suggesting she died that year.  Joseph and Edward remained at 222 East 45th Street until around 1879 when Edward was married and the brothers became next door neighbors.

Edward Conway and his bride, Mary, purchased 220 East 45th Street.  The parlor was the heartbreaking scene of the funeral of their one-year-old daughter, Fannie Louisa, on April 13, 1881.

New York City had a serious problem in the 1880s.  The growing metropolis depended on horses to move the city.  Each of the 150,000 horses that pulled wagons, coaches, streetcars and carriages dropped up to 30 pounds of manure each day.  Street cleaners and the stable owners contracted with manure dumps to dispose of the odorous piles.  

Not far from the Conway brothers' homes was Michael Kane's manure dump.  In December 1884, Kane was fined "for maintaining a nuisance in the manure heap," according to The New York Times.  Dr. Joseph S. Conway came to his defense.  He testified in court on December 22 that he, "not only voluntarily lives within the radius of the odors, but has often resorted to the dump while it steamed for the purpose of inhaling the vapor," related the article.  According to Conway, "He was certain that his throat was benefited by the operation."

Dr. Joseph S. Conway died on March 9, 1897.  Interestingly, his funeral was held next door.  His obituary in the New York Herald noted, "Funeral services at the residence of his brother, Edward Conway, 220 East 45th st."

No. 222 East 45th Street was occupied by Josephine Anderson by 1901.  While careful not to describe herself as a doctor, she treated women patients.  An advertisement in 1903 read, "Josephine Anderson positively cures irregularities or no charge; longest cases relieved; ladies boarded.  222 East 45th."  Facilities that offered boarding to female patients often provided abortion services--their clients unable to travel for several days afterward.  Anderson operated from the house through at least 1906.

Edward and Mary Conway had two sons, Harry L. and John.  Starting in 1899, the family took in boarders.  Perhaps in deference to Henry and Hetty's backgrounds, most of the boarders were involved in the theater.  In 1899, the Shuman Sisters, a popular vaudeville team, boarded with the Conways and in 1901 actor Lawrence Griffith was here.

The little wooden houses were surrounded by tenement buildings in 1918. from the collection of the New York Public Library 

Upon John E. Conway's death on April 16, 1909, Henry L. was the last surviving Conway in the immediate family.  He had served at the Mexican border as a member of the 71st Regiment.  When America entered World War I, Henry L. Conway was deployed to the front.  On October 31, 1918, The Evening Telegram titled an article, "Lieutenant Conway Dies of Wounds."  In reporting his death, the newspaper said:

Lieutenant Conway was born December 14, 1888, at No. 220 East Forty-fifth street, where his parents, Mr. and Mrs. Edward Conway, lived all their lives, and which is one of the landmarks of the mid-section of Manhattan.

Whether considered by locals as landmarks or not, the picturesque wooden houses would not survive much longer.  They were demolished in 1927 to be replaced with a 12-story factory-and-store building.