The Lost Brennan House - 84th Street and Broadway

The farmhouse as it appeared in 1879.  The rutty, dirt road is 84th Street.  from the collection of the New York Historical Society

In the second half of the 18th century working farms shared the upper portions of Manhattan with elegant country estates.    One farmhouse, situated on a rocky knoll halfway between the Hudson River and the Bloomingdale Road (later the Boulevard and then Broadway) at what would become 84th Street, had begun as a modest frame dwelling, two stories tall, with a peaked roof.  Most likely because of a growing family, a slightly smaller addition added living space sometime later.

Local lore passed down the story that during the Revolution, Washington and his generals used the house as headquarters.  The legend is questionable, since almost every other structure in the area boasted the same claim.  But there was one tenant who would draw attention to it later.

Around 1830 the 216-acre farm was acquired by Patrick Brennan and his wife, Mary Elizabeth. Although the Brennans had six children (one historian bumps that number to 10), in June 1843 they agreed to take three boarders--the writer and poet Edgar Allan Poe, his wife, Virginia, and her mother, Maria Clemm as boarders.  As a matter of fact, according to Poe biographer Christopher P. Semtner, "Mrs. Brennan later admitted she would have turned him away if he had not pleaded so pathetically on Virginia's behalf."

Virginia had been diagnosed with tuberculosis in 1842.  Poe, himself, was suffering from what was then diagnosed as consumption.  According to Dr. Appleton Morgan in his 1920 article "Edgar Allen Poe In New York" written for the Manual, "Poe was advised to seek summer quarters among the ancient farmhouses along the Hudson River as no more expensive than the stuffy precincts of Amity Street and Waverley Place, and he found his way to Harsenville and Bloomingdale."

The three spent that summer and the next with the Brennan family.  Martha Brennan was about 10 years old at the time, and she later recalled that the Poes had a double room on the second floor of the main house, with "two windows toward the river and two toward the East" looking toward the Bloomingdale Road.  Mrs. Clemm spent most of her time there, retiring to a smaller room on the first floor at night.

According to Martha decades later "He was the greatest of husbands and devoted to his invalid wife.  Frequently when she was weaker than usual, he carried her tenderly from her room to the dinner table and satisfied her every whim."

from the collection of the Library of Congress

Poe and Virginia Clemm were first cousins.  He was 26 and she just 13 when they married.  (original source of the 1847 watercolor of Virginia is unclear)

There was only one time when Mary Brennan became "vexed" at her boarder.  That was when she discovered he had scratched his name into her mantelpiece in his room.   General James Rowan O'Beirne, who married Martha, recalled "It was a very quaint and old-fashioned affair with carved fruit and vines and leaves, and Mrs. Brennan always kept it carefully painted.  On the day in question Poe was leaning against the mantelpiece apparently in meditation.  Without thinking, he traced his name in the black mantel, and when Mrs. Brennan called his attention to what he was doing, he smiled and asked her pardon."

According to Martha, Poe was "a shy, solitary, taciturn sort of man, fond of rambling down in the woods, between the house and the river, and sitting for hours upon a certain stump on the edge of the bank of the river."  Her account was backed up by Dr. William Hand Brown who wrote, "It was Poe's custom to wander away from the (Brennan) house in pleasant weather to 'Mount Tom' an immense rock which may still be seen in Riverside Park, where he would sit silently for hours gazing out upon the Hudson."  And General O'Beirne added in 1900 "Other days he would roam through the surrounding woods and, returning in the afternoon, sit in the 'big room,' as it used to be called, by a window and work unceasingly with pen and paper, until the evening shadows.

Poe would spend hours sitting the rocky outcrop known as Mount Tom, seen here in 1923.  Valentine's Manual of Old New York (copyright expired)

Poe was very fond of the children and Martha would lie on the floor at his feet while he wrote.  "She didn't understand why he turned the written side toward the floor," wrote O'Beirne, "and she would reverse it and arrange the pages according to the number upon them."

Among those writings was "The Raven."  It cannot be overlooked that above the door to his and Virginia's room was a small shelf, nailed to the door frame, which held a small plaster cast of Minerva.  Behind the bust, according to O'Beirne, was a transom, "a number of little panes of smoky glass."   The little piece is almost assuredly the "bust of Pallas" which made such a dramatic appearance in "The Raven."

When he finished the poem, he read it to Mary Brennan and other family members.  Then, in January 1845 it was published in the New York Mirror.

A charming, if romanticized, depiction of the Brennan House served as the frontispiece of the 1895 The Works of Edgar Allan Poe, edited by Edmund Clarence Stedman and George Edward Woodberry (copyright expired)

Patrick Brennan, in the meantime, was no illiterate farmer.  He ran a successful coal business in Bloomingdale and was active in politics, although never ran for office.  He was an ardent Roman Catholic and according to The New York Herald, was noted for "aiding in the construction of churches and in the support of charitable and religious institutions."

The wooden house was nearly lost during a violent thunderstorm in the spring of 1854.  The New York Herald reported on April 27, "The residence of Mr. Patrick Brennan, situated at the corner of Eighty-fourth street and Bloomingdale road, was struck by lightning, and, miraculous to relate, the fluid but merely stunned Mr. Brennan and family, leaving them stupefied for a short time.  Every glass in the building was shattered.  It then passed from the house, splitting two large trees; running therefrom to a well, breaking up the platform, and evidently passed down the well into the earth."

Born in 1842, Thomas Brennan was just a toddler when the Poe family rented rooms in the house.  Nevertheless he later recalled "watching Poe draw designs in the dust with his cane."   The boy first attended Public School No. 9 for seven years, then was sent to St. Theresa College in Montreal.  Having graduated at the age of 16, he returned to New York and took a job as night watchman at Bellevue Hospital in 1858.

The wedding of Martha to James Rowan O'Beirne took place in the house on October 26, 1862.  The bridegroom would distinguish himself in the Civil War, be active in the pursuit of John Wilkes Booth following the Lincoln assassination, and be brevetted to the rank of brigadier general when he left military duty on January 30, 1866.  He was a journalist and author as well.  

It appears that Patrick Brennan was incensed at the amount of taxes levied against his property in 1864.  A meeting of the Board of Aldermen on November 6 noted he had complained of "illegal assessment" of "his property on the corner of Eighty-fourth-street and Broadway."  The minutes of the Board's meeting two months later revealed the Comptroller had been directed to issue a refund to Brennan for $67.91 "being the amount illegally assessed."    The refund would amount to just over $1,000 today.

The entire Brennan family sat for this striking portrait in the 1860's.  Left to right: Mary Elizabeth Maloney Brennan, Adelaide Brennan Clark, Thomas Brennan, Henry Brennan, Henrietta Brennan, Josephine Brennan Murphy, Louis Brennan, Olivia Brennan Manly, Joseph Brennan, Martha Brennan O'Beirne, James Roan O'Beirne, Patrick Brennan.  photo courtesy of descendant Tom Nugent

As the population in the slowly-developing area grew, there was need for police protection.  In 1865 through 1867 Brennan leased an outbuilding as the temporary police station house.  The Board of Aldermen's 1865 report showed $100 rent paid to Brennan every three months; about $6,000 a year in today's dollars.

Patrick Brennan died in in the house on December 1870.  The New York Herald noted "He was advanced in years and was one of the early settlers of the metropolis" and added "It is worthy of notice that the house in which he resided for forty years is one famous as the headquarters of Washington and in which Edgar A. Poe wrote 'The Raven.'"

The funeral was held in the house on Tuesday, December 6 at 10 a.m.  It was followed by a solemn requiem high mass at the Church of the Holy Name of Jesus at the corner of Broadway and 97th Street.  Two years later another funeral was held in the house--that of three-year old Mary Eliza O'Beirne, the only daughter of Martha and James.

In the meantime the career of Thomas S. Brennan, who commanded an imposing figure at 6' 4" in height, had soared.  In January 1875 he was appointed Commissioner of Charities and Correction, having been responsible for significant reforms in that department, including establishing the Park and Reception Hospitals and the Small-pox Reception Hospital.

Thomas S. Brennan -- Frank Leslie's Illustrated Newspaper, April 10, 1875 (copyright expired)

Still living in the 84th Street homestead in 1882 was Thomas's sister, Henrietta and her family.  The change in the formerly bucolic neighborhood was apparent when she was set upon and robbed in August that year.  On September 9 The New York Times reported on an update in the case.  "Henry Smith, the colored man who snatched a leather bag containing $30 from Mrs. Henrietta Burg, of Eighty-fourth-street and the Boulevard, a sister of Thomas S. Brennan, Commissioner of Charities and Correction, pleaded guilty, in the Special Sessions Court, yesterday."  Smith was sentenced to two years in State Prison.

A 1909 steel engraving by S. Hollyer prettied up the landscape.  He got his time-line slightly wrong when he titled it "House Where Poe Wrote The Raven, 1840."  from the collection of the Library of Congress

The Brennan family was soon gone from the old wooden house, however, as development closed in.  The rocky landscape that had so enchanted Edgar Allan Poe was being flattened and buildings were appearing on the newly-laid streets.

On July 18, 1888 The New York Times commented "Once an hour, at least, the foundations of the cottage are shaken by the explosion of a charge of dynamite.  From the west the miners are almost upon it, and those who are working from the other side will probably reach the centre of the block in a week...The property has recently changed hands, and is now being prepared for building purposes."

With only days left before the Brennan house was demolished, the journalist floridly wrote  "But shorn of its fair proportions, a dismantled, shriveled shadow of the cottage in which Poe lived and wrote nearly 50 years ago, the battered and riven walls are still objects of interest to many, and for weeks they have been entered almost daily by companies of relic hunters who are permitted to ply their vocation to their hearts' content by the practical who are at present engaged in blowing up and carrying away the crag upon which the cottage stood."

The extension was currently being used by a blacksmith and contained a forge and "a huge bellows."  The article noted that "Much of the lath and plaster has been torn away by relic hunters, but enough remains to satisfy a small army, if wood, plaster, and bricks will satisfy the demand."

Shortly before its demolition a sign hangs from the southern wall (left).  It reads "John Negel, Mason Building, Ovens Built & Burners Set, Kalsomining [white washing]."  On the large rock, next to the rickety stairs, a hand-painted sign directs customers to "H. Hamilton, Upholsterer, 11th Avenue."  from the collection of the New York Public Library

One of those relic hunters was William Hemstreet who was interested in the mantel in the former Poe bedroom.  Unlike the worthless bits of plaster and lath, contractor Patrick Fogarty charged Hemstreet $5 for the mantel.  He supplied a bill of sale dated May 22, 1888 for a "wood mantel of the second story south room of the cottage in 84th street, formerly the resident of Edgar A. Poe; said mantel appearing by its age and construction to be the original one built."

Amusingly, the caption on this late 19th century postcard is unsure if the house was still standing or not.

A few days later the demolition crew had reached 84th Street and Broadway.  The Brennan house, seen only as a curiosity, was reduced to scrap wood and carted off.  That it had stood there at all was mostly forgotten within a decade or two.

The site today.  photo via streeteasy.com

And as for the mantel that Poe scratched his name into, upsetting his landlady;  William Hemstreet initially installed it in the library his Brooklyn home.  Then, in December 1906, he offered it to Columbia University.   Despite having (albeit arguable) historic and literary significance, it was placed "temporarily in the Librarian's office, and can be seen on application," according to a 1909 University document.

Columbus University Quarterly, March 1908 (copyright expired)

By the 1970s it stood humiliated in a storage area on the sixth floor of the Butler Library, "surrounded by files and boxes and exposed pipes," as described by Times journalists Benjamin Waldman and Andy Newman.  Finally, in 2012 it was removed to a more visible location in the rare book library, flanked by armchairs, with an oil portrait above it.

The 1896 Peter J. Brennan House - 788 West End Avenue

Although the first-floor window has been bricked over, the house is overall remarkably intact.

John G. Prague and Peter J. Brennan were no doubt well-acquainted with one another before 1894.  Both were well-known developers and builders.  (In 1890, in reaction to Prague's building--and designing--of hundreds of Upper West Side residences, the Record & Guide said he had "created a neighborhood.")  Brennan was equally prominent in the building industry and erected many of New York City's school buildings.

In 1894, Brennan hired Prague to design a trio of townhouses at 788 through 792 West End Avenue.  Like the other opulent residences rising along the thoroughfare, they were intended for monied families.  Costing Brennan a total of $45,000 to construct (about $560,000 each in 2024 money), the homes were completed in 1896.

Peter J. Brennan kept 788 West End Avenue for his family.  Prague's American basement design included two entrances (one for the servants and deliveries and such) above short stone stoops.  The window between them was fronted by a carved half-bowl decoration.  The three-story bowed midsection was essentially undecorated, save for blind panels below each set of windows.  Above a prominent cornice, the curious fifth floor facade morphed shoulder-high to the two fully-arched windows into a highly unusual, nearly vertical mansard.

In the 1940s, the ground-floor window survived.  image via the NYC Dept of Records & Information Services.

Living with Peter and Sarah Brennan were their son and daughter, James and Sally, as well as Sarah's widowed mother.  The family maintained a summer home in Edgemere, New York.  Proud of his Irish heritage, Peter was a decades-long member of the American-Irish Historical Society.

Brennan nearly lost his life on the day after Christmas in 1900.  The New York Times reported, "Peter J. Brennan, an elderly, wealthy builder of 788 West End Avenue, was run down by a cab at the crossing at Thirty-fourth Street, Broadway, and Sixth Avenue last night."  Brennan was taken to New York Hospital with a broken leg and "contusions of the body."  The cab driver, Edward Hamill, was jailed.

The scope of Brennan's construction operation was evidenced  in an article in The Sun on February 14, 1907.  President Theodore Roosevelt and the Isthmian Commission (in charge of the building of the Panama Canal) were holding hearings with contractors.  The Sun explained the purpose, "was to give the contractors an opportunity to tell of their resources and responsibility."  The article said, "Next Tuesday, Peter J. Brennan...will go to the White House to tell the President and his canal advisers of [his] abilities and resources."

Brennan gave his family another scare in 1910.  On November 23, The Rockaway News reported,

Mr. P. J. Brennan, a summer resident of Edgemere, and well known in this section being the contractor who built St. Mary’s Lyceum, and the O’Kane Building, and at present constructing the Inwood Public School, had a paralytic stroke on Saturday, and is quite ill at his home at 788 West End Avenue, Manhattan.  It Is hoped our esteemed friend will recover, as he is a man held in high esteem by all his friends and neighbors.

At the time of his stroke, the well-to-do family owned at least two motor vehicles.  Sarah drove a Hudson and her son had a Stearns.  In 1919, James purchased a $2,500 Cadillac (the price would translate to $38,000 in 2024).  On the night of December 8, he parked his new car in front of the house, locked it, and went inside.  Thirty minutes later he walked out to find his luxury automobile missing.  

The case received wide-spread press attention when Benny Kauff, the star center fielder for the New York Giants was arrested and charged with running a car theft ring.  The ballplayer, who also ran an autobody shop, took orders for particular models, sent his cronies out with the list, then repainted the stolen autos in his shop.  Kauff, known as the "Ty Cobb of the Feds," was banned from baseball, despite being acquitted of the Brennan theft.  (He testified he had been eating dinner with his wife at the time of the crime.)  Baseball Commissioner Kenesaw Landis said the acquittal "smelled to high heaven."

In 1912, the houses to the south of 788 West End Avenue were demolished to make way for an apartment building, and in 1920, the other two houses of Brennan's 1896 row were razed for the same reason.  With their home now vised between soaring, multi-family structures, the Brennans left in 1924.

The Brennan house became home to the De Lancey School for Girls.  An advertisement in The New York Times on September 27, 1925, offered, "Kindergarten, Primary, Intermediate, College Preparatory and General Courses."  While it was primarily an exclusive girls' school, the ad noted, "Classes for Little Boys."

The school remained through 1931, after which the Claremont School moved in.  First, however, architect George A. Bagge was hired to remodel the interiors.  The school now occupied the first through third floors, there was an apartment on the fourth, and the fifth was reserved for storage.  (Interestingly, the Certificate of Occupancy was granted on the condition that the apartment house at 800 West End Avenue was allowed access to the passageway between it and the house.)

Established in 1913, the Claremont School was coeducational.  It accepted students from three to fifteen years of age, whose parents paid tuition as high as $350 in 1935 (about $7,700 today).  Its occupancy of 788 West End Avenue would be relatively short-lived.  

In 1939, the former Brennan house was converted to apartments, two per floor on the second through fourth floors, and one on the fifth.  It was purchased by Cuban-born Hilario Villavicencio in 1979 who embarked on a campaign to make the exterior more interesting.  He splashed the facade with brilliant red and yellow, and added found statuary--a woman's head and two dragon heads--below the second floor windows.

Villavicencio told The New York Times columnist Christopher Gray in September 2010, "I try to make something alive.  But some people they don't like it; they say it looks like a circus.  Hey, you can't please everyone."

The colorful, vintage holdout--dwarfed by its early 20th century neighbors--is a delightful surprise along busy West End Avenue.

photographs by the author

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The Owen W. Brennan House - 156 West 15th Street

 

By 1855 broker Morris DeYoung and his wife lived in the comfortable brick-faced house at No. 120 West 15th Street (renumbered 156 in 1860).  Theirs was one of a row of Italianate houses completed a few years earlier on the south side of the block between Sixth and Seventh Avenues.  Each of the identical, 20-foot wide residences was three stories tall above an English basement.  The parlor floor windows extended to the floor, suggesting they originally opened onto a cast iron balcony.  Pretty foliate panels filled the spaces between the brackets of the pressed metal cornices.

While it was common for families to take in roomers or boarders, the DeYoungs seemed to have been nearly unusually desperate to do so.  Mrs. DeYoung placed an ad in the New York Herald on January 9, 1856 which read, "A lady, who occupies a house too large for her necessities, would like to dispose of some rooms to single gentlemen."  (Why she worded the ad to sound as if she were widowed or single is puzzling.)

The ad apparently did not produce results and a month later Mrs. DeYoung changed her strategy:

A lady of very superior education and capacity for imparting instruction, and who is permitted to refer to persons of the highest standing as to her worth and attainments, wishes to take into her family, a few young ladies, whose entire education she will superintend.

Another ad in May noted that in addition to an education, the young ladies would be surrounded "with home influences and comforts."

When the boarding school idea apparently did not work out, Morris placed a rather peculiar ad in the New York Herald on September 11, 1857:  "Board--A Lady Invalid can be accommodated with board and nursing, and every requisite attendance.  No other boarders or children...Address M. D., 120 West Fifteenth street, New York."

It seems that the DeYoungs were in financial straits.  Only a few weeks later, on November 1, they offered, essentially, the entire house for rent, other than space for themselves:  

To Let--Unfurnished, to a very small, quiet and unobtrusive family only, for $130, in advance for six months, the parlor, alcove and tea room (entire parlor floor), dormitory and ante room, on bathroom floor; rooms on upper floor, with privilege in kitchen, vault, &c.  Hot and cold water, bell and register in each room.  Occupant has no children or boarders.  A rare opportunity for a suitable party desiring the exclusiveness of an entire house.

The mention of  bells and registers referred to the servants' call bells, and the floor registers that allowed heat to rise throughout the house from the basement furnace.

The DeYoungs either soon sold their home or lost it in foreclosure.  By the following spring it was owned by D. S. Barnes who advertised it for rent in April, describing it as a "three story, high stoop, genteel modern house."

He found a tenant in a Dr. Dubois who ran the house as a sort of women's hospital.  An advertisement in April 1858 was entitled "Important To Females" and coaxed, "Diseases of females exclusively treated by Dr. Dubois."  For between $1 and $5 ($160 for the most expensive today) he guaranteed "remedies for Female Derangements."  Patients who traveled to the city were offered "board, nursing and exclusive attendance."  (The advertisements worrisomely hinted at abortions.)

The doctor's residency was short-lived.  By 1860 No. 156 West 15th Street was being operated as a boarding house.  Among the residents that year were Swedish immigrants G. Berggvist and his wife, Margaret.  Other boarders within the next few years included Isaac I. Lazarus, who dealt in "showcards;" Joseph Lyons, a commission agent; and physician Charles Salmon.

The boarders enjoyed upscale surroundings.  An inventory in 1866 showed a seven-octave piano in the parlor, oil paintings, and "elegant" parlor furniture.  

The list was compiled because the house was being sold that year.  It was purchased by Owen W. Brennan and his wife, the former Mary E. O'Connor, and, finally, there would be a long-term resident.

Mary was his second wife.  His first, Margaret Horn Brennan, had died in 1848, just months after the deaths of two of their sons, James Timothy and William Troutman, in 1847.

The 15th Street house would be tightly populated.  There were three sons, John, Winfield Scott, Charles M., and three daughters, Annie W., Isabel Hazel, and Louise.

Brennan was born on November 1, 1814.  His father, Timothy, had fought in the War of 1812.  Owen Brennan had started out his career in the liquor business, but turned to public service when Mayor Fernando Wood appointed him Captain of Police of the 6th Precinct.  His career soared.  Three years later he was elected Police Magistrate; in 1862 he resigned to run for City Controller and was elected; and in 1865 he was appointed a Commissioner of Charities and Correction.  

It was almost assuredly Brennan who updated and enlarged the house by adding a stylish mansard roof with arched dormers.  In addition to his other positions, he was an Officer of The Central Park, vice-president of the Guardian Savings Bank, a director in the North and East River Railroad Company, and a manager of the Roman Catholic Orphan Asylum.

The house was the scene of Annie's marriage to Charles O'Connor on January 5, 1869 with, according to the Evening Telegram, "a number of their friends and relatives being present."

When the Guardian Savings Bank failed in 1871 The New York Times placed the blame upon its directors.  The fact that the president was one of the newspaper's most scorned personages was likely a factor.  It began its article on January 13, 1872 saying:

Would it not be well for some eminent whitewasher to exercise his art on the northern wall of the late lamented Guardian Savings Bank, in Chatham-street?  All who come down the Bowery see the names of this swindling concern and its managers staring them in the face.  Why perpetuate, as on a monument of brass, the names of 'William M. Tweed, President, and Walter Roche and Owen W. Brennan, Vice-Presidents'?

As a matter of fact, Brennan was closely involved with the Tweed Ring.  The Guardian Savings Bank had been a sort of piggy bank for high ranking Tweed officials.  (When the bank failed Jeremiah Quinlan disappeared "to evade jail," according to The New York Times.)  For years Owen Brennan had been the president of the Blossom Club, a political and social club for Tweed politicians and citizens.

When Brennan stepped down as president of the Blossom Club on May 12, 1883 after 19 years, he was given a glittering reception.  The New York Times reported that he was presented with "a large crayon portrait of himself, handsomely framed and elaborately inscribed."  Among those honoring Brennan were Senator T. F. Grady, Congressman John J. Adams, two judges and a raft of high-ranking public officials and politicians.  The New York Times noted "The club-rooms were profusely decorated with flowers."

Brennan's giving up his position after nearly two decades may have had much to do with his health.  By now he had been retired for some time and was suffering from malaria.  On the afternoon of October 28, 1884, according to The New York Times, he was seized with a congestive chill and died in an hour."  He was 71 years old.

The newspaper went on to say "for many years Mr. Brennan has been out of politics, and has been living quietly at his home in Fifteenth-street."  His funeral was held in the parlor on October 31, followed by a mass at the nearby Church of St. Francis Xavier.

Mary and the unmarried children lived on in the house.  On November 7, 1888 Louise was married to H. S. Provost in the parlor, and on April 22, 1891 it was the scene of Isabel Hazel's marriage to Edgar S. Weed.  In reporting on Isabel's wedding, The World mentioned "The house was beautifully decorated with roses, lilies, tulips and palms."

Mary E. Brennan died on November, 13, 1895 at the age of 65.  None of the Brennan heirs moved into the family home and it sat vacant for a considerable time--eventually drawing the attention of crooks. 

On August 2, 1898 the New York Herald reported "Five burglars were caught at work in the vacant house No. 156 West Fifteenth street yesterday afternoon, and after a desperate fight with two policemen, during which three of the burglars escaped, two were taken to the West Thirtieth street station."  Neighbors had noticed men coming and going from the basement door throughout the afternoon and notified a patrolman.

He and another policeman entered the basement and ascended to the parlor floor where they "discovered five men sitting around a table, upon which was a can of beer and several cups from which they drank."  They had managed to do severe damage to the residence.  "The police found that all of the brasswork in the house, gas fixtures and lead pipe had been cut away and removed, and that the woodwork had been chopped into with an axe and badly damaged.  Apparently the wood was chopped up for fuel, as several bags of it had been removed."

The vandalism was apparently a wake up call for the Brennan family.  In June 1899 Charles, as executor of his mother's estate, sold the house to Emil Bachman for $15,600--just under a half a million in today's dollars.  Bachman did hasty reparations and within a month a Mrs. Kaftan was operating the residence as a rooming house.

Among her first tenants was 27 year old F. Taylor Maus.  He had barely moved in when he appeared in the Coney Island and Police Court on July 14, charging David Sloan with assault.  Sloan was the brother and trainer of well-known jockey Tod Sloan.  According to Maus, "in a row in a Coney Island saloon Sloan struck him in the mouth with a chair and knocked out several of his teeth."

Another resident, Frederick Manning, appeared in a Coney Island courtroom the following year.  The 30-year-old was arrested by an over-zealous cop involved in a a "roundup" of "pickpockets who have been reaping a rich harvest of watches and plethoric pocketbooks" among the crowds, according to The Evening Telegram on July 19, 1900.  Among those he arrested was the 30-year-old Manning who, "although he protested that he was a businessman of this city, he was locked up all night."  The policeman's mistake was revealed in court the next morning and Manning was released.

Agnes Reed was renting a room here in 1901.  Her mother, Mary O'Donnell, traveled from Chicago on March 21 with $6,000 alimony she had received from Agnes's former husband, and took a room next door to her daughter.   It was not long before Mary became concerned about a man, John Murray, who had been wooing Agnes.  The back alimony she had brought would equal about $186,000 today alone and she feared Murray was after the 26-year-old's money.

Three days after Mary arrived, Murray appeared at No. 156 West 15th Street and sent a note up to Agnes asking her to meet him on the corner "as soon as possible."  But it was intercepted by Mary, instead.  After he had waited for some time, Murray returned to the house and asked Mrs. Kaftan when Agnes would be down.

"You can go upstairs and see her mother," he was told.

"No, thank you," he answered, and hurried away.

Later another boarder, Mrs. Walters, walked into Agnes's room to visit.  The Morning Telegram reported she entered "just in time to catch the divorcee, who was about to leap out of the window.  The rescuer watched Mrs. Reed for the remainder of the day."

Agnes disappeared two days later.  On March 29 The Morning Telegram reported she was still missing after four days and detectives were searching for her.  The article said her mother "fears she will be induced to marry an ardent suitor while in an irresponsible condition."  She told a reporter "The poor girl is not in full possession of her senses and may fall a victim to a designing fortune seeker if not returned to my keeping speedily."

Another divorcee, Ida Guild, had moved into rooms with her two children a month before Agnes Reed's drama played out.   She and Charles S. Guide had been married in Boston 14 years earlier.  A magazine writer, he left his family and moved to Brooklyn where he remarried (before bothering with the technicalities of a divorce from Ida).  Ida came to Manhattan to attempt to obtain support for herself and the children, but ended up in court defending against Charles's attempts to gain custody over the children.  She, at least initially, was successful in retaining custody.

In 1906 attorney John Bird Quinton purchased the house.  He was the head of the American Law & Claim Investigating Agency and a commissioner of deeds.   He made substantial alterations to the house, transforming the basement level to a restaurant and café.  

Quinton took in a single boarder, Edward Thurston Hiscox, in 1907, who had graduated from Yale University three years earlier.  Like his landlord, Hiscox was an attorney and would remain with Quinton at least through 1919, by which time he was a member of the law firm Gray & Hiscox.

The stoop was gone by 1941.  The architect deftly copied the original lintels to create a window where the entrance had been.  via the NYC Dept. of Records & Information Services

At some point before 1940 the stoop was removed and the entrance moved to the basement level.  It was not until 1997 that a renovation resulted in official apartments--three on the former parlor level and two each on the upper floors.

The address received significant press coverage in 2018 when the city's Office of Special Enforcement sued Dr. Philip Baldeo and Miguel Guzman for "illegal hotel use."  The charges claimed the pair had rented six of the nine units to tourists over a three-year period.  

Although the Brennan house is in remarkable shape above the commercial space, a recent real estate listing suggested replacing it with a modern apartment building--even offering a proposed rendering.

photographs by the author

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The Lost Jenssen Drugstore and McKenna Saloon - 172 Varick Street

 

The sign on the window, Apotheke, reflects the drugstore's German owner.  taken June 13, 1913, from Colonial Architecture In New York City, 1913 (copyright expired)

Around 1824, the two-and-a-half story house and store was erected at the northwest corner of Varick and Charlton Streets.  Unlike the neighboring houses, the Federal architecture of which featured peaked roofs, this building had a gambrel roof that harkened to the Dutch houses that once lined the streets of Lower Manhattan.  Faced in Flemish bond brick on the front and clapboards on the Varick Street side, its attic level had an arched window below the gable that mimicked those in the dormers.

The original occupant of the upper floors seems to have been Catharine Moncrieff, listed here in 1827.  By 1830, William Cornell, a "measurer of grain," and his family lived here.

Around 1840, Lewis Radford moved his family into the upper floor and established his L. & T. Radford grocery in the store.  He and his brother, Thomas, operated another grocery store at 653 Greenwich Street, as well.

The Radford grocery made way to Patrick Boylan's saloon around 1854.  Boylan had another saloon at 68 Broome Street.  By now, the upper portion was operated as a boarding house.  Along with the Boylans in 1854, William Brown, a painter, boarded here and would remain at least through 1857.  

By 1859, William H. Cleary and Charles Stammler owned 172 Varick Street, and around that time, Cleary became a partner in Boylan's saloon.  The boarding house portion was now operated by Mary A. Wallace, whose husband Alexander, was an engineer.  

On October 14, 1861, Mary visited the village of Fort Washington in the northern part of Manhattan.  When she returned, she discovered her small purse was gone.  Her advertisement in the New York Herald the following day read:

Lost--On Monday morning, on the Hudson River Railroad, half-past-nine train leaving Fort Washington, a Portemonnaie, containing about $50, the earnings of a hard working woman.  The finder will be liberally rewarded by leaving it at 172 Varick street, corner of Charlton, with Mrs. Wallace.

Alexander Wallace died at the age of 47 on July 14, 1864.  His funeral was held in the house the following afternoon.  Mary A. Wallace would continue to operate the boarding house for a decade.

The saloon, in the meantime, became P. J. McQueeney & Co. around 1867, run by Edward and Patrick J. McQueeney.  The brothers lived at 55 Charlton and 229 W. Houston Street, respectively.  The saloon changed hands again in 1870 when Patrick McKenna, who had a second saloon at 107 Varick Street, took over the lease.  McKenna and his wife, Catharine, lived at 89 Charlton Street.

An improbable situation began in 1880 when William H. Cleary and Charles Stammler divided the ground floor to two spaces.  While Patrick McKenna continued his saloon here, the owners gave the second lease to Charles F. Jenssen for his drugstore.  It was most likely at this point that the corner entrance was added.

The unconventional bedfellows seem to have coexisted well.  The Irish saloonkeeper and the German pharmacist were well-known in their respective professions.  In 1888, Patrick McKenna was on the committee of the annual ball held by the Wine, Liquor, and Beer Dealers' Central Association at the Metropolitan Opera House in March.

A month earlier, Charles F. Jenssen was involved in the death of the two-year-old daughter of William Seiberg, a shoemaker who lived at 241 Spring Street.  According to the New York Press on February 27, 1888, the girl, "died from the effects of poison put up by mistake by the clerk of Charles F. Jensen [sic], a druggist at 172 Varick street."  Jenssen was exonerated by Deputy coroner William T. Jenkins, who said the toddler died of "diphtheria and scarlet fever" and that the poison "did not in his opinion hasten the child's death," reported the New York Press.

Interestingly, in 1893, the Heath Department distributed "Culture Outfits" to certain pharmacies.  The kits, free of cost, would be used to detect diphtheria in suspected patients.  The Health Department's Annual Report that year noted that the Jenssen pharmacy was one of those "stations."  In 1900, the Jenssen store was officially deemed a "Health Board Station."  Here, said The Medical Directory of New York, New Jersey and Connecticut, physicians could obtain, "culture Outfits, Bottles for Sputa, Antitoxin, etc."

A bizarre incident occurred on July 8, 1905.  The New York Sun explained that Mrs. Annie Shaughnessy, who lived on Charles Street, was on Broadway near Bleecker Street when she, "blew her nose in a handkerchief that contained a pin, then snuffed the pin up her nose."  The 30-year-old realized what she had done, and made it as far as the Jenssen pharmacy, "when she became hysterical."  A police man responded, who took Mrs. Shaughnessy to St. Vincent's Hospital, "where the pin was soon removed," reported the article.

Around the time of Annie Shaughnessy's unfortunate pin incident, George H. Brennan took over the saloon portion of the ground floor.  The family lived upstairs, including his adult sons William and Joseph R.

On the evening of March 15, 1907, George Brennan, described by The New York Times as, "an elderly man, who runs a saloon at 172 Varick Street," went uptown to attend the Hammerstein's Victoria Theatre on Times Square.  As he started across the street, he was knocked down by a wagon.  George told the driver "It wasn't your fault; drive along now."  The article said, "He also tipped a boy who brushed him off and another who picked up his spectacles."

Police Sergeant Archie Taggart, "the giant of the traffic squad, an old friend," according to The Times, rushed over to see if Brennan was all right.  George lamented to him,

It's a shame.  Why couldn't this have happened two days later?  I took out an accident policy only this morning, but if I put in a claim to the company for this they'd say it was a fake.  Such luck!

Later that year, William H. Brennan had a much more serious encounter with the law.  Unlike his brother, who worked in their father's saloon, William worked at Feltman's Pavilion in Coney Island.  When the manager, Jesse F. Sherwood, fired him that summer, he suspected that Brennan, "harbored a grudge."

On the night of August 20, Sherwood was told that Brennan was "hanging around with a gun."  The Brooklyn Standard Union reported, "Believing that a stich in time saves nine, Sherwood didn't wait for Brennan to get 'mussy.'"  He had several waiters seize and frisk him.  They found a loaded revolver.  He was arrested for carrying a concealed weapon, although Brennan pleaded innocent.

William H. Cleary died in the spring of 1914.  His estate noted he still owned "one half interest in equity" of 172 Varick Street.  At the time, the Jenssen pharmacy and the Brennan saloon still occupied the ground floor.  But they--and the venerable building as well--would soon be gone.  

When this photograph was taken in 1912, the relic had less than two years left. from the collection of the New York Public Library.

On February 25, 1912, The Sun had reported on the proposed widening of Varick Street.  "To carry out the proposed improvements the city will have to purchase all or parts of about 265 properties."  By October 1914, 172 Varick Street was gone.

The George Paulding House - 24 Charlton Street

 

In 1817 John Jacob Astor I took over the land lease of Aaron Burr's country estate, Richmond Hill, from Trinity Church.  Within a decade, he had leveled the land, laid out streets, and begun construction of scores of two-and-a-half story brick-faced homes.  Among them was 24 Charlton Street.  Similar to most of its neighbors, it featured a stone stoop and two dormers at the attic level.  The narrow doorway, devoid of extras like leaded sidelights, marked the house as a middle-class dwelling.

In 1827 the house was shared by two families.  William G. Burk was a carpenter, and Matthew Carter did not list a profession, suggesting he may have been retired.  Burk was most likely what we would call a contractor today.  

On March 31, 1830, an auction was held of "all the household & kitchen furniture of a family breaking up housekeeping."  Despite the modest appearance of the house, it contained items like a mahogany sideboard and chairs, "china tea sets, cut glass," and "pillar & claw feet breakfast tables."

William G. Burk may have been acquainted with the new owner of 24 Charlton Street.  George Paulding was also listed as a carpenter, with an office at 30 Gold Street, and was a well-known builder, or contractor.  Paulding was born in Peekskill, New York in 1792, the son of Revolutionary War hero John Paulding.  John was one of three militiamen who captured Major John André, who was associated in the treason of Benedict Arnold.

George and his wife, the former Eleanor Van Mater, had ten children.  In addition to his building business, George was highly involved in politics.  When he was appointed its candidate for assemblyman in 1848, the Free Soil Democracy of the Empire Ward called him, "a man whose feelings and principles are identified with the advancement of the best interests of our city."  In 1863, Biographical Sketches would remember him as, "a leading man in the Metropolitan city."

On September 13, 1855, George Paulding died at the age of 60.  His funeral was held in the parlor two days later.  

Two years later, Eleanor had a horrifying experience.  At about 6:30 on November 18, 1857, she was walking along Grand Street near Christie Street.  She carried a net handbag known as a reticule which, according to The Evening Post, "was of considerable value, containing, among other articles of value, a $50 check on the Pacific Bank."  (The amount would translate to about $1,800 in 2024.)

The newspaper said, "a ruffian, who gave his name as Rob Laton, came behind her, seizing the reticule...Her cries drew the attention of persons passing by, who made chase after the rascal."  The would-be purse snatcher found himself trapped.  The article continued, "others headed him off, and he was seized and given over of Officer Holmes."  During the chase, Laton had tossed Eleanor's purse, but it was later found and returned to her.  

One of the Pauldings' sons was John, who was born in 1819.  Like his father, he was involved in politics.  Biographical Sketches said, "He has always maintained a leading position in the Democratic party."  An attorney, John was elected to the State Assembly.  He and his wife, the former Jane Cosgrove, had four children.  Jane died in 1862 at about 35 years old, and John died in 1871.  

Following her father's death, Abbie Paulding moved into the Charlton Street house with her grandmother.  Sadly, she died within weeks--on June 8, 1871--and her funeral was held here two days later.

In the meantime, another son, E. E. Paulding, had distinguished himself during the Civil War, meriting the rank of lieutenant colonel.  After the war he relocated to St. Paul, Minnesota where he was editor of the Pioneer Printing Company.  In 1872, he returned to New York to visit his mother.  While here he contracted bronchitis, and died at the age of 41.

The following year Joseph Paulding, a broker at 24 New Street, moved in with his mother.  He may have convinced her to move, and on April 9, 1875, two years before her death, the "genteel household furniture" of 24 Charlton Street was sold at auction.

The house Eleanor Paulding had called home for 45 years was purchased by Hugh Gallagher, who was in the "waters" business.  Living with the family was Gallagher's widowed mother-in-law, Eleanor Cassidy.  She died at the age of 77 on November 12, 1875 (the year they moved in).  Following her funeral in the house, a requiem mass was celebrated in St. Patrick's Cathedral.  

The Gallaghers would not remain long at 24 Charlton Street.  In 1878 it was home to Adolph Ode and his family.  He was associated with his father, Casimir, in the confectionery business Battais & Ode.  (Interestingly, Casimir lived across the street at 19 Charlton Street.)  The Odes had at least three children, Randolph T., Lottie and Clara.

Boarding with the Odes in 1878 was the Redden family.  John Redden, who was 17 years old, "works with his father sewing grain-bags on Pier 38," according to the New York Evening Express.  He was arrested on November 28 that year for a serious offense.

The New York Evening Express explained that each year on every national holiday, a group of young men known as the Original Hound Rangers "turn out in costume and parade the streets with the accompaniment of fifes and drums."  John Redden and several friends walked along the sidewalk, following the parade.  Suddenly, at Greenwich Street and Battery Place, Redden "was surrounded by a number of boys living in the neighborhood, who began to plague and assault him."  Finally, Redden, "exasperated at his tormentors," drew a knife from his pocket and plunged into the stomach of James Kenney, fatally wounding him.

Redden ran to the Staten Island ferryboat Middleville, but did not escape.  He was arrested on board by Officer Edward Scanlon.  The knife was found in his pocket.  The teen was held for trial in the Tombs.

The Odes' boarder in 1896 was Lawrence Bauerschmidt, who lived in the attic level.  He was described by the Brooklyn Daily Eagle as "an old man."  Bauerschmidt nearly lost his life on May 28 that year, when an overheated range caused a fire.  The family escaped, but Bauerschmidt was found in his room by Fireman Biorman "partially overcome by smoke."  Biorman carried him through the skylight "and down into an adjoining building.  He soon revived," said the article.

A touching episode involving Randolph T. Ode that played out in 1905 was reported as far away as Australia.  The young man, who was a civil engineer, was afflicted with "incipient tuberculosis" and traveled to Colorado Springs in hopes of a cure.  Describing him as "the son of Adolph Ode, a wealthy wholesale confectioner," the Oshkosh Northwestern related that he "wrote home that he thought he would feel better if he could see Miss Harris."  Miss Harris was May Amanda Harris.  

The newspaper reported, "Mrs. Ode and Miss Harris hastened to Colorado, where, under the shadow of Pike's peak, and largely through the young woman's nursing, Mr. Ode rapidly regained his health.  Colorado Springs will be the objective point of the honeymoon tour."

At the time of the heartwarming wedding, the Odes had been gone from 24 Charlton Street for several years.  In 1897, the year after the fire, it was home to Jeremiah and Elizabeth (known as Lizzie) McCarthy.  Jeremiah ran a saloon on West Street.  As had been the case twice before, only months after moving into the house, Jeremiah died on November 30, 1897.

Apparently a self-reliant woman, Lizzie McCarty took over running the saloon, and she took in a boarder.  In 1897 it was William A. Virtue, a clerk; and in 1898 Thomas Reagan lived here.  He died at the age of 30 on March 18 that year.

Following Lizzie McCarty's death on May 29, 1899 (her funeral was held in the house on May 31), 24 Charlton Street became home to Irish immigrant George H. Brennan and his wife.  The 26-year-old was looking for a job in August 1900, describing himself in his ad as, "Barkeeper, experienced, understands the business."  

Brennan's luck did not improve.  On February 27, 1903, the New-York Tribune reported he had filed for bankruptcy, listing liabilities of $3,658.67 and assets of $100.  It appears that Brennan's actual income came from less than honest enterprises.

On February 14, 1904, The Sun reported that the police had raided the "poolroom" at 15 West Houston Street.  (The term did not refer to billiards, but to horse betting.)  The article said, "Three hundred men were caught in the place, but only six of them were held...Capt. Brennan lined up the 300 men in the room and picked out those he wanted.  The first man he spotted was George Brennan of 24 Charlton street.  The captain knew him from past experience."  Previously, Captain Brennan (who was by no means related to George) had tried to gather evidence at the place, "but his namesake threw him out."

In 1919, William Sloane Coffin and his wife Catherine purchased 14 vintage houses in the neighborhood, including 24 Charlton Street.  They gently renovated the house, connecting the dormers in the process.

image via the NYC Dept of Records & Information Services.

Interestingly, only a year after the renovations were completed, the Coffins sold 24 Charlton Street to Margaret F. Clarke.  It initiated a series of turnovers in owners throughout the next two decades.

A relic of Manhattan life when America was just 50 years old, today the venerable Paulding house is a two-family residence. 

photographs by the author
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The Much Abused Lorrain Freeman House - 198 Prince St

A strong imagination is required to envision the original two-story structure that housed a well-to-do family.

In the 18th century the Bayard family's country estate abutted that of Major Abraham Mortimer, just south of Greenwich Village.   In the early years after the Revolution, the inevitability of development was clear and the Bayard family prepared by hiring Theodore Goerck in 1788 to map out prospective streets and building plots on their land.

Rather surprisingly, given that the British had been ousted from New York only five years earlier, among the streets Goerck laid out was one named Prince Street.   Actual development on the Bayard estate did not begin until the 1820s.  Around 1831 wealthy iron merchant Lorrain Freeman began construction of his brick-faced home at No. 198 Prince Street.

The completed 20-foot wide house straddled the Federal and the newer Greek Revival styles.  Described by The New York Herald as a "two story attic and basement brick house," it would have sprouted one or two dormers from the peaked attic level, expected in the Federal style.  The doorway featured Federal style Ionic columns, sidelights and a transom.  The iron stoop railings, however, were more in line with Greek Revival.  The upscale tone of the house was reflected in the marble stoop and trim.

Freeman had married Elizabeth Barron Mundy in 1829.  The bride was 21 and the groom just 19. Their first child, Sarah Elizabeth, was born on February 8, 1831, around the time construction began on the Prince Street house.  She would be the first of eight children.

In 1842 Freeman suffered a financial "embarrassment."  On November 25 the New-York Daily Tribune reported on his bankruptcy.  He managed to recover, however, and by 1858 was a director of the Metropolitan Insurance Company and at the time of his death in September 1875 his estate was valued at $320,000--more than $7 million today.

The family had left Prince Street long before Freeman's death.  Transferred first to Charles Whitmore Smith in 1836, No. 198 became home in 1863 to Jeremiah Duane.  A deputy sheriff, Duane and his wife had lived on the second floor of an apartment building at the corner of 46th Street and Third Avenue.  An office was in the building's storefront.  They lost their home in the riots earlier that year.

For three violent days in July New York City was terrorized by what became known as the Draft Riots.   To augment troops fighting the Civil War, a new law had been enacted to draft men into the army.  But corrupt practitioners focused on the working class—primarily Irish immigrants—while the wealthy bought their way out of service.  What started as a protest against the draft quickly disintegrated into a bloody riot with mobs ransacking homes and businesses, murdering innocent blacks, and beating random civilians caught on the streets.

The day before the draft a man stopped Mrs. Duane and asked her "as to the modes of ingress and egress to and from the [apartment] house," according to The New York Times a week later.  He told her he "intended to throw a keg of powder into the office and blow the whole affair up."

The newspaper reported "She remonstrated with him, and told him that her family and a number of families resided there, which drew from him the advice that she 'had better move out as it would soon be too hot to hold any of them.'"  The unnamed man warned her that, because the first floor held the office of Provost-Marshal Jenkins, the building was certain to be attacked.

True to the his word, the building, filled with innocent families, was set on fire on Monday, June 15.  While the mob gleefully shouted on the streets, the residents scrambled to escape.  The Times wrote "Mr. Duane was enabled to save an armful of his wife's clothing, besides which he rescued not a thing from the flames.  His family fortunately escaped in the early part of the fray, but he saved his life only after great peril."

Duane filed a claim with the City on August 6, 1863 for $4,703.46 in lost personal property.  He earned $134 per month at the time, equal to about $31,000 a year today.

It appears that the Duane family, which included Thomas Duane, augmented its income by renting a room in the Prince Street house.  In 1865 John R. Russell, a "school officer," listed his address here.   Nevertheless, they were financially comfortable enough to afford a servant.  On January 2, 1866 an advertisement appeared in The New York Herald seeking "A girl to do general housework in a very small family; she must be a good plain cook and washer and ironer."

The Duane family remained in the Prince Street house until April 1868, when it was purchased by police captain John Jourdan and his wife for $13,000--just under a quarter of a million in today's dollars.

Jourdan was well known throughout the city as a crack detective.  His reputation would later earn him comparison to the fictional Sherlock Holmes.  Born to poor immigrant Irish parents on January 6, 1831, he started his education in the public schools.  But, as explained by The New York Times later, "his parents' circumstances compelled him to begin life early on his own account."

Still in his teens, he got "irregular employment" with the various newspaper offices as a folder.  Then, on May 11, 1853 at the age of 22, he joined the Police Department as a patrolman.  He almost immediately displayed his detective skills.

Having been on the force for just over a year, the foot patrolman recovered $20,000 worth of jewelry stolen from Ball & Black, then tracked down $15,000 in silks stolen from another firm.  He was quickly promoted to detective.  The Times wrote "So well had he become known as a sharp detective and courageous officer, that the Board of Commissioners made him a Sergeant on the 24th of April, 1860."  His next promotion, to Captain, came on January 31, 1863.

Jourdan's reputation spread among both the criminal and law-abiding elements.  "Merchants and others found him always ready and eager to take up a case, no matter how hopeless, and his detective acumen was of such a high order that he rarely failed to clear the most mysterious or puzzling case.  He became so well acquainted with the criminal classes of this and other cities of the Union that it seemed easy for him to pick out the man who had committed the offense given him to investigate.  Burglars and other desperate thieves came to fear him."

In 1870 the Board of Police said of Jourdan "His capacity as a detective officer was not surpassed, and probably not equaled, by that of any other member of the force"  illustration from Our Police Protectors, by Augustine E. Costello, 1885 (copyright expired)

Two years after purchasing No. 198, on April 11, 1870, Jourdan was promoted to Superintendent.  Three months later the gruesome murder of millionaire Benjamin Nathan was committed in his West 23rd Street mansion.  The mystery would be the one that Jourdan could not solve, and it was widely blamed as causing his death.


On October 10, 1870 The Times reported "We regret to say that Mr. John Jourdan, the Superintendent of the Police Department of this City, is in a dying condition at his residence, No. 198 Prince-street, and he is not expected to live many hours."  It added "his ambition to repress existing evils in the Department led him to overtask his strength, and the occurrence of the Nathan murder greatly added to his anxiety and work.  For nearly an entire month after that terribly-mysterious crime Mr. Jourdan scarcely slept or rested, in his extraordinary efforts to secure an elucidation of the mystery that yet surrounds that assassination."

The journalist concluded "This, added to the great strain on his mental faculties, brought on a severe prostration, and he was compelled to desist and place himself under the care of physicians.  Even then he persisted in keeping cognizance of the business of the Department, and it was only within a week that he failed to leave his house for his office-chair."

The night before The Times article the Prince Street house was besieged with concerned friends and relatives.  Police Commissioners Bosworth, Brennan, Manierre and Smith; Captains Kelso, Walsh and Kennedy, Judge Dowling and Warden Stacom were among those visiting the dying man.

He died at 11:45 on October 10.  The following day the newspapers reported on his death with flowery prose.  The New York Times wrote "The last scene in the life of John Jourdan, late Superintendent of Police, occurred...when quietly, without a struggle, and as if sinking into a gentle slumber, he breathed his last."

The New York Herald said "He fell a victim to his energetic and faithful devotion to his duty, his demise being, no doubt, accelerated by the anxiety which a nature of great sensibility experienced in discharging the many functions attaching to the office."

Jourdan's impressive funeral in St. Patrick's Cathedral was in keeping with his reputation.  A solemn high mass was celebrated and the police force formed what The Times called "an imposing display."

The newspaper noted "The deceased leaves a widow, but no children, and also leaves a large fortune, a portion of which he acquired by inheritance and the remained by honest industry in his profession."

Jourdan's widow was joined in the house by a few close relatives; but she would not stay on for long.  Less than two months after the funeral, at around 2:00 on the morning of Friday December 2, burglars broke into the house while the occupants slept.

The Times reported "Although the house was apparently thoroughly ransacked none of the inmates were awakened by the operations of the marauders, who escaped with a quantity of silver-ware valued at $60.  The burglars are supposed to be professionals, but as yet the Police have obtained no clue to them or the stolen property."

It was most likely not the lost silver, worth about $1,120 today, but the terrifying break-in that most unnerved Mrs. Jourdan.   Four months later, on April 27, 1871, she sold the house at auction.

The house was purchased by Herman F. Bleck who owned a nearby saloon.   He and his wife, Augusta, were married on April 27, 1873.  A week later he attempted to sell the business, offering "a corner wine and lager beer saloon at a bargain, in the Fifteenth ward, near Broadway; good location; three years leased; a rare chance; must be sold; satisfactory reasons for selling.  Inquire at 198 Prince street."

The "satisfactory reasons" Bleck had for needing to sell the business may have been his domestic problems.  According to Augusta, just four days after the wedding he "committed adultery with a woman" in the Prince Street house. 

The couple seem to have patched things up and Herman continued to run the saloon until January 1875 when he leased it to Charles Rivinius.   His wandering ways, however, did not stop and in 1879 Augusta had had enough.  She filed for divorce, charging that at least twice in 1874 he had entertained "a woman or women" in the Prince Street house, and had committed adultery with a woman named Clara Davis at Paige's Hotel on the corner of Spring and West Streets and "at other places in the city of New York" in 1878 and 1879.

Bleck was unapologetic.  His answer to her complaint said she was "fully informed" of his dalliances and "afterwards freely cohabited with him, and condoned any act of adultery which he may have committed, and forgave him therefor, and that ever since such condonation he has been a faithful husband to the plaintiff, and has constantly treated her with conjugal kindness."

By the time of the puzzling divorce hearing Bleck had sold the Prince Street house to Henry Pull.  He commissioned architects Frederick Graul & Co. to renovate the structure in January 1876.  The plans described the work as "raised two stories, interior alterations."  The $3,500 worth of changes made the 1831 house nearly unrecognizable.

Now four stories high, it boasted updated metal lintels and a bracketed cast metal cornice.  A storefront with a metal cornice and hood was installed in the basement level.

The storefront is remarkably little changed.

In February 1880 John Leibold purchased what was now described as a "four-story brick store and dwelling" for $11,500; or around $275,000 today.   The title was put in the name of his wife, Margaretha.  The couple, who owned several properties in the neighborhood, did not occupy the building.  Instead they lived nearby at No. 123 Prince Street.

Three years after purchasing the building, in September 1883, the Leibolds hired architect A. Grauf to do substantial improvements.  The $3,000 in "front and interior alterations" nearly equaled the cost of the additional two stories.  The interior alterations would have either increased the number of roomers that could be housed, or possibly improved their accommodations.

At the time the basement store was occupied by a tailor shop.  In October that year it was leased by the City as an election polling site.

The store soon became the wine shop of George Ferina.  He ran his store here for years, until tragedy struck on April 1, 1899.  He was crossing the railroad tracks at Aldene, New Jersey that night when he was truck and killed by a fast moving east-bound freight train.

The Prince Street neighborhood was part of Little Italy by now.  In April 1907 Antonio Calandrelo purchased No. 198 for $16,250.    The following year he hired architect Charles M. Straub to, once again, update the building, described as a store and tenement.  The improvements included new walls, fire escapes, toilets, and skylights. 

Calendrelo and his wife, Maria, retained possession until 1925 when it became property of Anthony Epifania.  The Epifania family lived in the building.  John A. Epifania served as a election inspector in 1927.

Tax photographs from the 1940s show that some of the original detailing, like the entrance with its columns and transom, survived.  But the subsequent decades of the 20th century would not be kind to the old structure.

Today a coat of cream-colored paint applied in the second half of the century is flaking off.  Hints of the Federal style entrance remain; however the columns have been lost and a gruesome box-like structure covers what had been the transom.  Quite amazingly, the metal-hooded storefront survives.

Most of the marble stoop treads survive.  The railings, decorated with Greek anthemions, originally terminated at their rolled down ends.  The newels, salvaged from an 1890s fence or railing, were added in the 20th century.

Passersby glancing at the top step today see a rubber garbage can where New York's most famous detective once entered his home.

photographs by the author