The Wachusett Flats -- Nos. 311-317 Amsterdam Ave.

In 1888 developer Charles Fuller commissioned Edward L. Angell to design a sprawling apartment house on Amsterdam Avenue, at the southeast corner of 75th Street.  The architect had opened his office just two years earlier.  Working almost exclusively on the Upper West Side, by the turn of the century he would be well known for the houses, flats and hotels he designed in trendy styles like Queen Anne.

Completed in 1889, it was a dignified five-story building of beige brick, brownstone and reddish terra cotta.  A marriage of Queen Anne and Romanesque Revival styles, it featured both stone and brick quoins, checkerboard brick spandrel panels, projecting eyebrows over the arched openings, and a complex honey-combed cornice.  Deeply recessed within the Romanesque entrance around the corner at No.  182 West 75th Street (renumbered No. 170 in 1905) were double doors with handsome carved Aesthetic Movement panels.

Within the recessed entrance the handsomely-carved doors, depicting stylized pots of tulips and vines, survive.

Unlike the East Side, where apartment buildings were identified by their addresses, developers on the West Side had already begun the tradition of naming their flats; like the Dakota completed in 1884.  Fuller dubbed his new structure The Wachusett, a Native American term meaning "mountain place."  Very likely, though, he was honoring the Union steamer warship that had seen repeated action during the Civil War.

The Wachusett attracted well-to-do residents like stockbroker Buckingham St. John Hoyt.  Identified professionally most often as B. St. John Hoyt, his office was in the Manhattan Life Building at No. 66 Broadway in 1895, when his clients included the St. Louis, Kennett and Southern Railroad Company and the Lake Cities Electric Railway Company.

Hoyt still lived in the Wachusett in 1905 when he and two partners recognized the opportunities of the burgeoning automobile industry.  Cars needed tires, and the manufacture of tires required rubber.  The trio pooled $50,000 (about $1.4 million today) to start the International Guayale Rubber Company.

The venture was initially successful.  R. C. Van Arsdale, writing for The Magazine of Wall Street in 1919 noted that the firm was manufacturing rubber from the guayale plant, "which grows wild in northern Mexico."  It "owns 2,000,000 acres of guayale land [and] reports increasing operations and good prospects in this industry."

In the meantime, while their husbands tended to their careers, the women of the Wachusett routinely appeared in society columns.  Mrs. Charles Hatfield, like other moneyed wives, busied herself with charitable causes.  She was a supporter of the Riverside Day Nursery in the first years of the 20th century, and was listed in Club Women of New York in 1908.  The elevated social status of the Hatfields was reflected in Charles's role as usher in the St. Patrick's Cathedral wedding of Mary T. Ryan to Matthew P. Halpin on December 29, 1913.

Wealthy widow Mrs. Frances Carter involved herself in musical and artistic endeavors.  She was a member of the New York Browning Society (becoming its president by 1921).  She was in charge when the group staged Robert Browning's Pippa Passes in January 1918 for the benefit of the Italian Ambulance Fund; and often participated as a performer or reader in various productions.  She was also an active member of the Women's Philharmonic Society.

On January 12, 1910 she attended a lecture of the New York Browning Society in the white-and-gold room of the Waldorf-Astoria Hotel.  Her purse slid off her lap "at the most interesting part of the lecture," according to The New York Times two days later, and rather than cause a disturbance, she let it remain there until later.

She was already downstairs following the lecture when she remembered the purse.  She rushed upstairs where the hotel staff was clearing up the room.  The purse could not be found.  It was not until she returned home that she realized that inside the purse were "four valuable diamond rings."

The Times said "She would set no valuation on the four rings, but described them as handsome, large stones."  She offered a reward "with no questions asked."  Whether she ever got her jewelry back is unclear.

Clark Bell and his wife were in the building at the time.  A distinguished attorney, he was president of the Medico-Legal Society of New York--a group that foreshadowed today's medical forensics units.  In 1886 the Society said of him "he has, more than any other American, rendered important service to the great cause of Medical Jurisprudence" and "By his active zeal, he brought the Medico-Legal Society of New York, into a deserved prominence, with the professions of law and medicine and with the public."

Clark Bell -- Papers Read Before the Medico-Legal Society of New York, 1886 (copyright expired)

Bell was a prolific technical author, already having published the papers "The Coroner System and Its Needed Reforms," "Suicide and Legislation," "The Rights of the Insane," "Madness and Crime," and "Shall We Hang the Insane Who Commit Homicide?"

The highly-publicized murder trial of William Marsh Rice by Albert T. Patrick in 1906 drew Clark Bell's attention.  Patrick was accused of having poisoned the old man with embalming fluid, which caused death by the consequential build-up of fluid in the lungs.  Defense attorneys argued that embalming fluid could not reach the lungs.

Bell shocked almost everyone when he invited New York Governor Frank W. Higgins to the Medico-Legal Society's annual meeting and dinner at the Hotel St. Andrew on December 18.   He was "exceedingly anxious to have Gov. Higgins meet the members," explained The Times.  Bell intended to demonstrate that, indeed, embalming fluid "will carry poison into the lungs and congest them."

On the night before the dinner he told reporters at his apartment in the Wachusett  that "he could show the Governor or his representative with a corpse which would approximate in age, weight, and other essentials that of Rice, that the argument...that embalming fluid could not reach the lungs and leave signs of poison was unfounded."

The reporters were, understandably, curious as to whether the embalming would take place during the dinner.  "Oh, I believe there would be no trouble," he answered.

Mrs. Bell had other things on her mind.  In August 1908 she fired off a letter to the Public Service Commission complaining about street noise.  The New-York Tribune explained it "drew the attention of the commission to the unseemly din traceable to the Amsterdam avenue line of [street] cars."

Like B. St. John Hoyt, William C. Cox was involved in the automobile industry.  Along with his brother, Charles Henry Cox, he ran the Cox Pneumatic Cushion Company, manufacturers of automobile shock absorbers.  Mrs. Cox, meanwhile, was socially visible with luncheons and bridge parties held in the apartment.

Warren Rosecrans Hedden and his wife, the former Janet Smedley were early residents of the Wachusett.  Born on Christmas Day in 1861, Hedden was a nationally-known organist, having started his musical career as a boy soprano in the choir of Trinity Church.  Janet's father, William Smedley, had been for years the choirmaster of St. James's Church in Chicago and she was an accomplished singer.

In 1896 Hedden took the position of organist of the Church of the Incarnation.  That year both he and Janet would return to Trinity Church for the 50th anniversary of the consecration of the present building.  The elaborate service included a 36-piece orchestra and both organs.  The New York Times reported on May 15, "Prof. Frutchey played the great organ, and Prof. Hedden the smaller organ in the chancel.  In addition to the regular choir of boys, there were Mrs. Warren R. Hedden, who was the soprano soloist, and several volunteer singers."

The New Music Review, April 1917 (copyright expired)

In addition to his organist duties, Hedden was a warden of the Church of the Incarnation, and chairman of the New York City chapter of the American Guild of Organists.  The couple remained in Wachusett at least through 1922.


Harry Bajur's business prospects were bright when he reorganized the Bajur Motor Lighting Company in 1918 as the Bajur Motor Appliances Company.  The firm manufactured electric automobile starters and received financial backing from the General Electric Company, which became the majority stock holder.

Almost immediately another firm, the Eclipse Machine Company challenged Bajur's patents, and eventually won.  The result was that the two competitors were making virtually the same products.  The Eclipse Machine Company forged ahead, making $1 million a year when, despite the General Electric support, Bajur was forced to shut down its factory in 1922.  Henry Bajur was still living in the Wachusett when a stockholder meeting on March 23, 1923 resolved to liquidate the company.

The building would continue to see professional tenants through the remainder of the century.  Oscar Korff was assistant to the secretary of the American-Russian Chamber of Commerce until 1950 when he joined the advertising staff of El Diario de Nueva York, a Spanish-language newspaper.

And John C. Hazard, who had been a proofreader for The New York Times for 25 years, was living here when he died at the age of 78 in 1960.

A 2001 conversion to condominiums resulted in just eight apartments, including two duplexes.

photographs by the author

The Lost Aaron Burr House - 11 Reade Street

 

In the 1890s a barber shop operated from the parlor floor, while a painter had his shop in the basement.  The hinged, 12-paned dormer windows open inward, unlike the double-hung 6-over-6 windows below.  photographer unknown, from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York

Until 1804 Aaron Burr was wealthy, politically important and well-respected.  He entertained lavishly in his country estate, Richmond Hill, and could boast having been Attorney General, a New York Senator, and Vice President under Thomas Jefferson.  That all ended when he fatally wounded Alexander Hamilton in the infamous duel.  Antagonistic public opinion forced him to abandon New York and on July 27, 1804 a newspaper reported "He has for the present, and we trust forever, fled from the city and the State."

A decade earlier the cemetery which would become known as the African Burial Ground had been closed and a year later, in 1795, the land was subdivided and sold for house plots.  The graves were filled over in preparation for residential development.  Reade Street, named for Trinity Church warden Joseph Reade, was opened in 1797 and within the next two decades it filled with handsome brick-faced homes.

Among these was No. 31, a modest two-and-a-half story residence with splayed stone lintels, a plain fascia board below the roofline and two rather severe dormers which poked through the peaked roof.

Perhaps surprisingly to many, the 56-year old Burr returned to New York in 1812, reopening his law offices on Reade Street near Broadway in June that year.  The former Vice President struggled.  No one had forgotten the duel and clients were scarce.  In 1831, when he moved his office and home into No. 31 Reade Street, he was in serious financial difficulty.

In 1832 wealthy French-born merchant Samuel Jumel died in a carriage accident.  His wife, Eliza (known popularly as Madame Jumel), came to Burr's office "to consult him as a real estate lawyer," according to The Sun decades later.  At the time Burr owed back rent on No. 31 Reade Street and was facing a lawsuit for unpaid debts.  Despite the significant different in their ages--the widow was 58 and Burr was now 78--the unlikely couple married in the splendid Jumel mansion in 1833.

Eliza Jumel would quickly regret the union.  According to The New York Times decades later, “He abused her confidence, lost a portion of her fortune, and she summarily dismissed him within a year.”

Aaron Burr and his partner, William D. Craft, had closed their law practice at No. 31 Reade Street in 1832, not long after the romance had blossomed.  By the first years of the 1850s it was home to the young couple Theodore and Mary Elizabeth Humbert.  The 25-year old woman died in the house on Sunday, April 18, 1852, and her funeral was held in the parlor two days later.

In 1856 Reade Street was widened and extended between Broadway and City Hall Place, requiring a renumbering of the addresses.  The former Burr house became No. 11 Reade Street.

At the time what had been a quiet residential block half a century earlier was quickly seeing the rise of office buildings and the renovation of houses for business purposes.  No. 11 escaped demolition and in 1863 its owner petitioned the Board of Aldermen for a paved sidewalk.  On June 9 that year the Board resolved "That the sidewalk in front of No. 11 Reade street, be flagged."

The house was used as a barrel and wooden bucket making shop around this time.  But in 1870 the owner was ready for retirement.  On March 24 he placed an advertisement in The New York Herald offering "For sale--Good chance, cheap for cash, old established Cooper Shop 11 Reade street, between Centre and Broadway, with Stock, Tools and Work, as the owner wants to get out of business."

The upper floors continued to be rented as living space.  It was the home of the Connor family in 1873.  On Christmas Day that year Hugh and Margaret Connor's eldest daughter, Elizabeth, died in the house at the age of 21.  Her funeral was held here two days later.

In 1890 the house had been owned by the Alexander T. Stewart estate for decades.  The millionaire merchant had died in 1876; but the family continued to own and lease it.  Two families lived upstairs--those of W. S. Haskins and R. Ford--on May 4, 1890, when fire broke out just before 8:00 p.m.  The following day The New York Times reported "A fire last night burned through the roof of the little three-story house at 11 Reade Street.  The loss was $1,000.  There was no insurance."  The loss to the Stewart estate would equal about $27,000 today.

Charles Mielatz sketched the house in 1898.  Harvard Art Museums/Fogg Museum, Transfer from the Fine Arts Library, Harvard University

On April 4, 1895 The New York Times reported that William Platt had purchased "the old Aaron Burr house, 11 Reade Street" for $36,650.  The newspaper noted "Mr. Platt represents the owner of adjoining property."  As is the case today, when property owners began bundling real estate it often signaled a future development.

The Sun jumped the gun in reporting of the imminent demolition of the house on May 31, 1897.  Saying that several vintage downtown buildings were to be torn down "in a few weeks, and there will be nothing left to mark their sites," the article noted "One of these is at 11 Reade street, where Aaron Burr's law office was...An Italian baker now occupies the front 'parlor' of Burr's old office building, and a plumber, whose shop is in the basement, lives with his family on the second floor."

That plumber was John T. Martin who landed a stable position as "attendant" (today's maintenance man) with the Manhattan Municipal Court by 1898.  His yearly salary of $1,000 would translate to about $30,000 today.

The Martin family and the Italian bakery would soon have to find new accommodations.  The house was offered for sale at an auction in March 1898, but according to The Iron Age, the building "formerly the house of Aaron Burr, was passed, as no bid could be got for it."

On September 23, 1903 The Northwestern Miller published a cleaned-up depiction of the old house.  (copyright expired)

But less than a month later the City purchased the property as part of the site for the new Hall of Records building; also engulfing No. 9 Reade Street and Nos. 29 and 31 Chambers Street.   As workers began demolition of the old house, The Sun noted that "tradition...even points out the spike holes in the wall by the door where [Burr's] shingle swung in sight of his legislative triumph."

The magnificent Hall of Records, seen here from Chambers Street, replaced the venerable Burr House.  from the collection of the New York Public Library.

American interest in landmarks was limited mostly to battlefields and military sites.  While newspapers and magazines described the Burr House as "old-fashioned" or "curious;" the term "historic" was never used.  After the turn of the century groups first began taking note of other important structures like Fraunces Tavern.

In November 1903 The Northwestern Miller lamented "A little way north of the city hall at 11 Reade street stood until recently a small, low, brick building, and though dingy with age, and hardly noticeable to the casual passer-by, is surrounded with memories of Aaron Burr...This old house was recently demolished to make way for improvements, thus one by one the old land-marks are gradually disappearing to make room for the new, taking with them the memories which connect them with the events of other days."

Wm. E. Mowbray's 1890 No. 454 W. 144th Street

In December 1886 wealthy silk dealer William M. De Forest and his son, also named William, were poised to make their mark on the recently-developing Hamilton Heights neighborhood.  Once part of Alexander Hamilton's extensive estate, The Grange, it was quickly becoming an upscale northern suburb.

That month the Real Estate Record & Builders' Guide noted "More than twenty elegant houses, of English Gothic, Flemish and other styles, as modified by the taste of the architect Mr. Wm. E. Mowbray, are already planned and will be built without delay."  Among these was a row of eight houses on the south side of West 144th Street, between Convent and Amsterdam Avenues.

William E. Mowbray's picturesque medley of Queen Anne, Tudor Revival, Flemish Revival and other styles would create a fantasy neighborhood.  But William H. De Forest's bankruptcy and subsequent commitment to an insane asylum brought the project nearly to a full halt.  William Jr. took over, and the row, stretching from No. 452 through 466, was finally completed in September 1890.

No. 454 sat within an architecturally delightful row.

No. 454 was a quaint marriage of neo-Tudor and Gothic.  Mowbray used beige brick and brownstone to create a vibrant two-colored facade.  The eye was drawn upward from the understated, planar parlor level to three floors of energetic design.  Three grouped openings at the second floor were unified below a Queen Anne-style sunburst transom panel.  A stone pseudo-balcony sat on tightly-packed corbels.   Like those below, the grouped openings of the third floor were outlined in stone quoins.  The fourth floor was highlighted by a charming row of Gothic-pointed windows below a deeply-overhanging cornice.  By lessening the successive bulk of the elements--from the heavy brownstone base to the delicate top floor windows, Mowbray kept the residence visually grounded.

The house would not be sold for two years.  In 1892 William H. De Forest, Jr. and his wife, Harriett, sold four houses in the row, including No. 454, to operators Edwin H. and Walter J. Peck.  The men paid $45,000 each for them--about $1.2 million today.

No. 454 was leased to wealthy produce merchant Charles W. Weston.  The family maintained a summer estate in Milton, New York.  In March 1892, about the same time that the Pecks were receiving title to No. 454, the Weston's closed upstate home was being enjoyed by 20-year old William Williams and an accomplice.

On March 10 The New York Times reported "Williams has made a confession in which he says that his first idea was robbery, but he and his companion found the accommodations of the house so comfortable that they determined to spend the Winter there."  The newspaper noted they had broken into the wine cellar "and used the contents freely."

Williams told police "We just had things as we wanted 'em; we was the bosses of a regular sinners' hotel, and as long as the wine lasted we had a----of a time."  Unfortunately for the Weston family, things "just as we wanted 'em" included expensive damage.

"Carpets were cut up, soiled, and besmeared with dirt; valuable paintings were cut and their frames broken; costly bits of statuary were destroyed; bric-a-brac had been hurled through the glass doors of bookcases, and the walls of the rooms had been disfigured by the bloody heads of chickens and other fowl that were killed and cooked in the house."

To keep warm, the squatters broke up furniture for firewood.   Jewelry and other valuables were sold in nearby towns and, as described by The Times, "Every room in the house had been turned topsy turvy."  And the problem of bathroom hygiene was solved when "Much costly underwear and wearing apparel, which had been put into cedar closets for protection, was cut into shreds and besmirched with the filth of the marauders."

The Weston family remained in the West 144th Street house for about two decades.  By 1913 they had moved permanently to the Milton estate.

In October 1916 the Pecks transferred title to Kate A. Hastings.  Like the Pecks, Kate and her husband, Charles S. Hastings, had purchased multiple properties in the area in 1892 and continued to manage leased residences.  In August 1917 she leased No. 454 to Lindsay S. Perkins who had become a minor celebrity for toppling a German spy and terrorist ring.

Perkin's early life held no hint of the colorful career as a Secret Service agent to come.  A short story writer, he became city editor of Georgia's The Macon Telegraph in 1889.  Two years later he relocated to Washington DC as a Patent Office employee. Then, with the outbreak of World War I, he joined the Secret Service. Although the U.S. had not yet entered the war, spies and saboteurs were a threat to American munitions plants, ships carrying supplies to warring countries, and such.

The agency was closely monitoring the moves of a group of German businessmen and diplomats in 1916.  They were suspected of conspiring to blow up of the Welland Canal connecting Lake Erie and Lake Ontario in 1914.  Among them was Captain von Papen, Military Attache of the German Embassy, and his secretary, Wolf von Igel, described by Current History and Forum later, in October 1917, as "a large, suave man of Teutonic aspect."

On April 16 Linsday S. Perkins entered von Igel's supposed "advertising" office at No. 60 Wall Street.  A month later Information: A Monthly Digest of Current Events wrote "Before submitting, von Igel struggled until the Federal agents were compelled to draw their revolvers."  According to Current History and Forum, when their guns were drawn, von Igel shouted "This is German territory.  Shoot me and you will bring on war!"

The New York Times said Perkins "is accredited with the capture of Wolf von Igel, a German spy."  And Information reported that his involvement in the Welland Canal plot and "many bomb outrages on munition carrying ships...were described by a high Federal official as the biggest haul made by the government since the activities of the agents of the Central Powers in this country were first uncovered."

Five months before the 54-year old Lindsay moved into No. 454 he was involved in defusing another nearly disastrous plot.  The German ocean liner Friedrich der Grosse was moored at Hoboken.  Lindsay and other agents stormed the ship where a bomb making factory was being operated.  Within 12 days workers had created 250 bombs, intended to be smuggled onto ships carrying food to the allies.  Five German insurgents were arrested.  On March 16, 1917 Lindsay S. Perkins testified in United States Court, identifying two of the spies.


The Secret Service agent leased No. 454 until around 1920, when he retired to his farm in Seat Pleasant, Maryland.  (He did not remain retired, however; he returned to the State Department as a Russian and Spanish translator in 1931.)

In August 1920 Kate Hastings put the house on the market for $20,000 (around $240,000 in 2016).  It was sold to Valentine M. Kelley, who immediately leased it to the former police officer with the appropriate name George J. Law.   Law had joined the New York City Police Department on September 11, 1886 and retired from the 31st Precinct on April 7, 1905.

By the Depression years John H. Fay lived here with his wife, Elizabeth, and their adult son, Thomas.  Elizabeth and her son stayed on for a few years following John's death in the house on May 5, 1931.  The following year Thomas was a witness in court over an annoying incident.

He had been a passenger on August 2, 1932 in the automobile of 24-year old friend Arthur J. McQuade, son of former judge Francis X. McQuade.  Following in his father's footsteps, Arthur was secretary to General Sessions Judge John J. Freschi.

When McQuade parked near the intersection of 54th Street and Broadway, he was given a ticket by Patrolman Charles L. Klkia for obstructing the crosswalk.  The young men protested and all three ended up in traffic court on October 18.

Both Fay and McQuade insisted that 'pedestrians had plenty of room to move past the parked automobile," according to The New York Times the following day.  The policeman "admitted they could get past, but insisted part of the automobile was on the crosswalk."  It may have been because of Arthur McQuade's ties to the courts or simply the judge's frustration with Officer Klika's pettiness; but Magistrate Aurelio dismissed the charges.

The last occupants of No. 454 as a private home was the Thomas Family.  Anthony B. Thomas and his wife, Marie, had three sons, Francis, Robert and John. Francis graduated from West Point in January 1943 with the rank of Lieutenant; and Robert was a Private First Class in the army. 

Francis A. Thomas was deployed to Del Rio, Texas following his graduation.  Tragically, just four months later the 24-year old died suddenly of unexplained causes there.  His funeral was held in the West 144th Street house on May 10 and he was buried in the United States Military Academy Cemetery at West Point.

In 1952 the house was converted to "furnished rooms."  Today there are seven apartments in the building.  Outwardly, however, other than replacement windows, the charming Victorian is little changed.

photographs by the author

The John H. Fraser Bldg - No. 112 Reade Street

In January 1854 attorney Thatcher T. Payne initiated a petition pushing for "a sewer in West Broadway from Reade to Duane street."  Payne was well-respected among New York's professional class; but he was overshadowed by his rather amazing brother, who had died two years earlier.   John Howard Payne was an actor, poet, playwright, author, song writer (he was best known for his "Home, Sweet, Home"), and United States Consul to Tunis.  After living with the Cherokees for a time, he published accounts suggesting the Native Americans were descendants of the Ten Lost Tribes of Israel.

Thatcher T. Payne no doubt had personal reasons for wanting sewers on West Broadway and Reade Street.  The neighborhood was beginning to morph from one of upscale residences to commercial concerns.  And in 1859 he began construction on a modern store and loft building on the northeast corner.

No. 112 Reade Street was completed in 1860; an Italianate style structure clad in sandstone with a cast iron storefront.  The commercial tenants upstairs took the address of the side entrance, No. 113 West Broadway; while the retail space kept the Reade Street address.

While the Reade Street facade above the storefront was handsome, with segmentally-arched openings that sat on stone lintels supported by delicate brackets and topped with faceted keystones; it was the West Broadway elevation that stole the show.

The central bay boasted a broad, tripartite window at ground floor.  Rising directly above, the openings at each story framed grouped exceptionally striking sets of three arched windows.  The stone, bracketed cornice rose to a slight pediment upon which a spread eagle--most likely cast iron--perched.

The ground floor retail space enjoyed the vast window on the West Broadway side.  Painted signage girding the third and fourth floors advertises the tenants, and an American eagle is poised to fly from the pediment.  sketch by John M. August Will, from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York

John H. Fraser immediately moved into the newly-completed building.   He was, according to The New York Times later, "said to have been the first manufacturer of show cases in America."  He had established his business in 1847.  His wide-spread respect was not only due to his prominence in society and business.  In 1832, when he was 28 years old, he served as a nurse during the great cholera epidemic.  Now wealthy, he and his family lived in a fine home at No. 13 St. Luke's Place.

Not long after setting up in the new quarters, an unfortunate incident took place--one most likely heightened by racial bias--that was nearly disastrous for one of Fraser's employees, Henry Sayers.

Fraser gave Sayers (described by The New York Times on June 12, 1860 as "a poor colored man") with a $50 bill.  It was an enormous responsibility, amounting to about $1500 today, and a decided show of trust and confidence on the part of Fraser.  Sayers put the bill in his tobacco box for safe keeping; then lost the box.

A newspaper called it a "somewhat suspicious story" and Henry Sayers was arrested, charged with larceny.  Faced with a prison sentence, Sayers had the presence of mind to place an advertisement in the local papers.  Astonishingly, the ad produced both the box and the bill.  In sympathetic wording most would find offensive today, The New York Times reported "The circumstance was made known to Justice Kelly, who immediately released the unfortunate old negro from prison."

It was at about this time that Thatcher T. Payne's health began to fail.  He died in 1863, The New York Times mentioning "for several years before his death was in feeble health and unable to give proper attention to business matters."

By 1867 F. S. Weeks & Co. shared the building with Fraser.  Mainly dealers in "paper hangings" (i.e. wallpaper), the firm also advertised "window shades, lace curtains, cornices and numerous other articles."  By 1872 the company moved to No. 107 Duane Street.

That same year John H. Fraser purchased the building.  He continued to lease space, and  one of his tenants that year continued the tradition of F. S. Weeks.  Hy. A. Smith & Co. advertised as "Paper Trimmer, Wall and Border."

By 1876 Victor E. Mauger, importer of stationery and playing cards, expanded into the building from his headquarters next door at No. 110 Reade Street.  Another tenant was S. S. Newton & Co., "coloring agents."

John H. Fraser died on February 21, 1885 at the age of 81.  His business was continued by his sons, Edwin and Charles.  Interestingly, Fraser's estate continued to own and manage the property; obligating the brothers to pay rent until the turn of the century.

A significant change to the Reade Street shop space came following the bankruptcy of Thorne & Rogers in 1891.  The paint and window glass dealers had been in business since 1881 and headquartered in Troy, New York, The Empire State: Its Industries and Wealth said of the firm in 1888, "Only the best paints, oils and varnishes are handled."

In May an advertisement offered the now-vacant store and sub-basement.  While the Fraser brothers took part of the store; in February 1893 Friedrich H. Hikler leased the entire space for nine and a quarter years at $3,250 per year (more than $88,000 today).

Hikler listed himself in directories as a "liquor merchant," a polite term that meant saloon keeper.  Apparently finding that the two floors below street level included in his lease were unnecessary for his saloon, he advertised on February 10, 1896 "A large basement and sub-basement to let; suitable for business or storage; cheap.  F. H. Hilker." 

The former paint store would continue as a tavern for decades.  By 1902 Emil Deckelmeier and Nicholas Goelz, partners in Deckelmeier & Goelz, had taken over the saloon lease.  At the time breweries not only manufactured and sold beer and ale, they often operated saloons where only their own products were sold.  Deckelmeier & Goelz leased the saloon in December that year to the Peter Doelger Brewery for $2,500 per year.

At the end of the lease, in 1904, the partners leased it to Bernheimer & Schwartz, owners of the Lion Brewery.  They would renew the lease in 1909; but in 1913 Frank Vogric took over, renaming the business Vogric's Cafe.

In the meantime, Edwin and Charles Fraser had obtained ownership of the building.  Interestingly, an influx of architects in the first years of the 20th century appeared.  Between 1900 and 1906 the offices of W. T. Totten, O. J. Ende Co., W. M. Gilson, and J. Schroth were all in the building.

In 1902 Edwin Fraser transferred his one-half ownership in the property to Minnie Fraser.  But something apparently went wrong and a year later he filed suit "against Minnie L. Fraser, action to cancel deed."  The courts ruled in his favor in 1905.

Prolific author Edward Earle Purinton had his office on an upper floor in 1903.  Sharing the building with architects, the Fraser manufacturing space, and the Manhattan Brazing Works (which promised in the March 1906 issue of Motor magazine, "We make a specialty of brazing cylinders, gears and machinery of every description"), Purinton wrote articles and books on a dizzying array of topics.

In September 1903 The Evening World columnist Mrs. Harriet Hubbard Ayer invited readers to give their opinions as to "Why do men marry the wrong women?"  Purinton fired off his explanation which somewhat encapsulated Edwardian views on marital and sexual roles.

He said, in part, "I make sympathy the dominant trait in an ideal wife.  A normal husband wants to be mothered as a baby, respected as a man, caressed as a lover, admired as a god.  Sympathy satisfies these longings.  Nothing else does."

Then, as if anticipating the reaction of female readers a century later, he blamed men for failed relationships.  "There are many ideal women, but few ideal wives.  The fault is the husband's.  If you can understand, appreciate and inspire any woman, you will find ideal wives surprisingly abundant."

Following Edwin Fraser's death, Charles was forced to give up his half of the property in 1908 so it could be liquidated. The building was sold at public auction on November 18 that year.

The awning of Vogric's Cafe advertises the Jacob Ruppert Brewery's Knickerbocker Beer.  Upstairs the White Light Company manufactured light bulbs.  The railing in the left corner belongs to the Metropolitan Elevated Railway.

As tenants came and went in the upper floors, the saloon forced on.  In 1915 Hugo Enders held the liquor license for Vogric's Cafe.  But change would come, prompted by the enactment of Prohibition in January 1920.  After three decades, the days of local factory workers and businessmen sidling up to a mahogany bar for a glass of locally-brewed beer were over.

The surrounding neighborhood had, by now, become part of New York's shoe district.  In 1921 the Crescent Shoe Company, owned by Alfred W. Copland, moved in to No. 112 Reade Street.

That year alterations were done which did away with the cast iron storefront.  Two years later architect Samuel Rosenblum made further renovations to the building.  Offices were installed on the ground and second floor; while factory space continued above.  It was likely at this time that the two lower floors were faced in cast concrete with smatterings of classically-influenced decorations.

An aerial view shows the first stage of the renovations.  The eagle on the pediment has already disappeared.  from the collection of the New York Public Library

Other footwear firms would occupy the building throughout the decades, including S. & W. Shoe Co., the Fred Meyer Shoe Co., and Topper & Berger.

A conversion to residences in 2012 resulted in just one sprawling apartment on each of the top three floors, with commercial space below.  Remarkably, the make-over did not destroy the wonderful mid-century advertising for painted outdoor advertising on the West Broadway side.

photographs by the author

D & J Jardine's 1883 No. 51 East 80th Street

The block of East 80th Street, between Madison and Park Avenues, saw an explosion of construction in 1883.  Among the upscale homes erected that year was No 51, a 23-foot wide brownstone fronted residence with a rather surprising personality.

Builder-developer Edward Kilpatrick sometimes acted as his own architect; but for this house he hired brothers David and John Jardine.  The partners were responsible for the design of scores of dwellings on the Upper East Side and this one would be what Victorian critics sometimes referred to as "a happy marriage of styles."

The high brownstone stoop led to the parlor level above the rusticated English basement.  Here aggressive stone brackets overwhelmed the delicate spandrel carvings of the arched openings.  The brackets upheld what at a glance appeared to be a sturdy balcony; but in fact functioned only as a platform for the angled bay.

The crisp spandrel carvings are overshadowed by the chunky scrolled brackets.

The third floor windows were separated by Doric pilasters and capped with swan-necked pediments, each graced with a carved garland.  The top floor openings received the same treatment, sans pediments.  The design was completed by a handsome cast metal cornice.

In March 1884 Kilpatrick sold the new house to Isaac Blum for $19,000--in the neighborhood of $475,000 today.  Blum, a wealthy milliner with a store at No. 287 Fifth Avenue, seems to have been downsizing.  He simultaneously sold his former home at No. 110 East 70th Street for $30,000.

The Blum family remained in the house for nearly 14 years, selling it to real estate operator Bernard J. Ludwig in February 1898 for $49,000. 

Mrs. Ludwig was active in Jewish social and philanthropic affairs.  None, of course, were more important to the family than daughter Hermina's debut and her subsequent marriage.  On January 23, 1910 The New York Times society column reported that her engagement to Jerome Bernheim had been announced.   On Thursday, April 21 about 250 guests were present at the ceremony in Delmonico's

In May 1915 the house was leased to Arabella Lewis, the widow of Walter Herron Lewis who had died in 1910.   Lewis, who had been a member of the drygoods firm H. & W. H. Lewis, had also been a trustee of the New-York Life Insurance Company, a director of the Home Insurance Company and a warden of Trinity Church.  He and Arabella B. Dash were married on Valentine's Day 1856.

Arabella's two daughters were married--Mabel to Stoughton Bell and Madeline to broker Frederic Foster Carey.  At 86, Arabella's social activity had significantly slowed and it was Madeline who overtook the spotlight in society pages.  The Careys' city home was at No. 53 East 64th Street and, like Arabella, their summer house was in Tuxedo Park.

Most likely because of Arabella's advancing age, the Careys moved into the 80th Street house by 1917 when they announced the engagement of daughter Madeleine Marie to Lt. Charles Reed of the Aero Corps.   Reed had recently returned from the French battle front.

Madeleine Marie Carey lived at No. 51 East 80th Street when this photograph was taken in 1917.  The Evening World, June 4, 1917 (copyright expired)

Arabella Dash Lewis died in the house on January 29, 1918 at the age of 89 after a brief battle with pneumonia.  The Carey family soon moved out, and in April 1919 No. 51 was leased to the 59-year old Eugenius Harvey Outerbridge and his family.

Outerbridge had married Ethel Boyd in 1891 and the couple had two children, Ethel, born in 1892, and Kenneth, born in 1904.  "Eugene," as he was familiarly known, was the President of the Chamber of Commerce and founder of the Agasote Milling Company, makers of a fiberboard composed of recycled cellulose.

In 1921 Outerbridge was made the first chairman of the New York and New Jersey Port Authority.  It may have been the new and weighty responsibility that kept him home that summer.  On June 16 The New York Herald noted that "Mrs. Eugene H. Outerbridge of 51 East Eightieth street has gone to Maple Ridge Farm, her country place in Litchfield Conn."  Ethel would have to tough it out alone, it seems.  "Her daughter, Miss Ethel Outerbridge, is serving with the American Committee for Devastated France in Soissons."

Outerbridge quickly discovered that organizing and running the Port Authority was a major challenge.  He was dealing with two states, two governors and two mayors, all of whom it seemed were reticent to share control.  On November 29, 1921 he told the Chamber of Commerce that the port district "should be unified under a single administration that there should be a consolidation of shipments at proper classification points...[and] that all terminal stations should be union stations."

Eugenius H. Outerbridge from the collection of the Library of Congress

When New York City's mayor, John F. Hylan, proved obstinate, Outerbridge erupted.  He issued a statement on January 3, 1922 that said in part "it is unthinkable that any municipality or other unit within the port district can long refuse to cooperate and join in a movement so essential and so beneficial to the interests of all combined."

Eugene Outerbridge turned to modern technology to get his message to the public.  It prompted a request in the newspapers that sounds nearly comical today.  On April 25, 1922 the Port Authority issued "a request to radio amateurs to refrain from transmitting while the address of Eugenius H. Outerbridge of the Port Authority is broadcasting an address to-night."   The New York Herald explained that the reason for the request is that the Port Authority hoped that the message would reach Oakland, California, "where it will be amplified and sent all over the West."

Ethel received a serious scare the following April when she and a friend, Eleanor Butler, were riding along 72nd Street in the Outerbridge car.  The chauffeur, Thomas Davies, turned onto Lexington Avenue just as the Lexington street car approached the intersection.    As the limo crossed the tracks, the street car slammed into it.  Eleanor Butler was thrown from the car, Ethel was "pitched against a seat," and Davies received cuts on his forehead.

The chauffeur drove the banged-up car to the Presbyterian Hospital where Butler was treated and released.  Ethel was more seriously injured.  She was admitted with two broken ribs and cuts over the eye.

Eugene's vision of unifying New Jersey and New York was somewhat symbolized by the opening of the more than 10,000-foot long steel cantilevered bridge in June 1928 that connects Staten Island with Perth Amboy.  Although many residents of New York and New Jersey today assume that it is named because it is the southernmost bridge in New York State, or the most remote in New York City; the Outerbridge Crossing was in fact named for Eugenius H. Outerbridge.

By the time Eugene died on November 10, 1932 he and Ethel had moved to No. 950 Park Avenue.  The 80th Street house was home to Dr. Walter E. Halfman and his wife, Anna, in the 1940s.  Professor of Anatomy at the New York Medical College of Flower-Fifth Avenue Hospital, he died in the house on June 10, 1950.

The lower level was converted for the Bayer Art Gallery in 1959; but was returned to a single family residence in 1964.  For many years it was home to advertising executive Willard B. Gordon, who died in 2001.

photo via Curbed New York

The architectural firm of Vail Associates restored the facade and updated the interiors, simultaneously preserving much of D. & J. Jardine's period detailing while providing modern amenities for a 21st century family.

Outside, No. 51 East 80th Street survives remarkably unchanged among its 1883 contemporaries.  The house that Isaac Blum paid $19,000 for sold in 2014 for $24 million.

non-credited photographs by the author

The Wm. H. Falls House - 7 West 24th Street

At the time of the cholera epidemic of 1849 Madison Cottage--a farmhouse turned road house--sat at Fifth Avenue and 23rd Street.  It was the sole structure in the area.  But change was rapidly approaching.  By 1859 mansions and millionaires had reached the new Madison Square.  Madison Cottage was replaced by the white marble Fifth Avenue Hotel, which was followed by the Hoffman House, a block north on Broadway between 24th and 25th Streets, and the Brunswick Hotel at the northern edge of the Square.

The streets branching off Madison Square became lined with elegant homes for the well-to-do.  Among them was No. 7 West 24th Street, completed in the mid- to late-1850s.   Three bays wide, it rose four stories above a high English basement.   Its Italianate brownstone facade was embellished with extras which only the wealthy could afford.

Especially eye-catching were the elaborate architrave surrounds of the openings.  The tiered sills, which sat on finely-carved foliate brackets, the framings with their scrolled bases, the carvings above the elliptical arched openings, and the projecting lintels, told the passerby that this was no run of the mill brownstone.  A superb cast cornice featured foliate brackets and ornate medallions.

The family of William H. Falls lived here.  Born in 1792, Falls and his wife, Mary, had at least two grown children.  The president of the Tradesmen's Bank, he was also a director in the Pennsylvania Coal Company and the City Fire Insurance Company.

The year 1861 was significant to all New Yorkers, as Civil War erupted in the South.  But for Mary Falls, it would be the beginning of the most devastating time of her life for more personal reasons.  On January 21 that year, her husband died in the house.  Later that year, on November 28, their four-year old granddaughter, the only child of De Witt C. Hunn and the Falls' daughter Georgiana, died.  Her funeral was held in the 24th Street house on December 1.

Only five months later a third funeral was held in the parlor.  Mary's youngest son, 27-year old Theodore, died on Newburgh, New York on May 27, 1862.  His funeral took place the following Thursday afternoon.

Mary stayed on, alone in the house with her servants, until her death on June 7, 1870 at the age of 79.  Her funeral, on Friday the 10th, would be the last.

Each window was essentially sculpture.

The stately home was operated as a high-end boarding house by the spring of 1871.  The tony neighborhood demanded fine accommodations.   The house was competing with several of Manhattan's finest hotels just steps away.  An advertisement in The New York Herald in June that year offered "New and elegantly furnished double and single Rooms, for gentlemen, with or without Board."

The following year, in September, an advertisement marketed the house's high-class competition as an advantage: "Opposite Fifth Avenue Hotel (central location)--Elegantly furnished Rooms, for families or gentlemen, en suite or singly, with or without private table."

The offer of "private table" was significant; meaning that boarders were not necessarily fettered to a common dining room.  Instead of taking meals with other residents, they could be served in the privacy of their own rooms.  It was a distinction that set the operation far above the common boarding house.

As prosperous boarders enjoyed the "central location" of the former Falls house, a new medical trend was taking hold--the Russian vapor baths.   The benefits of the baths had begun being reported nearly a decade earlier.  In 1865 a Parisian physician named Buisson, wrote in The Medical and Surgical Reporter "When a person has been bitten by a mad dog, he should be made to take seven of the so-called Russian Vapor baths."  The doctor explained that the resulting perspiration would sweat out the infection.  He added that the same would work for a rattlesnake or tarantula bite.

Another expert, Dr. Laurence Turnbull, wrote a paper on "Diseases of the Internal Ear" that year.  He concluded, in part, "Finally, here belong all those cases of hardness of hearing which have happened to be relieved by the use of Russian vapor baths."

It would not be long before New York got its first Russian baths.  Appletons' Hand-Book of American Travel noted in 1867 "For those fond of the Turkish and Russian vapor baths, the establishment known as the Turkish Bath Establishment, No. 13 Laight Street, near Canal, and those conducted by Dr. Guttman, at 25 East Fourth Street, will be found the best."

Somewhat surprisingly, the handsome house at No. 7 West 24th Street was soon converted to a bath.  It was no small project--costing $100,000, or around $2 million today.   At least part of the expense went into providing the amenities expected by the wealthy patrons of the neighborhood; not to mention the marble-walled swimming pool installed in the lowest level.

The Imperial Russian Baths opened on June 9, 1873.  Little was done to the exterior of the house; and even the stoop remained.  Gentlemen entered at the basement, a few steps down from the sidewalk, while women entered on the parlor level.   In the men's area were 26 private, carpeted dressing rooms for disrobing.

The men then entered the "vapor-bath room," a 32 by 22 foot area "wainscoted and fitting up with Italian marble and furnished with marble couches," according to The New York Times.   The 19 by 7 foot swimming pool, or "plunge," was located here, fed by constant streams of filtered watered falling from two large nickel-plated lions' head spouts.

In the same room was the hot or cold water shower bath, and a steam bath.  Next to that was what The Times described as "a marble wainscoted room, where those who desire a heavy shower, or the upward water-shoot, can have it, together with a semi-circular needle-spray bath, which is pronounced by surgeons, &c., to be very invigorating."

Now invigorated, the bather moved to the "couch-room," where his body was "shampooed by the attendants."  The newspaper explained that "After robing in the dressing-rooms, the bather passes up-stairs to a handsome parlor, elegantly carpeted, and furnished with Turkish lounges, the walls being ornamented with handsome paintings, &c., where he can rest until ready for the street."

More modest gentlemen could request private bathing rooms and have their own valets attend them; enjoying all the same amenities of the more daring patrons.  The same held true for the female bathers.  The Times noted "Ladies also have the privilege of selecting their own maids as attendants during the process of bathing."

On the second floor was the Medicated Bath Department, "fitted up with every needed appliance," and the Electrical Bath Department which was emphasized to be "entirely distinct and disconnected with the other portions of the building, thus giving the bathers a privacy which is considered needful by many."  The Times summarized its assessment of the establishment saying "The whole building is very tastefully and elegantly furnished, and is well located."

An advertisement in The New York Herald two weeks later read "Keep Cool--To Do This Go to the Imperial Russian Baths."  The ad mentioned that the baths closed at 10 p.m., and noon on Sundays.

Like many other newspapers, The New York Times ran blurbs which appeared to be news articles; but which were in fact paid advertisements.  On such article appeared on Christmas Eve, 1874, and promised "Russian vapor baths are first-rate for fortifying the system against colds.  The baths opposite the Fifth Avenue Hotel, will be found to furnish every convenience for the exigeant bather."

In 1876 the operation was extended with the addition of a Turkish bath.  On November 22 The Christian Union praised it in terms that, too, smacked of a paid endorsement.  "Complete success has attended the opening of the new Turkish Bath at No. 7 West Twenty-Fourth Street, opposite Fifth Avenue Hotel, New York.  Everybody is delighted with its superior heating, ventilation, furnishing and attendance.  The ladies especially revel in its luxurious elegance.  The Russian Vapor Baths, in the same building, are also splendidly refitted."

Well-to-do renters continued to live on the uppermost floors.  Max Jansky lived here in August 16, 1880 when he ventured into the notorious red light district of Greene Street.  He foolishly wore a 26-stone diamond ring valued at $1,400, around $33,500 today.  He returned home without it.

Unlike many wealthy businessmen, who would avoid the scandalous publicity, Jansky reported the theft and the following day Emma Petersen, "an inmate of the house No. 115 Greene-street," was arrested and charged with the felony.  The Times reported "The ring was found in the possession of the girl, but the stones had been removed from the setting and could not be found."

Early in 1881 the baths hired a new clerk, a young Irish immigrant named Maginniss.  He brought with him a riveting life story.  The son of a wealthy Dublin manufacturer, he had longed to be a scholar; but his father, described as "a man of practical ideas," instead apprenticed him in the factory.  When he was 15 years old, he took money due him and bought books.  His father was incensed and sold them.

An argument ensued and the teen left home to educated himself.  He earned enough money to enter the City College in Dublin, learned French and Italian, and began writing poetry.  At the age of 19 he fell in love with an Italian girl and set off for America to make a fortune, promising to return within three years and marry her.

He arrived in New York in 1875, traveled to Philadelphia, then to Texas where he was employed as a clerk in a railroad company, earning $100 a month.  In January 1881--with his deadline to return in three years in the past--he was back in New York.  After working as a clerk for the Associated Press; then took the job with the West 24th Street baths.

Maginniss had much on his mind.  He had contracted malaria while in Texas, he had not made his fortune, and his dreams of a literary career seemed unreachable.  The Chicago Tribune reported "He felt his poverty and felt above the position he occupied.  He received $10 a week in the baths."  He even pawned his clothing and had to borrow $15 from a friend to reclaim them.

He often told his closest friend, E. J. McGanney, of his sweetheart back home, "extolling her dark, Italian beauty."  His mood no doubt worsened when he received a letter from Ireland asking "he neglected to come back and claim the girl who was waiting for him."

On Monday March 8, 1881 Maginniss asked the manager of the baths, Mr. Becker, if he would be offended if he resigned.  He explained that his health would be improved by out-of-door work, and he thought he might return to Texas soon.

The following morning police arrived at the Russian Vapor Baths, and asked for an employee to accompany them to Washington Square Park. The body of a man had been discovered sitting upright on a bench, dead from an apparently self-inflicted bullet wound.  Thomas Donelly was sent, and he identified the corpse as M. H. Maginnis.  The management of the baths paid for the young man's burial, aided with donations from friends.

The tragic story spread nationwide, prompting a long article in the Chicago Tribune headlined: A Poor Student.  A Young Irish Collegian Who Came To America To Win a Fortune For the Girl He Loved, and Met with Disappointment and Death."

In 1887 the Hoffman House hotel absorbed the Russian Vapor Baths.  A tunnel was broken through from the hotel to the basement of the former house, and the name was changed to the Hoffman House Baths.  On September 26 The New York Times gushed "No. 7 West 24th-st., in rear of hotel [is] the most select and elegantly appointed baths in the city.  The plunge is filled continually with fresh water.  The sulphur and medicated baths are in charge of William Welsh, an experienced manager having the indorsement of many of our leading physicians."

A bizarre episode took place on December 27, 1894 that might have been comical in its slapstick-like details were it not for the potentially disastrous circumstances.  Around 3:00 in the morning Florence Masterson had been left to look after the hotel's engine room by Pete, the hotel's engineer.

No sooner had Pete left, than a bolt blew off a steam valve, letting steam escape.  Masterson, fearing an explosion, raked the hot coals from below the boiler.  The Evening World reported "He worked so wildly he set fire to a chair."

The distracted man did not notice the burning chair; and when he felt the danger had passed, he dropped exhausted onto the chair, which promptly set his clothing afire.  He jumped up yelling "Pete! Pete!"  But the engineer was in another part of the building, unable to hear him.

The night watchman of the Hoffman House Baths was suddenly startled by Masterson's wild appearance through the tunnel.  "As he ran he stumbled over everything in his way," reported The World.  "Once he rushed headlong into a stone wall and cut a deep gash in his head."

By the time he burst into the Baths, he was too excited and alarmed to speak.  Breman asked him "What's the matter?" then, seeing the flaming clothes, tried to stop him so he could smother the fire.  But Masterson never slowed down, running wildly away howling "Fire!"

Breman assumed the Hoffman House was on fire and sent in a fire alarm.  The commotion roused the female hotel employees.  "There are half a hundred girls who occupy rooms in the house over the engine-room," explained the newspaper.  "It didn't take them long to run shrieking into the street."

Fireman arrived, quieted the women and sent for an ambulance for Masterson.  The damage in the engine room was negligible; resulting in The Evening World's scoffing headline "A Two-Dollar Fire Creates Excitement and Burns a Man."

Women as well as men took advantage of the pool (separately, of course); and it proved an excellent vehicle for a publicity stunt in April 1904.  Ethelberta Jones was in rehearsals for a play.  In one act her character had to dive off a bridge.  Supposedly she had been coming to the Hoffman House Baths every day for two weeks to practice "the great rescue scene" when, on April 24, she was horribly injured.

At least one journalist saw through the charade.

A tipster telephoned all the newspapers, saying "a woman had fractured her skull diving into the pool."  The reporters converged on the Hoffman House Baths.  The skeptical writer for The Sun said they arrived "in time to see a limp lady, her head swathed in bandages, appear from the inner recesses, supported by the strong arm of a doctor, whose name and address were furnished.  She was pale and her head rolled as she was half carried to the cab waiting outside."

The journalist smelled a press stunt.  "Oh, yes, the reporters might see the pool where the lady was hurt diving, and they might take pictures, too."  Refusing to give the production free advertising, he ended his story saying the scene for which she was practicing was from the play "'Rum-li-lardle-um,' which opens at the Chrysolite Theatre on Mumpuary 3."

The Hoffman House hotel closed its doors in March 1915.  The building at No. 7 West 24th Street was converted to business, the stoop removed and a new two-story commercial storefront installed.   The area, once filled with mansions and first class hotels, was now the center of Manhattan's retail glass, china and linen district.  By 1919 Henry Witte, dealer in brilliant cut glass pieces, had opened his showroom in No. 7.

Another cut glass merchant, H. A. Diehl, took space in the building in 1920.  The Pottery, Glass & Brass Salesman noted on July 29 that Diehl "has just made important changes in his showroom that give him very much more space than he previously occupied...Some handsome new fixtures have been installed and the entire space rearranged."  The article casually mentioned "Henry Witte, who has been at 7 West Twenty-fourth Street for some time, has also made some alterations in his showroom."

H. A. Diehl not only carried brilliant cut glass tableware; but elaborate pieces like this cut glass lamp.  Pottery & Glass Salesman, July 1920 (copyright expired)

By mid-century the 24th Street block had suffered.  The high-end retailers were gone and No. 7 was home to Sid Grossman's photograph studio, where for years he held photography classes; and to San-Mar-Dee Sales, which marketed its "colorful foam hanger covers" in 1957.  The firm promised the item "makes wire hangers slip proof--protects clothing, perfect for all 'Drip-Drys."

In the early 1960s the family-owned printing firm, Alvin J. Bart & Co., Inc. was located here.  The family was puzzled when 25-year old Lawrence J. Bart, a vice president in the company, failed to show up for Thanksgiving dinner in 1963.  The following day his 18-year old brother, Stephen, and a friend went to Lawrence's London Terrace apartment to check on him.

The building superintendent let them in, where they Bart's body amid a scene of a violent struggle.  He had been strangled by a dog chain, a portion of which had been used as a gag.  The New York Times reported "The blade of a steak knife was imbedded in his chest."  The force with which the victim had been stabbed had broken off the handle.

Bart's German shepherd puppy had been locked in the bathroom.  Detectives could find no signs of forced entry, leading them to believe the victim knew his attacker.

It was not until 24 years later that the cold case was solved.  On April 20, 1997 61-year old Lawrence Henry was arrested and charged.  The murder mystery would most likely never have been unraveled were it not for the religious conversion of a former prostitute who came forward with information.

In 1999 the building was converted to offices on the lower two floors, with a total of six apartments upstairs.   Then in 2014 Mark Geragos, attorney to high profile clients like Mike Tyson, purchased it for $9.5 million.  He announced his intentions to convert it "to its full potential for residential purposes."

After the scaffolding was removed some seemingly serious issues remained.

Few passersby can fathom the colorful history of the vintage mansion, one of only two left on the block that hint at the former residential neighborhood.

photographs by the author