Showing posts with label NoHo. Show all posts
Showing posts with label NoHo. Show all posts

Monday, May 13, 2024

The Lost Polhemus Grocery Store - 361 Bowery

 

In 1932, the steps to a second floor entrance on East 4th Street had been removed, leaving the door hoovering above the sidewalk.  photo by Charles Von Urban from the collection of the New York Public Library.

The family of Peter Valentine lived in the Federal style house at the southeast corner of the Bowery and Fourth Street in 1827.  A butcher whose shop was on Fulton Street, Valentine's frame house was two-and-a-half stories tall with prominent dormers at the attic level.   It assuredly was built with a commercial space at ground level, and the Valentines entered their upstairs space at 396 Fourth Street (later renumbered 48 East 4th Street).

By 1833, the Crumbie family occupied the building.  James Crumbie ran a drugstore downstairs, while Robert Crumbie was a printer.  In 1834, the store space was divided.  James's pharmacy now shared it with Jesse Baldwin's grocery.  

The neighborhood was high-end, its side streets lined with brick and stone mansions.  When the Harleem Rail Road Company proposed to lay a second track up the Bowery in 1834, Jesse Baldwin, Jr. joined residents and merchants in protesting.  Their petition to the Common Council read in part, "Your Petitioners are convinced, that the present single track is a very serious injury to their property, and also a great nuisance to the public, particularly on the Sabbath."

Pharmacies like James Crumbie's sold "patent medicines"--over-the-counter remedies that often touted panacea-like results.  Among the items Crumbie sold in 1837 were Beckwith's Anti-Dyspeptic Pills, an advertisement for which promised to cure (in part):

...almost every variety of functional disorder of the Stomach, Bowels, Liver and Spleen; such as heartburn, acid eructations, nausea, headache, pain and distention of the stomach and bowels, incipient Diarrhea, Cholic, Jaundice, Flatulence, habitual Costiveness, loss of appetite, sick headache, sea-sickness, &c, &c.  They are a safe and comfortable Aperient for Females during pregnancy and subsequent confinement, relieving sickness at the stomach, headache, heartburn and many of the incidental nervous affections.

In 1840, Abraham Gerrits Polhemus opened his grocery in the store and moved his family into the upper floors.  Born in 1812 in Rockland County, New York, Polhemus came from an old Dutch family.  He and his wife Phoebe had three children, including an infant, Mary, when they moved in.  Six more would be born in the house, the last being Geneva Gerrits, born in 1865.

The typesetter for this 1840 ad grossly misspelled his surname.  A. B. Wright's Commercial Directory, 1840 (copyright expired)

The Polhemus family remained here through 1875.  By then, the Bowery neighborhood had greatly changed.  Following the Civil War, saloons and music halls invaded the district.  Polhemus's decision to leave may also have been prompted by the plans to erect the Third Avenue El over the Bowery.  The project, completed in 1878, threw the shops along the street into shadow.

Polhemus leased the building.  Its upper floors were operated as a boarding house in 1876, and Isidor Isaacs ran a clothing store in the former grocery.  In 1879, Thomas Madden leased the store and opened his "first class oyster and chop house" in the space.  He paid Abraham Polhemus $12 per month in 1882, an affordable $369 by 2024 conversion.

Thomas Madden's oyster and chop house did not last long.  In January 1882, he sold everything from furniture to crockery at auction, the announcement saying, "everything must be sold and removed immediately."

Madden initiated a makeover of the space.  He renewed his lease with Polhemus in 1883 and paid $75 for his excise--or liquor--license, and opened a saloon.

Thomas Madden (who lived on West 10th Street) operated his saloon until 1894, when Charles and Annie Bauer took over the business.  (Madden and his wife Mary continued to lease the building, however.)  The neighborhood had greatly degraded by now.  Only about a block away, at 392 Bowery, was Columbia Hall, better known as Paresis Hall (a term referring to syphilitic insanity), known for prostitution and cross-dressing patrons.

The storefront was updated around 1933.  image via the NYC Dept of Records & Information Services

The Bauers' business had not been opened long before it was raided for operating on a Sunday.  In 1894, the future President Theodore Roosevelt was made a police commissioner and he initiated a string of reforms, including the raiding  of saloons.  August Albert (presumably the Bauers' bartender), was arrested on October 28, 1894.  It appears he was treated leniently by Justice Grady in the Essex Market Police Court.  The magistrate was visibly unhappy with Roosevelt's reforms.  He berated the arresting officer saying, "I want no reign of terror in Capt. Cortright's precinct because a Republican Police Commissioner is the leader of the district."

In January 1897, more than half a century after their family moved into 361 Bowery, Mary, Leonora and Ramona Polhemus sold the property to Thomas and Mary A. Madden.  They continued to rent the saloon space to the Bauers, who took over the upper floors as well around 1902, operating it as the Dewey House hotel.  (Annie Bauer was listed as the proprietor of the hotel, and the excise license was issued in her name.)

The Bauers did well financially.  In 1915, Charles was also a director in the Central Brewing Company and in the Central Cigar Manufacturing Co.  The couple's son, Ernest C. H. Bauer, helped run the business following World War I, and in 1918 held the excise license.

Prohibition brought an end to the Bauers' saloon.  The space became home to Louis Ruhe's extraordinarily unusual business around 1923.  Ruhe dealt in exotic animals, providing them to circuses and other entertainment venues.  While he operated the business end here, he obviously housed the larger animals elsewhere, as evidenced in a shipment he received in 1923.  On February 14, The New York Times reported on the unusual cargo on the Hamburg-American liner The Hansa, which arrived the previous day:

The Hansa brought a large collection of animals and birds consigned to Louis Ruhe of 361 Bowery.  The collection includes eight elephants, four camels, four zebras, four black bears, six polar bears, several llamas, 100 monkeys of various species, antelopes and 20,000 canaries.  The livestock all suffered from seasickness during the rough voyage, Captain Karl Graales, the master, said, the elephants being least affected by the rolling of the ship.

Later that year, on September 1, an advertisement in the New York Billboard read, "Male Chimpanzee.  Big Size.  Perfect Condition.  $800.00.  Louis Ruhe 361 Broadway, New York."  And the following year, an ad in the newspaper said simply, "Louis Ruhe--Animals and Snakes."

The Old Landmark tavern opened here in 1934.  from the collection of the New York Public Library

With the repeal of Prohibition, 361 Bowery once again housed a tavern, The Landmark.  When the management advertised in a pro-union newspaper, it caught the unwanted attention of Congress's Investigation of Un-American Propaganda Activities in the United States in 1939.

The venerable wooden building survived until 1948.  The one-story structure erected on the site as an extension of the abutting building at 359 Bowery survives.

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Monday, September 26, 2022

The Lost Metropolitan Police Headquarters - 300 Mulberry Street

 

from the collection of the New York Public Library

In 1854 the infamous Tammany Hall politician Fernando Wood was elected mayor.  He immediately initiated a system of open corruption in appointing and promoting officers within the Municipal Police Department.  The state, however, did not stand idly by.  On April 15, 1857 the Metropolitan Police Act was signed into law by Governor John King.  This effectively disbanded the old Municipal Police Department and took policing out of the hands of Wood.   Corrupt cops were dismissed and while others, were reinstated.

While the Metropolitan Police Department initially took over the old headquarters at 413 Broome Street, plans were almost immediately laid to erect a new structure.  In 1862 property was acquired on the east side of Mulberry Street between Bleecker and Houston Streets.  Construction on the new building was completed in January the following year.

Four stories tall above a high basement level, the headquarters was faced in gleaming white marble.  Gas lamps with green glass panels atop the stoop newels identified the building, especially at night.  The Italianate design featured a rusticated base with arched openings and an impressive entrance flanked by engaged Corinthian columns that upheld an entablature.  It was crowned by a swan's neck pediment with a shield carved with the date of construction.  Each of the upper floors was delineated by a stone bandcourse, and the windows on prominent molded sills were fully enframed.

The department moved into the new building at 300 Mulberry Street in two stages--the Board of Police Commissioners settling in first during the second week of February.  On February 25, The New York Times reported, "Yesterday the entire department was removed, consisting of the office of the detective police, the telegraph office, also that of the Superintendent, the Inspectors of Police and the rendezvous for lost children."

The article was quick to point out that construction costs had been covered by the Contingent Police Fund, and "thus the New-York public will not be directly taxed for the expense of the erection and fitting up of this fine four-story marble front building."  The writer noted, "The entire building is arranged with especial deference to the wants and conveniences of those connected with the Police Headquarters, and reflect much credit upon the architect."

from Valentine's Manual of the Corporation of the City of New York, 1868, (copyright expired)

The opening of the headquarters took place during the height of the Civil War.  Less than four months later, on  July 11, 1863 the nation’s first attempt at a military draft played out in New York with a lottery.  When the first 1,200 chosen names were published, it was obvious that they were overwhelmingly from the city’s poor and immigrant population—the wealthy had either bought exemptions or used their political power to circumvent the draft.  The result was the Draft Riots—a three-day reign of terror and carnage unlike anything seen in the country before.  As worded by Police Commissioner John G. Bergan, "riot, robbery, arson and murder, raged over the City." 

The police department battled the mobs alongside the National Guard.  In one case, Colonel Mott's men "had a contest with the mob in the vicinity of Gramercy Park," according to Police Commissioner John G. Bergan in a letter on July 28.   A sergeant was killed and the guardsmen, forced to retreat, "left the body among the enemy."  An "expedition" from Police Headquarters was assembled to recover the sergeant's body.

The city faced what could have been an equally disastrous incident the following year.  A group of Confederate conspirators devised a plan to burn New York City.  Members checked into hotel rooms across the city and committed synchronized arson, theorizing that the Fire Department, receiving multiple alarms from across the city, would be unable to attack all the blazes and the fires would spread ferociously.

Each terrorist piled the furniture and bedding in the center of his room, doused it with turpentine, and, having set it aflame, sauntered out of the building.  The first alarm sounded came at 8:43 on the evening of November 25 from the St. James Hotel.  Within minutes Confederate Army Captain Robert Cobb Kennedy had set Barnum’s Museum on fire.  Quickly fires were discovered in the St. Nicholas, the United States Hotel, the Metropolitan, Lovejoy’s and the New England Hotel.

Lumber yards were also torched.  And the Confederates' plan would have worked had it not been for the quick action of hotel employees.  Unbelievably, by dawn the fires had been extinguished.  

Now the police department was tasked with finding the perpetrators.  And only three months later the last of the four, Robert Cobb Kennedy, was in custody at 300 Mulberry Street.  The New York Dispatch said of him, "A more out-and-out rebel never lived."  The article said "to look upon his face as it rests in quiet," one could not imagine that he was "connected with the nefarious attempt to burn our hotels and places of amusement, and scatter desolation and death over our fair metropolis."

The New York Dispatch, February 19, 1865 (copyright expired)

The Metropolitan Police Headquarters was also the "rendezvous for lost children."  On July 8, 1865 the New York Herald reported that during the previous year 3,477 children were brought here. The article noted, "3,266 were there claimed, and the remaining 211 were sent to the Commissioners of Charities and Correction, there appearing no claimants for them."

Also housed in the building were the District Court Squads, which oversaw the various court district courts, the Sanitary Corps, and the Detective Department.  In the basement of the building was the nerve center for the police telegraph system.  On January 8, 1871 the New York Dispatch explained, "A network of telegraph wires encircles the city, all terminating at No. 300 Mulberry street."  There were between 75 and 80 miles of police telegraph lines in the city.  Transmissions could be sent to or received from each of the precinct stations, and Bellevue Hospital.  "This office is never closed, day or night, and is invaluable to the public in the recovery of lost property, strayed children, accidents, fires, and casualties," said the article.

Harper's Weekly, January 18, 1908 (copyright expired)

The corruption that had prompted the state to abolish the Municipal Police Department had never truly disappeared within the Metropolitan Police Department.  On August 9, 1901 The Evening World recalled, "The seeds of corruption, the seeds of decay, were in it from the beginning...But at least life and property were safe under 'the finest.'  And the strong, if corrupt, hands of the leaders of the force restrained the elements which they corruptly tolerated."

However, by 1895 the malfeasance was once again out of control.  Change would begin on May 6 that year with the installation of a new reform-minded Board of Police Commissioners, headed by 36-year-old Theodore Roosevelt.  Roosevelt and his commissioners initiated numerous reforms within the department.  

Before 1893 a nearly seamless addition had been added to the north.  Kings Views of New York City, 1893 (copyright expired)

Although the building had been expanded in the late 19th century, in 1901 Police Commissioner Michael C. Murphy pushed for a new headquarters, saying 300 Mulberry Street was "too old and too small and too far downtown."  By the following year, when the department had a new commissioner in John N. Partridge, the plan had gained momentum.  On September 12, 1902 Partridge announced he had selected a site for a new headquarters.  The Evening World reported he "suggests that the old Headquarters property be sold and that the amount realized be applied on the new building and property."

As the magnificent new headquarters building at 24 Centre Street was nearing completion in January 1908, Frank Marshall White titled his article in Harper's Weekly "The Passing of '300 Mulberry Street.'"  Comparing it to Scotland Yard for figuring "in history and fiction," he recalled the Draft Riots, the Orange Riots of 1871, and the famous officers--good and bad--who had worked within the building.  "It was at 300 Mulberry Street that Thomas Byrnes, at the head of the Detective Bureau, made an international reputation as thief-taker, and here that he originated the mysterious 'third degree' that has been the undoing of many a criminal since."  Other terms originated at 300 Mulberry Street, White recounted, were "gold brick," (and the "original gold brick is today among other relics of crime" at the building, he said), and "copper," meaning an officer.  At 300 Mulberry Street was displayed a collection of early copper badges. 

At midnight on November 27, 1909, Police Commissioner William F. Baker "pressed a key which switched all the telegraph and telephone lines" from 300 Mulberry Street to 240 Centre Street.  In reporting on the move, The New York Times remarked, "No other building in the city, probably, is richer in memories than 300 Mulberry Street.  It is famous all the world over."  The journalist recalled some of the renowned crimes solved there and the "noted criminals, murderers included, whose names are intimately associated with the hold structure."  Among the colorful names were "Red" Leary, "Humpty" Williams, and Liverpool Jack.

The venerable building was not totally abandoned, however.   The office of the Chief City Magistrate, the Traffic Court, the Probation Bureau, the Fingerprinting Department and the "old record room" continued to be housed here.

The Traffic Court had its most celebrated prisoner on June 7, 1921--baseball great Babe Ruth.  When word got out that he was being held in the detention room, "there was a rush for the 'jail' by court attendants, pretty girl stenographers and other baseball hero worshippers," reported The Evening World.  That portion of the building had to be shut off.  Things got tense as the clock ticked away and the slugger's case had not been heard and the 3:30 game time moved ever closer.

Ruth's uniform was delivered to 300 Mulberry Street and at 3:00 his two-seated roadster was sitting at the curb, running.  Finally, after being fined $100 for speeding, Ruth was set free at 3:45--15 minutes after the game began.  To ensure he made it to Yankee Stadium Magistrate McGeeghan rode along, presumably "to see that if he speeded he would do it within the law."

A memorable modernization occurred later that year on September 15, 1921.  The old gas lamps were removed, replaced by electric lamps.  The New York Herald noted that they had burned unceasingly for 59 years.

On January 6, 1922 a bronze tablet, designed by James E. Fraser, was unveiled in the third-floor office once used by Theodore Roosevelt.  The mayor, city officials, and prominent New Yorkers were in attendance, and the Police Glee Club provided music.  (The room would be officially dedicated as the Theodore Roosevelt Memorial Room three years later, on March 14.)

Another department was added within 300 Mulberry Street in 1922 with the formation of the new Homicide Court.  On October 3, the day of its opening, Magistrate Frederick B. House said, "This court will be a clearing house for all kinds of fatal accidents and deaths, and will reach two of our greatest evils: the selfish, reckless driver, who is no better than a murderer, and the pistol carrier, or gunman."

During World War II the old building became headquarters for the city air raid wardens and the civilian defense office of the police department.  On January 10, 1942 The New York Times reported, "It is planned to give lectures to classes of 200 to 300 air raid wardens at a time in the new headquarters."

By the time photographer Cyrus Townsend Brady, Jr. took this photograph, the lampposts had been removed.  from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York

The old Police Headquarters building was converted to a courthouse in March 1946.  Three new courts opened here, the Lower Manhattan Summons Court, the Lower Manhattan Arrest Court and the Downtown Traffic Court.  The days of honoring the former President within the building ended on May 10 that year.  The New York Times reported that Police Commissioner Arthur W. Wallander "turned over the Theodore Roosevelt Memorial Room in the old Police Headquarters Building...to the Home Term Court."  The furniture, portrait of Roosevelt and the plaque were all removed.

Just three years later the venerable marble building was demolished for a parking lot.  For nearly six decades automobiles parked on the site, most of their owners never knowing the history that had played out there.  Then in 2004 a rather nondescript brick apartment building was erected on the site.

image via streeteasy.com

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Monday, August 29, 2022

The Lost Church of the Strangers - Mercer St. near Waverly Place

 

image by John m. August Will, 1898 from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York

On October 8, 1835 a group of affluent men petitioned the Third Presbytery of New York to organize a church to be called The Mercer-Street Presbyterian Church.  Things moved swiftly.  That same month the 45-year-old Rev. Thomas Harvey Skinner arrived in New York from Newburyport, Massachusetts, and on November 8 was installed as the pastor.

The small congregation was composed of prominent New Yorkers like James Boorman and his wife Mary, and Gordon and Marcia Burnham.  A church building was quickly raised on the west side of Mercer Street just north of Waverly Place.  The neighborhood, just two blocks east of Washington Square, was filling with opulent residences.

The Gothic Revival building featured a central tower and tall pointed arch windows.  The architect is unknown, however several of the elements, like the crenellation and layered buttresses, smack of Richard Upjohn's Church of the Holy Communion, completed a decade later.

from Illustrated New York City and Surroundings, 1889 (copyright expired)

Rev. George L. Prentiss would recall in 1895, "No sooner was the new sanctuary completed than large numbers crowded into it from all parts of the city, and were at once received into its fellowship."  Other prominent families in the congregation were those of James Roosevelt, William E. Dodge, Anson Greene Phelps, and Alfred De Forest.

Among Rev. Skinner's first notable works was to help found the Union Theological Seminary in 1836.  For decades, the commencement exercises were held in the Mercer-Street Presbyterian Church.

Thomas Skinner resigned in 1848, triggering a series of rather short-lasting ministers.  The fourth, Rev. Robert R. Booth, was installed on March 6, 1861.  It was during his pastorate that significant change would come.  On September 16, 1870 the New York Presbytery merged the Mercer-Street Presbyterian Church with the First Presbyterian Church on University Place.  The combined congregations (now known as the Presbyterian Church on University Place) worshiped in the University Place church.  The Mercer Street structure was placed on the market for $65,000--about $1.4 million today.

Five years earlier Rev. Charles Force Deems had relocated to New York City from North Carolina.  Deems recalled in his 1897 Autobiography of Charles Force Deems, "Before the organization of any church and while I was simply preaching to strangers, a lady of high character living in Mobile, when on a visit to New York; always attended our service with her daughter.  With them I became acquainted."

The "lady of high character" was Mary Eliza Crawford and her daughter was Frank Armstrong Crawford.  Frank was highly taken with Deem's preaching and theology, and as her marriage to Cornelius Vanderbilt I approached, according to Deems, "it had been intended that I should celebrate the marriage, and that it would have been done but for my absence."

Rev. Dr. Charles Force Deems, from the collection of the New York Public Library

By the time the property became available, Deems's Church of the Strangers had been organized and was worshiping in a chapel at New York University.  The unusual name reflected Deems's non-denominational congregation, insisting that anyone who accepted the Apostles' Creed would be accepted.  He offered $50,000 for the property (money he did not have, but hoped to accumulate through fund-raising).

The Vanderbilts lived at 10 Washington Place, one block away from the Mercer-Street Presbyterian Church.  Cornelius Vanderbilt invited Deems to his mansion and offered to buy the church as a gift.  In Deems's words, "The commodore had never been a member of any church, had been a very worldly and even profane man; but he had from his earliest childhood the most unshaken faith in the Bible."  (The fact that his wife was an ardent admirer of Deems, no doubt, had much to do with the decision, as well.)

original source unknown

Vanderbilt's tepid feelings about organized religion became evident when Deems replied, "Commodore, if you give me that church for the Lord Jesus Christ, I'll most thankfully accept it."  Vanderbilt said, "No, doctor, I would not give it to you that way, because that would be professing to you a religious sentiment I do not feel.  I want to give you a church, that's all there is.  It is one friend doing something for another friend.  Now, if you take it that way I'll give it to you."

On October 3, 1870, The New York Times reported, "Since it has stood empty the edifice has been repainted, recarpeted, and renovated generally, and now presents quite a neat and tasteful appearance."  It had officially opened as the Church of the Strangers the day before.  Those attending represented some of the wealthiest and most influential in the city.  "Among the gentlemen present were Commodore Vanderbilt, Thurlow Weed, Horace Greeley, Peter Cooper, Daniel Drew, William M. Evarts, William F. Havemeyer, Algernon S. Sullivan, Stewart L. Woodford, William E. Dodge, Morris K. Jesup, James Lorimer Graham and E. I. Jeffray," said The New York Times.

from New-York Tribune, January 23, 1898

Rev. Deems had instructed the ushers to escort all clergymen to seats provided at the front of the church.  "One enthusiastic usher in obedience to these instructions searched for a victim and was finally rewarded by seeing an elderly gentleman, wearing a white neck-tie, alight from a carriage.  He approached him, and taking his arm, led him up the the main side towards the pulpit."  Rev. Deems interceded, introducing the usher to Cornelius Vanderbilt.  When the embarrassed usher apologized, the millionaire exhibited an unexpected spark of humor.  As he took his seat, he said, "That's not the first time I have been taken for a clergyman.  No apology is necessary."

Despite Vanderbilt's disinterest in organized religion, his faith was strong and his friendship with Rev. Deems grew extremely close.  On Thanksgiving Day 1875 Vanderbilt took a ride in Central Park and caught a cold.  By the spring he could no longer go to his office, and on April 26, 1876 was confined to his bed.  Rev. Deems visited Vanderbilt nearly every day for eight months.  Using the third person, Deems wrote, "The commodore would not let him leave his side, often keeping him for hours...Through all those months the attachment between the two men increased."

Cornelius Vanderbilt died on January 4, 1877.  Two days later  
The New York Times reported, "To-morrow morning the remains will be placed in the main hall of the house, where they will lie until 10 o'clock, at which hour they will be taken to the Church of the Strangers...where the funeral services will be performed."  The newspaper noted, "Some time before his death the Commodore requested Dr. Deems to avoid all pomp and abstain from all eulogy at his funeral."  Nevertheless, in his autobiography Deems wrote, "In his funeral sermon...Dr. Deems has set forth his estimate of the character of Commodore Vanderbilt."

Almost immediately a fund among the congregants was formed to memorialize Cornelius Vanderbilt.  In order that every member could contribute, the donations were limited to between 10 cents and $1.00.  Designed by William Gibson & Sons and approved by Frank Armstrong Vanderbilt and William Henry Vanderbilt, the bronze and black marble tablet was installed in the church in December 1879.

A depiction of the tablet appeared in several periodicals.  from the collection of the New York Public Library.

A surprising (at least to 21st century readers) ceremony took place in the church on Good Friday, 1881.  The New York Times reported, "Palestine Commandery, No. 18, Knights Templar, celebrated Good Friday by visiting the Church of the Strangers last evening and listening to a sermon by its Chaplain, the Rev. Dr. Charles F. Deems."  Accompanied by the fife and drum corps of the Ninth Regiment, the Knights Templar had marched "through Twenty-third-street, Fifth-avenue, Fourteenth-street, Broadway, Clinton-place, and Mercer-street, to the church."

A large floral arrangement with a Maltese cross presented by the commandery decorated the front of the church.  The Knights were seated in the front pews.  Congregants were given programs "printed in purple ink on lavender-colored paper [which] bore the insignia of the order on one leaf and a representation of the banner of the commandery on the other."  At the conclusion of the service, "The Knights arose in a body and, drawing their swords, saluted Dr. Deems and after passing out formed in line and returned to head-quarters."

There would be two other Vanderbilt funerals in the Church of the Strangers.  Cornelius Jeremiah Vanderbilt, described by The New York Times as "the discarded son of the late Commodore Vanderbilt," committed suicide on April 2, 1882.  Known within the family as C. J., he had never gained his father's approval, partly because of his epilepsy, which the commodore viewed as a weakness, but also because of his long-term relationship with his "particular friend," as worded by The New York Times, George Terry.  C. J. had been given a humiliatingly small portion of his father's estate.  On April 5, 1882, The New York Times reported on his funeral in the Church of the Strangers, saying, "The church was nearly filled, but aside from the members of the Vanderbilt family few persons of note were present."

Such was not the case on May 7, 1885.  The New York Times reported, "Many distinguished and well-known New-Yorkers attended the funeral of Mrs. Frank A. Vanderbilt in the Church of the Strangers."  The newspaper commented, "She married Commodore Vanderbilt when he was an unbeliever, and she made him a Christian."

Rev. Charles Alexander Force Deems died on November 18, 1893.  The Church of the Strangers was "crowded to the doors" during his funeral on November 22 at noon.  Among the pallbearers was Cornelius Vanderbilt III, the grandson of Commodore Vanderbilt.

from New-York Tribune, January 23, 1898

Just over four years later, on January 22, 1898, the last service was held in the church.  The Sun reported, "Nearly 1,200 persons crowded into the Church of the Strangers on Mercer street...to take part in the final service in the old edifice.  Next Sunday the congregation will move into its new home, on Fifty-seventh street, near Eighth avenue."

The New-York Tribune commented on the much-changed neighborhood.  "The quaint old building of rough stone is not small, even for a church of to-day, and when it was new, back in the thirties, it was doubtless regarded as an exceptionally large and imposing structure.  In those days it was at least allowed to show for what it was worth."  But, said the article, as "the neighborhood in which it is situated gradually changed from a quiet residence district to a noisy, active business centre, there came a corresponding change in the surrounding architecture."  The vintage church was now engulfed by loft buildings.

The structure sat empty until 1901 when a demolition permit was issued.  The loft building which replaced it was completed in 1903 and survives.

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Monday, March 21, 2022

The Lost Dry Dock Savings Bank - 341-343 Bowery

 

original source unknown

Starting early 1820's, the former Stuyvesant family land along the East River east of the Bowery became Manhattan's main shipbuilding location, earning the district the name of the Dry Dock Neighborhood.  The following decade saw banks opening along the Bowery--first the Bull's Head Bank (an outgrowth of the Bull's Head Tavern), followed by the Butchers and Drovers Bank in 1830, and the Bowery Savings Bank in 1834.

In 1848 The Dry-Dock Savings Bank was formed by "a number of gentlemen principally interested in [the shipbuilding] industry."  According to King's Handbook of New York, they hoped "to encourage thrift and prudence among their workmen."  Originally located on East 10th Street near the river, it moved to 339-341 East 4th Street in 1859.

And then, in 1872, the directors purchased the properties at the southeast corner of the Bowery and East 3rd Street, "in part occupied as a marble yard," according to the New York Herald on December 12.  The newspaper somewhat lamented the deal, saying, "This precludes the possibility of a new German theatre on what was the favorite site with that part of our population."

The bank hired Prague-born architect Leopold Eidlitz to design its new home.  Generally considered America's first Jewish architect, he was a founding member of the American Institute of Architects.  

Construction began in June 1873 and was completed in December 1875.  Saying the building was "valued at $250,000" ($6 million in today's money), King's Handbook of New York called it "one of the finest buildings in the country for its purposes." Eidlitz's Victorian Gothic, or Ruskinian Gothic, design was striking.  An enclosed portico served as the base for a charming gable-roofed balcony.  Stone balconies clung to the East 3rd Street façade, and the arched openings wore variegated voussoirs, nearly obligatory in the Victorian Gothic style.  The upper floors transitioned to a mélange of shapes and angles, with crisp dormers poking through the several steep roofs.

The bank's name was worked into the arch of the balcony.  original source unknown

The princely building easily stood out among its humbler neighbors.  On October 16, 1886, the Real Estate Record & Guide commented, "people were surprised, and criticized the directors for erecting an ornate and imposing building in so unpromising a region."  Eidlitz had designed one of the last New York City buildings in the fading style.  On April 9, 1898, the Record & Guide said, "In 1868 Victorian Gothic was far from being a new story, even in New York...The movement, however, was closing and of the last notable buildings it gave to New York may be mentioned the Jefferson Market Court House [and] the Dry Dock Savings Bank."  

Only months after the bank moved into its new home trouble arose.  On June 22, 1876 The New York Times entitled an article "The Run on the Dry Dock Bank," and reported, "As early as 9 o'clock yesterday morning the depositors of the Dry Dock Savings Bank...began to congregate in front of the doors of that institution, and from that time until the bank was opened they elbowed and pushed one another in a somewhat vain endeavor to be first to enter."

The newspaper said that the bank's officers had anticipated the rush, and three policemen were there "to keep the excited men and women in line."  Dry Dock Bank's president, Andrew Mills, told the reporter that the bank's officers "were at a loss to account for the run," assuring that "They had plenty of money with which to pay off those then present."  Happily, two days later the Albany Morning Express reported, "The run on the Dry Dock Savings Bank is at an end.  Only twenty persons demanded their money yesterday morning, and were promptly paid.  Many came to draw, but went away without doing so.  Confidence was restored and business proceeded as usual."

The glass plate negative was reversed, resulting in a backwards photograph of the bank.  original source unknown

As the century drew to a close, many of the Bowery banks moved northward, following their depositors.  But the Dry Dock Savings Institution (the name had recently been changed) was firmly rooted in its site.  On May 14, 1896 the New-York Tribune wrote, "The Dry Dock Savings Institution, at No. 343 Bowery, seems as immovable as the hills.  Its building is substantial, commodious and impressive.  Its officers say that there is no talk that the bank will move to a new home."  And, indeed, it would operate from the location for decades to come.

But the neighborhood was, nonetheless, degrading.  At around 10:30 on the morning of July 19, 1909.  Mrs. Rosa Fleischmann arrived at the bank.  She was a long-standing customer and, because she had her two-year-old daughter, Mamie, in her arms, the bank treasurer offered to take her $40 deposit to the teller for her.  As she waited, a man rushed up, snatched her satchel and ran.

Rosa's screams sent Special Officer George Wilson on the thief's trail.  He caught him a block away at the Bowery and East 4th Street, and "hurried him back to the bank," according to The New York Times.  "The commotion caused a great crowd to gather in front of the bank, and President Mills came out and told Wilson to bring the fellow back into his private office."  

There the man turned the tables on Rosa Fleischmann.  Saying he was Aaron Wolberg, a cigarmaker, he insisted she had stolen his bag and he had simply gotten it back.  Inside, he said, was $2,000.  Mills asked him what else was in the satchel.  "Just the money and nothing else," was the reply.

The two-story banking banking room had polished marble columns.  Obligatory spittoons dot the mosaic-tiled floor.  Architectural Record, December 1911 (copyright expired)

Rosa Fleischman was then asked the same question.  She said it held her bankbook and a bottle of milk.  It was opened to reveal the book and the milk.  "It's hers," exclaimed Wolberg, as he bolted for the door.  He was overtaken by Wilson who held him on the floor until Policeman John Spath arrived.  

Wolberg "put up several hard fights on the way to court," said The New York Times, "and Spath's hands were bleeding from several wounds, most of them due to the sharpness of Wolberg's teeth."  Wolberg now changed his story, telling the judge "the bag had been given to him by a stranger."  A policeman suggested that Wolberg was a member of a gang known to loiter around the bank.  The New York Times explained, "It is said that women depositors have often been annoyed by members of this gang."

King's Handbook of New York, 1892 (copyright expired)

In October 1932, Hiram C. Bloomingdale of Bloomingdale Brothers sold four old four-story buildings the northwest corner of Lexington Avenue and 59th Street to the Dry Dock Savings Institution.  Andrew Mills announced that plans were being drawn for a branch bank on the site, while promising that the Bowery building "will continue to be its main office."

The following year the bank hired architect Louis S. Weeks to make interior renovations to the vintage Bowery building.  The updating was restricted to the cavernous banking room and the executive offices. 

By mid-century, the Bowery neighborhood had deteriorated to Manhattan's Skid Row.  On May 18, 1950, The Times Record explained that abandoned funds were not kept by the banking institutions, but after 15 years were turned over to the State.  The article delved into the reason why the owners were sometimes hard to track down.  It noted, "Illiterates are another problem.  The Bowery office of the Dry Dock Savings Bank reported last year that it has had some sad experiences with its unschooled depositors to whom the spelling of their name is a matter of supreme indifference."

from the collection of the Avery Architectural and Fine Arts Library, Columbia University

The demographics finally made it impossible for the bank to continue at its location.  On November 9, 1954, The New York Times reported, "A gasoline service station is to replace the old Dry Dock Savings Bank Building...The four-story structure, erected in 1875, has been sold by the bank to the L. B. Oil Company, Inc.

image via villagepreservation.org

The gasoline service station survived into the 21st century, replaced in 2008 by the 16-story Bowery Hotel, designed by Scarano & Associates.

image via tripadvisor.com

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Friday, May 14, 2021

From Shirtwaists to Genomics - 14-16 Waverly Place

 

photo by Beyond My Ken

On February 11, 1892 Isabel Lathrop sold the old three-story house at 14 Waverly Place to Frank A. Seitz.   The president of the Frank A. Seitz Realty & Construction Co., he was on a mission.  The following month he spent $21,667 (about $628,000 today) for the similar house next door at 16 Waverly Place.

Prior to the Civil War years the area had been one of the most exclusive residential neighborhoods in Manhattan.  But now its once-elegant homes were being rapidly replaced with loft buildings.  Seitz demolished the two structures and hired the architectural firm of Cleverdon & Putzel to design two identical structures.  Each would be 25-feet wide, six-stories tall, and cost the equivalent of $2 million today to construct.

Completed early in 1893, the architects had created two imposing tripartite structures in a modern take on the Romanesque Revival style.  The piers of the cast iron storefronts upheld faux balustraded balconies that fronted an arcade of deeply-recessed windows.  The engaged brick columns that separated them wore carved medieval-style capitals which were echoed in the massive capitals of the three piers that flanked the stores.

The mid-sections were faced in beige brick encrusted with stylized chain bands of terra cotta.  Energetic brick-and-terra cotta voussoirs capped each opening like sunbursts.  The sixth floors sat above a common cornice, each window separated by engaged columns.



Seitz seems to have hoped to quickly liquidate his investment.  On March 16, 1893 the Record & Guide reported he had sold the structures $250,000--a satisfying $7.3 million in today's money.   If so, the deal fell through and it was not until 1898 that Seitz sold the buildings to William Lauterbach.  

Lauterbach moved his clothing firm, Andur & Goodman Co., into one of the buildings.  Other millinery and apparel firms leased space, as well.  Among them in 1897 were clothiers S. Beller & Co., L. Herschfield & Brother and Max Hurvick, and "hats and caps" manufacturers Philip W. Crawford, E. E. Francis & Co., J. Rowland & Co., the Pioneer Hat Works, and T. C. Millard & Co.

At the time, both industries were experiencing pushback from employees, prompted by the new labor organizations.  Apparel workers labored in oppressive conditions, normally working six days per week for low wages.  On September 2, 1897 The Standard Union reported, "Over 2,600 cloak makers quit work in shops working for six manufacturers of cloaks in New York City, yesterday evening and this morning."  Among those was the entire staff of S. Beller & Co. 

In a related matter, the article noted that women garment workers were "agitating" for a separate union.  "They are mostly, it is said, of Hebrew, Italian and Irish origin.  A mass meeting of the women for organization purposes is to be held later on."

At the turn of the century the "waist," or "shirtwaist," was the most popular women's garment in America.   The tailored blouse was originally modeled on men's shirts.

Despite the tortuous corsets required to maintain the hourglass figure, the shirtwaist was touted as "liberating."  original source unknown
 
The Danzig Waist Co. operated from 14 Waverly Place in 1901 and, as is the case with fashion companies today, used live models when working on designs and patterns.  On July 23, 1901 the firm advertised in the New York Herald for a "Stylish 36 figure for shirt waists."

Until the last quarter of the 20th century employees were paid in cash.  It was a practice that routinely made clerks carrying the payroll from the bank a target of robbers.  But it was not street thugs who were the threat on September 17, 1906, but an insider.

The Success Publishing Company was one tenant here not involved in millinery or clothing.  On that afternoon Kenneth McKenzie left the office with a $1,900 payroll check  to cash at the bank.   The amount would be nearly $56,000 today.  The Standard Union reported, "As McKenzie did not return the police were notified."

Detectives learned that the 24-year-old was seen at Coney Island that same night during the Mardi Gras festivities.  (The annual event had nothing to do with the Lenten celebrations held in New Orleans every spring.)  The Standard Union reported that the detectives "went to the big health resort last evening armed with a bench warrant in the hope of arresting him."  Unable to find him among the throng, undercover officers then "shadowed McKenzie's home."  Finally, just after midnight on September 20, he was seen sneaking out of the basement door.

McKenzie was arrested, but the money was gone.  The article in The Standard Union was entitled "Think Man Spent Firm's Money At Mardi Gras."

In 1918 William Lauterbach joined the two buildings internally.  His company was still operating here and in June the following year it was looking for a "boy as learner in shipping room."  The pay was $150 per week in today's money, and the company wanted to ensure that the applicants were both literate and neat.  The ad insisted that applications be addressed "in own handwriting."

Following William Lauterbach's death, his widow, Mattie, sold the buildings in 1945 to the Eastern Control Corporation.  While a few apparel-related tenants, like Service Wear, Inc., were still in the buildings, the garment center had moved north of 34th Street.  More typical of the firms in the buildings now was the Howard Adams Brush Co.

A horrifying incident occurred on January 8, 1952 while a team of five workmen were installing a 5,000-gallon oil tank in the sub-basement.  While four of the men were working on the tank, welder John Nagy was using an acetylene torch on the iron grating at street level to create an opening for a vent pipe.  Sparks fell to the basement, igniting cardboard cartons.  By the time the workers noticed the fire it was out of control.

One of them rushed to the street to tell Nagy to stop work while the others tried to fight the blaze.  The flames and thick smoke eventually forced them out, but two had been overcome by smoke.  It was not until the three men reached the sidewalk that they realized that Seymour Washowski and Raleigh Jordan, both 25-years-old, were missing.

The New York Times reported, "The rescuers went down and were able to penetrate only a short distance before the intense smoke and flames drove them back.  It was not until two hours later that the bodies were found in the sub-basement."

The second half of the 20th century saw major change come to the Noho neighborhood.  In 1961 the Young Concert Artists Recital Hall was in the building and in 1967 the Playwright's Workshop Club operated here.  It staged off-Broadway productions like Clyde Ellsworth's 1967 The Sleeping Beauty or Can A Call Girl Find True Love and Happiness.

The upper floors were converted to nine sprawling residential lofts.  Moving in in 1964, for instance, were artist Dan Christensen, his wife, and their two sons.  Their 4,o00-square-foot space accommodated Christensen's studio and the family's residence.  (His paintings are in the permanent collections of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, the Museum of Modern Art and the Guggenheim Museum.)

At the time Harouts Greek restaurant was a favorite gathering spot for New York University students.  The restaurant closed in 1969 and was unofficially taken over by a campus group, Transendental Students, described by The New York Times on September 22 that year as "a party-throwing organization of hedonists."  They held parties called "freak-outs" in empty classrooms and study halls, and in the now-vacant restaurant.

The New York Times said "The freak-outs were billed as attempted to 'make N.Y.U. livable'" and "usually featured wine, marijuana, movies, political satire, and acid-rock music."  Uninvited attendees were often the New York City Police Department who were called to end the festivities.  The article noted, "Even the N.Y.U. administration has acknowledge the group's influence.  This term the administration allocated $5,000 for the group to renovate Harouts."

After living in their third-floor loft for three decades, the Christensens and the other tenants were told to leave by New York University in June 1998.  A spokesperson for the school explained "various university departments need space for their programs."  Although the tenants, described by The New York Times as "four painters, a sculptor, a filmmaker, a food designer, a martial-arts teacher and a furniture marker" hired a lawyer, they were unsuccessful.


A subsequent renovation, completed in 2010, resulted in the building's being home to New York University's Center for Genomics and Systems Biology.

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